Not Who You Say You Are

Chapter One

December 15th - 2022

My brain feels like it's going to explode.

Watching the text at the bottom of the mail app switch from 'Checking for Mail...' to 'Updated Just Now' makes my heart skip a beat. It's called the spinning wheel of death for a reason. Seeing as I feel like I could drop dead any second. I've repeated this about five hundred times today, and it still manages to make me feel sick. Once again, however, I am disappointed as no new e-mail has come through.

I try to remember the last time I have ever been this anxious. Anxious to the point of shaking and battling the urge to violently throw up. I think about the time I came out as gay to my mother. I tried to tell her for weeks but never felt like it was the right time. It turned out to be a drama over nothing, considering there are already two queer people in her family. Otis, her older brother and Bonnie, her niece. Three if you count my little sister, Ivy. She's not out but she doesn't do a great job of hiding it.

Mom couldn't care less.

That anxious feeling ended up being pointless, and I'm hoping the same is true for this one.

"Theo!" the barista calls out from behind the coffee machine. 

I snap my head up from my phone and look towards her. Judging from the way she glares at me, unimpressed, and the way a few other customers are also staring, I assume she has called my name multiple times. I was too engrossed in my E-mails to notice. 

I hurriedly shuffle to the counter, pocketing my phone. I quietly thank the barista, as I grab my latte. She doesn't respond, instead, she continues staring at me, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. 

Shit, I forgot to tip.

I quickly put my latte down and reach into my pocket for some cash. I pull out a twenty-dollar bill. We both stare at it awkwardly. It's all I have. I don't think a $20 tip is necessary but I don't want to look like an asshole who doesn't value the financial welfare of a barista in her thirties in front of everyone in this café, so I hand it to her before rushing out the door. 

The Grove is always busy in the afternoon. I make my way through the crowds of people, jittering and doing everything I can to distract myself. It's been long enough since I last checked my e-mail, right? Yeah, it's been at least five minutes. I take out my phone and refresh the mail app for the five-hundred-and-first time. Nothing.

I truly think this waiting could kill me. I am longing to see that word. That sweet, gratifying word. 

Congratulations!

I submitted my application to the NYU Tisch School of the Arts last month and the early decisions come out today. December 15th. A date burned into my brain. And now that it's finally here, I'm a wreck. I initially went to the University of California, Los Angeles for Finance in 2019. It took me about five months before I realised I would rather be dead than work in finance. My grandfather, Vernon Quinn, started his financial firm, Quinn&Co. when he was twenty-five. Now, it's one of the biggest firms in the country, and he is so goddamn rich. I guess I wanted to carry on the family legacy in a way. Turns out I didn't want to carry it on that much. But I'm stuck in it for now. It's just for now.

Acting is something I've always wanted to do. I've been doing courses since I was eight years old, but never really thought it could be something I could do professionally. But since applying to NYU, it's all I can think about. A simple way out of the dull, monotonous world that is corporate finance.

I look down at my phone, refreshing my mail once again. 

'1 New Message'.

I pause. My heart stops. My stomach drops. 

False alarm. 

It's another automated spam message. I've unsubscribed from plenty of them today, never realising how many I get. Now I can add this to the list too. My phone dings and a text comes through. It's from Miles, my boyfriend. We met in class a year ago. We instantly hit it off, both sharing the same disdain for finance. He joked that he was the first person in his family to take an interest in the subject, seeing as both of his parents basically bankrupted themselves via a multitude of poor decisions. I joked back that I was the first person in my family to take an interest in the subject, seeing as my grandfather is a billionaire. He told me later that he thought I was a pretentious douchebag.

'Heard anything?', the text reads.

'Nothing yet :(', I reply.

'It's fine. You'll hear back soon", he replies.

He's right. I will. I know I'm going to hear back today. It's just I don't know if it will be good news or bad news. I continue to weave through the horde of people until I make it back to the parking garage. I tell myself I'm going to switch my phone completely off while I drive, and not even think about the possible acceptance or rejection that may be coming my way any minute now. Although, I don't really know who I'm trying to convince. 

I get in my car and hold down the power button on my phone. I stare at the 'slide to power off' pop-up. I can't bring myself to do it. What if it comes through? What if I get an emergency phone call? What if NYU calls me themselves and I only get one chance to answer or I'm denied? Anything could happen, so I set my phone down in the cup holder, open on mail, facing me. 

I'm about to leave when I notice the sign hanging from the ceiling a few feet away, and I can't help but groan.

'$20 Parking. Pay at Exit'.