As experts search for clues on American voter preferences, the one group that's invariably hardest to read -- in part because they're the least likely to vote -- are young people. No where is the potential "youth vote" larger or more diverse than in California, a state where one out of eight of the nation's young people resides. PNS asked a dozen teenagers and young adults -- all first-time presidential voters -- to write about what's at stake for them in the 1996 presidential campaign. All six are staff writers for YO! Youth Outlook, a newspaper by and about young people published by PNS. For photographs of the writers, please call PNS.

Lyn Duff, 20, is a labor studies student at Laney College in Oakland, CA. A native of Los Angeles, she has been on her own since the age of 14.

Gurugate, Filegate, Travelgate: all I ever hear about the presidential candidates is gossip about their wives or the media trying to turn every hint of scandal into a potential Watergate. Who knows where Clinton and Dole stand on issues I really care about, like transportation. Neither one of the candidates has to deal with public transportation. Maybe since they don't have to "Go Greyhound," they forget how important it is to be able to get places (like your job) and have access to affordable public transportation.

Me, I'm a public transportation junkie. Having lived on my own most of my teenage years, I've never been able to afford a car. City buses take me to work. Greyhound takes me across the country to visit my father in Massachusetts. CalTrain takes me to visit my friends in San Jose. As much as people complain about MUNI, San Francisco's transit system, I think it's one of the best things happening in my life.

I was watching C-SPAN the other day and there was this guy on who's running for Parliament in Britain. He was talking about the importance of providing free public transit, especially for youth. Do you think you'd ever hear an American presidential candidate talk that way? Not unless the national media begins pushing public concerns about transportation to the forefront of the national debate.

RëaZ Sacharoff, 21, grew up in San Francisco and has traveled widely, by bike, foot and bus, in the U.S., Mexico and Europe.

Voting, shmoting! As an anarchist, it might seem hypocritical for me to vote but, hey, you can always write in your personal favorite third-party candidate, like Krazy Kat or Beer Party (which I heard came in third in the recent elections in the Czech Republic).

What pisses me off about elections is how the experts tally the number of votes and chalk off the non-voters as "apathetic." To me, apathy is not caring enough about the state of our crumbling society to be involved in a deeper sense. Apathy is putting a bumper sticker on your car and thinking you've done your part. Real change comes from people changing the way they live, not from participating in rigged elections.

People who think that participating in the electoral process is the real gauge of citizenship mistake the activities of a very thin segment of the political spectrum for the whole paradigm. In this country, I can't vote for autonomy: all I can do is split hairs like "openly institutionalized hatred of overt homosexuality" versus "Don't ask, don't tell."

So, yeah, I'll probably vote, just to prove that homeless people and youth can vote and do. But it sure won't be a simple case of apathy if I don't. More likely, it'll be because I'm in jail for defending the forests.

Eduardo Jimenez, born and raised in Oakland, CA, is a 21 year old student at Santa Monica City College.

OAKLAND -- My first introduction to politics came a few years ago when I joined the No-on-187 campaign. As the son of Mexican immigrants, I was convinced that California would never pass the initiative -- too many immigrants live here to let that happen. I learned a tough lesson about California politics.

As the results began coming in, my small, naive world started to come down around me. The proposition passed by a larger margin than I ever imagined. Many friends lost faith in the whole democratic system. But I knew the real fault lay with people like me for not taking the election seriously enough. The election opened my eyes to how few Latinos vote or engage in the political process.

Today, midway through the presidential election year, I believe the voters, not the politicians, have the final word. For the first time I appreciate how important it is to increase the voting numbers so no single group's interests go unheard.

Peter Doi, 21, works in construction and studies at City College.

Immigrating to the United States at age three from Hong Kong, I grew up never knowing what a privilege it was to be a U.S. citizen with the right to vote. My parents don't care for politics -- they just live through life. Regardless of who's president, they have to work, take care of the house, raise the family. If a president lowers taxes, that gets their attention. But I haven't known them to vote in any election, even though they're both citizens.

What I care about most is money -- how to earn enough to live on and save for the future. But the longer I'm in college, the more I'm beginning to understand the importance of voting. If everyone were as ignorant as me, it could eventually come down to the government running the country without any citizens speaking out.

The other night I got upset watching the news. People were getting on Chinatown's case about animal rights. Animals are basically food -- so what's the big deal about how they die, and why pick on Chinatown? What about Fisherman's Wharf? I realized that if more Asians got involved in politics, we could stick up for our culture.

Stanley Joseph is a 20-year-old Afro-Haitian American student at City College in San Francisco, works as a model and plans to be a writer.

"When you vote, you're either part of the problem or the solution. If you don't vote you are the problem." All my life, I've heard someone say this or something like it, but it meant nothing to me. Not because I'm young and stupid, and not because I'm Black and don't trust the white man. It meant nothing because I wasn't a U.S. citizen.

A year and a half ago, my mother suggested I pick up a form at INS and begin the process of applying for U.S. citizenship. When I saw the line at INS, I wasn't sure it was worth it. But I gritted my teeth and stood in line for four hours. Two weeks later, I took the form back with a $95 processing fee. Ten months later I had my interview. Folks, I've been drilled on American History from grade school through high school, but I was amazed at how much I'd forgotten. I failed and I felt my whole life flushed down the toilet. I thought I was going to be deported to the Bahamas. I had to go to the mall and chill for a while.

Then the good news came. I had another chance at an interview. This time I studied up. Most of the questions were easy, but I blocked on the easiest -- Who is the current president? I couldn't remember Clinton's first name. I could only think of Black funk artist George Clinton. After a while I remembered Bill and I passed.

On July 2, I was sworn in as a U.S. citizen, along with 2,000 others. I felt good because now I have the power to vote -- something people in many parts of the world are willing to die for.

Nina Laven, 18, lives in San Francisco and is a sophomore at Wesleyan University, Connecticut.

In November I will probably go to the polls, but I'll wonder exactly what the trip is worth. Do I really think I can make a difference?

"It's all a bunch of tongue-wars and I just don't want to take part in it," a friend from college says. I agree. Even before the conventions, a focus group combined with a demographic survey seems better able to predict my vote than I can.

Watching Dole and Clinton waver between one popular stance on abortion and gay marriage and another, I convince myself I am apolitical. Then I envision my U.S. Government teachers waving their index fingers in my face; I see voter registration canvassers blacklisting my address. Worst of all, I imagine grandmother berating me with tut-tuts.

I often wish I didn't have to deal with the decision altogether. After all, I'm still in school, I spend three-quarters of the year in an isolated suburban community and my tuition is not dependent on state loans. Few of the issues at stake this year, even the ones which I care about like abortion, education and guns, actually directly affect me.

When it comes down to it, I suppose I'll vote because it makes me feel like I matter, or at least like I've done something positive. Then I conjure up images of an American non-voter -- a loser, an ignoramus, an anti-establishmentarian, an eccentric intellectual. And it occurs to me I'd rather feel like all four of these than the fool I'll feel like in a year for thinking my vote could matter.