“It’s okay,” she said. “After your beautiful thoughts on the Plath poem last week, I have no doubts this wasn’t your idea. Your father had some very strong aversions to Plath. Not her work, but her personal life.Verystrong aversions.”
“I’m sorry he got involved.”
She smiled gently. “Can I ask, how are things at home?”
Such a simple question and suddenly, I was on the verge of tears. I swallowed hard. “Things are…fine. My dad is pretty strict. But I’m sure most parents are.”
Ms. Alvarez didn’t agree or disagree, though I felt like she was seeing right through me. I wished she would tell me everything she saw. I wish she’d tell me what todo.
“I’m presuming you have your college plans sorted out?”
“Brown,” I said automatically. Like a program installed in me years ago. Then I thought about Grant, and my terrible father and vacant mother, and how we couldn’t study Sylvia Plath anymore, and I blurted, “But I don’t want to go there.”
“No? What is your dream school?”
“Well, it was RISD, to be an interior designer,” I said, and the words sounded old and covered in dust. “But now, honestly, I think…” My voice dropped to a whisper. “I think I’d like to move far away from here.”
Ms. Alvarez nodded as if she had suspicions that were now confirmed. “UCLA has a wonderful design program. My sister-in-law has a degree in graphic arts from there.”
The idea of moving to sunny California, clear across the country from my parents, and having my life all to myself, lit me up from inside. A second later, reality came down like a shroud.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“My dad is paying for college. I can’t get financial aid while I’m stuck to his income, and he won’t let me get a job. I’m kind of…trapped.”
Tears threatened again, and I blinked them away. I knew what I must’ve sounded like: poor little rich girl complaining about the Ivy League when college was a luxury for a lot of kids.
Ms. Alvarez’s brows knit together. “I see. Well, there are scholarships available—”
“For the daughter of a billionaire?” I tried not to scoff. “I’m going to be late for my next class, Ms. Alvarez. Can I go?”
“Yes, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. Even if it’s just to talk. Okay?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“And Emery…” she said when I was at the door. “I know it sounds cheesy, but if you have a dream, don’t give up on it. And if you need anything…help with applications for instance, don’t hesitate to ask. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said. For her sake. Because she was being so nice. It wasn’t her fault; she just didn’t know my father.
But at the end of the day, Ms. Alvarez’s suggestion was still rattling around in my head, filling my mind with maybes. Maybe my dad would have a change of heart and let me apply somewhere besides Brown. Maybe it was possible I could find my way out of Rhode Island on my own. Maybe my prom design plan would actually work. Maybe…
The chances of my father changing his mind were slim, but for the first time in a long time, I was daring to dream. Even if it was just a little sliver of hope, it was still hope.
Because Xander is back.
Maybe it wasn’t very feminist of me, but it wasn’t a coincidence that all the plastic, suffocating airlessness of my life became unbearable the second I saw him on the first day of school. Seven years ago, he’d made me feel less alone. Now, I felt as if I had someone on my side. Stronger, somehow, like I could be myself.
After my last class, I practically ran to the library for my tutoring session with Xander. Every study room was filled, and he’d taken one in full view of the rest of the library.
“Hey,” he said as I stepped inside. “I know this isn’t your preferred location, but they’re getting crowded already.”
“It’s okay,” I said, ashamed for making him self-conscious. “But maybe we should have an off-campus backup plan. I have a quiz coming up on power functions, and I amsounprepared.”
“Okay,” Xander said, then paused, looking uncomfortable. “Before we begin, I just wanted to say that I hope everything is copacetic between us after the other day.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
