Jay, 24, got home from work shortly after midnight. Then, suddenly, a horror-filled scream ripped through the still night. He rushed outside and saw flames lighting the sky half a mile away. Hurriedly, he called the fire department and rushed out to check the situation.

Seconds later, Jay was fishtailing his car on the main road. The fire raged at a small hillside complex of mobile homes. Jay slid the car to a stop and sprinted up a steep lane toward the reddening glow. Reaching the hilltop, he saw that a 70-foot-long trailer (房车) was on fire. A young woman in torn nightclothes was running wildly back and forth, jumping to smash at the 6-foot-high windows with her hands. “Dear God!” she screamed. “My family is dying!”

Jay felt a moment of panic. He seemed to be the only person there to help. Never had he seen such a fire! Flames were leaping out of broken windows at the far end of the trailer and winding along the roof; the roaring, crackling noises grew louder by the second. He grabbed the woman by the shoulders. “What happened?” he shouted.

Barely coherent, Cindy told him she had escaped through one of the master bedroom windows. Her husband, Leonard, had gone for their two children: 22-month-old Ryan and 6-week-old Angela. He was supposed to hand them out to her from the bedroom. But, seconds later, flames had burst from the kitchen and living room windows. Cindy began crying miserably. “Where are they?” Jay yelled. Cindy pointed to the end section of the trailer, where thick, black smoke poured from the windows.

From the time he was old enough to play sports, Jay had learned to battle the odds. As a Little Leaguer, he led his underdog team to the state championship. And in tiny St. Maries, his courage had earned him townspeople’s respect. Always, Jay recalled the words of his father: “The word can’t never did anything for anybody. You can do it! Never stop trying, son!”

“Swimmers, take your marks!”

A beep signaled the start of the race, Tara dove into the pool, beginning her first IM (个人混合泳).Despite being a strong swimmer, the thought of the IM had made her nervous all morning. Butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke (蛙泳), and freestyle. She’d been repeating the order in her head all morning, but had messed it up several times in practice.

Tara burst through the water, starting with the butterfly stroke. Soon, she touched the wall and made a swift turn, pushing off hard. She did one frog kick and drew her arms under the water for the breaststroke, then quickly turned over to her back. Butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle. She knew the order, but she’d messed up again. Had the officials seen her mistake?

Tara smoothly completed her backstroke lap, then the breaststroke. She moved ahead, and kept the lead through the freestyle lap, scoring a comfortable win. She looked up at the scoreboard. The results listed her as the winner. Would that hold up after her mistake?

A few minutes later, the announce r read the results. Tara had been disqualified, meaning she’d scored none for her team. “Butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle, I knew the order” Tara muttered as she prepared for the final relay.

Each of the four relay members would complete one lap of the 25-meter pool, and all would swim freestyle. As the final swimmer, Tara had an opportunity to make up for the disqualification.

The first swimmers for each team were lined up at the end of the pool, shaking out their arms and legs as they loosened up. Tara reached her arms to the sides and gently swung them. All set, she thought.

Tara’s teammates swam well. After two lengths of the pool, they had a small lead. But the third swimmer fell back a bit. As the leader approached the wall, Tara’s teammate Hannah was slightly behind. “Come on, come on!” Tara whispered. She leaned forward, ready to spring as soon as Hannah touched the wall.

Soon after the leader dived into the pool, Tara did too.

Tara looked at her teammates, who were celebrating their second-place finish.

The wonders of nature, from spiders and butterflies to tiny insects, never cease to amaze me. Sometimes, I feel I’m the only one who notices their beauty. Yet, if it hadn’t been for the crowded dining hall, I wouldn’t have noticed Emily.

Emily was a new student, quiet and unnoticeable. She walked to class with her books against her chest and her head down. She talked only when the teacher asked her a question. At the break time, she just sat on a bench and read. After a month at school, she hadn’t made any friend. If you asked who she was, you’d get a response like this, “She’s in my PE class, but I can’t remember her name.”

During lunch one day, with most tables occupied, I found myself without a place to sit. I was at a loss what to do when I spotted Emily alone, book in hand. I walked over to her and asked. “Can I take this seat?” She glanced up and lightly said “Yes”.

The cafeteria was buzzing with excitement for the upcoming talent show. Merry laughter and lively conversations filled the air, making the place alive with anticipation for the event. But Emily, lost in her book, didn’t seem to mind at all. Silence hung between us and it drove me crazy.

I searched my mind for things to say. “So,” I said, “is that a good book?” Emily gave me a small nod and went back to reading. Curiosity getting the better of me, I continued, “What’s the book about?” She looked at me,eyes shining. Eagerly she shared the story of a musical talent, painting vivid images with her words. “That sounds cool,”I replied, somewhat amazed by the usual quiet girl.

The noisy cafeteria carried on with its hum as students heatedly discussed the talent show. Eager to continue our engaging conversation, I asked, “So, any plans for the show?” Emily paused, setting her book aside, “Oh,” she said, “I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” Her words carried a bit of uncertainty. It seemed as if the idea of showing her talent was still taking shape in her mind.

Time flew by and the day of the talent show finally arrived.

The hall fell into silence as she began to perform.

A few days ago, the teacher announced the list of candidates for the swimming team. Since I knew I didn’t qualify for the swim team, I’ve been feeling frustrated. I clearly knew that I had to wait a whole year to try out again that might as well be a million years. During that time, when I returned home, I just locked myself in my bedroom.

Dad knew I was feeling down. Without comforting or encouraging me directly, he said it was time for me to help in the kitchen last Sunday. To be honest, I couldn’t imagine what help I could offer. Moreover, my dad is a postman and he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would bake great bread. Still, I followed right behind him. Dad got out the flour and milk and intended to teach me how to make the bread, which seemed to be a huge challenge for me and demanded a great amount of energy.

Dad mixed the milk and flour to make the dough. The first step almost exhausted my patience. Next came the most difficult but amusing part — doing nothing. We waited for an hour for the dough to slowly swell and double in size. Then we beat the risen dough down to let the air out, divided it into two and waited for another hour. “Take your time. Don’t rush to put the dough directly into the oven, but if you do, the bread will be hard.” Dad explained As the flour dust in the kitchen quietly settled, time didn’t seem to matter. The dough was going to rise at its own pace.

My father smiled and said, “It’s your turn to complete the remaining steps.”

When I tasted the bread, I seemed to understand the meaning of “bread spirit”.

“I’ll bet Anjali knows. Right, Anjali? Why don’t you show us since you’re the star student,” Deepak taunted (奚落).

Anjali was confused. She wasn’t trying to show off. She was just playing tabla (印度塔不拉鼓), like everyone else. And why was Deepak being so mean lately? Is it because tabla is a boy’s thing? She didn’t care that people thought it was a boys’ instrument. Anjali knew there was no such thing. She danced her fingers across the tabla to perform the composition in confusion. “Ugh!” Anjali heard someone groan, and she stopped playing.

“I guess I don’t know it that well after all,” Anjali said sheepishly to the teacher, Mr. Zakir. Her stomach was doing flip-flops. That wasn’t true. Not even a little. Mr. Zakir’s eyes narrowed. He looked like he was about to say something, but changed his mind. “The recital (演奏会) is next week, everyone. Keep practicing. I will be announcing who will get to perform onstage with me at my next concert!” Anjali had dreamed of a moment like that. She wanted to win the opportunity, but she needed to sort things straight with Deepak first.

As the class was dismissed, Anjali hurried over to Deepak. When she finally made eye contact with him, he purposely looked away and walked off. The next day at school, Anjali overheard Deepak whispering to Mary. “People are only interested because she’s the only girl in tabla class and they want her to feel special. She’s not that good—” Anjali was furious. She excused herself and went to the bathroom. She took some deep breaths but couldn’t relax. Her heart was pounding:

“It’s not my fault that people make a big deal about a girl playing tabla. I make mistakes too, but I work really hard. Maybe he should too. He should be less mean and practice more.”

“If I play in this concert, no one will talk to me again. He will turn everyone against me.”

“I don’t want to see a tabla or hear a tabla or play a tabla EVER AGAIN!!” Anjali yelled at the mirror. It was quiet for a moment. She believed it was one of her darkest days ever.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Anjali saw some inspiring posters on the wall.

After the recital, Deepak walked up to Anjali.

My aunt Helen is an expert on baseball. She is the one who taught me how to play well either as a pitcher (投手) or a batter (击球手). Also, she has always kept me spellbound by her stories of playing baseball as a batter in the 1940s — she was really good at swinging the bat. I love listening to her baseball story over and over. She always says, “Go after what you want. Don’t be afraid of failing. That was exactly what I did when I was young.”

And this is how her story goes.

In 1943, she was one of the young women trying out for the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League which was created to entertain baseball fans because many of America’s young men were fighting in World War Ⅱ.

Aunt Helen had heard rumors that a team would play right in South Bend, Indiana. She dreamed of what it would be like to win a championship for her hometown! She imagined a large flag hanging at the baseball field, and on it the name Helen Baker would be there for all to see.

On the day of the tryouts, Aunt Helen played baseball for hours with many young women. For this new league, some of the rules were different from the rules for regular soft ball. They still used a standard soft ball, but the bases (垒) and pitcher’s mound (投球区土墩) were placed at longer distances, for example.

About a week later, Aunt Helen collected the mail and found an envelope with her name written in blue ink. The envelope was postmarked from Chicago, in which the letter was from the leaders of the girls’ baseball league! Wild with joy, Aunt Helen tore it open and learned that she had been invited to the league’s main tryouts!

But as the days went by, Aunt Helen became worried about traveling to Chicago. “What if I went all that way and failed?” She asked her father as usual, hesitation clear in her tone. When the day of the tryouts was drawing near, she was too afraid to go.

Paragraph 1: She locked herself in the bedroom for most of the day.

Paragraph 2: “Helen Baker!” Her name was called and it was her turn to try out.

I was 11 years old when I asked my parents for piano lessons. We were in the impact of the recession (经济衰退). My mother had recently been out of work and so my father became the only bread earner for our family. A polite “no” was the answer.

That didn’t discourage me. I Googled the dimensions of a keyboard, drew the keys onto a piece of paper and stuck it on my desk. I would click notes on an online keyboard and “play” them back on my paper one — keeping the sound they made on the computer in my head. After a while I could hear the notes in my head while pressing the keys on the paper. I spent six months playing scales and chord sequences without touching a real piano. Once my mother saw it wasn’t a craze, in spite of the fact that she and father never wished their daughter to work in music, she borrowed some money from family and friends, and bought me 10 lessons.

I still remember the first lesson. I was struck by how noble and elegant the sound of the piano was, as I had become familiar with the artificial electronic sound. The teacher tried to explain where middle C was but I could already play all the major and minor scales (音阶), as well as tonic and dominant functions.

After eight lessons, I obtained the first grade piano certificate (证书). By the time I started secondary school, we couldn’t afford lessons again, so I returned to my paper keyboard. I passed grade three, then grade five, practicing only on my paper keyboard.

For the grades above that, there’s an expectation that you include a certain sensitivity into your playing. The head of music at my school said I could practice on the school’s grand piano. I would wake up at 5:30 a.m. to get there in time and play until lessons started. I’d skip lunch and then practice after school until the caretaker kicked me out. At home, I’d have dinner, do three hours of revision, and then mental practice until 1 a.m.

One evening, when I was about 13, I came home, and my mother said she had a surprise for me.

My father was very much against playing the piano, but when he heard my playing, something inside him changed.

I’m good at making excuses. I came up with a new one every time the idea of returning to college presented itself. I had enrolled in a university at 21 but later quit. As the years passed, I regretted not finishing my English degree. But I always comforted myself with excuses — I have three little ones who need me at home. I’m busy with the children’s school activities. I can’t go back to school at 50. Old dogs can’t learn new tricks.

The truth was that I was just plain scared to go back to school. What if I needed remedial (补习的) courses? What if a professor called attention to me? What if I walked into a classroom and there was nowhere to sit? What if I stood out in a sea of young faces?

After my children finished college, they insisted it was my turn, so I called Dalton State College and set up a time to take the Compass Test to see if I needed remedial courses. The next day, when I was on the highway heading there, Rachel, my middle child called. When she learned my destination, I heard the pride in her voice. “You’ve got this, Mama!”

That was all it took. Hot tears tumbled down my cheeks as she spoke words of encouragement to me. It turned out that I scored high on the English test but would need to take two remedial courses for the math section. But I didn’t care. After decades of excuses, I’d finally thrown my leg over the high fence of fear. I couldn’t wait to register for classes.

My first course was U. S. History. I’ve never been good with dates, but the professor calmed my nerves. “I don’t care about dates, but I expect you to know the names of significant individuals. For instance, who was the first person to set foot on the moon?”

“Neil Armstrong,” chorused several students.

“Does anyone know when that event took place?”

My heart leapt at the question, because I was celebrating my fifteenth birthday on that day!