and write innocuous anagrams for the most disgusting phrases they can come up with. Today the board says “aging toad goon,” but I can only imagine what the letters spell rearranged.
“After last winter, I thought I’d lost you,” Mr. Winthrop says.
Last winter was the last time I tried to reinvent myself. I was dating J.J. and feeling suffocated, plus I wound up losing all my friends due to map complications, so I threw myself into becoming the best possible college applicant ever. I was pretty amazing at it and have a single semester of admissions office perfection to show for it. But then I got my friends back and wanted, oh, a life, so I fell off the wagon a little bit.
“You did,” I agree, “but I’m back and I’m all in. How do I get colleges begging for me?” I tell him I’m already on the SAT part; it’s the other things I need help with.
“Well,” he says, “there’s the obvious: grades and teacher recommendations.”
“Study hard and kiss up to the teachers,” I echo. “Got it.”
Mr. Winthrop doesn’t think “kissing up” is exactly right, but I’m still pretty sure it’s what he means. For a second I consider giving a Catches Falls puppy to each of my teachers as a big win-win. The puppies find homes and my teachers love me for bringing them joy!
With my luck all my teachers would be allergic. Maybe I need a better plan.
“Beyond that it’s your extracurriculars,” Mr. Winthrop says. “Are you still following your singular life’s passion to improve the lives of the elderly by volunteering at Century Acres?”
“Did I say that was my singular passion?” I ask.
“You’re not volunteering there anymore?”
“I
was
…” Right up until I found out Lame Future Me works at the Century Acres front desk. Now I think I’m more likely to change my future if I avoid the place except for Eddy visits. I try to explain this to Mr. Winthrop without giving anything away, but he just looks at me like I’m crazy. Then he reminds me that colleges love “arrows,” kids who follow one passion and see it through, no matter what. He urges me to come up with some kind of extracurricular that at least seems similar to helping the elderly, even if it’s not at Century Acres.
I’m still thinking about the problem at lunch, and my plan is to bounce it off all my friends. But when I see them sprawled out in a circle on the lawn where we always eat, all I can think about is them at my mom’s wedding. Sean in particular. He’s sitting there next to Reenzie with his arm draped over her shoulders, but he’s looking across the lawn at a bunch of way-too-cute freshman girls wearing tiny tanks and shorts.
“Seriously, Sean?” I ask as I plop down between Taylor and Amalita with my tray of barely edible cafeteria food. “Your girlfriend’s right next to you. Stop looking at those girls.”
Sean’s blue eyes get scattered and confused. “What girls?”
“Belly shirts and navel rings? Hot new blood? It’s totally not cool for you to scope out when you already have the hottest girl on campus.” As an exclamation point I chomp into my hot dog.
Sean crinkles his forehead in a way that is empirically completely adorable, regardless of the fact that he’s off-limits and a cheating cad.
“What are you talking about?” he asks. “I’m watching those guys throw the football.”
He nods across the lawn and I see that just beyond the girl-candy are indeed a couple of freshman jocks tossing a football back and forth.
“I like that
you’re
checking the belly shirts, though,” Jack says with a wicked leer. “And I
really
like when you talk about how hot Reenzie is. Reminds me of a dream I had last night.” He waggles his eyebrows lasciviously.
“Oh please,” I shoot back. “Like you actually—”
I stop myself before I inadvertently out him right here at lunch. Truthfully, I think he’d be happier if he just told us all the truth and stopped pretending so hard, but it’s
“After last winter, I thought I’d lost you,” Mr. Winthrop says.
Last winter was the last time I tried to reinvent myself. I was dating J.J. and feeling suffocated, plus I wound up losing all my friends due to map complications, so I threw myself into becoming the best possible college applicant ever. I was pretty amazing at it and have a single semester of admissions office perfection to show for it. But then I got my friends back and wanted, oh, a life, so I fell off the wagon a little bit.
“You did,” I agree, “but I’m back and I’m all in. How do I get colleges begging for me?” I tell him I’m already on the SAT part; it’s the other things I need help with.
“Well,” he says, “there’s the obvious: grades and teacher recommendations.”
“Study hard and kiss up to the teachers,” I echo. “Got it.”
Mr. Winthrop doesn’t think “kissing up” is exactly right, but I’m still pretty sure it’s what he means. For a second I consider giving a Catches Falls puppy to each of my teachers as a big win-win. The puppies find homes and my teachers love me for bringing them joy!
With my luck all my teachers would be allergic. Maybe I need a better plan.
“Beyond that it’s your extracurriculars,” Mr. Winthrop says. “Are you still following your singular life’s passion to improve the lives of the elderly by volunteering at Century Acres?”
“Did I say that was my singular passion?” I ask.
“You’re not volunteering there anymore?”
“I
was
…” Right up until I found out Lame Future Me works at the Century Acres front desk. Now I think I’m more likely to change my future if I avoid the place except for Eddy visits. I try to explain this to Mr. Winthrop without giving anything away, but he just looks at me like I’m crazy. Then he reminds me that colleges love “arrows,” kids who follow one passion and see it through, no matter what. He urges me to come up with some kind of extracurricular that at least seems similar to helping the elderly, even if it’s not at Century Acres.
I’m still thinking about the problem at lunch, and my plan is to bounce it off all my friends. But when I see them sprawled out in a circle on the lawn where we always eat, all I can think about is them at my mom’s wedding. Sean in particular. He’s sitting there next to Reenzie with his arm draped over her shoulders, but he’s looking across the lawn at a bunch of way-too-cute freshman girls wearing tiny tanks and shorts.
“Seriously, Sean?” I ask as I plop down between Taylor and Amalita with my tray of barely edible cafeteria food. “Your girlfriend’s right next to you. Stop looking at those girls.”
Sean’s blue eyes get scattered and confused. “What girls?”
“Belly shirts and navel rings? Hot new blood? It’s totally not cool for you to scope out when you already have the hottest girl on campus.” As an exclamation point I chomp into my hot dog.
Sean crinkles his forehead in a way that is empirically completely adorable, regardless of the fact that he’s off-limits and a cheating cad.
“What are you talking about?” he asks. “I’m watching those guys throw the football.”
He nods across the lawn and I see that just beyond the girl-candy are indeed a couple of freshman jocks tossing a football back and forth.
“I like that
you’re
checking the belly shirts, though,” Jack says with a wicked leer. “And I
really
like when you talk about how hot Reenzie is. Reminds me of a dream I had last night.” He waggles his eyebrows lasciviously.
“Oh please,” I shoot back. “Like you actually—”
I stop myself before I inadvertently out him right here at lunch. Truthfully, I think he’d be happier if he just told us all the truth and stopped pretending so hard, but it’s
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