Text exchange between me, Hilary, and Abigail when another weekend comes and goes and I still have not been asked:

A I think you should just ask him.

H Seriously, what year is it that you’re waiting for a guy to ask you?

I JUST WANT HIM TO ASK ME C

A Where has he been anyway?

H Ya. Haven’t seen him at school at all

Away track meets then visiting college. So lame. C

A How dare he have a future

My boobs are too small for dresses. What if I wear cling wrap to prom? C

A No.

A Speaking of futures how’s the college essay Cham?

Oops. C

A CHAM!

time is infinite C

H You have to take this stuff seriously!

You guys have essay brains. I have gaze-at-stars brain C

A *a gaze-at-stars brain

See? C

A So you haven’t applied to college yet?

Define apply C

H It’s okay, we’ll sneak you in the trunk of my car

Well you don’t know if you got into State right Hil? C

A She’s gonna get in

yeah but Abigail you’re waiting to hear from other places too right? C

A Ya but probs won’t get any money. State’s where it’s at.

H don’t worry you can go to community college for a year and transfer

A Ya. Get your grades up

K mom C

A Well someone has to take care of your shit

No I meant to send that to my mom. She texted me that dinner’s ready. C

I roll off the couch with a heavy sigh. Why does everyone have such a large scrunchie lodged up their butt? This is the time of our lives! We are graduating from high school, it is finally happening to us, and it is a big freaking deal!

“Answer the question, Cham,” my mom says when I join her and my dad at the table. “Have you gotten your applications in?” She’s attacking an unidentifiable morsel by the candle with a paper towel, and every so often it squeaks for its life.

“Well,” I say, resting my head on the table, “I’m definitely moving in that direction.”

“You really should get those in,” my dad scolds, arranging and rearranging his silverware. “Your mom and I worked hard so you could go to the Gill School after public school didn’t work out.” That’s one way to look at it. “You have to take it seriously,” he says. “I would’ve loved to have had the opportunity. Not everyone gets to go to college.”

“I know, Dad,” I mumble. “And I’m really grateful, I promise, but I have so much time. Rolling admission is a real-life example of infinity. It just keeps going and going.”

He’s looking at me with clear eyes, but his face has the stony quality to it. I really hope it’s not one of the lucid, angry days where the cheerful denial and confusion lift and the elephant in the room catches up with him. Selfishly I just want to bring the maple syrup to the table, which I always did when he made pancakes for dinner. I want him and Mom to talk about work and where to plant the tomatoes this year. What I really want is for everything to be boring again.