Young Authors Awards/Prix Jeunes Écrivians by @OECTA

PREFACE

The Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association is proud to present the collected works of this year’s provincial winners of the Young Authors Awards/Prix Jeunes Écrivains. This volume is a celebration of our students’ literary achievements. The insightful works crafted by these young authors open a window onto their generation for us. Their perspectives, dreams and explorations are inspiring to behold. They remind us that the great Canadian writers of the future are presently in our classrooms. We applaud all of our winners as well as the thousands of students across the province who participated in the classroom, school and unit levels of the awards program. We hope that you will keep participating—in English, French, or both languages—to keep the Young Authors Awards/Prix Jeunes Écrivains alive and thriving. The enthusiasm and dedication of every student and supporter ensures that the program continues to grow with each year. We deeply appreciate the commitment of our wonderful teachers, whose inspiration and encouragement provide students with the opportunity to empower themselves through this competition experience. The Young Authors Awards/Prix Jeunes Écrivains program would not be possible without the hard work of many OECTA members across the province. Teachers, OECTA Staff Representatives, Principals, Unit Presidents and Unit Executive members all play a critical role in directing the program in their respective classrooms, schools and units. Members contribute their talent, time and effort to preserve the spirit and continued success of the awards. We extend our thanks to all of you. We hope that you enjoy reading this collection as much as we did. Wishing you all the best, and keep on writing! Susan Perry Professional Development Department Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association

L’Association des Enseignants Catholiques et Anglophones de l’Ontario est fière de vous présenter les travaux des gagnants du niveau provincial des Young Authors Awards / Prix Jeunes Écrivains 2019. Ce livre célèbre les accomplissements littéraires de nos élèves. Félicitations à tous les gagnants du niveau provincial ! Les travaux remarquables de ces jeunes auteurs nous offrent un aperçu de la nouvelle génération à venir. Leurs perspectives, leurs rêves et leur imagination nous inspirent. Ils nous rappellent que les futurs grands écrivains canadiens sont actuellement dans nos classes. Non seulement nous félicitons les élèves publiés dans ce livre, mais aussi tous les élèves de la province qui ont participé au programme, en classe, à l’école et dans leur unité scolaire. Nous espérons que vous continuerez à participer, que ce soit en anglais, en français ou dans les deux langues, aux Young Authors Awards / Prix Jeunes Écrivains, afin de garder ce concours vivant et prospère. L’enthousiasme et la détermination de chaque élève, ainsi que celui des partisans, garantissent chaque année le développement et l’amélioration des Young Authors Awards / Prix Jeunes Écrivains. Nous apprécions énormément l’engagement de nos remarquables enseignants, qui inspirent et encouragent leurs élèves, et leur donnent l’opportunité de s’engager et de s’épanouir dans ce concours. Les Young Authors Awards / Prix Jeunes Écrivains ne seraient pas possibles sans le travail acharné des membres de l’OECTA dans toute la province. Les enseignants, représentants OECTA, principaux d’établissement, présidents d’unité et membres exécutifs d’unité jouent tous un rôle important dans la diffusion du concours dans leurs classes, leurs écoles et leurs unités. Les membres mettent à profit leurs compétences, leur temps et leurs efforts, afin de préserver l’esprit et la réussite continuelle de ces Prix. Nous les en remercions chaleureusement. Nous espérons que vous apprécierez la lecture de ce recueil autant que nous. Nous vous souhaitons le meilleur, et surtout continuez d’écrire ! Susan Perry Professional Development Department Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS 2019 Marlène Cavagna, BILINGUAL EDITOR, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT Anne Denning, BILINGUAL EDITOR, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT Fernanda Monteiro, GRAPHIC LAYOUT ARTIST, COMMUNICATIONS DEPARTMENT Ruth Stanley, ASSISTANT TO THE REGISTRAR, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT Riley Watson, ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT

PROVINCIAL SELECTION COMMITTEE 2019 Cynthia Gittins, CO-CHAIRPERSON Nancy Molnar, CO-CHAIRPERSON

Nayana D’Costa Daniela Dente Devon Dimney Rhonda Fox Savario Galati Sarah Gallah Jennifer Gerwlivch Laryssa Gorecki Alessandro La Gamba Kelsey Molnar Vincent O’Brien Anne O’Neill Bradt Craig Phillips Sou Yen Shu Marina Sigavera Claire Slaven Kristine Soufian

BATMAN VS. BAD BATMAN

SCHOOL: St. Agnes TEACHER: Lynn Brohman SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Paul Henriques UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Patrick Etmanski JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / SHORT STORY by Cash Renaud

A long time ago Batman found a tree. And behind the tree there was Bad Batman. And they became friends. The End

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LETTER TALK

SCHOOL: Monsignor Clair TEACHER: Shannon Lee SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Rita Borgogelli UNIT: Simcoe Muskoka Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Kent MacDonald JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / POEM by Arya Baker

I am going to talk to O and P but the letters A and Q don’t want to talk to me.

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OWLS

SCHOOL: Sacred Heart, Paris TEACHER: Andrea Perras SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Larisse Robertson UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Tom Laracy JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / NONFICTION by Amara Adderley

Head: Big circle eyes are for seeing in the dark. An owl’s beak kind of looks like an upside down triangle and their face looks like a heart. There are different kinds of owls. A baby’s outer cover is called down. When owls get bigger they grow feathers on their wings. Types of owls: There are barn owls, night owls and screech owls. Marrying owls: A girl owl finds the most loving boy owl and marries the boy owl and has babies.

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SUNLIGHT

SCHOOL: St. John’s TEACHER: Heidi Ruttinger SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Diane Miehm UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Patrick Etmanski GRADES 1-2 / SHORT STORY by Joelle Sadang

Once upon a time there lived a girl named Tiffany who had XP. XP is a disease where someone can’t go outside or else they’ll get hurt by the sun. Tiffany had a friend named Morgan. Morgan did everything with Tiffany in her house, like playing the guitar and writing songs with her. One day, Morgan got a newspaper with a leprechaun on it and the leprechaun had a potion for XP and other diseases. Tiffany snuck out of her house and she got to the forest where the leprechaun was. She was hoping to be cured so she could play outside with the other normal kids. The leprechaun recognized Tiffany because she was a great singer. He was feeling jealous and tried to take her voice. He was an evil leprechaun and he wanted her voice so he could be a great singer. Tiffany saw the potions under the leprechaun’s desk in the forest. When the leprechaun wasn’t looking, she took the potion and ran away before he could get her voice. Tiffany told her dad about the potion in the newspaper, but she didn’t tell him about sneaking out of the house because she didn’t want to get in trouble. Her dad said, “Go and test it.” She went outside where there was sunlight and she drank the potion. It was in a container that had XP on it, but she didn’t see the words that said: “This is water. Just kidding.” Then she ran inside and told her dad about the leprechaun and sneaking out and she said,

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“I’m so sorry, Dad.” Her dad saw the bruise on her neck because that’s how the sun hurts her. Her dad drove her to the hospital and the doctor gave her a cure for her bruises and told her not to go outside again. She listened to the doctor and never, ever, ever went outside again. So, because the leprechaun was bad to her, he went to jail and stayed there for ten years. He realized he shouldn’t have done that and wanted to change his life. So he called the girl and said, “Come to the jail at night. I have something to give to you.” So the girl went at night but she was careful because she didn’t trust him that much. Then, he gave her the real potion. She looked carefully at the bottle. She drank the potion the next morning and she tested it in the sunlight and it worked! She didn’t get bruises on her neck anymore! Tiffany went to the leprechaun in the jail and said, “Thank you for the potion. You cured me.” Then Tiffany told the guards about how nice the leprechaun was and they believed her. So they let him free. They went to Tiffany’s house together because the leprechaun didn’t have a home anymore. He asked Tiffany if he could live with her. Tiffany said, “Yes.” And they lived a happy life together.

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HORSEBACK RIDING

SCHOOL: Holy Name TEACHER: Marla Mackler SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Scott Waller UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Sheena Cassidy GRADES 1-2 / POEM by Summer Addison Willing

Horses are fun Only think about what you are doing Ride See where you are going Every horse has a name Brush the horse All horses have hooves Can trot Keep your hands on the reins Riding is fun! I love horses Do what you’re told on the horse I love riding Need food and water Get the saddle and put it on the horse

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DREAM AWAY

SCHOOL: St. James TEACHER: Katie Etmanskie SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Alanna Hermans UNIT: Renfrew UNIT PRESIDENT: Tracey Pecarski GRADES 1-2 / NONFICTION by Lauren Hermans

Have you ever been on a boat that has fourteen levels and that can hold four thousand people? I have not…YET! My name is Lauren and my dream is to go on a Disney cruise. My dream started when I wanted to go to Disney World, but my parents suggested that we try a Disney cruise instead. At first, I thought there were ball games and bedrooms on this cruise, but I started doing some research. I found out that there are many amazing activities to do on this cruise ship and it also stops at its own private island! Disney Cruise Lines actually have four different ships. The first decision I had to make was which one I wanted to go on. I chose the Dream ship because it is the largest ship and I thought that it would have the most excitement on it. Let’s talk about the cruise ship food! Did you know that you can get unlimited food and drinks all day and all night long? That means if you are hungry in the middle of the night, you can order food right to your room! There are three main restaurants you can go to for dinner on the ship. You will go to a different one each night. You will have the same server every night so they will get to know you and what you like. If you are having trouble deciding what to have for dessert, you don’t have to decide because you can have it ALL! Once your belly is full of food, you’ll want to explore the many activities on the ship including the spa, the kids clubs, the pools, the theatres, and the amazing one of a kind, first at sea “water coaster” called the AquaDuck. This is a water slide that takes you all over the ship and is 765 feet long. Two people can go down on a raft at a time. All the research that I have found tells me that riding the AquaDuck at night is a MUST because it lights up! I already mentioned that Disney has their own private island. It is called Castaway Cay. The cruise ship stops here for a whole day so you can get off the ship and explore the island. You take a tram from the ship to the beach where there are many activities you can do, including snorkeling, boating, swimming and bicycle tours of the island. I am very excited to explore this island that has a history of buried treasure!

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With so much to know before I set sail with my family on the Disney Dream cruise, I have discovered some secrets and tips. Mickey ice cream bars are not on any menus but you can ask for them anywhere and anytime. Dole Whip is now available on Disney Cruise Lines too. This is a pineapple flavoured soft serve ice cream that people go crazy for! You must also remember to pack your own princess and pirate costumes for special events. I can’t wait to go on the Disney Dream cruise—it’s where dreams really do come true!

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THE THREE ELVES The Story of Johnny, Jeffy and Bobby SCHOOL: St. Anne TEACHER: Kelly Clarke SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Mary Diemert UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Patrick Etmanski GRADES 3-4 / SHORT STORY by Benjamin Hopkins

It was Christmas Eve 2000 in Santa’s village. It had been a festive day of putting up decorations all around town. There were gingerbread houses, inflatable snowmen, and real, live snowmen. All of the elves and Santa were enjoying a fun party and there were Christmas carollers on a stage. Then, strong winds started to form and all the lights in the whole village went out. Immediately, everyone started screaming in terror, except for Santa. After about two minutes of the elves panicking, Santa finally said, “Silence!” and the elves stopped. A silhouette of a figure started walking towards them. It was furry, medium-sized, about five feet tall, and looked like it had a heart three times too small. All the elves knew who it was right away. It was the GRINCH!!! Buh buh buh!! After their shock wore off, the Grinch finally spoke. He said with a laugh, “I’m here to tell you that I am going to destroy Santa’s workshop, all of its contents, including Christmas itself.” The elves gasped. “If you wish to prevent this from happening, there is only one way. You must find and collect the following three things. They are: a twenty-foot Christmas tree dipped in chocolate, a fragment from the star of Bethlehem in a recycled glass jar, and two turtle doves.” The Grinch went on by saying, “You have but three hours, till 10 p.m., to complete these tasks or risk ruining Christmas for all!” And with a poof, the Grinch disappeared. The elves started to panic again, but Santa spoke calmly. “I need three volunteers to find these three items.” Quickly, hands shot up. “Johnny, you are in charge of finding a tree dipped in chocolate. Bobby, you must travel far to retrieve a piece of the star of Bethlehem. And you, Jeffy, you must find two rare turtle doves. You have less than three hours to accomplish these tasks. Can I trust you to help me save Christmas before it’s too late?” “YES!” The three elves yelled at the same time. Johnny rushed out to the forest with a team of eager elves, and found a perfect twenty-foot Christmas tree. While he cut down the tree, he gave instructions to the other elves: “Reroute the chocolate destined to make miniature Santas, and fill the swimming pool at the local motel. I’ll meet you there with the tree.” Minutes later, the tree was hauled up, above the chocolate-filled pool with a crane. Johnny yelled, “Dip the TREE!” The tree was lowered into the gooey chocolate. Soon it was fully submerged in the chocolate. When it came out, it was a beautiful thing to behold. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

At the same time, Bobby was on the case to retrieve the piece of the Bethlehem star. Though it seemed impossible, Bobby suddenly remembered the teleporter in the storage of the workshop. It had last been used for an emergency battery run to the Walmart in Alaska. Bobby, along with his assistant Carl, who was carrying the recycled glass jar, hopped in and set their destination: “Star of Bethlehem.” This was a risky journey, as the teleporter often glitched and sent travellers to other, less pleasant destinations. Fingers were crossed. The button was pressed, and our ambitious elves were thrown out into the universe. Soon after, they arrived on a frozen lake in an unknown place on the moon. They searched for a little while, looking for a tiny shard of the star…which they discovered when Carl tripped over a rock. Which revealed the fragment of the star. Minutes later they returned to Santa’s village, with the tiny piece of the star in hand. Carl was giddy with excitement. Last, but not least, the turtle doves. Jeffy, the youngest elf, completely disregarded the places one would normally search for doves (parks, rooftops, market squares, etc.) because, frankly, he didn’t believe they even existed. But time was running out. He decided to take a break and rest atop a mountain. While there, he had a vision. A memory of a movie called Home Alone Two where the main character had two turtle dove ornaments from the shop Duncan’s Toy Chest. The Grinch never mentioned that he needed “real” turtle doves, so Jeffy hopped into the teleporter that had just arrived back with Bobby and Carl. He hopped in, and put in the destination, “Manhattan.” Minutes later, they arrived in the city during a snowstorm. The conditions of walking through the thick snow were harsh, but they made it to the store fifteen minutes before the Grinch’s three hours were over. They quickly located two turtle doves and raced back to the teleporter only to discover that the keys to start the teleporter were MISSING. They scratched their heads wondering why the person that stole the keys didn’t steal the teleporter too. They didn’t have long to ponder about this because time was ticking!!! Suddenly, Jeffy heard a faint sound of jingle bells in the blustery wind and air. They looked up to see something rapidly descending from the sky above and immediately jumped out of the way of the U.F.O. When it got closer to the elves, Bobby saw a large figure in the U.F.O., and with three short words gave his identity away. And those words were, “HO HO HO!!!” They all jumped into Santa’s sleigh and in a few seconds, were back in Santa’s village just as the clock struck 10 p.m. At just that moment, the Grinch revealed himself. With a smirk on his face, he asked the question, “Do you have my three requested items in order to save Christmas?” The elves brought forward the items for the Grinch. The Grinch examined each item. First, the twenty-foot tree dipped in chocolate. “Milk chocolate! Yuck!” the Grinch cried out. Next, fragment of the star of Bethlehem in the recycled glass jar. “Wow! That’s pretty impressive. Where’d you get that?!” But he didn’t really care.

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The third request, the turtle doves. Jeffy presented the turtle dove ornaments. The Grinch was delighted. “Hahaha! Those aren’t real turtle doves.” Santa and the elves took a deep breath. But Jeffy replied, “You didn’t say they had to be real.” Everyone looked at the Grinch. The Grinch’s smile slowly turned into a frown. Once again, his plan to ruin Christmas had been foiled. Then the Grinch stormed out of Santa’s village, very angry. “You guys got me this year, but I’ll get you next year.” All the elves and Santa started working again and Christmas was saved. The End

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THE MIRROR

SCHOOL: St. Francis TEACHER: Sandi Capasso SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Myra Hupet UNIT: Thunder Bay Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Aldo Grillo GRADES 3-4 / POEM by Renee Jessome

Take a look in the mirror, Look into your eyes, Think of what you can do for the world, You are smart, strong, sweet, kind, loving and cute, Share your talent and gift with the world, You are special in every way, No one is too little, No one is too old, As long as you love yourself for who you are, Remember that next time you look in the mirror.

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POLAR BEAR ANIMAL REPORT

SCHOOL: St. Teresa of Calcutta TEACHER: Diane Heaney SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lisa Santi UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Nina March GRADES 3-4/ NONFICTION by Lily Kray

Polar bears are big white furry mammals of joy! Unfortunately, they are endangered. Polar bears live in the chilly North Pole, Alaska, Arctic regions and Arctic waters. They have a sweet tooth for seals. They eat mostly seals, but sometimes they will devour sea lions, dead fish and are even known to eat beluga whales. When it comes to this mammal’s appearance, it’s nothing but cute! It has white fur and a black nose, as well as black eyes. A female can weigh up to 250 kg. A male can weigh up to 700 kg. The height of the average polar bear is about 140 cm tall. Polar bears live in a freezing climate. There are many structural adaptations that help them survive. Their blurry white thick layers of fur keep them warm in harsh winds or snowfalls. A thick layer of fatty blubber also keeps them warm in their cold climate. It has hidden black skin that slightly peeks out of its white fur. The black skin absorbs sunlight for our fuzzy friend! Moving down to the feet, this guy has hairy soles that protect the paws, insulate the feet and prevent it from slipping on ice! Its claws help dig through the ice and dissect its prey. Polar bears have interesting things they do, like covering their big black nose with their paw when hunting, so they will not be noticed and camouflage. Polar bears also like to travel in groups when mating. They also like to float on ice platforms when they are hunting. Polar bears are amazing animals that have some cool and interesting facts that you probably did not know. This animal has what looks like white, thick fur, but this furry friend actually has transparent fur. When layers of it come together, it appears to be white. Polar bears are the largest carnivore that lives on land. They have around 42 teeth and their feet are about the size of dinner plates! Polar bears are endangered mainly because of climate change. Global warming is heating up their snowy habitat. Some other reasons are that people are hunting them for their skin and fur, gases that rise from the Arctic waters are poisoning them, and oil spills in the water they swim in are destroying their fur.

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On the bright side, there are some things that are being done to help! People are trying to prevent global warming by recycling more and not using cars for long distances. Overall, polar bears are amazing animals that, unfortunately, are endangered. We hope to save them before itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s too late!

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THE CHRISTMAS LIE

SCHOOL: St. Mary TEACHER: Kimberly Wright SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Julie Whitney UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Sheena Cassidy GRADES 5-6 / SHORT STORY by Mikayla E. Barter

“A blizzard!!! That was the weather. If you looked out the window all you could see was white, white as far as the eye could see,” I said, reading a book to my little brother Alex. “I’m scared, Mom,” Alex said to Mother. He got up from the table and walked to the rocking chair that Father built for Mother. Father is in the war. Fighting for our country. “I don’t want you to go!” I said. “I have to, Bumblebee,” Father said with his pack on his back. “You promise you will come back!!!” Mother said with tears in her eyes. Father’s eyes sparkled when he looked at Mother. “I will always come back,” he promised. I sat in the rocking chair and looked out the window. It was snowing out. I saw the moon shining against the house and the stars twinkling with delight. It was a peaceful sight. Until... “Kate!!!” Mother called from the hallway. “Why did you scare your brother with one of your books again? Now he won’t go to sleep.” “I’m sorry. I thought I would read him a bedtime story like Dad used to do,” I offered. “Do not bring Dad into this!” Mother said. “I just wanted to bring the good times back because it’s almost Christmas,” I said, with hope in my voice. “Dad is NOT coming back. Christmas is a myth,” Mother boomed.

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Any hope I ever felt fell with the tears streaming out of my eyes. I cried heavily, ran to my bedroom and slammed the door shut. Is it true? Is Christmas a myth? Are Santa and his elves just a myth? I cried myself to sleep that night. I woke up to the smell of two-day-old porridge and stale bread. I put my church dress on. It was a nice pink lacy dress that had a bow on the side. Next, I put on my shiny black shoes. I got them on Christmas Day. They were from Father. He loved spoiling me with treats and presents. Ever since he went to the war, all I ever seemed to get were socks and a treat that was as stale as a rock. And no father to celebrate Christmas with. I skipped down the stairs. Alex was playing with the wooden cars that Dad built for him the week before he left. “Good morning,” Mother said, pouring the old porridge into a bowl for me. I sat down. Mother handed me a spoon for my breakfast. I took a spoonful of the porridge and took a bite. I almost spit it up right then and there. “I...I’m not that hungry,” I said, pushing the food away. “You didn’t even take two bites!” Mother exclaimed. “I know. I just don’t feel hungry,” I said, getting up from the table. “Oh...okay,” Mother said, looking worried. “I’m going outside,” I called from the mudroom. “Okay! Don’t get your dress dirty. We are leaving for church soon,” Mother called to me. “Okay,” I said, and walked out the door. My jacket was an old one. It didn’t even fit me anymore. We didn’t have enough money to buy a new one though. I walked to the barn to Buttercup and Jackson. They were our horses. I got my horse on my ninth birthday. Alex got his on his fourth birthday. Alex was now six years old. I got to the barn and was surprised that my boots survived the walk there. They were as old as my grandma. Half of my toe was coming out of the boot. I opened the barn doors and saw the two horses. “Hi girl,” I said, patting Buttercup on her nose. I let her out of her stall and got on her back. “Come on,” I said, gently nudging her sides.

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She rode like the wind. Buttercup’s hooves raised over the puddles that the snow made. I felt free. I rode her through all of our back roads. I wanted to keep riding her but I knew I had to go back. I pulled on Buttercup’s mane to get her to turn, but she wouldn’t. I pulled a little more. Buttercup ran, top speed, going straight. I began to panic. I pulled and tugged on her mane to turn. She would not budge. I recalled what Sunday school taught me. If you are in trouble, you pray. Dear God, I need your help. Can you help me turn Buttercup, please? I pulled on the mane. She obeyed. We headed back towards our home. “Thank you, Lord,” I yelled in happiness. We were almost to the barn when Buttercup suddenly stopped. The last thing I remember was flying over Buttercup’s head. I woke up in a room on a bed. The sheets were white. I looked to my right and saw two nurses talking to each other. I wanted to talk but I couldn’t. Something was covering my mouth. The two nurses walked over to me. “Hi, my name is Nurse Lilly,” Lilly said to me. “I’m Nurse V,” the other nurse said. Nurse V took the thing that was covering my mouth off of me. It was lodged down my throat. I choked a little when it came out. It was doing the breathing for me. “You will be okay. You fell off your horse,” Nurse Lilly informed me. Just then a beeping sound was heard throughout the rooms. The two nurses sprang into action. They ran out of my room. The beeping was so loud. The two nurses came back but they were pushing hospital beds with people in them into my room. The nurses upped my medication and I slipped into a deep sleep. I woke up to the sound of beeping. It never stopped. I looked beside me. There was a man sleeping in a bed. He had so many cords attached to him. Why?! Later on, the man looked over at me. I was lost in my thoughts about Buttercup, God and being alive. Just then, the man reached out for me. I looked at him. He was wearing an army suit. He had brown hair with sparkling eyes. It almost looked like...Dad!!!! My hand reached for his. He had tears in his eyes. I was crying too. Just then, the nurses took my dad’s stretcher into another room. I tried to get out of bed, but the nurses held me down. I tried yelling but my throat was scratchy.

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The nurses gave me another needle. I slipped into a deep sleep. When I woke again, Mother was sitting on a chair with Alex in her lap. “Mother,” I whispered. “You’re awake. What do you need, dear?” Mother asked, coming to my side. “I saw Dad,” I said groggily. “No! You didn’t,” Mother said. “Yes, I did,” I said. “No,” mother said. “This is mean, Kate.” “Yes,” I said. “I saw him with my own eyes.” The nurse entered the room. “Kate, you shouldn’t be talking. When you fell off your horse you got a lot of injuries. You need to rest,” Nurse V said. She opened the curtains and went out of the room. “I did see him,” I said quietly. “No you didn’t, Kate,” Mother exclaimed. “But, Mother...I did,” I stated. “You couldn’t have...” Mother began. “Because...because he’s dead,” Mother cried. “He can’t be dead,” I said. “He is,” Mother told me. “How would you know?” I said to her. I was angry. Why would Mother insist that he was dead when I knew he wasn’t? “When someone goes to war and they pass away,” Mother began through tears, “If you get an orange note, that note is the worst note in the whole universe. It tells you that your loved one has passed away.” Mother passed me an orange letter. “This is a mistake. I saw him with my own eyes,” I insisted.

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“Kate, please stop saying that. You didn’t see him,” Mother said, crying. Did I actually see my father? I thought to myself. I looked at the letter Mother had passed to me. “Did you read it?” I asked Mother. “I read half of the letter,” Mother said. “Then, how do you know he is dead...for sure?” I asked. “Because it said it in the letter,” Mother said. I looked at the letter:

Dear Mrs. Carter,

Your husband is dead. I am sorry for your loss. He was a great man. He fought the evil and made the world good.

He will forever be in our hearts. He went to the Sunnyside General Hospital. He was very injured. We are confident he died due to injury.

Sincerely, General Adams “Mom!!! It says, ‘We are confident he is dead.’ Read the last line. They aren’t sure,” I said with joy. “Sunnyside General Hospital,” Mother said. “Let’s ask the nurses where that hospital is.” Mother peeked her head out the door. Nurse Lilly was at the station outside my room. “Nurse Lilly,” Mother began. “Where is Sunnyside Hospital?” “Why, this is Sunnyside hospital,” Nurse Lilly said. “What room is Phillip Carter in?” Mother asked hopefully. “I can’t give out that kind of information, Miss...?” Nurse Lilly said. “Carter. Mrs.!” Mother said. “I am his wife.” “Oh my. Room 222 on Floor 3,” Nurse Lilly said, looking at the screen. “You are on Floor 3 and

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this is Room 221.” She smiled. “He’s so close,” Mother gasped. Alex and I beamed. Words escaped us. “I’m going to see him,” Mother said. “Mother, wait,” I said. “Why did God let me fall off my horse?” “God always has a plan,” Mother said. She had always said that to me for as long as I could remember. “We want to see Dad too,” I said to Mother. “You need to rest,” Mother instructed. “I will tell you exactly what he says. I will be back. Hush and rest.” Mother kissed my forehead and Alex’s and she left the room. My thoughts turned back to falling off Buttercup. Why me? I am in a hospital. I can’t be like other kids running and playing. This stinks, I thought. Just then, there was a gentle knock on my door. “Hi Bumblebee!” Dad said. “Dad!!! You’re okay!!” I said with glee. ‘’Of course I am,” Dad said. “And you came back. I thought I would never see you again,” I said, hugging my Dad. Alex crawled all over Dad too. “I told you I would always come back!” Dad said. “The doctors said I can come home too.” “At least you get to go home.” I said sadly. “And so can you! In two days,” Dad said. Two days later Mother came to the hospital and helped me pack up. Dad and Mom and even Alex visited me all day long while I was there. “Alright, I think we have everything,” Mother said. “I think so,” I replied, looking around. “I cannot wait to sleep in my own bed.” “I bet,” Mother said. She put the bag over her shoulder and we walked out of the hospital hand 28

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in hand. “We’re home!” Mother announced, opening the door. “Let me help you,” Dad said, waking up from his nap. He took my bag and put it in my room. Later on we were enjoying family time by the fireplace. Suddenly, it occurred to me. “I know why God let me fall off my horse!” I turned and looked at Dad. “It was so that I could see you.” “God has a plan for everything!” Mother said, rocking in her rocking chair. Christmas Day was the following day and I knew it was going to be perfect.

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SCIENCE CLASS

SCHOOL: St. Bernard TEACHER: Andrea Rewutzsky-Gardin SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Amanda McGinnes UNIT: Durham Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Melissa Cowen GRADES 5-6 / POEM by Max Carvalho

In science class, teachers always say Nature helps in every way Today I learned: Trees help us breathe. Just to check if this was true, What do you think I decided to do? I held my breath in the deep end, I expected the trees to lend a hand… But they didn’t help to give me breath, I was very nearly close to death! In science class, teachers always say Nature helps in every way Today I learned: Rocks produce salt. Just to check if this was true, What do you think I decided to do? I pounded a rock on my fries, Hoping to see some salt fly… But it didn’t produce a taste that’s great, And I spat the fries upon my plate. In science class, teachers always say Nature helps in every way Today I learned: Water helps things grow. Just to check if this was true, What do you think I decided to do?

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Into the bath I threw my cash, Hoping to see more money in a flash… My bills—soaked, my coins—down the drain This is making me insane. One thing I’ve learned from all these tries: Science class is full of lies!

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THE PIKWAKANAGAN POW WOW

SCHOOL: St. James TEACHER: Lisa Hart SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Alanna Hermans UNIT: Renfrew UNIT PRESIDENT: Tracey Pecarski GRADES 5-6 / NONFICTION by Nevaeh Sarazin

Hello, I’m Nevaeh. I’m a First Nations student from Pikwakanagan, Golden Lake, Ontario. Today I’m going to talk to you about the Pikwakanagan Pow Wow. This is a gathering of our people that happens annually. The Pow Wow is a ceremonial celebration of the First Nations. When you go to the Pow Wow you see food booths and craft booths. The food vendors sell fried bread called scone, fried bread with sugar and cinnamon called beaver tails, and lots more delicious traditional foods. The craft vendors sell many traditional crafts such as dreamcatchers, medicine wheels, headdresses, traditional salves and lip balms, and many more traditional crafts. You can also see the Arbour with the men drumming at the big grandfather drum. The Arbour is kind of like a gazebo without the screening. All of the drummers sit here around each one of their drums. You can also see several men, women and children wearing their regalias. A regalia is a type of Indigenous clothing worn for special gathering ceremonies at the Pow Wow. There are several kinds of regalias. For women, you can see traditional, fancy shawl and jingle dresses. For men’s regalia, there are traditional, grass, and fancy dancers. I will explain these in more detail shortly. At the Pikwakanagan Pow Wow, you can hear an announcer telling the crowd what songs will be sung on the drum and which dancers will be in the dance circle. The men will beat the drum and sing along. Usually there are about six to ten singers around each drum. My favourite song would be Manido Makwa, which translates to Bear Spirit. When the drumming begins, the dancers are dancing in their full regalia. When these dances happen, there is a certain direction that they must go in. They must go in a clockwise direction following the sun around the circle. Now I’m going to tell you about what all the regalias represent. When the girls are dancing the fancy shawl, they are meant to look like a happy butterfly spreading their wings around outside. The grass dancers are meant to pat down the grass before all the dancers come dancing in the dance circle. The fancy dancers are dancers who are fully dressed from head to toe with their regalia and have the most technique with their dance. There is normally one person who does a fancy dance during one or two songs. The men’s traditional dance is for

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honouring the spirits. The women’s traditional dance represents the women walking the earth to take care of it. The jingle dress was created by a man who had a sick daughter. The man’s daughter was so sick he had dreamed that night of a dress that would heal his daughter, so the next day he had made the dress in his dream and put it on his daughter. His daughter was no longer sick. I have experienced the Pow Wow because I am a First Nations person from Pikwakanagan where the Pow Wow happens every year in August. I have danced there since I was able to walk. The best way to experience a Pow Wow is to come to one. I invite you all to Pikwakanagan this summer. I hope to see you there!

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MONEYLESS FOR CHRISTMAS

SCHOOL: Pope John Paul II TEACHER: Tara Monahan SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lynn Fratpietro UNIT: Thunder Bay Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Aldo Grillo GRADES 7-8 / SHORT STORY by Rebecca Symanyk

I wake up the morning of the 16th of December to the beeping of an old alarm clock. Groggily, I sit up with my back aching due to the uncomfortable spot on my bed. I glance over at the clock; it’s eight o’clock, leaving me one hour to get to school. Most kids my age shower in the mornings but, unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury in my small trailer. I would kill to live in a house, or even just in a slightly bigger trailer…but when you’re short on money you have to settle for what you get. “And we really are settling,” I say to myself, looking at the state of the house I’ve been living in since I was six. Almost all the visible metal is rusted, one of the cabinets is missing a door, and my mattress has a big rip going down the side. I turn to our table, or what’s meant to be a table but is currently converted into a bed. Mom must have been late to work, I think, knowing that she usually switches it back to its table position before leaving. I reach under the bed and pull out an old tee-shirt, a pair of pants with a hole at the knee, and a maroon sweater. I quickly change before grabbing a stale bagel off the counter, ripping off a piece and shoving it in my mouth. I put on my jacket and throw my school bag over my shoulder. I walk out the door only to be greeted by harsh winds and half a foot of snow, with still more coming down. I lock the door and begin my treacherous walk to school. There’s snow in my eyes and my long brown hair keeps blowing into my mouth. I stifle a scream as I trip over a hidden branch and plummet into the snow beneath me. “Gosh I hate this place,” I mutter to myself as I stand. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to have a place to stay, but let’s just say that the cheapest trailer park in town is not exactly a well-managed place. After a disastrous walk and several more falls, I finally reach school. As I shake the snow off my freezing body, I hear a voice approach me. “Hey Elizabeth!”

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“Hey Claire,” I respond to my best friend. “So what are you doing tonight?” she asks. As we talk, we walk down the narrow hallway leading to our first class. “I have to help my mom with some stuff. What about you?” “I have to babysit my younger cousins, then I’m going to go volunteer at the soup kitchen.” In all honesty, I don’t really listen. I’m too distracted by my favourite part of the school, the giant mural outside of the art room. It was painted long before I came to the school and ever since freshman year I’ve been obsessed with it. “Hello? Earth to Elizabeth…” I snap back to reality only to see Claire’s hand waving in front of my face. “Huh?” “We’re at our class,” she says, slightly annoyed. “Oh. Sorry.” Our class just happens to be my favourite: art class. I walk in and begin on the project we started last class, drawing eyes in colour. I already did blue and brown eyes, but not green. Even though it’s my eye colour I hate them. My father had green eyes, they’re one of the few things I remember about him. He left my mom and me when I was six. That’s why we don’t have much money; he took all of it with him. I fight back the unpleasant memories and continue my work. As I’m drawing, Claire leans over to me. “If you want to get out of doing housework you can help me babysit. I can pick you up at your house.” I freeze. There is one major problem with that plan and it’s that she would have to pick me up from my place. Claire doesn’t exactly know about my situation. She thinks I’m just a normal kid with a normal house, and worst of all she thinks that I lost my dad in a car crash. If she found out about my financial situation she would find out the truth about everything. “Uh, I can’t. There’s a lot to do before Christmas and…uh…my mom really needs the help.”

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“Oh, okay,” Claire says, looking a bit disappointed. She turns away and continues her work. Hours later, school is over and I return home to see my mom sitting on my bed. “Hi.” “Hi, honey,” she responds, looking slightly worried. “Is something wrong?” I ask. She shifts uncomfortably on my bed before beginning to speak. “Well honey, we don’t have any food for tonight. At all. I don’t have any food stamps left and the government doesn’t replenish my card ‘til tomorrow.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “Honey, I’m sorry, we’re going to have to go to the soup kitchen.” The soup kitchen. I hate that place. Granted I haven’t been there in a long time. They’re always overcrowded, and I hate that pitiful look the volunteers give you when you take your food. Of all times to run out of food stamps, it had to be at Christmas time when the soup kitchens are at full capacity. As much as I don’t want to go I know I shouldn’t argue. “Okay, I’ll go get ready.” I look down at my clothes. Good, they don’t look too nice, I say to myself, thinking about the first time I went to the soup kitchen. My mom wanted me to look nice so I wore my best clothes. When I got there, all the volunteers gave me a dirty look. They assumed that just because my clothes weren’t all torn up I couldn’t possibly be in need. I turn back to my mother. “Okay, I’m ready.” Luckily, the snow had died down since my walk to school and in no time we had reached the soup kitchen. I walked into the building filled almost to full capacity with men, women and children eating what might be their first meal this week. I step up to the counter where the food is being served, and to my horror, a voice calls me out. “Elizabeth?” I slowly turn to see Claire just two feet away from me behind the counter. Is she volunteering? I ask myself, running through the day in my head. Then I remember, she told me at school,

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I just wasn’t paying attention. Gosh, how could I be such an idiot as to not think about who could be volunteering before coming here! “What are you doing here? Are you volunteering?” Claire’s voice snaps me out of my daze. As I begin to ponder how exactly I’m going to get out of this situation, my mom’s voice comes from behind me. “Elizabeth, hurry up and get your food. People are waiting.” I snap my head back to Claire. She watches in confusion before a look of realization crosses her face. “Oh, Elizabeth, I—” I don’t stay to hear what she has to say. Completely forgetting about my food and my mom, I bolt out of that place and run back to my trailer. So many thoughts are rushing around in my head, I can’t take it anymore. I burst through my trailer door, throw myself onto my bed and cry. Everything I’ve worked so hard to keep a secret. She knows. I’m only snapped out of my devastated state when my mom walks in through the trailer door and sits across from me. “Elizabeth, she had to find out sooner or later.” Deep inside I know that she’s right, but I’ll never admit it. “I know you’re not in the mood to talk so I’m going to leave,” she murmurs as she slowly stands up. “Oh, and I brought you your food.” She sets a plate down in front of me and walks out the door. She probably picked up another overtime shift, I guess, knowing that we’re behind on the rent we have to pay to stay in the trailer park. I look over at the plate of food. On it there’s a bowl of soup and a bun that’s already gone cold. I reach for the bun but only end up taking a few bites, not really being in the mood for food. I lay my head back down on my pillow and slowly drift to sleep. Not a peaceful sleep, but an uneasy sleep filled with nightmares about what might be to come when I return to school.

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I don’t go to school the next day. I tell my mom that I’m sick. I know she doesn’t believe me but she lets me stay home anyway, probably feeling bad about yesterday’s events. My mind floods with memories and nostalgia of when I was a kid staying home from school. It was always really boring considering I didn’t, and still don’t, have a TV like most other kids. My mom would always offer to go to the store to get me a colouring book but I would always decline, feeling bad that she would have been spending her hard-earned money buying a book that could only really be used once. I reach beside me and grab my phone. It’s an iPhone 4, my mom saved up all year last year to buy it. She got it off eBay; it’s second hand but still in surprisingly good condition. On instinct I go to text Claire, before I recoil, remembering what happened at the soup kitchen. I can hardly imagine what she thinks of me now. She’s probably disgusted that she’s been friends with some poor girl all these years. The rest of the day goes by quickly. Too quickly. Before I know it, it’s already the next day and I’m walking through the school doors. I look around me, frankly relieved that I don’t see Claire. That is, until I remember that we have English together first period. Walking towards the English room, I take a deep breath. Maybe I’m just overreacting. Maybe no one really cares. I turn into the room to see Claire standing in the middle of the room with the rest of the class. With them there is a bin full of food. “Hi Elizabeth,” Claire says, her pitying look burning into me. I stare at her in confusion. “What is this?” “After I saw you at the soup kitchen I felt like I needed to help, so I organized an emergency food drive. This is all for you.” Unable to comprehend the sight in front of me, I am only able to voice one word. “Why?” I ask quietly. “Because I needed to help. I just can’t believe you’ve been living like this since your dad died and—” At those words I can feel the fury and pain unleash from inside me, without thinking I scream, “He’s not dead!”

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The class goes silent at my sudden outburst. They all have a look of confusion and shock on their faces, but none compare to Claire’s horrified expression. “What?” The word comes out of her mouth as a barely audible whisper, but I still hear it. “He’s not dead, or at least I don’t think he is. Claire. He left. That’s why we don’t have any money. He took it all.” I don’t stay to hear what she has to say, I simply turn and go running in the other direction. I don’t stop when I’m yelled at by teachers for running in the halls. I don’t even stop to admire the mural outside the art room. I can hear people talking around me but it’s all muffled. Making another turn, I burst into the girls’ washroom. I hit the far wall and slowly slide down it as I begin to sob. I’m so wrapped up in my own pain I don’t hear the door open nor do I hear footsteps coming towards me. Finally breaking out of my trance, I gaze to the side only to find Claire sitting beside me. My eyes meet hers as I try to read her expression, to no avail. She hates you, I tell myself, thinking about how hurt she must be that I lied to her all these years. That she’s been friends with a girl who has no money. A girl who couldn’t even keep her own father around. More thoughts swirl in my head as Claire begins to speak. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I don’t answer. “You know you can trust me, right?” she asks. “Oh, totally! You’re completely and utterly trustworthy!” I respond, my words heavy with sarcasm. “You know, after seeing me at the soup kitchen literally running away from you, maybe, just maybe, you would have thought that I didn’t want you to tell the entire school about my financial situation. Which, by the way, you don’t even really know about!” Then, as if my anger suddenly just vanished, I let out a sigh. “Look, my money problem isn’t exactly something I’m proud of, and unlike what some people think not everyone wants to be treated like a charity. Not everyone gets food from food banks or soup kitchens either. People in situations similar to mine can get food stamps. It’s a card given to you by the government that you can use to buy food.” Claire watches me with a look of understanding slowly coming over her face. She gives a nervous laugh as she pushes her blonde hair behind her ear.

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“So you don’t want the food then?” I shake my head. “No, we usually only use donated food when completely necessary, but you can donate it to a food bank.” Claire smiles and I do too. She’s one of the nicest people in the school and I know she only wants to help. “Okay, but you know you don’t have to be ashamed of not having as much money as some others. If someone chooses not to like you just because of the size of your bank account they’re probably not worth it anyway.” Maybe she’s right. “Oh and since I can’t just do nothing for you I was wondering if you and your mom might want to come to my place for Christmas dinner next week?” I don’t even think about it before answering. “Of course!” On Christmas Day I find myself sitting with Claire and her family around their kitchen table. The smell of turkey and gravy floods my senses as I eat a meal I’ve never been able to eat before. Claire’s family knows everything and they haven’t even brought it up once. I feel so much more comfortable now, and I’m proud to say I’m not worried about people knowing about my life outside of school anymore. I think that maybe things are finally looking up for me.

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REMEMBERING

SCHOOL: Sacred Heart, LaSalle TEACHER: Michael Bortolin SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Michael Bortolin UNIT: Windsor-Essex Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Donald Garant GRADES 7-8 / POEM by Nathalie Renaud

When I look into your eyes All I see is an empty stare Oh how I wish you could remember All the fun times we shared I sometimes struggle To understand how it must feel To not remember all the things That are true and dear to me It must be very disheartening To forget your children’s names But I know deep within your heart Their names are forever engraved Just like a lost puppy Searching for his way back home You too are silently recalling What once was a loving home You might not always remember But I will never forget I will always be your reminder Of what you’re trying not to forget

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HELP WANTED

SCHOOL: Sacred Heart, Niagara Falls TEACHER: Anthony Capacchione SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Natalie Watson UNIT: Niagara Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Marie Balanowski GRADES 7-8 / PLAY by Mackenzie Cashmore

SCENE 1 NARRATOR:

It is a crisp, cool morning at Mr. and Mrs. Smith’s house. Mr. Smith is getting ready for work and Mrs. Smith is boiling her pot of tea on the stove. She hears the sound of a car coming up the driveway and knows that her employees have finally arrived. She walks out onto her front porch, waiting to greet her employees. She watches as Mr. Green, the gardener, jumps out of the car, next comes Col. Mustard, the butler. Soon after, Mr. Plum the handyman gets out of the car. Finally, two ladies get out of the car, Mrs. Peacock, the cook, and Mrs. Scarlett, the maid.

MR. GREEN:

Good morning ma’am!

MRS. SMITH:

Good morning! I am so happy to see you all in a great mood but unfortunately there is a lot of work that needs to be done. Dishes need to be washed, laundry needs to be folded and grass needs to be cut.

MR. PLUM:

Yes ma’am. We will get right on that.

NARRATOR:

All of the employees went their separate ways and went straight to work.

MRS. PEACOCK: Mrs. Smith, your teacup is looking a little empty. Would you like another cup? MRS. SMITH: I would love another cup of tea. Could you also pour one for Mrs. Scarlett, please? MRS. SCARLETT:

I am quite alright. I have a lot of work to do but thank you for the offer.

MRS. SMITH:

Oh no, please sit down Mrs. Scarlett—I need to talk to you.

MRS. SCARLETT:

Oh, in that case I guess I will have a tea.

MRS. PEACOCK:

Alright, two teas coming up!

MRS. SMITH: Mrs. Scarlett, today I went downstairs and saw that there were stacks of laundry everywhere. 42

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MRS. SCARLETT:

I am so sorry ma’am. I will get right on that.

MRS. SMITH: I also went upstairs and noticed that the floors had not been washed in weeks. MRS. SCARLETT:

I have been so busy lately that I have not had enough time to finish everything on my to do list.

MRS. SMITH:

Don’t worry Mrs. Scarlett, I am not mad at you. But I do have an idea.

MRS. SCARLETT:

What is your idea?

NARRATOR:

Mrs. Peacock enters the room with two piping hot teas in her hand.

MRS. PEACOCK:

Here are your teas.

MRS. SMITH:

Thank you very much, Mrs. Peacock.

NARRATOR:

Mrs. Peacock leaves the room.

MRS. SMITH:

As I was saying, I had an idea that I could hire another maid.

MRS. SCARLETT:

Oh, that would be wonderful. Thank you so much, Mrs. Smith.

MRS. SMITH:

You’re welcome. Now you go get back to work and I will look into finding a new maid.

MRS. SCARLETT:

Okay, thank you very much!

SCENE 2 MRS. SCARLETT:

Mrs. Peacock, the best thing just happened. Mrs. Smith just told me that she is hiring a new maid.

MRS. PEACOCK:

That’s wonderful!

MRS. SCARLETT:

I really needed some help. I have been so far behind on chores lately.

MRS. PEACOCK:

I have to start preparing lunch, you’re welcome to come if you like.

MRS. SCARLETT:

Sorry Mrs. Peacock, I can’t. I must go fold the laundry and make the beds.

SCENE 3 NARRATOR:

Mrs. Smith is on the phone with the new maid, Mrs. White.

MRS. WHITE:

Hi, I am Mrs. White. I am calling about the opening for a maid.

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MRS. SMITH:

Oh yes, thank you very much for calling. Do you have any experience working as a maid?

MRS. WHITE:

I was the maid for an older couple across town for seven years. They then moved into a senior’s centre.

MRS. SMITH:

That sounds great. Can you tell me a bit more?

MRS. WHITE:

Of course! At my old job I used to fold laundry, prepare food, dust the house and make the beds.

MRS. SMITH:

Well we already have a cook so you won’t need to worry about preparing food. We also have another maid but there is just so much stuff to do in my house, I thought two maids would be better.

MRS. WHITE:

Oh yes, you know what they always say: “Two is better than one.”

MRS. SMITH:

Well, from everything you have told me I think you are the perfect fit.

MRS. WHITE:

Does that mean I got the job?

MRS. SMITH:

Of course you got the job! I have heard so many good things about you from the couple you used to work for. When can you start?

MRS. WHITE:

I can start tomorrow if you would like.

MRS. SMITH:

That’s great. I will get Mrs. Scarlett, the other maid, to show you everything that will have to be done.

MRS. WHITE:

Okay. Thank you very much, Mrs. Smith. See you tomorrow.

NARRATOR: Mrs. Smith ends her phone call and goes to tell Mrs. Scarlett the good news. MRS. SMITH:

Mrs. Scarlett, I have some good news. I found another maid.

MRS. SCARLETT:

That’s great! What’s her name?

MRS. SMITH:

Her name is Mrs. White and she will be starting tomorrow. I will need you to show her around and get her into the swing of things.

MRS. SCARLETT:

Of course! You can count on me. Thank you, Mrs. Smith.

SCENE 4 NARRATOR:

It is the next day and all of the employees arrive early so they can get the house looking nice for the arrival of the new maid.

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MRS. SMITH:

Good morning everyone! Today is the day a new member of the crew will be starting. The new maid will be arriving in five minutes.

MRS. SCARLETT:

I am so excited to meet the new maid!

NARRATOR:

A car comes rumbling up the driveway.

MRS. SMITH:

She’s here!

NARRATOR:

Mrs. White, the new maid, gets out of the car.

MRS. WHITE:

Hi, I am Mrs. White.

MRS. SMITH: Hi, I am Mrs. Smith and these are my employees. We are so happy you are here. MRS. WHITE:

I am so happy to be here. Thank you for the job, Mrs. Smith.

MRS. SMITH:

You are welcome. Now Mrs. Scarlett is going to show you around and if you have any questions please come and see me.

MRS. WHITE:

Yes ma’am.

SCENE 5 MRS. SCARLETT:

Today Mrs. Smith asked us if we could clean out her closet.

MRS. WHITE:

Okay, I love organizing. Don’t worry, this is an easy job. I can do it by myself. You can do something else if you want.

MRS. SCARLETT:

Are you sure? This is a big job.

MRS. WHITE:

I am completely sure.

NARRATOR:

Mrs. White gets right to work folding and organizing the clothes. About an hour later, Mrs. White finally finishes cleaning the closet.

MRS. WHITE: Mrs. Scarlett, I am finished cleaning the closet. What would you like me to do now? MRS. SCARLETT:

Well, you can go and have your lunch. You have been working so hard.

MRS. WHITE:

It’s alright, I’m not hungry. I will just finish the rest of our to-do list.

NARRATOR:

Mrs. Scarlett really loves the new maid, she is so helpful!

MR. GREEN:

Mrs. Scarlett, I really love that new maid. She helped me rake the leaves! Who wants to help rake the leaves?

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MRS. SCARLETT:

I know, she finished everything on my to-do list! It is really nice to have another maid around here.

MR. GREEN: I was also talking to all of the other employees and they really like her too. MRS. SCARLETT:

I think she is a perfect fit.

SCENE 6 NARRATOR:

Everyone arrived at work the next morning except Mrs. White. As they walked up the driveway they were surprised by what they saw.

CR. MUSTARD:

What’s going on? There are police cars everywhere.

MR. PLUM:

Hopefully everything is alright.

NARRATOR: Everyone got out of the car and went to find Mrs. Smith to see what was going on. MRS. SCARLETT:

Mrs. Smith, what is going on?

MRS. SMITH: Well last night after all of you left I went out for supper with my husband and when we came back, our house has been broken into. A lot of stuff was missing. So we called the police and they have been investigating all night. MRS. PEACOCK:

That’s crazy. Who would do such a thing?

MRS. SMITH:

I know, I am still so surprised. All of you hang tight while we get this sorted out. By the way, where is Mrs. White?

MRS. SCARLETT:

We’re not sure.

MRS. SMITH:

Well, that is strange.

SCENE 7 NARRATOR: Finally, the police finished conducting their search. They followed footprints and figured out who did it. They called Mrs. Smith over to talk to her. POLICE CHIEF:

Hi Mrs. Smith, I am Chief Arnold. I am head of the investigation unit. My team and I have conducted our search and found some fingerprints. We did some tests and results led to someone named Celia White. Does that name ring a bell?

MRS. SMITH:

That name does sound familiar but I just can’t put my finger on it.

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POLICE CHIEF:

Well we are going to conduct a search and we hope we will find the person and get all your stuff back.

MRS. SMITH:

Oh, wait a minute. I know who Celia White is now. She has only been working for me for a few days now. I hired her as a maid. But we always referred to her as Mrs. White. I totally forgot that her first name was Celia. All of my other employees just got here except her and now we know why.

POLICE CHIEF:

Well no need to worry, ma’am. We will send our search units out and hopefully we can locate her.

MRS. SMITH:

Thank you so much!

SCENE 8 NARRATOR:

It has been a couple of days since the incident. All of the employees have gone back to their regular working schedule. The employees are happy that they don’t have to work with Mrs. White anymore. But so far the police have not been successful with their search. Until Mrs. Smith hears a knock on the door.

POLICE CHIEF: Good morning Mrs. Smith! We have found Mrs. White and all your missing things. MRS. SMITH:

That’s wonderful!

POLICE: Mrs. White has been taken into custody and your stuff will be returned to you shortly. MRS. SMITH:

Thank you.

POLICE CHIEF:

Alright well you have a great day!

MRS. SMITH:

You as well.

NARRATOR: Finally, everyone’s lives are back to normal. Well, maybe everyone except Mrs. White. THE END

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YES, CHILD MARRIAGE IS STILL HAPPENING / IMMIGRANTS IN CRISIS SCHOOL: Holy Family TEACHER: Corey Way SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sandra Rees UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Tom Laracy GRADES 7-8 / NONFICTION by Samantha Irene Johnson

YES, CHILD MARRIAGE IS STILL HAPPENING Every year, twelve million girls under the age of eighteen are married off against their will. That’s twenty-three girls every minute. For many people, marriage means white dresses and black suits. It’s supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but for these young girls, it’s one of the worst. According to ICRW (International Centre for Research on Women), “more than half of the girls in Bangladesh, Mali, Mozambique or Niger are married before age eighteen.” [2] Some are able to escape, like Nada al-Ahdal, who fled to her uncle’s when her mother told her she was going to be married to a stranger [3], but most are not so lucky. They are forced to marry a man they have never met, who could be almost three times their age, and might be abusive, or an alcoholic. On top of being thrust into an unwanted marriage, most girls are forced to stop attending school. In some countries, the very thought of getting an education in the first place is a battle they must fight. In South Sudan, “almost three-quarters of girls do not even make it to primary school.” [4] When parents give their daughter away to be married, it is not because they do not care about her, in some cases. For families in poverty, it is one fewer person to provide for. In some cases, a dowry is involved. In areas where sexual harassment and rape are common, families marry girls off to try to protect them. [1] However noble they think they are being, it does not change the fact that they are giving their daughter away to a stranger. In many cases, parents start to marry their daughter off after she starts menstruating, or “becomes a woman.” At the root of all of this is gender inequality. In old societies (and the majority of modern ones), women are valued less than men. To quote Malala Yousafzai, “When a boy is born in Pakistan, it’s cause for celebration. Guns are fired in the air. Gifts are placed by the baby’s cot. And the boy’s name is inscribed on the family tree. But when a girl is born, no one visits the

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parents, and women give only sympathy for the mother.” [5] This is true all over the world, and the only impacts it has had are negative. Girls grow up believing that they are worth less than boys, and that belief only strengthens when they are practically sold, as if they are no more than a shiny trinket. IMMIGRANTS IN CRISIS Milexi was sixteen when she left her home for America, leaving behind the man who had raped her since she was seven. Now, instead of the famed “land of opportunities” that she had hoped for, she was greeted with the cold faces of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and large white tents, in which she found children fleeing from similar situations. [1] Immigration has always been a hotly debated topic in the U.S. Since Irish people started coming to the U.S. during the Irish Potato Famine (1845-1852), people have been against them, saying that immigrants were stealing jobs and that they were dangerous. This viewpoint hasn’t changed since then, and it’s gotten worse, especially since 9/11. According to Ted Hesson at ABC, deportation and border security became more and more important to the country after September 11th, 2001 [4]. Since the foundation of ICE in 2003, it has become more and more harrowing to be an immigrant living in the U.S. When President Obama created DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals), people became more hopeful. The purpose of DACA is to protect eligible immigrant youth who came to the United States when they were children from deportation [3]. But Donald Trump took office in 2017 and tried his best to abolish it. His main concern was people from Mexico coming into the country, and it wasn’t the first time he said something to that effect. When he was running for office, one of the outlandish things Trump delivered was his “we need to build a wall” spiel. While lots of people were against a wall being built on the U.S.-Mexico border, a worrying number of people supported him. That was in 2016. Now, in 2019, there is no wall, but border security is more intense. Children are torn away from their parents and put in detention centres with very strict rules. They are prohibited from touching one another, and that includes giving a sibling a hug. In some, they are put in chain link enclosures. Obviously, these conditions and this treatment of people attempting to save themselves from the horrors they would face in their country is bad enough. It is somehow made worse when the president of a nation that claims it is the “land of the free,” is so incredibly against people coming to that country to be safe. The immigrants that made the United States were trying to get away from a stifling and unfair government, just like the immigrants leaving their countries to escape violence. It is not only inhumane but hypocritical to turn away people in danger. I feel that John Laurens, a soldier in the American Revolutionary War who was well known for his disapproval of slavery, would be against the racism and stereotypes that are at the root of the current extreme views against immigrants. This is an issue that affects everyone, even if you are not in the country. How is your country handling immigration?

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Yes, Child Marriage is Still Happening – Sources [1] “Why does child marriage happen?” Girls Not Brides. <https://www.girlsnotbrides.org/ why-does-it-happen/>. Accessed 30 Jan. 2019. [2] “Child Marriage Around the World.” ICRW. <https://www.icrw.org/issues/child-marriage/>. Accessed 29 Jan. 2019. [3] “11-Year-Old Nada al-Ahdul Refuses to get Married.” YouTube, VERITATEM COGNOSCERE. 29 July 2013. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=la2qfiV1sZ4>. [4] Coughlan, Sean. “11 toughest places for girls to go to school.” BBC, 11 Oct. 2017. <https://www.bbc.com/news/business-41558486>. Accessed 30 Jan. 2019. [5] Yousafzai, Malala and Christina Lamb. “Free as a Bird.” I am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot By the Taliban. First Edition. New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2013. Immigrants in Crisis – Sources [1] Driver, Alice. “13,000 Migrant children in detention: America’s horrifying reality.” CNN, 1 Oct. 2018. <https://www.cnn.com/2018/10/01/opinions/13000-migrant-children-horrifyingreality-driver/index.html>. Accessed 30 Jan. 2019. [2] Hesson, Ted. “5 ways the immigration system changed after 9/11.” ABC, 11 Sept. 2012. <https://abcnews.go.com/ABC_Univision/News/ways-immigration-system-changed-911/ story?id=17231590>. [3] “Undocumented Student Program.” University of California Berkeley. <https://undocu. berkeley.edu/legal-support-overview/what-is-daca/>. Accessed 26 Jan. 2019.

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WHEN THE SUN KISSES THE HORIZON

SCHOOL: St. Robert TEACHER: Chris Sarracini SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Wayne Karges, Claudia Roccari UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 9-10 / SHORT STORY by Jin Schofield

Prologue 12:49, May 3, 2006 Neema Turning from one crisp page to the next, I found myself chuckling at the oddity. Amidst all of his timeworn books about igneous rocks and iron ore, he had kept one leather-bound notebook to fill with poetry. Mother was away at the post office, so perhaps I could speak this one aloud. “O Tanzania, Blazing sun in sapphire sky to colour our cheeks, Yet workers toil beneath the ground for weeks upon weeks. Gold mined for the lining of each parliament chair, Yet hardly enough money to keep my family from despair. Posters warn of the mosquito’s disease, Yet nets cost as much as fish, so we are left in unease. Take care of my daughter and my wife, Save them from hardship and the suffering in life.” My father was a poet. Such an effective one, I might have even felt a little prick on my arm at the mention of mosquitoes. I snickered to myself, ignoring the gravity of his words. I had to show this to Mother.

22:36, May 25, 2006 Neema

***

Chills reverberated along my spine, the touch of an icy hand tracing the outlines of my shoulder blades in painful circles. When the cold subsided, lapping waves of hot flashes overwhelmed my sense of clarity. I strained to concentrate on the complex language of my father’s book in the dizzying alternation of icy shivers and cold sweats. The words swam in my vision. Frustrating.

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Tonight was my last in Lukwati—the final night I could read under the sparkling Lukwati moonlight. Tomorrow morning, my mother, several dozen cardboard boxes stuffed in tattered burlap sacks, and my unwilling self would be packed into the back of the truck. Koga, another remote town, would be my new home. The thought of my father returning from the mines to meet us in Koga was all that ensured my cooperation. My sickness would be gone when he arrived—the rural Tanzanian air would cure me in preparation. Until then, I would endure the pain and bite my tongue. I finally settled the flaking book on the dirt floor beside me. Gentle ripples of nausea were now washing through my body. A pounding in my head commenced. The thrumming of my blood within my arteries made it impossible to sleep. I was left that night gazing at the ceiling, restless and squirming, listening to the orchestra of buzzing mosquitoes.

22:50, May 25, 2006 Tusajigwe

***

I could hardly stand, sobbing into the cardboard box that held our few faded bedsheets. They muffled my cries so that Neema would not hear. So that she would not find out. Just a mere decade ago, Andwele and I had been picking these sheets out with our meagre “savings” in preparation for our daughter’s arrival. The memory was stinging and fresh. These thoughts of Andwele burned like hot coals even when my eyes were closed. I liked to blame my tears on the heat. Neema’s flu case was persistent. How many days had it been? I had lost count. She would recover soon though—as she always did. I would wait until then to break her heart, as that letter had broken my own. As I continued to pack boxes, my thoughts of Andwele were interrupted by the sounds of grunting and gagging from Neema’s bedroom. I grabbed a bucket and sped to her room, wiping my eyes and plastering a smile on my face. I was sure she would be better by morning. *** 10:13, May 26, 2006 Neema Glimpses of consciousness. Fragile and fleeting, like reaching out for a hummingbird before it flutters away. Crammed amongst the cardboard boxes in the back of the truck, the rocking only provoked my nausea. My mother was seated across from me within the van, looking so vacantly into my eyes that she might as well have been looking past me. Her expression was one of inexplicable, infinite sorrow. I was sad we were leaving Lukwati as well, yet perhaps she had more to leave behind than I did.

I was growing sicker by the minute—my hands were a dull yellow, and even seated l

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on the truck floor, I felt light-headed. I didn’t dare tell Mother, but I had bled this morning in the outhouse. I clutched one of dad’s books as I focused on anything other than my nausea. He would know what to do. As I drifted back into my painless sleep, I watched as one of our boxes crashed onto the floor of the truck. I was already far, far away, when the books began spilling from the fallen box, sending pages in every direction. *** 11:02, May 26, 2006 Tusajigwe “Tusa, don’t worry, I’ll send letters every week,” Andwele had gently whispered to me the night before he left. “Every week,” he had promised. The letters had come for the first fortnight, yet the third never did. I had waited, pleaded to God, for seventeen days. Perhaps the letters had been misdirected, perhaps they no longer delivered from the mines anymore. On May 3, the eighteenth day, I remembered, I had attempted one last time to check the post office. The breeze whisked the hair from my face as I waited at Tekwali’s only post office. The dispirit melted off of me as I saw the crisp paper of the envelope. Relief cascaded through me. Sprinting back home, I called for Neema. “A letter from Daddy?!” Neema shrieked, as she ran down the stairs. I opened the envelope, and read the first sentence. Dear Mrs. Busanya, We regret to inform you that your husband, Mr. Andwele Busanya, passed away on Saturday, April 15, 2006. For a moment, I felt as if I was dreaming. Was Andwele joking? Such a cruel, heartless trick. “Mum, are you okay? Your mouth is wide open.” Neema giggled. “Dad’s just said something…surprising,” I murmured. “Oh, well—what is it?” Neema asked intently. He was killed in a mine collapse in Bueni, Sikonge District, Tabora Region, that occurred at 5:07 p.m., on April 15, 2006. I felt tears pricking my eyes. “Your Dad, um, he says he is coming back with a gift for you.” Neema squealed. “What type of gift?” His body was not recovered, and abiding by his contract, no compensation will be given to

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your family. His belongings, as found in his room, will be mailed to you within the next two months. I could hardly breathe. Tugging the edges of my lips, I forced a smile at Neema. “He told me not to tell you—it’s a surprise.” Our deepest condolences, The Bueni Mining Company I shook my head, scattering away the remnants of my memory. Neema had fallen asleep across from me in the truck. I would have to tell her when she woke up that he books had been damaged when they hit the floor. I decided that I needed some rest too. Hopefully, Neema would recover from the flu—her skin had adopted a yellowish tone. My mind flooded with thoughts of Andwele as I drifted to sleep. *** ~17:00, May 29, 2006 Neema I felt as if I was on the edge of consciousness. Neither sleep nor awake, I could hear muffled voices and see flickering lights. As if I was two inches under water, yet unable to break through the surface. Such an odd feeling it was. I had already lost control when I began plunging deeper away from the delicate fabric of reality. Into senseless dreams. Here I was, tinier than Thumbelina, mounted on the back of a mosquito. Mosquitoes never frightened me—it fascinated me how a pinprick of one human’s blood could save another insect’s life. The mosquito, with its fuzzy back and vast wings, flew towards my home-a makeshift shelter constructed of peeling wood planks. We were one with the wind, gracefully buzzing towards my “room”-the left corner of my home. As we glided in, I could see myself sat on the dirt ground, reading aloud. I could feel the yearning of the mosquito, the hunger. It landed just past the hem of my blouse, directly upon my bare skin. I watched as it stabbed into my flesh, injecting into me whatever disease it carried—Disease? Why had I thought of that?—and consumed my blood. I watched myself, unaffected by the bite, as the mosquito flew out of my home. I then leaped from the mosquito’s back onto the plush grass below me. When I hit the ground, the landscape around me transformed into a beautiful plateau, like that of the picturesque depictions of Tanzania on postcards. Grass caressed my feet as I trod along the flat landscape, and the low-hanging branches of trees offered me juicy fruits I had never seen before. The sun could be seen in the distance, approaching the horizon.

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17:22, May 29, 2006 Tusajigwe

***

Neema lay motionless in front of me, in a coma she had fallen into during her sleep. I kept a steady hand at her neck, watching her pulse, as if keeping her alive with the pads of my fingers. I could not lose them both. I could not watch her die. How had I missed such clear signs? Her sickness was malaria, the district nurse had told me. A case of malaria I had missed because of nothing other than my own selfish preoccupation and distraction. I held my rosary tightly within my hands. There was little the nurse could do now; his side street dispensary hadn’t been re-provisioned for weeks. “Why hadn’t you noticed her sickness before?” the nurse asked me, sitting patiently at Neema’s left side. “I…was distracted. My husband had just passed away…and I thought…” I sobbed, oceans of regret washing over my words, leaving them a garbled mess. The nurse watched me in silence. After a few minutes, I gathered my thoughts and cleared my voice. “My husband was a miner in Bueni. He passed away while caught in a mine collapse over a month ago. We had to move so I could find a job.” I glanced up from my twiddling thumbs, guilt overriding every one of my efforts to appear calm. “I was not focused on Neema.” The nurse stood from his chair. “The anti-malarial drugs are on their way from Tabora— they should arrive before the sun sets.” His next words, he spoke at a whisper’s volume. “Although, Mrs. Busanya, Neema will not last until then. I apologize we did not have the proper drugs and materials to help her.” At that statement, I began praying for Neema, holding my rosary to my heart. I pressed my forehead to Neema’s chest as her heartbeat slowed and the nurse left the room. I had hoped someone would be able to administer the Anointing of the Sick, but there was no priest in Koga.

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~17:30, May 29, 2006 Neema

***

The sun eventually kissed the horizon, exploding the sky into a kaleidoscope of dripping colours. The ombre was stunning, ranging from royal blue, to vivid orange, to blood red. As the horizon began to consume the sun, I heard drumming in the distance. It called for me, a rhythm that made me want to dance along. As I approached the sound, a brilliant fire ignited. The fire illuminated dancing figures speaking some long-forgotten Tanzanian tongue. Not English, not Swahili. The dancers wore traditional dress, and sung of deep sorrow for the loss of a treasure that would never be found again. They circled around the fire, sending their tall shadows in every direction. Sat next to the fire was a single figure—my mother, who was praying with the rosary clutched between her shaking hands. Her loving whispers, I heard the loudest. I called for my mother, but she could not hear me. As I reached for her, a hand gripped my shoulder. I turned around to see my father, adorned in his miner overalls, his face as peaceful as the moon. He pulled me away from my mother, and speechlessly gestured for me to watch the sun as it descended deeper and deeper into the horizon. Why was my father here? Where was I? I was beginning to believe I was no longer dreaming. The sun continued to fall, and the drumming grew faster and louder, until it resonated in the grass and the trees. The entire landscape seemed to be dancing to the rhythm. It was so loud that I had to cover my ears. “Am I in heaven?” I inquired into my father’s ear. He looked at me sadly. Oh, how nice it was to see him. It had been so long. “You’re almost there, Neema,” he whispered back, as the sun finally dipped below the horizon. Suddenly, the drumming stopped. Silence overcame my ears. The fire went out, and my father and I were now surrounded by bright stars, on a plateau illuminated by moonlight. And we were really there. We were really there.

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Epilogue 7:33, May 29, 2009 Tusajigwe

***

“Born in prosperity.” That’s what Neema’s name meant. Andwele was a bit skeptical at first. He didn’t want our daughter’s name to be a blatant lie. Yet, he came around eventually, when he realized how much truth the name actually held. Her grave in Koga consists of a single wooden sign, painted and nailed into the ground. The paint of her name is slightly chipped—almost spelling her name out as “Neemo.” Not that it makes much of a difference. I am the only person who comes to visit every year, and I know perfectly well what the sign reads. To the left of her grave is another wooden sign, slightly newer, with “Andwele” painted onto the cheap wood. I had decided to add it last year, even though they never found his body. A bouquet of touch-me-nots lays at the foot of each sign— tiny flowers I picked as the sun rose this morning. I ensure that I don’t come here too often. I could not live if I did. Yet, in peaceful moments like these, with the morning dew yet to be evaporated by the aureolin dawn light, and the birds chirping proudly from the trees, I feel at home again. Neema’s sweet voice and Andwele’s chuckle fill the air, and it is as if they never left. It is true, Neema was never “born in prosperity.” Quite the opposite, if you define prosperity as the possession of wealth and pretty pieces of furniture. But prosperity can hold many other meanings. One can be prosperous with love. Prosperous with family. Prosperous with life. Those, I can proudly say, Neema was born into. And now that she has been reborn into the Kingdom of Heaven. Now that she has Andwele at her side, and me at her feet. I know she will live prosperously forevermore.

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A POEM

SCHOOL: Sacred Heart, Newmarket TEACHER: Joseph Godbout SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Rocco Bruno Tassone UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 9-10 / POEM by Shamir Ziai

Words on a page Music without a beat Story without a voice Saying something and meaning something else, Saying nothing but expressing everything Using words as weapons, To leave a long-lasting impression Writing what’s on your mind Dancing with words Singing with syllables Unleashing your imagination On the vast canvas of this world Painting with the palette of Picasso Words arranged with finesse, Like the petals of a chrysanthemum The underlying sadness of joy The darkness of light Different pieces put together, Like stones of a mosaic Something unexplainable. Something incomparable. You read it again and again For the words For the music For the feel The calming sound of rain, As it trickles down the pane Freshness of spring Warmth of summer Symphony of emotions All this reminds me of one thing A poem

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COUPLES THERAPY FOR ANCIENT GREEK DEITIES SCHOOL: St. Robert TEACHER: Lisa Laviolette SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Wayne Karges, Claudia Roccari UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 9-10 / PLAY by Vivian Zhi

CHARACTERS ZEUS Greek god of thunder and the sky, King of the Greek gods, and Hera’s husband HERA Greek goddess of marriage and childbirth, Queen of the Greek gods, and Zeus’s wife APOLLO Greek god of light, music, poetry and archery, and Zeus’s son LINA The therapist IVY The receptionist HEPHAESTUS Greek god of craftsmanship SCENE 1 ZEUS and HERA are centre stage, screaming at each other. HERA:

You never told me about Europa!

ZEUS:

That happened thousands of years ago! You know I still love you. Honey—

HERA:

Don’t you dare call me honey.

Enter APOLLO. APOLLO: Hey Dad— (Looks at the arguing couple) Um...never mind, I’ll come back another time. HERA: No. Apollo, stay here and tell your father that he is being an insensitive jerk. APOLLO:

Haven’t you guys heard of therapy?

ZEUS:

Totally! (Aside) What’s therapy?

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APOLLO: You guys look like you really need some professional help. I can book you an appointment. ZEUS:

Sure, we’ll attend this...therapy appointment.

APOLLO:

Alright.

Exit APOLLO. ZEUS: HERA:

What’s therapy? You don’t know? (Sighs) Fine, I’ll tell you on the way. Let’s go.

Exit ZEUS and HERA. Lights go down. SCENE 2 Lights come on. There are three chairs formed in a semicircle. LINA sits in the chair on the left and is busy jotting notes on her notepad. Enter IVY. IVY:

Lina? The next couple is here.

LINA:

(Looks up from work) Who are they?

IVY:

They’re Zeus and Hera, the king and queen of Olympus. They have been having troubles in their marriage for the past thousands of years, and they’re seeking your help.

LINA:

Alright, send them in.

IVY:

(Walks away, but then stops and turns around) Oh, I just wanted to let you know that they have a habit of smiting people who displease them, so try to stay on their good side if you want to make it out alive.

Exit IVY. Enter ZEUS and HERA. LINA:

(Stands up and extends her hand) Welcome! My name is Lina, and I’ll be your therapist for the next few weeks!

ZEUS:

(Aside to HERA) Why isn’t this mortal on her knees and praising us? What is she doing with her hand?

HERA:

(Aside to ZEUS) Cultural differences, honey. Now go shake her hand or we’ll be seen as rude.

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ZEUS awkwardly holds LINA’s hand and moves it up and down. HERA shoots ZEUS a dirty look, but then plasters a fake smile on for LINA and shakes her hand naturally. They all sit down. LINA: Before I begin, I want to let you know that whatever you say here is confidential, so feel free to speak your mind, alright? (ZEUS and HERA nod) Now, tell me a bit about yourselves. ZEUS:

(With a booming voice) I AM LORD ZEUS—

HERA:

(Aside to ZEUS) Use your indoor voice.

ZEUS: Right, sorry. I am Lord Zeus, God of thunder and the sky, and King of Olympus! LINA:

Excellent. And you?

HERA:

Hera, Goddess of marriage and childbirth, and Queen of Olympus.

LINA:

Great. So how long have you two been married?

HERA:

For several eons. I don’t remember the exact number. It’s hard to keep track of time when you’re an immortal, you know?

LINA:

How did you meet?

ZEUS: When my father swallowed my siblings, including Hera, I tricked my father into vomiting them up. It was a very romantic meeting. Even as she was covered in digested food, I was struck (directs an exaggerated wink at HERA, who rolls her eyes in exasperation) by her beauty. For three years, I wooed her. For three years, she resisted. Eventually, I won her affections. LINA:

How would you describe your relationship?

HERA:

Absolutely the worst! You wouldn’t believe the number of times I caught Zeus cheating on me! I’m so sick of his behaviour!

ZEUS:

Honey, I already apologized for that!

HERA: (Ignoring ZEUS) He had the audacity to continue his infidelity even after I caught him! LINA:

Let’s slow things down a bit. Hera, how did you feel when you found out about Zeus’s affairs?

HERA:

Angry and jealous, of course. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

LINA:

What did you do about it?

HERA: Naturally, I took revenge on his lovers and offspring by making their lives miserable. LINA:

Do you think that your actions were justified?

HERA:

Obviously! If Zeus can cheat on me, I should be allowed to punish them!

LINA:

Could you give me some examples of your punishments?

HERA:

When Zeus had an affair with Leto, who ended up giving birth to Apollo and Artemis, I made sure that she could never give birth safely. I sent Python, a dragon, to chase her around the world and threatened mortals with death if they allowed her to stay at their villages. Oh yeah, I also tried to stop her from going into labour by preventing Eileithyia, the goddess of childbirth, from arriving.

ZEUS:

(Muttering) That’s not even the worst of it.

HERA:

Excuse me?

ZEUS:

Nothing.

LINA:

Do you ever feel like your anger is misdirected?

HERA: (Hesitating) Well...even if I wanted to, I can’t punish my husband for being disloyal to me, so I take it out on his lovers and descendants instead. (Defensive) His infidelity is a justified reason to do so! LINA: Okay. (To ZEUS) How did you think Hera would react when she found out about your affair? ZEUS:

I knew she’d be furious.

LINA:

And this did not stop you from having affairs with other people?

ZEUS:

(Uncomfortable) Well...no.

LINA:

Do you regret having these affairs?

ZEUS:

Uhh... (HERA elbows him sharply) OW! I mean, yes. Yes, I do.

LINA:

Have you two had an open discussion about this matter before?

ZEUS: Not really. We would argue a lot instead. Hera would tell me that I’m an absolute gloutos— 62

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HERA:

Which is totally true.

ZEUS:

(Raising his voice) How many times do I have to tell you that I’m sorry?!

HERA:

(Yelling) Do you think saying sorry over and over again actually helps?

LINA:

Everyone, calm down! (They stop fighting.) I think the problem is that you are unable to communicate openly and effectively.

HERA:

I suppose not.

LINA:

I believe that trust and communication is the key to any good relationship. This week, I want you to work on being honest with each other and express your feelings, but you have to do it respectfully. Okay?

HERA:

(Dubious) I suppose we can try.

LINA:

Great! I’ll see you next week.

They shake hands. Exit Hera and ZEUS. Lights go down. SCENE 3 Lights come up. LINA is still sitting in her office chair. Enter ZEUS and HERA. They take seats silently, not looking at each other. LINA puts away her notepad. LINA:

(Hesitantly) How was your week?

HERA:

Terrible.

LINA:

Would you like to elaborate on that?

HERA:

We tried being honest like you said. That didn’t go very well.

LINA:

How so?

ZEUS:

(Indignantly) Hera told me that my breath smells!

HERA: It does! Just because you’re immortal doesn’t mean you can skip the mouthwash! ZEUS:

You’re not much better! You pour milk before the cereal!

HERA:

You don’t break the KitKat in half before biting into it!

ZEUS:

You put pineapple on pizza! YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

HERA:

You never cover your mouth when you sneeze!

ZEUS:

You chew with your mouth open!

HERA:

I do not!

ZEUS:

Are you saying that I’m lying?

HERA:

This wouldn’t exactly be the first time you lied to me, would it?

ZEUS:

Are you still angry about my past affair? It’s been several centuries since the last one happened!

HERA: It shouldn’t have happened in the first place! You should be loyal to your wife only! (Voice cracking) Am I not special enough for you? ZEUS:

Of course you are!

HERA:

Then why did you cheat on me?

ZEUS is unable to answer. There is a moment of tense silence. HERA:

(Pained) Well, I’m leaving. Forever. When you go back to Mount Olympus, you’re not going to find me there anymore.

Exit HERA. ZEUS:

(Dejected) So I guess this is the end.

LINA:

No, we can still fix this. You want her in your life, don’t you?

ZEUS:

Yes, but what hope do we have? She clearly doesn’t want me anymore.

LINA: She does. If she didn’t care for you at all, she wouldn’t have bothered coming to therapy. ZEUS:

I guess.

LINA:

Now that it’s only you and me, can you be completely honest with me?

ZEUS:

Yes.

LINA:

Can you tell me why you cheated on your wife several times?

ZEUS:

(Hesitant) I know this isn’t a good excuse. Nothing I say will be. When I see a beautiful person, I just can’t stop myself. I guess the stress of

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ruling for millenniums gets to me, and I can’t resist the temptation to relieve my stress by having these illicit romances.

LINA:

Now that we identified the problem, we can work on a solution. We can agree that having affairs is a bad idea in general. There are more productive ways to relieve stress.

ZEUS:

Like smiting those who oppose you from the comfort of your throne room!

LINA:

Erm...right, though that isn’t the best way to.

ZEUS:

Does a fidget spinner work?

LINA:

If it works for you, then sure. Anyway, we are getting off topic. These affairs hurt your wife’s feelings. She sees them as a threat to your relationship together, and that’s why she’s understandably jealous. By having these affairs, you’re damaging the trust she has in you.

ZEUS:

What can I do to regain her trust?

LINA:

Give up having affairs with other people. Work on mending your relationship with her. Can you do that?

ZEUS:

I can give up the affairs, but fixing our relationship sounds hard.

LINA:

I’ll be here to help, and I’ll speak to her too. I have Apollo’s contact information. I’ll see if I can get him to convince her to come.

ZEUS:

Okay. (Stands up to leave) Lina?

LINA: Yes? ZEUS:

Thank you.

Lights go down. SCENE 4 Lights come up. LINA is sitting in the same chair, with HERA facing her in another chair. LINA:

Thank you for coming.

HERA: No, thank you for helping. As the goddess of marriage, everyone expects me to have a perfect marriage, but the truth is, we’re nowhere near perfect.

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LINA:

That’s why I’m here to help. While nothing in life is perfect, I will do my best to get your relationship with Zeus to its fullest potential.

HERA:

I don’t know if this relationship is worth fighting for anymore. I’m tired of getting hurt over and over again. He has promised to stop his illicit ways before. Why is this time different?

LINA:

He understands that in order to keep his relationship with you, he has to give up having affairs for good. Also, this time, you have access to professional help. If any of you feel unsure about your relationship or your feelings, you can always turn to me for help.

HERA:

I guess...but is he worth a second chance? I mean, this is probably the thirteenth chance I’m giving him, not that I’m counting or anything.

LINA:

What do you want?

HERA:

To have a happy and stable marriage with him.

LINA:

Then I think you should. Just forgive and forget. If you keep focusing on his mistakes, you’ll never be able to appreciate him as a whole person.

HERA:

I guess you’re right.

Enter ZEUS. ZEUS:

Ivy, the receptionist, told me to come in.

HERA:

(Panicked) You didn’t tell me that he’d be here!

LINA:

I’ll be right back. Got some...paperwork to fill out.

Exit LINA. ZEUS walks over and take a seat next to HERA. HERA refuses to look at him. ZEUS:

(Quietly) I know that I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’m not perfect. No one is. I’ve come to ask you for your forgiveness because I really want another chance to make things right. This time, no more affairs. Just you and me.

HERA:

(Faces him) What are you suggesting?

ZEUS: Let’s spend the next century or two together on a secluded island. No more worrying about taking care of Olympus. Let the Greeks take care of themselves. We don’t need to go around striking people dead because they displease us and don’t know how to [winks] conduct themselves.

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HERA:

(Laughs) You are the worst.

ZEUS:

And you are the best.

HERA:

(Blushes) Thanks.

ZEUS:

So what do you say?

HERA:

I’ll give it a shot.

ZEUS:

Thank you.

HERA:

No need to thank me. Also, I’m truly sorry for ruining your lovers’ and your descendants’ lives. It was unfair of me to do that.

ZEUS:

All is forgiven.

Enter LINA. LINA:

What did I miss?

ZEUS:

Nothing much, but I think we’re okay now. Right, honey?

HERA:

Right.

LINA: That’s amazing! So I’ll see you next week for another appointment? We can work on— ZEUS:

Actually, we plan to go on a vacation together.

LINA:

Great! How long will it last?

ZEUS:

I don’t know...at least a century for sure.

LINA:

Humans generally don’t live that long.

ZEUS:

Then I guess I’ll make you immortal.

LINA: Ummm... HERA:

There’s no need to decide now. When we come back, you can tell us then.

LINA:

Sure...I guess.

ZEUS:

Alright, we’ve got a lot of packing to do! See you next century!

Exit ZEUS and HERA. Enter IVY. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

IVY:

What did you just get yourself into?

LINA:

Honestly, I don’t even know.

Lights go down. SCENE 5 The chairs are gone. APOLLO and HEPHAESTUS are talking, centre stage. HEPHAESTUS:

I can’t believe therapy actually worked.

APOLLO: (Laughs) I know, right? I was just joking when I told them to go to therapy. HEPHAESTUS:

Now Zeus and Hera are acting all mushy and lovesick.

APOLLO:

(Makes a disgusted face) lck.

HEPHAESTUS:

I suppose it’s better than having them fight.

APOLLO:

I guess. Anyway, I got to go. I’ll see you at dinner?

HEPHAESTUS:

Right. Before you go, could I borrow your phone?

APOLLO:

Sure. Return it to me later.

Exit APOLLO. HEPHAESTUS:

(Looks around furtively before dialing a number) Hi, this is Hephaestus. I would like to book an appointment for my wife Aphrodite and me...

Lights go down. THE END

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SOCIAL MEDIA: THE GREATEST OBSTACLE TO A TEEN’S SELF-CONFIDENCE SCHOOL: Resurrection TEACHER: Barbara Downey SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Barbara Downey UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Patrick Etmanski GRADES 9-10 / NONFICTION by Isabel Cortes Jordan

In a world full of Photoshop and fake personas, one may ask, is anything on social media real? Nowadays, it is challenging to stay authentic and true to one’s self. Social media is more complex than it appears and although there are many benefits from the connectivity, there are just as many negative psychological impacts. Teens have a natural desire to fit in. What is concerning are the lengths some will go to join the crowd. Generally, people seek affirmation and approval all the time. According to Donna Freitas, the author of The Happiness Effect: How Social Media is Driving a Generation to Appear Perfect at Any Cost, “the difference with social media is that it seems expressly designed for showing off, for bragging, and boasting all that one is, has, and does” (Freitas 39). Although cyberbullying is a huge contributor to the negatives of the internet, the more subtle and unseen activities can inflict just as much damage. People must be aware of the maddening reality of social networking, with its underlying messages concerning body image, and the saddening influence it has on a teen’s mental health.

The Problems of Social Media From a typical user’s perspective, social media is meant to connect people around the world and update audiences on day-to-day life. The problem is that people only ever show the perfect and happier side of things. Nowadays, the constant need to be happy is more stressful than it should be. People want to seem fun and exciting. This leads teens to adopt the “Fear Of Missing Out” (FOMO), causing them to gain a further addiction to updating their timelines. Another issue is that social media culture heavily regulates praise via “likes” and follower counts. This leads to the obsession of obtaining a perfect image online. The media poses a serious influence upon the development of an unrealistic body image, altering how teens feel about themselves. Megan Ramsey says, “This always-on environment is training our kids to value themselves based on the number of ‘likes’ they get and the types of comments that they receive. There’s no separation between online and offline life.... It’s also really hard to tell the difference between what’s authentic and what’s digitally manipulated” (Ramsey). Ultimately, the biggest takeaway is that teens are losing their grip on reality based on social media manipulation. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

False Happiness and the “Fear Of Missing Out” Facebook and Instagram are like mini highlight reels for each individual user. At a glance, only the good times and milestones are shared, making it look like everybody already has their lives together. People tend to forget that everyone experiences bad days as well, and being on social media during one of those days can be especially taunting and tense. Society gives the impression that you should always be happy, concealing your true emotions. Even college students experience this, as Freitas notes, “Seeing all those false happy images can really pull a person into a vicious cycle” (Freitas 24). By suppressing their doubts and feelings, teens are learning that it is normal to contain their “more upsetting” emotions. Bottling up negative thoughts over a long period of time tends to end in disaster—in this case, an emotional explosion. In a way, social media is devaluing genuine emotions. Every time users gain a “like,” it creates a false sense of euphoria. FOMO is becoming a more relevant topic with today’s adolescents. This does not only refer to the fear of being excluded from activities like hangouts, but the fear of missing updates and notifications from their social feeds. In fact, “Researchers found that 61% of girls who used social media for more than five hours a day indicated moderate to serious psychological distress, compared with 33% of boys” (Anderssen). The fact that teens are spending up to and over five hours on social media a day indicates the obsessive behaviours that social platforms have created. This showcases the lack of self-control that new generations have with their phones. Social media is taking time away from the things that truly matter in life, like living beyond a phone screen. It is noticeably affecting people’s communication skills, such as the ability to talk to others in person and even the spelling of common words. Social media is slowly brainwashing and controlling the lives of many. When teens scroll through their Explorer pages, they see what society tells them is acceptable and even, “what’s hot and what’s not.” Body Image and Self-Confidence Much of the content people post online is staged. Plastered smiles and Photoshop are now a very prominent aspect of what makes a successful post or advertisement. Being exposed to this perfection poses the question, How far will people go to achieve the unattainable standards? A major issue is that apps allow selfies to attain a level of artificial perfection that is only seen in beauty magazines. In fact, “A new phenomenon called ‘Snapchat dysmorphia’ has popped up, where patients are seeking out surgery to help them appear like the filtered versions of themselves” (International Business Times). The desire to seem overtly beautiful has reached extremes. Social media creates a platform where people are constantly comparing themselves to others. Even though comparing is seen in everyday scenarios without the aid of the internet, social media allows you to obsess over a lasting image. The current beauty standards are critically affecting today’s youth; “popular photo-sharing apps such as Instagram and Snapchat, where teens feel pressure to collect likes from peers and praise for looking good in pictures, may add to the pressure girls already feel” (Anderssen). Teens, especially girls, are starting to believe that their physical qualities are more valuable than any other aspect of their being. This toxic phenomenon is heavily influenced by gender stereotypes. Boys are also experiencing the immense pressure to fulfill “a dream look.” They are told to be buff, muscular, strong and 70

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many other things. It is a completely unhealthy atmosphere overall to try to adhere to the beauty standards of this era. The like button has created the idea that we are valued for our surface looks. It almost seems as if there is a specific formula or algorithm people go through to decide what is “post-worthy.” What Can You Do? Social media still has good purposes, but the underlying problems create a threat to each teenager’s sense of self-worth and self-confidence. In order to reduce the impact of these threats, communities must work together to get the awareness of the reality of social media accessible to teens. Remind teens that not everything they see online is real and that it is completely natural to have doubts and bad days. It is crucial to teach lessons on healthy body image before it is too late. Ingrain confidence in children while they are young and impressionable, as they are the creators of tomorrow. A key to remember is to never be afraid to be unique and to stand out; gender roles and stereotypes should never box your abilities. You are more than your physical appearance. Our society needs to work together to uplift each other. Freely add empowering comments to each other’s posts, give compliments about qualities beyond appearance, and appreciate and respect the people around you. If this negative influence of social media continues without being addressed, the future may possibly bring the most superficial and narcissistic generation yet. We must rethink our perceptions of social networking and media in general. We must challenge the status quo and start judging people by their character rather than by the way they look. Most importantly, we must be cognisant that every single person is unique, different, and special in a particular way. Everyone must be aware that technology is a useful tool only if we use it properly. We must never allow technology to enslave us and dictate how we should live our lives. In retrospect, we now know that we must treat technology just like a tool: using it only when necessary and going back to the old ways of interacting properly with our peers. We have lost our ability to write in cursive and we are slowly losing our ability to communicate face to face with people. We need to make the extra effort of having coffee chats with our moms and best friends. We must be able to communicate our feelings intuitively and verbally rather than just through snapchats and emojis. CITATIONS Anderssen, Erin. “Girls more negatively affected by social media than boys: survey.” The Globe and Mail. 25 July 2018. Canadian Periodicals Index Quarterly. <http://link.galegroup.com/apps/ doc/A553136041CPI?u=kitc87542rpa&sid=CPI&xid=2fa7d595>. Accessed 30 Oct. 2018. Freitas, Donna. The Happiness Effect: How Social Media is Driving a Generation to Appear Perfect at Any Cost. Oxford UP, 2017. Ramsey, Megan. “Why Thinking You’re Ugly is Bad For You.” Director’s Edit, TEDTalk, Sept. 2014. “Teens Seeking Cosmetic Surgery to Resemble Filtered Photos.” International Business Times [U.S. ed.]. 3 Aug. 2018. Canadian Periodicals Index Quarterly. <http://link.galegroup.com/apps/ doc/A553136041/CPI?u=kitc87542rpa&sid=CPI&xid=ao16cefa>. Accessed 30 Oct. 2018. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

THE GINGHAM TEA TOWEL

SCHOOL: Resurrection TEACHER: Evelyn Dekker SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Barbara Downey UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Patrick Etmanski GRADES 9-10 / NONFICTION by Izabella Tyc

The Gingham Tea Towel that hangs over the handle of the kitchen stove when you have company over. It is redwhite-pink with yellow embroidered daffodils and lace trim along the side. Your mother bought it from the woman at the market who sold the jams. Her wooden stand had been filled with jars of colourful sweetness, pristinely packaged with ribbon. Your mother had noticed that the woman also had collections of serviettes and tea towels displayed, and upon hearing that they were handmade by the woman, she had bought this set. The towel sits, primly and properly, surveying the kitchen-goers. Perfectly ironed, folded and hung, it forbids anyone from using it to clean up a mess (that’s what the brown cloth is for). The towel is simply to make the kitchen prettier. You picture your mother grazing her clean, dried fingers carefully along the rim of the cloth prior to setting up the kitchen and dining room for guests. She inspects the delicate material, nodding in satisfaction at the state of the cloth. You are sorry that you ruined the other towel in the set, frantically wiping the grape juice that you had spilled off the white counter. You have since tried to find another towel that matches this set, but the jam woman no longer has a stand at the market. You promise yourself to always maintain the condition of the last tea towel to keep your mother happy. The gingham tea towel was out the night your grandpa came over and told you about his mother. Your grandpa had never spoken of his childhood memories, they were suppressed somewhere deep inside of him. That night he told you how the cloth’s gingham pattern matched the apron that his mother always wore at home. Whether she had been cleaning or cooking or entertaining, she would had been wearing that red gingham apron. He told you that he always thought of her when he saw it. After that, whenever your grandpa came for dinner, you made sure the towel was out. You would remind him of his mother’s apron. The two of you would remember your great grandmother together. That is, until he no longer remembered her at all. When your grandpa died, your mother still only viewed the towel as a kitchen focal point. You, however, knew it was a piece of your grandpa and great grandma. When your mother left her prized kitchen decorations, her porcelain china set, her crystal wine glasses and her lovely towels with you when they moved out of their home, you folded the gingham towel and placed it inside your cedar chest. The towel does not match your monochromatic kitchen theme and the memories associated with the towel are somber, but you cannot give the towel away to your older 72

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brother or to your sister either. Thus it sits in the chest: pristinely washed, ironed and folded. Gingham: check, stripped squares, cotton yarn blend, picnic blanket, jam jar cosy, country farmhouse, Dorothy’s dress, vintage-style, rustic-cabin, housewife hanky, schoolgirl uniform, patriotic American, home-style utilitarian glamour, old fashioned authenticity, simplicity, nonthreatening sexuality, summer time, frolic around a field, simpler time nostalgia. The Striped Bedroom Curtains that always smelled like pine and wind. Your mom bought them for you on one of her trips and you were always too afraid to tell her you did not like them. The curtains would blow in the night breeze and cast slanted shadows across your room. They were an eerie black and white, the material translucent, so moon and sunlight would be cast into your room to illuminate it. They appeared almost ghostly on blistering January nights, and always whistled with the wind. These are the curtains your grandpa avoided on Christmas Eve. He came to your room looking for your younger cousins, Lucia and Michael. When he saw the curtains draped over your windows, he rushed to the dining room. His face was a pale shade of cream and he could not suppress a shiver. Your mother simply assumed he had used the wrong door and accidentally gone outside into the cold December night (your grandpa often forgot where he was going or which door led where, so this would be nothing unusual). You led him to the parlour where he sat down on the sofa, sternly focused on what appeared to be a creaky floorboard. Under his shaking breath, he repeated the name, “Paul.” Your grandpa stared at the floor, mumbling to himself. As you listened, tentatively, you realized your grandpa was recalling the year the Nazis invaded his town in Hungary. From the bits you understood, you gathered that Paul and his family were taken out of their village and shipped to Poland by train. He stammered that Paul was still missing, but could very well have been a boy in striped pyjamas. You poured him a cup of peppermint tea and he drank it slowly from the decorative mug, shaking. He tried not to spill it. You marvelled at how vivid this memory of your grandpa’s was, they often were not like this anymore. This state quickly diminished, as you feared it would. Your grandpa finished his tea and had already forgotten Paul and Hungary and that traumatic time. He was quick to ask where the others were and you knew this conversation had escaped him. You wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tightly. Whenever you saw stripes with your grandpa, you would give his arm a tight squeeze in case the melancholy memory returned. It never did. Striped: lines, bands, dashed adjacent, horizontal, vertical, diagonal, elongating, classic, boldly, barred criminal, rebel circus, perivolos, villainous, medieval outcasts, ambivalence and ambiguity, social deviance, disruptive insubordination, testing boundaries, sailor’s shirt, prisoner’s suit, religiously forbidden Devil’s Cloth. The White Doily Tablecloth that you set out over your decorative coffee table when your grandpa mentioned for no apparent reason that white was the most soothing of colours. The vintage cloth had belonged YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

to your dad’s mother. It had sat along the top of her china case with the porcelain vases filled with fresh lilies and lavender. It was a smooth and shiny fabric with embroidered flowers in the centre. The colour was bright and clean, stain free. Every Sunday you took care of your grandpa while your parents were out doing errands. You set the white cloths and curtains and decorative pillows out in each room week after week; your grandpa was likely to wander into any room unannounced. You would also make a pot of your grandpa’s favourite tea, which always helped him with his anxiety. Three Sundays in a row, you were able to keep your grandpa from having an episode and getting into trouble. On the last Sunday of May, when you were cleaning the tea cups and cake plates, your grandpa stood up and wandered to the second floor. You had not noticed his departure and you frantically sprang up the stairs. You flew into each room unable to find him and, panicked, yelled for your grandpa. Sure enough, your grandpa did not reply. His progressed symptoms meant he was nearly mute. When you burst into your dad’s study, you found your grandpa on the floor, holding the cloth tight to his chest. Coasters and books that had been on the cloth were sprawled across the room. Your grandpa stared blankly at the delicate cloth. You were so relieved that he had not hurt himself that you hugged him tightly to your chest and sobbed. The remainder of the evening he held onto the cloth, smiled sadly at it and even took it back to his home. He placed it beside his bed where it would stay for the remainder of his life. Your mom and dad never noticed the cloth was missing. As you now help your parents move into a smaller house in the country, you find their boxes of black and white photos. Sorting through your mom’s family portraits you find creased, wrapped pocket photos of your grandpa as a young boy. Blonde ringlets fall along his face and he squeezes his arms around the neck of an older girl. On the back of the photo an inscription reads, Johnny and Helena. Helena—your grandpa’s sister who died at twentytwo during childbirth—was your mom’s namesake. The following pictures are a collage of Helena playing with her younger brother, running around. Helena is not only beautiful, but beaming. She looks radiant: incandescently happy. There are pictures of her first house with her husband. She is pregnant in the last photos; doing needlepoint, embroidering, knitting white decorations to endow her baby’s room. You have no trouble smiling down at the photos through the tears. Johnny and Helena are now reunited again. Doilies: white knit, circular designed, London draper, homemaker hobby, maternal mats, fine, woven, linen furniture cover, vintage lace, silk tapestry, wedding, tea party, feminine flowers, pure, pristine, paper protectors, bohemian art, collectable crochet, cloth ornamentation. The Floral Reusable Grocery Bag your mother slung over her shoulder, lugging the heavy groceries from the garage up to the kitchen. The print was a faded yellow-blue-white of forget me nots and baby’s breath. The design is delicate, but the bag is durable. On a particularly difficult day, your grandpa suffered from many illusions. He thought you were your mother and repeatedly asked when your grandmother would be home. You told him grimly that you were not Helena, you were Anna, and that your grandma would not be coming home. 74

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Your grandpa had either pretended not to hear you or chosen not to. He had insisted that she was late coming home from the school where she taught. He had come up with various excuses pertaining to the state of her car, the traffic and the weather. He had reassured you—who he seemed to believe was young Helena—that mom would be home any minute, and he had patted you on the head. When your mother bustled through the door a few hours later carrying groceries, you told her of his confusion and that he had gone to take a nap before dinner. Your mother sighed, put the roast in the oven and then shut herself in her room and wept. The loss of her father’s memory was saddening, but the confusion was truly frustrating and heartbreaking. Some days he would not even recognize her as his daughter and in fear of this unknown stranger, he would yell and swat. You pitied your poor mother and wished you could comfort her somehow. You had set the table for dinner and your mother and father began eating without your grandpa. Midway through the silent course, you heard a slow trudging down the stairs. Your grandpa entered the kitchen and looked directly at you. His face was hollow and sagging, all shadows and curves. He apologized for the afternoon and asked you to confirm your grandma’s whereabouts. You sighed, this was the first time he had been lucid in weeks. Yes, you replied, Grandma Clara is dead. Your grandpa exhaled sharply and looked at the floor. The floral bag sat by the door, ready to be brought back to the car. Your grandpa whispered softly that Clara would have loved the bag, that the flowers were like the ones she had in her garden. Your mom recalled her kneeling on the soft grass and tending to her prized garden for hours on end during the spring and summer months. She would come home a deranged mess of frizzy hair, dirty clothes and flushed cheeks with the glistening glow of sweat, but also with a grin from ear to ear. Even when not outside, she could often be found by the French doors, peering out at her precious garden. Your grandpa smiled sadly at his daughter. Your grandpa apologized again and returned to his room without dinner. You do not know this, but your grandpa cried in his chair the remainder of that evening: burning tears, frustrated with himself, mourning for his wife and pitying your family. By the morning the storm had passed. Floral: the language of flowers, colourful, explosive, feminine, psychedelic paisley, hippy dippy, swanky panky, 60’s spiritual style, southern belle, London liberty apartment, mourning glory, ubiquitous, field of dreams and gold fabric. The Denim Satchel you made yourself out of scraps of old clothes. It was a cross-body, light blue bag with obscure buttons and colourful patches along the seams. You wore it with your brown leather boots and your father’s high school windbreaker. The satchel was large, a portable library for all your favourite books. It was the bag you took with you the last time you saw your grandpa. You had hopped out of your car at the elders’ home and walked in. You walked past the front desk, nodding at Sandy the receptionist and swerving through the hallways to your grandpa’s room. You cautiously opened the door and said, “Good morning.” Your grandpa looked at you quizzically and said that you must be the nurse. You explained that you had YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

come to keep him company and he had seemed pleased. You sat with him and read him some Dickens. He nodded along, closing his eyes to imagine the detailed setting. After half an hour, you closed the book. Your Grandpa tried to thank you, but he slurred his words and could not find the right ones. He grabbed your hand tightly, squeezed it and looked into your eyes. His expression was a mix of gratitude and loneliness. You took his palms into your hands and smiled at him, telling him that you’d be back tomorrow. As you slipped the book into your bag, he stopped you. He pressed his hand against your wrist, sat up straighter and gathered all his strength. “My Anna...she always wears overalls.” You knew that your love of overalls came from Grandma Clara. You smiled in response, “Oh yes?” “Like that,” he had said pointing at your bag. “Anna...she always...helped me.” You looked at your grandpa, your hands trembling, “She sounds lovely.” “Yes...she never...let me down.” You gave your grandpa a weak smile. “Anna loves you very much, she speaks very fondly of you,” you told him, looking down at the floor, willing your eyes not to cry. “I know you do, Anna.” You looked at your grandpa in such surprise the tears fell quickly down your cheeks as you stood aghast at his realization. He was lying on his bed, eyes closed, hands folded and slightly grinning. You had pivoted on your heels, mumbled a goodbye and rushed out to your car. You slipped in behind the wheel and frantically slammed the door, hoping you had not upset your grandpa. That night, your grandpa passed in his sleep. Your bag had been hung on your closet handle and you did not dare touch it after that. You did not open it to get the book out, so you never knew how Great Expectations ended. The denim bag did not move for many years. One day, you think you’d like to use the bag again. Your mother put it into a box for you when they moved and it sits in your closet. You think you will give it to your daughter when she goes through the phase of playing dress up. You now study your one-year-old playing on her mat. She gives you a bubbling smile and pats your arm lovingly. You giggle back at your daughter and you tell your husband you will be right back. You go up to your closet, slowly open the box and take the satchel out. You begin walking down the stairs, turn on your heels and return the bag back to its box. Because who are you trying to kid, more than anything you just want to move on from the mourning and grief. You want to love and care for someone the way you did, but this time protect them from a shattering end. You go back and hoist your daughter onto your lap. You hold her hands, tell her you love her and hope this will all come true. Denim: indigo warp and weft, strong and soulful, rugged, robust rebel, classic cotton, durable, dependable, leg-hugging, curve-supporting, always there for you, worker garb, perfect fit for every occasion, personally tailored, revolutionary, functional fashion, fabric of society.

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

A FRIENDLY REMINDER

SCHOOL: Resurrection TEACHER: Evelyn Dekker SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Barbara Downey UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Patrick Etmanski GRADES 11-12 / POEM by Soyeon Jang

I see a family riding the merry-go-round, Genuine sweet smiles on each and every one of them, I see my father staring into my mother’s eyes, the soft Voice whispering that this is a forever, the merry-go-round Slowly stops, yet it goes around and around, I See my mother grabbing my father’s hand tightly, their palms kissing, They are about to get off the merry-go-round, they are about to get their life going, They are parents, they are in pure love, all they know is they are Scared, they would never disappoint anybody. I want to go up to them and say It’s okay, You are doing it right—you are the right woman, You are the right man, you are doing it right, Yet you doubt yourselves. You are going to do great things for the children, for us, You are going to be proud of who we become, You are going to love us the way we are, that is enough. I want to go up to them, there in the merry-go-round and say it,

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This is a forever, Her terrified nurturing face counting on me, Her caressed warm body, His insecure wise face counting on me, His caressed warm body, And I say it. I need you. We need you. I Capture them in my mind’s eye, like a camera, as if That moment is an eternity for them, for us, I say Keep doing what you are doing, and we will be there for you, This is a forever.

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

WHAT YOU DESERVE

SCHOOL: Francis Libermann TEACHER: Jennifer Thomson SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Leo Joseph UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Gillian Vivona GRADES 11-12 / PLAY by Juliana Melino

CHARACTERS DENISE: ANTHONY: TOMMY: GRANDFATHER:

Single mother Drunk driver Denise’s ten year-old son Denise’s father Dave

ACT I Lights up on a small kitchen. DENISE is standing at the oven, cooking pancakes and talking on the phone. TOMMY is sitting at the table, chatting excitedly to his mother. DENISE:

Tonight? (Looks at TOMMY, hesitates) Yes, I know we’re short on reporters, but I’m—promotion? Okay, I can do it. What time?

TOMMY:

Whaddya think we’re gonna see? In Florida?

DENISE:

That’s a twelve-hour shift!

TOMMY:

Hopefully a train. I like trains.

DENISE:

No—listen—I can do it, that’s fine.

TOMMY:

Do they have trains at Disney World? Mom?

DENISE: (Putting the pancakes on the table, still half on the phone) Hang on— (puts call on hold) sweetheart, Mommy’s working right now. Give me a minute. TOMMY:

(Sadly) Okay.

DENISE finishes her call just as the doorbell rings. DENISE and TOMMY rush offstage to

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answer the door. We are in a white-picket-fence, middle class neighbourhood. There is one house on the block that isn’t as nice as the others, but only slightly. GRANDFATHER enters. DENISE returns to the stage carrying a duffel bag and nearly trips over TOMMY who is running around her legs, pulling luggage behind him. TOMMY: (Chanting) FLORIDA! DISNEY WORLD! AIRPLANES! FLORIDA! DENISE:

(Laughing) Careful, careful! You’re gonna make me drop this!

GRANDFATHER: Ey! There’s my favourite munchkin! (Picks TOMMY up) How are we doing today? DENISE:

(Relieved) Hey dad.

GRANDFATHER: Are you sure you’re going to be able to relax during this trip? I don’t think you’ve had a day off since Tommy was born! (Pinches his cheek, TOMMY groans) DENISE:

(Wincing and lowering her voice) Listen, I just got a call from the office, and they need me to work this weekend. I know we were supposed to fly out today, but do you think you could take him? I can try to take the next flight out when I’m done. I need this promotion, especially since I put so much of our savings into this trip.

GRANDFATHER:

I don’t know if—

TOMMY:

You’re not coming?

DENISE: I’m so sorry honey, but Mommy needs to work today. I promise I’ll meet you there and you’ll have tons of fun with Grandpa though, okay? Think of the trains! TOMMY:

I don’t want to see the trains without you.

DENISE: (Ignoring him, speaking to GRANDFATHER) These are his bags—make sure he doesn’t eat the plane peanuts, he has an allergy—and make sure he stays safe, okay? Airplanes can be dangerous, you know. Just last week I heard— GRANDFATHER:

(Taking the bag out of Denise’s hands) He’ll be fine, Denise. I’ll make sure he doesn’t fall out of the plane. Just…take some time to relax, okay? Try not to work too hard. You deserve it.

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TOMMY: (Dejected) Bye, Mommy. GRANDFATHER and TOMMY say their goodbyes until they are out of sight. DENISE stands at the door for a little longer, then her cell phone rings and she goes inside. Lights out. A red glow fills the room. ANTHONY stumbles onto the stage in a drunken stupor. He takes a sip of beer and walks into the parking lot, singing along to the song playing in the bar he just left. Lights out again. We hear tires screeching and the thud of impact, followed by sirens. We are looking at a television screen, showing a news program. DENISE is hard at work, reporting the news. DENISE: Tonight in Scarborough, it’s cloudy with a chance of light showers. Traffic is heavy on the 401, as usual, but—(puts a hand to her ear, listening through an earpiece) we have some breaking news! It’s a sad day in Toronto after a young boy and an older male were struck by a drunk driver (pause, starting to realize) on their way to Pearson International Airport just thirty minutes ago. (Longer pause, the realization begins to set in. DENISE is beginning to panic.) The driver in question is in custody, currently being questioned by police. The boy is in critical condition—oh god! (DENISE runs off with her cell phone in hand, sobbing.) Lights out. The stage is now split in two sections, one for DENISE and one for ANTHONY. Depending on the scene, one or the other section of the stage will be lit up. Lights up on ANTHONY’s section. We are in a jail cell. ANTHONY is handcuffed to the table and still extremely drunk. Lights up on Grandfather. GRANDFATHER:

Anthony Wellis.

ANTHONY:

(Slurring) Finally, a police officer! You have no right keeping me in this cell when I am completely innocent!

GRANDFATHER:

I’m not a police officer. And you’re not innocent.

ANTHONY:

(Ignoring him) Listen, I’m pretty sure I got hit by a car…

GRANDFATHER:

YOU hit a car. Are you aware that you were three times above the legal blood alcohol limit to be operating a vehicle?

ANTHONY:

I’m fine!

GRANDFATHER:

You can’t even walk.

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ANTHONY:

I’m a better driver when I’ve (burp) had a bit to drink.

GRANDFATHER:

You killed two people.

ANTHONY:

Sorry.

GRANDFATHER: Sorry? Just sorry? Do you know what you’ve done? You killed me! You killed my grandson! ANTHONY:

(Sniffs) You got any water, policeman?

GRANDFATHER:

I’m not a policeman! You ruined our lives and now I’m going to ruin yours!

ANTHONY looks like he’s about to pass out. GRANDFATHER:

Did you not hear what I just—goodness, boy, you’re going to regret this.

Lights out on GRANDFATHER. ANTHONY:

Hello? Hello? (He passes out on the table.)

ACT II Lights out. Light up DENISE’s section. DENISE is sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by lists. She looks terrible. DENISE: (Too joyful) Okay. What do I need to do today? I need to go shopping, Tommy’s birthday is coming up! And I need to call the funeral home, tell them to stop sending me letters for no reason. Oh, and (scribbling down a note) I should probably go get some— Lights up on GRANDFATHER. DENISE:

Wh—Dad? How did you get in here?

GRANDFATHER:

Listen to me. You’re lying to yourself.

DENISE:

(Not listening to him) Do you think Tommy would like a blue cake or a red cake? I can’t decide…

GRANDFATHER:

Tommy’s gone.

DENISE:

What?

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GRANDFATHER:

You can’t get him a cake. He’s dead. So am I. You know this.

DENISE:

Dad, are you feeling okay?

GRANDFATHER:

Denise, listen to me. I’m worried about you.

DENISE:

I’m fine. Just busy, that’s all. I want Tommy to be happy.

GRANDFATHER:

You need to come to terms with reality. Tommy is dead.

DENISE: This is reality. I’m going to call you a psychiatrist if you keep talking like this. GRANDFATHER:

(Sighs) I’m sorry, Denise.

Lights out on GRANDFATHER. DENISE:

(Looking around wildly) Dad?

ACT III Lights out. Light up ANTHONY’s section. ANTHONY is now sober and is pacing his cell, talking to his father on the phone. ANTHONY: This is nonsense. I just don’t get how they can take my life away like that? One stupid mistake and now I’m “a threat to society”? I don’t deserve this! (He listens for a couple seconds, winces.) Listen. I need a plan. What’s my defense? I could say the grandpa was running a red light. Or maybe he was texting and driving? Lights up on GRANDFATHER, with TOMMY by his side. GRANDFATHER:

Well that’s quite rude. I never text and drive.

ANTHONY:

(Drops phone, jumping back) Jeez!

TOMMY:

That’s a bad word.

ANTHONY:

Who the heck are you?

GRANDFATHER:

You don’t remember me?

ANTHONY:

How did you get in here?

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GRANDFATHER: Nice to meet you, too. My name is Dave, and this is Tommy. (TOMMY waves.) But you already knew that. We’ve been on the news all day since you killed us. ANTHONY:

What?

GRANDFATHER:

(With attitude) Dang, you’re slow, aren’t you? You killed me and my grandson. You left my daughter all alone, you ruined a young child’s life, and you have the audacity to try to frame me?

ANTHONY:

(Beginning to panic) Is this some kind of joke? Leave me alone!

TOMMY:

You’re in big trouble.

ANTHONY:

Excuse me?

GRANDFATHER: (Terrifying) You’re going to pay for this. You’re going to beg and beg but nothing will get better. Just like my daughter is begging for her family to come back. ANTHONY: (Banging on his cell door) Someone help! There are crazy people in my cell! GRANDFATHER:

There’s no use calling for help. They won’t believe you.

ANTHONY:

Listen. I’m only twenty-four. People make mistakes, okay? I’m sorry, is that what you want me to say? I’m still gonna try to get out of here as fast as I can. If you’re actually dead, then it’s not like you can stop me.

TOMMY:

My grandpa died first.

ANTHONY:

I don’t want to hear it, kid.

TOMMY:

My mommy got to see me before I died.

ANTHONY:

I mean it.

TOMMY:

She climbed into bed with me and sang while they unplugged life support.

ANTHONY is beginning to look sick. ANTHONY:

Please. Stop.

TOMMY: (Inching closer) We wanted you to stop, too. But you didn’t. You crashed right into us. 84

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Lights flicker, GRANDFATHER and TOMMY disappear. ANTHONY:

(Collapses in his chair) God.

Light up DENISE’s section. DENISE is cooking pancakes in the kitchen. She still looks terrible, but now there is a crazed look to her as well. DENISE:

Tommy! Breakfast is ready!

Lights up on TOMMY and GRANDFATHER. TOMMY:

Mommy, please. You know this is wrong.

DENISE:

What do you mean, sweetheart?

GRANDFATHER:

We aren’t real. You know what happened to us.

DENISE:

This again? (Moves closer to him) We’ve been through this. I—

DENISE tries and fails to touch GRANDFATHER. DENISE:

I—what—I don’t—

TOMMY:

We aren’t real. Remember Florida?

DENISE:

(Becoming more hysterical as she goes on) Oh. Oh my god. You’re dead.

GRANDFATHER:

I’m sorry.

DENISE:

No—it’s my fault. (To TOMMY) I—I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight. If I was there… Why did I think I was good enough to be a mother? All I did was work. I didn’t give you enough. Now you won’t have a future. You’ll never graduate high school, or get your first job, or travel the world. It should have been me. That’s what I deserve. That’s what I deserve. That’s what I deserve. Is this what I deserve?

TOMMY:

It’s not your fault, Mommy.

DENISE:

But it is! I should have been with you! All you wanted was for me to stay and I sent you away! And for what? Money? A promotion? What was more important to me than family?

GRANDFATHER:

Listen. You can’t deny what happened, but you also can’t torture yourself with could-haves and should-haves. Thinking about all the things you didn’t do right won’t change reality. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

DENISE:

Then what can I do?

GRANDFATHER:

Heal. Take some time for yourself. Don’t go back to work for awhile. Remember what happened but don’t let it take over your mind.

DENISE:

I love you. Don’t go, please.

TOMMY:

You know we have to.

Lights out on GRANDFATHER and TOMMY. DENISE faces the audience with a look of determination on her face. Lights out. Lights up on ANTHONY’s section. ANTHONY is muttering to himself in his cell, hunched over in a chair. ANTHONY: Stop it. I shouldn’t feel guilty. I was drunk, it wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t control myself. ANTHONY suddenly jumps up and begins pacing. ANTHONY:

(Angry) An innocent life! Two innocent lives! How can you possibly move on from that? I’m a monster!

Lights up on TOMMY. TOMMY:

Hey.

ANTHONY:

Holy jeez!

TOMMY:

I told you, that’s a bad word.

ANTHONY:

(Filled with rage) This is YOUR fault! You made me like this! I can’t stop thinking about what I did. You ruined my life.

TOMMY:

You ruined your own life.

ANTHONY:

Why won’t you just go away?

TOMMY:

I’m a part of you now.

ANTHONY:

What am I supposed to do then?

TOMMY:

Nothing. You can’t change what you’ve done.

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ANTHONY:

GO AWAY!

Lights out on TOMMY. ANTHONY:

(Sobbing) This is what I deserve.

Lights up on DENISE’s section. DENISE is back at work after a leave of absence. It has been two years since the tragedy that ruined her life. DENISE: I would like to thank 416 News for giving me the opportunity to be back on the air. It’s been two years since a drunk driver killed the two most important people in my life. I am here today to send a message. A message to all those who think that driving drunk isn’t a big deal, or that they can handle it, or that one time won’t hurt them. It only takes one time. One time to ruin a family, to change a future, to end a life. In this case, it was two lives. I am left without a family. My father was supposed to be taking my child to Disney World for his first vacation. Please think before you act. It will affect someone, I promise you. (Lights up on TOMMY. DENISE notices and begins to tear up.) And to all mothers and fathers, please, spend as much time with your children as possible. You never know when your last moments with them will be. (Lights out on TOMMY.) Thank you. Lights out.

--END--

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A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING

SCHOOL: St. Maximilian Kolbe TEACHER: Valerio Sorgini SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Adriano Crupi UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 11-12 / NONFICTION by Jackie Bartus

Mulan (1998) is commonly regarded as one of the most feminist Disney films to ever play on the silver screen. The titular character, Mulan, defies many gender norms by proving that even though she is a girl, she is just as strong and capable as her male counterparts. There is no argument that Mulan is a strong female character and an amazing role model for young girls. However, the film Mulan could easily be considered a wolf in sheep’s clothing when approaching it from a feminist perspective, which focuses on how gender is portrayed. While the film is all about defying gender norms created by society, it is actually placing these exact gender norms on children, all while being praised for being a step in the right direction for the feminist cause. Simply put, Mulan perpetuates gender norms and stereotypes, and teaches children a very dangerous mentality about life. Mulan’s storyline does wonders for defying gender norms, and it is clear that a lot of thought went into creating a main character who develops her strength without losing her femininity. The same, however, could not be said about the music, which makes it seem like all of the thought went into creating catchy tunes instead of empowering songs that would help defy the gender norms presented in Mulan’s society. The song, “A Girl Worth Fighting For” (Bancroft 1998) paints a picture of “the perfect girl.” The perfect girl is portrayed as someone who is beautiful, can cook, and treats her husband like a god, but not one who has a brain and can speak her mind. This is teaching young girls that they should focus all of their time on being beautiful instead of smart and genuine. But, there is a much more serious problem when it comes to the lyrics of this song. The line, “I want her paler than the moon,” does not even need an explanation for why it is so horrible. Yes, this may be part of the Chinese culture, but children do not see race. A young girl who is anything but “paler than the moon” will not put this quote into cultural context, but will instead believe that she is less desirable and less worthy of love because of the colour of her skin. The song “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” (Bancroft 1998) is one that teaches girls that “man” is synonymous with “strong.” However, this song is also dangerous for boys. In this day and age, the effect that gender norms have on children is a topic that is usually exclusive to females. Nevertheless, this song teaches young boys that if they do not fit the masculine gender norm of being strong, they are less of a man. This kind of thinking affects both young boys and girls alike.

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While this song is playing in the film, Mulan is seen working on her strength and learning to fit in as a boy (Bancroft 1998). Although Mulan aims to teach that women are just as strong and capable as men, it is important to note that although Mulan was able to become a hero and save her country, she literally needed to change her gender expression (not gender!) for anyone to take her seriously. Although this does perpetuate the gender norm that men are stronger than women, it also unfortunately teaches children that if they want to achieve their goals, they must tone down their femininity, which is a harsh truth about the society that they are growing up in. When Mulan returns home from the war as a hero, carrying the sword of her enemy, her grandmother says, “Great, she brought home a sword. If you ask me she should have brought home a man” (Bancroft 1998). Mulan saved her entire country from the Huns, but it is clear that her grandmother still thinks that she would bring more honour to her family by becoming a bride. The grandmother is not the antagonist of the story; her words do not come out with the intention of malice. This is simply the norm, a norm that Mulan clearly has not broken. Instead of breaking this stereotype, this teaches young girls that no matter what they accomplish in life, the most important thing is finding a husband. This norm is further perpetuated at the very end of Mulan. The last scene of the film shows Shang coming over for dinner, and hints at a romantic relationship between Mulan and Shang (Bancroft 1998). This is Mulan’s greatest flaw. The purpose of Mulan is to teach young girls that there is more to life than finding a husband. And the film achieves this. Right up until this final scene. Note that in Disney films, the final scene is the “happily ever after”: Cinderella gets married (Geronimi 1950), Belle (Trousdale 1991) and Aurora (Geronimi 1959) dance the night away with their princes, and Snow White is awoken with a true love’s kiss and rides off into the sunset with her prince (Hand 1937). Therefore, as it is the plot of the final scene, Mulan and Shang’s relationship is Mulan’s “happily ever after”, even though Mulan is praised by the emperor for saving her entire country only a few scenes prior to this one (Bancroft 1998). This is not an inherently bad ending, and it does an amazing job at concluding Mulan’s story—from a storytelling perspective. Not a feminist one. Her journey of becoming strong and defying the gender norms that have been placed upon her is thoroughly invalidated by the fact that, because of her journey, she has gotten what she wanted from the beginning: a man. This puts forward the message that her journey and all of her suffering do not matter—that everything was worth it—because she found love. Films like Mulan teach young girls this belief from such a young age that they do not even know they are being taught anything. But, the mentality is there. This is why so many girls grow up with the belief that they need to be loved to be complete. This is why gender norms are still perpetuated in today’s society—because children absorb information like sponges. What children hear will be repeated. It does not matter that a line like, “She’s a woman, she’ll never be worth anything” (Bancroft 1998) only exists to establish the conflict that the main character has to overcome. Young, impressionable children do not understand that a line like this is only there to evoke a reaction of sympathy from the audience. They are taught to sit down and listen to what they are being told. And they do. They hear the catchy songs that tell

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them that they are not good enough because of their gender. They witness the way people of their gender are expected to act, and they follow suit so as not to stick out. They are taught to believe that they are worthless, or that they are worth more than other people, and to give in to the stereotypes that are placed upon them. Simply put, these norms enter a child’s subconscious before they are even old enough to contemplate that what they are hearing might not be true. By this time, the damage has been done. This is why the film Mulan is so dangerous for children: because it teaches them these gender norms and shows them what can happen if they do not conform. The fact that it is a film that is often praised for the very thing that makes it so dangerous is why Mulan is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Works Cited Bancroft, Tony and Barry Cook, directors. Mulan. Kit Parker Films, 1998. Geronimi, Clyde, director. Sleeping Beauty. Buena Vista Distribution, 1959. Geronimi, Clyde, et al., directors. Cinderella. RKO Radio Pictures, 1950. Hand, David, director. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. RKO Radio Pictures, 1937. Trousdale, Gary and Kirk Wise, directors. Beauty and the Beast. Buena Vista Pictures, 1991.

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

LIZZY CHERCHE DU BAMBOU

SCHOOL: St. Bernard TEACHER: Latoya Labine SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sarah Polowski, Monique Wyllie UNIT: Thunder Bay Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Aldo Grillo JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / SHORT STORY by Rebecca Powell

Lizzy est un panda. Lizzy a faim ! Lizzy marche dans la forêt. Tout à coup, elle voit du bambou. Lizzy mange le bambou. Elle est contente.

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

LE COQUELICOT

SCHOOL: Jean Vanier TEACHER: Linda Cinelli SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Tom Laracy JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / POEM by Kara Gross

Le coquelicot est rouge. Le coquelicot a des pétales. Le coquelicot a une tige. Le coquelicot est la paix.

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

LES MASQUES

SCHOOL: Jean Vanier TEACHER: Maria Sampson SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Tom Laracy JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / NONFICTION by Melody May

Voilà les étapes pour faire un masque : 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Prends le papier. Coupe le papier. Fais des trous. Ajoute de la ficelle. Mets-le sur ton visage.

Voilà un masque !

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

BUGS ET BRUNO MANGENT LE DRAGON

SCHOOL: Our Lady of Fatima TEACHER: Claudia DeRocchis, Ana Moccia SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Mike Iannelli UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 1-2 / SHORT STORY by Domenic Meffe

Un jour, il y a un chien qui s’appelle Bruno. Bruno a un ami qui est un lapin. Il s’appelle Bugs. Ils sont des chevaliers. Bruno et Bugs disent au roi : « Il y a un dragon ! — Pouvez-vous me débarrasser du dragon ? — Oui », disent Bruno et Bugs. Bugs et Bruno marchent vers le dragon. Le dragon rugit : « Rorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr !!! » Bugs et Bruno ont très peur. « Ahhhhhhhh ! » ils crient. Après, Bugs et Bruno sont plus courageux. Après, Bruno et Bugs mangent le dragon. Ils se sentent bourrés et fatigués. Fin

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

LE GARÇON QUI DIT BONNE NUIT À TOUS LES ANIMAUX SCHOOL: St. Francis Xavier TEACHER: Alvine Ngaa SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Caroline Andrews UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 1-2 / POEM by Julian Ali

La nuit, au bord du lac, Un petit garçon tient son hameçon. Il dit bonne nuit à une petite grenouille, Qui dort près des guimauves, Qui bouillent sur le feu de camp. Bonne nuit à tous les oiseaux, Qui dorment perchés sur les arbres. Bonne nuit à tous les ours, Qui dorment dans leur cave. Bonne nuit à tous les loups, Qui crient dans les bois. Bonne nuit à tous les poissons, Dans le lac Mew, Et à toutes les lucioles, Qui illuminent le lac. Bonne nuit Algonquin.

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

MA CÉLÉBRATION PRÉFÉRÉE - LE NOËL ORTHODOXE SCHOOL: Blessed Trinity TEACHER: Solina Panza-Di Girolamo SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Robert Cannone UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 1-2 / NONFICTION by Diana Birbraer

Introduction Le nom de la célébration : le Noël orthodoxe Quand on la célèbre : 6-7 janvier Qui la célèbre : les chrétiens orthodoxes La sorte de célébration (pour une personne, pour un pays, pour une religion, un jour spécial) : pour les chrétiens orthodoxes La nourriture On célèbre le Noël orthodoxe. On mange un repas spécial. On mange la kutya. Et si tu manges toute la kutya, tu vas avoir une bonne année et de la chance. Les décorations On décore ma maison avec des chandelles et des fleurs. On décore l’arbre de Noël. Ça, c’est très important pour moi ! Les activités spéciales L’activité spéciale, c’est prier. On prie du 6 janvier au 7 janvier. On va chez les autres personnes et on chante des chansons. On donne des bonbons. La musique / la danse On écoute « Douce nuit ». On écoute la musique sainte. Ce jour, nous nous souvenons des personnes qui sont mortes. Les vêtements On porte de belles robes longues. Les garçons portent de beaux chandails. C’est très important pour moi !

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

LES AVENTURES DE MONSIEUR BLANC

SCHOOL: Blessed Trinity TEACHER: Carmela Simone SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Robert Cannone UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 3-4 / SHORT STORY by Matthew Edward Sienkiewicz

Il était une fois un flocon de neige qui était dans un nuage. Je tombe par terre où... Aïe !!! Je sursaute. Je me pose sur une montagne grise et blanche. Au commencement, je n’ai pas de choses à faire, mais je commence à danser ! Et lentement... Lentement... J’apprends à danser sur la neige ! Lentement, j’apprends à faire d’autres choses. Par exemple, j’apprends à jouer dans la neige ! Je suis un flocon de neige content, et petit. Un jour, quand je jouais dans la neige, une chose m’a touché. C’était un autre flocon de neige ! Au début, je n’avais aucune idée, mais, le temps a passé, et on a commencé à devenir amis ! On a joué dans la neige, on a dansé sur la neige... Mais tout à coup... Il y avait un ours ! Les flocons de neige n’aiment pas les ours ! Mon ami tombe sur l’ours et... L’ours grogne et grogne et grogne ! Ce n’est pas bon ! Ça veut dire que l’ours est très fâché ! Les flocons de neige n’aiment pas quand les ours sont fâchés. On ne sait pas comment calmer les ours ! On saute de l’ours. L’ours n’est pas content, mais, on s’est échappé. Ça c’est bon, parce qu’on ne sait pas une seule chose sur les ours. On grimpe la montagne et on commence à faire la fête. Ça, c’est mon aventure. Merci.

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

ROUGE EST ÉPEURANT

SCHOOL: Jean Vanier TEACHER: Krystina Pucci SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Tom Laracy GRADES 3-4 / POEM by Eni Zowie Osunfisan

Rouge est épeurant. Ça sent le danger comme le feu. Ça goûte épicé comme le ragoût. Ça sent rugueux comme ta langue. C’est la couleur de brûler. Rouge est le sang.

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

LA GYMNASTE INCROYABLE, LAURIE HERNANDEZ SCHOOL: St. Joseph French Immersion Centre TEACHER: Justine Narel SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Elizabeth Collins UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Kelly McNeely GRADES 3-4 / NONFICTION by Alexis Maria Sultan-Khan

Premièrement, elle est née le 9 juin 2000 dans le New Jersey aux États-Unis. Elle a commencé à faire de la gymnastique quand elle avait 5 ans. Son activité préférée est l’exercice au sol. Elle a déjà eu quelques blessures, par exemple, elle a disloqué son genou. Aussi, elle a gagné la médaille d’or en gymnastique aux Jeux Olympiques. Elle a un frère plus âgé et une sœur ainée qui s’appellent Marcus et Jelysa. Sa mère et son père sont travailleurs sociaux. Pour les Jeux Olympiques, elle a partagé une chambre avec Simone Biles. Elles sont de vraiment bonnes amies. Elle a aussi gagné la compétition Dancing With the Stars ! Finalement elle est une gymnaste incroyable et elle m’inspire.

Ma ressource : Hernandez, Laurie. I Got This: To Gold and Beyond, HarperCollins, 2018.

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NAOMI ET CHIP

SCHOOL: St. Joseph French Immersion Centre TEACHER: Lisa Tonin Souckey SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Elizabeth Collins UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Kelly McNeely GRADES 5-6 / SHORT STORY by Madeline Rebecca Ley

« Naomi, ton chocolat chaud est prêt. — D’accord, j’arrive ! » Naomi est une fille de sept ans. Elle a un singe qui s’appelle Chip. Ça, c’est une histoire à propos de comment Naomi a trouvé Chip. Elle ne l’a pas acheté dans un magasin. Elle l’a trouvé. Un an avant Il y avait beaucoup de personnes dangereuses dans la ville de Naomi. Des personnes qui volent et qui font des choses mauvaises. Naomi a dit qu’elle voulait aller jouer dans la forêt comme d’habitude. Chaque jour, à cette heure-là, Naomi allait dans la forêt parce que c’était le seul endroit qui était sûr pour jouer. Quand elle est arrivée dans la forêt, elle est montée en haut d’un grand arbre pour voir la guerre de loin. Après dix minutes, Naomi a vu quelque chose d’étrange. Trois grands hommes tiraient de grands sacs qui bougeaient. Ils les ont mis dans un grand trou dans la terre. Les choses dans les sacs sont sorties. C’étaient des singes, trois : deux parents et un bébé. Naomi est descendue de l’arbre. « Je crois qu’ils ne font pas ce que je pense qu’ils font. » Naomi s’est rapprochée en rampant. À côté des singes, il y avait un grand pot d’eau chaude. « Ils vont les cuisiner. » Naomi était juste au bord du trou. Quelqu’un l’a tirée. C’était le père de Naomi. « Qu’est-ce que tu fais ici ? C’est vraiment dangereux ! — Je veux sauver les singes ! — Moi aussi, mais je ne peux pas. Je vais perdre mon travail. — Mais pourquoi ? — Pour la nourriture. — Mais... — Va à la maison ! Ne sors pas encore. — D’accord. » Naomi est allée à la maison. « Bonjour maman. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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— Bonjour Naomi. J’ai juste fini le dîner : soupe au poulet, tu en veux ? — Non, je suis correcte. » Naomi est allée dans sa chambre. « Je dois trouver une façon de sauver les singes. Je dois faire vite. Je vais juste aller avec. » Et comme ça, Naomi est partie par sa fenêtre. Cette fois, Naomi a regardé s’il y avait des personnes avant d’avancer, et elle a couru plus vite qu’un chat. « Prie pour qu’ils soient encore en vie. » Ils ne sont pas là. « Je suis arrivée trop tard. » Naomi a commencé à marcher avec sa tête vers le sol, et juste avant qu’elle n’arrive à la porte, elle a vu quelque chose qui bougeait sous le camion de sa mère. C’était le bébé singe. Très vite, Naomi l’a apporté dans la maison. « Où sont tes parents ? » Le singe est monté sur la fenêtre et a pointé vers le grand pot d’eau chaude. « Oh ! Je comprends. Tu peux rester avec moi si tu veux. » Un sourire a paru sur le visage du singe. « Je pense que ça veut dire oui. Je vais t’appeler Chip. » Et depuis ce jour, Naomi et Chip sont les meilleurs amis.

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CHIOT

SCHOOL: St. Justin Martyr TEACHER: Tina Tortorici SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Alejandra Ortiz UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 5-6 / POEM by Silken Cheung-Ege

Quand j’étais jeune et heureux J’avais un chiot reconnaissant Il avait l’habitude de courir et d’aboyer Aux écureuils dans le parc Mais maintenant je suis tout seul Sanglotant pour la perte douloureuse Pour l’instant il est au paradis Jouant avec les autres chiots Pendant les années avec lui, je priais Pour lui de toujours rester aussi beau Je l’embrassais de toutes mes forces Parce qu’il était la lumière de ma vie Quand on regardait un film triste Il pleurait avec moi Quand on jouait du piano ensemble Je pouvais l’entendre fredonner Oh comme mon merveilleux chiot me manque

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LES LOUPS

SCHOOL: Notre Dame, Caledonia TEACHER: Ewa Molenda SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Anne Zinger UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Tom Laracy GRADES 5-6 / NONFICTION by David Osinga

J’aime beaucoup les animaux, en particulier les animaux sauvages. Ce sont les loups qui me passionnent le plus, ces derniers temps. Voulez-vous en savoir plus sur les loups ? Il y a tant de choses à apprendre. Les loups sont les membres les plus importants de la famille des chiens. J’ai appris qu’ils existent depuis au moins trois cent mille ans. Ils habitent dans les forêts et les montagnes et ils aiment vivre avec les autres loups. Ils sont nocturnes. Ça veut dire qu’ils cherchent de la nourriture pendant la nuit et ils dorment pendant la journée. Ils dorment beaucoup : environ douze à quatorze heures par jour. Leurs chiots dorment de dix-huit à vingt heures par jour. Les loups sont gris et blancs. Leur nez est noir. Ils ont une fourrure épaisse. Ils ont les dents tranchantes. Les loups sont très rapides, beaucoup plus rapides que les chiens. Et attention, ils peuvent être très dangereux. J’ai aussi appris que les loups chassent les animaux qui sont malades, blessés ou vieux. Apparemment, la plus grande espèce de loups est le loup gris. Les loups sauvages vivent en moyenne de six à huit ans, mais il y a aussi des loups qui vivent dans la nature environ treize ans. J’ai lu que les loups qui vivent en captivité vivent jusqu’à seize ans. Souvent, ils perdent la vie dans les combats territoriaux ou à cause de la famine. Les loups s’adaptent facilement au changement. Il y a des gens qui pensent que le loup représente la loyauté et la fidélité. Le loup est un animal de pouvoir. Il fait confiance à son instinct. Il vit en meute et il reste fidèle à sa compagne toute sa vie. C’est un animal qui fascine les hommes depuis des années ou même des siècles. Il y a beaucoup de légendes de loups. Il y a aussi des monuments de loups comme La Louvière en Belgique.

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LE PETIT CHAPERON ROUGE ET SES AMIS SUR LA ROUTE SCHOOL: St. Joseph French Immersion Centre TEACHER: Andrée Coutu SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Elizabeth Collins UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Kelly McNeely

GRADES 7-8 / SHORT STORY by Olivia Therrien, Marynia Jeszka

Une journée chaude et sèche, une fille qui s’appelait le Petit Chaperon Rouge était sur la route dans la forêt car sa grand-mère était malade. Quand elle était en route, elle a vu le Chat Botté. « Ahhhhhhhhh ! dit le Chat Botté. — Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ! dit le Petit Chaperon Rouge. Je ne savais pas que les chats pouvaient parler. — Quoi ? Les chats n’ont pas le droit de parler ? dit le Chat Botté. — Bien sûr que non ! J’étais surprise et je n’ai pas bu mon café ce matin, assure le Petit Chaperon Rouge. — Simplement inacceptable ! dit le Chat Botté, l’air vexé. Maintenant, je vais continuer à chercher quelqu’un qui veut chanter avec moi. — Moi, moi, moi ! chuchote le Petit Chaperon rouge. — Non, non, non ! Aucune chance que tu puisses chanter, dit le Chat Botté. — Oh, vraiment ? » dit le Petit Chaperon Rouge. Et le Petit Chaperon Rouge commença à chanter. « Tu chantes comme un âne, s’est exclamé le Chat Botté. — Fa la la la la la la la la. — Tu attends quoi ? On doit aller voir grand-maman, non ? — Ah oui. On s’en va voir grand-maman », dit le Petit Chaperon Rouge. Quand ils étaient en route pour voir grand-maman, ils ont entendu quelqu’un parler dans la forêt. « Qui est là ? » dit le Petit Chaperon Rouge avec un regard vigilant sur son visage. Tout à coup, un grand loup gris a émergé de la forêt. « Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ! dit le Petit Chaperon Rouge. — Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ! dit le Chat Botté. — C’est moi, le Grand Loup Gris ! Où allez-vous aujourd’hui ? — Tu es vraiment effrayant, dit le Chat Botté. — Beaucoup de personnes me disent ça, c’est pourquoi j’aime manger des grands-mamans ! Heu, pas des grands-mamans ! Des, heu… carottes ! J’aime beaucoup les carottes ! — On doit continuer la route pour voir grand-maman, s’exclama le Petit Chaperon Rouge. — OK, je vais vous rattraper plus tard », dit le Grand Loup Gris. Cela dit, ils ont continué leur voyage vers la maison de grand-maman. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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Quand ils sont arrivés, la porte était ouverte. Ils sont entrés et sont allés dans la chambre de grand-maman. Quand ils sont arrivés dans sa chambre, ils ont vu grand-maman dans sa chemise de nuit et ses grosses lunettes. « Mamie ! Comme vous avez de grands yeux ! s’est exclamée le Petit Chaperon Rouge. — C’est pour mieux te voir, ma chérie ! » Le Petit Chaperon Rouge n’était pas si convaincue, mais elle a continué. « C’est pour mieux t’entendre, ma chérie. — Mamie, comme vous avez un grand nez ! — C’est pour mieux te sentir, ma chérie. — Mamie… Ah ! Mamie ! Comme vous avez de grandes dents ! Êtes-vous allée chez le dentiste ? — Non ! Ne sois pas stupide, c’est pour mieux te manger ! » Tout à coup, grand-maman a sauté du lit. Mais ce n’était pas grand-maman, c’était le Grand Loup Gris dans les vêtements de grand-maman ! « Qu’est-ce que tu as fait avec ma grand-mère, gros loup stupide ! — Je l’ai mangée ! rit le loup. Et maintenant, je vais te manger, ma chérie ! — Je dois téléphoner à la police. » Tout à coup, les trois petits cochons sont entrés dans la salle. « Mains en l’air ! crient les cochons. — Menottez-le ! » dit le Petit Chaperon Rouge. Après que les cochons l’ont arrêté, ils ont cherché partout grand-maman et l’ont trouvée dans la garde-robe, avec un ruban sur la bouche. « Pourquoi avez-vous gardé ma grand-mère dans la garde-robe ? — C’est une chose de thérapie, dit le Grand Loup Gris. — OK, maintenant que nous avons résolu le mystère, on doit aller en ville pour chanter », dit le Chat Botté. Quand ils sont arrivés en ville, ils ont chanté dans chaque restaurant et dans chaque parc, et dans chaque autobus. Tout le monde a commencé à donner de l’argent au Petit Chaperon Rouge, au Chat Botté et au Grand Loup Gris. Ils sont devenus riches. Alors, chaque jour, ils ont chanté en ville d’une heure du matin à minuit. Chaque jour, ils ont gagné 100.000.000 dollars. Fin

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MES AMIS

SCHOOL: St. Gregory the Great TEACHER: Matthew Silva SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: John Ricci UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 7-8 / POEM by Tatiana Rountes

Mes amis sont toujours dans mon cœur, Depuis le premier jour où nous nous sommes dit bonjour. Quoi qu’il arrive, nous sommes toujours côte à côte, Il n’y a rien qui peut casser notre amitié. Je ne vais jamais oublier le temps où nous avons veillé jusqu’à trois heures du matin. Ou les samedis soirs d’hiver à s’amuser sur les patins. Nous avons appris beaucoup ensemble. Voilà à quoi la vraie amitié ressemble. Je suis tellement reconnaissante que notre amitié ait duré ces dix dernières années. Bientôt, nous irons au lycée et nous devrons suivre des voies différentes, Mais il y a une chose qui est certaine ; notre amitié ne finira jamais. J’aime mes amis !

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LE VOL RETOUR

SCHOOL: Notre Dame, Caledonia TEACHER: Ewa Molenda SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Anne Zinger UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Tom Laracy GRADES 7-8 / PLAY by Chloe Jebailey

NARRATEUR : Jamie est à l’aéroport à la recherche de la zone de repos où vous attendez votre vol. ROSE :

Bonjour, comment t’appelles-tu ?

JAMIE :

Bonjour, je m’appelle Jamie, et toi ?

ROSE :

Je m’appelle Rose. Où est-ce que tu voyages ?

JAMIE :

Je rentre à la maison, et toi ?

ROSE :

Je vais aux États-Unis pour les vacances.

JAMIE :

C’est là où j’habite ! Je rentre de Paris où j’ai rencontré ma famille.

ROSE :

Fantastique ! Comment était ton voyage ?

JAMIE :

C’était incroyable. Mais malheureusement j’ai eu quelques problèmes. Mon avion a été en retard d’une heure. Je me suis perdu à l’aéroport et j’ai fini par marcher en cercles.

ROSE :

Finalement tu as trouvé les renseignements ?

JAMIE :

Oui, après avoir marché pendant vingt minutes.

ROSE :

Alors nous allons voler ensemble jusqu’aux États-Unis. Notre avion devrait arriver dans quelques minutes.

NARRATEUR :

Une fois dans l’avion, Jamie s’installe dans son siège. Il est assis à côté d’un homme plus âgé. L’homme a les yeux fermés et il se repose.

JAMIE :

Bonjour.

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HOMME PLUS ÂGÉ : Salut. JAMIE :

Prêt pour la balade ?

HOMME PLUS ÂGÉ : Oui. NARRATEUR :

L’homme s’endort et il commence à ronfler. La situation dans l’avion devient difficile. Un bébé commence à pleurer et un autre enfant commence à crier.

JAMIE :

Est-ce que ce bébé va arrêter de pleurer ? Mes oreilles me font déjà mal et le bruit continue.

NARRATEUR :

Jamie se lève de son siège. Il parle aux parents, mais ils ne peuvent pas contrôler leurs enfants. Pas de solution.

JAMIE :

Excusez-moi. Pouvez-vous calmer votre enfant s’il vous plaît ? Il est difficile de se détendre avec tout ce bruit.

MÈRE DE L’ENFANT : Je suis vraiment désolée, mais ce n’est pas facile à faire ! JAMIE :

Merci beaucoup. Enfin, nous avons un moment de silence. J’ai hâte de descendre de cet avion.

NARRATEUR :

Cinq minutes après, Jamie demande à une femme de calmer son enfant aussi. L’enfant n’arrête pas de crier et de pleurer. L’homme âgé est patient et il essaye de dormir. L’homme a l’air très fatigué. Il regarde tranquillement par la fenêtre.

HOMME PLUS ÂGÉ : Qu’est-ce qui se passe avec cet enfant ? (L’homme est vraiment épuisé.) S’il te plaît, arrête ! L’ENFANT :

Non, c’est amusant.

JAMIE :

Ça va être un long voyage.

NARRATEUR :

La nourriture n’est pas très bonne. Il y a beaucoup de bruit dans l’avion et le gosse lui donne des coups de pied derrière la chaise. L’avion commence à ralentir et les roues touchent le sol.

JAMIE :

Finalement, on est arrivé.

NARRATEUR :

Il est temps d’aller chercher les bagages. Les valises de Jamie sont rouges et noires. Jamie a deux bagages à trouver.

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JAMIE : Où sont mes bagages ? Les voilà. Ils sont de l’autre côté du carousel à bagages. NARRATEUR :

Jamie trouve le premier bagage. Il est très lourd. Jamie voit son grand sac de l’autre côté du carousel.

JAMIE :

Où est mon deuxième bagage ? Où est-il allé ? Le voilà.

NARRATEUR :

Quand Jamie attrape son deuxième bagage, une femme dans un long manteau de fourrure noire l’approche.

PERSONNE 5 :

Bonjour, je suis désolée, mais vous avez mon bagage.

JAMIE :

Je suis sûr que c’est le mien. Je vais vous aider à trouver le vôtre.

PERSONNE 5 :

Je sais que c’est mon bagage.

JAMIE :

Est-ce que c’est le vôtre ?

PERSONNE 5 :

Oui ! Je suis vraiment désolée.

NARRATEUR : La dame trouve son bagage. Jamie quitte l’aéroport. Sa mère l’attend à l’extérieur. LA MÈRE DE JAMIE : Jamie ! Tu as fait bon voyage ? JAMIE :

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Pas vraiment. Mais, c’est une longue histoire.

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

LA JOURNÉE DE LA MARMOTTE

SCHOOL: St. Dominic Savio TEACHER: Hilde Acx SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Alison Batiste UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Patrick Etmanski GRADES 7-8 / NONFICTION by Mya Azevedo

Nous célébrons le jour de la marmotte le 2 février. En 2014, nous avons célébré un dimanche et cette année, nous le célébrons un samedi. Quoi qu’il en soit, nous le célébrons toujours à la fin de l’hiver. Ce jour-là, nous nous demandons si la marmotte va voir son ombre. Nous nous demandons également si l’hiver va rester ou si le printemps va arriver tôt. S’il fait soleil et que la marmotte voit son ombre, cela signifie que l’hiver va rester six semaines. Cependant, si c’est nuageux et qu’elle ne voit pas son ombre, cela signifie que le printemps va arriver tôt. Le jour de la marmotte, nous nous rassemblons autour du terrier d’une célèbre marmotte et attendons sa sortie. Une marmotte est un petit mammifère brun qui vit dans un terrier. Un terrier est un trou creusé par un petit animal, comme une marmotte. Un terrier est essentiel pour la marmotte, car c’est là qu’elle hiberne. L’hibernation a lieu lorsque la marmotte dort de la fin de l’automne au début du printemps. Pour se préparer à l’hibernation, la marmotte mange beaucoup de fruits et légumes. La marmotte est un herbivore. Au Canada, il y a des marmottes célèbres. En Ontario, Willy et Gary sont célèbres. Willy habite à Wiarton et Gary à Kleinburg. Il y a une marmotte célèbre en Nouvelle-Écosse, Sam. Sam habite dans le refuge faunique de Shubenacadie. Billy habite à Balzac, en Alberta. Bob habite à Brandon, au Manitoba. La journée de la marmotte a commencé en Europe, dans les années 1600, mais c’était un hérisson et pas une marmotte. Le jour de la marmotte est devenu un jour férié officiel en 1887 à Punxsutawney, en Pennsylvannie. Il n’y a pas de tradition nationale particulière au Canada. Je pense que cela pourrait être vrai parce que les animaux ont un meilleur sens du monde que les humains. Mais, selon la science, ce n’est que 39% du temps. Je pense que nous participons au jour de la marmotte uniquement pour le plaisir et pas pour les prévisions météorologiques.

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TROIS MOTS

SCHOOL: St.Theresa of Lisieux TEACHER: Ida Cappella SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Tom Garreffa UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 9-10 / SHORT STORY by Cynthia Ni

Préface : C’est l’année 2038, il y a eu de nombreuses avancées technologiques. L’une des créations les plus importantes a été « La Purge » : une procédure médicale qui a enlevé la capacité du patient à ressentir des émotions. Les gens qui travaillent dans une carrière où les émotions compromettent souvent leur travail sont encouragés à recevoir « La Purge ». Les gens comme les policiers, les détectives, et les juges, ont souvent été « purgés » de leurs émotions parce que cela a rendu leur travail plus facile à faire. Le personnage principal, Revon Nightingale, est la seule détective dans son département qui n’a pas subi « La Purge ». Cependant son ami, Draven Arius, a subi « La Purge » et a perdu sa capacité à ressentir. Cette histoire a été écrite en utilisant la perspective de la deuxième personne, ce qui signifie que vous, le lecteur, devenez Revon Nightingale, une jeune détective qui est tombée amoureuse de la mauvaise personne au mauvais moment.

Tout a commencé avec une démangeaison à l’arrière de votre gorge. Vous n’y pensiez pas beaucoup au début, mais après, les pétales sont venus. C’était la maladie de Hanahaki. La conséquence de l’amour non partagé ; les fleurs fleurissent dans les poumons de la victime, qui s’étouffe lentement. « N… non, ce n’est pas p… possible. N… non, t… tout sauf c… cela. » Revon était tombée amoureuse d’un homme qui ne pouvait pas aimer.

« Pourquoi avez-vous subi La Purge ? » C’est une question simple, la plupart disent : « Parce qu’elle a rendu mon travail plus facile. » Mais à quel prix ? Valait-il vraiment la peine de perdre votre humanité pour votre travail ? Pour plus d’argent ? Draven est silencieux, son regard se concentre sur quelque chose dans le lointain. Mais vous

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savez mieux, vous savez qu’il a entendu votre question. « Les émotions sont restrictives. Elles s’en vont pour notre travail. Sans émotions, je suis capable de sauver plus de vies. Je suis plus efficace grâce à La Purge. » Ses mots sont sans émotions, froids et automatisés, mais ils ne vous dissuadent pas. « Mais à quel prix ? » Vos mots sont aussi froids que les siens, mais vos yeux sont tristes. Quand enfin il se retourne vers vous, vous voyez ses yeux froids qui contiennent une tempête destructrice qui fait rage, qui provoque des ravages alors qu’il digère vos paroles. Certaines choses commencent par une pensée. D’autres commencent par un cri. Pour vous, ça commence par une paire d’yeux bruns qui deviennent froids. Ça commence par une tempête qui devient plus destructrice à mesure que le temps passe.

« Pourquoi ? Pourquoi voudriez… » Son torse est meurtri et saigne, et vous vous approchez de lui, des larmes brûlantes aux coins des yeux. Le regard de Draven est calme, indifférent ; exactement comme il est toujours. Rien ne peut le secouer, même pas sa propre mort. Il a pris une balle pour vous. La balle n’a touché aucun de ses organes majeurs, mais ça vous est égal. « Je vais bien, l’ambulance est en chemin, vous… » « Taisez-vous ! Ne vous avisez pas de finir cette phrase, je n’exagère pas ! Idiot ! J’ai la situation sous contrôle ! Il n’aurait pas tiré si vous ne vous étiez pas montré ! » « Je m’inquiétais pour vous. La protection de votre vie fait partie de ma mission. Vous ne devriez pas vous inquiéter pour moi. Je suis un déchet. » « Inquiet ? Pour moi ? Vous ne pouvez pas ressentir pour l’amour du ciel. La Purge a pris soin de vos sentiments “embêtants”. Je peux encore me soucier, je peux encore sentir, je peux encore pleurer. »

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Les larmes coulent sur votre visage tandis que vous vous regardez l’un l’autre. Les flammes bleues rencontrent des teintes brunes, froides et peu accueillantes. « Vous devriez cacher votre cœur humain, Revon. Cachez-le où il vous détruira. » C’est toujours pire la nuit. Après votre retour à la maison, après la fin de la journée, vous vous souvenez de chaque petit geste et des mots que Draven vous a dits pendant la journée. Votre esprit est tragiquement désireux de croire en l’impossible. Des mains invisibles serrent vos poumons, vous égratignent la gorge et fendent votre cœur. Il pleut des pétales et du sang. Du sang rouge, des pétales blancs. Du sang rouge, des pétales blancs. Rouge, rouge, rouge. « Vous devriez cacher votre cœur humain, Revon. Cachez-le où il vous détruira. » « Vous ! Créature dégoûtante ! » Vous vous retournez pour voir une femme crier sur Draven, le traitant de choses horribles pour obtenir « La Purge ». Elle commence à l’attaquer physiquement, elle prend dans une main son col, et de sa main libre elle sert le poing. Vous courez et poussez la femme, l’empêchant de frapper Draven.

« C’était stupide et irresponsable, réprimande Draven, ses yeux rétrécis. Je m’attendais à plus de vous, détective Nightingale. » Aïe, c’est brusque. Il ne vous a pas appelée détective Nightingale depuis longtemps. « Vous vous attendez à trop, vous vous défendez, elle n’avait pas le droit de dire cela sur vous. » Son expression sévère n’a pas changé, mais quelque chose, sous votre main resserrée sur son bras, vous fait grimacer. Votre réaction lui fait repousser votre main immédiatement. Un

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froncement de sourcils lui tire la bouche vers le bas. « Je n’ai pas de sentiment qui puisse être blessé. » Vous vous éloignez de lui, les bras croisés sur votre poitrine. « Eh bien, j’ai des sentiments et je n’apprécie pas que quelqu’un dise n’iimporte quoi sur quelqu’un que j’aime », vous claquez. Vos lèvres tremblent légèrement quand vous réalisez votre glissement, et vous dites rapidement : « Vous êtes mon ami, Draven. Croyez-le ou non. Je vous aime très fort. Alors oui, je suis offensée. » « Un défaut, vient la réponse méprisante et froide de Draven, voilà ce qu’est l’amour. Je vous l’ai déjà dit. Cachez votre cœur, Revon. » « Peut-être que je ne veux pas le cacher, vous sifflez, en colère. Peut-être que je veux que vous me disiez que vous vous en souciez au moins un peu. Que je suis votre amie au moins. Que peut-être au fond, vous m’aimez un peu trop. » « Je ne le fais pas, dit Draven clairement, l’expression neutre. Je suis incapable d’éprouver l’affection que vous décrivez. Je suis seulement capable d’imiter les émotions pour aider à compléter ma mission, même si je suis sûr que vous vous sentez seule… » « Mentez-moi, alors, vous vous étouffez, quelque chose de désespéré et de très humain dans la voix. Mentez-moi, s’il vous plaît. » Il y a un moment de silence qui fait courir votre cœur alors qu’il vous regarde, sans émotion. « Non. »

Des pétales blancs, du sang rouge. Rouge. Rouge. Rouge. Voyez-moi… voyez-moi… s’il vous plaît venez me voir, s’il vous plaît aimez-moi, s’il vous plaît, s’il vous plaît, s’il vous plaît ; aimez-moi seulement… j’ai tellement peur… je ne veux pas… je ne veux pas mourir. « S’il vous plaît, mentez-moi. » « Non. »

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« Cachez votre cœur ; où il vous détruira. »

Vous ne vous attendez pas à ce que vos jambes lâchent si soudainement. Comme une corde invisible coupée. Vos genoux ont frappé la planche avec une fissure écœurante, vos poumons saisissant que la maladie vous accable. Vous pouvez sentir ces pétales familiers forcer leur chemin vers le haut, et des larmes chaudes brûlent vos yeux. Et dans l’ouragan de la peur, du désepoir et de la douleur, il y a soudain une paire de bras qui vous retient. Draven. Comme une ancre, comme la terre au soleil, vous vous agrippez à lui, votre emprise est faible mais désespérée. Toujours tellement désespérée pour qu’il vous touche, pour même le plus petit signe que peut-être… « Qu’est-ce qui se passe ? » Sa voix est impitoyable alors qu’il vous tient près de sa poitrine, et vous essayez de répondre, mais au moment où vos lèvres s’ouvrent, des primevères bleues et des camélias roses se répandent dans votre bouche. Pétales colorés avec le sang qui coule. Coule. Coule. Coule. Vous pouvez voir l’aube d’une réalisation à travers ses traits, ses yeux s’élargissent sous le choc et sa mâchoire se serre. Vous essayez de respirer, mais la congestion de vos poumons, qui s’est construite lentement au cours des mois, fait que vous étouffez. Vous toussez et les pétales ensanglantés continuent à venir, tombant librement autour de vous tandis que Draven vous saisit fermement, votre corps frêle appuyé sur lui. Draven vous pose sur ses genoux et déplace votre tête vers lui : « Revon ? » Il respire tranquillement, mais un tremblement dans sa voix vous dit à quel point il va mal. Cela vous oblige également à utiliser vos forces restantes pour le regarder. Vous ne comprenez pas vraiment ce que vous voyez dans ses yeux bruns, mais vous savez

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que ce n’est pas réel, que ça ne pourra jamais être réel. Rassemblant tout l’oxygène dans vos poumons, vous forcez un « mentez-moi », faible et désespéré. Et pour la première fois depuis que vous l’avez rencontré, vous voyez enfin quelque chose de plus doux dans ses yeux. Ils ont l’air presque chaud. Presque. Il vous tient tout près, et vous le regardez une dernière fois. « Je vous aime, Revon. » Vos yeux se ferment, et vous souriez. Merci Draven, pour tout.

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LES JOURS OUBLIÉS

SCHOOL: St. Theresa of Lisieux TEACHER: Gino Marcuzzi SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Tom Garreffa UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 9-10 / POEM by Timothy Tsui

Les mémoires du passé Des jours depuis longtemps Des sentiments de nostalgie Comme la neige qui tombe Les joies et les douleurs D’un bon vieux temps Une rivière d’amusement Et la tristesse, vivante Une image, un flou De la pluie et du soleil De la nature et l’émerveillement Et tout ce qui est nommé Un souvenir de l’espoir Et des rêves de la nuit Où tout deviendra la vérité Une vue vraiment magique Pendant les jours suivants Tous les sorts seront changés Par des batailles déchirantes Des combats du dédain Une période misérable Trouvée dans le noir Dans les esprits de plusieurs Qui crient pour l’espoir ! La miséricorde les aide À commencer de nouveau À amender les dommages De la guerre vraiment brutaux

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À partir de là Le monde a changé L’espoir est répandu Les rêves sont créés

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LA PETITE PLANÈTE

SCHOOL: St. Robert TEACHER: Assunta Morra SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Wayne Karges, Claudia Roccari UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 9-10 / PLAY by Sarvnaz Alemohammad

PROLOGUE FLEUR :

Je vis dans un monde semblable au tien, mais il y a une différence. Dans mon monde, nous avons des insignes. Alors, fais attention, parce que les insignes sont une grande partie de mon histoire. Les insignes sont petits et noirs sur notre avant-bras, et ils ne disparaissent jamais. Ces insignes nous aident à trouver des amis où des personnes avec des intérêts et des personnalités similaires à nous. Jusqu’à aujourd’hui, nous avons découvert exactement huit insignes dans le monde. Tout le monde est né avec un petit insigne représantant une étoile, une paire d’ailes, une clé, un oiseau, une couronne, une fleur, une vague ou un diamant. Tout le monde sauf moi. Mon nom est Fleur, et voici mon histoire.

SCÈNE 1 Dans la chambre MÈRE :

Fleur ? Qu’est-ce que tu fais ? Tu vas être en retard pour ton premier jour de neuvième année !

FLEUR regarde son visage dans le miroir. FLEUR :

Je ne veux pas y aller, maman. Je pense que je suis malade.

MÈRE :

Tu n’es pas malade, Fleur ! Ne sois pas triste. Cette année sera différente, tu vas trouver des amis.

FLEUR :

(Soupire) Non maman. Tout le monde va voir que je suis différente et ils vont me laisser de côté, comme toujours.

MÈRE :

Tu n’es pas une mauvaise personne simplement parce que ton insigne est différent, ma chère ! Je pense que ta petite planète est belle et te rend unique.

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FLEUR lève son bras et regarde la petite planète dessinée dessus. FLEUR : (Avec tristesse) Il y a une raison pour laquelle nous avons nos insignes, ils sont là pour nous aider à trouver des personnes avec lesquelles nous allons correspondre. Moi, je ne vais jamais correspondre avec aucune amie. Je vais vivre tout isolée de tout le monde. La neuvième année ne sera pas différente. MÈRE :

Fais juste de ton mieux, chérie. Tout va bien aller.

FLEUR :

(Marmonne) Je veux déjà que cette journée se termine.

Les deux quittent la chambre.

SCÈNE 2 Après l’école FLEUR prépare le diner et elle se relaxe devant la télé. Elle expire enfin un soupire de soulagement. Elle est évidemment fatiguée. FLEUR :

Ahhh, je peux enfin me reposer maintenant…

Un gros BANG vient de l’extérieur de la maison. FLEUR se lève et court à la fenêtre. Il y a quelque chose dans sa cour. (Avec peur) Mon Dieu ! Qu’est-ce que je fais ? Que fais-je ? Il y a un autre son fort dans la cour. (Avec inquiétude) Et si quelqu’un est en danger là-bas ? QUE FAIS-JE ? J’ai besoin d’aider cette personne. Je dois juste espérer que rien ne se passe mal… FLEUR a peur mais elle est excitée. Elle sait que si elle décide de quitter la maison, sa vie changera pour toujours. Elle va dans la cour sans hésiter.

SCÈNE 3 FLEUR sort avec inquiétude. Il fait très noir dehors, mais elle voit les contours d’une machine. Ce n’est pas juste une machine, c’est un… vaisseau spatial ! C’est une sphère lisse qui ressemble à quelque chose de l’avenir. C’est à quelques mètres de FLEUR.

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FLEUR :

(Effrayée) Allô ? Qui est là ?

Il n’y a pas de réponse. Un côté du vaisseau spatial s’ouvre et FLEUR retient sa respiration.

Attends ! Je suis dangereuse !

Lorsque la porte s’ouvre, une masse de cheveux violets sort en premier, suivie du reste du corps d’une fille. Elle tient ses mains en l’air et sort du vaisseau. FLEUR est choquée ! Il y a une EXTRATERRESTRE ! Elle est la plus étrange personne que FLEUR ait jamais vue. Elle a des cheveux courts et violets, et… sa peau est bleue ! EXTRATERRESTRE : Qui… Qui es-tu ? FLEUR ne se sent pas menacée.

Où suis-je ?

Elle a l’air fatigué et sa voix est râpée. FLEUR : Nous sommes sur la Terre. Quel est ton nom ? Est-ce que tu es une extraterrestre ? Pourquoi ta peau est bleue ? Qu’est-il arrivé à ton vaisseau ? L’EXTRATERRESTRE attend un moment avant de répondre. EXTRATERRESTRE : Je m’appelle… Je m’appelle Ash. Je ne suis pas dangereuse, je promets. Mais j’ai besoin d’aide. FLEUR : (Avec précaution) Peut-être que je peux t’aider. Je m’appelle Fleur. Viens avec moi. Elles quittent la cour et entrent dans la maison.

SCÈNE 4 À la maison FLEUR guide ASH vers la cuisine. ASH n’arrête pas de tout regarder, mais elle ne dit rien. FLEUR lui donne un verre d’eau et elles s’asseyent. FLEUR :

Alors, pourquoi es-tu sur Terre, Ash ?

ASH :

Je suis venue ici, eh bien, je me suis écrasée ici parce que je cherche une place pour vivre. Je viens d’une planète nommée Tatania. Ma maison, ma

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famille, ont toutes été détruites lorsqu’un énorme astéroïde a frappé notre planète. Depuis lors, je cherche un endroit où aller.

Elle a l’air fatigué. FLEUR :

(Choquée) Si ta planète est détruite, pourquoi est-ce que tu es vivante ?

ASH se met en colère. ASH :

Je ne mens pas ! Tu dois me croire ! Nos scientifiques ont prédit l’astéroïde une semaine avant qu’il nous frappe. Il n’y avait pas le temps de nous sauver. Mais il y avait une chose que nous pouvions faire. Nous avions assez de temps pour envoyer cent enfants dans des vaisseaux spatiaux et dans l’univers.

FLEUR :

Tu as été choisie ?

FLEUR croit ASH. Elle peut voir la vérité tout comme elle peut voir la tristesse dans ses yeux. ASH :

Oui. J’ai eu l’opportunité de dire « non », mais Tatania mérite que quelqu’un raconte son histoire.

ASH sirote un peu de son eau avec précaution. Elle change de sujet.

Ta peau… Pourquoi est-ce si… jaune ?

FLEUR :

(Avec indignation) Ma peau ? La tienne est bleue ! Et tes yeux ! Tes cheveux ! Est-ce que tous les gens sur ta planète sont comme toi ?

FLEUR se souvient trop tard que ce n’était pas une bonne question. ASH est encore triste. ASH :

Oui, nous avons différentes nuances de bleu. Maintenant, si nous avons de la chance, il y a une centaine de personnes comme moi qui cherche une planète dans l’espace. Mais, je ne sais pas. Je ne sais pas…

FLEUR : (Avec sympathie) Pourquoi ? Est-ce que vous n’êtes pas tous partis ensemble ? ASH :

Non. Nous ne savions pas s’il existait d’autres planètes en dehors de la nôtre. Cet endroit, la Terre, est la première planète que j’ai trouvée. Nous avons donc tous pris des chemins différents.

FLEUR a une pensée horrible.

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FLEUR :

Ash, depuis combien de temps es-tu seule dans l’espace ?

Une larme glisse sur la joue d’ASH. ASH : Je cherche une planète depuis quatre ans. Maintenant, j’ai quinze ans. FLEUR est horrifiée. Elle peut à peine imaginer une petite ASH qui laisse sa famille pour faire un voyage terrifiant. Elle décide qu’elle doit aider cette fille. FLEUR :

(Avec passion) C’est une bonne chose que tu aies trouvé ma maison, car tu peux rester ici et tu ne dois plus jamais partir.

Le sourire d’ASH devient lumineux. Elle saute de la chaise de la cuisine et étreint FLEUR avec un rire animé. ASH :

Je te remercie ! Merci Fleur ! Nous allons être amies pour toujours.

FLEUR :

(Murmure) Je ne sais pas ce qui est le plus bizarre. Que quelqu’un m’appelle son amie ou qu’un extraterrestre me câline.

FLEUR :

(Plus fort) Tu veux de la nourriture ?

ASH :

(Sourit) Quelle question bizarre ! Je veux toujours de la nourriture !

FLEUR prend du fromage et du pain et commence à faire un sandwich. ASH regarde tout ce que FLEUR utilise avec émerveillement. ASH : Maintenant que je peux me détendre, je dois poser toutes mes questions ! (Elle sourit.) À quoi ressemble ton monde ? Pourquoi est-ce que ta nourriture sent si bon ? Pourquoi tes vêtements sont si étranges ? Pourquoi… FLEUR :

(Sourit) Est-ce que ta nourriture est différente de la nôtre ?

ASH :

Cela sent si bon ! Cela ne ressemble en rien à la nourriture de chez nous, mais après avoir mangé mes rations pendant quatre ans, cela peut bien être la meilleure chose que j’aie sentie de ma vie.

FLEUR :

Attends d’essayer la pizza !

ASH n’écoute pas et mange tout le sandwich en trois secondes. FLEUR sourit plus fort et recommence à préparer. ASH recommence à manger. ASH :

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Pendant que je mange, dis-moi quelque chose d’intéressant sur toi !

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FLEUR pense pendant un moment. FLEUR :

D’accord. Est-ce que vous avez des insignes sur votre planète ?

ASH est trop occupée à manger, mais elle secoue la tête.

Sur la terre, nous avons ces petits symboles sur nos avant-bras appelés insignes. Certains groupes de personnes ont des insignes similaires, ce qui signifie qu’ils sont plus susceptibles de devenir amis ou amants. Certains porteurs d’insignes se marient aussi.

ASH regarde FLEUR avec un regard étrange et arrête soudainement de manger. ASH :

À quoi ressemblent ces symboles ?

FLEUR :

He bien, certains sont une étoile, d’autres une clé, tu sais, des choses comme ça. Il n’y a que huit insignes.

ASH :

Et… Et quel est ton insigne ?

FLEUR réalise que si elle dit la vérité à ASH, elle va être une des seules personnes au monde à connaître la vérité. FLEUR :

Promets-moi de ne pas te moquer de moi.

ASH réalise que ce moment est très important pour FLEUR. ASH :

(Gravement) Je te promets Fleur. Tu es mon amie, ne t’inquète pas.

FLEUR :

(Elle rougit.) Le mien est un peu différent. Personne d’autre n’a le mien.

ASH :

C’est différent ? Est-ce que c’est possible ?

FLEUR : Je ne sais pas mais, j’ai vérifié les bases de données. Personne n’a rien rapporté de semblable. ASH :

(Curieusement) Et à quoi ressemble ton insigne ?

FLEUR ignore son sentiment d’appéhension. Elle ne pense pas que ce sera important pour ASH qu’elle soit différente. Elle relève sa manche d’un seul geste et montre sa petite planète à ASH. Mon Dieu !

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ASH est choquée quand elle voit son insigne. FLEUR rabaisse immédiatement sa manche. FLEUR :

(Fâchée) Pourquoi as-tu réagi comme ça ?

Avant qu’ASH puisse répondre, elles entendent un clic et le son de la porte d’entrée de la maison. Les filles paniquent alors que la mère de FLEUR entre dans la maison. (En panique) Bonjour maman ! MÈRE :

Fleur ? Pourquoi es-tu encore éveillée ?

FLEUR :

Maman ! Je peux t’expliquer !

La MÈRE regarde ASH. Elle sourit. MÈRE :

Fleur, je ne savais pas que tu avais une soirée pyjama ce soir !

FLEUR :

Quoi ? Maman ! C’est Ash. C’est une extraterrestre.

MÈRE : Quelle bonne histoire chérie. Je pensais que tu n’aimais plus créer des histoires. FLEUR :

Quoi ? Est-ce que tu ne peux pas voir sa peau bleue ?

MÈRE :

(L’air fatigué) Désolée Fleur. Je suis trop fatiguée pour jouer avec vous. Mais vous, les enfants, devez être épuisées. Je sais que passer une nuit blanche est amusant, mais vous devez aller à l’école demain. As-tu apporté un pyjama avec toi, chérie ?

FLEUR est choquée que sa MÈRE ne puisse pas voir le vrai visage d’ASH, mais elle ne dit rien. Elle pousse ASH avec son coude pour l’inviter à répondre à la question. ASH :

Non… Non… Madame, je…

FLEUR :

Elle va utiliser certains des miens et nous pouvons partager mon lit. Ne t’inquiète pas maman ! Nous allons dormir maintenant. Il y a de la nourriture dans le frigo. Bonne nuit !

Les filles sortent de la cuisine en courant. MÈRE :

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(Un peu confuse) D’accord…

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SCÈNE 5 La chambre de FLEUR Les filles montent rapidement les escaliers. Finalement, elles atteignent la chambre de FLEUR et FLEUR ferme la porte. Elles se regardent dans un silence gênant. ASH :

(D’un ton embarrassé) Ta mère est très gentille.

FLEUR :

Oui, elle l’est.

FLEUR s’assied sur son lit et ASH s’assied prudemment à côté d’elle. Elles commencent toutes les deux à parler en même temps. ASH :

Je suis désolée…

FLEUR :

C’est ma faute…

ASH :

Non je…

FLEUR :

Non ça va…

ASH :

Non, je devrais y aller…

FLEUR :

Non ! S’il te plaît, reste, je suis désolée, je…

ASH :

(Agitée) Non ! Écoute-moi Fleur. Il faut que je te dise quelque chose.

FLEUR :

OK, OK, je vais me taire.

ASH :

À ma naissance, mes parents ont trouvé quelque chose d’étrange sur mon corps. Ce n’était pas une tache de naissance ou quelque chose de mauvais. Juste un petit symbole, sur mon avant-bras.

FLEUR :

Ash…

ASH :

Attends jusqu’à ce que j’aie fini. Je n’ai jamais su ce que c’était, ni pourquoi je l’avais. Tout ce que j’ai su, c’est que pour une raison quelconque, j’ai eu une petite planète sur mon avant-bras. C’est pourquoi j’ai réagi comme ça quand tu me l’as dit.

ASH remonte la manche de sa chemise noire et la voilà. Une petite planète, tout comme l’insigne de FLEUR. Doucement, FLEUR commence à pleurer. ASH :

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FLEUR :

(Commence à rire et à pleurer en même temps) Ne sois pas désolée ! Ce sont des larmes de joie ! Toute ma vie, j’ai été si seule. Je n’ai pas eu d’amis. Mais toi, même si nous ne nous sommes rencontrées que depuis trois heures, tu es la seule amie avec qui je puisse parler pour le reste de ma vie.

Les larmes commencent à glisser sur les joues de ASH et, tout à coup, les filles s’enlacent et rient et pleurent en même temps. ASH :

Fleur, je peux rester ? Ici avec toi ?

FLEUR :

Oui !

ASH :

Mais comment vas-tu expliquer aux autres ? Je ne suis pas de la Terre. Ne vont-ils pas penser que je suis dangereuse ?

FLEUR :

Ma mère n’a pas pu voir qui tu étais. Elle ne pouvait voir qu’un humain normal. Peut-être que ce sera la même chose pour tout le monde.

ASH :

Et où vais-je vivre ?

FLEUR : Je vais parler à ma mère, nous allons résoudre le problème. Nous allons te chercher des vêtements. Nous allons inventer une histoire pour toi. Nous ferons tout ce que nous devons faire. Je suis heureuse que tu sois ici. Les deux filles s’enlacent une fois de plus. Elles savent que tout ira bien.

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LES SERVICES EN FRANÇAIS, UN PRIVILÈGE OU UN DROIT ? SCHOOL: Regiopolis-Notre Dame TEACHER: Nathalie Beliveau-Scott SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Geoff Mackler UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Sheena Cassidy GRADES 9-10 / NONFICTION by Gabrielle Belzile

Selon la charte des droits et libertés, le Canada est officiellement un pays bilingue. Cela veut dire qu’ici au Canada, nous devons offrir des services en anglais et en français. Cependant, Doug Ford, le Premier Ministre de l’Ontario, a annoncé qu’il mettra un terme à la position de Commissariat aux services en français et qu’il éliminera le projet de l’Université francophone en Ontario. Plusieurs franco-ontariens pensent que ces changements sont une attaque personnelle et aussi une violation de leurs droits en tant que citoyens canadiens. « Le gouvernement tente de nous enlever des institutions importantes. Ceci est une grave erreur. Notre langue est au cœur de notre identité. Il y a des francophones en Ontario depuis 400 ans, nous ne sommes pas une minorité parmi tant d’autres, mais bien un des deux peuples fondateurs du Canada », a dit Amanda Simard. Comme Amanda a dit que les Français sont un des peuples fondateurs du Canada, ne pensezvous pas qu’il serait logique que les francophones soient traités de la même façon que les anglophones ? Ne croyez-vous pas que nous devrions avoir accès aux services en français ainsi qu’aux études post-secondaires en français ? En Ontario seulement, il y a environ vingtdeux universités et vingt-quatre collèges en anglais, mais il y a seulement deux collèges en français et neuf universités qui offrent des cours en français. Cela veut dire qu’il n’y a même pas d’université en français, dans la province la plus peuplée au Canada, qui offre des services complètement en français. « J’ai rappelé à M. Ford que le Québec comptait trois universités pour sa minorité anglophone et un secrétariat pour offrir des services », a dit M. Legault, le Premier Ministre du Québec. Les services en français sont souvent difficiles à trouver dans les villes où la langue parlée par la majorité est l’anglais. C’est pourquoi il y a des postes en place, comme le Commissariat aux services en français, qui aident les gens à trouver certains services en français. Vivre en minorité est très difficile pour les franco-ontariens, donc les services offerts par le gouvernement, comme celui du Commissariat, rendent la vie des francophones en milieu minoritaire un peu plus facile. Par contre, si Doug Ford enlève ces services, les francophones auront beaucoup plus de difficultés à trouver certains services en français. « C’est une attaque contre la francophonie, une attaque contre la démocratie », a dit Amanda Simard. En examinant de plus près les choix du Premier Ministre de l’Ontario, il est évident que la province commence à revivre son histoire de discrimination contre les français. Au lieu YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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d’avancer, nous reculons. Le Canada est un pays qui appuie l’inclusion, mais comment est-ce que les franco-ontariens peuvent croire à cette idée, si leur gouvernement élimine des services cruciaux dans leur vie de tous les jours ? « C’est clair que c’est un enjeu très important qu’on doit adresser d’une manière non partisane, pour trouver des solutions de manière très constructive. Il est clair que pour quelques enjeux comme l’enjeu des langues officielles, c’est très important de trouver une solution ensemble », a dit Andrew Sheer. Comme province, nous devons rester ensemble et nous devons nous battre contre ces injustices, dans l’espérance qu’un jour nous deviendrons une province qui ne tolère plus les injustices contre les minorités. Nous devons nous engager à faire tout ce que nous pouvons pour assurer que l’Ontario ne recule jamais d’un pas au regard de ses droits linguistiques et de l’accessibilité des services en français, reconnu comme une des langues officielles au Canada. En tant que province la plus peuplée au Canada, nous avons l’obligation de montrer non seulement au reste du pays, mais aussi globalement, que nous avons la capacité d’offrir à tous les citoyens de notre province les services auxquels ils ont droit et dont ils ont besoin pour une meilleure qualité de vie.

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TOUJOURS JEUNE

SCHOOL: St. Robert TEACHER: Alessandra Cappelli SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Wayne Karges, Claudia Roccari UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 11-12 / SHORT STORY by Teresa Vu

8 février 1987 C’était la semaine de l’enterrement de mon père. Ce jour-là, j’ai pleuré pendant des heures et des heures, comme je ne l’avais jamais fait avant. Néanmoins, depuis ce moment, je n’ai pas pleuré. C’était comme si j’empêchais mes émotions de s’épancher. Je savais que rien n’était comme avant. Mon père me manquait. Mon père était la personne qui pouvait me consoler, qui me soutenait et qui me comprenait. Il était cette personne. Cette pensée m’a fait monter les larmes aux yeux. Qu’est-ce que c’était ma vie, sans lui ? Comment pouvais-je vivre sans ses conseils ? À qui pouvais-je parler ? Pouah, je devais arrêter de penser à ces choses. Je voulais seulement arriver à la fin de cette journée. Soudain, la cloche de l’école a sonné. Zut ! J’ai couru vers l’école et quand je suis arrivée en classe, tout le monde m’a regardée. C’était fantastique. C’était mon premier jour depuis longtemps et j’étais en retard. Pendant que je marchais jusqu’à ma place, je pouvais sentir le regard de mes camarades fixés sur moi. La dernière chose que je voulais ce jour-là, c’était attirer l’attention. J’ai supposé qu’il était déjà trop tard. Durant la journée, des gens m’ont offert leurs respects pour mon père. Je ne me suis pas rendue compte qu’il y en avait beaucoup auxquels mon père manquait. Plus des gens me parlaient, plus je devenais émue. S’il y avait tant de gens à qui il manquait, alors il aurait dû être ici. Il aurait dû être… ici. Quand d’autres m’ont demandé si j’allais bien, j’ai répondu « oui » en espérant que bientôt je le croirais, même si ce n’était pas le cas. Juste après la fin de la journée, je ne sais pas ce qui m’a pris mais j’ai couru. J’ai couru et j’ai couru et j’ai couru jusqu’au moment où le souffle m’a manqué. J’ai couru à l’endroit spécial de mon père. Je devais sortir de là. Comme c’était insupportable de penser à mon père, je me suis concentrée sur la vue devant moi. C’était la même qu’avant. Une petite clairière verte avec des arbustes et des fleurs. Un banc près du bord avec des saules autour. On pouvait voir des maisons de ville et l’Arc de Triomphe à distance. Mon père l’avait trouvé un jour et avait pensé que c’était l’endroit parfait pour réfléchir ou pour être seul. C’était isolé des touristes et personne ne venait ici sauf lui et moi. C’était notre endroit.

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Je me suis assise sur le banc, et pour la première fois depuis l’enterrement, j’ai pleuré. Toutes mes émotions s’épanchaient, et j’ai essayé de les essuyer mais elles n’ont pas arrêté de venir. Étrangement, ça m’a fait du bien. C’était comme si cela avait libéré toutes mes émotions coincées. J’ai passé du temps comme ça, quand une voix a transpercé le silence. « Salut, Anne, a dit quelqu’un. Je me demande juste si tout va bien. » Je me suis retournée. C’était Antoine Clément. C’était un camarade de classe de mon enfance. Je pouvais voir ses cheveux blonds dorés, son menton soigné, sa grande taille, son corps un peu musclé et allongé… Je me suis demandé pourquoi il était ici. « Ne t’inquiète pas, je vais bien, ai-je répondu. Comment connais-tu cet endroit ? — Rassure-toi. Je ne t’ai pas traquée. Ce lieu est sur le chemin de ma maison. Je t’ai vue et j’ai voulu vérifier que tout allait bien. — Oh, ne t’inquiète pas, je vais bien. — C’est normal si tu ne te sens pas bien. Il y a quelques années, mon grand-père est décédé. Je comprends ce que tu traverses. Si tu as besoin de parler à quelqu’un ou si tu as besoin d’un autre ami, je suis là. Veux-tu que je parte ? » Je voulais refuser, mais sa présence était étonnamment… rassurante. « En fait, ce serait vraiment sympa si tu pouvais rester », ai-je dit avec un sourire. La semaine suivante, Antoine s’est assis avec moi dans cet endroit et nous avons beaucoup parlé. Il a dit que chaque dimanche, il mangeait au restaurant de mon père. Il aimait jouer au football, les choses technologiques, et lire des romans policiers. Il m’a dit des choses embarrassantes et il m’a fait rire. En échange, je lui ai un peu parlé de moi. C’était facile de parler avec Antoine. Il n’a pas plaisanté quand j’ai parlé sérieusement et ne m’a pas traitée comme une enfant fragile. Très vite, nous sommes devenus amis et tous nos amis se sont retrouvés ensemble. Antoine a commencé à se plaindre de ses notes. Il s’inquiétait de ne pas aller à l’université et comme solution, j’ai suggeré de lui donner des cours pour l’aider. Donc, nous avons fait un pacte pour beaucoup étudier et pendant des jours, c’est ce que nous avons fait. « Je ne pourrai jamais résoudre ce problème ! Pourquoi les maths sont-elles si compliquées ? a dit Antoine désespérément. — Laisse-moi voir ça. Ah. Ici, tu dois transformer ces nombres en une équation quadratique. — Vraiment ? Oh, tu as raison. Pourquoi suis-je si stupide ? » Me sentant fatiguée, j’ai pris un verre et je l’ai bu. « Tss, tss, tss. Anne ! Tu ne devrais pas boire du café. Ça va te rendre nerveuse. — Je ne le suis pas, crois-moi. C’est seulement du jus d’orange et de l’eau chaude. — Beurk. C’est dégoûtant ! dit-il en se bouchant le nez. — C’est pas si mal. Ça m’aide à me concentrer. — Haha, sérieusement ? Tu es étrange. » Au fil du temps, j’ai commencé à voir Antoine différemment. Il était gentil et attentionné et avait une âme pure. Je savais que j’aurais dû cesser de me sentir comme ça. Il était seulement mon ami. Un jour, Antoine s’est laissé tomber à côté de moi pendant le déjeuner.

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« Alors, comment sont les filles ? » J’ai presque craché ma nourriture en réponse : « Excuse-moi ? » « Ouais… Tu sais… Juste des choses à propos des filles. — Non, je ne sais pas, en fait. — Pfff. Si, tu sais. Tu as trois sœurs. Tu as sûrement appris quelque chose. Je veux tout savoir, dit-il en faisant des yeux de chien battu. — D’accord, bon. Mais c’est seulement parce que tu me rendras service à l’avenir. Mmh… Laisse-moi voir. Tu dois savoir que c’est un peu difficile de comprendre les filles. Si une fille te dit que tout n’est pas mal, ça veut dire qu’il y a une chose qui va mal. Si nous te disons que nous allons bien, ça veut dire que nous n’allons pas bien. Si une fille dit qu’elle est laide, ça veut dire qu’elle veut que tu lui dises qu’elle est jolie. C’est ce que tu dois faire. » Il a répondu avec un sourire : « Merci, Anne ! » Après la conversation, je ne pouvais pas m’empêcher de me sentir étrange. Est-ce qu’il m’aimait aussi ? Étais-je juste folle ? Quelques semaines plus tard Ce jour-là, nous avons obtenu nos notes d’examens blancs. J’étais très nerveuse. Je devais obtenir de bonnes notes pour aller à l’université aux États-Unis. Je me suis retournée pour voir Antoine. Même si c’était clair qu’il était nerveux, il m’a fait un sourire réconfortant. Plus tard, notre enseignante nous a dit que nous ne pourrions pas nous dire nos notes dans la classe et puis, elle a distribué nos résultats. Une fois que j’ai reçu ma note, j’ai regardé Antoine anxieusement. En le regardant, j’étais sous le choc ! Je ne pouvais pas y croire ! Je devais parler à Antoine et mes camarades de classe voulaient aussi partir. Tout le monde s’est levé et est parti en silence. C’était un peu drôle de les voir essayer de réprimer leur réaction quand tout ce qu’ils voulaient faire était réagir. Quand nous avons quitté la classe, soudainement le bruit a explosé. « Dieu du ciel ! Anne, regarde ça ! J’ai très bien réussi l’interro ! Je suis très heureux ! — Oh mon Dieu, Antoine ! Je suis très fière de toi ! Moi aussi ! Mon interro de maths est parfaite ! — Haha, étudier ensemble a ses avantages après tout. » Avec un immense bonheur, Antoine m’a fait un câlin bien fort et m’a chuchoté : « Nous l’avons fait ! » Le câlin semblait durer une éternité. En souriant dans ses bras, je savais avec certitude que ma chance avait finalement tourné pour le mieux. 21 mai 1988 Je ne suis pas allée à l’école ce jour-là. La veille, je m’étais disputée avec ma sœur Esmée. Nous avions discuté des universités pour l’année suivante. Je voulais aller à l’université de New York, mais elle m’a accusée d’abandonner la famille. Peu après, la situation a empiré. Il y a eu des larmes et des cris et des insultes ont été jetées. J’étais émotionnellement épuisée et je ne voulais pas aller à l’école. Le matin, Antoine m’a appelée et m’a demandé pourquoi

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je n’étais pas allée à l’école. Je lui ai dit que j’allais bien et qu’il n’y avait rien à craindre. J’espérais qu’il me croie. Je ne sais pas s’il m’a crue. Allongée dans mon lit, je pensais à la dispute. Pourquoi était-elle en colère contre moi ? Étaitelle jalouse de moi ? Soudainement, j’ai entendu des bruits venant de ma fenêtre. J’ai regardé pour voir qui c’était, et je me suis rendue compte que c’était Antoine qui me lançait des pierres. J’ai ouvert la fenêtre et je lui ai chuchoté : « Que fais-tu ici ? — Ça va ? » a-t-il dit. Je suis sortie de la maison et je lui ai redemandé : « Que fais-tu ici ? » Il a haussé les épaules. « Bon, tu as dit que quand une fille dit qu’elle va bien, elle ne va pas bien. Aussi, quand une fille dit qu’il n’y a rien de mal, quelque chose va mal. C’est la raison pour laquelle je suis ici. » Mon cœur battait. Je ne savais pas qu’il m’avait entendue. « Alors, ça va ? Pourquoi es-tu restée à la maison ? — Oh ça. C’est parce que je me suis occupée des affaires de l’université. — Ah, je comprends. Veux-tu aller quelque part ? » a-t-il dit, avec un clin d’œil. Antoine m’a emmenée dans un lieu avec une vue à couper le souffle. On pouvait voir tout Paris ! On pouvait voir la cathédrale Notre-Dame, le musée du Louvre et des gens occupés. « Depuis que j’ai trouvé cet endroit, je suis venu plusieurs fois et je voulais te le montrer. » Nous nous sommes assis face à la lune. Durant la nuit, nous parlions, riions et plaisantions. L’état d’esprit optimiste et joyeux m’a rendue à l’aise. « Quelle université veux-tu fréquenter ? ai-je demandé curieusement. — L’université de Paris. Et toi ? — Oui, c’est la même chose pour moi. » Une fois que j’ai dit ça, je me suis sentie coupable. Je voulais lui dire, mais il était très excité. J’ai continué de parler : « Antoine, si nous finissons par aller dans des universités différentes, peux-tu promettre que tu continueras toujours de beaucoup étudier ? — OK. Cela n’arrivera pas parce que tu es intelligente, mais je promets. Anne, si je vais quelque part loin de toi, peux-tu me promettre que le jus d’orange et l’eau chaude ne seront pas mélangés ? — Haha, pas drôle. Je jure qu’un jour, tu le feras aussi. » Je me sentais bien à ce moment, mais je ne pouvais pas m’empêcher de me sentir mal pour ce qui allait arriver. Aujourd’hui (Une année plus tard) Ça fait un an que je suis partie de la France et que j’ai quitté mes amis et ma famille. Je conserve encore mes contacts mais ce n’est pas la même chose. C’est difficile d’avoir des contacts. Utiliser le téléphone est cher, et envoyer des lettres prend beaucoup de temps. De plus, il y a des gens auxquels je n’ai pas parlé depuis longtemps. Juste après la remise des diplômes, je suis partie aux États-Unis. Ma famille a finalement soutenu ma décision et a

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compris que c’était la meilleure chose pour moi. Cependant, je n’ai pas eu le cœur de dire ça à Antoine. J’avais peur de lui dire la vérité parce qu’il semblait très excité d’aller dans la même université que moi. En nettoyant mes vieux trucs de lycée dans ma résidence universitaire, je découvre des lettres en bas de l’étagère. Toutes les lettres ont le même auteur : Antoine. Il m’a écrit ces lettres mais je ne les ai jamais vues. Comment les ai-je ratées ? Curieusement, je les lis. Anne Lacroix, Nous sommes maintenant dans nos endroits désirés. Mais c’est la dernière chose que je peux te dire. Anne, bien que tu sois jeune et naïve, bien que tu sois calme et délirante et bien que tu aies quitté la France, je t’aime encore. Je ne peux pas m’empêcher de penser à toi. Antoine Clément Quand je finis de lire cette lettre, des larmes coulent sur mon visage. Il y a d’autres lettres comme ça. Je n’avais pas réalisé qu’il m’aimait. Après tout ce temps, j’avais raison. Ce que je ressentais était juste. Tout à coup, j’ai de l’espoir. À ce moment-là, mon téléphone sonne. Je ne sais pas ce qui me prend, mais je me sens obligée d’y répondre. Je décroche. « Allô ? — Allô. Heu, est-ce que c’est Anne ? Je suis Céleste, la sœur d’Antoine. — Céleste ! Ça fait un bail ! Comment… — Oh mon Dieu ! Anne, Anne… » Elle pleure. C’est un peu difficile de comprendre ses paroles. « Comme tu n’as pas répondu aux lettres d’Antoine, il voulait te retrouver et te dire qu’il t’aimait. Mais il… il… il est mort dans un avion qui se dirigeait vers les États-Unis. Anne ?!? Anne ?!? Allô ?!? Dis quelque chose ! » Tout devient noir. --Je vivrai, je rirai et j’adorerai. J’ai fait des erreurs et j’ai des regrets. Il y a des bonnes choses qui ont une fin, et d’autres qui commencent tout juste. Mais peu importe le moyen, grâce à nos souvenirs, nous sommes toujours jeunes.

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LA NIAQUE

SCHOOL: St. Theresa of Lisieux TEACHER: Gino Marcuzzi SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Tom Garreffa UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 11-12 / POEM by Faith Ruetas

Au centre de la cacophonie, Je m’assois dans une boîte de cristal. Dehors, le monde frémit, Ciselant de nouveau le creux dans ma poitrine. Je passe une paume sur la surface adamantine ; Un choc de glace engourdissant couvre ma peau. Bien que j’essaie de me coucher, Je ne peux pas m’empêcher d’observer, Paralysé, La terre grognante et fendante, Le fractionnement monstrueux Incitant des fissures ondulant sous mes pieds. Bien que je tente de me calmer, Je ne peux pas arrêter de trembler, Affolé, En voyant des piliers de mer qui se lèvent et dévoilent, Imposants, déferlants, Évoquant une rage impie et ravageuse. Bien que je m’évertue à l’ignorer, Je ne peux pas cesser de contempler, Épouvanté, La clameur rocambolesque des dieux des cieux, Chacun balançant sur le point De nous damner à l’abîme. Peu à peu, la fin empiète. Je relève la tête vers la journée en partance : Le soleil s’éloigne, apportant le crépuscule et Emportant sa lueur d’or de l’autre côté du temps.

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Un seul mot m’arrive à l’esprit : Non. Comme un raz-de-marée, mon corps se rallie ; Je me jette vers l’horizon, fracassant ma prison en verre. J’aiguise comme une seule fléchette de lumière, Clivant les ténèbres. Avec une dernière poussée, j’étends ma main, S’efforçant de capturer cette étincelle évanescente. Brûlant en rébellion, Mes doigts griffent l’air, Broutant ce dernier fil, Saisissant cette dernière flamme, Tirant Tirant—

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L’ATTENTE POUR L’INATTENDU SCHOOL: St. Theresa of Lisieux TEACHER: Claudia Sabatini SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Tom Garreffa UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Filomena Ferraro GRADES 11-12 / PLAY by Bethany Chan, Ema Chiriac, Samantha Toh

UNE COMÉDIE HORS DE CE MONDE PERSONNAGES LA MÈRE D’ALEXANDRE ALEXANDRE, 17 ans L’EXTRATERRESTRE LA RADIO L’AGENT DES SERVICES SECRETS L’INSTRUCTEUR CADRE Un samedi matin ordinaire SOMMAIRE Dans cette comédie originale, nous sommes présentés à ALEXANDRE, un garçon de dix-sept ans qui espère obtenir son permis de conduire. Suivez-le dans une aventure hilarante hors de ce monde, pendant qu’ALEXANDRE découvre que l’obtention d’un permis de conduire peut être astronomiquement difficile.

SCÈNE 1 ALEXANDRE part pour son examen de conduite. Dans la chambre d’ALEXANDRE. Une horloge indique qu’il est environ neuf heures du matin. Le soleil brille à travers une fenêtre. La chambre est un désastre, avec des vêtements éparpillés partout. Sur le mur, il y a une affiche avec un OVNI et les mots « RAVITAILLEMENT D’EXTRATERRESTRE » en caractères gras au-dessous. Il y a des souvenirs sur le thème des extraterrestres partout : des t-shirts avec encore plus de dessins d’OVNIS, une tasse de café sale avec un extraterrestre dessus, etc.

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ALEXANDRE :

(Criant en enfilant un sweat à capuche ; un peu étouffé) Maman ! Quelle heure est-il ?

LA MÈRE :

Il est presque neuf heures, dépêche-toi sinon tu seras en retard pour ton examen de conduite !

ALEXANDRE :

(Passant sa tête par l’ouverture) Zut ! J’arrive, j’arrive !

LA MÈRE :

(Dans un ton humoristique et ludique) Bonne chance, Alexandre. Fais attention à ne pas détruire ma voiture !

ALEXANDRE : (Levant les yeux au ciel) Merci maman, ne t’en fais pas ! (Fouillant un peu dans une pile de vêtements) (de côté) Où est-ce que j’ai mis les clés ? (Il les trouve dans la tasse de café.) Les voilà ! Je suis à l’ouest aujourd’hui… Bon, j’dois partir, ou je vais vraiment être en retard !

SCÈNE 2 À l’examen de conduite Au ServiceOntario, dans le parking. ALEXANDRE est assis dans le siège du conducteur et il est très nerveux pour son examen. Il continue à vérifier sa montre avec inquiétude. Pendant qu’il regarde dans son rétroviseur, L’EXTRATERRESTRE apparaît dans le siège à côté de lui. Il porte des vêtements ridiculement incompatibles et d’énormes lunettes de soleil qui couvrent la majorité de son visage. Il semble être pressé. Il se retourne soudainement et voit L’EXTRATERRESTRE. Il sursaute et crie. ALEXANDRE :

(Dans un ton aigu) T’es qui ?

L’EXTRATERRESTRE : (Avec un léger ton d’impatience) Ça n’a aucune importance. Puis- je voir votre carte d’identification interplanétaire pour la scanner? Nous devons vraiment y aller aussitôt que possible : le trafic d’Andromeda-5 est vraiment horrible les samedis, et il n’y a pas de temps à perdre ! ALEXANDRE secoue la tête comme pour déloger une mouche. ALEXANDRE :

(L’air égaré) Ma carte de quoi ?! C’est quoi Andromeda-5 ?!

L’EXTRATERRESTRE :

(Irrité, brusque) Dépêche-toi ! Nous n’avons aucun moment à perdre !

ALEXANDRE lui donne son G1.

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ALEXANDRE :

(Encore très confu) Voulez-vous dire mon permis de conduire ?

L’EXTRATERRESTRE, la main tendue, prend la carte et la lèche en émettant un étrange bourdonnement, avant de tendre la carte à ALEXANDRE. L’EXTRATERRESTRE :

C’est acceptable. Continuez, s’il vous plaît. Voilà, prenez-la.

ALEXANDRE prend la carte entre deux doigts, avec un air extrêmement dégoûté. Il essaye de l’essuyer discrètement sur son pantalon avant de la remettre dans sa poche. ALEXANDRE :

Mais… Merci, je suppose.

SCÈNE 3 La rue La paire est toujours dans la voiture, dans le parking. L’EXTRATERRESTRE commence à donner des directions à ALEXANDRE. L’EXTRATERRESTRE :

(En faisant un petit sourire narquois) Allons-y. Dépêchez-vous et conduisez au site de décollage. Nous allons commencer en prenant la rue Rioux. Puis, on fera une gauche à la rue St. Paul. Quand vous verrez l’école navale, accélérez jusqu’à 1 000 kilomètres à l’heure. Cela devrait ouvrir une déchirure dans le continuum espace-temps assez grand pour que nous puissions passer directement à la planète Andromeda-5.

Apparemment résigné à son destin, ALEXANDRE sort du parking et suit les directions de l’EXTRATERRESTRE. ALEXANDRE :

D’accord, Monsieur l’instructeur, on sera là avant que vous puissiez dire « Je suis ce que je suis, et si je suis ce que je suis, qu’est-ce que je suis ? »

L’EXTRATERRESTRE lève un sourcil d’une facon incrédule. L’EXTRATERRESTRE :

(D’un ton neutre) « Je suis ce que je suis, et si je suis ce que je suis, qu’est-ce que je suis ? »

ALEXANDRE :

(D’un ton embarrassé) Ben, d’accord… (Il tripote la radio.) Je vais simplement mettre un peu de musique...

Il allume la radio de la voiture, et Starman de David Bowie commence à jouer. Il tapote légèrement ses mains sur le volant au rythme de la musique.

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L’EXTRATERRESTRE sort un appareil étrange couvert de lumières clignotantes. Ça émet d’étranges bruits et semble vibrer dans la main de L’EXTRATERRESTRE. L’EXTRATERRESTRE ajuste un cadran sur le côté et la radio de l’automobile commence à siffler du statique. ALEXANDRE frappe doucement la radio. (Avec un air perplexe) Hé, c’est quoi le problème ? LA RADIO fait des bruits de statique, en alternance continuelle entre la musique et une voix mystérieuse. LA RADIO :

Starmaaan…

Bruit de statique.

Attention, Delta-7, m’entendez-vous ?

L’EXTRATERRESTRE continue d’appuyer sur des boutons et de tourner des cadrans sur la machine pour capter un meilleur signal. L’EXTRATERRESTRE :

(Avec un air concentré) Ouais, chef, je peux vous entendre, mais…

Bruit de statique, interrompu. LA RADIO :

Nouveau message, il faut vous avertir que les services secrets vous filent…

Bruit de statique.

Prenez toutes les mesures nécessaires pour vous débarrasser d’eux.

Starmaaaan… Les yeux de L’EXTRATERRESTRE sont larges derrière ses énormes lunettes. Il a la gorge serrée. L’EXTRATERRESTRE : (D’un ton agité, nerveux) Heu, je ne sais pas ce qu’il voulait dire… Vont-ils tricoter un piège pour nous avec un fil ? (Il fait une pause courte.) Ah oui, il faut tourner à gauche à la prochaine intersection. ALEXANDRE est visiblement confus, mais suit les instructions quand même. Il sort ses écouteurs, et les enfonce brusquement dans ses oreilles. ALEXANDRE :

La radio ne fonctionne pas, alors je vais utiliser mes airpods.

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Une voiture noire approche soudainement dans la voie à côté de celle d’ALEXANDRE. La fenêtre s’ouvre en révélant un homme sérieux vêtu dans un costume noir et portant des lunettes de soleil noires. AGENT DES SERVICES SECRETS :

(Avec l’air furieux) Spécimen-278, arrêtez la voiture immédiatement ! Sortez avec vos mains (ou d’autres appendices) en l’air ! Vous ne pourrez pas vous échapper cette fois-ci !

L’EXTRATERRESTRE :

(Affolé) VITE ! Il faut que tu conduises plus vite ! Engage des manœuvres d’évitement, et moi je prends les armes.

En se penchant par la fenêtre, il se tourne vers l’arrière de la voiture et ouvre le feu sur la voiture noire avec un pistolet rutilant. ALEXANDRE ne peut pas l’entendre à cause des écouteurs et continue à conduire calmement. Au même moment, l’AGENT DES SERVICES SECRETS ouvre le feu sur la voiture d’ALEXANDRE avec son propre pistolet laser. Les miroirs latéraux tombent, détruits par l’agent secret.

Ça vous dérangerait d’accélérer un peu, crétin ?!

ALEXANDRE :

(Sereinement) Vous voulez que je fasse un demi-tour ?

L’EXTRATERRESTRE :

(Paniqué) Oui, d’accord, fais ça.

ALEXANDRE utilise ses clignotants en faisant le demi-tour. L’AGENT DES SERVICES SECRETS continue à les suivre. (Paniqué) AHHHHH, que fais-tu ? IL FAUT LES PERDRE ! Je vais me débarrasser d’eux moi-même. L’EXTRATERRESTRE continue à tirer sur la voiture noire, L’AGENT DES SERVICES SECRETS arrête de les poursuivre. Tout à coup, le camion devant ALEXANDRE s’arrête, ALEXANDRE tape sur les freins pour arrêter la voiture. En dépit de ses efforts, la voiture a été presque complètement détruite par les tirs. ALEXANDRE ET L’EXTRATERRESTRE : (Criant, les yeux écarquillés) AHHHHHHHHH ! La voiture d’ALEXANDRE s’arrête juste derrière le camion, avec seulement quelques centimètres d’espace qui restent. L’EXTRATERRESTRE disparaît. À sa place, il y a une plante verte dans un pot, avec des yeux 142

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scotchés dessus, et les lunettes ridicules de l’EXTRATERRESTRE posées sur la terre dans le pot. ALEXANDRE :

(L’air soulagé) OUF !

Il regarde le siège passager et remarque la plante.

AHHHHHHH, c’est quoi ça ?!!! MONSIEUR L’ÉVALUATEURRRRR ??!!!

Plusieures voitures noires « services secrets » arrivent, et L’AGENT DES SERVICES SECRETS sort d’une des voitures. L’AGENT DES SERVICES SECRETS ouvre la porte passager de la voiture d’ALEXANDRE. L’AGENT DES SERVICES SECRETS ramasse soigneusement la plante, et met une paire de menottes dessus.

(Confus, il enlève ses écouteurs et réalise la situation. Il regarde L’AGENT DES SERVICES SECRETS pour clarification.) Qu’est-il arrivé ?!! Où est l’évaluateur ?

AGENT DES SERVICES SECRETS :

(De façon paternelle) Mon garçon, vous étiez sous le contrôle du Spécimen-278. C’est un criminel interplanétaire que nous avons traqué depuis un incident sur Uranus en 1950. Il possède la capacité de se transformer en toutes les formes qu’il désire, êtres humains inclus, mais sa forme naturelle, c’est la plante que vous voyez dans mes mains. Il voulait prendre le contrôle de la terre et a réussi à nous échapper plusieurs fois, mais grâce à vous, monsieur, notre planète reste en paix.Vous serez récompensé pour vos efforts. Désolé pour la voiture, quand même… Nous verrons ce que nous pouvons sauver de l’épave.

SCÈNE 4 Rentré à la maison LA MÈRE : (Joyeusement, descendant l’escalier en trombe) As-tu réussi ton examen ?! ALEXANDRE entre en tenant le volant détaché de sa voiture à deux mains. (Étonnée) QUOI ?!! MA VOITURE ! Alexandre sort de sa poche une carte « G2 » en haussant ses épaules. (Furieuse) VIENS ICI, TOI ! IMBÉCILE !

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SCÈNE 5 À l’examen de conduite L’INSTRUCTEUR pour l’examen de conduite est assis dans une voiture identique à celle d’ALEXANDRE. Il regarde sa montre impatiemment, faisant virevolter un stylo dans sa main. INSTRUCTEUR :

Les adolescents… (Il soupire.) Ils ne sont jamais à l’heure… Ça fait déjà une heure que je l’attends !

L’ÉTUDIANT s’assoit dans le siège du conducteur et ferme la porte. L’ÉTUDIANT : (Avec un air pressé et gêné) Je suis tellement désolé d’être en retard ! J’étais coincé dans la circulation, il y avait un tas de voitures des services secrets à la poursuite d’une voiture pas loin d’ici ! INSTRUCTEUR :

(Soupire et dit d’un ton frustré) De tels mensonges, c’est scandaleux ! Vous êtes tellement irresponsable.

L’ÉTUDIANT tâtonne avec les clés et les enfonce dans l’allumage de la voiture. L’ÉTUDIANT : Allons-y ! Le portail va fermer bientôt. On a besoin de partir aussitôt que possible. Nous avons seulement dix minutes qui restent. L’ÉTUDIANT commence à conduire à haute vitesse. INSTRUCTEUR :

(Paniqué, criant) AHHHH ! T’es en train de dépasser la vitesse maximale autorisée !! Il faut que tu ralentisses !!!

L’ÉTUDIANT accélère le véhicule. L’ÉTUDIANT :

(En souriant) Hahaha ! J’ai attendu ce moment depuis une centaine d’années ! J’ai envie de retourner sur Andromeda-5.

INSTRUCTEUR : (Paniqué) Où ? C’est quoi ça ? Non, j’ai une famille ! Ne me kidnappe pas !! Ils partent, avec le conducteur riant de joie et l’instructeur hurlant de peur.

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LES HÉROS, LES SUPER-HÉROS, ET NOTRE PROPRE APPEL À L’ACTION SCHOOL: Bishop Allen Academy TEACHER: Sandra Storey SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joyce Moriana UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Gillian Vivona GRADES 11-12 / NONFICTION by Matthew Kee

Superman, le super-héros le plus populaire au monde, est connu comme le fils de Krypton, sauveur des planètes et adversaire des vauriens. Son origine fictive est bien connue : il a été envoyé sur la planète Terre par ses parents, où il a grandi et décidé d’utiliser ses pouvoirs surhumains pour combattre les malfaisants. Mais, ce qui est moins connu, c’est qu’il a été créé aux États-Unis en 1938 par deux immigrants juifs, en réponse à la menace croissante d’Adolf Hitler. C’est pour cela qu’il est devenu populaire et son histoire est racontée continuellement à nouveau, même aujourd’hui : les super-héros sont créés comme des phares d’espoir pendant les périodes dominées par l’obscurité et la crainte. Mais pourquoi est-ce que nous nous identifions à ces super-héros, et quelle signification ont-ils dans le monde moderne ? Mesdames, messieurs, et mes camarades de classe, aujourd’hui je vais vous parler des héros, et de la raison pour laquelle on en a besoin aujourd’hui plus que jamais. Dans les bandes-dessinées de Marvel, les protagonistes qui ont des capacités surhumaines sont identifiés comme des « super-héros » : des idoles qui se battent contre les forces du mal. Ce qu’il faut retenir de ces histoires, c’est que la présence du préfixe « super » implique qu’il existe aussi des héros qui n’ont jamais été mordus par une araignée radioactive – des gens ordinaires qui combattent les injustices quotidiennement, sans le luxe des costumes ou des gadgets. C’est là où se trouve l’origine de notre fascination pour ces histoires fantastiques : elles suggèrent que nous, les mortels, pouvons aussi influencer le monde cruel et injuste qui nous entoure. Nous, en tant qu’êtres humains, aimons croire que nous sommes maîtres de nos propres destins, et quand on est confrontés à l’adversité, on cherche des héros pour nous offrir de l’espoir. Dans le monde moderne, nous faisons face à une marée de mauvaises nouvelles qui menace de nous inonder chaque fois qu’on ouvre Facebook ou Twitter. Dans l’âge moderne, qui peut nous reprocher de nous sentir impuissants ? C’est un âge d’injustices : la brutalité policière, l’emprisonnement des enfants qui cherchent une vie meilleure de l’autre côté de la frontière et des politiciens qui semblent être plutôt des personnages de cauchemar que du monde réel. Quand la bière à prix bas est plus importante qu’une compréhension universelle du mot « consentement », on veut croire qu’une seule personne peut redresser les torts et rétablir la justice. Donc, on cherche l’évidence de la bienveillance dans le monde réel : des héros sans masques YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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ni pseudonymes. On est alors ému et inspiré par les histoires des héros modernes : de Malala qui a pris une balle dans la tête pendant qu’elle menait une révolution pour les droits des jeunes filles, et de Mamadou qui, malgré le danger physique et politique, a monté quatre étages d’un bâtiment pour sauver un enfant suspendu à un balcon. On lit ces histoires, en pensant qu’un jour, quand on est face à ce choix, on choisira aussi de grimper cet immeuble métaphorique, de tout risquer pour le bien des autres. Enfin, la réalité, c’est que la majorité d’entre nous sommes satisfaits de ces réconforts temporaires, rêvant d’un moment où l’héroïsme nous serait imposé. Au lieu d’agir, de voter, de participer à des manifestations ou d’écrire à des politiciens, on visionne des films de Marvel et l’on se dit : « Si seulement j’avais le pouvoir d’effectuer ce changement ! » On ne fait rien d’autre que partager des histoires qui réchauffent le cœur sur les réseaux sociaux, nous plaindre des injustices aux dîners en famille, et attendre que notre propre araignée radioactive arrive. Mais le monde, plein de chaos, ne nous permet pas d’attendre. Alors agissez, et devenez le héros dont le monde a besoin.

Bibliographie : Westmaas, Reuben. “How Superman Fought Nazis and the KKK — and Won in Real Life.” Curiosity.com, 8 Aug. 2017. <https://curiosity.com/topics/superman-was-fighting-nazisbefore-the-usa-ever-did-curiosity/>. Lukacs, John. “Rise to Power.” Britannica.com. <http://www.britannica.com/biography/AdolfHitler/Rise-to-power>.

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