Honor’s Breakfast. Prom. Senior Walk. Senior Picnic. Graduation. Senior Year. Forever eleven. The culmination of our high school careers. We started off as Hurricanes or Cardinals and transformed into untamable Mustangs. Our futures will soon blur together in a midst of burnt orange, maroon, purple, yellow, Carolina blue, crimson, ultimately creating a rainbow of diverse and eclectic colors that represent who we are. Together, we will graduate, but separately we will embark on life’s journey and face our own challenges. Together we will make mistakes, but together we will continue to learn from them. We will take risks and wade past shallow waters.


Oh, the middle school years. That awkward time period where individuality is considered being exactly the same as the next person. Those regretful attempts at looking like Hilary Duff and listening to music that was far from ever making it onto your iPod today. The first unfamiliar fluttering of butterfly wings in the abdomen when you saw that boy in a different way. The first sting from the baby with the arrows. The first stories of new crushes shared with your best friend. I remember roaming the halls of Blalack Middle School with mine. Now, I confidently stride down the halls of Creekview, looking at them as if we were complete strangers. Oh, the middle school years, when we were more concerned with what people thought of us than what we thought of ourselves.


Variety. Music. Flavors. Right side: multitude of chocolates, frozen yogurts, and birthday cake ice cream overwhelming all innocent bystanders. Left side: deep fried goodness of golden brown crinkle cut French fries, grilled and greasy burgers, and tender chicken sandwiches. I grab my usual – chocolate single dip waffle cone – and make my way towards our familiar booth, slipping into welcoming memories of reminiscent times—times of tranquility, times when life wasn’t so complicated. When ice cream was the quick simple fix to broken friendships, crayons ruined in the laundry, and playground scrapes. When worries were not about meeting deadlines, making payments, or deciding what we want to do with the rest of our lives. As little drops of ice cream race one another down the crunchy waffle cone and melt away, so do our problems and worries. We enjoy one another’s company as if we could make this moment last another childhood, acting as if our lives were not about to change in a few short months, as if we were about to walk through the doors of our elementary schools, hand in hand, side by side.