as I was seated in her cramped office.
“That’s an accurate assessment.”
She held up a printed document. “I have your current grades here.”
I winced.
“They’re not great,” she went on.
“I suspected as much.”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you’re probably out of the running for valedictorian.”
I nodded. It wasn’t a shocking revelation. I’d been thinking of little else for days. It stung, but part of me also felt…oddly liberated. Being a great student had never come naturally. I’d pushed myself because I wanted to be on top, because it was a competition, but it never meant as much to me as my own experiments—which was fairly clear, considering how easily I’d ignored my slipping grades for months. Let Sara Kang be valedictorian; she was the one who deserved it.
“MIT might also be off the table,” I said. There was no point dancing around the subject.
Ms. Singh seemed thrown off by my calmness. “I’ll never say never. But you might want to look into backup colleges.”
“I have,” I said. “I started a list.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh! That’s wonderful. Maybe you can bring the list by and we can go over it together.”
“Sure,” I agreed.
A silence fell in the room and Ms. Singh shifted in her seat, like she wanted to broach an uncomfortable topic. “You seem to be taking this well.”
“I’m really not,” I admitted. My next words nearly caught in my throat, but I forced them out anyway. I wasn’t going back to being the person I was before all of this. If that happened, the hoax would’ve been a complete waste. “I’m scared about the future.”
For a moment, Ms. Singh seemed at a loss for words. Maybe students didn’t usually open up to her like this. Maybe she’d just never expected me to. “It’s okay to be scared, Gideon. It’s okay to feel unsure.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. I’m actually starting to see a therapist,” I said. “Not only because of the hoax, but to work through a lot of issues.”
“That’s wonderful! Therapy can be so beneficial.”
“I hope so.”
Ms. Singh smiled as if she was proud of me, which only made me slightly embarrassed.
I cleared my throat and brought the conversation back into safer, less emotional territory again. “About my goals, though… I’m not ready to give up yet. I’m still applying to MIT and I’m still hopeful that NASA might eventually hire me. But if not, I’ll come up with another plan. Maybe I’ll find something even better.”
“It’s interesting you say that,” Ms. Singh said. “I know you previously weren’t receptive to the idea of working for Triple i…”
I perked up a bit.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I called my friend who works there. I told her a little about you and your situation. She said Triple i is always looking for people who…think outside the box. We discussed possible internship opportunities for you in the future and she’d be willing to put in a good word. Maybe you can spend a summer there and decide if it’s really so far off from the career you wanted.”
Triple i wasn’t NASA. Nothing would ever make it NASA. But there was something to be said for what they were doing. Maybe NASA really was outdated. Maybe Triple i was the future.
Or maybe neither organization was meant for me. It was probably wrong to be so set on one path. I was closing myself off from other opportunities that might arise.
“I’ll certainly think about that, Ms. Singh,” I said. “But not yet. I need to get myself back on track in the present before I worry about what’ll happen in the future.”
Ms. Singh smiled. “That’s wise of you.”
After everything that happened, the last thing I felt was wise. But that didn’t bother me. I was okay being exactly who I was.
Event: Bonfire
Date: Nov. 18 (Sat.)
On Saturday, two weeks after The Incident, my parents watched as I packed my lab equipment into boxes. The boxes would be stored in the barn until I “proved I was mature enough to have a lab.” Something told me that wouldn’t happen before I moved out.
Kepler twisted around my feet as I packed, meowing aggressively. He didn’t like the situation either. If he wanted to spend time with me, he’d be forced to venture into the house.
While I dismantled my lab, Ishmael built a pen for Muffin, who’d be coming to live with us the next day. For the first time in decades, there’d be livestock on the Hofstadt Farm. Or, “one