When that loud, monotone bell rings throughout the hallways, teenagers joyously rise out of their uncomfortable seats, filing out the classroom door and into the white-washed hallway, savoring those few glorious minutes of social time before they have to continue on to the next boring class.
Everybody knows navigating the halls of a high school strikingly resembles driving on a interstate. There are four lanes of traffic, split down the middle.
The right lane on each side is for those who stop at their locker to converse with friends for what seems like forever before finally reaching in to grab their binders and notebooks.
The left lane on each side is for those hurrying to get to class, trying to narrowly dodge the students who all of a sudden stop in the middle of the hallway to greet a friend or try to cross the other two lanes of students to reach their locker but can’t because of the oncoming traffic.
In other words, high school hallways are frustrating. They’re good practice for the freshmen and sophomores who are yearning to get their driver’s license; they’re also beneficial for some of the arrogant upperclassmen who think they can drive well but fail to realize that the fact that they passed their driving test is a miracle.
Of course, she knew this. When other kids were content with talking to their friends in the short amount of time before they had to return to class, she was content with observing. Her icy blue eyes caught everything.
They caught the group of cheerleaders walking side by side down the hallway, forcing all travelers in all four lanes to squeeze to the side in order to escape the line. She saw a few of the football players leaning against lockers, one arm dangerously close to being snapped shut inside a locker if the targeted girl (so beautiful and graceful it was a shock she wasn’t a cheerleader) decided that his dazzling looks weren’t worth the cheesy pick-up lines and shameful arrogance.
Her eyes caught the nerds ducking in and out of others, both arms wrapped around a stack of books held to their chest, glasses askew. She saw outcasts skimming the sides of the crowds gathered at the lockers, trying to avoid the chaos in the middle of the hallway the best they could.
So many different groups and looks existed. Sometimes believing that everybody was of high school age proved difficult (what with the different maturity levels of certain groups).
Yet they were the future. This particular high school, along with thousands, even tens of thousands across the nation, were the future. Each student had a certain ability, a certain idea, or a certain skill to contribute to making the country—even the world—a better place.
Here they were. The future, in the shape of young adults ending their conversations with friends to get to the next class on time, remained young. Its outcome remained yet unseen.
The potential, however, remained brilliant. . .if only the chaos of high school was gathered and turned into a power to be reckoned with—a power to change the future.
She saw it. Engraved into the folds of her brain even as she entered classroom 101 (geometry), she recognized it. Things could change if each individual—the cheerleader, the jock, the nerd, the outcast—did what they did best and joined forces to create wonderful, innovative things.
She wondered what would happen when these very same individuals were encouraged, supported, and loved in the environment around them, and even the environment everywhere they went.
Wouldn’t that be something?