Of course she’d need to point this out. Ms. Fallon was smart, educated, and someone I admired. It would only take half of that to bring out the competitor in my mom. “It is,” Ms. Fallon agreed. “Although I’m sure we can all agree that Finley would thrive anywhere.”
My mom took a beat, hearing this. With her sunglasses on, I couldn’t make out her eyes. The crowds from graduation were dispersing to the parking lot, and for the first time, I felt that now, really, it was over. High school. My time at Jackson. So much lead-up, the farewell tour that was senior year, and only now did it hit me.
“Finley!” Colin called out. I looked over to see him standing with his parents and my dad, Marisol just beyond with all three kids, trying to herd them toward the car. “You ready to go?”
Looking at him, I felt that warmth again. It didn’t matterwho knew the other paths I might have taken. This was what I had chosen.
I met Colin Frisbee on the first day of junior year at Jackson. It was like entering a new world: Until then, I’d spent my entire life at the Fountain School, the crunchy private school where my dad and stepmom both taught. But after a lifetime with the same kids, I was determined to make a change. So I left my friends behind to keep exploring their feelings in sharing circles while I tried public school. It seemed like a great idea until I had to walk in alone that muggy August morning.
My first class was US History, and I arrived to find the room already packed, with only a handful of desks left. I scanned them, considering my options. I could be adjacent to a stocky guy in a muscle tee who was drawing video game logos on his notebook. Or at a table with two girls who had their laptops already open and books out, ready to begin. The last spot was next to a guy with short brown hair wearing a green T-shirt and beat-up flip-flops who was drumming a pencil against his temple. Door number three, it was.
Just as I slid into the desk, Ms. Hernandez, standing at the front of the room, clapped her hands. “Hello, everyone! This is US History. If you’re not supposed to be here, this would be a good time to gracefully exit.”
Silence. No one left. She continued.
“Great! This semester, we’ll be learning about this great country of ours. Although I bet you think you know it pretty well already; am I right?”
No one seemed to be sure whether this was a rhetorical question. One of the laptop girls started to raise her hand, just in case it wasn’t.
“Well, let’s find out. Grab a partner.”
This got a response, and not an altogether positive one. Clearly, everyone had been expecting an easing of sorts into the new semester. But partners?
“People,” Ms. Hernandez said with a sigh. “This isn’t prom. Just turn to the person beside you or behind you and introduce yourself.”
A groan from the back, and then people started shifting around and talking. I was on the end of a row, so I turned to face the guy in the green T-shirt, hoping he hadn’t already turned to his left. He had not. In fact, he was sitting there, his face expectant.
“Colin Frisbee,” he said, sticking out his hand. He had a very clean-cut look to him, even features, perfect teeth. “And you are?”
“Finley,” I said, feeling my face flush. “Hope.”
“Finley and Colin,” he repeated. “We sound like a singer-songwriter duo. Can you carry a tune?”
“Um,” I said. “No.”
“I’m not great either. Guess we better stick to history, huh?” And with that, he grinned at me. Not smiled, butgrinned, and until I met Colin I honestly hadn’t realized there was much of a difference. But it was obvious the way this simple thing lit up both his whole face and, I was embarrassed to admit, my heart. Yowza. Later, I’d hear a million stories about Colin and his grin, how as a baby and kid everyone commented on it, the way itensured he never met a stranger, one of many things making him a “born politician!” his dad would say. But at that moment, I thought that grin was mine alone. And I liked that.
“Okay,” Ms. Hernandez said. “Next, grab a piece of paper and a pen. I’m going to mark ten minutes on the clock. When I say go, I want you to list all fifty states.”
Now one of the laptop girls, who had straight black hair and glasses, did raise her hand. “Ms. Hernandez, is this a competition?”
“It is. First team to get all the states within the time limit gets extra-credit points.”
“Do you really think that’s wise? That everyone here can, you know, handle it?”
There was a flurry of laughter, although I wasn’t exactly sure of the joke myself. Then I realized Ms. Hernandez was smiling, looking at my partner.
“Colin? Can you do this without having a breakdown?” she asked.
“No,” the other laptop girl said, and snorted.
“That was last year,” Colin said, but it was clear he was in on the joke, that this was a thing. “And, I might add, a possibly biased call on the part of the official.”
“I was the official,” Ms. Hernandez said, “and it was the wrong answer.”
“Last year!”Colin said again, and everyone laughed. “I’m a new man now. Please proceed.”
“Competitive Colin,” the laptop girl with glasses added. “We’ll all be praying for your partner, poor thing.”
