When I first walked into my Duchesne dorm room, it smelled like someone else’s laundry. Its prison-like walls were marked scratches that promised a story, and so did the dented door. I had inherited just half of it for a year. But I pretended like it had been mine all along.

When you wear your hair one way, and people tell you they prefer it another way, it's not a good feeling. Especially when you’re an overthinker like myself.