The Last Time We Met

26

Cedric might not have had privacy, but he also didn't have the sole attention of the other people in his house. When I came downstairs for dinner after that phone call with Cedric, Mom was waiting with a bag of Ghirardelli chocolates, which she held out to me. "I feel like you need this," she said.

I took one with a sheepish smile. "We're okay," I told her. "It all ended up okay."

"Okay," Mom said. "Just know you can always talk to me about your boy problems if you need to." She grinned at no one in particular. "I never thought I'd be able to do that."

Two days later, Mom burst into my room in the middle of my Spanish class with a big white envelope in her hand. I jumped, and in my earbuds Senora Chapman said, "Presta atención!"

"What?" I mouthed.

Mom held up the envelope with the Otis College of Art and Design logo in the corner. My eyes flickered toward my computer screen, where Senora had started on a rapid-fire lecture about paying attention and not playing games in the background, because apparently I wasn't the only one distracted at the moment.

My fingers itched to snatch up that envelope and rip it open.

"It's a big one!" Mom whispered.

I gave her a tortured look.

She slid it onto my desk and backed away. To the doorway. Waiting to see if I would try to open it while class was still ongoing. I wanted to, so badly. But I also wanted to savor it, and talk about it, and I couldn't do that while I was still sitting in Spanish.

Finally, finally, it was time to log off, and I had a precious fifteen minutes to open the envelope. The gummy stuff sticking it shut was the gummiest stuff I'd ever encountered. "Fuck, fuck!" I hissed as I tore at it. Mom reappeared in the doorway.

"A big envelope!" Mom said. "That means you're accepted!"

I had to be accepted. Had to be. I finally succeeded in opening the damn envelope and removed a paper on crisp official letterhead and a folder. "We are thrilled to accept you into the Otis College of Art and Design Class of 2024," I read, and then I was jumping out of my chair and Mom was hugging me.

"I'm so proud of you!" Mom squealed. "I mean, I had no doubt you could get in based on your grades, but this was for your portfolio!"

The envelope had information about financial aid and all kinds of other stuff I'd have to sit down with Mom and go over. And probably Dad, too. For now, Mom's words explained the excitement I felt: my photography was worthy of art school. And not just any art school: the best art school on the West Coast.

Mom patted my back and released me. "You should call Cedric. I'm sure he'll be excited for you. And maybe he's heard from some of the colleges he applied to."

That put a small damper on things. Otis wasn't the college to go to if Cedric was going to Berkeley. Then again, I hadn't seen Cedric (except that one time) in a month, and we were still okay. I texted him: Are you between classes rn?

Still in history ugh

I got into Otis, I texted, figuring it didn't require a face to face.

Nice!!!! I'll call you at lunch?

I sent a thumbs up emoji and logged on to my English class.

When lunch rolled around and Cedric called, I was already cramming a turkey sandwich into my mouth. I waved.

"I've only heard from one school, and I got waitlisted," Cedric said.

I swallowed my bite of sandwich. "Which school?"

"Stanford. I mean, I wasn't really expecting to get in. Just figured I'd give it a shot, you know?"

"I'm just surprised Otis was the first school I heard from. I still have to look at the financial aid stuff, see if we can even afford to go."

Cedric raised his eyebrows. "You don't think you can afford it?"

I shrugged. "I mean, probably we can. I'm hoping I got a scholarship or something."

"I'm just wondering what college is going to be like next year," Cedric said. "They're saying we won't be going back to school at all this year."

"You really think we won't?" I asked, even though I knew we wouldn't be. COVID cases were still on the rise, and there was no way the schools could figure out a way to enforce everyone wearing a mask for the entire school day and students staying six feet apart.

"I know. Hopefully they figure out something for graduation."

I hadn't even thought about graduation. Prom was more important to me, because it was supposed to be me and Cedric having the best night of our senior year.

We finished our lunches and said good-bye, and I headed back upstairs for my afternoon classes. I couldn't stop thinking about prom, though. Cedric hadn't mentioned prom since before the quarantine, when he had hinted at a promposal. Maybe he had decided that without an actual prom to go to, it was pointless to go through with whatever his plan had been.

When we had talked the other night about my experience with the psychic, Cedric had mentioned that he'd sent me something else in the mail. He'd already sent two mixtapes. What he'd sent might have been another mix. Or it could have to do with prom.

I hadn't sent anything to him.

I didn't want to steal his thunder if he was sending me an elaborate promposal, but I wanted to do something to show him how I felt. I could drive myself to the post office to mail a package, couldn't I? It wasn't that hard. Showing Cedric how much I loved him would be worth the inevitable panic attack.