Ms. Fuentes Character Analysis

“I think you should write about the one that scares you most. Taking risks and making choices in spite of fear—it’s what makes our life story compelling.”

There’s that word again. She walks away but I have a feeling her advice wasn’t about the essay prompt at all.

“Fuentes knows any school I apply to will have to be in Philadelphia. She’s had me research La Salle, Temple, St. Joseph’s. She’s pushing for Drexel, which has a culinary arts program, but you know I’m not good at school, so a scholarship is out of the question. I don’t even want to think about taking out loans. And how can I work full-time and go to school full-time and raise Babygirl full-time? I think in order of most important, school is at the bottom, right?”

I look at Ms. Fuentes. She’s young, maybe early thirties, not like a lot of the teachers at the school. And she’s hip to most things like fashion and music, but she doesn’t have a kid. She doesn’t have a grandmother who’s spent the last thirty-five years raising a son and then her son’s kid and now her son’s kid’s kid. No, Ms. Fuentes has a job that she seems to like, and she can afford nice perfume, and cute outfits, and pretty manicures, and to give out advice nobody asked for.

The guard is new, and I know he doesn’t know me or my circumstances because all he can do is remind me of the same tired rules. “If you want your phone back, you’ll need a signed release form from your parent or guardian.”

And I almost laugh in his face when he utters those words. I can sign permission slips for my own daughter but can’t sign one for myself.

“Sir, I really think you should speak to my advisor. I have a kid. I need my phone.”

I didn’t think I would be accepted into Drexel. My grade point average was a little below what they say a student needs, so I’m still shocked. Unlike the guidance counselor in middle school, Ms. Fuentes pushed me to apply even though it was a reach school. It’s close to home. It’s a great school. And it has a culinary arts program that focuses not only on cooking, but also on restaurant management.

But I don’t know how I’ll help pay bills if I’m also paying for school.

“I understand. And although I’ll be attending Drexel’s Culinary Arts program on a part-time basis, it’s not too far from here, so I can go to classes in the morning and be here by the lunchtime rush. My family is helping me out to make sure. I can commit to the long hours.” I give her a soft shrug. “I want to stay in Philly and work in Philly and learn from a restaurant in Philly. Because I think I have a lot to offer my hometown and the places I’m from.”

“I think you should write about the one that scares you most. Taking risks and making choices in spite of fear—it’s what makes our life story compelling.”

There’s that word again. She walks away but I have a feeling her advice wasn’t about the essay prompt at all.

“Fuentes knows any school I apply to will have to be in Philadelphia. She’s had me research La Salle, Temple, St. Joseph’s. She’s pushing for Drexel, which has a culinary arts program, but you know I’m not good at school, so a scholarship is out of the question. I don’t even want to think about taking out loans. And how can I work full-time and go to school full-time and raise Babygirl full-time? I think in order of most important, school is at the bottom, right?”

I look at Ms. Fuentes. She’s young, maybe early thirties, not like a lot of the teachers at the school. And she’s hip to most things like fashion and music, but she doesn’t have a kid. She doesn’t have a grandmother who’s spent the last thirty-five years raising a son and then her son’s kid and now her son’s kid’s kid. No, Ms. Fuentes has a job that she seems to like, and she can afford nice perfume, and cute outfits, and pretty manicures, and to give out advice nobody asked for.

The guard is new, and I know he doesn’t know me or my circumstances because all he can do is remind me of the same tired rules. “If you want your phone back, you’ll need a signed release form from your parent or guardian.”

And I almost laugh in his face when he utters those words. I can sign permission slips for my own daughter but can’t sign one for myself.

“Sir, I really think you should speak to my advisor. I have a kid. I need my phone.”

I didn’t think I would be accepted into Drexel. My grade point average was a little below what they say a student needs, so I’m still shocked. Unlike the guidance counselor in middle school, Ms. Fuentes pushed me to apply even though it was a reach school. It’s close to home. It’s a great school. And it has a culinary arts program that focuses not only on cooking, but also on restaurant management.

But I don’t know how I’ll help pay bills if I’m also paying for school.

“I understand. And although I’ll be attending Drexel’s Culinary Arts program on a part-time basis, it’s not too far from here, so I can go to classes in the morning and be here by the lunchtime rush. My family is helping me out to make sure. I can commit to the long hours.” I give her a soft shrug. “I want to stay in Philly and work in Philly and learn from a restaurant in Philly. Because I think I have a lot to offer my hometown and the places I’m from.”