Rumorson Middle School

Written by Max Savin

RUMORSON MIDDLE SCHOOL

DYLAN

“Ehh! Ehh! Ehh!” My alarm clock screamed with news, today was going to be the worst day of the year. Today was the first day of school and I was not looking forward to it. I am in 8th grade now, and for the past two years, after the first day of school I have started counting down the days until school ends. Most kids can take at least a week of school before hating it, it only takes me one period before I hate it. This year, on the first day of school I won’t be fooled. Usually on the first day of school teachers act all nice, but then a couple weeks later they are giving you gobbs of homework and are either boring, mean or both. Overall I hate the first day of school, if I had to give it a grade it would be worse than an F. I decided to pull the classic teenager, so I spammed the snooze button on my alarm clock until my mom yelled at me to get up. “Get up already Dylan, it is 7:50! The bus comes in ten minutes!” yelled my mom. “Oops! Looks like I overslept.” I yelled back. I would be yelling the same thing every day of school year. I put on some random clothes, sprinted down the stairs, skipped breakfast and barely made my ride, the bus. This would be my usual routine. The bus is a way to transport a bunch of different kids, in one small vehicle, with no seat belts, to a child prison called school. The only thing worse than riding the bus to school with crazy and nervous kids is homework. At school, teachers torture you and bore you to death. But it doesn’t stop there, because no student is allowed to have any free and fun time, teachers torture you at home by ruining your day with gobs of homework. But when I sat down in the bus, I meet a kid that is rumored to actually like homework.

FRED

You wanna hear a dirty joke? A boy fell in a puddle. You wanna hear a clean joke? He took a bath. Where would you learn ice cream? At Sundae school. These along with countless other things are thoughts in my head that I am too scared to share with anyone. Fred stood at 4 feet, 7 inches and weighed 70 pounds. Fred was the shortest and near the skinniest kid in eighth grade. Fred was extremely self conscious about his size. But what Fred lacked in size, he made up with his intelligence. You could ask any teacher, heck you could ask any person in town that had ever had a conversation with Fred, who the smartest kid in the city of Rumorson was and they would say Fred. Fred was a genius, he was more knowledgeable about any subject in school than the Tree of Knowledge itself. It wasn’t just what Fred knew, it was the way he talked. Fred would speak with such a great vocabulary, you would think he was being interviewed for a job. Fred talked with such a large vocabulary, when he talked his parents would have to remind Fred to speak English and not what they called dictionary. Fred’s parents were the only ones Fred was comfortable sharing his thoughts with. At school Fred was either know as the living calculator or dictionary. Even though Fred was a genius, he had poor social skills and struggled communicating with others. You may wonder how Fred became so smart. At a young age Fred, well it’s not mine to tell you but let’s just say Fred learned in the same day that success at academics was highly valued in his family, and he learned that he was not very athletic or good at sports. Fred decided to spend all his time learning and dedicated his time to being an extremely bright person. Fred was nervous for the first day of school to say the least. Every day of school Fred worried about bullies and fitting in. When Fred stepped off the bus he saw him. There he was, my mind went crazy. My body started to feel as cold as ice. My mind sent out the alarm indicating that a bully was near me. Standing only a couple feet away from me was the boy rumored to be the meanest kid in town. To me, he is also the scariest.

HECTOR

Rumorson County Jail, that is where I was before the first day of school. That is where I am before, after and if I feel like skipping class, during school. The scary looking building surrounded by barbed wire and filled with guards that is known as the county jail, is where my father has lived for 8 of the 13 years I have been alive. My father will stay there for at least another 7 years. My family is extremely poor, and my dad used crime, to keep our small apartment and provide enough money for us to eat. My dad could not get a job and felt he had no other choice. I vaguely remember when my dad lived with me, but I vividly remember the night the policeman came to our apartment and took him away. I felt furious because I couldn’t understand why this had happened to me. I took out my anger on the kids at school. Quickly the other kids became scared of me. I had been suspended multiple times when the principal said this was my last warning. My mother supports me by having 3 jobs. When she yelled at me when we got home, I promised to never get in trouble again. Now at school kids spread rumors about my father and me and are too scared to go near me. I walked to the visiting section of the jail and sat in front of my father behind glass. My mother has me visit my father not to remember him, but to remind me about the consequences of getting in trouble as an adult. She is always saying “Be good and stay out of trouble or you will end up like your father” every day before school. My mom comes to the jail but she never speaks with my dad, I know she can’t stand him and will never forgive him for what he did. When my dad committed crimes he would never tell my mother. She only figured out when the cops showed up. I knew about my dad’s crimes, but he made me promise never to tell my mom. That is a promise to this day I wish I had broken. Every time I see my dad I think to myself if I told my mom maybe things would have turned out differently. I had a short talk with dad, we can never make much conversation. I know it pains him to see me and yet not really be a part of my life. When my mom dropped me off at school I waited at the flagpole at the front of the school. I saw a luxurious sports car pull up and the boy that was rumored to be the richest kid in town step out of the car.

Calvin

If money could buy happiness my life would be perfect. Just like how everyone thinks it is. But my life is far from perfect. Almost every boy is jealous of me, but the ironic thing is that I wish I was them. I'm smart, athletic and incredibly rich, but I would throw it all away if it would make my parents love each other. My parents care about one thing, money. They love money more than anything else, even each other. And that's why the relationship doesn't work, the only thing they ever care about or talk about is money. My parents love money more than anything else in the world. My parents argue all the time. And it’s always about the dumbest things like, who pays for dinner or who has to fill our lexus with gas. They are the reason other countries think Americans are stupid. My parents argue all the time and it drives my siblings and me crazy. They usually argue about who has more money or who gets what if one of them dies or they divorce. Divorce, one of the scariest words in the world. The parents break apart and if there are kids they end up spending time with each parent separately but never together, like the kid wants. Divorce is a choice that I feel my parents will face very soon. The thought of my parents divorcing frightens me. My parents are too greedy to think about anything else besides money, and it has corrupted their hearts and soul. The irony is, I hate money and plenty of people want it so bad. And i’m surrounded by it. Money is just a metal circle or fancy paper, yet it rules and controls our lives. So @#%$ money, my parents and anyone who thinks my life is perfect. Money is the root of all evil. I walk into my school... (more to come JUST A PREVIEW)