Chapter 9

At the start of eighth grade, I went to see Jack.

"Mr. Warren, I'd like to pick up a few more shifts," I said.

Jack frowned. "You're already juggling enough. Any more and your grades will tank."

"They won't. I can handle it."

"Your grades already slipped last semester."

I bit my lip. "I'll make it up this term, I promise."

Jack looked at me for a long moment.

He let out a sigh. "The library needs a student assistant for the weekends. Ten bucks a month. Go give it a shot."

"Thank you, Mr. Warren," I said.

From then on, my schedule was packed.

Monday through Friday, I worked the lunch and dinner rushes at the cafeteria.

Weekends were spent entirely at the library.

I was running on four or five hours of sleep a night, but I never felt tired.

Every time I got paid, knowing I could send money back to my grandma gave me a deep sense of peace.

The library gig was actually a breeze.

I just shelved books and logged checkouts, leaving me with plenty of downtime to study and slowly catch up on the coursework I'd missed.

The librarian, Sam Clark, was a guy in his forties.

Catching me always buried in a textbook, he asked me one day, "What are you pushing yourself so hard for?"

I paused. "I want to get into a good college."

"Why?"

"To change my life."

Sam nodded. "Got ambition. I like kids like you."

He pulled a few novels off a shelf. "Borrow these. They're classics. They'll do you some good."

I took them and checked the covers.

The Grapes of Wrath, Jane Eyre, and Great Expectations.

Over the next few weeks, I got lost in those pages.

I saw Tom Joad's crushing hardships, Jane's quiet resilience, and Pip's relentless struggle.

I realized the world was full of people just like me, born into the dirt with the deck stacked against them.

But they didn't quit.

They fought for their dignity in their own way.

Those stories gave me grit. They made me believe that if I just held on, there would be light at the end of the tunnel.

*****

By midterms, I'd clawed my way back to third in the class.

My homeroom teacher gave me a shoutout. "Charlotte isn't just pulling her grades up. She's working her way through school. You all should take a page from her book."

The way the other kids looked at me shifted from mockery to envy, and finally, to respect.

One girl even came up to me after class. "Charlotte, how do you study for math? I just can't get it."

It was the first time in three years a classmate had initiated a conversation with me.

I was a bit taken aback. "Just drill the practice problems and figure out the patterns."

"Could you teach me?" she asked.

"Sure."

Slowly, more kids started asking for help, and I patiently walked them through the equations.

Little by little, I made friends. Not a ton, but enough.

*****

During the spring of eighth grade, the school hosted a speech contest titled My Dream.

"Charlotte, you're a solid writer and you speak well. You should go for it," Winona urged.

I'd never done anything like it, but I agreed.

On the day of the competition, the auditorium was packed.

I was standing on stage, staring out at the sea of faces.

My palms were sweating bullets.

But the second I opened my mouth, the nerves vanished.

"My dream is simple," I began. "I want to give my grandmother a good life.

"She raised my dad, and then she raised me.

"She's in her seventies, still breaking her back in the fields and collecting scrap metal just to keep me in school.

"My dream is that one day, she won't have to work so hard.

"That she can live in a nice house, eat decent food, and afford to see a doctor. That is my dream. It is the entire reason I push myself."

You could hear a pin drop in that room.

I saw teachers wiping their eyes.

In the end, I won first place.

The principal handed me an award and a cash prize of two hundred dollars.

It was the most money I'd ever held in my life.

My hands shook as I gripped the envelope.

Two hundred bucks.

I could buy Grandma so much medication.

I could get her a new winter coat. I could keep her warm this year.

*****

Back in my dorm, the girls crowded around.

"Charlotte, your speech was incredible."

"Seriously, I was bawling."

"Your grandma must love you so much."

I nodded, my eyes stinging. "She's the person who loves me most in the whole world."

The only one, really.

That night, I wrote her a letter.

I told her about winning first place.

I promised her I'd keep grinding. I promised her that one day, I'd give her the life she deserved.

A week later, I got a reply, penned by one of our neighbors since Grandma couldn't read or write.

It was brief. [Charlotte, I am so proud of you. Take care of yourself and don't work too hard. I'm doing just fine here. Don't worry about me.]

I read those words over and over before carefully folding the paper and sliding it under my pillow.

It was my most prized possession.

*****

By the end of eighth grade, I'd saved up three hundred dollars.

When I went home for summer break, I gave every last cent to Grandma.

She looked at the cash and broke down. "Oh, Charlotte. You've suffered so much."

"I haven't," I shook my head. "As long as you're okay, none of it is suffering."

I spent that whole summer by her side.

I helped her with the farm chores, washed the clothes, and cooked our meals.

At night, we'd sit out on the porch to catch the breeze.

"Charlotte," she asked one evening. "Do you think your folks are doing alright?"

I froze.

We hadn't talked about my parents in years.

"I don't know," I said.

"Do you hate them?"

I stayed quiet for a long time. "I used to. Not anymore."

"Why's that?"

"Because holding a grudge is useless. I'd rather put that energy into bettering myself."

Grandma looked at me, her eyes full of pride. "You've grown up, sweetheart. You really have."

I leaned my head on her shoulder. "When I get into college and land a good job, I'm moving you to the city with me."

"Okay. I'll be waiting for that day." Her voice was soft, laced with a smile.

What I couldn't see were the tears welling in her eyes.

She knew her failing health might not let her see that day.

And there I was, foolishly dreaming, imagining I could show her the world, having no idea that our time was rapidly running out.