College Admissions Essay: How Teamwork Changed My Life

Being a regular, dull pencil isn't all that cracked up to be, but at least it's better than being broken. Sometimes I dream of the horrors that would come from being a regular, dull, broken pencil, thus being separated from my one true love, Jeff, and forgotten about instantaneously. Those dreams are like chainsaws on my yellow skin. To be separated from Jeff, the writer, the artist, would be the death of me. I would just be a broken piece of wood waiting to be used for somebody's campfire. The thing is, would Jeff be the one using me for his campfire? Spending time with Jeff at school left me busy enough that those dreams almost became distant thoughts. A regular math class means constant erasing for me, especially word problems. Jeff was never good at manipulating numbers, so he would stall for several minutes before even using me in class. Usually, a regular math class meant a date with a thin, flat surface that was often hungry for numbers and conclusions. This always left me as cold as the table I was often laid on. As I said, Jeff was never good at math, but English was an incredibly different experience for the both of us. The adrenaline rush that went on inside of me when Jeff began to write about Shakespeare was addictive. My lead bled onto the thin, flat surface as each new word that Jeff wrote brought meaning to my dull

Counting each second as I lay there thinking about the authenticity of the dream, I began to notice the enormous void that was left in Jeff’s room. The writer disappeared from his room and so did his backpack. What made it even worse was realizing that the backpack pouch that felt like a motor home to me did not have me in it. Jeff had abandoned me in the contours of his messy room. While I lay there, still counting each second as if I was losing air, I begun to realize that the adrenaline rush that I was anticipating was getting farther and farther away from me in a yellow school