Chapter 1

If you have a map of the United States of America find New York City (it's on the East Coast.) Now find Los Angeles (its on the West Coast.) Find a spot halfway between the two.

You're close to Laramie, Wyoming.

Now objectively speaking, there is nothing wrong with Laramie, Wyoming. Hell, Laramie is known as the Gem City of the Plains. No. Really.

If you've never been there (or if you work for the Chamber of Commerce) you might even believe that. Hell. I'll bet some people do.

There are five thousand six hundred and eleven families in Laramie. The newest of those is my family. Well, Mom and me.

Mom, god bless (help) her, got a job teaching at the University of Wyoming. The New York Times named the University of Wyoming as one of the best education buys in the nation. That's got to tell you something.

When she announced she was taking the job, Dad looked at mom, then he looked at me, then he looked at a picture of his sloop. Without another word he packed his bags.

I think he's living on or in or with that damn boat.

I came west with mom.

Like I had a choice.

Moving from a real place to a Laramie-like place is 'interesting.' When mom missed our turn and ran out of the 'city' I knew it was trouble. "You've got to be kidding."

"Population 27,297," the sign said.

"Hush!" she said. "You'll like it here."

For two thousand and seven miles she'd been saying that. A tumbleweed blew by the car as we turned around. I kid you not.

You may have gathered that I was not excited about Laramie, Wyoming. You have gathered right. Even before we left Boston I knew it would suck. I was right. "Mom? You know why it's so windy here?"

"Hmm?" she asked.

"Because Laramie sucks."

If she hadn't laughed she'd have been pissed.

And I get a free education here. "Would you like to super size that, ma'am," I began practicing.

"Stop that!"

"Would you like to order a special value meal today?"

"Here we are," Mom said.

Home.

"You looked at this place before we bought it, right mom?"

"Grab my suitcase, too." Maybe two thousand and seven miles of my frustration was playing on her a bit. She seemed happy to be here. That was one of us.

For at least the next four years I was supposed to call this dump home. Shit.

Why would anybody live here? Answer? Because it's fifty miles from Cheyenne. No. Really. Look it up.

We had a couple of weeks to get settled before I had to register and Mom had to start teaching. Mom and I explored a bit... but really, a city with twenty seven thousand people fifty miles from anything doesn't take much exploring.

Mom and I found an old Jeep for me to drive to school. That was kind of cool. One neighbor lady waved a mom the third day. I wrote about it in my diary. Excitement. I could feel my brains curdling.

Surprisingly, the house was nicer inside than out. It was old, but still. My room was pretty big and mom set up the spare room as an office for us. I'd study on one side and she'd grade papers (or whatever) on the other.

We got phones and cable and high-speed Internet and pretty soon it was almost like a home. Except, of course, that Laramie, Wyoming, was right outside the door.

I thought about calling dad and seeing if he needed any crew at least once a day. Sometimes twice.

There are a couple of important facts about the University of Wyoming that you need to know. The first is that the student residence is the highest density living in the entire state. Really. The other thing is there is a pasture on campus where it is still okay to graze your horse. Again, really. I hadn't seen a horse there yet, but still. Oh. And the twelve-story dorm is the tallest residential building in the entire state. And they admit it.

So pretty soon it was time to enroll in this institute of higher learning. To give up all dreams of prestigious matriculation. To become a Cowpoke.

I'm not saying that I could have got in to MIT... but that's where I wanted to go. Not a land grant university (the only university) in the least populated state in the nation.

There were a bunch of us new freshmen milling around when I got to registration. I got into the right lines, filled out the right papers, turned in the right forms, and eventually got to a table with a real live person behind it.

"Hi, sit down!" She said. She smiled. "I'm Barb Alexander, your faculty advisor."

I smiled. "Thanks... uh, Michael," I said. I passed her my packet of paperwork. "Michael Wilson."

"So. Michael. A math major?" She looked at me. A challenge?

"Yes."

She sorted through the paperwork, found my transcripts.

"Hmmm..."

My ACT and SAT scores. I was proud of them.

"Mmmm..."

And?

"Are you living on campus?" she asked.

"No. My mom's new over in Anthropology. Toni Wilson? I'm living with her."

She looked down at my papers again and the up at me and smiled. "I met her. She's nice."

Thanks. "Yeah."

"Well... you're certainly prepared. Minor?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Good enough. It's not that important as a freshman. Hang on." She pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. After a brief conversation she hung up and explained. "I've got somebody coming to meet you." She scribbled on a form, clicked some keys on her laptop, asked a couple of questions and handed me a proposed schedule. "This is what I'd recommend..."

I glanced at it; it was pretty much what I'd figured from talking with mom. "Looks good to me," I said.

"Then we'll do it." She clicked a few more keys. The printer beside her clicked and buzzed and out popped my schedule for the first semester of college. "And here comes Debbie."

I looked around and didn't see anybody heading our way at first. Then I did. I looked back at Barb Alexander and then back at the person I hoped was Debbie.

It is absolutely amazing what a pair of cowgirl boots and a tight pair of Wranglers can do to a tall blonde.

Wyoming had at least one redeeming feature. I stood up.

"Hi Debbie, this is Michael Wilson. He's a math major and here's his schedule," Barb said. She handed it to the lovely creature.

"Michael, this is Debbie Alexander, she's a Math major, too. A junior. She's your student advisor."

I looked from Debbie to Barb. "Alexander?"

"And she's my daughter," Barb said.

"Hello Michael," Debbie said. She didn't quite sound bored.

"Hi," I said (brilliantly.)

She rolled her eyes and then looked at her mom. "I guess I'll take him to The Gardens and get to know him..."

Barb Alexander laughed. "You do that."

"Well. Come on Mike," she said.

"Michael."

"Right. This way."

I picked up my stuff, thanked Debbie's mom, and sort of followed and sort of walked with her over to the Wyoming Union and then followed her down stairs and over to a little coffee shop called "The Garden." Following Debbie was not a chore.

We ordered lattes and picked a small table to sit down. Debbie paid.

I didn't really know how to talk to her. I was in awe of her beauty. She was older than me (and when you're just eighteen, a twenty or twenty-one-year old seems a lot older.) And, from her expression, she didn't seem to like me much. "So..." I started.

She looked at me, waiting for me to go on. Then she laughed. Jesus. She lit up when she smiled. I was wrong. She was only pretty before. Now she was beautiful. "Sorry," she said, still almost giggling. "I'm supposed to be making you feel at ease, not the other way around."

"Really?"

"That's my job, uh, Student Advisor?"

Right. I smiled. "I'm not sure I can feel at ease... with you." Shit. Did I just say that?

Debbie arched her eyebrows. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Well." In for a penny, in for a pound. "Maybe."

She laughed again. That was worth any embarrassment.

"I have a boyfriend. A big boyfriend."

Shit. "Good for you?"

She took a sip of her coffee. "Tell me what you want to get out of the University."

"A ticket to MIT?"

Again she laughed.

"No. Really," I said. "My mom got a job here so we moved... but I wanted to go to MIT."

"Are you good enough?" she asked.