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

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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 …

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