The Avid Reader (and enjoyer of all subjects)

My eyes slowly open as I get accustomed to my environment.  There’s a bright light shining outside the door, and I become aware of a figure in my room–my mom.  Oh yes, she’s preparing my clothes!  I sit up, stretch, and yawn, then slip my clothes on and brush my teeth.  My recent dentist appointment did not yield satisfying results, so I brush hard.  When I’m done, I come down the stairs, where half a muffin, sliced, is waiting for me.  After I stuff in all the muffin slices and gulp down my milk.

Then, my mom drives me to Morrisville Elementary.  My teeth are chattering all the way.  When we arrive at the school, we wait for some time, reviewing for an upcoming science quiz.  Suddenly, we hear a roaring of an engine, and the long yellow bus pulls in the parking lot.  I get out of the car, wave quickly to my mom, and run to the line for the bus.  On the bus, I sit down next to a sixth grader taking algebra, and close my eyes.  What are we going to learn today?  Will the science quiz be hard?  I wonder about some events on the bus.

RRRRR!  I wake up with a start from my nap.  It’s the bus’s engine; we’ve arrived at Enloe, our first stop, and are getting ready to go to Ligon.  Sleepily, I rub my eyes.  Some high schoolers have gotten off the bus.  I only know one of them, a freshman who went to Davis Drive last year.  I’ve been able to make the acquaintance of an eighth grader who takes Pre-Calculus at Enloe.  He’s getting off, too.

Soon, we arrive at Ligon.  Most of the Ligon kids look down upon us Carnage kids.  Ligon and Carnage are BIG rivals, especially in academics.  I think that Ligon will become 2008’s Carnage in a few years; with all the smart kids at Carnage no one would be at Ligon.

Ligon is only a few minutes away from Carnage.  I get off lethargically from the bus, with Roy and my friend Tony following.  It’s 7:20, and the bell hasn’t rang yet, so we go into the auditorium, where I talk a bit with some friends.  Then, when the bell rings, the eighth grade principal dismisses us. 

After a short stop at my locker, I walk quickly to Spanish I, my first class.  There are no core classes in Carnage, so electives take up about the same amount of time as regular classes.  Spanish I, unfortunately, is very far away from the Pirates hall, the 400 hall.  Most of the kids in my class are sixth and seventh graders, but I don’t care.  After the bell rings, we do the daily warm-up and an activity.

Next, we have to go to our homeroom.  My homeroom is Ms. Armstrong.  There, we watch the morning news show and stand up for the pledge of allegiance.  After that, we give Mrs. Armstrong some papers we were asked to sign.

My second period class is social studies, which borders Ms. Armstrong’s classroom.  Today we take some class notes out of a textbook.  Most people don’t like taking notes; I find no problem with it.  After that, the teacher asks us some questions.  Most of the questions our teacher asks have to do with logic more than social studies.

Third period is geography.  I expected a course in which students would prepare for the National Geography Bee (coming up in November), but I totally messed up the definition of “geography” and forgot to include the different cultures!  In Geography we do a TON of projects, which are pointless and boring, but some of the classwork is interesting.

Many changes have occurred to me and happened in my life recently.  For one, I switched schools, from the regular Davis Drive Middle School (with excellent teachers) to the GT magnet middle school Carnage–perfectly natural to satisfy my hopes to attend Enloe High School.  Then, my age turned from 11 to 12 two weeks ago (erm, I think we were also supposed to mourn over the lives lost when I was four *cough cough*).  My body cannot control my age change at all–nothing can.  But as I reflect over these changes, I am reminded over and over again about the one word that describes almost every aspect of me:  sensitivity.

Sensitivity applies to both my physical aspects and mental characteristics.  I’ve realized that a few days ago I picked a tie-dye shirt from 3rd grade.  I remember it was a medium sized shirt.  When I put it on it came two inches down my waist.  I’m surprised at how little times my mom’s been forced to go to Wal-Mart to find new clothes for me.  My height still hovers at around 5′, and I’m hoping for a growth spurt, but I did have the same wishes two years ago, and I grew an inch or so.  I’m still not taller than my mom (I’ve noticed many of my peers being taller than their parents, even their dads) and Roy can still stare me down.  On the bus everyone assumes I’m a sixth grader; when I tell them I’m in 8th grade they can guess that I’m young–all pointing to my height.  And my weight–well, let’s just put that my weight hasn’t changed for almost two years, and my sister is catching on fast, though I eat two times as much as she does and have never lost appetite before a meal.  My dad is even considering taking me to see the doctor about my weight.  Finally, the thing about crying:  it doesn’t take much to make me cry.  Normally a grade under 80 can do that.

Not only my physical characteristics but also my mental state reveals how much sensitivity fits me exactly.  Remember my travelogue at China, when I said I was bored at the toy store?  Well, here’s my actual confession: (I have to gather my courage to say this)  I can still become fascinated by LEGOs or even little Hot Wheels cars.  You know on some LEGO box labels when people write “Ages 5-12″?  I bet that two years later I still won’t have lost interest in LEGOs.  I still love to fantasize about “Toyworld” and “Playworld” with my sister.

But being so sensitive isn’t always a bad thing.  Whenever I’m awake in the night I am extra cautious if there’s a criminal in our house or not; when I’m in the bathroom I check all nooks and crannies before doing my business; and before I sleep I always look underneath my bed and in the closet to check for lurking figures.  And my sight and hearing aren’t bad either; even though I’ve had to get new glasses, when we went to Yellowstone the first animal we saw was seen by me.  (My parents had perfect vision with their glasses, and in 5th grade I was supposed to get glasses, but we postponed it. )  And I was the one who saw the grizzly bear hidden among the forests in the distance from a football field’s length away.  (Note here that I’m not trying to brag; if this is offensive, I apologize.)  Finally (and probably the most relieving to my parents) I don’t act like the stereotypical American teenager.  A stereotypical American teenager has better things to do than blog or do math games and math problems online; he/she spends most of their time watching TV shows, listening to his/her I-Pod,  excitedly playing their Nintendo DS or Wii, or  updating their Facebook page, MySpace page, or (oh god) Twittering.  (When I was in fifth grade I hadn’t even heard of those chimerical contraptions.  Twittering?  The first thing that came to mind was a real-life bird.)  I don’t let my mind sleep, my identity gradually be revealed, or my eyes get increasingly worse.  (Note:  I have a congenital astigmatism in my left eye.)

Most of all, my dislike of change makes me cling to my personalities of childhood, not to evolve to the adolescence period:  to obey my parents less than most teens do.  I NEVER give in to peer pressure.  I try to follow my parents’ instructions, and I will NEVER EVER forget my promise to afford the best house and car I can for them when I start earning my own money.  Some teenagers don’t listen to their parents’ commands.  They don’t know what the right thing for them is, no matter how much pain, boredom, or sadness it causes them.  They only know how to satisfy their own pleasures.  That is the wrong course of life.  So I think, it is my exaggerated sensitivity that will lead me on the right track. 

Back in 7th grade, in the middle of the school year my parents signed me up for Carnage Middle School.  Carnage is an AG Magnet Middle School, so if I would get accepted I would be in the same classroom as people in AG, and it also offers Algebra II as a course in 8th grade.  When we got back a letter from WCPSS, I immediately opened the letter and was overjoyed to discover that I could attend Carnage!  The rest of 7th grade passed very quickly, and before I knew it I had to say a sorrowful farewell to my 7th grade teachers, who I will remember forever.

On the first day of school at Carnage, I was shaken awake by my mom at 6:00.  Rubbing my eyes and yawning, I brushed my teeth lethargically, stuffed some slices of chocolate muffin into my mouth, and jumped into my mom’s car, which takes me to Morrisville Elementary.  Every day an Express bus stops at Morrisville Elementary, picking up everyone attending Carnage, Ligon, and Enloe (yes, we do have to share buses).  The first day of school everyone seemed awkward, with few friends they talk to.  I talk a bit with Roy and his friend Tony.  Then the bus pulls up, and we line up to board it.  The bus is already filled, so we must sit two-to-a-seat.  Enloe students sit in the back of the bus; the middle-school students occupy the front section.  I close my eyes, pining for rest as the bus rumbles on its way. 

After half an hour, we arrive at Enloe, which will always be our first stop.  The William G. Enloe High School is one of the best high schools in North Carolina.  It takes almost another half hour to wait for all the cars and buses to pass by, as the area is very busy.  I recognize this place from February when I took the SAT here. 

Soon, after loading, we pull up by Carnage.  This is not our usual second stop; the usual second stop is Ligon.  A bunch of students get off the bus and enter the side door.  On the first day of school, there are signs and posters instructing all eighth graders to report to the auditorium, which is (I think) bigger than Davis Drive’s auditorium.  I barely recognize anyone in the auditorium except for a few Davis Drive kids (who I will not name for security reasons).  A few minutes later, our 8th grade principal, Ms. Watson, calls students to follow their teachers to their classrooms based on what team they were on.  I am on the Pirates team, the AG team of 8th grade.  The Pirates team this year has over 120 students, even more than 7th grade at Davis Drive.  We are the last to be called.  I am in Ms. Armstrong’s, the language arts teacher, homeroom, so when Ms. Armstrong calls her homeroom to line up I squeeze through the aisle and get in the line.

We are lead to a classroom not far away from the auditorium, where we stop.  I notice some numbers on a pink slip of paper taped by the doorway, labeled Magnet Number, and wonder what that could refer to.  Ms. Armstrong shows us our seats by alphabetical order.  I don’t know anyone in my class, though I’ve seen one of the students in my homeroom at my Chinese school.

Next, we pass up our school supplies.  Because of the economic recession, many schools don’t have enough money to buy the needed supplies in the classroom, so us students are required to bring them.  Boys are supposed to bring a stack of paper.  I pass my stack up.

Then, Mrs. Armstrong leads us to the auditorium.  The teachers then give us a presentation about the rules of the team, the expectations, rewards/consequences, etc.  Ms. Church, the social studies teacher, also tells us that our first (and only, depending on our behavior) field trip will be to Bethabara in Old Salem, where Germans from Europe first settled in present-day North Carolina.  There will be two rotations:  one at the learning area and one doing hands-on activities.  The rotations will switch to the other station at around noon. 

Then, Ms. Armstrong explains to us our schedule for the first two days.  We will rotate around the team, doing activities at each place.  First, we go to Ms. Church, then Ms. Jerread (Spanish), then Ms. O’Rawe (Math), and finally Ms. Lucas (Science).  In the four core classes the teachers give us expectations for their classes, and in Ms. Jerread’s class we play a rules game.  During Ms. Jerread’s class the ecology teacher at Carnage, Ms. Knapp, picks the new students up and gives us a short 20-minute tour around the school campus.  We get to see Carnage’s greenhouse, a model wetland, and a model garden.  I think Carnage is the only middle school in Wake County which has it’s own greenhouse.  (That’s from Wikipedia, by the way, so you guys might want to double-check )

After we get to all our classes, school is over.  I am confused, and just happen to bump into Roy without his backpack.  He says we have to report to our bus rooms, so I quickly run after him.  Roy tells me our bus’s room (our bus is Route 567).  The teacher is the manager of the short stories elective at Carnage.  We have to wait for almost half an hour before the number 567 is announced on the loudspeaker.  The teacher tells us to protest to our bus driver to be on time.  We all shuffle out of the classroom, go down the stairs, and go out the side door to the bus loop, where we see the bus bearing the number 567 in black paint.  Then, we all find seats on the bus.  The bus is already full after arriving at Ligon.  (Enloe will be the next and last stop.)  I find an empty seat and talk to one of the new friends I’ve made, Eddy.  As the bus speeds towards home, I feel excited for the days that will follow at my new school.