You Asked for Perfect(53)

“Yes,” I say. “Well, no. I used to play soccer. But I got kind of busy with classes.”

“There’s a heavy workload at Harvard, for sure,” Hannah says, “But a lot of students find they have more free time than in high school. You should check out the intramural team if you end up there.”

Hannah excuses herself to the restroom, and I lean back in my seat, imagining all these possibilities. I’ve been so focused on getting into Harvard, I haven’t given much thought to what life will be like there. Already, I can see myself walking across the beautiful campus to class, attending Tacos and Torah with my fellow Jews, joining an orchestra without the dark cloud of Dr. Whitmore, playing intramural soccer and feeling the adrenaline of slamming a ball down the field.

My grades are back up. I’m doing well now. It’s only a few months until graduation. Keep this up and my Harvard dream could be real before I know it.

But Rachel’s face flashes through my thoughts. I chew the inside of my cheek and check my phone for messages. I have one from Dad that reads: Good luck!

And one from Rachel that says: You got this!

And then a couple from Malka:

Sook forgot the flash drive with our drum tracks.

There are agents here.

She’s freaking out.

We don’t have time to drive back.

Show starts in two hours.

I freeze. That last text was sent five minutes ago.

Here I am, daydreaming about my perfect life at Harvard when my best friend’s dream is on the line. I put Athens into Google maps and route the directions. It’ll take ninety minutes to get there. If I leave right now, go straight to Sook’s house…

This is it.

Sook’s chance to get signed.

My chance to get my best friend back.

Hannah returns and sits down. “Now, let’s talk about—”

“I’m so sorry,” I cut her off, then stand. I can’t believe the words leaving my mouth. “I have to go.”

She looks concerned. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. No. I mean, my best friend needs help. She’s okay, but…it’s kind of hard to explain. I’m sorry.”

“All right.” Hannah hesitates. “The interview isn’t finished. I really like you, Ariel, but I still have a few questions. We could be done in fifteen minutes. Are you sure you need to leave now?”

I waver. Will fifteen more minutes get me into Harvard?

Does getting in matter if I lose my best friend?

“I’m sure,” I say, breathless. “It was really great meeting you. Thank you for telling me so much about Harvard.” I pause, again imagining what my life could be like on their campus. “I really do think I’d love it there.”

Hannah smiles. “I’m glad to hear that, Ariel.”

Then I’m out the door before she can say anything else.

*

“Ariel, you’re doing what?” Mom asks from speakerphone. I’m already on I-285 with Sook’s flash drive in my car. The Who blasts from the car speakers, Keith Moon hammering me down the highway. I turn the volume down.

“I’m driving up to Athens to bring Sook her flash drive so she can play the most important gig of her life.”

“Ariel, what?”

“I’m driving—”

“Turn the car around. You aren’t allowed to drive to Athens without permission. That’s almost two hours away!”

“I know. And that’s why I can’t turn the car around. I’m running out of time to help her, and look, this is really important, okay? I promise. Epically important. And if you disagree, when I get home, you can ground me for the rest of high school, but I’m not turning the car around.”

“Ariel, this is not okay.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Mom sighs. I can hear her thinking, giving up a bit of ground. “No texting and driving. You call me the second you get there. And never pull anything like this again. Got it?”

“Got it,” I say. “Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

“Wait! What happened with your interview?”

I swallow hard. “It went great.”

I’m trying not to think about how I might have thrown away everything. But I think this is more important. No, I know it is.

The phone clicks off. I switch into the left lane and press down on the gas.

*

“I’ll park the car,” Amir says.

Amir is here, standing outside my car’s passenger window.

I blink. No, it’s not road fatigue. He’s really here. In Athens. In his Hufflepuff T-shirt. His hair is pushed back, with one errant strand falling into his eye. I’ve seen him at school, but it’s been so long since I’ve looked at him.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I say.

He scratches his stubble. “Yeah, well, Rasha’s recording a segment for the podcast and asked if I wanted to road-trip with her.”

“Yeah…” I can’t stop staring at him and his broad shoulders and his dark eyes and his perfect lips.

“You should probably run in. It’s four o’clock.”

“Shit, yeah.” I jump out of the car, leaving it running. I pulled to the curb right outside the theater in downtown Athens. There are, like, a dozen square blocks of bars and restaurants with college kids everywhere, enjoying the fall weather, running from bar to restaurant and back again. One street is blocked off, and a band plays on an outdoor stage, people swaying to the music, beers in hand.