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Walk-A-Thon It was clear there weren’t enough funds for the 8th-grade graduation ceremony at the end of the year. Big deal – why should I care? I was on the student council, but I never cared about graduation ceremonies. It costs about $5,000.00 for the rent, equipment, the insurance and all the other incidentals that pile up when planning a large event. Principal Dorsey told us that he didn’t have the money this year. He said that if we wanted to keep the graduation tradition going, we would have to raise the money ourselves. “I’m sure we can live without the ceremony, but it would be nice to have,” he told us. Then he left the meeting. Immediately, Katrina Reynolds shot her hand in the air. She’s not very popular, and I always feel kind of sorry for her. “We have to do this, you guys,” Katrina gushed. “There is no way we are going to be the only class ever not to have a graduation ceremony.” Then, of course, Abbie Morelle, who was President, shot her hand in the air. I’d been on Student Council for two years, and as far as I could remember, Abbie had never let Katrina say anything without disagreeing with it. “It’s very late in the year,” Abbie said. “And we already have the Band Land Dance scheduled, which we don’t have enough money for. We can’t raise $7,000 in, like, two months.” Paulie Roman, who was treasurer, said, “According to my records it would be more like $7,012, although we can’t be certain of the precise cost of unspecified expenses related to the ceremony.” I didn’t care. To me, 8th grade is pure misery, no matter what you do. If you have a great graduation ceremony at the end of it, that’s like saying, “We had such a great time in all of our boring classes and with all of the bullies every day. Let’s have a party to celebrate them!” But I was all for a fundraiser if it would get Abbie Morelle off Katrina’s back. I said, “Let’s do a walk-a-thon. We could raise a lot of money that way.” “Walk-a-thons are stupid,” Abbie said. Paulie Roman asked, “How much money could we raise with a walk-a-thon?” I said, “When we did a walk-a-thon for cancer research in elementary school, we raised $4,000. This school is twice as big, and people can walk farther.” “Yeah,” Abbie said, “but that was for cancer. Why would anyone give us money for a graduation ceremony? Plus, someone has to organize it, and it’s complicated.” That got me mad enough that I had to say, “It’s not that complicated. I’ll do it.” What was I thinking? I spent the next month doing almost nothing except organizing that walk-a-thon. I hate walk-a-thons, and I hate talking to people about money. I ended up doing way more than I ever wanted to. Within the first two weeks, I could see that we weren’t going to get enough. It was because we weren’t raising money for something important, like cancer. So I started telling people that the money would also go for cancer research. Then, when I saw how many people were ready to give more, I just told them it was all for cancer research. I got hundreds of parents signed up, and I got businesses to donate food and decorations. Abbie was completely jealous. The walk-a-thon was almost a success, too. But the day before, Principal Dorsey called me into his office. He wanted to know if it was true that I had been telling people that the money would go to cancer research because he had understood the money was going or our 8th-grade graduation party. I didn’t answer. He said that he was going to call some of the people who pledged money to ask them if I had said anything about cancer. “It was the only way I could raise enough money!” I answered back, knowing the lie had caught up with me. “Well, it was the wrong thing to do.” Principal Dorsey replied. “Now, you are going to have to contact every person who donated and let them know the truth. You also may not have enough money for a graduation party now.” I knew I should never have volunteered to lead this. Immediately, Katrina Reynolds shot her hand in the air. She’s not very popular and I always feel kind of sorry for her. “We have to do this, guys,” Katrina gushed. “There is no way we are going to be the only class ever not to have a graduation ceremony.” What does this excerpt reveal about the narrator?
It was clear there weren’t enough funds for the 8th-grade graduation ceremony at the end of the year. Big deal – why should I care? I was on the student council, but I never cared about graduation ceremonies.
It costs about $5,000.00 for the rent, equipment, the insurance and all the other incidentals that pile up when planning a large event. Principal Dorsey told us that he didn’t have the money this year. He said that if we wanted to keep the graduation tradition going, we would have to raise the money ourselves. “I’m sure we can live without the ceremony, but it would be nice to have,” he told us. Then he left the meeting.
Immediately, Katrina Reynolds shot her hand in the air. She’s not very popular, and I always feel kind of sorry for her. “We have to do this, you guys,” Katrina gushed. “There is no way we are going to be the only class ever not to have a graduation ceremony.”
Then, of course, Abbie Morelle, who was President, shot her hand in the air. I’d been on Student Council for two years, and as far as I could remember, Abbie had never let Katrina say anything without disagreeing with it. “It’s very late in the year,” Abbie said. “And we already have the Band Land Dance scheduled, which we don’t have enough money for. We can’t raise $7,000 in, like, two months.”
Paulie Roman, who was treasurer, said, “According to my records it would be more like $7,012, although we can’t be certain of the precise cost of unspecified expenses related to the ceremony.”
I didn’t care. To me, 8th grade is pure misery, no matter what you do. If you have a great graduation ceremony at the end of it, that’s like saying, “We had such a great time in all of our boring classes and with all of the bullies every day. Let’s have a party to celebrate them!” But I was all for a fundraiser if it would get Abbie Morelle off Katrina’s back.
I said, “Let’s do a walk-a-thon. We could raise a lot of money that way.”
“Walk-a-thons are stupid,” Abbie said.
Paulie Roman asked, “How much money could we raise with a walk-a-thon?”
I said, “When we did a walk-a-thon for cancer research in elementary school, we raised $4,000. This school is twice as big, and people can walk farther.”
“Yeah,” Abbie said, “but that was for cancer. Why would anyone give us money for a graduation ceremony? Plus, someone has to organize it, and it’s complicated.”
That got me mad enough that I had to say, “It’s not that complicated. I’ll do it.”
What was I thinking? I spent the next month doing almost nothing except organizing that walk-a-thon. I hate walk-a-thons, and I hate talking to people about money. I ended up doing way more than I ever wanted to.
Within the first two weeks, I could see that we weren’t going to get enough. It was because we weren’t raising money for something important, like cancer. So I started telling people that the money would also go for cancer research. Then, when I saw how many people were ready to give more, I just told them it was all for cancer research. I got hundreds of parents signed up, and I got businesses to donate food and decorations.
Abbie was completely jealous.
The walk-a-thon was almost a success, too. But the day before, Principal Dorsey called me into his office. He wanted to know if it was true that I had been telling people that the money would go to cancer research because he had understood the money was going or our 8th-grade graduation party. I didn’t answer. He said that he was going to call some of the people who pledged money to ask them if I had said anything about cancer.
“It was the only way I could raise enough money!” I answered back, knowing the lie had caught up with me.
“Well, it was the wrong thing to do.” Principal Dorsey replied. “Now, you are going to have to contact every person who donated and let them know the truth. You also may not have enough money for a graduation party now.”
I knew I should never have volunteered to lead this.
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