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A Ball of Aluminum Foil and Cheese

     I know nobody says this, but eighth grade was a fun year for me. I transferred from the school I'd been going to throughout all of elementary and middle up to that point, and I was a bit sad about that. But I met an entirely new bunch of people, and most of them were actually nice.
     At this point, my best friend had moved across the country, and I wasn't very good about keeping in touch with anybody. I pretty much started from scratch as far as friends went. Fortunately, that went well. To my surprise, no one seemed to hate me, and I wish sometimes that I could redo that year now that I'm able to trust that people don't hate me. Because I'm not in touch with any friends from eighth grade, either. Sometimes I think of all the friends I don't talk to anymore and it makes me kind of sad. I wonder what they're doing now. You know what makes me happy, though? Enchiladas. But I don't have any good enchilada stories, so here's one about quesadillas.

This is not a real quesadilla. Apologies if you were confused.

     When I think of eighth grade, the day we made quesadillas is usually one of the first things that comes to mind. That's not quite the story I'm about to tell, but I need to explain a few things about the process anyway for the rest to make sense. What you need to know is that quesadillas have shredded cheese in them, so we put a bunch of aluminum foil everywhere to avoid some of the mess. Each of us had a small job to keep everything organized, sort of like an assembly line (reading this again, that may not have been the most tasteful analogy I could've used...). I can't remember if I also helped make the quesadillas, but I know I was one of two people who had to clean up the aluminum foil afterward. I'll call the other kid... Anthony, I guess. That was his name, after all.
     We cleaned up by mashing all the aluminum foil together as we went, cheese and all, rather than throwing stuff away bit by bit. Probably quicker. Definitely easier. When we were done, we stuck the two wads together and made a ball for some reason. Unfortunately, we were too fond of our creation to throw it away. Instead we decided to have fun with it. We carried it around for the rest of the day, which was still a good majority. The other kids reacted more or less as you'd expect.

That's me in the middle! I feel like he needs a name, but there's no way I'm revealing what my name used to be. Let's call him Ribs. That's an evil enough name, right?

     As the end of the day drew near, we knew we couldn't keep our ball of aluminum foil and cheese much longer, so we did what had to be done: as everybody was out by the lockers getting ready to leave, we decided to sneak it into our friend Dom's backpack. It may be important to note at this point that all of this took place on a Friday.
     When Dom put his backpack down and went to his locker, we already had a plan. I had the ball and, being the master of stealery I am, my job was to find a pocket I didn't think Dom was likely to check and slip it in there. Anthony was lookout, a very important job as we didn't have much time.


     So Dom came back inside, never guessing that we'd left him possibly the grossest thing that'd ever found its way into his backpack. Anthony and I were disappointingly proud of ourselves for this feat.
     That didn't last too long for Anthony, though. Apparently he called Dom, later that same day if I remember right, and confessed our crime. That's probably for the best, really. I don't know what happens when a ball of aluminum foil and cheese sits in a small, closed pocket for a whole weekend, but it doesn't seem as good an idea when I think back on it now. Thanks, Anthony. You're a better friend than I and also you're the one who had Dom's phone number.

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