My first day as a freshman at Wheaton College, I clutched my course schedule tightly in a sweaty hand.
Breyer Hall, it said. Greek 101.
The course met right after morning chapel. I flipped open the campus map in my student handbook to plan my route only to discover Breyer Hall had been left off the diagram. My hand grew sweatier. This was how it would end. I’d be late to my very first college class ever. The students would laugh at me; my social life would never recover.
I was a bit tightly wound at nineteen.
[Read the rest over at Fathom Mag.]