Under the Same Stars(33)

My interest was piqued about these dresses, though.

“Let’s pack up our stuff and grab lunch,” Amanda said with maid-of-honor confidence. “I’ll email everyone their dress tonight and run any aftermath interference with Mom.”

I watched Katie give her older sister a side hug, and suddenly felt a pang of something in my chest. What was it? It was a type of bittersweetness, but before I could dig deeper, my phone pinged in my pocket.

It was an email from Lizzy Hart.

My hand shook. Lizzy Hart was Penn’s head field hockey coach.

And her email’s subject line read: Visit to campus.

***

I texted Marco before bed that night. Penn invited me to visit! I wrote, unsurprised when he didn’t respond. It was a Saturday night. He was probably at a party or, as Austin had once upon a time, used a fake ID to get into Princeton’s bars.

My parents and Samira had been so happy when I’d gotten home from the bridal salon. On the one hand, it was only a visit, but on the other, you had to work so fucking hard for a visit. “My girl!” Da had swept me into a hug and spun me around before Dad squeezed me so tightly that my back cracked. Then, the McCallisters came over for an impromptu cookout. Connor brought me a six-pack of bottled Cokes, the perfect congratulatory gift.

Although, I wasn’t sure how “impromptu” it was because Austin arrived just as the hot dogs and burgers hit the grill, equipped with a trunk full of s’more supplies. “Where’s Katie?” Connor asked, to which my brother responded, “Probably falling asleep to a true crime documentary. She’s wiped from the day.” He turned to me. “But she says congrats again, Mads.”

“Thanks,” I said. All the bridesmaids, along with Mrs. Gallant, had cheered when I announced the news at lunch…but not Katie. She simply smiled and said, “That’s amazing!”

In, like, a totally fake voice.

You loved field hockey once! I’d wanted to shake her. Why can’t you actually celebrate?!

Ironically, I was scrolling through Netflix when Marco did respond. Congrats! he’d written. But nevertheless: puck Fenn.

Brows furrowing, I sent him a question mark.

Puck Fenn, he said. Campus store even sells bumper stickers!

“Okay,” I said aloud, “but what does that—”

It clicked.

Puck Fenn translated to Fuck Penn.

Because Penn and Princeton?

Bitter rivals.

Puck Frinceton, I wrote.

Eh, doesn’t have the same ring to it, Marco wrote back.

I smirked, shook my head, and typed: How are you?

Good, he said, and that was it. I stared at my phone screen until my eyes watered, desperate to blink.

He’s busy, I told myself, so I gave the message a thumbs-up and then refocused on Netflix. A new text popped onto my screen five minutes later, when I’d finally settled on a show.


How are you?



I hesitated, extremely tempted to type G-O-O-D and hit send, but instead I recapped the day’s unsuccessful bridesmaid dress search. Also, I said, they want to set me up with Connor!!!

Again, Marco didn’t respond until I was halfway through an episode of New Girl. Well, the point of this scheme is to make a successful match, isn’t it?

My fingers flew across my phone screen, keeping pace with my heart. Um…you think Connor and I’d be good together?

It doesn’t matter what I think, Marco said, dodging the question and thus eliciting an eye roll. What matters is what YOU think.

You’re super wise, I joked. Anyone ever tell you that?

All the time, he said. Yesterday, actually. My philosophy professor.

I snorted, then bit my tongue as I wrote. Sometimes I do think about Connor that way… I worry that I won’t know about anyone else until I know about Connor and me.

I inhaled as three typing dots appeared.

But before Marco actually responded, a bridesmaid chat message from Amanda announced itself at the top of my screen. I tapped on it.

Davis who? she’d written. Mads, do I have someone for YOU.





Eleven


Unable to truly untangle my potential feelings for Connor, I wanted to go on my next date as soon as possible so I could at least move on from my disastrous date with Davis. But Amanda had yet to set a time and place. She’d told me that my next suitor was my age, although he’d skipped a couple grades and was finishing up his freshman year at Princeton. He’s excited, she reassured me, but asked to wait until the semester ends. He has a mountain of essays and exams.

So, I had to wait a couple weeks, already knowing from Marco that Princeton’s finals didn’t end until mid-May. Ironically, there was a chance I’d unknowingly run into my date before then, because my Princeton visit was upon us.

I skipped school on a Thursday in late April, excited to be an unofficial member of Princeton’s field hockey team for the next couple days. “Now, Mads, we know where your loyalties lie,” Da said when we were about five minutes away from campus. “This family loves Penn, but please go into this weekend with a wide-open mind. Consider Princeton for Princeton.”

Princeton’s head coach, despite not using any exclamation points in her emails, seemed nice. She greeted us in the athletic department’s lobby, smiling warmly as handshakes were exchanged before leading us to her office to go over the weekend’s agenda. A girl with a blond ponytail sat in one of the chairs. I recognized her right away: Shelly Freeman. She had been Princeton’s standout freshman this past season and would be my host for the next couple days.