Date of publication: 2017-07-09 02:32
Then, as I was in the middle of the sea and shore, I bent down to scratch my foot. All of a sudden, bam! I was tackled by a giant blue monster. I couldn’t breathe at all, and I was lying on the sand in seconds. Then I started to move backwards, as the wake began dragging me into its treacherous dungeon.
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“Now, as you know, we have a track meet on Saturday. I would like all of you to practice your events. But remember, boys, it doesn’t matter if you win or lose. Just do your best on Saturday.” Coach McCoy continued his speech about winning and losing, which nobody, including McCoy himself, believed. Along the way he kept addressing us as boys and men. It happened every time, but still my stomach hardened and I clenched my teeth.
“Did you know that this museum used to be an old strain station?” my mom reads aloud from our guidebook. We walk into this gorgeous building, full of masterpieces. I look around, and there is an enormous clock painted gold. I wonder how long it took to make such a beautiful clock. My mom hands me a map, telling us where everything is located. My eyes glow with happiness as I see the words “Vincent Van Gogh’s Self Portrait.” I plead with my mom to allow us to go there first, but she insists we must save the best for last.
8775 Swimmers, step up, 8776 called Patrick. He waited until the six swimmers walked up to their diving blocks. Quiver, wobble, shake, went my legs. Oh dear, I thought in my head as I waited.
I was amazed to see Laura already climbing out of the pool and heading down to the starting blocks again. My feelings instantly became a jumble of annoyance and admiration, but annoyance definitely outweighed admiration. How could she have beaten me? I was the fastest. I climbed out of the pool and walked as quickly as I could, without running, to the other end. I needed to beat Laura. She was just about to climb up on the starting block and smiled when she saw me. I didn’t. She walked over.
I sat on my bed and thought about my latest offense. It wasn’t that bad it was a CD player. And it was only Stanley, after all—Stanley the nerd, the mama’s boy, my favorite victim. He was used to it by now. He should have known better than to hang out at the mall with an expensive CD player.
When the bell rang to end homeroom, John and I stuck close together. We hurried out the door and waited for Stanley to come out of Mr. Becker’s homeroom. Sure enough, he straggled out last, his canvas backpack hanging off his arm. He walked fast. He was always in a hurry, because of kids like us, I guess.
I placed first in my other races, but I was still unhappy with the second. On the bus ride home, everyone was talking about their events. I said I had won three and lost one. They nodded and said “good job,” without much enthusiasm. They knew my usual pattern: first place after first place, with an occasional second. Even though they knew my pattern, I took satisfaction in the fact that I had done better than any of them.
When we finally arrive to where the turtle is nesting, I see her enormous size. We slowly walk over to her as she is digging a hole in the sand. She gently turns and begins to lay her eggs. There are so many piling up, one after another, like an army of eggs being made. It is time to leave this breathtaking sight, and as we walk back, we spot another turtle. It is a green turtle and we stop for a few minutes to quietly look.
Lindsay was the best friend I’d ever had. We understood each other so well. Often we didn’t even have to speak. Just a simple nudge or a second of eye contact would be enough to say I hate him , or let’s go. When I reached her house, her mom and dad greeted me at the door, crowding me with questions about my “fall.” The crowding was nice though it was a sign of concern, not mere politeness. When