"Americana Experience"
by Heather Lynn
Editor's note: Heather is a student at North Central High School in Spokane.

The American high school experience is just that- an experience. It's something of a great rebuilding time after the massive psychological damage of junior high. With the building, of course, means problems during construction. The need to blend in with everyone else, fade into gray, conflicts with the need to stand out, tangerine orange. I have yet to conclude what color falls in between the two.

It's a nerve wracking period at the peak of your teenage years; you're more or less in a fishbowl, and you're not only being watched; you're trying not to get eaten. Cannibalism happens, people. I'm sure there is a chance that it happened somewhere with a bunch of goldfish or Sea Monkeys.

Through my time here, I've heard on way too many occasions, "These are the best years of your life." I think it is about time to hire someone new to advertise the greatness of high school, and it should be more truthful, instead of a blatant lie. Well, maybe "lie" is a bit harsh, but averaging out my experience, I give it an indifferent "…eh."

Today I was asked by one of the yearbook girls if I have changed more externally or internally. I could tell she wanted to applaud herself because she thought she was asking me a supposedly higher-level question about who I really am as a person. Remember children, "both" is not an acceptable answer. I was in a mood where I was on the brink of screaming at the next person who even looked in my general direction, so I said to her, "What the hell; I'm feeling vain. Let's go for external." I wondered if she really wanted my honest answer to the question. I could have said "internally," and said that these past four years have instilled in me a good sense of skepticism, sarcasm and pessimism, but I have heard that these are things that a person should not be or have a good dose of, like I do.

What kind of question is that, though? Of course we've changed, and I hope in both categories. In fact, I know we all have. Teenagers are so indecisive. Only about two percent of us know what we plan on doing after this. Only about point two percent will end up doing that. But what am I saying? My numbers are completely fake- based on nothing. All I know is right now, the senior class is out of our minds. The closer we are getting to June, the more we are panicking. I'm hysterical, asking random classmates for input. I keep stumbling onto people I wouldn't expect to meet, and engaging in long discussions with them about the near-distant future. Those I thought who were the model students and self-actualized are still in the dark forest with me.

Freshman year we could rattle off exactly what we wanted to do, and if not, it didn't matter; three more years were still in front of us. Now we are careful not to be too specific and box ourselves into something. Wait, what if I don't want that after all? Working nine to five in a cubicle…oh my God, I don't want to live in Office Space… We begin to really think we can look at the big picture and rationalize all of this out. We find some way to not pick a specific major, or even a college. We find a way around it. I learned last week that a cocktail waitress makes eighty-grand a year in Las Vegas. I think it's time I practice walking in four-inch heels for hours at a time saying things like, "Another Scotch and soda for you, sir?" I've been making a mental list of things I could more or less reasonably do, without aid of a college education. Naturally, this creates static when I would basically be the first one in my family going to college. But sorry dear, Heather is getting cold feet…

I start backtracking in my mind, thinking of all the things I could have done to make me look like I cared about my future. Instead, I kept to myself. Perhaps, I could have joined cheerleading, and seen that maybe, if possible, they are humans after all. Or I could have been in a play and learned actors aren't so dramatic all the time after all. Or I could have tried out for a sport, and learned that despite getting special treatment for no apparent reason, athletes have feelings too. Or I could have continued on with the AP classes and seen that they aren't so neurotic all of the time. But instead, I base my high school experience on five-second interactions in the hallway. A softball chick slams past me. I get checked into a late-70s color scheme locker. A drama kid decides it would be funny to snatch my Sinatra hat and talk with a horrible English accent. A cheerleader gives me the once over, stopping an extra second to look at my hair, which is multicolored. After awhile, this starts to Tetris in my mind, and I'm about ready to lose my composure.

So now, my four years is almost over, and I'm clinging to little bits of nostalgia and I'm ready to kick the door down and get out of Dodge. If I leave high school, I'll have to grow up and face the world. I can't say that I'm ready to leave my inconsiderate incubator for something called that stupid term and place known as the "real world." However, I think I have already encountered the real world because of my four-year tour here. I have learned the hierarchy of society. The pretty people reign, and they are usually intellectually devoid. The voices that really should be heard won't be, because, duh, we can't have any group ruling supreme over the beautiful ones, now can we? Who knows, though, the odds are very good I'm wrong about all of this and the world does really change beyond high school and I'm just being my ever-negative self. I actually do hope it's different.