Dear Middle Schooler, I see you on your hard days. I see that zit forming on the center of your face, looking at me like headlights set on high beams. I see those pants that have gotten just a little too short because you grew three inches overnight. I see that your best friend suddenly decided to ignore you for no apparent reason. I see that your parents are going through a divorce and you can’t possibly imagine how you will make it through the day, let alone first hour. I see you, and I know it’s hard. If you polled the entire universe (aliens and all), and asked them what age they wished they could go back to--not a single solitary soul would say twelve. Not. A. Single. One. Because being twelve is like getting a sweaty hug while being kicked in the shins. Being a middle schooler is like lying in the middle of the road and getting run over by a steamroller, and then being scraped off the road and put on the schoolbus because you still have to go to school (Flat Stanley s