7th Grade Stories: Entry 1

Occasionally I do write about things not concerning the Bachelor. I'm working on two memoir series one called Seventh Grade Stories, and the other will be titled Bus Stories. Some of these posts will be sad, but most of them are too funny and embarrassing to not record. I Hope you enjoy them. And how about this 7th grade picture? 

When I was 13 my family moved from Sandy, Ut to Draper, Ut. The distance between where I grew up and where I was suppose to finish growing up was approximately a 20 minute car ride. However, for my sisters and I it meant a change of schools and a change in friends. Soon it would become a changed life.   

I, being a very reasonable adolescent, thought my parents did this to me, at this time because, of course, they hated me and wanted my life as I knew it to be over. Like I said, I was reasonable.

My parents dream home took quite awhile to build. By the time the new school year came around we still were living in Sandy. My parents thought it best to start the new school year out at our new schools. This was the worst possible decision my parents could have made. And keep in mind my dad did wear pleated khaki short-shorts in the 90’s.

I remember my mom driving me to my new school on my first day. “When we move you’ll get to take the bus. Won’t that be fun?” She said. I hopped in the front seat of our tan mini van. Mom looked over at me, “Oh, and honey I know I promised to let you wear a little makeup, now that you’re a seventh grader it must have slipped my mind. We’ll get you some this weekend.” As if I wasn’t nervous enough. Now, I was going to be the only girl not wearing makeup.

I walked into the school, wearing no make up, tan pants, a purple sweater vest with a bold strip across the chest and light brown Doc Martins. I think the outfit was okay, except for the fact that it was entirely too hot for the end of August.

I found my locker right away, but was unable to open it. It was a top locker, and my short stature didn’t allow me to the numbers once they spun to the top arrow. I couldn’t ask for a bottom locker, no one wanted a bottom locker that would be social suicide.

There was a girl next to me opening her locker, she was gorgeous, probably because her mom remembered to buy her some makeup. She had curly blond hair. She seemed awfully cool and collected for the first day of school. Must be a 9th grader, I thought. She looked down at me and said, “You have really pretty hair.”

“Oh thanks,” I said quietly. My hair was dark, thick and fell well below my underdeveloped chest. My mom insisted I wear my hair long, never allowing more than a trim. My whole life people raved about how beautiful my hair was. It must have been like Joe from Little Women. My hair as my only beauty.

I kept my backpack and resolved to figure out my locker problem later. I looked down at my schedule. First period Room 201. I walked right into room 201 and sat down. I had found my first class, alas something had gone right. I took another glance at the my schedule the teacher’s name read, Mrs. Pfeifer. The teacher at the front of the class didn’t look like a Mrs. My chest tightened, oh no I’m in the wrong class. The class all stood up and began to recite the pledge of allegiance. I knew this was my chance to escape, but where would I go. This is room 201! The class sat back down and the teacher began taking roll. I knew I wasn’t going to be on the roll. He slowly read through the names, “Tanya Mortenson.”

“Here,” Said Tonya. We past the M’s now it was onto the P’s. I’m a P. I listened intently. “Joy Price.” The teacher read. Joy Price was my cousin. I knew for sure I was in the wrong class, Joy was a year older than me. But at least I knew somebody.

“If any of you did not hear your name then you are in the wrong class.” I stood up not knowing what I was going to do, or where I was going to head. Just as I began to walk out Joy said to the teacher, “I’ll just help her find her class.” The teacher gave her a nod of approval. Joy walked toward me and I thought for a moment that she must be the love of my life. Joy looked like me. Short with really dark hair and olive skin. She was family, and on that day she was a saint. She showed me that room 201 actually held three different classes within it.

“Could this be your class?” She pointed around the wall-like barrier. The chalkboard in this section of the room read, Mrs. Pfeifer.

“Yes, thank you Joy.” Joy went back to her class I found a desk as quickly as I could.

“And your name is?” Mrs. Pfeifer asked. “I’m Lindy Phippen.”

“Did you have a little trouble finding the class?”

“Yes, sorry.” I was so embarrassed I could have cried.

(p.s. Who knew saving my 7th grade yearbook would prove to be such an invaluable keepsake? Oh My!)