You've Reached Sam(71)

Dear Ms. Julie Clarke,

We thank you for your interest in enrolling at Reed College. The Admissions Committee has carefully considered your application and we regret to inform you that we will not be able to offer you admission to the entering class of— My chest sinks before I finish the sentence.

It’s a rejection.

I read the letter again to see if there’s some mistake. But there isn’t.

They rejected me. Just like that? After all these months of waiting, that’s it?

I have to grab the edge of the counter to keep myself from falling. No wonder it arrived so late. I should have already known. People at school who got in found out weeks ago. How could I be so stupid? All this time, I’ve been making plans for something that was never even an option. Those essays were all a waste of time. And that stupid writing sample I’ve been working on. Why do I do this to myself? Put so much into things only to have them fall apart. I don’t know what to do. I need to talk to someone. I know I’m not supposed to do this, because our next call isn’t scheduled for a few days. But I take out my phone and call Sam anyway. It takes a long time for him to pick up. But eventually he does.

I don’t have to say anything for him to know something’s wrong. He hears it in my breathing. “Julie—what’s the matter?”

“I was rejected!”

“What do you mean? Rejected from what?”

“From Reed College! I just got the letter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am! It’s in my hand.”

Sam goes quiet for a moment. “Jules, I’m so sorry … I don’t know what to say.”

My heart races as I pace the room. “What am I supposed to do? I really thought I’d get in, Sam. I wasn’t expecting a rejection. I really thought—”

“Breathe, ” Sam says. “It’s alright. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s just one rejection from one school. Forget about Reed. It’s their loss.”

“But I really thought I would get in…”

“I know,” Sam says. “But you’re gonna be fine, okay? You don’t need Reed’s validation. No matter where you go, you’re destined to do great things. I know it.”

I clench the letter in my hand, struggling to take this in. “It all feels so pointless … All that work for nothing, you know? I don’t even know what my plans are now. Maybe I’m not as good as I think. Maybe I should just give up.”

“You’re the most talented person I know, Julie. And you’re an incredible writer. If Reed can’t recognize that, they don’t deserve you,” Sam says. “You just have—”

Static comes through the line.

“Sam—what did you say?”

More static.

“Julie?”

“Sam! Can you hear me?”

Nothing but static. And then his voice. Briefly.

“Everything’s gonna be okay…”

“Sam!”

The call ends.

I stand alone in the kitchen, trying to keep myself together. Because I don’t have time to panic. I’m already incredibly late. I still have to get to the festival. I need to go have a good time and prove to everyone, including Sam, that I’m fine, that nothing’s wrong with me, and that everything’s going to be okay, even though I don’t know if any of this is true anymore.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I’m holding back tears when I leave the house. It’ll ruin the makeup Mika did for me. And I can’t walk into the festival with mascara running down my face, bringing attention to myself. Thank god I decided against heels, because I have to run to get to the university in time. Beams from searchlights cross and uncross in the sky. I follow them until I hear the sound of a crowd, along with live music playing. It doesn’t take long to find the festival. You can’t miss it. Dozens of white tents rise from the quad, connected by strings of light. A velvet rope blocks me from getting inside.

At the entrance, a man in a gold vest asks for my ticket. I hand it to him, and gather myself as I step beyond the ropes and into a sea of brightly lit tuxedos and cocktail dresses.

I’m glad Mika made me dress up tonight. It’s like I stepped through a television screen into an award show. Red carpets run between the tents, covering the grass. Someone behind a silk-lined table smiles and hands me a schedule. I skim through it. Main films are showcased in the auditorium, but smaller student-made ones are being shown outside in some of the larger tents. I hurry down the carpet, looking left and right, until I find it— tent number 23. Based on the schedule, Tristan’s film should already be twenty minutes in. But when I enter through the slit of the canvas, the screen is off and everyone’s sitting around, chatting. When a couple guys in black shirts and headsets brush past me and I find no sign of Tristan, I figure they’re having technical difficulties. Thank goodness. I wipe my forehead and look around for a seat. The first two rows are pretty much filled up, but the rest are starkly empty. Doesn’t seem to be a large turnout.

I’m glad I came to support him then. There are maybe fifteen people in the audience. The schedule shows another film playing at the same time in the main theater. I’m guessing everyone’s there instead.

There are a few empty rows in the back. But I don’t want to appear as though I came alone. In the second to last row, there’s an older gentleman with wispy gray hair and a dark leather jacket, sitting in the middle by himself. He’s wearing tinted glasses. I find a spot near him, leaving an empty seat between us.