2016 literary magazine by Everglades High School

The Everglades Literary Magazine Spring 2016, Volume III

Copyright ÂŠ 2016 Everglades High School Miramar, Florida. All Rights Reserved. Printed in the United States of America. Copyright - All rights reserved and all written material contained herein is the sole property of the writer who created it and is protected by US Copyright laws. 2

Table of Contents Stories I Love My Job ………………………………………………...……… Attilio Bodden

The Fox and the Fawn……………………………...……………. Justine Volmidor

The Little Girl……………...................................……………….Amy Loewenstein

Miss Mattie……………………………………..…………....… Dominique Belnavis

Broken Promises …………………………,…………………....……... Laurie Disla

Poetry Pinocchio ………………………………………………………….. Natalia Gutierrez

Dad …………………………………………………………..………..... Cami Saenz

Welcome to Hell …………………….…………………...……… Kiana Hernandez

Procrastination ………………………………………………..………. Robert Fields 31 Something Scary …………………………………………….... Nichole Constanzo

The Chase …………………………………………………….…. Danielle Dormevil

Ye Olde English Gangsta …………………………………………...… Terell Gilpin

They Call It Beauty ……………………………………….……….. Takamia Bethel

Winter ……………………………...………..……………………...… Dianna Armas 38 Entertainment Today ……………………………..…...……………Kamille Bascus

Surviving Society ………………………………………………….. Cherise Clough

Surviving Cancer ……………………………………………..……… Attilio Bodden

A Friend ………………………………………………………..…… Asad Chaudhry

Iron …………………………………………………………...……… Ethan Soledad

Essays, Articles and Other Genres Bakers ‘n the Hood ……………………………...…………...…... Joshua Sanchez

Experiencing Irie ……………………………………………….... Sydney Robinson

If Could Turn Back Time ………………………………....……… Nathalie Mitchell

Letter to The Governor of Maine …………….…………….....……… Natalie Mion 57 Weeds ……………………………………………………...……. Arianne Macavinta 58 The Lion and the Frog ………………………………………….. Weedguet Mildort

If Only ……………………………………………………………. Cassandra Garzia

The Princess Disease ………………………………………………….… Jesse Siu

Final Update on Planet 0315-AO …………………………………..... Mia Miranda

Wish You Weren’t So Weird (Parody) ………………………. Matthew Rodriguez

Distinctive ……………………………………………….…….………... Anjali Ramjit 68

Stories

I Love My Job Attilio Bodden

I love my job. Each day for the past couple of weeks, I wake up and find myself on auto-pilot, toiling away at my morning routine to get to my job. I moved to San Francisco 4 years ago and got a job making art. To be specific, the type of art I make is rather rare. I make sculptures of the human body, which nobody really makes anymore. Art itself isn’t really in demand; no one at all makes jack in terms of money in any form of art these days unless you’re making art in the form of music, and that saddens me a bit. Art is something that should be appreciated, and maybe that’s why I’m trying to get noticed to make it appreciated again and get others into the form of creation. The move itself was hard, getting an apartment here was about as easy as getting a new cat to take a bath. Yet, alas, here I was in the city, trying to start something new. Leaving my tightly packed apartment which is located in a relatively populated area, I look like any another human being trying to get by, in this way overpopulated multicultural cesspool. I look no different than any one here. Wearing a simple black shirt and black jeans, I carry my black

briefcase, which holds the materials necessary for work. Trying to drive around here is probably hell too. Before I got here, I look up the area on Google Maps and knew trying to drive around here would probably be insane. People walk on the streets constantly, to be honest, the street itself looked like the game Animal Crossing on steroids, but imagine being in control of one hundred animals at once, and they’re all dressed in rather funky ways. Now, the reason why I say “probably” instead of “is” is because I always take the bus. It’s not like buses are ever any better either. They always smell like a trail mix of every drug known to man, sprinkled in with fast food, and strong body odor. It’s not like every seat is taken, besides, the bus has air conditioning, so it is bearable, to an extent. After a long 20 minutes, I arrive at my stop, and walk to the art studio, which is about another 20 minutes as away. The next bus stop is too far to fathom using on a daily basis. I start walking, and feel the harsh crack of leaves as I trudge along. I arrive at the 8

building, sigh, and wipe the sweat off my head, touching my black curls. The sun takes a toll on me, especially since I am wearing all black as it is necessary for work. The colors of art always stain strong. I enter the building, and walk straight to my desk, which is not too far from the entrance. I carefully lay down my briefcase while look around to see my fellow coworkers. I look to my right, and see some-one else I don’t quite recognize. I lean back a bit in my chair and glance at her name tag. “Hi, Ivette,” I say happily. Not even acknowledging my existence, she stares straight ahead. I keep to myself, as I begin writing how today has been going, and I add that to my files of how every different job goes. Switching my attention from my work entry log, I look over at the minitelevision. Nothing important is happening, apparently. Looks like the popularity of my art has diminished a bit. Sighing, sad that my work is almost complete and I will probably have to wait a couple of months, maybe even change from this hard spur-of-the moment move, and go to another state, I finish that last piece of work for the day. To be honest, I really do love my job. I grab Ivette’s dull, lifeless body, and set the old office worker

down on the operating table. Sadly enough, she was walking home from work and I was able to grab her and drop her off at my building. Her rotting skin is soon cleaned up as I put on my surgical mask, and pull out my lancet from my briefcase and set it down next to her body. Washing my hands and face, I set her body on the operating table and begin to cut. I make my signature marks on her body, mainly just synonyms of the word “beauty”. She is so easy to cut through, I am glad that I left her body warm for this, to commit my favorite form of expression. I add clay inside the words. I do every artful thing one can imagine on the body—paint, use it as a base for sculpting, modeling. I write down my feelings about how this went, and to be honest, I always prefer someone else to inspect the art. It has been a year since I started creating, and I feel rusty. It took a while, setting up the different shacks throughout the forests near San Francisco. Now it is time to start with my plan. Leaving Ivette’s body outside the door of the poorly made shack, I pull out one of the twenty other cell phones which are in my briefcase. I dialed 9-1-1, and then sprint off, laughing. Man, I do love my job.

The Fox and The Fawn Justine Volmidor

There once was a cunning young fox who could outwit all who came his way. No matter the challenge, the sly fox would always emerge victorious. Such success gave way to the fox’s enormous ego. He believed that no creature of the forest would ever dare to stand against him. That is, until a wide-eyed fawn approached the fox with a challenge. The mere thought made him belt out a hearty laugh. “Well, well, well! What have we here?” said the arrogant fox. “You? Here to challenge me? Surely you must be joking, little fawn. No one has yet to get the best of me.” The fawn was undeterred by the fox’s disparaging remarks. With a determined nod, the fawn laid out a set of rules for them to follow. Their objective was simple; they were to steal a pot of honey from an unsuspecting grizzly. The first of the two who secured the sweet treat would win the match. The fox began to think. “Hah!” thought the fox, “A challenge such as this is far too easy!” “I accept! But what shall be the reward for the one who emerges victorious, little fawn?” The innocent fawn stared at him. “Anything your heart desires, you sly fox.” With that in mind, the fox began to smirk. He could use a meal in the upcoming hours. Turning to the fawn, he asked when they would begin their bet.

“Right now!” declared the young fawn. With blinding speed, the fawn and the fox took off in a race for the grizzly’s honey. Through thick woods and past mellow trees, the pair searched high and low for their prize. Eventually, their paths crossed at the mouth of a damp cave. Inside, a sleeping grizzly lay peacefully, its jar of honey held protectively in its grasp. The arrogant fox looked to his competitor and scoffed, “The next time I see you, you’ll be served on a silver platter, young fawn.” The smarmy fox snuck as quietly as he could towards the sleeping bear. As he inched closer, he forgot all about the fawn behind him. With a smirk comparable to the fox’s own, the fawn grasped a rock in his mouth. A flick of his head sent it flying into the cave. As it landed, a resounding echo rang throughout the cave. Awakened by the commotion, the bear began to rise. While the fawn fled from sight, the fox ran off in fear. The grizzly chased the latter out the cave, leaving his precious honey unattended. With ease, the fawn took the honey and made his escape. “I wonder if I will ever meet that fox again,” thought the young fawn. Lo and behold, a few days later, the fox and the fawn did in fact meet again. Bearing battle wounds from his encounter with the grizzly, the fox approached the fawn, who was 10

sporting a bright smile. “You tricked me, you sneaky fawn!” the fox snarled, baring his teeth. “That was the purpose behind our wager, was it not?” replied the fawn. “Someone just had to take the honey without the bear noticing. And you were the perfect distraction.” With a sigh, the fox conceded defeat. His long lasting title as champion of cunning had been taken away by an innocent looking fawn. Pitying the fox, the fawn offered him a share of his honey. The fox shook his head. “This is your reward, young fawn, not mine,” he said solemnly. “But it’s my heart’s desire to share this jar of honey with you. That is my reward, is it not?” claimed the fawn with a broad smile. Perking up, the fox delved into the sweet reward. He had to admit it: That fawn was more cunning than he could ever hope to be. With a final look to his companion, he thought of something. Looks can be quite deceiving.

The Little Girl Amy Loewenstein

December 16th, in the year 2000, a little girl was born in Anhui, China. The beautiful baby had dark straight hair, and a permanent rosy blush along her cheeks. Her parents cherished her with all their hearts. Unfortunately, they could not provide her with the care she needed. After much debate, they came to the difficult decision of sending her to an orphanage. Tears streaming down her face, the little girl’s mother cradled the infant, who slept peacefully in a cocoon of blankets. The woman took one last look at her daughter before placing her at the doorstep of the Anqing Society Welfara Orphanage. Fast asleep, the child was entirely unaware that this would be her last time in her mother’s embrace. The little girl was treated with care at the orphanage. Caretakers and volunteers doted on her and tended to her every need. Although she was not old enough to remember, she met many other girls in similar situations. They were her new family for the time being. Practically sisters, they would all play, bathe, and eat together. Time flew by, and soon enough, December came again. A world away from China, a small American family sought a child to claim as their own. The lonely couple waited for months until they received a notice for the adoption of a little girl. Ready to meet their new daughter, they packed their bags and headed for Anhui, China. Upon their arrival at the orphanage, they instantly recognized the little girl from pictures

they had seen back in the States. As soon as the wife held the child in her arms, a bond formed between the two. The little girl felt at ease with these strangers, or rather, her new parents. The little girl celebrated her first birthday in Anhui, China with her newfound parents. On December 12th, 2001 she was officially a member of the small family. No longer was she known as Zhu Pei Ying. Along with a new family, the little girl was given a new name: Ailee Madalen Loewenthal. *** Returning to Anhui, at first, was nerve-wracking. Ailee wasn’t sure what to expect. Though she had been studying Mandarin for years, she’d only experienced China through photographs. Even in her birthplace, she couldn’t help feeling awkward and inferior. Pushing these feelings aside, she did her best to enjoy her trip. Her first destination was Anqing Society Welfara Orphanage. She walked up the steps in the cold December air. Walking inside invoked a strange sense of nostalgia within her. A middle-aged woman sat at the lobby desk. Ailee approached her with an inexplicable feeling of de ja vú. The shock hit her as she realized what was so familiar about the woman. It seemed as if she had met a reflection of her future self. The lady was equally stunned, as she heard a gasp escape from her mouth. “Mŭqīn?” Mother, Ailee asked in Mandarin. Astonishingly, the 12

woman said a name that Ailee hadn’t heard in over twenty years. “Zhu Pei Ying?” It was an implausible coincidence that the first person she encountered in China was her birth mother. It seemed completely obvious to anyone who saw the two women that they were related. Aside from the few freckles Ailee had on her face from living in Florida, she was a carbon copy of her mother. No longer did Ailee have to question her heritage. The weight had finally been lifted off, the mystery finally solved. The question mark looming over Ailee’s head disappeared, and never haunted her again.

Miss Mattie Dominique Belnavis “Class, please turn your textbooks to sponse to their collective groans, she dis page 72,” announced Miss Penelope Mattie, a missed her class. Xavier was the first to dash West Indian primary school teacher who’d past her. With a shake of her head, she began been an educator for about five years. “Xavier! organizing the now empty classroom in Ricardo! Stop talking!” she shouted. Standing preparation for the next day. at five feet and two inches, slim built with a Alone with her thoughts, Penelope very kind demeanor, she was often mistaken found herself reminiscing about the past. She as a pushover by the children. However, looks really adored these simple living ‘country’ were really quite deceiving. When she spoke, children. It was a term used to describe they listened. Maybe it was the stern anyone who lived outside of Kingston, which expression on her face, or maybe it was the was Jamaica’s capital city. She herself was a thick, wooden ruler that she held in her hand. ‘born Kingstonian’, but her parents had Either way, none of them were willing to risk a decided on a change of scenery and public punishment in front of the rest of the purchased a coconut farm, so they had moved class. to the green, lush parish of Portland. She had That being said, the two boys hastily been homesick, missing her friends, parties ceased their conversation and immediately and the excitement of fast paced city life. She became apologetic. With shamed expressions, slowly settled in to her new rural community they both turned around in their seats and and eventually began to appreciate the beauty gave Miss Mattie their full attention. Xavier and stillness of the countryside. She learnt to was a troublesome child, and it was not quell her fears and after a while, became unusual to catch him talking out of turn. comforted by the loud sounds of the nighttime However, he was a smart boy, and despite his creatures. unruly nature, she was really quite fond of him What was making that noise? Was it a and thought that he showed much potential. cricket, or was it that big, ugly croaking lizard Miss Mattie had always loved children, which that had taken residence outside her window was why she had become a school teacher. In every night? Initially, she had been terrified of addition to that, she found joy interacting with this uninvited guest. She wasn’t afraid now, these children, who traveled several miles because her father had installed screen each day, many by foot, as the school was meshes on every door and window of the located in a rural part of Jamaica, where the house, fed up with her nightly screams of roads were narrow, dirt tracks and unable to terror. Finally settled in her new home, she accommodate automobiles. started school and finished her education at She had the opportunity to equip them the local high school. She had many with the basic tools which she hoped they challenges. Even though she and her would use to further themselves and have a classmates lived in the same country, she had better life. The shrill ringing of the school bell found it very hard to communicate with them! signaling dismissal snapped her out of her Being a ‘Kingston, uptown girl’, she was thoughts. “Don’t forget to complete the activity required to speak the ‘Queen’s English’, on page 73 for homework! I’ll be collecting it especially by her parents and was not allowed as soon as you get in tomorrow.” Smiling in re- to use ‘Patois’, the colorful, expressive dialect 14

of Jamaica. However, Patois was the know miss. Mi neva see him dis mawnin’ preferred language of choice where she now wen mi was walkin’...” he trailed off. “I see,” resided. Even though it was not encouraged at school, the teachers had “Being a ‘Kingston, Uptown Girl’, a hard time with these she was required to speak the ‘country kids’, who had ‘Queen’s English’, especially by made it their her parents” favored means of communication. Penelope soon realized that these children were less privileged than she nodded her head slowly, causing several she herself, but she also noticed how strands of her thick, curly black hair to fall ambitious and hardworking her classmates into her face. She unconsciously put back were. They were resourceful and made good into place. Shrugging his shoulders, Ricardo use of what they had. A pencil that normally went back to solving his mathematics lasted her two days, lasted them an entire problem. The usually lively class remained month! After high school, only a handful silent for the rest of the week, as Xavier would get the opportunity to go on to higher remained absent. education, as their families could not afford On Monday morning, Miss Mattie came to class very late, wearing a solemn the expensive tuition. Many would return to the family farm to etch a living from the crops expression instead of her usually cheerful one. “Why yuh look suh sad Miss?” asked they grew and sold in the local market. Patricia, one of her star students of whom Miss Mattie had wanted to make a she was quite proud. She was a beautiful difference in these ‘country folks’ lives, so little girl, however, when she opened her after high school, she went to Kingston to mouth, her Jamaican dialect, certainly shone train as a teacher. On her return to Portland, through. This was quite common among she landed a job at the primary school in her students of their ages. A soft sigh leaving her community. There was a knock on her lips, the teacher looked down briefly, classroom door, and Penelope was jolted clasping her hands and twiddling her fingers. It was a nervous habit that she had back into the present. “Do you need a ride picked up over the years. “Class, I don’t home?” asked Mrs. Johnson, a fellow have good news,” she spoke softly, almost colleague. “I’m leaving now, and you can get as if she didn’t want to hear it herself. “The a ride if you’re ready.” “I’m almost finished. principal informed me that your classmate, I’ll meet you downstairs,” replied Penelope. Xavier, is very sick and is in the hospital.” The following morning, nearly halfway She didn’t think it necessary to share the through her lesson, Miss Mattie realized that details with them. After all, they were only something seemed amiss! Why was her children and while the situation was in fact, class so serenely quiet? Then, it dawned on very dismal, they still had to focus on their her that she wasn’t hollering at Xavier! studies. Suddenly, there was a barrage of Pushing up her glasses, so that they sat questions. Several hands began to shoot into the air, everyone eager to find out what comfortably on her nose, she cleared her was wrong with their classmate. “Him sick throat and looked around the room, before Miss? Wah wrong wid him?” asked Joseph. her eyes landed on his partner in crime. “Yuh think him soon come back?” “Ricardo, where is Xavier?” she asked, A concerned Camille inquired. raising an eyebrow in question. “Mi nuh “Watthe doctor seh wrong wid him? We can 15

go and see him Miss?” asked Ricardo, who looked to be on the verge of tears. “The last time a did see him, him neva look sick! How him just get sick suh?” he protested. “Calm down children, calm down! I know he’s your good friend, but I am not able to answer all your questions right now. When I have more information, I’ll let you know. Now, let us bow our heads and pray that he will recover quickly.” As they usually did before eating, the entire class bowed their heads, this time, saying a special prayer for Xavier’s recovery. An agonizingly slow month had passed, and Xavier had still not returned to school. His chocolate brown skin and his animated dark brown eyes had been missing from the school. Not only did his classmates miss his bubbly personality and vivacious spirit, but Miss Mattie herself missed his mischievous presence as well. One morning, after their daily devotion, Sister Therese made a very important announcement over the intercom. It regarded Xavier. She explained that the sick boy was in need of blood, and his family was requesting people to donate blood at the local hospital. The principal went on to say that anyone over the age of sixteen was able to give blood. A loud exasperating groan was heard in

Miss Mattie’s class, as they realized that they would not be able to help their classmate, since they were all too young. Miss Mattie tried to console them by telling them that they could help by asking their family members and older friends to donate blood on Xavier’s behalf. The class suddenly became animated, as everyone started to discuss who they would ask to help Xavier. Miss Mattie smiled at their enthusiasm and she was really quite proud that she had such caring students. However, even though she wore a smile on her face, her heart was heavy. Xavier’s condition seemed to be more serious than she originally thought. The next day, before coming to school, Miss Mattie decided to stop by the hospital and donate blood for one of her favorite students. Since she was already at the hospital, she decided to walk across the corridor which connected the hospital’s lab to the children’s ward. She went to the nurse’s station and inquired if she would be allowed to visit with Xavier for just a short while. Although it wasn’t visiting hours, the nurse granted her permission after she explained that she was Xavier’s teacher. Miss Mattie pushed the door and stepped inside. A loud gasp escaped her open mouth and her handbag fell to the floor. She was not prepared to see the still form of Xavier lying so helplessly on the bed. She broke down into tears. This couldn’t be Xavier. He looked nothing like the impish child who made it his duty to create pure havoc in her class every day. Sitting down in the empty chair next to his bed, Miss Mattie held the sleeping boy’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her eyes moved across the room, surveying the many machines, tubes and wires that appeared to be keeping him alive. Her eyes darted back to the pallid face of the sleeping boy and she felt an unusual tug of emotion that radiated deep within her being. Her forehead became 16

wrinkled as she knitted both brows, totally baffled by this surge of emotion that she was feeling. She quickly composed herself and bowed her head to say a silent prayer for Xavier. After all, she needed to have this troublesome child back in her classroom, as it was not the same since his absence. Miss Mattie gave his hand a final squeeze before standing. No matter how many times she wiped her eyes, the tears refused to stop falling. She left the hospital, teary-eyed and heartbroken. “Miss Mattie, can you please come to my office immediately?” came the solemn voice of Sister Therese over the intercom. A soft sigh leaving her lips, she paused her lesson. “Class, read pages 67-80 until I return. Ricardo, write down the names of anyone who talks while I’m away.” A bright smile flashed across Ricardo’s face. He was in charge. “Yes Miss! A goin’ for mi book and pencil now! Anybody talk, a goin’ to write down dem name.” With a final stern expression, she left the classroom. Miss Mattie hurriedly made her way down the corridor and towards the principal’s office, curious as to why she was being summoned, so abruptly. Knocking on the large, wooden door, she turned the doorknob when she was told to enter. “Good afternoon, Penelope. I’m sorry to interrupt your class, but I just received an important message from the hospital. They are asking if you can come to the hospital. It seems to be very urgent. As a matter of fact, take the rest of the day off and go. I’ll have a substitute take over your lessons.” Miss Mattie was absolutely puzzled. Why was she needed at the hospital so urgently? Outside the office, she ran into Miss Jones, who was the school’s nurse. Coincidentally, Miss Jones was on her way to the hospital to collect some medicines for the Sick Bay. Miss Mattie was in luck! Learning that Miss Mattie was also on the way to the hospital, Miss Jones offered to give her a ride. Miss Mattie was most appreciative. She did not like traveling on the public transport. It was always noisy, hot, jam packed with people hanging halfway out the windows and loud

music blasting through the radio. She hated traveling on the ‘mini bus.’ It went much too fast, weaving and bobbing through the traffic on the narrow roads, and she always sighed with relief when she finally reached her destination. When Miss Mattie arrived at the hospital, she went straight to the children’s ward and identified herself. The nurse told her to have a seat. It was an anxious moment for her, since she was still wondering why she was needed at the hospital. After five minutes, the nurse approached her, informing her that the doctor was ready to see her. While she was still speaking with the nurse, she glimpsed from the corner of her eyes, a man dressed in a crisp, white coat and a stethoscope hanging around his neck approaching them. “Miss Mattie? My name is Doctor Amansada. If you’d just join me in my office, I’ll be able to explain further.” Extending his hand in a warm handshake, he offered a smile to match. Slipping her handbag over her shoulder, she took his hand, giving it a firm shake. “Yes, Doctor, that would be most helpful.” Matching his step, she followed him into the room. “Please, have a seat,” he gestured to one of the empty chairs. Sitting around his desk, the graying man sighed softly. “Now, Miss Mattie, this is a very...unconventional meeting,” he started off. “As you know, Xavier Malcom is in critical condition, and urgently needs blood.” Yes, Miss Mattie knew that. Sister Therese had made it quite clear over the intercom. She had already donated blood. What more could she possibly be required to do? Shifting in the chair, she clasped her hands in her lap, twiddling her fingers yet again. “Unfortunately, we found out after running various tests, that he has a very rare blood type. There was only one donor with that matching blood type. After checking our records, I was able to confirm that the donor, is you.” Miss Mattie leaned back in her chair, an expression of utter confusion on her face. What was the doctor trying to tell her? That she was the only one who could save Xavier? It really didn’t make 17

any sense. Her mind was reeling with questions. Penelope had to think rationally. Well, they already had her blood, so why not use it to save him? Why had she been summoned so urgently? “Miss Mattie, there is something else I need to tell you. The only way that you could both have this…rare blood type, is if you were related.” Miss Mattie sat back in her chair, absolutely frozen. Her eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Her face became deathly pale and beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead. Suddenly, she was fourteen years old again, lying helplessly in a hospital bed, screaming and begging her parents not to take him away. Her parents had been adamant, “No, you’re too young, you can’t keep him. It’s for your own good.” The doctor’s rough voice snapped her out of the flashback. “Miss Mattie? Do you know how you both could be related?” Penelope paused, opening her mouth, but quickly closed it again. “Yes, Doctor, I do,” she hoarsely whispered, looking down into her lap. “You see, when I was fourteen, I became pregnant. I was young, foolish and thought I was in love. My parents never allowed me to keep the child,” her voice got increasingly quieter, as tears began to well up in her eyes. Penelope had always regretted her parents’ decision. “He was given up for adoption. After I gave birth to him, I never saw him again,” she finished off, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. “If we’re related, he must be my son.” Just then, the doctor’s pager went off. He quickly got up, “Excuse me Miss Mattie, but it’s urgent, I have to go.” He ran out of the office without an explanation, leaving an emotionally ravaged Penelope on her own. Through the open door leading to the hallway, she could see doctors and nurses all running in the same direction. It

didn’t take her long to figure out that something was seriously wrong. Not knowing what else to do, Miss Mattie dashed out behind him. It seemed as if they had all gathered by the room that she had visited earlier. Then it hit her. It was Xavier’s room. She sprinted down the corridor and reached the room just in time to see one of the nurses covering him with a pristine white sheet. She was hoping, praying that this was somehow part of a silly, rehearsed prank. Pushing her way into the room, her eyes searched around the room frantically, finally connecting the long, drawn out beeping sound, with the flat line displayed on the heart monitor. Dropping to her knees, her eyes became a dam that finally burst open and an agonizing, high-pitched scream left her lips. Xavier was dead. She had just found out that the mischievous child, who had tugged on her heartstrings and driven her crazy all these years, was actually her son! Now she would never be able to mend the broken heart that she carried inside her since she was fourteen years old. The nurse looked around, just in time to see Miss Mattie collapse to the floor.

Broken Promises Laurie Disla

“Why are you doing this Aidan!” hitting his chest with my fist, “You promised! You prom-” I couldn’t finish my sentence after that because the sobs took over.

him a devilish smile. “Last one back has to wash tonight’s dishes!” I yelled and bolted to the house leaving him in the dust. Aidan quickly caught up to me and stuck his tongue out while blasting past me. I groaned and tried to catch up but he had already beaten me to the door. I raised my head high and just walked past him and his teasing grin into the kitchen where my mom was hunched over the island counter. “Mom? Mom are you okay? What’s wrong?” my face changed into a more serious one as concern overcame my voice. I could hear her sobbing now as I grew closer. The tears were unmistakably noticeable on her cheeks. “Riley, honey... it’s your dad.” She was almost incomprehensible when she spoke, but I understood when she held out a wrinkled letter in her hand. “What about daddy? He’s coming home early?” I asked with confusion. Deep down I knew those weren’t happy tears, but I tried to stay calm. I grabbed the letter hesitantly and started to read it. I stood frozen, the letter falling to the floor, everything began to move in slow motion.

-7 years ago“Riley! Riley where are you?” I couldn’t help but giggle at my best friend’s face as he tried to find my hiding spot, but, the joke is on him, he will never find it! “Riley, I’m serious it’s getting late and your mom called,” she wants you to go home!” he yelled. That’s weird, my mom never calls me home when I’m with Aidan. I started thinking of the reason she could have been calling and before I knew it my back was on the ground. I must have lost my balance on the branch while I was thinking. “Ri! Are you okay?” Aidan’s big green eyes stared into my dark ones, I started to laugh. “That was epic!” I exclaimed as he helped me up, suddenly I got dizzy and had to hold on to him otherwise I would’ve fallen over. That would’ve been embarrassing. Finally, regaining my balance, I looked into my best friend’s eyes one more time giving 20

mom’s eyes I could feel the tears rushing down my own face. I could feel the wind being knocked out of me. I rushed to my mom’s side and just hugged her. She tried to comfort me but knew that it would be no help. “Honey it will be okay. I’m here.” She held me tight, I could feel her motioning Aidan to come and try to cheer me up. I could feel her letting go of me and the familiar arms of my best friend holding me. “Aidan promise me please…” my voice corse as I croaked out the words. “Promise you what Riley?” He said into my hair. I pulled away and looked up at him. I could see the hurt and sorrow in his emerald eyes. Taking a deep breath in and out slowly, I relaxed into his hold on me. I felt at home looking at him. “Promise me you’ll never leave me. Aidan. Promise you’ll never let me go. Please,” I said still looking straight into his eyes. My voice felt small and vulnerable as I said those words to him. He took my face into his hand and in almost a whisper said, “I promise Riley, I promise I won’t ever leave you. It’s going to be you and me against the world, forever and always.” His voice was quiet but I felt the sincerity in every word he said. “Forever and always,” I said back to him and we just stayed there in each other’s arms. -Present time“Riley, can we talk outside for a second?” Aidan yelled against the music that was blasting behind us. I raised an eyebrow

and quickly responded, “Aidan! We’re at a party. Can’t this wait? Ryan Michaels just asked me to dance, as in the most popular guy in school!” “No, Riley it can’t. Come on, if he’s into you he’ll wait,” he said with such seriousness that it sort of scared me. I nodded and followed him outside. “So what’s up, that couldn’t wait?” I said as I tried to lighten the mood a bit, but I could feel the tension from miles away. We walked a bit more until we reached the garden of the hotel. He took my hand now and led me to the fountain and we sat at the edge of it. “Riley, I have something important to tell you. Promise you won’t freak out, please,” he said standing up, facing me. Now I had to tilt my head to see his face and just nodded for him to continue, making no promises. “Okay well, a couple of months ago I enlisted in the Marines” His mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear any words he was saying. All that kept repeating were the words “I enlisted.” My heart dropped to my stomach and my mouth went dry, I gripped the edge of the fountain seat, my knuckles turning white from the force I was using. “Riley?” I was snapped back into reality and looked at my best friend’s green eyes, my vision stated to turn blurry from the tears pooling in my eyes. Why was he doing this to me? Why was he leaving me? I got up from the fountain and stood in front of him. “Are you trying to hurt me?” I said with a hard voice. He opened his mouth but no words came out. “Well are you?” Still no response. 21

“Then why!” I yelled getting closer to him. “I promise I will try. Riley, I love you.” He said “Why are you doing this Aidan!” hitting his chest looking into my eyes holding my face in his with my fist, “You promised! You prom-” I hands. I looked at him and my heart filled with couldn’t finish my sentence after the sobs took happiness and anger. That “I love you” was over. Memories of when I was 10, receiving that clearly not directed to friendship. letter saying that my dad “Aidan don’t. Please had died in battle, came don’t say that. Not in that “you thought that flooding in. I could feel way. Not now please.” My Aidan’s arm wrap around voice cracked as I said enlisting in the me, holding me to his this. I felt him lean in and Marines was going chest, trying to calm me without a moment to to be a breeze for down. waste, his lips were on “Riley, I never mine. I could feel myself me to handle?” meant to hurt you. I never trying to fight it but I gave meant to make you cry.” up quickly and wrapped He said into my hair. I pushed away from him. my arms around his neck and kissed “Really Aidan! Really! You thought that him back. It felt like a lifetime, us, just there in enlisting in the Marines was going to be a breeze each other’s arms. We pulled away and looked for me to handle? Really you thought that I at each other. wouldn’t react like this when a person I love is “I love you” were going to be the last going to leave me! You thought that after all that words we would say that night. We drove to my happened with my dad I would just smile and let house, got a couple of blankets, and went to the go that easily? Well no Aidan, you’re wrong if garden to spend one last night under the stars you ever thought that because I will never talking about complete nonsense. I looked at my forgive you for doing this to me.” I said firmly, yet best friend now turned boyfriend’s face as I fell I could feel my voice cracking and the tears asleep. rushed down my red face. I woke up in my bed the next morning, “Riley, please understand my reasoning dreading the day already. I looked at my face in please. I admired your dad’s strength and the mirror still puffy from all the crying I did last bravery when he enlisted. I promise Riley, night. Today was the day. Aidan was going off to everything is going to be okay,” he said as he war and leaving me here. I tried to shake it off hugged me. I couldn’t find the strength to pull but I couldn’t. I got ready as quickly as I could so away or contradict his words. he wouldn’t have to leave without saying “You promised, you would never-” He cut goodbye. I headed downstairs where I saw my me off. mom all ready to go. She gave me a look of “I know, and it’s still you and me against sorrow and I knew that look all too well. I was the the world. I’m just going to be away for three same look she gave me when my dad left. years. It’s still you and me. Riley it will always “Let’s go.” I said, I could hear the be.” roughness of my voice. I could feel the tears “Promise me something please.” I said pooling but I held them back. We walked next pulling away just enough where I could still be in door to Aidan’s house. His mom answered the his arms but see his face. door and right away she pulled her into an “Promise me that you will be careful and embrace holding me tight to her. I could feel her keep yourself alive for my sake. Aidan please. I pain when I looked into her eyes. In the corner of can’t lose you, you can’t do that to me.” I my eye, I could see him all dressed in his whispered. uniform. I smiled and laughed a bit. 22

“I have always liked a man in uniform,” I said trying to make the situation a bit lighter. He laughed and opened his arms up to me. “I’m going to miss that. Your laugh.” I said into his chest. I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. “I’m gong to miss you so much Riley, you have no idea,” he said into my hair. I just held him tighter but pulled away knowing he had to leave soon. I wiped my eyes and breathed in and let out a breath to calm myself down. I clutched his uniform jacket in my fist. “Listen to me Aidan, you better take care of yourself because you really can’t leave me. You need to write me whenever you can and call when you can because even now I am worried. I know I am dramatic but Aidan I love you so much. You are my best friend. You can’t die on me. I swear I will bring you back to life and the kill you myself,” I said with a straight face. He smiled a crooked smile and just hugged me. “I will Riley. I promise you. I love you Riley Alessandra soon to be Santos,” he said and I laughed as he added his last name instead of

mine. “I love you more Aidan Santos.” With that we both leaned in and our lips touched. It felt as if we were in our own little world for a couple of seconds. He got into a car after that and we waved goodbye. -3 years laterI got home and checked the mail right away to see if Aidan had sent a letter. I haven’t received one in weeks now. I’m starting to get worried. Then I saw it, military stationary. I opened it right and away and tears came. “ We are sorry to inform you…”

Poems

Pinocchio Natalia Gutierrez

I have a beat, but I have no heart. I wasn’t a human, but in fact, a machine. I wanted to be like the other kids, who got to play in the sand. Like the ones that smiled and laughed with their friends. Have you ever known there was pain, but could never feel it? It was heartbreaking, at least it would be if I had a heart. Cold days went by, and not once did I shiver. Was I a monster? Did people fear me for what I was? Someone who they believed had no soul? Somedays, when I felt lonely, I would sing myself a song. One that would have the crickets singing along. Although I knew I was still empty inside, It made me feel full of happiness. What was a monster like me doing amongst these people? How come they feared something they couldn’t even understand? My father made me into this boy. So I was made with love. That is something no one has ever asked me. People would ask me if I could cry and laugh, And indeed I could. I would laugh at the dumb questions they asked, But I would also cry because they would never accept me for who I was.

When my father made me, he told me this: “No matter what other people will say, you are my son.” If I am his son, why must they resent me all the time? They took away my father for “creating a monster like me.” I wasn’t a monster, in fact, I was a real boy. A real boy, with a real father, and a real heart. I may not feel it now, but it’s somewhere in there. I can sing, I can dance, I can laugh, and I can cry. Was that not enough to prove my existence? With my cricket by my side, And the gears in my body turning, I told them who I was. The son of an inventor. 26

If by chance miracles happen, One was bestowed on me the day after reuniting with my father. My ears heard something, one thump, then another. I felt it in my hands. Was this the wish I have been asking for? A heartbeat. The heartbeat of a little boy. I was still no human, but indeed I was a real boy.

Dad Cami Saenz Father: a man in a relationship with his natural child or children. I grew up telling myself he couldn’t stay after seeing me take my first steps,

Because it would be too hard for him to stick to the expected plan. I grew up asking myself why my mother’s signature was on both of the lines on my school papers, She’d sign the father part too. I stopped asking myself why when I realized she was my father too. I tell myself it wasn’t my fault. I’d have answers if I hadn’t been an infant at the time. You stop trying to figure something when things stop adding up. You can’t have a relationship with someone who has no interest in having one with you.

You can’t have love for someone you don’t know. Maybe I cried too much. Maybe I behaved too little. Maybe the second child doesn’t need the second parent. I told myself that for a while. Till I saw the third and fourth child did. He came around after some time. Ask me if I cared. Ask me if he made up for those years in my life when “Dad” wasn’t in my vocabulary. Ask me if I believe in second chances. Ask me if I believe that people do change. Ask me if I needed my father. Answers no. Father? Yes. A man? A real man? Never. It’s hard to invite someone in when they aren’t supposed to need an invitation... 29

Welcome to Hell Kiana Hernandez I wake up and feel the cold, This routine is getting old. I hear the alarm go ring, ring, ring, And the pain has got me screaming. I have three tests today, It makes me want to run away. Maybe I’ll call in sick, But I’m not one to trick. This is too much stress, Now I’m just a mess. Now I got to rush, While my brain’s still mush. The teacher wants to kill me, And she plans to do it slowly. I have arrived at hell, Where the halls always smell. A place that is too cruel,

Is called school.

Procrastination Robert Fields Get started on homework? I’ll do it at home. But when I arrive I spend three hours on the phone. Homework? I’ll do it, right after this game, Till it’s 2 AM And I’m still doing the same… I’ll just wake up early and finish before class. But it’s already 5th period and not a sentence written to pass… Well, it’s 7th period and homework is due. Thinking, ‘Oh God! – I’m screwed!” I arrive in class and he says no worries, the homework’s due Monday, I don’t want it hurried. ‘Thank the lord’ I just wanted to shout. This has been a miracle without a doubt. The teacher then smirks and unforgivingly abrupt Says ‘LOL, jk, pass that work up!’

Something Scary Nichole Constanzo Well, this is an easy task… Something scary? I’m so glad you asked…

Come let me show you the demons of this world, just stare into the crystal ball. I’m sure it will make your toes curl… Puberty, Paying taxes, Raging mothers waiting to kick your asses, Teenage girls on their period, Teenage girls with broken hearts,

Her brother is furious, Dad jokes, Politics, Paying bills like old folks, Getting old, Wrinkles and aging, Starting to smell like mold.

Now these are a few items of the scariest things in life… Unless you are married, because the scariest thing is upsetting your wife…

The Chase Danielle Dormevil The moon shines bright in The midnight sky.

The wolves cry and so do I. I run, I run, Piercing through the forest in terror. This is no dream, I’m not being chased in error. It’s a question of life and death, But I’m running out of breath. It’s getting closer and closer, But I desire to live a little longer, a little older. At last a cliff I see. Either way I go, I’m dead you see? And so I go. What awaits me? I don’t know…

Ye Olde English Gangsta Terrell Gilpin Born I was in poverty’s claw. The things I’ve seen would send men agauw.

Tales say my father gather lip-claps. I never met him for his wings endlessly flaps.

The only way up was with thuggery. So I spent my youth with petty thievery. Now I’ve highwaymen from Moscow to York. They work as I dine on pork.

Storage for coin is how I got where I am. Some said I was selfish, but I don’t give a damn. The money I have is beyond the need of any man. I’ve more wealth then the grandest sultan.

Mine is the finest conclave of concubines. All of them were blessed by the diviner. Not the purest nor the fairest maidens can resist my wiles. They all falter and wish for my defiles.

All of this is true when you know a motto is a rule. Know it well lest you make yourself a fool: First come the riches, Then comes the witches…

They Call It Beauty Takamia Bethel They call it frizzy, As if each curl on my head is going to make me dizzy.

They call it nappy, As if the vicious intention word is going to make me snappy. They say I like it better when it's straight, Even though they donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know the trouble that awaits. I part my hair in four sections, Hoping that it will go in the right direction. As each curl is being undressed and taken, I look at the clock hoping it won't take four hours to straighten. Now that every curl is down And removed of it's crown, I look in the mirror and say: "Now that you've been tamed, you no longer have to be ashamed" As I open the door, I check if each curl has been straightened to the core. But the weather has other ideas, And winds my hair as if it were one thousand twirling ballerinas. As the lion comes out, I let out a shout and say: "Why can't you be pretty, it's such a pity. " As I sit down, with my frown, I wonder if there is ever a way for this beast to be put down. I hear a sound, That makes me turn around. It is a handsome young man,

Who takes my hand and says: 36

"Your hair makes you unique, More of a reason why you shouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t care what others think. Every curl, every kink, Makes me not want to blink. It brings out your smile, That can't be missed from a mile. It brings out your personality and Produces a sound of originality, As if it were to make it sing And that is why I think you deserve this ring."

Winter Dianna Armas

Bitter, Snowing, Blowing, Pale, cold, dark skies resting. Restful in the soft silent space.

Peaceful.

“Entertainment Today” Kamille Bascus From Kim to Kourtney, all of these stars just bore me. When did the news become a snooze? North West is crying, while other people are dying. Beyoncé cut her hair, while other people can’t breathe air. And we find this amusing while ISIS is abusing? We care more about TV, while other people get HIV? We care more about amusement park rides, while other people commit suicide? We care more about Snapchat, while people are getting slashed at? We care more about Christian Grey, while people in Syria are getting bombed away? We care more about Miley Cyrus, while Ebola is still a virus? We care more about Kingsman, while other people are getting killed because of religion? We care more about The Walking Dead, while some people don’t even sleep in a bed? We care more about Empire, while some people are being set on fire? We care more about Frozen, while people die in an explosion? We care more about Parks and Rec ending more than we do government spending? We care more about someone’s personality than we do police brutality? We care more about a radio station than we do poverty across the nation? We care more about Magic’s ‘Rude’ than people having no food?

We care more about vacationing in Aruba than we do communist Cuba? We care more about Seattle than we do our troops in battle? We care more about becoming a dancer than we do the cure for cancer? So the next time you go online, ask yourself if this is really worth my time?

Surviving Society Cherise Clough Surviving society. That’s a war that is barely conquered. A monster that is rarely defeated.

A broken system that has yet to be abolished. A prison that you can hardly break free from. Manacled chains restricting your movements, Solid steel bars that keep you trapped, Grey, brick walls blocking the sun’s radiance. The encompassing darkness delving into you Taking complete control, When all signs of light have vanished. Going day to day, Repeating the same thing, Over and over and over . Being forced to comply with a false living. Having to succumb to the dull repetitive days Confined in a cell. Where garbage labelled as food is flung towards you. Where you are mistreated and abused, Week by week, Month by month, Year after year and absolutely nothing changes. Act different in any way, Be prepared to be disliked for who you are. As the wannabe thug, The so called ‘Bad Boy Gangs’

Flank you and beat you. 40

One punch for you,

Another boost in their gigantic egos. All in order to establish their dominance And hide their fears. Trapped in a cell, Your character is forgotten, And you’re judged for your reputation that others bestow. The guard either spits in your face Or kiss your shoes.

Reputation, that’s what matters. That’s all that will matter. The hideous, blinding uniforms Serves as a reminder that the true you Should no longer exist, As it strangles your individual personality And forces you to conform to the prison’s code of appearance. So, to look unified on their behalf Act behaved and play the part. Eventually you suffer a loss of identity, A loss of individuality, Loss of your own unique personality. A loss of who you are, and what you want to be. All of that, is taken from you. And once lost, it’s hard to regain. I have lost everything, I no longer live, I barely even exist. The few raspy breaths I take, are all that I have. They’ve shattered my full glass of happiness, Stolen my sun, my moon and my stars And left me clueless, wandering in the darkness. But I am done being their obedient minion.

Done with being another casual prisoner put on display 41

To allude the public and falsely ensure their supposed safety.

I will rise like a phoenix from the ashes. I will break free from my manacled chains. Escape from the steel bars and the prison life. Fight for my freedom, Fight for myself, Fight for the ‘me’ that was locked up. Fight for my life. Fight for the life I want to live.

I will defeat this monster. I will conquer this war. I will break free from the prison they call society. And I won’t stop. I refuse to give in. Even when my tears become blood, Even when my entire body has been brutalized, Even when my mental health has been scarred with painful images, I will not stop Until I have given my very last breath. Because in that moment, I would have known, That I have Survived.

Surviving Cancer Attilio Bodden Is it burrowed deep inside me? Has it found its pathway in?

Will it take away my passions? If I’m pure or if I sin? Will it call itself a dream, And ever fade itself away? Will it ever set a white flag, Let me see my borrowed days? Will it keep its rigid game.

And keep me wake, writhe in pain, Or will it change it’s stubborn ways, And then allow a safe exchange? Can I ever take a breath, Without feeling Death’s great chuckle? Can I scream through this respirator, Or will I always be muffled? I made a deal with the Devil, His new nickname is now Doc. I gave him the wheel and the pedal I hope he’ll drive it to a stop. He sets me up on his cold vessel And from there I disembark. Three paces from River Styx,

And right there it left it’s mark 44

Doc fixed me all right, Oh yes, oh he did. With no money and a college tuition to pay right for my kids Forget the self esteem, That evaporated too, Because Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m just as dead as it, and you will be too.

A Friend Asad Chaudhry Accepts you as you are Believes in you Contacts you when you are sad Doesn’t talk bad about you

Entertains you Forgives you Gives support when needed Helps you Invites you to hang out Just respects you Keeps you close Listens to you Makes everything better Never judges Offers support Patient Quick-witted Rejoicing to be with Says nice things about you Truthful Understands you Values you Won’t disappoint you eXplains things to you Yells at you when you don’t listen Zealous

Iron Ethan Soledad O, wicked, vile iron, Spiller of blood, Curse of the oppressed, Bringer of tyranny

O, cursed, malicious iron, From the earth we were born, Rusty ore reeked of impurity, Absolved by the scalding furnace, Tempered by the blood of man. Swords, arrows, knives, guns, crafted for war. Works of destruction, Creations of villainy, Bleeding, shooting, stabbing, burning, Haughtiness so overbearing. O, evil, terrible iron, Progenitor of violence, Devourer of flesh, Murderer of innocence, Who set you to evil doings? You and I came from the same seed. You and I must share this planet. Should this scorched Earth recover?

Earth enough for all, forever. 48

Articles, Essays & Other Genres

Bakers n’ the Hood Joshua Sanchez Crenshaw, the inner city of South Central Los Angeles, one of the most violent neighborhoods that anyone could ever step foot in. Disrespect between gangs is not tolerated and will often ignite gang wars, which are dangerous not only towards the gang members themselves, but also to the innocent neighbors who often become involved as well.

lived on his porch with the other Baker Boys and consumed as many bakery sweets as possible to achieve a natural sugar high. All Pillsbury can think of now is cupcakes, doughnuts, and other bakery sweets.

Treat’s best friend is Reese Baker, who happens to be the half-brother of Pillsbury Box. Although they may be half-brothers, Reese At the age of 10, actually wants to amount Treat Styles moved to “Treat will do to something and have a Crenshaw to live with his career playing for the anything to get his father, Fudge Styles. National Football Although Treat was new to ’fix’ of delicious League in the future. Crenshaw, he had already Currently, Reese is an bakery sweets” had two friends who lived exceptional student and there—the half-brothers plays for his high school Pillsbury Box and Reese football team. Well, at Baker. Fudge attempts to raise his son to be least that’s what he says. Reese, however, the best man he could be. Fudge teaches stands by the bench as the game goes on and Treat the importance of self-respect and self- begins his unusual cheerleading routines. He worth. Several years later, Treat becomes a seems to enjoy cheerleading more than he scholar. He has a dream of going to college does playing. However, as tough a guy as he and being able to provide for himself in the is, Reese refuses to admit that he enjoys future. Treat has grown into a well-behaved, cheerleading. Will Reese ever find his true fine, young man. Although he tries to abide by calling? father’s teachings, Treat will do anything he One night, Treat, Reese, Pillsbury Box, can to get his “fix” of delicious bakery sweets, even if it means hanging out with the wrong and a couple of the Baker Boys decide to hang out on the strip. The strip is a place people. where many teens would go to hang out at After making a successful escape in night. The night was enjoyable as the boys the robbery of bakery goods, Treat’s friend, hung out in Pillsbury’s 1963 Chevy Biscotti Pillsbury Box, takes a chance in turning low-rider with suspensions. However, the himself in to a claim a $500 reward. feeling of danger was in the air as the Obviously, Pillsbury doesn’t get the reward Crenshaw Mafia Barbeque Boys approached money on himself and is jailed for seven Pillsbury. Just as the Barbeque Boys made it years. During his seven years in jail and under to the car, they deliberately decided to poke the influence of sweet smuggled contraband fun towards Pillsbury and the Baker Boys. given to him by his fellow inmates, Pillsbury Bombarded with hurtful jokes, Pillsbury and becomes addicted to delicious bakery sweets. the Baker Boys were backed into a corner. Upon his return to society, Pillsbury joins the Then, the most awful thing happened. One of gang by the name of the Rollin’ 60 the Barbeque Boys stated, “Real food is Neighborhood Bakers to bake as many cooked on the grill, not in the oven.” And just sweets as possible for his satisfaction. I guess like that, Pillsbury hopped out the of the car you can say that Pillsbury is lazy and jail time with the most infuriated face imaginable, and did not help to improve his behavior. Pillsbury calmly, but threateningly asked, “We got a 52

problem here, huh?” Pillsbury then lifts up his jacket and shows off his baking utensils tucked below his pants. From stainless steel measuring cups to the deadly icing spatula, the Barbeque Boys decided to make a run for it without looking back. The next day, during a nice afternoon, Treat and Reese decide to head to the gas Station where they would begin their usual daily lottery scratch off ritual. Upon their return from the store and Treat and Reese begin to take notice a small red Zastava Cobbler, the ugliest car anyone could ever set their eyes on. That car, that belonged to the Barbeque Boys, seemed to head straight to Pillsbury’s house . With no time to act, the boys sprinted straight towards home. With wild thoughts racing through their minds, their worst fear was the destruction of anything related to their baking goods. In no time, the pair arrived at the house with little hesitation, Treat twisted the doorknob. The boys carefully rushed into the house. What immediately caught their eyes was a smashed and severely destroyed oven. A few moments later, Pillsbury returns from playing a game of poke’r with the Baker Boys. Outraged, Pillsbury decided to take drastic measures to handle this problem once and for all. Early the next morning, Pillsbury Box and Baker Boys rushed to the Barbecue Boys’ hideout. Pillsbury then emerged from his vehicle and talks to the Barbeque Boys’ leader, Pork Chop. Pillsbury demands a community cook off between the Baker Boys and the Barbeque Boys. The request made the Barbeque Boys laugh hysterically. Then, the look of determination in Pillsbury’s eyes caught Pork Chop’s attention and the challenge was set. On a hot summer Saturday afternoon, the community cook off took place. The Baker Boys and the Barbeque Boys ready-up and begin their coking. The atmosphere was cold and the air was thick. Two hours

later, both the Baker Boys and the Barbeque Boys had five different recipes to provide to the judges. The grading began. With a maximum of fifty points that each team could receive, The Barbeque Boys’ final score was 40 points. With such a high sore, the Baker Boys were engulfed with worry. Reese then decided to begin his unusual cheerleading routine in an attempt to comfort the Baker Boys. Reese, however, is seen as a laughing stock and only brings the Baker Boys to shame. With four foods down, the Baker Boys already had a total of 40 points. The Baker Boys have a chance of winning the community cook off! The last recipe that the judges had to taste was Pillsbury special Doughboy Rolls. The Barbeque Boys began to lose hope. Without a doubt, the Baker Boys gained another perfect ten points and won the community cook off. The Barbeque Boys walked away, knowing they have been defeated. As the Barbeque Boys walked away, Pork Chop returns to steal on of Pillsbury’s special Doughboy Rolls. Pillsbury notices and lets it slide since he knows that the argument has finally been settled The Baker Boys rule! On the way back home, Reese fetches the mail. Within the stack of mail is a letter from the College Board. Reese’s mother excitedly states that Reese has achieved a score of 1875 on his SAT. With this acceptable SAT score and a scholarship, Reese is defiantly heading to college and is planning to attend the same school as Treat. However, and to everyone’s amazement, the scholarship was for cheerleading! Pillsbury smirks and reassures Reese, “Don’t worry, real thugs follow their dreams.”

Experiencing Ire Sydney Robinson

At first glance, the sleepy fisherman’s village of Treasure Beach looks like a sterile, dusty town along Jamaica’s arid southern coast. However, this hamlet proves to be the agricultural center of the island – vivacious, both in terms of its inhabitants and the land itself. The region is famous for its red dirt and red people, a result of an Irish shipwreck, legend says. The town is populated by simple folk, quiet farmers and fishermen whose families have lived in Treasure Beach since the emancipation of the slaves. It is here that my fondest moments of childhood have been spent.

accompanied by my uncle, arrive about two weeks before my parents and other relatives join the vacation bandwagon.

Every other summer, a hoard of American girls ventures down into the Jamaican countryside to visit their grandmother, and perhaps on an even deeper note, to connect with their heritage. That flock consists of my two younger sisters, my two older cousins, and myself. Submerged in the American culture the rest of the year, every visit allows us the chance to see outside the fishbowl of our world. The five of us,

The two-and-a-half-hour drive through the mountains to my grandmother’s house is one of the most nauseating yet scenic routes I have ever mustered my stomach to travel. Roads wind through endless bends in the mountains, cars so close it’s a miracle they pass each other without one being sent tumbling down a leafy trench. Greenery and flowers burst from the mountainside, fuchsias and yellows making a stark contrast to the emerald and jade canvas of the forest. Sylvan, a local tour guide and close family friend, skillfully maneuvers the van through the treacherous territory. The rickety van endures, in the chugging style of a little train, through the canopies of the island’s interior, stopping for the occasional goat or stray dog to cross the road and bolt into the underbrush.

Upon arrival, warm, sticky air greets us. Air conditioning is a rare luxury in Jamaica, used by a few property owners (my grandmother, one of them) and high-end resorts. Outside the airport, an urban orchestra awaits: a medley of car horns, rapid-fire patois, and rumbling reggae music. Arrival has always been one of my favorite parts of the journey – the immersion of the senses and the anticipation of something great.

At the last bend, where green vegetation and brown soil juxtapose with bright red earth, 54

everyone looks out the windows and down the waves, and battling the currents and each other hillside from our perch. Etched into the land are in splashing wars. The swim itself isn’t the ritual; innumerable houses, from the tradition is shanties to beautifully spending time designed white houses with together in a place we “I feel an overflow of shingled roofs and selfall love. proclaimed bravado. Here emotions every time I On the ride live people with stories and back, pedestrians and visit Treasure Beach, laughs to share. store owners are

and I wanted to Once in the returning to their countryside, television is no homes after another convey those longer the primary form of quiet day. In the truck, emotions for me and entertainment; family and the we entertain ourselves outdoors beckon. The first by playing “Sweet and my loved ones to be task of every day is to walk Sour.” The rules are able to look back on.” onto the veranda and eat an simple – we smile at orange, mango, pineapple, passersby, and their or all three, while listening to reactions warrant them a local radio station play a mixture of Motown the title of sweet or sour. A large majority are oldies and quiet reggae. The wind blows gently, deemed sweet. the sounds of bleating goats and rustling leaves The grit and unshakable happiness of the lilting through the air. My uncle skims the people of Treasure Beach amaze me. Those in newspaper while my grandmother peels endless the ramshackle houses help those in the homegrown fruits, passing them to us. cobbled ones, and those in the cobbled houses After breakfast, the American gang, joined by some of our Jamaican friends, jog to the pastures – that resemble the savannas of Africa – to feed the goats and rams the rinds from our meal. The landscape is dotted with grazing animals, scrubs, and the occasional zinc shed. Perhaps my most sensory experience of all is running through the expanse of family land, rolling yellow plains dotted with statuesque lignum vitae trees, calloused feet pounding red earth. We spend our days with only goats and each other for company, constructing tree houses and feeding the animals. The feeling of dirt and grass give you a sense of revitalization. We stay in the fields until an adult calls us, or it’s time for the “evening dip.” “Evening dips” are a nightly affair in which cousins and friends pile into the back of the pickup truck and careen down the hill to one of many beaches, singing songs, and enjoying the simplicity of life. Our favorite is the wildly unpredictable Frenchman’s Beach, with its notorious riptides and monstrous waves, capable of overturning fishing boats. By age six, we all learned to master these perilous waters. We spend these evenings body surfing, dodging

look after the ones who can’t afford a home at all. Even those who are poor surprise you with some measure of wealth, whether a beloved family recipe or the best fishing boat. The dispositions of the residents are positive; everyone has something of value, material or intangible. It amazes me that if my cousins, sisters, and I walk to the store, people will call out and wave to Miss Blair’s granddaughters. It is the sense of belonging I love, the sense of family and a life without limits. When I’m there, everything feels all right; Irie, a Jamaican word meaning just that, describes it perfectly. I am at peace with myself and the world while I’m hidden away in my safe haven, the peaceful and lovely little town of Treasure Beach.

MAG

This piece has been published in the Teen Ink’s monthly magazine print.

If I Could Turn Back Time Nathalie Mitchell There have been many mistakes in my life, including my conception – so picking one mistake to go back in time to fix is extremely difficult. However, for humor’s sake, let’s say I would interrupt my, umm, conception. What might be the end result be, you ask? Well, my parents wouldn’t be poor, like they were after my birth and my sister would be an only child instead—we can assume that she would be spoiled. My cousins wouldn’t have gotten in trouble for shaving my hair that one time when we were young. My parents would most likely have their favorite parrot, because I wouldn’t have left the cage door open. The Three Musketeers of Creative Writing would only be the Dynamic Duo of Creative Writing, there would have been 11 students in AP Euro instead of 12, and my shower wouldn’t be stained pink from my hair dye. I would love to say that my loved ones would miss me, but in reality, how can you miss someone who was never born? How depressing…I didn’t actually mean to make this sound depressing. I just really can’t think of anything so extreme. Everything happens for a reason and I’d like to think that every mistake has made me who I am – and that’s a pretty good thing.

Letter to The Governor of Maine Natalie Mion This letter is a student’s response to Governor Paul LePage’s comments on January 18th, 2016 regarding the rising drug issues he faced in his home state of Maine. 12th January 2016 Dear Governor LePage, I would just like you to know something you must’ve realized at this point: that you have dug yourself a pretty deep one. This does not necessarily mean that you care, or that you even want to think about what happened. However, let’s say, for a moment, that you did. There are a few reasons why what you said was seen as an offense. One would be that race is a touchy subject at this time in America’s life and can leave any race feeling they have turned from somewhat peaceful coexistence, to constantly being on defense. Being a Caucasian man, it is seen by many, not just African-Americans, that white people have no right to speak towards, and/or about, them in the way in which they are known to do; the second reason. Finally, the third reason would be that, as the Governor, your elocution is expected to be more sophisticated due to the fact that so many people within the state of Maine look towards you for knowledge, experience, and leadership. It is your responsibility to address the citizens as a whole and to deal with the good, the bad, and the ugly. Pointing fingers is not going to get you anywhere. Not being able to get your point across to your state, and to the whole country, in a professional way, and saying something that is as offensive to black people as it is to white, was not cogent and did not add anything to your character, but rather belittled it. In other words, you not only acted as a racist, which by definition is someone who believes and practices racism - the idea that one race is superior over another - but you also disgraced all whites by making them look like fools who don’t know how to keep their mouths shut, especially with a historic wound such as this. As stated earlier, with a role in our nation such as yours, it might be wise to bridle your tongue every now and again. And that is coming from a pubescent teen. Sincerely, Natalie M.

Weeds Arianne Macavinta Many years ago, there was a witch who lived in the woods near a village. The people were not fond of her because she always laid a curse upon the town. Each day they hoped she would grow tiresome and leave, but that day never came. A little girl noticed that the witch never smiled and decided she wanted to change that. One day, as the witch stepped into the market, the little girl decorated her home with bright, pink tulips. When she finished, she ran home with a huge smile on her face, “I can’t wait till she sees it,” the little girl thought. A few hours later, a bloodcurdling cry erupted from the woods. Everyone stopped and turned towards the noise and saw the witch burning with rage. “WHO DESTROYED MY HOME? THEY WILL PAY FOR WHAT THEY HAVE DONE!” she roared. She looked around waiting for someone to confess. The little girl, shaking with fear, stepped forward, “I only wanted to please you. You always look unhappy,” She reasoned.

“DO I LOOK HAPPY NOW? You will be punished for your crime!” The witch raised her hand to cast a spell that would cause the little girl to vanish. Before the spell could commence, a knight stepped in and used his shield to reflect the spell. He drew his sword and challenged the witch. Soon they were thrown into a great battle. When the witch got close enough the knight stabbed her in the chest. “Now we will be free of you!” the knight exclaimed. “You will never get rid of me. I will haunt everyone for the rest of eternity!” And with that the witch turned into dust. When morning arrived, people found small plants overflowing their gardens and crops. These plants irritated the townspeople because once they plucked one from the ground, more seemed to take its place. They soon realized that this was the witch’s final curse. The villagers decided to name the plants after her. Today, when people pick the plants from the ground, they remember the story of the witch, Weeds.

The Lion and the Frog Weedguet Mildort A Lion from Egypt, the king of all animals, had heard that there was a Frog in a nearby pond who said he did not fear him. The Lion, furious, thought that he needed to teach that Frog a lesson. He therefore sought after the Frog. Once he found the Frog, he laughed at his size. He expected an animal as big as an elephant, but alas he was disappointed. He provoked the Frog and challenged him to a duel. The fight about the Lion and the Frog spread like wildfire. Every animal in Egypt gathered to watch the fight. The Lion, overconfident, mostly because he was a thousand times bigger than the Frog, told the Frog that he could have the first punch. The Frog ran towards the Lion and jumped landing a clean hit on the massive beast’s chest. Then, the crowd went silent until it was broken by the Lion’s laughter. The punch thrown by his adversary was a mere tickle to him. The Lion then attempted to kill the poor little Frog. As soon as the Lion was about to hit the Frog he became paralyzed and started to suffer in agony. The Frog quietly explained to the Lion that he was venomous, which explained why the Lion was paralyzed and dying. The Lion had lost the fight. Moral : “First impressions are deceptive.”

If Only Cassandra Garzia I sat with him, him and me, and we watched the world crumble. Earth no longer existed in the universe. We had destroyed it. It happened and we had to watch. My head lay on his chest, once gold hair tangled with straw, tinted with blood of others, tinted with my own. I could smell salt, perhaps the ocean, but it could not be, the ocean was dried into a desert; the salt was from sweat, his and mine, that glued our shirts to our weathered skin. Both of us should have been smothered in bandages and treated with medicine, but it mattered not.

other, the sky rested on my shoulders as I struggled to rise. I screamed away my pain as my knees shook and my feet bled; I arose from my deathbed swearing to never lie back down. I awoke my companion and stretched my wings. I spread them as far as they could go, the tips grazing one end of the world and the other. My feathers were no longer the purest white but as grey as ash. I stood not sure what I was waiting for. He stood next to me and I next to him. I floated to the cliffâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s edge that I had been staring over for eternity. I fell. I heard him yell for me but I kept falling. Faster and faster, the wind tearing and ripping me apart, yet I could not feel anything. The ground grew nearer it widened and stretched, and I still fell. I braced for impact not caring I was to die, for it mattered not. I closed my eyes and dreamed; nothing mattered.

The air was poison, the water toxic, but it mattered not. It mattered not that the ground was cracked and littered with the bones and ash of the fallen. It mattered not that the clouds were black and the sun no longer shone. It mattered not that the moon had been put to sleep and stars painted over. It mattered that we were together, him and me, sharing a single moment, the last beings ever. That mattered. We had no name, no home, no soul, no light, no food, no water, no sun, nor rainâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;it mattered not. We sat for hours, days, weeks, months, years; we should be dead, yet we were not. It occurred to me that maybe we were dead, maybe we would sit here until the end of time. But no, we were not that fortunate, the pain was real, endless and searing. So I finally woke up from my endless daze and stood. The agony was unlike any

As I fell I heard a familiar voice and then I realized what DID matter. It reminded me of him and so I cracked open my eyes and flew. I stretched my wings and pushed with all my might. I fought the gravity that chained souls to 60

the ground. I fought gravity and defeated it. I felt for the first time, freedom. The grime released its grip on my feathers and they were once again the purest white, bringing light to the world once again. I soared through the air, wings ripping through the poisoned clouds bringing light to the dark once again. He joined me as we flew, his dark wings and my light healing the dead world that lay miles below. He was night and I was day.

most beautiful creatures that swam through the oceans, bounded through the trees, and whipped through the clouds. We grew tired as time did not pass. As both our energies dwindled, I struggled to keep pace. He urged me to slumber, and I did. I dreamed of the lovely world we had created, of the finished masterpiece he and I had conjured. I knew not how long I had rested but it seemed long enough. My eyelids flickered. They started to rise but then I heard a voice, gentle and familiar, it told me to stop, to sleep a little longer, or else. I was willful, I pulled my eyes open fully only to see darkness.

We watered the ground with our blood and tears. Life was once again. Flowers and trees erupted like lava on every inch of land. Brown turned to the loveliest shades of green. The world became our canvas. I filled the oceans and lakes with his love and he with mine. I painted the clouds white again and he made the stars reemerge. I shined the sun and he awoke the moon. He was night and I was day.

I thought, for a moment, that I was still asleep but then little lights amongst the black appeared, stars. So beautiful, so serene, I almost forgot to breath. Then I remembered the voice and knew it belonged to him. So I got up from a bed of moss and searched for it. I searched for hours but the longer I looked the lighter it became. The darkness hid and my sun arose. I pushed on, looking across the globe for him. I became desperate tearing through the clouds. I would be lost, alone, and frightened without him. He was my night and I was his day.

Time was nonexistent as we harmoniously flew over the world making Earth a living being again. We crafted the

The Princess Disease Jesse Siu

It’s been twelve years since I was diagnosed with a terrible disease. Some symptoms include accepting fruit from old ladies, leaving articles of clothing at other people’s houses, obsessively stalking handsome strangers, developing Stockholm syndrome, and randomly

repeat, so much so that my mother had to replace the VCR copy six times because it kept burning out. My infatuation with Cinderella and other Disney princess determined my fashion tastes, song choices, doll collection, and soon, my selfesteem. When I turned nine, I began to gain a lot of weight. All of a sudden, the “I was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed princess lifestyle beauty, with a tiny waistline that made me more had never seen a Big Mac!” frustrated and self - conscious about my own body. I breaking out into song. I had the Princess refused to wear skirts and dresses, Disease, and from the moment my five- fearing that my increasingly flabby legs year-old self laid eyes on Cinderella, this would scare away the boys. I parted my royal affection only grew stronger. In my hair in the middle so that no one could dreams, I was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed see my chubby cheeks. In the summer, I beauty, with a tiny waistline that had opted for oversized t-shirts over the never seen a Big Mac and a neck that swimming suits to hide the belly of fat that Slender man would be proud to call his grew rapidly around my third grade hips. own. For Halloween, I wore a The love-hate relationship I had with manufacturer’s poor attempt at recreating Disney princesses was a double-edged Cindy’s glittery- and extremely itchy- blue sword that not even Mulan could wield. dress, which of course, flattered my When middle school began, I felt kindergarten curves and elongated my as though I had reached Wonderland on stubby legs. And at home, the story of a steroids. Girls were sporting Aeropostale poor, young woman’s transformation into polos and hoodies, boys wore their pants a total prince hottie magnet would play on stalking methods. With Cinderella’s glow62

up skills, Snow White’s overbearing housewife personality, and Jazmine’s play hard to get tactics, I knew I had the perfect formula to capturing my prince’s heart. Alas, Operation My Prince Will Come ultimately failed hard. Not only did I manage to push away the love of my life, I also became public enemy number one to the entire male population at school. I had to learn the hard way that falling in love was not instantaneous- and definitely not a mutual feeling. In high school, I began to accept my round stature, acne prone skin, and eternal cat-lady status. But something from my childhood continued to plague my perception of beauty and body image; how did Disney princesses affect my life? At a young age, I was blind to my own cultural heritage and secretly desired Caucasian features over my Asian ones and I felt fat-shamed by the overwhelming representation of flawless, slim figures of Disney royalty. Unfortunately, many girls who grew up with these gorgeous “role models” suffer from the same self-esteem issues that have followed me throughout life like a dark fog. We were taught that if a character was skinny and beautiful, she is obviously the protagonist, and if a character is embarrassingly obese and ugly, she must definitely be a villain. The inherent physiognomy that divides the evil and the innocent ultimately damages how young men and women perceive their body types. Disney has designed its villains to appear gross and frightening: the exaggerated features of their hair, age, and body types continue to reinforce the age-old stereotype that ugly and overweight is bad, but beautiful and thin is good. Despite its practice of outdated beauty standards, Disney has created a handful of progressive characters who have earned their royalty and respect of 63

viewers worldwide. Fa Mulan, a young women living in Han China, takes the place of her father when he is drafted for the military service. She brings honor to us all and defeats traditional gender roles as she speaks her mind with confidence, trains and fights alongside men, and singlehandedly saves China from the Huns. Mulan was the first Disney princess to make a significant, positive influence on how I viewed my role in society as a woman and as a person of color. Another example of princesses breaking social barriers are Anna and Elsa of Frozen. Their battle to rescue Arendelle from freezing over isn’t crystallized by a romantic interest (Spoiler alert: potential romantic interest is actually evil and really wants Arendelle to freeze over). Instead, the sisters set aside their growing differences and work together to overcome internal and external conflicts. Elsa, burdened by her supernatural ability to turn anything into ice, slowly learns to control her ability by first, letting it go, as she repeats twelve times within a span of three minutes. Disney proves that it can change for the better, through its evolving storytelling and character development. As idealistic as Disney princesses have portrayed beauty, modern pop icons can do just us much damage. Kylie Jenner, the youngest member of the Keeping up with the Kardashians clan, is one of the most influential teenagers in America. Her flawless complexion, beautiful hourglass figure, and impressive makeup expertise has captured the world’s attention, especially that of young women. In short, Kylie is modern royalty, and her seemingly perfect life motivates us to be like her, through unconventional lip plumper techniques and rigorous contouring routines. When I was first introduced to the second generation Kim

K, I almost succumbed to the frenzied obsession of a fellow seventeen year old. But before I could stick my lips in a shot glass and suck the life out of them, I began to draw parallels between Disney princesses and Kylie. While beautiful on the outside, both subjects represent an unattainable and skewed perception of beauty. It was then that I set down my shot glass and realized that I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t need an attractive face or body. When I began to love and accept who I was, I was truly able to live happily ever after.

Final update on Planet 0315-AO Humans suck – Hummus is great!!

Mia Miranda Byline: Aim Adnarim on spinache 19Naillig, Pinodelhannah Aim Adnarim here, reporting from Planet 0315-AO, or as the inhabitants of it refer to it as “Earth.” My crew, Eilatan, Enaira, Yelah, Annairb, Airam and I, have been out here for a week now, and let me tell you, it’s wilder than pre-revolution Vegetal Valle out here. These ‘humans,’ as they call themselves, seem to have no sense of morals at all. They slaughter sentient beings, cut down their trees, rape their sisters, and destroy their so-called “precious” Earth. Searching far and wide for some sort of valuable achievement, time and again we come across nada. Mediocre development, destruction, selfishness, and finally, finally, something worthwhile. What is it, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you what. Hummus. My grupo and I have come across what we believe is Earth’s greatest accomplishment. It is what they so improperly call a “dip” or a “spread.” It is what they have mastered and what they have not given enough value to. Besides this delicacy, we are faced with creation from destruction and a polluted paradise of blissful ignorance. We shall leave as soon as the Via Lactea River starts back up, because it seems as if these Earthlings have nothing better to do than to destroy themselves and the planet on which they live. This trip has not been entirely without success, though – there’s no need to fret. It is with great pleasure that I announce our greatest accomplishment since landing on Planet 0315-AO: we have taken away all of the hummus. They don’t deserve it anyway.

Wish You Weren't So Weird ("Wish you were here" Parody)

Matthew Rodriguez

So, so you think you can tell? Mint from caramel, Ice cream from Yoplait. Can you tell a warm meal, From a bowl of oatmeal? A taco from a seal? Do you think you can tell? And did they get you to trade, Your red meat for oats? Hamburgers for leaves? Juicy steak for cooled greens? Warm sausage for change? And did you exchange, A trip to the candy store For a bucket of yogurt and shame? How I wish, that you weren't so weird. You gave up Two whole bowls of vanilla a la mode, And you're jumping with cheer. Trying to lose that last Troy pound Wishing you weren't so round The same old fears Wish you weren't so weird

Distinctive Anjali Ramjit

On a cold winter day, one could see the kids shivering. Shivering not because of the bitter cold that filled the air but because that day marked September 1, 2016. On that day, children who had timed out of middle school would see their first day of Silver Falls High School. Upon arriving, new students would take a test to help identify which group they would be placed into. There were five distinct groups students could find themselves in: “The Hippies,” “The Nerds,” “The Stoners,” “The Athletes,” and most importantly, “The Populars.” Test results were based on students’ personalities and how they react to different obstacles. If a student failed by not participating or not passing an obstacle, they would be in a group called “The Loners” and would be excluded from all the fun at Silver Falls. Freshmen were not the only ones who prepared for the day’s event. Everyone, including teachers, came out to see how new students would perform. When the bell would finally ring, students would all rush toward the gymnasium. The gym would be packed with children squished closely on the bleachers, like atoms in a solid, to watch the upcoming freshman. In the first test, students were expected to go through an obstacle course in order to judge if they’re eligible to be an athlete. The second test constituted an I.Q. test to see if their scores qualified for “The Nerds” group.

The third test checked to see if students would pick a day in the park to relax versus smoking in order to see if they belonged to “The Hippies” or “The Stoners.” Lastly and most importantly, the popularity group tested a student’s ability to dress and mingle with others. After completing the test, students would get their results and meet up with their group at the annual party. Jessie, the most popular freshman at Silver Falls, took the test, and later, at the party, learned that she qualified for two groups based on her results. Students belonging to two groups were rare; they were known as “The Distinctives.” Nobody knew what that meant, but Jessie knew that she had to protect herself. Her results showed that she was part of “The Athletes” and “The Populars” Jessie was so confused as to how that was possible because she absolutely hated to get dirty and sweaty. At the party, she finally met “The Populars” and started to realize slowly how stuck up they were, but there was no way of turning back now. Regardless, she chose to be part of “The Populars,” a decision that could not be changed during high school. The first football game was coming up and everybody was going to it. “The Populars” were debating if they should go. They didn’t want to ruin their makeup or sweat in their clothes, but they had to support “The Athletes.” At the game, a fight broke out between “The 68

Stoners” and “The Hippies” because “The Stoners” threw their cigarettes on the floor and “The Hippies” told them to stop smoking and preserve the earth; this started the rivalry between the groups. Meanwhile, “The Athletes” were blowing out the other team by 28 points. The game finally ended with the celebration of “The Athletes” and the roar of the crowd. While everyone was leaving, all of their phones began to blow up with notifications on Twitter. The other school was sending threats that they were going to vandalize the school. All the groups were afraid, but Jessie stood up and came up with a plan. The whole night, all the groups would stay at the school and protect it and one another. Throughout the night, the groups made preparations at their designated locations. “The Nerds” were in charge of the cameras and notifying everyone if anything seemed suspicious. “The Stoners” and “The Hippies,” who knew the best hiding spots, were to keep watch outside. “The Populars” were the hallway monitors throughout the school. “The Athletes” were hidden in the gym locker room protected by other group members.

Everything was peaceful and quiet until a Stoner said he thought he saw something moving by the bushes. “The Hippies” claimed that it was probably the weed hitting him a little bit too hard. Before long, a whole bunch of students started to charge at the outside groups. They both started to fight back, but there were just too many of them. “The Nerds” began to warn “The Populars” that they were the only line of protection left. Jessie

told everyone to hide in the corners of the hallways and to just let them pass and sneak attack them from behind. The other school’s students started to check every hallway. All of a sudden, a Popular’s phone went off, updating her on her Justin Bieber fan news and blowing everyone’s cover. Jessie ordered everyone to run to the last safe place, the gym. Populars and Athletes alike hid behind the bleachers as soon as they heard footsteps. While everyone was under the bleachers, Jessie discovered a hidden passage to the ballroom, and everyone began to evacuate the gym. As the last Athlete made his way through the passage, a kid from the other school saw him and charged with the rest of his group. Just before the other group reached the stragglers, Jessie took a ball and perfectly hit one of the attackers on his head, knocking him out cold. Everyone was stunned that a Popular had such great arm strength and aim. As the rest of the attacking force continued, all of “The Populars” and “The Athletes” began to throw any ball they could find at the invading students. Once out of balls, “The Populars” began to sacrifice their Michael Kors bags, which were just as effective. Within a couple of minutes, the invaders were on the floor and “The Athletes” celebrated their second victory of the night. This time with the help of all the groups.

Acknowledgments Greetings! The written art you will see contained on these pages represents the best of what creative powers can render, and my only regret is that I could not have a publication large enough to display the efforts of all of our writers. Everglades High School is fortunate to have so many bright, creative and wonderful minds within our excellent community. It was my privilege to work with them and provide a nurturing environment in which they are able to hone their writing skills. The imaginations and emotions on display here are the written products of topics I have provided, as well as current events which shape all our lives. This magazineâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sole purpose is to provide a platform for these wonderful young artists to become known, and for some, to be published for their firstâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;and for many, not their lastâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; time. This magazine would not have been possible without the contributions of so many people. In acknowledgment of her confidence in me to teach this course, I would like to thank Mrs. Darbar. I would like to thank you, the parents, for providing excellent students who contributed to this publication. I also need to thank my department head for her amazing insights and assistance. Finally, I need to thank all others for helping to put it all together in the form which you now hold. To all who made this magazine possible, a huge thank you from your grateful publisher. I hope you have enjoyed all the written art contained within these pages. With respect and gratitude,

David J Fishkind Language Arts and Creative Writing Teacher