Chosen by Jessica Burkhart

dark.
    The sound of gravel crunching beneath tires made me look up from the BlackBerry’s lit-up screen. Dad’s black SUV crawled up the driveway. He always made sure to drive extra slow, so as not to spook the grazing horses.
    Lauren:
    Dad alert. TTYL & say hi 2 Sam .
    Taylor:
    Done. TTYL, LT .
    I locked my phone’s keypad before shoving it into my bag and climbing into the passenger seat.
    â€œHello, Laur-Bell,” Dad said. He lifted my heavy bag from my struggling grasp, tossing it onto the backseat like it was filled with feathers. “How was your lesson?”
    â€œWell . . .” I said. “We jumped today.”
    Dad’s eyes shot over to me, then back to the driveway. “How’d that go?” Dad asked. I recognized the Dad-tone in his voice—the one that tried so hard to be casual.
    â€œReally, really well.” I exhaled.
    Dad unclenched his fingers from their white-hard grip on the steering wheel.
    â€œI had a clean round and the fastest time of anyone,” I continued.
    Dad rolled to a stop before pulling onto the main road. “That’s great, Bell! I’m so proud. Wait ’til Mom hears this! What did Kim say to you?”
    I played with the star-shaped stud in my ear. “She said I took a risk, but”—I rushed to get the rest out—“a good risk. Just by galloping before a jump. I haven’t felt that good about jumping since, well, then.”
    I could practically see the brief wave of pain roll over Dad. But I also saw what followed: He shook it off and smiled a genuine smile at me.
    â€œMy girl looks happier than I’ve seen in a while—that’s what I care about.”
    â€œThanks, Dad.” I grinned, looking down. A stack of mail was tucked in the partition between the seats next to Dad’s travel mug.
    I tried, unsuccessfully, to keep from staring.
    â€œAnything good?” Now I heard my own forced casual voice.
    I didn’t have to say anything else.
    â€œOh, honey, I’m sorry,” Dad said. “Those are just bills I brought to look over in case I had to wait for you.”
    Again, a bunch of different emotions washed over me.Relief that there wasn’t a yes, happiness that there wasn’t a no. Impatience. And, stronger than the rest, grateful that today would still just be the day that I killed the jumps at practice.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said. “I know it’s going to be a few more weeks before I hear from Canterwood.”
    Dad glanced at me. “How are you feeling about Canterwood these days? We haven’t talked about it in a while.”
    â€œHonestly? I don’t know yet how I feel,” I said. “It changes every time I think about it.” I looked at the stack of envelopes. “Or every time I see mail,” I added.
    Dad laughed. “How do you mean?”
    I let his question rattle around in my head before answering. “Well, half of the time, I’m disappointed when there’s no acceptance letter. The other half of the time, I’m relieved there’s no letter because it could mean a no. And then I go back and forth about getting in. The school is so amazing, Dad. I want it—I want to be chosen so bad. But then . . . what happens if I actually get what I want?”
    â€œThen you’ll go and you’ll do great,” Dad said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.
    Suddenly my seat belt was constricting my chest. I tried to pull on it, but it only tangled and locked in place.“Maybe I won’t, though! I could get in and completely drop the ball. Academics there are hard. Everyone talks about how tough classes are and the pace there is so fast. I might not be able to keep up with school and riding. What if I fail, Dad?” I paused, feeling my fair cheeks burn with the weight of all my unanswered questions. “What if I fall?”
    â€œLaur-Bell,” Dad leaned over and touched my hand. “You’re a