Cancer is a killing disease.
Just a girl from the small town of Gentry, Arkansas, with nothing but a McDonald’s and one stoplight. I grew up attending the smallest school possible. When I was younger, I would see big skyscrapers on TV and I would tell myself, “I’m going to live there one day”. I made that promise to myself for the first time at age four.
Nobody quite prepares you for the day you leave your whole life, to move into a tiny room, only to be surrounded by thousands of strangers every day.
St. Francis Borgia’s number 7, Sydney Castelli, is sprinting down the right sideline with a Hannibal High School defender hot on her trail. She gets closer and closer to the end line trying to find a pass to her fellow teammates. Finally, only five yards away from dribbling straight out of bounds, she gets a cross off.
And he ruined everything.
When I was little, I spent almost every weekend at my grandma Dee’s house. I was the youngest of four children, who all had different activities that my mother would have to go watch. So while my sister was acting in plays, I would be at my grandmother’s house either eating cookies or playing with dolls–which I believed was much better than watching a three-hour play put on by high schoolers.
I wake up to a jolt of excitement; finally, the first day of my first-grade year. Stumbling out of my bed I scurry over to my mirror— shocked with what I was met with—I take a deep breath and begin to examine what I’m working with, scanning and collecting data as my eyes trickle down from my chocolate ball of frizzed-out hair to my half-painted toenails.