Georgetown: accepted. UCSF: accepted.
Joy and pride swept through me. None of these universities were easy to get into, so my odds for UCSC were good. Even so, I held my breath as I tore open that last envelope.
If I got in, I could stay in the city I loved, surrounded by forests and ocean…
Dear Miss McNamara,
Our board of professionally-trained Admissions readers have conducted an in-depth review of your academic and personal achievements and feel you have a demonstrated capacity to contribute to the intellectual and cultural life at UCSC. Congratulations! Accept your offer of admission through our online portal no later than the May 1 deadline…
“I did it. Holy shit…”
The paper wafted to the floor, and I clapped a hand to my mouth. For the first time in months, I felt something other than stomach-churning tension and heartache. All of the late nights studying, the college prep units I’d worked so hard to complete, volunteering at the hospital and with Nancy, the SAT and ACT scores I’d stressed over…it had all paid off.
Dad came home looking harried and exhausted: rumpled shirt, tie askew.
“Hey, pumpkin.” He kissed the top of my head and managed a smile. His gaze went to the acceptance letters, and his eyes widened. “Get some good news?”
“The best news. UCSC said yes.” I waved the envelope. “The others did too, but this is the golden ticket. I can stay here and…” My words trailed as my dad’s expression collapsed. “Dad?”
“That’s great, Violet.” He gave me a short, tense hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” I said warily. “So…we need to talk about the next steps.”
“Yes, we do. Better get your mother down here.” He sounded like he’d ordered his own executioner.
“She’s out with some friends from work. She texted to say she’d be home late.”
He sighed and loosened his tie as he slid onto a stool beside me. “Maybe that’s for the best.” He eyed the stack of acceptance letters. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. I tried.”
My heart plummeted to my stomach. “What do you mean?”
“The promise we made on your twelfth birthday. I wanted more than anything to uphold it. But…I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I sat back, absorbing this like a blow. “Okay. How bad is it?”
His eyes—the same dark blue as mine—were heavy and so, so tired. “Not great. I don’t want to get into details—”
“I want you to get into details. For so long, I’ve been nodding my head and going along with your assurances. Dad…” I clutched the sleeve of his jacket. “Just tell me the truth.”
“You don’t need the nitty-gritty,” he said. “But yes, things have been tough lately, and we’ve had to pull money from various sources, your fund being one. I had a deal that was supposed to cover it, but…it fell through. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.”
He looked on the verge of tears.
“I knew it,” I said. “Somehow I always knew. I applied for scholarships, but the merit-based kind are hard to win and none will cover everything. I’ll need financial aid.” I glared at him. “Will I need financial aid? You never tell me anything. And you said not to worry. I trusted you and Mom…”
God, Miller is right. Trust is such a stupid thing to bank a future on.
“I know you did,” Dad said. “But I was so close. The deal felt like such a sure thing—”
“What deal?”
“An app I’d been working on. But there were…patent issues.” He waved his hand. “It’s not important. What’s important is fixing this. I wanted so badly for you to avoid starting your life with massive debt.” He brightened with a watery optimism that made my heart crack in two. “But there are other scholarships that I’m sure you qualify for. More than qualify.”
“There are,” I said slowly. “But the application deadlines on most of them have probably passed or are about to. There’s no time.”
“For Fall. But you could apply for Spring next year.”
My eyes stung as they met his. We both knew I’d been busting my ass for years to get ahead. If I were to be a surgeon, I was going to be in med school for the better part of my young adult life. I wanted to be finished with it and begin a career and have a family as soon as possible.