Raising the pin up for everyone to see, thats when I first noticed it. Everyone's eyes were on me, watching my every move as I gracefully waved my arm back and forth so everyone could see the symbol on the pin. I had them all, every eye, every mind, all of them attached to my words, my appereance, my object. I had every fish on my hook. I had them captivated, as if whatever I said at the single moment would be done. At this exact moment in time they where my slaves, and I needed to act fast before I lost their attention, but of course this was simply a practice. Mustering all of the emotion I could put into my voice I continued my speech.1

"Now the symbol on the pin I am holding is a mockingjay..." I explained continuing my "book talk" about Suzanne Collins' book, Mockingjay. Finishing my talk, I got a large applause from my peers and took a seat at my desk. I had done well, but this was simply a practice. I looked at my teacher to see if I could read her expression. Although subtle, I could easlilly tell by her slight smile that she was impressed. School was a game, getting the one hundered just ment going the extra mile, bringing in the pin, for example, a prop the was simply unnesecary for the assighnment, but completely relevant.2

And like many other things, going the extra mile makes all the difference.3

"Nice talk!" My friend James walked up to my side. He was a nice kid, great athlete, but was simply just another random, another pawn on my chess board.4

"Thanks, I felt proud of it." I said, beaming him a proud smile. Little did he know the truth behind my words.5

We walked down the hall to our next class, band for me and chorus for him, which were convienetly located next to each other. Along the way he talked about the book he had picked and something about the words being confusing but I wasn't really paying much attention. I was too focused on that amazing feeling I had gotten when I held up my pin. That had been one of the first times I was able to actually do it, actually get everyone's attention, from the dorks to the dweebs, but there was time untill my skill would truly be put to the test.6

Waving good bye as I enetered the band room, I actually felt pity for the poor boy. Little does he know what he has gotten himself into by being my "friend". I grabbed my clarinet off the shelves in the storage room and took my seat. I sat first chair in my section, practicing everynight, working through though notes and melodies, far ahead of my peers.7

But like I said before, it's simply about going the extra mile.8