A Day in the Life of Jenna Tingleff

December 17, 2009
By Tia Calhoun BRONZE, Mapleton, Illinois
Tia Calhoun BRONZE, Mapleton, Illinois
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I stumble out of bed each morning, my long gawky legs not wanting to function properly, but yet they do. The oh-so-delightful, warming shower calls my name so therefore I must take a long hot shower to get ready for the day. The whole time I’m in the shower I’m visualizing how my somewhat long, darkish-brown hair should look like to impress everyone at school for the day, but instead of impressing my friends, I decide on a high pony tail with my bangs pulled back with a bobby pin. A casual look for a change, indeed! Next I race to my room to open my refreshing closet doors to gaze upon every colored shirt I have; from t-shirts, to dress-up shirts, and so on and so forth. Feeling in a casual mood, I grab the closest t-shirt and hoodie, and a light pair of jeans that are long enough to cover all of my legs, so nobody can see how skinny and beanstalk-ish they are. I go back downstairs to surveying my kitchen of all possessions I will need for the day, not worrying about my cell phone, since I don’t really use it anyway. Nor my purse, which just stays in my sports bag all day long in the locker room, kept away from everyone in sight. It’s time to leave for I am late. I’m rushing to school to meet my best friend, Miss Tia, in the parking lot so we can walk into the dreadful building I have learned to hate.

Inside this torture chamber, carrying an arm full of books from the night before, heading to my first hour class I stop to talk to the girls I call my “friends.” I know your thinking that girl, that Jenna Tingleff girl, she doesn’t have any friends, but in reality I do, crazy as it may seem. Someone in this world can put up with me! The day drags on puncturing my brain from all this useless information I have to memorize to stay number one in my class. Homework builds up, accumulating into hours worth I have to do tonight, since I have no more time in class to worry about this, I just want it to be time.

The time has finally arrived for basketball practice at night. I change into my beaten up orange smelly jersey from the night before and into my slick, shiny black shorts, covering half way down my to my knees, but yet still rolled up about three times. I lace up the close fitting, inflexible ankle braces I must wear, along with my unbelievable, undenying, most spectacular black, shiny, basketball shoes. Practice starts and I’m alive. Racing everyone up and down the courts, throwing up shots left and right “swish, swish swish,” is all I hear in my mind. Everyone’s getting mad because I’m better than them, but so what, I’m the best!

Practice has come and gone so I must go back home. The car ride home is most amazing though. I blast my music loud, so I can hear the boom in my speakers, telling me I need to maybe chill out, but I cannot when “Party in the USA” is making the sounds! Dancing around, swerving all over the road, I have to get my multi-tasking under control! Making the turn to my house, I turn down my sounds, and roll in so cleverly, my parents must know I’m home. I walk into my house, sitting these gruesome books on my table, almost ready to start the homework I don’t want to do. Dinner is served and homework is all done, so it’s time I get ready for bed. As I’m about to lie down, I remember my hideous cell phone packed far away in my bag, out of sight’s way, and somehow I go get it to see who may have wanted to speak with me. I see some messages but usually ignore most, for who needs these dumb things, their such a waste! I’ll fall asleep tonight, with my lanky legs hanging off my bed, sheets not long enough to reach, dreaming of the day I’ll become a star!

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This article has 1 comment.

on Nov. 30 2010 at 5:00 pm
Healing_Angel SILVER, Sydney, Other
8 articles 2 photos 513 comments

Favorite Quote:
Live for today, not for tomorrow

This is very detailed and well written. It has enough flow so it doesn't get boring and it has a point to it. Great job.


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