Spotlight on AP Students

Hidden Opportunities by Cody                 For most teenagers starting high school can be a large transition. Having to deal with a new school, new teachers, and new students can be intimidating. This is exactly how I felt on my first day at Helias. In the end, though, it is not all bad. Through seemingly minor struggles and difficulties can come great opportunities and experiences. I just had to look at it in the right way.             I had lived in the same little town of Westphalia with the same friends my whole life. Meeting knew people did not seem to be a common occurrence. When it came time for high school everyone I knew was going to Fatima. I on the other hand was not. I had made the decision to go to Helias, even though I knew none of my friends were going. I was aware there would be struggles of meeting knew people and adapting to a bigger school, but I was confident in taking on the challenge.                When the first day rolled around I slowly became more nervous. I began thinking, maybe I made the wrong choice in going to Helias. I even started to feel it may have been better to just follow the crowd and stay at Fatima. The doubts continued to play throughout my mind all morning. Nevertheless, I got ready that morning and headed off for my first day. Once I arrived at Helias, I quickly realized this was going to be different than anything I was used to. Never before had I ever been in a school with so many other students. At the time, the largest class I had ever been a part of was twelve students and now I was part of a class with over two hundred. The halls were packed with people and it seemed to take forever to get from place to place. To compound the problem, there was not a single student there I knew. It felt like I was starting school all over again for the first time. Once again I began to have doubts on why I ever came here in the first place. It was a struggle I was definitely not use to.             As I was walking in the halls the five minute bell rang, I went to my locker in order to drop off my book bag. I tried putting in my combination and opening my locker, but I failed in opening it time after time. Finally, I had to ask one of the teachers standing nearby to help me out. After the embarrassing delay I put my book bag in the locker and hurried to my classroom. I went into Mr. Cadice’s room for religion, but due to my hurry I had looked at my schedule wrong and had gone to the wrong room. I was supposed to be in my math class. I told Mr. Cadice and left the room in search of my other class. After wondering the halls for about five minutes I finally found the right room. I went in and could feel the stares all around me. I felt the day could not possibly get any worse than this. Unfortunately, things did not get much better. I continued to struggle with my locker and finding my classes. Along with these problems was the fact that I knew not a person, so there was no one to talk to. The whole day I had to walk the halls without saying a single word to anyone.  I really began to miss the familiarity of my friends back home.             I was happy for the day to finally end, and once I got home I thought about asking my parents if I could transfer back to Fatima. Despite this thought, I decided it would be best if I stuck it out for at least a few more days and in the end I am glad I did. Things eventually turned for the best, as I eventually became familiar with the school and finding my way around was no longer a problem. Best of all, I seemed to be meeting new people everyday, and the loneliness factor was now gone. I began enjoying myself more and more, and any thought of transferring had vanished.             I am pleased to say I decided toward staying at Helias. I am grateful I did, because the experience has helped me out a ton. This opportunity has allowed me to expand out of my comfort zone which was something I did not do regularly. I was forced to deal with new surroundings and meet new people. At the time it may have felt like quite an embarrassing experience, but in the end it was probably the best thing that could have happened to me because through those few embarrassing moments came a great opportunity.                                                                                           A Summer That “Flies” By Portia Microsurgery on fruit flies.  Microsurgery? On fruit flies? Yes, microsurgery on fruit flies. I spent 10 weeks of summer 2009 at the Krannert Institute of Cardiology lab in Indianapolis, Indiana under Dr. Peng-Sheng Chen.  I have learned to perform microsurgery on fruit flies, approximately 1 mm in size. Operating on fruit flies requires persistence and precise technique, and I learned responsibility and the rewards of important research.  On June 1, I met Sam, my mentor, who taught me the microsurgery procedure on the fruit flies.  At first, the concept of cutting fruit flies with a scalpel baffled me. What would be the purpose of that?  Amazingly, the human heart shares 500 genomes with the fruit fly.  I thought fruit flies were just tiny, insignificant, annoying creatures, but they are actually very complex and useful.  When I began the difficult first step of dismembering the fly, the slightest movement of my hand tore the little bodies in half, and I became impatient with my hand coordination and ended up pinning the head instead of the thorax. I kept thinking, “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” but my frustration lingered. After each day, I improved, but I wanted to complete the surgery successfully.  By the fourth day, I triumphantly dissected a fly and found the intact heart, which is about the size of the period at the end of this sentence.  Sure it wasn’t the cleanest cut, but gratefully, I made progress.  A wave of excitement rushed over me.  Wanting to feel that exhilaration again, I asked for new tasks and set personal goals. I improved from performing microsurgery on fruit flies in twenty minutes to less than five minutes.  I appreciated Sam teaching me because he always pushed me to improve and taught me to never settle for good: “Be great!”   I realized from these lessons that I obtain and advance skills with practice, persistence, and patience.                  The research lab also taught me responsibility.  Even little things matter such as showing up on time and putting the chemicals away after each use.  But most importantly, I realized that in order to keep my “place,” I must produce results.  In order to produce results, I must consistently give 100% in everything I do.  How much work I put into a task affects the outcome.  I destroyed more than one hundred flies before I accomplished the microsurgery successfully, but even if I’d needed two hundred flies, I would have willingly persevered.  I also learned that research can be monotonous but is always valuable.  Research takes time and work.  It is easy to feel discouraged when experiments go wrong and the data is unworthy and the work must be repeated. But when tedious work produces promising results, research is genuinely rewarding.  There’s no excuse for e to give up when the task is difficult and things don’t go my way.  I learned that I prefer the accomplishment that comes from overcoming obstacles.  When I accomplish challenging goals and tasks, I feel overwhelmingly satisfied that I worked to achieve my results.  It is my great fortune that I was able to both enjoy and learn from such an experience. So far, working in a research lab has been my most challenging task.  I now realize the importance of responsibility and research, and anything, even microsurgery on fruit flies, can be achieved through dedication and practice.   The Biggest Joy in My Life By Melissa               I will never forget how my mother told us that she was going to have a child born with Down Syndrome.  She gathered all of her children into one room.  She called us in for a “family meeting”.  I was in the room with my older brother Cory, my older sister Michelle, and my parents.  At this time I was nine years old.  My parents explained to us about Down Syndrome.  They told us that this child (we didn’t know whether it was a boy or girl) was going to be a challenge and we would all need to work together.             My mother had an amniocentesis test to verify if the child would be diagnosed with Down Syndrome.   The test was positive.   When my mother went into labor I was at a friend’s birthday party.  My grandma came to get me.  She told me my mom was at the hospital.  I was so excited but also a little nervous at the same time.  Since she had a long delivery, we waited for quite awhile for her to have the baby.             Finally, on November 17, 2001, Jacob Gassner was born.  I remember I had a little fever and if the nurses knew I had a fever they wouldn’t let me in.  I really wanted to see my new baby brother, so right before we went in I put water in my ears to cool them down.  Well the nurses did take all of the family’s temperature and luckily I passed.             Jacob was born five weeks prematurely.  He developed blood problems which required him to be put in an incubator.  His skin turned dark green.  Jacob required surgery soon after birth.  But upon seeing him, I felt so many emotions at once.  I remember my sister and I coloring pictures for him.  We wrote to him telling him he was a strong fighter and would make it through surgery.  We prayed a lot for him.  He was in the hospital for about a month.   When he got home, his arrival was the best Christmas present ever.             My parents were very careful with every move Jacob made.  He learned to roll over quickly. It took him a little longer to get to sit up, but he finally did around his first birthday.  Crawling was a big task and he didn’t accomplish it until about his fourth birthday.  Jacob, who is now seven, still can’t walk or talk. A lot of people work with him to help him reach these goals:  for example he has gone to horse therapy for about three years.  He works with all kinds of therapists; including speech, physical, and occupational. He is a fighter in all of his tasks.  He will continue to fight because he doesn’t give up.      Jacob brings the best out of everyone.  No one that has met Jacob would be the person they are today if they hadn’t met him.  He is always smiling (well almost always) and puts smiles on other people’s faces.  He has taught me more than anyone else I know, and he hasn’t even said one word.                                                                                                                                                        A Hole in Head by Hayley               It was just a typical summer night in my suburban neighborhood.  Our neighborhood friends, my sister, Taylor, and I were spending the evening with the Vickers, who lived at the top of our cul-de-sac.  We were playing games and enjoying a nice Pennsylvanian summer where the temperature rarely reaches over ninety degrees.  The drama all began when Taylor wanted to show off her newly acquired golf technique that my grandpa showed her a few weeks earlier when he came to visit.             David Vickers, a sixteen-year-old boy at the time, brought out his driver for Taylor to practice her golf game.  For only being nine, Taylor had a very powerful swing.  I was so entertained by watching her that I positioned myself close so I could get a good look at the action.  As one might guess, I was standing a little too close to someone who was viciously swinging a golf club.  Since I was only six, I was slightly unaware of what might happen if I stood too close to Taylor.              Taylor yelled at me, “Hayley, GET BACK NOW!”  My young mind interpreted that command by taking only two tiny steps in the opposite direction of the swinging driver.  Thinking that I had moved out of the way, Taylor took a full swing at a golf ball that was teed up on the grass.  As she brought the club back, it struck me on the left side of my forehead and knocked me to the ground.  After taking a few seconds to come back to consciousness, I remember stroking my hand across my injured forehead.!   I softly whispered, “Blood”, as I became fully aware of the blood that was streaming out of the cut on my forehead.  Once I realized the severity of the situation, I began to scream and cry.  After I stood up, Mrs. Vickers helped me into her house to wash off my cut with cool rags while Taylor ran as fast as she could to our house to inform my parents of what had happened             Within minutes, my dad picked me up from the Vickers’s house and drove me straight to the nearest hospital, Forbes Regional.  My mom joined us after she found someone to watch both Taylor and my little sister, Brielle.  Once my mom arrived at the hospital, I still had not been admitted due to the crowded emergency room.  When the nurse told my dad that it would be another two hours until I would even be admitted, we decided to leave Forbes and drive to the city of Pittsburgh to Children’s Hospital.  Ironically, I ended up being in that hospital for over thirteen hours ! because of a major rape case that came there the same night.              When the doctor finally attended to me, he informed us that I was hit just above the temple and should be thankful that I was still alive.  I continued to ask the doctor if I could see my cool triangular cut.  At that point, I was no longer upset that I had been hit but just angry that the doctor would not let me see the awesome injury.  When he left the room, my mom let me look at it and see the eight stitches. When I was able to leave the hospital and return home, I was met with treats and presents from the witnesses of the accident.  Taylor was extra nice to me duri! ng my healing process and offered to be my personal servant while I recovered.  I guess the accident had its perks!                                                                                                 The Security Jacket By Kylie             In the fall of my sixth grade year, I dragged an unopened moving box from my closet. School was only a month in and already I needed a jacket for the cold, unfamiliar Missouri weather. As I dug around the box, I realized that it had been mislabeled; these were my mother’s clothes. A musty yet promising sweater-jacket emerged from the tangle of outdated, wrinkled clothing. Although the jacket protected me well that first fall and winter, I will always be glad for the day that I hung it up.             The jacket was a faded black and nondescript enough to survive the fashion trends that had come and gone. As per the school’s dress code, another unfamiliar aspect of life in Missouri, it had no hood, only a sailor-style flap on the back. I shook it out, slipped it on, and zipped it up. The sleeves draped to cover my palms, and the sweater material was warm and cozy. It fit me perfectly.             The days grew ch illier and so did my classmates, once my novelty as “the new girl” wore off. My jacket was a comfort then, so much so that I wore it daily. With each passing week, snowstorms became a real threat, as did my chances of social isolation. My jacket and I lingered at the bottom of the social ladder, along with the nose-pickers, Pokemon-players, and non-Catholics. I kept my arms crossed most days, to conserve what little warmth I had left, and to fend off the sneering looks shot my way.            One day in early February, I finished a test early and the teacher asked me to run a note to another classroom. The classroom was filled with beautiful and notoriously ruthless seventh-grade girls. I entered the room quietly, gave the teacher the note, and almost made it to the door when a girl stopped me with a tug on my jacket sleeve. She turned her pretty brown eyes and sugary smile to me and said, “Oh, that’s such a cute jacket. Where’d you get it?”             An icy horror filled me as those around us glanced our way. Awkwardly, nervously, I laughed and told her I did not know, so I checked the tag. Her face crinkled when I mentioned an older women’s brand, and I ducked out of the classroom with a bright and burning face. At the time, I swore I heard them laughing, jeering in the way only older kids can. Now, I look back and wonder if they had noticed me at all.             That night, I returned home and had my mother wash the jacket. I could think more clearly without it on. Somehow, the object that had protected and comforted me had been redefined by the prodding brown eyes of a beautiful, blonde seventh-grader. If I wore it again, I would be asking for comments, but if I stopped, I would be backing down because a popular girl had teased me. As I struggled, the bittersweet realization hit me that I had grown too close to my jacket. When my mother gave it back to me, warm and fresh from the dryer, I gave it a hug and hung it up for the next few days.            Spring was cool and wet, but gentler than fall. My jacket remained in the closet except on the coldest of days. I began to open up to the people around me, starting with the nerds familiar to me and eventually appreciating even the most prejudiced. By shedding the jacket, I exposed myself, and I was surprised to find that the world was not as cold as I had thought. I will never regret having worn it, but I will always be thankful for the day I hung up my jacket.