I would wake up paralyzed with terror until my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I could make out the outlines of the cinder blocks on my Carman wall. The relief that I wouldn't have to go through it all again was so satisfying it almost made having the dream worth it.

This issue's "Middle School" theme allowed me the opportunity to confront my fears and return to the belly of the beast: The William Penn Charter School in Philadelphia, PA, which I attended from fourth through twelfth grade and was the setting for the worst years of my life. And Ms. Elizabeth Flemming was there for them all.

By some quirk of fate and the PC math department, I ended up in Ms. Flemming's math class in seventh, ninth and eleventh grades. She got to watch me transform from a gawky, clueless little runt into a wannabe degenerate into a wannabe punk rocker into a wannabe feminist into a beautiful butterfly. But given that she has weathered eighteen years worth of middle school math classes, my traumas and tantrums were probably nothing in comparison to what she had been through.

AP: Let me start off by saying that I would never in a million years want your job. I mean, I'd almost rather clean sewers for a living than have to put up with the thirteen year old version of myself every day. Why do you do it?

MF: Middle schoolers are still enthusiastic about school. They're still like "Oh my gosh, I want the teacher to like me and I want the teacher to call on me so that I can show her how smart I am". They still actually want to please you, and it's not grade-grubbing. Especially through the first half of seventh grade. When they come back from spring break, they're too cool for school. But up until spring break they're still like "Oh, Oh, Oh, wait, wait! I know how to do it! I know how to do it! Please call on me!" Whereas the high schoolers are like "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Whatever."

AP: Over the years, what have you observed about the social scene in middle school?

MF: Everyone has a tough time at that age. Except the boys who are very good athletes. They have no problems. They're sort of oblivious to all the social stuff going on. Nobody's ever threatening them, because all it takes to be popular if you're a boy is to be a good athlete. But it's so much more complicated for girls. You have to be pretty, but that's not even enough. You have to wear the right clothes and have the right friends. Being pretty, of course, is number one. Isn't it sad? It's, what, the year 2000? Look at how far we've come.

AP: Do you think it's harder for girls in middle school than it is for boys?

MF: There can be some vicious, nasty girls. What I hate, hate, hate watching is there's always a girl or two who's on the fringe of the cool group. And I watch that girl, and I know that she would fit in perfectly well with the second group, which is like the nice, solid, regular girls. She would be so completely happy in that group. But no. She holds on to the other group, and it makes me nuts. Year after year, there's always one girl who does that. I'm just like "See those girls over there? They're really nice. Go be friends with them. Forget those other girls. They're jerks!" But she has to figure it out for herself. It's so sad to watch...

AP: I want to hear more about this second group, these "nice, solid, regular girls".

MF: There's usually a clump of girls who are like "I don't care about those girls. I'm gonna do what I want to do." I always like that second tier the best, because that's where I think I was in middle school. Even as an adult, when I see the "cool" girls who are mean and nasty, if I don't think about it, they still make me feel inferior, and it brings me back to seventh grade. I have to concentrate to not feel that way. It's really bizarre when you're 39 years old to have to remind yourself that you don't care what they think.

AP: Let's talk about my class. What do you remember about us?

MF: Your class got lucky. You didn't really have a cliquey, nasty group of girls.

AP: We didn't? What about ________ and ________ and ________ and ______? (names withheld)

MF: Well, yeah. There were those people. But it wasn't as bad as it could have been. They just ignored you, they didn't pick on you. The girls in the grade below you were insane. Oh god. Oh my lord. Not only were they mean, but they were into all these... negative social interactions in middle school. The things they were doing, sexually... They were having oral sex in seventh grade. I mean you've got to be kidding me.

AP: Are boys even ready for that in seventh grade?

MF: Apparently some are. I remember when I was in eighth grade, we went around in a circle comparing what bases we had gotten to. Every one of us was lying through our teeth, but I was positive that they were all telling the truth, and I was the only one who was lying. It didn't occur to me til like five, ten years later that maybe they were lying too. I turned one kiss into second base. I remember one girl had been to third-and-a-half.

AP: Third and a half? What's involved in that?

MF: I still don't know.

AP: Wow. OK. Back to the topic at hand. What about me? Do you remember anything about me at age thirteen?

MF: You were interesting. You didn't really fit into that second group either.

AP: Yeah, I know, I was even farther down on the social ladder.

MF: I remember being really surprised, because you were such a sweet, earnest little girl, and then suddenly it was just like, 'uh-oh I'm worried.' You stopped caring. You were really into Kurt Cobain. I was like, 'this is not Amy!' Then there was some rumor that you were gay. . .

AP: You probably heard that one before I did. Yeah, that lasted a while. I think there are people who were in my class who still think I'm a lesbian.

MF: And didn't you get suspended at one point?

AP: I'd rather not talk about it. Besides, that was high school.

Out of some sort of masochistic nostalgia, I took a stroll around Penn Charter after the interview was over. Sure enough, the cigarette burn on the gym locker room toilet seat I had made in eighth grade was still there, as was the "Punx On Crack" message which my friend had carved into one of the lockers. Then it was time to head back to the land of the living. Back to New York, to Columbia, to the Fed, where, at last, I am a part of the mean, nasty, popular clique who gets off on making fun of other people. Ahh, sweet revenge.