Page 25 of You Had Me at Hello World
“It’s fine. It’s easier for girls to get in anyway.” Diego smiles benevolently, as if he invented affirmative action just for me.
“Please stop talking,” Khoi says.
“What? I’m not saying she doesn’tdeserveto be here.” He looks me square in the eye. “Like, Oregon, I’m sure you’re smart.”
“Um, thanks?” Also, how do I get him to not call me that? I really don’t want to commit to that nickname for the next eight weeks.
“All I’m sayin’ is, I know someone who works on the admissions committee for Alpha Fellows. She said that they were tryna improve the gender ratio this year. So like, two thousand guys applied and eighty-five got in. But two hundred girls applied and twenty got in. That’s an admission rate of four percent vs. ten percent. Simple stats.” Diego lounges back with his fingers laced behind his head.
It sounds more like, for whatever reason, not enough girls are applying to this program, but before I can point this out, Austin-or-Dallas glances up from his Rubik’s Cube. “Wait, forreal? That blows. Our cousin Houston got rejected this year.”
Dallas-or-Austin turns to Diego. “If what you’re saying is true, that means that one of the girls here might’ve taken his spot.” He tosses me an accusatory look, like I personally dragged his cousin off the flight that would’ve brought him here.
I want to argue back, but before I can think of anything to say, Khoi pipes up. “No, it means that your cousin wasn’t good enough to get in.”
“You don’t even know Houston,” Austin says. “He was the national AP scholar for Arizona, meaning he got the most fives on the most exams out of anyone in the state. Just because he’s not like you—”
“Oh heyo, look who it is!” Khoi says a little too quickly. He stands up to side-hug a girl who’s walked over.
She reminds me of Sabrina Carpenter—petite, piles of brushed gold hair, heart-shaped face. Freckles dot her collarbone like constellations. Mini lime slices dangle from her ears.
The other guys fall silent when they see her. Behind my palm, I hide a smile. I bet that suddenly none of them care that she might’vetaken a spotfrom a more deserving boy.
She swivels her hand. “I’m Jenni, with an i.”
Dallas-or-Austin scoots over to make space at the table. “How do you know Khoi?”
“We met at nationals for Science Bowl.”
“Jenni is a botany goddess,” Khoi says. “She destroyed us on those questions.”
Even her laugh is pretty—it’s like wind chimes. “Don’t glaze me. I’m just a plant nerd.”
She settles into an empty seat. Haru starts peppering her with questions about how to genetically modify marijuana seeds, and whether it’d be feasible to do it in a small indoor space that gets poor sunlight, such as a dorm room (hypothetically, of course).
There’s this twinge of disappointment. It takes me a sec to realize why. Because Jenni-with-an-i is a girl and looks like the human equivalent of golden hour, a subconscious part of me hoped she’d also be less accomplished. That she’d prove Diego right, and I wouldn’t be the only one at this table with nothing going for her. Which is so messed up.
I look down at my melted gelato and realize I’ve lost my appetite. I push away from the table and stand.
“Char, where are you going?” Khoi asks. The others barely glance over.
“Bed. I had a long flight.”
“Oregon, if you’re not going to finish your pizza, can I have it?” Haru asks. Yep, classic stoner munchies. Wordlessly, I slide my slice onto his plate.
Chapter Twelve
Sunday morning, when I wake up for the opening ceremony, Aisha’s bed is empty. Her absence reminds me of Olive’s, like she’s avoiding me. I scour my brain for anything I might’ve done wrong. What if she thinks I’m a hillbilly loser for not doing the SAT? Maybe she doesn’t want to associate with me, this scoreless freak, when she could be with her glamorous boarding school friends.
I’m probably being ridiculous. Probably. But just to be safe, I go to the College Board website and sign up for the August SAT at some nearby location. Luckily, they still have my information from the AP exams—whydoes College Board own everything? They’re like the Elon Musk of teenage stress dreams—so my fee waiver gets added automatically.
By the time I’m done, it’s already too late for breakfast—maybe for the best, considering how dinner went last night. Now for the fun part: getting ready while my suitcase is still MIA. At least my toothbrush made it into my backpack. But clean underwear? Socks? Forget it. When I shower I lather myself withthe bathroom’s chalky pink hand soap. Eau de Desperation.
God, I hope my luggage turns up soon. I sure can’t afford to replace everything.
Across the expanse of green grass, Kresge auditorium is an elegant one-eighth of a sphere, sliced by sheer glass walls. It’s lit from within, a shimmering arc of white fluorescence. It looks clean and futuristic, and it doesn’t look like somewhere I belong. I’m tempted to go hide out in my dorm room with the leftover Fritos from my plane ride.
But if I can’t handle a mere opening ceremony, how am I going to get through the entire summer? It’s not like I have any other options. I can’t fly back to Oregon. I just can’t. I’d rather go live in a dumpster.
