From the time I am writing now, it is Saturday. From the time I am writing about, is on Monday.
Radiant sunshine streaked the sky and escaped, into my room, like a torch shone between caged bars. It was the first day of Term 1 at last. I was pumped about it, and I acted more cheerier than usual. I literally skipped to school.
My happiness runs short as soon as I got through the front gates. As I saw my fellow classmates carrying swimming trunks, I lurched short in mid-step. It was as if someone had flicked on a switch in my head. As I flew back down the steps, out of the school gates, parents lept out of the way, alarmed.
I finally got home, out of breath, I had sprinted all the way home (200m), grabbed my swimming bag I had prepared last night, and banged out of the front door, for the second time that day. I arrived at my classroom with only seconds to spare, which earned several disapproving glances from the teachers. I practically shoved my bag into the pigeon hole and settled down for role call.
My class’s swimming session is just before lunch and each session lasted for about 100 minutes, thus meaning we miss lunch. I stifled a groan when the teacher informed us (I was looking forward to basketball!) and a majority of us complained out-loud. Plus, swimming lasts for the whole week, meaning we miss lunch every day! But, the teacher shrugged and said that he couldn’t help it, it was up to the principle’s choice, for who went to swimming at the given time.
I miss lunch.