Blackout ✓

20 | interview time

"IF YOU NEED TO STAY the extra weekend, message Olly. She can drop you at my parents' place," Krista reminded me.

On Monday, I would fly out to New York City, and detour quickly to New Jersey, for a slew of medical school interviews. Since I'd interviewed for Tufts and Boston University—the latter of which accepted me—last October, results from the rest of my shortlist had trickled in. Harvard and John Hopkins rejected me, but I was grateful for the handful of schools that offered me an interview.

I ended up with four additional interview opportunities for NY Medical College, Langone Health, Columbia and Rutgers. I arranged for the last four interviews to be conducted over a week's duration, but Columbia—my favourite, secretly—had tentatively placed me in the last slot of the last day of the week. If Columbia couldn't see me before the following weekend, Krista made me a heartwarming offer.

"You can take my old room."

Attending multiple interviews on one flexi-travel plane ticket would save me so much money. But the hostel in which I would spend the week was still steep for a college student. Should I extend my visit to New York, Krista's family had agreed to take me in for the additional three nights.

I folded Krista into a grateful hug. "I love, love you. But I hope I won't need to take you up on that offer." A week of catching up on lectures online would be bad enough.

"Don't worry about it. It's the least I can do for you, love." Krista picked up two pants from my freshly laundered basket of clothes and held them up, eyebrows cocked inquisitively.

"The black jeans," I answered.

She rolled up that pair and tossed it into the open suitcase on the floor.

Krista helping me pack for the NYC trip was her way of consoling me. Ever since freshman year, we had stuck together like polymerised molecules, filling our course requisites and commiserating together. But last semester, she said nah.

Literally.

Krista just woke up one day and decided she didn't want to be a doctor after all. I loved how she found her true calling in life, but when I was going through the most nerve-wracking phase of my Pre-Med degree to date, not having my best friend in the same boat was unfamiliar and discouraging.

"You knew I was going to," Krista chastised gently.

"Of course I did. You won't shut up about finally getting the chance to surpass me in maths."

She was picking up a series of Maths courses this semester that I'd never done. Going into a Biotech graduate program meant she had to get her physics—and therefore maths—skills up to date.

"When I eventually beat you, it will only be by a small margin," she said proudly. "Then we can talk directional derivatives and partial fractions with each other—"

"Vomit. No." I laughed as her excitement fell into a pout. She'd only been saying those things to rile me up, anyway. No-one loved math that much. "I'm good at math, but I don't like it."

"Whereas I kind of like math and absolutely suck at it. We should switch brains."

I threw a handful of bras into the compartment under the lid of my suitcase. "I wish! If I had your brain, I wouldn't have to worry about charming the pants off the interviewers."

"Just be yourself."

I arched an unimpressed eyebrow. "That's all you got?"

"Yup. Cliche, I know," Krista shrugged. "But turns out that's all I had to do to get where I am now."