“Early action MIT app is in. I’ll hear in January, and I’m hoping that will be the end of it.”
“Lucky,” I said. “I wanted to go early at Harvard but I needed my scores before then.”
“Harvard!” she squealed. “That would be so great! We’d both be in Cambridge and we could hang out all the time. Let’s go get some food and strategize. I’m done with this party, and I’m starving.”
“Sounds like you worked up your appetite,” I teased.
“You have no idea,” she said.
10.
I felt a whole lot better about the SAT knowing I had my two little green pills waiting for me. In the weeks before the test there was hardly any anxiety at all; I was too busy trying to keep up with school and hanging out with Alex. It turned out hanging out with her did mean hanging out with her friends sometimes; we didn’t go to any more crazy parties, but I started sitting with Alex, Justin, and Raj at lunch, ignoring the dirty looks I got from the Brain Trust. Justin didn’t make any more cryptic comments about Alex’s crowd being dangerous, but I found myself wary of him anyway. He and Raj were really funny together, though, especially when they tried to outcharm each other. It was hard to believe they’d only known one another for a year; they acted like they’d been friends forever. Once in a while Bryan sat with us too, though he was still clearly a little moony over Alex, who treated him just like the other two.
Raj was pretty flirty, but I was starting to understand that he was like that all the time. It was almost like he wasn’t sure how to interact any other way. “It’s totally insecurity,” Alex told me once. “He has no idea how hot he is, so he feels like he has to try really hard.”
I wondered whether it was more that he hadn’t had a lot of friends who were girls. In a way, I was glad that he didn’t seem to be into me, or at least no more into me than he was anyone else. But a little part of me kind of wished he was, even though I knew he wasn’t someone I should like. Still, he was fun to hang out with. They all were. They were more entertaining than the Brain Trust, anyway.
As strange as it seemed, though, I had the most fun studying at Alex’s house, which I did at least once a week. It was nice having a real friend again, even if it would never be the same as it was with Isabel and Becca.
“Aren’t your parents getting sick of cooking for me?” I asked once. “We could always go to my house. It’s takeout central over there these days, though.” Now that Mom worked at Dad’s company, it was like they didn’t see much reason to ever come home.
“Are you kidding? They love you. They’re thrilled to see me hanging out with ‘such a smart girl.’” She deepened her voice to sound like her dad. “You made quite an impression.”
I wasn’t sure how; it wasn’t like I could get a word in edgewise when Alex and her dad were putting on their kitchen show. But I was happy to be there. It was easier than being at home—my dad’s new company had gotten its financing, but now they were full steam ahead toward the initial public offering, which meant my parents were either at work or talking about work. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
First quarter ended in the beginning of November, and second quarter was already flying by. Before I knew it, Thanksgiving had arrived, and with it came our annual trip to visit my grandparents, who’d retired to Palm Springs. Mom always got a little stressed out around her parents—I didn’t get it just from my dad, even if that’s what she thought—but my parents managed to relax and not talk about work for the day, which was great.
I couldn’t stop them from talking about me, though. “Kara is number one in her class,” Mom told Grandma.
“For now,” I said.
“For good,” she said. “You’ve been working so hard, I can’t imagine Julia’s going to be able to do better.”
“Your mom was number one in her class,” Grandma said.
“Believe me, I know.”
“There’s no reason you can’t hold your spot. You’re smart and dedicated and eminently capable. You just need to keep doing what you’re doing.”
“No pressure,” I muttered.
“What?” Grandma asked.
But Mom heard me. “I’m not pressuring you, Kara. I just want you to live up to your potential. Besides, I thought you wanted to be valedictorian. I thought that was important to you.”
“It is,” I said. That was the problem, in a way. “Can we talk about something else? Or can I be excused?”
“Aren’t you going to thank your grandmother for dinner?”
“Thanks for dinner, Grandma.” I got up and walked around the table to give her a kiss. “Everything was delicious.”
“Hey, I was in charge of the turkey,” Grandpa said. “Don’t I get a little credit?” He held out his cheek and I kissed him too.
“Of course you do. The turkey was perfect, and I’m totally stuffed.”
“Kara, you should go for a swim,” Dad said. “The pool won’t be too crowded today.”
“That’s the plan,” I said. I did love the pool in my grandparents’ apartment complex. It was an infinity pool, the kind that didn’t look like it had an edge, as if it had emerged organically in the middle of the concrete. The pool here was the only place I felt comfortable swimming these days; my grandparents knew about my skin problem, though I’d never let them see it, and I didn’t know anyone here except some friends of theirs I’d met. For just a little while I could go without makeup and immerse myself in the cool water. And one or two days a year of chlorine couldn’t make my skin any worse than it already was.
The nice thing about swimming laps, especially when I was so out of practice, was that it kept me from being able to think too much. I had to use all my brainpower to make my limbs do what used to happen more naturally. I practiced butterfly and backstroke before settling into the more comfortable rhythm of freestyle, which came back to me faster than the other strokes.
Once I’d exhausted myself, I went back to the apartment, took a shower, and did a quick SCAM before anyone saw me. Even the idea of strangers seeing me without makeup was horrifying; I imagined I’d be able to see their revulsion, the looks on their faces reflecting just how I felt about myself.
I went into the living room, where Dad and Grandpa were watching football while Mom and Grandma cleaned up in the kitchen. “This is totally gendered behavior,” I said, plopping down next to Dad on the couch.
“Not anymore,” he said with a smile. “Your presence here subverts the dominant paradigm.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” I said, laughing. I was glad Dad had come with us; he’d been threatening to stay behind because he had so much to do at the office, but Mom had shut that down pretty fast. She was right, too—he was relaxed here, more so than I’d seen him in a long time. I was, too. Maybe it was the swimming; maybe it was just being away from school, from the constant feeling of pressure I felt every time I walked through the front door of the building. In a way, I dreaded going back.
But I did have to go back. Thanksgiving ended, with not much time left before my last chance at the SAT. As test day got closer and closer, I started getting more and more nervous. What if the pill didn’t work? What if the pill worked and I tanked the exam anyway? Sure, I’d done well on the practice tests I’d been taking for over a year, but those were just practice. They weren’t the real thing.
“You need to calm down,” Alex said.
We were sitting at lunch. I’d convinced Mom to give up on the whole macrobiotic-green-food-whatever-it-was plan but was starting to regret it as I picked at a plate of limp spaghetti. “If I can’t pull this off, my life is over,” I said.
“God, you’re more dramatic than I am,” Justin said. “You’re being ridiculous. Your life won’t be over. Your current plan might get disrupted a little, that’s all. A little disruption never killed anyone.”
“This would be way more than a little disruption,” I said.
“He’s right, though,” Raj said. “Did you know that British kids
often don’t even go to university right away? They take a gap year and work, or travel. It gives them time to figure out what they really want.”
“Are you going to take one?” I asked.
He put his hand over his heart. “I’m an American now,” he said. “Or I will be at some point. It would be unpatriotic of me not to conform. But you—you’re a native. You can do whatever you like.”
“Dare to be different!” Justin said.
“Or not,” Alex said. “I know how important this all is to you. Just remember this isn’t the only option. And you’ve studied as hard as you can, and you’re doing everything you need to do. You’re going to be great. Say it.”
“Say it?”
“Say it. If you say it, maybe you’ll believe it. You’re going to be great.”
“I’m going to be great,” I said, trying as hard to believe it as I could.
“I’m going to be great,” I muttered to myself, over and over, as I got ready for the exam on test day. I didn’t really need to mutter; no one was home, since I’d told my parents I’d be less stressed out if they just went to work. That had the added benefit of giving me time to take the Novalert without having to worry about them catching me.
Mom had left a bag of bagels on the counter and a pot of coffee brewing—she must have gotten up super early to make sure everything was ready when I woke up. She’d left a note, too:
Good luck! I’ll be thinking of you all day. Call when you’re done.
I loved that she’d bought me carbs because she knew I’d want them, even though she was on a gluten-free kick herself. I ate my bagel with some eggs and coffee and then took out my minty-green pill. Such a small thing, but it could make all the difference in the world. This was my last chance to change my mind, to try one more time to make it on my own, but it was hardly even a serious thought. I had no other options.
I popped the pill into my mouth. It had a little bit of a sugary coating, like Advil, and it went down easy. Now I just needed it to kick in. On the drive to school I could feel the first hint of it, the little gears in my brain starting to whir, that feeling of confidence I’d had at the party, that I could do this. This is just a normal day, I reminded myself, as I had last time. It will be over in a few hours. But already things felt different. I felt alert and focused, and, more important, calm. No nausea, no headache, nothing. Of course, that could always come later, but I wasn’t worried about it like I had been in the past. It was like the Novalert was my friend, whispering in my ear.
You’ve got this.
I was in the same room as before, which I already knew; Ms. Davenport was the proctor again, which I also knew. Seeing her at the front of the room was comforting, and in a strange way, so was the familiarity. It was like I was getting a do-over from last time. If today went well, I could pretend the last time had never happened.
Ms. Davenport read the instructions and handed out the test, just like before. I tore open the seal. Once again, the first section was math. But this time all the questions were perfectly clear right away, and the nausea and thumping in my head that signaled the potential for a panic attack never came. I kept coming up with answers that matched one of the options, and I was done with the section even before Ms. Davenport came around to collect it. Just like in calculus.
The other sections went the same way, even reading comp. No panic attack, not even a single symptom of one. And after four hours that went by pretty fast, it was all over. I’d stayed conscious, which was my biggest concern, and it was even possible that I had done well. Every single muscle I had unclenched in what felt like a full-body sigh—Novalert might have helped with the mental stuff and the basic physical symptoms, but my body still knew what all this meant, down to my muscles, and I’d been tensed up the whole time without even realizing it.
I hung around after everyone left and went up to Ms. Davenport. “I made it!” I said, unable to hold back my excitement.
“I know!” she said. “Listen, are you in a rush to get home? I could use a cup of coffee after this, and I’d imagine you could too. I’d love to hear more about how it went.”
“Sure.” I probably had enough in my system between all the coffee I’d drunk before the test and the Novalert, so I wasn’t about to drink more caffeine, but Ms. Davenport didn’t need to know that.
“I’ve got to get all the paperwork done—I’ll meet you at Philz in about half an hour.” She squeezed my hand. “I’m really proud of you, you know.”
“Thanks.” I was surprised to feel my eyes welling up, and I turned to go before Ms. Davenport could see. “Philz is perfect.”
It was weird how much what Ms. Davenport said meant to me. I knew my parents loved me, and they were probably even proud of me too, but it wasn’t the kind of thing they’d say a whole lot. They had such high expectations of me—they never stopped talking about how much they’d loved Stanford and how much I’d love it too, and Stanford was even harder to get into than Harvard, especially for someone from Silicon Valley. Sometimes I thought it would be nice for them to acknowledge that meeting their expectations was really hard work. Ms. Davenport was no substitute for my parents, but it was comforting to know there was a grown-up in my corner.
I got to Philz before her and ordered a gross green tea, thinking of Becca and her matcha. I really wanted hot chocolate, but I didn’t want Ms. Davenport to think I was a little kid. When she arrived, she got an enormous mocha with whipped cream, which I eyed with envy. “I’m exhausted!” she said, collapsing into the chair in front of me. “I can only imagine how you kids must feel. How are you holding up?”
“Pretty well, actually. I mean, given what happened last time.”
“I’m sure you did great,” she said. “Something was definitely different this time. You were more confident, maybe?”
“I’ve been working really hard.” Not like I’d ever tell her what had really changed.
She took a sip of her coffee, leaving a dark-pink lip print on the cup and a dot of whipped cream on her nose. I barely had time to decide whether to tell her when she wiped it off with her napkin. “Ugh, I love these things, but they’re such a mess. What did you get?”
“Green tea,” I said.
“How very proper of you. That’s not very celebratory, though. Hold on.” She got up and went back to the counter, then came back with an enormous almond croissant. “Here, we’ll split it. You deserve something sweet.”
It reminded me of my mom and the bagels. “Thanks,” I said, and broke off a piece. I wasn’t hungry, but I knew I should eat; I hadn’t even taken a break to snack on the nuts I’d brought to the exam for energy.
“So now that you’ve got this out of the way, are you getting ready to work on your college applications? Have you talked to your parents about what schools you’re applying to yet?”
“Not yet. I still don’t know if my scores will be good enough. And they’re so set on Stanford—I’m worried they’ll be mad.”
Ms. Davenport sighed. “It’s entirely beyond me how you could think your parents would find Harvard inadequate.”
“You don’t know what they’re like. It’s like Harvard and Stanford were on opposite sides of the Civil War or something. They’re not going to take it well. And it’s not just Harvard—it’s all those East Coast schools. They want me to stay here, close to home.”
“You can always apply to all of them and decide later. I’ve already drafted your recommendation. It’s the best one I’ve ever written, if I do say so myself.”
I wanted to ask her why. I wasn’t so special. “I still don’t know what I’m supposed to write about in my essay,” I said instead.
“Colleges like to hear about how you’ve overcome adversity,” she said. “The story of how you got through these panic attacks to conquer the SAT might be a good one.”
If only she knew. “I don’t think it would be all that interesting,” I said.
“Well, is there anything that comes to mind? Any struggles you�
�ve had with friends or family? You can tell me anything—I’ll keep it between us.”
Of course there was something that came to mind right away: the monster. But I’d never talked to anyone about it but family. I trusted Ms. Davenport, though, and maybe she would understand. She wore lots of makeup herself, bright lipstick and dramatically penciled-in eyebrows. Maybe she needed it, like I did.
“I’ve got this skin problem,” I said, and then the words came out faster than I could contain them. I told her about that first zit, when I should have told my friends but didn’t, and how much worse it had gotten, until telling anyone seemed impossible, and all the ways it had kept me from being honest with my friends, until I had no friends left. “I don’t think I could write about it, though. If anyone found out, I think I would die.”
“You wouldn’t,” she said. “And you’d be surprised how many people are keeping their own secrets, secrets they think are the worst thing in the world but wouldn’t necessarily matter if they belonged to someone else. But it’s up to you to decide how to handle this. I don’t know that it’s a good topic for you quite yet, though—I think you still have a lot to work out first.”
“Any suggestions?”
“Anything I’d say would sound like a cliché to you. But honesty tends to be the best strategy. You have more control over the story that way.”
I had a feeling she’d say that. “I’m not ready for that.”
“Not yet,” she said. “But maybe someday you will be. Telling me was a start.”
“I guess,” I said. It didn’t really feel like one, though. I’d thought that maybe saying it out loud would be a relief, the first step to being more open with everyone, and not just about my face. But while it did feel good to tell Ms. Davenport, all I realized was that I viewed her in the same way I viewed my family—I could trust her, and she’d never tell anyone, but my secret wasn’t any less secret for her knowing it. She was right about me having a lot to work out, that was for sure.
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