I don’t think you quite understand the workings of this program.

Yes, you, dear reader, do not see the sheer amount of journalism occurring at this very moment in time at Coppell High School. I can tell you there are over 50 stories in the works as I write this, whether they be in the interviewing stage or in the final stage of edits. In this way, Sidekick is not too far from a bustling village of its own with dozens of enterprising individuals. 

As for me? I’m the ruler, if you may, of the entire ecosystem. But, as to not infringe on my chief’s power, you can call me a mere lord — the lord of the board.

I started off as a mere serf myself. As I walked into the D115 newsroom that first year, I was met with the crown jewel — the deadline board in all its glory. I still remember the pure thrill and honor of seeing my name on it under the comics section, even if it was for a silly story on art burnout. 

But that was the thing — it was not the quality of the story that mattered, but the mere act of creating work to be published.

I went on that way for two years. My name would be written in different handwritings across the board as I produced for as many sections in as story forms as I could. Features. Scathing columns. Eventually, the centerspread in-depth for Volume 35 Issue 5. My journalistic voice felt as amplified as it could be. Man, I was a satisfied and proud vassal.

And then I got crowned lord of the board for my senior year.

To clarify, I never asked to take over all deadlines for the program. Honestly, I was a bit nervous about my new role. My entire Sidekick journey thus far was filled with pride of seeing my name on that board. Now I was the one writing all those stories on the board and tracking the deadlines. My voice — rather, my handwriting — was all over every story published. 

I started to find a routine in my duties: send the deadline via email, type all the information in my 635-row Google Sheets motherboard, stand on the stool, write the deadline on the board, erase published stories. Send, type, stand, write, erase, repeat. The board was no longer a jewel — just a friend I was overly familiar with. 

Then came February. As I edited a story on Sidekick alumni, I spotted it in a photo of 2015 graduate Rachel Buígas-Lopez. The same deadline board, located right where I knew it, yet feeling so different in the context of a previous staff. 

I had never really thought about the history that board witnessed before. The day this very website went live in 2008. The first NSPA Pacemaker win in 2017. The last editor meeting in 2020 before the world shut down before our eyes. To think about the award-winning journalism that once had a deadline written on the very surface I write on today, the very journalism that inspired me to join the program in the first place.

Suddenly, I felt very small. In the long-term, my stint as lord and journalist is a mere speck of dust in The Sidekick’s history. But I’m one among hundreds of lauded names and an elite league. 

The board will soon be scrubbed clean of my script for a fresh start next year. But the community stories that find a momentary home on it will not change. Neither will the pure journalistic vigor fueling each student’s contribution. Safe to say our village has its peak ahead of it.

So I leave the crown, proud to have made my little mark. Hear ye, hear ye! Good Lord Nrithya of the Board, perhaps Deadline Tzar to some, takes her leave.

Fare thee well, though I know you will.