Cousin Barry stands at his front door bare-chested, wearing a pair of tight hip-hugger bell-bottoms. An unfiltered Camel is squeezed between his nicotine-yellowed fingers. His dark sideburns are long and thick. His full, wavy hair falls to his shoulders.

“How was it?” he asks when I hand him the camp stove I borrowed for Maine.

“Bummer. They’re really straight up there.”

Barry takes a pensive drag. “They hassle you?”

“Hell, yeah.”

We share a moment of wordless commiseration over the sucky state of straight over-thirty America, Maine rednecks, and the deadly and immoral conflict against the North Vietnamese that we’ve been told is necessary to avoid communism taking over the world. A conflict that, until yesterday, I had expected to avoid dying in. But that thin envelope from Goddard College has changed everything.

I’m in the death queue now.

Dear Mr. Baker,

The Goddard College Admissions Committee has completed its evaluation of this year’s candidates, and I write with sincere regret to say that we are not able to offer you a place in the Class of 1973.

I realize that this decision may come as a real disappointment . . .

When I read those terrible words last night, I briefly considered calling Robin, then changed my mind. She said she’d be busy packing, and I didn’t want to bum her out with such bad news on her last evening at home. Besides, I’d expected to see her this morning for our final pre–Camp Juliette farewell. Then on the phone a few hours ago, she said she didn’t think there’d be time to say goodbye in person. She hadn’t finished packing, and it already looked like she might be late for the camp bus.

I managed to dash to her house just as she and her father were pulling out of the driveway. Robin looked startled when she saw me. It was an awkward moment, with her father in the seat beside her. She rolled down the window, and I gave her the letter I wrote last night for her to read on the bus. I wanted to kiss her, but we never displayed physical affection in front of our parents. Still, I leaned into the window, pecked her cheek, and whispered that I loved her. She didn’t reply, but maybe I couldn’t expect that in front of her father. Her eyes began to fill with tears, and so did mine. Her father said they were late and really had to go. Then they were headed away down the street, Robin rolling up her window, tears rolling down my cheeks.