First Day, Last Year Of Middle School

Part 1

Tick-tock. “Oliver!” My mom’s voice echoes up the stairs. “Your alarms have been ringing for five times already!” I groan, burying my face into the pillow. “I’m up!” I lied. The truth is that I barely slept last night. I said I went to bed at eight, but really it was at ten, maybe even later. My stomach twisted all night, thinking about the first day of eighth grade. New teachers, new classes… maybe even new friends. I drag myself out of bed, brush my teeth, and stare at the mountain of clothes on my chair. What should I wear? After a full minute of panicking, I pick my clean white t-shirt and black pants. It is always a safe choice. The smell of breakfast pulls me downstairs. My Mom’s made me eggs, bacon, and pancakes stacked high with syrup, with a glass of orange juice. “Eat up,” she says with a smile. “Big day.” “Yeah…” I mumble, but the butterflies in my stomach are throwing a party.

At School:

The car ride feels like five seconds and five hours at the same time. My school isn’t that far from my house but my heartbeat sure travels miles. When I walked through the eighth grade entrance, I spotted Jack, my best friend. “Jack!” I wave, relieved to see at least one familiar face. We need to head to the auditorium since we're way too early. The air is buzzing with nervous energy and the sound of kids catching up after summer. I ask Jack what classes are you in and of course, we’re not in the same class. When it’s time to go, we split up, promising to meet at lunch. I walk to the third floor, trying not to trip on my own shoes, when a girl suddenly calls my name. “Oliver? From karate?” It’s Cindy! I barely recognize her without her uniform. “Yeah! I didn’t know you went there.” We laugh awkwardly. Luckily, Ms.Cynthia, my algebra teacher, helps us. My homeroom teacher is with Ms.Doodle and she is also my biology teacher who seems nice enough  though her name makes half the class giggle and she takes attendance. I find my seat next to Louis, another old friend.

Starting Classes:

First up we have Spanish class with Mr. Gómez. He’s energetic and funny, the kind of teacher who claps his hands and says, “¡Vamos!” every two minutes. We spend the class guessing each other’s favorite foods and colors. I learned that one kid’s favorite animal is a ferret. Weird right. Next is chorus class, and I spot Michael is still as loud and dramatic as ever. He gives me a salute across the room. Then algebra. Oh boy. The room feels way too serious. There’s this one kid who already knows pre-calculus. He answers every question before the teacher even finishes asking. Ms. Cynthia, our teacher, smiles politely but looks slightly terrified for us. Biology comes next. We make name tags and do a safety lab, which involves a lot of talk about no eating and no drinking chemicals. By lunchtime, it feels like I’ve survived a week, not a morning. The cafeteria looks different, everyone's had a glow-up over summer. I find Jack and Louis, unwrap the pasta my mom packed, and we just talk. It feels normal for a second. After lunch algebra again. Yay. We play “spot the difference,” which is kind of fun, until I realize I’m terrible at spotting anything. Finally, English. Mr. Vincent and Ms. Carol introduces themselves, they seem chill and we play Scattergories. I actually won a round with “lavender flavored soap.” Don’t ask. We would have social studies next, but the teachers, Mr. Emerson and Mr. Connor, aren’t here yet. Lucky break. When the final bell rings, I practically fly out the door.

After School:

Back home, Mom’s waiting with spaghetti and meatballs, my favorite. “So?” she asks, smiling. “How was the first day?” I thought about it. The nerves, the laughter, the awkward hellos, the too smart algebra kid, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this year might not be so bad after all. "It was… a lot,” I say, grinning. “But I think I’m gonna like eighth grade.”

The End!

Part 2: Our Decision

The next morning, my alarm blares again but this time, I’m already awake. Today’s the Club and High School Decision, and everyone’s been talking about it for all week. I pull on my hoodie, grab a granola bar, and race downstairs. “Slow down, Oliver,” Mom says, laughing. “You’ll get there before the teachers do.” “Can’t risk it. Today’s important.” She smiles knowingly. “Ah, the big decision day. Don’t overthink it, okay?” Too late for that.

At School:

The hallways buzz louder than usual. Posters cover the walls Drama Club Find Your Spotlight! Soccer Team Tryouts Friday! STEM Club Where Ideas Explode! The gym’s been turned into a fairground of possibilities. Tables line every corner, and the air smells like popcorn and ambition. Jack runs up beside me, waving a flyer. “Dude, check this out Robotics Club is giving away candy and building drones!” “Of course you’d go where the snacks are,” I tease. He smirks. “At least I have a plan.” I don’t. Not really. Louis wants to join the music club because he’s been obsessed with the guitar lately. Cindy’s torn between art clubs she says she wants to High school. The word hits me like a surprise quiz.

The Choice:

We’re supposed to pick a high school “interest program.” My school partnered with a few arts, STEM, sports, and general studies. Jack’s going STEM, no surprise. Louis is thinking music focused. Cindy’s eyeing arts. And me? I don’t know where I belong. I wander between the tables, my head spinning. Ms. Doodle finds me by the biology booth. “Still deciding, Oliver?” she asks gently. “Yeah,” I admit. “Everyone seems to know where they’re going. I don’t want to pick the wrong thing.”She smiles. “Sometimes the right decision isn’t clear right away. You just have to start somewhere the rest follows.” Her words echo in my head as I walk away. I stopped at a table I hadn’t noticed before Creative Writing and Journalism Club. There’s a small display of student-made magazines and a handwritten sign that says “Tell your story.” Something about it pulls me in.

A Change of Heart:

At lunch, Jack’s already bragging about how he signed up for robotics. Louis got his name on the music club list, and Cindy’s practically glowing after signing up for the art club. They all look at me. “So?” Jack says. “What’d you choose?” I take a deep breath. “Creative Writing.” They blink. “Writing?” Louis says. “Like… essays?” I shake my head. “No, like stories. Journalism. I like putting stuff into words kind of helps me figure things out.” Cindy grins. “That’s actually perfect for you.” For a second, I feel… sure.

Later That Day:

After school, Mom picks me up. “So, what’d you decide?” “I joined the writing club,” I told her. “And I think… I want to apply to the arts high school.”She smiles so wide I think her face might light up the whole car. “That sounds like your kind of adventure.”I stare out the window as the sun sets, thinking about everything how nervous I was yesterday, how uncertain I felt this morning, and how, somehow, things are starting to make sense. Maybe it’s not about knowing the perfect answer. Maybe it’s about daring to make our decision and seeing where it takes us.

Part 3: The End of the Year

The last bell of the school year hasn’t even rung yet, but the hallways already buzz with summer energy. Posters are half torn off from the walls and everyone’s talking about high school like it’s the next great adventure. I can’t believe it’s almost over. Eighth grade the year I thought would never end flew by faster than I ever expected.

Graduation day:

The gym is unrecognizable. The basketball hoops are gone, replaced with rows of folding chairs, blue and white balloons, and a huge banner that reads: “Class of 2026 Our Story Continues.” I sit in the third row, tugging at the collar of my dress shirt. The air smells like flowers, perfume, and nerves. My heart beats so fast, it almost drowns out the music playing softly from the speakers. This is it. 

Before the Ceremony:

Jack taps my shoulder from behind. “Can you believe it? We actually made it.” “Barely,” I joke, but I’m smiling. Louis is tuning his guitar on stage he’s performing with the music club during the ceremony. Everyone’s dressed up, everyone’s buzzing, and everyone’s pretending not to be emotional. Ms. Doodle passes by, smiling proudly. “You’ve all grown so much,” she says. “Now go show the world who you are.”

The Speeches:

When the ceremony begins, the principal welcomes everyone, and then our class president gives a speech. She talks about friendship, growth, and how middle school was “the prologue to our story.” Then, out of nowhere, I hear my name. “Next, a few words from our Journalism Club representative Oliver.” My stomach drops.  I didn’t know I was speaking today. But I walk to the podium anyway, my hands shaking. I glance at my friends in the crowd. Jack gives me a thumbs up, Louis mouths “You got this,” and Cindy lifts her camera, ready to capture the moment. I take a deep breath and start “When I walked into this school on the first day of middle school, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be.  I thought I had to have everything figured out what I liked, where I was going, who my friends were. But these three years, I learned something different. I learned that life isn’t about having all the answers, it's about having the courage to start writing your story, even when the page is blank.” The crowd claps. I exhale. And when I step down, I feel lighter than I have all year.

The Moment:

Names are called one by one. Jack, Louis, Cindy, Oliver and the rest of the graduation class. I walk across the stage, shake the principal’s hand, and take my diploma. The lights feel warm, the applause echoes, and for the first time, I’m not nervous. I’m proud.

After the Ceremony:

Outside, the air is filled with laughter, hugs, and parents snapping photos. Caps fly into the sky like blue fireworks Jack grins. “High school, here we come.” Louis adds, “We should make a band and a school paper mix music with stories!” Cindy laughs. “And I’ll photograph it all.” I smile, looking around at my friends, my teachers, my school, the place where everything started. Maybe growing up isn’t about leaving things behind.  Maybe it’s about carrying them with you  the memories, the lessons, the people as you keep writing your story. As we walk off the school grounds for the last time, the sun sets behind us, golden and bright just like the future waiting ahead. The End but every ending is just another beginning. 

The Goodbye:

On the last day of school, I walk through the hallways one final time. Jack signs my yearbook: “Don’t forget me when you’re famous for writing!” Louis writes: “High school jam sessions soon!” Cindy adds: “Stay true to your story.”When the final bell rings, everyone cheers and suddenly, it hits me and everyone starts balling their eyes out. We’re not just leaving middle school. We’re leaving a second home. Outside, the sun is shining. Parents wait, teachers wave goodbye, and laughter and tears fill the air. I turn to my friends. “So… high school,” I say. “You ready?” Jack grins. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”  Louis nods. “Let’s make it count.” Cindy smiles. “Our next chapter starts now.” As we walk toward the parking lot, I look back at the building one last time. It’s strange I used to be terrified of change. But now, it feels exciting because every story needs an ending… before a new one can begin.

The first thing I notice is the noise. High school is loud, crowded hallways, slamming lockers, laughter echoing down long corridors. It’s been one year since eighth grade graduation. One year since we said goodbye to middle school. And somehow, I’m already halfway through my freshman year.

New Halls, Same Friends:

Jack’s carrying a box full of robotics parts down the hall. “Oliver, help me before I drop a motor on my foot!” he yells. I grab one side of the box, laughing. “Still building robots that nearly explode?” “Only sometimes,” he grins. Louis appears next, guitar strapped to his back, headphones around his neck. “Music lab after school,” he says. “You’re coming, right?” Cindy walks up last, holding her camera of course. She’s already joined the photography club and writes for the high school newspaper with me. “Smile,” she says, snapping a photo before I can even blink. Some things never change  and I’m glad.

Finding My Place:

After school, I sit in the journalism room, my favorite place on campus. The hum of computers, the soft clicking of keyboards, the smell of printer ink… it’s like my own little world.I’m working on an article called “Starting Over: The Art of New Beginnings.” It’s about how scary but exciting it is to start fresh. Because even though we’re all growing, changing, and chasing new dreams, there’s still that same spark from last year. That same group of kids who used to get lost in the eighth grade hallways. Now we just get lost in bigger ones.

A Familiar Feeling:

As I walk home, I pass the old middle school. The building looks smaller now, but something inside me warms when I see it. I think about my first day of eighth grade the nerves, the chaos, the feeling that everything was about to change. And I realize: that feeling never really goes away. It just becomes part of who you are.

The New Chapter

That night, I opened my journal, the same one I started last year. On the last page of the old section, I’d written: “Every story needs an ending before a new one can begin.”Now, I add a new line underneath: “But some stories never really end; they just keep growing.” I close the notebook and smile. Tomorrow, there will be more stories to write, more choices to make, and more adventures waiting. And for once, I’m not nervous. I’m ready