Pushing Perfect(39)

“On a school night?” I asked, in mock horror, ignoring the Stanford comment.

“You’ll survive one night without studying through dinner. See you when we get home.”

I called my dad next, then Alex. I even texted Ms. Davenport, who’d made me promise to tell her how things had gone. Everyone wanted to celebrate with me, which made me feel great, though it also made me want to call Becca. She’d seen me through the disastrous PSAT sophomore year, and she would understand exactly what this meant to me in a way Alex and Raj never could. But I couldn’t call her.

Dinner with my parents that night was actually kind of fun, at least until they started getting all excited about Stanford and reminiscing about their time there, how they’d met, what all their friends were doing now.

“You realize I’m applying to more schools than just Stanford, right?” I said.

“Of course,” Mom said. “You need a backup plan. Berkeley, maybe UC Davis, just in case?”

“She doesn’t have to live in our backyard,” Dad said.

Finally, I thought. He understands.

“Los Angeles isn’t so far. UCLA is always an option.”

Or not. This was as good a time to bring it up as any, given what a good mood everyone was in. “I was thinking about applying to some East Coast schools,” I said.

“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” Mom said. “You’d be so far away. And you’ve never had to deal with that kind of weather. You’d miss the sun.”

As if she knew better than I would what I’d like. I hated that she’d even assume it. I was actually kind of excited about the idea of winter; I’d only seen snow in Tahoe, and it wasn’t the same. California was so bland with its near lack of seasons. “There are some really great schools out there. And it’s not like I couldn’t come home and visit.”

“It will be harder than you think,” Mom said. “It’s not like you could just come home for the weekend and do laundry.”

“I can do my own laundry.”

“And the time difference—we’d have trouble finding time to talk.”

I was tempted to point out how little we talked even with me living here, given how much time the two of them spent at work, but I didn’t want to make them mad.

“Well, you do what you have to,” Dad said. “As long as it’s not Harvard!” He said it jokingly, but I had a feeling he was serious.

“What’s wrong with Harvard?” I asked, though I knew the answer. I’d been hearing them complain about it for years. “It has one of the best math programs in the country.”

Dad shook his head. “Listen, I’m not saying it isn’t a great school. But you have to understand its reputation out here. It’s one thing to go off to college someplace far, but there are so many jobs out here for someone with your skills, and if you want to come back, that degree comes with a lot of baggage. People here just don’t respect it the way they do out east. And Stanford grads are very loyal—they’d be skeptical that you chose Harvard over Stanford, especially since you’re from here and both of us are alums.”

“Besides, we were so happy there,” Mom said. “We just want you to be as happy as we were.”

“Just because something made you happy doesn’t mean it will work for me,” I said.

“You’ve got a little time to think about this,” Dad said. “How about we have our nice dinner and talk about it more later, when we’re done celebrating your wonderful accomplishment?”

My wonderful accomplishment that required taking illegal drugs and had led to me getting blackmailed? Sure. I almost laughed at the thought of telling them, but then I felt kind of sick. It wasn’t funny; it was awful. But I didn’t want them to know that. Maybe I could avoid dealing with this for a while. Maybe Blocked Sender would leave me alone.

“Let’s get dessert,” I said.





15.


I woke Saturday morning to the sound of the doorbell ringing. “Kara, it’s for you,” Mom called out.

I hadn’t even gotten out of bed, let alone started SCAM. “Give me a minute!” I yelled back. It was probably Alex; I’d texted her last night that I’d be home today, and we’d talked about hanging out. I threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, ran into the bathroom, and got ready as fast as I possibly could.

But when I came downstairs, it wasn’t Alex hanging out in the kitchen with my mom, drinking coffee and chatting. It was Raj.

“What are you doing here?” I blurted out, before I had a chance to think about it.

“Kara, that’s not how we greet company,” Mom said. “I’ve been enjoying getting a chance to meet one of your new friends.”

Did that mean Raj was my friend again? “I thought you might want to go talk,” he said.

“Uh, sure,” I said. “Let me get my coat.” I ran back upstairs and put on a jacket.

Raj was waiting by the door when I got downstairs. “I didn’t know you had a car,” I said, for lack of anything better to say.

“I borrowed one from my parents,” he said, clicking the remote so the doors unlocked. The car was gray and bland and very adult, nothing I’d imagine Raj would pick out for himself. He went around to my side and opened the door for me. It was such a nice, unexpected moment of chivalry that I almost wanted to cry. Who did that? Especially someone who was mad at you?