Chapter 2: Memories and Fireworks

**One.**

After my high school split students into STEM and humanities tracks, my grades tanked.

I was afraid I wouldn't get into MIT.

Feeling lost, I started chatting online with a college upperclassman whose username was "HarvardReject."

I asked her to help me review for my classes.

She answered every dumb question without flinching, her replies full of memes and late-night pep talks.

"Don't worry. With me here, I guarantee you'll get into Harvard."

I was flattered.

"No, no, that's not necessary."

But deep down, I muttered: MIT would be fine, too.

She clicked her tongue. "Hey, kid, what are you saying? You can doubt your own smarts, but don’t underestimate my ability."

I could almost hear her smirk through the screen, like she was daring me to argue.

Me: "..."

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I really didn't dare underestimate her.

Because this Harvard upperclassman was the real deal.

With her tutoring, my grades not only improved quickly, but steadily.

On my second practice SAT before the real thing, I even scored a whopping 1580.

I excitedly shared the news with her.

She was calm as ever. "Mm, that should be enough for Harvard."

It really was. But I didn't want to go to Harvard.

The place I always dreamed of was MIT.

But over the year or so that the Harvard upperclassman tutored me, I could clearly sense her special obsession with Harvard.

Otherwise, she wouldn't still be using the username "HarvardReject" after all this time.

If I didn't go to Harvard, would she be disappointed?

Looking at the message she sent me, I decided to test her.

"So, what if I can't get into Harvard?"

"Don't worry, you definitely can."

Hmm...

She probably thought I was just nervous before the SATs and was trying to comfort me.

So, I never mentioned my dream of going to MIT.

The day before the SATs, she messaged me, wishing me luck and reminding me to tell her my results when they came out. She said she was busy with her senior thesis lately.

I remember staring at her message, the glow from my laptop cutting through the darkness of my room. My mom called from the kitchen, reminding me to double-check my calculator and ID. I felt oddly calm, like this was the last normal night before everything changed. Outside, crickets chirped, and somewhere down the street, someone was setting off leftover Fourth of July fireworks—maybe for another kid prepping for tomorrow, too.