I Was Told It Would Get Easier(20)

“Well, I’m not betting on it. I don’t care what you do.”

Alice said, “Really? I saw you looking at him, too. Maybe we should both try and see who wins.”

I felt myself blushing but said no pretty firmly. “He’s a person, Alice, not a prize. Did you miss all those lectures about consent?”

Alice snorted. “Oh please. You’re saying guys hate being offered sex with no strings attached?”

“You’d sleep with him to win a bet?”

“No, I’d sleep with him because this trip is a total bore and I need something to occupy my time. I don’t even know why I’m here. I’m going to USC. My dad went there, he’s on the board, and the admissions director has been to our house and has a boner for my mother. I’m so good.”

I stared at her, wondering how we’d ever been friends.

Then Alice said, “I bet you think me and my whole family are hideous, horrible people, but the thing is, Emily, everyone would do whatever they could to get ahead. I’m just being honest about it.” She shrugged. “If you don’t think your mom would blow the dean of Harvard to get you in, you’re an idiot.”

I wondered if Alice was right. Was everyone else playing the system every way they could? They seemed so nice. Will and another kid were standing nearby, laughing at something on their phones—were they hacking into the school’s mainframe to boost their chances? Were they blackmailing the admissions person? They suddenly both laughed and it seemed unlikely. I’m not naive: The process is a crapshoot; I know that. Colleges get millions of applications from kids with 4.0 GPAs and up every year, and I’ve watched enough college acceptance videos online to know that getting in is as much luck as anything else. We all put a lot of faith in the shibboleths of academic success (not sleeping through Comparative Religion, either; check that vocabulary); we’re like compulsive gamblers who wear their lucky shirt or who only place bets on even days, or brides who wear something blue. We get this grade. Take that AP class. All so our raised hand stands out and we’ll be the one pulled from the ocean. Suddenly I’m completely exhausted and turn up my palms at Alice.

“I don’t think your whole family is hideous, your little sister is really quite sweet.”

Alice laughed. She never takes offense; it’s another aspect of her character I envy. Maybe she’s a sociopath who has no human feelings whatsoever, or maybe she’s so incredibly self-confident that other people’s opinions simply roll off her beautiful plumage.

“Do you know why you and I never became real friends, Emily?” she asked, leaning close enough for me to see the sheen of highlighter on her cheekbones, the dab of lighter shadow at the inner corner of her eye.

I shrugged. The group had moved off again, and in a moment I was going to walk ahead and lose Alice. “I don’t vape? I don’t know the lyrics to rap songs? I get blackheads and dandruff like every other normal teenager?”

“Well, yes, all of those, but the biggest problem is you have no sense of humor. You take yourself so seriously.” Alice giggled. “Who the hell cares about penmanship anymore?”

I was annoyed. “I have a sense of humor, I can be fun.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Just then the tour finished, and I saw the parents group standing across the street. My mother smiled at me, as she always does when she first sees me. There she is, my heart sang, there’s my mother. Don’t tell her but seeing her makes me feel safe.

I turned to Alice. “You know why you and I never became real friends, Alice?”

Alice shrugged. “I’m too pretty?”

“No, it’s because I do take myself seriously. You think you’re here to party, and I know I’m here for something more interesting. If you want to call that having no sense of humor, then fair enough, I’m cool with it.” I pivoted to walk away. “Good luck with your project, Alice. Have fun.”

I nearly banged into Will, who, it turned out, had left the other kid behind and was apparently about to speak to me. He had his phone in his hand—either the cat video was so good he had to share, or he was offering to let me in on the hacking.

I muttered an apology, praying he hadn’t heard Alice talking about him, and pushed by to make my escape. Always so smooth, Emily.





JESSICA


So, while Emily was pretending all is normal, clearly something had happened across the street. I could tell from the way she paused to let a driver by, waving her hand impatiently, that she was upset.

“How was the tour?” I said, wanting to hear her speak a bit before deciding if I needed to dig deeper.

“It was good,” said Emily. “I liked it better than Georgetown. The lecture halls were very pretty. The dorms were nice. I like the school colors.”

Huh, that was a lot of detail. I examined her covertly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” replied Emily. “I’m tired.”

“Alright,” I said, knowing that wasn’t true. Or maybe it was true, because teenagers are permanently exhausted, but it wasn’t the whole story. I looked across the street and saw the rest of the kids approaching, so I turned and nudged her.

“Let’s go get coffee or something. We don’t have to stay with the group all the time.”