TWENTY-EIGHT 

 

You’d think I’d be happy. Relieved. Excited. Able to relax now.

Instead, I was pissed. And then I decided.

  

Mr. Holt,

When I got the internship at Polichat, it seemed like a good opportunity. An opportunity for money and a path away from my mom’s life.

I don’t want to be like my mom because she’s been used. I thought that wouldn’t happen to me if I was careful and smart, like my auntie.

But I feel like I’ve been used by you. Since you seem to know everything about me, you must have known I wasn’t really interested in journalism or politics. You must have known I’d never written another article for the school newspaper. You just wanted me at Polichat to do your dirty work.

And now I don’t just feel used, I feel dirty. I got paid for work I didn’t do, and now I got accepted to Grandin, your school, on a scholarship, your scholarship. Did I get in because anyone read my essay or liked my grades or scores? Or did I just get in because you said so?

I don’t like not knowing what I’ve earned. I don’t like owing people. And I don’t want to be anyone’s legacy. So here’s the deal. Nobody’s ever asked me where I want to go to college, so I’ll just tell you. I’d like to go to UCLA. I’m mailing the application today. I’m sure you can use your influence to see that UCLA wants me just as badly as Grandin does. And if you think I’m asking a lot for some kid from Clinton High, please ask Bosley if he remembers what he said when he told me my internship was over. If he doesn’t, I’ll be happy to send you the recording to refresh his memory.

—Destiny Davis

Whatever happened, my destiny was my own.