“You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you were twelve years old. How is”—she glances down at my schedule—“archaeology going to help you get into law school?”
“I don’t think I’m going to go to law school,” I say, and whoa, does that feel like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I managed to tell my best friend I’ve changed my mind, and I didn’t explode from shame.
Now if I could only work up the guts to tell my mother.
“Is this a quarter-life crisis?” Madison demands.
“Sure.” I shrug; it’s as good an explanation as any. It’s not like I can tell her the truth—that if anything, this is asecond-lifecrisis.
The first time around, I saw college as a means to an end. It was just something I had to get through in order to get to the “real life” I had always dreamed of. If I studied hard enough and got great internships, all would be okay—and it was, in a sense. After college, I immediately started law school, and the summer before 3L, the company I was interning at told me they’d hire me as soon as I graduated.
And then I worked.
I worked almost nonstop for years. On weekends, I took my cases home. It was not a dream life. In the last couple of years, the near-constant work started to catch up to me, burnout set in, and I began to wonder ifmaybe there was a better way to live. But by that time, I was on a hamster wheel that wouldn’t stop spinning.
Being back in this dorm room, with a dozen Harry Styleses smiling down at me, is surreal. For the first time in years, I can breathe. Fifteen hours of class a week.Fifteen. As opposed to the sixty- to seventy-hour workweeks I averaged in corporate law.
I’m a college student. My only responsibility is to learn.
I plan on taking full advantage of that privilege.
So, yeah, I’m going to take archaeology and film classes and anything else that strikes my fancy. I’ll wait to declare a major, and even after I do, I might mix it up and switch if the whim strikes. It’s not like exploring my options means law school is out—I bet I could still score high on the LSAT if I decide to pursue that.
And besides, I’m not going to betotallyfiscally irresponsible. Once Madison returns to getting ready and starts talking about how she got the job at the library—I pretend to be surprised—I do a Google search to find where Bitcoin is at, then invest every penny I have in it. At some point in 2020, Bitcoin will skyrocket to sixty thousand a share, and over a hundred thousand in 2024. I know this.
I’ve just used all my money to buy a hundred Bitcoins… holyhell, I’m rich.
At least, I will be in eight years.
It’s only once I’ve crashed from that high that I remember pesky things like having to buy basic necessities rightnow, in the present.
I should probably get a part-time job.
My new first class today is Intro to Film at eleven a.m. I arrive at the room early, and to my surprise, who is there but Alex fucking Aquino.
I freeze in the doorway. This cannot be happening. What the hell isAlex doing in a film class? He isn’t a film major. He double majored in business and computer science. Iknowthis because we had most of our business classes together. Furthermore, it’s been written in every single profile on him since he made his first million.
Is he taking this as an elective? Did he start out as a film major and just never mention it?
Now that I think about it, that soundsexactlylike Alex. He’d never own up to a hiccup or misstep on his path to greatness.
Someone behind me clears her throat, and I awkwardly move to allow her to pass. There’s an empty seat right next to Alex. Should I sit next to him? It’ll be weird, but it would be weirder if I sat elsewhere.
It takes Alex a moment to register who just dropped into the seat next to him. A glance, then a second take, then—
“Joey? You’re not in this class,” he says, smiling. “Our date isn’t until Friday, you know.”
“I added it this morning.” I ignore his flirtation. “I didn’t realize you were enrolled.”
His smile widens. “Then today is my lucky day.”
“Are you a film major?” I say, feigning ignorance. “I thought you said something about computer science on Saturday.”
Lie. The only major we discussed was mine—when he advised me not to let my parents’ wishes dictate my life. But we spoke about so much, I’m betting he won’t call me on it.
Turns out to be a safe bet.
“I’m undeclared. But you’re right, I’m leaning toward computer science or maybe business.” He leans in close as if he’s about to tell me a secret and continues, “I don’t really talk about this—it’s kind of embarrassing—but I trust you, so I’ll let you in. I’ve always had this secret dream of becoming a movie director. So while computer scienceand business are the practical options, if I were a little braver, I might major in film.”
