Middle School Miniature

chapter 1, The beginning

Middle school. Those two words either make shivers run down your spine and dread seep into your heart, or it will make you smile with anticipation or fond memories.

If you feel the second way, you may be suffering from memory loss. Either that or you enjoy awkwardness and pain.

Unfortunately, our story begins at my middle school in the second week. This is right after all the other kids have gotten over the 'shock' of becoming middle schoolers. Students have begun to feel comfortable with the new group of different people, and they start to show their real colors.

You may think, wait, no once upon a time? No in a land of magic and wonder? The answer is no. This is not a fairytale and I don't think anyone gets a happily ever after in middle school.

I stepped out of my house, closed the door and walked the short walk to the end of the driveway where my bus stop was. All the while, holding the plain toast I had belatedly made for breakfast in my mouth while struggling with the zippers of my backpack. Finally having the hands to munch on my toast, I waited for the banana colored doom wagon.

The bus rumbled up and screeched to a stop in front of me. I made my way up the steps past the smell of exhaust and sat down in one of the hard leather seats near the middle, looking out the window as we trundled off to the next stop. Glancing around, I saw the rows of mostly empty seats. Not very many people ride my bus since I live in a slightly more rural area. At most 10 or 12 people ride, but today I only saw the heads of 4 other bored passengers. I sighed and looked out the window again, letting my mind wander.

When we pulled up in the bus loop at last, I shuffled off the bus and through the small crowd of other students disembarking their doom wagons or much more comfortable family cars. I made my way through the school's greying blue front doors and made a b-line for my locker. Calmly, I walked down to the 'community' hall, which happened to be the furthest from the front. The different names of the school halls really don't have anything significance other than to divide the school into sections with different teachers and different grades associated.

I reached my locker, lucky number 292, and put my currently unnecessary binders in along with my coat and track phone. I checked my schedule for the last time to make sure of my next class and stuffed it in my locker as well.

On the way to my first class, social studies, I said 'hi' and offered a wave or tried to make eye contact to the few people I recognized from my elementary school. They ignored me or offered a slight, awkward wave back and continued hurriedly to wherever they were going.

I entered the classroom, avoiding bumping into others as best I could and headed towards my seat. The teacher's name was Mrs. Edison, and my seat was in the front left corner of the classroom. In retrospective I should have known my time as a main character was imminent because I sat by the window. It's always the stinking window seat. I sat through class, occasionally giving answers when prompted but otherwise not talking at all. Your normal, average, lonely class.

The next class was gym with Ms. Cohen and, apart from the speed walking that it took to go from one end of the school to the other, it came about in the usual ordinary fashion of regular normality. Though, I am not super athletic and tripped over my own feet during the warm up run earning me a few laughs and snickers at my expense, but that was honestly still par for the course and I was fine.

I guess if you've read this far into my account, I might as well give you an introduction.

My name is Amelia, I live in the U.S. (Oregon), I am 13 and in 7th grade. I go to Eastwood Middle school, I have never; moved, broken a bone, changed schools, had my own (real) phone, been out of the U.S., or had a boyfriend. (Not that I even wanted one)

I do realize that some people would die to have a normal stable life like mine (minus not having a real phone), but to me, I feel a bit trapped.

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Here is the beginning.
Ema