Thirteen is eighth grade. I am best friends with Heather (hi Heather!) and Amy. Let me tell you how well a three-way friendship works when you're thirteen. It doesn't. I think I spent the entirety of eighth grade either furiously good friends with Heather and being mad at Amy or furiously good friends with Amy and being mad at Heather. Or sometimes, with Heather and Amy being furiously good friends with each other and leaving me out. That was the least fun option.
I remember being in choir, where I was the narrator of a seriously dorky play about the Constitution? Benjamin Franklin? I can't quite remember. I do remember the really lame song I had to sing that started "In the year AD, 1773, King George put taxes on tea." Our choir director was young and hopelessly naive. We all took serious advantage of this fact and were awful to him while all our moms thought he looked like Clark Kent and had middle-aged-lady crushes on him.
