Part 1My Application, My Say

The night before the college application deadline, my parents said they wanted to throw me a celebration dinner.

I had a pretty good score on my SAT.

However, the moment I reached the restaurant entrance, a few lines of text suddenly floated in front of my eyes.

[Don't go in.]

[Tonight at dinner, your parents and your guidance counselor are going to get your account verification code out of you.]

[They're going to swap your application to a top out-of-state university for the local teachers' college, the one that locks you into teaching here after you graduate.]

[Your counselor will log in from the school's computer lab and make it look like you confirmed it yourself.]

[Once the admission results come out, your dad will tear up your ID and lock you in the house until you accept your fate.]

[From then on, your paychecks will go toward your brother's downpayment first.]

[You'll be stuck in this town forever.]

I stood outside the building, chilled to the bone.

A second later, my phone rang. It was Mom.

"Callie, why aren't you up here yet? Mr. Ormsby said the application portal tends to lag tonight, so it's better to confirm early and be done with it."

* * *

The day my SAT scores came out, my parents threw a dinner for the whole town and bragged to everyone they ran into. "My daughter got really good score. She's made us so proud."

However, now, as I gripped my phone, my fingertips were slowly going cold.

"Mom, my stomach is bothering me."

There was a half-second pause on the other end. "Your stomach again? Dinner's already ready."

"It really hurts. I'm going to get it checked at the urgent care clinic first."

I turned and walked away from the building.

Mom's voice turned urgent. "Come back first. Mr. Ormsby is right here. The verification code will only take a few seconds. You can go to the clinic after we're done."

I stopped at the side of the road and took a deep breath. "I've already confirmed my applications myself. Nobody else needs to touch them."

The voice on the other end went completely silent.

A few seconds later, Dad scoffed. "Think you're all grown up now, huh?"

I hung up, then immediately took a taxi to the urgent care clinic.

In the taxi, I opened the application portal. The first thing I did was change my password.

My old password was the last six digits of my ID number plus my birthday. My parents could have guessed it far too easily. I set a new, complicated password, linked a backup email, and changed all my security questions.

The second thing I did was log back in and reconfirm my applications. At the top of the list was Calvert University, computer science. Below it were the reach schools and safety schools I had carefully picked out myself.

I turned on screen recording and captured everything from the login time, the page details, and my application list to the final confirmation, all the way until I logged out.

The third thing I did was send the recording and screenshots to my best friend, Wendy Morales, and to my backup email.

The fourth thing I did was leave a message with the state admissions office hotline.

"This is Callie Danforth, applicant ID number 4471-2093. I have personally confirmed my college applications, and I do not authorize anyone to fill out, change, or confirm them on my behalf. If any unusual changes are made, I request an investigation."

The fifth thing I did was post a message in my class group chat. [I have personally confirmed my college applications. No teacher, parent, or relative is allowed to change them for me.]

The group chat had been full of congratulations up until then. The moment I sent that message, it went dead silent.

After a little over ten seconds, Gareth Ormsby replied. [Callie, there's no need to be nervous. I'm only helping you double-check things. I would never make decisions for you.]

Looking at that message, my stomach turned. Were it not for the floating comments, I might have actually believed he cared about me.

When I got to the clinic, I checked in at the front desk. The doctor ordered some tests and kept me for observation.

I was taking the paperwork to the payment counter when someone near the entrance suddenly let out a cry.

A middle-aged woman in a beige blouse was clutching the self-service kiosk, her face pale and her forehead covered in sweat.

Her medical file slipped from her hands and fell to the floor.

The people nearby just stood around staring.

I rushed over and held her up. "Ma'am, is your blood sugar low? Can you hear me?"

Her lips trembled, and she could not answer. I called for a nurse, then ran to the vending machine and bought a bottle of orange juice.

A nurse came over with a wheelchair, and I helped get her into the treatment room.

After about ten minutes or so, she recovered.

She looked at me, her voice still a little weak. "Sweetheart, what's your name?"

"Callie Danforth."

"Which school do you go to?"

"Cedar Hollow High. I just graduated."