Not only did Grant get accepted to the UW, but he also got a scholarship. Him? Accepted into the UW? With a scholarship? His mom wanted him to use the Indian thing to get some more tuition money, but Grant thought that real Indians should get the money. Grant didn’t really look like an Indian, not like Grandpa did. Besides, the idea of giving things to people based on their race seemed wrong. So Grant checked “white” on the application, and never told his mom.
Grant could feel that he was on the cusp of his great escape. It started to sink in during the winter of his senior year of high school.
The path out of Forks he saw back when he was nine years old was actually happening. Just like he knew it would, despite how hard it still was for him to believe.
Steve was staying in Forks. Steve was considering joining the military too, probably the Air Force to try out for the PJs. However, the spring of his senior year, his dad got him a job on a logging crew. Steve was fine with that; he would be a regular Forks guy.
Grant wanted to hurry up and get to the UW. He couldn’t wait to get out of Forks. He always worked in the summer for a small company related to the paper products plant in town. The little company, Olympic Paper Products, was run by a nice old man, Mr. Reynolds. Olympic took the abundant sawdust from the mill and put it into a very loud (and dangerous) machine that turned it into a finer grade product that was shipped to the paper mill. Grant cleaned the machines, shoveling and sweeping out the sawdust and finer dust. It was pretty miserable. He learned how to work, though, and the $4.00 per hour wage was a pretty big deal in the Matson family budget. He had to pay for all his school clothes and anything else he wanted other than room and board.
One time, Grant saved up $100 and went to the bank to get a hundred dollar bill. That $100 bill was amazing. It looked like all the money in the world. He had worked extremely hard for it and that $100 bill was a symbol of his hard work and achievement.
Until his dad stole it. Grant kept it in an old bread pan in his dresser. One day it was gone. Only people in his family knew where the $100 bill was. Grant’s dad actually mocked him, asking, “Where’s your $100 bill, Grant?” and laughing. Grant couldn’t believe it—well, actually, he could. He hated working so hard just to have a bully steal something. It was more than just the money. It was wrong. Grant instantly developed an almost irrational hatred of bullies. But given what happened to him, it made sense.
That summer after graduation but before leaving for college, Grant’s dad had been virtually silent to him. His dad knew that Grant had just accomplished more at by age eighteen than he ever would. Grant could clearly sense his dad’s jealousy, anger, and resentment. But Larry knew that Grant was even bigger and in better shape than when he was a sophomore and whipped his ass. Larry wouldn’t even think about hitting Grant now. Grant knew it. Just about every time Grant saw his dad that summer he thought to himself that the only thing keeping him from getting hit was that Grant could hit harder.
Grant understood violence. And he understood what it took to stop violence—the threat of superior violence. Yet another life lesson Grant learned during his childhood. It was a lesson that most other people would never understand.
In late August, it was finally time to go. Grant would be staying in the dorms. He didn’t even try to get into a fraternity; poor kids from Forks wouldn’t be welcomed there, he figured. His dad drove Grant the four hours to Seattle, virtually without speaking a word. It was a very long trip.
When they got to the UW, his dad did something unusual. He smiled. He looked Grant in the eye and said, “I’m proud of you, son.” Grant was stunned.
“Thanks, Dad,” Grant said. That was it. Grant was now a college student.
He loved college life. He loved the drinking and the huge library full of books on the Revolutionary War. And the girls. He loved the girls. They were gorgeous. These weren’t like the girls in Forks. They would actually go out with him, because they didn’t know he was a loser. Yet. He had to keep his past under wraps.
Grant made a complete transformation of himself when he got to the UW. He spent the money he made from working his ass off over the summer on decent clothes. He looked entirely different. He fit in. He was a new person.
Grant got invited to a fraternity party. What the hell, Grant thought, this is part of the college experience, right? Grant went to the party. There were lots of really beautiful girls there. Sorority girls.
Everyone was drinking beer. Grant went up to the keg and poured a cup like the experienced drinker he was. That was a thing that kids from Forks knew how to do well.
And then, there she was. Coming in the door. A beautiful girl, with a beautiful smile. Amazingly beautiful. Like an “I have to spend my life with her” kind of amazing. A great song was playing, “Lips like Sugar” by Echo and the Bunnymen. Grant would never forget that song. It seemed to fit the scene perfectly.
Grant was decent looking, so he had a chance with this girl, but it would still be a long shot. He needed to use his secret weapon: humor.
The party was a barbeque, so this girl had a paper plate with a hamburger and a pickle spear on it. Grant was keeping an eye on her in between chats with other people. He was waiting for her to finish eating; there was no use trying to get her attention when she’s trying to eat. When the hamburger was gone and only the pickle spear was left, Grant decided to take a risk. He walked up, smiled his big country boy smile, looked at her and gave it his best shot.
“You gonna eat that pickle?” he asked.
She started laughing.
“Oh, you can have it if you’d like,” she said, smiling. That was a good sign. So far, so good.
“Nah, I don’t want the pickle,” Grant said very confidently. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Grant.”
“I’m Lisa and I knew you didn’t want the pickle,” she said with yet another smile. Clever. She was pretty and smart. A great combo. But probably out of his league. Oh well, let’s see what happens, he thought to himself.
“What house are you in?” Grant asked, referring to her sorority. Delta something was the answer. Grant didn’t really pay attention to what she said. He was just looking at her.
The next hour was the most amazing conversation of Grant’s life. It was about everything and nothing. Grant found out that Lisa Taylor was the daughter of an accountant and lived in Bellevue, which was the richest town in the Seattle area. She was pre-med. Yeah, right. A girl this beautiful would be pre-med for about two semesters and then get an easier major.
Lisa felt drawn to Grant. She didn’t really know why. He was cute and tall—6’ 2”—but there were cuter boys there that night.
This Grant guy was interesting, unlike all the Bellevue boys who were so predictable. Grant had a realness to him. The kind of realness you didn’t see in her affluent suburban world where things were… predictable. He was absolutely different than anyone else she’d ever met. Opposites attract.
She didn’t know why, but she felt safe around him. He had a flow, an ease. He seemed more mature than the other freshman boys. She felt like there was plenty to learn about him. Interesting things; interesting in a good way. He was simultaneously brilliant and goofy. Not “goofy” in a weird way. Irreverent. But polite at the same time. It was hard to explain.
The main thing that drew her toward him was his sense of humor. He was a blast to be around. During the long conversation, her sides literally got sore from laughing. She’d never been around anyone like him.