The Appearance of Annie van Sinderen

“Well, the truth is, your mother had some doubts. She doesn’t like the idea of you being so far away.”


I groan in annoyance. Sure, it’s Mom who doesn’t want me to do it. Way to pass the buck, jerk. It’s not that he’s jealous I get to be the one who’s young and making art in New York instead of him.

“Great,” I say, making clear how pissed off I am.

“But then I took her to lunch with your gran. She says hello, by the way.”

“What?” I say, sitting up on my elbows.

Eastlin arches his eyebrow at me from across the room.

“Your gran. Says hello. She’s very fond of you, you know. You ever send her a thank-you note, Wes? It’s the right thing to do.”

“GOD. Yes. What happened at lunch?” I say, divot totals forgotten. Fairy dust is sparkling in the corners of my field of vision.

“Well, the three of us had a good long talk,” Dad says. “And the upshot is, we think it’s a great idea. We’ve signed the forms for you to transfer.”

What?

What?

“YES,” I shout, getting to my feet and holding my arms over my head like a prizefighter after the knockout. Eastlin jumps up and echoes my yes in a quiet whisper, then does a disco victory lap around the room. “Oh my God. DAD. Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!”

“I’ll bring them by your screening tomorrow. Then you can get everything in before we leave,” Dad says. Mom’s voice in the background adds something, and he says, “You’re going to have to help out, though. Depending on your aid package. You’ll probably have to get a job during the school year.”

“I know. That’s okay,” I say in a rush, already thinking I can ask Professor Krauss if she needs a research assistant. Or, hell, maybe Eastlin can get me a job at Abraham Mas. Then I can dress skinny Upper East Side girls, too. Or, screw it, I’ll work at Tyler’s dad’s dry cleaning shop, I don’t care.

“That’s assuming you get in. Let’s just hope this film of yours is good, huh, Sport?”

All the air rushes out of me like a popped balloon. As if I needed another reminder about how important workshop is. Steven Auckerman, undermining for the win.

“I think”—I pause for dramatic effect—“I think Most is going to be different from anything they’ve seen. I know it.”

“All right then. So, listen. Your mom and I will see you at the screening tomorrow, and you can’t make her feel bad if she cries, got it?”

“Got it,” I say, and I become aware that I am grinning. In fact, I’m grinning so hard I’m a little concerned the corners of my mouth will meet around the back of my head and the top of my head will fall off. “Okay, Dad. See you.”

“Bye.”

Click, and Eastlin is already standing on his bunk in an attitude of supreme pre-celebration. “OH MY GOD,” I shout, tossing my phone on the bed and gawking empty-handed at Eastlin.

“Spill!” my roommate demands.

“I’m transferring. I’m going to NYU,” I say. “If Most is good enough, I’m going to NYU!”

I’m worried I’m going to cry, I’m so excited.

“I KNEW IT,” he says. “That’s awesome!”

Eastlin comes in for a fist bump, which turns into a bro-hug with a lot of back pounding.

“Yeah,” I say, my eyes glazed.

I have to tell Tyler.

And Maddie. I really have to tell Maddie.

“Oh, stop begging,” Eastlin says.

“What?” I say, reaching for my phone already so I can text them. Oh my God. Oh my God. It has to be good enough. Right? It has to be. I can’t have come this far, learned this much, only to have it all fall apart when I’m on the cusp of getting everything I want. Can I?

I’m completely freaking out. Completely.

“About rooming for next year. I mean, stop begging already. It demeans us both,” Eastlin says lightly.

I grin at him.

“Okay,” I say.

Eastlin smiles at me. Then he shrugs like he’s pretending not to care. “I’ve gotta be losing my mind,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Straight boys never pick up after themselves.”