It starts with a hoodie.
A hoodie with the school logo on the front and “Class of 2025” printed big and bold across the back. Everyone has one now. Some wear it with pride; others with a little sadness stitched into the seams.

It’s senior year.
The final level. The last lap. The season finale.

Hallways once filled with stress over algebra tests and pop quizzes are now filled with talk of college decisions.

“You got into UT?”
“Full ride too!”
“I’m going out of state… I think I’m gonna miss this place.”

Cords are being handed out like colorful tokens of memories — gold for honor society, blue for choir, red for sports. Each one feels like a tiny victory. A quiet, Hey, you did something. You mattered here.

Extracurriculars are winding down. The final soccer game. The last drama club meeting, where someone brings cupcakes and everyone promises to stay in touch (even though deep down, they know the group chat will die in three weeks). The yearbook committee scrambling to meet deadlines while writing sarcastic captions only seniors will understand.

In between all the lasts, there are firsts, too.
First time realizing that the lunch table won’t always be there.
First time seeing your friends try on caps and gowns and thinking, Whoa. We’re really doing this.
First time letting yourself feel just a little scared of what’s next.

And graduation?
It’s not just a ceremony. It’s a collection of a thousand tiny moments — hallway laughs, late-night study crams, pep rallies, heartbreaks, glow-ups and inside jokes — all wrapped up in one fancy robe and a tassel you’ll keep forever but probably never wear again.

It’s weird, isn’t it? How something that felt so big for four years can suddenly feel so small when you’re standing at the edge of something new.

But here’s the thing: endings don’t have to be sad.
They can be loud. Exciting. Full of messy, beautiful goodbyes.

Because senior year isn’t just about letting go.
It’s about becoming something new.