Middle school is big. Not “big” as in I-don’t-know-where-things-are big, but big in comparison with elementary school. Elementary school is small. Middle school is big. Elementary has one bike rack. Middle school has ten.

Every morning when I get to school, it’s always near-empty or full. If it was empty, I would find an empty spot. If it were full (which isn’t to-the-top kind of full) then I would squeeze I in somewhere and head into the school.

And now, every time I go into the school, I hope something doesn’t happen to me, my friends, or my stuff. Particularly my bike, since it’s in the open. Everything else is worried about until it’s safe in my locker, where the only thing I have to worry about is my water bottle attacking my homework.

There are many reasons why I’m worried now, not that worrying will do me any good, what-so-ever. But it does give you something to think about when you’re sitting in class, bored.

But let’s get on topic. The other day I walked out from school and I noticed that my friend’s bike was on top of mine.

You should be skeptical. If not, I’m going to wonder if you see bikes floating on top of each other all the time. But regardless, it was on top of my bike.

Of course, it was not floating. It was placed on top of mine, wheels on top of my seat. Unfortunately for me, my friend’s bike had been locked right next to mine, as if we were sharing a lock.

It wouldn’t have been too bad if it was just the wheel on top of my seat, but instead, to my great happiness (sarcasm), my friend’s gears were sitting on top of my bike, and it made a pretty little indent inside my seat.

I like my bike. A lot. I was angry to see his bike on top of mine. Very angry.

I took it off wordlessly, and we began to bike away down the long bike racks. At the end, there were a bunch of teenagers blocking our way.

“Could you move?” I asked politely.

He looked at me, muttered something I couldn’t hear, and then said something very rude to me, telling me to get away.

I scowled and went around.

The next day after school, I walked out and was pleased to see my bike was not on top or under anybody’s bike. However, a very loud bunch of boys were snickering at something very loudly.

Every once in a while, someone would walk by, ask what they were laughing about, then look at something, go “oh” and walk away, either looking horrified or laughing.

Finally, somebody stopped by what they were looking at. To my horror, I realized it was a bike, wrapped completely from head to toe with toilet paper. Somebody had to honor to drizzle some water over it so that it stuck and clung to the bike frame.

I watched pitifully as someone walked by. A few people yelled at him, “Look what they did to your bike!” The person looked over, not noticing anything.

Strangely, the swarm of people who had probably done it didn’t do anything. They didn’t tell the girl who had shouted at the boy to be quiet; to not reveal their secret. In all honesty, they seemed quite happy to let him know who had done it.

The boy walked over, said something rude to the group (who snickered), made a rude hand gesture, and walked away.