The sun is bright in the sky as I make my way onto campus. It's a beautiful day, but I'm too caught up with processing the recent changes in my life to be able to appreciate it. Moving is never a pleasant experience, but moving to a new city and switching colleges partway through a semester was far from ideal. It wasn't fair, really. Still, I know it was the best option. Nanna was getting worse and nobody knew how else to deal with the changes in her health than to send her to a prestigious care facility. Mom sold the house to move closer to the care facility, and since I'd been living at home to save on housing expenses, I moved with her. I was fortunate to be attending a college that had several university campuses across the state, so it wasn't hard to transfer schools.
    As I walk into the admissions building, I can't help but feel a pang of guilt. I'm being so selfish. Here I was, still getting to attend school and live basically rent-free, while Nanna was undergoing treatments and having her whole life uprooted for the third time in about a five-year time span. I shake my head to clear it before opening the door to the main office and greeting the secretary.
    "And who do we have here? A new face this time of year. We don't get many of those. I'm Barbara. Please state your name."
    The woman is smiling pleasantly up at me from her seat behind the glass wall of the office. She seems friendly enough, much kinder than the bored woman who checked me in at my prior school. Barbara seems almost motherly, actually. She's probably in her late forties, her blonde hair showing streaks of grey and she has tiny smile lines at the edges of her eyes.
    "Adrian," I finally answer. "Adrian Michaels." I can feel my face heating up as she shuffles through paperwork before sliding a small packet through a slot where the base of the glass wall meets the counter.
    "You should be all set to start your classes. First period is in 20 minutes. You may want to drop by your locker and make sure you know your way around campus since you missed the orientation day. Oh! My son just started his first year of college here last semester - perhaps I can have him give you a tour later today. What's your first course?"
    "Thank you, ma'am, that would be..much appreciated. My first class is Creative Writing," I say quietly. It will be strange to be given a tour by someone younger than me, but it would be helpful to know where the different buildings were.
    "Alright, I'll have him meet you outside your first class after the bell. His name is Elijah. I hope you get familiar with the campus soon. Feel free to come by any time if you need anything. It's nice to have you joining our college, Adrian!" She smiles and waves at me, and I give her a brief smile in return as I leave the office.

    Standing on the steps to the admissions building, I look over the map and try to determine which direction to walk to get to the Literature Hall. I'm taking a course in creative writing as part of my English credits requirement, and I'm assuming that's where my first class should be held. Hopefully.
    As I walk along the curving pathways, I can't help but think about how different this city is. For one thing, I'll actually have to drive myself to school. There was a bus route that went past our house in Friedberg so I rarely had to take the car. While I'd gotten my license at 17, I never grew to enjoy being behind the wheel so I try to be there as little as possible. Now, I'll be driving almost every day. I should be thankful that Nanna sold me her car two years ago when the doctors told her it was no longer safe for her to drive. I felt awful that day. Nanna had always enjoyed the freedom of driving, and it was painful to see her give that up, even if it was necessary. She smiled and talked so passionately about how much fun I'll have with her car while transferring the title to me, but I know she was hurting inside. Why does cancer have to exist?
    
    I follow the pathway to the main part of campus and come across a decent-sized pond located near the gym building. It's encircled by benches, a few picnic tables, trash bins, and some signs saying not to swim, no littering, and to not feed the ducks. I didn't see any ducks, but I do see a Canadian Goose and decide to keep walking when it looked over at me because, I'll be honest, I rather fancy having legs. Still, I'll have to keep this area in mind. It seems like it could be a peaceful place to study, as long as the geese are nowhere near me.
    The large building housing my first class is not far from the pond. I'm glad I'd given myself some extra time today because it took a little while for me to notice the small wooden sign indicating that this is the building I'm seeking, and even longer to locate the room in which my lesson will be held.
    I quickly slide into an empty seat in the second row, as close to the exit as I can get. I hate sitting at the front of the room, but I need to in order to see the board. At my other schools, I'd always sit next to Kai and he'd write the notes if we weren't able to sit close enough to the front. This is the first time I'm in a class without Kai, and there isn't a single familiar face in the room. I already feel awkward and I hope that we won't have to do many -if any- projects in pairs or groups, so I won't have to interact closely with strangers. At the university in Friedberg there were many students that I knew from high school, and Kai was so social that after the first few weeks it would be rare if we hadn't met everyone we had classes with. Here, it'll be up to me to meet classmates, and I'm not in any rush to do that.
    
    The bell rings, signaling the start of class. The woman at the front of the room introduces herself before jumping into the lecture. She's passionate about writing, and her enthusiasm gets me to have some interest in the class. It's not that I mind writing, I'm just not very good at it. Sciences are much more my thing, but a blend of courses are required to graduate. I selected creative writing simply because it sounded like it would be more lenient than the other courses being offered. The professor is proclaiming that she wants to encourage us to find our voice -whatever that means. Maybe the class won't be so bad.
    "Next, please take one and pass the rest along," she continues, handing a huge stack of folders to the person at the start of the first two rows. As soon as I have mine, I start shuffling through it. I'm horrified by how many pages of writing prompts she has stuffed into this folder. Week one has ten different prompts listed! I take it back, I very well might mind writing if she expects us to do all of this on our first week. What did I sign up for?
    "Now that everyone has their folder, please jot your name on the cover and take out the first packet. Don't get too scared, my darlings. I don't expect you to do these all right away. Your first week, please select three prompts from the first page. We will present next Thursday. Feel free to take the rest of the period to start your prompts. I look forward to learning about all of you!"
    All of the prompts are intended to help us get to know each other, it looks like, which makes me incredibly nervous. Some of the questions feel invasive and personal. After reading them over multiple times, I decide to tackle 'What famous writer do you admire and why?' as my first prompt.
    However, no matter how hard I try, my mind can't focus on actually responding to the prompt. I'm all too aware of how utterly alone I'm feeling, sitting in a room full of strangers for the first time in years. No Kai here to break the ice. No Seamus to crack jokes and take my mind off things. How am I going to get through today, let alone the rest of my college career?