In any event, Kelly had quickly figured out that she couldn’t compete on the money front, so she’d worked hard to develop her own valuable currency: information. While information didn’t allow her family to spend spring break skiing in Gstaad like the Wayland family or hire the $50,000 college consulting service that whisked applicants around the country on a private jet with a team of college admissions experts on board to provide briefing packets and wooing tips for each school the way Lydia Peters had for her daughter, Felicity, when it came to any topic related to EBA or college admissions, Kelly knew more than anyone. And whenever possible, she used that information as a weapon to advance the goals of her kids the way others wielded their checkbooks. Maybe she just needed to look at the glass as half full and see this single Stanford spot as an opportunity. After all, wasn’t it vastly better to know exactly whom Krissie had to beat as opposed to worrying about Stanford’s other forty-thousand-plus applicants?
Kelly drained the remaining contents of her wineglass and placed the empty glass in the sink. “You know what? You’re right about hiring the essay consultant. Ms. Barstow always says the transcript is really the most important component, and Krissie seems to have everything under control,” Kelly said, placating both her husband and herself. She moved around the island and put her arm around his waist, which she self-consciously noticed lacked the extra fat tire currently encircling her own.
“I’ll give Steve a call tomorrow and get the letter going,” Kevin said, giving Kelly a kiss on the top of her head. “It can’t hurt.”
“Thanks for doing that.” She hoped Steve’s reference would be enough. “I’ll talk to Krissie to confirm we’re all on the same page.”
“Great,” Kevin said, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “I’m gonna catch the end of the playoff game.”
* * *
As Kelly climbed the stairs past photos from their college graduation, their wedding in the Stanford chapel, Stanford football games, and camping trips with their college roommates and their families, she recalled Ms. Barstow’s parting words to all the parents at the end of that fateful junior year college kickoff meeting: “Applying to college is not a team sport. Do not use the royal we, do not usurp your student’s independence, and do not make this journey about the bumper sticker on your car.” But if Ms. Barstow truly believed her own words, then why had she called Kelly this afternoon and not Krissie to deliver the “difficult and pressing news” about Stanford? What a bunch of hypocrites.
She knocked on Krissie’s door before opening it and peeking her head in. “Hey, honey, how’s it going?” she asked, sitting down on Katherine’s twin bed opposite her daughter.
“Just reading through my supplemental essays again.” Krissie was twisting several strands of her long brown hair and staring at the screen propped up on her lap. “Ms. Barstow had a few comments, but she said they were fine and ready to submit. I wasn’t aiming for fine though. I wanted her to say they were fantastic or amazing.”
Ever since Krissie was a toddler, she would become hysterical if her carefully arranged dolls or books or shoes were even the slightest bit out of place. She overdid just about everything in her quest for perfection. Setbacks, such as a B-plus, were shattering and left Kelly struggling to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. “I can read them again if you want, but I thought they were fantastic the last time I read them,” Kelly said. “Speaking of Ms. Barstow, she called today. They heard from the Stanford admissions office—”
“I know,” Krissie interrupted her mom. “They’re probably only accepting one more student because of all the athletes.”
“Oh, you heard?”
Krissie nodded. “I stopped by her office to ask some clarifying questions about her comments on my essays, and she told me.” She looked up from her computer screen and, with a shaky voice, continued, “What if I don’t get in? Stanford’s all I think about. I’m so tired of EBA. I feel like none of my friends get me. Everyone looked so happy at Stanford the last time we toured. I picture myself happier there. I really do.”
“Don’t worry, honey. It will all work out,” Kelly said. Last year, as the college admissions mania took hold of their community, Kelly privately agonized over whether Krissie could withstand the pressure of applying to Stanford. But Krissie was adamant and pushed herself to study harder and longer. And then she started pulling out her hair. Kelly hadn’t noticed at first. It was the woman who cut Krissie’s hair who’d alerted her to the problem. Their pediatrician diagnosed Krissie with trichotillomania (which Kelly at first thought was the foodborne illness caused by undercooked pork), prescribed a low-dose antidepressant, and encouraged Krissie to exercise. Krissie’s mental health became a top priority, with Kelly vigilantly monitoring her medication, eliminating unnecessary stress like household chores, and doing absolutely everything in her power to figure out how to help her fragile daughter achieve her dream of getting into Stanford without going to pieces in the process. They were so close now. Kelly leaned over and gave Krissie a hug. “Once you’re into Stanford, you’ll feel so much more relaxed. You’re in the homestretch. Just hang in there a little while longer.”
“I know,” Krissie said. “I just can’t wait for this to be over.”
“Me too,” Kelly said. “Other than Brooke, have you heard anyone else mention they’re applying?”
Krissie rolled her eyes. “You’re not the only one who swore your kid to secrecy.”
Kelly had made Krissie promise not to share their plans to apply early to Stanford to hedge against a bad case of groupthink suddenly sweeping through the EBA senior class. After all, the competition for a top-tier college like Stanford was stiff enough without it being crowned this year’s “it” school. Last year, in a cautionary tale, there’d been a crush of EBA kids—thirteen in all—who’d applied to Dartmouth thinking it was their best bet for an Ivy since Dartmouth’s admit rate had been as high as USC’s the year prior. They hadn’t counted on so many other fellow students thinking the same way, though, and ultimately only two were admitted. Unfortunately, Krissie’s Stanford ambitions were a badly kept secret, as everyone knew it was Kelly and Kevin’s alma mater. In any case, Kelly had figured it was better to keep ’em guessing than to stick a cardinal-red target on their backs. In light of today’s revelation, though, it occurred to her that she might need to revisit this strategy. “I just thought with the early admission deadline coming up, people might be talking about it. Has Winnie said anything?”
Krissie shrugged her shoulders, and her eyes returned to her laptop. “I don’t hang out with her.”
Kelly recognized the signs that she’d reached her allotted question limit. She stood up and leaned over to kiss her daughter on the top of her head. “Don’t stay up too late. I love you.”
* * *
Kelly climbed into bed, her mind churning. She watched as her right thumb reflexively tapped the Facebook icon on her phone and scrolled through her news feed, which lately was flooded with the anxious college musings of friends and acquaintances all across the country. At least this was evidence that college insanity afflicted parents everywhere, but unfortunately, this was not a misery-loves-company situation.
Eleanor McHenry: Pomona! Williams! Bowdoin! Oh my! Those final college visits were such a blast! But now where to apply…the early admission deadline is coming up so fast!
Ginger Park: I heard applications are already up 20% at University of California schools this year.
Trina Finney: Facebook friends, urgent advice needed! Do you think Sophia needs more than three alumni recommendations for Amherst? Not sure about the advice we are getting from the private college counselor. He says one is enough. Is there such a thing as too many?
Astrid Collins: Moms of college-bound teens beware! I just wasted six hours on the message boards of CollegeAdmissionsSecrets.com. Serious question: How do any non-superhuman kids get into college? There go our Georgetow
n dreams…
Gemma Smith: Woohoo—go Bailey! State fencing champion! Team MVP! And just in time to beef up his Common App awards & honors. Phew!
Lindy Lewis: October ACT finally here—shooting for perfection! Fingers crossed third time’s the charm! After 40 hours of astronomical private tutoring, it better be…hahaha!
But the biggest gut punch of the night came from one of Kelly’s Stanford roommates who now lived with her family in suburban Chicago and also had a college-bound senior:
Angie Swanson: Ella just submitted her Stanford application. Woohoo! Hope our girls will be roomies just like we were, Kelly Vernon!
Kelly could feel her blood pressure skyrocketing and her competitive instincts shifting into overdrive. Three days earlier, the Seattle Times had published a list of the EBA students who had been named National Merit Semifinalists. Krissie had made the list, along with Winnie, but Brooke’s name had been conspicuously absent. Even though the college counselors told parents the National Merit Semifinalist award meant nothing to colleges, EBA parents still strategized over how to attain the honor for their children…just in case. Without hesitation, Kelly had ponied up for that insanely expensive PSAT boot camp both freshman and sophomore summers, but she had resisted the urge to post anything about the award on social media, abiding by the college counseling office’s gag rule. But why shouldn’t she post something? With today’s news, it now seemed important to stake her public claim to Stanford—and let everyone know she was playing to win. After a half hour spent crafting a caption, Kelly selected the picture she’d snapped the other day of Krissie holding a copy of the Seattle Times and sporting a mile-wide smile. The newspaper headline read: “Elliott Bay Academy Tops Washington State High Schools with 27 National Merit Semifinalists.” She added her carefully worded caption, “Couldn’t be more proud of my brilliant girl! Palo Alto–bound? Yes please!!!” and hit Post.
4
Alicia
“Alicia, you have twenty minutes until your biz dev status meeting,” her assistant, Charlotte, said, breezing into Alicia’s office holding a silver tray. She placed it on the sideboard and pulled a gray linen place mat, matching napkin, and silverware out of the drawer. She set lunch for one at Alicia’s glass conference table, took a bottle of sparkling water out of the mini fridge, and poured some into a cut-crystal glass. “I made sure they left the onions and cucumbers out of your salad this time. Do you need anything else?”
“I’m good, thank you, Charlotte,” Alicia said, her eyes focused on her computer screen, digesting the one-page memo she required in advance of all status meetings. She really wanted to say, “It’s about damn time you got my salad order right.” Maren would never screw up something so basic. Maybe she should have Maren hire and train her work assistants so that she’d finally get a decent one. Her phone vibrated on her desk, announcing an incoming text. She glanced over and saw her husband’s name.
Bryan: thx for the wake up
The combination of her phone sex rejection and her criticism of Bryan’s handling of Brooke’s essays had resulted in a nearly twenty-four-hour stony silence on his end. He’d ignored her calls and hadn’t waited up for her when she’d flown in from New York last night. In a peace-making gesture to restore their household equilibrium, Alicia had woken him up this morning with a blow job before heading off to work for an all-hands presentation, followed by review meetings with three different teams and an interview with some business blog. Bryan was planning to play not one but two rounds of golf, followed by a beer flights tasting dinner with a group of EBA dads.
Alicia: How was your first round?
Bryan: 2 under. Did u c Kelly the Cow’s post?
At least he was talking to her again, but she bristled that he was interrupting her at work about a Facebook post.
Alicia: No. Kinda busy. Why?
Bryan: She thinks the Stanford spot is actually in play! LOL!
Alicia picked up her phone and flicked open the Facebook app. She typed Kelly’s name into the search bar. She was not about to get sucked down the rabbit hole looking for that pathetic woman’s post. As she waited for Kelly’s page to populate on her screen, Alicia gazed across the room at her salad. Her board-mandated executive coach had recently recommended that Alicia make more of an effort to eat throughout the day to avoid dips in blood sugar. She intimated that Alicia might be perceived as less bitchy by her team if she wasn’t hangry all the time. Charlotte was put in charge of providing Alicia with a steady stream of protein. It didn’t matter if the food was healthy. Alicia’s body insisted on clinging to every last calorie she put in her mouth. Her husband might be enjoying her “new curves” as he called them, but she had no intention of keeping them and had doubled down on her workouts. Clicking on Kelly’s name, she immediately saw the post. “Oh my God. ‘Palo Alto–bound’? ‘Yes please’? Who does that woman think she is?” Alicia said out loud.
Charlotte appeared in the doorway. “Do you need something? Do you not like the salad? I have an apple and peanut butter.”
Alicia looked up from her phone. “What? No. Everything’s fine. Can you close my door?” She was stunned that Kelly Vernon, kiss ass extraordinaire and PTA everything, would be so aggressive. This post was a virtual peeing on the carpet to mark her territory. Studying the photo, Alicia had a vague sense that she should have known about this award. She clicked on the link to the Seattle Times article Kelly had helpfully included. Well, at least twenty-seven winners sounded like a promising number. The article loaded, and Alicia’s eyes scanned down the list, pausing for a second on Winnie’s name, but when she got to the S’s, there was no Brooke Stone.
Alicia was momentarily disappointed, like she’d been excluded from the guest list of a party. From what she could tell, Brooke’s 3.5 GPA seemed respectable enough given EBA’s rigorous curriculum, but she’d taken the ACT four times and hadn’t yet cracked Stanford’s bottom quartile for admitted students. For the first time, Alicia was forced to wonder just how far Stanford would lower its academic floor for the progeny of one of its biggest donors.
Alicia noted the time, put her phone in her top desk drawer, and returned to the memo on her screen. Aspyre had recently signed a letter of intent to acquire a high-flying start-up, but as soon as the team started its due diligence, problems surfaced all over the place. After rereading the same bullet point three times in a row warning of accounting irregularities, Alicia clicked the memo closed and spun around in her chair to face the window. There was no way Ted had defied her and not instructed the college counseling office to tell Kelly that her daughter needed to find another school. Who did Kelly and Krissie think they were, ignoring EBA’s directive?
In addition to Krissie being a strong student and double legacy, Alicia knew Kelly had been counting on Krissie’s woman in STEM hook to get her into Stanford. Kelly had hounded her last spring about an internship for her aspiring computer scientist, emailing her mousy daughter’s résumé multiple times until Alicia arranged an opportunity for her as a business analyst just to make Kelly stop contacting her. Alicia took a small amount of pleasure in the knowledge that while a woman in STEM might be a meaningful hook at other elite schools, she’d learned at a recent trustee meeting that for the first time ever, it was no longer considered an institutional priority. Apparently, Stanford had been absolutely inundated during the last admissions cycle with women in STEM applicants. She’d debated whether she should share this with Kelly and the EBA college counselors. But alas, it had slipped her mind.
Alicia twirled a lock of hair around her finger. She wasn’t exactly worried, but she did have to wonder: Might Kelly’s public declaration that they weren’t backing down embolden others? If that was the case, Alicia had to at least consider the possibility that there was one EBA student who could actually stand in Brooke’s way of getting the coveted Stanford spot. And for that, she had no one to blame but herself.
Alicia opened
her bottom desk drawer and pulled out a sleeve of salted caramels—her go-to comfort treat when faced with a difficult situation. As she popped the first one in her mouth, she reflected how from the moment Maren and Winnie had come into their lives, Alicia had known there was something special about Winnie. At eight years old, she already had an insatiable curiosity. Her vocabulary and speech patterns made you forget you were conversing with a child. As Brooke’s nanny in those days, Maren often brought Winnie with her to work, and Alicia encouraged the friendship between the girls, secretly wishing some of Winnie’s intellect and determination would rub off on her own daughter. Alicia even concocted a perverse fantasy: Winnie was the sister she’d been unable to give Brooke. The girls would grow up and go to Stanford together! She bought them matching Stanford T-shirts and talked about them being roommates someday. Alicia had not only planted the Stanford seed, she’d watered it and watched it grow.
Even once Brooke had left the public elementary school they’d both attended for EBA, the girls had remained close. Alicia made sure of this by treating all four of them to a standing mani-pedi date every Saturday morning. However, a rift developed soon after Winnie joined Brooke for high school at EBA. Alicia was never able to pry out of Brooke the specific reason for the falling-out, but it probably hadn’t helped that Winnie established herself as a standout student from the minute she’d stepped foot on EBA’s campus.
The extent of the schism had become clear when Alicia agreed to host a pre-func for Brooke and all her friends before that fall’s homecoming dance. When Brooke pointedly excluded Winnie from the guest list, Alicia had been mortified and almost canceled the entire event but finally relented because she didn’t want to be blamed for ruining her daughter’s special night, and anyway, it wasn’t fair to make Brooke responsible for Winnie’s popularity. As part of Maren’s household duties, she planned the event, served the food and drinks to the assembled kids and their parents who were on-site to snap pictures, and cleaned up afterward, all without ever saying a word about Winnie’s exclusion. In fact, she rarely mentioned Winnie unprompted after that episode.
Girls with Bright Futures Page 5
