Great by Sara Benincasa Page A

“You’re not a legacy, are you?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “My dad went to the University of Wisconsin.” I didn’t add, “And my mother went to nowhere,” because she was already pissed about the cake crack.
    â€œWell, my father and grandfather and great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather all went to Harvard,” Delilah said. “And my father is on the alumni board. So if you need any help when it’s time to apply, just let me know. I’m applying, too.” She did not add, “And I will automatically get in,” although we both knew that was true.
    â€œThat’s really nice of you,” I said. “I might actually take you up on it.” The thing with rich people is that they often offer to help you with a fancy connection, but you usually can’t tell if they genuinely mean it or if they just want to show off their fancy connections. But I wanted to go to Harvard so bad that in this case, I didn’t really care. It was worth a shot.
    â€œPlease do,” said Delilah. “Well, I understand why you’re not coming, but Jeff’s going to be pretty disappointed.”
    I blushed. “Really?” I said in a squeaky voice. Then I blushed again, because a squeaky voice is like the number one sign you’re nervous about something, and being nervous about a guy means you’re into him, and I guess I kind of was.
    Delilah laughed. “We’ll all get together really soon,” she said. “Every day can’t be SAT day.”
    We said our goodbyes and hung up. I looked at my mother.
    â€œShe invited you out, and you said no,” she said flatly. “I put you in contact with these people and provide all these opportunities for you, and you just turn them down, time and time again.”
    I rolled my eyes.
    â€œYou’re the only mother I know who would get pissed that her daughter would choose studying over playing tennis,” I said.
    â€œShe invited you to tennis ?” Mom moaned. “And you said no?”
    â€œI just don’t feel like engaging in any activity where balls fly at my nose,” I said, quoting Clueless , another favorite movie.
    â€œWell, you should!” my mother snapped, rising to her feet. “That’s how people make friends in this town!” I cracked up, and she stamped her foot in exasperation. She’s such a child.
    â€œI’m going to town,” she said. “To BookHampton, to sign some stock.” My mother loves doing that—popping into any bookshop in the world to see if they have her cookbook, and then magnanimously offering to sign any copies. I would love it if, just once, a bookshop owner said, “Nah, we’re cool.” But they all flip out like she’s this big star, which I guess she actually is.
    â€œSee ya,” I said, returning to my breakfast. She gave an exaggerated sigh and made her customary dramatic exit.
    I felt strangely drained as I tried to eat my popover and eggs. Well, I guess it’s not so strange—my mother is kind of an emotional vampire at times. I decided to revive myself with a phone call to Skags. Her real name is Tiffani Skagsgaard, but if you call her Tiffani, she will hunt you down and destroy you. It’s always hard for her the first day of school, when the teacher calls out “Tiffani Skagsgaard?” and is confronted with this very boyish-looking young lesbian furiously shouting, “It’s SKAGS!”
    She picked up the phone on the second ring. “S’up?” she grunted.
    â€œMy mother is the most superficial person on the planet,” I said.
    â€œAnd water freezes at zero degrees Celsius. Tell me something everyone in the world doesn’t already know.”
    â€œThat’s the thing, Skags—not everybody in the world knows it. In fact, I’d say most people in the world don’t know it. They think she’s this warm, loving culinary goddess