After a few years, I figured out how to get my GED. It was the golden key that freed me from the torturous school I'd attended with Judah. But after "graduating" from high school, I found myself unsure about my next steps. Should I start applying to colleges now, or wait?
I opened my laptop and Googled how to apply and what the requirements were. Applying to a place like Harvard seemed impossible—too hard and far too expensive. Smaller colleges seemed more realistic: less competition, lower pressure. My goal was simple: earn a bachelor's degree and find a decent-paying job. I didn't have a stable source of money to support myself, but anything was better than staying under my foster parents' roof. And it's not like they'd pay a cent toward tuition anyway.
Then, a new email popped up, making me blink twice:
Subject: Admission Offer--Stanford University
Dear Mike Schmidt,
Stanford University has accepted you on a full scholarship! Once you accept and complete the form below, we will provide you with additional information. We hope that you accept our offer and have a wonderful rest of your day!
Sincerely, Jonathan Anthony Levin.
Stanford University?
One of the most prestigious schools in the country--and they wanted me?
I could barely contain my excitement. I didn't even tell my foster parents. They'd probably find some way to ruin it. But then reality crept in: how was I even qualified? I remembered taking the SAT during my freshman year, but the school had said it "wouldn't count" and made me retake it later.
I clicked the link, and a form opened, showing my test scores and application details. Apparently, I'd scored a 1300 overall--pretty high, especially in the writing section. According to the portal, I was first in line to enroll. But I didn't remember applying.
A chill ran down my spine. Had someone submitted the information for me? Or was it a mistake?
Either way, I wasn't about to throw away a miracle. I filled out the form and chose engineering as my major. It sounded fun--and paid well. Then came the question of how I'd get there. I owned a car, but Stanford was located far away in Silicon Valley. Luckily, I had some money saved from odd jobs. This was my chance to finally leave. This was the golden opportunity I'd been waiting for!
I closed my laptop and jumped off the bed, grinning. I started packing essentials—some hand-me-down t-shirts, socks, and personal items— when a knock came at the door.
"Yeah?" I called out, shoving a shirt into a duffel bag.
The door creaked open. My foster dad stood in the doorway, with Mrs. Turner behind him.
He glanced at the half-packed bag. "Oh good," he said coldly. "We were just about to tell you. We're kicking you out. You're too much of a burden--time, money, everything."
I closed the bag and met his gaze. "That's fine. Stanford accepted me on a full scholarship. So I won't be needing your 'services' anymore."
"perfect timing," he muttered. "Finally, you're someone else's problem."
"I know--However, I'll be going to college. I brushed past him and said, "Unlike you, I'll be going to college."
"Excuse me?" he snapped.
"You heard me, Dave."
I grabbed my keys and slammed the front door behind me. It was time to start a new journey.
A couple of months later
Beep. Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep… Click.
I hit the snooze button. 7:30 AM. My routine consisted of working out, showering, brushing my teeth, and eating breakfast. It was the same thing every single day. I always made sure to finish before "Dad" would've woken up, as old habits tend to stick. I finally managed to stay afloat, but I found that looking for jobs is not as straightforward as I had thought. Aside from that, I'd made it to Stanford. People were initially confused at first, seeing a 15-year-old walking around campus like he belonged. But they got used to it. Eventually, they started calling me the youngest student in Stanford's history.
I always made sure to work hard to earn that title. I was never late, always ahead on assignments. For once, School felt right. There was no bullying or judgment. Professors respected me. I even made a few friends! My only problem.
Money.
I'd been googling ways to earn income—ranging from remote jobs and internships to certifications. Some of the remote jobs and internships paid over $28/hour, but the certifications were too expensive for me. Something that I couldn't afford. After doomscrolling through a multitude of job ads, one in particular caught my eye.
Help Wanted!
Freddy Fazbear's pizza is looking for a security guard to work the night shift.
Monitor cameras and ensure the safety of equipment and animatronic characters.
We are not responsible for any injury or dismemberment.
To apply, click or call: 1-555-FAZ-FAZBEAR
We will discuss the hours and location during the call.
A weird feeling crept in. The restaurant name looked...familiar.
"Have I been here before?" I wondered.
I clicked the ad and filled out the form. Immediately, a message popped up:
The owner will contact you soon. Thank you for applying!
I shut the laptop. "Guess I'll hear from them later."
I grabbed my backpack and headed to class. Just before leaving, my phone buzzed:
We've hired you! Contact us ASAP to discuss hours and location.
Damn, must be desperate. Guess I'll call after my classes.
* * *
I sat in lecture, trying to focus. I liked robotics--especially servos and circuit work--but the photos of that pizzeria still haunted my thoughts. Why does it feel so familiar? The professor's voice snapped me back to reality.
"and those are seven reasons servos can lock up," he said. "Dust, overheating, bearing failure, overloading, damp conditions, or electrical problems... Your assignment: build a servo-based robot and write a report on its applications. This will conclude the lecture."
Finishing the last of my notes, I got up and packed my items. I then swiftly exited the lecture hall. I had to get back to my dorm and call my hirer. As I passed a group of students, one of the girls called out,
"Hey!"
I kept walking.
"You in the blue t-shirt!"
I stopped. "Yeah?" I replied. The girl who stopped me had a sorority-girl vibe--tank top, fuzzy pants, giant Stanley cup.
"Wanna come to a party tonight?" she asked, blushing.
I paused and thought for a moment.
a girl inviting me to a party? That's certainly a new thing.
But I had other priorities--homework, a job, and, honestly, I hated parties. They were too noisy, and awful things can happen. Especially with people who are barely adults. Besides, I was probably just a filler guy.
"Sorry," I said politely. "I've got a big exam to study for. And a job interview tonight."
"Can't skip one day?" she pouted.
"Not when my future's on the line." I smiled. "Thanks for the invite, though."
"Ugh, whatever. Your loss," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
I ignored her, walked back to my dorm, tossed my bag onto the chair, and then collapsed on the couch. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number from the job listing. The phone rang twice before someone picked up.
"Hello?" I asked. it was quiet. Then a man answered.
"Hello! Are you the applicant from today?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, good. My name is Henry Emily. Just call me Henry. I'm the cofounder of the restaurant. The founder's name is Willam Afton. And you are?"
"Mike Schmidt. I'm a college student, just trying to earn some money to support myself."
There was a pause. "Did you say Mike Schmidt?"
"Yes, sir. Is that a problem?"
"No, not at all. Just...curious, that's all." His voice had a weird hesitation, but I let it slide.
"anyway," he continued, "$18 an hour. You'll be the night guard. Your job is to monitor the premises and report disturbances--simple stuff. You can start tonight at midnight."
"Tonight?" I hesitated. "I guess I can make that work."
"Great. Clock out at 6 AM. And, uh, there's a pre-recorded message each night with instructions. William might stop by to give the keys, but no guarantees--he's a busy man."
"All right. I'll be there at midnight."
"Perfect. Have a good rest of your night." He hung up. This person was straightforward. He knew what he wanted. I didn't think he would want to start tonight. If you ask me, he was bland.
I sighed and got up from the couch. Tomorrow was going to be hectic--balancing college and work wasn't going to be easy. But at least I finally had a job. I walked over to my bed and dropped myself on top of it. I set my alarm, climbed into bed, and stared at the ceiling.
The restaurant made me uneasy, but honestly, what could possibly go wrong?
I closed my eyes. Thinking about how much life was going to get better.