When Will woke up the next morning for school, Maddie was gone and the heat had broken. The sky outside his window was gray and the air smelled good, like it had rained overnight. He paused in the hall to listen for sounds of his father, but he had the house to himself. In the kitchen he poured a cup of coffee, added milk and a generous helping of sugar, and sat down at the table. There was a stack of mail arranged in his usual spot. On top was a thin white envelope from the county court. Will’s hands grew clammy as he opened it, but it was just the summons for his underage-drinking violation. He wasn’t sure what else he was expecting. He was pretty sure that the police didn’t usually arrest you by sending a letter through the mail.

Underneath was a much thicker envelope, from Princeton. Will felt a thrill just looking at it. It reminded him of the day he’d received his acceptance. Standing at the mailbox at the end of the farm’s long driveway, he’d known without opening it that he was in. They only sent the big envelope if it was good news. It had felt so satisfying, after all of the work and the waiting, to hold it in his hands. Almost too good to be true. And yet he had the letter to prove it to himself. He was in, and he knew that it meant that his life would never be the same.

He’d qualified for financial aid, but expenses on the farm varied widely from year to year, and the family contribution was still steep. After a few tense weeks, Will finally allowed himself to celebrate when he received a phone call letting him know that he’d been awarded the generous scholarship he’d applied for from the Hart County Union Club. The scholarship meant that he could actually afford to go, even if it would still be a stretch to buy the new laptop he would need, along with all the books. He was in, he was good enough, he was going to Princeton.

In New Falls, the high school students tended to sort into predictable postgraduation paths: the rich kids headed to fancy liberal arts schools, the kids of local farmers and contractors went to work for their parents, and everyone else went to state schools. His parents assumed that he would go to a state school—maybe even Penn State, perhaps with a stop at community college first to save some money. No one expected him to apply to Princeton, and the only people he told were his AP English teacher and his track coach. He had never in his life wanted anything more than he wanted this.