It started with the tardies. As expected with any first or zero period class, some students would typically trickle in a few minutes after the bell. But, come second semester, what could initially be written off as casual lapses in time management among a few, soon turned into an eclectic chess board of empty desks. Within the span of a couple weeks, a whopping total of three of my classmates could be seen in their seats at the toll of the bell. 

This peculiar aura manifested itself in other ways. It was during my second period English class specifically, that I first became aware of the impending gloom that had infiltrated a once amicable atmosphere. Looking around the classroom, I realized that the familiar sparkle in seniors’ eyes, incited by the freedom that had come with their final year of high school, was gone. In its place were mere shells of the diligent, eager Brahmas from the fall semester—all of them zombified.

In fact, it was this apparent dullness in my once lively peers that conjured warning signals in my mind. This lack of morale could only be attributed to one thing: the dreaded senioritis. 

Previously believed to be a myth concocted by last year’s seniors, the virus is known to cause a variety of symptoms: sloth, tardiness, missing assignments, among other things. Late to become conscious of its severity among Diamond Bar High School’s seniors, I was quick to take precautionary action. 

But it was far too late for most of my peers. Quietly, I observed as test curves increased drastically to accompany decreasing average scores. I even began to ponder the point in taking tests at all, considering their generosity. Teachers’ late bin baskets filled at first, only to eventually dry out completely as overdue assignments turned into missing ones. At this point, it was all too clear: the senioritis bug had spread from beneath our noses and its effects were snowballing at full speed. 

While I have taken it upon myself to properly equip myself in light of this epidemic, I know that it’s only a matter of time before I, too, fall victim to the wrath of senioritis. Already I’ve noticed small signs of infection: a sudden inclination to spend copious amounts of time on social media, and the red squares indicating missing assignments that are now commonplace in my gradebook—the color slowly becoming soothing to me in some twisted way. 

Not to mention, my sleep patterns have grown increasingly inconsistent, with random and involuntary naps consuming time that should be spent studying. And my attendance habits aren’t much better—mornings are an uphill battle I almost always lose and, at this point, I dread the day my roster becomes so cluttered with tardies and absences that I’m incapable of graduating— just one of many names lost to the virus. 

While I remain determined in my attempts to hinder the virus’ development, I’m aware of the reality of my situation–it won’t be long now. 

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