“And I don’t want to think about this shit anymore.” I sigh, annoyed.
This feels like all we do these days, speculate about where we’ll get in and whether we’ll get any money toward tuition. I’m getting so tired of it, but it also makes me very anxious. What if I don’t get into the Brockden architecture program?
“You think you’re going to get in?” Matt asks, sipping his hot chocolate.
I shrug, stuffing a cookie in my mouth. “Who knows?”
It’s the first time I’ve been outwardly doubtful about anything to my friends, and they give me strange looks. But after I finished my supplemental essay and submitted the whole application, I didn’t feel any sense of completion. There was no settling in my soul, my chest still feels just as anxious as it always has.
Maybe it’s just my overall confidence that has taken a blow. Since I found out about Blair finding my list about her, I can’t help but remember through the past two years with a fine-tooth comb.
The future seems so uncertain, both in my personal life and when it comes to college.
I don’t say as much to my friends, who all but have their athletic scholarships locked up. Instead, I try to distract myself by listening to their argument about who is the best quarterback of all time, while drinking copious amounts of hot chocolate and shoving cookies in my face.
Shit, I sound like a girl on her period.
Which only makes me think of Blair, and what she’s doing right now halfway across the world, even more.
23
Blair
In the end, Dad agrees to one week, not two, in Haiti.
He and Mom are still in talks about her coming to visit sometime over the winter break, since she ended up backing out of the actual holiday. So, the compromise was one week volunteering on the new school build, and then home to await my narcissist of a parent to see if she’ll actually show up.
But as we walk into the village, waving to the resident Haitians and the volunteers from all over the world as we pass, I don’t even care that I might have to put up with Mom. This is worth it, just to be here and show my father the place where I discovered myself this summer.
Dad and I have traveled by plane, bus, and very old truck to Maplat, a mountain village in need of help. I volunteered in Jacmel before, a town that is still reeling from the earthquake that rocked the nation. We’re here to build about twenty wood houses, which are really no bigger than one of my classrooms back at Chester High School. But these houses will give twenty families a place to call their own, when these people could have and most likely are living in the harsh, unforgiving mountains of Haiti.
“Oh no, who let her back in?”
The voice, with its deep Haitian lilt and friendly demeanor, hits me right between the shoulders.
Turning, I take in Junior. He looks exactly the same as when I left just a few months ago, if not a little more tired. I’m sure with the summer volunteers leaving, he’s been even busier than usual.
“They told me you couldn’t handle all the work alone, so here I am to clean up your mess.”
He snorts as we meet in the middle and hug, and I turn to introduce him to Dad.
“Dad, this is Junior. He leads most of the projects out here for the nonprofit and was born in the village just over the border of Maplat. Junior, this is my father, Todd.”
They shake hands, and Dad speaks, “We’re both very excited to be here. I’m ready to help, so put me where you need me.”
Junior hooks a thumb in my direction. “This one couldn’t stop talking about you this summer, so I know all about what you do. I was actually wondering if you could look over the plans for the wooden houses we’ll be trying to build during these coming weeks. We have a limited number of supplies, but I think if you look at the plans, we may be able to squeeze out three or four more with your expertise.”
Dad nods, and I see a twinkle in his eyes. “Anything to help out.”
“He’s more than thrilled to look over blueprints, it’s practically his favorite activity.”
Dad slings an arm around my shoulder and gives a wry grin. “Being anywhere with you is my favorite activity. But architecture is a close second.”
Two days later, we’re elbow deep in building materials.
My hands are callused and every muscle is sore, but I’ve never felt happier. Coming to Haiti, especially with Dad, is one of the best decisions I’ve made this year. I needed to get out of Chester, to give myself some space from all the drama and stress that has gone down there. We need this time to bond before I leave for college sooner rather than later. The Maplat people need our assistance, and I can’t wait to show them the houses we are building that they will now make homes.
“I have to admit, I’m ashamed that my girl can cut a dovetail better than I can.” Dad pouts as he watches me on the electric table saw.
“You might be the architect, but no one ever said you’re a builder,” I tease, finishing the cut and turning off the saw.
Dad helped Junior ration the building materials and rearrange the blueprints so we could get three more houses built than we’d originally planned.
“No, I suppose not. Though you may have a future in it.” Dad’s eyes perk up with glee, and my heart sinks a little.
“Dad, you know my plan,” I shoot him down.
He sighs, but not in a sad way. “No, I know, and I’m so proud of you. I can’t wait to see what
