7th Grade

I had finally graduated from grade school and I was headed on to junior high, and not any old junior high, but Bountiful Jr High. My mom had filled out a boundary variance so I did not have to attend Millcreek Jr. I had serious doubts that anyone of consequence could have been attending Millcreek. Bountiful on the other hand was the elite place to be and I had no idea why, it just was because my friends said so and as far as I was concerned my friends were the experts on everything.
The morning of the first day of junior high had arrived and I was extremely nervous, I was up about five times the night before rushing down the stairs in record fashion. Luckily I did not have any accidents. Two things were looming in my juvenile mind; (1) taking a shower after gym and (2) were my clothes cool enough for junior high? I woke up a little early so I could make sure to get my hair just right, and to get in an extra dose of Pepto-Bismol. My hair took about 30 minutes if I wanted it just right. First, I would comb my hair flat to my head with a perfect part. Next, I added a little poof to the bangs. Then, I used about a fourth of the can of hair spray to make sure my hair stayed in place all day. With a heavy head I went to eat a piece of bread for breakfast, I always got sick if I ate any real food for breakfast. With crumbs in my belly I went into the front room and lay down behind the La-Z-Boy where my mother slept. My mom kept the heater behind her “’bed” and I figured since I had to dry my hair I might as well sleep while I was doing it. It took approximately 20 minutes to turn my hair into hard plastic, and while my masterpiece was being formed I had a nice power nap. After the 20 minutes I went back into the bathroom to run a comb through my hair because who wants to look like they have fake hair? This final step made my hair look perfect and with all the hairspray there was little chance of it moving. If my hair did not turn out and I had the time, I would quickly run through the process a second time. This happened to be an okay hair day, not great just okay.
I walked to school, for the first part of 7th grade with John Lane and Brandon Smith, and the second part after John got annoying with only Brandon. I was glad to have a couple of friends with me as I walked in those ominous doors. I wasn’t sure what I would see on the other side, but as I walked in a feeling of pride came into my heart. I was proud because I was old enough to walk through the doors of a junior high at 8 in the morning and be in the right place. I now find it odd that I was ever arrogant because of my age, but when I was 12 I looked at 11 year olds as scumbags and 13 year olds as idols. Age was everything and you either had it or you didn’t.
I had been to the school earlier in the summer so I wouldn’t have a problem finding all of my classes. I noticed other students wearing similar clothes to the ones that I wore, I released a bubble of relief and quickly scurried to the other side of the hall so that the scent couldn’t be tracked to me. With my stomach ache gone I was ready for anything. Anything, that is, except for a shower in gym.
The three of us headed down the stairs towards the 7th grade hallway to see if we could spot any of our friends from sixth grade. I was halfway down the stairs when I spotted her. She was the most beautiful blond I had ever seen, and I became mesmerized.
“Dude, what’s wrong with Bryan?” John asked Brandon.
“Bryan snap out of it!” Brandon had tried, but he was too late, I was already falling. Stunned by this girl’s beauty my feet would not move, they were glued to the third step up from the hallway and my torso was still in motion. Everything switched to slow motion. I saw my friends laughing, I saw the beautiful blond girl laughing, and I saw the entire seventh grade class laughing. The papers and things that were in my hand went flying through the air and I heard them land around my head. I was injured, but not bad enough to not fake it and fortunately for my pride but not my pain level my head was the first to hit. Several girls became very concerned that I had hit my head, and I had my first real opportunity to share my awesome self with the ladies, even though the texture of the carpet had impeded itself on my forehead. Before I was able to capture the girls attention with my expansive vocabulary and magnetic personality a familiar voice jerked me back to reality.
“That was awesome,” Brandon remarked as I jumped to my feet.
“Are you okay?” a random girl asked.
“I’m great, I just slipped a little.”
“Whatever, dude you were staring at that hot girl over there,” John suggested pointing his finger to the object of my distraction.
I was turning red and fast. I quickly ducked my head and started limping at an angle toward my locker as fast as my new shoes would take me. Considering the fact that I could only see spots of light it was a miracle that I made it to my locker after only running into the wall a few times. As I looked back I was pleased to notice everybody still staring at me, I guess I had made an impressive impression with my stunning good looks. This defining moment in my history only grew more interesting a few days later when I found out that I was actually related to the girl I had briefly fallen in love with (she was the daughter of my mom’s cousin). I was glad that I had only mentioned my feelings to a few good friends.
Things did not get any better after the first period bell rang. I had Mrs. Peterson for seventh grade honors English. As I walked in the door I could tell that I was in trouble. She was obviously older than the school, which had been built sometime around the turn of the century. Her glasses hung on the end of her nose only clinging to her face by the pounds of makeup used to cover up her green skin. Her hair was in perfect form and had been the same shape for at least 20 years. She smelled of stale perfume and Alka-Seltzer and her teeth had turned a brownish-yellow from drinking a small lake of coffee over the course of the last century.
“Class, class take your seats, take your seats,” Mrs. Peterson commanded with a soft little voice and her eyes closed as if she had a headache already due to the vermin that had just entered her domain. “In my class there is no talking without raising your hand, am I understood?” She looked at us as if we were not even worth the scum she had collected on the bottom of her shoe from smashing cockroaches and spiders for one of her special potions.
She directed us to get out a book to read while she took the roll. The pipes in the heater starter acting funny and then let off some air, which seemed funny for the end of August. Maybe she was trying to cook us.
“Who is that breathing loud, I will not have students breathing loud in my class,” Mrs. Peterson warned.
I thought about answering “the heater Mrs. Peterson,” but I thought better of it at the last moment.
Mrs. Peterson either did not have a lesson prepared for us or she accidentally fell asleep because we ended up reading for most of the 45 minute period even though most of the students had not brought a book to their first class on the first day of seventh grade. As the period was about to come to a close she took the last 10 minutes to explain the homework.
“If you will look on page 3 of your grammar books you will see some sentences. You will copy each sentence five times. Every verb will be circled, nouns you will underline, adverbs will be circled twice, adjectives circle once with a line under it, conjunctions should be circled twice and underlined twice, the subject needs to be placed inside a rectangle and the predicate inside a double rectangle. We will add things as the weeks go on. Your homework is work a lot of points if you do not follow these directions perfectly you will miss a point for every word or phrase that you do not identify in the correct way,” she said this so calmly as if she considered herself normal and us the crazy ones. I was officially confused and I decided that if all of my classes were like this, I had already had enough of junior high academics.
The bell rang and all of the students started to get up to leave the classroom.
“The bell does not excuse you, I excuse you,” Mrs. Peterson said in a tone that was forceful enough to make all of those who had left seats return for further instruction. She just stared at us for thirty seconds and then released us. I took my time gathering my things because as I looked to the exit it seemed to get smaller and smaller with my English teacher looming to the side of the door evidently taking notes on every student as if she was looking for the perfect student to unleash her fury on. I thought about the window, but as I headed that direction I felt her piercing gaze upon me. I dropped to tie my shoe and then made a break for it. She grabbed my arm with her cold fingers just before my escape. “Slow down sonny, that kind of speed is going to get you detention.”
“Yes sss-ir,” I managed to squeak. It took me a few seconds to realize why the boys behind me were laughing.
It was a relief to walk free again through the hallways, and I knew one thing for sure, I was not going back to that room ever. I headed down the seventh grade hall toward the Armory and my dreaded gym class. As I turned to walk down the eighth grade hallway I was greeted with a knee that inflicted an extreme sharp pain. I fell to my knees and looked up to see my good friend David Stapley laughing down at me.
“Welcome to Bountiful Jr,” he calmly stated as he continued on his journey to his next class.
I realized that people were staring, but I was paralyzed. I knelt there in the middle of the hallway.
“Hey isn’t that the kid that was lying on the floor last period?” I heard a voice asked another.
“Yeah, poor kid. I think he is one of those special students who only comes for a couple of periods.”
I lay there for about two minutes listening to the whispers of students before I could muster the strength to continue down the hall to gym class. Once I got outside I had to jog to make it to the Armory in time. I slid into a spot on the gym floor just as the bell rang. When I looked around I could tell by the fear in the eyes of all the students that everyone had the same fear as I did. We were in this together, and it wasn’t going to be that bad. I raised my eyes and received a total shock. In front of my stood a six foot, overweight man in the shortest, tightest, most polyester shorts I had ever seen. We ended up getting a long lecture from this large man in tight shorts, so I didn’t even have to enter the dreaded showers that would wait for another day.
As I left the front doors of my new school that first day I realized that my biggest fears were not even going to be small problems compared to the horrible impression I had left on the entire student body. I had survived my first day of junior high, but unless I came back the next day as the wittiest, most gorgeous, and most intelligent seventh grader in the history of Bountiful Jr., I was in trouble. Luckily, as the future would reveal, my talents and charm were up to the challenge.