Juniper’s finished her cannoli. I’m not even halfway through mine.

“Let me get this straight,” she says, pointedly pausing to dust off her fingers. “Your parents are encouraging enough of your college choices to send you on a tour. You have fine grades and a practically perfect SAT score”—she recites my words verbatim—“and I’ve already explained how travel won’t be a problem. Yet you want to return to a campus you grew up on, a campus that’s familiar?”

“Well, there are things more important than college,” I tell her. Frustration stirs in me. I should’ve known this girl wouldn’t understand. Should’ve expected she’d react the way every one of my classmates has, oblivious to the idea that there are other ways of thinking about the future.

Juniper’s nostrils flare, a frown shadowing her lips. She half opens her mouth, like she’s fighting what she wants to say.

I suddenly don’t want to be talking about this any longer. I want to change the direction of the conversation instead of only being the guy who told this PhD-bound girl he thinks there are more important things than college. But right then, I notice her boyfriend’s broad frame push through the door, and I know I won’t get the chance.

   Juniper

I NARROW MY eyes, feeling a hundred retorts about to spring forward. But I hold them in. I don’t know this guy, and I know it’s wrong to come right out and criticize his whole worldview, even if I think it’s ridiculous. Instead, I try to formulate a lighter, reasonable rebuttal. Before I have the chance, a hand drops gently onto my shoulder.

“There you are.” Matt smiles down, stepping up to my side.

I glance back to the boy with whom I hadn’t anticipated having a full-on discussion of college and the future. I honestly have no clue what compelled me to unload my entire prospective life plan on him. With a family skeptical and even dismissive of my desire to live my own life, I’ve learned to be a little wary of sharing my highest-flying hopes. Yet here I am. He might not be interested in college, but I’ll grudgingly concede he was a welcoming listener.

“This place is great,” Matt declares, and I don’t know if I love the distraction. He surveys the room, then nudges my shoulder to get my attention, his hundred-watt grin returning to me. “We could come here for date nights if we both go to college in Boston.”

“Yeah, when we’re not busy,” I remind him instinctively.

His green eyes flicker, and I know it’s not what he wanted to hear. I feel bad, but I’m not wrong. When Matt envisions college, he pictures the life we have now, the dates and long conversations, except with new freedoms and a new city. I picture problem sets and sorority philanthropic events, having two-hour conversations in the dining hall with people we’ve never met, and walking each other to class under the fireworks of fall leaves. I just hope our different pictures are two parts of one panorama.

Matt glances at the boy I’m sitting with, whose presence I haven’t yet explained. I guess I don’t really have a good explanation. “Well,” Matt says stiffly, “I checked out of the hotel. Do you want to get dinner before we head to Providence? I know you wanted to explore the North End.”

“Yes,” I say enthusiastically, standing up and taking his hand. I’m not one for public displays of affection, but I feel bad for torpedoing his date idea.

I turn back to the boy, who’s taking his final bite of cannoli. His eyes flit to Matt’s and my clasped hands. When he peers back up at me, the frustration I saw earlier after I questioned his decision to go to a familiar college has returned. He blinks, and it disappears, erased so completely that I wonder if I misread him or if he’s practiced in letting go of irritation.

“It was . . . interesting meeting you . . .” I pause, realizing he never gave me his name.

“Oh, I’m Fitz,” he supplies.

“Fitz?” I repeat. “Like Fitzwilliam?” It’s not a name for redheaded teenage boys on college tours eating cannoli in Boston bakeries. It’s a name for snarky Jane Austen heroes.

“Like Fitzgerald. Not that that’s much better.”

“Damn,” Matt says. “Family name? I have a cousin named Eustace, after our grandfather.”

Fitz turns to Matt. Even though Matt interrupted us, even though his first words to Fitz were lightly disparaging, Fitz doesn’t appear annoyed. I’m convinced Matt is secretly a superhero with powers of uncanny likability.

“No,” Fitz replies. “My mom is really into twentieth-century American literature. My brother’s name is Lewis, for—”

“Sinclair Lewis,” I cut him off. “And F. Scott Fitzgerald.” Our eyes lock.

“Exactly,” Fitz says, and smiles widely for the first time. It’s not a flashy smile, not one used to being on display for large crowds. It’s the kind of smile for surprising kindnesses, for doors held open or dropped items picked up in hallways, for book recommendations or discovering you’ve both had the same favorite band since seventh grade. It’s exhilarated in a close-quarters kind of way.

Matt squeezes my hand, and I know he’s asking me if we can go.

“Right,” I say. “Well, I’m Juniper, and this is Matt. My boyfriend.” I don’t know why I include the “boyfriend” designation when it’s obvious. I continue. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again on this trip. You know, if you don’t decide other colleges aren’t worth a chance.”

He nods, and I swear a wry gleam enters his unreadable eyes. “Impossible to say,” Fitzgerald—Fitz—says with a shrug.

   Fitz

I LIED TO Juniper. It wasn’t impossible to say. It is very possible we’ll cross paths. I don’t do “cool” very well, but in Mike’s I miraculously pulled out a noncommittal veneer even though I knew my own itinerary put me in Providence next.

I’m not following this girl to Providence. I’m not. I reminded myself of this important fact on the walk from Mike’s to the T, from the train down to my brother’s dorm.

It’s just serendipity that my tour and Juniper’s are putting us in the same city again. Pure coincidence.

It’s pretty probable she’s visiting Brown like I am—from her unusual preparedness in the BU information session and her use of compunctiously, she exuded the overachiever vibe of student council presidents and future valedictorians. But there are plenty of colleges in Providence, I tell myself while packing up my backpack in my brother’s room the next morning. Plenty of opportunities for me not to run into Juniper and Matt. It would be impossibly coincidental if we did reconnect.