I wish it was Friday. I actually was convinced it was Friday on the way home from school today. I’ve no idea why.
The journey to and from school is often fairly interesting. In the past week, I’ve ridden on a year eight boy’s bike to prove he can’t actually ride it (much hilarity, including my sister almost riding into the road), discussed whether Pi Ka-Chu would work as a Chinese name (it would, concluded one of my Chinese walking buddies, but would probably end up being shortened) and yet another bitch about my awful French teacher (this conversation happens almost every week).
I’ve got two sets of people I walk with: one, my morning crew and occasional afternoon people as well, include my two sisters, three year elevens, a year ten, a year nine, a year eight on a bike and a rather annoying year seven who we’ve decided we want to swap for her adorable little sister who’s only in primary school. The other one, who I walk home with most days, is a close friend of mine who’s snowballed me down the back of the neck and won’t let me forget about the time a car splashed me. We have brilliant conversations though and I’m going to miss them when we go to uni.
Having awesome people to talk to on the way home can change a bad ending of a day into a pretty decent one in the twenty or so minutes it takes to reach home. It’s actually the main reason I know people in the younger years: I walk to school with some, and get to know their friends as well. It’s often quite amusing to see us, as I’m the oldest by two years, and often feel a bit like the Pied Piper, but there’s been rather a lot of laughs and I wouldn’t change that for anything. And as much as I can’t wait to leave school, it’s the journeys I know I’ll miss more than the actual place itself.