First part of my research paper...

My name is June Litovchick and I am in my mid thirties.  I made it through high school without getting pregnant, a miracle in my family, but decided college wasn’t for me. I spent a few years after school being young and crazy, but when I met Erik, I knew it was time to settle down. Together, we bought a house in Marion, Ohio, my hometown, and had our first child, Shane. We lived there for several years but before long, we needed a change of pace. When our family moved to Sun Valley, Colorado, we didn’t come for the weather or the mountains, but for the jobs. Erik joined the squad as a Cop and I used the only skill I had to earn some cash: cooking.

            Every day, I kiss my husband before I head out the door to my car. In the garage sits my Ford Focus; it takes me to and from my job at the high school a couple towns away. I take out a cigarette after dropping Shane off at the middle school, my tool for relaxation before a long day of loud kids and hot ovens. I can hear my mother in my head, telling me I should quit before the cancer sets in. Maybe next week. My drive isn’t too bad, a quick twenty minutes down Highway 85 then a two rights and a left to get to Columbine High School. Not my favorite place to be, but it will do. As I park in the employee lot, I notice what a nice day it is outside. The sky seams almost too nice, like the eerie calm before the storm. Normally spring brings rain to Colorado, but not today. Its April 20, 1999(1), just another Tuesday. I'm at the school before most of the students so that the girls and I can get out the breakfast food. We have a menu of everything from Pop-tarts to Orange Juice, all stocked by the other "Lunch Ladies" and myself. 

          At Seven, the kids start to pour through the double doors on their way to various classes. Working in a big school like Columbine has its ups and downs. I never see the same faces twice, but I'm always looking. I see the boys that come in every shape and size and think, "What will my Shane look like when he gets to this age?" Then I see the girls, each one trying so hard to fit in. They layer on the make up and the accessories, trying to get the attention of someone, anyone. I also see the cliques. This school is full of categories to put people in. Everyone has a label to where they fit in, like shelves at a grocery store. When someone tries to break out of their shelf, there is always someone to pick them up and shove them back where they belong. And just like in every other high school in America, the jocks rule the school (2). Their arrogance was irritating if you let it get under your skin, but I tended to ignore it. I wasn't the principal or even a teacher so my efforts to keep people in line was useless. On occasion, I would witness the torment of a smaller student being pushed around by a group of hulking boys. To me it was wrong, I wanted to stop them or at least let someone in charge know. But my coworkers would tell me to let it go, "It's just high school," they would say .