College

When I roll out of bed, it feels like any other normal Saturday. Except it isn't. It's the day that I visit the college that I've always wanted to go to. Loyola. I can't stop fantasizing about the beautiful campus, sporting maroon and gold clothing in the fall, and the excitement of finally being in college. The idea of starting fresh, of not being the weird bookish jock that can't fit in easily, it makes me think of all the possibilities next year holds.

Heavy machinery drills, clanks, and beeps as I walk towards the Sullivan Center. You're gonna go up some stairs to something called The Hub. And then from there, you check in and wait for your tour group... my mom had said earlier.

As I take a seat on a plushy black leather couch with my forms to fill out, my eyes wander, landing on all of my prospective classmates. They all look so much older than me and I feel intimidated. Some catch me staring and offer a sheepish smile, and I just look down at my yellow folder. A guy in a striped blue and pink shirt catches my eye, and I wonder if he's even my age, judging from his strong jawline and muscular arms. His hipster-like glasses glint in the fluorescent lights of the building and then I realize he's holding a folder just like mine.

During the tour, I introduce myself as, "Hey, I'm Rebecca. I live in the Chicago area and I want to study Spanish and journalism,"and then listen as I find out that many of the other students are from far away places like North Dakota and Arizona. Their thousand-mile treks are huge compared to my fifteen-minute drive.

I learn a lot about the campus and am successful in not embarrassing myself and the group walks back to the student center for the presentation on financial planning/student aid/potential majors. My mom and sisters rush in quietly a few minutes into the man's speech and I feel my face flush scarlet. Mom passes me a note every so often proclaiming stuff like, "Hmm, no major on Twilight, I see," or, "Are your sisters annoying you?" and I scoff. She eventually tells me that she wants to go on the campus tour again and I sigh. Again? But I just went on the campus tour, I think to myself.

The second tour is slightly more eventful. I learn that Stripes Boy's name is Joe, and he wants to major in some complicated science that my frazzled brain can't recall. My littlest sister seems the most eager person on this tour and she sticks close to the guide, a brunette senior. Everyone smiles at the short little asian girl who looks to be about 10 years too young for the tour.

Finally, the tour is coming to a close yet again when Joe's dad whispers to his son, "Hey, don't you wanna see a cool tour?" and then moments later, while the whole group is back outside in the sun, Joe's dad and sister emerge with handfuls of doughnuts, probably scarfed from a conference room in Simpson Hall.

"Thiefs," my sister mutters under her breath as the other one proclaims loudly, "Hey! Where did they get those? I want one!" and the tour guide just laughs it off.

All in all, the day was eventful, fun, and an experience to remember.