2012 Senior Issue by The Harbinger

WILLIAM GEDDES | Military Man

SENIOR PLANS ON GOING TO TEXAS A&M TO BE IN THE MARINE CORE AND MARCHING BAND

Next year, William Geddes will embark on the great college journey and become a Fish. A musicallyinclined Fish that wakes up at 6:30 a.m. and turns out the lights at 9:30 p.m. and doesn’t skip stepping stairs and that walks on the third tile. A hardworking, disciplined Fish. Or, in laymen’s terms, a freshman in the Texas A&M Corps of Cadets. He’ll wake up in his “fish hole,” or dorm room, to blank white walls and a spotless desktop and an organized closet with three uniforms hanging in it. The sophomores, or Pissheads, will come into his room shortly after and make sure everything is up to inspection; jacket buttons polished, shoes shined and maroon and white bed sheets tucked so tight that a quarter can bounce off of it. Next, he’ll line up in the quad wearing a uniform with “Air Force” and “Marching Band” patches on each shoulder. He’ll stand tall during roll call before running into the mess hall to eat with 2,000 other Corps members in 20 minutes. The rest of his day will include a rigorous physical training activity, a marching band class, regular academic classes for his economics major, another formation, a 20-minute meal time and study hours. He’ll go to bed, wake up, repeat. “They breed you for intelligence, leadership and discipline,” Geddes said. Despite the intense schedule, there are things to look forward to like the camaraderie of the program, and, most importantly to Geddes, fall football.

TAKANORI SAWAGUCHI | Headed Home AFTER CLASSMATES HAVE CHOSEN THEIR PLACE NEXT YEAR, TAKA WILL RETURN TO JAPAN While the rest of his classmates declare their colleges, senior Takanori Sawaguchi is just beginning his applications process. Students might find it odd to wait until summer to approach colleges, but this is the routine time of year for admissions at Waseda University, Sawaguchi’s dream school. July and September are the peak months of the applications season -- in Japan, that is, where Sawaguchi will move after graduation. “It’s been my plan for so long to return to Japan,” Sawaguchi said. “Waseda has always been the school of my dreams.” Sawaguchi was born in Japan and lived there for 12 years. His family moved after his dad, the president of GPS company Point Incorporated, transferred to Kansas. The transition was a shock at first, but Sawaguchi quickly adapted. He competes with DECA, cheers for the Chiefs and feels that he speaks nearly impeccable English. Despite becoming comfortable in the US, Sawaguchi looks forward to returning to his home country. “I’m not fed up with Kansas, but I want to move to a different place,” Sawaguchi said. “I like the university format there, my family is there and it seems right to go back.” Waseda University is the highest-esteemed economic university in Japan, which is why Sawaguchi is interested in attending there. In September, Sawaguchi will take an admissions test for the school, where

he hopes to study business, economics or law. If he is not accepted, Sawaguchi takes another school’s test, and another, and another, continuing the process until he is accepted. “If I don’t make it, I have to go to another college,” Sawaguchi said. “And I probably won’t do as well, or study as hard, because I’ll be depressed since I’ve wanted [Waseda] for so long.” Despite his return to Japan, Sawaguchi wants to retain his ties to the U.S. He will return to the United States for graduate school or law school and is interested in working for an international trading company so that he can continue to travel between the two countries. “I love it, because if I had just stayed in Japan I’d only know Japanese culture,” Sawaguchi said. “And the same thing if I had only ever lived in the U.S. But I know both of them, so I know what’s good and bad about each culture, and I’ve really had an amazing time and experience throughout my six years in the U.S.” Although he will miss his fellow Lancers and the American sporting scene, Sawaguchi knows that returning to Japan is the right decision for him. All that is left is a summer of preparation as the senior readies himself for the exams that can make or break his dreams. STORY BY JULIA POE

Game days are a big deal at most D1 schools, but, like everything else in Texas they’re bigger. As a member of the marching band, Geddes will play his trumpet and march his pristinely shined shoes on Kyle Field in front of 80,000 Aggies. He used to go to games with his family -- the school and Corps are a family tradition his grandfather started 67 years ago -- and watch the Corps of Cadets march. Going to and marching at A&M was a dream that would require his joining of the Corps so he could get scholarship money. Geddes waited until the last possible minute until deciding he was up for the challenge. The same week, he started taking fitness classes at Revolution Gym to get ready for the grueling year ahead. He chose to be a part of the air force outfit next year because it’s the most math and science heavy. He hopes to be a part of the A Battery company because it’s the most academically strong group, and the “guys are cool,” too. He admits he feels a little behind since the majority of his soon-to-be classmates were involved in the ROTC program or attended military academy high schools. “I don’t know if anything in high school really prepared me for this,” Geddes said. But with the boot camp he’s attending and advice from his grandfather about being in the Corps, Geddes doesn’t expect to be a fish out of water next year. STORY BY CHLOE STRADINGER

LIZ RODGERS | Making the Cut

FORMER DRILL TEAM MEMBER GOES ON TO DANCE IN COLLEGE

Standing in a gym with 40 girls, senior, Liz Rodgers, tried to look as put together for the judges as possible. This audition for Missouri State University was the deciding factor in where Rodgers would be attending college. Rodgers has been dancing since she was twoand-a-half years old. Before sixth grade, she tried out three dance studios in Kansas, but Rodgers found her home at Jody Phillips Dance Company when she was in sixth grade. “The teachers probably caused me to stay at Jody Phillips,” Rodgers said. “They were super welcoming and pushed me even within the first few classes to become a better dancer.” About three years after Rodgers began dancing at Jody Phillips, she met Lexi Glover, the dance teacher who inspired her to dance in college. “Glover went to LA and pretty much made it dancing,” Rodgers said. “Just the way she talks about it made me realize that she really loved it, and if you want to pursue it you can.” Rodgers’ dream to dance in college led her to look at Lindenwood University in St. Charles, Missouri, Avila University in Kansas City, Missouri, and Kansas State University before deciding on Missouri State University. “Originally I chose to look at [Missouri State University] because they’re fifth in the nation for jazz right now, and they have a really good dance team,” Rodgers said. “Then, after I made the dance team, it was official that I was going there.”

Before tryouts, Rodgers had to attend to clinics, one of these two weeks before and the other the Friday before the Saturday tryout. With the coach watching at all times, the girls participating in the clinic worked on jazz, hip hop and turns and leaps across the floor. Rodgers was not scared away by the 50 strangers at the clinic that she went to alone. She came to her first day of tryouts on Saturday at 7:30 a.m. ready to learn her jazz combination. Before cuts were made, the girls performed the jazz combination in groups of two while the judges took notes on their performance and technique. “I was feeling really nervous,” Rodgers said. “I didn’t know anybody, so it was even more nerve-racking because I couldn’ t talk to anyone about it. It was just scary, but I felt a lot better after the first round.” The second day of tryouts followed, and the girls who made the cut came back and learned a hip hop combo and head springs, k kicks and stalls, all breakdancing tricks.. Later they performed the hip hop combo for the judges, along with the fight song, which they had learned at camp. They also did the jazz combo again with everyone and had a personal interview with the judges and coach. There are eight new freshmen on the team and one new sophomore -- 16 overall. “I like the atmosphere of the team,” Rodgers said. “It will be really fun.” STORY BY LEAH PACK

FED ZEPEDA | Lessons in Faith SENIOR TO STUDY IN JEWISH HOMELAND, ISRAEL, THIS COMING SEMESTER Senior Federico Zepeda has felt a connection every time he has visited Israel. He always felt deeper in his Jewish faith – like he was a part of the history. He saw what had taken place in the Holy Land. It has always felt right. When he visits Israel next year, he hopes to feel the same way. “When I go to Israel, I feel really close to Judaism,” Zepeda said. “I feel a connection because it is the only Jewish country out there. It is a very philosophical place where you can learn a lot. [I] get to really connect the Old Testament to [historic] events and the actual places where those [events] occurred.” Zepeda will spend next year in Israel studying abroad through Yeshivat Orayta. The program will be equivalent to a year’s credit spent in the United States if Zepeda attends Yeshiva University in New York City after studying abroad. Zepeda’s parents have always wanted him to attend a program in Israel. They felt that it was an educational opportunity and a year that Zepeda could personally grow. Originally, Zepeda planned to do a program through Imadi at Hebrew University, but it was no longer being offered. Zepeda was forced to look for another plan where he could spend a year in Israel studying religious texts. “The last time I went to Israel, I went through a different program where we traveled through Poland and Israel,” Zepeda said. “We got to see the concentration camps from the Holocaust and other historic places. I was amazed that someone could do that to another

human being. I personally felt like as if someone was taking a sledgehammer to my heart.” Next year, Zepeda will only stay in Israel, based in the city of Jerusalem. From there, he will travel to different sites that are mentioned in the Old Testament. Zepeda will be going to where Moses split the Red Sea, the Western Wall and the graves of historic Jewish leaders -- Abraham, Isaac, Rebecca Jacob and Rachel. He has been involved with his temples, Beth Israel Avraham Voliner and Congregation Beth Shalom, for the past 14 years. Through his congregations, he built a relationship with the people there. Zepeda has been an instrumental part in his youth group. He is in two youth groups and is the chapter president of Kansas City National Conference of Synagogue Youth (NCSY) and a board member of the Kansas City United Synagogue Youth. He has met many students from Chicago through NCSY and the Israel trips he has taken through NCSY. “I actually have a lot of my friends, all over the country that are going to be in this same program [next year],” Zepeda said. Zepeda feels that his experience in Israel will teach him life lessons that will make him a better person. “The Torah dictates not only what you need to do, but the lifestyle you should live,” Zepeda said. “I truly believe by learning the true meaning of everything and every word of the Torah and the Old Testament, it can shape the way Americans live. By learning it and studying it, you have so much more knowledge that you can live a much fuller life.” STORY BY ANNE WILLMAN

ALEX CRANE| Fighting for Fantasy

SENIOR PLANS ON STUDYING THE WORLD OF INTERACTIVE MEDIA AND GAME DESIGN IN THE FALL Designing video games is becoming more than a virtual reality for senior Alex Crane, the only member of the Class of 2012 headed into the world of interactive game design. “I think at some point every teenage boy wants to make video games, or something along those lines,” Crane said. “Instead of being the type that just sits down and plays them all weekend – I like creating them.” Under the rigor of a two-year program at Johnson County Community College, Crane will be deciding between an interactive media and game design major next year, which he hopes to take on to a four-year art college or design college in Vancouver. While his plans are still tentative, his passion is far from it. “I’ve always liked art and creating specific scenes and moods with paintings and things,” Crane said, “but with animations, you can create a whole world of your own.” While studying Animation and Interactive Media at Broadmoor for a year, Crane decided that he could move his paintings and sculptures into a more applicable form of creativity. His inventive nature has led him to formulate plans for multiple interactive application designs. “I’m planning certain things,” Crane said. “Like, an app that can stimulate the minds of kids with Downs Syndrome. There’s also an app where if you held up

KASHA PRINZING | Advancing In Art SENIOR RECEIVES SCHOLARSHIPS TO STUDY BOTH PIANO AND ENGLISH NEXT FALL

Five years ago, senior Kasha Prinzing was ready to quit piano. She had become burned out and wanted to stop practicing the instrument that she had been playing for the previous eight years. Now, Prinzing is grateful that she stuck with it. “[My mom told me] if you drop it right now, you won’t go back to it when you’re [an] adult, you won’t stick with it through college, and then you won’t have it for life,” Prinzing said. “So I stuck with it, and I’m really glad I did.” This fall, Prinzing will be attending St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minnesota to start work on her double major in piano performance and English literature. Prinzing applied for piano and art scholarships at the college, in addition to her academic scholarships. Later, she found out that she had received the second best scholarship for art and the best scholarship available for piano. The scholarships will help to reduce the cost of tuition to less than half of the normal cost. “St. Olaf was always my first choice once I saw it,” Prinzing said. “It wasn’t the first one I visited, but it was the first one where I was like, ‘I can live here.’” Prinzing said that St. Olaf’s also made the top of her seven college list because of their piano program and faculty.

At the beginning of elementary school, Prinzing started taking lessons and has been learning and improving for the past 14 years. For her, the best part about playing is letting others enjoy the music. “I don’t like practicing, but I do enjoy performing for other people because I feel like it’s just a cool way to share my love of music with others,” Prinzing said. “[Also to] kind of have them understand, like ‘This is really cool, wow this composer was a genius.’ So, I think it’s just a cool way to share with other people the music.” Although her piano playing is helping pay for college, Prinzing isn’t planning on going into a piano performance career, due to the stress and highly competitive nature of the job. However, she plans on keeping music a part of her life. In the future, Prinzing says that she may give piano lessons to beginning- and intermediate-level students, but her main career will be focused around one of her other interests, reading. “I was like, ‘You know what, I enjoy reading so much I think I should make more books,” Prinzing said. “Because books are cool, and there should be more of them in the world, and so I just kind of decided, you know what, I need to write books.”

STORY BY STEPHEN COOK

your phone at a historic landmark, it would show you a 3D image of what it used to look like and what the people used to be like.” The most important aspect of interactive designs, Crane finds, is the ability to conjure a brand new medium for his inner eye. “When I was little, my friends and I used to make up these fantasy worlds, make up superheroes and whatnot,” Crane said. “Through [interactive media], I can create 3D things from my imagination.” Crane admires video games that “take the modern genres and turn them around,” like BioShock, originally developed by 2K Boston, and Shadow of the Colossus, published by Sony Computer Entertainment for the PlayStation 2. “There are the normal [video games] you see coming out every year, that are always the same,” Crane said. “But then there are some really artistic ones that have great stories -- those are the ones I usually like to play.” If Crane decides to go into game design and applies for a place at the selective Think Tank Training Centre in Vancouver, British Columbia, he’ll be able to study in a “one year intensive Diploma program,” and then be guaranteed with a developing job. “I like creating art,” Crane said. “I’d like to take that into the new media, the new fields.” STORY BY KAT BUCHANAN

LARSON WOOLWINE | Marching On

SENIOR CONTINUES HIS PASSION FOR MUSIC IN THE MARCHING BAND AT KU

Percussion has always a part of senior Larson Woolwine’s life. When he was a kid, Woolwine would entertain his parents by drumming with his silverware at the dinner table. If he heard music, he’d try to tap out the beat with his chopsticks. Playing the drums was always a recreation for Woolwine, but it wasn’t until eighth grade when his parents offered up drum lessons and he replied, “Sure, why not?” to taking his musical inclination to the next level. High school band was a new experience for Woolwine. He had never even been in a band, but quickly caught up to the level of his peers at the summer band camp. By junior year, Woolwine was involved in marching, symphonic and jazz band. Junior and senior year Woolwine was a part of the Kansas all-state band. Playing with nine of the best percussionist, Woolwine came to the realization of what he wanted to pursue in college: music. Woolwine narrowed his choices down to the University of Kansas (KU) and University of Missouri Kansas City (UMKC) – both of which have excellent music schools. Woolwine thought about UMKC, a college just down the street from his house. He knew they had a great music program, but wanted somewhere further from home and a bigger university. KU, a top 25 music school, was his golden ticket. Already accepted into the school as a normal student, Woolwine still had to audition to be accepted into the KU School of Music. This was Woolwine’s

shot. There he sat in front of three members of the percussion department faculty, and began playing. “Once I started playing, I settled in and it was normal for me,” Woolwine said. A month later, Woolwine received a letter in the mail, reading “Congratulations, you’ve been accepted into the KU School of Music.” Along with his music major, Woolwine had one more goal-to play with the KU drumline just like he had at East. After another audition, Woolwine became a member of the KU Drumline. “Being on drumline it kind of had the same sort of camaraderie that you have in like sports,” Woolwine said. “But I just like to be well rounded; like playing an instrument, for an example, and still playing sports. I still love sports and I’m going to follow them my whole life, but I’m not always going to be able to play them. And I’m probably going to be able to play drums my whole life.” Even though he is a music major, Woolwine will also still take basic freshman classes, along with finance and business classes, just in case music isn’t right for him and his future. “I don’t know if the music major is going to hold out through my four years, I might just decide it’s not for me,” Woolwine said. “But I want to go in as a music major because it’s something I really like to do and just have a lot of fun with and see where it takes me.” STORY BY MITCH KASKIE

MIRANDA TREAS | Taking Her Own Path SINCE STARTING HER OWN FASHION LINE, MIRANDA TREAS HAS FOUND SUCCESS IN DESIGN It’s a seven step process. A process that turns a pastime into an income. For senior Miranda Treas, sewing a pair of underwear has become a career. Treas started sewing in teacher Marsha Boyer’s sewing class her freshman year and quickly realized that she wasn’t content with following patterns -- she wanted to design her own dresses. She began buying clothes that were too large from thrift stores and then using the fabric to create whatever she liked. She figured it was a cheap way of getting unique fabrics to make one of a kind pieces. “I love designing clothes because I can make whatever I want and have complete freedom,” Treas said. “I couldn’t stand to follow all the directions and not be able to alter a pattern, so I started to play around with fabrics and patterns outside of the classroom.” This sense of freedom is what peaked Treas’ interest in designing. She began to participate as a designer in fashion shows and look for ways to get public recognition. She designed dresses for two consecutive National Art Honors Society (NAHS) fashion shows and one environmental fashion show. “The feeling [of seeing your clothes on the runway] is indescribable,” Treas said. “I’m proud of my work and I’m always excited to see my work pay off.” Next year at The University of Kansas (KU) she will be studying business to educate herself more about the specifics of entrepreneurship and owning a business so that she can be prepared to expand “Treas,” her own undergarment line. She received an internship with local designer Hadley Johnson going into last summer through her boy-

friend’s sister, Megan Wendt. Johnson offered Treas the internship after sewing together for some time. Johnson and Wendt are also good friends with Peregrine Honig the owner of the Downtown Kansas City lingerie shop “Birdies.” Honig saw Treas’ talent at Johnson’s studio and tested Treas’ skills by giving her fabrics to see what Treas would come up with. Honig was impressed enough to give Treas her own line of undergarments at Birdies called “Treas.” She has a process in which she creates each pair. “How I make a pair of underwear starts with cutting out the fabric” Treas said, “then serging [sewing] the pieces together, then sewing on the lace and panty liner and then sewing the bow, label and size tab.” According to Treas, she is hoping to grow her business and expand after college. “Eventually I want to make ‘Treas’ into an established brand and be successful,” Treas said. “Although, for now, I’m sticking with what I’m good at and playing it safe for the next couple of years. I would like to be able to gain more experience by interning with designers and successful businesses so I can be prepared to run my own.” She dreams to one day create custom couture dresses and expand into larger markets. “Eventually I would love to be an intern and make connections to clients in the fashion industry” Treas said. “At that point, I could successfully continue ‘Treas’ and create my dream business. I never want to lose my dream and have to settle for anything less than perfect.” STORY BY PAIGE HESS

The Monogram Shop congratulates the class of 2012!

To my first four-year senior class: I Love You!

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THE

2012 SENIOR BREAKDOWN THE 290 GRADS ARE GOING TO...

THE FINAL OPINION OF

MATT GANNON

DIFFERENT COLLEGES AND UNIVERSITIES

THE TOP IN-STATE COLLEGES

UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS

MOST INTERESTING MAJORS MARINE BIOLOGY

SCREENWRITING

PATRICK RIOTT: UNIVERSITY OF OREGON

ANNA DANCINGER: LOYOLA MARYMOUNT UNIVERSITY

AUDIO ENGINEERING/MUSIC PROD.

NUTRITION/DIETITIAN

JONAS BIRKEL: KINGSTON COLLEGE

GABRIELLE VANDERGRIFF: KANSAS STATE UNIVERSITY

116 STUDENTS

JOHNSON COUNTY COMMUNITY COLLEGE 56 STUDENTS

A MAJOR BREAKDOWN PREMED/NURSING: 7.4% JOURNALISM/STRATCOMM: 5.1%

KANSAS STATE UNIVERSITY 48 STUDENTS

ENGINEERING: 6.9% BUSINESS/FINANCE: 10.3% UNDECIDED: 16.5%

UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI 16 STUDENTS

OTHER: 53.8%

NOT ACCORDING TO PLAN

I’m going to be a Missouri Tiger next year. To almost all of you, that’s not a big deal. I’m just another kid going off to college. But what if I told you that just a month ago, I was superstitiously switching my socks at halftime of the National Championship, praying for a Jayhawk comeback. Jayhawks are supposed to hate Tigers. Trust me, I know. My room is painted crimson and blue, with autographs from Drew Gooden and Danny Manning and photos with Bill Self hanging throughout. I spent my whole life cherishing the few times I was in Lawrence, whether cheering at Allen Fieldhouse, or putting far too much Tabasco sauce on slices of pizza at Schlotzsky’s after football games. Right now you are probably thinking, “This guy is biggest backstabber since Benedict Arnold.” Who knows? I might be. But if there is one lesson I take away from East, it won’t be about circular integrals, the populist movement or the literary significance of Miss Havisham in “Great Expectations.” The most important lesson will be one I’ve learned multiple times -- in track, cross country and journalism. It’s a lesson of trial and error, of experimenting, of not settling with your first idea. Only a few months after watching the greatest Jayhawk team of my lifetime steal the National Championship from Memphis, I started my journey at East. I became a football player and a pretty dang bad one at that. I was the third-string tight end for the Freshmen B-Team. My biggest contribution to the team was my one catch: a lowly twoyard snag that I bobbled and dropped, but somehow painted the illusion of catching by landing on it. To put it bluntly, I sucked at football. Every minute that Mr. Layman’s lectured on about gangster math, I was dreading the moment I’d have to put on those pads in forty minutes. The up-downs, the murderous hills, the screaming of coach McGrain as I failed to get low enough on my tackles--it just wasn’t for me. And as the years went by, being a KU fan just wasn’t me. Yes, almost every shirt I own probably represents the ‘Hawks in some way, but I started to feel like the wannabe fans I mocked for years. I don’t really know what it was; it just became something casual. I didn’t care as much. My knowledge of the starting lineups dwindled tenfold. Heck, last season I couldn’t even name the starting quarterback of the football team. This realization epitomized this March, a

time where even the most fair-weather fans cheer until they’re red in the face from cursing out the ref who is just giving the game away. Yet, I found myself just not watching KU’s first game, and instead watching the entire Tiger loss against Norfolk State. And the thing was, I was pulling for Mizzou. I ended up watching another KU game until the Elite Eight, when I was essentially forced to at a watch party. It was then that I realized I was no longer a fan. It was like when I realized I never wanted to be a football player. It just wasn’t right. It reminded me of when I took a chance on something I had once hated, running, and turned into a varsity cross country career, where I would meet the best friends I’ve ever had. Throughout high school, I’ve continued to not just go with my first idea. In track, I’ve gone from a shot-put thrower to an 800 meter runner to a mile runner to a two mile runner and back to 800 meter runner, all in my four year career. So what does any of this have to do with me deciding to go to Missouri, possibly the worst thing any true Jayhawk fan can do? Well, when I visited Mizzou, just to appease a family friend and my mom, I kept looking for things to hate. But it didn’t happen. In fact, I found myself loving the feel of Columbia. It was just the right fit for me, as much as I hated the idea at the time. I could actually see myself slaving through the night in their journalism school, taking a morning run through scenic Columbia, and it wouldn’t hurt that some of my friends would be going there. It was familiar, but different. But I still questioned if I could actually turn on Big Jay and company. And then I realized that my life has never really gone according to plan. I’m not a football player. I’m not a straight A student. I’m not the senior leader whose voice commands the attention of the room. I’m not the huge Kansas fan I once was. MU felt right. KU didn’t. It was as simple as that. And East has taught me that if something just feels right and you enjoy it, you should stick with it. And who should care about where I go to college? It’s my choice. I’m the one spending the next four years of my life there. Now, I’m not saying that MU is better than KU. I’m just saying don’t knock something, before giving it a shot. And that is why I’m going to Missouri.

ALABAMA

CONNECTICUT

UNIVERSITY OF ALABAMA

UNIVERSITY OF CONNECTICUT

Anna Marken

ARIZONA

ARIZONA STATE UNIVERSITY

Maggie Fenton Katherine Keohan Christian Wiles

Marston Fries

FLORIDA NOVA SOUTHEASTERN Ree Ae Jordan

UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA

Madeline Pigeon Camille Goehausen

KANSAS UNIVERSITY Katie House Hiba Akhtar Kristin Anthonis Bahar Barani Corbin Barnds Natalie Barnes Hallie Beck Charlie Belko Kyle Braddock Dylan Brett Kennedy Burgess Sam Byers Chris Carey

ARKANSAS UNIVERSITY OF ARKANSAS

Zach Jacobson Sarah Johnston Abby Jones Ian Kaiser Emily Kerr William Kenney Paige Kovarik Alex Lamb Theodore Lang John Lee Lanie Leek Ashley Lemos Thomas Lepichon Jake Libeer Emily Lindeman

Casey Shmidt Alex Schoegler Andrew Simpson Jake Seitz Ryan Seybert Adam Simmons Marlena Smith Madeline Sniezek Sophia Steckelberg Cassie Sterbenz Emily Tuttle Abbie Symes Evan Tarry Brooks Tate Miranda Treas Jack Tretbar Andrea Velez

IDAHO

Emma Cousineau Katie Crawford Sam Heneger Cara Shaw Lili Stalder Emma Sullivan Tracy Woltermath

NORTHWEST NAZARENE UNIVERSITY

CALIFORNIA

BRADLEY UNIVERSITY

Andrew Fischer Emily Frye Reid Frye Benjamin Garten Kellyn Harrison Molly Howland Sophia Hitchcock Molly Jennings Kellie Johnson Matthew Johnston Jack Kovarik Joseph Lewis Gillian Long Christa McKittrick Abigail McNitt Elizabeth Mergen Tyler Nelson Jason Sabin

Sean Cedillo Alexander Crane Taylor Crane Sean Chomicky Mathew Clark Henry Curfman Vilma Kreka Joseph Lemmon Stephen Cook Brandon Davis Jordan Davis Audrey DiCarlo Charlemagne DuboisSmith Haley Furstner Lukas Fleming Amy Franklin Michael Gentry

Michael Stonebarger Samuel Thomson Shannon Tuttle Victoria Vaca Molly Young Preston Vaughn Maxwell Welker Sarah Wilson Madeleine Wolford Nicolas White

COFFEYVILLE COMMUNITY COLLEGE

Dakota Collins

WICHITA STATE UNIVERSITY

Hayden O’Gorman

LOUISIANA UNIVERSITY OF NEW ORLEANS Luke Holsinger

TULANE

Joel Anderson

MARYLAND U.S. NAVAL ACADAMY

Tyler Germann

MICHIGAN KALAMAZOO COLLEGE

Isabelle Ciaramitaro

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN Grant Minick

TRUMAN STATE UNIVERSITY Tori Holt

WESTMINSTER COLLEGE

Xumei Chaney

UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI

SOUTHWEST BAPTIST UNIVERSITY

Trenton Barnes Andrew Beasley Patricia Dannov Grace Fritts Matt Gannon George Hamilton Robert Henley Jack Howland Blain Hill Blake Hill Kurt Jenson Ellie Jones

WESTERN UNIVERSITY

Jesus Olivarez

COLORADO COLORADO STATE UNIVERSITY Mollie Cooper Libby Eggleston Taylor Runion Cooper Hylton

UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO Jeff Cole Wilbert Williams

UNIVERSITY OF DENVER Sophie Poppie Brian Tucci

JOHNSON AND WALES Zane Haith Isaac Hendry

Melanie Fletcher Kennedy Grimes

WILLIAM JEWELL COLLEGE Alex Dressman Jessica Harmon Noah Bertholf

UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA-LINCOLN

THE COLLEGE OF WOOSTER

SOUTHERN METHODIST UNIVERSITY

NEW HAMPSHIRE

KENYON COLLEGE

TEXAS A&M

DARTMOUTH COLLEGE

OKLAHOMA

Chris Heady Kat Buchanan

Toni Aguiar

NEW YORK VASSAR COLLEGE

Spencer Davis Sarah King

THE NEW SCHOOL FOR JAZZ AND CONTEMPORARY MUSIC

UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI Kelly Kuhn KANSAS CITY Kurtis Blunt Mallory Fisher

Aidan Conley Andrew Herst

Maddie Sullivan

UNIVERSITY OF TULSA Lizzie Di Silvestro Meghan Spivak

OKLAHOMA STATE UNIVERSITY

PURDUE UNIVERSITY Lilly Myers

IOWA CORNELL COLLEGE Sara Cooper

CENTRAL COLLEGE Zachary Kasmiskie

KANSAS PITTSBURG STATE UNIVERSITY

Austin English Heather Hartong Haley Hansford Kathryn Morgan Mackenzie Nesselhuff Brianee Thompson

Emily Bates

VIRGINIA UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

Shannon McGinley

UNIVERSITE LIBRE DE BRUSSELS

Elliot Faerber

OREGON WILLAMETTE UNIVERSITY Becca Brownlee

Lucy Piette

ISREAL YESHIVA ORAYTA Federico Zepada

JAPAN JAPANESE COLLEGE

THE GRADUATING

CLASS OF

Mickela Miller

INDIANA

TRINITY UNIVERSITY

OKLAHOMA UNIVERSITY

Louis Ridgeway

Grant Kendall Haley Martin

William Geddes

BELGIUM

LOYOLA UNIVERSITY CHICAGO

COLUMBIA COLLEGE CHICAGO

Andrew Hornung Meghan Jackson

Lucy Lehoczky Kiki Sykes

ILLINOIS

UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

Amy Bonds

ST. LOUIS UNIVERSITY

Erin Reynolds

Takanori Sawaguchi

ELSEWHERE

Simon Choi Chelsea Clark Griffin Clark Josh Cook Sarah Cook Abbie Davis Jenna Davis Jade Delgado John Dods Wyatt Donnelly Emily Donovan Chloe Ducrocq Brendan Dulohery Rachel Enderson Michael Esselman Alexander Fanning Jack Fay Patrick Frazell Brady Forbes Michael Garringer Sam Gilman Carlos Gomez Sarah Griffith Jonathan Granstaff Andrew Green Spencer Green Calvin Handy Jack Haverty John Hendrick Andy Hiett Jennifer Horan John Horvath

SPLITS UP

Atiyeh Samadi

AZUSA PACIFIC

Camille Breckenbridge

Elena Hardy

LOYALA MARYMOUNT UNIVERSITY NORTHWESTERN Anna Dancinger UNIVERSITY Mallory Harrington UNIVERSITY OF Michael Hill CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO Mark Towster

Emily Kulaga Kate Kulaga Danielle Norton Amanda Chao

AVILA UNIVERSITY

Jacob Little Sean Luenz Ashley Lewis Sophia Mazzetti Elle McClenny Lizzy McConnell Eliza McCormick Ryan McNeil Megan Metz Droste Milledge Elijah Mitchell Abby Moore Adrienne Morgan Claire Newman Mary Newman Evan Nichols Jean Orr William Patrick Emma Pennington William Purdy Rhys Raglow Sam Rider Aidan Robbins Jameson Rogers Pierson Sargent Caroline Savage Chris Savage Jack Sayler

Emilie Wagner Evan Westhoff Josh Winter Taylor Wolf Carolyn Wolff Caroline Wooldridge Larson Woolwine Jacob Yedo Emilie Wagner Will Webber Boomer Welsh Jeremy Young

KANSAS STATE UNIVERSITY Alex Beahm Matthew Cantril Connor Carollo Tucker Clark Madelyn Collins Anna Cunningham Henry Curfman Morgan Denton Meghan Dickinson Helen Dinkle Henry Falk

Kelsey O’Rourke Natalie Patton Patrick Riggin Logan Rose Nathan Ross Maggie Thomas Conner Schrock Eric Sieck Henry Simpson Emily Stanley Tucker Styrkowicz Gabrielle Vandergriff Emma Van Buskirk Libby Wooldridge David Zeiger Madeleine Biles Andrea Erickson Samantha Williams Gabrielle Vandergriff

Mark Harken Jordan Harris Tyler Knight Jeanene Lawrence Jacob Little Elizabeth Locke Deon Mason Nathaniel McCloud Madeleine McMahil Frank Miner Howard Nelson Alexandria Nichols Simone Paton Kaitlyn Pattison Maribel Regalado Demi Rice Trent Richardson Christian Rumero Miguel Ruiz JOHNSON COUNTY Casey Schmidt COMMUNITY COLLEGE Brandon Shatto Rhonda Anzawi Scott Soltys Alec Bartholomew Nathalie Solgier Jonas Birkle Abby Stolberg Miguel Bojorquez Carter Stoleberg

KANSAS CITY ART INSTITUTE Edith Galacia Sam Stevens Angelica White

BAKER UNIVERSITY Andrew Long

BENEDICTINE COLLEGE Kara Hines Ben Randolph

BROADMOOR TECHNICAL CENTER

Stefania Backs Elli Walker Laura Guerro

EMPORIA STATE UNIVERSITY Kevin Ash Erin Burgess Caroline Nick

HUTCHINSON COMMUNITY COLLEGE

Christopher Pinne

Nathan Are

Adam Lowe Jake McCoy Chandler Pruneau Carolyn Welter

ST. OLAF COLLEGE

DRURY UNIVERSITY

MINNESOTA

MACALESTER COLLEGE

Mary Longan Kasha Prinzing

Mitch Daniel

AUSBURG COLLEGE

UNIVERSITY OF CENTRAL MISSOURI

GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS COLLEGE

STEPHENS COLLEGE

Tabor Jorns

Daniel Kurtz-Enko

UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA Grace Martin

MISSOURI WESTERN STATE UNIVERSITY Meara Smith

MISSOURI MISSOURI STATE UNIVERSITY Liz Rogers

Seth Ferguson Devery North

WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY IN ST. LOUIS Ian Wiseman

LONGVIEW COMMUNITY COLLEGE Ashley Pierret

MISSOURI UNIVERSITY OF SCIENCE & TECHNOLOGY Kyra Slemp

NORTHWEST MISSOURI STATE Megan Mills-Sturm Adam Brownlee

NEW YORK UNIVERSITY

NOT LISTED

Tom Lynch

Ellyn Gunya Adam Jones Tamas Kapros Alex Lavayen Wendy Monarres Natalie Pierce Kristen Shedor Nathalie Solger

MAPLEWOOD COMMUNITY COLLEGE Jacob Edwards

ROCKHURST UNIVERSITY Jill Saxton

NEBRASKA CREIGHTON UNIVERSITY

Henry Hoffman Philip Bever

NORTH CAROLINA

UNIVERSITY OF OREGON

WAKE FOREST UNIVERSITY

SOUTH CAROLINA

DAVIDSON COLLEGE Amy Sachse

COLLEGE OF CHARLESTON

UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA

TENNESSEE

Caroline Dodd

Duri Long

EAST CAROLINA UNIVERSITY Jordan Philips

OHIO

Patrick Riott

Abby Dunn

UNIVERSITY OF TENNESSEE Mimi Fotopoulos

VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY

DENNISON UNIVERSITY

Morgan Satterlee Leyann Dahlgren

MIAMI OF OHIO

BAYLOR UNIVERSITY

Jackson O’Gorman-Bean Logan Dalgleish

TEXAS

Christiana Reene

Nicole Cook Jordan Eimer Patricia Gonzalez Kylie Guess Theodore Jordan Harrington Ryan Knops Harrington Nicole Koch Shaeffer Hoefgan Yesenia Maldonado Keara Masson Michaela Mavai Allison Ross Vira Shchydlyuik Katie Shehan Jane Turner Lawrence Weigel Jacob Williams Loren Wiseman Nathan Zerba

ALABAMA

CONNECTICUT

UNIVERSITY OF ALABAMA

UNIVERSITY OF CONNECTICUT

Anna Marken

ARIZONA

ARIZONA STATE UNIVERSITY

Maggie Fenton Katherine Keohan Christian Wiles

Marston Fries

FLORIDA NOVA SOUTHEASTERN Ree Ae Jordan

UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA

Madeline Pigeon Camille Goehausen

KANSAS UNIVERSITY Katie House Hiba Akhtar Kristin Anthonis Bahar Barani Corbin Barnds Natalie Barnes Hallie Beck Charlie Belko Kyle Braddock Dylan Brett Kennedy Burgess Sam Byers Chris Carey

ARKANSAS UNIVERSITY OF ARKANSAS

Zach Jacobson Sarah Johnston Abby Jones Ian Kaiser Emily Kerr William Kenney Paige Kovarik Alex Lamb Theodore Lang John Lee Lanie Leek Ashley Lemos Thomas Lepichon Jake Libeer Emily Lindeman

IDAHO

Emma Cousineau Katie Crawford Sam Heneger Cara Shaw Lili Stalder Emma Sullivan Tracy Woltermath

NORTHWEST NAZARENE UNIVERSITY

CALIFORNIA

BRADLEY UNIVERSITY

Michael Stonebarger Samuel Thomson Shannon Tuttle Victoria Vaca Molly Young Preston Vaughn Maxwell Welker Sarah Wilson Madeleine Wolford Nicolas White

COFFEYVILLE COMMUNITY COLLEGE

Dakota Collins

WICHITA STATE UNIVERSITY

Hayden O’Gorman

LOUISIANA UNIVERSITY OF NEW ORLEANS Luke Holsinger

TULANE

Joel Anderson

MARYLAND U.S. NAVAL ACADAMY

Tyler Germann

MICHIGAN KALAMAZOO COLLEGE

Isabelle Ciaramitaro

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN Grant Minick

TRUMAN STATE UNIVERSITY Tori Holt

WESTMINSTER COLLEGE

Xumei Chaney

UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI

SOUTHWEST BAPTIST UNIVERSITY

Trenton Barnes Andrew Beasley Patricia Dannov Grace Fritts Matt Gannon George Hamilton Robert Henley Jack Howland Blain Hill Blake Hill Kurt Jenson Ellie Jones

WESTERN UNIVERSITY

Jesus Olivarez

COLORADO COLORADO STATE UNIVERSITY Mollie Cooper Libby Eggleston Taylor Runion Cooper Hylton

UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO Jeff Cole Wilbert Williams

UNIVERSITY OF DENVER Sophie Poppie Brian Tucci

JOHNSON AND WALES Zane Haith Isaac Hendry

Melanie Fletcher Kennedy Grimes

WILLIAM JEWELL COLLEGE Alex Dressman Jessica Harmon Noah Bertholf

UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA-LINCOLN

THE COLLEGE OF WOOSTER

SOUTHERN METHODIST UNIVERSITY

NEW HAMPSHIRE

KENYON COLLEGE

TEXAS A&M

DARTMOUTH COLLEGE

OKLAHOMA

Chris Heady Kat Buchanan

Toni Aguiar

NEW YORK VASSAR COLLEGE

Spencer Davis Sarah King

THE NEW SCHOOL FOR JAZZ AND CONTEMPORARY MUSIC

UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI Kelly Kuhn KANSAS CITY Kurtis Blunt Mallory Fisher

Aidan Conley Andrew Herst

Maddie Sullivan

UNIVERSITY OF TULSA Lizzie Di Silvestro Meghan Spivak

OKLAHOMA STATE UNIVERSITY

PURDUE UNIVERSITY Lilly Myers

IOWA CORNELL COLLEGE Sara Cooper

CENTRAL COLLEGE Zachary Kasmiskie

KANSAS PITTSBURG STATE UNIVERSITY

Austin English Heather Hartong Haley Hansford Kathryn Morgan Mackenzie Nesselhuff Brianee Thompson

Emily Bates

VIRGINIA UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

Shannon McGinley

UNIVERSITE LIBRE DE BRUSSELS

Elliot Faerber

OREGON WILLAMETTE UNIVERSITY Becca Brownlee

Lucy Piette

ISREAL YESHIVA ORAYTA Federico Zepada

JAPAN JAPANESE COLLEGE

THE GRADUATING

CLASS OF

Mickela Miller

INDIANA

TRINITY UNIVERSITY

OKLAHOMA UNIVERSITY

Louis Ridgeway

Grant Kendall Haley Martin

William Geddes

BELGIUM

LOYOLA UNIVERSITY CHICAGO

COLUMBIA COLLEGE CHICAGO

Andrew Hornung Meghan Jackson

Lucy Lehoczky Kiki Sykes

ILLINOIS

UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

Amy Bonds

ST. LOUIS UNIVERSITY

Erin Reynolds

Takanori Sawaguchi

ELSEWHERE

SPLITS UP

Atiyeh Samadi

AZUSA PACIFIC

Camille Breckenbridge

Elena Hardy

LOYALA MARYMOUNT UNIVERSITY NORTHWESTERN Anna Dancinger UNIVERSITY Mallory Harrington UNIVERSITY OF Michael Hill CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO Mark Towster

Emily Kulaga Kate Kulaga Danielle Norton Amanda Chao

AVILA UNIVERSITY

Emilie Wagner Evan Westhoff Josh Winter Taylor Wolf Carolyn Wolff Caroline Wooldridge Larson Woolwine Jacob Yedo Emilie Wagner Will Webber Boomer Welsh Jeremy Young

KANSAS STATE UNIVERSITY Alex Beahm Matthew Cantril Connor Carollo Tucker Clark Madelyn Collins Anna Cunningham Henry Curfman Morgan Denton Meghan Dickinson Helen Dinkle Henry Falk

KANSAS CITY ART INSTITUTE Edith Galacia Sam Stevens Angelica White

BAKER UNIVERSITY Andrew Long

BENEDICTINE COLLEGE Kara Hines Ben Randolph

BROADMOOR TECHNICAL CENTER

Stefania Backs Elli Walker Laura Guerro

EMPORIA STATE UNIVERSITY Kevin Ash Erin Burgess Caroline Nick

HUTCHINSON COMMUNITY COLLEGE

Christopher Pinne

Nathan Are

Adam Lowe Jake McCoy Chandler Pruneau Carolyn Welter

ST. OLAF COLLEGE

DRURY UNIVERSITY

MINNESOTA

MACALESTER COLLEGE

Mary Longan Kasha Prinzing

Mitch Daniel

AUSBURG COLLEGE

UNIVERSITY OF CENTRAL MISSOURI

GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS COLLEGE

STEPHENS COLLEGE

Tabor Jorns

Daniel Kurtz-Enko

UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA Grace Martin

MISSOURI WESTERN STATE UNIVERSITY Meara Smith

MISSOURI MISSOURI STATE UNIVERSITY Liz Rogers

Seth Ferguson Devery North

WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY IN ST. LOUIS Ian Wiseman

LONGVIEW COMMUNITY COLLEGE Ashley Pierret

MISSOURI UNIVERSITY OF SCIENCE & TECHNOLOGY Kyra Slemp

NORTHWEST MISSOURI STATE Megan Mills-Sturm Adam Brownlee

NEW YORK UNIVERSITY

NOT LISTED

Tom Lynch

Ellyn Gunya Adam Jones Tamas Kapros Alex Lavayen Wendy Monarres Natalie Pierce Kristen Shedor Nathalie Solger

MAPLEWOOD COMMUNITY COLLEGE Jacob Edwards

ROCKHURST UNIVERSITY Jill Saxton

NEBRASKA CREIGHTON UNIVERSITY

Henry Hoffman Philip Bever

NORTH CAROLINA

UNIVERSITY OF OREGON

WAKE FOREST UNIVERSITY

SOUTH CAROLINA

DAVIDSON COLLEGE Amy Sachse

COLLEGE OF CHARLESTON

UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA

TENNESSEE

Caroline Dodd

Duri Long

EAST CAROLINA UNIVERSITY Jordan Philips

OHIO

Patrick Riott

Abby Dunn

UNIVERSITY OF TENNESSEE Mimi Fotopoulos

VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY

DENNISON UNIVERSITY

Morgan Satterlee Leyann Dahlgren

MIAMI OF OHIO

BAYLOR UNIVERSITY

Jackson O’Gorman-Bean Logan Dalgleish

TEXAS

Christiana Reene

HARBINGER, IT’S BEEN REAL THE FINAL OPINION OF

JACK HOWLAND As a freshman, I always had an idea of what my senior column might be like. I thought maybe I would try to work lyrics from “Total Eclipse Of The Heart” into my opening so I could one day show the grandkids how I used to be funny. Or perhaps I would confront readers on how peeved I was when they crinkled up that 32-page, bi-weekly beauty. Or maybe, just maybe, I would put the entire thing in the Webdings font and let our reading audience try to decode “mailbox, telephone, schoolbus, golf pin” for 900 words. Whatever it was, I knew I wanted it to be one last journalistic “booya!” to send me out with a bang. But, as the end is in sight and graduation announcements are pouring in, it’s slowly starting to hit me — my high school journalism career, like everything else right now, is a goodbye. It’s a farewell to room 521 and its mountains of newsprint Harbingers that would give Al Gore a heart attack. It’s goodbye to that Chester fella and the sinking feeling in my stomach when I would get back a draft covered in more red ink than black. And as I sat down to write what was supposed to be a final hoorah, I realized that the end of high school journalism isn’t the “booya!” I thought it would be. Rather, it feels more like I was punched in the gut or read a Nicholas Spark’s novel where the blondehaired hunk goes off to war. Hell, it’s sad. I’ve realized that saying goodbye to journalism is saying goodbye to something that helped me find my way through high school. I know it’s hard to believe, but I was a pretty timid freshman. The bronzed, confident co-head copy editor and cross country captain you loyal Harbinger readers have come to love used to be a pretty shy, awkward freshman stereotype. When my mom dropped me off to school, I shuffled from class to class just wanting to blend in. I played football because it seemed like the popular choice. I sat at a lunch table with friends from middle school so I wouldn’t have to sell myself to new people like a used car. Then came second semester. I got the job of staff writer on the Harbinger and was thrilled to have the chance to see my name on a byline and my name at the bottom corner of the staff box in a font so small you needed a magnifying glass. But I was proud. I remember my first deadline night from that year and the pain in my spine as I hunched over a laptop and a hastily thrown together review of “Slumdog Millionaire.” What I re-

call even more was my copy editor Tim Shedor’s booming, accusatory voice directed at a page designer for putting only half of my story in the paper and the rest online. He was mad as hell that they would do that to my first piece. I felt like there was a certain passion in journalism. I felt like everyone on staff cared about the stories they were telling and the content that was going out to the masses. And as I’ve continued on as a part of Harbinger, I’ve felt it too. I felt it when I sarcastically wrote about living at home to the dismay and disappointment of my parents. I felt it at the deadline nights when I proudly showcased my suburban-white-boy dance moves to hastily thrown together rap songs about asses. I felt it when I poured out tears in front of my mom after talking to someone named Natalie who proved you can still be optimistic in the face of stage four cancer. And the Harbinger helped me in my own life, too. In a Dallas workshop, I was able to talk about my own problems with obsessive compulsions that I had never told anyone about before. Writing was like an outlet. But journalism also gave me friends that I will have until the day I die and memories I hope to hold onto like an old, dusty photo album. Like singing “Dynamite” with a bunch of obnoxious j-kids after taking home the “best in show” award. Or sitting in room 521 editing pages until the janitors made us leave. And now, it’s ending. Close to it, anyway. I have reluctantly reached the closing stretch of my final column as a Harbie. I know I may not have hidden a secret message in my story that you can only see by flipping the page upside down and turning the lights off. I know I didn’t tell you the prolonged and overdue story about the time at deadline night when Goble, or Toni, or Heady, or Kennedy or Grant did that one embarrassing thing I’ll never forget. But that’s OK. I’ve come to the realization that I don’t have to go out with an over-the-top bang that has an exclamation point at the end like I always thought I did. I don’t have to go out with a dull whimper, either. Sometimes it’s just fine to sit back, close your eyes and think about the proverbial journey. And as I think about that journey, I really feel like I have one more thing to say to my love, high school journalism. I’m not going to put it in Webdings. I’m not even going to ask you to play “Time Of My Life” while you read it. I just want to say, it’s been real.

I used to think love was something of a fairytale. That it only existed in Nicholas Sparks books. Shakespearean sonnets. Movies with Channing Tatum. And because of this belief I fell into the trap, as most teenage boys do, and became that anti-relationship advocate, shunning my bros when they got girlfriends and trying to ignore all eyelashes batted in my general direction That was the case, up until I found her. First love is a messy, complicated and astonishing experience that we all encounter only once in our lives. It may come to shape the people we end up dating down the road, what kind of songs make our hearts sing and what places around town we never visit anymore because of memories there. When I found her, she made every laugh sweeter, every smile more sincere and every new encounter more fulfilling. We met second semester freshman year. She was in my seventh hour class. I longed for her every day. Learning more about her. Finding out her “do’s” and “don’ts.” I finally gobbled up enough courage to ask her out first semester sophomore year. The beginning of our relationship was strictly online. She let me express my opinions freely through a keyboard and clicking “post,” but after a while, I desired more from her, and we became more serious. She grabbed my hand and led me to a story about a sophomore whose father passed away from a brain aneurysm while on a business trip in Houston, Texas. She showed me how the sophomore class was stricken to its core, dedicating wrist bands and basketball games to him. She cried with me as a few sophomores duct-taped a banner with his name above the bleachers, during the sophomore basketball game against Rockhurst. From there, we became inseparable. She gave me the courage to tell East my story: about how I almost took my own life in middle school. She assured me every night before I fell asleep that it was the right thing to do, and stood by me as I walked through the hallways the day my story was published — as people shook my hand, hugged me and thanked me for writing it. She took me around the country. Anaheim. Seattle. Dallas. Pointing out each landmark to me as we went by and then sitting me down and telling me stories that

REMEMBERING A FIRST LOVE THE FINAL OPINION OF

CHRIS HEADY

would make me laugh until my sides ached or ponder what I was doing with my life. She showed me a senior year full of incredible ups and downs. She cringed with me as we watched the head football coach, fresh off of chemo, chest-press his weight with cancer in his lymph nodes. She drove me to the senior lineman’s house as he shaved the running back and left tackle’s heads, in honor of their coach. She walked with me to the funeral of one of my best friend’s mothers. Gave me a tissue while I sobbed at her passing, and again gave me enough courage to let the school into my most inner thoughts and experiences with her. She sat with me on the floor of a 97-yearold World War II veteran’s old, beaten down home as he told us about how he had to walk carefully on Omaha Beach, because the mines were still active 30 days after DDay. Rain pattered on the roof as he shook his head in disbelief thinking back on what he saw German soldiers do to French prisoners. She watched in awe with me as we heard a former student, Maddie Cardell, tell us about her two parents, both of whom died within the span of six months and two days of each other. She sat with me in my car after talking to her, shocked that Maddie was willing to talk about it, and inspired by how well she was coping. My first love was unlike yours, I’m sure. My first love was with The Harbinger. I don’t care if you roll your eyes, call it cheesy, unrealistic or phony — that doesn’t make it any less true. But like all first loves, it must come to an end. I’m moving off to Lincoln, Nebraska next year for college. Two hundred-and-one miles away from everything I’ve ever known or loved — including The Harbinger. But she will always stay with me. Every venture from one room to the other just to see what Kat Buchanan and Grant Kendall are joking about. Every deadline dinner I’ve eaten with Kennedy Burgess. Every story I’ve given Vanessa Daves to read and her priceless reactions afterward. Every God-awful note sung with Jack Howland and Will Webber to “My Heart Will Go On” or “Lips of an Angel.” Every thing will hold a special, immovable place in my heart. Turns out, some fairytales are true.

I blame my apathy on Judd Apatow. It was in eighth grade that I was listening to a commentary track on an episode of “Freaks and Geeks,” where Apatow said that the series was largely inspired by his own bad experience in high school. He went on to talk about how college made up for how bad high school had been. So, I made my decision: college was going to be my window. I wouldn’t worry about high school, because it would inevitably be a bad experience. College was the time where I was going to find myself, just like every nostalgic college graduate had told me. As a result of my attitude, I feel like I skipped out on a lot of the high school experience. The football and basketball games that I’ve gone to in the last four years can be counted on my two hands. Prom will only be my third school dance, and the only reason I’m going is because George Lucas, in a guest appearance on “The O.C.,” said that skipping his senior prom was one of his big regrets. It took me a long time to even consider attending a clichéd seminal high school moment like prom. I started out doing only what I thought I had to. I took the hardest classes I could, although my Honors Biology class was questionably more challenging than Physical Science. I ran and was elected to Student Council as Class Treasurer. I signed up for swim team. All things that would allow me to go somewhere far away, and live out my glory days. I did my homework — although not always at home — and I begrudgingly studied for tests. I carried out my responsibilities as Class Treasurer, organizing the float and signing all the sheets of paper that Señora Myers all the way through Señora Sieck slid under my favorite ballpoint pen from the Ritz Carlton. But beginning in sophomore year, I began my discovery of interesting parts of school. It started when I joined the Harbinger staff. At first the newspaper was going to be another thing to pad my resumé. However, it became the first thing in high school that wasn’t mostly forgettable. I learned the typical things of course like how to write and design effectively, but those aren’t the most important lessons. Those aren’t the lifechanging ones. The important ones aren’t limited to the creation of a publication. First, I developed good taste because of newspaper. Through the hundreds of hours of writing, copy-editing, designing, critiquing and seminar-going, I have learned how

to recognize what good is. Good taste can be a curse though. Because I learned what good is, I now recognize how hackneyed and insignificant the vast majority of my work is. This leads me to the second most important thing I learned on newspaper: to never settle. The Harbinger staff has won a lot of awards. Big, fancy, national awards. I’m not bragging though, because I have very little to do with any of that. The bar is set really frickin’ high though. For every award we win, everyone’s going to feel really horrible if we don’t win it the next time around. The atmosphere is not “we’re the best,” it’s “the people before us were the best. We better not [screw] this up.” I’ve learned that it’s wrong to give up until you’re not only satisfied, but until you feel so numb and invested in your creation that you experience catharsis over something as typical as the News Briefs. Next came junior year, when I enrolled in Visual Arts IB, because I really didn’t want another IB class with homework. That class soon became one of my most difficult. It was also the first art class — and I had taken many prior — to teach me about art appreciation. I learned how to talk about my own pieces, and about others’. I started understanding Art. And through Art, I started understanding literature. I started understanding History through Art. Sociology through Art. Believe it or not, even Math through Art. And I want to give a shoutout to Yoda and Mr. Chaffee in appreciation of their incorporation of art in teaching social sciences. Finally, in the second semester of my senior year, I landed in my favorite class that I’ve ever taken: Sociology I. I could go on about the teacher, Yoda, but everything that could be said has already been said by a thousand others. The subject matter was something I knew close to nothing about. I’m prone to hyperbole, but please take me seriously when I say that the class was life changing. I’m a different person than I was just four months ago. This class was one of maybe two, that I’ve taken where I became very angry when I had to miss a class period, or even five minutes of a period. Those are the three classes, which are more aptly described as experiences, that led me to the premature discovery of myself. They defied my best efforts to make high school forgettable — something to be left in college’s dust. Maybe college will still blow high school away. But even if it does, thanks to these three experiences, high school will always be a part of me.

LOSE THE ‘TUDE THE FINAL OPINION OF

TOM LYNCH

KEEP PORTLAND WEIRD THE FINAL OPINION OF

KENNEDY BURGESS I had this set image in my head of who I was going to be in high school. In middle school, I went through a regretful “sk8r” phase where I too often sported checkered Vans, skinny jeans and that grimy Hurley hoodie that’s probably buried in my closet somewhere. I still wince when I think about every “sk8 or die” sticker I slapped onto my three-ring notebook. Entering high school, I needed something different. I had always been shy — not introverted or reclusive — I just kept to myself and didn’t say much unless I was spoken to. My social anxiety at times could make Michael Cera seem like a smooth talker. Regardless, that wouldn’t be a problem for me, because I was a turtle, and no matter what, this turtle was staying in her shell for the entirety of her time at Shawnee Mission East. I thought if I wiped away the unflattering, excessive amounts of eyeliner from my face and shed my oversized band tees, I could still try to survive what I believed was to be a painful four years. And I’ll be honest: a good portion of high school was painful. But, I made it painful for myself by never attempting to make an impression on anyone. Something changed, though. Not all at once, but gradually. And it began with a phone call first semester freshman year. I remember the voicemail on my phone being something of this nature: Stephen Nichols. Editor of the Harbinger. Needed a portfolio of my work. Now. I listened to the message a few times over. I shoddily put together a few run of the mill pencil drawings I had into a plain manila folder and slipped it onto Tate’s desk the next morning before school. And thus was the beginning of my four year involvement on Harbinger. Walking into room 520, the J-room, for the first time as an actual member of staff was like entering an abyss of peoples’ faces Photoshopped onto inanimate objects, and intimidating upperclassmen bantering mixed with blaring rap. And dare you ever set any of your possessions down on either couch facing the center of the room; they would be lost forever, sucked up into a black hole of newspaper stacks, remnants of food and tangled computer cords. After a year and a half of hiding at the other end of the journalism room with the only company coming from my Texan adviser sitting at his desk, I decided to go on the spring journalism trip to Portland, OR.

Portland seemed like a neat city but, my mom repeatedly telling me, “Honey, you’ll make new friends! It’ll be such a good experience for you!”, fueled my decision more than I’d like to admit. Going into the trip, I was horrified. Maybe I would sit alone on the plane ride, since none of these people really knew me. Or maybe I would be left in the hotel room during day outings. Maybe I would even get lost on the streets of Portland because I would be forced to wander the concrete jungle by my lonesome. And all I had to do was speak to people. It seemed like a simple task. The first night we ate at a Greek restaurant and I ordered a dull salad. I didn’t say a word as I sat at the other end of the table. On the second night, we ate fish and chips at a little Irish Pub and sat a big rectangular table - this night was different. I felt comfortable around that group of people. We all differed from each other, but were all there, in that city for the same reason: journalism. We rode the light rail to the convention center for journalism related shenanigans, standing due to lack of seats. We goofily danced while holding onto the handles above us so as not to topple over. On our way back to the hotel, we passed a brick building that read “KEEP PORTLAND WEIRD,” painted on the side of it. We finally stopped, and all piled out of the street train, half running/walking back to the hotel. That night was the first time I had ever really broken any sort of social blockade I had in my mind. I enjoyed being in the company of those people, even though I had never truly spoken to them before. We all met in the lobby of the hotel that next morning. The co-editor at the time, Tim Shedor, was already sitting down when I plopped on the floor next to the couch where he was. He turned and looked at me in a sort of perplexed manner and bluntly asked, “Are we ever going to see ‘outgoing Kennedy’ again, or was that just a one time deal?” I thought about that comment for a while. I made an effort to be somebody - in track, cross country, Harbinger. After that definitive night, I realized I could make an impression on people and that high school could be a pretty amazing time in my life if I just let people know who Kennedy Burgess was. When I walk across that stage next week, grab my diploma and look out to my fellow Lancers, I’ll know I did just that.

ONE MORE THING BEFORE I GO THE FINAL OPINION OF

CHRISTA McKITTRICK “Text me when you get there Have fun and tell your friends hi for me I love you” Always one more thing. One more thing before you go, as my mom likes to say. Sometimes it’s a reminder to not hit the walkers as I drive home at night, sometimes an “I love you” at 5 a.m. before swim practice, sometimes a reminder to turn in my attendance waiver. No matter the occasion, no matter the time, my mom always tries to throw in one last piece of advice as I traipse down our red brick steps and chirp open my white Grand Cherokee. Sometimes I step into Jeepers in a huff, irritated with the world and exhausted, not wanting to hear one more thing I need to remember. But mindlessly driving the same route past Indian Hills’ golf course, down Tomahawk and up Mission, nine times out of ten I reconsider my frustration and recognize the importance of what my mom told me. Now, more than ever, I recognize her need to slip in that extra advice, that additional reminder of what to do. As backwards as it sounds, I feel like I’m the mom shouting out one more thing before you go, anxious to tell the underclassmen the traditions that I treasure so that they will carry them on. It started slowly in the fall with cross country season. In the middle of Ward Parkway two weeks into the season, we always stop and jump in the horse fountain three miles into the long run. Yes, it may give you blisters and your shorts will be damp for the next seven miles, but it’s tradition. At the beginning of October, there’s always a contest run: who can find the most poker chips or buttons? We all know it’s a ploy to make us run faster, but you still have to sprint from colored chip to colored chip, devising new strategies to win. These small detours during runs aren’t just nuisances designed to make cross country any more challenging; they are ways to bring the team together and bond. These little quirks that have been passed down from team to team build

continuity and give us inside jokes to share. Overlapping cross country and into the winter and spring is newspaper. Listen to S Club 7 and throwback Usher songs at least once a deadline night. This is your once-in-a-lifetime chance to actually be applauded for knowing “S Club Party” word for word. Page dimensions are 59 by 71 picas. Learn to love and use smart key combinations; those seconds they save you add up to an hour less of work on deadline night. So many tidbits of information I know and take for granted that I now am rushing to share with the naïve sophomores on staff. I want to preserve the spirit of the J room so that every future Harbie will experience what I got the chance to. As the months slip by, I find myself more and more frantic to pass on my advice to the younger classmen. To the swimmers, don’t shave your legs between March and May. Other teams may scoff and the inch-long hair will draw questioning stares from classmates, but it’s what we do. You’ll see the magic of League and State soon. Seniors get first dibs on the green fins at practice. Homemade fruit pizza is a staple at every team dinner. These traditions may seem trivial to an outsider. Does it really matter if there are brownies instead of fruit pizza at a team dinner? Yes. Yes it does. Each tradition adds up to form the team and the season of swimming that I love. To me, high school would not be high school without sports and clubs, and sports and clubs would not be the same without traditions. As a senior, it makes me nervous leaving my teams and clubs behind. Not only because I will miss the memories, but also because it means entrusting them to the underclassmen. I’m nervous traditions will be lost, new members will not get to experience the same camaraderie as I did. So for these last few days of my career at SME, humor me underclassmen. Listen attentively as I remind you of one more thing before I go.

“Welcome to Hollywood, kid.” Thank you for seeing me sir, it’s an honor. I want to make a high school flick set amidst a high-functioning journalism program, from the perspective of the school film crit– “I know, I read your letter. You have five minutes to impress me. Don’t waste my time.” Okay, so, we open on our hero, first day of freshman year. He knows no one. He rarely sleeps. He loves movies. Rocking a blue Hawaiian breezeback as he takes a seat in journalism class, he already knows his purpose at the school – he shall become “the movie guy.” This wily upstart is Lamb, confident and unafraid. Once he joins the school newspaper, The Harbinger, the senior film critic Landon McDonald takes on the role of Jedi Master and accepts Lamb as his Padawan apprentice, expanding his cinematic world and training him in the art of movie reviewing. Beckoned by the gauntlet of the cineplex, Lamb champions that arena and Landon deems him a worthy successor. From his infinite knowledge, he teaches Lamb the secrets of the universe, and Lamb forever idolizes Landon as his ultimate role model. Sophomore year, Lamb discovers in the Harbies his second family, and it’s in the loud heckler, the T-Rex look-a-like, the feline storyteller, the music snob and the nefarious warlock from Chicago in which he develops the friendships of most value. As part of the publication’s online revolution, Lamb is even inspired to tackle video journalism, which proves most rewarding through his recording of the stories and music of the school’s coolest student bands. At the spring convention trip that year to Portland, the Harbinger evolves into the defining aspect of Lamb’s high school experience, forever taking precedence over all other classes and activities. The race against time to the breathtaking top of a towering waterfall, the all-night editing session for competition videos (punctuated by the unconscious babbling and sleepwalking of another staffer) and the Best of Show wins for print and online mark his first full movie-like adventure. Serving as the online video editor in addition to film critic his junior year, Lamb takes the escapades to a whole new level. He produces a trashily entertaining video story about the local teen club, which is only outsleazed by the picture of Lamb himself, smooching/eating the face of some random girl he danced with there. At the fall journalism convention, fate leads Lamb to a chance romantic encounter with Chloe, a California girl from The Harbinger’s biggest rival publication. The star-crossed lovers even maintain a supremely quirky long-

MY LIFE AS A MOVIE THE FINAL OPINION OF

ALEX LAMB

distance relationship for several remarkable months. In the spring, the convention in Anaheim propels Lamb on the greatest adventure of his young life. He and the three biggest oddballs on Harbinger take Disneyland by storm, and then a blonde Asian beauty enchants Lamb at the j-dance. The following evening, he joins her and her awkward Asian friends amidst the amusement rides of Disneyland – an exploit so weirdly surreal that he struggles to accept it as reality. Unexpectedly, Chloe even makes a surprise appearance at the convention, briefly reuniting with Lamb and providing closure to their affair. And to round out Anaheim, Lamb journeys on a life-changing trip through Los Angeles, including an extraordinary hike up the Hollywood Sign Mountain, then returns home a new man. However, the most unnerving moment of his life occurs during his catastrophic interview for the following year’s online co-editorship, and his loss of the position to the hardworking newbie nearly sends him over the brink of madness. But after a self reevaluation, he recalls that he’s not some big shot editor nor is he fit for such responsibility; he’s “the movie guy,” damnit! So Lamb focuses back on what he does best: he attains official critics circle membership, gets a job at the closest AMC theater and – a dream come true – gets to see every movie in the city for free. During his final year on the newspaper, Lamb embodies a level of consistent quality and professionalism, exemplifying how even the least journalistic staffers – like the boy who wrote exclusively about movies – can reach their loftiest journalistic goals if they stay dedicated. His other position as convergence editor personifies this growth; Lamb becomes a leader of the website and stands at the forefront of modern journalism, bringing the print and online publications closer together in innovative new ways. On his last day of high school, Lamb climbs onto the gym roof for his annual tradition of skyline watching and life pondering. He ruminates on the ending of an era. Satisfied with his accomplishments, he smiles. Framed against the backdrop of the flaming sky, Lamb takes one final look before descending from the roof and driving off into the sunset – ready for whatever exciting adventures await him. Cue “Born to be Wild” and roll credits. “Well, I think I’ll pass on your film. But I tell ya what – we can turn this into a TV series.” AMC original programming? “FX. Four year deal.” Hmmm. Good enough for me. I’m in.

At my house I’m rarely called Emily. But, call me Emmers, Sissy, Goose or Batgirl and I’ll respond to them all. This all started when I was a newborn baby and would wake up crying in the night. My dad would drag himself out of bed and scoop me up out of my crib and wrap me in my hand-knitted seafoam green blanket. Pacing circles around the downstairs of our house, he would feed me my nighttime bottle and half sing, half talk, “Emmers milky-mouth McBemmers” as my bottle dribbled out of the corners of my mouth. Even though I’m not able to remember being sung to during the night, my dad has told this story to me countless times, always with a nostalgic look in his eye. After hearing this story over and over, I have come to associate a lot of happy memories with that unusual nickname, Emmers milky-mouth McBemmers. I’ve grown up in a family that enjoys making nicknames out of nicknames themselves. The combination of these two has left me with a pre-determined fate: I’m a nicknamer. I’ve heard it time and time again. “Emily, you have a nickname for EVERYONE,” they all say. I smile and nod in acknowledgement. And I’m coming up with one for you as we speak, I think to myself. My favorite part about my nicknaming habit is when my friends steal my beat-up phone and attempt to text someone on it. In between contacts such as“Cornbread Baby Kirsten,” “Pikachu” and “Monkeybutt,” they usually give up any hopes of ever finding the person they intended to text. The question that usually follows is, “Why do you call people those names?” Although I’ve tried many times, I can’t quite convey why I continue to call people those names. Sure, some of them have funny stories behind them and some are quite clever. However, I don’t think the important part of the nicknaming lies in the actual name or the play on words. To me, nicknames are special. They are endearing. We feel special when we hear our names spoken, and even more so when someone else puts their own twist on it. It’s the reason why you get butterflies in your stomach when your name is called at an awards banquet or when your crush texts you. Your name is what sets you apart. It is

what makes me Emily Catherine Kerr. And that matters. Throughout my time in high school, I’ve had ever-changing ideas about what matters. Freshman year, I thought it mattered what group of people I ate PB&J sandwiches with at lunch and sat with at basketball games. Sophomore year, I decided that qualifying for the cross country state team was equally as impressive as running in the olympic trials. Junior year, I was convinced that if I didn’t receive a top-notch score on my AHAP essays, the world was going to stop spinning on its axis. However, this has all changed senior year. I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m not the fastest, smartest and most popular person to ever walk the wonderful halls of SME. And that’s ok. What I’m beginning to realize matters most is the nicknames that I leave behind. I just recently opened my senior letters that we wrote in Mr. Nickel’s class freshman year. Amidst the large pile of scribbled memories and inside jokes, a couple of lines from a letter stood out to me in particular. They read: “So you gave me a nickname. You probably didn’t realize it at the time, and still don’t, but giving me that simple nickname made me feel wanted, I guess? I guess I just felt like somebody cared and actually wanted to be my friend, as opposed to just tolerating me.” I’m being completely honest when I tell you that I began writing this column before I had even opened my senior letters. Maybe I’m dramatic, but small goosebumps formed on my arms when I read those lines. I couldn’t believe that I was reading actual proof of what I was fumbling to describe in this column. It felt really good knowing that my dorky puns and alliterations did actually make someone feel better about themselves. And for that reason I don’t regret any of the nicknames I’ve come up. Sure there have been the bad ones: monkeybutt and Aids. Sure there have been the long ones: kiksteriniolio and santa claus pants. And sure there have been the punny ones: korn on the kov and darb the carb. But through the creative and the not-really-that-funny names that were given, I hope that some have made you feel loved and important. Because that’s all nicknamers really want. Just ask my dad.

WHAT’S IN A NAME? THE FINAL OPINION OF

EMILY KERR

BREAKING THE SILENCE THE FINAL OPINION OF

WILL WEBBER I wanted to sleep, but the voices wouldn’t let me — the voices inside my head. They poured over my every misstep of the day; every moment where I should have spoken up, but instead sat idly by without so much as a whimper. When my friend told me that he had to cancel our plans for a family dinner. I know that you’re just ditching me for so-and-so. But I don’t want you to know that I’ve got no one else to hang out with. When an unruly customer cursed at me after holding up my line 30 minutes. “Have a nice day, sir!” I want to beat you with a pillowcase full of batteries. But I need this job. And when my mom asked me, “How was your day?” “It was great, Mom.” She worked her way through school as an orphaned Mexican immigrant. She doesn’t need to hear about your petty teenage problems. No one needs to hear this. Not even me. SHUT UP. My sweaty palms grapple for the scuffed iTouch at my bedside; I shove the buds into my ears, tap the “Cheer Up” playlist and crank the volume as loud as it will go. But blasting “Let it Be” at deafening tones won’t drown out the voices. If you fall asleep right now, you can still get three hours. That’s enough for the school day. It was enough. I went to school because it’s the law. I wasn’t there to learn or grow or make friends or memories or decisions or improve myself as a person. I took regular classes because I could pull out an A without ever cracking a book, saying a word or looking at the teacher. I kept the same friends I’d had since elementary school because I was scared of talking to new people. I went to school so I could grab a diploma without anyone ever noticing I was there. I didn’t want them to notice me. I didn’t want them to notice that I was actually smart and talented and capable — and be disappointed that I was too scared to do anything with my potential. And most of all, I

didn’t want them to notice that I was disappointed in myself. I had endured the loneliness and disappointment for most of sophomore year, but I reached my breaking point. After losing ground in my year-long struggle with pneumonia, I found myself in a hospital bed. And I guess I got my wish: No one even knew I was there. With the exception of my immediate family and one good friend, I was on my own. The table in my hospital room wasn’t full of get well cards, balloons and fruit baskets. It was just a table. Because the voices in my head wouldn’t dare escape to tell a soul how scared I was, and how much I needed someone to listen. I want to be happy. I want to be heard. I started out small. I enrolled in all AP classes for my junior year and was pleasantly surprised that I could still get straight A’s without much struggle. I met new friends who practically forced me into joining Harbinger. And after that, I was never quiet again. I fell in love with opinion writing. I had always felt strongly about racism and its close ties to immigration laws, but never had the fortitude to speak my mind. So I wrote a column on it. After I was unjustly fired from the hardware store — I wrote a column on it. And when I wanted to thank the role models in my life — my parents and coach — I wrote a column for them too. I started broadcasting basketball for Harbinger Online soon after joining staff. At first, I stumbled and stuttered my way through games. But I gradually developed a distinctive swagger in my voice -- what had once been my greatest fear had become my greatest asset. I demanded to be heard. Reader, I’m not afraid to tell you that I’m impressed with myself because I’m not afraid to tell you anything. I’m not afraid to portray my sophomore self as a sadsack, an emotionally-arrested wreck. I’m not afraid to tell you how happy I am now — I have great friends, a supportive family and the most beautiful girlfriend in the world who legitimately cares about everything I have to say. And I’m not afraid that you won’t like my senior column. Because this is my voice and it matters to me.

SAVED FROM DROWNING IN LIFE THE FINAL OPINION OF

CORBIN BARNDS I’ve already graduated. As much as the walk across the stage on May 17 will mean to most seniors, my high school career reached its culmination back in March. Standing behind a podium in the East cafeteria, 20 of my best friends watched as I choked down words, drowned out by tears, that I had thought through so many times. Instead of shaking principal Karl Krawitz’s hand, it was Wiley Wright’s. For four years, I spent seven plus hours a day cluelessly trying to comprehend somebody else’s interpretation of Shakespeare’s “Hamlet.” I’ve attempted to grasp the magnitude of Avogadro’s mole, and even spent a semester in a math class centered around how well I could divide a cake (if it weren’t for my iPhone and KU message boards to peruse, I’m not sure I could have stayed awake any longer). Although the idea is that I have been learning skills that will make me more prepared for my ventures later in life, I struggle to believe that the tidbits of information I’ve learned behind a desk have prepared me more than the life lessons I learned swimming for Wiley Wright. For most of you reading this, Wiley is probably only known as a coach that has had unparalleled success in an unheralded sport – but he is so much more than that. Even if he’d never won a single state championship, he would have still made the same impact on my life, and on the lives of many others. But for me, Wiley helped set me on the road I was struggling to find. A road that let me know it was OK to be a different person than my older brother. A road that showed me how to deal with suffering defeat after defeat, regardless of how deserving I might be. A road that taught me to live for this moment, and not for the next. If it weren’t for the things I learned from Wiley, I never would have been able to overlook my own personal difficulties and cherish this team and the broad variety of guys that somehow come together to be incredible friends. Because before long -- my chance would be gone. Since childhood, I was obsessed with topping what my brother had accomplished before me. Although I used his high school swimming success as my primary measuring stick, I wanted to beat him in every category on the stat sheet of life. I had to surpass him in everything: from edging out his GPA, to mowing more lawns around the neighborhood. Until recently, this was success to me. And I thought it was success to my parents. Quickly the years passed as my freshman season turned into my senior season:

although I knew that I wasn’t of the same caliber as my brother, I wanted nothing more than the success that I believed would define my East swimming experience. From missing state my freshman year by only one spot, to suffering from an incredibly violent stomach flu my junior year that held me back from competing at that state meet, I only fueled an obsession to work for the success I believed I had to have to be happy. Although I loved the grind I put myself through to find success, I was blind to how much fun I was having with my team. And despite failing after getting so close to my own personal goal so many times, I was having some of the best experiences of my life. Looking back now, I’ll remember the time I dropped 17 seconds in the 500 free as a freshman and the enormous smile lightening my face as I walked by the parent section to a standing ovation I had never experienced before. I’ll remember the time Wiley and I talked about how I wasn’t going to be swimming at state my junior year, even though tears streamed down my face in my own disappointment, more tears came down Wiley’s face as he saw the pain I was going through. These were the little things that I didn’t appreciate in the moment because I was more concerned with fulfilling my own ambitions. But in hindsight, they were so much more important than my pursuit of immortalizing my name in East swimming history. It took until the winter of my senior year to learn who I truly am -- and no, it’s not Brandon Barnds II. It’s Corbin Barnds. And although I may not have my name on the record board, I have peace of mind -- and that’s something I don’t know I would have gotten if it weren’t for my experiences with this team, and most importantly, Wiley. So when my academic graduation comes on May 17, it’ll be secondary to my more meaningful swimming graduation. My real graduation came behind the podium in the East cafeteria. Behind that stand, I tried stressing to Wiley and everyone there how thankful I was to be given an opportunity to spend my last four years with them, but I couldn’t get it out. More so than any class, any teacher, any experience, East swimming has matured me into the type of person that I know I can be happy being. That night at the end of my speech, I concluded with a quote from Wiley that summarizes everything about him and how I am going to remember him as I go on with my life. “Once you are a team member here, you’ve got me until I die, as being a friend and anything that I can possibly do for them.”

BeforeI go, I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to the administrators, my past teachers, coaches and parents for having to put up with me and all my shenanigans for the past four years. I’d also like to thank my fellow students for many memories they’ve made for me over the past several years. Dear Teachers, I’m sorry for my lackadaisical behavior that has taken place the last few weeks, or rather the past year (or two). I’m sorry for notoriously showing up late to class every day and putting off my work until minutes before entering your classroom. I’m sorry for the time when I, along with the other 25 or more kids in my English class, tricked you into letting us leave 15 minutes early for lunch (and when I say tricked you, I mean the time we all stormed the door and ran out fast enough so you couldn’t stop us). Sorry for all of the times I’ve missed your class for SHARE projects or Track meets or doctors appointments or vacation or for oversleeping or to get my haircut or for a personal day or to get my nails done or even that one time when I went downstairs to meet my boyfriend in the first floor bathroom (just kidding). Truly, I am sorry.

I add, scared the living daylights out of some teachers) just to get out of having to do bench press. Freshman gym, sorry that you exist. Volleyball coach, sorry for not living up to your standards of professional volleyball and, in turn, quitting and losing you a future Olympic volleyball player. Track coaches (Dad), sorry for always incessantly annoying you every night about what the next day’s workout is going to be, then telling the rest of the team. Ron, sorry for the countless amount of ice bags I had rip open and spill all over your floor and all the tape you’ve wasted on my bazillion injuries. Truly, I am sorry. Dear Parents, Sorry for piling 20 freshman girls in your car to drive us to a cute boys house and you having to listen to our stupid conversation about who kissed who. Sorry for begging you to give me money every year for WPA when we really only stayed at the dance for no more than 15 minutes and our overpriced dinners were always sub par. Sorry for the grades you would get emailed to you every Friday just in time to ruin both of our weekends. To the parents who hosted float parties, sorry for, well, everything. Truly, I am sorry (kind of).

Dear Administration, Students, Sorry for the countless times I participated in the “Bananas” or the “Bull S***” chants at basketball games and then shamelessly pointing to the row of senior boys in front of me and blaming it all on them when you told us to stop. I’m sorry for the abundant amount of interviews I’ve bombarded you with for my newspaper articles. Sorry about all the notes I have forced my parents to scribble down and brought to the attendance office to be excused from class. And for all the times I’ve had my mom call me out during the middle of the day when I know that’s not school policy. Truly, I am sorry. Dear Coaches, Sorry for the time my lifting partners and I said we were going to the nurse, but in reality we put on a skeleton costume and ran into people’s classrooms (and, might

BEFORE I GO THE FINAL OPINION OF

EMMA PENNINGTON

Instead of listing my apologies I’d like to take this time to thank you for all the memories you’ve helped me create the past four years at Shawnee Mission Wonderful. Thank you Student Body for putting on your oversized button downs and boxers for the Rockhurst game this year. And for the week prior eating one too many Chick-fil-A chicken sandwiches and beating those Rock bros even though we lost the actual basketball game. Thanks to the StuCo kids who had to put up and take down all the decorations for dances even though half the time they ended up getting torn, trashed and trampled. To the countless athletes who helped to bring East state titles. Thank you to the unknown Pep club kid who tossed me a T-shirt at a basketball game last year. Truly, thank you. Love, Emma

A senior sits at the end of the fifth floor hallway, trying to think back on his past four years. Reminiscing has been a struggle so far: he hasn’t had to do much of it in these final few weeks of school. He looks up at the sparsely covered bulletin board sitting in front of him. A Lancer Cheer poster, Golf team poster, a mac and cheese drive flyer. He was never a part of those clubs — he possesses neither the dance skills nor the leg flexibility necessary for the cheer squad — but they remind him of things that he was a part of throughout high school. Cross Country. Track. Harbinger. Pack of Pals. SHARE Birthday parties. Choraliers. They made up his high school journey. He remembers the annual cross country “Long Run” to Loose Park — a bunch of skinny, sweaty boys making goofy faces as they posed around the bronze statue of Jacob Loose. He remembers the cross country trip to Chicago his junior year, the year he watched Kevin Simpson belt Taio Cruz’s “Dynamite” while taking a 40-something degree ice-bath in the hotel bathtub. He remembers the state track meet his sophomore year — his 4x800 team ran one of their worst races ever. He had gotten cottonmouth as he crouched at the starting line in the sweltering Wichita State stadium, and he just couldn’t get himself to hang with the lead pack. He’s still glad they got to go. It reminds him of how far his team has come, now ranked sixth in the state for the 4x800, running times he could only wish for his freshman year. He remembers journalism. Designing God-awful looking pages freshman year. Listening to Tim Shedor talk about his Foods and Team Games classes at the beginning of every class. Watching Andrew Goble bust out a perfectly timed “pointthrust” to an S-Club 7 song at the end of a stressful deadline night. Scolding Jake Crandall for playing terrible Pandora stations — “Crandora Radio” — during class. Speeding down Lee Boulevard with the windows down after every deadline night. He remembers Pack of Pals. Joining the program as a freshman. Going ice skating at Carriage Club. Sitting with his pal, Matt Cooney, at a girl’s JV basketball game. Watching “How to Train Your Dragon”

with the group down on the plaza and absolutely loving it. Saying goodbye to Mrs. Popplewell at the end of the year picnic at Harmon Park. He remembers Choraliers. Listening to Foley tell corny jokes at the beginning of class. Struggling to learn the Solfege scale. Eating rum chocolate gelato on the streets of Siena during the choir’s spring break trip to Italy. Singing “Ave Maria” in St. Peter’s Basilica and getting goosebumps as the final chord echoed throughout the centuries-old structure. The senior stops typing. There’s a yearbook sitting next to him — it’s from his sophomore year. The theme was “Impression.” He opens it up and shamelessly flips to the index to find where he’s pictured. God, he was awkward. He smiled too hard in his portrait; his cheeks are red and his eyes are squinty. And what was he doing with his hair? Jeez. The other pictures of him are no different. After a minute or so, his laptop goes black. He looks at the reflection on the screen -- he’s changed a lot since high school began. He wants a high school epiphany, something that sums up his past four years perfectly and leaves people feeling warm and fuzzy inside, like the ones that they have at the end of each “Scrubs” episode. But the senior realizes that high school can’t necessarily have a nice TV ending. All he knows is that in six days, he’ll walk down an aisle surrounded by his fellow students, smile, shake Dr. Krawitz’s hand and receive a diploma printed on a nice cream sheet of paper. And his high school career will be complete. His emotions are muted. Things never seem to hit him until they happen. He shuts the laptop. The senior walks outside, stops, and turns around to look at East. The school itself had changed and grown over these past four years: some parts torn down, some parts added, some renovated. It’s a lot like him. East has given him the chance to renovate himself: He’s happy now. Involved. Successful. Prepared. A senior walks out of the parking lot one final time as a student. The end is six days away. It won’t hit him until it happens.

SITTING, WAITING, REMEMBERING THE FINAL OPINION OF

EVAN NICHOLS

STUMBLING OVER MY WORDS THE FINAL OPINION OF

TONI AGUIAR I’ve done it 180 times this year. Every day (at least Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday -- but don’t be that kid) I stand in front of thirty-or-so of my staff members and tell them what’s going on that day and that week. It’s normal, casual, just anything a competent Editor-in-Chief would do. One hundred-eighty times I’ve herded sleepy staffers out of room 521 into the open air of the adjacent classroom, and every time I thought, I will absolutely not miss this part of this job, I swear. I will not miss announcements. It’s been nine months since I was appointed Co-Editor-in-Chief, but I still get that shaky, hot feeling when I stand in front of the classroom. I try to convey in a not-tooserious-but-still-authoritative tone what we have to do. I try to keep from turning red and stumbling over my words as Tom Lynch heckles me and our Texan advisor Dow Tate silently looks on from the back of the room. For me, it’s really hard to do. I’m an awkward person—a mere glance at my elementary school photos indicates I was doomed from the start—and I haven’t seemed to grow out of it. Rather, I found a suitable extracurricular activity that has forced me to confront my awkwardness full-on: journalism. I don’t mean the perfectly coiffed newscaster type of journalism, but rather the behind-the-scenes type of journalism. The sweaty-faced, bouncer-defying kind of journalism that gets photos of the band ‘fun.’ at a concert without a press pass. And the kind where you approach a complete stranger because you need a source from the bowling team. And the kind where you sit across the table from a cancer patient, trying to comprehend their life as you scramble to ask the right questions. That’s the kind that made me confront my mild social anxiety these past years. There was the time I rounded up 20-orso students from around East and questioned them about their view of sexual activity. “So, uh. I just wanted to ask you about what you think of sex? Like… is it okay? What do you think about it at East? Yeah...” Some of them stared at me with fear in their eyes. Some of them laughed and tried to B.S. me. Some of them actually put a hand to their chin and pondered the question. I nervously stood there with my legs crossed, bobbing my head up and down, alternative-

ly staring them in the eye and looking at the ground, hating myself for not being able to be a more comforting, approachable type of person. And I hated myself when I interviewed Julie Lee last February. As she began to cry when she talked about her boys John and Evan and her cancer, I felt almost helpless to comfort her and almost guilty that I had brought about her crying. I tried to give her what I thought was a reassuring smile as I fought off the urge to cry. I failed. So instead I fiddled with the purple latex “HOPE” ring she had given me and looked elsewhere, afraid of human interaction. She dried her eyes and we continued with the interview. Journalism is the only field that encourages—no, requires—you to meet with what may be a complete stranger and ask them questions. I could never ask a random classmate their views on premarital sex or have a conversation with my childhood friend’s mom about both her religion and her cancer without the knowledge that I was publishing it in the Harbinger. Yet Harbinger has pushed me into those situations. Things have changed since I avoided calling my best friend Emily Bates in sixth grade because I thought I might get her parents (or worse, her brother) on the line instead of her. I can talk in front of a crowd without my voice shaking. I no longer edit and revise my Facebook posts as if they were my senior column. And I’m not afraid to confront or comfort someone in an interview, whichever one is needed. I wouldn’t say I’ve conquered my awkwardness (and my most sincere apologies to anyone in the future who will ever experience me at my most socially inept). But what I have done is come to terms with never being exactly suave. It’s alright to feel uncomfortable—but journalism has forced me to come to terms with that initial reaction of “Oh god, strike me down with lightning right now, I’m so awkward.” I wish I could go back to that September version of myself, pick my way through deadlines and ski trips and tests and track practices, grab my own shoulders and say in a feminine version of Clint Eastwood’s gravelly voice: Yeah, you will miss this, kid. This awkward staff announcements thing? You’ll miss it. You’ll miss it more than you’ll know.