Another campus tour. Another simpering student guide, walking backward, reeling off statistics in a sing-song voice. Her mother scribbles furiously in her notebook and keeps near the front. She slouches, slows, tries to disappear. By the time she reaches the next building, the group has moved on without her. Resisting panic, she turns the knob of the first door she sees. A dance studio, high ceilings, bright sunlight, class in progress. One dancer sees her, comes over, extends a hand. “Do you want to dance?”
She’ll attend this school for the wrong reason, but she’ll still get her degree.