This campus is enormous. It's so much bigger than the small state school I graduated from back home. It takes me a good thirty minutes of driving around campus, and stopping to ask for help on three separate occasions to find my dorms. The graduate school housing seems to be in a more quiet part of campus, and I'm thankful for that. It's not that I mind noise and other people partying; it's just not what I'm into doing.

I pull into a parking space and am pleasantly surprised to find that the parking is pretty close to the entrance. I pull out my phone to look at the email about housing to remind myself of my dorm number. 

"C-13," I say aloud in hopes that it'll stick in my mind. It shouldn't be that hard to remember; 13 is my lucky number. I realize I have a missed text from Marc from about two hours ago.

"Hey! I can't believe you're going to be in MN today! I know you're still a ways away, so let me know your ETA when you can. I'm planning to move into the dorms around 2. Let me know when you're here so I can help you. See you soon!" +

I look at the clock on the dashboard. It's only 11:27. I want to tell Marc that I'm here already, but I don't want him to feel like he has to rush over to help me unload my car because I can do it on my own. 

"Hey! I'm actually already here. I didn't feel like stopping last night, so I just drove straight through. I don't need help unpacking, so don't rush over here. I'll see you around 2:00." 

I put my phone back in my purse and throw it over my shoulder. I'm just going to take a small load up first to check the place out without having my hands too full. I grab my keys, water bottle, and my pillow. Just the essentials. I lock the car and head inside. 

The first floor of the building is lovely. It has good lighting. Desks are lining the walls under the windows and there are a couple of pool tables to the entryway's right side. There is a giant TV hanging on the wall to the right with two large couches and a coffee table. The left side of the room is mostly tables—all hightop tables with four chairs at each. There are plants on each table, kind of like a centerpiece, and it made me wonder who has to take care of them?

There is a staircase on each side of the entryway, and next to one of them is an elevator. I take the elevator, hoping that there will be some indication from the buttons what floor "C-13" might be on. I step inside, and just as I had expected, some of the buttons are lettered instead of numbered. I press "C" and wait for the doors to close.

Right as the door is about to shut, I hear someone yell, "Hold the door, please!" 

I have no idea who is speaking because I don't see anyone around, but I put my hand between the closing doors to stop them. A few seconds later, when the doors fully open again, a girl who looks about my age comes rushing in the elevator with her hands full.

"Thank you so much," She huffs out of breath. 

"No problem. Do you need help carrying any of that?" I look at the pile she is carrying in her hands. 

She looks down at her arms full of stuff and shakes her head. "Oh, no. I'm good." 

"What floor do you need?" I ask while looking at the lettered buttons.