8th grade
I just tried to wipe what I thought was dirt off of my nose- it's a freckle! I'm befreckled! How cute- gosh, I LOVE summer! I'm getting a pedicure tomorrow with a very good friend. My feet will undoubtedly look gorgeous in my summer sandal collection. Yes, I'm a girly girl at times.
On a tomboy note, my inflatable kayak should be arriving tomorrow...I think I know a certain friend who is moving to a southern state soon who should come paddling with me...you only live once, ya know!
On to Grade 8:
A darn good year, for the most part. I met a friend who was new to the school, and she and I became what we thought was cool. She was a bit of a bully, and I was her sidekick. We had Halloween parties, teased our hair, and ruled the Jr. High.
When a little girl I'll call "April" stood behind me as I was opening my locker thereby discovering my combination (grrr) and poured white-out all over my books, coat, and belongings inside of the locker, I followed her after school down the hall, tapped her on the shoulder, and punched her HARD in the jaw after she turned around. Bitch. NOBODY messes with me! I don't remember how I found out it was her, but I knew it was, and I knew exactly what to do.
A very popular 8th grader saw me punch April, and I was popular too, for a day.
8th grade is filled with good memories. We all went on a "fireball" kick- eating those stupid hard, cinnamon fireball candies all the time. Although we shared a school with the highschoolers, we Jr. Highers were mostly in our own world, with our own lunch hours and hallway with lockers.
Loved 8th grade. Loved it.