Summer Intern by Carrie Karasyov

presidents and was one of the toniest schools in the country), before going to Georgetown. He was a black diamond skier and a big mountain biker but didn’t seem to care that I was hopeless with sports. The weird thing was that we had so much in common! I told him my favorite movie was Rear Window and he was stunned and told me it was his also! We both loved van Gogh and loathed modern architecture, and when I ordered tiramisu for dessert, his jaw dropped and he told me that it was his favorite dessert in the world. I wanted to get down on my knees and thank the stars for sending us both to Melt the same night.
    I had thought I was so into James, but the more I got to know Matt, the more he seemed like my kind of guy. James was amazing, but he was obviously uncomfortable with the fact that both his dad and stepfather were wealthy and extremely successful. On the flip side, Matt casually told me that he had been really fortunate to grow up with extreme wealth, and rather than be all spoiled bratty about it, he planned to use his good fortune and education to change the policy of the U.S. government toward welfare recipients. How cool was that?
    â€œI’m so glad I met you, Kira,” said Matt after we finished the last dollop of mascarpone cream from our dessert.
    I think I turned bright red. “I am, too.”
    â€œCan I get you anything else?” asked the waiter, approaching our table.
    â€œWe’re all set,” said Matt.
    â€œVery well then,” said the waiter, placing a leather-bound casewith the bill on the edge of the table.
    Matt glanced up at the waiter. “Oh, I’m charging it to my dad. Cal Rubin.”
    â€œYou’re Mr. Rubin’s son?” asked the waiter.
    â€œYeah, Dad said just charge it to his house account. And add twenty-five percent for gratuity.”
    The waiter looked pleased. “Thank you so much, sir.”
    â€œNo problem,” said Matt, returning his gaze to me. “Shall we go on a walk?”
    â€œSure,” I said.
    Matt slid back my chair and we exited onto Madison Avenue.
    â€œLet’s take Fifth, much more scenic,” said Matt, steering me down Ninety-third Street.
    â€œI thought your last name was Hoffer,” I said, confused.
    Matt sunk his hands into his pockets. “It is. Cal Rubin is my stepdad, but he’s like a dad to me.”
    â€œOh,” I said. It was weird that both James’s and Matt’s parents were divorced. All of my friends’ parents at home were still married. I guess that wasn’t the norm in Manhattan.
    We turned onto Fifth Avenue and Matt pointed out the sights, my own personal tour guide. We passed the Jewish Museum, the Convent of the Sacred Heart, and then the Cooper-Hewitt Museum, which used to be Andrew Carnegie’s mansion. All of the meticulously restored old buildings were gorgeous. It was such a nice night, with a warm breeze, to be walking around, and even though it was about nine o’clock, it still wasn’t dark. People were spilling out of the park—joggers, bikers, and other couples likeus. It was all so romantic.
    When we got to about Eighty-fourth Street, Matt stopped in front of an ornate limestone building. The immaculately clad doormen stood at their posts outside as if royalty lived inside the gilded doors.
    â€œIs something wrong?” I asked, noticing his fallen face.
    â€œYeah, sorry,” he said, his voice tight.
    â€œWhat?” I asked, concerned.
    â€œIt’s just…this is my dad’s building, and um, I don’t get along with my stepmother,” he lamented, looking up at the giant windows of the enormous apartments above. “When I pass it, it conjures up all these bad memories, ’cause basically I never see my dad because of my stepmonster and their new kids.”
    â€œOh my God! That’s horrible. I’m so sorry,” I said, putting a hand on his arm to try to comfort him.
    Matt suddenly shrugged,