Coming of Age

In choice words, middle school was just… lacking. Lacking opportunity, lacking excitement, lacking anybody who understood my taste in music, art, movies, everything. My fellow compadres/maniacs and I were restless for somewhere new, somewhere where we could jump from the small, familiar pond that we had been in for years, and into the great big ocean that is bigger halls, more people, and harder classes; namely, high school.

We were excited to reinvent ourselves, or at least spice things up from the tan skirt and navy polo uniform that we had been in for three years, and trust me, that didn’t give you a lot of opportunity to express yourself. We finally had the chance to be noticed, to be different from the rest, and that was the greatest gift that anyone could’ve ever given us. For us this was a fresh start, letting loose and experimenting with not only clothes, but with our choice in art, music, and books.

Gone was the sanctioned library of our school, full of books that nobody was even remotely interested in. Gone was the snarky girl who sneered at my iPod, and laughed at my drawings. When that last day of school rolled around, I thought to myself, “this is it! I can be whoever I want,” and I was going to be myself: a total geek, bookworm, goof, and someone who has watched the Lord of the Rings entirely too many times.

And honestly? Yeah, for awhile before I wised up and met some really cool people, I thought high school was a Mean Girls movie. I was even half expecting Lindsey Lohan to pop up and tell me that I should trade in my Hobbit shirt for a mini skirt. But that isn’t the case. I’ve met so many people who are juniors and seniors who are so accepting, and really excited to see me and my pals this coming semester. (And they weren’t wearing crop tops or mini skirts. I promise.)

So now, less than a month before I start the big HS, it’s a whirl of last minute vacations, actually deciding what sport I’m going to try out for, reading (extremely last minute, might I add) the dreaded Fahrenheit 451 for Honors English, worrying about what kind of backpack I’m going to get, worrying about finding my classes the first day, and worrying about how I’m actually going to pull all of this off. There’s so much to worry about, why should I bother about trying to fit in? Because after all, who wants to be just another fish in the sea?


by Claire Grant

age 14

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