Buzz! The sound of the junior high’s dilapidated old school

Essay by EssaySwap ContributorCollege, Undergraduate February 2008

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Buzz! The sound of the junior high's dilapidated old school bell was too much to bear. It was my first day back to school since the last day of seventh grade; it was my first day of the eighth grade school year. I can't say I was looking forward to it. I headed toward my first class, with my feet dragging the whole way. "Great," I thought to myself. "Another year of overloaded homework." This was exactly how I felt since about two weeks before school started. I was an eighth grader in geometry, and I knew that there would be a tremendous amount of homework.

"If only I had something fun to do to get my mind off schoolwork midday," I mumbled to myself.

I entered my first classroom thinking only of how to give a good first impression to the teacher. Through the doorway, I found an array of students.

I knew about three students who were on my team the year before. The rest were new faces to me. I hoped I was in the right class. All around me, I saw entire walls full of essays the teacher had graded from the year before. They seemed to be bursting off the walls and saying "read me." But since I had taken so long finding my classroom, I had to go sit down. Although the walls seemed amazing, but they didn't stand out as much as the teacher did. She was wearing a scarlet dress that looked to be made of satin. The teacher was kind of chubby, but in a good way. She was actually extremely dumpy. She didn't seem as if she had enough strength in her to control a class of this proportion, thirty-three to be exact. Her face was gaunt and expressionless. It looked as if she were just waiting there for the bell to ring, like Pavlov's dogs. I wished with all my might that she wasn't a strict teacher. Strict teachers always give out tons of homework. I then found the only open seat. It was right in front of the imposing figure.

As I looked all around me, the first thing I did as I took a seat near the front row. In the seat behind me, I thought was a guy who I thought should be in the NBA. This guy was about six feet tall. He looked very intimidating; this was especially by the way he was sitting. His timidness was measured by the degree of his slouch. His uncombed light brown hair was sign of the sloppiness of his figure. His outfit looked as if he didn't care about his appearance. The bell rang for a second time signifying the start of class. I quickly said "hi" to him and sat down with a look of blankness on my face. Then the teacher spoke. It was a complete miracle that she did not fall over backward as she spoke. Her voice was so big yet she was so small.

"Hello, and welcome to the first day of eighth grade. My name is Mrs. Sarff and I'll be your English teacher for the next year. If any of you had older brothers or sisters in my class, they might have said that I was really mean, but in fact, I am just very strict. As long as you follow the rules, then we'll be able to cover everything we need to do in the next nine months," Mrs. Sarff trumpeted.

Her tremendously deep voice seemed to rattle the building on its very foundation. It was another one of the first day speeches that every teacher gives. The only thing that made it interesting was the tall person behind me who kept mumbling sarcastic and funny things about what the teacher said. The guy behind me finally showed his excellent personality. Then… the period was over with the awful ringing sound of the bell.

The next thing I knew it was lunchtime and I hadn't really figured out a place to "hang out". The day went by pretty fast considering having to listen to all of the long and boring speeches. As I wandered with my sack lunch near the gymnasium, I saw an old friend walking toward the basketball courts.

"Hey! Lloyd!" I called.

"Hey, I haven't seen you in a while!" he called back.

We approached each other. Lloyd was pretty easy to describe. His weak face and voice match his scrawny body. His jet-black hair is wasted with a 'goofed-up' hairdo. After we exchanged information about each other's lives, I asked him where he hung out, and he said he played basketball at lunch. He then recommended that I try it. I said that I would. As we went over to the basketball courts, I saw all the people he hung out with at lunch. But he only introduced me to one.

"This is my friend Matt," Lloyd proclaimed so Matt could hear. "Don't mind him, he's just tall." It turned out to be the guy who sat behind me in English. Now that I had had a better look at him, he didn't seem at all intimidating or sloppy. In fact, he just kind of seemed laid back.

"Hi again," I said like an idiot.

"Hey," he replied.

Then, we played basketball. It was a refreshing break from the mind numbness of all of the lectures. I wanted to do this everyday.

It was practically set in stone. The three of us were to become best friends. In the beginning of eighth grade, it didn't seem like much. But soon, we started to get to know each other more. Then, we started hanging out in the mornings. We had many things in common. This incident just proves that anyone can become friends as long as he can find some common ground. To me, this incident means two best friends who helped me get through the troubles and hurdles of eighth grade. In the beginning of eighth grade, I didn't think much of it. Lloyd and Matt were my friends. I did not know that I would hang out with them everyday. Lloyd and Matt helped me get back on track from my strong desire not to even go to school in the morning. Just knowing that they'd be there with me if anything would happen to me comforted me everyday. Their support was what encouraged me to get a 4.0 GPA all eighth grade year. Now, as Matt and Lloyd are still my best friends, I know that this story is very significant to our friendship. Now, I see that the hand of God put the events that happened in that one day together. My friendship then was only the start of a great friendship. And even through the tough times of high school, Matt continues to help me find my midday break.