You Asked for Perfect

by Laura Silverman

  “Got a Talmud story for it?”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, I leave the office and freeze when I see who’s sitting on the couch outside. Rabbi Solomon pokes her head out. “Give me five minutes, Malka. I have to make a quick phone call.”

  “Sure,” Malka says with a slight smile.

  It’s only been a week since I’ve seen her, but she seems different. Older? I don’t know. That’s the weird thing about being friends with someone for so long. One day you look at them and realize they’re not the eight-year-old kid you built pillow forts with.

  “Hey,” I say, my shoulders tense.

  Except for a text update about Rachel, we haven’t spoken since that phone call before the Dizzy Daisies’ gig.

  She gives a small nod. “Hi.”

  I scratch the floor with my shoe. “I shouldn’t have ditched you guys,” I say. “Not at the last minute, especially without explaining. It was a jerk move. And I’m sorry.”

  She’s silent for a moment, then pats the couch. “Come on. Sit down.”

  I take the seat next to her. “I’m really sorry,” I say, my throat tight. I look down and twist my fingers together.

  Her voice softens. “Why’d you do it? What’s going on, Ariel? I’ve been worried about you since Yom Kippur.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek as lies run through my head. No. The truth is better. I clench my fists, then unfurl my fingers and show them to Malka. “This is why.”

  “Whoa,” she breathes out. My skin is covered in blisters and calluses. There are three Band-Aids on particularly bad spots. It actually looks better, at least compared to last week. I haven’t had the drive to keep practicing as much for my solo.

  “Dr. Whitmore wasn’t happy with my solo performance, so she’s having me play it against Pari. And if Pari plays better, I’ll lose first chair. I couldn’t keep practicing for it and the band. And it’s not just that—it’s my grades, too. Every time I pull up one, another seems to slip. And if I can’t fix it, Harvard won’t accept me…” I look down. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

  “Jesus,” she says, eyes on my blisters.

  “Malka.” I tsk. “We’re in a synagogue. Jesus isn’t involved.”

  She snorts, and I grin, and some of the awkwardness between us eases.

  “I don’t understand, though,” Malka says. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I—” I pause. “I was embarrassed. Ashamed, I guess. I’m supposed to have it all together, but I was falling apart. I figured if I worked hard enough, I could secure first chair and pull my grades back up, and everything would be okay. But then I wasn’t sleeping enough, and Yom Kippur…”

  Malka inhales. “You really scared me, Ariel. All of this scares me. You’re endangering yourself, and you endangered me, too.”

  I swallow hard. “Shit. I’m sorry.” Pressure builds behind my eyes. “I’m never going to do that again. You have to believe me. I’m done pushing like that. Look what it did to Rachel. If she keeps at it, this school stuff could—” I rub my eyes. “I don’t want to think about what could happen.”

  “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She wraps an arm around my shoulder and leans in. “How can I help?”

  “I don’t know.” I sigh. “I want to not care. I know Harvard isn’t the only place I can get a good education. There are a lot of great colleges. But I can’t stop trying altogether, can I? After all of this?”

  “I don’t think it’s an all-or-nothing situation. What about dropping a class? I’m sure you don’t need all those APs to graduate.”

  “Actually, my guidance counselor mentioned that. But it’d be a withdrawal on my transcript. Ugh.” I put my face in my hands. “Maybe I need to think about it. I can’t do this to myself. I know that. I can’t do this to Rachel.”

  “We’ll figure it out. I promise. You have me, you have the rabbi, you have Sook—” She falters.

  “What about you?” I glance at Rabbi Solomon’s door. “Why are you here?”

  Malka tugs on the sleeve of her shirt. “I come sometimes. I started a few weeks ago because I was struggling with the whole being an adult in college thing.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I was driving back here all the time. While everyone else was out sneaking into bars on weekends, I was back in the suburbs with my high school friends. I felt like a loser, like I was failing college life.”

  “But you aren’t a loser! You’re our cool, older friend.”

  She laughs. “Thanks, Ariel. I like some campus stuff. Classes and the Chabad events have been cool, but I also like chilling here. At college, it’s like I always have to try and be someone. Here, I’m Malka.”

  “Is it getting any better?”

  “Yeah, I’ve stopped putting as much pressure on myself to, like, do college right. And Rasha and I have become pretty close. She said she went through some similar stuff when she decided to live at home. Now, she’s at peace with it.”

  I nod. “That’s good.” I nudge her, tucking my head to her shoulder for a few seconds. “I’m sorry you were going through that, but I’m glad you’re doing better. You could’ve talked to me about it.”

  “Yeah, and you could’ve talked to me about school.”

  We both grin.

  “We’ll have to do better,” Malka says.

  “Agreed.” I gnaw the side of my nail. “So, uh, how did the show go?”

  Malka gasps. “Holy shit! No one told you, did they?”

  “Told me what?”

  “Well, no agent showed.” Relief floods through me. I didn’t ruin their chance after all. God, I’m lucky. “But Clarissa was there and mentioned she’s playing in a showcase tomorrow at the Georgia Theater in Athens, and one of the bands canceled at the last minute. She put in a word, and we got the slot! And there might be multiple agents attending. Sook is freaking out. We’ve been practicing nonstop.”

  “Dude, that’s amazing! That’s everything.” It’s a huge moment. A huge moment my best friend didn’t tell me about. My heart drops. “I’m so happy for you. Seriously. Y’all will be amazing. Is there… Do you need me to…”

  Malka grimaces. “Sook is already writing the violin out of the songs. But you could come watch. She’s too stubborn to say it, but I know she misses you.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” I say. “I don’t want to distract her and mess up her chance. Also, my Harvard interview is tomorrow.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  Rabbi Solomon peeks her head out. “Malka, I’m ready for you.”

  “Be right in!”

  We both stand, and Malka hugs me. It’s one of those long, solid ones that reminds me how great hugs can be.

  “Maybe I’ll see you after? On Sunday?” Malka asks.

  “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  “Hey, if you can make time, you should join me for one of the Chabad events.”

  “Sure, I will.”

  “I hope this all gets easier for you,” Malka says.

  “Thanks.” I twist my fingers together, then smile. “I think it will soon.”

  Sixteen

  Starbucks is only a few minutes away from my house. I used to come with Pari and Sook and a few other kids for a study group freshman year, when we did more talking than studying.

  The bell rings as I open the door. The place is packed, parents with strollers and preteens holding blended drinks with whipped cream. I scan the room until I spot Hannah.

  She looks younger than the picture on her website. She’s dressed casually in jeans and a white blouse. Crap. I’m in the suit I wore to synagogue. I had time to change, but I thought I was supposed to dress up for a Harvard interview.

  God, I look ridiculous.

  I clear my throat and walk toward her. Or wait, should I
get a drink first? There’s already a white mug on the table in front of her. What if she thinks I’m late, though? Okay, say hello, and then get a drink.

  She looks up when I’m a few feet away and smiles. “Ariel?” she asks, pronouncing my name correctly.

  She doesn’t blink twice at my suit. I shake her hand. She has a solid but easy grip. “Hi, so nice to meet you, Ms. Shultz.” I rock back on my heels. “I’m going to grab a drink.” Right? It’d be awkward to sit down with no drink. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Hannah, please. And I’ve got mine here.” She taps her mug. “Take your time.”

  I get in the line, shifting awkwardly on my feet. There are four people in front of me. Why do so many people drink coffee on the weekends? I wonder if Hannah is watching me. I slip my phone out of my pocket and pull up the short version of the interview notes I emailed to myself, running over facts about Harvard and Hannah and how much I love playing violin in a band. Ha. If only she knew the band is in Athens right now, getting ready to play a show without me. If only she knew I was a selfish person who put my own goals before my friend’s goals. The guilt eats at my unsettled stomach.

  The line inches forward. Hannah knows I arrived on time, but I still feel like I’m messing up. I should’ve been here earlier. Like a half hour early, gotten my drink first, and then I could’ve waited patiently while she was in line. Another minute passes. Way to make an awesome impression.

  My pulse thuds in my ears. I take a breath as I finally reach the front of the line.

  “What can I get for you?” the barista asks. “Have you tried our new pumpkin hazelnut mocha latte?”

  “Uh, sure. One of those.”

  “Coming right up!”

  I pay, then step to the side and wait for my order. Shaking my head, I try to get back in the zone. Don’t throw away the opportunity I’m lucky to have. I get my pumpkin hazelnut mocha latte and walk back to Hannah. “Sorry about that.” I place the cup on the table, then inch it forward in case I knock it and it spills everywhere.

  “No worries.” She smiles and grabs a leather notebook from her purse. It reminds me of Sook’s planner, and my chest squeezes. “So,” Hannah says. “You mentioned in your email that you volunteer at an animal shelter. That’s pretty neat. What drew you to that?”

  Easy hours. Mom knows the manager.

  I pick up my drink, but it’s too hot to sip. “I wanted to give back to the community,” I answer, my words sounding painfully rehearsed. “And I like animals. It feels good helping them.”

  “I adopted my dog from a shelter,” Hannah says.

  “That’s awesome!”

  She laughs. “He’s totally tearing apart my house, but I love him. You have any pets at home?”

  “I don’t. My mom is allergic.”

  “Bummer.” Hannah nods. “Maybe you can adopt when you live on your own?”

  I smile, thinking of having a dog like Ezekiel around to cuddle. “Maybe.”

  Hannah looks at her notes again. “I also see you’re involved with your synagogue. I’m Jewish, too, if you didn’t guess by my name. Is a Jewish community something you’re looking for at college?”

  “I haven’t thought about it much,” I say truthfully. “My friend likes the Chabad at her school. Is there a Harvard Chabad?”

  “There is! I was a member and loved it.” Hannah tells me all about it, from Tuesday-night tacos and Torah to having a place to celebrate the High Holidays. It sounds nice, somewhere in a new environment where I could be totally comfortable.

  We keep talking, some of my interview anxiety easing away as Hannah tells me about some of her favorite classes and professors, restaurants I have to check out, and the countless campus organizations and activities. There’s even an orchestra nonmajors can join. “And I was on the intramural softball team,” she says. “Do you play any sports?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Well, no. I used to play soccer. But I got kind of busy with classes.”

  “There’s a heavy workload at Harvard, for sure,” Hannah says, “But a lot of students find they have more free time than in high school. You should check out the intramural team if you end up there.”

  Hannah excuses herself to the restroom, and I lean back in my seat, imagining all these possibilities. I’ve been so focused on getting into Harvard, I haven’t given much thought to what life will be like there. Already, I can see myself walking across the beautiful campus to class, attending Tacos and Torah with my fellow Jews, joining an orchestra without the dark cloud of Dr. Whitmore, playing intramural soccer and feeling the adrenaline of slamming a ball down the field.

  My grades are back up. I’m doing well now. It’s only a few months until graduation. Keep this up and my Harvard dream could be real before I know it.

  But Rachel’s face flashes through my thoughts. I chew the inside of my cheek and check my phone for messages. I have one from Dad that reads: Good luck!

  And one from Rachel that says: You got this!

  And then a couple from Malka:

  Sook forgot the flash drive with our drum tracks.

  There are agents here.

  She’s freaking out.

  We don’t have time to drive back.

  Show starts in two hours.

  I freeze. That last text was sent five minutes ago.

  Here I am, daydreaming about my perfect life at Harvard when my best friend’s dream is on the line. I put Athens into Google maps and route the directions. It’ll take ninety minutes to get there. If I leave right now, go straight to Sook’s house…

  This is it.

  Sook’s chance to get signed.

  My chance to get my best friend back.

  Hannah returns and sits down. “Now, let’s talk about—”

  “I’m so sorry,” I cut her off, then stand. I can’t believe the words leaving my mouth. “I have to go.”

  She looks concerned. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, my best friend needs help. She’s okay, but…it’s kind of hard to explain. I’m sorry.”

  “All right.” Hannah hesitates. “The interview isn’t finished. I really like you, Ariel, but I still have a few questions. We could be done in fifteen minutes. Are you sure you need to leave now?”

  I waver. Will fifteen more minutes get me into Harvard?

  Does getting in matter if I lose my best friend?

  “I’m sure,” I say, breathless. “It was really great meeting you. Thank you for telling me so much about Harvard.” I pause, again imagining what my life could be like on their campus. “I really do think I’d love it there.”

  Hannah smiles. “I’m glad to hear that, Ariel.”

  Then I’m out the door before she can say anything else.

  * * *

  “Ariel, you’re doing what?” Mom asks from speakerphone. I’m already on I-285 with Sook’s flash drive in my car. The Who blasts from the car speakers, Keith Moon hammering me down the highway. I turn the volume down.

  “I’m driving up to Athens to bring Sook her flash drive so she can play the most important gig of her life.”

  “Ariel, what?”

  “I’m driving—”

  “Turn the car around. You aren’t allowed to drive to Athens without permission. That’s almost two hours away!”

  “I know. And that’s why I can’t turn the car around. I’m running out of time to help her, and look, this is really important, okay? I promise. Epically important. And if you disagree, when I get home, you can ground me for the rest of high school, but I’m not turning the car around.”

  “Ariel, this is not okay.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Mom sighs. I can hear her thinking, giving up a bit of ground. “No texting and driving. You call me the second you get there. And never pull anything like this again. Got it?”<
br />
  “Got it,” I say. “Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

  “Wait! What happened with your interview?”

  I swallow hard. “It went great.”

  I’m trying not to think about how I might have thrown away everything. But I think this is more important. No, I know it is.

  The phone clicks off. I switch into the left lane and press down on the gas.

  * * *

  “I’ll park the car,” Amir says.

  Amir is here, standing outside my car’s passenger window.

  I blink. No, it’s not road fatigue. He’s really here. In Athens. In his Hufflepuff T-shirt. His hair is pushed back, with one errant strand falling into his eye. I’ve seen him at school, but it’s been so long since I’ve looked at him.

  “I didn’t know you’d be here,” I say.

  He scratches his stubble. “Yeah, well, Rasha’s recording a segment for the podcast and asked if I wanted to road-trip with her.”

  “Yeah…” I can’t stop staring at him and his broad shoulders and his dark eyes and his perfect lips.

  “You should probably run in. It’s four o’clock.”

  “Shit, yeah.” I jump out of the car, leaving it running. I pulled to the curb right outside the theater in downtown Athens. There are, like, a dozen square blocks of bars and restaurants with college kids everywhere, enjoying the fall weather, running from bar to restaurant and back again. One street is blocked off, and a band plays on an outdoor stage, people swaying to the music, beers in hand.

  “Huh. This place is awesome.”

  “Agreed,” Amir says. “UGA has a pretty great premed program, too. It’s moving up my list.”

  “That’s cool. So—”

  “Ariel, go!”

  “Right.” I laugh, and he does, too. My pulse skips. I miss us. “I’m going, I’m going,” I say, still grinning as I race into the venue.

  I buy a ticket, then once inside, I call Malka. She picks up right away. “Where are you?” I ask. “I’m here.”

  “Baruch Hashem. Walk toward the stage. We’ll meet you by the side door.”

  Will Sook be happy to see me? Does Sook even know she’s about to see me?