The teacher was only a few feet away. The boy nervously squeezed his sweaty palm closed. The little slip of white paper that lay there seemed to be the most conspicuous awkward object he had ever touched. He felt as though all eyes were on him. As the teacher turned to face the blackboard, he glanced briefly at the words. The paper crackled when a finger slipped, and he felt sure the teacher would see him. He looked and listened, but the room was dead silent. After assuring himself that the teacher had not seen him, he skimmed over the now smudged writing. He glanced towards the man again, not- icing that several students were eyeing him curiously. His heart pounded desperately as his limp hand dropped the slippery pen. The teacher slowly made his way down the aisle. All colour drained from his face. Tension mounted. Not a sound was uttered. He closed his vibrating hand tightly over the limp and crumpled paper The teacher came closer. Not a breath stirred the siience. The teacher would be there in a few moments and then it would be all over. The boys fear was needless. the teacher passed by him. Breathing a sigh of relief, he placed the now indecipherable words into his poc- ket. It was easier to fail. Descriptive Paragraph Even while I was shaking his hand and trying to remember his name, I could not take my eyes off that remarkable nose. It shone such a brilliant red that I almost had to squint from the glare. As he sat under the light I could scrutinize this doubtful asset of his nose carefully. I could see ruins of a bad case of acne atop the shining summit and at the foot a great black mass of what I believed to be ahirs from his nostrils. they looked more like some sort of sea weed, being sucked in and blown out with every breath. As I star- ted, trying to make polite conversation, he pulled out an enormous handkerchief and proceeded to blow his great nose with such great force that his face almost matched his nose in colour. I was aghast. The Freshly- Cut Look His whole head had a pleasing appearance; it was the freehly-cut look, the barbershop look. The back of his neck was almost bare with- out the greasy hair hanging over the collar. His neck looked strange- ly white in comparison to his brown tanned face. He kept self-cons- ciously rubbing his face where there was nothing left of the long sideburns he had sported a quarter of an hour earlier. He fingered, also, the short bangs, now neatly brushed back, which he used to be able to look out through like an overgrown sheepdog. He looked as if he had just lost his best friend and still could not believe it. He was angry with himself for letting the quick-fingered barber shear his hair too short before he realized it.
