I Still Don’t Know If I Want To Go Back For Senior Year
The registration form’s been open on my laptop for three days. My cat Mochi is curled up on the printed copy I dragged out last night, her paw resting right on the checkbox that says “in-person learning” and I keep staring at it like if I look long enough it’ll check itself. It’s due Friday. Everyone’s already decided. All the people in my class group chat are posting about locker decorations and homecoming outfits and I just scroll past and don’t comment.
I went to that mandatory in-person orientation back in June, just to see what it felt like. Forgot literally everything. Walked into the cafeteria and couldn’t remember how to carry a tray, the little slippery plastic kind that tips if you don’t hold it just right, and I bumped into a guy from my chemistry class two years ago and spilled my whole iced tea all down the front of my light blue jeans. I just stood there for a second, sticky, and said sorry like five times and he just shrugged and walked away. Didn’t even recognize me. That’s when it hit me: we all changed, right? We all got used to being in our own little bubbles for so long that I don’t even know who these people are anymore, and they don’t know me.
Online works for me. I get up at 8:25 for my first class that starts at 8:30, no waiting for the bus in the rain, no fixing my hair to look like I didn’t roll out of bed. If my anxiety gets bad halfway through lecture, I can turn my camera off and breathe for five minutes, no one staring. I can pause the video to make toast or take Mochi out in the backyard to chase squirrels. I got done with all my finals last semester a week early and had time to work on my art portfolio for college apps, something I never would’ve had energy for if I was sitting through seven hours of school then bus rides then homework every night. I like my routine. It’s quiet, it’s mine.
But everyone acts like I’m crazy for even considering staying home. My mom keeps saying “you’ll regret it forever, senior year is supposed to be the best year of your life” and I nod but I don’t say that the last time I was in school full time I had a panic attack in the library during finals week and hid in a handicap stall for 45 minutes until she could come get me. My best friend Lila’s going back, she keeps texting me about matching senior hoodies and getting boba after school and going to prom together, and I haven’t replied to her last text in two days. I don’t know how to tell her I’m scared that if I go, I’ll just spend the whole year hiding in the bathroom during lunch again, like I did before COVID.
When I was at orientation, the hallways were so loud. I forgot how loud 300 people talking all at once is. My ears were ringing by the time I left, and I had a headache that lasted until the next morning. I stood by my old locker for ten minutes trying to remember the combination, and when I finally got it open all that was in there was a crumpled pack of gum and a picture of me and Lila at sophomore homecoming that’s faded at the edges. I put it in my pocket and walked out, and that’s when I saw Mia, who I used to eat lunch with every day before we went online. She was with a whole new group of girls I didn’t recognize, laughing, and she just waved at me from across the hall and turned back. I didn’t blame her. We haven’t had a real conversation in two years. But it still felt like a little kick in the chest, like all those old friendships just dissolved while we weren’t looking, and I’d have to start all over again if I go back, and I don’t know if I have the energy for that.
I go back and forth all day. This morning I thought okay, fine, I’ll check the in-person box. I want to walk across the stage at graduation, I want to take dumb prom photos with Lila, I don’t want to look back in ten years and wonder what it would’ve been like. But then this afternoon I was sitting in the backyard painting, and Mochi was chasing a butterfly, and I thought why would I give this up? Why would I trade all this quiet time I need to get ready for college for a year of awkward small talk and tight chests and spilled iced tea on my jeans?
No one talks about the part where senior year doesn’t have to be the same for everyone. No one says it’s okay if the best senior year for you is the one you spend in your room with your cat and your paintbrushes, instead of in a crowded cafeteria. I know I’ll probably let people down if I pick online. My mom will be disappointed, Lila will be sad. But what if I’m happier this way?
The clock just hit 9:17. Mochi just stretched and knocked the printed registration form off the bed. I still haven’t checked the box. I still have three more days to decide. I don’t know what I’m going to do.
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