Cheboygan Day
Tuesday, May 19th
START
Warm Up
- Pretend you come across an argument in a school hallway.
- Imagine this moment from each perspective:
- a student walking by
- a teacher
- one of the people arguing
Objectives
- Determine how the first-person point of view affects what the reader knows, feels, and believes
- Develop personal connections to characters and events in the text
Point of View *Shapes your experience *Controls what you know
Meet Owen: Your Narrator
Hi! I’m Owen, and I love sharing stories from my perspective. Everything you hear is filtered through my eyes, so it’s all about what I see, feel, and think. I’ll give you my honest, personal take on things. Sometimes I might be a little biased or emotional. My goal is to make you feel like you’re right here with me, experiencing everything firsthand. So, get ready for a story seen through my eyes.
What do we know about owen?
Draw three conclusions about Owen.
Just like our parents, we walked through town with everybody’s business in our back pockets. Gossip was a life force in Kookaburra. At least it gave us something to do in between goofy festivals.
The three of us had been best friends since second grade, when we all bonded over Mrs. Paley’s inability to pronounce our names during roll call.
It was the first day of Seafood Fest when the Cheboygans moved to town. I remember because me, Jumi, and Arpan saw their trucks barrel past us down Main Street, slightly over the speed limit.
Part 1: REview
Meet the Cheboygans
Now that we understand who the narrator is, it is important to reread through his eyes.
It was hard to make sense of the picture they made. The boy was tall, with long auburn hair tied in a pony-tail at the nape of his neck and a smattering of freckles across his nose. While most of us wore ripped jeans, t-shirts, and hoodies, the boy Cheboygan wore slacks like our fathers and older brothers wore to weddings and funerals, and a crisp white button down with a tweed blazer on top. The only young thing about him was his black, immaculate Converse sneakers. The girl was even stranger. She had Jumi’s dark complexion, but short hair, buzzed close to the scalp. She wore jangly gold bangles on each wrist, and a shapeless blue shift-dress. Her light gray eyes reminded me of the color the ocean turned at dusk. The boy was smiling, widely. But the girl looked wary and timid.
Meet the cheboyans
“That’s got to be the honor roll,” said Jumi, yanking an AirPod out of her ear. Her eyes were wide with curiosity. “Where do we think they come from? The city?”
“Gotta be the city.”
The city, in our world, could refer to several nearby places — Hartford, New York, Boston — but mostly, we meant it as a code. Meaning, “Wealthy,” or “Impressive,” or “Not Like Us.”
Adele
"Hello hello!” sang Mrs. Bleyer, skipping into the room with a tray of Stop n’ Shop Cupcakes. She was one of those young teachers who worked hard to make school fun. “How was everyone’s summer? Take one and pass the box along!” She also spoke very quickly, leaping from thought to thought like a frog. “I hear this year is especially exciting because we have some new students.” She glanced at a notecard in her hand and scanned the room. “Now, where is Adele Cheboygan? And am I pronouncing that correctly, Adele?” The sound of the name filled me with a warm feeling, like I felt looking at fireflies. The girl who’d stolen my seat slowly raised her hand and nodded: yes. Mrs. Bleyer waited for her to say something else, but when it was clear Adele had no intention of giving a speech, Mrs. Bleyer turned her smile up a notch and spread her arms wide. “Guys, let's everyone make Adele feel at home, okay?” Then she fixed her gaze on me. “Sweet Owen! Will you be my welcome ambassador? Show our new friend the ropes around here?”
When I walked into Mrs. Bleyer’s homeroom, the girl Cheboygan was sitting at my usual desk. I hovered dumbly above her until she glared at me.
“Um, can I help you?”
“Nope,” I replied, easing into the adjacent seat that was usually Tommy Dorfman’s. His mom and mine both worked for the sanitation department. Sometimes Tommy and I would ride our bikes home together, to our neighborhood on the South side by the dunes. We never spoke about our mothers at school. I couldn’t say why, exactly. Tommy had a left-handed desk that was awkward to sit in, but I realized it let me look over the girl Cheboygan’s shoulder. She had a comp notebook open and was doodling, dark angry scribbles. Her whole body hunched over the paper, like the act took her entire self.
Next
Adele
Never mind this guy,” I said. “What were you saying about your brother? Are you two close?” “Well, kind of. We used to be…” Adele started. But Blake interrupted.
“You two don't look alike. What's that about?” Though I tried to hustle us on, Adele stopped in her tracks. I watched her face close like a flower, returning to the defensive scowl she’d worn before accepting my cupcake. “How is that even remotely your business?” she asked. “It just kind of seems like a lie,” said Blake. “And here in Kookaburra, we hate liars.” By now, a small crowd had begun to gather by the lockers, and a few doors down I could see Mrs. Bleyer moving toward us on hallway patrol. But before I could intervene, Adele had wheeled on Blake.
“Not that I owe you an explanation, townie, but I’m adopted. My biological mother is from Cape Verde. Which is an island just like this one, only prettier.”
By now the cupcakes had made their way over to our corner of the classroom. Nodding to our teacher, I held the box up to Adele, and did a little pretend bow like I was her lowly servant. That got a smile. I saw a brilliant flash of her white teeth as she dove her hand into the box.
As I walked Adele to Mr. Pevin’s class, she was surprisingly chatty, in abrupt contrast to her first impression. She told me her family had just moved here from Hartford, mostly so her mom — a marine biologist — could study humpback whales at the conservatory two towns over. Her dad drew a comic strip for The Boston Herald, and had taught her everything she knew about art. And I'd probably seen Claude, her brother, that morning —
“Wait, so the red headed kid is your brother?” This was Blake Kettleman, whose locker we’d just happened to pass. Blake’s Mom taught swimming lessons and led the Girl Scouts. It was considered a great irony that Blake was the most insensitive loudmouth at our whole school, when his mom was such a feminist.
Next
Adele
Blake’s mouth fell open, just as Mrs. Bleyer sailed back into earshot. “Whoa, Adele. We don’t speak to each other that way here,” she said, looking way more hurt than I thought the situation warranted. “Did anyone give you the Code of Conduct at registration?”
Adele shook her head as Mrs. Bleyer launched into a speech about the importance of “respecting our fellow students” and “proceeding from a place of compassion.” I saw that Adele had turned beet red. When the late bell finally rang, she left my side abruptly, shooting off down the hall. Mrs. Bleyer sighed sadly, but Blake looked pleased with himself.
Reminders
- Complete your Summit K-12 EOY tasks.
- We do not have school on Monday.
- Next week is our final, very important, writing project. It will be due May 29th.
- The last day of school is June 5th.
DLP 5.8.2
"show you the ropes"
- This is a commonly used idiom in English.
- It has nothing to do with ropes.
- It means someone will show you how things are done in a certain place. Maybe it is directions, routines, rules, etc.
- Owen is going to be Adele's guide, helper, or support person.
Cheboygan Day - 2
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Transcript
Cheboygan Day
Tuesday, May 19th
START
Warm Up
Objectives
Point of View *Shapes your experience *Controls what you know
Meet Owen: Your Narrator Hi! I’m Owen, and I love sharing stories from my perspective. Everything you hear is filtered through my eyes, so it’s all about what I see, feel, and think. I’ll give you my honest, personal take on things. Sometimes I might be a little biased or emotional. My goal is to make you feel like you’re right here with me, experiencing everything firsthand. So, get ready for a story seen through my eyes.
What do we know about owen?
Draw three conclusions about Owen.
Just like our parents, we walked through town with everybody’s business in our back pockets. Gossip was a life force in Kookaburra. At least it gave us something to do in between goofy festivals.
The three of us had been best friends since second grade, when we all bonded over Mrs. Paley’s inability to pronounce our names during roll call.
It was the first day of Seafood Fest when the Cheboygans moved to town. I remember because me, Jumi, and Arpan saw their trucks barrel past us down Main Street, slightly over the speed limit.
Part 1: REview
Meet the Cheboygans
Now that we understand who the narrator is, it is important to reread through his eyes.
It was hard to make sense of the picture they made. The boy was tall, with long auburn hair tied in a pony-tail at the nape of his neck and a smattering of freckles across his nose. While most of us wore ripped jeans, t-shirts, and hoodies, the boy Cheboygan wore slacks like our fathers and older brothers wore to weddings and funerals, and a crisp white button down with a tweed blazer on top. The only young thing about him was his black, immaculate Converse sneakers. The girl was even stranger. She had Jumi’s dark complexion, but short hair, buzzed close to the scalp. She wore jangly gold bangles on each wrist, and a shapeless blue shift-dress. Her light gray eyes reminded me of the color the ocean turned at dusk. The boy was smiling, widely. But the girl looked wary and timid.
Meet the cheboyans
“That’s got to be the honor roll,” said Jumi, yanking an AirPod out of her ear. Her eyes were wide with curiosity. “Where do we think they come from? The city?” “Gotta be the city.” The city, in our world, could refer to several nearby places — Hartford, New York, Boston — but mostly, we meant it as a code. Meaning, “Wealthy,” or “Impressive,” or “Not Like Us.”
Adele
"Hello hello!” sang Mrs. Bleyer, skipping into the room with a tray of Stop n’ Shop Cupcakes. She was one of those young teachers who worked hard to make school fun. “How was everyone’s summer? Take one and pass the box along!” She also spoke very quickly, leaping from thought to thought like a frog. “I hear this year is especially exciting because we have some new students.” She glanced at a notecard in her hand and scanned the room. “Now, where is Adele Cheboygan? And am I pronouncing that correctly, Adele?” The sound of the name filled me with a warm feeling, like I felt looking at fireflies. The girl who’d stolen my seat slowly raised her hand and nodded: yes. Mrs. Bleyer waited for her to say something else, but when it was clear Adele had no intention of giving a speech, Mrs. Bleyer turned her smile up a notch and spread her arms wide. “Guys, let's everyone make Adele feel at home, okay?” Then she fixed her gaze on me. “Sweet Owen! Will you be my welcome ambassador? Show our new friend the ropes around here?”
When I walked into Mrs. Bleyer’s homeroom, the girl Cheboygan was sitting at my usual desk. I hovered dumbly above her until she glared at me. “Um, can I help you?” “Nope,” I replied, easing into the adjacent seat that was usually Tommy Dorfman’s. His mom and mine both worked for the sanitation department. Sometimes Tommy and I would ride our bikes home together, to our neighborhood on the South side by the dunes. We never spoke about our mothers at school. I couldn’t say why, exactly. Tommy had a left-handed desk that was awkward to sit in, but I realized it let me look over the girl Cheboygan’s shoulder. She had a comp notebook open and was doodling, dark angry scribbles. Her whole body hunched over the paper, like the act took her entire self.
Next
Adele
Never mind this guy,” I said. “What were you saying about your brother? Are you two close?” “Well, kind of. We used to be…” Adele started. But Blake interrupted. “You two don't look alike. What's that about?” Though I tried to hustle us on, Adele stopped in her tracks. I watched her face close like a flower, returning to the defensive scowl she’d worn before accepting my cupcake. “How is that even remotely your business?” she asked. “It just kind of seems like a lie,” said Blake. “And here in Kookaburra, we hate liars.” By now, a small crowd had begun to gather by the lockers, and a few doors down I could see Mrs. Bleyer moving toward us on hallway patrol. But before I could intervene, Adele had wheeled on Blake. “Not that I owe you an explanation, townie, but I’m adopted. My biological mother is from Cape Verde. Which is an island just like this one, only prettier.”
By now the cupcakes had made their way over to our corner of the classroom. Nodding to our teacher, I held the box up to Adele, and did a little pretend bow like I was her lowly servant. That got a smile. I saw a brilliant flash of her white teeth as she dove her hand into the box. As I walked Adele to Mr. Pevin’s class, she was surprisingly chatty, in abrupt contrast to her first impression. She told me her family had just moved here from Hartford, mostly so her mom — a marine biologist — could study humpback whales at the conservatory two towns over. Her dad drew a comic strip for The Boston Herald, and had taught her everything she knew about art. And I'd probably seen Claude, her brother, that morning — “Wait, so the red headed kid is your brother?” This was Blake Kettleman, whose locker we’d just happened to pass. Blake’s Mom taught swimming lessons and led the Girl Scouts. It was considered a great irony that Blake was the most insensitive loudmouth at our whole school, when his mom was such a feminist.
Next
Adele
Blake’s mouth fell open, just as Mrs. Bleyer sailed back into earshot. “Whoa, Adele. We don’t speak to each other that way here,” she said, looking way more hurt than I thought the situation warranted. “Did anyone give you the Code of Conduct at registration?” Adele shook her head as Mrs. Bleyer launched into a speech about the importance of “respecting our fellow students” and “proceeding from a place of compassion.” I saw that Adele had turned beet red. When the late bell finally rang, she left my side abruptly, shooting off down the hall. Mrs. Bleyer sighed sadly, but Blake looked pleased with himself.
Reminders
DLP 5.8.2
"show you the ropes"