Page 13 of Endless Anger
“Do you even know what you want to major in yet?”
“Well, no. But I have some time to decide. I’m stuck between some kind of environmental preservation program and political science?—”
Asher snorts.
“—but a planned trip to see the campus next fall will help me pick, I think. Avernia graduates go off to do really cool things, and I…I want to do them too.”
It sounds pathetic when I say it, but it’s the truth. Where else can I whisper my basest desires if not in the comfort of Asher’s bedroom?
Mydreamhas always been to open up a sanctuary for endangered wildlife and to fight for the conservation of the planet and its natural resources. While Avernia is best known for its classics, theater, and literature departments, it’s a top-tier location for the kind of work I’m interested in, and has superior science programs with lots of important faculty to network.
Not to mention Quincy going there makes me feel like Icoulddo it. I trust her judgment.
Asher gives me a droll look. “There are better schools out there, pup. Closer to home even. I bet your parents would love that.”
“I’m sure they would,” I say, thinking of the disappointment that lines my dad’s face with each day that brings us closer to my graduation. “But my long-term decisions shouldn’t be about them. That’s what they’ve always told me anyway.”
“They’re lying.”
The way he says it, with such assurance and finality, makes my skin crawl. It feels like he’s holding something back, which he never does.
We tell each other everything.
“Why would they lie?”
“Parents do that sometimes. Maybe they’re trying to spare your feelings.”
“If they wanted to control my decisions, couldn’t they just threaten not to pay my way?” That’s what happens in the movies and books, anyway.
My parents aren’t like that, but maybe Asher knows something I don’t.
Ever since he came back from that weekend trip a couple years ago, his attitude about school and the future in general has been worse. While he has never been a terribly positive person, this still seems excessive.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask.
He pushes from his desk, kicking off his Converse before face-planting beside me. The mattress jostles with his added weight, and Keats launches off my lap, retreating to the hallway.
“No more school talk,” he says into the bed, his voice muffled by the sheets. “It’s depressing.”
“How so? Your grades are great, and you don’t even have to try. Mine, on the other hand…”
“If you’re worried about getting in, don’t be. I’m sure Quincy would write a great recommendation, and having an alumna on your side would go a long way.”
“That won’t make me a better test-taker. Not even the extra time helps.”
“There’s more to the application than test scores, Luce. Plus, your parents can convince anyone to do anything. I doubt the school would want to piss off a former governor.”
“Yeah,” I agree, but his words weigh heavily on my chest.
I don’t want my parents to have to charm my way into school.
Given my academic record and history of “civil disturbances” in the name of the greater good, I doubt I’ll get in anywhere based on extracurriculars alone.
My community merit outshines everyone on this godforsaken island. I’m the twice-elected leader of our school’s wildlife conservation club, I’ve helped my mother run countless fundraisers to find stray animals homes and offer affordable spay and neuter clinics, and I spent last summer volunteering at the Society of American Foresters helping plant trees along the East Coast.
But Avernia is still a business at its core, so the likelihood of them caring about community action when considering retention possibilities is low. Even Quincy says there’s a certain expectation of the students to be exemplary learners and social butterflies.
Unfortunately, my academics leave a lot to be desired, although not for lack of trying. It’s just that concentrating on stuff I don’t find interesting is hard, and when I lose focus, it just kind of snowballs into an uncontrollable mess.
