Not pretty crying.
Not one elegant tear.
I was standing in a prom dress under stage lights with mascara running down my face while my little brother calmly dismantled half the lies I’d built my personality around.
Danny reached into the box again.
He pulled out a tiny wooden book.
“This is college.”
I laughed through my tears.
He nodded seriously.
“Marianne got into Northwestern.”
The room applauded.
I wanted to disappear.
Danny looked pleased.
“She says not to say it a lot.”
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“Correct.”
“But it’s good.”
“It is.”
He held the little book.
“She says she has to go far because that’s what smart people do.”
That was not exactly what I’d said.
It was close enough to hurt.
I had been accepted to three schools.
One was 20 minutes from home.
Northwestern was five hours away.
Everyone assumed I was going.
I assumed I was going.
Prestige.
Opportunity.
