I wish I could tell him everything. Tell him all of it, the whole truth—from the night with Tucker until this moment. Instead, I lie there and when the silence is still nice and the warmth of his body could lull me to sleep, I say, “I think I should get home.”
He pulls me up and kisses my head. My hands wrap around Andrew’s and as he leads me outside, I want to tell him the truth.
I want to believe that in some strange scenario we could make it work.
Over the next two weeks, I have to work on the application and every time I start the essay I delete immediately. It’s all so cheesy. I want to say something I mean, something true about me. My procrastination is getting out of hand and August 8th is approaching fast.
I came to WHOI today to spend some time with Dad, but also, it’s seal feeding day.
I love seal feeding day. It’s the one day they let Dad and me help the marine biologists feed the seals at the aquarium. We can sit on the edge of the pool with the trainers and help drop fish into the water. One of the seals, Bumper, is blind. I love Bumper. Have since I was twelve.
But for now, until 9:30, I must sit at this desk in Dad’s office and finally focus on this stupid essay.
The Waterman Foundation is the oldest astronomy scholarship in the country. Please explain in 1,000 words why your experiment successfully represents who you are as a scientist and how the execution of your experiment reinforces your educational goals.
I don’t even know how to begin. Why is tracking the comet part of who I am? Because it’s all I think about? Because I’ve stood outside on Friday nights with long-range binoculars while the rest of my class was out having fun, just so I could see the dusty tail of some silly comet? No. That’s not good enough. I don’t think the scholarship committee will care about how the comet impacted my social life. The essay needs to be academic and professional. I need to wow them. Who am I as a scientist? Who am I?
I don’t want to write this essay right now. Everything else is done. It’s the only thing that’s left. Fourteen days is more than enough time.
That reminds me. I glance up at the calendar. It’s July 25th. That means I also only have fourteen days until Scarlett comes home.
Fourteen days until all my lies come crashing down on me. Ever since I realized that Andrew was invited to Scarlett’s party, it comes back into my head on a delayed loop. The last ten days or so I’ve just been on autopilot. But when I’m alone for five minutes, it will sweep through, unwelcome, haunting me. The beach, the party, Andrew’s house—again and again.
Why did I have to pick a boy who knows my sister?
The radio echoes in Dad’s office and he turns it up to hear the DJ.
“Tropical storm Lola is heading across the ocean toward the East Coast. It’s too early to accurately decipher if she’ll be a hurricane. Keep it here for updates on 96.3 the Rose.”
There’s the squeak of his chair and he stands in the doorway.
“It’s 9:45, kiddo,” he says. “Make any headway?”
“Tons,” I lie.
Dad combs his hair to the side to cover his bald spot. Once he puts the comb in his front pocket, we lock up the office.
“Looks like we might all blow away at your sister’s going-away party,” Dad says as we walk from Building 40 to the seal aquariums.
“Maybe we can position Scarlett for the strongest gust.”
“Come on,” Dad says with a laugh. “I’ll let you feed Bumper first.”
Bumper and Lu Seal turn and spin, uninterested in the walls holding in their tank. I’ve dropped a few fish into the water, but it isn’t holding the same thrill that it usually does. Dad asks all kinds of questions about the temperature of the water and the seals’ daily maintenance. Bumper and Lu Seal don’t need to do tricks for their food. I love their little whiskers and tiny mouths. Bumper’s eyes have a milky film over them—they’re not deep brown like Lu Seal’s.
In the distance, down the street filled with tourists, the Martha’s Vineyard ferry blows its low horn.
You don’t get into MIT and track comets by dating every guy in the world.
Lu Seal’s little flippers propel her down the long length of the tank. I focus