Page 91 of Better Than Gelato
“That’s a very generous offer,” I say. “But actually, I’m not going to be a photographer.”
“What are you going to be?”
“I don’t really know,” I say. I know I should be looking into other majors, but I just can’t muster the energy. Switching from photography to teaching or nursing feels like going from a delicious lasagna to a limp stick of celery.
“Well, I think you should be a photographer,” Isa says.
“That’s what I thought too, but it didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
I don’t want to talk about it. I told Maggie and my parents about Diego, but Jake’s the only one who knows about getting rejected from the photography program. At the time, it seemed unimportant compared to Diego. Now it feels too depressing to talk about.
But Isa’s face says she doesn’t care about my feelings. She wants answers.
“I didn’t get into the photography program,” I say, not meeting her eyes.
“What? After all our hard work?Porca Miseria! Why not?” Her hands go to her hips.
“I don’t know,” I reply with a shoulder shrug.
“Ask them.”
“I can’t just ask them,” I say.
“Why not?” Her eyes are narrowed and focused on me like laser beams.
The only thing more pathetic than getting rejected is asking why you were rejected.
“It just doesn’t work like that,” I say. “They already made their decision.”
“But why did they decide that?”
“I don’t know!” I say, irritated.
“Then ask!” Isa says, with even more irritation.
Her eyes are full of fire, and her shoulders are back in the posture of a person who demands things and gets them.
“When I forgot my butterfly project, you talked to Signora Zonta and asked her if I could turn it in the next day. And she said yes!”
I don’t know how to tell her that college isn’t like first grade. She can tell I’m not convinced because she says, “It can’t make it worse. They already didn’t let you in.”
She’s right. Maybe I just don’t want to hear how bad I was. Maybe nothing seems to matter that much after Diego’s passing. Which I know would piss him off. He’s not here to live his dream, so I’m giving up on mine?
I tried!I tell Diego and Isa and every other critic in my head.
“Fine,” I tell Isa. “Maybe I’ll give them a call.”
Isa looks at me expectantly.
“What, right now? I can’t call them right now. It’s 7:00 p.m. our time, which means it’s…” I do the math. “10:00 a.m. in San Diego.”
“And is your college open at 10 a.m.?” Isa asks, eyebrows raised.
Dang. I guess I’m making this call right now.
I grab my computer and pull up the number. I’m hoping Isa will give me a little bit of privacy, but when I see her expression, I know there is zero chance of that happening. I dial the number and listen as it rings. It’s only when someone answers that I realize I have no plan. No idea what to say. I should have thought this out beforehand.
