We both sat leaning over our legs, hands clasped between our knees. I’d showered, smoothed the wrinkles out of my jacket, and banned “up-talking” from my known speech, like my mom had asked.

“You’re gonna crush it, like those shooting drills last night,” said Carter. Since between us, my interview was the one that mattered.

“Duh.” I tried to pump myself up.

“Try not to freak out.”

“You’re the one freaking out, bro. I’m cool as a cucumber over here,” I said, my right leg bouncing hard enough to shake the chair next to me.

“It’s going to be fine.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“Totally fine.”

“Say fine again.”

Carter grinned. “F-I-N-E—” he was interrupted by his phone ringing. “Gotta turn that off.” He looked at the caller.

“Hey, Eliza,” he answered it. “Oh, really?” At the same time, a tall door down the ostentatious hallway opened and a short man in a pinstripe suit, looking exactly like that guy from that movie, headed towards us.

“Carter O’Connor?” he called.

Carter gulped. “Here,” he said into his phone. “Talk to Nick while I interview.”

He basically threw the phone at me in his attempt to rush off.

“’Sup, Gorgeous?”

Carter couldn’t make a face at me with the interviewer watching. He powerlessly plodded down the hall towards the guy who held our fates in his hands. It was almost as fun to make him think I was fake flirting with his sister as it was to actually flirt with her.

“Well would you listen who it is.” Her sunshiney voice made the stressful admissions building feel like a yoga retreat.

“It’s fine, I know you really called to talk to me.”

“Do you know where Carter keeps the antacids? ’Cause that’s what I want to find out.”

“No, I don’t,” I replied, “because that would be way too much information.”

“Let’s say I taste-tested one too many cupcakes last night.”

“And by one, you mean twelve?”

“I mean however many Olivia notices are missing. How’s it going down there? Must be pretty boring, if you don’t have anything better to do than talk to your bro’s li’l sis.”

“Don’t you have class? Last time I checked, it’s the middle of the morning.” The one thing that really kept me going about this interview was that I’d get to miss school for it. And since it was a soccer tryout, I wouldn’t have to do sprints for missing practice.

“Free period,” said Eliza. “Hence the quest for antacid.”

“Right, right. Well, you know me.” I relaxed in my over-cushioned armchair. The waiting room was completely empty except for me and the grad student who had checked us in. “Parties up the wazoo. Surrounded by ’em. Been here twenty-four hours and this school has no idea what hit ’em.”

“Didn’t expect anything less.” Her voice fell, which, from my basic understanding of the Chick Code, meant she was unimpressed. My normal B.S. wasn’t going to get me far with her. Instead, she pushed for authenticity. “Ready for your first, and hopefully only, college interview?”