“Wait!” Neda takes out her phone and starts filming. “For posterity,” she says. “And TikTok.”

My entire future, and the culmination of everything I’ve worked toward, hinges on what happens after this page finally loads. My indifference to the outcome quickly dissipates as I say a silent prayer and tap the mouse again. I don’t know if I can handle being rejected by my best friend and my first-choice college all in the same month. The page finally loads, and when it does I scan the text and scream.

“I GOT IN!”

“YOU GOT IN!”

All four of us erupt into cheers. My parents hug and kiss me, but I’m too stunned to return the gesture. Neda keeps her camera poised on all of us and tells me she’s proud of me. Maybe it’s better that only my family is here to share this moment with me. It may have felt weird with Gabs around. The elation would have been tempered by guilt that she didn’t get the same opportunities as me—even if she never wanted them. Now that this is real, I want to feel the thrill of victory. I don’t want to feel bad about this accomplishment. I’m so relieved that an adolescence chock full of AP assignments, extracurricular activities, and volunteer work paid off. I wonder if one day I’ll look back and realize that the price of this accomplishment was my own mental health—though I’d be a lot worse off if the culmination of all that hard work lead to a rejection letter. I let out a sigh of relief I feel as if I’ve been holding since the first day of freshman year.

My parents leave the room to call my aunts and uncles and brag about their Harvard-bound daughter. Neda heads downstairs to bake me a cake and put in a call to the Rose Market for tahchin for dinner. Tonight, I’m allowed to enjoy a drink with the rest of the family. A bottle of champagne that my parents saved for the occasion.