The Goal
Page 17
“Naah, this doesn’t make her special or anything,” Ray drawls. “She’s got two holes like any other bitch. Three if you count her mouth.”
I wait for Nana to defend me, but apparently jealousy is winning out over pride right now. She laughs at his disgusting comment, and just like that, I’m done celebrating with these people. I cannot wait to get out of this house.
Still, I refuse to let anything affect my happiness right now. I spin on my heel and waltz down the hallway to call my girls.
“What about dinner?” Nana yells after me.
I ignore her and keep walking. In my bedroom, I throw myself on the bed and text my friends.
I got in.
Hope beats Carin by a millisecond.
OMG! Congrats!!!!!!!!
Carin replies, PIC! PIC! PIC!
I snap a picture of the acceptance letter and send it off. While I’m waiting for their responses, I run down the hall, fill my plate with pasta, stuff a roll in my mouth, and run back to my bedroom. Nana and Ray say something, but none of it processes. Only sheer joy fills my ears.
There are a dozen responses when I get back.
Hope: <3
Carin: LOVE! LOVE! LOVE! UR so awesome!
Hope: I’m so proud of u. UR going to make the best lawyer EVER. Please say you’ll represent me if I get sued for malpractice.
Carin: THIS IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING!
Hope: When do we get to take u out? And no, never, not happening R unacceptable responses.
I chew on my roll as I text them back.
Me: A) U both get free legal services 4 life.
B) Let’s celebrate tomorrow. I promise to order enough to make your credit card weep.
Hope: Not possible! I’m making reservations for Santino’s.
Carin: That place needs reservations?!
Hope: I dunno! Figure of speech. But we could go to Malone’s again if u want celebratory sex.
Me: I still have the number from the guy from last Saturday. What about u? Your lady garden get a private tour last night?
The two of them had gone out without me to a party at Beau Maxwell’s house. I wonder if Tucker was there. And if so, I wonder who he took to his truck this time. The thought of him running his big, callused hands over some other girl’s breasts makes me grit my teeth in envy, but I don’t have the right to be jealous. I blocked his number, after all. I told him in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t interested in going out with him.
So why did you unblock him, hmmm?
The taunting voice in my head has me biting my lip. Fine, so I unblocked his number. But that wasn’t because I want to go out with him or anything. I just figured it might be handy to have in case of…an emergency.
God, I’m so pathetic.
My phone dings, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Carin: No. I was an angel.
Hope: Liar! OMG, what a liar. She came downstairs with sex hair bigger than Cher. Text her a picture of ur chest. Right now or I’ll do it.
Carin: Fine. I hate u.
Sometimes I do wish I lived with them. I gobble up more pasta as I wait for the picture from Carin. When the image comes through, I nearly choke on a noodle.
Me: Did u make out with teen wolf last night?
Carin: No. Brad Allen.
I search my memory banks and come up with a six-foot, four-inch guy with a round, sweet face.
Me: Defensive lineman? He looks like a cherub!
Carin: Yup. Turns out he has a sucking fetish. Good thing it’s cold out because tank tops would be out of the question.
Me: Other than him trying to actually suck the blood through ur chesticles, did u enjoy him?
Carin: It wasn’t bad. He knew how to use his equipment.
Me: Ha! My athlete theory is holding strong!
Hope: Between Tucker and Brad Allen, it appears B’s hypothesis is accurate.
Carin: U both know that’s not how the scientific method works, right?
Me: Yup, but we don’t care.
Hope: Does that mean Tucker is getting a repeat?
Me: Doubtful. He’s good, but when do I have the time?
We text for a few more minutes, but my spike of adrenaline is wearing off. I set my partially finished plate on my nightstand and hug the Harvard letter to my chest. It’s all happening. All the good things I’ve worked so hard for are coming to fruition. Nothing can stop me now.
I fall asleep with a big, happy smile on my face.
*
Raincheck, chickadees, I text my girls the following day, after Hope messages to ask if I want to have lunch with them.
Hope: Aw, why??
Me: Professor Fromm invited me for a campus visit. I’m back in Boston, skipping out on my last class. FYI, I’m officially 2 good for u.
Hope: Kisses! Text back on how it goes. Can’t wait until next year and we’re all in Boston as grad students!!!
Carin’s in class, but I know I’ll get a text from her as soon as she’s out.
I take the Red Line to Harvard Square. I swear the subway station even smells good here, unlike any other stop on the line, which reeks of garbage, stale urine, and bad BO. And the campus is gorgeous. I want to swing my arms out wide and spin in a ridiculously happy circle.
According to my map, the eighteen or so buildings that make up the law school are on the other side of campus. There’s no hurry, though, so I take the time to walk through slowly, admiring all the massive brick buildings, the dozens and dozens of trees that are still holding on to the very last of their leaves, and the acres of grass—some of which is still green in places. It’s Briar on steroids. Even the students look smarter, richer, more important.
Most of them are wearing what I like to call the rich girl uniform: Sperry topsiders, Rag & Bone jeans, and a Joie sweatshirt—the kind that looks like it came from the bottom of a trash can but actually costs a couple hundred bucks. I know this only because of Hope’s closet.
But just because my black skirt and white top came from a discount store doesn’t mean I don’t belong. I might not have as much money as anyone here, but I’d stack my brain up against any of these students.
I pull open the doors to Everett, the building where Professor Fromm’s office is. At the receptionist’s desk, I introduce myself. She has me write my name in an entry book and then gestures for me to take a seat.
I’m not there for more than a minute when a young man wearing a blue-and-white checked shirt and a dark blue tie strolls out from a side hall that I didn’t notice when I first arrived.
“Hello. I’m Kale Delacroix.” He offers his hand.
I wait for Nana to defend me, but apparently jealousy is winning out over pride right now. She laughs at his disgusting comment, and just like that, I’m done celebrating with these people. I cannot wait to get out of this house.
Still, I refuse to let anything affect my happiness right now. I spin on my heel and waltz down the hallway to call my girls.
“What about dinner?” Nana yells after me.
I ignore her and keep walking. In my bedroom, I throw myself on the bed and text my friends.
I got in.
Hope beats Carin by a millisecond.
OMG! Congrats!!!!!!!!
Carin replies, PIC! PIC! PIC!
I snap a picture of the acceptance letter and send it off. While I’m waiting for their responses, I run down the hall, fill my plate with pasta, stuff a roll in my mouth, and run back to my bedroom. Nana and Ray say something, but none of it processes. Only sheer joy fills my ears.
There are a dozen responses when I get back.
Hope: <3
Carin: LOVE! LOVE! LOVE! UR so awesome!
Hope: I’m so proud of u. UR going to make the best lawyer EVER. Please say you’ll represent me if I get sued for malpractice.
Carin: THIS IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING!
Hope: When do we get to take u out? And no, never, not happening R unacceptable responses.
I chew on my roll as I text them back.
Me: A) U both get free legal services 4 life.
B) Let’s celebrate tomorrow. I promise to order enough to make your credit card weep.
Hope: Not possible! I’m making reservations for Santino’s.
Carin: That place needs reservations?!
Hope: I dunno! Figure of speech. But we could go to Malone’s again if u want celebratory sex.
Me: I still have the number from the guy from last Saturday. What about u? Your lady garden get a private tour last night?
The two of them had gone out without me to a party at Beau Maxwell’s house. I wonder if Tucker was there. And if so, I wonder who he took to his truck this time. The thought of him running his big, callused hands over some other girl’s breasts makes me grit my teeth in envy, but I don’t have the right to be jealous. I blocked his number, after all. I told him in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t interested in going out with him.
So why did you unblock him, hmmm?
The taunting voice in my head has me biting my lip. Fine, so I unblocked his number. But that wasn’t because I want to go out with him or anything. I just figured it might be handy to have in case of…an emergency.
God, I’m so pathetic.
My phone dings, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Carin: No. I was an angel.
Hope: Liar! OMG, what a liar. She came downstairs with sex hair bigger than Cher. Text her a picture of ur chest. Right now or I’ll do it.
Carin: Fine. I hate u.
Sometimes I do wish I lived with them. I gobble up more pasta as I wait for the picture from Carin. When the image comes through, I nearly choke on a noodle.
Me: Did u make out with teen wolf last night?
Carin: No. Brad Allen.
I search my memory banks and come up with a six-foot, four-inch guy with a round, sweet face.
Me: Defensive lineman? He looks like a cherub!
Carin: Yup. Turns out he has a sucking fetish. Good thing it’s cold out because tank tops would be out of the question.
Me: Other than him trying to actually suck the blood through ur chesticles, did u enjoy him?
Carin: It wasn’t bad. He knew how to use his equipment.
Me: Ha! My athlete theory is holding strong!
Hope: Between Tucker and Brad Allen, it appears B’s hypothesis is accurate.
Carin: U both know that’s not how the scientific method works, right?
Me: Yup, but we don’t care.
Hope: Does that mean Tucker is getting a repeat?
Me: Doubtful. He’s good, but when do I have the time?
We text for a few more minutes, but my spike of adrenaline is wearing off. I set my partially finished plate on my nightstand and hug the Harvard letter to my chest. It’s all happening. All the good things I’ve worked so hard for are coming to fruition. Nothing can stop me now.
I fall asleep with a big, happy smile on my face.
*
Raincheck, chickadees, I text my girls the following day, after Hope messages to ask if I want to have lunch with them.
Hope: Aw, why??
Me: Professor Fromm invited me for a campus visit. I’m back in Boston, skipping out on my last class. FYI, I’m officially 2 good for u.
Hope: Kisses! Text back on how it goes. Can’t wait until next year and we’re all in Boston as grad students!!!
Carin’s in class, but I know I’ll get a text from her as soon as she’s out.
I take the Red Line to Harvard Square. I swear the subway station even smells good here, unlike any other stop on the line, which reeks of garbage, stale urine, and bad BO. And the campus is gorgeous. I want to swing my arms out wide and spin in a ridiculously happy circle.
According to my map, the eighteen or so buildings that make up the law school are on the other side of campus. There’s no hurry, though, so I take the time to walk through slowly, admiring all the massive brick buildings, the dozens and dozens of trees that are still holding on to the very last of their leaves, and the acres of grass—some of which is still green in places. It’s Briar on steroids. Even the students look smarter, richer, more important.
Most of them are wearing what I like to call the rich girl uniform: Sperry topsiders, Rag & Bone jeans, and a Joie sweatshirt—the kind that looks like it came from the bottom of a trash can but actually costs a couple hundred bucks. I know this only because of Hope’s closet.
But just because my black skirt and white top came from a discount store doesn’t mean I don’t belong. I might not have as much money as anyone here, but I’d stack my brain up against any of these students.
I pull open the doors to Everett, the building where Professor Fromm’s office is. At the receptionist’s desk, I introduce myself. She has me write my name in an entry book and then gestures for me to take a seat.
I’m not there for more than a minute when a young man wearing a blue-and-white checked shirt and a dark blue tie strolls out from a side hall that I didn’t notice when I first arrived.
“Hello. I’m Kale Delacroix.” He offers his hand.
