Journey

Breathing in the familiar scent of chalk dust mingling in the air, I doodled in my notebook and tried to stay awake while the seconds slowly ticked by. “Twenty minutes left…” I groaned inwardly, as the teacher ended her monologue about expected classroom behavior and started on the topics we would be covering this year. The first day of school is almost always the most excruciating. This is especially true for the new kid: not only does one have to endure the endless lectures and handouts, but also find people to sit with at lunch, make new friends and get used to a completely different environment.

Thankfully, I had already made my first friends, with barely any effort on my part. It happened during freshman orientation, while I scanned a sea of unfamiliar faces, looking for someone to sit next to. “Whatever,” I thought, as I plopped down in an unoccupied seat.
“Hi, I’m Abbi. Do you want to come sit with us?”

I looked up. A friendly-looking girl was motioning toward seats where her two friends, Evie and Leesy, were sitting.
“Sure,” I replied, smiling.

Introductions were made, and as the vice-principal started his speech the four of us compared schedules and whispered about the clubs we wanted to join. I had gym with Evie and biology and strings class with Abbi.

Later in the day, I entered fourth period biology class, claiming a seat next to Abbi. I regarded her curiously as she took notes about materials, assignments, extra help, etc. It was pretty impressive. Most times, I avoided taking notes unless strictly necessary, and in middle school, this strategy had worked relatively well. I soon learned that, in high school, note taking would always be strictly necessary, as my English and World Cultures teachers emphasized multiple times. Oh, well. At least I didn’t need to take notes in Spanish.

“How many years have you guys played your instrument for? I just want to get an idea…” Mrs. Blossey asked. Altogether, there were four students in my strings class, including Abbi and me.

“Six years,” Gretchen replied.

“Eight,” Josie said.

“Yeah, me too,” Abbi said.

“…Well, I actually started about a week ago.” Silence. “But I’ve played piano for eight years,” I hastily added.

Since I had basically no experience in playing the violin, I don’t know why I signed up for string ensemble. At the time, the class I had wanted was filled, and string ensemble sounded intriguing. However, what ended up intriguing me most was how horrible a beginner can sound on string instruments, especially when compared to someone who has been playing violin for eight years. Strings class was often frustrating as I struggled to play the most basic songs. Often I put in more time and practice than the others, and I gradually improved. On a whim—and also because it counted as community service—I joined pit orchestra for the musical Cinderella. I learned a few things about rhythm and theory, and it was a hilarious experience: the inside jokes I could not begin to describe. My perseverance eventually resulted in Mrs. Blossey commenting, “You’ve improved so much in such a short time…it’s remarkable.”

Meanwhile, my Spanish grades were suffering. Spanish had never been one of my best subjects. Last year, our class had the new teacher, ‘Señora Fiura’, who not only had little or no control over our class, but also spoke with an annoying accent and ordered us to repeat vocabulary words in a fashion similar to that of kindergartners. Thankfully, my ninth grade teacher spoke English normally. Energetic and talkative, Señora Judge greeted us with a stream of Spanish that did little besides reminding us how incompetent we were in the language. Last year, I had gotten by with a 90 average, looking the chapter over before tests and forgetting the information soon afterwards. To me, understanding spoken Spanish and constructing intelligible Spanish sentences was almost as easy as pushing a hundred pound boulder up a mountain. Predictably, I got my first C+ quiz grade ever in Spanish class. This was my signal to step it up. My parents dragged me to Borders to buy Spanish workbooks, all of which were either too easy or AP level. Reluctantly, I completed a few exercises and attempted the AP listening section, which I did quite well on, considering.

During the second marking period, I received my worst test grade ever. Within a week of the marking period’s end, I had an 87. My parents, especially my dad, have been drilling into me the fact that “B” grades are unacceptable. I therefore was reasonably anxious when Señora Judge announced that, due to the approaching midterms, there would be no Chapter 9 test—my one chance to bring up my grade. I somehow still got a 90 that marking period; I guess I did have a guardian angel. I was less fortunate—or should I say, less sensible—on the midterm, which I neglected to check over despite the abundance of time I had left.

Tired of being on the border, I resolved to earn an A as my final grade. I did all my homework, took notes and listened to Señora Judge’s lectures. They were rather amusing; she resorted to all sorts of dramatic gestures and hand signals when we failed to understand her Spanish, which was often. It was kind of like playing charades. She complained that we lacked participation; I raised my hand. Finally, she posted the grades on the wall. Impatiently waiting my turn, I tapped my fingers on my desk as classmates checked their grades row by row. Most of them came back frowning. “Not a good sign,” I thought, as I scanned the list for my number…I had a 96!

Throughout the year, my writing abilities have improved almost as much as my Spanish. Although writing is a skill which usually comes easily to me, I have encountered some essays throughout the year that I had not the faintest idea how to write. The first of these was a World Cultures reaction paper: read and summarize five related articles about Africa within five weeks, then write an essay with a thesis connecting the five articles. Although I earned an A+ on the summaries, I had a problem when I sat down to write the essay: I had summarized five totally unrelated articles. I would somehow have to meld together the topics of Somali pirates, an anticipated African Green Revolution, the corrupt government in Chad, Niger Delta terrorists and Zimbabwe’s hyperinflation. The solution dawned upon me as I reread my articles: I would have to be very general and probably slightly vague, something that did not bode well in essays. My essay discussed how Africa needs to use its abundant resources to fight poverty. It did not incorporate the five articles as much as I would have liked, and it was no masterpiece. However, I learned a lot from writing it.

Another essay I had difficulty writing was for the Model United Nations project. My country, India, had eight different topics. I somehow got myself stuck with the topic of World Bank and IMF, which seemed both tedious and limited in data. I did not know how I would be able to write a page about my topic, never mind an essay. I procrastinated for as long as I could. The day before it was due, I sat down to write it for the first time. Surprisingly, with the research that I had accumulated, it was not extremely challenging to write. Though far from brilliant, I wrote a relatively decent composition.

Later in the year, my English teacher assigned our class a personal narrative. The class, including me, met this with a strong lack of enthusiasm. Nonetheless, there was no escaping it: we would write an account of our “academic journey” in ninth grade and turn it into a research paper. I was not accustomed to writing about myself in essays, and doubted I had even made an academic journey throughout the year. However, by now I had learned not to put things off to the latest possible time. I wrote some very rudimentary notes and started on this essay, which actually helped me to discover some qualities about myself and unexpectedly resulted in an enjoyable experience.

I am looking forward to what new experiences and knowledge next year may bring. With Spanish Honors, AP statistics and computer programming, my schedule is too full to take string ensemble. Still, Mrs. Blossey has welcomed me to join in on concerts and I am looking forward to doing pit orchestra next year. My guidance counselor, Mrs. Sullivan, urged me to participate in more extracurricular activities when my parents and I were setting up my sophomore schedule. “Listen, Sharon,” she said. “You have a great personality. You’re nice, smart, friendly…” My dad fake-coughed, being the comedian that he was. I inwardly rolled my eyes, though to actually do so would have been rude. Mrs. Sullivan continued as though she had not heard. “Clearly grades are important to you, but I think you should be a little more well-rounded…” My mom could not have been wearing a more triumphant expression. It was exactly what she had been telling me all along: “Sharon, you have to join more clubs! You can’t just study all day; social skills are extremely important!” etc. There are actually numerous clubs and teams I want to join: the Mountaineer, debate team, chess club, Wildwood Mentors, tennis and track. Next year will bring more note-taking, Spanish and writing, as well as new classes, new discoveries and new challenges. When I face them, I will remember one of the most important lessons I’ve learned this year: there is a difference between being dragged into something and facing it with one’s head held high. When I am afraid of something, I will not try to avoid it or put it off. I will remember that life is a challenge…and meet it.