I am not a morning person. Anyone who knows me knows that. But oddly enough, waking up has become less of a task and even somewhat of a tolerable experience ever since North Allegheny Cyber Academy (NACA) began.

I time every morning to give me exactly seven minutes to get logged into period one’s Blackboard Collaborate session. It used to take me half an hour to get ready for normal school days, so I’d be up before six. But not this year. With NACA, I put in the absolute minimum effort in my appearance—just enough that my mom isn’t concerned there’s a stranger at our kitchen table.

I used to “attend” my classes in my room, but after the first two days of Blackboard griping about my “unstable internet connection” and my laptop coincidentally glitching every time I was called on in Spanish, I decided to call it quits and move to my kitchen table.

Unfortunately, that opened up a box of distractions for me. The temptation to not pay attention is ever so present—the enticing half-open pantry door, the open tabs on Google Chrome, the glowing TikTok logo— but I know the second I fall into the trap, my brain will immediately disconnect from cyberland. And once I come back, we’ll be on an entirely different page of notes, using brand-new terminology that I’ll have to struggle to catch up with.

While the convenient distractions are annoying, the lack of interaction is what really stings. I used to enjoy casual conversations with my teachers, classroom discussions, and even the smallest of interactions with a friend in the halls. Cracking jokes through an audio feed doesn’t hold that same appeal. Surrounded by the same blank walls in my house, I miss the posters in Mr. Venezia’s room that would stoke my curiosity and the lone “pear” hanging from Mr. Long’s ceiling.

Lunch periods used to be my escape from classes, but now they almost feel like a chore. I sit around aimlessly in my house, wistfully remembering the days I spent lunches in NASH’s packed cafeteria. It feels laughable and slightly pathetic to say that I actually look forward to breakout rooms in Collaborate, as they are the rare instances I can speak to my classmates. While awkward at first (and likely throughout the entire session), it’s one of the only times I’m unmuted and freely participating.

My teachers have tried their best to appreciate the NACA students and their presence in the classroom as much as possible, but, at the end of the day, raising a purple virtual hand just doesn’t give me the same thrill as solving a problem correctly in class does. Even virtual participation feels a bit awkward, as there is usually an uncomfortable situation where the incredibly patient teacher waits for someone to answer a question while no one raises their hand. And finally, just finally, someone takes one for the team and gives into answering the question.

But it’s also at times like this that I’m reminded of how incredibly lucky I am to attend NA. My teachers have been exceptionally accommodating, toiling extra hours simply for our educational experience to remain moderately normal. My added work in navigating through Blackboard classes pales in comparison to their management of two cohorts and NACA students, all on different wavelengths of communication. More importantly, I’m lucky to even have the technology to connect to classes in the first place, when other school districts face confining budgets and administrative barriers to providing educational access.

Although the days blend together and my eyes blur from staring at my screen, I find solace in my routine. I enjoy being able to sleep through my back to back study hall and lunch. I appreciate my teachers, and I genuinely love the material. That’s my ultimate secret to getting through the days—appreciating the little things until we find our new normal.

Right now, it feels like I’m living two very different lives — one where I go to school and one where I participate remotely.

Mondays and Tuesdays have quickly become my favorite days of the week. I wake up at six o’clock — earlier than I used to for school, which seems a little ironic my senior year. I get ready and then drive to NASH, where the parking lot feels a lot more empty than last year.

Inside, the halls feel bare, too. I suppose that this is a good thing given the circumstances, but there’s something incredibly eerie about walking up the staircase by yourself on a school day.

Last year before first period, I used to squeeze into a packed booth in the cafeteria and laugh with all my friends. This year, I walk the halls a bit and go straight to homeroom to finish some work. Honestly, getting to any class early right now is extremely awkward. Having only five or six kids in a room makes for a lot of long silences.

As I go throughout my day, I try to be grateful for every second I get to be in the building, because I know in the back of my head that I will long for the in-person experience when I’m home the rest of the week. But as much as I want to enjoy school, it still feels a bit sad. All the distancing and the masks and the empty rooms are, of course, vital, but they also cast a kind of gloomy shadow. They serve as a reminder of how messed up things are, and no matter how much I love being back, that’s a reality that is difficult to escape.

However, I still notice myself smiling and getting excited in many of my classes after many years of taking them for granted. That counts for something. My everyday interactions with friends and teachers have also become much more meaningful, and I think there may be a lesson somewhere in that, too.

On Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, my schedule looks drastically different.When I’m at home, I sleep in for an extra hour, throw on some comfy clothes, and log on to my computer five minutes before first period. Unlike some of my peers, I try to get up and sit at a table (the days where I stay in bed all day are the days I’m least productive).

Wednesdays aren’t half bad, but by the end of the week, I have complete remote-learning-burnout. Some of the only silver linings about online school are being able to make an unlimited amount of coffee in the morning and the freedom to go get some food from wherever I want during my lunch period.

I also have to admit that, while I normally pride myself on being a good student, it’s hard to limit distractions during virtual classes. Sometimes, I’ll find myself tuning out without even realizing it. I’ll unknowingly start gazing out a window or checking a notification on my phone. For that reason, I make an effort to put my phone away during lectures, if only for my own good.

Fortunately, most of my teachers have done an amazing job involving remote students in the classroom. They greet their online students as if they were sitting in front of them, and I still get to participate and ask questions over Blackboard Collaborate. It goes a long way in making the experience feel more normal. 

Overall, a day in anyone’s life right now probably feels half-exhausting, half-exciting, and constantly bittersweet. While pretending to be patient and flexible may be the standard, in reality, school feels like a big, unknown roller coaster, and it’s a little scary.

Maybe accepting that uncertainty, and embracing any good as it comes, should be the only things we currently strive for.