College
Part 1
March 12, 1986
Mart sat at the table inside the Bob White clubhouse, a short stack of envelopes in front of him. There were five of them. Two were fairly thick. The other three somewhat thinner. His hands shook slightly, and he placed them palms down on the table, trying to still the shaking.
Tessa and Dan were running late. Or else, he was running early. He wasn’t sure which. Either way, it meant he was alone here, staring at his future—or lack thereof. He felt an ache, deep in the pit of his stomach, and struggled to focus on what was real. The table is real. The envelopes are real. The bench is real—and hard. He had to grin at his mental checklist. The bench was hard, and he was tense with anticipation. He could get up and pace, but that seemed, somehow, more telling of his anxiety than just sitting patiently.
Months before, while filling out their college applications, he, Dan and Tessa had made a pact. They would do the whole process together. They had filled out the paperwork—albeit to different colleges—together. They had stamped and mailed them together. As letters had begun to arrive, each had gathered theirs, stockpiling until they could sit and open them. Together. Mart was beginning to regret that decision. His fingers itched to tear in to his envelopes. He wanted to know. Now.
Laughter redirected his attention to the door, and he let his shoulders slump a little. Finally! The door swung open, and in tumbled his compatriots. “Mart!” Tessa exclaimed, “Oh! You made a fire. Thank you. It’s still chilly outside.”
“Ha!” Dan countered, “It’s forty degrees out there. Compared to the eighteen degrees it was while I was patrolling this morning, I’d say it’s downright balmy out there.”
Her response was to stick out her tongue at him as she stripped off her coat and gloves. Something in that gesture made Mart laugh, and he felt some of his tension melt. Not all of it. Not by a long shot, but enough to take the edge off a little. His hands were steady now, his brain not so frenetic, as his friend and cousin put away their outer wear and took their seats at the table, each holding a stack of envelopes similar to his own.
“Where do you want to start?” Dan asked. “I was thinking we order them from safety school to first choice, just so we can prolong the agony.”
“Dude,” Mart groaned, closing his eyes.
“I don’t have a safety school,” Tessa complained. “I have Ivies.” She rolled her eyes.
“You only applied to Ivies?” Mart asked. “I thought you applied to NYU and Stanford.”
“I did,” she told him. “I also applied to the UC system in California, and both U of H, Manoa and Hawaii Pacific. But if I choose one of those, my grandfather will have a stroke. He has his heart set on Harvard—like Ben and Charley. Family tradition and all of that, but I couldn’t care less.” She grinned. “That’s why I applied at Penn, Cornell, Columbia and Yale. I think he’d be okay with Penn or Columbia, but he frowned at Cornell, and Yale would be as abhorrent to Grandfather as UCLA or U of H.”
“What’s wrong with Cornell?” Mart asked, feeling a little indignant. Cornell was his first choice, and he didn’t like hearing it criticized.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s a perfectly fine school. Grandfather just sees it as an ag school.” She chuckled. “He’s a bit snobby, my paterfamilias. To him, Cornell is a safety school.”
“Only a man as rich as your grandfather would see any of the Ivies as a safety school,” Dan said, shuffling his stack. “So, safety first?
Mart bit back another groan. “Safety first,” he agreed, changing the order of his envelopes. “I have six, total. How many do you guys have?” he asked.
“Nine,” Tessa answered at the same time Dan said, “Five.”
“How many do we have that are the same?” he asked.
Dan glanced at Tessa’s stack, and then at Mart’s. “NYU, Columbia and Cornell,” he said. “Tess and I have the two Hawaii schools in common, and then she has four more.” He wrinkled his nose, “Ivies and Cali.”
Mart felt his anxiety ramping up again, but he took a deep breath and suggested, “I think Tess should open her extra four, first. Then, I’ll open Northwestern and Penn State, while you two open U of H and Hawaii Pacific. Finally, we can open our last three together, least to most important.” He wrinkled his nose. “Prolong the agony that way.”
“Agony?” Dan scoffed. “Seriously, dude? I was kidding. You’ve got a 3.8 grade point average with college classes, and you scored 1480 on the SAT. Any of those schools would be lucky to get you.”
Mart was stunned. He hadn’t really thought about his situation in those terms. Dan was right. Cornell should be glad to get him. The little voice in the back of his brain whispered, but what if they aren’t? He quashed the voice, shoving it into a box, slamming shut the lid and locking it down, tight. “Is that why you’re both so calm?” he asked.
“Yes.” His cousin answered him in the most matter of fact of voices. “I’m not trying to sound arrogant, Mart, but the three of us all scored in the top percentile on the tests, we all are in the top of our class, plus we have college credits. I’m pretty confident that if any of us get refused, it’s going to be because we are over qualified.” She shrugged. “Sleepyside might be a small town, but they gave us the best possible educational opportunities.”
“Better than your private school education?” Dan teased.
She mock punched him in the arm. “Yes, actually. Kings and St. Mary’s offer AP and IBS classes, but not actual college. And don’t make fun of my private education—you went to private school, too. For a while.”
Mart watched them, the majority of his anxiety fading away. “You’re right,” he said. “So, let’s not prolong this. No turns. No order. Let’s just dump them all in the middle of the table and tear into them. Let the paper scraps fall where they may!”
Dan grinned, a wicked gleam in his eyes. He shoved his pile to the center; Mart and Tessa did the same. Mart reached out and shuffled all the envelopes so that none of the labels was showing. He picked up an envelope, waiting for his compatriots to do the same. “On three?”
“Let ‘em rip!” Dan said. “One.”
“Two.” Tessa chimed.
Mart took a breath. “Three!”
The next three minutes were a chaotic free for all full of laughter, tearing paper and chortles of glee as twenty different acceptance letters were ripped, pulled, read and the results proclaimed. Impromptu dancing immediately followed.
“I can’t believe it!” Mart exclaimed, collapsing onto the bench, emotionally and physically exhausted. “No one turned us down. Not one!”
“That’s because we are amazing and awesome!” Dan shouted, swinging Tessa around before they both joined Mart back at the table. “Wait,” he said, looking at one, thin envelope resting on the far edge. “What’s that one?”
“Oh.” Tessa reached for it. “This is my GMAT score.”
“GMAT?” Mart had to think for a minute. “Isn’t that a graduate level test?”
“It is,” she told him. “Professor Billings suggested we take it for practice, if we could afford to. I could, so I did.”
“How’d you do?”
“I don’t know. It came yesterday, and I hadn’t gotten around to opening it yet.” She handed it to him. “You tell me.”
Mart took the envelope, sliding his finger under the flap and easing it open. He tugged out the sheet, and felt his eyes bulge. “Tess,” he said, “You scored a 780.”
“Really?” She frowned. “Huh. I thought I’d score higher. It really didn’t seem that hard. The math was easy, and the essays were fairly standard: Issues and Arguments. I thought I had it. Oh, well. I can take it again, if I decide I really need an MBA.”
She didn’t understand. “No, Tess, you did really well. I mean really well.” He handed the letter to Dan, who scanned it and gave a low whistle.
“I scored less than a thousand,” Tessa said. “How is that good?”
Mart looked at Dan. Dan looked back at Mart, and then turned to Tess, the paper in his hand. “Babe,” he said, “the test scores range from 200 to 800. You scored a 780. 780 out of 800. On a graduate level test.”
“Seriously?” She snatched the form from his hand. “Wow. I did do well.”
“What does it mean?” Mart asked. “Can you skip college and go to grad school?”
“I don’t know.” Tessa looked up at him, her gold-green eyes clouded. “I have no idea. I suppose I should ask Professor Billings.”
“Worry about that later,” Dan told her. “Right now, I think we need to go share our good news with, well, everyone. What do you say?”
“I concur,” Mart said. He picked up the papers and started sorting them back into piles by name. “Parentals first, and then the world.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Dan set his hand flat on the table, palm down. Tessa placed her hand on top of his, and Mart grinned as he covered them both. Somehow, friendship made everything smoother, calmer, easier. Better.
“One for all…” he said.
“All for one,” Dan finished.
“One,”
“Two,”
“Three!”
They broke, hands flying upward. Then, Mart put out the fire in the oil burner, while Tessa put all the furniture back in place. As they left, Dan locked the door behind them, and the three amigos headed off to share their future as yet unwritten.
Friday, March 14, 1986
“Professor? May I ask you a question?” Tessa stood at the door to Professor George Billings’ office.
“Of course, Miss Hart. Come in. Have a very uncomfortable seat.” He gave her a smile and waved his hand toward the metal folding chair that served as guest seating in his closet sized office. Once she had perched herself upon it, he asked, “What can I help you with today?”
She reached into her book bag and pulled out the envelope. “I got my GMAT scores back,” she said. “I was hoping you could help me figure out what to do next.”
“You took it? Good for you. I always find it helpful to take a practice test. It helps figure out what areas need work.” He reached for the envelope. “Don’t worry about the score. You can use it as a baseline to highlight where you should concentrate your studies. That way you can strengthen your skills and improve your score for when it counts.”
“I’m not sure I can,” Tessa said, holding out her paper.
“Of course you can! You’re one of my best students, and I don’t say that lightly. I was hesitant to have a high school student in my class, but you’ve done very well, and I find your perspective and style of thinking quite interesting.” He looked at her scores, and his mouth dropped. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” she answered. “I’ll be eighteen in August.”
“Tessa,” he said, setting the paper carefully on his desk blotter. “Your scores are…amazing. I know four-year program graduates who haven’t scored this high. You got a perfect score on the AWA. That’s remarkable.”
“That’s why I need to talk to you,” she said. “I know that the scores are good for five years, but what are the chances that a four-year degree would better my score? I mean, if I transfer, I would start as a junior, but do you think a graduate program would take me if I took my A.S. over the transfer credits?”
His excited look dropped a little. “Honestly, it would depend on the school. Your grades are acceptable I presume?”
She nodded. “I have a 4.0 high school GPA, and my college GPA is 3.98.” She made a face. “I missed an Econ quiz because I missed the second day of class, and the instructor wasn’t willing to let me make it up.”
“Well, some do consider attendance a factor,” he said with a smile.
“In my defense, I had been kidnapped, and needed the extra day to recover.”
“What?” He looked perplexed, then laughed, “Ah. Very funny. Nice excuse, though.”
“It’s actually true. You can look it up in the old newspaper. My uncles did a good job of keeping it out of the national news, though,” she told him. “Last September. But that’s beside the point. Yes, my grades are solid. I can apply for my A.S. in Business—I have enough credits. Do you think I could get into, say, Columbia Business School? I’ve already been accepted as an undergraduate.”
“I just don’t know,” he told her, still looking a little stunned. “I’ve never known of anyone who went into the MBA program that young, but that doesn’t mean much; I don’t know that many people.” He seemed to ponder her question, tapping his fingers on her GMAT score sheet as he processed. “The only issue I can see is your age and experience. Usually, people entering the MBA program have completed college and at least one internship. Many have been in the work force for several years. Your lack of business experience and contacts will be seen as a serious deficit.”
She laughed. She didn’t mean it as a sign of disrespect; something about his words just struck her as far too funny. She could see confusion on her professor’s face and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. “I’m sorry, Professor Billings,” she said, “but I honestly think that my experience will stand up to someone with an internship.”
“Really? How so, Miss Hart?” Billings raised an eyebrow. “You’re a seventeen-year-old high school student who is taking college classes. Working as a babysitter, or at the local diner is hardly equitable to a business internship.”
He doesn’t know you, she warned herself. He doesn’t know anything about your family or history, and that’s exactly the way you like it. He likely thinks you’re arrogant or delusional. Possibly both. She smiled at him, trying to regain the student–teacher balance. “Professor Billings,” she said, “my family is all business, on both sides. My mother owned a dance studio: a very successful dance studio that has continued, despite her death. My father, like you, was a college professor—although he taught linguistics and foreign languages.” She paused, “He came from a rather influential business family, but he was the second son, so when he chose not to go into business, my grandfather, while not thrilled, accepted his decision.” She paused again, trying to find words that wouldn’t make her seem as if she were whining. “After my parents died, I ended up with my Uncle Andy, who is my mother’s younger brother, and my legal guardian. He’s an international businessman, involved in textiles and business retreats and event planning. Because my parents were his business partners, I inherited their interests. Uncle Andy has been showing me how to manage the businesses since I was fourteen.”
“How old were you when you lost your parents?”
“I was twelve when my father and brother died; thirteen when I lost my mother.” Tessa charged forward, not wanting to dwell on her past, nor on the sympathy flaring in the instructor’s watery blue eyes. “I currently live with my father’s sister and brother-in-law: Madeleine and Matthew Wheeler.”
“Matthew Wheeler? Of Wheeler International, Incorporated?”
“Yes.” The sympathy in his eyes had turned to something that seemed similar to awe. “Uncle Matthew has also been teaching me asset management and negotiation techniques. Charles Wesley Hart is my grandfather. The Hart holdings are held in trust for his children and grandchildren. When I turned sixteen, I was given a seat on the board. Traditionally, my cousins and I would be classified as board members in name only until we turn twenty-five. At that time, we can choose to take an active position, or to simply allow the board to manage the investments and direction of the company. My father never relinquished his voting stock, so, because I inherited my father’s stock, I also have his vote.”
“You are a voting member of a Fortune Global 100 company?” The man seemed stunned by the information she had thrown at him.
She nodded. “I am. Believe me, there were a lot of lawyers involved in figuring out that mess. Of course, because it’s important for the success of the company that the board members make informed and educated decisions, my uncles and grandfather have been educating me in the ins and outs for the last year and a half.” She giggled. “My cousin Charlie says it’s like I’m in the National Guard of the business world. I spend evenings, some of my school breaks, and one weekend every month learning about our various interests.” She sobered. “I’m being up front with you, Professor, because I need your advice. Not many people outside of my family know this about me. The information about my board seat and my financials are public information, of course, but my family and I prefer to keep a lower profile. I’m not a spoiled heiress. Honestly, I’m not, and I’m taking a risk trusting you with this information. I work very hard to learn everything my grandparents, aunts and uncles can teach me. I have a substantial amount of assets and interests, and I’ve had more actual experience in making business decisions and in investing and reinvesting than probably ninety percent of those interns. Most of the interns for my Uncle Matthew end up getting coffee, dialing the phone and filing.”
She gave him a moment to process. “You said that you find my perspective and style of thinking interesting. Please know that it isn’t coming simply from my opinions of our reading materials, but rather from my actual observations while working within my family businesses.”
He rubbed his chin. “I don’t know what to say.” He threw his hands up. “Really. This is highly unusual. I would imagine that if you could show proof of your experience, Columbia would be hard pressed to deny you entry into the program. My question for you is this: Would you really want to give up your undergraduate experience?”
“I’ve already given that some thought,” she said. “I spent the last few days weighing my options.” She shrugged. “I’ve already been in college for almost two years, Professor. I’m not a party kind of girl. I’ve already traveled more of the world than most people my age, and I’ve spent enough time away from my true home. I don’t know what typical undergraduate experiences I’d be missing. Before I got the test results back, I was planning on spending my next two years improving my foreign languages, and taking whatever business classes interest me. If I were to go into a graduate program, it would just be an acceleration of sorts, and I can study languages on my own.”
“Do you speak another language? It’s a good skill to have if you’re working in international business.”
She nodded. “I’m fluent in French, Spanish and Hawaiian. I have conversational ability in Russian, German, Welsh and Italian. I’ve been taking an intro class in Japanese this quarter. Unlike all the others—except Russian—reading it is harder than speaking it. But, drawing the characters appeals to the unfulfilled artist in me.”
“Unfulfilled?”
“I have virtually no talent,” she said with a laugh. “My friend, Diana, is a brilliant artist. Sketching, design, painting, fashion. She can make it all work. I’m lucky if I can draw a stick figure with the right amount of legs. Drawing the Japanese characters is a challenge, but they’re pretty, too. So, it’s like art. Sort of.”
The look he was giving her made her wonder if she had sprouted a second head. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. After all, her discourse on Japanese characters had probably sounded like Honeyspeak to him. She tried to get the meeting back on track. After all, Dan and Mart would be done with class soon, and she didn’t want to keep them waiting. “So, Professor, what would you advise?”
“I say you should go for it.” His use of slang surprised her, and she choked back a laugh as he continued. “Apply to the graduate program. Let them know that you are on track to receive your degree, and definitely send them your GMAT scores. I’m more than willing to write you a letter of recommendation, but if you can get verification letters regarding your business experiences, those would probably carry the most weight.”
“I should probably get those letters from non-family members, right?” she asked with a grin.
`
“Preferably,” he agreed, returning her smile. “Although, mentioning your family connections is not considered untoward in these circumstances.”
Yeah. Not what I like to do. To the professor, she smiled and rose, holding out her hand. “Thank you for your time, Professor Billings. I’ll see you in class.” He shook her hand, and she left, closing the door behind her. She never saw him pick up the phone, nor did she hear him say, “Colin, this is George. You aren’t going to believe this…”
Dan was leaning on the truck, hands in his pockets, when she finally made it to the parking lot. It was mid-March, and spring was giving a valiant effort. The air still had a nip in it, but the snow from earlier in the week had melted, and the sun was making a weak attempt at shining. His gaze caught hers, and he smiled. She felt warm and tingly, just from that smile, and she picked up her pace. “Hey,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
He leaned down and kissed her. It was brief, but even the lightest touch tended to set her heart racing. “Five minutes,” he said. “Mart’s the one who took a detour to the counseling office.”
“Justifiably,” she told him. “Getting into Cornell is big news.”
“True.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Speaking of big news…?”
“How do you feel about Columbia?” she asked, happy feelings bubbling up at the relief in his eyes. He’d been adamant about attending college together, but she also knew how much he wanted to stay near his father and newly reclaimed brother. Dan’s family was still new to him, and he needed to enjoy it.
“I think Columbia is an excellent school,” he said. “I also think I can sublet my soon-to-be new sister-in-law’s apartment, which will save me money.” He tilted his head. “So, Professor Billings thinks you can bypass undergrad and get into the MBA program?”
“He thinks there is a good chance,” she said, “and what’s the worst case scenario? I do two years at an Ivy, and graduate with a business degree and a couple more languages under my belt. It’s a win-win.”
“You’re my win-win,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in for another, longer kiss.
His embrace was warm, his arms strong yet gentle. Tessa felt she could stay just as they were for forever. A groan and a forced cough broke the spell. Mart.
“C’mon, guys!” he groaned. “It’s a public parking lot in the middle of the day. Show some decorum.” Then, he winked. With a laugh, Tessa stretched up and gave Dan one last kiss. He opened the truck door, and she slid in. Within a minute, the three were cheerfully bouncing down the road to home.