Mom’s in the living room.
I sneak into her bedroom and close the door. Then I dial.
“Hello?”
“It’s here,” I tell her.
“Did you open it?”
“I can’t.”
“You have to open it,” Laila says.
“I know.”
“Is it thick?”
“It’s thick.”
“Yes! You totally got in! Open it!”
“Okay,” I breathe.
I slide my finger under the seam of the envelope and rip it open slowly. I peek inside.
“Well?” Laila goes.
“I’m still opening it.”
“You’re in. You’re so in.”
“Okay,” I tell her. “I’m taking the letter out.” I’d be less flushed if I’d just run twenty miles.
“Well?” Laila screams.
I scan the first sentence of the letter.
“I got in!” My eyes tear up. “I got in!”
“Congrats! But, like, obviously.”
“Yes!” I’m jumping all around like a maniac.
“It would appear that we’re destined for greatness. But this we knew.”
I sit down on the bed to catch my breath.
“If they didn’t take you, they’d be seriously wrong.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Why? You earned it.”
“No, it’s like . . . it’s all working out.”
“Not while we still have all this calc,” Laila complains. “Could this homework be any longer?”
“No,” I tell her. “It definitely couldn’t be.”
But I don’t have to care anymore. I’ve already gotten into college. High school is now officially irrelevant.
Tobey’s coming over in half an hour. He says he wants to take me out to celebrate. Of course I don’t have anything to wear. It’s going to take me at least that long to get something together. I briefly consider stealing that fierce halter top I like since I’m already in Mom’s room, but she’ll see me leave with it on.
I open the door. Mom’s standing right there.
“Were you listening?” I say.
“No.”
“Well . . . I just found out I got into NYU.”
Mom says, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
And then something really weird happens.
She hugs me.
Okay, so it’s not one of those warm and fuzzy hugs where you bond and cry and go make s’mores around the campfire. But at least it’s something. At least she’s trying.
“I have to figure out what to wear. Tobey’s coming to pick me up.”
“Well, here,” Mom says. She goes over to her closet and takes out the halter top. “You liked this when I showed it to you before, right?”
“Yeah?”
“You can borrow it.” She holds it out tentatively.
“Thanks.”
Getting ready in my room, I put on this old Chicago song, “If You Leave Me Now.” It’s so overwhelmingly romantic, which is exactly how I feel right now. And I feel good. I’m thinking that it might actually be possible for things to work out sometimes. Definitely not everything and maybe not the way you imagined. But sometimes, when you least expect it, life surprises you.
CHAPTER 48
end of familiar
june 15, 5:10 p.m.
“Like, what kind of sadist invented these hats?”
Josh is struggling to keep his mortarboard on. He tried to do this thing with hair product today, and it’s not exactly working for him.
“Someone who obviously didn’t graduate from high school,” Mike says.
I’m sitting in the row of wobbly chairs behind Mike and Josh since I’m taller. It’s crazy hot out here on the football field. The person who invented these ridiculous hats also forgot to come up with a material for these gowns that lets air circulate.
I search the girls’ side for Sara. She’s focused on Laila’s speech, which is a lot more interesting than the fifteen hours of other speeches. Laila was valedictorian by some absurdly microscopic quantity of GPA points.The rumor is that Michelle tried to OD on Tylenol when she found out she was only salutatorian.
When they start calling our names, I’m relieved that it’s almost over.
“Sara Tyler!”
There’s applause from the bleachers. I clap, too. I watch her walk across the stage, with her NHS rope. When she put it on, she joked about how it looked like a tie for curtains. Watching her get her diploma, all of these images flash in front of me like a blur. The prom, the senior luncheon, the awards ceremony . . . it’s like we’ve just been through so much so fast. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by everything. Maybe it’s exhaustion from cramming for finals. Or maybe it’s the heat.
I stand up straight. I’m next.
“Tobey Beller!”
There’s less applause for me, but that’s cool.The important thing is that it’s over.
I walk across the stage and shake hands and grab my diploma in a haze. And when I’m walking down the stairs on the other side, I see Mr. Hornby and Ms. Everman sitting together. They’re both smiling at me. And I feel something I’ve never felt before. I’m proud that they’re proud of me. And I’m proud that my hard work really did pay off.
After it’s over, parents start filtering across the field to take pictures and stuff. Our group is hanging out, waiting.
“All I want to do is go home and take a cold shower ten minutes ago,” Maggie whines.
“The best part of graduating is the knowledge that I will never have to take gym again,” Sara says.
“We also don’t have to subject ourselves to any more of Mr. Carver’s ties,” Laila adds.
“Damn, yo,” Josh says. “What was it with those ties?”
“I know,” Maggie says. “How can people have such different tastes? What, is taste genetic?”
“Clearly,” Laila says.“Name one possible environmental influence that could make someone like those ties.”
“Early head trauma?” I guess.
“Seriously,” Maggie agrees. “It’s like, nineteen forty-seven called and they want their wardrobe back.”
I’m going to miss this. I finally have a decent group of friends beyond Mike and Josh and it’s already over.
Sara’s mom comes over. She fans her face with the program.
“Sara,” she says. “Well . . . congratulations . . .” Then her mom gives Sara a quick hug.
“Oh,” Sara says.“Thanks.” She looks embarrassed. I guess I would be, too, if my mom was so out of it she didn’t even know what to say to me right now.
We all stand there, shifting awkwardly in the hot sun.
But then all our parents come over, and it’s a whirlwind of hugs and kisses and pictures.
Dad hands me a small box wrapped in gold foil.
"Congratulations, Tobey,” he says. "We’re...very proud of you.”
Mom dabs under her eyes with a tissue.
I open the box. It’s a really expensive-looking pocket watch.
“It belonged to your great-grandfather.”
I get that overwhelming feeling again, like it’s all too much when really it’s no big deal. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
Mom keeps dabbing.
I look around at everyone else. It seems like half the people here are related to Laila. Everyone swarms around her, fighting for the chance to stand next to her and have their picture taken. Mike and Josh and their families all look happy. Josh is jumping around like a lunatic, hamming it up for the camera. Maggie’s talking to her mom, but I don’t see her dad anywhere. And Sara’s mom is trying to make small talk with some of the parents, looking off into the distance sometimes. Sara looks miserable.
“Hey, Dad?” I say.
“Yeah?”
“I’m going over to talk to Sara, okay?”
“Sure,” he says. My parents can’t stop gushing about S
ara.They think she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I was kind of scared they wouldn’t like her after the time Dad walked in on us, but it’s like they forgot all about it once I got into MMA.
Sara watches me walk over. She smiles a little.
My parents are taking me out to dinner. Everyone else is going out to dinner with their parents, too. Except for Sara.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” she says.
I look at her mom. We’ve only spoken a couple times. She knows that I’m Sara’s boyfriend, but she hasn’t made much of an effort to get to know me. It’s so weird.
"Hi, Tobey,” her mom says. “Congratulations and all.”
“Thanks. Um, I was wondering? If Sara could come to dinner with me and my parents tonight.”
“I think that sounds fine,” she says.
“Okay. Good. Well um . . . bye.” I grab Sara’s hand and take her away. It occurs to me that I didn’t ask my parents if it’s okay with them. But I know it will be.
“If you hadn’t rescued me just now, I don’t even know,” Sara says.
“What else would I do?”
“You’re my hero.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” I say.
Seeing everyone I grew up with for the last time, leaving this school and never coming back . . . it all feels really strange. But I’m ready to make things finally happen.
CHAPTER 49
edge of possibility
july 11, 7:23 p.m.
“The Boys of Summer” plays through the Putt-Putt Mini Golf speaker system.
“Exclusive!” Josh yells. “Check out this huge Slurpee! Did you guys know they’re only seventy-nine cents right now?”
“It’s changed my life.” Maggie is so obviously love-struck. Even though she’s still pretending to be aloof.
We’re all here to celebrate Laila’s last day with us, since she’s moving to Philly tomorrow for her summer internship. And Maggie’s leaving for Florida State in two weeks.
“Could it be any bigger?” I ask.
“The correct answer,” Laila says, “is no.”
“Dumb big!” Josh yells.
Laila also got a drink at 7-Eleven on our way over. I can’t remember the last time I saw Laila drink something other than coffee.
I go, “Why are you drinking that?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Laila says. “It was only seventy-nine cents.”
“No, like, there’s this huge Starbucks right across from 7-Eleven.”
“I’m off coffee.”
“What!” Maggie and I yell together.
“If I don’t start training myself to stay awake without artificial stimulants, they’re going to have to keep me hooked up to a caffeine IV drip at Penn.”
“Sounds delicious,” Mike says.
“It’s normal to get tired,” Tobey tells her.
“If I got tired like a normal person, my dad would probably bribe my roommate to sneak crushed up NoDoz into my dinner every night,” Laila says. “That is, before I become wildly famous for inventing a cure for sleep.”
It’s my turn. I smack my ball way out. It lands in some bushes by the fence overlooking Route 78.
“Bummer,” I say.
“Yeah,” Tobey says. “Weren’t you winning?”
“I still am.”
“What? No way,” Josh says. “Your ball’s like in Greenland. You’ll never find it.”
“I Just Want To Be Your Everything” comes on.
“Who is this?” Laila says. “The Bee Gees?”
“God!” Maggie says. “It’s Andy Gibb!” She rolls her eyes.
“Wish me luck,” I say. At least my ball is neon orange.
“Wait,” Laila says. “You don’t have to look for it. Tobey’s going.”
“I don’t think so,” Tobey says.
Laila goes, “I’m cashing in on a deal we have.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, see, we have this deal in which you said if I did something you’d be my personal slave for the rest of the year—well, life, if I remember correctly—and I did it. And I haven’t even mentioned it until now so I figure you have no choice.”
Tobey told me about Laila’s personal-slave deal for trading partners in Music Theory, so I go, “Hey, yeah! How could you let the whole year go by without offering to do anything?”
“She should have asked!”
“Well,” Laila says. “I’m not asking. I’m telling. I’m in charge here.”
Tobey groans. He salutes Laila.
“Go fetch,” she orders.
“Demanding!” Mike yells. “I like that in a woman.”
“Oh, please,” Laila says. “You like breasts in a woman. Preferably somewhere around a C-cup.”
“Bye!” Josh yells after Tobey. “Send me a postcard!”
“Me, too!” I yell. “I hear Greenland is beautiful this time of year!”
“Ow!” Josh yells. “Brain freeze!”
“So why’d you have to guzzle the whole thing in like two seconds?” Maggie says. They’re like an old married couple already. I wonder what Maggie will do if she finally realizes how she feels about Josh in Florida.
The next course is the windmill one. The one that gave me a sign last summer.
Josh jumps onto the fake grass and does this vintage disco John Travolta move, waving his golf club all around. We just stand there looking at him.
He notices we’re not laughing. “Play it off. . . .” he mumbles. He puts his ball down and whales it. It bangs into the windmill and comes rolling back.
“Nice try, slickness,” Maggie teases. “Let me show you how it’s done for future reference.” She puts her ball down.
“Does that mean we have a future together?” Josh says.
“Maybe.” Maggie smiles coyly. “If you’re lucky.”
Josh just stands there, mesmerized.
“Watch,” Maggie says, “and learn.” She gets ready to hit the ball. “Are you watching?”
Josh, who is staring at Maggie’s butt, goes, “Huh— oh, yeah!”
Maggie’s ball rolls through the windmill slats. She smirks at Josh.
Tobey comes running back with my ball. He looks over the course. He says, “This is too easy!” He puts his ball down, takes an inventory of the windmill, and swings. The ball bangs one of the windmill’s arms and zings off toward the batting cages.
“Okay, then,” Tobey says. “I guess it would be your turn.”
I position my ball the same way as before. I don’t need a sign this time. I own the windmill.
I want to tell Tobey about when I was standing in this exact same place last summer, wishing for him to be real. But it’s hard to remember life before Tobey. He makes everything seem possible. Like whatever you feel is true, really true in your heart, you can make happen. And you just know, when it happens, it’s for real. And there are a million possibilities.
Like the possibility of going separate ways.
Together.
Turn the page for a preview of Susane Colasanti’s next book,
Text copyright © Susane Colasanti, 2008
P/U pages 313-327
(numbered 1-15)
from separate live file on disk
same size and position
328 blank
Susane Colasanti, When It Happens
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