Dad picked up a page of the application and scanned through it. He made a low whistling noise. “Tuition has really gone up, hasn’t it?”
I nodded. “There’s something about financial-aid forms on their website. Daniel for sure qualifies, but I don’t think I do.”
“Hmm.” Dad put down the application. “We’ll figure something out. Your mom used to save part of her paycheck each month for you kids. We’ve had to dip into it a bit lately, but with Jude gone …”
Mom clicked up the TV’s volume. Apparently, we were being too loud for her.
Dad leaned in close to my ear. “Was she like this the whole time I was gone?”
“On and off,” I said. “Worse sometimes. At least she ate some of her dinner tonight.”
“Might be time to consult Dr. Connors again.”
The TV volume went up another couple of decibels. I rubbed behind one of my ears.
“Make sure you don’t leave those essays until the last minute. They’re the hardest part, you know.”
“Yeah,” I said, and picked up the form with the essay questions.
Dad stroked his hand over my hair and then squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t know how we’ll manage without you here.” He picked up his planner from the kitchen counter and headed to his study.
I glanced over the essay questions. The first was the less difficult of the two: “Which artist has influenced your work the most, and why?” I could easily write up an essay on Renoir or Cassatt—if I could pick between the two. But the second question made me pause. Stumped me, actually. “How will you use your talents to make the world a better place?”
I was still mulling over the question when my ears pricked up at the mention of something on TV. I stood up from the table to see the screen better. A reporter interviewed a woman in a torn red shirt who looked vaguely familiar.
“I would have died,” the woman said. “The man with the gun said he was going to kill me. But then there was this rush of movement, and this other guy came out of nowhere and pulled the masked man off me. He told me to run, so I did. There may have been a girl there with him. I didn’t get a good look at either of them, but they saved my life.”
The camera cut back to a reporter standing in front of a news van parked outside that alley on Tidwell Street. “After being saved by an unknown person or persons, Ms. Taylor ran all the way to the police station. When authorities arrived on the scene, they found one of the alleged attackers tied up and unconscious beside a Dumpster. Authorities have not yet been able to identify or question the man, but they hope to interrogate him about a series of similar attacks in the city over the last few weeks. Police think he may have been involved with the murder of Leanne Greenwood, the waitress who was found dead near this same area last month. Although only one of Ms. Taylor’s alleged assailants was apprehended, city police are relieved that at least one dangerous criminal is off the streets tonight.”
The camera cut to an anchorman—the same one with the poufy hair from the other night. “Thank you, Carlos. And it sounds like we may have a Good Samaritan or two to thank for this arrest?”
“Yes,” the reporter in front of the van said. “Captain Morris said that this isn’t the first report of an unknown citizen helping to stop a crime in the past few weeks. Perhaps there is hope that the crime wave that has the city gripped by fear has an end in sight.”
“That is good news, Carlos,” the anchor said, and then the station cut to a commercial.
A warm feeling rushed through me. My fingers trembled as I gathered up my application papers from the table. I looked over the second essay question one more time before I slipped the forms back into the envelope.
How am I going to use my talents to make the world a better place?