Prologue
POST BUBBLE BURST
I pull up the application for Texas University for the millionth time and stare at the essay question.
What is a negative experience you’ve faced in your life, and how did you overcome it?
I don’t have a freaking clue how to answer this question. How sad is that? The reality is that I’ve existed in a bubble for the last seventeen years. A safe little cocoon where everything was decided for me. From the clothes I wear to the boy I date, to the school that I attend. Honestly, if you asked me a week ago, I never thought I would be sitting here applying to one of the most prestigious schools in the country because I thought I knew what my future looked like.
I’ve grown up in one of the oldest towns in Texas, Willow Springs, also known as the heart of Texas. My father is the mayor of Willow Springs and my mother is what one could only describe as the first lady of Willow Springs, in every sense of the word. They were both born and raised here, and this is most definitely home.
Life in the bubble has been… predictable. Safe. And if it weren’t for my lifelong friends, I would venture to say it’s been a bit boring. Though there have been many happy memories, not many are because I chose to create them. I now realize that my life was mapped out for me long before I even entered the world.
And I thought all of this was normal, but recent events have opened my eyes. My thinking has shifted. My perspective irrevocably changed.
You could say the bubble has burst and for the first time in my life I’ve started thinking about my own dreams. About what I want. I’ve been so busy living the life expected of me, that I forgot to think about the life that I wanted to live.
Texas University has one of the most competitive journalism programs in the country, and it’s something that I’d like to pursue. I know in my heart that this is where I want to go to school. This is the path that I want to take.
As I stare at this question, I realize that I don’t have an answer because I’ve never been allowed to make choices for myself. But now, I want to chase my dreams and see where they take me.
So, do I tell them the truth… that I’ve never dealt with these types of experiences… and risk not getting in? Or tell them what I think they want to hear, like I’ve done my entire life?
Because I know what I want now.
And I’m ready to spread my wings and fly.
Chapter One
PRE-BUBBLE-BURST
Adelaide
Three Months Earlier
I grabbed a bag of chips and five bottles of water and made my way downstairs. My girlfriends were on their way over, and we always met at my house, as we had a finished basement. It meant privacy, aside from my nosy baby sister, Clementine, who wished she were a Magic Willow. We’d made her an honorary Willow, because of birthright and all of that good stuff. But our meetings were private, and just for us.
The five of us had grown up together. We met in kindergarten, and by fifth grade we were inseparable.
Maura, Adelaide, Gigi, Ivy, and Coco.
The first initial of each of our names spelled out the word magic—and the Magic Willows were born. Ivy was our president because the girl took our rituals to a whole new level. She documented everything, as we kept endless notebooks that were bursting at the seams. The cool thing… every memory of our lives thus far was in the pages of these books. They were like modern-day slam books from old 80s movies, aside from the fact that they weren’t about other people, they were about us. Photographs, journal entries, stickers, and even crazy memorabilia like Coco’s training bra because she was thrilled when she needed a real bra. She donated hers to our memory book. My cheer captain letter, Ivy’s varsity soccer letter, Gigi’s Presidential charity award, and Maura’s family’s secret barbecue recipe that she stole from her grandmother. They were all glued into the pages of the most recent leather-bound book. We’d have this to pass down someday to who? Our kids maybe? Or maybe we’d just sit around a bonfire when we were old and gray and look back and laugh at all the memories we’d shared. It was all there. From crushes, to first kisses and lost virginities. From fights with our parents, breakups with our boyfriends, and disagreements with one another.
Coco was the first one to slip in through the exterior door down in the basement. Of the five of us, she was the most independent. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a fire that could never be squashed. Much to the disappointment of her parents.
“Before everyone gets here and Ivy insists on documenting what I’m about to tell you, I thought I’d fill you in first. I don’t want this in the book until I have enough evidence to back my claim,” Coco said as she dropped to sit on the turquoise velvet sectional.
Our basement looked like an ad straight out of a Z Gallerie catalog. It was a bit boujee for a downstairs recreation space. Have I mentioned that my mother is a perfectionist? Our home sat on Willow Lake and had been featured in Texas Home Magazine more than once. My mother’s lush pink and red azaleas trailed a path down to the water, and our home was what she liked to call Texas Chic. It was most definitely a magazine-worthy abode, much more so than a space where people actually resided. But it was pretty, so I wasn’t complaining.
I dropped to sit beside her and handed her a water. “Are we still on the adoption kick?”
Coco had recently come to the conclusion that she was most likely adopted. She didn’t look like her parents or her sister, and she certainly didn’t act like them. She called them country club snobs, and Coco was all about skinny dipping at the lake and shot gunning beers.
“Um, Addy, I need you to really take this shit seriously. I went through a box of old photos this morning. There are all these pictures of my mother pregnant with the princess, and not one of her pregnant with me. Explain that.”
The princess was Whitney Radcliff, Coco’s older sister. The girl was a junior at Texas University, one of the most prestigious colleges in our great state, where she studied marketing. But she’d made it very clear that she was striving to be the most successful influencer since the Kardashians before she graduated college. She’d done the pageant circuit for as long as I could remember and was a bit of a celebrity in our town. Her parents always doted on her, leaving my best friend to play second fiddle most of her life.
My head tipped back in laughter. “Okay, okay. But that does not mean you were adopted. Maybe she just didn’t take as many pictures with her second pregnancy.”
She shook her head, tugging at her off-the-shoulder black tank top with irritation. Of the five of us, Coco was the hipster one in the group. She dressed edgy, rocking her Doc Martens, and jean cut-off shorts, which infuriated her mother. It was very un-southern of her, and I loved it. She was gorgeous and unique, and sometimes I wondered what it would feel like to break the rules now and again like Coco.