One-hundred-and-two days and counting since my classmates and I bustled through the hallways of my high school. One-hundred-and-two days since we’ve been able to actually see one another without the distortion of a camera and a screen. One-hundred-and-two days of this new life that we’re living as students learning remotely from home.

The Friday before school closed, you could feel the tension in the air as everyone awaited the announcement. We all knew that a change was coming but were unsure exactly what that would entail.

In the weeks prior, we had watched as event after event was canceled in anticipation of a quarantine. One of the first halted activities was the hardest for me: the closing of our spring play. The rehearsals had just begun to pick up; every day after school I was so excited as I hopped on the stage with my friends and tried not to make too big a fool out of myself during the choreography. It was easy to see the writing on the wall: we had been dancing through Fiddler on the Roof with limited hand-touching and intermittent hand sanitation breaks. Still, it broke my heart to see the project that I had enjoyed the most brought to an end. As we all stood in a loose circle formation, like true theatre kids, our director gave the announcement: it was over. There was a moment where everyone seemed to be rendered speechless. All of the effort and love that we had put into the production would never be conveyed through live performances, and that knowledge hurt.

That cancellation seemed to be the beginning of the end as my school slowly ended sports and other activities. As a yearbook student, I was scrambling to capture the last club meetings and sporting events, running around the school, snapping photos of what we could. We uploaded photos from the server onto SD cards so we could finish the spreads at home and hoped that we had enough content to represent our school accurately. Teachers began planning ahead, ladening our bags with more books and materials to keep at home during distanced learning. The library shelves were hurriedly emptied as students created their pandemic reading provisions.

So, when the loudspeaker crackled to life during the last period of the day that Friday in March, it was no surprise. We were told that school would resume in six weeks and to stay healthy during the break. The closure lasted much longer than that.

Time seemed to come to a standstill for the first weeks of quarantine. With sparse communication from teachers and not many pressing assignments, it just felt like we were waiting to return to school, as if we were caught in a spring break that lasted too long. I considered all the possibilities that this new time would allow for and felt inspired to begin the projects I was passionate about but never seemed to be able to fit into my busy school schedule. When it became apparent that we had to keep schooling even if we wouldn’t be returning to the building for the rest of the year, expectations were suddenly back and there was a lot of work to be done. AP tests constantly lingered in the front of my mind, and I wondered how they might be adapted to fit this crazy time. Soon enough, I got my answer: a forty-five-minute free-response question would determine if I achieved college credit for the past year of learning. The day of the test carried a lot of weight and the reformation of its structure added even more weight to each question. But then I remembered that what truly mattered wouldn’t be conveyed in my responses to those two questions— what truly mattered was that I had gained the skills to analyze and comprehend complicated information, skills that would be crucial throughout all of my life.

With my school world confined into the 14-inch screen of my laptop, it was difficult to interact in the same ways that physical school allowed. Zoom classes didn’t allow for shared smiles and joking interjections, which changed the learning culture dramatically. The cycle of energy between people had been disrupted, seemingly absorbed by the monitors that separated us. Our teachers incorporated fun to maintain our participation, but there was no removing the toll that online learning takes.

As we entered the last month of school, there isn’t the same excitement that June usually brings. Because while June usually commemorates the end of a year, it seems that the year had already ended abruptly months before. It hasn’t been an easy year by any means, but I have truly learned to appreciate the aspects of school I never had before. I’ve been able to take a step back, and find time to explore hobbies and connect with myself. Because ultimately, our learning as students doesn’t just come down to test scores and well-written essays— school teaches so much more than that. It imparts lessons on how to interact with those around you and how to learn all you can from the circumstances you’re placed into—even if that means grappling with the realities of Zoom learning—and that’s irreplaceable.

Graphic by Alyona Baranoff