ATTENTION: You’re about to read about a recent field trip I attended. But please note, this is NO review. This is my field trip horror story. Also please note, I LOVED the trip so please know that my story is completely irrelevant to my feelings toward and about Boston University. This is just a short story about a tiny fraction of my newspaper field trip experience.

About a week ago, HHS News Club got the outstanding opportunity to take a field trip to Boston University for the New England Scholastic Press Association annual conference. Not every single club member was able to attend, but the majority of us were, and we had a blast. At 7 in the morning, eight of us piled into a large white van driven by none other than Mrs. McHugh, and we went from there. Callie MacDonald, who was riding shotgun, was constantly changing the radio stations (which I truly enjoyed because I love a nice song change every so often). Overall, I was enjoying the van ride, peacefully gazing out the window. However, if I could change one thing, it would be the loud growling noise that was emanating from my stomach. On this beautiful Friday, Andrea and I had woken up late, per usual, so I wasn’t able to get the multi-grain bagel at Dunkin Donuts that I was expecting.

So anyway, here I am in the van, stomach growling, sitting with my left side pressed against the interior of the van. There was a pull-out cup holder next to me, and beside that was a little black slot which looked like what used to be a cigarette disposal. However, the plastic part was ripped out and it was just a black rectangular slot into the van. After being in the van for a while, my hands grew tired of holding my phone, and I casually looked around for somewhere to put it. I don’t know what exactly what was going on in my mind at this moment, but I had an impulse and, before you knew it, my iPhone 5s was being shot down the black “cigarette disposal” slot. I heard my phone slide down the metal “bones” of the van and then I heard it drop to the bottom. Trying to stay calm, I laughed it off and acted as though I didn’t care that my phone was gone forever. Most everyone in the van was laughing at me and teasing me because I mistook the “slot-of-no-return” for an “iPhone cubby.” Nevertheless, we were on the highway and there really was nothing we could do about my phone disappearing into the void. We all lowered our voices as I dialed my number on Andrea’s phone. I let out a sigh of relief when I could just barely hear my ringtone playing from inside the bottom of the van. To me it sounded less like a ringtone and more like crying. I like to think that my phone is my “baby” and at this moment it needed me, and i needed it.

After the rest of my iPhone-less van ride, we arrived at the parking garage for Boston University. Leaving my phone all alone while I spent a day in Boston was not ideal, but I had no other choice. Throughout the day I would reach into my purse hoping that my phone would somehow be in there, but sadly I would find nothing but gum wrappers and dirty coins. I felt a sense of emptiness. Hours had gone by with my phone still in the van. A whole day at Boston University and I had not texted, tweeted, instagrammed, snap chatted, or even taken a picture.

Fast forward a few hours, and the HHS News Club was back in the van for the drive home. We all sat in the same seats as before, again with my shoulder pressed tightly against the left side interior. For the whole ride back to Hanover, I argued with my own thoughts, telling myself to stop worrying. I pondered how I would confess to my parents that my iPhone had been swallowed by a rental van. One part of me believed I shouldn’t worry, that my phone would be back in my hands in no time, while the other part of me was already brainstorming how much money I would need for a new one. A small frown stained my face as we pulled into the high school parking lot. My phone was gone.

As everyone hopped out of the van, they wished me a good luck and waved a goodbye. “Let me check this out,” said the determined Mrs. McHugh as she unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out of the driver’s seat. Mrs. McHugh came into the back of the van, looked over the area where my phone dropped, and pried open the entire side. MRS. MCHUGH SAVED THE DAY. None of us ever thought I would see my phone again. I can honestly say Mrs. McHugh saved my phone, and my whole life basically. For anybody who knows me, you know that I have a hard time going a few hours without my phone. Thank you Mrs. Mchugh! I will never forget this “interesting” day.

Epilogue, by Mrs. McHugh: About a week later, Lauren got locked out of her phone and had to reset everything. She lost her contacts, her pictures, everything. Lauren, I’m sorry that I could not save the day when you needed it again.

Whenever a band announces they are releasing a new album, fans respond with excitement that is half anticipation, half fear. These emotions were at their peak when Mumford and Sons announced Wilder Mind, their first new album since 2012. Since their last release, Babel, there had been doubt on whether or not there would be another album. Bassist Ted Dwayne had become very ill and the band took an indefinite hiatus. Needless to say, it was a very welcome surprise to hear of the new album. Like with every other band that has created great records,a new album poses the question; can they do it again? Unlike every other band, this new record is even more terrifying to fans because the band is completely dropping their acoustic instruments. For a band that has built their fame on banjos, beards, and upright basses, it is shocking to hear that Wilder Mind will be completely electric. As an avid fan myself, I shared these fears. Until, of course, I bought the album Tuesday.

There is no denying the drastic differences between Wilder Mind and their previous albums, Babel and Sigh No More. It is entirely electric, where before it was acoustic, but the changes in instrumentation do not take away from the fact that Mumford and Sons continues to create excellent music. The tracks on Wilder Mind follow a typical Mumford-theme. The majority of them begin slowly and then build up as the song goes on, with a loud and harmonized chorus, while finishing on the slow-pace of the beginning. Only this time, the rise of the songs becomes more intense with the aid of drums. A major strength of the album is its ability to have space within the songs. It no longer has the sound of folk music, but a spacious sound, like that of Led Zeppelin or the Killers.

To those who have not yet heard the album and are fearful of the change, I’d say that much of the music still holds the soul that we first heard in Sigh No More. The lyrics are equally as powerful and address the same themes of love and personal struggle. Although the album is electric, the musicianship is as evident as it ever was. It did not suddenly turn into a DJ pressing buttons, as I fearfully anticipated, but excellent music with electric guitars and keyboards. It seems to me that this is the fear of rock and roll fans today. When we hear electric, we fear the worst. We imagine overly manufactured and processed sounds that lose the heart of the music that we once fell in love with. Wilder Mind reminds us that this does not always have to be the case.

This seems to be the era of buzzy fiction thrillers with very dysfunctional characters and wild plot twists. Gone Girl, written in 2012 by Gillian Flynn and released last year as a movie, started the trend with the crazy story of Nick and his “missing” wife Amy. The Dinner, a 2013 book by Herman Koch about two couples in denial about a terrible crime committed by their sons, is another one. Told by untrustworthy narrators, with whole chapters that you later realize were distorted if not outright lies, the reader is unsure what to believe for most of the book. Yet, you keep reading, even though the main characters are kind of jerks, because you just HAVE to know what’s going on. And when you finish the book, usually after a series of late nights staying up reading into the wee hours or long days of not putting down the book except to use the bathroom, you’re haunted and maybe a little disturbed.

The Girl on the Train is a similarly messed-up book. In some ways, the comparisons to Gone Girl have created a  huge fan base for this 2014 book. But in other ways, the hype has hurt, with some readers feeling that The Girl on the Train was a letdown after Gone Girl shattered expectations as well as norms of the fiction genre. I am not one of those readers. I loved both books, even as I loathed some of the characters. As I read The Girl on the Train, I ignored chores around the house, work I had brought home, even my poor daughter’s pleas for attention just so I could race to the end (Worst. Mother. Ever).

Rachel, a divorced alcoholic, fills the void in her life by imagining the lives of the people she sees outside her train window. When something terrible happens, she’s not sure what she’s seen and what she’s done, and the reader struggles along with her to piece things together. The puzzle gets even more jumbled when the author writes from the point of view of two other characters: Anna, who is the new wife of Rachel’s ex-husband, and Megan, one of the people she’d been observing whose disappearance Rachel is trying to unravel.

About three-quarters through the book, I got a sense of what was really going on and I had to go back and re-read some earlier parts. I spotted the author’s trickery then and thought it was pretty clever. The comparisons to Gone Girl are apt: very flawed characters that you are drawn to even though you don’t like them, a plot that seems to be one thing but turns out to be something else. And like Gone Girl, after I finished reading, I couldn’t exactly say it was a pleasant experience. But I did enjoy it, the way I enjoy the the combination of fear, disgust and thrill I get from riding a roller coaster. It turned my stomach at times, but it also got my pulse racing.