Tuesday morning. I wake in cold terror. The heat from my phone dissipates as Mr. Rubeling’s email flashes: Spirit Week: Day 1 is CANCELLED (Note that Monday was already off for MLK day). 

Spirit Week has been my drug of choice when the school year overstays its welcome. Its deprivation immediately sent me into a viscous relapse. For the entire day, I waited in agonizing boredom, staring at an outdoor winter sorbet instead of hallways lined with my fellow-students sporting Hawaiian-themed outfits. The hugs not shared, speeches not made, and shirts not dressed tugged on my body as a skin-deep desire I left primal and contrived. 

Wednesday brought with it a ray of hope. Emails flooded in, announcing the resumption of Spirit Week with an adjusted schedule. We were back in school, and I was eager to make up lost time.  However…

Wednesday was also Ash Wednesday, bringing the student body together in the dreaed “Jacket & Tie” uniform with a Mass for the masses. In incense-whipped air, student-ministers and priests dipped their fingers into ash, crossing each student’s forehead with a symbol of Christ, humility, and penitence. Afterward, students were encouraged to give up something precious to them. I chose ChatGPT. 

The hard-hitting, ear-splitting, adrenaline-inducing activities reached a feverish peak on Thursday. In my green shirt, green pants, and green jacket, I was a walking embodiment of School Spirit. 

The kaleidoscope of green and white converged on the new gym for the week’s highlight: Delbarton’s version of “Bread and Circuses”. Gladiators came in as teachers and students, their journeys for glory intersecting on the gym floor. The ping pong final was smashing. The poetry slam saw Neil Van Kurk waxing eloquently on Stephen King’s verses. As he performed, heads dipped and beats trembled to the moving of hands and stomping of feet.

Every good story needs a villain, and for spirit week, that was the teachers, their war-mongering stances on the sidelines a far cry from classroom countenance. In the annual Students v. Faculty basketball game, the green and brown floor was soaked with footsteps and prayers for complete annihilation. 

I wish I could tell you the teachers fought the good fight, and the students let them be. I wish I could tell you that – but Delbarton is no fairytale world. 

Thomas Colello sunk 21 points worth of three pointers. The teachers reciprocated, but to no avail. In the final moments, Mr. Murphy tried to stop the clock; unfortunately, his efforts were futile, and the students stole his pot of gold. It was history: for the first time in 8 years, the students had won. A storybook ending to my 4 years at Delbarton.

In the quiet echoes of celebration and defiance, I found the same silence that had pained me all Tuesday afternoon. This time, I found solace.