Note: this story will probably have a lot of notes in it and most likely will have 'inappropriate' content for children ten and under. For the sake of those 'innocent' minds, this book will be G-rated and I refuse to use the actual word said. Either what is being spoken will be replaced or have a random outbreak in paranthesis saying (G-RATED!). Kay? Cool, let's go on...
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8th grade was never meant to be fun (yet what school year is?). It's just another routine. One to fall asleep to and to occasionally laugh at the overdramatic twats making their own life abnormally hard. Jacked up, I know. The point is, all 8th grade is good for would be a really long yawn. If my friends didn't exist because on the first day of school everyone was sucked into a swirling vortex that mysteriously appeared out of the sky, I would never make it through the seven nearly wasted hours of a bright, sunny day. I've got a lot to thank them for...
First off, there's Aimee. She's the first person I see every day (normally) and has been best friends with me for a two short years. She and I met in the most abnormal way two friends could meet. Aimee came up to me a year before we would ever talk again and told me that I looked like Hermione (which I don't!) and in all truth, I was minorly scared of her. I really didn't want to talk to her ever again. But once I did,we were best friends in a day. (note: I really dislike the usage of 'best friend' because it seems to single out one friend among every other friend I have. I love all of my buddies equally and we're all just as close as we are with anyone else.) She introduced me to Krystal, which I can't tell you how happy I am that she did. There's only a few defects in Aimee's personality: her obsessinons of Tim Painter, Hayden Christensen, and unwillingly given high-pitched squeaks.
After the brief ten minutes before the bell rings, spent yelling and making Aimee laugh, on my good days I'd go to 2nd hour: art. Art is my life...along with my other lifes. I consist of three and a half people: I'm half art, half reading, half anime, half baseball, half writing, half Bowling for Soup, and half British. To make everything phenomenal, the art teacher-Mrs. Frausto-is one of the frickin' sweetest teachers this world is doomed to see. I also share the class with some of my other close friends. Sam, Sam, and Katie.
Sam number one is a horse fanatic. We've been friends since 6th grade when our insignificant minds thought we were mature. At least now we're mature enough to see that we're immature. Art is usually the class where Sam begs me to help with her grammar (note: 'help' in 8th grade vocabulary means to give one the answers). I always just smirk and pretend like I'm not going to. At the end of the class period, her assignment is completely finished. and she gets an A (hehehe).
Sam number two is an anime freak, and dude, I love her for it. She's such an awesome person whose 'spaz' is triggered by the taste of cheese. Sam has a huge talent for art (it would Davinci chuck down the Mona Lisa and pout in a corner) not to meantion writing. -at the moment I am constantly being pulled into thoughts of what the heck is gonna happen next in her book- Nicholas Sparks would be begging for an autograph if he read her work. She's a genius. I owe her my life too for introducing me to InuYasha, a brilliant masterpiece which I am desperately in love with.
Katie is a nut, spaz, and comedian rolled into one pleasant little corndog shaped muffin that people like to stare at. She's a master glomper (note: the word 'glomp' means for someone to quietly run up behind you and jump on your back making you scream your bloody head off) and the only one who can stand up to the power of the Mishou (you'll understand in due time). Katie holds the same talent for writing and art at the same level scale as Sam number two and I recenetly discovered that she's good- really good -at photography. I'm not sure how often she does it, but it's all so pretty...Katie's other strong gift is to make people laugh. She's definitely one of the most hilarious people I know.
I consider this the perfect way to start my day. You're probably thinking 'Oh, what a crappy way to start a book.' You know what I say to that: Shut up. Continuing on, the final bell rings, declaring our freedom as students, but everyone's to bored and mildly tired to celebrate. I go under that category as well only I'm really asleep as I leave my seat to go to my locker, stuff my backpack with a bunch of crap- a.k.a. homework -and wait by the door. On special days, Aimee won't ride the bus and wake me up with an enormously loud and annonying squeak. Now, my feelings are screwed up. Am I happy that my only transportation pulled up in the circle drive or should I feel like I'm approaching my death as my disgustingly dirty, blue piece-o-crap van just came to get me? It'll all be decided in due time...