Nina watched the rusty station-wagon drive away, the dust of the old dirt road obscuring the USPS Rural Carrier sign on its side. She moved the letter from her right hand to her left and read the return address as she wiped her palm on her jeans—Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Her finger shook as it slid under the flap, its nail bitten short and ragged. Taking a deep breath, Nina dragged her finger along the envelope, tearing it open. She unfolded the letter and read the few short sentences inside.

The letter dropped.

Her arms raised.

And she danced.