My teacher handed five-six green novels towards each table of the dimly lit classroom. Everyone grabbed a book, eagerly looking at the cover or reading the back. As I took a book, I examined it like it was some foreign object. I liked books, not that much, but the sentiment was still there. I knew this was just another assignment, lecture, group discussion, and whatever else is in between, that I would that I would fall short at compared to my classmates. 

​I hated school. I wasn’t good at anything. I didn’t understand math, ELA class was dominated by the “popular kids” who didn’t give anyone a chance to talk, social studies was taught by a woman who definitely should not have been teaching children in the sixth grade, science was taught by a woman who definitely should not have been teaching at all(if you have insane anger management issues, don’t work in a setting with irritating 11 year olds!), art was nice(I just have not artistic talent), and that pretty much covers it. I just didn’t understand much given to me. The only thing I enjoyed was the days we’d do creative writing, which was once in a blue moon. I felt like an idiot compared to my classmates. They all seemed to grasp whatever we were learning and I had to smile and nod like a deer in headlights. 

​I furrowed my eyebrows as my teacher began to explain what we were doing with this book. We were to read it as a class and discuss it every week.  I felt like this would be another activity I would be simultaneously excluded from and completely misunderstand what’s even happening. I read the back cover of the book and it seemed interesting enough, a boy is stranded in the woods with nothing but a hatchet and determination to survive. The teacher spent all of class explaining what we were supposed to do. Just this week, read chapter one and be ready to discuss. Easy enough. 

When I got home I was nervous to read the book. Why was I nervous to read? I enjoyed reading. Well I enjoyed reading historical works. As I opened the first chapter and read its contents I found it enjoyable. I wanted to keep reading, to find out what would happen to this boy. I thought about what I would do if I was in his situation. I theorized on what would happen next. I was enthralled.

I got to class the next day, confident in my ability to share with my peers. And I did just that. I had finally received praise for something. I had finally been good at something. 

As the weeks passed, we had quizzes and essays on this book. I completely aced all of them, shocking me hardcore. This book is where I developed my love for reading. I still read history books but I love reading classics and modern books like Westside story, The Jungle, Shatter me and Fatal Throne(my favorite book ever written).