The Bad Boy's Average Girl

“I am sorry to say, Miss Ferguson, you are simply average.”  Mr. Hatfield said to me as he slid his rectangular readers down his crooked nose.  His head c****d to one side as he leaned back in his chair.  “Earlstone University is a highly prestigious school my dear, I have to be honest with you, I don’t know if your current GPA, resume, or application will be up to their standards.” I sat nervously in my seat.  Mr. Hatfield was my high school counselor, and I was desperately hoping for him to write me a letter of recommendation.  His words could be instrumental in my being accepted into my college of choice.  I pushed my hair behind my ears and bit my lip.  Mr. Hatfield rubbed his temple with his hand and sighed before returning his gaze back to my school records scattered on his desk before him.  “Your GPA is barely above average, and your extracurricular activities are almost none.  Have you been preparing for college at all?”  His condescending tone was quite clear.  He sighed again.  “Miss Ferguson, you are a lovely girl, but you don’t appear to be anything special on paper, and its important to stand out in a college application.” My heart began to beat unevenly and deep within my chest.  It was difficult not to take his words to heart, not that I hadn’t heard them all before.  AVERAGE.  It was like a permanent stain on everything I did: average height, average looks, average grades, average, average, average.  I knew I didn’t stand out, but getting into this college was important to more than just myself.  Yet, still I remained silent.  “It might be possible, if we could get you to the interview phase of the application.”   “That’s what I am hoping!”  I didn’t mean to yell, but I must have been holding my breath, the words came out too harsh and forced.  “If they met me, they could see and hear my eagerness and excitement about their school.”   “Yes.”  He nodded at me with squinted eyes.  What was he thinking?  “It’s just getting there that’s the problem.  Tell me about your qualifications, Rose.  What makes you worth even talking too?”   Again, with the tone, goodness, could he ease up a bit.  “I am a descent writer, I love poetry!”  I said, hoping my enthusiasm could be heard.  I don’t like to boast, but I thought I had some pretty decent poems.   “Ahh, yes I do see you’re A+ grade in Mrs. Rodriquez’s creative writing class.  I will admit that is quite impressive for our school.” My heart jumped a bit.  Mrs. Rodriquez was notorious at failing students in her writing classes.  She told me herself, I am the first A+ she has given out in 5 years.   “But…”  Ahh the death blow.  The one word that kills dreams.   “But…  What have you done with that skill?  Have you written for the school newspaper, have you submitted any poems to competitions or to any publications?  What proof do you have that this so-called skill of yours is anything above average?”  His body language changed and seems more aggressive, as if I was wasting his time. “I have my personal journals and notebooks full of my ideas, but no, Mr. Hatfield, I don’t have any thing to show for it like you’re asking. But I really think a letter of recommendation from you would be very helpful.  You are an alumnus after all.”  I took a deep breath and maintained eye contact.  I needed this.   “All you have to do is fill out the little survey here.”  I quickly pulled out a single piece of paper from my bookbag and handed it to him.  Could he say no now?  “It just asks you to rank me on a 1-5 scale about random things and include it with a letter of recommendation.  That’s all.”  I hoped to downplay it, if I sounded easy and not a waste of time, maybe he would do it.   “Ahh, yes.”  He took the paper gently from my hand and began to scan the document.  “How would you rate the above student on the following questions.  “The student shows the skills and aptitude appropriate to the Earlston University standards and it’s mission statement. Please rate the student 1-5, 1 being disagree, 5 being strongly agree, 3 being average or no definite opinion.”  He glanced up at me at that last part.    “Fine, I’ll do it, I will fill this out and write you a letter.  When it is due?   “In 6 weeks.”  My voice was quiet as my excitement grew.  He was going to do it! “Here is an already stamped and addressed envelope.  Your part of the application has to be sealed, I am not allowed to see it or send it in.”   “Fine.”  He took the envelope. “Miss Ferguson, please try to spice up your resume and application letter a bit.  If I must put effort into your application, so must you.”   “Yes, sir.”  I said as I stood up.  “Thank you.”  I quickly left before he changed his mind.