Same But Different Harper Peterson

It brought tears to my eyes. I want to scream, but I can’t. All I can do was hold my ankle. Right in front of my relatives: somehow I stepped weird and heard a crack.

“Katie, are you ok?” My coach asks.

I nodded my head, even though I’m not ok. As I stand up, I try to put some weight on it—I just collapse. My coach grabs my arm and helps me up. I try to pretend that no one was staring, that I didn’t pause the game, that I didn’t make a fool out of myself. I hop towards the bench, and Jordan is waiting there with my aunt, my mom, and my dad.

“Nice hat trick Katie,” Jordan says trying to cheer me up,

“Thanks,” I say, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to play for a while.

When we arrive at the hospital, mom goes inside while Jordan and I wait in the car. She comes out with a nurse and they help me walk to the X-rays. Turns out I broke my ankle. I will be in crutches and a boot for a while. My mom went to buy some crutches, so Jordan and I watched YouTube until I got an email. It read: Dear Katie Jones, You played great today and we are sorry about your ankle. This email is a scholarship to Velcrey Middle School next week. If you desire, you can reject. Sincerely, Velcrey staff.

I stare at it. I wonder if it was a prank. Knock knock knock! I take a screenshot and send it to my mom. “Uhh…. Come in?”

A nurse opens the door. “Hello Katie, can I touch your ankle?”

“Sure,” I say, as she puts my ankle in a sling thing hanging from the ceiling.

“Your mom is here” she says, “Be back in a bit!” She leaves. Ding! It was mom. She saw the email and enrolled me. The door opens again and my mom comes in with that nurse and they help put on the boot.

We pull into Jones Homemade Lefse and Buns, our family business. “Say hello to your aunts,” my mom warned.

“Ok.”

The week goes by so fast, and before I knew it I was standing in front of my mirror with the uniform for school. It was navy blue with a gold printed V on it. When I walked into the main lobby my jaw dropped. It had a knight sculpture with glass cases filled with trophies; benches lined the west wall. It had vending machines and a marble floor! But then it hit me that I don’t belong.

After I got my books, I went to class. The girls all had high ponytails with one small streak of hair along one cheek and same with the other.

I kept note of that and scanned the room for an open seat. There was only one. It was next to a mean-looking boy in the back of the classroom. The bell rang so I quickly sat down. I notice the guy is looking at me. No, staring at me. I try to ignore him as I open my math notebook. Inside it has a picture of me and Jordan after one of her basketball games and I obviously was wearing my Venn pride (Venn is my school/city). Also, let me get this straight: Jordan is my dad's cousin's daughter, and my BFF. The boy was still staring, but this time his face wore a smirk. Then he started yelling, “This girl is from Venn!”

I felt my face burn while everyone exploded in laughter. Velcrey is the richer Venn Valley school. Venn is the normal one.

From that day on, I: 1. Sat alone. 2. Did not talk to anyone and nobody talked to me. 3. Did exactly what the other girls did, and wore what they wore. I didn’t expose my difference. On the third day, I was walking to history with my crutches when that boy came behind me and kicked one of my crutches out from under my arm. I came crashing to the ground and landed on my back. Again, my face flushed with red and tears filled my eyes. I prepared for the laughter, the humiliating spotlight on me but it never came. Just silence.

“What happened?” The boy came around the corner,

“Umm, excuse me, I just pushed that laamme girl to the ground in front of the whole school. Where is my credit?”

“You don’t get ANY credit for being a jerk,” a girl in my history class says.

“Yeah that girl is in crutches,” says a girl I don’t know, but then the most odd thing happened. They all started helping me. And after that day I found my two best friends in the world.

Harper Peterson, Grade 5 Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley Teaching Artist: Stephen Peters