The Promise Page 3

“It’s Friday night!” one of the other girls protested.

  “I know, but I signed up for a Saturday lab skills class.” Tess shrugged. “And my TA reams you out if you show up even a minute late.”

  “So don’t show, skip the whole thing.”

  “And have him think I’m a quitter?” Tessa shot back. “No way.”

  The girl shook her head, lips quirking in an admiring smile. “You’re a machine.”

  “Damn straight.” Tessa raised her plastic cup. “What else are we here for?”

  The guys laughed. “Beer, women, glory.”

  “You wish. How is Jessica?” And then they were off again, whip-smart, jostling like puppies as the party pressed in around us, dense and packed with bodies and noise.

  I’d never been a pack animal like this. Back home, I had my friends, sure, a group of girls I’d known since second grade, and the art kids who hung out every lunchtime in the ramshackle back building that served as a studio—cluttered with ceramics and easels, and the old boom box that Donavan Kline was always trying to commandeer to play his dreary old mixtapes of the Smiths and the Libertines. But I’d never belonged like Tessa clearly belonged here. Cliques always carried too much drama, too many fragile tempers to navigate, shifting loyalties and unspoken slights. I was content to drift between them, watching from a safe distance as the tides of high school shifted with group trips and hashtagged photos, #squadgoals and all. I never quite belonged to anything, anyone, or felt that do-or-die fierce connection when you know you’ve found your people, your family, your certain place in the world.

  Until Hope, of course.

  “Where are the snacks in this place?” Tessa finally asked, looking around. “I require care and feeding!”

  She was tipsy now, a giggling, happy drunk.

  “I saw some chips in the kitchen, I think,” I offered.

  She groaned, but didn’t move. I laughed. “I’ll go. Want anything particular?”

  “Just bring me carbs. All the carbs!”

  I left them and ducked my way through the crowd. It had mellowed a little, a low-key hip-hop soundtrack smoothing the raucous yells to a happy hum. People were three drinks in, dancing more, leaning closer to their dates and slipping off away from the main party, hand-in-hand. I saw Jamie in the corner, gesturing widely as he talked with another girl. He caught my eye and arched his eyebrow, but I just smiled and kept on moving.

  You’re not looking for Mr. Right, Hope would have scolded me, just Mr. Right Now, but I blocked the memory of her voice and headed for the kitchen, finding a bag of chips and some half-eaten jarred dip, and a bag of red licorice sticks, too, the kind I hadn’t eaten since I was a kid.

  The back door was partly open. A pair of feet were visible, stretched out on the porch: worn brown boots and the fraying cuffs of a pair of navy corduroy pants.

  I felt that sick shiver again, a lurch of anticipation.

  I don’t know how I knew it was him. Looking back, I told myself it was wishful thinking, but when I pushed the door wider and stepped out into the still darkness of the porch and saw Theo sitting there, it felt like a gift. That the universe had taken my wild longings and bundled them up in a neat package, cross-legged on the dusty ground peeling a label from his bottle of untouched beer.

  The two of us were alone.

  “Hey.” My voice caught in my throat.

  He looked up, the dim light casting shadows across his jaw as his face smoothed into a surprised smile. “What are you doing here?” Theo paused. “I mean, you’re not a student, are you? Kelsey said . . .”

  He stopped, and my heart did too at the thought he’d been talking about me at all.

  “No.” I managed to speak again. “My roommate is.”

  I ignored the wild dance in my stomach and took another step towards him, closing the door behind me. The noise of the party receded, replaced by a hum of traffic and the chilled breeze, but I didn’t feel the cold. All I felt was the force field around him, those magnetic few feet of electricity ricocheting around his casually folded body.

  “Are you?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “A student?”

  He nodded. “Graduate school. Poetry.”

  “The Wordsworth,” I realized.

  He nodded, with a bashful kind of smile. “That’s about all it’s useful for. If I could make a living quoting at people, I’d be set.”

  “Art doesn’t need to be useful. It’s beautiful, that’s all it’s supposed to be.”

  Theo looked at me again, and if I could have paused time right then, I would have: suspended in the reflection of his clear blue eyes, that daybreak light of recognition, like he was seeing me clearly for the first time.

  “Tell that to my student loan officer,” he finally said with a wry smile.

  I joined him on the porch floor, facing him with my back to the wooden railings, twisting my bracelet around my wrist. It was a pale blue band, with ‘HOPE’ embossed into the rubber; she’d always loved the irony, but even now there was none left for her, I couldn’t take it off. “So what are you doing down here?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Just taking a break. It gets kind of . . . chaotic in there.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m going to be carrying Tessa home at this rate. She’s my roommate,” I added, but it felt disloyal. “Not like she’s wasted, she’s just . . . small.”

  Theo nodded slowly. I cringed. What happened to the girl who was flirting so easily with Jamie earlier? Mysterious and aloof.

  Why was it so much easier to talk to a man when he didn’t matter at all?

  “Are those nacho flavor?” Theo looked to the bag crumpled beside me.

  I checked. “Salt and vinegar.”

  He winced, but reached his hand outstretched all the same and took a handful. “What do they put in these to make them so addictive?”

  “Crack, probably.”

  He laughed, caught by surprise, and sent chip fragments spraying over the both of us. “Shit, I’m sorry. And for swearing too,” he added, recovering. “I’m trying to stop.”

  “It’s OK.” I watched him brush crumbs off his shirt, a look of faint embarrassment on his gorgeous face, and my nerves eased, just a little. He was human, after all.

  “Mika has a swear jar at work,” I added, reaching over to take a handful of chips too. “Everyone has to put in a dollar if we catch each other. They’re all filthy. Kelsey’s out, like, twenty bucks since I arrived.”

  “You only just moved to town?” Theo looked up at me.

  I nodded. “A few weeks ago.”

  I didn’t say anything more, and he didn’t ask either. “How do you like Wired?” he asked instead.

  I couldn’t help but smile. “I love it. Everyone’s so . . . so much themselves. We get hundreds of people through every day, and I get to watch them all.”

  “You’re a writer.”

  “No. Why’d you say that?”

  He looked bashful. “Writers like to pay attention, watch people. Eavesdrop.”

  “Do you?”

  “Maybe.” Theo’s expression relaxed, the trace of a smile edging on his mouth. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “So why do you like to watch?”

  I paused. My answer was important, somehow, and I struggled to find the right way to say it, convey the tangled threads that had knotted together in my mind this year. “I guess it feels like I’ve spent my whole life in a bubble,” I said quietly. “My small town, we knew pretty much everyone. I knew every day would be like the last one, but here, there’s a . . . possibility. It’s unpredictable. This is the real world.”

  The words felt so familiar in my mouth, because they were the ones I’d hurled at my parents all those times, fighting for them to let me leave. They thought their neat, safe little streets and familiar horizons were real, and I guess they were, but not enough for me. Not anymore.

  Theo took a sip of his beer. He was watching me thoughtfully, and even though it made my pulse trip on dizzy footsteps just to look strai
ght at him, I managed to meet his careful gaze.

  Oh.

  I looked away, I couldn’t help it. My skin was hot, my whole body effervescent just beneath the surface. I’d never felt this off-kilter, not in all my nineteen years. I’d wanted unpredictable. I’d craved possibilities. But this? It was too much, and not enough, all at once.

  “Do you—?” Theo’s next question was drowned out by the sudden rush of noise from the party again. The door swung open, and just like that, the moment of the two of us was over.

  “Theo! What are you doing hiding out here?”

  It was a girl, slim and tall in jeans and a cuffed, men’s white button-down. Her dark hair was sleek, falling in a smooth waterfall around her inquisitive face; red lips smoothing in a friendly smile as she saw me sitting with him on the floor. “Oh, hi.”

  “This is Claire.” Theo tilted his head up to her, but didn’t move.

  “Nice to meet you, Claire.” The girl stepped closer, then rested her hand on Theo’s head, her fingers slipping to stroke through the dark blonde tufts. “They’re heading to Becky’s now,” she added to him. “We could stay, or bail, it’s up to you.”

  Shame pounded, hot in my ears. Of course he belonged to someone. Of course he had a girl like this: sweet and effortlessly stylish.

  I scrambled to my feet. Theo looked surprised. “You don’t have to—”

  “It’s OK, I’m heading home anyway.” I forced a bright voice. “See you around.”

  I pushed back inside, found Tessa and my jacket, but all the while, the image stayed burned in my mind: her fingers so casually tousling his hair. The intimacy of it took my breath away.

  Imagine, having the right to do that, without a second thought.

  “Are you sure?” Tessa’s voice was even louder now, when I told her I was leaving. “The party’s just getting good!”

  “I’m sure.” I checked her flushed cheeks and unsteady grin. “What about you? Will you get home OK?”

  “Don’t worry,” one of the other girls answered for her. “We’ve got a designated driver, and she can crash at my place if she needs.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey, we look out for each other.” She paused. “You’re not walking, are you?”

  “I can get a cab,” I lied. “Have fun!”

  I slipped out of the front door, pulling my jacket on against the night air. The street was still well-lit and busy with the trail of weekend revelers; there was no need to spend half a day’s wages on a cab ride home, I decided, so I set out retracing our route here, back along fraternity row, past the lumbering houses full of their own bright lights and deep bass notes.

  “Claire!”

  I was almost at the corner when I heard my name being called. I turned. It was Theo, jogging slightly to catch up with me, bundled in his coat again, with a navy scarf trailing loose around his neck.

  I froze, watching him come closer, back to me.

  “I thought that was you.” He grinned as he drew level. “Are you walking? Which direction? It’s pretty late.”

  “No, I’m fine.” I waved away his concern. “It’s not far.”

  “It’s no trouble. I’m going anyway.” He waited, stubborn on the sidewalk. I took a shivering breath.

  “OK. Thanks.”

  I started walking again, and this time, he fell into step beside me. Our footsteps crunched on the cold concrete, and I tried to think of something more to say. But every thought I had was smothered by the looming presence of the dark-haired girl back at the party, she with her perfect red lipstick and confident smile, touching him like he was hers. Had he left her with their friends? Was she meeting him, later?

  “That was Brianna,” Theo said at last through our silence. “At the party.”

  “She seems . . . nice,” I managed.

  “Uh huh. We’re in a seminar together, on Renaissance poetry.” Theo took another few steps. “We’re not . . . I mean, she isn’t . . .”

  His words trailed into the city hum, but they were enough to make my delicate hopes take flight again as I silently filled in the blanks.

  We’re not together. She’s not my girlfriend.

  Or maybe this was just more of my wishful thinking. I bit back any response, and instead, looked around, grasping for safer ground.

  “It’s busy out.”

  Lame.

  “Weekends get that way. Well, any night during the semester,” Theo corrected himself. A group of guys hustled past us in a boisterous pack, and we both had to sidestep quickly out of the fray.

  Theo placed a steadying hand on my back. The imprint seemed to burn through my fleece-lined jacket, like I could feel his palm on my bare skin beneath.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, when they were past. His hand dropped.

  “Where are you heading?”

  I gave him the cross streets, and he nodded. “This way will be quicker,” he said, then veered on a pathway leading across the park. Even though it was lit with the glow from old-style iron streetlights, I would never have taken it alone.

  “How long have you been here?” I asked, slowing my pace. I wanted this to last, to savor every moment with him alone.

  “My whole life.”

  There was a note in his voice that made me look over.

  “Not here,” he clarified. “Over the river, in Boston. South End. Have you been?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know where that is,” I confessed. “I haven’t even been over yet, I’ve been so busy exploring around Cambridge.”

  “I forgot.” He smiled at me. “You’re still brand new.”

  I wished it was true. To be bright-eyed and naïve like the freshman I saw cluttering the coffee shop every afternoon. My heart felt older than all of them, wizened, the bark peeling and hardened from the bitterness I fought so hard to keep at bay.

  But Theo saw none of that. I inhaled a crisp breath, and I felt the freedom in that simple act. To him, I was a blank canvas, and he was to me too, in his way. Box-fresh and waiting for the first bright strokes, just like this city, this life I’d managed to conjure out of Hope’s scrawled commandments and my own last resolve.

  The miracle of it hit me all over again, and I couldn’t hold back the laugh that slipped, joyful from my throat.

  Theo looked at me. “What?”

  “Nothing, just . . .” My smile spread wider, and I spread my arms to take it all in: the distant hum of a strange city, the shadowed moon and the clouded stars. Even the wind felt different to the dry desert breeze back home. “I can’t believe I’m really here.” I marveled again, flooded with the feeling. “A month ago I was locked in this ordinary life, in the same room, going through the same motions, everything all planned out. Every day exactly like the last. God, I could have told you how the rest of my entire life would have played out until the day I died, but now . . . now there’s no rulebook anymore.”

  Theo grinned at me. I didn’t care if he thought I was acting crazy right now, he didn’t understand.

  But Hope had. This was what she wanted for me, and it was a fucking waste she wasn’t here to taste it all, too.

  “Isn’t it amazing?” I grinned. “We’re adults. We could stay out all night if we wanted, eat nothing but hot dogs and waffles all day long, and nobody can tell us otherwise.”

  He smiled, but kept walking. “I hate to burst your bubble, but it doesn’t stay fun forever.”

  “Killjoy,” I laughed. “When did you get so jaded?”

  Theo shrugged, but he didn’t reply. There it was again, the faint shadow drifting over the conversation, the same pause I’d seen back at the café. But he must have sensed it showing, because Theo quickly pointed. “Have you tried Jhandi yet?”

  “No, what is it?” Past the park was a brightly lit food truck, with a cluster of students hanging around outside.

  “Only the best late-night food around.” Theo’s smile returned. “You hungry?”

  “Hungry is my default setting.”

  He la
ughed again, and changed our course, heading over to join the line. “The noodles are best, and the sticky rice.” I reached for my wallet as we approached the window, but he waved it away. “No, I’ve got this.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Consider it my tip, all those coffees you’ve been making.” He flashed me another smile, and it was enough to silence me into submission as he ordered for us both. Moments later, they passed down two steaming Styrofoam cartons, wafting the scent of ginger and spices into the air. I realized for the first time how hungry I was; I hadn’t eaten anything except those chips since lunch, at least.

  I took a plastic fork and dug in, a mouthful of exotic flavors hitting me, hot and smoky. “What is this?” I exclaimed.

  “I don’t even know, I just know it’s good,” Theo replied, mouth full. We moved off to the side, shoveling food inelegantly into our mouths. “He showed up one day last year; now he’s got a cult following. You can track him online,” he added, “but you never know where he’s going to be next.”

  “Like a scavenger hunt.”

  “Exactly.”

  We ate in silence, leaning against a wall, until I’d demolished the whole carton. I tossed the styrofoam into a nearby trash can and looked around. There was a group of students gathered nearby, dressed up to the nines in formal suits and ties. They looked so out of place in the brash neon truck lights, the girls all in elegant cocktail dresses that swished around their bare legs as they huddled together for warmth.

  Theo followed my gaze. “They’re from the college,” he said. “One of the supper clubs, probably. They like to have formal events, invite-only. It’s a whole thing, their version of a fraternity, only even more secretive.”

  I didn’t need to ask which college. The red-brick towers of Harvard loomed over Cambridge, and even out of sight from the manicured campus you could feel its reach. The country’s best and brightest, crammed together in a few city blocks, ready to shape their minds—and soon, the nation. Kelsey bitched about it, but there was a history, an elegance those gingerbread buildings leant to the town that I loved. Still, there was something unnerving about seeing so much privilege so casually strewn around: girls reaching into thousand-dollar leather bags to pay for their coffees without a blink, and guys you knew would glide from private school dorms to cushy corporate jobs never knowing how it felt to come up short the day rent was due. But I couldn’t find it in myself to be jealous of their soft hands and plump bank accounts. I’d been sheltered too, I know, my parents over-protective and anxious to keep a safe layer of cotton-wool between their precious baby girl and the harsh world beyond.