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It’s been harder than I thought it would be, getting back into a regular rhythm. My teachers and classmates have been understanding, but sometimes the pity on their faces gets to be too much. I know they can’t help it. Most people can’t even imagine what it’s like to lose one parent, never mind both at once. They look at me and can’t help thinking about how they’d cope in my situation.
The week before spring break, when I’m supposed to return to Aidan’s, I get the email I’ve been holding my breath for. The notification comes in on my phone twenty minutes before I’m supposed to head to class.
My decision email from the Jost Academy for Visual and Performing Arts is in my inbox.
I race to the dormitory bathroom where Jasmine is twisting out her naturally curly hair at the row of sinks.
“Jas,” I say. “Have you checked your email this morning?”
“Not yet.” She stops mid-twist. “Why?”
“It came.”
Her dark eyes going wide in the mirror. “Did you open it?”
“Not yet.”
She washes curl-defining cream off her hands and then grabs her phone. My own hands shake as I come to stand beside her.
“I got mine, too,” she says, meeting my gaze. “Open at the same time?”
I nod. We count down from three and then open our decision emails.
Congratulations, mine begins.
The tension builds inside me like champagne bubbles. Before I pop off, I glance up to gauge Jasmine’s expression. She’s eyeing me with similar restraint.
“You got in?” I ask.
She nods cautiously.
“Me, too,” I say.
We erupt in a frenzy of whoops and giggles, causing more than a couple of wet heads to poke out of the showers. Jasmine pulls me into a hug, and we turn it into a celebratory dance. A victory waltz. A triumphant tango.
Suddenly, all I want to do is tell Aidan the good news.
As I attempt to pull up his contact info, I discover I don’t have it. I must’ve forgotten to add it to my phone in the midst of all the awkwardness. I text Jen, knowing she’ll relay the news. She responds in under a minute in all-caps: THAT’S SPECTACULAR!!! CONGRATULATIONS, DARLING!!! WE’LL HAVE TO CELEBRATE WHEN YOU GET BACK.
I thank her and tell her I’m looking forward to it.
Hours pass, and Aidan doesn’t text me. He doesn’t call either.
I catch myself checking my phone every few seconds. It’s embarrassing how much his indifference affects me. My chemistry teacher notices me glancing at my phone and tells me to turn it off. I realize it’s probably for the best. It’s not like I’m waiting to hear from anyone else. The person who would’ve been the most thrilled about my news—my mother—isn’t around to hear it.
On our way back into the dorms after ballet practice, the girl at the front desk waves Jasmine and me over to tell me I have a delivery. She disappears into the office and comes out holding a vase that’s positively bursting with pink and white roses.
“Um, wow, these are gorgeous,” Jasmine says, picking up the vase so she can press her nose into the bouquet. “Who are they from?”
The front-desk girl hands me a small card. I open it to find a simple congratulatory greeting, signed Aidan O’Rourke.
Just like the moment when the power suddenly comes back on after a storm, I light up.
“They’re from Aidan.”
“Damn,” Jasmine says. “All my parents did was leave a mushy voicemail. Can your uncle adopt me, too?”
“He’s not my uncle,” I say, a little too earnestly. I clear my throat. “He’s my guardian.”
