The Scholarship

MEET THE JUDGES-Chapter Two

The group discusses the applicant for several more hours but finally comes to a consensus.

"Julie," Cynthia says, "we've found our finalist."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Dr. Jones is having a much easier time with his group of volunteers. They work together like a well-oiled machine. They have even managed to compile several pages of notes and suggestions for the producers for next season.

"Well, it looks like we have it narrowed down to five. I think we're going to get this done today, folks!" The professor smiles and adds, "Right on schedule!"

The group breaks for lunch, and Dr. Jones excuses himself to make a quick phone call. He steps outside to the tree-lined courtyard and slowly walks along the sidewalk, grateful for the opportunity to stretch his 6'4 frame.

"Hi, Dad," his teenage daughter's voice echoes through his cellphone, and he can practically hear her smile.

"Hi, Gabby," the professor says. "I was just calling to check in. How are things going at Portia's house? Are you all settled in?"

"Dad, I'm fine," his daughter says with typical teenage attitude. "God, you haven't even left for the west coast yet, and you're already being Super, Overprotective Dad." Dr. Jones chuckles, but then he sighs.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay while I'm gone?" He asks.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay while you're gone?" Gabby shoots back.

"I miss you already, Bug," he says. Using his daughter's childhood nickname brings back memories of his wife. "Maybe it's not such a great idea that I leave you," he says with a slight panic in his voice.

"Dad, we talked about this. I'm fine. I will be fine. This is such a cool opportunity for you." Gabby pauses. "You deserve a little fun in your life. Besides, I'm coming out to visit in a couple weeks, and I'm expecting you to introduce me to Stevie Quay!"

"Yeah, we'll see about that, young lady," Dr. Jones tells her with a laugh. "Okay, well, I'll call you when I get into Los Angeles. I love you. Tell Portia's parents I said thank you again for letting you stay there."

"Bye, Dad. I love you, too." Dr. Jones sits on an empty bench under a large Beech tree. Even though he's left his daughter for several overnight lecture tours since her mother passed away five years before, this new job feels different somehow. He checks the time on his watch, a Father's Day gift from Gabby the previous year, and reluctantly heads back inside to pick the finalists.

After a brief, organized discussion, the group decides on Lupita Hernández from Los Angeles and Harrison Kershaw from Chicago. Dr. Jones thanks the volunteers and heads home to try and get a good night's sleep for his early morning flight across the country.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"No, no, no, no!" Bobby Smarts slams his hand on the glass table, and three of the volunteers jump at the harsh sound. "We are not picking this chick just because she got herself knocked up in high school!" The look of disgust on his face is not reflective of how the volunteers feel, but Bobby doesn't care; this is his show, and he calls the shots.

"But, Bobby," begins one brave volunteer, "her grades are perfect, and she wants to be a pediatric nurse! That's admirable, you've got to admit."

"The only thing I have to admit is that she's not making the cut." As emphasis, Bobby swipes his finger across his neck. "She's done."

Just as he begins to bring up the kid from Philadelphia, Bobby's housekeeper comes out on the back deck with a large tray of refreshments. "Palmira! What took you so long?" Bobby's words are louder and slower than needed.

"I'm sorry, Señor," Palmira mumbles as she puts down the tray laden with a pitcher of margaritas and ten salt-rimmed glasses.

"You should be able to make these drinks in your sleep. They're the drink of your people," Bobby grabs a glass and fills it with the pitcher.

"Señor, as I've told you before, my people are Cuban." Palmira walks away, and a few of the volunteers hear her mumbling under her breath, "Now if you wanted a pitcher of daiquiris, those I can make in my sleep!"

"Good help is so hard to find. Am I right?" Bobby tries to joke with the men and women surrounding him, but he realizes none of these poor bastards could afford to live the way he does. He shrugs and takes a large gulp of his margarita.

"So let's talk about the weirdo named after James Dean," he says. "I think he would make for some great television!" Bobby laughs at the idea of this kid being on a national network. He really hopes the other volunteers agree with him. The vote is unanimous. "Okay, so we just need to decide on one more."

The other volunteers are adamant about one particular entry. Bobby is ready for this part of the job to be over. He relents.

"Alright, you can have this Alex kid," he says as he stands up and starts walking toward the sliding glass doors that lead to his Florida mansion. "I'm assuming you all can show yourselves out," he calls over his shoulder. And just like that, the most tedious part of The Scholarship is over.