It was just my luck to be seated in a row chair uncomfortably close to the front. The volume grew, along with the temperature, every second as more students crowded into a classroom, which only had enough space for the population of one class. As the teachers tried to squeeze more people through the doorway, I twisted around in my seat to scan the faces in the room. I sighed internally and slouched down into my seat when I spotted my friends far from my location. I was on my own. I glanced up at the impossibly slow minute hand on the clock. This was going to be a long day.
If there was any interest in the projects to begin with, it was quickly crushed. Approximately a month earlier, the excitement of a collaboration with a fellow fourth grade class motivated me enough to listen to the directions the teacher gave. Our classes were partnering to research about different countries. This didn't strike me as particularly interesting. Rather, it was the possibility of breaking from the dreadfully routine school day
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and the chance to work in a group with my friends in the other class that kept my attention. If I had a shred of common sense, I would've realized that there was no way the teachers would allow us to choose our own groups. Still I was surprised the next day when the groups were listed. As soon as the names were read out loud, the fun aspect of the project was thrown out the window. I knew my fate was sealed. Finally when the chaos in the room was tamed and everyone had their personal space invaded, the presentations began. The first was bearable. After each monotone self-conscious delivery, a demonstration was performed about the country's culture. This was the highlight of each project. However, my attention quickly dwindled as each group mumbled about population and different landforms. South Korea blended into Brazil and Brazil mixed with Spain. My muscles screamed to do anything except suffer another round of butchered pronunciations. To distract myself, I looked at the clock for the millionth time. It took all my willpower to not run out of the room screaming as the minute hand ticked forward one tiny notch. My group was assigned to research Mexico.
The work was evenly divided into four parts, one for each group member. With my rotten luck, two members magically disappeared the day research started. On the rare occasion that they showed up, productivity was nonexistent. The teachers were stressed, which stressed the students even more. The burden doubled for me and the token remaining member. We bonded over the injustice of having points taken off because our Mexican flag had marker streaks. Aside from missing persons, the teacher conveniently lost papers handed in. At this point, everyone in both classes was discouraged and annoyed. The week before presenting, our group decided to have a piñata as a demonstration. There was three people present in our group that day. The usually absent member volunteered to fill the piñata in the library. After a suspiciously long time, a teacher went to check on him. Turned out, he was sitting on the carpet eating the
candy. As the demonstration for France wrapped up, the audience applauded weakly. In my peripheral vision, I saw my classmates in the same dejected state I was. Finally, the last group made their way to the front of the classroom. I sighed out of relief, longing for the misery to end. My mind became disassociated with the classroom, my inner conscience wandering off. After an unusually long pause, I assumed it was over at last. Snapping back into reality, I started clapping loudly and enthusiastically. All heads suddenly swiveled towards on me with startled expressions. Some other unaware students joined me, thinking the demonstration ended as well. I abruptly stopped clapping as I looked around the room. The teachers murmured with confusion in the back of the room, wondering what was going on. They probably weren't paying attention either in my defense. My line of vision landed on the presenters. They were glaring at me. I started to sweat. I quickly lowered my hands in shame, feeling the weight of everyone's gaze. When the confusion was straightened out, the presenters resumed to their project. I sat mortified and utterly humiliated. Now that I wanted to leave even more, the demonstration seemed to last forever. Eventually, the all the projects were finished. But I didn't applaud after that.
My feet planted firm on the ground as I bit the inside of my cheeks to feel something. My pigtails and gray uniform forgotten along with my surroundings as I just watched death do his work. I didn’t feel like a kid anymore. The once peaceful scene turned into a mass of chaotic moments as soon as metal clashed on metal, and the remains of glass littered the floor of the street in front of the fenced gates of my school. My peers screamed loudly but the sound of the crash replayed in my head, but worst of all is that I saw the blond hair of the woman cover her face like a veil tainted red. My teacher ushered us to wait inside yet my mind was numb and my thoughts blurred as I heard the cries of the adults.
As the dull scent of chalk dust mixes imperceptably with the drone of the teacher's monotone, I doodle in my tablet to stay awake. I notice vaguely that, despite my best efforts in the shower this morning after practice, I still smell like chlorine. I sigh and wonder why the school's administration requires the students to take a class that, if it were on the Internet, would delight Mirsky (creator of Mirsky's Worst of the Web), as yet another addition to his list of worthless sites. Still, there was hope that I would learn something that would make today's first class more than just forty-five wasted minutes... It wouldn't be the first time I learned something new from the least likely place.
Today was the day; the hardest day of any teenagers life. Holly-241 fidgeted anxiously with the hem of her black school skirt, stomach churning at the thought of what lay just inside the auditorium doors. Professor Marx-93 stood on the front step of the auditorium, trying, unsuccessfully, to hush the loud buzz of student murmurs.
All of the sudden the sickness she had been working so hard to control finally rose up. She was overwhelmed by dizziness and rushed out into the dark hall, leaning against a wall. Heart pounding, breath heavy, she felt a tingling in her fingers again. This time, she was out the door sliding on the slippery lawns before she changed and she returned to the small grove of trees at the bottom of the lawn, cold from the ground dimming her fever. She lifted her head slightly to look back at the house, dominating the dark skyline.
I awoke this particular morning to a sky, heavy with gray clouds, choking the welcoming warmth and light of the morning sun. The humidity was so palpable, it felt as though it reached into my naturally curly hair and twisted it into one impossible tangle with its own, moist fingers. Knowing I had to gain an education, I got dressed. I threw on my companionable sweater, hopped into my car, and drove, reluctantly, to the school. After heaving my backpack onto my shoulder, I slugged across the school yard toward the ominous, glass double-doors. The doors that perplexed my racing mind on a normal day with its unforgiving reflection seemed especially stern today, and my anxiousness and dread seemed to grow as the reflection grew with each
It was 1:39, and the second hand on the clock repeatedly ticked, drawing out the time until I was allowed to leave. I sat at the cold desk in my chemistry classroom, facing forward towards my teacher, Mrs. Voorstad, who was doing conversions on the black board in the front of the room. Impatiently, I looked at the black and white face of the clock mounted on the wall, waiting for the minute hand to tick to 1:50 so I could exit the classroom and get out of school. I fidgeted with my pencil while I waited, procrastinating doing the calculations on the desk in front of me. I was excited for my flight that afternoon; I would be flying from Philadelphia to Florida for a soccer tournament.
As the bell rang, students shuffle through the tight hallways where the doors into other hallways and classrooms were jammed causing traffic. I strode through the hallways taking advantage of my quick, nimble movements. I walk into English class seeing that I was the first one there, as more of my classmates walk in as if they were kindergarteners on the first day of school, loud and obnoxious. A few of us peek at the agenda and pouted, seeing that we had to get yet another book to read. As we walk to the library in an unorderly and boisterous way, I ponder on what book we would be getting. We walk into the library and get out new books. It was titled, Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson. We go back to class and Ms. Reid starts reading us the book but also expects us to read it
Before this project I was in cruise control regarding work outside of school. It never was something in which I needed to block time out of my day to do. Going into Sunday afternoon, nothing had changed, but I knew it was time to begin working. As night fell I slowly started to realize that this was no small task and I was going to be cutting this close.
I have learned several valuable things from this project experience. First, it’s okay to not know how to do something right away. Ask, observe and experiment. Doing so will greatly enhance my ability to do it correctly and continue to learn. Second, I learned that this can be an experience in frustration if I always try to not make waves. Sometimes waves need to be made to better the project. And third, watch for similar frustrations with my students and intervene before it gets too serious.
It's six o'clock. From down the hall, I hear my mother's footsteps approaching. The door opens.
There we all stand waiting in expectation and just being. My thoughts are changing from one moment to the next. We may be standing in the classroom concentrating on the camera, but so much more is going on inside our heads. I know that we are all wondering exactly what the weather will be like outside. The stupid weather is like a child and can’t make up its mind to be good or bad. Secretly we all pray for the best and anticipating what the shouts from our section of the bleachers will sound like. Amber knows who’s going to be sitting in her section. The smart girl, Ann, thinks her family will be there and is excited to...
In the distance I could hear the wail of a siren. As I walked toward the parking lot, I powered on my iPhone with one hand and fumbled for my keys with the other. I had walked this path for so many years that I didn't need to look up as I navigated my way to the lot where I had parked the day before. As the screen came to life, I looked up and took in my surroundings. Smoke plumed into the sky in the distance, but all else remained normal. A few people were about their morning business; it being early Saturday morning, that was the norm. Much of the student body had probably taken the evening as an opportunity to blow off some steam. The few ambling about were either going home from an all night party or up early to get some studying in. It looked like the former. In the distance, two people were running and the rest just seemed to lurch about. It looked almost as if they were in hopeless chase of the joggers.
During my freshman year of college, I had met one of my best friends, who go by name Jill. (She lives in New Jersey and while I live in Pennsylvania) I found it to be strange that sometimes, it feels like we have grown up with one another but in reality we have only one another for four years and I couldn’t be more thankful. I can remember when we met at school as if it was yesterday.
The echoing didgeridoo invaded the awkward silence, and the chairs scraped the wooden floors, marking the conclusion of the period. I attempted to bolt through the large crowd, squeezing through the narrow doorway of the class. I was shoved into a row of desks, “Step back loser or I will get Bulan to give you another reminder.” I waited, head down, looking at my hideous pale legs, wishing they were dark. When the laughter was fading down the hall, I ...
Walking to school the first day I began to feel an uneasiness start to engulf me, of course this was my official first day of high school, and the only thoughts replaying in my head were the stories of how this could be the best or worst time of someone’s life. Although the walk to school was only fifteen minutes, I was on the verge of turning around and going back home, then my mind wandered further. Would I make any friends? What if no one liked me? The thought of walking into a school full of unknown peoplemade my stomach turn.