Story (part 3)

As Olivia descended down the spiral staircase she could hear all her friends chirping eagerly downstairs, moving closer quickly. She sped up, and as soon as she touched the first floor she met with Kristen nose to nose.
“Hey,” Olivia squeaked with glee. “I was just coming to get you guys.” One by one she hugged each of the five designer clothe clad girls standing in her house. “Lets go upstairs.” She told the crew, and all of them began climbing the staircase without stopping their gossipy conversation.
“So,” Verona a small girl with straight black hair gushed at her friends. “Did you hear that the president will be accompanying us in tonight’s gala? And that means his adorable son will be there too, and I hear from Jade that that snotty girlfriend of his is off to Hawaii for the weekend, so he’s all ours!” The upstairs hall filled with squeaks and gasps as all the girls whisper shouted things along the lines of Yes and Oh my god. Olivia walked ahead and opened the door to her massive and now spit spot room. In the center of the room laid an organized circle of soft cushions and in the middle of that an assortment of energy drinks, granola bars, chewing gums, and graham crackers.
“Ok girls,” Olivia beckoned her friends over their excited voices, as she walked to her desk and pulled the still warm paper from the printer. “Let’s begin.” Almost immediately as if rehearsed the girls took their Prada, Louis Vuitton, and Chanel purses off the ground and unzipped them, extracting pieces of paper. Each girl laid the papers in front of them face down, and waited for every other girl to be ready. Then Kristen shouted one, Verona two, Olivia three, Rachel four, Barbara five, and Hadley six.
The girls knew what to do, as this was defiantly not their first time meeting to discuss the wardrobe for an event. Actually, it was more like they knew exactly what to do. They had known each other forever, seven years to be exact, and this episode was experienced at least once a month. Their lives were busy, and there was nothing they could do about it but adapt. After a couple of appearances in the “What not to wear” or the “Worst dressed” sections of various page sixes and magazines, the clan had decided it was better to meet and decide what to wear to big events together to prevent future humiliation.
Kristen flipped her messy-but-perfect honey hair, reapplied some apple gloss on her already plum lips, and turned over the piece of paper that was lying in front of her. “Jonathan Saunders black and monochrome print black tie dress, paired with my hair in a perfect bun and a pair of silver Jimmy Choo’s. Accompanied by a black Gucci clutch, and a never ending smile.” Declared Kristen pointing at each item on her page as she went along with pride in her voice. The girls all clapped.
“Excellent choice, K, it will defiantly look awesome with your new tan.” Quipped Verona as she fixed her coal colored hair behind her ears.

The House of the Scorpion epilogue

This is an epilogue I wrote for the book The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer, because I thought the ending was incomplete. The book is about a clone that was created to harvest organs for an old man who does not want to die. In the story we see everything from the clone's (Matt's) point of view. We can see the day he learned he was a clone, when he understood what he was created for, when he escaped, his friendship with a girl, his life in a refugee camp, and we can feel all of his sentiments at each time. The book is very realistic, and although it can be very sad, it is also a book that makes you understand the joy of having people who love you. In the epilogue I created I hoped to give a little explanation of what happened to the main characters after the ending of the book, and give a concrete finish to the story of Matt.

Epilogue
“And then, grandpa, and then?” said a little boy with dark hair.
“Then I arrived at your grandmothers convent and there I met her mom and found out about Opium’s lockdown,” said 76 year old Mateo Alacran with a distant look clouding his eyes.
“And then….he told you its time to go eat and get ready for bed,” exclaimed 72 year old Maria coming through the door that led to the kitchen. She smiled while she cleaned her hands on her white apron, and spoke again. “Dinners ready, and its very late so we should go eat and then you have to go to bed.”
“But grandma,” protested a girl with bright eyes and brown hair. “We have not finished hearing grandpa’s story”
“You have heard it thousands of times Laura,” replied Maria. “But I guess…he can finish the story while we eat”
“OK then lets move to the dining room,” said Matt as he stood up and walked towards another part of the house.
They all sat down at the table, instinctively sitting at their usual places and then as if by a directed by a remote, all the heads turned expectantly towards the end of the table, where Matt sitting.
“All right, I’ll continue the story,” sighed Matt. “ So after I left for Opium, I started the process of transforming it into a good empire that helps people, rather than the empire it used to be which tortured people and injured the world. I called Esperanza, and I stopped the lock down so she, Fidelito, Ton Ton, Chacho, and your grandma could go to Opium and help me change it. We stayed there for two years, all of us becoming really close, while we received education from a private tutor. Ton Ton, Fidelito, and Chacho took a class separate to Maria’s and mine, but we spent the rest of the time together. After the empire was prospering peacefully and it was completely transformed, we went to California to finish our studies. Esperanza bought a house big enough for the five kids and we finished high school there. Then each of us went their own way for collage. I went to UT, and studied law.”
“I went to Yale and studied journalism and biology,” chimed in Maria. “Ton Ton went to Hartford University and studied mechanical engineering. Fidelito studied art at Eckerd, and Chacho studied business management at NYU. We all studied our interests, and graduated at the same time. As soon as we were out of collage, we went back to California where my mom lived. We all bought our places and found jobs. Then, your grandpa decided to sue the keepers and their systems. With a lot of research, time and help from other men who had been there, they won the law suite and the keeper system was eliminated.”
“Then,” continued Matt, “I asked your grandmother to marry me. She said yes, and we got married a year after that. Fidelito had been seeing a girl since he got his job as a graphic designer, and he too got married that same year. Three years later Chacho met aunt Emmy, and they got married. Following them came Ton Ton who married a woman he had been seeing for five years. Then we had your mom and she grew happily here in California with us. We still go to our house in former Opium, now Litum, in the summers.”
“Yes, we know grandpa,” yawned Tomas. “ We go there with you every summer.”
“Well kids,” sighed Maria, “ Its very late, and you look very tired. You should go to bed. Your mom will be picking you up early tomorrow and we don’t want you to be all sleepy at the soccer game do we?”
“Of course not grandma,” exclaimed Laura. She took her plate to the sink, followed by Tomas. They kissed their grandparents goodnight and left to bed.
“Our lives turned out very well after all didn’t they?” asked Maria as she walked towards the sink where Matt stood clearing up the plates.
“It did,” said Matt.
“Are you aver going to tell the about the CLO…well that part of your story?”
“No. There is no need to remember those bad days. We are now in the present, all our friends live happily. We see them all the time, and we have a perfect family.”
“It’s true. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Maria and Matt hugged each other, and they stayed like that for a long time, remembering all the good and the bad times they spent together, and the miracle that had set them on a happy, perfect life.

Neptunian Love

On Fewday , Anairam woke up at 12:00 noon. Before I continue you have to have a background of what is happening. I’m a reporter from the newspaper The New York Times. The story I’m going to tell happened about 2 months ago. It all started in Neptune on a Fewday, or Monday in our language, at 12:00 noon. Anairam was a Neptunian woman. She was 30 years old, and worked for the federal army. Now I will continue with the story.
On Fewday, Anairam woke up at 12:00 noon. She stood up lazily and went into the bathroom. She closed the door behind her. She was in there a couple of seconds, and then suddenly threw the door open. She was still dry, but not sleepy anymore. She was in such a hurry, she put her uniform on backwards. She slammed the door of her room, ran up the stairs, went past the living room, and suddenly she stopped. She turned around and ran the other way. Her mom was watching TV in the living room.
“Bye mom, see you later,” shouted Anairam.
Her mother, Aiculairam, waved at her as she muttered, “Late again. She’s fired, I can feel it!” Anairam jumped into her shuttle(in our world known as cars, with only one difference, shuttles could fly), turned it on, and flew up to the air. Anairam rushed through the packed airways, honking at anyone she saw.

When Anairam reached the base she ran all the way down(the Neptunians lived underground) to the air force floor. There Cpt.Solrac was waiting for her. Next to him were her two best friends , Aleinad and Naitsabes.
“Sorry, this won’t happen again, I promise. It’s jus-,” said Anairam breathing hardly.
“Soldier, there is no reason for being late. No reason. You have promised me things too many times, and you never keep your word,” said Cpt.Solrac in a very stern voice, almost shouting. “You may leave now, go to your office and stay there!”
Anairam snapped her legs together, and quickly threw up her right forearm, positioning her right hand right above her eyebrow, as a way to show respect to higher military ranks. When the captain did the same, she turned around, and stiffly walked away.
Anairam sat in her office, quietly working in her computer, when she heard a knock in the door. She stood up and opened it. There, in front of her stood Cpt.Solrac.
“Come with me, now,” he commanded, looking as if nothing had happened.
Anairam followed him through the halls, and into his office. There, again were her two best friends. The captains office was very big and untidy. Cpt.Solrac scrambled around his desk as if looking for something. He poked around some more and then pulled, from under a bunch of papers, a TV control.
“Here is why you are all in my office,” indicated Cpt.Solrac, as he punched the power button on the control. A huge cinema-like screen behind the captains desk turned on. The screen was showing a soft-blue house, as it zoomed in. The camera went inside the house and started to turn as a tall, black-haired, brown-eyed, man came into view. As soon as his head was on the upper left corner of the screen, the camera froze and letters started to appear. It was a profile, she had seen many of those in past years. The three friends started reading it automatically. They read for about five minutes and then Cpt.Solrac said, “Here is your mission; Tim Jones, a very smart, 32-year old scientist and astronomer, thinks and is trying to proof that there is life in other planets, to be more specific in this planet. Now you can probably imagine this is a problem. Your role; go to Earth, find Tim Jones, and bring him back to Neptune. You’ve got to go together in the Niob 316(it was a special type of military shuttle). Good luck, you have forty eight hours to do this. He saluted his soldiers, and turned around walking slowly back to his desk.
“Hey, Ana, come sit with us, have a snack,” exclaimed Aleinad in a loud voice.
Anairam was piloting the shuttle while her two best friends sat resting on the back. She stood up, unbuckled her seat belt, and pushed the auto pilot button. She walked a few steps and then reached the visiting area. That was what they called it, for it had two sofas and two arm chairs forming a rectangle with a coffee table in the center. Naitsabes was bringing some cakes. They sat quietly for some minutes. Suddenly a red light started blinking and beeping. Anairam stood up and sat in the pilot seat.
“We are going to enter the Earth’s atmosphere, so fasten your seat belts,” said Anairam to her friends. The shuttle went into the Earth’s atmosphere with a shake and traveled until it was above England.
Tim Jones was coming home from a fund raising event. He was the only one in the road and he was listening to the radio. He has the music so loud that he did not hear a humming sound behind him. He felt a little dizzy because he had drank a little. He felt his stomach emptying out. He looked down through his window and saw he was , or the floor was, beneath him, about twenty feet away. He was being elevated really fast. Next he looked up, what he saw made him smile. Actually his smile was so big and happy it illuminated the whole car. He looked up as if not believing what he had seen. Suddenly a very white pale hand, with a golden tube reached down and sprayed a purplish liquid onto Tim’s head. He started seeing double and then passed out.
The Niob 316 was equipped with a very powerful magnetic field. They used this to grab the car. The three friends were in their way back, and Aleinad was driving. When they reached the command center Captain Solrac was waiting for them.
“Do you have him, the scientist, do you?” said Captain Solrac.

The three friends answered in a choir, “Yes sir.”
“You may leave, see you tomorrow,” said the Captain, “On time!” he added in an ironic voice, glancing at Anairam.
The next morning Anairam woke up early and eagerly. She took a warm bath and had a proper breakfast. When she reached the command center, she went directly to Capitan Solrac´s office. She knocked on his door, and when the response came she went inside. The captain was in his desk looking frustrated.
“Is everything all right sir? You look…frustrated,” asked Anairam in a concerned voice.
Cpt.Solrac straightened himself out and answered, “Oh, I’m all right. It’s our prisoner who isn’t,” Anairam made a face of horror. She had never seen an alien(human), and now here was her only chance getting ruined, “But don’t worry,” he added noticing Anairam’s look, “The alien himself is all right, its just that we can’t communicate.”
Anairam asked modestly, “Sir, I know a little Earth dialect, so I could maybe help, if you need any help at all.”
“Well we could see if it worked, please come with me,” said Cpt.Solrac, motioning to follow him. They walked a long way and went down several floors, then finally they reached the prisons door. There two guards standing in front of the heavy metal doors. They checked Anairam´s and the captain’s badges, and then opened the door, with great effort. Inside the prison there were a thousand little doors all around the walls. They went to section five, and hopped onto the elevator. The captain pressed button nine. When they got down they were in front of a metal door. Cpt.Solrac opened the door and said, “You want to get him to talk to you. Go in and come out in thirty minutes. Then go to your office. I will look for you later.”
Anairam felt shivers run up and down her spine. She passed through the door and then saw him. The alien was tall, his skin was a little darker than the Neptunian woman’s, he had very round and brown eyes. He had black hair. Tim Jones was looking at the woman with amazement. He had seen Neptunians, but only men, when they were taking him to his cell.
“Hi,” he said, moving his hand back and forth.
“Hello,” Anairam answered, while sitting down on a wooden chair.(The cell was small, but comfortable. Tim had gotten a good cell, for he had not committed a crime). She was very impressed with the whole situation.
Anairam and Tim talked for twenty five minutes. They talked slowly because Anairam didn’t speak Earth’s dialect well. They were talking about the different cultures, when Amairam sadly said, “Me have good time, Bye.” She stood up and went out through the metal door.
Anairam had seen a sparkle, she knew she had. But she didn’t want to admit it. The Neptunian woman was in love.

Comments

Please correct any tense mistakes in my contest story, because it is not the usual tense I write in and it is very hard for me to adapt to the new way. Any other comments are also great. Thank you!

Contest (chapter 2;part 2)

“Sorry,” I say startled. “Um, yeah. We find the Picasso and take a picture with it and then we meet up with Laura in dead center Central Park. That’s good because it’s only like ten blocks away.” She nods and then starts climbing the concrete steps to one of the most famous art museums in the world. I think about how I’m going to miss her burly accent, and the stern look she gives me when I say one of my jokes, or how I will not be guided through this incredible city by this incredible woman. I’m not in love with her, I’m just a bit girl crazy right now. Last week I was partnered with Lauren, a twenty five year old med student who likes to lead, and by the end of the week I was having the same thoughts, though Camille is defiantly the best looking of all the girls in the completion. I think this is probably happening because my girlfriend broke up with me two weeks ago when I told her I was coming to the contest. I would have continued pondering the cause of my girl-craziness if there had not been a guard at the door asking me to open up my blue Jansport. I wait for the other guard to finish checking Camille, and then we walk in together. She nods as if saying “Let’s do our thing” and she goes to make the ticket line while I go to the information booth.
“Excuse me,” I ask the white haired woman sitting at the counter. She turns to look at me and smiles. “I was wondering if you might know where I could find Picasso’s Girl Reading at a Table and how to get there?”
“Oh sure I do darling. Go right up this hall and then you should find it at the third room you go into.” She points at a corridor to her left and smiles broadly at me.
“That’s great, thank you ma’am,” I say to her and turn towards the ticket line where I see Camille staring at me anxiously. I smile to tell her that we are in the right place, and I can see her sigh with relief.
“Down that hall in the third room,” I say to her matter of factly.
“Good,” she says to me. In no time we get to the booth and she politely asks the lady for two one day tickets. She hands the money and then walks with quick long strides to the hallway I showed her just moments before, me struggling to keep up like always. We walk past the first room silently, and I can see she is taking quick peeks at the paintings around her. The second room goes by, and then we are standing in a room with a lot of Picasso’s.

Contest (chapter 2; part 1)

I run to try to catch up with Camille who is walking briskly, stamping her feet on the New York sidewalk up ahead. “Hey, Camille, wait up!” I press her, trying to make her slow down. Nothing is faster than an angry woman.
“What do you want Josh?” she replies in a brusque voice without giving me a chance to answer. “Maybe you’d like to tell me that it is also my fault that that man over there is homeless, or that that cab crashed the Nissan, or th-”
“Hey, hey, just stop okay?” I tell her, feeling anger rise up within me. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry for taking us to the wrong museum and for blaming you.” I finish, not without adding which I did not do, not any of those things.
“Whatever, let’s just get going fast or we’ll be really late,” she says as she turns around sharply and walks off. I follow her, not having any other option. We are now headed to the Met where we have to find our next clue, as opposed to the Guggenheim museum where we were headed twenty minutes ago until I pointed out that the clue was pointing towards the Met, not the Guggenheim. I had shared my find, which was automatically translated by Camille’s brain into making it sound like I had blamed her, and she had gone into hysterics, shouting the Guggenheim had been my idea in the first place. Not true, I had told her with a defensive tone creeping into my voice. So yeah, maybe it was immature to defend myself. I could have let it roll by, but it is just not possible for me to do so. I am a twenty year old guy studying political sciences, and captain of the football team at Quincy University, Illinois. What can I say, competition is in my blood. I had finally convinced her that the Picasso with a female at a table was not the Woman Ironing at the Guggenheim, but the Girl Reading at a Table in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We then began walking, and here we are now, one block away from the crowded but nonetheless world known Met steps. “So we go in and find the Picasso, and then we have to go where?” Camille asks me with a kinder voice. Yes! I think she was forgiving me. Not like it really made much of a difference as we were going to be switching partners today, but it never hurts to have a tall, slim, dark hair, French woman on your side. She is just so unbelievingly beautiful. She has the finest face, but it shows her strong personality. Her hair is shoulder length, and always perfectly combed, not even one stray hair. Her legs are long and slender, and her smile is as white as the clouds. She is a decade older than me, and in a five year long relationship with a guy, but boys will be boys, and boys like to dream. She waves her hand in front of my face, and I am swooshed back to reality.

Contest (chapter 1;part 3)

“Excuse me ladies,” he pipes in the rehearsed voice that most sales people share. “You may go in now.” He opens the door to let some people out, and then we step into candy land. I walk onto a glass floor that is hollow, and filled with candies underneath. Shelves overflowing with sour worms, kisses, eggs, pizzas, and sweet worms in every size and color cover the back wall while to the left there is a counter that says Ice Cream and a freezer crammed with brightly colored ice creams. To my right there is a staircase that descends, but I don’t get to look around more because the mass of people is moving me with them towards the stairs. I decide that it is better to go with the flow, and informing the plan to Rita who smiles in return, I allow people to shove and push me onto the lower floor, a bigger and less packed space in which you can actually breath and walk in the direction you choose to go. This level has a more divided system. Towards the far end there is a section with clothes, cushions, and other candy labeled or candy related merchandise. Before that there is a section with big posters of Harry Potter so I’m guessing it has all the movie candy, like the magic jelly beans, etc. Then there is the section where I’m standing, which contains a wall filled with jelly beans of an assortment of flavors. I walked towards it and started reading some of the labels that lined the containers. Popcorn, earthworm, soap, cheesecake, lime, liver, there was every possible savor in the world. Anything I came up with I was sure I would find, but sadly there was no time for that, so I continued my scan of the place, Rita at my heels with every step I took. At the other wall there was a rainbow with almost every shade of all the ROY G VIB colors, and as I got closer I saw that they were M&M’s. I was amazed. My mouth probably dropped open and I took some time to recover but when that eventually happened I turned to face Rita. She might not be a lot of help but it was defiantly better than going at this alone.

“So, we are supposed to find one thing to give Laura Singer out of this massive store, and do it fast. What was your idea again?”

“Well, maybe we could ask someone here. I’m sure they have to have some sort of directions to help us out right?” She looked at me with hope, probably wishing I would jump up and down complementing her genius plan. Unfortunately for her I didn’t do any such thing. “You know, you are probably right. Let’s go ask that woman over there.” I point at a woman with long, bleached, blond hair and dark roots.

“Um excuse me,” Rita says to the woman who turns around with a frown on her face.

“Yeah,” she answers as if she wanted to kill us for interrupting her fun task of putting prices on T-Shirts.

“I was wondering if maybe you would happen to know what we should take to Laura Singer.”

“Who’s that?” The lady said with plain indifference in her voice.

“She is this famous actress,” Rita flashed her million watt smile at the lady. “You know the one who was on-” Yet again however Rita was interrupted by a sharp “Over there,” accompanied by a hand stretched to the center of the room where a big gold star with candies and little labels inside the glass layers could be seen. As if that was enough of an answer the woman turned back to her pricing. I shrugged and Rita rolled her eyes and pointed in a mock of the lady that looked pretty authentic. For what was probably the third time in the week with Rita, I genuinely laughed and the headed towards the star.

“It’s a place where the stars say what they’re favorite candy is. You see here are the Olsen Twin’s and Dakota Fanning, and here is Jason Biggs. Let’s look for Laura, okay?” I say without turning away from the display. After a couple of minutes of scanning all the choices Rita claps eagerly. “Here it is, it says Laura Signer and there is a Hershey Kiss right above the name. That must be what we’re looking for.” I smile at her and say “Yeah, great job.” I can see she is very proud of her discovery because of the way she is beaming, and decided to let her lead the way to the Hershey Kisses. We find them without a problem, take a bag to the cashier, and pay. Giving the beautiful and colorful store a last glance, trying to fit everything into our almost full memories, we walk up the stairs, through the crowded fist floor, and out into the hot, noisy, crowded New York day.

Contest (chapter 1;part 2)

“You walk way to fast,” she says emphasizing the way so that it sounds more like a why.

“Sorry,” I apologize without any feeling. “It’s just we’re in a race and speed is important. Anyway, do you have the clue? We can find out what we’re looking for as we wait.”

She shuffles through a dark leather purse that is hanging at her shoulder, pulling out an incredibly wrinkled little tan ball of Bristol and hands it to me with a smile.

“Thanks,” I say. This is another thing that annoys me about the Puerto Rican beauty, she insists on keeping all the clues, but she treats them terribly. They are always wrinkled, broken, smudged, and dirty. I mean, I’m not a neat freak or anything but is it really so hard to keep a piece of paper in good conditions? I unroll the ball and read the elegant calligraphy out loud.


“A strange clue this can be
Bu not everything is sugar free
And now it’s time that you encounter
The playing and the banter
Of many little kids

A glass block filled with colors
Traditional flavors and others
For every taste and every one
Eaten in Paris, Bolivia, and Taiwan

Just find the present kids adore
Search through the store that has galore
Find a present for your hostess
And when you do you will be closest
To moving on in this cool game.”

I finish reading with a rhythmic tone that I had not either intended or noticed, and roll the paper back into its tight little wrap.

“What do you think it could mean? It is just so hard, I mean it’s like impossible to find a glass block, don’t you think?” Rita asks me, really intending to help. However, this effort makes me want to slap her no less. Is she really that stupid? I force myself to calm down, smile at her, and politely say, “Um, Rita,” in my most appreciative voice. “I think we are already at the block, it’s the candy store.” I point at the building which is now only a kid and a mom away from us. “Most of the clue is telling us where we have to go, but we’re already here. The only lines that talk about what we have to do now are the last three. Find a present for your hostess and when you do you will be closest to moving on in this cool game.” I recite, watching her for any signs of comprehension. She just laughs a little and nods away. Getting no response I keep on going. “So we have to find something for Laura, but the problem is I don’t know what. Any ideas?” I ask her more for my sake than hers, not really expecting a logical answer.

“Well,” she coos with a pensive voice, “maybe she told the people in the store what she wants, like her favorite candy or something you know so it’s n-” She is interrupted by the man in the apron.

Contest (chapter 1;part 1)

The cab moved sharply to the left avoiding the red Honda that was using through the New York Street by millimeters, our bodies shifting with the move. I was thrown against the door, and was then stabbed by Rita’s elbow as she came crashing against me. I rolled my eyes at what I knew was coming. A small gasp left her lips, and then she began laughing her shrill, squeaky overly energetic, fake laugh.

“I’m so sorry,” she managed between breaths, a toothy grin still plastered on her face. “The cab just swooshed, and I kinda just swooshed too. It’s so funny. Right? ” She looked at me expectantly, as another giggling fit took over her.

I knew she wanted an answer so I stated a stiff and simple one accompanied by a quick but absolutely unreal smile. “Yeah, sure.” She was starting to get on my nerves, and I couldn’t be more thrilled we were changing partners today. This week had contained the hardest clues yet, and I had done most of the work myself, while blocking outrageous solutions and ideas from Rita. I guess it might be my fault a little bit; maybe I was being too picky. But who could blame me? My last partner had been marvelous Rick. He was perfect. Fine, maybe not perfect, but as close to it as anyone from this game and most of the world could be. Rick was smart, fast, strong, handsome, and he knew a lot about a vast amount of things. What can I say? He was just great. It wasn’t like I let him do all the work, no way that’s just not like me; but he did his half, and that’s almost one hundred percent more than what Rita does. She tries her best, at least I think she does, and it’s not her fault she’s a complete and total airhead, but how on earth did she win a spot on the contest? Luck. It has to be luck. There just isn’t another explanation. That is what it all comes down to, and I’m sad to say I have very bad luck. Yes, I did make it into the contest, but that was done with ability, knowledge, and patience. My thoughts were interrupted by another violent shift of the cab, followed by more exasperating laughter.

Miraculously the driver stops the car, almost killing one of the stupid New York pedestrians who refuse to use the curb. “Here we are,” he says with a thick Arab accent. “Twenty one bucks.” No please, no thank you, no sorry for the terrible driving. That’s New York for you. I’ve been here a day, and I’ve almost forgotten these words myself. I open my wallet and hand over the cash, reluctantly, if I may add, while Rita thanks him and waves good bye. No response whatsoever from the driver, of course. I look around me, spotting a big sign that says Dylan’s Candy Bar in bold, pink letters. Under the name there are three bizarre looking, colorful, geometrical drawings of what I think are lollipops.

“Come on,” I say taking the lead. Rita strides behind me eagerly mumbling about the crazy cars, the cute guys, the lovely logo, and the huge glass doors under it. As we go closer we can see that the biggest candy store in the world is filled to the brim. From the outside it seems as if the gigantic glass building was stuffed with different colored packing peanuts. I can see from across the street someone dressed in a striped apron telling a couple of bouncy attempting to go in to make a line. We wait for the light to change, and then cross the busy 3rd Avenue with surprising ease, making our way towards the line which now also contains a punk with big earphones, an old cuddly couple, and a mom with a young boy. Rita races up behind me and taps my shoulder.

Story part 2 (in class)

After some more polite conversation with tha parents and actual conversation between themselves the breakfast ended and the families said their goodbyes. Olivia told her parents she was going to go upstairs and work on her homework. As soon as she entered into her room, she was surprised to see that the floor was spotless, the desk had no books or papers on it, the bed was made , and all the clothes were properly stored away.

“How was breakfast?” Questioned Katlin as she walked out of the closet, clipboard stuill attached to her hand.

“It was Okay, I guess,” replied Olivia. “Whast happened to my room? If my mom finds out she will kill you and whoever cleaned it uop. You know she liks me to do that for myself, and I agree, it’s good I learn how normal people live.”

“Darling, I hate to brake it to you but you are normal, being the vicepresidents daughter does not make you an alien you know,” Katlin pressed as she scribbled something with her quick neat handwriting.

“I know, but how normal is it to have a personal assistant for yourself. I think it’s a bit extreme. Of course, mom thinks it’s vital so I am ready for all the functions I have to attend, but I think I could manage on my own. No offense Katie, “ Olivia reassured her with an embarrassed smile.

“Non taken,” she said grinning backa at Olivia. “But I think I really do help you. I mean, think about it, what would you do without me?” Katlin laughed, and Olivia did two. They both knew that Olivia would be lost without Katies help, but they also knew a sixteen year old with a personal assistant at her heels all the time was a bit extreme. “Anyway,” said Katlin bringing them back to topic, “Your mom won’t kill anyone because she does not have to find out we have cleaned your room.” Noticin that Olivia was opening her mouth to speak Katie continued determinatly. “You should be thanking us, because if I remember correctly your friends are coming in twenty minutes to decide what to do for tonight.”

Olivia gave her the warmest, sweetest smile she could manage. “Oh my god, Katie, you are a lifesaver. I had toatally completely forgotten all about that. Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou a million times.”

“You are very welcome Olive, but you are still missing the basixc ideas all said they would be bringing today. You haven’t even begun looking at dresses, shoes, of hairdos, and the gala is tonight.” A repriming tone had krept into Katilin’s voice and Olivia was determined to make it go back out. There was nothing worse than having Katie be mad at her.

“How did you know about that?” Olivia asked, hoping that the question would distract Katlin from the fact that she had not started her work.

“You know I talk to the other shadows, and they all have principles that actually have begun the work, so they have mentioned it to me.” Shadows was the name everyone called the kids’ personal assistants. In the society in which Olivia lived, having one was a s basic and common a s drinking water.

“I have to begun,” she lied. “I know I want a black dress and black shoes, and I know I want my hair clipped up.”

“Could this be because the invitation said black only gala or am I going on a stretch here.” Katlin fired at Olivia with a playful spark in her eyes. Olivia flashed her eyes at her shadow, as if saying sorry and moved to the green iMac sitting on her desk. She propped it open and her deft fingers began flying over the keyboard.

“I’ll leave you and your keyboard alone,” Katie joked. “Do you want me to ask Carmen to bring up a snack and some smothies when the girls arrive?”

“Yeah, thanks, that would be great.” Olivia answered without turning away from the screen for a second, and er fingers not loosing any speed as she surfed through the net. Ashe clicked on the favorites icon, chose the Saks.com link, and began typing different types of dresses. Prada cocktail dress, not for me; Marc Jacobs wrap dress, pretty but too short; Barney’s long flowy dress, horrid; aha! Found a decent on. BCBG Max Azira, you’re my plan A. Olivia thought to herself as she looked at all the options available to her. She was interrupted by the buzz of her phone, which she picked up with a sleepy “Hello?”

“Yes, good morning Miss. Brown. I was just ringing up tio tel, you that Miss. Renolds nd your friends have arrived.”

“Thank you Charles, please send them up.” She hung up her phone, clicked the print icon on the web page, and went to her closet to put on a sweatshirt.

How to know if you are a real CNGer

Many people say sure, I’m part of CNG. But are you really? Being part of CNG is not only coming to classes and then leaving. It is living the whole experience, having the spirit in you. Here are some ways in which you can tell if you belong to the school:

• You get to the top of the hill and you can still talk. It seems like an easy thing to do, something you were born with, but think about it… when your parents come to school for parent teachers conferences, are they panting when they reach the top? The most common answer is yes. For some reason, potentially the practice of climbing it every day in a rush, people who are real CNGers can do it, and they reach the top as if they had just gotten out of a car.
• You go into the bookstore at break time. Yes, such a simple thing, if you are a CNG person that is. As soon as the bell rings, hoards of people rush down to the bookstore, where they begin to defy the law of physics that says that no two things can occupy the same space. From outside, it looks like a big stuffed closet filled with blue and white cloths. Occasionally shouting and cursing can be heard, and hands, heads, and food are spontaneously seen above the crowd. It is simply crazy. So who would go in there? The answer; someone who belong at CNG. Somehow, we manage to squeeze our way in there, get the attention of one of the busy bookstore moms we all love, be heard, hear the price, grip our purchase, and get the hell out of there; all this with our head still attached to our shoulders, and all our joints in their sockets. It is, undoubtly, a talent present only in those who carry CNG in their hearts.
• You call all your female teachers miss, and all your male teachers sir. We just can’t put their last name with the title. It’s like a disease or something, but we are just to lazy to do it, and teachers don’t really care anymore. Even our Spanish teachers respond to the unappreciative, whiny, bored “Miiisss…” we utter every time we don’t understand, we don’t want to do something, or we want attention.
• When you get off the bus you say “Adios y Gracias”. Not “chao y gracias”, or “adios y que le vaya bien”, but the simple, slightly rigid “adios y gracias” the monitoras and drivers hear about 100 times a day.
• You “typear” your essay. You don’t type your essay, or pasarlo a computador, you “typear” an essay. With this comes the classical “saviar” the document, or “printiar” the report. You “fakear” you’re sick, or go to a play that’s going to “suckiar”. Oh yes, the dreaded Spanglish is part of us all.

These are just some of the clearest ways to tell if you really belong in CNG. Although some of these vary, the basic idea is in place, and if you belong you will be able to tell in afew seconds. If you don’t, well try some of the above, and in no time you will become a natural. These things are embedded in our brains, and the funny thing is no one ever told us to say “adios y gracias” or call a teacher miiisss, or to not be afraid of the bookstore. These are all things we have begun to do as we spend our time at school, climbing the thousand stairs, or things we have picked up from fellow CNGers.

The dolphin world

The sun shone down on the river intensely, the water glimmering under its powerful rays. Insect flew around peacefully, frogs swam through the river, and fish played in the water happily. Far away, a couple of pink dolphins jumped up and down carelessly. One of them jumped up high and while in the air emitted a loud cry. The other dolphin imitated tem and both of them continued swimming. Suddenly, a wave began forming at the farthest end of the river. It grew and grew, and animals went into panic, all except the dolphins. Frogs jumped onto the trees, birds flew the other way, crickets chirped like crazy, and fish tried desperately to beat the wave. When it finally reached the two dolphins, they stood still and let the wave crash through their strong bodies. When it did, both of them fell into nothingness.

They fell for about thirty seconds and then they reached the bottom of the river. However, this bottom of the river was not like any of the ones people usually imagine. There was a strip of seaweeds creating what looked like a street right under the two dolphins. To their sides there were tall formations of rock, with little wholes at regular intervals, through which some dolphins could be seen coming in and out. At some places, the rocks had starfish lined in symbols on top of or next to big wholes, and at these there where a lot of dolphins going in and out, some with jelly fish filled with fish. The dolphins nodded at each other, and then split, one moving straight and the other going to the left. The one with the strongest pink shade swam for about seven minutes before reaching a fork in the seaweed street, and then took the left street. At the far end there was a dead end, and some more rock with more starfish symbols on top of a big whole. The dolphin deftly maneuvered its way into the building, and kept on going onto a tree trunk desk.

“Hello. I’m here to talk to the governor,” said the dolphin with a strong thick voice.

“Oh yes one second please, Slate” said the dolphin behind the desk picking up a shell and putting it up to her ear.

After some time of aha-ing and nodding she told him to go in. Slate swam steadily through a corridor with many doors, until he reached a big one at the far right. He banged the door with his long nose, and went inside.

“Hello sir,” greeted Slate politely. “How do you do?”

“Oh just fine Slate. What do you have for me?”Answered the stern dolphin.

“Well sir, we found out, with Rufus, that there is a party to celebrate a big birthday tonight in the Ticuno community of Santa Rita. I was thinking about going there tonight and capture one girl, and bring her straight here. Then we can put her in the human jail.”

“Slate, you are just brilliant. Do so.” With that he turned back to some large leaves filled with symbols.

“Thank you sir, I will see you tonight.” Slate said, and then he left through the door and back out to the street. He made a couple of turns and then reached a small whole. When he went in he saw Rufus sitting on the couch reading some leaves.

“Hey we have to go, our job is on” He said with a tug on Rufus’ fin.

“Oh yeah, lets go” Rufus answered, a wide grin spreading across his face.

They both moved toward a closet where they extracted two drench coats and two hats. They slipped the coats on, fixing them so the bump on their back would not be seen and then put the hat on, covering the breathing whole. Then, they walked to another closet, which they opened eagerly. Inside there was nothing, just a big empty space that continued rising. Rufus got in and began swimming up, and Slate followed suit happily. On the surface of the river, the sun was setting, a magical pink haze hung over the river. In the distance music and shouting could be heard. The two dolphins erupted into the surface disturbing the calm water, and began laughing with their high cries, following the sound. They reached a place in the land that seemed to be lit up, and then they came out of the water and expertly fixed their disguises.

“Lets meet right here in thirty minutes, each with a girl,” commanded Slate, his voice impatient.

“All right,” replied Rufus, the eagerness sounding in his voice too.

Both walked through some trees and reached a big clearing that was lit up by torches. In the center four people were shouting happily and playing music, while around them the rest of the people danced or talked to each other. Each dolphin went its own way, and began observing every girl that passed by. After about thirty minutes, Slate went close to a girl who could not have been older than twenty, her dark skin and green eyes shining under the night and the fire. He inched his way until he was standing behind her and began pushing her away from the crowd. Startled she looked back, and saw a man with a hat, so she decided to let herself be taken away. At the other end of the party, Rufus was doing the same, the girl with the violet eyes and pale skin delighted at having a suitor. They both met newt to the river, and with a gleeful laugh looked up at their catch. The girls emitted loud cries of anguish, they had heard the story and they knew what was coming. The dolphins, ignorant to the sad mood, winked at each other, grabbed the girls and jumped back into the mighty river. The girls were gone, forever.

What is a blog? Questions

A. What is the difference between a blog and a book?
A blog and a book are two very different things. The blog is an online journal where you can write at random intervals and publish it part by part, while a book is usually published all together or in organized series. The language used in a book is more formal than the language you can use in a blog, and in a blog grammar rules like capitalization and punctuation are not really important while in a book they are everything. Books have to be read by a lot of people and passes through many phases of editing and approval to be published while in blogs you can post without having anybody look at your work before hand. Blogs are cheaper to have, and more in some cases more people look at them. Also, in books you have to be careful that you specify details and readers know what you are talking about while in blogs, it is usual to find a lot of random information that has not been previously mentioned and the reader has no way to know what the blogger is referring to.

B. How have blogs changes recently?
The differences in the current blogs and blogs before are basically the tone and the reason why they are written. Before, people wrote to inform people about what was going on and they did so using few links and a more formal language. Now, people blog commenting on anything and everything, using colloquial language and slang, and they fill their blogs with links.

C. Why might you read a blog?
You might read a blog to find out about things that you have not been able to find information about in other places. Also, blogs give different points of view and they present the reader with different links to find more about each topic. The blogs are more personal, and the tone is lighter to read than most other sources of information, and as a bonus you can write back to the author asking for clarifications or commenting on anything.

D. Is there reason to doubt the objectivity of a blog? Why? Why not?
Yes, I would doubt the objectivity of a blog, because one characteristic of blogs is that they express a point of view and that is being subjective. Blogs are meant to show what people say, and the information is probably going to be shown depending on what a person thinks.

E. If you kept your own blog, what would you title it?The title would probably be Simply Me, as I would post my opinions and thoughts.

Story (part 1)

Olivia rubbed her eyes drowsily and tossed the baby blue feather duvet off her slim body. She crossed her room bumping several objects on her way to the bathroom. Groggily she peeled off her pajamas and went into the shower. “That’s better,” she exclaimed reviewing her reflection in the mirror and tightening the towel around her body. Olivia started her beauty routine opening various cabinets and applying various creams. After reorganizing all the products she had used Olivia walked out of her bathroom straight to her walk in closet.

She examined a pink paper clipped onto the closet door, and then put on a pair of True Religion jeans and a black polo shirt. She walked out of her closet and into the bathroom again. This time she opened one of her drawers and extracted a hairbrush. She expertly started combing her light brown hair being careful not to get the shirt wet. She brushed her teeth and applied a bit of NÖA perfume and went back into her room. A grimace took over Olivia’s face as soon as she saw her messy room. There were shoes, sweaters, jeans, shirts, and purses scattered throughout all of her room. With a grunt she walked toward the objects and started picking them up one by one, setting them on their assigned places in the closet each time her hands were full. She was busy picking up a pair of DKNY dark jeans and an American Eagle shirt when she heard a soft knock on her door.

“Come in,” she said bending down to pick up a bright orange Coach purse. “Good morning sleepy head,” said a tall dark woman. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Olivia directed her sight towards her night table where a digital watch stood. “Yeah, it’s 8:17” she answered cockily. The woman opened her mouth to say something but Olivia was quick to cut her off. “I know, I know. I’m supposed to have breakfast with my parents and the Stratford’s at 8:30.”

“If you know that then what are on earth are you doing here, and if I may add with your hair soaking wet?”

“I’m sorry Katlin,” Olivia said in an annoyed tone. “It’s just I got home really late last night and I was really tired. But you have to calm down. Breakfast is in the dining room which is only like 1 minute away at turtle speed. I won’t be late I promise.”

Katlin raised her arm and with a questioning look pointed at Olivia’s hair. “Okay, okay. I’ll go dry it right now. Gees!” An annoyed looked filled Olivia’s eyes as she walked toward the bathroom, followed by Katlin. Olivia pulled out a blow dryer from one of the cabinets and started drying her hair. Katlin opened a folder she had been carrying and pulled out a pink paper.

“Did you read your copy this morning?” She asked Olivia referring to the pink paper that was up on the closets door.

“Not really. I just read about the breakfast.” Katlin looked at her Rolex and frowned.

“Right now,” she almost shouted to be heard over the loud hum of the blow dryer, “you have to go downstairs. We will review your schedule after you are done with breakfast. Now go!”

She shoved Olivia, who turned off the blow dryer and ran off to her closet where she grabbed her black Michael Cors ballet flats. She put them on in a hurry and shot out through the door. Olivia ran past several doors, hurried down a staircase, passed a study, and a couple of other doors. When she reached the living room, Olivia slowed down and steadied her breathing. Then she moved on and reached the red-wine colored dining room, which to her surprise she found empty.

“The breakfast will be served outside today,” came a male voice. Olivia turned around to face a white-haired man dressed in a tuxedo.

“Oh, thank you Martin.” She smiled at him and he returned the gesture. Olivia quickly turned and hurried to the other side of the house. “Outside. How nice of them to share this crucial piece of information,” she mumbled with a frown. Within seconds she entered a room made of wood. A huge fireplace towered on a wall and sofas and chairs filled the room. She quickly wed her way through them and arrived at a clear door. Outside she could see her parents, a boy her age, and another couple. She plastered what she hoped was a sincere looking smile on her sleepy face, and made her way outside.

“Oh darling,” chirped a tall, thin woman, opening her arms wide.

“Sorry I was late; I was just picking out the last details for tonight.” Olivia lied expertly, while hugging the woman.

“Don’t worry about it, you have more important things to do then hang around with a bunch of oldies,” kidded a small man with his idea of current slang. Everyone at the table laughed politely at the joke, and Olivia moved on to say hi to the man who had just spoken.

“I always have tie for the Stratford’s,” she managed from inside the bear hug Mr. Stratford was giving her. While some more polite comments about using her time flew around, Olivia greeted the very elegant Mrs. Stratford and their son, Sam. She then proceeded to sit at the table, which was filled with delicious looking pastries and fruits, in her seat next to Sam.

“So, what will you be wearing at the gala tonight?” cooed Mrs. Stratford, fluffing her artificially blond hair.

Worried that her face would betray her and show she really hadn’t even begun looking at tonight’s details, Olivia forced herself to giggle and make her toothpaste grin even wider. “I was actually hoping to keep it a secret, you know, as tonight is a very special night I thought I might surprise every one.”

“Oh well that’s a wonderful idea, Livy,” her mom commented. “I wonder why I never thought of that.” The fathers took this as their cue to start their business chat, and the mothers went on with the fashion talk, none of which interested Olivia remotely.

“You have no idea whatsoever what you will be wearing tonight, do you?” asked a rough voice startling her. Olivia whipped her head and stared at Sam.

“Not a clue.” She replied coolly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, for them it isn’t, but for someone who knows the real you it is. I mean, come on it is a Saturday morning after a heavy party last night, and I’m supposed to believe you-totally un-fashion interested Livy- woke up early to choose what you will be wearing tonight? Ha ha I don’t think so.”

“That could be insulting,” she toyed. “But I guess it’s true. What can I say Stratford, you know me better than I thought.” She smiled coyly and pulled her humid hair into a bun tying it with one of the various colorful elastic she had wrapped around her miniature wrist.

“That I do, Brown.” He replied with a confident grin.

“But you are wrong about one thing,” challenged Olivia while spreading some natural butter on her croissant.

“Really, and what is that?” Sam questioned.

“It’s not that I don’t care about fashion, it is just that it is not my obsession. I can tell you some brand names and I do like to shop occasionally, but it is not what my life is centered on.” She a matter-of-factly nod and bit her pastry decisively.

“Good to know Brown.” With that they both turned their attention to the food sitting on their white china plates.

The blog

I was worried sick about how to make my blog. All the technical aspects, what I was going to write, if it would be pretty or not, but it turned out to be okay. I’m not going to lie to myself and say pretty easy because, well, I didn’t find it so easy (especially the part of convincing myself that the font, color, template, etc. looked fine). However, it was easier than I expected. I tried hard to put up a nice background but after about an hour of depressing failures I gave up. Then I clicked on every button available on the editing page to make sure the blog would be fine, and now I have to do the real hard part. I have to start posting.

Now, I like writing, actually I love it. The only problem, I don’t like sharing what I write as much. Sometimes it feels great to show or tell people about what I write, but in general I just keep it to myself. I think that is probably why I joined the class. I want to, no have to, learn to share my writing. My problem is, I always think it stinks. Really. For some reason when somebody else reads what I write I feel like all of a sudden I forgot all my spelling and grammar rules and my style doesn’t flow. And this might be true, but I have to start sharing because if my writing really is as bad as I think, the only way to improve is by showing my work and receiving input. So, every day I will log on and post a piece of writing. I can predict some will be done at eleven at night when I forgot to do it before, and the result will be a boring little piece; but I also think I will have some good pieces about things that really inspire me. I hope there is more of the former than of the first.

What will I write about though? That is a question I think time itself will have to answer, because right now as I sit in front of the computer I can’t think of anything slightly interesting to write about tomorrow. I guess it will just come to me while I sit, I really hope it will, but for now I have to be content with having a blog and one post. I also hope that I will be able to make the blog look like the web page I have always wanted, but if that can’t happen, how it looks now is okay, right?

As for the class, well I just had my first one and I think it will be fun. Hard, yes, but fun because I will learn to write when I have to (usually it takes a long time before I feel “inspired” to write) and I will also learn how to trust my work. I hope my spelling will improve and I also hope I can get ideas and tips on how to write different things that what I always write (short and long stories).

I have to go now, but I will post again tomorrow and probably every other day for the rest of the school year. I look forward to receiving lots of comments and tips and to watch as the blog grows and fills itself with pieces of writing.

Bye for now,

Mariana Berenguer