It’s not like I could ever afford a private tutor, so I got a bunch of books out of the library. Some of them were super outdated, and some dumb-ass had actually filled in the practice tests in pen. I did the best I could, which clearly wasn’t enough. I plan on talking about that in my personal statement, actually. Oberlin is a super-liberal, progressive place. I feel like they’d jive on my lower-class angst. Regardless, I’m going to have to take them again next month, and hopefully improve my score by a couple hundy.

If there are any secret guidance counselor tricks I can learn, anything that will make my application to Oberlin rock freaking solid and stand out over all the others, I need to know them. I’ll do whatever it takes to get off Jar Island forever. Ohio might not seem like the coolest place, but it’s definitely where I want to be for more than a few reasons.

The library is dead, so dead I wonder if maybe this thing is happening in the guidance office instead. I walk over to the reference desk. The librarian there is on the computer. I hold my yellow pass up and say, “Do you know where the—” but she cuts me off with a big fat “Shhhh” even though there’s no one in here but her. Then she points to the conference room next to the computers.

There aren’t a lot of kids in the conference room. Maybe five other seniors, some I recognize and some I don’t. I take a seat in the back, unzip my bag, and pull out the application to Oberlin. You fill it out online, but I printed a copy out so I could plan all my answers beforehand.

Ms. Chirazo, the head of guidance, comes in as the bell rings, in the flowy black pants and yarn neck scarf that seems to be her unofficial uniform. I swear, the woman has nothing but that shit hanging in her closet.

She frowns, I guess because she’s disappointed with the lack of turnout. But then she sees me and her face brightens. “Katherine DeBrassio! How are you, dear?”

I mumble, “Fine,” and stare down at my papers.

“We should arrange a time to sit down in private and properly catch up!” She says it way too cheerily, and it basically confirms my worst suspicions.

I had to talk with Ms. Chirazo when my mom died. Not because I needed to. I wasn’t acting out in class or crying in public or anything like that. But Ms. Chirazo saw the obituary in the newspaper. She actually showed up to one of my classes with it clipped out and asked me in this weirdly calm voice, “Would you like to talk?” She wasn’t even a guidance counselor at the middle school. She worked in the high school. But I guess grief is her specialty.

I told her, “Nope. I would not.”

And then bitch made it a mandatory five sessions!

I know she loved it, getting to counsel a kid over the death of a parent. I’d come in and she’d be smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. Parental death is like gold to a school counselor. That, abusive relationships, teen pregnancies, and eating disorders. I barely said more than two words to her each of the sessions. At our last one she gave me all these grief workbooks and crap that I chucked in the Dumpster as soon as I was dismissed.

“Well, this might be it for today,” she says, turning her attention back to the room. “Hopefully, you’ll spread the word to your friends and classmates how valuable this resource is.” She’s about to close the door, but someone stops her.

Alex Lind.

He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans, and a black-and-whitechecked shirt underneath a hunter-green sweater. “Sorry I’m late.” Even though there are plenty of empty chairs, he slides into the one next to me. “Looks like we’re officially losers,” he whispers and laughs.

“Speak for yourself,” I say back. It comes out kind of bitchy, so I tack on a little smirk.

Not that I even care if he thinks I’m a bitch. I’m over him. Summer was a long time ago already. And, actually, I’ve been thinking a lot about Ricky lately. He’s the kind of guy who isn’t afraid to go after what he wants. And I’m pretty sure what he wants is me.

Ms. Chirazo starts going off on her spiel, breaking down the college application process into three parts. The questionnaire, the recommendations, and the personal essay.

“Personal essay is the most important part. It’s the only time you’ll have a chance to show the admissions board who you are, explain what you’re all about. It’s your chance to stand out, to let them get to know you, and proactively address any aspects of your academic record that might not be up to snuff. This will be the primary focus of our time together. Since we’re such a small group, why don’t we partner up.”

I feel Alex’s eyes on me. I immediately turn in the opposite direction, toward Gary Rotini, who’s sitting on my other side. Unfortunately, he’s already partnered up with some chick from my gym class. I’m surprised she’s here. Maybe they require you to fill out an application for beautician school.

Alex puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “You’re up, Kat. Tell me your deepest, darkest secrets.”

I force a swallow. If Alex only knew what I’ve been up to this year, he’d never talk to me again. Again, not like I’d care. “You couldn’t handle it,” I say.

“Then I’ll go first.”

“You’re a vanilla wafer. Your boring ass secrets will put me to sleep.” I look around the room for someone else to pair up with.

Alex turns his seat so he’s facing me. “Hey, I’ve got darkness in me. I’m no vanilla wafer.”

I roll my eyes. “Prove it.”

He looks over both his shoulders. “One time, when I was seven, I tried to make out with my babysitter when she put me to bed.”

“Oh my God!”

“What? She was really pretty! Her hair smelled like cherry Slurpee.”

I lean back in my chair. “Un-tell me that right now, pervert, or I’m never speaking to you again!”

He puts his head down on the table, embarrassed.

I reach out to ruffle his hair, but then think better of it and pull my hand back. I don’t need to confuse things between us. I don’t need to be flirting with Alex Lind, even though it is kind of fun. I can’t let myself get sidetracked from my ultimate goal, which is to get the eff off Jar Island for good.

CHAPTER SEVEN

After school, Ash called and guilt-tripped me into coming over to her house. She kept saying how we haven’t had alone time in ages. Which is true—we haven’t. I’ve barely seen her outside of cheering practice.

So imagine my surprise when I pulled into her driveway and saw Rennie’s Jeep. I almost turned right around and drove back home, but I didn’t want to hurt Ash’s feelings. And, deep down, maybe I hoped that Rennie was in on it, that maybe she wanted to make up.

But when I rang the doorbell and she opened the door, she looked like she wanted to slam it in my face. She didn’t, but I could tell she wanted to.

Now here we are in Ash’s rec room watching TV and doing our nails on the beanbag chairs she won’t let her mother throw away. We had to come down here because her mother doesn’t like the fumes; she says they give her migraines.

Ash is trying to get a conversation going, but nobody’s really talking. We’re all concentrating on our nails.

“Pass me the nail-polish remover,” Rennie orders. Dutifully, Ashlin hands it over.

I’m painting my toenails mint green. Ash has the best colors of all of us. I’m on my second coat when Ash asks, “Have you guys started on your college apps yet?”

“Hardly,” I say, unwrapping a fun-size Snickers I found in my purse. Even though she has the best nail-polish colors, Ash’s house never has any good snacks. Her mom’s on a gluten-free diet. “I’ll probably spend every weekend until January first working on my personal statement.”

Ash turns toward me. “Are you still applying to Boston College, Lil? ’Cause I’m thinking I might apply too, for my reach school. If I get in . . . roommates?”

“Duh!” I say. “Matching comforters and everything.”

Ash is a total pig, and there’s no way I would ever, ever room with her. Plus I doubt she’ll get in. But I don’t care, because Rennie’s looking at us with narrow eyes.

Doesn’t feel good to be the odd one out, does it, Ren?

Ashlin squeals and claps her hands together. “Yay! Would you want to live on campus or get an apartment off campus?”

This is too easy. “I think on campus, at least for the first year. That way we won’t miss out on all the fun stuff. You know, latenight study sessions and, like, flirting with boys on our hall and ordering pizza at four in the morning. We’ll want to have those experiences together, you know? Then we can move off campus sophomore year.” Instantly I feel mean and petty and small for saying this in front of Rennie. I feel like . . . Rennie.

“What about you, Ren?” Ashlin asks. “Are you done with your application?”

“Yup. My app took me, like, two seconds.”

I guess the Jar Island Community College application is extra easy. I wonder if she even had to write an essay. The way Rennie used to talk about going to the community college, she was sour about it. She’d say how she was the only one that was going to be stuck here. But today she doesn’t look sour at all. In fact she’s practically humming to herself.

She’s putting on top coat, her hair falling in her face, when she says, “There’s no point in me even applying to a four-year college right now. Reeve and I won’t know where he’s going to play until his leg is healed, and he’s talking to recruiters again.”

I want to say, Oh, and there’s just the small matter of how your grades suck and you have no money for college, but I bite my tongue.

“I’m going to do a semester at JICC and get straight As and transfer to wherever he’s at.”

Ashlin pipes up, “You and Reeve are so gonna get married. You pretty much saved his life by carrying him through this whole tragedy.”

Tragedy? A tsunami devastating an entire village is a tragedy. Reeve is a jock who broke his leg. He’ll be fine.

“He’d do the same thing for me,” Rennie says, and I can’t believe she can keep a straight face saying it. As if Reeve would lift a finger for anybody but himself! “Oh, and speaking of that, I’m not going to be at practice for the rest of this week. Reeve’s got a few appointments off island to see a sports-medicine specialist.” She smiles to herself, pleased. “He’s getting his hard cast off tomorrow, right on schedule.”

My head snaps up. “Why do you have to miss practice for that?”

Rennie ignores me and says, “Ash, can you be in charge?”

Ashlin casts an uneasy look my way. “Sure. Lil and I can do it together—right, Lil?”

Incredulously I ask, “Are you quitting the squad or something?”

“No, I’m not quitting the squad,” Rennie snaps. “That’s not what I said.”

“Well, you have missed, like, three practices already,” I say, and my voice shakes a little as I say it, because I’m scared. I’m actually calling her out on her BS for once.

Rennie’s cheeks heat up. “When I signed on to rep Reeve’s number, I signed on for the whole season. I’m not abandoning him now.”

Ridiculous. Abruptly, I stand up. “I’m going to get a soda.”

Rennie doesn’t look at me as she says, “I’ll have a Diet Coke, no ice.” Like I’m a waitress and she’s placing her order with me.

Ash gets up too. “I’ll help you, Lil. I hid some ice cream behind my mom’s soy pops. It might still be there if my dad didn’t find it.”

As soon as we’re in the kitchen and out of earshot, I go into the fridge and grab two cans of Diet Coke and say, “I wish you’d told me Rennie was going to be here.”

“But then you wouldn’t have come,” Ashlin whines.

“Exactly,” I say.

Ash hops up on the kitchen island. “I hate that you guys aren’t getting along. That’s why I invited you both over here today.”

I know she doesn’t mean it. There’s nothing Ash likes better than playing the middle. “It’s not that we aren’t getting along. It’s that Rennie’s being a total bitch to me for something that’s not even my fault.”

“She’ll get over it,” Ash says. “I know she misses you.”

“Did she say that?” I ask.

“Not in so many words. But I can tell.”

Hmph. I take a sip of soda. “Are she and Reeve, like, together now?”

“Basically,” Ashlin says. “She’s his ride-or-die chick, you know? I think the accident is what made him realize how much she’s been there for him all these years.”

“I’m happy for her,” I say, and I mean it, I really do. If Rennie and Reeve are officially a thing now, maybe she’ll finally get over what happened at homecoming and things can go back to how they were before. And at the very least, they deserve each other.

CHAPTER EIGHT

It’s Monday afternoon and I’m in chemistry, working on a lab with my group. The two boys do most of the work, while another girl and I record the results in our notebooks. This arrangement is fine by me; I’ve never been so great at science. We’re standing around the table, waiting for some concoction to come to a boil, when I overhear two junior girls talking behind me.

One girl whines, “I’m so ready to quit yearbook. All we’ve gotten to do is make photo collages of freshmen. That’s not what I signed up for.”

What I immediately think is: Yearbook is the sort of thing Kat was talking about! I have to put myself out there, find my own happiness. I’ve had a lot of good days, full days at school where I’ve seen Reeve and haven’t gotten upset. And I’ve had no issues with, um, my issues.