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You wanted nothing more than to escape the life you found yourself in. Growing up in a lower class borough brought hardships that someone your age shouldn't have had to deal with such as working part time jobs in the afternoons and evenings, having to take care of the house while your parents were out working or drinking (usually drinking), and trying to feed yourself. You had little, if any, time for studying for your high school exams and standardized tests. As such, It was no surprise that all of the local colleges had turned down your applications. It wasn't that you were dumb, you were just handier with a cash register than an algebra book.

Your plan was to follow in your older siblings' footsteps and escape to a far off college where you could focus on learning and building a career. Those plans were dashed when your siblings told you about their financial situations: debt, debt, and more debt. It turns out living at fancy schools is pricier than you or your siblings could have anticipated. With this information, you turned your attention to the few local colleges hoping that their cheaper tuition and being able to still live with your parents could make graduating mostly debt free a possibility.

Currently your only hope was the college which your siblings graduated from a month ago. You had been waitlisted and, though you could never know for sure unless they sent over their financial aid information, you seriously doubted you could pay even just the tuition.

And so it happened on the last day of high school. You were lying on your bed staring at the ceiling skipping class. No one would miss you, not that many seniors bothered showing up on the last day anyway. You heard the mail come through the slot on the front door. You got up to grab it and move it to the kitchen counter where your parents might eventually find it. You skimmed through it, nothing but bills and past bill notifications, as expected. That is until you reached the large brown envelope in the back of the stack bearing your name.

You hastily opened it up and on the front page of the packet inside you see the name and symbol of Central University. Your hands began to shake once you realized this was the final school you had even a chance at getting in to. You nearly fainted when you read the words "Congratulations on your acceptance to Central University!" You sat down at the table and skimmed through the rest of the packet, not all that interested in information about the school.

When you reached the end, you were surprised to find that the financial aid information was but a single page long. This time you really did faint when you read the words "You have been selected to receive a full scholarship, including tuition, housing, and a stipend for other necessities..."

A few minutes later when you stirred, you finished reading the financial information. You were disheartened a little when you read that the scholarship was to only be granted following participation of a study titled "Gender Effects on University Life." It made the scholarship feel cheap, but still you felt you couldn't pass up the possibility of going to your college without paying a dime. Flipping back to the acceptance letter, you found the date that you had to arrive at the university to join the study and that orientation and move in would be immediately following. You'd only have a month and a half to kick around here before you would have to get to the university. You decided to accept the offer and you began preparing for your future college life.

A month and a half later, you step off of the bus in a new city and look at the campus you'll be spending the majority of the next few years at. Not having a car to carry much in, you could only bring what would fit in your backpack and duffel bag. Not too big an issue, you figure you can use your stipend to get some more clothes and outfit your room to match your style. You might have to get used textbooks, but used textbooks are still cheaper than a car. You enter into the administrative building where the study was to be launched. Inside isn't too shabby, though empty. There's a middle aged woman sitting behind the desk, keying information into her computer, barely noticing you. You step up to the desk and, without looking up, she asks you a single question.

"Name?"

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