* * *
“Miss Valentine, I presume? Right on time. Come in, come in.”
A thin woman in a camel brown blazer, tweed slacks, and wire-framed glasses ushers me into her office. The space is cluttered but cozy, with books piled on almost every surface and a perilously tall stack of file folders balanced on the corner of her desk. She grabs the one on the very top. I spot my name stamped across the tab as she flips it open.
“Let’s see here…” Her lips purse as she studies the pages before her. “So, you’ve already deferred your acceptance for one year…” Her eyes flicker up to mine. “I assume you’ve spent that time productively?”
“I’ve been interning at my parents’ organization, in Switzerland.”
“That sounds very impressive. Tell me a little about your work there.”
I know this answer by heart; I think my parents sang their mission statement to me in lieu of lullabies when I was a newborn. “VALENT is the world’s largest health nonprofit, dedicated to eradicating food insecurity in at-risk populations across the globe—”
“Spare me the corporate policy speech, Miss Valentine.” Smiling with closed lips, she pushes her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. “I want to know what you did there, what you learned, what the experience taught you. How it changed you. Or how it didn’t.” Her eyes narrow a shade. “Because, while solving world hunger is surely a worthy endeavor, it is quite a leap from your intended course of study here at Brown’s School of Design. Or is that no longer a career you are interested in pursuing?”
My mouth gapes. “Well—”
“I assure you, if you’ve changed your mind, there are thousands upon thousands of other applicants who would jump at the chance to attend an arts program as prestigious as ours.”
“I’m still very much invested in studying design here,” I say, a hint of desperation in my tone. “It’s something I’ve wanted for…forever.”
“Then why the hesitation in enrolling for the upcoming fall semester? I’ll warn you, a second gap year is generally not permitted. If you defer again, you may need to re-apply from scratch — which offers no guarantee of admission. No matter who your parents are.” She pauses tactfully, steepling her fingers on the cluttered desk. The few visible stretches of varnish are marred with rings — the imprints of a thousand past cups of coffee. “I do realize there was a rather generous endowment to our institution made by the Valentine family, so an exception could be made… but we are not in the habit of holding spots in our freshman class for students who don’t genuinely want to fill them.”
God, I want to evaporate from my chair. If I could disappear into thin air, rather than continue this conversation, I’d do it in a heartbeat. This woman thinks I’m just another trust-fund brat buying entry into her university, with no actual interest in academics. I fight the impulse to squirm under her unflinching gaze. My voice comes out thready with humiliation.
“I didn’t know about the endowment.”
“Mmm.” She sighs. “Be that as it may, we are still at a crossroads here, Miss Valentine.”
Swallowing hard, I try to gather my thoughts. “Whether I defer another year is not entirely my decision to make. My parents believe it’s important that I get some real world experience in the workforce before attending school.”
“Again, all I’m hearing is what your parents think is important. What’s important toyou, Miss Valentine?”
“No disrespect intended, Ms. Vaughn — but it’s somewhat difficult to disregard my parents, seeing as they’re the ones paying my tuition fees.”
“Fair enough.” She sits back in her leather armchair with a small squeak of springs. “Despite what you may think, I am not entirely unsympathetic to your situation, Josephine. I’ve read your file. I’ve also seen the sketch portfolio you submitted when you applied for the arts program. You’re a very smart girl with a heck of a lot of talent at your fingertips.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome. Your parents must be very proud — I can see why they want you working with them.”
My mouth opens automatically, ‘Of course they’re proud’poised on my lips. But the words never make it out. Because the truth is, Blair and Vincent aren’t proud of me. Or, if they are, they’ve certainly never taken the time to tell me so.
In the stretching silence, a worried crease appears between Ms. Vaughn’s brows. “Can I be frank with you, Miss Valentine?”
I nod.
“I know how difficult it can be to go against the grain, or let down those closest to you. That’s why I think being here, at Brown, would do you so much good. The independence you’ll gain from four years on this campus is an invaluable asset.” Her head tilts in consideration. “But at the end of the day, you’re the one who needs to make that decision. Not for your parents. Not for me. For yourself.”
On my lap, my hands knit together tight enough to strain my knuckles. “And if they decide not to pay my tuition?”
She smiles wryly. “Then you will come to me and we will see what we can pull together in terms of student loans and financial aid — just like any other student who doesn’t have billionaires for parents. With your grades and test scores, you should qualify for plenty of merit scholarships.”
“Oh… I’d never thought of that.”
“Hence, our meeting.” She pushes back in her chair and rises to her feet. “Take a few weeks. Mull it over. Make sure, when you come back here for our next appointment at the end of July, you’ve contemplated what it is you really want from your future.”
Just like that, our discussion is over. With a hand at the small of my back, she ushers me out of her office. Before she closes the door behind me, her eyes meet mine one last time.