THE WILD SEASON

Chapter 3

My dad will find me, and when he does, I'll implode. For six years, I've juggled everything he wanted me to accomplish. But this test—the one with three demented letters—will determine whether all his pushing and pulling was in vain.

Of all my dad's aspirations for me, this is the least debatable: I must go to the University of Pennsylvania. The sixth best college in the US of A, with an admission rate of nine percent, and an average SAT score of 1500.

My PSAT fell short of that number by almost sixty points. And the actual test? It's in two days. Forty-eight hours. Two-thousand, eight-hundred and eighty minutes. Minutes are to seconds as nucleons are to what?

Please fill the bubble in next to the correct answer.

I run my hands over the last project my mom ever touched. If my dad knew I was in her workshop, he'd worry I'm losing my steady hold.

Focus, my dad says, as if I have a choice. That's the key to everything, Molly.

I squat down and stare inside the circular cut-out in the half-finished dog house. I run my thumb along the curve, and imagine my mom doing the same. Her cheek would be caught between her teeth as she considered the angle, and I would have sat on the bench, swinging my legs, eating a warm, salted tomato from our garden. Our dog, Wren—named after my mother's favorite architect—would sniff the fresh-cut wood, whining because she wanted to slip inside and sleep.

Eventually, Mom would say to me, "Come here, Moon Pie. Feel this and tell me what you think."

I shake the thought from my mind, because Mom is gone. And so is Wren.

My SAT tutor will be here in twenty minutes, and though I know I should head inside, I can barely fill my lungs. What will happen if I don't get into Penn?

I know what will happen.

I know.

I stand up in time to see my dad striding across the lawn. My lungs seize working, and my hands start to sweat. He's heading for the garage, for the stairs that will lead him straight to me. For one erratic moment, I consider jumping through the window. I could use my mom's tools to break the glass, could roll when I hit the ground to prevent injury. I could run. I could run, run, run far away and never return.

"Molly?" My dad cracks open the door. Apprehension drips from his face, but when he sees me, a small smile parts his mouth. "Oh. It was you. I thought I saw someone come through the gate." He chuckles nervously. "I almost called the police."

"Sorry, Dad," I say, as awkwardness sidles up between us. I shouldn't have come up here. I should have gone straight inside as I do every other day after school. But I couldn't. I spotted my dad through the dining room window, and I thought about the test, and I just kept on walking around the side of the house.

My dad meanders over to my mom's table and lifts a caliper. Brings it to eye level, and puts it back down. "It's been a long time since I've come up here. You?"

He gives me an accusatory look, like it might break what's left of his heart if I've been secretly visiting my mother's sacred place without him.

"Same," I answer quickly. "But I thought I'd be good inspiration. The test is coming up, you know?"

"Don't I." My dad laughs, and shakes his head. "I've been so nervous you'd think I was the one taking it." When I lower my eyes, he adds, "You're going to nail it, Molly. Everything you've done has brought you to this moment. The honors classes, the clubs, the tutors? It's going to pay off. And hey, summer starts this weekend. I know that makes you happy. You'll get to focus on swimming."