Cherika Well, despite everything we thought and everything our parents ever said, we are in fact graduating from the Latin School of Chicago. We didn’t want this day to come either, loyal servants. Why do you think we rigged every year’s senior prefect election? (that’s right Ian) We’ve been doing everything to get kicked out of this school since the moment we arrived. And while this has given us a badass rebellious hoodlum street vibe cred, it has not in fact affected our transcript in any way. We graduate as mediocre and incredibly attractive students. We’re well aware of how much we’ll be missed, but as much as adoring teachers and hopeful freshman boys will regret us leaving, we’re suffering the most. Try to fathom for an instant how much time we must spend together in a week. Multiply that by a thousand. You’re not even close. Our tears upon leaving could fill the biggest ocean ever. That ocean is only a fraction of our love. We’ve run through several coping mechanisms in our head. Most of them are illegal. A lot are just super adorable. Which will numb the pain more: hunting endangered Bengal tigers or FaceTiming every night while holding pictures of each other and listening to our song? (“Collide” by Howie Day) (do you want our playlist?). But fearful as we are of the days ahead, we have to accept that we are in fact leaving (if they ever get this super glue off our feet!). In response to this, we have left several things around the school to prepare the public for our absence.  Firstly, somewhere on the Ecco email there is a post apocalyptic step by step word document outlining exactly how to finalize a magazine in the last few weeks of school with as minor a pub-based mental breakdown as possible (thanks for not commenting on our tears, Brian Greenblatt). Also, you will find somewhere in the building six locks of our glistening and unwashed hair, an entire year’s supply of forum articles and several pre recorded distracted and pleading Ecco announcements. In reflecting on the past years, we’ve come to some realizations. Amid a scattering of regrets there are some things we would never take back. For example: receiving matching 67% on our painting finals sophomore year despite being intentionally separated by Mr. Harris, accidentally twinning for the majority of senior year (make that junior year too), and agreeing to kiss for the senior banner which didn’t even make it into the final footage and is instead lingering somewhere on either Jacob Brody or Michael Berger’s computer. The past four years are now a blur of sun dappled laughter, weekday dinner and movie dates, and nights spent spooning. But there’s one thing we’ll never take back and that is the night of December 10th freshmen year when Charlotte went over to Erika’s house for the first time, snotted into a glass of milk, and fell in love. Every day from then on has been a blessing and no matter what the next four years bring, we’d never take back a second of it. We will leave this school glistening in our typical June layer of sweat, holding hands, and looking forward to a future that will doubtless include one another. Look for us at graduation, we’ll be the ones sobbing and sharing a pant leg (preparing for the three legged race after and preparing for our lives after). Now wipe your tears on our hem, kittens. It’s time for Cherika to saddle up the wagon, strap on the boot, and roll off the barrel. Don’t worry though, you’ll see us soon. See us in the patterns of the clouds, hear us in the whisperings of the trees, smell us in your mother’s cooking at night. And, astronomical patterns providing, we should be able to return in person throughout the next few years, giving those freshmen boys a glimpse of what they’re missing. We love you all. We love this school. But most of all, we love each other. Xoxo Cherika]]>