Free Trapped by Melody Carlson Page B

can’t quite believe it. All this feels like a fantasy … maybe I’m still sleeping. “Is this for real?”
    â€œWe’re going to check out the campus and have some lunch,” Mom explains. “It seemed the perfect way to celebrate. Are you surprised?”
    â€œI’m totally shocked.” I’ve been dreaming of coming up here to visit for a couple of years now, and my parents have promised … but it just never worked out. Until today.
    â€œYou’ve been working so hard in school.” Mom takes my hand as we walk. “And we’re so proud of your accomplishments. And then to find out about your acceptance. Well, we decided it was time to get you up here.”
    â€œA friend told me about a good restaurant on campus,” Dad says. “We have reservations at one. We will celebrate royally.”
    â€œI printed out a map of the campus.” Mom digs in her bag and starts pointing things out to me.
    We walk around for about an hour, and I come out of my daze and eventually discover that Stanford is even better in real life than it was in dreams or the photos on the website. It’s like love at first sight with this campus. I feel right at home here. I won’t admit it to my parents, but it was nothing like this when they took me to an alma-mater event at the University of Southern California a few years ago.
    But I know they want me to go to Stanford as much as I do. They’ve both said, on numerous occasions, how they’d wanted to come here themselves, but grades and finances kept them from coming. Somehow they both ended up at USC, which is where they met and fell in love, so I guess it wasn’t such a bad deal after all. But now that I’ve got the acceptance letter tucked safely in my purse, they seem certain that nothing will keep me from coming here. To them, it’s in the bag.
    And maybe it is. My temporary slump in grades is just that — temporary . I am determined to do better from this day forward. And even my slipup on Friday can’t keep me from coming here. At least I don’t think it can. I just need to buckle down and focus — starting tomorrow. And to my great relief, I no longer feel miserable about my breakup with Clayton. That, too, is behind me. I can’t believe I let it get to me like I did. What was wrong with me?
    By the time we’re eating lunch, I feel positive and enthusiastic. Okay, there’s still a trace of guilt and regret coursing beneath the surface. Like each time my parents mention how great I’m doing in school, how impressive my class loads have been, how outstanding my grades are, how proud they are of me … stuff like that feels like a dagger to my gut. But I try not to show it.
    â€œYou probably have an excellent chance of being class valedictorian,” Dad tells me. “You know your mother was valedictorian.” He pats Mom’s hand.
    â€œYes, in a tiny school,” she says. “Being first in a class of 107 students isn’t as impressive as GraceAnn’s class. Aren’t there about 500 kids in your class?”
    â€œYes, and I seriously doubt I’ll be valedictorian,” I tell them. And considering how fall term has gone, I’d say this is a pretty sure bet. In fact, I can name at least three other students who have a GPA equal to mine … maybe higher by the time this term’s grades are made public.
    â€œAnd that’s just fine,” Mom assures me. “We’re still very proud of you.”
    â€œAnd Harvard still isn’t out of the picture,” Dad says. “Earl’s son didn’t get his acceptance until early spring.”
    After lunch we walk around campus some more, and by the time we leave, I feel truly hopeful. I can imagine myself attending classes here. Less than a year from now. And it’s exciting.
    On the way home, I text message Mary Beth, telling her where I’m at and about my