hey this is a work in progress. its a short story that i had to do for english. tell me what u think though cus this is the first one that i thought was good.
Many thoughts were flooded onto the crumbled yellow piece of paper. Nice, quiet and shy were just a few of the repeated words used to describe Jane. She has long blonde hair curling at the ends and pulled back into a loose ponytail. Right now we’re in English Lit. and as about 20 pieces of paper pass through the room, I cannot think of one thing that is different to describe her. She’s looking at the clock again, as if it will magically turn to 2:20, the time school ends. I look through the words to describe her. Nice, smart, quiet, shy and conservative were written followed by little hearts and stars. But there was one, just one that said… She’s Trustworthy- she isn’t popular, but she definitely is not a geek. That was something I never saw in Jane anymore I wanted to find out more. I was thinking about that as the bell rang, so I scribbled in mysterious. I kept thinking about that as I turned to leave for my locker.
Walking towards my locker, I see Jane slowly go down on her knees to help the mentally challenged boy enter in his locker combination. She listens as he slowly recites his combination, one digit after another. She smiles at him, like she’d rather be here than anywhere else. As she opens it, she promises to be here after class, to help him find his way to the cafeteria. It doesn’t seem to matter that she is late for class, or that her next class will be in the opposite direction; she’ll be there.
The door to science slowly gets pulled open, hesitantly as if someone is scared to come in. Jane slowly steps in and takes the test that the rest of us started 5 minutes ago. Head bent down and eyes unfocused, she makes her way to her desk behind me and sits down; everyone has their cells out getting texted answers from their friends while the teacher mutters under her breath. I quickly look at Jane; as she takes out her pencil to start. It looks like she is having a really bad day. My head snaps back to the test as I realize the teacher is yelling at us to put away our cell phones. She slowly sinks into her chair as the teacher glares at her. She puts down the pencil and stares out the window; she isn’t having a good day. I think I’ll tell Anna to talk to her. She’s her best friend and it looks like Jane needs it. I slowly take another quick glance at Jane. She is so quiet and nice, but it looks like something is eating away at her. Quickly I nudge her and go back to the test; we both really need to pass.
~Lena
Lena came up to me as I was going to math with Jane. I know something is a little off today, but I can’t figure out with who or what? As we were about to enter, she asked if she could talk to me. We were already late thanks to Jane helping Marcus, a.k.a. the mentally “challenged” kid, to find his way to the cafeteria. I told Jane to go ahead, and to tell the chorus sub that I just dropped my books and was picking them up. It was an easy lie that could buy me an extra 3 minutes. So I turn to Lauren. I know her from last year’s gym class, but I never actually talked to her. Now though, I guess it’s different, so I have to ask…
“What’s up?”
The door opens and standing there is Miss Lily, the sweet sub. She kind of gives us a look that says, I understand you girls want to talk but class is starting now. Lena awkwardly asks, “I’ll see you after class?”
I just as awkwardly reply, “Definitely.”
Jane is sitting next to Joey, the funny guy that just doesn’t get math. He cracks jokes and annoys the teachers, but she doesn’t laugh the way others do. I see her roll her eyes or shake her head and later she’ll remark about how annoying he is. It’s like she hears something that we don’t. The thing that strikes me the most is when he remarks about how he doesn’t get it, she’ll turn to him, put down the homework she was trying to finish, and just explain it over and over until he got it. She’d sometimes not finish and I’d see her force her textbook into the already full backpack, when she only had 5 problems left. Everyone but Jane and I are laughing right now. I join in because I’d rather not be left out. She just sits there though; it’s almost as if…
I sprint towards Lena after class ended and we headed towards my chorus class. So I asked her yet again, “What’s up?”
“There’s something going on with Jane. Do you know something, I mean I don’t need to know, but is she okay? I just thought someone should bring it up before something bad happened.”
I stand there stunned and ashamed, because everything she is saying totally makes sense. A little to myself I ask, “What do you know? I knew something was a little off but I couldn’t figure it out. I think I’m going to ask her today during chorus.” A little more calmly I say, “Thanks though, I know you two aren’t really friends anymore, but I’ll tell you anything I think you should know.” She stands there and kind of half smiles. She turns around and starts sprinting towards the band room, I guess she is late too.
~Anna
I’m sitting in chorus class, and thinking really hard about what my mom said. Between her talking and crying at the same time, and my screaming and crying, I couldn’t really understand what she was saying. Something is going on lately, in and out of school. I used to be referred to as plain and simple Jane. Nothing more to it as the crumbled yellow sheet of paper told me during English Lit. You know that little exercise during the year sometime, when a teacher has all the students write about each other? Well, it happened today unfortunately. I wrote the most random things as I just spaced out. The things about me said stuff like nice, simple, and conservative. Only Anna wrote something truly unique, but there was also the person who scribbled in something that looks like Myzepioz. It could be something like mysterious, that or the Greek indies film guy is mixing up his languages. I HATE the fact that my life is just tumbling downward. Between sitting next to obnoxious Joey, being late for class all the time, and my slipping grades, life STINKS. That was just in school though. Outside of school my life is getting wrecked. I don’t know yet what exactly is going on, but my dad is sick. No doctor will admit it though, and I have a feeling that my mom is losing money fast, but what for? I hate thinking about this and the parent teacher meeting next week isn’t going to go well which will only stress out me and my family more. I just can’t take it! And what is this hot salty stuff racing down my cheeks? And why is everyone staring at me? Why can’t I breathe? Life isn’t going well, and now that I think about it, I think people are starting to realize there is more to me then plain and simple Jane. I’m realizing though, this is the worst possible time for them to figure this out.
~Jane
I haven’t talked yet to Jane, but if the way she was crying today meant anything, then I think I should talk soon. Right after chorus class, I bring her to the bathroom, because I can’ just talk to her in the hallway. I ask her a multitude of questions, stuff like, “Are you okay? What’s going on? Why were you crying? WHAT’s WRONG?”
All she would say was, “I’m not okay now, but I think I will be soon.” I hate this! She is being so annoying, and I’m going to go crazy if I have to wait a long time for her to spill. It’s not like I asked her in front of everyone, I brought her to the place most girls talk and cry, WHY WON’T SHE TALK AND CRY? I hate this, but I love her, so I guess I’ll have to wait.
~Anna
1 Year Later
I’m taking my time as I slowly make my way through the hospital wings. Step by step, I make my way to the Surgery Therapy clinic. I miss school so much, and hopefully chemo will be over soon for me. Today I’m going to visit Mr. Marvin, the funny man who checked in yesterday due to an unexplainable disease. As I step into the room with its ugly tan walls, I see Jane look up at me, with the saddest of all eyes. Then it just clicked. I knew I knew him from somewhere, but now I know that it’s Jane’s father. I miss the way Jane and I used to laugh, before I got leukemia, before we drifted apart, before I got a tumor and before I had to get a tutor for weeks during chemo instead of going to school. I kept in touch with so many people during it, Anna included, but not with Jane. Life just didn’t let us keep in touch. I don’t know if it’s just today, but she looks unkempt, just not put together as everyone says. Maybe I should tell Anna, I mean she is supposed to visit me today, maybe Jane needs an outside perspective. For now though, I’ll just close the door on Jane and Mr. Marvin, they need each other now, and I hope Anna thinks Jane is ready to deal with her father, especially since the whole school will be right beside her.
~Lena
Epilogue
Days passed without Jane saying anything. She didn’t show up to school for weeks. As her mother slowly became poorer and her father became sicker, she eventually moved downtown, to an old shack with only one room that had everything from a kitchen to a bathroom. I visited her there once, but never went back. I offered to help pay for things and what ever else could help. Things only became worse when her father died. All those medical bills that they held off just came in one huge blow, so they had nothing and eventually, they lived on the streets excepting from no one. A few months later, they got back on their feet, and they came back to normal. They became stronger and stronger, living less and less in the past. She is happier now to live on memories while she shares the newer ones with her personal angel, the one who remembers everything, because he was the one who picked her up when she fell. Because according to Jane, he is Mr. Marvin. She overcame so much because everything here was written on the back of the yellow piece of paper. Faded until she realized it was there. All that happened was that she forgot to check the other side, or else she wouldn’t think that she was just nice, shy and conservative. She would’ve known that she is so much more.
Love,
~Anna ~Lena
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
WORK IN PROGRESS, please help!!
It’s frustrating trying to find something to wear when your entire wardrobe is spread across your floor. Moving over to the closet, I saw something blue, with a GAP tag hanging off of it. It was my blue dress. I describe it so simply because it is so simple. It is a royal blue, with a grey stripe at the bottom and near the neck-line. Picking it out of the pile of clothes, I put it on, and moved over to the mirror.
Every time I put that dress on I lose myself. It’s not anything special, or it doesn’t look that special. It provokes no long-felt nostalgia; I’ve only had it for a few months. But that simple, blue cotton dress was my disguise. That dress was a costume, not metaphorically, but it was literally a costume that I danced in, in front of at least 100 people.
I jumped onto, and flung myself off of a table wearing that dress! It was choreographed and my friends caught me, but still, the “me” that the rest of the world sees would never to that; she’s much too sensible. But that dress became a sort or armor. I felt invincible, even though I wasn’t.
That stage in Newtown High School scared me. It scared me more than the 800-person Rich-Forum Theater. But what scared the most was how vulnerable that dress and that dance made me feel. I know I said that the dress was a sort of metaphorical armor, but at first it didn’t feel that way. It felt like an embarrassing spotlight, highlighting my every mistake, movement, and thought.
Taking advantage of that vulnerability was probably the best thing I’ve ever done on stage. I embraced that fact that everyone was looking at me, and turned the dress into the disguise of a confident dancer. With time, the disguise turned into reality. That moment was when the soft cotton dress turned into my armor with which I could enter any battle against fear and anxiety. Later, my teacher smiled and hugged me, saying “You all looked like women up there. And you! You took over that stage Piquette!” I used to be afraid to stand alone on that stage, even with the auditorium completely empty. But that blue dress remains a representation of courage and the conquering of the fear that strangled me for so long.
Looking in the mirror, months after the fact, the dress still remains the same. It remains in the world as a reminder of my victory in the battle against myself. Changing back into my jeans and t-shirt I realized that the world wasn’t supposed to see my disguise now; they had to see me.
Back in my daydream, I remembered the name of the song that I danced to, wearing that dress. It was called “Bitter.” The feelings provoked by the song are exactly what the title suggests. Listening to the lyrics, I realized that I sheltered myself so completely from the risk of emotional anguish that I didn’t have any life experience with which I could draw inspiration. The “narrator” in the song had her heart broken by someone she loved.
That’s never happened to me, so shouldn’t I feel lucky? The strange thing is that I don’t. I wished I had felt heartbreak before, not just as a source of inspiration, but just as an experience. Have I experienced nothing? Am I just emotionally comatose? Or am I just to closed up to let anybody even relatively close to my heart?
Every time I put that dress on I lose myself. It’s not anything special, or it doesn’t look that special. It provokes no long-felt nostalgia; I’ve only had it for a few months. But that simple, blue cotton dress was my disguise. That dress was a costume, not metaphorically, but it was literally a costume that I danced in, in front of at least 100 people.
I jumped onto, and flung myself off of a table wearing that dress! It was choreographed and my friends caught me, but still, the “me” that the rest of the world sees would never to that; she’s much too sensible. But that dress became a sort or armor. I felt invincible, even though I wasn’t.
That stage in Newtown High School scared me. It scared me more than the 800-person Rich-Forum Theater. But what scared the most was how vulnerable that dress and that dance made me feel. I know I said that the dress was a sort of metaphorical armor, but at first it didn’t feel that way. It felt like an embarrassing spotlight, highlighting my every mistake, movement, and thought.
Taking advantage of that vulnerability was probably the best thing I’ve ever done on stage. I embraced that fact that everyone was looking at me, and turned the dress into the disguise of a confident dancer. With time, the disguise turned into reality. That moment was when the soft cotton dress turned into my armor with which I could enter any battle against fear and anxiety. Later, my teacher smiled and hugged me, saying “You all looked like women up there. And you! You took over that stage Piquette!” I used to be afraid to stand alone on that stage, even with the auditorium completely empty. But that blue dress remains a representation of courage and the conquering of the fear that strangled me for so long.
Looking in the mirror, months after the fact, the dress still remains the same. It remains in the world as a reminder of my victory in the battle against myself. Changing back into my jeans and t-shirt I realized that the world wasn’t supposed to see my disguise now; they had to see me.
Back in my daydream, I remembered the name of the song that I danced to, wearing that dress. It was called “Bitter.” The feelings provoked by the song are exactly what the title suggests. Listening to the lyrics, I realized that I sheltered myself so completely from the risk of emotional anguish that I didn’t have any life experience with which I could draw inspiration. The “narrator” in the song had her heart broken by someone she loved.
That’s never happened to me, so shouldn’t I feel lucky? The strange thing is that I don’t. I wished I had felt heartbreak before, not just as a source of inspiration, but just as an experience. Have I experienced nothing? Am I just emotionally comatose? Or am I just to closed up to let anybody even relatively close to my heart?
Leech
The mist tickled the eyes of passerby, all going to there jobs. The Brisk New York Morning was wet but pleasant, considering the 90 degree weather they had had the last couple of days. Brian hurriedly tried to find a subway station. And everyone knows when you need the subway, it mysteriously disappears. Short on cash, he couldn’t afford a taxi, and reluctantly lifted the back of his overcoat over his head. He had a meeting with Corporate today, and needed to look professional.
He thought about the dangerously low sales that were hitting the Rickney Agency. You see, Brian Whitiker was a Senior Sales Associate at the Rickney Advertising Agency. The corporate “Big Guys” were “concerned” about “sales.” That’s Office code for, “They don’t like you, you’re not good enough, and you’re probably fired.” All the more reason to try to impress them enough to change their single-facetted minds. They only cared about Cash, and if he could get them to think he could help them get “cash,” he knew they would let him stay. At the wages they paid him, what did they have to lose, anyway?
He thought about what he would do if he was fired. He had no family, and no real credentials for another good job. He went to his town college,
He thought about the Law and Order episode he watched on TV last night (his mind went astray from serious thoughts). He thought about everything. Brian, was a thinker. As you probably figured out by now, he’s just a normal person living the normal
Still, he thought about getting fired; he knew it would happen; he always had terrible luck. So he decided to push it out of his mind, since it would only damage his attempt at being impressive to Corporate.
* * *
“Brian Whitiker, Brian Whitiker,” Brian got up from his seat while putting down his paper, and walked to the door that led to the hall, that led o the meeting. The intercom had called him to the meeting. As he walked down the hall, he felt a voice in his mind, “Dead Man Walkin! Dead man Walkin here!” Chills, no, not chills, but ice cold electrical shock ran up and down his body, Suspense, acceptance, and helplessness in a dangerous mix that would ruin anyone’s day.
“Brian, take a seat. As you know, slaes are down,” explained Jack Rickney, President of the company.
“Briliant!” mumbled Brian sarcastically.
“What was that?” Jack asked.
“Oh, nothing, I was just, er, clearing my throat,” said Brian quickly
To be Continued…
The Forgotten Sport
The ball bounced up and down. Up and down. Up and down. It is music to my ears. But some people hate it. They loathe the sound that is everywhere. Well not everywhere. Not in my town. The small town of Langston Hills which is located in scenic South Carolina. Langston Hills just happens to be the most boring town in the entire country. There is nothing really going on there. People just do their insanely boring jobs and come home to their insanely boring lives. People really don’t care about much except one thing, sports. They start their kids really young. Like pre-school young. At the beginning the parents choose what sports the kids play. This is mainly because the kids can’t talk yet. If the parents have been living in the town for their whole lives, they start of their kids in either baseball or football. These are the two main sports in our town. People worship them. But people also play soccer, lacrosse, and hockey. These are pretty popular too. There are also a lot of swimmers in our town. But, if you have any self dignity then you don’t swim. All the geeks, computer nerds, and weirdo Goth people swim. So a lot of people try to stay away from swimming. That only leaves one major sport; basketball. Basketball is the one and only forgotten sport. Barely anyone plays it. The Y doesn’t even have a league, at any age. The only reason why there are gyms are built in our town are for volleyball and the occasional wrestling match. They just through in a few hoops in some empty wall space. No one uses them. Except one person. And that person is me. Ever since I’ve been little, I have been throwing the ball up, trying to get it into the hoop. I am really the only one who loves the sport. I am the exception in our town. Basketball is my life.
Since fifth grade, I have worshiped basketball. I started out playing baseball, which I wasn’t bad at, but by fifth grade I’d had enough with it. It was so slow and boring. There was like nothing going on. You hit the ball then run a short distance to the base. I couldn’t take it. My coach was a jerk, yelling at me constantly. Then, one game, when my team was in the field in the bottom of the last inning with two outs. I was pitching. That game, we only had nine guys. If we had one less we would have had to forfeit. Also, the stakes were high. If we won this game then we made it to the championship. Everyone on our team really wanted to win. But things were looking not that good. We had two outs which was a plus but they had their bases loaded. We were tied. But fortunately their worst batter was up. He had had one hit the entire season. I zoned in to the strike zone. I got into my windup and let the pitch go. It whizzed by the kid. “Strike one!” yelled the ump. My catcher stood up and fired the ball back to me with a huge grin. Then I took a huge breath and whipped the ball into the strike zone. A triumphant “Yes!” went off in my head. I felt so good right then I almost screamed. But the next five minutes were hell. I started pitching balls. I was okay after the first one. The second one got me a little nervous but the third one really shook me up. “Concentrate!” I yelled, almost out loud. I relaxed my shoulders but right befor I threw the pitch my coach came running out onto the field. He didn’t look that mad but then I realized he was just looking happy for the parents. He turned to me and stuck his butt ugly face right into mine. I could smell his wretched garlic breath and the faint smell of cigarettes. I knew what was coming. He was going to start calling me names and saying that I sucked and if I walked this guy I would be the worst player ever. But right before he could say any of that crap, I just walked away. Actually, I knda ran but it doesn’t really matter. Everyone on my team hated me for a while after and some still hold a grudge. But that pretty much ended my baseball career. Oh and as for coach, he died of lung cancer about five years after the game. But before he died he got kicked out of his house by his angry wife, got sued for pirating movies, and ended up living in a shack just off I-42.
Reliving my baseball memories aren’t exactly my favorite memories. I rarely tell anyone about them. And I don’t know why I should when I have so many basketball memories. Just kidding. I really only have one basketball memory. And it actually is a good one.
One time when my dad went to New York a few years back to visit a friend he took me with him. It was great in the big city. Pretzels and hot dogs being sold on every corner, getting to walk everywhere, and all the noise. I had never heard so much of it in my life time. We visited all the museums, all the landmarks, and we even went to a Yankee game which was cool but since it was the year after I had quit baseball I wasn’t that interested. Then on our last night in the city my dad’s friend burst into our hotel room yelling that he had just got floor tickets to the Knicks game. My dad barely looked up from the Sports Illustrated he was reading. “Not interested” he said with almost no enthusiasm. This proved that he was not a basketball guy. “What about J.J.?” my dad’s friend asked. “Would he like to come?” “Why don’t you ask him?” my dad said with no interest. I jumped up so fast that I tripped on a play station controller. I got a face full of carpet but I was fine. “Let’s go!!!!!!” I yelled. “Don’t stay out to late.” My dad said grumpily. I was so excited on the way to the game that I almost wet my pants. When we got there I really did wet my pants. Just kidding. We were taken to our seats by an usher who was all dressed up. We were right on the floor. I couldn’t believe it. Well I guess I should have been prepared for it, seeing as we have floor tickets. We were early, so we watched the players warm up. I saw them dribble between the legs and behind the back. I watched them shoot and spin. It looked so graceful. And I loved every minute of it. That was when I really fell in love with the sport. I didn’t realize it then, and I didn’t realize it in the few days after that, but that was the one moment that changed my life forever.
“Ring!” The school bell went off as 1500 kids poured into the hallways from classrooms, and computer labs, and some from the bathroom, having spent the whole period there due to the lunch lady’s recent attempt at making the school food edible. Unfortunately her attempt involved, actually, you don’t want to know. You could hear people slamming there lockers and yelling at there friends to hold the bus. I coasted threw the madness, being careful not to allow people to be shoved into me. I jammed my books into my locker and headed off for the gym.
I was feeling like crap today, but I was totally pumped to get out on the floor with my teammates. Wait, I know what you’re thinking, what team? What teammates? Didn’t he say that there was no basketball?
Well I did say all those things but I may have left some stuff out. Last year, we got a new history teacher. Mr. Robbins. He was great. Funny, cool, and never gave out detentions. But he had a passion for one thing that he could never get his mind off. Basketball. He was obsessed. He just walked into the classroom the first day talking about basketball and how it was the best sport and all this stuff and that was the day he became my favorite teacher ever. Well last year, when he found out that there was no basketball team for him to coach he went crazy. Mr. Robbins went to the principal, then the director of education and then the board of education. Finally he won out. They told him that if he could find enough players they could have a team. He was really happy, but it was nothing compared to me. I was ecstatic. I was the happiest I have ever been in my entire life. More happy then when I went to the Knicks game. More happy then when I went to Jamaica on vacation. More happy then…….well you get the picture. So since then we have had a basketball team. But we didn’t play any games that year. We could only find four players. Me, and my two friends that after many grueling hours I convinced to play, and Norman Sewell. Now Norman isn’t exactly good at basketball. The only reason he is on the team is because he sucks at swimming which is all his friends do and his mom makes him play a sport so he’s not playing videos games all day. I would rather have my kid sister go out for the team then him. But anyway, we didn’t have a full team so we couldn’t play. But one thing that we could do was practice. Last year we practiced with an eighth grader who is going to be a freshman this year so we are going to have a real team and we will be able to play in the high school league! My dreams were coming true!
Since fifth grade, I have worshiped basketball. I started out playing baseball, which I wasn’t bad at, but by fifth grade I’d had enough with it. It was so slow and boring. There was like nothing going on. You hit the ball then run a short distance to the base. I couldn’t take it. My coach was a jerk, yelling at me constantly. Then, one game, when my team was in the field in the bottom of the last inning with two outs. I was pitching. That game, we only had nine guys. If we had one less we would have had to forfeit. Also, the stakes were high. If we won this game then we made it to the championship. Everyone on our team really wanted to win. But things were looking not that good. We had two outs which was a plus but they had their bases loaded. We were tied. But fortunately their worst batter was up. He had had one hit the entire season. I zoned in to the strike zone. I got into my windup and let the pitch go. It whizzed by the kid. “Strike one!” yelled the ump. My catcher stood up and fired the ball back to me with a huge grin. Then I took a huge breath and whipped the ball into the strike zone. A triumphant “Yes!” went off in my head. I felt so good right then I almost screamed. But the next five minutes were hell. I started pitching balls. I was okay after the first one. The second one got me a little nervous but the third one really shook me up. “Concentrate!” I yelled, almost out loud. I relaxed my shoulders but right befor I threw the pitch my coach came running out onto the field. He didn’t look that mad but then I realized he was just looking happy for the parents. He turned to me and stuck his butt ugly face right into mine. I could smell his wretched garlic breath and the faint smell of cigarettes. I knew what was coming. He was going to start calling me names and saying that I sucked and if I walked this guy I would be the worst player ever. But right before he could say any of that crap, I just walked away. Actually, I knda ran but it doesn’t really matter. Everyone on my team hated me for a while after and some still hold a grudge. But that pretty much ended my baseball career. Oh and as for coach, he died of lung cancer about five years after the game. But before he died he got kicked out of his house by his angry wife, got sued for pirating movies, and ended up living in a shack just off I-42.
Reliving my baseball memories aren’t exactly my favorite memories. I rarely tell anyone about them. And I don’t know why I should when I have so many basketball memories. Just kidding. I really only have one basketball memory. And it actually is a good one.
One time when my dad went to New York a few years back to visit a friend he took me with him. It was great in the big city. Pretzels and hot dogs being sold on every corner, getting to walk everywhere, and all the noise. I had never heard so much of it in my life time. We visited all the museums, all the landmarks, and we even went to a Yankee game which was cool but since it was the year after I had quit baseball I wasn’t that interested. Then on our last night in the city my dad’s friend burst into our hotel room yelling that he had just got floor tickets to the Knicks game. My dad barely looked up from the Sports Illustrated he was reading. “Not interested” he said with almost no enthusiasm. This proved that he was not a basketball guy. “What about J.J.?” my dad’s friend asked. “Would he like to come?” “Why don’t you ask him?” my dad said with no interest. I jumped up so fast that I tripped on a play station controller. I got a face full of carpet but I was fine. “Let’s go!!!!!!” I yelled. “Don’t stay out to late.” My dad said grumpily. I was so excited on the way to the game that I almost wet my pants. When we got there I really did wet my pants. Just kidding. We were taken to our seats by an usher who was all dressed up. We were right on the floor. I couldn’t believe it. Well I guess I should have been prepared for it, seeing as we have floor tickets. We were early, so we watched the players warm up. I saw them dribble between the legs and behind the back. I watched them shoot and spin. It looked so graceful. And I loved every minute of it. That was when I really fell in love with the sport. I didn’t realize it then, and I didn’t realize it in the few days after that, but that was the one moment that changed my life forever.
“Ring!” The school bell went off as 1500 kids poured into the hallways from classrooms, and computer labs, and some from the bathroom, having spent the whole period there due to the lunch lady’s recent attempt at making the school food edible. Unfortunately her attempt involved, actually, you don’t want to know. You could hear people slamming there lockers and yelling at there friends to hold the bus. I coasted threw the madness, being careful not to allow people to be shoved into me. I jammed my books into my locker and headed off for the gym.
I was feeling like crap today, but I was totally pumped to get out on the floor with my teammates. Wait, I know what you’re thinking, what team? What teammates? Didn’t he say that there was no basketball?
Well I did say all those things but I may have left some stuff out. Last year, we got a new history teacher. Mr. Robbins. He was great. Funny, cool, and never gave out detentions. But he had a passion for one thing that he could never get his mind off. Basketball. He was obsessed. He just walked into the classroom the first day talking about basketball and how it was the best sport and all this stuff and that was the day he became my favorite teacher ever. Well last year, when he found out that there was no basketball team for him to coach he went crazy. Mr. Robbins went to the principal, then the director of education and then the board of education. Finally he won out. They told him that if he could find enough players they could have a team. He was really happy, but it was nothing compared to me. I was ecstatic. I was the happiest I have ever been in my entire life. More happy then when I went to the Knicks game. More happy then when I went to Jamaica on vacation. More happy then…….well you get the picture. So since then we have had a basketball team. But we didn’t play any games that year. We could only find four players. Me, and my two friends that after many grueling hours I convinced to play, and Norman Sewell. Now Norman isn’t exactly good at basketball. The only reason he is on the team is because he sucks at swimming which is all his friends do and his mom makes him play a sport so he’s not playing videos games all day. I would rather have my kid sister go out for the team then him. But anyway, we didn’t have a full team so we couldn’t play. But one thing that we could do was practice. Last year we practiced with an eighth grader who is going to be a freshman this year so we are going to have a real team and we will be able to play in the high school league! My dreams were coming true!
To Be Continued...
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