(in no particular order)

1. Captain’s Practices

If you’ve ever walked past the Shaker tennis courts on a Sunday morning during the summer, you’re likely to see a group of at least 10 girls on the courts. If you’re lucky, you might even see them playing tennis. To be honest, at least 80% of our captain’s practices are spent talking rather than playing tennis. While it could be argued that our captain’s practices don’t actually prepare us for the season, I would say that they are extremely important for the development of the team, if only in the social aspect.

2. Team Dinners

This doesn’t need an explanation. What could be better than good food with your friends? (Literally nothing.)

3. Doubles Partners!

Throughout the whole whirlwind of the tennis season, there is always one thing that stays consistent for me: I will almost never play with the same doubles partner twice. Each match is a chance to play with someone new, someone who I’ve probably never spent one on one time with before. For some people, this would be seen as irritating, having to step on the court with someone they have barely played with before, but for me it’s a great chance to learn more about my teammates and foster stronger bonds.

4. Tournaments

Throughout the entire tennis season, there is always one day that I look forward to—tournament day. In my opinion, tournaments are the absolute best part of the season, an entire day spent hanging out with my teammates and “doing homework”. Though the day is supposed to be centered around tennis, only about 3 hours are spent playing, meaning the rest of the day is available for naps and tanning. 

5. Teammates

Another obvious choice, but I LOVE my teammates. I have met the most amazing people and have received incredible homework help and advice. 

6. Fall weather

Fall weather is perfect for tennis. It’s still warm enough for us to be outside, but not so hot that I am drenched in sweat. Also, the trees by the tennis courts are super pretty when they change colors.

7. Uniforms

Tennis uniforms are elite. A cute skirt and a tank top, what could be better? Though sometimes the quality can be interesting to say the least(#temu), the outfits always end up cute.

8. The Length

The tennis season is pretty sure. Though the weeks can feel long, we don’t even play for a full two months. Even though it can be sad that the season ends so quickly, tennis ends right around the time when schoolwork starts to ramp up, meaning that as soon as I start to get too overwhelmed, tennis is over. It’s perfect!

9. Away Games

This is a slightly hot take, but I love away games. Though the bus rides can be long, and I usually get home super late with an incredibly long to-do list, they are still worth it. The bus rides can be so much fun, and a great time to just hangout with my teammates, and sometimes if you’re lucky, you can convince the bus driver to stop for food.

10. Rainy Days

What can I say? I love when it starts raining during the school day and I check my email to see the most incredible sentence in the subject line of my newest email: “Match/Practice Cancelled”. While I love tennis, I also love getting to go home.

In the Summer of 2021, I visited my family in Lebanon. It was another day in the heat, and we wanted to pay homage to the harbor of Beruit that exploded the previous year. We were five cousins in a third-world country, and we certainly did not want to drive on the windy roads of hell.

As we entered the taxi, we overestimated the amount of room there would be in the back of the car. All laughing, four of us squeezed in the back while the fifth, lucky one, enjoyed the leg room in the front. In the back, it was me, my brother, and two of my cousins. It was hot. Very, very hot. I could feel my clothes sticking to my skin. Why did I wear jeans? I have no idea. Anyways, we were shoulder to shoulder in the back, wishing someone would roll down the windows.

During the car ride from the mountains to the harbor, we began conversing with the taxi driver, whose name we quickly learned was Tony. I’m unsure how this happened, but one thing led to another, and we were blessed with sweet serenades.

Tony began to sing in Arabic. It was just jarring. I think it may have been the highlight of my trip. There we were, smushed between the doors of a tiny car, dripping in sweat, listening to the childhood songs of an Arabic taxi driver. How much better could it have gotten? The best part was that we were all cracking up laughing, trying to be as silent as possible. The four of us in the back ended up being the lucky ones because our laughs were more concealed than my cousin in the front. It was truly incredible. Also, thank god for masks and sunglasses. The only way Tony could have known we were laughing was if he heard our silenced squeaks from the back. Judging by the volume he was singing at, I think we were off the hook.

This is a story my family and I will always remember and bring up. It made me realize that even during the most mournful times- in this case, it was the state of the country- there is always a way to find laughter and joy. It makes me laugh again, thinking that Tony taught me that. I wonder where he is now. I wish him the absolute best.

Where do I even start? After years of being a Browns fan, suffering through losing season after losing season, I finally got a glimpse of hope as Baker Mayfield and Jarvis Landry led the Browns to win seven games last year. One cold night in March, this hope grew even more. I remember exactly where I was when I found out the Browns traded for Odell Beckham Jr. I was in the middle of playing basketball, and I took a break to get some water. I then decided to check my phone and I was shocked by the first thing I saw as I opened Instagram. I read the words, “Odell Beckham Jr. has been traded to the Cleveland Browns for Jabrill Peppers and first and third round draft picks.” I thought this was some sort of joke, but I realized that the account who posted this was SportsCenter. I didn’t play much more basketball that night as I rushed home to turn on the TV. The news was on every sports channel and I listened to various sports analysts, all predicting the Browns to finally make the playoffs. My hopes for a winning Browns season soon turned to an expectation that the curse would finally be over.

This leads me to today, three games into the NFL season. The Browns? Well, they aren’t doing so good. In week 1 all of Cleveland was expecting an easy win for the Browns against the Titans. Instead they got blown out 43-13. This crushing defeat didn’t affect the Browns too much as they bounced back in week 2, beating the Jets 20-3. This was a sign that the hype might be real. In week 3, I stayed up all Sunday night hoping the Browns would come out with a win against the Rams, one of the best teams in the league. This would solidify my hopes that the Browns were the real deal. The score was 20-13. The browns were only five yards away from scoring a touchdown, and they had four downs to do it. First down: incomplete pass. Second down: another incomplete pass. Third down: you guessed it…a third incomplete pass. The last chance for the browns, fourth down: INTERCEPTION. The Browns lose a heartbreaker and my hopes for a better year are starting to dwindle.

In week 4, the Browns play the Baltimore Ravens, one of the best teams in the league so far this season. This is yet another chance for the Browns to prove themselves as a legitimate team; assuring me, and all the other Cleveland sports fans out there, that our constant support of the team isn’t for nothing. Only time will tell if the Browns step up to this challenge.

I didn’t always hold autumn in such high esteem. As a child, I firmly believed that it was the awkward phase between my summers full of pool days and my winters of sledding and hot chocolate. The one redeeming quality of fall was Halloween, when I would proudly drag my bag of candy bars behind me, but even that didn’t hold a candle to my summer days.

Now, at seventeen years old, I fully understand what all the hype is about. I didn’t realize my love of fall until high school, when I started getting really into sweaters. I have a chest in my room full of sweaters: striped ones, soft ones, and, my personal favorite, a mustard yellow one. Wearing a sweater is like being able to walk around with a blanket on and still look socially acceptable. If I had it my way, it would be mandatory for everyone to wear sweaters when the temperature dips below 65 degrees (much to the dismay of people who, for some reason, still wear shorts in the winter).

And then, of course, there’s the food. To me, apple cider is nectar and pumpkin pie is ambrosia. The taste of apple cider, warm or cold, brings me a sense of tranquility, even in the most stressful situations. When I eat apple pie, I can picture my mother carefully crafting the pie crust, occasionally giving me a little piece of pie dough to nibble on. And don’t get me started on Pumpkin Spice Lattes; yes, I know they’re “basic” (whatever that means), but there’s a reason they’re so popular.

I now know that I am happiest when I can hear red and brown leaves crunching under my feet, when I can feel the autumn wind against my skin and smell the earthy scent that always comes after an October rain. While fall isn’t the warmest season, it is the season that fills me with warmth in a way that the heat of the summer never could.

In my dreams there is smoke. Smoke billows through my hair, while it makes them cough up blood. When there is smoke, there is fire, and destruction, and ashes, and heat warming freezing air. When there is smoke there are screams and ashes fall onto my face like snowflakes. The air smells fresh like roses. Some of the people cut themselves as they run, they fall, and their blood burns sweetly, sizzles, sweetly. Around me wood crumbles. Red wood crumbles, it falls on my hair and I sigh. It’s so easy. And when it’s over, the smoke carries me away with it, and it’s easy, all done, and we all forget it ever happened, like it never happened.

Later, soldiers march through the main road of the town. At the back of the procession, a man with hard eyes bends down. He pulls a cloth doll from the dirt. The doll has been smashed by many feet, but her button eyes, one black and one blue, are still intact. The man opens his pocket to take the doll with him when he notices the bloody handprint of an infant on the doll’s backside. He drops the doll on the ground. His comrade kicks him in the leg. Keep going. The man spits on the ground and walks on.

The first Conjuring movie came out in 2013, when I had just turned twelve. I was only vaguely aware of the trailer snippets that flashed across the TV screen during commercial breaks. I paid minimal attention to the media buzz about the “horrifying true story” until I literally tripped over the DVD while walking into the kitchen and stubbed my toe on a chair, prompting my mother’s cheerful announcement that the movie viewing would be a family event.

Anxiety swelled inside my chest. The only scary movie I had ever watched was the comedy Hocus Pocus, which scarred me so deeply at the age of six that I cowered at the sight of our vacuum cleaner, which resembled the vacuum that one of the witches comedically used instead of a broom. (I’m still afraid of vacuum cleaners, but now it’s because I hate cleaning my room). The Conjuring, I knew, was bound to be ten times scarier than a kids’ Halloween classic, and the fearful anticipation of family movie night only intensified as Saturday encroached upon me. When the night finally came, I surrounded myself with three monstrous pillows (I was “cold”) with which to hide my shaking, which endured throughout the entirety of the movie. It turned out to be slightly less terrifying than I expected, but regardless, relief cascaded through my veins while the credits rolled. I felt overwhelmingly proud of myself but ultimately decided that would be the last horror movie for me- until the Blob showed up on the kitchen floor a month later.

Despite all my mother’s promises about the hilariously ridiculous special effects and pitiful plot, the Blob succeeded in terrifying me and my brother. The 1958 classic, however, turned out to be just the incentive I needed to confront my fear of horror movies. I resolved to watch as many horror movies as necessary until I no longer flinched at a single jump scare. I wanted to listen to music without considering that doing so could prevent me from hearing a serial killer break into my house. I wanted to dangle my foot over the end of the bed without fearing something would rip off my toes. It was time to start living.

The flurry of movies I watched over the next few months did just what I wanted. I was quickly rendered immune to all types of jump scares, gruesome demons, and heart-wrenching backstories. Long after I had accomplished my goal, however, I still returned home every Friday with a library bag bursting with horror movies.

Horror movies are all quite similar in that they focus on inducing one emotion in the viewer: fear. Most, even the best ones, are all short, sweet, and fairly simple. Some of them are so stupid and predictable that they are hilariously funny, while a rare few prove themselves to be terrifying masterpieces of cinematography. Mostly, however, I enjoy analyzing them and trying to figure out what makes a horror movie truly scary. To me, horror movies are like candy.