I love this. I don't think it's amazing. I don't think it's good... but I love it. Re-reading it makes me cry and smile every single time.
Mr. Barkley still hasn't graded it, though.

College Essay 2008 by Connie Wymer.
The most influential person in my life died at the age of 15. His name was Erik and he was rambunctious, loud and untamable. He liked stereotypical girls, which always made me wonder why he wanted to be my friend.
I met him in 8th grade. He was in seventh grade, and I had always thought he was hilarious. Everyone did. He was always getting in trouble for stuff that wasn’t even troubling. I don’t like hugs, but one day after the late bell rang he hugged me, just because he felt like it. That was the beginning of our relationship.
About the time he became best friends with a neighborhood boy that was already basically part of our family. I was in a terrible emotional rollercoaster of a relationship with a boy I thought liked me as more than a friend, even though that wasn’t true. Erik always knew how to make me smile (or laugh hysterically, more literally) when that boy hurt me. Sometimes he made me feel so brave that I ignored that boy until he was crying on the phone because he missed me. Erik made me feel like I was the coolest girl he had ever known, and he didn’t like everyone. He could see completely through everyone’s façade.
Erik really made me wish I were as electrifying, dare-devilish, amazing and wonderful as him. He wasn’t scared of anything. He taught my little brother how to be a real skateboarder and how to stick every trick without it ever seeming sketchy, and get right back up when your knee was gushing blood all over the ramp you just fell on. His hair made me envious, too. It was so pretty blonde and so perfect for the way his face was and how far his smile would stretch out when he was laughing at his very own joke. It was just long enough to be long, and just short enough to not get in his way of skating. It looked perfect flowing in the wind when he was pumping the board to a rail or a ramp.
At his funeral, I could not stop crying, but I was thinking about the good times we had had… especially the time we took him snowboarding and he tripped my ski. My boot came undone from the ski, and I called him an idiot, like I always did. He didn’t laugh or anything, either. He just said he was sorry and helped me put the boot back in and grabbed my hand to pull me up. I thought about that the entire time I was skiing with him the rest of the day. I felt like he had genuinely become my other little brother from that day on.
He taught me to not care what people think, unless you cheer them up with laughter. He helped me learn that laughter and life are both worth living for, no matter what happens to you; to always keep your head held high, because someone is definitely wishing they were electrifying and wonderful as you, even if you don’t think they are.