“I . . . ,” I stammer. I take a breath. “When I was younger, five or six, Dad and Ma would sometimes take me here in the summer. My mom would read a book under a tree or on the Lowe steps while I fired up the old Game Boy 3DS. I’m not sure what Dad did. I think he just enjoyed watching the people. We couldn’t go on vacation, but this campus was a little green oasis right here in the city with way fewer tourist crowds than in Central Park.”

“That’s beautiful,” Donielle tells me.

I take a breath. Okay. Getting back on track. “It was. But it stopped when campus security started to crack down on ‘urban loitering.’ They didn’t come out and say it, but the message was clear—we didn’t belong here.”

There’s another SAT word: loiter. To stand or wait around idly without apparent purpose. Well, that encounter was all it took to give me a purpose.

“Going to Columbia has meant everything since then. My dad’s a super in Manhattan, and I end up at Columbia. It’s his American Dream.”

The corners of her lips tick up. She narrows her eyes just the tiniest bit.

“‘It’s his American Dream,’” she repeats.

“I mean, that’s the American Dream, right?”

“I’m just noting your phrase, Henri.” Donielle readjusts one of her bright scarves.

“Okay.” What is happening here? I just poured my soul out on the Hungarian Pastry Shop’s sticky-ass floor, and she’s parsing words?

“It’s a beautiful dream. It really is. I’m just asking, is it yours? What’s your dream, Henri?”

My mind cycles through a thousand answers. I don’t have a lot of free time; school keeps us so busy! I run my own business, not that I can tell you about that, since it’s a total fraud! I draw sneaker designs in my notebook when no one’s watching? As if. “Going to Columbia is my dream.”

Donielle looks at me, and if I’m not mistaken, she looks a little sad. “It’s getting late. I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you.”

“Oh . . . Um, okay.”

Outside the Hungarian Pastry Shop, Donielle shakes my hand. “It was really nice meeting you, Henri. You’ll end up exactly where you’re supposed to be,” she says. “Things have a way of working out.”

I nod and start to walk away, but she opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. Please, please, please say something else, I silently will her.