• So far, high school has not killed me. In fact, it has not treated me too poorly yet. But still, I do not know why adults always long for their old teenage years. Honestly? Being a teenager in high school can suck. Take this for example.
    As anyone who knows me knows, I'm on the track team. Yes, the sport where people voluntarily run. As those people also know, I'm not the most graceful person in the world.
    It was photo day for our track team.
    We all glared into the sun for awhile while the photographer snapped photos of us and yelled "SMILE!" at us. Finally, we were done. I hopped off the metal bleacher I had been standing on and meandered back to my bag. It was time for the Seniors to be photographed. As I was about to sit down, I decided that my uniform top, which is basically a red tank top of looser and more athletic material, was really a bit too loose to run comfortably in. Self consciousness prevailed, so I grabbed my white tank out of my bag and made a bee-line for the bathroom to change into it.
    I had to hurry. The other team was due any second now. I checked myself once in the mirror and ran for it. Sure enough, the bus with the other team was pulling into the parking lot. I scurried forward, hoping to be able to warm up in time.
    I was almost to the track by the time I noticed they were still taking photos of the boy's team. I had plenty of time. Um, we can slow down, now, the little voice inside my head said. My legs tried to respond, but my foot snagged off some thing put of my field of vision in the process. For an instant, I was air born, and my mind was completely free of thought. Then the red, rubbery track came up to meet me in a flash of pain. Stupid gravity, was the only thing I thought as I slid, left shoulder first, across the track. Only thing my dazed mind picked up was the fact that the photographer had moved the benches on which the boys were sitting so it faced me. Oh, that and the literal "ohhh" I heard from the surrounding crowd of my teammates. A stinging sensation was all over my left arm and both my knees. All I had left was to try to end it gracefully, so I picked myself up and half-stumbled the rest of the way to the field.
    By this time, my face was pink and all I wanted to do was forget it had ever happened. Of course, things never seem to work out this way, eh? A group of sympathizers moved forward to meet me, which embarrassed me even more. Just leave me to die in peace, I prayed.
    The girl in the front, a teammate and friend of mine who was a year older than me, said, "Oh my god, look at your knees!"
    Slightly dazed, I shook my head. "Its nothing. I'm okay, really."
    "Its not nothing!" She pointed at my knees and I looked down at them for the first time. It was not a pretty sight. Both had deep gashes, with little bits of the track stuck in.
    I think I said something intelligent like, "Oh...urgh..."
    "Come on, we're going to see the trainer." She grabbed my arm and pulled me to his office.
    Fifteen minutes later, I came out with bandaged knees and arm. I felt pretty stupid, especially with everyone taking it in turns to bring it up. And yes, I did still have to run the track meet.