I felt like crap this morning. I mean, really felt like crap--my nose was stuffy, my throat hurt, and I had one of those headaches that takes up residency behind your eyes and just won't go away. So when I went to tell Mom that I wasn't going to school, I was sure she'd let me stay home. Keep in mind that this is the mother who lets me stay home from school if I kinda sorta maybe just don't want to go.
Much to my surprise, she refused, making up some excuse about how I can't really miss any days, even though I haven't missed a day this advisory. I argued with her for a while, and then finally just gave up because it was too exhausting and I figured I could just come back home after first period anyway. I followed my normal morning routine, arrived in school, and found that my first period teacher wasn't there anyway. So I discussed yesterday's baseball game with a few of the guys, worked with N on his William Carlos Williams presentation, and played a few rounds of Go Fish with my friends. Then, Ms. Harris, our principal, game into the room, practically glowing. "When I tell you, I want you to come upstairs to Mr. Ismail's room," she said. "You don't have to take your stuff, just come."
There was a collective grumble, because under the best of circumstances it's still a three-flight climb to Ismail's room, and on the morning of a muggy day it's extraordinarily painful. A few seconds later, Ms. Harris reentered the room and told us that the plans had been revised, that Mr. Ismail's class was now coming downstairs to us.
A moment of confusion while we whispered speculation about the occasion to one another, and then someone saw Joel Trachtenberg, the president of George Washington University, walking in the front door with someone dressed in a ridiculous George Washington suit, and we knew. They were here to award the Trachtenberg Scholarship. A few minutes later, the entirety of the Trachtenberg entourage filed into the room--cameramen, reporters for the television, heads of academic departments, student paper journalists, and a bunch of other people whose apparent function was to shift their weight from foot to foot and look bored.
By this time, of course, we were all extremely excited--someone was going to be awarded the Trachtenberg. Thaddisa Fulwood, who interviewed me and everyone else for the scholarship, came to the front of the class with GW himself (how that man could see from behind that mask, I have no idea) and made a big show of not knowing what he was handing her. We sat, tense, as she opened the package, withdrew an admissions packet, and opened it. "Is Tiffany here?" she asked, and we screamed and clapped and stomped, because if anyone deserves it, Tiffany does. She works her ass off, and she's one of the kindest people I've ever met. Ms. Fulwood made a little speech, congratulating her and telling her that she was honored to present the scholarship, and Tiffany teared up and hugged her mother and sister, who had been called by the school to attend the occasion. I could feel the sweat between my shoulderblades, because I knew that I had been up for the scholarship and knew as well that I didn't particularly want it. As a result, when Ms. Fulwood made as if to leave, I heaved a sigh of relief and slumped into my desk.
I had relaxed too soon, because before I knew it, she was feigning surprise at being handed another package, opening it, scanning the first page, and calling out my name.
Somehow, I made it up to the front of the room without tripping over anyone, though I stopped for a quick look at N, who was grinning from ear to ear and shooing me forward. I gave him a tentative return smile and then turned my smile on full for the cameras, the journalists, and Ms. Fulwood, who said something I only vaguely remember about how I should be proud and congratulations and here's your money. Amid the chaos, Mom and Pop had slipped into the room, so I hugged each of them in turn, went to hug Tiffany, was interviewed by NBC-4 and a nice young man from the GW Hatchet who seemed to be the only one who understood that it was a little overwhelming. At some point, they asked me to make a speech, so I presented a few eloquent sentences about how I couldn't have done it without my classmates and teachers. This seemed to go on for hours, even though the entire event, from start to finish, occupied perhaps twenty or thirty minutes. I glanced over at my group of friends--A, D, and N--to find that they were laughing at me, which was the only moment of relief in the entire deal.
At long last, the crowd dispersed in the general direction of second period, and I took the opportunity to hitch a ride home with Mom. Of course, my day wasn't yet over.
I arrived home, made myself a cup of herbal tea to calm my stomach, and idly flipped through the channels, trying to find something worth watching. When nothing presented itself, I wandered up to my computer to check my e-mail, signed on, and found in my inbox my letter of acceptance to the University of Wisconsin-Madison, which made my college application process complete. I have now gotten into every school to which I've applied.
So now the hard part begins: where to go? Because my options are basically unlimited, and I'm just a little giddy, and my stomach still won't settle, and I'm just Squee! all over the place.
Much to my surprise, she refused, making up some excuse about how I can't really miss any days, even though I haven't missed a day this advisory. I argued with her for a while, and then finally just gave up because it was too exhausting and I figured I could just come back home after first period anyway. I followed my normal morning routine, arrived in school, and found that my first period teacher wasn't there anyway. So I discussed yesterday's baseball game with a few of the guys, worked with N on his William Carlos Williams presentation, and played a few rounds of Go Fish with my friends. Then, Ms. Harris, our principal, game into the room, practically glowing. "When I tell you, I want you to come upstairs to Mr. Ismail's room," she said. "You don't have to take your stuff, just come."
There was a collective grumble, because under the best of circumstances it's still a three-flight climb to Ismail's room, and on the morning of a muggy day it's extraordinarily painful. A few seconds later, Ms. Harris reentered the room and told us that the plans had been revised, that Mr. Ismail's class was now coming downstairs to us.
A moment of confusion while we whispered speculation about the occasion to one another, and then someone saw Joel Trachtenberg, the president of George Washington University, walking in the front door with someone dressed in a ridiculous George Washington suit, and we knew. They were here to award the Trachtenberg Scholarship. A few minutes later, the entirety of the Trachtenberg entourage filed into the room--cameramen, reporters for the television, heads of academic departments, student paper journalists, and a bunch of other people whose apparent function was to shift their weight from foot to foot and look bored.
By this time, of course, we were all extremely excited--someone was going to be awarded the Trachtenberg. Thaddisa Fulwood, who interviewed me and everyone else for the scholarship, came to the front of the class with GW himself (how that man could see from behind that mask, I have no idea) and made a big show of not knowing what he was handing her. We sat, tense, as she opened the package, withdrew an admissions packet, and opened it. "Is Tiffany here?" she asked, and we screamed and clapped and stomped, because if anyone deserves it, Tiffany does. She works her ass off, and she's one of the kindest people I've ever met. Ms. Fulwood made a little speech, congratulating her and telling her that she was honored to present the scholarship, and Tiffany teared up and hugged her mother and sister, who had been called by the school to attend the occasion. I could feel the sweat between my shoulderblades, because I knew that I had been up for the scholarship and knew as well that I didn't particularly want it. As a result, when Ms. Fulwood made as if to leave, I heaved a sigh of relief and slumped into my desk.
I had relaxed too soon, because before I knew it, she was feigning surprise at being handed another package, opening it, scanning the first page, and calling out my name.
Somehow, I made it up to the front of the room without tripping over anyone, though I stopped for a quick look at N, who was grinning from ear to ear and shooing me forward. I gave him a tentative return smile and then turned my smile on full for the cameras, the journalists, and Ms. Fulwood, who said something I only vaguely remember about how I should be proud and congratulations and here's your money. Amid the chaos, Mom and Pop had slipped into the room, so I hugged each of them in turn, went to hug Tiffany, was interviewed by NBC-4 and a nice young man from the GW Hatchet who seemed to be the only one who understood that it was a little overwhelming. At some point, they asked me to make a speech, so I presented a few eloquent sentences about how I couldn't have done it without my classmates and teachers. This seemed to go on for hours, even though the entire event, from start to finish, occupied perhaps twenty or thirty minutes. I glanced over at my group of friends--A, D, and N--to find that they were laughing at me, which was the only moment of relief in the entire deal.
At long last, the crowd dispersed in the general direction of second period, and I took the opportunity to hitch a ride home with Mom. Of course, my day wasn't yet over.
I arrived home, made myself a cup of herbal tea to calm my stomach, and idly flipped through the channels, trying to find something worth watching. When nothing presented itself, I wandered up to my computer to check my e-mail, signed on, and found in my inbox my letter of acceptance to the University of Wisconsin-Madison, which made my college application process complete. I have now gotten into every school to which I've applied.
So now the hard part begins: where to go? Because my options are basically unlimited, and I'm just a little giddy, and my stomach still won't settle, and I'm just Squee! all over the place.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-08 02:39 pm (UTC)