2 . On a cold winter evening, I was walking home, tired and hungry, when suddenly came screams (呼喊声) from behind some trees. _________ , I slowed down to listen, and realized that what I was hearing were the sounds of a fight. A girl was being _________ not far from where I stood.

“Should I go to help her?” I thought. I was worried about my own _________ , and I regretted having suddenly decided to take a new way home that night. “What if I’m hurt too? Shouldn’t I just _________ to the nearest phone and call the police?” But already the girl’s _________ were growing weaker. I knew it was time for me to act fast because I could not _________ to the life of this unknown girl _________ it meant risking my own life.

I am not a _________ man. I didn’t know where I found the courage and physical strength, but once I had finally _________ to help the girl, I became suddenly changed. I ran behind the bushes and ____________ the attacker off the girl. Struggling, we fell to the ground, where we fought for a few minutes until the man jumped up and escaped.

____________ heavily, I stood up and came up to the girl, who was crying behind a tree. In the ____________ , I could not see her clearly, but I could certainly ____________ her shock. Not wanting to frighten her any further, I at first spoke to her from a distance.

“It’s OK,” I said ____________ . “The man ran away. You’re safe now.” There was a long stop and then I heard the words, said in both wonder and surprise, “Dad, is that you?” And then, from behind the tree, stepped out my youngest ____________ , Katherine.

4 . The three men sat in the truck, unaware of the hot Nevada sun. Their attention was focused on a fourth man, middle-aged, tall slender, and rather well dressed for the desert-like land of the Carson River Valley. He walked purposefully over the sandy soil, systematically covering the area of a gentle rise. In his outstretched hands was a Y-shaped tree branch, “I feel silly about this,” one of the men in the truck said. “What he’s doing is contrary to all my beliefs.”

“Just you wait,” one of the other two told him. “then you won’t feel so silly any more.”

At length, the man with the branch stopped his walking. The stick he carried by the two ends of the Y no longer pointed toward the sky. Instead, it was pointing to the ground with a definite swinging motion.

“That’s it,” one of the men in the truck called. He jumped over the side and ran toward the man with the stick. Within minutes, a stake (桩) had been driven into the ground at the point where the forked stick was pointing. Early the next morning, a drilling rig (钻机) lowered its bit into the earth at the same point and mechanical digging began. Less than twenty feet down, the drill stuck something the man who said he felt silly had been seeking for months: water.

It had been an uncommonly dry summer, even for that part of Nevada. One well had gone dry, and livestock were thirsty. Previous attempts at well drilling had failed. Government geologists and soil engineers had gone over the area with maps, testing equipment, and sounding device. The best they could accomplish for the farmer was a gloomy series of dry holes. All the farmer had to show for his faith in men of science was a considerable drilling bill and a thirsty herd.

He had felt silly because he had been pushed by desperation into listening to some of his neighbors who suggested he try a water witch: the man with the forked stick.

After the well was completed and plenty water flowed forth, the farmer smiled nervously as he paid the water witch his twenty-five dollar fee. “It seems so crazy to be doing this,” he said. Perhaps part of the craziness came because the farmer was a university graduate, a teacher of science at a nearby high school. However, even odder was the water witch’s request for anonymity (匿名),“ I don’t mind you telling people you had searched for water through the use of a divining rod (占卜杖),” the water witch had said, “but I’ll be grateful to you if you don’t mention my name in any way that gets into print. I don’t think my boss would like it.”

8 . The eyeliner makes the dark circles less pronounced. The lipstick hides the trembling. The ponytail (马尾辫) masks missing patches of hair. I might look a bit thinner, but everyone will ask about my new diet. One hour of preparation and I look like myself. One hour out of 24. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it—wasting a twenty-fourth of my day on a lie.

Checking my makeup one last time, I slip on a cute pair of flats—heels are too dangerous with shaky legs—and grab my Hollister bag. Walking downstairs, I breathe in the sweet smell of waffles and juice.

“Morning, Mom,” I call.

“Morning, baby,” she sings. “Did you sleep well?”

“Better than I have been.”

She sighs, and her eyes look a hundred years old for a minute. “Any improvement is good,” she says half-heartedly.

“Of course.”

“I made waffles.”

“Thanks. Mom. Smells delicious.”

I sit at the table and she hands me a plate. The thought of all that food turns my stomach, but I force a smile and thank my mother again. She busies herself at the sink and fills the silence with chatter. When she turns around, she takes in the waffles still on my plate, only missing a few bites. I smile apologetically.

“I’m not very hungry this morning.”

“You’ll need your strength for this afternoon. Morrison will wait for you.” She bites her lip.

“I packed your lunch.”

I’m 18, Mom. I can pack my own lunch. You have more important things to do.”

She reaches for the paper bag. “But now I know you’ll have something to eat. And you need to eat, okay? You have to keep your strength up.”

Sighing, I take the bag. I know this peanut butter and jelly sandwich won’t be eaten, not any more than the one yesterday or the day before. And even if I do eat it, I’ll just throw it up later.

“Honey, have you thought about what I said the other day?” she asks.

I remain silent.

“Sweetheart, you can’t hide the secret forever. Eventually you’re going to miss school and people will start asking questions.”

“Mom, I have two months left of high school. I can make it till then. I’m class president. I was voted ‘Most popular’, ‘Best smile’ and ‘Most likely to succeed’. I’m the girl who’s got it all together. People don’t want to know that the girl who’s got it all together doesn’t have it all together. People don’t want to know that girl is to be parted!”

“Honey, don’t say that. You’re not……”

“Yes, I am. You heard Dr. Morrison. I have maybe a year left. But that means I can graduate and then never see those people again. I’ll depart and they’ll feel sorry for me, but at least I won’t have to tolerate their pity.”

“But...” she tries to interrupt.

“Mom, listen to me. I don’t want to be the girl everyone looks at and whispers, ‘Look at her. Poor thing. She has cancer.’ I can’t handle that. I want to be normal. Just for these last two months.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay. Just remember, it’s okay if you don’t have it all together. Sometimes things just fall apart and there’s nothing we can do.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I grab my bag and lunch and kiss her on the cheek. “Take care, Mom.”

“You too, my angel.” she replies. This exchange, once taken for granted, is now a vital part of every morning, every afternoon, and every night. Three little words, followed by four more, have come to mean more than an entire conversation. They bridge all gaps and disagreements, because we both know there is now a restricted number left.

Keys in hand, I open the door and blink(眨眼) in the early morning sun. Perfect.

9 . Last Friday, after doing all the family shopping in the town. I wanted to have a rest before catching the rain. I _______ a newspaper and some chocolate and _______ into the station coffee shop. It was a cheap self-service place with long tables to _______ at. I put my heavy bag down on the floor, _______ the newspaper and the chocolate on the table and then went to get a cup of coffee.

When I came back with the coffee, there was someone _______ in the next seat. _______ was a boy, with dark glasses and old clothes, and _______ bright red at the front. He had started to eat my chocolate!

Naturally, I was rather uneasy about him, but I didn’t want to have any _______. I just read the newspaper, tasted my coffee and took a bit of chocolate. The boy looked at me in _______.Then he took a ________ piece of my chocolate. I could hardly believe it. Still I didn’t say anything to him. When he took a third piece, I felt more angry than uneasy. I thought, “Well, I shall have the last piece.” And I got it.

The boy gave me a strange look, then ________ up. As he left, he shouted out, “There’s something ________ with that woman!” Everyone looked at me, ________ I didn’t want to quarrel with the boy, so I kept quiet. I did not realize that I had ________ a mistake until I finished my coffee and was ready to ________. My face turned red when I saw my unopened chocolate under the newspaper. The chocolate that I had been eating was the boy’s!

10 . I’ve worked in the factories surrounding my hometown every summer since I graduated from high school, but making the transition between school and full-time blue-collar work during the break never gets any easier. For a student like me who considers any class before noon to be uncivilized, getting to a factory by 6 o'clock each morning is torture. My friends never seem to understand why I’m so relieved to be back at school or that my summer vacation has been anything but a vacation.

There’re few people as self-confident as a college student who had never been out in the real world. People my age always seem to overestimate the value of their time and knowledge. In fact, all the classes did not prepare me for my battles with the machine I ran in the plant, which would jam whenever I absent-mindedly put in a part backward or upside down.

The most stressful thing about blue-collar life is knowing your job could disappear overnight. Issues like downsizing and overseas relocation had always seemed distant to me until my co-workers told me that the unit I was working in would shut down within six months and move to Mexico, where people would work for 60 cents an hour.

After working 12-hour shifts in a factory, the other opinions have become only too clear. When I’m back at the university, skipping classes and turning in lazy rewrites seems too irresponsible after seeing what I would be doing without school. All the advice and public-service announcements about the value of an education that used to sound stale now ring true.

These lessons I’m learning, however valuable, are always tinged with a sense of guilt. Many people pass their lives in the places I briefly work, spending 30 years where I spend only two months at a time. “This job pays well, but it’s hell on the body,” said one co-worker. “Study hard and keep reading,” she added.

My experiences in the factories has inspired me to make the most of my college years before I enter the real world for good.