Page 45 of Under the Lights

“It’s my acceptance letter!” I couldn’t stop my voice from going all high-pitched. Silence.

“My acceptance letter from UCLA!” I clarified, thinking maybe now they’d catch on, expecting excitement … or at least some kind of reaction.

“The volleyball program,” I added because somehow they weren’t connecting the dots. “The program I’ve been busting my ass for since middle school?”

My parents exchanged a glance — tight, uneasy. Maybe they didn’t understand?

“Mom, Dad! This is huge! I got into my dream school. They actually accepted me! Gosh, I can’t wait to start buying stuff for my dorm. It’s going to be so pretty! And the beach! I’ll actually get to go and see the ocean.” I rambled.

Excitement buzzed through my veins, albeit dampened by their lack of reaction.

“Sierra.” I stopped short when Mom finally spoke up. She wasn’t smiling. Why wasn’t she smiling?

“What?” My voice wavered with uncertainty as a knot formed in the pit of my stomach. “What is it?”

“We need to talk about your college fund.”

The grin etched on my face since opening the letter faltered. My eyes locked on my Dad, who was standing with his arms crossed against the counter, and then on my mom, who was fidgeting with her hands.

“What about my college fund?” An inexplicable sense of foreboding dread unfurled deep inside me.

“We had to dip into it. For a business loan. And the roof. And—”

My heart dropped, and my voice sounded distant, as though I were engulfed by a thick fog. “What do you mean, dip into it?”

“We thought we’d be able to replace it.” My father said defensively, brows furrowed. “We didn’t think you’d…”

“You didn’t think I’d what, Dad?” I choked out.

He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “We didn’t think you’d get in there, honestly.”

Everything went cold. My body frozen to the spot, a numbness settling in my ribcage, spreading like a dark, unstoppable force, claiming every cell in my body.

“We didn’t think you’d get in.”

They didn’t think I’d make it. Didn’t think I was good enough to get recruited. Didn’t believe in the years I spent bruising my knees on hardwood courts, running drills until my legs gave out, chasing that perfect jump serve.

They saw my dream school as a fantasy. They didn’t know it was my plan. My way out. My shot at going pro.

My pulse pounded in my ears. The world should have stopped turning as the gravity of that statement finally sank in. They followed up with a flood of assurances.

It’s not that bad. There are other options. Community college, maybe defer a year.

Meanwhile, I could barely fucking breathe, holding on to my cool by a thread. “You didn’t even tell me? You let me apply, get my hopes up — all while knowing there was no money?”

Mom’s face scrunched up, tears brimming in her eyes. “Stop it, Sierra. We already feel bad enough.”

“You feel bad? What about me? I don’t understand why you didn’t just fucking tell me!” I threw my arms up in exasperation, wanted to cry, to scream, to rage.

“Language!” Dad cut in, his voice stern and authoritative.

“No! I want to know. I deserve to know.” My hands were trembling, my eyes burning.

Dad sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Sierra.”

I felt hollow, like my very insides had been scraped out.

“It just added up somehow, honey. I don’t know how it happened. We truly thought we’d be able to replace it before you’d ever need it.” Mom said weakly. “Your father was working so hard and—”

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