Chapter 2: Corned Beef and Cabbage


    I sit in an old wooden desk, one of those where the chair is permanently attached, forcing me to cramp my legs against the sides. It''s the first day of college. We’re all adrift, unsure of what comes next: where to eat, where to park. It’s vastly different from high school—teachers seem distant, and the others around seem to barely notice you. We’re strangers in this new world, and I can’t shake the feeling that we''re all just marking time.  I don’t recognize any other person from Jeade. Not many stay local after high school.


    The college itself feels like another institution on the slow decline into financial instability. I can''t help but wonder if it’ll even survive the next four years. I glance around the room. The walls are covered with Shakespearean quotes and posters, and the bookshelves are packed with textbooks that haven’t been touched in decades. A soft tick from the second hand of the clock fills the silence, but doesn’t seem to move quickly enough. We’re given no direction, no help in navigating who we are or what we’re supposed to become. It already feels like a checklist: show up, check. Show up three times a week, check. If we fulfill these basic requirements, maybe, just maybe, this freshman seminar will become a distant memory.


    I look down at the page in the dull academic manual, its contents blurring into the same paragraphs I’ve been staring at for the past thirty-five minutes. Do they really think we haven’t already gone through this catalog before enrolling? The same bolded graduation requirements mock me from the corner of the page—so formal, so daunting. High school just ended. How is it already time for this?


    “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Professor Viola’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “We have some new business to discuss before the end of class today.”


    The room stirs as students shut their manuals, some already shoving them into their backpacks, preparing for dismissal. The bell—or whatever marks the end of class—can’t be far off. At this point, we’ve learned that when Professor Viola speaks, time seems to stretch. She loves to talk. It’s almost as if she enjoys overwhelming us with information. She must know how lost we feel.


    She hands out a paper, and the class falls silent again.


    “As you can see from the title of this assignment, we’ll be starting a project about a career of your choosing. This is not meant to be a formal presentation—just a simple homework task designed to encourage some exploration and self-reflection. Your decision time is limited before you’ll have to declare a major. Next week, we’ll start outlining the courses you’ll follow for the next four years, and the path you choose here will likely mirror the path you take through life,” she explains. “Presentations will begin tomorrow.”


    A few students audibly gasp. I’m not one to panic about assignments, but I can’t help but feel annoyed. It''s the first day, my first class, and now I’m already being asked to write a paper?


    “I understand this might feel overwhelming,” Professor Viola continues, “but this project is more about getting to know yourselves and your classmates. I promise, it won’t take long to complete. And remember, you’re not locked into your choice—you’ll have a few more weeks before you have to declare a major.”


    She gestures to the handout in front of us. “Per the rubric, you’ll need to choose a career that interests you. Write at least two pages explaining why you chose that field, the daily responsibilities of someone in that career, its societal benefits, and the education and skills needed to succeed. Once your paper is finished, you’ll outline a short speech summarizing the key points. This project will be your first heavy grade, so please don’t approach it lightly. I encourage you to pick something that you can relate to personally, something that will allow you to offer a unique perspective.”


    What on earth am I going to write about? I’ve had several career ideas over the years, but they’ve all changed with time. For a while, I wanted to be a doctor—until that emergency trip to the hospital two years ago, when I swore I’d never step foot in one again. The nurse poured some liquid on my cut that felt like gasoline on raw skin, and I jumped out of the bed screaming. I cursed that poor nurse for five minutes straight.


    For a time, I thought about being a fish biologist. That dream soured, though, when I learned that was Mayor Meyers’ background. I don’t want him to have any claim over my career choice, nor do I want anyone to think he influenced me. I just don’t know anymore. This project could not have come at a worse time.


    As I sat in that creaky chair, the minutes dragged on, my mind racing with possibilities, none of which felt right. A teaching career popped into my head, but not because I’m passionate about it. Maybe I could gain some sympathy points from the professor, though I quickly dismissed the idea. There was no way I could fake my way through a paper and presentation about loving school when I’m just trying to scrape by these four years. There’s no way I would ever make a career of that.


    “What are you doing yours on?” a voice asks. I turn to see the cute brunette from the desk behind.


    “I was thinking... a male stripper,” I say with a grin. “I don’t know much about the clientele. Do you think I could pull it off?”


    She giggles.


    “Interesting,” she replies, still laughing.


    “To be honest, I have no idea,” I admit, turning back to my manual.


    “I want to be a veterinarian,” she says. “Third-generation vet.”


    “A family legacy,” I comment.


    “Yep. My grandma, Valerie, founded Val’s Village in Clemendale. My mom took over when she retired. Now she runs the practice.”


    “The Village?” I ask.


    “That’s what we call it. No teepees or small towns here—it’s just a name. Vet Val’s Village. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? It looks like a zoo, quite a nice theme.”


    “It’s got a lot of /vvv/ sounds,” I say, smiling.


    “It’s called alliteration, silly,” she laughs. “What do your parents do?”


    “My mom works for the city. Sherry Jackson—she’s the councilwoman for the second district.”


    Her eyes light up. “Sherry Jackson is your mom? Oh my goodness!”


    I nod, feeling a strange mix of pride and discomfort. “Yeah.”


    “And your dad... he’s so nice. My family loves the Mayor.” she says, clearly starstruck.


    My heart sinks. What is she talking about? Do people actually think this? If it weren’t for her being so cute, I might have walked out of the room right then and vomited.


    “Oh no, he’s not my dad,” I say, trying to hide my shock. “You’re totally wrong.”


    She looks confused. “Oh.”


    “My mom and the Mayor are friends, but—”


    “You don’t need to explain,” she says quickly, giving me an understanding smile. “So what does your dad do then?”


    “Well... he works out of town. He’s actually in Afghanistan right now.” The words slip out before I can stop them. It’s partly true—he was deployed there before—but I don’t want to dive into it.


    “Is he in the military?” she asks.


    “Yeah, he’s been gone for a while. Hopefully, he’ll be back soon.”


    I need to change the subject, but my words get tangled. “What are you doing tonight?”


    She looks surprised, but pleasantly so. “What?”


    “What are you doing tonight?” I repeat, feeling bolder this time.


    “My grandmother’s having us over for dinner. She’s making corned beef and cabbage, which I’m not crazy about, but it’s my parents'' favorite. We usually play cards after dinner,” she says.


    I pause, taken aback. Family dinners? That sounds nice... too nice.


    “You could join us,” she offers.


    “What?” I say, hoping desperately she would insist to ask a second time. I don’t even know her name. “I just met you. You could be a foreign asset.”


    “We’d love to have you. Just meet me at the pump station on Clemendale Road at 5:00. I’ll give you a ride from there. That’ll give me enough time to get ready and update my Russian contacts.” she winks.


    I can’t refuse. Her warmth and sincerity are irresistible. “I’ll be there,” I agree.


    The class has mostly cleared out now. How did we not hear the bell? There’s no bell here, I guess. I gather my things quickly, and as I shove my papers into my bag, I hear her voice again.


    “Lacey Shepler,” she says, turning to leave.


    “Dean Jackson,” I reply, watching as she walks out of the room.


    “Mr. Jackson.”


    There are still four more classes today. I can’t focus—my mind keeps drifting to tonight. I’ve got a date.


    “Mr. Jackson!” Professor Viola calls again, her voice sharp. “Are you alright, Mr. Jackson?”


    I stammer, “Yes, I’m fine.” I scramble to grab my bookbag off the floor.


    “If you weren’t aware,” she continues, “it’s time for your next class.” She gestures toward the hallway, ushering me out.


    I step into the dimly lit corridor, a broad grin on my face, one that feels too wide to be contained—stretching wider than John Candy. The hallway is quiet, no sight of lockers like those I’d grown accustomed to in high school. The second class is just down the hall, and the third class is in a completely different building. The general education schedule, I realize, is meant to separate the students, offer a wide range of courses to produce what they consider to be “well-rounded graduates”. By the time I reach my fourth class, I haven’t seen a trace of Lacey, that green-eyed girl from the first class.


    It’s not so bad, I tell myself. The seminar was dry, and the others—standard novice level fare: writing, algebra, and a quick dive into ancient civilizations. When the day wraps up, I exit through a side door and walk along the cracked sidewalk leading to the student parking lot at the rear of the campus. I reach my car and pull my phone from my pocket, eager to call William. He’s not going to believe what happened today.


    “Will. Hey, you won’t believe it,” I say, excitement creeping into my voice.


    “College must be treating you well. Already scoring with someone?” he teases.


    “There’s this girl, Lacey Shepler,” I begin.


    “I think I’ve heard of her. What’s the big deal?” he replies, indifferent.


    “She’s gorgeous,” I tell him. “And, if I told you I’ve got a date with her, would you be proud of me?”


    “I’d give you a handshake. How’d you pull that off?” he asks.


    “Meet me at the downtown parlor. I’ll tell you everything,” I say.


    “Alright, I’m on my way,” he answers before hanging up.


    I drive out of the parking lot, heading toward Main Street, passing four traffic lights and making a left turn. It’s a familiar stretch—the kind of street that’s home to the best pretzel bun hotdogs, the finest local brewery, and, of course, The Ice Cream Company.


    I park on the side of the street and pay for thirty minutes of parking, then step into the parlor. William is already sitting at a booth in the back, away from the bright sunlight that seeps in through the front. It’s a shorter trip from my house, but I know he hasn’t been waiting long. The parlor is bustling with high schoolers grabbing their after-school snacks, but William stands up when he sees me, offering a handshake, as promised.


    “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re going on a date tonight,” he says, unsure whether to believe me.


    I meet his gaze and nod, the grin on my face so wide I can barely form the words. His expression softens after a moment, and then he cracks a smile too.


    William has already ordered ice cream bowls, and a waitress drops them off at our table. He digs in, still looking at me with a mix of disbelief and amusement.


    “Raspberry—that’s Anna’s favorite too,” I comment as he takes a spoonful. “You’ve got a sweet tooth today.”


    I didn’t intentionally change the mood.


    “She’s doing better today,” William says. “I think she was just embarrassed. Everyone saw what happened. She’s still just a kid—it’s hard to shake something like that off.”


    “I know,” I reply quietly. “She didn’t want to talk about it last night. I gave her some space.”


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    “She doesn’t blame us. She doesn’t blame anyone,” he assures me. “Don’t let Mayor Meyers guilt-trip you over it.”


    “I don’t. I’m just... worried about her,” I admit.


    I don’t want to keep talking about it. It’s stealing my focus, and I’ve got enough on my mind. Tonight, I’ve got something to be excited about. Fortunately, a couple of old friends from the neighborhood walk in, and they notice us in the back. They’re guys I grew up with, though we drifted apart in high school. William, however, has kept in touch with them. They were very close.


    “Hey, hey!” William greets them, scooting over to make space at the table.


    I shift across the booth, making room for one of them also.


    “What’s new?” Gabe asks. We haven’t caught up since last summer.


    “Well, I’m glad you asked,” I say, leaning in with a grin. “I’ve got a date with Lacey Shepler. She’s from Clemendale.”


    “You still haven’t told me what you’ve got planned,” William points out. “It’s going to be a beautiful night. You should take a walk or something.”


    “We’re actually having dinner,” I say. “And she wants me to meet her family.”


    “Oh,” William says, his tone shifting slightly. “You sure you want to rush things? Moving awfully fast, don’t you think?”


    “Meeting the family already?” Gabe chuckles. “You didn’t waste any time.”


    “So, what are you doing at dinner?” Shawn asks, eager for details.


    “It’ll be her parents and grandparents,” I explain. “Her grandma’s cooking, and then they play card games afterward.”


    “Sounds like a cozy family night,” Gabe remarks. “But, man, you’ve got to watch yourself. Anything past second base, and you’re in danger. Imagine her grandma walking in on you two. She’d have a heart attack.”


    “There won’t be any ‘action’ tonight,” I clarify. “We’re working on a school project.”


    “A school project?” William raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “This sounds like an excuse for a date if I’ve ever heard one. Grandma, homework, what is this?”


    “It’s a career exploration project. Due tomorrow,” I say, trying to explain.


    William doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he says, with an almost disappointed tone, “I can’t believe you’re falling for that.”


    Gabe and Shawn nod in agreement. I don’t get it.


    “What do you mean?” I ask, confused. “I don’t understand.”


    “It’s the classic move,” William says. “She’s probably using you to get her project done. Every pretty girl has that trick up their sleeve. She’ll ask you to write her paper and save her the hassle. If you’re lucky, you might get a kiss, but after tonight, she won’t have anything to do with you.”


    “No way,” I insist. “You didn’t see how into me she was. She’s not faking it.”


    “Maybe, but given how quickly she’s asked you out, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Shawn adds. “Just don’t get your hopes up.”


    “I’ve had instances like this before.” Gabe adds. “It never lasts long.”


    Before I can respond, I hear the unmistakable sound of a tow truck outside, the beeping of its reverse signal growing louder. Through the window, I see the truck slowly pulling toward my car.


    “Crap!” I mutter, leaping out of the booth and heading for the door.


    “Sir! That’s my car! It’s my Challenger!” I shout at the tow truck driver, but he barely acknowledges me.


    “Son, you paid for parking fifty-eight minutes ago,” he says without turning. “The sign clearly states the parking limit is thirty minutes. You’re double your time.”


    “Please, I paid the fee,” I protest, frustrated. “My mom works for the city. I’m sure she can sort this out.”


    He barely glances at me. “Tell your mom if she’s got an issue, she can talk to the council about increasing the time limits. Otherwise, your car will be towed to the garage. There’s a $500 fee to release it.”


    I mutter under my breath, “What a jerk.”


    I return into the parlor, my frustration evident.


    “Everything alright?” William asks, though I know he saw the whole thing unfold.


    “Thanks for the backup, kind brother,” I say sarcastically.


    “This kind brother will drive you wherever you need to go tonight,” William assures me, flashing a grin. “That guy gets paid minimum wage to tow cars and look like Mick Dodge while doing it. Don’t let it ruin your night. This is a huge moment for you.”


    “They’ll probably tow your truck next,” I warn. “We better get out of here.”


    We wave goodbye to Gabe and Shawn and head out the door. We make our way to William’s old pick-up parked behind the bank.


    “I didn’t think you liked Aerosmith,” William comments as I turn up the radio.


    “I don’t,” I reply. “But it’s better than silence.”


    “What do you think Mom’s going to say?” I ask, already dreading the conversation.


    “About your car being towed?” he asks.


    “Yeah. She’s already upset with us.”


    “She’ll probably be able to call and get the car back with no trouble,” William reassures me. “Between her and Richie, they’ve got this town figured out.”


    “I don’t know. Mayor Meyers really blasted us yesterday. I’m not sure one of them will want to help me now.”


    “Mom’s had time to cool off. I’m surprised she hasn’t been blowing you up asking about her baby’s first day of college.” William says, throwing in a playful jab.


    I still doubt whether they would help me or not. I am an adult now.


    “I’ll drive us home. You can get ready for your date,” William continues. “Tonight, I’ll talk to Mom about the car. Don’t worry about that right now.”


    I give him a small smile, not entirely sure what to make of his sincerity. But for once, I’m glad to have him in my corner.


    When we arrived at the house, I found a clean pair of jeans—no rips—and a neatly pressed long-sleeve shirt. After a quick shower, a touch of cologne, and last-minute research to prepare for our projects, the clock read 4:30. I slipped on my special occasion watch, securing the sleek black band around my wrist. The gold edging around the face made it stand out, but it was the glossy black dial with its shining gold hands that gave it an air of exclusivity—as if I had stolen it from a Trump or a Bloomberg.


    I descended the stairs and entered the living room, where William sat on the couch, flipping through a sports magazine.


    “Are you ready?” I asked.


    “Yeah. Where are we headed?”


    “The pump station on Clemendale Road,” I replied. “You’ll need to drive fast. I can’t afford to keep her waiting.”


    “No problem,” he assured me. “Nice watch.”


    We climbed into his truck and set off, the engine rumbling as we headed back into town.


    “Are you nervous?” William asked.


    “No, I just think it’s a bit cold in here,” I said, though my legs betrayed me, trembling uncontrollably.


    “Let me give you some advice,” he began.


    “What is it?” I asked, glancing at him. This is unusual.


    “A few years ago, when I met Lauren, I was terrified of messing things up. Here’s the thing—you’ve just got to be yourself. For me, it wasn’t about the trophies or the weightlifting, and for you, it shouldn’t be about the watch you’re wearing or how smart you are. If she’s genuinely into you for the right reasons, tonight’s going to be perfect.”


    As we neared the pump station parking lot, it was dark, heavily shaded by surrounding trees. Only a few distant lights from The Village pierced the night. A black Mercedes SUV was parked by the road’s edge. William pulled his rusted truck up next to it, and I climbed out, feeling more than a little out of place next to the luxury vehicle. At least it was dusty. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself, walking toward it.


    When I reached the car, I saw Lacey sitting in the backseat, her eyes eagerly fixed on me. Her mother sat in the driver’s seat, also looking my way, while her father occupied the passenger seat. Unlike the others, he was using the side mirror to study my approach.


    “Hi, Dean,” Lacey greeted me softly as I opened the door.


    Her mother couldn’t have been older than her late twenties. With her straight blonde hair and meticulously maintained appearance, she clearly took great care of herself. She smiled warmly at me and said, “We’re so glad you could join us tonight, Dean.”


    “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Shepler. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” I said, extending my hand to the front of the car.


    “Aww, you’re so sweet,” Mrs. Shepler said, shaking my hand with a warm smile. I turned to Mr. Shepler, offering my hand. He barely moved, acknowledging it with a stiff nod before shaking it with a firm grip, his eyes returning to the mirror.


    The moment was awkward, and I stood there waiting for someone to speak, unsure of what to say next. Mrs. Shepler broke the silence as she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.


    “My parents are thrilled you’re joining us for dinner. They don’t get many guests anymore,” she remarked. “I’ll admit, it surprised us when Lacey said she wanted to bring a boy over,” she added with a laugh.


    “It caught me off guard, too, Mrs. Shepler,” I replied, trying to ease the tension. Lacey giggled beside me, and Mr. Shepler, still silent, didn’t appear to have stopped watching me through the rearview mirror.


    “Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t talk much to new people. He’s afraid he comes off too intimidating,” Mrs. Shepler explained.


    I decided to crack a joke to break the ice. “Well, Mr. Shepler, instead of being intimidating, you come off as mute. Do you speak?”


    I could see the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Lacey and Mrs. Shepler both laughed, so I must’ve been on the right track. It seemed like they all had a good sense of humor, and Lacey—well, she giggled at almost everything I said.


    Lacey gave me a subtle nudge as we approached her grandmother’s house, just off the old highway on Park Street. The front porch was lined with animal-themed decorations and bird feeders, a testament to the family’s love for animals. The house, with its red brick walls and small concrete porch, gave off an old-fashioned charm. A porch swing sat invitingly beside a lone maple tree in the front yard.


    As we approached, Lacey’s grandparents emerged from the house to greet us. “Hey, Dad,” Mrs. Shepler said, giving him a quick hug, while Lacey rushed over to her grandmother.


    “You must be Dean,” Grandma Valerie said, her arms wide open in welcome. “Come here and give Grandma and Pap Pap a hug! You look like a fine young man.”


    After the brief family introduction in the yard, Grandma Valerie announced, “Supper’s on the stove—ready to serve.”


    We gathered around the dining table, settling into the stiff wooden chairs. The smell of the food was so strong that anyone within three houses could’ve told you exactly what we were having. Steam billowed from the pots, and everyone passed them around the table, filling their plates.


    “It’s rare for kids these days to enjoy a meal like this,” Grandma Valerie remarked.


    “Growing up with my mom, there wasn’t anything we were allowed to dislike,” I said, hoping to contribute to the conversation.


    “That’s some rare parenting these days, but I like it,” Pap Pap added, glancing over at me.


    “We got lucky. Lacey will eat anything we put in front of her, ever since she was little,” Mrs. Shepler said.


    “She’s definitely not picky,” Mr. Shepler chimed in, his first words of the evening. I was questioning whether he was still talking about the food.


    Once we’d finished eating and small talk faded, Grandma Valerie suggested a game of Rummy. “Alright, I’ll deal,” she announced.


    “Actually, Grandma,” Lacey interrupted, “I think Dean and I should head to the guest room to work on our project before it gets too late.”


    “That’s fine, dear. But don’t make a mess, okay? If you move the pillows, put them back where they belong,” Grandma Valerie said softly, as if offering a gentle reminder.


    As we walked down the hallway toward the guest bedroom, I noticed the walls adorned with pictures of people I didn’t recognize, though one face caught my eye—Lacey’s.


    “Wow, you were so little here,” I said, stopping to take in one of her childhood photos. “And you must’ve really loved orange push-pops.”


    “I was six when that picture was taken,” she said with a laugh. “Orange push-pops were the best.”


    Once inside the guest room, Lacey quickly made herself comfortable, tossing the throw pillows aside. I followed her onto the bed and settled down beside her. She opened an empty notebook and wrote the words "Career Exploration Project" in elegant cursive at the top of the page.


    “Do you have your notebook?” she asked.


    “No, I thought I was using yours,” I replied, confused.


    “What do you mean? We can’t both write in my notebook,” she said with a smile.


    I hesitated, then confessed, “I thought you wanted me to write your essay for you.”


    Her eyes softened, and she smiled. “I appreciate you wanting to help, Dean, but I can do my own essay. You must have misunderstood.”


    I felt a weight lift off my chest. “I thought that might be the only reason you wanted me around.”


    “No, Dean,” she said gently. “I want you around because you’re a cool guy, and you’re funny. And don’t ask me to repeat this, but... you’re kind of cute.”


    I was taken aback by her honesty, but her words left me feeling both shocked and elated. She handed me a few sheets of paper, grabbed a book from beneath the bed for me to write on, and we began working on our projects together. She quickly filled her page with ideas, but I remained unsure about which career path I wanted to pursue.


    “So, a veterinarian?” I asked.


    “Yeah. I’ve always been around animals. It just feels right,” she explained.


    I paused for a moment before asking, “Is that something you want to do, or do you feel like you have to?”


    “No, I want to do it. I really love animals. It’s my decision,” she assured me.


    "How is it that I never knew you?" I ask, another question slipping out before I can stop it. "You''re local, but I never saw you at the high school."


    "It wasn''t my choice," she replies, her voice steady. "I went to Clemendale School until seventh grade, but when the consolidations started, the backlash from the small-town folks was overwhelming. My mom was worried about how outsiders like me would be received at Jeade." She pauses, gathering her thoughts. "So, I stayed on the farm and was homeschooled. Helping Dad feed the animals and run the brush hog earned me a phys ed credit. He was always too stubborn to ask for help, so it ended up working out perfectly for all of us."


    It’s hard to imagine someone like Lacey—a girl with striking green eyes—working the land, but I don’t doubt her. She has the look of someone who can handle it. I understand her mother’s concern; I remember the tension surrounding the consolidation—almost no one was in favor. But Lacey didn’t miss a step—she was still as social and sharp as ever.


    "There were plenty of girls I grew up with who stayed around," she continues. "I certainly didn’t miss out on the drama." She says it with a look, almost as if she''s anticipating judgment for being homeschooled.


    "So, this college thing—it''s a bit of a change of pace for you?" I ask.


    "Kind of," she smiles. "But I’m the one who already has this assignment all planned out," she teases.


    I give her a look that acknowledges her playful jab.


    "Have you ever considered joining the military, like your father?" she asks.


    I hesitated, dreading the conversation. “Lacey, there’s something I need to tell you about him.”


    “What is it?” she asked, sensing my unease.


    I took a deep breath before answering. “My father was in the military, but only for three years. He’s been out for a long time.”


    “I thought you said he—”


    “I know what I said. Talking about my dad is hard for me,” I paused, the words heavy. “He died, Lacey.”


    Her eyes widened, her expression shifting from confusion to concern. “What?!” she gasped, her voice softening. “I’m sorry.”


    I nodded, struggling to keep my composure. “After he was discharged, he became a police officer, working in forensics for years. But when I was eight, he was murdered. They found him in a house on Vensilla Street, where he was investigating a crime. That’s all my mom ever really told me about it.”


    “That’s terrible,” she whispered. She slid closer to me, her hand gently resting on mine. “I’m so sorry.”


    For a moment, we lay there in silence, each of us processing the weight of my words. Finally, Lacey broke the stillness.


    “Solve it,” she said, her voice full of quiet determination.


    “What?” I asked, confused.


    “Solve the case,” she urged, her eyes filled with conviction.


    I thought about it for a moment. “That’s it,” I said aloud.


    “What''s it?”


    “Career exploration,” I said, the realization dawning. “I can become a detective. Solve my father’s case. And I’m sure Professor Viola would appreciate the personal connection to the career choice.”


    We lay there, side by side, writing our essays and working on the script for our presentation the next day. There were moments when I’d pause, pencil in hand, just watching her write with such focus and determination. Every stroke, every line, made me realize how in awe I was to be here with her. She’d catch me watching her. I’d smile and she’d smile. I’d giggle and she’d giggle too.


    In this moment, I knew, with complete certainty, that I’d found something special. My life’s purpose had been right in front of me all along. How was I so oblivious to recognize it? It’s in my blood. It’s my duty. I’ve got to make my father proud.