Letter to the President

My Hungry Disposition

CHLOECAMPBELL • 8TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I am smart and quiet I am forever hungry and smart I wonder what I should eat when I get home I hear some music and it's so-so I see school girls hitting the woah I want Popeye’s but they're too slow I am forever hungry and smart

I pretend I'm full when I could go for another bite I feel so warm like I have touched the light I touch my stomach and had a small fright I worry there is no more food I cry because my worry came true I am forever hungry and smart

I understand that I exaggerate I say, "Give me my meal, with no malice or hate" I dream about my love of food I try to share that dream, but with whom? I hope to diet but that's a stretch I try to eat salads but I can only wretch I am forever hungry and smart

THIS IS WHO YOU USED TO BE

MIACRUZ & VIANCACRUZ

WRITTEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

M: DEAR MEAT 13, you seem to not grasp it. You seem to not grasp the fact that not everyone likes you. You humbled yourself. You revealed too much.

V: DEAR MEAT 11, you were desperate, but for what? Friends? The ability to socialize? That your old-fashioned Mexican mother would understand your feelings?

M: DEAR MEAT 13, you were so desperate for attention. You were so blind, and I don’t mean blind as in you couldn’t see, I mean blind as in not seeing how bad you hurt her.

V: DEAR MEAT 11, you are beginning to rebel, going through an awkward phase.

M: I mean blind as in not noticing that he wasn’t the one.

V: DEAR MEAT 11, Doing small things like painting your nails black, or writing “tampons should be free” on the tampon dispenser in the school bathroom.

M: I mean blind as in ignoring what other people had to say.

V: Your mom was asking you what was going on, asking if you were okay. But not in the motherly way you wanted it to be. More like, “What are you drawing and what does it mean?” or, “God can help you solve anything, God is always the answer.”

M: You were just a selfish little kid who didn’t know anything. One thing that was good, was that you were confident, but that was good for nothing.

V: You wanted to be alone. Untouched. You realized, that men started to peek over at underaged girls, as soon as they started to show any skin. When your mom saw a man preying on a group of young girls. She said, “it’s the way they dress.” You, being surprised, that your own mother would say such a horrid thing.

M + V: THIS IS WHO YOU WILL BECOME

M: DEAR MEAT 19 Maybe you’re out partying.

V: DEAR MEATAGE 25 Maybe you’re living in an RV, or maybe even homeless. Eating canned beans; because you miss the way your now dead mother would cook them. The difference is strong, her beans are made with pride and determination, knowing her beans taste immaculate.

M: DEAR MEAT 19, Maybe you’re in London already, or studying in your dorm room huddled up in your bed.

V: DEAR MEAT 65, Maybe you’re living in the old abandoned house down the street. The neighborhood kids claim you’re a witch. The parents cover their kid’s eyes and say, “Be careful, she’ll curse you” as you walk by. But you won’t care. You won’t deny.

M: DEAR MEAT 27, Maybe you’re still in Brooklyn where the air smells of wet grass and cigarette smoke. Or maybe you’re in the streets of Paris with your “love”.

V: DEAR MEAT 65, Your hair is black with a few gray hairs here and there. Every Sunday you go to the market to buy cold canned beans, in memory of your long gone mother, and bake banana bread in memory of your deceased father.

M: DEAR ME AT 30, You are strong and independent, you are confident and healthy. You are probably at home with your husband and struggling to remember your childhood.

V: DEARMEAT 45, You are sipping red wine on the window of your huge apartment in New York. The beans are cooking and smell scrumptious.

M + V: THIS IS WHO YOU ARE RIGHT NOW

M: DEAR MIACRUZ,

M: You are okay.

V: DEARVIANCACRUZ,

V: You are bored.

M: You are average. You are a normal human being that you might see walking down the street.

V: You wish you could do more.

M: Or not.

V: But you know your mother would pull you by your hairs if she knew what you were thinking. Or what you meant.

M: You have some peculiar thoughts. You talk a lot. But that’s okay. I think.

V: But I can’t help but wonder If I stopped believing what she believes, I would be free.

M: I don’t have much to say except that you are you.

V: And that’s enough.

M + V: You are you and that’s enough.

Where I'm From Poem

AKONI DRYSDALE-ASH • 8TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I am from My computer and My phone From my TV and my TV remote I am from the slums and the trenches The smell of bacon eggs and cheese and a sunny project breeze The coming back to life trees and grass Whose long gone color and value is long gone but returns in spring.

I'm from vanilla-tasting pancakes and Family barbeques From grandma and grandpa's house I'm from becoming distant and reconnecting And from our family bond resurrecting.

I'm from “you’re not a boy” and “are you a boy or girl” And from "you got a friend in me" I'm from going to birthday parties and celebrating I'm from Manhattan hospital and Trinidad and waffles with bacon From “you look like your great grandma” I am from pictures of my mom and my brothers and my cousin’s house and my bedroom window.

Beauty Within Itself

KIERA FOSTER • AGE 16

WRITTEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

She is a beautiful small town. Embodies simplicity but with an edge. Spring-like weather all year-round with occasionally heavy thunderstorms. Streets smell heavenly as if fresh baked goods are being made everywhere you turn. This town only carries the best individuals who it knows will bring positivity to the area. Negativity and belittlement are not allowed unless they are for the benefit of someone else. She is the town that you escape to when you need to relax and unwind. Just to kick up your feet in the sunshine, but after that well-needed getaway, a sudden realization strikes you like a car crash and you know what needs to be done for a better change. She may sound like a perfect town, but she is far from it, her history and mantras make her that gravitating town you just want to know more about or reside in as long as possible.

The Presidential Debate

HELEN GALLAGHER • AGE 9

WRITTEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

BETTYBUTTER: Hello and welcome to the first presidential debate. My name is Betty Butter and I will be your moderator for tonight. Now I must welcome the presidential candidates: Mayor of Kitchenville, Sir Potato, and Senator from the Dairy Aisle, Mr. Onion. Let’s begin.

The first question is: what will you do to improve the United States of Food? Mr. Onion, you can go first.

MR. ONION: I plan to give money only to businesses that employ onions because they will work hard to get things done.

BETTYBUTTER: Ok, Mr. Onion. Now let’s hear from Sir Potato.

SIR POTATO: I plan to help small and poor businesses throughout the country and invest in education.

BETTYBUTTER: There is an abnormal amount of fruit flies getting into our

country. What should the frightened citizens of this country do? Mr. Onion, you can go first again.

MR. ONION: Since I’m not a piece of fruit, I don’t exactly care for this matter. I haven’t seen a problem with the flies.

BETTYBUTTER: That is enough, Mr. Onion. Now you may share, Sir Potato.

SIR POTATO: These are scary times and I am not afraid to admit it. I think that lots of businesses should start making fly swatters and give them to the army to protect the country.

BETTYBUTTER: One final question: refrigerator apartments have been running out of money to keep cooling them. This is affecting lots of homes. What do you plan to do to help in this situation, Mr. Onion?

MR. ONION: I choose to keep putting more and more heat in the refrigerator apartments. I don’t live there so I don’t mind a thing. It will save money for more important things.

BETTYBUTTER: I don’t exactly agree with your answer but let’s move on. Sir Potato?

SIR POTATO: I think we should cool down the apartments. The residents need the cool and fresh air to stay healthy.

BETTYBUTTER: Now it is time for closing statements. Mr. Onion, you can begin.

MR. ONION: I am the best of the best and you should always remember that and that’s why I will be elected for President.

BETTYBUTTER: Interesting. Okay. Now let’s hear from Sir Potato.

SIR POTATO: Always remember that I am here for this country. If I am elected President, I will make everyone’s safety my top priority.

BETTYBUTTER: And this concludes the first presidential debate. Also, don’t forget to VOTE!

Letter to the President

JASON GAYLOR • AGE 8

WRITTEN DURING WRITE AFTER SCHOOL

Dear President Biden,

Please be better than Trump. Kids like me really want to go back to school, not just learning at home. In the future, I would like a world without racism. Also, America needs to stop global warming. Finally, please give everyone the COVID vaccine.

Also, give kids more playtime! As a kid, it can be a little scary in New York.

Sincerely, Jason

Peace in the Streets

RICHELLE ASHANTI HORSFORD • 8TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I am from two overprotective parents and four brothers. From a loud house but quiet neighborhood. I am from where everyone talks about everyone but acts like it never happened to their face. The tree where cats always find their way up and shockingly down too.

I am from late-night hangouts and a mother who stops and talks to everyone. From “we leaving in five minutes” turning into “we've been here for hours.” I am from where everybody knows everybody and playing traffic in the alley is fun and from cheating in cops and robbers by using vehicles when it is a no-vehicle game (that's where the trust issues started).

I am from getting back up and trying ‘til I get it and not everything is forever. I am from that park where my dad took me to watch the soccer games on Sundays.

I am from bright lights and big buildings. Rice and peas and oxtails. From going to the hospital once a year because somebody's sick, baby pictures, and stories of everybody's childhood, like when my uncle ate my grandmother's ice cream when he was a kid. That story never gets old, unlike the people. Paintings, pictures that all hold a special memory. I am from the city that never sleeps. In Alicia Keys’s words, "In New York, concrete, jungle, wet dream, tomato." Nah, lemme be for real. “In New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of."

The Life of Ms. Lucas

DIANI LUCAS • 8TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I am from messy clothes and sheets everywhere. From getting yelled at to then getting spoiled. I am from wooden floors to the smell of dinner cooking every night. The lights flicker from my grandma as she gives us a sign she is always near I'm from a great Thanksgiving and Christmas every year From my mom's side to my dad's side. I'm from celebrating my grandma's passing to crying about how she's gone too soon.

I'm from "Don't touch that, Diani" and "What do you wanna eat" And "Good morning, Mr. Walker" I'm from wearing the same shirts as my family. I'm from Brooklyn and New York.

I'm from chicken and macaroni.

From seeing a ghost outside the glass window and how he had a hat and red glowing eyes.

From seeing ashes of my ancestors around my grandma's house. I'm from hiding presents under my bed and lights and mirrors all around my wall. I'm from the memory of my lost loved ones in my heart.

Dancing Poem

AFTER ALVIN AILEY’S “REVELATIONS” NOAH JEAN MARIE • AGE 9

WRITTEN DURING WRITE AFTER SCHOOL

They twirl on silk waves Joy of their freedom is overwhelming They rejoice in the baptism of water They show their joy by dancing

Hole in the Robber’s Bag

MICHAEL MIKKELSEN • 11TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT LAB SCHOOL FOR COLLABORATIVE STUDIES

Leaving behind something feels weird when we consider it to be the identity we donate to the world’s Goodwill of past lives and their successes.

The good things that you want people to remember about you— they’re way past the way you walked, the way your love handles curved, and the distinct smell of the leave-in conditioner that lingered in your curls.

It’s far beyond the wooden coffin that leaves moldy chips behind when your bones dry and your flesh fertilizes the ground. Because what will be written on your tombstone will eventually erode in the elements along with its sentiment.

A picture can speak however many words, as a pitcher can hold and pour however many liters. But will your lisp or your excessive gestures be captured in that photo?

Will your growth be seen by the pencil marks that your parents etched into the drywall? Or will your maturity be defined by your better understanding of the words “love” and “trust”?

Your memories are like lumps on a wall, made from drops of paint that were on gravity’s leash until they dried, frozen in time. They may look and feel weird in essence, but you can’t stop running your fingertips over them to re-experience the sensation.

Why give someone that pleasure to do the same? To inspect the life you once lived, the space where your spirit once lingered, and then have it disrespected and defiled when they slather on another layer of paint to their heart’s content?

Why would you give your new suburban neighbor the peach cobbler you baked in the new electric oven you bought if you don’t know how they will react?

What if they’re allergic, or they only take one bite and leave the rest till it grows mold,

and then wait to touch it again only to dispose of it?

It’s like robbing a bank and then leaving a priceless jewel on the floor in plain sight, in a dangerous place where it can be easily obtained by any average Joe and then be sentenced to an unknown doom.

If that burglar really wanted to rob the bank, he would’ve made sure the bag was sealed in every way. Because your success isn't automatically treasured when you’re gone.

You can’t tell people how to interpret your life or your immature words of encouragement; you’re allowing those priceless black pearls to be kicked and rolled into the dusty New York flood control grate.

And I don’t think you want your thoughts to share the same bed with someone’s chunky tobacco spit or soiled decaying gum wrapper, now, do you?

Living in America

TAJE PALMER • 11TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT HIGH SCHOOL OF FASHION INDUSTRIES

As a young woman in a huge world, it can be very strenuous to navigate through life.

As a young woman in a huge world, the unexpected and unknown, too afraid to be alone, the destruction of daylight, it is corrupt and atrocious, many people tend to act like a fool, don’t fall into the trap, unfortunately it is hard to come back.

As a young woman in a huge world, the pressure of the world as it fills up inside of me it is as if lightning danced across the dark gloomy sky. I want to go deep beneath the ground. Your family and friends’ love and support

will help you find the light in the dark.

As a young woman in a huge world, I open my mind. Yes, I will rise, don't let it control me, I control the world!

A Brave Moment

ELMA RADONCIC • AGE 17

WRITTEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

Waiting in the line, holding our groceries, my mother stands right in front of me. We are next in line. I just want to pay for our groceries and leave the store. My mom and I have a long day ahead of us, but an exciting one, so all that is running through my mind right now is what we need to do. I love being productive, so checking off everything on my list is something I am truly looking forward to when I get home. The cashier calls us over. As I’m putting our groceries down on the counter, my mom and I are having a conversation in our native language. Our minds are in la-la land until the cashier gets angry at my mother for having difficulty paying on this ineffective and useless machine sitting in front of me. I’m truly getting frustrated at this point. I try to calm the situation, so I ask him to just give her a moment. I take over the payment and packing of the groceries for my mother and tell her it’s okay. I hate big scenes like this . . . I mean, what’s wrong with this guy? I don’t have patience either, but not to this extent. I am in such disbelief. As I am finishing up, he continues to disrespectfully comment on my mother’s “lack of English-speaking skills.” I cannot be polite to this man anymore, and if he’s causing a scene, then I might as well do it too. I tell him, “You know, I have the right to remain silent, but I don’t have the ability to, especially when you are disrespecting my mother. If you don’t like hearing our absolutely normal conversation, then you can cover

your ears or simply decide to walk away. No one asked for your opinion, and no one wants to hear it.” And he replies, “Of course,” with a bunch of useless words coming out of his mouth that I am not paying attention to. At this point I am extremely close to reaching my next level of anger, and I just say, “You can’t seem to shut your mouth because then how will all the hot air escape?” I grab our groceries, allow my mother to exit first, like always, and then we leave the store. But before we leave, I make sure he understands that if he ever speaks towards my mother in the way he did today, well, not only will he have a serious problem with me, but with my dad as well. I know that I handled that situation well.

How to Feel Happy for Other People

BIRD RZEPNIEWSKI • AGE 10

WRITTEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

Feeling happy for other people has always come naturally to me. My big brother strives to be the best person he can, which I admire. I got better at being happy for other people mainly because my big brother and I are always getting the next new thing, but my big brother is a lot richer and has better skill levels and stats in the game Hypixel Skyblock. I put together this guide for people like my little brother who haven’t yet mastered the skill of feeling happy for other people like I have.

STEP 1: Don’t hate on them when they get something good. For example, if your sibling or friend gets a very good weapon in Minecraft, congratulate them or ask for a smaller share of the profit that would be made from selling the weapon.

STEP 2: If someone has exciting news, be there to listen to them and congratulate them. For example, if your teacher gets a new job, you could tell them you are sad to see them go, but glad they have a new job.

STEP 3: Other people’s successes are not your failures!

STEP 4: If you get something that you know your friend or sibling wants, know your audience—it’s okay to flex on people sometimes but not always (maybe only if they are

your best friend).

STEP 5: If you find something you really like, share it with other people.

STEP 6: If everything above feels too difficult for you, you can start by getting a laptop. Then buy Minecraft Java edition for thirty dollars. Once you have done that, load up Minecraft, hit “multiplayer,” and create a new server with the IP address “mc.hypixel.net.” Then left click once, and left click the little earth in your menu. If multiple people do these steps together, you will get used to working with other people and feeling happy when they get things that you didn’t.

STEP 6.5: If you don’t know anything about this game, look up “Hypixel Skyblock Minecraft tutorial.”

The Beginning of the End

NATHANIEL STEWART • 8TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I am unique and broken I wonder what's my true purpose I hear dogs barking I see dead trees I want everyone to be happy I am unique and broken

I pretend that I'm happy I feel like I have a purpose I touch my mother’s shoulder I worry that I might lose my mom I cry for the things I lose I am unique and broken

I understand that I am something I say I can help people be happy I dream for everyone to be happy I try to keep my friends from dying I hope I don't lose anyone else I am unique and broken

Op-Ed: Why Choose a Superpower?

JOSIAHVAZQUEZ • 7TH GRADE

WRITTEN IN WRITE ALL ABOUT IT!

If I could choose one superpower, I wouldn’t choose one at all. I know it sounds crazy, but I wouldn’t want that in my life. With powers, my entire life would have to change. If I became a superhero, then I would be burdened with having to put myself last. If I were a villain, then I would be in jail and I wouldn’t want to harm anyone. Even if I didn’t become either of those things, then my entire life would still change. I’d be avoiding everybody that would all be afraid of me and would be on the run because most likely the government would want to run a lot of tests and eventually end up dissecting me for data. And everything that powers could give me, I could get myself.

Why have strength when I could go to the gym and work out? Why have super speed when I could practice running? Why have super smarts when I could study? You don’t have to have powers to be a hero.

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free

AFTER NINA SIMONE AND CAMERON AWKWARD-RICH MAIRA ZAPATA • 12TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free my honeyed kin honeyed light beneath the sky while I fall apart and all my pieces crumble into the sound of the drum a white door opens into a place brightness brimming then you seed and agree that everyone should be free and thinking I'm way overdue and soon be starting soon ohh dear friends everyone we love is still alive gathered at the lakeside like constellations until we be free or wish we knew how it would feel to be free.

Biscuit, the King of Magic

THE SUNO KNIGHTSAT KIPP INFINITY ELEMENTARY

WRITTEN DURING WRITE TOGETHER

Our story begins with a dog that likes to run. Biscuit is a pitbull who knows that there are secrets that are yet to be found. Biscuit ran to try and find them. One day he was running and found a hole that only he could fit through. He squeezed his head and found himself looking at a giant academy. Biscuit could not believe this was real and needed to go inside to investigate. Biscuit snuck inside. Then a tall man noticed him and asked, “Hey! What are you doing here? Get out.”

Biscuit understood the human clearly and looked down and noticed he had feet and hands like a human too! What happened when he went through the hole?

Biscuit tried to go back through the hole to turn back into a dog. Unfortunately, Biscuit no longer fit!

Biscuit felt something was off. A loud bell rang, and suddenly Biscuit was dogpiled. An older dog chanted something that sounded foreign, and POOF! Biscuit was back to his original form.

The old dog came up to Biscuit and said, “You found this place on your own. This is meant to be. Welcome to the Academy for Magical Dogs. Here you will learn the ancient craft of dog magic.”

It was the first day of class for Biscuit, and he was excited to meet new dogs. Class began and he looked around—no one else was here! The professor said, “Everyone else is more advanced and you need to catch up. Hope you are a quick learner.”

Biscuit was ready for the challenge—he made it this far and knew he could catch up. After class, Biscuit asked some of the older students for help. The older students were super friendly and were happy to help Biscuit practice his magic. A couple months passed, and it was time for exams. This was the chance for Biscuit to skip a grade. He spent a lot of time failing and succeeding. All of his friends were there to support him.

The test was here. It was very hard—he needed to turn invisible, fly, and move an object using his mind. Biscuit took a deep breath, and the professor said, “Begin!”

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

Frosty and the Two Bullys

P.S. 33Q FIRST GRADERS

WRITTEN DURING WRITE TOGETHER

Frosty the ice dragon was waiting in line for the opening of a new amusement park called the Magical Amusement Park. Frosty had a full plate. She was excited to roam the space and check out the target practice area and shoot lasers at things! She also wanted to see the dinosaur fossils. Frosty did not come alone though. She came with Dino, a kind dinosaur. Someone came up to Frosty and said, “I see your big wings, give this race a shot for the grand prize of the rare fire trophy!”

Frosty and Dino headed to the race and found a large group ready to begin. One creature looked especially scary. They had large wings and large horns. The other racers were Moose Bully, a cat who takes pride in being named Mean

Cat, and finally another of Frosty’s friends, The Nicest Dog in the World. Nice Dog walked up to Frosty and said, “You look nice.”

Everyone set up at the starting line. The race was to begin!

The announcer said, “3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . GO!”

The race began. Frosty blasted forward and was in the lead. But then Moose Bully was suddenly in first place. Dino shouted, “CHEATER!”

Suddenly, Mean Cat pushed Frosty as hard as they could and pushed her into the stands where everyone was watching. Frosty felt a little pain but wanted to win even if others were cheating. Dino kept going and was in first place, zooming past Moose Bully. Moose Bully was not happy and dropped a smoke bomb which left the race path mystified. Frosty

caught up to the rest of the group and used all of her energy. The finish line was just ahead. The trophy could be anyone’s at this point. Moose Bully passed the finish line and instead of stopping, grabbed the trophy and ran off!

Frosty and Dino remembered what Nice Dog said earlier and felt energized to get the trophy back.

Moose Bully and Mean Cat flew past the horizon heading towards a giant mansion.

Frosty and Dino needed to leave the Amusement Park for now. The trophy needed to come back first!

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

Stories Being Passed Down

STORIESABOUT DREAMS, MEMORIES, AND REALITY

KEY

IDEAS DREAMS MEMORY

Alberta

MAKAYLABARRETT • 11TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

She rises like the sun, blessing us with her beautiful light See how her smile dazzles those who walk by The matriarch, respected, loved always sacrificing for others Watch her glow with each step never missing a beat Look at her stride with confidence knowing the power she holds For her family, she will go to any length For she is a force one so great and strong It is through us that her legacy will live on

The Sleeping Kingdom

CASSIUSCARRASCO • AGE 12

WRITTEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

Long ago, there was a kingdom that was the richest in all the land. Everyone was very wealthy which was why its rules came from the same bloodline. When the heir was born, the kingdom threw a party. However, their mistake was not inviting the dark queen who could place curses on entire kingdoms. She decided to place the kingdom under a sleeping spell but the kingdom would not fall. However, the newborn who would be cute if seen was not affected by the spell. This ended up being very dangerous for the newborn. After all, she could not do anything and could not eat hard food yet. However, some people who were not affected by the spell found her and raised her themselves in a new kingdom.

When the newborn was in the new kingdom, the dark queen found out that she was not affected by the spell and that someone else took her. Instead of going after them in rage, she expected this as she came up with a counter measure in case her plan went south. The dark queen took over the sleeping kingdom for herself and provided a place for her servants to live.

Twenty-one years later, the princess (adopted by a farmer and his wife) was preparing a dinner of mashed potatoes and chicken. Suddenly, she fell asleep and the farmer didn’t know what to do.

Dreams

ARAVAHCHAIKEN • AGE 13

WRITTEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

“Hi, may I have a flying dream?” Working as a mind worker for an adult was tough. Finding dreams they would remember was even tougher. That’s why I went to the top dream library, located in a cemetery. Sure, they remembered the nightmares, but she had a bad day, and a nightmare would not be out of the ordinary. A good dream would astonish them. I walked through the aisles, finding nothing that popped out. The librarian replied, “Sure! They are in aisle 175. We have a new release here today! Someone arrived today, a choreographer!” “That sounds lovely!” “This is a medium dark, fun, original flying dream!” “I’ll take that one!” Walking back to my human, I tripped and missed. The dream shattered as I gasped. “Oh no! And they only allow one release!” I tugged my hair and groaned. As dream workers, we all knew the stakes. One missing dream night and then all of the imagination, all of the hard work, would be broken as the frayed barrier that kept the subconscious from the conscious exploded, causing what they call a psychotic break. Keeping the subconscious happy with dreams was the only way to prevent the quirky—and dangerous—dreams and imagination from getting tangled with reality. Two things could happen during a psychotic dream break: people would have hallucinations and have an

alternate reality, or the dreams would become devastatingly literal. As a microbiologist, I didn’t think that this would affect her as much, but we cannot take the chance of a psychotic breakdown.

Once I got back, I got started on a script. “Flying through the sky, black wings, secret spies . . . ”

I glanced at the clock. Almost REM! But I hadn’t filmed it! Argh! I would have to act it out in real time!

“Alright! Lights, Camera, Action!”

“To the Rescue!”

“Yeaah!”

The flashes started blaring. My heart sank. I had never turned the camera on. This was bad. Really bad. A psychotic break was going to start soon. When that started, we would all be plunged into a world of chaos and half-drawn pictures. Memories would shatter. We would escape, but everything before would be lost forever. And ever. Never again would I have the luxury of reminiscing. As a doctor, this would destroy my career. The people in the front handled that stuff. But it’s me who’s to blame. Where would I go to stop this? Would I have to wait until the next night?

I flipped through the In Case of Emergency manual. IN CASE OF PSYCHOTIC BREAK AND NO DREAMS, keep them asleep while you film another dream. Once the sirens stop blaring, it’s over.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The sirens went off. It was strangely peaceful. Shards of my past drifted in front of my eyes. My first cookie: shattered. My favorite song: shattered.

“What am I? What was I doing?”

“Lalalala.” I danced around in circles.

“______” __________

The button was pressed. All of a sudden, life slowly came back. The pieces slowly turned back into place, and I was slammed onto the floor.

“Flying dream, yes, flying dream!” I began making airplane noises and swooshing above the ground. Slowly, everything came back. My favorite song was “The Four Seasons.” My least favorite cookie flavor was oatmeal raisin. I worked with cells and microbes.

How big was a microbe? Was it small? How small was it? One centimeter? Two millimeters? How small could that get? Why could I not see that?

He Said

TAHIYACHOWDHURY • 11TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT HIGH SCHOOL OF FASHION INDUSTRIES

He said we’re leaving. She left her family and her precious home behind. He said don’t work. She obliged. He said no more kids. She dropped her desire to seek motherhood once more. He said your family is no good. She didn’t see them for months after. He said I make the decisions for our kids. She questioned “our.” He said you corrupted these kids. She took “these kids” as hers now. He said I have no money for this family. She knew he emptied it on another. He said I cheated to teach you a lesson. She learned. He said change the way you dress. She uttered a line in defense. He said I’ll kick your child out of the house. She dismissed any thoughts of defiance. He said I’m superior. She doubted her confidence, the uncertainty in her abilities to properly support her child compelled her to oblige.

Bike Poem

MAYRA FERNÁNDEZ • AGE 14

WRITTEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

I gave you some fresh air Some time to be alone You couldn’t be alone inside Always getting bothered You let me feel free too For some time Taking the chains off We cared for each other You checked my wheels And I took you away to feel better On bad days We ran No directions No destination Not a place to go Just somewhere anywhere You just need some fresh air

Butter

LUKE FLANNERY • 11TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT LAB SCHOOL FOR COLLABORATIVE STUDIES

This is the story of how Luke Dominic Martin Flannery ate twenty mini packets of butter at the Coopertown Diner. From ages 10 to 13, I attended the Salk School of Science. Just outside school, there was a diner frequented by the kids who were allowed to leave the building for lunch. I went there occasionally when I could convince my friends not to eat pizza (which we inexplicably ate almost every day for three years). On one of these occasions, we sat down in the diner at a table with a large basket of butter packets that the diner served for bread, pancakes, and other things normal humans put butter on. A friend of mine (I would say I’m keeping them anonymous for the sake of privacy, but honestly I forget who it was) decided to take one of these butter packets, open it, and eat it in one bite. I suppose they were trying to be funny in a “random” or “quirky” way. I was not particularly amused, but immediately following this impromptu butter consumption, the table erupted in laughter.

And that was all my little pea-brain needed. I immediately started shoveling butter packets into my mouth at an ungodly pace. I unwrapped multiple packets at a time just to force slab upon slab of butter down my throat. I was on the verge of sickness as the butter became responsible for

an integer percentage of my body weight. The entire time, my friends were absolutely losing it. With each additional packet, the laughter got louder and louder, and I didn’t want to stop this feeling of instant gratification. Once I got to packet twenty, I gave in. I stopped eating. My friends laughed for maybe a minute longer and then went back to their meals.

But not me. I was in so much physical pain that I couldn’t eat a single mouthful of food. I walked back into school with indigestion and later walked home still feeling the butter sitting in my stomach.

Now, after hearing this story, I assume you are thinking, “Wow, what the hell is wrong with this guy?” And believe me, I ask myself that very same question every day. No part of me wanted to eat that butter. I didn’t even think it was funny. But the way I saw it, there were two options:

Option one: I don’t eat the butter. I finish my meal as planned. I don’t do anything over the top. Once we leave, no one remembers the meal. When we get home, no one remembers the day. And when I leave middle school, no one remembers me.

Option two: I eat the butter. I get indigestion. I feel absolutely awful. Once we leave, my friends are still talking about it. When we get home, my friends text me about the crazy day we had. And when I leave middle school, I am remembered as the kid who ate all that butter that one time.

Maybe to someone just a touch more stable than me, option one sounds better. But I could not find the strength in me to fight my greatest fear: mediocrity. Graduating

middle school with an 85 average. Getting into a mediumrated college. Attending it while working to pay for tuition. Marrying the year I leave. Getting a boring office job with a middle-class salary. Having two kids. Living in a mediumsized house with a white picket fence that we support with our two incomes. Retiring at 65. Getting my kids into all the same schools I went to. Writing my will. Dying at 74 from heart complications. Being buried in a cemetery with a headstone the exact same size and color as all the others, my grave the only indication that I ever even lived.

I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I know that life is a dream to plenty of people who have it much harder than I do. But the idea that I would exist in this world just to be forgotten is horrifying. If the only way for me to be remembered is to eat twenty packets of butter at a small diner outside the Salk School for Science, so be it.

Maybe I was being irresponsible. Maybe I was a reckless person. Maybe the butter indigestion was God punishing me for my hubris. But the truth is, I really didn’t care if I hurt myself. Pain is temporary, the butter memories are forever. And I refuse to die without them.

Faded Carvings

CLAIRE GIANNOSA • 11TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT LAB SCHOOL FOR COLLABORATIVE STUDIES

I never left.

There were so many opportunities, so many open doors that just never looked appealing; while everyone walked away, arm in arm, my feet stayed rooted to the ground. There was no point in leaving to experience the glory days when mine were right here, rooted in this space, this village, this building, this song . . .

The Number 8 sandwich, no tomatoes, a cookie split down the middle.

I couldn’t see the point in leaving when the little kids with braids and buzzcuts and teeth made

for candy were so much nicer, wiser than even myself. They clung onto my jacket with their tiny hands and I fulfilled my promise to never let them go. I would never let them down.

Even in the back corner of the subway car, my eyes looked out for little pom-poms and Oreo cookies, glaring at the adults who dared to give them a hard time.

On the cusp of the water, nestled like dolls in cabins or weaving through metal playgrounds, the little giggling fish twirled and leaped and fell, the innocence of trust

and I always took my position on the outside of their circle, my fingers intertwined in spirit.

I don’t know how I can say goodbye, and know that I can never come back.

That I can never jump right in and say— “I love you” —and actually mean it. That I will never again: mess up and be rewarded anyway; be the bigger person; be on the outside without any pressure of needing to join in; feel the comfort of knowing— I am in the exact position I am supposed to be in.

I will tell you I am coming back. I will look you right in the eye and declare that I will never leave. But we all know that was the one promise I could never keep.

Time ages the structure of what we have come to know like a wet piece of wood. Warping around the middle before it finally cracks.

Why?

GIANNA HENRY • 9TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

Ilaughed vigorously as the wind blew through my hair. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be here, and if my dad caught me, I’d be in a tremendous amount of trouble. I liked— no, loved—coming on the roof. It was a breath of fresh air, going on the roof of our 15th floor apartment building. My dad didn’t think it was safe, but I knew how to handle myself. Not a lot of people came up here, so I managed to keep it a safe haven. I even decorated it a bit. It was late fall, and looking at the trees and the different colors of the leaves brought me peace for some weird reason. I can’t quite explain.

“Gideon!!” My father screamed, scaring me out of my daydream. “What are you doing on the roof?! I said not to dare step foot on this roof again!! Why do you have such a hard time when it comes to listening? You know—”

I completely blocked him out. I’d heard this lecture before, one too many times. I started making my way downstairs. I heard my father’s booming voice and him trailing behind me. I knew why my dad didn’t want me on the roof, not that he thought I was going to, but maybe out of fear or paranoia. My dad was a single parent. I tried to push him to get out there because I knew how sad he’d been since mom passed, and she passed a long time ago. To make a long story short, she killed herself. I wasn’t sad, and it didn’t keep me up at night. I mean, sometimes it crossed

my mind as to why she would do it, and why she didn’t feel as if she belonged here. I was just a baby when she did it, and coincidentally, she jumped off a building. I thought that was what made my dad so paranoid, the whole being-on-a-roof thing. I never had a special connection with my mom, so it didn’t make me as sad. Sometimes I felt bad for not being sad about it.

We finally reached the door to our apartment. It was good for two people. I helped my father decorate it by taking inspo from Pinterest. I was a fan of bohemian decor and warm tones and colors, so I incorporated it in the apartment. My neighbors were really chill too.

My father gave a worn out sigh. I felt bad. I knew he was nervous, but I explained time and time again that I would never leave him. I liked being on the roof, the wind going through my hair. I felt free up there, as if all my problems disappeared. I felt infinite. I looked over at my father, his once jet-black hair going gray. His eyes that used to be so bright looked grim and gray. He looked tired and sad. I truly felt for him. My mom passed away more than a decade ago, but I think it hit harder for him. He sometimes would think of her and just get sad knowing that there’s nobody else out there like my mom. He knew her for her; I didn’t know her at all. He talked about her only once to me, saying how she was absolutely stunning, her smile was breathtaking and her laughter, everything she did, was amazing in his eyes. Sometimes he blamed himself for her death, how he wasn’t seeing the signs. I don’t think it was his fault at all, but as soon as I said something, he shut the conversation down.

I walked over to my room, my second favorite place. My dad made me decorate it to my liking. Just stepping inside, I felt warm and cozy. I practically ran over to my reading corner. I don’t understand how people don’t like reading. I always feel as if I’m somewhere else, somewhere better, when I read.

“Gideon,” my dad said, standing awkwardly by the doorway. It was as if he wanted to come inside but was unsure of himself.

“Yes.” I looked up from my book, waiting for him to say something. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. . . earlier. I-I was just. . . I really do care about you.” He looked genuine and an awkward smile was on his face. I wanted to be mad at him and ask him why I couldn’t be on the roof. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t going to do what mom did, but when I looked at his face, his tired face, I couldn’t bear to tell him off.

“It’s okay!” I tried to sound fine so he didn’t feel as bad. My dad hated yelling at me, but nowadays it was all he’d been doing.

I’d seen photos of my mom before with her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes and her smile with perfect pearly whites to finish it off. Even though I didn’t know her, she definitely was a beauty. My dad said I look like her more and more every day. I took it as a compliment; it was sometimes off-putting because it was like every time my dad looked at me, he saw her. I didn’t know if that gave him comfort or heartache.

I opened my laptop, scrolling through Pinterest. I loved

doing that in my pastime, just endless scrolling through my Pinterest feed, seeing a life that I so badly wanted to live. Pretty girls with pretty faces, nice bodies, and perfect lives. At least that was what it looked like. I tried not to compare my life to others, but sometimes it was so hard. I truly couldn’t help it. Sometimes, I liked to daydream about a perfect life, my version of a perfect life where my dad didn’t always look sad and so full of defeat and where I had all the books known to mankind. They're called dreams for a reason though. I could just hope with all my heart that that did happen.

“Gideon, dinner is ready,” my dad called. We were having takeout per usual. My dad couldn’t cook to save his life. He’d even burnt a grilled cheese sandwich . . . A grilled cheese sandwich. And no offense, but I don’t think he’s ever been introduced to seasoning; just don’t tell him I said that, though. I think things were still a little awkward from when he yelled at me earlier. Dinner was pretty silent. It usually was, but this silence was unbearable. Normally we talked about true crime, and if we couldn’t think of anything, the default would be a talk about school. I hated talking about school. I loved school, or at least tried to, but the kids made it a living hell. I had one friend, Genevieve. I called her Ginny for short. I thought having at least one friend was better than having no friends at all. We’d been friends since birth. Her mom was my mom’s best friend since they were young, and they went to the same college. So Ginny and I were practically inseparable. I was interrupted by my thoughts when the phone rang. My dad had a rule, no phones at the dinner table, so we ignored it. That was when it rang again.

My dad went to go answer it.

“Hello . . .” he answered hesitantly. I assumed that it was just some silly kids messing around and prank calling, but my dad looked as if he’d seen a ghost. I looked curiously, trying to see what could make him react like this. After a good five minutes, he’d finally hung up. My curiosity had gotten the best of me, and I immediately asked him who had called at such an hour. He said with a stunned expression, “Your grandparents.”

I was taken aback. My dad’s parents had died years ago. “Grandparents?” I mumbled.

“Yes, your mom’s parents.” I got a shiver up my spine. My dad had never, and I mean never, talked about my mom’s parents. I never even thought about my mom’s parents or the fact that she had relatives other than me. I was stunned. I had so many questions.

“W-why did they call?” I stammered, barely able to speak coherently.

“They asked about you. They said they wanted to get to know you.”

I wanted to go off. How dare they want to get to know me. This was their first time calling since forever. I never even knew about them. They obviously knew about me and decided it was best to not reach out, so why did they want to talk now? I knew my mom had parents, but my dad didn’t mention them a lot. Actually, thinking about it, he’d only mentioned them once, and it was really brief. When I was younger, my dad talked about my mom, making sure that I knew who she was since she passed when I was so young. I

asked if she had any family members and if I had a grandpa and grandma. He was hesitant to answer me at first, but then he said how her parents didn’t approve of their relationship. I had wondered why. There’s nothing wrong with my dad. He never answered. Thinking about it now, I think they were just racist. My dad was Black, and my mom was white. That’s the only conclusion I could come to. My dad was a good man, and he had so much love for my mom even though she’s not here.

“So what now?” I asked. I wanted to know my dad’s next moves. I wish I knew what he was thinking right now.

“They called saying they wanted you to spend half a year with them. They live in a nice neighborhood with a good school,” he said with a sigh.

“So what does that have to do with me? Tell them you're glad for the offer but no thanks. They can’t just waltz in my life like this,” I exclaimed. I had started crying without even knowing it. They had practically disowned my mom for being with who she wanted to be with, and now they wanted to act as if nothing had happened.

“I told them you would.” He looked completely defeated. I looked at him trying to see why, why he would say something like that. This has got to be the most confusing thing ever. I just didn’t get it.

“Why?” was the only thing I could muster, I never even felt like arguing with him.

“They haven’t seen you, Gideon, and they deserve that much at least. You need a change of environment. A couple of months away won’t hurt.” I felt as if I got stabbed in the

back.

“Do you hate me Dad? Do you want to get rid of me? Am I a burden? I will clean my room more. I will stop going on the roof. I’m sorry.” I pleaded and begged, trying to say anything so he could change his mind.

“Gideon, you’re fine. You’re not a burden. I love you. Change can be good. Just see if you like it. It’s only half a year.” I never even bothered to answer, because I knew his decision was final. One thing about my dad was that it was pretty difficult to change his mind. I walked to my room. My head was hot and almost pounding. I felt faint. Something about seeing my grandparents made me nervous. Questions ran wild throughout my mind. Why now? Why did my dad think this was a good idea?

“Gideon! Gideon, wake up. You’re going to be late!” My dad yelled my name down the hall. I groaned, still tired from the events of last night. It felt like a weird dream that I couldn’t quite wake up from. I looked towards my nightstand at the clock. It read 7:15, and I had to be in school by 8. I didn’t feel like going to school. I still felt sick.

“Gideon!” my father yelled.

“I’m up! I’m up!” I exclaimed.

I wasn’t in the mood to talk to him, and I felt sluggish. I took a deep breath and stepped away from my bed, taking a long stretch as a yawn followed. I took a quick shower, threw on a hoodie and sweatpants, grabbed my bag, took a fruit bar,

and ran out the door before my father could say anything. I was still upset from yesterday and couldn’t believe he would do something like that without my judgment first. The walk to school was nice and gave me a chance to clear my head, just me and my thoughts. A lot was going through my mind. I never wanted to meet my grandparents but was curious as to how they would be. My dad told me they had a lot of money. He didn’t talk about them much, and when I asked, it was always very brief conversations. I checked my watch, 8:05. Now I was going to have to go to the office for a late pass. Ugh, I hated this. I ran the rest of the way to school, making my way to the office. I got my tardy slip and made my way to class. Everyone was already in their seats, I felt extremely out of place. I felt as if everyone was looking at me.

“Miss Davis . . . late again,” my teacher sighed. I’d been late a lot the past couple of days or weeks. I couldn’t keep up. Staying up and reading made me tend to sleep in, and I did that a lot.

All eyes stared at me. I felt extremely insecure. I looked like a bum with my sweats on and my hair in a messy bun.

“Yes, sorry,” I mumbled, nervously handing her my tardy slip. I speedwalked to my seat, lowering my head to not be seen. I hated school. Ginny and I didn’t have the same schedule, so I only saw her during lunchtime, and we had casual conversations in the hallway, but that was about it. I always felt as if I was being stared at. I never liked attention, I didn’t think I was worthy of attention, but that didn’t stop me from thinking that I was constantly being judged.

“Gideon! Answer the question please.”

My head immediately jolted up. “Huh? What was the question?” I exclaimed. Everyone was staring at me, waiting for my answer.

“Not paying attention per usual. I’m not surprised. Stay after class,” my teacher huffed, giving me a look of disapproval. The bell had chimed. The day felt as if it was never going to end. The days were always so drawn out. “Gideon, you’re staying back.” I had almost forgotten.

“Yes, Miss Williams. I’m sorry for not paying attention. I will be more attentive,” I said. I said this all the time. It was getting annoying even to me. I had decent grades. It was just school. It was tiring at times, and I didn’t really get the point. It was a love-hate relationship with me and school.

“You seem to say that a lot, Gideon, but I see no change in you at all. You’re a smart girl, but you need to start putting your studies first. Paying attention is crucial, and this class is important. If you fail this class you fail the grade. Don’t let this happen again or I will call your father,” she sighed.

“Okay,” I said nonchalantly. I didn’t care if she called my dad, I just wanted summer break to start. Going to class after class, lunch had finally started. I was looking forward to seeing Ginny. We talked about practically anything and everything. She’s a good friend to talk to, my only friend at that. I walked through the crowded hallways as I reached the cafeteria. I scanned the cafeteria trying to figure out where she was. She wasn’t in her usual seat. That was when I heard my name called over the loudspeaker, “Gideon Davis, please report to the main office! Gideon Davis, please report to the main office!” I walked over to the office. Maybe my dad was

picking me up earlier. That was a relief.

I stepped inside the room, busily looking for my dad. “Gideon!” a woman exclaimed with her arms open, approaching me. I stepped back, confused. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, and she had a man standing awkwardly next to her.

“Hi, umm, I don’t think I know you.” I laughed nervously.

“Oh, I’m your grandmother, but you can call me Magnolia,” she beamed. I stood there starstruck. My grandmother looked younger than I expected, and I never expected her to be here.

“Hi, Magnolia,” I said flatly. I wasn’t too excited to see her, just surprised. I didn’t want to give her that satisfaction of seeing me excited to see her, thinking she could just come here and it would be sunshine and rainbows. She was mistaken.

“I know you're quite surprised to see us here. We just couldn’t wait to see you.” she said awkwardly. She must’ve taken the hint that I wasn’t excited to see her. The man next to her was still standing there, and he had yet to introduce himself. “Umm this is my husband, Micah. Sorry, we’re just really nervous to see you.” There was an awkward silence. I studied Micah. He also appeared to look quite young. He had black hair with strands of gray. His face was shaven, and his jawline sharp. He had a warm yet stern look on his face. “I know you're wondering why we just decided to pop up and call, but we never knew how to get in contact with you,” she said nervously.

“You didn’t know how to pick up a phone?” I responded

sarcastically.

“Umm no we did, but uh it was really complicated. Umm I-I- we wanted to get in contact with you, but after your mom’s passing . . . we were in mourning and thought it best to stay away,” she stammered. I didn’t know what to say, and just felt exhausted. I was 15, and they decided it best to stay away for that long. She was just making up a bunch of excuses and trying to cover up her own guilt. “We wanted to pick you up early so you could start packing. Originally we were going to wait at the end—” I cut her off abruptly.

“I’m sorry, but what do you mean ‘pack my things?’” I said. I was close to tears. I hated that they thought it was this easy. “Fifteen years and you weren’t even interested to pay me a visit once, and here you are popping up out of nowhere. Thinking you can change my life with the snap of a finger.”

“Oh, I thought your father had informed you. We came here to pick you up so you can spend half the year with us,” she said it casually, as if this thing was normal. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to be rude to them, but I didn’t want to be open. They had every opportunity and they missed it. I picked up my bag with a look of frustration on my face. She started walking off. They probably thought they were so high and mighty, better than the rest. They walked with purpose, walking with a look that said you're going to know my name and I’m going to intimidate you. They had their car parked in the school parking lot. It was a black Mercedes-Benz. I didn’t know they had this much money. We drove over to my apartment complex and hiked up the stairs to the fifth floor. There was an elevator, but I always preferred to take

the steps, and I wanted to be spiteful. I took out my keys and opened the door. My dad was in the kitchen, and when he saw Magnolia and Micah standing behind me, he jolted up. He quickly wished them a good day and looked like he was nervous out of his mind. They looked around the apartment silently judging, trying to take it all in. There was an awkward silence for quite a while.

“You can pack lightly, we can buy you some new clothes,” Magnolia said, breaking the silence. I went to my room. I was going to miss it as much as I was going to miss my dad. I was still mad at him though. I looked through my closet to find a suitcase. I packed my sweats and loads of books. I still couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt like a never-ending nightmare. I finally finished and went back to the kitchen, where they were all standing. I looked over at my dad, trying to detect his emotion. He looked serious, and if I didn’t know my dad well, I would have thought he didn’t care, but then I looked closely and his eyes were teary. I knew this was as hard on me as it was on him. He walked over to me and held me in a warm embrace. We were like that for a while, until he kissed my forehead and finally let go. I wished we could stay like this forever. I hated leaving him all alone.

“Gideon, I’m going to miss you more than anything. I love you. Listen and stay safe, okay?” he said. I heard his voice crack a bit. I wanted to cry but wanted to stay strong at the same time.

“Later Dad. Love you too,” I replied.

“Alright, off we go.” Magnolia ushered me out the door. We got back in the car. Micah was driving, and Magnolia was

riding passenger. I was in the back with my headphones on, listening to music.

“It’s going to be a long drive, but we will be making stops if you want.” She turned around and looked at me with a wide smile on her face, squeezing my hand. I looked down. I felt disgusted. I didn’t know why she was trying to play nice. I was trying not to hate them, but there were so many mixed emotions and built up anger. I had fallen asleep, and when I woke back up, we were in this suburban town. I had figured we were close. I looked around at the organic food shops, the posh furniture stores, and the dazzling boutiques. This was different from what I was used to. No tall buildings and loads of traffic. We drove five more minutes. A huge gate was there. The gates had opened up and a gigantic house was behind it. I knew they were well off, but they practically lived in a mansion.

“We’re here. We tried to make sure everything was to your liking. We have a library. Your dad did tell us you’re fond of reading. Your room is not decorated yet, but you can just order whatever you like,” she said, speaking fast and excited. I could hardly catch what she was saying. I was staring at awe in the house. I didn’t want to make it too obvious though.

“Okay,” I responded, sounding unimpressed. I stepped out of the car as the sun shined brightly in my face. I rubbed my eyes trying to adjust to the brightness of the sky. A man in a black tuxedo started removing my luggage from the trunk of the car. I started walking inside, and it was even bigger than I had imagined. There was a giant banister. I didn’t even know where to start.

“You can either take the stairs or the elevator to get around. Your room is on the second floor. Walk three doors down and it should be on the right. The library is on the third floor. So is the sitting room. You have a bathroom in your room as well,” Magnolia said following a smile. Micah had never said a word since I saw the two of them standing in the office. Just the same stern face.

“Thank you,” I said plainly.

“Would you like a tour of the house to avoid getting lost?” Magnolia asked.

“No, thank you,” I responded. I walked up the stairs to my new room. It was massive. There was a gigantic bed with a canopy, a sofa, as well as a TV, a vanity area, and a massive bookshelf. The room looked like the size of our apartment. There was even a kitchenette. I walked around the room a bit, trying to take it all in. I decided to explore around the house a bit. I walked up to the third floor, looking around curiously. I looked at some of the stuff hung up on the wall. Most of it was just fancy artwork. That was when I saw a picture of my mom. It was a graduation photo. She looked as if she was graduating college. She looked really pretty. She looked a lot like Magnolia. There was somebody standing next to her. They looked alike in a way. The same brunette hair with blond-ish highlights, the same almondshaped brown eyes, and the same perfect smile. The only slight difference was that the girl looked a lot younger than my mom, maybe by a couple of years. I was never told that my mom had any sisters. I wanted to be absolutely blown away, but I never knew a lot of stuff, and this was far from

some of the things that were going to surprise me today. I walked deeper into the hallway, and the more I walked, the darker it got. It seemed as if no one had been to this side of the house in years. I began to cough from the amount of dust. It smelled terrible back here. There was a little hatch in the ceiling, which I assumed was the attic. I pulled it down as silent as possible, making sure to not make a sound. This part of the house seemed to be out-of-sight-out-of-mind, and I didn’t want them to know I was back here.

“Gideon! What are you doing back here?! Close that hatch right now!” Magnolia screamed. I jumped as shivers ran down my spine.

“I-I’m so sorry Magnolia! I didn’t—” I stammered my heart beating out of my chest. This was the first time she had screamed at me, even raised her voice at all. I felt embarrassed.

“No, I should be sorry. I never meant to scream at you. I forgot to tell you that this part of the hallway was off limits. Please follow me to the kitchen, I will tell the housekeeper to fix you up something to eat. You ought to be starving,” she replied, calmer now but still nervous. I wondered why she reacted this way, as if she had something to hide. We took the elevator downstairs to the kitchen.

“Gwen, please fix up a light snack for Gideon, please,” she said. “I will be back. I have some business to take care of. Please don’t go back to that side of the hallway again.” She left in haste before I could muster a reply. Gwen set down a bowl of fruit and a sandwich. I thanked her and she left. I sat there in silence, thinking about what was at the end of that

hallway. It nagged at me. I ate half of the sandwich and threw away the rest. I didn’t have the stomach to finish anything. I wouldn’t be able to investigate it now, but I had a plan when it was nighttime.

I spent the rest of the day unpacking my things, scrolling through Pinterest, and waltzing around the house, avoiding the end of the hallway. Finally it was nighttime. Magnolia had informed me that she and Micah would be out attending a dinner party and would be back around twelve. I was in my room and peeked my head out. The housekeeper and butler must’ve been home or were in the servants' quarters by now. I searched the utilities closet earlier and kept a flashlight under the bed. I dug around and found it again. The curiosity of what was in the attic had nagged at me for hours. I tiptoed up to the third floor, I was wearing all black to make sure nobody would see me. I walked near the end of the hallway and carefully but quietly opened the hatch. I walked up the steps, my hand holding on to the railing with the flashlight in my mouth. I stared around a bit, making my eyes adjust. There were some boxes with labels like “Delilah’s books” and “Delilah’s clothes.” They were my mom’s stuff. I sat down on the floor, shuffling through the boxes. Another box read “Delilah and Madeline’s albums.” I looked through that box. It was pictures of my mom and a baby. I guess that was her sister, but my dad never mentioned my mom having siblings. I walked further into the attic. There was a big portrait of my mother and another girl I assumed to be Madeline. I looked at it. I touched it. “What!?” I whisper-screamed, scared to wake anyone up and get caught. My finger went through the

photo. My head felt dizzy. I must have been seeing things. I touched the photo again and the same thing happened. I put my whole arm through the photo. This must be some weird supernatural dream; these things only happened in the movies. Okay, let’s test this theory out. I walked through the photo.

“Hello?” I called out. I was in some weird paranormal thing. I must have been hallucinating.

“Hi!” a voice called out. I looked in the direction of where the voice was coming from. I stood there shocked. I physically couldn’t move. “Are you lost, hon?” the person said, sounding close by but so distant at the same time. My mind couldn’t process what was happening. I still stood there at a loss for words. “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. Do you need any help?” the person said again with a concerned look on their face. I looked around, trying to figure out where I was. I was in the town. I looked and saw the same organic shops, boutiques, and posh stores.

“Mom?” I replied. She looked at me confused.

“I’m sorry, you must be confused. I’m not your mom, but I can offer you some help, if you want to take it,” Delilah chuckled. She looked even prettier in person than she did in the pictures. I was confused. I was seeing my mom that was supposed to be dead standing right in front of me alive and well . . . but she said she’s not my mom.

“Umm yes actually–I-I’m lost.” I replied, staring at her in awe. I couldn’t believe it.

“Delilah, where are you?” another voice called out. I looked over and it was Madeline.

“I’m helping this kid out. She's lost,” Delilah called out. Madeline looked over at me and gave a small smile.

“I actually don’t have any parents. I just came over here. It was a rough situation right now,” I said with my head down. I technically didn’t lie. My mom was standing right in front of my face and she didn’t know it.

“Oh, that’s fine. You can come to my house. I’m pretty sure we will figure it out,” Delilah replied. We walked over to her house, and it was pretty silent. I still felt weird. I was walking home with my mom. She looked to be around 17, Madeline looked to be around my age. She was really pretty. She and my mom could have passed off as twins. I couldn’t believe I had an aunt. We reached their house, and it still looked the same from when I saw it. We walked in. “My mom and dad aren’t home yet, but when they get here, I will explain everything. Let’s go to my room.” She waved her hand and ushered me upstairs. Her room was the same one I was staying in. It was extremely neat except for a couple of books scattered on the floor. I looked around. “Make yourself comfortable.” I sat down on one of the couches. I was a little nervous as my mind still couldn’t process everything. I was trying to think of it in a logical way. The only thing that could explain this was time travel, but that was nearly impossible.

“Are you hungry?” Madeline asked. I looked up and saw her standing there, a little hesitant to ask the question.

“Umm no thank you. T-thank you though,” I stuttered. She walked away, heading over to where Delilah was silently reading a book. They talked amongst themselves. Delilah cleared her throat.

“Want to go to the gardens so we can hang out until my parents come back?” It was pretty awkward sitting in silence, and I wanted to hang out with my mom, even though she didn’t know who I was.

“Sure!” I said enthusiastically. We walked down the stairs, walking past the plenty of doors until we reached the screen doors. Madeline pushed it open and we went outside. The garden was beautiful, with flowers of every color. Some I didn’t know of: magnolias to roses to dandelions, it went on and on. It looked to be about the afternoon, as the sun was close to setting.

“I never got your name,” Delilah said, trying to make small talk. I thought about it, wondering if I should say my real name. I didn’t want to affect the future. Time traveling was dangerous, if this was what’s happening. I looked at a lily in the garden.

“Oh, it’s Lily,” I quickly said. Delilah walked over to the swings, Madeline following closely behind.

“That’s a nice name. Do you know where your parents are, or at least how you got here?” Madeline asked inquisitively. I had the same questions. I didn’t know exactly how I got here. I walked through the painting and poof, I was in the past. Of course I couldn’t say that though.

“I don’t know where they are. They passed away when I was young. I took a train and a bus,” I responded. I hoped this was convincing. They lived in the suburbs. I was not even sure if buses passed here.

“Oh,” Delilah said. It seemed as if she almost knew I was lying but didn’t want to say anything. She sat down on the

swings, patting the seat next to her as a sign that I should sit down too. I took the hint and sat down awkwardly. “Well, just know you can stay here as long as you want. We will try to get you back on your feet,” she nodded, looking towards Madeline. Madeline gave a quick nod and a small smile. I eventually got comfortable and started talking to Madeline and Delilah as if I knew them for years. We had soon relaxed and all the tension had subsided. We laughed our heads off over silly jokes, talking about our interests, our likes and dislikes, how hard school was, and how annoying parents could be. Delilah looked so full of life. Her smile, the way her eyes crinkled up and shone when she giggled. How could a person so full of life kill themselves just like that?

“It’s getting pretty late,” Madeline said with a sigh. I didn’t want this day to end. I wanted to stay here, but I knew I had to go back. I couldn’t just leave my dad like that, but I loved my mom despite just meeting her. I could see why my dad had fallen in love. We loved a lot of the same things: reading books, looking through magazines—or in my case, Pinterest—we both disliked school. We had so much in common. I even had some of her mannerisms. If I was in the past, I could fix the future. I could save my mom. I could change the event and this time she wouldn’t die. She would be here. I loved my dad, but I loved this. We could all be happy together. I knew I could do this.

Delilah got off the swingset. “Let's get back inside, I don’t think my parents are home yet, so you can stay in my room,” she said excitedly.

“It’s going to be like a sleepover. Can I stay in your room

too, Delilah? I want to hang out with Lily more!” Madeline pleaded, doing puppy dog eyes.

“You can stay in my room. Bring your blanket, and let’s sneak snacks from the kitchen.” I got really excited, I had a couple of sleepovers at Ginny’s house, but this one felt special, having a sleepover with my mom and aunt who never even knew they were my mom and aunt. We all gathered in Delilah’s room with snacks and blankets. We told scary stories, laughing wildly. The thought still nagged at me: how was I supposed to stop the events from happening? Delilah looked to be about seventeen, which was too far away from when she did it. I couldn’t stay here for the next five to six years. I had to go back to my reality.

I rubbed my eyes, looking around. I looked at the boxes marked “Deliah’s stuff.” I was surrounded by boxes and pictures. I was in the attic. I rubbed my eyes once more to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I swore I had been in my mother’s room laughing with my aunt telling stories. How was I in the attic? It must have been a dream. It couldn’t have been. I walked over to the picture, trying to put my hand through it, but nothing had happened. I cried, not wanting anyone to hear me. My knees were to my chest as I was rolled up in a ball, rocking back and forth, just having a silent cry. I wanted to stop it. I wanted to change things, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t change it. Why did she leave me? Why did she leave dad behind? Tears streamed down my face as memories of my mom’s face came to memory. Pictures of her holding me as a baby. I didn’t know her but I missed her. I was going through a stage of grief that I had thought I had

skipped. The thought of my mom being gone and me not being able to make proper memories with her finally hit me.

Monologue

LEA KARIAN • AGE 14

WRITTEN DURING SUMMER WORKSHOPS

Sometimes I wonder if anyone in the world has felt the way that I feel. A hollow, sick feeling. A feeling of being so completely and utterly unlike everyone I’ve ever known that I don’t know how to make friends or laugh with people. It’s lonely. I can’t exactly pinpoint the moment when everybody decided that I was too different to associate with. Maybe it happened when I threw a big eleventh birthday party in sixth grade, and I invited my whole class, but only my Papa and Aunt Fiona came. Maybe it happened when I kicked a ball at Sal Finkel Garber, the red-headed garden gnome that used to sit outside of our door, and he broke into three pieces. Maybe it was my mama’s twisted face when I took the pieces of Sal into the house to tell her what I did. Maybe it was when Mama disappeared one night eight years ago, taking everything valuable in the house with her except for her phone, her wedding ring, a crystal vase . . . and Papa and me. We never saw her again. I’m past the point of crying about how isolated I feel, or begging some higher-up force in the clouds to call Mama back. I’ve realized that she made a decision, and that it’s not my or Papa’s job to carry the weight and guilt that she put on us. But I can’t help but wonder if I would’ve turned out different if she had stayed. Maybe I would’ve been more normal. At the very least, grown up in a sleepy contentedness of the life that I live.

I know everybody in this town. That’s just how it is. Nearly all the businesses here are run by local families. Every mile or so there’s a farm, and if you walk in the square when it’s raining, it smells like wet hay and apple cider from the orchard canteen. Sometimes I wonder if anything here ever changes, or if it’s just stuck in time. Years of seeing the same people over and over again, watching them plan futures to raise their children and grandchildren here, doing the same thing their parents did before them. It’s a cycle. And I want to get out of it. I want a future away from this quiet life, where I can see the city lights from my small studio apartment and intern at a job after college. I want to work my way up the ladder. I want to know what it’s like in a world where you pass new people on the street every day. But it’s difficult to imagine how I’ll ever get there. There’s one elementary school, one middle school, and one high school in our radius. There’s a community college a few miles to the west, but only boys go there because all the families here are the same; they expect their daughters to stay at home, raise families, cook and clean. That is what keeps me from agreeing to stay here. I have no interest in being a housewife. And though my fantasies of the future may be difficult to reach, I will work for it. I will do it for myself. But I am not the only person that I have to worry about.

My father is not unlike the other men here. Had I been like the other girls, I’m sure he would’ve been happy to watch me get married at the same church he and Mama wed at, and raise children in this house. But I am not like them, and he doesn’t ask me to be. Papa knows that I’ll do whatever it takes

to get out of this town. He knows that I’ll try desperately to start a new life away from here the first chance I get. Again and again, I have asked Papa to come with me when I leave, where I would take care of him, and he would be able to live outside of the judgment and pain that this place has given us. He always says the same thing: “Our family is here. I will not leave it as long as there is a chance that our family will be reunited again.” We both know that there is no possibility. I’m not sure if I would call Papa and me a family. Sometimes we drink milk tea in chipped mugs on the porch, and play Scrabble. Sometimes we watch American Horror Story on our small TV set on Friday nights. Papa loves me, and I love him, but it is a love that is there to fill the emptiness between us. It is a love that a father and daughter are expected to maintain, so we maintain it from a safe distance. And when the day is done, and we lay in a tired daze a carpeted corridor apart, we both dream of what might have been.

Aurorealis

MORGAN LEE • AGE 12

WRITTEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

12:00 PM - BOREALIS AURORA STARTED RECORDING 12:01 PM - BOREALIS AURORA CHANGED SCREEN NAME TO BORA AURORA 12:01 PM EVIA AURORA JOINED!

BORA: Hey! As always, it’s Bora, here from Aurorealis on Fairy Tale TV. Today, we’re here to talk about how I was cursed by my grandma.

EVIA: Now, now, you know very well it was—

BORA: Yes, I know grandma, it was an accident. I was going to get to that part.

EVIA: Well, I was just making sure you got everything accurate.

BORA: Well then why don’t you tell it?

EVIA: Maybe I will, then. Ahem. Is this microfoam on?

EVIA: BORA: Grandma, it’s a microphone. And if it wasn’t on I wouldn’t be hearing you right now.

Very good. Ahem. It was a long, long time ago—

BORA: Thirty years, grandma.

EVIA: Shush. A long, long time ago.

EVIA: BORA: *sigh*

Anyway. Thirty years ago, sweet little Borealis was born and—

EVIA: —the whole kingdom—

EVIA: —was invited to the ceremony.

BORA: It’s BORA.

BORA: Family.

BORA: There were like twenty people, and it was a party, not a ceremony.

EVIA: AHEM. Each person in the Council of Elders—

BORA:

EVIA: AKA all the ancient relatives.

—gave a gift to young Borea—

BORA:

EVIA: BORA.

—lis. She got lots of little enchanted baubles like animated wooden mice, but I decided to give her an enchantment that was truly wonderful and dreadfully complicated.

BORA: A lot of good that did.

EVIA: BOREALIS. You will RESPECT your ELDERS

when they are STORYTELLING.

BORA: Whatever.

EVIA: AHEM. I decided to give her something truly great that would stay with her and help her all her life. So, I decided to cast a beauty spell that would last until she had secured the love of someone who would forever stay with her. The idea was that it would help her find a husband.

BORA: Grandma. Do you even understand what marriage is supposed to mean in the modern world? You’re supposed to love each other as people–

EVIA: EXCUSE ME. So when it was my turn, I cast my spell on little Borealis.

BORA: It’s Bo—you know what, whatever.

EVIA: My spell dictated that little Bore—little Bora—

BORA: THANK you.

EVIA: —would be as beautiful as a gown that my sister Doe gifted her, which was simply lovely. It had the cutest little embroideries and the most luscious pink silk. I remember how wonderful it was. And it was enchanted to grow with little Bo . . . ra, Bora, so she could wear it forever. Quite a clever spell, to be ho—

BORA: Um, yeah, we get it grandma. It was a nice dress. But you’re supposed to be talking about your curse.

EVIA: Right. I cast a spell. When the last button of the dress was done, Bora would become as beautiful as the dress in that moment. Of course, we were very careful. We did every button but the last and smoothed it around little Bora until no one could deny its glamour. But then, as we were doing the last button, Bora—

BORA: —yep. I vomited.

EVIA: Yes. So . . . well, the dress was ruined when the last button was fastened. And suddenly, Borealis’s angelic face . . . changed. First it matched the beauty of the original gown. She was lovely. And then, the vomit kicked in . . . she was . . . well. She was different. She was a baby. And suddenly she had warts. And a layer of grime over her skin that wouldn’t wash off, no matter what we tried.

BORA: Yeah. I was horrific. And my dad threw grandma out of the baby shower for it. Mom cancelled the rest of the party and took me to the local curse removal lady, but she couldn’t do anything so I was just stuck looking like a mangy teenager-baby.

EVIA: Well. Yes.

BORA: Well, thanks so much grandma! It was fun

EVIA: talking to you!

What, that’s it?

BORA: Yep, sorry, I have other guests! Bye!

12: 05 PM - EVIA AURORA WAS REMOVED FROM THE CALL

12:05 PM MARCUS GLADIATOR JOINED!

12:05 PM - MARCUS GLADIATOR CHANGED SCREEN NAME TO MARK GLADIATOR

BORA: Hey, Mark! I’m so glad to see you!

MARK: Hey, Bora. Nice to see you too.

BORA: For those who don’t know, Mark is an old friend of mine from middle school. Alright, Mark, down to business. You knew me in my awkward teenage years.

MARK: That I did.

MARK: BORA: How’d I look?

Well. You actually looked pretty nice. But your skin was all . . . well, it was very . . . blemished? There were the pimples, first of all. All over your left arm, and some on your face, but nowhere else. The ones there never went away and new ones never formed. I remembered being kinda confused about that.

BORA: Yep. That gown had gross chunks of barf all over the sleeve and it caused pimples.

MARK: I never asked because, you know, etiquette. You also had those weird brown splotches on your face and neck.

BORA: That would be the stains from the vomit.

MARK: . . . okay. But mostly your skin was just kinda . . . bumpy. It wasn’t pretty.

BORA: That it was not. And do you remember how people reacted to me?

MARK: Gosh, do I. People were always avoiding you in the hallways and at lunch and recess. I got teased just for hanging out with you.

BORA: Yeah, it was not fun. People hated me. But that meant the friends I did have were genuine. Like Mark over here—he’s just a little angel, isn’t he?

MARK: Yes, I’m just the most innocent, friendliest little angel, aren’t I. So much more angelic than you.

BORA: . . . or maybe not. Ha! Mark, it was such a pleasure to have you on today.

MARK: Thanks for having me! Bye!

12:07 - MARCUS GLADIATOR LEFT THE CALL 12:07 - STANLEY PINN JOINED 12:07 - STANLEY PINN CHANGED SCREEN NAME TO STAN PINN

BORA: And our final guest today on Aurorealis: my wonderful husband, Stan!

STAN: Hey, Bora. Hey, adoring audience of Bora.

BORA: I’m still waiting for the adoring audience.

STAN: Well now I can be your adoring audience.

STAN: BORA: Thanks, but as my husband you don’t count.

Aw.

BORA: Anyway, my partner Stan is here so that I can make a point: I found a husband, even with grandma’s curse. When we met, Stan didn’t care about my weird vomit-dress appearance. And he also broke the curse so now I look like a normal person!

STAN: Yeah . . . that was kind of weird. At first you looked like a supermodel with a splotchy face, and now you look average but with a normal amount of blemishes.

BORA: Trust me, I found it even weirder. But we can talk about that later! Thanks, nonexistent adoring audience, and this was another episode of Aurorealis! Remember the lesson of my life story! Bye!

12:10 - CALL ENDED

She Tried to Pull Me In

ANJALI MISIR • AGE 16

WRITTEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

“S he tried to pull me in,” my grandmother told me. After school, I’d ask my grandmother to tell me stories of mermaids. (She knew quite a bit about them.) I got so lost in her words and hand gestures, they started to become part of the stories. (Part of her voice?) When she died, those memories of her began to feel like a dream. “She tried to pull me in,” my grandmother told me. Mermaids are the most magical beings, in my opinion.

I never knew that they existed until my grandmother mentioned the word. Other kids had nursery rhymes, but

I had tall tales. I had my grandmother’s soft yet amplified voice. I had her hand gestures and wide-eyed excitement. I had her mystery and wonder. At one point, I also started to tell my own stories. One time, I told her that this big white cat visited me in the school cafeteria. She knew I was making it up, but she still smiled. I won’t share all of her stories. Just one. One day, my grandmother was out for a walk to the

Pomeroon River, the deepest river in Guyana. “Mermaids live in black water,” she said. She went to sit on the bridge that hovered over the

Pomeroon, her feet hanging in the water. Suddenly, she felt something yank her foot. Something was trying to pull her in! Or maybe trying to greet her.

“The tail was black and orange. It shimmered through the water,” she assured me.

The tail was a long one, so long you didn’t know where it started or ended.

My grandmother was able to get loose from the mermaid’s grip and get away, but I don’t think she was scared.

She died when I was in middle school. She got sick. She had so much faith that her body would recover, that she could go on her walkabouts after it was all over. The more I remember, the more these memories start to feel like a dream.

826NYC Write All About It Guest Speaker Event

TANESHA NIXEL • 6TH GRADE

WRITTEN IN WRITE ALL ABOUT IT!

I had the chance to be able to interview David Ewalt, Henry Lu, and Carly Fisher as part of a journalism class in New York. They shared some really interesting facts about themselves and Henry gave us advice on how to start a school newspaper. David is a journalist and Carly is a writer covering sustainability, climate change and social justice issues.

CARLY FISHER Carly was born in Florida. She was an only child and her working parents had to get jobs and they had to move every year. Her parents also divorced when Carly was at a young age. She worked multiple jobs. She worked at a soup kitchen and was really into food and restaurants. That’s how she became interested in food. She originally wrote about women’s issues but then switched to food and hotel journalism.

After art school, she went to a journalism program and took an internship. She started her own website writing about brunch restaurants. She wrote about food, dining, and small restaurants. As a grown-up, she got to live in different places but her favorite place she lived in was Brooklyn. She has written books too.

DAVID EWALT David has loved science and technology from a young age. As a child, he thought he would be a scientist but once he was in college he didn’t find the courses as interesting so he joined the school paper. He enjoyed school newspapers and in college was where he really got interested in journalism. If he wasn’t in class he was working on the newspaper.

Now, he is a reporter for The Wall Street Journal. David said long-term projects take six months and once you have your draft the paper goes to the editor. He writes three to four stories a week.

He loves journalism because he gets to meet cool people and write about them (he interviewed Jay-Z!). David has worked for Forbes and was on TV to talk about the Forbes list of the one hundred most powerful people. He wrote a book called Of Dice and Men which is about Dungeons and Dragons.

HENRY LU Henry is from Canada. His parents were immigrants which got him interested in international relations from all over the world, which then got him into writing journalism. He started a newspaper in college called Flash Points. He finds journalism fun because you get to interview a lot of cool people.

He interviewed several members of Congress and diplomats. Interviewing is his favorite part of writing articles. The coolest person he interviewed was the person in charge of the CIA that was stationed in South Korea. He

also interviewed members of Congress, both Democrats and Republicans.

I had a great time interviewing Carly, David and Henry. It was interesting to hear their lives and who they have interviewed.

Echo

JACKSON POPPER • 11TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT LAB SCHOOL FOR COLLABORATIVE STUDIES

I have always questioned what makes people remember certain things about others And what affects these memories Throughout my life I imagined the memories of other people Through the conversations I had with them and the stories they shared In camp my counselors told me stories that they were told by their counselors I can recall specific moments from color wars that had happened long before I arrived at camp My parents used to tell me stories that their parents told them I still remember stories about my mom first going to my great grandfather's farm when she was younger Which makes me think of the importance of stories being passed down And throughout my life I have asked myself What will people remember about me How will my story get passed down When I think about this it scares me I think about my regrets and my dreams What could have happened to me and what can happen As I am in deep in thought I realize your story isn’t what people think of you It is what you do with your life.

love

ANAYELI ROSARIO • 12TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT LAB SCHOOL FOR COLLABORATIVE STUDIES

no one told me love isn’t only a feeling. that’ll have you cry at 3 AM while you look at the ceiling. how sometimes it isn’t what you might think. the feelings get so intense it'll make your heart sink. love can be two arms and a heartbeat. love can make you feel like the rose that grew in concrete. love can be a universal language. but with horrible communication it can be a disadvantage. love is oftentimes a person. the one who makes sure your pains never worsen. the one who makes you their “perfect” view. the person who wouldn’t know what to do, without you.

The Strange World I Live In

SELENA SCARBOROUGH • 9TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

It was the next morning. I woke up out of my bed and I noticed something was slightly different. I rubbed my eyes to get a clearer view out my window blinds and I saw that the sky was dark blue with purple clouds. I was so shocked, it was as if my soul left my body. I closed the blinds and went to go check on my grandmother and my sister. I went upstairs to my sister's room and she was gone.

All of her stuff in her room disappeared, so there was an empty room. I left her room and went to my grandmother’s bedroom. When I looked inside her room, she was gone as well and some of her stuff was still here. Now I started to have a panic attack. My heart started pounding, my head was breaking a sweat, and my stomach was hurting. It felt like I was trapped in a small box that I couldn’t get out of. I just sat on the floor and started to cry and put my head down. So many things were going through my head it was crazy.

“Are my sister and grandmother dead? Why is the sky blue and purple? Am I dreaming about something?”

I decided to wipe my eyes and get off the floor. My vision was still a little blurry from all the tears, but I took a deep breath and walked out the door to see what was happening outside. As soon as I stepped foot out the door, the sky was flashing so bright in my eyes, it was like a diamond was shining. In my head I was starting to realize that I transitioned

into a new world and my surroundings weren't the same anymore.

My memory was starting to come back to me. I remembered that last night, two gray and blue robots came up to me while I was walking home from the movie theater. They pushed me into a time travel machine and stuck an electric needle inside of me that made me go really psycho. My memory was still kind of hazy, but I remembered a few things.

As soon as my memory was coming back to me, I started to walk down the street. There were cars such as Teslas, Lamborghinis, and SRT’s parked outside. But something was very different about this world, and the outside of it. Instead of birds singing their peaceful songs, or the clouds just floating with peace and quiet, there was animated music playing every footstep I made. It felt as if I was in a video game which was surreal to me. I was about to turn the corner of the street until I saw something from the corner of my eye. It was something gigantic with red arms. I was starting to get afraid. My eyes were ringing like a bell, my head was sweating, and my legs were shaking. I told myself to calm down and go check it out, so I did that.

When I turned that corner, there was a bunch of war going on. On one side of the street there were these two red robotic spiders battling with these black and green aliens with their light green UFOs to the left of them. On the other side of the street there were these superheroes with capes going at it with their villains up in the sky like I saw in the Marvel vs. DC comic books. People were running everywhere, cars were

being thrown, and lasers were flashing past my eyes. While I was so distracted by what was happening, I heard something stepping up to me from behind. I slightly looked behind me and one of the robotic spiders was looking at me. I was so shocked, I just ran for my life. I didn’t look any direction, I just ran straight not knowing where I was going.

The spider started to say in a robotic voice, “Hey, come back, I want to talk to you.” “No, I don’t trust you,” I said as I continued to run. I realized that I was at the end of the block and there wasn’t any other way I could go to escape. So I just stopped and looked at the robotic spider. I said with a shaken voice, “Please don’t hurt me, I’m begging you.”

“I promise I won’t, I just want to talk to you to calm down.”

“Okay, I have a question,” I said with a calm voice.

“Yes? Ask me anything.”

“Where is your food, I'm starving,” I said while I was starting to laugh.

“Follow me, I will show you.”

So we walked back to the place where we were before. While we were walking together, I was just admiring how cool this place really is. The sky had yellow stars coming out because it was starting to get dark.

The spider said, “Okay here we are, The Food Palace.”

“Wow, this is insane.”

“I know it’s a lot, so I’m going to be right here.”

“Okay! Be back in a minute,” I said with an excited tone.

So I walked to the parking lot where all the food was. There was a strong smell going through my nose. It was coming from a Mexican restaurant. They had so many varieties of food it was crazy. They had Mexican food, fast food, and soul food. On the other side, they had astronaut ice cream for the aliens which I wanted to try as well. I decided that I wanted McDonald's, so I went there in the meantime. I got inside and it was so shocking. The janitor was cleaning, robots were taking orders, and people were eating at the tables as well. First, I looked at the menu. There were eight items from different countries on the board: two from China and Japan; three from France and Spain; two from Brazil and Chile; and one from India. I found what I wanted to eat, so I called the robot over.

The robot said, “Hello, what would you like from McDonalds?”

“Hello, I would like to have the sweet mustard burger from France, and the bacon cheddar fries from there as well.”

“Okay, coming right up!” the robot said as he strolled away.

I went to go sit at the table next to the closest window. I started to think about the conversation I was going to have with the spider. I decided that I was going to talk to it about my old world and my experience. I am going to talk to it about my feelings and how I feel about myself.

“Here you go, have a good day!” the robot said with a smile.

“Thank you, you too.”

My stomach was starting to growl like a tiger so I went

ahead and ate my burger with fries. As soon as I was done, my stomach was so full it felt like it was about to explode. But I managed to get up and go back outside to have a conversation with the red robotic spider. My stomach started to get bubbly because I was so nervous. I was lost and I didn’t know where it was until I heard this. “Hey, I’m right here.”

I slowly walked up to it. I said, “Okay, I'm ready to talk now!”

“How was your lunch?”

“It was very much delicious and definitely filled my stomach.”

“Good for you. So what do you want to start off with?”

I said, “I’m going to start off with introducing myself.”

“Okay, go right ahead.”

“So my name is Kehlani. I used to live in New York or in other words, the United States. I’m very outgoing, loving, and caring when it comes to doing things, and people that I really care about. I want to get into fashion and basketball because those are my top dreams I want to achieve. I have two siblings and one nephew. That’s pretty much it.”

“Well my name is Doraemon and I’m pretty much a therapist spider that helps people with their problems and helps comfort them to make sure they are loved.”

“Wow, that’s nice,” I said with a grin on my face.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how was your world like?”

“My world was not looking good at all for me.”

“What made it bad?”

“Well to start, there was a thing where Black people

were getting killed for the wrong reasons, Black Lives Matter. There was also a virus going around where people were stuck in their houses and couldn’t do any activities that involved being outside.”

“That sounds so terrible. I know how you must've felt.”

“I really felt depressed. I got taken away from my mother, I couldn’t play no basketball, I felt lonely with nobody to talk to, and I felt like a failure in life in general.”

“Thank you for expressing your feelings to me, Kehlani. We all will make you feel like you are loved and that you are welcome to do anything you want. If you think you’re a failure, you are not a failure.”

“You’re welcome. I really needed somebody to talk to and you helped me a lot.”

“Glad to hear that. Now one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“So me, the aliens, and the superheroes have something to surprise you with.”

“Okay do I close my eyes?”

“Sure.”

I was thinking to myself, what could it possibly be?

“Okay open your eyes in 1, 2, 3!”

“Surprise Kehlani!” said the aliens, the robotic spiders, and the superheroes.

When I looked, I was so shocked by what I saw. There was a basketball court where I could play basketball. There were different clothes from H&M and Nike, and there were people with cake and fruits in their hands welcoming me into this world.

“To start off Kehlani, we wanted you to come inside our world to experience something different and so you have people to talk to.”

“Me and the other superheroes will always be there for you when you need assistance or if you are in any troubling situation,” said one of the superheroes.

“I want to say something as well,” said one of the aliens. “Well I also wanted to say that Kehlani, you don’t have to be scared of us.”

“We are like your friends and we will always help you and never make you feel any kind of way,” said one of the black and green aliens.

“Thank you everyone! I like every one of you so far,” I said, starting to shed a little tear.

End: Honestly being in this strange, lost world wasn't bad at all. Even though my sister and my grandmother weren't with me and my friends, I liked this world better. It’s like the monsters, the aliens, and the red robotic spiders actually understand me like regular human beings. The superheroes are always there to help when I'm in danger and the food here is awesome. In this world you have more freedom to be yourself without any distractions or problems. Hopefully, one day people in my past world could see a different perspective just like I did when I woke up that morning.

Predator vs. Prey Song

MORGAN LEE, NOAH JEAN MARIE, ZOE ROSS ALLEN, PAULETTE THOMPSON, AND MILES WU

WRITTEN DURING SUMMER WORKSHOPS

SQUIRREL VOICE: high pitched but serious

WOLF VOICE: DEEP BUTSILLY

Verse 1

W: HELLO, SQUIRREL. (A)

S: GO AWAY. (B)

W: AREN’TWEAPEARL. (A) WHYDO YOUPRAY? (B) S: If you’re going to attack, (C) then please just make it fast. (C)

W: ATTACK? WHAT’STHISNEWTHEORY? (A) . . . WHAT? JUSTAQUERY. (A) S: We all know you’re a fiend. (B)

I’m not getting closer except in your dreams. (B)

W: HEY, WAITUP! I JUSTWANTTO CHAT! (C) S: Just how did you get to be that fat? (C)

W: I TOLDYOU, I’MEATINGMY VEGGIES! S: Or perhaps my dear friend Reggie.

W: WHO’STHAT? S: He was felled by your kind’s claws.

Chorus!

You say you’re not gonna eat me (A) But I think you’re trying to cheat me! (A) I swear I learned that meat is not so neat (B) My veggies are all I like to eat (B) Why do I find that hard to believe? (C) If you don’t mind, I’m going to leave. (C)

LOOKHERE, SEETHIS BROCCOLI! HOW CANYOUNOWNOTTRUSTME?

MYMY, YOUWERESPEAKINGTRUE! SOMEHOW I’VENO CHOICE BUTTO TRUSTYOU! COMEHEREANDLETMESEE. WILLYOUSHARESOME BROCCOLI?

Verse 2

COBRA: CHINCHILLA, CHINCHILLA, (A) CHINCHILLA: But I’m not your friend, like Vanilla Gorilla. (A)

COBRA: BUT, DON’T BEAFRAID (HOLD), I’MNOT A BIG BOA, (B) I AM ONLYALITTLE COBRA. (B) I SEETHATYOUAREUNAFRAID, (C)

COBRA’S THOUGHT: GOOD! NOW I GOTITMADEINTHESHADE!

CHINCHILLA: Look. I think that you might want to eat me. I know that ‘cause you've been known to cheat me And the other peeps who live in the peach tree.

HEYSUGARFLYER, HEY CHINCHILLA, (A) I’MNOTYOURFRIENDGORILLA, (A) I AMANAMBUSHER (B) SAIDTHEPANTHER (B) WHO WASA BOASTER (B) ??? (B)

I don’t like berries, and I’m very hungry (A) Said spinosaurus's tummy (A) While the chinchilla ran away (B) It said, What a lucky day! (B)

Chorus

You say you’re not gonna eat me (A) But I think you’re trying to cheat me! (A) I swear I learned that meat is not so neat (B) My veggies are all I like to eat (B)

Laughter Means You’re Alive

G.O. DOLIBER, SIDNEY EDELSON, ELLA HOLLAND, MAVIS LU, JUSTIN NEMEROFF, BIRD RZEPNIEWSKI, AND ISABELLA WU

WRITTEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

Laughter is a reminder Of true happiness Laughter moves like the rain It sounds like popcorn

It wears a clown costume And a carrot nose Laughter is the feeling that Can pick you up On your darkest days It is happiness

Laughter can be light or dark It teaches you to let go and feel Laughter feels like a bear hug It smells like peaches Laughter means you’re alive

And it lives in everyone

The Angry Chameleon

SYDNEYCHENG, ADA LEE, JULIANNA NEMEROFF, ANDOLIVE PALMIERI

WRITTEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

Achameleon entered a chameleon grocery store. He looked around and shouted, “I HATE EVERYTHING HERE!”

A security chameleon came over to the angry chameleon and asked, “What’s the problem?”

Again, the angry chameleon shouted, “I HATE EVERYTHING HERE!”

The security chameleon arrested the angry chameleon and put him in the chameleon police station. Five minutes later, the security chameleon went up to the angry chameleon’s cell. He asked, “What got you so angry? Why’d you yell that you hate everything in the store?”

Just then, the security chameleon looked alarmed. “Wait, I just remembered: a few years back, I read in the newspaper that a mad scientist chameleon had a baby who wasn’t angry, so they used an angry gun on him to make him angry. Are you that angry chameleon?”

At first, the angry chameleon said nothing at all. Then, after a minute, he shouted, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!”

“But you have the same stripes and also you have the same spots and also you’re the same shade of green as the angry chameleon in the newspaper!” the security chameleon questioned.

The angry chameleon denied it again. “I JUST WANT TO DO MY WEEKLY SHOPPING! LET ME OUT!” Then, for a few minutes, he said nothing, thinking of what happened back when his family used the angry gun on him.

He was four years old and was minding his own business as a happy chameleon when his mom, dad, five brothers, and five sisters walked out of the experiment room.

“Should we actually do this?” his one sister whispered to his brother. “I feel kind of bad.”

“Oh, shut up!” her brother said back. “Mom and Dad know what they’re doing! Furthermore, he isn’t angry enough! He MUST be angry!”

The then happy chameleon turned around and saw his father pointing something with an angry face and a happy face on it at him. His father pressed a button on the device, making the angry face light up. When his father saw his son looking at him, he hid the device behind his back.

“We’re sorry about this,” his father said. “We should’ve told you about this sooner, but it’s for your own good.”

Suddenly, the angry chameleon heard a noise. It sounded like a pebble dropping. Then he heard it again.

“What are you thinking about?” the security chameleon asked. The angry chameleon snapped out of it.

He couldn’t keep it to himself anymore; he told the security chameleon everything.

“What’s your actual name?” the security chameleon asked.

“It’s Angoro,” the angry chameleon replied.

“Angoro, show me where your home was.” Angoro took

the security chameleon back to his childhood home, to the experiment room, and showed him the angry gun lying on the floor.

“My family moved out and forgot it,” Angoro said.

The security chameleon picked up the angry gun and pressed the switch, making the happy face light up.

“Actually,” Angoro said, “I don’t need it.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t the angry gun. It was me. I’ve just been angry this whole time. I realize now I can be happy without it.”

The next day, Angoro walked back into the grocery store. “I LOVE EVERYTHING IN HERE!” he shouted. The security chameleon looked at him and smiled.

Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too

AFTER MAYA ANGELOU RICARDO FERNÁNDEZ, ANTHONY MUÑOZ, AND FABIANAVARGAS

WRITTEN DURING WRITE AFTER SCHOOL

Panthers in the water Eagles in my house Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too

Someone getting in my house That will be cool for me Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too

Coronavirus in the air Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too

Medicine in my arm Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too

Zombies on land Zombies in the sea Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too

Green vegetables Sharks in the water Paintballs on my arm Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too Not at all Not at all

Impossible to Land

STORIES ON PEOPLE, PLACES, THINGS

KEY

IDEAS DREAMS MEMORY

This Tiny Asian Archipelago

ZARAH ALMONTE • 5TH GRADE

WRITTEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT P.S. 316

Japan is a small Asian archipelago that is considered a country, just like Hawaii and Vietnam (technically Hawaii is a state annexed by the US). There’s a legend from thousands of years ago about how Japan was formed which I shall tell you in my own words (because I don't want to plagiarize from the web. I WANT to get published!!!).

Longest of times ago, when the black plague was not even a known virus . . . when it was BC (Before Computers, I'm not offending people with different religions than Christianity, unlike the conquistadors of Spain) there were two gods (Japanese mythology is my reference, don't sue me). After heaven and earth were created, the two gods I mentioned, named Izanagi and Izanami, were given the task of creating the archipelago that is now known as Japan. In short, that was the nonscientifc way of explaining how the couple of islands that is now a country known as Japan were formed. This text that I write simply gives you some valuable information you'll need on your vacation/journey.

Transporting yourself to the location:

When wanting to go to Japan, one must think of all the affordable options at hand. I give to you, reader, a list of some transportation options and their costs, when you

don't get frst class and when you do. And a lovely fact, the fight to Japan takes about . . . thirteen hours from any point in the U.S. (So a simplistic advisory to bring your best entertainment and sleeping supplies will help immensely, I suppose.)

Airplane (general cost according to Google Flights): Regular: ($948–$1,696) First class: ($2,977–$5,325)

Boat (general cost of a cruise from Royal Carribean): Regular:($335–?) First class:($700–$10,000) (Simplistic estimate.)

The systematic Japanese currency and how to use it: In basic terms, Japan has its own currency system, the Japanese yen. These next few paragraphs will, in a way, teach you some things that you need to know, like how to get yen, how its cost compares to other countries’ money, and a little chat on costs. For this section, I'll use rupees and dollars (money from India and America).

How to get Japanese yen for your trip:

The most normal way to get yen is to trade your country's money for a decent amount of money in the airport where there is a section for foreign money collecting. A good amount of yen to keep in your pocket while visiting is ¥20,000. In US dollars that's $191.20 and in rupees that is ₹13,915.26.