Getting In: A Novel Read Free Page A

guessing ages, so she could not tell what they were hiding. They could be apprehensive sophomores who were still six months away from taking the PSATs, let alone the SATs, or they could be seniors faking their blasé way through April college notifications.
    So much for her feeling of mastery, which seemed today—what section of the test were they on by now?—to be in a big hurry to desert her. Nora got in line for another cappuccino, wondering if she would be able to walk past a bunch of girls at Starbucks atany point in the coming year without triggering a meteor storm of college nerves. When it was her turn to order, she held up the BookWorld bag so that Sam the barista could see that she had taken his advice. With the jazzy snap of a blackjack dealer, he flipped another business card at her, having forgotten their earlier conversation the moment it ended. Chastened, she paid for her drink, did not leave a tip, collected her cup, and took a seat at the end of the counter, away from prying eyes. She propped the Fiske Guide on her crossed knee, hidden behind a copy of Food magazine.
    Nora was overwhelmed by the time she got to the G ’s—who knew there was a George Washington as well as a Georgetown? And who was George Mason? She decided to stop reading. She had started, that was what mattered, and she felt better about certain things, like Lauren’s test scores so far, and worse about others, like the fact that obscenely expensive schools felt the need to describe the rescue services they offered when their incredibly intelligent underclassmen got stupid drunk just like anybody else.
    She put the book in her bag just as a sea of kids spilled across the intersection and onto the sidewalk, shrieking and chattering away their accumulated nerves. A dozen of them jammed their way into Starbucks and scattered toward the two women shoppers, the laptop man, and the cool quartet of girls, and as they peeled off, Nora saw Lauren at the back of the pack. She had not even bothered to call when she got out; she was carried along on the tide of probability to Starbucks. Wordlessly, she plopped down in the chair next to Nora’s, grabbed her drink, and took a long slurp. She twisted up her face.
    “Sugar, it needs sugar. I’m so thirsty and I didn’t bring anything. Where’s your wallet?”
    She started to dive for Nora’s purse, but Nora threw a shoulder in her way and pulled the bag onto her lap. She had no ideahow Lauren would react to her mom reading a college guide book, whether she would consider it a big help or meddling, and she did not want to find out five minutes after the SATs.
    “What is wrong with you?”
    “Nothing. Nothing. I’m getting money for you.”
    “I can do it myself.”
    “Yes, you could. But I’m closer.”
    “Only because you tackled me.”
    Nora held out a twenty and did not quite let go. All around her she heard a chorus of “great, great, it was great, just great,” delivered with varying levels of conviction. She looked at her daughter. “So how did it go?”
    “Great,” said Lauren.
    “Well, that’s terrific,” said Nora.
    “Yeah, it was great. You want another of whatever that is?”
    “No. Go ahead.”
    Lauren got in line to order a drink that involved far more whipped cream than coffee. Nora collected her bag and jacket, happy that the ordeal was over, happy that Lauren thought it was great. It was too soon for either of them to understand that great was what kids said to keep their terror, and their parents, at bay.
     
    Lauren was asleep before they got to the freeway, asleep all the way home, asleep even after Nora pulled up in front of the house and turned off the ignition. Like most of their friends, Nora and Joel could fit only one car into their two-car garage. The rest of the space was occupied by two sets of grandparents’ housewares waiting for a resurgence of interest in ornate silver platters and asparagus tongs, souvenirs from Nora’s and Joel’s childhoods, and