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 …show more content…
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
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.
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.
On February 21, 2016, I, Deputy John Arnold, went to 11747 West 105th Street South to assist another deputy in reference to a fight in progress.
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.
It's six o'clock. From down the hall, I hear my mother's footsteps approaching. The door opens.
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
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.
When I was about four or five years old I had to get my tonsils taken out which are located in the back of your mouth. A few weeks had passed and my mom had realized that my neck was a little swollen. My mom then made an appointment with the doctor and when he looked at my throat he said it was time. I then found out after they finished taking out my tonsils from my mouth they had said I should’ve woke up 10 minutes before , but ( I didn't ). When I finally woke up from what I call a long sleep all I remember was me walking into a room and fainting on the floor in front of a little girl. When they rushed me back to the emergency room they said I started to gush out blood from my mouth.
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.
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.
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...
“Why don’t you use your locker? You’re going to have back problems before you even graduate”. These are words that are repeated to me daily, almost like clockwork. I carry my twenty-pound backpack, full of papers upon papers from my AP classes. The middle pouch of my backpack houses my book in which I get lost to distract me from my unrelenting stress. The top pouch holds several erasers, foreshadowing the mistakes I will make - and extra lead, to combat and mend these mistakes. Thick, wordy textbooks full of knowledge that has yet to become engraved in my brain, dig the straps of my backpack into my shoulders. This feeling, ironically enough, gives me relief - my potential and future success reside in my folders and on the pages of my notebooks.
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 ...