"My relative forced me to take energy drinks, telling me to stay active and to make the most out of a day."

As I read this essay aloud, the Prep staff couldn't keep it together, each of us imagining a version of Keith, our boss, holding this student against his will and pouring Monster down his constricting throat. Kids say the funniest things.

Every year, the process goes something like this--we ask the students to give us a draft of what they'd like to write in their college essay. Everyone puts it off until the last minute. Most of them are somehow still shocked when we reject their underdeveloped musings.

"These are ALL re-writes! Why are we even here?!" Keith doesn't bother to mask his irritation. "I'm so disappointed in them."

Ashanti and I, the broody, literary ones in the bunch, fight for the kids: "They're trying to say something here--we just need to figure out how to direct and shape it. Obviously if they wrote about it, then it means something to them...we just have to help them define why it matters."

It's a repeat of last year, whose highlights included one guy's discussion of how he admired Hitler and another American-born student who some of the teachers assumed was ESL. This year touts some bitter PKs and the line, "I supposed that they became very religious since they were closing in their last days in life." But the essays are never good during the first round.

I enjoy this whole process for several reasons: first and foremost, it's a really neat way to get to know the kids I work with--their deepest stuff comes out in these essays and it allows for some cool conversations about life and all that goes into it. It's also a delightful bonding experience for the main staff. I think the students would cringe, cry or worse if they were to sit in on our meetings, watching us hash out what we like and don't and why. In the end, though, we come out with some really beautiful stuff--like last year's essay about make up or the one about feeding dogs a raw diet. Quirky, insightful, wonderful. I love my job.

"For the first week of summer, I would wake up to see the sun at its brightest: the afternoon."