I Accidentally Joined a 4th Grade Gang
Boy, was my mom pissed
Starting fourth grade was a huge milestone for me. I had made it! I was officially in the highest grade in elementary school and those pesky little 3rd graders would bow down and kiss the whiskers on my new rainbow cat Sketchers. No light-up sneaks with coiled laces for this gal.
I felt like royalty as I walked past the kindergarteners having their heads picked through with tongue depressors by nurses during their weekly head lice check.
I was indeed a rockstar as I passed Ms. Maylor’s 2nd-grade music class banging on metal triangles with tiny wands.
I walked quickly passed Mrs. Pitri’s 3rd-grade classroom. (But not too quickly. I wasn’t trying to get a speeding ticket from the hall police.) I didn’t need her embarrassing me by saying “hi” in front of all her new impressionables.
I arrived to class in my finest overall dress and dangly tie-dye mushroom earrings that matched my mushroom haircut and raced for the seat closest to Mr. Martin’s desk. What luck no one had yet claimed the desk nearest to the teacher! He would call on me every time, for sure!
I unpacked my self-bedazzled backpack as I perched like a queen on her throne. My desk was so close to Mr. Martin’s, I could see the reflection of the water-damaged…
