SEVENTH GRADE

Emery Kanda-Gleeson

FLAME OF HOPE

Makenzie Vovan

I stared at the clock. Only a few more moments until I’m free. I shifted my seat and peered around the classroom. The posters all around me read, “Look on the bright side!” and “You can do hard things!” But it was rainy and cold, and the weather had rubbed off on me. Earlier, rumors of other schools shutting down had spread. Even with assurance that my school would not close, I still had doubts. Suddenly, the overhead speaker squeaked. I froze. They never send announcements this late. I exchanged glances with my friend. The fear in her eyes said she was thinking the same thing.

“Attention, students,” a voice screeched, “please report to the gym.”

The class went wild. “What’s happening!?”

“Is the school shutting down!?”

“It’s going to be fine!” my teacher yelled.

The room fell silent. “Just get to the gym!”

The walk down felt longer than it ever had before. A million worries banged around in my head. Meanwhile, kids around me gossiped about online school. I shuddered. Thinking about online school almost made me barf. Finally, I approached the crowd. My friends huddled around me, easily greeting one another. I tried to join in, but the lump in my throat said otherwise. We piled into the gym, eyes searching for our principal. She strolled to the stage, head held high, heels at maximum height. Click, clack.

“Hello, students!” she said. “Today, the government informed us that we must close the school for two weeks. Unfortunately, a disease named ‘COVID-19’ has spread around the United States. We will explain details later, but for now, pack up and say your goodbyes.”

Immediately, my heart dropped. It can’t be! The room exploded with voices. The teachers tried to reduce the noise, but chaos had already flooded the school. Eventually, the teachers wrangled us down and escorted us to the cubbies. Tears welled in my eyes as I emptied supplies into my bag. My backpack got bigger and bigger, bulging with notebooks, textbooks, and even P.E. uniforms. I shuffled over to the exit, sniffling farewells to my friends. Soon these people will become tiny squares on a screen. I stepped into my mom’s car as she flashed a smile, but I could see right past it.

The next few days felt like years. A tiny flame of hope still burned inside of me. I hoped that we would go back to school in two weeks. Every day felt the same: wake up, school, eat, then sleep. Soon enough, two weeks came and went. The flame resurfaced, shining like a diamond in the sunlight. However, going back was a no-go.

“Beginning of April, they said. You’ll go back eventually,” my mom said sympathetically.

April 1 passed. No school. April 22. Nope. May 1st. Nada. My little flame burned out as spring flew by, then summer followed. Day by day, hopes of going back diminished. I attempted to keep my spirits up, but every time they got shoved to the floor again. I kept the little spark buried inside, and it finally pulled through.

One night at the end of the summer, my mom burst into the kitchen.

She screamed, “It’s official! You are going back to school!”

“What?!” I beamed. “That’s amazing!”

That night, I sat on my bed and pulled the covers over me. The flame blazed like wildfire. I remembered spending time with friends and grandparents, thinking it would last forever. It seemed so far from where I was now, but I realized that I should never take the good old days for granted because they could be gone in a second.

BABY JUNA

Eden Newcott

The pangs of heartache come in waves. I sit, masked, in a camping chair, eyes tracking my tiny cousin as she stares, enthralled, at the leafy ceiling above her. I had the option to go visit this baby just after her birth, just weeks before the world shut down. But did I take it? No, of course, I did not. Why was I so stupid? I grill myself again and again. I have missed four months of her life, just sitting, wallowing in a trail mix of self-pity and admiration. I try to take my mind off the matter by turning back to my sister, one of the lucky souls who held this teeny person when she was only days old. I notice that the lines of the book propped in my hands come out somewhat hollow and empty. Not the normal, peppy, funny way they often sound.

I get up to use the restroom, heading for the gravel driveway. It curls behind the little cottage of a house that holds KJ, Graham, and baby Juna. I am nearly out of earshot when I hear KJ call to me, “Wash your hands so you can hold your cousin!”

Wait, what?! is all I can think. I want to pretend to have some huge revelation about life, love, and happiness as I fall over with elation, but no. My eyes prick with tears that make my vision blur until glossy drops spill down my cheeks. My mask fills with salty droplets, but I remain unfazed. My mum walks toward me from the bathroom, so I fly right into her. I hold on and I burrow my face in between her arm and body. I begin to shake, vibrating as I weep. “I can hold her,” I choke.

My mum laughs and hollers, “KJ, she’s crying!” She has known all along.

I splash the cold water from the faucet onto my face, still completely baffled. Maeve stands next to me and I spot her brimming with smiles. I bet I have the right to smile more though. As I said, Maeve already held her. I pump pearls of glossy white soap onto my wet palm. My fingers intertwine, working the iridescent slime into my skin. The bubbles spill into the ceramic bowl of the sink. I quietly hum the ABCs twice for my hands to be germ-free. Next time won’t you sing with me. I bolt, racing through the screen door, around the yellow house, and under the Chinese elm.

“You know Graham was the one who said you can hold her,” Mum whispers. This comes as a shocker. Uncle Graham survived cancer, so he is always cautious about things relating to COVID. The news just makes it that much more special. I plead and wheedle until mom agrees that I can hold her first. I situate myself on the blanket. The roots of the old tree above shadow the brand new girl in front of me. Auntie KJ places Juna into my lap. Her strikingly gray-blue eyes contain little pinpricks of black. She looks at my face so intently, I feel like I might just break down all over again. A pale wrap surrounds her, printed with teensy cartoon cacti. I just want to gobble her up. I reach my worn, callused hand near her own. She grabs my pointer finger. Pale, soft, and teensy are those hands. I pay no mind to my kimono frolicking in the breeze as I squeeze the minuscule foot attached to her chubby legs. I hold her until I have to give her up. When I do, I feel empty, and contented sensations tumble through me at the same time. Jamie Yeung

Ana Cormac

MEDIA MAN

Parker Johnson

One fall evening on my walk home from school, a man sauntered up to me and promptly told me that the government had implanted microchips in my brain. I was not exactly sure what to do. Should I laugh, gasp, or call 9-1-1? All three? I had heard about people like this before. They said crazy things, like viruses are made by the government. Birds are drones, and vaccines are just trackers in a vial. I had never seen them, however. This man looked incredibly earnest like he wanted to save me from a grave fate. The look in his eyes was almost frightening. Oh well. This day had been a train wreck anyway. Last night, I stayed on my computer until one in the morning. I had fallen asleep at my desk. In today’s history class, I had gotten a D on my test because I forgot to study.

“Tell me more,” I said.

He was wearing plain clothes, but he looked far from normal. There were dark circles under his eyes, the ones you get from staying up late on the internet at night. His hair was disheveled and scraggly. He looked tired, but I could tell he was on a mission. He was also carrying a duffel bag that was as big as an elephant. After I told him this, the corners of the man’s mouth lifted swiftly, as if by balloons. He quickly stood up straight and leveled out the wrinkles in his shirt. The man slicked back his hair and hastily pulled out a crumpled list of some sort from his pocket. He had obviously been telling people this all day, and I was apparently the first person to indulge him. “W -Well,” he stammered, “the government puts tracking chips into your breakfast cereal, steak, vegetables, wine--wait, you don’t drink wine, do you? Wait, why am I asking that? Not important. And you can’t see, taste, or smell them.”

I frowned. “Then how do we know that they’re there?” I clarified with the man that I was not making fun of him, I was genuinely interested.

“We put our cereal under microscopes,” he said. “All of our food. We don‘t trust any of it.”

“You must eat something,” I said. Laughter bubbled up inside of me like a cup of soda. I must not laugh. I must not laugh.

“We grow all of our food,” he said cheerfully. “Farm to table. Would you be interested in some of this food?” He reached into his silver duffel bag and produced a carrot with a purplish hue to it. “You can have this microchip-free carrot for only $15.99!” When the stench of the carrot hit my nose, my throat fought an intense battle to not gag.

“I’ll pass.” Then another thought came like an itch that must be scratched. “Who is ‘we’?”

“Of course, of course! We are the SSAG, the Secret Society Against Government. We try to spread the message to people like you so that your lives don’t get controlled by the aliens up there at Capitol Hill. I’d beg you to join, but I’m pretty sure we have an age requirement.”

The man proceeded to ramble on, informing me about any sort of conspiracy a person could possibly imagine. The Founding Fathers were alien reptiles. Birds aren’t alive, they’re simply drones for the government to spy with. My personal favorite: There are mind control chemicals inside of fire sprinklers. As he talked, he got a crazed tone in his voice. He flung his hands back and forth, looking at the sky. What did I get myself into? I unknowingly scratched at the back of my neck, a bad habit of mine. By the time he stopped, I had nearly started to bleed. Once he started talking again about dogs having x-ray vision, I remembered how absolutely ridiculous it was that people actually believed this. At this point, I was falling apart. My eyes were tearing up. I couldn’t take it anymore. I burst out laughing harder than I ever have in my entire life. The man looked at me with a frown.

“What?”

“What’s your name?” I asked in between gasps.

“Harold.”

I looked him straight in the eyes.

“Harold, you need to stop watching TV.”

clockwise

Mo Kanda-Gleeson, Makenzie Vovan, Sunny Brown, Davin Grover

clockwise

Julia Getter, Durham Pelinka, Violet Yoshida, Sonali Tripathi

Addison West Chloe Wainwright

Ry O Hill

I am from the chapters of long books From coconut bites and grizzly t-shirts I am from the backyard with the hot tub and pool (green, sunny, and the plants were always overgrown) I am from the palm trees whose green leaves dance in the wind, and the fig trees whose branches provide comfort and shade when the sun is too strong and the world too cruel I’m from boat parades and unyielding laughter From Jeff Stout and Stacey Thomas I’m from the persistent questions of curiosity and long car rides From “It will all even out eventually,” and “I love you all around the world” I’m from Christmas white elephants, and the angel bracelet and rosary beads I wore as a young girl I’m from Manhattan Beach and Czechoslovakia Roasted broccoli and cooked salmon From the time when my uncle threw my mom’s retainer out the window, buried it, and left it there And the time when my dad stole a pizza delivery car, just for fun The morning when my dad went surfing and met dolphins that guided him back to shore safely Every home across the nation where books of photos lay more precious than a Bible Every family reunion where tall, hilarious tales circle the room and love is ever abundant Shay Nussbaum

VOCABULARY ENERGIZER

James Callaghan

Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away, stuff was bad. On a strange planet called Jaunsilvania, the government officials conducted themselves extremely corruptly. For example, judges would exonerate their friends for sinister crimes but sentence their enemies to death for nothingburgers. The police were just as bad; they were grumpier than Mr. Kerr before his coffee. Most of the citizens thought these police were choleric. But the worst of all the police officers was Grow Gahn. He was very clever and frequently used his guile to easily trick the gullible public. In Grow Gahn’s evil, despotic form of ruling, he often used cliches and trite words to impose his will on the public. What Juansilvania needed was an optimistic, sanguine leader. They needed someone to build them up. They would even settle for someone who showed less emotion, someone phlegmatic. But Juansilvania can’t take another sad, melancholy boss. Especially not someone on the fence.

I am from backpacks, from Maple Hill, and Barnes and Noble. I am from the trampoline that I lie down on in the middle of my backyard, warm, peaceful, feeling the subtle warmth of the sun soothing my face. I am from sunflowers, bright and cheerful as they bask in the sun. I’m from KFC on Valentine’s Day and black hair, from Andy and Wei Ling. I’m from the game nights and sleepovers with cousins, from “You touch it, you eat it!” and “Does it have a recycling symbol on it?” I’m from late morning Sundays, without a care in the world. I’m from California and China, wonton noodle soup, Hawaiian pizza. From the medical school in Missouri where my parents met, to the immigration of my mom to America for a better education. All these memories and stories, captured in single images, hanging on the walls all around the house, silently reassuring me that this is who I am. Taylor Danz

Russell Lee Violet Yoshida

A B

C

A Eden Newcott

B Sebastian Kern

C Benjamin Harrison D Nick Tamura

E Shay Nussbaum

D E

THE SCARIEST DAY OF MY LIFE

Luke Mirhashemi

Imagine an eight-year-old boy roaming through an eight-story department store. Alone. If you are wondering why he is alone, it’s because he is lost in a place where no one speaks the same language as him. Unfortunately, the situation you are imagining right now is the same situation I went through five years ago, except in real life.

It was a scorching hot summer day in Paris. Our extended family has a place to stay in the city, so we go every other summer. We know all the metro stops, the best restaurants, and the stores for my mom and sister to go shopping. This day starts like any other typical day. We get up. My dad, brother, and I walk to the market to get bread. Fortunately, it’s a brief walk. We get baguettes, croissants, and a ton of water to last us for the rest of the week. After breakfast, we discuss what we want to do for the day. I feel useless. It always comes down to what my mom and sister want to do, and today, they wanted to go to this huge store. If I could compare it to anything it would be IKEA times eight, but selling clothes and shoes. By ten o’clock everyone is ready, so we take the metro. After twenty-five minutes and three switches we arrive.

“How long do you think we will be here for?” I ask my brother.

“Don’t start with me this early,” he says. “Do you think I want to be here!?” he yells in my face.

“This is going to be a long day,” I tell him.

“I know,” he agrees.

The truth is, this is only the beginning. It will only get worse from here. I am mentally preparing myself to go from store to store, sitting on a different bench every single time. Can this day get any worse?

A couple of hours have passed. I am starting to get hungry. There is a restaurant inside the store, but I was the only hungry one. In my family, the majority rules. Most likely I will not get lunch for another hour. I will not survive, I think to myself. Being so young, I assumed that if I just got up and wandered off, my parents would follow me and give me anything I needed. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Not the case at all.

After going up one escalator, I realized that I was alone. I was scared. I went back down to see if my family was still there. They were not, of course. Just my luck. Instead of searching the rest of the second floor, I decided to search from floor three to floor eight. Probably not the smartest decision, but I did it anyway. Floors three, four, five, and six: no one. Finally, I get to seven and I cannot hold it in anymore. I start bawling my eyes out. Instead of continuing to search, I asked someone to call my mom. Luckily, she picked up. That idea of not searching the rest of the second floor was a mistake. She was still there.

What would you do if you were lost in a foreign country? Would you stay calm and keep looking, break down and cry, or would just go ask someone for help? I did all three in that exact order. If you are ever in this position, don’t be afraid to ask for someone to call one of your parents. This experience taught me so much because I know what it feels like to be alone. Although it was only about ten minutes, I never want to go through that again.