The nearest internet café was across the street from campus. I went in, found a corner, and sat down.
I typed in every keyword I could think of.
"Student loan application, home county."
"City Charitable Foundation, student emergency aid."
"Weston University hardship waiver enrollment."
I opened page after page, reading line by line, fingers flying across the forms. Every document I could upload, I uploaded. Every channel I could apply through, I applied.
Halfway through, my phone buzzed again. A voice message from my mother. I tapped it open.
"When are you getting me that invoice? When is the money hitting your account? Without an invoice, you could drag the president of Weston himself over here and I still wouldn't transfer a cent. You're the one who didn't handle the paperwork. That's not on me."
I listened to the whole thing. My finger hovered for two seconds.
Then I scrolled to the bottom of her chat, tapped "Mute Notifications," and set the phone down.
The screen went dark. I lowered my head and went back to the forms.