Dig deeper by LILLIAN

Dig deeper by LILLIAN - October 2026 Scholarship Essay

The afternoon after missing two lost days of AP Literature didn't start in my actual class period. Instead, it began during 4th block on a B day, a time when I should have been enjoying a free period, but the fear of falling behind dragged me back to Room 901.

Mrs. Babcock already knew I was coming. When I walked through the door, she glanced up and promised she would help me in twenty minutes. But twenty minutes turned into thirty-five. Sitting at a desk in the back of the room, I kept waiting for the moment that never arrived: her calling me up to her desk. Realizing she had completely lost track of time, I took the initiative, grabbed my things, and walked up to her desk myself.

Mrs. Babcock was sitting in her squeaky leather rolling chair behind a mahogany desk stacked high with one-pagers graded in red ink. She glided a few inches to the left, her messy high bun shifting as she locked eyes with me. She rolled back half an inch, folded her hands, and pointed to a PDF on her desk monitor. "Page forty-two. *The Hanging Tree.* Read it. Analyze it. And please, do not give me a surface-level answer."

I pulled out my iPad, opened GoodNotes, and brought up the document. Missing two days of AP Lit meant missing the key to everything. While I was home sick, my classmates had spent two full days figuring out what the poem actually meant.

Mrs. Babcock leaned forward in her rolling chair, watching me closely. "Some people think analyzing this is easy. Show me why they're wrong." I knew she expected a lot from me, so surface level wasn't an option.

I pulled out my Apple Pencil, zoomed in on the page, and highlighted the repetition in glowing yellow ink. I read the first part out loud:

"Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Where they strung up a man
They say who murdered three..."

Mrs. Babcock stopped me right there. "Did he kill them?"

I blinked, staring at the screen. "I don't know, I guess?"

"Read it again," she said, rolling a little closer. "Look at how it's written."

I tapped my stylus on the words "they say". The poem didn't actually say he "did" murder anyone, just that "they say" he did. I read down through the next lines, watching how the man calls out to his love, demanding her to run away.

Suddenly, it clicked. He didn't commit the crime at all. His lover was the guilty one, and he took the blame and went to the gallows just to protect her because he loved her that much. This sparked my interest for this assignment and analyzing text as a whole.

I looked up, surprised by my own realization. "He didn't do it. She did, but he took the fall for her because he loved her so much."
Mrs. Babcock gave me a small nod. "Continue," she said softly.

That simple nudge opened up the rest of the text for me. The song wasn't just about a tragic execution; it was about huge sacrifices and standing up for someone you care about. The man wasn't asking his lover to die out of cruelty; he was warning her that the authorities would come for her next if she stayed behind. Wearing the "necklace of rope" meant choosing to stay united rather than letting an unfair system destroy them.

"It’s not just a song about death," I said, turning my iPad toward her. "It’s about love and standing your ground."

Mrs. Babcock leaned back in her rolling chair, unclipped a red pen, and tapped it against her desk. "Finally. Someone actually read between the lines. From that day on, reading and analyzing text became my strong suit.

I saved my notes in GoodNotes and let out a huge sigh of relief. I may have spent thirty-five minutes waiting in the back of the room, but walking up to her desk and taking control of my learning completely changed how I read poetry. Beneath a simple story, there is almost always a hidden message waiting to be found. There is always room to dig a little deeper.