In My Dreams I Hold a Knife(61)

I knew exactly what to do. I sat at my desk and booted up my computer, tapping impatiently as I waited for it to start. If my grandmother was right and my dad’s life had ground to a halt because of me, I had to show him I was worth it, make him proud, and live for both of us: Harvard for grad school, then Washington, with the important dealmakers. I’d go up, up, up, and I would take him with me. He wouldn’t have to end like this. I would give him one more wild and precious shot.

***

I waited until the last student left the lecture hall before I approached him. Dr. John Garvey, Duquette’s campus celebrity, its shining star economist. Double Harvard: Harvard undergrad, Harvard PhD. Economic advisor to two presidents, and the school’s pride and joy. His classes were nearly impossible to get into unless you’d declared an econ major, with the exception of Heather, who had gotten into his class last semester even though she was an English major, because that was the kind of luck she had.

Dr. Garvey was tall, with thick, dark hair that was starting to gray. He’d probably been handsome, in a professorial sort of way, when he was young. No student had ever seen him outside a well-pressed suit, bow tie knotted expertly around his neck.

He was gathering his papers, picking up his briefcase, preparing to leave. It was now or never. I clutched the application so hard I nearly bent it. The Duquette Post-Graduate Fellowship, informally known as the Duquette Fulbright. The fellowship awarded one senior per year a full ride to the graduate school of their choosing. And it nearly guaranteed, with that honor on your résumé, that you’d be accepted anywhere you applied. Even to an Ivy League school.

I wanted this more than I’d ever wanted anything. This was our last shot, my father’s and mine. I needed to wow the fellowship committee, and nothing would do that better than a recommendation letter from Dr. Garvey.

“You’re hovering,” he said, stuffing his papers in his briefcase.

I cleared my throat. “Um, Dr. Garvey, I wanted to ask you something.”

“So? Spit it out.”

Butterflies soared in my stomach. Timidly, I held out the application. “I’m applying for Duquette’s Post-Grad Fellowship, and I was hoping…since we’ve had four classes together and I’ve gotten A’s in all of them, and you wrote on my last paper that I had very sophisticated thinking… Well, I was hoping you would write me a recommendation letter.”

There. It was out.

He stopped packing his briefcase and looked up. Scanned me, head to toe. I forced myself to remain still, shoulders high.

“Remind me of your name.”

“Jessica Miller,” I managed to say, though my throat ached all of a sudden. “Jessica M.”

Dr. Garvey stood looking at me in silence for so long that I began to grow deeply uncomfortable. Sweat gathered at my neck. He was going to say no. Of course he was. It was humiliating. Crushing.

“Have dinner with me,” Dr. Garvey said, and the fact that he’d finally spoken was enough of a shock that it took me a second to process what he’d said.

“Dinner?” I repeated.

“If you want a recommendation, I’d like to get to know you better.” Dr. Garvey snapped his briefcase shut. “I’ll take you to dinner Friday night, and we’ll talk.” He walked to the door and adjusted his bow tie. Then he turned to look at me over his shoulder.

“Well, what do you say, Ms. Miller? How bad do you want it?”





Chapter 27


Now

I’d wanted so badly to come home to Duquette, to feel the magic that was in the soil. But standing here, staring at the pieced-together photographs in Eric’s hands, felt more like returning to the scene of a crime. I inched toward the edge of the float. Eric’s eyes swung around the circle, looking for fissures in somebody’s mask.

“It was one of Heather’s roommates,” he said. “That’s what makes the most sense.”

The dread was like an anchor, rooting my feet.

The cheering was finally dying down. Eric’s voice cut through the remaining din, loud and recognizable. Frankie, still surrounded by a throng of football players, turned in our direction.

But Eric only had eyes for Caro. “Was it you? Little Caroline Rodriguez? Always the good girl, the loyal friend. But how did it feel, being the odd one out? You tagged along for years with Mint and Jessica, Heather and Jack. Were you jealous? Heather was a Chi O. She was popular, the Phi Delt Sweetheart. She had a boyfriend and a plan for the future. What did you have? No boyfriend, no plans. I saw your file—a film major, and you barely scraped by with a 2.0. In the height of the recession, no less. You were unemployed for a year after graduation. An overqualified temp. The only one who didn’t soar.”

Caro had never told me that. The surprise was enough to make me halt my slow retreat. Her cheeks flamed.

“I didn’t—” she started.

“And now you’re an elementary school teacher.” Eric’s voice was acid. “Life took a pretty hard turn, didn’t it?”

“Teaching’s not what I originally planned.” Caro’s hands clenched into fists. “But it’s a noble profession.”

“You know what I always wondered?” Eric circled her like a shark. “Why you were so obsessed with your friends. That’s why you never paid attention to your grades, right? It was always about the East House Seven.” Caro cast a furtive look at where Coop and Mint were standing. “Oh, I know all about it,” Eric added. “You used to memorize their schedules, sign up for their classes, call and text day and night, try to follow them home on breaks. You know what Heather used to say about you?”