Part 15 (1/2)
”I'm sorry. They're still doing that, huh?”
”Every. Single. Night.”
Twenty-five months ago ”Alieya!” my sister screams from the kitchen. ”You have mail!”
d.a.m.n that girl has lungs.
I pad into the kitchen. ”Yell louder next time, okay? Only one of my ears is bleeding.”
She throws me a letter, which I don't catch. It slides under the table. Great.
”Catch better next time, okay?” My sister does a horrible imitation of me.
I crawl under the table. The envelope is facedown, probably an extended warranty notice on my Intrepid. As I flip the envelope, J. Vernon's Gopher insignia freezes me in place. Immediately, I tuck my legs under me and rip it open.
I feel my smile widen as I read.
Accepted.
For both computer science and visual art.
”Why are you under the table?” Mom asks, bending so her head is upside down.
”Dropped something.” I wave the papers. ”Got it.”
I get up and clear my throat. ”Hey, Mom. Can we talk?”
”I have an appointment in an hour.”
”Won't take that long.”
She pulls out a chair. ”All right.”
I sit down, turn the papers over in my hand, then push them toward her.
”We're not buying an extended warranty on your car, Alieya. It's not worth the money. If it breaks down, we'll-”
”It's not that.” I crack my knuckles. ”I'm transferring schools. To Illinois.”
Her eyes widen. ”You are? When did this happen?”
”Uh, Cancun.”
”I a.s.sume this is Finley's idea.”
I can't tell her I'm moving to another state for a guy. Especially for a guy I met during spring break.
”Yes. But they have a great art program there. Brand new facilities. Contracts with a couple of Chicago-area galleries. Interns.h.i.+ps.”
She looks at the acceptance letter. ”J. Vernon University.” Her eyes flick up to me. ”Private school?”
And here's where it gets tricky...
”Read the second page. I sent my portfolio, and they're considering me for a scholars.h.i.+p. My current grants and local scholars.h.i.+ps still apply in Illinois. And they're giving me more for academics than West K. And I'll get a job. On campus. Or somewhere. I'll help pay for it.”
Mom holds up a hand to silence me. I lean back against the chair and wait for her to finish reading. Tuition, room, and board at J. Vernon is more than twice what it is at WKU, and I can see Mom's mental calculator going crazy.
”You'll still be short,” she finally says.
”I know. I'll take out a student loan.”
”Jobs and loans are extra responsibilities.”
”I know,” I repeat. ”I'm ready, though. I can do it.”
Mom smiles. Bobs her head. ”Yeah, Alieya. You can.” Her smile grows, and there's a glisten in her eye too. ”I think it's a great idea. I never wanted you to stay here in Bowling Green anyway. And if this J. Vernon place is as spectacular as you say, we'll make it work.”
I spring up and throw my arms around her neck. ”Thank you, Mom.”
Finley thumbs through a magazine, her legs crossed and meeting my headboard. ”You call Maverick yet?”
”Last night. He can't wait until August.” I reach over her and grab the pen off of a nightstand. ”You're going to take this quiz.”
”I hate quizzes.” She puffs out her lower lip. ”What's it called?”
”Not telling. First question: When you think about your current beau, what color do you imagine? A) Jet Black, B) Lime Green, C) Lipstick Red, D) Pineapple Yellow, or E) Mocha.”
”I don't have a current beau.”
”Liar. Jake.”
”Not my beau.”
I twist to look at her. ”Oh, really? Who was your last bed buddy?”
”Bed buddies aren't beaus.” She says the last word all nasally.
”Just answer the question.”
”Fine. Jake, okay?”
Smug, I turn back to the magazine. ”What color?”
”Lipstick red, I guess.”
I draw a heart around C. ”Did you call Jake yet?”