Page 37 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

Yet sometime between my last couple of years at Caltech and the beginning of my time at UCLA, even though our financial situation improved, even though we were able to reenroll Aurora in a new private school and give her every private lesson or tutor she could possibly want, I became . . . Aurora’s Enemy #1?

These days, if I ask her about her day, I get a snippy reply that varies between Like you care and I don’t have time for this. Even on good days, her tone is never friendly. On less good days? It’s mostly curse words and half-bitten-off curse words.

I type back a carefully worded acknowledgment. I thank Aurora for reminding me (even though I’ve never forgotten a weekend), and though she reads my message I get no acknowledgment besides the read receipt (and I only get that much because I’ve asked her, specifically, not to turn those off).

The next message arrives an hour later, right after I shower.

UNKNOWN: This is my new number.

I tell myself it could be anyone, from a less-than-savvy recruiter to a disgruntled undergrad who hacked the UCLA system and got my number, hoping I’ll regrade their exam.

It’s not Lucas, who knows I blocked him, who could have (but hasn’t) tried to get in contact with me for almost six years.

Then, a moment later, my phone pings again.

UNKNOWN: You’ll have to explain your Sagittarius A* reasoning at some point.

UNKNOWN: I have theories.

Because I know Lucas is baiting me, because I’m nearly six years older and capable of resisting temptation, I manage (just barely) to not reply.

“You looked over my list?”

Aurora is dressed for travel and is double-checking her backpack, not looking at me, because this is just how we greet each other now.

“It’s a great list.” I’m trying to ease into it⁠—

“But?”

“Nothing.” I bite my lip. “I mean, I do wonder if you should have a few safeties. You’re applying to mostly Ivies and⁠—”

“I’m top of my class. Captain of the speech and debate team. Editor of my school newspaper. I qualified for the American Invitational Math Exam, and I’m a top USACO coder. I’m as well rounded as you were, but I have more awards than you ever did.”

I think but don’t say: That’s because I had to work, to help support you.

Also: My public high school couldn’t afford things like away speech and debate tournaments, ones that required transportation and lodging.

Instead, I count and take a deep breath. “Yes, but⁠—”

“You applied to a third as many universities.”

I barely manage not to yell: Because I had no choice. I had to stay close.

My voice is almost calm as I tell her, “If I hadn’t gotten in, I would have started at community college.”

“Okay. So why can’t I do the same?”

And again, it is an effort not to argue, to tell her, plainly, that the entire point of putting her in private school was to make sure she’d have better options.

“It’s your life, and I will, of course, support whatever decision you make.” I hate how stilted my voice sounds, but I trudge along. “I’d be happy to look at any college essays.”

“I know how to write essays.”

“I never said you didn’t⁠—”

Aurora is already looking at her phone, rolling her eyes in that patented teenager way. “You saw the calendar invite? You know I won’t be home until Sunday night?”

I nod, because clearly we’re in the stage of teenagehood where there are No. Right. Answers.