I Was Told It Would Get Easier(14)
Cassidy took a breath. “There will be a twenty-minute presentation by the admissions department, then we’ll break into two groups, parents and students, and tour the campus. That should take around forty minutes. Then we will reconvene for an early lunch and take the Metro to George Washington University. There we will have another twenty-minute presentation from their admissions folks, and another campus tour. After that you’ll be free to explore DC as you wish or join either the Ford’s Theatre tour or visit the Mall. Tonight we’re all going for dinner and dancing at El Presidente!” She seemed thrilled at the prospect, which made one of us.
“Is the cost of dinner included in the tour?” asked a mom from the back of the room, while her son tried to disappear into the floor.
“Yes, it is.” Cassidy nodded. “While each of you has your own goals for the trip, one of our goals is for you all to get to know each other, and hopefully continue to support each other through the application process.”
I admired her enthusiasm, but she must realize that, unless we were already friends, we would barely speak to each other again. In fact, all of us would spend the tour evaluating everyone else’s kids purely in terms of their competitive standing with our own children. This was the diplomatic meeting where individual countries agree on the terms of engagement and then go home and prepare to bomb the crap out of each other.
I’m sure Cassidy knows that. She must.
“And one note, before we move on: Please do not attempt to talk to the admissions people about your specific child. They are not going to remember anything, and it is their job to remain impartial and let the admissions process take its course. E3 has excellent access to the top schools, and we don’t want to get a bad reputation.” She took a deep breath. “Besides, you have to trust in the process . . . the schools work very hard to identify the right kids for their schools, and in the end everybody ends up where they’re supposed to be. I truly believe that.” She looked at us and—I’m not kidding—I think she teared up a little. I personally thought she was glossing over decades of institutional prejudice and societal privilege, but hey, I hadn’t had enough coffee to argue.
Then, as if she hadn’t just warned us not to attempt to subvert the course of true love as expressed through college admissions, Cassidy clapped her hands and told us to put our chairs in a circle.
EMILY
Listen, I’m in school, so I am a freaking expert on boredom, and this was at least an 8 on the scale. It was not a 9, because different kids and free pastries, but it was not a 7 because this chick was talking about crap I couldn’t care less about. I could be asleep, and instead I was in this weird windowless place that smelled like a locker room and my hands were sticky. I was DYING to pull out my phone—several other kids were on theirs—but Mom would not go for that. She’ll slap the phone right out of my hand if she catches me on it when someone else is talking. Mom had given me origami to do, thank god. I was going to fold a pistol and shoot myself.
I was hoping this trip would make me excited about going to college, but so far, bubkes. I wanted that November feeling, you know, when you suddenly remember the holidays are coming and your tummy gets all excited and it’s like being seven again. Sienna and Ruby already know what schools they want to go to, what they want to study, what the entrance requirements are and how they’re getting them. I don’t even know what I want for lunch.
I wonder if putting a little heart above the i in my name would be cute or not. Maybe a star. Or maybe a dagger dripping blood because, honestly, kill me now. How much longer could this possibly go on?
The girl was still smiling, but then she said we need to put the chairs in a circle and go around and introduce ourselves. This was slightly less boring but infinitely more stressful. Fan. Tastic.
JESSICA
We moved our chairs into a circle. It was like an HR training on sexism in the workplace. I bet Cassidy has a communications degree.
“Alright then,” said Cassidy, standing in the middle and turning to make sure her smile spackled us all evenly. “Let’s go around the circle, and you guys can tell me who you are and one interesting fact about yourselves.” She pointed at a random parent, across the circle from me. He was one of only two men in the group, and the better looking. He had sleepy green eyes, which was either sexy or indicative of sleepiness. Not that I was judging by appearances. The man frowned at her.
“Uh,” he said, “what sort of fact?”
Cassidy made a charming shrugging gesture and said, “Whatever you think is interesting.”
“What if there’s nothing interesting?” The parent was clearly perplexed. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, which is what I wished I were wearing. I was wearing the approved Mom uniform: nice slacks, a vaguely ethnic blouse, and a coordinating cardigan with at least 20 percent cashmere. I had the regulation small earrings, a wrist full of bangles, and a mildly interesting necklace in case someone needed a conversational gambit.
Cassidy was firm. “There must be. Or you can tell me where you went to college, if that’s easier.”
The parent made a face but nodded. “Uh, my name is Chris Berman, and this is my son, Will. I didn’t go to college, so that was an unlucky backup choice for me.”
Another pause, this time more awkward. His son sighed.