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Authors: Sofia Quintero
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should apply to a range of schools?” Her tone makes it obvious that Mr. Sweren should back her up.
He says, “That’s right, Efrain, you want to apply to three types of schools. One, apply to a few dream schools. You know, the ones that seem like long shots for whatever reason. Then you want to apply to a few safe schools. Those are ones that you can afford and know you can get into with no problem. And then you want to have a few schools in between those two extremes. This way you’re neither shooting too high nor aiming too low.”
“Thanks, Mr. Sweren. I’ll do that.” I appreciate Mr. Sweren schooling me. I haven’t applied yet to any schools in the middle,only concentrating on my dream and safe schools. He did more for me in one conversation than Mrs. Colfax ever did.
If Mrs. Colfax is hating, she keeps it to herself. She tells Mr. Sweren that she will speak to him later and touches me on the arm again. “Remember, Efrain, it’s better to be a big fish in a little bowl rather than a little fish in a big bowl.” I’m mad tempted to tell Mrs. Colfax what she can do with her fishbowls, but I don’t want to shake Mr. Sweren’s image of me as a respectable student.
Once she leaves, he asks me, “What was that all about?” When I explain that Mrs. Colfax thinks it’s a waste of my time to apply to the Ivy League, Mr. Sweren’s bushy eyebrows become one long caterpillar across his forehead. “Look, Efrain, I agree that you shouldn’t put all your eggs in one basket, but Colfax is an idiot.” After the initial shock, I belt out a whooping laugh. I never had a teacher dis another one in front of me like that. “Seriously, she’s been feeding seniors like you that fishbowl crap for years. Yes, it’s difficult for even the best student at Albizu Campos to get into an Ivy League college, but it has been known to happen.”
“You mean since 1913?” I ask. That’s when Pedro Albizu himself enrolled at Harvard. Eleven years later they opened our high school, although I bet anything it wasn’t named after a Puerto Rican back then.
“Yes, a few times since,” Mr. Sweren laughs. “There are always exceptions, and you won’t ever know if you can be one if you don’t at least aim for it.”
“No doubt,” I say. “Albizu Campos himself was a Harvard man, right?”
“That’s right, Efrain.” Mr. Sweren seems impressed that I know that. Then he says, “Let me guess… Señorita Polanco.”
“All day, every day.” Go to a school named “Washington,” “Roosevelt,” or “Kennedy,” trust you’ll learn all about who the school is named after, but no one taught us who Albizu Camposwas until Señorita Polanco returned to teach after graduating in the eighties.
Students start to come into the library, and even though I want to talk more with Mr. Sweren, better to get this over with before Chingy arrives. “Look, I don’t want to do this, but I’m going to have to quit tutoring.”
Mr. Sweren’s caterpillar brow arcs its back. “Why?”
“I didn’t do well on the SATs, so I’m going to retake them in January. But I need more time to study for them. That means giving up my tutoring job.”
Mr. Sweren nods. “I understand. Sounds like you have your priorities in order, Efrain.” He swats me on the back of my shoulder. “You’ll be hard to replace, though. Good luck to you.” Then he opens his folder, and takes out my time sheet. “Sign this before you go so we can make sure you get your last check.” He leaves the sheet on the desk and then starts to mark his attendance book as people roll through the door. Man, that was much easier than I thought it would be. I expected Mr. Sweren to try to convince me to stay or grill me or something. Somehow I don’t feel relieved that he didn’t.
As soon as I sign the time sheet and slip it into Mr. Sweren’s folder, I turn around and bump into Chingy. “What’s up, cuz?” he says as he offers me a pound. “Man, you flew out of
He says, “That’s right, Efrain, you want to apply to three types of schools. One, apply to a few dream schools. You know, the ones that seem like long shots for whatever reason. Then you want to apply to a few safe schools. Those are ones that you can afford and know you can get into with no problem. And then you want to have a few schools in between those two extremes. This way you’re neither shooting too high nor aiming too low.”
“Thanks, Mr. Sweren. I’ll do that.” I appreciate Mr. Sweren schooling me. I haven’t applied yet to any schools in the middle,only concentrating on my dream and safe schools. He did more for me in one conversation than Mrs. Colfax ever did.
If Mrs. Colfax is hating, she keeps it to herself. She tells Mr. Sweren that she will speak to him later and touches me on the arm again. “Remember, Efrain, it’s better to be a big fish in a little bowl rather than a little fish in a big bowl.” I’m mad tempted to tell Mrs. Colfax what she can do with her fishbowls, but I don’t want to shake Mr. Sweren’s image of me as a respectable student.
Once she leaves, he asks me, “What was that all about?” When I explain that Mrs. Colfax thinks it’s a waste of my time to apply to the Ivy League, Mr. Sweren’s bushy eyebrows become one long caterpillar across his forehead. “Look, Efrain, I agree that you shouldn’t put all your eggs in one basket, but Colfax is an idiot.” After the initial shock, I belt out a whooping laugh. I never had a teacher dis another one in front of me like that. “Seriously, she’s been feeding seniors like you that fishbowl crap for years. Yes, it’s difficult for even the best student at Albizu Campos to get into an Ivy League college, but it has been known to happen.”
“You mean since 1913?” I ask. That’s when Pedro Albizu himself enrolled at Harvard. Eleven years later they opened our high school, although I bet anything it wasn’t named after a Puerto Rican back then.
“Yes, a few times since,” Mr. Sweren laughs. “There are always exceptions, and you won’t ever know if you can be one if you don’t at least aim for it.”
“No doubt,” I say. “Albizu Campos himself was a Harvard man, right?”
“That’s right, Efrain.” Mr. Sweren seems impressed that I know that. Then he says, “Let me guess… Señorita Polanco.”
“All day, every day.” Go to a school named “Washington,” “Roosevelt,” or “Kennedy,” trust you’ll learn all about who the school is named after, but no one taught us who Albizu Camposwas until Señorita Polanco returned to teach after graduating in the eighties.
Students start to come into the library, and even though I want to talk more with Mr. Sweren, better to get this over with before Chingy arrives. “Look, I don’t want to do this, but I’m going to have to quit tutoring.”
Mr. Sweren’s caterpillar brow arcs its back. “Why?”
“I didn’t do well on the SATs, so I’m going to retake them in January. But I need more time to study for them. That means giving up my tutoring job.”
Mr. Sweren nods. “I understand. Sounds like you have your priorities in order, Efrain.” He swats me on the back of my shoulder. “You’ll be hard to replace, though. Good luck to you.” Then he opens his folder, and takes out my time sheet. “Sign this before you go so we can make sure you get your last check.” He leaves the sheet on the desk and then starts to mark his attendance book as people roll through the door. Man, that was much easier than I thought it would be. I expected Mr. Sweren to try to convince me to stay or grill me or something. Somehow I don’t feel relieved that he didn’t.
As soon as I sign the time sheet and slip it into Mr. Sweren’s folder, I turn around and bump into Chingy. “What’s up, cuz?” he says as he offers me a pound. “Man, you flew out of
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