Middle school hunger games

I’d like to paint a little picture for you of how I “chose” my middle school, or junior high as it was called in my hometown.

My siblings and I piled into our 1990 red Suburban one warm August morning. My lips were frosted to pink perfection, I was 25 years ahead of the VSCO trend with my new hair Scrunchie, and my mom was on the verge of an aneurysm because we were already 10 minutes late. (Some things never change). We dropped my little sister off at the neighborhood elementary school, drove 5 minutes up the road to my new junior high school, I got out, and that was it.

Finito. Done. School chosen.

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