Day 25
It's 7:45 A.M. The alarm buzzes, and I slowly open my brown eyes to see the ceiling looking higher than I've ever viewed it. I roll over the king-sized bed that I slept in while my dad was away and ask my mother who is also struggling to wake up, "Can you drive me to school today?"
"What time does it start?"
"9:20. It's collaboration day."
Mom looks at the digital clock, looks at me straight in the eye, and says, "Sleep for another half-hour. I'll drive you."
"Thanks," I grumble, and I roll back into a peaceful sleep. It isn't long before I can't seem to shut my eyes. I have to get up and do my hair nice; it's program day.
I put on the outfit I'd laid out the night before and stumble into my bathroom. I plug the curling iron into the wall and wait impatiently for it to get hot. I make my bed to pass the time, which is a task I haven't done in over a week. When it finally is burning, I take the curling iron and try to do a successful curl. I remembered a week before when I had tried curling my friend Savanna's hair. It didn't turn out so well, and neither did my hair. I am not very experienced in hair-dos. To try and fix the messy hair, I took my straightener and gave it a little flip. It looked perfect. I took a fancy bobby pin from J. Crew and placed it in my long hair. I gave a long look in the mirror; I looked like an angel from above.
I struggle eat breakfast and make a sack lunch and try to memorize my lines at the same time. Mom, being the supportive being she is, calmly helps me while I overreact. Big time. We finally climb into the Lexus, and off to school we go!
I love taking the scenic route to school. I love looking at the horse and her colt in the small farm. I love the open, vast land that confronts me. I love the mansions that sit right across from each other. I love the middle school. I love passing by green neighborhoods. I love everything about the route. While program day was predicted to be a sunny day, it is drizzling outside, gray clouds covering the sky. I get dressed in my nice clothes and walk to the lower building where my classroom is located. I am constantly trying to go over my lines with Brennan, the boy who sits across from me, while attempting to listen to the lesson.
After a boring morning of areas of circles and functions and changing percentages into reduced fractions, the program is finally going to begin. I nervously stand at the front of the line, being the tallest in the grade. I try as confidently as I can to walk onto the stage without tripping or having a nervous breakdown. I am not that kind of person, though, and I step onto the risers perfectly, even with my extremely tight skirt.
I stand stiffly as the curtains open. There, in a gray jacket and short hair, is my mother, trying to root me on. A boost of confidence suddenly fills me. I sing all the songs like butter, and when it is my turn to do my narration, my legs shake a bit. Having to look down at my index cards a few times, I do the narration clearly and fluently. I hobble onto the risers and watch as Abraham Lincoln, played by my friend Grant, says the whole Gettysburg Address like magic.
Now let's skip to the end of the day. Mrs. Jones's class and my class are practicing our dance for the 5th grade awards assembly when Mom walks in. She steals me and takes me to my volleyball camp at the high school. I am not excited. It felt like YMCA volleyball all over again, because no one knew what they were doing. No one called the ball, and I am the only one running across the court struggling to set or spike or pass the ball, while everyone just stands there blankly. Because of this behavior, a 7th grade team beat us 30-24 when we had been leading 5-16. I am very angry at my team at the moment.
The four hour camp was not a success tonight. It was just like yesterday, except I didn't sit alone when it was break. I ate chocolate Teddy Grahams with the 6th graders and rested on the curb, my sore legs throbbing with pain. I finished the camp without dying, but I do not want to go tomorrow. Hopefully I can convince my mom that I am done with the camp, even though tomorrow is the last day.
Now I am home waiting for a family member to get home. I am starving. I need some dinner. I am waiting for the American Idol finale to finish recording. Yes, it's an average life.
Proofreading this paragraph, I can tell I need to practice on some writing skills. Like trying to make the story sound interesting. I am sure no one is reading this right now. You probably fell asleep at the first paragraph. Sorry, there's still a long way to go.
♥ Abigail ♥
