Page 84 of Broken Secrets
“Both. Change is a bit scary though.”
“Change isn’t always bad,” Maya observes. “Sometimes it makes things better.”
“That’s very wise for someone who rearranges her bedroom furniture every three months.”
“Hey, I’m just keeping things fresh. Stagnation is the enemy of growth.”
Derek checks his phone. “Speaking of change, I should be hearing back from UC San Diego any day now. They said mid-December for early admission decisions.”
“Same with UC Santa Barbara,” I say. “It’s weird how much my whole future might change based on letters that could arrive this week.”
“Are you nervous about it?” Maya asks.
“Terrified. But also excited. It feels like everything’s about to become real instead of just hypothetical.”
“What happens if you both get into your first choices?” she continues. “San Diego and Santa Barbara aren’t that far apart.”
Derek and I exchange glances across the table.
“We’d figure it out,” Derek says carefully. “It’s not like we’d be on opposite coasts.”
“Two hours apart,” I add. “Definitely manageable.”
“Plus there are other UC schools,” he says. “If one of us doesn’t get into our first choice, there are backup options that would keep us in the same general area.”
Maya nods approvingly. “I like that you’re both being realistic about long-distance logistics instead of just assuming everything will work out magically.”
“We’ve learned some things about planning ahead,” I say.
Soccer practice runs long because Coach Martinez wants to work on conditioning before winter break. By the time I’m showered, changed, and driving home, it’s already past five p.m. and the December sun is setting behind the coastal mountains. The air has that crisp quality that California gets in winter, not cold,exactly, but fresh and clean in a way that makes you want to drive with the windows down.
I pull into our driveway and notice the mail truck just finishing its rounds on our street. Perfect timing. I grab my soccer bag from the trunk and walk to the mailbox, expecting the usual collection of bills, catalogs, and junk mail.
But there, sandwiched between a credit card offer and a furniture catalog, is a large envelope with the UC Santa Barbara return address.
My heart starts racing as I stare at the envelope. Large envelope could mean acceptance; they need space for all the enrollment materials. Or it could mean nothing. Some schools send big envelopes regardless of the decision.
I carry the mail inside, the UCSB envelope feeling like it weighs ten pounds despite being just paper. Mom and Robert are in the kitchen, Mom chopping vegetables for dinner while Robert reads something on his tablet.
“How was practice?” Mom asks without looking up from her cutting board.
“Fine. Long. Coach wanted to work on conditioning.” I set the mail on the counter, the UCSB envelope on top. “I think this might be it.”
Both of them look up immediately. Mom sets down her knife, Robert closes his tablet, and suddenly the kitchen feels charged with anticipation.
“Are you going to open it?” Robert asks gently.
My hands shake as I pick up the envelope. It’s thick, which has to be a good sign. I take a deep breath and tear open the seal.
“Dear Olivia,” I read aloud, then skip ahead to the important part. “We are pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to the University of California, Santa Barbara for the fall semester…”
I don’t get to finish the sentence before I’m screaming at the top of my lungs—a sound of pure joy that probably carries three blocks in every direction. Mom and Robert both jump, their faces shifting from anticipation to alarm to understanding as my words register.
“I got in!” I shout, waving the letter in the air. “I got into UCSB!”
Mom reaches me first, pulling me into a hug that lifts me off my feet while Robert whoops behind us. The three of us stand in our kitchen, hugging and laughing and making enough noise that the neighbors probably think someone’s having a medical emergency.
“I’m so proud of you,” Mom says, tears streaming down her cheeks. “So incredibly proud.”
