Now, I am back here, waiting for Georgia. Meeting at the aquarium is just a formality today. We’re going back to her house to get ready for dinner—we’re going out with her family to celebrate. A few weeks ago, she got the letter telling her that she got into Stanford early action. She’ll be going to California in August. Her parents have been a lot more relaxed since then. For the first time ever, they lowered the standards of the green zone to include an A− rather than only an A.
I have not gotten any college acceptance letters. I didn’t apply anywhere early decision. At my mom’s insistence and Georgia’s gentle coercion, I did submit a few applications—some to in-state schools, including the one nearby, and some to farther-flung colleges that my parents and Georgia deemed the right balance of cost, quality, and likelihood to accept me. They are scattered all over the place, one in the northeast, one in the southwest, and one, yes, in California, just a few hours away from Stanford.
I don’t expect any letters until April. When Georgia got hers, I printed out a picture of the campus and put it on my bulletin board. It hasn’t been there long, but already it draws my eye, how bright the sun is, how green the trees. And equally it hides something I cannot think about: Georgia standing in that sun and me still here, so far away.
I have no idea if I’ll get into a college, or whether I’ll go if I do. I don’t like the idea of more school or starting out life as an adult with thousands of dollars of debt. But after months of conversations, Georgia has convinced me that a bachelor’s degree might be worth it. After I get acceptance or rejection letters, I’ll have a little time to decide where I want to be and what I want to do, and it is both a relief and a terror that whatever I choose, I’ll be alone.
It is a relief, too, to know that Georgia and I will both be working here next summer. We applied early to be JAC counselors. When I asked Georgia if she shouldn’t be doing an internship or something more serious, she shrugged.
“Maybe,” she said. “But there’s not a whole lot that’s interesting here, so I’d probably have to find a job and a cousin to host me somewhere else, and I think my parents are gonna miss me more than they let on. I’d kind of like to stay at home for one last summer. And there’s nothing more prestigious than working at Bonneville’s number one aquatic learning center.”
We both know this isn’t true. But I don’t try to argue.
Around me, the jellyfish drift in aimless groups. I press my hand against the glass, sticky and warm.
The doors beside me push open, and a tour group shuffles into the room.
“…my personal favorite room,” Toby proclaims. “Jellyfish are remarkably adaptable creatures. If the water around them gets rougher, they actually grow more of these long tendrils so they can propel themselves through the water rather than get tossed around in the waves. They also—shit, Caroline, didn’t see you there, don’t just lurk like that—”
“It’s not like I’m hiding,” I say. The entire tour group stares at me.
“Anyway,” Toby continues, “we keep our water pretty calm, so the jellyfish here all have pretty short tendrils.”
One woman murmurs to another, “I didn’t know that,” and I have to turn my face to hide my smile.
The final stragglers of the tour group come through, with Georgia bringing up the rear. She scans the room before her gaze finally catches on me, and she sidesteps the rest of the group while Toby continues to talk.
“There you are,” she says under her breath. “I thought you might be visiting Jenny, but you weren’t, so I had this extremely awkward encounter. She doesn’t really talk, does she? I ended up literally backing out of the gift shop. Anyway, come on, we gotta go get ready. I’m gonna let you put makeup on me, I hope you’re excited.”
The blue light filters over us, making the room feel like a dream. Georgia looks up at the jellyfish, translucent and slow-moving, placid in their heated water. For them, there are no seasons, no decisions, no passing of time. In here, everything is always the same. I feel an urge to rest my head against the glass and never move.
But Georgia’s foot is tapping, one hand drumming a piano rhythm on her hip, the other fiddling with the end of her long, thick braid. Her eyes follow the jellyfish for a moment, her mouth opening slightly as if about to voice a thought, and then she looks down at me again.
“Caroline,” she says, “come on, it’s time to go. We have so much to do.”
She stretches out her hand, callused and familiar. I take it and she pulls me up—leading me back into the world.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Annie Berger, Sarah Kasman, Cassie Gutman, and everyone else who touched this book at Sourcebooks Fire. I always assumed editing would be an anxious, scary process, and you proved me completely wrong. This book is so much better, and I am a better writer because of your work and your trust.
Thank you to Nell Pierce for your enthusiasm, kindness, and professionalism; for showing me a great bakery in New York; and, more than anything, for all the work you did to put this book into the world.
Thank you to Holly Hilliard, who had no reason to read this book and help me but did. I will always be grateful.
Thank you to two fantastic Durham coffee shops: Cocoa Cinnamon, where I started this book, and Bean Traders, where I finished the first draft. Thank you also to all the places in between where I worked on it: Hendersonville, Wilmington, Topsail Island, Holden Beach, and Raleigh, NC; Florence and Myrtle Beach, SC; Washington, DC; Boston, MA; St. Petersburg, FL; and probably many more places I’ve forgotten.
Thank you to my dog, Toast, for absolutely nothing. (Just kidding. You’re perfect. Please don’t eat this book.)
Thank you to everyone at Duke Young Writers’ Camp from 2004 through 2008. When I think of being a teenager, I think of you, and I feel unspeakably lucky. Thank you especially to Barry Yeoman, the best teacher I’ve ever had, and Julia Howland-Myers, who held my hand when things got hard.
Thank you to Don, Janice, and Kym, for being the most supportive, loving second family I can imagine.
Thank you to Lucy, for twenty years of friendship.
Thank you to my Slack, my friends who are my family—Chloe, Nathan, Bethany, Melissa, and Sunny—for the love, humor, support, wit, questions, arguments, book recommendations, ham, pins, and pizza you bring to my life every day. You inspire me to be stronger and better in every way. You are more than I deserve.
Thank you to Mom, Dad, Allyn, and Scott, for so much. For raising me in a house full of books. For encouraging me in every creative pursuit I’ve ever tried, but especially writing. For a world-class education. For teaching me to be honest, direct, and hardworking. For cultivating a love of yearly traditions, live music, great ice cream, and stories. For always being weird, funny, and kind.
Thank you to Ben, my favorite person. Do you love me? I love you.
About the Author
Sarah Van Name grew up in North Carolina and attended Duke University twice, once for a teenage creative writing camp and once as an undergraduate. She lives and works in Durham with her husband, Ben, and her dog, Toast.
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The Goodbye Summer Page 25