Page 122 of What I Like About You

Molly Jacobson

AUTUMN IS MIA TOO.

5:33 AM

Molly Jacobson

WHY IS EVERYONE ASLEEP ON THE MOST IMPORTANT DAY OF THEIR LIVES

5:40 AM

This more or less continues until my alarm clock goes off at six-fifteen a.m. and I groggily textSTOPPPin the group text.Sorry, College gods, I’m not waking up early, not even for you. I hit snooze twice, like always, and roll out of bed at six-forty. This gives me exactly twenty-five minutes to choose an outfit and apply the bare minimum of makeup before Ollie and I run out the door to make it to school on time.

I choose high-waisted jeans and a beige off-the-shoulder sweater, then swipe mauve over my lips. The lipstick is a bit extra for a Wednesday at MHS, but it would be perfect for a Wednesday at NYU.Dress for the life you want, and all.

It’s just another day, I remind myself.

Still, I can’t help but check my email on the stairs, in the bathroom, at the kitchen table during breakfast. With every vibration in my palm that indicates a new text or email—my heart spikes. I definitely need to turn off notifications today. But then I double-check—even though Iknewit wasn’t going to be there yet. According to Google, NYU sends their emails out in waves throughout the day, because theyloveto induce anxiety.

As if my anxious brain isn’t already in overdrive.

You’re just an amateur blogger.

Your SAT scores are mediocre.

Rejected.

I toss my phone into my backpack, as if that will make a difference.

“Wait-listed.”

Molly can’t even look at us when she says it. She’s too busy tearing her quesadilla into tiny, inedible pieces. Her eyes are wetbut she doesn’t blink, won’t even shed a tear. Sawyer texted me in first period, but this is the first time I’ve seen Molly today, so it’s the first time I can believe it’s true.

“It’s not a rejection,” Nash says.

“It’s not over,” Autumn says.

Molly shrugs. “I don’t know how to process this.”

We don’t know what to say to that—so we don’t. Lunch passes in awkward silence, because what do you say to someone who’s sort of maybe lost their dream? Molly took five AP classes this year. Molly isvaledictorian. Student council treasurer. President of USY. If Molly Jacobson isn’t enough for her dream—how am I possibly enough for mine?

“No word yet?” Sawyer asks Autumn, Nash, and me.

Sawyer’s future is on lock. Last week, he signed his life away to UConn baseball.

“They’re Division IandI can keep working at the bakery. It’s kind of too perfect,” Sawyer said to me during a shift last weekend. He had multiple offers from schools all over the country. He’s absolutely Ollie’s hero—if there was ever any doubt otherwise.

He’s also a hero for handling our stress like a champ, tbh.

Molly blinks out of her trance. “I’m sorry. I’m so in my head right now! Please distract me. What is everyone else’s situation?”

Autumn swallows a fry. “Well. I got into Loyola and Emerson. So … I’m going to film school! USC is still very much to be determined.”

“I’ve heard from UConn and Wesleyan,” Nash says.

I retie my ponytail. “I—”

Autumn’s phone vibrates, loud, against the table.

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