There were no miraculous suggestions, books, pills or other devices which could have properly prepared me for the onset of growing pains. My High School years, more than any other time in my life, proved to be the toughest emotional battleground. As I grew physically, mentally and socially, my emotions were constantly fluctuating, eventually creating a finely-honed, razor-sharp edge on which all interaction was carved into a deep and memorable impression in my mind. Tenth grade came as somewhat of a shock. It reminded me of the terrors of seventh grade, for I had a different locker, an entirely foreign building and a new and larger mass of faces to which I was supposed to become accustomed. The lunch room appeared enormous to my nervous stomach, and among the flood of students pressed before the snack counter, I considered myself lucky to have made it to the front to order. Once I had my lunch, usually a long john and orange drink, in my possession, I turned reluctantly to search in desperation for a familiar face with whom I could sit and more pleasantly pass the time. If I saw no one, I would find a seat apart from the various congregations and open a book as if trying to read. While I ingested my donuts the words danced meaninglessly across the page beneath my unseeing eyes; insecurity prevented me from attempting to seek my acquaintances just as pride demanded that my attention be riveted to a book. The classes were not as distressing as lunch time, with the possible exception of physical education, since they were governed by one's teachers rather than oneself and generally did not reflect complete anarchy. I was much more relaxed in a routine setting wherein nothing was left to chance; I had no anxiety toward finding a seat, since one's initial choice usually lasted the entire semester, nor was conversation a worry because it was not permitted after the beginning of class anyway, and if I failed to unearth rare gems of humor, silence did not endure so far as to become embarrassing.