Excited to See Miss Sophia

The morning was foggy and I could see the front of my school through my window. It was a nice sight to see. I walked into the kitchen to make myself a bowl of cereal and there she was with her head down on the table. I could tell that she arrived a couple of hours ago because the tears hadn’t dried from her cheeks yet. I got myself ready gave her a kiss on her forehead and headed off to school. I had walked into class eager to see what my teacher Mrs. Padron had in store for today. Every single day there was something new to learn and there’s something about that infinite nature of learning that really appealed to me as a child. I cherished those 7 hours I spent in class the most I could and I dreaded the mere thought of having to go home where I would have to face the

Have you ever felt like everyone in the class is looking at you? That was me in 8th grade, the new kid, not only to the school but to the country. My family and I had just moved from Germany to Columbus, Georgia, it was a big change in all of our lives. I sat in that class with not an a sliver of an idea of what I was doing, where I was going, or how I was going to survive this year. My shoes were not exactly the most stylish, neither were my clothes, Germany was not exactly the most fashionable country, so why would I be, I had lived there for 12 years of my life, I was 12 at the time. My teacher was Mr. Kahlouch, an old grouchy man that I would learn to not like even more as the year passed, but today he would make me stand up and introduce myself to a class where it seemed every student had already produced their own clique. I told myself that I would be okay, that it wasn’t a problem, and thought of the old cliché, “picture everybody naked.” I was ready, I walked up to the front of the class took a deep breath and went, “Hi my name is…” I woke up about an hour later, I had passed out in front of everyone in my new class at my new school, in this new country.

It was my first class, of my first day, of my first year at Sartell High School. As a freshman, everything about high school is nerve wracking. Simply just looking at an upper classman would send chills throughout your spine. Basically, school was prison at the time (metaphor). Every freshman would walk into their classes, crossing their fingers, and wishing to see one of their friend’s vibrant faces. I clearly remember that day; I trudged through the halls with some of my very best friends, and we tried to find our first classes. The smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies swam up my nose (personification); I then realized that I must be close to my first class, foods and nutrition. Standing outside the room, I look in and notice the room was white and vacant (Participial Phrase). My stomach dropped to the floor; I knew nobody in this class. I quickly glanced around the bare room, looking for a familiar face. The only other girl in my grade was absolutely the last person I would want to share this class with. She looked like somebody I would not normally want to associate with, conceited and stuck up. With rapid, quiet feet, I walked into the classroom, and I heard the rustling of papers (Prepositional Phrase). This could only mean one thing, a seating chart. I scurried through the chart and found my spot. Of course, I sat next to her, the cruelest girl in school,

Four years ago, I ambled over to our shared table after the seventh grade health teacher dispassionately declared our names and gestured towards the third table in the center row of his classroom. Neither of us could have imagined that action would excite a companionship defining what I consider to be the most transformative era of my life, and a time which likely holds a similar potency for you. I did not know you, but I knew of you and had spent the semester admiring your sweaters adorned with witty phrases and images from afar, and I know you would say the same about my colorful mismatched socks. We were both rather shy, but you kept pushing for a bond despite my taciturn demeanor and asocial tendencies— for that I am eternally grateful.

“If you would like I can show you around?” I asked Haya, she agreed. At lunch she had a paper bag and all she had was a piece of bread and an apple, with a miniature bottle of water. Instead of going to recess I showed her around. When we got done Haya told me that she was thinking everybody would be mean to her. And that she was very upbeat that she had already made a friend for life on her first day. “If you ever need anything I will try to be there for you. I hope you enjoy our school.” I said in a sincere concerning voice.

As the story goes, it was my first day as a freshman at Poplar Bluff High School. As I stepped off the bus to my new school, I found myself unfamiliar and nervous. My first instinct was to find my friends on such a wide campus, but, class would be starting soon so I wouldn’t have time. “Guess I will just get to my first class early”, I thought to myself while walking in the shivering, cold weather.

We were both sophomores, and happy to be out of the terrible freshmen initiation year. I followed her into the middle of the hallway where we leaned against a heavy pillar, waiting for our advanced ILA class, or as some people call it, Group Therapy, to start. I ran my hands through my short edgy bob of curly hair and took in my surroundings:

It was nothing like I had seen in the movies. I wondered what people thought of me and what was being said about me. I appreciated every person that made an attempt to welcome me, but seeing that it was such a small school, I knew I would be the topic of people’s conversations for the next few days as more and more people heard about the infamous “new girl.” I considered the thought that the students there had all grown up together and known the same faces all of their lives. That explained why everyone already had their cliques. Apart from impressions and reputations, I wondered what opportunities I was going to encounter here and where they would take me in

Everyday I watched her parade into my classroom with her trail of friends behind her, but my eyes were drawn to her and only her. I watched her lovely blue eyes scan from left to right as she read her novel. As she read she would twirl her luscious hair with her always manicured fingers. Little did she know that I saw her green eyes and long hair everyday in my apartment when I returned home from work. My apartment was plastered from floor to ceiling with photos of sweet Jane going about her flawless life. I was proud of my work so far. Jane had not the smallest idea that I had been following her since sophomore year; capturing pictures of her in every moment.

It’s just another normal day in Mrs. Larson’s class. I sit in the very front of the class, so that means hearing her loud, annoying, squeaky voice. and getting smacked in the face with her spit every time she talks. I’m also surrounded by the worst people in class. To my left is Fredrick Nelson, whose things always have a slimy layer covering them, and is always picking his nose. And to my right is Tiffany Jones. The most popular girl in the seventh grade. You're probably wondering why I think that’s a bad thing, right? Well, Tiffany and I were the bestest friends, until she accused me of stealing one of her most prized possessions, her pink and silver hello kitty pencil. Since then, we have been enemies. She tries to get me in trouble in

It was on that day, sitting on the schoolbus frightened and nervous, that she would be experiencing something new. The reserved 10 year-old Tasnim who just moved from Bangladesh to the United States, was riding on the schoolbus as a 5th grader. It was already halfway through the school year, and curious students on the bus had already been asking her questions to get to know her. Her first interaction with a student had been a girl on the bus asking,“What’s your name?” as well as other closed questions. The bus eventually stopped at the school, which was larger than she thought and had seemed like a labyrinth on the outside.

I looked down at my schedule to see my locker was number 2903. I made my way over to my locker to see two very familiar figures “Andy, Katherine!” I beamed as I greeted my friends, “Ryan, it’s been way too long!” Andy exclaimed as she brought me into a hug, followed by Kath. “Guys…..can’t ...breathe….” I muttered “Oh, sorry” They both let go of me so I could breathe again. “So what classes do you have today?” Kath questioned “Looks like first block is History followed by PE then Art and finally English” as I finished reading my schedule Andy looked like she got hit by a bus, “Dang it we only have art together; but hey we could always meet up at lunch” she

Groaning, I started to climb down the ladder, the cool wood making my feet feel numb. Under me was Alessandra, easily the most annoying and disheveled girl I knew. She was freakishly tall for age eleven, and had stringy blonde hair down to her lower back. Trying to evade her unkempt area and chaotic way of organizing to get dressed, I glanced over at her. To no one’s surprise, she was still asleep. The only person I could think of that was more bothersome than her was Sam. We met at the bus stop on the way here and at first she seemed pretty nice. Then she became clingy. Sam cried over everything. Whether it was not being invited to do something, or not liking what was being served for breakfast, she cried. Sighing loudly, I pulled over a plain grey tank top, leaving my pajama pants on. I could always get dressed after line-up. Per contra, I did not want to look too bedraggled and attempted to tame my curly mess of brown hair. Slipping on my sneakers I wore more like sandals, I was ready to leave. For the people like Sam and Allesandra, they were abruptly awoken and had to leave looking like a trainwreck. Holding back my snicker, me and the rest of Bunk Maple stepped out into the chill morning air of

Ah, teenage girls, the teacher thought, and attempted not to smile as he deliberately pulled his gaze away, with a disinterested expression on his face, to focus it on Lucy, and he nodded in encouragement for her to continue. “Go on, Lucy”. He shot her a smile, taking in the girl’s more standard school-uniform, and the minimal make-up, which only enhanced her attractive features, and gave her a fresh-look, rather than one who tried to hard. She was apparently a lover of literature too, and he enjoyed the recap, which didn’t miss a beat, as he continued his journey around the class, getting through the A’s and

The air is filled with a sweet aroma as another female student walks by. The perfume is strong and people choke and turn their heads when she walks past them. The sound of noisy flip flops coming down the hallway alerts the boy and he rises to greet his friend. When standing, he is about six feet tall and seems to be well muscled. His friend was of much the same description, only the friend is slightly less muscled and his eyes are the color of the sky on a clear day. Girls leaning against the walls and sitting in the chairs in the hallway, stare at the two young men exiting the building in which they wait. The young men pay no attention and