Early Decision by Lacy Crawford Read Free Book Online Page B

them?”
    â€œOh, you mean, has he actually . . . No. Oh God—do you think I screwed up? Do they want to hear from the kids themselves?”
    â€œIt’s fine, we’ll follow up. Leave it with me. Just, if you could, leave me a list of which coaches you’ve contacted. And, listen. Amherst is—well, look. When I was applying to colleges, what was it—ten years ago—Amherst accepted just under forty percent of their applicants. They’re down below the twenties now, around fifteen. It’s very, very tough there. Fewer than one in five, and it’s a tiny place to begin with. So let’s not put all our eggs in one basket unless we have to.”
    â€œGerry won’t hear of anything else. Maybe Princeton. Not even Cornell, in truth. It’s only on the list because he’s a legacy.”
    â€œHas your husband kept in touch with the university at all?”
    â€œNot really.”
    So Hunter was not really a legacy either. Anne was shaking her head. The poor kid really was doomed.
    â€œSo what do I tell Gerry?” asked Mrs. Pfaff. “About this list?”
    â€œI say you tell him, ‘Look at how tough it’s gotten to get into schools! How silly! I’m so glad we raised a solid young man who will thrive at any of the excellent schools on his list!’ ”
    â€œAre you kidding?”
    â€œNo, I’m not. And then you say, ‘But of course we’re going to give it our best shot, and he’s a great kid, and they’re going to see that in his applications.’ ”
    â€œHe is a great kid, isn’t he? I’m so glad you think so. I really, really do.”
    â€œHe’s a good one. I’m really happy to be working with him. So, listen. Leave the lists with me. I’m seeing him next week.”
    â€œYou’re a lifesaver, Anne, really.”
    â€œNot at all. Call again whenever you need to. It’s going to be fine.”
    But Mrs. Pfaff was crying again, so Anne gave a gentle good-bye and hung up the phone.
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    I N HER EXPERIENCE so far, the lone exception to the sleeping-boy rule was William Kantor, who appeared at his door in button-downs and loafers, though occasionally in brightly colored saddle shoes, with his files in his arms and a glass of ice water for them each. He had two older half sisters, long since fledged. His father was a top plastic surgeon—responsible, no doubt, for the taut grins of several of Anne’s clients—and his mother ran her husband’s practice, the job she’d been hired to do when the first family was still young. Since coming home from Exeter, which William hated (“If I wanted to freeze my ass off and eat shit food, I’d walk to school and forget my lunch”), he’d been left mostly to his own devices in a twentieth-floor condo on North Lake Shore Drive. Anne followed him into his study, where his computer hummed. Usually a floor-length mirror reflected the condo’s wide-open view of the lake, but today it was covered with a sheet.
    â€œSitting shiva?” she asked.
    â€œNo,” replied William. “I just find I’m self-conscious with the mirror these days. I don’t like seeing myself working. I do this thing with my tongue.”
    â€œYou do? I’ve never noticed it.”
    â€œThat’s because I don’t work when you’re around. You work. I just watch you tear up my essays.”
    â€œMaybe we should change that.”
    â€œHappily.”
    But the truth was, William’s essays weren’t getting any better. They were in a rut. Anne was stumped to understand what it was. William was writing about the question of global warming, with a specific eye as to whether it was a scientifically legitimate phenomenon. It was his view that it was not. “There’s gotta be a conservative quota at these places, right?” he’d said.
    â€œDepends on the place,” Anne told him. His