Middle school. That time in everyone’s life when the girls wear way too much blue eyeshadow. Guys are true to themselves because they are not trying to impress anyone. Most importantly‚ though it is the time when everyone is trying to find where they belong. This awkward transition stage was even worse for me‚ being one‚ a transfer student‚ and two‚ a victim of bullying. Starting middle school as a transfer student is extremely difficult. See‚ I was born and raised in Vermont in the small island
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part of my life‚ and a big part of a soccer team is the coach. The coach must make an impact on their players in order to make the players better. The best coaches will stay with you forever even if they are not your coach anymore. When I was younger and throughout middle school I only had one soccer coach my entire life. The coach I had for my entire life was my father‚ so getting a brand new coach during my first year of high school was quite scary. I had always been extremely close to my coach‚
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With all the hours I poured into my last essay‚ it felt like a slap in the face that they didn’t even send a “thank you for trying” letter. I spent the announcement day sitting on my in-law’s porch sipping coffee with Baileys and stewing over yet another essay contest loss. Lacking in ideas of where I went wrong‚ I tried imitating old photos of authors again for inspiration. Leaning on the arm of the wicker chair with my chin resting on curled fingers; I held my pen like a cigarette‚ hoping to channel
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I remember when I bought my first pair of crocs. It was two years ago and a week before school started. The crocs were realtree camouflage. The day I got them I played basketball in them and sprained my ankle. The crocs I had on were the real tree crocs they weren’t good for ankle support. I use crocs when I ride dirt bikes‚ I wear them because they’re easy to slip on and off. The crocs I have now are like regular crocs but they not‚ they have a tannish color and a rubber bottom. The bottom of them
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to all juniors urging anyone interested in entering the medical field to apply to MU’s High School Mini Medical School. I generally blow off all the emails sent from her because they are usually full of irrelevant content‚ but this email ignited (vivid verb) such a fire in me that 15 fire trucks could not have put it out. The ponderous‚ mango colored school bus full of screaming children dropped me off at my house that chilly afternoon in December. Before I got to the door‚ I shouted‚ “Mom‚ start
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As I woke up to the smell of French Toast and bacon while my mom was yelling for me to get in the shower‚ all I could think about was that days’ game. The moment I got to school‚ I immediately had to rush to the team meeting before class. While every other team meeting was the usual‚ brief‚ “Y’all stay focused today now. We’ve got a ball game to play‚” This one was different. It was homecoming‚ and we had to deal with all the distractions of the homecoming parade‚ pep-rally‚ and all of the alumni
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yelled my alarm notifying me that it was finally time for me to raise out of bed. Even though it was only six o’clock in the morning‚ my mood instantly brightened when I looked at my phone calendar and instinctively remembered that today was my final first volleyball game of the season. Quickly‚ I stumbled out of bed to go brush my teeth and begin getting ready for what would end up being my last day of playing volleyball. After choosing my favorite pair of black spandex paired with my hot pink
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My first football season By: Dylan Jackson Today was the day to pick up my football equipment. I could not hold in my excitement‚ it was a Saturday and my first practice was on a Tuesday. I was outside chucking the ball in the air and catching it when my mom came out. “It’s time to go‚” she said “OK” I exclaimed as I dropped the football and sprinted to the van. When my mom and I arrived I tried on my gear and left to sign up‚ the guy at the signup place signed me up he gave me a football and a
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Middle school was really weird time for me. It seemed like it was the most dramatic / drama filled. Our school at St. Peters was messed up‚ anything that could happen did. I’ve had teacher come up to me and ask for answers to what happened. Students doing bad things and etc. Also middle school to me was so fun‚ because people who I like got in trouble because of me. If you weren’t my friend at St. Peters you better hope that you weren’t mean to me‚ because if you were the teachers would find out
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"¿Cuál es tu apellido?" my Spanish teacher asked me. It was freshman orientation and I had just walked into her classroom‚ surrounded by a sea of unfamiliar faces. I stared blankly at my teacher‚ unsure of what she was asking. "What is your last name?" she repeats‚ this time in English. My faced flamed with embarrassment as I replied. I immediately felt out of place‚ convinced that I didn’t belong in Spanish II. Unfortunately‚ this feeling did not fade. After my first Spanish class‚ I was on the
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