Untouchable (Untouchables, 1)

I feel calmer and more centered when I show up at the guidance counselor’s office and knock on the door. Ms. Cunningham glances up, flashes me a smile, and waves toward the chair in front of her desk.

“Hi, Zoey. Come on in, have a seat.”

I step inside and close the door behind me, then walk over and drop into the chair. I’m tongue-tied, unsure what to say or ask. Before I can figure it out, she grabs a blue piece of clothing wrapped in plastic and puts it on the desk in front of me.

“This is for you.”

I put my books on my lap and grab the package. “What is this?”

“A Longhorn windbreaker,” she announces cheerfully. “We’re gifting all the honor roll students with one. A little reward for your outstanding achievement.”

Relief moves through me and I sit back in my chair, putting the wrapped windbreaker on top of my books. This is just about honor roll, not the stupid pregnancy rumor. “Thank you,” I tell her, even though I don’t have much use for a Longhorn windbreaker.

She smiles and nods. “While I have you here, I’d also like to go over your college plans with you. I have some updates since we talked at the start of the school year.” Rolling her chair back, she reaches into a file cabinet and pulls out my folder, then she wheels back to the desk. “I know we went over what you would need to do in order to get a full-ride scholarship at your first choice college.”

“Yes.” I nod my head once. “I’ve been doing all that. My history grade slipped a little, but Mr. Hassenfeld gave me extra credit, so I was able to pull it back up.”

She nods her head. “Yes, and that’s wonderful. You’re still very comfortably in the top ten percent of your graduating class. In fact, your GPA is the 4th highest. Now, here’s the problem,” she says, slapping a palm down on the open folder and meeting my gaze.

“Problem?”

“Unfortunately, the school you want to attend had to make some budget cuts this year. They still want to make it easier for the best and the brightest to study there so they’re still offering scholarships to high school students in the top ten percent of their graduating class… unfortunately, that will no longer be a full ride, but a half ride. Only valedictorians and salutatorians will be offered full rides this year. That means you’re two spots below a full-ride. I know we discussed that financial aid was pretty important in order for you to be able to attend there, and with your family’s income, you would also be able to get a Pell grant, so all is not lost.”

She keeps talking, but I can’t focus on what she’s saying. All is lost. Half the tuition rate alone would be 18 grand a year, and that’s not even factoring in the cost of housing and living expenses. A Pell grant wouldn’t make up the other half of the lost scholarship. It would put a dent in it, but not a big one.

Shaking myself out of it, I ask her, “Okay, so what do I have to do to catch up?”

“Well, there’s no catching up to the valedictorian. Charlie’s GPA is—you’re not taking enough of the right classes to compete with him, and even if we could get special permissions to transfer you into the classes you’d need, you still can’t catch up. He has been taking AP courses too long. With only senior year left, it’s simply not possible to catch up.”

“But I only have to make salutatorian, not valedictorian,” I point out. “I’m ranked 4th in my class and I have to move up to 2nd. That’s not an impossible climb. Tell me how to get there and I’ll do it.”

Grimacing in a way that fills me with dread, she says, “Currently, Carter Mahoney is ranked 2nd highest in your graduating class. If his grades remain on course, he will make salutatorian.” Flipping a paper over, she tells me, “I believe with dedication you can move up to third, but if I’m bein’ honest with you, sweetheart, I don’t think you can bump Carter out of second. Don’t tell anybody I said so, but that boy is obnoxiously smart. I know he doesn’t try as hard as you do, but if not for Charlie, he would have valedictorian in the bag.”

That doesn’t even make sense. Yes, Carter is extremely intelligent, especially in a wily kind of way, but he hasn’t even read Catcher in the Rye. Was he playing up his disinterest in schoolwork? With his friends I might be able to make the jump that he doesn’t want to come off like a nerd, but with me? I’m a nerd. I would never think of him as being less cool for doing his best in school. I would admire that, so it doesn’t make sense to lie to me about it.