2. Will
WILL
Iwhistle the second I catch sight of the library.
“What?” Ma asks. “What is it? Tell me.”
I laugh, imagining her at the kitchen table with the phone pressed tight against her ear. The smell of pot roast cooking in the oven, the sound of my little sister and brother playing—or fighting with hockey sticks—in the yard.
I describe my surroundings to her in as much detail as possible.
“It’s like a big … castle.”
Okay, so English Lit was never my strongest subject. I’ve always been better with numbers. Ma sighs regardless.
“Grey brick, arrowhead arches ...” I go on despite the fact I know she’s probably Googled this shit. Every inch of Princeton and its surrounding architecture is probably bookmarked in her favorites. Like it is in mine.
Her voice has a faraway, dreamy quality when she speaks again. “Is it everything you imagined, honey?”
I get a lump in my throat and swallow it down. I’ve just barely left Boston, it’s too early to be getting homesick. “Yeah. It is.”
“I’m so proud of you. We all are.”
I don’t know how much of this praise and admiration I can take before that lump comes back. “Thanks, Ma. I’d better go. Don’t wanna get shushed by a librarian on my first visit.”
“Go,” she says. I imagine her standing from the table, wiping her hands down on her jeans. “I’ve got dinner on anyway. Have fun, and don’t forget to eat!”
“I won’t, Ma. Love you.”
“I love you, too, hon.”
The second I hang up, this fear surfaces and I have to remind myself that she’s not going anywhere. The doctors said as much the last time she went in for a check-up after the cancer went into remission. She’s as strong as an ox this woman. She’ll be sticking around awhile.
She’s fine. And she wants me to be here.
Still, I have to push down the guilt at leaving them. I was so scared I’d never see her again. Then as soon as she’s better, I just leave?
No. I square my shoulders and look at my student ID, just to remind myself where I am.
I’m at fucking Princeton University. Finally, after years of hard work. After all my parents’ sacrifices. All for this moment. I have to do this. For me, yeah.
But also for them.
There’s a list of essential reading on the course website I want to get my hands on today. I did look at how much the books would be to buy—even secondhand, they were pricey. I hope no one’s taken them out already. If I’m gonna catch up with my future classmates, I need to get a head start now.
Boston College is a great school, and I got a top-notch education there for sure.
But I also had to play competitive hockey to fulfill my athletic scholarship and keep up with all the social aspects that come with being part of a team.
Some of the other grad students will probably be the sort of people who did nothing but study so they could get straight As in undergrad.
It would be nice to be able to focus just on studying in grad school, for a change, but I’ll still have to work.
Two part-time jobs, actually. One of my part-time jobs here is helping out the equipment assistants at the hockey rink.
I like that I’ll still be close to hockey, but I won’t have to play, and that’s going to free up so much time.
These next two years are all about studying. No distractions. Just a lot of hard work and getting one step closer to that future where I can take care of my parents for a change, the way they’ve always taken care of me.
The second I step inside the library, I’m overwhelmed by the fact I’m finally at Princeton. You can practically smell the prestige. BC’s library was huge, too, but this one is unfamiliar.
Holy shit. How the fuck am I supposed to find anything in here? Okay, relax. I know the Dewey Decimal System like the back of my hand, no need to panic.
I let myself wander, trying not to look out of place and probably failing.
It’s another two weeks before most courses start for the new semester.
I spot a few wide-eyed kids—probably freshmen—milling around, looking just as lost as I feel.
I hope at least that my age lends me an air of authority.
I’ve got to start practicing for the cut-throat world of finance, where confidence is fifty-percent of the battle.
There’s a hush in the air that makes my fingertips tingle. The tap of laptop keys and the scrape of pens against notebooks—the sounds of learning.
I take it in, inhale it, enjoy it. It took a long time and a lot of detours to get here, but I’ve finally done it.
I manage to find the section I’m looking for after getting lost a few times. My stomach’s grumbling now. I push past it and make my way down the aisle.
Someone else comes down the aisle from the other side, but I take no notice. I’m busy studying the titles on the spines, trying to find the biggest—and most expensive—book on the essential reading list.
My gaze lands on the title I’m looking for and I reach out to take it, relief soaring through my veins at the knowledge I won’t have to try and find a way to buy it. My fingertips have just grazed the spine when it’s yanked from the shelf.
“Excuse me,” I say, turning to the guy holding the book. The second I look at him, I can tell he belongs here. Like he might have been born in the anthropology section or something. He’s wearing a tailored suit, for fuck’s sake. I get a waft of overpowering, obviously expensive cologne.
He’s just standing there, still studying the books, like he hasn’t just snatched that one straight from my hand. “Excuse me,” I say again.
He throws me a bored glance, “What?”
I blink a few times. Is this guy for real?
“What?” I raise my voice. It comes out too loud. I swallow, reminding myself I’m in a library. I’m not on the ice now, I should know this. There are different ways to speak to different types of people. I can be civilized. I’m civilized as fuck.
“I was about to grab that book.”
I gesture to the heavy book pressed against his chest, along with a stack of others. I narrow my eyes. Some of the titles on the spines look familiar. Are those all the books on the essential reading list?
My blood boils, but I’m still of the belief that diplomacy is king here.
He shrugs, pulling another book from the shelf. “Looks like you weren’t fast enough.”
I spit out a childish sound, but hold my tongue. It’s getting harder not to resort to brute force.
“I touched it first.”
One side of his mouth quirks in a smile.
“We don’t operate under the dibs policy here.”
He says ‘dibs’ like it’s a foreign concept.
I count to ten in my head to calm myself down.
It’s obvious he can afford to just go out and buy every one of those library books he’s clutching to his chest. Why is he in here, stealing them from someone who needs them, like me?
And then it hits me: so no one else can have them. This son of a bitch.
“Listen, you can’t just come in here and take out every book on the reading list.”
“Why not? Isn’t that what you were trying to do?”
“What? No, I was just …” Was it? “I just want that one.”
The others I might be able to find elsewhere at an affordable price. But that book is the most expensive and the most essential. I need that book.
“Maybe you should get here earlier next time. Or learn the Dewey Decimal System, it really is a lot faster to—”
“I know the Dewey Decimal System,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Really? Because you were studying those spines for a while before you found—”
“You were watching me?”
He shrugs and turns away, like this conversation is boring him. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve got my hand on his shoulder and I’m turning him back around.
He looks down at my hand. His eyebrow quirks. Fuck. I let him go, quickly. The last thing I need is some legacy student with lawyer parents accusing me of assault and getting me kicked out of school before I’ve even started.
“Sorry, I—”
“Forget it,” he says with a smirk. “Let’s just chalk this up to experience, yes?”
Smug prick. I take a deep breath through my nose and feel my nostrils flare. Desperation rushes through me.
I could just explain that I can’t afford to buy that book, or any of the others, and appeal to his human side.
But something tells me he probably doesn’t have a human side.
Plus, the last thing I want is to advertise my weaknesses to people like him.
If he’s taking out all the same books on my syllabus, he’s taking my course.
He probably knows everyone and has a special relationship with the professor.
His parents probably dine with her at the country club.
I need to show people I fit in here, not remind them that I don’t.
“Fine,” I say with a huff. “Take the books.”
“I was planning to,” he says before turning and walking down the aisle like he hasn’t just taken a huge fucking sledgehammer to my day.