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HOOKED Blake Maillet, a senior at The Briarwood School, who’s also a School Buzz reporter, remembers a picturesque summer day.
Under a setting orange sun, a maze of “beach” houses sits along jagged concrete canals. There is a house, though, that does not sit on a canal, but rather at the mouth of one that leads to a small bay. Near this house I sit, with a fishing rod in hand, slouching in a comfy lawn chair. I wait with eagerness and annoyance as croakers and bottom feeders steal my bait. Relaxation and pleasantness are present.
Every once in a while, I leave the comfort of my chair to battle it out with a fish. None of the battles are large. The big fish that have the guts to bite down on the bait are also smart enough to steal the bait. After I lose my bait for the hundredth time, I pull up the bait holder so I can hook another shrimp. The shrimp usually accept their fate and put up little fight, but there are others who deny this inevitability. These shrimp are slippery and kick and slap. If I lose my grip, they slip between the cracks in the wooden dock to freedom. This is the first time I curse out a shrimp.
I listen to the waves slapping the sides of the docks as the foam water rushes past.
In the center of the blue bay, there is an island with some noisy inhabitants. These winged wonders move and fly around squawking to ensure that everyone around the bay can hear them, for on the island sits a bird sanctuary where birds of all kinds fly to and from to join the nonstop island party. I try to stay awake in hopes that I’ll be the first in my family to catch a legally sized, edible fish.
Every once in a while, a low humming motorboat or a brightly colored jet ski passes by.
That was what once was. Now, I find myself sitting at a desk staring into a computer screen at my fellow classmates and teachers. The summer is gone, and school blows back into everyday life.
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