Page 74 of What I Like About You

After we took the in-class practice SAT, Molly asked everyone their best scores from previous exams. At lunch. It was awkward for me, but everyone else is used to Molly’s grade nosiness, so they spilled their numbers without hesitation.

But October scores were emailed this morning. Molly took the SAT last month too—she’s extra like that. If she liked her number, she’d have been the first to share it.

“Did she tell you?” I ask.

Nash nods. “It’s not evenbad.It’s just not Molly.”

“Damn.”

Nash’s box lights up on the score screen and he is off to bowl. “Uptown Funk” blasts through the Rock n’ Bowl speakers and Nash dances over to the balls like he’s Bruno Mars.

It’s adorable. He’s adorable.

Nash, a lefty, bowls the frame with his right hand. The first ball flies into another lane and knocks down four pins, to the absolute delight of a giggling toddler. The second ball is much less aggressive in execution and rolls down its proper aisle, but barely clips two pins off the left side.

“What are you doing?” Molly asks.

“Only Halle can bowl lefty, right?” Nash asks.

Molly rolls her eyes. “Youarea lefty.”

“That was not specified.”

“I probably would’ve yelledpenalty,” Sawyer admits.

“You can’t … I didn’t. That’s not the rule!”

Molly has the look on her face that I get when everythingis Suddenly Too Much and it doesn’t matter that she’s been cold and competitive to me all night. I grab her hand, look to Autumn to grab the other, and we drag her across the alley and into the bathroom. Inside, I see Molly’s eyes are wet. Her perfect eyeliner is smudged at the edges.

“Breathe,” I say.

Molly exhales.

“I’m not going to college,” she says.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Autumn says.

“Well, I’m not going to Cornell,” Molly says.

“Screw your parents’ Ivy League expectations,” Autumn says, rubbing Molly’s back.

I hold Molly’s hand like Ollie would hold mine.

“Their faces,” Molly says. “The first thing Mom did when Shabbat ended was check my score, and when she saw it I couldn’t run away fast enough.”

“Molly,” I say, “you’re the actual definition of well-rounded. If Cornell doesn’t want you because of a number, NYU is definitely not going to want me for mine.”

Molly wipes her eyes. “You’re stressed about scores too?”

I nod. “I’ve beenkillingmyself to improve my math score. It’s not happening.”

“Also, look at it this way. If you don’t get into Cornell, it’s because of something arbitrary. If I don’t get into USC, it’s because I straight-up suck at my dream career!” Autumn says, biting her lip.

Molly shakes her head at Autumn. “But that’s completely subjective!”

“Exactly,” Autumn says.

Molly pulls a paper towel from the dispenser and wipes her nose. “So what you’re saying is we’re all stressed about things we cannot control?”

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