On Ivy Day, I put on my lucky purple jacket, a soft lilac almost identical to my bedroom walls, which I had stared at for the 17 years of my life in Michigan. All day, I reassured myself that whatever verdict graced my laptop, I would be okay — though my body knew I was lying. Sitting at my desk, I knotted my fingers together. Before opening my Yale decision, I whispered a series of small prayers.