It was just a boring day in my hometown, a traditional, weak entrance a lot of narrative stories use to try to get the attention of the readers. This story, however, isn’t one of those traditional stories; this one involves a day that had been exciting up to that point already. The memory that resonates daily throughout my mind would have to be the time when I went to Six Flags for the first time in my life. Before I jump into my story, I should tell you my friends mess with each other a lot, almost to the point where we get into fights with each other.
Now, this trip to Six Flags was the “present” my middle school gave to us eight graders for surviving through the three years we had to be there (it wasn’t really that bad there). I get to school that morning and we get put into groups of 5 or 6 people, and I got lucky and get grouped up with some of my best friends, even though they don’t go here. We get into the groups, and it starts off quick. My friend, that we’ll call Joe, had a bit of an authority problem back then so whenever the teachers told him to get onto the bus, he would just say something clever or completely stupid to anger the teachers but at the same time they couldn’t do anything to him. For example, he would say something like “I have got to go to the bathroom”, and he would just go randomly wander around the halls, and then the teachers and a couple deans would chase him down and eventually convince him to get on the bus. We were supposed to leave the school at around 8:00 am. Because of him and his antics, we left school at around 9:45 or 10:00. None of the 50 plus kids on that bus was too happy about that routine he had just pulled off, so right as he got on the bus, everyone took out some paper, crumpled it up into a ball, and threw them at him. It may not seem like that bad of thing now, but in eighth grade, that was the funniest thing someone could have done to him. Now the real trip begins.
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