snake eyes
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Can someone please tell me if this is a good nonfiction essay. the subject is supposed to be a little event that impacted you. Can you please give suggestions, check grammar, or help me end it. Thank you
My Green Bike
I stood in the middle of the lawn, waiting for Katie to get out of class. I hate getting out of class five minutes earlier just to end up waiting for her. “Hurry”, I yelled, as she pushed her way out of the crowd of students. The bike rack looked like the lost and found with the clutter of chains and dirty jackets. Katie walked in to grab her metallic pink huffy bike. “You are so lucky,” I said, glaring at the bike. “Why?”, she asked confused. I knew she would laugh if I told her that I didn’t own a bike and never was taught how to ride one. “Never mind,” I siad. Her long brown hair and light pink Strawberry Shortcake sweater blew chaotically, as she was peddling besides me. Her face lit up with excitement as the wind rushed through her face. The metallic bike bedazzled in the hot summer sun. “Who taught you how to ride a bike?” I asked curiously. “My dad”, she replied. I wish my dad was like that. He was always so caught up in his boring office work that he never found time to do anything for me. “Do you want to ride it until we get to your house?” she asked. “No thanks,” I replied nervously.
I watched Katie disappear around the corner of the block, as I made my way to the front door. I threw my purple corduroy backpack against the wall of the coat closet. “How was school, asked my dad. His intense eyes were looking at me through those black square framed glasses that sat on the arch of his nose. He neatly adjusted his maroon and brown striped tie that he wore with almost all of his business suits. “It was ok, I guess,” I replied. The air smelt of strong cologne, as he rushed outside the front door with a coffee in one hand, and big black briefcase in the other. Cough, Cough, cough”. How can he stand that smell all day long. I switched on the TV to Disney channel as I made my way to the backyard door. I could hear the rustling sound of the shower coming from the wall above me where the master bedroom was located. My mom usually got ready earlier. There lay my green bike beneath the clutter of tools and broken parts of the barbeque grill. Dust filled the air, as I yanked it out. Why did my dad even by this for me, if he knew that he was never going to find the time out of his busy life to teach me how to actually ride it.? Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stood there staring at my lonely bike.
I impatiently tapped my plate with my silver spoon. “Is it ready yet?” I asked my mom. Her dark denim jeans were mopping the kitchen floor as she stormed from counter to counter, while the steaming pot of macaroni lay on the stove behind her. Her long black hair was tied in a bun with a shiny butterfly clip. She tried to sweep away the loose strands of hair that were beginning to fall out of the clip. She was struggling to grab a cup from the dishwasher with a handful of spoons. “I will take those,” I insisted. “Shukriyaa jaan”(thank you love), she said. My mouth watered, as she was bringing the pot to the dining table. I shoved a spoon full in my mouth right when my mom poured it onto my plate. “When is dad coming home?” I asked. He usually gets home from the office early on Fridays. “He is probably on his way.” she replied. I don’t think tonight would be a good time to ask him about the bike.
I sat on top of my bed, looking out the window. Some kids were still riding their bikes across the streets of the neighborhood. I would have to learn by myself before the 6th grade. Everyone will laugh at me, if they found out. I jumped off the bed and zoomed down the stairs. “I’m going outside to play,” I told my mom who was now bundled up in a blanket, watching her annoying Indian soap operas. The grass felt cool beneath my feet. I clenched the bikes handlebars and lifted it up. Balance is the key, I thought to my self while I prepared to be seated. As soon as I lifted my left foot of the lawn, I fell flat on my side. I started peddling as soon as I lifted my foot the second time. The bike wobbled insanely while I tried to position the handle bars. “Thump!,” I crashed into the trunk of the tree. Blood gushed out through my jeans where my knee was located. I quickly shoved my bike to the side and limped back into the house. “What happened!” my mom shrieked. Great. Now she will make a huge deal about it. “It’s just a little scrape, mom” I pleaded. A sharp sting sent chills down my spine as she patted on the rubbing alcohol. As I got up from the couch, the tightly wrapped bandage refused to let my knee bend. Stiffly, I walked upstairs to my room and plopped on to my bed. How will I be able to practice riding tomorrow? I thought to myself. It should heal by morning time. “What happened to your knee?” My dad asked, as he made his way into my bedroom. “I was learnin
My Green Bike
I stood in the middle of the lawn, waiting for Katie to get out of class. I hate getting out of class five minutes earlier just to end up waiting for her. “Hurry”, I yelled, as she pushed her way out of the crowd of students. The bike rack looked like the lost and found with the clutter of chains and dirty jackets. Katie walked in to grab her metallic pink huffy bike. “You are so lucky,” I said, glaring at the bike. “Why?”, she asked confused. I knew she would laugh if I told her that I didn’t own a bike and never was taught how to ride one. “Never mind,” I siad. Her long brown hair and light pink Strawberry Shortcake sweater blew chaotically, as she was peddling besides me. Her face lit up with excitement as the wind rushed through her face. The metallic bike bedazzled in the hot summer sun. “Who taught you how to ride a bike?” I asked curiously. “My dad”, she replied. I wish my dad was like that. He was always so caught up in his boring office work that he never found time to do anything for me. “Do you want to ride it until we get to your house?” she asked. “No thanks,” I replied nervously.
I watched Katie disappear around the corner of the block, as I made my way to the front door. I threw my purple corduroy backpack against the wall of the coat closet. “How was school, asked my dad. His intense eyes were looking at me through those black square framed glasses that sat on the arch of his nose. He neatly adjusted his maroon and brown striped tie that he wore with almost all of his business suits. “It was ok, I guess,” I replied. The air smelt of strong cologne, as he rushed outside the front door with a coffee in one hand, and big black briefcase in the other. Cough, Cough, cough”. How can he stand that smell all day long. I switched on the TV to Disney channel as I made my way to the backyard door. I could hear the rustling sound of the shower coming from the wall above me where the master bedroom was located. My mom usually got ready earlier. There lay my green bike beneath the clutter of tools and broken parts of the barbeque grill. Dust filled the air, as I yanked it out. Why did my dad even by this for me, if he knew that he was never going to find the time out of his busy life to teach me how to actually ride it.? Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stood there staring at my lonely bike.
I impatiently tapped my plate with my silver spoon. “Is it ready yet?” I asked my mom. Her dark denim jeans were mopping the kitchen floor as she stormed from counter to counter, while the steaming pot of macaroni lay on the stove behind her. Her long black hair was tied in a bun with a shiny butterfly clip. She tried to sweep away the loose strands of hair that were beginning to fall out of the clip. She was struggling to grab a cup from the dishwasher with a handful of spoons. “I will take those,” I insisted. “Shukriyaa jaan”(thank you love), she said. My mouth watered, as she was bringing the pot to the dining table. I shoved a spoon full in my mouth right when my mom poured it onto my plate. “When is dad coming home?” I asked. He usually gets home from the office early on Fridays. “He is probably on his way.” she replied. I don’t think tonight would be a good time to ask him about the bike.
I sat on top of my bed, looking out the window. Some kids were still riding their bikes across the streets of the neighborhood. I would have to learn by myself before the 6th grade. Everyone will laugh at me, if they found out. I jumped off the bed and zoomed down the stairs. “I’m going outside to play,” I told my mom who was now bundled up in a blanket, watching her annoying Indian soap operas. The grass felt cool beneath my feet. I clenched the bikes handlebars and lifted it up. Balance is the key, I thought to my self while I prepared to be seated. As soon as I lifted my left foot of the lawn, I fell flat on my side. I started peddling as soon as I lifted my foot the second time. The bike wobbled insanely while I tried to position the handle bars. “Thump!,” I crashed into the trunk of the tree. Blood gushed out through my jeans where my knee was located. I quickly shoved my bike to the side and limped back into the house. “What happened!” my mom shrieked. Great. Now she will make a huge deal about it. “It’s just a little scrape, mom” I pleaded. A sharp sting sent chills down my spine as she patted on the rubbing alcohol. As I got up from the couch, the tightly wrapped bandage refused to let my knee bend. Stiffly, I walked upstairs to my room and plopped on to my bed. How will I be able to practice riding tomorrow? I thought to myself. It should heal by morning time. “What happened to your knee?” My dad asked, as he made his way into my bedroom. “I was learnin