The life On An 8th Grader: Advice & What to Expect for The New 8th Grader

8th Grade

   We've all been through 8th grade. In fact, I'm still trying to survive through it. The last year of middle school, no actual school work now, and 5 days left until summer fun shakes our hands.

   But seriously, this grade wasn't a breeze. Much work, gossip, despicable teachers and we spent countless of days dealing with it. And now you 7th graders get to steal a year long taste of 8th grade! Here's what you'll need to look forward to!

Work

  I know you don't like it, no one does. But those 5 math problems and 20 pages of your 7th grade class novel won't kill you like 8th grade work will. 5 short assignments most of them seeming like college level work.  I can't complain though! So many easy assignments come also.  Essays are the worst! We don't have a limit on them but still.. Who really likes essays anyway regardless of the length? Then comes the EOGs: Science, Math and Reading. Don't think that because you use your strategies that it helps. Well it does, but it doesn't seem like it to an 8th grader. And you shouldn't forget your end of year exams. You thought it was over? Don't kid yourself! You're grades are your life line. Don't have good grades and turn in your work on time? You might as well just rip up your homework and projects then kiss your middle school graduation goodbye.

Principles

Well in 7th grade, your principle is sorta sweet and innocent to you right? I mean.. your new to the school and you barely know the rules so he should be nice right? NO. In 8th grade, you are basically the ruler and superior grade. There's only two grades in my middle school anyway, so when you get to 8th, he or she we expect the most out of you. It's a softer military school to you in 8th grade. Especially with a principle like mine.

 

Teachers And Their Pets

I wouldn't get excited about your teachers! When you meet them, they are pretty nice, but some... some are tricky. They'll have high expectations, give tons of homework and treat their 'teachers pets' with the highest respect. Unlike you who will just drown in the waves of homework while the 'pet' is drooling suck-up slobber and acting 'good'. Try not to be a teachers pet though, your classmates will thank you and your physical health will too. Bullies don't like teacher's pets to well.

Cliques

You thought that they were only in movies. No no no. They're real, and they're in middle school as well in high school. I bet you already knew that though, huh? In 8th grade, you'll fall in the hands of a clique. The jocks, peps, emos, and others. Jerks, smarties, and undercover druggies. You probably already have a small clique in 7th grade, and that's not even comparable to the 8th grade cliques. We're in large numbers. And most of the time, we're all against each other.

Advice: Must Read!

Hey! Don't be scared about 8th grade! You'll make it through as long as you:

• Wear your uniforms correctly
• Don't be a teachers pet
• Don't slack off
• Get with the right people
• AND don't get bad grades!

Try to have a good year next year. Don't worry about the scary things, and just focus on the positive. See you in high school. :)



Zombie (Part 3)

A new partner, huh? After what I've seen I'm not sure if I need another life in my hands. Or is it my life that's in his now. I popped a cheese ball in my mouth which muffled my voice.
"Is there anybody else here but us?" I said.
"No, I was thinking you had some people with you."  He said.
"No..." My eyes started to tear up and my bottom lip began to quiver. Jumping around like a grasshopper. Not being able to hold it in any longer, I busted out in tears.
"No, I've been driving myself, parents dead, brother and sister.. DEAD." I tried to suck it up like a 'big girl', but the salty droplets of sadness kept flowing from my eyes.
"Oh, I'm sorry I-"
No, no. It's okay. I'm just the emotional type, you know? I cant kill a zombie or even a deer for dinner without sobbing for ten minutes." I said, trying to sound a little funny to lighten the moment. Thane grabbed me and gave me a giant hug.
"Shhhh. Just hush." He whispered. His voice was so comforting then. "I have to tell you that while we're in this position, I should snap your neck... You aren't supposed to know I'm here." My eyes widened and I jerked away from his grip, but he held on tightly to my arm.
"Um.. please don't kill me. I wont tell a soul. I mean, I cant even tell anybody anyway!" I pleaded.
"You can stay." Just like that? Seriously? This guy just threatened my life!
"Yeah, um okay."
"Come on I'm about to make the food."

   It was night time and Thane was making a fire for our food. The leafs he was rustling behind me made me jump from paranoia. I guess I could trust him, but I wasn't so sure about him. Something about the way he smiled or the way he'd look at me, made him awkward. But I didn't linger on the thought. He lifted a heavy branch and I noticed a big scar on his arm.
"Hey.. uh." I stuttered trying to shake out the nervousness from my voice. Where did you get that?"
"The branch?" He yelled back in confusion. "I got-"
"No, durh. I'm talking about that scar. The one on your left arm." I felt weird calling him names already, considering I've only known him for an hour or two. But he seemed comfortable around me. I guess not to many zombies have a taste for him, because he doesn't come off as a paranoid guy.
"Oh. Um.. Uh. Sooo..." You could tell he was trying to cook and prepare his story by the way he stalled. "Were you born with it? What is it." I demanded. His stalling was aggravating me.
"Just come sit by me and I'll tell you a long boring story about my life." He grinned. I came over, and sat on the branch which was more like a giant log, and he began.
"When I was 15, my mom and dad were arguing about whether we should move to another country when the quarantines started. I had no clue what was going to happen. I came downstairs, and their voices started getting louder and louder. Then the Isolators came, and busted through the door. My mom screamed like she was being killed, and my dad..." He paused for a minute.
"No! Don't stop telling!" I begged. 'Please continue!"
"My dad, uh. He was shot." A thin, long stream of tears spilled on his cheek. "The Isolators grabbed him and shot him straight in the head. BAM. That was the end. One of them took my mom and I never seen her again. Well, the scar on my arm came from an Isolator also. He snatched me up, and the knife on his gun punctured my arm and sliced it open."
"Wow. It's nice to know" I sounded highly sarcastic. "I mean.. I didn't mean it that way. What I meant to say was that it's nice to know a little bit more about you. And I'm sorry about your mom, and dad. That kind-of sounds like my story. But, how old are you? 18?" Questioning so much, I felt like I was a game show host, and he was the nervous, sweaty contestant.
"I'm 16. Working and hunting made me so buff." He said, trying to brag. I rolled my eyes at him and let out a short laugh.
"So I see you are quite conceited, huh?" I smirked.
"No not really, just thought I need to make you smile. You seemed put down after I told you my story."
"Cool. I'm fine, but we need some sleep."
   We walked inside the little store, and he showed me the way to what looked like an office. I made my self comfortable, killing spiders from under the blankets and inspecting the rest of the back rooms.. paranoia. When he finally laid down and I trusted my self not to shoot at any small noises, I put my bowie knife under my pillow and my military knife in my lower pocket on my cargos, then rested my head and fell right to sleep.
   The next morning, I stumbled out of my sleeping quarters and found Thane in the another room that he was sleeping in. It was more crowded than the one I was in.
"Hey," He said in a low voice. "I was thinking that maybe we should get out of here, you know? You have a car, and there's a little gas station about 3 miles away from here that we could fill up the tank with. I have a bunch of 1 gallon gas jugs that we could fill up too."
"I was thinking that exact thing!" I was really. I'd been hopping from place to place before The Society was formed. It's hard to break that habit. Especially if you think there's a troop of zombies and Isolators after you all the time.
"That's great. I'll go get the jugs, and you sit here and wake up." He smiled. He was very excited to leave out of here. "Oh yeah. Go start the car and pack up on food. I mean literally try to fit every crumb of food in this place in the car!"
"I will." I said, sounding as slow, and tired as a slug.
   As I was loading the car, I noticed a thick black substance coming from underneath the car and a low humming noise. I didn't acknowledge it until the the front of the car began to smoke. Thane came out with the jugs.
"Laura! Get away from the car!" He demanded. WHOOSH, BOOM! The whole car exploded with half our guns, and most of the ammunition. My ears were ringing and I was in complete shock. Thane was shielding me with his body.
"Oh, my, God.." I said. "What the- how and why?"
"Listen, I have a couple camping bags in the room farthest back of the store. Go and fill them with what ever you can. I'll get the guns, but you need to hurry."
"Why-"
"GO, NOW!" He shouted. Gathering food into the 3 backpacks, I cleared rows of supplies. I ran back outside with the heavy luggage.
"Hey, I got the supplies, now tell me why my car just burst like a bubble, and why you yelled at me!" I questioned. He'd put the fire out with a couple of fire exstinguishers and he was studying the car.
"Somebody did this.. I mean, this couldn't have been an accident." He explained.
"But how? I was out here the entire time filling the car with the supplies!" I said in confusion. "Seriously, it's impossible for someone to slip by me that quickly!"
"Laura..." He paused, thinking. "Someone knows we're here."













  





(This is Part 3 of Zombie)
P.s This story will be continued!

My Roots.

I am a mixing bowl of cultures
A swirling tornado of faces
I am a marble sculpture
Dotted with many races

I am "diverso da molti."
I'm not the same
I'll "nie wie jemand anderes zu sein."
I have my own name

A Latin first name and a Irish last
My cells are camouflage
not in a way of blending in
but to stand out like a colorful collage.

I'm not you.
Nor am I me
But I'm the product of a diverse family.
-Leaciie-

The Word We Live In - A Wake Up Call

Look at  yourself. Have you noticed our society? Our media? Look at how these little girls are comparing their young bodies to plastic play mates. Not even fully developed and worrying about life, and who will accept them.

"Mommy? Will I look like her?" she questions.
"Yes darling, just as beautiful."

But no. No little girl will ever grow up to be those 'beautiful' women that elegantly pose in the magazines, and float through the T.v screens and sing on the MP3s.
Little boys staring at the bottles of there their daddy's cologne shaped like a mans body. Hoping, and wishing that maybe one day they'll be just as strong. Just as built as that bottle. The media that we follow is so fake. We wake up and stare at our bodies and think of the pencil thin women, and the praise they receive. So many modifications, and makeup we don't realize is there. Makeup and modifications we will never have. Besides, who wants to risk the sake of their natural beauty for BOTOX or implants?
These 'Barbies' do. You're not a Barbie, you're not a model. You will never be. So what are you? You're beautiful. And boys, you are handsome. And let no one tell you differently.

I love food
I love me
but not the color teal :(

That’s all about me
Y’all know me anyway
I’ve told about my self
Now please go away

-Leaciie♥

Sometimes, School is cruel.

That is ultimately the lesson known by students worldwide.
   Sometimes homework is given in abundance. Sometimes school work isn't present and boringness seeps in. Sometimes the cold class air smacks your face like a fist.  Sometimes bullies terrorize kids. And sometimes, principles stomp and scream for no reason.
   Sometimes, school is cruel.
   And always, when it is, we act the same way. We get attitudes. We mope and groan, we finally wake up and socialize, we work. And we drag our self around. This is the price of being a teen.
   But what if you did this every single day?
   Surely some tired, aggravated student could be forgiven for thinking it is always this way, after months and years of writing and drawing maps, charts and yelled at by short substitute teachers, these 5ft 3in substitutes. Surely, our parents at work, coming home to listen to our school tales at the comfort of their thoughts that they are glad to be out of our situation, are tempted to believe the same.
   Bad enough, school programs are lame. Bad enough kids are bullied everyday and some to scared to ask "Can you help me?", of being governed by people they barely know. Bad enough, all that, yet at the end of the school year what we learned we wont remember, we don't care to remember, our young minds don't want to remember. So what's the point?
   Sometime, though, you have to wonder if all this information being temporarily programed in our brains, will be used later.
   After the 90's, when most of us were born, after daycare, the first school year when we only colored and took naps, when 2nd grade brought kiddy books, after 3rd grade brought us our first EOGS, and 4th grade a field trip we actually enjoyed, after all that, comes this wave of boringness - and a cut of funds that take out some of the important parts of expression, like art, like they did last year to my school. So we somewhat retaliate. Some of us who's life rested in the class. Then we get in trouble for fighting for what class we actually liked.
   Sometimes, school is cruel. But what else are you going to do? As a teacher said "we'll right you up if you do that again, or if suspension is necessary, then that too." Even less have we the ability to say what our parents told us to say when the time comes: Tell them too call me if it's such a problem.
  We are hamstrung by rules, and limitations, so we can only do what we always do, only wish this school year was over. And watch, amazed at there life, as our parents lounge and party, the thing we can only wish we could do at our age without the lingering guilt of "I didn't do my homework."
   Worry about grades. Get mad and aggravated at teachers. Wish that our parents life were ours. Keep pushing forward. And show our parents and teachers and guardians that we are miserable.