Anne Lewis Monologue

Melinda is a first year recruit in secondary school, who is experiencing a great deal of changes managing pre-adulthood and troublesome circumstances. She experiences difficulty fitting in with different associates, she is appalled by her own particular appearance; for instance "I search for shapes in my face, certainly not a dried face", Melinda conveys what needs to be in a frightful route as a result of the way Andy assaulted her and caused a colossal effect on her life . Luckily, she has an instructor who gives exhortation as lessons to enable them to have the capacity to stand up to each other. Mr. Freeman," the coolest craftsmanship educator", is a skilled craftsman, carefully affected. That makes discretionary school less asking for

It was not the voice they were familiar with to greet them. They had almost come to expect Mom’s warm, quipped voice, or perhaps Mrs. Fletcher’s sweet, pitched calls, given how many times it had happened in the third grade. They remembered the hot embarrassment of having her repeatedly yell to them in the middle of class, of having students snicker as their slow, sluggish returned to the present.

Once they arrive to the library for detention they are instructed by the principal, Richard Vernon, to sit quietly for approximately eight hours and each write an essay about who they think they are. He randomly checks on the students during

“It was a terrible school, no matter how you looked at it. I like to be somewhere at least where you can see a few girls around once in a while...” (3).

I open the door to the school hallway. Inside I hear the chatter of many students at once. There were dozens of people in the area, and I was slightly overwhelmed. This place I have entered is what I wold come to know as Quest Middle School, one of the most stressful, but interesting two years I have had in a long time.

You enter the large set of double doors leading into the main hallway of yet another new school. Your mind drifts to your old school as you observe your own reflection in the glass insets of the entry doors inviting you into a new world. A world you’d rather not be a part of, not now. This is not a new experience. It’s one that keeps repeating itself over and over. Larson Junior High will make the second school you’ve attended in the short time of being a ninth grader, and a total of eight schools since beginning the first grade.

"Tasnim, can you please stay after class? I need to talk to you." I let go of the door handle and whip my head back to face my third grade teacher Mrs. Russell. She said my name correctly for the first time all year, though her voice was stern. I realize that my jaw has dropped by the expression on her face as she peers over her laptop. As I walk slowly towards her, my classmates whisper, "Ooh she's in trouble" as they sprint out the door for recess. I stand near my teacher's desk waiting for all the students to leave and when the room is silent, Mrs. Russell says,

You’ve reached the classroom now, the right one, you’re sure, but there’s already people inside and you’re early, so you lean against a wall and wait. You keep your mind perfectly blank as you watch the students, now your peers, go by. You notice the rock in your shoe again, and you contemplate it’s and then your very own existence for a while, very heavy but not unpleasant before class thoughts.

But I quickly snapped out of my thoughts once I entered the school, making sure to say hi to the select worthy few as I worked my way through the hallways. Meaning: the swim team hotties, entire lacrosse team, any teachers I can easily coax extra credit from later, the sexy new foreign exchange student from Denmark, and the headmaster. Whether they knew it or not, they were Valerie Linden’s

She questions,

Keating begins by showing them photos and old memories of previous students that have walked the hallways of Welton Academy Preparatory School a conservative environment where students are highly educated and prepared to enter some of

“That’s the school that Sophie and Rachel are going to, right Ima?” I asked. Sophie and Rachel went to school with me before we moved to Israel. Our school closed so they also had to find a new school. I was glad that at least I would know two people at my new school.

“What are you reading about?” I find myself asking the asian girl who was apparently a psychopath now. She ignores me, flips to the back of her worn, tan textbook and studies whatever she just found out. How am I supposed to tell my mom that after spending three days at orientation, I still haven’t made a single friend? I mean, she probably won’t really mind and after a while will just forget it or whatever. Am I honestly that weird to everybody? The girl flips back to her previous page and face scrunches up as she rereads the passage over and over. I might as well just try again. What the hell, right? I lean over a little, trying to catch a glimpse of what she’s reading. Bribery… arson… Cocaine… What the heck? I start to freak out. Were the other two being serious?

I walked into Ms.Vessels English class senior year thinking it would be like any other year, until she confronted me at the start of class. “You’re Becky from the Scribbler, right?” asked Ms.Vessels. Dear god, she knows me. I just smiled and nodded as anxious thoughts

The teachers report that they have trouble getting you to talk in class.” We passed the triangular farm on our left and the path widened to allow us to walk together. I hung back in the separate unasked and unanswerable questions.