The Leavers(37)

He checked his e-mail. Michael hadn’t responded yet, and when the phone did ring, it was only Kay. “We’ll see you on Saturday,” she said. “Don’t forget to bring the forms.”

He retrieved the Carlough College forms and smoothed them out.

The Statement of Purpose provides an opportunity to explain any extenuating circumstances that could add value to your application as a transfer student to Carlough College. This is your opportunity to address the Admissions Committee directly and to let us know more about you as an individual in a manner that your transcripts and other application information cannot convey.

He started typing.

MICHAEL WROTE BACK TWO hours later and suggested meeting tomorrow at a Starbucks near Columbus Circle. The next day, Daniel showed up twenty minutes early and walked around the block three times before deciding to wait inside. He ordered a coffee and sat at a table near the door, looking up each time it opened.

One minute had passed since Daniel had last looked at his phone. 3:42 p.m. No missed calls, no new messages. Michael was supposed to meet Daniel at three thirty. Michael himself had suggested three thirty at this specific Starbucks on Sixtieth and Broadway. Daniel had agreed to meet Michael out of curiosity, but resolved to maintain a healthy suspicion. Whatever Michael had to tell him, it wasn’t going to change his life. He sucked up coffee. If Michael didn’t show in the next ten minutes, he’d leave, call it a day.

The door opened again. A beefy white man in a long T-shirt walked in, hand in hand with his similarly built daughter, but before the door could close all the way, a tall Asian guy in a navy blue coat, white sneakers, and a big backpack caught it and came inside.

Michael looked around, brightening when he saw Daniel, shoving his way through the tables and chairs. Daniel stood and his resolve fell away. They hugged, hard. Michael was an inch taller than Daniel, and they stood there, in the middle of Starbucks, slapping each other on the back.

“Deming.” Michael took off his bag and pulled out a chair. “Sorry I’m late. My professor was talking to me and wouldn’t stop.” Michael’s voice was lower, no longer a kid’s voice. Daniel had never heard this not-child Michael. Michael hadn’t seen him past the age of eleven.

“No one’s called me Deming in a long time.”

Michael scrutinized him. “You look different. Your face is thinner, though your features are the same. I bet if we saw each other on the street we would’ve walked past each other.”

“You look different, too.” Michael’s nerd exterior might be gone, but the core of who he was remained, and there was something familiar, visible only to those who had known him when he was a kid. “But also the same.”

“It’s weird, you having another name. Do you prefer Daniel or Deming?”

“Daniel, I guess.”

Michael folded his hands in front of him, as if they were in an interview. “So, you must be in your junior year of college?”

“I was upstate at SUNY, but I’m taking some time off.” He was failing the interview already.

“Where are you living?”

“Down by Little Italy, Chinatown. I’m crashing at my friend Roland’s on Hester Street. We have a band—I play guitar. We’ve been playing shows around the city.”

“I can totally see that. I remember you used to beg our moms to let us stop and hear the subway musicians and we’d stand there so long we’d miss the train.” Michael laughed. “So what’s your band called?”

“Psychic Hearts. I’m working on my own songs, too, just me singing and playing guitar. Real pared-down, almost confessional kind of stuff.” It was the first time he’d ever spoken about this out loud.

“Let me know when your next concert is. I’ll come.”

“All right.” Daniel pictured a guy like Michael at a loft show, someone more out of place than himself. “And you’re going to Columbia, right?”

“Yeah. I went to Brooklyn Tech for high school.” Michael put his phone down on the table. “I was late because I’m applying for this assistantship thing. I have to propose this genetics research project and I’m trying to decide between two of them. One’s the kind of stuff that my faculty sponsor does—that’s the professor I was talking to before. He’s writing my recommendation, so if I go with that project I might have a better chance. But there’s this other project that has less precedence, so less chance for success. It’s the one I want to do.”

“When’s the application due?”

“In two weeks. Wish me luck.”

Their eyes met for a moment. Daniel wanted to observe Michael for as long as he needed, attempting to reconcile the guy across the table with the skinny kid who had tagged alongside him in the Bronx. For five years, they had shared a bed. “How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s good, real good. She married my stepfather, Timothy, a few years ago, and we moved to his place in Brooklyn, in Sunset Park. I’m still there, commuting to school, but I’m hoping to move out soon.” Michael passed his phone over, displaying a picture of a family in a grassy yard, Vivian and Timothy with their arms around Michael. “This is from last summer.” Timothy had a small potbelly and a receding hairline. Vivian’s hair was short and permed curly.

Daniel peeked at the photo and passed the phone back. “You still in touch with Leon?”