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English 9H, Period 10

Mrs. Cottam

25 February 2015

Crimes Out of the Country

I’m what you’d call a rule follower. My parents never gave me a curfew because they

could trust me. As a child, I rarely knew the touch of a spanking on my behind because I never

got in trouble. I don’t drink, smoke, swear or fool around. Some might think I’m boring, I prefer

to say that I relish the simpler pleasures of good, clean fun. So why did I attempt to break the law

one February in Russia 1989?

Ten to one. That was the profit for making the exchange. Ten Russian rubles for every

American dollar. The Russian banks weren’t that generous, so I considered the black market for

exchanging my money carefully. My record was squeaky clean. Clean as new fallen snow. One

time I was sent to the principal’s office, but that was in 6th grade. All I did was make a phone call

during recess without permission. That was nothing compared to the possible consequences

which flooded my mind now if I were to get caught. Thoughts of years spent in a Siberian prison

camp should’ve driven me mad with worry. But everyone else was doing it, so I was getting her

nerve up.

The hotel lobby in Moscow was filled with people packed like sardines. I stood out in

my neon pink, Paris sweatshirt against the drab colors of the native Russians. I was ready early

that morning, so I just hung out waiting for Brad to come down from his room. It was time to

catch the tour bus for another day of sightseeing. More art to gawk at. More dark churches to

explore.

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“Dang!”

“What?”

“I left my camera upstairs. Will you wait a minute while I run up and get it?”

“Sure.”

I waited for an elevator. In Soviet Russia everything ran slower than cold molasses.

Surprisingly, the one that opened up was nearly empty. I stepped inside cautiously, adjusting my

eyes to the lighting. Everything seemed to have a green tint to it. The floor was covered with

olive green, indoor/outdoor carpeting. The walls were made of white, textured paneling, which

fit into metal slats. The car rattled slightly as it ambled slowly up the elevator shaft. I noticed a

teenage boy in the corner wearing a corduroy cap and coat. He stepped toward me.

“Want to exchange?” he said flashing some Russian money.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I didn’t have to seek anyone out to change my

money from dollars to rubles this time. He approached me first. This would be easy as pie.

“Want to exchange?” The question came again.

“How much you got?” My voice wavered. I was nervous despite the fact that I was

alone and couldn’t possibly get caught.

“A hundred.” He pulled out a roll of folded bills and began to count. Giving him 10

dollars for 100 rubles sounded like a good deal to me.

The elevator stopped and two more people got on. We headed back down for the lobby,

but my nerves rose in my throat until they got caught.

“Okay.” I fumbled around with my fanny pack zipper and pulled out a crisp ten-dollar

bill counting in my mind everything I could buy with what he promised to give me in return.

The stranger continued to count. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty-five.

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Hurry!

Thirty, forty, fifty.

The couple got off the elevator, and we started to climb again away from the crowds and

the increased chance of getting caught. My heart pounded through my sweatshirt.

Seventy, eighty, a hundred.

I looked up as the elevator stopped again. This time on my floor. The stranger put a wad

of folded bills into my hand. When the door opened, I bolted down the hall like a bird releaed

from its cage trying to put the whole incident out of my thoughts.

I did it. I did it. My mind raced.

I could hardly get the room key to work. I quickly flipped on the light and flung myself

onto the bed. I took out my new money, unfolded the wad, and counted for myself. One, two,

three, four...Wait...It’s not here...It’s not all here. My arms cradled my head as I realized I had

been tricked. 10 rubles for 10 dollars. I felt like a kid caught with her hands in the cookie jar.

Years later, I tell this story proudly. It is my one true attempt to dabble in the dark side. I

was foolish, but lucky. I know what the rush of adrenaline feels like when you take a risk. I know

what it’s like to be able to say, “That’s nothing! Wait ‘til you hear what I did…” Most

importantly, I know what it means to be human, to feel the need to make a bad choice because

somehow you feel more alive for going against the grain. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still a rule

follower; I’m just a wiser one now.

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Jean Louise Finch

Mrs. Cottam; Period 4

English 9H

5/20/15

First Day of High School

On August 21st, at 6:15am I got up, ecstatic about my day. I had been anticipating this

day for a long time and it was finally here: the first day of high school. The last two years of

middle school had been horrible and I was totally ready to leave and go to high school. I was so

excited because I was finally going to get to play high school volleyball. Over the summer, I had

trained intensely with my team. Now the day had come that I was to be officially part of the

team.

My upbeat mood vanished when I walked through those front doors. It was like the

atmosphere had instantly changed upon my arrival. I forged my way through many people I

didn’t know, and when I finally hit a clearing, I walked as fast as I could-- scared I would be late.

When the bell sounded I wasn’t sure what it was, so I just stood there looking at the map,

wondering where to go. When I looked back, my eyes widened as a stampede of high schoolers

were booking it to class. I quickly moved out of the way, not wanting to get run over. Footsteps

faded away as the high schoolers scrambled into the classrooms. I struggled to find my own

class, but felt better when I saw other freshman in the hall doing the same thing I was.

Finally, I discovered my classroom through the maze of hallways. I opened the door to

find many blank stares of other terrified freshman, already seated. The graveyard-like silence

always present in math class whitened the pallor of my face as I skulked to my seat. I hate being

the center of attention, especially in math class.

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After first period as I walked to my next class, I was relieved to see the familiar faces of

my volleyball teammate, Alice. It was so nice to see her because I was feeling quite down from

the last hour of my life. When we stopped to talk we could barely hear each other because of the

hastening footsteps and the yelling of the other students.

“Hey,” I called.

“What a day, huh?” Alice asked.

“Yeah it was different than what I thought it would be,” I responded. “ But I can’t wait

for our first official high school practice today!”

“Me too! I hope we get our jerseys,” Alice replied.

When lunch came it was a huge relief because I was starving. I thought the school had

been incredibly crowded that morning. The lunchtime traffic proved me wrong. People

scrambled to get a good spot in line for the lunchroom. The line took longer than I thought.

When I got my platter of food I was not surprised at the disgusting odor and look of the meal.

However, the state of the meal was strangely comforting, for at least something was

commonplace.

It was extremely weird seeing other students that I remembered from middle school

because most of them I could hardly recognize. Some had gone from brown hair to pink or

blonde locks to blue. I wondered if I looked that changed from middle school to high school, and

if people couldn’t recognize me either.

It wasn’t only the students who transformed; the teachers did as well. Throughout the day

I noticed the teachers in high school were much more involved with the students than those in

middle school. The teachers seemed to push for more and be harsher taskmasters, but I think

because of that the students generally respected the teachers more. The teachers were highly

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engaged in the classes, which made me want to pay more attention. The atmosphere was

demanding, but I was preparing to gear up.

After school in volleyball practice the coach’s usual bellowing was unusually satisfying.

The sound took me back to that summer, back to the whole reason I was excited to go to high

school in the first place. The thwack of the ball as it connected with my hand. The swish of the

ponytails of my teammates, the glimpses I caught of their smiles. The inner joy of athletic

accomplishment.

That night when I got home I had a chance to reflect on the day. I was able to collect my

scattered thoughts into the solid realization that my future depended on these next four years. I

realized that how I behave in high school, who I hang out with, what classes I take, and how I

choose to respond to high school drama and drawbacks will determine who I am in adulthood.

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Selena Gomez

Mrs. Cottam

English 9

5/26/15

Learning to Learn

School used to be really difficult. Being one of the only bilingual kids at my school, it

was harder to keep my educational progress growing. Especially in subjects like reading and

writing. That changed when I got a tutor.

I remember. Even though years have passed. I couldn’t read like the other kids. I wasn’t

able write and comprehend as well as them. It was too hard. So, I figured I would stop trying.

My mom knew that I was struggling. She probably figured it out because of the low marks on

my report card. Or the concerned talks my teachers would have with her. Maybe even how long

it took me to complete the homework. She realized I needed help.

One of the volunteers at the school did too. She also just so happened to be my Sunday

School teacher. She was a nice, quiet, humble old lady who I had known for years. And she had

kindly offered to tutor me in reading and writing.

That is how I awkwardly ended up at her front steps nervous of what to come. I looked at

my mom waiting in the car for me to go in. I quickly pressed the doorbell and waited five

seconds before I was convinced she wasn’t there and started to walk back to the car to break the

news to my mom. She opened the door.

“ Selena! Welcome, come in.” She said happily.

I sighed. Waved goodbye to my mom and dragged myself through her front door.

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I sat uncomfortably in her perfectly crisp home as she went to get supplies. She came

back with a stack of books, some paper, and pencils.

“ Let’s get started.” She said.

I looked nervously at the pile of books on the counter. She didn’t actually expect me to be

able to read these? That would be near impossible. The mountain of books seemed to get bigger

the longer I kept looking. She picked up a blue medium sized book named “Huckleberry Finn.”

“Should we start with this one?”

“Sure” I said.

We began reading. I attempted hard to decode the book. But I didn’t understand what half

the words meant. So I casually started adding my own words.

“You keep changing the words.” She would say.

“I’m making it better.” I would argue.

She would shake her head as we kept reading the slightly changed versions of the book.

I returned everyday. Each day we kept reading and occasionally writing. I was slightly

improving to the point where I knew what was going on half the time. Eventually, after many

headaches and tears from the both of us we finished my first book. A little firework exploded in

my chest at my grand accomplishment. Which started the hunger in my mind to keep reading.

We would keep choosing books. Little by little we would continue to finish them.

Soon, without realizing I would stop adding my own words. And start absorbing the

words on the page. My vocabulary would start to increasing without me realizing. As well as an

admiration for the words on the page. To my complete surprise and utter shock. I started to love

to read. The once meaningless words were now exciting, thrilling, adventurous stories.

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My teachers were stunned at the slow but progressive improvement. They couldn’t

believe how well I was doing. I was creeping my way to the average reading level. As well as

stabilizing my writing to an exceptional level.

The days of tutoring were decreased by my improvement. Gradually lessening to the

point of nonexistence. I had made my way to be one of the best readers in the class. Going from

the very bottom to the top.

Theses tutoring sessions undoubtedly changed my life. They opened my eyes and mind to

something I had never imagined I could do. I exceeded to become a proficient reader. Which is a

skill I have used since. They didn’t just help me improve academically but, they taught me that

working hard can make any dream a reality. As well as how people’s simple actions, like

teaching a young girl to read, can change someone’s life. I will always be grateful for the quiet

lady who saw the potential in me and helped me become the person I am today.

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Justin Bieber

English 9; Per. 4

Mrs. Cottam

5/19/2015

It Started with a dream

It started with a dream. A nearly impossible dream. I had no claim of experience. No

understanding of what I was getting into. All I held was a dream and a little faith.

The only way my goal could come true was faith. I couldn’t give much to obtain what I

wanted. I wanted music.

I didn’t want to buy someone else’s album, or listen to my favorite artists single. I wanted

to write someone else’s favorite song. My problem was, I couldn’t play any instruments.

I tried starting a band with my cousins. They didn’t know any instruments either. It didn’t

last long. I tried starting one with some friends. We decided to write a song and then learn to

play it as soon as we knew how to. You can’t write a song if you don’t know an instrument.

Nothing was working out. But I couldn’t give up. I loved music. It made my imagination

soar. For a reason I can’t explain, it seemed like music was why I lived. Why birds could fly.

Why plants could grow and people could get up to space.

It fascinates me that I never gave up. It’s an absurd thought. A small, insignificant kid,

living on a small farm at the top of a hill, could grow up to be a great musician. Luckily,

impossibility could never bring me down.

One day, the impossible got less likely. I was forced to leave my band. To leave it all

behind and move on. I moved to Provo. No one had even gotten a chance to learn any

instruments and we were already being pulled apart.

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My aspirations were shattered. What could I do now? I’d have no friends to start a band

with. I’d never be able to make music.

The negativity didn’t last long. I found out that my teacher played guitar and would be

teaching us to play. I felt a little better. Maybe I could still pursue music after all.

I made some friends and we tried starting another band. This time we played instruments.

Sadly, It was a group of three guitarists. with no other instruments, the band failed. I was

disappointed. I kept playing guitar but the dream of becoming a great musician died.

While trying to revive the aspiration, I tried writing a song. All I could successfully come

up with was a chord progression. Once again, I gave up.

A few weeks later a friend called. He told me that his dad owned a recording studio.

“You should come record a song with us.” He said.

I replied, “I don’t know what I’d record.”

“We’ll help you write something.”

“Well, I guess I have a guitar part. You guys could help me finish writing that.”

“Sounds great!”

We spent hours writing and recording and when it was done, I was so thrilled that I

showed everyone I possibly could. I’d listen to it every day while I did my chores. It lasted a few

weeks but after a little while, it wasn’t as cool. I didn’t like it as much as other songs. I tried

writing another to make up for it, but by then I’d have to pay to record it. I had no money so I

turned back to finding entertainment elsewhere. I was back to the start.

Not long after, I came home from a short trip to find my house covered in confetti and

long strands of tissue paper with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” written on them. As I walked inside, I

saw a new guitar along with bass guitar and amplifier. Sitting on the amplifier was a box. It was

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unwrapped and said “SONAR X2” on the front of it. It was the same software used in my

friend’s recording studio.

This sparked a new interest in my mind. I owned my own recording studio. With practice,

I could record my own music while helping others. If I started a relatively cheap studio, I could

help people like me achieve their dreams while I execute the steps to attain my dream.

I spent the summer before eighth grade learning how to set up equipment and use it. For a

while though, the only thing I could do was hook a mixer to the computer and take out a swear

word in a song. Over time I got much better. I can now record, edit, and adjust audio however I,

or my customer wants it.

When I look back, I know that all of it started with faith. It’s because I believed in myself

that I was able to acquire my dreams. That fate brought me to Provo where I learned to record.

That I was able to learn about music. That I have had success.

Without it, none of that would have happened. If I had given in to the pressure of doubt, I

would have failed. The only thing that stopped me from falling into that pit was that I didn’t

allow the fear of failure make me fail. Because the only thing holding anyone back. Fear.

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Scarlett Johansson

Mrs. Cottam

English 9

May 18, 2015

Something Different

I like eating food, as much as anyone. I may not eat the healthiest kinds of foods, but I

mean who does this days? I also like feeling free, free from that looming, dark feeling in the

morning that I didn’t do my homework or study for a test. Free from liking someone or peer

pressure. But most of all, I like feeling free from feeling trapped.

In the summer of 2010, about a month before the school year, I found out something that

forever changed my life. I was going into 6th grade that year. I woke up one really early morning

feeling dizzy and sick. I breathe heavily, shaking my head, willing myself of my dizzy, sick

state. I was hot, and everything looked blurred. My stomach lurches slightly.

“Oh! NO!” I thought as I wrestled with the flowery designed covers. I ran to the

bathroom, trying not to freak out. I sat there on the floor, waiting. I take a deep breath in, as my

stomach prepares to lose my last night’s dinner. Fortunately it never came. My parents rush in to

the small, clean bathroom and inquired what the matter was. I shakily swallowed the bile that

had formed in my throat. Not really wanting to look back on what could have happened I said,

“I….um…. was about to…. throw up?”

“What did you eat yesterday?” My mom whispers, trying not to wake my little sister or

brother. “Too late,” I thought seeing them right behind my parents. I several deep breaths as my

mom and dad tuck my brother and sister in for the second time that night. My parents and I

decide I had better sleep on the couch in the next room with a bowl, just in case my body really

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did want to get rid of something. I struggled with sleep for an hour or so before finally falling

asleep. The morning sun’s rays shined brightly through the blinds in the kitchen. With no door or

wall to block the sunshine, it came into my room, waking my sleepy self up. It felt like someone

was shining a somewhat dim flashlight into my eyes, and tapping me like an annoying kid.

I moan, really not wanting to get up and take the day on. With difficulty, I sit up, but then

I lay back down to get rid of the oncoming headache. A few minutes later, I hear someone

cooking breakfast. My stomach rumbles like a thousand elephants. I felt hungry and wanted food

but at the same time, I didn’t. I sit back up once again and start shaking really bad. “What is

wrong with me?” I think as I walk over to the table and wait for the food to be done. I don’t think

I finished half of a pancake before I felt that sensation of the bile rising up in my throat. I rushed

to the bowl I had left by the couch and let it all out. My dad looks over to me and says,

“I don’t think you're ready for that. Why don’t you just take it easy. One baby step at a

time.”

So I did, or more like had to, for the next few weeks. During those few weeks, I lost so

much weight it terrified me. You know that expression, skinny as a toothpick? Well I say that is

exactly what I looked and felt like. This went on too long without me getting any better, so my

parents decided to take me to the hospital. I arrived at the hospital not really knowing what was

happening, but anxious to recover. A doctor took me into a room and did some tests on me. He

left the room and my parents stood by me, smiling nervously. The doctor came back into the

room and told me I’d have to stay in the hospital for a couple of days. I hold my breath for the

next words he’d say. He said, “You have Diabetes Type 1. This is where the pancreas, an organ

in the body, has stopped giving your body insulin….” I looked at him as if he’d grown another

head. “Pancreas… Insulin… What in the world?!” I think as the doctor rabbles on about this

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diabetes. I look at my parents to see if they understood anything he was saying, wondering what

they're thinking. They asked questions to the doctor and discussed things about, the impact it

would have on my life.

I panicked a little when I learned that I was going to be staying in the hospital overnight.

I’ve never done anything like this. The first three nights I was stuck in my bed, too sick to even

move my head. The doctor stuck two I.V.’s in both of my arms. I got used to it after a while. The

hospital room I stayed in had with a bed with very thin white sheets, bathroom and a TV. As the

days went on, both I.V’s were removed. When I wasn’t sleeping, talking with my visiting

parents, or learning about this mysterious Diabetes Type 1, I’d watch movies and eating food. I

was actually kind of starting to enjoy living at the hospital. I stayed in the hospital for a few more

days, then went to school. Half the time, my family had no idea what was going on, but that’s ok,

I loved them anyway.

As I look back on this defining moment, I realize that it strengthened me emotionally and

because of that, I had become very independent. I’ve learned how handle and somewhat master

this Diabetes Type 1. As I’ve learned to do new things, things that sometimes I feel like I can’t

do, I look back to this experience for guidance. Whenever I think “I can’t do this” or “this is too

hard”, I just remember to deal with it, just like I dealed with Diabetes.

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