Mustangs on two.

A small town in British Columbia is setting a high standard for moral ethics and school togetherness. As one walks into Princess Margaret Secondary in Penticton BC, they will immediately notice that "Mustang Pride is in the AIR". It is undoubtedly a school where sportsmanship, friendly behaviour and school pride reigns. It isn't that bullying doesn't exist, anywhere you go there will be some form of bullying. Its more that it just isn't an issue kids deal with on a daily basis.

"We are a family, a big family that has one thing in common, we love this school" claims Chelsea McCutchan who is a senior at Maggie.

As a kid slowly walks down the hall, they could name ninety percent of the other students that pass them. The small student body, and the friendliness that all of the staff have created make it more than just a school.

"This school, this gym, its my second home, kids from other high schools might not understand why I love going to school so much, but everyone here does!" states the same senior student.

This school is one that breeds champions, where it is normal to get a 95% average in grade 12. Where its normal for a Senior boys basketball team to go to provincials and lose every game, but come back with the most sportsmanlike award.

"The difference between us, and everyone else is that we genuinely care about each other, we don't like to see one of our fellow classmates fall" remarks a grade 12 boy.

This school comes in no where near perfection. On occasion kids squabble. On occasion kids get detention, and fail to complete their homework. Those are minor exceptions though, at this school they are not the rule. That is what makes all the difference, that's what being a mustang means.

Memories.

I have lived a ordinary life, that I am certain. Though the standard rules of life have never applied to me, for I am not terrified of death. Death is not my end, for my memory never dies, my memory extends back all the way to my first life. I am no where near perfect, in most ways I am like every other person on this planet. When it comes to my memory though, I am unique, I am alone with a talent I am unable to share. I drink my tea with three sugars, no milk. Sometimes I still get scared of the dark. I paint with passion and intensity, the mystery of Atlantis still fascinates me, yet I lived in the time of the Trojan War. I do not boast, I am not brave and my courage has its limits. I have done nothing extraordinary with my memory, I have lived a common life. No monuments have ever been built for me, and after I die again, my name from this life will slowly be forgotten. I despise the colour orange. In some aspects one might say I have succeeded in every way a person can, that I would disagree with. For I still write with spelling mistakes. There are many things I wish I could forget, like the viking raids in Ireland that left my family killed or the smell of burning flesh. I have lost a lot, I have gained some more, and I have loved someone persistently for two thousand years. The secrets of the world are not mysteries to me, and the smell of still rain intoxicates me. I have lived an ordinary life, that I am certain. For me, that will always be enough.

More than just a game.

"Kid, you gotta have heart." Those five simple words were quietly uttered to me by a wise man many memories ago. As I'm standing here on this thin black line, those words flow freely through my soul. They are the one thing I am sure of as I step up to take possibly the last shot of my high school career. A bead of sweat falls down into my eye and a rush of unexpected intensity spreads across my body. This is it, there is one second left, I make this basket and we get another chance to redeem ourselves in overtime. The referee tosses me the ball, I go through ever step of the same routine I have always done. I close my eyes, memories flash before me, every second of my hard work has come down to this moment. My coach's reassuring, familiar voice is in the background with words of encouragement. I take the shot, and that beautiful swishing sound I have heard many times before echoes through my head. The crowd roars, and a smile becomes permanently etched upon my face. My team and I end up winning that game, my legacy ended with one last success. As I start walking off the court for my final time, looking around at this gym that I have lived in for the past four years, its dawns upon me what I'm about to leave behind. I grab the game winning ball and slowly head towards center court, gently placing it down. Salty tears are pouring down my face as I bid farewell to the game I fell in love with as a five year old girl. I start making my exit when I realize that with this end will just come another, graduating from this place that is like my second home. A surge of excitement and sadness overcomes me as I take off my basketball shoes, remembering all the things I have learnt and experienced while wearing them, knowing that those memories will live inside them forever.