My seventh grade days are over and I’m now in the eighth grade. I’ve had a lot of good times, but the wackiest time I ever had was the first day of seventh grade.

Before the first day of school, I asked my dad if he could put me in a bus that year instead of picking me up. My dad agreed but he also said, “You think you are going to like the bus, but when the A/C isn’t working anymore and the kids are shouting, then don’t come back to me and say you’ve changed your mind.” I said that was fine by me.

In our school you have to bring all the books on the first day of the year, so I crammed all of my new books into my bag, hoping it didn’t explode. During a class, our principal announced that all the kids travelling by bus number two should come down to the middle of the school. I rushed to that place but the teacher there said that I wasn’t on the list. I called my dad from the office but he didn’t tell me the name of the bus company.

When I boarded the bus, I was expecting to see other students my own age but instead, the mini-van was full of really small kids. They were all dancing and singing songs I don’t know. It was like being in the caveman century. All I could think was, “What did I do to deserve this?”

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the bus driver dropped me a whole kilometre away from my house. I had to lug my heavy bag, and it was so hot I felt like I must have sweated as much as the Pacific Ocean. I was depressed. When I got home, my dad asked me why the bus didn’t drop me. I told him the whole story except the part in which I thought the bus stank. Of course, my dad gave me those ‘I told you so’ speeches.

All this taught me that sometimes bad luck hits you at the worst times ever and that a parent can never be wrong.

Ramsha Abbas, age 13