Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [78]
“Yet despite all this,” I said, wrapping up, “I’m thinking that going to any of the other schools I’ve applied to would be a mistake.”
“Um. Well. Of course it is.” No, our boyfriend/girlfriend relationship has done little to relax his verbal skills. He coughed, then cleared his throat. “Of course going to those other schools is a mistake, because Columbia outranks all of them on all of the most important lists— Peterson’s, U.S. News and World Report, Princeton Review, to name a few. And going to an Ivy League school, like Columbia, or in my case, Cornell, will be an invaluable asset when it’s time to enter the job market, as recruiters are always impressed with—”
This is exactly what he said the first time I consulted him.
“I don’t know, Len,” I said, interrupting him. “I’m kind of afraid of New York.”
Marcus tapped me on the shoulder. I was expecting him to admonish me about Gladdie again, but he didn’t.
“Not going to New York won’t protect you from harm,” he said.
“You can die at any time.”
“That’s. Um. Morbid.”
“Not really,” Marcus replied. “The way I see it, if you’re going to die, and you will eventually, you might as well die happy.”
“Is that would Gladdie would say?” I asked. A valid question, considering her “choose to be happy” philosophy.
“Probably,” he said. Then he turned back around in his seat.
So there it is. The argument that convinced me to apply to Columbia. Yet another example of how I’m not good at being a girlfriend.
the thirtieth
I DID IT! I APPLIED TO COLUMBIA!
This application required a lot more effort than all the others combined, since I actually cared about it. I’m so paranoid that I sent an on-line and snail-mail, postmarked, and insured hard-copy version, just in case.
There’s no going back. I did it. Now it’s just up to the admissions office to do their duty. Won’t it be funny—not ha-ha funny but funny like a swift kick in the groin—if after all this Columbia is my destiny talk, I DON’T GET IN? Like, they’ve already filled their quota of white, Anglo-Saxon, Catholic, Merit Scholar, wanna-be psychology majors from New Jersey who are superficial, ah, but with potential.
I e-mailed my homosexual Manhattan mentors to thank them for helping me see the light. Neither has responded, which kind of surprises me. Unless . . . Maybe Paul Parlipiano and Mac already know something I don’t! Maybe they have gaydar of an entirely different sort. The kind that intuits whether someone is Ivy material or not.
Oh, God. I am going to be in full-on freak-out mode until I get accepted. This sucks. Suckity, suck, sucks. Let’s face it. I could have gotten a perfect score on my SATs and I’d still be in a panic about getting accepted to Ocean County Community College if it were my number-one choice. When I really want something, I mean, really, really want something, I just can’t believe that I’ll ever actually get it. I think that’s why I so rarely really, really want something. I try not to address my desires. If I deny, deny, deny, then I have no reason to be disappointed when I don’t get it. Right?
I don’t know how I got this way. I highly doubt Jenn Sweet would react like this.
In other un-Jenn-like behavior, I ended up not telling my parents about the application. It was probably Len’s positive influence that had me even considering it. The other day, when I was taking a TV break from my application, I was given an indisputable sign from MTV to keep my mouth shut: Mom walked into the room while I was watching The Real World .
As you know, the show returned to none other than New York City for its tenth season. As Mom and I were watching, the Real World group was getting smacked at a bar called the West End, which just happens to be located at 114th and Broadway—practically on Columbia’s campus . I couldn’t believe it. My breath caught in my throat as I waited for her response.
“I can’t believe their parents let them do that,” she said.
Too vague. She could’ve been referring to (a) living in New York, (b) appearing on the show, (c) underage drinking,