My blood hummed in my veins. My hands gripped the steering wheel as I drove under the black iron sign. "Grand School" was etched in the center, stark and clear even on this overcast day. The words, thick and with wide gaps between each letter, were impossible to miss. Flanked by two colossal brick pillars supporting the sign in all its glory, it felt like a classic neon beacon. This university already reeked of prestige and wealth, and I couldn't believe I was actually here.

I hadn't even applied.

That thought had never crossed my mind. My blood flipped, informing me that coming here had been a bad idea, as if I didn’t already know.

Only the top five percent of applicants were admitted to this exclusive university in Portland, Oregon, and a semester here cost more than my parents made in a year combined. I couldn’t even dream of affording it, despite having excellent grades at my two-year community college. The university was so prestigious that even most top-of-their-class students didn’t believe they stood a chance of getting in. Trust me, I knew. I was one of them.

This place was known for churning out some of America’s brightest minds, as well as forging the future of students from the country’s wealthiest and most influential families. Some dared to say it was even more elitist than the Storm League schools back East.

Mysteriously, I’d received a full scholarship, which included room and board. The advisor assigned to me hadn’t yet given me a clear answer as to why. She just said an anonymous donor had sponsored me and believed I had the strength for greatness, something this place supported and celebrated.

It was the first time anyone had ever said something so nice about me, and my parents practically shoved me out of the house to attend. Mom couldn't believe I’d seriously considered not coming, and Dad chimed in, proclaiming it a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Maybe it was, but I suspected my parents were also eager to get me out of the house. I tended to keep to myself in my room when I wasn't out hiking, and they worried about my lack of a social life.

As I pulled onto campus, my heart sank. Two parts of me were at war: one telling me to turn around and drive the two hours back home, and the other bubbling with excitement because this was a fresh start.

I needed to calm down. How was I going to meet my roommate like this? We’d messaged each other after we were assigned rooms, and Samantha seemed like a fun person. I’d given her an ETA, and she said she’d meet me. But whenever I got nervous, weird things happened, and "weird" wasn't the first impression I wanted to give.

No one I knew went to school here, so there would be no preconceived notions about me. I had a chance to make my first real friend and, perhaps—just perhaps—fit in.

This last one was the most terrifying hope of all because I doubted it would happen. My emotions were already in overdrive. The last thing I needed was to put pressure on myself with the hope of finding a place that would make me feel truly at home.

With my track record, that wouldn’t happen.

I was bracing myself for inevitable disappointment.

To my right, a massive brick stadium stood, home to the university's renowned football team, and directly opposite it rose the student center. The pictures I’d seen online didn't do justice to my view of the towering cherry trees framing the lawn in front of the student center, where throngs of students gathered and lounged peacefully this Sunday afternoon.

The administrator had told me to turn left there to get to my assigned apartment quicker, and I followed her instructions, passing soccer fields and tennis courts.

Hope swelled in my chest as fear churned in my stomach. The two opposing emotions contrasted like repelling magnets. My breathing quickened, and my blood surged, letting me know that everything was about to fall apart.

Whenever my blood sped up and hummed, strange incidents happened around me—nonsensical things that proved something was seriously wrong with me: dishes would clatter on the table, lights would flicker, and sometimes I'd be overcome with the feeling of how people felt. The jolt was the first sign of an episode, making me feel as if I'd been given a dose of some drug and might start humming at any moment.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Soon I passed the administration building, and the parking lot the advisor had told me to use appeared on the left. I was here. Getting in and unpacking my stuff in my room, no delay.

As I pulled into the lot, my breathing technique wasn't working, especially as my beat-up old Honda Civic rattled past Lexuses, Mercedes, BMWs, and a Rolls-Royce. My vehicle screamed "outcast," and I hated to see what would happen when I did something so weird that it defied the laws of physics.

By the time I reached the last spot in the back corner, farthest from the apartment buildings, my blood had an extra sizzle to it. The sizzle occurred between the jolt and the hum.

If I didn't stop this now, there would be no way to slow this weirdness down. My eyes locked onto the woods behind the apartment buildings.

Woods.

Comfort.

Freedom to be myself.

A place I can escape to control my anxiety.