The question is unnecessary. Going off the way his hair is still wet, gym bag hanging from his hand, it’s already obvious. “I was at practice. Same time every Wednesday. You know this.”
Right.
“Well, come on, let me in,” I say, flapping a hand at the knob.
He raises an eyebrow, cheeks still flushed from practice. “Need it that bad, huh? I’m a little wiped, but my stroke game is probably still on point.” That cocky grin of his disappears the instant I hold up the bundle of letters. He swipes them from my hand flipping through, realizing. “Chicago came.”
I confirm. “Chicago came.”
He stares down at the stack, eyes jumping up to me. “So, we’re going to do this?”
“We’re going to do this.”
“Are you going to just keep repeating everything I say?”
I push his shoulder. “Open the door!”
“Alright, geez. So much for patience being a virtue.” Despite his grumbling, I can tell from the way he fumbles with his keys that he’s just as anxious as I am.
We get into his suite, which is thankfully nice and tidy. I’ve discovered that the state of Sebastian’s living space holds a direct correlation to his mood. I turn around in the room, watching him dump his things off, holding the letters carefully out of the way.
When he’s done, he says, “Okay,” and drops down on the couch. “Which first. SCAD, right?”
I frown at the way he says it, like it should be obvious. “Why SCAD?”
“Because,” he explains, giving me a quick, guilty look. “Save the best ones for last, right? Not that SCAD isn’t a good school, or that I don’t want you to get in, or that I wouldn’t—”
I drop into the space at his side, stopping him. “No, I get it. Three-hour drive between there and Emory.” It was the closest school his dad approved of.
He hands me one envelope and plucks another from the stack. “You first.”
I nod, taking a breath before jamming my nail between the—
“Fuck, wait,” he says, jolting forward. “Hold on.” I watch in confusion as he crosses the room, toeing his shoes off and kicking them aside. He bends to grab another, darting back to the couch to put them on.
Baffled, I ask, “What are you doing?”
He shoots me a glance as he tightens the laces, a lock of hair falling in his eyes. “They’re my lucky shoes.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, you have lucky shoes?”
“Laugh all you want, but these babies,” He sinks back into the couch, kicking a foot up on the table, “have won me many fights.”
“You know what? I’m not even going to comment on that.” I rip open the envelope, stomach fluttering as I pull out the letter and unfold it. I scan it quickly, not feeling any less full of nerves when I realize, “I got in.”
“Good,” he says, like it was never even in question. He rips open the one from Emory, eyes sliding over the page. “Me, too.”
We both pause, looking at each other.
“They’re good schools.”
He agrees, “Some of the best.”
I nod, eyes straying to the other letters, “But I’m sure we got into others.”
He tosses his letter aside. “I’m gonna be real here. Emory would never let me live it down if I went to Emory.”
“That would get confusing.” I’m not sure why anyone would name their kids after their alma maters, but that’s the Halls.
I fold my legs beneath me to contain my bouncing knee. “Chicago next.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Not feeling the Chi-town, huh.”
I hurry to add, “Not that Northwestern isn’t an amazing school! Of course, I mean, obviously that’s a fine option.”
“Better than Emory and SCAD,” he volleys back.
“Exactly.” He hands me the envelope to Chicago and we tear into them at the same time, the room quiet as we read the letters. I exhale slowly. “I got in.”
Sebastian frowns at his. “Waitlisted? The fuck?” He turns it over, like maybe he’s expecting an explanation.
“It’s not a rejection,” I say, trying to sound excited.
But he just snatches the letter from my hand and throws them both aside. “Fuck Chicago.”
Trying for a rueful smile, I reach for the next two. “Okay, Rhode Island and Brown!”
Easily distracted, he tears open the envelope while I rip into mine. “Well,” he says, “Brown at least knows what’s good.” He turns the letter, showing me his acceptance.
My stomach sinks when I read mine. “Oh. I didn’t get in.”
“What?!” He rips the letter out of my hand. “That’s bullshit!”