Novik High School Narrative

I bolted through the clear door of a small, earth-colored high school, practically slamming the door behind me. Catching my breath, I stood in the school completely drenched and shivering. Rain pounded on the clear door behind me. I stood awkwardly on a mat in front of the doorway, trying not to get the floor wet. I gazed around the hall in front of me. I couldn’t see staff in the office, nor were any students in the hallway or in the classrooms. The entire school was empty.

It just made things easier for the bullies and things worse for me. Louis and I remained in Wildcats East. I was afraid and sometimes I never wanted to go back. I thought the bullying would have stopped. Now that I am not in school anymore, I feel safer, not threatened or bullied by anyone much anymore. Pretty sad I tell you how school life had to turn out the way it did.

rowing up on the Navajo Nation is an experience, compared to residing in a city. I grew up in Tuba city with a population of 5,000, no stop light until I was in elementary school, and played with the neighbor children until dark. Living in a household of fourteen people in a three-bedroom trailer were at times hectic. My siblings were years older, and one of my older sisters began a family in her teen years. The household consisted of cooking for a large family or finding a location to relax. I am grateful to come from a large family.

My town has a way of sheltering me; it’s relative uniformity and low crime rates represent a different society than what appears in the media. But I read the news; I assumed I knew what the rest of the world was like. In reality, I had a muted perception of people’s lives in other places. It’s as if I were exempt from the effects of the violence and evils happening

Girls perch on the tables like exotic birds gossiping and giggling, a football fly’s above their heads between two jocks in varsity jackets parading their toned muscles. Groups of high schoolers sit around the room laughing. Weekend has arrived and the hallways of the school were filled with tons of kids ready to go home. Every ear filled with the sound of multiple conversations going off at once, lockers opening and closing, music blasting without. I had managed to push past the constant stream of children and to the school field. The grass was damp and covered in a thin layer of frost. As I walked my footprints were embedded, leaving a piece of me in the cold ground. I saw my friends faraway chattering and fooling around. I was stuck in the wrong crowd; they are nothing like me but somehow I am still friends with them. I slowly made my way up to my “so called friends”.

It was a normal morning, still laying down in the warm embrace of my down comforter. I set my daily alarm to go off at 5:50 a.m., and after about 5 clicks of the snooze button, I muster up the courage to emerge from the sheets like a kodiak leaving hibernation.

“Come on!” My best friend, Sarah, pulled me outside of the GT classroom, and out into the open high school hallway.

The door slammed on my way out of the old apartment building. No, I didn’t slam the door; it was a windy morning in the city of Chicago. As I was walking outside, I whispered to myself “This is it.” The wind was pushing against me, almost causing me to tumble over. Along with the wind, the smell of rain filled my nostrils and my clothing started to soak from just a five-yard walk from the apartment building to my dad’s truck. As soon as I got inside my dad’s truck, I was shivering from the ice-cold rain and piercing wind that was outside and I loudly sighed with relief. The slam of the door may seem like a negative thing, but it was actually the beginning of a better life for me. It was the sound of me breaking free from an affectionless prison

Blowing warm air into her hands, she trudged across the street towards her condo. Her back was aching from the mass of textbooks she carried in her backpack. Her winter boots had filled up with snow, and made her feet feel like over-frozen popsicles. Through the front window, she saw the twinkling lights of their Christmas tree, all decorated and sparkling. She shuddered as she walked up the stairs towards the front door. As she opened the door, immediate warmth filled her body. She felt like melting. Hot chocolate was all she could think of.

I walked past buildings and businesses, occasionally stopping in to rustle some paperwork or knock a knickknack or two off a shelf just to ruffle a few feathers. I found myself retracing the path to the apartment complex where I used to lived, finally, I stopped outside of the brick building and walked in, The familiar smell of newspaper and coffee greeted my senses and I clambered up the staircase one final time, their steps timeless creaking was comforting in this time of confusion, I stopped in front of the door and let myself in, gazing in remembrance of the final place of my living

Growing up in the suburbs, I felt alive and yet, overwhelmed. Pulsing with electricity, the whole world was one click away, at my fingertips. A network of sights, sounds, and puzzles spread out before me, an overpowering and uncontrollable force. My life is run by schedules, planning each minute and precious second out in harsh ink. Everything must be in order, must be under control, and must have a purpose. Real life doesn’t run on a schedule; even the smallest decision can alter the direction of the future. I am frightened of just how much I am unable to see, how much I might overlook and be unable to safely tuck away in the far recesses of my memories. In the suburbs so close in contact with uncontrollable chaos, I am not can never be perfectly content. Instead, I find my peace in the middle of my Grandfather’s cornfields.

One of the toughest transitions in my life was going from middle school to high school. After getting rejected by basically all of the best high schools in Jersey City, I felt like I had already miserably failed my life. It was September 8th, 2008, the day that I arrived to United States from Ukraine; that day I made a promise to my mother that I would make something out of myself and make our journey to United States meaningful. I ended up going to a high school called, Academy of Independent Studies, it wasn’t a good high school but it was that or nothing. After basically wasting my first year of high school, I was given a second chance. At end of the year, I found out that the school will be shutting down and all the students will have to be transferred to a different high school. Our choices were to be either transferred to High Tech High School or County Prep High School.

I hopped out of the truck, raised my jacket hood and hiked my maroon backpack onto my shoulders. As I trudged through the drizzle towards the school doors, a crisp drop of rain trickled down my neck, I shivered. Walking to my locker something in the atmosphere was different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I shuffled to my math class

I step outside; the air is like a warm blanket around me, completely still, it is slightly relaxing. The sky is completely black, again. I cannot remember what the sun looks like, all I seem to recall is the darkness of night, and the soft, but yet artificial radiance that is fluorescent lights. I walk amongst these abandon city streets. Signs broken in half, buildings with massive jagged holes through them, sidewalks completely torn down the middle, almost as though it was waves crashing against seashore. Once again, I was reminded that I am alone; it is by the poster of photo shopped friends holding hands, smiling, laughing, and feeling this joy that is in togetherness. There is a feeling that stirs up in one’s heart, and in the upmost depths of their bodies. Some call it the mark of injustice, when something is not right. We as humans feel it as our sole purpose to make it right.

The morning in the dark place of Oregon was white with a thin layer of frost on the landscape. I was walking alone to my family’s store down in downtown. We sell maple syrup and we make it ourselves. I have a brother named Will and we live across from our childhood friend Myra. I don’t like living here it gives me chills. The weather here is always brittle and dark. In the town Arkendale we all know each other, if we don’t they visitors don’t come back. This place is very eerie, we don’t interact with each other if there is someone new who moves in they don’t feel welcomed. That's just the way of treating others in Arkendale. Ben, Myra and I go to the same school with other kids and all of us have the same teachers. Our