ACT 1, SCENE 2
WHAT FIVE WORDS BEST DESCRIBE YOU?
Aarav's fingers hovered over the keyboard. It was a simple question—the easiest out of the entire application. The admissions officers might not even pay attention to it, with their eyes skimming over in search of more substantial essays. And yet the bold print letters glared at him from the screen in relentless demand of his identity.
Seventeen years and six months of his life, his hopes and dreams, all summed up in five fucking words.
Yeet yote, not a goat.
Yeah no, that'd earn his application an immediate rejection unless he was Elle from The Kissing Booth. Aarav tipped back his head and swallowed the rest of his coffee, ignoring how the slosh of bitter liquid scalded his tongue.
Stanford's early deadline was November 1st, a little over two months from now. A restrictive decision—one that would designate the school as his first choice. He'd made sure to email his counselor and teachers for recommendations during the summer so they would have enough time to prepare a sufficient letter. The doctor he shadowed and did research under during breaks agreed to serve as a character reference. Every outside necessity was prepared; all Aarav had to do was actually finish the application.
Grumbling, he clicked to the previous tab, the one containing the 600-word Common App essay. Underneath the list of seven prompts, the text box was blank and white. Every sentence he had entered, he deleted seconds later.
He had nothing to write about. Experiencing a tragedy? Cliché. Overcoming challenges in sports? Boring. And he did track and cross-country—sports Stanford deemed as 'lesser' than football. The immigrant experience? He was Asian; the demographics were not in his favor. His achievements? Also boring. Stanford didn't need another Indian student succeeding in academics.
Maybe he could find new celebrity billionaire parents. Was Jeff Bezos was looking to adopt a high school senior? No, a rich white man would never be so generous.
Aarav was about to switch tabs again when the blur of a gray elephant crashed onto his keyboard, followed by the high-pitched announcement of a sneak attack. With an eye roll, he shoved the plush creature away and deleted the string of jumbled letters.
"Go away, Aadhira." He tossed the toy to his sister who caught it with ease.
"Flappy wants to play with you."
Squeezing his eyes shut, Aarav removed his glasses and pinched his nose bridge. "Get out of my room."
In response, the six-year-old collapsed on his bed with a dramatic sigh. "I'm bored," she proclaimed, her voice stretching into a long whine—reminiscent of a cat.
"Out." He yanked the door open wider and stood to the side of the entrance. "Now."
Aadhira trudged out the room, Flappy dangling from one hand, but not before shouting, "Amma, Aarav's being mean again!"
"Be nice to your sister!" his mother called from downstairs.
If it weren't for the fact that his laptop was expensive, Aarav would've slammed his head on the keyboard. Or hurled it across the room. Or doused it in battery acid.
When he turned to face the screen, a sharp spasm wrenched his hands and he jerked back in his seat. With a hiss, he pressed them flat against the desk, his fingers twitching against the smooth wooden surface. His foot tapped on the ground before he whirled around, causing the wheeled chair to swivel in multiple circles.
Ignoring the lurch in his stomach, he strode down to the kitchen for another cup of caffeine. How many had he already finished? Two? Three? As soon as he slid the mug under the dispenser, Amma swatted his shoulder. In his exhausted haze, he barely registered her presence while he breathed in the smokey scent of freshly-brewed coffee. He'd been awake since 2 am. Sleep was interrupted with bouts of tossing and turning until he decided to get up and shower.
Just when he reached for the mug, his mother slid it away from his grip. "Aarav, go change."
"I already did."
"When?"
"Earlier."
"Change again." She rapped him on the back of the head with the nearest object (a wooden spoon). "No son of mine is leaving the house looking like a mess."
With an eye roll, Aarav trudged back upstairs. "While you're at it, brush your hair!" Amma shouted after him.
He twisted on the faucet and splashed freezing water on his face. With his palms, he scrubbed furiously at his skin as though he could somehow erase the dark circles beneath his eyes. But when Aarav stared back at the mirror, he still appeared exhausted. His skin was dull and paler than ever with the beginnings of a breakout on his cheeks.
Groundbreaking realization: getting no sleep made him look like shit.
"Aarav, it's 6:20!" Amma screeched.
Second groundbreaking realization: running late to Westminster's opening assembly drove his mother crazy.
Aarav yanked a couple of clothes off the nearest hangers and changed, then kicked the wrinkled fabrics under his bed. After shoving his laptop into his bag and collecting his car keys, he thundered down the stairs and out the door.
"Your hair!"
Biting back a groan, he retreated halfway indoors where his mother thrust a black comb into his hands. "Now get to school."
It was 6:24 when Aarav slid into the driver's seat of his silver Lexus—a gift from his sixteenth birthday. 6:25 glared at him in sharp white strokes when he turned the key in the ignition. The clock turned to 6:37 when he pulled up before Westminster Academy, a towering stone chapel with sprawling lawns and looming pines. Past the heavy varnished doors and inside the dark auditorium, all four classes awaited in bated breath for the beginning of a school year. At the front stood five pillars brandishing blue banners with the school motto etched in gold.
Aarav found his place among his usual group—students whom he'd studied with ever since freshmen year. With the exception of him and Iris Saetang, the others were Caucasian. At a prestigious private prep school, students of color were few and far between. His deep brown skin and heavy-lidded eyes and aquiline nose contrasted with his friends' distinctly European features. Turning his gaze to the stage, he straightened and adjusted his glasses.
"How was your summer?" Iris whispered. Her dyed-blond hair was swept into a high ponytail while crimson and glitter lined her dark phoenix eyes. She smelled faintly of vanilla and strawberries.
"Fine, I guess." Aarav shrugged and tapped his fingers against the armrest. "Did research with Dr. Bhandari."
"Enhancing your resumé, I see."
"Yeah, I had to do more than shadowing. It's not impressive—on its own, the word implies you did nothing but stand and watch."
"Good call. Especially since everyone shadows, you'll need better to stand out when applying to schools." She smoothed out her lip gloss with the tip of her pinkie.
"Any progress on your applications?"
With a short laugh, Iris shook her head and twisted the ends of her ponytail around a manicured finger. "I'll be lucky if I even get into Dartmouth."
"Still an Ivy League."
"Everyone knows the only ones that matter are the big three."
Harvard, Yale, and Princeton—the schools with acceptance rates clinging to 5%.
Aarav frowned and straightened the cuffs of his jacket. As much as he hated to admit it, Iris was right. When nearly half of Westminster's graduating class achieved acceptances to prestigious schools every year, the swarm of vulture parents would never let a student live it down for getting into so-called pity Ivies.
Glancing away, Aarav removed his glasses and rubbed at the lenses with a sleeve. When a procession of teachers lined up onstage, he rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat. No matter how many times he cleaned his glasses, the unchanging scene before him remained a stark reminder of the that he was trapped in a too-large auditorium to listen to the headmaster's drivel.
"You hear about the new student?" Iris asked.
Aarav followed her gaze to a small girl in the row before them. She had an earnest face with large brown eyes and a red ribbon in her sleek black hair. Jaclyn Trương, the one from auditions the other day. When Westminster's acceptance rate was low on a generous year, transfer students were few and far between—especially for upperclassmen.
"Who hasn't?" Again, Aarav shrugged. Soon enough, the novelty would wear off when the student body found another gossip topic to fixate upon.
Keeping her phone hidden behind her jacket, Iris opened Instagram and angled the screen toward Aarav. The school's anonymous confessions page was filled with recent posts surrounding Jaclyn. "Supposedly, she had insanely wealthy parents who funded her admission."
"She auditioned for the lead yesterday." Aarav retrieved a notebook from his bag and twirled the pencil between his fingers.
"Seriously? You mean she competed against Anahi?"
Tuning out the headmaster's speech (it was the same every year), he scribbled a series of random doodles across the page. Eyes, skulls—anything that came to mind. "Possible she didn't know."
"Anahi was nominated as Best Actress for the national awards as a freshman. Even people who don't care about the drama department know about it."
Aarav shrugged. "Nominations don't mean anything if you don't win. Besides, it's interesting to see other performers."
"Right, right, theatre stuff. Spare me the talk."
He snorted and crossed one leg over the other, resting the notebook in his lap. The page filled with increasingly difficult to remember prime numbers. Once a teacher passed by the aisle, Aarav set his foot down and straightened up.
The headmaster droned on about the virtues of excellence and success, highlighting the increase in the percentage of students accepted into selective schools. HYPSM—the five most prestigious colleges in America, the coveted acronym of students about to crack under the weight of their parents' pressure. It was no secret that Westminster was a feeder school with a pressure-cooker environment. Climbing the GPA rankings was like clawing out of a sand pit, grasping hopelessly as the foundation slipped away.
He couldn't afford to fail. Not now. Not when the valedictorian title dangled tantalizingly out of his reach—another hurdle his parents set for him to overcome. Aarav wasn't immune to the ruthless, over-competitive nature of his peers; he heard the whispers, met the stares, while they waited with bated breath for him to fall of the pedestal. Like lions waiting to pounce, unbridled hunger in their eyes for the top spot.
Aarav dug his nails into his skin and steadied his trembling fingers against the notebook. Casting a glance in Iris's direction, he slid his hands into his pockets. She didn't notice. No one ever did. His chest tightened and the three cups of coffee he'd downed that morning sloshed in his stomach.
When the assembly drew to a close, the auditorium burst into a cacophony of chattering and footsteps while students and parents exited through the doors. Families gathered together in tight circles, pasting on saccharine smiles and offering stiff handshakes as though it was a networking function rather than a school opening ceremony. Fingers curling into fists, Aarav wove through the crowd of business empire heirs and blue blood socialites.
There was an unspoken hierarchy, a looming social ladder, even among the top 1%. His Telugu parents were nouveau rich—immigrants from Andhra Pradesh who'd built their business from the ground up after setting foot on U.S. soil. The product of the American dream. Nothing but entertainment to the whims of the influential circle of high-powered parents who funded Westminster.
"Aarav," called a voice and Iris jogged to his side. She was alone as well. Her family straddled the line between upper and middle class, with enough wealth to pay partial tuition and rely on partial scholarships. Well-respected doctors, but they couldn't compete with the tech tycoons hailing from Silicon Valley.
"I'm just heading to class early."
All bright smiles and lilting words, she fell into step beside him. Nothing ever swayed her upbeat demeanor. Or her addiction to all products shiny and sparkly. "I think I saw a makeup company CEO earlier."
"As to be expected."
"Still surprises me how so many people have a private jet. Think they'll let me borrow one?"
"Doubtful." Aarav adjusted his glasses. "Where would you even go anyway?"
"France. Always wanted to go but my parents never have time."
He snorted. "Typical."
"What? I want to see the Eiffel Tower." Iris giggled. "And the styles. Like Paris is known for being the fashion capital."
"Yes, let's visit a foreign country for the clothing." He rolled his eyes but a faint smile tugged at his lips.
"See, now you're catching on." She winked and linked her arm through Aarav's as though they were two best friends in elementary skipping along the playground. Although right now, he didn't have the energy to do much more than drag his feet on the shiny floor.
A flash of blond hair made him blink. Aarav squinted through his lenses. Liam Sinclair stood at the head of a circle with his father, bright-eyed and laughing. His track and cross country teammate. His childhood friend of over a decade.
Their families had been acquainted for many years with the Sinclairs being the first to welcome Aarav's parents when they first moved into the new luxury home. Inviting them into the world of the wealthy and privileged.
"We should go shopping sometime," Iris declared with a flourish, making his head swivel in her direction.
He blinked. Had he heard her right? Trailing behind the girl while she piled glittering clothes and makeup into a cart wasn't his idea of fun.
"Yes, shopping. You'll get a makeover."
For the past year or so, Aarav had worn virtually the same outfit for every day of school. A collared shirt with a blazer or sweater thrown over. Occasionally a dressy button-down if he had a presentation. Respectable enough for Amma to let him out the house but not too time-consuming.
Aarav fiddled with his watch and straightened his glasses. Between college applications and settling into classes and papers for the upcoming debate tournament, he wasn't sure he had the energy for a shopping trip. The mere thought of standing in a high-end department store with overly perky employees exhausted him.
"We'll see." He pressed his lips into a firm line. Perhaps he'd find downtime to fit in an outing with Iris. After all, it was senior year, the last year he'd see his friends before everyone headed off to college.
Iris poked his shoulder. "Remember, I'm not forgetting this."
"Can't you just go with Madison?" Madison and Iris were longtime friends, the same way he and Liam were. Surely she'd be better match.
"Because," she said slowly, as though explaining rocket science to a toddler, "you need an intervention. A fashion intervention."
Aarav sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Meanwhile, Iris dissolved into a fit of giggles. Clearly, she was looking forward to dragging him along to torture.