Defending Taylor (Hundred Oaks #7) (14 page)

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.”

“Thank you. I’ve worked really hard.”

He looks up at me, clicking his pen on and off. He hesitates. “I did an Internet search on you before you arrived.”

“I did one on you too, sir.”

This surprises him. “Find anything good?”

“I know that you did crew in college…but I don’t know anything about crew, so I probably shouldn’t have brought that up.”

He smiles. “I like that you’re straightforward. Honesty is very important to us.” I fidget in my seat as he keeps speaking. “Normally, I prefer to respect our applicants’ privacy, but sometimes we can’t help but hear something in the news.”

I feel like he’s sizing me up. “Yes, sir.”

“So I understand you’ve been in some trouble recently. The articles I read said you were taking Adderall that wasn’t prescribed to you, and you were forced to leave your school.”

“I made a mistake,” I say, clasping my hands in a bid to make them stop shaking. “I shouldn’t have taken the pills, but I take responsibility for what I did. And I won’t let my bad decision define me. I will keep working hard.”

He makes a note in my file. “Thank you for being honest. That tells me a lot about you.” Mr. Brandon sets his pen down and leans back in his chair to look at me. “We consider each applicant on a case-by-case basis, Taylor. As a matter of practice, we don’t admit any applicants who have a record of hard drug use. We can’t afford that kind of liability here on campus.”

“I understand that, sir.” My voice is now shaking along with my hands.

“Adderall is a bit of a different case,” Mr. Brandon says. “It’s not an illegal drug like cocaine or heroin, but it’s still serious. Use of prescription drugs by someone other than the intended recipient is happening more and more, and it’s not something we want to see here on campus. We’ll have to carefully consider your circumstances before agreeing to accept you as a student here.”

“I admit I’ve taken it a few times in the past, but I haven’t in over a month, and I don’t plan to again. I’ve been seeing a counselor.”

He makes a note in the file. “That’s good to know. Yale is a tough school, but we try to have fun here as well. We don’t want our students feeling like they are under so much pressure to succeed that they have to take pills.”

I bite my pinkie nail. “No, sir. I don’t want that either.”

I nearly do a cheer when he changes the subject. “So how do you like your new high school?”

“It’s okay, but I miss St. Andrew’s. Especially my soccer team.”

He picks up a paper from my file and studies it. “But you’re playing for your new school now?”

“Yeah, but we aren’t very good. Haven’t won a game yet.”

“Are you having fun at least?”

After thinking for a moment, I shake my head. “It’s hit or miss.”

“But you’re still playing?”

“I’m not a quitter.”
Not this close to when college applications are due.
“I really do love the game…just not this team. Some girls don’t pass the ball. They don’t work together. It’s not very fun.”

“Then why are you still playing for the school?”

Good question. I love soccer, but at this point, it’s just something to put on my résumé.
That sounds shallow, and any other answer would ring false, so I choose not to respond.

Mr. Brandon picks up his pen again. “After you graduate high school, life is going to get a lot tougher.”

“That’s hard to imagine,” I say quietly.

“It’s important to do things you enjoy. You don’t want to end up on a path that you hate.”

“I don’t want that either.”

“So what do you plan to do with your business major?”

I nod, prepared for the question. “I want to work for my family’s investment firm.”

He looks a little bored by my answer. I don’t blame him. It bores me too.

“What about your minor in politics?”

I should say that I will run for office one day, but he must hear this same drivel all day long. He probably looks forward to hearing the random—like a guy who wants to major in art because he’s on a graffiti crew, or a girl who wants to join the Yale sailing team but might have to take a semester or two off because it’s her dream to sail around the world.

“I’m not totally sure what I want to do with the politics minor,” I say. He appreciated when I told the truth earlier, so I decide to just lay it all out there. “I’m not wild about business either, to tell you the truth. I hate math.”

“So do I,” he replies with a smile.

“Whatever I do, Yale is the best school to help me achieve my goals.”

“I can’t disagree with you there. All of our students take general education courses during their first two years here. It helps kids learn more about who they are and what they like.”

“That’s good to know. I don’t really know what I like.”

“That’s okay. I just turned forty, and I still don’t know what I want to do with my life.” He stares out the window at a parking lot.

I follow his eyes. A black car reverses out of its space and drives out onto the road. I worry my life is just like that car, reversing and heading out to some unknown destination. I don’t like the idea of not knowing where I’m going.

We sit in an awkward silence.

“I totally bombed this interview, huh?” I say.

He shakes his head. “It’s been a good eye-opener for me, to be honest.”

“How so?”

“Based on your background and what I’ve seen in the news, I figured you’d make excuses for your behavior, but you were completely open with me. I appreciate that. When you send in your application, make sure to include a detailed letter explaining why you were expelled and what you’ve learned from it.”