Walking the crowded halls, face down, hardly breathing as you mindlessly wind your way to a classroom you could care less about. To sit next to people you barely know. To hear a teacher talk about something that will never matter to you.


You’re pissed you have to come here everyday and you feel like you’ll never see the point in attending this drama-filled hell that claims four years of your life. No one knows you. No one cares what you have to say. You’re one out of two thousand. What do you matter, right?
Wrong. Completely and one hundred percent wrong.
This is your life. If anything should matter to you, it is these four years. Some sit there and hate it when they could embrace it and make it their own. You belong to this school just like North belongs to you. It’s a part of you. Why would you let a piece of you die? Every second you spend hating your environment is another second you will never get back. You only have so many years to live and if four of those precious years are going to be spent at North, you should make the most of it.
You want to be heard? Speak.
You want to be noticed? Show up.
You want to matter? Do something.
Nobody is going to turn you away from a club. These truly are some of the best years of our lives. If that isn’t true for you, then you didn’t live high school to its full potential. This is the age where we start to find ourselves and how are you going to do that when you’re living like a hermit crab all alone in your own shell? You don’t have to become class president or even join anything. Maybe it’s just showing up for the basketball games. Maybe it’s going to see Mr. FHN and supporting the other kids at our school. Maybe it’s dressing up for spirit weeks. Or, maybe it’s walking through the halls and feeling the spirit of North take over. You keep your chin up, you smile at someone, and you walk into that classroom you once hated and realized you misunderstood.
There is a place for you here, just take the time to find it. When you walk up on stage in your graduation gown and are handed that little piece of paper that says you survived a whole four years of high school, make sure you will be walking away with more than just a small piece of compressed tree and a handshake from a principal you don’t even recognize