Lauren closed her notebook. “That’s it,” she said.
All around them, people were rising, moving toward the exit aisles. The combined conversation was a loud roar in the room.
“So, what did you find out?” Angie asked, staying in her seat. There was no point merging into the ambulatory traffic.
“That in the public schools almost ninety percent of the students come from in-state. And tuition is on its way up.”
“Well, you’re definitely having one of those the-glass-is-half-empty moments. That’s not like you.”
Lauren sighed. “It’s tough sometimes … going to Fircrest Academy. All my friends are picking the schools they like. I have to figure out how to get the schools to like me.”
“It sounds like the essay is a big part of that.”
“Yeah.”
“And recommendations.”
“Yeah. Too bad I can’t get, like, Jerry Brown or Arnold Schwarzenegger to write one for me. As it is, I hope Mr. Baxter—my math teacher—can rock their socks off. Unfortunately, he forgets where the blackboard is half of the time.”
Angie glanced down at the stage. The folks from Loyola-Marymount, USC, and Santa Clara were still there. They were sitting at the tables, talking to one another.
“What’s your first choice?” she asked Lauren.
“USC, I guess. It’s David’s second-choice school.”
“I am not even going to get into the conversation about following your boyfriend to school. Okay, I lied. It’s a bad idea. Don’t follow your boyfriend to college. Now come on.” She stood up.
Lauren put her day planner in her backpack and got up. “Where are you going?” she said when Angie headed downstairs instead of up.
She grabbed Lauren’s hand. “We did not drive all this way to be in the peanut gallery.”
Lauren tried to draw back, but Angie was a freight train. She went down the stairs, around the orchestra pit, and onto the stage. Dragging Lauren behind her, she marched up to the man from USC.
He looked up, smiled tiredly. No doubt he was used to mothers hauling their children on stage. There was no way for him to know that Angie wasn’t a mom. “Hello. How can I help you?”
“I’m Angela Malone,” she said, offering her hand. When he shook it, she said, “I’m a UCLA girl myself, but Lauren here has her heart set on SC. I can’t imagine why.”
The man laughed. “That’s a new approach. Knocking my school.” He looked at Lauren. “And who are you?”
She blushed deeply. “L-Lauren Ribido. Fircrest Academy.”
“Ah. Good school. That helps.” He smiled at her. “Don’t be nervous. Why SC?”
“Journalism.”
Angie hadn’t known that. She smiled, feeling like a proud parent.
“Think you’re the next Woodward or Bernstein, huh?” the man said. “How are your grades?”
“Top six percent of the class. About a 3.92 with lots of honors classes.”
“SAT?”
“Last year I got a 1520. I took it again, though. Those scores aren’t in.”
“A score of 1520 is impressive enough. You do sports and volunteer in your community?”
“Yes.”
“And she works twenty to twenty-five hours a week,” Angie put in.
“Impressive.”
Angie made her move. “Do you know William Layton?”
“The dean of the business school? Sure. He’s from around here, isn’t he?”
Angie nodded. “I went to school with his daughter. What if he wrote Lauren a recommendation?”
The man looked at Lauren, then pulled a small brass carrier out of his back pocket. “Here’s my card. You send your app. To me personally. I’ll shepherd it through.” To Angie, he said, “A recommendation from Layton would really help.”
Lauren still couldn’t believe it. She kept breaking into laughter for no reason. Somewhere around Kelso, Angie had asked her to please stop saying thank you.
But how could she? For the first time in her life, she’d been treated like Someone.
She had a chance at USC. A chance.
She looked at Angie. “Thanks. I mean it,” she said again, bouncing in her seat.
“I know. I know.” Angie laughed. “You act like this is the first time anyone’s ever done you a favor. It was nothing.”
“Oh, it was something,” Lauren said, feeling her smile fade. It meant so much to her, what Angie had done. For once, Lauren hadn’t been on her own.
FOURTEEN
The high school campus was buzzing with talk today. It was the third week of November and the college admission application process was in high gear. Everyone was obsessed with college. It was in every conversation. Lauren had filled out all her financial aid and scholarship paperwork, gotten all her transcripts together, and written all her essays. And miracle of miracles, Angie had gotten her a recommendation from Dr. Layton at USC. She was beginning to believe she had a real shot at a scholarship.