I walk into the officers’ club in my dress uniform, and I am terrified. It’s dimly lit, and there is a large screen up front and a table with a couple hundred ball caps on it. Tonight is Billet Night, where I will finally learn my fate as they tell me, very publicly, my first billet after I graduate from the Academy. I will leave this room tonight either ecstatic that I pulled off a miracle or devastated knowing I wasted the opportunity of a lifetime. Billet Night is a bit of a production, and there is a lot of hoopla around it. Our entire class continues to cram into the officers’ club. We find our seats and nervously chat about our hopes and dreams.

My nautical science teacher is the master of ceremonies, and he is up on stage putting together his presentation. After a few moments, he quiets us down and begins with some type of introduction. I’m not listening to anything he’s talking about. I’m already sweating, and my heart is racing.

Billet Night is all about theatrics. Various-sized groups of cadets are called up on stage and given folders with their orders inside. While they try to get their orders open, the master of ceremonies throws a slide on the screen with their first billet while they are presented with their unit’s ball cap. Some people celebrate, some people cry or throw a tantrum, and all the emotions are on full display. The prospect of finding out the direction your life is headed while on stage in front of all your peers is horrifying.

As the night goes on and we cheer for our classmates, they call a larger group on stage. Most of them are at the top of the class, and I get a sinking feeling. As they open up their orders, “Naval Flight School, NAS Pensacola, FL” appears on the screen, and I feel every bit of hope drain out of my body. I try not to look miserable in front of all my friends, but I am wounded. I barely pay attention to anyone else until Duby gets called up. I am prepared to go up there with him as they call a few more names, but they don’t call me. Duby is up there without me, looking at his orders as “CGC Legare, Portsmouth, VA” appears on the screen. Duby is excited because it was at the top of his list, and I am happy for him, but now I start to panic. I didn’t get flight school, and I’m not going with Duby.

They continue to call people up, and I am thinking the worst. At one point, they call another small group and present them orders to Naval Flight School. Things can’t get any worse. I watch every one of my friends go up and get billets. Almost everyone sitting next to me has a billet in hand and a fresh unit ball cap on their head as I continue to spiral. Not getting flight school is bad, but I expected that. Not going with any of my friends is terrifying. I am convinced I am getting nothing on my list. I am imagining some isolated aids-to-navigation station somewhere in the Bering Sea where I will likely freeze to death alone. Every nightmare scenario is running through my mind. I watch in horror with each passing group that goes up without me. Then, another flight school group is announced, and I’ve counted nearly twenty people who have orders to flight school. That’s nearly double any year prior, but now I know for sure there isn’t a spot for me. A couple more small groups are called, but I am not paying any attention. I am wallowing in self-pity and regret. Then everything seems to be winding down like it’s finished, and the master of ceremonies says,

“Is there anyone out there who hasn’t received a billet?”

I look around and notice everyone else with orders and ball caps as I slowly raise my hand. In a sea of blue uniforms, I see one other hand from across the dimly lit room as everyone turns around to look at me.

“First Class Matthews, come on up here.”

I walk up with my heart pounding. I feel like I am walking down death row, where my dreams will be executed in front of all my friends. I try to look brave in the now-silent officers’ club.

He hands me my orders, and I try to open them with my trembling hands. There is a strange silence as it feels like the entire class is holding its breath with me. Before I get them open, the screen behind me changes.

The officers’ club erupts.

Everyone is standing, chairs have flipped over, and the sound is deafening. Then, over the mic and over the shouting crowd, the master of ceremonies yells, “Congratulations. You’re going to Naval Flight School.” I nearly collapse. Then I start jumping up and down all over the stage, fighting back tears. Next, I hug every single person around me. If anyone stands still long enough, I hug them. Everyone is congratulating me and high-fiving me, and it is the best moment of my life. The master of ceremonies tries to conclude the ceremony, but it is a fool’s errand. We all celebrate, and I want to stay in this moment forever.

For the first time ever, the dream is not some far-fetched idea that I am fighting for or trying to explain.

It is orders in my hands and a flight school ball cap on my head.