They Wish They Were Us(78)

“Hi,” I muster as I push past them through the door.

“Well?” Mom asks. She’s wearing a linen tunic and a big chunky necklace. Her face is warm and hopeful. She wants to talk about the test.

“We won’t know for a while,” I mumble. “You know that.”

Dad clasps his hands together behind his back. “Did they say when?” he asks.

“No.” I drop my bag with a thud in the hallway and march upstairs to my room, hoping they get the hint. I just can’t deal with their questions right now.

I shut the door, collapsing onto my bed. I stare at the stars on my ceiling and notice for the first time that they’ve faded into a pale yellow, no longer neon against the darkness. A faint knock raps on the door. “Sweetie? Can we come in for just a sec?”

I don’t answer but the door opens ever so slightly. “We just want to talk,” Dad says softly.

“Fine.” I relent. They both come to sit on the foot of my bed.

“We know you have a lot going on . . .” Mom starts to say. But that’s when I lose it. A volcano erupts in my stomach and fire rises into my throat.

I sit up. “You have no idea what’s going on,” I cry. “You have no idea how hard I’ve worked or how much pressure I’m under.” My hands start to shake like my nerves have been shocked. “I know how much you’ve sacrificed so we could be at Gold Coast and all I’m trying to do is make sure that you don’t have to sacrifice even more. I’m trying my best and it might not be good enough. You’re just going to have to deal with that, okay?” Dad shifts backward, as if I’ve shot an arrow right at him.

“Sweetie,” Mom starts. “I understand . . .”

“No,” I say. “You don’t understand. You have no idea what it’s like every day to walk in there knowing I could lose everything in a split second. And all you’ve ever wanted is for things to be better for me. For me to succeed.” Snot runs down my face now and I hate myself for digging into them like this. They’ve done nothing wrong, but I’m so mad. I’m so overwhelmed. I just need to get it all out. “It’s fucking hard!” I yell. “And I’m trying. That’s all I can do. Just . . . try.”

“Oh, Jill.” Mom raises her hand to my hair and strokes it. Dad comes to sit beside me and together they gather me up into a hug so tight I think I can’t breathe. At first I try to pull away, to free myself from their grasp. But they hold on tighter.

“I’m so sorry,” Dad whispers. “This isn’t how we wanted things to go.” He pulls away and his eyes are wet.

“We grew up so different from all of this,” Mom says, motioning outside. “Your father’s family lived paycheck to paycheck and my parents didn’t care if we ever went to school. We wanted you to have it so much better than we did.”

“But maybe it was too much,” Dad says. “We put too much pressure on you to be . . .”

“Perfect.” Mom gives me a sad smile.

Dad nods. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you.”

It sounds like a greeting card, but his words make me cry even harder. “What if I don’t get the scholarship?” My words sound soapy and wet, like bubbles ready to burst.

“So what? We’ll live.”

“But then I won’t go to Brown.” It’s a fact we all know is true.

Mom nods. “Sweetie, you already have a full ride to State’s honors program.” She smiles wide.

“You won’t be disappointed?” I say.

Dad brings me in for a hug that’s even tighter than before. “Never.”





TWENTY-ONE





“I’M OUT.”

The words sound harsher than I want them to. Final. Destructive. But I don’t regret them. Not even when Rachel’s bottom lip trembles and her eyes reflect a hint of rage.

“You’re what?” she asks.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I say. “I’m just a few weeks away from graduation. I’m trying to work things out with Nikki and . . . it’s just too much.” I shake my head and my hair swings around my shoulders. I decide to leave out the whole I was threatened by our headmaster thing.

Here in some overpriced coffee shop in Alphabet City I feel anonymous and a little emboldened. No one knows me except her. I can speak freely. Except my words are really a cop-out. Just like that night in the sauna, I’m choosing to protect myself instead of fighting for Shaila. The guilt will eat at me, but I have to remind myself this isn’t just about me. It’s about protecting Jared, too.

“So that’s it? One false lead and you’re dropping this?” Rachel leans back against the rickety wooden chair. The tiny Formica table between us wobbles, causing our lattes to seesaw back and forth in mugs the size of ice cream bowls.

“It’s not like we have any other potential suspects,” I say. But Rachel doesn’t react. “You’re not in Gold Coast every day. You don’t know what it’s been like.” Weingarten’s face appears in my brain, red and furious, wagging a gnarled finger at me.

Rachel narrows her eyes. “Explain it to me, then.”

“I’m the one who showed you the letter. Who has to deal with the fallout from Beaumont.”