He pages through my files. “And why are these safeties? You have so many other great options, Henri. GPA 3.77, ninety-third percentile SAT score. You’re all but a shoo-in for the University of Pennsylvania, McGill, and Duke, most likely. These are phenomenal colleges. Why do you want only this school so very badly?”

Because it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Because it’s all my dad’s ever wanted for me. Because nothing would make him prouder than wearing Columbia blue and telling everyone his son is an Ivy Leaguer.

“Did you get into your dream college, Mr. Vu?”

“I did, actually,” His normally borderline concave chest puffs up a bit at the memory. “Harvard, class of 2008.”

“Could anyone have convinced you not to make it a big deal back when you were on this side of things?”

He gently puts his monitor to sleep and returns his full focus to me, pursing his lips in sympathy. “Fair enough. I’m sorry I can’t be the bearer of better news.”

I sigh. “Could you just try to line up another Columbia interview for me? Please?”

“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, though, try to trust the process. Consider your other options. No need to put all your eggs in one basket.”

“Okay,” I say.

But there’s only ever been one basket for me.

After school, I take the train down to River Terrace, all the way downtown, to visit my uncle Lion. Back when Lion lived with us, he was the person I always turned to when I needed advice. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, but Mr. Vu put me in a real funk, and if anyone can shake me out of it, it’s him.

I get off the subway and head for the modern, tall, glass high-rise building where Lion works as a doorman. It’s not my favorite part of the city, to be honest. The foot traffic is heavier than I like. Not quite Times Square–tourists bad, but the entire area facing the Hudson River has been turned into a giant outdoor mall.

When I reach the building, I stay on the sidewalk carpeted with a monogrammed “River Heights” at its center and watch as Lion chats with a tenant: an elderly woman who seems to be handing him a piece of paper and conveying very specific instructions to be carried out. There are no dogs in sight, but she looks like a Pomeranian owner.

I wait for her to exit the building, holding the door open with a “Ma’am” and a Smile before making my way in. I’m there to distract the staff during work hours, after all. I should be polite.

“Well, well,” he says with a grin upon seeing me. “Hi, nephew.”