Ms. Lawson twisted the cartilage piercing in her ear. “So hey, yeah. So…I’ve been charged with delivering some, ah, difficult and pressing news.”
Her defeatist tone struck Maren as incongruous with the we-make-your-dreams-come-true ambiance of the college counseling office. “OK?” Maren tucked her calloused hands under her thighs and pressed her clipped nails into the tasteful wool slacks she’d scored at Value Village last year while dropping off a gigantic load of castaways from the closets of Alicia and Brooke. Though it sometimes took every ounce of her willpower, Maren’s policy on hand-me-downs from her employer was strict—as in never ever do it, even for Winnie.
The only time she’d broken this rule was in Winnie’s ninth-grade year, soon after she’d started at EBA. Winnie had begged Maren to let her keep one of Brooke’s discards with the tags still attached—a cute, pink, and thoughtfully pre-torn sweatshirt. The very next day, she’d worn it to school, but the instant she’d walked in the door after cross-country practice, she’d yanked it out of her gym bag and cut it to shreds. It was around the time Brooke had inexplicably started icing Winnie after years of close friendship. Maren had understood things were not great between them by that point, but she had never known Brooke to be vicious. Apparently, Winnie had been taken by surprise as well.
“What news, Ms. Lawson?” Winnie prompted her counselor.
As they continued waiting for Ms. Lawson while she shuffled papers and avoided their eyes, Maren kept her expression neutral and held her posture in the decorous manner that had been drilled in to her by her mother in the stifling dining rooms of her childhood home and country club, perhaps the only lesson that still served her from that long-estranged relationship.
Ms. Lawson tilted her head up as though consulting a teleprompter on the ceiling. “Well, um, you see…” She pushed up her sleeve, revealing a small black butterfly tattoo on the inside of her forearm. “Four student athletes—an EBA record actually!—have committed to Stanford. Now, I know we’ve been talking about Winnie applying early to Stanford since last year, and of course the deadline is only three weeks away. But, well, here’s the unfortunate part. We’ve been in touch with Stanford admissions and have learned they only plan to accept one additional student from EBA this year.”
“But didn’t they take seven students last year?” Winnie asked, her voice rising.
Ms. Lawson nodded. “Yes, but it turns out they’re really pushing to increase their public school yield this year, so they can’t accept as many kids from top-notch private schools like EBA as they did last year.”
“But the whole reason I moved from public school to EBA was to improve my chances of getting into Stanford.”
Before Ms. Lawson could respond, Maren jumped in. “That’s interesting information, but Winnie’s ranked first in her class and also has that first-gen hook, so what does this have to do with her?” Not only was Winnie an academic standout, but they’d also been informed by the college counseling office last spring that Winnie was blessed with an admissions “hook” of special interest to elite colleges: the first-generation college student. Maren had been pleasantly surprised by this, although it sort of felt like receiving a Nobel Prize posthumously. But apparently, she’d celebrated the victory prematurely, because Maren knew exactly what this news meant for Winnie. And she suspected Winnie did too. Nevertheless, if they were going to get the shaft, Ms. Lawson at least owed them the courtesy of copping to it out loud.
Ms. Lawson squirmed in her chair. “Um, yes. Well, of course, under ordinary circumstances, as we’ve discussed, Winnie would be an excellent candidate for admission. But with the number of remaining spots so limited due to the unusual number of a-MAZE-ing athletes this year, there are other, um, considerations. There might be students who, you know, have even stronger hooks than Winnie’s. What I’m trying to say is that while Winnie is free to take her chances, we think she might be better served by applying somewhere with a little less in-house competition. After all, that first-generation hook is golden at any Ivy Plus college.”
Ms. Lawson must have mistaken Maren’s look of disgust for one of confusion.
“Ivy Plus,” she continued, “is the term we use to talk about Ivy League schools plus Ivy-equivalent schools like Stanford, MIT, Caltech, and the University of Chicago. Anyway, unlike Winnie, some other EBA students may have their best hooks with Stanford alone.”
Maren gritted her teeth and willed her eyeballs to remain centered. Her well-developed maternal warning system was blaring. It didn’t take a genius to understand what Ms. Lawson was really saying: they were clearing a path for either a Stanford legacy or someone with big bucks. Or both. These EBA people were all the same. They all talked a big game about merit and equity, but the instant their sense of entitlement was threatened, they had zero qualms about politely (this was Seattle, after all) manipulating the less fortunate in their orbit to stabilize the applecart.
“But, Ms. Lawson, you said yourself last spring I had the best chance of getting into Stanford of anyone at EBA. Why are you telling me to find someplace else and not another student?”
“Winnie, you know I can’t talk about other students with you.”
“But are you saying the same thing to everyone?” Winnie pressed, her voice quivering.
Maren gently put her hand on Winnie’s forearm. “Win, it doesn’t matter. Stanford isn’t the only great school out there. We’ll find another one, and it will be an incredible experience. I promise.”
“You know what this is about. How can you just cave like this? This is my future. Why should girls like Krissie or Brooke get a spot over me? Their moms do everything but take their tests for them. I’ve earned this all on my own.”
Ms. Lawson consulted her computer and then looked up with a smile. “Maybe you should look at this as an opportunity, Winnie. Your record is so strong I’m certain we could find you a university that will offer you substantial merit money. What about University of Oregon or Case Western? They’ve been extremely generous recently to entice stellar students like you.”
“Why do you assume we can’t pay for college?” Winnie’s tone was biting. She never challenged authority like this. “Just because we’re not rich like everyone else here doesn’t mean we need charity.”
“Honey, that’s enough,” Maren snapped, sparing the shocked Ms. Lawson an awkward reply. Maren whipped her head back toward Ms. Lawson. “Thank you for letting us know about this development. Obviously, we have some things to discuss, but we don’t need to take up any more of your time this morning.” With eyebrows raised at Winnie, Maren scooped up her work bag from the floor and stood to leave. And then, like she always did in the privileged community she inhabited only at the extreme margins, Maren smoothed her features into agreeability, bid Ms. Lawson a good day, escorted her justifiably upset daughter out of the office—and took another one up the butt.
* * *
Winnie followed Maren to the parking lot even though she was already late for second period. The instant Winnie slammed the passenger-side door, tears slid down her cheeks. “It’s not fair, Mom.”
Damn straight it wasn’t fair. Maren’s hand shook with anger as she jiggled the key into the ignition. She’d put up with years of being treated as a second-class citizen at this school so Winnie could reach her full potential. But this would be a tough enough pill for Winnie to swallow without adding her own bile to the mix. She needed to be the calm, steady one. “Life’s not fair, Win.” Maren reached over to touch Winnie’s shoulder, but Winnie shrugged her off. “Look. I’m doing the best I can, but I can’t control everything. If there’s only one spot at Stanford, it’s got Brooke’s name on it, not yours. If you even apply, I can guarantee Alicia will fire me. We can’t risk that.” She started the engine, which sputtered and rumbled before coming to life, and waited for Winnie to pull herself together and head off to class.
“But Stanford is all I�
��ve ever wanted. They can’t take this away from me. I’ve done everything I was supposed to do. I put up with years of nasty financial aid digs and smiled and kept my head down and outworked all of them, just like you said.”
This was the most Winnie had vented about her EBA experience since freshman year when Brooke and all her friends were buying $1,000 bikinis for their winter break trips. In stark contrast, Winnie’s vacation plan was to help Maren with her dog-walking clients so she could afford the expensive outdoor gear on the packing list for EBA’s community service trip to clean up Pacific Northwest beaches. The irony of scooping dog poop for a week to fund an “opportunity” to pick up even more trash did not escape her.
“Honestly, Winnie, I’ve never understood why Stanford is so important to you. Any degree will open doors and give you tons of choices. Why is only that one good enough? Isn’t it possible you’re buying in to a myth?”
Winnie sniffled and glanced sideways at her mom. “You know that Stanford T-shirt I’ve had forever?”
“You mean the one you still wear even though it’s basically a crop top?” Maren kidded.
“Yeah,” Winnie drawled. “I still remember the day Alicia brought it back for me after she took Brooke to see Stanford. When we were, like, eight? I remember every detail of it, how she handed it over to me, put her hands on my shoulders, and locked her eyes on mine. She made a big point of impressing on me how Stanford’s the best school in the country and if I worked very hard, I might be able to go there and be a success like her. I’ve thought about that so many times. It’s not that I don’t totally appreciate your choices, so don’t take this the wrong way, but I just want more. I want to be super successful like Alicia and have the respect of everyone.”
Maren flinched at the inadvertent insult.
“Not that people don’t respect you… Anyway, Alicia always said I was like a daughter to her. Just because Stanford said only one more kid doesn’t mean Alicia can’t figure out a way around that. I mean, what if she had twins? Do you think she’d let one get in and not the other? She always said it was her dream to have us go there together. Me and Brooke used to talk about it all the time.”
“Brooke and I,” Maren corrected. “And no, Alicia cannot help with this.”
“Whatever, grammar Nazi. This isn’t a college interview. It’s a con-ver-sa-tion.”
“Sorry,” Maren said, berating herself for reflexively picking the wrong battle. “We have to think big picture here. I know you feel like Alicia has always been your champion, but you have to understand that nothing—and no one—will get in the way of her ambitions for Brooke.”
“If you only knew how Brooke trashes her mom to everyone. It’s really harsh. I mean, Alicia’s only trying to help her. Brooke doesn’t know how lucky she is. And she doesn’t even want to go to Stanford. Also, she’s got, like, a B-plus average. That should be, like, totally disqualifying.”
Maren nodded as Winnie finally paused for air. “Listen, honey. I get why you’re so frustrated. But the fact of the matter is we can’t risk Alicia seeing you as Brooke’s head-to-head competitor. So how about we don’t rock the boat? If we can keep Alicia on our side, we can make sure you end up at another great school. Harvard? Yale? Columbia?”
“No.”
“What do you mean? No to which one?”
“I mean, N-O. No. As in no effing way. To any of them. You always said I should go after my dreams. Well, that’s what I’m gonna do. I don’t want to move to the East Coast. I want to go to Stanford. I’ll figure out a way, with or without your help.”
Maren hunched forward in the driver’s seat and rapped her forehead on the steering wheel. “You have no idea how bad this could be for us, poking Alicia like this.”
“Please, Mom? I just want my fair shot at Stanford. I’ve at least earned that right.”
Maren ran her fingers through her straight blond hair, trying to collect her thoughts, but her brain was as scrambled as the eggs she’d whipped up two hours earlier for the Stone family. All she knew for sure was that she needed more time. “Look, let’s just put a pin in this for a few days. At least give me the weekend to think this through?”
“But apps are due in three weeks! Am I supposed to waste, like, a whole week when I could be working on my essays? That’s crazy!”
Maren pictured a decibel meter but for hysteria and watched the needle go haywire. “Calm down, Win,” Maren said. “There’s no reason you can’t keep working on your essays, right? Won’t you need them for any school?”
“No. I won’t. These essays are specific to Stanford.” Winnie huffed. “If you’d pay even, like, one-tenth as much attention to my life as these other moms do, you’d know this. I mean, I’m not asking you to be a psycho like Krissie Vernon’s mom, but at least know the difference between the Common App and supplemental essays.”
Finally, Maren’s temper flared. She smacked the steering wheel. “I don’t have the kind of time these other moms have to obsess over their daughters. You of all people know I have an insane full-time job—and three side gigs on top of that—and I still struggle to pay all our bills.” Maren rarely raised her voice at Winnie. She glanced out the driver’s-side window for a second and tried to temper her tone. “Listen, I’ve always trusted you to ask for the help you need. And you’re never obnoxious like this.”
Winnie looked chagrined. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I think that was me trying to ask for help and totally blowing it. It’s just—I’ve never wanted anything more than this. Will you please try to see it my way? Dream a little bigger?”
“Just give me a few days,” Maren pleaded. “OK?”
Winnie pulled her backpack from between her legs and into her lap and fiddled with the zipper. “I guess,” she said with a disgruntled shrug. “Anyway, I gotta get to calculus. See ya tonight.”
The jolt of the car door slamming reverberated inside Maren. She watched Winnie dart off to class, her long, lean body accentuated by her standard school attire of a fitted hoodie and skinny jeans with more holes than fabric. Before backing out of the parking spot, Maren glanced in the rearview mirror and noted the dark circles under her eyes. Winnie might not think Maren had dreamed big for them, but her naivete made Maren feel like her chest was going to explode. Maren’s entire adult life had been devoted to securing Winnie’s future. The last thing she wanted was to deny her daughter the only thing she truly desired, but still, what Winnie wanted was 100 percent impossible. Without Alicia, she would have no income, no job prospects, no safety net. Once Winnie was done with college and out on her own, the power Alicia wielded over Maren would fade. But for now, Maren knew she had no choice. She had to convince her daughter to apply ABS—Anywhere But Stanford.
2
Alicia
With her bodyguard leading the way, Alicia Stone exited through the service door and slid into the back of a waiting black Lincoln MKT town car. He shut the door, climbed in the front passenger seat, and gave the driver the signal to begin maneuvering down the tight alley. The public relations rep sent along to chaperone Alicia at the evening event was already buckled in, head bent over her phone, thumbs flying. What was her name again? Sienna? Savannah? Why couldn’t everyone just wear a name tag? Life would be so much easier. The young woman flashed a nervous smile as Alicia clicked her seat belt. The car merged into traffic, and Alicia tipped back her head against the smooth leather seat, closing her eyes for just a moment to summon strength for tonight’s panel on women in tech at the 92nd Street Y.
Alicia had become CEO of Aspyre, a visual lifestyle technology company, after the company’s founder and CEO was ousted over multiple sexual harassment charges. A woman had been the logical choice to rehab the company’s image. And since she was the only woman on the senior management team, the job had gone to Alicia. Never mind that she’d spent the last several years as vice president of business development, negotiating the hundreds
of deals that had put Aspyre on track to be the hottest IPO of the past five years. But the job was all-consuming and exhausting. Today had been no different. She’d fended off attacks over her company’s abysmal quarterly earnings report and a recent data breach affecting all three hundred million users.
What the hell was she thinking, closing her eyes? Thirty seconds of productivity swirling down the drain. Alicia yanked her phone from her Goyard tote and began firing off texts to her personal assistant, Maren.
Alicia: Replace the batteries in my noise-canceling headphones. Will blow my brains out if I have to listen to Bryan bingeing his stupid ninja wrestling show
Maren: No problem
Alicia: Check my work calendar for Thursday, send me photos of three outfit options with accessories
Maren: Will do
Alicia: I like that Korean avocado moisturizing mask. Get more!
Maren: Already ordered. Will be on your vanity waiting for you when you return
Alicia: I’m low on Ambien—did u refill?
Maren: New bottle in the top drawer of your nightstand
Alicia: Good, also—
An incoming call interrupted Alicia’s wants-and-needs dump to Maren. Normally, she’d let it go to voicemail, but a call from Elliott Bay Academy’s head of school in the fall of her daughter’s senior year? Ted Clark couldn’t be ignored.
“Ted, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Alicia said.
“Alicia, I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” he said.
Girls with Bright Futures Page 2
