My nerves were rattled. Mr. Laszlo drove me to Kentucky to meet with an admissions officer named Martin Kelly. I’d asked Mr. Laszlo why he thought I had a shot at Fenton.
He blinked twice and said, “I mentioned that scholarship, right? You’re a good match, I promise.”
Mr. Laszlo dropped me off and told me to meet him in the cafeteria later. While walking to the admissions department, I noticed the buildings. Lots of impressive red-brick edifices with white columns along a well-manicured quad. It seemed dignified, for sure.
When I entered Mr. Kelly’s office alone, he looked me up and down, but then turned away as if something about me annoyed him. I was surprised by how short he was, and I’m not tall myself. He had a pale complexion and the nervous air of someone busy and distracted. He
