September
Another year in middle school and I’m stuck with this journal. This is Rowley, by the way. Rowley Jefferson. How did I forget my name? Geez. My parents gave it to me this morning. They told me to write down every thing that happens this year in it. Why would I want to do that? They said it would make me feel better when I’m upset. Fat chance of that. I don't think they remember what it's like to be in middle school. When you’re not popular, there’s not a whole lot to make you feel better. Except maybe ice cream. Or making crank calls. But you can’t play sports because you’re no good. And you don’t want even want to your time thinking about school because everything about it stinks.
The only reason I’m writing in this lousy thing is because my friend, Greg, is also keeping a journal. So how bad can it be? Greg is always coming up with whacky ideas. They always sound great but then when we try to do them they never end well. I wonder how this one will turn out. I just hope I don’t leave it in the cafeteria for someone to find and hang up the pages all over school. That would just be beyond the pits.
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