Authors: Sarah Mlynowski
My cell vibrates again. “Maya,” I lie. Speaking of Maya, she left me a message a few days ago and I haven’t had a chance to call her back yet.
“And anyway,” Karin says to Joelle, “you’re loving this.”
Joelle nods. “That’s ’cause I’m a postering genius.”
She is a postering genius. Unlike us, she can actually draw. Every poster features an adorable cartoon of a high school girl in midswing.
“Good news,” Ivy tells me.
I enter the hall and close the door behind me. “You got into UCLA and I can take a nap?”
“Not that I’m aware of as of yet. But Tash is still going to Brown. She’s just double majoring. In premed and theater. She’s balanced. She’s playing the mom in
Mamma Mia!
this year, and last year she played Roxie in
Chicago
. Unlike you, who continue to be in the chorus, year after year, she’s a natural.”
Four years of chorus? I’m pathetic. But Tash … I peer through the glass window in the door and spot her slumped over her poster. Who knew?
“You have to see her, Frosh. She’s so happy. And confident. Getting her to audition was the best thing you ever did.”
I feel a wave of pride. “Fabo! But I can still drop out of the play, right? I mean, I’m doing golf and Interact and yearbook, so I can drop out of the play.”
“I guess so. I definitely don’t want to have to actually be in
Mamma Mia!
in two weeks. And come on, you started your own golf team. Who can beat that?”
I straighten my shoulders. “It really worked? The golf team?”
“Yup,” she says. “You are officially team captain of the Florence Tabbies.”
“Wait—we don’t get a cat, do we?”
“No, of course not. Dad’s allergic.”
“Then why do I call the team the Tabbies?”
“I don’t come up with this stuff; I’m just reading it to you. The team wins some sort of championship junior year, by the way.”
Awesome! I’m a golf superstar. “How do you know all this?”
“I’m looking through the proofs in the yearbook room. And flipping through old yearbooks.”
That is seriously freaky. I look at my watch. Lunch is almost over. “Hey, shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Yearbook editors can take some freshman/sophomore lunches. And anyway, there are only a few more weeks of school.”
The bell rings. I hear it ringing through the phone too. “I have to go.”
“Later,” she says.
Tash, Joelle, and Karin are putting the posters against the windowsill so they can dry.
“Thanks, guys. You’re the best.” I gather up our lunch remnants and toss them into the trash. Karin and Joelle are up ahead when I turn to Tash. “Listen, Tash, I’ve been thinking about the play, and I’m not sure I’m going to have time to do it. You know, with starting my own golf team.”
She shrugs. “No biggie.”
Phewf. “So you don’t mind doing it on your own?”
“What? Me?” She turns pale and shakes her head. “No way. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I was dying to do it. It was just a whim. I still can’t believe I tried out.”
Uh-oh. “No, no, no, you have to be in it.”
She adjusts her glasses. “I don’t want to do it by myself. It’s not a big deal. I don’t really care if we do it, I swear. It’s so not a me thing to do.”
Ahhhh! Now what? She has to do it! She loves it! She’s good at it! It
is
a her thing to do; she just doesn’t know it yet. But how am I going to be able to juggle all these activities plus keep up with my schoolwork? I sigh. “No, we’ll do it.” I sling my arm through hers. “It’ll be fun.”
She shrugs again. “Whatever you want, Dev. It’s really not a big deal to me.”
Maybe not. But one day it will be.
chapter twenty-five
Thursday, May 29
Senior Year
I stay in my seat long after I hang up with her, looking at the yearbook statements. I submitted mine in March. It was basically an ode to Bryan.
Vampire Halloween, bowling, the park. It actually said
Vampr Hlwn, bwling, the prk
. You only have a few hundred characters, so you have to abbreviate.
How did I end it?
IwlLOVEu4evr
.
I flip to my page in the proofs. Instead of reflecting memories with Bryan, it says
KF, TH&JC:LUVUBFFE
and then lists all kinds of new things. Things like
Bblgumdoesnotgoinhair, Itnightmoviemrthon, 1littlebluelie, RUkidding? Myfeetrkillinme
.
I have no idea what I meant. And I never will.
I’m still feeling down when I get home. Until I see it.
Congratulations! You’ve been accepted to UCLA!
Holy SAT score.
She did it
. She did it!
I’d pat her on the back, but since I can’t, I pat myself instead. Which is kind of the same thing. I call her right away. “You did it, Ms. Frosh. We’re going to UCLA.”
“No way!” she squeals.
“Way.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t drop the play. I’m here right now, actually. At rehearsal. I can’t talk long. They want us to pay attention even though we’re not doing anything. It’s kind of annoying.”
“Well, whatever you did, it worked. The acceptance is smack in the center of my bulletin board, looking gorgeous. UCLA, here I come. Wait a sec.” Uh-oh.
“What? Did it change?”
“No, it’s still there.” I rummage through the other papers on my board. I find a pile of college stuff and go through it too. “It’s just that there isn’t anything about a scholarship.”
“But we didn’t get a scholarship to Tufts either, did we?”
“No. We didn’t. But … we need one. How else are we going to afford it with Dad out of work? I guess we can get a loan. But then I’ll have to spend the rest of my life paying it back.”
“Lot-te-ry! Lot-te-ry! Lot-te-ry!”
“Frosh, no. You’re just going to have to work harder.”
“Are you kidding me?” she screams. “I can’t work any harder. It’s physically impossible!”
She so belongs in the play. Such a drama queen. “No need to get hysterical,” I say. “We can talk about this later. I’m sure there’s a way to get a scholarship. Maybe if you study a bit more, or join another team—”
She groans. “Why don’t you do something for a change? Like give me the lottery numbers! I’m tired!”
“My job is to help you!”
“Okay, if you don’t want to do the lottery, let’s just invest in something. You can tell me what the good stocks are. Then we don’t have to worry about paying for college at all. Yeah. We can just buy a college and then go there.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t think UCLA is for sale.”
“But we can still buy stocks! You can tell me what’s going to be hot, and presto, college tuition. And—”
She’s drowned out by a very off-key group of students singing:
“Ever as before, ever just as sure …”
“Can you go somewhere quieter? I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, I could go home. How about that?”
I sit down on the corner of my bed. “Can’t you just sneak into the hallway?”
“Tale as old as time—”
She sighs. “One sec. I’m on the move. Okay. Where was I? Right, stock buying.”
“Sounds a little bit like insider trading,” I tell her. “I don’t think it’s legal, never mind ethical.”
“It’s wrong to give someone else tips. But not to give yourself tips, right?”
“I’m not sure.”
“We should do it! We can make a million! Then we don’t even have to go to college.”
She is
so
immature. “Of course we have to go to college. It’s not just about getting a job afterward; it’s about learning. And the experience.” I’m reminded of my grad statement and how little of it I understand. When I get to UCLA, I’m going to make sure to remember everything. “Maybe we could consider buying shares in a company. A company that’s going to be worth a gazillion dollars by the time you’re my age. Except—”
“What? I love the plan. Don’t ruin the plan. I can help. I’m an economics genius, you know.”
I roll my eyes. “What are we investing exactly? We have no money.”
“Oh. Right. That is a problem.”
“Maybe you should join the Junior Traders Club,” I tell her.
“No,” she says desperately. “No more clubs. Can’t I ask Mom or Dad? Do they know anything about stocks?”
I wish. “If they knew anything about stocks, we wouldn’t be in this situation now, would we?”
“We need to be more creative. Maybe I should invent something before it comes out! Like the Internet!”
I giggle. “Wouldn’t you feel bad stealing someone’s invention?”
“I guess so,” she admits. “Then back to my original suggestion … the lottery! Think about it. It’s a victimless crime. You get to go to college. It won’t matter that Dad gets laid off. Mom won’t have to work either—unless she wants to.”
“But what about the risks? What about Karin’s upcoming boob job?”
“What about Tash’s future awesomeness?”
She does have a point. “They must keep records of the winning numbers, no? Hold on.” I hop over to the computer and start searching. “One sec … Yes, they do. They post all the winning numbers for the last ten years.” I pause. “Should we really do this?”
“Yes!”
I scroll down for more info. “They seem to have one every three days. And there’s one tonight. Your tonight. And the jackpot is”—holy moolah—“twelve million.” I could be a millionaire. By tonight. Although, technically, if she becomes a millionaire tonight, I’ll have been one three and a half years ago. Show me the money! Then again … “Shouldn’t we feel bad for the people who were supposed to win tonight?” I continue scrolling. “Wait. No one else was going to win! Next time, the jackpot just goes up to fourteen million.”
“So the next winners will just win two million instead of twelve?”
“Exactly.”
“Not too shabby,” she says. “I told you—it’s a victimless crime.”
“Okay,” I say before I change my mind. “Let’s do it.”
“Yay!” she chirps. “What will we buy first?” she asks, her voice filling with awe.
“A car,” I say. “Definitely a car. My own car. And an extra one for Mom and Dad so they don’t have to share.”
“I could use some new clothes. Designer clothes! Ridiculously expensive ones!”
Ooh, there was a gorgeous coat I saw in
Seventeen
last month. And Bella has some new superb tops in for summer. But Frosh better not blow all my car money—I mean my tuition money—on a new wardrobe. Although with twelve million, we can certainly blow a teeny-weeny bit of it. We should also use the money to do some good stuff. We’ll sponsor Tash to find the cure for cancer. We’ll help other students pay for college too. Hey, if this works, I can get back to my Change the World list and start … changing the world!
“So what do I do?” she asks.
Does she need me to spell out everything? “I give you the numbers and you walk into a store and buy a ticket.”
“Don’t you have to be eighteen?”
Oh, yeah. “You better bring Mom.”
“You think Mom is going to buy me a lottery ticket? Are you crazy? She never buys those things. She says they’re like throwing away money.”
“You’ll have to convince her, then, won’t you? Call her and ask her to pick you up from rehearsal. Tell her you need to get some school supplies. Then, when you’re at the mall, get her to buy the ticket. Easy peasy.”
“I’ll try,” she says. “I’ll have to think up a good reason.”
I can think up twelve million.
chapter twenty-six
Thursday, September 15
Freshman Year