They Thought I Failed—Until I Turned Down Harvard novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Aisle Seat
Delaney is sent across the aisle while Holden and Camille celebrate Harvard, dumps Holden in front of the train, and declines her own Harvard offer. Ends: Mom's text, "Poor Laney."
The day Harvard decided, I was on an Amtrak train home from our senior trip.
My boyfriend, Holden, was with me. So was my foster sister, Camille.
Camille got on first and took the window seat.
Holden sat down next to her without even looking at me.
I was still lifting my bag onto the rack when I saw that the only seat left was across the aisle.
I stood there a second with my hand on the strap.
Holden leaned toward me, easy and friendly.
"Laney, Camille and I were just talking about what we'd major in at Harvard."
He glanced at Camille, then back at me.
"You said you weren't confident about your applications, right?"
"Just sit over there and watch something."
Camille covered her mouth, but I saw her smile.
I sat down across the aisle and put my earbuds in.
I did not press play.
For the next three hours they laughed.
They shared one bag of pretzels and one pair of headphones, and she kept tapping his arm when she talked.
Every time I turned my head, a woman in the next row looked at me with pity.
At 4:59, Camille grabbed Holden's wrist.
"It's almost time. Don't look. I can't look."
"We're looking," he said, and they both held up their phones.
At 5:00 the whole car heard her scream.
"Oh my God! Holden! We both got in!"
She threw her arms around his neck, and he lifted her halfway out of the seat.
"Harvard," he said into her hair. "We're going to Harvard."
A man behind us started clapping.
Then somebody else did.
Holden turned to me with his arm still around her, grinning, flushed, happy.
"Check the family chat, Laney. Everyone's already congratulating us."
I did not need to check.
Holden put his phone on speaker, because he wanted me to hear.
My mother's voice came out of it, loud and cracking.
"Camille! Holden! Both of you got into Harvard! We are so proud of you!"
My father was behind her, shouting, "That's our girl!"
Then Holden's mother, in her bright church voice.
"Our Harvard kids! Oh, I'm going to cry!"
Nobody asked where I was.
Nobody asked whether I had heard anything.
Holden scrolled the chat for me with his thumb, so I could see the confetti emojis.
"Don't take it hard," he said, softer now, almost kind. "Not everybody gets in."
"You've still got options."
"There's a community college near my parents' house, and they have a great program."
Camille lowered her eyes in that sweet, sorry way she has.
"We'll help you, Laney. We always do."
I looked at my phone.
I had not moved it from my lap since 4:58.
There was a green banner across the top of the screen.
Congratulations, Delaney. On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is our pleasure to offer you a place in the Harvard College Class of 2030.
I read it once.
The second email was already in my inbox, and had been since the middle of December.
Stanford had admitted me in December, with the Aldridge Scholarship.
Four years of tuition, room, board and a living stipend.
I had not told one person, because in December my mother had asked me to keep my news in a drawer for a few weeks.
Camille had been deferred that month, she'd said, and Camille was fragile.
So I had kept it in the drawer.
I had kept it there through Christmas, and January, and fourteen months of being a girlfriend who sat on the edge of other people's happiness.
I stood up.
The aisle was narrow, and Holden had to tilt his knees to look up at me.
"Where are you going?" he asked. "Sit down, you're making a scene."
"I'm done, Holden."
I said it in my ordinary voice.
The woman in the next row stopped pretending to read.
"Done with what?"
"With you."
He laughed, the short, surprised laugh of somebody who has not been told no before.
"Because of Harvard? Laney. Come on. Be a good sport."
Camille laid a hand on his sleeve.
"Let her cool off," she whispered, loud enough for me.
I opened the portal on my screen.
There were two buttons at the bottom.
Accept Offer, in crimson.
Decline Offer, in grey.
Holden was still talking, about my attitude, and how it would look, and how my parents would feel.
I pressed the grey button.
A message asked whether I was sure.
I pressed it again.
The screen went white, and then it said:
Your response has been recorded.
"Laney," said Holden, pulling at my sleeve. "Seriously. Don't do anything stupid."
Across the aisle, in the chat on his phone, my mother had just written:
"Poor Laney, she must be so upset. Somebody check on her."
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