9) Ponderation

Part 9 ) Ponderation
(This is chapter nine of my personal accounts, "-Liking-: Refractions and Infractions" )


The busiest school year you'll ever experience.
That was promised by just about every teacher, senior year. I believed it was true. There were so many things we few IB candidates had to do: an extended essay, community service hours, a theory of knowledge class, plus the five tests in various subjects -and that was in addition of regular course work.

The work piled up before we even had a chance to realize it. But we were all in it together. Once we got used to the load, we all suffered and complained - Vu the creative genius; David 'the equalizer'; Vorn the cute asian girl; Molly 'la Coreana', a cool chick; Nick the goof-off with high grades; and even the class valedictorian. They all became familiar characters, and with them that last year had a familial quality I would never have expected.
And of course, I was in the mix too, with my occasional attempts at intellectual progress and my omnipresent lusting for fictional romance.



Big Leagues

It was weird getting used to being a senior. Here I was, at the end of the line. Nobody to look up to. Everyone was just... around. Adjusting to this was not easy.

Then again, a possible explanation for my uneasy adjustment was because I felt like I was always just catching up, or slipping off, or some such metaphor. That summer, I was expected to have finished an extended essay; I didn't even start it. I also was supposed to have prepared for my season as captain of the cross country team; there was no coach and thus no practice until school started.

I was out of shape. I wasn't even sure that there was going to be any cross country team at all. The second day of school, though, the old coach showed up out of nowhere and announced he would reluctantly lead our crew again. The whole season was grueling, painful, and unrewarding. I was performing unspectacularly. I was captain, but captain in name only. The three other team members did much better. But hey, I stuck with it, despite the additional onslaught of heavy duty homework.

My class schedule was a disaster. It was something I'd come to expect from a new school year. And along with it, days of chasing after the dean to fix the schedule were required. I had wanted to take a Japanese class, but I found out that was impossible with the offering of classes and those I needed for my IB diploma. So Japanese was kicked from my schedule. Then, after seemingly escaping further problems, I realized something else was missing on day three. I didn't have a Spanish class. I could have sworn I'd done all of the math, remembered every class I needed. And perhaps a schedule without Spanish was too good to be true.

In order to shuffle it back into my schedule, I had to take History as a zero hour. This was Steve's class again, the most nightmarish of classes, and at seven AM. A side effect of this was the hole appearing in my schedule: a Study Hall.

Tucked away in the corner of the school on the third floor was the IB office. A center for all of the dark forces working behind the scenes in the school: The wily IB coordinators, who arranged all of the tests and did all of the paper work, and who endowed the IB candidates with certain privileges not usually available to students. We candidates were a group of the elite, and several of us were allowed into their fortress.

The IB office used to be part of the gym. In the back of the office, there were the remains of what clearly had been a shower room. Since then, it had changed greatly. The majority of the office was covered in piles of papers. By the window there was a U-shaped arrangment of tables, and around the room there were a few desks and computers.

There were several of us IB students without a third hour -some common side effect in the class schedules. To fill this hole in our schedule, we were given access to the IB office as our study hall. The ground rules were laid out early on by one of the IB coordinators who shared the office with us: the time was for work only. Discussion of schoolwork was allowed, but idle chatter was discouraged.

Over the years, many students had dropped out of the IB program. By the end of it all, there were only two classrooms of students taking the IB History and IB English classes. What came with this tiny grouping of leftover students was a more closely knit sense of community. The few of us were all taking the most intensive classes, and working through them together. In study hall, this was literally the case. It was a time to finish all of those uncompleted assignments of the day.

Day

My day always started off with kind of a flurry, usually my own realization after hitting the snooze button a few times that there is no room left for comfort. It was the feeling that I was going to lose everything if I didn't finally get up. This rarely gave me more than a few minutes preparation each day before running downstairs to meet one of my parents to get in the car. During the rides, I would doze a few more minutes, barely listening to the traffic reports on the radio, and watching the familiar sights of the St. Anthony Parkway fade in and out of existence. On more hectic days, I would spend the time catching up on some last minute History readings. The ride to school never seemed to last long enough before we were in front of the school, and I had to exit the vehicle. Seven twenty AM, and from all directions, a small collection of other zero-hour students were making for the same door as me.

Steve's class was bright and early. There was the occasional history lecture, but mostly it was discussions on the extensive assigned readings. Required participation, strict follow-ups, and provocative teaching. But sometimes, it was just too early in the day. The organization of the class was clear, and from the syllabus handed out on the first day, every reading assignment for the entire year was listed. The readings were required to be done before class. Most of the time, we would discuss it. If nobody was able to discuss it, he would punish us by making us turn in ridiculously detailed written comprehension questions. And other times, we would talk about current events.

Before the 2000 presidential election, we had a brief discussion in History class about presidential candidates. Steve was asking what we students looked for in them. This was an issue I felt strongly about, and I raised my hand (still a rare occurence). "I'd like to think the president would be smarter than me," I said. At the very least; the baseline expectation. My comment caused the expected laughter, and the teacher couldn't seem to find a biting follow-up question as he had for other students.

Next up was Spanish. After three years of complaining, I finally had a new Spanish language teacher. "Be careful what you wish for" is a phrase that comes to mind. While the previous teacher had bogged us down with busywork and numerous 'activities' and held a hyperactive desire to fill as much class time as possible, this one was the opposite. We read a few things, did a few assignments. But it seems that most of the time spent in class was devoted to gossip, the students sitting around the teacher talking about celebrities, television, and other teachers at school -and in English, no less. I didn't feel like complaining at first, because frankly, I enjoyed an hour of doing nothing sometimes. But when it later came time to get ready for the test the class was supposed to prepare us for, the teacher was the first person to blame.

I sat next to David, who seemed happy to join me in making fun of the class's faults. He was one of the few people I was comfortable with the start of that year, because I had known him previously. Plus, he had the rare distinction of being a very clever guy who didn't piss me off.

One of the first activities we did in that class was ask other students random questions, and they would have to respond using their knowledge of Spanish. All of it was in front of the rest of the meager-sized class, but it was still one of those things that was more difficult for me. It came time for my question, and I asked Molly, one of the girls who seemed 'popular' to me. "¿Cuando lloras?" When do you cry?

She was taken aback, and kind of gave a questioning glance around, then responded in English: "I don't know... when I'm on my period?"

For second hour, I had English class. Along with History, this promised to be one of the hardcore IB curriculum classes. Assignments every day, in depth analysis, the art of the commentary -intense stuff, compared with previous English classes.

One of the first readings we were assigned was an essay by Chinua Achebe. I read it in the bathroom at home. And then I read it again to do the attached assignment. This was after a day of running cross country, and thus I didn't get to homework until well into the night. There was something about the questions Mr. Achebe raised that intrigued me, the very art of the humanities itself. I wrote in my response to this essay my thoughts, how the whole arts community was like some sort of progressing dialogue. While writing the thoughts, I was having a grand shocking time. Things that I had thought for years about the world were validated, in a way. I had had these thoughts, I was going this direction -I just hadn't known how to say it. Suddenly before me, the vocabulary to think about the world of art had finally appeared. Achebe was a genius.

In her comments on my response, the English teacher wrote that I was one of the few students who 'got it' -though I had difficulty saying what exactly 'it' was. She went further on to extend my thoughts, and said that the arts were often likened to something called 'The Great Conversation', a concept that to this day makes my heart beat with a kind of awed reverence. If there truly is a higher power, I thought, it is likely manifest in the varied exchange of ideas and stories that makes up the world of liberal arts. It was so beautiful to see this for the first time.

Third hour then, was that very special IB study hall, in the 'tower keep' of the school. I sat at the U-shaped conglomeration of desks next to my friends Vu and David. Vu was as much a creative genius as ever, and David was great company and mostly business-like when it came to homework. Also, across from me at the table was Vorn, the super-pretty Mormon, Hmong girl I had known the previous year. She joked with us and joined in when it came to homework discussion. Renee, another friend I'd known, usually sat next to Vorn, and she was fun too.

Other characters frequented the study hall, but we were the core that sat in the same spot everyday. Jesse, the valedictorian, would sit in the far end of the room by the mirror. Molly would work on the computer, and Sarah and some others would work in different positions in the place. Finally, the teacher overseeing us would work on various management and class things, and occasionally call us over to see the latest chain email or whatever.

Study hall was followed immediately by lunch. For the first couple weeks of the semester, I sat next to my old friend You Moua at a lunch table. We had a somewhat complicated history, her and me. I still had the remnants of a thing for her, and I had no idea how she felt. Being married and all, I couldn't really imagine how much. But we had been great friends, and still were. We didn't talk much in the crowded lunchroom, being quiet types. We'd also felt more comfortable talking to each other outside, and 'open campus' did not take effect immediately. With the crowd of voices shouting out all around us, we could only take comfort in each other's company. When campus finally opened again, I returned to my faithful tree, where I had had numerous conversations with her the year previous. But she started showing up less and less, spending her lunch helping teachers with various things. And I started to eat inside with other friends. In that way we grew apart.

After lunch was a fascinating new class: Theory of Knowledge, a special philosophy class required for IB diploma candidates, taught by my very favorite teacher, Ms. Stammers. She led debates with such a light touch, ever so slightly guiding our often-misguided ideas down the most thought-provoking paths. I remember at first, I was reluctant to participate. It was that old shyness. Also, though, I was scared that much of the material was over my head. I was afraid to charge onward when I was in danger of not knowing what I was talking about. As time went on, I realized two things. The first was that most people who chimed up in class didn't really know what they were talking about. The second was that it seemed like I actually did. So gradually, I got more involved, inspired by the both the interesting topics and by a drive to get the class back on track after certain derailing comments by other students.

For fifth period, I had an elite class with a dozen or so other students. It was Higher Level Calculus, the highest math class offered at the school. Unfortunately for all of us, this was in name only. What we actually learned over the course of the year was EXACTLY the same material we had learned the year previous in Pre-Calc. So the lectures were tedious, and uninspired. But it was more fun, because we were all senior IB students and knew each other.

In all of my classes, it was the same groups of people over and over. The Math class was probably the easiest time to notice this, because there were so few of us. Tables were groups of four, and I sat in the middle with Vu and David, the likely candidates. Also at our table was Nate, old proprietor of the Christian Youth Club, but also an old friend of mine, boisterous and friendly but occasionally lacking in coherence. Beside our table was the girl's table. The lovely Vorn, and her chatty and hilarious friend Renee. With them sat Nadia, a very kind girl. The third table by the window was maybe the rowdiest -if that can be said of any of the tables. Nick sat, leaning back against the window. He was the very definition of male coolness. Always relaxed, he would poke fun at everyone and flirt with girls in a very ephemeral way, noncommital and showing devious pleasure at any outcome his foolishness produced. Next to him was Doug, Nick's goofy friend who enjoyed making outrageous faces. Also, Melissa, Doug's girlfriend. Rounding out their table was math genius Carl, the only Junior allowed to take the class, often looked to for answers of difficult problems.

My last class of the day was IB Computer Science. There had been a prerequisite class for this that I had completely skipped out on. I'd just talked to the teacher the previous spring, and told him I was competent at computers and BOOM, magically I was accepted. The class itself only had five students total, and one lenient teacher. I knew two of the Juniors in the class from back in Junior High: Jacob had been my math-nemesis, and Andy had been the weirdest kid ever. They were great company to have in this relaxed class. Thanks to the teacher being reasonable, there was a lack of busywork, leaving us students with loads of time to just browse the internet and share the strange findings within. Andy had a great find by typing in magicbooty dot com, and it turned out to be the website of this really weird band. So we rocked out to them during various programming sessions.

After that last class, each day I would wander on down to the gym for Cross Country practice. There were only three other members of the team, all of them better runners than me -though technically I was captain. Practice continued on through October, and I had my worst season ever. While the running itself was no longer so enjoyable, the team was still fun. Before practice each day, everyone conglomerated right by the gym doors, and we would stretch next to the swim team, and make fun of how much they were eating. Various other sports teams would walk by, and on some days Vorn would say hello on her way to tennis courts. After the brief interlude of being lazy in the sun and watching people march by, the torturous running commenced.

When I finally returned home via an hour-long busride through downtown, I almost always needed a nap. An extended day plus running had that effect. I'd wake up for a late supper, and then I did the readings and homework due the next day. Unlike previous years, I had little time for anything else. My days were completely filled out. There was no time for television, or videogames, much less my pastime of extended Civilization 2 sessions. I hardly had enough time for most of my homework, either. I never really did my math homework, choosing always to save it for study hall of the next day. English and History readings would keep me up past midnight at least, but if ever there was an essay or other comparably large project, I would be up until three am, or however far into the morning I took to finish it.

Rearrangements

After the initial period of adjustment to school, there is a time I like to think of as the 'optimization'. The rules are all there, and it's time to start thinking of how better to maximize the experience. Some of this comes consciously; other times, the reason for certain actions is stealthily hidden deep inside. Most of it comes down to a series of very slight refinements that only later can be construed as a recognizable pattern of behavior. For me, the most obvious example of this is seating arrangements.

In study hall, my original seating strategy was next to Vu and David, on the outer edge of the U-shaped section of desks. Directly across the thick table from me, in the nook of the U, sat Vorn, and next to her Renee. I very much thanked the circumstances putting Vorn across from me, having enjoyed her as not only a goofy female friend, but also as one of the prettiest girls I could name. Noticing a consistently empty chair next to her in the nook, I moved into it one day. Just one of those small tendencies, a preference of being closer to a pretty girl than not. It didn't mean a whole lot to me, nothing serious. I was still close to my buddies across the table. For all practical purposes, the move made no change, other than bringing me a few inches closer to a pretty girl for an hour a day.

In Calculus class, me and my three table mates had developed a seating pattern. Each day of class, we would rotate one seat around the table. It kept the unexciting class at least a little more interesting. Over time, however, I started gumming up the works. I started staying in a seat on one side of the table more and more often, defying our unwritten rule of seat rotation. Eventually, the rotation stopped altogether, and I simply had my spot. This spot was, of course, on the side of our table directly adjacent to the table with girls; Vorn, Renee, and Nadia. The ladies were simply my preference.

My preferences were rewarded, however. Vorn often complimented my long, stringy and frizzy, girly hair. In the past, comments on my hair were almost universally negative, and the number of cashiers addressing me as 'ma'am' on a given day was disheartening. But Vorn would, every so often, sit up to the table and tell my hair how much she liked it. That's right, she would talk to it. On days when I was really lucky, she and other girls would play with it. While it would have been nice to be as complimented on my more human qualities, I accepted the love of my hair with extreme gratitude.

On November first, our Spanish class made an excursion to clean off gravestones for the Day of the Dead. There was a cemetery just a few blocks from school, and thus the perfect walk. It was raining outside, and the rather small batch of us students naturally formed groups. On the way home, I found myself exchanging a few words with Molly. She was one of those girls I had long ago passed off as too popular and cool for me to ever talk to. However, for some reason I'd noticed she was actually frequently exchanging words with me.

I'm not a terribly good talker as one might have gathered so far. While I am not exactly shocked when people talk to me, I am rather surprised when, after hearing my responses, someone makes the conscious decision of talking to me again. Noticing this, I started changing where I sat in Spanish class. I moved gradually from the corner where I had first sat, to a central location nearer the talkative group, including Molly.

On one day in Theory of Knowledge, I was making one of my usual over the top facial expressions. It was a habit I had developed, rubbing my chin in a pantomime of deep thought whenever I was, in fact, in deep thought. Talking almost entirely out of topic, Molly pointed my gesture out in front of the whole class, calling attention to my comical ponderings. Furthermore, she ditzily suggested I grow a goatee to enhance the effect. While I was usually loathe to people thusly derailing the class discussion, I felt nothing like it on this occurrence. I had become the subject. This ridiculous throwaway comment was a shot to the head for me, one of those beautiful reminders of the very state of existing. I finally felt like I had something I'd never thought before: character.

When I visited parent-teacher conferences for the first quarter, there was a recurring theme. The English teacher told me I was doing fantastically, but that I needed to participate in discussions more to get a good grade. The same was said by other teachers as well. The Theory of Knowledge teacher always gave me looks during class when things were getting rough, begging me to speak up. Inspirational. While I had been upping my participation levels over the years, this extra call for it was what I needed to keep up with the pack.

In time, for lunch I was 'invited' to sit at a table of peers. A group had formed over time, and someone must have told me to sit there. At the table was a good selection of the regulars in my classes, and we talked every day about various things. My good friends Vu and David were there, of course. But also Molly the swimming socialite, Nick the guy's guy, Doug the goof, Missy his girlfriend, and Carl the Junior Genius. A lunchtime group of friendly classmates was one of those common privileges that I had completely missed out on over my previous three years. I'd never had the same lunch period with my very few close friends, and never had the nerve to join people who weren't. So while this wasn't so much of a big deal, it felt like it to me. I felt accepted. It went along with my whole new feelings of occupying some sort of necessary component in the high school social setting.

I felt validated.

Application

Cross Country season ended soon enough in the middle of November. I had suffered a horrid final year on the team, but at least I had finished it. With the disappearance of this daily activity, my daily pile of work felt quite a bit lighter. There was a little more time to relax. However, this relaxation time was mostly occupied with worrying about things I had passed off until then, like college applications.

The workload had been so much that I had completely forgotten about this rather vital step in school. When it came time to think of where to apply, I had no clue whatsoever. I'd done no research into good schools, and I certainly hadn't given any thought as to what I wanted to do with my life. I was too busy taking all of these challenging, interesting classes to think about that stuff.

I'd always been passed off as a simple Math/Science guy, despite the fact that I did equally well -perhaps better- in the liberal arts. I too overlooked that fact. So when I went to request applications, I asked for the big ones: MIT and Caltech. Besides these, I picked a few local schools including the state college I lived mere blocks from. The applications for MIT and Caltech were monsters. Form after form after form, essays, the whole thing.

One of the worst things about these big league applications was that they required a test I had never heard of called an SAT 2. My school teachers had never informed me that there was a 'volume two' to the SAT. So when I saw this in the application, I had to rush and register for one finding that it was specialized by topic. I chose Biology, though it had been months since I studied it. 'How hard could it be?', I thought. What I did not take into account was that the competition in the SAT 2 was nothing like the competition in the original SAT. For everyone takes their SAT, but only the few and the proud take the sequel. So when I received the results of my sloppy test, one could say that the percentiles were a bit less than the high nineties I had become used to over the years.

For MIT, there was an interview portion to the application. I was assigned some local alumni to meet with and talk to. Once again, I hadn't really 'prepared' for the interview so much as scheduled it. I did not have magical answers, I just had my not so spectacular on the spot answering skills. What's worse, I was feeling very busy with my current class work, and I asked him about the possibility of taking a year off at some point. It wasn't one of those things that stars asked. It wasn't one of those things I even think I would do, but rather a possibility that had just passed through my mind. In addition to revealing things to my interviewer, I learned some things as well. Enormous tuitions, and strange tests, and hugely intensive introductory classes. This was the life of top level institutions, he told me. I left the interview partially embarrassed, partially scared out of my wits.

Compared to the stress of applying for and thinking about college, the busy load of Senior IB classes I had waiting at school was nothing.

A couple of months later, the results came in. From MIT, I got something that perfectly fit the description of the 'thin letter'. This would have been very depressing, had I not soon after received an altogether different letter from my local university, offering to pay a large portion of my tuition. Who needs a fancy school?


Winter

When classes started winding down before winter break, there seemed a sudden influx of additional work. Class schedules seemed to be conspiring against each other, and assignments faced off late at night, vying for students' precious attention. Additionally, my extra-curriculars had piled up.

On the geeky side of things, the Quizbowl season had started. There was the possibility that we could have been left with only two people on the team, me and David. Thankfully, however, we managed to recruit my friends from Computer Science class, Andy and Jacob. Since this would be my fourth year on the team, I was given the honorary title of captain. But this year, as before, my teammates certainly scored more points than me. That didn't matter so much though, because I had a great time and I was doing better than ever before. The same could be said for Math Team as well, in which I had been put on the actual 'scoring' portion of the team for the entire season.

By this time, I had returned to Litmag as a senior editor. It provided the usual relaxing but productive atmosphere, and additional discussion with my friend Vu and my favorite teacher, Ms. Stammers. She had the double duty of teaching our Theory of Knowledge class and supervising the literary magazine meetings after school. Surrounded mostly by shy asian writer chicks and obnoxious, ignorant freshman girls, the company struck a strange balance for me. I could really spout off, ranting about just about anything around them. I talked as much and as confidently as I wanted, strengthened by the presence of the many shy people. But also, the content of my musings was artificially enhanced by my opportunity to talk to young, impressionable freshman minds, and talked off the cuff from my few years of wisdom, thankfully not interrupted by the shy intelligent students who knew better.

Whether anybody listened to my rantings, I do not know. I felt comfortable doing it though, and it was one of those few opportunities I had to speak out uncensored, not worrying about any self image. Ms. Stammers remarked one day about how much I talked at the meetings, and suggested that I participate more in Theory of Knowledge class. I should stick my neck out, vulnerabilities and all, in front of my peers.

In addition to Litmag, I finally had to fulfill my obligations with the National Honor Society I had been inducted to the preceding spring. They were having their annual clothing/penny drive. It was a contest for homerooms to compete for a pizza party. The specifics of the contest involved sabotaging other classrooms with quarters to deduct points. What it all amounted to, however, was that we members had to come in after school and count pennies for hours on end. And we had to do it every day for at least a week.

During the counting, we of course made conversation. But the amount of thought you can make while continuously counting to one hundred is stilted, at best. The image of toiling over a box of pennies for hours doing basic math is what comes to mind when I think of that great National Honor Society. Also, sorting through giant garbage bags full of used clothes, including the emergency disposal of donated underwear. It felt good though, because it was going to benefit a good cause. Somewhere or another. I'm sure the co-presidents Vorn and David had worked all of that out somewhere along the line and the penny counting wasn't just for fun.

While the penny drive was going on and winter break was fast approaching, days grew shorter. Night arrived earlier each day, in actuality as well as mind. Furthermore, great piles of work were assigned, those due both before break started and those due immediately after it ended. This led to great, indefatigable masses of stress hanging overhead. Waking up was harder, classes were full of important content, tedious penny-counting took up the remaining daylight hours, and by the time I could make it home, there seemed barely enough in me left for both homework AND rest.

The penny drive ended eventually, and soon after, winter break actually did start. It was as joyless a break as I can remember, though. Major assignments were due after break, and every guilty day of family activities or resting ate away at me, sinking my spirits. I could picture a version of myself waiting at the end of break, holding in his hands a greater and greater load of work for every hour I spent trying to enjoy myself. And of course, I still left all of the work for the last few days.

One of the big projects was a rough draft of a major history paper. I had not done any more work than gathering a few sources, and had not even read them. Vu came over one night, and we stayed up into the wee hours, working in parallel on different computers. He might have actually gotten research done, but for the most part I just screwed around. The following morning David showed up for our English assignment, which was watching two movie versions of Hamlet. Finally on the last day of break, I stayed up the whole night reading sources and, between periods of napping on the couch, typing away at the computer. I printed my document just as it was time to get up for the new year's first day of school.

Home Stretch

The way of life for the following three months or so was daunting. There was much class material to get through (Hamlet, the Cold War, and Aesthetics). Additionally, there were large projects of the embarrassing presentation type, involving Shakespeare and the 70's. Finally, there was that extended essay that I had as of yet not exactly started writing. So it was a depressing and thankless season, to be sure, with little time for enjoyment.

However, the work itself, possibly by necessity, became more and more enjoyable. In English and History classes, we had group presentations. For Hamlet, me and my group members, David, Vu, and Nate, constructed a 'dead Polonius body' for our rendition of a scene. In terms of project quality, I'd say it was one of the worst I had ever contributed to. But the fun we had haphazardly planning it then finally performing it in front of an audience was unmatched. A similar project was held for history class, in which we were assigned to present certain aspects of our assigned decade, the seventies. And similarly, the amount of planning put into the project itself was minimal. David, Vu, and I did a read-through of our 'script', but never formally practiced it with all of the elements coming together -it was an absurd concoction, involving disco and Vietcong and pausing the entire presentation to listen to the end of 'stairway to heaven'. Did it work? I honestly don't remember whether or not -I just know that it was fun, and that I didn't die before it was over. A little drop in the grade, maybe. But we did get to wear funny clothes: Dave had the honor of donning the ridiculous afro.

Other classes remained engaging. In Theory of Knowledge, I found myself yelling more often. In computer science, we began working on our own project applications. And math was still a playground -some of us started downloading strange pokemon flash animations and memorizing the gibberish lyrics. Spanish class, when I wasn't skipping it to watch presentations in history class, was just gossip and fun with sprinkles of Spanish. In study hall, we would all goof off in various ways while finishing up left over homework -me and Vu would draw comics, Vorn would occasionally play with my hair, and general ruckus prevailed over all.

In short, classes that spring were full to the brim of action. But as springtime drew closer, the percentage of my brain occupied by schoolwork decreased, falling victim to my now-familiar character flaw: 'The womens'.

There was no need for that whole aspect of life, it had seemed. I'd somehow come into a larger group of comrades, sitting as I did by those I'd thought too popular to speak to before. With that illusion shattered, there seemed no one worth knowing that I didn't know yet and wasn't talking to on a regular basis. So there were no mysterious women to catch my eye. I found myself sitting next to attractive girls more often than not, but I did not think of them towards my usual ends.

I was doing so well thus far.
And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for the blasted 'Ponderations'.

Conspiracy

More and more often, I found myself conversing with my new 'gal-pal' Molly about various silly topics. When they found there way to the subject of 'liking' -as discussions with opposite sexes inevitably do in adolescence- I honestly said I wasn't REALLY into anyone in particular. But she saw somewhat differently. Perhaps more clearly than I.

"Come on, you like Vorn, don't you?" she asked.

This irked me. The thoughts HAD passed through my mind -who with an imagination DOESN'T have frequent thoughts about those around them? 'What if' is my brain's most frequently used conceptual vocabulary. So of course I had thought about liking her, but I'd never given the seed of thought a chance to find purchase on my mind.

The question at hand, however, provoked further consideration. If I were taking a multiple choice test in women I knew at the time, there was no doubt that that was the one I would circle. So I gave a little into her interrogation.

"She's really nice. And cute. But, I don't know if that would work, her being..."
It was hard to say. I thought she was one of the most attractive people I knew, so I couldn't imagine even the possibility of it.

Molly agreed with the first part, but she seemed to see more optimism than I for the last part. She thought it could actually happen, and seemed happy about it. In the aftermath of this information -that someone believed it could work- the inner workings of my lovelorn machinery were springing to life with the prospect of possibility. I felt like Hamlet, informed by the ghost of his father of his most horrible murder. There was something rotten in the state of Denmark; there was something up.
Though much like Hamlet, the workings of my mind were steeped in a kind of madness.

So Molly was rooting for me -or at least rooting for me going in that direction. It would be fun, no matter what came of it. The plot thickened, however. There was more to it than just prospects for me. What followed over the course of our next couple of conversations was that Molly had her own interest in a certain something, putting us in a similar boat. Whenever she wanted to discuss our respective situations, she called me over, saying "I have a ponderation for you." This came to be a frequent occurence.

She was curious about our friend Nick, but wasn't sure what to do about it. When asked sometimes she would deny it, but other times she would admit it, showing that it was kind of a conflicting issue. She didn't wish to ruin their friendship, but on the other hand, she did want a more special relationship.

He posed a considerable problem, because of his affinity for all things female; he had an aloof, conspiratorial way of talking to girls and people in general that was uber-relaxed, yet still entertaining. So he would talk to Vorn, and Molly and other girls in this flirtatious way. He struck a very subtle cord in his manner that allowed him to get away with doing and saying things others would not.

The perfect example of this I can think of is 'the cage'. At some point around this time he started talking about his 'cage'. In his cage, he told us, he had Molly and Vorn 'trapped'. And that he wouldn't 'let them out'. He continued in this manner for a while, reminding his captives that they were still there, and their current condition. Purely conceptually, of course, but kind of a disturbing thought nonetheless. It was a very dubious kind of concept -when presented, one had no idea what he really meant. But all of the meanings it gives rise to are disturbing. Did the cage mean anything to him? How were the captives selected? Etc. The trickiest thing about him is that he would never give it up or explain it, but he would keep reminding people of it. And somehow, this seemed perfectly natural for him to do. I envied the twisted genius of the whole thing. Whether it was conscious or not, he was good at it.

Strange circumstances to be presented with, to be sure. But with Molly's motivation, I took my first step toward feeling the entire situation out. I sent Vorn a small friendly email. Tongue in cheek, I offered her refuge from the land of Nicks' 'cage', and invited her to come to my land of 'free-love'. Fairly cheesy, certainly. But you work with what you've got.

It wasn't a total failure. I got a nice reply, and even Molly told me later (having heard about it from Vorn) that it was cute. That was good. I still wasn't sure about where this was going, and I was cautious about having thoughts that would hurt me later.

The ponderations of me and Molly gave rise to a simple goal: She wanted me and Vorn to go to prom together, and I wanted her to go with Nick. I had had no interest in prom, but the prospect of going with her made it somehow important. It was a silly, stupid high school goal. From that foundation of purpose, we did our conniving. Though it was mostly just support combined with a few nuggets of inside information.

Late nights

As classes played out, I found myself writing essays, and doing homework on the computer just about every day, typing away into the wee hours. The TV nearby would blare in the background, a comfortable companion noise. There was a strange pattern to evenings. I usually started during the late show, ten-thirty. By the time the late-late show was wrapping up, I knew I had to get into gear. Then the blaring sounds of the tabloid news shows would pump out the most atrociously vulgar and loud content for a half an hour, and then the TV would die down. From then on, from the hours of 1am until 3am, time would take on a different quality, and start moving faster. 3am was the time for re-evaluation: an intense need to relax traditionally overcame me. Questions popped into my mind: "Why are you here?, What exactly is your goal?". Perhaps a quick cup of cocoa later, and it was crunch time. Crunch time lasted until 5am or so. By then the same news cast will have repeated. At this point was the time for finishing up and printing (hopefully without a hitch). If I was lucky, I would have time to sleep for a bit, but sometimes this just amounted to lying down. When 6:47 came around, the alarm clock went off. And then it was time to get out the door for a bright new day.

I had more sleepless nights than I like to think about that semester. More often than not I would get to bed before two, but I never slept before midnight. And this was for months on end. Classmates had similar schedules. In fact, we started instant messaging -whilst working through the late hours. Vu and I would talk at length, Nick and I would check in every couple of hours on some days, and Molly and I occasionally had conversations as fictional characters.

At the lunch table and at various classes, we would reconvene. Conversations got sillier and sillier as our whole studious way of life beared down on us.

Spring break neared, and classes began to focus on our exams in May. Practice tests proved embarrassing, for they made me feel unprepared. In history, the large binders full of old notes started emerging from dark closets to be studied.

English class had me thinking of everything in terms of commentary. What was the author trying to communicate to the reader? What was the meaning behind choosing to present things in certain ways? I loved it all, of course, big nerd that I was. I couldn't get enough of literature, as a field. I felt like I was living in it. Writing too many essays late into the night, my own life became a work of its own. Why was I, this character, behaving this way? What does that tell us about humanity? What does that tell us about the person reading this? Is the author of my life successful in his endeavor? How so?
There was so much to care about.

Other drafts I was writing late into the night were more emails to Vorn -not all the time, but as often as I deemed acceptable. Though I was -and very much enjoyed being- able to talk to her briefly each day, I felt that the more deliberate construction of emails better suited my talents (or rather, covered my deficiencies). Who knew that, at least in email form, I could be entertaining? Or at least flattering.

Complications

There were some problems with the situation that I knew I was going to have to deal with sooner or later. I had hoped I wouldn't need to, that I would have given up the whole endeavor before I reached them. However, thanks to Molly's cheerleading and my own inner desires for the happiness I saw in my dreams, I was motivated to continue farther than before.

The first problem was the obvious one, of how to deal with a friendship in the aftermath of whatever 'decision' was made. This I could deal with, I thought.

The more immediate problem was in the form of a person. There was a guy who Vorn had been friends with for a long time -I'll call him T. He also happened to have a locker right next to mine. Their history together was something I really didn't know much about, but it scared me to the bones, the more involved I got. They'd never dated, but they were good friends, and considered by many people to be a 'perfect match'. Furthermore, it was bandied about that T was totally in love with Vorn, but that she wouldn't officially date him for complicated reasons. His was the forelorn love I felt so familiar with.

Trying to understand this situation, from the information I had, was impossible. It was a very confusing factor, to say the least. And yet, where I would have given up entirely, Molly's optimism for my cause kept me going. Whenever people brought it up to Vorn (and I was eavesdropping) she would pass off T as nothing at all, even sounded downright angry about it sometimes. As far as prom preparations went, he was going with someone else already, a friend.

Time ticked away, and Molly kept with the ponderations, telling me I should just ask Vorn to the prom. She even seemed to think Vorn WANTED me to ask her, which I highly doubted but wanted to believe. She told me it would be easy. Well, it WOULD have been easy, but for the fact that my feelings were growing into unmanageable sizes. I can't, I'd say. She would tell me to relax, and just go up to Vorn and say it. But I just couldn't do that. Whatever my style was, that was not it. My style was to be more sneaky (or Wussy, as I like to call it). Nevertheless, there was no way I could get around having to actually say it to her face -not on a note or an email- directly.

Vorn and I had been talking fairly frequently for a while now, in classes and on the way to classes. There was a particular passing period between Theory of Knowledge and Calculus, where I could with some consistency get her far enough away from classmates to talk comfortably. This was a busy mind at work here planning this, awkward and unable to deal with surprises. The best speaking comes from spontaneity, but nevertheless I had a whole sequence of phrases and contingencies memorized in my mind. My busy, devious mind.

"Hey Vorn, can I ask you for some advice?" I asked.

"Sure," was the reply. She was making a cute face, a frequent occurence that I had to ignore for the moment.

"Well, I was just wondering..." I started. Alright, nerves, don't fail me now.

"Yes?"

"Alright, if YOU were going to ask Vorn to the prom, how EXACTLY would you do it?" I asked, as innocently as I could. Tremors went down my spine, even as I saw her smile.

"Oh. Yes, I'd be delighted-" she started to say.

I couldn't help it: "Wait, I haven't asked yet. Now. Would you, by any chance, be interested in accompanying me to the prom?"

And it was thus decided. I felt victorious, though I wasn't exactly sure what the victory was. What had I just done, anyways? I had built it up as something so very important, that now that it had been decided I wasn't completely sure what it meant, her agreeing to this silly fiasco.

I got a reaffirming email that night, her saying she was happy I asked her, and the plans for some of the preparations. It was curious and strange, but I was riding high on the vague accomplishment that I felt from what had been a strenuous endeavor. And, soon enough, Molly had managed to get Nick into asking her to prom too. It was all going according to plan. The conspiracy was a success. For now.

Growing

So that happened. The next few weeks I was on auto pilot.

At this point I put in my time after school -my last chance really- to finish my extended essay. Most of my fellow IB Candidates, however, had already finished up at least drafts of their essays. Me? Well, the final draft I turned in was more like a first than a last. It was the start of an idea. But just because others had drafts done did not make them any less busy than I, tempering them to perfection. David had accomplished a downright professional piece about covert CIA operations, and like everyone else's essays, sounded a lot more interesting than mine. It was interesting seeing each classmate's ideas: here were people I knew, who had each put in a significant amount of effort writing about a specific topic. I wanted to see their essays as a portal into their minds.

We were all similar, really. That hustle and bustle of the last days before the essay was due, complete with stressed out students carrying large stapled packets to their advisors, was the perfect symbol for our difficult year as a whole. And it was more than a symbol, for the essay did indeed carry the weight of important points toward our IB Diplomas.

Our worries were similar, and I felt like part of the club.

Amongst this activity, I felt like I was in another club, somehow validated by Vorn accepting my proposal to prom. It was me in classic form: paying more and more attention, developing more and more feelings at once, lured by the prospect of uncertain hope.

She assumed this was a friends-only setup. Which is perfectly reasonable, because we were friendly. And after all, that had been my goal in the first place; I hadn't been interested in silly romance from the start, but rather I'd been curious about possibilities. But... What if there was a chance?

She seemed closer following the acceptance. We had a few more things to talk about -accomodations, etc. I would lean back in calculus class, and we'd rest our heads against each other's silently. We would joke more often. She seemed happy around me, and it all seemed so... right. Or at the very least, it felt righter than I had let myself feel for some time. I wanted that feeling to continue.

I did nothing drastic, though. I didn't want to turn anything ugly. Not suddenly, anyways. I knew I needed a way out, I knew that it was very likely my feelings would be unreciprocated. Heck, she had an history of this, so I knew I shouldn't get my hopes up. So it was slow and deliberately incremental, my manner of being more friendly with her.

More ponderation talk with Molly went forward. We talked about her situation -similar, but far more of a possibility than mine. We talked about my situation too. I admitted my growing feelings for Vorn, and my doubts. She believed in me, and still supported my action. I took this reinforcement in hand, believing in it. She knew Vorn too, albeit not intimately. But enough that I could trust her as a second opinion. In addition, she was a female and knew how they worked, possibly a safeguard against such foolhardy ideas as I was likely to get. I went to her whenever I got particularly nice evidence toward my cause, or depressing evidence against it.

I'd always been worried about the situation with T. The talk of Vorn and him being such close friends always filled me with a kind of dread. The feeling of me being obsolete, or extraneous. It was bad. But Molly reassured me, in our ponderation sessions, that this was nothing to worry about.

While trying to keep my feelings pent up nicely, Vorn's friendliness started to damage me. Her smiling face, the distinctive voice... I noticed the way she walked between Theory of Knowledge and Calculus, a distinctive swaying of the hips that hurt my brain. And in study hall sitting next to her, I had to stop myself sometimes when I was paying too much attention, and take up an emergency procedure of folding my arms and putting my head down, prettending to sleep. Even so, she still seemed to taunt me unknowingly, reaching in front of me to help other people at the table with their homework. In so doing, she frequently brushed up against me with soft body parts. I had to close my eyes tightly and tell myself it was all innocent, even as I wanted to believe there was more to it.

I could keep it under control for some time longer, I was sure. But sometimes various unforeseen factors come into play that are beyond control. This happened one Thursday near the end of March.

Dark Tidings

I got home from school late that day, after staying for Quizbowl practice. My mother was waiting in the kitchen. She gave me a grave look, and informed me that my grandfather was in bad condition at the hospital. It didn't look good, and nobody knew what could happen. The weight of the statements put me in a state of shock, and I remained expressionless even as she hugged me. I went upstairs and I sat down in my bed, and immediately I cried hard.

At school the next day, I was in a daze. I went to my classes, but refrained from saying much. I went dark during my freetime, burying my head in my crossed arms. People actually noticed, which surprised me. Nate, after lunch, inquired as to my health. I told him unspecifically that I was un-good. After this, true to ever-buddy form, he told me he would be there if I needed to talk to anybody. I thanked him for this. Vorn, in close proximity, extended the same offer to me. I kept to myself the rest of the day, yet. I skipped the Literary Magazine meeting that day and went straight home.

When I got home, my parents were there waiting to take us to the hospital. Our family and uncle and aunt were there in the waiting room, as my grandfather was being attended to. Typical droll family humor followed, our way of dealing with uneasiness. The intercom turned on, and we were called in.

I entered the room behind almost everyone else. There was something wrong.



What followed shortly after was beyond the scope of this lighthearted tale of adolescent forelorn love. Suffice it to say, the night was most grievous, and I was highly distraught.



I rode home from my grandparents' home that Saturday night with my sister. She needed to get home to work hard for her college classes. I needed to... I wasn't sure what was waiting for me at home. But I needed to be alone in my own way. And possibly call a friend.

It was already 11pm or so when I got home. My sister left to be with her boyfriend, leaving me in a house all alone. I went for the telephone. I stared at it for a bit. I still hadn't gotten over my fear of telephones, and my intense aversion to calling people late at night added to the intensity. But I really needed to do it. I was scared of either result: the loneliness of not calling, and the frightening prospect of actually communicating. So I dialed Vorn's number, one I had never dialed before, and hoped that she answered. There were only rings, and I couldn't bear to let it go more than five or so. I paced around the house for a bit, and returned to the phone to call again. Once more, no answer. I watched some bad television, which only served to further depress me. Another try at the phone, at twenty past one, and a familiar voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Vorn?"

"Yes? Who is this?"

"It's me, Charlie."

I eased into telling her of the nights events, and she stayed on the line and comforted me. We talked about more things than that though, as she deftly steered the topic of conversation to more positive things. Then it wandered into the danger zone.

"So," she said, "Are there any girls you like right now?"

My mind went haywire. What was this?

"There's someone," I answered honestly and carefully.

"SO, are you going to tell me who it is?" she asked.

"Do you really want me to be honest?" I asked. And asked again to be sure. This felt wrong, but she was asking for it.

"Yes," she said.

"Alright," I said, "the truth is, that... the truth is it's... you. Sorry."

She seemed to take it well, compared to what I was expecting. But she nevertheless behaved a little strangely. In time, the conversation wrapped up as we both became tired. I apologized for the unexpected revelation, and thanked her muchly for being there. Then it was returned to the sad reality of recent events, and I went to bed -for a moment, forgetting about the bombshell I had just dropped.

The next week I was understandably despondent. During classes, I started writing a new story about suicide, about death, about the very moment that life ceases to be. I was curious about what death itself meant, what weight it had, and why it should matter so much. Around me, some people were very kind. Ms. Stammers had paid attention to the obituaries, and talked with me a bit. Vorn was as always nice -even despite the threat I now posed to her, which was not addressed in the slightest. Other than that, I tried to keep a lonely low profile, and succeeded in that endeavor.

The following week was spring break, and me and my immediate family took a nine-hour train ride, a long-planned trip to Chicago. This afforded much time to continue writing, mourning, and pondering.

Impending

Mid April. Major exams were just around the corner. Tensions were rising all around. Behind the scenes, there was the bittersweet comfort that it was almost over.

And of course I paid an inordinate amount of attention to Vorn, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

Things started to get a little quiet with her. She didn't seem as rambunctious around me as usual. But this was no doubt just my changed perception in the wake of my defining my feelings to her. I still did not ask to clarify; I hoped that it would work itself out soon enough. But she was still really good friends with T, which threatened me. And there was also the issue of Prom coming up very soon, and I did not want to 'break' anything any more than it had already been broken. It was, if anything, a somewhat stable situation at the moment.

The Senior Banquet was held that month, at a fancy restaurant a stone's throw from downtown. I showed up early to it, in full garb and nervous of anything that would happen. In time, a group formed of all of my most familiar classmates, and we took up a table. I had really been waiting for Vorn, but she only showed up to the table after most of us had seated. This was probably for the better, because I was not in the best shape anyways. In such a large group situation as that, I had trouble focusing and participating. Nevertheless, I managed to enjoy myself in celebrating my and my classmates' journey to the end.

Unexpectedly, they sprung on us the class awards -those cliche little class-voted titles associated with yearbooks. They announced them from 'Cutest couple' went to someone I don't remember. As did 'Biggest Flirt' and 'Best Hair'. My friend Vu was called up to receive a well-deserved 'Most Creative'. The valedictorian of course earned 'Most Likely to Succeed'. Then, people suddenly started telling me that my name had been called. Huh? I ran up and was handed a piece of paper that said 'Most Likely to be Famous'. Waddaya know. Not exactly a dream come true, but certainly a reason to smile.

After the awards had been handed out, there was an air of chaos; I didn't know what was next. Word got around that we were heading into the basement. To what end? We joked about gas chambers, of course. But the truth turned out to be even deadlier, I realized as we trumped down the carpeted staircase: a room that had been cleared with chairs at the side, with what looked like speakers in the back. And... a dance floor. A few minutes of uncomfortable standing later, the action started with Molly and the Statistics teacher dancing and singing to "I Will Survive". After that, the DJ took control, and the floor was open to dance fun.

Taking a protective place in the back near my friends, I considered the situation. I'd never willingly come to an environment such as this, primarily because it was so entirely alien to me. How can you possibly have a good time when expected to flail your body about in front of other people? To add to the discomfort, I kept looking to Vorn, and wondering what she was currently talking about with the everpresent and threating T. He's always so close to her! I thought.

The crowd had moved in on the dance floor, and were now jiggling to the latest hip-hop pop tunes. People still standing at the sides of the room, myself included, started to look pained. Suddenly, Vu jumped into it head first, and broke out the strangest and most creative dance moves I'd ever seen. A group soon gathered around him, and people started cheering him on. What guts!

That's when I realized that this was what it was all about. There was no need for inhibitions anymore. This was the Senior Banquet. There would not be another. This would be one of the very last occasions to see any of these people. There were no repercussions for embarrassing oneself, there would only be regrets for not participating. So as the evening progressed, and I got into it and actually started the rather novel act of contorting and twisting my appendages to different beats. More and more comfortable, even when I did silly things. It no longer seemed to matter.

As more inhibitions died off, I worked up the nerve to request Vorn for a slow dance. This would be the first time I had done such a thing, so it was even more surreal than the surrounding situation had built it up to be. Here in my arms was a girl that I was inclined to like more and more as time went on. A gorgeous thing, but also full of character. And someone who knew very well that I thought such of her. My attempts at understanding her mind were fruitless, so I returned to something I DID know: I wanted this to continue. The dance ended soon enough, and she smiled and thanked me and returned to her group of friends. Shortly thereafter, she danced with T more than a few times, drawing my ire. But I tried not to make too much of it.

The evening continued. I asked Renee for a slow dance. I got all jiggy with another group of girls. In general, it was a blast.

As the evening wound down, and the caffeine from the drinks took its natural depressive toll on the physiology, I sat down and spaced out. The cold and lonely thoughts returned. Who was I kidding anyways? There were my hopes... but without the drive to bring their existence to life, what did they matter?

I had not arranged for a ride home, but Nate offered me one. As late night car-rides tended to go with me and him, the topic of conversation inevitably came to problems he referred to as 'estrogen'.

At last, I revealed to him how hopelessly lost I was in my newfound longing for Vorn. He listened well, before launching into his questions. As usual, he gave me the benefit of the doubt. However, he had heard similar situations before. T had been close to Nate, and had told him his own tales of wanting Vorn. Once again, I learned that she and T were not together, but close friends, and that T had serious feelings for her that were not reciprocated. It was similar to my situation, but for the fact that he had a huge advantage.

Nate was concerned though, about the nature of my lusts. He described who Vorn was, as far as he knew. She was a very particular type of woman, and would not be prone to silliness. That much was clear, I knew. After a bit of beating around the bush, the phrase he was looking for came out:

"Are you in this for keeps?"

It was a simple enough description, really bringing the whole thing to my mind. My purpose within, considering this for a moment, embraced the notion completely. OF COURSE I was in it for keeps. What else was out there? Who else could possibly replace this wonderful person? The answer was no one. She was it.



Strike

She was it, and I needed to go for it. I had to. I felt no alternative.

I was now thinking of the whole situation with T in mind as a constant threat/reminder/warning. The end result of 'just a friend'. He had the advantage of being closer to her, that was for sure. But I believed I did have one advantage over him, namely, not having been specifically rejected yet.

I opened up my email and started typing. My feelings for Vorn took form in strong words. The concept of "for keeps" sprang to mind more often than it should have. My image of her forming as some kind of shining beacon of achievement. I put down, quite bluntly, that I wanted her badly. And then I sent it.

The next day, I was weary and nervous of not only what she thought, but whether she had even received the mail at all. Nothing was particularly different about her though. A few days later, after days of trying to ignore the mail's contents, a reply.

Why was the overbearing feeling of her reply. Why her? Why now? Why at all?

Being such a heavy and and hardhitting question, I gave it a good amount of thought. Or at least a close approximation of thought that took much time. Putting it into words lasted me well into the night.

What was it that I liked about her that was so special? One of those questions I was reluctant to answer for myself. She was smart, bright, able to think quickly. She was of course very pretty, ravishing, and in an utterly unique way. On top of that, she was fun. She could play along with jokes, and she even had the capacity for spontaneous goofiness -a personal favorite quality of mine. Above all though, what so captivated me was a feeling that she was classy; somehow imbued with a quality of overall character that was pristine and pure.

She had an inexplainable quality that suited my current mind's very needs: indisputability. And so as I wrote my explanation, as it got longer and longer, my simple explanation avalanched into something of a monster. Her greatness, I transformed into perfection. My desires, I transformed into necessities. The entire annoying situation, I transformed into my only chance at happiness.

But that's how minds work sometimes, don't they? I proofread and proofread, but without the most basic of 'sanity checks', I sent it off.

Coldness and silence the next day from her. And the day after. No email reply.
Ugly thoughts went through my head. More and more terrible. Eventually I could not stand it. "Did you happen to get my email?" I asked. She said she had, and that she would reply shortly. Other than that though, we did not speak.

I bumped into T one day in the hall. He had a face on him that I immediately identified. He asked me how things were doing, and I said 'things' were 'complicated' recently. He said he understood how that was. And I believed him.

Then one day in English class, she tersely presented me with an old-fashioned handwritten note.

"...When I read your email, I didn't know how to reply... I got really angry... I've already gone through this situation with YOU KNOW WHO, and I don't want to again... Now I feel like I've been 'tricked' into going to prom with you... I thought it would be fun to go as friends... I am NOT perfect, I've got my own issues, I'm nowhere near IDEAL... What were you thinking?"

I skimmed it before class. Then after class I read it many more times -it was lenghty, full of righteous anger all focused at me. I couldn't think of any response really, because she was right about everything. A part of me wanted to admire her even more for that, even though it inflamed already disputed feelings. Almost all hope disappeared. Not just hope of this recent dream, but hope in anything. How could I have been so sure of something, and in the next moment so devastated? And why was this feeling more and more like a pattern?

The National Honor Society picnic was held once again at a large park. I spent much of the time wandering, but meeting up with different groups of familiars to talk to. Me and Doug ran around chasing geese and calling them 'guai' in australian accents. I found You and talked to her a while. And I of course ate food with everyone also, pretending to have as good a time as possible.

Me and Molly got to talk again about ponderations, at some empty picnic tables. I had not yet told her the news, and she was still happy that I had 'succeeded' in asking Vorn to prom. She still seemed optimistic about there being more to it, but I slowly revealed the horror that had actually happened: how I'd told Vorn everything, how she'd reacted, and then the recent coldness. It was unpleasant revealing my failure, but Molly seemed to have honestly believed in me, and I guess there is something to that that made me glad I was not alone.

That was the final meeting of our ponderation conspiracy. We had met our primary goals, I guess. "You are still going to the prom with her, right?" she asked. I didn't know the answer though. And did it really matter anymore?

Promenade

T'was the end of April.

Classes were full of intense preparations. But I spent much of my free time face down in a comatose, depressed stupor. I wanted to project this misery outward, particularly at Vorn (despite being completely unwarranted). She did not talk to me at all, or even note my presence, despite sitting right next to me. As the week went on, I eventually started enjoying myself again though, ignoring my recent foibles, getting lost in new studies. One day in math class, I was reading a book of quotations and she sidled up close behind me. We talked briefly about what I was reading, me still playing the depressed one, her the cautious cheerer up, and in that way we had a low-key reconciliation.

Friends again, we finally made plans for prom. I got my Tuxedo and everything in preparation for what promised to be an awkward time.

The day came, and she called, on the way to my house. My family was waiting, at the behest of my mother, ever the cause of embarrassment. Vorn arrived looking like seven million bucks, a genuinely gorgeous sight to behold. At that moment it all seemed like a dream: here was the most beautiful girl I knew, stunningly adorned, and showing up to my house. Though the truth was not as pleasant -that she had just told me, basically, that nothing could happen between us- but I was able to enjoy this glamourous occasion.

My mom fussed, and demanded pictures -of course. I felt like an ass, but Vorn put up with it very well, smiling cordially and playing along.
Then, the rest of the cavalry arrived (about ten other people; we were going as a group). They all waited outside, and my mother made a scene of admiring all of the dresses, and asking for even more photos. We all posed on the street for a while, before entering the cavalcade of cars headed for the event.

I wasn't really comfortable at first. Dinner felt more like a task than a pleasant time. Then entering the crowded and dinky party space felt even more awkward. Pretending how to dance on the floor to the music felt like some kind of test. Then standing in line and posing for pictures felt like a practical joke on both of us.

But when the party wound down, and all of the 'required' dances had been done, I let myself enjoy the occasion. I remembered again, perhaps a little late, that this was just for fun. It was a promenade. There was no weight to it other than having a good time. I asked a few nice girls to dance. I talked with Molly for a while, who complained about Nick not dancing with her. I BS-ed with various male friends about who knows what. And of course, just when I was beginning to enjoy myself, the party ended.

I got a ride home with Vorn and a couple of her friends. They were on their way to a more rambunctious and un-me type of party, and I politely declined their invitations. A few moments I felt there was still some funniness between Vorn and I, but considering the circumstances this was unavoidable. We got to my house, and said goodbyes. But I needed to break the funniness. "Come on, Vorn. How about a hug here?!" I thanked her for the night, a night that I honestly would not have had without her. Just a show though, just fun. And I think I needed it.

Finale

The monday after prom, IB tests started. Mostly free of silly thoughts polluting my mind, I could focus pretty well. The tests went by furiously -for all of us. It got to the point where one didn't even register them as tests any more. There were multiple tests a day for about two weeks straight. And due to this, our other classes, for the most part, didn't do anything.

Between waiting for tests to start and classes with no assignments, there was much time for us fellow IB students to hang out and gab. Mostly it was talking about how silly/hard/stupid a recent test was, or looking forward to graduation, but there was a release of tension that I felt brought people together.

I have only a few memories of the tests. I remember beating the crap out of my computer science test. And then I remember writing furiously about Russian revolutionaries. And then there is a blur of unmemorable exams. After that, there is the disaster of a math test asking questions about things we never learned in class. Finally, there was the Spanish test and it was over.

There were a few more projects due even after tests ended. For English we'd been reading The Grapes of Wrath, which I read in basically two sittings, suffering through it hideously close to the due date and cursing its name. Following that, it went on to become one of my favorite novels ever. Funny how that happens.

In Theory of Knowledge everyone wrote valedictory speeches, and I poured my heart and soul into writing mine, a piece on the importance of enriching and broadening the mind, resentful towards those who ever feel that they know 'enough'. Nobody was really paying attention when I read it though, I think -at least not the intended targets of my sermon.

And then in History, we did senior projects for a few weeks. Every student got their own presentation with which to describe the whole of their high school life. I found this to be a most interesting experience, and I skipped my Spanish class as many times as possible just to see more classmates present. It being our last real project, there was also a sadness to it. And in addition to that, the presentations often became very personal, and really shed light on people's qualities that filled out their characters.

Literary Magazine got together and made our final draft. I basically assumed editorial control, whether anybody liked it or not, but I think it turned out well. It was even better than the previous year's. Me and Vu constructed an on-the-spot poem to insert in the beginning of it to make sense of the magazine's title of 'Lit'. It was a short poem about how flame, in its act of destroying something, is also in effect creating its own art. Creation from destruction. It seemed a fitting subject to me at the time, having suffered through so much, yet having to judge it as a good thing. To be honest though, the lines of the poem that Vu wrote were infinitely better than the clumsy ones I called my own.

The magazine also debuted another one of my short stories, one which Miss Stammers said was the best student piece she had heard. I'm sure she was lying, but I appreciated it. Also, the people I respected the most, who actually read it, also complimented me on it... and that made me feel really good. Though impermanent, it was an achievement, and I felt proud leaving the magazine behind.

One of the last hurrahs at school was the IB awards ceremony. Scaled down from previous years, they now only handed out awards for History and English. I had run out of available skip days for spanish class, but Steve told me that if he were me, he WOULDN'T miss the awards ceremony, and winked. So I had to go.

They gave out four awards first. The 'Best History' student went to the valedictorian, of course -he often went out to dinner with the teacher, so this was not exactly unexpected. The 'Most Improved History' went to Sarah, a girl that was always stressing out and working hard to understand what we needed for history exams. 'Best English' went to none other than my good friend Vu, who deserved it. 'Most Improved English' went to my other good friend David, who also deserved it. What a posse! I thought. I could not think of any better folks to receive those awards.

But after those had been given out, I had a tingly feeling. I thought that I would get the English award, probably, but I saw it go. Still I wondered why Steve had told me to come to the ceremony... Then the English and History teacher got up and announced the final award, "The Humanities Award". They said something about connecting art and history and humanities, mentioned something about really 'getting it', but I really can't recall what was said, because they started describing me and I was wigging out. I could not believe it at all. I took the award dizzy with pride and a sense of obscure achievement -what did such a concept as this really mean to anybody? But that made me happy, like I had somehow succeeded in school, that I had reached some personal goal I had not been able to even identify.


Goodbyes

And then we graduated.

I thought back on the high school experience. So much had happened. I'd fallen for so many girls, none of them fruitful, but quite a collection of misadventures, to be sure. And yet, only the most recent of them seemed to matter to me, despite my having given up on it. The most important things of all though, were the people with whom I was graduating. And who would soon scatter across the nation, going to different colleges. Our bond was ending.

They held the graduation ceremony in our luxurious GYM, stocked full of blowing fans because there was no air conditioning. We graduates stood around in the locker rooms until it was time to march. We had many hours standing in line, so I developed a game with those around me, whereby we run through the alphabet and each person has to think of a geographic location starting with their letter. Simple and meaningless, but it at least occupied the mind.

When time came for the graduation itself, they had all of us IB candidates stand up and get our special plaques. And of course, there were various long-winded but well-intended speeches about graduation. Numerous 'road of life' and similar metaphors were explained. Family members in the crowd cheered at their graduates.

The reception was all half-hearted and hurried goodbyes. None of it felt right, but it was the end.
Many of us seniors still had the senior overnight afterwards, so we hung out a while before packing into a bus that brought us to an 'undisclosed location'. There were batting cages and laser tag and minigolf, but these things didn't matter. It was the people.

What followed was a fun, if bittersweet night. I found myself wandering between groups of people, worried that I might get stuck and forget about someone important. I laughed it up with Vu and Dave. I minigolfed with Doug. I laser tagged with Nate. I played cards with Molly. I caught Vorn and T getting cozy together, and I smiled at them. I had reconciled my emotions toward her -or perhaps the emotions had been drowned out by the more pertinent and sad looming goodbyes.

Later I sat next to Vorn and watched people dancing ridiculous moves to the music. We were half asleep, but we had what could be considered a relaxing and pleasant conversation, with the hint of dread that 3am adds to such things. Between sentences we spent most time just staring into space, and I just enjoyed the company.

"This is it, isn't it?" I asked, "I can't believe it came so fast."

Yep. It's over.

"Some of us we'll see later in college, but I guess most of these people we won't see again, right?"

Ya. It's sad. But we'll definitely see each other, Charlie.

"I hope so." I got up, stretching my legs in preparation for making the rounds. "Well, I'll see you around then," I said.

Not so much to her maybe, but to everyone. However strong my feelings had been for Vorn, there were more important -if more latent- feelings for all of the friends I had made that year. We'd been to hell and back, or so it had felt.

"I'll see you around."

I wanted to think so, but there was part of me that knew. Things change, circumstances will be different. Some things are over. Other things begin out of nowhere.

But I knew that the bond we all had the entire year was coming to an end, and the environment that had brought us together was crumbling. We were free to escape from one another, but at the same time it felt forceful. Like life intended for us to part ways, or at the very least shake things up a bit. The future was a crap shoot -who knew how people would come back together.

It's the people you don't say 'I'll see you around' to that you end up hanging out with the most. The people it seems hard to say goodbye to, the people with whom guarantees are made -we will DEFINITELY get together- those are the ones you often end up losing, one way or another. New people come along, new flames erupt in the heart, and they take the place of old ones, however preciously remembered. Try as you might to hold on to the memories, but all they amount to eventually are mementos, hazy imagery, and perhaps a little warming of the soul that comes with a fondly remembered name. The reminder that once, this very thing held more importance than anything else. But they are necessarily nothing compared to the latest friendships, the newest loves.

I made my round of goodbyes as well as I could. Not perfectly, certainly. But I did what I did. And thankfully, I was lucky enough to see some of these friends again. This is all one could ask for, really. Just a few familiar faces, even if they were unexpected ones. It seems the only constant in life is its unexpectedness, its unrelenting ability to surprise you.
Perhaps there is a comfort in that.

It's something to ponder.






(This was chapter number nine of my personal accounts, "-Liking-: Refractions and Infractions" )

(Next chapter: "X) Epilogue" )