It was windy yesterday. Every time I feel that familiar gentle cold breeze wash over my face, I reminisce about my senior school days. We waved farewell to an all-girls environment and moved to a new school to merge with the boys next door.
The hideous aqua plaid uniforms that resembled tablecloths were packed away to make room for the freshly ironed, somewhat sleeker grey checkered skirts and blue blouses. Blue socks, big meadows, jammed lockers, Hot Raymond in 3 Unit Maths, and pizza pockets all come to mind whenever I recall the first day of 11th grade. We were juvenile, full of life, and ready to begin a new chapter in our academic journey.
A classmate managed to hack into my combination lock and stole my locker; the little punk and I took turns moving each other's things to and from our lockers when the other wasn’t in sight. That was some high-class flirting technique right there. We were labelled as a married couple because of the daily quarrels, so needless to say, we became the best of friends. He carried my bag and books for me, we exchanged letters during class, I copied his homework, fell asleep on his shoulder during Physics, and he even lent me his blazer since I always forgot mine. We shared his gloves, one each because he didn't love me enough to give me both. Talk about selfish. I guess frostbite wasn't his favourite thing in the world.