The Dangerous Doors of Shannon Anderson

Chapter Twenty

"Shannon?" Dad called from the living room. "What did it say?"

"Read it yourself," I called back. "It's on the table!" I slammed the door of my room shut in my excitement and powered up my laptop, ready to demonstrate my renewed commitment to academic excellence. Or at least my renewed commitment to really compelling storytelling.

Dad tapped on the door, then opened it. "Shannon, are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm quite well, thank you," I said without turning around from my desk to face him. I could feel myself grinning like an idiot, feeling like all hope was not lost for the first time in days. Lord, if Dad could have seen my face then he would have really thought I was loony.

"What are you going to tell them?" I could hear the worry that tinged his tone, and I could tell that he was torn between wanting me to have my dream back and knowing that getting it back by any means necessary was not an acceptable option. For him, anyway.

"Well," I said, "since the truth doesn't seem to cut it around here, I guess I won't be telling them anything."

There was a heavy pause, and even though I had my back to him, it felt like he was going to say something, or walk over to me. He didn't. He shut the door and let me be. He probably didn't know what else to do at this point. But I knew what I had to do. I had to pretend that something bizarre, unexpected, and unavoidable had happened that made me miss all my exams. Or rather, I had to invent something more believable than the bizarre, unexpected, and unavoidable thing that really had happened. Then I would write it all down in vivid and excruciating detail to earn the sympathy and understanding of NYU's admissions office and re-secure my spot at the Tisch School of the Arts. Then, late at night, instead of crawling into a book, I'd take the letter out to the mailbox, or maybe I'd even take the car and run the letter to the nearest drop box just to be safe, and wait for NYU to send their sincerest apologies for doubting my academic prowess during this strange time.

Now all I had to do was decide what unforeseen yet believable event had caused me to miss three days of exams. It was hard to know what Mr. Martin had already told them, so I knew I had to be careful to make my story jibe with whatever the guidance office might have said. I could go the kidnapping route since that's what everyone seemed to think had happened before I came back, but that might be too outlandish, and might make them worry about my mental stability and readiness to start college in the fall after an ordeal like that. A death would be too obvious, too easy to prove false, and far too Lady Macbeth-ish for my taste. I wasn't willing to sink that low, even for NYU.

And then I had it, like when you skip a hard question on a test and when you come back to it later, the answer is suddenly obvious. I realized I wasn't going to be able to lie my way out of a whole semester's worth of incomplete grades. I just needed to buy myself some more time to convince my school to let me take my tests before NYU gave me the boot for good. I was the only person in my class who had been accepted, after all. This could work. I started typing.

Dear Dean Larson,

Thank you for your concern regarding my recent slip in academic performance. I understand that my admission has always been contingent on the maintenance of the academic profile that was initially considered when I received my offer of admission. Please accept the following explanation as to why your office did not receive my second semester grades.

As you know, St. Rita of Cascia Catholic High School is very small. As such, we have a single guidance counselor, Michael Martin, who is charged with handling college applications for the entire senior class. A curious accident came to pass during the week of final examinations. While the student body was not given the complete story, it seems that our principal, Mr. Hamilton, was given a tin of cookies as an end-of-year gift by Mr. Martin. Unbeknownst to Mr. Hamilton, the cookies contained peanut oil to which he is deathly allergic. He suffered an anaphylactic reaction right there in his office, but thanks to our quick-acting school nurse and an EpiPen, he survived. Naturally, Mr. Hamilton took medical leave to recover following the incident, and an investigation is underway to determine if the cookies were an honest mistake or if Mr. Martin intended to harm Mr. Hamilton.

In the chaos of the subsequent investigation, some students' final transcripts seem not to have been sent to their respective colleges. You can also imagine that whichever administrators you may have spoken with would have been reluctant to divulge details regarding this mix-up as the investigation is still pending. It may not be my place to say what I have already said, but my commitment to re-securing my place at New York University has compelled me to explain the situation as candidly as possible. I will be following up with my school immediately in order to correct this error.

I apologize for not contacting your office sooner regarding this matter; I erroneously assumed that my school had the situation under control. I understand the gravity of a severe second semester academic decline, and I assure you that nothing of this nature will occur during my time at NYU. I am absolutely dedicated to pursuing academic and artistic excellence as a member of the Production and Design Studio within the Tisch School of the Arts.

If you have further questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Sincerely,

Shannon Anderson

The story seemed a little dramatic upon re-reading, but I was a drama student, after all, and there was a reason I was going into set design and not playwriting. I wondered if there was a way to search online for in-progress criminal investigations. I cut the bit about being open to receiving follow-up questions, because really I would prefer not having to scramble for false details when an admissions counselor called wondering why I knew so much about this affair and why St. Rita's hadn't been more competent in sending the final transcripts and instead decided to call NYU and tell them I'd failed everything for no reason. I tried not to think about it too hard because the more I thought about it the weaker my story sounded, and I really didn't want to squash my last hope of salvaging my seat at NYU. I prayed that Mr. Martin had been vague when he called, because if my letter didn't fit the details of what they'd gotten from him, I was screwed.

Now all I had to do was wait for Dad to leave the house or go to bed so that I could sneak down to his den to snag an envelope and a stamp, and then go off to find a mailbox. Easy.

On any other day, Dad would have left the house to run errands at least twice before dinner. But of course he didn't leave a single time today because I needed him to. Sure, he went out to the garden, and took a shower, and then got busy cooking supper, but I was too scared of getting caught to risk putting my plan into action while he was still home and awake. Making sure my letter made it out of Iowa was the last hope I had of making it out of Iowa myself, and lord knows I wasn't going to fool around with that opportunity.

A/N: What do you think of Shannon's plan? What would you have written in the explanation letter? Let me know in the comments!