Something in his expression made honesty easier than I expected. I told him about the two jobs. The four hours of sleep. The scholarship searches. The living room conversation. Without planning to, I repeated my father’s exact words.
“Not worth the investment.”
Professor Cole leaned back slightly.
“Do you know why this essay stood out?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Because it wasn’t written by someone trying to sound brilliant,” he said. “It was written by someone who understands effort.”
Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a thick folder.
“Have you heard of the Sterling Scholars Fellowship?”
I nodded. “I saw it online.”
“And?”
“And it seemed impossible.”
“Most worthwhile things do,” he said.
He placed the folder in front of me.
“I want you to apply.”
I stared at it. “I work two jobs. I barely keep up with classes. That program picks twenty students in the country.”
“Exactly,” he said calmly. “It’s for students with ability and resilience. You have both.”
“People like me don’t win things like that.”
He met my gaze without flinching. “People like you are exactly who should.”