The high school I went to did not have a good approach when it came to academics. If you were to ask someone that never stepped foot on campus their opinion on Beach High School, they would say derogatory words or, “Why do you go to that high school? You won’t learn shit; the teachers are just as dumb as the students!” Of course, I did not want to go to a school that was in a ghetto community. Every week you heard of a shooting occurring or a girl who was walking to or from school, who almost got snatched by a man who was described wearing a black hat, white shirt and pants, but she got a way. Walking in the halls of my high school, you smelled hopelessness, surrounded by laughter, and fighting. The walls were yellow, but if they had been white, I would have felt as if I was in a prison where you could roam freely and go home at the end of the day. Especially, being on the ninth grade academy that was separated from the rest of the campus, all of the classes were on one hall, and you did not get to see or enjoy the atmosphere of the upperclassmen.
As I continued my journey at this high school it only got bittersweet. My high school had received a grant to get rebuilt. The morning of August 11, 2013, at 6:00 a.m., I had to get up for my first day of eleventh grade. I was excited, what was more refreshing was the arrival at my new school. It was overwhelming to feel like I was in an actual high school, not in a prison, and the air, the air was so