Jason kept telling himself that his reasoning was to explore. He wanted to see what the world was like outside the bay area. He'd come back with an award-winning set of journal entries and photos, and then colleges would be bending over backwards to get him, he kept saying to both himself and his parents. His parents were easy to convince; once college was brought up they hastily agreed. As for himself, however, he still wasn't feeling it.

He had to get away. He was sick of filling out application forms, and he was sick of taking and retaking SATs, and he was absolutely done with the question. He could no longer have a chat with an adult without hearing it:

"So where are you applying?"

He'd always say the same answer, which he almost hated more than the question: "Well, I really want to go to Yale, and that's my reach, but I'm also going to send applications to Columbia, Cornell, Brown, Penn State, and I have Duke as my net."

He'd get the same response every time, too, and that's what made him hate it all. "Good," they'd say, with a simple nod. Good? Were they freaking kidding?

He wasn't even a senior yet. Junior year came to a close a mere week before. He had a list already. A list, and it was just good. He shook the thought out of his mind as he dug through his room.

What to pack, what to pack? He didn't want to end up like a typical city kid, lugging fifty suitcases of clothes and toiletries around with him. He decided to stuff two shirts, a pair of jeans, and some shorts into a duffle bag that sat on the top shelf in his closet. This was the first time it would get to see the sun since Thalia, his sister, bought it for him, and that was what, five years ago.

He unzipped the front pocket of the bag and put in his toothbrush and some toothpaste; it wasn't like he'd have easy water access to brush his teeth, though. Then he spotted it.

It was a brown sketchbook lying on the front corner of his desk, under the piles of textbooks and test-prep packets printed off from the Internet. He had gotten it that same year from Thalia for his birthday. "So you can actually live a little," she told him. He never gave it a second thought. He figured, What the heck; if he was ever going to use the thing, he should use it now. So he went over, snatched it up (catching any falling books, of course) and zipped the bag closed. It fit perfectly.

Jason's dad had planned out the first day, which kinda bummed him, but the two reached a deal that if Jason went to see Yale before going off on his own, then he could do whatever he wanted for the next three months, all the way up until the week before school got back in. No summer reading, no early EDs (yes, redundant, but that's the Graces for you), no tutoring, and no application essay how-to watching on YouTube. So Jason was perfectly fine with such a win-win.

Sure, Jason had gone to the site and saw plenty of pictures, but man, Yale was amazing. The New England charm he'd heard about was clearly evident. His favorite part, though, was the medical school. The entrance was like that of an ancient Roman senate house, with columns across the front encircling the sign with Yale New Haven Medical School written in dark blue. He was in love.

It made him sad, though. He didn't really want to become a neuroscientist, like his parents did. He'd be just fine with a simple masters in creative writing or something and spending his days in a cute coffee shop in London. Or maybe New Haven, now; the city was fun. But this was the dream, and this was how it was going to be. He hadn't severed his social and emotional life for nothing.

He sat on a bench just a block away, over by the cancer center, when he heard a click on his left that reminded him of Thalia boldly crunching on rock candy when they were younger. His head snapped to the side and he spotted a guy only two feet away, pulling an expensive-looking camera down from his eyes. They looked green like sea foam behind large, black, rectangular glasses. His black hair tufted out in all directions under his beanie hat, and he wore a modest outfit over his tan skin in all shades of gray; even his backpack was black. Typical ivy-hipster, Jason said to himself, as the guy held out his right hand for him to shake.

"Hey there, man. Just taking pictures. Hope you don't mind. Name's Percy," he said in a deep voice Jason would pin as almost lazy. His handshake was like that of almost everyone else he met in New Haven so far: firm, direct, and intimidating, but everything else about him was calm. No, chill.

"Hi. I'm Jason. Nice to meet you," Jason began, when Percy suddenly plopped down next to him on the bench.

"If you don't want to be in a candid, it's okay. I can delete it."

"Uh, no, that's fine. Can I see it?"

With a very quiet 'sure' that sounded too much like sherr, Percy brought the camera screen right up to Jason's face. It was taken from the side at a slight angle, with Jason looking out into the distance in a very photogenic manner, the street behind him trailing into a perfect vanishing point in the middle of the picture.

"Here, lemme focus it a bit," muttered Percy as he pressed a few buttons. Almost as soon as he said it, the background blurred slightly and went off to the right just a tad, putting the focus entirely on Jason.

He tried not to blush. "That looks great. You're really good."

Percy chuckled in response. "Well, I'm majoring in it, so that better be the case."

"You're a photography major?" Jason asked him dumbfounded.

"Yup. But I'm taking next year off to improve my skills and build my portfolio."

"What grade will you be in?"

"I'll be a freshman, but because of the year off—"

"You'll be a freshman the following year, not in the fall?" Jason finished, mentally smacking himself immediately afterwards. He can't screw up a conversation at Yale of all places, with a student of all people. "Sorry."

Percy broke into a hearty laugh, leaning back on the bench. "Don't need to be sorry, but yeah. You go here?"

Jason felt the unease sink in. It was worse than the question. He felt so inferior to this guy. He was a full-blown student here, talking about taking a year off as if it were as simple as going to get a coffee, and Jason had spent his whole life tailoring everything he did to get into Yale, and he hadn't even sent in his application. He wondered what this guy's SAT scores were.

"I'm going to be a senior in high school next year. I'm just visiting the place," Jason answered awkwardly.

Percy, however, patted him on the back. "Well, now I know someone who's going to be in my grade with me! Do you know what you want to major in?"

Jason immediately spurted, "Neuroscience."

"Damn," was all that came back, as Percy sized him up as if he were to take another photo of him. Jason let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Percy had talked as if it were 100% certain that Jason would be going to Yale in two years. Hearing that from a student gave him a new sense of relief, but a new sense of dread as the back of his mind kept warning him that neuroscience at Yale wasn't what he wanted.

Jason let out a breathy laugh and buried that thought farther down in his brain.