Authors: Katie Klein
“And, you kno
w, if others want to help
we won’t
turn anyone away,” Sarah teases
.
“Of course we’ll help,” Mom says
. “And if there’s nothing for me to do I’m always happy to w
atch my baby boy,” she continues
, reaching out to take Joshua.
Daniel pulls
a key out of his leather wallet
and unlocks
the front door. T
he house could use some work. The porc
h needs bracing; it sags
slightly in th
e middle. The screen door needs
repla
cing, and the entire exterior i
s in desperate need of
fresh paint. The current coat i
s chipped and peeling, leaving the distressed, gray wood
showing in many places. What isn’t flaking has
turned a dingy, spotted brown.
“The good news is
the last owners installed a central h
eat and air system,” Daniel says as we walk
inside. “That was the only thing we were really concerned about.”
The six of us walk
around, assessing the floors, peering out the windows
,
taking in the two, small bedrooms
and the bathroom, which boasts
hideous, avocado subway tiles.
“Hey
,
Sarah,” I say
. “Nineteen-seventy
called. It wants its bathroom back.”
She groans
. “I know. We have so much work to do. The bathroom is as good as demolished. We aren’t keeping anything. We’re thinking about new carpet in the bedrooms, and hardwood floors in the entryway and living room, and updating the kitchen. Everything nee
ds
new paint . . . ,
” she trails
off,
overwhelmed by the shee
r amount of work the home needs
.
“Yo
u’ll have us to help,” I assure
her. “I know how to paint. And Daniel . . . God, he grew up doing this stuff.”
Sarah smil
es
at me. “I’d really like to get us in here before the wedding, so we have just over two mont
hs.” She gazes
around the room, at
the old carpet, the cracked walls,
the dust. “It’s like, where do we even begin, you know? I’m sure we’ll be here every weekend from now on.”
“Oh, it’ll be fun. The paint and carpet samples? Actually having a reason to go to Home Depot? I think it’s awesome.”
Blake fixe
s
his arm around me. I flinch
, having forgotten he was even
here. “I’m sure Jaden will be a lot of help, anyway. This is h
er kind of project.” He squeezes
my side, pul
ling me close before letting go and
heading over to the kit
chen, where my dad and Daniel a
re discussing laminate versus engineered stone countertops.
“This
is really great, Sarah,” I say
, watching as
he strolls
away, his steps sure
,
confident. “I’m so happy for you guys.”
“Yeah, things are
finally
starting to come together for us. Can you believe at one time I thought my life was falling apart? I didn’t think we were ever going to make it to this.”
“It’s h
ard . . . not knowing, I mean
,”
I
muse
, examining the few, brown water stains on the ceiling.
“Tell me about it. I don’t know how I’m going to handle it all. Planning a wedding, renovating this place
.
. . . I’m totally asking for a nervous breakdown.”
“It’ll work out,” I promise
her.
“
It always does.
”
I walk
through the little house,
arms folded to keep warm, taking in the random cracks in the walls and ceiling
,
the dents in the baseboard—superficial th
ings that, in a few months, will
be completely erased.
Outside, the trees cast dark shadows o
ver the street. Blake reappears
beside me. “They definitely have their work cut out for them.”
“Yeah,
but it’ll be fun. M
aking something new again. B
reathi
ng life into this place,” I say
, caressing the
jagged
edge of the window moldings.
“I knew this w
as your kind of thing.” He moves
behind me, runni
ng his fingers through my
hair—a move he
learned early on that I enjoy. I close
my eyes.
“What’s t
hat supposed to mean?” I mumble
.
“You know, t
he way
you’re always helping everyone. T
rying to make things better.”
“Saving the world,” I add
, sarcastic
.
“There’s nothing wrong wi
th saving the world,” Blake says
. “Not what can be saved, anyway.”
“
What are you saying? There are
things that can
’
t be saved?
”
“
Can
’
t be
.
. . .
D
on
’
t want to be.
You know.
”
H
e moves
his hands to my shoulders, massaging them
gently
.
Lips inching closer to my neck.
A gruff voice punctuates
the stillness.
“Hey
,
you. B
reak it up.”
My eyes fly open. Blake jumps back, jerki
ng his hands away.
I spi
n around an
d glare
at my brother
, eyes rolling
. “
Seriously
, Daniel.
”
I slam
the car door shut, suck
ing in a breath of fresh air, feeling the sun warm
my shoulders.
The days are getting longer,
the entire world painted in bright, new greens.
I jog
up the street and
move
toward the mailbox, stopping
to check it out of habit. I’m surprised, when I pull
the door open, to
actually
f
ind mail inside. The driveway i
s empty.
Mom must’ve taken
Joshy
somewhere
. I
remove the pile
of mail, then flip
through
it
. Bill, bill, bill, a credit card offer for Phillip, a couple of catalogs
. . . . A
nd the
re, hidden away in the stack, i
s some
thing addressed to me. I glance
at the return address on the cri
sp, white envelope, and
I recognize
the crest immediately: VE RI TAS
.
Truth.
For a moment, my heart stops
beating.
It
picks up again, pounding harder,
blood
roaring
in my ears.
This
is it.
I take
a ragged breath,
stuff
the envelope in my backpack
,
and
move
to
the front porch. No one answers as I open the door and call
out, my heart
strik
ing one, s
uspended
beat after anothe
r. I run into the kitchen and dump
the rest
of the mail on the counter,
race
upstairs to my bedroom
,
and shut the door. Sha
king and out of breath, I open my bag and pull out the letter, then toss it
onto my bed. I stare
at it for a moment, my body warm but my hands freezing and clammy, as if
my own temperature ca
n’t
regulate itself properly.
I take
a deep breath,
slid
ing my
damp
palms across my jeans,
trying to steady my nerves. I’ve
waited forever for th
is moment. Knowing the answer is two steps in front of me leaves
my head spinnin
g. I reach out and pick
u
p t
he envelope, then caref
ully tear it open.
An excited smile pulls at my lips
as I
remove the letter. Even the paper feels
o
fficial—soft and thick. I open
the folds.
Dear Miss
McEntyre
. . . .
I skim
ahead, reading quickly.
Although we were very impressed by your academic achievements . . . your
active
involv
ement in important
. . . only a small number of applicants who applied . . . We Regret To Inform You.
“We r
egret to inform you,” I mutter
aloud, collapsing on the edge of my bed. I let out a tiny
, barely audible
lau
gh
. A
gasp
. “I didn’t get in.”
The blood completely drai
ns from my head; my heart hammers
in my chest
.
They didn’t accept me
.
A
gigantic swell
ri
se
s
inside
, stomach churning, like a
river flooding its banks, the current seizing everything in its path. My plans
,
my aspirations,
my dreams
: swept away
. It was Harvard
or nothing . . . and here it i
s, my entire future in front of
me:
not
hing
. The letter in my hands living
proof.
A heavy numbness washes
over me, as if to protect me from this new
information, this knowledge,
myself.
How could
this happen
?
I
did everything right. I took H
onors and AP classes. I’m
involved in every
freak
in
’ activity known to man. I’m
up for
Salutatorian for God’s sak
e: number two in my class. I’m going to med school; I’m
going to make a difference.
W
hat did I do
wrong?
And then a new realization:
w
hat am I going to tell my parents?
My hands
shake
, the letter trembling with them. Tears
materia
lize
in the corners of my eyes, stinging, blurring my surroundings.
I
suck
in a shallow breath.
What am
I
gonna
tell Blake? And Savannah? What about my teachers? Everyone
is
expecting
me to go to Harvard. How
do
I
explain this? What do
I even say?
Do
not
cry, Jaden.
The front doo
r opens
and shut
s. I free
ze
.
“Jaden?”
Mom.
“I’m upstairs,” I say
,
springing into action. I force
the letter back into the envelope,
fingers struggling
clumsily,
then
wedge
it inside a random book perched on top of my desk.
“Would you mind helpin
g with the groceries?” she asks
. “I’ve got Joshua with me.”
I hurry
to my bathroom,
check
my face and eyes.
T
hough
red,
they
look
more tir
ed than anything, and my face isn’t at all splotchy. It i
s, however, pale. A
ghastly white.
I fan
my ey
es so the first
of my tears will
disappear
, and pinch
my cheeks,
resuscitating them
. I ca
n’t say anythi
ng—not yet. I have
to figure this
out.
As soon as I’m fully composed
I head
downstairs, meeting Mom in the foyer. “If you could bring the rest in, that would be great.”
“Sure,” I reply
, faking a smile.
A few minutes later I enter
the kitchen, arms full of cloth gro
cery bags. “Good day?” she asks
me, sifting through the stack of bills and magazines.
“Yeah,” I reply
, without hesitating. “Always.”
The enthusiasm sounds false, even to my own ears.
“Good. Thank you for picking up the mail.”
I remove a carton of eggs and carry
it to the refrigerator. “No problem.”
“Did we get anything special?”
“I didn’t see anything,” I
answer
, pulling on the handle
.
It’
s too easy
,
keep
ing
my news a secret. Dad takes
his dinner to his office, and wedding plans
and house renovations dominate
the conver
sation at the table. Everyone i
s consumed w
ith their own p
rojects. I help with the dishes
then head
to my room, citing “a lot of homework” as my excuse for not being social.
On my way inside,
I touch
that Harvard sticker out of habit.
When I remember
, I
rip
it
off the wall, pulling
a strip of
paint with it
, exposing the gray drywall
. I crumple
it
into a
small, stick
y ball and hurl
it across the room.
It smacks
against my closet door before crashing to the floor and rolling, vanishing beneath my bed.
Don’t cry.
Later,
I step
into the shower. The
scalding
water
transforms
my pal
e skin to
glowing pink—steam spewing to the ceiling, filling the room.
My lungs are paralyzed, and the heat burns my throat. I can
’
t swallow or breathe or think.
Don’t cry, Jaden. You cannot cry.
When th
e last of the hot water vanishes, I emerge
into the thick fog
, my dark hair dripping puddles
down my back and
onto the floor
. I wipe
the haze of
f the mirror with my towel, bare
ly r
ecognizing the girl who appears
, staring back at me.
*
*
*
“Jaden, honey, you look
exhausted
.
”
Mom
i
s feeding Joshua his breakfast
at the table
. I’m
r
unning behind, which is unusual. E
veryone else has
already left for the day.
I thought sleep would take away the redness and puffiness around my eyes, but even after applying a religious amount of
concealer
, the traces of suffering
linger
. I did
my best, but
it obvious
ly i
sn’t good enough.
“Are
you feeling okay?” she continues
.
“Not really,” I reply
,
pulling one of Phillip’s granola bars from the box in the cupboard. “I think I may be getting a cold. Or something.”
The lies a
re coming more qu
ickly,
easier
.
“Well,” she begi
n
s
, shoveling a spoonful of baby cereal into Joshua’s mouth, “you know you always catch one when the weather changes. And
it’s been getting warmer
.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re running kind of late. Are you going to make it?”
I
glance
at the
clock on the microwave
. “I just won’t be early.”
I grab the two bag lunches I
made the night before and two bottled waters from the r
efrigerator. If Mom noticed
we’
re running out of waters and lunch meat faster than usual these last few weeks,
she ha
s
n’t let on.
For that, I’m
grateful.
“Have a good day,” she calls as I head
out the door.
Thankfully, I have
the
entire
r
ide to school to compose myself,
to clear my
head. As long as no one asks about Harvard, or if I’ve heard anything, I’ll
be fine.
As long as the conversation does
n’t navi
gate to
college period, I’ll be great. I can
do this.
There is nothing I cannot handle.
The one thing I don’t count on, however, i
s the only person
in the entire world who I ca
n’t hide a
nything from. S
omeone who seems
to know me be
tter than I know myself, whether I want
him to or not.