Galbraith was more…yeah, ironically, more mathematical, intellectual, less romantic and yet still more emotional because of it. In Matt’s opinion, anyway.
“I just like him better.”
“Hmm,” the little man said, frowning, making a little mark on a piece of paper, the thing Matt had been raised to believe was the most awful thing anyone could do to him ever.
Worst of all, when Mom had been thoroughly baffled by the rejection letter, he’d told her the story. He’d wanted to make it better, to tell her it hadn’t been his fault – but of course, in her eyes, it had been. That had shocked him more than anything – that she thought he should have lied.
Lydia tried not to sigh. Matt knew that she did this for the kids. Or tried to. It seemed more each day that doing it for the kids meant doing it against the adults, and around here, the adults always won.
“Look,” she said, ready to say what she never would have, if it hadn’t been late, and she was tired, and she liked Matt, and most of all, because Mrs. Kensington got on her nerves. “Admissions people let in tons of kids who do exactly what they’re supposed to do, to the letter. But that means that every now and then, they need to let in a kid who didn’t, a kid who’s not the same as all the other kids. Who actually is special.”
Mom blinked. “We have a lot of money. Matt is going to Harvard if I have to buy them a new fucking building.”
“Take a number,” Lydia snapped. “Harvard doesn’t have enough real estate for all the buildings they’ve been promised now. Believe it or not, Mrs. Kensington, and yes I know your husband is the world’s biggest real estate developer, but there are people far richer and more powerful than you who also have kids they want in Harvard, and who will elbow you aside if you play the game the same way they do.”
What really surprised Matt was that at this outburst, Mom was silent. She nodded. This was the kind of cold, harsh realism she could work with. He’d forgotten that about her. She’d grown up hard in Texas, and was working as a waitress when she met Dad. He’d been sitting at one of her tables in the greasy diner, back when he was just a middle manager, always on the road. And when he’d come back on his next trip and offered to take her home with him, well, she never looked back.
“Harvard’s your ticket, son,” his dad would say on the rare occasions when they all had dinner together. “Gotta get a good education.”
Matt was always startled when he saw his dad, because a sighting was such a rare thing that he often forgot what the man looked like, the way you might remember a substitute teacher’s face when he showed up the next time, but not during the absences.
“You went to a state college, though, and you’re successful.”
His dad smiled. “But I have a head for business.”
“Your father’s right. You need that degree, Matt.”
“To do what?”
They looked at him. “Why, you need it to do anything!” his dad said, genuinely shocked. “You can’t do anything without a college degree!”
Matt sighed. Who was he to argue? He was just a kid.
A few years later, nobody had been more surprised than Matt when he got into Harvard. He’d written the Right Essay with the “help” of a $500 an hour “applications consultant.” And then, surreptitiously, he’d replaced it with his own essay, his own words, before sending in the application.
I was supposed to learn to play the cello, so I could get into Harvard. I wanted to play classical guitar instead, so that’s what I’m learning to do. I don’t even know that I want to go to Harvard, but my parents want me to go. In fact, I think maybe there’s a world out there I can conquer without a college degree. And if I do go to college, I’ll be damned if I know what I’m going to major in. I’m not the most mathematically inclined guy, so
“I just like him better.”
“Hmm,” the little man said, frowning, making a little mark on a piece of paper, the thing Matt had been raised to believe was the most awful thing anyone could do to him ever.
Worst of all, when Mom had been thoroughly baffled by the rejection letter, he’d told her the story. He’d wanted to make it better, to tell her it hadn’t been his fault – but of course, in her eyes, it had been. That had shocked him more than anything – that she thought he should have lied.
Lydia tried not to sigh. Matt knew that she did this for the kids. Or tried to. It seemed more each day that doing it for the kids meant doing it against the adults, and around here, the adults always won.
“Look,” she said, ready to say what she never would have, if it hadn’t been late, and she was tired, and she liked Matt, and most of all, because Mrs. Kensington got on her nerves. “Admissions people let in tons of kids who do exactly what they’re supposed to do, to the letter. But that means that every now and then, they need to let in a kid who didn’t, a kid who’s not the same as all the other kids. Who actually is special.”
Mom blinked. “We have a lot of money. Matt is going to Harvard if I have to buy them a new fucking building.”
“Take a number,” Lydia snapped. “Harvard doesn’t have enough real estate for all the buildings they’ve been promised now. Believe it or not, Mrs. Kensington, and yes I know your husband is the world’s biggest real estate developer, but there are people far richer and more powerful than you who also have kids they want in Harvard, and who will elbow you aside if you play the game the same way they do.”
What really surprised Matt was that at this outburst, Mom was silent. She nodded. This was the kind of cold, harsh realism she could work with. He’d forgotten that about her. She’d grown up hard in Texas, and was working as a waitress when she met Dad. He’d been sitting at one of her tables in the greasy diner, back when he was just a middle manager, always on the road. And when he’d come back on his next trip and offered to take her home with him, well, she never looked back.
“Harvard’s your ticket, son,” his dad would say on the rare occasions when they all had dinner together. “Gotta get a good education.”
Matt was always startled when he saw his dad, because a sighting was such a rare thing that he often forgot what the man looked like, the way you might remember a substitute teacher’s face when he showed up the next time, but not during the absences.
“You went to a state college, though, and you’re successful.”
His dad smiled. “But I have a head for business.”
“Your father’s right. You need that degree, Matt.”
“To do what?”
They looked at him. “Why, you need it to do anything!” his dad said, genuinely shocked. “You can’t do anything without a college degree!”
Matt sighed. Who was he to argue? He was just a kid.
A few years later, nobody had been more surprised than Matt when he got into Harvard. He’d written the Right Essay with the “help” of a $500 an hour “applications consultant.” And then, surreptitiously, he’d replaced it with his own essay, his own words, before sending in the application.
I was supposed to learn to play the cello, so I could get into Harvard. I wanted to play classical guitar instead, so that’s what I’m learning to do. I don’t even know that I want to go to Harvard, but my parents want me to go. In fact, I think maybe there’s a world out there I can conquer without a college degree. And if I do go to college, I’ll be damned if I know what I’m going to major in. I’m not the most mathematically inclined guy, so
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