Rory
The acceptance email landed at 7 a.m., which meant I read it three times before I'd even fully processed being awake, my brain lagging several crucial steps behind my racing pulse.
**Dear Ms.—** I stopped reading right there the first time through, heart lurching, before my sleep-fogged brain caught up and reminded me that of course the university's internal system still had my real legal name on file somewhere, buried under enough paperwork that nobody outside the registrar's office would ever have reason to see it. The internship's own confirmation, mercifully, addressed me correctly, formal and businesslike: *We are pleased to offer you a position in this summer's cohort. Please confirm your acceptance by end of week.*
I set the phone face-down on my nightstand and stared at the
