Tag Archives: Let’s Talk About Me

A Pocketful

19 Oct

By Emma Davis
7th Grade

One Sunday several years ago my little sister, mom, and I were on our way back from the Ela fruit stand with a bag of apples and some peaches. I stuck my hand in the top right pocket of my chocolate-colored cargo pants, drawing it out again as soon as it was in, preparing to remove the thorn that had jabbed the tip of my thumb. But as soon as my thumb was out of my pocket, I screamed bloody murder, my eyes wide with fear. There on my thumb was a yellow wasp, its stinger lodged in my thumb-tip.

I froze, my already warm face burning with embarrassment like a blazing wildfire, my mouth dry and gaping. Time stopped. My mom’s hand rested on my thumb, the wasp frozen like a statuette. All around me people’s heads were turned to me, and the sweet smell of frying donuts hung stock-still in mid-air.


Buckled In

19 Oct

By Annaliese Abbasi-Chavez

I walked out of the house, prepared to be greeted by my bubbly friend. Instead, Janine did not come out, so I walked down my concrete steps and my excitement slowly dwindled away. I peeked into her mom’s car, the front seat, the back seat. Only her mom, Lisa, was there to pick me up and take me to my horseback riding lesson. I acted as if I didn’t care that we would be alone together, to be polite. I parted my hair in the back as I handed my bag to Lisa. The trunk slowly opened, dust flicking off in a frenzy. She tossed my bag into the back.

I slowly walked back to my mom, tugging on my shirt as she said, “Where’s Janine?”

“She didn’t come,” I replied, taking a deep breath. I tightly hugged her and set off into my reserved seat in the front.

Exhaust trailed behind us as we buckled in, and my conversation with Ms. Lisa commenced as she blasted Maroon Five’s work from years ago.

Being stuck in a car with your friend’s mom may seem like a bonding experience, but for me it was torture. I’m not usually uncomfortable with my friends’ parents, but when they start asking if their daughter is having dark thoughts on social media, then it takes a turn for the worse.

Not to mention, this parental figure loves Maroon Five, so the whole way I was stuck in a situation of being uncomfortable on the highest level.

“So, how have you been?”

“Oh, great! What about you?”

“Fantastic. It’s so great to see you, Analiese.”

I widen my mouth into a toothy grin.

“Has Janine been okay, you know, on social media?”

“I mean, yeah, she posts every now and then.”

“No, I mean does she seem depressed?”

“Oh, um, no,” I slightly lied.

A couple of odd seconds later, “You would tell me if she did, right?”

“Oh yeah, of course,” I said, blushing like a fresh-picked tomato.

As we were going speedily into the turn, I thought, If she was, I don’t think I would have the guts to say something, and shouldn’t she know if her daughter is depressed, which she isn’t, I don’t think, but her bio is a little deep, is she okay, I mean she’s not acting different. I finished my thought after a few long seconds of contemplation in my own slightly deep mind.

Weeks before, I went on a trip with Janine. I Snapchatted her and asked how she was, and she replied, “Not good. No one loves me.” 

“Well, I do, very much. You’re one of my best friends.”

“That’s true. You’re right.”

When her mother dropped me off at my final destination I was relieved.

To be fair, Lisa is a very sweet person, so in the long run it wasn’t that bad once we walked into the barn. I thought, She drove me all the way up here. That was really kind of her, even if it was a dreadful drive.

Waiting for the Bell To Ring

19 Oct

By Riley Christian
7th Grade

“Marie Antoinette was…” Mr. Gordon droned on as I listened to the scratching of pencils on paper. All of a sudden, as I wrote down, “Let them eat cake!” I felt a hand on my shoulder and an arm draped across my back. I froze. I felt the all-too-familiar tingling all over my body. My cheeks were burning like Tartarus as my heart pounded in my ears. Afraid to look, I turned slowly, to be faced with the big grin and freckles of my crush, Spencer. My breath caught.

I lost all control of my thoughts and gave him an awkward smile as he leaned back in his chair. I returned my gaze to the front of the class, trying not to jump up and run out of the room squealing.

This was more awkwardness than I ever experienced, and I had cried in front of two hundred people. I wished that the bell would ring already so that I could do one of those cool maneuvers with my hair as I walked outside.


As soon as the bell echoed in my ears, I was snapped back to my mind, as if my heart and my brain were connected like a jigsaw puzzle.

And so it began…Awk-ward.


A Few Months Later 

I pulled on the cardboard edge of my poster-board to talk to Leslie, who was right in front of me.

She pulled back hers and whispered, “Here comes your mom.”

I whirled around.

“Hey, honey! I was wondering if I could meet Spencer?”

I sighed and agreed.

Before I knew it, Leslie had pulled Spencer over and told him.


The Next Year

At Mia’s sleepover, my initial thoughts were: awesome house, awesome mom, awesomeness in general. Then came the typical spilling-your-heart-out confessions at night.

Before I knew it, the subject of Spencer came up. Spencer had been placed in a different ability group, and without thinking I told Adriana how I felt about it. By 3:00 a.m. it was forgotten.
The Next Day

“Hey, Riley! Adriana told me something earlier about someone having confidence in me. Do you know anything about it?” As soon as I heard the words spill from Spencer’s mouth, I knew Adriana had told him what I said about him.

“Um, no,” I said, and instantly began talking to my conscience, Orchid, as I debated with myself whether or not putting my head on the desk would give me away as Spencer talked to my friends asking them questions.

Finally I made my decision.


Study Hall

I was too freaked out to think about anything else except the ABC Drama that I was trapped in. So, knowing what relaxes me, I whipped out a few sheets of notebook paper and wrote a story about a prince and a girl named Ella.



Spencer was on the tightrope, so I walked up to him, shoved the story in his hand forcefully and walked away. He went off to read it in a corner while I waited with baited breath for a response.


19 Oct

By Lily Lemme
6th Grade

My head is throbbing, laughing at me, saying, “Na, na, na, na, na. You forgot your notes.” I look around me. The boy on the stage is finishing his speech. I rub my temples, searching frantically in my mind for something that could help me.

I hear clapping, and the boy walks down the steps of the stage. Slowly I stand up. My thoughts are dry. Walking up to the stage feels like a mile. It feels like my funeral march: Bum, bu, bum, bu, bum, bu, bum, bu. I hear a drum march in my head. I want to run and curl into a ball, in a closet where no one will find me.

I scold myself for leaving my notes on the table and rushing out without them. Why?! I ask myself. Why?! Why?! Why?! Why did they pick me to give a speech for continuation? Why does everyone think I’m so perfect? Why didn’t my alarm go off when it was supposed to? Why did I forget my notes?

At last I reach the stage and walk to the podium. “Hi?” I say.

Their eyes stare through me like stones pelting a brick wall.

There is a saying, “It’s bound to get worse before it gets better.” This saying is true for this story.

I hear snickers going around the room, and a murmur of, “When is she gonna start?” and “If she doesn’t say anything, she should give up.” I feel like crying.

Suddenly I remember something my mom once said to me: “If you give up now, all you will remember is that you didn’t try.”

My confidence is back, my pulse is slower. I start again with full confidence. “Hi,” I say. “My name is Lillian Lemme.”

That day I realized that things don’t always go your way and things always get worse, maybe, before they get better. I learned that speaking from the heart is more powerful than any notepaper, and confidence is all you need to get better. That day may not have been perfect, but I like to think of it as a day I learned from my mistakes.