“Dude, seriously?” Dallas’ eyes widened, and she nudged the girl on her right. “Leighann, is this a dream or what? For real, Celeste, we were just talking last night about how we totally need an application coach or something. And here you are!”
Leighann clasped a hand to her chest. “Really? You’ll help? My parents are no good at this stuff, and the guidance counselor here keeps telling me the same thing over and over. To just be myself, be honest, blah, blah. That’s not going to help me get in anywhere. It’s almost winter break, and the clock is ticking.”
Jennifer pulled out a free chair and motioned for Celeste to sit, and she did, albeit nervously. “I’ve been in that guidance office a zillion times, and it’s not helping. I’m afraid I bombed my campus interviews, too. I don’t know what they want from me.”
The desperation on Jennifer’s face angered Celeste. How could their expensive private school have been failing all of these students so terrifically? The assumption was likely that decent grades from this well-respected high school would automatically result in acceptance at one good school or another.
Before she could gather her thoughts, a hand tapped her on the shoulder.
“Celeste! What’s up?”
She turned to the right to see Zeke shooting past her. “Zeke!” she called. “Wait!”
He backed up. “What’s going on?”
“You may be interested in this conversation given what we spoke about last month. I was in the process of offering to assist the young women at this table with their college applications. If you have not had occasion to previously converse, please make the acquaintance of Dallas, Leighann, and Jennifer. Would you care to join in?”
“Hey, ladies.” Zeke rifled through his backpack and retrieved a messy stack of papers. “These are my attempts at an essay. They’re all horrible, I know. And my extracurriculars don’t sound great. Drummer in going-nowhere band doesn’t exactly have a good ring to it.”
“I would be happy to take a look at what you have written and make suggestions.” Celeste adjusted her seat. “Deadlines are fast approaching, so perhaps we could meet after school every day this week? Essentially, once we have packaged each of you properly with the right essays and such, then applying to multiple schools becomes simple.”
“Do you know anything about applying for scholarships and financial aid?” Zeke asked. “I don’t understand any of the paperwork. They make it so confusing.”
“I could certainly review all of the information and help you. That is not a problem.” She would have to do a lot of research into both of these, but she enjoyed that.
“Okay, so where should we meet?” Leighann asked. “There’s the school library, I guess.”
“God, I’m so sick of being in school,” Dallas said. “Where else? I don’t know. A cafe?”
“Ugh, too noisy.” Jennifer blew bangs out of her eyes.
“There my band’s practice space,” Zeke offered. “Although it is a garage.”
“You’re in a band?” Dallas perked up. “Rad, man.”
Zeke adjusted his messenger bag and smiled. “We do all right.”
“We could work at my house,” Celeste said quickly. “Tonight. There is plenty of room for us there, and it might be more comfortable than the library or a garage, although both serve purposes for other occasions.”
“Perfect.” Dallas smiled. “This is awesome of you, Celeste. How about we come over at, like, six?”
“I’ll bring soda,” Leighann said. “And if I can ask my friend Amber, then I’ll have her bring these double-chocolate cookies that she makes. They’re killer.”
“Certainly. Amber is welcome to attend. Any and all are welcome.”
Celeste was having people to her house. A number of people. She was exhilarated and terrified at the thought. But mostly exhilarated. “It is Monday, and I feel confident that if we work every evening, by Friday night you will all have completed your applications, and colleges will be rioting to secure your acceptance.” She brushed a stray hair back to her ponytail and waited nervously.
“Cool. Text us your address, and we’ll see you tonight,” Zeke said. “I’ll bring pizza. Anything else you want?”
“Laptops will do for tonight.” Celeste paused. “I very much like bacon on my pizza, if no one objects.”
“You got it,” Zeke said as he rose from the table. “What’s your favorite place?”
“Pinocchio’s is quite good, if you do not mind.”
“Anything for Coach Watkins. I have to get to French early. Later.”
“I’ll join you,” Leighann said. “I can’t conjugate the future perfect to save my life. Thanks again, Celeste. You rock for doing this.”
Celeste waved tentatively as they walked away. What an extraordinary exchange she’d just had.
Dallas watched Zeke as he left the room and then turned back to Celeste. “How come you never talked to me again after I gave you that book?” she asked directly. “I only got one dry text from you.”
Celeste was taken aback. “I apologize.”
Dallas crossed her arms. “It’s okay if you didn’t want to be friends. I get it.”
Celeste shook her head. “That’s not it at all.” She slowly sat down, thinking about how to respond. “I was not sure that your reaching out to me was sincere.”
“Well, it was.”
“Again, I apologize.”
Dallas examined her long nails which were painted deep burgundy, each with a small diamond-like gem at the tips. “So if I lend you another book, then you’ll text me back from now on? And you’ll return the book?”
“Yes,” Celeste said as she blushed. “How awful of me to have held on to the book. I am very embarrassed. Perhaps I might offer you a book recommendation. As a sign of my regret and my inclination toward friendship.”
“Yeah? What book?”
“Have you read Margaret Mitchell?”
Dallas shook her head.
Celeste smiled. “Then I have a particularly epic saga that you will enjoy immensely. I shall pass on my original paperback to you this evening.”
“I could use a good romance. I broke up with Troy a few weeks ago.”
“I did not know that.”
“If you’d been talking to me, then you would have.” Dallas winked. “But now you know.”
“I am sorry to hear that. You seemed to like him quite a bit. We will keep you so very busy this week that you will not notice any lingering heartache.”
“Cool beans.” Dallas walked a few feet away and then turned back. “I’m really psyched we’re going to hang out.”
“I, too, am psyched,” Celeste said. “Cool beans, indeed.”
She returned to her table. Although she was alone now, she did not feel lonely. It wasn’t clear to her exactly what she felt. But she was calm. Steady.
Or so she thought until it took three tries for her to type in the correct login password on her tablet. She made herself focus. A lesson plan of sorts was required here. Staring at a blinking cursor for five minutes put her into a trance-like state. What was she going to do? Hand out copies of an outline? Her peers would be bored. They’d all seen enough dry preparatory material to last a lifetime. Real-world guidance was what was needed. Perhaps she could provide a sample application and walk them through from start to finish.
Celeste wiggled her toes as she opened a browser. For instance, she could fill out another application online tonight. Like, say, the Barton College application. Just as an example. As a random school. It could be any application. She may as well use the Barton one. Her fingers trembled as she created a username and password, which she thought was plain silly, because she was nothing if not highly competent at filling out applications for higher learning. And it wasn’t as though she would be required to hit a button to actually submit the application.
There was no need to take it that far.
That night, sixteen people showed up at her house. People brought people who brought peop
le. When Celeste said that “any and all are welcome,” it never occurred to her that the group would grow to such a number. It was a good thing that the living room was large enough to accommodate everyone who was now sprawled out on the couch, two arm chairs, and the floor. Erin and Roger appeared to be as surprised as Celeste was each time the doorbell rang.
“Why haven’t you had any of your friends over before?” her father asked. “We’ve wanted to meet your comrades for so long.”
“I… I am a private person,” Celeste stammered under her breath. “What is more important right now is that we do not appear to have sufficient food and drink for our guests. This is quickly becoming a disaster. Only a few people brought what I believe are called ‘munchies,’ and we are perilously low before the instruction has even started.”
“Your parents are here to rescue you. Erin and I will run to the supermarket for snacks, and we’ll pick up more pizza too.”
“Thank you. That is most kind. Perhaps some paper plates and cups, too?” Celeste clenched her hands and shook them out. “I should get started.”
“This is lovely.” Erin made a cheering gesture that caused Celeste to roll her eyes. “Young people gathering together for a common cause. It’s like an anti-war group from the sixties. Oh, there’s the door again.”
“I shall answer it,” Celeste said quickly as she rushed from the living room. Erin seemed likely to enthusiastically fling her arms around the next person to enter the house.
Dallas was at the door, and Celeste’s relief was immeasurable. She barely knew any of the other students currently occupying the living room, and Dallas’s presence felt grounding. “You have changed the color of your hair again. Lavender is quite nice on you.”
“Thanks, babe.” Dallas shook her head. “Something different for me. Look, I brought Swedish fish.” She held up a bag. “And other fun treats.”
“Thank you. Please make yourself at home,” Celeste said nervously.
Dallas followed her into the living room. Celeste scanned the sea of faces and locked eyes with Zeke. He widened his eyes and tipped his head slightly to his left side where there was a free spot.
She stepped delicately around students and led Dallas to a place by an end table. “There is adequate seating right here next to Zeke. He is the drummer for Flinch Noggins whom you met earlier today. Zeke, you remember Dallas, I am sure.”
Dallas and Zeke were transfixed on each other, neither evidently capable of speaking.
Celeste cleared her throat. “Perhaps you would care to offer Zeke something to eat.”
“Okay,” Dallas said without moving.
“Zeke would you care for something called Swedish fish?” Celeste took the bag from Dallas’ hand and frowned. “Or… pickled green beans? Or canned blueberries?”
“Any of those sound awesome,” he said breathlessly.
Dallas looked as though she might faint.
Celeste put a hand on Dallas’ back and gave her a small push forward. “Okay, then, wonderful. Such a colorful assortment of snack options. Why don’t you have a seat, and we can begin.”
She worked her way to the outskirts of the living room and surveyed the scene in front of her. The chatter died down as the students became aware that the college application discussion was going to begin. She could choose to be terrified and collapse right then and there, or she could choose to rise to the occasion. This gathering was her doing, and these people were now counting on her. Collapsing was not a smart option. And Celeste was smart.
So she faced them head on and forced a smile. “Welcome, everyone. I did not realize there would be so many of you here tonight, but I will do my best to lend any wisdom I have about how to tackle college applications.” She took a deep breath. Everyone looked more worried than she felt. It was her job to inspire and empower, so do that she would. “This can be a most intimidating process. High school guidance counselors have the best of intentions, but their advice can often be rote and uninspired. Our futures are undecided. We do not know where we will be living next year, where we will be creating new lives. We are all on the brink of magnanimous change.” She could hear her voice rising, her confidence growing. “Options are important, so together we will work to increase the margin for acceptance at multiple schools by delivering the most spellbinding applications these colleges and universities have ever seen. We will help ourselves and help our comrades! We will not be pushed aside any longer! We must fight the system and chase the dream!”
“Sing it, coach!” a boy she barely recognized yelled. “Let’s do it!”
He clapped his hands together loudly a few times, and soon the room was applauding. For her. Although she knew she had likely turned redder than Dallas’s canned cherries and she waved her hand dismissively, she did understand that something very nice was happening here. There would be time to question it later. Right now, she had a revolution to lead.
Celeste raised a fist into the air. “A change is gonna come!”
CLARITY
ICY RAIN PATTERED against Celeste’s bedroom window. She dropped her head back against her cozy chair and shivered. It seemed impossible to get and stay warm today. Even her fluffy fleece socks weren’t helping. The weather was only going to get worse with the miserable months of January and February coming up. Winter sports were not in Celeste’s repertoire, but it might behoove her to take up snowboarding or ice fishing or something so that she could get all sorts of thrilled by awful weather.
Warmth. She would kill for warm air and sunshine now. Celeste half laughed. She had filled out that Barton College application. Not that it’d been a real application in the sense that she hadn’t submitted it, but it had served as a great modeling tool last week when her friends had been over. Maybe not friends, exactly. Fellow students. Whatever they were to her, they had been at her house every night, Monday through Friday, and all had solid applications completed. No one had said anything mean or taunting. No one had been sarcastic or critical. In fact, there had been joking and laughter and hard work. She had people to sit with at lunch and in class now, too. It was entirely possible that they felt an obligation to include her on some level because she’d been up late every night editing their essays. So maybe that was it. Or maybe they were friends? Either way, she found that, much to her surprise, she was grateful for the companionship. She was finding that it was less effort to allow social opportunities than to avoid them.
Another thing occurred to Celeste: she had not been a red-haired rocker chick, or a yogini, or anything else but herself. And no disaster struck. It was quite interesting.
A gush of wind slammed ice crystals against the windowpane. San Diego didn’t sound half bad right now. Out of curiosity, she visited an online weather site and checked to see what miserable weather Californians were dealing with today. “Oh, pity the poor souls!” she called out. “Unseasonably warm at seventy-seven degrees today? How unfortunate!” Resenting San Diego residents was not, she knew, fair. It was not their fault that they had the good sense not to live in an arctic tundra, which was how Boston felt right then.
Her email icon lit up with a white number one in a red circle. The way her stomach went crazy every time a new message came in was really inexcusable. One should not come undone over a highlighted numeral. Really. It was unbecoming. And it was probably spam.
But it wasn’t. It was what she had come to view in the past month as the most beautiful kind of email.
Celeste!
Hi! Whatcha doing? You’re in school right now, so you shouldn’t be reading this because you should be paying attention to your teachers. Unless you’re in a reeeeeeally boring lecture about chlorophyll or something. Nobody cares about chlorophyll. I mean some people do. And plants do. They love chlorophyll and tend to drone on for hours about how fabulous they are in the most obnoxious manner. “Check us out, being all full of sexy green pigment and stuff! We’ve got the super keenest biomolecule around! And, pfft, don’t even get us started on our ability to ph
otosynthesize. Who else makes energy from light? Who? That’s. No one. At least no one that we know of. Fine, we don’t know everybody, but we for sure make energy in a more fascinating way than anyone else could. In fact, to annually commemorate our being so superfly, we have a holiday. Did you know that? Yes. It’s called Chlorophistmas, and it falls in August because there are no other holidays then. Obviously there’s a Chlorophistmas tree, because, hello! GREEN! And a bunch of other important traditions that will be revealed over time because we don’t want to overwhelm you with all of our spectacularness right away, but you’re gonna love everything about us and this holiday or we will shoot out green pigment and wreck your beautiful outfit. So there!”
See? Told you. Plants are insufferable.
But speaking of holidays, I’m coming home on the 22nd. Or maybe it’s the 23rd. I’ll find out. Do you celebrate Christmas? I love Christmas. Not in any kind of a religious sense, really. I’m just a big fan of decorations. I get that from my dad, who clearly has some kind of Christmas disorder that compels him to go to extremes. Fortunately, he’s not about mini-Santa collections or anything. It’s all very tasteful. Lots of white snow-like stuff. And lights. And lights. Also, lights. Did I say lights? Our condo gets lit up like a glow stick. But it’s fun. Although there are a lot of requirements for present wrapping. You know, no paper with cartoon reindeer or anything. It’s white paper, mostly. White ribbons. OH GOD, GIVE ME COLOR! Hey… maybe the plants will lend me some chlorophyll?
So a white Christmas is our tradition. What about you? What does the Watkins family do every year that can compare?
Can I take you out again when I’m home? I say we hit up a sushi bar this time. Or you can come to my house to see the white lights. Don’t wear white, though, or I might not see you. And that would be a tragedy from which I might never recover.