Read Online Also Known as Rowan Pohi by Ralph Fletcher - Free Book Online

never been afraid to reach for the golden ring. That's part of my personal philosophy. Im a fighter. I believe that if you want something, you have to go for it. Period
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When I think of the term "personal strength the thing that comes to my mind is something I once read about a Native American tribe (the Navajos, I think). This tribe had fierce and fearless warriors. Those men had a unique and peculiar way of stalking their enemies. On noiseless feet they would sneak up close to their foes. They would shrink the distance, moving closer and closer, until they were so close they could hear the sleeping breath of the enemy warrior. Close enough to feel the heat of his blood
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At this distance a warrior could easily kill his foe, but he does not. Instead he reaches forward and taps his enemy on the shoulder. Then, before his "victim realizes what just happened, the attacking warrior disappears into the forest. The message is clear: I got to you. I could have ended your life, but I didn't. I had the stealth and I had the strength, but I didn't have to use it.
Imagine this from the victim's point of view. He is awoken from a sound sleep to find his mortal enemy has touched him gently on the arm. What could be more demoralizing? After having his life spared in this way, the warrior would return home in shame and defeat
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This story made a lasting impression on me. It represents the kind of personal strength I admire most—having plenty of power in reserve, but only using that power if forced to do so, with no other choice
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    I finished writing and signed the bottom of the sheet—Rowan Pohi—putting a bold dot above the final
i.
Next I counted words—not quite 450, so I went back and inserted a few more adjectives. I reread the essay. I still had plenty of time left, so I read it again. The phrase
the heat of his blood
worried me a little—too violent?—but in the end I decided to leave it in. There would be essays from other kids trying to win this scholarship. I needed strong images that readers wouldn't easily forget.
    I stepped out of the test room and handed the booklet to Throckmorton, who was sitting at his desk. "How did you do?" he asked. I shrugged. "Okay. I hope you like it.""I'm not one of the readers," he said. "We have a team of people who score the essays."
    I nodded. "You remind me of my junior high football coach."
    For the first time, Throckmorton managed a smile. "As a matter of fact, I am the football coach here at Whitestone."
    "Oh."
    He peered up at me. "Plan on trying out for the team?"
    "Maybe. I played wide receiver."
    "Are you fast?"
    "Yeah," I admitted.
    Throckmorton gave me a thoughtful look. "First practice is Wednesday. Bring your cleats. We'll see what you've got, Rowan."

SIXTEEN
    T HAT MORNING PASSED IN A BLUR; BY LUNCHTIME I WAS starving. The lunchroom was already packed when I got there. I put my tray down on the empty end of a table and started to eat. Luckily, I didn't mind eating alone. The food was delicious, a major upgrade from the stuff they tried to give us at Riverview. I had a tasty pulled-pork sandwich with french fries that were crispy and hot.
    After lunch they divided the kids into two groups for a tour of Whitestone. I got assigned to Ms. Ryder's group. She showed us the huge library with a dozen skylights, three different gymnasiums, an Olympic-size pool, a state-of-the-art weight room, even a rifle range. The football field had brand-new synthetic turf, the expensive kind that feels exactly like natural grass. I was dying to see the planetarium, but Ms. Ryder said they were doing last-minute work on the lighting, and it wouldn't be open until later in the week.
    At the end of the day there was a reception in the library with Dr. Paul LeClerc, the headmaster. I carefully printed ROWAN POHI on my blank nametag and poured myself a glass of punch. LeClerc worked the room like a politician, making sure to shake hands with every new student. On long tables