Olive Branches Don't Grow On Trees
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But Donna’s attempt to calm her daughter down was in vain, and within five minutes after getting to her father’s house, Silvia was online to look up schools and programs. She discovered, from doing a small amount of research, some rather disturbing news: That if she was to get her certification in one state, it may not be reciprocal with another state. This could severely limit her bohemian existence, which was frightening, but she also knew would be for her own good. Maybe it would be better to move to Portland now. There was an undergraduate certification program in Portland, as well as a graduate program in the field of education. But it made so much more sense, financially, for her to go to school while living at Frank’s. But what if she got her certificate in New Jersey and then had to live in the state indefinitely. Her body froze with fright. Even the idea of living in the area for the next couple of years seemed like a prison sentence. She saw herself drooping to classes at some nearby commuter college, coming home to her father’s house only to find him drunk and passed out or drunk and raging. This scenario had no boyfriends, no dates, and no friends.
Just as she was on this long, dark alley of life in South Jersey, she got an email from Emily telling her how much she loved the city and how she was sure that Silvia would feel the same way. She said that she was possibly falling in love with a guy and that she might be getting a job at a local art gallery. Silvia took this as a sign that someone above, her Grandma Tucci no doubt, was trying to tell her to move to Portland and to pursue an educational program there. So Silvia began researching programs in Portland. Between researching programs and thinking of where she might spend the next two years, all the while compulsively checking her email, she was up until two in the morning. And she was supposed to drive up to North Jersey to see Angie tomorrow. It would be a coffee-filled day.