Trevor’s first day of junior high school

Dear Dad,

I went to my first day of junior high school today. The first person I saw there was my best friend, Donnie and the first thing he told me was that he was going out with some girl named Jodi. Going out? Going out where? He can’t drive.

I saw Donnie like 20 times over the summer and this did not come up once in our conversation. I spent the night at his house last Thursday and he didn’t say a thing about liking girls. Am I supposed to like girls now? The last thing I remember was chasing Desiree Hancock around the playground and trying to plant my sneaker into her big, annoying butt.

Junior High works differently than sixth grade. In sixth grade, I had one teacher all day long. Mrs. Rommel. She was annoying, but I didn’t hate her or anything. One day she wore a wig and told us she was her twin sister, even though she knew we didn’t really believe it. That was really stupid, but I didn’t hate her for it. Anyway, now I have a zillion teachers and I go to different classes all day long.

My homeroom teacher is Mr. Anders. He is really young for a teacher, but he’s already boring, so he’ll be a natural. What happened to him that he could become so boring that fast? Maybe it’s because he’s already married. He owns map vending machines all over the city. He told us that on the first day of class. Am I supposed to be impressed that he owns map vending machines? How completely boring can you get? He’s also the P.E. teacher and the history teacher, so I get to be bored by him three times every day.

I’m trying out for the boy’ soccer team. The first practice is tomorrow after school. The coach is Mr. Schick, my Bible teacher. I don’t like him much. He taught Rhonda a couple of years ago and remembered her. He actually said to me, “I had quite a lot of trouble with your sister. Hopefully I don’t have the same trouble with you.” Great. He thinks I come from a family of hoodlums. And Rhonda is totally not a hoodlum. She’s one of the nicest people I know.

Once last year when Mom was gone, I was really sick—barfing and everything. Rhonda kept mopping my forehead with a wet washcloth while I was barfing into the toilet. Not that it really helped or anything, but still, mopping someone’s head with a wet washcloth while they’re barfing is a nice thing to do. Rhonda’s downfall is that she can’t stand boring, judgmental people like Mr. Schick. I bet she totally let him have it a couple of times for just being so boring. That’s probably why he didn’t like her, because she totally let him have it.

I’m going to stop writing now and mail this letter to you. Couldn’t hurt, I figure.

Your son,

Trevor