I stood, fixed in place, blood roaring in my ears, when I realized what I had done.
I thought how this was not a very good way to make a first impression.
It was my first day of eighth grade. For most adolescent girls, the first day of eighth grade is unremarkable. A return to the monotony of middle school. To the same place and faces left behind the previous May. One more year of familiarity before the grand landscape of high school loomed. Not so for me. Two months before my first day, my family left behind the comfort of our familiar life in Western Pennsylvania, and drove south towards our new home in Jacksonville, Florida.
So for me, eighth grade was the beginning of a brand new chapter.
I woke up early the morning of my first day, my mind racing with barely concealed panic as I thought about all the things that could go wrong. My uniform skirt was too long. I had the wrong shoes. I was going to miss the bus. I had never taken a bus to school before. I didn't know how to take a bus. Who would I sit with at lunch?
But more than anything, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find my classes. See, this wasn't just a school. This was a campus. It wasn't enough to just learn one building. I had to learn six different buildings. Seven if I took art, so I decided to never take art. All day long, my classes would zig-zag across campus, and I was expected to remember where I needed to be and when. I copied my schedule into the front cover of all of my notebooks, but my habitual organizational skills didn't have their usual calming effect. I was going to get lost. I just knew it.
But with no choice in the matter, I went to school and forged ahead with my day.
Maybe orientation did the trick, or my memory was better than I thought, but my nightmare scenario never came to fruition. I managed to find my locker, and all six of my classrooms. I zig-zagged with the best of them, and was on time all day.
I didn't have anyone to sit with at lunch, but I thought that there would be other days for worrying about that. Because today, I was worried about getting lost. Not existentially lost - there would be time enough for that too - but rather actually physically lost. And I didn't.
When the bell rang signaling that it was time to switch for the last period of the day, I gathered my books and headed towards the gym for eighth period PE, ready to give myself a big pat on the back for my remarkable navigation skills. But as I made my way there, I realized I was expected to change into the regulation gym uniform, and I didn't know where the locker rooms were.
The orientation tour had included the gym, obviously, but the tour guide never mentioned where to change.
No reason to panic, I thought. There were lots of people headed in my general direction. I assumed they had PE too, and walked with the crowd towards a door around the side of the gigantic gym. I breathed a sigh of relief as I followed everyone into what was most certainly the locker room, and glanced down at my watch to make sure I was still on time.
"What are you doing in here?"
I heard the shocked voice as I stepped over the threshold.
I looked up and found that I was, indeed, standing in the locker room.
The boy's locker room.
Love this line - this is how I make most of my life decisions: "Seven if I took art, so I decided to never take art."
ReplyDeleteIt seemed as logical a reason as any to not take art. I was never any good at art anyway...
DeleteOh, man! That's an unfortunate turn of events... So sorry -- hope that didn't haunt you for too long...
ReplyDeleteNot too long. The benefit was that no one knew who I was yet, so they might have remembered that it happened, but not who it happened too. There were other 8th grade memories that were definitely more haunting. This one I can look back on and laugh.
Deleteoh MAN!
ReplyDeleteTalk about getting lost! I love the line, "Who would I sit with at lunch?" Now that we're adults, it seems so trivial, but for a 12- or 13-year-old, it's so monumental.
ReplyDeleteWhoops! I moved the summer between 7th and 8th grades as well. I remember being mortified that I ended up at the "nerd" table. Turns out, I met my best friend the first day at that lunch table, and she and I are still great friends. Great story that brought up a lot of my own memories about these awkward years. :)
ReplyDeleteYeah, middle school/high school was not the best time for me. I think I peaked in college, which, I would argue, is far better than peaking in high school.
DeleteI love the twist in the story. And I love the line about not taking art if it meant another building. And not getting existentially lost. I love it all.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much Emma!
DeleteI have reoccurring nightmares about being in a new school and not being able to find my way around or remember my locker combination.
ReplyDeleteI like the twist at the end.
I think everyone has some sort of recurring dream like that. Mine used to be that I had a test in a class I had never been too, and now it usually is that I have a trip I haven't packed for. Strange, our brains.
DeleteAhhhh mortifying for an 8th grader! Whoops!
ReplyDeleteYes! Major Whoops.
DeleteHahaha! Oh no! I love that your middle school experience was just as terrifying and awkward as mine. It's too bad we didn't know each other. We would have been good friends! lol
ReplyDeleteI know! I have noticed that a disproportionate number of women who grow up to be bloggers/writers had insanely terrifying awkward middle school/high school years. Coincidence? Probably not.
DeleteOh, middle school, how I miss thee...NOT.
ReplyDeleteUm, yeah. Me either.
DeleteI've done this a time or two as an adult and the resulting mortification makes me glad I never did it as an adolescent. Ugh!
ReplyDeleteThat moment when you realize your mistake? Worst. Moment. Ever.
DeleteNooooooooo. Just nooooo. It's too awful. I was getting sweaty thinking about poor young you looking for your classes. Didn't they offer you a buddy or a guide dog. WTF. Florida is so fucked up. Anyway, love this. and Brave you. Loved this line the most: Seven if I took art, so I decided to never take art.
ReplyDeleteFlorida is SUCH a weird place. Especially northern Florida. You think you should be in an enlightened place since southern Florida is basically like being in New York, but northern Florida is a whole different story. You really might as well be in rural Alabama. I think I had a buddy, but she was just weird, and I thought I would do better on my own.
DeleteI LOVED this story! Walking into the boys locker room must have been so much worse than getting lost. Poor you!!
ReplyDeleteYeah, it was pretty bad. All told, I probably would have been better off being late for math.
DeleteWow! That's quite a way to make a first impression, huh?
ReplyDeleteOh you poor thing! We moved when my oldest son was going into HS. He never mentioned going into the girls locker room but I still feel badly about the timing of the move (he's fine now though, 2.5 years later). Very well written!
ReplyDeleteI think that somehow, that kind of move is easier on boys than girls. But also, I think I would have been ok had I been starting high school. But since eighth grade was the last year of middle school, there were basically no new kids except for me. Thanks Stacie!
DeleteOoooooh Nooooo! I've had school dreams like this...not being able to find classes. The end is a real live nightmare. You poor thing but you write it sooooo well!!!
ReplyDeleteThanks Gina! It was definitely something out of a nightmare...
DeleteWhat a way to end the day! I'm guessing art class was sounding pretty good right around then.
ReplyDeleteGreat story!
Definitely. I would gladly have learned that 7th building if it meant staying OUT of the boys locker room.
DeleteI wonder who was more embarrassed - you or the boys you walked in on?
ReplyDeleteThat's the worst! I was kind of waiting for some major embarrassment the whole post, and it was pretty bad. Though, it makes good blog fodder/ a good cocktail party story years later, that was probably the last from your mind at the time.
ReplyDeleteOh no! Such great build up here. This story is really well told, and gives us an indication of both who you were as an adolescent and who you are now. I love that line about having time to be existentially lost. Really nice work, Samantha.
ReplyDeleteNow that would take a long time to get over as a teen! I moved when I was in seventh grade, and that was no fun at all.
ReplyDeleteI thought that only happened in bad dreams. ;-)
ReplyDeleteOh wow. I loved the line that you didn't know how to take the bus. That's what I'd be thinking. I mean, sure you just sit down and ride, but really I'd be so worried!
ReplyDeleteI went to a super small school and never moved. Same kids all the way from K-8, then add another town for high school and I still only graduated with less than 100 kids. A campus in 8th grade? I don't think I'd have survived.
Great story.