Here in the New World by 826nyc

826NYC Books 372 Fifth Avenue Brooklyn, NY 11215 Here in the New World: An Anthology from 826NYC Students at the High School of Fashion Industries. © 2022 by 826NYC and the authors. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. First 826NYC edition January 2022 Manufactured in the United States of Brooklyn 978-1-948644-84-6 The writing in this book was produced in the 2021-2022 school year at 826NYC’s Young Writers Publish project at the High School of Fashion Industries. The classes were run by Daniel Goulden with the support of Kevin Kearns, as well as 826NYC writing mentors Eunice An, Edward Hoa, and Katherine Peach. Designed by Grace Robinson Edited and proofread by Chad Hewitt, Kris Pajarito, Chloe Rappe, Sarah Stephen, and Oana Whaples Publishing process overseen by Vanessa Friedman Printed by Bookmobile

This program is supported by 826 National, the Amazon Literary Partnership, The Jane Friedman Anspach Family Foundation, Con Edison, The Find Your Light Foundation, The Hawkins Project, The Rona Jaffe Foundation, The Kettering Family Foundation, The Minerva Foundation, The Resnick Family Foundation, The Yelp Foundation, and Youth, Inc. This program is supported, in part, by public funds from the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs in partnership with the City Council. The program is also made possible by the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of the Office of the Governor and the New York State Legislature. Additional support comes from the National Endowment for the Arts. To find out more about how National Endowment for the Arts grants impact individuals and communities, visit www.arts.gov. 826NYC is grateful to the many individuals who support our work. To see our full list of supporters or make a donation, please visit https://826nyc.org/donate-us/.

826NYC is a nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting students ages six to eighteen with their creative and expository writing skills and to helping teachers inspire their students to write. Our services are structured around our belief that great leaps in learning can happen with one-on-one attention and that strong writing skills are fundamental to future success.

Here in the New World An Anthology from 826NYC Students at the High School of Fashion Industries

Content Warning This book is intended for mature audiences, with some topics, themes, and language that may not be suitable for young readers.

Table of Contents Foreword Home, Carolina Barriga Untitled, Drema Carter Untitled, Alvina Chen Untitled, Yaralee De La Cruz Untitled, Paris Dixon-Gibbons Late At Night, Jovanka Feliz Untitled, Gabriella Figueroa Ready, Set, Go!, Julia Gonzaga Apathy, Natalie Henry Growing Pains, Zoe Hernandez The Unfortunate Event, Mia Jackson Apprehension, Aja King Expectations, Anyah Lewis Euphoria, Janet Lojano How Much of Its Life Does a Butterfly Remember?, Genesis Mejia I tell you, Jacqueline Merino Dakota, Marco Perez My Return, Melanie Rivera Alone?, Diara Rivers Death Slide, Layelle Roberson Where I am from, Rockelle Rodd A Hill of Words, Solina Scantlebury In This Universe, Brigitte Siguencia Love of the Sun, Waverly Takayama Stranger, Waverly Takayama

i 1 5 11 15 21 23 27 29 33 35 37 41 45 47 51 53 57 59 63 69 73 75 77 79 81

Untitled, Sumarha Tariq Now that you’re gone, Stefanny Uyaguari Olga, Emily Vasquez Home?, Bree Webster Nice Day, Emily Yang Midnight Winter Dream, Emily Yllescas Emotion, Valentino Zhang Acknowledgements 826NYC Location and Leadership 826NYC Programs

83 87 91 93 97 99 101 105 109 111

Foreword Fall 2021 was when everything was supposed to go back to normal. We came to school for a full school year, saw friends and teachers again, settled in for things to return to how they had once been. But we quickly understood that there was no going back to normal. The world had fundamentally changed and we had changed with it. Fall 2021 was when we found ourselves in a new world, one alive and ripe with possibilities. I was overjoyed to return to in-classroom teaching. I was sick of begging students to turn their cameras on over zoom and longed to talk to my students face to face, to laugh with them, to sit next to them as they struggled with a particularly difficult sentence. It was a joy to work with the students of the High School of Fashion Industries as we explored and experimented across genres, focusing on how we could use our writing to express ourselves. It is impossible to untangle a writer’s work from the world where they live and while these stories might not be about the changes that we have lived through, they are nevertheless shaped by them.

These are stories from a new world. Inside you will find i

horror stories, poems, screenplays, dreamscapes, and confessions. You will find humor and sadness, cynicism and hope. You will find a group of exceptionally talented students looking outward at a new world and trying to stake out a place for themselves. Please join us in our new world. Daniel Goulden Teaching Artist 826NYC

Home

by Carolina Barriga Comfort, at ease. Stress leaves my body as I dive into my sheets. The essence of a home-cooked meal, empanadas, smokes up in my room. The freedom I feel when alone, the satisfaction that fills up my heart. Home. Home will always bring me joy, Relief from the stresses of school. An escape from the crazy world that surrounds me. Home. A safe space. Where family is to the rescue. Home. I will always have with me. Forever and wherever I go. But— What if that was all just make-believe? What if that’s all I wanted home to be? A lie, a mask that follows me into the outside world. Home. Where privacy is no longer. Where screaming and arguments are all around, all I’m used to. So numb. 17

So “normal.” Home. It can go both ways. So amazing and comforting, yet the feeling of being trapped and lost consumes me from the inside out. The feeling of running away, running far far away from all the— Negativity Pain Anxiety Fear of the unknown grows everyday. The thought of me running with my mom. Well that, that’s where I’m stuck. Not knowing what to do. Not wanting to disappoint To sadden The one person I want to protect, to take care of, to repay for all the good she has done for me. That’s where I’m lost. An impossible decision. One that has to be made. But this decision No matter what it is Will grow a large void inside me. The future, adulthood. So terrifying, but fast approaching. 18

Untitled

by Drema Carter One spooky afternoon on my way to my friend’s Halloween party I decide to take the train instead of the Q110. It’s 2:53 and it starts at 3:00. Luckily I only have five stops, which go by so quickly. As I come to my stop, the train skips it. At this point in time I’m upset because now I have to walk back. The strangest thing happens when he skips the next two stops. The lights go out. A clue pops up where the stops are usually at. As I look at the clue I see the train is decorated for Halloween. There are ten people on the train including me. I’ve seen the movies Escape Room and Escape Room: Tournament of Champions. In these movies usually there are ten people and only one or two people survive and the others die by trying to escape or getting the answers wrong. I am not going to let this be like those movies. I am hoping that we will all make it out alive. I don’t know how this will work because I did an escape room for my last birthday and we only found three clues in sixty minutes and there were fifteen. I know what you’re thinking. I have no chance. I’m not the final girl, I am one of the supporting characters that has to die in order to help the main character’s journey. I actually agree with you because I have no idea what I’m doing. Clue one: find the clue or risk dying from the boo. 21

Damn, I might just die first. These people are probably way smarter than me. We haven’t made a bond yet to create a team of trust. Sam is clearly the hero and everyone including me is his cheerleader. Jess is the final girl. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Top of her class in every club. She is not too old and not too young and she seems nice. What do we know about each other? Nothing really. These are the supporting characters in order from most important to least: Jack, Abigail, Charter, me, Polo, and Shawanda. At least I’m not last. Right? Jess calls us over because of course Sam found the clue, nothing new, the hero is always to the rescue. Three clues later unfortunately two people died. Charter got electrocuted by flipping the wrong switch. While Abigail was turning the key a trap door opened up under her and she was gone. With six of us left the challenges are getting closer to impossible to finish before the timer runs out. By this time we don’t have a strong bond but we do have some information about each other. I was right. Sam is a football player angled in the board. Who could’ve seen that coming. Jessica is a cheerleader at the top of her class and she even tutors people. Jack and Abigail are in their mid-twenties, still in college, and are heavy smokers. Shawanda is grown and ghetto and gets close to anybody she thinks is close to getting out. Polo is a well-educated adult and he graduated 6

from Yale second in his class. He is very smart and he uses every second to remind us of how smart he is. Clue five: for me, for you, how do you find who is true? This is a hard clue. Everyone wants to follow Polo, but I don’t think that’s the answer. No one wants to listen to me. Jack wants to do the honors. He puts in the word combination when suddenly ominous music plays. He picks up the pen in the safe and starts to itch. He is poisoned and then there are five. Damn, another life lost all to benefit final girl and hero boy. What I don’t understand is how they are becoming better people. We don’t truly know each other, just common facts that I probably could have found out on Instagram. We need to get beneath the surface because there is always someone different under the mask. They finally take my advice except Shawanda. She doesn’t want to listen to any of my advice, putting us all in danger. I actually lead the next four clues. There are four of us now. We all know whose ignorant ass died. Yes, you are correct if you’re saying it is Shawanda. I guess all those mystery movies and shows I watched actually helped. And they say TV is bad for the mind. Clue ten: These masks you wear don’t hide the fear, find what represents you or this will be your 23

last clue. Beware there’s a fox amongst you sheep. The cliff they’ve got y’all on is very steep. I don’t know who I truly am and there is a traitor in the herd, a slithering snake. Of course they hit us with one of the many typical plot twists. It wouldn’t be a mystery without one. Why so close to the end though? It’s as if they want the harmless sheep to be devoured by the devious fox. The scenery has completely changed. Four corners, three unrecognizable. I gravitate to the one that seems so familiar. There are three stuffed animals: a lion, a monkey, and a coyote. They are in glass cases. I know that I will only have one chance to get the right key. Do I give off foolish monkey vibes? Am I a conniving coyote? Or am I the leadership lion? Three major questions with only one right answer. With the ticking of the clock ringing in my ears saying twenty, fifteen, ten minutes in counting. I have deceived someone once or twice. I am a little goofy. I often take charge. Am I all three? I can’t be. I want, mostly do, and think I could be a lion, but is that identity something you do most of the time, something you want to do, or something you think you are? I smash the case containing the lion and I find a key inside him. Fingers crossed, I hope it is right. I go to Sam because he is almost finished and Polo is already there. Sam’s corner is filled with words I 8

have no time to examine. We all walk over to Jess. There are Polaroid photos of her doing good things. To all of our surprise, some are of her doing bad things. She finds her key and we all leave. They race to put their key in the hole. We have to turn them at the same time but before that we have to guess who the fox is. If two out three of us type the same correct answer then we will all survive. So we have to guess the correct fox and have the correct key. I put in who I think the fox is. No pressure as we slowly turn the key, potentially approaching our deaths. My sixteen years of life flash before my eyes. The lock opens. I AM HOME FREE. Then I run home to tell you the tea. Life goes on and yes I live my truth.

Untitled

by Alvina Chen Run. That was all she could think of, nothing else. Heart in her throat, she grabbed her bag and ran towards the crowd of people so at least she could find some cover before they located her. She’d never thought this day would come so fast, that she would be pulled apart from her family forever. That she would have to experience the torture and torment alone without the help and motivating words of her family. Her phone was buzzing nonstop, but she had no way to pick it up. She had to keep running and running until she found a way out, until she could get rid of them. So desperate, she pushed the lady in front of her and kicked a cat out of the way, but they were still behind her. She picked up speed and threw things at them to slow them down, but they were still there. Why! Why couldn’t they let me go? she questioned. The panic sunk in her heart. She started crying, but she kept running. Her legs were numb from the cold, but she kept running. Days and nights passed, but she kept running. As she ran, she pondered and wondered if there would ever be a conclusion, an end to her escape. She ran for days until she said, “What if I stop? What if it’s actually not scary at all? What if they welcomed me with cakes and balloons?” Then 27

she slowed down her pace and finally took a step back and stopped. At first she wasn’t used to walking at all and she would always look back and see if they were following. But, slowly, she started to realize that it wasn’t scary at all. Although things did change a little, she wasn’t afraid or nervous anymore. She then straightened her back and moved on with a sense of pride.

Untitled by Yaralee De La Cruz I am A Mixed, Queer, Female In America Struggling to find My place in this World. I am Too lightskin For my black Brothers and Sisters. Too Americanized For my Latinx. Too queer For my Catholic family That I’m closeted by fear And neglect my community. My mother comes from Conquistadors. My father from slaves. Both different, But one and the same As they come from The same Island. “Dominicana soy yo,” I preach, But am criticized 31

For as I’ve Assimilated To the world of America. I don’t eat mangu Or arroz con leche And my spanish “Es no bueno.” My Dominicans Hate me for being too “Americano.” My Americans Hate me for being too Proud Of my foreign heritage. When I’m at family events I see all types of Blacks and Browns. Yet, all people see Are Sombrero, Maracas, Tacos, And Cinco de Mayo, Which aren’t even part of My Culture! No one Sees the part of me that’s been Oppressed, Enslaved, And seen as a Threat! 32

The blackness In me has been Caged away In a Pandora’s box Guarded by Colorism. When I walk the street Everyone guesses I’m everything but black. Sure, I don’t have Prominent stereotypical black features Like big lips and nose And thick textured hair That can withstand protective hairstyles. Does that make me less black than my cousins? NO! I am a motherfucking Afro-Latina And I am proud! It’s because of colorism towards darker Dominicans In our Island That my father and others Were taught to resent and deny that part of themselves. I am a lost soul Stuck between thresholds Unable to choose a path. Society has put us in boxes of identification Forcing us to pick which to live under. Sometimes I feel like Dora Repeatingly asking myself “Do you know which box I should check?” When I fill out a form. 33

Though hispanic is an ethnicity, black is a race, and bisexual is a sexuality, I always find myself picking and choosing Which one to be everyday, like a video game avatar. But no matter which one I am this day or that day I am Still A Mixed, Queer, Female In America.

Untitled by Paris Dixon-Gibbons The End. As I sat to get my nails done, a huge loud sound erupted from the cracks of the ground. I panicked and thrusted to the door with acrylic rushing down my unfinished nail. I was frightened. I remembered this feeling from back in 2013. The trees began to rumble, the leaves began to drop, and the sky darkened with gloom. There I was, running to my home, almost there, praying for safety. I fell. The shaking of the ground was overwhelming on my feet. I screamed for help, but in these moments you’ve got to be selfish. You’ve got to help yourself. As I was on the ground, a crack created itself in the ground and I knew what was about to happen. An airplane emerged from the inside of the crack and shook the surface even more. That’s when I knew the ending of the world was just beginning.

Late At Night by Jovanka Feliz As I run down the meadow, I feel free, peaceful, warm, pure. I no longer feel the chains of pressure, expectations, and shame. I am my own person and this meadow is my new home. I can be myself without rejecting my own judgement or style of life. The way I speak, think, and act are not judged by others, but appreciated. My uniqueness is praised, not bashed or shamed upon. I get to make my own decisions that benefit me, not anyone else. Every achievement of mine is noticed and congratulated, never turned a blind eye to. My feelings are valid, in whichever situation—I am acknowledged for my simple presence and appreciated even on my worst days. The sun shines as bright as the happiness spewing out of my pores. My skin is glowing. The taste of sweet, sweet freedom fills my mouth, my tastebuds dancing. I see the misunderstood swifting past the meadow—leaping, laughing, and enjoying themselves. The slow, cool, yet moist breeze is so comforting that I feel like I’m in a trance. It seems unreal to feel this much freedom—it’s too good to be true. This beautiful meadow is surrounding me with self-worth, love, dignity, and honor. The aspect of life that I can’t seem to feel out in the real world. The things that should be so simple to give and receive, but in this chaotic world, it’s the least of everyone’s worries. In my bed at night is when I return to this dimension. My highlight every night, to feel the 39

warmth of what could be. Every night is a happy one, no matter what happens throughout the day. This repetitive dream is the light at the end of the tunnel. One that I will make my own reality soon, believe me.

Untitled

by Gabriella Figueroa A still summer’s evening. The air gentle, the sky still filled with light. I go through the empty space with a loved one by my side. Teaching the ways to operate a machine that carries life to the possible destination of death. Terrified, our lives are in my hands. Proud, achieving something I never thought possible. The empty space grows smaller with more inhabitants. Horrific, yet exhilarating. The first time on the open road. I have never felt so free. Despite, my hands sweaty. My heart pounding. The warm feeling of a job well done. The shimmer of pride in my aunts’ eyes as I deliver us home. The car becomes a place I never want to leave. 43

Ready, Set, Go! by Julia Gonzaga Ready, Set, Go! My family are all in the stands conversing, as they wait for the swim meet to begin. I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet trying to calm my racing heartbeat. The smell of chlorine surrounds me as I finish my last few stretches and look around at my surroundings. This is my first ever swim competition and I am competing in the freestyle race, which is the first race taking place during the meet. The building is filled with so many many different people from many different teams, all stretching and warming up for their races. Over the loudspeaker my race is called, and me and about a hundred other girls all head over to the area where the officials’ tables are. They tell us what heat and lane we’re racing in and have us walk towards the pool to prepare for our races. This event is the biggest taking place during the meet, so they split the race up into twenty-five different heats. I’m in the fifth heat, so I’m currently with my team waiting in my swimsuit with my swim cap and goggles already on my head. As I begin to head towards the pool, hands come around my waist and pull me back into a hard chest. “You’re going to do amazing out there,” my boyfriend, Hunter, says in my ear before kissing my forehead. I turn around in his arms and wrap my arms around him. For that moment, I just lay my head on his chest and close my eyes. The sounds of the crowd 45

cheering in the audience vanish along with the feelings of nervousness that I once felt. When we finally separate, the first three heats have already gone, and it is time for me to head to the platform boards and get ready for my race. “Thank you,” I say before giving him one last hug, and then I take off towards the pool. The girl in the heat before mine is already on the platforms prepared to dive into the water. Before I know it, the gun is fired and the race begins. As the girl dives into the water, the smell of chlorine smacks me in my face along with light droplets of water. Before stepping on the platform, I do a few more breathing exercises to release the tension in my body. Looking around, there aren’t many of us in this heat, but I know I still need to place in the top three to qualify for the semifinals. I look up towards where my family sits and give them the same smile before I go into my starting position. “On your marks,” the voice over the loud speaker says. *Bang* the gun sounds, and then we all take off.

Apathy by Natalie Henry But what do you do when you don’t want to . . . When you don’t want to be on your phone or watch TV. When you don’t want to read or write. When you don’t want to be inside or outside either. When you don’t want to eat or drink, use the bathroom or shower, go to sleep or wake up. When you just don’t want to be anymore. I know I may sound suicidal, but I know that everyone, at one point, has wanted to be someone or something outside of themselves. Not with a makeover transformation or pursuing acting or something, just completely taking my soul and dropping it somewhere else on this earth, even this universe, but somewhere. Take me to a different organism, a different soul, anywhere but my own. I don’t like feeling this way. Why do I feel like this? Well, why does anyone feel this way? If I knew why, I would know how to fix it. But that’s exactly the problem about mental health. You know how you feel, and you know it doesn’t feel great, but all you can do it sit and watch and hope something shines in your head to diminish the darkness. 49

Growing Pains by Zoe Hernandez

What am I? For the longest time I knew, a kid. Drawing lil scribbles of dinos in my books, watching Cartoon Network and Disney. When I was about twelve, however, a certain show came on. Men dressing up and transforming into gorgeous women. They looked so confident and free. My mom saw that it had caught my eye and she explained Queer culture to little me. Or at least as much as a straight woman in her forties could. People liking the same gender, even those changing their own. It fascinated me. Till then, I just thought gay was a word. Actually, when I was younger I thought being gay meant you had saggy pants. I have no clue how five-year-old Zoe made that connection, but hey, kids. Starting to watch shows like this with my mom truly opened my eyes. It made me even question myself. What am I? Am I a lesbian? Bisexual? Ace? I always thought liking the girls more in comics and books was normal. At the same time, I never truly had a crush? For the longest time, I was just stuck in my little world of drawing dinos and watching cartoons. Is this how growing up is? God, is it horrible, questioning late at night still— what am I? Whenever people ask, I just reply with a shrug. But really though, what am I?

The Unfortunate Event by Mia Jackson

Spirit witnessed Christen killing their office boss. SPIRIT Is this who we are . . . Is this who we represent . . . Going around shooting and killing everyone we hate?!?!? CHRISTEN Umm correction, I stabbed the man. You know, you can at least get the details right. SPIRIT My guy that’s not the point! What were you even thinking?!? CHRISTEN shrugs. SPIRIT URRGHH!! You know what—no, this is not the time. Do you at least know how to clean everything up, where to bury him?! CHRISTEN Umm, you asking me like I do this on the regular, like, how am I supposed to know? SPIRIT (shook) 53

(Ain’t no way he’s serious right now)

CHRISTEN But hey when this is all over, you wanna go to Dairy Queen? SPIRIT AIN’T NO WAY YOU REALLY TALKING ABOUT FOOD RIGHT NOW! CHRISTEN Oh my god can you be off my ass for like five seconds. SPIRIT Hell no! Matter of fact, I should’ve been on your ass more if I knew you were gonna pull off this shit! CHRISTEN Alright, fine! I know I fucked up, but I did it for you, for us! To be honest, after the shit he tried to pull on me just then, he had it coming! If I had to feel one more stare down, hear one more pervy comment, endure one more glide of his hand down my back, he would be happy that stab wounds are what he got away with. SPIRIT Yeah but killing somebody is just— 54

SPIRIT takes a deep breath. SPIRIT Alright, you know what . . . okay . . . let’s just get the fuck out of here before you cause more shit to go down. CHRISTEN As long as that place is a Dairy Queen, it’s all good on my end! SPIRIT . . . You’re done. You’re done.

Apprehension

by Aja King

Two paths, a black hole ahead Rocks crumbling, crashing down Like acid rain, thoughts pound The mountain is collapsing, the prison with it No one to seek for help Fear It often renders people speechless or unable to shut up Fight, Flight, Fawn Freeze Breath stops short Because you forgot how it works Fear to open up your mind is hard to define Because that same mind doesn’t know how to decide Thoughts running at one thousand miles per hour But the darker ones stay stagnant The pressure intensifies The walls built high Your heart is climbing the stairs It reaches your ears Leaps off the ledge, smashing into the pavement Pouring your heart out is like hanging it up for grabs And seeing who will claw it bloody Do you feel a chill? Are your hands shaking?

Is your body quaking? Tell me, I’d like to remember For fear has been a constant that takes my brain No emotion has felt the same I’ve become numbly overtaken Whether to be myself or always be the subject of your judgement Escape I’ve always wondered what it’s like to fly And that moment when everything flashes before your eyes Silence in a city of noise The sound of nothing The hive in your head That rush of the wind in your ears as you accelerate Is it too addicting to pump the brakes? The adrenaline? Touching the clouds? Is it all I hoped it would be? Throwing away the fear Hoping this flight makes you disappear If only for a moment in time

Expectations

by Anyah Lewis

You expect the sun to rise in the morning. You expect a plant to grow when nurtured. You expect time to go on. What you don’t expect is for someone to hurt you. I expected you to care for me like I cared for you. I expected you to have the same feelings that I had for you. What I didn’t expect was to fall for you. I didn’t expect you to invade my thoughts, every waking minute. I didn’t expect you to have an effect on me. I didn’t expect you to play games with me. Did you ever really care for me? Or was I just another girl you only wanted one thing from? Did you get enjoyment from hurting me? Shattering my heart made of glass into thousands of little pieces. Leaving me to pick them back up and put them together. Why did I ever expect you to care? Expectations lead to pain. They only lead to a road of disappointments. So did he break my heart? Or was it my own expectations that left my heart in pieces. 61

Euphoria

by Janet Lojano

Euphoria, a feeling of immense happiness and excitement With a single look I am hooked As I stare into those eyes full of life I feel my body slowly lighten up I laugh with the one person that makes me the happiest Having that moment with them staring at the dimple poking from their face the same indent that radiates happiness within them somehow reaches me I take in this moment reminding myself to remember it forever to treasure it in my memory— the side eye looks, the conversation we had the specific bench we sat on God, I’m so happy Everything becomes blurry Am I dreaming? 63

I’m up This memory becomes the one thing I hold on to A piece of them that reminded me that they were no longer with me I wish I never woke up from the dream a feeling of euphoria destroyed by grief

How Much of Its Life Does a Butterfly Remember? by Genesis Mejia

How much of its life does a butterfly remember? Is it two individuals living one life or one individual living two? Does a butterfly remember itself as a caterpillar? Does a caterpillar only have a purpose to live until it is a butterfly or does a caterpillar’s life not depend on what’s to come? Does a caterpillar live at peace, unaware of what it means to become a butterfly, to transform? Is a caterpillar aware of what it means to never be a caterpillar again, for things to never be the same? Does a butterfly remember their past life as a caterpillar, and miss it, knowing it had more freedom, knowing there was a second chance at life? Is a butterfly the catalyst that wraps a caterpillar, absorbing it, merging the two into one, or was the butterfly trapped inside the caterpillar the whole time, just waiting to be unmasked? If a caterpillar and a butterfly are the same individual, can their minds be compartmentalized; the caterpillar phase being considered childhood and the butterfly phase adulthood? Or are a butterfly and a caterpillar two individuals, where a caterpillar’s life just exists until it becomes a butterfly, the new butterfly being born as a whole new individual? Can it be that two individuals live the same life from the start, like conjoined twins going through all phases together? Or are a caterpillar and a butterfly’s lives as simple as their scientific descriptions, leaving no space for actual feelings at all? 67

I Tell You

by Jacqueline Merino there was a time when spinning on this swivel chair was the highlight of my day the constant spinning the being sick to my stomach the non stop laughing it was a high i always wanted i never wanted it to end it was fun until one day i realized it wasn’t fun anymore the constant feeling of uncertainty my world constantly spinning it’s all eating me alive and i can’t seem to find a way to make it stop so i turn to you i tell you that i’m tired and all you say is “me too” and you give me a pat on the back i tell you that i’ve been having a hard time and all you say is “you’ll be fine, that’s the way life is” i knew you didn’t get it how do i tell you that i need your 69

help to stop the spinning? how do i tell you that i might need to go back to therapy after being ok for so long? i tell you my head hurts and all you tell me is “go to sleep” but how do i tell you that i can’t sleep or breathe? the thoughts in my head it’s all keeping me awake the ground from under my feet constantly being pulled from me so as i sit back on this swivel chair after waiting so long for you to see me i try to remember the simpler times and it’s all a blur i yell for help, you can’t hear me you tell me to talk, i do you just can’t seem to hear me my voice is strained please listen, that’s all i ask please help stop the spinning it’s making me sick you tell me to speak up and you ask me what’s wrong but what about all the signs i’ve shown you? 70

it’s making me sick you tell me to speak up and you ask me what’s wrong but what about all the signs i’ve shown you? do you notice when i completely shut off when i’m with you? you just grab my thigh and you tell me to “cheer up” and all i do is laugh because you are so embarrassingly blind i ask myself if i’m glad you can’t see my struggles? and maybe i am these things i carry are far too heavy for you to understand i realized the spinning chair isn’t the problem it is me for trying to get you to understand me so for the first time, i get up and i walk away

Dakota

by Marco Perez Like the start of a daydream movie scene, Our song playing in the background, We sat on a bench at the beach And you looked over at me. With one single line and look, I was hooked Into your eyes, That was my melody. And as our song continued to play, Realizing the coincidence of the song Relating it back to us. A summertime in June. But did she know She made me feel like the one? And truly, I realized, There is no one else quite like you. But I don’t want our song to end. So take a look at me now.

My Return by Melanie Rivera Stepping foot into a place that became foreign once again only after being there for seven months Two years later I’m back trying to adapt to the setting of these classrooms being filled up once again Familiar names and faces no reach outs Clusters of people everywhere social distance is more felt than acted upon here It didn’t hit me how anti-social I’ve become Hiding away from the cafeteria Seeking asylum elsewhere Avoiding conversation with others Avoiding my negative thoughts to overlap with people’s intentions I close my eyes and breathe My mind is foggy I find myself too weak losing my balance losing my focus assignments overdue avoiding school

this wasn’t me too many thoughts and feels the right words are lost This somber feeling All I want to do is sleep escape My motivation is gone My normal self is lost my adaptation process is missing in action I’m not there yet I have to run time is chasing after me And it’s winning It’s a constant internal battle here I just want to hide I’ve changed so much but I’m not surprised A surge of anxiety at night I feel cold laying on my bed Battling to catch my own breath I’m holding my blanket tight enough so it won’t let me go through this alone At this moment the world is moving too fast beneath my feet It’s how it’s been for me my return But how has it been for you? 76

Alone? by Diara Rivers I walked down the cold dark street with my hands placed inside my hoodie pockets. The only light visible was a flickering street light down the road. I know what you’re thinking. Weren’t you scared? What if something bad were to happen? But don’t worry. I knew how to protect myself. When I was about five years old my parents enrolled me in the Fight Back Academy for young adults. Apparently, I was too advanced for pre-school sessions. As I drew closer to my home, I noticed the porch light was turned on. Great. I went to unlock the front door when it flew open and I was met with huge arms wrapped around me. Double Great. “Bella, I missed you! Tell me how you’ve been lately,” the Crazy Lady yelled, squeezing me tighter than before, if that’s even possible. “Hello Aunt Josephine, I’ve been doing fine late—” 79

I mumbled into her chest. Aunt Josephine always comes over around October, the week before my parents’ anniversary. She stands at 5’8” with dark, coily hair. She has brown skin and warm brown eyes. “Oh Bella, honey! You seem cold. Why are you always wandering the streets this late?” Aunt Josephine dramatically gasped and ushered me inside. I took off my shoes, lined them neatly by the door and walked into our small kitchen. Mom never cooked so we didn’t feel the need to have this huge kitchen just for takeout. “I’m not cold,” I said while grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and downing the whole thing in one gulp. Ok maybe three but who’s counting? Aunt Josephine appeared from the kitchen entrance with a somber expression set on her face. I sighed. Here we go again. “Bella?” I looked up and stared into her sad eyes that were just happy a moment ago. “I understand this might be hard for you considering it’s only been a year. But I’m here for you, okay?” Her voice shook as she continued while walking towards me. 80

“I loved them too, baby. You’re too young to be going through this alone,” Aunt Josephine said, whispering that last part as she softly grabbed both of my hands. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s pity. That’s all I ever get. And it never stops. I just want it to stop! “Can we not do this right now? I have school tomorrow. Goodnight,” I said through gritted teeth and snatched my hands away from her. I bolted straight for my room and locked my door. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cr—Dammit. I aggressively wiped my eyes with my forearm and threw my hoodie over my head. This happens every time. Every. Single. Time. I did the breathing practices my therapist told me to do when I’m angry but they didn’t work. Why isn’t it working? I quickly rummaged through my top drawer for the sleeping pills I had been given for my insomnia since my parents’ death. I found the tiny white pills and swallowed two dry. Aunt Josephine wasn’t aware that I still use them but I couldn’t quit. It’s not an addiction. It can’t be. 81

I noticed myself starting to become more relaxed and drowsy after a few minutes. Lazily walking over to my bed, I fell face down onto the comforter instantly feeling the most content I had felt that day. My breathing became slower and I drifted off into darkness. Sleeping is my favorite thing to do. It’s a way for me to escape from my reality. I hope death is the same way.

Death Slide by Layelle Roberson Harness, trees, helmets Located in a place screaming of freedom Soaring through tall green trees Caution signs Say “Keep safe” Medic eagerly on standby Accounting for all dangers I ignore Fastly putting on my harness Running towards the death slide Gliding like a bird Adrenaline rushing through fragile bones Uniting with great Mother Nature The breeze flowing CRACK, SNAP, POP Blood rushing on my arm Hand distorted, oozing with red Intertwined with the pulley Pinky finger broke Seeming lifeless, still What shall I do?

Yank it? Pull it? Screaming for help No one recognizing Until getting louder Employees instructing to break free Simple, certain, yet rigid Movements to get out in one piece At last the death slide ascends with ease Finger now twisted, combobulated Not feeling a part of me Changing my outlook on life’s dangers Why do we do things that risk our lives? Simple: to unshackle ourselves from our constraints Now digesting the horrid event The realization hinders me Uprising fear of the death slide At last vowing to never partake again

Where I am from by Rockelle Rodd I am from paint From benjamins and sherwin I am from the neat and modern Never-ending, bold, and smooth I am from Chaconia An ornamental tree I’m from reunions and strong cheekbones From Mama Delé and Cecilia I’m from the endless laughter and tears of joy From strength and determination I’m from spirituality, intent I’m from Brooklyn and Trinidad Curry, crab, and dumplings From the strength and pride of Mama Delé The colorful clothes sewn into the perfect dress by Uncle Roy The chest of drawers topped with captured memories in family portraits One picture at a time sewn together to create the beautiful fabric called my family

A Hill of Words

by Solina Scantlebury

Silence, Then a silent smile to cover up confusion, I huff a sigh and start over from the top, It’s like it goes through one ear and out the other, They’re not listening, Agreeing and nodding to shut me up, But I persist, Even if my words aren’t connecting with my tone, Nor connecting with the stiffness in my stance, I am not mad, I want to be understood, I want someone to look into my mind and see the chaos, Of all the run-on sentences and heavily-set feelings, I want them to part through the confusion, And grasp upon the words hidden in a dense pile of filler, The words hidden in the spew coming from my mouth, From the hurry of trying to speak all my thoughts, My connecting theories and reasons for who I am, I am not mad, Only frustrated I can’t seem to speak, Over the stutters and hiccups, Things get lost in translation, And once again, I am misunderstood 75

In This Universe by Brigitte Siguencia I revolved around you, Stuck by you, But the time has come For our solar system. You exploded. Now engulfed, Then released, I turn into particles Floating in space Drifting off into nothing. Hoping one day I can find my way back In the middle of this void To see what you’ve become.

Love of the Sun by Waverly Takayama The sun on my skin And smile on my face Is this the love of the light? So warm and so bright I want to swim forever Under the rays and in the blue Feeling weightless and holding my breath For things I want to do The sun on my skin And a smile on my face Can I stay like this? Feeling so open with no restraints I can run under the light But for how long? I want to stay But the night follows this light The sun on my skin, gone and gray And the smile on my face faded away It’s been fun and I’ve laughed But the sun doesn’t seem to last

Stranger by Waverly Takayama So this is supposed to be me? Those are my eyes, and my hands, and my hair But why don’t I know her? I’m sorry You’re upset like me Happy like me How long has it been? How long have you been here? I want to reach to you But I know you will fade away So distant to comforting arms I’m sorry Stranger, with glossy eyes Whose actions are mine I will keep you safe Heavily weighed in my heart and in my mind

Untitled by Sumarha Tariq As we walked away from Grand Avenue, I felt so free. You were my life line. It was past my curfew, but with no anxiousness that I’ll be in trouble it didn’t matter, because I was with you. Trying to cross the intersection, but you pulled me back so I wouldn’t get hit. Who knew you’d be the one hurting me more than a car ever would. Being with you, nothing could take away my happiness. You zipped up my jacket, paying close attention to my hair, you pushed it out the way. What you did to me. Your head is always so full of thoughts, and not a single one is about me. How I wished for so long that I could read your mind, but your dull eyes translated everything. I want to fall back into oblivion. 83

Me dijiste “para siempre” but forever had a deadline. I can’t be upset, honesty was never your subject, but you taught me how to lie, because that’s all you did.

Now that you’re gone by Stefanny Uyaguari Our moments were nice while they lasted. I may not have thought about it at the moment. But now that you’re gone, I miss you even more Those moments are presently precious. I’m glad that I had you in my life even if it was shorter than expected. Now it’s all memories, memories that I’m seeking to never forget. To keep them in my heart. To remind me everyday that you are/were the most precious person in my life. I can’t go back to you as I wish I could. I wonder when I’ll see you again. Now that you’re gone. I wish I could give you a long hug and tell you how much I miss you. I still grieve you silently, my heart aches at the thought that you are not here anymore. I wish you were here by my side. To hug me at my worst. To teach me things. To guide me and give me advice. To play board games together and help me with my homework. To show me albums of our family. And things that belonged to me when I was a baby. To show me my baby pictures. 87

And the memories we never got the chance to do. To console me on my hardest times now that I’m a teenager. To go on adventures together and have an endless happy time. To watch movies together and eat popcorn. I miss you grandma and grandpa.

Olga by Emily Vasquez I’ll never forget that day of my life. Hearing those words was my biggest fear. She’s gone. It all happened in the blink of an eye. My lovely grandma was gone. I couldn’t believe the words that I heard. My whole world stopped and my head started spinning. So many thoughts in my head. How? Why? What’s going on? I had so many questions that couldn’t be answered. I hear my mother’s screams. Why was my abuelita gone? She called my mom through the phone yesterday and was perfectly fine. Knowing that she died all alone in a hospital room hurts my heart till this day. Was she in pain? What was she thinking? I was supposed to meet her a few months ago but we couldn’t travel because of the pandemic. I was never able to meet her in person. I have little memories of her. I know that she liked to be called mita instead of abuelita. I learned that we can not take any moment for granted. Appreciate every moment with the person you love. Tell them you love them because you’ll never know if you’ll ever see them again.

Home? by Bree Webster When I acknowledge the idea of home I think of family, It’s love, It’s warmth, Being united, but hell—I’ve never experienced the “perfect home.” I was born broken and torn, Dragged hand and hand, Like tug of war. Mother vs. Father. Who will win? In corner one, there is the one who left, The one who didn’t care enough to check. And in corner two, there is the one who stayed, The one who gave me migraines, yelled, screamed and cussed all day. Where’s the extended home? Aunts and grands? Where are they when they say, “I’m here to stay?” Instead, they collide and build walls to be freed from their strain, But instead I’m the one to gain. So I’m left bare. In the cold,

Left alone, and nowhere to truly call home. Now you say, “where’s the friends?” But who wants a friend whose mood swings change so fast they fly like the wind. So I fade and fade till I disintegrate, Waiting till the day I make my own home. Away from you and your bull and I’ve filled all my broken holes. Now that’s what I call home.

Nice Day by Emily Yang She looks beautiful on that day Pink sweatshirt with her hair loose on her shoulder Celebrating Mermaid Mermaid on the cake holding the baby fish Sweet and creamy on the way with that fluffy matcha taste Hot pot Hot pot on the stove Heating up all different food in the soup Dipping in the soy sauce as always Good taste good feelings as it is It’s been the best day ever

Midnight Winter Dream by Emily Yllescas On a random night a few months ago. I’m not sure how many but I had a dream I found nice and calming. It began at my elementary school’s cafeteria. I put on my jacket to go outside for recess as I saw the large red double doors allowing the blue-hued sunlight to flood in. Someone behind me yelled “snowball fight!” I reached out to grab a handful of snow to shape it into a ball. Even in my dream, I could feel how the cold stung my hand. As I ran around dodging the throws, my throat began to feel dry as the winter’s wind, mimicking the real deal. I could feel my heart beating faster, caused by either the joy or running that were both figments of my imagination.

Emotion by Valentino Zhang How am I feeling? New eyes from a blank state, Suddenly, a disconnection occurred causing the open door to close, Hopeless sights of being stuck in uncomfortable positions, Laughter behind backs, illusional tensions built from everyday experience, On my feet, knife stabbed, can no longer take an inch further from our original steps, Sense of guilt from a void of deep darkness rises from the bottom of the heart, It’s aching, pain of being stuck in a blank space trying to find the unexisting focus, Trapped in a black hole, Plain fears turns to death stairs, stress transformed and created twists to emotional souls, Hoping the vision we see is a digital screen that the plays in front of us can constantly be changed, In a state of confusion, is the consciousness of mind a blurred dream or hallucination? When the sunset’s over, wonder how the savior soldier would rush in, It is a light that erases the night presence, Nightmares of the past that pulls us back to terror grounds, The core from the heart is flaring up, A firm relief as we grip the intensity of mental strains, 101

Finally overcoming it, The key was never present. To uncover a straight path to an open door, that was the only objective, The door was already open, but the self-pain was harsh to the point the path became unrecognizable, Been a while since the sight outside the cage has been revealed, Waking up from insides of unconscious dreams, The first step was welcomed with a fresh breeze, Breaking free.

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Acknowledgements In our Young Writers Publish program, 826NYC works with classes of students and teachers on creative writing projects around and beyond New York City. Eleventh grade students from the High School of Fashion Industries looked to everything from poetry to memoir, to fantasy and dramatic scene-writing, to capture what it’s like here in the new world: the world of 2022, of masks on the subway and vaccine mandates, of life in high school, of family and friends. Here in the New World is a compilation of the original work of these bold and thoughtful students. A huge thank you to the 826NYC teaching artist, Daniel Goulden, for creating classrooms where students were able to play with these themes both personal and global. Your support, encouragement, and consistency helped our young writers tap into their imaginations and memories to produce such moving work, and your care in helping them brainstorm, write, and revise throughout this project was invaluable. We are particularly grateful to Kevin Kearns for his support of this project. Thank you for inviting us into your classroom and facilitating such a smooth and open collaboration. Your hard work and steadfast dedication to your students allows them to flourish as young writers and thinkers. Thank you to our writing mentors, Eunice An, Edward Hoa, and Katherine Peach, for keeping up with these young writers

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and nurturing their growing texts. At 826NYC we depend on the dedicated volunteer editing and design cohort that make our publications a reality. Thank you to Vanessa Friedman for overseeing the editing, proofreading, and design of this book. Thank you to Grace Robinson for designing such a beautiful book for our students’ beautiful work. To copy editors and proofreaders Chad Hewitt, Kris Pajarito, Chloe Rappe, Sarah Stephen, and Oana Whaples, for their careful attention to each of the student’s pieces, thank you. A big thank you to 826 National, the Amazon Literary Partnership, The Jane Friedman Anspach Family Foundation, Con Edison, The Find Your Light Foundation, The Hawkins Project, The Rona Jaffe Foundation, The Kettering Family Foundation, The Minerva Foundation, The Resnick Family Foundation, The Yelp Foundation, and Youth, Inc. This program is supported, in part, by public funds from the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs in partnership with the City Council. The program is also made possible by the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of the Office of the Governor and the New York State Legislature. Additional support comes from the National Endowment for the Arts. To find out more about how National Endowment for the Arts grants impact individuals and communities, visit www.arts.gov. 826NYC is grateful to the many individuals who support our work. To see our full list of supporters or make a donation, please visit https://826nyc.org/donate-us/.

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Thank you especially to the 826NYC staff for their behind-thescenes support of this project, from curriculum development and the book-making process to volunteer recruitment. Finally, thank you to the students at the High School of Fashion Industries for taking risks with your writing and sharing your words with us. Writing can be a challenging and hopefully fun process, and your dedication to your craft and your vision shines through in these pieces. We are all excited to see what books you’ll produce in the future!

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826NYC Location and Leadership

826NYC and The Brooklyn Superhero Supply Co. 372 Fifth Ave Brooklyn, NY 11215 718.499.9884 www.826nyc.org Staff Joshua Mandelbaum, Executive Director Jesusdaniel Barba, Programs Coordinator Janna Cisterino, Development & Communications Manager Rico Denard, Store Associate Chris Eckert, Store Manager Vanessa Friedman, Publications Associate Julianna Lee Merino, Programs Coordinator Summer Medina, Volunteer & Programs Coordinator Stella Raffle-Wax, Store Associate Mandy Seiner, Volunteer & Programs Manager Naomi Solomon, Director of Education 109

Teaching Artists Gillian Adler J’miah Baird David Ewalt Willie Filkowski Daniel Goulden Varud Gupta Daniel Jackson Jaydra Johnson

Board of Directors Michelle McGovern, President Ted Wolff, Vice President Ray Carpenter, Treasurer Kathryn Yontef, Secretary Michael Colagiovanni Jen D’Ambroise Liza Demby Jamal Edwards Amir Mokari Sheila Peluso Katie Schwab Danielle Sinay Andrew Sparkler Alyson Stone Maura Tierney Thom Unterburger

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826NYC Programs Write After School Reading and writing go together like peanut butter and jelly. Write After School students work alongside 826NYC staff and volunteers to build their reading, writing, socialemotional skills and unleash their imagination as they play and learn about the power of language. Three times a year, students revise their creative writing for publications that are printed in English and Spanish and shared with families, volunteers, and community members at celebratory readings. Write Away Workshops Young writers come together in Write Away Workshops to explore a multitude of genres and subjects and to develop their voices. Groups write freely and participate in imaginative writing activities and lessons. Whether it’s a song, a piece of climate justice sci-fi, or a nature guide, young writers leave the workshop with a piece to be proud of, as well as a newfound understanding of the topic, and new friends. Write All About It In Write All About It, reporters from grades 5-8 learn how to conduct a great interview, how to write a classic news story, and more importantly, how to sniff out where the great untold stories of Brooklyn are hiding. We focus on hyper-local news to see how it connects to 111

what’s going on across the country and around the world. Student work is published regularly in The 826NYC Post on 826NYC’s Medium page. Young Writers Publish Turn your classroom into a creative writing lab. During Young Writers Publish residencies, 826NYC teaching artists collaborate with educators on creative, impactful, curriculum-aligned projects that transform students into published authors. Residencies run from six weeks to a full year, depending on the project. Each Young Writers Publish culminates in a book, newspaper, zine, podcast, film, or performance featuring your students. Write Together 826NYC hosts classes across New York City for Write Together: an interactive writing experience that encourages creative expression, explores the elements of storytelling, and strengthens writing skills. Elementaryaged classes collaborate on illustrated children’s books, middle schoolers choose their own adventure, and high schoolers learn the art of memoir writing during a fastpaced and whimsical 90 minute narrative program. Teen Writers Collective Teens are the next generation of literary leaders. That’s why we launched the Teen Writers’ Collective. The collective brings together young writers from around the city to explore the art of writing and literary citizenship. They are a community of passionate and creative peers, 112

serve as 826NYC youth leaders, and inspire younger students and peers across the network. Dungeons & Dragons & Writers Dungeons & Dragons, the epic fantasy role-playing game where players craft characters to take on magical quests that can change with the roll of the dice, has a home at 826NYC. A band of adventurous authors in grades 5-8 play out an entirely original tale and chronicle their fantastical deeds in character point-of-view journals, histories, and scene writing. Sometimes the greatest gift is the friends we make — and make up — along the way. Student Publications Through our programs, our volunteers work with students to help them create stories, poems, and ’zines. Because we believe that the quality of students’ work is greatly enhanced when they are given the chance to share it with an authentic audience, we are committed to publishing student works. By encouraging their work and by guiding them through the process of publication, we make abundantly clear that their ideas are valued.

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We’re back! Students are back in school and struggling with life just like they always have been. Here in the New World is a collection of the stories, poems, screenplays, journal entries, and hybrid pieces, written by students at the High School of Fashion industries. Inside you’ll find horror stories, heartbreak poems, and experimental pieces. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll reflect, and you’ll be inspired. Come join us as we explore a new world! Proceeds from the sale of this book benefit 826NYC, a nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting students, ages six to eighteen, with their creative and expository writing skills, and to helping teachers inspire their students to write.

ISBN 978-1-948644-84-6

9 781948 644846