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Cards

    T he morning of my move-in to St. Matt’s dawned muggy and hot. Noah looked like he’d run a marathon after loading the car and had to re-shower and change before we could go.
    “Are you sure you don’t want to change too, Jessica?” Noah asked, a little too casually.
    I smiled as sweetly as I possibly could. “No thanks, Noah. I’m pretty comfortable just like this.” I’d dressed as “goth” as my wardrobe would allow that morning. I liked to think of it as a combination farewell gesture and middle finger.
    At least the SUV had air-conditioning, something neither our ancient car nor our apartment had back home in New York. The ride was only an hour long and passed quickly, but the closer we got, the more nervous I became. By the time we pulled off the highway and into view of the campus, I’d gnawed half of my fingernails off.
    St. Matt’s was a college recruitment brochure come to life. Large, ornate wrought-iron gates enclosed the entire campus. The buildings were imposing and erudite, with ivy that tangled rampantly across their stone and brick façades. Wiltshire Hall, the largest and most impressive of the buildings, overlooked the quad, an enormous clock tower crowning it like royalty. The lawns and plants were beautifully manicured, and monstrous oak trees stood sentinel around the grounds, shading lounging students beneath their leafy canopies. The students already looked at home, reading on blankets, playing Frisbee, and talking on cell phones as they strolled down the cobblestoned sidewalks.
    We pulled up in front of the row of freshman dorms. Dozens of students in identical bright orange t-shirts were assisting the new students in hauling their belongings into the dorms. They were filling up giant wheeling laundry bins and dollies, going in and out with everything from pillows and lamps to couches and computer desks, swarming around like a hive of co-ed bees.
    We got out of the car and were immediately descended upon by three students all bearing the uniform of the move-in crew.
    “Hey, welcome to St. Matt’s! What’s your name?” the girl in front bubbled, consulting a clipboard.
    “Uh, hi. I’m Jess Ballard.”
    “I’m Katie,” she said, pointing unnecessarily to her name tag, on which her name was clearly printed in bubble letters. “Let’s see here,” she muttered, running a finger down her list. “Ah, here we are, Jessica Ballard. Okay, it says here you’re in room 312, Donnelly Hall. Is that what your packet says?”
    I checked it. “Yup.”
    “Excellent. And these must be your parents?”
    “My aunt and uncle, actually.”
    “Great! Well nice to meet you all. Jess, here’s your name tag.” She handed me a tag with my name on it, printed in the same bubble letters. Unfortunately, it said “Jessica.” Not wanting to seem rude, I peeled it off the paper backing and stuck it grudgingly to my black tank top.
    We began loading my stuff into an available laundry bin. Luckily, a lot of my things had been shipped from New York, so we didn’t have nearly as much as some of the perspiring students around us. A freckly redheaded kid with his sleeves rolled up heaved the bin into the elevator for us. We followed him down the hallway on the third floor, where a small whiteboard confirmed we were in the right place. “Jessica Ballard and Tia Vezga Class of 2017” was printed in girly purple lettering. I smudged my thumb quickly through the “-ica”, leaving my preferred moniker. The door to my room was already open.
    The initial effect was a little dreary; after all, there were definite visual similarities between my new bedroom and your standard-issue prison cell. But I firmly told myself to snap out of it. This room was the symbolic opposite of a prison cell. It was a fresh start, a new beginning. I settled on a metaphor that suited my artist’s temperament: it was a blank canvas.
    Well, an almost blank canvas. There was a large pile of boxes and bags on one of the beds