Tick. Tock.  I stare at the clock. I am here at Mark Twain, which I can now call my home for the past three years. I peer out the window, feel a chilly afternoon breeze, and reminisce about the first day of sixth grade.
     I impatiently and anxiously wait for the teacher to call my name. My eyes focus on the beige wall tiles. Hopefully I made it to the homeroom I’ve been assigned. I won't embarrass myself on the first day of school, will I? I think. Some glance around the room awkwardly while others notice familiar faces from elementary school. Tension builds as students begin to settle down one by one until another student and I are left standing. There is one seat left and the two of us. Did I really come to the wrong homeroom? Or will I end up being the only one without a chair?
     “And at last, Julia, you sit right here,” my homeroom teacher, Ms. Kratz, says, smiling broadly. I smile back because this is where I belong.
     Tick. Tock. I excitedly board the coach bus for the Philadelphia trip. I make my way to one of the blue patterned chairs and sit next to one of my best friends, Sofia. We laugh and talk until we arrive at our destination. Sofia and I begin strolling from one famous attraction or place to the next, including the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall. The two of us, along with our friends, even visit one of the oldest streets there, Elfreth's Alley. By the end of the day, I am exhausted. However, it is one of the days I will cherish forever.
     Tick. Tock. I now don in my graduation cap and gown. I shuffle forward in line as I continue to peer around. Parents amble through the enormous doors of the Brooklyn College auditorium. I worry as I did on the first day of school. Will I embarrass myself when I walk onto the stage? Several classmates around me have tears slowly trickling down their faces. It’s time to embark on a new journey: high school. It’s time to say goodbye.
     Tick. Tock. Everyone around me begins to shuffle their papers and pack. As students stood up, their beige chairs squeaked as they rubbed against the floor. It’s time to leave. I take one last glance at the room decorated with Italian passports. These are the memories that will forever remain even if time continues.