Page 50 of The Lucky One
He shook his head a bit too quickly and returned to the kitchen. He was acting weird—so keen to meet my mom one second, backing out the next. When he came to see me in Culinary, he avoided answering me if he was okay. And he was going to meetings more often these days...
I stepped through the front door and went outside. Jon was way too skilled in speaking German already.
“Mama, irgendwas stimmt nicht.” Mom, something’s not right.
Unopened Words
Kiki
I stared down at the envelope in my hands. I hadn’t yet dared open it.
My mind wrestled with two possible outcomes: if Jon’s words fell short of my expectations, I’d hate him even more, sinking into the same old pattern of suffering. But if he actually managed to impress me, I might start to hate him a little less.
I wasn’t ready to hate him less just yet.
“Katherine?” My mother appeared in the doorway to my room, her eyes on the envelope. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, Mom,” I replied, discreetly shoving the envelope into my drawer. “It’s just an essay someone wrote for their Yale application—it’s incredible.” When it came to Jon, lying to my mother was second nature.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She walked over and sat on the bed next to me. “Your essay was amazing. Yale would be out of their minds not to see your potential.” She sighed. “Sure, being on the waitlist isn’t ideal, but if you keep your grades up and make an extra effort, you’ll get your admission letter in the next few weeks. I know you will.”
“Hopefully.” I swallowed. She thought I had submitted an essay about the struggles I faced as an Asian-American. But I had switched it out for another essay that felt more genuine: the pressure of being the child of doctor parents. It was brutally, scarily honest, but it was real. Then the waitlist letter came, and I regretted sending it.
“You will,” she repeated, but I could see the disappointment in her eyes. I hadn’t gotten accepted right away like her and Dad. I had already failed her. And knowing that my chances of being stuck on the waitlist indefinitely were higher than actually getting in, I was terrified to fail her entirely.
“You want to help me with dinner?” Mom asked, kissing my cheek and getting up.
“I’m going out to eat with Hannah tonight.”
“Hannah? It’s been a while since you mentioned her.”
“Yeah, senior year is super busy for all of us.”
Mom nodded approvingly and headed into the hall. I allowed myself to fall back onto the bed, realizing that she was right. It had been a long time since I’d spent time with my best friend. Ever since she got together with Brandon, and Emily crushed the group, I hadn’t reached out as much.
I glanced at the drawer. Open it?
Leave it.
Right now I wanted to focus on my dinner with Paul.
I texted him to park a ways down the street and let me know when he got there. Then I got carried away in a long, luxurious shower, using my favorite rose-scented shampoo that left my hair fresh extra long. I straightened my hair, applied cherry-red lipstick and put on a black skirt paired with a red blouse. Kind of fancy: prepared for wherever he was taking me.
But as I walked down the street and saw Paul, I second-guessed my choice. He was wearing a denim jacket over a gray T-shirt, jeans and white sneakers.
“Hi,” I said, embarrassed that our dinner wasn’t a date after all.
“You look great, Kiki.” He glanced at his own attire. “If I’d known what you were gonna pull off, I would’ve dressed better.”
“This old thing?” I waved my hand dismissively. “You look just as great.”
Paul smiled and made his way around the car to open the passenger door for me. Maybe this was a date after all.
Normally when I got a ride with Paul, I sat in the back: either Emily or Jon took the passenger seat. But here I was, sitting up front with him. The air in the car carried a soft, clean scent, like a refreshing breeze. Paul was a smooth driver, unlike Jon, who took corners without slowing down. Paul knew exactly what he was doing, and I felt safe. I adjusted my skirt, realizing it had ridden up slightly.
“So um, how was practice?” Paul asked.
“Kinda boring,” I admitted. “Cheerleading isn’t what it used to be anymore.”