Three months of summer fly by, like a New York subway train, and if you blink you'll miss it. Before you know it, the train will be gone, the summer ended, and you'll be forced to wait for the next one. A school bell rings as I watch groups of friends scatter to their new first periods and try to share one last piece of that juicy summer gossip before entering their classrooms. But I also see those few who, on the first day of school, are already making their ways to class alone.
I'm brought back to the first day of eighth grade. Everyone had returned from their wonderful summers, to rejoin their separate cliques at school. How could I have known that in eighth grade popularity was everything? To be popular you had to be pretty, and to be pretty...well, you had to talk to God about that one.
Over that past summer I had spent all my time at music camps, on vacations or acting. None of it left time for friends...or at least for the few friends I had. Returning to school I assumed I would continue hanging out with my same friends and remain in my same group as I had been with the previous year.
The highlight of my day was entering the noisy and frenzied choir room. So many people to interact with and so much time and space to do it in. I eagerly walked over to my group and sat down to talk. A few other girlfriends walked in and sat down, but I noticed something as they did. They all seemed to gravitate towards the opposite end of the row, leaving me at the very end...basically by myself. "Just a fluke," I thought, and I quickly dismissed it. Moving my...