We’re in a circle, criss-cross applesauce. It’s a tradition to end the trip like this: expressing gratefulness for everyone.

We’re all talking about you, now. There’s so much for me to say.

You’re the biggest crush I’ve had in my life, to this point. I have this sense that you understand me.

I’m 15. I’m blindly naive. But that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

I could spend the rest of my life just listening to you.

There’s so much for me to say. But everyone’s there.

I say none of it. It’s sweet, about a funny moment with a donut, but it’s not what I mean. You smile, and it’s like I’m back in the mountains.

Someone else speaks, and I sense I’m about to go the rest of my life without telling you how I feel. I foresee tomorrow’s airport, hugging you goodbye—

and I know I’m right.

Reykjavík, July 2019
Anonymous

After 2 months of freshmen year, I came home sick. I was a mess. Unimaginable shivering. Then sweating through five layers.

The freakiest feeling, though, was how much I already felt like a stranger, a tourist, in my own home. My bed wasn’t my bed. The murmurs of the house were unfamiliar. Apparently we now had a mouse.

I felt like that mouse: an outsider creeping in.

New Jersey, October 2022
Daniel B.

Tomorrow’s the start of fall break. It feels like everyone’s going somewhere. New York. Vermont. If you’re a senior, Vegas. I have a 103 fever. I’ll be going to the doctor. If I can make it into the car.

New Jersey, October 2022
Daniel B.

I unfollowed Helen today but I had once, in Germany, or maybe Austria, told her things I had told no one before, tumbled with her down endless chutes of adventure, and promised her in tears that our goodbye wouldn’t be the last. I don’t speak German, though, so I can’t understand what she posts, and really it’s been long enough.

Salzburg, or Berlin, early 2020s
Ashkan R.

We went into the night with a clear mission. It’s 6:27 am, post-a movie of a night, post-an entire beach day…

And here we are. Back on the same beach, 14 hours later. The sun is starting to rise. It’s redder than I expected. 

It’s moving quickly now. 

Tomorrow – no, today – J leaves. The end credits are rolling. I see them imprinted in the early sky. 

Yet, every chapter ending leads to a new beginning. Or so they say. 

Barcelona, May 2025
Anonymous

It already feels like the epilogue. The heads from other schools — many state — left weeks ago. The new cohort of summer kids are already starting to arrive. It’s a transition period, a weird one.

I return home, and I’m a senior — something I haven’t been in lifetimes. I’m ready to go back, but I don’t want abroad to be over. It’s been on my mental timeline since I was 15.

I can continue to beach, to club, to tourist, but the clock is ticking… I can hear it in the walls. 

Tick tock. Tick tock. 

Barcelona, May 2025
Anonymous

Free, free, no problem, sir.
Don’t touch my luggage.
My friend, free, for you.
No, not free.
It’s ok, no problem for me.
Well, problem for me. Lina, wait — don’t let him take your bag.
What? Shit.
Ugh.
Free, free. Come. Follow me.
He’s letting us cut the line?
Not for free.
No problem, my friend.
Don’t touch my luggage.
Hey, he might not ask for anything.
He will.
Sir, please. Euro, Dollar, Pound, now.
I thought we were friends!

Cairo International Airport, March 2025
Ashkan R.

My good friend and I always say yes. We don’t even have to say it most of the time. It’s a quick snap of eye contact, a giggle, and a nod — that’s all we need.

We said yes and paraded a mangled umbrella through an uppity nightclub in Cannes, submerged ourselves in the frozen Arctic in Tromsø, rode plastic children’s cars in Yerevan, bought — and finished — a supermarket keg in the Azores, sported ridiculous newsboy caps in Dublin, and confidently marched into a 1-star strip club in Puerto Vallarta.

I hope we never find out how to say no.

Yerevan, April 2025
Ashkan R.
to Mark Wolfman

One city; sixteen countries. Never enough.

Barcelona, 2025
Mark Wolfman

We stared in silence. There was no official prompt, it was no one’s idea… it sort of just happened. Five-plus minutes went by. Everyone was deep in their own unsaid thoughts. 

As we got up to leave, everyone slow and still retaining a piece of that mental clarity, H’s phone slipped from his sweatshirt into the water. 

Instantly: H jumped down from the rocks and quickly sniped his phone — then we formed a chain to pull him back up all 4 feet — I unintentionally blocked his path to offer my arm (which he didn’t need) — N gripped Z’s legs with all his might (they were both firmly on the ground) — and worst, H tossed one of his shoes, which T dropped, then splashed back into the water.

Bosnia and Herzegovina, April 2025
Cliff Claremont