The living room was packed. My mom, Claire Peterson, was wearing a blazer despite the 75-degree temperature and holding a coat by the snack table, listing my college entrance scores with the precision of a drill sergeant. My dad, MattPeterson, was simultaneously showing off my acceptance letter to the different cousins while attempting to explain the groundbreaking medical research being conducted at the school.
"And he studied twelve hours a day for the last six months!" Mom announced to my aunt Carol, who looked visibly tired just hearing about it. "Pure dedication! A laser focus!"
"And he only failed to recognize me as his mother on three separate occasions due to sleep deprivations!" Dad added, beaming.
Maya rolled her eyes from the corner where she was dominating the party playlist. "Twelve hours of studying, one hour of staring dramatically out the window contemplating the crushing weight of academic ambition, and then an hour of YouTube watching people fail at skateboards," she muttered just loud enough for me to hear.
"Jealousy is an ugly emotion, Maya," I countered as my two best friends, Rishi and Chloe, converged on me, flanking me like Secret service agents.
Rishi , the perpetual jokester with an uncanny ability to impersonate every teacher we'd ever had, punched my arm lightly. "Look at him. The prodigy. The future Dr. Atlas, who will be saving lives and, more importantly, making buckets of money."
"We're here to collect on that pre-med promise, buddy," Chloe, the sharpest wit in our whole friend group, chimed in, adjusting his glasses. "Remember the deal? When you're a hot-shot surgeon, free cosmetic procedures for your two best cheerleaders."
I grinned, tossing an olive in the air and catching it in my mouth. "Only if you promise to stop calling me 'prodigy'. It makes me sound like a slightly damp towel. And Chloe, I'll be a researcher, not a cosmetic surgeon. I'm focusing on neuro-regeneration -- you know, the stuff that actually matters."
"Neuro-regeneration? Sounds like you're going to fix people's brains," Rishi said, making a thoughtful face. "See, I need you to invent a pill that lets me eat cake without gaining weight. That's real medicine, Atlas."
"Or," Chloe interjected, leaning in, "you could develop a serum that gives you the ability to tell my brother, Kevin, that his new garage band is too objectively terrible without hurting his feelings."
"Now that is the true challenge of the human condition," I conceded, shaking my head. "But seriously, guys, medical school is a means to an end. My real goal is the lab. I want to be the one who figures out how to fix things that are currently unsolvable. I want to research, discover, publish groundbreaking work."
Rishi grabbed my shoulders dramatically. "So, you're telling us you'll be spending the prime of your life surrounded by beakers and microscopes instead of, you know, people? Atlas, you're missing the point of being a brilliant, handsome young doctor! Think of the social applications!"
"He's right," Chloe sighed. "You'll have a degree, a reputation, and enough money to buy us all terrible vintage motorbikes. Don't waste that on petri dishes."
"I'm dedicated to science," I stated firmly, ignoring their theatrics. "Besides, I've already met the perfect, flawless subject for my research: my brother, Leo. Need to figure out why he can lift a car but still can't solve for 'x'."
Leo, overhearing us from the kitchen, hurled a rubber band that Rishi square on the nose. The party dissolved into happy shouts and laughter, the kind of easy, comforting chaos that I knew I'd miss once I was locked down in a dorm room.