If you look back on your days in elementary school, you probably remember your teachers extravagantly decorated bulletin boards, stacks of books, and endless supply of Crayons, markers, or colored pencils. However, something you may not have known is that over 90% of teachers spend their own money on supplies, with the average cost of somewhere between $500 and $750 being spent out of their pockets on their classrooms.

Everyone knows that one person in their school: the know it all, the advancer, the mathlete, the overachiever. To paint a picture in your mind, you probably already know their inner circle: clean cut, maybe even straight A’s. But do you really? Is it really a fact that you are who you associate with, or is it more of an expectation? Can you be trapped in a bubble you didn’t even know was there to begin with, or were you just blind to the system?

According to the Cambridge Dictionary, Tweenager: “a young person between the ages of approximately eight and twelve.” A collective jumble of years, that for most were filled with awkward conversations, the end of elementary school, and balancing on a constant tightrope of still receiving a kids menu while switching from Disney Channel to the CW.

For as long as I can remember, hunting has had a significant impact on my life, whether I’ve liked it or not. Growing up, my meals were filled with venison and my snacks were composed of deer summer sausage. My house was decorated with antlers, in fact, the first thing you see when you enter my house is a skeletal deer head, and if you dare to walk a little deeper you would find a giant stuffed buck nailed to our living room wall. Growing up my two older sisters were given Hunter Annie’s instead of Barbie dolls, and any visit to Bass Pro Shop was a family outing.

When you first walk into this particular classroom, you are immediately met with the kind of energy that is rarely found within the walls of a Freshman Academy. Surveying the room, her desk was huddled in the right, bottom corner. The lights were off, only leaving the delicate glow of a multi-colored desk lamp. Around her personal area lay what you would normally find on a school teacher's desk, but what stands out the most is not what was on the desk, but what was on the walls surrounding it. There were several senior graduation announcement cards from players and students, as well as past girls basketball senior posters—the most recent, decorated with hand-written personal notes from each player under their pictures—almost as if displaying with it signs of relationship and community.

We all know the feeling, the moment when lights blind your eyes, when your ears violently shake from the echo of the crowd's cheers, when the only thing you can smell is cheaply buttered popcorn, as your body is closely crammed against the backs of fans. Friday’s are spent at stadiums, on courts, waving banners and screaming at the top of your lungs.

Books have always been an integral part of my life. My first memory with books comes from my Mom, who spent hundreds of nights reading me her favorites like Little House In The Big Woods, or The Kissing Hand. As I’ve gotten older books have still been there, connecting me with new people and new emotions--taking me on wild journeys across new lands, or comforting me with stories that feel like home.

For my entire life I have stayed pure, until now, until this very moment. My brain has never been blurred by its means, and my eyes have never been burned by this form of unholy entertainment. But now, it’s all coming to an end. I am going to have to watch some Hallmark Christmas movies.

Commitment, dedication, and passion, landed two juniors their own basketball team. Reese Watson and Cameron Anderson started coaching their fifth grade team via Trojan Hoops, a program that forms teams and lets them compete with each other.

Imagine sitting at a desk, papers and books filling every possible space. The teacher at the front of the class speaks with a fast, steady speed; you wish she would go slow, or stop talking altogether. Your eyes are heavy, and your brain is full. I can’t do this much longer, you think, how much more can I take? The pencil in your hand is beginning to feel like lead-- hard to drag across any page. The memory of shiny plaques and printed names displayed across the school hallways comes across your brain, you used to want that so bad, now you feel like you can’t do anything at all. Sitting at a desk numbly listening to the teacher, pencil in hand, ready to write an essay that you know, will never be written.