On my eighteenth birthday, I opened my Stanford acceptance letter—and my dad said, “Give it to Jake. You can take out loans.”

to Stanford too. He didn’t get in, but if you wrote to admissions and explained that you can’t attend, maybe they’d consider him from the waitlist.”

I stared at her. “That’s not how it works.”

Dad sighed. “Give it to Jake. You can take out loans somewhere else.”

The words hit harder than a slap.

“This is my scholarship,” I whispered.

Denise smiled, cold continue reading …