First in a Series
CLASS OF 2000
Keeping Tabs on the First Class of the New Millennium
By Marisa Cigarroa
ou have been here before: The drab cream-colored
steel-and-particle-board desks with tan formica veneer, the big institutional
clock ticking away the minutes. And there is that smell of classroom . .
. accompanied by the
intensely mundane this-class-will-never-end feeling that imbues its
surroundings with a universal quality of enforced conformity most of us will
never forget. But
this is no ordinary day for Christina McCarroll and her friends at Los
Altos High School.
After some 13 years in classrooms like these, they are
preparing to move on. Their
dress is casual: Bermuda shorts, cotton T-shirts, plaid miniskirts,
jeans, sandals. But their look is intense as they slouch over their desks, brows
messages in each others yearbooks. They write good luck and
remember the time we . . . and I promise to stay in touch, no
There is something scary about signing yearbooks, McCarroll says.
kind of forced to look
back and size up your experiences.
Since April, when she made the decision to turn down Harvard University and
Williams College in favor
of Stanford, McCarroll has done her best to put thoughts of graduation
and college on hold so that she can savor her last days in high school.
I know everything will be different next year, she says. Even
like chalkboards and
classrooms will be different. So Ive been trying to spend time these
last few weeks just soaking this all up, talking with my teachers in the
hallways and hanging out
with the people Ive been in school with for so long. Its sad to think
about how much Im leaving behind.