Small Admissions Page 13

  As my mother always says, “Everything happens for a reason,” and I think she is so right about that. Because of the storm, we had to fix the house, and guess what—now our house is even better than it was before! And because of the burglars, the insurance company replaced all the items that were stolen, and we got a brand-new computer with a huge screen. I learned many valuable lessons from my experience of Hurricane Sandy: I learned that good things can come out of a bad situation. I also learned that I should never let the actions of bad people destroy my life plans or make me change what I want to do. I have learned that it is important to be strong, to know what I want and who I am, and to always remember what matters the most to me.

  Sitting at her desk that afternoon, Kate resisted the strong urge she felt to light the piece of paper on fire. She wasn’t egotistical enough to think that this revolting essay was some kind of masked message being directed at her specifically, but she was disgusted by its preachy, judgmental quality and didn’t appreciate getting life lessons from a spoiled brat.

  Kate had already learned plenty of lessons from the shit storm she had lived through. It took a while because she hadn’t wanted to examine her own role in the fiasco; it was easier to be a victim and put all the blame on Robert, leave herself out of it. But recently when she looked back, she was starting to see things differently. She had begun asking herself sticky questions about her own behavior, acknowledging things she did that now seemed suspect and worth contemplation, and she came to realize that neither France nor Robert had ever been the problem. The problem was that she’d given in to a romantic delusion. She’d created and become committed to a new image of herself. She imagined walking down a cobblestone street, pushing a bicycle with a wicker basket on the handlebars, a basket that held a bottle of French wine and a bouquet of wildflowers. She was a breezy, sociable girl who didn’t carry a lumpy backpack full of textbooks that weighed her down. She wore cute A-line skirts and sandals that she bought on vacation in Italy or Spain because that’s the thing about living in Europe—you can fly anywhere in an hour. She had money, somehow, and she answered the phone in French. She hosted dinner parties and walked lightly on her feet. Kate had been hijacked by a fictional version of herself: a girl who didn’t take it all so seriously, a girl who was experiencing life instead of studying it, a girl who ran away. The scariest part of all was that she bought this bullshit fantasy so completely, that when the possibility of it was taken away, she had no idea who she was anymore.

  She put Annie’s essay in the folder and sat back in her chair, looking around her office, hearing Maureen’s and Henry’s voices as they talked to each other next door. Things were good here, where she’d ended up. She had struggled for sure, but she was overcoming it. She felt like she was seeing things clearly and realistically, like she recognized herself again. Perhaps hers was a case in which something good actually had come out of a bad situation.

  Recently she had searched through the shoebox that contained all the mail her parents had sent her to find a postcard she’d received soon after she moved into her sublet. It was a picture of a nineteenth-century fashion plate, showing a fancy woman cinched into a painfully tight corset. On the reverse side her mother had written the words:

  Hello Poppet! Instruments of torture on display at the Vic & Al in London. How is it that one person winds up caged in a crinoline while another ambles about in a loose leather loincloth? I wonder how it feels to be fastened into rigid whalebone undergarments. As Margaret Atwood said, “You fit into me / like a hook into an eye / a fish hook / an open eye.” I wear my elastic-waist skirt with pride today! Celebrate being yourself. Toodle-oo!—Mum

  Kate was being herself, and it felt right. Not that her life was perfect or easy. She was working long hours and didn’t get home until late in the evenings, dragging her computer and a bag of groceries with her. Sadly, she had heard from her crotchety downstairs neighbor that Stella, her ward and companion, had been missing her.

  “She has an incredibly powerful yowl for such a small animal,” he’d said. “It is a cat, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help it that I’m not home to entertain her.”

  “No, it’s okay. I just wanted to suggest that I check in on her when I get home from work. On the nights that you’re working late.”

  “What do you mean?” she’d asked.

  “I could keep her quiet.”

  “Wouldn’t that mean I’d have to give you a key?”

  “Umm, I guess.”

  “Jonathan, right?”

  “You still don’t know my name?”

  “Is it Jonathan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I do know your name. But I don’t know you well enough to give you a key to my apartment.”

  “Sure. Okay.”

  “You understand.”

  “Hey, it was just a thought. Trying to calm down the creature with the nuclear, ear-splitting meow. Sounded like she could use a friend.”

  After that Kate felt guilty about Stella being lonely. And guilty about Chloe, whom she was also neglecting. Chloe always managed to make sure Kate knew she was thinking of her, and Kate never reciprocated, something she hoped to remedy someday soon. No guilt about Angela because she demanded contact, usually in the form of her noon phone calls. And Vicki? Not so much guilt about her, either. Vicki was becoming one of those friends who says, “Oh, I’ve been meaning to call you, meaning to write you, meaning to see you,” but she never did. But with Chloe it was truly a matter of finding the time when there simply wasn’t any, which was too bad because she was deserving of a lot more attention than Kate gave her.

  Kate picked up the phone to call her, just as Henry came to her door.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Sure,” she said, putting the phone back down. “Is Maureen coming?”

  “She said—what did she say?—she’d rather be waterboarded with cat pee than spend an evening having dinner with us.”

  “Nice,” Kate said, closing her laptop and getting her coat.

  “We can cover a lot of ground tonight,” he said. “Test results, financial aid distribution, and file-reading procedures.”

  “And I’m missing all the fun,” Maureen called from her office.

  “You can still come,” Henry said back.

  “Going home,” she said. “My feet feel like baked potatoes.”

  “It’s just you and me, then,” Henry said, making a gallant gesture with his arm to allow Kate to walk out ahead of him. “This is good. We should make this a regular thing.”

  To: Kate Pearson

  From: Sherman Gregson

  Re: Hello there and news about the Ass. Cult. Anth. Conf.

  * * *

  Salutations from your NYU compadre! How are you? I hear thou farest well. Please allow me to share from whence that happy information came to my possession: I went to the ACAC in Berlin last week, which was thrilling. The department had nary a farthing for my expenses, so I paid for the pilgrimage out of mine own pocket, but I assure you, it was well worth it. The best part of all: I had the opportunity to attend your father’s electrifying keynote speech on the history-slash-Grund of the exclusion of females in yopo snuff practices among the Yanomami. He was extraordinary!—and you should have seen the response he got from the muy multinational audience. A god hath spoken.

  And here cometh my confession, Kate: I took the liberty of telling your illustrious parents that I know you so that I could get a moment of their time—I truly hope you won’t take offense at that. I was starstruck and desperate to connect with them, and it worked—your parents not only met me; they actually took me out to dine in a restaurant, with a menu and courses and wine, AND—hold on to your headgear—they offered to read my latest paper: “Stable Isotopes, Unstable Diets,” an SEM micrograph analysis of dental microwear, tooth enamel surface complexity, and masticatory robustness supporting a mixed diet (C3 and C4) in early hominins. I am dizzy with excitement.

  But I
am worried that you’ll now think me a major Machiavellian a-hole. Prithee, be honest—was this in poor taste, Kate? Anyway, I’m writing to thank you for the connection, and I hope you don’t mind that I “used” you thus.

  Drs. Watts and Pearson tell me you’re back in ye olde Mannahatta. I had assumed you were still living the gay life in Paris. I sure would love to hear from you, to find out what you’re up to, how you’re doing. Maybe meet for coffee? I think about you often—so much of what happened in the lab with our supportive, sympathetic mentor Dr. Greene (note sarcasm! haha, speaking of a-holes) seemed wrong to me, and I guess I’ll always feel frustrated that things went the way they did. I’m not meaning to bring up something that’s unpleasant for you, but I always wonder if maybe there was more I could have done. Not that you needed my help. I just don’t understand what happened. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. And entertaining, too. I’ll never forget the laughs we used to have, talking about anything and everything—like that time we imbibed a pint of ale, and you explained to me that some people keep a list of aspirational sex partners, in the event that an improbable opportunity should arise (no pun intended, upon my word!). Is John Oliver still your #1? I have invested a lot of time fine-tuning my list and will reveal to you my current roster: Mindy Kaling has taken the honoured top spot, replacing physicist Lisa Randall, who moves into the number 2 position, followed by numero 3 (you said I could take liberties with time), the lovely Jean Simmons in the role of Ophelia (1948). Sticking with your suggestion that I name only people who are truly out of my (nay, any mortal’s) league, I removed that lab technician I told you about because although she hasn’t shown any interest in me specifically, she has slept with over half the people in the department, which makes me think she isn’t what you defined as “aspirational.”

  Dost thou remember Lakshmi? She sends greetings. We were both asserting recently that the lab (or “graveyard” as you often called it) was much more fun when you were toiling there alongside us. The biggest change since you took your leave of us is that Prof. Greene is away on sabbatical promoting his new book. He is hoping to reach a more general audience in order to generate interest in the work we do. In the meantime, I’m finishing up my dissertation and entering the job market, which will be a bit tricky without the guidance of said mentor, not that he ever gives me the time of day, but alas. If everything goes really well, I could land a sweet, tenure-track position at the Univ of KS, aka KU. Have you ever been to Lawrence? Do you think I’d be happy there?

  I’d love to hear from you. You were always so nice, and I, for one, appreciated it because, in case you didn’t pick up on this, I don’t always have great success when conversing with the ladies. I’ve missed your friendship. And I hope you never underestimate yourself because I think the world of you.

  Thine evermore, whilst this machine is to him,

  Sherman

  December

  An Evite came:

  * * *

  Please come to an Open House Holiday Cookie Exchange With The Upton-Pearsons

  December 8

  2:00 until 6:00

  Bring the kids and a dozen cookies along with the recipe.

  Merry, Merry!

  Angela, Doug, and Emily

  * * *

  I happen to be very good at baking cookies, and I’m the only person I know who likes to hang out with children at a party. It crossed my mind that this might be a perfect moment to come clean with everyone about my new roommate. I liked the idea of a coming-out party for George, but I couldn’t for the life of me understand why Angela had invited me. And then I realized that the invitation had been forwarded from Vicki.

  I texted her: What’s the deal? I wasn’t invited, was I?

  Hours later she texted me back: Just come anyway! It’s casual, and I’m sure Angela won’t mind.

  “We’re not going,” I told George, climbing into bed with him. He was wearing a wool hat and long underwear. Our heat didn’t work at all, so I got as close as I could.

  “Why not? I thought I could finally meet your friends.”

  “Angela’s not my friend. You can meet Kate some other time. And Vicki, too, although you may fall in love with her.”

  “Why will I fall in love with Vicki?”

  “Everyone does. But she’s going by Victoria now, so don’t call her Vicki or you may put her off.”

  “You call her Vicki.”

  “I’m not trying to sleep with her.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “I don’t get why Vicki would try to get me to go to someone else’s party. It’s weird, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know her, so it’s hard to say. Are you going to tell Kate about the veterinarian you broke up with?” George asked.

  “The veterinarian’s a better fit for me actually. I could get used to an old farmhouse. A barn? Rescue llamas? Acres?”

  “If there’s a llama in need of rescue, you would be the one to take him in.”

  “You think?”

  “Knowing you,” he said, “you’d be outdoors feeding all the wildlife, and making them get along with each other so they can share a trough.”

  “I wouldn’t want conflict on my acres.”

  “And you would make them all presents for their birthdays.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Are you running off with the veterinarian?” George asked. “Or can I come to the farm with you?”

  “You’re definitely coming with me,” I told him.

  The next morning I baked four dozen chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. Who needs a stupid party anyway?

  Applicant: Claudia Gutierrez

  Date: December 14

  Interviewed by Kate

  Claudia is a funny, bright, sensitive, wonderful girl applying to 7th—She is terrific! I liked her right away. She was entirely present in her conversation with me—clearly knows what she wants in a school, has numerous interests (a science girl, biology in particular) and great curiosity. The time flew—we talked about school, friends, and life in general. She’s a very mature, motivated young lady, and she thinks she wants to be a doctor when she grows up.

  This sweet girl was bullied last year, but she has an amazing upbeat, optimistic attitude. The bully did NOT get the best of her. We could all learn something from Claudia. She said, “There will always be a few mean kids out there, and one thing I learned is how important it is to make friends with the nice ones.” So true! Claudia struck me as such a perceptive young woman that I presented her with a hypothetical scenario, just to get her take on it.

  Let’s say—hypothetically—a girl was invited to her sister’s holiday cookie party. She shows up about halfway through the party and finds out there was an incident earlier that got ugly. Doug, a member of the family, is on the couch with an ice pack on his nose and a bag of frozen peas on his balls. Her sister is eating cookies and raving, and the party guests look at the girl like she’s got explosives strapped on her back.

  “What’s going on?” the girl asks.

  Her sister tells her that a friend, whom we’ll call “Vicki,” showed up at the party with the biggest bully of all time, a boy who once did something really mean to the girl.

  “He was here? With Vicki?” the girl asks. “Why? And what happened to Doug?”

  “Doug threw him out,” the girl’s sister explains. “He didn’t want him here.”

  The questions I posed: What would make someone bring a known bully to a party? Is Vicki a friend or not? WWCD?

  Claudia is thoughtful and says, “Don’t jump to any conclusions. It’s like when you read a novel, and you need to find out a character’s motivations.” So true, and nice metaphor, by the way! This girl is only eleven, and she knows how to handle cookie party drama better than I do. Her message was: “I would be direct and confront my friend. Ask her why she brought the bully to the party, why the bully wanted to come, and why they were together in the first place. Rather than speculate, just ask her.”


  Claudia talked about how she learned that some friends aren’t good for you. She said that a person who treats another person badly isn’t a person that that person should want in the person’s life. (She said it better than that.) She also said, “That guy Doug? He’s one of the good guys.”

  Claudia and I had such an interesting conversation, talking about the people in her life, the friends she can count on and the ones who are cruel or just plain stupid. Claudia has her head on straight.

  I met with Claudia’s mother who is a real-life superwoman. She works two jobs and is raising Claudia all on her own since her husband died (cancer, something Claudia didn’t talk about). She wants her daughter to go to a school that will challenge her, and she noted that Claudia, like Hudson itself, is neat and orderly. She keeps her room spotless and her backpack organized. She color-codes everything and loves nothing more than making flash cards. She and Claudia both like the idea of a school with a uniform because it would help mask glaring socioeconomic differences that are so obvious among kids when they are free to choose their own clothes.

  All in all this was a wonderful interview with a smart, sweet, and conscientious girl. Did I mention she plays violin? Her troubles contributed heavily to the minor academic struggles she had there (mostly As but a few Bs). But believe me—Claudia would be a superstar here, academically and in every other way. She will need financial support (like the whole thing), and we should give it to her. I love this girl! Yes! Yes!