"?" by Deborah F

I caught him staring once again. And as expected, he turned his head away from me.
Typical, I thought. I sighed, continuing my work. About a minute later, he was looking my way
again. I was becoming agitated. I turned towards him and stared back. Except I didn’t have the
same blank expression he had. I gave him a face that said “What do you want?” He rolled his
eyes and turned away yet again. This brat! Matthew, the one I always catch glancing at me, does
this routine every single day. Looks at me. Once I notice, looks away. Soon afterwards he starts
looking again. I show my annoyance, and he gives me a rude gesture which furthers my agitation
with him. He started doing all of this after second semester began. The first time I noticed him
looking at me, I thought he was looking at someone else. I soon realized it was me that he was
fixated on. I assumed he had a crush on me or something like that. But it didn’t take me very
long to figure out that this was not the case. Well, it at least didn’t seem like so. One day, I
returned his gaze. He looked away. I wasn’t really surprised with this, so I looked away as well.
But once he saw that I was no longer looking at him, he started looking at me again! I was
definitely baffled with this action. I looked at him with a perplexed face. He then narrowed his
eyes at me and gave a look closely resembling a glare. He turned away. I was now slightly
angered. Who did this boy think he was? Unfortunately for me, this continued just about every
day. On some days I would pay no attention to him at all. On others, I showed my annoyance
with him. He then always gave me an impudent glance in return. I eventually found out his name
and also found out that he was a senior, just like me. We both were in our last year of high
school. But the fact that he is a senior is very obvious since he shares a few classes with me, a
senior. I never met him before nor noticed him and most likely would never have if he didn’t
start this stupid routine of his. I don’t even know why he does what he does. Like I stated before,
I made assumptions, but they did not seem too likely to be true. I have Matthew for two of my
classes. Math and art, my elective. I also have him for lunch but I usually never see him during
this period. I encountered him a couple of times during lunch but I just ignored him. I don’t
know if he ignored me though.
Math class, first period. I walked in and sat down in my assigned seat. Another day, I
thought. I was waiting somewhat impatiently for my last year of high school to end. We are in
the last three months of school. It is currently the middle of March. I never really enjoyed high
school as much as others. To begin with, I don’t have many friends. I have a couple of people I
chat with in certain periods but no one to hang out with. However, I never perceived this as an
issue. I find people to be quite a hassle most of the time anyways. I don’t enjoy school much not
because of the lack of communication between me and my peers, but mostly because school feels
more unnecessary than it should be. The curriculum taught by the school comes off as
nonsensical to me. It has felt like this ever since my freshman year. Despite the fact that I feel
this way, I don’t complain too much about it. I do very well in school and that is all that matters
to me. As I was contemplating all of this, a familiar face walked in the classroom door. It was
none other than Matthew. I forgot to mention that he sits on the seat to my right in math class. In
art class, he sits further down the rows of desks, which is a relief. As he walked toward his desk,
he looked my way. I looked at him and gave a frown. He scoffed and sat down. I rolled my eyes
at his unnecessary but usual attitude. We had five minutes till class started. There were a couple
of other students in class but not many. Most students wait in the school’s quad till the bell rings.
This made me wonder why Matthew comes in class before it is time to. I figured he has friends
to hang out with. Or maybe he is like me. I turned my head towards his direction. He was staring.
“Why are you staring at me?” I whispered at him. This was the first time I ever spoke to him. To
my huge surprise, he responded. “Because I can.” Still bewildered that he actually responded, I
quickly composed myself and spoke back. “I don’t care if you can, it’s annoying.” “Do
something about it then,” he said. I was shocked even further. “Is that a challenge?” I responded,
trying to keep my voice low. He smirked. “You are more interesting than I thought, Caroline.”
“Huh?” I said, confused. “How do you know my name? And what do you mean by
‘interesting’?” “We’re both in the same class. It doesn’t take a genius to find out someone’s
name, genius.” “Whatever,” I replied. “You didn’t answer my second question.” “Hmm,” he
said. “Don’t need to.” I was mad now. “Stop being a brat, and answer my qu”
the bell rang
before I could finish. Matthew faced forward. That answer of his upset me for the rest of the day.
What kind of trouble and level of annoyance will this kid bring me in the future?

“Cinnamon” by Michael R.

            I woke up to the sound of pebbles being thrown at my window. I opened it up and stuck my head out to see Cinnamon standing in my front lawn. “’bout time you woke up! Come on, man, get your money and we’ll head out.” I didn’t know what she wanted, and it was way too early in the morning to ask questions, so I just put on some clothes and pocketed the 6 bucks I had been saving. I looked up at my calendar: November 25^th, 1967. Today was circled in red marker. I wonder why. I moved downstairs and poured myself a bowl of cereal when I heard a commotion outside. I opened my front door to see Cinnamon and Mrs. H. yelling at each other from across the street. All I could catch was Mrs. H. saying “Just get outta here, you hippie trash!” Then she just turned and went into her house. Cinnamon looked obviously hurt, so I gave her a hug and said “Don’t let her bring you down, she just doesn’t understand.” We walked down our street and into town, which was totally empty. It was unsettling, like it was awaiting a coming storm. Cinnamon said “What’s Mrs. H.'s problem?” “I hear she lost her husband in the war.” “Really?” “Yeah, haven’t you seen it on TV, all those soldiers with their arms blown off. It’s terrible.” “That’s no way to die.” “It’s not.” We continued our thought provoking conversation until we reached Mr. Vinyl’s Record Shop in the town mall. Then I remembered, we were gonna buy some records to listen to on our sleepover tonight. We went inside and were looking through some albums when we were met by our friend Daniel. “Hey, did you guys hear?” “What, what did we hear?” “There’s gonna be an anti-war protest down on vine street tonight. You guys in?” “Yeah, were in.” We said bye to our friend, bought our vinyl, and walked back to my house. Our night just got more interesting. Luckily, Mrs. Haggarty wasn’t at her position on the porch, so she couldn’t torment us. We listened to our music until nightfall. I told my parents that we were going to sleep. We actually climbed out of my bedroom window and we were in the street in no time. I kinda felt bad about lying to my parents, but they would never let me go out this late. We made our way to vine street and we were greeted by a group of I think 70 people that were dressed in tie-dye and armed with signs that said things like “END THE WAR” and “FLOWER POWER.” Even late at night there were still a bunch of on-lookers. It was obvious that word had got out that there was gonna be a protest. Basically, we just stood around, waving our signs. Nothing hard. The moon was bright in the night sky, and the streetlight’s orange glow illuminated the city streets. We stood in front of the town’s recruiting office. It was a perfect place to protest the war. Me and Cinnamon kinda hung out there for about 2 hours, telling the occasional person that we were here because we believed that the war was immoral and unnecessary, when the police showed up. They had asked us to leave. Some of the hippies told them that they can’t tell us what to do. I felt the same way, but I didn’t like the way the police looked at us. They asked us one more time. Out of the crowd I heard “Why don’t you make us!” Me and Cinnamon looked at each other, and then back at the crowd. Things got out of control very, very fast. The cops came at us with batons and gun-butts, and they didn’t hesitate to smack, hit, and beat every hippie there. There was screaming and I had stepped in a puddle of blood. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, all I could hear was “Ahhhhhhhh!” coming from all directions. People were bumping into me left and right, and I lost my balance. I righted myself and frantically ran around, looking for Cinnamon and trying to dodge punches and baton swings. I didn’t notice that she had been tugging at my sleeve the entire time. When I finally noticed her, I grabbed her hand and we ran out of that chaos as fast as we could and we didn’t stop running until I finally tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. We were already on our street. As soon as I caught my breath, I got up off the ground and gave Cinnamon the tightest hug I had ever given anyone, thankful that she had gotten out of there unharmed. We walked to about the front of my house when we spotted Mrs. H. sitting on her porch. She said “What are ya’ll doing out here at this hour? Don’t you tell me that ya’ll were in that riot!” Still recovering from our misadventure, I remained quiet. Cinnamon spoke up “That’s none of your business!” “Don’t you take a tone with me, you ugly girl! It’s not my fault that all your hippie trash got beat for doing something stupid! I’m glad you all got beat, it should teach ya’ll some manners! You’re all a bunch of idiots!!” “Your glad!!! Do you know how many of our friends got hurt out there!! Do you know how much blood was spilled out there!!” Mrs. H. said in a quiet voice “Still glad.” Cinnamon was furious “Oh, you’re still glad, are you!! Well you know what!! I’M GLAD THAT YOUR HUSBAND DIED IN THAT WAR!!!!!!!!!!!!” What happens next was too much too handle. Mrs. H. had pulled something out of her pocket. Suddenly I heard a loud bang. Then I saw Cinnamon topple over in a puddle of crimson that stained the sidewalk. Blood oozed from her chest. Her eyes were glazed, staring at nothing. I couldn’t believe what I had just witnessed. All I could do look at her. I could her sirens off in the distance, coming closer. I could hear Mrs. H. curse to herself. Then I could hear nothing. It was too much for me to take. I felt myself falling backwards. Then it was dark. I woke up to the sound of pebbles being thrown at my window…

"Holiday" by Katy O

            The holiday that I have created is called “Forever Alone Day.” People who celebrate this holiday are the people who aren’t in relationships. During the day all you really have to do is close your blinds, watch romantic movies, and eat a tub of ice cream. To make this holiday even more fun, you can spend the day with your best friend and both sit on the couch all day while you both wish you could be able to find that special someone and live happily ever after like the movies. Forever Alone Day is on the same day as Valentines Day but now the people who aren’t in relationships can now be apart of the celebration. In order to prepare for this day, I would recommend you go to the market and get a few tubs of your favorite ice cream. Then when the day comes all you have to do is call your friend over and spend the day watching old romance movies. This day is probably the best day for people who aren’t in relationships because then when you see all of the couples walking around during Valentines Day then you won’t feel sad because then you’ll have spending the day with your friend to look forward to. Forever Alone Day is a much better holiday than Valentines Day because you can do anything you want. This holiday was formed for all of the single people out there. Maybe one say you’ll find your true love, but for now celebrate Forever Alone Day.

            Now that this day has been formed, I definitely will call all of my friends and celebrate this day with them so that we can all be lonely together. The best part about this day is that you can spend the day being with your single friends and you could binge watch an entire season of your favorite show on Netflix. I really couldn’t find an even better way to celebrate this holiday. As you can see, this is the holiday that I have created and these are some ways to make celebrate Valentines Day even better. Please join your friends and celebrate this amazing holiday for every single person out there.  

“Fine” By Victoria E

“... but if anyone asks tell them we’re fine.” Lisa told Lex, her best friend, as they were
heading home from the woods. The night before, they told their parents they were going to a
birthday party. Both of their parents agreed to let them go, as long as they were home by 10:00.
Unfortunately, Lisa and Lex did not make it home by 10:00.
Lisa and Lex met by the park. Once they met, they started walking to their friend’s house.
They decided to go through the woods because it was much faster than going by street. As soon
as they started walking into the woods, Lisa told Lex that she had an eerie feeling. Lex reassured
her and said “ There’s nothing to be worried about, this way is much faster..”
After walking less than a mile, they heard a noise. The noise started off as a rattle in the
bushes. The noise kept getting louder and louder, and whatever was causing it was getting closer
and closer. Lisa and Lex looked at each other for a split second and then started sprinting through
the woods.
Lisa tripped over a rock, and Lex tried to quickly help her up, but Lisa could barely move
her leg. Lex looked down at her leg and saw a huge scrape. There was a lot of blood coming out
of her leg. Lex grabbed her handbag and started looking through it in hopes of finding her first
aid kit. Luckily, she found it and started wrapping a band aid around Lisa’s wound. Lex heard
the noise again and told Lisa “Get up fast! I hear it again!”
Then suddenly, they saw a pair of reddish brown eyes peeking at them through the
bushes. They heard a low rumbling voice growling at them. Suddenly, they began to see
whatever was causing the noise, a dog. The dog slowly began walking out of the bushes and
revealed itself. It had foam coming out of it’s mouth and looked dirty and mangled. It was
positioning itself like a tiger getting ready to pounce on it’s prey. Just as it was about to attack
them, they hear a loud “BANG.” The dog collapsed on the floor, just as a tall man began walking
towards them. It was Lisa’s dad.
“Are you two okay?!” he said. “Yes we are now.” said Lisa. “C’mon let’s get you two
home.” Lisa asked “How did you know we were here?” Lisa’s dad said “I heard a rattling sound
and followed it through the woods. I’m just glad you girls are okay. Let’s go home now.” He
and Lex pick up Lisa since she was injured and they all went home. “I’m glad we’re okay.” said
Lex.” “Me too,” said Lisa. “Except you have a scraped leg, so you’re not completely okay Lisa.”
“... but if anyone asks tell them we’re fine.”

"Untitled" by Lauren M

      In today’s time, war and death have become so prominent that the mentality of “us versus them” is beginning to consume society as a whole. There are two types of people in this world; and they will always find a way to hate each other.

One of the most problematic issues in life is that we, as a human race, still look to establish differences within ourselves so that we may exist separately from others. Perhaps this is only done to satisfy our desperate attempts to sustain a type of identity that is so profound that we feel purposeful and “unique”. All around us, there exist social constructs that teach us to generalize the human race into two categories. Too many believe there to be a war between Muslims and Christians, failing to see how religion is too often abused as a war tactic than a type of untainted faith. People view abortion on two spectrums: pro-life v. pro-choice when in reality, there is an entire intermediate area that is so muddled it has lost relevance. Just by observing the words “pro-life” and “pro-choice” it is obvious how one group attempts to gain leverage by falling back on the fallacy that if you believe in “choice” you don’t believe in “life”, or vice versa. Democrats versus republicans until the world burns because how dare another political party rally a support that rivals the number one highest paid starters. Even racism is still prevalent and presents itself as one of the most infamous categories of all: black v. white that refuses to believe in the possibility of grey.

The fact that “everyone knows there are two types of people in the world” delineates how much we would rather assume a different identity from another group of people than realize that these misconstrued differences aren’t as conclusive as we make them out to be. People are afraid of admitting that they aren’t special or different; but what’s more so, is that society hasn’t realized that it’s excusable to not be so overwhelmingly different. We all have nuances and culture that personalize us and that should be enough to fulfill our “noble” goal of being an “individual”. So while we may strive to resolve the modern blights in society it is imperative that we recognize above all, that it is us, ourselves, that hinder society’s ability to achieve progress and a type of nondiscriminatory peace.

"March Writers Are Here!"

Enjoy!

Remember:
All Students:  Be sure to read the entries for this month.  Everyone is required to comment on at least three different pieces of writing.  You must post the comment here on the blog (below the post is the "comments" link to click) AND cut and paste your comments, complete with dates and times, on to a Word document and turn it in to me by the due date.  You must do both to get credit for comments this month.

Remember, comments must be positive, supportive, constructive, and SPECIFIC.  No "Good Job!" comments, unless you follow that with specific things you thought were done well in the piece.  Show them you actually took the time to read and enjoy their work!

"That Day" by Jessica P

     Screaming, crying, phone calls, and fear filled the house at 3:47 AM. Drowsy and confused I lifted my head up from my pillow and dragged my sleepy self out my bedroom into the hallway where I see tears streaming down my mother’s face. Downstairs my grandma was rocking back and forth mumbling so many words but the only one’s I was able to understand was, “Oh God save him! Save him please!” I continued to walk down the hallway into my parents bedroom where my mom was now being held by my younger brother; both crying. I asked what was going on and the response was not what I wanted to hear. I could barely understand my mom through her sobbing. “Y-y-your dad, he w-was in a car accident on the freeway. He ki-ki-killed someone in the accident!” I heard no more. My mind blanked out and my body froze. Who died? How did this happen? Is my dad okay? How is he?! Tears started running down my face and I went to hug my mother and my brother. Everything was going on so fast I didn’t know what to do. I immediately ran back to my room and threw myself onto my bed and cried into my pillow. I prayed and prayed and cried out to God. Why did this happen? Why him? It was the beginning of Christmas break, a happy time. Well this year won’t be so happy. I wiped the tears off my face and just sat there. Stone cold and numb. It felt like I was there for hours, just sitting there. My mother came into my room and told me how my dad was on his way to work and he was in a car accident. She didn’t know how he was but there was someone dead. She was contacted and my father was being taken to the hospital and they were on their way to meet him. She and my brother went, I stayed. Something about events like these I can’t bear to interact with people, so I stayed and just started to think. I turned off my light and laid my head back on my pillow and explored my mind. I thought about my mother’s broken smile and my brother’s puffy red eyes. I thought about how the accident could have happened. I thought about that happy man, my father; what could have he done to deserve this. Most of all I thought about the night before, how when my dad got home at 7 PM from work. I didn’t even go downstairs to say hi or eat dinner with my family because I was too busy with homework. How could I have done that? What if my father didn’t make it and I never got the chance to sit down and have one last meal with him and tell him how much I love him. I cried and soon fell asleep. 9 AM came around and I felt a soft paw on my belly and a meow. My cat decided to walk over me and greet me to wake me up. I smiled and petted her but then that smile disappeared as I remember what had happened earlier. I grabbed my phone quickly to see if i had gotten updated on any news about my dad. I did. My mom sent a text saying, “Papi is in the hospital but he is okay and will be okay. If all goes good he should be home by tonight. Don’t worry. He loves you very much. See you soon.” “Oh thank God,” I thought. Chills ran through my body and still worry filled me. I forced myself to relax and go throughout my day and eventually my dad came home. My mom and my uncle helped my dad through the door and sat him down on the couch. He was silent and still and was like that for a few days. He struggled to eat and didn’t want any visitors. I couldn’t recognize him. He wasn’t that happy man I once knew. About a week in I felt completely disconnected from my dad. Everything I tried to do to be in contact with him was difficult and he wouldn’t talk much. One day he called me into his room which was odd at this point. I sat down next to him and he spoke to me for about two minutes but those two minutes were all that I needed to know that same dad I had last week was still there. He apologized for being so distant and so upset at himself. He explained that the woman that died in an accident was extremely hard to deal with even if it wasn't his fault. He blamed himself and can't cope with the pain. He told me he still loved me even if it looks like he can't love at all. Walking back to my room I realized some things needed to change in my life. I could have lost my father in that 3-car accident but I didn't and that happened for a reason. Family is important and should come first in so many ways. I know my life was busy but I’d choose family over anything else. We as humans are never promised another day to live. We walk about of our house expecting to come home that night but out there in the world we are each a tiny spect of the population. Hundreds of specs leave this earth each day due to tragic or natural events. If someone you loved dearly left this earth what would be your first thought? Would you have regrets? I would have extreme regrets if i had lost my dad that day. It’s a miracle I didn’t. So, before I didn’t have a strong bond with my family, and although these difficult events are hard to cope with, there are positives. I learned not to take family for granted and I learned to treat them as if I were never see them again.

"How to Make Apple Pecan Monkey Bread" by Michelle S.

 

This is a great recipe that will satisfy your sweet tooth and is relatively simple. My aunt actually taught me this one a few years back and it could be done for as a quick sweet breakfast or desert. Usually my family and I make it for the holidays especially in the fall. The term monkey bread has been interchangeably called “puzzle bread, sticky bread, African coffee cake, golden crown, pinch-me cake, bubble bread”, etc. The name does not derive from a single thing but rather there are different theories.

Materials and Appliances:

·      A bundt pan

·      Two bowls

·      An oven

·      Mixing utensils

·      A zip loc bag (big)

·      A knife

·      Cutting board

·      Measuring cup (optional)

Ingredients:

·      2-3 tubes of Pillsbury Grand Biscuits

·      1 cup of sugar

·      3 tablespoons of brown sugar (organic)

·      2 small green apples or 1 big apple

·      ½ cup of pecans (whole)

·      1/3 cup of butter

·      3 teaspoons of ground cinnamon

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

 Step 1: Mix the two sugars and the cinnamon in a big bowl and take half of that mix and put in a small separate bowl/container and set it aside.

 Step 2:  Peel and dice the apples and use the mix that was previously set aside to now coat the sliced apples. Then set that aside.

Step 3:  Melt the butter.

Step 4:  Open the two tubes of the Pillsbury Grand Biscuits (8 biscuits in each tube) and use a knife to cut each one into fourths. (You will end up with around 64 pieces).

Tip: a pizza cutter cuts them smoothly.

Step 5: Now the other part of the mixture that was left in the big bowl is going to be used to coat the pieces. To make things easier what I like to do is use a zip loc back and dump the mix inside along with around eight pieces and shake the bag. Repeat until all are coated.

Step 6: Grease your Bundt pan. Then you need to take all the pecans and place them on the bottom of the pan (so that they are on the top once it is flipped over). The pecans could be chopped into smaller pieces but I am using them in whole pieces).

Step 7:  Add the first layer of the coated pieces on top of the pecans and press down so that the pecans are attached and not loose.

Step 8:  Drizzle melted butter using a spoon on top the pieces.

Step 9:  Then spoon over with the apples that were put aside and add that into the pan as well.

Step 10: Repeat steps 7-9 (it will be around 3 layers high)

Step 11: Take the pan and place it into the oven for approximately 35-40 minutes or until you see crispy and light golden brown.

Step 12: Take it out (Caution: Pan is very hot), let it cool down for about 5 minutes, flip it over, and enjoy!!!! (It can be sliced and served or pulled-out with your hands!)

v Don’t limit yourself to one way in doing a recipe but discover all variations. This is how my family and I prepare monkey bread but you could add different kinds of nuts or substitute what I used for foods like banana, cream cheese, chocolate chips, caramel sauce, etc. the possibilities are endless!  Hopefully you will give it a try and enjoy a delicious treat!

       

               

         

                           

   

"Old Farts" by Alicia A

Ever wonder why employees can be so mean? Well maybe it’s because customers suck. Whether it’s a fast food restaurant or at a retail store, most customers are just stinky old farts who follow you around with the type of persistency that makes you want to die of suffocation. I am currently working at a retail store, and I know it may appear as if I was one of those employees you would see on WorldStar or in a Vine who would go off on a customer or maybe even do some type of wrestling move on one of them. In reality I would like to think of myself as one of the kinder type of employees. Of course I don’t exactly cut down whole forests and rebuild an entire village for these people but I do, however, help them out to the best of my ability and make them happy so they don’t come back to rip me a new one.

This is my first job and to be completely honest I don’t even know how I got it, I mean I don’t have the best speaking skills and I am quite forgetful when given specific instructions, but for some reason I showed some type of potential and hey I guess I’m happy enough with that answer. With this being my first job ever, I don’t know, I guess I kind of expected for customers to be sweet and respectful not demons who rose from the fire pits of hell to make my job miserable.

This is mostly a rant so bear with me but it seems necessary to rant after dealing with all the different types of people that walk in and out of the store I work at, It seems reasonable to form some type of opinion about them right? I mean what justifies an old man calling the store just to tell us he’s naked? Ok so, what bugs me the most about these previously mentioned farts is that they are inconsiderable and rude. Why? I don’t even know. The store is literally a dump most hours of each day, why? Now I DO know the answer to that question and I bet you guys can guess it too…it’s the customers (*ding ding ding* the crowd goes wild *distinct cheers in the background* the announcer gives you a check for a million friggin’ dollars for the winning answer!!) Anyways, so people walk around picking up clothes and dropping them all over the floor, and you would think they would have half a brain and think to pick it up but noooo that seems completely impossible and not within their abilities as a functioning human being. Not only that but these people man, these people, they see a pile of clothes on a table leftover from some other seemingly incapable imbeciles and what do they do? They add on to it! And you see what we are left with is an avalanche of clothes, accessories, food, wrappers, etc. And what pushes my buttons the most is when I’m working in a particular section in the store and folding clothes with such crisp creases and folds, sizing everything from top to bottom, putting clothes where it belongs, and just making that area look as presentable as I possibly can –and may I add it takes my hours to do this –and someone walks on over and man handles all of the clothes once again in 2.5 seconds. And what do I do? In a perfect world I would throw my body over the table and my instincts would be to attack and make them rue the day they ever walked into my store. But in a more practical and sensible world, I would simply continue working and give them the occasional side eye.

So what’s the lesson after all of this you ask? Well I’m not even quite sure of it myself. I do however know that I am more conscious when I enter into a store. If I pick something up and later decide I don’t want it anymore, I go put it back to its original spot. If I unfold a shirt, for example, I fold it back and gently put it down into the same position it was in before. If I drop something on the floor, I make sure I pick it up. Never before would I really do these things, but after working at a retail store and dealing with customers face-to-face I realize what workers go through and don’t want to make their jobs even more miserable than what it already is. I’ve learned to have patience with workers and to be as nice as possible when asking for something. I don’t know, I guess what I’m trying to say is, don’t be like one of those stinky old farts.

"Dedicated to a girl I used to know" by Emily F

10:23 P.M. I'm being followed. I can't tell by who or whom, but I know he's there. I can feel him. When I turn a corner, when I close a window, when I am walking to my car, he's there. But I see him the most when I'm alone. When I lay in my bed at night, alone with my thoughts, he's there. I think I can see him. He's dark...tall... His hoodie covers him, so I can't see his face.  I close my eyes but he's still there. He's always there. Watching. Waiting. Waiting for his chance to consume my mind. I try to run away, but I can't move. I'm running, but I'm not moving. I scream. I scream for help, but he's covering my mouth. No one can hear me.

7:21 A.M. I open my eyes and it’s morning. He's gone, he can't survive in the light.  I can breathe again. I take a deep breathe, put on my smile, and get ready for work-

5:42 P.M. "It's scary what a smile can hide", I think to myself as I pull into my driveway. I unlock my door and walk inside. There he is, waiting for me. Like clockwork, he's never late. He laughs at me. A cruel, pernicious laugh. But I'm used to it, it doesn't hurt anymore. I'm dead on the inside, I feel nothing. I'm a ghost with a beating heart. He has made me this way. And now, he's all I have. I walk to my room, crawl into my bed and think of the person I used to be. I cry when I start to think of my happy days.
                I'm eight years old, it's Hallows Eve. Mom is taking me to the Halloween store to pick out my costume. I want to be a princess. We walk in and I pick out the one I want, it's Snow White, but they're all out. I turn around to leave the store and I see the most beautiful thing I could imagine. It's the Snow White dress, carried by a lady in pink. My mom tells me the lady is returning the dress. I run right over to the check out to make sure no one else gets a hold of it. It's mine, I'm content with my life. I mean, as content as an eight year old can be.

I cry harder with each memory that passes. I start to wonder, "can a person die from crying too much?" Then I fell asleep. I guess that's the answer, eventually you fall asleep.

12:17 A.M.
"Freak!"
"Whore!"
"Loser!"
"No good piece of crap!" -
They scream it over and over again. He's standing there watching. He's the one that controls them. He's telling them to say these things. But like I've said before, I'm used to it.
When we were little girls we used to run to our mommy's and daddy's and make them shoo the monsters away. My daddy had a bottle of "Monster be gone spray" he would spray it under my bed and POOF! Like magic, they were gone. Now we realize that there never were and never will be monsters under our beds. You see, the monsters don't live under your bed, they live inside your head.

No matter how far you run, how loud you scream, or how hard you close your eyes, you'll never get away. Because once you let him in your life, you can't get him out. He may leave for a week, a month, or even a year. But he'll never leave for good. So take it from me, and don't let him in.

"Anonymous" by Rachel K

I don’t write often, but when I do it’s usually for a grade and usually the only people who
read my work are my closest friends and my teacher. I practically begged Mrs. Cogswell to let
me submit my blog entry under a pen name or as “Anonymous,” but my plead was only as
effective as eating soup with a fork (which doesn’t actually work well in real life unless you’re a
sorcerer, Bill Nye, or some other type of superior being). Mrs. Cogswell said publishing my
entry as “Rachel K.” (as opposed to “Rachel Kroll”) would even help maintain anonymity, but
c’mon…..c’mmmonnn………c’mmmooooonnnnnn…..How many other people named “Rachel
K.” do y’all actually know at Etiwanda? Exactly, the answer is zero. Now, before I ramble for
too long about my failed attempts with Mrs. Cogswell, I should probably make it clear that this
blog entry is not a descriptive rampage about how Mrs. Cogswell said, “No” to me that one time
last week. As you read on, you’ll find that it’s actually about how much I detest allowing people
to read my writing.

It’s not so much the content of my writing that I’m uncomfortable sharing with people,
but rather the way I write. I’m not exactly super confident in my verb tenses. I know my sentence
structure is consistently drab, robotic, and repetitive. Putting in punctuation where it’s supposed
to be is definitely not my strong suit. And, I don’t know a lot of impressive vocabulary words
(between all 120ish of us, I had to look up the word “detest” in the Dictionary to make sure I
was using it correctly). Anyway, a lot of my nervousness as a writer stems from my own
insecurities. Insecurity, to me, means hiding things that you don’t want other people to notice or
know about you. I figure if I can’t be the best writer out there, then why should other people
have to know that I’m not the best writer out there? I’m utterly content with keeping my writing
to myself. The way I feel about displaying my writing is similar to how everyone feels about
displaying their zits. I’m sure you would all rather just cover up that zit than approach your
friends and say, “Hey, dude, look at this new zit I just got. Isn’t it so awesomely infected,
impressively bulbous, and ravishingly red???”

I already feel like my submission is being judged and ridiculed and I haven’t even
reached the conclusion of my piece yet. But, more importantly, where did this paragraph even
come from? To me, it feels like I pulled this paragraph from the depths of a donkey’s buttocks
because I completely forgot to utilize my transition words, again. As a writer, I struggle
constantly when trying to end ideas or introduce new ones because I always forget that dang
transition word. Half of the time I’m not even sure which transition word I should be using.
Using incorrect transition words, or none at all, makes my writing seem unorganized to other
people. Hence, my writing reveals way too much about the way I think. My writing is jumbled
and cluttered, and likewise, my mind is equally as jumbled and even more cluttered. I don’t want
everyone knowing how messy and random the thoughts inside my head are because I find it
embarrassing. It’s also an invasion of privacy, like when the TSA makes you take your shoes off
at the airport. Straight up disrespectful.

So, really, the heavy hitter reason why I don’t like letting other people read my writing is
because I promise you that I’m an introvert—even if some of my actions sometimes suggest
otherwise. Writing is just another form of communication, and communication is like Brussels
sprouts. Brussels sprouts are unnecessary, they leave a bad taste on the tongue, and they’re only
good when prepared by certain people. Some of us just weren’t born to communicate so
flawlessly and eloquently as our extroverted counterparts, so for the sake of my anxieties, I like
to leave all the talking to my talkative friends. People who order the food for me at restaurants or
ask the teacher questions for me in class are awesome, and there’s a special place for people like
them; it’s called Disneyland.

And, ah yes, we’ve reached the end of my blog entry: the dreaded conclusion. The thing I
never really want to write when I write. The conclusion is always really hard for me because it’s
where all the thoughts get tied together into a cohesive “Eureka!” moment. It’s where you have
to really know what you’re talking about because you essentially have to summarize everything
you just wrote. It’s the final impression that people have of your paper. And it’s awful every
time. I do not simply “cohesively tie my thoughts together.” That just doesn’t happen for me; it’s
the clutterymind thing. Bye now.

"Things Amiss" by Joel H

Something about this place just isn’t right. I had recently been picked up by one of the best
soccer teams in the nation but I couldn’t help but notice that something was terribly amiss. First
of all, why doesn’t this team have a bench? How do we replace players throughout the game if
we have no extra players? There can only be eleven players on the field at once and we had
just that number. We were numbered one through eleven and I was named eleven. I thought
little of it reminding myself that this team is somehow one of the best.

As a week of practice went by I noticed that more things than one were definitely amiss here.
The air is just too tense. The players don’t trust each other and practice seems more like a
competition if anything. We don’t even talk. It’s like we’re practicing individually on our own.
There’s this odd feeling that flies around and it doesn’t help that we address each other by our
numbers and not our names. Unsettling and a bit eerie. But this team is surely one of the best
so I thought it best to not question.

The first game of the season was coming up and the cutthroat atmosphere never really went
away. In fact, the night before my first game the coach approached me as kind of a consolation.
“Hey eleven, I’m sure you’ve noticed that we do things a bit differently here” he said. “But don’t
worry, just work on yourself and make sure you perform well.”
“Thanks coach i’ll make sure to”my words were cut off by three who had just walked into the
room. He hadn’t said a word but his gaze made me incredibly uneasy. He carried an intense
ambience that had me at a loss for words. Everyone on the team is the same way.

The coach laughed and turned to three “Stop scaring the new guy, he’s about to play his first
game” said coach. Three slightly smirked and wordlessly left the room.

Coach tightly gripped my right shoulder. “Well anyway” said coach with a wide grin. “Perform at
your best and you’ll turn out just fine.” He left the room and I sat alone in my thoughts.
Was that supposed to be a consolation?

The next day my nerves came crashing down but I was determined to do well. The game
progressed and I was able to see why the team was considered one of the best with little
teamwork. Besides the basics like passing and positioning, we had little communication but raw
talent really carried the team through.

By halftime we were up three to one and everyone had done well. Everyone but eight. He was
visibly shaken. I could understand because he, as a defender, had let one too many balls past
him. However I couldn’t understand why he seemed so absolutely terrified of his mistakes.
He looked so concerned that I felt the need to say something. “Hey eight, don’t worry about it
too much” I said “It’s only a game”.


He glanced back at me and said, “you don’t understand eleven.”

By the end of the game we had won five to two and I was excited that I had done well my first
game. The team headed for the locker room and I noticed that eight was dragging his feet way
behind everyone else. He was probably just upset because he had performed considerably
worse than the rest of us. I thought little of it and celebrated with the other guys who seemed to
be talking more than usual.

Eventually eight arrived to the locker room and turned to us. “Do you guys think my kids saw the
game on T.V.?” he said, glancing at each of us. “I can’t wait to see my wife!”
One walked over to him with a serious look and grabbed him from behind. Eight began to cry.
“I’m sorry” he sobbed. “It won’t happen ever again.”

Three pulled out a sharpened knife, walked over, and sank it into eight’s heart. “No,” said three
with a slight smirk. “It won’t.”

Coach looked over at my horrified face and said, “After every game we dispose of the weakest
performing player”. He laughed and exclaimed “The extra motivation really helps, you know?”
Something about this place just isn’t right.

"9/11/15" By Destynee T

     We all know September 11th, is an remembrance towards the several lives lost in the first terrorist attack in the United States. For me, I gained a whole new reason to have a love hate relationship towards this day. This day started off as normal as it can be, I have to admit. I did my daily routine then I was off to a place a dread daily (aka school) ,but luckily it was an Friday. Let’s skip the whole talk of what happened at school and to the time after. My mom had told me she had an doctors appointment that day. So here I come into a car filled with silence my only concern was about how horribly wrong my day had gone and myself questioning if I done something wrong. After some mumbles here and there, I decided to ask, “How was the doctor's appointment mom…” That’s when I knew something was weird because both my mother and sister looked to and from each other and said, “We’ll talk about it when we get home.”
     The news I was told shortly after getting home was four simple words a daughter or son never wanted to hear come from their mother's mouth. “I have Breast Cancer…” My mother had said not even seeming sad about it or mildly upset. For me none the less, I was upset more like frustrated and completely scared at that very moment. I did what any teenager would do from receiving this news, I cried my heart out and after talking for a while with my family. I ran upstairs to my room where I just sat there upset at the world.
     Fast forward to right now as I type this. It’s February 19th, one more month and it’s my birthday month. My mother only has two more rounds of chemo. By the time this posted it will be March and that means my mom only has one more round .but back to what I was saying. It’s been a rollercoaster a harsh rollercoaster where you should probably sue someone for all the whiplash. I have to admit, throughout this whole life changing event my mom has been amazing. Yeah, here and there she has those days where all she needs is rest ,but I am glad to say she is my mom. She’s a strong independent women, who has dealt with so much in her life and now she can brag about how she kicked cancers butt. I am not writing this because I simply want sympathy… I am writing this because, my mom is an strong women. If you didn’t know already March is mostly a month dedicated towards strong women who have changed the world. So I decicate this to my mother, Evelyn Torres, a woman who has raised three children on her own with no man’s help and has been my light through the darkest moments.

"Purple Mist" by Eric E

     Years ago in Okinawa Japan lived a young man named Raizo.Raizo was born an
ordinary child who was often picked on because he had purple eyes and that made him
different from the other brown eye children. The bullying was so bad that he considered
suicide so one night he climbed atop an abandoned hotel turned around and leaned
back falling a sheer 25 foot drop on the way down his life flashed before his eyes and
before he hit the floor his purple eyes started glowing and a purple mist emerged from
his eyes rapidly spreading through his whole body and when he was only a few feet
from the ground a portal opened sending him to a dark room he was knocked
unconscious. When Raizo awoke he was still in the dark room then all of the sudden his
eyes started to glow again and the purple mist started to fog up the room he could now
see the room “oh my god” said Raizo “where am i ?” he looked around for a couple of
minutes then he saw an eye scanner so he approached it and put his eye to it. After a
moment of silence lights started to light up a path it's like it wanted Raizo to follow it so
he did and at the end of the hallway he found his corpse. He was in so much shock that
it caused him to wake up. Breathing heavily Raizo said “it was a dream?! Oh thank god
it was all a dream.” He immediately got out of bed and took a look at himself in the
mirror and in the mirror he saw his purple glowing eyes.

"Plausible Death" by Corey C

     It was a very warm Wednesday afternoon in late November, like a lot of days in Fontana, it was
nice and the breeze was light. I was only 10 at the time and very close to turning 11, as my
birthday was on the 14th of December. I remember back at that time I used to go out a lot with
the kids in my neighborhood. It was really fun going out and seeing them every day because we
had a lot of things to entertain us, simple things, riding bikes, the stupid pokemon cards we used
to collect and even just walking around outside and talking. This day I had gone over to my
friend Ezra’s house, and everything seemed to be fine until it started to get later into the
afternoon. Me, Ezra and his little sister decided to go outside and just go to sit down and talk to
each other. Their dad had let their dog out to come out and play with us. We didn’t really play
with the dog until a bit later after he was let out. The dog was a Rottweiler and was very friendly
although I did have a tiny fear of him, I had disregarded it while I was with them. The dog came
out to lay on the grass very close to where I was. Without thinking I quickly got up pushing
towards the dog which was a huge mistake on my part. The dog quickly attacked and I had
clenched my neck and curled up my shoulder and the dog had bit the right side of my lip and
arm. Blood was all over the ground as I was bleeding profusely. The little sister was screaming
as their dad hurried her over to go get my dad as he tried to bandage what he could and take care
of me for a bit. My dad grabbed me and took me back to our house to get in the car and we
rushed over to urgent care. While on the drive there, he of course, asked me questions about what
had happened to me. My shirt was torn down and blood was everywhere on me. We went into
the UC and explained what had happened. Quickly they led me to a room because of my critical
condition. I was there for about an hour and a half. During that time, I was injected with 3 shots,
2 in my arm and one in my face, it hurt a lot and it felt like a bee stinging me. They told me that
the hole in my arm was 1 inch away from the bone and that the tissue from there was torn out
completely but it would grow back eventually. After being stitched up which consisted of 5 in
my shoulder and 7 in my face I was finally able to leave and go back home. I still felt really bad
and I was shaky. I was still able to have a little bit of the taste of blood from when I was first
attacked. I was told that the dog had to be quarantined and had to stay in the backyard for 2
weeks while tested to see if it had rabies. Fortunately, the dog didn’t have rabies and the county
decided not to put him to death based off of this incident. I learned from this experience that
even the most friendly animals can turn on you if they perceive a threat. I learned that day that I
could have died if he were to have bitten me in the neck. Which still to this day makes me sit and
wonder, what would have happened if I had never curled up in fear?...

"Words Left Unsaid" by Joelle B

                 

      If I got the chance to turn back the clock and redo everything since I first realized I liked him, I would. I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d do everything differently and hope that maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this. I didn’t take the chances when I had them. But I guess it might be because, it was so hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I had feelings for him. Also my feelings kept growing and growing for him (unlike anybody else) and that scared me to death. Mainly because I knew he was a senior and he’d be leaving to college soon and I didn’t want to set myself up to be hurt in the end. Instead I decided to deny it, deny him, deny my feelings, and most of all I denied my heart; so much that I kept pushing him and my feelings away. I now realized I was a cold-hearted monster unlike my usual self. What I realized to be one of the worst things in this situation, is how I was so focused on avoiding my feelings that I let the time we had left pass me by. I guess I was so scared of putting my guard down and letting anyone into my heart because of the fear of getting hurt. In the moments around him I don’t know what would happen, but I would just shut down and distance myself from him. I wish I could explain what I was feeling and how or why I shut down completely but, unfortunately, I don’t know the answer myself.  when I was finally ready to let my guard down and really change things, it was already too late. I hate that I didn’t give him a chance to really get to know me and I didn’t give myself the chance to get to know him and become closer to him the way I hoped. It’s as if something was holding me back and I cannot figure out what it was! I wish I could explain the heartache and anxiety I still get whenever I think about the time I wasted. Going back to school the next year and passing by all the places I used to see him and know he won’t be there led to a lot of regret and disappointment. If I had to choose one moment that I could take back, it would be the last one we had before his graduation. I regret not telling him how I truly felt, how much I was going to miss him, how happy I was that I met him, how wonderful and smart he is, how he is capable of anything and that he is going to get so far in life and so much more; but no, all I managed to say in that last moment was “bye” and gave him a cold hearted hug that had no emotion in it what so ever. What’s worse is I couldn’t even look him in the eye. And what kills me the most is that when I had let go, he was still holding on! Every time I think of that moment my heart shatters into a thousand pieces all over again.

      It is so crazy how something so little can mean the absolute world to someone. Every small compliment, every hug, every smile, and every wave that I’m sure meant nothing to him meant the world to me. Every single time something stupid happened like when he’d wave at me it would just make my day and I’d be so happy just from ONE, little wave! Yeah I know, pathetic. I could fill like 20 pages full of small amazing moments that meant everything to me (but that would just take forever). One thing I am going to really miss though, is how he made me feel every time I looked at him. Nothing like anything I’ve ever felt before. I’ve never liked someone as much as I’ve liked him. Nobody has ever made me feel the way he does! Although I am left here, exactly where I knew I’d end up and was afraid of feeling; I am so glad that I met him and got the privilege of knowing him the way I did (even though it wasn’t much). I also learned a lot from this experience. I learned that it is ok to step out of your comfort zone and to tell people how you truly feel and to take every chance and opportunity you get before it is too late. He will always have a special place in my heart. I just hope that one day I could have the courage to look into his gorgeous green eyes and tell him all of this myself!

"How to Swing dance: Learning the Swing move "The Angel"" By Arianna S

Swing dancing is part of the 1950's era that incorporates fast paced moves with crazy stunts,
spins, dips, and challenging hand movements.

Grabbing a friend or family member and swing dancing is a great way to pass time and a build
stronger connection with your partner! You can swing dance anywhere, whether you're at
school, a park, a family event, anywhere

The following steps show you how to do one of the swing moves called "The Angel." With every
swing move you do however, you always do a "Basic".

Grab a partner to dance with!

Before performing "The Angel", do one “Basic".

A Basic consists of:
Both partners taking a step to the right. (Continue doing basics all throughout "The Angel”. In
order to do one basic, first:

Take a step to the left.

After taking the right and left step, do a "Rock Step". A Rock Step is taking a step back with your
right foot. Make sure only the tip of your foot and the ball of your foot are touching the ground.
Your heel should be slightly off the ground.

1.) After doing one Basic, allow your partner to turn you around to the left halfway while still
holding onto your hands.

2.) Stop when your back is facing your partner. Duck down, let your arms cross and go through
your head, slightly bend your knees, then go back up. (While your partner's turning you, they
should still be doing one basic.)

3.) Turn around fully to the left until you're facing your partner again and end with a rock step.

4.) Do one basic and turn your partner fully around one time. (You should still be loosely holding
onto their hands while turning them). Once they're facing you again, end with one more basic.

"Truth is…." by Mia B

      If I'm nice to you, it probably means a few different things: I don't trust you, I don't like
you, or I don't care enough to put any real effort into expressing myself in your presence.
     If I don't trust you, I don't feel you deserve to know anything about me. Any stories, life
experiences, or even how I feel about you as a person. I won't tell you about what happened
when I was six years old and the cops broke down the door to my house. You will never find out
what it's like going to four different elementary school, or being alone the first day of freshman
year and again later junior year. You will never interact with me when I don't have a smile on my
face or a polite tone and demeanor.
     You will never know if or why I don't like you. You will only know me as “a really nice
girl,” because I am always polite or at least civil. You will never realize that I am avoiding you
or purposefully choosing not to work with you because I have learned such subtleties. They have
developed from being the new girl several times over and figuring out who the good and bad
people are in the world. Figuring out where I do and don't fit in, after many attempts because I
was so sick and tired of being “the new kid.” When I figure it out, I can easily slip out of a
friendship like I was never there. I then became the one who stuck up for the little guys and the
underdogs. I became the best friend of the loner in the class and ensured they became as great as
they could be and ignored everyone else. And yet, I'm barely scratching the surface because you
don't need to know.
      My life’s motto is “Why waste the effort to hate someone when they have no impact on
how you live your life?” Living by this motto has allowed me to not care what others think of me
simply because their opinions don't affect me whatsoever. Besides, I have more important things
to worry about than an insignificant insult some nobody in my class said about me, I'll never see
them again anyway.
     After reading this you may realize, “Wow, she isn't as nice as she seems.” Well, no, I'm
not. But you will never know that just by having a conversation with me once a week. You may
think you know me a little more after reading this. Truth is, you never will because I won't be
around long enough for you to find out.