Is Cheating Now a Pastime?

During the past three years of my high-school career, I’ve been to three different high schools in three completely different states, each with different ideas on religious tolerances, racial injustices, and acceptance - or disbelief - towards teenage behavior. One thing that has not changed, however, is how much we teenagers, as a group, cheat. I’m not talking about cheating on your boyfriend/girlfriend, although that certainly has its place with our generation, but cheating on tests and homework.

If I had a dollar for every person who’s asked to copy my homework, I’d be able to walk out of Alameda High School right now. But the most bizarre scenario for me is witnessing a majority of my peers brag about their high GPA’s; but what’s behind those 3.0’s? Somebody else’s work. Doing your own nightly homework assignment, especially when it comes to monotonous History or Math assignments that either have a right or wrong answer, is very uncommon. I’ve seen and been apart of groups of people, who rotate nightly work, to limit the amount of homework they had to drudgingly do.

The other day I was taking a Math test; Math is definitely not my easiest subject, but I had my notes and had studied relatively hard, so I was semi-excited to pour myself into this quiz. And then I see the guy sitting diagonally in front of me with a half-torn sheet of paper hidden between his butt and his seat look up at my teacher, and slyly peek at the paper from under his arm. I thought, “Okay, he’s cheating. Hasn’t been the first time I’ve seen this…” but for some reason, it got to me. I’m not going to deny that I haven’t copied an assignment or glanced inconspicuously at the persons’ test sitting next to me, but I think the advancement of cheating has created many new ways to cheat, and get away with it.

Let’s look at websites: Sparknotes, for example, is a great help to students; however, I wonder if students using this website blurs the line between cheating. We may not be copying an essay word-for-word, but I think going onto these websites stunts our ability to drive emotional inspiration from our own creative energies. We see a clever line that we otherwise wouldn’t have thought of writing for ourselves, and suddenly we’re forming an essay around this idea.

Also, since we’ve entered the electronic age, many students have been riding the wave that is teachers’ naiveté. Yes, a lot of students ARE sincerely listening to their Ipods to promote concentration during a test; but what about those students who flick through the web to get the answers? Personally, I have always thought this was just too much work, but after seeing more than one person doing this on more than one occasion, I’ve had to wonder: can us teenagers be given that inch? We want to fight oppression, and we don’t want to be kept in an environment comprised of ugly uniforms and ruler-whipping authoritators. But I do believe that some teenagers, when given an inch, take a mile: “cheating is wrong” sounds like a broken record, like something that has been preached thousands of times over. But why mess with a classic?

Delia's Wild Ride

The day was unusually hot, even for Southern California in the middle of July; sun beamed down on the faded asphalt, casting shadows on anxious children and exasperated parents as they posed with ridiculous characters, and stood in long, winding lines, waiting to create memories. Delia, a curvaceous brunette, was a fresh eighteen: her bright green eyes portrayed that of happiness and content as she waited in the curving line for Splash Mountain with some of her closest friends. It was Summer Vacation before they all left for college and, in an attempt to get in one last hoorah, her friends Kai, Drew, Khloe and herself had booked a one-way ticket to Los Angeles, hoping to relish in their childish ways at the host of all fantasies: Disneyland.

“I wish we didn’t waste our fast-passes on Indiana Jones”, whined Khloe, wiping a bead of sweat off her face as it traveled slowly down her temples. “This line will never end.

“C’mon, babe”, assured her boyfriend Drew. He wrapped a tanned shoulder around her waste and pulled her in reassuringly. “We’re almost there; besides, it’ll be worth the wait!”

Khloe smuggled out from under his arm, and locked fingers with Delia: “What do you say we leave the boys here, and go and find some frozen lemonade?” She was giving off her this isn’t really a question, so don’t act like it’s a choice face, and, with a slight roll of her eyes, Delia agreed to follow her friend back through the throng of panting, perspiring Disneyland enthusiasts. She breathed a sigh of relief when they escaped the claustrophobic tunnels, and were welcomed with a relatively small line at the lemonade stand. As they took their place in line, Delia glanced suspiciously over at Khloe, who was twirling a red curl with her index finger and gazing at Delia with a smile protruding from the corner of her mouth, a smile she was infamous for.

“What is it this time? Do you have more exciting news to share about you and Drew? Or, wait, something to do with your fabulous apartment you’re renting near your fabulous college, a short drive from your fabulous internship?” Khloe’s gaze stayed fixed. “Well, I don’t want to hear it. I’m single, a-and headed for Community College; honestly, can I at least have one day of peace?”

“Calm down, Dee. I’m only thinking about lemonade, I promise”. She flitted her almond eyes and reached for the wad of ones hidden in her back pocket. “But, if I was going to say anything, it would only be to ask you what’s going on with you and Kai.”

“What do you mean?” Delia stammered. “We’re… f-friends, that’s all.” However, this sentence alone was hard for her to get out. Since the eighth grade, Delia had lusted after Kai. It was a hopeless, imaginary romance she would never pursue; Kai, unfortunately, had never thought of her as more than a friend.

Khloe pursed her lips and placed her hand on her hips, about to respond, when a sudden shriek echoed through the vast park:

“Oh my GAWD, Delia is that YOU?” Delia whipped around, catching the sweet whisp of wind through her hair as she came face to face with a friend she hadn’t seen since middle school.

“Jayde! W-wow, it’s been ages. How are you?” She hugged her friend, whose hair was newly streaked blonde, no doubt from the intense sun, and began prattling on about how much she has missed her. Once they had gathered their lemonade, the girls sat down, chatting mindlessly as the sun beamed, until the guys, slightly wet from the ride, shuffled over to their bench. Drew glanced at Jayde, but swiftly kissed his girlfriend on the cheek, taking his cue. However, at the sight of Jayde, Kai’s mouth fell and he nervously ran his hand through his hair. Delia watched as her worst nightmare, watching Kai fall in love, walk down the aisle, grow old with someone else, began right before her eyes: the chemistry that erupted between the two of them as they shook hands and locked eyes was heart-wrenching to Delia, who unsuccessfully tried to shield her heart-break. She felt the subtle embrace of Khloe’s hand beneath hers as the two continued talking.

“Hey, man, let’s grab a churro,” Drew said, nodding at Kai, who reluctantly followed his friend to a stand a few feet away.

“Day-ummm!” Jayde whispered, pinching Delia. “He’s a fox!”

“Y-yeah, if you’re into that type,” Delia murmured, attempting to mask her disapproval.

“Y’know, Delia, I dumped my boyfriend a few weeks ago; we’re going to different colleges and all and, y’know, it just wouldn’t work out. But Kai says he’s So Cal bound, like me, and I forsure felt something there. Can you talk me up a little bit, girl?”

Delia felt the sweat accumulating on her upper lip, and she knew the culprit wasn’t the glaring sun. She weighed options in her head: keeping the two apart would be cruel; telling her old friend how she truly felt despite the impossibility of it all would be humiliating; and saying she would set them up would be devastating. But with a hopeless sigh and a realization of the lesser of two evils, she breathed: “S-sure, I guess… I mean, if he says he’s into you and all.”

Her friend duplicated the squeal that filled the air mere minutes before.

“Thank you so much! Y’know, I think I’m cravin’ a churro…” And Jayde, swinging her hips flirtatiously, walked over to the boys, grazing the back of Kai’s shoulders as she joined them. Delia watched from afar as they smiled, their body language conveying more than it ever had between herself and Kai. She watched regretfully as the man she knew would never be hers flashed his dimples at someone else, and, in unison with the children on the rollercoasters surrounding her, her heart sank in her chest, and fear for what would happen next overtook her.

The Social Disease Known as "Prom"

Prom. That one word evokes sighs and eyerolls from guys who’ve secured a date, and realized how much pressure comes with finding a limo, restaurant, and a tux that fits right; it causes involuntarily dateless boys to pick their cuticles and fidget with their ipods with nervous anticipation at the thought of asking that girl to the dance of all dances; it makes gaggles of girls squeal and wave their hands in delight as they prattle on about the “perfect dress they found”, the “strappy shoes that are UNBELIEVABLE” and the places they are going to get their hair done before the event; and lastly, it causes those of us who are impervious to the mental disorder known as Prom Fever to bite our cheeks, hold back our inputs, and wish they would change this subject so we could contribute to an actually stimulating conversation. I’ve been to prom. I’ve fussed about my makeup and finding a dress that wouldn’t fall when I was dancing. And while it was fun and a unique experience, I’m not anxious to repeat it again: I went to my boyfriends’ Senior Prom, and I’ve always believed you should only ever go to your or your significant others’ Senior Prom.

Before I moved to Alameda, I had never heard of a Junior Prom. Honestly, prom is supposed to be an experience that brings everyone together for one last time to commemorate their four years of high school. So why do we insist on having a Junior Prom? I am not personally against dances: in fact, I love any excuse to get dressed and have a great time with my friends. But I think that prom and the three months leading up to it is a very dangerous time. I’ve seen so many Facebook status updates about that looming day, and I’ve seen so many snap-shots of dresses on phones. Where have our heads gone???

Prom is a social disease; it spreads among high-schoolers like an STD. A couple of friends begin talking about that night in the back of math class, and they suddenly evoke day-dreams and doodles and mindless conversation through the hallways. There are so many factors involved with planning prom, I almost feel sorry for these people: undertaking such a feat for your JUNIOR Prom, only to have to do it again next year for the prom that actually MEANS something. And those people who tag along to both Junior Prom and Senior Prom every year of their high-school career: seriously? Don’t you want your own Prom to be a little special? And would you want underclassmen at your prom? Sorry Freshmen and Sophomores, but waiting a couple of years won’t kill you.

"Bernice Bobs Her Hair" Analysis

In Fitzgerald’s short story, Bernice Bobs Her Hair, focuses on a pretty but boring Bernice as she stays with her cousin Marjorie over the summer. During these weeks, Marjorie is not subtle about her feelings towards Bernice: she complains about her slowly declining social status, and selfishly decides to teach Bernice about proper social graces. Marjorie’s dialogue in this short story leaves the story without need for omniscient narration; she says everything she feels towards Bernice in an unfiltered, gossipy manner.

At one point, Marjorie states: “Her whole early life is occupied in whining criticisms of girls like me who really do have a good time”, referring to Bernice and her jealousies of Marjorie and her companions. In a way, Marjorie’s own pride overrides Bernice’s pride: she doesn’t see social life as subjective, only as black and white, acceptable and unacceptable. Bernice isn’t oblivious to her unpopularity, however. In one section of the story, her and Marjorie have a confrontation.

“‘But I'm in the way, I see. I'm a drag on you. Your friends don't like me.’ She paused, and then remembered another one of her grievances. ‘Of course I was furious last week when you tried to hint to me that that dress was unbecoming. Don't you think I know how to dress myself?’
‘No,’ murmured Marjorie less than half-aloud.”

In this conversation, Marjorie doesn’t try and console Bernice about her loneliness, or even try and shelter her from the truth about her unbecoming dress. Her distaste towards Bernice can be dissected simply from that short sentence alone.

When Marjorie’s mother tries to convince Marjorie to take Bernice under her wing, Marjorie frets about her personality; she’s very clear in her thinking that beauty is not all it takes to be a prize on the dance floor: "I've never heard her say anything to a boy except that it's hot or the floor's crowded or that she's going to school in New York next year. Sometimes she asks them what kind of car they have and tells them the kind she has. Thrilling!" I believe that Marjorie needs no explanation outside of her dialogue: throughout Fitzgerald’s whole story, she’s clear, concise, and unapologetically honest about her feelings of Bernice.

When Your Hormones Tell You to Cheat

Cheating is scandalous, something that is gossiped about behind closed doors, something that causes pitiful glances at the cheated on, and disapproving glares at the cheater. While it is in no way condoned by the majority of our society, the problem of infidelity is something that runs rampant through many doomed relationships. When I think of cheating, I rarely associate it with teenagers: it seems that we hormonal kids almost never stick with a relationship once the excitement fades, so a wandering eye is something that simply doesn’t have time to happen. However, from recently observing a friends’ “open relationship”, I’ve realized that cheating IS something that affects more than adults dealing with their mid-life crises.

Studies show that teenagers are more fragile than any other age group, in a lot of ways: we need more sleep; our desire to fit in is at a peak; and we’re just starting to become conscious of our physical insecurities. So how are these immature, irrational, irresponsible people supposed to hold onto a relationship? I believe that attraction is often mistaken for love: lust runs through teens’ thoughts many times during an average day. But lust and desire does not necessarily translate into a healthy relationship. I think that those of us who enter into a relationship with someone we simply lust after can be tempted into cheating with someone they also lust after. This is one of the reasons I think that teenagers cheat: because our hormones convince us that our actions, whether they be becoming official with a crush, or betraying the trust of that crush, are the right thing to do because we are doing what our hearts tell us.

I would love to draft an experiment where we analyze all failed relationships in our school. More often than not, the reason for the breakup would probably be because of insecurities of one of those involved (this could cause clinginess or “stalking”), or because one of these teenagers strayed, flirted, or attempted to cheat. My main point is that with all our emotions and uncertainties about the future, can we teenagers really handle a relationship? Should we change our Facebook’s relationship status and try and turn a blind eye to that hottie in the corner, or should we agree to non-commitment, since straying is as easy as clicking on that status, and changing it from “In a Relationship” to “Single”?

Junioritis

Senioritis: it may not be a word that would be found in a dictionary, but it is definitely one that echoes through the halls of Alameda High School every day. While this word, or, rather, this way of life, explains the reason why seniors slack off, party too much, and generally don’t care half as much about higher education as they did freshman year, it overlooks one major point: that senioritis is not exclusive to seniors. I am a junior, and I can personally say that I have been suffering from senioritis since my sophomore year. Classic sings: excessive doodling; showing up to class late or not at all; mentally categorizing homework as optional, not mandatory; or, in some more dedicated cases, showing up to class stoned. We can understand why seniors would get this way: they’re dreaming about college, freedom, life uninterrupted by parents or guardians who think they know best. What I’ve come to find is the most dangerous part of senioritis, is the fact that it’s contagious.

Let’s face it, Alameda High School “Always [has] High Standards”; but I think that we achieve these standards in spite of our procrastination. Ultimately, we students want to get good grades in class; however, a large part of the class will fall asleep during class or be too preoccupied texting about lunch plans or trying to beat the next level of an addictive Iphone game to actually get any work done during the fifty-five minutes we’re allotted.

It’s pretty amusing to watch the freshmen that clog the halls during passing period, or at break: especially for those of us with lockers in the Industrial Arts building. Personally, I think that each and every one of us who store our belongings in these hallways has done something cosmically wrong. Us upperclassmen drag ourselves out of bed, come to class (usually without paper or a pencil), gloomily facing the idea of 7 hours of staring at these ugly walls. However, in the Industrial Arts building, we are constantly bombarded by boisterous, disgustingly happy, annoying-beyond-words freshmen; honestly, I believe that half of AHS’s freshmen class has lockers in this building. It’s amazing to me the difference between freshmen, and us upperclassmen: is there something about high-school that crushes our spirits? I think there’s a lack of balance as you get older and are introduced to more. Is there a connection between obsessive socializing or even seriousness about clubs and sports, and the slow decline of positive thoughts towards school? The older I get, the more I think DEFINITELY.