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wasn’t even one of the better universities in California—Stanford, Berkeley, USC, and UCLA—but it was adequate. It didn’t draw a lot of rich kids—its student base was primarily middle-class kids who often had to work at least part time. It seemed perfect, and was centrally located—almost equally distant from San Francisco as it was from Los Angeles. And Polk itself was a charming little city of a couple hundred thousand people in the middle of the San Joaquin Valley. A little on the conservative side, it is best known for raisins and grape production. It came down to CSUP, Kansas State, and the University of Tennessee—but I finally decided Kansas and Tennessee were probably a little bit too conservative. My decision made, I filled out the application and waited to hear back. I was pretty certain I’d be accepted—I’d already been accepted into Harvard, after all—and sure enough, after about a month the enrollment package arrived.
    And the struggle with my parents had begun. Mom was against it in the beginning, and Dad was on my side. Ironically, after Mom was convinced, Dad began to have misgivings, and the two of us had to work on him.
    But it had all worked out as I’d known it would, and here we were, sitting in an Olive Garden in Polk, a week before school started.
    â€œBesides—” I finished eating the breadstick, then smothered a grin as Dad watched me mournfully. He really loved Olive Garden’s breadsticks. “You agreed it’s a good learning experience for me. And we agreed—two years here and I’ll make up my mind on my major, and then Harvard.” That was what Dad was most worried about—my indecision regarding my major. And while the money didn’t really matter, he was impressed that I didn’t want to waste money at Harvard trying to figure out my major. He thought it showed a responsibility toward money he really liked.
    I didn’t really know what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I knew I wanted to work in a field I found rewarding. Even after Dad sold his software company, he and Mom kept busy operating a charity foundation, traveling all over the world building health centers and schools. Some of my schoolmates at St. Bernard were aimless—despite the excellent education they were getting, they were really just counting the days until they were old enough to access their trust funds. Dad and Mom were always afraid I would turn out that way.
    â€œWell, if you change your mind . . .” Dad’s voice trailed off as Colleen brought the bill. He slid a credit card into the tray and she took it away. He glanced at his watch. “Look at the time! We’ve got to get to the airport, Mandy.” Colleen brought the tray back, Dad signed the receipt, and slid five hundred-dollar bills into the little leather folder. As we walked out the front door, I heard a rather loud “OH!” from behind me. I looked back over my shoulder at Colleen, whose face had gone white. Her mouth was making a perfect “O” as she stared at the five hundred-dollar bills in her hand. I laughed to myself.
    If I ever ate there without my parents, Colleen was going to be incredibly disappointed in her tip.
    I hugged and kissed them in the parking lot and then waved as they drove their rental car out into the traffic on Shaw Avenue.
    I got into my own car and started it, waiting for the air conditioning to cool it down before heading to my apartment.
    I was nervous. I had been alternating between excitement and full-out terror ever since I’d arrived in Polk the day before. I would never let them know, of course—they’d just worry, and I figured they were already plenty worried on their own without any assistance from me. What if I couldn’t hack it in this environment? What if I couldn’t make any friends? What if the kids at St. Bernard were right and I was some kind of freak? I wasn’t