The meeting happens every Wednesday in a classroom that looks like any other on Bonitas campus that students have sat in a hundred times: a whiteboard with old notes as the backdrop and an array of desks. The lights are off and the glow of the Newline display reflects off the students’ faces. 

Students walk in, in groups rarely and never alone. They drop their backpacks on the floor, whisper to their friends, laugh softly and get comfortable in their seats. At first, the room sounds like any other class in the morning, when the hustle and bustle has yet to settle down.  The screen flashes the word DUI, and all the whispers and laughs disappear instantly; the silence is rare in room 206, typically a hub for students to converse with each other and Comprehensive Health teacher Shannon Bruce—the silence means something important has started. 

The officers sit at the front next to the illuminated screen, they wait a moment before beginning the meeting. Doing this lets the word “DUI” settle in the students’ minds as it’s a sensitive topic for many. The presence of this word tells the meeting’s attendees everything they need to know—this meeting was not a joke; today would be a serious Wednesday afternoon at lunch. 

The mood is heavy. Students straighten their backs as if they understand the seriousness this topic can hold. This is just a typical meeting for Teens Against Substance Abuse (TASA). The club exists because losing a loved one, friend, or even an acquaintance can leave a deep impact. President and junior Morgan Davies spells her name slowly, clear and strong then makes it known, “My friend passed away last year.” and then shows her passion by saying “I just wanted other people to stay out of that danger.” To avoid danger, people have to be informed—TASA educates students on the risks and realities of substance abuse.

Davies calls TASA “an educational opportunity” but follows up with something that feels stronger: “Our officers truly care. This isn’t for college applications.” That honesty stands out. It reveals the emotional effect substance abuse has on each officer, making it especially meaningful for young people today.

Vice president and junior Alyssa Moroneo had her own reasons for advocating for the club. “My family comes from a lot of substance abuse,” Moreno says. She mentions an uncle who was deported and another who struggled with drugs until rehab helped him recover. Moreno emphasizes this is the age where students tend to fall under pressure. Education, she believes, can change outcomes. She states this calmly, almost as fact, which reflects how deeply she believes in the club’s purpose.
The slides move on: what alcohol does to your brain, how a DUI can stay on your record, how fentanyl works and how fast it can kill. No extreme videos, no over the top warning, just simple facts that ought to be taught. Junior and public relations officer Aivalyn Perez says the club tries to show students “what they put at risk when driving.” 

Junior and treasurer Abryana Lewis says even less, but her words carry weight. ‘My dad did it,” she said in a soft tone, “I saw it growing up.” She explains that teens are highly affected by substance abuse as more young people pass away. All four officers say their proudest  moment was the first meeting. Davis thought her peers would look at her differently but instead everyone listened. They were all appalled. Moreno recalls feeling relieved by how seriously their peers responded. It was the moment they realized students felt understood and shared their concern.

There are no huge events yet—no big fundraisers or flashy posters. But the impact of the club lives in small things: the way the room quiets when a heavy topic appears on the screen, the way non-members tune in when the topic is serious, the way the room holds its breath during sorrowful stories. These moments reveal how quickly things can fall apart—and how meaningful it is that teenagers are choosing to confront serious issues together.

For a few minutes after the slideshow ends, no one really moves. Students lean back in their chairs and whisper quietly, sharing thoughts or questions they didn’t ask out loud. The officers remain at the front, letting the weight of the discussion settle. The room is quiet but not empty. There is a sense that something new has been learned, with the hope that every student carries a part of the conversation with them—even if they didn’t speak or personally relate. 

When the presentation ends, the noise returns. Chairs scrape the floor, laughter rises, and students slip out in groups, still talking. But the lights stay off, and the quiet parts of the meeting seem to linger for a few seconds longer.

As she packs up her things as well, Davies says “Trying something one time can change your life.” The statement applies to both positive and negative choices. And that’s when it becomes clear: this club is not built on fear. It’s built on memory—loss—and a group of teenagers who believe a lunch meeting in a classroom might save someone they’ll never really know.