It’s now ten o'clock in the morning. I’m driving alongside my mom on the highway. Where to exactly? That’s still unknown to me. Twenty minutes later, my mom takes an exit ramp that leads us onto a narrow road shaded by deep woods.
We continue straight for a couple of minutes until we reach a strip of various restaurants and stores. We proceed pass Main Street and loop around a circular intersection in the middle of the town. In the center of this loop, I see a bronze statue of a roaring black lion. The words ‘Home of Mane’ is engraved underneath the lion. She exits onto University Street and continues straight until a wide field appears on our left.
A brick building with large white pillars can be seen from afar. The entire field is busy with various activities. Some people are tossing Frisbees back and forth, some are bathing under the sun, and others are merely walking about.
"This is it," my mom informs me with a bright smile.
She turns into the school parking lot, drives near the main building, and parks at a handicap spot.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“This is your surprise,” she says cheerfully. “Yay!”
I stare into her eyes, completely straight-faced. I’m obviously not as enthusiastic as her. Not only do I hate surprises, I hate crowds of people even more.
“Mom, you’ve could’ve at least gave me a heads up.”
“I did last night. Remember?” she says. “Besides, this is a great school. Your uncle attended this college.”
I exaggerate my sigh, so she can clearly hear my frustration towards her.
“Alright,” I say tonelessly.
After rolling me out and locking up the van, we begin to make our way towards the main doors. I try my best to ignore all of the eyes around me.
"Are you okay?" she asks me.
She’s reading me like a book, as usual.
"It’s a lot of people here," I state while nibbling at my bottom lip. “I don’t want to be here right now. I want to go home.”
"Just be you," she replies in a low voice.
Her advice helps me to an extent.
“I feel nauseous. We should leave.”
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” my mom plays a fool.
“I’m serious mom.”
She then starts to hum a soft melody.
“Okay, if I throw up, I’m aiming for you,” I inform her.
“Oh, stop it,” she blows off my smart remark.
We reach a set of constantly opening and closing double doors. A student walking out is kind enough to hold the door open for us.
"Thank you," my mom responds nicely to his thoughtfulness.
"No problem," he replies.
I’m pushed into a busy hallway filled with parents and students.
"Excuse me," my mom calls out to a student that’s passing by in a hurry. "Which way is the admissions office?"
"Down this hallway, make a left, first door," he replies without stopping.
We continue down the hallway and turn left, just as directed. We reach a large office crowded with students, parents, and faculty members. There’s a hysterical man, exploding with rage, escorting a boy toward us. We stop in the doorway as they march closer. They’re both tall, athletic-built males, with vivid blue eyes and short blonde hair.
The man has a sheet of paper in his hand, waving it around in the boy's face. I assume by their close resemblance, this man is the boy’s father. The man appears to be ranting about the boy's low test scores.
“This is the last damn time you're failing this class. Understand?” the angry man says this in a high volume in the boy’s ear.
His anger is so dominating it makes me feel uncomfortable. The boy is wearing a white Polo shirt, which is being stretched as the man tows him toward us. The man is wearing a black shirt, tucked into a pair of gray slacks, and glossy black dress shoes. My nervousness only increases the closer they get to us. The man is so busy ranting to the boy that he nearly bumps into my mother.
He stops in the doorway and directs his aggression towards my mother.
"You’re excused," the man fires at my mother in a nasty tone.
He then looks down at me. My heart rate increases automatically. His rage is burning my eyes, so I swiftly gaze downward to ease the burden. He then shoves the boy out of the office and follows behind him.
"Wow. That was rude,” my mom states a moment later.
I can clearly hear her frustration towards the man. It’s hard to get my mom irritated and he definitely succeeded without a doubt. We proceed into the office, still feeling a little awestruck at what just happened. We spot an old woman with glasses sitting at a desk covered with various mounds of paper.
"Hello," my mother greets her.
"Welcome," the elderly woman responds.
“We’re just checking out the campus. Do you have a list of courses?"
"Yes we do," the elderly woman replies politely.
The woman licks her finger and collects a sheet of paper from each pile.
"It's very busy here," my mom states.
"It’s always crowded around this time," the elderly receptionist replies.
For some unknown reason, the receptionist shakes her head and sighs. I can see frustration forming on her aged face.
"And I’m sorry about that whole thing," she apologizes as she hands my mom the papers.
"You’re sorry about what?" my mom asks in a confused way.
"That man was Cornelius Blaire and his son Kendrick. They're not the nicest people around here," she says and then sighs louder. "None of them are," she concludes.
"No worries,” my mom replies. "So, when do fall courses start?"
"September 4th.”
"How long is the application process?"
"Just fill everything out as soon as possible. She should make the deadline.”
"Okay. Thank you so much," my mom says gratefully.
"You’re welcome.”
"Is it fine if we take a small tour around the...?"
"Help yourself," the elderly lady butts in.
We take an hour long tour around the campus. Most of our time is spent looking inside the classrooms. Some rooms are flat, some rooms have monitors, some rooms have black counters and faucets, and some are like miniature stadiums. We also visit the student lounge and library area. I can easily picture myself in the student lounge reading my favorite novels in between classes.
At first I was feeling a little weary about this trip, but now I’m actually excited by the idea of attending college. Soon, our tour is over and we’re heading back to our van.
"What do you think?" my mother asks as she pushes me down the concrete walkway.
"It was interesting," I tell her with a sincere smile.
“I knew you would like it.”
My mother was right. The trip was rather enjoyable. I haven’t had an honest smile in such a long time.
My mom pushes me down the walkway and next to the van. I hear a faint clutter of voices next to me, so I look over at a tree that rests on the lawn.
A group of students are sitting underneath that tree. The group consists of three boys and two girls. One of the girls, who have coffee-colored skin, is sitting furthest to the right. Everything she has on is obscure, even her lipstick. She’s wearing a long black dress with fishnet stockings and black high-heeled shoes.
Her hair is trimmed short with blue highlights that compliment her grim choice of fashion. I gaze at her blank face. She catches me looking and smiles brightly. I return the favor and smile back. The other girl is a long-haired brunette.
She looks rough and tough around the edges. She is sitting on the far left, arguing with a boy next to her. Both of their features are identical, except the boy has short, messy, hair. He’s wearing a sky-blue shirt, a pair of jeans with the knees cut, and a pair of red Chuck Taylors on his feet.
His lookalike, the brunette girl, is wearing a similar outfit. An Italian boy is sitting beside them. He has dar
k hair and beautiful baby-blue eyes. His short hair is neatly combed straight back. For some strange reason, I can’t help but stare at him. It feels nearly impossible to turn away.
He’s wearing a tight white shirt, a pair of denim jeans, and a pair of black sneakers. A modeling agency should hire him as a billboard model. The last boy is centered in between them. He's resting on his elbow and chewing on a red apple. He’s wearing a black shirt, baggy jeans, and loose leather boots.
He’s undeniably bigger than the other two boys. He’s not bigger in height; instead, he's a lot wider due to his muscle size. His barbaric hair is large like his body. He's has a light-skinned complexion. He looks up and catches me staring at him. He stares back at me with this hard look.
His stare is so harsh that it forces me to look away from him. In the corner of my eye, I can still see all of them looking at us. My mom attempts to pull the ramp from the van. The ramp is somehow stuck. She pulls harder but the ramp doesn't move an inch.
My mom takes a break from tugging to examine the ramp.
"I think it’s jammed," my mom says with frustration. “This thing is such a pain in my...butt.”
I hate awkward moments like this when people just stare directly in your face. I have a strong urge to wander off and hide. I just hope they don’t notice my cheeks turning pink. I look out the corner of my eye and see the dark-skinned girl nudging the muscular boy’s shoulder.
I hear them having a secretive argument about something unclear. Then he stands slowly, tossing the remaining apple to the side, and approaches us. He approaches my mom but she has no idea he's standing behind her. She's too busy trying to figure out why the ramp isn’t working. He clears his throat to gather her attention.
She turns to him and flinches mildly.
“Oh, hello, I didn't see you there,” my mom states.
"Done embarrassing yourself?" he asks tonelessly.
I start to consider that sternness on his face is permanent.
“Pardon me?” my mom replies.
“Do you need help or what?” the boy asks.
"Thank you but I can handle it," she says and tugs on the ramp several more times.
My mom finally stops to catch her breath. The bulky boy glances over his shoulder at his snickering friends and shifts back to my mom. She finally surrenders and turns to him, grinning with pressed lips.
"Yes, I do need help.”
“Are you sure? I couldn’t tell,” he replies with sarcasm.
My mom snickers at his remark, but I know he didn’t mean any humor by it.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she says while catching her breath.
The boy walks over, leans into the van, and studies the ramp's mechanics.
"Be careful,” my mom tells him. “I think something is struck in there somewhere...oh, that was easy. Thanks.”
The boy pulls out the ramp and places it on the pavement. He then brushes his hands clean.
“Well, thanks a lot for…” my mom attempts to thank him.
"Yup," he replies and quickly walks away.
“...your help,” my mom finishes awkwardly.
As he walks back to his friends, they all give him a round-of-applause.
“That wasn’t so hard,” the dark-skinned girl tells him.
“Shut-up,” he mumbles back as he sits down next to her.
Soon, I’m secured into the van. My mom gets in and releases a deep breath.
“That was fun. Right?” she asks.
I smile honestly.
“Yeah, it was,” I reply.
“And you didn’t throw-up on me. That’s a plus,” she says brightly.
I snicker at her comment.
“Lucky you,” I reply.
As she brings the engine to life, I look outside my window at the kids underneath the tree. The black girl waves at me with a smile. I smile, somewhat, and wave back as we pull off…