Mom hurries into the room and takes a seat at the head of the table. “Sorry. Are we all here?”
“Almost!” Dylan yells from the kitchen, before appearing in the doorway. “I’m here. Let the party start.”
“First order of business,” my mother says. “The battery in my new pickup truck is dead. So if one of you can’t jump it, that’s an expense I wasn’t expecting.”
“Again?” Griffin mutters. “Huh. Someone must be running the heated seats or the radio too long with the engine off.”
Grandpa’s voice comes from the TV room. “It’s been a cold spring! Somebody probably had to keep his tushie warm.”
“But not without the engine running,” I point out. “Why stay in the truck if you’re parked?”
Dylan snorts. “I can think of a couple of reasons.”
“In April?” I argue, because arguing with your twin is a God-given right. “Brrr.”
Dylan shrugs. “Maybe you really were snatched by aliens, because you clearly didn’t grow up in Vermont.”
There are a few chuckles around the table. And then Griffin calls out, “Hey, Gramps? Didn’t you take Mabel on a date in the truck last night?”
“Don’t pin this on me,” he grumbles. “Something must be wrong with the truck.”
There’s a stunned silence among us.
“Okay!” my mother says too brightly. “Next subject—Daphne’s grad school decision. Open up those envelopes, honey.”
“This one can wait. Let’s get the drama over with.” I pick up the envelope from North Carolina and slit it open with my thumb. I pull the financial aid letter out and drop it on the table.
“Dear Miss Shipley,” Griffin reads. Then he trails his finger down the column of numbers. “They gave you some aid,” he says. “Next year would cost us twenty-two thousand dollars.”
“Ouch,” I say. “That’s…a lot.”
“Don’t panic yet,” my brother says. He hands me the envelope from the University of Massachusetts. “Let’s have some more data points, first.”
I open that one, and it’s better news. They’ve funded me for everything except for thirteen thousand dollars. “Better!” I say cheerfully. Except I’m not as wild about that school, even though it has a good reputation.
Griff slides the third envelope toward me. Everyone watches while I open an offer from the Burlington U. I pull it out and slap it on the table. I read the letter.
Then I read it again.
“Full ride!” Griffin hoots. “Yes, baby, yes!”
There’s a note written in ink at the bottom. I really hope you’ll join us, Daphne. We’d love to have you. —Dr. Drummond
“Who’s that?” Griffin asks.
“The Dean of the whole program,” I say in a hushed voice.
“Nice,” my brother says, slapping me on the back. “You think it all over. But sometimes it’s pretty great to stick with the people who love you.”
“True,” I murmur, lifting my eyes from the page. And there stands Rickie in the doorway, a mug of tea in his hand. Our gazes lock, and he smiles at me.
Then he gives me a wink and turns to go back into the kitchen.
“Wait!” My mother says, pulling another envelope out of her folder. “You got one more yesterday.” She hands it to me.
“Ooh, it’s from Harkness,” my brother says. “Didn’t know you applied there.”
“I didn’t,” I admit. “I have no idea what this could be.” A girl can’t apply to a program after admitting to breaking and entering. That’s just bad form. So I have no idea what’s in this envelope.
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” May chirps.
So I rip it open. It’s a letter from the other powerful woman in my life—Dean Reynolds.
Dear Miss Shipley—
The matter of survey tampering has finally been resolved. An employee was removed from the study. And an undergraduate was removed from the college. Thank you for your cooperation.
Per our investigation, it has come to light that harassment by a member of your program led to your transfer. We do not condone harassment in any form.
Meanwhile, since you completed more than 75% of your Harkness requirements—and then fulfilled the rest at an accredited institution—you are technically eligible to receive your Harkness BA in lieu of graduating from Burlington University.
If you wish to ask for reinstatement, please write a letter indicating your interest before May 8th to be considered for commencement in June.
Sincerely,
Dr. R. Reynolds
“Wow!” May says. “Check it out!”
“Who knew?” my mother asks.
“You have to do this,” Griffin insists.
Somehow my whole family has crowded around in order to read over my shoulder.