This was an off-the-cuff example while my student teacher was trying to get the students to "show" rather than "tell" their stories. The class example was to reconstruct the sentence "I was bored."
There are exactly 2137 holes in the ceiling tile above my desk in algebra. Or maybe there are 2139. I counted that many once one Friday when I really had to pee. Twice there were 2136—both on Mondays after three-day weekends. How do I know? I’ve counted them each day since 7th grade started. All I know is that counting hasn’t improved my math grade any.
Lately I’ve thought about adding a couple of my own, just to round it off nice and even. No. That would be too obvious. Mr. Cisneros would definitely notice if I started using pencils as javelins. And my goal here at Brookside Middle School is to remain invisible. So far it’s worked.
So, any ideas where to go from here? All ideas are welcome.
Showing posts with label possible intro. Show all posts
Showing posts with label possible intro. Show all posts
16 November 2009
10 November 2009
Something New...?
I think I might use this rough intro to begin a new short story about a kid who actually (for a time) learns through osmosis. I'd like some feedback on this. What works? Where do you have questions? Any suggestions?
I could smell her before I could see her. As I plowed my way through the jungle of jocks and jerks, goths and geeks, toward Mr. Pemberton’s chemistry class, the aroma of her Blushing Violet body spray grew stronger. I felt a lump of what felt like a grapefruit try to force its way down my throat as the crowds thinned. Rayna stood in front of her open locker, surrounded by a pack of jackals hoping she’d take notice, brushing out her long dark hair as she always did before fourth period.
My palms sweat and started to tremble. Forty pounds of books began to slide from my grasp as I fumbled for my inhaler. My glasses fogged. “Watch out, weirdo” was the last thing I heard before the bell broke my concentration and I went down in a cloudburst of algebra assignments.
Within seconds, the hallway became as lonely as a graveyard, the cold, gray lockers standing solemn as headstones. Apart from a few spooks haunting the bathrooms, I was alone. Gathering up my papers from the dusty tiles, I heard the distinct tapping of the hall monitor Mr. Buckton’s combat boots echoing as he patrolled the halls. I blew the hair from my eyes, wiped my lenses clean on my T-shirt, and scurried into class, late yet again.
I could smell her before I could see her. As I plowed my way through the jungle of jocks and jerks, goths and geeks, toward Mr. Pemberton’s chemistry class, the aroma of her Blushing Violet body spray grew stronger. I felt a lump of what felt like a grapefruit try to force its way down my throat as the crowds thinned. Rayna stood in front of her open locker, surrounded by a pack of jackals hoping she’d take notice, brushing out her long dark hair as she always did before fourth period.
My palms sweat and started to tremble. Forty pounds of books began to slide from my grasp as I fumbled for my inhaler. My glasses fogged. “Watch out, weirdo” was the last thing I heard before the bell broke my concentration and I went down in a cloudburst of algebra assignments.
Within seconds, the hallway became as lonely as a graveyard, the cold, gray lockers standing solemn as headstones. Apart from a few spooks haunting the bathrooms, I was alone. Gathering up my papers from the dusty tiles, I heard the distinct tapping of the hall monitor Mr. Buckton’s combat boots echoing as he patrolled the halls. I blew the hair from my eyes, wiped my lenses clean on my T-shirt, and scurried into class, late yet again.
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