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  Mom went so crazy when it all started to unravel, and my college savings disappeared into her debt. She called every college financial aid department and submitted dozens of forms, but we were too late—way too late. Aid had already been requested and granted, and the meager merit scholarships tossed at me were more embarrassing than useful. Even if private loans, with their ridiculous administrative fees and sky-high interest rates, were an option, I would’ve refused them. What Mom went through—what we both went through—had showed me just how easy it was to drown in a rising tide of debt. If I got in over my head, who would save me?

  So I filled out job applications instead of acceptance forms. A minor setback, I told myself. I’ll work hard and save every single penny and start college a little late, that’s all. I could even pretend I was taking a gap year, like a cool rich kid. After all, I’d spent years getting ready for college—SAT prep classes, campus visits, countless drafts of application essays. I was not about to throw all that away.

  I don’t give up that easily became my mantra, a refrain that I repeated daily—hourly, sometimes. Even now, driving into one of Newark University’s enormous parking lots, the words soothed me. Newark University had never been part of my plans, so there was certainly no reason for its campus to inspire this unexpected flicker of envy. Of longing.

  The concrete campus was quiet, practically deserted, the perfect setup for some kind of brain-eating zombie invasion. Every boxy building was the same, so I approached the quad in the middle of them all, hoping to find a directory. The concrete path led to a concrete courtyard studded with benches made from concrete slabs. What was with all the concrete? They couldn’t afford any other materials? The whole place looked more like a parking lot than a university.

  There was only one person on the quad, a guy reading a book and eating something from a paper bag. Even from a distance, I noticed his olive skin with golden undertones, jet-black hair as dark as deep space, and shoulders that were straight and strong. There was something else, though, something beyond his physical features, that caught my attention. I think it was the way he stared at that book with such intensity, such unbroken focus that I wondered for the briefest moment what it would feel like if he looked at me that way.

  “Hey,” I said, walking up to him. “I’m sorry to bother you, but—”

  “Blueberry?” he asked.

  I blinked. “Sorry?”

  “You want a blueberry?” he said, shaking the bag in my direction.

  “Uh, no, I’m good,” I said. “Do you know where the admissions office is?”

  “I do,” he replied. “Are you looking for it?”

  “Yeah. Can you tell me how to get there?”

  He shoved the book and the blueberries into his backpack and stood up. “I can take you there.”

  “No, don’t worry about it,” I said quickly. “Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll figure it out.”

  “It’s no worry,” he said and stood there, waiting for me to join him.

  So I did.

  “Grad student?” he asked as we started to walk.

  I laughed.

  “Okay. Transfer?”

  I shook my head.

  “First year? Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “You don’t seem like a first year.”

  “I’m…I’m not,” I said awkwardly. “I don’t go here. I’m just dropping something off for a friend.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  The way he looked at me right then, with those dark and deep-set eyes, made me all flustered, like there was something more behind his words, a hidden meaning I couldn’t quite catch. I stared straight ahead, tried to shake it off, and vowed to ignore this sudden urge I had to look, really look, into his eyes.

  “My name is Luke,” he continued. “I’m in the grad program. Chemistry.”

  “Wow,” I said, impressed. “My favorite. Of course, anything’s better than physics. Man, the hours I spent staring at wave tanks—”

  He laughed. “So are you a science major, then? Wherever you go?”

  “Uh, no,” I said. “I haven’t decided.” Which was technically true. If I wasn’t even enrolled in college, I sure didn’t need to have a major declared.

  “What else are you thinking of?”

  “Art.” He was so good at asking questions that we were halfway across campus before I realized that I’d given up the short form of my autobiography. You don’t owe him all this information, I told myself. It’s not like you’re ever going to see him again.

  I glanced at Luke out of the corner of my eye. His hair was sort of brushed off to the side, a definite Supercuts special that somehow worked over his nose, which was, I have to say, perfect—delicate and straight, with enough definition to be really masculine without taking over his face.

  I checked myself and looked away before he could catch me staring.

  “I don’t think I got your name,” he said, guiding me around a corner.

  “That’s because I didn’t say it,” I replied. “It’s Julie.”

  Luke nodded. “Here we are,” he said abruptly, reaching past me to open the door. I tried to hide my smile. He was so funny, opening the door for me like it was 1955 or something. After I slipped through the door, I turned to thank him and say good-bye.

  But Luke walked right in behind me. Like he had no intention of leaving me there.

  “Admissions is this way,” he said, continuing down the hall. Very little natural light made it through the narrow windows. The fluorescent lights above were working overtime and buzzing loud enough to make sure you noticed.

  “Thanks again,” I told Luke with a distinct note of finality as I spotted Jazmine behind the counter.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, falling back so that I was pretty sure he got the hint.

  I walked up to Jaz’s window. “Special delivery,” I announced, dropping her thumb drive on the counter.

  “Jubilee to the rescue!” she replied.

  I gave her a look. “You promised you wouldn’t call me that.” Since Jazmine was a manager, she’d seen my job application—which meant she knew my real name.

  “Fine, all right.” She sighed. “It’s the best name, though. You should own it. Jubilee, bringing happiness wherever she goes.”

  “Or something like that.” I laughed.

  “Seriously, though, thank you for this,” Jazmine said as she pocketed her thumb drive. “You have saved my life.”

  I shrugged off her thanks. “It was nothing. So this is your other job? Seems pretty nice.”

  Jaz shrugged. “It could be worse, that’s for sure.” Then she glanced over my shoulder at Luke. “Who’s that?” she asked in a low voice. “Somebody special?”

  “Him? Oh God, no,” I replied. “I just met him. He showed me how to get here.”

  “Ahhh,” Jazmine said knowingly. “So you made a new friend.”

  “Not exactly.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “A new stalker?”

  I shook my head. “No, he’s fine. Harmless.”

  An older woman who must’ve been Jazmine’s boss approached us. “Everything okay?” she asked lightly, but it was obvious she knew I wasn’t here on any kind of official business.

  “I was just leaving,” I said. “Bye, Jazmine.”

  “Bye, Julie,” she replied. “Thanks again. I really appreciate it.”

  I was turning around to trudge back through the concrete wonderland when, to my surprise, I saw that guy—Luke—still standing there, staring intently at a bunch of brochures stuffed into a plastic display.

  “Oh hey, Jubilee,” he said, acting all surprised to see me, but there was this completely insufferable twinkle in his eyes.

  “Don’t,” I said. “It’s not my fault my mom gave me an incredibly stupid name.”

  Luke held up his hands. “You don’t have to tell me. My mom named me Lucien.”

  “Lucien?” I repeated, cracking a smile.

  “Yeah, she spends one summe
r in Paris, and I get stuck with a pompous name that nobody can pronounce,” he replied. “‘Lu-chee-en? Loo-see-en?’”

  He shuddered, and I had to laugh.

  “That’s why I go by Luke,” he finished. “But I like Jubilee. It’s pretty.”

  “Not to me.”

  “So I was wondering,” he began. “Do you want to get dinner sometime?”

  “My schedule’s really crazy,” I said automatically. It was true—but the minute the words were out of my mouth, I realized that they sounded like a total dismissal.

  “Ohhh,” Luke replied, nodding. “Got it.”

  “No, that’s not…I’m juggling two jobs,” I said, feeling stupider with every syllable. “So…it really is crazy…”

  He took a brochure out of the display and scrawled something on it—something that was too long to be just a phone number. “Call me sometime. Or not. Either way.”

  We pushed through the double doors at the same time.

  “Thanks again…Lucien,” I said, being careful to pronounce the name exactly as he had. Loo-shen.

  “Any time…Jubilee,” he replied, raising two fingers to his temple and giving this ridiculous little salute.

  He was so different…but at least he was genuine about it, honest in his eccentricities, and not different in some show-offy, ooh-look-how-alternative-I-am way. As Luke walked toward the quad, I watched him, but he never looked back.

  I glanced down at the brochure Luke had handed me. A large photo of a toolbox jammed with hammers and screwdrivers was plastered on the front of it. “Add more TOOLS to your TOOLBOX at Newark University!” the headline screamed.

  Under that, Luke had written:

  They paid someone to make this flyer. Paid them money. Thank God it wasn’t me. Luke, unlicensed Newark University tour guide, at your service, twenty-four hours on call.

  And then his phone number.

  Chapter 6

  October 16, 1917

  Dearest Walter,

  Your letter was waiting for me when I came home from work—what joy! My fingers still glowed, and I smiled to think of my glowing fingerprints mingling with your invisible ones, as if even across thousands of miles our hands might touch.

  Mother found some task in the kitchen to occupy my sisters to give me a few quiet moments to read your letter before sharing its contents—some of its contents—with the rest of the family. My sisters are nearly as fond of you as I am. They already consider you the brother they never had. We have been so eager for news that I was sorry to see some unfeeling censor has obliterated so many of your words. I understand the need for secrecy and sacrifice, but it would be a comfort to find your location on the globe, to mark your position in my mind, to know under which sky you rest your head at night.

  I believe I mentioned before that I am indebted not just to Liza for my job, but also to Edna Parsons, who vacated it due to illness. I am not especially close to Edna; she was a few years ahead of me at school, so Liza knows her better. Anyway, the girls at the factory have been taking turns visiting her, and recently Helen decided that I might be included in this rotation as well.

  Edna’s apartment is just a block past the gasoline factory, and the fumes were most unpleasant as I approached. The odor lingered even in her building, where it mixed with cooking smells and a sort of stagnant air that cannot be healthful. The windows were painted shut, but with the gasoline factory so nearby, I’m sure opening them would only worsen the situation. I wondered how long Edna would expect me to stay.

  She has lived with her older brother, Albert, ever since their parents died some years ago. Their apartment is just two rooms, with a shared bath down the hall. The table was set with a tatted doily, on which sat a plate of crackers and a bowl of tinned peaches. I realized with a dreadful turn that I should have brought something for Edna—cake or bread or perhaps a basket of fruit.

  “Would you care for some tea?” Edna asked me.

  “Oh, certainly,” I told her. “Please allow me to fix it. You should rest.”

  Edna was already halfway to the kitchen. “Nonsense! I’ve rested all day!” she exclaimed.

  I wondered about Edna’s illness. Though rather thin, she looked well; there was high color in her face and a sparkle to her eyes. Perhaps she still suffered from a fever. I noticed a frenetic intensity to her movements. She moved, spoke, laughed very fast and sudden, as if afraid the opportunity to do so would pass her by. Her beautiful auburn hair was swept up on just the left side of her head. It was a strange style, the likes of which I’ve not seen before; it suggested interruptions and unfinished business. Only later did I realize that her hair was partially down to conceal a bandage on the right side of her face.

  Soon Edna returned with the tea set—two cups and a teapot decorated with delicate wreaths of forget-me-nots.

  “How sweet!” I cried as I examined the fine work on my cup. “Did you paint these?”

  “Oh, I did, yes,” Edna said modestly. “I worked at Hedgecomb before ARC opened its factory. I mainly painted plates, but tea sets were my favorites. Such a happy thought to think of fine ladies enjoying afternoon tea from one of my sets.”

  “How skilled you are,” I said, looking closer at the forget-me-nots and feeling discouraged about my own abilities.

  Perhaps Edna sensed my thoughts because, after a pause, she asked, “Are you enjoying the dial painting?”

  I had worried that this exchange would come to pass, but it was clear to me that she harbored no resentment. My thoughts flailed about for a moment before I replied with a question: “It is tricky, isn’t it? I am perhaps too clumsy for such fine work.”

  Edna clucked at me. “You’ll get there,” she promised. “When I started at Hedgecomb, they only let me edge the plates for such a long time! I thought my fingers would be gold forever!” She examined her hands ruefully, as if golden fingers could benefit her now. “But enough of that! Tell me, tell me everything from ARC. I want to hear all the news!”

  I cannot imagine that there was much news since Helen’s visit the night before, but we had a pleasant time chatting. As the hour grew late, I realized that Albert had not come home, and I asked about his whereabouts.

  “He heard about work in Pennsylvania,” Edna said, “and went to make inquiries.”

  I felt sorry for Edna then, though I tried not to show it. She must be aware that I know why Albert travels so far to seek work. After all, any young and able-bodied man who has not volunteered for service is viewed with suspicion. At least now, with Edna’s ailment, he has an excuse for his abstention from the war, since there is no one else to care for her. How sad that made me. If I were to fall ill, Mother and Liza and even Charlotte would surely dote on me.

  “Are you all right by yourself?” I asked Edna. “Is there anything you need?”

  “I am quite all right, thank you,” she replied. “I am sure he will be home tomorrow or the next day.”

  I smiled at Edna as I returned my little teacup to its saucer. “Thank you so much for this lovely supper,” I told her as I prepared to make my exit. “I had such a pleasant visit.”

  “Oh, must you go?” Edna cried, unable to conceal the desperation creeping into her voice. “So soon? I had hoped—”

  She caught herself then, and I was not sure what to do. But the thought of Edna spending the long night by her lonesome moved me to stay a few minutes more. With one frail hand on my wrist, as if to hold me there, she reached under the love seat and pulled out a scrapbook of sorts. Edna was silent as she carefully opened the book; then she placed it in my lap.

  “There is something that I need,” she said softly, and the artifice of her enthusiasm faded away. She seemed suddenly very tired, and I was certain then that I had overstayed my welcome.

  With quiet reverence, Edna turned the pages of her scrapbook. Each page was a work of art; a wish for the life she longs to resume. I would not be surprised to learn that this exquisite scrapbook is her only pastime during her convalescence.
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  There were two advertisements that Edna had pasted into the book. I cannot re-create for you their exact wording, but it was something akin to this:

  EVR-BRITE

  For all ailments of the human condition!

  Are you lacking in VIM & VIGOR?

  Troubled by a WEARY CONSTITUTION?

  Has your blood grown THIN & LISTLESS?

  Experience renewed YOUTH, ENERGY, & PEP with EVR-BRITE,

  Science’s Secret to Eternal Health!

  ACHES & PAINS…Vanished!

  MALIGNANCIES & GROWTHS…Disappeared!

  Don’t wait another day to Restore your Luminosity.

  Be EVER BRIGHT…with EVR-BRITE!

  I did not understand why Edna showed me these advertisements until she tapped the bottom of one. There, in fine print, I read the name and address of my employer! Her meaning began to dawn on me.

  “This Evr-Brite,” I said carefully. “It sounds miraculous.”

  Edna nodded. “I know it could help me. See, Lydia, I asked Helen…I asked for you, specifically…You see, I always remembered your kindness…I knew that you would help me.”

  Walter, how can I describe what was in her eyes when she said this? A strange hybrid of urgency and expectation, and I realized that for all her fawning charm, Edna believes that she is owed…and that I am the one who owes her.

  “If you would just pop upstairs tomorrow,” Edna said in a rush. “Perhaps one of the chemists would be willing to give you a sample of Evr-Brite. I shouldn’t need much, I think. Just a vial or two.”

  “And what does your physician say about it?”