The light from outside is toned out by the harsh fluorescent lights from above. As I sit in this uncomfortable plastic chair, surrounded by people, I unconsciously feel my legs shaking, my fingers passing each other. In the brief moments where my thoughts have found a moment of calm, I can hear the agent ask me “Have you made one of these before?” My focus shifts. My eyes hesitate to meet the stares of everyone else, my counselor, the social worker, my mom who stares back with. a look that’s equally full of guilt and pain, the two agents dressed in formal attire with red lanyards around their necks. I answer with a soft no and begin focusing on the scenery behind it all. The soft, slow flakes of mid-winter drift through the air, dropping from the grey, dreary sky above. The sound of cars passing by is noticeable yet hard to focus on for long enough. I wonder if the park is full. People enjoying their time in the snow, dogs rolling around and playing with one another. I wonder if life really is still going on even from this bland cell I’ve been trapped in.

Dropping out of high school was not on my list of things to do. It did not coexist with the dreams I once had of taking my acute form of privilege and going to the top colleges possible, ensuring my future success for the next few years after graduation. It instead amounted to two years of hopping in and out of alternative schools, accompanied by constant emails from professors who were both concerned yet angered by my lack of motivation. The last memory from within the halls of Tech serve as nothing more than a reminder of the system that failed me. The system that tried its best to help, yet fell short in every way possible.