by Morgan Rullman.

My fingers fly across my iPad, an irritated huff escaping as I’m forced to wait a few more seconds for the page to load.

My throat tightens with disappointment when my searching eyes come to rest upon the number 29, perched next to “composite score,” a number that could forever alter the course of my life. The fist encircling my throat further tightens its grip as I see the breakdown of my score. 36. 34. 25. 21. Tears prick my eyes, brought on by the dissention of numbers that, point by point, feeds the bitterness welling up inside of me. I was so close. If only I had studied a little harder, paid a bit more attention. My sight tunnels in on the number 21, failure staining my thoughts as dark as the room. I’d set my alarm for 12:01 am, the minute ACT scores would be released.

I flash back to the conversation I’d had with my grandma that had brought on such desperation. “I’ll pay for your college. Along with a year to study abroad and a monthly allowance.” she’d said, and my heart warmed with the kindness of her offer. Just as my lips parted to release a flood of gratitude, she spoke again. “If…”

I didn’t even have to hear the rest of the sentence. IF I went to the college my mom, aunt, grandma and numerous cousins attended, IF I joined the sorority every female in my family for three generations had been apart of, IF I sold four years of my life away like some women sell their bodies. Dark humor clouds my brain as I sit in stunned silence. Doesn’t she understand? This kind of pressure is exactly what I want to escape. This gilded cage beckons so temptingly, offering rewards each time I compromise myself, each time I allow a dream to slip into oblivion.

I lay in bed, overwhelmed with exhaustion at the work my goals demand. As I review what I want in life and what is needed to achieve it, I reaffirm my decision that receiving a scholarship is the only way to attend the best college in the country for my major. I can do it. I have to. Determination replaces my earlier doubt, and I select the next available ACT date. My finger doesn’t even waver as it comes down to click the button “register.”