'Now I'm a new person'

MELROSE - When Amanda Kotkowski and Christina Carucci step onto an Orange Line train at Oak Grove one brisk afternoon, they appear to be just a couple of chatty teenagers on a jaunt to Harvard Square. Really, they are young women, just turned 18, freshly minted adults embarking on a mission for which they would have needed parental permission only days earlier.

They're on their way to get their noses pierced.

Kotkowski's mom doesn't like piercing. She wasn't happy when Kotkowski surreptitiously pierced her tongue last year, but at least the girl removed it 10 days later.

"It was, like, gross. It was oozing and stuff,'' Kotkowski says. "I couldn't talk at all. My tongue was so swollen.'' Carucci says her mom is resigned to the nose-piercing. "My dad still hates it,'' she says. "You know how they go? 'Fine. If you want to.'''

So here they are, on Carucci's 18th birthday, three days after Kotkowski's, doing what their parents would rather they didn't. This bejeweling of the nostril seems more assertion of independence than act of defiance.

"I think they're cute. I think they're stylish. I've always been open to trying new things,'' Carucci says. "I won't have it for the rest of my life. You're only 18 once.''

For many in the Melrose High School senior class,

this is the year's first official rite of passage - an 18th birthday that catapults them from child to adult. Suddenly they're old enough to vote and sign contracts. In rituals that reinforce the reality of turning 18, they buy lottery tickets and cigarettes, even if they don't smoke or gamble. They talk of buying pornography and going to strip clubs, even if they never convert talk to action. They get piercings or tattoos - or give it at least a passing thought. They go to 18-plus shows.

They can drive after midnight, work after 10 on a school night, and serve alcohol on the job. They can enlist in the military of a country at war. The men among them must register with the Selective Service System in case Congress reinstates the draft.

Kotkowski doesn't smoke, but she bought cigarettes anyway on her birthday at the end of November. "The first place I went to, they didn't card me,'' she says, "and I got mad and went someplace else.'' Matt Shea finds himself "driving around aimlessly'' after midnight. Jenna Spataro traded her long tresses for a shorter, more sophisticated style. "I looked at a picture, and I said, 'Oh my God, I don't look 18,' so I cut my hair,'' she says. Daniel Greene opened a checking account and registered to vote. Scott MacKenzie got a tattoo.

"Everyone looks at you different,'' Carucci says. "You're considered an adult.''

"t feels more, like, free, that you can do what you want,'' Kotkowski says. "It feels like I have more responsibility.''

In a Cambridge piercing parlor, Kotkowski and Carucci each choose a small silver ball for their left nostrils, show their IDs, and sign consent forms. "Read the whole thing,'' Carucci says. She's not the type to get nervous about things like this, but for some reason she hasn't been able to eat all day. She reaches for Kotkowski's hand, and in an instant her nose is pierced. ``Whew!'' she sighs.

"It looks so good, Christina,'' Kotkowski says.

"Thanks, honey,'' Carucci says. "Sorry my hands are sweaty.''

Now it's Kotkowski's turn. "Oh my God,'' she says, "my heart is pounding.'' Carucci takes off her rings before offering her hand, which is fortuitous, because pretty soon, even with bare fingers, she's joking about having a broken hand on her birthday. Then it's over. The two friends hug.

"We did it!'' Kotkowski says. "We're 18! Yay!''

"Oooh!'' says Carucci. "Now I'm a new person. Now I'm 18.''

A time of change

At her 18th birthday party, a small dinner at her house, Beth Albers wears a short, strapless black-and-white semiformal dress with an artificial pink flower at the bodice and black spike-heeled shoes. But for a glittery white feathered tiara, the kind that might crown a 6-year-old birthday girl, she looks stylish and mature.

Albers's attire is reminder that the emotional transition that comes with turning 18 is as fluid as the legal threshold is sharp. In the weeks following her 18th birthday, she notices subtle harbingers of more changes to come.

"My parents have given me more freedom, like a later curfew. And they're willing to work with me more on what I want to do,'' Albers says. "You're an adult now, but I don't think it really means anything until you're out on your own.''

Albers says she tries to follow politics and wants to cast her first vote for president, but the March primary catches her unaware and unregistered. She is not the only 18-year-old in her class who neglected to register to vote. ``Can I go day of?'' she asks a few days before the contest. ``I'd like to vote. I'm angry at myself for not hearing about it.''

Others don't miss the chance to join the electorate. The afternoon of March 2, Daniel Greene goes to the Howard School to cast his ballot for Howard Dean in the Democratic primary. Inside the gymnasium-turned-polling-place, a few mothers staff a bake sale of muffins and cookies to benefit a fifth-grade environmental camp. "I saw all the food,'' Greene says, ``and I'm, `Wow, there is an incentive for voting,' but you had to pay for it.''

After Greene votes, an 81-year-old election worker named Margi Glavin tells him, "Good for you.'' Bob Follo, an auxiliary police lieutenant on primary-day duty, heard on the radio that few young people vote. "No young people have come in,'' he says. "He was the first one.''

"I think it's pretty lame if you don't vote,'' Greene says. "My dad was always political. I was aware even in 1998. I vaguely remember my dad was Clinton's campaign manager in Melrose.''

In a pragmatic rite of passage, this student with an after-school job in a hardware store opens his own checking account. No more asking his mom to write a check for him and hearing that she's too tired or too busy. His first check is the $25 application fee for Salem State College, followed by a check to a friend for a used MP3 player.

"I like signing stuff myself,'' Greene says. "It's an independence thing.''

Jacob Lefton is one of the most politically active members of the class, and all year he's been chafing with the feeling of being too old for high school. He went to Iowa to campaign for Dean, and in Melrose last year he worked on an unsuccessful bid to raise property taxes that would have helped the city's schools. So there's a certain irony to the fact that he doesn't turn 18 until a week after the primary.

He's not one of those nonsmokers who buys cigarettes just because he can. "I oppose giving the companies money,'' he says. He registered for the draft. "It was pretty awful,'' he says, "because I don't agree with it.''

For him, turning 18 means more than being old enough to vote. He's old enough now to run for municipal or state office. Maybe after college. Maybe much earlier if he takes time off next year. "I think I could run for school committee, because I feel like our school committee needs some student representative on it,'' Lefton says. "I feel like people could pay more attention to students.''

Adult decisions

To tattoo or not to tattoo. The question of whether to immortalize youthful impulse in permanent ink has become part of the buzz of turning 18. The topic is the subject of an article, written by a senior, in the March issue of the Melrose High School newspaper.

Scott MacKenzie, who plans to be a lawyer, pulls up a pants leg to show off his new tattoo to a classmate. Running along the side of his calf is an elaborate cross, intricately drawn in black with red accent lines in the center. "I don't think it will affect me that bad because I'll be wearing pants,'' MacKenzie says. "I really thought about where to put it.''

His parents didn't learn of the tattoo until another mother mentioned it at the basketball team banquet. ``All of a sudden I heard, `Scott got a tattoo,''' MacKenzie says. ``My mom got really upset. She asked why I had to get it so big. She's just worried about what my grandmother is going to say when she sees it.''

MacKenzie spent a long time deciding what tattoo to get and whether to get one at all. "At first I was really iffy about it. I thought it was long-term and it will be there the rest of my life. Then I thought if it looked good and was something I'd like the rest of my life,'' he says. "I know a person who got a Red Sox tattoo. He said, 'At least you didn't get that. At least you got a cross and it stands for something.'''

He considered getting a Celtic cross, because he's Irish, but opted for an original design. "I wanted something that nobody else in the school has,'' he says. "I'm going to get the family crest on my shoulder. That's it.''

The day before she turns 18, Karima Taswell finds a smart black knit cap to wear to the Beyonce concert at the FleetCenter that she'll attend on her birthday, courtesy of her mom and stepfather. So she returns the camouflage pants she bought for the occasion and goes for a more sophisticated look in black and white. The posters on her bedroom wall attest to the anticipation Taswell's been feeling for weeks. The concert, she reports later, was fun but a bit of a letdown because the seats were far from the stage. Turning 18 feels great. "I don't want to be older than that,'' she says. ``Then you'd really be an adult.'' But it's a bit of a letdown, too.

"It's a good feeling, but I don't know. I still have the same curfew. I'm not happy about that,'' she says. "I feel like a kid still. There still are a lot of things I'm not able to do. I'm still not old enough to live on my own. Not that I'm ready, but I want to. I'll have more freedom.''

Nick DeVita also uses the occasion of turning 18 to see a favorite performer. DeVita, an aspiring actor and comedian who has tapes of all comic Dane Cook's TV shows, catches Cook in an outing that's both night on the town and career exploration. When he called the Comedy Connection to buy tickets to see Cook, he was told to be sure to bring his ID to prove his age.

"Nothing's better than seeing him live,'' DeVita says. "I was excited to be in a comedy club for the first time. I want to be able to control these people. I want to be there with the mike and control their emotions.''

At the high school's "Mr. Melrose'' competition in April, DeVita, wearing a sleeveless undershirt and swim trunks in the beachwear segment, stops to flirt with a cardboard bathing beauty before sashaying across the stage. Now that he's 18, he doesn't only want to watch live comedy, he wants to audition for the Giggles Comedy Club in Saugus, where you must be 18 to perform and 21 to sit in the audience. As soon as he has a chance, he'll write a routine.

"I have to be funny,'' DeVita says. "I'm not going to have a whole army of people coming and not be funny.''

Four months have passed since the day Carucci turned 18 and got her nose pierced. She decides to go to Western New England College in the fall. She arranges an internship with the Melrose Early Childhood Center, coming full circle as graduation nears by making playdough in the room of a teacher who taught Carucci when she was a preschooler with bangs and pigtails.

"I definitely feel a lot older. I matured a lot lately,'' Carucci says. "I never feel like I have to be somewhere because that's where everyone else is. I can be my own person.''

Before she starts the internship, Carucci changes the stud in her nose to a tiny rhinestone. "Just so it doesn't really draw attention to myself. Kids notice things more, and I didn't want my nose to be the center of attention,'' she says. "I'm not really going out flaunting it. I'm not hiding it either. I love it. I'm so happy I did it. It goes with my personality. I'm spunky. It sets me apart from people. I don't think just anyone can get their nose pierced.''