Chapter Eighteen Summer #2
“And you’ve been helping Rowan and Kristy with the FLU recruitment. Are you planning to attend next fall as well?” His mom continues to smile at me.
I wonder what else Rowan has told them about me. Do they know we’re together-ish?
“I hope to, yes, but I haven’t been accepted yet.” I glance shyly at Kristy.
“Are you applying early or in the new year?” she asks me.
“Early decision.” That way if I need to apply other places, I can start looking.
“And you, Rowan?” Kristy asks him.
“I…” He has everyone’s attention, and for the first time, I think I see him uncomfortable with it. “I haven’t started mine yet, so I guess the new year.” He clears his throat and focuses on Kristy. “Speaking of, Summer and I were wondering if you had any tips for our applications?”
“Maybe we could talk about it over dinner,” his mom suggests. “So the food doesn’t get cold.”
We all murmur our agreement, and she leads us into a formal dining room. The table is big enough to seat twelve, but the five of us sit at one end. I’m next to Rowan with his mom and dad across from us, leaving Kristy at the head.
The food smells great. There’s roasted chicken and some sort of potato casserole, green beans, and rolls. My mouth waters.
“What are you planning to study?” Rowan’s dad asks as he lifts the platter of chicken. He dishes some out onto his plate and then passes it to me.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“No?” his mom asks like she expected me to have my entire life planned out. I would if that were possible, but so much depends on the first step. Get into FLU, walk on to the soccer team, work hard, and cross my fingers that I make it professionally.
“I want to play soccer as long as I can.”
“College?” His dad’s brows lift. “Or professionally?”
“Both.”
“That’s a big dream,” he says in a way that I think he means to be supportive but only reminds me that the odds are against me. Less than 1 percent of female college soccer players make it to the major professional leagues. I know this, but I still want to try. I can’t imagine doing anything else.
“I could totally see it.” Rowan nudges my leg under the table with his. “You’ll be representing Frost Lake in the Olympics or the next World Cup.”
“The chances are slim, but I love it, and I’ve never been able to see myself doing anything else.”
“How are your grades?” Kristy asks me.
“Okay. B+ average and I’m working hard this year to bring it up.”
“All she does is study, play soccer, and work. She’s basically your ideal applicant,” Rowan tells Kristy.
My face heats. I know what he’s doing. Hell, Kristy probably knows what he’s doing. It’s sweet he wants to gas me up in front of her, but I don’t want him to make me out to be this amazing student only for her to see my transcript and know differently.
“Grades are important, but they aren’t everything,” she says.
“Good for Rowan.” His dad chuckles softly.
“School’s never really been my thing,” he says with a shrug.
From what I’ve seen, he pulls decent grades without putting a lot of effort into it.
“You’re good enough to play professional soccer too.” It’s my turn to nudge him under the table.
“Nah. I’m no Vaughn.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“Rowan’s planning to study business,” his dad says as he stabs a piece of chicken with his fork and lifts it to his mouth. “Right, Son?”
Rowan stares down at this plate. “I haven’t decided for sure.”
“He’s been talking about taking over the business since he was little. He used to come with us to our first car lot and sit in the office, tapping away on a calculator like he was making deals and selling cars.” His mom looks so proud as she tells me this.
I smile back at her because I can picture it, and it’s a cute image. But it’s so clearly not what he wants. He’s examining the potato casserole like it’s the most interesting food he’s ever seen.
“What did you study?” I ask the adults, scanning my gaze to each of them.
“Officially I was a history major, but mostly I hung out with my friends and tried not to flunk out,” his dad says with a wink. “Then I went back later for my MBA.”
“I majored in communications, which back then spanned everything from marketing to writing.”
“She was the top salesperson for her company five years running,” Mr. Blakenship adds.
“A long time ago,” she says, but she looks secretly pleased that he mentioned it.
“Before I stole her away to come work with me,” he adds.
We all look to Kristy next.
“I studied interior design,” she says with a smile that tells me people rarely guess this fact about her.
“That’s quite a switch from working at FLU,” Mrs. Blakenship says.
“I did work as a designer for a few years, but the market was competitive, and I found I didn’t enjoy creating spaces as much when I wasn’t the one picking out all the items or enjoying them.”
“I like rearranging my bedroom,” I say and then suddenly regret it. I know it isn’t the same thing, but it’s as close to interior design as I’ve ever (or will likely ever) come.
“Your bedroom is cool,” Rowan says. Then he must realize that he’s just admitted he’s been in my room because he falls quiet and I blush hard, and everyone goes quiet at the table.
His knee finds mine under the table again, a silent sort of apology. If his parents didn’t think we were dating before, they definitely do now.
“So, Rowan, you were asking Kristy about tips for your application.” His dad saves us all with a quick topic change.
Kristy sets her fork down. “Most of my advice you’ve probably heard before.”
“We’ll take any guidance you have,” I tell her honestly. At least I will.
“A good letter is probably the most important thing. What it says precisely is less important than it giving us a good idea of who you are and what you want or hope to get out of FLU.”
“What if we don’t know what we want yet?” Rowan asks, pushing a forkful of green beans around his plate.
“Then say that,” she says with a smile. “Lots of people come in as a freshman without a set direction or plan. The first two semesters are mostly general requirements so you can explore different options while adjusting to college life.”
“Who reads the letters?” I ask.
“At FLU, we have a committee that decides on all our applicants. Each goes through several rounds made up of admissions officers, faculty, and even students.”
I don’t know if it’s reassuring that it’s a committee instead of a single person or not. Not, probably. More people mean more opportunities for someone to say no.
“I’m sure you will have no problem getting into a good college,” Rowan’s father adds, looking at me. “FLU or any other school would be lucky to have you.”
“Thank you.”
No one seems to know what to say to that, so we eat quietly for a couple of minutes before Kristy compliments the food, and then Mrs. Blakenship tells her the potato casserole is a family recipe.
After that, I’m lost in thought. About college and Rowan.
His knee still presses against mine. He’s different with his family, less talkative and not as playful.
They adore him, that’s easy to see, but I’m not sure they have any idea who he is or what he wants to do after high school.
Though to be fair, Rowan’s admitted he doesn’t know either.
After dinner, we move back into the kitchen. Mr. Blakenship loads the dishwasher as Rowan’s mom places leftovers in containers and sets them in the fridge. Rowan, Kristy, and I are talking about the next recruitment event.
“Oh, and we’ve added another to the calendar in late October if either of you are interested,” she says with a smile.
“Definitely,” I say, then add, “as long as I don’t have a conflict with work or soccer.”
“Where do you work, dear?” Mrs. Blakenship asks.
“At the country club,” I say and pray they don’t recognize me. “Mostly during the summer at the pool concession stand.”
“Work, school, and soccer—that must be hard to juggle,” Kristy says.
“I’m saving for college,” I admit and will myself not to be embarrassed that my parents can’t afford to just pay for it like the Blakenships can.
“It’s impressive and says a lot about your work ethic.” Kristy offers me another smile and then sighs. “I should probably be going. Thank you again for such a lovely dinner.”
“Oh, thank you for coming. It’s always so good to see you. Are you golfing next weekend with the women’s group?”
While they talk golf and upcoming country club events, Rowan hooks one finger around mine. I look to him.
“Did you get all your questions answered?” he mouths.
“I think so,” I whisper back.
“Rowan, Summer,” Kristy says, facing us. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Let me walk you out,” Mr. Blakenship says.
“No bother. I know the way,” she says to him, and he gives her an appreciative nod.
“We’re going to watch a movie or something,” Rowan says to his parents as Kristy heads for the door.
“Okay.” His mom waves and smiles at me. “Nice to meet you. Come back any time.”
“Thank you,” I tell her.
Mr. Blakenship gives me the same charming smile his son does so often, then says, “Rowan, give me a hand with something in the den before you go.”
Rowan arches a brow in question, but his dad walks off, motioning his head for Rowan to follow him.
“I’ll be right back,” he says to me.
“Sure.” I watch him step toward his father, then peer down the front hall in the direction Kristy went. She’s still putting on her coat in the entryway.
I go after her before I can talk myself out of it.
She smiles at me as I approach.
“Leaving too?”
“No, I just wanted to apologize.”
“For what?” she asks, sweeping her hair out from the collar of her coat.
“I’m sorry if tonight was weird. I wanted to email and ask you about my application, but Rowan thought this was better.” I shrug sheepishly.
She laughs. “Don’t worry. Most of my dinner invitations are from well-meaning parents hoping to help their kids the same way Rowan’s want to help him. And you.”
“That feels…bad.”