“Yes, well, I can’t make any promises.”
TWENTY-ONE
It’s the end of February, the homestretch of admissions season and I’m exhausted. “I can’t take it anymore. The kids are too cute and the parents too absurd,” I confess to Roan, thunking my head on a pile of admission files. I’m sick of looking at the four walls of this conference room, and the roof of my mouth is raw from an excessive amount of cinnamon gummy bears. “What happened to a family trip being camping in Yosemite where the biggest excitement is someone getting carsick on the way down?”
“It was swapped for hot-air balloon rides over the Serengeti or master junior chef pasta classes in Tuscany,” Roan lobs back, only half paying attention to my mouth ailment and to me.
“I can’t even spell Serengeti,” I huff. Why’s Roan not playing along with my superficial rage at the good fortune of others?
“Okay I’ve gone through this pile of twenty-five applicants and here are my seven acceptances.” Roan hands them over to me and then stands to twist and stretch his back. The committee has narrowed it down to one hundred admissible children. Roan and I flip through the files as I have the final, final jurisdiction.
“Ummm, Roan, we can’t have a class solely comprised of budding Mr. and Miss Americas. Is there substance behind the surface of these seven Gap Kids models?”
“Between the seven of them they speak eleven languages, practice four religions, play five instruments, were born in three different countries, know how to share and touch their toes, all can wipe themselves, one is a Taurus—go bulls—and three of them gave me compliments on my shoes during their visit dates. Oh, and only one has a mom we red flagged, but I think she travels a lot for work so it’s worth the risk.”
“Excellent work, Colonel Mustard. Did you find these applicants in the library with the candlestick?”
“HA, Ms. Scarlet! Don’t be a hater ’cause you lost the game.”
“Alright, put them in the acceptance pile with Harrison Lawton, Antonia Grimaldi, and the Shah twins. Oh, and Ruby Vassar. She will be a nice calm energy to balance out the Joan Rivers–meets–Amy Schumer–wannabe I noticed you have in theyespile. What about Gracie Golden? She must be in your pile; she’s not in mine.”
“I don’t know. She really didn’t interact with any of the other kids, kept to herself, and refused to share the dinosaurs. And she wasn’t much interested in working with the teachers at the math and reading stations. Oh, and look in her file at her self-portrait.” Before I can grab the file, Roan pulls the drawing out for me.
I snort laugh so hard my Diet Coke stings my nostrils. In front of me are two big pink nipples and an oddly anatomically correct drawing of a vagina. Clearly Gracie has a doctor for a father who has already explained the importance of these unique attributes of the female body. “Well, she certainly knows she’s a girl. And, I might say, possesses a passion for biology and anatomy.”
“You know she’s going to be the one in third grade spreading all the wrong rumors about where babies come from.” I look a little more closely at the picture.
“Yeah, I can see that. But I don’t think she’ll be the downer ruining Christmas for all the kids by sharing Santa’s a fraud.”
“I always hate that kid.”
“Me, too. But every class has a holiday downer, plus, our acceptance pile is a growing list of heteros. As you like to remind me, we need a little more Roan fairy dust sprinkled in this place.”
“That we do, Josie. Gracie, welcome to Fairchild Country Day School.” Roan slams Gracie’s application on top of theyespile and does his version of a touchdown dance which looks more like the closing number ofA Chorus Line.
•••
LOLA
What are you wearing to Aunt Viv’s ball?
1:02 P.M.
JOSIE
Don’t call it a ball. I have no clue. You want to swap champagne for shopping today?
1:03 P.M.
LOLA
Aren’t you a Cinderella buzzkill. How about I grab two empty water bottles from the sports store that is my front closet, snag a bottle of champagne at the liquor store on my way to get you and we drink while we shop? Now that, my friend, is how you find a dress.
1:03 P.M.
JOSIE
Your brilliance is inspiring.
