Early Decision by Lacy Crawford

Author:Lacy Crawford
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-06-28T00:00:00+00:00

IT WAS ON a jewel of a fall day that Mr. Grant found Anne on her cell phone, just turning onto the long, crepuscular private drive leading to the Pfaffs’ suburban manse. She’d been feeling optimistic. Hunter’s essay was coming together, and she could see how his application would lead to a fairly good story about himself. It wouldn’t be enough for Amherst, unless the tennis coach came through, but it would be enough for a few schools on his list, and he wasn’t wild about Amherst anyway. Anne believed his parents could be brought around. He’d do fine. She felt that Hunter’s promise was her promise. She was young and healthy and the sun on her hair felt as real as a human touch. Her phone rang, and of course it would be Martin—late lunchtime in L.A., he’d be in between appointments, having a smoke—so she spun the wheel onto the Pfaffs’ gravel drive, slowed to a crawl, and from the tunnel of trees on their estate answered her line. It took more than a moment to realize that the man’s voice wasn’t truly Martin’s.

“Anne, oh, good, I got you!” it said. Definitely not Martin: his enthusiasm gave him away. “Can you speak? Are we disturbing you? We only need a quick second. Just one question. Or two.”

Anne stopped the car halfway down the long drive, uncertain of cell reception within the estate itself—all those mature oaks—and put down the windows. The air was softer here. The oaks had coppered with the season, and the sugar maples fluoresced.

“Of course,” she replied. She let go the image of Martin in a sunbeam in L.A. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t imagine him at all.

“You’ve read Alexis’s essay, is that right?” asked Mr. Grant.

“ ‘Churchill’s Thumb’? I have, yes. It’s terrific. I’ve sent her a reply by e-mail.”

“Yes, good—thank you—but I wonder if you’ve not had time to make a few corrections?”

She spun through her memory to think what she might have missed. Anne pushed her students when they needed it, but she didn’t fiddle. A voice was a voice, and Alexis’s essay was great. “Mmm, no, that’s not the case, actually. I thought it fine just as it is.”

“Oh.” Anne heard Mr. Grant whispering, and voices in the background. “Listen, we had just a few questions, then. Could I put you on speakerphone?” The line opened up. “You’ve got Alexis and her mom here, too,” he added. “And Marlo’s somewhere.” There was a soft round of “hi’s.” “So we’re looking, Anne, at page one, the first paragraph, here. Have you got the essay in front of you?”

“I don’t. Just read me the sentence.”

“Okay. ‘I commented on the shape of their huge nation.’ That’s Alexis, talking about Africa and, you know, the map she brought in—”

“Yep, I remember.”

“Right. So: ‘ . . . the shape of their huge nation and how some of the boundaries are as straight as rulers while others are bumpy and jut out, and a counselor made a

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