Authors: Katie Klein
I didn’t not get into Harvard because I hadn’t worked for it
. M
aybe there
were people out there who
worked a little harder,
who deserved it a little more.
Maybe I do
n’t belong at an Ivy League school. Maybe something, or someone out t
here, kno
w
s me better than I know myself, and Harvard i
sn’t the answer.
More than anything else
, though
:
this can
be fixed.
In twenty-
four hours my proble
ms have taken
on a life all their ow
n: rooting and spreading; they’ve
mushro
omed in such a way that it seems
silly not to cr
oss this one, minor thing off the proverbial
list. In the grand scheme of things—life and the universe—my not getting into the school of my ch
oice i
s inconsequential;
it’s
trivial, even.
My door creaks as I
ease
it open.
The house
is still
,
quiet
,
save the t
icking of the grandfather clock
echoing through the foyer.
I tiptoe
to the m
iddle of the hallway and stop
. Two doors. Two options.
In the end, I cho
ose Phillip. I pick him because he stood up for me. He deserves
to know, first, why I need
ed to get
away.
It does
n
’t explain everything, but it’
s a start.
I
listen
at his bedroom door
,
at the sou
nd of his light snoring. I drop
the letter to the floor, and
slid
e
it beneath the crack with my
toe
s
. With any luck,
it’ll be the first thing he
see
s
when he wa
ke
s
up
. He’ll
set things in motion for me.
I sigh as I return to my room. Part of me wants
another day—a day to be sick
,
a
day to get out of town. I need time. I need
to figure thi
s out.
Because I don’t know what to do about . . . well,
an
ything
.
As I shower, I wonder what waits
downstairs.
I wonder what I’ll
face when
I dri
ve onto th
e school parking lot. I wonder
what I’ll say when I see Parker. W
hen I see
Blake.
I wonder
what pe
ople will
say to m
e. About me. About what I did
.
Sympathetic smiles. Encouraging nods. Staring. Whispering.
More than anything else
, I wonder what I’m
going to do, becau
se I
’
ve
discovered something
I’m no
t supposed to know. Something hidden for who knows how long. A
secret that i
sn’t mine to tell
.
A
secret I
promised to
keep.
*
*
*
The strange
looks,
the stares
, the
hushed conversations
—
it
begi
n
s the moment I emerge from my car. I tuck
my hair behind my ears, and bit
e
into
my lower lip,
avoiding gazes
.
There is nothing I cannot handle
.
“Hey.”
I turn
toward the familiar voice. Savannah.
“Hey,” I reply
.
“I thought you c
ould use some back-up,” she says
, shrugging.
I smile
.
She links her arm in mine, and we cross
the parking lot together, because everyone knows two
heads are better, two ropes stronger, and
anything is bearable
with
a best friend—even glares and gossip.
There’s
no morning text
message
from Blake.
But then, I wasn’t
really
expecting one.
Parker i
s almost lat
e arriving to English. I glance
over in time to see him
slip the brown paper bag I left
on his chair inside his
book
bag.
He does
n’t smile, or look
at me
.
An acknowledgement is all I want
—a yes, I was there last night; yes, I was with you; yes, I feel the sa
me way; yes, you know my secret.
I want you to.
But he never lifts
his he
ad from his notes. Not once. It’
s reminiscent of the
weeks prior, when I couldn’t get him to com
e near me at all, and I wonder
how we could have been so c
lose to
. . . something, and
back at the beginning within a matter of m
oments. When the bell finally ri
ng
s, dismissing us, Parker bolts
.
I watch
him,
disappointed, as he disappears
into the hallway.
Lunch will be better
.
I’ll talk to him then
.
Only
Parker doesn’t show up to lunch. He’
s nowhere to be found. Not at his table . . . not at another table . . . not at all.
A heavy lump forms
in the back of my throat
because I know, for a justifiable fact, he’
s avoiding me.
Sunlight
bathes
the picnic tables
, kissing the back of my neck
.
T
he air
is
moist and sweet
.
T
he Bra
dford Pears lining the sidewalk
are blooming
,
their
ivory petals falling from
branches like snowflakes
.
A
light dusting of yellow pollen
covers
the tables and cars
. I take
a deep breath
,
inhaling the sweet air,
and
si
t down. The
wind rustles
the leaves,
blowing
my paper bag across the table.
I brush
my hair out of my eyes and gaze
at th
e sky.
A thick stretch of
gray clouds
hovers on
the horizon, as if they have
every intention
of moving in and ruining what’
s turning out to be a gorgeous spring day.
“You can’t sit out her
e by yourself,” a voice calls
as
I take
the first bite of my sandwich.
Savannah and Ashley si
t down across from me.
“Hey
.
”
“So . . .
where’s Parker?” Savannah asks
. “I thought I should meet him. I have to approve, you know.”
I laugh
quietly
. “Your guess is as good as mine.
I was hoping I could talk to him today. I
kinda
want
ed
to know how he feels about me, but
I think it’s obvious.” I look
around. “I mean, when has he not sat out here?”
“
He’s probably
j
ust confused,” Savannah says
. “This has to be pretty crazy for him.”
“At least before he was s
lightly invisible,” Ashley adds
. “Today the whole school is talk
ing about him. I’d be hiding
, too.”
“Everyone tal
ked about him anyway,” I point
out.
“Becau
se he was
mysterious
,” explains
Savannah. “The idea of the two of you together . . . well, that’s an entirely different story.”
“High drama,” Ashley agrees
.
“And you know half of these people have nothing better to do than stick their faces into other peo
ples’ business.” Savannah rolls
her eyes.
I do
n’t
tell them there’
s something else—
this i
sn’t just about sk
ipping school together, or
making out with
him
in my attic. Parker isn’t avoiding me because he’s confused about us. There’
s more.
“So . . .
what about Blake?” Ashley asks
.
“
He’s avoiding me, too.
We haven’t talked yet, but
I have to break up with him
.
I mean, if he doesn’t dump me first. It’s not right
anymore.
”
What I
f
elt with Parker last night
?
I’ve
never experienced
anything
like that with Blake. Parker
was
right all those weeks ago. I was never
really
in love with Blake. I liked the idea of us, but that didn’t mean I loved him, and it wasn’t fair to anyone to pretend I did.
I hate
myself for not realizing it sooner.
I hate Parker for being right. Again.
“
I can
’
t believe your mom is making you miss prom,
”
Savannah says.
“
It
’
s like,
the las
t big party of our young lives.
”
“
Trust
me: prom is not very high on m
y list of priorities right now,
”
I tell her.
“
I know. It
’
s just that graduation is almost here, and everyone is doing their own thing. . . . We deserve one last big night.
”
I feel something like sadness, just a twinge, tugging at my insides. She’s right. After graduation, there are no guarantees. “We’ll still see each other,” I say, thinking positively. “I mean, we’ll still have breaks and hol
idays.”
“I know.”
“We’ll still text each other d
uring class,” Ashley offer
s.
“And talk on the phone,” I add. “And you’ll be busy with work and all.”
“Oh . . . right,” Savanna
h mutters. “About that. . . .”
Ashley and I watch her for a moment, waiting for her to go on.
“Yeah?” I urge.
She coughs, mumbling into her hand.
“What?” I ask.
She pulls her hand away from her mouth and shuts her eyes tightly. “I’m going to college!” she confesses.
“
What?
Shut Up!” I cry
.
“Oh my God! Savannah! Why didn’t you
tell
us?” I ask
.
She speaks quickly. “Because I wanted to see what would happen, first. I didn’t want to jinx anything.”
“But that totally goes against everything you believe in,” Ashley says. “In fact, I specifically remember you saying something about being ‘dragged kicking and screaming’ and over your ‘dead body’ and other such irrelevant, melodramatic clichés. What on this
planet
could have made you change your mind?”
“Tony, I guess,” Savannah says, shrugging. “He got a scholarship to play basketball for a Division II school. He printed out the application for me.” She names the college, halfway across the state—a good five or six hours from home. Excited, she sits up straighter and brushes her blonde hair aside, gathering it at her neck. “I mean, I wasn’t really thinking when I filled it out, I was just doing it to get him to shut up. But something happened . . . and I actually got in.”