From: Lost To: The Universe

124.7314

Tick-tock.

Tha-thump.

Tick-tock.

Tha-thump.

Tick-Tock.

Tha-thump.

The percussion section of my Monday afternoon symphony of restless anxiety is reverberating off the cream-colored walls of this office. I've been here plenty of times; somehow, though, Ms. Herrera's office seems even more cramped than normal today. One small window populates the wall to the right of her desk, offering an unappealing view of the heat waves rising lazily over the scorched-looking asphalt of the parking lot. Her betta fish Lancelot peers at me from his immaculately clean glass bowl with what seems to be an uninterested expression--it's hard to tell, because he's a fish and all, but I find myself a little offended; I thought we'd become somewhat well acquainted in my three years at Sunview High School so far. I lean forward and gaze into his unblinking, fishy eyes, trying to ignore the incessant pounding from deep within my chest.

"Sorry, Elliot!"

The door behind me leaps open suddenly and I nearly start out of my chair in surprise. That's the thing about waiting for the inevitable; it shows up, whether you're ready or not, like the collapse of a dying star.

"I would have been here ten minutes ago, but some of the sophomore boys just had to pick today, of all days, to start a fight club in the lower gymnasium." Ms. Herrera smooths her navy skirt and attempts to smooth what are usually very well-kept curls away from her face. "Parents were called. Heads will roll."

Our guidance counselor is younger than most of the teachers, probably not too far out of college, which is why she's easier to talk to than the other adults at Sunview--including my own dad. She slides behind her desk and takes a moment to collect herself, shaking her head and squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. Resetting. Rebooting. I understand the feeling all too well. Finally, she opens her eyes and smiles warmly. For the first time since stepping foot in the small space, I don't feel my heart trying to escape my chest.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Bishop?"

"That's what everyone calls my dad," I say, somewhat disdainfully.

"Fair enough." She smiles, and it isn't forced like adults usually do when they're too busy for my antics. "What can I do for you, Elliot?"

I drop my dreaded cargo on the desk with a plunk. The letter. Mesa Grande University's logo has faded a little; I've been carrying it around in my backpack all day, not to mention the countless times I've flipped it over in my fingers, spinning ceaselessly, like a haunted gyroscope in my hands but also in my brain.

"This."

"This?" She reaches across the desk to take it from me; the weight of it leaving my grasp feels significant. I haven't told anyone about it except for Sean; not even my parents. Her eyes light up as soon as she recognizes the logo and she looks back at me with excitement etched plainly in her expression. "Elliot! You applied for Mesa Grande!"

"Yeah," I reply, and I can't help the smile that creeps across my face. It feels odd on my cheeks, like wearing a shirt that doesn't quite fit. "The application opened in July, I did it the first day."

Ms. Herrera's unapologetic grin dampens a little as she examines the envelope. "You haven't opened it yet? Am I missing something?"

"I... I'm nervous," is all I can offer. "I tried a couple times but even just holding it makes me feel kinda sick. What if they say no?"

"Oh, Elliot," she sighs, and gives me the same sad smile that all adults give us when they wish we knew what they knew; I've seen it on Dad's face enough to recognize it a mile away. "Are you going to open it?"