a few weeks ago when I got into Miami of Ohio. It was a weight off my shoulders to get in somewhere. And lots of people from my school were planning on going there because it was a good school, and it wasn’t too far away. Plus, the student body was attractive. Which I found kind of intimidating when we visited. But Carol didn't even notice. She was too busy going on about how well maintained the cafeteria was. I suggested that maybe it wasn’t always so immaculate. Maybe the tablecloths were just there to impress the visitors that were arriving by the busload that weekend. But she was having none of it. Probably because she’d love to have me so close. But tablecloths weren’t very high on my list of priorities. Of course, a lot of them would be satisfied anywhere: late night parties, interesting classes, a pretty campus. But Miami fell short on two big criteria. For one thing, it wasn’t near a city, and I was worried I’d go crazy if I couldn’t get to one every now and then. Cities made me feel sane and grounded. I think it had something to do with how dwarfed I felt around skyscrapers. Like I was part of something bigger. I know a starry sky does that for a lot of people, but for me nothing beat standing at the bottom of a big glass tower. The other problem was that I wanted to keep playing lacrosse. But only if I could play at a high level. Because it was such a big commitment. I didn’t love it enough to play just for the sake of it. I loved it because I liked to win. And playing lacrosse at Penn State or Loyola would make me feel like a winner. I sat down and held the smooth envelopes in my hand. One of them was heavy. One of them wasn’t. I know a lot of people would have ripped them open instantly, but I wasn’t that kind of person. I needed to collect myself and take a few deep breaths. After all, my entire future could be altered by what was on the other side of that fresh adhesive. I knew a few of my classmates were already planning on going to Penn State. Not many, but a few. And like the Notre Dame kids, they all had legacy strings to pull. So it wasn’t a matter of finding out whether you got in. It was a matter of finding out how soon the school wanted your first payment. But Loyola was different. No one was going to Loyola. I don’t know why. Probably because they didn’t visit. If they had, they would’ve seen what I saw- a gorgeous campus full of really normal looking people. Of course, the fact that no one else was going there both exhilarated and terrified me. From my understanding, Penn was so big it didn’t matter if there were a few former classmates knocking around. You still might never see them again. But it’s not the same as going it alone. And by “it” I mean the biggest journey of my life to date. I exhaled and tore open the letter from Penn. “Dear Kate, We are writing to inform you blah blah… skimming… Thank you for applying to Penn State… Blah blah skimming skimming… waitlisted. Waitlisted!” I was delighted. Not as delighted as I would’ve been if I’d gotten in, but not as bummed as I would’ve been if I’d gotten rejected. Being waitlisted wasn’t a rejection. It was a maybe! Maybe they would still want me! But I knew I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Especially before I knew what news the other envelope held. I turned my attention to the heavier letter, stuck my pointer finger under the flap into the open corner, and slid it across. I pulled out the folded letter, and when I opened it, a greyhound sticker fell in my lap. My lips moved with the words as I read them. “Dear Kate… Thank you for applying… blah blah skimming… CONGRATULATE YOU… skimming skimming blah blah… SCHOLARSHIP.” Holy shit. I must’ve read the letter three times before I processed what it said. Not only did they want me to go to their school and play lacrosse, but they wanted to pay me to go to their school and play lacrosse. I fell back on the bed and