My answer is to busy myself with my phone. “Why don’t you just … ask your parents for one?” a wide-eyed boy asks. “I won’t be seventeen until September,” I say. “You don’t drive?” It Girl will not let this go. But in a room that can barely fit the oval conference table we’re all seated around, it’s tough to zone out these Yacht Club kids. Why did I come to class fifteen minutes early today? If this were one of the common lecture halls, I’d be fine. On an unrelated note, she’s the same person who used the term “third world” earlier.ĭeep sigh. I look away before she feels compelled to give me a sympathy hug. “Is it safe?” the girl sitting catty-corner to me asks, extra earnestly. “Well, local as in fifty minutes by train and light-rail,” I joke. She probably owns the yacht they all look like they’ve just stepped off of. People lean in when she speaks and agree with her before she’s even made her point. “So, y-you’re a local?” says the obvious It girl of the group. There’s an audible gasp among my fellow students. “Yes,” I repeat to the incredulous faces around me. You never walk alone.įOR CENTURIES, the famed halls of Halstead University have echoed with expansive dialogue, provocative debate, and poignant questions. To teens who lift up their communities in tiny and tremendous ways.
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