It was the beginning of the year and my freshman sister had signed up to receive a locker. Excited, she reminisced about her middle school days—from the cleanliness of the locker and its exquisite conditions, to having it near her classes, to being able to decorate and express herself in such a creativity-draining building.

After receiving her locker location and combo, she excitedly roamed the halls to find her new companion. As she scanned the locker numbers to find her own, she noted the graffiti and sorry state the lockers had been left in. At last, she found her locker, and her heart skipped a beat. She had made it to high school—she had so many new freedoms, and having a locker seemed to materialize this fantasy.

As she was turning the lock, it got stuck. No matter, she thought to herself as she tried again only to have to deal with the same issue as before. On her third try, she forcefully yanked and pulled on the knob of the lock and it unclicked. She grinned triumphantly, and the squeaky hinges groaned as she swung it open.

To her horror, she found that the floor of the locker was coated in a sticky, strong-smelling unknown substance from whoever the previous owner had been. She thought of cleaning the locker but immediately felt queasy at the idea of touching the repulsive material.

Angrily, she slammed her locker shut, struggled with the lock once again, and whipped out her phone. As I sat in the library with my fellow companions, a message dinged on my device and I gazed down at my screen with arrant amusement.

This freshman was yet to understand that this scenario encapsulated most aspects of being a high school student⁠—messy, frustrating, and meeting only the lowest of expectations.