To Be Young

Chapter 1 

To be young is to be reckless. 

“Soon it will be time for you to discover who you are.”

That was the exact statement Mr. Keating had said to him three months before his last day at Welton.

To be young is to be wild. 

“What did you mean by that? I already know who I am.” 

He had questioned his English teacher three weeks away from his graduation ceremony. 

To be young is to be free. 

“You know who everyone else thinks you are. But who are you?” 

The man had asked him in return, three days out from receiving his diploma.

To be young is to be bold. 

“I don’t understand.” 

He had admitted to his mentor with furrowed brows, only three hours until he’d walked across the stage. 

To be young is to learn anew. 

“You will.” 

That had been all Mr. Keating replied with, his face lit up with a proud smile, three minutes after he’d given his Salutatorian address. 

He had been confused, then. 

And still was, now, over three years later. 

But little by little, he was starting to comprehend. 

——

Neil Perry hadn’t realized the difference between existing and living up until his senior year at Welton Academy. 

For seventeen years of his life, he had existed on earth merely as an extension of his father. His parents’ singular conceived offspring that his father could live vicariously through, because he hadn’t been satisfied with his own outcomes. 

Neil had been a marionette doll so easily controlled by the puppeteer, his father. 

He wouldn’t say his childhood had been a sheltered one. An all-boys Catholic boarding school could only shield a child’s innocence to a certain extent. While perhaps not as unwieldy as a public high school in several aspects, adults underestimated the cunning nature of seemingly well-behaved teenage boys. Because even the strict, overbearing faculty that patrolled every corner, every inch at Welton couldn’t stop the rebellious burning and puffing of smuggled cigarettes in winding staircases or the continuous rage of hormones and pubescent angst hidden within stashes of pornographic magazines. 

His best friend was also Charles “Charlie” Dalton— the king of being ungovernable. 

And his tight knit friend group were the Dead Poets Society— Steven Meeks, Gerard Pitts, Knox Overstreet, and Richard Cameron. A bunch of young men spouting poetic nonsense and letting words drip from their lips like honey while the sky indicated the time was well past midnight in a damp, glorious cave out in the middle of the woods miles away from the school. Something his father would’ve thoroughly disapproved had he known about the shenanigans his dutiful, responsible son had been up to. 

And their ringleader was none other than Mr. Keating himself. 

The dreamer, the idealist, the man with an endless supply of hope and whimsy. 

The man who had reached out and snatched the rose-colored glasses from right off his face— figuratively but also quite literally. 

“I’m taking these from you,” Mr. Keating declared, gripping Neil’s reading glasses fiercely. 

“But I need those to see,” Neil laughed lightly, bewildered and incredulous, as he attempted to retrieve his glasses from the man.

“Well, pretend these are rose-tinted glasses,” his teacher commanded, his grasp not relenting. 

“But wouldn’t that infer that I’m seeing the world unrealistically?” 

“Yes, sometimes.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you, Captain, to want someone to view the world realistically,” he pointed out as he gave up on wrestling the man for his spectacles. 

“Ah, but you forget that an idiom can have more than one meaning, Mr. Perry,” Mr. Keating chuckled. 

Neil blinked at his teacher, tilting his head to one side. 

“In your case, taking off rose-tinted glasses means removing yourself from outdated beliefs and expectations. Then you‘ll have a clearer view of which path to take for your rebirth.” 

“My rebirth?” 

“You cannot get a conscious ending out of an unconscious situation, Mr. Perry,” Mr. Keating stated sagely, passing back his glasses. “But you can consciously take off your rose-tinted glasses and walk away for yourself.” 

His English teacher always spoke like an ancient, prophetic wizard, full of baffling riddles and enigmatic lessons. 

But Mr. Keating was right— as he usually was. He learned not to question the man’s unconventional lectures. 

He had started inching the glasses off of his face when he had auditioned for the role of Puck in Henley Hall’s winter production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream his senior year without his father’s permission. He had torn the glasses off of his body when he performed anyway, after his father had caught him and demanded he quit the play. He’d aggressively thrown the glasses to the ground when he’d gone toe-to-toe with his father after being dragged into his childhood home.

“I’ve got to tell you how I feel!” 

He’d smashed the glasses beneath his shoe when he had snuck out through his window in the dead of night in the middle of December, an assortment of bags stuffed full with his belongings slung over his left shoulder, and sprinted back to Welton. His father had threatened to pull him out of school, ship him to a military camp, then enroll him into medical school for the next ten years. The concept had terrified him to his core. His mother had rejected the idea, but his father wouldn't budge on the matter. 

“But Thomas-”

“Enough, Diana! I will not tolerate you or Neil disputing me when all I’ve done is provide for our family.” 

“You have done nothing but bring our son pain!” 

So Neil had done the only thing he could think of when things got tough: he fled. 

And he directly sought out help from the one adult he could rely on. 

In the end, his mother and father had a messy divorce after his father disowned him, and Neil had stuck to Mr. Keating like a mournful shadow until graduation. After that, he had ditched his small town home of Strafford, Vermont with his two close friends, Charlie and Knox, and drove straight for New York City. The three of them had spent three-and-half months bumming inside a crappy motel and working odd jobs before moving into New York University’s cluster of dormitories.

He reminisced.

During the last few weeks of their junior year, Charlie had created a bet with him, and Neil had lost. His consequence had been to apply to NYU without his parents’ consent. Neil had almost chickened out, but his best friend’s logic had been unarguable,

“Come on, Perrywinkle. It’s not like it’ll matter if you get accepted or not, since you’re going to Harvard anyway.” 

Neil had applied to Harvard, Stanford, Yale, Brown, Columbia, and Princeton. His father had been confident that he wouldn’t need to apply to a non-prestigious university as a backup plan, even after Headmaster Nolan hinted at applying to a few additional schools just to be safe. The one and only time Neil had appreciated the old, crotchety principal had been then— when he had slipped in his NYU application and Nolan hadn’t snitched to his father. 

In January, after the Henley Hall play debacle, Neil had received letters from Harvard, Princeton, Brown, and Columbia— all of them had waitlisted him. The next week he’d received acceptance letters from Yale, Stanford, and NYU. His mother had gently reminded him that it was his choice. A tiny voice in the crevices of his mind had demanded he stick to his father’s wishes and attend an Ivy League school, even though he and his father had severed ties. His marionette doll had cut the strings— he was Pinnochio and he was officially a real boy, now. Meanwhile, another tiny voice in his brain had insisted he skip college altogether. 

Mr. Keating had been the one to convince him to commit to NYU. 

“You are not an indentured servant— not anymore. You’re eighteen, Neil. Now is the prime segment in your life to pursue your passions!” 

“But,” Neil sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair. “What if I don’t know what I want to do with my life?” 

“Well that’s the delightful part about undergraduate education,” Mr. Keating verbalized. “You don’t have to know. You can always start with general studies and go from there.” 

“But that would be a waste of time.” 

“Nothing is a waste of time if it’s well spent.” 

“Okay, then it would be a waste of money that I don’t have. My father is no longer granting me access to my college fund.” 

“Bah!” The man scoffed and waved a hand at him. “No need to worry about money, Neil. I’ll be paying for your college tuition.” 

Neil choked. “What? No. Mr. Keating, you can’t-”

“Oh, don’t start. I already spoke with your mother about it.” 

“But you seriously don’t have to-”

“I want to, my boy.” 

“But-”

“How about we strike up a deal?”

Neil paused his remarks, mulling over his warring thoughts. Finally,

“What kind of deal?” 

“I will cover your entire college education with no payment in return required-”

Neil opened his mouth to rebuff. 

“-but,” Mr. Keating held up a hand, stopping him. “You have to promise me you will follow the words of society member, Henry David Thoreau.” 

Neil frowned. “And what exactly does that entail?”

“It means you have to promise me that while you’re at NYU, you’ll suck the marrow out of life.” 

“Suck the marrow out of life? How?” 

“Live, Neil. Enjoy your youthfulness. Make mistakes, fail a test, get drunk at a party. Be smart, of course, but have fun. Maybe even fall in love.” 

“Make mistakes? Sure. Fail a test? Possibly. Get drunk at a party? Very likely, if Charlie has any say in this. But fall in love?” Neil guffawed. “Captain, you’re crazy.” 

“It’s not crazy, Neil. It’s called being a visionary.” 

“I don’t know the first thing about love.” 

“Well there’s no better place to dive right in than college,” the older man professed. “After all, that’s where I met my wife.” 

“I don’t think so, Mr. K,” he shook his head. “I’m not like you.” 

“That’s good. I wouldn’t want you to be like me. I want you to be like you.” 

“I still stand by my point.”

“You’ll see, Neil. You’ll learn that love can find you in the most unexpected places.” 

Now a junior theater and performing arts major at NYU, after changing his major from general studies his sophomore year, Neil could say he was beginning to fulfill the promise he had made with his favorite high school English teacher when he’d left for the Big Apple. His freshman year he’d gotten blackout drunk at a massive Christmas-themed frat party with Knox and Charlie, shrank half his clothes in the communal laundromat because his mother had always washed his clothes for him, performed as Orlando in NYU’s spring production of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, bombed an algebra exam to the point his professor had suggested he seek out a tutor, joined the intramural soccer team so he didn’t gain twenty pounds from the dining hall food, and made tons upon tons of new friends. He’d even reunited with some familiar faces— such as Virginia “Ginny” Danbury and Stick Lawrence. 

He’d checked all the boxes within his first year at NYU. 

Except for one. 

Except for falling in love.

While he was skeptical, that wasn’t to say Neil hadn’t tried. His second year, he’d focused primarily on wooing women. 

During his high school years he’d kissed a total of two girls, one from Ridgeway High and the other from Henley Hall. His first had been with Sabrina Martin at Chet Danbury’s sixteenth birthday when he was fourteen. One of Chet’s meathead friends had spilled his cup of punch down the front of her pristine, white dress and Neil had awkwardly offered to help her dab at the dark stains with a damp rag in the bathroom. Right as Neil had started to leave, they’d made uncomfortable, prolonged eye contact then Sabrina surged forward and kissed him. It had been clumsy and a tad painful, Neil’s nose bashing into her cheek and their teeth clacking together forcefully. When the kiss was over, she had nervously giggled then ran off and he hadn’t seen her since.

He vaguely wondered how she was doing nowadays. 

His second kiss had been with Fiona Norman, the girl who’d played Helena in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, backstage during rehearsals. He had had his suspicions that she had a crush on him and mustered up the courage to kiss her with the coaxing of Charlie and Pitts. The kiss had been short and sweet— Neil gently grabbing her chin and pecking her on the lips. They had dated for roughly two weeks before her ex-boyfriend entered the picture, and he’d discovered that she’d been using him as a ploy.

He had no interest in hookups, one-night-stands, or friends with benefits. While Charlie had no qualms with physical relationships that bore no emotional attachments, Neil had a difficult time separating the two components. 

So, he’d dated Eliza Crawford, an intelligent and funny girl he’d met during his liberal arts seminar at the beginning of his second year at NYU. She’d constantly smelled of jasmine and lavender and wore mismatched socks and has a wonderful personality. Their relationship had evolved from chaste kisses and hand holding to steamy make out sessions and losing their virginities in the back of Eliza’s minivan four months in. They had mutually decided to break up eight months into their relationship and agreed that they were better off as friends. While he’d never admit it out loud, Neil had been rather relieved when it ended. 

He had liked Eliza— as a friend and as a person. 

But he wasn’t sure he had liked being with her. 

And he definitely hadn’t been in love with her. 

He had chalked it up to “first time jitters”, because she had been his first real girlfriend. 

He simply had to move on and date another girl that caught his interest. Except, he couldn’t recall a time he’d ever had a crush on a girl— even with Eliza, there had been no spark. 

When he had told his best friend that, Charlie had expressed his perspective and advice,

“Perhaps you should expand your dating pool,” Charlie suggested with a smirk. 

“What?” Neil snorted in amusement. “Like date girls that are upperclassmen, too?” 

“No, you moron,” his best friend laughed, rolling his eyes. “I’m saying that maybe you should try kissing a boy.” 

“A boy?” Neil echoed in disbelief. “Charlie, I’m not gay.” 

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” Charlie put his hands up, shrugging. 

“I’m not trying anything. I’m not into guys.” 

“You’re certain?” 

“Yes.” 

“How are you so sure if you’ve never tried?” Charlie queried, raising a brow. 

“I just know, Charlie.” He asserted. 

“But how can you-”

“I’m not gay, Charlie,” he snapped, annoyed. “Now can you just drop it?” 

There was a brief, uneasy silence between the two of them. Then Charlie spoke up. 

“Fine, but I think you’re missing out.” 

“Shouldn’t you be glad I’m not competing on the same team?” 

“Have you ever considered that maybe I want you to at least be bisexual, like me?” 

“Why?” 

“Maybe I just want an excuse to kiss you,” his best friend winked seductively. 

Neil bursted out laughing.

“You’re so full of shit, Char.” 

While Neil had coincidentally surrounded himself with friends that varied amongst the sexuality spectrum, he didn’t have to shove his tongue down a boy’s throat to know he wasn’t into them. 

His father began to walk away from him. 

“You’re not auditioning for summer stock theater, Neil, and that’s final.”

“But why not?” Nine-year-old Neil asked his father, trotting after him. 

“Because I said no.” 

“But why? I really, really want to!” 

“No.” 

“But, father-”

His father whipped around to face him, seething with rage. Neil halted his footsteps, terrified he had pushed the matter too far. 

“You want to know why, Neil? Because only queer men perform in plays, that’s why.” 

“I-”

“You. Are. Not. Gay. Do you hear me?” 

“…yes, sir.” 

His father hadn’t been right about many things, but he had been right about that. 

Regardless, Neil was not having much success in the love department— not that he was all that surprised. 

He called both his mother and Mr. Keating every week to keep them updated on his whereabouts. Charlie, Knox, and Ginny teased him relentlessly about whether or not he called Mr. Keating “dad” or not. He didn’t, for the record, but the man was a far greater father figure to him than Mr. Perry ever was. And his mother sounded leagues happier since the divorce. He had phoned and confided to Mr. Keating about his shit luck with serious relationships, and his lackluster love life shortly after things ended between him and Eliza. 

“At this rate, I don’t think I’m going to find a girl to sweep off her feet and fall in love with, Mr. K.” 

“There’s no rush. Besides, you shouldn’t go looking for love.” 

“Well then how am I ever going to find it?” 

“Patience is a virtue, Neil.”

“So I should sit back and wait? How is that the solution?” 

“Sometimes you’ve just gotta let things come and find you.” 

Neil had given up on his personal quest after that uneventful phone call. 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t aid his friends in their romantic endeavors. 

Which was how he found himself in his bizarre, current situation. 

“Ginny,” he hissed as the two of them entered a massive building filled with practice rooms. “We need to leave before we get caught.” 

“Oh, relax,” she huffed, rolling her eyes as she scanned the shiny, silver plaque labeled with the directions of dozens upon dozens of room numbers. 

“I’m serious,” he fretted, checking over his shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time as he blindly followed his friend down a noisy corridor.

“So am I,” she retorted, guiding them around a turn and into another hallway of practice rooms. 

Neil was slightly overwhelmed by the cacophony of muffled sounds erupting from every single room they’ve passed— vocalists and instrumentalists alike. 

“Couldn’t she have given you a visitor's pass or something so we didn’t have to, you know, sneak in?” 

“I already told you, I’m here without her knowing. Asking for a pass would’ve ruined the element of surprise.” 

“I can’t decide whether I think this whole excursion is ludicrous or sickeningly sweet.” 

“Shut up, Perrywinkle.” 

“Hey, I’m supporting you, am I not?” 

“You are, and I’m grateful, but you’ve been complaining and stressing the whole time.” 

“I don’t want us to get in trouble!” 

“Come on, Neil, live a little. What is it your dad always says? Carpe diem, boys, seize the day!” Ginny lowered her voice, mimicking his past English teacher.

Neil pursed his lips, trying to disguise his amused smile, “first of all, Mr. Keating is not my dad.” 

“Oh, he basically is-”

“Second of all, you failed to mention that your crush attended fucking Juilliard of all places,” he groused, as she led him down yet another hallway. Why was this place designed like a goddamn labyrinth? 

“I didn’t?” 

“Well, you may have, but it was so hard to keep track when you kept going on and on and on about her hair and her smile and her makeup and her clothes and her-”

Ginny whirled around and began smacking his arm repeatedly, laughing brightly, “you’re such an asshole!” 

Neil snickered, halfheartedly blocking her attacks, “careful. You don’t want your precious Chris to see your true, violent personality.” 

“You’re the absolute worst.” 

“What you meant to say is ‘thank you, my wonderful and amazing best friend’.” 

“Nope.” 

“Hey, at least I didn’t bail like dumb and dumber.” 

“Knox and Charlie both had reasonable excuses!” 

“And I didn’t?” 

“You were literally sitting on your ass and eating a sandwich in the dining hall.” 

“Yeah, and I never got to finish that sandwich. You interrupted some highly important business that was being taken care of.”

“Oh my god. I promise we’ll get something to eat after this, you big baby.” 

“I’m still growing!” 

“In height or in diameter?” 

“Oh, you motherfu-”

“Shh!” Ginny yelped, slapping a hand over his mouth and halting her stride as a huge grin overtook her features. “This is it!” 

She then removed her hand and swiftly gazed into the room. Neil curiously did the same, peering through the window of the door over Ginny’s head of brunette curls— the sign beside the room read: music room 313.

He spotted a girl around their age with shoulder-length, wavy blonde hair in a white, long-sleeved blouse and a flowy skirt. She was shuffling around what Neil had to assume was sheet music, as an unoccupied sleek, black piano rested in the back right corner of the room. 

So this was Christina “Chris” Noel. The girl Ginny has been non stop raving about since the two had bumped into each other in Times Square, on New Year’s Eve, during winter break. Since then, with the month now being February and only two weeks into the spring semester, the pair have been frequently meeting up at different locations around the city. Neil, Knox, and Charlie had listened to enough stories about their adventures, and the adoring tone Ginny used whenever she spoke about Chris, to know that their friend was grossly infatuated with this girl. 

Ginny knocked on the door, and Chris’ eyes zipped over to appraise them. 

The way the girl’s eyes lit up with delight at the sight of his friend was nauseatingly adorable. He felt like his teeth were forming cavities as he watched Chris fling open the door with an excitable squeal and envelope Ginny into a bone-crushing hug— which his friend returned with equal enthusiasm.

“I can’t believe this,” Chris beamed, untangling herself from Ginny to peer at the other girl. “How are you even here right now?” 

“We may or may not have snuck in,” Ginny smirked, feigning nonchalance. 

“Ginny,” Chris let out a tinkling laugh, putting her hands on her hips. “You should’ve told me ahead of time. I could’ve gotten you in without the hassle.” 

“I tried to tell her,” Neil piped up, wryly. Ginny elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Ignore him.” 

“Do you see the way she treats me? All that I have to suffer through?”

“You must be the infamous Neil Perry,” Chris tittered in amusement. 

“In the flesh.” Neil shot Ginny a look. “Does she talk about me a lot?” 

“All good things, I swear,” the girl appeased, outstretching her hand. “I’m Chris Noel. It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

Neil shook her hand, politely. “Likewise. Ginny also talks about you all the time. She once spent twenty minutes describing, in great detail, how perfect your hair-”

“He’s joking.” 

“I’m not.” 

“He is.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are to.” 

“Am n-”

“You two fight like siblings,” Chris noted, not unkindly. 

“To be fair, I like Neil much more than I like my actual brother.” 

“You’d like hanging out with a rock and eating dirt more than your brother,” he pointed out. 

“You’re not wrong.” 

Neil leaned against the doorframe as he acknowledged Chris, gesturing vaguely to the music stand, “so you’re a vocal performance major?” 

“I am,” Chris nodded. “I try to squeeze in a little practice every day. I have another quarterly review soon and my spring recital to prepare for.” 

“Are we interrupting your rehearsal time?” Neil asked, frowning, suddenly feeling intrusive. 

“Well, my friend who’s accompanying me on the piano is running a few minutes late so you aren’t at the moment,” Chris assured, then swiftly tacked on. “But, the professors in the music division do carry out regular room checks in this building to ensure no one is where they’re not supposed to be.” 

“Oh,” Ginny and Neil said in unison, glancing at each other. 

“I always have room 313 because this is my assigned and reserved space for the year,” the girl informed them. “I can vouch for you two, but if they see that you don’t have a student badge or a visitor’s pass, they’ll call security.” 

“Damn,” Ginny muttered, shoulders slumping in disappointment. “I guess we should get going then.” 

“I’m sorry,” Chris apologized, genuinely. “It was lovely to see you both, though. Just call me next time, Ginny, and I can show you around campus without you risking your neck.” 

Neil watched as Ginny and Chris hugged, bidding farewell and “see you later”s to one another, and Chris waved at him with a smile. 

The two began their trek back through the maze of corridors as Chris shut the door behind her. 

“As nice as that was,” Neil chuckled. “This whole trip felt anticlimactic.” 

“Shut up, Perry,” Ginny scowled.

“You could’ve at least kissed her goodbye.” 

“We’re not at that stage, yet,” Ginny grumbled and Neil laughed at the sourness in her voice. 

“You also didn’t tell me we’d be disrupting her practice,” Neil mused.

“We didn’t stay for long!” 

“Yeah, because she essentially kicked us out.” 

“She didn’t want us to get in trouble.”

“Oh, so you’ll listen to her but not me? Your best friend?” 

“Get off your high horse, Puck.” 

“You’re an idiot, Danbury.” 

“Bite me, Neil.”

“I’m just sayin-”

Neil’s words stuck to his tongue as they both froze, akin to deer in headlights, when the duo rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a stocky, bald professor with a bushy mustache and a grumpy expression adorning his face.

“Where are your student IDs?” The man inquired, eyeing up the pair. 

“Uh-” Neil squeaked out, panicked. 

We are dead. We are so dead. We are so, so dead. 

He and Ginny must’ve simultaneously had same exact idea as they both took off sprinting past the startled and dumbfounded professor. 

“Hey!” The man yelled in outrage, shaken from his stupor, and chased after them. 

They dashed down unfamiliar hallways, desperate to stumble across the main entrance where they’d originally come through. The professor was hot on their trail. 

“We need to split up,” Ginny recommended, out-of-breath, as they reached a hall that diverged into two sectors. “We can meet back up at the subway station.”

“Agreed,” Neil panted. 

Neil took off to the left and Ginny darted to the left. 

Fuck, Neil cursed to himself as the professor chose to follow him. 

He nearly cried in relief when he saw the glass double doors of the main entrance— one side open and ready for him to glide through. As he hurried to the exit, he peeked over his shoulder to see if the professor was still on his heels. He grinned to himself when he saw no sign of the bald man, pleased that he’d outsmarted the professor with his clever backtracking. He hadn’t considered that the door was open because someone else was entering the building nor was he paying attention, too distracted with looking behind instead of in front. Which resulted in Neil body-slamming into an innocent, unsuspecting student with so much impact he and the stranger were sent sprawling onto the cement— folders flying and exploding, papers strewn into the air like confetti. 

“Shit,” Neil squawked, scrambling to his feet, then stooping low to collect the scattered sheets of paper. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

He watched, concerned, as the boy he’d unintentionally tackled peeled himself off the pavement, brushed himself off, and swiveled to face him. 

“Here,” Neil clumsily offered the boy his dropped papers. “I’m so sorry-”

His breath caught in his throat. 

Pale blue eyes, as clear as a summer sky, locked with his eyes and Neil suddenly forgot how to formulate sentences. 

The stranger was blonde, with sandy-colored hair in slight disarray after being knocked to the ground. He had wired earbuds in, the right one dangling loosely, and the fair skin of his cheeks were flushed pink. If Neil squinted, he could make out a faint smattering of freckles across the boy’s face. He wore a loose, burgundy hand-knit sweater over a grey shirt, khaki pants, and beat up sneakers. 

Neil’s heart was pounding. 

Must be from all the running, he concluded. 

Their fingers brushed, barely grazing, as the papers were exchanged from his hands to the other boy’s, and Neil’s stomach peculiarly fluttered. 

I’m hungry, he told himself. All I ate for lunch was half a sandwich. It’s just weird hunger pangs. 

He wracked his brain for some kind of reply or explanation for what had happened, but right as he parted his lips to speak, the bald professor reappeared— and he looked pissed. 

“You!” The man spat, chest heaving and pointed at him. 

“Shit!” Neil blurted out to the blonde stranger, tripping over his words. The boy stared at him with wide, confused eyes. “I, uh, I gotta go. Sorry, again, for, um, almost killing you. Anyway, bye!” 

Without looking back Neil booked it across the campus and didn’t slow his pace until he reached the safety of the subway station. He hunched over himself, bracing his hands on his knees as he greedily sucked in air— attempting to catch his breath. 

Wow, I am out of shape. 

“Neil!” 

He jumped out of skin as Ginny popped into his line of sight. 

“Oh, thank god,” she cried out. “I thought you were taken by campus police and I was going to have to bail you out.” 

“I am never doing that again,” Neil wheezed pathetically. “And I’m never going back there again, either.” 

“It was not that bad!” 

“Voldemort nearly got me!” 

“But he didn’t,” Ginny said smugly. “You’ve got to admit, that was pretty fun. How’s that for carpe diem?” 

He shook his head. “You’re insane, miss Danbury.” 

It was certainly an adrenaline rush. But had they sucked the marrow out of life or choked on the bone? With the way his lungs were burning, he was more leaning towards the latter.

“You wouldn’t go back to Juilliard, even to join me in attending Chris’ spring recital?” 

“Nope. I’ll leave that to you, lover girl.” 

“Ugh,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Charlie needs to rub off on you more.” 

“I’d rather Charlie not rub anything on me, thank you very much.” 

“Ew,” her mouth twisted in disgust. “Come on, Harry Potter, let’s grab some grub.” 

“Hallelujah!” 

“And I’ll pay for your meal, too.” 

“It’s the least you can do for me after I ran a marathon for you.” 

“God, I can see why you’re a drama major.” 

“I’m a theater major.” 

“Tomato, tomato.” 

As the pair hopped off the subway and walked to a burger joint, Ginny prodded once more. 

“You really won’t ever return to Juilliard?” 

“Sorry, Gin, but I don’t think so.” 

He was adamant that he wouldn’t step foot on that school’s campus, again. 

But then an image of pale blue eyes flashed through his mind. 

On second thought… 

Perhaps Ginny wasn’t so asinine to consider sneaking onto a whole different campus just to see someone. 

Because, for a moment, he wanted nothing more than to return to Juilliard and find a person with sandy-colored hair and beat up sneakers. 

But it wasn’t like he was willing to do that for a random stranger he’d interacted with for five seconds— a person he didn't even know the name of. 

… Or was he? 

To be young is to experience revelations.