And by the beginning of senior year, if you hadn’t figured out where you were applying, you were the loser whose future was uncertain. The admissions board wouldn’t let you in based on how badly you wanted to go there or how soon after you exited the womb you realized it was your destiny to be a fighting bulldog or a roaring tiger, or whatever. But in our minds, whoever decided where they wanted to go first was the chosen student, the one who deserved to get in. And if you were accepted over them, prepare for war.
I saw it go down freshman year when Jake Horowitz got into Princeton early decision and Tina Fowler got deferred even though Tina’s parents were alumni and she always wore that horrible neon orange sweatshirt during volleyball practice. Her fury nearly split the Players apart when she screamed at him during lunch one Friday. Everyone was relieved she got accepted in the spring.
So it was a no-brainer that my friends entered senior year with polished applications and so much hope. Even Robert, who bombed his SATs despite getting so much extra time, believed he was destined to be back at school in Manhattan, studying music management at NYU. Rumor has it his parents made a casual million-dollar donation to the school.
All of that makes today, December 1, the day we are due to hear back from our first round of applications, torture.
I wake up in a sweat, panting, cotton sheets balled in my fists. I can barely catch my breath. But I didn’t dream about Brown, about getting in or not. I dreamed of Shaila, her eyes wide and full of fear, bulging out of her beautiful head. Her mouth open, screaming for help. I inhale deeply and try to shake her from my mind. Just another nightmare. Just stress. That’s all. I reassure myself of this over and over, but my heart continues to race at a speed too rapid to calm.
I lean my head back, so it kisses the wooden headboard, and rub my temples, willing Shaila to disappear. I fumble for my phone on the nightstand with shaking fingers, hoping an endless scroll will calm me down. But before I can open Instagram or YouTube, I see a text from Rachel. Of course.
You change your number or something? she writes. Don’t give up on us.
I throw my phone down into my blankets so hard it bounces onto the floor. My fear is gone and I’m left with anger. Why does Rachel have to stalk me? Why not Nikki or Quentin or even Henry? Why can’t she just leave me alone, especially today? And why the hell am I actually considering helping her?
Mom pops her head into my room. “You okay, Jill?” she asks, her brows forming a deep V. “Thought I heard something.”
“Yep,” I say without looking at her.
“Big day, sweetie.” Her face softens into a warm smile. “Whatever happens, it’s all going to work out.”
I grunt and throw the covers off, pushing past her to the bathroom. “Whatever.”
For the next few hours, I do my best to not think of Shaila or Rachel or Graham. Instead, I focus on the unbearable agony of waiting for our fates to arrive.
Everyone can feel it. An eerie, electric spear pierces through the caf, and even at the Players’ Table, we’re barely holding it together.
If Shaila were here, she wouldn’t have been worried about getting into Harvard. She would have been sitting next to me, rolling her eyes at how freaked out we all were. She would have assured us that we’d all be fine, guys. I imagine her in the Gold Coast Prep uniform, chewing on a piece of cookie dough with one foot propped up on my chair so her bare knee was visible above the table. That was the real Shaila, not the creepy ghost who haunts my dreams.
“So, uh, what’s up?” Quentin tries.
Nikki offers a half laugh but rubs her thumb against the rose quartz around her neck. She’s waiting to hear from Parsons, though she’s a shoo-in for their design merchandising program. Her portfolio featured dresses I’d die to buy.
“Robert, you okay?” she asks.
But he stays silent, probably for the first time in his life, and chugs his soda, crushing the plastic bottle in a swift, crunching motion. Guess he’s not so confident after all.
“Where’s Marla?” I ask.
“Ditched lunch for a workout,” Henry says as he sets his tray down next to mine. “A distraction.”
“This is hell,” I admit.
Everyone mumbles their agreement and turns back to their food. We’re mostly silent until the bell rings.
The rest of the day is crap, too. It’s as if Mr. Beaumont purposely tries to make his achingly long lecture on Ulysses even more boring than it has to be. With only five minutes left in the class, he looks at us with pity.
“How about we just relax for now?” he asks. “Feel free to use your phones.”
Within seconds, everyone has their admissions pages and email open even though we all know we won’t hear for hours.
When I finally get home, eons later, I fly past Mom, Dad, and Jared, shut myself in my room, and lock the door. I sit on my bed, hide my phone under the pillow, and open the State admissions portal. Might as well get that over with.
I enter my info and chew on a stray cuticle as the page loads.
Congratulations! it reads as confetti rains down the browser.
My heartbeat steadies. Thank god. That bodes well.
I take a deep breath and bring up Brown’s page. My fingers are heavy as I key my login and my throat goes dry as the text comes into view.
Suddenly . . . I shriek.
It happened.
I did it.
“Are you in? Did you get in?” Dad yells from the hallway.
I choke out a response. “Yes.”
Mom throws open the door and wraps me in a hug. “Sweetie!” she yells. “It was all worth it.”
My cheeks are wet and my shoulders shake. I let her embrace me like I’m a kid again. I rest my head against her neck and she compresses me into a tight little ball. It was all worth it. My future is set. I did it.
Jared bounds down the hallway, panting. “In?” he asks.
I nod.
His smile gets wider. “Knew it.” Then he wraps his arms around Mom, Dad, and me and knocks his shoulder into mine.
Mom finally untangles us all and holds my chin in her hands. “Let’s celebrate,” she says. Her eyes are wet, too. “I made mac and cheese.”
After dinner, Mom ducks her head into the refrigerator, rummages around, and emerges with an icy green champagne bottle, wrapped in foil at the top.
“You deserve this, kiddo,” Dad says. He rests a large, steady hand on my shoulder, winks, and brings a napkin to his face. “You worked so hard for this. And after everything you’ve been through . . .” He squeezes my arm at the table and waves a hand to Mom. “You make us so proud. Four glasses! One for Jared, too. This only happens once in a lifetime.”
Jared grins. The excitement is contagious. He even volunteers to clear the plates and before we disperse, he nuzzles against my shoulder for a hug. “Did you tell Adam yet?”
“Just about to.”
He nods. “He’ll be psyched.” Jared squeezes me again and I’m overcome with adoration for my baby brother. Whatever happens with the Players, with Graham, this moment is ours.
I rush up the stairs and pull my phone out with shaking hands. I punch in Adam’s number and wait for it to ring. I try to remember everything I want to say. I want to hear all about the bad improv shows we’ll see together, the only place in Providence worth getting bagels, the chunky parka I’ll need to wear to battle the New England cold. I want to know what dorm I should live in. Do I need a car?
He picks up on the fourth ring, but I can barely hear him. A thumping Eurodance song plays in the background, drowning out my thoughts.
“Hello?” he yells. “Jill?”
“I got in,” I say, breathless. “I got in.” Even saying the words out loud feels false, like I’m dreaming.
“What?” he screams. “I can’t hear you! Text me!”
Th
e line goes dead. He must be at some party, one that I’d be at, too, this time next year.
I text him with trembling fingers
I GOT INTO BROWN! SEE YOU NEXT YEAR!!!!!!
He responds in an instant. AAAHHHH!!!!!!!
I set my phone down and breathe deeply, inhaling and then letting it all go. Suddenly, everything around me feels so unfamiliar, like things from someone else’s past. I can see the future so clearly, I want to fast forward through the next few months and forget about Rachel and Graham and whose blood really stained his shirt after all.
But then I hear whispers behind the closet door down the hall, where Mom keeps random things like wrapping paper and extra rolls of tinfoil.
I turn my doorknob slowly, and pull it back just an inch to make out the words.
“We’re going to figure it out,” Mom says in a hushed, nervous tone.
“I just can’t make the numbers work,” Dad says, exasperated and depleted. “We won’t know if she gets money until the spring. Otherwise, she’s going to have to take out loans. She’ll get saddled with debt for decades. We can’t let that happen.”
“I mean, we can pay for some of it,” Mom whispers. “And she’s still up for one of those full-ride scholarships. When has she ever let us down?”
“I know, I know. But . . . what if she doesn’t get it?” He sounds guilty for even suggesting it.
“There’s always State,” Mom says. “Honors.”
“But this is her dream.”
“She’ll get that spot. I know she will.” Mom’s voice wavers and Dad sighs heavily.
“We’ll make it work,” he says. “We always do.”
I hear the muffled sounds of a hug and silently close my door. My heart thumps a million miles an hour and I clench my fists, fighting back tears and unbearable lashes of guilt. A heavy weight settles on my chest. I have to be good enough, I think. I have to win that money. I have to.
THIRTEEN
“WELCOME TO ROAD RALLY, bitches!” Nikki stands on the hood of her BMW and shakes bottles of sparkling wine in each hand. Like a pro, she pops them both and sprays them in front of her, dousing the freshman Players who stand cheering at her feet. It’s a week after acceptances were announced and every single senior Player got into their top choice school. Even Robert, whose dad’s donation seemed to have done the trick. He exploded our group text thread with expletives for hours before taking off with Nikki in an Uber to the city, where they went to some insanely expensive steakhouse under the Williamsburg Bridge. After fam dinner, I sat in Henry’s hot tub with him, Quentin, and Marla until our skin became wrinkled like prunes. The stars were particularly bright that night and I tried my hardest to push my parents’ conversation out of my head. No luck, though. I couldn’t—still can’t—forget their desperate tone, the need for me to achieve, achieve, achieve.
Now we’re standing in Nikki’s winding driveway, ready for the final Player event of the semester: an all-night scavenger hunt we call Road Rally. Here’s to hoping it’s a distraction.
In the crowd, the younger kids whisper among themselves, comparing notes for what’s to come. Jared’s packed in the center of their little crew, a core member of this unit we assembled like Legos. After months of tests and trials, they may think they know what’s in store, but tonight is next level. Road Rally always is.
When Jared asked me about it earlier this week, after Nikki spread the word that it was happening, I tried to manage a smile. “It’s fun,” I said. “Just go with the flow.”
“Worse than the Show?” he asked with a smirk. I tried to study his face, to figure out how that night made him feel. If a secret shame burrowed deep inside, or if he brushed the whole thing off like a bug. I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
“It’s fine,” I said instead. But the annual scavenger hunt always makes me uneasy. In the past, this night was a beast that chewed you up and spit you out at the feet of whoever was in charge. The only thing worse was initiation.
When we were called to Adam’s house freshman year, I spent the whole afternoon trying to figure out how I could be on his team. But I didn’t need to worry. As soon as I walked into the backyard, Adam grabbed my elbow and whispered into my ear, “You’re with me.” I skipped behind him to his car, where Shaila and Jake Horowitz were already waiting, our team of four decided.
“You guys ready?” Jake asked before banging on the dashboard. “Let’s do this thing!”
“You okay?” I dipped my head and whispered to Shaila. Her head was turned toward the window, watching Graham get into Tina Fowler’s car.
“Yeah. I just don’t get why couples have to split up.”
“Just part of the rules,” Adam said, turning around in the front seat. “Rachel and I aren’t together. Don’t worry,” he said, patting her on the knee. “This is going to be fun.”
I nodded encouragingly and bumped shoulders with Shaila. Secretly, I was thrilled to be grouped with her. It was the first time we’d be together without Graham in weeks.
“Here. This will help.” Jake reached down and pulled out an oversized water bottle full of orange liquid. “Drink up.”
Shaila snatched it from his hands and guzzled eagerly before passing it to me. “First stop,” Adam said, making a swift turn into the ShopRite. I felt the booze give me extra legs. “Grab that bag,” he said, motioning toward the trunk. “You guys are wearing bathing suits under there, right?” We nodded. We were always ones to follow instructions. “Good, let’s do it.”
We threw the car doors open and sprinted inside the store, trailing the boys by a few yards. “The frozen aisle!” Adam yelled.
“Quick!” Jake said. “Strip!” He whipped out two lawn chairs, set them side by side, and handed us matching pink sunglasses and sippy cups.
I pulled off my T-shirt and stepped out of my shorts, leaving no time to feel self-conscious. “C’mon, Shaila!” I said.
She plunked down in the chair beside me and we did our best models-on-the-beach impressions while Jake snapped a pic. I can’t wait to frame this, I thought. Iconic.
“You guys are so sexy,” Jake said. I giggled and squinted beneath the grocery store’s fluorescent lights. Shaila’s skin looked translucent and she stifled a hiccup.
“Let’s just check another one off the list while we’re here,” Jake said. “You guys should make out.”
I froze and tried to catch Shaila’s eye. But she wouldn’t look my way. Instead, she bit her lip and waited for me to make the first move.
I looked at Adam for help. What do I do?
“That’d be hot,” he said, flashing his dimple at us. He stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his eyes encouraging.
I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the insane pounding in my chest. I thought my skin might split open. Then I turned to Shaila and closed my eyes, hoping she would meet me halfway. I parted my lips and thought of Adam, how it felt when he touched my skin in the hammock months before. The phone flashed and Shaila’s warm mouth pressed against mine. Her tongue slithered against my teeth, wet and unsteady. My whole body began to shake. Shaila must have known because she lifted her palm to my cheek and held my face steady just for a second.
After a moment, we pulled apart, and Shaila’s dark, furious eyes met mine. She brought her hand down and wrapped her fingers around my wrist. “Never let them see you hurt,” she whispered. Before I could respond or even nod, she was already standing, pulling on her jeans.
It’s only a kiss, I told myself. But, once in the car, I had to sit on my hands to keep them still.
Those two items are still on the list, I think, but tonight when Quentin passes around clipboards fixed with the paper checklists, I can’t see them in the dark.
“You have to meet back here at midnight. If you’re late . . .” Nikki trails off. A devilish smile spreads across her face and she crashes the two bot
tles in her hands together. “Disqualified!”
No one had ever been DQ’d as far as I know but we’d heard rumors about one car back in the early 2000s that didn’t make the deadline. All of them, even the seniors, lost their Player status and their access to the Files. They were disinvited from every social gathering for the rest of the year. Legend has it their college acceptances were revoked, too.
“Then you’ll present your checklists and your souvenirs to the judges: Jill, Quentin, Henry, and yours truly. You all paid a ten-dollar entry tonight, and whichever car wins gets to keep the whole pot!” People hoot and holler all around us. “A little something extra,” Nikki says with a smile.
Henry appears by my side, takes my hand, and throws it into the air. “Make us proud!” he says. I tilt my head up and sneak a peek at the Little Dipper. Then the stars that form two twins. Gemini. I imagine the tiny stick figures dancing around with one another and my stomach settles.
Nikki rolls her eyes and stomps a boot on the car. “All right, Players! You have five minutes to find your teams.” She pulls a whistle out from her pocket and puts it to her lips. “Ready! Set! Go!”
“Jill! Henry! C’mere!” Quentin yells from across the gravel. He holds one last clipboard, and I finally get a look at the list.
YOUR MISSION, SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT, IS TO COMPLETE AS MANY TASKS AS POSSIBLE BEFORE TIME RUNS OUT. IF THE ACTIVITY TAKES PLACE OUTSIDE OF THE JUDGES’ SIGHT, YOU MUST DOCUMENT THE ACT ON YOUR PHONE. JUDGES WILL TALLY POINTS AT MIDNIGHT.
☐ Bring us a license plate with the numbers “69” next to each other
☐ Jump in the ocean with all your clothes on
☐ Jump in the ocean with all your clothes off
☐ Get something . . . ANYTHING . . . pierced
☐ Make an outfit out of trash and wear it for the rest of the night
They Wish They Were Us Page 14
