Contessa (17 page)

He still looks completely adorable to me, and my smile tells him so as he walks toward me. His hair stands in messy spikes as he continues to run his fingers through it nervously.

“
Hi,
”
he says as he leans on the couch.

“
Hi,
”
I return nervously, folding my hands in my lap. I pat the seat next to me.

“
Nah, my pants aren
’
t dry.
”
He sees a wooden chair on the other side of the fireplace and angles it toward me, sitting down. He
’
s at least fifteen feet away, and as much as I want him to sit beside me, I find I
’
m suddenly not as nervous as I talk to him from across the room.

“
How were the SATs?
”

I catch a hint of insecurity in his eyes before his face changes to a confident smile.
“
Fine,
”
he tells me.

“
Really?
”

“
Yeah. No sweat.
”

“
Livvy?
”
my mom asks me quietly from the kitchen doorway.
“
Do you think Jon might want something to drink?
”

“
Oh, yeah.
”
I
’
d completely forgotten any manners I may have had when he walked into my house tonight.
“
Do you want something?
”

“
Anything with caffeine?
”
he asks.

“
We have sodas,
”
I offer.

“
Or we could make some coffee, if you
’
d like. That might warm you up, too.
”

“
No need to go to any trouble, Mrs.–
”
he corrects himself quickly,
“
Emi. Thank you, but a soda would be fine, please.
”
I follow my mom into the kitchen and grab a Coke from the refrigerator and a glass from the cabinet, filling it with ice.

“
Are you tired?
”
I ask him when I take him the drink, thinking that maybe we should have postponed this dinner to another week. I feel bad that he had to spend his day taking tests that I know will determine whether or not he can get into Columbia–and not only that. I know his scores have to be good enough to get him a scholarship, too.

“
I
’
ll be fine, Livvy.
”
He nods with assurance.
“
I was just up late studying and I need a little jolt to my system to wake me up. This should do it.
”
He takes a sip.
“
For now. I
’
m kind of hoping I
’
ll get another jolt a little later.
”
I blush when I realize he
’
s referring to another kiss.

“
Me, too,
”
I whisper to him.

At the dinner table, we can see the lightning and rain continuing outside through the large windows that overlook the backyard. My brother is happily eating his dinner at the kitchen island. My parents could have added leaves to the table to make room for all five of us, but I was happy they had decided to keep my brother out of our conversation. It might be the first time I feel like an adult in my house.

“
Jon,
”
my mom asks,
“
how do you feel that the SATs went?
”

“
Okay,
”
he answers.
“
I struggled more than I thought I would. I knew I
’
d be fine on the math and essay parts, and for the vocabulary part–I
know
the words. I feel like I started to over-think a few of my choices.
”

“
You seem like a bright kid,
”
Dad says reassuringly.
“
I
’
m sure you did well.
”

“
I hope.
”
Jon smiles sheepishly.

“
Emi, Jon wants to go to Columbia.
”

My mom
’
s expression is surprised.
“
Columbia? What do you want to study there?
”

“
I
’
m actually considering a dual degree in Social Work and Urban Planning.
”

“
What would you do with that?
”
my dad asks.

“
Hopefully something that matters,
”
Jon answers.
“
I want to do something in my neighborhood; to help people get out of the depression and stagnation they seem to perpetuate from one generation to the next. I want to inspire them to have jobs, to have pride in what they do, to raise children who are worldly and motivated to make a change.
”
Both of my parents smile, waiting to hear more. Jon sets his fork down and addresses them.
“
I mean, you guys know where I come from. And I
’
ve had so many opportunities in my life thanks to people who
’
ve believed in me, and been generous with their time or their money. Mr. Holland–
”

“
Jack–
”

“
Sir, I just want you to know how much I respect how you
’
ve lived your life, what you give back to the community, how you are with your family...
”

I stare at Jon, wondering if he
’
s being serious or simply trying to impress my father. It almost feels like he
’
s trying too hard, but then I look hard into his eyes, and see the sincerity in them. My parents both set down their silverware, too.

“
I
’
m convinced I wouldn
’
t be where I am today without the opportunities you gave me when I was just a poor kid who liked to draw, you know? The Art Room isn
’
t just about our creativity. It built confidence in me that I don
’
t think I would have found anywhere else. So many kids from my neighborhood, they just feel defeated, and they
’
re angry with their fate, but you taught me to rise above that.
”

“
We didn
’
t do that, Jon,
”
my mother says.

“
I know, directly, no, but the people you employ–
”

“
Jon,
”
my dad interrupts him.
“
You
did that. We don
’
t just go out and find kids who like to draw, or paint, or play the piano. We find kids who stand out, who think freely and can express themselves openly, who we think may be leaders some day. Some kids shine like that. Those are the kids we pick. And we provide a safe place for you not only to explore your creativity, but to be with other people just like yourself who push you further and make you want to do better.
”

“
Because we want kids like that to become adults that can make a difference,
”
my mother says. She smiles and puts her hand on his forearm, squeezing lightly.
“
I have no doubt you
’
ll do something that matters.
”

I smile, in awe of the conversation I
’
m witnessing. In the span of ten minutes, he
’
s completely won my parents over.

“
I hope you
’
re right.
”

“
You know, if you get accepted into Columbia, you
’
ll be the first from the Art Room to go to an Ivy League school.
”

“
Well, it
’
s one thing to get accepted. It
’
s another thing to go there,
”
Jon says, his voice sounding unsure.
“
I
’
m hoping for scholarships and financial aid.
”

“
Do you plan to apply at any other schools?
”
my dad asks.

“
NYU,
”
Jon says simply.

“
No Harvard? Dartmouth?
”

“
I have to stay in the city,
”
he says.
“
My mom
’
s health isn
’
t the greatest. And my little brothers need me, too. I want to make sure they stay focused on school and don
’
t get mixed up with the wrong people. I can
’
t leave them behind.
”

“
Well, NYU
’
s a good school,
”
my mother adds.
“
Jacks and I both graduated from there.
”

“
That
’
s where we met.
”
They smile across the table at one another.
“
There are a ton of great programs there, and so many opportunities. Either school would be lucky to have you.
”

“
Livvy,
”
Jon addresses me.
“
You
’
ve never told me. Where do you want to go to school?
”

“
Parsons,
”
I answer quickly.

“
Parsons?
”
my dad asks.
“
That
’
s the first I
’
ve heard of this. Why Parsons?
”

“
Because it
’
s a great school for fine art, Dad.
”
I look at my mom, who sits silently with a slight smile spreading across her lips.

“
I don
’
t think Livvy has really spent a lot of time researching colleges–
”

“
I don
’
t need to, Dad,
”
I argue with him.
“
I know where I want to go.
”

“
What about Yale?
”
my dad asks.
“
They
’
ve got one of the best art schools in the country.
”

“
What about Parsons?
”
I counter.

“
Honestly, Livvy,
”
my dad says evenly,
“
you
’
re right. I know very little about Parsons. I didn
’
t realize it was even on your radar.
”

“
Mom says it
’
s a great school.
”

Dad looks at her questioningly.
“
Yeah?
”

She shakes her head minutely, shrugging her shoulders.
“
Nate went there. He did pretty well.
”

“
Right,
”
my dad says.
“
I
’
d forgotten that. Well, Livvy, we should go check it out then.
”

“
Cool,
”
I tell him with a satisfied smile.

“
And maybe we can check out Yale and some other options, too.
”

“
Parsons, Dad.
”

“
Okay, Livvy,
”
he says, exasperated.

“
But your dad
’
s right,
”
Jon cuts in.
“
Yale
’
s one of the best. And for a Harvard man to suggest his daughter go there, well. He clearly doesn
’
t have selfish intentions, Liv.
”
He smiles, trying to soften his response. I don
’
t know why he feels the need to agree with my father. Maybe he
’
s still trying to impress him.