Watch Me Disappear

breakfast. I have no desire to go anywhere near UMass any sooner than is absolutely necessary, but I can’t turn down a rare offer for an afternoon with my dad.
    It is a gorgeous spring day, warm and sunny. We drive into town on back roads past farms and old houses, and then come into town along the edge of Amherst College’s beautiful campus, with its brick buildings and wide open lawns. I slump in my seat.
    “You know, you can take classes there,” my dad says. “UMass, Amherst, Mount Holyoke, Smith, and that other school—”
    “Hampshire,” I supply, having read up on my options as soon as I knew my fate.
    “Yes, Hampshire, they let you take classes at any of the schools.”
    “I know.” Because all of us dumb, public school schmucks want to go see how the other half lives. The last thing I need is to take a class at Amherst and have all those kids know that I wasn’t good enough to get into their exclusive school.
    My dad turns the car down the tree-lined common and along Pleasant Street until he finds a parking space. It’s a great town—better than Williamstown, certainly better than New London. We go in a few book stores and get iced coffee from a place called Rao’s, and then my dad suggests we walk over to the campus. Our walk takes us past the frat houses, which are not the mansions that house frats at small liberal arts schools. These are ragged buildings with brown lawns and peeling paint. My dad seems to know exactly where he’s leading me, so I follow him past the ’70s-era, poured-concrete, modern building known, ironically, as the Fine Arts Center. We pass a mucky pond, the 30-story library, and finally arrive at a small area of campus where there are smaller brick buildings that look more like what I think college should be.
    “Not all bad,” dad says, sitting down on a bench.
    I shrug and sit next to him.
    “I know it’s not what you wanted,” he says.
    “It’s fine,” I say unconvincingly.
    “I’m sorry, Lizzie,” he says. “I really am. If we hadn’t moved around so much, if you had started and finished all at one school and really had a chance to get involved, you probably could have gotten into any school you wanted.”
    “It’s not your fault, dad,” I say. I am suprised. I knew this visit was to make me feel good about UMass, but I didn’t expect some kind of apology-confession from my dad. I wonder what prompted this deep reflection on his part.
    “I feel like your mother and I really let you down. All this moving, I always told myself it was for you and your brother, to give you the best. I don’t know.”
    My father grew up in a working-class family where there wasn’t always enough to go around. All he wanted was for me and Jeff to have all of what we needed and most of what we wanted. I hated moving from place to place, and often I took for granted all that we had, but in my heart, I have always known my parents were just doing what they thought was best for us.
    “You have,” I say. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should be thanking you.”
    He puts his arm around me. “I’ve been so caught up in my career, I haven’t even noticed all the things that really matter, like family and friends. The day-to-day stuff.”
    “You’ve always been there for me,” I say.
    He shakes his head. “You’re a great kid, Lizzie. You’re the best. I want you to know that.”
    But I’m not. For the past year, I have wanted to be popular more than I wanted to be a good friend or daughter. I was selfish and self-absorbed. If my short friendship with Paul taught me anything, it’s that.
    “Do you know how proud your mother and I are?” my dad asks, giving me a squeeze.
    I nod.
    “And we don’t want you to feel ashamed about this whole college thing. UMass is a wonderful school. We’re proud of you.”
    I just keep nodding while he goes on with his words meant to comfort. I know UMass is a good school, for a state school anyway, and I know my parents are proud of me. They never put pressure on me to go to an Ivy League school or anything like that.
    “So,” my dad says, perking up. “One of the ladies at work told me we should go to this place called Judy’s for lunch, and then we should drive over to Northampton before heading home. What do you say?” He stands up and I follow him.
     
     

Chapter 19
     
     
    The last week of classes flies by. My mom lets me drive to school every day. Classes are a joke—after AP exams, what’s left