Page 63 of All These Beautiful Strangers
“I have good grades,” I said. “And great test scores.”
“Yes, and yes,” Mariah said. “A three point seven GPA and ninety-ninth percentile in test scores. I’m not questioning your intellectual chops, Charlie.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Well, a school like UPenn wants students who show they can handle the academic rigors of their program, but they also want to see well-rounded individuals. Students who are going to take an active interest in the university outside of their classes, forge their place in the school and out in the world. And you don’t have any extracurricular activities, which is very unusual for a Knollwood student. No social clubs or sports or special interests.”
“I was going to write my college essay on that,” I said. “How the very fact that I don’t conform to the conventional mold is what makes me a unique, well-rounded individual. The average student’s résumé today is on steroids. Everyone is in orchestra and plays on the tennis team and serves on the student council. Not because they’re actually interested in all of those things, but because they feel they have to check all these boxes to prove their worth to their dream school. But I don’t need to be defined by my participation in a club or a sport. And that makes me a freethinking individual who will forge her own path at a school like UPenn and in the world thereafter.”
“I was expecting that type of response from you,” Mariah said.
“And what type of response is that exactly?”
“Manipulative,” she said. She stopped and looked at me, hands in pockets, head nodding. “You’re smart, but I think that’s a detriment in your development, because you’ve learned to use your intellect to twist things to your advantage. You know how to play people.”
Heat pooled into my cheeks. Mariah had never talked to me like this before. “Excuse me?” I said.
“What concerns me is that you’ve even learned to manipulate yourself,” she said. “You genuinely believe what you just told me.”
I didn’t respond. She had backed me into a corner. I could either say I believed it and be deemed a manipulator, or I could say I didn’t believe it and be deemed a liar.
“I’d love to hear your take on things,” I said. “If I’ve twisted the facts, then untwist them. What’s the real reason I’m sorely lacking in extracurriculars?”
“You lack empathy,” Mariah said. “You don’t connect easily with other people because you don’t trust anyone, and because you’ve been taught to think you’re better than everyone else. And you’ve been taught to exploit others for your own gain. In short, you suffer from narcissistic personality disorder.”
I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. “Shit,” I said, because fuck manners at this point. “Tell me what you really think. Please, don’t hold back on account of my feelings, because apparently, I don’t have any.”
“On the contrary,” Mariah said, “narcissists have deep feelings, but mostly about themselves. And I’m not trying to hurt you, Charlie. I’m trying to help you.”
“What exactly does this have to do with UPenn?” I asked.
“This has to do with your future, Charlie, with the type of person you want to become. It’s not too late to change, to turn things around.”
Mariah took a piece of paper out of her shoulder bag and handed it to me. It was Knollwood Augustus Prep’s Club Day poster, the one I had found in my mailbox a few weeks ago.
“Take a look at the opportunities Knollwood is offering you,” Mariah said. “Pick something that matters to you—if even a little bit. It’s still open period to join. Just try it. Try to open yourself up to a new experience, to new people. You may surprise yourself.”
At campfire that evening, Counselor Kirk took out his guitar and started to lead everyone in a round of “Save Tonight” by Eagle-Eye Cherry. I didn’t have much of a singing voice, and I really didn’t feel like being around anyone, so I snuck away by myself to the edge of the space still lit by the campfire. I lay down behind a fallen tree and stared up at the night sky, at all the stars that were visible on a cloudless, moonless night.
I couldn’t help but think about everyone whose voice drifted over me. I knew all of my friends’ dream schools and career plans. Lately, it was all they talked about. I knew that Leo was planning on going to Harvard, where he was a legacy on his mother’s side, and that Drew had her heart set on studying political science at Wellesley, Hillary Clinton’s alma mater. Stevie had her eye on Berkeley, where she would be premed, and Yael was leaning toward Columbia, mostly because she wanted to be in the city. They were all so sure; they had their minds made up and their futures laid out, like me. I wondered if their counselors had shit all over their dreams like mine had—and not just their dreams, but them personally.
I couldn’t help but think that it was just me. That there was something wrong with me. That what Mariah had said about me was true.
A twig snapped just above my head and I looked up to see Leo standing over me.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Just thought I’d join.” He lay down beside me on the ground.
“Hey, cuz,” I said.
“I can’t wait for college,” Leo said, sighing. “Or just to get back to campus where there’s some fresh meat. I’ve hooked up with every upperclassman over a six already. There’s nothing here for me anymore.”
“That is a problem,” I said sarcastically.
“I found myself actually considering Sheila Andrews just now,” Leo said. “I caught myself looking at her over the glow of the campfire with Kirk’s sultry baritone crooning in the background and I thought, Maybe. And then I decided I’d come over here before I did something stupid.”
“I’m pretty sure Sheila Andrews would cut off your balls if you messed with her,” I said. “So, I’d steer clear.”
“What about Stevie?” Leo asked, wiggling his eyebrows at me. “It’s always the uptight prudes who turn out to be the most fun in bed.”
