Fast Times at Basic High

"High school hasn't changed."

That's the conclusion reached by Drew Barrymore in the new teen flick "Never Been Kissed," in which her character, Josie Geller, spends a week undercover at a local high school researching an article for the Chicago Sun-Times.

But I figure, what does Drew know? She never even attended high school.

So this intrepid reporter took the daring plunge to test those findings: A decade after my own graduation, I returned to attend a day of classes at Henderson's Basic High School (Go Wolves!), shadowing two students: senior Christy Pendelton, class of '99, and junior Erin Pender, class of '00.

Although he hasn't seen the movie (yet), principal Horrace Smith seems to agree with this thesis. The bands may change, the brands may change, but the kids remain the same. "Kids are kids," boomed the Texas native when I arrived in his office early -- too early -- at 7 a.m. "You'll see."

I'd already realized that one thing doesn't change -- those first-day-of-school jitters. "What should I wear?" I fretted like a proper 17-year-old the night before, pondering my wardrobe selection carefully. "Basic is cliquey," Erin had told me the week before. "If you're not wearing the right shoes..." I had no Tommy Hilfiger T-shirts or MUDD jeans, so I settled on innocuous blue jeans, a gray Gap T-shirt and a black-leather jacket.

The disguise seemed to work at first. "You could pass for 17," cooed one teacher. "We thought you were a new student," gasped a group of girls upon learning my true identity. But by second period, my ruse was busted when the history teacher introduced me to the class as "Ms. Schorr."

Ms. Schorr! Who's that?

Deja vu all over again

Well, I'm happy to report that Drew had it right: certain things really haven't changed. School still begins with a garbled recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance. JanSport still has a firm lock on the backpack market. And 15-year-old boys are still cultivating caterpillar-like moustaches on their upper lips.

Teachers are still using lame phrases such as "private conversations need to stop." Wanna-be rebels are still writing wanna-be witty carvings into their desks, such as "me was here" and "I am just an imbosil." The chairs are still so ergonomically incorrect that I think I may have slipped a disc.

Kids are still doing everything in class -- cutting up photos, passing notes, eating licorice, chewing blue bubble gum, snacking on Ritz cracker hors d'oeuvres, cracking their backs, sketching quadrangles for drafting class, surreptitiously reading John Grisham novels, applying Bath & Body Works lotion, snoozing -- but paying attention.

There's always one overachiever who raises her hand and asks about extra credit, and always one underachiever who is frantically copying the Algebra assignment during his lunch hour. But thanks to math class, they can at least calculate to the decimal point how many days are left in the school year (31); how many weeks until they get their yearbooks (about three); and the inherent value of a $300 letterman's jacket that is only worn for one season (priceless, status-wise).

I did notice some subtle changes, some signs of the times.

The food served is still grease a la mode -- pizza, curly fries, chicken fingers -- but nowadays, it comes catered in a pushcart from Pizza Hut.

And in a true reflection of the era, students can read an "Oprah Book Club Selection" for their book reports or choose the trendy aerobics craze Tae-Bo for gym class.

But still, Basic High School is nothing like in the movies, where kids dress like Alicia Silverstone in "Clueless." This day was "Junior ROTC Day," and the most popular fashion statement for boys and girls was Army fatigues.

Prom isn't the most climactic moment in their young lives as it always is portrayed on the big screen: Christy's Boulder City boyfriend, Jake, is trying to convince her to ditch prom for a motorcycle race; she is actually considering it.

And no one is walking around attached to their beepers and cell phones. "Maybe at Las Vegas (High School)?" one student suggests helpfully.

First period

It was 7:20 a.m. I was ready for my first period class when in walked ... a substitute. This was even better, I figured -- a classic high school moment.

"Subs are 'eeeh, eeeh, eeeh,' " agrees Christy, making the screeching noise and stabbing motion from the shower scene in "Psycho." I was ready to witness some high-tech tormenting, but a detente was quickly reached: she cowered behind her paper and ignored us; we ignored her right back.

It is 10 minutes into first period. Christy has already grown restless. "It's going to be a loooong day," she sighs. It occurs to me that mind-numbing boredom hasn't changed much in a decade, either.

Second period

Soon, it was on to honors American Government class, where current events was a bust -- one girl discussing the Kosovo crisis mistakenly called the Serbian "Sumerians," another mixed up the premise of the "marriage penalty tax."

Then a student brought up current legislation that would restrict teenagers' driving licenses. The class perked up. "They need to give us more credit," one girl said. "They can try you as an adult," another points out. "How many of us are going to care when we're 18?" one girl posited. "But I'm not 18 until August," her classmate wailed.

The class is assigned a project: create a new political party and platform.

"Do you want to be a leader?" the teacher asks one outgoing student.

"No, I'm more of a follower," he replies with an ironic smirk.

Third period

Next it is on to Food and Nutrition, known once upon a time as Home Ec, where the class, a nearly 50-50 split of boys and girls, is making Part I of a taco salad.

Have you ever made anything really tricky, I ask Erin -- like quiche?

"That's next year," she replies seriously.

Fourth period

We head to American Literature, where a couple is playing footsie in a corner of the classroom. "Are they a couple?" Erin whispers to a classmate. "I think so," he replies.

To my amazement, teachers are still reciting the same old workhorse poems they did a decade ago, like Edwin Arlington Robinson's "Miniver Cheevy" and "Richard Cory."

"The poet used people he knew from his own small town as inspiration," the teacher tells the apathetic class. "There are no secrets in a small town -- everybody knows everybody's business."

Oh, I get it -- a small town is kinda like ... high school in that way. The students all seem oblivious to the parallel.

Undeterred, the teacher launches into "Richard Cory," a poem about a high-class dude who "glitters when he walks," yet "went home and put a bullet through his head."

"Suicide," darkly mutters a kid in the back row with a "Suicidal Tendencies" hat in his hand.

"Some of us may appear to have everything -- and still aren't happy," the teacher finally points out. "Do you have a facade?"

A lightbulb finally goes on somewhere.

"Everyone does," Erin replies.

Fifth period

We head to the locker room to change for Musical Theater. Many of the girls put on sweatshirts that read "Dance. Bring It On!" The dance instructor is a "slave driver," er, a perfectionist, who makes the class repeat the production number they are rehearsing -- "Coffee Talk" from "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying," until it's done right.

Erin is captain of the dance team, but says she isn't appearing in the school's production of the musical "Godspell." "My mother thinks (that play is) sacrilegious," the 16-year-old Mormon explains.

Sixth period

At lunchtime, we plop down on the steps just inside the cafeteria. Are we outcasts banished to sit on the floor, I wonder, or is this the anti-establishment place to sit? It's hard to tell. "As long as you have one or two friends, you can survive high school," Erin had confided earlier. Today, there is a whole posse of high school boys encircling her.

Erin and her quasi-boyfriend are innocently teasing each other with a pair of miniature mock handcuffs. His friend plugs into Dru Hill on his headphones. Another boy pulls a Matchbox car out of his baggy pants pocket. "Stay a kid as long as you can," he wisely advises.

A boy named Jason circles the room, holding an yellow envelope labeled "CD 4 Me" and collecting funds. For the past two days, Erin's brother explains, Jason has been begging his fellow students for money to buy himself a new Sony Discman CD player. Amused by his shameless panhandling, nearly everyone ponies up some spare change.

I realized that my day was nearing its end, and I still hadn't found one appropriate Page 1 scandal to bring back to my editors. "CD 4 Me" was the closest I came to spotting any fund-raising improprieties. And so far, the only evidence of drug use I'd spotted was a bottle of Centrum vitamins.

One girl was certain she had a scoop for me. "Tell them how we have to come in sick, because we only have 10 absentee days," she pleaded with a sniffle.

Sorry, I thought, unsympathetically, my own 10-day vacation allotment in mind. Welcome to the real Real World.

The true scandal is how these poor teens have to wake up before daylight. Erin told me she gets up at 4 a.m. to attend seminary before school starts.

It shows: These girls must be applying their makeup before daylight hours -- how else to explain all the puke-green eyeshadow and toenail polish? One boy was even wearing two different-colored tube socks.

The students are so exhausted that napping in class has been raised to an Olympian level. "Watch how many people fall asleep," Erin whispers as we settle into one class.

By the end of one day in high school, in fact, I was so zonked I decided to forgo all my plans to get sent to detention, put together the yearbook and try out for cheerleading squad; I went home and took a long nap.

Next time I spend a day back in school, remind me to make it kindergarten.

Final bell

Overall, I'm happy to say that I had almost as good a time as the first time around -- maybe better.

I can't remember the last time I engaged in a 10-minute conversation of funny falling on-your-rear anecdotes.

I learned a lot, too: why we have a presumption of innocence, what an epitaph is and, more importantly, who the class slut is, and that NoDoz is really, really bad if you take too much of it.

High school seemed much, much easier the second time around. Stern teachers weren't quite as intimidating. Neither were high school boys. Neither was the principal.

High school may not have changed -- but I had.

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