Carpe Diem Read Free Page A

popped open a can of apple juice.
    I followed Dad back through the kitchen into the living room. Mom wouldn’t meet my gaze. She concentrated on doodling in her Journal of Excellence . I’d never seen her doodle before. This was a rough drawing of a pear. When she noticed I noticed, she quickly turned the page. Dad blotted his face with a paper napkin, leaving a tiny shred of blue stuck just above his eyebrow.
    I bent over the speakerphone.
    â€œHello, Grandma Gerd. I’m back—”
    â€œShe hung up,” said Mom, her voice shaking. “Leon, why don’t you tell Vassar what we’ve decided.”
    They made room between them on the couch, so I squeezed in. With a quivering hand, Mom tucked an errant strand of hair back into my ponytail. Dad patted my knee, then ran his hand through his red hair, patted my knee, smoothed his hair, patted, smoothed, patted, smoothed. I’d never seen them so agitated, so awkward, so un-Spore-like. Not even last year, when Wendy Stupacker beat me in the regional spelling bee with “ektexine” and went on to place fourth at the nationals in D.C.
    â€œYes, well, Vassar, we’ve decided that a trip with Grandma Gerd through Southeast Asia … that such a trip would be invaluable … perhaps help you formulate … would heighten …” Dad stumbled on and on in a highly inefficient
manner. What he said was of no consequence. What was important was that they wanted me to abandon my scholastic endeavors for a mere vacation! As soon as Dad brought his babble to a halt, I said as much.
    They carefully replied that they thought it would be good for me to go, that I should go, that I must go .
    What? Were these the same parents who’d previously said the words “Grandma Gerd” with the same note of horror they said “unsystematic” or “waste of time” or “unplanned”? Who were now authorizing her to take me—their only child—into the intrepid jungles of Southeast Asia? When they’d just dissuaded me from attending a public school dance a mere six blocks away?
    â€œBut what made you change your minds? You never change your mind.”
    Dad dug in his breast pocket—empty. He moaned.
    Still not quite meeting my eyes, Mom said, “Think how much it would mean to Grandma Gerd to spend some quality time with her only … grandchild.” I could tell it pained her to say it.
    It just didn’t make sense. Having a daughter named Vassar not get into Vassar would be sacrilege . Not to mention embarrassing. And it would disprove Mom’s theory: If an applicant to Vassar, the elite women’s college, was named Vassar in addition to having a stellar academic record, how could they possibly refuse her? All her advanced planning would be for nothing—and I’d be known as “that loser Vassar Spore who goes to State.”

    One of Mom’s biggest regrets was not getting accepted to Vassar College. She felt life would have been just that much better if her dream had been fulfilled. She vowed if she had a daughter, she’d guarantee she got in. “And whether she chose to attend or not would be entirely up to her. But she’d have the option I never had.”
    But now suddenly that wasn’t a priority?
    What on earth could Grandma Gerd possibly blackmail my parents about? It was time to be direct:
    â€œIs she blackmailing you? Is ‘egg’ a code word?”
    Mom froze, teacup halfway to her mouth. “Eavesdropping is an odious habit, Vassar! I’m ashamed, ashamed of you.”
    â€œOdious,” echoed Dad weakly. His face was so white, his freckles looked like chocolate sprinkles floating on a latté.
    â€œSo,” I processed as I went along. “What you’re saying is that I have to go on this trip at the sacrifice of my academic record.”
    Mom’s face crumpled. She let out a little wheeze. The next thing I knew, she was