• I slammed car door shut and my body shivered. It was cold outside, and the chilly wind only made it worse. My clothes offered little protection against the weather, however, because I was in my navy blue scrubs uniform that I was required to wear for my hospital rotations. I had on a long sleeve shirt underneath my scrub top plus a jacket, but that didn't help me too much. I hurried on inside the high school, desperately seeking warmth.

    The moment I stepped inside, I was assaulted by bright colors. Large hand made posters hung on the brick walls and pillars, and came in goldenrod, highlighter yellow, and highlighter pink. All of them had phrases along the lines of, "Save Darfur", and "Help stop the genocide." I searched through the geography map that was in my mind for Darfur, and came up blank. I never heard of a place called Darfur. I shrugged it out went to my Pre-Cal class.

    My day progressed in a slug like fashion. My feet led me to my classes without my brain telling them, and I drifted off into my little dreamworld as I went through the tiled halls. The bell rang after my fourth period class, and I went to lunch. When I got to my table, I deposited my bag and books onto my spot, and went to the lunch line. When I came back the table was filled up with my friends. There were people for all walks of life that sat with me. There was the loudmouth, the military man, the emo kid, the role-player, the punk, and the quiet girl. It was an odd blend of friends, and, under normal circumstances, would never have been friends to begin with.

    As I ate, I noticed people walking around the cafeteria with buckets in their hands. One of them walked to our corner of the cafeteria, and asked for donations from the table next to us, which consisted of the football players and the cheerleaders. Our tables have been at war on a few occasions, but we always came on top because of one thing: intelligence. They were the stereotypical jocks and cheerleaders, all brawn and no brain. Right now, we are denying each others existence.

    Someone at their table gave the person some money, and she skipped off to another table. My eyes followed her, and drifted across the cafeteria to a large poster that read, "Please donate to help save Darfur."

    "Does anyone know anything about Darfur?" I asked before I popped a tater tot into my mouth. All of my friends looked at and shrugged. They did not know anymore than I did.

    "It's someplace in Africa," said Travis from across the table. "There's this mass genocide being done. That's all I know."

    "Ah," I said. "I don't see why they are taking up money for it."

    Angelica turned into her chair next to me and said, "What do you mean?" I took a sip from my chocolate milk.

    "Think about it," I said. "All the money is just going to go to the warlords and dictators, and not to the people that need it the most. I don't know about you, but I'm not going to give those people my money. I understand that they are suffering, but there's nothing that we can do to help if the warlords are just going to take everything." It was quite at my table for a second before someone else struck up a conversation about a completely different topic. I stabbed a piece of lettuce in my salad as the thought settled into my mind.

    It was hard to swallow knowing that people needed help, but also knowing that there was nothing we can do to help.