Chapter 2
My father read the university's email three times.
Then he placed my phone carefully on the coffee table.
"Denise, tell me you didn't do this."
My mother stared at him.
"I was protecting our family."
He shook his head.
"You went into our daughter's account and rejected her scholarship?"
"She was making a mistake."
"That wasn't your decision."
My mother raised her voice.
"I'm her mother!"
"And I'm her father," he answered. "But neither of us owns her future."
I stood beside the sofa, holding the torn acceptance letter.
I had never felt so powerless.
The scholarship was worth more than two hundred thousand dollars over four years.
But it wasn't the amount that mattered most.
It was what the scholarship represented.
A chance to study biomedical engineering.
A chance to work in research laboratories.
A chance to become the kind of scientist I had dreamed of becoming ever since my grandmother gave me a microscope for my tenth birthday.
And my mother had thrown that chance away without asking me.
"Dad," I whispered, "what if they won't take me back?"
He turned toward me.
"We're going to contact them."
"The email says the decision is final."
"Then we're going to explain what happened."
My mother laughed.
"Do you really think a university will care about family arguments?"
My father stared at her.
"This isn't an argument, Denise. You impersonated your daughter."
She folded her arms.
"I used an account I helped her create."
"That doesn't give you permission to make decisions for her."
My mother looked toward me.
"Tell your father how many times I reminded you to finish your applications."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Mom, I filled them out myself."
"And who paid for your internet? Your computer? Your school supplies?"
My father stepped forward.
"Enough."
His voice was so firm that she stopped speaking.
He turned toward me.
"Get your laptop."
I ran upstairs.
My bedroom was filled with reminders of the future I had planned.
University brochures covered my desk.
A calendar displayed important application dates.
Beside my bed stood a small suitcase I had bought from a secondhand store.
I had been saving money from tutoring younger students to purchase everything I would need.
Now the suitcase looked like a cruel joke.
I opened my laptop and tried to access my university account.
The password didn't work.
I tried again.
Invalid password.
My stomach dropped.
I clicked the password recovery option.
A notice appeared.
The recovery email had been changed.
I stared at the screen.
Someone had locked me out.
I carried the laptop downstairs.
"Dad, I can't get in."
He examined the screen.
Then he looked toward my mother.
"Did you change her password too?"
She said nothing.
That silence told us everything.
My father picked up his phone.
He searched for the admissions office's official telephone number.
It was late afternoon, but the university's main switchboard was still operating.
He explained that we needed to report unauthorized activity on an applicant account.
A representative transferred us to an admissions counselor named Mrs. Eleanor Brooks.
I sat beside my father while he explained the situation.
Mrs. Brooks listened carefully.
Then she asked to speak with me.
"Maya, can you confirm whether you personally submitted the scholarship declination?"
"No, ma'am."
"Did you authorize anyone to submit it for you?"
"No."
"Did you share your account password?"
I hesitated.
"My mother helped me create the account last year. I thought she was just helping me."
Mrs. Brooks paused.
"I understand."
My heart pounded.
"Does that mean I've lost my scholarship?"
"I can't promise anything today," she said gently. "But unauthorized account activity is something we take seriously."
I gripped the phone.
"What should I do?"
She explained that I needed to submit a written statement confirming that the declination was unauthorized.
The university would also require identity verification and a review of the account's activity.
"If we confirm the circumstances, the admissions committee can consider whether the scholarship offer may be reinstated."
Hope flickered inside me.
"So there's a chance?"
"Yes, Maya. There is."
I closed my eyes.
"Thank you."
Before ending the call, Mrs. Brooks asked another question.
"Have you submitted any additional financial documents to our office recently?"
I frowned.
"No."
"Not even an updated family contribution statement?"
I looked at my father.
He shook his head.
"No," I said.
Mrs. Brooks sounded concerned.
"Then we need to review something else."
My heart began racing again.
"What?"
"Your file contains a recent declaration stating that your family has experienced a major financial change and that you no longer intend to enroll."
I stared at my mother.
She was standing near the kitchen entrance.
For the first time, she looked genuinely nervous.
"I didn't submit that."
Mrs. Brooks was quiet for a moment.
"All right. Please include that in your statement."
After the call, my father opened a document and helped me write down everything that had happened.
We included the torn acceptance letter.
The university's confirmation email.
The account access problem.
And the financial declaration I had never submitted.
When we finished, my father sent the materials through the official reporting channel.
Then he turned toward my mother.
"Denise, I want the truth."
She sighed.
"I already told you."
"No. You told us what you wanted us to believe."
He stood.
"Why did you submit a financial declaration?"
She looked away.
"Because things are difficult."
"What things?"
"The salon isn't doing well."
My father frowned.
"What does that have to do with Maya's scholarship?"
My mother walked toward the window.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
She turned around.
"I've spent eighteen years giving everything to this family. And now everybody acts like I should be happy when my daughter decides to leave."
I felt tears gathering again.
"Mom, going to college doesn't mean I don't love you."
She pointed at me.
"Then why do you need to go so far away?"
"Because that's where the program is."
"Atlanta has colleges."
"Not with this scholarship."
My father stepped between us again.
"Denise, we're done arguing about her right to go."
My mother glared at him.
Then she said something that changed the conversation.
"Fine. Let her go."
I stared at her.
She smiled bitterly.
"But when the bank takes everything, don't come crying to me."
My father went still.
"What bank?"
She looked away.
"Nothing."
"Denise."
"I said nothing."
He moved closer.
"Are we in financial trouble?"
My mother didn't answer.
I watched my father's face.
For years, he had trusted my mother to manage the household finances because she had always been organized and careful.
Now he looked as frightened as I felt.
"Denise, did you borrow money against the house?"
She shook her head too quickly.
"No."
"Then why are you talking about the bank taking everything?"
She grabbed her purse.
"I can't do this right now."
My father blocked the doorway.
"We need to talk."
She pushed past him.
"I'm going to the salon."
The front door slammed.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then my father sat down heavily.
I approached him.
"Dad?"
He looked up.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Is our house in trouble?"
He tried to smile.
"I don't know."
It was the first time I had ever heard my father admit that.
I sat beside him.
He put his arm around me.
"We'll figure it out."
But I could feel how tense he was.
That evening, while we waited for my mother's return, I received another email from Bellmont University.
It contained a copy of the financial declaration.
I opened it.
At the bottom was a signature.
My signature.
Except I had never written it.
Beneath the signature was a statement claiming I intended to withdraw from college to work full-time in my mother's beauty salon.
I showed my father.
His face hardened.
Then he noticed something printed at the top.
An attachment reference.
A bank account number.
And beside it, a name.
Williams Family Education Fund.
My father stared at the screen.
"What education fund?"
I swallowed.
"I don't know."
He leaned closer.
Then he whispered something that made my stomach twist.
"Maya, your grandmother left you money for college."
I looked at him.
"What?"
May you like
His expression changed from confusion to horror.
"And I think your mother has been hiding it from both of us."
