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"It was Monday again. It was Monday and the day was damp and cold. Rain splattered the cover of Algebra I as Laura heaved her books higher on her arm and sighed. School was such a bore. School. It loomed before her now, massive and dark against the sky. In a few minutes, she would have to face them again---Diane Goddard with her sleek blond hair and Terri Pierce in her candy-pink sweater. And Carol and Steve and Bill and Nancy... There were so many of them, so exclusive as they stood in their tight little groups laughing and joking. Why were they so cold and unkind? Was it because her long stringy hair hung in her eyes instead of dipping in graceful curls? Was it because she wrote poetry in algebra class and got A's in Latin without really trying? Shivering, Laura remembered how they would sit at the back of English class, passing notes and whispering. She thought of their identical brown loafers, their plastic purses, their hostile stares as they passed her in the corridors. She didn't care. They were clods, the whole lot of them. She shoved her way through the door and there they were. They thronged the hall,streamed in and out of doors, clustered under red and yellow posters advertising the latest dance. Mohair sweaters, madras shirts, pea-green raincoats. They were all alike, all the same. And in the center of the group, as usual, Diane Goddard was saying, "It'll be a riot! I just can't wait to see her face when she finds out." Laura flushed painfully. Were they talking about her? "What a scream! Can't wait to hear what she says!" Silently she hurried past and submerged herself in the stream of students heading for the lockers. It was then that she saw Rachel Horton---alone as always, her too-long skirt billowing over the white, heavy columns of her legs, her freckled face ringed withover the white, heavy columns of her legs, her freckled face ringed with shapeless black curls. She called herself Horton, but everyone knew her father was Jacob Hortensky, the

POETRY UNIT

The Bedouins of ancient Arabia and Persia made poetry a conversational art form. Several poetic forms developed from the participatory nature of tribal poetry. Today in most Arabic cultures, you may still experience public storytelling and spontaneous poetry challenges in the streets. The art of turning a rhyme into sly verbal sparring is considered a mark of intelligence and a badge of honor.

Research papers are analytical in nature. In this post, we'll learn how to write this type of academic paper...

Film Unit Resource