When we reach Hyde, he gives me a modest nod. “Until tomorrow.”
We continue working without breakthroughs the next day, stopping to join the other students in the dining hall for the Thanksgiving feast. After, I head to my room to FaceTime Jared.
“Just a sec,” he says when he answers.
There’s a loud commotion in the background, followed by a unified cheer. He walks into what looks like a bedroom and closes the door.
“I didn’t realize you were out. I can call later?”
“No, don’t worry about that. Just came to a Friendsgiving. The game is on, so, you know.” He waves a hand in the air. “How are you?”
“Missing you all,” I confess.
My mom and Mads sent a selfie to our family group chat this morning in what looked like a high school hallway.Happy Thanksgiving, my mom said.Love you both so much.
“I miss you too, Laney Bug,” he says, reverting to a childhood nickname I haven’t heard in a while.
I sit on my bed. “And I miss Dad.”
“I do too.” A quiet sadness appears behind his eyes. “All the time.”
“Remember when we were younger, he’d call you hisoverachiever? And Mads was his performer.” My smile fades. “And I wasthe thinker.”
Jared’s brow furrows. “He didn’t call you that,” he corrects. “You were his observer.”
That’s not right—is it? Growing up, I’d craved to have a single molecule of talent my siblings had. I wanted to figure out where I fit, and when I couldn’t, I deferred to my parents. I often slipped deep into my own thoughts and became the one who asked questions, and if my dad couldn’t answer them, I sought my own answers in the library with my mom.
But then I remember the scheduled birthday email. It was right there, plainly in his own words:You, my bright observer.
“I’ve always been a little jealous,” Jared goes on. “You’re like him in so many ways, you know? You just…see the world differently. If something’s presented as factual you ask why—andhow. Not to knock what you want to do, but dentistry never made sense to me. I mean, I have no doubt you can do it, but it seems low risk. Safe but limited.”
His ability to see through me catches me off guard. It’s as though he can read the thoughts that have been spiraling in my mind since summer. All because I’ve been afraid to stray from the established direction.
“I don’t know if it’s what I want anymore.” It spills from me then. How I’ve avoided the A&P exam and how my GPA has slipped since the beginning of the semester and how I worry about not fulfilling the very thing Dad wanted for me.
Jared listens, and when I finish, he says, “Did I tell you I joined an intramural basketball team?”
My eyebrows shoot up.“You?”
“I know, I didn’t see it coming either. And I’m not very good—but that’s not the point. I like it.” He shrugs. “Mom and Dad, well, they could be helicopter parents. If they saw us struggling, they’d rush in to protect us from getting hurt. It’s like they couldn’t bear to let us stumble our way through learning if it didn’t come easily—or if we didn’t make it look easy. They were afraid it’d affect our self-esteem. Or maybe that we’d get picked on. I don’t know.”
“Like when I played the tuba.”
“I almost forgot about that.” He chuckles and adjusts the phone to his other hand. “They made it seem like it was our choice to quit, but it felt like they were letting us down easy. And when they saw us excel at something—acting, speech and debate, or science fairs—then they’d double down on encouragement. Don’t get me wrong. We’re so lucky to have that support, but sometimes it’s okay to fail—or make mistakes. Or quit! Or try new things, even if we suck. We can like something and not be good at it, you know?”
I hadn’t realized this had had such an influence on me, but he’s right. I thought failing meant disappointment, but it doesn’t have to. Because at least I’d tried.
A loud cheer erupts from the other room.
“Go,” I encourage. “We can talk later.”
“At least let me impart some corny basketball wisdom,” he says. “Shoot your shot. Even if your aim stinks.”
William and Lionel are chatting in the Segner commons when I reemerge, the exhaustion in their eyes mirroring mine. It’s nearing nine thirty. Almost everyone, including the faculty residents, has retired for the evening, with the exception of a few students playing a board game by the fireplace. I keep glancing toward the door, but Sumner doesn’t come down.
William eventually catches on and hands me his badge. “Go on,” he insists. “No one’s around to stop you.”
I second-guess myself the minute I scan into the dormitory wing. Maybe he wants alone time. What if he’s on the phone? Or streaming? Or FaceTiming with Hailey Collins?
