Freedom Writers

The summer was the worst summer in my short 14 years of life.

It all started with a phone call. My mother was crying and begging, asking for more time as if she was gasping for her last breath of air. She held me as tight as she could and cried. Her tears hit my shirt like bullets and told me we're being thrown out. She kept apologizing to me that I've no home. I should have asked for something less expensive for Christmas.

On that morning, a hard knock on the door woke me up. The sheriff was there to do his job. I looked up at the sky waiting for something to happen. My mother has no family to lean on, no money coming in. Why bother coming to school and getting good grades if I'm homeless?

The bus stops in front of the school, I feel like throwing up. I'm wearing clothes from last year, some old shoes and no new haircut. I kept thinking I should have left then, instead I'm greeted by a couple of friends from my English class last year. And it hits me, Mrs. Gruwell, my crazy English teacher from last year, is the only person who makes me think of hope.

Talking with friends about last year's English and our trips I began to feel better. I received my schedule and the first teacher is Mrs. Gruwell, room 203. I walked into the room and feel all the problems in life are not so important anymore.

I am home.