A few days after moving in, I'm set to begin the volunteer work my dad set up for me. After all, it was just another stipulation in the long list of expectations he set forth when I showed interest in moving on with my life and going to college. Which is why I pointedly ignored him each time he brought it up in previous weeks. 

But even with a string attached, I couldn't hide the excitement it pulled from me to finally have something to do.

I like to keep busy and do things by a schedule, and my father knows this. It's a quality, perhaps the only one, I inherited from him. Having an agenda leaves little room for error. Or at the very least, you have at least thought about the potential errors that could occur. Something that helps maximize the success but minimize the mistakes.

It's the very reason I quickly read the informational email as soon as it hit my inbox yesterday. The long winded could-have-been-an-info-flyer message eagerly greeted me and thanked me for dedicating myself to making everyone #new2state feel welcomed from their very first moments on campus.

I didn't know hashtags were still used unironically for people who weren't trying to promote something on social media, but I would gladly check students in and hand them a key with as little interaction as possible.

I've been told that my body language doesn't scream approachable, but rather than a character flaw, I consider it my most charming attribute. It takes most people way too long to realize that awkward silences are a good thing. Small talk isn't necessary for every single person you meet, especially on a campus this size. The chances of ever seeing any of these people again is slim. And if I do see them, the chances of me interacting with them voluntarily are next to none.

Niceties don't matter for handing a key and a cart to incoming students. It's nothing more than a step by step process. Repetition. I could do a meaningless task like that for hours.

In all of my planning, though, I didn't account for the unpredictable errors that could come along and throw me off my game. 

Like the sound of construction going on outside my window right now before the sun has even begun peeking through the cracks in the blinds. Several machines sound off simultaneously like a symphony of deafening assembly work.

I bury my head under the covers searching for relief before my ears start bleeding. I reach one arm out of my cocoon and pull my headphones off the windowsill that sits behind my headboard and turn on my sleep playlist until the sounds of ocean waves crashing onto the shore fills my ears. The jackhammer conductor seems to take this as a challenge, because the second I hit play he ups the ante until I'm convinced the sound of the concrete breaking could be heard from space.

I crack the window open slightly and attempt to scream at them, but instead of a reply or a reprieve in noise, I'm given a bug straight to the back of my throat. I instantly begin to cough and gag simultaneously for a few seconds before I reseal the window and accept my defeat.

I roll back onto my back, but have no chance of returning to sleep. Instead I peel myself out of bed and get ready for the day. In a matter of minutes I'm out the door and on a quest for the strongest cup of coffee I can legally buy.

I make my way into the biggest coffee shop on campus, Campus Grinds. It's virtually vacant except for a couple in matching scrubs in the corner. I place my order at the counter before choosing to sit in a faux leather chair tucked into a corner nook of the dimly lit space. I slide my legs up onto the oak coffee table in front of me and slip my earbuds into my ears, tucking my blonde curls behind them.

As the barista delivers my order a few minutes later, I'm embarrassed to see him having to use a tray to fit all the items I ordered. I blame my lack of sleep and excessive hunger for the binge, but the worker shrugs me off. "You should see the football team come through here. It's like a feeding frenzy for the whales at Sea World with how much they eat and how many people crowd around them to watch," he says, before backing away and retreating to his work post.

It should make me feel better that he wasn't comparing me or my appetite to that of the largest sea creature, but I'm too caught up in the mention of the football team. I should have taken it as a sign that I don't belong here, or anywhere that the football team grazes. But the sounds coming from my stomach are no match for the smells emanating from the dishes in front of me. I dive into the coffee first, then take a bite of a pastry as I begin reading about each of my classes and making a shopping list of materials I need to get before they start.

🏈🏈🏈

Two hours, four espressos and two scones later, I can't stop my foot from shaking while I try to focus on the precourse reading for my freshman seminar class. Even my cold blooded heart can recognize the heartbreaking resilience in The Glass Castle, but it doesn't explain the tears running down my face. The twitch that developed in my right eye somewhere between espresso three and four has now caused my eye to water. I check the time on my phone and realize I only have fifteen minutes to make it to my assigned dorm to volunteer. That leaves little time for me to clear up this sudden burst of electrical activity in my brain.

"If I start to seize, roll me on my side and pray I don't pee myself in the middle of this cafe," I whisper to no one in particular, but am hoping the same sympathetic barista who delivered my tray is looking for the warning signs.

I quickly walk over to the free carafe of water sitting on the counter near an order pick up sign. I quickly gulp down cup after cup until only half the carafe remains. I look up to find the workers have started to gather around me, pointing with raised eyebrows as they whisper amongst themselves. I imagine I resemble more of a wild animal finding a watering hole for the first time in a week and not a girl just trying to blend in with the background of the room. The water seems to work though, because the caffeine induced side effects start to subside as I leave and make my way across the campus.

I'm greeted by the sign first:

Thaddeus Mack Hall

est. 1968

Home to the Athletic Scholars Program

If this hall was established in 1968 then my dorm must have been founded in the nineteenth century. My dorm's exterior modern updates do an amazing job at disguising the fact that the inside holds absolutely no accommodations, including no air conditioning for any of the rooms.

I walk further into the building in an attempt to find out where I am supposed to set up shop. I look around and investigate the futuristic appearance of the lobby. It's the complete opposite of the greige finishes of my dorm hall. Every surface in this building is a mixture of white and chrome with a few patterns featuring the red, gray, and black of the school colors. On my right there are five all glass pods filled with long white tables and red desk chairs dedicated for studying. Even further past that though, is the biggest laundry facility I have ever seen. I count twenty five washing machines and thirty dryers. Why does one building need that many machines! My dorm hall has a measly ten of each for the entire building. I will probably have to skip classes just to be able to do my laundry uninterrupted or without someone dumping my nice clean clothes onto the floor.

A guy in a red polo with a Student Council emblem on the right breast greets me and hands me a t-shirt. I feel like I should be offended that he just assumes I'm here to work and not an athletic scholar myself just trying to move in. Once upon a time I ran cross country and was a member of the academic team. Another lifetime ago sure, but that type of talent radiates long after the flame is extinguished.

"And you are!" His tone is that of a statement rather than a question. His enthusiasm is only one of the reasons the student council member will never find its way onto my resume.

"Camryn," I reply.

"First name?"

"Camryn," I double down. Here we go, I think. I respond to him before he even has the chance to make the comment. "Not your typical girl's name, I know."

"Here we are!" The enthusiasm picks right back up, "Camryn Quinn!"

He begins telling me the information I already know from the email they sent out earlier in the week. When he has finished, he hands me a t- shirt housing the logos for the small army of sponsors responsible for the #new2state movement, insisting that I put it on before I begin so students can identify me. I can't wear the horrendous shirt, but the Chris Traeger wannabe leaves me no time to protest before there is a clipboard with my list of students to check in in my hands.

I reluctantly slide the red fabric over top of my tank top. At least I won't stand out. I walk outside and spot no less than thirty others sporting the same bulk produced cotton.

Not even five minutes pass before my first customer pulls in. I look down to the clipboard in my hand. Each student was given an assigned time they could arrive for check in. Fifteen minute increments to grab a key, cart, and have your things unloaded before your car has to be moved from the fire lane in front of the building. A little egregious and perhaps a little unnecessary, but the methodical part of my personality claps at the job well done. When fifty thousand undergraduate students attend this campus a little structure and organization is probably a priority.

I run a finger down the page and find the first time slot listed. I see room number two hundred eight assigned to Devon Haynes. The name sounds familiar, but in the same way Ryan Cabrera is. I know the name and could probably still sing every word to his song "True", but I couldn't pick him out of a lineup. If Devon is a student athlete I've probably heard the name from Cal or my dad. Football and promising recruits is a constant talking point in our household, which is why I'm very rarely a part of conversations with them.

The car approaches, a dark blue Chevy of some sort, pulling up right next to the curb beside me. I walk through the steps Student Council Guy gave me in my head, completing them as I do. Grab room key and cart, check. Push cart to roundabout right next to the car, check. My next step is to greet him with my best smile while confirming his name on his student ID, check. I opt for a closed mouth grin from fear that the caffeine craze will shine through if I open my mouth even a fraction for a toothy smile.

I reach the final step in the process and begin to hand off the key. I'm pulled away from my mental checklist when I hear the woman to his side shout.

"Don't you dare move!" She's smiling as she says it, but I'm that doesn't stop the fear rising in my chest. I attempt to hand him the key and step back.

"You too, honey!" The woman proceeds to squish her hands together to signal for Devon and I to move closer together, already holding her phone up in anticipation of my participation.

Devon doesn't protest, and obediently takes one side step towards me. I give a tight lipped smile, but don't move. She instead scoots herself back to capture both of us in frame. Great. A picture with a stranger that his mother will cherish for the near future as she cries on the drive home.

"There you go Devon," I say and hand him the key for real this time. "You are the proud owner of room 208."

"Thanks," he says without any real conviction, his eyes never once meeting mine.

I should be used to that by now. People don't give me a second look. Not that I wanted him to, but damn I was just trying to be polite.

The remainder of the day follows the same cycle. Over and over until my arms are tired from pushing carts, and my feet ache from standing. Halfway through I had to put my hair in a messy bun because the Ohio humidity gave me a big NOPE in the hair department today.

I've been featured in roughly fifty four pictures. So many that I think my arm is stuck in the extended key handling position. Along with an abundance of awkward encounters with my fellow classmates who are trying so hard to speed up the process so they can go.

My dad even showed up around what I can assume was his lunch break as some of his players began to move in. To my surprise he did audibly greet me, but only quickly before returning to business as usual.

🏈🏈🏈

I lift my left wrist and check my watch and am stunned that it's six o'clock already. The day has flown by in a flurry, busy work will do that, I guess. I haven't eaten since the great espresso consumption of twenty three. My body aches in random places, and I can feel a blister between my first two toes. Why did I insist on wearing these sandals? Sandals are never the first choice when it comes to manual labor. I probably pushed a hundred carts today and walked thirty thousand steps. If only I had one of those fancy watches that tracks your activity. Then maybe I could justify the pound of food I'm about to eat.

I take in my surroundings mentally calculating my options but choose to forgo the campus style dining. I'm in need of a thick cheeseburger and a pile of french fries to soak up the acid the espresso has left burning the lining of my stomach.

I can picture it in my head so vividly the smell is almost lingering around me. It's the kind of burger that I would travel miles for. The best burger place in town also happens to be down the street from the nearest target which is also on my to do list. Why they haven't capitalized on adding a Target to this campus's infrastructure is a missed opportunity.

I pull up the maps app on my phone and fiddle with directions. A thirty five minute walk, or a seven minute drive. The muscles in my legs cry at the sheer contemplation that they could withstand another bout of exercise after the day's excursions.

I exit out of that app and open the city transit system to check the time of the next bus. Five minutes away and a stop hovers right around the corner from my point on the map. I limp the block to the nearest bus stop and plop down on the bench inside the shelter. I begin to scroll on my phone, putting my headphones in and turning on a podcast.

Five minutes quickly turns into ten with no sign of a bus. I pull up the app again and the bus that was previously en route has vanished. I try not to cry, but I can't even convince myself it was real to begin with.

My already weakened legs are glued to the metal of the bus bench leaving me to consider my options once again. I could just eat on campus, any food is better than no food at this point. With much reluctance from my legs I peel them from the hot metal and begin to make the walk north to the nearest dining hall.

Campus is eerily quiet even though the sun's still shining brightly. I pass no other students the entire ten blocks. I am low key thankful for this because the further I get I'm pretty certain ow falls from my lips with every step.

When I finally reach the door of the dining hall I give it a gentle push, but nothing happens. Must be a pull, I think. I give it a gentle pull. But again, nothing happens. For good measure, I shake the door handle a few times in and out. Again, I'm met with the resistance of a locked door.

Raising my head from my hand on the handle, I look at the glass of the door. A sign in bold letters reads: Summer Hours 9-6

"Fuck me," I mumble under my breath checking my watch, knowing it's well past that time.

Without another thought, I shoot a quick text and begin to walk.