Personal Narrative: Moving To Maricopa

A hard time in my life was when I moved here. I did not want to leave my life in Maricopa, the place I moved from. I loved it there. I had my girlfriend, my many friends, my marching band family (I call them my family because they seem like it, I hang around with them so much they are my life), and a lot of other stuff too like school rank, grades, and most importantly the teachers and classmates I really liked to be around. I, when/while moving here, went through the stages of grief, or so I was told. I did not even want to think about moving during the time before I moved. I just wanted to live my life normally, go home to a fully furnished, not packed house. I miss all my friends, every single one of them, now I will never see them again, even

I moved once before, and that was hard because I had so many friends, I was little then so I didn’t have a phone and neither did they so I haven’t talked to them since sixth grade. It was good when I moved to Maricopa because it allowed me to start over, not be the chubby kid I was in elementary. Instead I was the new kid, mysterious, cool. I started a new book out of the one already in progress, same character, but a new story. I started making friends and gaining confidence and I lost a lot of weight. I was cool, respected, and authoritative; I was the head of the class. Then came along middle school, new people I had to meet which was ok because I had my friends by my side. I made a lot more friends, next thing you know, I was popular, the most notorious of all my classmates. I was a trouble maker, in and out of class. I was the class clown, funniest of all. I was the top of the food chain yet still approachable. I was awesome. When high school came along I was really confident. Everyone knew me, the people from my school that is, when I acted like I did in middle school, I got in trouble a lot more. I was not the top, I was the