Page 102 of Wherever You Are

22BACK THEN – January

Upstate New York

GARRISON ABBEY

Age 18

Connor Cobalt is a god here.A single week at Faust, and it’s the first lesson I’ve learned.

The second: I’m in over my head. The guys here aren’t just smart. They seem toenjoylearning. As if it’s a gift given to them, and everyone supports the growth of knowledge. Translating whole passages from Caesar’s Invasion is cool, and debating philosophy is just another pastime.

I know basic Latin.

Enough to chant out loud with the class, but put a sentence in front of my face and I won’t be able to translate anything without a vocabulary list.

And yeah, I asked for a vocab list or a dictionary the other day. The amount of students staring at me forthatwas beyond embarrassing. And this is coming from someone who didn’t give a shit if people thought I was stupid.

Here, it feels like the worst crime.

“So you have spoken to him?” my new roommate asks as I try to concentrate on translating a passage inThe Odysseyfrom Latin to English. It’s slow moving.

I wish this was Calculus—a language I actually am proficient at.

My roommate leans forward on his crimson bedspread, blond hair brushing his neck and brown eyes round and curious. He’s asking if I’ve spoken to the legend himself: Richard Connor Cobalt. The moment William learned that I’m from the same neighborhood as Connor, I’ve been bombarded with questions.

I promised to answer them later—which was my response for five whole days. Another five days dodging these questions seems unlikely since William has already spread the news to the entire boarding school.

It’s whatever.

I’m just hoping the reasoning behindwhyI’m at Faust remains a secret. These guys don’t seem like they’d take kindly to delinquents like me.

I curl my hand around the book, my other hand gripping a pencil tight. “I mean…not really. Kind of. I don’t know,” I say to William.

I heard Connor tell Loren that I’m not allowed in his house. That’s about the extent of any conversation I’ve had with the guy.

I can’t tell him that though. I’m trying to make friends here, and the students obviously worship Connor Cobalt. Letting them know I’m barred from entering his home for spraying his wife and baby with punch would be…fucked up.

It’s all fucked up.

William frowns. “Well, have you seen him around? What is he like in real life?” he asks quickly. “Is he as tall as he seems on TV?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “He’s really tall.” This is so dumb.

“Did he or his family mention anything about all the shit that’s going down on social media?” William asks, eyes glittering for more knowledge.

“Which shit?” I ask. When it comes to Connor Cobalt, there’s been a lot of shit recently. Especially concerning him and his wife. Yesterday, there were hundreds of pics online with Rose’s hair dyed an ugly orange color. Tumblr created a meme and literally photoshopped foxes on her head. It was weird and stupid.

“The photos of Connor going down on his wife in a parking lot,” William says. I saw those too. They were dark, taken outside while they were in a car. But you could make out his head and her legs around his shoulders. It was obvious what they were doing, and when they didn’t deny it, social media went nuts.

“No one has said anything,” I reply.

“Can you believe he did that and basically owned up to it like it was just another day?” William says in awe. “I mean, the guy is legendary. His wife is immortally beautiful and brilliant. He can give her head in a public parking lot and not even bat an eye. Are you sure no one has talked about it?”

“I’m sure,” I snap. For the love of…why are we talking about Connor Cobalt? I run a hand through my hair. I want to physically eject myself from this conversation. Would it be rude to get up and leave the room? I’ve never really had a roommate—besides that couple times on family vacations I had to room with Mitchell, but I don’t think that counts. This is all new for me.

Being at a new school.

New place.