In the morning I’m incredibly nervous about checking to see if I have an offer. I spent all my time worrying about Mum’s reaction but now that I’ve decided this is what I want, I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t get an offer.
The clock ticks over to nine am. I log in and my profile pops up on the screen, with a dialogue box.
‘One new message.’
I click on it, half-expecting an apology and encouragement to reapply next year. But it isn’t a rejection letter at all.
I got in!
Oh my God!
It’s all I can do not to squeal and jump around. This is actually happening – a Bachelor of Arts. The message outlines the course requirements and how to accept the offer, followed by a link to the course website.
I click on the link. The website lists a number of fields from which we can choose one or two majors. A few jump out at me, including Linguistics and Creative and Professional Writing. Three years of writing! This is amazing!
I read further and find a section that lists the languages that we can study. Italian, French, German, Arabic, Dutch … The last one catches my eye.
My bedroom door opens and my parents’ heads poke in. ‘How’d you go, Princess?’
‘I … uh … really well, I guess. I have an offer for a BA.’
I expect Mum to criticise the course but she doesn’t. ‘Congratulations,’ she says. ‘That’s what you wanted, right?’
‘Yeah, it is,’ I say. I keep scrolling up and down the information page, trying to absorb as much as possible. Mum being positive about it just makes it sweeter. It’s going to make the next few years so much easier for me if she’s supportive. I look over at her and smile.
‘Have you had a look at the subject options?’ asks Dad, sitting himself on my bed.
‘Yeah, I’m just doing that now. Creative and Professional Writing is jumping out at me; it looks great. It’s a mixture of creative writing, literature and journalism, I think. And from what it says here, we can do another major if we want to. I’m thinking I might pick up a second language.’
‘That,’ says Dad, ‘sounds like a very good idea.’
‘Before you enrol in a language course,’ starts Mum, and I expect her to say ‘explore your options,’ but she says, ‘double-check it’s a beginner level one.’
I feel like my smile stretches right off my face. I thought maybe she was going to be okay with the course, but now she’s actively trying to help. I just want to hug her. I want to hug everybody right now – I’m actually going to uni to study what I want!
I click on the link to read about Dutch and it says they have three streams: one for beginners; an intermediate level, for those who studied Dutch in year twelve; and an advanced course.
Marjolijn’s comment about laziness has really stuck with me. Maybe Dutch won’t be the most useful language in terms of the amount of people who speak it, but I hope to stay friends with Marjolijn. And, like she said, it’s lazy for me to expect everyone else, her included, to speak English.
Mum and Dad both give me a huge hug.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ Mum whispers into my ear.
My smile just keeps growing. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
I text Elliot to tell him about my course as soon as my parents leave. He replies almost immediately saying he got into his first-preference law degree.
I bounce around the house all morning, not having an outlet for my excitement. I still owe Elliot a payback for writing on my arm, so I ask Mum if I can borrow her car to go to the shops. I tell her I need to pick something up for Elliot, which is a half-truth.
In a stroke of good fortune, the hi-fi store is having a sale with twenty-five per cent off DVDs. I snake my way through the aisles until I have a collection of films that a) are really old, b) are really bad or c) I know Elliot hates.
The cashier gives me the weirdest look when I hand him nearly two hundred dollars’ worth of terrible movies but he has the professionalism not to comment.
Loaded with the DVDs, I drive home. Once I get to our street, I notice Vincent isn’t in Elliot’s driveway.
I ring the doorbell and wait.
‘Jennifer,’ says Mrs Carter, opening the door, ‘how lovely to see you. I’m afraid Elliot is out at the moment.’
‘That’s what I was hoping. Listen, this is probably going to sound weird, but while we were away, Elliot and I pranked each other a bit. I was hoping you could let me into –’
She holds up her hands to silence me. ‘Say no more. As long as nothing is irreparably damaged, go for your life.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, and scurry forward towards his bedroom. ‘How long do you think he’ll be gone?’
‘He should be home in about an hour. Is that enough time?’
‘Plenty, thank you.’
I carry the bag of DVDs into his room and close the door. Typing any changes I make into my phone so it will be easy to undo later, I take all the DVDs off his shelf and replace the disks with the ones I bought, making sure the movies he really hates end up inside the covers of the movies he particularly loves.
Once I finish, I put all of the new DVD covers (containing his old movies) into the bag and go back home, satisfied with myself.
The only problem with my prank is that I have no idea how long it will take Elliot to discover it. I could’ve used two hundred dollars a lot more wisely and it won’t even be worth it if he finds out what I’ve done straightaway.
I’m busted when he taps on my window that night, looking unimpressed.
‘Hi Elliot,’ I say after removing the flyscreen. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I hate you,’ he says.
I grin at him. ‘Good heavens, why do you say that?’
‘Hmmm, let’s think. I went to put on Saw before. Imagine my surprise when I opened the cover and it wasn’t inside.’
I fake a gasp. ‘You mean the case was empty?’
‘Instead,’ he continues, ‘I found a copy of Calamity Jane.’
‘Let me use my metaphorical beard of wisdom to help you with your conundrum,’ I say, miming a stroking action from my chin to my ribs. ‘Maybe you’ve lost the ability to read?’
‘Jen, this is quickly losing its hilarity.’
‘No,’ I correct, ‘I don’t think it is.’
Look of Doom.
‘Fine,’ I say. I search under my bed for the Calamity Jane DVD cover and throw it back at him, leaving the others where they are. (He hasn’t yet figured out I switched a whole bunch.)
Once I give him back his DVD, we both congratulate each other on our uni offers with more sincerity than we had over text message.
‘Is your mum okay with you doing arts?’ asks Elliot.
‘Yeah, I think so. She’s actually been really supportive.’ I smile as I speak.
‘That’s so good,’ says Elliot. ‘What about you? Are you excited?’
‘Yeah, I am,’ I say, ‘but it’s weird – I’m so nervous. I’m not going to pull out or anything but I have this funny feeling in my stomach. I don’t like not knowing what’s coming.’
‘That’s a fairly natural response, I think. It’ll be exciting and so much fun. We won’t have to deal with high-school drama anymore.
‘I know, it’s a stupid feeling.’
‘That’s the inherent thing about feelings,’ says Elliot, with a smirk. ‘They’re valid, simply by virtue of being felt.’
He can be a real smart-arse, that kid.