After driving to campus, I walked into the Financial Aid offices and put my name down on the list. While waiting for my name to be called, I doodled in my sketchbook.

A little while later, a woman with curly hair who wore a frilly blouse and knee length skirt came walking out of a hallway. “Samantha Smith?” she asked.

“Me!” I waved and stuffed my sketchbook into my book bag before walking over to join her.

She led me down the hallway to a room full of cubicles. We stopped at hers and she motioned for me to take a seat. There were cat posters pinned up all over the walls of her cubicle, and framed photos surrounding her computer. She also had a stuffed cat wearing a miniature SDU hoody that had a zipper and little drawstrings on the hood.

“Hi” she said as she sat behind her desk. The name placard on the front of the desk read: Sheri Denney. She smiled at me and said, “My name’s Sheri. What can I help you with today, Samantha?”

“I’m going to need more loan money for Spring Quarter or I’m not going to be able to pay my tuition,” I sighed. Did I sound like I was complaining? I didn’t mean to.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Can I see your Student ID?”

I pulled it out and handed it to her. She typed my info into her computer. “It looks to me like you’ve reached the maximum federal loan amount already, based on your parents’ income and your calculated financial need.”

“But I need more money,” I scoffed.

She folded her hands on her desk. “I’m sorry, Samantha. But you have to understand, the federal government and the university consider it your parents’ responsibility to pay for college. The loans are intended to subsidize whatever amount your parents can’t cover. And you’re expected to work to help pay for anything left over. I see on my computer that you have a work study job?”

“I do, at the campus art museum, but it doesn’t come close to making up the difference I’m going to owe for Spring tuition.”

“Have you considered finding a second job off campus?”

“I had one, but it didn’t, uh…work out. It was at a convenience store. I smelled like hot dogs every time I came home from work.”

She grimaced, “Hot dogs?”

“Yeah. I’ll never eat one again. I’m traumatized,” I giggled. “It totally gets in your hair, worse than cigarette smoke.”

“Sounds like you’re better off without that job,” she winked. Sheri was nice.

“Anyway,” I said, “I’m looking for another job. But I haven’t found one yet. It may take awhile. Jobs are scarce.”

She nodded sympathetically, “The job market is tough right now.”

“But even if I do find one, I know it probably won’t cover the rest of my tuition.”

“How did you cover the difference Fall and Winter Quarters?”

I frowned, “My parents paid.”

“Aren’t they going to help pay for Spring?”

I held my palms up in frustration. “It’s complicated, but…no.”

Compassion knitted Sheri’s brows, “I’m sorry to hear that. It happens more often than you might think.”

“So what can we do? Without my parents’ help, there’s no way I can pay my tuition on time.”

“You could pay in monthly installments,” she offered. “Would that help? It’s three equal payments with the first one due in March.”

I did the math in my head. “With the loan money I’m supposed to get for Spring, I’ll have enough to cover the first payment. But I won’t have enough to make the second and third.”

“At least that gives you some time to find another job,” Sheri said hopefully.

“Yeah,” I sighed, “but I’m not going to make thousands of dollars by April, and thousands more by May.”

Sheri winced, “That sounds like a problem.”

“You’re telling me,” I groaned and clapped my hands on my knees. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“The first step is talking to your parents. Try to work through whatever it is that’s coming between you and them.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s been an ongoing discussion since I started at SDU last fall.”

“But you’re still talking. That’s something, right?” she smiled optimistically.

“Maybe ‘discussion’ is too strong a word,” I sighed. “More like them giving me orders that they claim I refuse to obey.”

Sheri rolled her eyes. “I know how that goes. I was there once myself. My mom and I had it out all the time when I was a teenager.”

“So you know what I’m talking about?” It felt good to have someone who could relate.

“Do I ever. But that doesn’t mean you can’t get through to your own parents.”

“Believe me, I tried.”

She took a deep breath while nodding her head. I half expected her to keep pushing me to talk to my parents, but she didn’t. Instead, she said, “If you absolutely can’t get your parents to understand where you’re coming from—”

I shook my head emphatically no.

“—and nothing is going to change their minds, there is the option of overriding your dependency status.”

I sat up on the edge of my chair hopefully. “Really?”

“Yes. But you have to meet certain criteria,” she cautioned.

“What criteria?” I was sure I could meet something or other. Criteria and me were besties. We went way back.

“Are your parents incarcerated or presumed dead?”

Maybe me and Criteria weren’t as close as I’d hoped. But the idea of my mom or dad in jail was hilarious. I couldn’t decide if my mom would rule her cell block or be shived in the shower because she was such a bitch. My dad would probably be like Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption and do everyone’s taxes while outsmarting the warden. As for presumed dead, did it count that they were dead to me? At least it felt that way. I sighed. Probably not.

“No to both,” I said.

Sheri’s friendly expression suddenly went serious. “This is difficult to ask, but were you physically or sexually abused by either one of your parents?”

“No. But does mental abuse count?” I joked.

I could tell Sheri didn’t find that funny.

“Sorry,” I said.

“That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I know you’re probably very stressed dealing with all these money issues when all you’d rather be focusing on is your studies.”

“You can say that again,” I sighed.

“Next criteria. Are your parents unable to be located?”

I had no interest in ever seeing them again, but that wasn’t what she meant. “No. I mean, yes. They’re in Washington D.C.”

“And you weren’t adopted?”

“No.” But sometimes it felt like I was adopted by robots.

Sheri sighed heavily. “Well, unfortunately that means we won’t be able to override your dependency status.”

My shoulders sank and I slumped down in the chair. “Oh.”

“But you might qualify as independent already.”

“Oh?” I smiled.

“Yes. If you are twenty-four, you would automatically be considered independent, but I see here on the computer that you haven’t yet turned twenty.”

“No,” I sighed. “Not until next school year.”

“And you’re not an orphan, or ward of the court?”

“Do you mean a ward like Robin is a ward of Batman’s?” I asked hopefully

She grinned. “Well yes. But you don’t happen to know any superheroes, do you?”

“One,” I grinned, thinking of Christos. “But he doesn’t have a costume. He has tattoos. Does that count?”

She chuckled, “Sadly, no. Maybe if you got him to wear a costume?” she winked

“Probably not,” I sighed.

“Any chance you’re a veteran?”

“No.”

“A graduate student?”

“Still an undergrad. Geez, I’m nothing, aren’t I?”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t say that. I’d say you’re a bright young woman with a financial hiccup. We can work through it. You don’t have any legal dependents, do you? Any children or aging grandparents you care for?”

“No. But I could get pregnant, if that would help,” I said sarcastically.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” she said with amusement. “Besides, even if you got pregnant tomorrow, you wouldn’t have the baby until Fall Quarter, so your dependent status wouldn’t change until then. That wouldn’t help you pay your Spring tuition, now would it?” She winked at me.