Example of Braided Narrative

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Everything was loud. The overstuffed bus of children was leaving the school parking lot for its normal route of sudden stops, unforgiving bumps, and of course, transporting students to their destinations. Opposite from every other child on the bus, I sit quietly in seat fourteen listening to the screaming laughter and shrill excitement of the conclusion of another school year. I sit there in silence because I knew that it would be my last bus ride home. I was trying to take everything in: the smell of the old brown bus seats, the half opened windows that tried to keep us cool, the pleasantly plump and incredibly sweet bus driver, and the jovial and rambunctious sounds of kids cackling and yelping. At every stop, I could literally feel my heart drop a little. As the bus neared my neighborhood, my mouth was completely dry. When I saw my house, my heart stopped. There was the moving truck. It was symbol of my leaving home, and the realization that the move was going to happen, and that I had no control over it.“Hello,” said a kind face to me as I entered my first eighth-grade class at a new school. “Hello,” I said back, not knowing how to take the gesture. I walked into a classroom full of new faces. Everyone was gawking at the new kid. I thought to myself, “is it what I’m wearing? Do I look weird? Should I say something?” I did nothing but go to my assigned seat, and sat quietly just like I did on the bus months prior. As I sat in silence, I listened intently as the teacher floated across the room while calling roll. When I heard my name called, I tried to muster up the courage to address myself in a casual way, but I’m sure that it came out as a nervous “here.” As she finished roll call, each student was handed a mountain of forms and papers. Then the class slowly transformed into a parade of shouts and laughter. Everyone was welcoming each other back, except for me. I sat there in silence examining everyone. I think I get that from my dad....
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