I saw the tall blonde girl coming my way, I could tell just by looking at her that it was a dye job. Here were way to many of those, and a natural blonde like me was out numbered. I expected nothing more then a simple 'what are you doing?' or a 'hi bitch'.  Instead I got something different more pushy then insulting, it was that line that said; 'give me that because I'm older and I own the school yard.'

  I should have expected no less from an 8^th grader at Sharswood Elementary. Our schoolyard as always was loud with the screaming of younger girls. The older girls were gossiping all over the place. I had picked a place where no one was the painted square called the quiet area, it was nearest the tree and shade in the hot schoolyard.  I always avoided the other girls, I was always a target of awful names.

  "No I got the hula hoop first and just because you tell me to doesn't mean I'll hand it over," I said. I may have been just a 4th grader telling off an 8th grader but I was getting tired of the bullying. The girl looked at me like I was something awful she had stepped in with her brand new designer shoes. Obviously I was the first one to say that and she didn’t like it.

  Behind the girl were some of her friends, all of them were bigger then me. I suddenly got the cold feeling of someone with ice down their back. I realized that this wasn't the end of the conversation. The school watch ladies yelled that it was time to go in..... Saved by the yell... I thought thankfully. 

  This was just another bullying case in a long line of it.  This went on for years, sometimes with the same bully for years. I dealt with it, think like poker I would say, ‘ Just gotta deal with the hand you’ve got, wait till next round maybe it’ll change’. It never did. As I got older things only got worse. On one occasion, I had been late getting to line and my class went in. Walking by people always made me nervous (it still does). You never know when someone’s going to call you names that just shouldn’t be used anywhere.

 I had been right to be nervous. When I saw the tall girl with blonde hair (Another one?)  I thought Well hey she’s just gonna walk by you don’t flip… Then the girl started to get closer and I thought it was clear in her posture she was going to ram her shoulder in to mine. I was in for a lousy surprise when her fist made contact with my left arm. 

  I was too in shock from the sudden unprovoked violence to do or say anything back. I just kept on walking and when I got to class I told my teacher who sent me to the office. I sat on the polished wooden bench listening to the phone conversations and getting glares from the two receptionists. I’m not sure if the color of the office was made to be friendly or warm but it was neither. When I walked in to the principal’s small office I was hoping for some help instead I got something totally unexpected.

 “Well why weren’t you in line?” She asked in a voice that said ‘ I couldn’t care less’ or ‘ I’m just here until something better comes along’.

 “I wasn’t feeling well so I walked a bit slower and my class went in.” I said warily. She always made me feel worse coming to her. She always blamed me for my misfortunes, like I was always the cause.

 “Well I’m sorry but I can’t help you. Since you weren’t in line there’s nothing I can do.” And with that she sent me off to class. I was beginning to think that, even though they tell you to come and tell them if someone is bullying you, they didn’t really care. Life went on I got bullied more and more. In 7^th grade I stood up for my self, even then it didn’t stop though. I’ll never forget the one thing that has been bugging me since it happened.

 I was in 8^th grade and we were all lined up ready for math class the teacher opening the door. I was talking to someone. Just a random conversation continuing from out side when Harry McDowell opened his mouth. Harry was a tall boy with dark blonde hair. To me he wasn’t all that cute and from what I heard no one else thought he was.

 “Why don’t you just shoot your self Shannon?” he asked in that ‘I just want to make you cry cuz I’m an asshole” kind of voice.

 I didn’t answer. I turned my back on Harry and shut everyone else out, staring through the window in the door. It was such an odd coincidence that I had thought that very same thing sometime before. Why don’t I just shoot my self? I asked again in my head answering in a voice that sounded both sad and confidant at the same time:  because I’m an Aunt now, I love my parents and my sister, and killing my self would hurt them. Kill my self? Hell to the No! I learned that even if you do fight back physically there is nothing I can do when they hit you with a mental racking ball. 

            It was a cool summer day in Louisiana and I was enjoying the breeze with close family and friends. The stinging feeling of soda going down my throat and mosquitoes landing on my leg were a part of everyday life there. We laughed and shared many stories that some of us were happy to forget. I of course talked like there was no tomorrow and went on and on about how things aren’t as loud as Philadelphia .

“You guys just don’t know how easy you all have it down here.“

After that we would all laugh and joke but then even in all of this, the question still was asked.

“Hey man where are you from again?“

Just like that I was thrown into a mind of confusion and I didn’t know how exactly to answer the question but with a snappy comeback.

            “Well where do you think man?”

 “I don’t know, but somewhere white.”

Right in that instance everyone would laugh and I would to but after the joke I would get kind of serious. When I told them I was born in Louisiana but live in Philadelphia the silence would shift from questioning to understanding.

The question would shock me, but still I understood what they meant. In Louisiana they had a special way of saying things. For example instead of saying soda they would say cold drank or instead of saying snapping turtle they would say lodge head. It was a common for me to get mad at the question but even though you shouldn’t let some things get to you, they have a habit of doing that exact thing. This was of course not the first time I was asked this. When I was very young I remember going over to a relatives house with my dad in Louisiana. The house was located in a very rural part of the state that I never been to. There were trees everywhere, bugs of all shapes and sizes, and the houses weren’t close together but miles apart. When we came to the house I was nervous because I felt like a fish on land Now one would expect family to know about each other but this relative had never met me. When I first saw her I said hello just like any other kid would. At first I got a look that meant “what is this boy talking about and who is he” but then she looked at my dad and said

“ Who’s this boy related to because he talks proper?”

My dad told her I was his son and that I live in Philadelphia. Just like my friends her face shifted from confusion to understanding and she embraced me with an apology and hug.

The question never really troubled me until later when I started questioning myself. I asked myself who was I really and where was I truly from. Was it because I didn’t speak like them, I wasn’t related to them or was it because I pronounced my R’s? There was even a point when I tried to talk like everybody down there but that only made me look stupid and it didn’t feel right. So during the times I was in Louisiana I was given a stereotype that I was really smart because of the way I talked. I was always asked to help my little cousins with homework and always asked how much change should I get back when I went to the store with people. That didn’t bother me a lot but people didn’t get to know me but they got to know what people thought of me. That’s when I learned that people would always judge other people for what they do and say but I also learned that people judge their own people when that person is different in some way. This also means that people will not always judge you in a bad light but will sometimes judge you for being good. Judgment is not only from other people but you can also give out judgment without knowing. So be careful of this I would hate for anyone to feel the way I felt those times. 

Wondering what the next move was I stuttered when I told them to move, because we were leaving. As I pushed my way past them, one calls out “Do you know who your messing with?” I turned “No but it doesn’t matter, your in my past now.” As I stare at him wondering why his hand is deep inside his coat, he embraces a disgusted look on his face, as if he thinks I know something. Without hesitation, he shows it. A gun pointed, 4 feet from my face, terrified.

I have always been the type of person to think that anyone who talks to me wont hurt me. Random strangers on the street could ask me something and I would answer in a polite manner because I believed they were part of my neighborhood and I could trust them. From the day I could talk, I would be the first to meet my neighbors and introduce myself to everyone. A problem never occurred for me to be afraid of anyone, so why be afraid.

I remember my mom always repeating “In a situation where it may be life or death, there are no games to be played, no chances to take. You do what your told and give them everything.” Let me tell you something, when you are in a life or death situation do what your mom says. Me on the other hand, I did the exact opposite and turned them down flat. “Run you pockets” they repeated. Standing there watching them look unsatisfied I smiled and turned around on my again. Sensing something was wrong, I look behind me to see one kid pulling my pants down, searching my pockets for himself whispering “Ill find what your hiding”

Hardworking and dedicated to not one but three jobs at the time, I consisted of having around $60 with me at all times. I knew I had a good amount of cash on me, I just didn’t know how much. I watch as his face smirks when he feels the money, and rips it out of my pocket “look at what we have here.” Glaring at the money thinking damn, I worked for that money and now I’m going to let some fool take it off me. I see a chance and I take it. I snatched the money back out of his hand and laugh as though I had won the war. When they ask for their ‘share’ I think in my head and give them each $5 knowing they would leave with $5 rather than $0. To my credit, I was right, they left hollering things such as “Don’t tell your parents, don’t tell the police, we know where you live and who you are so don’t make any mistakes.”

Continuing on my journey, I begin dreading my next moves. The streets were empty, the night was cold. What to do next. We decide that it was best to just let it go because no one was hurt and that’s how we wanted to keep it. By the time we go to the end of the street and look back, they were gone, nowhere to be found. Police cars zoomed around the corner with only their lights on. Staring us down, looking to identify us, like something had been told. As we arrive at 7-11 and sit down on the wall, we see the teens our age being stopped and questioned. Above we hear the blades of a police chopper smacking against the wind with a hot spotlight beaming to the ground searching vigorously.

Later on we found out that the police were alerted by other teens our age that were also held up right before we were. It wasn’t until 2 days later, Sunday morning, which I had told my parents the story and the police were notified that we were also held up. 

I had just woken up and my alarm clock had been going off for the past 2 hours. I heard wailing coming from the bathroom. As I walked in I felt a rush of cold air and the room was silent. I looked at mom and seen her sitting there crying, her skin was cold and pale. Her wailing sounded like a baby when it’s born. I ran up to her and asked her what was the reason that she was crying. She wouldn’t tell me what had occurred and just continued crying. I went to my dad who was sitting on the bed thinking. I asked him “What’s wrong with mom? “ He told me my mom’s father had died that morning at 4 am on Christmas.

It was the beginning of November and my grandfather had begged my mom to buy plane tickets to go see him in Dominican Republic. My mom had economic problems at the moment and my grandfather was offering to buy the tickets for her. Even with offering to buy her the tickets she resisted to not waste money and that she would see him soon after she got money. 1 month after they talked my grandfather fell off his bed and lost his memory. My mom quickly began looking for plane tickets to see him. 2 weeks after my grandfather fell and lost his memory he died in the hospital. After he died things weren’t the same, it changed everyone’s life. Especially my mom, she regretted not have gone to see him and wished she did.

Ever since my grandfathers death my mom reminds me to be good to my dad and to appreciate that he’s still alive. The death has caused my mom to stop celebrating Christmas for about 4 years and start wearing darker colors. She stopped going to family parties and began getting depressed. I noticed my grandfather’s death made an enormous impact in my mom’s life but didn’t realize it would make a big impact through time in my life also. I would argue with my dad on daily basis but never realized that at any given moment he could be gone, as could my mom. Every time I got a year older maturity would grow more within me.  

After 4 years of my grandfather’s death I started learning more and more from my moms mistakes. Each one of those mistakes helps me prevent it from happening to me. Every time she would notice that she did something wrong with her dad or something she should have done I take advantage of that and make the best for my dad and I. I use to not be able to remember when was the last time I gave my father a hug, now the last time I gave my dad a hug was 2 days ago. I begin to cherish him more since I know he won’t be here forever. It could be the fact that I am now 15 going on 16 and I’m getting wiser, my mind is expanding and I’m really thinking about things now.

Now that I’m starting to really appreciate the things my dad does for me I begin to feel bad for our past history. I would always argue with him and never realize the things he did for me. I would say things I didn’t mean and then afterwards feel bad about it. He cares for me so much and I always cared for him but its time that I begin to show it. Never again will I tell my dad I hate him for a dumb reason, or for any reason at all. If I could I would give my mom the ability to be with my grandfather once again so she could make everything right, like I am now. 

9/15/11

“And now I will show you something un-bee-livable!” 

Really? Un-bee-livable? It’s four AM and you want to show me something un-bee-livable? Might as well climb, it’s not like I had a choice. 

We got out of the bus and the mountain loomed high, higher than I expected. Steeper, too. “This’ll be fun,” I muttered to myself. 

“Let us go!” I had to envy him for being so excited so early in the morning, and his accent made the trip that much more enjoyable. Maybe the climb wont be so hard! An hour and a half later and I knew that wasn’t the case.

My family was in Israel. We saw all kinds of things. We saw ruins, cities, beaches, more ruins, we saw a lot.  We had a tour guide, Mordi, and he loved what he did and made that clear in the way he did it. After a long bus ride, he would say over the bus’ speaker “wakey wakey!” At most places, he would say something along the lines of “I will show you something un-bee-livable!” He was always excited to show us something new, and since it was my first time in Israel, everything was new to me. 

One night (early morning, rather,) our plan was to drive to Mount Masada, a tall mountain, and climb it in time to see the sun rise. I liked this idea, but I failed to take into account the fact that the sun rises at about six AM, and climbing the mountain takes an hour or more.

At around two or three AM, we got into the bus and I fell asleep nearly instantly, the soft seats all too inviting. It felt like mere seconds, although I know it was at least an hour, when I was woken to the now typical “wakey wakey!” Now that we’re up, let’s start the climb. It looked tall. Tall and steep. There were steps at certain parts, but a lot of the climb was made up of slight inclines, which seemed easy. In a way, I was right. How hard is it to walk slightly uphill? Not very. On the other hand, how hard is it to walk slightly uphill then go up steps, then go slightly uphill, then up steps for two hours until you reach the top of a mountain. As somebody who had never experienced such a climb, I had no idea. By the end, I knew the answer. It’s hard. Very hard.

We started the ascent, and I was soon fatigued. I knew I had to keep climbing, no matter how badly I wanted to just stop and rest for a bit. After a while, having eaten a lot of food the previous night and slept very little, I began feeling sick. Occasionally I would have to stop for a minute or two, if only to catch my breath and make sure I didn’t empty my stomach too much, perhaps regretting that I’d eaten so much the night before. The climb never ceased for too long, though, and I kept on looking up and seeing such a far way to go, the side of the mountain appearing orange in the moonlight. It was a beautiful night, I just found it difficult to appreciate it at the time. It was a bit demoralizing, looking up and seeing how much we still had to climb. After a while, I just stopped looking up and looked only forward or at the ground. The climb continued like this for what felt like hours.

I still felt sick, and I had no idea how much further we had to go. I didn’t even want to know, I just wanted to get there. My legs ached as if I had just sprinted from Philadelphia to Harrisburg, but I knew I had to keep climbing. That was a constant, I always knew the climb had to continue, and I had come too far to simply give up and miss the sunrise. Suddenly I saw no way to go higher, I looked around, confused. Then I realized: there was no higher to go, we were at the top! I collapsed into a sitting position; I couldn’t bear to stand any longer. Mordi said something, but I was too focused on having finally reached the top to hear it. He pulled out a small device that looked like a radio and played a song. I didn’t hear all the words, but as the sun rose I heard the chorus: “Witness the rising sun from Masada.” 

I hadn’t seen the sun rise many times in my life, but what I saw that day was enhanced by the challenge of the climb. I was thinking, then, would it have been as amazing if there had just been an elevator to take me up? The vivid colors across the sky, the shining globe that is the sun slowly coming up from behind the horizon, but part of what made it so amazing was the journey, the effort. After working hard, exhausted but proud of the climb, that sunrise was the greatest thing I had ever seen. I had been showed something, something truly un-bee-livable.

Gold Stream

I was in the den talking to my mom about how school was going for my first couple of months in high school. “How do you like school so far? Is it hard? Do you like it?” as she asked me a million questions at once.

“I like the school a lot, everything’s going well except I just hate math.” I complained to my mom

She laughed and asked me, “Why can’t you be like your sister Shawna, and love math?”

“Well sorry I just hate it. I always will. Were two different people we like different things!” I confessed just as Shawna comes in the room. My little sister stomps out with tears in her eyes, while my mom glares at me.

I go up stairs to find her in her room playing. She sees me and tells me, “I don’t like math either now.”

Shawna looks up to me as her big sister. Everything I do is what she does. The decisions I make are always right. Whatever I say she says. Being the older sister makes things a lot more difficult. I need to watch myself with everything I do and say when I’m with her. Even when I’m not with her, I still try and set the best example for her that I can. Shawna loves to try hard in school. It makes her so happy when she finds out she got all of her spelling words right. She does really well in all of her second grade subjects. Which makes me want to try really hard in school and everything else I do.

 “Shawna you know that doesn’t match at all…” When she gets dressed for the day I’d tell her and laugh.

“I don’t care, I like it.” She would say proudly.  Even though she’s only eight years old she still has enough self-confidence for eight, eight year olds.

She inspires me to relax sometimes. Be carefree once in a while and just be a kid. Shawna will do whatever she wants to do without a care in the world. Other people’s opinions don’t bother her. As long as she knows what she’s doing and she’s happy, that’s all that matters. I’m so happy that she’s like that because she is such an energetic person that loves to try new things.

BANG BOOM “AHHHH!” Just as I heard this I jumped up from the porch and looked over the fence in an instant. Seani fell off her bike and cut open her leg. Blood was oozing from every gaping cut. I run down the steps with Band-Aids and cleaning wipes to the sidewalk where she was. Before I could get to her Shawna was already there. She helped her friend up and sat with her on the side of the steps as I cleaned and covered up her cuts. She was crying as loud as an ambulance passing by. “You’ll be okay, don’t worry” Shawna said with comforting words while rubbing her back gently.

  My motherly instincts towards her rubbed off. When she’s with her friends that are younger or babies she’s carful enough to be gentle and caring. While she was and still is growing up I’m always there for her. When we were Even though I’m not always physically there with her I still check on her. I call her on the phone and ask her how’s school and her new friends. We rely in a way where we help each other for things.

In a way Shawna and I are each other’s role models. I set good examples for her and she looks up to me with everything I say and do. Then while I do that, it’s like she makes me want to be the best I can be for her and myself. There is also many times when she picks up from things that I do that are really good for her.  Most of the time they are. I’m getting better at it. Now I know that she’s always watching me even when I don’t think she’s paying attention to me. I will always be there for her to come to. To make your way in this society you need to have people to show you what’s right and wrong. Someone you can rely on when you need them. We are here for each other

                                      Personal Final Draft                                    Katherine Hunt

                                                                                                   Gold Stream

                                                                                          Due- September 23,2011

My eyebrows furrowed, my eyes watered and a headache developed from thinking really hard. It all made the situation worse. After 15 minutes the task seemed impossible. Sitting in my living room at the glass table I turned to look at my wall clock.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. The wall clock from my house seemed to tick and tock as the time passed by but yet my paper had nothing.

“What’s wrong Katherine?” asked my sister in a concerned voice.

“Nothing…”, I said in an anxious voice as I scratched my head.

“You sure? I can help you if you need assistance.”

“Yeah, I’m fine just thinking, and I don’t need help. I would have asked by now if I did.”

It was just hard to understand. In my frustration, punching walls and break pencils is an action I began to take on. As I watched the wooden parts break off onto the floor, the small wooden parts of the pencil jammed into my skin giving me a splinter and this didn’t seem so productive either.

“Failure, Failure, Failure. That’s the definition of who I am, nothing more but everything less.“

Screams of “failure” had traveled up to my mother’s room where she was sleeping on her queen size bed. She came out of her room down to the living room where I was now standing and gave me a look of concern.

“What’s wrong Katherine?”

“Nothing…Everything.”

“Make up your mind Katherine, people don’t scream for no reason.”

My sister (Jennifer) walked from upstairs down to the living room. She looked at both of us in an interested look, but mainly in disbelief. Jennifer was confused as to the way my emotions were taking over. My hands were over my head and slowly the words came out:

“ Okay, well I’ve been trying to do math for 3 hours now. Math is the worse thing that has ever happened to me. I…. hay…. haaay… HATE it. It makes no sense and it’s a bunch of useless bullshit!”

“ Katherine let your sister help you.”

“ I DON’T WANT TO, IT’S A WASTE OF LIFE!”

Pushing the chair in front of me out my way and proceeded up the steps. Once I reached the door to my room I stayed in there and cried for hours. Later on in the day my sister taught me what errors were being made on my part. In those moments it came to me that pride should never get in the way of asking for help. In the beginning, I was arrogant and brought my frustration with me, later learning that all along I could have left it behind, by just asking for help.

Sitting in the corner of my junky room, when my mom asks me what’s wrong.

“Nothing” I replied

My mom walks out of my room, I remain in the corner feeling hopeless but, some people may say, “It isn’t that big of a deal”.

She walks back into room and says “Did you finish your homework sweetie?”

I screamed “NO!”

She sits on my bed and asks about my feelings.

I then reply by moving out of the corner, leaving my room and slamming the door behind me.

I was about 12 at the time, waiting impatiently at school for my bus to come. Sitting at the lunch table with my friends, laughing, joking, and having a good time. 30 minutes pass by, all my friends have left, and my bus was the last to come. Walking through the grassy pathway, and onto the “cheese bus” as us school kids had called it, and said hello to my bus driver and sat quietly next to the foggy window. Arriving at my stop, I hoped off the bus, walked to my doorstep, reached for my keys out my blazer, and opened the door. Slowly I walk into the house as if I was a dead zombie, lugging my bag over my shoulder, as I reached the dining table I poured out everything that was in it on the floor. I sat next to the pile of books, papers, folders pens and pencils and repeatedly shouted, ”IT’S HARD, IT’S SO HARD”. No one was home then, and it was almost time to walk down the street and get my little brother from school. I immediately ripped up every single paper I had poured onto the floor, walked outside making sure I had my keys and threw all my papers in the trash. I then walked to my younger brother’s school, called him over, signed him out, waved hello to my old teachers, and walked back home. Knowing that no one knew I’d just “spazzed” made me feel as if I was crazy.

That was the first episode I can remember having, I know it doesn’t seem like much but as I got older the episodes got more raging and intense.

Life wasn’t always as hard for me as it is now. Some say I “use to be the nicest person ever and I’ve changed a lot since my younger days”. To me this change is a good thing but my parents see it as bad and out of control. My emotions get the best of me sometimes and expressing my feelings is just the outcome. Being rude and stubborn has become a natural reaction and people don’t seem to understand why. People shouldn’t even try to understand the reason because it’s just none of their business. I’m just something we define as being human.

Gold Stream

Personal Experience 

It was a Saturday afternoon. I had been at the swimming pool all day. I was there with my mom, my stepsister, my aunt, and my cousin.  I rode home from the pool with my aunt and cousin. My mom and stepsister had left earlier. As we arrived at my house, I saw two cop cars. I could tell something strange was happening.  

As I nervously made my way into my house, I saw my mom talking to an officer. He was holding a clipboard and a writing utensil.  I felt refreshed from swimming yet I couldn’t help sweating anxiously. The officer was asking my mom questions. I wasn’t sure what happened because my mom looked so calm.  I walked into my living room and saw that a window was broken. I noticed two guys looking for fingerprints around the window. I looked around the room. It looked the same except that the floor behind our couch was covered in broken glass.

I remember telling a cop that this really shook me hard. “It’s a violation. That’s a perfectly normal feeling to have,” the cop said to me. I was nervous but I thought to myself, we have an alarm system, so hopefully the burglar or burglars hadn’t taken much. I hoped that none of my personal belongings were taken.

The officers recommended that we remain down stairs until they could search the 2^nd and 3^rd floors of our house. I wanted to go upstairs because I was anxious to let out my frustrations by playing some videogames. The officers didn’t find very much in their search. They reviewed the final police report with my mom and gave us a number to reach them at if we had any thing else to report stolen or if we had any additional questions or concerns. 

As they left, I took a deep breath to reassure myself that everything was going to be okay. I hugged my mom tightly and then went to pour myself something to drink. I walked up to the second floor to play some video games on my PS2. When I got upstairs, I looked down at my TV stand. To my horror my PS2 wasn’t in its normal spot. I realized it had been stolen.

            Losing my PS2 made the robbery feel a lot more real to me. It wasn’t all about the PS2; it was more the violation of having something taken from inside my house-of all the places on the earth, the place I should feel the safest.

             I may sound like I feel the world should revolve around me. But when something you loved is gone, all you want is to have it back in your possession. I felt so paranoid after the robbery. It was crazy how something can change your life just out of nowhere.  I didn’t ever want to leave my house. I found myself avoiding public transportation and walking places by myself. I slept with a baseball bat next to me every night.

            My parents were really worried about me. They put me in therapy for a few sessions. Therapy helped a little bit. It made me realize that it could’ve been a lot worse, and that people take risks everyday.

            The risks we take are vast. They can include driving in a car to get somewhere, or leaving your house unattended for the day. Anything can happen whenever and wherever. You can never predict the exact outcome of what is going to happen, but in life you need to be able to move on, regardless of what has been thrown at you.

            Due to the robbery, a lot of bad ended up turning into some good. I saved up some money and my mom helped me buy a PlayStation 3. I also started to take more precautions to prevent future incidents.

             I ended up learning a lot from it all. I learned more than anything else that taking risks is a large part of everyday life. When I think about them as risks, then I feel like I’m going crazy. The thought of the robbery haunted me worse than the actual robbery. I learned that I have a choice about letting things get to me. If I don’t worry about possible crimes, they don’t seem bother me at all. And this is true in many situations, not just the robbery.

I remember when I was in ninth grade, well last year I had got in trouble by Mr. Lehman. But it wasn’t just me; it was I, and Nuri. It was just the two of us who always get in trouble over the weirdest reason and it was really dumb. First it was when we went to the store and we weren’t supposed to go and the second time was when we wouldn’t sign our name on the paper. The problem started when we were around people that were playing in the café and some how, some way we had got insoluble. So officer Bird old us to write our name on the paper. But we refuse to. So she told us if we wouldn’t she would tell Mr. Lehman. We told her we didn’t care if she dad or not because we didn’t do anything wrong. So she got mad and told us to leave and go home.

     The next day when we went to school, in the middle of class we herd our name on the loud speaker telling us to go to the office. So as we were on our way to the office, we were told that Mr. Lehman wanted us inside his office. So when we enter his office, it was he and Officer Bird. So we already knew what was going to happen.

Office Bird said: “Yup it’s these two. I'm going to leave and let you handle these two.”

Mr. Lehman: “Are you serious, you guys again!!!!!”

Nuri & I: “Oh No!!”

Mr. Lehman: “Sit down… matter fact stand up until I’m done with you… so give me a good reason why you guys are in my office again”

Me: “Officer Bird told me I had to write my name on the paper because she said I was playing around and disturbing people while they was working in the lunch room after school, when I wasn’t. I was just sitting there around the people that was playing around and she assume I was with them playing around. And I told her no I wasn’t putting my name on the paper because I wasn’t gona get in trouble for something I didn’t do.”

Nuri: “Well Mr. Lehman I was sitting there minding my own business and officer Bird came up to me and told me to write my name on the paper and I said why and she said because I was playing, disrupting the people that stayed after school to finish some of there work. And I told her no because I wasn’t playing and I didn’t do anything wrong. So I didn’t write my name.”

Mr. Lehman: (Shouting) “ ARE YOU GUYS SERIOUS, OVER THIS LITTLLE THING AND YOU GUYS JUST DIDN’T WRITE YOUR NAME ON THE PAPER. IF YOU GUYS JUST WROTE YOUR NAME AND TOLD ME THE REASON YOU WOULD OF MADE MY JOB EASY, BUT YOU GUYS CHOSE TO MAKE THINGS SO HARD, FOR ME AND FOR YOU. YOU KNOW WHAT … (Silent moment) YOU GUYS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO BE IN THE CAFÉ FOR TWO WEEKS… GET OUT OF MY ROOM”

   I have never seen Mr. Lehman face so red in my life. It was kind of funny but I knew it was wrong, but the good thing was that he didn’t tell our parents. He gave another chance. But the next time if he does hear about us it wouldn’t be excuses, he would just suspend us for a week and give us detention for a month.

    What I leaned was instead of making things so difficult, and getting in trouble for the dumbest reasons, and making it a big problem when I can just make it easy and just do what they tell me and solve the problem later. And not only that if I’m around people that I see play I would leave so I wont get trouble.