"Absolutely," I say. "I was ready last year because this is what I want to do. And even though I'm really grateful that I'm alive and okay, I'm desperate to get back to doing what I love."
She smiles. "Okay, so tell me why you want to direct and more importantly, why you want to study at NYU to get there."
This, I can do. I take a deep breath and launch into the rehearsed speech that I've prepared—the one that I kept reciting in the car. But I'm suddenly making edits on the fly about how much I want to do this, and they're true. This version of the speech is more passionate, because now that I'm here, I can once again taste the creative freedom that this will bring, and I want that. More than I've ever wanted anything. Well, almost.
In an instant my mind flashes to Peter, because being with him was easily the one thing I wanted most. And then I shove him out of my head because he doesn't belong here. It feels like I'm talking for a long time, but I have a lot to say. More than I realize.
Finishing up, I kind of end awkwardly, but the woman smiles. "I can tell you're serious about this."
"I am."
She clears her throat and glances over all the papers in front of her. "Normally our admission team likes to see a little more hands-on work on an application. But this," she reaches down and opens a drawer, putting a large manila envelope on the desk, “really shifted the scales."
I know it's impossible because of the pacemaker, but it feels like my heart skips a beat. What is that? I've never seen that package before and I have no idea what's inside it. She could have my birth certificate in there, or anything, really. I swallow. "What is that?"
"We received it shortly after your initial application, and it was stored with it during your deferment. It's from Mr. Davidson, your drama teacher." Opening the envelope, she pulls out an envelope and a three ring binder. "He sent us all the preparations you had made for your senior show, and explained all the work that went into preparing it. He also explained that your medical emergency prevented you from performing, even though you fought them tooth and nail."
She grins at me. "And even though it's unfortunate that it's not completed, this kind of work ethic and passion are exactly what we're looking for here at NYU. It has certainly helped your application, and we were eager to interview you to see if that passion could be shown in person."
I can't breathe. I thought I was prepared for every outcome in the interview, but this I didn't see coming. "Thank you." It's the only words that seem to come out.
"I'm not the person who makes the official decision, and that will come by mail, but I can tell you that I will be highly recommending you to our admissions board." She reaches across the desk, and it takes me a second to realize that she's reaching out to shake my hand. I take it, and give as firm a handshake as I can. "Congratulations, you can breathe now."
"Thank you," I say, laughing.
She stands, and moves to open the door. "I hope you enjoy the city while you're here, and just between you and me, I hope you get a chance to resurrect your senior piece here at NYU. It sounds like it would have been amazing."
All I can do is nod. I'm too stunned for anything else, and I walk out into the waiting room in a daze. She calls the next name, and I hear the door close behind me. My mom waits until that happens to come over. She sees the look on my face and is concerned. "Amber. How did it go? Are you okay? You're scaring me."
I nod. "It went great."
She puts her hand on my shoulder and guides me toward the elevator while I briefly recap what happened. She's just as surprised as I am that Mr. Davidson sent in something. I never asked him to. How did he even know where I was applying? This is so weird.
My mom is ecstatic. "This is so exciting! Let's go get some food, and you can freak out as much as you want while you're there, then we can figure out what to do with the rest of the day.”
I shake my head, nod, blink. "Yeah," I say. "Let's do that."
We're in New York, so mom decides that we need pizza, and she finds a place that's listed online as the best pizza in the city, and it's not too far from NYU. My mind is swirling as we go. I don't understand what just happened. It basically sounded like that woman said that I was an okay, average applicant, but that letter and packet showing my work from last year is what put me over the edge.
I let my mom navigate to the pizza place and pull me along while I pull out my phone. We parked our car in a lot for the next couple of days, so we're on foot. I search through my phone, and sure enough, I still have Mr. Davidson's phone number. I was checking in with him a lot during the process of my show, and sometimes it was easier to text.
"Mom, I think I need to call Mr. Davidson."
She looks over at me. "Okay, why?"
"Because it's going to drive me crazy if I don't know how he knew or why he did it."
Mom nods. She knows me well, and if I say something is going to drive me crazy, it absolutely is going to. "Well, wait until we get to the pizza place, you're not going to be able to hear anything with all the traffic."
"Good call."
It doesn't take us long to get there, and it's a sit-down place, which I don't think is normal for pizza places here, but something I'm sure my mom looked for so we didn't have to eat on the street with paper plates. She looks at the menu and orders with the waiter while I dial. Who knows if this is still his phone number, but I have to know. After a few rings, he answers.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Davidson?"
"Yes, speaking."
I clear my throat. "Mr. Davidson, this is Amber Dwyer."
"Oh!" There's recognition. "Hi Amber, how are you?"
"I'm good," I say, and I mean it. "I know it's a little strange for me to be calling, but I had a question."
"Sure," he says.
"I'm in New York City. I just had my first interview at NYU, and the admissions office had a package from you. I was just curious how I knew where I was applying, because I never asked you for a recommendation. Not that I mind, they really loved it, but I was just curious."
"Oh," he says, clearing his throat. "I thought he would have told you."
Sudden nerves pop up in my stomach. "What?"
"It was Peter. He felt so awful about everything that happened with your show that he begged me to send those to every school you applied to. He gave me a list, and even paid for all the shipping. I was happy to do it, Amber. You deserve this. If it made a difference, then that's amazing."
I thought I was confused and swirling before, but this...this is something I can barely think about. "I guess that explains it. And yes, it did make a difference, so thank you."
"Not a problem! I hope you're doing well. Drop me a line sometime and tell me what you're up to when you're rich and famous."
I laugh. "Will do, Mr. Davidson. Thanks."
"Bye, Amber."
Hanging up the phone, I stare at it for a second. Peter did this. He made him send the packages. Not package.. Packages. Mr. Davidson said he'd sent one to every school I applied to. I applied to fifteen schools because I wanted to cover my bases. I'm sure he's not saying it, but I know deep in my gut that Peter was the one who got the three ring binders and made the copies and put everything together. Because he never does anything half way.