Middle School Descriptive Writing

“I don’t want to go to school today,” Laurianna declared. She paused to see if her mother would start up a speech or insist that she go. Laurianna was a freshman at Versas High. Even though it was mid January, she was pretty nervous about starting in the middle of the semester and being behind. “Well that’s no way to start off your second semester in a new school” her mother exclaimed. She could hear her mother babbling about making new friends in the other room, but she was more focused on what she was going to wear on her first day. She had always dressed comfortably but still strived to keep up with the trends of her old classmates.

On a Spring day in Oak Park, California a 10 year old girl stood at the front of her classroom, almost scared to death. This girl named Abigail was about to go on the roller coaster of emotions called middle school. "Hi. I'm Abigail" she said, her voice shaking. It's not always easy to be the new

In the story “The First Day” a little girl is experiencing her first day of school. It starts off with her telling us what she is wearing, and every little detail about it. The mother puts a lot of time and effort in order to

Sara’s arms ached from the heavy bag, full of manuscripts she must finish, as she stepped out from the office building and made her way to the company parking lot. Her earlobes tingled from the brisk evening air and buzzed from the loud noises of cars, as they spewed exhaust fumes and rushed down Seventh Avenue. She wondered where the hell were all of these people going at this time of the night.

The first year, the time to prove myself had arrived. Classes, rooms, teachers, and some students were unfamiliar. Eventually, minutes melted into hours, hours to days, and days to weeks. It didn’t take long before my schedule was routine, something of second nature. Humor and happiness were found in the form of my advisory family, where school was transformed into something more than going through the same motions of day to day activity. By the closing point of sixth grade, I was having a hard time letting go of what I’d adapted to. “What’s wrong?” my dad asked when I was getting into the car after being picked up early on the last day. I explained how distressed I was that my first year of middle school exceeded my expectations, and that it had to come to an end. Although his outlook viewed my reason for sorrow as trivial, I didn’t.

On September 1, 2012, I walked into my fifth grade teacher’s classroom for the first time in my life. Mrs.Cullen was standing in the front of the door with open arms ready to welcome her new fifth grade students. As I made my way to my desk and sat down next to Charlie Schutt and Quin Timmerman, I got the feeling that middle school would be a time of talking to some of my best friends and cruising through classes. As the school year progressed, and classroom seats changed, my thought of how Middle school would be changed as well. On the first day Mrs.Cullen explained our schedule, Homework detentions, and demerits. After about fifty questions, she sent us off to our first class, and the first step of our Middle School journey. The fifth grade

You’re probably wondering who’s writing to you. Well, this is you: Abby (NOT Abigail) Wieland. I’m writing this when there are 3½ days left in sixth grade. I know that you are in your room, packing and repacking your school supplies. You’re also terrified for your first year of middle school. It’s not as bad as you think. Nothing really changes, except there’s different teachers for every class. Most of the time, you’ll love middle school. Just like every year, though, there will be times when you hate it. Just warning you.

My first day of the second grade, I knew no one except the teacher and my younger brother. Kindergarten and first grade had been easy enough, but I was scared of the upcoming year. The only thing I knew about being the new kid was that it hadn’t panned out too great for Addie from the American Girl books. Mrs. Henson’s class was fairly quiet throughout the day, for most kids were nervous or tired. We neared the end of the day and I was ecstatic over the fact that hadn’t made a complete fool of myself. I hadn’t met anyone yet, but I thought that that would be a challenge for another day. Unfortunately, that’s not what Mrs. Henson had in mind. She sent us all out to recess with a grin plastered on her face and with me practically kicking

The Colour of Not Knowing I looked at you. You looked back. But something about our stares just didn’t seem right anymore. You exhaled softly through your nose, and I could see your eyes flicker for just a moment.

Rain splattered my car window as the windshield wipers whipped furiously back and forth. I clenched my jaw and whipped around a bend. I was beyond angry. Today, in the second week of the senior year, had felt like the worst day of my life.

It was a bleak, foggy day in September. Alexa took a deep breath as she cautiously trudged into her new school. The chatter of kids, who had known each other for years, echoed through the wide hallways. Endless rows of striking red lockers occupied every possible space Hordes of students crowded the halls like an army of ants. She could feel an abundance of eyes looking her up and down, wondering who this new freak was, wondering who was invading their tiny, close-knit school. It was horrendous enough that she was a freshman. It was even worse that she was new. She was fresh meat in a

The alarm clock buzzed loudly beside my ear. Feeling like a gong that was being hit repeatedly was placed right beside my head. I sluggishly pulled myself out of my bed and dragged myself to my closet. The words, first day of school moaned ghastly in my head. Summer was uneventful and school was just going to be hell. I picked out an old, worn out flannel and a pair of jeans to wear. Not rushing at all, I struggled to put the raggedy clothes on. They smelt like horrendous lies and rumors. Exactly what this state and my school are built on.

Through someone’s aspect, it could be considered as the most efficient communicating tool of human being. On the other hand, some people may treat it as an irreplaceable expression of their emotion. Objectively speaking, “words” could definitely be concluded in both ways above, but in my opinion, using words is a privilege and honor. I use words to gain knowledge and words give me all kinds of possibilities of understanding new stuff when I intend to enhance my personal abilities.

There before me was a city not of my dreams but a city of every person’s nightmare. There in this secluded fortress were not civilised citizens but primitive living organisms. The scene of a perfect capital enriched with refined inhabitants had been shattered. Instead, reality crashed onto me; dead corpses laid along the streets, little children malnourished, women cries for help echoed across the city and worst of all the guards who were to protect its people stood by and watched with delight.

I walk through the halls wearing the same yellow sweater, ripped jeans and black boots as every other girl. They all turn their heads with their long straight hair. As I walked I saw a girl walking towards me, texting wearing the same thing as me. I reflected back to 4th grade when I had bought the most popular costume available. The dress, a blue and white car hop costume, was light blue with little flowers, the material felt scratchy, I kept itching the neck where the tag irritated my skin. But to a 10 year old me, that outfit was everything. When I saw her wearing the costume, I felt unbelievably embarrassed!I had worked tirelessly to get my long curly hair into a neat little side bun. It seemed to hold 500 bobby pins in it. My little hat perfectly placed on my head. My mother had done my makeup too. My costume perfectly ironed and without a single spot, I smoothed it with my little hands, so content with my costume. Yet she was wearing my costume.