I know it’s me that Rumor Has It is talking about, and it makes me wonder how they know about my party. It’s not like I put up a notice about it anywhere—I just told people at Robotics Club and let some of my track team friends know. It’s kind of creepy.

But I keep reading it …

“Hey, MJ,” Dara says when I get to English. “How are you doing?” Her brown eyes are warm with sympathy. “I saw that Rumor Has It wrote about your party.”

I don’t know why her friendly concern rubs me the wrong way. I know she’s just trying to be nice, but she got into her first choice, so it just feels like she’s being smug.

“Yeah,” I say, my hands clenched under the desk. “At least they didn’t mention me by name.”

“I know,” she says. “Then you’d have had to worry that lots of people would crash.”

“Ugh,” I say. “My parents would freak. They were not really into me doing this.”

“Do you want me to come help set up?” Dara offers.

“I can, too!” Ada says.

I want to keep being annoyed with them, but it’s hard when they are being so nice. Guess I’ll have to redirect my anger somewhere else.

“That would be great,” I say, actually meaning it.

“Don’t worry,” Ada says. “It’s going to be okay.”

I don’t know if she’s talking about college or the party, but either way, it’s easy for her to say.

“I don’t even want to have this party anymore,” I tell my parents the following morning. “It was supposed to be a celebration, and I got straight-up rejected.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Mom says. “I know you had your heart set on Carnegie Mellon, and this has been a huge disappointment for you. But there are lots of other great colleges out there.” She cuts the crusts off another round of egg salad sandwiches. A small piece of me feels a little better seeing that. She knows how much I love egg salad and hate crusts. “I know you’re going to get into one, and I bet you’re going to be just as happy as you would have been at Carnegie Mellon.”

“Maybe even happier,” Dad says. “Things happen for a reason, even though we don’t always know what it is at the time.”

I get that my dad’s trying to make me feel better, but I know the reason. The admissions people didn’t think I was good enough. Now I’m starting to wonder that about myself, too.

“I know. But can I cancel the party? I’m really not in a party mood right now.”

“I understand that,” Mom says. “But I’ve already made three pans of lasagna and all these sandwiches. We can’t afford to let all this food go to waste because you suddenly decided you’re not in the mood.”

“We did warn you that maybe you should wait until after you got the decision to invite people over,” Dad says. “Sometimes, it pays to listen to your parents. We actually know a thing or two.”

“Look at it this way,” Mom says. “You can celebrate your friends who did get into their first-choice schools. Show them some support. That’s what friends do, right?”

I hate it when my parents are right. Deep down, as miserable as I feel, and as much as I’d like to spend tonight binge-watching TV or working on my latest computer projects, I know Mom is right. I have to be happy for my friends. Or at least try.

“Okay, but you’re still going to dinner and the movies, right? Otherwise you’re just going to ask everyone where they’re going and all anyone will do is talk about who got into their first choice and it’ll be torture.”

“I’m still not sure I feel comfortable with having kids over for a party when we’re not home,” Mom says, glancing over at Dad.

“I’m going to be away at college somewhere next year, so shouldn’t you start trusting my judgment now?”

“MJ does have a point,” Dad says.

Mom’s jaw tightens. She hates when Dad is the weak link in the united parenting front. I can tell he’s going to hear from her the minute I leave the room.

“Okay, here’s the compromise. We’ll see a movie, have a quick dinner, and then come home,” Mom says. “That way we’re building trust in baby steps.”

“Fine,” I say. I might be miserable about not getting into Carnegie Mellon, but it’ll be easier to pretend I’m happy if I don’t have to worry about my parents saying something that reminds me of it.

Ada and Dara are coming in about an hour to help with setup. They said Carly’s also coming to help, so it shouldn’t take us too long. Before they arrive, I go up to my room to get changed and try to psych myself up for this party I don’t want to have. But instead of figuring out what to wear, I flop onto my bed and FaceTime Zack.

He’s in his room with a bunch of friends. “Hey, MJ!” they all shout.

“Can I speak to you alone?” I beg Zack. “No offense, guys, I just—”

“We get it,” his roommate, Pete, says. “You hate us.”

“No, I don’t! I love you all,” I say, and then add quickly, “In a totally sisterly way.”

“Hang on, MJ,” Zack says over Pete’s laughter. “I’ll try to find a quiet spot somewhere in this place where I can deliver my brotherly wisdom.”

The quiet spot turns out to be the bathroom. “I can’t guarantee total privacy because someone’s going to come in, but we’re good for now,” he says. “What’s shaking?”

“It’s this party,” I say. “I thought I’d be celebrating getting in, but now … I’m going to have to listen to everyone else being happy. I wish I could cancel, but Mom and Dad won’t let me.”

“Look, I know you’re really devastated you didn’t get into Carnegie Mellon, but remember, I didn’t get into my first-choice school, either,” he says.

I’d forgotten that. Zack was really set on going to Purdue, but he didn’t get in.

“The thing is, now I’m glad I didn’t get in there, because I love UMD so much,” he continues.

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“For real,” he says. “I mean, I’m sure if I’d got into Purdue I’d probably like it there, too, but I’m really happy right where I am and the program here is awesome.”

“Maybe there’s hope for me yet.”

“Of course there’s hope for you! Come on, MJ! You’ve had a couple of days to feel sorry for yourself, but you’re gonna have to get past it.”

I expected that from Mom and Dad, but Zack?

“Wow. Thanks for the empathy, bro.”

“It’s a downer you didn’t get in, but you’re going to get in somewhere great,” he says. “So be happy for your friends and try to enjoy the party tonight.”

“I don’t know if enjoying the party is humanly possible,” I say with a sigh.

“At the very least, pretend,” he says. “You can do it, MJ. It’s only for a few hours.”

“It’s only a few hours that will feel like an eternity.”

“So? You sat through my performance as Dogberry in Much Ado About Nothing and survived.”

“Oh god. You’re right. That was excruciating,” I say. “And I mean that with love.”

Zack laughs. “Spoken like my sister.”

I hear the bathroom door open, and someone says: “Hey, McKay, why are you talking on the phone in the bathroom? Is this some new girl?”

“None of your business,” Zack tells the guy. “Hey, MJ, I gotta bounce. Hang in there.”

“I’ll try,” I promise before ending the call.

Throwing my phone down on the bed, I open my closet, trying to figure out what to wear. My original outfit of jeans and the Carnegie Mellon sweatshirt Dad bought me when we toured the campus is clearly out. I bury the sweatshirt in the back of my closet. I’m going to give it to Goodwill, because seeing it will remind me that I didn’t measure up.

A LOSER sweatshirt would reflect how I feel right now, but it’s too late to get one. Besides, I have to try to follow Zack’s advice to suck it up. There’s got to be something else in my closet, something that will make me feel better. If only I could go to the party in my pj’s, but I can just imagine the Rumor Has It post: “MJ M proved she has zero fashion sense by turning up to her own party in sleepwear. It set the mood for what turned out to be a total snoozefest …”

Ugh.

After trying on six different outfits, I settle on my black jeans and a sky-blue sweater that Carly said “brings out the color of your eyes.”

Sighing, I gaze at my reflection. My makeup collection consists of blush, an eyeliner, mascara, and tinted lip balm. A lot of the time I don’t even bother, but tonight’s a party, so I do the best I can with what I’ve got. I wish my hair were a little longer, so I could do something different with it. I don’t know what, exactly, but being me doesn’t seem to feel like enough right now.

What if Zack’s wrong and I’m not good enough for any school?

My stomach starts churning. I can’t bear to look at myself anymore.

Turning away from the mirror, I see Pascal, who has been lazing on my bed and watching me with his big green eyes. “Okay, Pascal, it’s time to party and pretend I’m enjoying it.”

Pascal flips the bottom of his tail lazily. His green eyes regard me with the kind of scorn only a cat can convey, as if to tell me, Yeah, you go, I’m gonna stay right here and avoid the ruckus.

“Fine, be that way, you jerk,” I tell him. Then I feel bad for calling him that. Picking him up, I cuddle him to my chest and carry him downstairs with me. “You know I love you, right?”

As soon as I reach the bottom step, he squirms and jumps down from my arms, dashing away to hide.

Like cat, like owner, I guess. I wish I could hide, too, but I can’t because it’s my fricking party.