Secondary institutes for women were fairly common, at least, around the area that Marisa grew up in. If you were a girl who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, go get a college degree directly out of high school, they provided job training and vocational classes, that were supposed to lead to less glamorous, but steady, jobs afterwards. There was only one close enough for Marisa to consider going, but her parents had been insistent on her doing something after high school, so here she was. She’d driven herself, packed up most of her life into a suitcase and backpack, shoved a few other things she couldn’t live without into the backseat of her car, and left. The drive had been incredibly boring, but when she finally arrived, she followed the directions she had been sent, parking in the administration and visitors lot before entering the building, looking around the empty lobby briefly as she tried to figure out where to go. // @patrickoharaandco
