Driving through the gates of the Windsor Academy in Sequoia’s car is like driving into a fairy tale in a horse-drawn carriage. I swear I hear music playing and angels singing, and when I look up at the sky the clouds appear to part.
The whole way here Sequoia has been chatting about arrangements for some party. I have no idea what she’s talking about, and to be honest, I haven’t really been listening. I’ve been far too focused on the absolutely outrageous notion that I’m actually going to the Windsor Academy! I’m going to sit in those amazing classrooms and study in that gorgeous student union and listen to some of the most prestigious teachers in the country speak.
Sequoia parks the car and checks her reflection in the visor mirror. Meanwhile, I can’t stop staring at this incredible tree that we’ve just parked under. I crane my neck to see it in all its glory through the front windshield. It must be the most beautiful Spanish oak tree I’ve ever seen! It’s so massive and majestic and the leaves are the most vibrant shade of autumn yellow. Even the trees on this campus are superior.
“Crusher,” Sequoia says with a tinge of annoyance, and I realize she must have been talking but I have absolutely no idea what she said.
“Huh?”
She peers out the windshield. “What are you looking at?”
“This tree,” I say wistfully. “It’s…”
But before I can even find a word worthy of its magnificence, Sequoia lets out a weird squeaking noise and quickly slams the gearshift into Reverse. “Ugh, you’re right! It’s going to shed all over the hood of my car.”
She backs out of her spot and pulls into another one three spaces down.
“Much better,” she says, putting the car back into Park.
I open the door and step onto the asphalt, feeling like I’m stepping onto white fluffy clouds. I glance around the parking lot, taking in the trees, the buildings, the sprawling green lawns. I couldn’t see any of it yesterday because I was in too much shock. But now I see all of it. Every brick in every building. Every lamppost lining every walkway. Every spectacular blade of grass.
I let out a deep sigh. Is this what it feels like to die and go to heaven?
“Are you okay?” Sequoia says, approaching me cautiously like she’s afraid I might explode. “You’re acting really weird.”
I glance at my best friend, giving her a once-over. From the top of her shiny auburn hair to the bottom of her standard black Windsor Academy loafers.
She subconsciously touches her face. “What? Do I have toothpaste on my cheek or something?”
I’ve dreamed of this moment for so long. I’ve pictured myself in this very spot, standing next to CoyCoy55, ready to walk those pathways and strut through the halls of those buildings, and now the moment is finally here.
“Crusher, you’re scaring me,” Sequoia says. “What’s going on?”
I should tell her the truth. After all, she’s my best friend. I have the SnipPic feed to prove it. She would understand, wouldn’t she?
“Sequoia,” I begin pensively, shifting my schoolbag up my shoulder. “Have you ever made a choice that you’ve regretted?”
She looks at me like I’m deranged. “Um, only every single day, why?”
“No, I mean like a really big decision. Something that changed the course of your whole life.”
She nods once, her face turning ashen. “Yes.”
“What if you could go back and do that decision over again? Would you do it?”
Sequoia stares at me for a long moment. Her bottom lip starts to tremble, and then, out of nowhere, she bursts into tears.
I stand in stunned silence for a moment before rushing to put my arm around her shaking shoulders. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. Don’t cry.”
“I already told you I regretted going to my sister’s piano recital instead of studying for that French midterm. I don’t need you to rub it in more!” She’s crying so hard, I’m barely able to comprehend the words coming out of her mouth. “You said you thought it would be okay. Even though I dropped four spots! Four whole spots! Because of that stupid Steven Lamar!”
“Whoa, whoa,” I say, panicking. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Slow down. It’s going to be fine.”
“Do you think Harvard will notice? Do you think it will cost me my admission?”
“No!” I rush to say. “No. I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
She sniffles and wipes her eyes, taking a huge shuddering breath.
Okay, so maybe trying to tell Sequoia the truth was not the right move. I think I should probably keep this whole universe-hopping thing—or whatever it is—to myself.
Sequoia pulls a compact out of her bag and wipes the smudges of eye makeup from her face. When she clicks the compact shut, it’s like a switch has been flipped. The transformation is startling. One second she was a blubbering sack of tears and now it’s like it never even happened.
She refreshes her smile. “Let’s take a selfie.”
I gape at her, unsure of how to respond. I don’t want to say anything that might set her off again. “Are you sure? We don’t have to.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I know we don’t have to. I want to.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly.
I follow Sequoia to the front of Royce Hall and we pose with the grand staircase in the background.
“What’s the caption?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“The challenge. The Caption Challenge. Don’t we always do a funny…” But my voice trails off when I see the look on Sequoia’s face. Her skin has turned a ghostly white color and she looks like she’s about to start crying again.
“Let’s just take the picture,” she snaps, startling me.
Um. What was that about?
I smile when Sequoia extends her phone out and takes the photo. She shows it to me for approval.
“Cute!” I say, trying to keep my voice light and airy so she doesn’t spontaneously combust into tears again.
But when she looks at it, she scowls. “The angle isn’t right. Let’s do it again.”
“Okay,” I agree, and get back into position. We stand shoulder to shoulder, smiling into the camera as Sequoia positions the phone high above our heads, tilting it this way and that to frame Royce Hall perfectly behind us. She clicks and rotates it around to check the results.
“Even better!” I rave.
She jabs the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “There’s a weird shadow on our faces.” She turns the camera back around and I resume my stance next to her.
“Turn your face to the left,” she instructs me, and I do. “No, too much to the left. And don’t do that weird thing with your face. It’s making the wrinkle between your eyes more pronounced.”
I have a wrinkle between my eyes?
“What am I doing with my face?” I ask, trying to relax my forehead.
“You’re smiling too hard. Make it look more natural.”
“But this is my natural smile.”
“No. Do your Crusher smile.”
What does my Crusher smile look like?
I try to relax my face a bit as Sequoia aims the camera. “Yeah,” she encourages, “like that. Now raise your chin up. And tilt your shoulders toward me.”
My mouth is starting to hurt from all the smiling, but I do what she asks. She angles the phone a few more times before finally snapping the picture. I feel my body collapse afterward, like I just ran a marathon.
“Good?” I ask as she examines the photo.
She bites her lip and I cringe. Is she really going to make us take that again? Does she do this with every selfie?
“I think we need wind,” Sequoia says. “The whole thing will come together if wind is blowing through our hair.”
“Wind,” I repeat dubiously. “So we’re just supposed to wait around until—”
Right then, on cue, a light breeze blows through the campus and Sequoia squeals, “Quick! Get into place.”
I resume my position and try to duplicate the last smile. She clicks the photo just as the breeze brushes past us, blowing our hair back from our faces.
I hold my breath as she studies the latest attempt.
“I guess it’ll do.” She subsides, and begins tapping at the screen. “Tagged.”
I hear my phone chirp and I pull it out of my bag to look at the final result. I admit, I still look pretty tired, even with the pounds of concealer. Sequoia, on the other hand, looks flawless. Not a smear of makeup, not a single tearstain. No one would ever be able to tell that a few minutes ago she was bawling her eyes out.
But as my gaze drifts down to the caption, I’m instantly able to forget about Sequoia’s mini-meltdown as my excitement level rises again.
Game faces on. Getting ready to tackle another day at the W.A.!
#LoveMyLife
That hashtag has never felt more appropriate.