Ethan went next. Fourteen ten. No surprise there. I forget what Annalise got-something in the low eleven hundreds.
'Well?' I looked at Darcy.
'Oh. Right. I got a thirteen hundred five.'
I knew instantly that she didn't have a 1305. The SAT is not scored in increments of five. Ethan knew too, because he kicked me under the table and hid a smile with his ham sandwich.
I didn't care that she lied per se. She was a known embellisher. But the fact that she lied about her score to beat me by five-that part really figured. We didn't call her on it. There was no point.
But then she said, 'Well, maybe we'll both get into Notre Dame.'
It was her Ethan power move in the fifth grade all over again.
Like a lot of kids in the Midwest, my dream growing up was to attend
Notre Dame. We're not Irish or even Catholic, but ever since my parents took me to a Notre Dame football game when I was eight, I wanted to go there. To me it was what a college should be-stately stone buildings, manicured lawns, plenty of tradition. I wanted to be a part of it. Darcy never showed the slightest interest in Notre Dame and it irritated me that she was infringing on my terrain. But I wasn't too worried about her taking my spot. My grades were higher, my SATs were probably higher, and besides, more than one student from our high school got into Notre Dame every year.
That spring, the acceptance and rejection letters trickled in slowly. I checked the mailbox every day, in agony. Mike O'Sullivan, who had three generations of alumni in his family and was the president of our class, got into Notre Dame first. I assumed that I would be next, but Darcy got her letter before I did. I was with her when she got the mail, although she wouldn't open the envelope in front of me. I went home, hoping guiltily that she had received bad news.
She called an hour later, ecstatic. 'I can't believe it! I got in! Can you believe it?'
In short, no. I couldn't. I mustered up a congratulations, but I was crushed. Her news meant one of two things: she had taken my spot, or we would both go to Notre Dame and she would upstage me for four more years. As much as I knew I would miss Darcy when I went away, I felt strongly that I needed to establish myself apart from her. Once she got in, there would be no perfect resolution.
Still, I wanted that acceptance more than I had ever wanted anything. And I had my pride on the line. I waited, prayed, even thought about calling the admissions office to beg. One sickening week later, my letter arrived. It looked just like Darcy's. I ran inside, my heart pounding in my ears as I sliced open the envelope, unfolded the paper that held my fate. Close… you are very highly qualified… but no cigar.
I was devastated and could barely speak to my friends in school the next day, especially Darcy. At lunch, as I fought back tears, she informed me that she was going to Indiana anyway. That she wanted nothing to do with a school that would turn me down. Her charity upset me all the more. For once, Annalise spoke up. 'You took Rachel's spot, and you didn't even want to go thete?'
'Well, it was my first choice. I changed my mind. And how was I supposed to know it would happen like this?' she said. 'I assumed she would get in; I only beat her by a few points on the SAT.'
Ethan had had enough. 'You didn't get a damn thirteen hundred five, Darcy. The SAT is scored in increments of ten.'
'Who said I got a thirteen hundred five?'
'You did,' Ethan and I said in unison.
'No I didn't. I said a thirteen ten.'
'Omigod!' I said, looking at Annalise for support, but her gumption had run out. She claimed that she had forgotten what Darcy said.
We argued for the rest of the lunch hour about what Darcy had said and why she had applied to Notre Dame if she didn't want to go there. We both ended up crying, and Darcy left school early, telling the school nurse she had cramps. The whole thing blew over when I got into Duke and talked myself into being happy with that result. Duke had a similar look and feel-stone buildings, pristine campus, prestige. It was just as good as Notre Dame and maybe it was better to broaden my horizons and leave Indiana.
But to this day I wonder why Notre Dame picked Darcy over me. Maybe a junior male member of the admissions staff fancied her photo. Maybe it was just Darcy's typical good luck.
In any case, I'm glad that Ethan refreshed my memory about Notre Dame. It replaces the Becky Zurich showdown in the forefront of my mind. Yes, Darcy could be a good friend-she usually was-but she also screwed me at a few pivotal moments in life: first love, college dream. Those were no small matters.
'All right,' I say to Ethan. 'But I think you're overstating the point a little. I wouldn't use the term 'roughshod.''
'Okay, but you know what I mean. There's an undercurrent of competition.'
'I guess so. Maybe,' I say, thinking that it isn't much of a competition when one person consistently loses.
'So, anyway, please keep me posted. This is good stuff.'
I tell him I will.
'Oh, one more thing,' he says. 'When are you going to visit me?' ooon.
'That's what you always say.'
'I know. But you know how it goes. Work is always crazy… I'll come soon, though. This year for sure.'
'Good enough,' Ethan says. 'I really do miss you.'
'I miss you too.'
'Besides,' he says. 'You might need a vacation by the time you're through with all of this.'
After we hang up, I note with satisfaction that Ethan never told me to stop. He only said to be careful. And I will do that. I will be careful the next time I see Dexter.
Chapter 9
I avoid Darcy for three days, a very difficult thing to do. We never go so long without talking. When she finally reaches me, I blame my absence on work, say I have been unbelievably swamped-which is true-although I have found plenty of time to daydream about Dex, call Dex, e-mail Dex. She asks if I am free for Sunday brunch. I tell her yes, figuring that I might as well just get the face-to-face meeting over with. We arrange to meet at EJ's Luncheonette near my apartment.
On Sunday morning, I arrive at EJ's first and note with relief that the place is full of children. Their happy clamor provides a distraction and makes me slightly less nervous. But I am still filled with anxiety at the thought of spending time with Darcy. I have been able to cope with my guilt by avoiding all thoughts of her, almost pretending that Dex is single and we are back in law school, before I ever got the big idea to introduce Darcy to him. But that tactic will not be possible this afternoon. And I'm afraid that spending time with her will force me to end things with Dex, something I desperately don't want to do.
A moment later, Darcy barges in carrying her big black Kate Spade bag, the one she uses for heavy errand- running, specifically the wedding variety. Sure enough, I see her familiar orange folder poking out of the top of the bag, stuffed with tear-outs from bridal magazines. My stomach drops. I had just about prepared myself for Darcy but not for the wedding.
She gives me the two-cheek Euro kiss hello as I smile, try to act natural. She launches into a tale about Claire's blind date from the night before with a surgeon named Skip. She says it did not go well, that Skip wasn't tall enough for Claire and failed to ask if she wanted dessert, thus setting off her cheapskate radar. I am thinking that perhaps the only radar that had gone off was Skip's 'tiresome snob' radar. Maybe he just wanted to go home and get away from her. I don't offer this suggestion, however, as Darcy doesn't like it when I criticize Claire unless she does so first.
'She is just way too picky,' Darcy says as we are led to our booth. 'It's like she looks for things not to like, you know?'
'It's okay to be picky,' I say. 'But she has a pretty screwed-up set of criteria.'
'How do you figure?'
