At my high school, I have no friends. I identify myself with no particular hobbies or interests, and my birthday never comes. Quite simply, I do not exist. While these statements are thankfully untrue, they might easily be inferred from my one great social failing: I remain absent from Facebook.

Facebook has become as essential as cell phones and e-mail for interaction between high school students. Think of Facebook as a sort of governing body among youth of a certain age; the information is considered definitive. Thus, to accept a friend request through Facebook is to validate a real-life friendship, while a Facebook “poke” or “hug” is akin to the physical action. Indeed, to sign up for Facebook is to register one’s existence.

As I know firsthand, unofficial existence as a high school student can be a trying endeavor. Finding out a classmate’s birthday might require an actual conversation, and planning an event entails individual e-mails or (God forbid) phone calls to invitees. And in the brief few years since “Facebook” joined the ranks of “TiVo” and “Google” as a grammatically confused verb, each meeting with an amiable new acquaintance has inevitably concluded with, “Hey, I’ll Facebook you.” Forced to explain that I am unFacebookable, I usually justify my abstinence by saying, “I like my freedom.”

To my naive eyes, it looks as though Facebook can be as much of a burden as a savior. Imagine the consequences of leaving one’s Facebook unattended for a week: You could miss a friend’s birthday. You could brutally (though inadvertently) ignore a friend request from a new real-life friend. You could miss out on the inside joke of the century. “Sometimes people might have a party or an event and alert people through Facebook invitations,” says Facebook enthusiast Chloe E., “and then people don’t hear about it until much later, if they don’t check.” Tending to a Facebook profile has become a daily responsibility in the life of a typical teen – one I have, thus far, refused to accept.

Like the cell phone and computer, Facebook may soon be too commonplace to live without. Then stubborn holdouts like me will have no choice but to put aside their grudges and take a place on digital society’s bandwagon. If I do choose to pull myself out of the Dark Ages and join the legions of teen Facebook dwellers, my decision will be influenced by one indelible memory. On the last day of my teen tour this summer, I watched two of my friends say their farewells. Caught in a teary embrace, one whispered to the other, “Get a Facebook.”