Page 67 of All These Beautiful Strangers
Maybe listening to these interviews and going through the case files was a bad idea. What if I found out things that didn’t only ruin any nice memory I had of my mother but tainted my relationship with the family I had left? Did I really want to know? Was it really worth it?
“She’s the worst,” Drew said, sighing heavily as we made our way across Healy Quad, back toward Rosewood Hall. “Quantum physics? Trig? Is she serious? I almost fell asleep just reading the course descriptions. How am I supposed to survive a whole semester of the actual classes?”
Drew was upset because Mariah had told her she needed to take some upper-level math or science courses next semester to round out all the art, history, and language classes she was taking.
“I want to study political science in college,” Drew said. “Not actual science.”
“Speaking of scheduling for next semester,” I said, lowering my voice, “Dalton told me he could get all of the junior A’s preferred enrollment for the spring.”
Normally, only seniors had preferred enrollment, which meant they got to register for their courses first, giving them first pick of spring classes. Apparently, Jude Bane had been able to hack the registrar and trick the system into thinking the junior A’s were really seniors, effectively allowing us to skip right to the front of the line when enrollment opened.
“Hallelujah,” Drew said. “I’m going to sign up for Miss Horvath’s Yoga and Mindfulness seminar. I’ve been wanting to take that since I started here but it’s always full by the time I register.”
“We need to get our course lists to Dalton by the end of the week so he can input them into the system,” I said. “Maybe we can coordinate so we can have similar schedules?”
“Of course,” Drew said. “Oh, so, you never told me, what terrible things did Mariah say to you?”
“Apparently, I lack empathy and suffer from a severe case of narcissistic personality disorder,” I said.
“Psh. Show me a teenager who doesn’t meet that description,” Drew said, unimpressed.
“Did she call you a narcissist, too?”
“No, but Stevie told me Mariah said her perfectionism was borderline obsessive-compulsive and recommended counseling.”
“Harsh.”
“Yeah.”
“How’s Stevie taking it?”
“She’s creating a spreadsheet of psychiatrists within a fifty-mile radius who are covered by her parents’ insurance, complete with what schools they went to and their specializations, before she makes any decisions.”
“Maybe Mariah had a point about that one.”
“A little,” Drew said.
“Mariah told me I’m more likely to get into UPenn if I join some extracurricular activities,” I said.
“I’ve been saying that since freshman year,” Drew said. “You should join fencing. I swear it will help you work out all that pent-up aggression you have inside you.”
I thought about my recent volleyball match at Camp Wallaby. “I’m not exactly very coordinated,” I said.
“Fair point,” Drew said. “What about the debate club? Physical sparring might not be your forte, but verbal sparring is definitely your thing.”
“Yeah, but the debate club? I’d rather not get into UPenn than be a master debater.”
“Fine. Fine.” Drew stopped suddenly and held out her hand to stop me too, which caught me hard in the gut.
“Ouch,” I said. “Hey, I’m walking here.”
“I have the best idea,” Drew said, and she started walking again.
“Can you have good ideas and walk at the same time?” I asked, pressing my hands to my aching stomach.
“Shh,” Drew said. “Listen. This is genius. You should join the Knollwood Chronicle.”
“The school newspaper?” I asked, dubious.
