Page 34 of Oblivion

My hands are shaking as I pick it up and start to read.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Transfer to Harvard University.

To Whom It May Concern,

Thank you for the offer of a place to transfer to Harvard for my fall semester. However, after much consideration, I have decided that continuing my education at Kingsacre University would be a better choice for me.

I truly appreciate the opportunity, but please accept this email as confirmation that I would like to decline the place in your school.

Kind regards,

Samantha Hartley

Blinking, I stare at the words, read them, then read them again. The email address is mine, but I didn’t write this email.

“What the fu…” I mutter under my breath.

“Miss Hartley?” the office lady questions.

“I…” I trail off, unsure what to say.

“Miss Hartley,” she says again.

“Err, that was. This is a mistake. There’s been a mistake. How do I? What do I do?” I stutter, starting to feel the panic rise from my toes up my body.

“I’m afraid that the place has been filled. You can apply for a transfer for next semester. Would you like me to email you the application?” she asks, her tone professional despite the hint of sympathy in her eyes.

“No, but I’m here. I moved here. I’m here,” I mutter stupidly.

“You declined your transfer place, Miss Hartley. I’m sorry that there seems to have been some confusion about this. But as you can see from the email in your hands, you declined the place. If you’d like to apply to transfer again, then I’m happy to send you the application, but I should warn you that your decision todecline an offered place here does show a level of uncertainty that the Harvard admissions board tends to frown upon.”

“Are you saying that I won’t get in?” I squeak.

“It’s not my place to comment on who will or will not be accepted. That’s not my job,” she says calmly. “But I do feel that I should warn you that in my time here at Harvard, I haven’t ever known of a second transfer opportunity being given.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” I whisper. “Clay, I’m going to…I’m going to…”

“Is there anything else I can help you with today, Miss Hartley?” the woman asks.

I shake my head. “No. I. No…Thank you.” Turning, I exit the admissions office then rush from the building, anger mounting inside of me with each step I take.

Once I’m outside, I storm across the lot to my car, fumbling with the keys in my haste to open the door, only remembering that I don’t need the keys when I finally find them. My hands are shaking as I climb into the seat and pull my cell from my bag. Finding Clay’s number, I hit dial, lifting the cell to my ear as I listen to it ring.

“Hey,” Clay answers on the third ring.

“You fucking asshole, motherfucker. Fix it,” I yell.

“What?”

“I know it was you, Clay. I just went to sign my transfer paperwork, and according to the email that was sent from my email address last week, that I definitely did not write, I declined my place at Harvard. Fix it, Clay. I live here now. I’m engaged. This is my life, and you don’t get to fuck with it.”

“No,” he says simply.

“No?” I hiss through gritted teeth.

---