by Cj Omololu
Ava reaches for the door handle, and there’s a distant look on her face I haven’t seen before. It’s almost like this has happened to someone on TV, not someone she knew. “Maybe,” she says slowly, considering it. “Maybe not. After all, they say that karma’s a bitch.”
“So everyone’s talking about that guy Casey being killed yesterday,” Maya says, barely loud enough to be heard in the crowded hallway. She looks almost pleased to be able to share that news.
“You didn’t say anything, did you?” Ava asks, slamming her locker shut. “I don’t want people to know that Alicia went out with him.”
“Of course not!” Maya glances at me. She’s friends with both of us but takes her orders from Ava.
“Did anybody here know him?” I ask. “He graduated from Claremont. That’s pretty far away.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Not personally. But a guy in my bio class knew his cousin or something.”
Even though I let Ava talk me into not going to the cops, just thinking about that night makes me uneasy. It’s like a bad movie; scenes from the car and then the news keep flashing through my mind. Casey’s eyes as they narrowed in on me. The feel of the keys as I clutched them in my hand. The wide pool of blood by the driver-side door.
“Don’t even think about it,” Ava says to me, her voice edged with warning.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts and blink like I’ve been caught in headlights. “What?” As if I don’t know. As if she can’t tell what’s going on in my head.
“You’ve got a guilty look on your face,” she says, leaning toward me. “Nothing you can tell the cops is going to help them find whoever did this. It has nothing to do with us.”
“Can we talk about something else? Please?” I beg.
“It’s just so totally creepy!” Maya says, completely ignoring me. She puts one arm around my shoulder. “I mean, imagine something like that happening to someone we knew.”
“He wasn’t all that innocent,” Ava says, looking around to make sure nobody overhears her.
Maya gapes at her. “You mean he got what he deserved?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Ava says, turning her back on Maya, signaling that the conversation is over. They both wait while I reorganize my backpack. “Are you coming to lunch?”
“In a min—” I’m interrupted by a whooping noise from down the crowded hallway. Over the sea of heads, I can see Joel Macy’s spiky brown hair popping up and down. “I got in!” he shouts, banging on lockers as he makes his way toward us. “I got in!” Some people scowl, and others fist-bump him as he passes them—it’s difficult not to get caught up in his enthusiasm.
“Did you hear yet?” he asks, sweeping me around in a circle and then setting me back down again. I glance over at Ava, and like I thought, she’s staring at the two of us with a scowl on her face. Joel doesn’t notice, only waves his phone at me. “I just got the email from Stanford—I got in!”
“So I guessed.” I grin. Not like there was any doubt. Joel’s been the one and only choice for valedictorian at our school since kindergarten. “That’s awesome.”
“Thanks,” he says, and bumps my arm. “What about you?” Joel’s grin is threatening to take over his entire face. It’s nice to see him happy for a change.
“I haven’t gotten anything yet.” Joel was a lock; we all knew that. Nobody in their right mind takes five AP classes senior year. Me, on the other hand … not so much. Too many nights I stayed up past midnight studying, trying a lot harder than everyone else seemed to need to in order to keep my grades up. I’ve done everything I can. Now it’s up to the admissions committee. We’re both aware that they only take 7 percent of their applicants. Now that Joel’s in, there’s one less space for me.
“You will! Like they’re going to reject you? Oh my God, this is going to be so awesome. Stanford is going to rock next year.” With that, he gives me a giant smile and continues down the hallway.
“What an idiot,” Maya says, even though we all know she’s just saying that for my benefit.
“Promise me that when your email comes, you won’t embarrass yourself like that,” Ava says, glancing down the hallway to where we can still hear Joel celebrating.
“That was not my fault,” I tell her.
“I didn’t say it was,” she says. “I’m sure you two will be happy together next year.”
“Shut up.” I shove her in the arm. “I might not even get in.”
Maya gives me a look. “Come on.”
“Seriously,” I say, trying to wrap my mind around that possibility, but they both shake their heads in disbelief.
“Hey,” Zane says, peering over my shoulder. “Did you hear about the guy at the Cheesecake Factory?”
“Enough!” Ava says, and puts her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore.”
“Sorry,” Zane says, looking hurt.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, shooting a look at Ava. “She’s decided that she wants nothing but good news from now on.”
Zane glances at Ava, then nods down the hall. “Speaking of good news, Joel Macy got his admission email.”
“We saw,” I say. If Zane knows what’s good for him, he’ll drop the subject quickly.
“Have you heard anything yet?”
“Nope,” I say, feeling in my pocket for my phone. I can feel the butterflies forming—the truth of what I just told Ava is starting to sink in. What if I don’t get in? What would Dad say?
“They’re probably sending them out alphabetically. I bet by the end of the day.” He puts one arm around my shoulder, but the weight of it just feels heavy.
“Don’t jinx it,” I say, removing his arm. “I don’t know how much more waiting I can take.”
“Won’t be long now. I can feel it.” Easy for Zane to say. College isn’t exactly on his list of things to do. He turns, and I see a big scrape on the bottom of his chin.
“What happened there?”
Zane puts one hand up and rubs the spot absentmindedly. “I caught a sweet wave this morning but got Maytagged on the bottom.”
I always think surf talk is hilarious, but I force myself not to laugh. “Sorry. Are you going out to the quad?” I ask. “I was going to eat with Maya and Ava.”
“Oh yeah?” Zane says, looking over my shoulder.
I turn to see them already at the end of the hallway. Maya looks back like she wants to say something but gets swept along in Ava’s wake.
“I know I’m not your sister’s favorite person,” Zane says.
I watch Maya and Ava walk out of the building. She doesn’t not like him. It’s just that he’s not exactly her type. “It’s nothing personal,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “That’s exactly how I’m taking it.”
We walk through the double glass doors and out into the sunlight, and settle onto the concrete wall on the edge of the quad. I grab my sandwich out of my backpack, and Zane pulls out a book. Homebrewing For Dummies. Not Pride and Prejudice.
I flick the edge of one page. “Home brewing?”
Zane glances at the cover. “Sure. Like a micro microbrewery. In our kitchen. Don’t worry—it’ll be classy. Dad’s even working on some private labels for the bottles.”
Figure Zane’s dad for making home brew in their sink. He’s the kind of parent who lets you drive the car on the back roads when you’re only fourteen, and looks the other way when you take a swig of his beer at the Fourth of July picnic.
“You can’t even legally drink.”
He looks at me thoughtfully. “So? I can still make it. Think of it as chemistry. And I like chemistry.”
I barely take another bite of my sandwich before my phone buzzes. I jump a little, enough for him to notice. “You gonna get that?” Zane asks, glancing at me.
I suddenly feel sick. “Of course,” I say, reaching for it, but it’s like my fingers have a mind of their own, and my phone sails onto the grass.
Zan
e jumps down and picks it up, but as he hands it to me, I change my mind. “You check it,” I say, pushing it back at him.
“Come on,” he says, waggling it in front of me. “Just get it over with. Then you can start to make plans—finally order that twin extra long My Pretty Pony comforter for the dorm room.”
“You only say that because you want one.” I reach for my phone, but then back off like it’s red-hot. “I can’t.” I look up at him and clasp my hands together. “Please. Just look at this one email, and I’ll be your best friend.”
“Who else would have you?” Zane looks at the phone, considering it. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my entire life.”
“Okay.” Zane taps the screen a few times.
“Is it from them?” In just a few short moments, it feels like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
He grins. “Would you look at that? There’s an email here from the Stanford University Office of Undergraduate Admissions.”
“Oh my God,” I say, digging my fingernails into my palms. My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest. “Open it!”
Zane taps the screen again, and I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to bear the suspense any longer. My entire life hinges on the next few seconds. Everything I’ve worked for, all the honors and AP classes, all the class vice presidencies I’ve held, all the volunteer hours, they all come down to this one email. “What does it say? Just read it already!” I feel like I’m going to explode.
I hear Zane take a deep breath. “Dear Alexa,” he begins, but his tone is so flat that I open my eyes to watch him. I barely register the words “very sorry” and “unable to offer you admission” before my anger flares up. “That’s so not cool!” I yell at him. “This isn’t the time to be screwing around!”
I expect him to smile, to push me on the shoulder and tell me he’s joking, to break the thick wall of tension that’s formed around us, but all I can see is the regret in his eyes.
“You are kidding, right?” I can hear the pleading in my voice that mirrors how much I want that to be true.
He swallows hard, and I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I wish I was,” he says softly. Zane grabs my hand and puts the phone gently on my palm. I scan the letter, but my brain refuses to understand anything beyond the first sentence. I am very sorry to let you know that we are unable to offer you admission to Stanford University.
“But … how?” These are all the words I can form at this moment. I feel numb and empty, like someone has come and scooped out all of my insides. We did everything right—I took the AP classes, PSATs, SATs; joined the Key club; and ran my ass off on the cross-country team even though I hated every second of it, because I wanted a sport on my application. I may not be in the running for valedictorian, but my grades are always above a 4.0. Dad promised I’d get in. It’s all we’ve talked about since forever. I search Zane’s face to see if there are any answers there. “What happened?”
“God, I’m so sorry,” he says, squeezing my hand. Zane isn’t the type to give me meaningless hope, tell me that I can always apply somewhere else, that maybe this is for the best, that it just wasn’t meant to be. He understands how bad this really is.
I hear a roaring in my ears, and it feels like the future is rushing at me a million miles an hour, but instead of ivy-covered walls and long nights at the Stanford library, it’s just a giant black hole. I don’t even care about my phone as it tumbles to the ground. I just lower myself down onto the wall until I can feel the warm concrete on my cheek as I lie there. This is as far as I can possibly move right now. The thought of getting up and walking across the quad is impossible.
“Come on. We have to go,” Zane says, trying to pull me up. “The bell rang.”
“I’m staying here,” I say, pulling my knees up to my chest.
He looks around as everyone slowly walks away from the grassy area and into the two-story brick buildings. All of them still have their futures wide open. They’ll get emails from colleges in the next couple of weeks and celebrate by running down the hallway banging on lockers and shouting with excitement. I have nothing.
“We’re going to be late,” Zane says, and I hear the panic rising in his voice. He has no idea what to do next. “You hate being late.”
I manage a small shake of my head. “Doesn’t matter,” I say. “None of it matters anymore.”
A silky sequined shirt flies through the air and hits me in the face. I peel it off and toss it with the others next to me on Ava’s bed. I don’t even know why I’m in here right now, except that being alone gives me too much time to think about what happened. How I’ve failed. How everyone is going on with their lives. Everyone except me. Every time I look at my phone, it’s like that email is pulsing inside it, mocking me, but I can’t bring myself to delete it. Maybe I need the reminder, to read it over and over again, the words like a bad tooth that you just can’t keep your tongue from exploring, despite the sharp, stabbing pain.
“What do you think of that one?” Ava’s voice is muffled from inside her closet.
Maya picks it up and holds it up to the light. “I like it. What with?”
More clothes fly out into the room. “I’m trying to find that black skirt I wore to the party downtown,” she says before emerging with a crumpled black object in her hand. “Got it.”
Maya looks skeptical. “The two of them together is going to look like you’re trying too hard. It’s just a party. You’re not going to the opera or anything.”
Considering her options, Ava stops and looks at the debris that lies all over her room. “Maybe. How about with those black jeans and fuchsia heels?”
“Better,” Maya agrees.
Ava slips into the new clothes and, ignoring the mirror Dad installed behind her door, models her reflection in the full-length window that faces the back fence, because she says the window gives her a better “feel” for her outfits. Once she has examined it from every angle, she turns to me. “What do you think?”
It feels like I’ve been watching all of this on TV, like I’m not really in the room. I’m a little surprised that one of the characters is addressing me directly. “Whatever.”
“Come on,” she insists, turning to admire the bright pink top. “It’s for that party on Friday.”
I blink slowly, feeling Ava come into sharper focus. “It’s only Wednesday.”
“Exactly,” she says. “So, what do you think?”
I try to put my level of not caring into words, but I can’t seem to form that as a linear thought. “It’s fine.”
“You’re not still grinding on that Stanford thing, are you?”
I feel a flash of frustration pushing up through the nothingness. “Yes, I’m still grinding on it. My entire life is over. I’m sorry if that’s a problem for you.”
Maya leans over and gives me a quick hug. “It’s not over,” she says. “You can always apply again.”
“No. I can’t.” I knew they wouldn’t understand. “Once you get rejected by Stanford, that’s it. No second chances.”
“There’s always Cal or UCSB or one of those other schools,” Ava adds. “I’m sure you’ll get into one of those.”
I feel the tears push up through the backs of my eyes. “Not the same.” All I can think about is the conversation I’m going to have to have with Dad. How disappointed he’s going to be after all the work we’ve put in. How I’m a total failure. The one thing we always talked about was me following in his footsteps at Stanford and then getting my MBA. And now that’s all gone to hell.
“You’re being overly dramatic.” Ava kicks off her jeans and shimmies into the short black skirt. “There are plenty of other schools that would take you in a second.” She turns and admires her ass in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling window. We’re basically the same height and weight, but somehow clothes look different on Ava, if that makes any sense. The same black skirt that hugs her curves makes me look
Amish.
I lie down on her bed and grab her pillow. “A UC school,” I repeat. So not the same. Dad’s going to freak out.
Cecilia opens the door a crack. “Dinner, ladies.”
“I don’t want anything,” I say, burying my face in the pillow. Everything is starting to feel totally overwhelming—Casey’s death and now the Stanford email.
I feel the bed shift as Cecilia sits down. “Are you sick?” She brushes the hair off my forehead and feels for a fever.
“No,” I say without turning my head. I’m afraid that if I look at her, I’ll tell her everything, and I don’t want to talk about this right now.
“A boy?” she asks.
“No.” I push myself into a sitting position and glance at her. Cecilia’s wearing a concerned look on her face that rightfully belongs to Dad, and I wonder if he handed that expression over to her like a set of house keys the day she came. “It’s nothing. I’m just not hungry.”
“It’s chicken curry,” she says in a singsong voice. “The kind you like with the carrots and mushy potatoes.”
I feel my stomach rumble at the thought and wonder if she hears it too.
“You can eat with us,” she says to Maya.
“Thanks,” Maya says, already texting her mom. Nobody passes up an invitation to eat anything that Cecilia makes.
Cecilia turns to go, but stops and takes something out of her apron pocket. “I forgot—this came in the mail today.” She glances at the front of the envelope and frowns. “It’s addressed to Alicia Rios.” Cecilia looks from Ava to me. “You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you? You girls promised.”
I glance at Ava, but I know she won’t tell. Maya I’m a little less sure of, but Ava gives her a look that would make anybody keep their mouth shut.
“Alicia?” I say, hoping that I sound at least a little bit innocent. “No.”
“You know that we haven’t done Alicia for years.” Ava reaches out and takes the envelope from Cecilia’s hand. “What the …” she says, ripping it open and pulling out the paper inside. “It’s a speeding ticket from a couple of weeks ago. But it was in a Honda.” She flips the paper over.