When The Stars Called

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The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why - Mark Twain

***

Stassi.

It was finally here.

The day I've been waiting for for the past two and a half years.

If I said I put only my heart and soul into this, it would be a complete understatement. I've been wanting to get into this university ever since I was in seventh grade. My grandpa had attended there, graduating as the valedictorian of his class with a degree in physics and a minor in engineering. I had heard incredible stories about him, one of which was how he spent countless hours in his room studying passionately despite the harsh circumstances his home life brought - a single mother who drank her life away. After he had graduated, he went on to become a very sought-after scientist and engineer that brought him great things in life.

Sadly, he was laid to rest in the ground before I was born. Being my traditional self, I wanted to feel connected to him, despite never getting to meet him. I had figured Lumberly was the way to do it. It was a reputed university and very competitive, with only ten percent of those who apply getting accepted each year. However, what many would consider a major turn-off, I knew one of those students was me. It had to be me. I had such a strong feeling in my bones, like a calling.

The very day I decided I wanted to attend there, I went out after school and bought test prep books, sat down, and got right to work. Sleepless nights, hours upon hours of studying, and classes with tutors, I prepared myself in every way I possibly could. I didn't want this to slip through my fingers, even though I was trying to grasp onto a string. I had made sure to get the best grades possible and to do well on the standardized tests.

Besides academics, I volunteered many hours at my local animal shelter, became president of two clubs that year, got internships at companies, became better at track, and continued to learn my mom's native language, Swedish.

My mother's lineage was entirely Swedish while my father's was American. Therefore, English was the language my sister and I grew up with. Starting at fourteen, it had been a pain in the behind learning such a hard language so much later than what I could have started at. But hey, better now than later.

I currently held the crisp, white envelope in my shaking hands. The pristine and official sign of Lumberly University was at the top right corner, and I couldn't believe this was in front of me right now. In retrospect, it was quite comical how much significance an inconsequential piece of paper could hold.

To: Nastassia Davis, the envelope read.

I shut the mailbox, locked it with the little key, and flew up the stairs to the front door of my house. Instantly the smell of my mom's famous stew filled my nostrils, providing me with a sense of comfort, familiarity, and warmth. I had always loved when she cooked traditional foods she ate from when she was little.

I rushed into our modern kitchen and saw my twelve-year-old sister, Rebekah, sitting at the counter, my mom behind her. My mom was braiding Rebekah's long blonde hair into two Dutch braids while the stew brewed on the pot. Both their eyes moved to me.

"Look what came," I said nervously as I held it up in front of them.

Like a balloon full that could pop any second, my stomach felt queasy and nauseous. I didn't know what to expect; it could go either way at this point. I know I've put everything into this but there is still always that chance that someone, just someone, out there stood out a little brighter than me. The thought kills me and makes me want to put my fist through the wall. Getting in meant everything.