School’s Almost Out
We’re down to the last days of junior high school: finals, then graduation, and then a half day to say good-bye to the teachers and get our eighth-grade version of a yearbook signed.
Anyone who lives less than a half mile from school has to walk. So for the last two years, that’s what me and Kenny have done. It’s cool out in the morning, so I cover my face with my hoodie. We make our way up Elm Street, and Kenny’s hyped up like always—talking loud, and slamming his fist into his palm as if his palm were someone’s face.
“Yo, it’s mad live at Rose,” Kenny says, talking about our high school next year.
None of the high schools around here offer art as a major, so it doesn’t really matter which one I go to. Jason goes to Roosevelt. He’ll have my back there just like he
