Post by aryajohnson on Nov 7, 2006 14:34:04 GMT -6
If a complete and total stranger walked up to you and told you that they were failing their English class, they’d probably say, “Failing English…How?” Sometimes the answer would be a matter of not trying, not getting the subjects, and sometimes…very rarely thought, it might be because you were from Spain and you could not make sense of English words. This was the case with Arya Johnson. Don’t be deceived by her last name; it was only because, or how her dad had told her, her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather was Nicholas Johnson, who had been born in Switzerland, went to America for a few years, found Saria and moved back to Spain after they had married.
When it came down to the absolute truth; Arya was pure Spanish, seeing as the little bit of Swish in her bloodline had been canceled out by five million Spanish girls coming and marrying the Johnson boys. But that was besides the point. The point was that Arya could not understand a single word the teacher was saying. As a result, Arya would flunk the class. It was as simple as that. You don’t understand a single word of the assignment, you miss the lesson, and you fail. And no—asking the teacher would NOT help. She’d already tried that. The teacher just said that she didn’t need any help because she was faking it.
Soft brown hair was in a braid, something Arya rarely did. A single strand curved around her darkly tanned Hispanic skin. Light brown eyes looked sadly at the teacher as they tried to understand. Delicate ears were throbbing from the effort it took for her to try and understand English. Curved, thin eyebrows were wrinkled slightly. Soft lips that were coated with her Abuela Flores’ strawberry lip-gloss that was a present for her sixteenth birthday were pressed in a thin line. Her upper body was covered by a green shirt that was covered by a blue sweater. Black pants went all the way down to her white running shoes.
This was Arya Johnson for you. And unless someone walked in here and granted her with the power of speaking English, she was failing English.[/color]
When it came down to the absolute truth; Arya was pure Spanish, seeing as the little bit of Swish in her bloodline had been canceled out by five million Spanish girls coming and marrying the Johnson boys. But that was besides the point. The point was that Arya could not understand a single word the teacher was saying. As a result, Arya would flunk the class. It was as simple as that. You don’t understand a single word of the assignment, you miss the lesson, and you fail. And no—asking the teacher would NOT help. She’d already tried that. The teacher just said that she didn’t need any help because she was faking it.
Soft brown hair was in a braid, something Arya rarely did. A single strand curved around her darkly tanned Hispanic skin. Light brown eyes looked sadly at the teacher as they tried to understand. Delicate ears were throbbing from the effort it took for her to try and understand English. Curved, thin eyebrows were wrinkled slightly. Soft lips that were coated with her Abuela Flores’ strawberry lip-gloss that was a present for her sixteenth birthday were pressed in a thin line. Her upper body was covered by a green shirt that was covered by a blue sweater. Black pants went all the way down to her white running shoes.
This was Arya Johnson for you. And unless someone walked in here and granted her with the power of speaking English, she was failing English.[/color]