A car horn honked from outside. I opened the faded, violet gingham curtains and looked down to see Grace’s old, black car waiting in the street. Thankfully, my window overlooked the street, which made being picked up by Grace every day for school easier.
I left my bedroom, hollered a hasty goodbye to my mother, who offered no response, and flew down eight flights of stairs before reaching the lobby. I said goodbye to the friendly doorman, Nick, who had salt-and-pepper hair which was always jauntily combed, and walked out of the building. Grace was smirking at me from the window of her car. I hopped in.
She looked up from her wristwatch and said, “Ooh, a few seconds later than usual, Shannen. You're getting slower.” Another smirk followed this comment.
I rolled my eyes despite being pleased to see the one person who understood me better than anyone else that I knew. “Whatever, Grace. Are you afraid that Connie Delphie is going to snatch Andrew before you get to school?”
“Hey!” Grace said indignantly.
I grinned; Andrew was a fellow senior at our high school, who Grace passionately obsessed over whenever he was mentioned. Connie Delphie, the gorgeous and snooty girl who Grace loathed, was interested too, but only because of his looks. As Grace put it, she was as shallow as puddle, and just as appealing on the inside.
Huffing, Grace hit the gas. We drove on through the neighboring suburb and onto the highway. It was truly a lovely day. I rolled my window down a little to feel the fresh wind on my face. It would be the last time I ever did so without a weight on my conscience.
Grace smiled and breathed deeply. “Tell me that I'm mad, but I feel as though today will be a golden day, Shannen.”
“Well, Grace, you are a bit mad, but I agree. It is a golden, happy day.”
How wrong my optimism was.
As Grace and I took another greedy breath of the “golden” day, a car the color of mud swerved out of control in the next lane and slammed into the rear end of our car. The rear end was shoved, and our car was at a forty-five-degree angle.
A spike of fear shot through my chest. Grace pulled at the wheel to correct the swerve, but not quickly enough. The car swerved again and we were knocked off of the highway, spiraling end over end, side over side, down the steep, grassy hill, dropping in a stomach-plunging cascade. Grace was shrieking, still clutching the wheel, both of us belted into our seats. The crunch of the car, the smashing glass, and Grace’s screams all bounced together in a frightening cacophony. My vision was impaired by the constant spiraling, but what I remember seeing was this: glass flying every which way, slicing my legs, my hands, my face. Then there was Grace’s shoulder-length caramel hair billowing around her head, my own hair getting caught in everything and ripped out in spots. Something, blood I assume, trickled down my head. Light flashed around, making matters worse.
Then, the battered car hit a jagged piece of old pavement, leftover over from when the highway was remodeled, sending us plummeting the rest of the way down. For a second, a broken, agonizing second, we were suspended in the air. I waited for the inevitable impact.
Then the car smashed into flat ground, and in an instant, everything, my senses, my body, my mind, became obscured by a black nothingness, and everything faded away.
I left my bedroom, hollered a hasty goodbye to my mother, who offered no response, and flew down eight flights of stairs before reaching the lobby. I said goodbye to the friendly doorman, Nick, who had salt-and-pepper hair which was always jauntily combed, and walked out of the building. Grace was smirking at me from the window of her car. I hopped in.
She looked up from her wristwatch and said, “Ooh, a few seconds later than usual, Shannen. You're getting slower.” Another smirk followed this comment.
I rolled my eyes despite being pleased to see the one person who understood me better than anyone else that I knew. “Whatever, Grace. Are you afraid that Connie Delphie is going to snatch Andrew before you get to school?”
“Hey!” Grace said indignantly.
I grinned; Andrew was a fellow senior at our high school, who Grace passionately obsessed over whenever he was mentioned. Connie Delphie, the gorgeous and snooty girl who Grace loathed, was interested too, but only because of his looks. As Grace put it, she was as shallow as puddle, and just as appealing on the inside.
Huffing, Grace hit the gas. We drove on through the neighboring suburb and onto the highway. It was truly a lovely day. I rolled my window down a little to feel the fresh wind on my face. It would be the last time I ever did so without a weight on my conscience.
Grace smiled and breathed deeply. “Tell me that I'm mad, but I feel as though today will be a golden day, Shannen.”
“Well, Grace, you are a bit mad, but I agree. It is a golden, happy day.”
How wrong my optimism was.
As Grace and I took another greedy breath of the “golden” day, a car the color of mud swerved out of control in the next lane and slammed into the rear end of our car. The rear end was shoved, and our car was at a forty-five-degree angle.
A spike of fear shot through my chest. Grace pulled at the wheel to correct the swerve, but not quickly enough. The car swerved again and we were knocked off of the highway, spiraling end over end, side over side, down the steep, grassy hill, dropping in a stomach-plunging cascade. Grace was shrieking, still clutching the wheel, both of us belted into our seats. The crunch of the car, the smashing glass, and Grace’s screams all bounced together in a frightening cacophony. My vision was impaired by the constant spiraling, but what I remember seeing was this: glass flying every which way, slicing my legs, my hands, my face. Then there was Grace’s shoulder-length caramel hair billowing around her head, my own hair getting caught in everything and ripped out in spots. Something, blood I assume, trickled down my head. Light flashed around, making matters worse.
Then, the battered car hit a jagged piece of old pavement, leftover over from when the highway was remodeled, sending us plummeting the rest of the way down. For a second, a broken, agonizing second, we were suspended in the air. I waited for the inevitable impact.
Then the car smashed into flat ground, and in an instant, everything, my senses, my body, my mind, became obscured by a black nothingness, and everything faded away.
"This is a sample from a novel that I'm writing. I thought of this story because I wanted to express the way that hardship and loss affect people and the impact it has on who they are." - Margaret Youngblood, 9th grade, Lewis Central High School.
Margaret Youngblood did a good job of breaking down a crazy moment and describing it without being too cliché or complicated. The details were simple but descriptive, and the editors enjoyed that the story wasn't trying to do too much. The story is clearly written and the characters were distinct and memorable.
Margaret Youngblood did a good job of breaking down a crazy moment and describing it without being too cliché or complicated. The details were simple but descriptive, and the editors enjoyed that the story wasn't trying to do too much. The story is clearly written and the characters were distinct and memorable.