Beyond the Point(10)

First and foremost—she hated the fact that her father was using West Point against her. Back in the fall, her AP history teacher, Ms. Williams, had forced her classes to fill out West Point’s initial screening form online. In the library computer lab, Avery typed out her GPA, SAT scores, list of extracurriculars, without thinking twice. But that night, the phone rang, and suddenly there was a deep-voiced man on the other end of the line, asking Avery a series of questions with military precision. When she’d placed the phone back on the stand, Avery stared at it for a long time before her mother’s quiet voice broke through the silence.

“Well?” Lonnie Adams had asked. “What was that all about?”

Avery’s parents were sitting still at the kitchen table, their forks suspended in midair. Oblivious to the phone call that had just taken place, Caleb shoveled a bite of spaghetti into his mouth.

“That was an admissions officer from West Point,” Avery had said. “They want me to apply.”

“You?” her father had grunted. He shook his head and went back to eating. “Will they let you wear your tiara while you shoot your gun?”

“West Point?” her mother repeated. “Do they even admit girls?”

The disbelief in their eyes was all it took for Avery to decide to apply. In the weeks after that phone call, Ms. Williams had helped Avery navigate the application. She explained that the U.S. Military Academy wasn’t just an athletic and academic powerhouse of a school—it was also free. Free. As in zero dollars. That fit into Avery’s framework. She didn’t want to owe her parents anything anymore. And she was smart enough to know that they didn’t have savings just lounging around in some bank account.

After some research, Avery learned that in exchange for that free education, West Point graduates committed to serve for five years as officers in the U.S. Army. But that didn’t sound like that bad of a deal. She had a cousin who’d joined the military and got stationed overseas in Italy. So, a free education and a guaranteed job after college, possibly in an exotic location? To Avery, that seemed like the deal of the century.

Almost too good to be true.

After Avery passed the Candidate Fitness Assessment—the push-ups, sit-ups, and shuttle run came easy—Ms. Williams told Avery that she needed a nomination from a congressman, a senator, or the vice president.

“Uh,” Avery had said with a laugh, “my family doesn’t know anyone in politics.”

In response, Ms. Williams set up an interview for Avery with the famed Pennsylvania senator Arlen Specter. When his nomination came in the mail, Avery started to think that she might just have a chance. On her own, she’d reached out to the women’s basketball coach, a woman named Catherine Jankovich, whose e-mail address had been listed on West Point’s athletic website. She’d mailed the coach videotape of games and practices, as requested. The coach had offered Avery a position on the team if West Point offered her admission, but Avery noticed she’d placed particular emphasis on the word if.

“Unfortunately, there’s really nothing I can do to stamp your application through,” Coach Jankovich had said over the phone. “It’s quite competitive. We’d love to have you, of course, but I can’t make any promises.”

It was just the kind of challenge that Avery lived to overcome. You say I’m not strong enough? Watch me flex. You say it’s competitive? Watch me compete.

And yet, February had nearly come and gone. A cloud formed in her chest, which distracted Avery from the tears in her eyes. Why hadn’t she heard anything from West Point?

They probably don’t want you, Avery told herself, in a voice too brutal to be her own. The voice was right, though. West Point was a reach. A long shot. Who was she to think she was special? Who was she to think she could get out of Pittsburgh? She was going to have to tell everyone that she’d been rejected, and everyone would secretly laugh, knowing she’d never had a chance all along.

She tried to ignore the voice in her head by moving faster. The harder she pushed, the more pain she felt, which released her emotions through sweat, rather than tears. It was simple math. By wrecking her body, she didn’t have to face her wrecked soul.

But her father’s words cut through the ache in her muscles, whispering like wind into her ears. He watches you. Was he right? Had Avery ruined her little brother’s life, simply by setting a bad example?

She wanted Caleb to see her do something good. Something responsible. Something important. But time was running out. And she couldn’t slow down. Not now.

Not ever.

Streetlights drew Avery westward, spilling an orange haze on bare tree limbs. She pushed to the top of the hill with long, purposeful strides, listening to her own breath: in through her nose, out through her mouth. The cold dried the sweat on her face and her slender legs flew past fences, children in white yards, and half-melted snowmen. The smell of wood-burning fireplaces filled her head as she sucked air and heaved toward the finish. She leaned forward as she passed the mailbox in front of the home at the end of the cul-de-sac. Her father was standing on the stoop, holding his stopwatch.

“Twenty-five thirty-two. So much for that six-minute mile pace.”

“I’ll get it back, Dad,” she yelled, placing her hands on her head. “I’ll get it back.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, leaving her out in the cold.