One Shot Away by T. Glen Coughlin Page A

questions, then read the essay question aloud together:
    â€œImagine yourself at the end of your freshmen year in college. What do you see? How do people see you? What are you doing?”
    â€œI see my father driving up in his rust-bucket truck,” says Jimmy. “Probably drinking a beer.”
    â€œLet’s make it a BMW and we’ll sober him up.” Her fingers fly over the keys:
    Finally, the end of my freshmen year has arrived. In the distance I spot my father’s BMW coming onto the campus .
    â€œHow’s that?” she asks.
    â€œCool.”
    She goes on typing:
    By Thanksgiving of my first semester, I was ready to start my wrestling season. I had developed study habits and forced myself to stay in the library until all my college work was completed. Near the holiday break, I looked forward to the next semester .
    â€œSee,” she says. “It’s easy. You just have to give them what they want to hear.”
    She goes back to the keyboard. In five minutes it’s finished. She reads it back to him, ending with:
    On the ride home, I tell my father about my professors and how interesting my pre-law classes are. His face glows with pride. I explain that my four years in high school wrestling really paid off. I learned the importance of teamwork and dedication. Wrestling at Stroudsburg enabled me to make the college proud. My father takes my hand and squeezes it. “It’s going to be a great summer,” he says .
    Jimmy laughs. “Pre-law?” The essay and her efficiency blow him away, but she has taken his ramblings and turned them into something that sounds like some character in a Nickelodeon show. “My father’s never held my hand in my life,” he says.
    â€œThat doesn’t matter. It’s a college essay, not your life story.” She clicks to another website.
    â€œYou’re going to need a credit card to submit the application,” says Roxanne. “You go to this screen, and then you press ‘Apply.’ It will take you to the cashier and you can add your attachments here.” She clicks the mouse and opens a box marked “Your essay here.”
    No one, not even his guidance counselor at school, had explained how to complete the online application.
    She stares into his eyes. “James O’Shea, did I ever tell you I like you?”
    He smiles. “Oh yeah, and why’s that?”
    â€œYou’re my work in progress and you’re going to look great in a tux,” she says, laughing.
    â€œMe, in a tux?”
    â€œThe prom,” she says. “It’s only like four months away.”
    â€œI didn’t even ask you yet.”
    â€œI’m hoping that you do.” She kisses him. “Besides, I’ve already told my parents I’m going with you. You’re my decision.”
    â€œWould you go with me?” asks Jimmy.
    â€œI’ll think about it,” she says, then laughs.
    They sit on a love seat that faces another flat-screen television. She turns on VH1’s “Top 100 Songs of the Nineties.” Number 26 is Eminem doing his Slim Shady video. She slides her hands over his back. Her face in the dim light is pink and glowing. He slips his hand beneath her T-shirt. She’s not wearing a bra.
    The door opens. Jimmy scrambles across the couch.
    â€œWe were doing college....” Roxanne’s voice drops to a whisper then disappears.
    Mr. Sweetapple narrows his eyes on Jimmy. “Let’s go, it’s late. You can see each other at school tomorrow.”

Trevor
    A U-H AUL TRUCK BACKS INTO THE DRIVEWAY, CLOSE TO THE walkway. Trevor watches from the porch rail, knowing in a few hours he will no longer be living in this house. His room will be empty. His window over the yard will be bare. The house is already rented to a couple with no kids. The rent has been raised by $200. None of this seems fair.
    London arrives in his pickup truck. He slams the door, then