The summer before my 8th-grade year, my mom remarried and …show more content…
I stepped into the shower; a chill went up my spine while goose bumps arose from my skin as my feet touched the cold plastic tub, but none of that mattered because it was my first day of school. As the steam from my hot shower fogged up the mirror, my mother interrupting my shower, knocked loudly. “Megan, breakfast is almost ready!!! Get out of the shower!” she shouted, loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. Indeed, breakfast was almost ready since the aroma of freshly squeezed orange juice and pancakes seemed to fill the house. I picked out a new pair of Hollister jeans, a purple shirt that I thought it was to die for and a simple pair of black flats. I fixed my ponytail and I was ready to take on my first day of school. I drank my glass of orange juice and ate the most mouth-watering stack of pancakes I have ever …show more content…
Bobst paid no attention to their comments and carried on with her “First Day of School” plan. I, on the other hand, had the event and comments stuck in my brain like a record on repeat playing over and over. After what seemed like a century, but really was only 45 minutes, the bell rang. I walked while staring at the floor to my Social Studies class. My teacher was a white man who had no hair on his head but had a full beard, which I thought was hilarious, named Mr. Circle (who ended up being my driving instructor a few years later.) The exact situation repeated itself again but in this case, it was much worse. The classroom had 22 seats, but there were 25 students in the class. Talk about underfunded schools, am I