Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Kimberly Kirberger Page B

Missy was one of them. I knew we had chosen each other.
The next day, I anxiously awaited the class. After the bell rang, Missy and I stopped talking as Mrs. B called for our attention. She started to call out names. When she reached group three, Missy's name was called. So I'm in group three, I thought. The second, third and fourth members of the group were called. My name was not included. There had to be some mistake!
Then I heard it. The last group: "Mauro, Juliette, Rachel, Karina." I could feel the tears well in my eyes. How could
     

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I face being in that groupthe boy who barely spoke English, the one girl who was always covered by skirts that went down to her ankles, and the other girl who wore weird clothes. Oh, how badly I wanted to be with my friends.
I fought back tears as I walked up to Mrs. B. She looked at me and knew what I was there for. I was determined to convince her I should be in the "good" group. "Why. . . ?" I started.
She gently placed a hand on my shoulder. "I know what you want, Karina," she said, "but your group needs you. I need you to help them get a passing grade on this assignment. Only you can help them."
I was stunned. I was humbled. I was amazed. She had seen something in me I hadn't seen.
"Will you help them?" she asked.
I stood straighter. "Yes," I replied. I couldn't believe it came out of my mouth, but it did. I had committed.
As I bravely walked to where the others in my group sat, I could hear the laughter from my friends. I sat down and we started. Different newspaper columns were assigned according to interests. We did research. Halfway through the week, I felt myself enjoying the company of these three misfits. There was no need for pretendingI grew sincerely interested in learning something about them.
Mauro, I found out, was struggling with the English language and his lack of friends. Juliette was also alone, because people didn't understand that she was only allowed to wear long skirts or dresses because of her religion. Rachel, who had requested to do the fashion column, wanted to be a fashion designer. She had a whole barrel of unique ideas. What a walk in another person's shoes did for me! They weren't misfits, just people that no one cared enough about to try to understandexcept
     

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Mrs. B. Her insight, vision and thoughtfulness brought out the potential in four of her students.
I don't recall what the newspaper's headline was or even the culture we wrote about, but I did learn something that week. I was given a chance to see other people in a new light. I was given the opportunity to see in myself a potential that inspired my actions in later years. I learned that who we are is more important than what we are or seem to be.
After that semester ended, I always received a friendly hello from my group. And I was always genuinely happy to see them.
Mrs. B gave us an A on that assignment. We should have handed it right back, for she was the one who truly deserved it.
Karina Snow
     

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Kids Who Are Different
Here's to kids who are different, 
Kids who don't always get As, 
Kids who have ears 
Twice the size of their peers, 
And noses that go on for days.
Here's to the kids who are different, 
Kids they call crazy or dumb, 
Kids who don't fit, 
With the guts and the grit, 
Who dance to a different drum.
Here's to the kids who are different, 
Kids with a mischievous streak. 
For when they have grown, 
As history has shown, 
It's their difference that makes them unique.
Digby Wolfe
Submitted by Vania Macias
     

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McDonald's
Most of my friends are what society would call "punks." We are the teenagers who hang out at the coffee shops or the movies for lack of anything better to do. But being punks doesn't mean much.
One evening, after a day of not doing much, we were sitting in McDonald's when a guy in our group whom I had just met that day walked in. Brian