If these halls could talk

What most Arlington High School students probably could use right now is something they know they can't get: magic words to take away the sadness and confusion that linger from the January suicide of Cameron O'Connor, a senior who shot himself in the head after getting high on Klonopin, a prescription antianxiety drug. What they may be willing to settle for is a promise: that the school, parents, and community will do everything possible to make sure such a tragedy never happens again.

On the one hand, how can a town dare to make such a promise? On the other, how can it dare not to?

It's trite to say that a teen suicide is shocking; of course it is. All the more so in a town that prides itself on caring and connectedness. As Arlington moves forward, there's a concerted effort not to point fingers but to take an unflinching look at the teenagers in its midst, at how the town teaches them, supports them, and keeps them safe.

''You don't kill yourself just because you're taking drugs," says senior Kraig Guarino. ''Every school has kids who are doing drugs and alcohol. Not every school has someone who kills himself."

In his second year as principal of the 1,207-student Arlington High, Charlie Skidmore describes his students as ''good kids." ''Ninety percent of them go to college, 40 to 50 percent make the honor roll," he says. ''They come to school on a daily basis. There are zero assaults all year. We've never turned up any illegal substances on campus. They are tolerant and diverse; we have one of the largest gay-straight alliances in the state." He takes a breath and shakes his head, as if he can't believe his next words: ''This [suicide] has forced me to see that the profile is misleading."

What he's come to understand is this: ''Pressure to succeed at the highest level is huge. This isn't just about drugs and alcohol. It's about mental health."

That's one of the topics he and others will discuss tomorrow night at 7 at a community forum at the high school, the first public opportunity for Arlington to come together since O'Connor's death. It's hard to find anyone in this town of 49,000 who feels unaffected by this tragedy. Those who don't have teenagers have neighbors who do, or they are parents who have already lived through those precarious years.

''It may be a rumor, but I heard from a normally pretty reliable source that there were six more drug/alcohol incidents in town requiring medical attention the weekend after the suicide," Bill Hartigan, an Arlington resident for 12 years and father of two boys, wrote on the town's listserv, an online bulletin board that has helped parents connect.

Nationwide, suicide is the third leading cause of death for 15- to 19-year-olds. There were 1,487 teen suicides in 2003, the most recent year for which the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has statistics. What's even more disturbing is the proportion of teens who think about suicide.

The CDC, using teen surveys, estimates it at 16 percent. But suicide-prevention professionals say as many as 90 percent of teens think about suicide -- although, they are quick to add, this doesn't mean that all those teens formulate suicide plans. Rather, they consider suicide a possibility along with dozens of other ideas they have for themselves, from inventing an AIDS vaccine to appearing on ''American Idol."

The trouble in any community where there's been a teen suicide is that it goes from an idea to a reality, ''including for those who never thought about it even as a possibility," says Liz Witkow, youth services coordinator for the Boston branch of Samaritans, a suicide-prevention agency whose services are free to local communities.

That was foremost on her mind on her first visit to Arlington Jan. 26, the day after O'Connor died. (He shot himself Jan. 23 but was on life support for two days.) She urged restoring the flag to full staff and canceling plans for an assembly, in case some students misinterpreted it as a glamorization of suicide. That shocked some faculty and angered many students.

''Copycatting," she warns, ''is a possibility for months, even years, to come."

As with any tragedy, Witkow says, there's a tendency to seek quick fixes, to say, ''If we take care of X, the rest of our kids will be safe." Arlington was no different. ''People were afraid of the word 'suicide,' " she says. ''I made it clear: If they wanted our help, they had to be prepared to talk about it." The small group that gathered in school Superintendent Nate Levenson's office that day -- including Skidmore, Police Chief Frederick Ryan, and Patsy Kraemer, director of Arlington's Department of Human Services -- signed on.

''Do teens turn to alcohol and drugs because they are stressed, or do drugs and alcohol impact mental health? The order doesn't matter," Levenson says. ''Here's the thing: People tend not to be embarrassed to talk about alcohol. They don't deny there are drugs. But when it comes to stress and mental health, no one's talking. We have to start."

Levenson's promise to himself is that the response in Arlington will come not just from the school but also from the town. The group that met in his office, now the Steering Committee Task Force, is the sponsor of tomorrow's forum, which is titled ''When Our Children Are in Danger: Getting the Facts, Getting Real, and Reducing Harm." A Coalition for Youth, Health, and Safety is also forming for anyone who wants to join.

It's not as if Arlington had been sitting on its duff up to now.

''We're a town that tries to own up to its problems," says Kraemer. ''The program I run has a $350,000 budget to identify teens at risk and get them help." But, she says, ''A lot of parents say that drugs and alcohol are a rite of passage. When kids get in trouble and the police get involved, they'll say, 'C'mon, give them a break.' "

Often, the police do. One debate in town is whether stricter law enforcement is the answer.

Even Ryan isn't so sure. He says one reason drug use has increased is that there's been a clampdown on alcohol. For the past two years, students attending school dances have had to sign a contract agreeing to submit to a breathalyzer test if asked. Teens who want to get high turn instead to prescription drugs like Klonopin (known as K-pins), which the test can't detect, Ryan says.

Levenson wants better technology. ''If a teacher suspects a student is high, he sends him to the nurse. All she can do is look in his eyes with a flashlight," he says. ''If we call the parents in, we end up having an hourlong conversation about the wrong topic: Was he high or overtired?" Whether it means testing urine, blood, saliva, or hair, Levenson says, sophisticated technology would start the right conversation: ''Your child's got a problem. Let's work together to get to the heart of it."

Skidmore wants to change the conversation in the school as well. ''I want a set of core values in a mission statement: respect, responsibility, family, caring, trust," he says. ''I want us to live it and teach it." Kraemer also wants to see curriculum change. ''There's a huge amount of loss that kids deal with in high school, in relationships with each other and with adults," she says. ''They need to know how to cope." Skidmore is working with senior Amanda Formica to set up an off-campus seminar for seniors this spring.

Sharon Grossman, mother of a senior, has a wish list a mile long, from a full-time school psychologist to higher teacher retention. Also on her list: a teen center. ''Kids need fun things to do on the weekend, places to go," she says.

Everyone agrees that's an issue. ''The aesthetic of this town is to preserve green space, to keep out fast-food franchises," says Skidmore. ''But I wonder: Have we ended up keeping out what our teens need?"

Junior Luke Heffernan says one kind of support that would help Arlington teens wouldn't cost a cent: community spirit. ''What happened to just showing up to give support?" he says. ''Not just for sports, but for all kinds of school events. Concerts, drama, debates, anything."

Senior Emma Kazarian argues for a change in the way the schools approach mental health. ''What we really need is mental health education that starts in elementary school," she says. ''Like a psychologist assigned to the fourth and fifth grades who teaches health and stays with the class all the way through high school."

''The problem here is apathy, a lack of caring," Kazarian adds. She means the kind of caring that goes deep. ''You can't just put a tighter leash on us and think that punishment will keep us safe. Adults have to talk to us. They have to find out what we're stressing about."

Barbara Meltz can be reached at meltz@globe.com.