"You're going to be keeping a journal in this class," I said with the kind of firm authority (权威). "And I want you to tell your 1 as they matter."
"Why do they 2 ?" a boy named Michael asked. He was pretty handsome with a hard-set jaw and beautiful 3 eyes. "I mean, who cares about our stories?" 4 out at the roomful of students, I realized I didn't have a(n) 5 . “Why do your stories matter?" I repeated the question, 6 myself some time for a proper answer. No one said a word.
7 , I looked at Michael. "They matter because they do," I 8 . "Because you're here and you can tell them. Because it's what you have. Stories allow us to make what we've been through 9 . When you 10 your experience into a story, it becomes yours and not just something that 11 to you. " Michael kept staring. He didn't seem to 12 what I had said, but he didn't challenge me either.
In his first essay, Michael wrote about 13 he grew up on the streets of one of the worst 14 in Boston. He wrote how his high school English teacher, an elderly woman who saw his potential (潜力)，helped him 15 a college application. Together, they got him into this 16
I had Michael read his essay out 17 . After he finished, the class went so still we could hear the 18 of each other's breath. I looked at Michael and saw a small softening in his dark eyes. When he finally 19 back in his chair, it was like a coil (线圈)unwinding. After a moment, I said, "That's why I need you to 20 your stories."
