Small Admissions Page 16

  “That’s definitely what happened. Definitely something like that. I knew you’d understand. I wondered if you could put a note in his file, a note explaining that the scores aren’t accurate. Or even valid.”

  “I’d be happy to put a note in saying you’re concerned about them.”

  There was a pause and Kate heard Silvia exhaling hard. “I’m not concerned about them,” she said firmly. “Why would I be concerned? We just established that the scores are wrong.”

  “Well,” Kate said, reading from her notes, “in this situation, in addition to contacting the testing company, some people—just to consider all possibilities—some parents take their child to an educational psychologist to get further testing, to rule out any sort of issue, learning issue, I mean.”

  “Are you saying you think Dillon’s retarded or something?”

  “Excuse me? Not at all.”

  “You wouldn’t write off a kid over some stupid test,” she said. “These scores are some kind of mistake. Besides, don’t you read the newspaper? Standardized testing is meaningless anyway. Top universities are moving away from the SATs entirely.”

  “If the scores aren’t in sync with what you believe are Dillon’s abilities—”

  “What I believe are his abilities?” Silvia asked. “I think I know my child’s abilities.”

  “—with what you’ve observed,” Kate clarified, “with how he does in school . . . then one option is a comprehensive evaluation. It could give us a better picture—”

  “I don’t believe this. I don’t want more testing. I just want you to waive the scores. They’re wrong—throw them out. Why is this a problem?”

  Kate didn’t say anything for a moment. She tried to imagine how hard it would be to receive your kid’s scores and have them be that low. Terribly disappointing. And would you be disappointed in the scores or the child? Both probably. Or neither if you were Mrs. Blake, who was clearly in deep denial.

  “You’ll have recommendations,” she was saying. “You’ll have grades, you’ll have all kinds of information on which to base your decision. You won’t need some inaccurate, idiotic test score.”

  “We look at everything very thoroughly,” Kate said, trying to sound reassuring, “and we discuss—”

  “And as for this test,” Silvia interrupted, “let me explain this to you clearly for the record: these numbers don’t mean anything in Dillon’s case. They’re wrong. My son is terrific. People love him. He plays soccer like a pro and guitar like a rock star. And he’s tall.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say ‘tall’?”

  “He’s tall for his age.”

  Kate was stumped. “We can’t really take his height into consideration,” she said.

  “It gets you somewhere in life. People respect a man who’s tall.”

  “But wouldn’t that imply that we would reject a student for being short?”

  “That makes more sense than judging my son on some ridiculous fill-in-the-bubble test.”

  “I assure you, Mrs. Blake, as you said, the test is only one factor, it’s just one part of the application, and we carefully review the whole folder . . .” she said, trying to calm her.

  “I’ve heard enough,” she said suddenly. “I want to talk to someone in charge over there. Transfer me to Henry Bigley.”

  “Of course,” Kate sighed. “My pleasure,” and she transferred the call.

  Passing the call to Henry felt like failure. She hadn’t handled it on her own, she’d made a parent angry, she’d screwed up, just when she’d thought she was getting the hang of things. She thought about going into Henry’s office to sit with him during the call, but then that seemed weird, like she’d be eavesdropping or invading his privacy.

  Her phone rang again.

  “Hey.” It was Angela, making a noon check-in call.

  “Hey.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Meh.”

  “You okay?”

  “Medium,” Kate said. “This job is hard.”

  “Just do your work and be professional.”

  “Duh. That’s not even helpful.”

  “And don’t have dinner with your boss again. Honestly, Kate. You know better.”

  “It was for work. I learned a lot actually.”

  “Don’t be naïve. It’s unattractive at your age. Clear boundaries. Please don’t make me feel bad for introducing you to him.”

  “Give me a little credit, would you? How are you feeling?”

  “Like God’s joke on women. Girthy.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Rotund. Doug made a joke about how I weigh more than he does, but it wasn’t funny because it’s true. I actually do. Did you get a chance to call my friend Nancy?”

  “Not yet,” Kate said, adding that to her to-do list.

  “Please call her. She’s not asking for special treatment or anything. She just wants a chance to say hello.”

  “I will.”

  “Did you ever talk to Vicki?”

  “No. I don’t want to, and honestly I can’t be bothered right now.”

  “Just so you know—as stupid as that was—I think she was trying to help you put the whole thing behind you. You know? Forgive and forget?”

  “Then she should have asked me first,” Kate said firmly, “because I could have told her I look forward not back. I’ve already put it behind me. I don’t think about him, and I don’t need any more closure than I already have.”

  “Really, Kate?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “You sound tired,” Angela said, “but you sort of sound good. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s exactly how I feel.”

  “Me, too,” Angela said. “So no more dinners with your boss, right?”

  “Angela, stop.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  They hung up, and Kate stuffed another chocolate in her mouth, just as Henry came to the office, looking grim. “Not an easy family,” he said.

  For a second, Kate thought he was talking about her sister until she caught on. “I’m so sorry about Mrs. Blake. Everything I said to her pissed her off. I wasn’t sure how to handle it.”

  Henry shrugged. “You told her we don’t waive scores.”

  “We don’t, right?”

  “Nope.”

  “Will she get Dillon tested?”

  “Probably not. She’s convinced there was something wrong with the test or the scanner. She’ll make a call to the company, and they can take it from there.”

  “She sounded off to me.”

  “Off?”

  “I feel bad for her.”

  “Don’t, Kate. Let it go. It’s not your fault that she doesn’t want to accept that her son is so unbelievably dumb he needs to be watered. Can I have one of those?” he asked, pointing to the chocolates. “Poor kid is dumber than, what did Maureen say? Dumber than an empty box of hair. How about dinner again next Thursday? We can discuss what’s going to happen in committee meetings next month.”

  Kate passed him the chocolates. Henry studied them closely, sniffed the box, and then handed them back. “Pat’s got me off sweets,” he said sadly.

  “I’m on sweets,” Maureen said, walking in and reaching for the box. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Annie Allsworth’s grades and recs just came in—she’s practically perfect.”

  “Damn!” Kate said. “I knew it.”

  “Who?” Henry asked.

  “The girl Kate interviewed with the bulbous forehead, remember? The girl who looks like Worf from Star Trek? I call her Little Worfan Annie,” Maureen said. “She’s got a hideous, billboard-sized expanse up there. It’s like the obstetrician pulled her out with a toilet plunger.” She was using her hands to illustrate and then dropped them, staring at Kate. “What’s the matter with her?” she asked Henry. “She’s all sweaty.”

  “Dillon’s mom called and gave her a hard time,” Henry said.

  “Dillon?�
��

  “You know,” Kate reminded her. “Dillon Blake, soccer player.”

  “Who?”

  “Remember?” Kate asked. “The parents wrote in their statement that he would make an excellent politician because of his ‘outstanding people skills.’ ”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” Maureen said.

  “Yes, you remember Dillon,” Henry said. “Shockingly low ISEEs. Dumber than a loaf of bread?”

  “Oh, you mean Dillon?” Maureen asked. “Dillon who wrote the essay?”

  “Yes,” Henry said. “That’s the one.”

  “You’ve just insulted bread everywhere. Dillon’s dumber than drywall.” She looked down at Kate and waggled her finger in her face. “Don’t take any of this to heart, Nellie,” she said, “or you won’t be able to stand it.” She walked out of the office.

  “ ‘Nellie’?” Kate asked. “What’s with ‘Nellie’?”

  Henry shrugged. “I have a spot on my tie,” he said suddenly, looking down at it. “Is it noticeable?”

  “Not really,” Kate lied.

  “Guess I over-margarined my bran muffin this morning,” and he walked out whistling.

  Letter of Recommendation: Claudia Gutierrez, applicant to grade 7

  It gives me such pleasure to write on behalf of my wonderful student Claudia. When she asked me if I would be willing to do this for her, I assured her yes! It would be an honor. She then apologized if doing the task would take any time away that I might spend with my children. That is Claudia: modest, conscientious, and thoughtful of the needs of others. In all my years of teaching, I have never known a student to have such an innate concern for those around her.

  I am well aware of Hudson’s reputation as a tough, academic, and (may I say?) competitive school. Claudia is exactly what you need. While she is motivated to do her best and learn all that she can, she will stop to help a friend who falls behind. She is the quintessential community member. And more to the point: she is just plain smart. She will rise to the challenge of any work you put in front of her. She reads with the attention to detail I would expect of a college student. She thinks way outside of her own experiences. From playing a violin sonata to writing poetry, she pours her heart into every creative pursuit. She is well rounded and gifted. As corny as it may sound, I will say unapologetically: this girl is destined to do wonderful things.

  Her personal life has not been easy, as you may have learned from reading her folder. Losing her father after a long illness was devastating, but she has managed to focus on her schoolwork and move forward. She was treated badly by some insensitive children at our school, and she handled it with grace and dignity. She was an example to us all.

  If I had to come up with a weakness for Claudia, I would say that she doesn’t give herself enough time to “play”; she uses her time almost too productively. However, given the demands of Hudson, I assume that would be an asset.

  Please do not hesitate to contact me if there is anything I can do to help move her application forward and into your accept pile. Nothing would make me happier than seeing Claudia get what she has earned—a spot in a top-notch school. I’m aware that financial aid is limited, but I hope you will strongly consider awarding her as much as the family needs to attend.

  Sincerely,

  Elizabeth Fontain

  6th grade English teacher and advisor

  As soon as her 11:00 couple walked in for their appointment, Dr. Richards could feel the hostility. Nancy and Sam Smith were a lost cause, and Dr. Richards—if she were to be honest—wished she could coax them as quickly as possible toward a somewhat amicable divorce. The idea of counseling these narcissists for even another month was enough to make her want to quit the profession.

  Sam arrived first, which was a surprise, and sat on the sofa, scrolling through messages on his phone and grumbling loudly to show that he’d rather be anywhere else. Nancy marched in five minutes later and refused her usual spot on the couch, opting instead for a straight-back chair closer to the door.

  “So you had your first interview?” Dr. Richards asked. “How did it go?”

  “How did it go?” Nancy fumed, still wearing her coat. “How did it go? Ha!”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Sam said, dismissing her as he always did.

  “How can you . . . ‘Wasn’t that bad’? It was a complete disaster. And after all the strings I pulled? We had an interview at Hudson Day with the head of admissions, and you blew it. It was so embarrassing.”

  “Gus thought it went well.”

  “What the hell does Gus know?” Nancy yelled, saying his name like it was a bad word. “He wore pink socks to his interview.”

  Just get them to give up, thought Dr. Richards. Put this marriage out of its misery and move on to custody counseling. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” she began. “Can you both recall what happened? What you each said?”

  Nancy and Sam looked at each other.

  “Yes, I remember perfectly,” Nancy said, spitting a bit on the “p.”

  “Well, why don’t we go over it in detail,” Dr. Richards suggested. “How did Sam disappoint you this time, Nancy? And Sam, how did Nancy’s need to control you cause the interview to go so badly?” These were poorly worded questions, but Dr. Richards wanted to get the blame game going. She’d had enough of these people already. “Sam, if you could put your phone away for just a moment, I have an exercise I’d like you to try.”

  “I don’t have all day,” Sam said.

  “This might be productive,” Dr. Richards lied. “I want you to reenact the interview for me, just show me what happened at Hudson Day, and let’s try to pinpoint exactly what went wrong.”

  “Act out the interview?” Nancy asked.

  “As faithfully as you can,” Dr. Richards said, standing up. She clasped her hands in front of her, cleared her throat, and said in her most professional voice, “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

  “He was a guy,” Sam said. “Mr. Bigster.”

  “Bigsby,” Nancy corrected. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Just pretend I’m Mr. Bigsby, then,” Dr. Richards said. “Now won’t you sit down? And let’s talk about Gus.”

  Sam rolled his eyes; he clearly thought the idea of playacting was childish and beneath him. Nancy, however, removed her coat, pushed up her sleeves, and came over to take her place next to Sam on the sofa. She reached over to hold his hand, looking as though she were hoping to get an A+ for her performance.

  “Let’s begin,” Dr. Richards said.

  “I’m sure I speak for both of us,” Nancy said, with a fake politician’s smile, “when I say how happy we are to be here.”

  Sam sat forward suddenly, as if—though annoyed—he didn’t want to be outdone; he was competitive above all else. “You’re saying just like it happened in the real interview? That’s what you want to see?”

  “Is there a problem?” Dr. Richards asked.

  “No, no problem. I just don’t think she’s going to do it like it really was. No way she’s going to be honest.”

  “I most certainly am,” Nancy snapped. “Now I go: Blah blah blah . . . We’re so pleased to learn more about Hudson. We both think it’s extremely important—”

  “Yes—” Sam started.

  “We both feel it’s so important to—”

  “I canceled a meeting to be here,” he interrupted.

  “—to help you get to know our little Gus—”

  “Three men to see me from Qatar—”

  “And he canceled,” Nancy said.

  “I just told them, ‘No. I’m sorry. My son’s education is more important to me than some meeting.’ ”

  “To both of us,” Nancy added.

  “And I sent them packing. All the way from Qatar.”

  “He canceled the whole thing.”

  “Well, I rescheduled really—”

  “He prioritized.”

  “—until later this afternoon. I mean, Qatar. You can’t exactly send them
back, now, can you?”

  Nancy turned on Sam abruptly. “I don’t know why you felt a need to go on and on about that.”

  “What?”

  “I’d already made the point that we were putting Gus first. Then you went off on your whole stupid Qatar thing. Who cares?”

  “I thought it was worth mentioning. It didn’t hurt anything.”

  “You make everything about you.”

  “Of course I do,” Sam said, “and so do you, and so does everybody else. It’s called having a conversation.”

  Oh yes, Dr. Richards thought. “Interesting,” she said. “Let’s keep going.”

  Nancy gave Sam’s hand a little squeeze. “We feel that Gus would be perfect for Hudson.”

  “He’s quite a kid,” Sam said unenthusiastically. “He’s something else.”

  “Very bright.”

  “Gus is sort of . . . what?”

  “Adorable.”

  Sam shrugged.

  “I’m a full-time stay-at-home mom, very devoted to my son. I’ve done my best to raise him well, teach him good values.”

  “So have I,” Sam said. “I’ve always tried to impress upon Gus the importance of discipline. And hard work.”

  “Yes, we both—”

  “I’ve always worked hard at what I do. I mean I sweat at what I do.”

  “Well . . .”

  “What?” Sam asked. “I don’t work hard?” He turned to Dr. Richards. “Do you see how she undermines me?”

  “No, you do work hard,” Nancy explained. “Of course you do. It’s just that, you said ‘sweat,’ and I didn’t want to give the guy the impression that you, you know, that we’re one of those ‘hardworking and we need a scholarship’ kind of families.”

  “Oh, God no,” Sam said. “I don’t work that hard.”

  “We can pay.”

  “Obviously. Full tuition, all the way. Hell, we could throw in something extra. I mean, nothing about us says ‘scholarship.’ ”

  “You’ll love Gus,” Nancy said, getting back to the reenactment. “He’s great. Smart as a whip. Things come very easily for him.”

  Sam looked irritated. “Sure, except for when they don’t.”