This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,86
conference room. The two guys, Brad and Jonathan, jump up first. Laura follows, and I trail behind as the caboose. It suits me just fine to hang back. That way I can see the subtle wave Jonathan throws to one of the two white guys sitting at the head of the table when we enter, and catch the way Brad chooses a seat directly across from Laura and stares a little too long at where her name tag hangs at chest level.
Each of our seats has a glossy JBP brochure, a UU water bottle, and a UU pen laid out like a table setting. The older of the two men introduces himself as Dr. Harris and goes through a PowerPoint about the program.
It is, I realize, a recruitment pitch for the three of us who don’t get the scholarship, to entice us to enroll in the program anyway. Dr. Harris uses the phrase “tremendous opportunity” at least four times in his presentation, clearly going for the hard sell. At the end of his PowerPoint is a scrolling list of previous JBP students along with their colleges and current jobs; when I glance over at the others, they’re transfixed. Jonathan is slack jawed and actively mouth breathing, and Brad is leaning forward, lips moving as he silently mouths out the names of Ivy League schools like he’s reading a holy text. Even Laura is smiling and nodding.
Me? I’ve turned to the last page of the brochure, to the “tuition and fees” section, where it shows that I, too, can have the privilege of this “tremendous opportunity” for the low, low fee of $7,500. There are testaments from former graduates talking about “recognizing growth potential” and from parents gushing about how it was a “priceless experience.”
“Priceless” is one of those words that I’ve just never understood. It took me years to figure out that some people use it as a passive-aggressive faux-pliment (“Oh, yes, he’s just priceless”). But even when people use it as the Oxford English Dictionary intended, it doesn’t make any sense—at least it doesn’t to me, because in my world, growing up, everything had a price. Usually one that my family couldn’t pay.
So that’s the shitty position I’m in: I have to gear up enough enthusiasm for JBP to rock my interview and convince them that I am the person who deserves the scholarship the most, but also be ready to walk away if I don’t get funding.
They wrap up the presentation and pass out our itineraries—we’re each going to interview with both Dr. Harris and his colleague Professor Wisneski. As we gather our things I feel a little hollow tickle in the back of my throat and swallow. Silently I curse Will for bringing me an omelet for breakfast. He said that his sister told him I should eat a full breakfast, so I don’t get a sugar low during the interview, but I’m not used to having such a heavy meal first thing in the morning. My stomach feels like it’s trying to digest a baby hippopotamus.
I’ve already broken into a light sweat by the time I walk into Professor Wisneski’s office, which throws me into a panic, because one of the components of the perfect handshake is that your hand isn’t too clammy. I don’t have a purse, so nope, no tissues. I have to frantically rub my right hand along my pant leg and hope that the professor doesn’t notice.
“I’m so honored to be here, Professor Wisneski,” I say as I sit down. That’s one of the openings that Grace suggested, because even though it’s kind of obsequious (I mean, seriously, an honor?) it reminds the interviewer that they’ve selected you for a reason and, well, suggests that you deserved it.
I can tell from his slight smile that the professor eats it up. “No, thank you for coming, Ms. Wu. I must say, your personal statement really stood out among the others’—not many of our applicants have lived and breathed the business world like you.”
“Um, thank you for saying that,” I say, heart pounding, because this isn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to come in, fists raised, full of passion, ready to explain to them how my life experience makes me the most qualified person ever for the JBP. To have him spit out my party line is both validating and completely deflating. It’s like I walked into a confrontation wearing full body armor only to realize that it was actually