Below is my narrative shortstory. This project was one of the first that we did for this unit. We spent a lot of time developing a character to use throughout the narrative unit. My character was inspired by one of my friends who is an only child. The character I produced is an overexaggerated version of her: an only child who typically gets whatever she wants. This story set the tone for the rest of my projects, which are all interrelated using the same character and main point. In relation to my animation, I took this character and made her a rose instead of a teenager in order to capture the cartoon aspect of animation. Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

My cherry red convertible looked wildly out of place in this parking lot filled with beat up sedans. I stepped out of the car and paced slowly toward the school. “You have to do this,” I told myself. Stanford Admissions Officers view everything like they’re like shopping at Bloomingdale’s. Unless the applications are eye- catching and worth looking at, they won’t get a second glance. I was here to buff up my resume with community service hours. However, the idea seemed to look less and less promising as I approached the door. Why couldn’t I just apply as a candy striper?
Paint was chipping off the walls of the building, and one window was cracked. I opened the squeaky door and sidestepped into the room. The bright light on the ceiling in the center of the room flickered ever so slightly. A variety of unfortunate looking teens sat scattered throughout the room, each with an “I’m too cool for school” expression on their face. I chuckled to myself as I glanced around the room. I wasn’t impressed.
The greasy, unkempt detention instructor was lounging in his chair, feet up on the desk, donut in hand. With slight repulsion, I inched toward him.
“Excuse me, sir, where do I sign in?”
“This is detention. You don’t need to sign in anywhere. Go take a seat.”
Did this man really think a girl like me was here for detention? I was here to tutor the kids in detention, not join them!
“Excuse me, could you put the donut down for a second? Thanks. I’m here as a tutor. I was told I needed to sign in in order to receive my community service hours.”
Slightly shocked by my abrasive tone, he mumbled something to himself and pulled out a sheet attached to a clipboard. He watched my manicured nails as I quickly filled out the information in my elegant cursive.
I strutted across the littered floor, past the graffitied desks and chairs occupied by various future dropouts, to the table I was assigned to. To my dismay, there sat a grungy looking girl, iPod blaring, drawing on the table. Her downcast sleepy eyes caught notice of my heels as I grew closer to her. Her glazed eyes, tattered striped hoodie, stained band t-shirt, and black sneakers gave her a menacing look. Just another “misunderstood” rebel, I thought to myself. How overplayed. I set my oversized Marc Jacobs purse gingerly on the table and settled into one of the chairs.
“Do you need any help with homework?” I asked casually, after three minutes of silence.
She peered up under her lashes, and I feigned a smile. The intensity of her stare combined with her dark eye makeup made me feel like she could see right into my soul. She ignored my question.
“I asked if you needed any help with your work.”
My eyes trailed the motion of her hand as she placed it on the side of my purse and slowly pushed it along the table until it fell off the edge. I received another chilling glare, and then her eyes returned to her illustration. I stared in shock at my scattered belongings on the floor.
I averted my stare back to the girl, who had casually returned to her drawing. As if she could feel my eyes on her, she spoke.
“How about you get lost? Clearly, I’m a little busy here.” Her eyes stayed glued to her sketch on the tabletop. How rude.
“I’m here as a tutor. It’s my job to help you with your work,” I retorted. Her attitude wasn’t getting her anywhere with intimidating me.
“Do I look retarded? You’re not needed, or wanted for that matter. If I was actually planning to do any work in this hellhole, I’d get it done perfectly fine on my own. As if a blonde bimbo like you could help me anyways.”
I grabbed my purse and collected my belongings off the floor. “Yes, clearly a girl spending her Saturday in detention is more capable of completing her work than I am.” I turned and began to walk away. I got a few steps in before I heard her biting response.
“You think you’re so much better than everyone in here, don’t you?” she sneered. “Yep, I can read you like an open book. Daddy’s little girl, goes shopping every weekend, wants to go to Harvard and become a lawyer. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Let me guess, ‘community service hours’? Sounds a little too much like Legally Blonde if you ask me. How pathetic.” Her eyes bore into mine, challenging me to make a bitter riposte.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her sharp comeback caught me off guard. I stammered. “Stanford, actually,” was the pitiful reply I was able to muster after a moment of silence. A sly smirk spread across her face.
For once, I actually had nothing better to say. No way to retaliate. Usually I could come back with a witty remark that silenced my opponent, however, this girl was different. She had the ability to make me feel small, to feel as pathetic as I imagined she thought I was. So what if I like nice things? So what if I want the perfect education, the perfect job, to become wealthy and enjoy my life? Doesn’t everybody? This girl spoke to me as if she knew me, talking down to me with such disdain.
I suddenly became aware of the other students snickering. I looked around at several pairs of eyes as they all appraised and judged me, just as this girl had. I hated to be made the fool. I loved attention, but not this kind. I felt like a stranger in a foreign land. Despite the fact that they were all in detention, they somehow viewed me as the pathetic one. I couldn’t understand it. None of these kids even knew me, yet they all had me pegged the second I walked through the door. Unable to handle being made a spectacle any further, I grabbed my belongings and began to make a break for it. I looked up and for a brief moment I stared into those dark, foreboding eyes. They reminded me of my first impression on her: Just another “misunderstood” rebel. I suppose I had everyone pegged the second I walked in the door as well.
I shook the thought from my mind, it didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was getting out of this room in which I didn’t belong. I quickly walked past the girl, past the other students, past the detention instructor, still absorbed in his donuts, and back out the way I came.

 

 

Photo Credit: Google Images