by Katie McCombs

Last first day of school. Last picture on my front porch. Last year to wear my weathered tartan plaid and stained polo. Last first semester. Last load of fresh school supplies. Last dreadful August in high school. Last treacherous cross country meet. Last grueling ice bath. Last bountiful pasta party. Last attempt to stay off blue sheet. Last Frosh Fest. Last Opening All School Liturgy. Last picture day. Last Culver’s Night. Last chance to gut laugh at the teachers in the Auction Pep Rally. Last chance to sell 10 raffle tickets. Last opportunity to wear the pant. Last Teresian dance. Last Freshman Mixer. Last time to guide a tour at Open House. Last time to be an audience member at the Fall Musical. Last ACT effort. Last Thanksgiving Prayer Service. Last time to be a goon at the Christmas Dance. Last first snowfall at the Academy. Last lengthy Christmas Break. Last second semester. Last MLK day off. Last Boomerang rental for the Father-Daughter Dance. Last blissful week of service. Last prayer for the Kairos retreatants. Last time to sneak a peek at the TNT sale. Last Holy Thursday Prayer Service. Last Mother-Daughter Luncheon. Last finger sandwich at the Grandmother’s Tea. Last bouts of silliness at Student Productions. Last calf-burning climb up to the third floor. Last advisory check in. Last advisory check out. Last time to listen to Mr. LaScalas’ song prayers at midday. Last 50-minute detention. Last inhale of the fetal pig stench during Carlson’s dissection unit. Last sack lunch with my name and “love, Mom” scrawled on it. Last entry in my planner with my color coordinating felt pens. Last witness of a budding dogwood tree in the Quad. Last trek across campus. Last term to terlk lerk thers werth Mery O’Lury in nerspaper. Last drumroll for a new issue of the Dart.

Senior year is filled with many moments of lasts, but also many moments of beginnings.