The Impossible Knife of Memory(47)

“Want me to drive?” I asked.

“You said you didn’t have your license yet.”

“Not technically.”

He didn’t even smile at that.

“It’s not the car, is it?” I asked.

He sighed again, watching the line of cars rolling through the tollbooth. “I had a fight with my mom this morning,” he said. “Before she even had her coffee.”

“Why?”

“She was telling me a bunch of stupid, ass-kissing things to say in this interview and then she got on me again for quitting the team. Next thing you know, she was bitching about the rent going up again and what a rotten son I am. For the first time ever, I yelled back.” He pounded the steering wheel gently with his fist. “I made her cry. Didn’t think that would happen.”

“Call and apologize,” I suggested. “Text her, at least.”

“I already did. That’s not the point.” He leaned forward and wiped the condensation off the windshield with his sleeve. “This interview is a waste of time. I don’t want to go to Oneonta.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Told you the other night. Swevenbury.”

“What’s so great about it?”

“Swevenbury College, home of The Wanderers? Voted Strangest Small College the last three years in a row? You get to design your own major; there are, like, only two required courses and everybody has to study overseas for a year. Swevenbury is what all other colleges want to be when they grow up. They say the grounds are seriously hallowed. Step foot on the campus and it changes you forever. It’s. . . .”

He paused like he was searching for the right word, something I’d never seen him do before.

“It’s Nerdvana!” he finally declared.

I nodded. “How far away?”

“One hundred eighty-three miles, north by northeast.” I shrugged. “Let’s go.”

“So I can be tortured by the magnitude of its awesomeness? No, thanks. I’d need a winning lottery ticket to go there.”

“That’s not why we’re going, numbnuts,” I said. “Road trips can make things look different. Trust me.”

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“You have nothing to lose,” I said. “The look on your face when you said Swerva-whatever—”

“Swevenbury,” he corrected.

“See? Just saying it makes you smile.” I said “You promised me ‘epic,’ Finn-head. Point this car to Nerdvana and floor it. Or at least try to make the speed limit.”

I tried to goad him with stories of my years stalking ivory poachers in Southern Cameroons and the time that the Dalai Lama and I got snowed in on a mountaintop and played checkers until dawn, but Finn wasn’t interested in talking. He drove hunched over the steering wheel, his face stuck between a frown and pout (a prown? a fout?). I finally gave up and crawled into a book. Three and a half hours and one thick novel about dragons later, we drove under a massive stone arch with the words swevenbury college carved into it. A few minutes later, the forest opened up and the main campus came into view: old stone buildings, impossibly green lawns, and expensively dressed students. It looked like a supersized, Americanized version of Hogwarts, without the robes.

We parked and got out of the car.

“That grass looks like it’s been combed,” I said.

“Whatever,” Finn grumbled. “This way.”

The admission office was in a red stone castle, complete with turret and winding staircase. The receptionist there explained that we’d missed the first tour group, but we could join the next group after lunch.

Finn grunted.

She handed us a stack of glossy brochures and badges that had guest printed on them in red block letters.

“You’ll need these get into the library and student center,” she said. “Those coupons are good for five dollars off your meal.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Finn handed back his badge and the coupons. “We don’t have time.” He walked out of the office without another word.

“Sorry.” I took back the badge and coupons. “He needs some chocolate milk. We’ll be back for the tour, thanks.”

She winked. “Good luck.”

I caught up with Finn at the top of the front steps of the building. “What’s your problem?”

“You want a tour? I’ll give you a tour.” He pointed behind me. “Over there is the School of Teaching Rich Kids How to Become Richer. Behind that—”

“Get over yourself.” I followed him down the stairs. “This place is amazing. Look at how that stone is worn down in the middle.” I pointed to the marble steps. “Worn down by people carrying books! How cool is that?”

“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this. Did you see the cars in the student lot?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “I was looking at the castles.”

“Give me the name of one college you’ve visited that didn’t have a castle on it. We should leave.”

“No!” I said. “I’ve never visited a college before, *, and I want to see it. Stop whining. You’re smarter than most people on the planet, you have nice teeth, and your parents can afford your glasses. Your life does not suck that bad.” I started down the steps. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot at three.”