Personal Narrative: My Senior AP English Class

Words: 544
Pages: 3

Today is the day. Finally, it has come, the day I begin my Senior AP English class. I have survived through a mix of sweat, tears, and adrenaline the build up to this day for more than nine months, since I’ve registered. Never have I fit the definition of an AP student, and alas, I still don’t quite feel the role of one. ‘AP’, it stands for ‘advanced placement,’ though I’ve never felt exactly advanced in anything. Perhaps as ‘advanced’ as the first person who discovered a feeble and lazy mule emerges from a male donkey and a female horse, but only to find it’s sympathetic uselessness in not being able to reproduce. I’ve attempted to assuage my fears of the teacher, but it doesn’t work. Mrs. Lindow, a stout woman, with blonde, shoulder-length hair. She wears a strand of pearls around her neck, which she would be naked without. Her face is wrinkled and punished to hold an unimpressed countenance, even when she is smiling. I would believe most likely moulded over what most would guess as six decades of life. She has something I sometimes believe I do not; a backbone. A brave woman, not afraid to shut you down if you’re not good enough, which happens to be my biggest fear. Maybe it’s a blessing.
As I approach the classroom, it
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From what I’ve read on the winged cover, it is about a teenage boy that tears between reality and fiction, I could infer due to a mental illness. The cover appeals to me. A large badge. ‘NATIONAL BOOK AWARD WINNER.’ It seems to be a general title to be awarded, but I suppose it as a good sign. The cover consists of the title, author name, and review by a renowned author of whom I’ve never heard of. These things look as if they’re written with chalk, rather than a keyboard. The illustration: a scribbled line that suddenly reaches to a boy swimming in nothingness. The background, nothing but deep blue and specks of a lighter