Am inceput din nou sa scriu. Stiu, stiu, inca n-am terminat ‘Level 2’, dar il voi termina. De data asta scriu despre liceeni si viata la liceu. Totul va fi sub forma unui jurnal, jurnalul personajului principal, care doar ce a inceput clasa a 9-a.
Dear Diary
September 15th, 2009
Dear diary,
I just want to start by saying how dumb it feels to actually write “dear diary” in my diary. As if you were a real person. I’ve always felt fond of the idea of keeping a diary and I actually tried it once before, when I was about 8 or 9 years old. It lasted for about three days, after which I gave up. Most boys don’t usually keep diaries anyway; maybe most people think it’s kind of a girl thing. I beg to differ.
Since today is my first day of high school, I thought it would be interesting to keep a diary starting today, something in which to write down my every high school experience so I could later in life read and be joyful of the great time I had in high school. I know, you’re probably wondering how I know high school is going to be so great. Well, let’s just say I have a good feeling about it. Everybody’s always telling me how high school is the start of the rest of my life, how everyone changes in high school and how everyone’s perspective on the world and the people surrounding us changes. High school is, supposedly, a defining period of our life. High school prepares us for the real world. Well, I guess it’s all probably true, but I don’t think about it much. I just like to live in the moment, make my future as I go and not over think anything. I feel bad though for all the friends I’m leaving behind. I’m going to miss every single one of my ex-colleagues, even the ones I didn’t like so much. I just know it. I already do. But hey, at least in high school I’m supposedly going to start friendships that are going to last for the rest of my life, which sounds pretty awesome.
So, like I said, today was the first day of school. I am really nervous about my colleagues, I hope they’ll like me and I hope I’ll like all of them. This morning I walked in a class full of strange faces I had never seen before. It felt weird thinking that these strangers would be my colleagues for the next four years, some of which will probably become good friends of mine and some of which might become enemies (I sure hope not). I sat in the front row, next to a weird looking kid who immediately introduced himself and shook my hand in a friendly manner and another kid who I didn’t get to talk to because he was busy talking to some other kids. I felt kind of weird. Everyone was talking as if they had known each other for a long time. I had no one, except the weird kid next to me, whose mom, by the way, was pretty excited to see him talking to me and even asked me my name and where I lived. I guess weirdness runs in the family, huh?
Anyway, after exchanging phone numbers with this kid (NOT my idea), our class master came in and greeted us all. She is a fairly short woman, probably in her late thirties, brown hair and brown eyes. Calling her slim would be an exaggeration. Calling her fat would be a bit too much, but closer to the truth. She seems really nice. She said that for the next four years we would be like a family and that we are going to have some great times together. That sounds pretty good to me. She said her name was Scott. Helen Scott. I swear that’s exactly how she said it. I felt like I was in a James Bond movie. A movie in which he has a sex change and becomes Helen Scott. Never mind, I’m delusional. Apparently, there are 7 girls in our class and 22 boys. I know, it sucks. The girls are ok, if you know what I mean, but that’s pretty much it.
Half-way through Mrs. Scott’s speech, some guys and girls came in, all happy and cheery. At first I was like “WTF?”, but apparently those are our class master’s former students, which graduated. They all seemed sorry to go and they all seemed really attached to Mrs. Scott. That made me feel pretty good, knowing that the last people who stood in that class-room were really fond of Mrs. Scott. I began wondering if I’ll be like that when I graduated, but I was interrupted by the weird kid next to me who asked me how old I was. What the hell, dude, I’m in the ninth grade, same as you. How old do you think I am? I’m 15. Anyway. Everything was over pretty quick. By 11 o’clock we were already getting ready to leave. I think some of the kids in my class hung-out afterwards. I wish I had gone with them, but I’m not really good around new people. I feel intimidated. But hey, look on the bright side; I’ve got four years to get to know them. So I guess this is pretty much it. My first day of high school.
Is there, like, something that people say when ending a diary entry? Like, “this is me, signing off”, or something? Come on, I’m new at this, gimme’ a break. Oh, and P.S. My name’s Fields. Chris Fields. (Queue the Bond song)