I Was Told It Would Get Easier(54)

“Dressed up as a character?”

She shook her head again. “No, rewriting their security system.”

There was a pause. Then I said, “Does Casper have any brothers and sisters?”

“Yes, a younger sister. Wendy.”

“And is she into geology, too?”

“No, not at all. She’s more normal.” She paused. “She’s into Latin.”

I studied the other woman carefully; was she actually joking now? “Isn’t Casper normal?”

Her face was still completely devoid of expression. “Well, he’s obsessively into geology, math, fractals, and cross-country running. There aren’t any other kids like him at school, so I’ve always assumed he wasn’t normal.” She paused. “In the nonjudgmental sense of the term. Not usual. Uncommon.”

I nodded. “Fair enough. Maybe he should go to Clarence Darrow, like Will. There are probably lots of kids like him there.”

“Yes, almost certainly, but then Wendy would be at a different school, and the disadvantages of two different commutes would outweigh the benefits of going to Darrow.” She smiled, finally. “We ran the numbers.”

There wasn’t a great deal I could say to that, so I turned to Lisa, who was the mother who’d danced overenthusiastically on the first night. She’d been quiet throughout this exchange, focusing on her pie and coffee. “And your son? He’s at school with Casper, right?”

“Yeah, they’re friends. They’re co-presidents of the Fibonacci Society.”

“Is that the math club?” I won’t lie, I was super proud of myself for correctly remembering who Fibonacci was. I could just as easily have asked if it was an Italian cooking club.

Lisa nodded.

“And they need to share the presidency?” I was really struggling. Did Emily’s school even have a math club? I resolved to ask later. “There’s that much to do?”

Lisa nodded. “Oh yeah. Math Olympiad is a real thing.” She lowered her voice. “Last year the team from Westminster tried to mess with our team by slipping them a printout of pi to three hundred digits with two transpositions.” She was clearly scandalized. “They couldn’t put it down until they found them.”

Jennifer nodded. “Who could?” And then she asked me, “And what’s Emily into?”

I hunted for the waitress, needing more pie. “Her phone. Her friends. Netflix.”

They were fascinated. “Oh . . . she’s normal.”

I nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Lucky.”

I thought about their brilliant children with their assured futures and tried not to be envious. “I guess so.”





16





EMILY


Back at the hotel, Mom was all bent out of shape.

“Emily,” she said from the bathroom. “Does your school have a math club?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “We came in third in the Math Olympiad last year.” I snorted. “Darrow won, naturally.”

“Do you know any of the girls on the team?”

“No, they’re seniors. There’s one junior on the team, I think. Not sure.”

I checked my phone. I’d posted pics from the dinner, and all my friends had commented. I liked all their comments, added responses, and opened the group chat. The general consensus was Will was cute and I should go for it. There was also a subthread about whether Casper was cute, in that supernerd, suddenly-cute-best-friend way you see in movies. We know a lot of boys, despite the all-girls school vibe, because we went to regular elementary and stayed friends with those boys. Sienna and Francesca both have serious boyfriends—well, as serious as you get at sixteen, which isn’t as serious as adults think, although yes, hooking up—and Ruby dates whoever she wants to. I’m not all that interested . . . At least I wasn’t. Will really is cute, and anyone who pulls out a Twix at the right moment deserves consideration.

Mom appeared from the bathroom, still dressed. “Do you belong to any clubs?” She’s stuck on the club thing, god only knows why.

“No, Mom. You know that.”

“Is there an engineering club? You could start one.”

I rolled my eyes at her, clichés be damned. “Mom, and commit social suicide? Are you out of your mind? Why don’t I start an Asperger’s Virgins Club?”

“Asperger’s isn’t funny, Emily.”

“Yes, Mom, in the context of a club, it’s funny.”

“Well, I think you should engage with school a bit more.”

She has got to be kidding. I gazed at her, exasperated. “What are you talking about? I’m taking three AP classes and the rest are honors. I’ve got SATs in three months and haven’t gone out during the week this entire year. I couldn’t be more engaged in school, and I couldn’t be more freaking miserable about it.” I flapped my hands at her and noticed a broken nail. I was falling apart.

She wasn’t hearing me. “Some of these kids have all these extracurricular activities, you don’t do any of that stuff. How’s that going to look on your college applications?”

I started to feel a bit attacked. “Mom, this is my life, remember? I have two evenings a week when I’m allowed to go out, and one full day to have fun. I have homework every evening and Sunday afternoon, so out of three hundred and sixty-five days a year, I have, like, seventy something to myself.”