My name is Isis Kechet and I’m 15 years-old. My first name is Egyptian and my last name is Hebrew, it means crown. My father died when I was two. I never knew him. I’ve seen pictures but, I don’t know who he really was. He was in the Israeli army. I live with my mother and my baby brother Avi. He’s six months old. Oh, and my step-father John. He’s not Jewish, not that it matters. I…

“Put your pencils down for a moment.” Said Ms. Gray. She removed her glasses and peered up the clock. It was 9:15. There was one empty seat at the back of the classroom. All the other desks were filled with sophomore high school students.
Ms. Gray was 24 years-old. This was her first English class she’d ever taught, but you would never know it. She’d just completed graduate school, and was eager to impart the knowledge she’d learned as well as to affect and change young lives. She wore a gray knit dress with a brown blazer.
“To clarify, this journal entry should be a reflection of who you are. Ultimately these journal entries will be transformed into a creative writing piece about something that’s happened to you in your lifetime. My expectation is that you’ll be able to reflect upon some fundamental experiences in your own lives and use those stories to create art.”
Isis looked down at her composition notebook. Something was missing. Something in her entry wasn’t there. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
Isis was tall and had long straight thick black hair. Her eyes seemed to be as black as her hair. Her favorite color was purple. She dressed entirely in black, but wore purple eye shadow to accentuate her eyes. She was wearing a black cardigan, a black mini skirt, and black cable knit tights. Isis loved to write. Ms. Gray knew that Isis loved writing, but also respected the fact that Isis would not share her writing with anyone except for Ms. Gray.
All at once the door to room 202 was thrown open. All heads in the classroom turned abruptly to face the open doorway and the boy who was standing in it. His name was Sam Kravitz, but everyone called him “Blue.” His eyes were bright blue, so blue that they pierced right through you if he looked at you.
“Blue, please take a seat.”
Isis eyed Blue. He was panting, as if he’d been running all the way to class. Beads of sweat were visible on his face. Blue was tall, and had mostly dirty blonde hair that he spiked up with gel. Since he was a child, he had one naturally gray streak of hair that posed itself right at the center of his hairline. He was wearing a navy blue winter vest, a gray hooded sweatshirt and jeans.
Blue frenetically wiped the sweat from his brow plopped his body down in this seat, the only empty seat in the classroom and searched through his messenger bag for his composition notebook.
“Can somebody please fill in Blue as to what we’re doing in class today?” Said Ms. Gray remaining posed in comparison to Blue’s frantic energy.
Allison raised her hand. Allison had brown short hair cut in a bob shape. She always wore a headband. Today’s headband was bright red. She had never achieved anything below a 97 in school.
“We’re writing journal entries about our who we are. They’re autobiographical.” She said confidently with a smile.
Blue struggled to catch his breath. He removed his vest and took out a pen.
“Right.” Said Ms. Gray. “So start with who you are, and write!”
Blue sighed and took out his pen.

My name is Blue. I’m 15. I’ll be 16 on November 2nd. I live with my grandparents. I love them, but they don’t understand me. It’s okay, nobody really does, understand me I mean. I love to create things. When I’m creating art, I feel alive.

Blue tapped his pencil. He wasn’t sure what to write next. There was a lot to say.

“The period is about to end. So we will continue this assignment at home for homework. Please spend 30 minutes writing your autobiographical entry at home.” Said Ms. Gray.
The students began to pack their bags up.
Isis watched as Blue shoved his notebook into his backpack, grabbed his things and ran out of the classroom. He was gone. Just like that, he was gone.
She walked down the hall to where her math class was.
“Hey! Wait up!” Isis felt hand on her shoulder. She turned around to find Corina standing behind her. Corina was Isis’ best friend. They’d known each other since they were 12. Corina was recognizable by the bright color she had on her hair at any given monet, Her most recent hair color affinity was blue. She’d died her hair jet black with a bright blue streak underneath that you could see if she was wearing her hair in a ponytail.
Corina was the opposite of Isis. She was outgoing, and would tell you whatever you wanted to know, and things you could live without knowing. She work a plaid kilt with black stockings, and white button down men’s shirt that she’d stolen from her father’s closet.
“My dad is pissed at me because I got an 83 on the math test. He says if I don’t get over a 90 on this one that I can’t go to Jill’s party.”
“No!” Isis said, her eyes widening. “You have to go! I can’t go by myself.”
Jill was a Senior. She was rich. Both her parents were corporate lawyers, they owned a townhouse in Brooklyn Heights, and went out of town a lot. Consequently, Jill left to her own devices much of the time. She was notorious for throwing major parties when her parents were away.
“I don’t know what to do. I suck at math. Do you think your Mordechi could help me?”
Mordechi was Isis’ cousin who was a PhD student at Columbia in math. Whenever Isis had any math troubles, she always turned to him.
“I don’t know.” Isis said biting her lip. “He’s really busy with midterms. I’ll ask him.”
“Okay. But if don’t get a 90, you’re gonna have to go by yourself.” Corina said eyes widened. She knew that Isis was terrified of this prospect and hoped that her terror would inspire her to ask for Mordechi’s math assistance.
Isis really wanted to go to Jill’s party for one reason in particular. Maybe he would be there. Blue hated rich kids, but he loved to crash their parties for the food and the booze. Jill’s family had both of these things in abundance.
“All right, fine. I’ll text Mordechi. He’s probably at the library.”
“You wanna go to this party right?” Corina asked raising an eyebrow.
“Okay, okay, stop it.”
The bell rang and Isis and Corina headed into math class. Though he was gone, Isis could still imagine the frantic look on Blue’s face. He was running from something, but she didn’t know what.