3rd Day Narrative

It all started in 7th grade, our football team was at the time undefeated and we were in our second to last game. We were up by quite a bit and our team was feeling sanguine, our coach didn’t put too much thought into it, and called a run up the middle with our star running back Michael Lundy. He Got the ball and ran for Three short yards then suddenly tripped over a pile of angry, impassioned, irritable teenage boys. Michael had landed wrong and you could see by his expressions he was hurt, his dad came on the field and helped carry him off. We were forced to continue the game without Michael, which wasn’t all that bad because there were only three minutes left in the game. We the Philomath 7th grade braves had won our second to last game

The time had finally come. After three weeks of pain, two weeks of testing, and a week of waiting. The results were in. I just had to wait a few more minutes for the doctor to come in and tell me what was wrong with me and how long it would take to fix it. The results will change my future.

One afternoon, right after the final bell of the day had rung, I was at my locker, packing up my things quickly to make the bus on time. As I swung my backpack onto my shoulder, it collided with someone who I didn’t realize was standing directly behind me. I barely had enough time to register what had just happened before one of my friends yelled “Ouch! F* you Emma!” I was so surprised that someone could have said something so mean to me that I ran out of school and onto the bus. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I leaned against the window, trying to process my feelings on what the person I thought was my friend had said to me. Almost immediately I concluded that my friend must now hate me and that I shouldn’t hang out with him any more because he’d yell at me.

I couldn't believe as i entered the room that her body was just laying on the floor with four knives in the back of her neck. To get back to this point let me telling how and why we are currently in this situation. Its was a causal day in the life of Alex who attend Triad math and science academy. One day he left his creative writing class and went to the restroom. While in the restroom he got side tracked and began talking to Jasper who also had the same class. Once they knew it already 10 minutes passed while they were talking.

Then one day I was sitting on the bench in the shade reading my book. His name was Jonathan, he grabbed my book and ran. So I sat there and yelled at him to bring me back my book, never managed to achieve. Next thing I know I’m chasing him around the playground yelling at him to give me my book. I gave up and stopped running and then went somewhere he wouldn’t be able to see me. Whenever I saw him stop and sit down I ran out and grabbed my book and then he grabbed my arm. I told him to let go and next thing he did was give me an Indian burn. Then I cried and told my teacher. My lesson learned from this was reading shouldn’t be done at recess.

Cerritos High taught 4 grades as well, but there were 2200 students. The school was like a small town, a town where Blacks, Hispanics, Koreans, Taiwanese, Japanese, Egyptian and White teenagers were pushed together for 7 hours a day. I had never been around so many different cultures, ideals and ideas. I was not prepared, I was shell shocked and the other guys could smell it! I was beaten up 4 times my first year, the worst being an African American kid who decided extorting money from me every Monday was a good way to earn some extra cash. I was miserable, not sleeping; scared. I once told him no and tried to walk away but he just laughed, slammed me into the ground and he got the money. I was rightfully scared of that kid, but I was even more scared to tell my parents. I didn’t want to be the guy who hid behind his parents, I wanted to hurt that kid but I had no reasonable way to do it myself, and at this point I knew it couldn’t go on so I told my Dad. He handled it very calmly, told me not to worry, it would stop, and the kid would leave me alone. The following night my Dad told me that kid, the guy who hit me, extorted money from me, made my life horrible, that that kid’s father was the Vice President of a local bank. Guess whose father was extremely unhappy to learn his son was acting like a punk? Oh yes, Karma, it

It was the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning. I remember being excited for this day because I did not have school, and, like most six year olds, I loved to watch cartoons every Saturday morning. As I watched, however, my father came into my room, and instructed me to put on my clothes and prepare to go to the doctor’s office. I immediately became excited as I loved to go and visit my pediatrician. When we arrived there however, it was not the doctor I anticipated. It was a speech therapist. While I did not realize why I was there, my doctor explained that she was going to help me with my stutter. Being a kindergartener at the time, I was not bullied or picked on for my stutter. However, as I got older, my classmates started to point it out

The summer before I started 7 grade, was long and intimidating. I threw an end of the year party and my friends and I were playing outside. My friend Sia was jumping on the trampoline and she became frustrated with a soccer ball so she kicked it off and it landed right into the fire pit. Ever since then, my friends and I have joked that the flaming ball represents our junior high experience. There have been numerous accounts of where I have fallen up the stairs like a few days ago, went to the wrong class or made a complete fool of myself, especially in math class. 7 grade was just the beginning of two gruesome years at the junior high. At first it was an intimidating school, which I thought had secret hallways and now I can stroll down the halls without being afraid of some teacher screaming at me or students towering over me. Although, I guess students still tower over me so not much has changed. I’ve learned from my numerous mistakes, became a better student and person overall in the past 2 years.

I thought the nightmare would stop in middle school. However, middle school was a lot worse, not only was I verbally assaulted but also physically. As the days went by, I felt an increasing animosity towards my new language. (Since it was the root if all my problems.) I don’t know how my mom found out, but even thought I didn’t admit it, I was relived she did. Joe1, who bullied me on a regular basis, was expelled from the school. However I felt guilty since he was just a kid who didn’t know

It was a frigid day in September 2003, and I was on my way into school. This was the first day of school, in my Senior year. Everyone said it is suppose to be the best year of your high school career. However, it wasn't that way for me. I walked into school on that day, and I felt as if I had some terrible disease. People were avoiding me, ignoring me, and this had never happened before. I was always Miss Popularity all throughout school and I constantly had someone around me. Therefore, getting the cold shoulder was new to me. Day after day I would come to school feeling left out and alone. I had no idea what was happening to all my friends. Until one day I overheard some people talking about me. I was so

As an elementary school student, I did not have many friends. I had not been with my classmates since preschool, so I was an outsider from the start. Being so young and ignorant, I did not really see that I was bullied, disliked, and unwanted, however, as I became more mature I realized that these people I would spend 8 years of my life with looked for anything to nitpick, from my rupunzelesque hair to my love for drawing. Come middle school, I finally and completely understood the animosity, and still sat alone at lunch, worked alone in class, replied with silence to their words, and when I was even assaulted I did nothing more but shrug it off and try to ignore it. However, when I would come home in the evenings I would retreat to my bedroom where it would all hit me at once. The anguish led to rivers of tears, insomnia, low grades, a refusal to leave my home, and eventually even suicidal tendencies. My drawings became graphic, about suicide, loneliness, and the anger I felt. The school believed I had ADHD, my parents believed it was just a phase, but they were blinded by their own problems at the workplace.

When I pass a classroom, I saw a body fly like a football against the lockers. “I’m really getting tired of your crap dude!” the jock said while power walking. Then suddenly a teacher was charging toward the two kids and grabbed the two and took them to the office. Well it’s sucks to be those guys, but unlike them, I want to do something with my life. Then when I about to enter the classroom, The principal called my name. “Gabriel could you come with me to my

On March 4th, 2005 I sat in Mrs. Musser’s first grade class. I talked with my friend Olivia Thacker, like I did everyday. We talked about boys; how smelly they were and how we would never have boyfriends. We talked about our sisters who were also friends, and we talked about our parents. However, that year we mostly talked about my mother. Around 2:45, my sister, Lauren and I, would walk to the farthest end of the school. That end of the school was filled with the bigger kids and I was always scared to walk on that side. My sister who was in second grade at the time, always walked with me, so I had some protection. Anyways, we walked out the doors to the student car-rider pick up line. My grandmother on my father's side always picked us up

It was the Spring of my 8th grade year, and while most kids in my grade would consider Algebra as something they learned, I got to learn a life lesson about self-control. I was attending a private Christian school that year, and had been there since 4th grade. I had a few close friends, but also made a few enemies. I had a real issue with one student named Ethan and he would consistently get under my skin every chance he had by saying negative comments or making jokes about me. Instead of seeking help from teachers, I would just try to forget about it and move on. But every negative comment and joke they made really did get to me. During middle school I often dealt with anger and insecurity. Eventually all of these comments built up in me

“The First Day” is a story about a five-year-old girl and her first day at school. "Even Sundays when I was in her womb, my mother has pointed across I Street to Seaton as we come and go to Mt. Carmel", her mother had always wanted her to go to Seaton Elementary School because it was right across from her church. However, when they entered the school to register, the teacher informed them that they lived "beyond the area that Seattle serves". When the young girl asked her mother “Mama, I can’t go to school?”, her mother responded, “One monkey don’t stop no show”.