want to live at home, there are a lot of excellent schools within an hour of where we’re sitting right now, especially in the city. Columbia, for instance, or NYU. You do have a support system here.”
Stay close. I thought of Nana, making me pancakes every morning. And then I thought of Eve, living at home, with a purpose. Maybe I could have the same kind of purpose.
“But then again,” Mr. Churchwell continued, tapping his pencil on my file, “I also think you might consider a . . . change of scenery. A lot of kids who come through my office want a fresh start somewhere.”
When I was with Eve, I got by with white lies and omissions, never talking about my family in the present tense. Going away to school would be like diving into a world full of Eves. People who had no idea who I was, or what had happened. It sounded like pure, simple heaven.
Mr. Churchwell must have seen the confusion on my face because he said, “You don’t have to make this decision now. Apply to a range of schools at a range of locations. Worry about it later after you know who’s accepted you.”
Procrastination. That worked. I took a deep breath.
Mr. Churchwell jotted something down in my folder and raised his eyebrows. “Do you have any particular schools in mind?” he asked.
“My dad went to Yale. It was his dream for me to go there too.”
“Yale would be a good fit for you,” he said, nodding and scribbling a note. “And it’s not too far away. You could come home on weekends if you needed to.” He paused, looked at me a little sideways. “It’s tough to get into, but being a legacy gives you a better shot, for sure. We’ll put that at the top of your list.”
Then I remembered Eve telling me that once she got her undergraduate degree, she was going to apply to Cornell’s vet school. “If you’re at all interested in working with animals for a living,” she’d said, “that’s the place to go to college on the East Coast.”
The only other thing I knew about Cornell was that it was cold, but I needed more names on my list.
“I’ve heard good things about Cornell,” I told Mr. Churchwell. Then I rattled off the packets I remembered showing to my dad, and Smith for my mom, and Columbia and NYU because I could commute there. When I was done, Mr. Churchwell looked at the page he’d created in my folder.
“Have you visited any of these schools?” he asked.
“Just Yale, and the ones in the city. My father and I were going to do a bunch of weekend college visits last spring.”
Dad had already arranged for the Fridays off from work and started booking hotel rooms.
“Ah yes, of course,” said Mr. Churchwell sadly.
“Did I miss the boat on that?”
“No, not necessarily. Most schools offer interviews with local alumni, and you can always visit a campus after you get in to help you decide.” He paused, making another note. “So with Yale, I recommend you take advantage of their Early Action application program,” he said. “It means if you get your application in by November first, you could be in by mid-December, but it’s nonbinding. You can still apply to other schools to keep your options open.”
I acted like this was news but the truth was, I knew all about the Early Action thing. Dad had really wanted me to apply early. He loved the level of commitment it implied, and the whole ordeal being over as quickly as possible.
“Early Action sounds like a good idea,” I said to Mr. Churchwell.
“You should download the materials and get cracking, especially with Yale, since that deadline is right around the corner,” he said. “I think you’ll have a strong application.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Well, in addition to having great grades and SAT scores, your work with the Tutoring Club and your painting. You’ll want to send them pictures of some of your sets. Your job at the vet’s office goes a long way. And you’re back in your school routine, working hard. In light of what’s happened to you, that says a lot about character. It matters.”
I thought about this for a moment, wrapping my head around what he meant. “So we should tell colleges about the accident?”
“I think your teachers should mention it in their recommendation letters, of course. But whether or not you write about it yourself, in your essay . . .