Isabelle P., a sixth grader in Room 305, wrote

"Pen Pals"

“Squeak!”  Our winter boots hit the rubber bus floor every time we would enter the bus.  Our teacher was growing restless.

“Come on, class,” she said with bitterness in her voice.  “Do you want to be there on time?”

You see, we were going to meet our pen pals.  We had been writing to them for most of the year.

“Are you excited?”  exclaimed one of my classmates.

“Well, yeah.  I guess.” with the least amount of enthusiasm.

My stomach was tied into knots every bump we hit in the road and the closer we got, the worse it felt.

Finally, we hit the last bump; we had arrived.  My head was reeling,  I could feel my lungs get tighter together, like my lungs were lemons and someone was making lemonade.  Our teacher informed us we were late and we had to hurry,

When we had got inside, I swear my stomach was in such bad shape, I thought someone stabbed me and I was going to throw up.

My class was lead into a room.  Everyone was working and all you could hear were pencils moving.

Next, we were introduced to our pen pals.  This was the moment of truth.  This is what I had been waiting months for.  I thought everyone could hear my heart pound; to me it sounded like a drum being pounded repeatedly.

“Isabelle.”  I heard my name and I jolted up with surprise.  “You’re with her!”  I was directed to a girl with short black hair and who had a Chinese accent.

We talked for about an hour and I felt as if I already knew her.  It was like I had stepped out of a spa.  I felt serene, tranquil, and calm.  I was where I belonged.