Parallel

know it was here, honey.”
    I carry the envelope with me upstairs. What a fitting finale to what might actually be the worst day of my life. It seems crazy that a person’s future could depend so heavily on one number. But without a solid SAT score, top schools won’t even look at you. Unless, of course, you give them one of those this-is-why-I-suck-at-standardized-tests essays to explain it all away, but that generally requires having or feigning some sort of learning disability. For a second, I’m envious of Caitlin.
    Envelope still in my hands, I kick off my shoes and climb under the covers. I lay the envelope beside me and stare up at my star-covered ceiling. My plan was to re-create Cygnus, but what I ended up with looks less like a diving swan and more like a deformed cross. I draw my left knee up to my chest, feeling for the scar on my foot. So much has changed since that night. I’m not running cross-country anymore, Josh and I barely talk, and as of four hours ago, I no longer have a best friend.
    A lot can happen in five weeks.
    You’re a self-absorbed bitch.
    A lot can happen in five minutes.
    I sigh and roll over onto my side, curling my body around the envelope. The contents of this innocuous-looking rectangle will determine my future. For a girl whose practice scores are all over the map, that’s terrifying. If my score isn’t within the median, I’m screwed. Panic starts to creep in. It sprouts in my stomach, then spreads to my chest. I’ve wanted to go to Northwestern since Career Day in seventh grade, when Brandon Grant’s mom, a features reporter for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution , came and spoke to our English class. Ava Wynn-Grant. She was so stylish in her navy pants and cropped blazer, and so articulate. I literally wanted to be her. She was a journalist, so I wanted to be a journalist. She went to Northwestern, so I wanted to go to Northwestern. And every scholastic decision I’ve made since then has been with those two goals in mind.
    I wonder what path I’d be on if Ava Wynn-Grant had been an attorney or an actress instead.
    Heart pounding, I slide my finger under the envelope’s white flap and slowly inch it open. When I see how I did—not a Caitlin-level performance, but better than I was expecting—my eyes well up with tears. The only person I want to share this with isn’t speaking to me. I tuck the envelope under my pillow and lie back against it, squeezing my eyes shut. The noise is still there, that sharp static from this afternoon. I give in to it, letting it drown everything out.
    There’s a soft knock at my door. When I open my eyes, my dad is standing in the doorway, holding two bowls of ice cream. What daylight was left is now gone.
    “What are you doing home from work?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.
    “It’s seven thirty already,” he replies, nodding at the clock on my nightstand. “I brought you a snack,” he adds, holding up one of the bowls. “Cookies ’n cream.”
    I manage a smile, scooting over to make room for him on the bed. “Did Mom authorize this?”
    “Your mother is busy making some very complicated-looking chicken dish that will likely not be ready for consumption until next Saturday. I figured we needed something to tide us over.” He sits down next to me and hands me a bowl. We eat in silence for a few minutes, both flipping our spoons over before each bite so the ice cream lands squarely on our tongues.
    “I heard you had a rough day,” he says, pecking at a big chunk of Oreo with his spoon. “Wanna talk about it?”
    “Caitlin and I got in a fight.”
    He looks surprised. “That’s not like you two.”
    “I know.”
    “What happened?” he asks me.
    “I told Tyler that Caitlin liked him. Things just kind of snowballed from there.”
    “I take it she didn’t want you to?”
    “Worse,” I say miserably. “It’s not even true. And I knew that, but at the same time, I had this feeling that maybe she liked him, even though she didn’t know it yet.” I shake my head, appalled at my own carelessness. “I’m an idiot.”
    “Maybe not your finest moment,” Dad concedes, “but it certainly doesn’t sound unforgivable.”
    “Caitlin was really upset,” I tell him. “She said some pretty awful things to me.” My eyes fill with fresh tears.
    “Well, if I know Caitlin, there’s something else going on.” He pauses, then adds gently, “And if I know you , dear daughter of mine, that isn’t how the fight ended. So