—This meeting? Yes, I believe so, Dean Geller said. She turned to the old man, deferring to him voluntarily for the first time all afternoon. Dean Tompkins?
—We’ve concluded the proceedings, yes. You are free to go, Lizet. We wish you the best of luck, young lady.
I pushed back from the table and couldn’t help but think of my sister, the sound of her name the last word in the room. Like they even know anything, she would tell me now. Don’t listen to those people, what do they know about anything? She’d managed to get herself on TV just as she’d planned, hadn’t she? Couldn’t that count as a culture of success? I gathered the four sheets in my hands, tapping them against the table into a stack as I stood.
—Oh, no Lizet, sorry for not making that clear, the old man—Dean Tompkins—said as he raised his hand to his glasses. The signed copy is for the college’s records. Please leave that here. The secretary will have a copy for you as you leave.
—As I leave? I said.
—Linda, Dean Geller snapped at him. The assistant’s name is Linda.
—Linda, yes. She’s just outside, he said. She’ll escort you out.
I left the papers there and dragged myself from the room, still half convinced that whatever I’d just signed actually gave my spot in the class of 2003 to the next person in line for it; hadn’t one of them said something to that effect? Linda—I was glad to know her name—was there again, though this time I didn’t rush by her. She clicked the door shut behind me, her hand back between my shoulder blades and pushing me forward, right up to her desk. An envelope with my name on it sat just on the desk’s edge.
I asked her if it was a copy of what I’d just signed, and she said yes.
—Did you see it, like I mean, read it? Because I don’t know –do they mean I can stay for just my freshman year, or for longer? For all four years?
She looked back at the door as if it should’ve already answered my question. The chunk of color sitting on her mouth had faded to the faint stain of fruit punch, and it showed off the saddest smile. She reached for the envelope and handed it to me.
—Oh, sweetheart, she said. Her hand went to her chest, genuinely sorry for something. You poor dear, she said. You’re staying for good, sweetheart. You came through it OK and you can stay as long as it’s worth it for you.
—Really? You read this whole thing and that’s what it means?
She made to speak but just opened her mouth, then closed it. She must’ve thought I was an idiot, to have just sat through that whole meeting but still need to ask her this. She put her hands on my shoulders and almost whispered, I’m the one who types these up, and I promise you, you came through this fine. It’s complicated, but you’ll figure it out on your own time. You’re a very smart person. They wouldn’t let you stay if that weren’t true. OK?
I made the mistake of hugging her—standing on my toes to throw my arms around her neck as I crumpled my copy of the letter against her back. She didn’t seem to mind the hug. She even did her best to hug me back.