Chapter 34
In the lounge, we’re told the rules remain enforced except for a few changes.
Faculty residents will retire at six instead of ten.
The system can tell if we’ve scanned into our rooms, so we’re expected to turn in by ten thirty each evening and scan in for breakfast at nine.
The kitchen will be closed all day on Thanksgiving, except the cold bar, but Ivernia has placed a dinner order from a local restaurant for us to enjoy.
Most importantly, a list of on-campus faculty will be posted in our common rooms in case we need anything.
There are about a dozen students from various years spending break here, including William and, unexpectedly, Lionel. After, as the four of us walk to the Forgotten Lounge, I pull up alongside him.
“You stayed.”
Lionel offers me a tired smile. “You’re my team.”
He says it lightly, but there’s a deepening concern in his eyes. As if he’s contemplated all he has to lose.
We work together until curfew, scan into our respective bedrooms, then sneak out the unmonitored back exits to regroup in the Segner commons.
I leave pencils wedged in the doors so I can return without re-alerting the system, and Sumner lets me in through the locker room so I don’t have to finagle the handle.
We continue to make silent calculations until the early hours of the morning.
He eventually falls asleep with the dry-erase marker in his hand, chin slumped toward his chest. Lionel’s already passed out on the couch, both legs flung over one of the arms.
William beckons me with a nod, and I follow him through the locker room. He pauses when we reach the exit.
“Would you care for a short walk?”
I tell him yes, so he removes his journal from his coat pocket, using it to keep the door ajar. Once it’s secure, we wander into the night.
A thin layer of snow sticks to the ground, twiggy blades of grass poking from underneath.
Glittering stars blink above us as an invigorating chill rolls off the mountains.
Winter has never been my favorite season, with the early draining daylight squeezed from the sky and the frozen death nature can’t escape, but I appreciate its softness tonight.
The way the snow has dulled the sharp edges.
“We’ve been preoccupied with our current conundrum,” he begins, “but I wanted to ensure you’ve remained unburdened by our previous history.”
I almost laugh. “Lord William,” I say teasingly. “Were you a bit of a heartbreaker?”
“I do say, I should be the one asking you this. As for myself, never intentionally,” he insists, and this time I actually laugh. “Courtship wasn’t my highest priority, as you know, though it was encouraged by my family.”
“Well, I remain unburdened. And I don’t regret any of the time we’ve spent together.” I playfully nudge his arm with my elbow. “I’m grateful for your friendship.”
“As am I.”
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 his overachiever? And Mads was his performer.” My smile fades. “And I was the 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—and how.
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?
That last thought gives me the courage to interrupt. I wander to room seventeen and gently rap my knuckles against the door. When there’s no answer, I try again. A little louder this time.
“Did you lose your badge again—” Sumner’s saying as he yanks the door open, then, “Oh, hey.” He widens the door to let me in. “I lost track of time.”
He’s changed into his soft gray Henley, sleeves pushed to his elbows to reveal inked equations on smooth skin. The sight is so familiar it could be my own personal anchoring point.
I pause at the threshold. It’s clean. A complete one-eighty from Halloween.
Crew necks and sweaters are put away on hangers in his open-facing closet.
Textbooks are stacked in tidy rows on his side of the desk.
There’s nothing on the floor—no trash or balled-up papers or even crumbs for that matter.
His bed is made, a forest-green comforter hugging all four corners of the mattress, and a scent that’s so uniquely him, earthy and spiced and faintly sweet like warm amber, clings to every inch of the space.
“I can see the floor.”
He’s rolling his desk chair toward me. An offering. “Quite an achievement for you,” he deadpans. “Were you looking for a round of applause? Or something more tangible, like a ribbon?”
“There is one trophy in particular I’m dying to get my hands on.”
A sly look crosses his face. “So that’s the real reason you’re here?”
“Obviously.” I’m desperate for an excuse.
“Rules, Carmichael,” he chides. “I do follow them, you know. And you know you won’t find it in here.”
I spin the desk chair around before taking a seat, if only to have something to do. I don’t know why I came. Other than having grown used to his constant presence.
Sumner kneels on his bed and examines his whiteboard.
“I asked some streamers in my math-geek community to see if they could make headway on the equations, but so far, I’ve got nothing substantial.
But we’re not giving up, Carmichael.” He twists around and tosses me a marker.
I catch it. “Because you and me? We don’t back down from a challenge. ”