Senior year is supposed to be the easy one—or so the legend goes. But Molly Wheeler, an Illinois State Scholar with a schedule full of advanced coursework and a life full of athletics, laughs at that idea. "Kind of," she says when asked if this year has been relaxing.

She's taking AP Statistics and AP Literature, both with friends like Alex Booker. She passed AP Precalculus last year with a 4, earned top academic honors, and pushed herself in nearly every direction a student can go. Senior year hasn't been a glide. It's been a climb.

College applications have only added to the intensity. So far she's been accepted to the University of Kentucky, Illinois State, and Carthage, and she's waiting to hear from her top two choices: Butler University and the University of Tennessee. She wants out of Illinois—not to escape anything, but to see something new. "Why not get out and explore?" she says.

Her academic plans point toward nursing, a path inspired partly by her grandmother. Molly considered teaching for a while, but it was nursing's blend of care, connection, and steady resilience that ultimately drew her in. She wants to earn her BSN and become an RN, maybe going further one day. Byron's CNA program, which she completed last year, confirmed she's wired for this work.

Molly is an athlete whose schedule borders on the heroic. She plays volleyball and does football cheer, basketball cheer, and competitive cheer—all three, all year. Competitive cheer is nothing like the game-day routines many alumni remember. "It's a really hard and kind of brutal sport," she says. Routines run two minutes and thirty seconds. Tumbling, stunting, yelling, dancing—every muscle burns, every movement demands precision. "I wish I had started sooner," she says.

As a base, she's one of the athletes lifting, tossing, and catching the flyers—work that requires strength, timing, and total trust. She may continue cheer in college. Volleyball is less likely. "D1 volleyball... they're crazy."

Her own athletic resilience became the heart of her college essay. Junior year volleyball was difficult—difficult in the way real growth sometimes is. The transition from JV to varsity shook her confidence. The competitions were more intense and dynamic, with a whole new level of pressure added.  But the essay she wrote wasn't about blame. It was about becoming stronger. "That's more focused on how I grew," she says. "And what I did to overcome it." Senior year arrived, and she had a really amazing season.

Molly has a small, powerful circle of mentors. English teacher Angie McHale taught her sophomore and junior years. "She's so smart," Molly says. "You can just tell by the way she talks." But more than intelligence, Molly remembers how McHale challenged her, pushed her, saw her potential before she fully saw it herself. "She knew what we were capable of," Molly says. "And she held us to it."

Volleyball coach Mrs. Elsbury, who works in the athletic director's office, was another steady believer. "If there was no one else that maybe was believing in me, I knew she was always there, and she was always rooting me on," Molly says.

Her biggest supporters are her family. Her mom, Sara Wheeler, teaches in the district as a specialized teacher. Her dad is a carpenter at Ringland  Johnson. Her younger brother, now a junior, plays football and baseball—and this year, Molly got to cheer him on as Byron brought home another state championship. She remembers the electric atmosphere at Illinois State University, the scary final thirty seconds. "That kind of made the win ten times better," she says. On the bus ride home, "they were more awake on the way back than they were" on the way there. "We were on the same bus."

Molly played in band through sophomore year before other commitments took priority. She's "generally a pretty open book," she says—no secret talents to reveal.

One day, when she returns for her ten-year reunion, she knows what she'll talk about: lunchroom conversations, memories in the PE Center, growing up with the same people year after year. "Just be in the moment," she says. "Didn't really have to worry about much."

Byron is a bubble. A good one. A tight-knit community where people know you, support you, and show up for you.

She's already done the hard work of rising. Now she's ready to fly.