The Admissions

by Meg Mitchell Moore

  “Well. Good for him. Thank you for coming out to my office. Any trouble finding the place?” Angela shook her head, trying not to think about the botched parallel parking job. “No? Just shot right over the bridge from Marin, did you? I love Marin. I always said if I ever leave the city that’s where I’d land. But I never left, so I never needed to land!” She paused, and into the space she left Angela inserted a noise that was supposed to be a laugh but that sounded like humpgh. “Anyway, I really do appreciate it. I used to conduct these interviews from my home, in the evening, but I think the office just makes so much more sense. People tend to be a bit more at ease in a formal setting, ironically enough. And now I don’t have to make sure the kitchen is cleaned up!”

  Susan Holloway sat down and Angela regained her seat in front of the desk. “I’m so sorry,” said Susan Holloway, “that I have to sit behind this giant desk. I used to have two chairs in front of the desk but it seems as if someone has absconded with one of them.”

  Angela laughed agreeably. Susan Holloway sort of scared Angela. She was like a hummingbird on Red Bull—even when she was sitting still she gave the impression of darting about.

  “Can I offer you anything? Water? Tea? Or did Alva already offer you something?”

  Alva. So she was the Scandinavian one, the assistant. “No, thank you, Ms. Holloway. I’m goo— I’m fine, thank you.” Ms. Simmons: You are good, in general. At least I hope you are. But in this situation you are fine.

  “Oh, let’s dispense with the formalities, shall we? Although I do appreciate it. Just Susan, please.”

  “Okay. Susan.”

  “What a sweet smile you have, Angela, and beautiful blue eyes. I couldn’t say that if I were a man interviewing you, could I? But here I am, a woman, so I am free to comment. Doesn’t seem quite fair, does it? I came of age—professionally speaking—in the late seventies. Where nothing seemed quite right. These interviews are often as much of a learning experience for me as they are for Harvard, you know! Though I do tend to babble on. You must let me know if I’m babbling, will you do that? Yes? No? I hope you will. I’m just looking through your file here, Angela. I reviewed it before you came in. The academics are stellar, of course. No surprise there. We don’t get many early-action applicants who are not. In some sense you’re all starting from the same place in that respect, are you not?”

  Ooof. True enough, but Angela didn’t need to hear it. She leaned forward in her chair and tried to appear alert but not overly eager, the way she’d rehearsed in the mirror at home. This in itself was difficult; she almost tipped right out of her chair.

  There was that voice again, sniping at her. Higher, Angela. Faster. More more more. There were the voodoo-doll pinpricks. There she was, wanting it so much it literally hurt.

  “So why don’t you tell me about your extracurricular activities. That’s always the first question they like us to ask. They’re stricter about the format here than you might guess. We have meetings and so forth where they tell us how to do this, check in with us. Give us tips. Make sure we’re still worthy. So far I’ve passed the test, I guess. Which is good for me. I like to keep tabs on what the younger people are up to. Anyway, I have it all here on my sheet, of course. But I like to hear you tell it to me yourself. So I get a real sense of things, of what’s important to you. So anytime you’re ready. Why don’t you start with your varsity sports.”

  Deep breath. Deeper. She’d practiced this one. “Well. My sport is mostly…I mean, these days, it’s running. I used to swim and play lacrosse and soccer. But it got to the point where I had to pick one. So I picked running.”

  Susan smiled again, the lips pulled tight across her front teeth. “A runner! I was a runner, back when I still had my own knees. The artificial ones just don’t bend as much, you know?”

  Angela didn’t know, but she nodded and smiled as though she did.

  “But they are supposed to be astonishingly enduring. This last one should take me almost to the end.”

  Another smile: her politest, smartest, Ivy Leaguest smile.

  “Wonderful sport,” said Susan. “Best distance?”

  “Cross-country. Five kilometers on the track.” What a nerd she was. Nobody liked a 5K on the track; it was simply the ugly truth that she didn’t have the speed for anything shorter.

  “A distance runner! I was a sprinter, myself.” Angela was surprised that Susan Holloway’s hummingbird legs had enough muscle to get her through a sprint. “Never quite had the endurance for the distance. Seemed like a lot of pain for not much reward. Although I’m sure you feel differently.”

  Actually, Angela didn’t. “I’d be a sprinter if I could. But I don’t have the speed.”

  “Grass is always greener,” said Susan. “Am I right?”

  Damn straight, thought Angela.

  “What else? Music?”

  Practice, Angela, practice.

  “Well. I’ve been in the all-county band for three years now.”

  Did you practice?

  “Instrument?”

  “Flute.”

  “Wonderful. A beautiful instrument.”

  Angela, don’t forget your music book. Don’t forget your cleats. Your bathing suit. Your book report, your science fair project, Angela. Your lunch.

  “I’m an officer in my school’s chapter of the National Honor Society.” (See me, in Ms. Simmons’s felt tip.)

  “Position?”

  “Secretary.”

  “Okay. Well, still counts as a position, right?”

  She should have gone for vice president. There was a sensation in her stomach she couldn’t put a name to. Not exactly nausea, but maybe nausea’s younger cousin.

  “And, let’s see, French Club. Any officer position?”

  “Vice president.”

  So there.

  “That’s fine. Next?”

  “Senior-class president, this year,” said Angela, wondering what, exactly, Susan Holloway meant when she said, “Fine.” Also, she should have led with senior-class president. What was wrong with her. What was wrong with her? Was she flubbing up the interview? Her heart was starting to race. Also, there seemed to be a small creature (a woodland fairy?) inside her skull, banging on it with a mallet.

  “Wonderful. That’s the big kahuna, as they say. Maybe not as big as student government president.”

  That was Henrietta. Damn it.

  “But still, big. If I were you, I would have led with that. But never mind. It all comes out in the wash, doesn’t it?”

  Does it? And a woodland fairy wouldn’t be mean enough to bang with a mallet, would it? She’d have to ask Maya. Maya knew everything about fairies.

  “What else?”

  Angela, did you find a charity organization yet? Harvard’s going to want to see that, you know. Start thinking about it. Two charities, if you can.

  “Student Sharing—that’s where we do volunteer outings. For example, ah, last month we attended a Justice Education Day at the Saint Anthony Foundation in the Tenderloin. In the spring we’re planning a fund-raiser for the new dining room they’re building.”

  “Very rewarding, I’m sure.”

  “It was. And…let’s see. Speech and Debate.”

  “How did you find that?”

  Angela scratched her palm. If her mother had been here she would have said, How did I find it? I looked it up on Google. Ha ha ha. Her mother loved a corny joke. And her dad liked her mom’s sense of humor. But maybe the intern was funnier.

  Duh. Even Angela knew that people did not generally begin affairs because the new person was funnier than the person they were married to.

  Angela hated Speech and Debate. “Well. I liked it. I get nervous, sometimes, talking in front of people. But my aunt in Rhode Island is a lawyer, she works with some really tough cases, and so I guess I try to imagine sometimes that I’m her when I’m up there. That someone’s life depends on how I do, you know? That helps. She’s a really good lawyer.”

  When was she
going to say something to her mother about the intern? She’d told herself it would be after she submitted the Harvard application, but now she realized she was waiting to find out if she got in before she stepped up her investigation.

  “I like that. I like that answer very much. Very honest. Just hang on a second while I note that down…Okay, noted. Please go on.”

  Angela felt extremely pleased by that, the noting down. Excellent sign.

  “The last three years I did Best Buddies, but not this year.”

  “Is that some sort of a dog charity thing? You’d think I would know every activity out there, having done these interviews for so long. But every school does things differently.”

  Angela smiled. “Um, no, it’s not a dog charity. It’s working with disabled students. Sometimes, um, before or after school, but sometimes having lunch with them, that sort of thing.” Stop saying um.

  “I see. Did you like it?”

  “I loved it.” This was one hundred percent true. There was a girl in their school, Mary Lou Wilkerson, with cerebral palsy. Angela ate lunch with her twice a month junior year. She had terrible depth perception, the worst. It killed Angela every time she helped her with her lunch tray, it just about did her in to watch what a mess Mary Lou was, and how she just kept trying anyway, just kept keeping on, smiling her lopsided smile, eating her French fries. God. Poor Mary Lou. Angela had to blink rapidly a few times to get herself back into interview mode.

  “What did you like about it?”

  “I, ah, well.” Don’t say ah, either. “I liked helping. I liked trying to see my world through their eyes, and their world through mine. It’s so competitive at my school. It was really nice to step away from that for a little while, and just be, you know? Just try to make someone laugh.” She thought, Nailed it, and then instantly felt like the worst person in the universe. Using Mary Lou Wilkerson for her own gain like that. She was definitely a monster.

  “Why only three years?”

  Shit.

  “This year I didn’t have time anymore. With applying to college and everything. I had to give some things up.”

  Angela, is the application done? It’s October, you know. Not much time now.

  “You sound wistful about that.”

  Wistful was such a pretty word; it made Angela think of ladies playing tennis on grass courts wearing long skirts. “I guess I am. I miss it.” She never saw Mary Lou anymore.

  “Let’s see here. This says Green Club?”

  “Recycling. We do can drives, water awareness week. We do a thing on Earth Day where we go to an underprivileged school and help build something, like a playground slide.” Angela had cut her post-workout showers down to three minutes because of Green Club.

  “How do you spend your summers?”

  “This past summer I worked for three weeks as a volunteer docent at the Exploratorium.”

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it? The new building by the Pier. I’m so glad they moved from that rusty old building they were in. Although I’ve heard that financially it hasn’t been the boon for memberships they were hoping for.”

  Angela scratched at her other palm. How much longer? “I—um, I don’t know about that. But it is beautiful, yes.”

  “And the other weeks?”

  “Let’s see. I did four weeks as a counselor in the Rec and Park for my town, for a multi-sport camp. One week I went on vacation with my family, to Alaska.” Maya had almost fallen off the boat during a whale-watching cruise, but other than that it had been a spectacular trip. Henrietta’s summer adviser had probably told her not to go on any family vacations this past year. Shit, why didn’t Angela have a summer adviser?

  “Wonderful! Any summer job that carried throughout the whole summer or into the school year?”

  Angela almost laughed, then caught herself. It was actually legitimately funny, that Susan Holloway thought that anyone with the schedule Angela had just detailed would have time for a job. She didn’t know anyone in the top of the class who held down a job along with everything else. Her mother, as she reminded them often, had scooped ice cream at Newport Creamery throughout her high school and college years. She talked a lot about the famous Awful Awful, and she brought the whole family there every time they went east so they could all experience it. (Awful Awfuls were actually to die for.)

  “Um. No, not really. After Alaska we started summer training for cross-country, and the AP course work…and I guess that was it.” The summer had gone by in a blink. Half a blink. One careful reading of Jane Eyre, some statistics work, the beginning of the Harvard application, and whoosh, it was over.

  “I see. Now, Angela, why don’t you tell me what the last book was that you read that wasn’t a school assignment. You look surprised.”

  Angela was surprised. Reading for pleasure! It was almost funny. “Well, it’s just that…well. Let me think. No, that wasn’t…. It’s just that, with all the reading for school—I have five AP classes this semester—I actually don’t have time to read anything else. I wish I did.”

  See me, from Ms. Simmons, written right across the top of the extended essay. Horrifying. She felt herself starting to blush and so she tried to think of very cold things: icicles, skiing in Tahoe, cold showers at summer camp.

  “Anything at all?”

  Angela’s mind was a wasteland; she couldn’t think of the title of a single book. Not one. She felt like she’d just taken all of her clothes off and was sitting in front of Susan Holloway completely naked while Susan Holloway checked for flaws.

  “Well. Isn’t that a pity. I finally had a chance to read Gone Girl. I felt like I was the only person on earth who hadn’t read that. Made me uncomfortable, in the end. I suppose that was the author’s intention. But thank you for your honesty. It’s refreshing. I’m looking at my watch here and it seems like our time is almost up, if you can believe it. I have so many more questions I could ask. I didn’t even ask you where you see yourself in ten years! Which is a standard. And believe me, I get a wide variety of answers. The smart alecks always tell me they see themselves five years out of Harvard.” Susan Holloway chortled.

  “I have more time if you do, Ms. Holloway.” She really didn’t want to answer the ten-year question, though. That sounded awful awful.

  “Susan.”

  “Susan.”

  “I’m afraid I’m off to an engagement. I have to meet someone to go to the symphony, and I have the tickets. I don’t know why, but I seem to be the one with the tickets always. The most organized of my group, I guess.” She smiled again, and the vein came back out to say hello. “I wish I did have more time! It’s been a delight. Do you have any questions for me, Angela? You look like you might.”

  Her father had said it would be good to have one question in her pocket, just in case. She scraped her mind, she scraped her pocket, but nothing came up.

  Well, something came up, but it was not Dad approved. Definitely not.

  Don’t ask it, Angela. Do not ask that question. You idiot, you complete idiot. Don’t.

  “I do, actually. I do have one. It’s sort of…”

  Don’t do it! Stop it. STOP it. The words were gearing up, ready to launch out of her mouth.

  “Yes?”

  Quick, think of something else.

  “I’ve been wondering…well, I’ve been wondering if you think that Harvard…”

  “Out with it, Angela. He who hesitates in this world is lost, as I’m sure you know. Especially at the Ivies.” Another chortle. Angela had been under the impression that mostly chubby, jolly people chortled, but apparently that wasn’t the case: you could be elfin and chortle anyway.

  “I guess what I’m wondering is. This is something I’d like to ask my father. But I think the question would upset him.” Deep breath. Go ahead, what do you have to lose?

  Only everything…

  “Is it all that it’s cracked up to be?”

  A long pause. Angela thought she might just go ahead and check her bag for poison
, in case she had any to take.

  Then Susan Holloway unleashed a peal of laughter that was so long Angela thought it might have been built in parts and strung together in a warehouse.

  “Ha! How refreshing. I love that question. Nobody has ever asked me that before. I’m just going to take a sip of water here. Let me think about this a moment so I can answer properly. In my experience, Angela, nothing is really and truly all that it’s cracked up to be.”

  I knew it!

  “But Harvard comes pretty close. For me, it was paradise, it positively opened my eyes in every way, shape, and form. Made me what I am today, absolutely.”

  If I don’t get into Harvard, it might be because of that question. Or it might not. And I’ll never know.

  “Best of luck to you, Angela, it’s been a real pleasure. There’s that firm handshake again. You must tell your father he did well to teach you that. Are you going to have any trouble getting out of the city? No? Well, you seem like a capable young lady to me. I will say, though. And I’m sure I’m not supposed to say this. But when I look at what you kids have to do today, just to stay even, never mind to get ahead—well, it makes me glad that I’m through it all, and well on the other side. I’d be happy to have the knees of a seventeen-year-old, make no mistake about it. But the rest of it? You can have it. Oh, don’t look so crestfallen. You’re going to do fine. With these grades and these scores. You sure you know your way back? I think this city can be so confusing for young drivers. Okay, then, so nice to have met you, Angela.”

  Once she was back on the sidewalk Angela’s entire body sagged with relief. She was so happy to be done, she could have kissed the homeless man who was collecting money on the sidewalk. Instead she gave him the remaining seven dollars from her mother’s parking money. It wouldn’t hurt, she thought, if Susan Holloway happened to be looking out the window at the exact same time. Extra points for charity.

  Susan Holloway, class of ’76 and part-time hummingbird, seemed to have taken a shine to Angela. Right? Or did she act head over heels in love with every early-action applicant who sauntered through her door? What did Susan mean, telling Angela she was going to do fine? Fine getting into Harvard, or fine when she was rejected from Harvard and had to rebuild her life? Who knew. Angela had either aced it, or she had flubbed it completely. She just had no idea which—