Page 9… Later that day, Mom said the one thing I was hoping she wouldn’t. “Tomorrow, you will have to start at a new school.” I was really not looking forward to the next morning.
Breath was rushing out the kid who wore a Gray and blue uniform, the boy 's hair was black and poked straight up in twisted curls, he had brown eyes that looked like dirt, he was strong and athletic, his name was D’haquille Jones, and I was DhaQuille Jones, staring down at the newly glazed floorboards of John Pickett high school gym. The ref blew the whistle signaling that our time out was over, and all we had was thirteen precious seconds to beat the Valencia high. I jogged onto the court, adrenaline rushing through my body. The ref tossed the ball towards Chris, once he had found the open man he lobbed it over the oncoming defender. Calling for the ball I sprinted around my defender to get open.
As we pull up to the familiar steps of the school, the squeal of the brakes pierces my ears, and the bus arrives at 8:05 am. We soon file out of the bus saying our thank yous and goodbyes to our friendly bus driver. My morning journey has ended, and the odyssey called high school is just
Listen my grandchildren, to the story of my past, the good and the bad, how your grandfather and I met, and the cruelty of the world around us. It was the date November 9, 1938. I was playing at my best friend, Rebecca’s house. Her house was a part of her father’s shop, which sold everything from shoes, to toys, to makeup, to clothes, anything you could ever imagine.
At 5:45 AM the alarm on my phone blared some generic default tone that I had never gotten around to changing. This was probably the earliest I’ve ever gotten up in my entire life. I groggily removed myself from the pile of blankets on the floor that I had been sleeping in and headed for the shower, brushed my teeth, washed my face and searched my near empty closet for something to wear on my first day of school. Although I was absolutely exhausted and there was yet to be any furniture in my room, I was thrilled to be transferring to Pattonville High School in midst of my junior year and living in a bigger house in a better community.
It was an early December morning. The roads were slick with a thin layer of ice. The air was crisp with a winter chill and there was a slight drizzle falling from the sky. I was riding in my dad’s truck to my grandma’s, who babysat me while my parents were at work. My little brother Kaden was also with us.
My teacher asked me my schedule, the papers I got in homeroom and she explained everything for me her voice comforted me. It was all my fault I didn’t bother to look at the papers and my schedule. I learned that it’s always worthy to follow directions. She told me to go to my second period. I got up and started walking to the door everyone’s eyes were on me with nervousness on one hand and fear on the other, I reached for the door knob.
The cool air swoops in and out behind me as the door slams close. Immediately I feel the pressure of hundreds of eyes glaring at me. I glide my feet down the school hallway, secretly hoping that today will be different. Today I can avoid all the drama and pain. I arrive at my locker and open it, only for it to be shut a second later by the wannabee herself Ms. Amber Jones.
It was a normal morning in my house. As usual, my dad woke me up and I got ready for my day. I moped out to the kitchen where my breakfast was waiting. When I walked onto the bus and arrived at school. I walked into Kaneland John Stewart Elementary School and walked into my first grade room.
I woke up early and put on the clothes that I had laid out from the night before. I went to the kitchen grabbed a Poptart and headed out the door to find the bus coming up my street. Walking onto the bus gave me a whiff of Expo Markers and and an overload of Axe cologne that I’m guessing an awkward teenage boy showered in. I sat on the hard, poorly cushioned seat next to a small girl with pigtails and a Doc Mcstuffins backpack. Man, this is my first day of being in the Middle School; first day of sixth grade, I thought to myself.
Jimmiela Bruessard 9th Honors Mrs.Smith Tonight? I stared into the dark sky, taking a deep breath. “Tonight...tonight.”
I walked out of my now ex-girlfriend’s house disappointed because I thought that this girl, Felicia, was the one. I walked out towards the road where my old car was sitting waiting for me to make the somewhat miserable drive back home. I stumbled into my car and began the drive down M-35 back to the small town of Norton, North Carolina. I couldn’t help but ponder what had gone wrong with Felicia to make her think that enough was enough. I knew I had to focus on the road, but I couldn’t because there were a million thoughts going through my head and I had tears in my eyes.
so I just said “Hello”. We started walking to my class just down the hall from the main lobby. The clear steps on the tile floor inching forward to my new life in a new school. I arrive at the door and Mr. Dunning says hello to the class. He announced to the staring first graders that there new student had finally arrived, which was me.
When I woke up this morning I didn’t feel like myself. My head was aching from all of the tears. My brain was spinning, wondering how and why I did what I did.
Shortly after my sixteenth birthday, something terrible happened to me. But, first let's start at the beginning. When I was five years old my parents got me the best gift a little girl could ever ask for, a puppy. My dad came into the house with what I thought was a black jacket in his arms. I was wrong, after he came into the kitchen the “jacket” popped it’s little head up, it wasn’t a jacket, it was a puppy.
