Personal Statement (10 page)

Holy crap, he’s right. This isn’t just volunteering. It’s
competitive
volunteering. And Emily Kim is the poster child. Of course, I’m not completely without fault. I’m here looking to suck out any and all opportunities from the impending natural disaster as well, but at least… Well. At least nothing. I don’t feel bad about it. I actually feel vindicated to hear it articulated so clearly. (Jesus. Maybe I’m worse than Emily.)

“So,” I say nonchalantly. “Let the games begin.”

“Touché,” Duncan says. “More power to you. But I’m tellin’ ya, boys, the shelf life for this kinda thing is another six months. A year, tops. It’s like that whole backlash to the backlash curve.”

“What’s that?” Mac asks.

“You know,” Duncan says, “that thing in
New York
magazine where they chart a new book or movie or actor that’s getting a lot of press. It starts down here with the
pre
-buzz.” He demonstrates by beginning to trace a bell curve in the air with his hand. “Then it rises with the buzz, up some more with the rave reviews, topping out at the saturation point up here. Then the inevitable decline where it’s overhyped, bottoming out at the backlash, then getting a mini bump back up with a backlash to the backlash. Boom.”

“Never heard of it,” Mac says.

“Whatever.” Duncan is looking around, clearly feeling like he’s already spent too much valuable face time with us. “I’m just saying this ultra-competitive college entrance stuff is about to hit its apex. In three years, when it’s my turn, it’ll be declining fast toward its nadir. So I’m staying ahead of the curve, skipping the whole secondary education jam completely. By the time I graduate high school, I’ll have generated enough national name recognition to raise a hundred mil in VC, start my own sneaker line, or come up with the next big thing our 2013 minds can’t even
fathom
! You guys are the last of a dying breed. The kids that bust their asses for killer grades and an Ivy league degree, a degree that’s increasingly meaningless in terms of landing a profitable job? Ancient history. With sites like Coursera and the whole digitalization of higher education? Anyone in the world with a freakin’ Internet connection can take Harvard and Stanford-level classes for
free
. So even if it’s really about learning stuff—which it’s not—why would anyone drop all that coin for something they can get with
out
going into crippling debt? College is the new print media. And the university system as we know it is going, going,
gone
. I mean, Peter freakin’
Thiel
paid twenty kids 100K each
NOT
to go to college!”

“Yeah, and I heard they were all floundering,” I interject. “The first twenty-four and now the new crop of twenty. No major income or progress or innovations from any of them.”

“Like forty-four kids is a big enough sample,” Duncan scoffs. “You know how many people graduate from college each year? How many of
them
came up with something innovative because of that killer Intro to Psych lecture from Miami University—in
Ohio
!”

“Well—”

“Face it,” Duncan says, cutting me off. “It’s a global economy now. And Harvard means nothing to the guys running China and India. Need to learn a skill? Get it on the job or figure it out online. Otherwise, the only currency of value is fame, brand recognition, and a massive social media profile. Anything else? Might as well be the Stone Age.”

“Are you serious?” I ask.

“‘Bout which part?”

“All of it. Not going to college, it’s a thing of the past. Are you serious?”

“Did the cast of
The Jersey Shore
go to college? Or Kim Kardashian? No way. She graduated high school, leaked a sex tape, got a million Twitter followers, now she’s worth over forty million and rising.”

“Sixteen million,” says Mac.

“No, Huckleberry. I know my numbers. She’s worth forty million dollars.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re right about her net worth. I just mean Twitter followers. Kim Kardashian has over sixteen million of them.”

“See what I mean?” Duncan says, pointing at Mac but looking at me. “It’s not about higher education. It’s about
brand recognition
. And this here,” he gestures around Duffy Square and the town of Cawdor in general. “All
this
? Just kids spinning their wheels, trying to feel important. It won’t
do
anything for you long term.”

“How about make me feel like a better person?” I ask.

“Whatever floats your boat. But I don’t need four years of sonnets and art history to end up owing some bank $200K and living with my parents again cuz the only job I’m qualified for is working at The Gap. Sorry, fellas. Not worth my time.”

As Duncan starts off, I call out to him, “Guess you’re not going to the party then.”

“Oh, I’m going to the party,” Duncan says, turning to us but continuing to walk away backwards. “Free booze and grub, plus decision-impaired ladies? Never pass up that combo. See ya there?”

I stare at Duncan, unsure if he means what he says or if it’s all an act. Or maybe it started as an act and now he believes his own hype. Finally I just nod and say, “Yeah. See ya there.”

Duncan nods back. “Ciao, boys.” He turns on his heels and catches up with the crowd down the street. I see him slap the back of a few guys and launch into another monologue.

And then I realize: some of what he says has merit, but mostly he’s just starved for attention. He’s the youngest one here and probably feels totally out of place. He’s lonely, a little sad, and kind of full of shit.

“Wow,” Mac sighs.

“Tell me about it.”

We watch the crowd of teenagers move as one down the road. They’re joking and smiling and being kids. I wonder how much of what Duncan said is true and how much is him justifying his own choices. Would I have the guts to
not
go to college? Is that really courageous—or even
smart
? I wonder what Duncan’s parents are like. Did they send him to one of those Reggio Emilia schools where the kids lead the curriculum and finger painting is considered as important as reading and math? He looks like one of those kids whose parents still go to rock concerts and let their kids call them by their first names and screen important documentaries and pretentious foreign films while their children drink lattes and set their own bedtimes. Is that really what the generation behind me is like? What the hell is this world coming to?

“Should we head over to the party?” Mac finally asks.

“Yeah, but…”

“What?”

“…I got a bad feeling about this.”