Essays that got students in.

75,000 flipped pages. 11,520 packed boxes. 6 school maps. I began measuring my life in flipped pages, packed boxes, and school maps when I was 6. As my family and I flitted between states and coasts for my father's job over the last decade, I shielded myself with fantasy novels. With my head propped on the baseboard near my nightlight and a book held up in front of me by aching arms, I would dance in whimsical forests, fight daring battles, and rule dangerous courts long after dark.

I was born to two moms. One, my biological mom, Meredith. One, my mom who adopted me, Mary. Because they were a same-sex couple, the law required that Mary adopt me in order to be my parent. They used Sperm Donor 3311. All I know about my "father" is that he didn't have a familial history of cancer, he has a twin brother who is 6'4", and he studied math in school.

"The difference between an anti-personnel and an anti-tank mine is not that complicated," I am told casually, in halting Russian, by a boy even younger than I am during a walk through the Chechen mountains. I am freshly 14 and visiting my father's homeland for the first time, unfamiliar with the harsh realities that kids half my age already know ironclad. My guide points out the areas where the grass is overgrown and the fruit trees abundant. People and animals alike know to avoid them; someone has learned of landmines the hard way. It shouldn't surprise me — the scars of war on this rugged country are omnipresent — but it is so jarringly different from my life in London that it is nevertheless hard to digest.

I'm 6. The sounds of hornpipe and laughter drift across the gymnasium-turned-cafeteria-turned-auditorium. Mum caught me dancing to some of her old Irish tapes — the Chieftains, Sinead O'Connor. She asked me if I wanted to do it for real. I said sure and went back to dancing. Now a freckled woman digs around in a cardboard box and pulls out a pair of dusty, worn black shoes. "Don't worry," she says, "you'll learn eventually." The shoes are too big; they sag at the toes. I approach the stage.