The Unexpected Everything - Morgan Matson Page 0,18
probably contributed to my dad’s keeping his seat that fall. They never stayed all that long, these second cousins and stepsiblings’ children—they moved into the house or the furnished apartment above the garage, drove me around, and for the most part, let me do my own thing.
Once I was able to drive myself, the job had pretty much become symbolic, there in case someone questioned whether the congressman’s daughter was living unsupervised by herself while he was in D.C. The most recent person had been Joy, my dad’s stepsister’s stepdaughter, but as soon as the scandal had exploded and my dad had moved back, she’d moved out, leaving a note on the kitchen counter telling my dad where to send her last check. But the high turnover of relatives meant I could tell them whatever I needed to when they moved in, and one of the first things I’d told Joy was that I had no curfew.
“Yeah,” I said now, taking another step toward the staircase. “She was fine with it.”
“Ah,” my dad said, nodding.
“Oh,” I said, remembering and turning back before I headed up the stairs. We were at opposite ends of the hallway now, and I couldn’t make out his expression clearly anymore. “Peter texted. He wanted to know how you were doing.”
My dad looked at me for a moment, then sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m fine,” he said, even though I could hear the exhaustion in his voice.
“Well, you should probably tell Peter that. He seemed worried.” My dad and I just stood there until the silence between us started to feel suffocating. “Night,” I said, turning away and not letting myself look back, not even waiting to hear if he said it back to me. Then I hit the last light switch, throwing the foyer into darkness, and took the steps up to my room two at a time.
Chapter THREE
My phone rang the next morning at seven a.m.
I rolled over and reached for it, squinting at the screen. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was a Baltimore area code. I answered immediately. “Hello?” I asked, hating that it probably sounded like I just woke up.
“Good morning,” a woman’s voice on the other end said. “This is Caroline from the Young Scholars Program at Johns Hopkins. May I speak to Alexandra Walker?”
“Speaking,” I said. I held the phone away from me for a moment and cleared my throat hurriedly, making myself sit up straight. Just hearing the words “young scholars” was enough for me to start feeling some giddy butterflies in my stomach. Maybe she was calling to give me a last-minute reminder, or an official, day-before welcome.
“Oh.” She cleared her throat, and I could hear some papers rustling on her end. “I’m sorry to call so early.”
“I was awake,” I assured her, hoping that my voice wasn’t contradicting this as I spoke. “And I’m incredibly excited to start the program tomorrow.”
There was a pause, and I heard the papers rustling again. “Yes,” she said, and then I heard her take an audible breath, the kind you take before something painful is about to happen. “About that. I’m so sorry, but we’re going to have to withdraw your acceptance to our program this year.”
I froze, and felt myself blink twice. “Excuse me?” I asked, turning the volume up on my phone and pressing it harder against my ear, figuring I must have just misheard her.
“Yes, I’m afraid . . .” On the other end, the papers rustled again, and my heart started to beat very fast, like I’d just downed my daily latte in one gulp. “It looks like Dr. Rizzoli has withdrawn his letter of recommendation. And since we did not have another on file for you, your place went to one of the students on our waiting list.”
“What?” I whispered, my hand gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles were turning white. “I don’t understand. I mean, this must be . . . There has to be something else I can do.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t. Your spot has already been reassigned. And I’m sorry for the late notice, but Dr. Rizzoli didn’t send us the e-mail until last night,” she said. I could hear the relief in her voice, like she’d gotten the hard part over with. She could see the finish line and just wanted to be off this call with me. “Your deposit and your tuition will of course be refunded.”
“Wait,” I said, not even having anything to follow this but