#according to his friend who was also in our algebra class he liked me too but didn’t wanna act on it bc he was suicidal. and i was like same

[stargazers-telescopes]

The Pains of Anonymity

a/n: I wrote this story, awhile back too, for two of my friends who loved reading short stories like this one. I hope you like it too! its your classic high school shoujo-type confession story with a twist.

one of these friends is my ex and the whole ‘google’ angle was to uh call him out on something dumb he did during the span of our relationship... i hope you find it funny haha.

.......................................................................................................................

Summer of 2018- graduation. The time when we, baby-year-old children are expected to find our way in life. Jobs, university, college. All on the agenda. It is also the last year I will ever have the chance to ask out Emily. Oh yes, I had my priorities completely sorted.

I've had a massive crush on her since the 4th year. 6th year is my last chance, before she goes to study in oxford. She said that she got accepted. Emily has been my friend since the 1st year and she's very cool. She likes to skateboard in the park and drink iced coffee in winter. She has long dark hair and bright green eyes. And after she's done scowling at people and smiles it's like I'm blinded with light...even her scowling is beautiful- ok, you get the idea...

I really wanted to act on my feelings but I was worried she did not feel the same way. Also we are good friends and if she rejected me things would get awkward, not just for me, but the whole gang.

Sam convinced me to confess this year. As classes finished for the day we met outside the locker room. He said, 

"Alex you've been moaning and groaning about her for way too long. JUST ASK HER OUT. I'm tired of listening to your whining… I'm quite sure I've suffered emotional trauma listening to you. I'm sensitive that way", he wiped away a fake tear. 

"But seriously man, this is the last chance you can. And you don't have to do something huge like propose confront of a crowd. We've been friends with Em for so long she would likely accept you and then kill you"

We started walking towards the boys' dorms. "remind me again why I'm taking advice from you, my single friend", I grumbled.

"Hey!", he exclaimed, fake annoyance flashing across his nerdy face.

"I happen to have vast knowledge on romance. NEVER DOUBT THE MANGAS"

"Ok, mr romantic, what should I do according to the great wisdom of the mangas?"

"Well, first off, if you're going to ask her out, do it in person, with some chocolate, maybe a stuffed toy,'' he stated.

I stopped in my tracks. 

"Oh hell no", I said

"But then she wont even-", I interrupted him. 

"It's ok, I'll handle it on my own… besides… Em? And a teddy bear? I really doubt that", I laughed

"If you say so bro, then, handle it on your own",  he replied, smirking.

"I'll be here when you come for help"

And that's how I got myself into my life's (so far) greatest mess.

I looked it up on google. Do not judge me, I am not original. And I could afford flowers. But they had to mean something. So I looked up flower symbolism too. After my planning, I was ready.

Before school started, I placed a bunch of white lilies and roses on Emily's desk. I read somewhere they represented devotion. 4 years of devotion pretty much symbolised those flowers. And a note. But I did not expect Em's reaction.

She dropped her bag at her chair and walked over to me and sam. Sam gave me that look. I stamped on his toe. 

"Gosh, guys I'm soo tired", she yawned. Her nose was red. 

"I had to attend. a funeral of some relative yesterday who I've never met and never known. There were lilies everywhere", she sniffled.

Wait

"I had such a bad allergic reaction, I was up the whole night sneezing my fuckin brains off. That and our algebra work", she said.

The bell rang. Crap.

Emily waved and walked towards her desk.

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me alive.

"Who the fuck left their garden at my desk", she exclaimed. My heart dropped. I knew she cursed frequently, but she cursed my gift. My gift for her.

Then she made a funny noise… and started sneezing. She didn't even see the note I tucked into the petals!! On second thought I'm glad she didn't.

Layla, her friend, came and took the bouquet of flowers away. My gift. Agh. 

"Aww Em these flowers are so pretty... I think they are a gift", she said. 

At least one of the girls realised my intentions.

Emily sniffled," I cant keep these… and i don't plan on dying this year… I need to junk them", she sneezed again.

"No! Don't do that, I'll take them", Layla exclaimed. Great. Just great.

 This was not how it was supposed to go. I watched with horror as Layla happily picked up Emily's bouquet. The note fell under their desk. I looked at Sam… who was laughing at me. God dammit.

Well, I wasn't going to give up just because of this tiny setback. I had a plan! Sure I won't do it face to face, but the thought is there and my name too.

Well after that flop I looked up on google again.

Jewelry. Girls liked jewelry. I remember Emily wears this golden locket around her neck. Everywhere. She said it used to be her grandma's. The google page was funny. It said girls like shiny things. They're not magpies, I was laughing while reading. Then I remembered that Emily has this box full of stones and metal pieces and some other junk. She said they have memories. A memory box. Maybe if I got something she liked she would put it in her memory box. Magpie box. I laughed a bit more. 

Oh well. I hope this worked.

Next week before anyone came to class I placed a pendant on Emily's desk. Small and silvery. I managed to get it for £5 which was quite good. Also my kid sister helped me pick it out so it had to count for something. I eagerly waited for Emily to see it. 

She didn't even notice it. I think it even fell off her and Layla's desk during class. Jesus Christ and all that's holy, why isn't this working?????!!!

And then it struck me. I left the note in my pencil case. Of course this would happen.

Finally I saw her pocket it. Only to find out later she didn't even think it was for her. 

Sam and I were loitering in the halls after basketball when I heard Emily say something from inside the classroom.

"Someone lost their necklace", she showed it to Layla. Sam and I peered in. 

"I don't know, Em, I don't think anyone would leave their jewelry lying around", Layla said 

And then Emily dangled the pendant in front of herself

"If I sold it, how much would I get for it?", she asked. 

No. why.

"Why don't you just keep it, Em?"

"Because if it belongs to someone else, it would be rude, Layla", Emily proclaimed

"And selling it isn't??!!"

My next attempt was as cliche as they come. But foolproof. The reason things are labelled cliche is because they never fail. Also I know Emily likes to read romantic stories. So I copied the cheesiest Shakespeare poetry off the net and signed it with my name. There's no way this could fail. 

It failed.

I placed the letter in front of Emily's dorm door. And knocked on it. Then I bolted around the corner and watched as Em looked around. Then she spotted the letter. And saw the blank side. She didn’t even turn it around.

"Who the fu-", she looked around.

"Damn litterers", she crumpled my note

Jesus christ this girl is going to kill me. I really didn't understand. Em was intelligent. She solves those riddles at mad speeds and gets top scores in class. How can someone so smart be so goddamn stupid. 

I didn't know what to do. I kept thinking about it on my way to the dorms after basketball practice.and I met Mr Brown, the boys' dorm chaperone.

"Hi mister brown", I waved dejectedly.

"Oh lad, what's wrong?"

He tried to pat my head. Which must have been difficult considering I was probably 3 feet taller than him.

"Oooh I know that look", he chuckled 

"Lady friend problems, eh?"

I think my red face said it all. 

"Don't worry! Be bold child, faint heart never won the fair maiden. Think outside the box. What does your flame like", he asked me 

I was too busy cringing at 'flame' to respond immediately.

"It's ok mister brown", I think I know what to do…", I thanked him and entered. This is it. My last attempt before I resort to Sam.

The next day I walked into RED. Em's favourite clothes shop. Ripped Jeans and t-shirts with comments were displayed all over the place. A gift voucher. The shop was red lit. Which was a little odd, because how would you know the colours of the clothes?

I walked to the front. Unfortunately I was met with a rather brutal sight… women’s under clothes displayed out and for the first time entering that shop, I was thankful for the red light.

"I want a gift voucher", I mumbled to the cashier who was typing away at something.

She gave me a funny look.

"RED only has vouchers for-", but I interrupted 

"Just give me the damn gift voucher", I pleaded to her. She scoffed and handed me one. I quickly ran out of RED. Well. That was something I never ever want to experience again.

Once again I placed it on her desk. Now I was sure this would work. Boy was I wrong.

Emily waved to us as she entered and sat at her desk. She saw the gift voucher and froze. 

Just froze. She stood there for a good minute before she turned around.

If looks could kill, we would all be dead. Her face was red and her normal laidback expression was pulled into a vicious scowl.

She yelled, "HARRY YOU FUCKING PERVERT IM GOING TO MURDER YOU"

The sleazebag of our class immediately sat up in his seat looking confused. Harry had a… reputation. And every girl in class had at least one unfortunate encounter with him. Except Em, who has threatened to punch the living daylights out of Harry if he pulled any bullshit, which we didn't doubt because we have seen Em get into some street fights… 

"Excuse me, Emily, I haven't done a thing", he raised his hands in front of him. 

She snarled at the class, "If I find the creep who gave me a gift voucher for underwear...", she let her threat hang in the air. Very effective. I wanted to die.

I went to Sam. He was my last hope. My saviour. I knocked on his door. When he opened the door, he laughed at my face

He said, "well I see you've come to consult the mangas. Enter my abode of wisdom", 

He gestured towards his room. I was in the abode of wisdom for a long time.

I was going to do it in person this evening. 

We got a shark plushie whose sneer reminded me of Em's evil look. Very cute. I don't think I've ever been so nervous. 

I knocked on her dorm room, holding the shark toy behind me. When she opened the door she grinned.

"Hey, Alex", she leaned against the door frame, her hair falling in front. 

"What's up", she raised an eyebrow.

I felt like an old car. Big, slow and struggling to start.

"I uh… I like you", I said

"We're old friends Alex, I'm quite sure that has been established", she laughed.

This girl was not making it easy.

"No I like- like you, like as in that like, not the friend like", I forced out.

She smiled sinisterly.

"Took you long enough dumbass", she pulled me towards her and quickly pecked me on my lips.

Alex.exe. stopped working

She grinned again, "Sam told me that the flowers and the other stuff was you and you had no idea what you were doing. Honestly after the flowers I figured it was you because you looked like you wanted to die after I told you about my flower allergy and when I saw the lilies. But Sam confirmed it after the uh… the gift voucher", 

She turned slightly red.

"I probably should have said something but it was really really funny watching you go about confessing"

She turned around and scrambled about her room. And brought out a book. She opened it. On one page was a dried white rose neatly pressed into the book. On the other she taped my letter. She turned it around and the RED gift voucher was taped too. 

She cleared her throat to get my attention and then brought out the pendant from under her shirt where she kept it tucked. She was wearing it. 

"I never threw them away", she was red too.

Yeah… I'm quite sure Emily was going to kill me someday.

Needless to say, I graduated a few weeks later after a week of mind breaking exams. And I have Emily beside me. Let's see how it goes in University.

[kerice]

Painful Memories...

I came across some old photos. Some of my wedding. I can look at these pictures now with less emotion. There is sadness but I really can’t identify with that person in the photo anymore. Does this mean I have detached myself? I remember being there. Have I healed from the wounds that are still painful to mention? This day, more than 17 years ago, was a start of a major trial in my life. Having the courage to work through the pain of recovery has helped give me the drive and tenacity to overcome financial debt and to succeed in school. 

My academic journey started back in 1996, academic achievement did not come easy to me in high school, but I wanted to get a good job, so a few years after high school I started classes at Seattle Central College, in Seattle Washington. I then had a child at age 25 and I became a single mom. I am always inspired by women who say that without hesitation, trepidation or feeling less than women who have a partner. When my son was about three years old, I transferred to Bellevue College. They had a work study program where I could work at the school daycare (where my son was) and also work on my career goals, while having my son close. Due to the early birth of my second son on Nov. 27th, I was unable to finish my last two weeks of course work in the fall of 2003. As a result, I received a failed grade in my personal enrichment courses of French 201 and Algebra II. However my GPA for my science classes were within the range they needed to be. But, even so, I had to quit my job and dropped out of college since my son was born two weeks before the final exams. 

On the day of the wedding, It was a beautiful, warm day in September 2004, I remember, the kids were dancing and laughing, the lakeside property was gorgeous. I remember my family and friends being around me, it felt like a different life. I don’t like going back in my thoughts. The pain of those memories has become less as time’s gone on. To go from such a happy day celebrating with the person I wanted to live my life with to days later, almost losing my life to this person. This is a story, no one wants to tell. Four days after my wedding, I was a victim of a road rage incident, where I was physically assaulted and (along with my infant son) nearly killed. My husband of four days was charged with reckless endangerment and assault and then arrested. A passerby had seen the incident and called 911. I still can’t believe this happened to me. He never apologized for what he had put us through, we never saw him again except at a distance. I then started therapy for the physical pain that was inflicted on me, the emotional pain would be a much longer process of healing.

When you go through the family court system and testify in front of everyone, what you go through, it is very difficult. After the shock wears off, the shame sets in, it’s hard to talk about. They (the court advocates) encourage you to talk, saying that it saves lives. I felt lost and defeated. I was forced to go through court ordered therapy, which I knew, any invasive findings would be broadcast in court. I had to acknowledge other incidences of abuse that led up to the escalation to the road rage. I was faced with the reality of my own denial of what was happening to me. The excuses I would make to myself. He was just stressed out. Maybe it was a psychotic break? I couldn’t be objective or logical enough to begin to imagine why someone would do such things to a person they profess to love. I didn’t want a stomach ulcer on top of everything else. I was able to get a pro bono attorney for the first trial.  But after my ex-husband went to domestic violence treatment, there was a new trial. This was because, where there is “abusive use of conflict,” the courts don’t allow mediation to settle parenting plans. This put me in financial peril, and I have struggled financially  ever since. 

It’s been many years since the assault and arrest. I was vilified and blamed for what caused our separation to our community and friends. According to his account, it was all an exaggeration, a misunderstanding. I heard him say in court that I was crazy, emotionally unbalanced. Especially during the child custody proceedings. I was so afraid of him and what he would do to me. I couldn’t even comprehend fully what he was doing, who he even was. Was he my enemy now? He blamed me for getting him arrested, even though I had not been the one who called the police, but an anonymous stranger did! I felt alone, scared, traumatized. I hated having to go through the court hearings and hear the venomous words coming from him and his attorney. It made me feel crazy, out of my mind. I had to get away, I saw him everywhere, I was always looking over my shoulder. Sudden movements would make me jump. Flashes of the trauma would enter my mind. While driving my car, when I would see brake lights I would tense up and my heart would skip a beat. How could I even co-parent with this person? My Post Traumatic Stress was keeping me from moving beyond what happened to me, keeping me from moving forward. But I knew I had to somehow keep it together and be strong for my children. 

After the divorce, I was given permission to move out of state. In 2007, my brother, who lived in Northern Kentucky, offered me a job. Because of this, I was able to move out of state with my children. I am so grateful to my brother for his help in this transition. During this time, my father had entered retirement from the military out on the west coast. He and my mother were planning on moving to Cincinnati to help my brother with his business. The timing of the move was good since we would be able to have the support of my family, during this time of healing and transition. Upon my move, my ex was continuing to file motions at the Seattle court house. I had to hire an attorney, from out of state, to represent me and to respond to every motion filed. Within 5 years, he filed 12 motions that were all dismissed for lack of credibility. Even though he was ordered to pay my attorney’s fees, these orders were not enforced, therefore leading me to incur much debt over the years. With the two divorce trials costing $40,000 and the additional $10,000, my finances were in trouble. I had to ask my parents for help with these huge costs. Two years after the divorce, he stopped paying child support and my daycare costs exceeded $6,000. I had to ask my parents for help with the kids, which allowed me to work more hours to pay my debts. I have been used to working two or sometimes three jobs to get a handle on my finances. In 2015 I was able to receive vocational training so I could earn more per hour. 

I am a single parent living in the Cincinnati area for almost 14 years now. After much healing and hard work, I am anxious to continue my academic career goals. I am the proud parent of two well-adjusted young adults and I’ve had much experience juggling work, school and parenting. I also became the caretaker of my grandmother the last year of her life. In which I moved her into my home with my two children. During this time, as I partnered with the hospice care staff, I assisted in many nursing responsibilities. Reflecting back on this now, I feel that nursing is the field I belong in. During my time in Cosmetology school, I took on another caretaking job. I did this while managing my other full-time job. Then in 2018, I enrolled in an accelerated program at the Cincinnati School of Medical Massage. Where we had rigorous course work in A&P and Pathology. I also became a personal care assistant in 2018. I also currently work as a licensed Cosmetologist and LMT, as well as an STNA. 

I am happy to say that my domestic partner and fiancé is supportive of my desire to finish my nursing education. Over time I had developed a tougher exterior, not able to readily identify with my feelings. I was so guarded, out of necessity. An armor of survival. I find it more difficult to make friends, especially deep friendships that take invested time and effort. Letting people in feels too high of a risk at times, as the emotional scars surface. Where I attended massage school, they taught us what it means to be “semi-permeable.” The idea of boundary lines that define your personal space and the space for the client. If you are too closed off, then you won’t be able to tune into anyone else’s needs. This was a wonderful exercise for me in many ways. It’s helped me in my relationship with my children as well. In the past, I’ve heard awful comments directed towards me, anywhere from saying that I am a bad mother, to questions like, why didn’t I just get an abortion. Being on the other end of the parenthood journey, with my kids entering the adult world, I would say it was worth the pain, the struggle. We persevered, we are all tough as nails, I can see it from the work ethic my kids have. Even in the most ideal circumstances, children can still have issues. But seeing the love for me in their eyes is very moving. Watching them run around, playing and laughing is like watching my heart dancing outside of me. I wish that some things had been different for them. But through the struggle, we established a strong bond, which I believe will last for years to come. I don’t know who made this quote but it sums up so much. “A son makes love stronger, days shorter, bankroll smaller, home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten and the future worth living for.” 

This trial has taught me to not be too quick to dismiss the notion that real love does heal our wounds. In my younger years I would have thought of that notion too trite. Having my children with me in my life has given me profound purpose and meaning. As small children, they looked to me as their constant, their calming force. They were my purpose for staying strong, stoic, steady. When they were little and even now, I give them my continued support. Also, it took me years of being single to allow myself to fall in love again. I feel thankful to my family and to my God that I have another chance at a lifetime partnership. So much healing has taken place but the memories in the emotions are still there. The muscle memories within the physical scars, are still there.

I see what those court advocate where talking about, all those years ago. I have come through the pain of a trial that allows me to empathize with the profound pain of others. Sharing my pain can save lives, or at least meeting others at their depths, so they feel less alone. Not that I have the answers, only the experience in the struggle to survive. I believe now, as a nurse (or soon to be) I can come along side someone and show them I understand what it’s like to be in pain. I can better understand where they’re at because of what I’ve been through. Not everyone is ready to hear a story like mine. A lot of times i get the, “ wide eyed, gaping mouth” reaction. But sometimes I meet someone who says, that it was what they needed to hear. It gives them the courage to set out on their own journey of survival. To start fresh, to start over if that’s what is necessary to start the healing process. As a massage therapist I deal with people and their physical pain all the time. I build care plans around strategies to begin the healing process. Many times, the physical pain is locked up with emotional pain underneath. I understand this, as I am there with them, letting them cry through their trauma. It’s a process that I feel privileged using my skills and abilities to aid in the healing.

#dv survivor #studyblr #nursingschool #healing from trauma #health and wellbeing #self care #battlescars #essay writing #kindness #be gentle with yourself

[fandersrequests]

Prompt Fill | Moceit

Title: You Win Some, You Steal Some

Chapter: Chapter One: Good News, Bad News

Ship(s): Main Ship - Moceit (Eventual), Background Ships - 3 Surprise Ships

Summary: Janus Noirblanc may not be a real parent but he's every bit the dedicated guardian as all the PTA parents. When his little brother and ward comes home with a flyer advertising the next PTA bake sale, Janus decides its time to show these rich kid's parents how its done. Especially the cute dad with the cardigan always tied around his neck.

Prompt: PTA rivals. She did say in her prompt "plot twist - they are dating" but considering muse decided that this is gonna be a Big Ol' Fic, I'm hoping she forgives me.

Requester: @sunshineandteddybears​

Rating: PG-13

Chapters: One | Two

If you prefer AO3′s format, you can find the fanfic here. Also, the tag for this specific story/au is ywsyss au, if you want to track it for updates as I don’t do tag lists.

Chapter One: Good News, Bad News

"Hey."

Janus looked up from the newspaper he had been reading, heterochromatic eyes seeking the owner of the voice that had sounded through the apartment. 

“Virgil. My favorite son. Tell me, how was school today?” Janus called back.

The boy in question stepped into the living room, dropping his messenger bag by the couch. Janus caught the tail end of the double eye roll, smirking. 

“You’re crazier than I thought if you think I’m suddenly gonna tell you shit. Just because you are my guardian does not mean I’m gonna open up to you. You’re still my older brother and I’m not your son.”

“Sure thing, Hamilton.” 

Janus watched as his younger brother came to the couch, stretching his limbs for a few seconds. The older man snorted at the thought that he looked like a slinky alley cat stretching like that. A few more seconds and Virgil had slunk so far down into the couch that it almost seemed as if the couch was absorbing him. 

Silence fell between them but it was comfortable. It did make him think about the people who were awed when he told them he was raising his kid brother. They were certain Virgil must be a terror. He laughed and wiped invisible tears of glee before setting them straight; if anything, Janus was likely more of a terror for Virgil than the other way around. 

“Oh. I have something for you. Er, well… two somethings.” 

Janus raised a brow, an interested expression slipping onto his face. 

“Oh?”

Virgil blushed then. Or was it blanched. Honestly, it looked a lot like both with the way his cheeks were splotchy here and there. A hand rose to rub at the back of his neck and it was this along with the fact that Virgil would no longer look him in the eyes that told Janus that at least one of these something was a “bad” something. 

“Do I want to know?”

Virgil hesitated, his lip bit suddenly and he started to rock. Janus felt a rush of fear, knowing the signs that a panic attack could very well be not too far off. He took deep breaths himself and Virgil’s own breathing soon followed. The older man felt a rush of relief as he watched Virgil take one single deep, deep breath before letting it out slowly. Janus smiled at Virgil when the other looked his way once more, the pride easy to read in his gaze. Virgil said nothing about the almost attack. They had agreed with Virgil’s psychiatrist, Dr. Picani, that—for Virgil—bringing up the act could cause more anxiety so soon after and so they pretended as if nothing had happened until Virgil was fully calmed. 

“Okay, good news or bad news first?”

“Bad.” It would definitely benefit them both to end on the good note. 

Virgil nodded, having expected that, and rose. Janus watched as his brother made his way to his bag, crouching down to rummage through it. Virgil presumably pulled paper from it as when he stood up and returned, there were a couple sheets of paper in his hand. Virgil quickly shoved one of them at him. 

Janus took it, brow quirked as he took in the fear in Virgil’s eyes. Glancing down, Janus could see why. The paper was his most recent report card and Virgil had not done too well. 

Honestly though, it was definitely not his worst report card. In fact, his brother’s grades had been improving significantly over the last year and a half—ever since their parents had died in that car crash—and though Virgil tried to play it off, Janus made sure he told Virgil he was proud. Still, this report card showed he was still struggling in Algebra and Chemistry. Janus was certain that this time it was less depression and grief and more that Virgil just was not a natural at the “left brain” subjects. 

“Okay, so… we need a little more focus and study in Algebra and Chemistry but Virgil… this really isn’t that bad. You’ve had far worse cards than this—understandably so considering… well, not important. Point is, we can work with this, Virge. This does mean I’ll have to get you a tutor.”

Virgil suddenly stirred from his slouch, straightening up more than normal. 

“I’ve actually got a friend who knows this guy in our grade who is like… really smart. Especially in these subjects. Roman gave me his number if you want it?”

Janus narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know why but he was certain he could hear a hint of hope but that didn’t make sense… 

Oh. The boy’s got a crush on this kid.

He laughed silently to himself, not wishing to let Virgil in on the fact that he had figured out why he was acting a little strange. Part of him did want to tease but he decided that could wait. 

“Okay, yeah. Sure. I’ll have to interview him, of course.”

Virgil’s pupils dilated, presumably out of fear or worry but he masked his expression quick enough. When he nodded, Janus grinned. 

“Well, there it is then. All figured out. I’m going to hold onto this though.” 

Setting it on his lap, he nodded at the second sheet of paper that Virgil had retrieved, still clutched firmly in his hand. 

“And what’s this one?”

Virgil’s brows screwed up in confusion until he looked down at the paper in his hand, as if he had forgotten he was still holding it. Likely, Janus supposed, considering his fear at giving him the report card. 

“Oh! Right. That bake sale thing you always get so gung-ho about… they were passing out these in our classes. For the PTA. I thought, since you love cooking and baking so much, that you might enjoy it but then again, it’s for the PTA and you’re not really my parent and you probably think its dumb and I’m starting to regret calling it good news but… yeah.” 

Janus snorted and shook his head. 

“I mean, probably usually you would be right but I would love nothing more than to out bake all those prissy moms.”

Virgil snorted. 

“Why am I not surprised?” he asked as he handed Janus the flyer. 

Janus looked the flyer over. According to it, the bake sale would be the Saturday next at the school gym, 10:00 AM sharp. Janus would have to get off work that day but honestly, it would be so worth it. In fact, he supposed he might as well take Friday off as well. If he was going to out bake the rich kid’s parents then he was going all in. No sense doing something half assed, especially when showing rich people up. 

“I guess this means I’ll have to join the PTA. Any idea who runs it?”

“Logan’s mom… oh, uh… Logan being the guy that—”

“Yes, yes. The tutoring kid. I’ll just ask to talk to her when I call him about setting up some sessions.” 

Virgil blushed but said nothing as he slid his hands into the pockets of his favorite hoodie. Janus held back a teasing grin, not wanting to let his little brother in on the fact he figured it out. 

“Cool,” he said finally. 

“Mmhm.” 

Janus could feel the air around them growing awkward and he let Virgil chill in that awkward for a good, healthy few moments before clapping his hands together. 

“Well, I’d say that’s enough excitement for the evening. Now, I was going to cook but after this trying time due to that Report Card—”

“Ass.”

“—I don’t really feel up to it. How about I let you drive my car and you go pick us up some burgers or something?”

Virgil perked up after that, happily accepting the errand since it meant he got to drive. Janus had made sure that Virgil took Driver’s Ed and then the driving test, but they couldn’t afford a second car so Janus let Virgil drive when there were short errands that could be done close by. 

“Great.” Janus tossed his little brother the keys. “Be sure to readjust the mirrors and wear your seat belt.” 

“Yes, Mom.” 

Janus made a face at that before staring at his little brother pointedly. Virgil sighed. 

“Okay, okay. Sorry. But I do know all this stuff… but I know you’re just looking out for me.”

It was the closest he would get to a thank you and Janus was happy to take it. 

“I’ll text you what I want so you have it when you get there.”

Virgil nodded. Janus watched as he subconsciously checked for his wallet, phone, and keys in his hand. He smiled, knowing that he had taught Virgil that and it was so nice to see it stick. Next, Janus handed Virgil his card. 

“Fill the car up first. Then get the food.” 

“Kay. See you, loser.”

“Heh. See you soon, V.”

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[moonriverandkamila]

I’m feeling 22! (Part 1)

Today, May 4th of 2020, I turned 22 years old. 

When I was in kindergarten (although it was more of a daycare), I remember being scared of going to class without my mother. I was a fast-walker, and my house and my school was just a-minute-distance. I am still not sure if it was my shy personality or the fear of making mistakes - and being scolded for it, that made me fear being away from a guardian who could defend me from a teacher. 

When I was in elementary:

On first grade, I experienced having a crush at first sight, who was a boy that was smaller than me, and a girl that I decided would be my best friend because she gestured me to sit with her during the first day of class. I remember during a math class, our teacher was not in the classroom and she had us answer, or maybe copy some addition and subtraction from a textbook. Maybe it was pride that didn’t make me stop, but I ran around the classroom during our whole period while I watch my classmates do their work. I was scolded by my teacher, and I had to stay in class during lunch time. Looking back, I think my shyness disappeared during elementary. 

On second grade, I met new classmates. I had a feeling that my adviser didn’t like me, but I was a child who wanted attention so I think I wasn’t the only one who worried about not being liked. One afternoon, a mischievous classmate, who sat behind me, told me he’s going to whisper something in my ear. I leaned closer to him, and he kissed me on the cheeks. Back then, I was laughing and cringing. Now, I wonder if he actually had a crush on me. My father was the one to drive and fetch me to/from school, but I remember commuting in a tricycle because the driver told me he was routed to my subdivision – and I was afraid to say no. I rode the tricycle, literally saw my father on his motorcycle less than a meter away from me, but I didn’t call him. I told the driver to drop me off at the municipal office (where my mom is still currently working for) because I had no money for fare. I came there, with my mom on the phone because my father was so worried that I had gone missing. That was my first commute experience.

(There was also one particular memory that I had with my subdivision friends. We went to play in the subdivision court, where these rice/palay crops were left under the heat of the sun. My friends went running on them, playing, tossing them around – and I watched from the side, telling them to stop. They ignored me, so I joined them instead. A wrong choice, now that I think of it. But hey, I was a child. One of the house owners near the scene saw us, and shouted her lungs out, calling us. She sounded very angry. She was angry. My friends ran away, but I froze on the spot. She kept shouting at us, telling us how it was so wrong that we would step on and play with food. Or maybe she kept on shouting because I was still there. Maybe she was just scaring us, and she had no intention of scolding us face-to-face. But I walked towards her, scared but, ready to be scolded. Alone. I don’t know how to put it into words now, but the tricycle driver incident and the angry woman incident made me think if I was a people-pleaser, a person who couldn’t say no, or just a girl who didn’t want to be bad.)

On third grade, I met the teacher who changed the path I thought I was destined to take. I didn’t know I had potentials, but somehow, she saw it (whatever they were) and encouraged me to take an admission test for the fourth grade special class - called SPED, at that time, but it literally just meant the highest section. I took the test, at that time I didn’t know what it was but, I just did. She came to our classroom one afternoon and she told me the proudest “congratulations” I would ever hear from a teacher, or from a stranger, when I passed the exam. I decided I want to be that for someone. Someone who sees potentials. Someone who encourages to taste and see.  I was good with those window drill cards, with M1 (Multiplication 1) and D1 (Division 1). Answering those was like an unspoken competition between my classmates, and I always finished first. No kidding, I think my longest record for that was a minute. Around our fourth grading period, we did A1 (Addition 1) + S1 (Subtraction 1) again. I took a longer time, while my other classmates finished them - not in a flash, I must say, but way quicker than I did. I remember looking at my adviser in the eye at that time. She wasn’t judging me, but I felt so embarrassed. I realized that time, that we are not always the best. That there are things other are better at. It made me humble, for a few months, until I became very self-centered – this one I hadn’t quite realized until college.  For some reason though, I comforted myself that I was good at the ‘higher’ level Math: multiplication and division. But none of it mattered when I went to high school, because I sucked so badly at Math.

On fourth grade, I attended the highest section class. I had no idea though. I had this slam notebook that I passed around for my classmates to answer – with their names, birthdays, favorite things, crush, own definition of love. Maybe it was just a girl thing, those slam notebooks, but I knew I really liked knowing about people. Not gossip, but just knowing. My adviser confiscated that slam notebook one morning, and she kept it until the afternoon. I don’t remember when, perhaps a few days after that, she changed our seating arrangements and she made me sit on the front row desk, on the third column – which made no sense because only shorter people are ‘allowed’ to sin on the front. But it would make sense if I sat with my crush from grade 1, the boy who was smaller than me. She read my entry in the slam notebook. That was the only explanation I could think of. I do not know the term, but after being loyal to my grade 1 crush, I ‘picked’ another crush as a joke, and it became an inside joke between me and my classmates. That crush lasted until sometime in high school. Then two real crushes in high school. If I count it, I actually have few real crushes that lasted me YEARS before I could move on from one crush to the other. I couldn’t really remember if I was attracted to them, or if I just picked a crush and stick to it. However, it mattered to me that I didn’t easily change my picks. I was loyal. When I was 18, rather than picking, I chose a guy I wanted to date. It was the same guy who, according to him, liked me and waited for me ever since I was in high school. Despite my indecisiveness, I was sure of him. At 18, I started believing that love is a choice and not just a chance to pick.

On fifth grade, I first experienced being unable to see at far distances. We had these cute wooden tables to ourselves, way different to the classic desks we were all used to. I was on the farthest corner from the blackboard. I remember my adviser telling me to get eyeglasses – there was this medical mission activity just outside our school that focused on giving eyeglasses to those who need it. But I didn’t come. I reasoned that we have a Math quiz and I don’t want to miss it.

The truth was I couldn’t go there alone. And I never had my first eyeglasses until around the third grading of my first year in high school, so I became so terrible at Maths and Algebra because I couldn’t see the equations on the board – and no words would help me understand Math without visual representation, not now and not ever. Because of my near-sightedness, I decided that Math wasn’t for me. It lasted until college, and maybe it will for the rest of my life.

On sixth grade, I saw two of my teachers cry. One was out of embarrassment. One was out of worry. Seeing the first teacher cry made me think “I don’t want to be like her.” Maybe I judged her. But after some thinking, it changed to “I don’t want that to happen to me.” It was a major shift of perspective for me, because that time, I realized that our mistakes or situation do not define us as a whole. There are just some ugly things that happen to us no matter how hard we try. The next day, she came to school and we had our class normally. Maybe it was an adult thing, just moving on after a bump. But crying, I thought at age 11, was not an adult thing. The second teacher cried out of worry because she thought one of my classmates had gone missing, after messing up an errand. Maybe it was relief? Or anger? I thought negatively (but not really) of my teachers who cried, but at age 20 (no matter how I tried to be professional, refusing to accept their Facebook friends requests until the school year was over), I cried out of frustration in front of my (practice-teaching) students. But on that day, my grand demo teaching, I was so proud of them as well. I made sure I told them. I wanted them to be assured, that I believe in them. Always.

In my first year in high school, I met my first official best friend. I first befriended her because she was seatmates with my crush from grade 4 (my second pick), the one that lasted until sometime in high school. It was a ‘bad’ motive to befriend someone, I know. But it wasn’t like I did it to harm her or anyone. (Are our motives justified if we think that way?) And she couldn’t care less about him being her seatmate, that we became friends just because. No idea how, but we just did. Whenever I open my Facebook, and those Facebook memories pop up, our posts and conversations appear – and I realized that I was really self-centered. It made me thankful that she remained being my friend. It was too late to ask her now if I annoyed her or offended her. The dislike I felt from my other high school friends was so obvious – but no matter how I try, I couldn’t remember a moment that I felt that she disliked me. Maybe she was just good at concealing her feelings. After several years, despite the differences in our streams and boats, she is still one of the few friends I trust and treasure. Maybe I wish things were different, but remaining on one place just because is good for me, too.

In my second year in high school, I met new friends who introduced me to Kpop – and I had no idea how they would bring colors to my high school life. They all said high school is the best part of life. I used to think it was because my high school life had Kpop in it. Maybe it was one factor, but what were the odds of nine high school girls being friends and making colorful memories? Whenever I hear the word nostalgia, those were the memories, and the people I think of the most. The people who first pointed out my self-centered personality, maybe out of anger or frustration, or concern. I figured as adults, such feelings often roll into one honest remark that we often mistake as hatred or judgment. One of them, I remember, was so guilty when we talked about it after some years. Maybe she reflected on it. But I did, too. Maybe she regret saying them, maybe she regret ‘being mean’ but looking back, it was a good reminder to me. Maybe we identify our ‘mistakes’ or ‘bad attitude’, and feel sorry for them, and that’s a good way to go – but I love how God makes it for the good of others, too.

 In my third year in high school, I won my first competition (ever) in an essay-writing contest during our Buwan ng Wika (Filipino Club’s event). I remember my eight girl friends sitting beside me during the programme, and we were waiting for the announcements. The second placer was in the same year level as me, only she was in the highest class. And let’s be honest, I sucked in a science high school and often felt like I didn’t belong there. One of my friends comforted me, accepting defeat, I didn’t dislike the gesture. It felt nice, that her first reaction was to comfort me, and it was enough for me. But I was expectant, for some reason. Maybe it was my self-centered personality, although I didn’t really think I was the best. I just believed I was good. The host announced that the first placer, the winner, was in the third-year too. My friends cheered and screamed, the whole batch screamed. They knew it was me. I knew it, too. I went up the stage to receive my certificate, and on my way down the stage, I caught a glimpse of my adviser coming towards me, she was proud. I missed the steps, and I slipped in front of the whole gymnasium. They laughed, but I wasn’t really embarrassed – because I won. And even if it was a third placer award, I wouldn’t feel embarrassed too, I was sure. Because I won. I was laughing when I went back to my seat, my friends waiting but still laughing so hard. Two of my friends won, too. It was a great afternoon. I won in a writing competition, and my friends whom I treasured more than anything, as a fourteen-year-old, were there, not just for me, but with me. I became a total introvert in college, had social anxiety issues that made me miss classes on my final year. I started to say that I don’t like people, but that wasn’t true. I wanted company. Not people who would always agree with me, but people who were sure they would be with me.

In my final year in high school, I saw the remark of my teacher in one of my essays for her subject. She said I had a unique, good style in writing. It made me feel good, so good that if I think about it now, I would have bragged about it to my friends. But I can’t remember that now. The same teacher saw me and told me that I should join the campus’ school paper. But maybe I was lazy, or I didn’t see the point of joining in my final year. But I remembered thinking maybe I was worth being on a school paper, so I joined one in college. I remember graduating, and my friend crying to the song Long Live by Taylor Swift, as we huddle up, all nine of us. I remember enjoying the moment, the idea that I graduated in a science high school despite being so bad in Maths, or maybe everything except English. This high school had influenced me so much, making me think I am not good (after years of realizing that it was my perspective that lowered my self-esteem and not the curriculum) – but also giving me the privilege of being in good company, my friends. The future was set for me after that graduation. I already had a university to attend, with one of my friends. Most of us would study in Manila, and we could meet from time to time. That was my plan. That was what I was expecting. I was 15. I didn’t know that it would change for me. All of it.

College was not easy for me. I remember being an outcast in my block section because they disliked the university publication I was a part of. But I had two friends who stayed with me. We were inseparable. Not until we reached second year and had different majors. This was when I wondered if I was a bad friend who was not good with maintaining friendships.  I had many friends from when I was young and until now, and I came to a conclusion that I am the friend that you couldn’t remain friends with if you don’t see me often. It still applies up to this day, with few people merely making it. Not that I was a price or something. I was a bad friend, I admit. In my final year in college, in the year of social anxiety, depression, and missing classes – I told my college friends to “leave me alone” but in the nicest way possible. They were mad that I missed classes. They talked it out with me, communicated with me, but all I asked was for them to let me do what I want and have to do, all by myself. But I have a reason! Now that I think about it, it was so immature. I felt guilty that they had to deal with the “Where is she?” “Is she coming to school today?”  and being stuck with an irresponsible friend who does not even speak whenever she comes to class.

I was wrong. I realized I was just being ignorant of the company I have in them, refusing to admit that I need their help. Or that I need anyone’s help. The next day after I told to leave me alone, they let me do what I had to do. Of course, it would be wrong to think that they abandoned me after I tell them that. But I never really thought that way. They were the nicest friends, the deepest friends. We refused to badmouth our classmates (but not always, haha), refused to “help” each other by cheating, refused to do anything that is wrong. Instead, we pointed out what was wrong. We pointed out what we needed to do properly. Pointed out what was wrong with me. Pointed out what I need to do properly. They were not the type to get sick of a friend and leave them hanging. They were the friends who communicated with me, and friends who wanted to be my company. We didn’t graduate together, of course. I stayed for one more year in college, completing the required courses for me to graduate. I stayed for one more year, and they were with me. I was not with them for their final year in college, but they were there for mine. I learned a lot of things in college. My darkest days, yet, were in college. But in those dark days, I was enlightened by one realization: It is a gift to have a friend who corrects you; communicates with you; comes to you even in during your stormy seasons.

 Today, I turned 22.

I’m feeling 22.

Unsure, afraid, but thankful.

Joyful.

I looked back in my life so far. Suddenly, all the things I expected and wanted to have and achieve at 22 weren’t as important as the things I learned from my past.

If it weren’t for Jesus and for the people He allowed in my life to be my company, I wouldn’t have felt this joy.

#kamila's words #kamila's thoughts #moonriverandkamila #moonriverandkamila's #essay #personal essay #words #spilled thoughts #spilled memories #spilled ink #i'm feeling 22 #i'm feeling 22 part 1 #I crammed this without proofreading #Please understand

[kostya-kolomnitinowe886c-blog]

The Names and Faces of the Florida School Shooting Victims

As gunshots echoed through the high school, a geography teacher, Scott Beigel, 35, paused to usher stragglers into his classroom before locking the door, only to be shot and killed himself as the shooter strode by.

A parent, Jennifer Zeif, credited Mr. Beigel for saving her son’s life. Short Term Loans Her son, Matthew, 14, had been the last one to slip inside the class, just ahead of Mr. Beigel. Seconds later, the room filled with a smoky haze, Matthew said, and he turned to see his teacher lying near the door, pale and bleeding. Consumer Banking | Personal Banking | U.S. Bank

Scott Beigel.

“Mr. Beigel could have passed Matthew up and gone in the classroom first,” Ms. Zeif said. “In that case, Matthew would have been the one in the doorway.”

On Thursday, as officials identified 17 people killed in the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Fla., some of the victims, like Mr. Beigel, were remembered for having tried to spare others in the moments of chaos that unfolded inside the school.

Aaron Feis, a popular football coach who was killed, also had tried to protect students, officials said. “He was that kind of guy,” said Jack Fris, a former football player at the school.

Friends said they were not surprised that Mr. Beigel, a much-beloved figure at a Pennsylvania summer camp that he attended and later helped to run, had put his students’ safety above his own.

“Thousands of people at Camp Starlight looked up to Scott,” said Grant Williams, 33, an emergency room nurse who worked with Mr. Beigel at the camp for several summers and was mourning long-distance with former camp counselors and campers on Thursday. “He was someone you strive to be like,” said another former Starlight counselor.

At the Florida high school, teachers and students were among the dead. There was a soccer player, a student nicknamed Guac and a trombonist in the marching band. Eight of the victims were girls and young women; nine were boys and men. They ranged from 14 years old to 49.

These are some of their stories.

Alyssa Alhadeff.Alyssa Alhadeff

Alyssa Alhadeff, 14, had played competitive soccer since she was 3 years old. Like any athlete, she had her ups and downs. But when her club, Parkland, faced off against the rival team from Coral Springs on Feb. 13, she was at the top of her game.

“Her passing was on, her shooting was on, her decision-making was on,” her mother, Lori Alhadeff, recalled. With her outgoing personality, Alyssa had a wide circle of friends at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. She placed first in a debate tournament, was taking Algebra 2 and Spanish 3, and was honing her skills as an attacking midfielder. The score at what was to be her last time on the soccer field was 1-0, Parkland.

“I was so proud of her,” her mother said. “I told her it was the best game of her life.”

Martin Duque Anguiano.Martin Duque Anguiano

Martin Duque Anguiano, a 14-year-old freshman, was “a very funny kid, outgoing and sometimes really quiet,” his brother, Miguel Duque, wrote on a GoFundMe page for funeral expenses.

“He was sweet and caring and loved by all his family,” Miguel wrote. “Most of all he was my baby brother.”

Nicholas Dworet.Credit...via ReutersNicholas Dworet

Nicholas Dworet, a promising high school swimmer, took a recruiting visit to the University of Indianapolis a few weeks ago. After a group dinner, he pulled the coach aside and said he wanted to compete there after he graduated this spring.

“He was an instant part of our family,” said Jason Hite, the university’s swim coach. Mr. Hite said Nicholas, 17, had received an academic scholarship and planned to study physical therapy.

University officials and a youth swim team in Florida said Nicholas was among those killed on Wednesday. A post on the Facebook page for TS Aquatics, the Florida club where he swam, described Nicholas as an amazing person who had been “on a major upswing in his life.”

Nicholas had improved academically and athletically since starting high school, Mr. Hite said, and his mentors in Florida “felt like the best was still to come for him.”

“We were going to continue to groom him to be a future leader for our team,” Mr. Hite said.

Mr. Hite said he sent Nicholas a text message on Wednesday afternoon after hearing about the shooting at his school. He got no response.

“The saddest thing to me is how much life this kid had and how hard he had worked to change directions and change paths,” Mr. Hite said. “He was really going in the right direction and he had really created some opportunities for himself.”

Aaron Feis.Aaron Feis

At Stoneman Douglas, Mr. Feis was known to all — an assistant football coach and a security monitor. But he too had graduated from the school, played on the football team, and knew exactly what it was like to be a student in these halls.

So he was seen as someone who looked out for students who got in trouble, those who were struggling, those without fathers at home. “They said he was like another father,” Mr. Feis’s grandfather, Raymond, recalled. “He’d go out of his way to help anybody.”

School officials said that Mr. Feis, 37, did the same on Wednesday. When there were signs of trouble, they said, he responded immediately to help. “When Aaron Feis died, when he was killed — tragically, inhumanely — he did it protecting others; you can guarantee that,” said Scott Israel, the sheriff of Broward County.

“I don’t know when Aaron’s funeral is,” Sheriff Israel said. “I don’t know how many adults are going to go, but you’ll get 2,000 kids there.”

In Parkland, Austin Lazar, a student, recalled his former coach as cheery and selfless. “He always put everybody before himself.”

Mr. Feis was married, his family said, and had a daughter, Arielle.

Jaime Guttenberg.Credit...via Associated PressJaime Guttenberg

Jaime Guttenberg, 14, danced nonstop. Sometimes she went on for hours, her aunt, Ellyn Guttenberg, said. Jaime was warm, too, always taking Ms. Guttenberg’s son, who has special needs, under her wing.

Jaime’s Facebook page, now memorialized, shows photos of her dancing, hanging out with friends, enjoying the beach and snuggling a dog.

Her father, Fred Guttenberg, posted this on Facebook: “I am broken as I write this trying to figure out how my family gets through this.”

Christopher Hixon.Credit...Susan Stocker/South Florida Sun SentinelChristopher Hixon

Christopher Hixon, 49, the school’s athletic director, was a well-known figure in Florida high school sports. One man, Jose Roman, posted on social media that Mr. Hixon was “a great coach and an awesome motivator” when he was a freshman athlete years ago.

Mr. Hixon was named athletic director of the year in 2017 by the Broward County Athletics Association.

Luke Hoyer.Luke Hoyer

Luke Hoyer, 15, spent last Christmas with his extended family in South Carolina, where he bowled, joined in a big holiday meal and swapped stories with relatives.

A cousin, Grant Cox, who was at the Christmas gathering said the family had been told by the police that Luke, a freshman at Stoneman Douglas, was among those killed on Wednesday.

Mr. Cox said Luke was a basketball player who was ambitious about the sport and admired N.B.A. stars like LeBron James and Stephen Curry.

“I know Luke loved his family,” Mr. Cox said. “I know he did. He had a huge heart.”

“He was quiet, but a very happy individual,” he said.

Cara LoughranCara Loughran

Cara Loughran, 14, loved the beach. She adored her cousins. And she was an excellent student, her family said.

“We are absolutely gutted,” by her death, her aunt, Lindsay Fontana, wrote in a Facebook post. “While your thoughts are appreciated, I beg you to DO SOMETHING. This should not have happened to our niece Cara and it cannot happen to other people’s families.”

Gina Montalto.Credit...via Associated PressGina Montalto

Gina Montalto, 14, was identified in local news accounts as a member of her school’s winter color guard team.

Andy Mroczek, who has worked as a choreographer at Stoneman Douglas, posted a tribute to Gina on Facebook. “We lost a beautiful soul tonight,” he wrote.

Joaquin Oliver.Joaquin Oliver

People often spelled Joaquin Oliver’s first name wrong, so he went with a snappy nickname: Guac.

He played basketball in the city recreational league — his jersey number was 2 — and he loved to write, filling a notebook with poetry, said Julien Decoste, a close friend of Joaquin’s and a fellow senior at Stoneman Douglas.

“Guac and I always wanted to graduate together and prove everyone wrong, that we would be successful together,” Julien said.

On Tuesday, Joaquin, 17, asked Julien to help out at his next basketball game, which was scheduled for Thursday.

“I’ll be there,” Julien texted his friend. “Good looks brotha,” Joaquin responded.

On Wednesday, as he hid inside a closet during the shooting, Julien texted Joaquin to check in.

“You good?” Julien texted. “Bro I need you to answer me please.”

Alaina Petty.Alaina Petty

Alaina Petty, 14, had helped do cleanup work in Florida after Hurricane Irma, her family said in a statement, and she was an active member of a volunteer group with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

“Her selfless service brought peace and joy to those that had lost everything during the storm,” the family’s statement said. “While we will not have the opportunity to watch her grow up and become the amazing woman we know she would become, we are keeping an eternal perspective.”

Alaina was also a member of the Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps, her family said.

Meadow Pollack.Meadow Pollack

Meadow Pollack, 18, was a senior at the high school who was planning to go to Lynn University in Boca Raton, Fla., next year, according to her father, Andrew Pollack, who said his daughter was among the dead.

“She was just unbelievable,” Mr. Pollack said. “She was a very strong-willed young girl who had everything going for her.”

Mr. Pollack described his daughter as smart, beautiful and caring. She worked at her boyfriend’s family’s motorcycle repair business.

“She just knew how to get what she wanted all the time,” Mr. Pollack said. “Nothing could ever stop her from what she wanted to achieve.”

Helena Ramsay.Helena Ramsay

Helena Ramsay, 17, was smart, kindhearted and thoughtful, her relative, Curtis Page, wrote on Facebook.

“Though she was somewhat reserved, she had a relentless motivation towards her academic studies, and her soft warm demeanor brought the best out in all who knew her,” he said, later adding: “She would have started college next year.”

Alex Schachter.Alex Schachter

Alex Schachter, 14, played the trombone in the Stoneman Douglas marching band, and was proud to have participated in winning a state championship last year. A freshman at the high school, he often played basketball with friends and was “a sweetheart of a kid,” his father, Max Schachter, said. Earlier this week, the two had discussed which classes Alex would take next semester.

Mr. Schachter said Alex had loved his mother, who died when he was five years old. His older brother also attends Stoneman Douglas and survived the shooting. Alex “just wanted to do well and make his parents happy,” his father said.

Carmen SchentrupCarmen Schentrup

Carmen Schentrup, a 2018 National Merit Scholarship semifinalist, was the smartest 16-year-old that her cousin, Matt Brandow, had ever met, he said in a Facebook post.

“I’m in a daze right now,” he wrote.

Peter WangPeter Wang.

Peter Wang, 15, a freshman, helped his cousin, Aaron Chen, adjust when he settled in Florida.

“He was always so nice and so generous,” Aaron, 16, said, adding that even though Peter was younger he had worked to be sure Aaron didn’t get bullied when he first arrived.

Peter was last seen in his gray uniform for the Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps, or J.R.O.T.C., on Wednesday. On Thursday, Aaron and another cousin said the authorities had informed the family that Peter was among those killed in the shooting.

“He was the kid in school who would be friends with anyone,” said the other cousin, Lin Chen, 24. “He didn’t care about popularity.”

[inverted-prompts]

LONG POST!!!! (like really, it is a long ass post)

Prologue:

Earth has been abandoned. Her resources gone, the human race had ruined her. The once blue sky now brown and grey, clouds swirling and wreaking havoc on the already abused islands and continents. Land masses nothing more than dry, cracked husks of what was once something beautiful. The seas, no longer deep blue and shimmering in the sunlight, are acidic and in turmoil.

No longer able to sustain life, humans have left earth, and are living in an entirely different galaxy. It’s a new age, a new time. A chance to start over. Humans now occupy the planet Gaea, a world nearly identical to earth. Life continues as it did back on Earth.

This is the diary of a 14 year old girl, where she shares her first hand experience with her brother, Trey Winters. In this diary, it is better understood the social effects of having lost one’s emotions.

December 7, 201 N.S.A

16:00

Dear Diary,

My algebra teacher sucks, he assigns way to much homework. I basically have to do 5 pages of problems, and graph the points we made in class! I can not wait until I graduate, then I will not have to worry about homework ever again! I will also never have to see Mr. Johnson’s stupid face again. Trey tells me I am being a bit harsh, but it’s true.

Trey was telling me that he is heading over to the hospital to visit mom, and that he would be back for dinner. He was putting on the long, deep maroon trench coat I got him for his birthday a while back, which made me smile. I am glad he likes it, I was so worried at the time that he would not. Anyway, mother had developed a cancer strain that was a rare mutation of the zelibrem virus. She only had months to live according to the doctors. Our father wasn’t dealing with it very well, but then again, who would? It was such a blow to the family, but we all tried to keep our minds off of it.

He was telling me to stay home, so I asked him why could I not go to the hospital with him, because that seemed dumb. I was talking to him as he was trying to leave, leaning against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. I am taking acting 3, so I put an overdramatic irritated scowl on my face. I could not put my hands on my hips because I was still holding my calculator and tablet pen, so instead, I crossed my arms and popped out a hip, trying to be as sassy as possible. I could tell Mr. Howard that I did, in fact practice.

Trey told me I could not go with him because I have homework to do. Well he does too, so his point was invalid. But he just shook his head at me! Trey just smiled at me as he tugged on his deep maroon red coat, buttoning it up to his neck. He told me it was also because it was cold outside. Because it was cold outside. So what?! I could just put on a jacket! But he ignored me and just grabbed the bouquet of flowers, and he inched his way out the door.

And then! The nerve of my brother, he tells me to tell father that he will be back in time for dinner! I am not some sort of messenger, I am his sister for God’s sake! But he just smiled, waving with the flowers at me, his greatly annoyed sister, as he slowly closes the door.

I told him that he owed me his dessert later tonight, and he promised me he would.

As soon as Trey closed the door, I ran upstairs to my room to put on my jacket and boots, which are brand new, by the way. The jacket was fuzzy on the inside, and zipped up to my neck. It was black, but I did not mind. I also had my boots match, they went up to mid calf range, so I feel pretty stylish! I gotta catch up to Trey, so once I do I will start writing again. Be right back!

16:00

It is freezing out. I know that it is the middle of winter and all, but for crying out loud, it’s like, -23°! Ridiculous. My breath curls into the air in puffs, which is pretty cool. It��s like I am a dragon who has run out of fire juice, just blowing out steam. It snowed both yesterday and this morning, so freshly fallen snow is coating the ground. Winter is Trey’s favorite season, for some reason. He tells me that he loves the sound of the snow crunching under his boots, and the joy of being able to bundle up against the wind. The more layers, the better, he says. He could just curl up in front of the fire with me, hot chocolates in hand, and watch our favorite movies. Which, I must admit, sounds like a lot of fun. It truly was one of the most magical times of the year, whether you like it or not.

I think Trey turned the corner, since I can not see him anymore. I need to catch up!

I caught up, but I am not too close so that he will notice that I am behind him. I feel like I am in a spy movie. Anyway, it was rather quiet out in the neighborhood, most kids inside doing their homework, and their parents still at work. However, there were a lot of snowmen in the yards of our neighbors. It would probably be busier in the actual city, although less snowmen which will be sad.

I have to try and catch up again, writing and walking is hard!

As I predicted, the city is fairly active. There were taxis and buses slowly hovering over along the roads, the hover-disks slower because of the cold. There were still many cars with wheels, because hover-disks are still a new development. So far, only public transportation and storage transports were allowed to use the hover-disks.

Oh my gosh it is Mrs. Howard. I love this woman, she is so sassy! Oh, she is stopping to talk to Trey, I will right down their conversation after they are done talking. I really hope she roasts him good.

Mrs. Howard: “Good morning Trey!”

Trey: “Oh! Good morning Mrs. Howard!”

Mrs. Howard: “How are the flowers I sold you? Have you killed them yet?”

Trey: “No Mrs. Howard. They are still as healthy as when you sold them to me.”

Mrs. Howard: “Hmph! They better be, boy! Only the best for your poor mother!”

Mrs. Howard is an old family friend, so she knew all about the situation our family was currently in.

Trey is moving on without me, so I am just going to put away my diary for now.

December 8, 201 N.S.A

11:00

Dear Diary,

I can barely write, my hands are shaking so badly. I don’t even remember what I was thinking, calling out his name like that. This is what the police officers said happened, from their analysis anyway.

               Trey looked up at the sudden jarring noise of hovers failing, and a hover carrier careened towards him. The hover jets had overheated, sputtering out. Unable to hold the weight of the cargo, the entire hover carrier spiraled towards him at 90 ppms (pulses per millisecond).

       I knew we should have just stuck with wheels. Hover-disks are too unreliable...

As the carrier collided with his body, the bouquet of flowers he was holding were thrown into the air, stems snapped and petals ripped off. Snow is flung up, sparkling and glittering in the sunlight. Trey is slammed into the wall of the store, coughing up blood.

I don’t know what I was thinking, I guess I just thought that that would be a good time to let Trey know that I was there. He would have had to take me to the hospital with him. Instead, I got to hear people screaming at one another to call the police. I could barely hear the sirens, because it’s just so mind numbing to watch your brother get hit by a hover carrier, you know?

Watching him get taken away on a stretcher by the paramedics, it was surreal. They wouldn’t let me into the ambulance with him. Even though I was crying and trying to convince them. I ended up running home took her father. He didn’t believe me at first, he thought it was just some dumb prank. But here we are. Waiting at the hospital, to see if Trey is OK.

A single petal, floats down from the sky…

December 9, 201 N.S.A

9:00

Dear Diary,

       I can hear the beeping of the monitor. It’s kind of irritating, but also serves as a marker of time passing by. All I hear is

      BEEP… BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…

        Doctor Shaun is the one who will be taking care of Trey. He seems like a nice guy, he was very polite to father and me. Now, father and I are waiting to see if Trey is OK. Dr. Shaw and is talking to him now, we are going to get to see him! It’s been a day but, it’s still a miracle that were able to see him so soon.

       I can hear Dr. Shaun talking to Trey. It’s kind of funny to hear Trey being called “Mr. Winters”.

        Doctor Shaun looked liked a stereotypical doctor. He had the normal close cropped brown hair, neatly trimmed. He wore his standard doctor’s uniform, all navy blue.

I hear him talking to Trey, saying something along the lines of “Welcome back, Mr. Winters. I am Doctor Shaun Maslin, but you can call me Doctor Shaun.”

I can hear Trey responding, but his voice is muffled through the door. I hope it isn’t too bad, Doctor Shaun said that he would make a full physical recovery. But he also said that there was something wrong with Trey’s brain. Something about his frontal lobe being damaged and how they have never seen something like this before. Doctor Shaun was very honest, something I think father appreciates. He is just got back from visiting mother, who is not doing to well either.

Oh my gosh, it sounds like we are allowed to come in now. I will write later, now, I get to see Trey!!

December 10, 201 N.S.A

06:00

Dear Diary,

     I now know what they mean when they said that there was damage to Trey’s frontal lobe. He is like a completely different person. He is not like the Trey everyone knew, he is like a robot. He has zero personality, no emotions. Doctor Shaun says that they are working to find out how to fix it, and I hope they find a way soon. It is kind of scary living with a person devoid of emotion.

Father is almost never home now. Constantly visiting mother or at the local bar. I would gladly, very gladly take a years worth of Algebra homework to make things go back to the way they used to be.

Hearing Trey for the first time was like a punch to the face. When Doctor Shaun motioned for us to come in, I was nervous. When I saw Trey, I was so happy to see that he was alive, I actually started crying tears of joy. Sure, he was in scary condition. His entire right leg was in a cast, his left arm also in a cast, his ribs were tightly bandaged, and he had gauze around his forehead. He looked like a mess, but he was alive!

But when he saw us he didn’t even smile. He was alive, but still devoid of life.

When he spoke, it was so monotone, so emotionless…. I didn’t know what to think. We are waiting for all of the casts to come off, he will be at the hospital for a while.

Today is a school day, so I need to get ready. I will keep updating, probably less now that I need to take care of both Trey and my father.

December 25, 201 N.S.A

09:24

Dear Diary,

Merry Christmas. Trey losing his emotions is so much worse than I thought it would be. He can not function in a normal social situation. Doctor Shaun has been running tests on his brain, trying to better understand his problem. He is currently working on a “fix” for Trey.

#writing #write #writeblr #writer #writers #writing prompts #prologue #work in progress #interpretation #prompts #prompt #write it motherfuckers #diary #not finished #probably wont finish it #fiction #science fiction #future #original #inverted prompts #inverted writing prompts

[for-the-love-of-life-lads]

Progress Report

No weight today.

I did pretty good, similar diet to yesterday. I drank less coffee and similar or less amounts of water than yesterday. My lunch was definitely less calories than yesterday just purely based on the fact that shrimp is less calories and more protein. 

I got my abs workout done as well, I think I might need to start increasing reps just because it seems to be getting easier than it was previously. However, I am seeing results when I look in the mirror which is encouraging. I went to get in a shower and started to see some definition in my tummy! That was a nice feeling.

(trigger warning suicide mentioning and explaining, just don’t read this please)

Feeling pretty low today. I just... I don’t even know. I guess I just wish I was dead a lot of the time. I feel like I’m always in trouble, I get in trouble even when I am trying to do the right thing. For example, I had missed a seminar for intro to college living that I needed to go to, and it was because I had to teach our class. So, I had gotten done with my calculus homework early and had decided that I should take a look at that seminar which was recorded and take some notes so that I would know what I need to do once some deadlines came up. My dad then asked what I was doing, and I explained what I was watching. He started yelling at me about how I needed to choose these specific dorms over the other, and kept asking which dorms had the least amount of freshmen. I told him that I wasn’t sure, that this seminar hadn’t said how the college students were split up, but that it was telling me some good information about the dorms in general. He then immediately started screaming about how I was dismissing him, and that I was ungrateful to him for his advice and that he had gotten me into this college in the first place. I hadn’t disagreed with him at all in the first place, I had actually been trying to take notes to see if they would tell me how many first years there would be in each dorm.  Second, I can’t believe he was taking credit for my acceptance to college (this is an ivy league school). I had maintained a 4.0 my ENTIRE high school career (without tutoring or help) was in all honors  classes my entire life, took algebra and geometry my freshmen year so that I could take AP calculus my senior year, filled out the applications and questions for over 20 different colleges, nailed the alumni interview with only my own notes, and maintained an excellent status in my sport for the past 8, soon to be 9, years. My dad hasn’t even SEEN an ivy league school, much less attended or had the right stuff to get there. He wasted his entire first thirty years of his life, and he is mad at me because I couldn’t immediately give him the exact statistics of the number of freshmen living in the dorms? And to top it all off, he then spent the rest of the day freezing me out and telling me what a disappointment I was to him, along with fighting with my mom to the point where it almost became physical because she couldn’t give him the statistics either (she had been watching over my shoulder. Why? Not clue.). So yeah, my entire day was ruined because apparently I am an ungrateful idiot that couldn’t make it into the Ivy League by herself. At leas according to my dad.

Sometimes I wish I could just go to sleep and never wake up. No more setting alarms, no more 3-a day workouts, no more getting yelled at or being a disappointment, no more taking diacritics everyday to try and maintain weight loss. No more being alone, no more taking care of everyone else. Just rest. Just getting to be someone who could have been great. When people would hear about my death they would be like, “Oh Kate? That’s so sad. She was so talented. One of the best in her sports, she was going to an Ivy league school you know. Yeah, she was pretty smart. Real respectful kid too. Addressed everyone as ma’am and Sir, even when they were her age. What a shame.” I could just leave them to wonder what I could have been, leave them with hope. You know, there’s no way to be a failure if you’re not here. I’ve even thought about how I would do it. I’ve slowly been collecting my mom and dad’s sleeping pills for the last two or three years. I also have been collecting Tylenol. I know that taking too many sleeping pills can’t  necessarily kill you unless you had an ungodly amount. However, if you do have enough Tylenol you can go into kidney or liver failure, can’t remember off the top of my head. Then I would lay down on my back, that way if the Tylenol and the sleeping pills don’t work then I’ll choke on my own vomit from my body trying to force everything out. Hopefully, I’ll be too sedated to turn over to spit it out. I’ve also thought about silting my wrists and then downing all those sleeping pills so that I would be too heavily sedated to do anything about the blood loss. I could do it too, I close my bedroom door at night and I take super long showers so no one would notice for a while. I just don’t have anyone but my sister to hold on for you know? I literally don’t have any friends (we did online school from home and train by ourselves, and we aren’t allowed to leave the house and we don’t have any clubs or anything) I’ve never even had the chance to have a meaningful relationship that I care about. With everyone, I’ve always had to put on a front to uphold the reputation of our family (my dad gets self-conscious of what others think about us).

I do have one place in my head where I feel happy. I have different daydreams that I go to when my family is watching TV or when I go to sleep. The settings vary, but they all involve a guy named Nate, and we’re together. Mind you, Nate is not a real person or even based off a real person (more a culmination of all the crushes I had formed when I read books like PJO, HOO, and One of Us is Lying) . In the daydreams, Nate is kinda rebellious and just super confident. Something I could never be. He kinda breaks through my tough exterior just like I have in real life, and just becomes my friend at first. He actually wants to talk to me and cares about my opinion, he teases me in a playful way that most boys would be scared to tease me in, but doesn’t take it too far because he wouldn’t want to hurt me. I don’t originally want to tell him everything in my life or my head because I want to be a happy place for him, I don’t want him to worry about me because he’s always seemed to just care about me and has been one of the only people that has made me feel like I’m worth anything in this world. But eventually, he notice how I avoid topics in conversation, and that I won’t ever let myself cry in front of him, or anyone else for that matter, and how I model myself and idealize emotionless characters like Logan from Sanders Sides, Spock from Star Trek, and any robot that comes on the screen. On day or night I finally just breakdown, I can’t keep myself together so I try and get away and ask him just to leave me alone so that I can cry. But he doesn’t let me go, he just wraps his jacket around my shoulders and hugs me close to his body. He tells me that I don’t have to be alone anymore, that he just wants to be there for me. He doesn’t want me to hurt by myself anymore. That I don’t have to hide in locked bathrooms anymore.

I can’t help it, its the only time I’ve ever felt safe with anyone and its not even real. But I can almost feel the warmth of his hugs and him rubbing little circles on my back. Its almost painful to type (crying currently) because I am so scared all the time. I’m scared for my sister, my mom, about money, about grades, about being alone all my life, about never getting to actually be an independent person, scared of men, scared of commitment, scared of trusting (since I’ve seen how well that’s worked out for my mom and just living with a man for the last 18 years), I’m scared that I won’t ever be enough for anyone, I won’t ever be beautiful, or smart, or strong. I am so scared all the time, so just that feeling of safety he gives me is so sad because it’s not even real. and to be honest, I don’t know if it ever will be. I wish I could just die in my sleep because my last fleeting thoughts could be of Nate just holding me, telling me that I was safe. We could dance, we could be snuggling on the couch on a rainy day, or just laying in bed one Saturday morning laughing together. At least if I died,  my final feelings would be of safety and happiness that I’ve never had in my real life.

I’m not going to do it tonight, I have to get ready for my Calculus text tomorrow. I’m going to go for just an 8 hr sleep, maybe Nate and I could cuddle up with a movie. He can chose, I don’t really want to watch. I just want to lay against his chest for a while, forget about the stress and fear for a while.

Have a great night everyone.

[huffletiika]

Hello, stranger

GASTINA / UNIVERSITY AU

There’s a new app at the campus that allows you to chat with some other student it matches you with according to your hobbies and likes. Nina logs in this app to prove Luna wrong and ends up talking all night long with a very interesting stranger. Little she knows this guy is Gaston, her high school crush, who is also Matteo’s (Luna’s boyfriend) best friend.

So, I know time has passed, but I have been relly bussy lately with so many things to write, I just let this aside. But well, here is the second part of my Gastina AU, hope you like it. Also, didn’t make proof reading, sorry. It has a lot of Gastteo, some Lutteo, and a mention of Simbar xD!

[Other Chapters]

CHAPTER 2 - ABOUT ANNOYING BEST FRIENDS AND DEPRIVED SLEEP HOURS

“You look like shit” said his best friend walking to the counter, sitting in front of him, and leaving a cup of coffee for him to take. “Don’t tell me you stayed awake all night studying for the test, because I remember you told me yesterday that it was a ‘piece of cake’ when I offered my help”.

Gastón sighed, before taking the cup in his hands.

He felt so tired he couldn’t even keep his own body straight, his eyes were closing all the time as if they weighted one hundred pounds, and the concert of yawns has been live since he had to leave his bedroom to go to the kitchen.

“You had a date” he reminded him. “And, anyway, it IS a piece of cake... I didn’t stay awake because of that” He took a sip of his coffee, and smiled with relief.

He hasn’t been able to sleep, he tried to do it, but when he closed his eyes he began to think about the conversation he had had with Felicity, and to ramble about her identity. He didn’t know all the girls studying in the university, but knew a good number of these, and although he tried to put the words of Felicity in each of them, he couldn’t find any match.

“Thanks for the coffee, by the way”. He added, looking to his friend with a smile on his face.

“You’re welcome” Matteo said with a grin. “So, if you weren’t studying for the test, why did you stay awake all night? You look like you really needed those sleep hours” He added, taking a bite of his breakfast.

“I was talking with someone” He answered, and saw the knowing smile growing on his friends face.

Oh no, here we go again.

“Oh! Now that I remember, I came back from my date with Luna and heard some laughing coming from your room” he said, “everything makes sense now, Economic Theory couldn’t be so fun” he added, teasing.

“You like Maths” he reminded him.

“Yeah… but you don’t, buddy” his friend replied. “The only reason you are on Economic Sciences is because your parents think Literature is not a making-money degree, and because you are the only one who will take care of the family business when they are too old for it”.

He made a grimace.

Yeah, his parents weren’t in a good mood when he told them he wanted to study literature. ‘Are you joking?’ his dad had asked him immediately, and her mom’s face was icy. That later, came with a lot of words about why that would be a bad idea, because ‘you can read and learn that stuff by yourself, that is a hobby, not a career’ and ‘you will one day heritage the family company, how could we leave all our hard work to someone who is not our son?’ that, followed with a ‘I won’t pay for a literature degree’ that sent him directly to the Economy faculty.

“Anyway,” Matteo changed the topic. “Who is the girl you were talking with?”

“How do you know it was a girl? I could be talking with… I don’t know, some guy from one of my elective classes.” He replied, and Matteo openly smiled.

“Because, my dear friend, I would have known if you were cheating on me” the Italian answered, full of himself. “Who is the girl? Do I know her?”

“No, I mean… I don’t know… I don’t even know if I know her myself” he answered, and Matteo looked at him, really confused.

“Explain yourself, because I don’t get it”.

“Ok, long story short, yesterday I heard to some guys at the cafeteria talking about this new app that was created on the campus to meet people, is like a random chat that connects you with other person who have similar hobbies and tastes as you.” He explained, after taking a sip of his coffee. He needs his caffeine, man.  “And well, you know I don’t usually meet people with whom to chat about books and video games and…”

“All your nerdy stuff, yeah” Matteo interrupted, and laughed when he saw Gastón frowning at him. “Sorry, go ahead”.

Gastón sighed.

“Well, I thought it would be nice to give it a try, so I downloaded it… and ended up talking with this girl whose username was Felicity, and even if at the beginning it was a little awkward, we then started to connect, and were talking about a lot of things until very late. I didn’t even noticed the time had passed, until she pointed that out” he explained.

“Awe, you fell in love” His best friend mocked.

“I didn’t…! I mean, I just met her. I don’t even know how she looks”.

“That’s easy to know, what’s her real name? I can search for it on the University’s database”. His friend offered, and he made a grin.

“I didn’t ask her her name, I didn’t think about doing it”.

Matteo laughed.

“Are you sure it’s a girl? I mean, it could be an old fat hairy guy with pedophile inclinations, or worst, some teacher”. He was having the time of his life.

“It’s a girl, I’m sure”. Gastón replied, without hesitation.

“If you say so…” Matteo looked at him amused, before drinking some of his own coffee. “Well, if we are not going to continue the mysterious girl topic, and you are free next Friday, can I ask you a favor?”

Gastón knew his friend enough to know nothing good could come after those words, but he was so curious about what Matteo was going to ask, he just sighed.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Well, you know, I’ve been dating Luna for a couple of months”

“Congratulations”

“Thank you”. He didn’t mind being interrupted, he was even smiling. Gastón never thought to see his best friend so happy about a girl. “Well, she wants me to go to this birthday dinner at her aunt’s, and I know Ambar will be there, and it’s going to be awkward even if she is now dating the guitarist guy, so I need some reinforcement by my side as I don’t know much Luna’s friends.”

“You want me to go?” he interrupted him, and his friend nodded. “But its Luna’s birthday, I mean, she is really nice but I don’t know her that much”. He didn’t want to be that kind of person who goes to a party without being invited.

“I asked her about it, and she said it was fine.” He replied. “Come on, buddy, it will be fun, and I will pay you for it… I can make your next algebra paper-work” he put his very convincing pretty please face, and Gastón rolled his eyes before accepting. Only his best friend would start dating the niece of his ex-girlfriend’s godmother. 

Thinking that phrase felt like a hell of a tongue twister.  

“And Luna has a friend who studies literature, maybe you can get along with her, talk about your nerdy stuff” Matteo winked.

“Are you talking about Nina? Because I’m pretty sure she hates me” Gastón replied, rolling his eyes.

“Why would she hate you?”

“I don’t know, but she always ignores me, or runs away in the exact moment we meet her and Luna on the campus, last time it was even ridiculous, she said she was going to look for a book in the library, but she had it on her hands.” He snorted. “I know it was the book she said, because I was going to ask her about it before she invented that dumb excuse”. He added.

“Luna told me she is shy” Matteo tried to justify the girl’s behavior.

“Yeah, but she talks to you normally, I have seen you”. He rolled his eyes. “She hates me, I tell ya”.

“Well, you could try to ask her about it in the party” his friend suggested, and he shrugged, before finishing his coffee and saying goodbye.

He had a test to do.

Felicity: Hi, are you there?

He was looking at his phone, trying to decide if he should or not write to Felicity, when the message popped up on his screen, surprising him.

Roller Track: I am, indeed. –he typed. -How are you, stranger?  How was your day?

He waited for a long minute before her answer appeared.

Felicity: It was ok, I guess. How was yours? Did you get to stay awake during your test? I have been worried about it all day.

He felt the smile softly growing on his own face.

Roller Track: Luckily enough, I did. My roommate gave me coffee this morning, and I got to sleep when I arrived home after the test.

Felicity: And the test? Was it hard?

Her worries for him were making his chest feel warmer.

Roller Track: All fine, it was the easiest, I’m sure I got a good grade. And you? Did you get to meet on the library with your classmates? Did you prepare your presentation?

Felicity: Yes, we did. Do you want to read something funny? I thought I was late, but I was the first to arrive to the meeting, all my classmates were late, but we got everything done. The only problem will be the day of the presentation.

He frowned.

Roller Track: Why?

He saw her writing something, and then erasing it to start again. He had never been that focused on those stupid dots at the corner of the screen before.

Felicity: Because our teacher wants us all to participate in the presentation, and I’m not that good when talking in public, I feel like I will have a panic attack being there, in front of all my classmates.

Gastón read the words on his screen twice, and felt a new kind of empathy for this girl growing on him, like if he knew her from before.

Roller Track: Hey! I’ve been there. When I was a child I had scenic panic too, once I had this spelling bee contest, and I totally froze. –he wrote. –because of that, I thought I wouldn’t be able to do anything like that without embarrassing myself, so when my best friend suggested me to try for the school’s musical I thought it would be the worst idea ever, but then I gave it a try, and it was amazing.

He had never told that story to anyone, but he felt he could trust in her.

Felicity: Were you the lead?

He read those words and laughed.

Roller Track: Nah, my best friend and his girlfriend from that time were always the lead, no one could beat them on that, but I got a solo, the drama teacher liked my singing voice and wrote a song just for me to sing.

Felicity: Impressive.

Roller Track: I know. –he smiled. –but hey! We were talking about your presentation, and my story had a moral. I’m pretty sure you will nail it, just remember the guy who froze on his spelling bee contest but got to sing on a school musical, you just have to focus on one person, and talk to him or her. Maybe a friend, as teachers are usually intimidating, I always try to avoid their sight.

He pressed sent, and waited for her answer, getting a little be desperate when it didn’t come as fast as he wanted.

Felicity: Thank you. –she wrote, after the longest couple of minutes of his life. –I have to go, I must meet with my best friend, she wants me to go with her to buy some things, and I don’t want her to think I forgot about it.

His smile faded.

Roller Track: It’s ok. –he wrote. –Go with your friend, enjoy your afternoon, I’ll be fine by my own.

Felicity: Are you sure?

Roller Track: Yeah! don’t worry about me, little stranger. –Her concern made him recover his smile. –I have to do some homework, anyway.

Felicity: Ok. Talk to you later?

Roller Track: Yeah, I won’t go anywhere. –He finally wrote, and after their goodbyes he let his phone by him side on the mattress, and closed his eyes.

He lied, he didn’t have any work to do, but he didn’t want her to feel bad for letting him and going to meet her friend to go shopping. Who would she be? Again, a conversation between the two of them had ended, and he didn’t get her name. He didn’t even thought about asking her about it, maybe this anonymous thing was what made things so easy, there was no need to rush things.

#soy luna #gastina #soy luna fanfic #gastón perida #lutteo #nina simoneti #gastteo #luna valente #carolina kopelioff #agustin bernasconi #sl #gastina fanfic #strangerfic #UniversityAU #Written by me

[bisoroblog]

Can the Right Nudge Help Low-income Kids Go Beyond High School?

This story was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up here for our higher-education newsletter.

NEWARK, Calif. — It’s a few months before she’ll graduate from Newark Memorial High School and Allison Dinsmore doesn’t have a plan for what will happen after that.

Unlike students in the far wealthier cities and towns surrounding hers, she wasn’t prodded since birth by her parents to prepare for college. No one in her family has ever gotten a degree. She never took the ACT or SAT.

“Last year I thought about it a lot because as a junior you start to realize how fast things are going,” she said in the library, otherwise empty but for students playing cards. “I didn’t know better, and it was too late. I feel like I’m not prepared.”

It’s largely the same story among Dinsmore’s friends, with whom she hangs out most days around a blue metal picnic table in the high school’s asphalt courtyard. Just under half the students here are considered poor, more than half are Hispanic and few of their parents have degrees.

Those are exactly the characteristics of the high school students least likely to go to college. It’s not that they have less potential than their counterparts in predominantly white, more affluent communities. What they lack is college-educated relatives, counselors, role models or mentors to make sure they take the courses and meet the deadlines they need to, or who encourage them to think about their further educations.

“This is self-perpetuating,” said the superintendent, Patrick Sánchez, who is trying to change that culture and hangs out with students as a mentor and a coach. “These are smart kids, but they’re not seeing themselves in college, and they’re not hearing enough that they can. And kids will act the way you treat them.”

Meanwhile, Sánchez said, “If you look at a wealthy or predominantly Anglo high school, from the time those kids walk in the door they are continually told they’re highly intelligent, that they’re all going to succeed.”

Newark Unified School District Superintendent Patrick Sanchez, right, visits with high school seniors at Newark Memorial High School in Newark, Calif., Wednesday, February 14, 2018. (Alison Yin for The Hechinger Report)

Newark Memorial does have one thing most high schools don’t: Silicon Valley. And some local entrepreneurs, backed by advisors from nearby Stanford University and elsewhere, think technology can help to solve this problem.

Those entrepreneurs have created a platform, and company, called Siembra — a Spanish word for sowing seeds — that reaches out to low-income, first-generation and racial and ethnic minority high school students on their ever-present smartphones, nagging them to stay on track the same way college-educated parents of wealthier kids do.

“Where do you want to go to college?” asks the very first text, sent to ninth graders.

“No one has ever asked them that,” said Julio Garcia, a consulting senior research psychologist at Stanford who studies how assumptions people make about them — largely based on stereotypes — have as much of an impact on the success of students as their aptitude and preparation. “Many kids have no expectations that they should go to college. They’re below the radar, for all kinds of reasons

He experienced that himself, Garcia said, when he was growing up, near Sacramento.

“Occasionally somebody would ask me about going to college. But nobody asked my classmates. It was not considered a viable option, so why waste your time asking the question?”

Sánchez, too, said he was “low-tracked” in high school. He went to community college to study automotive and diesel repair. Only later did he become an educator. The first in his own family to go to college, “I was a statistical anomaly,” the superintendent said.

He’s right. Far fewer children of parents who did not finish college — so-called first-generation students — go on to higher educations, a study released in February by the U.S. Department of Education confirmed: 72 percent, compared to 93 percent of those whose parents have bachelor’s degrees and 84 percent whose parents have any postsecondary education.

Allison Dinsmore and her boyfriend, Grant Montgomery, students at California’s Newark Memorial High School. Montgomery says college recruiters seldom come to their school. (Alison Yin for The Hechinger Report)

Nearly half of first-generation students who did continue went to community colleges, which spend less per student than many public primary and secondary schools, and where the odds of ever graduating are also comparatively low. That’s twice the proportion of students whose parents have bachelor’s degrees.

“There’s a really tremendous gulf,” said Katie Berger, senior policy analyst for higher education at the nonprofit advocacy organization The Education Trust. “The scope of this problem is huge.”

It’s not because first-generation, low-income and racial and ethnic minority students are less smart than higher-income whites; the lowest-income students with the highest scores on eighth-grade standardized tests are still less likely to go to selective colleges than the highest-income students with the lowest test scores, according to The Education Trust.

But compared to the children of parents with bachelor’s degrees who can help them navigate the complex college application process, far fewer first-generation students take courses in high school such as trigonometry or statistics, often required for college, the Education Department found; only a third as many take calculus and fewer than half as many enroll in Advanced Placement classes.

The high schools they attend are also much less likely to have many college counselors. The average public school counselor in the United States is responsible for 483 students, according to the American School Counselor Association and National Association of College Admissions Counselors, nearly twice the caseload the association recommends. In California, it’s one counselor to 760 students.

The result is that fewer than one in five children in the U.S. of parents without higher educations end up getting degrees themselves, the Organization for Economic Development and Cooperation reports. That helps contribute to the fact that students from high-income families are nearly five times more likely to get bachelor’s degrees by the time they’re 24 than those from low-income families, according to the Pell Institute for the Study of Opportunity in Higher Education.

Siembra, a for-profit company that’s paid by participating school districts and colleges, has only early results to share. It says students are reading their college reminder texts about 80 percent of the time, and 10 percent respond with follow-up questions for their counselors. In an unrelated project, researchers at the universities of Virginia and Pittsburgh found that text messages sent during the summer after high school graduation improved the likelihood that high school students would follow through on plans to go to college by up to 7 percentage points.

Still, there are inherent shortcomings, Berger said. For example, she said, “It’s not going to help a student to text them to take AP algebra if their high school doesn’t offer it.”

Constant reminders are among the many ways Hispanic young people are being pushed to go to college by a charter school called Luis Valdez Leadership Academy, spread among some prefabricated buildings in San Jose’s low-income east side. College banners plaster the walls, the teachers double as college counselors and the sponsoring foundation raises money to take students on campus tours. Angela Rascon, a senior here and part of the first class, which will graduate this spring, enthusiastically describes her plans to head for college next year. But when she went to take the SAT at a private school in a wealthier town, Rascon said, she realized that “I was the only Latina in the room.”

That’s more than just a sad statistic. With one-third of college-age students now coming from first-generation backgrounds, it’s a big problem for places starved for educated workers — including Silicon Valley, where three-quarters of math and computer workers aged 25 to 44 had to be imported from abroad, according to the 2016 Silicon Valley Index.

In Newark, the water heater and Peterbilt truck factories have closed or moved away and most of the largest employers now are small tech companies that are starting to arrive. Yet only about 30 percent of Newark Memorial graduates meet the requirements for admission to the public University of California system

Students at the Luis Valdez Leadership Academy, a charter school on San Jose’s low-income east side. Students here are strongly encouraged to go to college. (Alison Yin for The Hechinger Report )

“There is increasing recognition that there’s an economic imperative to increasing college attainment,” Berger said.

It’s also increasingly a concern for colleges and universities that need to fill seats.

“This problem has been around for a while, but it’s becoming more urgent,” said Garcia. “Because the demographics are changing so rapidly, if your system excludes this group of people, you are condemning your system to mediocrity.”

Siembra sifts through data from its partner schools and districts — seven so far, it says — and unearths good prospects for its handful of client colleges and universities seeking out, say, female Hispanic sophomores who are good at math and science. Some of the students who might otherwise have never gone to college boast grade-point averages as high as 4.2, said founder Timothy Michael Kral, a former corporate finance director at software companies whose own Mexican-American daughter asked him to help the classmates she saw getting little college-going help.

“These students are invisible to the [college] recruiters,” Kral said. “No one is telling them how valuable they are.”

It’s true, said Grant Montgomery, Dinsmore’s boyfriend and fellow senior, back at Newark Memorial High School. “No one comes and looks at Newark.”

A running back for the Cougars (2-8 this season) Montgomery wears a knee brace from a football injury. He’s thinking about going to community college to become a firefighter or electrician. When the team played wealthier schools, he said, he saw students who were bound for four-year-colleges and universities, and bachelor’s degrees.

“Their school gives them the pride,” Montgomery said. “It’s more money over there, and that’s the difference.”

This story was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up here for our higher-education newsletter.

Can the Right Nudge Help Low-income Kids Go Beyond High School? published first on https://dlbusinessnow.tumblr.com/

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The Mistery Of Why Some People Become Sudden Geniuses

It was the summer of 1860 and Eadweard Muybridge was running low on books. This was somewhat problematic, since he was a bookseller. He handed his San Francisco shop over to his brother and set off on a stagecoach to buy supplies. Little did he know, he was about to change the world forever.

He was some way into his journey, in north-eastern Texas, when the coach ran into trouble. The driver cracked his whip and the horses broke into a run, leading the coach surging down a steep mountain road. Eventually it veered off and into a tree. Muybridge was catapulted into the air and cracked his head on a boulder.

He woke up nine days later at a hospital 150 miles (241 km) away. The accident left him with a panoply of medical problems, including double vision, bouts of seizures and no sense of smell, hearing or taste. But the most radical change was his personality.

Previously Muybridge had been a genial and open man, with good business sense. Afterwards he was risk-taking, eccentric and moody; he later murdered his wife’s lover. He was also, quite possibly, a genius.

The question of where creative insights come from – and how to get more of them – has remained a subject of great speculation for thousands of years. According to scientists, they can be driven by anything from fatigue to boredom. The prodigies themselves have other, even less convincing ideas. Plato said that they were the result of divine madness. Or do they, as Freud believed, arise from the sublimation of sexual desires? Tchaikovsky maintained that eureka moments are born out of cool headwork and technical knowledge.

But until recently, most sensible people agreed on one thing: creativity begins in the pink, wobbly mass inside our skulls. It surely goes without saying that striking the brain, impaling it, electrocuting it, shooting it, slicing bits out of it or depriving it of oxygen would lead to the swift death of any great visions possessed by its owner.

As it happens, sometimes the opposite is true.

After the accident, Muybridge eventually recovered enough to sail to England. There his creativity really took hold. He abandoned bookselling and became a photographer, one of the most famous in the world. He was also a prolific inventor. Before the accident, he hadn’t filed a single patent. In the following two decades, he applied for at least 10.

In 1877 he took a bet that allowed him to combine invention and photography. Legend has it that his friend, a wealthy railroad tycoon called Leland Stanford, was convinced that horses could fly. Or, more accurately, he was convinced that when they run, all their legs leave the ground at the same time. Muybridge said they didn’t.

To prove it he placed 12 cameras along a horse track and installed a tripwire that would set them off automatically as Stanford’s favourite racing horse, Occident, ran. Next he invented the inelegantly named “zoopraxiscope”, a device which allowed him to project several images in quick succession and give the impression of motion. To his amazement, the horse was briefly suspended, mid-gallop. Muybridge had filmed the first movie – and with it proven that yes, horses can fly.

Jon Sarkin was transformed from a chiropractor into an artist after a stroke

The abrupt turnaround of Muybridge’s life, from ordinary bookseller to creative genius, has prompted speculation that it was a direct result of his accident. It’s possible that he had “sudden savant syndrome”, in which exceptional abilities emerge after a brain injury or disease. It’s extremely rare, with just 25 verified cases on the planet.

There’s Tony Cicoria, an orthopaedic surgeon who was struck by lightning at a New York park in 1994. It went straight through his head and left him with an irresistible desire to play the piano. To begin with he was playing other people’s music, but soon he started writing down the melodies that were constantly running through his head. Today he’s a pianist and composer, as well as a practicing surgeon.

Another case is Jon Sarkin, who was transformed from a chiropractor into an artist after a stroke. The urge to draw landed almost immediately. He was having “all kinds” of therapy at the hospital – speech therapy, art therapy, physical therapy, occupational therapy, mental therapy – “And they stuck a crayon in my hand and said ‘want to draw?’ And I said ‘fine’,” he says.

His first muse was a cactus at his home in Gloucester, Massachusetts. It was the fingered kind, like you might find in Western movies from the 50s. Even his earliest paintings are extremely abstract. In some versions the branches resemble swirling green snakes, while others they are red, zig-zagging staircases.

His works have since been published in The New York Times, featured on album covers and been covered in a book by a Pulitzer Prize-winning author. They regularly sell for $10,000 (£7,400).

Most strikingly there’s Jason Padgett, who was attacked at a bar in Tacoma, Washington in 2002. Before the attack, Padgett was a college dropout who worked at a futon store. His primary passions in life were partying and chasing girls. He had no interest in maths – at school, he didn’t even get into algebra class.

But that night, everything changed. Initially he was taken to the hospital with a severe concussion. “I remember thinking that everything looked funky, but I thought it was just the narcotic pain shot they gave me” he says. “Then the next morning I woke up and turned on the water. It looked like little tangent lines [a straight line that touches a single point on a curve], spiralling down.”.

When you’re bashed on the head, the effects are similar to a dose of LSD

From then onwards Padgett’s world was overlaid with geometric shapes and gridlines. He became obsessed with maths and is now renowned for his drawings of formulas such as Pi. Today he’s incredulous that he once didn’t know what a tangent was. “I do feel like two people, and I’ve had my mum and my dad say that. It’s like having two separate kids,” he says.

Why does this happen? How does it work? And what does it teach us about what makes geniuses special?

There are two leading ideas. The first is that when you’re bashed on the head, the effects are similar to a dose of LSD. Psychedelic drugs are thought to enhance creativity by increasing the levels of serotonin, the so-called “happiness hormone”, in the brain. This leads to “synaesthesia”, in which more than one region is simultaneously activated and senses which are usually separate become linked.

Many people don’t need drugs to experience this: nearly 5% of the population has some form of synaesthesia, with the most common type being “grapheme-colour”, in which words are associated with colours. For example, the actor Geoffrey Rush believes that Mondays are pale blue.

When the brain is injured, dead and dying cells leak serotonin into the surrounding tissue. Physically, this seems to encourage new connections between brain regions, just as with LSD. Mentally, it allows the person to link the seemingly unconnected. “We’ve found permanent changes before – you can actually see connections in the brain that weren’t there before,” says Berit Brogaard, a neuroscientist who directs the Brogaard Lab for Multisensory Research, Florida.

But there is an alternative. The first clue emerged in 1998, when a group of neurologists noticed that five of their patients with dementia were also artists – remarkably good ones. Specifically, they had frontotemporal dementia, which is unusual in that it only affects some parts of the brain. For example, visual creativity may be spared, while language and social skills are progressively destroyed.

One of these was “Patient 5”. At the age of 53 he had enrolled in a short course in drawing at a local park, though he previously had no interest in such things. It just so happened to coincide with the onset of his dementia; a few months later, he was having trouble speaking.

Soon he became irritable and eccentric, developing a compulsion to search for money on the street. As his illness progressed, so did his drawing, advancing from simple still-life paintings to haunting, impressionist depictions of buildings from his childhood.

To find out what was going on, the scientists performed 3D scans of their patients’ brains. In four out of five cases, they found lesions on the left hemisphere. Nobel Prize-winning research from the 1960s shows that the two halves of the brain specialise in different tasks; in general, the right side is home to creativity and the left is the centre of logic and language.

 ‘Autistic savants’ can have superhuman skills to rival those of the Renaissance polymaths

But the left side is also something of a bully. “It tends to be the dominant brain region,” says Brogaard. “It tends to suppress very marginal types of thinking – highly original, highly creative thinking, because it’s beneficial for our decision-making abilities and our ability to function in normal life.”. The theory goes that as the patients’ left hemispheres became progressively more damaged, their right hemispheres were free to flourish.

This is backed up by several other studies, including one in which creative insight was roused in healthy volunteers by temporarily dialling down activity in the left hemisphere and increasing it in the right. “[the lead researcher] Allen Snyder’s work was replicated by another person, so that’s the theory that I think is responsible,” says Darold Treffert, a psychiatrist from the University of Wisconsin Medical School, who has been studying savant syndrome for decades.

But what about more mainstream geniuses? Could the theory explain their talents, too?

Consider autism. From Daniel Tammet, who can perform mind-boggling mathematical calculations at stupendous speed, to Gottfried Mind, the “Cat Raphael”, who drew the animal with an astonishing level of realism, so-called “autistic savants” can have superhuman skills to rival those of the Renaissance polymaths.

It’s been estimated that as many as one in 10 people with autism have savant syndrome and there’s mounting evidence the disorder is associated with enhanced creativity. And though it’s difficult to prove, it’s been speculated that numerous intellectual giants, including Einstein, Newton, Mozart, Darwin and Michelangelo, were on the spectrum.

One theory suggests that autism arises from abnormally low levels of serotonin in the left hemisphere in childhood, which prevents the region from developing normally. Just like with sudden savant syndrome, this allows the right hemisphere to become more active.

They are usually able to have a normal life, but they also have this obsession – Berit Brogaard, neuroscientist

Interestingly, many people with sudden savant syndrome also develop symptoms of autism, including social problems, obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) and all-consuming interests. “It got so bad that if I had money I would spray the money with Lysol and put it in the microwave for a few seconds to get rid of the germs,” says Padgett.

“They are usually able to have a normal life, but they also have this obsession,” says Brogaard. This is something universal across all sudden savants. Jon Sarkin compares his art to an instinct. “It doesn’t feel like I like drawing, it feels like I must draw.” His studio contains thousands of finished and unfinished works, which are often scribbled with curves, words, cross-hatchings, and overlapping images.

In fact, though they often don’t need to, sudden savants work hard at improving their craft. “I mean, I practiced a lot. Talent and hard work, I think they are indistinguishable – you do something a lot and you get better at it,” says Sarkin. Padgett agrees. “When you’re fixated on something like that, of course you do discover things.”

Muybridge was no exception. After the bet, he moved to Philadelphia and continued with his passion for capturing motion on film, photographing all kinds of activities such as walking up and down the stairs and, oddly, himself swinging a pickaxe in the nude. Between 1883 and 1886, he took more than 100,000 pictures.

“In my opinion at least, the fact that they can improve their abilities doesn’t negate the suddenness or insistence with which they are there,” says Treffert. As our understanding of sudden savant syndrome improves, eventually it’s hoped that we might all be able to unlock our hidden mental powers – perhaps with the help of smart drugs or hardware.

But until then, perhaps us mortals could try putting in some extra hours instead.

  Source: bbc.com

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