Many years have passed, but she still remembers the last day of her whole class. They got together to say goodbye to their 1 schooldays. She wonders herself if any of them still remembers their2, now that time has cloaked the past memories with layers of dust and 3 each fate beyond any expectations.

    The jolly “dwarf” of the class has now4 a successful businessman. The shy skinny “bookworm” is now a talented Ph.D. Trying his luck in some5 land in the Western atmosphere. The naughty, tomboy has6 her carefree laughter in exchange for a sheltered, comfortable life. And7, a literature addict, was driven by an inner force to put her pen aside and become a8 instead.

    She decided to9 her old teacher, who had sowed the seed for the cause of nurturing people in her directionless mind10 his poetical lessons. She used to dream of the enlightened faces of her 11and their round eyes running over every page of the books. Yet, at the most12 turn of her life's course, she didn't 13literature for her career, for she had been told that literature is just like a magical paradise to which the way is extremely 14.

    Her hands are so small; 15 can they hold the depths and the fullness that literature can bring? Still, she promises herself to go16, bearing in mind the last17 of her dear teacher, “Don't18what you give or receive. Learn to live generously to enjoy life, even when it's not generous toward us.”

    Now, she is a teacher, yet she has to continue learning numerous difficult19 of life. The more she20, the better she understands the value of her teacher's last lesson.

    Johnny lived with his mother and father in a small town in the mountains. One day there was an earthquake near the 1. Many houses were 2. Everyone thought that there would soon be another earthquake.

    They were 3 that the second earthquake would be worse than the first. “We 4 send Johnny to a safe place,” Johnny's mother said to her husband, “Many of our friends are sending 5 children to relatives in other towns.”

    “We'll 6 him to my brother, Peter,” Johnny's father said. “He lives a long way away. Johnny will be 7 with him.”

    He telephoned Johnny's uncle Peter and asked him 8 he would let Johnny 9 with him.

    “He is a good boy,” he said. “He won't give you any 10 .”

    “11 , Johnny's uncle Peter said. 12  I'm not 13  to children. I 14  a very quiet and peaceful 15 .”

    “You won't know Johnny is in the house.” His father told him.

    16  Johnny, 17  was five, went to live with his uncle.

    Two days 18 , his mother and father 19  a telegram from Peter.

    It said, “I'm returning the child. Please send the 20 .”

    As everyone grows, they realize there will always be someone who is better. I learned this1in the second year in high school. The shock this experience brought was so great that I felt my2was left on the side of the road for dead. That was all it took: one year and one person3everything.

    Her name is Jenny. She was the girl who4raised her hand and had useful comments about everything. When teachers needed challenging problems answered, they 5 her. And if students needed6,they went looking for her. I didn't 7her, but I admit her presence annoyed me. In the first year, as a model student, I was the person everyone 8and all the teachers trusted. Then she came out of9! We also had two classes 10.There I got to see what everybody thought of her. When an exam finished, it became a11that she got the top grade and it didn't 12to my classmates whether I was right there,13I also got excellent grades. They would cross a desert and14her! I was left being denied my presence.15.I felt like not trying anymore.

    I stopped trying to put on a show because no one was16 anymore. Later, I volunteered at the graduation ceremony. She was called to make a(n)17and discussed their difficulties. I realized all her hard work got her there, not her desire to 18 It finally hit me that Jenny19the attention she got. She showed me how big the world is and how20a world I used to live in. I'll do my best because I know it will pay off.

    Shayla Mitchell, 16, was diagnosed with the terminal stage of cancer. As a father, Mitchell always stayed home to care for her. He said the 1left them financially worse off. Then a group called Growing Hope 2 in with $1,800 to help with his living costs.

    3, he wanted to pay them back. In his 4, he had been a 5. So at age 40, Mitchell took up the6again, participating in two fights in Fairfax. Mitchell was7out in the first and second rounds, but he still8to raise $ 20,000 that he gave to Growing Hope. During this time, he 9 his daughter. "I fell into a dark bottom," Mitchell said, and for six months, he did little but 10.

One day, Mitchell11 upon a Mark Twain quote— "The two most important days in your life are the day you are born, and the day you 12why." "After I read that quote, I was going to spend the rest of my life helping kids with 13and their families." he said.

    Mitchell thought of creating a foundation, though boxing did not seem 14anymore for fund-raising due to his age. Then he found that 15 could be a source to raise money. In the Corps Marathon, he cut a striking figure on the course.16by this success, he set his sights higher. He 17each of the miles of the race to a different child with cancer, and he carried their 18with him. Years after his daughter's death, Mitchell now 19up in the morning knowing his 20.

In spite of the fact that I had stayed with my sister for 14 years. I knew one thing—I would not want to be like her. In high school, she was a journalist and it was 1 she talked about. No matter how many times I said it, I 2 myself in "Intro to Journalism" freshman year,3 . Why? That was because my mother wanted me to be a journalist, 

Though it was the4 thing I wanted to do, I got to realize the point of being a journalist. It was 5 writing a report. It was also communicating with people by telling stories. After a short term, I began to see what happened around me 6 —I saw things as7 , which I wanted to share with people who wants to 8 .

In the second semester, I joined the newspaper staff and 9 nearly every position on staff, from designing different columns to taking photographs. I wrote stories, opinions, and almost any other thing for every 10 of the paper.

I loved everything around me, but I found my gift in visual journalism. I had a/an 11 for design and I was12 ready to put in. When I was writing each story, I promised to tell in its entirety. There is possibility that some 13 of a story can't be presented in a paragraph form. That is 14 I came in. I worked to improve the 15 of our magazine every day. But my work is not 16 to this. I also worked to add the web and multimedia 17 the publication. I loved producing content for the newspaper. 18 , I found myself creating less and less through my junior year. Then 1 was thinking up ideas and helping others to do the 19 to make their work happen.

Now, I'm proud to say that I have fully made 20 of what it means to be a good storyteller.

An Art Class

When Kelly was twelve, she started taking classes at Miss Grace's School for Art. She didn't like it at first: the "novice artists"-the kids who hadn't really done art before-worked mostly with clay, and Kelly was a terrible sculptor. 

It wasn't until her third year that Kelly found something she was really good at-charcoal drawing （素描）. She loved watching the lines spread unevenly across the page as she moved the bits of charcoal back and forth over the paper. 

One day, Sophia. the best artist in her class, sat down and set up her easel （画架） next to Kelly. Kelly felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She'd. actually found an art form that she enjoyed-and was good at--and now Sophia was going to outshine her again? Kelly fought back tears when Miss Grace entered the room. 

"Hello class, Miss Grace said. "We'll continue to work on the project today. What masterpiece would Sophia have come up with?

Kelly looked at Sophia's easel and she couldn't believe it--it was a mess! For a brief moment, Kelly couldn't actually believe her drawing was better than Sophia's. 

But then she looked at Sophia, who was watching Kelly with an anxious expression. "I…. I couldn't decide what to do, " Sophia said. "And you're so good. Sometimes I feel like my stuff is just so bad in comparison. 

Kelly looked to see if Sophia was joking, but she seemed completely serious. Now Kelly was shocked. "I'm not talented ... Miss Grace seldom praises me. You're the best one in our class!"

Sophia raised her eyebrows. "I might be a really good copier of the stuff, but I have no idea what to do when it comes to making up my own images. You are so great at making new things out of the old stuff. I've loved your works. "

"I've loved yours, too, Kelly said. 

"Well, definitely not this one, " Sophia said. 

Kelly smiled. "Maybe not right now. But if you move these lines up. . . "she said, pointing her finger on Sophia's paper. 

Sophia was quiet for a moment. "That's a great idea!" she said finally. 

Kelly smiled and turned back to her drawing, looking every so often at Sophia's work to see that she was taking her advice, down to the last line.