I instantly understand what she means. Being Black at a school like FATE comes with a certain burden sometimes. The constant notion to prove yourself as truly exceptional to shake off the affirmative action cloud floating over your head, that unfun and constant fear that other people think you’re only where you are because of lowered expectations.

“Holy crap, this is good,” Corinne exclaims after another voracious bite.

“Told ya.”

“You have the afternoon off too, right? Were you headed home?” Corinne offers. “Or we can stutter the subway trains? I’ll hop in first, and you can take the train right after me.”

“Let’s go home.” I chuckle, shaking my head, and wonder for the thousandth time: Who is this girl?

Ten

The store Ming and I are set to check out together falls more under the category of flea market than store, but I need the distraction from refreshing Columbia’s portal or catching myself flipping through their course catalog with a yearning sigh like it’s an old issue of Playboy.

The stars line up, and my Wednesday-afternoon English class gets canceled, so Ming and I spontaneously ride the N train to Fort Hamilton Parkway, halfway to Coney Island. Three hours is plenty enough time to go and then make it back to FATE in time for debate practice with Greg and Yadira.

The ride ebbs and flows, filling up with riders at key stops and emptying again just as quickly. I pull out my tablet and work on an essay that’s due before week’s end while Ming flips through an old sneaker magazine he fished out of my locker, whistling every few pages at the styles that were once predicted to be in vogue in October 2003. It’s more than just sneakers, today; his entire mood could be qualified as giddy. The boy is literally tapping his foot.

“Ming,” I say after my umpteenth typo on the tablet dangling off my lap. “It feels like you’re about to break out dancing.”

“Sorry,” he says, and then bursts out laughing for no reason.

“Are you on drugs?” I exhale. “Is it fun?”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just . . . ,” he stammers. “I, um, so I had my interview with Peking University last night, right? At like two a.m. over webcam, since it had to be scheduled on their time with their adviser for international students. Anyway, I rambled a bunch, didn’t even use the talking points I had prepared, ran overtime—my mom was giving me the neck chop in the doorway—but at the end, he said, ‘Peking University would be lucky to have you, and we hope you consider us’!”

He changes his affectation for the last statement, implying it to be a verbatim quote.

“Dude! That’s amazing!” I say with a nudge of his knee. “And you didn’t want to tell me because . . . ?”