Waking Up is Hard to Do

CHAPTER 1: WAKING UP IS HARD TO DO

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The buzzing of my mother’s alarm clock woke me. It was 6:00 a.m. on the first day of school. It was my first day of middle school, a place in which I had no interest in going. To delay my fate, I turned myself over and pulled my blanket over my head, momentarily falling back asleep.

”Billy, wake up,” my mom shouted from the kitchen as she prepared my favorite breakfast, crisp Eggo waffles with extra blueberry syrup. “You can’t be late for your first day of middle school.”

“Middle school,” I muttered to myself, as I sat up and rubbed my face with my palms.

As I crept out of my bed, I contemplated what middle school would be like. “Will I fit in?” he would anxiously mumble to himself while dressing.

Will I be able to reach my locker?

Will they make fun of me?

How will I handle it?

While I slipped into my newly purchased jeans and reached for my favorite Nike t-shirt, I silently recollected my days in elementary school, where I was a legend.

In elementary school, I was known to be funny, athletic and popular, even with the girls, though I wasn’t a big fan of them, yet. Every day I would arrive at school, where the younger kids would stare in awe, particularly as I frolicked the playground with the sort of gusto most elementary school students only dream of having, with my Mario Bros. backpack and WWE shirt, which depicted such superstars as John Cena, Shawn Michaels and the Undertaker.
In the minds of the other students, the best thing about me was my ability to tell jokes and play pranks better than anybody. My most legendary prank came against Principal Coe, whom many of us liked to refer as Chris. One day, before Mr. Coe arrived at school, I snuck into Mr. Coe’s office and connected a voice changer to the intercom system. When Mr. Coe made the daily announcement, his voice sounded like a combination of a chipmunk and whatever a kangaroo might sound like.

Although I knew how to be cool around other elementary school students, I had anxiety of which nobody knew, the fear of middle school, or juniorhighphobia, if you will. To make matters worse, there was one thing that went against me, my height, as I stand at not-so-staggering four-feet-six-inches tall.

In elementary school, my height made no difference, as I was around first and second-graders every day. In middle school, I would be interacting with seventh and eighth-graders, who were known to reach heights at tall as six-feet-four-inches, and in the most extreme instances, even taller. To add insult to injury, I knew I was the shortest boy in each of the surrounding elementary schools. The next shortest boy of which I knew was Johnny “Short-Stuff” McGee, who stood at intimidating four-feet-nine-inches tall.

“You’d better be getting dressed up there,” my mom threatened, which brought me back to my dreaded reality.

“I am, Mom; don’t worry,” I replied, as I slowly made my way downstairs, where I was met by soggy waffles marinating in room-temperature blueberry syrup.

“Eat quickly; we need to leave in 10 minutes. You need to get to school early to make sure you get your schedule.”

After finishing breakfast, my stomach began to churn as my mom and I packed our belongings into our stagnant gray minivan. I buckled myself in the front seat, barely being able to see over the dashboard.

While in the car, my mom turned the radio to her favorite station, 105.5 Pop Radio. I hated that station, as it only played music from ten-to-twenty years ago, none of which he enjoyed.

“Welcome back to 105.5 Pop Raaadiiiiiiiio,” bellowed the DJ and background tracks. “The next song is for all of you kids heading back to school today, the Beach Boys: Be True to Your School.”

“Rah rah rah. Be true to your school,” the music roared from the speakers. Mom started dancing wildly and singing horribly, as she always did whenever Billy was in the car.

I let out a deep sign, rolled down my window to get some fresh air and placed my chin on my arms as I laid them on the arm rest, dreading my arrival at Willow Peaks Middle School.
Without realizing it, I momentarily fell asleep as Mom pulled into the school parking lot.

“Ok, kiddo, we’re here.” Mom’s words woke me from my brief slumber. I looked up to see the sea of teenagers scattered as far as the walls would allow.

In a bit of panic, I nervously smiled and pleaded, “Can’t I just go to work with you, just for today?”

“Nope,” Mom replied, “this is your first day; you can’t miss your first day.”

I let out one last sigh, opened the door and hopped out of the van.

“Bye, honey, I love you! Have a good day,” Mom exclaimed, loud enough where everybody could hear her.

I glared back and gave a frustrated wave as he heard some snickers from the sea of adolescence.

At that point, I knew that there was nothing I could do, so I put on my most confident face and made my way through the crowd of kids to begin middle school.