My Dream In High School

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

I was starting my first day at a new school. My palms were sweaty, my heart was thumping, and I had butterflies in my stomach. I took a deep breath and walked towards the grey doors. I thought about what the new school would be like; how the teachers were and how the students were. I missed my friends from my old school. I walked through those big grey doors to a whole new place.

Next year, I will be attending Jonathan Law High School. When I am a freshman, there are a lot of things that I want to accomplish. Some of the goals I have are that I want to accomplish by the end of the year are: to be on the volleyball and softball team, and I want to make new friends. I also want to take some more difficult classes and pass them and join some clubs.

During my fifth-grade year, my class had been the oldest class in the school, but when I got to junior high, we were the youngest. In my senior high\junior high school, the grades varied from sixth to twelfth grade; I was in the sixth grade. Walking down the hall ways desperately searching for the lunch room, I waded through the intimidating high school kids. It was such a big, frightening change in atmosphere. The fact that I did not know anyone but my fellow classmates made it even scarier. As time went on, I started to become accustomed to my “new school”, and all of the unfamiliar faces.

It was early July in Southern California: the sun was high, the air was warm, and the palm trees were swaying. Unfortunately, the bright sun could not light the darkness of the pit I had been slowly falling into during my tumultuous school year at my new charter school. On that day, when the other girls were tanning beachside, I was sitting deskside. I was trapped in a tiny, moldy, yellow-carpeted education office at the school I had transferred to the year prior. Like my fading hope, the dusty chandelier was barely hanging on from the ceiling. The room’s peculiarity added to my anxiety, as I felt failure lingering in the musty air. Though I had been sheltered by my parents’ optimism, I knew what I would soon hear: “I am so sorry sweetheart,

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

The five-minute warning bell goes off. I rush to my first class of my junior year, eager to see my classmates, who I was going to spend the rest of the 9 months with. I find myself stumbling into a classroom plastered with decorations of Denzel Washington with a Dr. Seuss book in his hand, a t and college flags galore. My AP English 11 class suddenly seemed so appealing to me. As a beautiful, curly haired short lady stood in front of me and said “Welcome to AP English 11,” I knew that I had found a treasure so much greater than just a pretty classroom. Little did I know, that short lady was going to inspire me throughout my challenge filled second-to-last year of high school.

Girls perch on the tables like exotic birds gossiping and giggling, a football fly’s above their heads between two jocks in varsity jackets parading their toned muscles. Groups of high schoolers sit around the room laughing. Weekend has arrived and the hallways of the school were filled with tons of kids ready to go home. Every ear filled with the sound of multiple conversations going off at once, lockers opening and closing, music blasting without. I had managed to push past the constant stream of children and to the school field. The grass was damp and covered in a thin layer of frost. As I walked my footprints were embedded, leaving a piece of me in the cold ground. I saw my friends faraway chattering and fooling around. I was stuck in the wrong crowd; they are nothing like me but somehow I am still friends with them. I slowly made my way up to my “so called friends”.

Middle school, when that word pops up in one’s head, it’s a sudden reminder of dreadfulness, broken promises, regrets, first crushes, and last but not least, learned lessons. Another morning had brought another school day. Seeing familiar faces and teachers I just wanted to get through the day with no hassle, but that’s not always the case. At least it wasn’t for me. Making my way through the extended halls and walls that seemed to enclose upon me, I felt nothing more than like a chained prisoner. The bell rung and I remained seated in my class, encompassed by boxed, outdated computers and rusty white walls, I felt

It was soon the end of August which meant school was right around the corner. I wasn’t too excited, but I was a little anxious to see what God had in store for me. We hopped in the car, and were on the way. I walked into my new school, Country Day, and acknowledged the wind carried the sound of the chitter-chatter of my fellow classmates, lockers slamming as hard as nails and the howling of the spider-monkey. The halls were outdoor and you could see the never ending mountains and feel the gentle breeze swaying back and forth. I enjoyed the first day and couldn’t wait to go back for more. Throughout the day, I met someone special, someone who would soon to be my best friend, partner in crime, my other half, Sibley. She helped me see the good in situations and inspired me to be outgoing and carefree. Our families became best friends and went on adventure after adventure together. The year

After a long day of yearbook signings and other “farewell activities,” the bell rang, marking the end of my last day of middle school. I said goodbye to my friends and teachers and stuffed the last of my books and supplies into my already full backpack. As I walked down the main hall for the final time, I laughed at how long the hall had once seemed and how short it felt now. With the anticipation of summer building in me, I walked faster and faster, almost running toward freedom, but when I reached the door marked “Chorus- Mrs. Vermillion,” I couldn’t resist the urge to stop in one last time. The chorus room was always a happy place for me, where the troubles of the school day seemed just a little bit less important. I was fond of every detail, from the loyal old piano to Mrs. Vermillion’s

Red lights, traffic lines, students walking or dragging, I could hardly tell. Today marks the day of my first day of high school without my best friend who may not connect to me blood-relatively but a family in my heart. I thought to myself, what if I can’t find any of my friends? What if I can’t find any of my classes? What if everything doesn’t turn out the way I want it to? Anxiety and panic roll in my body as soon as my mom stopped the car. I hesitated to open the car door, making little movements to even try to get out the car. I waved goodbye and shut the door closed so lightly that I think my mom had to properly shut it again. As I make my way to the front entrance with the gated black fence that shines so dimly, I looked up randomly at the sky, noticing that the clouds appeared very cloudy and immediately assumed that the rain will start sprinkling

Sophomore year in general has been treacherous . Now it's become harder trying to manage work while studying for finals, Eoc and keeping up with work. Nowadays, I find myself wishing to be back in elementary school. A memory that has been engraved to the deepest part of my brain is one of my teachers telling me of the importance of flushing and cleaning up after the mess that I create. I can’t believe that I once thought that elementary school was difficult. Let’s ignore the fact that my English wasn’t that good in elementary school, now that I’m actually reflecting on the time that I spent in elementary school, I can truly see how simple everything was. For example, I had to write my weekly vocabulary words thrice. But, this is the real world. We aren’t given the chance to go back in time just because we wish to relive certain periods of our lives.

Middle school, when that word pops up in one’s head, it’s a sudden reminder of dreadfulness,broken promises,regrets,first crushes, and last but not least, learned lessons. Another morning had brought another school day. Seeing familiar faces and teachers I just wanted to get through the day with no trouble, but that’s not always the case. At least it wasn’t for me. Making my way through the extended halls and walls that seemed to enclose upon me, I felt nothing more than like a chained prisoner. The bell rung and I remained seated in my class, surrounded by boxed, outdated computers and rusty white walls, I felt helpless.

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.