It's been three days since I found out my parents died.

I'm in the parking lot with Wyatt at his community college and we're standing higher than most of the campus buildings. He said the one sidewalk goes down the hill more gradually than the others so people in wheelchairs don't start tumbling, which is kind of interesting.

"Isn't it cool up here?" He says, leaning against the beat-up Ford sedan his dad must have had since 2002. Decked out in a dark blue college hoodie and gray sweatpants, he crosses his arms at his chest.

I nod while looking around the campus, noticing five buildings all pretty close to eachother. It's not like we're that high up, either — I've been higher — but I let him have his moment. The campus looks like a town below us.

"Ready?" He finally asks, giving my shoulder a little pat.

"As ready as I'll ever be!" I tell him sarcastically as we start descending down the hill on the sidewalk made for people not in wheelchairs.

"So, first, I'll take you to the registrar's office. We've got a nice pamphlet with an overview of all of the majors here and you can see one of the main gathering areas for students... besides the library."

As he's talking, I reach into my pocket and pull out my pack of Marlboro's, just about ready to ignite my lighter when his hand grabs my wrist.

"What?" I say, the cigarette already in my mouth.

"This is a smoke free campus. You should have done that ten minutes ago," he whispers to me like it's a secret, because god forbid the other people walking around see a cigarette.

"Wyatt!" A man suddenly calls from the bottom of the sidewalk, one arm raised and waving.

"Hey, Carson!" He lets go of my wrist and waves back and it's probably the most civil and wholesome exchange I've seen in a while.

"This is my friend, Angelo," he smiles and points to me, now meeting Carson halfway.

"Hi," I say flatly, wondering why Carson has so much energy and charisma in his smile.

"Great to meet you!" He says brightly, green eyes beaming.

Carson's skin is almost the color of milk and his hair is orange and fluffy. Having curly hair myself, I want to give him a tip or two on how to make it not look like a bird's nest.

"Carson is the president of the LGBT club here!" Wyatt says, almost mimicking Carson's energy. "Oh, but I'm not gay or anything like that. I just decided to become part of the club because of my major. A big part of social work is making a difference in everyone's lives."

Slowly, I nod, scanning my eyes from Carson to Wyatt and then back to Carson. I can't believe this is the same Wyatt DeHauser I've remembered from childhood.

"Cool," I mutter with my hands now stuffed in my pockets.

"Come to the registrar's office with us," Wyatt says to Carson, and soon enough he's tagging along with us down the sidewalk.

"What brings you here today?" Carson asks me, the unusual cheer in his voice finally gone.

The hell does he mean "what brings you here?"

"Um, just visiting," I say with a shrug, looking at Wyatt for a better answer but he doesn't say anything.

"Thinking about applying for next semester?" Carson asks.

I laugh obnoxiously. Enough so that Carson looks offended and turns his eyes down towards the sidewalk.

"Hell no, hell no," I say it slowly the second time, "I'm from New Canton."

Suddenly Carson's eyes widen and it looks like he just did the math, that he just completed the puzzle. "Oh."

"But so what?" Wyatt suddenly interjects, "I'm here, aren't I?"

I stop walking and fidget with the cigarette carton in my jean pocket. "Right, but you don't understand. Our situations aren't the same. Your dad has money —"

"Oh come on, I'm so sick of hearing that. He's got no fucking money. Spent it all on booze and gambling," Wyatt says angrily while flinging his arm up in the air, his head tilting back towards the sky dramatically.

"Then why are you here, huh?" I look directly at Wyatt, "because the last time I checked you were covering your mother's death while your older brother got sent to jail for the sixth time."

Carson just stands there, his eyes buzzing between Wyatt and me as we raise our voices with each exchange.

But for a moment, I'm silent. In the small amount of time we've been talking, Wyatt and I are so close I can smell the spearmint gum he's chewing. Our eyes are locked and my cheeks are hot, a set of words tumbling around in my mouth like a washing machine.

Do I tell him my parents are dead? Their bloated bodies washed up on the river's shore just a few minutes over the bridge?

I bite my tongue.

"I like you, Angelo," Wyatt whispers to me as Carson pretends to not be listening, "but don't ever fucking say that again."

He pushes my chest and turns around to walk the opposite direction.

"Oh," he says, turning back around again to hand me a crumpled up college brochure from his back pocket, most likely from the office we were about to visit, "Check what I highlighted."

I nod as Wyatt walks away again, leaving me alone with Carson and the orange brillo pad he calls hair.

***

Nadia and me sit thigh to thigh on the couch. We're both drinking whatever beer Uncle Al's got stocked in the fridge, the cold liquid numbing my throat.

We don't say anything for a while, we just enjoy the silent company.

"Does it feel real to you?" Nadia asks me, her eyes still staring straight ahead.

"No," I tell her, looking down the bottle of my beer that's lodged between my thighs.

More silence, then Uncle Al's footsteps suddenly tapping against the kitchen linoleum.

"How are you doing?" He asks from the fridge, popping the cap off of his beer.

Nadia shrugs and taps her foot against the floor. "I'm okay."

"I'm okay, too," I repeat, taking the final swig of my drink. I stand up and pass Nadia to take the bottle into the kitchen.

"Hey, what's that thing in your back pocket?" She asks, her head following me as I walk by.

At first I don't answer, waiting until I'm in the kitchen far enough that nobody can see me. I pull the brochure from Wyatt out of my back pocket.

"Oh, just trash," I finally tell Nadia as I unfold the community college pamphlet. She doesn't say anything back, instead I hear her and Uncle Al chatting about something insignificant.

The first page is a brief history of the campus and something about acceptance rates. Then, I turn the page, and see what he's highlighted.

On the right side is a long list of majors that start from the top of the page and end at the bottom. My eyes are immediately drawn to the yellow highlighter a little more than halfway down, carefully reading the lines.

Nursing - LPN, 2 year program
Nursing - BSN, 4 year program

My mouth goes dry. I close the pamphlet and study the outside, looking at the creases and folds that have been worn into it. I notice more text on the back when I flip it around in my hand, something that looks written but still highlighted.

Consider it.

I put the pamphlet back in my pocket and run my fingers through my hair, leaning against the kitchen counter to take a moment to think.

In that moment, I decide I need to find Wyatt.