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A story about the first day of school


The First Day Of School

A short story written by Jeffery Deaver for teachers and educators.

Indian summer in a small Midwestern suburb, a hot, hot day in early September.

His heavy book bag slung over his shoulder, Jim Martin—slim, sandy-haired, freckled—trudged along the pitted sidewalk at 7:30 this morning, on his way to Thomas Jefferson Middle School.

He walked slowly, enjoying the heat, enjoying the spongy feel of his new running shoes, enjoying the familiar sights along the route.

Filled with excitement, filled with anticipation, filled with curiosity.

Nervous, too.

This was, after all, the first day of school.

At the bottom of the hill, exactly a mile from his house, he turned the corner and saw the school in front of him.

It wasn’t really a very nice building. Single story, squat, yellowish stone. Nothing stood out except the tall flagpole that would ring like a clock chime when the rope slapped it on windy days. Today, in the still air, the pole was silent.

Taking a shortcut through a hedge, Jim walked over the football field, dew leaping from the toes of his shoes, grasshoppers jumping out of his path.

He glanced to his right and noticed a shaded spot on the field near the home team bleachers and a memory suddenly came back to him—a spring day on that very spot. He and Sam Gordon facing each other, fists balled up, ready to slug it out. Sam was an 8th grader, a big kid—he’d been held back a year. He dressed in dark clothes that smelled of cigarettes  and motor oil and he wore his anger the way some women wear too much costume jewelry. For no particular reason he’d taken an instant disliking to quiet Jim, who was a year younger and fifty pounds lighter. Sam had mercilessly tormented him all year until finally Jim had had enough and agreed to Sam’s taunt to fight it out after school.

The boys circled, Jim terrified but defiant. Sam threw the first punch. Jim blocked it but then the bully’s left fist appeared from nowhere and clocked Jim in the cheek. He went down on his knees and Sam leapt on him, flailing away, Jim’s thin arms helpless to protect him from the stunning blows. The big boy then stood and was about to deliver a vicious kick to Jim’s ribs when a man’s voice cut through the April air.

“Boys! That’s enough.”

Coach LaBell stepped forward, pulled Sam away and ordered him to the principal’s office. Sneering, the boy stalked away.

The coach then helped Jim up and surveyed the damage to his face. The man said, “First the nurse, but I’m afraid you’re going to the principal too, Jim.”

“Yessir.”

The grizzled, crewcut man handed Jim a Kleenex for the blood, and the tears, waited a moment and then he said, “I want to tell you something, young man.”

“Yessir?” Jim asked.

“You want to know what I think the biggest difference is between being a child and being an adult?”

“What’s that?”

“Knowing the difference between the times you have to fight and the times you should walk away. You know what I’m saying?”

Jim nodded.

“Good. Now go see the nurse. Get that cut cleaned up.”

As Jim walked sullenly toward the door, Coach LaBell called, “Oh, Jim?”

The boy turned. “Yessir?”

“About those times you do have to fight?” The man pointed a stubby finger at Jim. “You better learn to watch out for left hooks. Or you’re gonna lose some teeth.”

“I’ll do that, coach.”

Now, this hot, hot first day of school, trudging through the dewy grass, Jim shifted his heavy book bag to the other shoulder, and he thought about how the coach’s words had really made a difference in the way he looked at life.

Closer to the school now, walking past the buses, yellow as pollen, watching the students and teachers, the impatient parents in the car pool lane. Jim waved hello to a few of the kids but he was still lost in his thoughts. He was glancing at a nearby classroom, Mr. Carter’s math class.

Oh, Jim hated math. He did all the homework; he’d spend hours studying for tests, but he could never do better than a C plus, at best. He now thought of one of Mr. Carter’s classes, early in the semester. The teacher had passed out a graded test—Jim’d gotten a C minus. After all that work, he was so frustrated, so discouraged. The teacher must’ve seen the look in his eyes and called him up after class.

“Having some trouble, I see, Jim.”

“I just don’t get it,” the boy said. “I mean, I try. I do the work. But it’s like it’s overwhelming. I freeze up and, you know, I panic.”

Soft-spoken Mr. Carter pulled a slip of paper out of his desk and wrote down several names. He said, “These’re math tutors, Jim. I want you and your parents to call one of them. I think they’ll be a big help.”

“Okay,” Jim said uncertainly. Then he took a deep breath and confessed, “The thing is, Mr. Carter, I just, I mean, I just don’t like math. I’m never going to like it. I know that.”

The teacher smiled at this. “Don’t like math? . . . .” He nodded. “Well, Jim, you have to understand something. Your goal here isn’t to learn to like math. I don’t want to teach you that. I don’t even care about that.”

“You don’t?”

“No, no, no . . . . I want to teach you to love learning about math, that’s all.” He repeated it. “I want you to love learning whatever it is you study.”

And Jim nodded, digesting this. He took the note home and he and his parents got a tutor and his grades improved a bit, not much. But he started to get some B minuses. The important thing for Jim, though, wasn’t the grade but what his teacher had told him. And he thought now, as he walked through the doorway to Thomas Jefferson Middle on this first day of school, about how the math teacher’s words, like Coach LaBell’s, had made a real difference in the way he thought about things.

Walking through the cool halls now, Jim smelled fresh paint and girls’ perfume and those weird biology lab smells. He got a drink at the fountain and headed for home room.

As he did he passed another classroom and another memory hit him. Ah, Mrs. Peabody’s English class. She was a stern, older woman the kids called psychic because she magically knew which students had read the real assignment and which had read the Cliff notes.

Jim thought about the time Mrs. Peabody had given the class a writing assignment. “Write about summer vacation,” she said. “Be as creative as you can. But,” the stern woman added, as she always did, “make sure you use proper spelling and grammar.”

Well, that night Jim sat at his desk at home and stared unhappily at a blank sheet of paper. He didn’t want to write a stupid essay about his summer vacation. For one thing it’d  been a dog. A water park, two weeks of camp, his paper route. Boring . . .  He’d actually been happy to get back to school.

So he gave up on the assignment and wrote what he wanted to. Not an essay at all but a short story. Science fiction. It was about a distant planet that didn’t have summer—it was spring all the time. And it didn’t have vacations either. The aliens on the planet  worked 24 four hours a day.

The next morning he handed in the story but that night he lay awake until three a.m., thinking, Why did I do that? I totally ignored the assignment. What the heck was I thinking of? And here English was his favorite class. Maybe it’d take Mrs. Peabody a few days to grade the essays. He’d beg her for a chance to write another one, the sort she wanted.

But when he got to class the next morning it turned out that Mrs. Peabody had read and graded the essays.

And when he saw the way she glanced at him with a strange look in her stern, psychic eyes, he wished he’d stayed home sick.

The teacher said, “I’m going to pass back your summer vacation essays in a minute, but I want to say something first. When you write, when you put your words out for other people to read, you have to learn to take criticism. You have to remember that a critic’s words aren’t attacking you as human beings; they’re only an opinion about something you’ve created, no matter how harsh the opinion seems. . . . . And in this case I’m afraid I’ve got some rather harsh words to say.”

I’m in trouble, Jim thought, blushing already, betrayed by his freckles. Staring at the floor.

Mrs. Peabody continued, “Almost everyone in class wrote an essay about his or her summer vacation . . . . Almost everyone.”

This’s bad, Jim thought. I’m getting an F, I know it.

“But,” the teacher said, “one student decided he didn’t feel like doing that.”

Jim glanced up long enough to see her eyes focused on him.

This’s worse than an F. . . . I’m in note-to-the-parents territory now.

Then Mrs. Peabody looked away from Jim and studied the rest of the class. “All of your essays read as if they were written in your sleep. It’s clear to me that you didn’t take the assignment seriously and none of you spent more than ten minutes on it. Just one of you had the courage to be as imaginative as I asked you to be. Jim Martin is only one who got an A on the assignment. Now I’m going to ask him to come up here and read his story to you as an example of thinking independently and being creative. ” Then, being Mrs. Peabody, she added sternly, “though he should’ve a little more attention to proper spelling and grammar.”

Hands trembling, Jim walked to the front of the classroom in triumph, as if he were climbing to the summit of Mount Everest or were the first person to step onto the surface of Mars.

What a small thing really, he now reflected as he dodged through the crowded hallway, just a single assignment. But what a difference that moment had made to him.

Strolling into his home room now, Jim unslung his book bag and sat down as the last of the students filed in. He could see that some of them too were filled with excitement, some with anticipation.

Some with curiosity.

And some were nervous. Just like him, on this hot, hot Indian Summer morning in September.

Then the bell rang, a jarring noise, and eventually silence filled the room, silence broken only by the shuffle of papers, the click of pens, the snapping clasps of purses. The students looked toward the teacher’s desk.

Silence . . .

Jim took a deep breath, paused and he stood. He turned around and picked up a marker. He wrote on the white board, “Mr. Jim Martin, Home Room and Eighth-grade English.” And he added his office hours beneath his name.

He turned back and said, “Good morning, class.” And with a smile he looked over his students on this, the first day of school . . . and his very first day as a teacher. How strange it was, he thought, to be starting his career here at Thomas Jefferson, the same school where he himself had been a student so many years ago and where he’d learned so much.

Like knowing when to fight and when to walk away—but always looking out for left hooks.

And loving learning for itself, whatever the subject you’re studying, even if you only get a C plus.

And always having the courage to think for yourself and to be creative—but making sure you use proper spelling and grammar.

Then he pulled his lesson plan and class roster out of his book bag and as he called the name of each of his students he thought again briefly about Coach LaBell and Mr. Carter and Mrs. Peabody and the teachers here and in the other schools Jim had attended throughout his life and he knew that, like them, he too was going to  make a difference.

(C) 2002 Jeffery W. Deaver
Use and reproduction permitted for personal and nonprofit purposes only.

First Day of School – A Short Story by Rudy M – Reedsy Prompts

Natalie walked away from the school building incredulously as she buttoned up her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. She couldn't believe they let her do it.

"I can't wait to see what you come up with." And with that, her meeting with the school's principal ended, and her admission to this Millford High School – as a 23-year-old author – was secured. It was going to be her first time ever attending a public high school. She faltered for a moment at that thought. Was this really a good idea? While she was talking to her publisher yesterday, it seemed like a good idea to attend an actual high school for a while. After all, what better way to understand the high school experience than to experience it for yourself? Movies and books gave her some idea of the environment but it still wasn’t enough to be able to write her novel with it. She forced her feet towards her car. This was going to be a purely observational experience. It would be okay; she would watch, not get involved.

Nerves mostly settled, she regained her conviction and got in her car. It would probably be a good idea to quickly drive around the outside of the school, just to get at least a little acclimated with the building’s surroundings. A minute of driving revealed nothing out of the ordinary. A few boys were playing something on their smartphones together, presumably waiting for someone. The marching band was also nearby, despite the cold. Nothing too different from the movies. Anyway, it was time to go home. Her schedule indicated that classes would start at 7:30 AM, so her usual bedtime of 12 AM after working on her writing would be far too late to wake up on time.

Ayana Tautou was a new junior transferring in from France. She stepped into the windy parking lot and made her way to the front door. She remembered a quote she read somewhere - “Act like you belong, and people won’t question your presence” – and it definitely applied now. Despite being several years younger, most of the students didn’t seem to look like it, and they didn’t notice anything off with her. Except for the principal, that is. He smiled and gave her a thumbs up.

Students filled up the main entrance, making it slow to get in. She hoped this wouldn’t be a common theme around the school. She opened up her schedule (which was mostly haphazardly put together; her academics weren’t the focus here) and found her first class – Physics, in room 308. She tapped someone next to her.

“Excuse me, where’s room 308?” The tired-looking boy mumbled, “stairs are ahead, go two floors up, take the first hallway and you’ll see it there.” Pushing her way through the droves of students, all with varying amounts of energy in this early morning, she found the room right where the boy said it would be. It was arranged with several large tables all over the room, with 4-5 chairs per table. There were only a few students in the room at the moment.

Ayana must have been early. Then again, of course she was; punctuality is invaluable in the adult world, and most high schoolers weren’t well versed in the skill yet. The other scattered students, likely the ones with only a few friends, briefly looked up at her before returning to their phones.

“Ah, you must be the new student.” The middle-aged teacher winked at the last word. The principal must have informed Ayana’s teachers of her secret. She pointed at a seat near the middle of the classroom. “That’s your seat in my class. Also, you can introduce yourself when everyone gets here!”

Ayana sat down and watched the other students. Not one of the other students tried to talk to her. No wonder they were quietly in here, mindlessly scrolling on their phones. She decided not to bother trying to interact with them. After an awkward few minutes, students started pouring in. She noticed that many of them came in groups of two to five, and suspected that these were the kids who would even try talking to her. Well, they would have, were they not so engrossed in each other.

Once everyone was settled (seriously, how much could these kids talk?), Mrs. Henry stood up.

“Good morning, guys! Today, we’ve got a new student… from France!” Ayana gave a light wave to everyone. She felt everyone’s eyes on her as she walked to the front of the room. Why was she paying attention to their attention?

She introduced herself with her false background fairly quickly.

“Wonderful introduction! I’m sure you’ll be a great addition to our class!” Most of the class just stared at her with blank faces, as if they’d be more interested in Mrs. Henry’s lectures on physics. Ayana decided to just attribute it to it being too early in the morning for them to care. Teenagers were fickle that way. She waded her way through the sea of bored, yet staring, faces back to her seat. “Alright! Today, we’re continuing our work on forces, and we’ll be looking at some more complex systems with multiple objects.” Ayana mostly remembered this material from a few years ago. Her homeschooling was likely much more rigorous than public schools.

As Mrs. Henry drew diagrams on the board, Ayana looked around the classroom. They were slowly starting to wake up a little. There were a number of small interactions happening between some people. The two boys off to her right were obviously playing some kind of game together. Either Mrs. Henry was oblivious, or she just didn’t care. In front of them, two friends were mouthing things to each other and silently laughing. She scribbled all of this into her notebook instead of the forces Mrs. Henry was talking about. After twenty or so more minutes of teaching (and observing, on Ayana’s part), Mrs. Henry finally announced, “Okay, you’ve had enough of me talking! Get yourselves into groups of 3 or 4 – don’t forget Ayana – and start working on this worksheet I’m leaving up here!” She left the class to its own devices as she sat in front of her laptop.

Ayana noticed that many of the little interactions from earlier essentially defined who would be working together. Well, time to invade one of these groups. She noticed someone waving at her.

“Hi Ayana! You wanna join our group?” The energetic girl waving at her was sitting with two others, an Asian girl with rectangular glasses, and a very slightly chunky-looking boy with a collared t-shirt. They also looked up with faint smiles.

“Sure.” Having no one else to work with, she sat down at their table. “So, what are all of your names?”

“I’m Alison! But you can call me Ali!” Why did she sound so excited?

The glasses girl spoke very softly. “I’m Lilly, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Peter,” he said in the most matter-of-fact way possible. Alison pulled her chair in closer.

“Okay, let’s get started, guys!” Again, Alison sounded far too excited about this. The work that Mrs. Henry left for them was vaguely familiar to Ayana, and she noticed that she was still able to keep up with the rest of them, more or less. Alison and Lilly were quietly chatting with each other as they worked, while Peter mostly kept to himself. Ayana suspected that Alison pulled him into the group only because he sat at the same table. He ended up not talking much, and the class was eventually over. Ayana looked at her schedule and asked for help to get to her English class.

“Don’t worry! Lilly can take you there!” Alice seemed to grin a little harder than usual at that last sentence. Lilly didn’t seem to have a problem with it, and they walked to their English class together.

Ayana went through the same self-introduction drill in English, and the teacher told them that the plan for the class was to take the first half writing an essay on the writing strategies in a small passage. She managed to put something together by the end of the half hour. Looking around the room for someone to peer-review with, her mind jumped to Lilly, who was already looking at her. They found two desks near each other and started reading each other’s work. Ayana was entranced by Lilly’s work. Even though it was non-fiction, it was somehow written very fluidly and the ideas within the “rough” essay built upon each other seamlessly. This girl had a future in writing. Lilly had similar thoughts about Ayana’s essay. It was really good for someone who had grown up in France. A little too good, actually...

They discussed a few small suggestions with each other, but there wasn’t really much to talk about in regards to their short essays. Lilly revealed that she wanted to major in English. Whatever job she ended up with, she wanted to be writing. Preferrably, she wanted to be a novellist, even though her parents would most likely prefer her to work with something more “practical.” Ayana couldn’t help but smile at this. Of course, Lilly’s ambitions struck a chord with Ayana. While she had promised herself not to get to attached to anyone, she couldn’t help but share her own love of literature with Lilly after this. After their half hour of class was over, Ayana found herself silently cheering Lilly on. They didn’t share any more classes, so she asked for directions to her next one and parted ways.

The next two classes were rather monotonous. They were both classes where the teacher had her introduce herself, and then they spent the remainder of the class lecturing on their respective subjects. Ayana’s homeschooling was certainly more interactive, though that was likely because all of the attention was on her. Nonetheless, they gave her the opportunity to watch the background activities amongst the students. Even some of the more superfluous details made it into her “school” notebook. At the end of these classes, her schedule said it was time for lunch, and sure enough, the hallways were filled again as everyone made their way to the cafeteria.

Ayana had heard many complaints about school food which she couldn’t relate to, as she ate decent home-cooked or restaurant food during her homeschooling. This would be her first time trying it, if she ever got to the cafeteria in time amongst the droves of kids. Again, she noticed that most of them traveled in packs of at least two or three. It seemed that socializing was key within this population. Ayana kept trying to deny to herself that it was making her feel lonely. She was saved from the thought as a familiar figure – no, two – sidled up to her.

“Hey, Ayana!” she said, elongating the word hey. Alice and Lilly joined her in the march to the cafeteria. “You wanna eat lunch with us?” Having no one else to sit with, she agreed, whilst simultanously burying her feelings of relief. They eventually made it through the lunch line and found a seat in the very crowded room.

She gave Alice and Lilly a few details about French schools that she had heard from her father, especially about the food. But, she didn’t want to talk too much about her own life because she was bound to slip up with her little double identity. She tried changing the topic to the school and learned that there were clubs. Apparently these were a critical aspect of high school life, along with sports. Alice was in the student council, and – this interested Ayana the most – Lilly was in the Literature Club. She’d have to visit them today.

A nearby group of people started talking about a new movie they were planning to watch, and Alice suddenly asked,

“What movies have you seen, Ayana? You said you learned your English from American movies, but it feels weird somehow.” Ayana just shrugged. That was a bit of an issue she hadn’t considered. She’d have to quickly pick up on the subtle features of the language teenagers use. This was the kind of mistake she’d have to be careful of in the future. Overall, though, that one lunch break was very useful, so she tried to remember as much of it as possible in order to record it into her notebook later. Her remaining classes gave her enough time to do this, meaning that her day’s mission was complete along with the school day.

Lilly and Alice were apparently waiting for her when she reached the main doors to leave for the day.

“Ayana! Remember how we mentioned clubs?” Ayana nodded. She had forgotten about them until now. “As I said, I’m in the student council, but maybe you’d want to join Lilly at the Literature Club?” Ayana agreed and Lilly led her to the club. Ayana wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but decided to keep an open mind. Her purpose here, after all, was to learn about high school, and this was a valid way to do it.

At the literature club, Lilly became as passionate as she was in English class. The typically shy-looking girl took the lead on the discussions of the book the club was currently reading, and eagerly convinced Ayana to read the same book. Ayana felt drawn to Lilly’s new energy, as most people didn’t care this much about books. Sure, some of her friends thought it was “impressive” that she had published a book, but none of them could talk about them like Lilly could. Ayana was almost disappointed when the club’s meeting was over. Before she knew it, she was walking back to her car with Lilly’s phone number written down on a sticky-note.

Even just with one day, Ayana had recorded and learned many new things for her novel. This was turning out to be very useful for research. The downside was definitely the exhaustion. The seven-plus hours of constant learning and walking around was not easy. But, she found herself oddly satisfied with the day. It felt more productive than usual, even though she only gathered some details for use in her novel. She spent the last few hours of her day writing for the magazine and getting organized for tomorrow. As she was about to sleep, she noticed she had messages from Lilly. Ayana simply couldn’t help herself. A few texts turned into a thirty-minute conversation about nothing at all, really. It ended up just being an excuse to stay awake, but her habit of punctuality eventually forced both of them to sleep.

Day after day, Ayana continued to make observations and learn more and more about what it was like to be in high school. She even did homework on some days just to understand how they managed their time. Suddenly, all of the tropes about teenagers being tired all of the time started to make sense. She could no longer judge them for being “lazy” or sleepy. Part of this assimilation into the school also involved her new friendships, which was unexpected. Interestingly enough, she found herself eagerly anticipating conversations with Lilly every day, especially about writing. It was certainly odd to have become friends with a high school girl, but that’s what ended up happening. She genuinely wanted Lilly to succeed with her writing, so she even started spending more time with her outside of school and the club. Lilly ended up inviting Ayana to her house several times for no reason other than to spend time, and Ayana found it impossible to refuse even though she knew she’d leave the school by winter. If her publisher hadn’t set a deadline of December, she might have even written her novel slower. But, there was no slowing down time. Winter approached every day.

It truly hit her as she stepped onto the school parking lot, and she stepped into a fine layer of snow. She found herself making a decision she couldn’t imagine making several weeks ago. She invited Lilly to her apartment. Lilly, of course, was beyond ecstatic.

Their typical “hangout” came to a screeching halt as Lilly noticed that the notebook Ayana carried around all the time had notes – notes on people in the school. Lilly had to ask. She couldn’t explain why, but Ayana made the decision to just tell the truth – the whole truth. Lilly listened intently, realizing Ayana’s quirks, like her writing, her tendency to skip homework, the lack of evidence of parents in the apartment and her decidedly un-Frenchness were all results of this big secret. Lilly sighed and revealed one of her own. She might as well, because she’d never see Natalie again after a few days.

“I think I have a crush on you.” These eight words made Natalie realize what she’d done. The hurt in Lilly’s eyes captured Natalie’s conscience.

“I’m sorry.” She held the younger girl in her arms as the girl began to shed tears. Soon, Lilly was weeping and Natalie decided she didn’t want to leave the younger girl.

“When you’re a little older, come find me again. I promise you can have what you want.” Lilly nodded. She left Natalie’s apartment in tears. Natalie stayed on the floor for an hour and noticed a few tears in her eyes, too. “Just a couple of years,” she thought, as she cried herself to sleep.

That feeling never left, even as she finished her manuscript and handed it in to her publisher.

“Thanks, Natalie. I hope your time in that school was worth it. I have high hopes, and I look forward to reading this.” Natalie smiled as she left the office, daydreaming of a certain future author she’d want her publisher to meet one day.

Composition My first day at school September 1

  • Compositions
    • /
  • About school

The first day of school is one of the most important days in the life of every person, because on this day an interesting journey of nine or eleven years begins. Some first-graders are looking forward to this moment, while others dream of staying in kindergarten longer. Parents rejoice at the long-awaited event, looking with pride at their adult children. On the first of September, a special atmosphere always reigns in the city, because music is heard from all the school yards and smart children walk along the streets with flowers in their hands.

From early childhood, I really wanted to go to school and always envied my older sisters. When I was six years old, I was finally sent to prepare for school. My sisters also studied there, in the sixth and tenth grades. I immediately liked the school: the building was new and looked clean and well-groomed.

I remember my first September very well, even though seven years have passed. In the morning I got up before everyone else and woke up my older sister to braid my hair. The hair is very beautiful. I put on my brand new uniform, and the whole family went to the ruler.

When we came to the school yard, there was a crowd of people in front of the building: children, their parents, teachers. They all rejoiced at the start of the school year. The school itself was very ornately decorated with balloons and posters. We stood up together with classmates, some of whom I already knew, and the teacher and waited for the start of the event.

The lineup was very interesting: at first, children danced and sang songs about the school and our city. Then the director of the school, a very serious person with intelligent and kind eyes, gave his speech. Then the bell rang, the first in my life, and we launched balloons into the sky.

After that, my best friend, with whom we then became classmates, entered our classroom by the hand and sat on the first desk against the wall. The teacher gave a welcoming speech and invited the photographer to our class. Each of us has those pictures that were taken at that moment.

After that, my classmates and I went to the schoolyard. We hit it off right away and played hide and seek in the school garden for hours.

Then my parents came for me and my sisters, and we all walked around the city together and ate ice cream.

So I remember my first day at school very well. I really liked the line and the photos. We immediately became friends with classmates and began to play together. Now, every year, as a family, we review the school pictures taken that day.

Composition 2

The first day of September is a special date for me, today I went to school for the first time. Adults say that this is the most important day in the life of a child, I will meet many new people, some of them will become my friends, I will meet teachers who will teach me various subjects over the years.

The morning was already special, when the alarm rang it was still dark outside, I probably never woke up so early, a delicious breakfast was waiting for me in the kitchen, and a dazzling brand new suit hung in the wardrobe, having breakfast and getting dressed, my family and I took flowers and went to ruler. The school turned out to be a very large and beautiful place, everything was so new and unusual. At first we were lined up in groups in front of the porch, each in his own class, everyone was smartly dressed, the boys in beautiful white shirts and jackets, and the girls in blouses and with big bows, many were holding flowers and balloons, the director with teachers stood in the center of all the children and said how happy they were to see us and how important it is to study, then everyone wished us good luck and success in our studies.

When the speeches ended, many children released balloons into the sky, the wind quickly swirled them up to the very clouds and it was very beautiful. Then they took us to school and led us through the corridors to the office, it was very cozy, it had: large windows overlooking the trees, painted walls on which there were various posters with happy schoolchildren, and a large green board was written on it with multi-colored chalk “September 1”, I liked everything in the office very much. At first I was confused and did not know where to sit, but then I decided and took the very first desk. The teacher asked us to stand up, then introduced himself and we sat down together. He told us what we would do in the lessons, how fun the breaks are, what homework is and how great it is to go to school in general. At the end, we got up again and said goodbye, and then I went home with my parents where a festive table with a cake was waiting for us.

In the evening I couldn't fall asleep for a long time thinking about how wonderful tomorrow will be, how I will go to school again and how I will study various sciences there, add numbers and learn to write beautifully.

Other topics:

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My first day at school September 1st

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Essay on My Day at School

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  • My day at school

I really like studying at my school because it is beautiful and has experienced teachers. Every day spent within the walls of the school passes quickly and easily.

Every day, getting up early in the morning, I run impatiently to school, where our lessons begin at eight o'clock. But before the bell rings for the lesson, our Anna Petrovna turns on mobile music and exercises, which gives us a charge of vivacity for the coming day.

Our lessons are different, and each one is interesting in its own way. I especially like it when there are physical education classes, which usually take place after a hard lesson in mathematics or the Russian language. Here we completely relax and with great pleasure we jump, run and play outdoor games. And if on this day there is a circle for training in basketball, then our joy knows no bounds.

Between classes, I especially like how our breaks go, because it is on them that we learn the dance movements of the peoples of the world. Counselors from the senior classes come to us and show individual moments to the music. So, I learned how Tatar, Russian and Ukrainian folk dances are performed. And I would also like to start attending a choreographic circle in the future in order to dance professionally, but already on the big stage.

After our lessons are over, there is a dynamic pause that lasts about an hour. We spend all this time of the year with our teacher on the street, playing football and various outdoor games. And when the weather is warm and sunny in autumn, we visit a nearby park, where we collect improvised material for crafts.

After the fresh air, we usually go to the canteen for lunch, where we eat almost everything with great appetite. Our chefs always cook delicious food, for which not only students, but also teachers are grateful to them. Then comes the extended day group, where we prepare homework assignments under the supervision of our teacher. Usually I do everything on a draft, so that later at home I can carefully rewrite everything. In addition, hobby groups are starting to operate, where most of the students from our class go. I attend chess and basketball classes two days a week. Often we have various events in which we actively participate. When my school day ends, I go home with my friends and look forward to when I will come back to the walls of the building I love.

Version 2

My name is Alina, I study in 7 "A" class. Today is Monday, and I will tell you about my usual, but as always interesting school day.

Exactly at 6:30 my mother wakes me up with the words: “Get up, sunshine. Today is another beautiful day for you." Then I toss and turn for about 15 minutes, and then I lazily go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. At this time, oatmeal is waiting for me on the table, which I can’t stand, but my mother says that it is very healthy, so I have to eat at least 4 spoons. Then my dad takes me to school. My best friends Mila and Katya are already waiting for me there, with whom I study in the same class.

I love school, but not all subjects, for example, mathematics, I can't solve these stupid problems at all. And I adore literature, over the summer I read the entire list that we were asked. By the way, today I just didn’t have mathematics, but I had my favorite literature, as well as physical education, English, music and Russian. Between lessons, we have 10-minute breaks, except for the big one, on which we go to the canteen for lunch. I don't really like to eat here because the cutlets here are too hard, but the buns with poppy seeds are so tasty, sometimes I even buy 2. They are just delicious!

Immediately after the lessons I go to a drawing class, today we have painting and the history of fine arts of the 17th century. I'm very good at drawing, that's what my teacher says. My favorite colors are blue, white and blue, I love painting with this color palette. Best of all I can paint the sea with gouache. Drawing fascinates me.

Immediately after drawing, I go to music, namely to the choir. My teacher Svetlana Mikhailovna is very strict, some even hate her and call her names behind her back, but I know how good and kind she is. Too bad not everyone sees this. I am in the choir for exactly 45 minutes, here we sing, learn new songs, and sing. I really like this circle.

After such a hard day, my dad comes to school and takes me home. I am very tired, but I can't wait to share my impressions with my mother. Therefore, while she warms up my food, I tell her everything, everything that happened interesting for the whole day.

Composition My school day 4, 7, 9 grade

Every day, except for weekends and holidays, my day starts with an early awakening, because my alarm clock rings at exactly seven o'clock in the morning. Every evening my mother brings it to me at this time. After the alarm goes off, I get up, do my exercises, brush my teeth, wash my face and go to breakfast with a delicious breakfast that my mother prepared for me before work. After that, I rush to get dressed, because the road to school awaits me, which must be overcome by tram, and it lasts twenty minutes.

The school gives us all the necessary knowledge, so it must be attended. Already in the hall, near the entrance, my friends and classmates are waiting for me. Together with them, we hurry to our class, because soon the bell will ring and our mathematics teacher will come, and the lesson will begin. At the lessons, my classmates and I try to be quiet and listen carefully to the teacher, because for bad behavior they can be kicked out of the class and write a remark in the diary. We have such "bad guys", but they are few. I think there are guys like that in every class.

I study mainly for fours and fives. For example, today I got an A in Literature. But my favorite subject at school and many of the guys is physical education. We happily change clothes in the locker room and rush to the lesson, first we do exercises, warm up, then we start the exercises that the teacher has prepared for us, and at the end of the lesson we play some sports games. This is good for our team. After all, the class should be friendly.

But the changes at school make me especially happy. All the guys are waiting for the long-awaited call that rings after the lesson, and we rush to the corridor or to the dining room, where we communicate and have fun.

Today, after school, we all go to the forest together for a tourist rally together with our class teacher. I am looking forward to the end of the lessons and this hike. Every year, our entire school gathers for a hike on a warm sunny day. There we fry potatoes and sausages on fires, arrange competitions among ourselves, play various games and sing songs with a guitar. After this hike, we are tired, but happy to return home. But me and all my friends are still waiting for homework. They must be completed in order not to get bad marks. But I am sure that I will quickly cope with this, as I listened very carefully to the teacher and honestly completed all the tasks.

Our class is very friendly and I have many friends. Therefore, I really like going to school and I like to study and get new necessary knowledge every day.

Also read:

← School life ← Love for reading↑ About schoolChange at school (school break) → School Anniversary →

Picture for composition My day at school

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