The year was 1978

John Adams Junior High School in NorthWest Rochstester loomed like dark brown creativity-crushing factory on the distant skyline.
Chris Milbrandt and I were walking to school. It was about 10 below, but with the windchill factor it was roughly 373 below Kelvin. Abso fucking lute zero cold.
And we were too cool. Too cool to wear hats. Because we were in Junior High School. And we had our Junior High School parted-down-the-middle-David-Cassidy-blow-dried-feathered-hair. And putting a hat on one's head does nothing for the feathered hair, which was what I was pretty sure would get Diane Krom to notice me.
Lord knows I noticed her. Man I know I was in 8th grade and it was jut a crush, but looking back at my journal years later I definitely needed to take a step back and check out my other options. But as they say, "Juice is wasted on the young." Or maybe that was "youth is wasted on the young." My hearing always hasn't been that great.
We trudged on through the ice and crunchy gray February snow. Adolescence was catching up to me now, and with each trudge my ears got closer to frostbite stage and my Junior High School parted-down-the-middle-David Cassidy-blow-dried-hair started to look more like Curly Farm boy hair. Although I was a suburban Rochstester Minnesota boy, I was only one generation removed from Rural American and my bang were given me away.
Gradually the factory-like smoke stakes of J.A.J.H.S. grew larger and we got close to school.
Not much conversation from Chris, it was too cold today.
"Going camping this weekend with Scouts?" I asked.
"Nope, Hokenson is taking the indian dancers to Wisconsin for some event, he replied remotely."
I said nothing. Chris' dad was a Scout Master and his older brother had been an Eagle Scout, so when we were younger Chris had been all gung-ho about scouting but lately I had come to sense that it no longer was much fun for him. Despite being good friends since we were preschoolers, we had ended up joining different troops, and I always thought he should have joined our local elementary school's sponsored troop.
"What do you got going today here?" I offered again gesturing to the factory in front of us.
Chris perked up a little and started talking about a project he was doing in Woods class.
Some kind of bird feeder that was three times better than what I was doing. This guy knows how to work with his hands, I thought as we approached the front door.
"See ya." he said as we headed into the dimly lit locked-lined halls. At least I think he said that,
My ears were as redder than a redneck's farmers tan and they were doing this weird tingling burning thing. I took that as a good sign though and headed to my locker, where Jay Schroeder, whose locker was next to mine, was standing in the way talking to Sue Buerlenfeind. I wormed my arm behind his back and started to work my lock. Jay gave me a sidelong sneer, and moved an eighth of an inch to allow me to try to work the combo a little easier. Jay had serious Junior High School parted-down-the-middle-David-Cassidy-blow-dried-featherd-hair. Out of nowhere Diane Krom walked by and smiled...at Jay, not me.
Yippee I thought, yanking up on my locker latch. It would not open. The first bell rang. It was going to be a great day.

Next Chapter: "It was about that time that I started eating cheese."