Dr. Gonzales led me through the courtyard to a three story red-brick building. The unobtrusive sign on it read “Girl’s Dormitory” in plain font. The walls inside were a pale mint. It was decorated in Pottery Barn-esque stuff. A large navy sectional and love seat surrounded a flat screen hanging against the far wall. To the right was a little kitchenette with top of the line appliances, and dual Subzero fridges. A girl was poking around in one of them. It was fully stocked with food, each item in a plastic container and labeled.
Looked like whoever organized the fridge could be my new BFF.
Three other girls were chatting on the couches as some lame reality show played on the TV. It—this building, the way it was decorated, and the girls hanging out—all seemed so normal. I don’t know why th
