She must be Nicole’s mom, because damn, like mother like daughter. This is more humiliating than the time I begged my teacher to pull over the bus during a field trip when I had to use the bathroom really bad. I remind myself that I can help this team play better. It’s not like I’m a burden. My eye twitches.
“The school board and Dr. Salter said she could stay on the team,” Coach Walker replies in a rush.
“I demand an explanation!” Nicole’s mom insists.
Jeez, if my mom pulled a stunt like this, I’d be embarrassed out of my mind, but Nicole seems to find it hilarious. She hovers next to her mom, listening in on the conversation.
During the drama, Chloe joins me. “Want to pair up for drills?”
“Yes, please.”
We start kicking the ball back and forth, and I smile, excited I’m finally getting to warm up with a serious player.
When Nicole glances away from her mom chewing out Coach, she notices Chloe warming up with me. A hurt look crosses her face. “Chlo! What the hell? You’re my partner.”
“Not today,” Chloe replies. “You were messing around when I needed to warm up.”
Nicole’s eyes grow dark. “Beth!” she calls to the girl digging through her mobile hospital of a backpack. “Warm up with me.”
Chloe ignores her and goes back to passing with me.
As more parents arrive to watch the game, a few trickle over to speak with Coach. Luckily, Dr. Salter is there to help put out the fires. Which apparently are flaming, because many of the parents are yelling and gesturing at me.
How did it come to this?
Madison, Steph, and my former teammates are watching the commotion from their bench across the field, seeing me at my lowest.
Madison gives me a small wave, and I wave back. Steph blows me a kiss. I return it. Earlier today, they group-texted me about catching up after the game. No matter what has happened, they still care. They love me. And that means pretty much everything.
As I’m kicking the ball back to Chloe, my parents appear on the side of the field. So does my boyfriend.
Mom gives Ezra a big hug and pats his back. Then he scratches the back of his neck before stretching out a hand to shake Dad’s. What are they talking about? Knowing Ezra, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s asking Dad permission to date me. When it comes to behaving like a gentleman, the guy’s as old-fashioned as a typewriter.
Alyson comes to stand with Chloe and me.
“Your man’s here, huh?” Alyson says, watching as Ezra escorts my mom over to the stands.
“I didn’t know he was coming.”
“I coulda told you he would,” Chloe says. “He was eye-fucking you like crazy the other night at the bowling alley.”
I laugh at Chloe’s brashness. “I’m more shocked that my father is here.”
The girls raise their eyebrows and follow me over to the bench to meet my dad. He has this purposeful way of walking: I can tell he’s on a charge into battle, but he moves like a swan. An angry swan ready to jab Coach with his beak.
“Soccer is supposed to be a wholesome school activity!” Nicole’s mother rages on. “How can we uphold its sacredness with Taylor on the team?”
“Sacredness?” Chloe snorts.
Coach holds up both hands. “Calm down.”
“If we could all lower our voices,” Dr. Salter starts.
I reach the bench right as Dad does.
Dr. Salter sucks in a breath. “Senator.”
At that, all the parents startle and turn to Dad, who is standing tall in a black suit with his jacket draped over his arm. It’s not every day a United States senator is in their midst.
The principal continues, “I apologize for the commotion, Senator. We’re getting it worked out.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Nicole’s mom says.
Dad pastes on his I’m-annoyed-but-I-have-to-be-nice smile that other people eat up. But I can tell he’s pissed. He loosens his tie and begins smiling directly at each parent in turn. “It’s been tough for my little girl, having to start at a new school. Soccer has always been Taylor’s favorite activity, and her mother and I were so pleased she found a spot on the soccer team here.
“Now, I know we’ve had some trouble in the last week, but Taylor needs this team. She needs your kids in her life.” He looks around at everyone again. “I’d be grateful if you’d give my daughter another chance.”
He’s brilliant. He made it seem as if we can’t live without them. Which is total bullshit and embarrassing if you ask me, but hey, it works. The parents all gaze at Dad in adoration.
“Well, um,” Nicole’s mother starts. She pauses, looking to the other parents.
“I think we can help you out, Senator,” a father says, putting his hand out to shake Dad’s. Dad takes it, of course, always on the prowl for votes.
“We can give Taylor a chance,” another mom says. This makes Nicole’s mom storm off like she’s just been fired from a job.
“Thank you all,” Dad says, bowing his head slightly. “I’m looking forward to seeing the team play today.”
With sweat rolling down his forehead, Coach looks like he might pass out. After dealing with all these parents, will he ask for a pay raise?
I go to my father, and he gives me a side hug. “Think your mom would notice if I sneak a hot dog from the concession stand?”
I nearly trip over my feet. “You’re actually staying for the game?”
“Of course. I want to see you play. I rarely get to do that.”
I walk him toward the bleachers where the other Hundred Oaks parents sit.
“So Ezra Carmichael is here?” Dad asks.
“Yeah…”
“Remember what I said.”
“Dad, Ezra’s a great guy. I know he’s had some trouble, but he needs us in his life,” I say, fluttering my eyelashes, mimicking his political mumbo jumbo. “I’d be ever so grateful if you’d give Ezra a chance.”
A big grin crosses Dad’s face. “You kill me.”
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
I wrap an arm around his waist. “Thank you.”
For the first time in forever, he kisses my forehead. “No problem.”
• • •
We lose to my old school 3–1.
Which isn’t all that bad. When Chloe scored on a header, I ran screaming down the field and joined in the group hug.
After the game, while Mom and Dad chat with the other soccer parents, Ezra and I catch up with Steph and Madison. Ezra hugs me from behind, but he lets me go when he sees Dad glaring at him in that Dad way of his.
“I knew you guys would eventually get together!” Steph says in her British accent.
“Now maybe Mads will stop calling me The Asshole,” he replies with a playful grin.
“You knew about that?” Madison mumbles.
He winks at her. “I heard all sorts of stuff during poker night at St. Andrew’s.”
“Hey, Ez,” Steph says, poking him in the bicep. “Do you have any construction worker friends you can set me up with?”
“No, but Taylor can introduce you to a landscaping lion,” he replies, and I groan.
Back at home, Dad hauls ass up to his office so he can get to work. Mom sets her purse down on the kitchen island and sighs.
“You okay?” I ask.
She seems distracted when she replies, “I heard parents talking in the stands. They mentioned some of your teammates weren’t happy you joined the team. I’m sorry if they’ve been mean to you.”
My face burns with embarrassment. “They’re not all so bad.”
“Why didn’t you mention it to me and your father?”
I set my tote bag on a stool and unzip it, unpacking my empty lunch containers and iPad. “I don’t know. I’ve caused
you and Dad enough trouble, so I didn’t want to bother you with this. And I guess I’m just used to figuring out stuff myself. If I had a problem at St. Andrew’s, I dealt with it on my own.”
Mom picks up my lunch containers and carries them to the sink. “I know your father has always put a lot of pressure on you kids to be independent, but you can talk to me, okay?”
I nod, wishing that soccer were my biggest problem, when really it’s this lie holding me hostage. If I tell the truth, my family will be pissed at me. It could do further damage to Dad’s campaign. My friends and family may not look at me the same way anymore. They’d see me as a liar. But what I wouldn’t give to go back to being the smart, studious girl, the one colleges would kill to have at their schools.
Mom goes on, “I know what it’s like to feel lonely.” I can tell she’s thinking of Aunt Virginia. “It’s not good to keep those feelings bottled up inside.”
My mother’s gaze meets mine, and in that moment, I can feel I’m loved. I should tell her the truth. I open my mouth to say the words, but then Mom rubs the tears from her eyes and takes a deep breath. I don’t want to give her even more to worry about right now.
I decide to make a pact with myself. The election is a month away. Once that is over, I can come clean to my family.
The Interview
Dad kept his word: he actually takes a Friday off work to accompany me on my Yale visit.
While I meet with the admissions officer, Dad and Jenna have plans to get coffee. They need to get their fix when Mom isn’t around too.
Dad parks the rental car outside my sister’s apartment, which is nothing like Ezra’s on Ragswood Road. The condo is a quaint first-floor unit in a classic redbrick building on State Street. I feel like I’m at Bilbo Baggins’s place in Hobbiton.
If Yale accepts me, I’ll live in the dorms freshman year, but I might be able to move off-campus for sophomore year like my sister did. I love the idea of having my own little place with a dog, a Keurig, and a Hobbit front door.
Dad and I walk up the cobbled path framed by lush green bushes to the curved, wooden front door. I knock, and Jenna appears. When I see her, I always feel like I’m gazing into a mirror. We have the same ivory skin tone, same auburn hair.
“You’re early!” she says, giving us a panicked smile. She hops up on tiptoes to kiss Dad’s cheek and hug him, and he grins down at her.
Then she turns to me. “What the hell is wrong with you? How could you get kicked out of school?”
“Nice to see you too,” I mutter. Like I said, she always gives you her opinion straight.
She turns to our father and gives him a smile. “Dad, I’m glad you’re here. I want to talk to you about a paper I’m writing for philosophy. I’m having trouble grasping some concepts.”
Brownnoser.
Inside Jenna’s chic condo with the white sofa, matching loveseat, and light-yellow walls with cream crown molding, we discover she’s not alone. A guy is sitting in her armchair, putting on his tennis shoe.
Dad’s nostrils flare as he takes in the scene. “Did your boyfriend spend the night?”
“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend.”
The guy gulps.
“Excuse me?” Dad’s hands go to his hips.
My sister waves dismissively. “C’mon, Dad. I’m an adult.”
“And a horny one at that,” I murmur.
“At least I didn’t get kicked out of school,” Jenna retorts.
The guy rushes to put on his other shoe, then jumps to his feet and pulls on a Yale Lacrosse hoodie. Jenna shows him out, saying good-bye to him—whoever he is—at the door and clicking it shut. Given that she didn’t introduce him to us, I imagine this was a one-night stand. I don’t blame her though. That lacrosse player is cute.
“I don’t pay for this condo so you can entertain boys here,” Dad says, and I can barely contain my laughter.
Jenna ignores his red-faced glare. “Ready to go?” she asks, picking up her purse.
She makes a big deal of showing us around campus, even though Dad went to school here and I attended family day last year with my parents. Dad speaks to Randy on his cell phone about campaign tactics while Jenna plays tour guide.
“There’s the bell tower.” Jenna points at it. “I always forget its name.”
I roll my eyes. “Great tour, Jen.”
She ignores me. “And there’s the Commons.”
“Jack Goodwin asked me to tell you he said hi, by the way.”
This distracts her from the tour. “Is he still dating that girl Savannah?” She looks at me sideways, and I nod. “I really screwed up with him, huh?”
“Yeah, kinda,” I reply.
“Is he happy though?”
“I only met her for a few minutes, but they seem happy. Savannah was nice.”
Jenna gives me a tiny, sad smile. Jack was the first boy she ever loved. I feel kinship with her at the moment, because even though she’s incredibly smart and confident, she’s made mistakes. Just like me.
“So Oll told me you broke up with Ben,” she says softly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m getting there, thanks.”
“Why’d you do it?”
If I don’t give her some other juicy tidbit, she’ll interrogate me until I’m begging her to listen to all my deepest, darkest secrets. “Have you ever thought about hooking up with a construction worker?”
Her eyes light up. “You did not.”
“Did.”
“Oh my God, I want all the details! Go you.” She elbows me.
Luckily, Dad finishes his conversation and pockets his phone. He rubs his eyes. He suddenly looks tired.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“I’m sure the polls will go back up. If not, your mother will kill me.” He laughs nervously and won’t meet my gaze. Guilt presses on my heart.
I suddenly don’t feel like doing this college interview. I don’t feel like doing much of anything.
Jenna leads me to the admissions building, where I have an appointment with the director of admissions, Gregory Brandon. I googled him last night and found out he attended Georgetown University in DC, where he was on the crew team. I didn’t find much else. I wish I knew more about him, so I can schmooze if I have to.
“Good luck,” Dad says, squeezing my shoulder. “Just stick to the script, and you’ll do great. You plan to major in business, and you know Yale has the best program to help you achieve your goals. Be honest about why you were expelled.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I choke out.
“I’ll be back to pick you up in half an hour.”
I watch as he walks off with my sister, sliding an arm around her shoulder, listening as she talks. She’s not perfect by any means, but she’s never dragged our family into the headlines. Meanwhile, I did something so stupid Dad’s poll numbers are dropping faster than rain in a monsoon.
I try to shake it off. Concentrate. The biggest moment of my life is about to happen—the moment I’ve been working toward for years.
My college interview.
I pull open the door to the admissions building. The blue Yale logo is painted on every wall, and sunlight pours in through the windows. The atmosphere instantly improves my mood. I confidently walk up to the receptionist, a woman wearing a Yale Bulldogs sweatshirt.
“I’m Taylor Lukens. Here to see Mr. Brandon.”
“I’ll tell him you’re here,” the lady says with a smile. “Please have a seat.”
I sit down and smooth out my gray pencil skirt. I paired it with a white satin blouse and heels. It’s a sophisticated outfit, one I picked out myself. Even Mom approved it, which means the sky is falling.
This interview is a chance to make sure I have my ducks in a row before I submit my application in a few weeks. I can ask the admissions officer questions about my draft
essays and review which extracurriculars I should highlight above others. It’s also my chance to make a great impression.
Unbuttoning my tote bag, I quickly check my portfolio for the thousandth time to make sure I packed copies of my résumé. I run through answers in my head. “I plan to major in business with a minor in politics. I love community service—I’ve been on three different Habitat for Humanity projects.”
When I make sure my phone’s ringer is turned off, I find a text from Ezra: Good luck. xo.
Best. Boyfriend. Ever.
I watch five minutes tick by on the clock. I flip through a copy of last year’s yearbook, the Yale Banner, sitting on the coffee table. The pictures of students laughing in the stands at homecoming make me smile.
Finally a tall African-American man emerges from an office. He wears round glasses that remind me of Harry Potter’s, a Yale lapel pin on his suit jacket, and a black, white, and blue Yale-themed tie.
“Taylor?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, standing to shake his hand. He introduces himself and invites me into his office. He gestures at a seat in front of his desk and sits down in front of an open file folder labeled with my name. Probably my test scores, transcripts, and résumé I sent ahead of time. My entire life is in there.
“I’m glad you could stop by,” Mr. Brandon says. “I understand several of your family members attended Yale.”
“Yes, and my sister’s here now. She and my father are grabbing coffee while I meet with you.”
Mr. Brandon clicks his pen. “Have you been to Blue State Coffee yet?”
“No.”
“You should go try their mocha latte. They sprinkle chocolate chips on top of the whipped crème.”
“Can we go there now?” I ask, making him chuckle.
Mr. Brandon looks down at my file. “So you’ll be applying early admission in a couple weeks?”
“Yes, sir. If accepted, I plan to major in business with a minor in politics.”
“Well, you’ve got great test scores. A perfect GPA.” He scans the papers in front of him. “Superb community service and extracurricular activities. I imagine our admissions committee will be very impressed by your application.”