Burned Chapter 1
1:11
Ok I just wanna say that Chapter one really means Chapter 1,2,3, all in one chapter.(If it all fits of course) If you've read Ellen Hopkins books you know it's in poetry form and looks like different things but I won't be doing that. Also Congrats to TheBoredswimmer for getting the role of Jackie!!! I'll Tell You which chapter is which in here but just remember it's really, for me, Chapter 1. If you even read this comment GIR below and also anything else you wanted to say. And Also I'm not the one writing this story in my head this is Ellen Hopkins book so not copyright intended!!
---Burned---
(Chapter 1:Did You Ever)
Did You Ever, When you were little, endure your parent's warning, then wait for them to leave the room, pry loose of protective covers and consider inserting some metal object into an electrical out let? Did you wonder if for once you might light up the room? When you were big enough to cross the street on your own, did you ever wait for a signal, hear the frenzied approach of a fire truck and feel like stepping out in front of it? Did you wonder just how far the rocket ride might take you? When you were almost grown, did you ever sit in a bubble bath, and notice a blow-dryer plugged in with easy reach, and think about dropping it into the water? Did you ever wonder if the expected rush might somehow fail you? And now, do you ever dangle you toes over a precipice, dare the cliff to crumble, defy the frozen deity suffer the sun, thaw feather and bone, take wing to fly you home? I, Kayla Scarlett Von Stratten, do.
(Chapter 2: I''m Not Exactly Sure)
I'm not actually sure when I began to fell that way. Maybe a little piece of me always has. It's hard to remember. But I do know things really began to spin out of control after my first sex dream. As sex dreams go, there wasn't much sex, just a collage of very hot kisses, and Justin Proud's hands, exploring every inch of my body, at my fervent invitation. As a stalwart Mormon high school junior, drilled ceaselessly about the dire catastrophe awaiting those who harbored impure thoughts, I had never kissed a boy, had never considered that I might enjoy such an unclean thing, until literature opened my eyes.
(Chapter 3: See, The Library)
See, the library was my sanctuary. Through middle school librarians were like guardian angels. Spinsterish guardian angels, with graying hair and beady eyes, magnified through reading glasses, and always ready to recommend new literary windows to gaze through. A. A. Milne. Beatrix Potter. Lewis Carroll. Kenneth Grahame. E. B. White. Beverly Cleary. Eve Bunting. Then I started high school, where not-so-bookish librarian was half angel. half she-devil, so sayeth the rumor mill. I hardly cared. Ms. Rose was all I could hope I might one day be: Aspen physique, new penny hair, aurora green eyes, and hands that could speak. She walked on air. Ms. Rose shuttered old windows, opened portals undreamed of. And just beyond, what fantastic worlds!
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Ok So thats all for now. Please comment!!!!!!
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From barnesandnoble.com:
"Burned" by Ellen Hopkins
Raised in a stern, abusive Mormon household, a teenage girl starts to question her religion and struggles to find her destiny.
Her father is abusive, her mother is submissive, and her church looks the other way. Confused and angry, Pattyn Von Stratten acts out and is sent to live with an aunt on a Nevada ranch. She finds the love and acceptance she craves, with disturbing consequences.
EXCERPTS
See, the Library
was my sanctuary.
Through middle
school, librarians
were like guardian
angels. Spinsterish
guardian angels,
with graying hair
and beady eyes,
magnified through
reading glasses,
and always ready
to recommend new
literary windows
to gaze through.
A. A. Milne. Beatrix
Potter. Lewis
Carroll. Kenneth
Grahame. E. B.
White. Beverly
Cleary. Eve Bunting.
Then I started high
school, where the
not-so-bookish
librarian was half
angel, half she-devil,
so sayeth the rumor
mill. I hardly cared.
Ms. Rose was all
I could hope I might
one day be: aspen
physique, new penny
hair, aurora green
eyes, and hands that
could speak. She
walked on air. Ms
Rose shuttered old
windows, opened
portals undreamed of.
And just beyond,
what fantastic worlds!
I Met Her My Freshman Year
All wide-eyed and dim about starting high school,
a big new school, with polished hallways
and hulking lockers and doors that led
who-knew-where?
A scary new school, filled with towering
teachers and snickering students,
impossible schedules, tough expectations,
and endless possibilities.
The library, with its paper perfume,
whispered queries, and copy
machine shuffles, was the only familiar
place on the entire campus.
And there was Ms. Rose.
How can I help you?
Fresh off a fling with C. S.
Lewis and Madeleine L'Engle,
hungry for travel far from home,
I whispered, "Fantasy, please."
She smiled. Follow me.
I know just where to take you.
I shadowed her to Tolkien's
Middle-earth and Rowling's
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,
places no upstanding Mormon should go.
When you finish those,
I'd be happy to show you more.
Fantasy Segued into Darker Dimensions
And authors who used three whole names:
Vivian Vande Velde, Annette Curtis Klause.
Mary Downing Hahn.
By my sophomore year, I was deep
into adult horror — King, Koontz, Rice.
You must try classic horror,
insisted Ms. Rose.
Poe, Wells, Stoker. Stevenson. Shelley.
There's more to life than monsters.
You'll love these authors:
Burroughs. Dickens. Kipling. London.
Bradbury. Chaucer. Henry David Thoreau.
And these:
Jane Austen. Arthur Miller. Charlotte Brontë.
F. Scott Fitzgerald. J. D. Salinger.
By my junior year, I devoured increasingly
adult fare. Most, I hid under my dresser:
D. H. Lawrence. Truman Capote.
Ken Kesey. Jean Auel.
Mary Higgins Clark. Danielle Steel.
I Began
To view the world at large
through borrowed eyes,
eyes more like those
I wanted to own.
Hopeful.
I began
to see that it was more than
okay — it was, in some circles,
expected — to question my
little piece of the planet.
Empowered.
I began
to understand that I could
stretch if I wanted to, explore
if I dared, escape
if I just put one foot
in front of the other.
Enlightened.
I began
to realize that escape
might offer the only real
hope of freedom from my
supposed God-given roles —
wife and mother of as many
babies as my body could bear.
Emboldened.
I Also Began to Journal
Okay, one of the things expected of Latter-
Day Saints is keeping a journal.
But I'd always considered it just another
"supposed to," one not to worry much about.
Besides, what would I write in a book
everyone was allowed to read?
Some splendid nonfiction chronicle
about sharing a three-bedroom house
with six younger sisters, most of whom
I'd been required to diaper?
Some suspend-your-disbelief fiction
about how picture-perfect life was at home,
forget the whole dysfunctional truth
about Dad's alcohol-fueled tirades?
Some brilliant manifesto about how God
whispered sweet insights into my ear,
higher truths that I would hold on to forever,
once I'd shared them through testimony?
Or maybe they wanted trashy confessions —
Daydreams Designed by Satan.
Whatever. I'd never written but a few
words in my mandated diary.
Maybe it was the rebel in me.
Or maybe it was just the lazy in me.
But faithfully penning a journal
was the furthest thing from my mind.
Ms. Rose Had Other Ideas
One day I brought a stack of books,
most of them banned in decent LDS
households, to the checkout counter.
Ms. Rose looked up and smiled.
You are quite the reader, Pattyn.
You'll be a writer one day, I'll venture.
I shook my head. "Not me.
Who'd want to read anything
I have to say?"
She smiled. How about you?
Why don't you start
with a journal?
So I gave her the whole
lowdown about why journaling
was not my thing.
A very good reason to keep
a journal just for you. One
you don't have to write in.
A day or two later, she gave
me one — plump, thin-lined,
with a plain denim cover.
Decorate it with your words,
she said. And don't be afraid
of what goes inside.
I Wasn't Sure What She Meant
Until I opened the stiff-paged volume
and started to write.
At first, rather ordinary fare
garnished the lines.
Feb. 6. Good day at school. Got an A
on my history paper.
Feb. 9. Roberta has strep throat. Great!
Now we'll all get it.
But as the year progressed, I began
to feel I was living in a stranger's body.
Mar. 15. Justin Proud smiled at me today.
I can't believe it! And I can't believe
how it made me feel. Kind of tingly all over,
like I had an itch I didn't want to scratch.
An itch you-know-where.
Mar. 17. I dreamed about Justin last night.
Dreamed he kissed me, and I kissed him back,
and I let him touch me all over my body
and I woke up all hot and blushing.
Blushing! Like I'd done something wrong.
Can a dream be wrong?
Aren't dreams God's way
of telling you things?
---
From goodreads.com:
1. Why does Pattyn want to be like Ms. Rose?
Pattyn describes Ms. Rose as beautiful and smart. She is something extraordinary; she opens "fantastic worlds." Maybe Ms. Rose is what Pattyn thinks a woman should be, disregarding her strong religious molding.
Stand-Up Comedy- "Librarians" - Johnathan Marshall, Humor U
