Can you name the different ways the Subi developed the theme in this piece?

Final Score

Like glass eyes, my vision was locked to the screen. I scooted forward in my seat and leaned closer to the television as Aaron Rodgers, quarterback for the Green Bay Packers, raced across the field, dodging other players while holding a football. He crossed the goal scoring a touchdown! I was the first to stand up and cheer, my arms flailing around as if I had just scored the winning point for my team.

Well, at least that’s what I wished had happened. Instead, I sat alone on a plastic chair because my parents and brother had taken up all the space on our cracked and stained, dark brown leather three-seater couch. I watched as an army of muscular men dressed in chunky armor of bright colors battled furiously, comprehending nothing. Okay, maybe a bit like I knew the leather 3D rhombus is called a football (I think), but that’s pretty much it. You see ‘football’ isn’t my first language, in fact it’s not my second or third or fourth. Instead of trying to learn how to ‘speak’ football, I was focusing on some more important things. You see when you are someone like me, your priorities are just different.

As I was saying, I sat there on the hard, plastic seat, waiting until I could finally go back up to my room. I could feel my legs getting numb from sitting down so long, which is why I switched it up a bit and placed my right leg over my left. Ah, comfortable again.

But I immediately changed this when I saw how my older brother, Bart, was sitting. I studied the positioning of his legs, how he placed his arms and how much his head was tilted. Why am I doing this you may ask, well who else better to copy that Brawny Bart. You see Bart speaks fluent ‘football’ plus fluent baseball, soccer, hockey and pretty much any sport you can possibly imagine. Surprisingly, Bart doesn’t bother me about knowing how to speak effortless ‘kitchen’, but instead is especially supportive, especially during my Easy Bake Oven phase, or maybe this is just because he likes cookies. On the other hand, my parents, who were sitting on either side of Bart, cannot stand it when I’m in the kitchen instead of out in the scorching sun, throwing some ball around. Which is why I am here watching this football game in the first place. After my careful analysis, I then uncrossed my legs and spread them out, placed my feet flat on the floor, draped one of my scrawny arms over my left leg and leaned forward just enough so that my elbow could rest on my right thigh as my chin rested on my knuckles.

How is this natural at all? I thought to myself as I awkwardly stared blankly into the screen.

My thoughts strayed away from the game, and instead drifted to what I was going to wear the next day- Ripped, baggy jeans beneath a dirty, navy shirt like Bart or my floral button-up shirt paired with navy short-shorts. In other words, sporty guy I want to be or me. Why is it so hard, don’t ask me. I hadn’t yet finalized my outfit before my thoughts turned back to the game.

Stop losing focus! The only way you can be more like Bart is to make sure you do what he does, if you aren’t paying attention how is anyone supposed to believe you? I scolded myself. I glanced at the timer at the top right corner of the screen. Only a few minutes left, thank jesus. The Green Bay whatever were behind by 5 points (I don’t understand football but I can still do math okay) and according to what Bart was muttering to himself, the only way they could still win is by scoring a touchdown (um what even?). But really, 6 points and less than 3 minutes left? No way.

That is where I was completely and utterly wrong.

I guess christmas miracles, I mean just miracles happen because with barely anytime left I watched as the brown pointed cylinder thing shot across the field like a bullet and landed right into the hands of a man dressed in white and green. Feeling as if I made a dent, my feet hit the wooden floor and my hands shoot up. I had stood up just a split-second before the rest of my family and in that time my thoughts seemed like race horses, all competing to think of the worst possible things. Oh god, no. Why has no one else stood up? Am I cheering for the wrong team? No, no, no, I’m so stupid! What are they going to think of me now?

Simultaneously, I heard the commentators recap the sensation that had just taken place. “Jordy Nelson wide receiver for the Green Bay Packers...,” The race horses in my head slow down, “Straight into Aaron Rodger’s hands...,” I can no longer hear the animals. “Scoring a touchdown!” I, no- my whole family scream so loud we could break a window.

Final score: 33-32.

Can you spot the strong use of symbolism in Isabel's piece?

Last winter, the winter I turned twelve, was the winter Brandon came. Ever since then, things were either Before Brandon or After Brandon. Today, twelve months After Brandon, my mother and Sam and I get another evening alone.

Sam and I sit on the sofa, staring at Jennifer, my mother, looping holes with string, creating intricate patterns on the scarf she was knitting. Should I tell her? Does she even realize?

“Jennifer,” I blurted out, shattering the cold silence that had fallen between us, “we gotta tell somebody. We gotta go get help. We can’t let him do this anymore. He’s mistreating us and he’s mistreating you, too, Mother. We gotta get away from him!”

“Don’t you say that about your father, Sophie!” Jennifer scolded, her eyes flashing, abandoning her knitting to rise up to stand above me, “Brandon was kind enough to take you in and he’s the one who pays for your food and your clothes and your home! He’s trying his best! Don’t you dare talk that way about your father ever again, you hear me?” She stormed out of the room.

Sam’s hand shook, tightening his hold on my arm. His lips trembled. A single tear traced down his cheek, then the tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling on his face, “I’m scared of Brandon, Sophie. He’s big and scary and he says he’s gonna kill us if we tell anyone about him.” His cries filled the room, sobbing in my arms unceasingly. I’m scared, too, Sam. We all are. I held him, silent, rocking him as his tears soaked my shirt.

“Then we go, Sam, “ I whisper, stroking his hair with my hand, feeling his heaves slow into breathing, “We can, like, go take a train and get far, far away from him. And like, we’ll go live in our own house and make sure he’ll never find us. And I’ll bake you your favorite cookies and we can play in the snow...” He’s gonna find out. He gonna find out that we’re running away and then, then… I take his hand, trailing him behind me as we watched the snow melt under the sinking sun through the hole on the door. The snow covers the roofs of the houses, decorating the trees with thick pillows of white. The Christmas tree that I had salvaged from a neighbor's backyard stood, a lonely trunk covered by some shriveled leaves, shaking in the wind, harsh and bitter and cruel. The blue bauble that I found under my chair hands on to the fragile branch for its dear life. My hand pushed against the scratchy surface of the pine wood door, but it doesn’t budge. Instead, the pain of an old bruise flared up like fire, spreading red hot through my body. Ten seconds passed, then twenty. By forty seconds, the sharp pain had finally settled into dull ache. I pull my sleeve further down my arm, covering the red and purple and blue spots, turquoise veins that flowed down through my arms, the bony fingers that stuck out like branches of a fallen tree.

“Guess we can only look from here, then,” I whisper. I’ll stay here, for now, I think, maybe I should just wait.

“Hey, I’ve got a Christmas gift for you,” I say softly, squeezing Sam’s hand. He brightens up instantaneously, his face filled with a warm glow of wonder.

“A-a gift? Show me, sh- show me!” he stammered, unable to hide his excitement. I grab the box that had held my last pair of shoes, holding it out to him precariously with my hands. Sam nearly leaps with anticipation, taking the box with his trembling fingers. Peering into the slit on the box, he screamed with delight. “A caterpillar!”

The tiny caterpillar is curled up in a ball, its yellow dotted back trembling slightly with cold. Sam’s arms wrapped around me. Time seemed to fade away as we held each other, brother and sister, as if we would float away with the wind the moment we let go. The rays of the sun reach through the hole on the door, filling the room with its warmth. I stroke my hand through his hair, glancing out towards the tree basking under the sunlight. The blue bauble fell onto the ground, breaking the blanket of snow that hid the shards of rocks that lay underneath.

“I’m going to tell somebody, Sam. I have to. Trust me.”

    Spring is coming soon.

The Big Q

Today, we learned a different system for collecting our thinking

By end of class Monday - you should have chosen a narrow focus for your research

For E/F - While we got off topic today - if there is one major takeaway - question evidence - validate your sources - seek corroborating evidence from respected authories -  

DRAW YOUR OWN CONCLUSIONS

Student Samples

Summary NF Recap

H/W - Write up a brief summary (100-150 words) of your notes so far using one of the text structures below:

Main idea and details

Causes + Effect

Problem + Solution

Sequencing

Compare and contrast

You might want to use these transitional devices to help you depending on the structure you use:

Enjoy Anika's excellent piece. Can you spot how brilliantly she showed 'power' and also used her sentence tools?

Fair

By Anika Rudra

((Girl’s POV))

“Next!” A voice shouted from inside the room. My heart skipped a beat, because finally, my turn came. I straightened my school uniform skirt. I swung the door to the office open, my ruby hair swaying behind me. “Yes, come in please,” A deep voice boomed. I glanced around the small room. The school’s secretary was seated at his oversized desk, as he squinted at his two monitored computer. “Come, sit here.” The secretary mentioned me to sit without looking up. As I pulled out the chair to sit, it screeched. With the noise, the secretary looked up at me. He wore a confused expression, then inquired, “What’re you doing here, miss?” I rubbed a hand on the back of my neck, red hair curling on my shoulders as I sat down, I cleared my throat. The secretary groaned and twisted his chair to face me, “Your name is..?” “Mila Bonterilli, sir.” The secretary frowned and leaned forward, “Ah yes, Mila. Why are you here now?” I took a deep breath, “I’d like to sign up for the school’s engineering fair.”

The secretary arched his eyebrows, his lamp flickered as if on cue. Wincing, my hands clutching the hem of my skirt. The line of boys waiting to sign up for the competition outside the office leaned into the window eagerly. My heartbeat seemed to echo through the room, the air stood still as if watching the scene unfold. The secretary glared at me, focus unwavering. Anxiousness filled me, my eyes began to burn.‘Stop it, Mila, you can’t show any weakness,’ I chanted to myself. The secretary sighed and said at last, “Alright then...”

He pulled out a sheet from his desk drawer and placed it infront of me, the engineering form! I looked down in disbelief, then back up at the secretary. He had a forced fake smile plastered across his face, I returned an small grin. As I moved my attention to the form, I reached for the pen. Then the secretary bumped the table, as if it was an accident. It wasn’t. The pen rolled off his desk.

“Um,” I laughed awkwardly, “Let me just…” I bent down to pick up the pen. Except it wasn’t there. Frowning, I felt around. Nothing. I searched for a visual of it again. Still nothing. It must’ve rolled under the secretary’s cabinet. Shoot, I grimaced. Sitting back upright, I tugged at my crimson fringe, “Do you happen to have a spare pen that I may use, sir?” The secretary ignored my words. “Uh, excuse me, sir?” I asked again, a bit louder. He turned to me, “What is it, Mila.” That was a statement, an order. “I, ah, need something to fill this with?”

“I already gave you one.” He began to turn his back to me. I frowned, “Sir, it’s lost. I need another one.” The secretary muttered a curse under his breath, “Then go find it. You are wasting my time.” It was my turn to raise an eyebrow, “Sir, it rolled under your cabinet, I cannot reach it, and I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.” The secretary grumbled,“Fine, here,” as he pushed a black capped pen towards me. I picked it up gingerly, as if it was a bomb counting down. Uncapping it, I watched the dark blue globby ink start to spill out of the nib. I sighed, it was gross but it’d have to do for now.

I finished the form in a flash, I had memorised all the information needed by heart. Recapping the pen, I placed it onto the form and pushed the paper to the secretary, “Here.” The secretary flinched when he went through the form. I got up, wondering why that took longer than it should’ve. As I got to the door, I could hear the boys waiting in line outside snickering. I grasped the handle when the secretary spoke again, “I’m sorry, miss, I can’t let you compete.”

I spun around, “What, sir? Why can’t I compete?” A shadow grew across the secretary's face, “Mila, you can’t, now take a seat.” I broke out of my shock, sitting back down. “Sir, can you explain to me why not?” I whispered, eyes stinging. The secretary leaned forward, trying to look genuinely apologetic, “For starters, you are a girl, and the only girl who dared to enter.” I felt my eye twitch, but the secretary went on. “You can’t be part of the fair, we’re going to have a very highly viewed guest judge there.” He explained haughtily, stacking some other forms. “We must not ruin or change this school’s reputation.” That broke me. I shot up, the chair falling back, “Reputation? Then you must let me compete! You said it yourself! I am already the only girl who has dared to enter.” I took a short breath, “Diversity will change your reputation for the better, do you not want that?” The secretary slammed his fist onto the table, “Mila, I will not tolerate this nonsense anymo-”

“Mila!” A recognisable voice called, as my engineering professor entered the room. He shot a smile to the secretary, “Signing up for the engineering competition, I see!” I straightened my back, reaching to pick up the fallen chair, “Yes of course, sir! I’ve been waiting all year.” My tech professor turned to the secretary and his grin grew wider, “With Mila in the competition, our school is sure to receive gold!” The secretary turned bright red in embarrassment, realizing what he had done, and stuttered, “G-gold! Yes, she’ll do, uh, excellent…” My professor picked up my form, “She’s is the top of her class, and has been since the beginning of time.” The secretary turned to stare at me, his jaw visibly dropped. My professor went on, “It’d be a huge mistake if she wasn’t allowed to compete for us.” “Oh, of course,” The secretary replied, a bit too fast, “I was just submitting her form.” The professor smirked and handed him the form. I wore a smug smile as the secretary shoved the paper into the submission box, his face as red as my hair. The professor placed a hand on my shoulder as I proudly strode out of the office. That year, our school won the engineering competition for the first time. Even after so many years, I still have the gold trophy sitting on my workshop desk.

•••

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The story ‘Fair’ is about one girl’s dream and the initiative taken to help her reach her dream. I wanted to convey the issue of gender discrimination, but instead of the story taking place among adults, I wanted it to happen in a community that is familiar to the readers. Gender discrimination is one of the issues that can be found in most societies, and this is a big problem to me. Gender discrimination and stereotypes blocks off women and girls from many opportunities, but also keeps men and boys from simple things such as crying. ‘Fair’ focused on discrimination against girls, since this is the slightly more visible type of discrimination.

I named the story ‘Fair’ because not only is the story about a engineering fair/competition, but because the way the secretary was acting was extremely unfair. Gender discrimination can only be solved by fairness, equality and acceptance along with powerful actions.

I believe that none of the characters were ‘bad guys’. Each character had their own opinion and perspective on the issue, and they did not intend to put down anyone. The secretary seems like the antagonist in the position in he is in during this story, but he had valid reasons on why he acted this way. Yet, the secretary can easily called the antagonist, because he had his priorities in the wrong place and put the school’s reputation over Mila’s feelings and the school’s representation.

With craft and structure, I tried to make more use of silence and lessen how often I use dialogue than I have in previous pieces. I believe I was very successful at doing this. I also attempted to add in more subtle imagery. I used a mix setting description and action to start my piece, and ended it with a ‘future glimpse’, as I like to call it. On symbolism, I kept this piece very literal, but I did slip in one symbol. The pen in story is meant to represent the ability to cause change, or control ‘destiny/fate’. Pens are typically permanent, and the person with the pen can write whatever they choose to. Mila, the main character, receives the pen, but it is taken back from her. She went to the office to sign up for the engineering fair, which gave her the control over her fate. When Mila loses the pen, she loses control over her future. This is what gender discrimination does, majority of the time, giving men power over the women’s decisions. Then the secretary gives her another pen, which she describes as gross because of the ‘dark blue globby ink’ spilling out of the nib. This shows that usually when men do give women the power to make their own (bigger and more effective) decisions, it usually isn’t as good as what the men give themselves.

Feature Article

Lydia - Thanks for popping by today. Take care!

Make a copy of this notebook.  Drop it in the RLA folder.

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