American History 1988
Chapter 94 - 88: California

Chapter 94: Chapter 88: California

"Dean, my sweetheart, the entire Price family will be proud of you!"

"Aunt Rachel, I’ll call you when I get to California."

"Oh~ It’s incredible, you really did it! Jerry, see? Dean is the best role model for you. I think it’s necessary to limit your computer time, don’t you agree?"

"NO!" Jerry, who was caught in the crossfire, protested vehemently, "Dean got into Stanford because he played on the computer! Mom, you should let me spend more time on the computer, and also, it’d be best if you stopped complaining about the phone bill."

"I think your mom’s right, Jerry," Frank, who loved to watch the excitement, nodded approvingly.

"Hey~ Dad, you’re part of that phone bill too." Jerry played the all-or-nothing card.

"Wait a minute," seeing a family crisis loom, Dean, as the protagonist, had to step in and steer the conversation back. "So today is the day I’m to say goodbye to everyone, isn’t it?"

Aunt Rachel and Frank exchanged a look, then resumed their amiable smiles. "You’re right, Dean, you’re the pride of our McGuffey community."

"Yes," Aunt Rachel gestured proudly over Dean, then turned to Mike, the neighbor standing on the next lawn, and introduced, "Look, Mike, this is my nephew Dean. He got into Stanford University!"

"Aunt..." Dean never expected Americans to enjoy this kind of parental bragging too. It was the same in his past life, and even after ending up on the other side of Earth, he hadn’t escaped this fate.

"Well done, Dean!" Neighbor Mike enthusiastically raised his hands in applause.

"Thanks," Dean replied, slightly embarrassed yet very polite as he nodded his thanks.

"Hey~ Nicole! This is Dean, he got into Stanford!" Rachel called out to another passerby before Dean could finish his greeting.

"Aunt, maybe we could go inside to talk some more," Dean suggested, after yet another nod of thanks.

"Oh right," Aunt Rachel realized suddenly, "Follow me, Dean."

"What?" Completely off-rhythm, Dean hesitated but followed her into the house anyway.

After rummaging around the room for a while, Rachel emerged with a piece of paper folded in half.

"Dean, when you get to California, if you run into any problems, you can contact your Uncle Bill."

"Uncle Bill?" The name was unfamiliar to Dean.

But shortly, the image of a stern face appeared in his mind. It was him, Aunt Rachel’s ex-husband.

"Although it’s been a long time since I’ve contacted him, you should remember him, Dean. When you were little, Bill adored you the most, saying you were the smartest child he had ever seen.

I think he’d also be proud of you if he knew you got into Stanford," said Aunt Rachel, who had almost lost contact with Bill after the divorce.

But for Dean, today she had dug out that number again. "Since Bill once served in the military, I think maybe he could help you out if you’re in trouble."

"Aunt..." Holding the piece of paper with the number on it, Dean didn’t know what to say.

"Come on, kid. If one day you can do as you please, and not have to worry about making a living, that’ll be the best repay for me."

In Rachel’s eyes, it was a success and happiness for the kids if in the future they didn’t have to worry about mortgage, didn’t have to fret about choosing schools for their offspring, didn’t have to count every coupon or discount...

"Thank you, aunt." This time Dean initiated the hug.

"Good luck at Stanford!"

...

"Dad, what are you doing?" Dean, returning from Aunt Rachel’s, saw Peter working under that Chevrolet pickup, busy with something.

"Dean, perfect timing, help me check the new bumper I just installed at the front, is it aligned?" Peter put down the wrench and tilted his head, his sweaty face peeking out from under the wheel well.

Dean eyed the old pal for a moment, then just shrugged at Peter, "I can’t see anything wrong, wait!"

Dean walked around the front of the car to the windows of the driver and front passenger side. "WTF?!"

"Aha~ caught your attention, didn’t I!" Peter climbed out from under the car, victorious, "How does it look, cool right? These Stanford stickers, I had to visit five stores in Youngstown to find them.

Mother F*cker, actually, I’m not surprised at all. In a place like Youngstown, who else could get into Stanford but my son, huh?"

Dean didn’t listen closely to what Peter was rambling about; he was struck once again by the parents’ spectacular way of showing off.

The old weathered Chevrolet pickup was now not just cleaned up. On its driver and front passenger windows, there were stickers with a red "S" and a green spruce in the middle.

Undoubtedly, they were Stanford’s emblem, and these two stickers nearly took up the entire space on their respective windshields.

Far too conspicuous, Dean couldn’t bear to look at them directly.

"Dad..."

"Ah ha~ You guessed it again, right?" Peter said with a look of ’I knew it,’ "Check this out, I didn’t misspell this word, did I?"

Peter gestured for Dean to hurry over. With a bad feeling, Dean cautiously made his way to him.

"Look, STANFORD, I put these letters up one by one," Peter pointed proudly at the red, seal-like sticker on the back of the car.

"OMG," Dean rubbed his face with both hands, "Dad, aren’t we being a bit too showy?"

"Showy?" Peter spread his hands in resignation, "Dean, I didn’t even post this news in the Youngstown Guardian... Hey! Neil! This is my son, he got into Stanford!"

Peter hadn’t finished his sentence when he began shouting to a pedestrian on the roadside.

"STOP! Dad!" Dean had to step forward to stop him, he had really heard that enough for one day...

"Dean, don’t be shy. It’s something to be proud of, isn’t it?" Peter couldn’t understand his son’s behavior; he would have been happy to brag for three days and nights about such good news.

"Alright, Dad, we really should focus on the task at hand, I think it’s time for me to leave." Dean decided to skip the hug that he had planned on giving.

"You’re right, the task at hand is important, we really should be going," Peter said, packing up the tools on the ground into the trunk before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the car.

"Wait, Dad, what are you doing?" Dean had already booked a taxi in advance and didn’t need Peter to drive him to the airport. He wanted to head to California earlier than the start of school by a month to get a feel for the place.

"Of course, I’m taking you to Stanford," Peter said, looking at him strangely.

"Stanford? Not the airport?" Dean had a growing sense of foreboding.

"Come on, Dean! Don’t you want a real road trip? From Ohio to California, 2,000 miles, just us, isn’t that cool?"

"No, Dad, this isn’t part of the plan. Besides, I don’t think our old buddy can make it that far."

"Then we’ll drive as far as we can!"

...

In mid to late September, after nearly a month, Dean finally arrived at Stanford University’s gates from San Francisco International Airport.

The blue sky, white clouds, warm sunshine, and tall palm trees stretched from the entrance of Stanford University all the way to the horizon.

At the other end, the Stanford that lay before Dean’s eyes welcomed him with a massive oval lawn. Further away were the buildings with red rooftops and the yellow-brown structures made of solid sandstone.

The strong Californian style finally made Dean realize he had reached his destination.

For the whole month, he shouldn’t have trusted his dad. Before leaving, it was supposed to be a solemn road trip. After they started, within a couple of days, it turned into Dean driving, Peter drinking beer and enjoying the summer breeze, or plain lounging in the back seat, snoring away.

In his drunken state, Dean would never dare let his dad drive. The worst part was their Chevrolet pickup truck which seemed to encounter all sorts of small problems every so often.

Finally, upon reaching St. Louis in Mississippi, the truck completely broke down. After a simple mourning ceremony for the now deceased Chevrolet, Dean and Peter parted ways.

Dean flew to San Francisco, and as for Peter, Dean thought it was time for him to have a real road trip.

After taking a photo of the gate with the oval lawn of Stanford University, Dean then dragged his suitcase toward the campus.

He did so at the request of his Aunt Rachel and his father, Peter, to take a frontal photo of Stanford and send it back to them.

Growing up in Youngstown, the Price family had hardly ever left the Midwestern United States. A far southern state like California was even more out of the question.

So to them, Dean’s photo held significant symbolic meaning, and most importantly, it gave them bragging rights with their neighbors.

With his enrollment materials in hand, Dean finally managed to find the dormitory assigned to him by the university after some wandering.

As he was an undergraduate student, the dorms for undergraduates, as opposed to the graduate apartments, were mostly located in the central area of the campus.

This was a large complex of dormitory buildings, housing several hundred students. Due to weathering from too many upperclassmen, these undergraduate dorms were a bit old.

But there were advantages too, at least travel to the lecture halls and campus facilities was convenient, usually within a five-minute bike ride.

Since Dean had applied for his dorm early, he was given priority to the all-class dormitory highlighted in his application form. The building here wasn’t rundown, and it was much better than his dorm back in Cleveland.

Arriving at the three-story dormitory called Lagunita Court, Dean was truly struck by the intense California style of the residence.

Red tile, yellow walls, it was just like the teaching buildings on campus. Although the dorms were in a long row, every few rooms there would be a small courtyard, creating a European garden-like feel.

Upon reaching the second floor via the stairs, Dean found his room on the east side of the corridor by the balcony. According to the orientation letter, he was supposed to have a roommate named Marcus White.

Seeing the half-open door, Dean peered inside curiously, it seemed his roommate had already arrived.

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