‘It's dangerous': SCDOT seeking to replace Jasper County bridge, congestion concerns
Drivers said a bridge on South Carolina 462 that crosses over Euhaw Creek at the Ridgeland town line is being inundated with traffic, and it can't handle the volume.
'Everything coming from Beaufort and Bluffton and Hilton Head is coming this way. So, it's kind of congested, and it's dangerous right here by the church,' Earl Busby, a local resident, said. 'The bridge and all that need to be done over.'
Right now, there are weight limits for the bridge over Euhaw Creek, and there is signage letting people know that the roadway narrows.
However, there is no shortage of cars, trucks or buses that travel over it.
'The road being so cluttered and eighteen wheelers driving on it and so many cars traveling this road locally, the traffic is real serious. They've had major accidents on this road that took a couple lives,' Busby said.
SCDOT is looking to amend the statewide transportation improvement program to allocate funds to replace the bridge. They've been accepting public comment on the project since Thursday, and they estimate it will cost about $6.9 million.
'It's expanding. It's a lot of development going on, and it's a lot of people moving in the area,' Busby said. 'You've got them coming from Hilton Head, Walterboro, Bluffton, Beaufort, and Hampton. That's a lot of traffic.'
Several residents told WSAV off camera that many locals are not in favor of so much development, with signs posted up and down SC 462 reading 'Save the Euhaw district.'
Public comment will be accepted through June 12.
Written comments should be forwarded to Ginny Jones, Public Involvement Director, SCDOT Public Engagement Office, 955 Park Street, P.O. Box 191, Columbia, SC 29202.
Comments may also be submitted online or by email to SCDOTpubliccomment@scdot.org.
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
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CNN
8 hours ago
- CNN
Today's college admissions process isn't just convoluted. It's cruel
Student lifeFacebookTweetLinkEDITOR'S NOTE: Mary Frances Ruskell graduated in May from her high school in Columbia, South Carolina. The first round of admissions decisions for Clemson University came out on a December evening, days before midterms at my South Carolina high school. Everything that day felt like a waiting game. Nearly my entire senior class had applied early action, one of the many admissions plans that schools offer to apply to college. It requires submitting applications early to get an early answer, with decisions from colleges coming around mid-December. We all knew that there was a possibility of rejection, but Clemson was the dream school for many kids in my town. They had been decked out in orange and purple gear since they were born, a foregone conclusion since they spent their first nights as toddlers in the stands at Clemson's Memorial Stadium. They would go to Clemson, cheer for the Tigers and be happy. But it didn't turn out that way for everyone — at least not that smoothly and not that day. The modern college application process, with its array of admissions categories, deadlines, decision dates and types of offers, along with dozens of required essays and digitally tracked 'demonstrated interest' monitored by many universities, is incredibly complicated and drawn-out. What used to be a relatively straightforward, mostly synchronized schedule of applications, admission decisions and final choices is now a cascade of submissions starting in autumn, to be answered by acceptances, rejections, deferrals, waitlist placements and likely letters spread out from December to April. Students on waitlists might still be in limbo well into summer. The open-ended stress became a constant, toxic influence on my high school's culture. In the beginning of the year, my classmates and I talked hopefully and openly about where we were applying. By second semester, people had gotten quiet. No one wanted to be the kid who said they wanted to go to a particular university and then didn't get in, to be discussed, dissected or pitied by their classmates at the lunch table. Some students have had enough. In a federal lawsuit filed August 8, students are alleging that aspects of this convoluted and tightly guarded process that colleges and universities have invented over the last decade might even be illegal. The plaintiffs argue that 32 elite US colleges and universities conspired to raise the cost of attendance through binding early decision admissions, making a college education far more accessible to those who can pay more. Once upon a time, according to my mom, college admissions were relatively straight-forward. She applied regular decision to four schools, got her results in the mail on April 1, chose one and was done. For me, depending on the school, I could have applied early action, restrictive early action, single choice early action, early decision 1, early decision 2, 'hidden' early decision or regular decision—all with different deadlines, admissions announcement dates, and possibly even rules about what other schools I could apply to. Early decision, the system the students are suing about, means asking one and only one college for an advance admissions decision, while making a binding promise to attend if accepted. Rumor has it that applying early decision can supposedly double or even triple an applicant's odds of getting in, but students must be absolutely certain this school is where they want to go and that they're willing and able to pay for it. Being accepted means they must withdraw their applications from other schools, without ever knowing what financial aid or merit scholarships other schools might have offered. Early decision is not a legal contract, but there can be serious consequences from backing out of acceptance. Colleges and universities may share news of the student's withdrawal with other institutions, potentially affecting that student's chances of being admitted elsewhere. Clemson didn't offer early decision, but it did offer early action. Applying early action doesn't bind you to a single school, but it still involves rules about what other schools you can apply to and when. Early action applicants are widely believed to have a higher rate of admission than regular decision applicants — reportedly the restricted early action acceptance rate for Harvard University's class of 2028 was 8.7%, while the regular decision acceptance rate was 2.71%. However, this difference might simply be because the early action applicant pool includes recruited athletes, whose success boosts the overall rate for the group. It's hard to assess because of the secretive nature of the process. Applying regular decision is non-binding and has the latest deadlines. Early action and early decision application deadlines are typically in October or November, while regular decision is usually in late December or early January. Regular decision gives students the greatest flexibility but might give them a worse chance of getting in, since they will be compared with a larger applicant pool and early applicants may have already filled many spots, according to IvyWise, an educational consulting firm. I believe employing this system allows the universities to benefit at the student's expense, reducing uncertainty on their side while keeping applicants like me and my classmates confused, in doubt and miserable. The benefits of early admission programs for universities are clear: universities can secure a large portion of their incoming class early, and possibly avoid competition with other schools. The emotional and financial well-being of the students who must participate in this system, however, seems to be a distant consideration for universities, if they consider it at all. The day the early Clemson decisions were released was the day it felt like everything changed, when we learned first-hand that the decisions could be just as unclear as the admission plans we were already struggling through. It was one of the first big announcement dates after months of worrying. But instead of acceptances and rejections, which would have been definitive answers, most of my classmates got no real resolution at all. Clemson deferred many of my classmates, meaning that they would be reevaluated during the regular admissions process and get another decision in the spring. Yet even then, that answer wouldn't necessarily be a clear-cut acceptance. Post-deferral, Clemson accepts some kids and rejects others. But those aren't the only possibilities. Clemson 'summer-starts' some kids, requiring them to arrive early to campus to take classes over the summer. Still others are 'bridged,' meaning that they will spend their first year at a local community college and then transfer to Clemson for their sophomore year. Clemson also places some on a waitlist, where those students would have to wait and hope enough admitted students declined an offer to open up spaces for them. Some students who thought they would almost certainly be accepted because of similar grades and test scores to those of admitted students from previous years were shocked to be deferred. One of their few options to increase their chances of straight-forward admission and avoid being summer started, bridged or waitlisted was to potentially increase what schools call their 'demonstrated interest' during the in-between months. Demonstrated interest is a way for schools to guess how serious a student is about a school, tracking students online and in person to determine how likely they are to attend and protect the university's 'yield.' The schools record contact with admissions officers, attendance of seminars and webinars, visits to campus, and attendance at pricey summer camps. Or these kids could write 'letters of continuing interest.' A LOCI, in high school-senior speak, is basically a love note begging a school that isn't really sure it wants you that you still adore it anyway, and would you please just let me in? Even without Clemson's early decision process, the uncertainty and unexpectedness of the results plunged myclass into a level of distrust and fear I'd never felt before. (I reached out to Clemson via email and phone for comment about its admissions process, but I didn't hear back by deadline.) By the time the Clemson announcement came out, all our early applications had been submitted, and most of our regular decision applications were due in the next two weeks. It was far too late for anyone to substantially edit their essays in a panic. At that point I had already written a dozen for the schools I was applying to — that's because it's no longer enough to write the Common Application essay. Every school I applied to required 'supplemental' essays as well. My class hummed with quiet resentment. The confusion and suspense made us sharper toward each other. I tried to seem aloof and disaffected, as though I didn't care at all. It was a defense mechanism. I think other students were doing it, too, especially in my most competitive classes such as multivariable calculus and my Advanced Placement courses. No one wanted to show how much they cared. My own result from Clemson was an early acceptance. But along with many of the other kids who got in early, I hadn't considered it my dream school. For the students who had yearned to go to Clemson since they were in diapers, only to be deferred, there was a distinct feeling of 'it should have been me.' They hoped that admitted kids would withdraw and give the deferred kids a better chance. When kids didn't withdraw, it was sometimes seen as greediness. How could they keep a spot at a school when they didn't want it enough to commit right away while others were desperate to get in? However, I wouldn't rescind my application from Clemson because I hadn't yet heard from my regular decision schools. If I didn't get in to other schools, Clemson remained a great option for college. I stopped telling other kids where I had applied and where I was admitted because we got twitchy around each other if it was the same school. My class played hushed games of telephone, asking friends of friends if they knew where people had applied and where they had gotten in so we could reevaluate our own chances. We fed off each other's stress, creating a class-wide feeling of apprehension. I didn't pay attention to it all the time, but the thrum of anxiety was a constant backdrop for months, keeping me tense. I got caught up in the toxic stress of it all, and I regret it. The fear didn't get anyone into a school. It just made us miserable. This environment that colleges have created for admissions is mean. There has to be a kinder and more straightforward way to admit kids to college. Maybe that means going back to the old days in which there was one deadline and one date for results and the process was clear. I don't know if that will happen, although maybe the new lawsuit will have some effect. At least it's already raising awareness of the situation. In the meantime, the best advice I have for current high school seniors is to try to separate your sense of self-worth from both the process and the results. The results are not a judgment on you as a human being. I was devastated when I was deferred from my first choice school in December. But then, after a few days, I realized that nothing had actually changed. I was still the same person. Admissions results do not determine your future or potential. Your ability to affect the world and be happy is not determined by an arbitrary system that is not set up for your benefit. Deferral and rejection hurt because the essay and supplemental prompts demand that you be vulnerable about yourself, inevitably pulling you in emotionally. It feels like the schools are personally judging you. Try to remember that this process is partially a numbers game for schools, but you are not just a number. One of the most helpful things my parents did was to be patient when I was freaking out. When I was feeling better and calmer, they were an external reminder that this system is messed up. My dad's favorite refrain was, 'It's all a crapshoot.' At the time, that was exactly what I needed to hear because it made clear that admissions was partially a thing of chance and not of judgment on myself. (Thanks Dad.) Applying to college is a long and grueling process that I've seen often damages the kids going through it. In the end, though, it worked out all right for my class. Everybody got in somewhere, even if it wasn't what they thought their dream school was at first. Looking back on it, I think I'll be far, far happier at the school I'm going to than the one I applied to early action. But that hindsight wasn't there to comfort me or my classmates through the fall and early winter, before I had the school year to grow and think about what I really wanted. And I wish it could be easier for the high school seniors coming after me. Get inspired by a weekly roundup on living well, made simple. Sign up for CNN's Life, But Better newsletter for information and tools designed to improve your well-being.
CNN
8 hours ago
- CNN
Today's college admissions process isn't just convoluted. It's cruel
EDITOR'S NOTE: Mary Frances Ruskell graduated in May from her high school in Columbia, South Carolina. The first round of admissions decisions for Clemson University came out on a December evening, days before midterms at my South Carolina high school. Everything that day felt like a waiting game. Nearly my entire senior class had applied early action, one of the many admissions plans that schools offer to apply to college. It requires submitting applications early to get an early answer, with decisions from colleges coming around mid-December. We all knew that there was a possibility of rejection, but Clemson was the dream school for many kids in my town. They had been decked out in orange and purple gear since they were born, a foregone conclusion since they spent their first nights as toddlers in the stands at Clemson's Memorial Stadium. They would go to Clemson, cheer for the Tigers and be happy. But it didn't turn out that way for everyone — at least not that smoothly and not that day. The modern college application process, with its array of admissions categories, deadlines, decision dates and types of offers, along with dozens of required essays and digitally tracked 'demonstrated interest' monitored by many universities, is incredibly complicated and drawn-out. What used to be a relatively straightforward, mostly synchronized schedule of applications, admission decisions and final choices is now a cascade of submissions starting in autumn, to be answered by acceptances, rejections, deferrals, waitlist placements and likely letters spread out from December to April. Students on waitlists might still be in limbo well into summer. The open-ended stress became a constant, toxic influence on my high school's culture. In the beginning of the year, my classmates and I talked hopefully and openly about where we were applying. By second semester, people had gotten quiet. No one wanted to be the kid who said they wanted to go to a particular university and then didn't get in, to be discussed, dissected or pitied by their classmates at the lunch table. Some students have had enough. In a federal lawsuit filed August 8, students are alleging that aspects of this convoluted and tightly guarded process that colleges and universities have invented over the last decade might even be illegal. The plaintiffs argue that 32 elite US colleges and universities conspired to raise the cost of attendance through binding early decision admissions, making a college education far more accessible to those who can pay more. Once upon a time, according to my mom, college admissions were relatively straight-forward. She applied regular decision to four schools, got her results in the mail on April 1, chose one and was done. For me, depending on the school, I could have applied early action, restrictive early action, single choice early action, early decision 1, early decision 2, 'hidden' early decision or regular decision—all with different deadlines, admissions announcement dates, and possibly even rules about what other schools I could apply to. Early decision, the system the students are suing about, means asking one and only one college for an advance admissions decision, while making a binding promise to attend if accepted. Rumor has it that applying early decision can supposedly double or even triple an applicant's odds of getting in, but students must be absolutely certain this school is where they want to go and that they're willing and able to pay for it. Being accepted means they must withdraw their applications from other schools, without ever knowing what financial aid or merit scholarships other schools might have offered. Early decision is not a legal contract, but there can be serious consequences from backing out of acceptance. Colleges and universities may share news of the student's withdrawal with other institutions, potentially affecting that student's chances of being admitted elsewhere. Clemson didn't offer early decision, but it did offer early action. Applying early action doesn't bind you to a single school, but it still involves rules about what other schools you can apply to and when. Early action applicants are widely believed to have a higher rate of admission than regular decision applicants — reportedly the restricted early action acceptance rate for Harvard University's class of 2028 was 8.7%, while the regular decision acceptance rate was 2.71%. However, this difference might simply be because the early action applicant pool includes recruited athletes, whose success boosts the overall rate for the group. It's hard to assess because of the secretive nature of the process. Applying regular decision is non-binding and has the latest deadlines. Early action and early decision application deadlines are typically in October or November, while regular decision is usually in late December or early January. Regular decision gives students the greatest flexibility but might give them a worse chance of getting in, since they will be compared with a larger applicant pool and early applicants may have already filled many spots, according to IvyWise, an educational consulting firm. I believe employing this system allows the universities to benefit at the student's expense, reducing uncertainty on their side while keeping applicants like me and my classmates confused, in doubt and miserable. The benefits of early admission programs for universities are clear: universities can secure a large portion of their incoming class early, and possibly avoid competition with other schools. The emotional and financial well-being of the students who must participate in this system, however, seems to be a distant consideration for universities, if they consider it at all. The day the early Clemson decisions were released was the day it felt like everything changed, when we learned first-hand that the decisions could be just as unclear as the admission plans we were already struggling through. It was one of the first big announcement dates after months of worrying. But instead of acceptances and rejections, which would have been definitive answers, most of my classmates got no real resolution at all. Clemson deferred many of my classmates, meaning that they would be reevaluated during the regular admissions process and get another decision in the spring. Yet even then, that answer wouldn't necessarily be a clear-cut acceptance. Post-deferral, Clemson accepts some kids and rejects others. But those aren't the only possibilities. Clemson 'summer-starts' some kids, requiring them to arrive early to campus to take classes over the summer. Still others are 'bridged,' meaning that they will spend their first year at a local community college and then transfer to Clemson for their sophomore year. Clemson also places some on a waitlist, where those students would have to wait and hope enough admitted students declined an offer to open up spaces for them. Some students who thought they would almost certainly be accepted because of similar grades and test scores to those of admitted students from previous years were shocked to be deferred. One of their few options to increase their chances of straight-forward admission and avoid being summer started, bridged or waitlisted was to potentially increase what schools call their 'demonstrated interest' during the in-between months. Demonstrated interest is a way for schools to guess how serious a student is about a school, tracking students online and in person to determine how likely they are to attend and protect the university's 'yield.' The schools record contact with admissions officers, attendance of seminars and webinars, visits to campus, and attendance at pricey summer camps. Or these kids could write 'letters of continuing interest.' A LOCI, in high school-senior speak, is basically a love note begging a school that isn't really sure it wants you that you still adore it anyway, and would you please just let me in? Even without Clemson's early decision process, the uncertainty and unexpectedness of the results plunged myclass into a level of distrust and fear I'd never felt before. (I reached out to Clemson via email and phone for comment about its admissions process, but I didn't hear back by deadline.) By the time the Clemson announcement came out, all our early applications had been submitted, and most of our regular decision applications were due in the next two weeks. It was far too late for anyone to substantially edit their essays in a panic. At that point I had already written a dozen for the schools I was applying to — that's because it's no longer enough to write the Common Application essay. Every school I applied to required 'supplemental' essays as well. My class hummed with quiet resentment. The confusion and suspense made us sharper toward each other. I tried to seem aloof and disaffected, as though I didn't care at all. It was a defense mechanism. I think other students were doing it, too, especially in my most competitive classes such as multivariable calculus and my Advanced Placement courses. No one wanted to show how much they cared. My own result from Clemson was an early acceptance. But along with many of the other kids who got in early, I hadn't considered it my dream school. For the students who had yearned to go to Clemson since they were in diapers, only to be deferred, there was a distinct feeling of 'it should have been me.' They hoped that admitted kids would withdraw and give the deferred kids a better chance. When kids didn't withdraw, it was sometimes seen as greediness. How could they keep a spot at a school when they didn't want it enough to commit right away while others were desperate to get in? However, I wouldn't rescind my application from Clemson because I hadn't yet heard from my regular decision schools. If I didn't get in to other schools, Clemson remained a great option for college. I stopped telling other kids where I had applied and where I was admitted because we got twitchy around each other if it was the same school. My class played hushed games of telephone, asking friends of friends if they knew where people had applied and where they had gotten in so we could reevaluate our own chances. We fed off each other's stress, creating a class-wide feeling of apprehension. I didn't pay attention to it all the time, but the thrum of anxiety was a constant backdrop for months, keeping me tense. I got caught up in the toxic stress of it all, and I regret it. The fear didn't get anyone into a school. It just made us miserable. This environment that colleges have created for admissions is mean. There has to be a kinder and more straightforward way to admit kids to college. Maybe that means going back to the old days in which there was one deadline and one date for results and the process was clear. I don't know if that will happen, although maybe the new lawsuit will have some effect. At least it's already raising awareness of the situation. In the meantime, the best advice I have for current high school seniors is to try to separate your sense of self-worth from both the process and the results. The results are not a judgment on you as a human being. I was devastated when I was deferred from my first choice school in December. But then, after a few days, I realized that nothing had actually changed. I was still the same person. Admissions results do not determine your future or potential. Your ability to affect the world and be happy is not determined by an arbitrary system that is not set up for your benefit. Deferral and rejection hurt because the essay and supplemental prompts demand that you be vulnerable about yourself, inevitably pulling you in emotionally. It feels like the schools are personally judging you. Try to remember that this process is partially a numbers game for schools, but you are not just a number. One of the most helpful things my parents did was to be patient when I was freaking out. When I was feeling better and calmer, they were an external reminder that this system is messed up. My dad's favorite refrain was, 'It's all a crapshoot.' At the time, that was exactly what I needed to hear because it made clear that admissions was partially a thing of chance and not of judgment on myself. (Thanks Dad.) Applying to college is a long and grueling process that I've seen often damages the kids going through it. In the end, though, it worked out all right for my class. Everybody got in somewhere, even if it wasn't what they thought their dream school was at first. Looking back on it, I think I'll be far, far happier at the school I'm going to than the one I applied to early action. But that hindsight wasn't there to comfort me or my classmates through the fall and early winter, before I had the school year to grow and think about what I really wanted. And I wish it could be easier for the high school seniors coming after me. Get inspired by a weekly roundup on living well, made simple. Sign up for CNN's Life, But Better newsletter for information and tools designed to improve your well-being.
CNN
8 hours ago
- CNN
Today's college admissions process isn't just convoluted. It's cruel
EDITOR'S NOTE: Mary Frances Ruskell graduated in May from her high school in Columbia, South Carolina. The first round of admissions decisions for Clemson University came out on a December evening, days before midterms at my South Carolina high school. Everything that day felt like a waiting game. Nearly my entire senior class had applied early action, one of the many admissions plans that schools offer to apply to college. It requires submitting applications early to get an early answer, with decisions from colleges coming around mid-December. We all knew that there was a possibility of rejection, but Clemson was the dream school for many kids in my town. They had been decked out in orange and purple gear since they were born, a foregone conclusion since they spent their first nights as toddlers in the stands at Clemson's Memorial Stadium. They would go to Clemson, cheer for the Tigers and be happy. But it didn't turn out that way for everyone — at least not that smoothly and not that day. The modern college application process, with its array of admissions categories, deadlines, decision dates and types of offers, along with dozens of required essays and digitally tracked 'demonstrated interest' monitored by many universities, is incredibly complicated and drawn-out. What used to be a relatively straightforward, mostly synchronized schedule of applications, admission decisions and final choices is now a cascade of submissions starting in autumn, to be answered by acceptances, rejections, deferrals, waitlist placements and likely letters spread out from December to April. Students on waitlists might still be in limbo well into summer. The open-ended stress became a constant, toxic influence on my high school's culture. In the beginning of the year, my classmates and I talked hopefully and openly about where we were applying. By second semester, people had gotten quiet. No one wanted to be the kid who said they wanted to go to a particular university and then didn't get in, to be discussed, dissected or pitied by their classmates at the lunch table. Some students have had enough. In a federal lawsuit filed August 8, students are alleging that aspects of this convoluted and tightly guarded process that colleges and universities have invented over the last decade might even be illegal. The plaintiffs argue that 32 elite US colleges and universities conspired to raise the cost of attendance through binding early decision admissions, making a college education far more accessible to those who can pay more. Once upon a time, according to my mom, college admissions were relatively straight-forward. She applied regular decision to four schools, got her results in the mail on April 1, chose one and was done. For me, depending on the school, I could have applied early action, restrictive early action, single choice early action, early decision 1, early decision 2, 'hidden' early decision or regular decision—all with different deadlines, admissions announcement dates, and possibly even rules about what other schools I could apply to. Early decision, the system the students are suing about, means asking one and only one college for an advance admissions decision, while making a binding promise to attend if accepted. Rumor has it that applying early decision can supposedly double or even triple an applicant's odds of getting in, but students must be absolutely certain this school is where they want to go and that they're willing and able to pay for it. Being accepted means they must withdraw their applications from other schools, without ever knowing what financial aid or merit scholarships other schools might have offered. Early decision is not a legal contract, but there can be serious consequences from backing out of acceptance. Colleges and universities may share news of the student's withdrawal with other institutions, potentially affecting that student's chances of being admitted elsewhere. Clemson didn't offer early decision, but it did offer early action. Applying early action doesn't bind you to a single school, but it still involves rules about what other schools you can apply to and when. Early action applicants are widely believed to have a higher rate of admission than regular decision applicants — reportedly the restricted early action acceptance rate for Harvard University's class of 2028 was 8.7%, while the regular decision acceptance rate was 2.71%. However, this difference might simply be because the early action applicant pool includes recruited athletes, whose success boosts the overall rate for the group. It's hard to assess because of the secretive nature of the process. Applying regular decision is non-binding and has the latest deadlines. Early action and early decision application deadlines are typically in October or November, while regular decision is usually in late December or early January. Regular decision gives students the greatest flexibility but might give them a worse chance of getting in, since they will be compared with a larger applicant pool and early applicants may have already filled many spots, according to IvyWise, an educational consulting firm. I believe employing this system allows the universities to benefit at the student's expense, reducing uncertainty on their side while keeping applicants like me and my classmates confused, in doubt and miserable. The benefits of early admission programs for universities are clear: universities can secure a large portion of their incoming class early, and possibly avoid competition with other schools. The emotional and financial well-being of the students who must participate in this system, however, seems to be a distant consideration for universities, if they consider it at all. The day the early Clemson decisions were released was the day it felt like everything changed, when we learned first-hand that the decisions could be just as unclear as the admission plans we were already struggling through. It was one of the first big announcement dates after months of worrying. But instead of acceptances and rejections, which would have been definitive answers, most of my classmates got no real resolution at all. Clemson deferred many of my classmates, meaning that they would be reevaluated during the regular admissions process and get another decision in the spring. Yet even then, that answer wouldn't necessarily be a clear-cut acceptance. Post-deferral, Clemson accepts some kids and rejects others. But those aren't the only possibilities. Clemson 'summer-starts' some kids, requiring them to arrive early to campus to take classes over the summer. Still others are 'bridged,' meaning that they will spend their first year at a local community college and then transfer to Clemson for their sophomore year. Clemson also places some on a waitlist, where those students would have to wait and hope enough admitted students declined an offer to open up spaces for them. Some students who thought they would almost certainly be accepted because of similar grades and test scores to those of admitted students from previous years were shocked to be deferred. One of their few options to increase their chances of straight-forward admission and avoid being summer started, bridged or waitlisted was to potentially increase what schools call their 'demonstrated interest' during the in-between months. Demonstrated interest is a way for schools to guess how serious a student is about a school, tracking students online and in person to determine how likely they are to attend and protect the university's 'yield.' The schools record contact with admissions officers, attendance of seminars and webinars, visits to campus, and attendance at pricey summer camps. Or these kids could write 'letters of continuing interest.' A LOCI, in high school-senior speak, is basically a love note begging a school that isn't really sure it wants you that you still adore it anyway, and would you please just let me in? Even without Clemson's early decision process, the uncertainty and unexpectedness of the results plunged myclass into a level of distrust and fear I'd never felt before. (I reached out to Clemson via email and phone for comment about its admissions process, but I didn't hear back by deadline.) By the time the Clemson announcement came out, all our early applications had been submitted, and most of our regular decision applications were due in the next two weeks. It was far too late for anyone to substantially edit their essays in a panic. At that point I had already written a dozen for the schools I was applying to — that's because it's no longer enough to write the Common Application essay. Every school I applied to required 'supplemental' essays as well. My class hummed with quiet resentment. The confusion and suspense made us sharper toward each other. I tried to seem aloof and disaffected, as though I didn't care at all. It was a defense mechanism. I think other students were doing it, too, especially in my most competitive classes such as multivariable calculus and my Advanced Placement courses. No one wanted to show how much they cared. My own result from Clemson was an early acceptance. But along with many of the other kids who got in early, I hadn't considered it my dream school. For the students who had yearned to go to Clemson since they were in diapers, only to be deferred, there was a distinct feeling of 'it should have been me.' They hoped that admitted kids would withdraw and give the deferred kids a better chance. When kids didn't withdraw, it was sometimes seen as greediness. How could they keep a spot at a school when they didn't want it enough to commit right away while others were desperate to get in? However, I wouldn't rescind my application from Clemson because I hadn't yet heard from my regular decision schools. If I didn't get in to other schools, Clemson remained a great option for college. I stopped telling other kids where I had applied and where I was admitted because we got twitchy around each other if it was the same school. My class played hushed games of telephone, asking friends of friends if they knew where people had applied and where they had gotten in so we could reevaluate our own chances. We fed off each other's stress, creating a class-wide feeling of apprehension. I didn't pay attention to it all the time, but the thrum of anxiety was a constant backdrop for months, keeping me tense. I got caught up in the toxic stress of it all, and I regret it. The fear didn't get anyone into a school. It just made us miserable. This environment that colleges have created for admissions is mean. There has to be a kinder and more straightforward way to admit kids to college. Maybe that means going back to the old days in which there was one deadline and one date for results and the process was clear. I don't know if that will happen, although maybe the new lawsuit will have some effect. At least it's already raising awareness of the situation. In the meantime, the best advice I have for current high school seniors is to try to separate your sense of self-worth from both the process and the results. The results are not a judgment on you as a human being. I was devastated when I was deferred from my first choice school in December. But then, after a few days, I realized that nothing had actually changed. I was still the same person. Admissions results do not determine your future or potential. Your ability to affect the world and be happy is not determined by an arbitrary system that is not set up for your benefit. Deferral and rejection hurt because the essay and supplemental prompts demand that you be vulnerable about yourself, inevitably pulling you in emotionally. It feels like the schools are personally judging you. Try to remember that this process is partially a numbers game for schools, but you are not just a number. One of the most helpful things my parents did was to be patient when I was freaking out. When I was feeling better and calmer, they were an external reminder that this system is messed up. My dad's favorite refrain was, 'It's all a crapshoot.' At the time, that was exactly what I needed to hear because it made clear that admissions was partially a thing of chance and not of judgment on myself. (Thanks Dad.) Applying to college is a long and grueling process that I've seen often damages the kids going through it. In the end, though, it worked out all right for my class. Everybody got in somewhere, even if it wasn't what they thought their dream school was at first. Looking back on it, I think I'll be far, far happier at the school I'm going to than the one I applied to early action. But that hindsight wasn't there to comfort me or my classmates through the fall and early winter, before I had the school year to grow and think about what I really wanted. And I wish it could be easier for the high school seniors coming after me. 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