Sandbox of Gravel (a description of Middle School life)

Essay by sugarcoatedletterJunior High, 8th gradeA-, November 2006

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In the midst of a buzzing cafeteria of practically carnivorous sixth graders chomping savagely on their mysterious brown glob of cafeteria food, stands a bony middle-aged lady with wild graying brown hair and a white megaphone dangling from her thin shoulders. The lunch line resembles a fat gourd, wider at the top where numerous impatient people have decided to "cut," and thinner at the end. I turn my head for a second and feel my classmate Ross clumsily slip into the spot ahead of me. "Hey, you cut me," I said bluntly. "Pffft, what are you talking about? I was here first!" Ross yells back dramatically. With her crimson lips pursed and hands on her hips, the bony lady marches over with her unappealing scowl, towering over us with her eyebrows all scrunched up together and walks quickly back to the center of the lunchroom bellowing "the school yahd iz opeen!"

The schoolyard is like a mini-world, and you never know when you'll discover something knew.

A crowd of guys would crowd around the basketball courts worshipping the orange hoop as their idol, while another cult would worship the almighty concrete handball wall. On the outskirts, by the rusting gray fences would be the girls, gossiping about the hottest celebrity, emitting phrases ranging from "oh my God! Orlando Bloom!" to "let's try and kill the innocent bee on the floor." The fences used to be my favorite spot, sitting on the cool black gravel and carelessly rocking back and forth on the rusty ol' fence. During the summertime, the short and stubby red-bricked school shielded this area of the yard, like an oasis in the middle of a desert. At some point in seventh grade, I stuck my hand into the fence I loved so much and unsuspectingly pulled...