Question: Could you help me edit my essay so i get 100% on it based on the rubric. The College Essay 650 Max Words Criteria Ratings
Could you help me edit my essay so i get 100% on it based on the rubric.
The College Essay 650 Max Words
| Criteria | Ratings | Pts | |||||||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Opening Hook |
| 12 pts | |||||||
| Narration |
| 12 pts | |||||||
| Characterization |
| 12 pts | |||||||
| Reflection |
| 12 pts | |||||||
| Voice and Style |
| 12 pts | |||||||
| Total Points: 60 |
My Essay
The car hummed with laughter, my friends' joyous banter crashing against the windows like bright ocean waves. "Did yall see that?!" one of them yelled, excitement piercing the air. My heart raced as our conversation created a vibrant tapestry. Then, suddenly, the sharp ring of my father's phone cut through our celebration. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and the cheerful atmosphere vanished like mist in the morning sun. An unsettling silence fell over us, wrapping around me as laughter faded into stillness.
On my birthday in February 2023, my friends and I had just finished an exhilarating paintball match near our home in North Las Vegas. It was a weekend when everything seemed perfect: carefree and full of simple pleasures. As a high school student, I was riding high from small victories like winning that match and spending time with friends. We piled into the car, laughing and joking, adrenaline still pumping through our veins. But when my father's phone rang, it was as if a switch had flipped. I didn't realize it then, but that call would mark a significant shift in my life.
My dad's face tightened as he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning pale. "What? No... that can't be right," he muttered, disbelief heavy in his voice. The hum of the road became the only sound in the car, swallowing our joy. My friends exchanged uneasy glances, the silence unnerving after our laughter. I leaned forward, trying to hear more of the conversation, but it was tense. "She was at bingo. Are they certain it was a heart attack?" My father's voice cracked, revealing a reality I wasn't prepared for.
Sensing something was wrong, my friends sat frozen, unsure what to say. My friend Noah, in his usual awkward but kind-hearted manner, broke the tension. "Bingo... man, I thought that game was supposed to be relaxing." It wasn't particularly funny, but his attempt at humor was a lifeline. We chuckled softly, breaking through the thick silence like a crack in ice. The tension eased slightly, but not completely.
My father hung up the phone, his voice calm but filled with grief. "Your grandmother... she had a heart attack playing bingo. She didn't make it." Those words hit me like a cold wave, erasing any joy from the day. My friends sat in stunned silence, respecting the gravity of the situation. I stared out the window, watching the world rush by in a blur, but inside, everything seemed to move in slow motion. As we neared home, the conversation gradually returned to normal, but we all knew the carefree high schoolers who climbed into the car were not the same ones who got out. My father gently squeezed my shoulder. "She wouldn't want us to stop living, you know." It was a simple statement, but it stayed with me.
Looking back, I see how that moment changed me. Losing my grandmother suddenly forced me to confront a reality I had ignored: life is fragile, and those we love can be taken away without warning. Before that day, I lived with a sense of youthful invincibility, believing the future was full of limitless possibilities. But that phone call, that abrupt shift from laughter to grief, opened my eyes to life's unpredictability.
In the weeks that followed, I realized the importance of being presentnot just with friends during fun times but also with family. I became more intentional about spending time with them, appreciating the little things I used to take for granted: my grandmother's stories, the meals we shared, and the sound of her laughter. Her passing taught me that life's moments, whether joyful or painful, are fleeting, and it's up to us to make the most of them. I learned to carry grief without letting it consume me, shaping how I approach challenges. While pain is unavoidable, so is the strength to overcome it.
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