Chapter One-If We Were Still In Middle School, None of This Would've Happened
My name's Lukas. I'm in high school now. I know, I know, it's hard to believe. Just months ago I was one of the top dogs at BeaconTown Middle School. Now I'm a newbie. A nobody.
Lukas glared at the first two lines of his essay. What kind of teacher gives an essay on the first day of school?
"I would like you to write me an essay describing your life up to now," his ELAR teacher had commanded, sounding as if she hated each one of her students already.
His eyes roamed around the sparsely decorated room, desperate for a distraction.
He caught Jesse's eye. She flicked her tongue out at him and turned her focus back to her essay, which was almost completed. He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance and tried to think of a way to sugarcoat his life, coming up blank.
Between the stress of two eternally-fighting parents and the responsibility of taking care of a ten-year-old, he had a lot on his plate. So, he always walked around looking bored and defeated. "What's wrong?" sympathetic adults on the streets cooed to him, even though they couldn't care less.
His peers didn't care. They had their own problems. Well, except for Jesse. She seemed to always be willing to listen to him, to stop him from doing something stupid.
He brushed a loose blonde hair away from his eyes, exhaling in annoyance. He had no idea what he would write. Still, he picked up his pencil and decided to make something up. Or at least, tell a story of half-truths.
I've lived in BeaconTown my whole life. I was born here, raised by my mother and father. Apparently, I was always meant to be a soldier, a brave hero who fought for his rights. But, I had other plans.
When Lukas told Jesse that his parents wanted him to become a soldier, she looked him in the eyes and ordered, "No. I know you want to be a writer, so be a writer!"
He smirked at the memory. Jesse cared about him a lot more then she let on. He could tell.
As a child, my teachers raved about my "linguistic talent" and my "unmeasurable creativity" and my "way with words." It was pretty obvious I was going to be an author.
I've lived a pretty normal life so far. But, will high school change that?
He read over his anecdote, which used only took up seven lines on the page set in front of him. He believed, though, that his autobiography packed a heavy punch.
After reflecting for a quick moment, he realized that the last sentence he had written showed perfectly his outlook on high school so far.