Page 32 of Charm City Rocks
The English teacher rubbed his chin. He wears a corduroy blazer all year, even when it gets hot. “You don’t wanna go there,” he said. “California? You can’t study when it’s seventy-two and sunny every day. You’ll fail out in a month. Baltimore is perfect for academia. The weather is just bad enough.”
Caleb does a quick peek into the mailbox and finds that there’s nothing interesting: catalogs, a letter from AAA for Aaron. He hasn’t gotten his email from Stanford yet, so he wasn’ttechnicallyexpecting a packet. But who knows? Maybe they do it differently.
His neighbors the Gundersons drive by and wave. Their chocolate Lab, Tessa, wags her tail from the backseat. Caleb waves back and tucks the junk mail under his arm.
He takes his phone out of the back of his uniform khakis as hewalks toward the house. He hardly realizes he’s doing it, because checking his phone comes as naturally as blinking or breathing. TikTok, then Insta. When he opens his email and sees the message at the top of his inbox he stops walking. The letters he’s carrying fall to the pavement.
Stanford University Office of Undergraduate Admissions.
“Oh jeez,” he says.
His backpack feels heavy. His knees go weak, like he’s run here. But then he closes his email app and puts his phone back in his pocket, because he’s not ready to know. Not yet.
Chapter18
Margot packs in her head as she walks. Underwear, socks, toothbrush.
What if it’s hot? What if it’s cold? What if it rains?It hardly matters, because all her clothes are basically the same: jeans, gray button downs, black T-shirts, the boots she’s wearing now. The best outfit she has is the one she wore to Charm City Rocks. Will Billy notice if she wears it again?
The idea is to keep moving, because if she stops, she’ll realize this is crazy. She’s an adult. Adults don’t just get on trains and show up at strange men’s doorsteps. Margot said these exact words to Poppy ten minutes ago.
“Says who?” Poppy asked.
“I don’t know, civilized society?”
“Whatever. And he’s not strange. You know him. Just keep walking.”
When she pushes through the glass door to her apartment building, her doorman Jimmy is standing behind the desk, the knot of his tie loose. “Oh, hey, Miss H. Good timing.”
Margot doesn’t break stride. “Hey, Jimmy. I think I’ll need a cab in a bit.”
“No problem. But, uh, first things first. The kid’s back.”
Margot finally stops. “The kid?”
“Dude, seriously, enough with that. I’m twenty-six years old.”
“Sorry,” says Jimmy. “Miss H., I believe you know Miss Yang.”
Rebecca stands in the lobby wearing her Chuck Taylors, a different vintage sweater this time. “Hey, Margot.”
“You said you were twenty-five.”
“Monday was my birthday,” says Rebecca.
This is annoying, because a little clearing of sympathy forms now in Margot’s anger.
Jimmy clears his throat. “This okay? I could ask her to leave if you want.”
Jimmy has been her doorman since she and Lawson bought the place. He was like this back then: protective of her. He’d shoo away photographers, close the door quickly behind her when she entered, shake her packages. Seeing him take that posture again is sweet, but weird, especially now that he’s become an old man. “It’s okay, Jimmy.”
“In that case, happy belated, Miss Yang,” says Jimmy. “Got a few lollipops back here if you want one.”
If Rebecca is trying not to look young, taking a sucker and immediately jamming it into her mouth probably isn’t a good idea, but that’s exactly what she does. “Can we talk?” she asks. “Can I come up or something?”
Margot looks at the elevator. “No, not up. But, here…sit.”
They settle onto the old leather lobby couch under a painting of Central Park. “I’m in a hurry. I don’t have time to—”
