by Lauren Langdon

I feel confused. I feel violated. I feel like everything I thought about St. Teresa’s Academy students has been shattered. I am in shock.

I always thought that STA was a tight knit community absent of crime. Most students even leave their lockers open! I learned how naive I was Feb. 11.

The day started like every other Monday: long. When I got home, I reached into my backpack for my pencil bag. It was missing! I did not worry; I figured I left my precious pencil bag in math and I would get it the next day.

It turns out that I did not have to wait for my last period pre-calculus class to look for my pencil bag. As I was opening the door to my sixth period social concerns class, something yellow caught my eye. I looked to the right of theology teacher Michael Sanem’s door and saw my pencil bag on top of a chair. The following blissful ignorance did not last long.

My pencil bag felt light and fairly empty, but I was not worried, yet, because I knew I had some pencils in my netbook case. I started transferring my pencils into my bag when I finally started to understand.

Why do I have so many pencils? Where are my pens? My mind raced. I asked Sanem, but he claimed to have no knowledge of the treacherous act.

I love my pencil bag. My dad bought it for me when he was travelling in Asia last year. It has the perfect amount of space for me to fit a few pencils, a yellow highlighter and my seven different colored pens. But, at that moment in social concerns, I realized I was living amongst a criminal. I only had one pen – my broken red one. Someone reached into my pencil bag, knowing it was not their own, and grabbed my orange, green-yellow, green-blue, light blue, navy blue and light pink pens.

I am very protective of my pens because I am very particular about the kinds I use. I like pens that flow fluidly so my hand does not hurt when I am writing. I like pens whose ink dries instantly. I liked my, now stolen, pens.

I have never felt so vulnerable. How could this happen at STA? I started recounting the story to everyone I meet, but no one seemed to understand the gravity of the situation – until I talked to my history teacher Craig Whitney. He knew exactly where I was coming from; he is picky about his pens too. Then, the most amazing thing happened. Whitney asked me what kinds of pens I liked and opened his file cabinet to reveal a half opened package of pens. He pulled out a brand new pen and handed it to me. I could hear a chorus of angels singing “Hallelujah” in my head. I practically skipped to my seat.

Whitney did not just give me a pen, but my state of mind. Right after the robbery I felt like I had been introduced to a new side of STA, but Whitney’s gift changed my mind. One person’s actions does not reflect the entire school.

If you are responsible for taking my pens, you do not need to confess, but please stop. I do not want anyone else going through an experience like this.