Schafer 1

Alex Schafer

Mrs. Field

LNG 406

27 February 2011

A Day in an Alien World

I was the first one to get to class that day. There was no one for me to stop and talk to in

the hallway. I wondered into an empty classroom; it was just me and the teacher. It was Mrs.

Bower’s seventh grade Social Studies class. The rest of the class wondered in as someone came

over the intercom saying the pledge and the announcements. As class started Mrs. Bowers

introduced me to the class saying that I was a new student that had just moved to Augusta.

Everyone in the class looked at me, no salutations, just awkward stares. I was the only one that

paid attention any in class; everyone else just sat there talking to their friends. Friends, they had

become such a distant concept. When the bell rang, I wondered out of the classroom, preparing

myself for the journey to find my next class amid the hallways filled with unfamiliar faces. The

next class was similar to the first, but without the introduction, sitting in a desk, half listening to

the lesson, surrounded by more new people. Then still early in the period, a voice came on over

the intercom telling us to assume hard lockdown. I had no idea what was going on. I was told to

sit in the corner with everyone else and stay completely silent. As we sat there, people

whispered saying “It’s probably just a bomb threat.” A bomb threat? What kind of school is

this? My new classmates were saying this as casually as if saying “bless you” to a sneezer.

Despite my disbelief, this theory was confirmed later in the day. The most violent thing that had

ever happened at my old school was a fight, but never a bomb threat.
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It did not look like the day could get any worse than it already was, but third period

brought a whole new bag of surprises. Now I had to go outside and go to a portable. There was

nothing like this at my old school. A set of individual buildings, sporadically scattered

throughout the grass and poorly numbered. After embarrassingly asking for help from another

student, I managed to find my class, but I was late. This was obviously something that the

teacher, Señora Vasquez, did not approve of considering she scolded me despite my explanation

that I was a new student. And yet, this class still managed to get worse. It was Spanish and my

knowledge of the language was limited to counting from one to ten. It was soon evident that I

was behind considering that some kids could already speak in full sentences. We were supposed

to be talking about our weekends, which would be a simple task if it were not for the fact that we

were supposed to speak in Spanish. I proved to be a person of interest since no one knew who I

was. People constantly asked me questions such as “¿Qué es?” and “¿De donde?” All of these

were answered with a slightly confused “I don’t speak Spanish.” Every time that I spoke in

English I was scolded with an “¡En Español!” from Señora Vasquez. Since I could not speak

any Spanish I decided to sit in silence and study new vocabulary while everyone else conversed

amongst themselves. The questioning by my peers did make me wonder if I may actually make

friends.

The next class was not one for socializing; it was typing. We were supposed to sit quietly

while working on a computer program that gave us elementary sentences to type. This class

passed more slowly than the three before it, but this made the bell all the more rewarding. Fifth

period was very special. It was lunch period, a time when I could socialize and try to make

friends. Luckily there were only three other boys in my class so I could become aquanted with

them relatively easily. They were fairly hospitable, asking me where I was from and if I played
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any sports. These proved to be my first “friends.” While we did not start hanging out or

anything of that nature right away, they were people with whom I could talk to at school. This

was better than the complete lack of friends that I had had in the previous class periods.

The day was coming to a close. With just one class left I was ready to go home. I

walked into math and was told to sit at a table with three other people all of whom seemed to

know each other well. They asked me the typical “Where did you move from?” I responded

with a simple “Tennessee,” not being in the mood to talk. They then began commenting on how

I sounded like a “hick” and asked if I lived on a farm in Tennessee. Various comments

continued based mainly on asking if I did any stereotypical activities of southerners. This proved

to be a terrible end to a mediocre day. After school I waited outside to be picked up by my dad

and taken away from this new hell. Two of the people from my lunch table had the heart to let

me stand with them until their parents came for them. These two proved to be the best friends

that I had at the time, people that were kindhearted enough to accept me, “the new kid.” While it

did not seem like a big deal at the time, now I think that my first days would have been

impossible without their acceptance.