Eighth grade was... well... eighth grade.
The hierarchy of students at Woodrow Wilson was based on the levels of the school. Sixth grade classes and lockers were on 3rd floor, seventh grade was on 2nd, and the eighth grade met on the first. This was convenient because after two years of climbing treacherous stairs, we could finally take it easy.
I don't remember much about classes that year. A project from Civics class that sticks out in my mind had something to do with learning how to find a job, find a place to live, and work out a monthly budget. The jobs were given to us by drawing out of a hat. I don't remember what job I drew, but I remember the salary was over $50,000 a year. If only I could draw that job now.
This was the year of the vomit. I know that sounds disgusting and somewhat vulgar, but you didn't have to live it. My friend Justin had a sleepover for his birthday party. After gorging ourselves on pizza we began settling in for the night. Now, one never wants to be the first one to fall asleep at a sleepover. You just never know what the other guys are gonna do to you. But I was lying on my sleeping bag when the incident took place. Stephen decided it would be funny to belch in my ear. So he leaned down and let it rip. But he also released a few slices of pizza on my face at the same time. Scarred for life.
It was also somewhere around this time that I developed a crush on my other friend since first grade, Jessica (btw, that's the same link as earlier). I'm not sure exactly what clicked with me that particular year. I mean, it wasn't as if I suddenly started noticing girls. I mean, I did, after all, have a girlfriend way back in preschool (btw, that's a different link). Yeah, I was quite the ladies man.
I'll wait for the laughter to subside.
May we continue? Okay... I decided that I liked Jessica in a more than friends kind of way. She might have playfully kissed me on the forehead at one point. A true sign of "you're just a friend" but my immature 8th grade mind interpreted it as "oh, I want you now." Probably didn't help that a bunch of us made it a regular thing to go roller skating each week. Her mom would come and pick us up and we'd all ride together. I seem to recall phoning her one day and saying nothing but bursting into You Are My Sunshine. This slight infatuation lasted well into freshman year of high school. So, you can see, it was a real serious thing. She just wasn't that into me.
But I wasn't bitter. She's still the one friend from high school that I still keep in touch with on a regular basis.
So eighth grade ended and I left Woodrow Wilson Middle School behind. I did not miss it even a little bit.