August 30, 2010

The first day of school.

My school is an arts school. Which means that, yes, we have nerds and jocks and rebels, but we also have drama freaks and band geeks, too. There are the zoned kids and then the magnet ones, I'm a magnet student. I have gracefully taken the nickname, as have the other orchestra kids, 'orcha dork', me being in orchestra for 2 periods of my 7 everyday.

As I was ushered into the gym at 7 this morning, little gray, green, navy, black, white and khaki blobs swarming, I noticed something about every one of them. A falseness that is there every first week of school. Every little girl and boy had their hair perfectly tousled, their makeup just right, their Polo's all ironed, pinned in the back so they were tight (as tacky as this is girls keep doing it.) And I realized that we do this every year for a week, perhaps less. We put on are fake smiles and slip into other peoples personality's in hopes of making second first impressions. And those who do not know or remember us fall for this act we pull, until of course Labor Day swings around and we let are hair hang natural and are faces go bare. And when we do this all those people, the new ones that had only known us for a week,are confused, expecting us look the way they had seen us before, when we were still trying to be a different person. But the truth is there is only one person to be, all the others are already taken. I'm sure some famous person said that but I'm not sure who.

As we sat in our cold fold out chairs the principle or as I like to call her The Overlord, waddled up to make intoductions. Each of the teachers names were called. Some received massive amounts of applause, others very little. This, I suppose, is our way of telling the newbies whose good and who is not.

Not much happens on the first day. Tiny reunions in the halls and whispered warnings, but that's all. The only interesting thing that happened was that I couldn't stick my straw in the organic juice box I had persuaded my mom to buy me, and I failed at that, having to stop and ask my old reading teacher, Mr.Mac to help me.

I can only hope that this year does not reflect today, or 8th grade and this blog will be terribly boring.

Wait, I did spill my bag of nuts on the bus, which caused a girl, Molly, across the isle to stare at them and me in dismay. She didn't even help, and for God's sake shes my Face book friend too!