The opening chords of Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit” played in my iPod. I stepped through the front door of my high school in Brooklyn. A dean made a motion for me to unplug my headphones. I turned the corner toward the stairs.

Grace Slick started to sing as I climbed the stairs. There was a girl with green hair in white bunny ears sitting on the bottom step. She smiled and waved at me, and I waved back. Another girl, a sophomore this year, stood in a corner of the first landing, smoking a bubble pipe. She was dressed in a blue ruched dress with black leggings and a purple jacket. She ignored me, but I waved to her anyway. She bubbled in my direction.

On the second floor I strode down the hall toward my locker. Two boys argued while a third smaller boy, probably a freshman, sleeping below them. They glanced at me as I passed, and I nodded to them, continuing on. Across from my locker I found my friends. A girl in pink with purple stripes, another with a short red skirt and black top. There were 6 girls and 2 boys waiting for me.

Stepping into Murrow is a little like stepping into Wonderland. But I’m Alice, and I’m home.