The day technically starts at 9 a.m., but let’s be honest: For a second-semester senior, that’s more of a suggestion than a rule. The alarm goes off, gets silenced with confidence and then it’s back to bed for an hour, with the calm understanding that first prep exists for a reason (and even if it doesn’t, they don’t really have to go to first period).
Driving into the parking lot is when the morning truly begins. A kid in either a shiny BMW — obviously not self-funded — or their mom’s minivan cuts off everyone while blasting trap music as if it’s not the earliest hour of the morning. Honking feels like too much effort, so most seniors just accept it.
Every senior enters the lot convinced that today they will finally get a front spot. They never do. The outcome is always illegal parking in admin or visitor spaces hoping no one will notice.
Only then does the most important part of the morning begin: car rotting. Seats recline. Phones come out. Seniors sit motionless, mentally preparing for the battlefield that is school. This continues peacefully until awkward eye contact is made with campus security cruising by on a golf cart. That single glance triggers immediate evacuation.
On campus, seniors are easy to identify. Backpacks are extinct. Tote bags and kiddie packs now carry crumpled worksheets, a pen that doesn’t work and an abandoned letter of truancy.
In class, effort operates strictly on the principles of “How low can my grade be in order to pass?” and “If I don’t submit this assignment, how much will my grade go down?” The goal is to stay above a cool 62%, not excellence.
At the same time, the repetitive background noise echoes a tale as old as time: college apps. A new student just shared their commitment post on the school’s college decisions Instagram page, launching a buzz of conversation between peers. For every person celebrating an acceptance, there’s another nervously refreshing their portal half excited and half fearful for what the future holds.
Seniors watch underclassmen film TikTok dance videos under the bright red and white Wellness Center staircases as they walk to their next class, observing this phenomenon the way archaeologists observe ancient civilizations — with mild fascination, deep exhaustion and the realization that this was once them.
During brunch and lunch, large portions of the senior class migrate off campus to the Starbucks on El Camino. This is not skipping — it is simply relocating the learning environment! Being late to the next class just means they were very focused on their “work.”
Finally, last period ends. The bell rings, and seniors run. Embarrassment doesn’t exist anymore. They’re too tired to care about that. It is a full-speed escape attempt to beat Gunn parking lot traffic (especially since they didn’t get a good spot in the lot). But they never do. Within minutes, the entire senior class is trapped in the same stagnant line of cars, staring forward in silence, united by a single thought: After four years, Gunn still isn’t done holding everyone hostage.
Outside of school, students’ social calendars pile up with strange, “coming-of-age” events that define their senior year. Senior skip day, senior bonfire, senior assassin, and of course, prom. The conversations are louder, digital camera photos are taken more often and every once in a while someone says something like, “Wait, this is actually the last time we’ll all be here.” The moment usually lasts about five seconds before someone makes a joke, but its weight is felt by all. The end of senior year is approaching faster than we thought, and although our futures seem uncertain, there’s also a quiet excitement in realizing that everything ahead — new cities, new people and slightly more responsible versions of ourselves — is just around the corner.
