“Tell me about it. Since when is it such a sweltering hot mess this early in the morning? What time is it, eight?” I flop onto the couch. “Sorry, I’m disgusting. Navigating the subway system with backpacker gear is even harder than backpacking through Europe. I’ll try not to sweat all over the cushions.”
Sadie laughs. She comes out of the kitchen. The kitchen isn’t one of those typical microscopic cubbies. This one opens up into the living room, separated by a small breakfast bar. I like the layout.
“When did you guys get here?” I ask Sadie.
“We moved in yesterday. We actually have to leave soon, but we wanted to get up early and work on the place some more. The cabinets are kind of gross.” Sadie glances at the kitchen. “I’m making progress, though.”
“You don’t have to do that. We could just hire someone.”
The girls give me blank looks.
“To clean? We could hire a cleaning lady to get the place in shape. Easier than doing it ourselves, right?”
“Um . . . I don’t mind cleaning,” Rosanna says. “I already started on the bathroom.”
“Wasn’t the apartment supposed to be cleaned before we moved in?” Sadie asks. “That’s standard for New York.”
“Guess the rules don’t apply to lowly student housing,” I say. Then I sigh like I will never ever drag my sprawled exhausted butt off the couch. “This couch feels incredible.”
“You must be tired from your flight,” Sadie says. “And from hauling your bag around. It looks really heavy.”
“Oh, I’m used to it.”
“Did you really backpack through Europe?” Rosanna asks.
“Best year of my life. It was the most enlightening experience a girl could hope for. I took a year off after high school to explore. That’s why I’m almost nineteen. You guys are eighteen, right?”
They nod.
“Have you ever been?” I ask Rosanna.
“To Europe?”
“Yeah.”
“Not so much.”
“Not so much or not at all?”
Rosanna blushes. “Not at all.”
“Better to save it for when you’re older anyway. You’ll get more out of it. At least, that’s what my dad said when he tried convincing me not to go. Luckily my mom won that battle.”
“I can’t wait to go to Europe,” Sadie says. “Not that I’m going anytime soon.”
“You’re already super lucky. Growing up in New York City? That’s so cool. What neighborhood?”
“Right here in the West Village. I’m hoping to avoid running into my parents.”
“What a drag. You move away to college and it’s like, What up, parental unit. Thanks for still being all up in my face.”
“They’re not that bad. It’s just . . . whatever.” Sadie turns to Rosanna. “What’s Chicago like?”
“Not as exciting as New York,” Rosanna says. “There’s so much to do here. I don’t even know where to start.”
“We start by asking the locals for hot tips.” I look at Sadie. “Where do you like to hang out?”
“There are some gorgeous outdoor spaces around here. I’m kind of obsessed with green spaces and architecture in general. Just a heads-up that I might spontaneously start geeking out over a window or something while we’re walking down the street. Have you heard of the High Line?”
“That park that was built on an elevated railway?” Rosanna asks.
“Yes, and it is beyond impressive. We have to go.”
“I read about it in the New Yorker. I’m dying to see it.”
“We’re there.” Sadie looks at me expectantly. “You in?”
“Totally. But I meant . . . like bars and clubs.”
“Oh. I haven’t really gotten into them yet.”
“Just let me know where you want to go. I can get you in anywhere.”
“I don’t have a fake ID,” Rosanna says.
“Fake IDs are for amateurs. I’ve been crashing bars since I was fifteen. Trust me. I know how to work a bouncer.”
Rosanna is not impressed. Maybe she doesn’t believe me. Or maybe clubs aren’t her scene. She’s clearly not the kind of girl who whips her top off at Mardi Gras. But I’m hoping there’s a wild side percolating underneath her reserved exterior.
“We’re going to have a blast this summer,” I promise them. “You’ll see.”
Rosanna goes back to the table and starts fussing with it again.
“Why do you keep turning the table?” I ask.
“I’m trying to figure out which way it should go. Long way? Wide way? I can’t decide. What do you think?”
“Does it matter?” I snap.
The girls stop what they’re doing. They look at me.
“Oh my god,” I say. “I am so sorry. I’ve been . . . it’s been a hard time for me. You probably think I’m a monster. Please know that I’m not a monster. I’m just carrying some heavy baggage.” I tip my head toward my enormous backpack in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Mental note: Take it easy. The last person I want to be is the girl who becomes all bitter and cynical and an emotionally stripped skeleton of her former self because of some boy. No boy will ever have that kind of power over me again. I need to leave that drama behind. This up in here is all about Summer Fun Darcy.
“No worries,” Sadie says. “We’re all adjusting. Meeting new roommates is awkward.”
“Especially when you act like a dumbass the second you arrive.” I propel myself off the couch. “Long way,” I tell Rosanna. “Definitely.”
My backpack is so overpacked it might spontaneously burst right here in apartment 4A. Unpacking will help ease my mortification. I can’t believe I got off on the wrong foot with Rosanna. That’s not me. Meeting new people is my thing. And here I thought being a sweaty mess was as gross as I was going to get today.
I’m declaring a state of emergency. Attitude adjustment starts now.
I topple my backpack over on the floor, unzip the long side zipper, and start unpacking. This will be a fun summer for all of us. These girls have no idea what they’re in for.
THREE
ROSANNA
DARCY ARRIVED WITH A BANG.
She whipped her tank top over her head when she walked in the door. She threw it on a communal chair. Does she intend to pick it up?
We do not know.
She could turn out to be one of those nightmare roommates I’ve heard about who tosses her stuff everywhere and expects you to deal with it. As in, if you don’t like living in a disaster area, you’re more than welcome to clean it up yourself. Darcy flopped on the couch with her feet up on the armrest. Her shoes were still on. Who puts their shoes on furniture? Doesn’t she care that the couch will get dirty? Then she bit my head off for no reason. Now she’s unpacking her bag right here on the couch instead of in her room where you’re supposed to unpack.
Fortunately Sadie and I have a few things in common. We both love New York City. We’re both dreamers. Although she’s a lot more optimistic than I am. It’s not that I’m a pessimist. More like a realist. You can’t help being cynical if you’ve experienced and witnessed a lot of crap. That’s why I’m going to be a social worker. I want to help make the world a better place. I don’t care how much money I make. Doing what I’m passionate about is all that matters.
Part of me is also an idealist. I expect the world to operate in ways a lot of people insist are impossible. I want an end to war. I want people to treat one another like human beings with equal rights. I want everyone to contribute to society in meaningful ways.
I want happy endings to always come true.
That said, I don’t expect to be served my own happy ending on a silver platter. Hard work and dedication are essential. I fully intend to earn the happy ending I deserve. Until that day arrives, I will carry happy ending hope in my heart.
Darcy thinks the kitchen table should go the long way. I’m not about to question her taste. First of all, she’s gorgeous without even trying. She has the kin
d of interesting blue-green eyes I’ve always wanted. Brown eyes are so boring. Her dark brown hair looks cute in a choppy cut that’s effortless but trendy. She’s shorter than me but taller than Sadie. Darcy is rocking a fitted cami that was under the flowy tank she whipped off when she came in, several trendy chains of various lengths and colors, cherry-red shorts, and platform flip-flops. Compared to the ancient tee I’ve been marginally getting away with for too many years and my fairly new but somehow already outdated maxi skirt. Just being in the same room with her is making me wish I could afford to overhaul my entire wardrobe. But that would be impossible.
Money is really tight back home. I’m the middle of five kids. My parents have been scraping by for as long as I can remember. They can’t afford to support me now that I’m out of the house. My mother wishes she could send all of her kids to college. She gets so sad that she can’t support us the way she originally planned that sometimes she breaks down and cries. But my older brother and sister are both managing on their own. They took out student loans and received federal financial aid. They work twenty hours a week on top of their full course schedules. I’ll be doing the same thing. I’m determined to make this work just like they are. I want to show my mom that it’s okay for her kids to make their own way in the world. She should be proud of dedicating her life to nonprofit outreach with Planned Parenthood. Just like my dad should be proud of teaching at-risk kids on the South Side.
I arrange the kitchen table the long way and push in the four chairs around it. This summer is going to be the most challenging time of my life. Just buying groceries will be nearly impossible to pull off. But I refuse to be defeated by circumstances I can’t control. So what if I have nothing saved? Living in New York City has been my big dream ever since I was little. Whenever I read books that took place here, I’d get this warm tingly feeling that this is where I was meant to be. And now I’m here.
Finding this summer housing deal was the only thing that made it possible to move here before the semester started. A day camp on the Lower East Side hired me as a counselor, thanks to the University of New York’s career planning center. Then UNY told me about apartment shares. My job will cover the rent this summer, but I won’t have much left over to pay for everything else. Despite this horrific realization, I refuse to be afraid. Figuring out how to pay for everything is a skill I’ve honed to perfection. I’m all about budgeting, sales, and coupons.
This will work out.
It has to work out.
Failure is not an option.
Darcy is yammering away. Asking us questions. Telling us how awesome Santa Monica is. Unpacking the entire contents of her massive bag on the couch. She hasn’t even seen her room yet. That’s the first thing I wanted to see when I got here. Doesn’t Darcy want to see her room? She must know the two best ones are taken. Isn’t she worried her window might be on an air shaft or looking directly into a bedroom next door or something? It’s like she doesn’t even care. All I know is if she leaves those piles of clothes on the couch, I am not cleaning them up. Who unpacks her stuff in the living room? When she just met the two girls she’ll be roommates with all summer?
Not that I would ever ask Darcy any of this. She’s way too intimidating.
FOUR
SADIE
RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER . . .
That’s what the sign over my bed says. I hung it there to remind me that my soul mate could be anywhere. We could run into each other when we least expect it. Or right when we’re hoping our paths will finally cross. I don’t know where I’ll find him. But I will definitely know it when I do. As Brooke would say, I will have the Knowing. We share the motto over my bed. I’ve been repeating it every day for two years, building up to this moment when I have more freedom than ever.
Sometimes I’ll be walking down the street and an epic feeling will come over me. That’s the best way I can describe it. An epic feeling is when all of my wishing and hoping and dreaming about the boy I’m meant to be with comes rushing at me full force. The epic feeling reminds me that he could be anywhere. I really believe he’s here somewhere. Maybe he’s thinking of me, too. Imagining what I’m like. Wondering how he’ll finally meet me. Wanting to hold me in his arms and kiss me the way he’s been dying to for so long.
The weird thing about the epic feeling is that anything can trigger it. Last night I was walking down 5th Avenue between 11th and 12th Streets and I looked up. Brooke is always trying to get me to look up more. I couldn’t believe everything I’d been missing before I made an effort to look up instead of zipping around in my usual busy mode. Not only beautiful architectural details I somehow never saw before. But a different kind of energy with people I passed on the street. Anything is possible in this city. That possibility grows with every new detail I notice, every new interaction I have. So I looked up and saw the moon positioned right between a big tree and a building. A bunch of windows in the building were illuminated by the warm glow of lamps. And just like that, I could feel what it would be like if my soul mate lived in one of those apartments. He’d live there by himself. No parents. No roommates. I would love going over to his place and he would love it when I came over. Because being together would be the best part of our day. Being together would make everything else in our lives even more amazing.
“Sugar?”
I snap out of my daydream. The barista is waiting for my response.
“Oh, sorry. What?”
“Do you want sweetener?”
“Yes, please.”
“Splenda, raw, agave, simple syrup?”
“Just regular sugar would be great. Thanks.” This isn’t my usual coffeehouse. This one mostly caters to high-strung, type A workaholics on some kind of permanent cutthroat deadline. My usual place serves coffee old-school style. They just have one kind of sugar. Actual sugar. But this place is on the way to my internship. What can I say? New Yorkers are suckers for proximity. Walking two blocks out of our way can be a major detour.
As my coffee is being sweetened, I glance toward the door. My soul mate could walk in that door any second. When he sees me, he’ll know we’re meant to be together. It will be magic, just like in Sleepless in Seattle when Tom Hanks sees Meg Ryan for the first time. She’s watching him from across the street. Something makes him turn around to look at her. A light of recognition sparks in his eyes, even though he’s never seen her before. But it doesn’t matter. Their instant connection is obvious even from across the street.
I want to know that magic. I want to feel what it’s like to meet the love of my life. My heart tells me that it will feel the same exact way I’ve been imagining it will.
After I pay for my coffee and leave, I see a college boy heaving his overloaded laundry bag down the sidewalk, reminding me that I have to do laundry when I get back to the apartment. I knew I should have done my laundry before I moved out. I was so anxious to leave as soon as possible I made the stupid decision to cram my dirty clothes into the new wheely hamper that was part of our Target haul. One more second of my mom’s pity glances and whispered worried chats with my dad and I would have lost it.
Today is the first day of internship for incoming freshmen and sophomores. Juniors and seniors started yesterday to prepare ten-minute presentations about their fields of study under the urban planning umbrella. The idea is for those of us starting out to be exposed to different areas of urban planning so we can learn more about our options. I already know urban design is my jam. But hey, I’m always open to new ideas. Maybe someone’s presentation will dazzle me.
My internship is in a beautiful building on Bond Street. As I approach the building, I instantly fall in love with it: polished steel and glass, sleek awning with light strips along the sides, impressive lobby done in Italian marble. The street number is raised metal in a simple, round font. I can’t help smiling as I push my way around the revolving door.
A bunch of people huddle into the elevator with me. Some of them are probably other interns. Some of them are
older professional types. Most of them watch the elevator numbers light up as we ascend. I feel very grown-up with my coffee cup and sleek new Kate Spade tote. My worn-out ginormous bag simply would not do.
The elevator opens to the third floor with a bright ding. I get out with a few other probable interns. The open-plan office is all white with pops of color. The entire space is flooded with natural light. The two far office walls are dotted with massive round porthole-style windows. I’ve never seen round windows that big. Cubicles are gathered in sections separated by architects’ tables, glossy white filing cabinets, and walls sprayed with whiteboard or blackboard paint. The cubicles have personal enhancements like bamboo plants, stuffed animals, and Koosh balls sitting along the top of their walls. This is clearly going to be a fun place to work.
“Welcome, interns!” the cheerful receptionist says. I was so sucked in by the main office floor that I didn’t even notice her desk across from the elevators. “Please make your way to conference room one, first door on your left.”
I hustle around the corner. The big round clock above her desk said it was 8:58. There’s no way I’m going to be late on my first day.
Conference room one is just as gorgeous as the main floor. Long glass conference table. White leather desk chairs. More porthole windows. Oversize screen for presentations on the wall at one end of the table. There’s even a counter with packaged snacks and a sink. A sign above the faucet says that the water is triple-filtered and we can help ourselves to a reusable bottle. But then I notice that there’s a bottle on the table in front of every chair, along with glossy white folders and pens in rainbow colors. Baskets of Sharpies, Post-its, and highlighters sit at the center of the table. I grab the closest empty chair.
“Welcome to the best internship of your life!” a guy in his mid-20s declares as we sign in. He’s Parker, our internship supervisor. I recognize him from my online interview. Same tousled wavy brown hair. Same John Lennon glasses. But now I can see more of his Brooklyn hipster style. Parker is rocking a plaid button-down and rust-colored skinny cords. “Or at least what I hope will be. Good to see all of you in person. We have an outstanding group of talented, intelligent, creative people at this table. I hope you’re as excited to be here as I am to work with you.”