Lunch was always my favorite period at school. I would scour through the large crowd of hungry students, searching for the lunch table. I would smile as I saw three of my friends already sitting in their usual spots. Soon, more people filled the empty spaces. Our elbows touched and our shoulders rubbed against each other as we somehow managed to fit an exceeding amount of people on one table. Several of my friends would go on the lunch line, while several stayed, and guarded their empty seats. This was our daily routine. However, as graduation drew closer, we knew this routine would come to a bitter end.

In school I made many friends, but it was those ten that truly mattered. It wasn’t because they were the most attractive or the smartest. It was because they were genuine people. We made jokes over the most ridiculous things and gossiped over nonsensical topics. They were funny and just flawed enough to make them likable. I remember hating to leave lunch because my math teacher couldn’t make me laugh like my friends did. I remember walking down the hallway and being pushed in the wall because none of us knew how to walk in a straight line.

As the end of the school year approached, the date, June 26th, was etched into all of our minds. We knew that once that day arrived, there would be no more silly looks across classrooms or sneakily eating food when we thought the teacher wasn’t looking.

On graduation night, I sat in the back row in a cold metal chair. I looked into my lap, unable to make eye contact as the announcer called out the names of my friends. When my name was called, I slowly rose from my seat, trembling and trying my hardest not to show it. Looking into the audience, I saw my friends scattered and separated throughout. I took a deep breath and grabbed my diploma, knowing it was finally time for me to let go.

As summer came along, I found myself flipping through my shiny yearbook, staring at the unique handwriting my friends had. “I’ll miss you! Good luck in high school,” I read. I saw dozens of these messages spread throughout the back page of my yearbook. We tried our best to stay in touch, but it wasn’t possible without any physical contact.

September. The first day of middle school. After spending an entire summer missing my friends and dreading making new ones, middle school seemed like a nightmare. As I stepped into the unfamiliar buildings, I saw students eager to start their day with bright smiles on their faces. I grew envious as I saw groups of girls already together, talking about how great middle school would be. Why couldn’t any of my friends been with me?

October. My fifth grade yearbook was stuffed inside one of the boxes, laying untouched in my attic. Those heartfelt messages hadn’t been seen in over a month now. That group of 10 apparently unseparated friends moved on and went onto different paths. The years of memories I had with those friends were now replaced with new memories I made with new people.

Now, I’m in the eighth grade, going through the same situation I did three years ago. Graduation is approaching and goodbyes are getting ready to be said. Another group of close friends will be separated. But, the experiences I have with them have shaped me into the person I am today. Leaving won’t be as difficult because I know that despite our separation, I get to leave with a valuable lesson.