As I lazily shuffled through the mail glancing quickly to see if any of them were for me (it was Sheila's turn to write), my eye was suddenly caught by a formidable looking white envelope. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and checked the envelope again. Yes, it had my name and my address carefully typed and precisely aligned. "It's just a letter," I whispered to myself. "It's just a letter." I didn't even add that this letter might be the key to the future. "It's just a letter," I repeated. Breathlessly, I said a quick prayer and tore open the envelope, fumbling to extract the thin paper inside.

"Dear :

I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted ..." I shrieked and dropped the letter. Picking it up again, I screamed the rest of it until my eyes came to rest on the oh-so-rewarding words "Class of 1994."