But what was the point of accomplishing anything if you had no one to share it with?

Whether you plunked into the middle of the lake or you barely cleared the edge, you were in the water.

“Tell me about Whittier again,” I ask her.

She makes a face. “For someone who claims he prefers spontaneity, you love talking about the future.”

And she’s smiling, of course, she’s teasing me, but she’s also right. I do love talking about the future, but more so, I love hearing other people talk about it.

As if somehow the fact that other people see me, see us, together, in their imaginations meant it was more likely to happen.

She finds my hand, interlaces our fingers. “Well, we’ll both be at Whittier or maybe U of Chicago, and naturally, you’ll be undeclared for three years, while I double major in business and urban planning, so that, you know, I can . . .”

“Save the world,” I interject.

She punches me, laughing. “No, so I can do my part to preserve the planet. You do realize, at our current rate, even if we focus only on the ozone, this place will be radically different in less than a decade?”

“So I’ve heard,” I say, because she’s forever reminding me—the earth’s dying a slow, painful death, Jamal, and all of us are guilty.

But aren’t we all dying slowly, painfully? Why should the earth be exempt?

But I don’t say these things. Ask these questions. Because they’re not real.

They’re just by-products of heartache and regret, anger and disappointment.

Because I believe in Autumn and her dreams, maybe, probably, even more than my own. Because at least she dares to dream. And who was I to punch holes in them?

“Okay, so while I try to help save the planet, you’ll be finding yourself, and we’ll get an apartment together off campus, and we’ll cook together, and have movie marathons, and take long walks along the shore.”

I grin. “So, basically, we’ll keep doing the things we already do.”

“Except we don’t live together, silly.” She sticks out her tongue. “But, if you want any of that to actually happen, you’re gonna have to pick your grades up, and you know, maybe fill out some college applications.”

I barely resist rolling my eyes. Jamal’s Lack of Academic Ambition, another favorite Autumn topic. Although, to be fair, she’s not alone.

Between her, Whit, and seemingly anyone even remotely affiliated with Elytown High, the Get Yourself Together, Jamal chorus was singing louder and louder.

“College isn’t the only way you can be successful,” I argue.

She nods. “No, that’s true. So, you have a noncollegiate plan mapped out for your success?”

“Yep.”