Part 1: Getting Better
I sat staring at my desk, zoning out as I twirled my pencil between my fingers. I was silent inside and out, but completely consumed by the jitters and thrills that came with the first day of school, at least for everyone else. But not for me, for me the first day of eighth grade meant I had to go through the school day, just like last year. Go through every class, just like last year. And at the end of the day, I would walk out the door ready to walk home, just like last year, but unlike last year, when I got home my dad would not be there to give me a hug and say "How was your day Mermaid?" just like he did last year, and everyday of my life for as long as I could remember. But that was last year. Because this year, my mom, older brother and I will have to go through this year not knowing where my father is. Not knowing whether or not he passed away when his fishing boat "The Jolly Robert" sank during a solo mission off the coast in the Atlantic three months ago, but that is what the Coast Guard said, even though they never found the boat. And that is what the condolence letters said, even though we never told anyone that he was officially dead. Because we kept hoping, I kept hoping.
I was shocked out of my train of thought when my two best friends sat down beside me. Annabelle Grayson and Peter Wesley slammed their books down on either side of me in the front row. I looked over to my right towards Peter and remember how my dad used to have a saying about us all, "They say 'There are no two waves that are exactly alike' but I think I've found three that are pretty close!" Every time I saw Peter's bright blue eyes I thought of that.
"So! Excited for GRADE EIGHT?!" Annabelle squealed next to me, sending her freshly curled blonde hair flying. Annabelle had always been one of the best dressed people I knew ever since she moved here during the summer before second grade. Her brown eyes flashed as she smile under the classroom lighting.
" I guess. Cool jeans." I replied, noticing her floral printed jeans coordinated perfectly with her shirt, shoes, jewelry, and nail polish.
"Why didn't you meet us out front, Ellie?" Peter questioned, unintentionally directly our attention over to him.
"I thought I should get to class early." I said looking down at my lap that was covered with my new blue lace dress.
"Yeah I heard Ms. Morrison was really hard, even worse of you had her for home room." Annabelle rolled her eyes. We all knew we had all scored big time when we were all assigned to the same home room teacher, who just happened to be the nicest teacher in the eighth grade.
"Once she failed a whole class worth of geography tests. . . Right after she gave them all Popsicles!" Peter said in his fake gossip voice. The three of us all cracked up at that. Peter had always had away of cheering me up. Whether it was just a joke or something crazy, like purposely skinning his knee after I skinned mine while learning to ride my bike without training wheels when we were five. We cried for an hour, but I still smiled. Just like I was now, knowing he would always be there to pull me up when I was down.
"Hey I know your down, but things will be great this year, I promise." Peter read my mind, another thing he was good at.
"Thanks. I really hope your right." I smiled.
"He's right. And-" Annabelle was cut off by our teacher, Ms. Morrison, clapping her hands for everyone to quiet down. I pulled my long brown hair back into a pony tailed and looked up at her desk just as she was turning around after writing her name in delicate script on the white board.
"Alright class!" She smiled "My name is Ms. Morrison, but you may call me Ms. M, as some of you might be more casual than others."
"How about M-Dawg?" I recognized Walker Mason's voice from the back of the room. He was last years football captain and infamous class clown, and was already taking the lead in one title, since football try-outs were scheduled for next week.
