The Cougar Feature Magazine, Ed. 3 by The Calhoun School

Cover illustration by Zoe Stojkovic

Contributors Tea m& Con trib uto Zoe Stojkovic Lizzy Finn Katherine Hade Anna Koppelman Teresa Chico Oliver Perry Noah Shaub Lily Bergoffen

Team Sara Barker Flora Morrison Romi Konorty Raphael Baum Addy Litwinko Anna Cohen Stella Platero Oliver Perry Tallulah Hunt

Stella Platero Flora Morrison Romi Konorty Rea Brayshaw Bennett Wood Lily Stevenson Eugene Padayogdog Heather Sundaresan

Heather Sundaresan Margaret Barnsley Teresa Chico Bennett Wood Jesse Fields Noah Shaub Natalie Goodgold Eva Passarelli Lizzy Finn

Special thanks to Phil Tedeschi, Hailey Kim, and Lorenzo Krakowsky for their guidance and support.

Oliver Perry

Editor's Note My fellow Cougars, Welcome to the third editon of The Cougar! Creating this edition was very special to me, since this will be my last editon as Editor in Chief. For the next edition, I am looking to pass the torch to one of my talented colleagues. If you are interested, please let me know. I would be happy to meet with whoever is interested to discuss next steps! So far, this school year has been very eventful and I am thrilled to see how the rest of the year unfolds. Calhoun is consistently filled with a passionate, creative, and gifted community, and this is why assembling this publication is so gratifying. Sincerely, Sara Barker

Teresa Chico

Noah Shaub

Post It Note Memories Anna Koppelman

Mackenzie, Eyes melancholy, Days a mason jar of post it note memories. She tells Patrick, who tells George: “She’s playing hard to get” Her rock climber forearms She lets him grip onto her. Back up against the wall, She trips, A dead ram, Its body an open ink cartridge In our room, her face masks a reflection: “His mother taught him how to tap dance” In April, a birthed ram died I watched, she cried, At dinner we ate; Forkfuls of distance Mackenzie, Kisses George even when she knows he likes her more than she likes him --Patrick confirmed it. The snow has melted pushing dandelions out of the ground At night she mistakes Orion’s Belt. Here on our farm, Away from the cities ambulance lights, Pain is a dead ram and a bad kiss, Until our phones buzz reminding us of what we let die behind.

Heather Sundaresan

Lizzy Finn

Our Indoor Culture

Katherine Hade

This article is based on my Junior Workshop. A special thanks to Auguste Elder, my junior workshop advisor, whose support I cannot thank him enough for. I do not feel worthy of the Earth. It is not deserving of the destruction we cause. Can you believe the shades of blue the sky wears? Or the way we can tell time by looking at the trees? The Earth will always be my favorite dream. And, like most dreams, I will often forget it, until I reencounter elements of that dream. Like most people in the 21st century, especially those who live in cities, I spend the majority of my time indoors. It is not an aspect of my life I enjoy or am proud of; my existence is built on my absolute love for the outdoors, but my existence is most composed of staying indoors. Five days a week, I go to school inside, and spend the rest of the day either training with my climbing team, or working at my job or on homework. On weekends, I may go upstate. But it is not enough. When I leave the city and can see the stars, an unsettling sense of unfamiliarity wraps around me. Our society depends on the indoors as though it is our lifeline. We live within an indoor culture, but we do not have to.

In a study by The National Human Activity Pattern Survey, the average American spends 90% of their time indoors. Nearly 70% of their time is spent in a residence. Not only are we spending more time indoors, but access to nature is decreasing. An estimated 50% of the world lives in urban areas, where nature is less accessible. This is estimated to rise to 65% by 2030. Studies show every new generation spends less time outside than the last. Our society is less inclined to go outside, play catch, roll in the grass. Students have more academic stress, causing them to stay at home. Many professions are sedentary, indoors, with no natural light. The rise in technology is raising a new generation of people who feel more comfortable indoors than outdoors. We have become the first species to survive indoors, but at what cost? Our nature deficiency contributes to a variety of health issues: Attention problems, obesity, and mental and physical illnesses. About one quarter of diseases are attributable to environmental exposures. In fact, in 2012, 4.3 million deaths were attributable to household air pollution (HAP) in developing countries. These deaths and illnesses can be blamed upon a variety of factors indoors. A significant factor is air quality; generally, the indoors has poor ventilation and air circulation. These conditions are perfect for health hazards, such as bacteria and fungi to grow. In fact, fungal growth is extremely common indoors. Exposure to fungi can cause health issues, such as asthma and cancer. Other airborne particles, bacteria and viruses, are also prominent. They can make up to 5 to 34% of air pollution indoors. Another significant impact is that our bodies cannot produce enough Vitamin D indoors. The body produces Vitamin D when it absorbs UV radiation from the sun. Foods like cheese and eggs can help with Vitamin D production, but in much smaller amounts. In the U.S. alone, three quarters of teens and adults do not have enough vitamin D. A Vitamin D deficiency can cause weak, soft, or easily broken bones, cancer, and mental illnesses. It is essential to our health. These are only a few of the many health consequences of our indoor culture. The outdoors has many health benefits. Interacting with nature is also shown to have restorative properties, such as stress relief and children with ADHD/ADD. Physical activity outside rather than inside has also shown to be more emotionally beneficial. Spending more time can even support healthy eye development, improve mental health, among many other things. Going outside is more than a health benefit; it could be the very thing that helps stop environmental issues like climate change. We care for the things we have connections with. There is only one Planet Earth. There is only one planet where sunflowers bloom, ocean waves curl, and clouds dance beneath the same gentle blue sky. What do you think of our indoor culture?

Noah Shaub

Lily Stevenson

Young Soy’

Guide to LIfe

based on personal experience by eugene padoyogdog Have you ever wondered what the meaning of life is? If you just Google, “define life,” then this comes up: “the condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death.” But is that really the meaning of life? Do you eat Life Cereal? ‘Cuz if you do, then your life must be surreal. Anyway, who cares? Food for thought as you go about reading this sorry excuse for a boy’s guide that contains many grammatical errors, which will surely disappoint Phil. Rule number one! You gotta be honest. No one likes a liar. But it’s fine to lie sometimes. Like if you’re bored and you don’t get enough attention like me, then you can lie about something that only affects you and not other people. For example, towards the end of every school year, I tell my friends I’m leaving Calhoun, so that they feel obligated to write something nice in my yearbook. Sad, I know. But just don’t be a liar. Rule number two! You gotta learn some knee slapping puns. Or learn how to make a pun out of any word you hear. I swear it will be PUNishment to the people around you. Rule number three! Learn the difference between Healthy and Healthful. It will change your life. You can also learn the difference between Nauseous and Nauseated, but it does not come up as much in conversation as the other one. Rule number four! Be cool with everyone.

Don’t try to start beef, and if you do, just apologize. You can start befriending people by buying a pack of gum a everyday and sharing it with everyone that asks for one. I swear, once you whip that out in the middle of class, you’re gonna feel like a celebrity. But you also gotta know your crowd. Some people might prefer fruit gum rather than mint gum. Rule number five! Eat cheese, learn to like cheese, educate yourself about cheese, and join Cheese Club. Just kidding. But try to start your own club that’s fun to talk about. I’ve always wanted to start a Cup Noodles Club, but I just recently learned that cup noodles are not healthful. Rule number six! Don’t be afraid to give compliments to everyone. Tell people you think they’re pretty, handsome, or beautiful. It’s gonna make that person’s day. But keep in mind rule number one. Don’t just do it to scheme on people. Speak your mind, but have some sort of filter. My “friends” reading this are probably thinking about how I’m such a hypocrite. But these rules are just theoretical. Rule number seven! Respect your teachers. Just because a teacher gives you a bad grade, doesn’t automatically mean they dislike you or even hate you. Sometimes you just gotta take that L and blame yourself instead of other people. But if you’re nice and respectful to your elders, they will return the favor some day. They might write your recommendation or give you an SRF so that you can show it off to your parents. Rule number eight! Don’t forget to say “thank you,” you ungrateful jerks. And listen to Disney. Rule number nine! Fish day isn’t always bad. That honey and soy glazed salmon is bomb! Don’t waste your money on lunch. Other people would do unspeakable things to have Chef Bobo to cook for their school. I would rather rub my stomach and pat my head at the same time than give up Chef Bobo’s food. Rule number ten! Take everything I just said with a grain of salt. I could be trying to manipulate you, or I could be a pathological liar. But there’s some truth to what I said though so you’re welcome and you can thank me later. I take gift cards, cash, and other gifts. Young Soy, out!

Noah Shaub

Lizzy Finn

Bennett Wood

Angel Eyes Stella Platero Waiting for the bus, eyes drooping shut and lips pursed in the slightest of frowns, Baby Leblanc drowsily flicked her cigarette to the ground. Dark sunglasses shielded her eyes, as they always did, and her pale hair, pooling over her shoulders in an unkempt mess of waves, blew dreamily in the wind. She could barely stay awake; she hadn’t slept in over a day. Baby was always doing this: traveling from person to person. Research, Baby called it, research for Pete Zabinski, her most trusted friend. However, as the days passed painfully slow, Baby suspected her supposed research had become less of that and more of a need to feel valued by others. “Baby!” A woman called out Baby’s name. The woman approached on light feet, and when she reached Baby she leaned down and chastely kissed her flat on her lips. “Baby, I almost thought I’d missed you,” the woman, one of Baby’s lovers, was named Daria. Daria’s golden skin shined beautifully in the morning sun. “You left this.” Daria held out Baby’s promise ring—the one Daria had given her the night before. Baby must’ve forgotten to put it back on after her shower. “Oh.” Baby’s voice was as smooth as her velvety skin. “Thank you, Daria. I’m not sure what I would’ve done without it.” “Of course,” Daria said breathlessly, as if she could not believe Baby was really talking to her. Baby thought it was funny, considering the night before. “I wouldn’t want you to forget our promise.” “Yes… our promise.” Baby looked longingly at Daria. It was hard enough to leave Daria’s apartment earlier, and now she had to leave her again. The bus down the street stole Baby’s attention, and she stood up from her seat at the bus stop. There was a quick shift in Daria’s expression; worry took over. “Baby, before you go, could I please see your eyes? Won’t you let me see your beautiful angel eyes, just once more?” Baby Leblanc’s eyes were as pink as her childhood room. It was a unique eye color, and they caused whoever looked into the eyes of Baby to fall helplessly in love with her. It was for this exact reason Baby kept her eyes hidden from the world. Behind sunglasses her ability of infatuation weakened.

“No,” Baby said. Then she kissed Daria on the mouth and took out her bus pass. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” “I’ll call you tonight,” Daria replied. Baby couldn’t wait. The bus pulled to a stop in front of the two women and as soon as the doors slid open, Baby was off. It was time to visit Pete. Time to gave him an update on her research. Pete Zabinski was an eighteen-year-old boy who had just lost his mother. Murder, Pete declared it, although the authorities had yet to rule it anything. “Not enough evidence,” they had said. Pete and Baby had been friends for several years, since before Baby had grown to despise her eyes and her magical ability. If it weren’t for Pete, Baby wasn’t sure she would be emotionally close to anyone outside her family. Making friends was difficult for Baby, for she was never sure if someone wanted to be her friend because she was kind or because of her eyes. A curse, she called it. A blessing, Pete called it. It was Baby’s idea—getting close to the suspected killers of Lucy Zabinski in the hopes of having them confess to the murder—Pete merely agreed. Although Baby would never tell Pete this, Baby saw Lucy’s death as a sign to use her eyes for something good. Never in Baby’s life had she had an opportunity like this, an opportunity to wrong a right with the help of her cursed eyes. It was an idea sprouted from selfish insecurity, but it also made Pete happy. When the research had first started, and Baby was just getting close to every suspect, every action she took was done with Pete and his dead mother in the back of her mind. Every kiss exchanged for a secret, every snuggle beneath silk bedcovers—it all traced back to the overall research. And yet, now, the murder case was the last thing on Baby’s mind. She knew why. What a wonderful thing it was, to be wanted by somebody. The bus was empty. It smelled vaguely of dirty socks, the plastic chairs still fresh with the warmth of another. It was only a few stops to Pete’s house. He and Daria lived fairly close. His house was usually empty, like the bus; there was no father or mother in the house anymore, just Pete and his scrappy dog. They lived in a small city, a city so small perhaps calling it a city was a mistake. Everyone was familiar with one another, so even Daria and Pete had crossed paths a few times, though Baby doubted Pete remembered much of the conversation. She thought the only reason Pete could remember Daria at all was because her name was high on the list of Lucy Zabinski’s murder

suspects. He spoke of Daria one night, Baby remembered, the night after his mother’s death, when a drink had fueled his body, or maybe it was two. “I think… I think she stole my wallet,” he had drunkenly said. “Can’t trust her. Can’t trust anybody anymore… except you, B.” Then he tilted his glass toward Baby and she muffled her chuckles, nodding approvingly instead. “You’re the exception. Always. Hey, hey, thanks for doing all this. It means alot to me. You mean alot to me. God, you’re all I’ve got left. For real, you know?” His drunk rambling was childish, but it still caused Baby’s chest to warm. Pete was already a sober sap. Alcohol seemed to worsen it. Pete and Baby met in the third grade. Baby had just moved to the city. Nobody had yet to see her eyes, and even though Baby was young, she still knew her eyes could use people. Eight-year-old Baby was not a user—that was the one thing she always swore she would never become. The bus engine roared and Baby was pulled from her thoughts. Walnut Street was one block away. Rising to her feet, Baby pushed her hair over one shoulder and then adjusted her sunglasses. She approached the front of the bus and glanced at the driver. “Thank you,” she said. “Yes, you’re welcome.” A smile traced her lips. “I’ll be seeing you.” “Yes,” the driver replied. “Goodbye.” After Baby stepped off the bus, the doors shut and the bus driver sent another look to her. Baby didn’t pay him any attention and instead walked up to Pete’s home. He lived in a blue house, one with narrow windows and thin walls. It was rundown and not much to look at, but Pete was never one to complain. Knocking on the front door, Baby allowed her curiosity (and grabby hands) to get the best of her and she stole his morning mail from the inbox beside the door. There were several letters, all different sizes and colors, with different names and return addresses printed on the front. They looked like bills. If Pete was doing this bad a job at collecting his mail, Baby wondered what his voicemail list was like. The door opened and Baby gave Pete a sweet smile. “Pete,” she said. “B.” His voice was raspy. “It’s early. What’re you doing here?” Pete was dressed in his pajamas, his eyes drowsy, hair mussed from running his hand through it from when the doorbell must’ve woken him up. Baby suddenly remembered why she was so eager to come. There was news she needed to tell Pete, she just wasn’t sure if it was news she wanted to report. “We haven’t talked recently,” she lied. “I missed you.” “I missed you, too,” Pete smiled, but his smile broke out into a yawn.

“This couldn’t have waited until later?” “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Baby giggled. “Only because somebody woke me up. Here, come inside.” He held the open wider so Baby could squeeze by, and upon her entrance, he shut the door with a soft creak. “Do you want coffee? I’m gonna make coffee.” “Sure,” Baby said. Pete turned to leave for the kitchen. The sunglasses sitting on the bridge of Baby’s nose soon came off, and she rested them on her head as she walked around Pete’s living area. There were picture frames lined up along the fireplace, and stockings from last Christmas still hanging along the wall. The plants that were once nurtured by Lucy were now wilted, an ashy gray. It seemed as though Pete hadn’t done much to sustain his mother’s tidiness. It’s not as though Baby could blame him. She supposed if her mother went missing she wouldn’t have given a damn about cleanliness either. “Coffee’s brewing,” Pete told Baby. He was standing next to her now. With a quick shuffle, the sunglasses were covering her eyes again. “Sorry it’s messy.” He didn’t seem sorry at all. Baby thought he just said it to be polite. “It’s fine. How have you been?” “Okay, I guess. Waiting on the cops, mostly…” Baby felt as if he was biting back a quiet “waiting on you.” “They’ll figure out who killed your mother,” Baby said, but the statement tasted like a lie. Pete looked uneasy suddenly. “They will. It’s their job.” It had become her job, too, yet she was holding back telling Pete what she had discovered. “Who were you last with?” This translated to: which suspect were you just fooling around with? Pete had yet to ask and what did they tell you? “Daria Winters.” “Daria…” “The twenty-something woman who stole your wallet.” “Daria!” Snapping his fingers, Pete recalled her now. “I can barely remember that conversation anymore. What did I tell you?” “Not much. And I think it was mostly the alcohol talking.” Baby grinned. The slightest blush warmed Pete’s cheeks at Baby’s mindless teasing. She knew over the years he had developed somewhat of a crush on her; that was inevitable given her pink eyes. “How is she, anyway? She knew my mother.” Daria Winters had crossed paths with Lucy Zabinski on a few different occasions. Perhaps once or twice, brushing shopping carts at the grocery store, a polite hello here and there at the post office. Both women were friendly, approachable, and young enough to be of interest of older men. Lucy was

only in her early forties when she died. the beep of the coffee machine went off, stealing Baby’s attention. “The coffee,” was all she said. “I’ll be right back,” Pete said. Biting her lip, Baby thought back to the previous night, the night she shared with Daria. They were sitting on Daria’s couch together, hands intertwined, smooth legs smothered by expensive blankets. There had been romance in her eyes. Daria was laughing, fiddling with the new ring that had slept on Baby’s ring finger. Baby never thought herself to be very funny, but when accompanied by Daria, she felt like the funniest girl in the world. “Oh, won’t you let me see your eyes, Baby? Your pretty little eyes?” Daria asked. Baby’s heart warmed. It was not unusual for Daria to ask this, for anybody to ask. But Baby had learned to see the world in a darker shade, and it was uncomfortable to be without her glasses. That night there had just been a certain look on Daria’s face, a look that said I really love you, and it’s not because of your eyes. Baby wasn’t sure if it was true. She wasn’t sure if she could truly read all of that from one silly look. It just felt so right, being with Daria, not thinking about the murder or her promise to Pete. Daria Winters was a wonderful woman, and staring into her eyes, Baby couldn’t tell which one of them was under an adoration spell. With a hammering heart, Baby took off her sunglasses. Before this night, Baby hadn’t ever studied the immediate change that occurred to the inflicted person. Daria’s eyes glossed over, quickly, suddenly, and her cheeks blushed furiously. Cheeks red like wine, Daria’s grin widened and widened, smiling dopily. The sight was strange, but Baby couldn’t find it in herself to mind. “Don’t ever put them back on,” Daria said. She wasn’t thinking straight now. Baby’s eyes did that. “Oh, Baby.” She was breathless. “Don’t you ever stop looking at me.” There was a moment of silence before Daria cupped Baby’s cheek. Baby couldn’t help but lean into Daria’s heavenly touch. Daria was hypnotized, put under the spell of Baby Leblanc’s pink eyes. The heaviness in Baby’s chest made her never want to put her sunglasses back on. But Baby knew Daria’s mental state would be ruined if she allowed her eyes to take their full turn. “Such a pretty thing, Baby,” Daria said. “What a pretty thing, with your angel eyes.” As Baby put her sunglasses back on, Daria’s hand suddenly stiffened on Baby’s pale cheek. “I once knew a woman with angel eyes.” Daria’s words had turned cold. “A beautiful woman, with a kind family and a low paying day job.”

Here it was. It was what Pete had been searching for—what Baby had been searching for: a confession to Lucy Zabinski’s murder. Baby’s phone was already recording the conversation; she kept the recorder on at all times for situations like this. “Beautiful women are never kind, Baby. They’re selfish, and cruel. Beautiful women do things without thinking about how the outcome might affect others.” Do we? Baby wanted to ask. She bit her tongue. “A beautiful woman with angel eyes stole my husband from me. Lucy.” Daria said Lucy’s name with such disgust. “The bitch.” “Lucy Zabinski?” “Lucy Zabinski,” Daria said, and she scoffed. “She took him—in my own house. And I got rid of her. Poof.” Her voice was a low whisper now. “I trust you, Baby, I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone else. God, I might even love you.” Baby’s heart nearly stopped. It was so wonderful to be loved by someone. “I’m talking nonsense now.” Daria sighed, and removed her hand from Baby’s cheek. “I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine.” As Daria stood up from the couch, Baby blinked stupidly. A gentle hand shoved Baby’s shoulder—Pete. Baby was in Pete’s living room. Dressed in pajamas and holding out a mug of coffee, Pete furrowed his eyebrows at Baby. “You okay, B?” Pete asked. Baby cleared her throat and reached for the mug of coffee. “You seem spooked.” “No, I’m fine. Just… tired, I guess. I came so early. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.” “Don’t worry about it.” Pete was always so kind. Smiling at Baby, realization seemed to dawn on him. “Oh, you didn’t tell me about Daria.” Baby’s blood ran cold. “W-What?” “I asked how she was. Has she mentioned anything?” The mug in Baby’s hands was boiling hot, but she held it tightly regardless. She raised the mug to her lips and took a sip of the scalding hot coffee. It burned on the way down, an oddly satisfying feeling to Baby. Baby didn’t want what she had with Daria to end. “No,” Baby said. “She hasn’t mentioned anything.”

Sara Barker

Romi Konorty & Oliver Perry

Flora Morrison

Lily Bergoffen