Everyone sat sullenly at home. Some watched television to pass the time, others just sat motionless. But each person was waiting. They were waiting for their fate. Fate that came sealed in a large envelope dressed with a stamp and a return address. Each of them envisioning the best and dreading the worst that could possibly happen. They waited with the amount of patience paralleling a child waiting on line at Disney World. This letter, the same kind of carefree thing you write your parents in summer camp when you are a kid, now holding information that could change ones life forever. This was sealed, packaged fate, or at least to them it was. These anxious teenagers are the class presidents, the valedictorians, the only ones in class with their hands up. The rare species nervously waited for his or her lazy mailman with the beer- belly and barely there white hair, to come drive by their house, open their chrome, standard, gray mailboxes and drop in the mail. Pretending not to notice the mail, they walked outside only to feign to be genuinely disinterested in the assortment of paper goods that was just dropped into their possession.

Jenny made a mistake. She was starting to feel regret slide through the contours of her mind like butter sliding down a hot piece of toast. She grabbed her lilac Burberry plaid winter coat, and rummaged through the closet for her matching Gucci loafers. Jenny was perfect. People who partied their way through high school never possessed an ounce of jealously, on the contrary had pity for Jenny; now felt a stinging pang of resentment towards the petite perfectionist. The potheads, cheerleaders and jocks sorted through the envelopes on their beds, shocked into reality that their future had been delivered and their fate sealed all in a single day's time.

Jenny was very confident, and cocky. Flying through high school with straight As what reason did she have not to be? Jenny just knew she would get into the school of her dreams; Princeton. Jenny wrote a compelling, heartwarming essay, earned close to perfect SAT scores and submitted letters of recommendations which teachers practically begged to write on her behalf. She was never more sure that she would be shipping her orders from the Bed Bath & Beyond catalogue to New Jersey in the fall. She knew, she just knew.

You see, Jenny was not just confident, but pompous and conceited: which allowed her to give into her impulse to apply solely to Princeton. When her guidance counselor advised her to also apply to a safety school she chuckled at the statement, tucked a loose strand of glossy amber brown hair behind her ear and asked "is that all?"

Jenny stands outside with her hair flying into her eyes, shaking uncontrollably. Marcus, her qualified, academic archenemy since the second grade spelling bee applied to Princeton, Yale, Cornell, Harvard and UCLA. He was granted admissions into all but Princeton. Princeton has only accepted fifty- six students from Jefferson High in the entire recorded history of the school.

Jenny reaches her arm into the dark tunnel of doom, to find a few phone bills, a birthday card for her mother, a Victoria's Secret Catalogue, developed photographs, People magazine, and her latest credit card bill. Sitting ever so peacefully, on top of menagerie of mail, the cream colored, thick envelope with Princeton's logo embossed on it stares at Jenny mockingly.

Jenny opens the envelope slowly, almost painfully. She tears the seal as if she had just run the New York City marathon, sluggishly and lethargically. She takes the letter out of its matching envelope with grace, and confidence, drizzled with pure fear and excitement. Dear Ms. Jenny Oakley...