stand out. If I’m honest? I wrote about being gay in my admissions essays because of that. Like, you know, take pity on a gay girl growing up in a tiny town.”
Eileen’s eyes widened. “Jesus, Claire.”
“I feel gross about it now. Not about being honest, just—I opened myself up, you know? To strangers. I undressed for those admissions officers. Like I was, I don’t know, pimping myself out. And it wasn’t even worth it. Like, of course not. It’s Yale. As if they don’t have enough small-town gay kids.”
Claire produced a self-deprecating smile.
“Why the hell didn’t you apply to Oregon schools?” Eileen asked. “U of O is queer friendly as hell. You’re acting like it’s goddamn Westboro Baptist Church.”
Claire shook her head severely. “That’s not why I didn’t apply there. I wanted to go to … a prestigious school. One that’s hard to get into. One where it rains less and is close to an actually glamorous city, where life happens all the time. I don’t know, I got Yale lodged in my head. Like it was the perfect solution. Yale, or bust.”
“Don’t plan for failure,” Eileen muttered.
Claire looked to her sharply. “How do you know that?”
“It’s on one of your fucking coffee mugs, Claire.”
“Oh. Right.”
“You think I escaped that Harper Everly bullshit? I practically got half her pep talks through osmosis.”
Eileen wasn’t being kind, she knew, but Claire wasn’t being defensive, either. They were almost having an actual conversation.
“Claire?” she said.
“Hm.”
“I’m sorry. That seriously blows. Like I said, they’re idiots.”
“Yeah, Yale. A bunch of idiots.”
Eileen pushed up from her sprawl, fixing Claire with an unflinching stare. “Fuck national rankings, Claire. You know who makes those? Elitist assholes. People who didn’t grow up like us, in a shit town, in a shit house, working shit jobs. Fuck rankings, period. Only rich, pretty people make those. And you’re better than that. Better than them. The Harper Everlys. Don’t waste good tears on them.”
The knifing—the feeling—was excruciating. Eileen was mad at Claire for making her care, but she was madder at every vapid YouTuber who’d ever made her sister feel less than.
“You’re not a loser,” she said, forcefully. “You’re not a Settler, or whatever dumb-ass term you use. You’re just a person, Claire. Someone who does good stuff and bad stuff too. Someone who’s complicated. Who’s really goddamn smart and started her own business and didn’t let life’s shittiness drain the hope out. So apply to U of O next year. Or don’t. Keep making your jewelry and move away on your own. You’re not doomed. It’s college. It’s an overrated, overpriced school.”
Claire was looking at Eileen intently, a critic taking in a piece of art—absorbing the lines and colors before forming her opinion.
Then she said, “I’m the one who needs to say sorry.”
Eileen made a nasty face on instinct. What was this, a trick?
“For what?” she asked, dubiously.
Claire looked askance, to the burned-out fire.
Without meeting Eileen’s eyes, she said, “I didn’t get into my program, but … you did.”
TWENTY-THREE Claire
News flash, Claire: I haven’t applied to any programs.”
Claire was expecting this. She’d braced herself for caustic dismissal, because that was classic Eileen. And why would Eileen suspect Claire of doing what she’d done? It made no sense.
It had made sense months ago, when Claire had been in Harper Everly’s thrall. Life itself had made sense. Not to Eileen, though. She was a mocker of inspirational quotes, a scoffer at all things related to the lifestyle vlog. If Claire was going to make this confession, she’d have to do so slantwise. It might ruffle Eileen’s feathers, but at least it’d be an approach she would understand.
“Leenie,” she said, “why did you stop painting?”
Eileen balked. “What?”
Claire didn’t repeat the question. She waited. She’d wanted to know the answer for a long time, and in this moment she actually hoped Eileen would give it. Because in this moment Eileen had light in her eyes, and Claire hadn’t seen that light in what felt like ages. These past two years Eileen’s eyes had been dull, words monosyllabic. Claire had told herself that sometimes that’s how sisters turned out: You were close for a time, and then you grew into the people you were meant to be. Plenty of adults didn’t get along, sisters included.
Sisters especially.
Claire had thought Eileen was turning into a Settler. She’d thought it was for the best—the fights, at first, and then the complete lack of talking—because Harper Everly said you had to hang with the people you wanted to be.