A Reader, Not a Writer. com site is forced upon me by my writing teacher. The lights spin around and around. The waves of sound echo around the stadium. People all over cheer and jump. Bobbing heads fill the room. Suddenly a shot overpowers all the other noises and the music halts. Falling and falling until it hits the stage. This is the fourth time this week. Jarvis slammed his hand down on the table. Come on people! How do you not have any leads on this! .

Blogger by Force, Not by Choice. The ramblings of a high school student. A day to remember, not to celebrate. She looks at his picture and cries. You invite all your friends to your cookout. She sits on his grave and tells her kids all about their daddy.

Coach Wilburn worked the Kinston High School track team hard. It was a hot day for spring, and the team was sweaty and tired from running. You smell like a pack of seventh grade boys! April 29, 2015.

I am a dawg that blogs. Can you come down here for a second? 8221; She says, trying to stifle the playful tone with something a little more harsh. She glances at me, standing in the kitchen, gives a little wink; then looks back up to watch Missy trot down the stairs in her cute little fashion. Tonight is a happy night! Time in a Highschool.