(Then) Savannah

Eyes on Cornell Part 3

December

I walked into the house after school and dropped my bag in the middle of the floor.  It really never got old.  I went into the kitchen for a snack and saw Mother and Daddy sitting stiffly at the kitchen table.  "Hi," I said, ignoring the weird looks they were giving me.  I had no idea why they were sitting there.  We never sit at the kitchen table.  Only poor people sit at a kitchen table.

"Savannah," Mother said, in a strained voice.  It was the voice she used when she wanted to yell but wouldn't, because people who Maintain Appearances don't yell.

"What?" I asked, not turning from the fridge, where I was digging for an apple.

"Please come sit down," Daddy said stiffly.  Now I was a little nervous.  I abandoned my quest for the perfect apple and walked over to the table.  I sat and stared from Mother to Daddy.

"What?" I asked again.  Silently, my mom pushed an opened envelope and letter my way.  "What is it?" I asked.  Then I saw the Cornell letterhead.  "You opened my mail?"

"It's a good thing we did," Daddy said firmly.  I pulled the letter to me, butterflies dancing in my stomach.  The butterflies quickly turned to large lead weights that settled at the bottom as I read.  "...regret to inform you that due to the plagiarism in your personal statement, your application will not be considered, and applications made in subsequent years will be unable to be considered as well.  This decision is not able to be appealed."

My mouth hung open as I read the sentences over and over.  There was more, but it didn't matter.  I looked up at Mother and Daddy.  "This is a mistake!" I exclaimed, my voice rising in volume and pitch.  It earned me a disapproving look from Mother, but I continued, getting closer and closer to squeaks.  "I didn't plagiarize!  I wrote my statement.  I worked so hard.  I worked on it for weeks!  Julia helped me edit it.  Julia..." I trailed off as a thought occurred to me.  I remembered what Julia had said about my personal statement.


***

I opened the email from her, my hand shaking with nerves.  Did she hate it?  Was it awful?  I read carefully.  "Savannah, your statement is good!  I made a few small changes.  I also added a paragraph at the end that nicely sums everything up and will make the readers think a little.  If you hate it, feel free to take it out, but I think that it helps bring it from a really good statement to an amazing one.  Let me know if you have questions about the changes!"

I opened the document next, looking at the changes she'd made.  She was right about the last paragraph.  It really pulled everything together, and it was good.  It didn't sound exactly like my writing, but I liked it, so I decided to keep it.

***

"Shit!" I shrieked.

"Savannah Lynn," Mother admonished, but I was already racing out of the kitchen and up the stairs to my room.  I pushed the button to start my computer.   With shaking hands, I opened the personal statement document.  I copied the last paragraph and pasted it into Yahoo search.  When I hit Enter, my screen was immediately filled with exact matches.  Panic gripped me.  Why hadn't I searched it?  Why had I trusted her?  "Trust no one" is pretty much unwritten rule number one of Maintaining Appearances.

The panic increased as I realized I had used the same essay with some small changes for Penn State and Purdue.  I began to cry, forgetting that my parents were waiting for me downstairs, probably completely irritated at my sudden outburst and flight from the room.  I got up and turned the lock on the doorknob, then threw myself on my bed.  I was sobbing uncontrollably now.

30 minutes later, the panic had subsided to numbness, and I lay on my bed, curled in a ball.  I was no longer crying, just staring at the wall.  A knock sounded at my door. 

"Savannah?  Can I come in?" Daddy's voice was gentle.  I didn't respond.  "Savannah," he continued, undeterred.  "We can fix this.  If you really want to go to Cornell, I can call--"

"NO!!  I don't want you to fix this!" I wailed. 

"I just wish you would have told us, sweetheart."  Ha, so they could talk me out of it before I bothered applying, I'm sure.  I was silent.  "Okay, well, we can talk more later.  Maria says dinner will be ready in 15 minutes."

"I'm not hungry," I said.

I didn't go down to dinner.  I didn't go down for breakfast the next morning.  I was thankful it was Saturday, because I wouldn't have to go to school.  I laid in bed, wallowing, until a gentle knock sounded at my door around 11:30.  I wasn't going to answer, but then a soft voice followed.

"Savannah?  It's Maria.  I brought you a sandwich.  You must eat, love." I dragged myself out of bed and cracked the door open.  Our cook and housekeeper Maria stood there, promised sandwich in hand.  "Let me in, love," she prodded gently.  I pulled the door open and she stepped in.  She closed it behind her and handed me the plate with the sandwich.  She sat on my bed as I ate.  When I finished, she took the plate and set it on my desk.   Then she pulled me into a hug.  The tears came again, and I sobbed into her shoulder as she stroked my hair and whispered soothing words to me.

When I stopped, she held me at arm's length.  "Tell me what happened," she directed.  I told her the whole story.  My plans to go far, far away for school.  Struggling with the statement, asking Julia for help.  Using the same, plagiarized statement at my top 3 schools.

"Did you apply anywhere else?" she asked kindly when I had finished.  I nodded miserably. 

"Cal Poly and Denver," I hiccuped.

With a decisive nod, she said, "Well, then I guess you are going to Denver, yes?"

With a wry, watery smile, I replied, "I guess I'm going to Denver."
 _______________________________

This wraps up this part of Savannah's story.  I'm sure there will be more on her later, but for now I'm going to move to other characters.  Thanks for reading!