class of 2013 ✓

13 | learned helplessness

I'm a fucking mess.

That's no secret, and I think Nea knows it best. For some reason, I'm always finding a way to screw things up whenever I'm around her, whether it being a result of my incoordination or just lack of social skill in general. She knows this. I know this. Everyone knows this.

Which is why she's the only person I want to see right now, as we're cooped up in the back corner of the library, seated on the rough brown carpet with our backs leaning on sturdy bookshelves that are so tall they almost reach the crystal chandelier hung from the domed ceiling. On them are hundreds of paperbacks of every variety ranging from self-help to picture children's books. As much as I hate to admit it, I spent way too much time in the library during my high school years. Mostly to study, sometimes to read. Those redwood cubicles gave me a sense of solitude and safety as I tried to push away all feelings of inferiority as I thumbs through pages of heavy textbooks. It's a comforting feeling that's evoked from these walls, really.

And I need all the comfort I can get because today is the day where I'm going to open all of my college decisions. Needless to say, the entire day I couldn't focus in class. I mean, how could I? My entire future is on the line, and today I will see if years and years of hard work will pay off.

The grandfather clock in front of us tells us that it's 6 minutes till 5, which is when all of them should be released. Of course, I've already gotten ready, with all the tabs opened on my laptop and my account information typed in.

Next to me, Nea looks rather uninterested as she plays with the thin braid framing her ears. Clearly, she's only here to give me moral support.

"Remi, chill," she whispers, watching me claw at the hem of my sleeves. A nervous habit, I can't exactly control it. "Whatever happens you'll be fine."

"I know, I know," I breathe, letting my cheek against the hickory walls. "I just want this. Really really bad."

"I know you do," she agrees, putting a hand on my shaky shoulder. "Above anything else, just know that I'm so proud of you regardless. Always."

"Thanks," I breathe, feeling my nerves ease a little at her words. Slowly, I return a small smile. "Seriously, there's no other person I'd rather be with right now. You're all I need."

The clock strikes 5. My stomach drops.

"Good luck," she whispers, intently watching over my shoulder as I go to my first tab. I deliberately set the schools I applied to in descending order from left to right by how badly I want to attend, so the first is Cornell.

Hovering my cursor over the open portal button, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Though my vision is pixelated, I try my best to skim through the passages. There are no bolded congratulations or confetti.

Waitlisted at the school I thought I had the best shot at.

Oh boy, my mom's not gonna like this

Without another thought, I switch to the next tab. I couldn't let the disappointment settle in. At least, not yet. Not when I had 7 other chances to be rejected.

Dartmouth's the next portal open, I chew on my thumbnail, realizing that the letters sound similar. Waitlist.

And Brown? Waitlist.

UPenn? Waitlist.

Columbia? Waitlist.

Princeton? Waitlist.

Yale. Waitlist. Damn, that really stung, especially when someone else had already gotten in.

One after another, the sharp talons of rejections sink their way into my flesh. God, I wasn't expecting this to hurt so fucking much.