Chapter 23
The remainder of September folds into October.
This is when Lake Placid’s majesty boasts its unyielding resplendence.
Tourists come for leaf-peeping, cotton sweatshirts are traded for plush cashmere sweaters and wool coats and fleece-lined leggings, and students enjoy the final weeks of outdoor hikes and lazy walks before the first snowfall.
Delicate woodsmoke and undercurrents of rich clove and spiced cardamom bake the air, and the dining hall offers warm cider after dinner as a seasonal treat.
Everyone finds a rhythm in their routines.
Myself included. Study sessions with Analiese become few and far between, mostly due to her dedication to the paper and my “engineering project” with Sumner, though I haven’t shared my latest revelation with him or Lionel.
It’s not that I doubt wishing might reverse this, it’s that I know Sumner won’t buy it.
And I’m not ready to hear about all the ways I’m wrong.
We’ve collected almost every part we’ll need for the isoborometer with one exception, which led to Sumner asking Hailey for a favor.
Her mother works at an aerospace parts manufacturer and agreed to ship us a specific durable and heat-resistant spring.
And with Lionel’s laptop back up and running, we discover we can get away with engineering the base—even though Sumner still believes we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
Once classes end, Sabine, Inessa, and I throw ourselves into community outreach to spread the word about our fundraiser sponsorships.
We personally phone alumni to alert them of Ivernia’s dilemma and the purpose of the gala, then ensure we have their updated address in order to send them an invitation.
We keep track of growing interest and promised donations from alumni who can’t attend but want to contribute.
Every time, William has the most money raised. I think the accent wins them over.
It wins me over, too.
Mrs. Vidar-Tett seems impressed with our effort.
Outside of gala prep, she helps me polish my essays for UPenn and other universities that feel within acceptance reach.
We’ve selected backups in case I want to review my choices come spring, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I won’t change my mind.
I shipped Mads a care package a couple of weeks ago, but I decide to send another full of her favorite candy and chips and a body spray I know she loves.
She texts me three hearts but doesn’t answer when I call.
Jared tells me not to worry, she’s busy, but it stings.
We’ve never been too busy for each other.
Inessa and Sabine invite me to sit with them at dinner most evenings, which works out since Analiese has continued to eat with her newspaper crew, and I listen as Inessa enthusiastically talks about MIT while Sabine daydreams about the University of Paris.
I try not to worry that UPenn doesn’t drum up the same amount of passion for me.
Inside jokes between us develop, as do occasional movie nights crammed in Sabine’s room, and it’s in those moments I feel the edges of my grief soften.
I find excuses to grow closer to William, and I suspect he does the same for me. He sends me very direct texts that say things like, “Your presence eases my mind and alights me from the inside” or “I often find myself getting lost in your smile.” I blush every time I read them.
We’ll walk along the outer loop after dinner, meandering until the tips of our noses are frozen and our throats ache from talking, and then we’ll defrost over tea in the Segner commons.
William is very serious about his tea, I learned, gasping in earnest when I’d diluted mine with too much milk, leading to an emphatic lecture on proper ratios.
There’s always a certain sheen in his eyes, a wild excitement when he speaks.
He now has a favorite corner in the library and knows the fastest way to all his classes.
Somehow, he’s also stepped into a brand-new wardrobe.
Fitted tweed sweaters and relaxed pants and thick knitted vests tugged over soft button-downs, sleeves rolled to his elbows when we’re not braving the cold.
“How are you affording this?” I ask one evening.
The soft skin around William’s eyes crinkles as he smiles. “I’ve ensured I have a stipend to afford what I need.” He stops. Tips his head toward the sky. “I could live like this, Delaney. I truly believe I could.”
And hope sings within me, because what if it were possible?
We could make a deal with Enzo and William could graduate and go on to continue his studies in whatever field he imagines.
His life could belong to him here. An open exploration of choices, all of them his.
Is there harm in that? Belonging here instead?
I imagine scenarios where it’s conceivable, diving so deep into this daydream I have to force myself back into reality during class.
Even though we’re on opposite sides of the room, I swear Sumner catches me in a daze during history.
But when I glance over, I find him with his chin in his palm, elbows on the desk, eyes focused on Mr. Whelehan.
This is usually the only time I see him outside of Danforth’s room or the dining hall, where he enters with the horde of crew guys post-practice.
“What’d you get?” he’ll ask me every time we get a quiz passed back to us before lunch.
“Worried?”
“Never. The ranking tells all, Carmichael.”
He’s managed to knock me back to twenty-one. I’d nudged my way up, but the following week we swapped once again. It means nothing—except it does. He’s made it mean something. His teasing lilt eggs me on, igniting a longing to best him.
Now it’s Friday and Lionel and I are in the Forgotten Lounge, since Danforth’s room has been commandeered by the chess club.
Sumner enters a few minutes later, nodding our way.
His maroon sweater has a new hole forming in the elbow, which I notice when he leans a cracked whiteboard against the wall.
“I know a whiteboard hates to see you coming.”
“Yeah, well, it helps my thoughts feel less like a gigantic run-on sentence.” His hand palms the back of his neck. “Visualizing relaxes my brain.”
My eyes drop to his hands. They’re free of ink and equations.
Sumner notices my noticing. “Didn’t want teachers to think I was cheating.”
Lionel spreads his fingers across the janky desk we found.
Last week we’d welded the base of the isoborometer, complete with rivulets closely resembling a moat in order to secure the copper wire.
Sumner refused to help and instead attempted to crack the unresolved equations.
William and Lionel are careful not to take sides, alternating tasks and sidestepping around us like we are two bombs threatening to detonate around each other.
As Sumner scrawls on the board, Lionel double-checks the 3D rendering on his laptop.
I lose track of time as we carefully secure the wiring.
The next time I look up, Sumner’s taken up half the whiteboard with his equations and an hour’s already past. William’s punctual to a fault. He should be here by now.
“Where’s your roommate?”
“Carmichael, I am not his keeper.” Sumner only has eyes for the board in front of him. “Free will allows him to do as he pleases.”
When my eyes meet Lionel’s, he lifts one shoulder in a shrug.
I pull an armchair toward the desk, more spring than cushion, and sit as Lionel turns back to his laptop.
I open my dad’s journal and dip my gaze toward his handwriting, only I can’t concentrate when my mind keeps drifting toward William. It’s embarrassing, really.
The Expo marker’s light tapping pauses. “Can I read it if you’re not going to?”
Palpable irritation singes holes in my patience. “I am reading.”
“You’re not.” He says this assuredly, giving me an appraising look. “You get a concentration line between your brows when you’re actually focused.”
He’d noticed that? I can’t read the expression on his face because he’s already turned back to the board.
There are no new messages on my phone. I’m about to text William to ask where he’s gone when the door opens.
“Apologies,” he says as it closes behind him. He’s carrying a haphazardly frosted white cake. “Happy birthday, Delaney.”
My heart expands. He’d joined us for dinner the other day when Sabine mentioned my birthday.
It’s tomorrow, but I wanted to let it pass quietly.
Because it’s the first one without my dad, the grief thickens like hardening paste when I think about it for too long.
I’d already asked Mr. Kovacs if I could access the lab for a weekend session.
I expected him to say no, but he’d agreed. So that’s what I’d planned on doing.
Lionel perks up. “Is that cake?”
“We’re not allowed to have food outside the dining hall,” I say, but even I can hear the smile in my voice.
William sets it on the desk. “I happen to be very convincing.”
Lionel begins to sing “Happy Birthday,” much to William’s bemusement, which is when we collectively discover he predates this specific tradition. After a short rundown, he joins in, adding an extravagant little bow after the final line is sung. It is—unsurprisingly—charming.
Lionel’s peering at the dessert like a dog salivating over an entire roasted turkey. An airy laugh releases between my teeth. “Help yourself.” He doesn’t need to be told twice.
Sumner inches closer to me, a hand tugging the back of his hair, as William does his best to cut through the layers with a plastic knife. I pass Sumner a fork.
His eyes shoot down to the ground. “It’s okay.”
“I know you’re not about to pass on my birthday cake,” I chide as Lionel scoops a gigantic bite into his mouth.