Cold and Charisma (BoyxBoy)

Chapter Forty-Nine

Archer's Perspective

I don't remember exactly when this dream of mine first began.

I think it was when I was only six, playing with toy trains in the living room, as the golden hue of the sunset shone through the window and down at me.

It's crazy how time flies.

How one moment, you can be a kid playing in the living room with your favorite toys—and in a split second, be staring at the acceptance letter that determines the rest of your life.

I remember my dad saying he'll be a minute, and jogging down the driveway to the mailbox.

When he came back, he held a stack of college brochures in his arms. I still remember his toothy grin as he sat down on the wooden floor next to me, scattering them on the table.

"Some day, you'll go to one of these."

"Oooh Princeton. Is this where princes go?"

"Not quite."

That was disappointing, I thought to myself as a child.

I loved opening up the ones that had multiple folds. It was like a huge poster, with images of intricate campuses, covered in ivy and decorated with students walking to class.

That'll be me someday, I remember thinking, looking down at a picture of a man smiling in a college sweatshirt.

Only one in particular caught my eye though.

Harvard.

"Daddy, what's this one?" My small finger pointed at the one that was obscured by the rest of the brochures.

"That one, little Arch, is the top school in the U.S." My dad smiled, his hand patting my back gently.

"Can't be too hard! 'Cause I'm smart! I got good grades on my last test! I spelled 'elephant'.'" I grinned up at him, proud of my accomplishment.

"You are very smart, Archer. You can go here one day if you set your mind to it." My father's eyes crinkled in the corners as his soft smile widened. His hand continued to rub circles on my back.

"I will go there." I said adamantly, furrowing my brows and crossing my arms.

To six-year-old me, it didn't sound impossible.

I'd already surpassed all the kids in my grade, and began reading chapter books at that age, which made little me think this dream wasn't really miles away.

From then on out, I made it a mission to work my way towards Harvard.

That was the standard I put on myself.

I wouldn't settle for anything less.

That's why, for four long years, I did everything I could to build the perfect transcript.

Student council. Clubs. Swim. Volunteering. Every leadership position I could get my hands on. Every summer program. Every late night spent studying while everyone else slept.

It wasn't just a dream anymore—it had become the standard I held myself to. If I didn't make it, then what were all those years for?

That's why, when I sat in my chair, staring at the acceptance letter on my computer screen, I could only think about one thing.

I had done it.

It was over.

I was in.

Which is why I felt even more confused, struck by a feeling of a weird pit in my stomach, when I didn't feel as happy as I thought I would.