Britt Jacobson

Editor-in-Chief

This piece is fictitious, though absolutely true of my experience going through the college process.

No one acknowledged her in her Paul Frank t-shirt and light-up Tinker Bell bag. Stephen S. Wise is over there… where are they taking me? The bus stopped; everyone got up and shuffled off, leaving the girl behind to drown in their Peet’s and Starbucks and Coffee Bean cups. The driver stared at her in the rearview mirror until she understood- she was supposed to shuffle off too. So she followed the tall zombie horde and arrived at a classroom- with lots of tall chairs and tall zombies and tall teachers. But there weren’t any crayons, or colored papers or teddies. Everyone had big-kid computers, like her mom’s. And there was one for her too. C-o-l-l-e-g-e. All the zombies were clicking and clacking. The teacher stared over her shoulder and she understood- she was supposed to type too. So she did. And she was the first five-year-old to get into college. Graduated magna cum laude and all.