SOFIA

"Why do you think you're not MIT material?" She looked at me unbelievingly.

"Because it's MIT," I said.

"Yeah, exactly. They have the best architectural program in the world."

As if I didn't know. I put her head against the wall and looked at the ceiling. My hands fumbled with the cushions on my side. "I have not the slightest chance of getting into MIT."

"Why not? You're intelligent, you are one of the best students in our year, you've worked for this for years, you're –"

I looked at her with raised eyebrows and I could see she was angry at herself for not finding more reasons.

"Colleges in that league are looking for people who are more than that. People who are leaders are most likely going to change the world. People like you, not people like me. I'll be happy if they'll accept me at UMA or Clemson."

She shook my head vehemently while sitting down in front of me. Our knees touched slightly, she put my hands on my thighs and got close up to my face. "You're not aiming high enough."

I swallowed and put my hands on her shoulders in an attempt to keep her at a safe distance. Well, a distance at which I can concentrate. "Helen, look. I am not like you. I don't have the aims that you do. My aim is to have a solid education and a good job afterward. Also, I only have a week left until early admissions that's not enough time to write five essays." I let myself fall to the side. She followed my movements and lay on her stomach, her chin in her hand.

Suddenly, she seemed to realize something. "Wait, you looked it up. You are interested in MIT."

I rolled my eyes and sighed deeply.

"Don't you want to go to the school where Ieoh Ming Pei went?"

I turned my head in her direction and raised one eyebrow. "You know who Ieoh Ming Pei is?"

She nodded assuringly. She had probably googled "Famous MIT alumni" but I appreciated the effort.

"I'm more interested in being taught by Adèle Naudé Santos to be honest."

"See! That's a good reason. Come one. MIT right around the corner from Harvard. We can go for coffee and to parties and once we're allowed to move off-campus, we can live together."

Shaking my head, I said, "Yeah, an excellent reason to include into an admission's essay: My Harvard friend wants to go get coffee from time to time."

"It shows that you are dedicated to your friends."

"Just leave it, Helen," I said.

"You can always apply in January."

I got into a seating position, took my laptop, and opened it. "I think it's time to get back to this, don't you think?"

"Please think about it at least."

I kept Helen company as often as I could. I felt like she could use it.

I had been over at her house after school most days, sometimes we talked, sometimes learned lines together, sometimes did homework, sometimes lay silently next to each other on my bed, each of us immersed in a book. Helen had the habit to laugh out loud when she read. I would look up at her and she took that as an invitation to tell me about it. We would read passages out loud if they were particularly well written or witty or important. I had taken Mrs. Carter's advice and read Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng, she had just started reading a novel by British-Turkish author Elif Shafak whose way with words was simply extraordinary.

Friday afternoon, we had sat on the floor in her room, talked about Mexico and when she said that she would love to go there, I offered to teach her some Mexican slang.

"The most Mexican thing to say is 'No manches' which means like 'No way'. Or 'Shut up!' the way it's used in The Princess Diaries."

"No manches," she repeated. I nodded.

"Then there's 'wey' which means dude and Mexicans use it a lot. 'Si wey', 'No manches, wey'. Other than that... Do you use 'Qué onda?' – no, I think that's a Mexican thing too."