Personal Narrative Essay: Being The New Kid

President Franklin D. Roosevelt once said, “ The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Clearly he had never had to step into Royalton High School at the start of seventh grade. I love school, but kids usually don’t enjoy waking up in the morning to realize that a) they’re starting seventh grade, b) they have to ride The Bus, c) it's at a new school, and d) they are the “new” kid. Being the “new” kid has both its pros and cons, mainly cons, but the one thing that is most definitely a con is the attention. I would be the new exhibit in the zoo, only this time the visitors get to poke me with a stick to figure out what the heck I’m supposed to be. Am I a lion? An owl? A platypus? Only time and countless annoying personal questions will tell.
Not only did I have to undergo the attention as the “new” kid, but I also had to brave the worst beast of all time...The Bus. Ahhh, The Bus. Created for the purpose of transporting children to and from school, it has evolved over time to become the monstrosity that it is today. This vehicle of crushed dreams was my vessel to the faraway place that would chew me up and spit me out. It pulled into my driveway with an ominous screech, black smoke billowing out which shifted to form the faces of all the poor, unfortunate souls

that had once stepped within its depths. The doors opened wide, allowing me a first sight of Charon, the boatman. Her name was actually Sharon, but I think it's close enough. Sharon’s face showed all the apathetic thoughts running through her head which boiled down to “Bite me.”
As politely as possible I introduced myself.
“Hi, I’m Laura!”
“I’m Sharon, find a seat and sit down.”
Okay, then.
My eyes searched The Bus, I saw countless faces turned up to me, and I immediately sat down in the seat behind Charon.

There I stayed for the remaining 20 minutes which managed to feel like hours. Finally, we pulled into the front of the school. Any relief in exiting The Bus left me quickly as I gazed upon Royalton High School once again. I had visited the institution over the last three years for my brothers’ wrestling matches, so it was vaguely familiar. After attending Open House the week prior, I became hesitant to approach since last time I had been assaulted by a large group of chatty girls. Only two people names were known to me in this large abyss of hormones, but I’d never meet either of

them.
God, I hate my life.
Following the flood of students into the entrance, I immediately headed to my locker. The locker equals home base, I’m safe at home. I opened it up and filled it to the brim with binders, folders, pens and pencils, all neatly organized and titled with the class name. Satisfied, I closed the locker and turned to face the oncoming onslaught. Where to hide? I didn’t dare attach myself to one of the many tables because I didn’t know my own classmates, let alone the seniors. Chatting students catching up with friends after a long summer surrounded me, which led me to the decision to take a walk around, i.e. run away from social interaction. Before I could escape to the long hallways, one chatty girl returned.
“Hey! It’s Laura, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Great! I’m Lanae Sieben! It’s totes awesome sauce to see you again!”
Wow...just Wow.
“Yeah, it’s awesome to see you, too.” Somebody help me.
“Why don’t you come over to my table and I can introduce you again?”
“Sure, thanks.” Crap.
“Totes magoats!”
What are they teaching kids for English here?
I followed Lanae over to one of the loudest tables in the cafeteria. There Lanae re-introduced me to Molly, Amy, Sadie, Megan, Taylor, and Janielle. All greeted me with varying degrees of curiosity and hostility. I also meet Alli Moga, who I distrusted on sight since she seemed like one of those annoying people who was always perfect, Ali P. who said everything loudly, and Jordan Malikowski, the only boy in the whole group. We all sat for a while, they asked me personal questions so I tried to answer with things that would keep them interested. When the bell did ring, we all headed to an assembly. The principal lectured, other people talked, but I didn’t listen. Finally I managed to escape, but was soon grabbed by the guidance counselor, Ms. Flakus.
“Laura, I am going to give you a travel buddy who will help find your classes.”
“Ok, who is it?” Please say cute 8th grade boy.
“Alli Moga.”
“Ok.” Double crap.
It didn’t seem like Alli really wanted to be stuck with me either.
“You know what Alli? I know where to go. You can head to class.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” Wow, I am such an idiot.
Here's the thing, I had no clue where to go, but if I can survive three idiot brothers, then I can fake my way to my first period. After walking down two different hallways, stepping into three wrong classrooms, and proving that once again I need to work on my social skills, I found the class. Study Skills with Ms. McClean where I sat in the back since I came in late. (I actually wasn’t late, seventh graders always arrive early to everywhere since we thought we would be tardy if we didn’t show up 10 minutes early.) First thing my new teacher does that brings my humiliation to the forefront?
“Okay, guys, raise your hand if you are completely new to Royalton.”
What did I ever do to you, Universe? I thought as a reluctantly raised my hand. Guess what? I’m the only one.
I suffer through the next four periods, learning my teachers and fellow students’ names. They all seemed nice, but I knew eventually their true colors would show. Unfortunately, I had to endure the most tortuous part of the school day ever, LUNCH. Dun Dun Duhhh. Oh, the humanity of it all!! Seriously though, lunch stinks. Students flooded the commons, their faces alight with hunger, ready to feast on the unsuspecting pizza. Cautiously venturing over to the table containing the chatty girls and silent boys, I managed to insert myself into a chair and conversation, very ungracefully mind you. We ate, drank and were generally merry despite the food tasting like the slob that pigs eat for dinner. Since I am such a horrible conversationalist I left as soon as I could to my new found hideaway...the library. There I stayed until study hall which flew by into band, where I destroyed any dignity in playing the French horn, then drew into my last class, choir.
Why did I want to do this again?
Ms. Ploof’s bellows could be heard down the hall as she lectured us on the “importance of listening otherwise you waste our time and we don’t get anything done at all.” Because stopping to lecture us is really productive. School ends at 3:17, but right now it is 3:14…..3:14…. Ms. Ploof is still talking, I wonder what she is saying? 3:15!!! 3:15…Wow her face is turning really red….3:15….Blah blah blah….3:15….What did the fish say when he ran into the wall?... Dam...3:16!!!.. The shrieks have reached a new level….3:16…Code Red, I repeat Code Red, she’s about to explode!!…3:16….Laura, do not laugh, for the love of God don’t laugh!!....3:17!
Why the heck do we end at 3:17? Did we run out of even numbers?
Anyway, I survived the massacre! Despite all the trials working against me, I managed to conquer my fear of the first day of middle school and emerged triumphant! If I could survive this I can do anything! Who knows what I’ll do next? I might end poverty throughout the world, travel to Mars on a space shuttle, even climb Mount Everest! “Deal” with that FDR! (Ya see what I did there?) Fear was a thing of the past, I could conquer the world! But...I had school tomorrow.
Well, I’ll just wait until it's done to do all that stuff. How many days left?
I looked it up. It’s 172 days.
Yay.