www.whyville.net Jun 14, 2009 Weekly Issue

Times Writer


Users' Rating
Rate this article

"No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers with dirty looks," the family channel commercials sing. Everywhere I look, everyone that speaks, reminds me that my school year is almost finished with. Am I happy? No. Not at the least. I go to bed ready to start crying, crying because it's the last Friday of school, the last Saturday before school ends. It's horrible.

Most of you are happy. There's no more work, no more psycho teachers, and no more waking up at 6:30am to catch the bus. To most of you those things seem like horrible things to have to do, stuff you absolutely detest.

Not me. I love every second that I'm in a class. I love learning about the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, the revolts in Social Studies. I love ignoring our science teacher in Science. I love learning how to do Algebra, word problems in French, exponents, in Math, and verb conjugations in French.

I love it all.

On Thursday, when I'm done with all my classes, done with everything, I will be crying my eyes out. I know this for a fact. Every year I cry. This year will be worse.

It was my first year of high school. The best year ever. I was always sad when a school year would pass by before, but it seems as though it's worse this year.

It could be the classes, lunch hour, the mornings before school starts, goofing around with my friends yelling at everyone walking past us . . . it could even be because I'm in love, and don't want to give up my stalkerish ways for the summer (not gonna go into detail about that . . .).

Classes end for my class on Thursday. We aren't required to go Friday. On the 25th we get to go back one last time before the summer to get our report cards. My eyes WILL be red and tear filled.

This will be the last time I hang out with my friends in the upstairs hallway in grade eight. This will be the last time I close my locker, without a lock on it. This will be the last time I will walk through those doors. This will be the last time I get to see the person I like.

Some call me a geek.
Some call me a nerd.
Some call me a freak.
All call me insane.
But I call myself . . . broken-hearted.

Once I leave those doors on the 25th, it will be the last time I will ever do that while being in grade eight. Next year everything will be different. It might be a good year next year, but it will never compare to the awesome year that was this year.

The bus will drive away, and I will get one last look at that school. My ipod will be blaring with the tune of an appropriate song, then we will drive away, and not come back until September.

I will take one last look back, at the people waiting for the bus and say,

"Goodbye for this year school"



Did you like this article?
1 Star = Bleh.5 Stars = Props!
Rate it!
Ymail this article to a friend.
Discuss this article in the Forums.

  Back to front page