"Are you sure you brought enough stuff?" Anthony asked the second I walked in the red doors to the gym.
"Haha. Very funny," I said as I set my purple duffel bag, pink and black zebra overnight bag, really large zebra bag, and my light pink and peach zebra backpack on the floor.
I noticed that he didn't have any bags. "Where's your stuff?"
"I'm not going."
I held up my hand. "Anthony Ballard, I am officially SHUNNING you!"
"Fine. Be a weenie head." And with that, he walked out of the gym and toward our Sunday School class.
I watched him walk out, unable to believe he wasn't going to Hartland with the rest of the sixth, seventh, and eighth graders from Coronado Baptist Church. According to the both the church busses and the sign outside, it's actually called Coronado Baptist Church: The Exciting Church. Although, I think we're more weird than exciting.
For starters, it's smack dab in the center of Oildale. And one would think that with all the churches in Oildale, the whole community was obviously religous. And that one would also be really stupid, because it's obviously not. Oildale is the name for the ghetto part of Bakersfield. I don't live there, I just live in regular Bakersfield, but I've been going to that church for basically all my life, and can't imagine going anywhere else.
Which brings me to my second point. I think we have the weirdest preacher in the history of preachers. Pastor Jack is always yelling, throwing his coat around, and getting as close to jumping up and down as someone in his sixties can get. He isn't afraid to tell you staight up and center that you will go to Hell if you don't accept Jesus. I ususally get quite a bit out of his sermons.
My final point on why my church is so weird is the people who go there. A lot of the people there had bad lives before they came to our church, and they have really turned their lives around. The people there aren't afraid to come as they are. People have came to church with green hair and tutus before, and we let them in anyways. Not only that, but I go there, and that tells you that it has to be weird.
Back to the story.
Morgan, my pain in the butt eleven-year-old sister came in with my mom just as Anthony left.
"You two be good. I'll see you in a little bit." Mom said as Morgan put her bags down on the wall next to mine.
When we entered the class, everyone was already there. I sat down on one side of my best friend since Cubbies, Bridget, in the same seat I had sat in every week since I started going to that class. Brooklyn was on the opposite side of Bridget, and Morgan pulled a chair over from the row across ours and sat down next to Bridget.
"OMG!!! I'M SO EXCITED!!!!" I squealled.
"ME TOO!"
My friend Connor, who was sitting in front of me, turned around.
"LIKE OH MY GOSH, BECKY! I AM, LIKE, SOOO EXCITED!" He said in his best white girl voice.
I would like to point out that his white girl voice was rather invalid, since Bridget's only half white. Although, you can't tell from looking at her. She has medium brown skin, big, dark brown eyes, and black hair. She swears its just a dark brown, but it looks black and so I will describe it to you as black.
"QUIET DOWN!" Mr. Chris, our Sunday School teacher, announced loudly.
Since nobody listened, he said, "BE QUIET!" he yelled. And silence filled the air as he started the lesson.
In all honesty, I didn't really pay attention. I was too busy thinking about how much FUN I was going to have at camp and drinking Bridget's peach 'n' mango ice tea.
