The younger kids file in with Summer and we all settle in, my father saying grace at the head of the table. It’s just another weeknight dinner, the quiet spots filled by the clinking of silverware on ceramic.
“Oh, Waverly,” Mom says. “You got a letter from the University of Utah today.”
My stomach balls into a tight knot. I swallow my bite of mashed potatoes and wash it down with a drink of ice water. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for all year.
Shouldn’t it be a packet and not a letter? Does that mean I didn’t get in? And why so late? Fall semester starts in three months.
“May I?” I ask.
Mom nods toward the mail center in the kitchen where I dig through until I find my letter. My heart is pounding. I open the red envelope with one neat tear and pull out the three page letter, bracing myself for rejection.
Dear Waverly Miller,
Please find enclosed your original acceptance letter, sent to you on the fourth of March. We have yet to hear back from you, and your response is required by June 30th. Please fill out the attached form with your decision, and return it in the envelope provided.
I flip to the second page, heart pounding.
Congratulations! It is with great pleasure that we offer you admission to the English Literature program at the University of Utah. You were selected from an extraordinarily talented group of applicants, and for that reason, we are also offering you our Calcott Scholarship which covers approximately 50% of your tuition.
I stop there. I don’t need to read further.
“What is it?” Mom asks from the table.
I spin around, grinning big as if I just won the lottery. “I got in.”
Mom’s eyes snap down to her plate as she clears her throat. She’s not excited for me. I understand. I’m still her baby. She doesn’t want me to leave the nest yet. And she doesn’t think I need to go away to college either. We’ve had the “there are other options” talk.
She exchanges looks with my father. Everyone else is silent.
“They said they sent the original letter months ago.” I clutch the papers against my chest.
“We get a lot of mail, Waverly,” Dad says. “I’m sure it was thrown out by mistake.”
I don’t care. I’m not letting anyone ruin this moment for me. I grab a pen and sign my name along the dotted line before anyone can stop me.
Bellamy shoves the peas around on her plate. I don’t even think she paid attention to a word of what’s going on. She’s texting someone under the table, and it makes me mad only because I’m still not allowed to have a phone. She claims it’s for her job, but that thing never leaves her side.
Jensen rises from the table and walks over to me, offering me the world’s cheesiest high-five and a sincere smile. Out of everyone in my family, he’s the only one who appears to be happy for me.
It hurts.
“Dad, isn’t this great?” I search my father’s face for an ounce of joy, something that tells me he’s proud. He promised. He said if I could land at least a partial scholarship, I could go away for school.
“Good work, kid.” He takes a sip from his iced tea goblet, his eyes averted. That hurts, too.
Where’s the praise? Where’s the fanfare?
I smile through tears that threaten to fall, my eyes stinging when I blink. I don’t want them to see me cry. I don’t want Jensen to see me cry, either.
I don’t care what anyone says, I’m going to Utah. I’m getting my degree. Marriage and babies will be there when I’m done.
“Oh, Jensen and Waverly,” Kath says. “I signed you both up for Camp Zion.”
Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Camp Zion?”
“It’s an LDS summer camp, of sorts,” Mark says, clearing his throat. “Morning devotions, faith-building classes. Just remember, you mustn’t let on that we’re not LDS, but this is a great program. Might open your eyes a bit to a more… righteous path?”
“It runs for about eight weeks at Whispering Hills Community College,” Summer says, salting her dinner and smiling. “Monday through Friday, eight to three. Just like school. Honor, Justice, and True will be attending the half-day session.”
“Do I have an option?” Jensen’s face pinches. “Like, did anyone think to ask me if I wanted to attend?”
“Jensen.” Kath tilts her head at him, her voice a light slap on the wrist.
“No, Jensen. You do not have an option.” My father’s voice is staccato and gruffness mixed together. “Teenagers need structure in the summer. Idle minds are dangerous minds.”
I throw him a look, silently warning him not to argue. Dad will never change his mind about this. Plus it’s my last hurdle, my last chance to prove I’m worthy of going out on my own for a few years. If I can get through Camp Zion and make him happy, I’ll have nothing more to prove.