The Missing Pieces Of An All American Girl

My Typical Day At Highschool

Chapter 1

"I wanted my footprints to last long after I've imprinted them and my name to be remembered long after my death," I wrote as I sat in music class. I'd just finished playing Down By The Valley for my music instructor, Mr. Moore, and scored an A on my test. Now there were three good things about taking Music at Shaw High School: music was quite easy when effort was put into it, I was in love with the clarinet and couldn't stop playing it; after practicing on my clarinet a few minutes, the rest of the time lied in the palms of my hand. I was able to complete homework assignments I'd forgotten about or write poetry. Luckily, I remembered to find my homework most of the time and was able to spend free time doing what I loved most, writing poetry. The only downfall that came with studying music was that my mother constantly reminded me not to become too attached to my clarinet. Even though music was forbidden in my religion and my parents (especially my mother) tried to guard my feelings towards music, I grew attached to the clarinet the first day I played a real song instead of a bunch of notes. My short stubby fingers played the notes in front of me and the sounds of Cross Hot Buns filled my ears as I breezed through the song...which only composed of three notes. From that moment forward, a bond formed between my clarinet and I thought couldn't be broken. But as much as I loved my navy blue clarinet with silver keys, she wasn't on my mind that day as I sat in a chair with my notebook resting on my black stand which was beginning to turn silver from the wear and tear it endured over the many years it served students of music at my school. The only thing that was on my mind was the poem I started, but couldn't finish. Chewing on my pencil wasn't helping at all as I chewed the printing of my teeth into my Ticonderoga pencil. I need to finish before the bell rings! I thought as I began to chew even harder out of frustration. RIIIIIIING! The bell rang before I couldn't think of another word to begin my fourth line. Students around me sprang out of their seats and began to running towards the door as I sat in my chair frowning at my nearly blank college ruled college ruled paper. "The bell rang." Mr. Washington said as he poked his head through the main room of the band hall. "I'm leaving now," I muttered as I stuffed my poetry binder into my backpack and grabbed my U.S. History binder before zipping my backpack and heading out of the main room's door. "Have a good day!" I called as I quickly walked out of the band hall. I never knew if he heard me or not because I couldn't afford the time unless I wanted be late and spend the rest of my day in ISS (in school suspension) for the first time. Mrs. Anderson, my U.S. History teacher, glanced at me through the corner of her eyes as I took my seat in front of the class.