Feature Article

Lydia - Thanks for popping by today. Take care!

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

• www.mindmeister.com
• www.drive.mindmup.com

H/W - complete one page of research using Cornell notes. Due Thur

Scenes: Student Mentor

Enjoy Michael's piece. His author's note is also very impressive. Love the title in this piece!

        Four By Six

Michael Ng

The field was a haven. It’s my home away from home. It was never too hot, there was always shade from trees, yet never too cool. The green turf as far as the eye could see, the bright bleachers underneath the overhang. Being there, I felt like I was the baseball in the pitcher’s hand. Weaving my way past catchers, those that would stop me from flying high.

I clutched the flyer mother received in the mail the day before tightly in my hand. Standing amongst the towers of high schoolers, crowding around the small wooden table, I tried to push my way to the front. No use.

“TWEEEEE!” The sound of the whistle pierced through the air. The chatter died, and was replaced by silence. The only sound was the coach standing up from his chair.

The sun’s rays glared down from the sky. They reflected against the red and white ‘HIGH SCHOOL BASEBALL TRYOUT SIGNUP’ laminated sign, hanging on the front of the table.

“Alraigh’ everyone, get in line,” the baseball coach boomed, his shiny silver whistle at the ready in his hand. People began shuffling about, all pushing to get to the front of the line. Once everyone eventually got into a line, I found myself at the very back.

Ma was bouncing off the wall when she came home that day. She excitedly handed the flyer to me. “High school Baseball Team Tryouts!” she said excitedly. She had always pushed me to go for the impossible. After all, I had only gotten back from my third day of the sixth grade. I stood no chance against these huge monsters of muscle! Sure, I had played baseball since I was little, but against high schoolers, with at least four more years of experience, and muscle? No way. I shook my head and handed the flyer back to Ma.

Quickly, the line began to get shorter and shorter. It only took a few

seconds for each person to fill out their registration form. I heard the quiet buzz around me, and people looking at me out of the corner of their eyes. Though I felt out of place, I stood my ground and didn’t let them make me get out of the line. I was the knight in shining armor, from my favourite stories, unwilling to let the ferocious dragons eat me.

I arrived to school the very next morning. Unpacking my bag, I carefully placed my homework on my desk, and put my lunchbag and water bottle underneath the seat. I took my pencil case out, and put it inside my table. Staring out the window at the beautiful grass fields around the school, I was suddenly filled remorse. I regretted not, at least, trying to apply for the high school varsity. I wanted to go for it, it had been my lifelong dream to become a famous baseball player. I supposed, it was too late now.

I carried my backpack to my locker, but as I was closing the locker door, I noticed the red flyer clamped inside my notebook. The same one that Ma had handed to me the day before. I carefully pulled it out of the notebook, and found the sticky note Ma had put on it. “Hun, I thought you might need this when you got to school. Smiling, I folded the flyer into four and slipped it into my pocket.

I approached the front of the line. The man in front of me whispered, his eyes thin, “Kid. I think you’ve come to the wrong place. This is the varsity team, not the little league.” I shook my head. He shrugged his shoulders then turned back  around. He twirled the pencil in his hand. That’s when I realized- I didn’t have a pencil. I couldn’t apply without one! Panicking, my eyes flew across the entire fields, looking for the bright glare of the sun reflecting off the metal eraser holder on the back of the pencil. Not one. I was too afraid to ask any of the high schoolers to borrow one- they’d probably tell me to get lost. I was three people to the front.

I tapped the boy in front of me. He turned around, with an arched eyebrow. “Yes?”

In a shaky voice, I whispered, “Might you have an extra pencil I could please borrow? I’ll give it right back to y-” Without letting me finish, he pulled a pencil out of a pocket in his shorts and handed it to me. He nodded, then turned back around.

Two people to the front. I began to imagine what it would be like to have made it on the team. I visioned myself on the school newspaper’s headlines: “Justin Mahone- Middle School Superstar makes it to High School Baseball Team” I imagine myself getting an interview from Jimmy Fallon on Saturday Night Live, then making my way to Los Angeles and being on the Ellen Show.

“Oi, kid! Watchu’ doing here?” The coach leaned on his desk and glared at me. His huge figure barely fit on the chair, the table creaked under his weight.

“I-I’m here to r-register for the team,” I stuttered, my heartbeat pounding. The coach rolled his eyes, and sighed.

“Listen, kid. Little league is over there. Not here. I ain’t letting you go for the team.”

I shook my head, smiled, and wrote my name on the registration sheet. Rolling his eyes once again, the coach dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

I took the four inch by six inch crumpled flyer out of my pocket. “Thanks, Mom,” I whispered. It was the ticket to my destiny. It determined where I ended up.  And I had just used it. I was aboard the train to my future. Folding it back into four, I shoved it deep into my pocket and walked back to the concrete mass of my school.

Dear Publisher,

Throughout our lives, we have many opportunities, whether they pop up on television, in the mail, or from your teacher. Some will come and go, oh so quickly, others will linger before vanishing. Sometimes, we just ignore these opportunities, other times, we prevented from reaching the opportunity. Good opportunities aren’t ‘handed’ to you. They are reached for and they are fought for.

“Four by Six” is the last story I expected myself to write. I’m not a ‘sporty’ type of person. I had previously developed my idea from a character in a prison, which turned into a kid in a classroom wanting to write a letter to his grandmother, then this.

In “Four by Six”, the main character, Justin receives a flyer from his mother, about the high school baseball team registration. The flyer is the ‘important item’ that is tracked across the entire story. It followed him from the second the mother gave it to him, into his backpack, and in and out of his pocket.

The title connects to the entire story. The title represents the flyer, as well. The flyer practically symbolized the entire story- how the character decided to go apply for the high school team, when he was only a middle schooler, then going to go on in the future and get better at baseball. Because of this, I decided to have the title represent the most important part of my story- at least that’s what I thought.

The character faces three main problems within this story. First, he didn’t have the flyer. This was resolved when his mother slipped it into his backpack. Second, he didn’t have a pencil. Thankfully, the boy in front of him had an extra one. Finally, the coach didn’t let him apply, at first. This was also tied in with everyone else looking and whispering about his age. This problem was the main conflict and also the social issue portrayed within this story, about ageism. How people discriminate others based on their age, not based on their skills or motivation.

The lead technique that I used was called a ‘leisurely lead.’ It’s called this because I slowly began to introduce the setting, the baseball field, and the character as well. Other craft moves that I had used included symbolism; such as the flyer, as well as the pencil, which represented the creation of an opportunity. It represented how the character strode and grasped the opportunity, and got what he wanted.

In summary, this story truly is about how, only when you strive for your goals will you ever reach them.

Sincerely,

Michael N.

This week is a MEMBEAN  week - Make sure you get your 40mins. End of week - Membean test.

C/D and E/F classes ONLY
Going forward - you need to be reading dystopian books. Start these once you finish your present read. You should read between 4-6 different dystopian novels between now and the end of the year.
You are free to choose a reading partner and read the same novels together.

BY the END of APRIL - You must turn in one more reading response on a book(s) you read - It can be an 'across texts' response if you choose. Use your Reader's notebook notes to collect your thinking about reading.  You will be given 20mins to read in every class to read/write/notetake etc. DO NOT LEAVE THIS TO THE LAST MINUTE

This week, we will begin researching for your PE topics Teen Issues.

RF Summative

Enjoy this excellent piece from Sara. How does yours compare?

Two Piece

The big bright dressing room screaming summer made my heart start to pound.  I looked down at the small chair next to me, but shook my head and pushed myself to just stand. I snatched the crumbled invitation out of my pocket. I un-crumbled the frail paper, and I examined it, my heart beating, my stomach rumbling, and my head spinning. I looked back and forth from the pool party themed invitation to the large mirror right in front of me. I pictured all the girls with the perfect bodies and cute swimsuits. Was my body good enough to go? Do I even come close to meeting their “pretty girl, skinny body” expectations? Maybe. Then, I remembered how the pool party was next week and I could quickly get ready. I chuckled in my head as if there was even a reason I would not go. Then, I peered my head out from the white thin curtain and through the store door. I saw Eden, my best friend, walking towards the store with her starbucks cup. She waves at me, and I wave back looking at myself through the glass door. I quickly turn away and proceed looking through the swimsuits I’ve picked out.

Eden and I have been best friends for a long time. Back when we were two little girls who had no cares in the world other than who got to use the pretty barbie, with the long legs and small waist. The pretty one. We would always steal our mom's makeup and heels from their rooms and put on our nicest dresses. We would go into my bathroom, and look into the  big long mirror, and we would laugh. We smiled, danced, sang, posed like the models we thought we were, and overall, we loved ourselves. One time, back when we were 9, we got all dressed up, hair, makeup, nails, and all. I was wearing one of my oldest dresses, but my favorite. It was a little tight around the waist, size 10, but I still pulled it off.

“You look beautiful,” Eden said, proud for being my friend. I looked in the mirror, and my face lit up, and not because of all that foundation I put on. I really did look beautiful, I really did.

She ran up to me and gave me a hug. Her arms wrapped around me all the way, with even more room. I hugged her back, but my arms did not wrap with space.

“Oh my! Brooke, these bikinis are so cute,” she said jumping up and down examining the swimwear, “I better give you some time to try these on! I will be outside just tell me if you need anything.”

After she left, I grabbed the first swimsuit off of the hanger. It was size XS to fit the physique I have worked so hard for. I easily slipped it onto my body with no problems at all. I glanced in the mirror to see my ribcage popping out from my skin. On top of my disgusting boney shoulders, were the straps of the swimsuit. My eyes moved towards the end of the bikini top to find a complete open layer between the rim of the bikini and my body. The bottoms I tried on kept slipping down as I constantly pull them back up. It was to big.

“Hey Eden,” I call out from the other side of the curtain, “uh, I need a smaller size I think.”

“An extra small is the smallest size they have,” she paused for a short minute, “Oh wait! They have a kids section, I will be right back.”

My head fell deep into my tiny hands and stayed there until she came back with the large selection of kids swimwear. I hadn’t shopped in the children's section of a store since I was 12, 5 years ago. I examined the flower and tribal printed bikinis, and I thought I might as well just give it a try. I grabbed one of the flower bikinis and slid it on. My physique was still small and bony, but the suit fit perfectly. I reached in the back to check the size. Size 10. I looked back into the mirror, and I noticed one of the lights in the dressing room had turned off, making it harder to see. I managed with the other one light to examine my suit. Disappointed in my lack of progress in the last few weeks I rolled my eyes in the mirror. Do I look at my ribs or the unnecessary layer of skin around it? At this point, I don’t even know.

“Hey B, how is it going in there,” I heard from right outside the dressing room.

“Oh, um, ya I think I am going to get this one for now,” I said back hesitantly.

“Let me come in and see,” she says tugging at the curtain. I quickly grap the other end and keep her from opening it, my face red, my heart fast. I push and push harder.

“What’s going on?,” she questions.

“Um, I like, um,” I panicked to think of an excuse, “I have already started changing and took my bikini off.” I looked in the mirror and shook my head at myself through my reflection.

“Oh my gosh! I do not know what I was thinking, I am so so sorry!,” she started, “How about I will go pay.”

I handed her the swimsuit, and she ran to the cashier line. I put on my baggy sweatshirt and long pants  to stop the freezing cold air conditioning the store provides. I started to walk out of the dressing room, but I turned and looked back one more time.  I shake my head unaware of what to think of myself. I quickly exit before any more thoughts of doubt entered my mind.

Summative: Social Issues Story

Summative for scene writing instructions below:

Turn in a digital copy of your final piece

Final draft  - Make a copy of this file and drop it into the RLA folder

You will design a cover page for your piece that hints at meaning or message. e.g. below:

Student Sample - How does yours compare?

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 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 our cracked and stained, dark brown leather couch 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. My parents on the other hand 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 hand 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. Final score: 32-33.