From the stream of kids flowing out of the middle school’s gate, to the honk of the cars on College Avenue, the noise was loud. The chatter of the kids was starting to give me a headache. Suddenly, as we walked under the Rockridge Station BART tracks, all the chatter died down and a cold breeze swept through the chilly air. Finally! I thought. The 17 minutes of silence has started. My friend Arvind and I held our poster high, which was made in memory of Helena Ramsays, one of the 17 students who was killed in the Florida shooting.

Along with all the other kids, my friends and I had assembled to protest gun violence. One kid pulled out their phone and soon the action spread like a plague. Everyone took out their phones and started recording the protest, which I found rude. At least they’re not playing video games, I thought. After what must’ve been at least ten minutes, a bus rolled in front of us, blocking lots of kids and their posters from the public. Numerous “C’mon” and “Stupid bus,” were yelled out from our small crowd. I wondered how this driver could be so rude. Can’t you be a decent human and see that we’re trying to do what’s right? I thought. How blind can you be? We’re just about 200 kids with signs over our heads, standing here in silence.

Arvind whispered to me to move to another area where we were visible with our poster. Soon, everyone caught on and started moving away from the bus. As soon as the last person left, the bus left and went to its next stop down the road. I swear, it was there just to piss us off.

As I stood on the sidewalk next to Arvind, I began to wonder if we were affecting this world in any way. In 30 years, when I hopefully have a beard, will gun violence be abolished? Will kids be able to run around neighborhoods without worries while mothers sit on the porch peacefully reading novels? The scene in my head was beautiful. Sadly, another car honked, sucking me back to reality. Relax, Ryan. You’re just another almost 13-year-old trying to avoid being crushed under the pile of middle-school pressure. No need to worry about your future; just live in the now. 

The last few minutes flew by, and soon our school dean was urging us to return to campus. We all reported to our designated places, which was the lunch area for seventh graders. We discussed about how we felt about the walkout today. Once we were finished discussing, we went to our fourth-period class.