Essays that got students in.

For me, math is more than just numbers. It's a mode of visualizing movement in action, the synthesis of my imagination and the physical world. When I'm problem-solving, I'm not just generating a string of numbers on paper. I'm picturing the spiral of a rollercoaster, the friction of a waterslide, and the curvature of an asteroid's impending collision with Earth.

I am every woman I have ever met. My sister Chloe taught me how to be a girl. I'm not just talking about the endless hours she put into teaching me how to apply blush or braid my hair. I'm talking about the love and compassion she gave me; her tenderness is woven through me like a piece of thread. Now, when I touch my cheek or brush my hair, I feel the love of my sister. We were all sorts of things together: fairies, storytellers, dreamers. But most importantly, we were girls. But then, Chloe went to boarding school. I was only 11, but I had to be brave to live without her, and I was made brave by Chloe, which is to say I was made brave by love.

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.