The Purple to My Sunrise: 2018-2019 WITS Online Chapbook by Literary Arts

The Purple to My Sunrise

The Purple to My Sunrise 2018-2019 WITS Chapbook

Writers in the Schools (WITS) is a part of the Youth Programs of Literary Arts, a community-based nonprofit literar y organization centered in Portland, Oregon, whose mission is to engage readers, support writers, and inspire the next generation with great literature.

925 SW Washington St. Portland, OR 97205 www.literary-arts.org

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The Purple to My Sunrise

2018-2019 WITS Online Chapbook

Deidra Miner Anis Mojgani Katherine O’Neil Corrine Oishi Ramón Pagán Amy Prosenjak Jon Raymond Bob Speltz Dennis Steinman Amy Wayson

Copyright © 2019 Literary Arts, Inc. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be duplicated in any way—mechanical, photographic, electronic, or by means yet to be devised—without the written permission of the publisher, except in the case of a brief excerpt or quotations for the purpose of review.

Literary Arts Staff Andrew Proctor, executive director Sophie Albanis Maggie Allen Amanda Bullock Lydah DeBin Alanna Faelan Jennifer Gurney Hunt Holman Olivia Jones-Hall Ramiza Koya Allegra Lopez Jessica Meza-Torres Susan Moore Denver Olmstead Liz Olufson Emilly Prado Chelsea Querner Valeria Ramirez Joanna Rose

Youth Programs Advisory Council Jonathan Hill, chair Carmen Bernier-Grand Sandra Childs Jacque Dixon Bob Geddes Andre Goodlow Mary Hirsch Briana Linden Andre Middleton Anis Mojgani Karena Salmond Claudia Savage Kim Stafford Catherine Theriault Amy Wayson Tracey Wyatt Sharon Wynde Anthology Staff Editor: Olivia Jones-Hall Designers: AHA (cover) Olivia Jones-Hall (interior)

Wits Intern Kari Davidson Board of Directors Thomas Wood, chair Jill Abere Ginnie Cooper Amy Donohue Ann Edlen Susan Hammer Betsy Henning Jonathan Hill Earl Hines

Published by Literary Arts, a 501(c)(3) in Portland, OR First Edition 2019 Printed in the USA

2018-19 WITS COMMUNITY Writers-in-Residence Bettina de Leรณn Barrera, Alex Behr, Arthur Bradford, David Ciminello, Lisa Eisenberg, Michelle Ruiz Keil, Cari Luna, Monty Mickelson, Damien Miles-Paulson, Amy Minato, Laura Moulton, Ryan Nakano, Jules Ohman, Brian Parker, Mark Pomeroy, Emilly Prado, Jon Raymond, Christopher Rose, Joanna Rose, Laura Lampton Scott, Matt Smith, Zulema Renee Summerfield

WITS Apprentices

Favian Harper, Jake Vermaas

Visiting Authors Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Jennifer Egan, Tayari Jones, Jill Lepore, DeRay McKesson, Tara Westover, Jacqueline Woodson

Participating Teachers Amy Ambrosio, Nora Brooks, Ilsa Bruer, Breanne Carlisle, Yoshio Drescher, Jennifer Edelson, Nerissa Ediza, Stefanie Goldbloom, Jordan Gutlerner, Tina Hargaden, Greg Huntington, Jaydra Johnson, Elena Overvold, Cesar Ramirez, Jordan Souza, Norman Stremming, Shawn Swanson, Amy Taramasso, Henise Telles-Ferreira, Trisha Todd, Dana Vinger, Annie Wolfstone, Alethea Work, Lynn Yarne

WITS Liaisons Paige Battle, Ilsa Bruer, Sandra Childs, Kelly Gomes, Jordan Gutlerner, Jamie Incorvia, Cassie Lanzas, Stuart Levy, Lori Lieberman, Betsy Tighe, Alethea Work

Participating Principals Petra Callin, Carol Campbell, Peyton Chapman, Lorna Fast Buffalo Horse, Chris Frazier, Ayesha Freeman, Filip Hristic, Molly Ouche, Terrence Smyth, Curtis Wilson Jr.

CONTENTS Introduction x Unique • Jessica Padilla 12 Dunk Cam • Micah Williams 13 What I Will • Claire Borrayo 16 Etienne’s Bakery • Colin Elliott 17 Untitled • Ronnie Murphy 19 Second Date • Veronica Monroy Santos 21 Notice Me for Me • Gabriela Iraheta Romero 23 Untitled • Makayla Aldrich 24 My Wallet • Fernando Herrera-Perez 25 The Monster Under My Bed • Alex Chavez Ruiz 26 Faith • Claudia Valdez 29 Water • Elliot Fogarty 30 How to Be Christian Allen • Christian Allen 32 Blending In • Boon Hughs 33 Why I love to Run • Dieumerci Migani 36 Liam • Marisol Maldonado 37 Untitled • Jorge Sic Say 39 Scar • Xuan Do 40 Untitled • Jaedyn English 41 My First Gift • Marcos Lopez 42 Mark’s Final Candlelight • Phoenix Sands 43 Outdoor School Experience • Abby Miller 48 Sundown • Ni Ni 50

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Little Stray • Amanda Kelly 51 Maybe • Kaily Malynowski 53 Behind the Front Door • Florence Harris 55 The Tea Party • Sofiya Morgunova 57 A Story About Two Flowers • Sammantha Newton 59 The Importance of the Little Things • Jeslyn Espino 60 Time • Cheyanna Nash 61 Sicko Mode • Musa Taylor 62 My Journey • Yogen Maharjan 64 My Life of Music • Manny May May 65 My Story • Gianna McDonald 67 Itzy Bitzy Spider • Tanya Wescott 72 Unknown Guy • Mapenzi Matete 74 Bank Robbery Gone Wrong • Maddax Fields 75 Humble and Heroic • Huarui Lai 76 The Boy • Maria Mizee 79 Before and After • Ben Flanders 82 Awesome Feels Like • Andrew Baltazar 83 Cooper • Marco Jiminez 84 My Favorite Pair of Shoes • Aaron Blanco Cruz 89 Chicken Strips • Riley Hogg 90 Summer After High School • Piper Cruikshank 93 Before and After • Alen Wilson 94 Untitled • Ethan Latta 95 Second Date • Cadence Lundbom 96

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Arriving on a Residential Fire • Max Edwards 98 Who Is Innocent? • Mohammed Abdullah 100 Before and After • Allan Luna 101 The Beauty of the River • Plamedi Laziambabu 102

WITS writers in residence 2018-2019 Index 110 support 111

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Introduction Dear Reader, This summer, looking over our ever-growing collection of Writers in the Schools (WITS) anthologies, I felt a bit of awe. Going back to the 2000-2001 school year, these books record the voices of two decades of Portland youth. Over the years, the anthologies have gown bigger and glossier, but from the very beginning, they have served to document the profound, poetic, and fearless voices of high school students. Together, they make a remarkable history. WITS brings together professional writers and high school students for in-depth creative writing residencies spanning a semester; the result is the stunning writing, in every genre, that is presented here. In addition, as young people learn that writing can be a mode of selfexpression, they become more able to articulate their own beliefs and interests. When their stories are valued, it contributes to confidence, stronger identity, and a sense of accomplishment that research shows leads to higher achievement in every aspect of their studies. This yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s anthology, To Break the Stillness, reflects the very best of Writers in the Schools in 71 brilliant pieces. In prose, poetry, and graphic arts, students tackle the topics of our world in language that sings. Within its covers are pieces that speak on complicated families, race, and violence; as well as those that leap into imaginary worlds that are magical and sometimes frightening. From beginning to end, this is an authoritative reflection of the work that 23 WITS writers and over 850 students created in our 2018-19 creative writing workshops. WITS is just one aspect of Literary Artsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Youth Programs work. Over the course of the last school year, we served more than 4,000 students through WITS, Students to the Schnitz, the College Essay Mentoring Project, and the all-city poetry slam Verselandia! In addition, we held

writing workshops at the Portland Book Festival, brought seven worldfamous authors for Q&As at high schools, and produced a brand new poetry slam in east Multnomah County. These inspiring and thought-provoking experiences would not be possible without the support of our many partners, including school principals, the talented high school teachers who host the residencies, librarians and media specialists, WITS liaisons, and the hard work of our program staff. Special thanks goes to Olivia Jones-Hall, who edited and produced this flawless and lyrical book. If you value silence, look away: in To Break the Stillness, young people speak with powerful, vital voices that demand to be heard. I hope you enjoy and appreciate it as much as I do. Ramiza Koya Director of Youth Programs

Unique Jessica Padilla Espinoza

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CHRISTOPHER ROSE

I will take care of them They are the purple to my sunrise every morning I wake up No one could replace them until foreverâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s gone Uniqueness is who they are They cause anger or happiness on a daily life Emotions are emotions that stay or go Home is who they are Family is what we complete Cherishing our young lives Until there is no more Until the wind decides to blow And take us away

Dunk Cam Micah Williams

BENSON HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: EMILLY PRADO

Eighth grade was the most annoying time of my life. Every time I looked at something, I seemed to always get in trouble for it. I had three more days left and I was trying to enjoy my last days of middle school. My vice principal thought otherwise. My friend Connor and I were trying to find something that would make our last days unforgettable. At that time, a popular thing on social media was dunking on people with a plastic mini hoop while they weren’t looking, recording the prank, and posting the video. It looked like a good idea to us. It would not cause pain to other people and it would be something that we would never forget. We decided that we would dunk on certain classmates and teachers and post the videos. It would be a fun, entertaining thing to do. I had my whole day planned out. Connor and I would do this prank all day at school, and then, after school, go to the Rose Festival Parade. I brought the mini basketball hoop in my bag and Connor brought a net for it because mine didn’t have one. Before the school day started, we had talked to each other and planned out which classmates and teachers we would dunk. We decided to dunk on all the people we disliked the most for giving us a terrible middle school experience, and a couple teachers that we messed with all the time who would think it was funny. As soon as they day started, we decided that I would be dunking on the people and Connor would hold the hoop. We would get a friend to record it on my phone. We couldn’t start right away because we didn’t have the same class. We decided we would dunk on people during the next passing period and after school. The first passing period we got, I was nervous. I didn’t want to get in trouble but I was looking forward to having fun. When I came out of class, Connor looked at me and said, “It’s go time,” which blew away

all my butterflies. I reached for my bag and scooped out the mini ball. We were running around the school looking for our first target and boom, we found a teacher who would always call our parents for everything that he thought was a rule breaker. In my head, I started to think about all the times he used to call my mom for the littlest thing. Connor put the hoop behind the teacher and another one of my friends was recording. It all went by slow. I started running up and the teacher was staring at me with a nervous look. I jumped up with two feet and it seemed like I was flying. I knew this dunk on the teacher was going to look filthy. While I was in the air, everyone was yelling, “Dunk cam!” and when they were almost yelling it for the second time, I dunked on the teacher. The teacher though it was funny and applauded us but little did he know, we hated him. The whole day we just went around doing this to teachers and classmates on the list. This resulted in the same outcome almost every time: me, two feet up in the air and straight banging on people with the mini hoop. They either reacted in shock that I was so high, or with laughter. The school day had ended. We had dunked on almost everyone we wanted, but as we walked out of the school, getting ready to go on the fun day we had planned, we saw our vice principal who we hated. We ran over with the mini hoop, but this time I wanted to do something crazy. As soon as Connor put the mini hoop up, I jumped up high. I wanted to do something that no one had ever seen before. I did a 360, between-the-legs dunk on her. After that, she looked at me with her eyes red and her head steaming hot. She went to my friend who had my phone recording the stunt and took away the phone. I went to her and said, “Give me my phone.” She said, “Nooooooo.” She took me (and only me) into her office. She told me that she would be calling my mom, giving me a referral, and restricting me from walking in my eighth-grade graduation because I was targeting her and trying to hurt her. In my head I was frustrated because my whole day

was now ruined, and she had me locked up as prisoner until my mom came to talk to her about what I did. Later, my mom came pulling up. She was mad because she had to get off work early to pick me up. Now, the vice principal started taking off my mom’s head about what I did. But as soon as the vice principal said that she would give me a referral and was restricting me from walking across the stage, my mom flipped a switch and did not agree with her. I was sitting there trying not to laugh at this nonsense. The only thing that went through my brain while sitting in that dull office was how much fun my friends were having at the parade. I was wondering, why me? After all, I wasn’t the only person involved. I brushed it off my shoulders. My mom went on agreeing and disagreeing with the vice principal until they both came to an agreement: the vice principal would not punish me. I came to a conclusion that this whole meeting was stupid and that my whole day was ruined because this vice principal acted like a toddler with hurt feelings. I look back now and realize how funny this day was, and if I could go back, I wouldn’t change a thing. Through all the hate and discrimination I felt at the school, it helped shape me as the person I am today. At a predominantly white school I learned how to go against all odds and face problems that arise due to skin color. I look back and thank everyone that helped shape who I am today.

What I Will Claire Borrayo

FRANKLIN HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: DAVID CIMINELLO

Yes i wear short skirts, shorts, and dresses Yes i wear crop tops, tank tops, and sexy swimsuits Yes i wear high heeled boots and pumps But NO No that doesn’t give you the right to stare No that doesn’t mean I want you No that doesn’t mean you are invited to touch NO The only thing that gives you the right to stare are MY words The only way you know i want you is when i say so The only time you are invited to touch is when i invite you And more importantly if i say no to your eyes, hands, or mouth i am NOT saying yes…

Etienne’s Bakery Colin Elliott

LINCOLN HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: DAMIEN MILES-PAULSON

Etienne’s Bakery is in the heart of the French Quarter in New Orleans. The bakery has been passed down for generations of Cajuns and is now owned by Etienne’s grandson, Edouard. Edouard lives in the apartment above Etienne’s Bakery. Today, the apartment would be worth a fortune, but Edouard bought it off of his father, Enzo, for one dollar. For customers, the entrance to the shop is between two wide windows with thin metal bars traveling down the frame. Over the door is an awning which is decorated with fleur-de-lis. The workers enter through the back alley which leads to a steel door on the left hand side of the bakery. No matter which door you enter through, you will be greeted by the smell of warm bread, like a yeasty pillow being thrown at your face. Especially in the mornings... “It’s 4:35 am. We’re opening in a little under two hours. Could you please, please, put the bread in the oven,” said Edouard. Guillaume looked at the floor. “Sorry Ed, I’ve had a long morning.” “What do you mean, long morning?” said Edouard. “Well, you could say long night. I couldn’t sleep at all. I had a throbbing headache and medicine nor a wet towel helped. It was bad,” said Guillaume. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll let you slide this time, but remember, you and Charles are very replaceable. There’s a whole line of apprentices who want to be in your shoes going down the block,” said Edouard. “By

the way, where is that son of a bitch, Charles?” There was a hard banging noise outside the alley door. Edouard and Guillaume looked at each other as they both headed towards the commotion. As Edouard’s hand touched the doorknob, someone coughed on the other side. Reeeew. Edouard opened the door. “Good morning, everybody!” Charles was in the alley scraping mud off of his black pants, sneakers, and white baking shirt. “You don’t look too good,” said Guillaume. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just am a little frazzled this morning. Sorry I’m late,” said Charles. “Your friend Guillaume over here was a little frazzled this morning too. Anything go on last night?” “Nope,” said the boys in unison.

Untitled Ronnie Murphy

WILSON HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LISA EISENBERG

Second Date Veronica Monroy Santos ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: JON RAYMOND

Beautiful lights. Such a gentleman, opens the door for me! He lets me in first, people wearing nice, fancy clothes. We wait to get attended. He compliments me and how I look that evening. A waitress with some nice clothes directs us to our seats. We get the best seats in the house. Before I sit, he pulls out the chair so I can sit. The night goes so well. He’s so dreamy. He has big blue eyes, his hair is nice and slicked back. We eat and he compliments me, saying I even look good while I eat. Time goes by so fast! It is time to go. He walks me to my car and he opens my door so I can get in. He tells me that tonight was the best night he has had in a while. A smile appears. We say our goodbyes. I drive off, and like a week later, he messages me and asks when we can have another date. I am very excited so I say Saturday night, but we can’t wait so we decide on Friday. Friday comes around and I’m getting ready. I dress a little fancy, I hope he looks as dreamy as our last date. Time comes around and I get in my car. I show up to this nice and very fancy restaurant. I think to myself, there’s no way I’m eating there, it must be very expensive. I see him and he’s walking up towards me. He smiles and waves. We walk in. I’m very nervous as always, but today he seems off. He’s wearing a long trench coat with all black hair and black eye liner. I don’t say anything about it. Weird. As we sit, he seems like he doesn’t know what we are doing. His hands are twitching…A LOT… I wonder if he’s okay. So I ask him and all he does is look at me in complete silence. He finally answers and says, “Perfectly fine,” looking into my eyes. It’s as if he’s someone else. We order and while we eat, he tells me I look weird while I eat.

He doesn’t compliment me, even though I worked so hard to impress him. After we eat, he walks me to my car and grabs me with so much force I think it is someone else grabbing me. He tells me to get in the car, pointing a knife to my neck. I punch him trying to get away, but it doesn’t work. I can’t yell, his hand is over my mouth. We get into the car and he is still pointing the knife at me. I’m thinking, hearing my heart pound on my chest. I crash into a pole. It all happens so fast. I grab my phone and get out. I call 9-1-1 and throw my phone. I think I’m going to die. I hear something in the bushes. I don’t say anything… It’s a man... He sees me. He runs around us and hits him in the back of the head. I grab the knife and look down at him while he lies there motionless. The cops show up and arrest him. He claims he didn’t do anything. Two days later, I see our story on the news. His name is a different first name. I turn the TV up. He has a twin. They are identical twins. His brother had been away for a couple days. He left after our first date. How did I not know? I hope he rots in jail. His brother knows what happened, but I can’t seem to look at him since he reminds me of that night. Every anniversary of that day comes around, I get one rose at my door. It says, “I miss you, my love.” Not knowing who it was from, either Thing One or Thing Two, I refuse to say their names. Everything comes back to me when I do.

Notice Me for Me Gabriela Iraheta Romero BENSON HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: EMILLY PRADO

I’m 16 years old, Latina Half Salvadorian, half Mexican If you asked me I’d say I have dark hair, pale-ish yellowish skin color Hard time choosing clothes to wear because I feel I’ll be judged If you could see me I wonder what you would think of me? Growing up with stereotypes is hard. Latinas are not ill-tempered, we get mad, sure, but don’t you, too? I’m not an immigrant, I’m the daughter of two hardworking immigrants, sure, I claim it, but I’m not an immigrant. Stereotypes are everywhere. Growing up, I saw TV shows/telenovelas but Latinos/Hispanics, what you consider minorities, are the maid, gardener, or housekeeper being played in them, why? I’m a girl/woman. I can be emotional because I’m human and men can, too. I will work because I want to, not for defeating stereotypes, but because it’s my right. I can work where I want because it’s my goal to be good to others and help my family to no longer work. Be aware, not everyone is the same, because if we were, would we be as advanced as we are? I’m 16 years old and I’m a Latina who’s not afraid to ask or answer questions, because I don’t want to be noticed but I need to break these stereotypes.

Untitled Makayla Aldrich

GRANT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: AMY MINATO

It was the first time I had ever sat up front in my mom’s car. I felt so grown up. I was so focused on this that I did not think about why my mom and I were parked a block away from our house at two in the morning, without my dad. The car was dark other than the blue light glowing from the buttons on the car radio, casting a shadow on my mom’s stern face. She had been on the phone for about an hour but had barely said a word. When she hung up the phone, she continued to stay silent. It began to rain outside and the shadows of the raindrops falling down the windshield bounced across my arm, resembling small fish. I looked at my mom and noticed her lips curling down, the way they do when you are trying not to cry. She held her face in her hands and started to sob. It was the first time I ever saw an adult cry. A heavy weight formed in my chest, dropping down to my stomach. I knew I couldn’t cry right now but I was not able to keep it in. I did not know what was happening but I didn’t need to. She held me in the front seat of the car, and told me she loved me, continuing to cry. I never saw my mom and dad together after that night

My Wallet Fernando Herrera-Perez

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LAURA LAMPTON SCOTT

My wallet reminds me of when I got my first dollar and I bought my first wallet and I went to work my first day, getting hired by my uncle cleaning offices, and getting my check, putting it in my wallet then putting it in my momâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s bank and giving it to her. Then, going into construction, getting $300 my first day. Then I see my wallet getting old. I went to buy a new one and I liked how it smelled like new and how I acted like a grown up.

The Monster Under My Bed Alex Chavez Ruiz

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: ARTHUR BRADFORD

I gasped for air as I leaned against the door. I hadn’t expected to see him after so long. I’d hoped the move would have left him behind; I screamed as he slammed on the door. I held the door shut with all the force I had, and then it stopped. The house fell silent, dread filled my body as I shakily turned and gripped the knob to peek out. With a deep breath and a small wave of bravery I slammed the door open and I gazed into the black hole of a hallway. Dangerously drawing me in with every second I kept my eyes on it, it only took a step forward for me to realize I´d made a mistake. My body tingled and shook in fear. Frozen I listened as the heavy breathing got closer. The floor creaked and whimpered its pity towards me, I gulped. The walls seemed to stretch out infinitely into the abyss of the black hole once again, it was my only way out. This all had happened before, I remember it vividly. Just like now, I’d made the stupid mistake of opening my door. Back then, I had decided to run into the abyss and there were screams everywhere. The hands, god the hands, they slashed and gripped at me. They all wanted out, their only way out was through me. I screamed in pain and ran, ran as fast and far as I could. I had made it out, brutally cut in several places, I cried and stopped in my tracks as I stood in front of the mirror. Blood dripped from my eyes; my tears were of blood. I screamed, instinctively I ran to my parents’ room, horrified at the scene before me. They were dead—no, they were murdered. Brutally murdered by whatever had been trying to get to me. It was then I felt immense pain across my stomach. I gazed down to see blood puddling up on my shirt, making its way down my body like a snake. Dizziness struck me like a rock. I couldn’t stand well so I leaned on the wall. What happened after that I don’t remember. I still have the scar, a scar

reminding me I was an idiot. Now I stood here looking at the abyss once again, years later he came back to finish the job. I ran into the abyss, but where were the hands? Where were the screams and the pain and the blood? I looked everywhere as I walked my path, just silence. The silence was broken by running in the distance, running towards me. I ran without hesitation. I wouldn’t die, not today, not by him. Then, just like in the movies, I fell. “Come here sweetheart, I won’t hurt you…much.” I heard him call out to me as he took steps towards me. I frantically squirmed and held back my screams of terror. I had almost managed to get myself on my feet, but just like that, I was being dragged back into the abyss. I screamed and kicked and did everything I could to be free. I refused to look at him. I refused to see the monster that killed my mother and my father. “It’ll all be over soon, honey. The pain will end now.” As soon as he finished speaking he slammed the knife down on my chest, I gasped and screamed for anyone to hear me. No one came, and he kept going, stab after stab after stab. I’d gone weak at this point, I could feel the blood puddling around me. Then I heard it, the sirens. They pounded the door then kicked it open. I heard him run but they caught him. I was falling in and out of consciousness. I was in the ambulance, then I was being rushed to the emergency room. And then: “She might not make it,” I told the police officer as we stared at the young lady on the bed. I handed him her clipboard. “She has no family left, poor girl. Her whole life has been messed up, from dealing with schizophrenia. To her biological father stalking and scaring her for years, only to kill her mother and step-father,” the police officer told me. I nodded as he told me all of this. He was the police officer that helped her mother issue the restraining order, and helped her win full custody. “And now, he’s going to rot in jail. He didn’t have to come hurt her more than he already had,” he finished. We both sighed

and I patted his back. “You did what you could to protect her,” I reassured him. He smiled and nodded, looking back at her. I walked out and let him stay in there with her for a while. Her life story really was tragic. While already dealing with a mental illness, her father had made her insane. If she lived, she’d live in a mental asylum. As I walked down the hall I started pondering how odd it was that he was the only police officer that came, I froze and looked back. It couldn’t be, right? To ease my worry I headed back, opening the door to find him not there. He was gone, but I didn’t see him leave. I saw her awake in bed, she looked over at me and smiled. I left to get the nurse to check her vitals. I was glad my assumption was wrong. I waved the doctor bye as he left again. The thing that tried to kill me at my house wasn’t the one from years ago. But when I saw the police officer standing on top of me with his hands choking me, I knew that was him. I gasped and struggled to get him off. But now he was under my bed, neck broken, dead. I’d won. I could live happily now. It was all okay now. I didn’t hurt him. Not much at least. Goodnight dad.

Faith Claudia Valdez

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CHRISTOPHER ROSE

Why not have faith if faith is what gets you through it Reflecting on where we went wrong Wishing it could have ended differently Why not have faith if faith is what gets you through it Forcing myself to cry in the bathtub Spending time thinking of the past and the love life that didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t last Why not have faith if faith is what gets you through it Why do I blame myself He cheated and I somehow feel bad Why not have faith if faith is what gets you through it Breakups are a rollercoaster but divorce is falling down a hole with nothing to hold Why not have faith if faith is what gets you through it I would get divorced they said He would leave me for someone younger they said Why not have faith if faith is what gets you through it Staring at the ceiling making stories and characters out of each lump The melatonin was an energy booster Why not have faith if faith is what gets you through it I tried But it didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t work good-bye

Water Elliot Fogarty

BENSON HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: EMILLY PRADO

The water crashed, cold and icy, against the side of the boat. The clouds billowed above me, looming ominously above the river. Spray hit my face stinging with cold tiny needles. The autumn air tasted fresh and crisp like a cold cup of water on a summer’s day. My paddle hit the waves then hit against my dad’s paddle, jarring me for a second. I jerked it back and pushed it down into the water, drawing it through, lifting it out, and again and again. I felt the rhythm return. I saw the impending cliffs and the enormous rocks along the shore. They looked like long asleep creatures, waiting for the right time. “I think we should head back,” I said. “You’re probably right. Brian had told us that we can put up the sail to go faster,” he said. “I’m going to stand up.” As he got to his feet I felt the boat sway unsurely. I grabbed the sail from the back of the kayak. As I did, a wave hit us and with one swift motion the boat flipped, trapping me underneath. The water surrounded me, a veil of ice, burning my skin. My eyes were still open, I had barely reacted to the sudden change in orientation. I saw the dark green river below me. I saw dark shapes moving in the deep water. I felt a pull at my leg and I was yanked from underneath the kayak into the brightness. I saw my dad’s face as I wiped water out of my eyes, my life jacket keeping me afloat. I was not a confident swimmer, fear rose in my chest as I looked towards the coastline far away. We were right in the middle of the river and about half a mile from each side. I held onto the boat as my dad came up beside me and said, “We have to swim for it. You can hold on to me but we have to go. We have to leave the boat.” I pushed off and started floating towards the shore we’d come from. I grabbed

onto my dad’s shoulders as he started swimming. When we reached land, I could barely stand because of the rocks that covered the floor of the river. I was only wearing flip-flops that were soaked and the straps rubbed incessantly at the tops of my feet. As we walked I started to process what had happened. We knew that it was windier than it should be for kayaking. We should not have gone out onto choppy waters. When we got back to camp, my mom ran up to us and hugged me. She had been as scared as we were, she told us. She had been able to see us, she said. Brian handed me a towel and told me to sit by the fire for a while. I had hypothermia. I didn’t even feel cold throughout all of it but now as I sat there I felt colder than ever. For the next four years I didn’t go back on a kayak or small boat. Recently I have been getting back into it, but I’ll never forget to make sure the water is calm.

How To Be Christian Allen Christian Allen

PARKROSE HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: ZULEMA RENEE SUMMERFIELD

You have to be an African American male Who’s skinny and loves hip-hop and R&B. You have to play basketball and love to watch the NBA and NFL. You have to love switching your hairstyles up almost every week. You have to love comic books and superheroes. You have to have a clone collection, And you have to love sneakers. You have to like basketball shoes too, You have to have a little bit of a fashion taste. You have to have bad eyesight. You have to have long thick hair. You have to love wolverine and Batman. You have to love hanging out with friends. But last but not least… You have to love GOD.

Blending In Boon Hughs

WILSON HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LISA EISENBERG

Why I Love to Run Dieumerci Migani

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LAURA LAMPTON SCOTT

Every time I look at my spikes, they remind me of how much I love running. Every time I run, I love how the wind blows behind my back, a cold breeze blowing through my hair as I run. As I run, all I can hear are footsteps getting faster and faster as the race continues and people shout, telling you to keep pushing until the race is over. When the race is over, some runners collapse. As I finish the race, I start breathing hard because of how fast I ran the race, which always makes my mouth dry, I ask my friend Who is always at the finish line waiting for me to finish the race, to bring me water.

Liam Marisol Maldonado

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CARI LUNA

Liam was mad at Tenzin. He was mad-mad. He was surprised that she showed up to the dining room like nothing. Usually when someone gets mad in our house, they’re “running too late to have time for breakfast.” She had thrown all his things out the window and he hadn’t even done anything. We were all just having breakfast, trying to enjoy our French toast, but it was hard to ignore the tension in the room. No one chose sides because we were smarter than that. We knew them both very well, and we just hoped they would soon get over it. Except we didn’t really know what would happen because these two had never gotten into arguments. They were always a happy couple, if someone had something with one of them, then they would deal with both of them. But now it was them two who had gotten mad at each other, and they would not tell anyone why. My mom just hoped they would make up before going to church and having people talk about them two. These two had been together forever. They got married when they were 16. How? I don’t know. And that is exactly what I’ve been trying to figure out the last 8 years. Well, was. Because after the years passed on, I figured maybe I was overreacting. Nothing bad had happened, so why worry? But now out of the blue they get in a fight. And no one knows what or why. But what I do know is that my sister is a bad liar. And I was just about to find out what really happened. I quietly walk up to my sister as she cooks. “Hey Tenzin . . . How’s it going?” “Shut up and go away!” “I’m just asking a simple question, and you know why. So, spill it! What are you hiding? Why are you and Liam not sleeping in the same bedroom anymore?!”

“You’re not mature enough to talk to. Go away, Liza, before I tell Mom about your three Fs in school.” “Okay, okay. Geez. No need to use threats.” I left. I didn’t want Mom finding out about that. But what I did want Mom finding out about was Tenzin’s secret. I knew there was something, and I would not give up until I found what it was. The next day I saw Liam washing the car in our front yard. It was just the usual Liam, trying to be nice to everyone; doing favors, helping out, making people laugh. He was everyone’s favorite. Except mine. And he knew that. He tried everything to change my mind about it. He even offered to take me to Disneyland but I just laughed and knew he would do it. But this was it. This was my moment to shine. All I would have to do is tell Liam that he would get me to like him if he told me what was going on between him and Tenzin. I walked up to him, he smiled and asked what I was up to for the day. I told him I was just gonna study all day. But even he didn’t believe that. So, I went straight to the point and I asked him. He got nervous, like as if he didn’t know if he wanted to lie to me, or trust me with the truth. “The truth is…I told your sister something and she won’t take me serious. So now she’s mad because she thinks I’m going crazy.” “Well what did you tell her? It can’t be that bad.” And then he said it. “I’m a royalty prince, Liza. And no one else can know.”

Untitled Jorge Sic Say

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LAURA LAMPTON SCOTT

I want to figure out the way, how to get freedom from this box, because I’m tired of being in this box for many hours, months, and years. Freedom, it’s all that I want. I feel like I am dying in these four walls, on my right, on the left, top, and bottom. If I can get free from here, I will make you happy.

Scar Xuan Do

BENSON HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: EMILLY PRADO

It was the summer going on to second grade. Burning heat, but the kids never stop playing. I just learned how to ride a bike with two wheels. Being the child I am, I decided to hang out with the neighborhood kids that also have bicycles. It didn’t take long for us to determine a race up the hill near our houses. Four baby bicycles and young minds that don’t know what losing looks like, we raced about two rounds in the burning hot of summer. All of us got tired and decided to go home, but I was losing both rounds so wanted to race again. I ran my feet as fast as possible, I’d never run that fast in my life before. But what I didn’t notice was that the kids were too tired to race, so they just looked at me running like an idiot up the hill by myself. But as good friends as they were, they screamed my name to stop my from riding the bicycle. It was a curve on the hill. I turned my head to look back to see how far I got, I didn’t use the brake to slow down on the curve turn. I think I fell down a pipe hole, but then I knocked out for a minute. All I know is that my upper right eye was bleeding. The kids never stop playing, the sun never stops shining in the summer. I have a scar on my right eyebrow because I refused to get the stitch and hid it from my mom. It became a scar after one week under a bandage. I thought a bicycle would be my enemy, but then I kept riding with it again. About five scars on my legs, and I donated blood for the streets until fifth grade.

Untitled Jaedyn English

FRANKLIN HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: MONTY MICKELSON

The sun is blazing down on me through the clouds, even though it’s snowing. Yet the temperature in the air feels like nothing. Once again, I’m standing alone on a Portland sidewalk, but this time, I’m waiting for the noisy bus. I watch as a single fluffy snowflake hits my phone screen and instantly melts at the heat my phone is giving, that I, myself, can’t feel against my hands. As I wait, I notice something: the snow doesn’t stick to my skin. It sticks to my clothes and hair. It even sticks to my glasses. But not my skin. It doesn’t stick to my skin, but it doesn’t melt either. It simply glides off my skin with ease and falls to the dirty concrete ground. Oh look, a snowflake landed on my eyelash. And here comes the bus. I flash my student ID to the bus driver, and I take my lonely seat. There’s an instant change to how I feel. It’s no longer snowing on me with a neutral feeling of air. It’s now warm and everything feels slightly wet from the now melted snow drops. Sure it isn’t that bad, but it isn’t good. It’s actually quite uncomfortable.

My First Gift Marcos Lopez

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LAURA LAMPTON SCOTT

My favorite pencil, I have used it for about four years, always with me, always by my side. I have written many things with this pencil: essays, poems, songs, my thoughts, and I cannot let it go. This is one of the gifts my little brother gave me. He was six years old when he gave it to me. That kid came to me with a smile on his face and said, “Happy birthday, brother.” It felt warm and fragile, that if I let it go, I could not recover it again. That moment, that day, was the happiest day ever, like the day he was born. And I won’t let it go. This is my precious treasure.

Mark’s Final Candlelight Phoenix Sands

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: ARTHUR BRADFORD

There were so many things Mark wanted to do. So many things, but just a week ago his doctor told him he had a new illness that has no cure, and that he had only a few weeks to live—three weeks, to be specific. So, in those few weeks, Mark and his family and friends had been making the best of that time. But Mark only had a day left. How did he know that he only had a day left? It was because he and his boyfriend, Jacob, or Jake, have been lighting candles each night ever since Mark was told about the illness. Now, Mark was a thrill seeker, an adrenaline junkie, and there was one thing Mark wanted to do, but he had a fear. His family knew it, his friends knew it, and especially his boyfriend knew it, and that fear was heights. Jake wanted to help Mark get over his fear of heights so he called their friends and told them to go to the cliffside and wait for him and Mark. Jake I slowly put my phone down on the kitchen counter and walk up the stairs. I go to the end of the hall to Mark’s and my room. I raise my hand and I knock on the door gently. I hear a soft, “Who’s there?” I lower my hand to my side. “It’s me, love,” I say. “Come in,” I hear him say. I grab the door handle, I then open the door and close it behind me. I look over to my sick boyfriend who is sitting up against the headboard. I give a sad smile then walk over to him as he moves over for me to sit next to him. Once I sit down, Mark moves back over and sits in between my legs and lies back against my chest. I wrap my arms around his body so I can hug him close to me.

“So, I have planned something for us to do before…” I trail off not wanting to finish the sentence. I felt his head nodding on my chest “I’m not sure if I can do much, I just…” Mark lets out a heavy sigh. I look around the room seeing all the candles we lit. Then I see the last candle on the bedside table, unlit. “Mark, love, we just can’t spend your last day lying about. I want to make your last day good and filled with joy, not sadness, so please, love, let me take you somewhere really nice. Please, love?” I look down at him with begging eyes. He looks up at me with a sad smile. “Okay, I’ll go,” he says, giving me an upside down kiss. I smile from the kiss and the fact that he’s willing to come. I gently move him so I can get up. I stand and hold my hand out for him to take, his hand is slightly shaking when he takes my hand, I gently pull him up. He is a little wobbly on his feet but he regains his balance. I lead him through the house we share, our home. “Star, come here, girl!” I call for our dog. Our black and grey huskywolf mix comes running towards us. She barks at us and follows us to my car. I gently help Mark into the passenger seat. He buckles himself in. I close the car door and then I open the back door for Star. She jumps in, I close the door and jog to the driver’s side. I get in and start the car. I put on Mark’s CD full of his favorite songs and we jam out to all of the songs. On the way to the cliff I listen to Mark as he sings most of the songs. “I’m really going to miss his voice,” I think to myself. I shake the thought away. Once we get there we are greeted by our friends Cassy, Josh, and Brian. For two hours we are just talking, joking around, having fun. “Wait, why are we at the cliff? I feel stupid for just now realizing that,” Mark says with a guilty smile. “Because, Mark, we are here to overcome your fear of heights. Also, this was Jake’s idea so don’t get mad at us,” Josh says with his hands up.

Mark looks over at me with a mad and scared look in his eyes. I turn to him and place my hands on his shoulders. “Love, I want to help you with your fear. Also, it’s your last day. But if you really feel like you can’t do it then we all can do something else, okay, love?” He looks at me with his beautiful light purple eyes. Then he breaks eye contact, then he looks right back at me seconds later. “Okay, I’ll do it. Besides, I have always wanted to go cliff diving, so let’s do it. I’m ready and not ready at same time,” he says as he slowly takes his shirt off. I can help but stare at his body. I mean, he has a light six pack, like, how could you not stare? Soon all of us are in our swimwear. We’re lucky the cliff is at least a good twenty to thirty feet from the water. Also, there is a sandy beach and a trail leading back up to the cliff. Soon everyone has jumped except me and Mark. I turn behind me to see him shaking. I walk over to him and hug him. “It’s okay, love. We can jump together if you want.” I speak softly so he doesn’t get any more scared than he already was. I felt Mark nod against my chest, I take his hand and walk close to the edge. Mark Even with Jake by my side I’m still scared. But I really want to do this. “You ready, love?” I hear Jake say to me. I just nod. He gently squeezes my hand. “Okay, on the count of three we jump.” He speaks as we take another step closer to the edge. “One.” God, I hope I can do this. “Two.” I can do this, I keep repeating this to myself. I close my eyes. “Three!” My eyes shot open to see we both jumped. The water was getting closer. We both hit the water. I resurface before Jake but he resurfaces seconds after me. I have huge smile on my face.

“Oh my God, that was amazing! Why haven’t I done this before? That was great,” I shout, adrenaline going through my veins. “I told you, love, you can do it,” Jake says as he swims over to me. “Come on, guys, let’s go. Come on,” I say, swimming to the shore. The others following, laughing. For the next four hours we keep jumping, trying to do tricks and stunts, we have a lot of fun. This has to be the most fun I’ve had since that day when I was told about the illness. I look around the little campfire we made, trying to dry off. I see all my best friends, my family, joking around and laughing, huge smiles on their faces. I love the people in this group so much. I don’t realize I am crying until Jake wipes my tears that are on my cheeks. “Love, what’s wrong?” Jake says to me with worry in his amazing deep red eyes. I look at all of my friends and see worry in their eyes, too. I smile. “Nothing, I’m just thinking I have the best family in the world, and even when my blood family didn’t want to be around me for my last few days, this family right here is the best I can ever ask for. I love all of you idiots,” I say as more tears fall down my face. I look around at my friends, my family, to see tears going down their faces, too. I turn my gaze to Jake to also see tears going down his face. He gives me a wide smile then he rests his forehead on mine then he kisses me a kiss full of love and passion. Soon we pull back from the kiss. I yawn and lean my body towards Jake’s. “Okay, it’s time for us to go home. I’ve got to take this little silver bean to bed. Bye, guys,” Jake says as he picks me up bridal style. “Okay bye, Mark. We love you.” My friends shout the ‘love you’ as Jake carries me back to the car with Star following. We drive for what feels like hours, but it was really a forty- to fiftyminute drive. We get back to the house we share and Jake carries me to our room and Star jumps on the foot of the bed. Jake sets me down on the bed, sitting up once I was on the bed. I already feel weak, really weak. Then he walks to the dresser where we keep the box of matches, he comes back over to me and hands me the box. I take a match and

light it. Jake then holds the candle to me. I light it. He sets it back on the bedside table, I then look around the room seeing all the candles. I let out a heavy sigh. Jake helps me lay down, he then lays down with me. He covers us up in the fuzzy blanket. I lay my head on his chest, my hand rests on his stomach, rubbing mindless circles. ¨Goodnight, my love. I hope you get a good sleep. I hope to see you. I’ll never stop loving you, no matter what. So, sleep well, my love.” I can hear the sadness in his voice. I look up at him and give him our final kiss. I rest my head back on his chest and close my eyes. As I fall asleep I say, “I love you. Thank you for loving me and being there. I’ll miss you. I love you so much. Goodbye, babe.” I slowly drift off to a sleep I’ll never wake up from, but I had someone to be with before my endless sleep.

Outdoor School Experience Abby Miller

WILSON HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LISA EISENBERG

Sundown Ni Ni

CLEVELAND HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: RYAN NAKANO

It is nighttime and she walks toward a river sundown cow drinking water in a big space skyline reminds me of Thailand she looks after the cow

Little Stray Amanda Kelly

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: JON RAYMOND

On my way home turning on Fifth, I hear a little squeak and feel a lump under my shoe. I quickly lift it to reveal a spotted, brown and white tiny kitten. The sweet little thing purrs and rubs her head against my shin. I kneel down and look at its neck, no collar, and it didn’t seem anyone was looking for it. My mom hates cats, I don’t know why, but she’d kill me on site for even thinking about bringing a kitten home. Although, I couldn’t bear to leave it out to fend for itself. After all, I don’t really mind what my mother does and doesn’t hate. I scoop up the little fluff ball and make my way back home. I chat with the kitten on the way, and she stays close to me in my arms when I have to cross the street. I decide to name her Tay, short for Stray. As the gravel crumbles below my feet, worries begin to clutter my mind. Where should I keep her? How am I gonna keep the cat food and the litter box hidden? I should just take her inside for right now. I jog over to the window and set down Tay and my things, and press on the window as it slid open. Paranoid, I stick my head in just to make sure my mother wasn’t in there. I turn back around and the little trouble maker is already gone. “Damn it, kitty.” I frantically (and carefully) search the tall grass for Tay, only to find her chasing a butterfly. I smile and scoop her up again, “Little cutie.” I set her into my room along with my stuff. I sprint to the front of the house and enter casually. I have no idea when my mom comes home so I check the whole house, her room, the kitchen, living room, foyer, dining room and attic. Not a soul in the house but Tay and I. I finally enter my room to find the stray curled up on my favorite fluffy pillow, we have the same taste, too, I guess. I closed the door behind me and suddenly I hear wheels on the gravel; my mom’s home. I pick

up Tay and set her with my stuffies and clean up my stuff, a minute or two after, I hear a knock. I get the door and look up at her. “Hey sweetie, just wanted to remind you someone’s coming over tonight.” My perky mood and expression immediately disappear. “You mean Ryan again?” My opinion on her dating again so quickly sickens me. My mom gets defensive. “He’s very sweet to you, I don’t see the issue.” She leans on my doorway. “My ISSUE is that he tries to act like he’s my dad and has authority over me,” I sneer. We’ve been tense since a dinner a few nights ago, fights were the only time we talked to one another anymore. The room fell silent. “He’s better than—” I shut the door on her and lock it so she could hear, notifying her way through the thick wood. “I have homework.” My mother’s footsteps are heard stomping away furiously. It almost hurts how angry I am after a few moments, with every beat of my heart comes pain. A very rare frustration I get. My mind quickly shifts down to the little fur ball, I find her cuddling and purring at my foot attempting to get my attention. I smile down at her and my anger immediately softens. My little stray.

Maybe Kaily Malynowski

BENSON HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: EMILLY PRADO

Maybe if we stopped focusing on making barriers and dividing people We’d realize we are all human and not a single one of us is superior to the other Maybe if we took away this idea of the perfect person Kids wouldn’t feel so stressed to succeed in school Or women wouldn’t feel the need to lose weight Perhaps men would show their true emotions and not fall for the masculine image Maybe if we took mental health as a thing to heal from rather than a thing to deal with Less people would feel constant anxiety or die from suicide Maybe if we focused on the environment and not mass production The future generations wouldn’t have to worry about the air their kids will have to breathe But then again, every maybe has made you Maybe if that boy had never commented about your race and understanding of racial discrimination You wouldn’t be here speaking about your thoughts on the world Maybe if that girl in middle school hadn’t manipulated your feelings for a game of “What are the odds” You wouldn’t have found out how amazing of a person your first love could be

Maybe if your sixth-grade math teacher hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t called you privileged You wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have tried so hard to prove to people you are who you are because of your effort and determination to try Every maybe can change you And you can be the maybe to change the other people

Behind the Front Door Florrence Harris

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: JON RAYMOND

Part of the porch was missing from a few years back when he was trying to build a new one. The house looked as if it was abandoned. Like something you see in a zombie movie. I was fed up with living next to a such an unkempt house. What would my friends think when they come over for the first time? I walked up to the unappealing house. To get to the door, I first had to get conquer the stairs and the porch. As I walked up the stairs they creaked, as if they were going to break. Luckily, they didn’t, but now I had to walk across the porch to the door. I was careful not to step in the holes. I got to the door. Right next to the door I noticed a medium dark sign that said “no soliciting.” They probably won’t like the fact that I’m coming over if they have that sign, but it was too late to go back home. I knocked on the door. It only took a few seconds for him to answer. The door opened, he was an old man who had silver hair. He looked quite weak, I heard he used to be a plumber but he probably isn’t anymore, with his age and all. Once I was done admiring his sparkly hair I looked behind him. I was astounded. The inside of his house was nothing like I imagined, it was completely different from the outside. It was like my dream house. It had plants all over. Spider hanging plants, jade plants, devil’s ivy, aloe, maranta leuconeura, plus a bunch more. The plants weren’t even the best part of the house. They had a humongous TV, they had the nicest furniture I’d ever seen, the couched looked so expensive, and so comfy. I could take a really nice nap on it. “Um, what could I do for you,” the old man said. “Hello,” he repeated. He had gotten my attention, I was so distracted by the glamorous inside. I had forgotten what I had even come over for. “Hello, sorry to disturb you.” I had to come up with something.

“I was just worried about your cat.” That’s right. They always put their cat in a stroller, and leave it on their porch. I always thought it was strange, but the cat was an indoor cat. Whenever I came home from school I would see the cat staring at me. “What about Ollie?” “Um, I just thought It was bit strange that you put your cat on a stroller. You know what, sorry I asked. Never mind.” “Uhh, okay. We do it because we don’t like leaving our cat cooped up in the house. He likes to watch the birds.” “Sweetie, who is at the door,” an elderly lady asked as she peeked from the kitchen. “Oh, it is just our darling neighbor,” he responded. “Would you like to come in and have some coffee?” “I would love to but my mom is making lunch right now, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.” I really didn’t want to disappoint them, but I really did have to go. “Okay, bummer. Come over some other time, won’t ya?” “Will do, sir,” I said as I started down the stairs. They were nothing like I expected. They were so nice. I always thought they would be those old people who didn’t like you stepping on their lawn. I got back home, I had to tell my mom all about this. “Mom!” I screamed. “Whatttt?” “You won’t believe what just happened. The neighbors on the left of us, with the weird looking house, turn out to have the coolest house. Mom, the inside of their house is sooo amazing, and cool. And guess what they said we can come over anytime and have coffee.” “Wait, really?” “Yeah! Anyway, I have to go do my homework.” This was a lie. I just wanted to think about this turn of events. The neighbors that I thought were grumpy and stuck up turned to be really cool people.

The Tea Party Sofiya Morgunova

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: ARTHUR BRADFORD

Before the accident, my thigh felt and looked like a normal threeyear-old’s thigh. Smooth and white, with a very short layer of baby white soft hairs. Back then, my family of four (Mother, Father, Sister, and me) used to drink a lot of tea, so as always, on the evening basis, we were getting ready to drink some tea together. Everyone would leave everything they were doing behind and come downstairs to the green-walled kitchen. My mother boiled some water on the hot stove, poured it into all the red, white-detailed cups she’d prepared, and placed them on the table where the little me was sitting. I was really unstable in my chair, and couldn’t wait until the best part of the tea party when she would bring out “the candies.” My mom was preparing stuff on the kitchen counter and I was sitting at the table nearby alone, waiting for the rest of the family to come down. She said not to play with the cups, but my curiosity won over my conscience and I grabbed my cup immediately and started moving it around. The chair was low, I was short, and, of course, I wanted to look into the cup, which I basically held above my head on the table. I don’t think I thought I would find something extremely interesting in there besides dangerous hot water, but, still, I was really curious about looking into it. Trying with all my strength to carefully drag it closer to me, little by little the angle of the cup that was horizontal with the table became very steep. I knocked it over and all the crazy-hot water was spilled onto my little baby thigh. Meanwhile, my curiosity was gone, a loud scream came in its place enthralling everyone’s attention. I wore cotton, thick tights since it was winter, and the water was so hot it burned my skin

through the tights so bad, I could feel with all my sensitivity cells how my epidermis and, slowly, dermis were destroyed by the heat made of too fast-moving particles. When my mom was trying to take the tights off, my skin was stuck to the cloth like it was part of it. After a horrific burn and hours of trying to take the tights off, some parts of my skin were just hanging down my thighs like rags. I was a strong lady, I would say, because after my mom took care of the thigh-sterilizing and wrapping it in bandages, she carried me to my bed for sleep. My sister and mom were sitting by me. My sister was crying, I’m not sure why, maybe because she got scared I’ll die or she got scared because I screamed like someone who’s been murdered. But then, through my calmed mood and tears, I murmured to my sister falling asleep, “Everything is going to be fine, don’t cry.” By the way, we didn’t drink any tea that night.

A Story About Two Flowers Sammantha Newton

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CHRISTOPHER ROSE

A friend brought me flowers and I asked that friend to plant the flowers somewhere Placed outside in a park with others flowers in a meadow Then other colorful flowers by my friend near my house Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m looking at the sky with clouds and different shapes My friend planted them there yes the flowers have a story I see flowers and those flowers are two colors, one was orange And one has yellowish petals with green stem and leaves The stems are long and thin with dirt around them covering the roots A friend brought me flowers. Thank you

The Importance of the Little Things Jeslyn Espino

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LAURA LAMPTON SCOTT

My ring that one thing that reminds me of love a ring that holds memories, and special moments having that gift makes me think how special I am for a certain someone If one day I lose it, it will feel like a part of me is missing I promised once that I will keep it forever to that certain someone

Time Cheyanna Nash

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CHRISTOPHER ROSE

I began to grow impatient with the fact That time was going too fast and that before I knew it Junior year began and I thought I had a plan, Of what my path was going to be But soon I would realize the career I “wanted “ to pursue Was not for me Time after time people would tell me what they wanted me to be They didn’t take the time to stop and think Of how their words would affect me Time is something I thought I had enough of, I thought I had time to take my time deciding what I was going to do With my life These last 3 months flew by and it seems as if I’m no longer Myself But as if I’m made of dates and numbers of days I have lost Time is going too fast, I don’t have enough time I would be in my cap and gown with my graduating class Now that event is a little less than 31 days away Time is going too fast, I don’t have enough time I don’t have enough time I don’t have enough time

Sicko Mode Musa Taylor

WILSON HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LISA EISENBERG

My Journey Yogen Maharjan

GRANT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: AMY MINATO

I am from Nepal. This is a small country. In Nepal we have a strict school like we have to wear uniforms, put our hair into two braids, and have clean nails. In my community the homes are close together and there are lots of people in the street, the air is dusty. I have a light tan colored dog, Tommy, who follows my sister and I when we go to school every day. The school is open six days a week. We live in a brick house. We have a big garden with guava trees and different fruit trees in my yard. We always played with our neighborhood friends. They invited my sister and me to come to play jump rope with them outside of my gate. There are a lot of festivals in Nepal. I remember when we used to go to my family members’ every year on Holi and we would go to the very top of the house where there is a balcony. On the road there are many people celebrating with powder color (rangoli). The people put powder on each other’s faces and bodies. We children used to get balloons filled with water, and we threw the balloons at the people. It was lots of fun. And now I am here in the United States. My dad brought my mom, sister, and me. My two uncles were already here where there is a completely different culture. For example, the food is different. In Nepal we use a lot of colorful spices like ginger and garlic mixed together, but in the United States people don’t use very much spices in their food. I miss Nepal, the food, the culture.

My Life of Music Manny May May

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CHRISTOPHER ROSE

When I was 10 years old, I found a CD album In my mom’s closet. “Recovery” by Eminem. I listened to the whole album and it hit me hard. I could relate to what he was saying. “Space Bound” Is about a relationship/friendship betrayal that led a person to suicide. At the age of 15, my dad bought me a phone. I was happy of course. I started listening more to Eminem. “The Marshall Mathers LP 2” came out in 2013. My favorite song was “Headlights.” When I was 17, I started listening to a new rapper, Yelawolf. His one song that I like is called “Best Friend” featuring Eminem. That song reminds me of my best friend Angelica. She saved me in eighth grade. When I told her of my rough times She told me, “You have to fight!” The song is about a man who thinks God is

his best friend, where Eminem mentioned his best friend who was killed in 2006. Eminem was broken back then, never smiled or laughed after the death of his best friend. It hits me so hard that I almost cry. I can relate to his words, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Next time, there will be no next time.â&#x20AC;?

My Story Gianna McDonald

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: ARTHUR BRADFORD

Dear Diary, Ivy Hopkins is my name, I’m seventeen years old and yes, I’m writing in a dairy even though I’m seventeen years old. Anyway, I found out that I have acute promyelocytic leukemia, in other words APL. What’s APL? Well, it’s when there’s too many immature blood cells forming in my blood and bone marrow. And that’s the promyelocytic part of my cancer. Also, all of this leads to a shortage of white and red cells and platelets in my body. It’s a lot, I know, trust me. After all this I could practically be a doctor on this stuff. Oh, also this is acute so that’s means that if treatment doesn’t work then I could die in few months and maybe less. It’s also sad to think that I could be possibly dying before I even graduate high school, like I might not do everything I always wanted to do. But, hey, I’ve got to think positive about it, at least that’s what everyone says I should do. Back on to this stupid information. I start treatment today and there are three levels of treatment. The first level is induction and that’s where they try and lower the leukemia cells very low. An example would be chemotherapy, and that’s what I’m doing. The second level of treatment is consolidation and this is where “they” try and get rid of the rest of the leukemia cells while still in remission. There are many different types of doing it and I’m doing ATO plus chemo. The last and final stage is called maintenance. This is the hardest stage for some people because if you have a higher risk of getting it back, you have to get all these drugs in your body again and either make it or sadly pass away. And people who have a lower risk obviously could make it and survive and not need the maintenance therapy at all. Lucky them, am I right or am I right? Love, the coolest cancer patient, Ivy

Dear Diary, Well, it’s been a few months since I have written in this journal and I’ve been doing my treatment for some time, about two months, sadly. My long, beautiful, light brown, coffee colored hair that’s curly was falling out. Since it’s gonna all fall out anyway, I decided to shave my head. So, I’m completely bald. I also go into my second level of treatment in a matter of days. I’m kinda nervous and hoping everything goes good, because while I was doing chemotherapy I was vomiting and rarely eating because of it. Let’s hope this next level of treatment doesn’t do me too bad. Oh! Here’s some exciting news for once. I got to see my best friend Alondra. She’s been my best friend forever and she also could be a doctor on APL because she went with my parents and me when we found out I had APL and she got to know all the inside scoop of what my dang body is doing. She went to the beach and took pictures for me thankfully!! The beautiful sunset made me miss it more. The sun made the sky bright orange and pink, and the clouds were very subtle and beautiful. The sunset looked like it could light up the bottom of the ocean because it was so bright. The last trip we went on with my family was the beach and it’s even better with your best friend, let me tell you. I just want to go back there, it made me so happy. That’s the saddest part: the place that brings me and possibly other people pure happiness and joy can end up getting me sick because of this dumb ALP. Hopefully I’m able to go back to the beach before I pass away. Happy Cancer Patient Ivy Dear Diary, Well, I’m back after another two months, I keep forgetting to write in my journal. Anyway, sad news or good news first? Well, we are gonna start sad again. I have a higher chance of getting APL back, so that makes my heart hurt, but good news is that I start maintenance today. Let’s pray these drugs work!!! You think I’m done with good news? Well, I’m not. The food they have today:

Curly fries Mac and cheese Mashed potatoes Ice cream, the good kind All of that is my favorite!! Honestly, hospital food isn’t bad. I would rather eat that than fast food, let’s be honest. Anyway, let’s get back on track. They told me that the maintenance therapy I’m doing could take about a year. So, this is a longer journey than I thought, so I’ll check in with you later. Still the Coolest Cancer Patient, Ivy Dear Diary, WOW! It’s been a whole year I’m 18 now!! I just turned 18 yesterday. It was a great time until I remembered I had to go to the hospital today. I thought I lost my journal but I didn’t, obviously. My mom found it in my hospital bag with things I bring down there so I don’t get bored. Bad news once again. Apparently, the maintenance therapy that I’ve been doing for a whole year hasn’t been working. I’m two months away from graduating and I just got told I have two weeks. No one knows but my dad and me and my older brother. My mom, my sister, my aunt, my best friend, my uncle, and cousins don’t know. They had Make a Wish Foundation come in and ask me about what I wanted before I go, what I told them was that I want to go to that beach and be with my best friend and the people I love. They were very shocked because that’s not what every 18 year old wants. It was just different. Love, your favorite 18 Year Old Cancer Patient Dear Diary, They came back after a while and said they are able to make it happen. They said I would get more sick, and I said I was gonna pass anyway, so as long as I was with the people I love, that’s all that matters. Well, my heart just sank into millions of pieces. Mom saw me in the

back of the car and yelled at dad. “Are you serious, Kevin? What are you doing here with Ivy? She needs to be at the hospital.” “We’re going to the beach, whether or not you come.” When dad said that his voice started to get loud, it sounded like everyone in the neighborhood could hear him. My mom was trying to get me out of the car to bring me back and I started to beg her to let me go. “What the hell, Kevin? She’s gonna die, are you kidding me? I don’t want my first baby dying. We are gonna try and make sure she survives until there’s nothing we can do about it.” Moms voice got louder and raspy like she was gonna start crying. Dad kept walking and ignored her until he came back out with a towels and basket of food. Jack, my brother, started to cry and Jessica, my sister, was just holding Jack making sure he was okay. Dad said his last few words to mom as though they were never gonna speak. “Our daughter is going to die, Lauren. They told us at the hospital when you were here doing nothing and not there spending time with our daughter.” My mom didn’t say anything. You could see the pain in her eyes. You could tell she felt horrible, and knew she was wrong. When Dad told Mom all of that he could barely spit the words out of his mouth, and his tears rushed down his face like a waterfall. I could feel my heart break into more than a million pieces, and felt all of it go to the bottom of my stomach. I started having an anxiety attack and I couldn’t breathe, but, thankfully, my oxygen tank helped me catch my breath again. My eyes started to feel even heavier than they already were. My bags under my eyes were black, and they looked like I got punched in the face. Dad said his last few words to mom. “If you don’t come, Lauren, we are getting divorced.” Dad made sure he had everything and started the car and apologized to us and told us how much he loved us. Love, a sad (but still your favorite) cancer patient

Dear Diary, Well, I’m back at the hospital the day after the beach. Mom didn’t show up to the beach or anything, so I guess before I pass away my parents are going to separate. Sad to think that you could be the reason why your parents are splitting up. Anyways, you probably want to hear about the amazing beach trip other than my mom not showing up. I got to see the amazing sunset and watch my brother and sister play in the water and see them having the time of their lives with the people they love. Dad made sure I had enough of everything. Alondra made a special appearance and it made me so happy that she got to come and we got to enjoy our last special moments as being best friends in the real world. I really couldn’t get it through my head that I was gonna not be here in matter of days, and my best friend wasn’t gonna be there with me to enjoy and help me through the hard times. We talked about all the amazing times we had and the worst. We laughed so hard we were crying, we also cried a lot, to where we could barely catch our breath. Soon enough I wouldn’t be able to at all. My brother and sister came over to me and Alondra. They started to talk about the amazing moments I had with them and how they were so important to me. Love, Ivy Dear diary, Sad to say that I’m gonna be gone in matter of day or days. The good thing is that I won’t be in pain or suffering anymore. I won’t have my parents stressing out to make time or anything. I reminded them of the time when they told me to sit next to the window and look out so I could see them as the bus left for my first day of school. Well I told them the same thing to sit next to the window of the “bus” which would be life, and to look out and look behind them all the amazing memories. I just want my family and friends to be happy and live the life I wasn’t able to for me. Sad to say goodbye and the goodbyes are always the hardest to the people you care so much for. Love long time, your favorite almost surviving cancer patient

Itzy Bitzy Spider Tanya Wescott

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CHRISTOPHER ROSE

My front yard where itzy bitzy sees My flowers bloom And bees fly Where dogs Pee on flowers And bees land on Spider webs, Frantically spelling HELP ME So the bees don’t eat him. Beautiful Blue sky Mild winds Smell of Beautiful orange & Yellow tulips Flowing with Wind, bugs, and flies Blowing in the spider’s web With the smell right under my nose and Bees sucking all the pollen out Flowers, they’re

Even more beautiful Than they could ever be While itzy bitzy is scared and starving Only tulips on the block sure are beautiful eyesight Unlike bees swarming itzy bitzy Sadly bees got food, and itzy bitzy did not.

Unknown Guy Mapenzi Matete

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CHRISTOPHER ROSE

I’m whoever you think I can be, People describe me as an ancient guy and most strong dude. The reason why they call me all those names is because I’m a light while also dark, which means you can’t see in dark without me. The entire world depends on me. Without me, none of them would survive at all. I am a monster of evils… Ain’t like shit, I destroy wicked things and kill them. Also, I keep wicked things away from you so they won’t hurt you. I gave most of your brain to know what is good and bad, and to avoid them. People also say that I’m faster than anything else, that I can travel the world in three minutes. And I also have life in my hands so I can decide how your life is going to be. If I say you die, then absolutely you are going to die.

My question is who do you think I may be?

Bank Robbery Gone Wrong Maddax Fields

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CARI LUNA

“私を傷つけないでください,” one of the Japanese bank tellers says as the alarms blare. “Shit, I told you not to touch the alarms!” Jerry yells at one of the tellers. He raises his gun to shoot the teller. Suddenly a bullet comes flying through the glass revolving door and hits Dale in the shoulder. I look outside to see five police cars and two SWAT trucks with about ten cops and 16 SWAT. There is also a helicopter circling the building as more cops arrive. I grab one of the hostages and run to put the exothermic charge on the vault door, run into the other room, and set off the charge. “It will take a while to melt through the vault door,” I say to Sarah as I grab more of the hostages and bring them out of the reception room and into the security room. “Why are you moving the hostages?” Dale yells, confused. “Do you want them to get shot? Cause if they do, we lose all of the leverage that we have.” Suddenly, a bullet flies through the window and strikes me in the knee. Two people down and with no way out, the robbers then shortly surrender and they are taken into custody and the payday is over just like that. I am then imprisoned for life and that is where my story ends. I will live the rest of my life in jail, and I will die in jail. I will live the rest of my life as a prisoner, not much freedom, but I made this bed, and I have to lie in it.

Humble and Heroic Huarui Lai

WILSON HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LISA EISENBERG

The Boy Maria Mizee

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: JON RAYMOND

He goes there every night, committed to getting better, better than anyone who has ever lived. Walking down the sidewalk, the street lights are on, only the sound of the distant freeway could be heard. It’s 11:32 at night, time is ticking and he only has so much time. He arrives. Lights are off, no movement is seen. It’s been sighted. The one and only basketball that will determine his future career. He walks past the house and peers in to double check to see if anyone is awake. Still no sign of movement. He loops back to the house, walks up to the front yard, sneaks on by to the garage. It takes him a minute to decide. Is this really what he wants? “You know what? Screw it.” He takes the ball and bolts. No turning back now. Too many thoughts are going through his head, so he has to try and just focus on running. He pants. He comes up to a stop sign. A car pulls up beside him. He hesitantly waits as the car window rolls down. “Hey there, buddy! Whatcha doin’ out so late,” the old lady says as she shouts out her car window. “Uhhh…just umm…going on a late-night jog…” Sweat drips down his forehead as he responds. Luckily the old lady doesn’t have any follow up questions. She says goodnight and drives on. He looks at his watch to check the time. It’s 12:45 a.m., wow, the time flies. “I guess I really did hesitate a lot,” he thinks to himself as he carries on his journey home. So, he arrives, he goes up to his house. The TV light reflection isn’t on so he assumes his parents went to bed. The boy goes around to the side and unlocks the side gate. Let’s take a pause real quick. The boy’s parents do not know that he had snuck out after his bedtime, so he has to be slick and silent. Anyways, back to the story. He slipped past

the gate and walked into his backyard. Now to get onto the roof. He climbs up onto the garbage can, hangs on to the ridges of the roof and manages to not fall. He’s on the roof next to the window that goes right into his bedroom. He climbs in the window, into his bedroom, onto his bed with someone else’s basketball. His eyes shut and he waits till morning. The boy has always wanted to be like J, because J is the best basketball player in school. After every game, J was always complimented on his skills, his shots, and playing time, while the boy just sat in the stands all alone with no friends, giving J the death stare, for he wanted to be in his place. Birds are chirping and the sun is rising. His loud, obnoxious alarm begins to sound. He rolls out of bed, gets changed and ready for school. He goes over to his clock to check and see what time it is but before he could even get to it he saw the ball. Dead silence overcame him. The idea begins to come to him. Maybe he should have just left it there and asked his parents to buy him one, but then they would have made fun of him and take it as a joke. His parents were never into sports, the type of parents that were all about education. Straight As or death, so this basically caused him to have, like, zero friends. Except for this one guy who seems pretty chill, they don’t really talk that much. His name is Jerry, the main reason that the boy doesn’t really want to be friends with Jerry is because he is J’s twin and if he were to become friends with Jerry it would not be a true friendship because his brother is the boy’s arch nemesis. Seven-forty-five a.m. rolls up and it’s time to go to school. He runs back up his stairs after eating his breakfast. The ball lies there on the floor out in plain sight, so he rolls it under his bed, throws some clothes on it to make sure that his parents don’t find it. The school bell rings and he goes into his first class and guess who’s in there with him? J. Sitting in the far, right corner on top of the desk with his friends. The boy can hear the conversation that they’re having. “Yeah, it just disappeared,” J exclaimed.

“Maybe a raccoon took it in the night…” responded Elijah. “Well why would that happen, dumbo, there’s no raccoons in our neighborhood,” said Sam. The boy’s face begins to change his face expression is no longer happy and light weight. It begins to drag as if five pounds were just added onto it, he worries but then realizes that no one knows what happened last night except for him. No one will know or find out.

Before and After Ben Flanders

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: JOANNA ROSE

Once upon a time I used to be a fun, high energy kid with miles and miles of fun. I was loud like a train horn crossing the street. Now I am a sad gloomy person that is alone, no friends. Smells like itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s going to rain. My heart darkening with sadness, my head feels like lava in a volcano. Someday I hope to be happier like I was when I was a little kid. I hope my life will smell like the Hawaiian islands in the summer.

Awesome Feels Like Andrew Baltazar

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CHRISTOPHER ROSE

Awesome feels like Adrenaline rushing through your blood Awesome tastes like The best carne asada you’ve ever tasted It smells like Grandma’s home cooking Sounds like Children screaming with excitement Looks like The risk of something that seems impossible

Cooper Marco Jiminez

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CARI LUNA

“My name is Cooper, Ace Cooper, and I will be exploring the cool, vast lands of this jungle. It’s pretty obvious why I’ll take such a long time to respond to you guys. Welp—it’s hell out there. Bye.” Cooper, a 16-year-old private joining the techs (an elite group of mech pilots), never liked school and always got bullied for being short and a coward. He figured joining would help him man up and get away from all that stress, and signed up for a mission in a vast jungle. He made his way to his room and put on his S.H.A.L.A., a flexible set of stealth heavy assault lightweight armor, when put on it can only be taken off with a special key. He was getting ready for his mission when a blinding cyan light filled his room. He was disoriented and immobilized, his helmet’s radio was preventing him from speaking, it was as if the light was like an EMP system, and the comms were off so he couldn’t contact his team either. There was no one close by to witness him being beamed up into what looked like a cloud. He tried to move himself, or at least move a single muscle, but all he could do was ready himself. His helmet display showed he was 147 feet in the air and he began to run a cold sweat and figured he was going to have a nasty fall. Then the doors of some sort of aircraft opened and the room was filled with a humid smoke that felt warm. He wandered around the room for a bit when a cat-like creature entered the room. The animal was matte black, two bright purple dragon-like eyes, and around five-foot-six when standing. Cooper took out his pistol and loaded a mag but before he could shoot, the animal tackled him directly on his chest knocking out his air. The pistol was thrown out of his hands and he slowly went down to the floor with his hand on his chest and knees bent to the floor. He tried to take off his helmet to let air in, but couldn’t. His armor needed the key to safely

remove his helmet or else it would go “boom.” The air grew thicker and thicker, his vision got blurry, but he refused to go down without a fight and started to crawl towards his pistol, but the cat put its heavy paw on top of his hand. He was too weak to even try to move the cat off. Eventually he gave up, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. “This is recording number 67, the introduction to the unknown species that has been chosen to protect my planet’s solar system. Hi, I’m 99977749374, or Grey, I guess that’s what it translates to, I don’t know. You, though, you have to help us PLEASE, what was it…Cooper? Also, sorry for the whole cat thing, we just needed to see if you knew your stuff and, CLEARLY, I don’t think you do.” The recording shut off and the lights went dim. Cooper’s arms felt weak but he managed to pull himself together. He got up from the warm, cozy blue bed and had to remind himself of what just happened. He made his way to a set of doors. A chill went up his spine as the weakness of his joints and the creepy ambient hum of the ship soaked into his mind. He suddenly felt as if he was going crazy but pulled through. He made his way to the doors (LIKE A CHAMP). Cooper opened the doors and was greeted by a seven-foot-tall alien. The alien immediately turned him around back into his room and told him to wait. Cooper disobeyed and shoved the tall reptile away and ran towards the two giant sliding doors. He ran down hallways and saw more creepy aliens. Unlike the reptile, these were scarier. After about eight minutes of running, Cooper reached a dead end. He felt the eerie presence of three aliens that approached him: the one on the left, a fat, rock-like monster with teeth sharp enough to rip through metal; the one in the middle, a tall figure made of wires and deadly pink electricity; and the one on the right, a purple alien covered by a purple mask but the light of her eyes pierced the mask and Cooper’s soul. They grabbed Cooper and shook him violently; the armor didn’t budge. They pulled and tugged on the helmet; nothing. They even tried to overload his armor out with electricity; nothing. Then, the giant rock-like monster unhinged its huge, sharp teeth-infested mouth and grabbed Cooper.

The tall black reptile ran towards the group like a father who had caught his son smoking and kicked the rock-like monster, sending Cooper flying straight into the purple creature’s arms. The alien took off her mask and stared at Cooper with her soulpiercing eyes, putting him in a paralyzed state. But then Cooper managed to shut off his helmet’s screen, and punched the purple creature directly in the face, and ran behind the reptile and hid behind him like a child running from a bully. The reptile grabbed Cooper by the collar and spoke some weird throat language to the strange creatures and, to Cooper’s surprise, they understood. The reptile took Cooper back to his room where they talked about the reason why the ship was taking people and their goal. Cooper, still hazy from the shakes and the lack of air in his lungs, agreed to help, the reptile let out a silent “YESSSS” and proceeded to explain what he planned to do with Cooper. After five hours of trying to remove Cooper’s armor, the lizard gave up. He wondered if the suit would eventually power down and lock off, but after three MORE hours of waiting, that was not the case. The armor was the least of their problems. One more person was left to complete their team and she was on the most gruesome planet known to man (but man didn’t even know it existed). The planet had no name and was rumored to be a place for prisoners to end each other’s life. “Approaching planet . . . erm . . . planet?” The door of the ship opened and what Cooper saw left a small permanent scar in his mind. The air smelled like metallic mint and rotten raw beef mixed with alcohol and asphalt. There were no trees or grass or any sources of water. The planet’s terrain was just flat, cold metal for MILES, no hills or mountains, except for the giant piles of bodies, of course. While Cooper was busy throwing up his guts, Grey started the search. He pulled out a small black stick that looked like a glow stick with a detachable screen and wires with an antenna (not like a glow stick). “Who are we looking for, exactly?” Cooper asked.

“We’re looking for a Rogue AI, she’s been living here for the past two years, I believe,” Grey explained. “Yeah, I don’t know, I think Imma sit this one out,” Cooper said in a scared-like voice. “The Hell YOU ARE!” Grey yelled. Grey yanked Cooper as he was getting back on the ship and took him along the vast, bloody wasteland. Off into the distance you could hear people screaming and monsters gurgling and shrieking. As they got closer to a pile of bodies, the beeping of the glow stick became louder and more frequent; she was close. The closer to the bodies, the louder the beeping. Cooper’s body felt pale, stiff, cold. The beeping came to a stale flat beep. She was inside the bodies. Grey started to dig around, flinging limbs and guts, Cooper felt uncomfortable. As Grey was digging, Cooper decided to make a run for the ship. He took two steps back and turned around, there in front of him was a bloody mangled body. The ribs were exposed, it looked dead but it wasn’t. Cooper let out a girlish shriek and fainted. Grey ran towards the voice and found the mangled, weird body standing in front of the fainted Cooper. “That’s just not right,” he said, and pulled Cooper back. The body lunged towards Grey, wielding bone-like daggers, taking jabs and kicks at Grey . Grey grabbed a hold of one the limbs and pulled it right off. The mangled figure did not flinch and kept attacking. Cooper snapped back to reality to find Grey and the mangled figure having a duel, Grey looked like he was being cut badly so Cooper thought to himself, “Fight or fly?” He thought hard and charged in, tackling the body and trying to wrestle it to the ground. Grey rushed over and told Cooper, “KEEP IT PINNED!” Grey examined the skull and pulled off a small green cube and just like that, the body stopped and just flopped dead. The two sat down and rested while Grey explained how they just recovered the AI, and then made their way back to the ship. Grey patched himself up while Cooper soaked himself and his armor in soapy water to try to wash himself of the blood and bits of organs.

Grey, all bandaged up, decided to take a look at the AI. He examined the chip and how it worked. He grabbed an apple and the chip connected itself to the apple, slowly started to move the structure of the apple around, then it made itself a tiny little apple body. “Hehehe, that’s adorable,” Cooper said, coming out of the bathroom. The tiny little AI apple grew little apple peel daggers and seed throwing knives and latched onto Cooper’s head, repeatedly poking at the helmet’s visors. Cooper shrieked and started to run into everything, flailing his arms, screaming, “GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF!” Grey laughed and said, “Alright, come on, it’s time to get off.” The little apple AI jumped onto Grey’s shoulder and gave him a little apple smile. Cooper looked at the apple and the apple looked back and gave him a nasty sharp stare. Cooper ran into his room.

My Favorite Pair of Shoes Aaron Blanco Cruz

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CHRISTOPHER ROSE

I am from a pair of Air Jordan 4 White Cement 2016 release Durable and can last you a while Beat to the ground and still looking nice Just give them a scrub with the shoe cleaner That people at Lloyd Center try selling you I am from a pair of Air Jordan 4 White Cement 2016 release They can make and finish the outfit, you can wear these at a party No oneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s going to get mad, wear them going to the store for some chips They will still finish the outfit The clean but simple design with the Nike Air on the back the sole that was meant to look Like the color of cement and the tongue with the iconic Jumpman logo With cursive saying Flight in black I am from a pair of Air Jordan 4 White Cement 2016 release Seeing famous people wearing them from Kanye West before leaving Nike to Wiz Khalifa The artist that made my summer with his music I try to sometimes get inspiration from those famous people But now I just do my style and not try to copy anyone

Chicken Strips Riley Hogg

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: ARTHUR BRADFORD

Pieces of chicken strewn about the kitchen, two children fighting, one with a bloody nose, and one confused and equally annoyed father. It all started about three years ago when I was fourteen and my older brother was sixteen. It was about six o’clock and my parents were out for the evening, which meant that we would probably have to make our own dinner. I was beginning to lose hope that my parents would return by dinner time, so I started to look around for anything to eat that would take minimal work. Then I remembered something: earlier that week, my mother had bought a bag of chicken strips. I checked the freezer downstairs but I didn’t find them, so I then began to walk upstairs to check the other freezer. At this point I was a little annoyed due to a lack of food, and as I was taking the last step I froze. There they were. Right in front of me I saw a beautiful sea of golden-brown chicken strips fresh out of the oven. The smell alone was enough to make all of my troubles disappear. And as I drew closer I failed to notice my brother sitting around the corner, almost as if he were waiting for me to approach that golden sea that lay ahead of me. As I reached to grab a chicken strip I heard a stern, “No.” I stopped and as I turned around there he was, standing over me with both fists clenched as if he was going to strike at any moment. I backed up with chicken strip still in hand. He stood still and demanded that I put it back, but at that time I was beyond hungry so I decided then and there that I was going to eat that chicken strip. As the chicken drew closer to my mouth he took a step closer and, in that moment, I saw in his eyes what seemed to be pure hatred. As he approached me he drew one fist back and then BAM, he punched me with enough force to knock the chicken out of my grasp. I watched as my chicken strip hit the ground.

It felt like time had stopped and that the whole world fell silent. Once it touched the floor, I felt a rush of adrenaline and anger as I rushed to him and yelled. He looked at me. “Was it worth it?” he said smugly. Before I could think of a response, my arm had already made its decision and before I knew it I had punched him in the face. This, of course, opened up a whole can of hurt on myself, but I felt that the self-satisfaction was worth it. I was wrong. As soon as he had finished pummeling me he started walking away and out of anger once again I punched him with all my might but this time, it was in the back of the head, and he went straight down. After a moment of recovering I heard a low rumbling and before I could see what was about to happen he had landed an extremely well-placed punch right on my nose. And with that, we then started fighting despite the fact that I was actively bleeding on myself and my surroundings. During the commotion we both failed to hear my parents’ car pull up. Then we stopped because we thought we heard something. It was too late. My dad peered through out of curiosity then yelled, “WHAT THE HELL?!” My dad had dark bags under his eyes from working really late the day before and was very irritable at this time so we knew were gonna be punished harshly. Both me and my brother froze right where we were. In an instant we were both up off the ground and were already kissing our game systems goodbye. Once both of my parents entered the house they asked each of us separately what had happened. After all that was figured out, they brought the both of us to the kitchen and explained their verdict. As we stood still as statues, my dad looked at us and shook his head and said, “C’mon guys, what the hell? Ian share your chicken strips, and Riley respect your brother’s property in the future, please?” And with that he left it up to us to clean up the place. Before he left he wanted to make sure I would actually eat the chicken, so I picked up a strip. It was noticeably colder and therefore was gonna be less

tasty. This time as it drew closer to my mouth I was not interrupted by a stern no, but by Ian bursting out, “THAT’S BS!” And with that comment I looked him in the eye and in one swift movement I threw the whole tray of cold chicken strips on the ground out of spite, which in hindsight was not the best idea. Not only did I receive pummelings from my brother for the next few days, but I also got grounded for about three weeks.

Summer After High School Piper Cruikshank

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: CHRISTOPHER ROSE

Eyelids weigh a ton Warm and cozy in my sleeve Time to catch some Z’s Almost time to go Cap and gown wait patiently Goodbye Roosevelt Family all joined Laughing fills the summer air Dinner’s almost done My flight is boarding So close to reuniting It’s been forever Small town with big lights Dancing in the moonlit sky Hello Aurora It is now summer Golden hour all night long Time to celebrate Let’s go to the lake Everyone in the car Harding here we come It has been fun but It is time to head back home I’ll see you next year

Before and After Alen Wilson

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: JOANNA ROSE

Once upon a time I used to live in an apartment with my mom and brother and the streets were covered in cars with all colors. You could hear everything outside like people talking or cars driving. People always talk to each other. Now I live in a house with my mom and brother. The streets are clear like no one lives there. Everything is quiet. No one talks to each other. Someday I hope I live in a neighborhood where people talk to each other.

Untitled Ethan Latta

WILSON HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LISA EISENBERG

Second Date Cadence Lundbom

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: JON RAYMOND

The second date was at a really nice restaurant that was outside with the ocean right by it. Winter got there before Devin and she wanted to wait to get food until Devin got there, so she just got a smoothie— strawberry-watermelon. So, Winter stayed there for about 15 to 20 minutes. She was thinking he wasn’t coming and she should leave, but then he walked in. Nice clothes but his shirt was half opened and he was a little wobbly when walking. Then, when Devin saw her he yelled, “Winterrr! Hey beautiful!” She looked embarrassed and everyone was staring. He sat at the table with her and she asked, “Are you ok? Are you drunk?” Devin said, “Nooo,” and laughed. She sighed and said, “Just order your food.” He grabbed the menu to look he started to get quiet and she felt relief and started to look at the menu. He asked Winter, “You are paying for this right?” Winter sat and stared at Devin for about 30 seconds and said, “I paid last time… You know what? You are no gentleman, you act like a child and you are drunk. No, I’m not paying, just leave. I don’t even want to deal with you anymore. I will call you an Uber so you can go home.” Devin started to fake cry and yell at Winter. “Fine, I just wanted the food. I don’t care about you, I don’t need you, I need this!” Devin pulled out a little bottle of alcohol. Winter escorted Devin down to the Uber and said, “Don’t even think about calling or texting me, you jerk.” Winter walked back in and sat back down and sat in embarrassment for a minute and grabbed the menu and started to look through the dinner section. She heard an, “Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?”

Right in front of her she saw a tall, buff, tattooed, nice smile with the straight white teeth, brown skin gentleman. She stares for three seconds, adoring and amazed. Winter said, “No! No, I don’t mind, go ahead. Hi, my name is Winter.” She went for a hand shake and the guy said, “I am Trey. Sorry I came and bothered, but I was supposed to be on a date right now, but she stood me up. I seen what happened with you and that one guy so I just decided to come over here and make your day a little better, because you are way too beautiful to be treated the way that guy treated you.” “Yeah, he was a jerk. Who comes to a date drunk? That’s crazy.” “Only people who live in a little apartment wih five other grown people and no job are the only people who do that.” They both laugh. “I’m paying for all of this,” says Trey. And she smiles again in adoration. Three years later… Winter is walking down the aisle with a crowd on both sides of her, with Trey standing at the front with a huge smile and tear going down his cheek. Winter’s father says, “You look so beautiful in your wedding dress, I’m so proud of you,” and gives her a kiss on her forehead and nods to Trey. Trey smiles back... One year later... Winter is pregnant five months, sitting at her gender reveal waiting for everyone to eat. Trey’s mother yells to everyone, “Time to reveal!” Winter walks to outside, grabs the needles, hands one to Trey and they both wait for the countdown. Three! Two! One! POP! Screams in excitement. It’s a boy! They were so happy.

Arriving on a Residential Fire Max Edwards

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: JOANNA ROSE

You will need: 1 dispatcher 4 engines 2 trucks 1 rescue 1 chief 1 medic 1 burning house A lot of water A lot of firefighters You hear the call on the intercom. You instantly stop what you’re doing and rush to the apparatus. You realize you forgot your gloves on the Heavy Rescue. You remember your training officers’ voices saying, “Never forget your gloves. Always know where they are.” You run to get them. You return to the engine, get in the cab, get asked why you forgot your gloves. You explain they were on the Heavy Rescue after they got the man off a cliff call. They laugh. The lieutenant calls into dispatch that Engine 71 is en route. They acknowledge that. Then a voice fills the cab as the dispatcher announces the box again. “Seven-nine-four-one Northwest Maple Court, OPS-1 Calling Box 1-1-9-7, on Residential Fire, Assistance for E71, E73, E31, E29, CCE307, T71, R31, C7.” And then she comes on again. “Reports of fire spreading to the upstairs. Also, a report of a baby crying in the house.” You see the house. Your lieutenant gets on the air and says, “Engine 71 has arrived on scene, we have a two-story wooden frame house, visible heavy black smoke, and visible flames. I request a second alarm.

Engine 71 has command.â&#x20AC;? The crew gets to their places. The Probationary Firefighter goes to the back of the engine, grabs the tool bag and supply line, and runs to the fire hydrant with both. He then wraps the supply line around the hydrant, turns around, and yells to let the engineer know itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s secured and can proceed to the fire. After the engine has parked, the Probie takes off the valves and attaches the hose. The hose then fills the engine so they can put the fire out. Over the radio, the dispatcher adds four more engines, one more truck, and another chief: E-30, E-74, E-72, E-7, T-7, C-3. An hour goes by and the fire is out. E-71 requests a recall and everyone leaves to their firehouses.

Who is Innocent? Mohammed Abdullah

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LAURA LAMPTON SCOTT

“I have some bad news for you,” said the principal. “What’s the bad news?” I said. He said, “You’re going to be suspended.” “What did I do to get suspended?” I said. “You fight with a lot of students,” he said. “But they started hitting me first, so it’s not really my fault,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. You still fought with them,” he said. “I didn’t want to fight in the first place, they just made me,” I said. “You should’ve just walked away,” he said. “I had enough of not hitting them back,” I said. “Well I’m sorry, you’re suspended,” he said. “But what about the other students, are they getting suspended,” I said. “No, because that was their first fight,” he said. “For how long am I going to be suspended?” I said. “Well, today is Monday. You’ll be back next week,” he said. After the conversation was over, I went back to class.

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Before and After Allan Luna

GRESHAM HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: JOANNA ROSE

I used to be a sensitive kid, cargo shorts with striped shirts, hair put to the side, around â&#x20AC;&#x2122;08, if I do recall. My memory was hazy. Now I talk to my orange hamster asking what he is doing. Soon I will have a huge house with a triangle window on the side.

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The Beauty of the River Plamedi Laziambabu

ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL WITS WRITER: LAURA LAMPTON SCOTT

Jef: I heard noises behind my back. Did you hear the noise, Nicky? Nicky: What noise? Jef: It’s okay, but you know what? It’s late at night. We need to go inside. Let’s get out of the woods. Nicky: Sure, Jef, I’m also hungry. We have to get inside and make some food. Jef: I heard the noise again. Hey Nicky, you know you should go hide. I’m going to check to see where the noise is coming from. Nicky: No, Jef, we can go together. I also want to know where is that noise coming from. Narrator: They held hands and started walking through the woods, following the sound of the river. The sound began to get closer and closer and closer, and they arrived to a place where there was a huge river behind the woods. The noise was the sound of the water. Since it was late at night, they couldn’t see the beauty of the river and the place. Nicky: Hey, Jef, I think it will best for us to come back and to check this place out the next morning. Jef: Sure, great idea. Narrator: They decided to go back home. It was so cold that night, and they were both hungry. They arrived at the house. They need a fire to warm them up and to make some food but there was a problem, they didn’t have firewood.

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Jef: Nicky, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m going to go back to the woods to fetch some firewood. Nicky: Okay, I will be waiting here. And remember you left me and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m hungry, so hurry. Narrator: When Jef left, Nicky had something to tell him, so she was waiting for him to come back. While she was waiting, she decided to take a nap. To be continued...

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Writers in the Schools Writers-in-Residence 2018-2019

Bettina de León Barrera is a joyful, bilingual writer born in Los Angeles, California of Guatemalan descent whose writing stems from a natural inclination to transform words into meaningful exchanges. In addition to being a community activist, she is a Graduate of UC Berkeley and attended graduate studies at St. Mary’s College in Moraga and Mills College in Oakland, CA. Her poetry recently appeared in New American Writing and was chosen as a finalist for the Boston Review 2014 Discovery contest. Alex Behr’s debut story collection, Planet Grim, came out in 2017 (7.13 Books). Her essays, interviews, fiction, and poetry have appeared or are forthcoming in Tin House, Salon, Nailed, and Cosmonauts Avenue, among others. She teaches intermediate fiction at Portland State and has led fiction and creative nonfiction WITS residencies since 2014. Arthur Bradford is the author of the books Dogwalker and Turtleface (nominated for a 2016 Oregon Book Award). He has told stories for The Moth MainStage and BackfencePDX and is a Moth GrandSLAM winner. He is also an Emmy-nominated filmmaker, most recently working with the creators of South Park and The Book of Mormon. David Ciminello is a Portland-based writer and educator. His fiction has appeared in the Lambda Literary Award-winning anthology Portland Queer: Tales of the Rose City, The Frozen Moment: Contemporary Writers on the Choices That Change Our Lives, the literary journal Lumina, the online anthology Underwater New York, Nailed Magazine, and on Broadcastr. His poetry has appeared in Poetry Northwest. He is a 2011 Lambda Literary Fellow in Fiction and a proud recipient of a 2013 annual Table 4 Writers Foundation grant. His original screenplay Bruno appears on DVD as The Dress Code.

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Lisa Eisenberg is a cartoonist and teaching artist based in Portland, Oregon (by way of the Garden State). She has self-published the print and webcomic series I Cut My Hair, a collection of fiction and non-fiction comics. Her work has appeared in a variety of comics anthologies, including Papercutter, Love In All Forms, The Strumpet, and Digestate. Lisa’s current projects include comics for the online magazine The Nib, and the graphic novels Middle and My Plath Year. She teaches comics-making throughout the Portland area with Young Audiences, Right Brain Initiative, and at her studio located in Comic Cave PDX—the comic-shop jewel of St. Johns. Michelle Ruiz Keil is a Latinx novelist and playwright with an eye for the enchanted and a way with animals. She teaches writing with a focus on fairytale, divination, and archetype and curates All Kinds of Fur: A Fairytale Reading Series and Salon in Portland, Oregon. She has been a fellow at the Squaw Valley Community of Writers and Lit Camp. Her published short fiction can be found in Cosmonauts Avenue and she has a forthcoming theater piece in collaboration with Shaking The Tree Theater. Her debut novel, All of Us with Wings, was published by Soho Teen in 2019. Cari Luna is the author of The Revolution of Every Day, which won the Oregon Book Award for Fiction. A fellow of Yaddo and Ragdale, her writing has appeared in Guernica, Salon, Jacobin, Electric Literature, Catapult, The Rumpus, PANK, and elsewhere. Monty Mickelson is the author of the novel Purgatory (St. Martin’s Press), for which he received a Bush Foundation Individual Artist Fellowship. Mickelson’s short fiction has been published in Loonfeather, in Minnesota Monthly magazine, and online at The Whistling Fire. His creative journalism and essays have been published online at Gently Read Literature and Salon. Two of his YA feature film scripts have been produced for cable television. Mickelson has an MFA in Creative Writing and Writing for the Performing Arts from the University of California, Riverside.

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Damien Miles-Paulson teaches slow dancing, writes, and still dreams of an overseas basketball career. He is a founding member of the now-disbanded experimental German noise band, Flu Shot. His stories, poems and sounds can be found at The Whole Beast Rag, The Washington Square Review, theNewerYork, Alice Blue Review, Marco Polo Arts Mag, Everyday Genius, Past-Ten, Axolotl, and The Alarmist. He now walks the world with an MFA in Creative Writing from UCR in hand. Amy Minato is the author of a memoir Siesta Lane, (Skyhorse Press, 2009) and two poetry collections, Hermit Thrush (Inkwater Press, 2016) and The Wider Lens (Ice River Press, 2004). Amy has been a recipient of both a Literary Arts Fellowship for her poetry and a Walden Residency for her prose. She teaches writing through Literary Arts, Multnomah Art Center, Fishtrap, and at Breitenbush Retreat Center as well as a community service course in sustainable living at Portland State University. She holds both an MFA in Creative Writing and an MS in Environmental Studies from the University of Oregon. Laura Moulton is the founder of Street Books, a bicycle-powered mobile library that serves people who live outside in Portland, Oregon. She has taught writing in public schools, prisons, and teen shelters, and is an adjunct professor at Marylhurst University and Lewis & Clark College. Her social art practice projects have involved postal workers, immigrants, prisoners, and students. She earned an MFA from Eastern Washington University. Ryan Nakano is a poet, journalist, and spoken word artist currently living in Portland, Oregon. He co-curates the White Noise Project, a monthly POC-centered literary reading series, and his work can be found in riksha magazine as well as Voicemail Poems. Jules Ohman is a writer and teacher based in Portland. She co-founded the nonprofit the Free Verse Project, which teaches creative writing in juvenile halls. Her chapbook of stories, Vertical Streets, was awarded the Merriam-Frontier Award, and her work has been published in Willow

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Springs and Camas. She earned her MFA in Fiction from the University of Montana. She has completed her first novel, and is represented by Dan Conaway and Taylor Templeton at Writers House. Brian Parker grew up in Alaska, then Mississippi, and has always been in love with storytelling in every medium. He earned a BFA in graphic design & illustration and an MA in writing & publishing, and now spends his days working in youth publishing (so cool, right?) through his company, Believe In Wonder, which he co-owns with his wife. He is the author of Crow in the Hollow, You Can Rely on Platypi, and The Wondrous Science. Mark Pomeroy’s first novel, The Brightwood Stillness, was published by Oregon State University Press in 2014. He has received an Oregon Literary Fellowship for fiction, and his short stories, poems, and essays have appeared in Open Spaces, The Wordstock 10, Portland Magazine, The Oregonian, NW Book Lovers, and What Teaching Means: Stories from America’s Classrooms. He holds an MA in English Education from Teachers College, Columbia University, where he was a Fellow in Teaching. Emilly Prado is an award-winning freelance multimedia journalist, writer, and educator living in Portland, Oregon. A Chicana native of the Bay Area, her work typically focuses on amplifying the voices of people from marginalized communities. Her writing has appeared in nearly two dozen publications including NPR, The Oregonian, Marie Claire, Bitch Media, and the Portland Mercury where she writes a weekly column. She is the recipient of a 2018 Community Stories Fellowship presented in partnership with Oregon Humanities, the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, and the Pulitzer Prizes and earned a 2017 professional development grant from the Regional Arts & Culture Council to attend a writer’s residency in Michoacan, Mexico. In her free time, she makes zines, DJs, and works as a WITS program specialist at Literary Arts.

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Jon Raymond is the author of the novels The Half-Life, Rain Dragon, and Freebird, the story collection Livability, winner of the Oregon Book Award, and a collection of writings about visual art called The Community. He’s also collaborated on five films with the director Kelly Reichardt—Old Joy, Wendy and Lucy, Meek’s Cutoff, Night Moves, and First Cow, and was nominated for an Emmy for his work on the HBO miniseries Mildred Pierce. His writing has appeared in Tin House, Zoetrope, Playboy, Artforum, and Bookforum, among many other publications. Christopher Rose is originally from Seattle, Washington and he teaches poetry, African American Literature, and Science Fiction at Portland Community College in Portland, Oregon. His poems have appeared in Fjords Review: Black American Edition, The Pariahs Anthology, Yellow Chair Review, TAYO Literary Magazine, The Hawaii Review, and others. He is a NEH Summer Institute Scholar and a Cave Canem Fellow. Joanna Rose is the author of the award-winning novel Little Miss Strange (PNBA Fiction Prize). Other work has appeared in numerous literary journals. Her story “A Good Crack and Break” is in the new Forest Avenue Press anthology, The Night, and the Rain, and the River, and her essay “The Thing with Feathers” (Oregon Humanities) was listed as a Notable in Best American Essays 2015. She is known to readers of the Oregonian as a reviewer on the books page and contributor to Poet’s Corner. She started out with the Dangerous Writers oh so many years ago, and now she and her teaching partner Stevan Allred host the regular Pinewood Table prose critique group. Laura Lampton Scott’s work has appeared in Michigan Quarterly Review, Tin House and The Guardian online, Electric Literature, Monkeybicycle, Okey-Panky, and No Tokens Journal. She has served as assistant and managing editor on books in the McSweeney’s Voice of Witness series, and she’s a MacDowell Colony fellow. Laura has taught fiction at the University of Montana, Literary Arts in Portland, and Hugo House in Seattle.

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Matt Smith grew up in Iowa and Arizona. He earned his BA in English Literature from Arizona State University. He spent the subsequent four years after college in South Korea as an ESL teacher. His short fiction work centers on the intersections of race and identity. He is currently working on a collection of short stories focused on what it means to be multi-racial in America. Matt was a 2017-18 WITS apprentice. Zulema Renee Summerfield is a writer, educator, and creative coach. Her first novel, Every Other Weekend, was published by Little, Brown in the spring of 2018. She is also the author of Everything Faces All Ways at Once, a book of flash fiction and dreams available from Fourteen Hills Press. Her short fiction has been published in a number of literary journals, including Guernica and The Threepenny Review. A MacDowell colony fellow, Zulema lives in Portland, Oregon.

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Index Benson High School Do, Xuan 40 Fogarty, Elliot 30 Malynowski, Kaily 53 Williams, Micah 13 Cleveland High School Ni Ni 50 Franklin High School Borrayo, Clair3 16 English, Jaedyn 41 Ireheta Romero, Gabriela 23 Grant High School Aldrich, Makayla 24 Maharjan, Yogen 64 Gresham High School Chavez Ruiz, Alex 26 Edwards, Max 98 Fields, Maddax 75 Flanders, Ben 82 Hogg, Riley 90 Jiminez, Marco 84 Luna, Allan 101 Maldonado, Marisol 37 McDonald, Gianna 67 Morgunova, Sofiya 57 Sands, Phoenix 43 Wilson, Alen 94

Roosevelt High School Abdullah, Mohammed 100 Baltazar, Andrew 83 Blanco Cruz, Aaron 89 Cruikshank, Piper 93 Espino, Jeslyn 60 Harris, Florence 55 Herrera-Perez, Fernando 25 Kelly, Amanda 51 Laziambabu, Plamedi 102 Lopez, Marcos 42 Lundbom, Cadence 96 Matete, Mapenzi 74 May May, Manuel 65 Migani, Dieumerci 36 Mizee, Maria 79 Monroy Santos, Veronica 21 Nash, Cheyanna 61 Newton, Sammantha 59 Padilla, Jessica 12 Sic Say, Jorge 39 Valdez, Claudia 29 Wescott, Tanya 72 Wilson High School Hughs, Boon 33 Lai, Huarui 76 Latta, Ethan 95 Miller, Abby 48 Murphy, Ronnie 19 Taylor, Musa 62

Lincoln High School Elliott, Colin 17 Parkrose High School Allen, Christian 32

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Youth Programs Support 2018-19

John & Sandra Swinmurn

Brijesh & Ann Anand Sally & John Anderson Anonymous Autzen Foundation Bill Bagnall & Clayton Lloyd Kim & Rosie Batcheller Robert & Leslie Bentley Kathleen Birch Kim & Daniel Bissell Sam & Adriane Blackman Joanna Bloom Kim & Randy Boehm Sandra & Ben Bole Tim & Mary Boyle Broadway Books Julie Bunker Karyle Butcher Ellyn Bye Christine Carr John & Kathryn Cochran

Howard & Rosemary Cohen Liana Colombo Rick Comandich Elizabeth Cook Ginnie Cooper Joan Corcoran Marian Creamer Martha Hunt Curry Anne & Martin Davidson Marian Davis & Peter Librizzo Sharon Dawson David Dearborn Therese Debolock Paul Duden & Francesca Stevenson Justin Dune & Carol Sanders The Duniway Hotel Donna Dunlap Penny & Ken Durant Jane Ediger

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Tina Edlund & Sydney Edlund Jermain Sue & Ed Einowski Katherine Elliott Ann & Ron Emmerson Wayne & Sandy Ericksen Pamela Fairchild & Ted Lamb Mary Ellen Page Farr June Fernandez Miriam Feuerle Laura Ford Susan Fry & Sarah Felix Bob Gass Elizabeth Gemmill Diana Gerding Sarah & Kurt Gibbon Maruta Haas Ken & Paula Hale Jon M. Hanifin Susan Hathaway-Marxer & Larry Marxer Harvest Foundation Mary Patt Hawthorne Laura & Rocky Henderson Mary E. Hirsch & Yoshiaki Shimizu Joanne Hodgdon Molly Holsapple Lynette & Donald Houghton Cecelia & Robert Huntington Barbara Jennings & Richard Teutsch Teri Jensen Freeman Laura Jones & David Livermore Aphra & Richard Katzev Kinder Morgan Foundation BettyLou Koffel Kathy & Michael Krall Ann Lanfri Robert & Susan Leeb Jon & Sheila Levine

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Stacy Lewis Carter & Jennifer MacNichol Kathryn Madison & Jeffrey Wertz Linda Maletis Gail Marten Marsie Martien Robert Matheson Ellen Kyte Mayock Katherine McCoy Connie McDowell Pete McDowell Brad & Julie McMurchie Sally McPherson Merry Melonas Sandra I. Menashe Ruth Metz Sarah Miller Meigs and Andrew Meigs Lynne Naughton Barry & Jane Newman Jeanne Newmark Katelyn Oldham Jan & Steve Oliva Wendy Beth Oliver Katherine Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Neil & Toby Graff Amy Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Neill & Larry Staver Alfred & Eileen Ono Irja Orav Nancy Orr Jo Ellen Osterlind Christine Pallier K. Patten Karen & Marvin Pemberton Kelly Perlewitz Abraham Perlman Foundation Currie Person Bonnie Peterson David & Shirley Pollock

Diane Ponti & Ward Greene Portlandâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;5 Centers for the Arts Luka Rainbourne Kathleen & Tom Rastetter Leslie Rennie-Hill & Ken Hill David Riveness Robin Roberts & John L. Backes Mary Rodeback Ruth Roth Bob Scanlan Mitzi Scott & Harry Rabinowitz Gayle Seely Norm & Barbara Sepenuk Ellen Singer Jaymi Sladen Judy Sosne Laura Stepp Bonnie Pomeroy Stern Carol Stout Herbert A. Templeton Foundation Marjorie Terdal Trust Management Services, LLC Vera H. Vacek Stephanie & John Volkman Kristin & Nick Walrod Fund of The Oregon Community Foundation Julia & Bill Wayne Clif & Patty White Carl Wilson & Evan Boone Lisa Wyatt Steven & Deborah Wynne & many more generous donors, including 182 Portland Arts & Lectures subscribers who raised $23,265 to Send Students to the Schnitz

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Writers in the Schools

2018-2019 Student Chapbook During the 2018-2019 school year, more than 850 students in Portland and east Mulnomah County participated in creative writing residencies in their own classrooms. Local professional writers worked with students to create short fiction, memoir, poetry, and comics, the final versions of which you will read in this chapbook. The creative breadth of Portland’s youth is sometimes comedic, sometimes heartbreaking, but always immense, relevant, and gripping. These pages illustrate the range of realities that face today’s youth. We are so grateful that they have chosen to share their truth with us.

Working with a professional writer made me more confident in myself and made me feel like I can write about anything and it can be amazing. –Roosevelt High School student

I no longer doubt if my story is good or original enough because it is my story and that is good enough. –Benson High School student

I was able to see writing in a different and better way. It also helped me to use my imagination. It was great. –Madison High School student