Chapter 13 #2
I sank back against my pillows and stared at the ceiling. My chest still hurt, but not in the same way it had when I’d run upstairs. Georgie wasn’t suddenly going to like Jasper, and I wasn’t na?ve enough to think one conversation had fixed everything.
But he’d heard me.
For once, that was enough.
Three days later, I sat at the kitchen table doing English homework while Granny sorted through the mail at the counter. I barely paid attention as bills and catalogs landed in separate piles until she stopped moving.
“Fiona,” she said quietly. “There’s something here for you.”
I looked up.
The expression on her face made my stomach drop before I even saw the envelope.
She held out a thin white one, exactly the kind that never seemed to contain good news. I took it from her and turned it over. The return address belonged to the scholarship foundation I’d applied to two months ago.
The one I’d actually thought I had a chance at.
My fingers weren’t quite steady when I tore it open.
We regret to inform you...
I stopped reading.
“Fiona?” Granny asked gently. “What does it say?”
“I didn’t get it.” My own voice sounded strange to me. “They rejected me.”
Granny crossed the kitchen and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“It’s fine.” I carefully folded the letter and put it back on the table. If I could make the edges line up perfectly, maybe I could pretend my chest didn’t feel like someone had scooped out everything inside it. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Granny said firmly. “You worked hard on that application.”
“Yeah.” I stared at the folded paper. “I guess it wasn’t good enough.”
Her arm tightened around me, but she didn’t immediately argue. That almost made it worse.
After a moment, she pulled out the chair beside mine and sat down. “You know you don’t need scholarships, right?”
I looked at her.
“I have money, Fiona.” Her voice was gentle but matter-of-fact. “More than enough to pay for college. Tuition, room and board, books—all of it. It wouldn’t be a burden. It wouldn’t even make a dent.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing this to yourself?” She covered my hand with hers. “Why are you putting so much pressure on yourself to earn something I’m happy to give you?”
Her hand was warm and weathered over mine. Strong. The same hand that had reached for me when almost nobody else had.
“Because I need to do this myself.”
“Sweetheart—”
“No, Granny. I need to.” My eyes burned when I looked at her.
“My whole life, people have helped me. Rescued me. Taken care of me. Mrs. Gladys taught me to read. Frank and Claudia took Charlie. You gave me a home. Georgie protects me from everything.” My voice cracked, but I kept going.
“Everyone has given me so much, and I’m grateful.
God, I’m so grateful, but I need to do something on my own. ”
Granny didn’t interrupt.
I looked down at our joined hands. “I spent my first night with Charlie in a shelter that smelled like bleach and desperation. And when I signed those adoption papers, I knew it was the right choice. I knew he deserved better than what I could give him.” I swallowed against the ache in my throat.
“But knowing I made the right choice doesn’t make the fact that everyone else picked up the pieces for me hurt less. ”
Granny started to say something, but I shook my head.
“I know what people see when they look at me. The girl who couldn’t—” The rest stuck in my throat, and I couldn’t force it out. I looked toward the rejection letter instead. “These scholarships are different. They’re something I have to earn.”
Maybe that was why each rejection hurt so much.
Nobody could hand me one because they loved me or felt sorry for me.
No judge could decide I deserved it because Granny promised to take care of me.
A scholarship committee didn’t know the foster kid or the teenage mother.
They only saw what I’d accomplished and decided whether it was enough.
I needed to be enough.
Granny squeezed my hand. “You’ve already proven what you can do, sweetheart.”
“Not to me.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Not yet.”
She studied me for a long moment before slowly nodding. “Okay.”
I frowned. “Okay?”
“Okay.” She squeezed my hand again. “You do it your way. But if you need help, if you change your mind, the offer stands. Always.”
“Thank you.”
She kissed the top of my head before standing. “I’m going to start dinner. You take your time.”
I watched her move toward the stove, then looked at the rejection letter again.
Another opportunity gone.
My phone was beside my textbook. I picked it up before I could decide whether I should.
Me: Are you busy?
His response came almost immediately.
Jasper: Never for you.
My chest tightened the way it always did when he answered that way.
Me: That can’t be true.
Jasper: It is tonight.
I hesitated, then forced myself to type the truth instead of some stupid joke.
Me: I got another scholarship rejection.
Jasper: I’m sorry.
Me: It isn’t a big deal.
Jasper: Don’t do that.
I frowned.
Me: Do what?
Jasper: Decide you aren’t allowed to be hurt because something could be worse.
My thumb stopped over the screen. I hated that he knew me so well. Hated it even more because he was right.
Me: I hate that you notice that
Jasper: No, you don’t.
My mouth twitched because he was right. I loved it more than I was willing to admit.
Me: Maybe a little.
Jasper: What do you need?
I stared at the question.
What do you need?
Not what are you going to do now? Not have you applied for others? Not you shouldn’t be upset.
What did I need?
People had spent years telling me what I needed. A foster home. A social worker. A safe place to sleep. Adoption papers. Therapy. Perspective. Time.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone had simply asked me.
Me: I don’t know.
Jasper: Distraction, advice, or someone to be angry with you?
A laugh escaped before I could stop it, watery and embarrassingly close to another cry.
Me: The third one.
Jasper: Then whoever rejected you is an asshole.
Me: You don’t even know why they rejected me.
Jasper: Irrelevant.
Me: You’re very biased
Jasper: Completely.
The knot under my ribs loosened just a little.
This was the part Georgie couldn’t see when he looked at Romeo’s reputation. Jasper hadn’t told me I was overreacting. He hadn’t tried to explain why the scholarship committee might have chosen someone else or convince me that another opportunity would come along.
He’d asked what I needed.
Then he’d given it to me.
Me: Thank you.
Jasper: For what?
Me: For being biased
Jasper: Always, Cher.
I set the phone down and looked at the rejection letter again. It still hurt. I still wished the first sentence had started with congratulations instead of regret.
But the piece of paper no longer felt quite as heavy.
Jasper was right. I could be disappointed without turning it into proof that I was ungrateful for everything else I had. I could let something hurt without immediately reminding myself that I’d survived worse.
Granny glanced over from the stove. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I touched the edge of the letter before closing my English book over it. “I’m okay.”
For the first time in days, I actually meant it.