My Trip To American High School-Personal Narrative

I was almost there. I had been nervously anticipating this day for a couple months now, but the time had finally come. As I sat on the plane, my thoughts wandered to what my new life would be like. My parents had sent me to the United States to attend an American high school. I was grateful for receiving this opportunity but also fearful of what it might hold. I wasn’t great at English and the words I did know were clouded in my thick German accent. I knew I would miss my old friends from Berlin, and I worried about how I would make new friends in Dexter, the small town I would be living in for the next four years as I attended Dexter High School. Once my plane had landed and I had gotten out of the airport, I spotted my aunt and uncle waiting

As I walked in and looked through my schedule, I noticed my history teacher’s last name. “Mr. Wagner, room 451”, it read. I wondered to myself if he was German. I had a friend last year whose last name was Wagner, so I hoped for the best and walked into my first class. The bell rang and I practically jumped in my seat. To me, it had sounded as loud as a train whistle. I wasn’t expecting that, I thought to myself. For the first three hours of the day, nothing eventful happened. A couple people asked me if I was new; I had to try to maintain a conversation with them as best I could. Other kids kept whispering around me, but I never could understand what they were saying. After third hour, I realized that my next hour was with Mr. Wagner, the name I had noticed on my schedule from earlier in the day. When I walked in, I quietly found my seat in the back of the classroom. The bell sounded, and again I was startled. It seemed as if I would never become comfortable with my new surroundings. The teacher went to the front of the classroom and started the class. “Good morning and welcome to your first day of freshman history class. Now I know some of you may be thinking, ‘Why do I have to learn what a bunch of dead guys did hundreds of years ago?’ To be honest, I’ve asked myself that same question multiple times” There were a few chuckles. He went on and on talking about how from history, we can learn about

It was as loud as the Super Bowl, and I was horrified. Countless chairs had already been filled, and the idea of me finding a seat with someone and gaining a friend became less and less achievable. The smell of pizza wafted through the room as I walked around, failing to find any open seat. I began to sit down by myself when I heard someone shout, “Austin!”. I quickly turned around and saw a kid I recognized from Mr. Wagner’s class. “Hey, come sit with us!”, he offered. I was surprised at first, but then overjoyed at his offer. I practically sprinted over to his table, which I promised to myself I would never do later on. I barely ate my homemade lunch trying to listen in and involve myself in conversation. At some point, I heard the bell ring, which meant we had to go to our next class. But this time, the bell wasn't a sign of my unawareness of my new surroundings. It was now a sign of new opportunities, new friends, and new people coming