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.

• 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.