It was always my goal. Ever since I went to a debate camp there over the summer, I knew I wanted to go to Stanford. The worst part of it all was that I actually, genuinely, wholeheartedly believed that I could. I believed that I was different. Although statistics might have suggested otherwise, I thought that the acceptance rates of nearly four percent didn’t apply to me, the academic prodigy from downtown Detroit. It was toward this goal of mine, that I invested countless hours of studying. While my friends were outside playing kickball in the old abandoned housing lot adjacent to our neighborhood, I was inside reviewing my SAT vocab lists, so that when the time came to write my essay, I could prominently show my prodigious lexicon, a result
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It will stick with me, I’ll remember this day for the rest of my life, and how I really shouldn’t have gotten that 2400. But I need the points, I’d only get a 2100 without it. There's no way I’ll get into Stanford if I don’t exploit my resources.
Just then the proctor, having been dormant for over an hour, stands up and gestures at us to be quiet. But as he is looking at us, his facial expression shifts from one of fatigue and exhaustion, to one of interest and authority.
It’s over. You’re done for. He’s gonna come over here, see the paper that I didn’t use, and convict me of cheating.
The proctor did walk over to our desks, and he did see the paper, but when I looked down to confirm the papers location, it wasn’t there. It was hiding in between the pages of Dan’s test booklet, as if he had seen my integrity and my ambitions collide, and realised that my integrity mattered more to me than any score ever could. He looked at me and smiled. I smiled back, confident that I had made the right choice.
I chose not to cheat, even when the tool to do it was right there in front of me, even when I had so much to lose. I chose not to cheat, and that is what ensured my acceptance to
It will stick with me, I’ll remember this day for the rest of my life, and how I really shouldn’t have gotten that 2400. But I need the points, I’d only get a 2100 without it. There's no way I’ll get into Stanford if I don’t exploit my resources.
Just then the proctor, having been dormant for over an hour, stands up and gestures at us to be quiet. But as he is looking at us, his facial expression shifts from one of fatigue and exhaustion, to one of interest and authority.
It’s over. You’re done for. He’s gonna come over here, see the paper that I didn’t use, and convict me of cheating.
The proctor did walk over to our desks, and he did see the paper, but when I looked down to confirm the papers location, it wasn’t there. It was hiding in between the pages of Dan’s test booklet, as if he had seen my integrity and my ambitions collide, and realised that my integrity mattered more to me than any score ever could. He looked at me and smiled. I smiled back, confident that I had made the right choice.
I chose not to cheat, even when the tool to do it was right there in front of me, even when I had so much to lose. I chose not to cheat, and that is what ensured my acceptance to