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<br />"Mean preps", "Woman do�'i �elong in an o�Fice, ihe �citchen is wear #hey
<br />befor�g.", "He musfi be a gay, just look at his shirt, ar�d [isten to his voice."
<br />Our society is based stereatype�. We stereotype variaus groups of pea�le.
<br />Peopie are categarized in groups of how they act, dress, look, our ethn�citv ancf
<br />sv many other t�in�s. Usually, people ter�d to place th�ir peers inta these
<br />cate�ories, witt�aut actually getting to know each other. It's all based on firsf
<br />impressions and w�ai seems to be "right", o� "wrong". But, really, what is right?
<br />And, what is wror�g�
<br />My fing�rs tapped against the wooden desf� in Ms. Leins classroom. I#
<br />was seventE� hour, 5 minutes until t�e bell. Just 5 more minutes of this sus{�ense.
<br />A mixiure af impatience and fear �warmed through my head as th� eiock ticked.
<br />I had nev�r exp�risnced such a long fve minuies! Mainly becaus�, � was under
<br />suspense, I was worried, that any minute, tt�ere was ��e chances af being
<br />caught. It would only take on� person that was there, one person that saw me,
<br />for the police io know it was I who had stolen the !ab top from room 431.
<br />Quickly, 1 glanced up at the clock. The �our hand was almost set to 3:00,
<br />one minute remaining. I stacked my baoks, and lifted my back pack �p lig�tly,
<br />tryir�g not to damage the $9QOfl doflar camputer resting inside. As I was aboui to
<br />leave the room, a voice echoed through ths schaol on the �oud speaker.
<br />"Mrs. Blake, ptease come to the offire, we have information on t�e stolen Eabtop."
<br />After that, my stomach lurched, E c�ufdn't help but wond�r if t�ey knew it
<br />was me. I had left no trace! And after al[, [ was a white boy with no bar� records.
<br />I'd probabiy be t�e last person they'd suspect. Just to rnalce sure, I h�aded
<br />towards the offce, to get tf�e "scoop", iea�ing my books and bag behind. My ear
<br />was piastered�to the ot��r side of #he cfoor. I tried to pic�c up as much of their
<br />con�ersatian as possible. Nat ance, did I hear my name.
<br />"I got away with it." 1 said to myself, bu# in a whisper.
<br />For a while; I was relieved, until I h�ard the name "Marcus".
<br />"1'm thinking Marcus Grar��er stofe it or or�a of his friends at least. I mean, he's
<br />the only ane that IooEcs like he'd do som�thing like that." My jaw dropped after
<br />that was said. Marcus was my friend, he'd never do ar�ything like that, and ii
<br />wasn't like him a� all. The conversation wasn't over, f pushed up against the cfoor
<br />harder, so I cauld hear e�ery wQrd of what was said.
<br />"There's anly on� explanation! Marcus is from",-�the man speaking pa�ased.
<br />"A... differeni "back ground; he`s black." The man finished his sentence with
<br />hesitanee, he sounded furiaus.
<br />I couldn't believe, one of my I�esi friends, was going to gei blamed for
<br />something 1 had dane. Anc# the warst of it w�s, the only reason Marcus was
<br />suspected for tF�is act of crime, was eause of F�is skin cnlor, or ethn�eity!
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