Sometimes Mom and I sit and gossip about the relatives. Christopher's a druggie and John is bi. We talk about how good it is to know that I’m not like that. The Farris kids are the good ones of the family.

Other times I realize that this isn’t entirely true.

You see, I’m a washout.

I successfully completed two semesters of University. I’m still on scholarship and I have a job. Pretty successful, right? Except that I had to withdraw halfway through last semester. And I’m ready to discontinue my schooling completely.

Mom and Dad always tell me how smart I am, how gifted. “You can do anything you want!” they tell me. I’m on my third major, and with every one, they tell me I could be the best in my field, given I apply myself. I suppose they have to say those things. I am their youngest daughter after all.

According to placement and proficiency test; they’re not even far off. I was in the top 5% of my high school graduating class, scholarships pay for 100% of my tuition, and my IQ is 120, so intelligence isn’t the problem.

The problem is that I’m a lazy braniac.

That’s it. That’s my problem. I’m washing out of college because I simply don’t care about whether or not I get an A in class, or even a diploma.

We always hear about how women in Pakistan or Nepal aren’t allowed an education. They tell us horror stories of secret classes held under a broken down bridge to force us to be grateful for our schools. “You have to go to school because Laila and Sabeen can’t.” The thing that people forget is the beauty of the choice that American girls have. To be forced into school is just as bad as being forced away.

I hesitate to wash out of school because of this stigma. To forego school in suburban America is every bit the social crime that Fatima commits under that old bridge. My parents say I could do anything. In their mind, I’ll become an astronaut or nuclear physicist. If my ambitions amount to making sandwiches at Subway while writing a bad blog on the side however, they would be disappointed.

I can’t do anything; I can only do the glorious.

So what if John is bi or Christopher's a druggie? I’m a washout, and that’s the real crime.