Welcome to High School

The day has finally come. It is the day when your lazy, relaxed way of living comes to a screeching halt. You suddenly have to be that motivated, determined, smart person you’ve always dreamed of being. It is the day that you’ve thought about at least a hundred times, fantasizing about the good things and dreading the bad. Today can be the start of something amazing, or the start of something miserable. It’s the start of something new, so you’d better make it great. The day has finally come.

As I enter the school, the familiar sound of boisterous chatting in the atrium greets me. All of the “how are you?”’s and “I missed you”’s are traded from friend to friend, like close relatives trade gifts on Christmas Day. Students stand around in their usual cliques, looking curiously from group to group, trying to figure out who has changed during the summer. It’s quite interesting to see who seems excited to be back at school, and who seems to be suffering already. And yet, it’s so very difficult to know how people are feeling, especially teenagers.

When I think about all the unnecessary drama I experienced in middle school, I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. Will high school be the same way? Yet as I stand there in the atrium thinking of what I’m capable of doing in the next four years, I can’t help but smile. Drama can wait. I have better things to be involved with. I have to keep repeating to myself, “Confidence is key. Believe you can do it.” And sometimes, I believe it.


In Strings class, I realize that there are two kinds of upperclassmen. The first type are the ones that don’t really care about your age difference; they still smile and say ‘hi’ like you are their friend. They will sometimes ask how you are doing and make up some other kind of friendly conversation starters. These students remind me of getting a new dog. You are ecstatic if they come to you and actually give you the time of day. You don’t smother them with attention, because otherwise they feel uncomfortable and start to squirm, and eventually, avoid you altogether. However, if you never give them your affection they will just stay out of your hair and it is hard to win them back. So, as you can see, the relationship between underclassmen and upperclassmen is sometimes quite complicated and you have to know what you’re doing in order to not be labeled “too attached” or “the one that never talks”. You have to figure out your own happy medium, as you would with your new dog.

The other type of upperclassmen are the ones that will be your friend in middle school, but once you’re in high school, you don’t exist. And eventually you start to believe it, and that sure is bad for your self esteem after a while. This kind of interaction between students is the kind of interaction between siblings. You begin to despise each other, but in the end you love each other and you always will. I’m not saying upperclassmen will learn to love you, I’m just saying hopefully they will learn that you are part of the same school community. You are in one big, school family. Your siblings at school are the upperclassmen.


It is time for Gym class. To be able to make it there on time, I speed-walk from my previous class, then thunder down the stairs into the locker room to change. I pass a few groups of girls changing near their lockers, none of them saying hi to me. I suppose I could be the better person and greet them, but instead I walk right on by. I thought I was done with this nonsense in middle school. I guess not.

I turn the corner and find my sister at her locker which is right next to mine. She gives me an enthusiastic hi, then asks me why I’m so late. She has already changed for class.
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I got here as fast as I could.”
“Well, hurry up! You don’t want the teacher to mark you late.”
“Mmph.”
I change so fast into my exercise clothes that red, angry welts form on my arms. Curse my sensitive skin.

Once everyone has formed a circle in the middle of the gym, the teachers take attendance. I sit next to my sister, as always. In situations like this, I’m thankful to have someone to sit with and talk to when no one else will.

I look across the circle at one of my good friends who is laughing with two other girls. They sit so close together like they are best friends. Maybe they are. A pang of jealousy rises in my chest. I miss her. We had so much fun in gym together last year. I’m grateful that she still waves to me from across the circle, but to me that’s not enough. Maybe we’re growing apart.

When the teacher’s rant about safety finally comes to an end, they declare excitingly that we’ll be heading out to the ropes course for the duration of the class. My palms start to sweat. What if I don’t trust my spotter and I fall? What if I get a zero in participation because I just don’t feel like climbing today? So many thoughts race around my brain.

Once we are out on the course, the two P.E. teachers stand by the starting point and spread their arms out like models on a game show.
“Who would like to go first?” they ask.

My sister loves the ropes course, so she walks over along with a few other athletic boys who love this kind of stuff. I hesitantly walk over there. I know I’d rather do this with my sister instead of someone I don’t like.

As we make our way through the course, I can’t help but smile. This is actually a lot of fun, I tell myself. Once I touch the very last tree of the course, I’m done. I smile in spite of myself and what I’ve accomplished. I didn’t fall once.

My sister and I begin to climb through the course a second time, but it is time to go. We head back into the school, all sweaty from the nervousness of climbing (at least for me) and the hot September sun. I walk to my next class.


Walking into English class, I am immediately l welcomed by everyone’s energy and passion to create great writing. In the classroom, there is a vibe that I have yet to feel in other classes. Walking into the classroom, my whole attitude changes, and my focus immediately turns to writing. I find a seat next to my friends, and we talk just like any other class. Yet when the teacher announces the beginning of class, I am in my own world.

In English class, my brain is one person and my body is another. My brain thinks of extremely complicated things, and my body somehow has to write it down on paper so that the reader can actually comprehend it. Trying to figure out what I want to say seems like an ongoing struggle, but it’s a struggle that I love to work through.

It’s an interesting place for me; English class. Sometimes I know I am capable of producing great writing, and other times my brain is murky and I am not capable of producing anything worth reading. It all depends on the topic that I write about. If it’s something I care about, there is no stopping me. I could write a paper that would wrap around the world.

Words and ideas are as important and special to me as numbers are to famous mathematicians. When I write a good paper,all the sentences are in sync like digits would be in an equation. Writing is better than math, though, because there is no right or wrong answer. Writing is your writing. Writing is my world because your ideas and someone else’s ideas can quickly turn into a heated debate. You try to persuade the other person that you are, in fact, right. However, it doesn’t really matter who’s right, because you are entitled to your opinion in this world. That is why it is so important to write, because it is your voice. Writing can be your special resource to hold on to if you cannot seem to get it out in words. Over the past few years, I have found extreme comfort with words. They have helped me get through my hardest times.

After school I have soccer practice. Soccer practice is a place where I don’t have to say a thing- all of the communication is coming from the coach barking orders to “run faster!” like a drill sergeant would to train members of a boot camp. For an hour and a half I can engulf myself in the sport and not even have to worry about anything else. The way I feel when playing sports is similar to the way dogs feel when chasing a tennis ball. Nothing else matters, even just for a moment.

My freshman year is going to be filled with challenges and mistakes that I will make, but that is okay, because hopefully I will learn from those mistakes and become a better person in the process. High school is like a playground in the sense that you can explore and try so many different things, and by senior year, you will go off into the real world, hoping and praying that you’ve found the one thing that makes you happy- the one thing that you live for. I am more than ready to take every opportunity as a chance to grow as a student and especially as a person. Who knows what the future holds? Hopefully, something great. Something worth living for.


Welcome to high school.