Abby Ryan has her whole life planned out, up until graduation that is. As a journalism student at the University of Southern Washington, she has one goal in mind for her last semester of senior year: secure a scholarship for graduate school. But whe...
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I've been stress eating all day.
Or emotional eating. Or hormonal eating. I don't know, it's probably a mix of all of them, at this point, but either way, I've already eaten nearly an entire pack of Oreos and finished off the sour straws that Tristan got for me before we left for Vegas—all before sunset.
My inhalation of cookies isn't that out of character for me, even on a good day, but waking up with my period only intensified my sugar cravings. Those cravings were amplified even more by the anxiety that's been blooming in my chest since I opened my mail this morning.
Most of it was junk mail that I tossed into the trash without opening, but the letter at the very bottom of the pile was addressed to me in a similar envelope that I opened last week, only this one was much larger. It was from NYU, which I could tell by the school crest inked boldly into the top corner of the envelope and on each piece of paper inside. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, just typical admissions paperwork, and I almost didn't see the letter at the very end of the stack of papers before I slipped them back into the envelope to fill out later. But when I caught the header titled financial aid, I pulled it out and read through it quickly.
I had to read the letter three times to make sure I didn't misunderstand it, but after my third read-through, my chest tightened painfully because I wasn't misreading it.
NYU wasn't offering me any financial aid.
None. Not a single penny.
Every other school I received an acceptance letter from had sent an offer for financial aid. A few offered enough to cover part of my tuition each semester, others offered a student housing grant so I wouldn't have to worry about living expenses, and one—albeit my last resort school that I applied to in Florida—offered me a full-ride scholarship.
NYU was the only one that didn't at least offer me enough to cover my textbooks, and after reading the letter four more times with the desperate hope that it would somehow change right in front of my eyes, I slumped onto the barstool at the counter.
As I was folding up the financial aid letters and sliding them back into the envelope, another, much smaller envelope with my name printed across the front caught my eye. I froze when I registered the USASN logo on the top right corner.
The article.
The scholarship.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek as I tore open the envelope, pulling out the letter before I could psych myself out. It took me a second to process what I was reading before my breath slipped through my lips.
Ms. Ryan,
Thank you for your submission to USASN's scholarship contest. Your article made it through to the final two and was the top contender in the eyes of most here; however, we regret to inform you that after further research, you have been disqualified from the scholarship contest.
