LaQuita walks into a clean, brightly lit waiting room. Could this be the right place, she wondered. It didn't seem at all like they described them. She had expected a dank, smelly place, where ogres poked you with pointy sticks at the very least. At one end of the room, a pleasant-looking woman sat at the receptionist's desk. LaQuita walks over, and is handed a clipboard and a form to fill out. LaQuita takes a seat and begins to look over the document. It is at this time LaQuita realizes that she, like most teens, is functionally illiterate and cannot fill out the form.