At half past four, the postman arrived. She dashed to the mailbox like it was Christmas Day and nimbly sorted the mail. A Sears catalog, a handful of bills, a flyer for the weekly sale at Longs’ Drugs. Two envelopes, one white and one pink.
The white one was from Stanford University.
Holding her breath, she tore it open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper. A bit slippery to grasp with her gloves, but she held on firmly, turning it right side up.
Dear Miss Yuen,
We regret that we are unable to offer you admission to Stanford University—
Thirteen words. One sentence. A dream shattered.
Marigold let go of the breath she’d been holding. Her heart sank. For a long while she couldn’t move.
Four long years of studying, of scraping for each measly point in class and striving for perfect grades. All for what? Rejection.
“Marigold?” Peony called to her from inside the bakery.
Marigold couldn’t speak. The envelope was crumpled in her hand, held low like a flag at half-mast.
Peony rushed out and hugged her. No words were needed.
Tears trickled down Marigold’s cheeks. She knew it was pathetic, being this emotional over a university, but she couldn’t help it. Studying was the only thing she was good at, and she’d dedicated herself to the one dream she thought attainable: going to the best school and studying with the best professors. Her life to this point had been a journey bracketed by two imaginary parentheses; Stanford was the destination.
How it hurt to find out she wasn’t worthy.
“It’s okay to cry,” whispered Peony. “You worked hard for this. Harder than anyone I know.”
Marigold leaned against the side of their house, the broad ivy leaves crinkling behind her back. “It wasn’t enough. I... wasn’t—”
“You’remore than enough. You just weren’t lucky this time around.” Her sister pried the rejection letter from her hand. “Just you wait, in four years they’ll come begging with a scholarship.”
“Med school’s even harder to get into than college.”
“Which will give them time to realize their mistake,” Peony said sagely. “You’re going to be the first person in our entire family to go to college. It doesn’t matter whether it’s at Stanford or Timbuktu, can I tell you how proud I am of you? So proud.”
Marigold felt her shoulders go soft. There was beauty in having someone believe in you the way Peony did. She did feel a tiny bit better.
“I haven’t gotten in anywhere else yet. If I don’t get a scholarship, who knows if I can—”
“Don’t.” Peony raised a shushing finger to her lips. “If you don’t get at least one full ride somewhere, I’ll get Paul to quit plumbing until we bake enough cakes to pay your tuition.”
“Paul, bake?” Marigold allowed a laugh. “I hope you have insurance.”
“Exactly.” Peony took her by the shoulders. “Come on, let’s get back inside.”
“Wait.” Marigold showed Peony the pink envelope. It was square and thin, addressed in slanted block letters to Ha Yut Ying.
The name their mother never used.
“Look at where it’s from.” Marigold pointed. “South Church in Guilin.”
She and Peony exchanged excited looks. “Do you think...”
“Has to be.”
Marigold wiped her tears. “It can’t be an all-bad-news day. Let’s go show Mom.”
