Work Text:
It is with regret that I inform you that we are unable to offer you admission to the freshman class at Stanford University. Please know that this decision does not reflect any deficiency or weakness in your application.
Akarsha has to snort at that. Right, because if her application hadn’t been weak in some area, they totally would’ve still rejected her. Why can’t these schools ever be honest, just admit that a 4.0 unweighted GPA and a 2400 SAT is basically necessary for admission because they dramatically deflate their acceptance rates in order to get higher rankings for overexcited tiger moms to pore over?
Damn it. She should’ve kept cheating, shouldn’t have let Noelle convince her to stop after freshman year. Then she wouldn’t have earned a B in AP US History, and maybe Stanford would’ve let her in after all.
Who is she kidding. Stanford was a long shot, anyway.
(That doesn’t make it hurt any less. What are her parents going to say to their friends now? “Oops, turns out our darling Akarsha was a disappointment after all. What a failure. We sacrificed so much for her, and what’s she going to do with her life? Nothing! She can’t even get into a decent college!” And they wouldn’t be wrong. She has no idea what she’s going to do. A future? A career? Success? Those all feel like unfamiliar words now.)
She wants to pretend that there aren’t tears blurring her vision, but the first hint of wetness trickling down her cheek, cool and salty, has her panicking. She scrambles for her phone, thrown onto her desk earlier in a haste to get to her laptop, and opens Tumblr, praying that a barrage of cringeworthy memes might help her forget, or at least allow her to focus on anything other than her utter failure of a life.
Fifteen minutes later, the weird mixture of anger, disappointment, and sadness brewing in her is still an all-too-present danger, bubbling up just underneath her skin and threatening to claw their way out at any moment. Tumblr clearly has not done its job.
So then, she thinks, maybe someone who spends 90% of their life feeling angry might have some good advice. She pulls up Min’s contact before she can give herself a second to reconsider the quality of that decision.
to: min
3:45 PM
i fucked up min
to: min
3:46 PM
like im talking “rose didnt let jack onto the door” levels of fucked up HOO BOY
from: min
3:50 PM
hey fuck off thats usally my line and u kno it
from: min
3:50 PM
anyway diya just went 2 the bathroom so i have a sec, sup
Akarsha pauses, fingers hovering over the keyboard. What is she thinking? Diya and Min are out on a date, trying out some new replacement for Snowcastle or whatever. She can’t bother them; she knows Diya’s been stressed as hell lately, and they deserve to enjoy their time off. Her emotional crap isn’t their problem.
Instead, she swipes at the screen of her phone a couple times, and Min’s contact info is quickly replaced with a picture of Noelle, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. Akarsha can tell that in the photo, the other girl is trying to hold back a laugh. She’s pretty sure it’s from the time when she’d pretended to give Noelle one of those weird new bath bomb things from Lush as a Valentine’s Day gift, but really it’d been a glitter bomb that had cracked and exploded all over her in the middle of fourth period.
Akarsha squints, inspecting the photo more closely. The quality’s admittedly crappy, but if she looks hard enough, she can make out specks of glitter — red, of course, as a reminder of the incident at the Indian buffet their freshman year — scattered in Noelle’s braid. Two months later, and she’s still finding bits of the stuff on her clothes and in her backpack. It had been a lot of money to buy all that glitter, but the hateful half-scowl Noelle sends her way every time she finds a new piece during lunch or in class makes it totally worth the cost.
(If Noelle knew that photo was her contact picture, she’d definitely kill her.)
(Akarsha can’t say she’d mind.)
Her phone dings with another notification from Min, who is evidently getting suspicious, but Akarsha ignores it, instead typing out a message to the one person who, crazily enough, might just understand how she feels. Or at least, the one person who can make her feel stupid enough for having emotions that she’ll just forget about it entirely.
to: noelle
3:53 PM
can u come over
from: noelle
3:56 PM
That depends. Are you attempting to lure me over just so you can hide my AP Calculus homework for thirty minutes and laugh at my reaction when I can’t find it, then give it back to me with weird drawings all over it that I have to spend fifteen minutes erasing? Because I have to say, that’s gotten pretty old.
to: noelle
3:57 PM
look i probably have like 2 hours befoer my parents come home so can u just tell me if ur gonna come over or not
from: noelle
4:00 PM
That’s… uncharacteristically direct of you.
from: noelle
4:01 PM
Luckily enough for you, my mother just went to the supermarket, which means she’ll probably spend a good two hours there arguing with the other Asian parents about whose child is the smartest and/or most accomplished.
from: noelle
4:02 PM
That means I’ll be there in 10 minutes.
to: noelle
4:02 pm
thx
••••
“Shouldn’t you be out with Diya and Min? I know they invited you to Ice Palace,” is the first thing Noelle says when Akarsha opens the door.
“You were invited too,” is her sullen response, lest she acknowledge the actual reason why she’d skipped out on going — to stare at her computer for an hour, waiting for a decision that would determine the next four years of her life. Maybe she really should have gone to Ice Palace.
Noelle rolls her eyes and takes it upon herself to close the door behind her as she steps inside. “Yes, I was invited, but then my mother would’ve asked why I needed to use the car, and even if I’d lied, we both know she would have activated that stupid GPS tracker she got installed and stalked me. Then she would’ve shown up at Ice Palace and made a scene…” She trails off for a moment, then straightens her back and lets out a huff when she realizes she might be showing a little too much disappointment. “Besides, why would I want to go watch that disgusting display Diya and Min call a relationship, anyway? I nearly gagged yesterday when Min told Diya that her eyes were the color of toffee candies, I really don’t think I could handle anything more.”
“Pretty sure that was supposed to be a joke,” Akarsha points out.
“Oh, please,” Noelle scoffs, “you and I both know she meant it.”
There’s an awkward pause, silence as Akarsha’s mind gets filled up with thoughts of Stanford and rejection again, a weird kind of quiet while Noelle fiddles with the sleeves of the plaid shirt she keeps perpetually knotted around her waist.
“Is there a reason you invited me over?” Noelle asks after a long beat. She looks uncomfortable, and Akarsha doesn’t blame her. This was evidently a terrible idea. Noelle will most likely just scold her (“I mean, really, Akarsha, you barely applied yourself, what did you expect?”) and find a way to mention her perfect all-acceptances streak.
And for maybe the third time in her life, Akarsha doesn’t know what to say.
Noelle’s brows furrow. “You’re acting really weird,” she points out. “And Min texted me saying something might be wrong. Is everything okay?”
(It’s only when she tastes iron on her tongue that Akarsha realizes she’s bitten through her lip.)
Something on Noelle’s face has gone soft, and it makes Akarsha’s chest hurt. “Um, yeah, everything’s chill,” she lies. “I just found a really dank meme that I wanted to show you—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Akarsha, I could be studying. We have finals in a month and a half and I need to get ready, I can’t believe you got me to come over here for a freaking—”
She’s not sure if it’s impulse or instinct that leads her to grab Noelle’s wrist, to pull her closer and keep her near, but she does. Noelle’s voice cuts off abruptly, the normally-composed girl faltering as the words appear to get stuck in her throat.
“Come upstairs,” Akarsha says quietly, pleadingly.
Something like understanding lights up in Noelle’s eyes.
She nods.
••••
“Well,” Noelle says. She’s been staring at the rejection letter on Akarsha’s laptop screen for a good five minutes now. “At least you got into Berkeley, right? That’s still a top-ranked institution.”
“Parents wanted me to go to Stanford,” she mumbles, hugging a pillow to her chest and staring up at nothing. She doesn’t like the heavy feeling in her stomach, would prefer to go back to the lightness of jokes and pranks that show the world she doesn’t really care at all, but it’s hard to think of anything funny at the moment, with her rejection still so fresh.
Some of the paint on her ceiling is peeling off. Her parents should get that taken care of.
Her phone buzzes again. Probably still Min, or maybe Diya. She really should respond.
(She also really doesn’t want to.)
Noelle exhales roughly through her nose, and Akarsha can hear her fingernail accidentally tapping against her keyboard. “I still fail to understand why you invited me over. Diya probably would have come over later.”
It’s an innocent comment, clueless at best and nonchalant at worst, but something about it lights a match in Akarsha’s veins. The anger, the sadness, everything that’s been eating away at her for the past hour — it all comes pouring out in a flood of stupid, stupid emotion, and she can’t do anything to stop it.
“Because you’re the only one who understands, alright? I mean, goddamn it, Noelle, I thought at least you would get it!” she half-yells, half-sobs, throwing her pillow to the floor. Noelle whirls around, the alarm apparent on her features. “You think you’re the only one who hides your emotions? You’re not! Why do you think I turn everything into a giant fucking joke? I can’t handle it if it’s not a joke, because if the outcome actually matters to me, if I don’t convince myself that I don’t actually care about what happens, then I will lose it. Everyone will know that I do care, that I do try, and guess what? I tried, I tried so hard, and it wasn’t enough! It’ll never be enough! BECAUSE I’M A FAILURE!”
Her chest is heaving by the time she’s done, her entire body trembling as she struggles to hold back her imminent tears, and Noelle looks like she’s on the verge of dialing 911.
In the moment of quiet that follows, Akarsha briefly contemplates the merits of jumping out the window. (Then she remembers her promise to Min and decides she really doesn’t want to be hunted down and murdered in the afterlife.)
Instead, she elects to bury her face in her comforter so she doesn’t have to look at the disappointment — or whatever that expression is — on Noelle’s face.
“Akarsha.” The hand on her shoulder, and the degree to which it comforts her, surprises her. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive. I just.” A pause as Noelle takes a breath. “I understand how you’re feeling. I was rejected by Yale in December, and I struggled with that for months.” Akarsha’s glad her face is hidden so Noelle can’t see the way her eyes widen at that. Noelle hadn’t told anyone anything about getting rejected. “But I can assure you that you’ll go on to be plenty successful. Even if you hide it with the dumbest jokes I’ve ever heard, I think it’s pretty clear to everyone that you are ridiculously intelligent.” Noelle sighs. “I hated you for that when I first met you, but—” her voice comes out sounding almost strangled— “I am proud to say that you are one of the smartest people I know.”
She can’t help the grin that splits her face as she lifts her head to meet the other girl’s gaze. “Do you really mean that, Frenchman?”
“Ugh, don’t make me repeat myself, it was hard enough to say the first time,” Noelle hisses.
(Akarsha can tell by the twinkle in her eyes that she’s only half-serious.)
••••
After a couple of minutes of merely basking in the fact that even an eighth of something in Noelle might admire her, they decide that it’s time for Akarsha to take a shower. (Well, it’s not really a decision — more like Noelle insisting on it, claiming, “A long, hot shower always makes me feel better when I’m upset. It’s cleansing, Akarsha, you should really try it.”) While she’s gone, Noelle volunteers to go through her Gmail and delete any mention of Stanford.
Akarsha normally wouldn’t trust anyone but herself to do that. For some reason, though, she gets the feeling that Noelle will be up to the challenge.
(It also kind of makes her snicker to think of all the yaoi subscriptions she’s gonna stumble across, courtesy of her freshman-year obsession.)
For what certainly isn’t the first or the last time, Noelle is right. Her parents will probably yell at her for the water bill later, but the scalding heat of the shower deflates the pressure in her chest, takes away from the ache in her stomach. And maybe this good feeling won’t last forever — if she’s honest, it’ll probably dissipate the second her parents walk through the door and she has to tell them the truth — but it’s enough for now, the way her worries feel like they’ve been washed away, left behind in the water pooled in the shower stall.
By the time she steps back into her room, the old grandfather clock downstairs is ringing 5:00 PM, and Noelle is sitting cross-legged on her bed, hands folded in her lap, looking all too pleased with herself. Akarsha’s hair is damp against her shoulder as she makes her way to the dresser to find a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt; the windbreaker isn’t necessary now.
“You can check your email if you want. Not a single trace of Stanford now that I’m done with it,” Noelle announces proudly. Akarsha swears she can feel her eyes on her back.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, pulling out the first clean shirt she sees. It says “Stanford”; she grimaces and shoves it into the back of the drawer, opting for a Berkeley hoodie instead. Her hair drips water onto the sleeve.
“I also deleted College Confidential from your bookmarks. Everyone on there sounds like my mother; it’s toxic,” Noelle says pointedly. Akarsha can’t argue with that as she slips into the closet to change.
When she emerges, Noelle is eyeing her with a curious look. “I’ve never seen your hair down before. It’s always in those stupid buns,” she notes.
Akarsha’s hands fly to her hair. She hadn’t thought to put it up; normally she does because it’s so fine, no matter the amount of Herbal Essences Body Envy™ volumizing shampoo she uses, but straight out of the shower, it hadn’t even crossed her mind. She doesn’t even want to imagine how awful it must look right now as her fingers hurriedly twist half of her hair into a bun.
“Wait, no. Don’t do that.” Surprised, Akarsha lets the bun fall apart, her hair smacking against her shoulder.
“And here I thought you had 20/20 vision,” she says, making a half-hearted attempt at a joke. Noelle doesn’t laugh. “It’s fine, Noelle, I should’ve done it in the bathroom, it’s really pretty hideous—”
“Honestly, Akarsha, shut up. You’re beautiful.”
Akarsha freezes on the spot. The room suddenly feels 20 degrees warmer, but she doesn’t dare to mention it. “What?”
The panic on Noelle’s face would be laughable, if not for the light blush scattered across her cheeks that kind of makes Akarsha want to kiss her. “Uh, in the scientific sense, of course. Your face is almost perfectly symmetrical, and studies have shown that humans tend to prefer those with more symmetrical faces—”
“Nah, you said I was beautiful. No takebacks, Frenchman,” she teases. Her cheeks almost hurt from how wide she’s smiling, Noelle’s words bouncing around in her head like a baseball gone rogue.
Noelle scowls. “Sometimes, I almost forget that you’re perpetually stuck in middle school. However, that illusion always quickly disappears.”
But after a second, even she has to laugh.
And for now, Akarsha thinks, everything might just be okay.
(Diya and Min showing up with a carton of shaved ice ten minutes later doesn’t hurt, either.)