“Amen,” Marina says, while Mom rolls her eyes.
I pop an olive in my mouth, then open the folder Miss Brady gave me during counseling today. It’s a list of all Hundred Oaks’ clubs and activities.
“What’s that?” Mom asks.
I scan down the page. “I need to choose another extracurricular besides soccer.”
“Why? Don’t you feel like you have enough on your plate?”
I shrug. “Not as much as at St. Andrew’s. I need to add to my résumé, or Yale will wonder why I started slacking during my senior year.”
“But Taylor,” Mom says quietly, not meeting my eyes. “Don’t you think you should relax a little? I don’t want you turning back to Adderall.”
“But my early decision app for Yale is due November first! I can’t stop working now, Mom.” My voice is full of desperation. “Not after all these years.”
“I know you work hard, Tee,” Mom says, squeezing my hand. “But we can’t risk another incident like this.”
Another incident?
“You need to concentrate on taking care of yourself right now,” she adds. “I’m sure Yale will accept you. You’re a Lukens, for God’s sake.”
Clearly, she is not in the know. “Dad said he won’t give the alumni association a heads-up that I’m applying.”
Mom practically chokes on an olive.
“My application is no different from anyone else’s,” I add. I have killer grades, and I do amazing work. I shouldn’t need a name to get ahead. I can do this on my own. And I’m going to do everything in my power to get in.
Dad strolls into the kitchen, looking tired, probably because he flew back from DC this afternoon, but he perks up when he spots the food. He loads a cocktail plate to the brim with cheese and ham, which earns him a slap on the wrist from Mom.
I continue to pore over the list of clubs and activities. Maybe I could do Quiz Bowl. I mean, who doesn’t like shouting answers at the TV when Jeopardy! is on?
The Dinner Club sounds fun too, but it turns out to be cooking. I’d join if it were only about eating. Then there’s the Polar Bear Club. They jump into freezing cold bodies of water. Ooh, skeet shooting!
Not much on this list appeals to me. I sigh.
“What are you up to, Tee?” Dad asks as he uncorks a bottle of red wine.
“Trying to pick another club to join.”
Mom glares at Dad. “Edward, I really don’t want Taylor overextending herself. I’m worried. She should be focusing on her studies and soccer, not joining random clubs so Yale won’t think she’s a slacker.”
Dad pours a dollop of wine, sniffs it, and taste-tests it. “Taylor and I had a talk. She knows it’s up to her to get into college. But I never said she has to join clubs.”
“You’re missing the point, Edward.” With a heavy sigh, Mom pours herself a large glass of wine. “Don’t you think you take your values too far? We’re not all perfect.” Mom disappears to the living room to wait for her guests and chug her wine. I don’t blame her.
The kitchen is silent as Dad stares after her and tops off his wineglass. He rubs his eyes, then pulls up a briefing on his iPad. Part of being a senator is reading briefing papers all the time.
I click on a pen and begin crossing out clubs that there’s no way I’ll join.
Outdoor Grilling Society
Gospel Choir
Knitting Klub
Robotics Club
Polar Bear Club oh hell no!!!
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Dad looking on as I work, smiling.
After how much I’ve screwed up in the past two weeks, I never thought he’d smile at me again. Which is a relief. But I’m still kind of angry because Mom’s right. We’re not all perfect. Earlier this week, I felt like Dad had given up on me. And now he’s happy that I’m looking at a stupid list of clubs? Why do I have to work so hard to make him proud?
Can’t he love me for me?
A New Team
I wake up early to have a good breakfast before my first Hundred Oaks soccer game. Marina makes me a fiesta omelet with peppers, onion, avocado, Monterey Jack cheese, and a salsa dipping sauce.
“Thanks,” I tell her. “This is my favorite.”
She beams, wiping her hands on her apron. “It’s your mother’s too, but she takes hers without the cheese.”
“Sacrilege.”
“I completely agree, baby.”
While I eat, I jot down ideas for my common app essays. There are two prompts to choose from. Describe a significant event or risk you have taken and its impact upon you, or reflect on a time when you challenged a belief or idea. What prompted you to act? Would you make the same decision again?
Neither question appeals to me. Up until a week ago, I’d always played by the rules. Sure, I drink alcohol when I have the opportunity. I drop the F-bomb pretty fucking frequently. I binge-watch Game of Thrones when I should be sleeping. But when it comes to school, I’ve always done my homework. I’ve never challenged a teacher. I haven’t really taken any risks.
A few years ago, when Oliver, Jenna, and Ezra went on a mission trip to build houses in Mexico, they snuck out to nightclubs after the chaperones went to bed. I’m a loser by comparison. During the two months I spent working in Haiti, I read the Harry Potter series for a second time and never once stepped foot on a dance floor.
I set down my pen. I have no idea what to write for this essay.
I stuff one last bite of omelet in my mouth, kiss Marina’s cheek, and head to my car.
Today’s a special day for soccer, in that teams from our region will all come together at a sports complex in Murfreesboro, where there are seven soccer fields. It will be a chance for us to watch other teams and learn what to expect from them the rest of the season.
St. Andrew’s is one of only two private schools in Middle Tennessee, so we always play against public schools. I know all about the teams in our district. We’re playing Lynchburg today. Last year, they were tough, and unless a bunch of their best players graduated, Hundred Oaks will bite the big one today.
On the way to school, I drop by Donut Palace for my latte. At 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday, the coffee shop is deserted. I feel a pang of something when Ezra doesn’t appear out of nowhere to bother me.
Of course, I am the first person to arrive at Hundred Oaks. I get there even before the coach. Hell, I’m here before the damn bus driver! If someone was late at St. Andrew’s, Coach Clark made the team run extra laps while the late person watched from the sidelines. That’s cruel and unusual punishment: you feel guilty, and your entire team is pissed at you.