From What I Remember

“And I still find you totally a

“What’s a harridan? Sounds like a religious freak,” Charlie says.

“A fancy word for hag,” Will says.

“I love it. I’m totally going to use it,” Lily tells Will.

“Don’t. I’ll sue,” Will promises.

“Yeah, good luck with that. We’re bankrupt.” And then Lily actually laughs, long and hard. “Totally, fucking bankrupt. Bankrupt. Bankrupt. Bankrupt. It feels kind of good to just come out and say it.”

Will laughs as well. “The Wentworths have gone bust. I never would have imagined it.” He actually sounds sympathetic. “I think I first tasted caviar at your house.”

“Oh, God, I remember that. In kindergarten. Mom had it flown in from Petrossian. It was so gross. She gave it to us for a snack with juice,” Lily recounts.

“I was hoping for Oreos. I got caviar. It was so disappointing, I don’t think I’ve touched it since that day,” Will says. “Kids don’t generally like fish eggs.”

“Tell me about it. The one upside here is no more caviar.” Lily and Will both giggle at this. Which comes pretty close to one of the trippiest things I’ve seen in a while.

I’m relieved. I couldn’t take the stress much longer. I relax my shoulders and inhale a few times. It feels good to get air in my lungs. I think I may have stopped breathing.

“Oh, shit,” Kylie says, pointing out at the road.

What now?

I lean forward, look out the front window, and see immediately what Kylie sees—a huge, snaking line of traffic. The border is at least half a mile up ahead. I check the clock. We have a little over an hour to get to graduation. And we’ve come to a complete standstill.

check my watch. Eleven fifteen. Graduation begins in forty-five minutes. We’ve been sitting here, clawing our way forward, for the past twenty-five minutes. I take in the reality with a sharp breath. “We’re not going to make it,” I say, to no one in particular. “Sure we are. We’re five cars away from the booth,” Max tells me. It’s the first time he’s spoken to me in a while. Not that I care.

“And then we’re going to go ninety-five all the way to school,” Will says. “Right, Charlie?”

“Let’s say ninety,” Charlie replies.

No one else seems willing to face the cold hard facts. Lily’s been pretty quiet, keeping to herself. Her anger has subsided, and in its place a sort of glumness has settled in. I actually feel sorry for her. Finding out your dad is a small-time Bernie Madoff has to be pretty hard.

Today has been at the top of my agenda for months. I have been preparing for it forever, and yet I’ve managed to screw it up so royally it almost seems intentional. Was this really so difficult? Couldn’t things have gone as pla

If nothing else, the past twenty-four hours have made me realize that all work and no play isn’t such a good idea after all. It’s better to mix it up a little more. Before today, I spent all my time thinking about the future and none of my time living in the present. As of now, I’m not going to do that anymore. Maybe NYU really will be different.

I look at my watch again. Three minutes have passed. The numbers are against us. We’ve got thirty-seven minutes. We’re still four cars from the border; it’s taking each car three minutes to get through, so at this rate we won’t get through until eleven thirty, and then it’s a forty-minute ride to school. With absolutely no traffic we’d be ten minutes late. And that’s the best-case scenario. We’re screwed. In light of my looming speech disaster, that should be good news. But it’s not.

One more car creeps over the border. We’re now three cars from the booth. We’re so not going to make it. As much as I keep telling myself it doesn’t really matter, I can feel my heart breaking for the second or third time today. I might hate Freiburg, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to celebrate all that I’ve achieved there. I’ve been looking forward to this day for four years. It was supposed to make all my hard work worthwhile and all my social shortcomings seem irrelevant.

For the past several minutes no one has said a word. The tension is building. I think everyone is starting to realize that I may be right. I wish I weren’t. It’s not particularly fun to be right all the time. I’d like to be wrong for a while. I start to chew on my cuticles—a bad habit I rid myself of a few months ago, but it’s back with a vengeance.

“Will, can I use your cell phone?” I say. “Mine is dead. I need to call my mom and tell her we’re not going to make it.”

“We’re going to make it; don’t be silly,” Will says, sounding entirely unconvinced.

“We’re not going to make it. I need to tell my family.”

I turn around to take Will’s phone, but he isn’t handing it over. Max is staring at me like he wants to say something. I quickly turn away. What’s the point?

“It doesn’t matter,” Lily says. “It’s just a ceremony. We still graduate.” Lily has had her eyes closed for a while now, and they’re still closed, lizardlike.

“It matters to me,” Charlie says. “I don’t want to miss graduation. Shit.” And he pounds the wheel with his hand, something he’s now done a few times. It doesn’t move us along any faster, but I guess it makes him feel better.

“I need to be there,” Max says. “For my dad’s sake.”

“I hate to break it to you, but there’s no way.” This comes out meaner than I intended. Max doesn’t respond. “Will, please, give me your phone.” I hold my hand out in front of him.

“No. I’m not giving it to you. We’re going to make it.”

“Oh my God, Will. Just give me the phone.”

“No.”

“Here, Kylie, you can use mine.” Lily holds out her phone. I’m almost afraid to touch it. Like it’ll blow up in my hand or something.

An olive branch? From Lily? So strange.

I stare at the phone for a minute, realizing I don’t have the strength to talk to my mom. So I text.

HI MOM, IT’S ME. I’M W WILL. WE’RE RUNNING LATE N WILL MEET U AT GRADUATION.

As I wait for Mom’s response, we pull up to the booth. Oh. My. God. We’re here. One minute ahead of schedule. If Border Patrol just lets us through, if they don’t stop us and search our car, if Charlie floors it, we may actually get to school, late, but we could still make it.

“Good morning to all of you. Passports please, people,” says an a

We all hand our passports to Charlie, who hands them to the woman at the window. I hold my breath and cross my fingers. I’m not going to breathe until I know we are good to go.

The woman flips through our passports for what seems like an interminable period of time. Is she going to ask us to get out of the car? Does she sense we came here illegally? Why is she taking so damn long?

“Did you all have a nice time in Mexico?” she asks.

“We sure did,” Charlie says.

Oh. My. God. Are we really going to have to make small talk?

“Where did you all go?”

“We were in Ensenada,” Charlie answers evenly. He doesn’t even sound stressed. Thank God for Charlie because I’m not sure the rest of us could have pulled it off. I’m tempted to lunge out the window, place my hands around the woman’s neck, and scream, Let. Us. Go.

“Love Ensenada. I go there every chance I get,” the woman says. “Did you make it to the beach?”