There are plenty of undervalued teachers in Virginia Beach, especially regarding the students they care for so much. It was in November of 2023 when I started to appreciate their contributions and involvement. I auditioned and got into a prestigious choir specific to seniors across the Commonwealth. I arrived with an attitude from the travel and the strain on my dry throat from hours of practicing the night before. When I sat in the front row, I could tell I was not the only one who felt this way: nearly the entire choir looked like a hoard of teenage zombies. However, the bright and unwavering smile of our conductor, Amanda Quist, lifted our spirits almost instantly. She would describe how she originally never wanted to conduct. Maybe being a doctor or a psychologist suited her best. That was until she was a student participating in this exact honors choir. She knew the struggles of being a choir director and how these programs are typically the first to get cut for “the benefit of the school.” However, that did not stop her pursuit into this field. Being a woman of faith, she believed in purpose and miracles. Her purpose specifically led her to compose and direct choirs, with great success emerging from her hard work and perseverance. Still, it did not change that her proudest accomplishment was changing how music impacts a student’s life. That student, this time, was me. When I returned, I witnessed the courage it takes to be a music educator on a larger scale. I realized the stress my choir director was recently under with local music programs getting cut and the numerous petitions to re-implement them. Instead of giving up hope, this urged her and other teachers to speak up. The situation sparked a relevant conversation with teachers of all subjects because they see the change their students experience when they have an artistic outlet. Despite the views of the Board of Education, performance art has such an impact that people across the district feel the need to support music educators and their programs. The Alexis Mackenzie Memorial Scholarship for the Arts would help uplift me, my efforts, and the voices of others with similar aspirations. My dedication will continue to show through my education at James Madison University and my future career as an educator. I want to teach students the importance of scholarship, education, and self-advocacy so they can adequately stand up for what they believe in for the sake of self-preservation rather than being uncomfortable in “normal” circumstances for compliance. Every voice, petition, post, comment, speech, and teacher encouraged me to be the change, and fighting for an artistic outlet for high school scholars is my calling.

My name is Rodjanay Anthony and I go by Sheridan. I don’t hate the name Rodjanay even though it took me a while to accept it. Even so, I’m deciding to legally change my name to Sheridan because it’s what my mother originally wanted to name me. This isn’t anything new, I’ve gone by Sheridan my whole life. So why is it that when I tell other black people I go by Sheridan it’s assumed that I’m “whitewashing” myself? Why is my title as a black woman diminished when I “cross my t’s and dot my i’s.” Are eloquence and education specific to those of a lighter complexion? Why do we as a community say we strive for excellence and success but behave as though those who do are acting “outside of their race?” Isn’t the point of progression to break the stereotype? This is the problem with the modern mindset. We are told to submit and subject ourselves to the image others have created for us. We ask ourselves to stick to the boundaries to live comfortably as if our peace resides in the appeasement of society, and rather than redefining what it means to be black, we silence ourselves. We tell ourselves to comply, and silence other brilliant black people in the process. The opportunities the Peter and Nan Liubenov Student Scholarship of 2024 provides are not just for financial compensation. It would uplift me to continue my path as a teacher, a speaker, an activist, and a leader. I spend countless hours working behind the scenes as an officer for multiple clubs such as the Student Council, the Visual and Performing Arts Council, and the Student Section Club, which I founded alongside a dear friend of mine to revitalize the social scene and sportsmanship of Salem High School. Not only that, I demonstrated my community service with official societies like the National Honors Society and I earned my civic seal doing exactly what I do best: giving back to the people who allowed me to obtain my platform. Scholarships like these would not only be a gift to me, but a gift to my community. It signifies the beginning of hope and support for fellow black peers. I want to be the beacon of hope for future students and show them the importance of self-advocacy. I want to open the door of opportunity to future scholars and show people like me that being black is exactly that. We are not criminals. We are not uneducated. We are not uncivilized. We are black. And that’s okay.

There are plenty of undervalued teachers in Virginia Beach, especially regarding the students they care for so much. It was in November of 2023 when I started to appreciate their contributions and involvement. I auditioned and got into a prestigious choir specific to seniors across the Commonwealth. I arrived with an attitude from the travel and the strain on my dry throat from hours of practicing the night before. When I sat in the front row, I could tell I was not the only one who felt this way: nearly the entire choir looked like a hoard of teenage zombies. However, the bright and unwavering smile of our conductor, Amanda Quist, lifted our spirits almost instantly. She would describe how she originally never wanted to conduct. That was until she was a student participating in this exact honors choir. She knew the struggles of being a choir director and how these programs are typically the first to get cut for “the benefit of the school.” However, that did not stop her pursuit into this field. Being a woman of faith, she believed in purpose and miracles. Her purpose specifically led her to compose and direct choirs, with great success emerging from her hard work and perseverance. Still, it did not change that her proudest accomplishment was changing how music impacts a student’s life. That student, this time, was me. When I returned, I witnessed the courage it takes to be a music educator on a larger scale. I realized the stress my choir director was recently under with local music programs getting cut and the numerous petitions to re-implement them. Instead of giving up hope, this urged her and other teachers to speak up. The situation sparked a relevant conversation with teachers of all subjects because they see the change their students experience when they have an artistic outlet. Despite the views of the Board of Education, performance art has such an impact that people across the district feel the need to support music educators and their programs. The Neil Margeson Sound Scholarship of 2024 would help uplift me, my efforts, and the voices of others with similar aspirations. My dedication will continue to show through my education at James Madison University and my future career as an educator. I want to teach students the importance of scholarship and self-advocacy so they can stand up for what they believe in for self-preservation rather than being uncomfortable in “normal” circumstances for compliance. Every voice, petition, post, comment, speech, and teacher encouraged me to be the change, and fighting for an artistic outlet for high school scholars is my calling.

There are plenty of undervalued teachers in Virginia Beach, especially regarding the students they care for so much. It was in November of 2023 when I started to appreciate their contributions and involvement. I auditioned and got into a prestigious choir specific to seniors across the Commonwealth. I arrived with an attitude from the travel and the strain on my dry throat from hours of practicing the night before. When I sat in the front row, I could tell I was not the only one who felt this way: nearly the entire choir looked like a hoard of teenage zombies. However, the bright and unwavering smile of our conductor, Amanda Quist, lifted our spirits almost instantly. She would describe how she originally never wanted to conduct. That was until she was a student participating in this exact honors choir. She knew the struggles of being a choir director and how these programs are typically the first to get cut for “the benefit of the school.” However, that did not stop her pursuit into this field. Being a woman of faith, she believed in purpose and miracles. Her purpose specifically led her to compose and direct choirs, with great success emerging from her hard work and perseverance. Still, it did not change that her proudest accomplishment was changing how music impacts a student’s life. That student, this time, was me. When I returned, I witnessed the courage it takes to be a music educator on a larger scale. I realized the stress my choir director was recently under with local music programs getting cut and the numerous petitions to re-implement them. Instead of giving up hope, this urged her and other teachers to speak up. The situation sparked a relevant conversation with teachers of all subjects because they see the change their students experience when they have an artistic outlet. Despite the views of the Board of Education, performance art has such an impact that people across the district feel the need to support music educators and their programs. The Marshall and Dorothy Smith Music Scholarship of 2024 would help uplift me, my efforts, and the voices of others with similar aspirations. My dedication will continue to show through my education at James Madison University and my future career as an educator. I want to teach students the importance of scholarship and self-advocacy so they can stand up for what they believe in for self-preservation rather than being uncomfortable in “normal” circumstances for compliance. Every voice, petition, post, comment, speech, and teacher encouraged me to be the change, and fighting for an artistic outlet for high school scholars is my calling.

There are plenty of undervalued teachers in Virginia Beach, especially regarding the students they care for so much. It was in November of 2023 when I started to appreciate their contributions and involvement. I auditioned and got into a prestigious choir specific to seniors across the Commonwealth. I arrived with an attitude from the travel and the strain on my dry throat from hours of practicing the night before. When I sat in the front row, I could tell I was not the only one who felt this way: nearly the entire choir looked like a hoard of teenage zombies. However, the bright and unwavering smile of our conductor, Amanda Quist, lifted our spirits almost instantly. She would describe how she originally never wanted to conduct. That was until she was a student participating in this exact honors choir. She knew the struggles of being a choir director and how these programs are typically the first to get cut for “the benefit of the school.” However, that did not stop her pursuit into this field. Being a woman of faith, she believed in purpose and miracles. Her purpose specifically led her to compose and direct choirs, with great success emerging from her hard work and perseverance. Still, it did not change that her proudest accomplishment was changing how music impacts a student’s life. That student, this time, was me. When I returned, I witnessed the courage it takes to be a music educator on a larger scale. I realized the stress my choir director was recently under with local music programs getting cut and the numerous petitions to re-implement them. Instead of giving up hope, this urged her and other teachers to speak up. The situation sparked a relevant conversation with teachers of all subjects because they see the change their students experience when they have an artistic outlet. Despite the views of the Board of Education, performance art has such an impact that people across the district feel the need to support music educators and their programs. The Randall Davis Memorial Music Scholarship of 2024 would help uplift me, my efforts, and the voices of others with similar aspirations. My dedication will continue to show through my education at James Madison University and my future career as an educator. I want to teach students the importance of scholarship and self-advocacy so they can stand up for what they believe in for self-preservation rather than being uncomfortable in “normal” circumstances for compliance. Every voice, petition, post, comment, speech, and teacher encouraged me to be the change, and fighting for an artistic outlet for high school scholars is my calling.

There are plenty of undervalued teachers in Virginia Beach, especially regarding the students they care for so much. It was in November of 2023 when I started to appreciate their contributions and involvement. I auditioned and got into a prestigious choir specific to seniors across the Commonwealth. I arrived with an attitude from the travel and the strain on my dry throat from hours of practicing the night before. When I sat in the front row, I could tell I was not the only one who felt this way: nearly the entire choir looked like a hoard of teenage zombies. However, the bright and unwavering smile of our conductor, Amanda Quist, lifted our spirits almost instantly. She would describe how she originally never wanted to conduct. That was until she was a student participating in this exact honors choir. She knew the struggles of being a choir director and how these programs are typically the first to get cut for “the benefit of the school.” However, that did not stop her pursuit into this field. Being a woman of faith, she believed in purpose and miracles. Her purpose specifically led her to compose and direct choirs, with great success emerging from her hard work and perseverance. Still, it did not change that her proudest accomplishment was changing how music impacts a student’s life. That student, this time, was me. When I returned, I witnessed the courage it takes to be a music educator on a larger scale. I realized the stress my choir director was recently under with local music programs getting cut and the numerous petitions to re-implement them. Instead of giving up hope, this urged her and other teachers to speak up. The situation sparked a relevant conversation with teachers of all subjects because they see the change their students experience when they have an artistic outlet. Despite the views of the Board of Education, performance art has such an impact that people across the district feel the need to support music educators and their programs. The Connie Konatsotis of 2024 would help uplift me, my efforts, and the voices of others with similar aspirations. My dedication will continue to show through my education at James Madison University and my future career as an educator. I want to teach students the importance of scholarship and self-advocacy so they can stand up for what they believe in for self-preservation rather than being uncomfortable in “normal” circumstances for compliance. Every voice, petition, post, comment, speech, and teacher encouraged me to be the change, and fighting for an artistic outlet for high school scholars is my calling.

There are plenty of undervalued teachers in Virginia Beach, especially regarding the students they care for so much. It was in November of 2023 when I started to appreciate their contributions and involvement. I auditioned and got into a prestigious choir specific to seniors across the Commonwealth. I arrived with an attitude from the travel and the strain on my dry throat from hours of practicing the night before. When I sat in the front row, I could tell I was not the only one who felt this way: nearly the entire choir looked like a hoard of teenage zombies. However, the bright and unwavering smile of our conductor, Amanda Quist, lifted our spirits almost instantly. She would describe how she originally never wanted to conduct. That was until she was a student participating in this exact honors choir. She knew the struggles of being a choir director and how these programs are typically the first to get cut for “the benefit of the school.” However, that did not stop her pursuit into this field. Being a woman of faith, she believed in purpose and miracles. Her purpose specifically led her to compose and direct choirs, with great success emerging from her hard work and perseverance. Still, it did not change that her proudest accomplishment was changing how music impacts a student’s life. That student, this time, was me. When I returned, I witnessed the courage it takes to be a music educator on a larger scale. I realized the stress my choir director was recently under with local music programs getting cut and the numerous petitions to re-implement them. Instead of giving up hope, this urged her and other teachers to speak up. The situation sparked a relevant conversation with teachers of all subjects because they see the change their students experience when they have an artistic outlet. Despite the views of the Board of Education, performance art has such an impact that people across the district feel the need to support music educators and their programs. The Elizabeth D. Stark Art Scholarship of 2024 would help uplift me, my efforts, and the voices of others with similar aspirations. My dedication will continue to show through my education at James Madison University and my future career as an educator. I want to teach students the importance of scholarship and self-advocacy so they can stand up for what they believe in for self-preservation rather than being uncomfortable in “normal” circumstances for compliance. Every voice, petition, post, comment, speech, and teacher encouraged me to be the change, and fighting for an artistic outlet for high school scholars is my calling.

My opinions in my government class were not of an assignment, but of passion. For context, a debate ensued on whether the U.S. should lower the voting age to 16. As seniors who were fixated on obtaining our degree, the type of degree we were aiming for, and community service hours, we could care less about the debate. I assumed my opinion would not provoke a change, but I felt a burning urgency to speak. I stated, "'In 2022, over 300 school shootings occurred. Why should those who are most affected by the issue be disenfranchised?' We should not have to wait for a politician's child to die at the hands of gun violence for the government to act with purpose." Silence. No one knew how to continue nor did they want to follow up after my point. The atmosphere had shifted, and the tension of my classmates was evident, even to the students who had chosen not to engage as much as others. It was a feeling no one could simply ignore. This exact atmosphere is what I felt promoted change. If the people who are the heart of political influence do not feel uncomfortable with current conditions, change will not occur. The debate was a prime example of the impact of uncomfortable feelings, but I was foolishly unaware this concept could start on a small scale and become something great. The opinion of my class shifted from majority opposition to a 50-50 split. I was inspired to join local committees and follow political pages that focus on local issues rather than global ones. Ones that feel too big for a single high school senior. I want my change to be attainable and effective, and I have to start somewhere. On November 7th, 2023 I volunteered as an election page for midterm elections. I simply directed voters where they needed to be, redirected them to the correct jurisdiction if they were incorrect, and greeted them with a smile on my face. It was something so simple but so effective to cause people to return for the primaries and future elections. I simply had to realize on my own time that starting small was common, and it would provide an equal amount of satisfaction. I wish to continue to advocate for what I believe in and make my voice heard within the community I cherish so much. I wish to engage and keep up with debates, and protests in a manner that would create a spark for change. I owe the growth of my political efficacy to my classmates, who showed the quality of words held more power than the quantity of ears listening.

On cold nights, I would snuggle against my mother while eating caramel-covered popcorn, drinking hot cocoa with heaps of marshmallows, and watching any crime-related show we could find: Criminal Minds, CSI, Monk, anything. I knew from an early age, I wanted to do something related to law and criminal activity. My mother jumped for joy when I told her at the ripe age of seven that I wanted to be a lawyer, but what I did not realize was that it was so I could provide my future family with a nicer home in a nicer area than the one riddled with drugs and gun violence that we lived in. We had long left that place, and I left my dreams of becoming a lawyer because I was missing something. I wanted the adrenaline of studying criminal activity, but I was not quite sure about being a lawyer and having my success rate depend on a person's judgment day. The pressure to choose my career path, major, and college grew heavier and left me feeling more sluggish the longer I remained in high school. I thought about taking a gap year, but I knew the likeliness of me retaining any information or passion was low. I felt lost and behind since I did not know my "calling" as most people my age would call it. That was until my AP psychology class. I was scared to admit to my mother that being a lawyer might not be for me, because psychology gave me the answers I had craved for so long. It quenched my thirst for the “why” rather than just giving me the “what.” I would use this knowledge to branch out my interests in criminology and forensic science and I fell in love with these studies. I made up my mind that my dream career included social sciences, preferably criminal psychology and criminology, before telling my mother. What I did not realize I desperately craved her support in my future endeavors until the relief I felt when she smiled. She told me she already knew since my answer to “How was school?” changed from a simple shrug of the shoulders to a spiel on what my psychology was lass and a regurgitation of what I had learned. She urged me to follow that passion because it should never die at the expense of a little extra money. With that, I am choosing to take my mother’s advice because she does know best, and settle down on psychology.

It takes most people a considerable amount of time to be open about grief-related experiences. In all honesty, these guilt-driven emotions plagued me day by day. I had saved various scholarship opportunities with loss and grief as the main topic since it was all I could think about, yet I pushed it further back to avoid unearthing sorrowful memories. However, an outlet for my inner turmoil is long overdue. This is my story to tell about the way I process grief. The year that covid hit, it felt like I lost everything I worked for. My middle school lost the sheet that tracked my community service hours. I lost the drive to view academics as a fun journey rather than a chore. I lost many opportunities that I looked forward to during my final year of middle school. I lost touch with friends. I lost touch with myself. I used studying to cope with the emotions of being isolated, and the deafening silence from my online classrooms filled with colleagues who refused to turn on their cameras did not help. One day, I continued my unhealthy habit of avoiding self-reflection by submerging myself in work when I received a text from a middle school group chat that had been collecting dust over our Freshman year. Messages like ‘I would’ve never guessed’ and ‘That sucks, he was a cool dude’ would flood my phone, and countless notifications sounded like alarm bells as people began to post “Rest In Peace” on their Instagram stories. When I received the news, I was confused. I could not believe the news, and I was so astonished that all I could do was blink, rub my eyes, scratch my head. I did everything but react in a way that was not anticlimactic. On December 3rd, 2020, Derek Bushman committed suicide. Suicide. It felt surreal. The fluttering feeling in my stomach from obnoxiously teasing him until the tips of his ears burned a bright red, as any 7th-grade girl with a painfully obvious crush would do, still burned freshly in my memory. Now, my stomach turned upside down to the point of feeling nauseous. All I could do was break down as did the memory of his sweet smiling face. All I could do was let my grades slip as he did when he slipped into cardiac arrest. All I could do was stay up in my room. All I could do was contemplate if my life was worth it. All I could do was wonder why he did it. All I could wonder was why no one could see it. I felt anger and disgust with everyone. The people who would post condolences knowing they would ignore his very existence should he still be alive. I felt that same anger and disgust towards myself because I drew away from him in fear of souring the memories of his red ears and awkward smile. I watched him from afar thinking ‘Well, as long as he’s happy’. I was no better than those people posting, I was a stranger. Yet it felt as though my world had stopped. Everyone kept going and I was left behind. I found comfort in knowing any answers. I pestered my friend Raymond who happened to be Derek’s closest friend. I wanted to calm the storm of confusion in my head, but it took me some time to realize I was hurting my friend in the process. I was selfish. I realized that all questions do not require answers, so I acquiesced. I reflect on my behavior a little over three years after his passing, and even now I feel like my body is heavier each time he crosses my mind. When his suicide is referred to, the suffocation that consumed me no longer lingered and I did not have to rely on an academic escape. I was never good at showing my emotions, and that is one thing that I doubt will change. What did change is the fight in me. I feel as though I can go a little longer. That I can work a little harder. That I can cry a little less. That I can sit here in hopes of a good college, good friends, and a good future for those who had theirs so cruelly pried from their grasp. I can now say Derek is living vicariously through the joyous moments that his friends experience without feeling shame for past mistakes. I can now say Derek can finally rest in peace.

Music is exactly what you'd think it is. If you want to get technical, music can be described as longitudinal waves traveling through any given medium through compressions and rarefactions. With that definition in mind, music is not the most desirable means of expressing oneself, it is too technical and lacks emotion. According to Google, the definition of music is described as "vocal or instrumental sounds (or both) combined in such a way as to produce beauty of form, harmony, and expression of emotion." Beauty is subjective, so it seems counterintuitive to use something opinionated to describe music, which was previously defined with such monotonous connotations. That's simply because music is that, it's subjective. When you ask what people think music is, you may hear examples from Jay-Z, Drake, Billie Eilish, Ariana Grande, and maybe even a shocking Blink-182 or Beatles; however, this is just the surface level of the capabilities that music can achieve. To me, music represents an audible peace brought to oneself. Peace in the sense that you're comforted by the emotions said sound can make you feel, as though the words and notes written on the paper were not enough. They crave someone or something to understand the emotions that cannot be described by words. Music fills that void that we as humans desperately feel the need to restore. I see this craving as a common occurrence, people tend to accredit the overcoming of struggle to the music they listen to. It's a sweet sentiment, but is it possible for everyone to find a solution through music? Scientific studies aside, I believe music can allow self-reflection of both physical and spiritual reflection. I see music as an outlet, an internal and, for the most part, a healthy way to relieve stress through an artistic medium. It is indeed uncommon for us all to experience the same things and find the same results in music, but the fact of the matter is that loneliness is common and we've all felt it at some point. The emotions that music gives serve as an entity in itself to satisfy that loneliness and lessen the burdens of our everyday life. Some could say it possibly transcends them past all negative feelings, even if the song has a negative mood. It makes the person feel heard. This isn't about a specific struggle that we tend to all feel, this is about emotions that we tend to act on. Music reveals that people rely on artistic outlets in vulnerable situations.

The mind is a wonderful yet complex tool that humans rely every function on, whether intentional or not. With this complex power comes the need for a complex knowledge to navigate the many niche aspects of the brain and mind, and that knowledge is psychology. Psychology, specifically in the forensic field, has always been a passion of mine. It's not often in life that a concrete answer will quench all curiosity and doubt, yet psychology is a field of study that has proven worthy of being rather close to succeeding. Theoretically, it is quite possible that with enough research and study, all core aspects of a field of study will be explored and finalized. Though there are not many examples of a field of study maximizing their ability, with psychology, it is practically impossible to do. Many factors contribute to the adaption and behavior of the human mind; as long as the environment continues to change, the mind will follow. With this in mind, there are many ways in which a psychology degree may be exercised; in my case, I choose to help the community. It is entirely possible that I do not go for the initial plan of applying for law school to become a lawyer. If I did, it would be self-explanatory how I would be helping those in the community. I would choose to represent those I feel need lawful justice, and that decision will also have the input of public opinion. However, in the case that I do not choose this path, I would put my knowledge towards various research projects that aid in the development of human studies. This includes but is not limited to general mental health awareness, identity crises, disorders, self-image, and possibly the recovery of a lost function ( i.e. Alzheimer's disease ). As mentioned before, psychology is a field in which discovery and adventure are highly encouraged, and the simple act of publishing research and establishing effective projects for communal purposes nurtures that exact principle. These are all viable means to aid a community in need; however, outstretching this idea to reach a larger subset of people in need is also a big part of effective community service. Community service has always been on my priority list, whether I gain something from it or not, regarding my academic career and everyday life. I am currently working towards my civic seal, and I have been admitted into NHS, which will ultimately grant me ample community service hours collectively. With a psychology degree, I have the ethos to create something bigger. A larger movement. Possibly a future non-profit organization or the jumpstart of an entrepreneurial idea. Either way, it is a larger and much more tangible dream to indulge in. Psychology and community service alike have their adventures, and I plan on using my creativity and motivation to explore them to the best of my ability.

It takes most people a considerable amount of time to be open about grief-related experiences, as they are too sensitive or personal. In all honesty, I have been guilty of these emotions. I had saved this scholarship opportunity and pushed it further and further to the back of my mind to refrain from unearthing sorrowful memories. However, I believe most people can agree that an outlet for inner turmoil is necessary. This scholarship submission is mine. The year that covid hit, it felt like I lost everything I worked for. My middle school did not transfer my community service hours, I lost many opportunities that I looked forward to during my final year of middle school, I lost touch with friends, and I lost touch with myself. I used studying as a way to cope with the emotions of being isolated, in the deafening silence of my online classrooms of colleagues who refused to turn on their cameras. It had felt like my then-typical routine of pushing my worries to the back of my head to focus on my studies. When I received the news, the overwhelming thoughts of what could have been begun to rush back. On December 3rd, 2020, Derek Bushman committed suicide. It felt surreal. As if just yesterday, I had the fluttering feeling in my stomach from obnoxiously teasing him until the tips of his ears burned a bright red as any 7th-grade girl foolishly in love would do. All I could do was break down as did the image of his sweet smiling face. All I could do was let my grades slip as he did when he slipped into cardiac arrest. All I could do was stay up in my room. All I could do was contemplate if my life was worth it. All I could do was wonder why he did it. All I could wonder was why no one could see it. I felt anger and disgust with myself and everyone else; My world had stopped and everyone kept going. I was being left behind, drowning in a serious and morbid reality. I found comfort in knowing the answer to all of the questions that plagued my curious mind, but when a mutual friend of Derek and I would catch up with each other, I realized that all questions do not require answers. So I acquiesced. I am writing this exactly two years after the funeral, and even today it feels as though the people that knew him best refuse to mention his name. When "the incident" is referred to, a suffocating silence consumes us all, like the suffocating silence that kept me isolated behind my screen through remote learning, except there was no academic escape from the reality of Derek's judgment day. I sit here typing with shaking hands, a blanket of tears covering my eyes, and the faint sounds of my whimpers as I refuse to cry. I was never good at showing my emotions, and that is one thing that I doubt will change. What did change is that I feel as though I can go a little longer. That I can work a little harder. That I can cry a little less. That I can sit here in hopes of a good college, good friends, good scholarships, and a good future for those who had theirs so cruelly pried from their desperate grasp. I can now say that my dear friend, Derek Bushman, is living vicariously through the joyous moments that his friends can now experience without feeling shame for past mistakes. I can now say that my dear friend, Derek Bushman, can finally rest in peace.