“I have been outsmarted,” Grampa said as his two girls ran to the dock’s edge and dove in.
SEVENTY
Sunday afternoon, something tugged the edges of Erin’s brain.
Choosing Columbia had been a combination of things, really: she was a legacy candidate, their acceptance rate was two percent higher than Harvard and Yale, and it was still on the East Coast. Columbia had a great swim team, but not so great that she couldn’t get on it.
For years, her laser-focus on Columbia had forced her into AP classes, orchestra, and varsity swimming. She would parlay her every effort into an Ivy League acceptance letter, and parlay that undergraduate experience into a good med school, so she could parlay that into a six-figure salary and respected position in a teaching hospital.
But why?
Great medical school, great job, great life.
But she didn’t want that life. She really, really didn’t. She didn’t want to spend eight more years in school, so she could spend eight more years locked in hospital residencies, fellowships, and whatever else it took to succeed. She didn’t even like biology.
Erin: Li, do you think I’d be a good doctor?
Litha: Of course! You are a beast.
Erin: Right. This is a real question.
Erin: Would I be a good doctor?
Litha: Yes. You will stop at nothing to succeed.
Litha: (I can’t tell what mood you’re in. Is that the right answer?)
Erin: Do you think I’d be a happy doctor?
Litha: What, exactly, is going on down there?
Erin: Crisis, I think.
Erin: I don’t think I want to be a doctor.
Litha: Biology and anatomy would be steep hurdles for you.
Erin: Right?
Erin: WTF was I thinking?
Litha: Probably that you could do anything you put your mind to.
Litha: And you could.
Litha: But should you?
Erin: I’m thinking no.
Litha: I’d love to dwell in existential crisis with you.
Litha: But Teddy’s parents are out of town.
Litha: So we have the house to ourselves.
Litha: So bye.
Erin: Make him wear a raincoat.
Litha: Shhhhhhhhh.
Erin loved knowing her friend was happy. And she loved how well Lalitha knew her. Erin hated biology, and would undoubtedly hate another anatomy class, to say nothing of needles, catheters, and bodily fluids.
“I don’t want to be a doctor.” Admitting it aloud gave it power.
“Did you say something, love?” Felicity poked her head into the girls’ room.
Erin stared at her but couldn’t focus.
“I was going to ask you to tea, but your mind is leagues away. You look like you’re in crisis.”
Erin was in crisis. “I am trying to determine the essence of a person.”
Timidly, Felicity sat on the edge of Erin’s bed. “That’s quite deep, eh?”
They said nothing for a few minutes.
“Is this about Hank?”
Erin guffawed. Hank certainly had led her here, but this wasn’t about him at all. “No, it’s about me. I have been spending so much of my life working toward the Ivy League—looking good on paper—that I hardly know who I am anymore. I need to sort through what everyone else wants from me, and what people expect of me, to figure out what I want. At this point, I don’t even know.”
“Why don’t you join us for tea, and determine the essence of a person afterward?”
“Yes. I know for sure I’m hungry.” They walked toward the kitchen. “Felicity? Are you happy?”
“I am very happy.”
“But what things would make you happier?”
Felicity bit her lip, thinking. “I don’t need anything else. All I really want are long and happy lives for all of us.”
Through the huge windows, Erin spied Pippa and her pals jumping on the trampoline. She said, “Life is slower here. Smaller. Your houses. Your cars. Your boats. The things that make kiwis happy are different.”
“Happiness is happiness,” Felicity said.
“Yeah, but, so Hank has his boat, right? My parents’ partners’ boats are much bigger and pristine. They can live on them for a week if they want.”
“And how often do they live on those boats for a week?”
“Never, I guess. But they could.”
Felicity said, “There’s a difference between what you need in a boat and what people want in a boat. Same with houses. Same with everything. The closer together your wants and needs are, the happier you’ll be.”
“How do I know you’re not saying I should own less stuff simply because you own less stuff.”
“I’m asking which stuff you actually need to be completely yourself.”
That was food for thought.
“And something else,” Felicity said. “You’re talking about things here. Things will never make you happy. There’s always something bigger or better or newer. Life isn’t about that. Look at our neighbors who lost their homes during the quake. It was devastating, but they’re living on. Life is about what you enjoy doing and who you enjoy doing it with.”
They stared at each other, Felicity smiling warmly.
“Does that make sense?” Felicity asked.
“Yes, Mum.” Erin caught herself, panicked, then smiled. “Felicity, sorry. Yes, it makes sense.”
SEVENTY-ONE
Hours later—after tea and a bit of homework—Pippa snored lightly while Erin’s mind raced.
Always ask for what you want, and always do what makes you happy.
In Ilam’s front office on her first day, there’d been a poster: INTEREST + APTITUDE + CAREER. Four months ago, Erin’s “interest” list would’ve been completely different. It would’ve been a list of expectations forced upon her. What did she want?
She whispered, “I do not want to be a doctor.”
But what do I want?
Wide awake, Erin crept into the dining room with her backpack. She wrapped herself in blankets and opened her steno pad. In all caps, she wrote THINGS I WANT.
What was so exciting she would want to do it every day for the rest of her life?
She had fun with guitar, but that wasn’t a career for her. She loved rock climbing and swimming, but they didn’t make a life. She loved, loved physics and astronomy, but where would they lead her? Life as an astronomer? Working for NASA? An astrophysics professor?
Claire always said those who can, do—and those who can’t, teach.
Erin wanted to excise her mother’s voice from her brain.
She did want astrophysics, but Google said astronomy and astrophysics were almost exclusively graduate programs. She could start with physics.
That narrowed the field.
It would be nice to swim, but … there was no but. She wanted to swim competitively. Big schools were out, because she was good but not that good.
That narrowed it down.
And where?
Claire and Mitchell loved Columbia because they loved New York, but Erin didn’t need to be in a city. In fact, she would love to live near mountains. She would never be a mountain biker, but climbing was awesome.
A quick search yielded dozens of colleges with great climbing walls, and many with climbing clubs. She definitely wanted to stick with climbing in addition to swimming.
She wanted starry nights. Beautiful scenery she could breathe in. Easygoing people. But with interest in and access to good clothes.
She wanted a town similar to Christchurch, but with better fashion and warmer winters.
She made a second list, DO NOT WANT: religious schools, all-girls schools, schools close to Wheaton.
Her list nearly complete, she converted it to a spreadsheet.
The thing is, what she liked about Ilam—what she loved about Ilam, aside from free time at lunch and the fact that she could wake up five minutes before it was time to leave the house—was th
e lack of constant competition. No one really cared who was studying what, and no one had uttered the word valedictorian. Everyone acknowledged people with talent in sports and in art, but they collaborated. Erin liked competing—she really, really liked winning—but in class, competing didn’t feel productive.
Columbia had competitive admissions and a reputation for a cutthroat premed undergraduate program. Four years of cutthroat academics would be a nightmare.
DO NOT WANT: a cutthroat undergraduate experience.
She cross-referenced and Googled, removing schools consistently included in cutthroat lists. University of Chicago, Johns Hopkins, and Columbia fit every other bill, but no.
No school had an undergraduate astrophysics program, decent swim team, rock climbing, low light pollution, and a collaborative environment. Cross-referencing the physics program with at least two of the others whittled her list to twelve.
She pored over websites, took virtual tours, and narrowed again to seven. For Cornell, Colorado at Boulder, Wisconsin at Madison, Washington at Seattle, Stanford, Illinois Champaign-Urbana, and University of Arizona—Erin outlined a sincere essay about how study abroad had changed her.
SEVENTY-TWO
Hours later, Erin edited her passionate essay about her life in New Zealand.
All her schools took the Common Application, and Claire’s approved essay was uploaded already for all the Ivies.
Since Claire insisted on having Erin’s passwords, this would be tricky. Once applications were saved in “ready” mode, only the first hundred or so words were visible.
After the first full paragraph of her Columbia essay, Erin inserted a new one:
To Whom It May Concern:
I respect Columbia, but while you’re on my parents’ list of ideal colleges, you’re not on mine. You’ve read about helicopter parents? Mine are the worst kind: they don’t even have my best interests at heart. As you can read in the surrounding essay—which a professional essay writer edited heavily—I’ve learned a lot Down Under. Unfortunately, I still am working on standing up to my parents, and doing that from the Southern Hemisphere is unlikely. When I return from New Zealand next month, we will have a heart-to-heart about college and my long-term plans. In the meantime, I hope you will send me a very nice letter of rejection. I would be unhappy at Columbia, and you would be unhappy with me.
She did that for all the Ivies except Cornell. Cornell needed the new essay.
If admissions officers read every application they received, this couldn’t go wrong: either they’d respect her wishes and reject her, or they’d think she was too weak of character to stand up to her parents … and reject her.
She couldn’t lose.
Erin was banking on the fact that she’d get in somewhere decent where she actually wanted to go.
Please let me get in somewhere decent.
Cornell was Claire’s least favorite Ivy, but if Erin got in there, everyone would win.
And, if it wasn’t an Ivy, so what? Claire didn’t go Ivy for undergrad … and she thought herself perfect.
Erin emailed Claire: “Because I’m a lopsided candidate, I’ve widened my scope of safety schools, just in case.”
Claire would think that was a great idea. She hoped.
Morning dawned and Hamish joined Erin in the kitchen. “Up early, Erin.”
“You too,” she said.
“Right on time for me.”
Erin worked while Hamish started coffee and toast. She’d condensed her entire college search into twelve hours.
Doubting herself, she doubled-back to her long list and Googled madly. One website let her compare up to five colleges on twenty-nine key issues and find colleges most similar to Cornell.
Her cursor hovered over the “international” box. How far from Wheaton was too far?
Hamish slid a cup of coffee toward Erin and offered her toast with jam.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Felicity told me what you’re working on. I’m impressed.”
Erin smiled. “Thank you, Hamish. That means a lot.”
“I know it’s been hard. You think we’re backwards. Or opposites.”
“The Antipodes, they call it,” Erin said.
“Yes.”
“Actually, Hamish, I looked it up, and your exact antipode is in Spain.”
“Never been.”
“Where I lived, in Wheaton? That antipode is in the middle of the ocean, so, I think you got the better deal.”
“Erin. Focus. I know it was piss awful in the beginning, but I think we found our way.”
“I think we did. And now I’m trying to find mine.”
“Best of luck,” he said.
“Hamish, can you recommend any universities in New Zealand?”
“’Fraid I don’t know much. Canterbury’s the only one I’ve visited. I’m off!”
Erin browsed the University of Canterbury’s website. Mere blocks from Ilam High, it was the third best university in New Zealand. And it had an undergraduate program in astronomy.
Holy crap.
Sipping her coffee, Erin studied the application, which was due in twenty-four hours. While completing the form, she contemplated strategies for selling the program to Claire.
And Lalitha. Lalitha would kill her.
But this felt right. Without a tour, without talking to anyone or reading student interviews, she knew she wanted it. Badly.
Erin emailed her Wheaton and Christchurch guidance counselors about forwarding her transcripts to Canterbury, zombied her way through a shower, and hopped onto her bike. At the roundabout, she felt reassured: this was the right thing. Riding her bike woke her right up.
And she was awake.
And she felt good.
SEVENTY-THREE
Erin mentally composed an email to Lalitha all day. Lalitha would be pissed. Claire might be easy by comparison. That afternoon, while she waited for her friends at The Roxx, she texted Claire her Plan B.
Erin: Mom, I had a brilliant plan.
Erin: I’m applying to University of Canterbury in Christchurch.
Claire: No.
Erin: Just hear me out.
Erin: Colleges are going to admit me (or not) based on everything that’s happened already. They’re not taking next semester in Wheaton into account. Spending a semester at the University here can only improve my résumé.
Claire: So you would come back to a real college in September.
Erin let the real college comment pass; she couldn’t afford a fight right now.
Erin: Yes, but it gets better! If I don’t get into a good school in the States, I could apply this May as a transfer candidate. Transfer applicants have a much higher acceptance rate.
Claire: Good point!
Claire: How long ago was the application period?
Erin: Even better news! It ends tomorrow.
Claire: Great. You should’ve done this weeks ago! Get on top of it and let me know how I can push it along.
Erin breathed deeply as Marama pulled into the parking lot. Erin smiled and raised her index finger to indicate she needed a minute.
Erin: Relax, Mom.
Erin: Copied and pasted all my application materials into their application last night.
Erin: Already asked Mrs. Brown to forward my transcript.
Erin: When I get home tonight, I’ll submit it.
Claire: Fine.
Claire: I hope you don’t have to transfer. Med schools might think that looked like … exactly what it is. Like you weren’t good enough to get in on your first try.
Erin: I’m covering all the bases.
Claire: Fine.
Claire: What’s their acceptance rate?
Erin: I’ll do a lot more research and email you tonight. Have to go now. Meeting friends.
Claire: This is important, Erin. FOCUS.
Erin: I am focused.
Claire: There are a million tomorrows for friends. Focus on this until it’s done.
Erin: Right, of course. I will, Mom. Bye.
Erin powered off her phone. “My mother is crazy.”
“Aren’t they all?” Marama said.
“Mine is freaking out because I want to apply to University of Canterbury.”
“You mean ours?”
“Yours. Ours, yes.”
“You see?” Marama said. “This is the problem in our country: people swing through and never want to leave!”
“Sorry,” Erin said.
“It’s okay. I love you. You can stay.” Marama wrapped her arms around her friend.
Erin squeezed her. “I hope so.”
They changed in the bathroom and buckled their harnesses. Hank and Gloria arrived as they were roping in.
“Guess who wants to be kiwi?” Marama said.
“Whazzat?” Hank said.
“She’s going for Uni. Submitting her application tonight.”
Erin hadn’t expected Hank to flinch.
“Climbing,” Marama said.
Erin’s voice was quiet. “Climb on.”
Hank stared at Erin as Marama scrambled up the wall. Belaying Marama was the perfect excuse to not look him in the eye.
“Hello?” Hank said.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Were you going to tell me about this?”
“I decided literally hours ago.”
“You shouldn’t change your life because of me.”
Erin fought to contain her laughter. “I definitely am not doing this for you, Hank.” She looked at him for a split second, then back to Marama. “You are wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but I’m doing this for me. The University of Canterbury is one of few I’ve found to offer an undergraduate program in astronomy. And I feel good here. I’m doing it for me. It’s what I want. I think it will make me happy.”
Erin bit her tongue to stave off tears.
“I can’t argue with that.” Hank kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll change and be out. Hey! Does this mean you’ll join us at the bach on Boxing Day?”
“I wish. Flight’s still the twenty-third. First term starts in February.”
Believing it was a sure thing, Erin realized she had internalized her mother’s judgment of colleges. In the back of her brain, she didn’t think of the University of Canterbury as a real college.
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