on Tumblr, Fashion Queens, SVU marathons, a s/o to life, deep convos at sleepovers and the title of best friend. To the 6th Lunch Crew, I leave Dinosaurs sandwiches, Dave, and a radio station that only plays “Drunk in Love” and “Team”. To Luciano Chan, I leave my September issue of Vogue with Jennifer Lawrence on the cover, my knowledge of models, money for Stonestown food runs and voice lessons during journ. To Rajan Dumbhalia, I leave our future NYC apartment, an off-campus bathroom so you never have to be an “animal” at school, a final “YAAAAAS GAGA” and music so that we can always find each other and dance. To GG Gunther, I leave tickets from all the movies we’ve seen together, JGL, Jesus Karl Urban Christ, Jon Lajoie videos, and a trip to the Academy Awards (so you can be there whenever Leo wins his Oscar). To Yu Ling Wu, I leave the contents of my wardrobe, love of drag queens and our fierce photoshoots. To Jessi Hagelshaw, I leave stumps, coochie kicks, the role of Mrs. Bucket and our matching choir sweatshirts. To Nicole Chin, I leave my makeup collection, good dumplings and our brunch dates. To Justin Pham, I leave red velvet french toast, our heart-to-hearts and texting sessions during choir. To Sam Spieth, I leave a playlist of 80s music, presurgery Pete Burns and stain remover for your couch and fine wines. To, Matthew Wong I leave money for your haircuts and the times you’ve had to spot me because my card was declined, the fun moments we’ve had together during 4 years of the musical and tickets to Broadway musicals. To Dana Ng, I leave our threesies hangouts, overpriced juice, and 13+ years of friendship. And lastly, to Joshua Roa, I leave Ethiopian food, permission to post all the ugly pictures you’ve taken of me on Facebook, crabfat, thrifted sweaters, aviators, soap flavored boba, Beyonce songs, my rings that never fit you, stolen books, our hours long phone calls, But’ll, Jenny’s Burgers and our cover of “Tonight You Belong to Me”. I, Lisa Grega, in the event that I tragically perish in a freak accident, the details of which are unclear to me at the moment, leave the following: To Meghan Chow, Starbucks, so she can live out her frappuccino dreams; To Flippy Chan, adoption papers for her own baby penguin; To Brian Chu, the desk at the library so he may organize and rule over us all; To Stephanie Coxon, a new pair of white flats that will last forever; To Alisa Kyle, Little Angels because she remembers everyone much better than I should have; To Sarah Huang, my soon-to-be college dorm, when her apartment is crowded with people staying over; To Liz Yee, my soon-to-be college dorm, when Sarah Huang tells her she is tired of her apartment getting crowded with people staying over; To Anh Huynh, my dedication to her ninja clan if that ninja video were to ever become the real thing; To Laura Jue, all the money I have accumulated so she can invest in the Saxy Sex Shop. Actually, just my support because “all the money I have accumulated” doesn’t add up to what she would hope; To the Lowell Japanese Class, underclassmen and teachers included, a trip to Japan which will probably be the most amazing trip ever with all of us there. Except I won’t be there because I’m theoretically dead. Dang it. To Teresa Pham, a T-Rex stuffed animal so that she may accept and embrace, literally, that part of her; To Carolyn Ye, the best hair curler the world has to offer because cutting off my hair for her own use is not only uncomfortable but also very creepy; To Shela Ho, matcha, just all the matcha; To Cindy Chiu, her own True Facts video; To Grace O’Hair-Sherman, along with Cindy Chiu, my vote for leadership of G-Koku because if anyone else did it, it would probably fall apart, let’s be honest; To Steffie Guan, a miniature zoo, miniature panda included, and an edamame farm; To Deidre Foley, all the boba in the world, Kyary Pamyu Pamyu, and the
creation of a dog cafe, for those days when college is being an unreasonable little jerk. I, Steffie Guan, declare this to be my last will and testament. In the event that I die from making a horrendous pun and someone murders me, I divide my property as follows: To Angie Gamboa, I leave unicorn tattoos, eye hugs and peacock feathers. To Wesley Chan, I leave Roger Federer’s trick shots and Zanze’s cheesecake. To Rachel Jimenez, I leave all the times I fell asleep in APUSH and relied on your notes and matching tiger t-shirts. To Kathleen Nunez, I leave none pizza with left beef and a squeaky whale shark. To Jordan Wong, I leave YG Family Concert tickets, calf grabs because you’re a creep and a poster tweet from EYK. To Karen Yu, I leave the strength to deal with craziness known as our friends and judgmental stares in math class. To Sarah Wang, I leave duct tape and fallen beanies. To my G-tachis, Deidre Foley, Lisa Grega, and Grace O’Hair Sherman I leave many adventures around San Francisco, matching jewelry, looking at mizus and maps, Kyary Pamyu Pamyu concert tickets and going through a hole in the soccer field fence to scramble from one AP exam to another. In my APUSH family, to Edie Zhang, I leave you the family business, Running Man marathons and shoes with hidden wedges. To Phillip Chan, I leave flowers for future competitions, many turtle plushies and cute people who aren’t assholes. To Wesley Yee, I leave strange one-eyed plushies and successful outings. To Vivian Hu, I leave our mutual love of comics, constantly falling asleep in class and rushed math homework. To Brittany Hong, I leave tetris, bouncy trophies and unlimited servings of Godfrey Gao. To Joanna Ng, Alexandra Lai and Elora Cuenco, I leave extreme amounts of binguness and chooming on the dancefloor. To Ruby Chen and Angel Su I leave my derpiness and infinite art supplies. To William Zeng, I leave Driftless Pony Club concert tickets and coffee mugs. To Tiffany Ye, I leave endless post-it notes and band merchandise. To Elaine Cheng, I leave defensive dancing and K-pop albums. I choose Helena Denbroeder to be my successor and leave her all my AP prep books, good health and notebook doodles. To Ms. Moffitt and Ms. Crabtree I leave all my puns and the duty of avenging my death.
In the event that I, Tammy Ha, die of a heart attack during the physics exam that I should be studying for, leave the following: To Jia Yi Situ, memories relived through Facebook chat, successful references, Pun Thursdays, MEN IN SUITS, and sure comments of “she doesn’t even go here!” To Winnie Huang, bus rides to MOJO, purple soap, and boys. To Stephanie Ellman, “I hate physics!” for the umpteenth time, cows for roommates, and heartfelt conversations. To Jennia Marie Apolinario Delos
Reyes, m5174836598985, ugly snapchats, MMFD feels, lumpia from the bathroom, and many future hangouts. To Karen Kyi, firelane walks spent contemplating life’s greatest questions, Colin O’Donoghue, inverse matching, and my guarantee that you’ll reach the mighty “200.” To Anyan Cheng, an elevator with all the buttons pressed and separate study rooms. To Amy Huang, a squeaky window that sounds like a wailing baby. To the best calc group, curry, a civil war during our first group FRQ, “pool” parties, endless hiding places for Karen’s pencil case, and screaming “the fundamental theorem of calculus!” when all else fails. To Horace Kwan, an invitation back into the Gribby Gribz crew, good music, sweaters, and jokes that are 2clev. To Angela Hwang, sour cream, one Beyonce bag, a $4 sticker, and “CAN’T STOP WON’T STOP” as our motto. To Zhimei Lin, a coke-stained psych packet. To Nolan Dang, candy incentives for meetings, a Thomas alter ego, and a future career as a forensic scientist jk. To Kenneth Ouyang, a simple “Hey,” your quirky sense of humor, and never-ending questions of whether there was Steele hw or nah To Dave Morales, the expressions “no welcome” and “your problem,” drawings of Quasimodo, and anticlimactic Old Mint bathrooms. To Samantha Chow, glares in the hallway, Finn from MMFD, and Jakob. To Sarah Huang, CSF mods I’ll always owe you and Peeta. To Andy Huang, books, perplexed expressions during math, and Schmidt’s pendulum lecture. To Judy Hua and Vicky Cheng, our Cinderfella skit. To Jackie Woo, cabbage patch, time spent lying on the grass, and rants. To Martin Yip, your own table in Recht’s, your own seat in Prothro’s, and your collection of near-death experiences. To Andromeda Venegas, contagious laughter and Prothro’s music. To Tiffany Ye, time spent bullying Martin. To Caroline Mai, Chuck feels. To Shirlyna Trinh, your dog’s memory. To Mr. Shimmon, a package that may or may not be a bomb.
I, Eliya Hakim Moully, in the very likely event that I die in a freak scooter accident, claim this my final will and testament. I bequeath the following: To Richard L. Dong, my dear friend and co-worker, I leave the profits and publicity of the No Penis Left Behind ® Campaign. I never thought it would get this big! To Jessi Hagelshaw, I leave all of my pants. I also leave cheese, half-baked ice cream, the lyrics of Valerie I got wrong, and you know what else? Bubbles. To Sam Sedar, I leave that thrift store near my house where we spent two hours. I think they have our names taped to the inside of the register. Also, they were children,
not midgets. To Andrew Kennedy, I leave our very philosophical conversations about the modern-day barbarian, our tea-dates at Pete’s, and that bitch at Yerba Buena that ruined our whole day. To Elena Bernick, I leave my backpack, because I know you could always use another friend. Seriously, everyone who’s reading this, Elena needs friends. She’ll probably pay you. To Gabby Rehktman (aka Lil Breezy), I leave our Typo Dates and Squat and Gobble even though I hate it, but I know you love it. I also leave that fruit that’s always stuck in my throat. To Ajeya Hernandez, I leave my shoe in the hallway (because you stepped on it), our sticker-wars on Facebook (that you always win), and my fuddy-duddy aka stuffed shirt, if you ever figure out what that is. To KT Kelly and Alma Carranza, I leave all the great times we had at 4/5 crew on Pinterest, and pissing off all the actual members of journalism To Nadine Kahney, I leave belting out in her minivan and going to buy candy spontaneously at Lucky’s. To Sophia Phillips I leave that time I fell in Bio on Derek Yee’s lap and Mr. Johnson thought I was cheating. You’ll never let me live that down. To Rebecca Hughes, my twin sister, I leave our secret language of Kool-Aid. I wish I could type my will in that language, but this keyboard doesn’t have that font. To Noah Shaw and Zach Rowson I leave our band, ZEN, because you know we would have gotten famous (long live Jesus and Pals Forever). To Bryan Ritter, I leave my undying creepy obsession and awkward half-flirting. It was weird. Let’s not talk about it. You’re always Hunky Jesus to me. To the rest of my teachers at Lowell, I leave my sanity and self-respect. Oh wait, you already took that. In the case that I, Ateret Hakim die of a heat stroke in the 120 degree weather in Tel Aviv, I leave the following things to the following people First I leave the lovely Amanda Seigel all the burritos, hamburgers, Vietnamese sandwiches, and free sample runs after school, late night adventures, seasons 1-9 of how I met your mother (even though the last one kind of sucks), All of Me by John Legend, and every Logan Lerman look alike (one look alike in particular….). For the majestic Sara Vargas I leave Friday afternoons, banana hot chocolates, hot Cheetos, gum balls, dipping dots, the Nordstrom lounge, every Michael Jackson song ever made, every Prince song ever made (and no he is not better than Michael), all of your crazy yet hilariously interesting stories, and any Adam Sandler related thing. For the adorable Angela Hwang, I leave the honey bee tea house drinks, the movies hopping days, all the breakfasts, brunches, lunches, and din-