Freshman Year: You’re young, innocent… ignorant. One day your English teacher Ms. Confino approaches you after class and compliments your English writing skills.

She tries to persuade you to sign up for journalism your sophomore year and tells you how amazing it will look on your transcript. She says, “schools will practically be brawling just for you to even consider attending their school!”

Sophomore Year: Now you have seniority, the small freshman are beneath your feet and you feel amazing. You see that you signed up for journalism, room Z-6703.

“Who knew we had that many hallways? Or floors for that matter!”

You go to the counselor’s office to ask where this room even was. You walk up to her desk and hand her your schedule with a look of confusion. “Where is this room? I’ve never seen or heard of the hallway or the floor before. Is this a mistake?”

A ghastly look washes over her face and she turns pale. As if her body had just been drained of all its blood. “So you’re the journalism student?” Her voice was unsteady and shaky.

“Yeah, that is me. Why? What is wrong?”

“I’m so so sorry my dear.” She seemed to be on the verge of tears now.

“I’m so confused what?” You say in a deeply unsure tone

“Just follow me.” She replies sharply, her mood quickly turning from lamentable to furious.

You follow her through a door at the back of the office and through a series of winding and confusing hallways. Left-right-right-left-right. Soon you’ve forgotten which way you were going, how to get back or why you even agreed to go in in the first place.

Finally, you arrive at an impeccable office elevator. Something that in any other circumstance would be unspectacular but considering the stark contrast against the dank hallways it was, at least, odd.
You step into the elevator and it plummets, the doors finally open and you see it, The Journalism Lab, room Z-6703.