Crimebusters-Personal Narrative

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“The fix really was quite easy,” he said, “You just had to snap off the front end, snap the ruler, stick part of the ruler underneath the front end and glue it all back together.” “Oh,” Chelsea and I said. And Mr. Wolfe told us to not panic, that we’d always done well and we know our team is very good. As soon as Mr. Wolfe had left with the machine and the car, I collapsed into my mom’s arms, sobbing, as we made our way to the exit. We had sealed the deal. Our team was doomed thanks to us. We had no chance of winning or even getting Top 3, thanks to us. I didn’t want to have to face our team yet. I didn’t want to have to see the disappointed faces of our teammates. I felt the weight of the whole entire world on my shoulders. All I could do …show more content…

Persino to come talk to us before we got back to homeroom because he was the other coach that Chelsea and I shared, being partners in Crimebusters too, and he had helped us recover at State after another mishap in scrambler. At the illinois state competition this year, in April, we had been one of the first competitors in scrambler that day. We had started using a special program to help us with our numbers just recently AND the floor was very smooth (the car would run faster/farther), which we did not know how to adjust to this. As a result, for the first time ever, our car went too far and the egg smashed. Demolished. Scrambled I might add. It also pretty much crushed our dreams and got us a 30th place standing. We held it together on the stage we were competing on, but as soon as we got to the back, we fell apart. Mr. Persino came to meet us there to tell us that once we had calmed down it was going to be fine, we still had Crimebusters and I still had fossils to go, and we were going to do the best we could do in those events. We were going to stop stressing over scrambler and focus on doing well in our other …show more content…

Persino before he set off in the other direction to pick up someone from their event. Chelsea and her mom went ahead of us and I stayed back with my mom. “Do you wanna go back to homeroom yet?” she asked me. I shook my head, afraid that opening my mouth to talk would cause me to start crying all over again. “Why don’t we head to the cafeteria to get something to drink then,” my mom said and she lead me down the path to the double doors of the cafeteria/food court. I wandered around aimlessly, like a lost child, with only my mom to guide me. I chose a bottle of Rootbeer and my mom took it to the cash register to pay. While we were standing in line a lady from another team got in line behind us. She happened to catch a glimpse of my puffy, tear-stained, red face, and seemed concerned. “I’m sorry if I’m being nosy, but may I ask what happened sweetie?” the woman asked. I began to answer, “Well...you see,” but I couldn’t finish as I had begun to cry again. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry again,” the woman frantically said, “I was just wondering, you don’t have to tell

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