Chapter 48: The College Tour And The College Tour Guide

The next day I went in to work in the morning and jumped into the translation. After finishing a half dozen, I reached up for another and found that the in-box was empty. I looked around, and there were German and Russian questionnaires left, but I could find no more French or Spanish. Maybe Grigio hadn’t brought them in yet.

I went to his office and found him reading a journal, and asked if there were more. “No, Tom, you’ve worked through every one. There aren’t any more, unless you’ve picked up German or Russian in the past few weeks.”

“So that’s it? I’m done?”

“Looks that way. Log in that you did six hours today. Consider it a parting pat-on-the-back for a job well done. You did really well on your group of surveys. Much better than I expected. It was good working with you. By the way, how’s your Italian coming along?”

I told him about hooking up with the Italian bowling league and he smiled.

“Well,” he said, laughing, “even if you don’t learn Italian, maybe you’ll learn how to deal with a seven-ten split.”

“Right, I look at it as a win-win situation. I still have a couple of chapters to go in your textbook. I’ll drop it off before school starts, if that’s okay.”

He said that was fine, wished me luck, and we shook hands as I left.

I checked my work area to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind, then decided to grab a bite at the student union before heading home. I was working on my pie when Nancy and Greta plopped their trays down on the table.

“Tom and a piece of pie. What a surprise!”

“Make fun of me all you wish. At the end of the day, I’ve had pie and you haven’t. I win.”

“What’s new with the Calculus God?” asked Nancy.

“Today’s my last day at work. This is probably the last piece of pie I’ll eat here.”

“You’re gone? Who will we come to with our calculus problems?”

“You’ve still got your study group, so there’s that. If you really run into a stone wall, I’ll give you my phone number. You’ll be fine. But I’ll miss your bon mots about pie.”

We talked for a while longer, and I gave them my home phone number. I said my goodbyes, and they watched me as I left. I liked them, despite all the good-natured criticism about pie, and I silently wished them the best.

At home I told my mother that I was finished with work. I said I was probably going to plan my college visits for the following week. I needed to get more information on transportation to and from and work out an itinerary.

I went upstairs and got my list of schools-to-be-visited and marked them in an atlas. The ones that were closest together were in the Northeast, and the others were widely scattered through the midwest and the south. I decided to concentrate on the Northeast cluster.

I needed to figure out how to get from point A to point B, and the optimum route, given the transportation options. I took my bike downtown, first to the bus station, where a helpful clerk showed me on a map the various bus routes between my selected cities and towns, and gave me a big handful of bus schedules.

I then biked over to the train station, where a less helpful clerk pointed me toward a map of train routes and a display containing train schedules.

I took my stash home, laid them out on my bed and started working out logistics. When I next looked up, more than an hour had gone by but I had most of it worked out. I would go back tomorrow and get the ticket costs, then sit down with my parents.

Suddenly tired, I cleared the bed and lay down and took a nap. Tonight I would go meet the bowling team. Excuse me, squadra di bowling.

After dinner, I took my bike and my Italian-English dictionary and rode to the bowling alley Mr. Esposito had indicated. I would have preferred to drive, but my mother was going shopping and needed the car. I locked my bike someplace it wouldn’t be noticed, and went in.

Scanning the alleys, I picked out the likeliest group and walked over. I asked the man closest to his description if he was Tommy Esposito, and he answered, “Si, sono io. Sei Tom Carter?”

So it was going to be like that, was it? He wasn’t giving me any leeway at all. I gave it my best shot.

“Si, io sono Tom Carter. Chiamarmi ‘Carter’.” We can’t have two Toms here. Even as I said it, I winced at my pronunciation.

He had the good manners not to make fun of my accent. He introduced me around the group, explaining -- I think -- that I was trying to learn Italian and would be listening to them talk. He said, “Se non capisci una particolare parola, mi chieda. I should ask him if I don’t understand something. At least I think that’s what he said.

They started their game and from what I could see, they were pretty good at it. They were certainly knocking down more pins than I could have. I was following their conversation as best I could while I watched. I stumbled over a number of words and tried to look them up in the dictionary while I remembered them.

This was frustrating. I was trying to tie what I had learned in the grammar book and the language lab to colloquial Italian and I kept tripping over my logical mind trying to put together sentences. That’s not how language works in real life.

I waited until Tommy turned toward me and asked me how I was doing (in Italian, of course) and I had his focus. In my pidgin Italian I told him that I was following some of it, while I got into his epicenter. I rooted around until I found the place where language was formed. Now I could watch it happen in real time.

The group was bantering back and forth as they played, good-naturedly ribbing each other’s bowling skills. I watched the thought being formulated in the mind’s internal language, then reformed into Italian.

Watching this process helped me understand the structure of the language, and as I saw the words being inserted I now knew them. This is what made learning language easy for me. Even better, I could ‘see’ how the words were pronounced and the inflections and contractions that made them sound like native-speakers.

I had an amusing thought. If I went into linguistics after college I would be able to develop a theory of language that would revolutionize the understanding of language formation. Of course, then I’d have to come up with a plausible explanation of how I came upon this theory. Better not.

In the meantime, listening to them toss jibes and encouragement around, I started to see where my pronunciation and accent fell apart and began correcting it. It would take me a while before I learned to speak as fluently as they, but I could feel myself a little closer to the goal.

They finished their last frame about two hours in, and began to pack up. Tommy asked me how it had gone, and I said I had learned a lot, and had a bunch of new words to work on. I thanked him for the opportunity.

He said they’d be back here again next week, same time, and I was welcome to sit in. I might not be here next week, I told him, I might be off visiting colleges, but if I wasn’t here, I’d try for the following week.

Tommy said they usually went out for beers afterwards, but my parents probably wouldn’t appreciate him inviting me to tag along. I laughed to show him I understood, and said good night.

I’m going to skip over some things here, because they don’t really add to the narrative. I did figure out my itinerary, and how I would get from one place to another. For the places with accommodations on campus I called to reserve a dorm room. For the others I figured I’d find a nearby motel. It was off-season for motels near schools, so rates shouldn’t be exorbitant.

We figured out a budget for transport, meals and motels, and the occasional cab where required, and my parents took out some cash for me.

To be safe, I took some extra money out of my savings account, too, hoping I wouldn’t need to use it, but better too much than too little. I left on the Sunday to arrive in time for an early start the next day at my first prospective school.

All of these schools fell into a similar rhythm. I had a list of questions, details I wanted to better understand about the study atmosphere, the interests of various departments, and so on. After each tour -- and the spiel always sounded the same -- I met with admissions people who tried to figure out if I was somebody they wanted at dear old Ivycovered U.

And I’m not ashamed to say that I played with their minds a bit, to the extent that I was able. I had good creds, top grades and good SAT scores, plus all that language stuff and advanced math, but those are only part of the picture for admissions people.

They’re looking for the students they think will make a difference after graduation, highly-motivated and/or brilliant people who will be successful and, by the way, donate a shitload of cash back to the college.

So in each case, I linkcast “inquisitive, intelligent, articulate, self-driven, likes people, lots of potential”, and I also looked into their epicenters to find the specific things they were searching for, and tried to polish my answers to their questions to reflect those criteria.

I was shameless, and to be honest a little embarrassed that I had to do it, but I was competing with people who were a lot better off than I and wouldn’t require scholarships, and possibly were just as smart and talented.

I came out of each of those meetings with the sense that the interviewers had found what they were looking for. I wouldn’t know for sure until I had actually applied and my application was discussed and debated in front of the entire admissions committee. They would decide not only whether I got in, but how much they could offer in scholarships. Because I wouldn’t be able to do this without scholarships. My parents just didn’t have the money.

At one of the schools, which was high on my preferred list, I had accommodations in one of the dorms. It was a nice campus, lots of trees, no ivy that I could see but the buildings had a classic and venerable look. Just the thing to inspire parents looking for the ultimate college experience for Junior.

I dropped my things in my assigned room, and then hurried to join the tour that was due to start in a few minutes.

I got there just in time. There were about fifteen people in the group waiting to start, parents and kids, all milling about nervously chatting with one another. A young woman approached, wearing a name tag.

“Hi, everybody. Welcome to the tour. My name’s Cindy, I’m a junior here and I’ll be leading you around and answering your questions. Try to stay together, and I’ll try to talk loud enough that everyone can hear me.”

She turned, with a ‘follow me’ hand sign, and started off. Cindy was kind of cute, with a confident air about her. About my height, brunette with just a hint of red in it when the light caught it the right way, really good legs -- maybe a runner? -- and a small but full pair of tits that had a nice little jiggle to them as she strode around the campus. It made the tour more pleasant.

Maybe there was a company somewhere that provided these tour scripts to colleges for a fee, because they all sounded alike except for the names of the buildings. I could almost recite it myself after having endured a few of these. But mostly I just tuned her out.

In the back, someone had raised their hand and when they had gotten her attention, asked a question -- in Spanish. Cindy looked like she didn’t know what to do. She started to apologize, that she didn’t speak their language.

I turned toward the man and spoke to him, explaining that she spoke no Spanish, but perhaps I could translate, if he would allow me. He thanked me, and then repeated his question to me.

Addressing Cindy, I said, “He asks what percentage of graduates get job offers in their chosen fields.”

She looked relieved. This was a question she could answer. She gave me the statistic, and I translated the answer back for the questioner. She gave me a grateful look.

We continued the tour, as she pointed out the highlights, the library, the student union, the sports and fitness center, the dorms. There were occasional questions, including a few from me. Specifically, I wanted to know if we could meet with department representatives to ask more technical questions. She suggested visiting the department and asking who was available to answer those questions. Well, I probably could have figured that out myself, but okay.

I mediated a few more questions from our Spanish-speaking visitor as we neared the end of the tour. Finally, Cindy thanked us all for our attention and asked if there were any final questions. A few people approached her and engaged her in conversation. The Spanish speaker thanked me for my assistance, and I assured him no fue nada -- it was nothing.

I was curious why they were bringing Junior on a tour of a college where English was the language of instruction and Junior spoke no English, so I asked, given that it would likely be a problem. He told me that Junior wouldn’t be applying for another year yet and would be taking an intensive English language program before he did. They were here on vacation and by touring the college now, they were killing two birds with one stone.

I wished them a pleasant stay, and turned to leave.

“Oh, wait. Hold up a moment.”

I turned, and Cindy was trotting toward me. “I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to thank you for pulling me out of that awkward hole back there. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”

“I’m glad I could help. It was probably a question most of the parents would have been interested in anyway.”

“You’re thinking of coming here? By the way, I’m Cindy McHan.”

“Hi, Cindy, Tom Carter, and yes, I’m thinking about it. This is one of the places on my list. I’ve got to go talk to some of the departments about major-related questions, which is why I asked you about it. I have to be out of here in the morning, so I’ve got my afternoon’s work all lined up.”

“Oh, I was going to invite you for a cup of coffee to thank you for your help.”

“Thanks, but I doubt I’ll be finished before five-ish, then I’ll head back to the dorm and maybe find some dinner.”

“The dorm? They’ve got you in Stalag 17?”

I looked puzzled, and she said, “Sorry, inside joke among the tour guides. It’s what we call the one dorm where they put visiting students and parents who want to stay over. It’s really much nicer than Stalag 17.”

“It looks pretty ... spartan.”

“Don’t let it throw you. The real dorms are actually better. The dorm you’re in is much easier to keep clean between visitors because it’s so ... minimalistic, that’s why the college uses it.”

“Good to know. Cindy, thanks for the tour. I’d better hit some of the departments before the day’s over. So long.”

I found the first department on my list, which happened to be Mathematics, and the secretary found someone who was free to talk with me. We talked about math and what a math major could do for me. The answer was, as I saw it, not much until I had an advanced degree, either a master’s or a doctorate. Still, math was interesting, and I thought I could do worse.

I made a point to get to Psychology before everyone left, and spent a good deal of time there talking with one of the professors about what I was interested in, and whether there were people on staff who could offer insight. Really, were they going to say no? Of course there were, he said, highly qualified and respected researchers and teachers who shared my interests.

I took everything with a grain of salt, because, naturally, I was trying to make a good impression and looking for whatever boost I might get from the department in terms of admission and scholarships. So I’m not ashamed to say that I left them with planted impressions of me as one with great potential and high intelligence.

By the time I got to the last department on my list I saw that it was after five, and when I got there it appeared that everyone had gone home. Oh, well, it was a long shot to believe I could fit all of them in in a single afternoon. Anyway, I was hungry, since I never got lunch.

I went back to the dorm to dump my backpack and wash my face. I decided to change my shirt, too, since the one I was wearing smelled like it needed to be washed. I had one arm in the clean shirt when the phone rang. Who knew I was here? I didn’t even know I was here until I showed up here this morning.

I picked up and said hello.

“Is this Tom? It’s Cindy from the tour. I took a chance you’d be back and I’d catch you before you went out. I was thinking that I have to go out to eat, too, and maybe you’d like some company, since I couldn’t buy you coffee earlier. I can give you the student’s tour of dining options, and provide dirt on the real college experience, from the inside. We don’t offer this deal to just anyone, you know.”

“Then I’m honored. I was actually just about to head out when you phoned. Having company sounds better than reading a book, which is what I was planning on doing.”

“Depends on the particular book, or the particular company, I guess. Why don’t you wait in front of the dorm, and I could be there in about ten minutes, okay?”

I said that sounded like a plan and hung up. Well, that was nice of her. Having dinner with a cute girl was better than not doing that. I had no expectations, but I thought that if I were to appear remotely civilized, I ought to perhaps do a quick wipe with a warm washcloth and soap, so I did.

That left me just enough time to get downstairs by the time I promised. She was waiting outside.

“Right on time,” she said. “What are you in the mood for?”

“About anything other than McDonald’s or KFC. Don’t know this town, so you’re the expert here.”

“There’s a good Indian and Nepalese place nearby, and an inexpensive but quite decent Italian place, too. Either of those appeal to you?”

“I like both of them, but tonight Italian seems to be more my mood. You okay with that?”

“Always. I’m a sucker for pasta, but then I have to run it off the next day.”

“Ah. I kinda guessed.”

“What? That I’m a sucker for pasta?”

“No, that you’re a runner.”

“You brought your crystal ball with you?”

“I just thought you had runner’s legs, really strong.”

“Good guess. I’m on the women’s cross country team. We’re pretty good.”

“If they’ve all got legs like you, I’m not the least bit surprised.”

It was less than ten minutes walk to the restaurant, Hugo’s, and since it was still early, it wasn’t very crowded so we were seated right away.

“So spill,” I said. “All the dirt. Start with you. Was this your first choice school?”

“Actually, no, it was my second, but I didn’t get in to my first choice. But this turned out to be a pretty good pick all around, so I’m happy. I did some running in high school, so I was pleased to find they had a good track and cross country program here.”

“Your major?” I asked.

“Poli Sci. I tried English, and hated the bullshit required to write papers defending my interpretation of a work. Seemed very subjective, I thought. And what are your plans?”

We batted possible majors around -- she was horrified to find I was a math person -- and talked about what might come after college. She, of course, was much closer to the precipice than I, and was starting to panic a little about it. She was thinking maybe grad school, which would put the decision off for a couple more years.

Our orders arrived, and mine was pretty good. Even the salad was tasty. She asked some questions about my high school experience, and was impressed at finding out about zipping through the math curriculum, and especially about the languages.

“I had to struggle with two semesters of German. I wouldn’t have taken it at all, but it’s a degree requirement. Just barely passed. So I bow down to you for learning two. Well, two and a half.

“Tom, I have to say I was a little surprised to find you were still in high school. On the tour I thought you were someone’s big brother. You seem, well, older, more self-assured and quite articulate.”

“You’ve discovered my secret. The truth is, I liked high school so much the first time around that I lied about my age, switched school districts, and did it all over again. I figure this time around I’ll get to correct all the mistakes I made the first time.”

She laughed at that. “Oh, I wish I had thought of that. I’ve got a lot of mistakes I’d like to rectify.”

“Do tell. What would you do over?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Uh-uh, I don’t know you well enough.”

“That sounds intriguing. Perhaps I should ply you with strong spirits until the truth comes out.”

She had a glint in her eye as she said, “You could try, but I think I’m immune to all your devices.”

While she was talking, I thought I was picking up something, some mild flirting perhaps, and took a tentative peek into her epicenter. She seemed to be having a good time, enjoying herself and the food, without much in the way of worries or concerns.

There was also a bit of erotic interest there, too, and I was picking up an attraction to me, plus a touch of surprise that she was enjoying spending time with someone younger than her. It hadn’t been so in the past, as she usually found people my age rather shallow.

I was finding her quite attractive, and easy to talk to. I debated for a bit, but finally channeled a very light feather brushing her clit, and linkcast a sense that I was funny, good-looking and a bit sexy. Just to see what happens.

“So, Tom, got a girl back home?”

“I’ve got someone I like, but she’s not ready to be exclusive because she wants to be sure, which I’m disappointed about, but I understand her reasoning. I go out with some other girls, but nothing serious. You? You must have some guy, maybe several guys, hanging around.”

“I’ve been going pretty steadily with someone the past couple of years. He’s at home working this summer, and I took this job so I could take a summer course. We get along, and we like each other, but I’m not sure if it’s forever. I don’t know what will happen when we graduate.”

The waiter came and cleared our plates and asked if we’d like coffee and dessert. I ordered coffee and rum cake, Cindy just coffee.

“This isn’t the kind of question I would have asked on the tour, but it this considered a party school? From your perspective.”

She thought about it for a minute. “It’s not like some places I know, where the party starts on Thursday and ends late Monday. But there’s a faction here that likes to party hard, mostly off-campus. There’s a lot of alcohol and a fair amount of drugs, lots of sex and loud music, people barfing in the bushes.”

“Not really my thing. I mean, the alcohol, drugs, and barfing in the bushes.”

“Glad to hear you’re open-minded about the rest of it.”

“We should be receptive to new experiences,” I said. “That’s how we grow.” I changed the feather on the clit to an artist’s camel’s-hair paintbrush.

“Hear, hear. If I had a drink in hand, I’d toast to new experiences.”

We finished our coffee. The rum cake was delicious, but there wasn’t much of it because she kept sneaking little bites of it with her coffee spoon.

The waiter brought the check, and by agreement we split it down the middle, leaving extra for a tip.

“Well, that was really nice. I enjoyed that. I probably would have just picked up a salad at the deli and eaten it while watching the tube. This was much better.”

“Yeah, it was. Thanks for pointing this place out. Though I may have to do some long-distance running myself to work off the pasta.”

“It’s still pretty early. Are you a wine drinker?”

“I like an occasional glass of wine, though I can’t call myself a connoisseur. Not even a neighbor of a connoisseur.”

“I have an unopened bottle of wine from our last party. It would be a shame to allow it to turn to vinegar. Are you interested in helping me finish it?”

“I’m probably not good for more than one glass, two at the most. Not much of a drinker, but I’ll give it the old college try.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Follow me.”

It turned out she had an off-campus apartment with several roommates, all of whom were away for the summer. It seemed like a big place for one person to be rattling around in, but probably much smaller with four girls in it.

It was student housing, but in fairly decent condition, the exterior and the halls somewhat run down, but the apartment itself in good shape. Old building, solid, surprisingly soundproof, because there was a family downstairs that I could hear when we entered, but couldn’t hear at all once inside her apartment.

She pointed me to the couch in the living room, and headed off to use the bathroom down the hall. The couch was comfortable, and I could feel a snooze coming on from the pasta overdose, but it was interrupted by her coming in with a bottle and two glasses.

“I thought it would be fun,” she said as she set the bottle on the table next to the couch, “to stay here over the summer and enjoy the quiet instead of the chaos that normally surrounds so many students descending on the campus.

“In fact, it’s been a little lonely here, because it’s mostly just the few tour guides who are students, and they all have their own lives so we don’t spend much time together. So it’s nice to get a chance to talk and eat and hang out with someone.” She handed me a glass of wine, and took a larger one for herself.

“Well, it was a nice break from the past few days, when it’s been mostly me eating a quick meal in some burger joint, with my nose stuffed in a book, then off to bed. Thanks for suggesting it.

“This is a pretty sweet place you’ve got here. What did you say, there were four of you during the school year? Is this party central on the weekends?”

“Not always. The others have their boyfriends so they spend a lot of time at their places, as do I. But every once in a while, we cut loose. I mean, it’s really kind of a responsibility, isn’t it, to make sure you put in an adequate amount of excess that you can look back on when you’re working some humdrum job? That’s how I look at it, anyway.”

“That sounds entirely reasonable. If we didn’t get that stuff out of our systems in college, we’d probably have to do it in our forties, and how would that look to the kids?”

She laughed. “Absolutely. Think of the children. We owe it to them. Cheers.”

She downed about half her glass. I peeked into her epicenter again, and the arousal component was significantly more prominent. She was surprised that she was feeling so horny.

“Of course,” I said, “we probably wouldn’t want them to know about some of the things we did. How could we tell them to do one thing when we did just the opposite in school? I’d be embarrassed to have my kids find out about some of the things I’ve done, and I’m not even in college yet.”

“Oh? So let’s hear some. What could a sheltered youth like you possibly have done to be embarrassed about?”

“I’m not that drunk yet, Cindy. Besides, I’d be bothered if I scandalized you by telling you some of the bawdy things I’ve been involved in.”

“I don’t think you could possibly corrupt me any more than I already am. I mean, on a college student scale of things, anyway. Give me your worst.”

She kept poking at the idea, even as she refilled her glass. “Okay, I’ll start,” she said. “I’ve gone home with guys I met at parties, and I never even learned their names. Anonymous hookups.”

“Well, I can’t top that, never had any anonymous hookups. I did have sex with two women at the same time once. That was hot, but probably not a story I’d willingly share with the kids.”

“Ooo. Respect, Tom. I withdraw the sheltered remark. Okay, let’s see. Oh, I got drunk at a party once with my boyfriend and a bunch of other couples and we got in an argument about who knew the most about their partner’s body, so we wound up having a blindfold blowjob contest to see who could pick out their partner. I lost, but it was still fun.”

“I am so looking forward to college. But I don’t think that was entirely fair, as contests go, because the guys should have been trying to pick you out by licking your pussies. That’s only fair, after all.”

“I’ll make a note for our next party. C’mon, you’ve got to have something kinky to tell. Let’s hear it.”

“I’m beginning to think my life is rather prosaic after all. Okay, one woman I was with was a serious masochist. You wouldn’t think it to look at her, but she wanted me to tie her up, slap her and treat her rough, then fuck her in the ass.”

“Did you?”

“Not like that. I can’t, I mean, I don’t like hurting people, even if they want it. We had to talk it out, and in the end I did tie her up, and slapped her ass a couple of times, just to go through the motions, and I did fuck her ass, but with lube, and I wasn’t rough. Turned out she was fine with that, thank God.”