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In March, my family travels to Florida for spring break. While my siblings splash around our hotel’s pool, I lie on a slatted tanning chair and turn the brightness all the way up on my phone to read an email from Millsaps College. It says that, due to a highly contagious new virus I faintly remember hearing about back in November and dismissing as an Ebola-esque deadly but containable disease, we will have an extra week of spring break. I picture reading non-school books by the pool and hanging out with hometown friends, people whose idiosyncrasies my mind keeps threatening to dump despite how I don’t want to forget. I’m happy, relieved.

Brailey Vine

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