Emily Wibberley - Time of Our Lives

To my grandmother, who told me stories of the Robles and Contreras family EW

To my brother, whos had my back ASB

THIS IS A terrible idea.

I watch New Hampshire go by in the bus window. The brittle limbs of the trees on every sidewalk blur together. The bus is close to full, a tall woman holding her service German shepherds harness in front of me. Despite the crowd and the lurching motion of the drive, the dog looks unperturbed. Lucky him.

I wonder what Lewis is doing right now. Hes probably drinking with his fraternity brothers. Typical Friday night behavior. Now that he and Prisha have broken up, hes likely looking for his rebound. Im guessing he wont notice if I dont get in to Boston on time.

The knitting needles of the woman in the back of the bus clack incessantly. I narrow my focus in on the pocket dictionary open on my knees, which brush the seat in front of me. Ive had the book since I was a freshman. Its a compendium of obscure, unusual words, and its become a bit of a pastime to flip through the pages. Words and their definitions are a hobby of mine. I like how they impose temporary control on the world, putting names to the intangible. Not to mention, having a sweet vocabulary makes me effortlessly cool and a hit with the ladies.

The dictionary is open to So-, where I find it. Solicitude. The state of protective concern or worry. I underline the word in a single pencil stroke.

I put the book in my bag and glance out the window again. If Lewis isnt drinking with his friends, hes probably working on job applications for next year. I know he has other things he could be doing this week. While Im not in a frat or employable anywhere other than the Froyo place in the mall, I have things I could be doing too.

Going on a college tour down the East Coast wasnt my idea. Ive made my decision. My application to Southern New Hampshire University was out the door on December 1. And going with Lewis definitely wasnt my idea. It was my moms. She insisted on Lewis and me having the opportunity for brotherly bonding. Besides, Lewis is the one with a credit card, which well use for meals and hotels. Mom promised shell pay him back. Having him come with is annoyingly logical.

I dont know what Lewis and I will talk about. The only things I know about himhes in a frat, and he recently broke up with his girlfriend, Prishacome from overhearing his infrequent calls home on holidays and the occasional weeknight. The only other things I know about my brother could be summarized on his rsum. Hes in his final year at Boston University, hes about to finish his degree in economics, and hes searching for finance jobs in New York. Or Boston. Or Chicago.

Anywhere but home.

I drop my eyes to the folder on the seat next to me. Ive only glanced through it once or twice, which makes me feel a little guilty. It contains weeks of my moms careful research on every school Im meant to visit from Boston to Baltimore in the next ten days, every program she thinks I could theoretically find interesting, the email confirmations for each hotel shes booked for Lewis and me, an envelope of spending money, even printouts of local restaurants and places of interest. Its heartbreakingly detailed. Following the first day in Boston, Im supposed to head to Rhode Island and Connecticut, then New York City and colleges in western Pennsylvania, finally ending in Baltimore and home in time for Christmas.

Tonight, the plan is for me to reach South Station in Boston, take the MBTA bus to BU, and meet Lewis in front of his dorm. I dont know how Mom convinced Lewis to drive me down the coast, but I do know this entire trip was orchestrated to fit