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I flipped the envelope over. A silver wax seal with the imprint of the Director of Assessment Commission promised that the envelope had not been opened by anyone else since it was originally sealed. I ran my finger under the seal and broke it.
    But I couldn’t open it: instead I just stared. My parents patiently watched me and continued to smile; apparently they thought I was still savoring the moment. In a way I guess I was. I was momentarily daunted by the importance held by the small rectangle of paper in my hand.
    The moment I opened the envelope’s flap the color I saw would determine my future. The most dreaded orange paper meant you had performed at the bottom twenty percent of your class. You would immediately be assigned to an unskilled manual labor position and assigned living quarters in a nearby housing complex. From what I had been told, the housing was tiny and cramped and each floor shared a community bathroom. Food rations were just enough to maintain health and nutrition, and were not concerned with taste. And the paltry income allotment scarcely covered basic necessities.
    If you found a green paper it meant you were in the thirtieth percentile range and would be trained for a low-skilled labor position. The housing was a little roomier, there was some variety to the rations, and if you were careful with your income allotment, you could eventually save up for a nicety or two.
    Every additional ten percent earned a higher level, and consequently the things allotted to you became nicer. Brown was the fortieth percentile and meant you would be trained in an average-skill level labor position. Red was for high-level labor.
    Everyone hoped to be in the sixtieth percentile or higher, because that meant you were upper-class. You would be allotted an individual house and would have an income that afforded at least regular niceties. It got better and better with each color level: blue, purple, gray, silver and the most exclusive gold.
    My confidence and giddiness vanished. Suddenly I was sure I would open the letter to find red paper. I would never be able to live in the same neighborhood as my parents, I would never get to teach, and I would have no hope of a life with Byron.
    I felt a hand rest on my arm. I looked up to see my dad giving me a reassuring smile that made his blue eyes twinkle. His look told me that no matter what was in the envelope, I would always be his daughter and he would always love me. It gave me the courage I needed. I squeezed his hand and stepped a few steps back, away from him. This was something I needed to do on my own. I took a deep breath and began to open my letter. I prayed to see purple or at least blue.
    “What?!” I screamed. I blindly stumbled backwards until my back hit the end of the hallway. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing: it just didn’t make sense. I felt myself starting to hyperventilate.
    “It’s okay, honey. No matter what color you got, we’ll get through this together.” My dad walked towards me wearing his brave face. The last time I saw that expression on him was when he told me that Grandma Mary had passed away.
    I looked over at my mom and saw that all the color had drained from her and tears were streaming down her face.
    Realizing what they both must be thinking, I opened my mouth to explain, but all that came out was a strangled cry – my breath got caught somewhere in my throat. I was still sort of hyperventilating. So I haphazardly pulled my letter out and let the iridescent envelope flutter to the ground. Both of my parents’ eyes went wide as they focused on the gold letterhead clasped in my hand.
    The impossible had happened. I had been fast-tracked.
    My parents’ looks of despair disappeared as they followed me down a path of shock, disbelief and then overwhelming joy.
    The world was completely open to me now. Against all odds I had fallen into the top two percent of the country’s students. I was now part of the most privileged class. I