Mills - First & Then

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For Mama, Poppy,

Hannah, and David

My college essay was titled School Lunches, TS High, and Me, and it was every bit as terrible as youd expect.

I stared at a poster on the wall behind Mrs. Wentworths desk while she read. It was this National Geographic looking photo of a pride of lions on a veldt. One was out front, looking particularly majestic. Golden sun dappled its mane, and whereas the background lions were looking here and there, this ones dark eyes gazed right at me. Underneath the picture, the word ACHIEVEMENT was printed in big serif letters.

Clearly, this was supposed to inspire something in me. I wasnt quite sure what. Run faster. Kill more gazelles. Be better than those riffraff lions hanging at the periphery.

Mrs. Wentworth cleared her throat eventually, and all she said was, School lunches. It posed the question why? without formally asking it.

The prompt said to write a page from the story of my life. You eat an awful lot of school lunches in your lifetime, dont you?

And this cafeteria food was somehow meaningful to you?

There were some deeply moving mashed potatoesIm not going to lie.

There was something strange happening around her lips, a weird sort of twitching motion. I think a frown and a smile were locked in mortal combat. Devon, I really need you to take this seriously.

She meant take it seriously like go home and write an essay about a dead relative, or a sick bird I had nursed back to health when I was little, or a mission trip to build houses in Guadalajara. I just couldnt find it in my heart to do that. Id never been to Mexico.

But then she surprised me. Dont get me wrong, she said. Its not the topic. Its the execution. You couldve run with this. It couldve been witty and inventive and really captivating. But it reads like you wrote it during a commercial break.

I took offense to that. I wrote it during at least four commercial breaks.

How much thought did you really give this?

It wasnt like I hadnt given any thought to it. I had even gone as far as composing an essay in my head, written in the style of Jane Austen. Jane was my favorite author, hands down, and I knew that my true lifes story would be told in her style.

Jane didnt shy away from the truth about people. I felt like I knew her from reading her books, like I knew the kind of person she had been, and it was someone I liked a great deal. Someone who saw people for who they really were, someone who was capable of calling bullshit in the most elegant way imaginable. Jane would tell it like it was.

Unfortunately, how it was for me wouldnt make the best sort of college essay. Miss Devon Tennyson requests admission to your university, despite the fact that she is stunningly average .

I couldnt say any of this to Mrs. Wentworth. I didnt expect her to understand it, how I took comfort in seeing things through Janes lens sometimes. She couldnt possibly comprehend the satisfaction I drew from imagining myself as Miss Devon Tennyson and unextraordinary, as opposed to regular Devon Tennyson and just plain boring.

When I didnt speak, Mrs. Wentworth set my essay aside. Devon, this is crunch time. Youve got a lot of work to do this semester if you want to get your applications competitive. Your GPA isnt bad, but your extracurriculars are definitely lacking. Are you at least aware of this?

One brief tryst as girls cross-country team manager. One failed run for Homecoming Court. One nonspeaking role in the drama departments annual desecration of Beauty and the Beast . I was definitely aware of it.

I wouldve pointed out that I had joined Mrs. Wentworths own clubthe Road-to-College Clubbut it was hardly optional, and as of now, I was the only member. So I just nodded and tried to look solemn.

Youve still got time. Its only August, but before you know it, deadlines are going to start creeping up. Youve expressed some interest in Reeding. Lets pursue it. But we need to explore all our options. If there are any other schools youve got in mind, lets visit them.

Visit? For a brief second, I imagined myself on the road with Mrs. Wentworth, arguing over complimentary shower caps in some cheesy motel room.

You cant make informed decisions without knowing what youre getting into, said Mrs. Wentworth. You wouldnt buy a dress without trying it on first, would you?

I choked back Maybe if I bought it online and just shook my head. It wasnt the idea of college visits I was apprehensive about. It was the concept of Road-to-College Club in general. I think this will be good for you , my mom had said, holding up a flyer sent home in the mail and officially making Road-to-College Club akin to broccoli and sunscreen. Maybe it would be good for me. But that didnt mean I had to like it.

Are there any particular majors youre interested in?

Not really. Saying advanced breakfast with a minor in cable television would surely bring about some epic battle that Mrs. Wentworths smile was doomed to lose.

Well, youve got some things to think about. This week I want you to look for extracurricular activities. Join a club. Start your own. Its not too late to get yourself out there and get involved.

Ugh. She sounded like a brochure. I suppressed an eye roll and opted for a noncommittal head bob.

It was quiet for a moment. I thought she was going to dismiss me, but when I looked up, Mrs. Wentworth was examining me through narrowed eyes.

Her first name was Isobel. She wasnt very old in the grand scheme of things, but by high school standards, she seemed it. She wore patterned sweaters and long, shapeless floral skirts. Still, Mrs. Wentworths eyes were very beautiful. Her lashes were thick and dark, and the color of her eyes was just as vibrant, just as green as it mustve been when she was my age. I liked to think that she was incredibly popular in those days. All the guys would follow her around and offer to drive her home and tell her that she looked like the girls in the magazines. And she would laugh and flip her dark curls and have no idea that there would be a time in her life when she would be Mrs. Wentworth, and care what some obnoxious girl wrote to get into Reeding University.

Devon, she said, and somehow it felt like the voice speaking was a little more Isobel and a little less Mrs. Wentworth. Do you want to go to college?

No one had ever asked me that. College was the natural order of things. According to my parents, between birth and death, there had to be college.

I dont know what else I would do, I said.

Join the army, was her simple reply.

I made a face. I hate being yelled at.

The Peace Corps, then.

A choking noise erupted from my throat, something like a cat being strangled. I hate being selfless.

All right. The twitching around Mrs. Wentworths lips started up again. Get a job.

Just start working? Just like that?

Lots of people do it. Some very successful people never went to college.

Yeah. Look at Hollywood.

Theres one. Go to Hollywood. Become a star.

But I cant act. Ive never even talked in a play.