In elementary school, I would stare at the ceiling intently, connecting specks to find that one word ingrained in the spongy surface. I would murmur the word “gullible” as slow as I could, and I could almost hear the syllables transform into the round sounds of “orange,” just like what they told me. I believed everything I heard, putting faith in my naive sense of trust. But I’ve learned that trust isn’t and shouldn’t be such an easy concept to adapt. I believed the person on the other end of the suspicious phone call I never should’ve picked up in the first place.