Page 59 - The Peorian Vol 3 Issue 1 Winter

59
thePeorian.com Student Story
When we finally reach my cam-
pus, she places $5 in my hand
and kisses my cheek. “Great, it’s
like second grade all over again,”
I groan. She sighs, waving her
hand dismissively as I exit the
car. “Have a great day, Beth! And
quit being such a baby. You’re a
grown woman now!” I roll my
eyes and slam the door, heading
straight to the four-story building
where my first class is being held.
If I could give incoming fresh-
men any piece of advice, I would
suggest finding a school that isn’t
ancient. Sure, the architecture
is really awesome to look at,
but walking up what seems like
endless flights of stairs is not.
Maybe people figure you can’t
ruin a perfectly structured build-
ing with elevators, but I think it
would make the college experi-
ence better. After walking up the
lengths of the building, I reach
the hallway and find it full of
panting students. Many are quiet,
ignoring those around them. The
rest take on the voice levels of a
group of 16-year old “fan girls”,
squealing as they discuss how
great college is going to be. All
I can think about is the nervous
feeling in the pit of my stomach,
the amount of people in this hall-
way, and how scary it is to not be
in high school anymore.
When the classroom that my
American government class is
supposed to be in finally opens,
almost everyone that was in the
hallway flooded the room. Desks
filled up quickly, leaving me with
no option but to sit next to some-
one I had never met. The desks
were old, creaky, and somewhat
uncomfortable. They got a col-
lective sigh from everyone in the
room, and as everyone began to
laugh about it the boy sitting next
to me looked at me and smiled.
“Hey,” he said. I smiled and nod-
ded back at him as a greeting, my
cheeks flushing. Mind you, I was
always one to blush, and it wasn’t
because someone had flattered
me – it was because I was shyer
than a domestic cat surrounded
by a party of people. That’s an
odd comparison, but whatever.
“You’d think that a school
that charged so much for tuition
would accommodate students
with more comfortable desks
and even a few elevators,” the
boy said. “But nope, here we are,
suffering at the hands of a liberal
arts college. How sad.”
I laughed, shaking my head.
“Hey, when you’re making that
much money, you don’t want to
waste it on students! You want to
have an office pizza party with
sombreros and fake mustaches.”
The boy’s eyes widened as he
stared at me, and I immediately
felt a presence behind me. As
I twisted in my uncomfortable
desk, I saw a man hovering over
me with his eyes wrinkled and a
smile on his face.
“We don’t need fake mus-
taches,” he retorted. “We have
real ones.” As he wandered away
from my side, I exhaled ner-
vously. He took a seat at the front
of the room, staring down each of
his students before he opened his
mouth once again.
Continued on page 60