Girls with Bright Futures

by Tracy Dobmeier

  Before Maren could respond, Ariana, the beautiful young prep cook, sauntered into the kitchen, hips swaying. “Hiya, Bryan!”

  Bryan swiveled his head and greeted her with an appreciative smile and a smarmy full-body appraisal. Ariana smiled brightly and returned the favor. Saved by the belle. Bryan was so predictable it was embarrassing, but Maren had learned how to survive in this job by preying on his allergy to focus.

  Snatching up the bag of knives, she dashed out the side door. Her pulse raced as she got into her car and tossed the knives on the passenger seat. What was that all about? Maren hardly needed a heads-up from Bryan that his wife could be ruthless. And anyway, she and Winnie had gotten the message loud and clear about Stanford. Why would Bryan think otherwise? But this wouldn’t be the first time Bryan had gotten his facts wrong.

  It wasn’t until she was almost across the lake that she realized she’d left the espresso machine in the kitchen. She’d have to reschedule with the espresso guru for later in the week. As for Cardinal’s morning walk and crap? Well, Bryan could put on some pants and walk his own damn dog.

  * * *

  From: Ted Clark, Today, 10:20 a.m.

  To: Maren Pressley

  Subject: Meeting Request

  Hi, Maren,

  I need to discuss a few things with you about Winnie’s Stanford application. Can you swing by my office today at noon?

  Ted

  * * *

  From: Maren Pressley, Today, 10:25 a.m.

  To: Ted Clark

  Re: Meeting Request

  Hi, Ted,

  Your info is out of date. Winnie’s no longer applying there. She’s going for UW Honors.

  * * *

  From: Ted Clark, Today, 10:27 a.m.

  To: Maren Pressley

  Re: Meeting Request

  Please come anyway. I need to discuss a few things with you in person.

  * * *

  “What’s going on?” Maren said as soon as Ted closed his office door behind her. Disturbed by their email exchange, especially coming right on the heels of her “heads-up” conversation with Bryan, she was determined to set the record straight.

  “Well, hello to you too, Maren,” he teased.

  “Sorry,” Maren said as she shrugged her arms out of her jacket and sat down in the chair facing him. “I sometimes forget not everyone is too busy for pleasantries. Let me start again. Hello, Ted.” She cracked a brief smile.

  Over the past several years, they’d developed a comfortable rapport through their work together at EBA, with Maren serving as Alicia’s representative. Although Ted had asked her out a few more times after Diana’s party, she appreciated that he had taken her rejections graciously. She had always felt guilty about using Ted’s obvious infatuation with her the night of Diana’s party all those years ago to help Alicia and make a few bucks. A part of her had even occasionally wondered what might have happened if they’d met under different circumstances. However, once Winnie got into EBA, the issue was moot anyway. It would definitely be frowned upon for an administrator to date the mother of a student.

  Ted smiled back, but Maren noticed he was more disheveled than usual. His polka-dot skinny tie in EBA navy blue and yellow was loosened and askew, and the sleeves of his button-down were sloppily rolled and shoved up his forearms. He squeezed his eyes shut in an exaggerated blink as though to remedy a bad case of dry eye, and Maren could hear the incessant ringing of the office phones in the next room.

  “Well, thanks for meeting in the middle of the day like this,” he said, clearing his throat. “So, um, this is a little delicate, but we’ve received some information, and I just need to ask you a few questions about Winnie’s family educational history. Please don’t take this the wrong way, OK?”

  “Ugh, Ted. Really? In the history of humankind, nothing good has ever come after the words ‘please don’t take this the wrong way.’” Under ordinary circumstances, Maren might have enjoyed the sight of Ted squirming in his chair like a schoolboy waiting for the recess bell, but today a distinct sense of dread drowned out that impulse. Where could he be going with this?

  “So I hope you know we all want the best outcome for Winnie. She’s really an extraordinary young woman,” he said. “And we’ve been excited to promote Winnie’s college applications using the first-generation college hook. But it’s come to our attention that the hook may not be accurate.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “I’ve been contacted by a slew of parents,” he said, waving a hand in the general direction of the reception desk, where a ringing phone seemed to provide circumstantial evidence in real time, “with concerns about the veracity of Winnie’s first-gen hook.”

  “Are you kidding me? What the hell, Ted? Are other parents really trying to sabotage my daughter?”

  “I’ll handle the parent community. But I do need to know a few things. I’m sorry, Maren. First, there’s a rumor floating around that you may have gone to college. Is that true?”

  Maren crossed her arms. “All the college counseling office ever asked me is whether I have a college degree, which I definitely do not. I was very briefly enrolled at Indiana University, but I had to withdraw before I even finished my first semester due to, you know, um, discovering I was pregnant with Winnie. I never hid anything; it just never occurred to me this was relevant information.” Over the years, Maren had become skilled at maintaining a wall between her mind and body, so it came as a surprise to realize she was blushing so fiercely her cheeks felt like they’d passed the fire stage and were already turning to ash. “There’s no way me spending less than three months at a university can hurt Winnie’s future, right?”

  “No, don’t worry, Maren. That shouldn’t be a problem,” Ted said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just have to do my due diligence. It would be damaging to EBA’s reputation if we were to champion a student under false pretenses. The circumstances and timing are helpful to know.”

  “I don’t understand. Winnie should be a lock for UW Honors without the added boost of her mom’s underwhelming educational background, right?” Maren checked her watch.

  “Uh, yes, so that’s the other thing we need to discuss,” Ted said, raking his fingers through his hair. “I gathered from your response to my email earlier today that you may be operating under a misconception regarding Winnie’s college plans.”

  “What are you talking—?” Maren stopped midsentence. “Oh no,” she said, putting up a hand. “Please don’t tell me Winnie is still applying to Stanford?”

  Ted pressed his lips together and nodded. “It appears that way, Maren. I confirmed it with Ms. Lawson this morning. She’s planning to apply early to Stanford, and if she doesn’t get in, she’ll go to UW. Apparently, she really wants to stay on the West Coast.”

  “Dammit,” she said, smacking the desk. “I can’t believe she’s been lying to me! She knows I could lose my job over this.” Maren dropped her head into her hands.

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Ted said in a tone rife with genuine understanding.

  Maren lifted her head. “But wait, isn’t this outside your normal head of school duties? Why were you even asking Ms. Lawson about it?” She narrowed her eyes at Ted, who quickly averted his gaze, suddenly fascinated with the paper clip on his desk. “Hmm. Let me guess. Someone just a tad more important to EBA than a charity case like me called you, right? Who was it? Alicia? Kelly?”

  “You know I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics, Maren. Suffice it to say, there’s significant interest across the parent community about who is applying to every top school, but the competition is especially fierce for Stanford. To be honest, we’re regretting ever telling parents about there being just one spot remaining for EBA. We knew there’d be tension—there always is around the elite colleges—but we never expected things to get this heated.”


  “Yeah right. You mean you’re just now figuring out how crazy this place is?” In a perfect imitation of Winnie, she rolled her eyes for effect.

  “That’s fair,” he said with a sideways smile before his face turned serious.

  “So are we done here? I need to get back to work—and then I need to have a serious talk with my daughter,” Maren said, standing up.

  “Look, Maren, I’m afraid there’s more.”

  Maren dropped back down in the chair and clasped her hands on Ted’s desk. “Now what? Perhaps you need the name, rank, and serial number of my kindergarten teacher?”

  “Uh no.” Ted cleared his throat. “What can you tell me about Winnie’s father?”

  Maren flinched, every muscle in her body on high alert. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” She enunciated each word slowly and deliberately. “Why?”

  “Well, we also received information that Winnie’s dad is a graduate of Yale. So obviously, that would be pertinent here.”

  “It’s not possible for someone to know that, so whoever told you that is a liar.” Maren’s voice sounded high in her ears. “This is really crossing the line, Ted.”

  Shuffling a few papers on his desk, Ted said quietly, “Can you please just explain to me why no one could know that? I’m sorry to pry, Maren. I really am. But I have to cover my bases here.”

  “Because, Ted,” Maren practically spat the words out, “I don’t even know who he is myself, so I couldn’t have ever told anyone his name. It was a one-night stand the night before I left to start college, and I never saw him again. Are you satisfied? And besides, even if it were true that Winnie’s biological father attended Yale, he’s been nothing more than a sperm donor. He’s not even named on her birth certificate. Jesus Christ, Ted, do you ask lesbian couples like Mary and Julie Morgan if their sperm donor went to college? Of course you wouldn’t because it’s absurd. Not to mention insulting. And probably illegal.”

  “Of course not. I understand.” Ted looked chagrined. “But I just want to make sure we’re one hundred percent clear here for Winnie’s file: Winnie has never had a relationship of any kind with her father?”

  “Correct.” Maren’s brittle tone betrayed her. She had to get out of there before she lost her cool. Had someone really learned about Winnie’s father? She couldn’t imagine how that would be possible. More than likely, this was just some asshole making shit up to mess with Winnie’s application. But what if she was wrong? She jumped to her feet. Her hands were shaking so badly she dropped her purse to the floor. By the time she’d picked it up, Ted was standing in front of her, blocking her path to the door. He awkwardly reached out to touch her shoulder, but she recoiled from his touch and took a step back. She knew she looked crazy, and she was suddenly itching all over. This hadn’t happened to her in several years, but she knew exactly what it was. Clawing at her arms and torso, she said, “Ted, please step out of my way.”

  “Oh my God, Maren, are you OK? I think you’re having some sort of allergic reaction. Sit down. I’ll get you some water. I have some Benadryl in my drawer. I’m sorry. Look, I obviously dredged up something difficult for you.”

  “You have no idea, Ted,” she replied as her body continued to mutiny. Her voice rose with panic. “Please just tell me who is spreading that rumor about Yale.”

  “It was anonymous, Maren. I really don’t know,” he said. “The good news is it sounds like we can still support Winnie’s hook. Try not to worry, OK? Hang on a sec.” He poked his head out the door and asked his administrative assistant to bring a glass of water and waited until he handed the glass across the threshold. “Here, take this.” He handed her the water and then rifled through his desk drawer for the Benadryl.

  After Ted’s fourth futile attempt to open the tamper-resistant packaging, Maren wordlessly held out her hand for the pill pouch and took over.

  “Yeah, wow, that thing is really, really childproof—and adultproof. Or at least manproof,” he added with a self-deprecating grin as Maren effortlessly popped out the pills. “Impressive work there. So anyway, I’m going to keep an eye on you for a bit until, um, until your reaction, you know, gets better. I mean, goes away.”

  She knew she must look like hell for Ted to be reduced to such a fumbling, stammering idiot. Maren touched her cheeks and felt the raised rash. “I bet no one’s ever broken out in hives in your office.”

  “You’d be surprised the crap that goes down in this office.” Ted tried for jocular, but it was clear he felt sorry for her.

  Maren cracked a half-hearted smile and took a deep breath to try to calm her nervous system as the first visible welts on her arms appeared.

  “Maren, if you ever need someone to talk to, just say the word.”

  “Thanks.” Maren nodded. They sat in an awkward silence for several minutes waiting for the Benadryl to kick in, until Maren touched her hands to her cheeks again. “How does my face look now?”

  “Beautiful—as always,” Ted replied softly.

  Maren’s cheeks heated again—blush on top of hives, no doubt an attractive look. She tilted her head and cast a wistful smile back at him as she rose from her chair. “Well, this has been a fun little interlude, but I think it’s time for me to haul my rash-covered body back to work or Winnie won’t be finishing out the year at EBA, let alone going to college. Thanks for your help, Ted.”

  * * *

  As she drove back to the Stones’, Maren churned over her conversation with Ted. Yale? Impossible. She’d always been sure it was Charles Brown. He was all over her that night, and God, was he an entitled pig. He was also scary smart and a rising sophomore at Harvard that summer, and Maren had always thought Winnie’s eyes and the shape of her chin resembled those of his mom. But on the off chance her suspicion was wrong, she’d tracked all the boys she remembered being at the club that fateful night. This had become much easier after the dawn of the social media age. She knew where each of them had gone to college. Two had attended the University of Illinois, one had attended the University of Wisconsin, and another had gone to Purdue, but none had gone to Yale.

  This had to be a hoax. But what if it wasn’t? What if someone got to Winnie before she could tell her the truth? Winnie would never forgive her. She’d always intended to tell Winnie everything when she turned eighteen—which was only a few months from now. Part of her wondered if she should sit Winnie down tonight, but her intuition told her to hold off just a bit longer. The last thing she wanted was to distract Winnie right now, in this critical senior fall semester.

  As difficult as it was to reconcile, Maren also had much more immediate concerns in front of her. Winnie had lied to her. And the Stones, as usual, were a step ahead. Maren gripped the steering wheel, imagining Alicia’s reaction if Winnie actually applied to Stanford. Heads-up indeed. But the fact was Winnie was almost an adult and able to make her own decisions. Would Maren’s warnings even matter? Probably not. Like all teenagers, Winnie was both blessed and cursed with a sense of invincibility. Perhaps Maren’s best option for the moment was to feign ignorance about Stanford to everyone, Winnie included, at least until she could figure out how to save her daughter—and herself—from this dangerous game of chicken Winnie seemed determined to play.

  Memorial Hospital Emergency Room

  SATURDAY, OCTOBER 30, 12:32 A.M.

  “Ma’am?” Detective Davis’s voice gently coaxed Maren back to the conversation.

  She must be losing her mind. There was no way Winnie was down the hall in an operating room over something so senseless as a spot at college. She tried to focus on the detective, but her vision was fuzzy.

  “To answer your question,” Detective Davis continued, “I’m afraid our current working theory based on the witness statement is that your daughter was the victim of a hit-and-run. What we don’t know at this point is whether the hit was intentional.”

  “This can’t be happening.”


  “Mrs. Pressley, if you can think of anything unusual in Winnie’s life recently, even if it doesn’t seem like a big deal to you, it might help with our investigation. For example, was there a spurned romantic partner? A fight with friends? Cyberbullying? Anything ring a bell?”

  Maren gulped in some air. Her breathing felt shallow, her chest tight. “Actually, there have been a few strange things lately. Winnie goes to Elliott Bay Academy with a lot of kids from very wealthy families—not us,” she said, dismissing the misimpression before it could form. “There’s been all this hubbub over Stanford because there’s only one spot and a number of kids, including Winnie, were planning to apply. I’m worried one of the crazy parents or kids from her school could have done this to her. The competition’s been insane.”

  From the disbelieving look on the detective’s face, it was clear he’d pegged Maren as the crazy one. Saying it out loud, though, convinced her she was onto something. “My boss’s daughter is one of the students applying to Stanford, and her husband recently hinted that I could lose my job if Winnie even applies.”

  The detective crinkled his eyes quizzically. “And who is your boss?”

  Shit. The fastest way to get fired would be to accuse her employer of a crime. But what was the alternative? “Uh, I work for Alicia Stone. I’m her personal assistant.”

  “The Alicia Stone?”

  “I’m afraid so. But it’s really sensitive. I’m actually violating my employment agreement just by telling you that right now.”

  “I see.” Detective Davis looked askance. “Mrs. Pressley, I’m going to be frank with you. There’s not a police precinct in the country that would investigate a school full of powerful families like the Stones with so little evidence. What you’re describing—competition over college, is it?—well, that sounds more like harmless shenanigans than motive for a serious crime. Remember, it’s also possible this was just an accident.”