This is gonna be my DORKIEST story ever, but you-all need to be prepared, cuz I'm not gonna change this. This is stuff you need to know, especially 5th graders in Henrico County, thinking of going to Moody for IB. Or 8th graders in Henrico County thinking of going to Henrico in IB. Take a good look at what you've got now, and then think about what you want for your life. WHY do you want to do IB. And give me good reasons, people.
That was a big "typo" according to TextEdit. Oh well.
Anyways, when I was in 5th grade, I was a fairly unpopular, quiet munchkin who had, like, 3 friends, and hated my teacher. I HATED 5th grade because of my teacher. I'm not gonna name names, cuz she was a total English freak, but...yeah.
My friends were ... Kate and Amber and ... and ... Divya ... and, well, they were my 3 outstanding friends in 5th grade. Well, I looked at my friends, and I saw, "Hey, they're going to Moody, and all the kids going to Pocahontas are NOT my friends, besides Divya, and I want nothing to do with them, cuz they'll never be my friends. Except Divya."
So I applied for Moody. One thing I liked about applying was that we had to write about a prompt to get in. Well, I remember I wrote about my favorite book character, Ella of Frell. Wo0t. And I worked hard writing that.
Another reason I applied for Moody was probably because I was in the "advanced" math and language arts classes for 4th and 5th grades. So I had to prove myself. I loved writing. My knack was first recognized by Miss Wood, in 4th grade, and I miss her a ton.
Eh, I'm crazy. Missing my teachers and all.
I remember a bunch of kids from Moody came to visit. Blah blah blah. And then we got our letters.
See, even if you were accepted, you could still reject it, and so there was a waiting list for kids who had applied, but weren't THE best.
I got in right away, and accepted in a heartbeat.
When I went to the orientation at Moody, I have to admit, I was intimidated by the barbed-wire fences, the blocky architecture, the older kids, and the overall appearance of the school. It's a dirty place. But I liked the projects and the idea of the program. It was appealing.
Oh, Gosh, was that the worst choice I ever made in my life? Yes, I sure think so.
In the sixth grade, I was swamped with homework. Eh, I had some okay teachers, though. I loved my English teacher, Mrs. Lanphear. She was awesome, and dramatic, and she even remembered me last year. I don't know if she would now, since I look so different.
Mr. Smith, my band teacher, was always okay. He had a temper. ...
Miss Stephens, my Spanish teacher, was cool. She was really young and hip. She didn't remember me, though, when I went back to visit.
Let's see ... Science, History, English, Health, Spanish, Math, T/A, Band.
Okay, my okay teachers were okay. They weren't that awesome, but they were ... okay. Miss Hite was this whimsical, windy, airheaded teacher. I liked her because we could literally say, "Hey, Miss Hite! I'm passing a note to Amber now!" And she'd be like, "Okay ..." Haha. Someone actually did that once. Danielle Greene.
Eh, Miss Jenkins was okay, too. She was the teacher who met her boyfriend in middle school and they broke up a few times, and then eventually got married. So touching.
I guess Mrs. Wood would be an "okay" teacher, too. She was my science teacher. She taught us all this cool stuff about the solar system and Antarctica. But eh, I was bad at her class.
One teacher who still loathes me to this day, though ... I'd say she's on the Dark side. I swear.
I dare not say her name for fear that she might find me out.
I mean it. I saw her at a Moody open house recently, and she remembered me. She gave me this evil glare and then hugged me, pushing aside our strife for a moment, and then glared again, and laughed coldly. We made polite conversation, and then I bolted out of that classroom faster'n a train. A fast train.
Okay, her name was Mrs. Long. At first, she seemed like a totally strict teacher, is all, but over time, I swear, she hated me. She made me cry twice because I forgot my homework, and she yelled at me, giving me all this "IB" crap, and then one time, in band, we had to leave class for Festival during F block (her class) and I gave her the permission thing the day we had to leave. She was all, "I should not even let you go; you're not demonstrating IB behavior, blah blah." When she signed the paper, I bulleted out of there and cried all the way to the band room. AAUGH.
But seriously, in 6th grade, I had a crapload of homework, so much that I had no time to do anything else. I was working on homework till ten or eleven at night. I was eleven years old, people. And then I had to wake up at six. That's ... six or seven hours of sleep. An eleven-year-old should get eight, at least. And even on weekends, I was up late. My projects, though they would've been substantial at Pocahontas, were not worthy in the IB program. Except in English. ... Different story for a different day.