Replay

4-3 Induction

A/N: Hi again.

Dear Ms. Myers,

Thank you for sending an application to us. After careful consideration of our 21,040 applicants, we deeply regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you admission. Your academic and extracurricular achievements demonstrate remarkable talent, but because we receive many more applications than the size of our 1,000 student incoming class, we must decline the majority of them.

We wish you the best of luck in your college education.

Sincerely,

John Doe

Dean of Admission

The paper crumples in my hands, but I don't care.

'Sincerely,' my ass. Just tell me upfront: what wasn't good enough? My grades? My essay? Of course there're applicants better than me in both regards—at least a thousand of them. No, more than a thousand. With bleary eyes—I refuse to cry—I count the stack of opened letters on the dining table. Nine thousand applicants, all more remarkable and worthy than me.

I should've worked harder. I should've taken harder classes, participated in more extracurriculars, or done anything to be a better student.

"Another rejection?" Dad puts down the envelope he's holding and watches me with a weary smile. "It's okay, Blake. These are prestigious universities, and they're going to be competitive. But hey, you got into this one." He slides his letter across the table, and I'm already reading it before it reaches me.

I can't even remember where this college is located.

My disappointment must be obvious, for he says, "What's more important is the knowledge you gain there. And it's still a pretty good college, too, with a tuition that's less blatant of a scam." He snorts. "But don't worry about money. You can go wherever you want."

"All—" I cough to clear my clogged throat, but my voice still sounds hoarse. "All my friends are going to these." My hand falls on the stack of rejections. "I won't know anyone there."

"You can make new friends there."

Can I? You say it so easily, but it's not so simple. You don't understand. But I say nothing, knowing he's just trying to help, and look down at my lap. My eyes dangerously wander over to the stack of letters again.

Dad sighs. "You're a smart student, Blake, as good as your brother. Don't let this weigh you down. You did the best you could, but sometimes it—"

"Frank." Mom's voice cuts through the conversation, and from the other end of the kitchen, she switches off the stove. "Give her some time to digest it first. And Blake..." Her gaze softens, but my chest remains tight. "I'll cook some of your favorites tonight when you come back. Go take a break."

I stand up sluggishly. My feet feel as if they're made of concrete, and I stop at the doorway.

"I don't feel like dancing today," I say, and I instead trudge to my room and shut the door behind me.

---

I awoke to three raps on my door. "Blake, are you awake?" Youko's voice was muffled. "It's 10 o'clock already."

Sweat left my skin sticky underneath my blankets. With my eyes half-closed, I heaved myself upright in bed and slipped a foot out onto the floor. The wooden floorboards were ice to my bare skin. I hissed but continued hobbling to my door, where I twisted the cold, metal handle.

Youko waited before the entrance, resting her hand against a nearby cabinet. Her face brightened upon seeing me, the aged wrinkles around her eyes crinkling. "We didn't wake you up earlier because you returned late last night, so we wanted to let you sleep in a bit on the weekend. I'll warm up breakfast for you, so come down when you're ready."