Ask most students about their middle school experience, and you’re likely to hear a mix of groans and some fond memories. For many, thinking back to Pyle recalls times of embarrassment and awkwardness. But for others, middle school was filled with highlights: Outdoor Ed, a lack of homework and artificially-colored slurpees.

Though I’m one of the many students whose experience was less than positive, I decided to give Pyle another chance. I slapped on a Lululemon headband, swallowed my pride and decided to follow around Pyle eighth grader Eli for a day.

After finishing my French test, I headed over to Pyle around 10:30 a.m. Strangely, I was feeling nervous and even a little self-conscious, despite the fact that I graduated almost four years ago. But as soon as I walked into the main office, familiar smiles greeted me. Two secretaries checked me in and escorted me to my first class of the day—band.

As someone who was a full-time member of the Pyle Orchestra and has continued to pursue music at Whitman, I’m familiar with public school music classes. And as someone with an eighth grade brother with a less-than-stellar talent for clarinet, I’m also familiar with the musical capabilities of most middle schoolers. So I was more than pleasantly surprised when the full band quickly transitioned into a musical arrangement inspired by the motion of a train.

Part of what I love about the music community at Whitman is the close-knit atmosphere and the professionalism we’re expected to maintain; it was encouraging to see that Pyle has also instilled those same values. Pyle’s band teacher Ms. Johnson filled the entire room with her infectious enthusiasm. She didn’t simplify anything; students were expected to understand dynamics, complicated rhythms and advanced musical terms. Eli followed her lead and kept up with the fast-paced class, which stretched over 90 minutes due to block scheduling.

As I followed Eli to his next class, I was completely surrounded by his fellow middle schoolers as they rushed to their next class with binders in tow.

We walked into Ms. Adams’ honors geometry class, and cheesey posters with puns related to pi and table groups welcomed me. Ms. Adams gave everyone, including me, an MCPS-created quiz. After I struggled to remember the Side-Angle-Angle postulate or conjure up any geometric proofs, I decided to accept my fate and read Crime and Punishment instead. Eli, however, passed the test with flying colors.

Next came the part of the day I had feared most: lunch. Eli and I raced down to the lunchroom, hoping to grab the most coveted spot at his lunch table. I sat directly in the middle of 20 of his closest friends—boys who were more than happy to pepper me with questions about Whitman or share details about their earlier classes. The cafeteria was much smaller than I had remembered; the growing student population forced the addition of more tables, some even on the stage. I was slightly disappointed to see the slurpees were no longer offered in the lunch line, but all that was forgotten once I sunk my teeth into a warm, soft pretzel.

After saying goodbye to all of my new eighth grade friends, Eli and I returned to math—Pyle splits students into four different lunches during a single period. Ms. Adams helped the students through complicated problems from an MCPS-created packet, which is part of the new curriculum. As she assigned another page of homework for the weekend, the entire class pulled out their planbooks to diligently write it down.

Finally, we headed to Eli’s English class to round out our day. But instead of seeing Dr. Baisely, we were greeted by Ms. Degross, a frequent substitute and staple of my time at Pyle. Eli and his classmates met in reading circles to discuss The Giver, a book I remember loving in eighth grade. However, because of a new focus on persuasive speaking in the curriculum, students spent the second half of class preparing to give speeches on controversial topics. Finally, the bell rang and students streamed into the hallway.

As I walked out of Pyle, laughter and friendly conversation filled the hallways as students raced to their buses. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched Eli reunite with his friends, excited to share his upcoming weekend plans.

As hard as it is for me to admit, I really enjoyed my time at Pyle. So before you mock the next middle schoolers you see in downtown Bethesda, take a trip back to Pyle; you’ll be surprised at the welcome you receive.