College: The place where graduating high schoolers go to experience independence, freedom, and adulthood for the first time in their lives. Oh, and I guess higher education is another reason people go too; but more education is the least enticing thing for a graduating high schooler, isn’t it?

This brings us to the one and only: Eastvale University, a school anything but orthodox. Eastvale University was started in 1935 by a guy named Elias Walker. You see, in his heyday, Elias Walker was regarded by many for his brilliance, but people could never quite pin down what caused said brilliance. He was an enigma to most.  There was one thing, however, that stood out about him. During his college career, he only wore bright pastel-colored suits. It was peculiar. He stood out amongst the plain-jane button-ups and pencil skirts sported by his peers. You could say he wanted to feel different, but the truth was, no one knew why the young scholar did it. Following his summa cum laude graduation, he was frequently interviewed about what exactly made him so smart.

The answer he gave was always the same: uniform & presentation. He theorized that the soft colors he wore daily calmed his mind, allowing him to focus on work and retain information more easily. Additionally, he had more time to focus on his assignments and new workload without thinking about what to wear. It seems… Out there… right? As the light continued to be shed on his process, he was approached with an offer to help conceptualize a brand-new university. He leaped at the chance, wanting to help prove the theory for his own satisfaction. And thus: Eastvale University was born. 

His plan was simple: Allow the students on campus to wear whatever they wanted during free time but have them wear pastel uniforms (much like his own) as a mandatory part of class attendance. For the most part, he was right. Eastvale University has since been regarded as one of the best colleges in the country. With a whopping 95.9% graduation rate, it’s birthed its own culture, community, and sense of scholastic pride. 

While this all seems promising, you still may ask yourself the following: “What kind of college does this?” mixed with some “Why on earth would you ever go somewhere with such an oppressive fashion restriction?” 

For me—and possibly some of my fellow students—it wasn’t really a choice. Have you ever met parents who peaked during their college days? I don’t say that in a joking way; I’m talking about people who literally have found a way to make their college experience their whole personality, even years after graduating. If not, you haven’t met any parents like my parents, specifically my father: Ryan Johnson. Husband of Danielle Johnson. Together, Mr. & Ms. Eastvale 99’. I can’t remember a time in my life when my dad couldn’t find a place to mention this damn school in a normal conversation. It felt like I could mention something random, like the weather being nice, and Dad would somehow tie it back to an Eastvale Memory (an EVM for short). If you still have doubts about the validity of my statement, we even live in a culdesac in the suburbs with other parents of the same graduating class. That, of course, meant that memories and propaganda of this school were literally in my own backyard. I couldn’t escape the pressure of attending even if I tried.  That’s why I’m here. I’m Jay Johnson, and I wouldn’t say that I love Eastvale or that I’m particularly proud to be here, but I guess there are worse places in the world than a pompous, pastel-painted college campus..." 

Seemingly instant, my paper was slammed onto the table, which stood as a barrier between us. 

“I hate it.” 

“Wait, how could you hate it? I followed the prompt you gave me!” 

“Jay… I suggested you write about the history of the uniforms here at Eastvale… this is borderline a hate letter...” 

“Okay… hate is a strong word. I simply said I wasn’t proud of being here… Also! It’s my first piece. I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I?”

“I guess, but transitioning from the uniform history to your backstory is a little weird…” 

“I’m just creating a conversation…! How can I expect them to connect to the work if I don’t share small details about myself!?” 

She rolled her eyes and sighed before meeting her face with her hands. In front of me sat an angry Amber Nicholson. She was chief editor of the Eastvale Post, a magazine on campus that featured columns from writers that were also students. She had big, fuzzy hair that was usually tied down with a pink bow. This also matched her usual pink pen and sweater fashioned over her uniform’s undershirt. But don’t be fooled by that description. Her appearance completely contradicted who she was as a person. She was a hard worker, a go-getter, and someone who took her job very seriously. There was something magical about watching a black woman run an operation as big as this. I initially met Amber in the fall during my first semester at Eastvale. She held a panel hoping to recruit writers for the upcoming spring semester. Her conviction, passion, and attitude caught me immediately. I couldn’t help but be inspired. 

I worked up the courage to approach her afterward and spilled my guts out to her. I told her I was a writer hoping to do things my way at Eastvale. She said she saw my “fire” and wanted to help however she could. I didn’t expect much when I submitted my writing, but she called me less than two days after expressing her love for my ‘wit’ and ‘style.’ When she offered me my very own column for the spring semester, I just knew that the world (or the few thousand students here, rather) had to see my art. It was a no-brainer. But now, we were rounding my third rejection, and the future wasn’t looking as bright as it did months before. It felt like the opportunity was slowly starting to pass me by.

“Jay, this isn’t the sort of writing that captured me… I’m starting to wonder if this newsletter is even the right fit for you. I mean, I’m sure our readers wouldn’t enjoy this. Maybe the EV Post isn’t the best avenue for your abilities… It's not your fault; I probably shouldn’t have offered you this big opportunity without properly putting you through the wringer first…”

Yikes… Talk about a tone shift. Any funny banter I could usually use to get out of a conversation like this was clearly not going to work. I had to approach this differently. I hated begging or appearing like I needed help or sympathy, but this would be the only way I got to her. 

“I’m sorry, Amber… I’m sorry this isn’t what you expected. I just think I haven’t found my footing yet… But I feel like I’m so close to a breakthrough…”

I sighed and dropped my head in defeat. I wasn’t the greatest at acting, but when you spend most of your life observing others, you get good at reading people. The ‘final cry for help’ seemed to be a hit. I slowly raised my defeated head and looked back with melancholic eyes.

“I’d hate to ask for another extension, but is there any way I could get just one more?” 

She sighed before closing her eyes again, letting my request simmer as we sat in silence. After what felt like an eternity, she opened her eyes once more to meet my gaze.

“Three more weeks. That’s it, Jay. If you can’t come up with something captivating by then, I’ll have to look for another writer… You have to capture me AND write about something relevant for students on campus. Make it count.” 

And just like that, the tension left the room. Almost as if the air around me had become lighter…

“Thank you. I promise to blow you away this time!” 

I flashed my kindest expression and made my way for the exit. Before I could get out the door, she yelled from across her office.
“Oh, and Jay? Let’s try a little less sarcasm next time… You sound like an ass.”

Mocking her final statement under my breath, I left. 

AUTHORS NOTE

Wow! I can’t believe this is actually going up. I have so many words to say, but at the risk of getting overly emotional too soon, I leave you with: Thank you.

Did you enjoy it? How are you liking Jay? Would you attend Eastvale?

I have so many questions that run through my mind immediately when thinking about this first chapter. I’ve read it no less than 80 times (and just this scene, maybe 500).

I so appreciate your support and excitement for Project Super Crush! I can’t wait to bring you the next part of this first chapter. Our story is just beginning 💓

-JDK