Let me
see…where to begin with my life story?
I’m 14 years
old and in the 8th grade. I was born September 24th, 1985
in Flagstaff, Arizona. I live with my dad and my little brother in Walkerville,
which is a nice little town on the border of the Pacific Ocean in California. I
think that, so far, I’ve lived a pretty interesting life. It’s just that my
English teacher expects me to tell the entire class about it. I hate writing
more than anything. I’m good in science and math…but not this!
I might as
well get started…
"Dad!" I called out as I walked
into our home. "Did you find that stuff I need for my project?"
My dad was in the den, looking at old
photographs. "Sure did, son. You won’t believe half of the things I found!
I think I might have stumbled across your old pacifier!"
I smiled as I dropped my backpack. "You
didn’t."
"I did. Your mother was insistent on
keeping almost everything you and your brother went through as kids." Dad
sat back and grinned. "But I found everything you asked for…" He
winked. "Except for a secretary. You’re writing this for yourself, young
man."
I groaned and collapsed into an easy chair.
"Dad…you know I hate writing…"
"I know. That’s why I think this will be
good for you. When do you expect your little brother?"
I looked at my watch. (My dad says I was born
with a watch on my wrist. I’m always pressuring everyone to be on time.)
"Maybe in, like, two minutes."
"Good. I need you to watch him
tonight."
I groaned again. My little brother, Miguel
(or Mikey) is three years younger than I am. He’s in the fifth grade and at my
old school. (How ironic…don’t you think!) Mikey’s pretty much like every other
little brother…except that he’s in a wheelchair all of the time. But that’s not
what I mind. I mind the fact that I won’t get any peace and quiet at all
tonight to work on my homework…or this. "Dad…"
"No buts about it, Carlos. I have a
press conference tonight with the weather board. You’re the only one I know who
will work for peanuts."
Crossing my arms over my chest, I huffed.
"Okay, fine. So you’re not paying me?"
"I did you a favor, Carlos. One good
turn deserves another." He tapped his finger on my nose as he went
upstairs to change. "Don’t be up too late."
I went out to the main hall and grabbed my
backpack. "Yeah, Dad." I walked up the stairs into my room and
flopped down on my bed. Let’s see…what do I have for homework? In Algebra, I
have that worksheet on triangles (which was yesterday’s homework that I had
somehow forgotten to do). Geography landed me a study of maps for a test that
Friday. Science yields a report that I’m almost done with. Physical
education…wait, we never have homework in Phys. Ed.
I looked at my assignment book at what I had
scribbled for each of my subjects. Here’s the page:
Homework for
Carlos R. —April 21st
Reading- Complete chapter 12
and write down all of the words you don’t know. Look them up and define them
for Thursday.
Math- Finish triangle
worksheet and start chapter on sines and cosines.
Science- Circulatory System
report: DUE FRIDAY!
Geography- Study maps of
Eurasia and Australasia. Test on Friday
Phys. Ed.- Practice, practice,
practice for track meet
English- Autobiography
Project: write a story about your life thus far. Include three or four basic
events that had an impact on your life and explain why. A topic that must be
covered is your early years. Reports due by next Tuesday, proofread.
I cringed at the very thought of English, but
I knew I had to do it. I twirled a pencil in my fingers before accidentally
stabbing myself in the cheek with the eraser. That’s when the phone rang.
"I got it!" I yelled as I ran down the stairs. Mikey was just getting
home then, so I nearly flew over him and into the couch.
"Watch where you’re going, you
klutz," Mikey shot out at me.
I stuck out my tongue and grabbed the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Carlos! It’s me, Tim. What’cha up
to?"
I smiled. "My ears in homework."
When I was younger, I loved to crack jokes and make puns. Now my sense of humor
was more of dry wit. My friends, such as Tim, are greatly thrilled by this.
"What’s up?"
"How’s that English assignment coming
along?" Tim asked. I heard the sarcasm in his voice. He was halfway done
with his.
"You know I haven’t started yet," I
replied coldly. I took the phone up to my room and closed the door. "Every
time I look at the dumb thing, I don’t know where to start."
"Well, I’ve known you since you moved
here," Tim spoke up. "You’ll figure something out. You gonna talk
about the Friz?"
Ms. Frizzle was our teacher up until fifth
grade, when we graduated. She always took us on these bizarre field trips
almost every day. "Definitely. But I think Mrs. Johnson might think I’m
making it up."
"Carlos, chill. Everyone in Walkerville
knows Ms. Frizzle."
"Mrs. Johnson doesn’t believe me when I
tell her things."
"That’s because half of the time, you’re
making up lame excuses. Ever hear of the boy who cried wolf?"
"Yeah, and I think it’s Ralph."
Ralph is another one of my friends from elementary school. He’s into sports
like I am, but he gets freaked out kind of easily. He used to let us call him
Ralphie, but that phase soon died out. "Listen, maybe you can write this
for me?"
I could tell Tim was shaking his head.
"Carlos, it wouldn’t be an autobiography if I wrote it. Weren’t you
awake when we studied prefixes back in sixth grade? ‘Auto’ means ‘self’. As in
‘self-written biography’. You do the math."
"I’d rather. The thought of studying
angles is looking pretty tempting right about now."
"Don’t beat yourself up over it,
Shakespeare. You’ll do fine. You always pull through at the last minute. Now,
I’d better let you get going. Remember: you’re a poet, but you just don’t know
it. Your feet show it; they’re Longfellows!"
I glared at the receiver as I looked at my
black sneakers. Longfellows my butt; they were Nikes. "Ha, ha, Tim. I
thought I was the one with the bad jokes."
"Don’t get all pointy-fingered, Carlos.
Call me later."
I hung up the phone and looked at my
computer. No time like the present to get started.
So here goes: