Dear Girl Behind the Plexiglass,

I remember meeting you during your first semester when you were in Dr. Hollis’s class. I could tell you weren’t overly excited about being in here, but here you are, sitting behind the plexiglass, your mask under your nose, a book in your hand. 

It’s hard to explain to you just how much you’re going to grow. 

At some point, for better or worse, you’re going to put down those books and pick up your phone a bit more frequently. (Maybe you shouldn’t do that, but I’m not sure this warning is going to reach you.)

At some point, the mask is going to come off and the plexiglass is going to come down, and you’re going to be dragged out of your metaphorical shell. You’ll kick and scream a little bit, but once you do, you’re going to make an incredible impact.

You’re going to write about cheerleading and mental health, yearbook editors and new teachers, substitute teachers and Mrs. Colson (multiple times!). 

You’re going to go on interviews alone and find your voice.

You’re going to pick up a camera and learn to take pictures from a professional photographer. 

You’re going to learn more about Instagram and Canva and help our newspaper expand our reach.

You’re going to make lifelong friends — and maybe a few enemies. 

You’re going to think about quitting but never actually quit. 

You’re going to stick around long enough that you’re going to be promoted to editor of this publication, writing articles that alarm but impress some of the higher-ups.

Now look, I have to be clear about something important: It’s not going to be easy. There will be some bumps in the road, and amidst all of the things you’re going to do that will mark your legacy as a journalist, you’re going to have moments where you aren’t so happy, moments where you aren’t getting along with everyone, moments where you’re glued to your phone to drown out the world, moments where you will say loud enough for me to hear, “He doesn’t need to know everything about me.”

Those moments aren’t going to be fun. You shouldn’t look forward to them. But from them, you’re going to grow and find a sense of peace that doesn’t seem possible right now behind the plexiglass.

And when it’s all over, it’ll be a semester too early, and even if you won’t admit it, I know a part of you is going to wish you could extend it just a little bit. 

The staff and I will, too. 

But even as we do, we are going to tell you thank you, that we’re proud of you, that we hope you won’t retreat behind the plexiglass again. You’re going to be okay.

Sincerely,

Dr. Timmons