She had a reputation and he, like everyone else, was familiar with it. She’s something special, they all said. She’s smart—book smart, you know—but down to earth. Good head on her shoulders. She’s got class—you’ll never see her at a dive bar. But she’s not exactly a snob either—she stays away from the fancy hotels with the dim lighting and polished grand pianos. Great sense of style and a lot of spunk. In fact, that’s what people murmured about the most: Her personality was a bit unpredictable, but usually a lot of fun. Usually.

He had met her in the past and, truthfully, he was taken with her at their first meeting. Though not exactly warm, she was at least approachable and courteous. He was shy; she was preoccupied. He never made his intentions known and, eventually, was distracted by other things.

A few years later, he sought her out. He heard that she was still single and looking. They also speculated that she was still the high class dame that she once was, though his friends couldn’t say that with much confidence—they hardly knew her.

“You might want to look her up—go out for a few drinks, catch up. You’ve grown, my friend, and she may now realize what she missed in the past.”

So he made some inquiries.

She ignored him.

He tried again, and she still ignored him.

All of this, he knew, was information. Although he knew first impressions were just that—impressions—he was disappointed with her reaction (or lack thereof, really).

His third attempt, though, was somewhat productive.

“Yeah, uh huh, gimme your number—yeah, yeah, don’t call me, I’ll call you. Thanks.”

The entire affair was curious: She wasn’t the least impressed with his courtship—and he didn’t think she was feigning ennui, either. She still seemed preoccupied, though he was particularly struck with her apathy.

The other six women he was courting—it was, after all, a numbers’ game—were remarkably more enthusiastic about his overtures. He had already obtained all of their phone numbers, shared some stimulating conversations, and even met their friends. Admittedly, some of them were more coy than the others—you know how women are—but, in his estimation, things were progressing well.

In fact, one of the women had unwittingly captured his attention. He hadn’t ever heard of her; he could have easily overlooked her. One of his friends, though, was dating one of her friends, and suggested that they chat.

“She’s really nice,” his friend had commented. “She’s got a lot to offer. Give her a call.”

And she was notable. Sure, she didn’t have the glitz and glam of the other girl, but there was something sweet about her. She was demure, unassuming—it was unexpectedly endearing. Her charm lay in her quiet wit, something that most people overlooked if they didn’t pause to actually talk with her. She didn’t mind—it kept the peacocks away from her.

He was intrigued. Who was this girl? That she wanted to spend time with him made him feel even more optimistic—he always did much better in person than he did on the phone.

When the other girl finally called him—”Hey, you there?”—he shook his head, politely said good-bye, and hung up the phone. If that was the way she was treating him now, how would she treat him if they actually got together?

This could be a story about a boy and girl. Or it could be a story about a girl and a fellowship program.