I'm supposed to be writing a short young adult novel for English class. Can someone please critique my story so far and tell me
what I must do to make it better.
Here it is:
My eyes open and I’m looking at a desk.
“Samuel, don’t put your head down,” lectured a familiar voice.
I think about why I’m here. I don’t want to be here. No one gets me here. It should be unlawful.
“That’s the bell, make sure to study for our test tomorrow,” pierced Mrs.Fansen.
My feet drag as I head to period 2. Reminding me that the day has just begun. I don’t think I'm going to make it. I don't know how anyone does.
“Be quiet!” shouts my 2nd-period teacher. “Today we will be blah blah blah blah blah,” that’s all I heard at least.
I reach my hand into my backpack and search for a pencil case. I take it out and arrange all of the contents on my desk in a precise fashion. Pencils aligned vertically in the top right, pens horizontally in the top left, and eraser vertically in the bottom left. The bottom right is used by me to think. Think about things I’d rather be doing.
I look at my car in awe. How could someone be so, so? I’m speechless for many reasons. My parents will be mad, I don’t have the money to fix it, and there's an idiot out there who goes around smashing cars and driving away.
The second period ends as I finish my vacation from the Bahamas. Most of my trips are dictated by a bell.
On my walk from 2nd period to 3rd, I usually stroll by the parking lot to use my car as a locker. When I went to the parking lot today, however, my car was only ¾ of what it used to be. Hit and run I guess.
The first thought that comes to my mind is, how am I gonna pay for this?
I take out my phone, only to get a notification that says I missed third period. I make my way back to school and jump into my fourth-period class. Just as I get in my seat the tardy bell rings. The rest of the day goes by fairly fast because I have some other things on my mind.
I walk back over to my car look over it. The damage looks pretty serious. I take out my cell phone and call 911. A couple minutes pass and the blue car is in front of me. An officer walks out.
“What’s going on,” he amplifies.
“Someone smashed my car and drove away,” I whine.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” he says. “Call when you actually need something.” He drove away.
What do I do now? No one is going to help me. I’m going to find who smashed my car, I’m going to get the money to fix my car, and I’m going to do it for justice. I get into my car and start it up. It makes an odd sound and leaps forward onto the road.
My left-hand grips the leather and my right-hand grabs the gear shift. I make my way to my house for an investigation.
I step out of my car and look over the damage again. I see some metallic pink paint on my wrecked bumper. Now my determination for justice builds.
As my mind stirs, I make a decision to go back to school. The car may still be in the parking lot. A quick drive to school gives me little time to think about what I’m going to do once I find the pink car. What I’m going to do to the owner.
The car is parked 100 meters away from my parking spot. I walk toward the car with rage. The front of the car has some grey paint streaked across. What do I do now?
As I stand there in awe, a person approaches the car. He puts his hand on the door handle. I yell.
“Hey, you!” I yell. He looks at me, and he gets into his car. Then, faster than I can think of anything, he starts driving away.
As I race out of the parking lot I dial 911 and tell them my emergency. I set down my phone and see a metallic pink car in the distance. My foot drops on the pedal like a brick. I swerve through cars and trucks, catching up to the pink car.
