MOST FICTION CHARACTERS ACHIEVED ACCEPTANCE INTO IVY LEAGUE SCHOOLS WITH NO EFFORT. Like Noah Flynn from The Kissing Booth with Harvard. Or Bella Swan from Twilight with Dartmouth. Aarav prided himself on being far more intelligent than said characters. If they could get into their respective schools, surely he'd get into Stanford.
However, his expectations were shattered.
But it wasn't a rejection.
He repeated those words in his mind like rewinding a recording.
Not a rejection, not a rejection, not a rejection.
Aarav had continued through the rest of school like nothing happened. He faked smiles and forced out hellos to near-strangers. Things would work out in the end—they had to. Stories needed happy endings.
By the end of the day, he yanked open his locker a little too hard while the moment continued replaying in his head. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, his mind wouldn't let go. He remembered it vividly, sitting in first period AP Calculus when his phone dinged with a notification. Mrs. Adair was fully focused on the whiteboard so she wouldn't notice him checking his phone.
An update has been posted to your status portal.
Aarav opened the email and stared at it. This was it, his Stanford decision. In glaring blue letters was the link to the website. Before he could lose his nerve, he tapped the link and logged in.
His eyes scanned the letter. For a moment, the sentences didn't register in his brain.
The admissions committee has completed its early action deliberation.
Deferred a decision on your application.
Would like to see your senior year academic performance.
Maybe Aarav misread. Maybe it was a glitch. He refreshed the page. Once, twice, then seven more times—rationally be damned. He was desperate, and desperation made fools out of mankind.
However, the crushing outcome remained the same: deferred.
He reminded himself that it wasn't a rejection; his application was simply being held for consideration during the regular decision round. A deferral would simply a bump in the road and his plans would get back on track. Soon, March would come, and Aarav would receive the acceptance he'd been waiting for.
"I got in!"
A high-pitched voice cut through the air, clear as day. He didn't have to look to know it was Madison Aster with her stupid high heeled boots clicking against the tiled floor. Although his jaw clenched, he smoothed his face into a placid expression.
Of course she got in. It would've been easier if they'd both been deferred but the universe wasn't on his side. Madison ran over to him, prim red ponytail swinging behind her, green eyes lit up with joy. She resembled a child in a candy shop with the way she bounced relentlessly on her toes.
"I was accepted! Into Stanford!"
"Good for you," Aarav replied in a calculatingly neutral tone and leaned against the locker.
"Did you get your decision yet?"
"I haven't checked." A dismissive wave, then he adjusted his glasses. Hell would freeze over before he told her anything. How would he break the news to his parents? He couldn't risk their friends knowing or they would lose face.
"Scared, Deshmukh?"
"No." His nostrils flared. Gods, he hated the way she would only call him by his last name. "Anyway, I should be heading to the theatre. Rehearsal's starting soon."
Not a lie. Now that their drama department had been invited to the national Center Stage awards, practices had become longer and more frequent.
"You practically live there." Madison scoffed and set a manicured hand on her hip.
He rolled his eyes at her and shoved the rest of his textbooks in his locker, not caring how they tumbled in haphazardly. Normally he was a stickler for neatness and organization, but not today. Apparently the universe decided to throw a wrench in his detailed plans. Aarav slammed the door shut and walked away without another word.
However, he was only one foot through the auditorium door when someone called his name.
"Aarav!"
He barely had a second to process the voice when someone launched herself at him, making him stumble back while arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. After a moment, Jackie released him and stepped back.
"Test scores came out!"
Why was everyone receiving good news except for him?
"I assume you passed?" His lips quirked into a faint smile. One small victory. He might not have gotten into Stanford, but at least he was a decent tutor.
"Even better. I got an 80. My first B in math in forever. This is the first time I haven't failed an exam."
Was everyone experiencing academic success today except for him?
"Technically it's a B-minus," he teased.
She shoved him, but it wasn't effective due to his tall frame and her tiny stature. "Shut up and let me have my moment. Success is sweeter to those who have never tasted it."
Aarav set down his bag backstage and adjusted his glasses. The smile he wore felt fake and wrong even though his happiness for Jackie was genuine. Clinging to him was the ever-present sting of implied rejection. While it was technically a deferral, that only meant the admissions officers hadn't seen his application as impressive enough to accept.
"Where's Liam?"
Cheeks turning pink at the name, Jackie turned around with a shrug of her shoulders and skipped over to the clothing rack. "No clue. Anyway, I'm excited for the new costumes!"
"Alterations still need to be completed so they won't fit perfectly, but it'll help with things running smoothly on opening night."
"You mean with the costume changes?" She flipped through the rack, admiring the various outfits designated for her character. "Astoria sure has good style."
"The clothes are meant to fit the fairytale motifs of the play."
"So I get to look like a princess? Ooooh, do any of these come with a crown?"
"No crown, but you get to wear a sparkly dress."
The most elaborate clothing item was a gown with an ivory top and a gold brocade skirt. It came with flowing sleeves trimmed in ornate embroidery and a high, semi-circular collar with ruffles. For an off-the-rack purchase, it was tailored reasonably well and small enough to fit Jackie, who was barely five feet. Of course, that was to be expected since Charmed Masquerade was known for its exquisitely designed costumes.
While Jackie held the dress up to herself and spun around, Aarav said, "There should also be a gold leaf circlet. It's close enough to a crown."
Aarav rummaged through the boxes, which had just arrived yesterday from the supply store, and pulled out a delicate headpiece wrapped in satin cloth for protection. She reached up and undid her ponytail, tugging out the red ribbon, and he gently set the circlet on her head.
"Do I wear this for the entire play?"
"Pretty much. It's Astoria's signature accessory along with her red gem choker. Speaking of which, that still needs to be tracked down."
"Too bad this dress only shows up in the last act." Jackie hung it back up and looked at the beginning costume, a simpler piece made of blue-green satin with a sweetheart neckline and asymmetrical draping. Though it wasn't as impressive, her eyes still lit up when she saw it. "This is pretty too."
Aarav's nasty mood lightened and his eyes softened slightly. "Costumes need to be of highest quality if we want win Center Stage."
"Simply getting invited is already a dream."
"I just need to double-check with Mr. Wilson to confirm our donors will still be financing. Everything else should run smoothly."
"Are you taking a risk by casting a new lead actor?"
"Anahi is talented—no doubt—and I have seen her work throughout the years. However, change is good, and different people bring out certain aspects to the roles." Aarav shrugged and leaned against the door. "Besides, she loves playing the villains."
"Seriously, I can't wait." Jackie twirled and skipped around the dressing room.
"You better not make me regret my choice," Aarav added.
"Sure, no pressure or anything." Jackie leaned delicately on one of the chairs. "Are you still up for a tutoring session later?"
"You still want tutoring even though you passed your test?" He raised his eyebrows.
"Like you pointed out earlier, I got a B-minus. There's still room for improvement, and I don't want to risk my math average falling too low again."
Somehow, that made him feel better. Aarav was still wanted somewhere, even if Stanford didn't see him as good enough. Gods, Stanford. There were numerous fantastic schools he could attend. He was applying regular decision to the Ivy Leagues and other top 20s. So why did one deferral continue to bother him?
"Sure, why not?" Then he adjusted his glasses and picked up his clipboard. "Anyway, head to the dressing room to change. Rehearsal is starting soon."
"Aye aye, Captain Director." The girl saluted him with a wide grin before skipping off.
A new text notification caught his eye—one from his mother asking what happened to the kitchen toaster. He cringed. In the chaos of rehearsals and preparing for midterms, he had forgotten to buy a new one. The plan had to been replace the one that exploded before Amma noticed, but even that plan had failed. Hurriedly, he drafted out an apology in hopes she wouldn't be too irritated.
"Aarav, there's something I need to discuss with you." He looked up to see Mr. Wilson striding over to him. The teacher was a small, wiry man with graying hair and tortoise-shell glasses and a curved cane.
"What is it?"
"I'm afraid I have some bad news." He massaged his temple. "The school's cut our funding."
Aarav froze. Had he heard the words right? Their funding had been cut? But that wasn't possible—the school board had guaranteed the money last year!
"What's going to happen?" he choked out. "No, that's not possible. What about our sponsors?"
"One family withdrew their money." Mr. Wilson shook his head. "We'll have to return the costumes and building materials now that the school is no longer paying the costs."
Why the hell wasn't anything going right today? It was like the university decided that one good outcome needed to be offset by a string of unfortunate events.
"That's not fair!" he screamed, making Mr. Wilson flinch. After a moment's silence, he hunched his shoulders and adjusted his glasses. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose it."
The teacher gave him an understanding smile, although he still appeared a little shaken. "It's alright. I'll go alert the others."
Gritting his teeth, Aarav flipped through the pages of the play—a mindless action to keep himself occupied.
When seven minutes had passed, he made his way before the stage and clapped his hands together. "Time for rehearsal. Places, everybody!"
He scanned the theatre for the two leads. "Jackie, Liam, where are you two? Get up there now."
The girl rushed past him, tripping on the hem of the dress before catching herself.
"Careful!" He winced. If the dress tore, getting it fixed would be another thing on his already long to-do list. This time, they couldn't afford replacement costs.
"Sorry!"
Jackie looked around once she realized she was still holding her red hair ribbon. Bags had been left backstage, and it would've been too much of a hassle to run all the way back. She thrust it into his hands before scurrying up the steps leading to the stage.
"It's my lucky ribbon. Don't lose it."
"Who do you think I am, Peter Kavinsky? I won't lose it." Aarav rolled his eyes and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. "Go ahead, whenever you're ready."
Before his eyes, she transformed into another person. She became Astoria with such ease that it was almost uncanny. No longer was she her awkward and clumsy self but the bold heroine of The Clockwork Town. Bringing the character to life from the pages of the script, Jackie perfectly encompassed the unbridled energy and determination of Astoria. Her small movements only served to emphasize the characterization from the way she lifted her chin when speaking or the way she'd add inflections on certain words. The details came so effortlessly, so naturally, that Aarav's mouth quirked into an impressed smile.
And while he hated to admit it, Liam was brilliant as always. The blond actor radiated star power, carrying himself with the confidence and bravery of Leon. He was every bit the perfect fairytale hero and played the part with such practiced ease that Aarav had to grudgingly give him a nod of approval. Gods, that would only make his friend's ego skyrocket.
"That was a good run-through." He twirled the pen around between his fingers and stared at the stage for a moment longer. He could only hope that the competition would run as smoothly. There was a lot riding on the play, not just the Center Stage competition but his Stanford application. It was his last chance to pull off something impressive enough to sway the admissions office into accepting him. Senior year left no room for error; he couldn't afford to mess up again.
"Aarav, you okay?" Jackie placed a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. He looked down at her and blinked.
"Hmm? Yeah, I'm fine," he said and called for Anahi and Tiffany to rehearse their scene.
"You sure?" she whispered.
"Completely sure." He nodded curtly. "Anyways, you should be changing into your next costume."
"...Right." After casting one last glance over her shoulder, she scurried off to the dressing rooms.
. . .
Mr. Deshmukh's mouth twisted downwards, and his thick eyebrows knit together while he set his phone down on the coffee table. Aarav swallowed hard and stared down at his hands, counting the hair follicles on the back. His palms were rough and calloused from playing the guitar—another thing his parents didn't approve of. Closing his eyes, he awaited the verdict.
"Deferred."
"Yes," Aarav confirmed. He didn't miss the heavy disappointment in his father's voice.
"We gave you every opportunity to be brilliant. We even entertained that little director pastime of yours. The internships and tutors we got for you went to waste. All for nothing?"
"It was a deferral. There's still a chance I'll be accepted later." His stomach knotted and he hunched his shoulders. Despite his half-hearted words, he knew there was no stopping his parents from losing face. The news would spread like wildfire through the network of Asian parents. Everyone would know them as the family whose son wasn't accepted.
"You've been wasting too much time with that play."
"We've been invited to perform at the Center Stage competition this year—a national competition."
"It's theatre. There's other students launching businesses, coding apps—not that artsy nonsense."
Aarav started then bit down his tongue to fight back the words. He tasted blood, sharp and metallic, and his hands curled into fists when he looked at his father. Their eyes were the same—dark brown and heavy-lidded with thick lashes—but his father's were cold and hard. It was clear the man wouldn't listen to a word of his defense.
"I'm going out for a run," he said suddenly.
Mr. Deshmukh nodded curtly. "This isn't over. Be on time for dinner."
He gritted his teeth, grabbed the keys and his running shoes, and headed out the front door. Aarav was greeted by a cold gust of wind, an indication of winter's arrival. He should've thought to bring a jacket, but he didn't want to return inside so he ignored the chill. The second he was in his car, he turned the heater on full blast and waited until the time had turned to 7:35 before driving off.
It was 7:42 when he arrived. He changed his shoes and stepped onto the track at 7:45. Strides low to the ground, Aarav paced himself around the circle, sneakers thumping against the dirt path. When his parents mentioned taking up a sport in freshman year, he had balked at the idea of being an athlete. But now the pulsing of adrenaline through his veins was a comfort.
Not that artsy nonsense.
Aarav pushed himself harder and broke into a full-on sprint around the track—pacing be damned. He ran without an end goal, without a mile time in mind, the pounding of his heart swallowing all else.
Gods, he'd been born with nearly every advantage—wealthy parents, extracurricular and internship opportunities, access to good academics. Yet he still couldn't manage to achieve acceptance. What did it say about him when he had every reason to succeed and still failed?
He hadn't envisioned a future where he wouldn't attend Stanford. The idea that he wouldn't be accepted hadn't been considered a possibility. From the start, his parents ensured he'd attend the best schools with summers spent at academic camps. For Aarav's entire life, the expectation of Stanford hung over his neck. Hell, even his grandparents and aunts and uncles in India demanded he get in—and most of them had never set foot in the United States!
That didn't even take into account the numerous aunties his mother made a habit of befriending. At one lunch, after someone's daughter wound up rejected from Yale, they'd exchanged looks of superficial pity while their mouths curled into conniving gloating smiles. Aarav hated to imagine what would happen once they caught wind of his deferral. "Poor Daivi," they would say, clucking their tongues and shaking their heads at Amma. "Perhaps your boy will be accepted into a third-tier college like UCLA."
In all intents and purposes of the word, he was screwed. Horribly screwed. Especially if he didn't manage an acceptance by March. He could almost hear Liam's voice in his mind and feel the way the blond would clap him on the back. "Stanford doesn't matter."
Liam wouldn't understand. Liam didn't have his parents or their circle of vulture-like friends. No matter how many Ivy League schools he was accepted into afterward, the stain of Stanford rejection would cause his parents to lose face among social circles. Indian parents were practically waiting to swoop in and ding their talons into their prey of whichever sorry kid experienced academic failure. Gods, this was exactly why he didn't want to tell a single soul about his application process.
When his t-shirt grew drenched with sweat and his soaked hair was plastered to his forehead, Aarav slowed to a halt and retrieved a bottle of water from his car. He turned the air conditioning on full blast and rested his head against the window. What was he supposed to do now? Even the play was even going right.
Aarav slammed the steering wheel in frustration. Winning the national Center Stage awards could tip the scales in his favor, edge the admissions committee into granting an acceptance letter. But since a sponsor had withdrawn funding, more might follow suit and the drama department might not even have the money for the competition.
His phone buzzed with a text and he groaned. Who even was it anyway? Liam and Damien with their stupid shenanigans? Madison with more gloating? Iris with a makeup meme?
However, subverting all expectations, Jackie's name in bold letters lit up his screen. Aarav entered the passcode and stared at the message.
I have an idea for fundraising!!!
What is it?
His brows furrowed while he wondered what she could possibly have in mind. At least he could eliminate chicken thievery—that would've been Liam's idea.
Immersive performance! Like a cool haunted horse or maze or something!
Well, he was right that it didn't involve chickens. But how would they pull it off? Aarav knew that with the surmounting pressure of finals and early college decisions, he couldn't ask the theatre group to prepare for an additional act. Not when they already had one struggling play on their hands.
Could work. Bring it up with Mr. Wilson
Aarav slid lower into his seat and folded his arms. He had to give it to Jackie—the girl wasn't a quitter. But the only thing left to do now was wait.