BY MAYA ANGELOU

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

My name is Elizabeth, and for as long as I could remember I wanted to go pro in basketball. I even have a picture of me as a baby holding a mini basketball. My plan has always been to play college ball before getting into the big leagues. I understand that for girls, going pro doesn't give as many rewards as it would for men. My goal has never been to make money, I love the game and want to advance to the next level, the highest level. I've always known what college I want to go to. When I was little my parents used to take me to their games, mostly soccer games. My entire life I've loved this school and felt a sense of pride towards it. So whenever someone asked me about my future plans, I didn't even have to think about it. 

“So where did you apply to college?”  My friend Daisy obviously knew what my answer would be. We played on the same team for four years, we became close friends our second highschool season. Eventually I told her all about my pro dreams and ever since she's been cheering me on. Although I sometimes wish that she could take basketball as seriously as I do. She's always saying that she doesn't really see a future in basketball for her. 

“You already know, UCLA” I replied, but continued.

“I'm a little worried though, I just feel off about it all, I can't explain why.” 

“But this has always been your plan.” 

“Yeah, do you know if Coach Howell would be able to get me in for an interview?”

“For sure.” 

Our basketball coach had connections to UCLA basketball staff and coaches, he once worked there as an assistant coach. He's a pretty well known coach and I specifically chose to play on his team for the connections. 

Later that day after school I decided to see if Coach Howell was in his office. Like always, he was. I saw him through the window and went to knock at the door. I felt nervous. I knocked and heard the usual, “come in,” so I opened the door. As I went to sat down I said, 

“Hey Coach,” there was a sort of long pause like there usually is. He was looking over some papers and looked pretty focused on them. Finally he said, 

“So, what's going on?” He placed the papers down and looked right at me. I felt bad asking for an interview, I felt entitled in a way. 

“So, I was wondering if there's a way for me to get an interview with the head coach at UCLA, I applied a couple weeks ago but I don't feel too sure about my application. I think if I got an interview it would definitely help. I thought you'd be the person to go to for this kind of thing since you know the head coach.” I basically spit out everything that I was saying. I've always hated asking for favors. I've always been the kind of person to just do the work myself instead of asking others for help. 

“Well sure, I’ll give him a call this afternoon.” That simple? Wow. 

“Thank you Coach, I mean really. This means a lot.” He gave me a simple smile and said 

“It's no problem.” 

I left his office that day feeling excited. I was finally going to make my dreams come true. Everything that I had worked so hard for was finally here. 

As I thought more and more about what was to come, I felt more and more anxious. I had one chance to make a good impression. If I blew it, I would lose everything. 

At dinner I told my parents briefly about the interview. I would have to drive down to LA for the interview. I was worried at dinner that Coach Howell had not called, or wasn't able to set the interview up. As I was cleaning up my dads phone rang. My heart dropped, what if he said he could get it? Or the coach couldn't meet? Or did he change his mind? Anything could happen. As my dad talked on the phone, his face stayed the same, serious. Once he hung up he looked at me, 

“You got the interview!!” he yelled. It had been as much his dream as it had been mine to go to UCLA. 

The interview was set for next Friday afternoon. After school I would have to start my drive down to LA immediately. I couldn't even sleep the night I found out I had the interview. I don't think I slept at all the days before the interview. 

Before I knew it, I was sitting in a waiting room waiting to meet with the head coach of the girls basketball team for UCLA. All alone. I couldn't stop fidgeting with my hands. 

The first question I was asked was, “why do you think you deserve a spot on my team?” All other questions that followed were about myself, my career, my plans, and why I even deserved to play for UCLA. I thought I bombed the interview. As I drove home I had to suppress my tears. When I finally got home I cried and cried to my parents. I just knew that I had messed up. I had no hope left for getting into that school. 

Until one day, I was getting home from school and my parents were sitting at the dinner table with an envelope sitting in front of them as well. When I saw the look on their faces I thought it meant I had failed. 

“We haven't opened it yet, we were waiting for you.” my mom finally said. 

I sat down and picked the envelope up. As I opened it I felt my skin run cold and my future flash before my eyes. The possibility of going to my dream school, or the possibility of ending up with nothing. I read the first words of the letter. 

“We are happy to inform you…”

Before I could ever continue I dropped the letter and shouted. I had worked my entire life for this. For years I spent every day of my life practicing and preparing for this moment. With everyone's help, with all of their support I was able to do this. Finally I saw the result I had been waiting for. All my work had paid off.