Fourth Comings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [58]
As I got up and headed to the Cupcake, Manda waved her cup in the air.
“Shea’s out,” she said through a yawn. “You owe another hundred sixty-six thirty-three in rent.”
As if I needed another reason to nail this interview tomorrow.
tuesday: the fifth
thirty-seven
Lately I can’t shake the feeling that I’m supposed to be doing…something. Preparing for…something. Getting ready for, and maybe even a little excited about…something. I’ll be microwaving half a burrito, reading The Journal of Abnormal Psychology, or writing in this very notebook, when I’ll violently jerk with a jolt of anxiety over tasks undone and unknown.
Can you blame me? For the past eighteen years, early September has meant one thing: back to school. This year it means something else entirely: back to school for everyone but me.
I was reminded of this via today’s six A.M. wake-up call from Marin. I only answered because her name came up on my caller ID. She has her own cell phone for emergencies, and I’m number two on the auto dial. (After Bethany but before G-Money.)
“Auntie J! It’s me! Marin! Why can’t I see you today?”
Yesterday Marin wanted nothing to do with me, but today I’m worthy of a before-dawn phone call.
“I’ve got a job interview,” I croaked.
“Does that mean you won’t come over to play with me anymore?”
A certain lower lip–jutting peevishness crept into her voice, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. “Don’t worry. I’ll still see you all the time….”
Fortunately, Marin has the zigzagging, ping-ponging attention span that is a defining characteristic of being four years old. She had already moved on to the next subject.
“Auntie J!” she squeaked. “You know? I start school today!”
“You excited?”
“Duuuuuh,” Marin said. “Of course I’m excited! St. Ann’s is the awesomest school in the whole wide world.”
“Most awesome,” I corrected.
“That’s what I said! The most awesomest! And I’m going there! Today!”
Marin is only slightly exaggerating. According to the Wall Street Journal, St. Ann’s is the most awesomest private pre-K-to-12 school in the whole country.
“School, school, school,” Marin sang.
I’d sing, too, if I had gotten into St. Ann’s pre-K program. It is not hyperbolic to say that with her acceptance to the “fours,” our little Marin is set for life. I’m proud that my bright, expressive niece charmed her way into the hearts of the St. Ann’s office of admissions. And I’m even prouder of my sister, who stayed remarkably levelheaded throughout the admissions process and didn’t pay a pre-K application packager to mold Marin into “the model four-year-old, an asset to the most selective classroom.” Marin got in on merit, however the hell the “merits” of a four-year-old can be quantified.
“You know? I’m wearing my shiny tap-dance shoes!” she said. “Just listen!” And then I heard the muffled fumbling of the phone, followed by some indistinct shuffling and scraping sounds. “Did you hear that, Auntie J? Did you?”
“I heard.”
“You know what else? I’m wearing my spotty leopard shirt. And you know? My mom says I can’t wear the sweater with the fur because it’s too hot, but I told her that summer is over and it’s back to school and that means sweaters.”
I used to think the same thing. I still sort of do.
“And I’ve got my new backpack, and you know? St. Ann’s is the most awesomest school in the whole wide world for art, and that’s awesome because I’m so good at painting, right? And…”
Lapses in judgment like The Fun Chart™ aside, Bethany has done an amazing job at making sure Marin acts her age, and not like one of those prematurely jaded sophistikids. But I can’t help but worry what will happen now that she’s in the most awesomest school in the whole wide world.
“But I’m also really good at counting. You know? I can count all the