Dr. Freck continues to watch me silently.
“Please,” I add for good measure.
He sighs and leans back in his chair, then crosses his arms over his chest. “Unlike previous years, we don’t have a set of requirements.”
“What does that even mean?” Connor asks.
“It means just that. We don’t have requirements.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I say. “You have to have some sort of rubric to decide whether or not a student is qualified.”
“Rubric?” Connor snorts.
I turn to face him. “What would you call it, then?”
His face hardens in concentration before he concedes. “A rubric,” he grinds out through gritted teeth.
Gloating, I turn back to Dr. Freck who looks unimpressed. I deflate a little.
Dr. Freck looks like he’s choosing his words carefully. “We’ve decided to be much more…subjective with our choice this year.”
“Like a popularity contest.” My chest aches. It’s student body president all over again. Connor and I were bothrunning for the coveted spot of president. I made beautiful posters in Canva and hung them all over the school. Connor’s posters were white with only his name and desired position printed in Times New Roman.
I rehearsed my speech until it was perfect, striving to make realistic campaign promises. Connor, on the other hand, barely said anything. Just a bunch of convoluted garbage that didn’t make sense.
In the end, he won just like everyone knew he would. And because I was running for president, I wasn’t eligible to fill or compete in any other spot. I took a risk, and it didn’t pay off.
The most frustrating part of the whole thing is Connoriscapable. He’s smart and responsible. He could do great things as the student body president if he wanted, but he doesn’t care. The election proved that people just vote for who they like more. Is that what it’s going to be like for Citrus Scholar? Will I even have a chance?
“It’s not a popularity contest, Miss Adams,” Dr. Freck says. “It’s just not as black and white as basing it on GPA alone.”
“Will GPA still count?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Of course, it will. The Citrus Scholar is for top performing students. It’s a scholarship that opens doors for one student. No student loans, no student debt.”
These are things I already know—and the reason I want it so badly. “If grades are still important, then what are the other factors?”
Dr. Freck leans forward in his chair. “Like I said in theassembly, we’re looking for graduates who are well-rounded. We want the whole man or woman: academics, athletics, arts, service. We want someone who shows they can excel in all areas of life, not just grades. Our hope is that this relieves some of the pressure and emotional stress our students put on themselves academically. You're teenagers. You shouldn't be cooped up in a dusty library studying all day.”
Ugh. Yes, those are the same reasons he gave in the assembly, and I have to fight back a groan at the ridiculousness of it all. The myth of the ‘well-rounded’ student is such a lie. It’s impossible to do everything well, even for Connor Williams. With so many variables, there’s no clear way to pick a winner. At least, not one that I can see.
“Will it work on a point system? One point per club or sport?” I press my lips together. “And, like, two points per A, maybe?”
Connor snorts from beside me. “You’re really trying to influence the point system, Ella?”
“There is no point system,” Dr. Freck snaps. “The faculty is going to choose who they think is most deserving.”
“So, the teachers decide?” He sounds giddy. Of course he does. Everyone loves him, including the faculty.
“We put together a committee.” Dr. Freck levels Connor with a stare. “An anonymous committee. This group of teachers will choose a recipient and will announce who that student is in May.”
We won’t know who gets the scholarship until May?Colleges expect students to commit by then. And early admission? I can kiss that goodbye. I can’t plan to go to certain schools unless I know for sure that it will be paid for. At least when it was determined by grades, I knew how likely it was to get it. Now, I have no clue.
“Doesn’t that seem a little unfair to give someone a scholarship based on the whims of a secret faculty club? What if they like someone more because they both cheer for the same football team?” The ache in my chest deepens.
Dr. Freck tilts his head. “As I’ve already said, this is not a popularity contest. It’s more than that. I’m sure they will be very thoughtful in their decision."
I want to pull my hair out but fight to keep my voice calm. “If there’s not a rubric or point system that they’re basing it off of, how are we supposed to know what is expected of us?”
