The Select (11 page)

She felt Tim's elbow bump her
ribs.

"Wink, nudge, poke," he
whispered.

Quinn ignored him. "Maybe that's my
chance," she said to Marge. "What's his name?"

"Crawford. Matthew
Crawford."

"Are you going to be calling him?
Maybe he's just had car trouble or something."

"Well, then," she sniffed
as she picked up her phone, "
he
should have called
us
. Whatever the cause, I'll have to
check with Dr. Alston first. Then we'll call." She smiled at Quinn.
"This could be your lucky day, hon."

Quinn stepped back so as not to appear
to be listening. She dragged Tim with her to the row of chairs by
the door, then sat there straining to hear. Marge's end of the
conversation was garbled but she heard her hang up and dial another
number. Matt's?

If so, Mrs. Crawford, Quinn's mother's
old high school friend, would tell Marge the truth—as she knew
it.

Quinn crossed her fingers and
waited.

She heard Marge slam her receiver into
its cradle.

"Matthew Crawford's not
coming!"

Quinn heard cheers from Claire and
Evelyn. She grabbed Tim's hand and squeezed, then realized what she
was doing and let go.

"It's okay," Tim said. "I wash them
regularly. Twice a week sometimes."

Marge was up at the counter, motioning
Quinn closer. Her face was flushed.

"He's not coming!" she said as Quinn
approached. "He decided to go to Yale Med instead!"

"And he didn't let you know?" Tim
said, leaning against the counter beside her. "What a
cad!"

"He wasn't there—off to Yale
already—but I spoke to his mother and she said as far as she knows
he sent us a letter last month. She couldn't imagine why we never
received it."

"Probably never sent it," Tim muttered
with convincing disgust. "You know how these rich kids
are—"

Quinn kicked his ankle. He was getting
carried away.

"Can I take his spot?" Quinn
said.

"If it was up to me, honey, you'd be
on your way to the registrar. But it's up to Dr. Alston and the
admissions committee. I'll do my damndest for you,
though."

As she returned to her desk and tapped
a number into her phone, Tim leaned closer.

"Why'd you kick me?"

"You're overdoing it."

"You mean Robert DeNiro doesn't have
to worry about me?"

"It might be better if you hung back a
little...like in one of the chairs."

Tim shrugged. "Okay. But you're having
all the fun."

Some fun. This was murder. Quinn
turned and clung to the counter, hanging on Marge's every
word.

"Dr. Alston? It's Marge, down at the
office...Yes, we called him...No, apparently he's decided to go to
Yale instead...That's right, sir...No, I don't know why...Yes, sir,
I certainly can do that, but I think you should know, one of the
wait-list students is right here...Dr. Alston? Are you
there?...Yes, sir, she's been hanging around all day in the hope
that something like this would happen...I know, sir. Not in my
memory either. Her name's...let me see..." Marge smiled and winked
at Quinn as she made a noisy show of shuffling through the papers
on her desk. "Here it is: Cleary...Quinn Cleary. Yes, sir. I'll do
that, sir. Do you want me to start making those calls now?..Okay.
I'll wait...Right sir."

She hung up and approached Quinn. Her
air was conspiratorial.

"Well, Quinn, honey,
you've sure thrown Dr. Alston a curve. He wanted me to start
calling the waiting list immediately, starting with number one and
working my way down. When I told him you were here, he was actually
speechless. And if you knew Dr. Alston you'd know that he's
never
speechless. He's
never heard of a wait-list student hanging around on registration
day. He's going to check your application and talk to the
committee."

Quinn felt lightheaded. Her knees
wobbled. She struggled for a breath to speak.

"Then I have a chance?"

"You sure do. Better than
you think. Because just between you and me, if I get the word to
start calling the waiting list, there's a
very
good chance that most of them
will already be committed to other schools, and those that aren't,
well," her voice sank to a whisper, "they may not be home, if you
know what I mean."

"I wouldn't want you doing anything
like that for me," Quinn said. "You might be risking your
job."

Marge patted her hand. "You let me
worry about that. Meanwhile, take a seat by your friend over there
and we'll see what happens."

*

"I smell a rat."

Dr. Walter Emerson was startled by
Arthur's vehemence. He'd known Arthur Alston for years and had
always thought of him as a phlegmatic sort.

"Do you, Arthur? I'm the one who does
most of the rat studies here, so if anyone should recognize that
smell, it's me. And I don't."

"Really, Walter," Alston sniffed.
"This is serious business. I don't think any of us should take it
lightly."

Walter glanced around the conference
room at the "us" to whom Arthur was referring. The Ingraham's
admissions committee—or at least most of it—all top specialists in
their fields, sat around the polished table in the oak-paneled
conference room: Arthur Alston, Phyllis Miles, Harold Cohen, Steven
Mercer, Michael Cofone, and Walter himself. Although Arthur was the
Director, Senator Whitney was the powerhouse; he represented the
Kleederman Foundation and had veto power. He would be flying in
later for his annual welcoming address to the first-year
students.

"I'm not taking it lightly, Arthur,"
Walter said. "But I see no point in viewing this as some sort of
conspiracy."

"You've got to admit it looks
suspicious," Arthur said, tapping the table top with the eraser end
of a pencil. "The applicant who turned us down and the wait-listed
one in question are both from Connecticut. I don't know about you
but I find it a little hard to swallow that as mere
coincidence."

So did Walter, but he wasn't going to
admit it. Not just yet. He'd been oddly thrilled when he'd learned
that the unorthodox student sitting on their doorstep was Quinn
Cleary, that bright young woman with whom he'd been so taken when
he'd interviewed her. He'd recommended her highly and had been
disappointed when she'd been wait listed.

"Granted, they're both from
Connecticut, but they live nowhere near each other. They went to
different high schools in different counties, went to different
colleges. There may be a connection, but it's certainly not
obvious."

"Exactly. That's why I
said I
smell
a
rat. I haven't found one yet." He looked around the table. "Does
anyone else have anything to add?"

Cohen and Mercer said no, Cofone and
Miles shook their heads. They seemed largely indifferent. And why
not? None of them had ever met Quinn Cleary. But Walter had. If
only there was some way he could convey his enthusiasm for
her.

"All right, then," Arthur said. "We'll
follow the usual procedure and start calling the wait-listed
applicants in order. And if by some stretch of the imagination we
have no takers by the time we reach Miss Cleary —"

"Can I say one more thing,
Arthur?"

"Walter, we haven't got all
day."

"Just hear me out," Walter
said, rising and walking slowly around the table. "Last winter we
made out a list that we put on hold for possible admission to The
Ingraham. All but one took that lying down. Miss Cleary did not.
She took the initiative of coming down here on registration day in
the hope of being admitted. Her chances were slim to none, but she
did it anyway. That takes determination, that takes
desire
."

"Or insider knowledge," Arthur said.
"She might very well have known that this Crawford was not going to
show up. The two of them might have cooked up this entire scenario
together."

"Then I say,
Bravo
! More power to
her. If your suspicions are true, then all the more reason to
accept her. We're always saying we want students with something
extra, something that's not reflected in the grade point average,
aren't we? Well, here it is. In spades. This young woman is utterly
determined to come here. She will not take no for an answer. Isn't
this the caliber of student we're looking for? With the training
and direction The Ingraham can give her, won't she be one
hell
of a force in the
outside world? Nothing is going to stand in this woman's way. Isn't
this what The Ingraham is all about?"

"But—" Arthur began.

"Plus she's female," Walter said,
pressing on. He had the other committee members' attention, could
see the growing interest in their eyes. He was not going to let
Arthur break his stride now. "The Ingraham is constantly criticized
for not taking enough women. Here's a chance to accept a woman who
has the potential of doing more than any ten other students on that
wait list combined. I say to hell with the rest of the wait list.
We accept Quinn Cleary now."

"But the Kleederman equation
questions," Arthur said. "She missed one."

"Negative thinking, Arthur," Walter
said, wagging his finger. "She may have answered only two of the
three, but she got them both right. And if she'd got all three, she
would have been one of our first choices for acceptance, am I
correct?"

"Yes." His tone was reluctant.
"But—"

"But nothing. She got two
right. That's enough. She didn't get the third wrong, she simply
didn't do it. Maybe she missed it. Maybe she wasn't sure and she
was going to come back to it but ran out of time. It doesn't
matter. She got two
right
. She qualifies, Arthur. And
she'll be a credit to The Ingraham."

"I don't know, Walter..."

It was Arthur's first show of
uncertainty. Walter leapt to the advantage. He faced the other
four.

"What do you say?" He met the stares
of Cohen, Mercer, Cofone, and Miles one by one. "Do we take her in,
or do we tell her that initiative, tenacity, and determination have
no place at The Ingraham and send her packing? Which will it
be?"

"Accepting a woman in place of a male
will cause rooming problems, but that's why we have extra rooms,"
Mercer said. "I'm for taking her."

Cofone nodded. "Sure. Why
not?"

"After all, she's already here," Cohen
said.

Phyllis Miles frowned. "I'm not saying
this because I'm the only woman here, but The Ingraham could use
another female in the incoming class. It's terribly
unbalanced."

"Then it's done!" Walter
said.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Not quite.
I'll have to run this by the senator. He should be arriving within
the hour. I'll show him Cleary's record and convey to him the
sentiments of the committee."

"And what are your sentiments, Arthur?
Are you actively opposed?"

"I don't like prospective students to
try and pull a fast one, but since I have no hard proof, I shall
not contend against her. If she meets with the approval of you five
and with the senator, then I shall go along."

Good, Walter thought. Only one more
hurdle, and that might be a tough one. It was difficult sometimes
to predict how the Senator and the Kleederman Foundation would
react.

*

The wait didn't
just
seem
endless—it
was
endless.

Hours on those hard, narrow chairs in
the Admissions Office. Quitting time had come and gone for Marge
and Claire and Evelyn but all three had stayed on, encouraging her,
warning her not to give up hope.

"Dr. Alston didn't tell me to start
polling the waiting list," Marge kept saying. "That's got to mean
something— something good."

Tim was optimistic too: "As long as they
haven't sent you packing, you're still in the game."

And then someone was walking down the
Administration Building's deserted main corridor, coming their way.
The five of them huddled on their seats, waiting. Quinn could
barely breathe. A graying head with thick white eyebrows poked
through the doorway.

"Miss Cleary?"

"Yes?" Quinn said, rising,
trembling.

"There you are." He smiled. "Do you
remember me?"

"Of course. You're Dr. Emerson. You
interviewed me last winter."

"Right. And recommended you very
highly."

"Thank you."

"Well, it didn't do you much good on
the first round, I'm sad to say. But that's all water under the
bridge now. The committee has voted to let you take the place of
the no-show." He thrust out a gnarled hand. "Welcome to The
Ingraham, Miss Cleary."

Marge cried, "Yes!" and Evelyn cheered
and Claire said, "Praise the Lord!" over and over as Quinn stepped
forward on wobbly knees to shake Dr. Emerson's hand.