The life of a Spring Grove student

Beep! Beep! Beep!

I switch my alarm off and stumble through the house to the bathroom. Every morning I glance at the clock, and every morning I am amazed that, yes, I really am jumping in the shower at 5:30 a.m.

I can expect the school bus several minutes before 6:30. As I climb on, Kim Alexander and Scott Donato are chattering cheerfully between country tunes on Great Country 107.7. I settle in and open up a pack of crackers for breakfast. It’s likely that I am the only Spring Grove student who loves riding the bus.

Once at school at 7 a.m., I have 25 minutes to wander the halls, go to my locker, complete homework, or catch up with friends and teachers. At 7:20 someone chooses a song to pump over the loudspeakers. I’ve promised $5 to anyone who can correctly predict the song before it plays, but so far, no one’s had any luck.

Then it’s off to first period, global studies, a history course. I’m not a big fan of history, but I love global studies, if only because our eccentric, fiery teacher. We have an extensive bell collection in the back of the room, and we sometimes start class by ringing one. It’s a “bell-ringer,” or warm-up, but not in the sense admin had in mind.

After global it’s time for trig. A pretty mellow class.

Then I’m off to another highlight of my day, sociology. Both the subject and the teacher keep my interest. As it turns out, sociology is a class of confessions. Relatively generic class discussions turn into small-scale tell-alls about personal inadequacies, family scandals, and embarrassing childhood memories.

Next I head over to Spanish, and after that, I have sixth period lunch. It appears that everyone at my table except me is doing homework for AP European history.

While they’re struggling through that class next period, I have a low-key journalism class in a computer lab. Well, low-key unless final drafts or layouts are due at the end of the period. Then the usual laughing and banter of my classmates takes a negative turn.

Period 9/10 chemistry isn’t far down the hall. I’m usually one of the first people to get there, so sometimes my teacher and I chat as everyone else shows up. Having been tenuously raised Roman Catholic myself, I love her musings on her days in Catholic school and her various experiences at Mass. The difference between us: She maintains a strong Catholic faith, and I don’t.

After chem there are only two 42-minute periods left in the day, English and career skills. Interestingly enough, my English class, which focuses on American literature this year, is taught by an English teacher. Literally, you know, a British person. She came to the U.S. when she was 15, and she’s only in her 20s now. I will say that she has a lovely accent. But the irony of a former Briton teaching American lit never fails to amuse me.

Career skills is a required class for graduation. You know what that means: Slacker Central. I happen to sit next to one of those slackers (he’d admit it himself). Apparently he writes raps, and if he ever gets famous, I get to be his manager. Strangely, I really enjoy sitting next to him. I get to vicariously live the slacker life through him without my grades actually suffering.

At 2:30 p.m., the halls explode with life for the last time of the day as we race to our lockers and find our transportation home. For me that means another bus ride and more country music. I reflect on the day to the sounds of Toby Keith, Rascal Flatts, and Lady Antebellum.

It seems like only a few hours pass before I wake up again: Beep! Beep! Beep!

One day later–it’s time to start over.

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