This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,70

knock them out with the details of what you’ve done with your advertising, outreach, and innovative campaigns.”

She nods slowly as her eyes move across the screen, but the furrow between her brows is back. “So you’re saying I need to dig deeper,” she says neutrally, the radiance gone.

I suddenly feel off-balance, like everything is one or two degrees off its axis. I blink and think back to what I said. “I guess what I’m saying is, you’ve done all this stuff. Now you just have to show it.” I’m grasping at straws to say what I mean, and I latch on to the stuff I’m working on with Alan. “It’s like I tell your brother, sometimes you know how to do a problem, but it’s not quite enough to just put down the answer—you have to show your work to get full credit.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. I know it the instant the words leave my lips. Jocelyn’s mouth tightens and she looks away. Her hand makes a fist, as if cracking an invisible egg.

JOCELYN

Will pretends to like my essay. I mean, he says he likes it, and that it makes him want to get coffee with me, but of course he’s biased. Then he says what he really means, which is that it needs work. Specifically, I need to “show my work,” like I’m some kind of failed middle schooler who has to take summer school.

I feel sick with embarrassment. I sit on my hands to stop them from shaking. “Okay,” I say to Will, who is looking at me concernedly as I melt down. “I get it. I have to rewrite it. That’s fine, it was just a crappy first draft anyway.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Will insists. “Most of it, like eighty percent of it, is perfect.…”

“There’s no such thing as perfect,” I simper, parroting every elementary school teacher, ever. Because it’s true, at least for me.

He puts his hand to his head and sighs, and it reminds me so much of my father that I want to puke. “What I mean,” he tries again, “is that there’s so much that’s pure gold. You don’t have to redo the whole thing. Just don’t be afraid to put in specifics about what you’ve done. The committee will eat it up.”

I take a deep breath, as if it’ll buoy me from the sinking sensation that threatens to overwhelm me. My legs feel like they’re fused with our thinning gray carpet and the sagging cushions on our secondhand couch. I couldn’t stand up if I tried. “But…” I struggle to put it in words, how it’s not going to be that easy, he makes it sound so easy. “I tried to. I wrote it out, what we did this summer, and it looks… it looks like I’m pretending to be a grown-up. I might as well be using plastic coins.”

“No one expects you to be fully formed,” Will argues. “These programs can’t expect anyone to be ready to lead Fortune 500 companies. They’re just looking for potential.”

“Potential that I don’t have!” I can’t help it, I’m yelling, because he just doesn’t get it. He has this weird faith in me as if I’m worth the effort, as if I’m not just some bargain-basement wannabe who’s going to disappoint everyone who ever put faith in me.

“Oh my…” Will covers his face with both hands to muffle a scream of frustration. “Jos, everyone has potential. You most of all. No one works harder than you, and you’re so smart.…”

“Well, my PSAT scores don’t really support that,” I mutter.

“Because you haven’t taken a hundred hours of SAT prep courses. Plus, there are studies showing that they’re not the best predictor of success in college—grades are.”

“Those aren’t exactly anything to write home about.”

“They’re not horrible, either. They’re okay.” When I glare at him—does he really believe that?—Will throws up his hands. “I don’t know what you expect me to say. Do you want me to tell you to quit, not to bother? Is that what you want?” I feel a heavy thud as Will slumps to the couch next to me, just inches away from where I’m still picking at that hangnail.

I don’t say anything, because I don’t know the answer to his question.

Will’s voice is low when he finally breaks the heavy silence. “I’m sorry. I just remembered that it wasn’t your idea to apply to this program. It was your dad’s. You’re doing it because it’s part of that contract.”