“Hey…,” Dad says, reaching for my hand. “Let me tell you a story.” I look over. “When I first came here, a graduate student in my biology department told me that the American dream is like a crop. You get out of it what you put in. But once in a while, a drought comes along, and there’s nothing you can do.” I gaze up at the cloudless sky, a thousand sparkling stars sprinkled like confetti across the silk canvas. Dad holds up a finger. “But the fact that you were able to turn the tide at your school… that gives me hope.” I let out a small smile as Dad gets off the freeway. “The fact that you
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