They Wish They Were Us(44)

“Where’s Marla?” I ask.

“Ditched lunch for a workout,” Henry says as he sets his tray down next to mine. “A distraction.”

“This is hell,” I admit.

Everyone mumbles their agreement and turns back to their food. We’re mostly silent until the bell rings.

The rest of the day is crap, too. It’s as if Mr. Beaumont purposely tries to make his achingly long lecture on Ulysses even more boring than it has to be. With only five minutes left in the class, he looks at us with pity.

“How about we just relax for now?” he asks. “Feel free to use your phones.”

Within seconds, everyone has their admissions pages and email open even though we all know we won’t hear for hours.

When I finally get home, eons later, I fly past Mom, Dad, and Jared, shut myself in my room, and lock the door. I sit on my bed, hide my phone under the pillow, and open the State admissions portal. Might as well get that over with.

I enter my info and chew on a stray cuticle as the page loads.

Congratulations! it reads as confetti rains down the browser.

My heartbeat steadies. Thank god. That bodes well.

I take a deep breath and bring up Brown’s page. My fingers are heavy as I key my login and my throat goes dry as the text comes into view.

Suddenly . . . I shriek.

It happened.

I did it.

“Are you in? Did you get in?” Dad yells from the hallway.

I choke out a response. “Yes.”

Mom throws open the door and wraps me in a hug. “Sweetie!” she yells. “It was all worth it.”

My cheeks are wet and my shoulders shake. I let her embrace me like I’m a kid again. I rest my head against her neck and she compresses me into a tight little ball. It was all worth it. My future is set. I did it.

Jared bounds down the hallway, panting. “In?” he asks.

I nod.

His smile gets wider. “Knew it.” Then he wraps his arms around Mom, Dad, and me and knocks his shoulder into mine.

Mom finally untangles us all and holds my chin in her hands. “Let’s celebrate,” she says. Her eyes are wet, too. “I made mac and cheese.”

After dinner, Mom ducks her head into the refrigerator, rummages around, and emerges with an icy green champagne bottle, wrapped in foil at the top.

“You deserve this, kiddo,” Dad says. He rests a large, steady hand on my shoulder, winks, and brings a napkin to his face. “You worked so hard for this. And after everything you’ve been through . . .” He squeezes my arm at the table and waves a hand to Mom. “You make us so proud. Four glasses! One for Jared, too. This only happens once in a lifetime.”

Jared grins. The excitement is contagious. He even volunteers to clear the plates and before we disperse, he nuzzles against my shoulder for a hug. “Did you tell Adam yet?”

“Just about to.”

He nods. “He’ll be psyched.” Jared squeezes me again and I’m overcome with adoration for my baby brother. Whatever happens with the Players, with Graham, this moment is ours.

I rush up the stairs and pull my phone out with shaking hands. I punch in Adam’s number and wait for it to ring. I try to remember everything I want to say. I want to hear all about the bad improv shows we’ll see together, the only place in Providence worth getting bagels, the chunky parka I’ll need to wear to battle the New England cold. I want to know what dorm I should live in. Do I need a car?

He picks up on the fourth ring, but I can barely hear him. A thumping Eurodance song plays in the background, drowning out my thoughts.

“Hello?” he yells. “Jill?”

“I got in,” I say, breathless. “I got in.” Even saying the words out loud feels false, like I’m dreaming.

“What?” he screams. “I can’t hear you! Text me!”

The line goes dead. He must be at some party, one that I’d be at, too, this time next year.

I text him with trembling fingers

I GOT INTO BROWN! SEE YOU NEXT YEAR!!!!!!

He responds in an instant. AAAHHHH!!!!!!!

I set my phone down and breathe deeply, inhaling and then letting it all go. Suddenly, everything around me feels so unfamiliar, like things from someone else’s past. I can see the future so clearly, I want to fast forward through the next few months and forget about Rachel and Graham and whose blood really stained his shirt after all.

But then I hear whispers behind the closet door down the hall, where Mom keeps random things like wrapping paper and extra rolls of tinfoil.

I turn my doorknob slowly, and pull it back just an inch to make out the words.

“We’re going to figure it out,” Mom says in a hushed, nervous tone.

“I just can’t make the numbers work,” Dad says, exasperated and depleted. “We won’t know if she gets money until the spring. Otherwise, she’s going to have to take out loans. She’ll get saddled with debt for decades. We can’t let that happen.”

“I mean, we can pay for some of it,” Mom whispers. “And she’s still up for one of those full-ride scholarships. When has she ever let us down?”

“I know, I know. But . . . what if she doesn’t get it?” He sounds guilty for even suggesting it.

“There’s always State,” Mom says. “Honors.”