printout from the
Huffington Post
: “Preparing for the College Drop-Off,” although she’d only be dropping him off at the airport on the big day. S’wanee paid for one ticket, and Marcie had used up her vacation anyway. She checked off the list as she worked her way through it daily. “I should expect a ‘complicated cocktail of emotions,’” she mused, reading from the page. “Good times. This website cracks me up.” But she scoured it every day.
She ordered a dozen cardboard boxes from a moving company. Cody needed only one.
“I can always use more boxes,” Marcie said, dragging the bundle into her room.
Cody worked out almost every day in the building’s gym-let. He ran less because his mind didn’t need clearing, and he wanted to bulk up more. He thought about going to the tanning salon in the strip mall down the street, but there were always girls around the front desk. And, being from Jersey, he didn’t want to show up at S’wanee looking Snooki-Orange.
He went one last time to his silver-haired barber Gino, who was surprised to hear Cody’s news and peppered him with questions.
“S’wanee? Never heard of it. Where is it?” and “I thought you was going to Rutgers. Why’d you change your mind?” and “You leaving your mother?” and “Rutgers is a fine school. What’s wrong with it?” and “Who’s gonna cut your hair there?” And then he asked again, “Where is this S’wanee? Is that a real school?” Gino’s questions were increasingly skeptical and pointed, as if Cody were betraying the state of New Jersey by leaving it.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Gino said uncertainly, dusting Cody’s neck with talcum. “Be careful with college girls. They want an MRS degree.” At Cody’s confusion, Gino clarified, with vigor: “They’re looking for husbands.” Like his barbershop, Gino was stuck in a bygone era.
“I’ll see you at Christmas,” Cody said, shaking his hand.
“Just be careful,” Gino warned one last time, watching him leave.
Cody gave two weeks’ notice at the Apple Store. His boss wished him well and said he could come back to the Genius Bar next summer or anytime.
“Hey, get me an iPod before you quit,” Marcie said, since Cody’s discount was larger there. “The big one. I’ll pay you back. Do they still make it in pink?”
Cody bought the pink iPod and a digital network booster called the Troller—the fancy kind with the frequency monitor. He liked the idea of working on his laptop by S’wanee’s “waterfalls,” wherever they were.
• • •
Cody was packing his box, scrutinizing his high school wardrobe for the first time and newly grateful for Marcie’s shopping spree a few weeks before. She might be a loose cannon plunging deeper in debt, but she had a good eye. He’d save up and buy her something nice for Christmas.
The Troller worked like a charm, picking up wireless networks he’d never seen before. The onscreen frequency monitor gauged the strength of each with a zigzagging wave. A tech from the Apple Store gave Cody the password decoder they used to unlock computers, since they trusted him with it. He could now piggyback, harmlessly, on any network he picked up.
His laptop dinged a new e-mail. S’wanee’s housing department wanted information so they could place him in the right dorm with the right roommate.
The e-mail linked him to a personalized page with dozens of questions and circles to dot-in answers. Did he smoke (no), was he an early riser or a night owl (both), taste in music (rock) and movies (action and horror), windows open or closed at night (not sure), any allergies or medications for chronic conditions (not applicable). Did he intend to study in his room or someplace else (not sure). They snuck in a question at the bottom of the page about his sexual orientation. Cody was tempted to dot “not applicable” to be jerky but decided a scholarship student should respect the (free) housing
Huffington Post
: “Preparing for the College Drop-Off,” although she’d only be dropping him off at the airport on the big day. S’wanee paid for one ticket, and Marcie had used up her vacation anyway. She checked off the list as she worked her way through it daily. “I should expect a ‘complicated cocktail of emotions,’” she mused, reading from the page. “Good times. This website cracks me up.” But she scoured it every day.
She ordered a dozen cardboard boxes from a moving company. Cody needed only one.
“I can always use more boxes,” Marcie said, dragging the bundle into her room.
Cody worked out almost every day in the building’s gym-let. He ran less because his mind didn’t need clearing, and he wanted to bulk up more. He thought about going to the tanning salon in the strip mall down the street, but there were always girls around the front desk. And, being from Jersey, he didn’t want to show up at S’wanee looking Snooki-Orange.
He went one last time to his silver-haired barber Gino, who was surprised to hear Cody’s news and peppered him with questions.
“S’wanee? Never heard of it. Where is it?” and “I thought you was going to Rutgers. Why’d you change your mind?” and “You leaving your mother?” and “Rutgers is a fine school. What’s wrong with it?” and “Who’s gonna cut your hair there?” And then he asked again, “Where is this S’wanee? Is that a real school?” Gino’s questions were increasingly skeptical and pointed, as if Cody were betraying the state of New Jersey by leaving it.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Gino said uncertainly, dusting Cody’s neck with talcum. “Be careful with college girls. They want an MRS degree.” At Cody’s confusion, Gino clarified, with vigor: “They’re looking for husbands.” Like his barbershop, Gino was stuck in a bygone era.
“I’ll see you at Christmas,” Cody said, shaking his hand.
“Just be careful,” Gino warned one last time, watching him leave.
Cody gave two weeks’ notice at the Apple Store. His boss wished him well and said he could come back to the Genius Bar next summer or anytime.
“Hey, get me an iPod before you quit,” Marcie said, since Cody’s discount was larger there. “The big one. I’ll pay you back. Do they still make it in pink?”
Cody bought the pink iPod and a digital network booster called the Troller—the fancy kind with the frequency monitor. He liked the idea of working on his laptop by S’wanee’s “waterfalls,” wherever they were.
• • •
Cody was packing his box, scrutinizing his high school wardrobe for the first time and newly grateful for Marcie’s shopping spree a few weeks before. She might be a loose cannon plunging deeper in debt, but she had a good eye. He’d save up and buy her something nice for Christmas.
The Troller worked like a charm, picking up wireless networks he’d never seen before. The onscreen frequency monitor gauged the strength of each with a zigzagging wave. A tech from the Apple Store gave Cody the password decoder they used to unlock computers, since they trusted him with it. He could now piggyback, harmlessly, on any network he picked up.
His laptop dinged a new e-mail. S’wanee’s housing department wanted information so they could place him in the right dorm with the right roommate.
The e-mail linked him to a personalized page with dozens of questions and circles to dot-in answers. Did he smoke (no), was he an early riser or a night owl (both), taste in music (rock) and movies (action and horror), windows open or closed at night (not sure), any allergies or medications for chronic conditions (not applicable). Did he intend to study in his room or someplace else (not sure). They snuck in a question at the bottom of the page about his sexual orientation. Cody was tempted to dot “not applicable” to be jerky but decided a scholarship student should respect the (free) housing
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