I try not to gawk. But when Malcolm drives us through downtown Minneapolis, convertible top open to the autumn air, I crane my neck as far back as it will go and stare at the blue, glimmering buildings on either side of us.
He parks the car at his old frat house and we wander the campus until we reach the Mississippi River. Students stream here and there, some with backpacks, others with soccer balls tucked beneath an arm. I inhale as if that alone will let me breathe in the entirety of this place. When I exhale, it comes out as a sigh—a sad one.
“Didn’t you go to college?” Malcolm asks, his fingers brushing my wrist.
“No. I ... we didn’t have the money for that, and I didn’t have the grades for scholarships. Besides, I was doing most of the chasing and catching by then.” I turn from th
