Category: Student Work

NERF Business Letter

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NERF Customer Service
1027 Newport Ave.
Pawtucket, RI 02862
Whoever It May Concern:
I very much enjoy your products. However, I have encountered a problem with your NERF Zombie Strike Crossfire Bow Toy.
When I bought this product, I was delighted.  I am a huge fan. The Crossfire Bow was perfect, the first of its kind that I am aware of, with an adequate number of darts, and a realistic string to make it look like a real crossbow. I was so pumped up because finally a real NERF crossbow had been made! However, I had two small problems, the first problem being the zombies. My family and I are not really into zombies, but this wasn’t a major problem because as soon as I pulled it out, I attached stickers to cover it up. The second problem was much more important. As soon as I loaded the gun and pulled the trigger, a bullet flew out. Perfect. But the second time I shot it, one bullet came straight and fast, like it’s supposed to, but the second bullet barely came out of the socket.
            This was very disappointing because I purchased the Rough Cut gun knowing that it shot two bullets at the same time. I didn’t really care for this feature so I bought the Crossfire Bow knowing that it didn’t shoot two bullets at the same time. If I would have known that the bow shot like this, I never would have purchased it in the first place. I tested the bow five times recently, and three times this occurred. This is very frustrating because I have had little problems with your toys, and they all work wonderfully. Now all of the sudden it is malfunctioning.
            As a dedicated consumer, I request that I will be given a free Crossfire Bow as a result of the poor quality and performance. My friends and I love playing an occasional NERF battle, and this is very disappointing.
Sincerely,
Ethan McFerren

Lost Dreams

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Lost Dreams

Shivering and sweating, I woke up startled to find myself on the cold bare floor. All I could remember was my name, Serena Riley. I didn’t know what was going on. All I could see in my head were blurry pictures of random people. I felt like my heart was racing faster than lightning. As my cat-like green eyes searched across the room, a knock on the door startled me. I turned around to find myself staring at a boy with shaggy brown hair, tanned skin and piercing blue eyes.
“Serena, right?” he asked with a bright white smile. I nodded wondering how he knew my name, “I’m Charlie,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied meekly, “where am I?”
“You’re in the Caribbean,” he said.
“Oh,” I responded. I walked over to the tiny window, next to some pictures of what looked like Charlie and a girl, whom I thought I saw in my dreams. I shivered as I thought about it. “How did I get here?” I asked Charlie.
“You were unconscious in a stranded boat, right over there,” he pointed outside to the boat that was still floating in the clear blue water, “my sister, Amanda, took you to the clinic nearby.”
“What did he say?” I asked, maybe it would explain my strange dreams.
“He says that you must have hit your head on something that made you lose your memory,” he told me.
Before I could say another word, the lights turned off, books started falling from the shelves and the ground started shaking. Just then, Charlie and I looked at each other and we knew exactly what was happening. We screamed.
“Earthquake!” I turned around to see the girl in the photo, pale faced running towards us yelling.
Then I heard Charlie scream my name as the ground started to split apart. As I tried to reach for his hand I fell into an endless black pit. I plummeted towards my death, thoughts about what would happen to Charlie scared me. I felt a tear roll down my cheek. Charlie, I thought. Suddenly, everything stopped.
I woke up with my heart pounding so loud that the whole world could hear it. I took a deep breath. It was just a dream, I thought, just a dream. I sighed as I looked at the time, 7:30 am, the first day of high school. Ugh high school, I thought. I threw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie and ran downstairs to catch the bus before it left.
As I reached downstairs the aroma of my mom’s famous homemade chocolate chip muffins along with freshly squeezed orange juice reached my nose eagerly. I finished up my chocolate chip muffin, and looked at the time-8:00 it flashed. Oh no I’m going to miss the bus, I thought, so I gulped down my orange juice and raced to the bus stop in the nick of time. I got on the bus and sat down in the front.
Everything about today sucked, and all I could think about was my dream. When they first started I thought it was a normal nightmare, but then it kept on reoccurring day after day. All my life I’ve been homeschooled until now. I’ve actually never been anywhere other than my house, this neighborhood, and my nana’s. But then again I know it means something, this dream, it just has to.
“Earth to Serena,” a voice poked in my thoughts interrupting me.
“What,” I snapped as I turned around to see who I was talking to.
“Sorry I didn’t mean to bother you,” Rachel said quietly pushing up her glasses.
“Sorry Rachel, I didn’t see you there,” I said feeling bad. I just met Rachel a few weeks ago when she moved in; she’s okay quiet and sensitive, not my kind of friend though. I sighed and turned around staring out the bus window at the foggy sky, thinking about my dream.
And there it was the big old grayish brown building, a pile of bricks and cement, staring down at bus with the words “Melaonre High School” like a black curtain shutting out all my thoughts.
First day of high school. Yay. I think sarcastically.
I entered the halls of Melaonre High the home of Worms, and peeked at my schedule, I have pre-calculus first and my locker combo is, 35-19-6. I checked again to make sure and wrote down the combo on the side of my shoe.
I hurried to my locker to put my stuff away, when I ran into someone, dropping my binder and its contents. Embarrassed I picked up my belongings and looked up to say sorry, but then my mind went blank. It was like I couldn’t form words or speak in full sentences anymore. I just stared and stared until he looked at me and his face went as pale as mine. A part of me wanted to ask him his name and another part of me wanted to run away and hide in a dark corner. He had the same piercing blue eyes and shaggy brown hair; I swear he looked exactly like him.
Finally I started to speak, “Hi, I’m Serena Riley. What’s your name?”
“Charlie Gates,” he said hurriedly, his eyes darting back and forth as if he were looking for someone. A few moments passed by and he started to speak again, “Um I got to go talk to my sister, but um, it was nice meeting you Serena, so I’ll see you around,” he quickly said and took off.
“Ok,” I said still trying to recover from shock. This isn’t real, this isn’t possible. How do you dream of someone you never even met? None of this makes sense! I wonder worriedly. I looked back and found Charlie whispering to what looked like his sister, the girl in the photo, from the dream. And for a while it seemed as if they were staring at me trying to figure out if I were real or not. I tried to make out their emotions through their facial expressions but I got nothing. Yet, something in Charlie Gate’s eyes told me that he knew something about me that even I didn’t know about myself.

                                             

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October 7, 2014
Starbucks Corporation
2401 Utah Ave S
Seattle, WA 98134
Dear Mr. Baldwin,
 I am writing to you about an issue that occurred while I was ordering an item off the menu at a nearby Starbucks. The problem was the price and how they made my drink. I ordered a Grande Caramel Frappuccino which is priced at $4.25, and I think it’s way too expensive.
 When I took a sip of my drink, it tasted like watery caramel and foam. I have noticed that the Caramel Frappuccino tends to separate into slush and liquid, so you should stir it a bit with the straw for a better drinking experience. I’m pretty sure that the Caramel Frappuccino are made by blending coffee with caramel sauce, milk, ice, and then topped with whipped cream. I thought that if I at least got the Grande, since I had always ordered a small, I would be provided with a better beverage, but it was a complete and utter disappointment.
It did have a stronger coffee flavor than other ones I have tasted, but not to a great extent. I really enjoy the taste of caramel and like most of the other drinks; the Caramel Frappuccino was very sweet with a strong flavor.
I appreciate that you took your time in reading my letter thoroughly and carefully. I look forward to hearing from you in the near future about my complaint. Thank you and please feel free to contact me at 703-327-8437 as soon as possible.
Sincerely,

Nasima Sadr

Business Letter to the Georgia Institute of Technology

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October 9, 2014

Georgia Institute of Technology

North Ave.

Atlanta, Georgia 30332

Dear Georgia Institute of Technology Representative:

Approximately 14 years ago, my parents graduated from the Georgia Institute of Technology. This is why I grew up hearing about Georgia Tech my whole childhood. As a child, I grew up with a Yellow Jacket stuffed animal and learned to correct others when they called it a “bee”. I also memorized the lyrics to “I’m a Wramblin’ Wreck from Georgia Tech” fight song as an 8 year old little girl. As I grew in height, my hatred for the University of Georgia also grew. Although there were some times where I wanted to go to other schools such as the University of Virginia, Virginia Tech, or even Harvard, I always ended up settling on Georgia Tech.

I am currently a Freshman at Rock Ridge High School in Ashburn, Virginia and taking the highest level academic courses offered to me at school. As a Ninth Grader, I am taking Algebra 2/Trigonometry, Honors Biology, Spanish 3, Pre AP World History and Geography, and Honors English for my academic classes. I am also participating in Advanced Mixed Chorus, Study Hall, and Health and PE for my other blocks. As with extracurricular activities, I am on my school’s Freshman Volleyball team and in the All Female A Cappella Club. Over the summer, I took the summer school course of Earth Science because I enjoy science and want to take as many science classes as possible. This allowed me to get a headstart to my first year in high school, and the course gave me something to do over the summer. In the next three years of high school, I plan on taking the most advanced science classes, at least 2 AP social science classes out of 4 years of social science classes, and 4 years of honor level English. By the end of Senior year, I hope to have finished AP Calculus AB, AP Calculus BC, and AP Spanish.My favorite classes have always been math and science, and I believe that going to a college that will help me develop skills in my interests is the best college for me. I am also intrigued by the idea of pursuing a career in Computer Science or Computer Programming.

The purpose of this letter wasn’t just to talk about how much I love Georgia Tech but about how to get into Georgia Tech. After taking 4 years of advanced courses in every subject, I hope to be able to attend the Georgia Institute of Technology, but I have found a few obstacles blocking my path to my future at Georgia Tech. I have calculated that it will cost about $100,000-$120,000 to go to Georgia Tech for a full four years and get my Bachelor’s Degree in the study of my choice, due to living out-of-state. This is not accounting for the price of books, housing, food, and inflation. Student debt is increasing greatly and will likely continue to incresase for years to come, which worries me about my future. Either I risk going to my dream college and being in debt for a long time or I go to an in-state college for less and don’t get to go to my dream college. Even though my parents both went out-of-state to Georgia Tech, neither of them want me going to an out-of-state school and spending money we don’t have. They have agreed to pay for some of my college and possibly loan me interest-free money, but I’m still worried about my future. Yes, I can try to get scholarships and get a job, but I want to go to Georgia Tech knowing that I won’t be in debt the rest of my life. Do you have any suggestions as to what classes I should start taking, what activities I should be participating in, and ways I can accrue enough money to get through college?

Thank you for your time,
Gwyneth Schloer

Oh Yum, Pumpkin Pie

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Ethan McFerren
Mr. Koch
English 9H
October 27, 2014
Oh Yum, Pumpkin Pie
            Have you ever had pumpkin pie, on Thanksgiving, or just a special occasion,
Do you remember cutting a really, really huge piece with the silver cutter, with the chatter of people in the background, and you are oblivious to them,
Do you remember getting a spotless white plate, porcelain or plastic, and putting the pie on it with giddy excitement, and collecting the silver spoon,
Do you remember spraying and spurting whip cream, that wonderful whip cream, on to the back of your pie for five long seconds near the crispy crust,
Do you recall the first bite, where you take a third of the pie into your spoon, and attempt to chew, but swallow so quickly because you can only chew a few times, and the memories of walking to Michael’s on a wintery day come flooding back,
And do you recall the second bite, where the flavor of pumpkin invades your tongue, that gentle pumpkin flavor spreading inside your mouth reminding you of autumn,

And do you remember the last bite, the very last bite, where you scoop the rest of the pie and savor the moment, the cool whip cream, the piping crusty crust, and the last chunk of pie, and chew twenty times, and then swallow very, very slowly, inch by inch, until the last has gone down your throat, and you stare in mourning at the pumpkin stained plate and spoon? I do. 

The Story of a Slave

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Ethan McFerren
Mr. Koch
English 9H
October 6, 2014
The Story of a Slave
            “No, nooooo,” I scream in anger, sadness, shock, confusion! Though I shouldn’t be confused. I know what’s happening. The white people are leading me away from my family. My mother cries and my brother looks away, not wanting to show his emotion. My father died when I was young, so he isn’t here. I watch in despair as I am lead further and further away from my home, my life in Africa, and to someplace I do not know.
            The white man shoves me in with a bunch of other black slaves. Mehimbo, a girl who I knew since I was born, is also on the ship. The white man yells an order, and we start to move. No warning. No goodbyes. My family is stripped away from me like that. Our wooden ship skirts smoothly into the Atlantic Ocean. I watch it churn like soup with teary eyes. Will I ever be able to see my family again? No. That’s for certain. I will be alone with just me and my master. Or masters. I probably go to a rich family, since I think I’ll sell for good money. I dismiss the idea from my head. Maybe I can run away.
            The first day is awful. They give us bread and water for dinner. The beds in the ship are overcrowded and too small. I have nightmares of leaving my family forever. The rest of the week goes on the same way. Look at the water, occasionally talk to Mehimbo, although both of us prefer to be left alone, and of course bread and water. People vomit their meals out on deck. I pretend to vomit my food so I can get some fresh air, but they soon find out and I get whipped. People that don’t make it through the voyage are simply tossed at sea. One boy even fell overboard. I grow thinner and thinner, even though I was always skinny. Everybody is cold, or sick, or hungry, or thirsty. We are all miserable. The voyage takes us three weeks straight. I don’t know if I should be scared, or excited, or nervous. After all, I am halfway across the globe with nobody I know except for Mehimbo. One by one, we are lead out into the cool, misty morning. I breathe in fresh gulps of air like water. Then we are half led, half pushed to a wooden block in the middle of a town. The buildings look nothing alike to the small huts at home. The place is surrounded with white men and women. I feel like I don’t belong.

            Someone starts the auction. One by one, slaves are carried away with their new owners. The sounds are filled with men shouting out. Ten! Fifteen! I bid twenty-five! Thirty! On and on. Around midafternoon, Mehimbo and I are selected by our masters, a kind-looking man with a beard, and a fierce, angry, and annoyed woman who has icy cold eyes filled with hatred. I’m frightened, but at the same time, I am very grateful that Mehimbo and I were both selected by the same owners, maybe because we were standing next to each other. We are slowly led down the wooden auction block. Our masters pay money in gold to the slave trader and lead us away. Forty gold pieces. That is it. That is what Mehimbo and I are worth. Forty gold pieces.   Will I have kind owners? Not by the look of the lady. Will I be treated fairly? Doubtful. As I am led down a dirt path, I mourn. My new life is about to begin. 

Justice Letter

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Justice Store
22000 Dulles Retail Plaza
Sterling, VA 20166

Dear Justice:

A few years ago, I finally found a jumpsuit at your store that matched my style. This jumpsuit is short and has laces at the top. The style was very attractive. I was so happy that I couldn’t wait to wear it, but I saved it for a day at the beach. A day before I went to the beach, I decided to try on the jumpsuit before I packed it into my suitcase. Then, just as I gently pulled the lacing over my shoulders, one of the shoulder laces snapped!

I was devastated because I was really looking forward to wearing that jumpsuit on the beach. I hadn’t even pulled hard on the laces; I was very careful. When I looked at the wrecked lace, I realized that the problem arose due to the fault of your stitching. The laces were stitched on too loose and carelessly; by the time I put on my dress, they completely came apart! I am very disappointed in the quality of your stitching! The dress that I paid full price for didn’t even last a few seconds. It separated and now I cannot even wear it anymore before finding a way to stitch it back myself.

I do have to commend your store for its fabulous model, though. The fashionable model and the colors of the jumpsuit went together and looked adorable. I just wish I had a chance to wear these adorable clothes and show them to others before they rip apart because of the stitching issues. The quality of the clothing I received from your store is terrible; it doesn’t have any relation to the price of the jumpsuit.

I wanted to let you know that you should improve the quality of your clothing so that they can last long. I would propose taking the time to focus more of your budget on creating the clothing instead of designing it, because I feel that the designs of your clothing are already getting an abundant amount of attention. In fact, that is the best part of your clothing!

If you advertise your improved stitching quality, I am sure that many others will be interested in buying your clothes. I have a few friends who have also had similar issues about your clothing, and I believe that taking this suggestion into consideration would be really beneficial to both your store and your customers. My friends all agree that the quality of the stitching in your clothing is the only thing that keeps them from buying more clothing from your store, anymore. After all, Justice has the best designs, but just needs to have better quality to become even more successful. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and taking my improvements into consideration!

Sincerely,

Sreya Palnati

The Secret

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The Secret

There’s only thirty more seconds left. Why does time have to go so fast? A movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. It’s Tommy shooting a basket with a balled up piece of paper. “Hey, Kate! You see that? Only one try!”

I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of my reaction, so I just roll my eyes and continue my staring contest with the clock. Three… Two… One… The annoyingly loud bell screeches into everyone’s ears. Whooping and hollering is taking place in the already crowded hallways. I slowly pack up my school books, papers, and pencil, delaying the inevitable without being too obvious. I quickly glance around the room to find the teacher looking at me. Oh, no. I attempt getting out of the classroom before he tries to talk to me, but fail.

“How are you doing, Kate? You seemed a little sad today.” I want to say terrible, awful, depressing, but as usual, I say the socially acceptable thing.

“I’m fine, Mr. Moore! Just a little tired! Have good day!” My fake happiness is expertly plastered all over my face.

“Okay. You too,” he replies with delight in his voice. I sprint out the door, hugging my textbooks, with my head down. The crowd is moving like a school of fish towards the front entrance. I hate Fridays. People get way too happy about the weekend and the stupid Friday-night football games. The games are just another excuse to exaggerate the social class difference between the upper-class, jocks and cheerleaders, and the lower-class, me.

After what seems like one minute, I find myself getting off the bus. I start taking slug-like steps in the direction of my house. Even when walking the slowest speed humanly possible, I still reach my house in only eight minutes. Not long enough. I wish time could stand still, even if only for a little while. I silently insert the key into the door lock and turn it to the right. The front door noisily creaks open, making my heartbeat skyrocket. I walk through the doorway and head towards the stairs. As I’m creeping quietly through the house, I catch a glimpse of my mom who has passed out on the couch again. I routinely walk over and check her pulse. It’s still beating away, so I pick up the bottles of alcohol littering the room. I carefully place the bottles in a trash bag, to be thrown out later. Even her faint breath can be heard in the silence of the house. It’s kind of funny how such a damaged home can be unbelievably loud at one point and silent the next.