Getting Caught by Mandy Hubbard Read Free Book Online Page B

had he brought that up first? Now I can’t remember.
    I sit back in my chair. I feel myself going down in flames. “No, sir. Of course not. I think maybe I used a poor choice of words. I would love to visit Germany some day. Perhaps I’ll pick up an extra language course over the summer. German seems like a wonderful language.”
    He seems pacified. I take in as big a breath as I can manage without looking panicked. I can still recover. He’s bound to ask questions I can answer without bumbling like an idiot.
    “How about the Chinese?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “What are your feelings on the Chinese?”
    I stare at him for a long moment. This can’t be right. Maybe it’s a test, like they ask you really weird questions and you’re supposed to know about it, like an inside joke or a secret handshake or something. I can actually feel my heart beating and I wonder if he can see my body move the slightest bit with each pulse. I feel like I could slide off the chair and pass out all in one motion.
    “I’m not sure how that is relevant,” I finally say.
    “Miss—” he glances at his paperwork again. “Brentwood, we at Harvard pride ourselves on diversity. Our students must be prepared to encounter a variety of individuals. Each student contributes to your academic career in a different way. I’m merely striving to be certain we don’t admit anyone who would cause friction.”
    “Oh, of course not,” I say, relieved I finally understand something he’s talking about. “I have respect for everyone, regardless of background. I thrive on the challenge of working together with an extremely varied group of peers.”
    He nods, seeming pleased with my answer. I can feel myself sweating now. It’s beading up at my temples and trickling down my neck. I hope he doesn’t notice.
    “You’re on a desert island. Do you bring a bag of Jelly Bellies or a Hulk Hogan figurine?”
    I make a funny noise that sounds like I’m choking, then cover it with a cough. What the hell is he on? Harvard must not realize this guy is ruining their image. He’s like a rogue agent or something. “Um, the Jelly Bellies?”
    He scribbles several more notes. I wonder if I should have picked Hulk Hogan.
    “If you were a character from Saved by the Bell , which one would you be?”
    Saved by the Bell? Maybe this guy is older than I thought. “Uh, Jesse?” She was the one who got good grades, right? I’ve only seen like three episodes, ever, but I think I remember an episode where the girl was flipping out over her SAT scores. That’s familiar.
    “You do realize she’s the one who starred in SHOW GIRLS , right?”
    I sit back in my chair. “Well, that was the actress. Not the character from Saved by the Bell .”
    He writes something down again.
    This is completely surreal. Part of me wants to tell him off because now I’m sure this isn’t what Harvard expects of him. I wonder how many people he’s ruined so far. If this doesn’t go my way, maybe I’ll write to the admissions office and tell them what he’s doing. Maybe they’ll give me a second interview, one where the guy isn’t a total buffoon.
    “Big Mac or Whopper?”
    “Big Mac..”
    “Bieber or Jonas Brothers?”
    “Bieber.”
    “Prada or Gucci?”
    “Gucci.”
    I’m this close to refusing another question, since he really seems to be making a mockery of this interview, but I stop myself. Even if he is being stupid, he can still make my dream come true. I can’t piss him off.
    I look around the room, like something will tell me what’s happening and how this has all spun out of control.
    The interviewer sits back in his chair and adjusts a watch. It looks a lot cheaper than I’d expected. He is a Harvard alum, after all. I bought a fancier watch for my dad at Sears last Christmas.
    He shuffles his papers and something falls out. Before he scoops it up off the table, I see it. It’s a business card.
    For Pet Pantry.
    I sit up sharply in my chair. Pet Pantry is the