Secrets

2 | devon

I stare down at the letter in my hand with wide eyes, utterly awestruck.

Absentmindedly, I read the opening sentence staring me in the face once again, my eyes scanning over the bold letters: Congratulations, Devon Parker. We are delighted to inform you of your early acceptance into Stanford University. . .

The rest of the letter's contents don't fully sink into my brain. I'm stuck on the single word acceptance. I nearly pinch myself, certain I must be dreaming.

When I realize I'm fully conscious, a glass-shattering squeal escapes my lips.

"What?" my mother cries as she bursts into the room, looking about with a frightened expression overtaking her features. "What is it? What happened?"

I open my mouth to explain the reasoning behind my screaming to my mother, though I can't seem to find any words to do so. Instead, I merely shove the letter into my mother's hands. I watch her face carefully as her eyes skim over the page, expression morphing from fear to shock to excitement in mere seconds.

"Oh my God," my mother mumbles under her breath, stricken with surprise. "Devon . . . Oh my God!"

"I know!" I exclaim. I can hardly keep myself together. I'm bouncing on the balls of my feet with joy.

I've played soccer since I first started walking. It's always been my dream to play the sport professionally. Upon reaching high school, I knew I had to work hard to meet my future goals. Stanford has always been my first school of choice–it's a Division I school for women's soccer. My current coach has always pushed me, ever since I first made the team during my freshman year. Last year—junior year–was one of the best seasons I've ever had when it comes to playing soccer, and recruiters for university teams soon began keeping a careful eye on me. When my current coach mentioned Stanford had me on their radar, I may have jumped the gun.

I submitted an application on a whim a few months ago, mainly just for fun. I never expected to hear back from Stanford–at least, not for another year or so, if I was lucky. I'd been hoping to hear back by the time I graduated. Junior year only just came to an end, and I've already received a letter of early admission?

I feel faint. I pull out a chair placed by the kitchen island and take a seat, clutching my head in disbelief.

"Early acceptance and a scholarship?" Mom squeals, holding the letter in her hands like it's an Emmy award and not just a simple piece of paper. "Devon–This is everything we've dreamed of and more!"

"I know," I mutter weakly.

Suddenly, I don't feel like I'm living out a dream anymore. The reality of the situation begins to dawn on me–what it will mean if I choose to attend Stanford early. I'm quickly hit with the full weight of the situation. My excitement quickly fades, giving way to thoughts of everything I'll have to sacrifice to attend Stanford.

I'll miss out on my senior year and all that comes with it: soccer games, homecoming, prom, graduation. I won't be able to play any of the other sports I've been taking part in since freshman year, like volleyball and tennis. I'll have to move hundreds of miles away; I'll be hours from my friends–all the way across the country in California. I'll have to leave my mom here alone. I'll only be able to visit home during major breaks from school.

I'll have to leave Hadley behind.

I'll have to leave Hadley.

I begin to feel ill.

"Honey?" The concern lacing my mother's voice brings me back to the present. "What's wrong? This is great news! A once in a lifetime opportunity!"

"I know," I mutter. "It's just . . ." I trail off, unsure of how to put my thoughts into words. How do I possibly begin to express what I'm feeling? I have the chance to live out my life's dream, and yet I'm filled with nothing but disappointment and fear.

Mom stares me down with knowing eyes. I can't keep anything from her–she knows me too well.

"What is it, Dev?" she questions gently. "What are you thinking about?"

"It's just a lot," I admit. "A lot of . . . change. I mean, don't get me wrong . . . I'm stoked. But . . ."

"You're scared of what you might miss out on," Mom concludes. She nods as she purses her lips, dark eyes ablaze with understanding.

"I'll have to give up my senior year," I manage to choke out. "I won't get to finish the year with my team. Or go to prom. Or graduate with my friends. And Hadley . . ." I let my words wander once again. A large lump has begun forming in my throat, making the task of speaking nearly impossible. I'm almost afraid to say the words aloud, because admitting them only makes the fear all the more real.

Mom's expression is thoughtful–I recognize the look on her face instantly. Her features tighten in a way that only means what she's going to say next will be tough to hear.

"I know, and that's going to be hard," Mom says softly. "But you've worked so hard to get here. This sort of opportunity only comes once in a blue moon. I don't want you to make any rash decisions, honey. I'm not saying you have to accept this offer, but I know you'll regret it if you don't. No matter what you decide, you'll be sacrificing a lot."

"I didn't realize I could make a decision," I retort. "Obviously I have to go. Right?"

Mom's features soften. "Of course you get to make the decision," she reassures me. "You don't owe anyone any answers quite yet. But just keep this in mind: Everyone who loves you is going to be ecstatic for you, and proud of what you've accomplished. Okay?"

I nod grudgingly. "Okay."

Mom rests a hand on my shoulder and plants a kiss atop my head before exiting the room. She must be able to sense that I need some time alone with my thoughts.

I end up in my room, laying flat against my mattress as I stare up at the ceiling, pondering my future.