Ackley

Prisha Mantha (She/Her)

Editorial Team Member

I hate The Catcher in the Rye.

Not because it’s a bad book, but because of what it came to represent in my life. In the middle of my sophomore year, a girl stopped me in the hallway, her face serious.

“Someone made a group chat…”

Her words sliced through the usual noise of the hallway. I barely heard the rest. All I understood was that “someone” had created a group chat, invited “a lot of people,” and “they” were all mocking me. My heart dropped. The air felt thinner, my chest tight. When I finally found my voice, I asked what the group chat was called.

“Ackley.”

We had just finished reading The Catcher in the Rye in Honors English. Ackley, the awkward, obnoxious character whom Holden Caulfield couldn’t stand, had become my label. Hearing that people I knew saw me as their Ackley felt like my worst fear realized—that I was weird, that I didn’t fit in.

That day, my world shifted. I became hyper-aware of every glance, every laugh, convinced it was directed at me. I barely breathed until I got home, where I sat on my bed, replaying the girl’s words. A torrent of “what ifs” flooded my mind: What if I were prettier? What if I were funnier? For a long time, the “what ifs” consumed me. I isolated myself, afraid of what others were saying, unsure of who to trust. It was like living in a storm with no shelter.

One day, while cleaning my room, I found The Catcher in the Rye buried in my shelf. I hadn’t touched it since sophomore year, too bitter to even look at it. But in a moment of curiosity, or maybe stubbornness, I thought, maybe I’ll give it another chance.

Reading the book with fresh eyes, I realized something I hadn’t seen before: Holden hated Ackley because he saw parts of himself in him—the parts he was too afraid to confront. Just like the people who mocked me, maybe they were wrestling with their own insecurities. Maybe, like Holden, they were terrified of what felt too real. This realization felt freeing—maybe my classmates’ ridicule had more to do with their issues than mine.

This didn’t fully ease the pain, but it gave me something I hadn’t felt in a long time—control. I couldn’t change how others saw me, but I could change how I saw myself. So, I focused on what made me feel strong and capable. I joined my school’s Model UN club, and: it taught me to not just use my voice, but to own it. I found assertiveness in my words. I realized that what I had to say mattered, whether others listened or not.

Painting, too, became an outlet for the emotions I couldn’t express in words. The canvas allowed me to let go of the hurt and transform it into something beautiful. Similarly, community service helped me shift my focus away from myself. Helping others, and hearing their stories, made me realize that everyone carries their own burdens. We all have our Ackley moments—feeling out of place or misunderstood.

As I grew more comfortable in my own skin, I built friendships based on trust and mutual support. I learned to embrace my flaws rather than hide from them, finding strength in the very things I once thought made me unlikable.

Now, I realize I don’t hate The Catcher in the Rye anymore. In fact, I think I’ve come to love it. The book, and the experience tied to it, taught me that I can’t control what others think, but I can choose how I respond to adversity. It helped me realize that self-worth comes from within, not from others’ approval. High school didn’t break me—it built me. I found my voice, my creativity, my confidence, and my purpose. And most importantly, I found peace in accepting who I am, flaws and all.