Jocelyn R.

Saving, Studying, Starting Over, and Stepping Into Junior Year

Summer is seemingly slipping from my grasp faster than I anticipated. Although breaks from school never seem long enough for a girl chasing time, this summer feels different. It’s unprecedented: a season that seems to pass by in the blink of an eye, yet somehow manages to change everything.

As the final weeks of summer begin and junior year approaches, my mind has shifted from lazy mornings and open schedules to the responsibilities waiting ahead: harder classes, sports, savings goals, and the challenge of learning to carry everything at once.

The strange thing about this transition is that change hasn’t arrived all at once. Instead, it has appeared through a series of small moments that somehow feel monumental: checking my savings account and realizing I’m building something tangible, opening my AP scores and seeing the result of months of effort, and stepping onto a tennis court at a new school, ready to become part of a completely different team. I’m terrified and excited for everything waiting ahead, the challenges, the opportunities, and the person I’ll become along the way.

For the first time, my money feels connected to something bigger than a paycheck. As each day’s tips go toward my car fund, I realize that maybe something as significant as owning a car is possible for a girl like me to achieve. To me, a car represents far more than a way to get from one place to another. It represents independence. The ability to get myself to work, sports, and college classes without relying on someone else. It represents opportunity, responsibility, and the freedom that comes with building something for myself.

When AP scores were released this morning, I was reminded how strange it is that a single number can hold so much meaning. A score can feel like a small thing, but it carries the weight of months of preparation, dedication, and the countless hours spent working toward a goal. I received a 4, and while not perfect, it represented something much bigger: that I am capable. It was a reminder that the effort I put in does not disappear, even when the results are uncertain.

However, not every new challenge comes with a score or a clear measurement of success. Some challenges require stepping into the unknown, trusting myself, and being willing to learn along the way. A new sport, like tennis, is one of those challenges. Walking onto a court at a new school and joining a completely different team is both exciting and intimidating. Unlike an AP exam, there is no single number that can tell me how much I’ve grown. There are only the hours of practice, the mistakes I make, and the small improvements that slowly add up over time.

As I begin to plan what this upcoming season of my life will require from me, I want to remember one thing: balance isn’t about giving everything equal attention. It’s about learning what deserves my energy each day and accepting that growth does not happen all at once. Maybe this is what makes this transition so intimidating. I don’t have every detail figured out, and I don’t know exactly what this year will bring. But through saving for my future, celebrating my accomplishments, and stepping into something completely new, I’m learning that I’m capable of more than I once believed.

A lesson I refused to learn.

When you were here before,

You were the sole light

from a lamp

illuminating a dark room.

Yet

I was scared of your love.

And I was right to be.

But you knew that,

As you knew me so well.

I was waiting

by the door

I never locked.

But you didn’t even

look my way.

I made dinner,

Ironed your clothes,

Played the part well,

Asked about your day.

I blew a smile your way.

Stupidly hopeful.

I didn’t realize

I was so replaceable.

What seemed like

an innocent catch-up

was really

an assessment.

Of who we were now.

Of whether I could still love you

on command.

You had a girlfriend.

And I had common sense.

But you looked at me

like I was still yours.

And so,

God, let me believe it.

So I laughed

at your stupid jokes,

Shared my darkest secrets,

Slept beside you once more.

Like we were still

Us.

I told myself,

It’s harmless.

But when you finally said those words I love you.

I swear

I forgot how to breathe.

I forgot she existed.

I forgot me.

I fell into you

Like nothing had changed.

And for a second,

maybe nothing had.

“I want you to have this.”

I glance down at the five-dollar bill one of my coworkers stuffs into my hand.

“What for?” I ask, confused and wondering who she wants me to give the cash to.

She’s already halfway out the door before she answers.

“I see how hard you work, and I appreciate it.”

Dazed, I look back at my other coworkers and managers, who are smiling back at me. I stumble over to one of the expos, who, to my knowledge, hates my very existence, awkwardly handing them the bill.

“Do I give this to you?” I ask. There’s simply no way somebody meant to give this to me.

A hand lands on my shoulder, steadying me. “No, honey. You put that in your pocket. You’ve earned it.”

After weeks of awkward small talk, blunt orders thrown my way, and demands that felt too heavy for even a food runner to carry, I had already reached a seemingly obvious conclusion: I simply don’t belong.

As I watched others laugh, dance, and tell inside jokes and stories that reminded me how new I still was, I often wondered, “What am I doing wrong?”

I tried to initiate conversations. I did everything my coworkers, managers, and customers asked of me. I stayed late whenever I could and tried to make life easier for the next person.

So why am I still watching from afar?

I’m brought back to one of my very first shifts. An expo whose name I hadn’t even gotten the chance to learn called my name and beckoned me over with a commanding hand.

It had been a hectic Saturday night, and anybody in their right mind would have wondered why anyone chose to work this job.

“Jocelyn.”

I trotted over to her naively, clearly misreading the situation. “Yes?”

“Do you know where the grill is?” She suddenly leaned in close.

Of course I do! It’s right outside. “Mhm!” Oh, I was so happy to prove useful!

“Then go there when I tell you to.” She growled through gritted teeth.

Well, that wasn’t what I expected.

But I did go to the grill! The plates were right there! Delicious kabobs and a meaty half-rack were sitting right in front of her, fresh from the grill.

Yet, believing I had done nothing wrong, I had no will to argue. My only instinct was to please.

“O-okay.” I stumbled over my words, glancing to the side and retreating to my tiny corner in the kitchen.

Unfortunately, that first interaction became the lens through which I viewed everything she did.

From then on, she felt like a fireball, ready to burn away any confidence I had.

Any question I had was brushed off or met with a very long eye roll.

“But this is-”

“Does it have a ticket?” She spoke sharply.

“N-no, but this is-” I almost whimpered.

“Run this. NOW.”

If I ever got in her way,

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I cried, apologizing over and over, desperate to prove I wasn’t a burden.

And for a while, that’s all I saw. Every sharp command became proof. Every eye roll became another piece of evidence. I had already decided what she thought of me, so everything she did only served as confirmation.

But the funny thing about assumptions is they tend to only show you what you are looking for.

I don’t remember the exact moment I stopped seeing her as someone expecting me to fail. There wasn’t any big conversation or apology. She didn’t suddenly become a different person. I just slowly started noticing that maybe she wasn’t angry at me; maybe she was simply a blunt person working in a chaotic environment.

I never had a moment when everyone suddenly welcomed me with open arms. There was no grand shift where I became the center of every conversation or instantly felt like I belonged.

Instead, it happened slowly, barely noticeably.

A lineman went out of his way to say good morning to me. People asked me questions back for the first time. Another lineman gave me one of his raw cookie dough pieces. A coworker showed me the secret spot in the walk-in when the heat becomes unbearable.

And maybe that was the hardest part to admit: I wasn’t invisible. I was just so convinced I was unwanted that I stopped looking for the ways people showed they cared.

That five-dollar bill wasn’t just five dollars. It was a reminder that the version of myself I had created, the new girl nobody wanted around, the person always one mistake away from being a burden, was never the complete story.

Sometimes, we are so busy waiting to be rejected that we turn away when someone is already reaching out their hand.

And sometimes, belonging doesn’t come from everyone suddenly making space for you.

A blurry week is what draws a line between living and being. When everything seems to go by so fast, it becomes difficult to tell the difference between reality and what I only imagined before drifting off to sleep. Life-changing talks become distant echoes, and each day fades without much thought.

Sometimes I look back on the past few months of my life and realize they only happened on Monday.

I broke it off with my boyfriend this week. It didn’t happen all at once so much as it quietly fell apart over a stretch of time I can’t quite place anymore. It’s a series of disconnections that is already half-forgotten. After a weekend of 10-hour shifts, and “I love you”s left on delivered, I realized I had been fitting my life into someone else’s schedule instead of my own. Between being snapped at by the new expo and carrying trays that felt heavier than they should have, everything seems to have blurred into one motion: work, sleep, repeat.

The bar doesn’t feel like a real place most of the time. It feels like a never-ending sequence. Plates, orders, footsteps, someone asking for help through a crackling radio. By the end of the night, my body remembers more than I’d like to. My feet start to swell and ache in delayed motion, as if they are only now catching up to what the rest of me has already endured.

The only moment I get to realize I’m alive is when I step outside and watch birds steal fries off customers’ plates. There is something strangely grounding about it, watching something small and unbothered interrupt a world that takes itself too seriously. For a second, the loop breaks, and I smile for the first time that night.

I try to connect with the people I work with, but most of the time it’s short-lived. It feels like I’m standing ever-so-slightly outside of an unspoken circle. Everyone seems to know their place and rhythm except me. I smile, nod, and mutter apologies, but it never quite feels like belonging. On my breaks, I scroll through job applications like I’m trying to quietly step out of a life that is already moving too fast for me to hold onto.

I feel like a ghost,

Haunting the places we used to visit.

I remember my dreams the most

Then, the aftermath of waking up And realizing

You're not here.

I still talk out loud

As though you’re right there.

Something about games

And staying up too long

Except

Morning was always better at hide-and-seek

Than we were.

I loved picking flowers

And pretending to run away

Just so you'd chase me.

Our favorite thing to do

Was play.

You’ve taken on one too many roles.

Young and sweet.

I feel your heartbeat,

Soothing. Gentle. Mine.

Then years later,

Old and cruel.

The cheap root beer I couldn’t stand.

The stale pizza I finished

Only because you offered.

I sense your arm lingering behind me

Always too careful to make a move,

Weren’t you?

I remember your soft coo

As I lay my head against your shoulder.

The warmth of a blanket

Washes over us.

Then silence.

Not the silence I know now:

Pitiful, loud, and alone.

But the silence I fear I'll chase forever

Peaceful, quiet, and loving.

You were my first sense of love in a new way

Making up for what I should’ve had long before.

I thought I would find you in everyone

So, now I call your number,

Hoping you'll pick up.

Except like a ghost, It’s as though I never existed.

Then I found you with that other version of me.

You replaced me?

Can’t you see I’m right here?

You don’t need her.

You don’t want her.

Right?

I was here first.

Yet I always lose