Chosen

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Chosen Page 10

by Jessica Burkhart


  I thought about our Brooklyn brownstone. I needed a cup of tea.

  I got up and walked to the kitchen, taking my time choosing my tea. I decided I needed something calming and without caffeine. The teapot whistled and I poured the kettle water over a vanilla chamomile tea bag. I took my time pouring, watching the tea bag drown and resurface, drown and resurface.

  The house was empty—Mom was at work and Dad was picking up Becca from lacrosse practice.

  I climbed into the second story bay window, warming my fingers on my blue tea mug with white daisies.

  Try to put yourself in Brielle, Ana, or Taylor’s position, I told myself. No matter what I’d said about being sure I’d be rejected, they all thought I might be leaving. You’d act the same way if one of them could be leaving, I told myself.

  Was that true? Maybe. And maybe I hadn’t given any of them enough credit. Or maybe I hadn’t thought enough about how hard any of this had to be on them.

  I sipped my tea, feeling the calming liquid slide all the way down my throat, my esophagus, and finally settling in my stomach.

  I had a lot of homework to do for the last week of school. But Yates teachers didn’t let up for a second. Maybe, just for a minute, I needed to sit here in the quiet to enjoy my cup of tea-kettle tea.

  I owed myself at least that.

  POKER FACE

  I RAN UP BRIAR CREEK’S DRIVEWAY ON Wednesday at a fast clip. It was a gloomy, overcast day, and I was already running behind. My last class had run over because our test had begun late. Apparently, the teachers didn’t care that some of us actually had activities to get to after school.

  I slowed to a fast walk, not wanting to scare any horses by running in the stable, and headed for the tack room.

  “But Hannah wants to hang with us. She’s been kissing up for days.”

  I stopped when I heard that from inside the tack room. The voice was unmistakable.

  Brielle.

  Flattening my back against the door, I edged closer. Eavesdropping was not my style, but this didn’t sound like something they’d talked to me about.

  “We hate Hannah,” Ana said. “If Laur goes away next fall, we can’t just bring Hannah into our group. You know there’s only one reason why she wants to hang with us.”

  “To be popular,” Brielle answered. “But face it, Ana. Lauren is leaving. Hannah is next in line to be most popular and she thinks she needs us. Wouldn’t it be smart to pretend like she’s right and invite her into our group so we can all just stay on top?”

  There was a long pause.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! If I really ever left, of course I wanted Brielle and Ana to find other friends, but not Hannah. I thought we’d all hated her for what she’d done to me. I mean, Ana and Brielle were my closest friends. And I was still here! This made zero sense.

  “I like being popular,” Ana said. “I guess I’d rather Hannah hang with us than to lose our place to her and the lame girls she hangs with.”

  “Exactly,” Brielle said. “Not the best way to start seventh grade.”

  My stomach did a flip. Were these people really my closest friends? They sounded like strangers now—calculating and cold like every other Yates student who’d ditched me the second they found out that I’d applied to Canterwood.

  I didn’t want to hear another word.

  I pushed the tack room door open and it banged against the wall, making a loud sound. Brielle and Ana jumped. I was glad, for once, that Kim hadn’t gotten around to re-installing a new doorstop.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  There hadn’t even been a second when I’d thought about pretending I hadn’t heard them. First, I didn’t have a poker face. Second, playing games wasn’t my style.

  Brielle and Ana’s faces turned pink. No poker faces there, either.

  “Hey,” Brielle said, her voice unnaturally high. “We’re just getting our tack—we’re late. You just get here?”

  “Stop, Brielle,” I said. “Just . . . stop. I heard what you just said.”

  “What?” Ana asked, her voice low.

  “I heard all of it,” I said.

  “Laur,” Brielle said, twisting a lock of her loose hair. “Look, we’re sorry. We were just talking about possibilities. Options. Things Ana and I might need to do to keep up our status if you left next year.”

  “Your status? I haven’t even gotten a reply from Canterwood, let alone an acceptance.” I didn’t mean to yell, but my frustration with everyone and the entire situation seemed to be coming out all at once. “I can’t believe you guys were my best friends! I had no idea I was so replaceable. Especially when Hannah is the one replacing me. Hannah, who humiliated me in front of the entire room just the other day.”

  “We’re not replacing you,” Ana said. She tried to touch my arm, but I jerked it away. “Laur-Bell, I promise. No one could ever take your place as our bestie.”

  “So what role will Hannah play?” I snapped.

  Brielle and Ana were silent for a second.

  “Hannah,” Brielle finally started, “would become part of our group so that Ana and I stay popular. I mean, what if she realizes she doesn’t need us. We’re supposed to just let Hannah and her little friends take over our grade? I don’t think so. We were only considering asking her to be friends with us so we could stay popular.”

  “Since when do we care that much about being popular?” I asked. “I never cared what other people thought of me until I had you guys. Being popular at Yates? It just happened. We were all nice to people and, face it, we got a little lucky. Is this what you want whether I’m here or not?”

  Ana gave a small nod. “Yeah,” she said.

  I looked as her as though she were a stranger. And in a way, the Ana I was friends with was not the Ana before me now.

  “I know, I know. I’m an artist, right? I shouldn’t care what people think. I should only think about art and feelings. But you know what? I like being popular. I like my spot at the top. I want to stay there.”

  I stared at Ana like I’d never seen her before. “Wow,” I said, unable to keep emotion out of my voice this time. My eyes filled with shock and furious tears. “I have no idea who you are, Ana.”

  “Lauren,” Brielle said. “Please don’t be upset. We were only talking about options for next year. Just like you’re doing with Canterwood.”

  “It’s not the same thing!” I shouted, stepping around them and grabbing Cricket’s tack. “I applied to Canterwood to work hard and challenge myself as a rider. You guys are . . . manipulating people in order to make them think you’re someone you’re not. You’re pretending to like people you can’t stand—all for a spot in the freaking lunchroom.”

  I stared at them for a while, at the makeup I hadn’t noticed they’d begun to wear. The expensive trendy bags with labels others coveted always promptly displayed. Clothes with skirts getting shorter and shorter, necklines inching lower. I, for the lack of anything to say, opened the tack room door to leave. And with one last, sad look, said what it was I was truly feeling to people who used to be my friends. Not popular girls, or my besties, or the people I’d once confided in. But strangers who I thought I’d known—only one short day ago.

  “I hope you get what you want,” I told them. “But if what you want is nothing but popularity, I feel deeply sorry for you.”

  I let the door swing shut behind me, leaving them in the room and glad that they didn’t follow me, despite the fact they’d both called my name when I’d left.

  When I got to Cricket’s stall, I took her tack inside with me, picked up her grooming kit from the top of her trunk, and locked us both inside. I didn’t want to be out in the aisle with everyone else. Hiding in here was impossible—Brielle and Ana would find me eventually, but at least I’d get some space from everyone else.

  I busied myself grooming Cricket. The bay mare’s coat was dusty from being in her stall overnight, but making it shine was easy. I whisked dirt off her back and
sides. Her coat began to gleam with each brushstroke.

  “At least I know you’re not hoping I leave so you can find a new rider to replace me,” I muttered. “Besides, the joke would be on you. I’m not getting into Canterwood, girl.”

  I fell into a rhythm of grooming Cricket while my thoughts wandered. Had I made a mistake just by applying to Canterwood? If there was this much turmoil going on before I got a yes or no, I couldn’t imagine what would happen once everyone found out I hadn’t gotten in. Would everyone keep hating me because I’d once tried to leave? Would I have to watch Hannah, Brielle, and Ana become the worst kind of people imaginable just to stay popular? How far would they go to hold on to their lunch table? Would I have to watch my former friends become the worst people in the world while the girls I’d once confided in disappeared, bit by bit, until there was nothing left?

  Someone knocked on Cricket’s stall door. I looked up at Brielle and Ana, peering at me.

  “Can we come in?” Ana asked. “Just for a sec and then we’ll leave.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Do what you like.”

  They unlatched Cricket’s stall door and closed it behind them. I refused to stop what I was doing. Cricket took the bit from my palm, and I eased the bridle over her head.

  “We’re both sorry you overheard that,” Ana said. “If I were you, I’d never want to talk to either one of us again. I understand why you’re upset and you should be. Brielle and I both made a mistake—we should have talked to you about the Hannah thing.”

  “I would have felt completely betrayed if I’d walked in on that conversation,” Brielle said. “But beyond that, it would have felt like I couldn’t trust my best friends. That would be worse than the actual conversation.”

  I looked at both of them. I could hear how sorry they were now, but I couldn’t shake what I’d seen and heard in the tack room. Brielle and Ana had once been my support system. I’d once needed them, and when I did, they’d been there for me. I wouldn’t ever forget those girls. But the girls who stood before me—they looked confused. Like they weren’t sure how to quite grow up.

  “I wish you guys had talked to me about this earlier,” I said. “But you have to do whatever you want at school. Be friends with whomever you want. If that’s Hannah, then it’s Hannah.”

  “You have to know that Ana and I never wanted to lose you as a best friend. No matter where you go—or don’t,” Brielle said. Her eyes were wide as she looked at me. “It’s hard for us, thinking about you leaving. We want to cheer you on a thousand percent—”

  “You did once,” I interrupted. “Both of you.”

  “We’ll be really sad when you leave,” Ana added. “We want you to go to Canterwood, and despite what you believe, we’re sure you’re going to get in. And then, we lose you.”

  Ana’s dark eyes got teary.

  “Guys.” I stopped grooming Cricket and turned to look at them both. “Even if I did leave, you wouldn’t have lost me. Besties forever, no matter where any of us are, remember? That’s what we said, not too long ago.”

  That made both of them smile.

  “We were being stupid back there about the popularity thing. We were dumb and scared about people hating us for being friends with you. About losing you to Canterwood.”

  I nodded, tears welling in my eyes. “It’s a pretty awful feeling, seeing your best friends as strangers.”

  “We hated it, too,” Brielle said. “We tried being those people for a little while. They were kind of jerks.”

  I nodded. “Kind of?” I asked.

  It had been a while since I’d laughed.

  Ana and Brielle laughed, too.

  “They were really awful,” Ana said. She smiled, despite the tears rolling down her face.

  Will we be okay?” Ana asked, giving me a tentative smile.

  “We might be,” I said. “Someday. But now we have to go explain to Kim why we just missed our entire lesson.”

  Together, we left Cricket’s stall.

  I’VE GOT MAIL

  AFTER SCHOOL, I CLIMBED OUT OF MY DAD’S SUV.

  One more day left! Thursday was finally over, which meant that finals were done.

  Friday would be a completely random day. We had to clean out our desks and lockers, get summer reading and homework assignments, and our class got to have a pizza party at the end of the day because we’d all gotten good grades this year. Like anyone at Yates got bad grades!

  People at school had been so wrapped up in finals and celebrating the end of the school year that no one paid any attention to me or the fact that I’d become a traitor outcast overnight.

  Taylor had texted me after his last final, and he’d been beyond excited.

  Taylor:

  Duuude! Finals r over!!!

  Lauren:

  Do you believe it?! We made it! Hello, 7th grade!

  Taylor:

  We’ll have 2 celebrate extra @ the dance.

  Lauren:

  Sounds like a date!

  Just thinking about our chat made me smile. Friday night’s dance was exactly what I needed—time to have fun and wash the last horrible week of school away. It still wasn’t sinking in that sixth grade was one day away from being over.

  “I’m going to check the mail,” I told Dad.

  “Okay, hon.” He took my heavy book bag from me and I walked down the driveway, taking my time.

  I pulled my Chanel sunglasses, a gift from my Manhattan financier aunt, over my eyes and let the warm sunlight bathe my pale face.

  I took off my cream-colored three-quarter sleeve knit cardigan, revealing my lacey yellow tank. I’d have to load up on the sunscreen today—good as it felt, my ridiculously fair skin was already getting pink from ten seconds in the sun.

  Our mailbox was stuffed with the usual—The New Yorker (Mom), Sports Illustrated (Dad), TeenStyle (me and Becca), bills, and junk mail.

  I wasn’t disappointed. I’d given up on waiting for a letter from Canterwood Crest Academy. I realized they’d probably already sent their acceptance letters to new students. The rejections would most likely trickle in later. I shifted the mail to my other arm. Dad’s Sports Illustrated slipped out of my hands and, grumbling to myself, I bent over to pick it up.

  Apparently, I’d dropped more than just one magazine, too. I blamed it on the sun. It had been so long since it had shown its face in Union, it was throwing me off. I looked down at the magazine, a couple of bills, and some junk-mail envelopes.

  “Geez, Lauren!” I scolded myself. As I was gathering up the mail, I saw it.

  It was heavy and creamy with a thick, expensive-feeling texture. Like one of those “You’ve won a trip to the Caribbean!” letters. It was facedown on the ground.

  As if the envelope contained toxic material, I flipped it over onto the sidewalk with one finger. My eyes went right to the return address. It almost made my heart stop.

  CANTERWOOD CREST ACADEMY

  Why was it so big? Everyone knew rejection letters were small—just simple, letter-sized envelopes. Unless . . . unless it was a super-fancy rejection. I mean, Canterwood was one of the most exclusive boarding schools in the country. Maybe they spared no expense—even for the losers.

  I wished my heard would stop pounding—it was tricking my brain! The last thing I needed right now was to undo months of preparation. I’d finally convinced myself—and everyone around me—that there was no chance for me at Canterwood. Well, except for Brielle and Ana, they’d never believed I wasn’t getting in, but that was just them.

  Oh, and Taylor. But he was just being supportive. Plus, he was a swimmer. He didn’t know that kind of accident I’d had was a career-killer for equestrians once people found out. I mean, everyone knew that.

  Except for Becca, of course. She was just trying to spare my feelings, though, telling me that mistakes like that only made me a better rider. But she was my sister. What else was she going to say? “You’re doomed forever, have a great life?”

  And, of course
, my parents were similarly supportive. Who told their own children they were destined for certain rejection for the rest of their lives?

  Okay, so those were all the people I was close to. So what? Who knew my own destiny better than me?

  Thump thump thumpthumpthumpthump! Stupid heart!

  I sighed and stood up, leaving the envelope on the driveway. The only way to find out was to pick it up. But . . . this was ridiculous. My future was sort of in there, on the ground. I’d either be Lauren Towers, enrolling at Canterwood, or I’d (more likely) be Lauren Towers, going back to Yates.

  I stared at the envelope for at least five more minutes before I picked it up, holding it between two fingers.

  Just take it inside and open it with Mom and Dad, I told myself. I wanted their support when I opened it. Not that I needed support. I mean, Yates was a far cry from a life sentence in juvie. Either way, I’d be happy.

  Still, I walked at a snail’s pace up the winding driveway. I reached the porch steps and stopped.

  This was something I wanted to do on my own. It always had been. So what was I waiting for?

  I sat down and dropped the rest of the mail beside me. My fingers were shaking so much (Why? Hadn’t I just spent months convincing myself that I was better off here in Union?) that I almost gave myself a paper cut opening the envelope. The gold lining in the envelope reflected against the sunlight.

  I froze. I couldn’t. Everything was going to change (no matter what the outcome) the second I opened the letter, and there was no way around that fact. No way to convince myself otherwise.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I pulled the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it. Peeking between the fingers of my right hand, I looked at the letter.

  Canterwood Crest Academy

  107 Greenwich Drive

  East Brookfield, Connecticut

  Lauren Towers

  May 16th

  28 Dalton Road

  Union, Connecticut

  Dear Ms. Towers:

  Thank you for your application to Canterwood Crest Academy. As you are well aware, our world-renowned Academy receives thousands of applications from talented students across the country and internationally. This year’s application pool for fall was exceptionally strong.

 

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