ne of the three Bryant High School counselors stood in the front of the AP Literature classroom. He had a paper in his hand                 filled with dates ranging from Financial Aid Night to ASVAB test dates.

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He smiled and paced around the room.

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"Have you been applying to colleges?" he asked.

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Some students grunted or exchanged laughs with the other seniors at their table that -- like them -- had yet to tour any college campus.

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I looked at the counselor -- who seemed more excited for our futures than half of the class -- and nodded. 

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I started my application Aug. 1, the night it opened.

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Before the first day of my senior year had ended, I got my answer. I had been accepted to the University of Missouri.

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And I'll even admit it, I did my happy dance. Clenched fists pumped in the air. A quick twirl before I opened my bedroom door, almost sending me off of my feet. A hidden smile as I stood in front of my parents, my heart beating so intensely I could feel it in my ears.

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I never had to question what I wanted. My friends would clench their Starbucks cup, rattling off colleges and possible majors that interested them.

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"You have it so easy, you have it all planned out," they would say.

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I would think back to seventh grade. Mrs. Greer's class. I wrote about my grandfather who had died. My grandfather, who was intelligent and driven. My grandfather, who became the embodiment of the Burch name.

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We are a proud group of people and losing the head of the family was devastating. So I wrote about what I observed. My family's blank faces, my curious cousins, my grandmother's tears. My mom printed the story and distributed it to my dad's family. A grandmother, two aunts and an uncle. 

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I expected an A on the assignment, not tears in my dad's eyes or an email from my aunt who was overwhelmed at the moments I had captured. The truth had a way of moving people, and that captivated me.

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Three years later, with a year of experience designing and writing for the freshman yearbook, I applied for newspaper. My first story was about the possible presidential party candidates. There were still 16 Republicans in the race and four Democrats. I talked to every side I could imagine, walking up to seniors, probably looking like an elementary school student in comparison.

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When the deadline approached, I gave my story to the editors. I hoped my red face wouldn't show as I walked back to my table. The next day, the most intimidating of the three print editors, Jay, sat me down.

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I knew this was it -- I was off staff. It must have been terrible. I rubbed my thumb over my fingers again and again, a nervous habit I had for as long as I could remember.

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She handed me the paper with red marks. She leaned in and lowered her voice, "This was the best story we received for this issue. Great job."

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Assigned to write politics, I starting covering caucuses and debates. Debates turned into election results. Election results turned into the inauguration. The inauguration turned into Trump's broken promises. I am accustomed to leaving my voice out of the narrative, but there were stories I needed to tell. So I spoke up about North Korea and the social issues I grew up with. I built my portfolio and earned 14 other awards over the course of my sophomore year as editor of our online scholastic publication, which is ranked as the ninth best in the nation.

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So yes, I want to be a journalist.

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I am going to Mizzou to get my degree in News Reporting and Documentary Based Journalism with a certificate in Multicultural Studies. Some people scoff at this or remind me of what I'll be paid as a journalist.

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Sometimes I sit in class and I can't shake the anxiety that comes with preparing to walk up to a stranger. Sometimes I just stare at the computer. Sometimes I have to talk myself out of my own habits.

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"It must be writers block. No, not writers' block. Remember what that specialized writing class said -- writers block doesn't exist. Muddle through, revise later. Stay focused on what you want, Alexis."

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The Saline Courier is my next step. When I looked at the school-provided list for businesses that hire interns, I had no second choice. I went all in. Sent an email, set up a meeting. Like a journalist.

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On the third Monday of my senior year, I started. I am the youngest person in the building at all times. I am sitting at someone else's desk. I don't know if my column will actually be good enough to publish.

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But I have bones to pick. Maybe you'll find my opinions misguided. Maybe you'll disregard my experiences because of my age. But you will definitely be hearing more from me.

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Mom and dad, I hope you don't mind what gets printed next to the Burch name.

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