Our class … almost eight years, we have studied together, only a few have moved to other schools, and some have come to us and put it in our big bitty -4 team. Forty pairs of curious eyes and ears. Forty pairs of fast feet. Forty pairs of hands always busy with something. Forty questions, forty responses.We are so similar and yet so different from each other. Know, who better to learn, and with whom — to rest, someone to be admired, and who — tease. Together, we form a great, irrepressible, being loud — 8-B class. It has its own habits and even traditions and teachers never make a mistake, it was us, even if the call at a class with your eyes closed. Teachers and parents tell us that the school years are not forgotten. And when you see how happy my mother meets with his school friend on the street, and my dad talks about his school amusements and antics, believe me — they are right.For ten years we will spend together in the walls of our school. We will read the same books, answer the same questions. Can we forget the period, which occupies more than half of your life? Here they are, my school friends. People, meeting with them long after graduation will call me a happy smile and a stream of memories and questions: "Do you remember us? … And where is Luda? What does Sasha? You know, I have not heard about Vadim — as he is now? "Now we — ordinary boys and girls, noisy, restless, resentful, and sometimes — cruel, but still — the best, most fun, most friendly. After all, our class now — this is our life and our memories.
