Getting In: A Novel by Karen Stabiner

expected she would be.
    “Am I leaving?” Chloe started to gather up her things.
    “Yeah, I have to tell my parents before somebody else does, that’s for sure.” Her phone moved again. “Katie’s so very sorry. Not sorry, not very sorry, but so very sorry. She sounds like her mother.”
    “Hey, it’s tough only being in the top, what are you? Two percent of all the seniors in the country?”
    “One and a half percent,” said Lauren, listlessly.
    “Agony,” said Chloe.
     
    The Crestview computer lab was empty, so Katie slipped in right after AP French, retrieved a small dog-eared notebook from a zippered compartment in her purse, and entered the 98 from the first test of the year on the page devoted to AP French. She had kept this book since ninth grade, and while she could hardly go around asking people what their grades were, she always listened carefully and watched the looks on certain of her classmates’ faces. She believed that Brad had an A minus in AP chemistry, and she knew from an overheard tantrum in the girls’ bathroom that the science nerd did not do well enough in AP Latin to pose a threat. Katharine Dodson, National Merit semifinalist at the very least, was almost certainly going to be valedictorian of this year’s Crestview senior class, even with the unweighted A in ceramics.
    She tucked the notebook back in its hiding place and decided to take another look at talk.collegeconfidential.com, which was filling up with California posts.
    “What’s so funny?”
    Instinctively, Katie clicked the site closed and put on her best sympathy smile for Lauren.
    “Forever 21 has such slutty clothes, it’s just amazing,” said Katie. “Listen. How’re you doing? It’s crazy, you know, somebody gets semifinalist and a point away you just get a letter…”
    “Katie, if you ever say ‘just’ gets a letter again I will hate you for the rest of my life.”
    “Can I join?” Brad came in just in time to hear the second half of Lauren’s sentence. “Do we get club T-shirts? Just kidding, Katie.”
    She ignored him and glanced at the wall clock.
    “Oberlin rep’s coming at lunchtime. Want to go?”
    “You’re not applying there,” said Lauren. “Neither am I.”
    “Exactly the point.” Katie brushed past Brad and hooked her arm in Lauren’s. “My dad says it’s good practice and it doesn’t matter. We should go pretend we’re desperate to go to Oberlin and see what kinds of things the woman says. What kinds of questions she likes. What she thinks is stupid. C’mon. And they always bring in turkey wraps, so it’s free lunch besides.”
    Lauren sighed and followed Katie down to the college counseling conference room, wondering about the potential advantage of having a dad who thought of going to a college rep visit to rehearse versus having parents who had never met a bureaucracy they liked. She and Katie took seats on either side of the Oberlin rep and took notes on how she responded to various questions, on what made her smile, on the way she gently demolished one applicant by pointing out that the answers to all of her questions were on the school’s website. Four of the other attendees, forwhom Oberlin was far and away a first choice, went home that afternoon in varying states of distress and announced to their parents that Katie and Lauren seemed interested in Oberlin, which undoubtedly wrecked their chances of acceptance. On the mere fact of their attendance at the meeting, one girl decided to switch her early application from Oberlin to Grinnell. No one of their caliber had shown up for the Grinnell lunch.
    On their way out, Katie leaned in close to whisper, “You should ask Ted how many semifinalists there are, total.”
    “To make myself even more miserable?”
    “How can you say that?” asked Katie. “I meant as news editor. I thought you might not be thinking about it right now, you know, but isn’t there usually an article when the names come out?”
     
    Ocean Heights