Day 4: "I am pleased to notify you..."

A few days ago, Sunday at 9:00 A.M. to be exact (I'm keeping record), I received an email from none other than the official chairman of the Patriot's Pen essay competition I submitted an essay to earlier this past month. When I got the email, I was nervous, worried, and mostly afraid about what it would say, not really being sure of much at the moment. I knew my essay had been selected to compete in the Department level of the competition, but I really had no clue what had gone on exactly.

I started reading the introduction of the email that shows when it's in the inbox, when I read: "Camila, I am please to notify you that..." and the rest trailed off. At that second my heart skipped a beat and I just about died on the inside. I knew it had to be good news because why would you send someone an email starting with "pleased to notify," when all you really wanted to do was tell the poor person that their essay wasn't chosen and that therefore, was not a very good essay? I opened the email and read the whole thing through and soon discovered exactly what this was about. Apparently, my essay had been sent to Puerto Rico to compete on the Department level and it won! I was so exited when I read this that I was about to drop dead when I read the rest of the sentence. Since it won on the department level, it's being sent to compete in the National level! I just had to scream at that second, and I did. It was so exciting to see how far my essay had gone.

I am just so proud of how far I've gotten! I know that the chances of winning are slight but I just feel so blessed and honored that I could make it this far.

Day 4: Flooded

It was a normal Sunday night; Dad was watching the football game, Mom was watching a movie in the master bedroom, and Miranda and I were playing a game in the computer room. Miranda left the room for a second to go to the kitchen to get some water and my mom was apparently on her way back from the kitchen, when they both stopped in the middle of the hallway and gasped. I heard some splashing so I sort of figured that someone had spilled a glass of water on the floor, but as I waled out of the room to see what was going on, I realized that there was a puddle that extended all through the hallway, into the room Miranda and I share, and started to move into the room we had been in. Immediately, Mom called for Dad to check it out.

As soon as he got to the lake that was our hallway, he started grabbing towels to start absorbing the water. He then checked where the water was coming from, and it was coming from the bathroom, but with our luck, it wasn't coming from the faucet. It was literally overflowing from the toilet. Disgusting, right? Luckily, the water was just clean water that was supposed to replace the flushed water in the bowl but to be honest, it smelled really putrid, but it's not like there was waste floating around the room, otherwise I probably would be in like a hotel room while my parents try to sanitize the house with bleach and chemicals of that sort.

The only way we could stop the leak was to turn the water in the bathroom completely off. That's when we started ti check out what had been unlucky enough to be on the floor during the flooding. As we assessed our room, Miranda found that most of the stuff on the floor was hers. Her poor stuffed monkey, Tom, ironically manufactured out of recycled towels, was the first victim. Half engulfed by the questionable water, the poor guy would have to be bleached and washed multiple times. Later Miranda discovered that all the things she had hidden under her bed where now soaked with toilet water and were no longer fit to have in a living environment.

Though Miranda was devastated by the loss of her precious Tom, and Dad was really angry that we would have to get all the water out ourselves, I couldn't help but laugh harder than I have since winter break started. This was no doubt the funniest, grossest, and most exciting thing that had happened to me in long, long time. Miranda must have had the same realization soon after because she started laughing so hard she almost peed right on the spot.

So anyways, we spent a good two hours wringing out towels, and sweeping water out of the house. It was gross, yet fun at the same time. Last night we didn't sleep in our room though, we slept on the sofa-bed instead, considering our room was pretty nasty. So today we broke out the Clorox bleach, the Lysol disinfecting spray, and the multi-surface Windex to clean up the affected areas, which was followed by a delightful trip to the mall.

Day 2: Teeth Whitening

For the longest time, I've been dying to get my teeth whitened. I've begged, pleaded, beseeched my parents, but never have the succumbed so my tantrums and fits. However, when I got my braces of, a little over a month ago, my mom finally agreed to letting me get my teeth whitened. I thought it would be so much easier than it actually turned out to be though. So when we get there, the assistants put this sort of plastic brace all in my mouth to prevent my lips from touching my teeth during the procedure. I look pretty retarded in it too like I have some sort of disorder that doesn't allow me to close my mouth or speak like any normal person.The dentist puts this foamy sort of stuff on my gum line so that the bleach chemical they're about to put on my teeth doesn't damage the gums by accidentally burning it with acid. Sounds fun, right?



So after that they put on the bleaching agent and make me put on these orange safety goggles as to shield my eyes from the powerful laser light they are about to point directly onto my teeth in order to activate the chemical that'll bleach my teeth. So they make you sit there for 20 minutes at a time not allowed to move or anything and it is really, really uncomfortable. Finally, when you're actually done, your teeth hurt like crazy because after being under the laser for so long your teeth get really sensitive. It's so worth it though...my smile looks great!

Day 1 of Winter Break

Not much has been really going on over here. I slept until about noon, so I already missed like half of the entire day. Doesn't really matter though, I'm not planning on doing anything important today anyways. After being up for a while I decided to eat some carrot bread for "breakfast" though I was only a couple hours away from lunch. That's when Miranda and I started fighting like we do every morning. So I'm getting out the carrot bread as Miranda dives for the banana bread with chocolate chips, this was only annoying because Miranda already ate all the Christmas cookies that came in the little baked goods basket the Sherry's give us every year. Mr. Sherry makes the best cookies ever, and I mean ever, but this year I didn't get any, courtesy of Miranda. I ate all the almonds though, so I guess we're sort of even.

Anyways, the banana bread is the best bread in the whole thing, not saying that I don't like the carrot bread because it's pretty awesome too, but I already knew that Miranda would finish the entire loaf before lunch in a couple hours. So I may have added a couple insults so that she would leave the kitchen and lock herself in another room so that I could hide the bread for when she came back, but the glitch it, she's a bit sensitive to my comments, so goes ahead and calls Mom about how I'm being mean to her and whatever. Of course, now I have to talk to her about how she doesn't like name calling and that I need to leave Miranda alone. I don't really mind though because I've already won and Miranda isn't allowed to have more than two pieces.

So after that whole ordeal I've just been in my room reading my book: Crunch Time, by Mariah Fredricks, who wrote a New York Times bestseller, The True Meaning of Cleavage, which despite it's provocative title and promiscuous cover, is a book about some really good friends apparently. I'm reading the other book though, Crunch Time, which is about 5 high school student who are taking the SAT's and one cheats so they have to find out who it was. I really like the book and I'm more than half way done, so hopefully I'll be done with it tomorrow.

Sally Hayes Monologue

I’m Sally Hayes, and I met Holden a few years ago. Our mothers are members at the same Fifth Avenue Club and when they met each other and became pretty good friends and ever since then, I’ve known Holden.

Actually, I went out to the theater just a couple nights ago. He called me up one day, it had been a while since I heard from him, since he goes to Pencey and I go to Woodruff. Last I heard, he was at Pencey, but he’s gotten kicked out of several schools, so I wasn’t so sure, but that’s typical Holden.

Anyways, he called me and invited me to go to this matinee. I could’ve gone out with any of these…5…no 6, other guys who are just grand. I felt kind of bad for him and I hadn’t seen him in a while so I thought I would go, I mean he’s not a bad guy so I figured why not?. He told me specifically to show up at 2:00 but I was about ten minutes late, I’m always running a bit late, he didn’t seem to really mind though, he was just sitting in the lobby, waiting for me.

I was only late because I was putting on my makeup and deciding what I should wear. In the end I just threw on a black coat and put on a beret outfit. It wasn’t a truly exceptional outfit, not one of the nicer ones, but still he made this face at me when I was coming down the stairs to greet him, like he was gonna start drooling or something; not that people don’t usually stare at me (it happens quite often).

Anyhow, He told me he had just bought two tickets to a play with the Lunts in them, and I just adore the Lunts. We went into the play and every time I glanced at him he looked either totally lost in thought or watching with a disgusted look on his face. I think he was even relieved when the play ended. That made me feel like he was really not enjoying the date, which has never really happened to me, so that was weird. And also, how could he not like the Lunts? They’re only the best actors of the century! I’ve been to about a thousand of their productions with my parents.

So when we exited the theater I saw this guy, George, he goes to Andover. We got talking for a while and Holden got really annoyed so I figured we’d better go. We went ice skating after that, only for a short while though, I didn’t think Holden was enjoying it much, and then Holden took me for a drink; that’s when things got pretty awkward. We were just chatting, the usual small-talk, like about school and things like that, when all of the sudden he got really worked up about how he hated New York, he said that I was the only reason he was here. Then he mentioned that he wanted to leave, that he would borrow a car take all him money and drive north. He asked me to come with him too, that we could go live in Vermont and that we could live on the money he had and when the money ran out he would get a job and that in the future we could get married, or something. I tried my best to be polite about turning down his offer because really I was quite worried about him and his plans, I mean, we are both practically still children. I can’t even imagine leaving home, and to a place as rural as Vermont? That’s insane!

He was making me feel really uncomfortable about not wanting to go though, I don’t think he even tried to see from my perspective, I wasn’t unhappy about living in New York like he was. He kept yelling about how we should, and asking me why I wouldn’t go. I kept asking him to quiet down and to be quiet, but he continued to scream at me. I got freaked out after that, he went pretty insane. After a while of being screamed at he left me there all alone and I decided to get a cab home, I was pretty upset too, he had been really mean. I really just wanted to forget this ever happened, and go home.

Wondering & Worrying

It was late at night; a cold, snowy night. That’s when I first saw him. On my way home from the late shift I noticed him walking down a small avenue, staggering around in the snow, clad with only a thin jacket in parka-worthy weather. He seemed to be in quite some pain, considering the grimace on his face and the chattering of his teeth.

I approached him gingerly to offer help; he seemed to be ill or dehydrated or something judging by the unruly zigzag motion he was walking in. When I reached him I attempted to show only a calm and reassuring disposition so that he wouldn’t fear the anonymous citizen (me) coming to aid him.

I offered him my help in a clear and concise way, but he simply rebuffed it spontaneously. What I mean is, I didn’t really expect him to refuse, especially in him his condition. Actually he seemed rankled by the offer, so I quickly surmised that he was an irascible person and that I would have to be patient to provide any assistance to him.

Now that I was closer to him, I was able to smell the alcohol on his breath that pervaded the air around him. I conjectured that he was only about 17 years old, but still, he was very drunk. He was in no condition to be wandering around, especially not in the snow. I entreated him to let me help him, but this time, he didn’t even answer me; instead, he looked lost in profound thought and then suddenly, in a tremulous voice, called out to someone named Allie, and began so interminable conversation with him.

From what he said I could tell he was pretty avid about Allie. He said that Allie was an affable boy; one to be emulated and admired. I endeavored to understand him, though I really couldn’t find a way to without the full story about Allie. After a while of babbling, his voice became firm and told Allie that it was imperative that he go get his bike and meet him in front of Bobby Fallon’s house. Soon, he snapped out of the mysterious trance and noticed the puzzled look on my face; that’s when he started explaining about Allie.

He told me about how Allie was his younger brother and about the painful battle with cancer that he encountered. He described to me how excruciatingly painful it was to lose him, and furthermore, how turbulent the path to moving on felt. He described Allie’s baseball mitt and the anthology of poems written on it in green pen. Then he told me about the loss of Allie had instilled anxiety in his mother, and depression in him. When he finished his story, he was left despondent, as though retelling the story had evoked memories of the gruesome death that haunted him and continued to reverberate in his mind.

I tried my best to comfort him, but he pulled away and stared at me like there was something wrong with me. At this point I decided to make a final attempt to help him, but I knew it would take a conscientious effort and a lot of prudency to convince him that it was okay to ask for help if he needed it.

After many explanations, offers, and begging, he still would not succumb to my pleading. I figured that the only thing I could do to provide him safety was through giving him some company, though I felt impelled to do so much more to help him.

I began to wonder though, what if these drunken wanderings were a recurring issue? What exactly was the current situation (that caused him to harm himself) that he couldn’t extricate himself from? Why didn’t he listen to my sage advice?
When the sun rose, the boy was long-gone, but I stayed, wondering, and worrying.

Autumn

She works conscientiously; with prudence,
And grace.
As audacious as her sisters,
Spring and Summer.
Never lackadaisical,
Or slovenly, like Winter.

Summer,
Is always rankled by her
Pilfering of the bright green pigment
Of the leaves.

When she is done,
There is no trace left of Summer.
And the leaves are left
In tones of
Red, orange, and yellow.
Accompanied by a quiet,
And serene breeze.

When the leaves
Fall off the branches,
And litter the ground in great profusion,
She receives the inkling that it is time for
Winter’s icy winds to claim the land,
And confiscate all her beautiful tones,

Exchanging them for white
And gray.

He Sees...

He sees
your defects;
Sees through
your corny act.
You phony.

He sees
the lies.
You liar.

He's been there,
seen that;
seen those imperfections.
You are flawed.

He knows
all
too
well.

Bitter, bleak
and blind
when he evaluates
himself.

His world
is false;
a fake;
a fraud.

The Boyfriend List

The Boyfriend List by Emily Lockhart, or as printed on the cover of her books: E. Lockhart, is a remarkable book for teenage girls. The protagonist, Ruby, is faced with what seem to be a million problems that have spiraled out of control, consuming her entirely. She is facing all these conflicts at once and with everyone else blinded by lies and rumors, she has no one to back her up. Ruby’s anxiety continues to pile up until she is forced to let out her suppressed feelings in panic attacks.

Ruby is the typical teen and part of the great “Tate Universe.” Ruby, known to pretty much everyone as Roo, isn’t the evil slut she is accused of being. In fact, I would say that it’s the opposite. Roo is perfectly innocent and she’s just trying to hang on while all the Tate drama rips her to pieces.

Her (over-protective) parents, worrying that she may have an eating disorder, or that she may be suicidal, have sent her to a “shrink” to get to the bottom of things. Doctor Z, orders her to write out a boyfriend list to help figure out where all the stress is coming from, something that Ruby doesn’t appreciate at all.

As Ruby goes down the list of her so-called boyfriends she reveals the trauma between the terrible ten days in which she lost her boyfriend, lost her best friend, lost the rest of her friends, became a social outcast, and had graffiti written about her in the girls bathroom. This all dangerously spinning out of control when the rough draft of the boyfriend list falls into the wrong hands. What occurs within those horrible ten days is what turns into the greatest social debacle Ruby has ever known.

The Boyfriend List falls under the coming of age genre of writing, however this story remains unpredictable despite the fact that you may think that it will be the regular, run-of–the-mill story about a girl who likes a boy. This novel kept me guessing at what would happen next. When the next step was finally revealed I felt the pain, confusion, and anger Ruby feels.

This book is a perfect read for teens and I definitely would recommend it. This novel is more geared towards teen girls, but I feel that some boys may enjoy the story too. Although Ruby has been blamed for many things, she is still the girl every reader will want to succeed in the end. At the end of every chapter you will be left hungry for more.

Mom

The pillow that supports;
The blanket that warms.

The light that illuminates the path;
The steady hand that guides.

The meal that nourishes;
The beverage that quenches.


The stream that refreshes;
The ripple that ponders.

The breeze that carries;
The flower that blossoms.

The shield that protects;
The alarm that warns.

The sounding board that listens;
The silence that understands without judgment.

The salt that flavors;
The sugar that sweetens.

The palette that colors;
The composition that sings.

The calendar that marks the day;
The clock that keeps the time.

The friend who you can depend on;
The mother who is always there.

Used to Be Enemies

We used to hate each other. Mean comments, whispered insults, and so on. Perfect enemies. We couldn’t stand being near each other; we abhorred each other’s presence. We always argued and referred to each other with despicable terms with no remorse whatsoever. Only to walk back to our friends and talk about each other; about what she had said about me. About what I thought about her; nasty things. Since then, I have tried to stay away from her. Waiting for her to snap, but she hasn’t.

I never thought we could be friends. I still thought those mean things about her, but maybe she did too. It wasn’t until this year, a few weeks ago, that I decided to give her a chance; maybe she had changed. She sat with me at lunch, we talked and talked. We liked and disliked the same things. We laughed about the same things together. All of these things seemed so impossible a few months ago; that we could be friends, or get along so well.

I never thought it would happen, but we’re friends; good friends even. Mehr: My used-to-be enemy is now my friend.

Staying in Touch, Seems Somewhat Out of Reach

Yesterday I talked to Sabrina, but only for a few minutes; the way it always is. She'll log on spontaneously and then have to leave within a couple minutes. I've only talked to her for more than half an hour a few times since she left. We used to talk a lot more, about everything and anything, but now, it seems like we barely have time to talk about anything. Sometimes she'll just tell me that she did something and then log off. Before she left Panama, she assured me that we would talk everyday and that it would be like she had never left. But now the words have become scarce, and the gaps between them, sometimes weeks. With this incredible lack of conversation, I fear she'll forget me. And eventually have no memory of me at all. I miss her so much; I don't have enough time to tell her that. Staying in touch is becoming harder and harder; certainly much harder than I thought it would be.

They Call Her Miri

Her friends,
think they know her
better than anyone.

Better than I do.
But they don't;
They don't know her
the way I do.

Her friends,
think
they can make her laugh
harder than anyone.
But they can't;
They can't make her laugh
the way I can.

Her friends,
think they've known her
forever.
Longer than any
of her friends.
But they have no idea
how long I've known her.

Her friends,
think they are better friends
than anyone could wish for.
Best friends.
But they aren't.
They haven't been there
for her
when she needed it most.

Miranda,
knows me better than anyone,
and I know her the same.


Miranda,
makes me laugh harder than anyone has,
and I do the same for her.

Miranda,
has known me since I was two,
and I've known her,
since the day she was born.

Miranda is
my best friend. I just hope
she considers me her best friend too.

They call her Miri,
I just call her Sis.

Please Excuse Students Arriving on Extremely Late Bus #3

7:35, the bus picked me up--already late. This is already bending my routine; I normally leave the house at around 7:00 to get to school at around 7:35. I've been much later than usual all week because I have to take the bus. This only happens once in a while but when it does, it makes my life much harder. At least I know that people miss me when I'm late. Just today Diego told me that he needed me to be there early so that he could copy my formula sheet for the math test (which I wouldn't have let him copy anyways) and apparently against his will, he had to copy off of....of...somebody else! God forbid that Diego ever ever has to copy off somebody who is not me ever again!

So back to the bus ride; about 10 minutes after I got on the bus I overheard my bus driver say (in Panamanian): " 'tamos flateados!" This is the unmistakable phrase meaning one thing. Flat tire. We spent at least half an hour watching the driver endeavor to remove the flat tire and failing miserably every time. If that wasn't enough when his hands got all covered in grease, instead of using the restroom of a café right next to the bus, he stood outside palms upward, trying to wash his hands with rain water.

Since, we weren't going to get moving anytime soon, we just sat around and watched a couple of overweight tourists sitting outside the café. They pointed and stared at us without moving at all; it got pretty annoying after a while. When they finally left, we just watched people walk by. They were always either laughing at the bus driver or trying to pretend they didn't notice. But they did, and we could see from their faces that they did. So at around 8:30, another bus came to takes us to school. When we arrived at 8:50 I had already missed all of Spanish and was late to History.

I can't wait for Dad to be back to drop me off at school at a respectable time.

Doesn't Affect a Person's Intelligence

"Dumb Blonde!" people point and laugh. Some blondes even use the color of their hair as an excuse: "My bad! Blonde moment!" Since when does stupidity have anything to do with hair color? Not all blondes are dumb. Two of my best friends are blondes and they have their "moments" but don't we all?

Most blondes don't like being called dumb. In fact, Ally used to be (probably still is) very offended by it. She finds the term abhorrent. Normally, when someone pointed out she had done something "blonde" she would try to ignore it, but afterwards she would be left despondent and need us to tell her that she wasn't stupid. However, if you were unlucky enough to mention it on a bad day, when she was highly irascible, it would probably end in an interminable tirade explaining that your ideas are hopelessly amiss, and near the end entreating you to never refer to her as a dumb blonde again.

This reverberates in your mind and haunts you long after it's over. You could always tell when you were about to be yelled at when she got into her confrontational stance: feet planted firmly at about shoulder-width apart, leaning forward ever so slightly, with one hand on her hip and the other pointing disapprovingly. And Ally was right; she is one of the smartest and most clever girls I've ever met.

Blonds can be wise, give sage advice, and offer profound judgement. Hair color doesn't affect a person's intelligence, affability, or capability.

That 1 Tank-top

I have a closet and a dresser full of clothing. I have so much that I can't even count them. With all these clothes there is little need to have one that I can't live without, but I do.I have this one shirt I adore. It's this old, size 12, tank-top. It's white with little shimmers on the top and the bottom and it goes with everything. I have like 5 different outfits that depend solely on that top. I buy shirts that go with that top. Whenever it isn't in my closet I go search through the laundry baskets to see if it has been washed yet. I have no idea how that top can still fit me; it's probably because its been worn so many times that it's all stretched out. I'm always telling myself that if I ever find a top like that one, I'll buy five. I'll buy them in all the colors they have available! I just love it. Until I find an identical one, I'll be wearing, washing, and continuing to wear that old, size 12, tank top.

How Many Are Willing to Go This Far?

Friday afternoon, we arrived at the court. Victoria now informs me that I have made a mistake. I meant to say, the clay court. Let me assure you that in tennis there is a very very big difference between cement and clay courts. Just a little while before it had been pouring without any sign of stopping anytime soon. Luckily, the rain had been reduced to either a heavy sprinkle or a light drizzle. The rain had left the courts looking like splotches of red mud with almost unrecognizable white lines etched underneath it. She kept her cool, explaining that clay court dry quickly, while I remained skeptical.

Victoria's coach was late to practice that day, so we had to wait in the "office." Office being a tiny room with a desk and a couple chairs. Of course, all the chairs were taken, leaving us with only one option: the window sill. This sill is probably the most uncomfortable thing you will ever sit on. Saying that half my butt was comfortable would be an exaggeration. This sill allowed for like a fourth of your butt to be on it. I could've been far more comfortable on the floor of the "office," but the red clay dust makes for quite an embarrassing stain on khaki pants.

When the coach finally got there it was still drizzling. Victoria wanted him to wait for the rain to pass so that she could play. So we waited for about half and hour and when we went back out it was still drizzling. She looked around for her coach, but evidently he decided he wasn't going to wait for the rain to clear out and had left quite some time ago. Seeing this Victoria decided we should walk around this portion of road that she runs on to practice her eight-hundred meter race. At first sight the lap seemed pretty small, but when we started walking I saw that the lap was at least three times what I had anticipated.

We walked about a lap and started in the second. My bladder then decided it was full and I really really had to pee. I alerted Victoria and we started walking as fast as we could without looking weird. About half way to the bathrooms we noticed that a huge puddle had developed in the road. We kept walking, determined to get to the bathroom, as if nothing. A car was approaching so we got as close to the curb as we could. If the car had continue to drive in a straight line it would have just cruised by, however in Panama, driving is a game to see who can make everyone's lives much much harder than they have to be.

So, the car turned ever so slightly to the right speeding straight through the puddle and drenching us with nasty and utterly disgusting unidentified liquid. We both screamed rather loudly and stood there motionless in complete shock of what had just happened. We had no where else to go, so we kept walking, soaked in God knows what, until we made it to the bathroom.

As if to make things worse the bathroom was really gross. There was mud on the floor, and none of the stalls were even remotely clean. I settled for the one that had the least mud and the cleanest toilet seat which I covered with about a million layer of toilet paper anyways. I washed my hands, but of course there weren't any paper towels to dry my hands or even to try and wipe of the nasty liquid we had been splashed with.

Victoria, now starving, decided that she wanted to go to some little store to buy something to eat. When we walked in this horrible stench hit me like a ton of bricks. It was like a mix of dead cat and rat. I have never had to hold my breath that long. It was truly disgusting.

I couldn't believe what Victoria was willing to put up with to make to the top if the tennis world. This everyday? I would have quit a long time ago. I had never seen someone so concerned with a recreational activity before. She was so passionate about tennis that she put up with this almost everyday. She must really love it. But I will never understand why anyone would go to such great lengths to play any sport.

Mirror, Mirror

She looked in the mirror.
The cold,
Unforgiving,
Mirror.

Mirror, mirror on the wall…

That exposes what you are;
What you
Look like.

But she,
Sees it differently
Than others do.

Mirror, mirror on the wall…

She
Found a million things wrong
With what she saw.

Mirror, mirror on the wall…

Her hair: greasy, gangly, gross
Her skin: dry, dirty, disgusting
Her lips: slender slivers
Her eyes: uneven, unexceptional, unfavorable

And through her eyes,
She saw

Her soul: doubting, disappointed and turned dormant.

Could there be a fairest one of all?

Missin' you...

Camila Gomez
15 Amazing Ave.
Charlottesville, VA

September 8, 2010


Dear Sabrina,

How have you been? I was wondering how you were, so I decided to write to you and see how you're doing. I hope you didn't have to modify your routine too much to get used to your new school. Here we all miss your fun-loving, and bubbly disposition. Sometimes people spontaneously say "I miss Sabrina." Sadly, close friends moving is prevalent in Balboa Academy; It's a common recurrence. However, I still believe that it is imperative that we keep in touch and never forget that we are best friends, and soul sisters!

Missing you,
Camila Gomez

Zip the Lip

I confess
I didn't tell you
because I knew I'd be summoned
to your desk.

You'd ask questions,
use Wordly Wise words.
Say subtle things in class
about it.
Whether the others knew or not.

Asking us if we understood,
when you know we did.
Only us.
We do,
We do understand.
Understand
what you're trying to set up
by saying that.

That's why I didn't tell you.
Why I kept quiet.
Why I didn't mention anything.

I'm sorry I didn't
I know I should have...
maybe.
But at least,
now you know
why I zipped my lips.

Be More Observant!

The normal lunch chatter ended a few minutes before the bell; giving us just enough time to pack up our things and get to class on time. Everyone had finished their brownies, but I hadn't gotten one. We were on our way to science with Mrs. Vallarino when it happened.

"What's on your pants?" asked a janitor with a grimace. In sheer horror, I turned to look, only to find a think brown smear all over the back oh my khaki pants. Oh my God! The brownie!!! I quickly backed up against the wall and begged Sabrina to cover me as I ran to the girls bathroom.

I arrived late to class, in P.E shorts, with an embarrassing pass that said "Girl thing." Not to mention the humiliation of hearing Mrs. Fennel laugh and holler: "Camila! You eat it the other way!"

So for your sake, and mine, look before you walk and most importantly (live by this) look before you sit!

Uneventful...

"What should I write about for my Slice of Life?" I ask Miranda. She pauses, thinks for a little, but obviously didn't think that carefully 'cause the only thing I got out of her was: "What happened to you today?" I roll my eyes at the stupid question. "If I knew about something to write about I would be writing it, Miranda dearest." I glared at her for a couple minutes and then she finally worked up what she probably thinks is a writing prompt.

"Worst teacher ever! Who is it?!"
"Miranda,even if I hated a specific teacher I wouldn't post it on the internet!"
"Oh..." she simply replied. I sat frustrated, and confused. My life is so uneventful, and the things that are important I'm definately not going to post it on a blog...

I never know what to write about. It takes forever to come up with any decent topic.

Dearest Sports...

I want to apologize to you in advance. I hate sports. It's not you, it's me. I don’t have anything against the players or you, it's just participating in playing that I don't like. Running around in the sun, chasing after a ball? Not to mention the humidity that only adds to unpleasant experience. During P.E, I am forced to play, and run. Which implies sweating (Not one of my favorite things. Ask around if you don't believe me). Now I would like to address you all by name and tell you why I feel the way I do. Soccer, I love watching the world cup, but I really don't like chasing after a ball and kicking it into a "goal" (tubes welded together covered with netting if you ask me). Football, I love watching; every season I sit in and watch my favorite team. When it comes to playing though, I can't stand you. It's too hot to run, get the play right and focus on catching a ball all at the same time. Hockey, I already figure skate. Sorry! Basketball, I have a lack of hand-eye coordination, so I always end up hurting myself and those within 5 feet. Once again, it's not you, it's me. I don’t want to hurt any feelings, but I must confess to all of you...I don’t like you. Not one bit. Don't bother writing back. I'm already decided.

I'm sorry! (This doesn’t change anything)
Camila Gomez

Sleepover

Wednesday
To Thursday,
What best friends do
Whenever we get the chance.

Sleepovers are when
We get to chat
And joke,
Even share opinions.

We talked about deadlines;
The one that was steadily approaching.

We talked about tests
And the anxiety they bring.

We talked about math;
How difficult it’s going to be.

We talked about Spanish;
How we’d rather not
Have to speak it.

Before we knew it,
Her mom was waiting for her outside my house;
Time to say good-bye.

“Bye Ally!”
I tried to smile
As I gave her a hug.

The final goodbye
Bitter
And sour.

“Have a safe flight!”
I waved until the car was no longer visible.

This coming semester
Is going to be
The hardest one
Yet…

Single Shriek

I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. Past midnight already, the clock taunted me. A ghastly feeling hung thick in the room; clouding my thoughts. I lay still, clad with fatigue when I heard it: a single scream; a gruesome shriek. I tried not to be afraid, thought it had electrified me, leaving me in a state of shock. It must have been something else. Like a screeching door, I reasoned, but I couldn’t fool myself much longer. I grimaced at the idea of what could have happened for someone to cry out the way this person had. I simulated the screech in my mind over and over, until I couldn’t take it any longer.

I succumbed to the temptation to sneak a peek and satisfy my curiosity. I immediately rose from my bed and rushed to the window. I gingerly drew the curtains, just enough to see the street and the townhouses right in front. I didn’t know what to expect when I made a cursory search of the street, only dimly lit by the few street lamps. From the search I derived that the cry hadn’t come from the street. I surmised that the shriek had come from the town house directly in front of mine. With no one awake to corroborate what I had heard, I decided to only alert the police of a suspicion of foul play. I thought again to that horrendous scream. I must endeavor to give the police every detail in order to save the old man...if it wasn't too late already.

Lurking

It seems so childish; so stupid. Afraid of the dark? It's something you're afraid of when you're four. I'm not saying that I'm afraid of the dark. It's the things that can be hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce; the things that I can't see in the dark. The things that I can't protect myself from. That's what I fear. Not being able to see what's right in front of me. Not being able to see those mysterious shapes, lurking, in the dark.

After the Bell Rings...

I looked at Ally, at Sabrina. I knew this was the last time they'd be here. The last time they would hear the bell ring, and walk out of the building chatting with me. It wouldn't be the last time I'd see either of them, but thinking about what everyday would be like without either of them was enough to break my heart on the spot. I'd already been crying for months. Fearing this day, and much worse, fearing what would come after.

I see Ally smiling that silly smile. That smile that I had known since I met her in 4th grade. Ally, the bubbly blonde. Ally, the smart and sporty one. Ally, my best friend. She had been in Balboa since Pre-K. She knew the names of everyone, and of course everyone loved her. I couldn't imagine sitting at lunch without Ally at the table laughing and joking with all of us (and now that I am forced to sit at that lunch table, without her, I can see the tremendous difference she made).

I now look over a Sabrina who was busy laughing with Ally and Victoria. I met Sabrina in 6th grade, not too long ago. Soon after we met we were best friends. We liked the same things, laughed about the same things, even ate the same things. Sabrina, the sassy and sarcastic one. Sabrina, the cutesy one. Sabrina, my best friend. Sabrina hadn't been in Panama long, making it especially sad for her to have to leave. She could make everyone laugh. She used to make me smile when I was upset. Even though I had only known her for a short time, I felt like I had known her my entire life.

Some shook with excitement, some frowned and mourned. I just sat there motionless, watching my very best friends. The ones I might never see again after this summer. As the bell rang, shrill screams rose from the crowd. Most of the fifth and sixth graders simply ran out the doors cheering and chanting. The seventh graders stayed behind. Some crying, some holding back tears, but obviously upset. We gave out hugs and reassuring smiles. We tried to be strong. I tried not to cry, but I couldn't resist. I cried along with several others, but it didn't bring any relief. I still knew that when I walked through those doors again I wouldn't be accompanied by Ally or Sabrina.

What I Hope You'll See This Year

Just joking,
Just playing.
I really don’t mean it.

I emphasized.
I highlighted,
I bold-faced,
Your flaws.
I brought out
Your flaws
Without realizing that this
Alone
Is my biggest one.
This year, I hope you’ll see how much I care.

I cry to you,
I come to you,
When I feel
Lost or
Lonely or like
I’m losin’ it.

Without you there,
Rooting for me,
Helping me up,
Or tying my shoes
I would have fallen,
And not
Gotten up.
This year I hope you’ll see how much I care.

I will not
Laugh at your mistakes,
You never laugh at mine.

I will not leave you behind;
You refuse leave me.

I will not judge you;
I trust your judgment.

You understand
My humor,
My style,
My dislike for outdoor sports.
Above all ,
You understand
Me.

This year I hope you’ll see
Just how much
I care.