(Perspective of Miss Caroline) I had already had a tough morning with a young girl, and I was anxious to discuss the lunch situations with the students. “Ok, who is going home for lunch?” I asked the class. Several hands shot up. Then I asked the remainder of the students to put their lunch on their desk if they’d brought it from home. I paced down the aisles of seats and stopped at Walter’s desk. “Where’s your lunch Walter?” He didn’t answer, just twitched. I asked him again, but he shook his head. Suddenly Jean Louise Finch piped in. “He’s a Cunningham, Miss Caroline,” she added before sitting back down. I looked at her with a confused emotion. “What’s that, Jean Louise?” “He’s a Cunningham!” “I’m sorry Jean Louise,
“I knew there was poverty in the world, but it was never as real to me as it was then. “ It was then that I realized how much I had.”
Lunch mercifully arrived, and Lewis broke one of his self-imposed rules and let himself slouch. Over the summer, he had been accustomed to grabbing something from Sylvester's refrigerator or cabinet if even the thought of hunger passed through his mind. Now, Lewis had to wait four hours for a tray of food. It seemed like Sylvester was on the same page when he grabbed Lewis's arm and quickly dragged him toward the lunch line. Knowing Sylvester, Lewis got in line first to let the big guy know what the blondie was going to get. Sylvester never wanted to get the same thing since Lewis always shared. He grabbed a fruit salad, and whatever else that looked colorful.
The bell rings for lunch, all the kids exist the classroom. John and Tim sit at a table and discuss their day.
As the class walked down the hall, Jenna asked Diego and Briz,” Would you two like to sit with me at lunch.”
It was the first day of school for many in Maycomb, including myself. I had just moved from a college in Winston Country. Almost 30 years have past since that day in Maycomb when I first saw the school I was to be teaching at. The classroom smelt stale after being closed up for the whole summer, as I met my students who I would teach for the next year. The one child I remember most had a trail of dirty footprints leading to his desk. The little horror looked like he was straight from the pig pen.
Caroline’s POV: Saturday morning. So relaxing, so refreshing. Peace. Serenity. The whole house is quiet. All I can hear is the bubbling of the coffee machine. It beeps. I pick up the coffee pot and watch the dark liquid ooze into my yellow mug. The morning is what I live for. No children are up to bother me about stupid things.
Queshya slowly strolled across the dirt covered, school grounds. She was late, but she didn’t give it a second thought. Queshya is fifteen years of age, and her full name is, Queshya Rae Caroline. Her nickname is Shy, trust me she is the total opposite. She continues to go with the flow everyday of her life, which could be a good thing, or a bad thing.
They had spoken for many hours about this Opera Ghost, and Emelia still had trouble grasping all she heard. Finally, the time came for Emelia to begin preparing for the performance, so their conversation ended there to never be continued.
It was a typical day for B lunch. I stood by my usual trash can and began to observe the behaviors of the students. One of my favorite tables to listen in on is a very nearby table full of high school seniors: Abby, the intelligent reader with common sense; Lainey, the tired one who complains a lot; Bill, the patriotic redneck wannabe who dabs too much; Michael Parsons, the flamboyant, optimistic flower-child; Karla, the loud overachiever who boasts way too much; and Caleb, the shy observer of the table who only talked occasionally.
Simone Simon is my name, being invisible is my game. In fact, I'd venture to say, the seldom complimentary, often critical description, "chameleon," suits me to a tee. Maybe, being characterized as changeable, fickle, and inconstant is not something one should aspire to be, but to know my story is to understand why I ended up this way. Sit back, relax, and if you would, allow me to explain.
Akemi got to school. The school fortunately gives breakfast to the students, but the food was unsatisfactory. That was an overstatement to the teachers, but why would they care when they either ate at home or brought their own breakfast. The same problem with the breakfast is present with the lunch. Akemi is happy he at least brings his own lunch. Other kids aren’t so lucky.
When you first meet someone you are expecting a variety of questions to be thrown your way. For example, “what is your name?” “Where are you from?” “How old are you?” very common questions Im sure everyone knows the answer too. But what if someone were to ask you “So what are you anyway?” Knowing they are not talking about your career or anything of that matter, but your race. You are being asked a question that you do not prepare anyone to ask because well you’re a human being. A human being with a different skin pigmentation than the one asking you, isn’t that pretty obvious? I don’t expect many to understand the feeling that grows from the pit of your stomach when you feel as if though you have to explain your race to others, but it is not
This short story focuses around a beautiful woman who dreams about one day living a life so extravagant it would make everyone jealous. Madame Loisel unfortunately was born into a family of clerks where her dreams would remain dreams and never a reality as “she had no dowry,” “no means of becoming known, understood, loved, or wedded by a man of wealth and distinction” (WUTOE). This in turn, she ended up marrying a minor official. Throughout the story, Madame Loisel dreams of one day wearing expensive clothes,
One day, after setting her chair on the sand, Caroline laid her blanket near her umbrella. Worried about getting a sunburn, she raised her umbrella and lay under it. After a brief nap, Caroline began rising to her feet when she realized she had forgotten where she had laid her cooler. She soon found it laying near her car, just where she had sat it earlier. She decided to pick it up and lay it down near where her blanket
When we make it back into the classroom Mrs. Price says, “Everyone get out your homework ,so I can collect it.” I had been absent the day before and I didn’t know that