Next Gen Writers

Next Gen: Writing Through Digital Spaces Spring 2022

By Oklahoma State University Upward Bound & Secondary English Education Writers

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Copyright©2022 Secondary English Education at Oklahoma State University ISBN: 9798813020728

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About the Anthology Next Gen is written by the next generations of college students and teachers. This anthology contains the writing of Oklahoma State University Upward Bound students and Secondary English education preservice teachers that emerged during an eight-week literacy partnership focusing on genre-based, process-oriented writing.

Each writer has included two pieces. The “write in” pieces are selected short pieces of writing that the literacy partners do at the beginning of each writing session. The “process pieces” are pieces that the writers worked on across multiple sessions.

The OSU English education students practiced various instructional strategies for nurturing writer agency such as exploring mentor texts, brainstorming and planning activities, drafting, conferring, and revising for publication. The Upward Bound students offered support and inspiration to these future teachers. While writing together online, they engaged in conversation about growing up, attending college, balancing school, work, & life, and imagined possibilities of the future.

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Project Sponsors Dr. Libby Adjei, Upward Bound Director Dr. Sarah J. Donovan, Secondary English Education Program Coordinator The Randall and Carol White Reading and Mathematics Center

Upward Bound Students Chrysanna Stephens Jackie Hamilton Emma Wilson Ryan Murdock Malachi Shaw Jacen Perkins Kyleigh Beierschmitt Arianna Riding In Kalie Kinsey

Oklahoma State University Writing Mentors Reviewers & Editors Garrett Davis Adam Fraser Emma Hosey Hailey Juen Connor Latham Carolina Lopez Burrola Elissa Miller Maria Risley Jordan Young Next Gen Writing Partners

Funding from the Boren Mentoring Grant The printing of this anthology for participants is possible from the Boren Mentoring Grant. The mission of the David and Molly Boren Mentoring Initiative is to promote the growth and development of quality youth mentoring programs statewide. The initiative grew out of the Borens’ own commitment to mentoring and the proven impact that mentoring can make on a student’s success in and out of the classroom.

The Boren Mentoring Initiative provides on-call support and resources for mentoring organizations, school districts, community leaders, businesses and others seeking information on how to start or strengthen their mentoring program for K-12 students.

7 TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chrysanna Stephens

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Garrett Davis

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Jackie Hamilton

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Hailey Juen

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Emma Wilson

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Elissa Miller

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Ryan Murdock

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Adam Fraser

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Malachi Shaw

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Connor Latham

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Jacen Perkins

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Maria Risley

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Kyleigh Beierschmitt

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Emma Hosey

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Arianna Riding In

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Carolina Lopez Burrola

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Kalie Kinsey

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Jordan Young

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Our Voices

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Chrysanna Stephens Chrysanna is 16 years old and from Pawnee, Oklahoma.

She originally lived in Tennessee until she was 14. She goes to school at Pawnee High School. When she was growing up, she went to two different schools. She made such amazing bonds with my friends at each school. Chrysanna aspires to be a Psychologist. Some of her hobbies include art, dance, and working as a barista.

Write-In I feel like a high school education doesn’t entirely prepare someone for the workforce. While some professions only require a high school education, not every student understands the different materials.

Some people need extra help that isn’t readily available to them, and some people just simply cheat their way through high school. The workforce will not tolerate these types of actions. This then adds to the growing homeless population, which leads to another problem if you can’t find a shelter. This also adds to people's debt. If you were to keep your house, you would rack up debt on your bills and your credit card. Therefore, high school does not entirely prepare you for the workforce.

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Process Piece: Musical Fingers “Paris is a long way from our home in the Dominican Republic. Are you sure you want to live here,” asked Ellise’s mother.

“Yes I’m sure. It’s the only way to learn piano and escape my past mistakes. A fresh start.”

Join 25 year old Ellise on a once in a lifetime journey to save the future from evil. Watch as Ellise and her roommate Cait rebel against presidential candidate Jeremiah in a suspenseful attempt to save all classical music forever.

“You need to work harder, practice more,” urges Mr. Letham, the downstairs pianist. He gives me lessons every Wednesday to help prepare me to teach.

“I’m working as hard as I can. I don’t feel like being caught with a grand piano in my home,” I hiss back at him. Mr. Letham only wants me to play my best.

The old man is only interested in sound, not feeling.

As the lesson closes, I help him to the door to ensure a safe walk down the hallway.

“You’re never going to get anywhere if you don’t practice more,” hums Cait from the kitchen.

“I know that, but when can I practice? With the officers everywhere in search for instruments there is no practice time,” I say with distress.

11 “Listen, I’m only saying what she would if she were here. You know how she felt about your success in music,” urges Cait.

My lessons have been getting shorter, officers have been getting closer to my shared apartment, and Cait has been zero help. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Trying to balance work and practice? I’m only one person; I can’t do it all.

“And up next is the latest statement from presidential candidate Jeremiah Scott!”

“I was hoping for one day without another statement from him. His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. It was awful hearing it for 24 years, now this. You would think after being outvoted in plenty of student council elections he would’ve given up.”

“Give your brother a break Ellise. He’s trying to balance things just as much as you.”

“He only has his life to balance. He was always off balance even before birth. Mother was off balance when pregnant with him, so naturally he’s off balance,” I hiss back.

“If it’s that important to you then hold a concert.

You know plenty of people who would love to show your brother that classical music, played by classical instruments, is much better than his techy ideas.”

“Cait, you’re a genius! A straight genius! A concert would really show Jeremiah a thing or two about music and the power it has over people, but Next Gen Writing Partners

how would we host it? Where would we host it?

There’s only one concert hall left in this entire country! He’s the only one that Tia Amber will give the key to.”

“Maybe you can convince her to give you the key? There’s always the other option,” she said with a grin.

Maybe, but what actually are the chances she’ll give us the key? How can I trust her after all she put me through? How can I face that, that, that monster from my youth? It feels like I’m being trampled on even now. Just thinking about this makes me want to throw up, but I have to do something. I don’t want to go behind my parents' trust and break into the Great Hall, but how can I face her?

As a few hours pass by I finally make it to her house. I have to swallow my fear and just walk up the steps and knock. How can I even look at this house, its interior is the same. She won’t change it, any of it.

All the terror and trauma from high school lives here.

It reeks here, and she lets it stay. She lets it simmer and boil here just waiting for me to come back to be consumed by it. I wish I were consuming it. I wish it would all magically fade to black and those days would be gone forever. When I step forward to knock, a board creaks and she swings the door open. She comes out with open arms. She is not the same person I hid from.

“Ellise! My darling girl! Look at how you’ve grown,” exclaimed Tia Amber.

13 “Yeah… A lot has changed since 17,” I say exhaustedly.

“Well don’t just stand there, come in come in,” she said urging me.

When we enter I’m startled by a new white look to the old house. White walls, marble counters, deep brown floors. I’m in awe of this new house. It looks like it belongs to a rich white woman.

“Wow Tia, this is…”

“Beautiful?”

“Yeah.”

“Enjoy it.”

“What?”

“Enjoy it. It is supposed to be torn down in a few weeks. Enjoy it.”

She sounds like she’s dying. I need to ask for the key now. She never just gives it up. The key is my focus.

“So, Tia, I was looking to play in a recital and I really need to move my instrument into the great hall.

Could I borrow the key? It’s really important that we use the Great Hall since I’m also helping host. It would be the perfect opportunity to bring it back to its glory days.”

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“Of course dear! I would love to come and watch you play. Let me just go grab it,” she says excitedly.

That was so easy. No, there’s no way. I’ve got to be dreaming, ludic dreaming maybe. Tia Amber always hated me. I’ll call Tio later and ask him about it.

“Here you go dear.”

“Thanks Tia. I’ll bring it back tomorrow after the recital.”

“Keep it,” she says.

Keep it! How on Earth am I supposed to keep a key that is falling apart as is! There isn’t a doubt in my mind that it won’t get lost before I can put it up. I have to keep up with it for the next two days.

Between avoiding my brother and carrying instruments back and forth, how am I ever going to keep track of it? There was no arguing in this situation. No matter how much I wanted to swing the key back in her face and yell, I couldn’t. It felt like I was falling, slowly, but surely falling. It was as if the floor had fallen out from underneath me and left me falling into a black hole of regret.

There was no call made back home that day. No trace of regret in my old home. No scent of despair, no want for more. All was content. All was calm. It felt almost too calm. After years of what felt like storm after storm, there was a calm. How could they not be worried? They’re wonderful at worrying for

15 me, about me, at me. They worry so much since the incident. I wish they wouldn’t, but that’s beside the point. What point is there to worrying when the person you worry for is nearly dead?

Cait and I began racing down the street on our Vespa. We pushed it to its limit to make it into the Great Hall before Jeremiah could get there. To my surprise, he was already there. Cait rushed over to him with great amounts of joy.

“Jeremiah! Jeremiah,” she shouted with joy.

I couldn’t be mad; she hadn’t seen him in years.

He was her closest friend after all.

“Hey Caitybug,” he said softly with a smile.

“It’s been so long! How does it feel being a politician,” she asked curiously.

“Stressful. I can’t keep much contact with anyone until after the election,” he said with a relieving sigh.

“Might I ask, what’re you doing here,” he asked, looking directly at me.

I almost forgot how to speak. I hadn’t talked to him since just before the election. The last thing I ever said to him was “Hope you win.” It was true, back then at least. I wanted to be able to say “I’m related to the president” since I was little. I always imagined going into the White House with an estranged familiarity in it.

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“Eliiiseee, you there?” Cait asked, waving her hand in my face.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I’m just here to see the hall. Tia let me have the key so I could help fix up the place!”

That was a lie. A huge lie. I was lying to a politician. I was lying to my own brother. How disappointed would my parents be? I still ponder on that idea. The idea of disappointment from them. The sweetest people in the world having a look of disappointment felt more terrifying than La Llorona herself!

“Well shouldn’t you be getting started Ellise.”

The statement made my shiver. Hearing my name come out of his mouth? He never once said it right, but this time he said it with some kind of perfection.

Some kind of change to his motivation. I could feel that he wanted me dead. Gone, for good this time.

“Oh, I’ll help you Ellie,” responded Cait.

Jeremiah looked disgusted with her name for me.

He looked disgusted with her talking to me. He looked disgusting to me. That suit, that tie, those fake oxfords. Who was he trying to be? Whom was he trying to prove? What was wrong with him? Going into politics? It felt like highschool all over again. His many failed attempts at winning the student council elections baffled me for a few years. He always presented himself professionally. He had everything mapped out. Why was he trying again now?

17 Changing your dreams is one thing, but this feels like an obsession. Maybe they rejected him because of his look. He was short for his age, but I never thought it was odd. He’s albino with ruby red eyes. He was a catch in high school, but now, you can’t even see him with someone. They all avoid him like the plague.

As we worked on the Great Hall, I noticed small imperfections that I never noticed or cared for. The chip of wallpaper missing backstage, shoe marks on the stage, discoloration in the house seats. All of these things brought an unwanted beauty into the old hall.

For years, I dreamed of this place as if it were home. I dusted and painted small spots on the wall while Cait worked on the baseboards. I was amazed at how fast she worked. She was finished before I was. Jeremiah stuck around for a little while to help Cait. Maybe that’s why she finished sooner. He took such great interest in her habits that he knew how to work around them. He made himself out to be the “model citizen”, when in reality, he was cruel. Sitting around while awful things happen to those who care about him. My role model growing up turned out to be a monster.

“Well, I guess we’re done. All we have left is to gather people to determine a proper time for the concert,” I said with relief.

“Already taken care of. The concert is at 8 p.m., everyone is meeting here at 6. Doors open at 7.

Instruments are being brought over now, including

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your piano,” said Cait quite awfully proud of her organization skills.

That was it. The plan was all working out. I couldn’t believe that we were making dreams come true. I wasn’t fully ready. My piece wasn’t ready and my piano looked dirty. What on Earth was my mother going to say when she saw that scratched up thing on stage? My father would wonder if my mother was talking about the piano or me. Sometimes I really wondered who I could trust.

Cait left the concert hall, but I stayed behind. I wanted to admire the place more before it was filled with unruly guests. As I stood backstage, I heard the door open. I thought it was Cait at first since the footsteps didn’t sound very heavy. That was, of course, until I heard his voice.

“Hurry, they’ll all be here in an hour,” ordered Jeremiah.

What was he doing here? I thought to myself.

I quickly climbed upwards making sure I wasn’t visibly human at first glance.

“Go on, put that crap in everything. All of these instruments should have that powder in them. I want these players to be in my control, not hers,” said Jeremiah sinisterly.

It felt like I was up there for hours. I waited until I knew for sure they had left to finally come down. I needed to watch where they put the powder, but only

19 got a glance at two or three instruments. I noticed the men with him looking around, and in my direction. I decided that rolling over would be better for me than risking my life. When I came back down, I made sure to deeply cleanse the instruments I saw the powder go into. I did my best not to have any direct contact with it. I reached for my phone to call Cait when she burst through the door.

“I’m baaack,” she hummed happily.

I burst out of the curtain with a look of fear. She needed to know what he did.

“What’s wrong? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost,” she asked jokingly.

“Jeremiah. He put some weird powder in the instruments. I was only able to remove it from two or three. The guys with him looked like they saw me. I had to roll to make it look like I was the farthest thing from living that I could be,” I said panicked.

The happy expression on her face dropped. I could tell she was upset with my statement. I couldn’t tell if she was upset at Jeremiah for the action or at me for a crazy accusation. Cleaning all of the instruments would be smart, but how do I know which instruments truly have the strange powder?

Everything was beginning to blur. Cait was angry, I was nauseous, and the hall looked neon. What the heck was in that powder?

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A few hours passed of the world being nothing but black. When I woke up, I noticed the concert had started. There were two people on stage and then I myself would go on. Cait was nowhere to be found.

There were musicians falling off the stage to approach a small figure in the back of the house. As the two players before me bowed to signify the end of their performance, I was summoned onto the stage by an unfamiliar voice.

As I approached my piano, I had a slight curtsey before taking my seat. I looked out to the crowd and saw Cait along with a few other onlookers rushing around to herd people in, as there was a small hint of despair in their actions. I sat down and began to play Jean Sibelius’ Fifth Symphony. It felt like my hands were possessed. While playing, I noticed Cait rushing to fight the figure from the back of the house. The commotion startled me, but didn’t stop my playing.

There were hits coming only from Cait until a man stepped up and knocked the figure out cold. Players behind me in the set list were vigorously cleaning their instruments. The curtains dropped from their ceiling pole, but I kept playing. Playing and playing, reaching the end of my number. I spotted my Tia sitting in the crown with a glistening tear rolling down her right cheek.

Cait was walking back to the stage with a red hand. I noticed she hit the wall a few times. She shot me a look of disgust and continued backstage to bandage her hand. Police were already taking Jeremiah into custody. I finished my performance,

21 courtesy, and exit stage left. I ran up to Cait, a bit baffled by her reaction. I went to ask her what had happened while I was out, but she began to talk first.

“Look, your greatest wish has come true. You finally took your brother down. You won,” she said, displeased with me.

“I win? What do you mean? I only ever wanted him to apologize.” I said, upset with her accusation.

“Listen, the other candidates dropped out of the election. Jeremiah was going to win. You were his closest kin to be put in place for his position. You won.” she said in a very serious tone.

I didn't know what to say. All of this had happened so fast that I couldn’t even react. What reaction could I have? I won an election I wasn’t even in. Jeremiah had me on his kin list to take him place if anything ever happened, Cait is angry with me. What happened in the hour I was out for?

A few weeks passed and I gave Cait a medal of honor for her bravery on that day. The other onlookers got certificates of bravery as well. The other players were discovered and are on the road to fame.

My Tia passed away after the performance. Jeremiah fell into the holding of the new law set in place for politicians. Law 188, Section 19; Any and all politicians that break a law set in place must clean the sewers for X amount of years, to be determined by the Supreme Court, or until said otherwise by the president in office. That was it. It was done. My life Next Gen Writing Partners

changed, my friend was gone, and my only family here had passed. That was the end. The end of that part of my life where hate and regret were all that I held with me. I let go. I am at peace.

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Garrett Davis Garrett is 23 years old and attending Oklahoma State University in his senior year. Some of his favorite hobbies include watching movies, playing video games, and reading. He aspires to become an English teacher at the high school level and teach in Oklahoma.

Write-In It was about lunchtime and me and my cousins Andrew and Ben went to the student union to eat chick-fil-a. When we got our food we went into the basement area to eat. As we were eating, we chatted about movies, video games, and sports, just like any other day. But then Ben picked up this ketchup packet and started playing with it in his hands. We didn’t pay much attention to it, but me and Andrew should have known that was a dangerous thing. Out of nowhere as we were talking, Ben squeezed the ketchup packet a little too hard and it exploded all over Andrew. I died laughing, while Andrew tried not to throw up from being covered in ketchup.

Overall, this was one of my favorite memories from college.

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Process Piece Siblings We started out as young kids, New to the world. We did not Get along at the start, always Trying to get the other in trouble, But we still loved each other. Then We got older and more mature. We did not fight over small things, only over what we thought were big things. We were almost like real friends. Then we got older again.

There was nothing that we would Fight about. We became best friends And grew into similar personalities.

Now we are forever family and Nothing will come between us.

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Jackie Hamilton Jackie is a Freshman at Cleveland High School who enjoys reading, writing, and anime. She aspires to work in the Public Law and Safety field. She wants to be a lawyer, or something of the sorts, to help the general public. She is very organized and a history buff as well.

Write-In: Narrative As a teen assassin, I don’t particularly like High School. Hello, my name is Alexandra but you can call me Alex and today I was facing one of the most dangerous missions my father could have possibly given me: Surviving the first day of school. Luckily, I didn't have to go through it alone. I had my loyal friend Lelia with me as we walked down to the gym and into the gym locker room. As I got my gym bag, Lelia looked at my locker and then me, concerned.

“What?” I said.

“You keep a bullet proof vest in your gym locker?” gawked Lelia.

“Yeah? Where do you keep yours?” I questioned.

She glared at me, “I don’t have one.”

“A gym locker? Everyone has a gym locker.”

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Write-In: Poem A book in her hand but you can’t see the racing thoughts of anxiety thinking she can she knows that she will follow her heart and what it appeals.

The thoughts and the feelings that you feed your heart is not always safe it affects you in a powerful way in all this she’s trying to be sane.

Process Piece My New Cherished Possession The sleepless nights started when my Mother was leaning over the stove in the kitchen clutching her stomach. As a two-year-old little girl, I was petrified when my Mother looked at me with tears in her eyes.

She hobbled to the couch to sit down then not a second later screamed in pain. I did not understand why my mother was so upset. Luckily, Great Aunt Mary was in the house at the time. My Aunt came running in response to the frantic noise. My Mother told my Aunt that she thought she was going into labor. While Aunt Mary went outside to retrieve the vehicle; I walked over to my mother, who was still sitting on the couch.

27 “Momma, do you want help?’’ I said while gently touching her knee letting her know that I was there.

She looked at me and nodded. I grabbed her hand and pulled her up. (For a two-year-old I didn’t think I pulled her up effectively). I walked her to the front door, holding her hand, and stepped onto the front porch. Aunt Mary then pulled the car to the front yard, jumped out of the car, and swiftly got my mother in the car.

Aunt Mary looked at me and said “Get in the car seat and buckle up.’’

I nodded my head “Yes, ma’am’’ I replied.

We sped off to the hospital emergency room. As we pull into the parking lot Aunt Mary brought the car to an abrupt stop. She called the service desk and explained what was happening. While Aunt Mary got the wheelchair from a nurse since I was in the car alone with my Mother I had to be given a lecture on being a big sister. ’’Are you not excited to share your life with a baby sister or brother? To never be alone and to watch and guard them from trouble? You have to help me show them the difference between bad and good, okay pumpkin?’’ she said elatedly.

What was this lady thinking? I didn’t want to be an older sister. I didn’t want to share my life or toys or things I cherished most. As I turned toward the window I saw Aunt Mary coming back with the Next Gen Writing Partners

wheelchair. Thank the heavens I didn’t have to continue that conversation. She came around the car, got Mother in, and we headed into the hospital hand in hand. I felt like I had twenty pounds on my shoulders when we walked through the waiting area.

I felt so many eyes on me like vultures looking down on their prey before they swoop in. The nurse had us turn the corner into a hospital room. However, as Aunt Mary and I walked through the doorway the nurse stopped us. ’’You are not allowed in during the birth. Only the patient.’’ she said calmly.

I looked over at my Aunt and swear I saw a vein pop in her forehead. Aunt Mary turned around muttering aggressively back into the waiting room. I sprinted towards my Aunt and sat down between her legs when she sat down in a green chair. I wanted to guard her and protect her. I didn’t want these people to even look at her. In the back of my mind, I knew everything was going to work out fine like my Aunt kept reassuring me, but I could not fully give in to the idea of false alrights and okays. Mother was suffering and it was all because of a person inside of her! I looked at my Aunt and she looked down at me.

She whispered “Everything is going to work out just fine.’’ and gave me one of her special welcoming smiles.

I looked at my Aunt as she picked me up into her lap.

29 “Dear, please don’t be as stubborn as your mother. She is going to be ok afterward. Your Grandma is on her way to the hospital. Be nice and don’t give in to the what-ifs.’’ she said quietly.

My Great Aunt Mary was the best person I knew.

She was like a second mother to me and knew me better than I knew myself. On the other hand, even as a little girl, I despised my Grandmother with a heated passion. I decided I would be nice though for my Aunt. As I leaned into my Aunt’s chest I fell asleep watching my Grandmother stride into the waiting room.

I remember waking up to my Aunt’s soothing voice, my Grandmother griping and scowling at who knows what. Aunt Mary was arguing with my Grandmother about who was going to hold the baby first.

“I should be the one to hold my Grandbaby first!’’ declared my hostile Grandmother.

“Well, I was with her the ENTIRE time unlike someone when they got the chance.” snarked my fuming Aunt.

Well at least I didn’t have to be in the middle of this I thought to myself. At least that was what I thought until the nurse walked in.

“Ladies, Ladies, the Mother has asked me to retrieve her daughter. She will hold the baby first.’’ said the nurse.

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I turned to face my Aunt and Grandmother. I let out the deadliest glare I could muster and the biggest smirk. I shot those at my Grandmother, but I turned and frowned at my Aunt. I knew she wanted to hold the baby. I dipped my head low like a dog with its tail between its legs and followed the nurse into the hospital room. She closed the door behind us which scared me. I saw my mother holding a baby in her arms, grinning from ear to ear.

“Here is your new baby sister, Jackie. What should we call her?’’ she inquired.

I looked at the baby up close. She looked quiet and peaceful. I looked at my Mother and said “Calm”, but she wouldn’t let me name her calm. So instead we named her Serenity. My mother put the child in my arms. I stared deeply into her eyes. I fell in love with her I quickly realized. I didn’t want to let her go. I want to protect that child with everything I am. Instead of sharing my cherished possessions with her; she became one of my most cherished possessions. My Aunt and Grandmother entered the room shortly after and lifted her from my hands.

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Hailey Juen Hailey is 21 years old and in her third year at Oklahoma State University. She loves to read, go on walks, drink good coffee and most of all, to hang out with her friends. She’s pursuing her bachelor's degree in Secondary Education in the College of Education, Health, and Aviation. She aspires to be an English teacher at the high school level.

Heart Map Write In Forgiveness 1. The Gospel is forgiveness 2. You just have to ask for it and it will be given 3. You don’t have to earn it, in fact you can’t earn it that’s the whole point. We don’t deserve it but we get it anyways 4. Don’t do things just because you’ll be forgiven 5. Use these things to help you learn and grow 6. He already knows everything so you can’t keep it from him anyways 7. How can we forgive others if we can’t forgive ourselves 8. Shame is not from the Lord. Obviously he wants us to know when things are wrong but he’s not holding that against you 9. I run to the Father again and again and again

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Color Write In Yellow. Yellow is sunshine seeping through my blinds in the morning illuminating Abby and Nora’s peaceful sleeping faces. Yellow is “A Million Bucks on a Queen Motel Bed” blaring in my car with the windows rolled down driving down Western. Yellow is sitting at Lagom while Dylan makes my coffee at the bar. Yellow is my emotional support water bottle keeping me company wherever I go. Yellow is walking down the street in Paris to buy a baguette at the bakery. Yellow is coming home to the welcoming arms of all the friends I missed so dearly. Yellow is joyful songs of praise on Tuesdays at Overflow.

Yellow is happy.

Process Piece The Story of a Girl You know sometimes when you’re sad you listen to super sappy songs on purpose that you know are going to make you even sadder but you don’t really care because you want to sit in those feelings so you don’t lose the memories of whatever was making you so happy? No, that’s just me? Okay well, have you ever heard the song that goes, “This is the story of a girl, who cried a river and drowned the whole world”? Yeah, my story is kind of like that.

It was my sophomore year of high school. At this point in life, things had been pretty good. I had a loving caring family and amazing friends, I was making straight A’s in school, I was on the number

33 one ranked soccer team in Oklahoma, and my relationship with the Lord meant everything to me. I had a lot going for me. I hadn’t yet known what true hardship felt like or more accurately, what heartbreak felt like.

Your heart can be broken for many different reasons. It doesn’t always have to be because of a relationship. That would be naive of us to think that, except in my case it was the most basic form of heartbreak you can think of. In a tale as old as time, a girl falls in love with a douchebag guy because her self-worth is quite literally in the garbage and she would’ve taken the first guy who looked at her in a romantic way. Let alone the new first-string star baseball pitcher who moved in from out of state. It doesn’t get more cliche than that does it? The last time I checked, that was the plot of at least a dozen young adult romance novels.

It seems like he’s always been part of my life, lurking around the depths of my brain carving out a piece of me just for him to reside in every hour of every day for years. Would you believe me if I told you it’s been seven years since I met him and I still think about him? Can someone explain the science behind that to me, please? I still remember the first time we met in the hallway of the Jenks High School Freshman Academy. I was standing at my locker with my head shoved in trying to hide my phone from the teachers passing by in the hallway when my friend Bryce disrupted my peace and quiet.

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“Hailey! You ready to go to class?” Bryce shouted over to me.

I pulled my head out of my locker looking annoyed to let him know that no I was not ready and locked eyes with the cutest boy I had ever seen walk these halls.

My brain started word vomiting. Who is this guy with Bryce? Hello, I would’ve recognized him before what is going on? WHY of all days is he with Bryce today! I look like trash, he is so cute! I had a tiny girl freak-out moment but I schooled my features into calm, cool, and collected.

“Oh hey, Bryce, who's your friend here?” I said to him.

With all the drama in the world, he replied, “Oh my apologies madam. This is Sir Jaden of Houston, Texas.”

I rolled my eyes and smiled at the dramatic tone and medieval language he was using but I stuck out my hand and introduced myself to Sir Jaden of Houston, Texas.

“Hey Jaden, I’m Hailey. It’s nice to meet you. Is this your first day?”

“Yes it is”, he replied, “it’s nice to meet you. Are you in our home ec class?”

My thoughts were flying. Oh my gosh, he’s going to be in our class?! I can’t decide if this is a good

35 thing. I mean, I’ll get to see him every day but also I can never wear sweatpants again so that sucks.

“Oh yeah Bryce and I have it together, that’s fun you’ll be with us now!”

The rest was history. We talked every day before class, during class, and after class for the rest of the year. He became a pillar in my life that I built my foundation around. I put my worth in him, my identity in him, and shoved everything else out. It was concerning enough that he was the only person I ever talked to or hung out with but most concerning of all, my relationship with Christ had been on the back burner for the whole year. It was as if Jaden became the sun my world revolved around until March of my sophomore year when my foundation came crumbling down on top of me.

I can’t even remember what our fight was about that day, all I remember is the sinking feeling in my stomach as he said the words, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore.”

I didn’t believe it or know how to process the fact that everything I had given to him was being thrown away. That’s what it felt like. Like he had taken every part of me, wadded it up, and chunked it into the trash bin in the corner like a freaking unphased basketball player. He didn’t even look affected. At that moment, I realized I had always cared about him more than he cared about me. As I felt my world collapsing, all I could think about was how stupid I was to have given him all of my worth, my identity, Next Gen Writing Partners

my time, my friendships, my relationship with the Lord, how did this happen?

Guilt like I had never felt before wrapped around my heart. I had been excluding my friends for so long and excluding the Lord for so long, how was I supposed to come back from this? Luckily, I was blessed with the most amazing support system in the entire world who didn’t hesitate to console me for one second when I told my friend group we had broken up. They were with me every step of the way, disregarding the way I had been treating them over the past year. I’ll never be able to thank those girls enough for loving me as they did despite all the times I had chosen Jaden over them. We watched sad movies, ate a lot of cookie dough, and cried enough tears to drown the whole world. While they were being so supportive, I was using that as a distraction from facing what I was truly wrecked about; the fact that I had pushed away from the Lord and given my identity over to this boy when I knew it was supposed to be rooted in Jesus.

I had been going to a Christian summer camp every summer since I was 11 and was going into my second year of the leadership development program the summer after all of this had happened. I was still devastated by everything that occurred that past year and was working day by day to rebuild the self-worth I had but I was still struggling with the idea that I wasn’t good enough for Jaden. I still cared so much about what he thought of me and was letting this break up define who I was. I didn’t want to take any

37 of this to the Lord because I was still feeling so ashamed for pushing him away, I didn’t want to face that. For the first time ever, I was scared to go to camp because I knew I was going to have to face the Lord and I didn’t feel ready. Thankfully, his timing is always perfect and he knows us way better than we know ourselves.

I spent the first two weeks of camp avoiding thinking about anything that had to do with my current situation or how I was feeling. I was going through the motions every day and playing along with the cheery camp girl all of my friends there had come to know until the Wednesday of our third and final week. The sermon we had attended that night was on nothing other than guilt, shame, and worth.

As I sat there listening, I could feel my heart start to race as my mind was flooded with everything I had been avoiding for the last six months. I felt worthless and I still wasn’t going to the one person who determines what that is. As soon as the message ended, I sprinted out the doors and ran onto the ball field in the center of the valley that had become like home to me. I collapsed onto the hard rocky dirt ground and sobbed until I had no tears left. I sat on my knees with my hands displayed in surrender as I felt the peace of the Lord wash over me. Everything that had been said during that sermon hit me like a truck and I had never felt anything to be more true in my entire life.

My thoughts were flowing, the only place that my worth comes from is the Lord and I am perfectly imperfect Next Gen Writing Partners

in his eyes. He says I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I kept repeating this to myself, I am fearfully and wonderfully made, I am fearfully and wonderfully made, I am fearfully and wonderfully made. My identity comes from who he says I am. I can’t explain the way the flip switched in my head. I had known all of these things before and hadn’t really taken them to heart but I didn’t question for one second if it was true or not. I knew who I was. At that moment I knew I was a daughter of Christ and that was where my identity was found. He didn’t care that I had pushed him away; he just wanted me to come back. I felt his open arms embrace me in spirit and comfort me as I sat on that dusty ballfield and cried.

It was the last piece of me that needed to click into place. I felt whole again. I am confident and I am strong. My worth doesn’t come from things of this earth that will fail me time and time again. I am enough. The liberation of a girl who didn’t think she was good enough.

39

Emma Wilson Emma Wilson lives in Perkins, OK. She is a junior at Perkins-Tryon High School. Some subjects she enjoys at her school would be math, science, and sometimes history.

She also enjoys some electives like art club and nasa group.

Outside of school, she enjoys walking her dog, drawing, traveling, and driving. She also enjoys working and meeting new people everyday. She tries to see the light of the new beginning.

Write-In Equanimeous Mindful Monkey Anonymous Process Piece (Infographic featured on the next page.)

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41

Elissa Miller Elissa Miller is a Senior and Secondary English Education Major at Oklahoma State University. She enjoys writing poetry, playing the drums, and going on hikes. Elissa is considering teaching high school English in the Dallas area after completing the program at OSU. Write-In The warm, radiant sun, rising in the morning reminds me daily of Your beauty, Your grace, enveloping me and warming even the coldest parts of my heart; softening what could never be softened without You. Unlike the sun; however, You have risen but have not set.

Not yet; not until you return in all Your Next Gen Writing Partners

radiant glory.

And then the whole earth will be made New and I can bask in Your glow for all of eternity.

Process Piece The Break Up Trial When I was in fourth grade, I was unsure of a lot of things: why I had anxiety, why I couldn't seem to grow as fast as my classmates, why “weird” was spelled that way. One thing I had full confidence in was my understanding of relationships. That’s right; ten-year-old Elissa Miller, whose only relationship with a boy had been that of a pretend engagement to Jacob O’Conner in preschool, knew everything there was to know about being in a relationship. Let me prove it to you.

Abby was my best friend and she was dating Jackson, my other best friend. The three of us were all in Mrs. O’s class, and that’s where our friendship as a trio began. Abby was a pretty, sweet, blonde-haired girl, and every girl in the fourth grade was desperate to be her friend. She and I were best friends because we grew up in the same Girl Scout troop and got along pretty well. Jackson was a little guy who ran fast and had a big heart. And he never had a line out the door of people wanting to hang out with him, so

43 he always had time to spend with me at recess or lunch.

Abby and Jackson’s “relationship” was all good and well for a while, and they did all the things fourth-graders in a relationship would do: greet each other by the lockers before going to class, sit by each other at lunch, and maybe even hold hands when no one was looking. One day; however, there began a shift in the relationship.

Towards the end of the school year, all of the students got to have a “field day,” where we were allowed pretty much all day to have fun outside with yard games, water games, and just run around and be a kid. In preparation for field day, all of the students had to decide who their field day buddy would be.

Abby, being the popular girl that she was, had a long list of people who wanted to be her buddy. She was agonizing over her list, so not wanting to burden her with an extra person on her list, I accepted Jackson’s request to be my field day buddy.

Field day came around, and Jackson and I spent the day playing games like all the other kids. Then, on the way to the dunk tank game, Jackson paused dramatically, looked at me, and declared that he thought I was “beautiful” and that he liked me “almost as much as Abby.” But not as much because Abby was a little “blonder” than me.

Looking back, this moment is hilarious to me. In the moment, I was dead serious. So I, being the wise fourth-grader I was, being knowledgeable of Next Gen Writing Partners

everything involving the ways of love and relationships, said that I thought we were “too young.” Jackson accepted this answer, and we continued running around all day outside.

Field day came to a close, and time went on, with Jackson and Abby continuing to “date” and me continuing to be both of their best friends.

About a month after field day, Abby wanted to continue being “boyfriend and girlfriend” with Jackson, but Jackson didn’t feel the same. So what was the next logical step? A trial, obviously. Yes, a trial. With a pair of lawyers, a handful of jury members, and a judge, all of the age of ten.

The trial took place on a hot summer day during recess, more specifically under the covered section of the playground. Jackson found me walking around outside, trying to figure out what I wanted to do during recess and who I wanted to play with. He came to me in a hurry with, “Elissa, can you be my lawyer? I need a lawyer.” Of course, I always wanted to be there to help out a friend, but I wanted to know what I was getting into first.

I responded with, “A lawyer? What do you need a lawyer for?”

“I want to break up with Abby, but she doesn’t want to, so we’re having a trial. And I need a lawyer.”

“Ummm let’s check it out first.”

45 The whole thing sounded ridiculous to me, but I didn’t want to disappoint my friend either. I felt like checking it out was a good compromise.

Jackson and I arrived at the playground “court,” and there we saw Madison, the judge, sitting up high on the playset wall because all judges sit up high and tall to, you know, judge you. Madison had big, curly, dirty-blonde hair that moved with her. Honestly it was, and still is, a masterpiece. It went well with the spark of spunk she had. Madison is an incredibly friendly person now, but at the time, her friendships were built on her terms. Her closest friends were her friends only; no one else’s, and she wouldn’t let them leave the friendship even if they wanted to. Madison said she could “see both sides” and that was why she played the judge. To the right was Abby, standing with an intent to win. To the left stood our friends Josie and Halle, the jury members of the trial.

As I took in the scene, I was overwhelmed by how ridiculous the whole thing was. Why were we having a whole trial over this? Why were other people so involved in Abby and Jackson’s “relationship?” And why did other people get to decide what happened between them?

So I spoke my mind.

I said, with conviction, “Why are we doing this?

Why are we getting involved? I understand that Abby wants to stay with Jackson, but Jackson doesn’t want to. If he doesn’t want to stay with her, he

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shouldn’t have to. And that’s that. They both have to want to be in the relationship; not just one person.”

I didn’t even stick around to find out what happened. I said my piece and left. This may seem like I was abandoning my friend, but they couldn’t have a trial without lawyers, right? A couple of minutes after I left, Jackson joined me. Turns out that they didn’t have that silly trial after all.

In the end, I was relieved for both of my friends.

Jackson didn’t have to be in a relationship that he wasn’t willing to fully commit to, and Abby didn’t get stuck in a relationship where the other person was distant.

I later asked Jackson why he wanted to break up with Abby in the first place, and you know what he said? “I think we’re just too young.” Ha! Sounded like he really took in my sage wisdom.

47

Ryan Murdock Ryan Murdock is a freshman at Pawhuska High School in Pawhuska. He is inspired to go to college, and work hard like his brother. He has a passion for creative writing, and is pursuing academic writing, such as research papers and narratives.

Write-In Yes, tattoos are something I’m very passionate about and I’ve always wondered what tattoo I would get. I decided it would be on my arm, and it would be a cross. In that cross, it would say “Mi Corazon”, which means “My Heart”. Or a Tupac tattoo on my leg!

Process Piece All I could hear was the sound of sirens. It was November 5th, a warm yet dark night, the next day my mom would have a doctor's appointment. My father came to me asking if I would go to the doctors with my mom, to which I was nervous about, yet agreed to get out of school. I went to bed that night with a very bad feeling about the next day. This is why I wish I went to school that day.

“Hey wake up, you have to go to the doctors with your mom, remember?” asked my dad.

To which I responded with angered groans. This would turn an already bad day even worse. I made

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my way out of bed and into the living room, where I was greeted by my mother and father.

As I looked towards my dad I asked “Do I really have to go with her?”

“Yes,” my father said with a clearly annoyed tone.

Annoyed, I proceeded to walk to my room and get ready. A couple of minutes went by and we finally left for the doctors office. I can vividly remember the smell of the car, it smelled like the cheap perfume my mother would always wear. I can hear the music playing from my black and red earbuds that I wore that day. I can still feel the dread of being in that car, I knew I should not have been there.

As we drove I noticed that my mom looked tired.

“Are you okay?” I asked sheepishly.

My mom gave me a solemn look and said, “I feel tired.”

As I was laying back listening to music with my eyes closed, I remember feeling a sudden jerk and, in that instant, it felt as if everything was in slow motion, it felt as if my heart was beating out of my chest. I looked over at my mom seated next to me…

She was asleep.

My head was dizzy, I felt disoriented, my heart was practically in my stomach, I felt nauseous, as if I would faint at any given moment. I looked around and tried to undo my seatbelt, the moment it clicked,

49 in a swift motion, my back slammed against the top of the car knocking the wind out of me. After a few moments I proceeded to crawl out of the wreckage through the shattered front window, the sharp glass cutting into me as I crawled. The next thing I knew I awoke to an EMT paramedic putting me on a stretcher, attempting to calm me down. At this point I was in utter shock, as if my soul had left my body for good.

When I was awoken it felt as if my life just fell apart. My left side was shattered, still troubled by the events at which just unfolded. For the next week I had to re-learn how to walk and I couldn't do anything for myself. The doctors told me that next week I would have to go through physical therapy. I thought that the worst of it was over, but I had no idea what hell the next week would be. As the next week came, that's when I really felt the worst pain of my life. I was in constant agony; I could barely sleep, my body was aching in pain and I wanted it all to end. It felt as if my mind and body were both broken, and nothing ever felt the same afterwards. The same thought ran through my head, “What if I just pulled the emergency break, none of this would have happened?”

As time went by my mind, soul, and body healed, but something was still missing. I tried out for football again, but as the practice and season went by, I noticed “I am nowhere near as good as I was.” If anything I was dead weight, and the coaches started getting on to me for not being enough. I started to Next Gen Writing Partners

skip practice and make very bad choices. As time went on I noticed I slowly fell out of love with the sport. And what took its place was a whole lot worse.

This is something no 13-year-old should ever have to go through.

If only I could go back and pull the emergency break, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe I wouldn't have been the one to have learned this lesson, but since I can't go back, heed my words: “this all could have been prevented if i just went to school that day.” Maybe by writing this I can stop the same thing that happened to me from happening to someone else, and make all the difference.

51

Adam Fraser Adam Fraser is a Senior at Oklahoma State majoring in Secondary Education: English. He is interested in Romantic and Medieval Literature and research, cultural and linguistic representation in young adult literature, and loves teaching. He plans to finish his collegiate career in OKC or another urban environment, and take his craft to Houston, Tx. Write-In When I first arrived here at OSU, I wrote a piece about my connection with my mother, and at the time I felt like I understood my feelings and connection with her. Over the years my perspective has matured, but that personal narrative set up the foundation I needed to both love writing and pursue my understanding of my own emotions. Since then, my writing has evolved, and that one story is my first intro to 5 years of pencil marks, page numbers, and beautiful ideas.

Process Piece A Sandy Narrative On Halloween 2012, I temporarily lost my home.

We were 4 blocks away from the Atlantic Ocean, watching the waves roll in. We trusted these waves, grew up near them, and spent our summers in them.

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My Dad always told us, “Never turn your back on the ocean, and always trust its absolute power.”

Boy was he right.

When my family and I moved to Long Beach, NY, we were happy and finally off that tiny island.

We were meeting new people, finding hope from the big schools, and the fun delis. I remember going to the biggest library I had ever seen, playing on their computers, and checking out book after book on mythical creatures, and brave knights. I was getting through school just fine, and I even met a new best friend the next year, when I was in the 7th grade.

October was in full swing, and Halloween was coming to greet us, ending the month in joy. My parents turned on the news like they did every morning, CBS News Sunday Morning, and I sat down with my cereal bowl to enjoy my last day off school before having to return the next day, Monday, October 22nd, 2012. Starting that Monday, the deadliest, most catastrophic, and most powerful hurricane of the 2012 hurricane season touched down; over the next 14 days, it would kill 233 people, and break records in storm surges from the Atlantic.

Hurricane Sandy ravaged 8 countries from the Caribbean to Canada, leaving families such as mine homeless, and afraid.

The first thing that happened was that noise, so awful and scary, it made my mom immediately begin to cry. To sit there scared was pointless, and so my brother ran over to the corner of the room.

53 “Mom,” his small voice chirped. “Is this where the bubbling is coming from?”

In the corner of the room, the floor was dark and spreading fast. Foam started rising from the floor and we did not know how this was possible. After seeing this, my Dad ran and threw open the door. A torrent, a river, a sleek stream of white and green had become our lawn, taking what should have been my mom’s tomatoes, my pitchback for practicing lacrosse, my brother's kickball, my dad’s shed, and replacing it with thick, rushing water. I remember my mom yelping, and my dad trying to stay calm and get us to higher ground.

“Come here!” He told each of us as he ran back and forth, with rushing water up to his waste, metal, debris, animals, toys, and more whipping and tearing at his flesh, as he carried us each on his shoulder to the neighbor's house.

He grabbed our dog, computers, and all the pictures, making sure all things that were irreplaceable were fine, and then it all went black.

When I woke up on the neighbors' floor, the only thing left from our house was the walls. There were sticks, seafoam, fish, and creatures littering the floor, replacing where the carpet was. The next day, when the city had finished inspecting for collapse, we were allowed to go back in and see if anything was salvageable. The only person who couldn’t go back in was me. The walls were black with mold, the kind of mold that I was allergic to, and my mom told me she Next Gen Writing Partners

was sorry and that nothing was salvageable, so I lost it all.

The feeling you get when you look into a place you cherished or called home when there’s nothing left but seafoam and soot is indescribable. A car, 2 months past paid off. A lion, mangled by tears and years. The only things we had left were each other.

Until my dad got that call. 1,596 miles away, a man called my father's phone number and asked us if we wanted a second chance.

Suddenly, Texas was beautiful and extraordinarily wonderful in my eyes. An opportunity arose, in a location so far away from the despair of that night. All I could hear was the bubbling, and finally, it got quiet. With a place, a car, and hope in our hearts, we drove all the way to the Lone Star State. To the deep south, where my people had a chance to make a new start.

Then I had a fresh chance at middle school, lacrosse, and then high school, and all of these compounding new starts came into focus and gave me that beautiful realization of, the past doesn’t define you. The choices you make, and the future you layout for yourself, makes you who you are.

In life, sometimes the worst possible scenario becomes real, and it hits you like a ton of bricks. I forgive the waves for taking the first gift I was ever given, only moments after I was born. I forgive the storm for making my baby sister cry, and my mom scared. I am thankful for the beautiful home I have,

55 and the chances I have been given to start anew. Life has an amazing way of creating a beautiful rainbow out of every storm, you just have to take the opportunity to find your pot of gold.

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Malachi Shaw Malachi Shaw is a 17 year old student at Lincoln Academy School. His passions include painting, writing, hunting, and other creative activities that peak his interest. In the future, he aims to attend Oklahoma State University and a trade school for Air, Cooling, Heating, and Refrigeration.

Write-In Creating a Marvel riddle: As we approached, I knew that it would be like losing my good shoe. I pushed as you fell. I couldn’t look as my heart hit the ground, but not shortly after my heart hit the ground, I lost my frown.

Answer: Thanos and Gamora Process Piece In a distant memory, I heard the creek of the old weak wooden floor as a vast and vigorous shadow appeared in my doorway. As it drew closer I could feel my heart racing, I could feel each breath as it left my lungs. As the figure made its presence known through the doorway with broad shoulders and stout build. But the mysterious figure had a sweet but mesmerizing smell that was almost familiar. Out of sheer terror I had pulled the linnins back over my small quaking body. As I felt the forces approaching the creek of the floor grouw louder and louder. It touched me…

57 That was the last time I had seen my μαῖα (mom) I lost my family the day the humanes attacked.

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Connor Latham Connor Latham is a 20 year old junior at Oklahoma State University majoring in Secondary Education: English with an honors addition. His passions consist of teaching, writing poetry, reading, and anything that comes his way.

He aims to teach in Oklahoma after graduating and be a welcoming educator for years to come.

Write-In Beckoning - still, still, still. The same thing rolls around in my mind, and I can’t seem to let go of it. “It isn’t my fault,” I remember telling myself over and over again; the way the void settles in my uncanny valley of the self - oh, it’s me again and again, ticking away, reaching out into nothing yet something.

Unaware. There’s water all around in this pitch black infinite space; I’m standing on the slow waves, pushing and pulling, calling me forth, spilling over into everything I am, I have been or ever will be.

Biting somehow, perplexing this space is - to keep me from the light, to let the blight live out on the yellow patch of roses scattered among the single ray of hope I have left. Again. Again.

Process Piece Hollow clangs echoed throughout the halls, bang, bang, bang, followed up with a can of food coming into the janitor’s closet. Leos sat on a dark gray plastic chair, staring at the can as it came into view.

59 The noises woke him up, but seeing the can made the experience all more confusing . With a groggy sigh, he stretched his arms and legs, feeling his flesh wake up for the first time today and stood, wavering in the slow shifting of the Mining Station tilting as it dug through another asteroid. All 5’ 7’’ of Leos moved his way over to the can of peaches resting in a small nook in the ground. Bending over, he reached out and felt the surface only to recoil and stumble backwards, hitting a cabinet of supplies on his fall and feeling various tools clatter against his head. Something to clean up later he thought, but that hardly mattered. A black substance fell from his fingers, and he rapidly shook his hand, allowing the goo to fly everywhere around him, and it picked up in a frenzy, as if it were snowflakes in a storm that spun uncontrollably until reaching a calm and falling to the floor. With the goo peppered around him, Leos used his hands placed in spots without much goo, to pick himself up from the ground and move out the doorway of the closet and into the main hall. It was dark, unrealistically dark.

The light above him had been shattered, yet there was no glass to be seen. As he walked in the deafening silence, he noticed how each light had been systematically crushed with the glass removed, except for one light he saw at the end of the hallway, right where the cafeteria is. The light was a soft blue, a stark contrast to the red of the planet seen floating outside through the windows built into the hull of the station. This light flickered, becoming blinding or disappearing at a moment's notice. Leos moved into the cafeteria, moving past the slightly ajar door with Next Gen Writing Partners

relative ease, excusing the black substance that reached out as if it had hands of its own.

61

Jacen Perkins Jacen Perkins is a junior at Epic Charter Schools from Cushing, Ok. His interests are apocalypse prepping, gaming, entomology, and marine biology. He hopes to go to college and double major in entomology and zoology. Jacen hopes to start a family pest control business someday.

Write-In Just A Common Entomologist Nerd What are three songs that you like the most, why?

Before the Devil Knows by Rodney Atkins I chose this one because it’s good advice and at times it gives me the drive to go on.

Jekyll and Hyde by 5 Finger Death Punch I chose this one because I listen to it when I have a lot of steam and anger built up. It helps me let it out.

Sugar Crash by Ely Otto This one I chose because it had an upbeat that reminds me of my ADHD and to be honest a bit I’m happier in those moments.

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Process Piece The feeling of camping at night has to be the most soothing experience. The embrace of the heat and burned wood smell. The sound of the bugs buzzing in and out of my ears. The snap and crackle of the fire sounds as if I have a bowl of rice crispies in front of me popping away. The warm breeze of the summer air is like a snug blanket around you and if you’re perceptive enough you may taste some rain rolling in.

There is nothing like the experience of night time camping.

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Maria Risley Maria Risley is a junior at Oklahoma State double majoring in Secondary Education: English and Spanish.

She is interested in TESOL research, cultural and linguistic representation in young adult literature, and loves teaching. She plans to study abroad in Granada, Spain fall 22 and someday hopes to teach abroad.

Write-In Paint Chip Poetry Today I feel purple But not the royal purple of heirs Rather the dark purple of a ruthless thunderstorm The purple of a fresh bruise that still stings to touch The lowest darkest depth of purple of the ocean carrying the weight of the world Yes, today I feel purple Process Piece Tus Guayaberas I still think of your eyes light honey brown showering wisdom upon the small grabby hands, the walls of your home covered in remnants of the life you could’ve led.

The head of the household, forever an immigrant stuck in a world built against Next Gen Writing Partners

you trying so hard to fit the mold.

I’m following your leather shoes down the aisle of church, the cold air hits my arms and I look up to see Christ your hands raised to high to the heavens and that booming voice singing off-key.

Your orange guayabera brightens the room.

I’m tasting the Cafecito you forever cherished, the papas only you could cook, and the smell of burnt toast floating in the air like the stories forever meddling in my head, The stories of Havana and the beach, of the music and celebrations held in your family home.

How many times have you traveled to Cuba in your dreams?

A dapper young man with five dollars in his shoe, A taxi ride later and you’re homeless and broke.

The wet, rainy, gloomy rides to Winn Dixie, on your bike an umbrella in hand somehow you still balance life and yourself.

I felt for you.

Your heart ever yearning for the unreachable home of your ancestorsAnd now you’re unreachable.

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Kyleigh Beierschmitt Kyleigh Beierschmitt is a student at Perkins-Tryon High School and is interested in early childhood education. She is excited to work with young children and help them understand the world and all of the crazy things that come along with that.

Write-In The color that I feel describes me best today is blue.

To me, blue represents the feelings of stress, and being overwhelmed. That perfectly describes my mood for the day. I have spent hours doing homework, preparing for large tests, and running on three hours of sleep. This combination has me feeling very not my usual calm self.

Process Piece Tomorrow is the first official day of senior year, which most people seem oddly excited for, but I know for a fact that nothing good will come of this year. It’s just like any other year of me pretending I don’t hate everything about school, despise my classmates, or wish my best friend understood me.

She pretends that she does, but every time I talk about how I wish things were different, or why I am upset that some jerk that I am supposed to call my teammate made fun of two guys holding hands, she

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says “I know what you mean, my cousin gets made fun of for watching Hello Kitty in her math class.”

That is not the same at all, and who the heck watches Hello Kitty anymore?

As I walk into the school with the team captain, Brett, at my side, it is as if the entire school stops to see what we’re doing. One thing I hate about being on a sports team is that the attention is always on me. I can’t talk to Amelia, my best friend, without somebody coming up to either judge her, or tell us that we are a cute couple.

Her first instinct is to play along and say something like “That’s what I keep telling him, but apparently I’m just not his type.”

Which, in my opinion, gives the girls false hope that it is actually them that I am interested in.

I ignore everyone who says my name, waves in my direction or stares as I pass and head in her direction.

“Leo, hey man,” she punches my shoulder.

“I think I want to quit the team,” I tell her, completely catching her off guard.

“Really? You have to start that so early in the morning on the first day back? Come on dude, why not start off small and whine about how sad you are that summer ended?”

67 Ouch, I think that hurt more than the punch.

“Oh,” I frown, looking away from her.

“If that’s…um if that is how you feel, then maybe I should go.”

She looks confused, and it’s almost like she expected me to say, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just being my ridiculous, extreme self,” and tries to stop me when I walk away.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean that. Leo, please, come back.”

“No, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be around you right now.” I tell her as I grab my stuff and go to my first period calculus class.

“Great, just what I need right now, useless math that makes no sense,” I mumble to myself, already over today.

I watch Amelia as she walks into the classroom with her head down and sits with her friends from the Yearbook Club. She looks over at me, frowning. It takes everything out of me to not tell her to turn around and stop looking at me as if she is the victim in this situation instead of looking down and playing with the rings on my fingers. I feel bad, but at the same time, I know I shouldn’t. She doesn’t get me, she acts as if everything I do is the worst thing possible, and if I even bring up anything about being queer, she pretends to understand, but it is quite

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obvious that she doesn’t want to be a part of the conversation.

“Not sitting with your girl James?” One of the guys on the team asks.

“First off, my name is Leo, and second, she is not ‘my girl’,” I apparently yell, seeing as the entire class is staring at me.

“Okay, okay, calm down man.”

One of my biggest pet peeves is being told to calm down. It makes me even more angry, but I don’t have a chance to tell the guy this since he got back up from the seat and sat next to someone else.

The teacher comes in and sighs as if she doesn’t want to be there anymore than we do.

“Good morning everyone, I am Mrs. J. The first thing we are going to do is start with an introduction activity. You will say your name, your pronouns and a fun fact about you.”

Oh no. Amelia looks back at me again with a hint of sadness in her eyes, as if she’s saying “This is probably your only chance, but please don’t take it.”

There is finally a chance for me to come out, to be the person I am on the inside, but would it be a good idea to take it? Deep down I know the answer, I should. I deserve the freedom that everyone in this room experiences. Nobody has to hide themselves here. Except me.

69 Apparently I missed out on all of the people in the class’ answers because as soon as I tune back in, the person next to me was giving their answers. Then it’s my turn.

“My u-uh, my name is Leo,” this is it “my pronouns are um…he/him,” no they aren’t, “and I really love football,” no I don’t. I can’t believe that I was stupid enough to do that. I just allowed my fear to ruin my happiness again.

“My name is Luca, my pronouns are they/them and-” What? Did I hear them right? There’s another queer person in here? Wait, that means I just did exactly what I get mad at everyone else here for doing. Assume. How could I? I frown and put my head down, dozing off for the rest of the class period.

I thought I hated myself before, but I genuinely can’t stand myself anymore.

I wait until the classroom is almost empty, barely reaching Luca before they leave. “Hey, um can I talk to you?” I ask them.

“If you’re going to be a jerk then no.” They reply.

“No, no of course not. I..um I was just wondering how you have the confidence to come out?”

“Oh.” They smiled sympathetically.

“Well, I just look at life like this. If it makes you happy, do it. If it’s who you are, share your truth with Next Gen Writing Partners

the world. Be out, be loud, and be as proud of yourself as you are of….of your team after you win a football game. Everyone deserves happiness, love and acceptance for who they are. If people hate you for that, then forget them.”

Wow. I guess I never saw it that way, but it makes sense.

“Yeah, you’re right. Um I have to get to class, but can we talk later?”

“Definitely. Here’s my number.”

I smile at them and walk to my next class, which is Drama. If there is anything I can get away with, without coming out, it’s taking this class. I have always loved theater, but sometimes people assume that I am just using it as a free class, and I am forced to go along with it. Hopefully not this year. I hope to have this class with the accepting theater girls that welcome everyone. I look around the classroom and smile. Not a single jock. This is definitely going to be my favorite class this year.

By the end of the day, I have decided that I am going to officially quit the team and might even go as far as coming out at school. I’m walking to the coach’s office to let him know that I am quitting when Amelia comes up to me. “Hey, what are you doing?” she asks, smiling at me.

“Going to talk to Coach. Talk later?” I didn’t even look at her, but kept walking.

71 “Hey, Coach, got a sec?” I peek my head in the door.

“Sure, what’s up? Come on in.”

I walk inside the room, close the door and sit down.

“Um, so first I just want to tell you that I don’t think being on the team is a good idea for me anymore.”

“Are you sure? Is something wrong? Did someone do something?”

“No, I have decided that the game just isn’t for me. Also, I um…I’m-” “Oh.That’s okay. You can be gay and be on the team.”

“I’m not- okay, yeah I am.” I sigh and look away, no longer feeling comfortable in the room. How did he know so quickly?

“Listen Bud, that doesn’t change anything about how I or the team feels about you. It’s obvious that some of the guys are homophobic, but you’re our family. Do you understand that?”

No. “Yeah, I guess, but I feel like I should be pursuing other things.”

“Well, whatever the case, I’m proud of you, Son.”

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If somebody told me that this is how this conversation would have gone, I would have called them a liar.

“Thanks, Coach. Can you please keep this between us?” I ask him, looking around the office.

“Of course, Son. Please keep me updated.

Whether you fully choose to quit the team or not. I still would like to know what’s going on in your life.

Now get on out of here.”

I walk into school three and a half months later and look around, searching for Luca. Once I spot them, I head to where they are. “Hey, L. How was your break? Also, why do you look so nervous?”

“It was good, uh today’s the first day back since um…” I trail off.

“Oh yeah. Don’t worry. Nobody’s making it too obvious that they hate you.” They smile at me.

“Hopefully it stays that way.”

“If it doesn’t, you’ve got me.”

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Emma Hosey Emma Hosey is a student at Oklahoma State University and is interested in English Education. She is looking forward to becoming a high school English teacher to share her love of reading, writing, and people.

Write-In Today, I felt purple. There is a mix between a serene calm and a nervousness, as I am doing something I have never done before. I think there's beauty in that.

Purple, to me, is the favorite pen of my favorite middle school teacher, who always pushed me to try.

She’d say, “When in doubt, write more, not less.” I guess that’s what I have been doing ever since.

Purple is the dim night sky, or maybe it’s twilight on an evening where the moon is only somewhat visible.

It’s quiet, like I tend to be.

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Process Piece SHE WROTE: An Elegy for Brain Flowers SHE had never been much for keeping SHE alive Not that SHE’s a killer SHE just didn’t know how Some days SHE would drown the brain flowers From Too much work Too much talk Too much love And SHE would wither with SHE In SHE’s garden Other times SHE could never Get Enough work Enough talk Enough love And SHE would fade from yellow to brown like SHE’s brain SHE ALWAYS WONDERED ABOUT IT

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Arianna Riding In Gonzalez Arianna Riding In Gonzalez resides in Pawnee, OK. She currently attends highschool as a junior at Pawnee Public Schools. Some of the hobbies she enjoys include journaling, spending quality time with family and friends. Arianna is also passionate about Powerlifting and being culturally involved with the Pawnee Nation.

Process Piece Indgenous. I feel as though being indegouns is a blessing but it is also a burden. It's hard being native.

You have to sacrifice a lot of time, sweat and effort.

You have to carry on the tradition, because if not you, then who? The sad part is watching my ukka and uppit grow old. As their grandchild I have a responsibility to remember what they teach me and pass it on. I do as they ask because I am their granddaughter and they helped raise me. It is true when people say “it takes a tribe to raise a child”. As they get older, they can't do as much as they once did.

The responsibility falls to the grandchildren with younger bones to do the labor.

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Carolina Lopez Carolina Lopez is from Sonora, Mexico. She currently lives in Stillwater, Oklahoma. Carolina is a doctoral student in the Ph.D. in Education – Language, Literacy and Culture program at Oklahoma State University. She holds a Master’s Degree in International studies with a focus in Human Development. Ms. Lopez is registered as a Writing Project Teacher Consultant, where she currently assists with writing grant management that involves training teachers to teach cognitive skills to English Learners. When Carolina is not writing or preparing a lesson, you’ll find her at a lake enjoying some fresh air and using her kayak.

Write-In Kayaking is Life It’s my way of turning to a different page It’s my “go-to” over weekends It helps me reflect on how waves are like life challenges Although it may be hard to row sometimes, I’ve learned there’s always a way Kayaking is life

77 Process Piece Twenty eight years of discovery Though I’ve started to gaze my eyes towards many directions A success of not assuming I’m unique but of everyone’s uniqueness not just my own Myself rather than someone else i breathe i acknowledge I’m me From dolls to tax returns From childhood to adulthood Here I am… being myself Inspired by Self-Portrait with Profanity by Safia Elhillo

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Kalie Kinsey Kalie Kinsey is a Sophomore at Perkins-Tryon Highschool.

She was born and raised in Perkins, Oklahoma. She spends her free time with her plants and animals. She hopes to make a career out of her passion for her hobbies.

Write-In The first Personal Narrative is about my first Poultry Show with my grandpa. It takes you through the experience of when I got to see thousands of birds all in one place. It is the story of how my passion for raising all sorts of birds started. Enjoy my piece entitled, “Taking Flight.”

The Second Personal Narrative is about my love for books. How books helped me feel less alone and continue to take me on journeys in my everyday life.

Enjoy my piece, “My first memory was a book.”

Process Piece #1 Eight years ago, my life changed for the better. It was a Saturday morning and I woke up in the backseat of the car. As my grandpa drove us through Shawnee, Oklahoma.

My grandpa glanced back to see his little grand-daughter staring out the window, “Are you gonna pass out on me again?” he chuckled, as a giggle escapes my mouth.

79 The car suddenly slows down to the big white buildings. They looked like mountains with people flooded around them, carrying cages right and left.

You could hear the animal calls from all directions making me wonder if we accidently went to the zoo.

The car stopped abruptly and grandpa got out to open my door to this whole new world.

The smell of wood chips hit me first. Grandpa had led me through the crowds into the mountain-like buildings and the sight was breathtaking. People walking between the endless rows of cages and chatting between themselves. The creatures lined the tables with their colorful, patterned feathers, pulling your attention even from afar. As we walked further, my eyes glued to everything at once as we passed.

My grandpa somehow always points out the prettiest birds and gives a little speech about each.

“See the auburn colors on that tail…Watch the Pouter strut at the judge…Oh look one got out…THEY HAVE SILVER BAR HOMERS!” We explored these new lands finding wonder after wonder sharing each smile and frown as we went on. As I started pointing out the strange colors and patterns on our journey too. His smile grew like the grapes that thrive on the vine. So I found more birds to point at and directions for us to explore, because even though I was a little girl. I wanted to keep that smile on his weary face just a little longer.

Practically yelling over the crowds I cheered, “FOOD!” Next Gen Writing Partners

Grandpa turned to me to see the hotdog stand and as we enjoyed our meal. He recalled his old coop.

“That cement slab at the front of the house, you remember? It used to be where I raised my birds.

Back then, I won trophies and bred the finest reversewing Pouters in Oklahoma!” He proclaimed, I could see the twinkle in his eyes as he told me about his competitions and victories.

Little me only half listened as I stuffed a hot dog in my face. Making the occasional sound to show him I was still listening, “Hmmm…wow…okay.”

When my food was finished he rambled about the importance of breed colors as we entered into the judging arena.

This room was almost like the rest, rows of cages with birds inside. Thousands of people on belchers lined the walls, but what caught my feebile attention was the coats. Men lapping the tables poking the birds through the cages, stretching the birds wing span or calling at them. Each one wore the same white, long lab coats that touched the floor. The only difference between them was the back of the coat.

Each held a specific breed vibrantly woven into the back of the coat. They seemed to take flight as the men raced between tables.

“Those are judges,” grandpa whispered.

81 My silent question was written on my face so he quickly followed with, “No, you can’t go to talk with them, they're busy right now.”

As I pouted, we watched from afar as the judges took birds from their cages and examined them. Most being put back, while only a lucky few made it to the last group of cages. There the birds stood proud and while some people in the crowd cheered. Others slumped over like they were just told they couldn’t have a cookie before bed. We only stayed until the long silky ribbon was put on the winning cage and kept strolling through.

Finally, our trip ended in the selling room. Here the same beautiful creatures stood in cages, but on the outside there was a price tag. We made it to the back corner of the room to see a bunch of kids looking at birds with their parents. Each child on the floor begging and others trying to convince them that they will do their chores. So they could have the birds in the cages that had a price tag in black, bolded words, that read, FREE PAIRS. My little body radiated with energy when I looked at my grandpa. My silent question hung in the air as I made puppy dog eyes.

Grandpa sighed at my acting and without another word pushed me towards the cages. After a few minutes grandpa and I left the buildings and headed towards the car. As he started up the car, I held close to my chest a small petco carrier, with a white and black pigeon and my new future wrapped around my arms.

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Process Piece #2 I recall the little girl that would beg for her brother's attention like it was yesterday. All she wanted to do was be involved in their fun time. They looked so happy with the neighborhood boys, shooting BBs at the cardboard targets. But what cool kids want to be caught dead with their baby sister when no one else on the block had one? So as they shoot round after round, laughter fills the air around them. That little girl cried on the front porch, just wanting to know what she did wrong. She knew what she did, but would always exclaim that it wasn’t her fault, it was.

That's when her Mom came outside, she gave that little girl one good, all knowing look, then at the boys in the distance and let her come inside. She never let the kids come inside, not when the hot summer sun burned brightly in the sky. That fact meant nothing to the little girl right now though, as long as it meant she didn’t have to hear her brother’s laughter, without her. So she sat at the wooden dining table still not being able to appreciate the cool breeze that came from the machine in the wall, for what felt like eternity to a little kid. That was when she saw her Mom put the brightly colored work of art on the table. Dr.Seuss it read Ten Apples Up On Top painted in white on the bright lime green book. She read that book millions of times that afternoon. Then made a picture of herself and started cutting out apples to put on top of her “head”. She was so happy, the book and art project leaving the past few moments on the porch in the dust, even when the boys finally came inside.

83 As years pass, she sits in her room, nose deep into a Geronimo Stilton, Kingdom of Fantasy book.

Locked inside her room with only the book to keep her company. Not wanting to hear the world around her. She tunes them all out to listen to play dancing in her head, but all too early her eyes had no more lines to search. She was left again, alone…

Nowadays, the girl doesn’t read as much as she would like to. She loses herself in an endless cycle of what she calls her life. The task of today and days to come fill her life with mostly dread and exhaustion, but when she can find the small cracks in her time.

She explores new lands of mythology with Percy Jackson and strange realms of fanfiction on Wattpad.

Her life is not what she planned it to be yet, but these are cards she was dealt. She was used to playing with these bad hands now. No longer expecting to get the happy ending handed to her. Everyone has their ups and downs, but she knows one day that when all the hard work is done and sleepless nights have passed.

She will be sitting in an older wicker rocking chair by the fire, finding new worlds to travel along. In between the ink and paper locked inside the hard spine cover, that keeps its secret little world protected from those that are too afraid to look inside.

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Jordan Young Jordan Young is a third year English, Secondary Education Major at Oklahoma State University. She is originally from Denton, Texas. She has hopes of becoming an 11th grade English educator, as well as hopes to publish her own YAL novel. In her free time Miss Young enjoys music and theater performance.

This Personal Narrative is about my journey through finding my love for performance in High School. It is a story about finding your passion for something you love to do. While crafting this project, I was actually surprised at how I could remember all these memories from so long ago but once I sat down to write, more and more memories kept coming back to me. I really enjoyed this process. Not only did it make me feel better as a writer but it also helped me understand myself more and everything I went through. It also gave me the ability to reconnect with an old passion of mine, which I missed dearly. Enjoy my piece entitled “The Love Of Performance.”

Process Piece I had never danced in my life when I first started High school: I had always thought dancing was so much fun but I had never taken lessons in my life or anything. Dance parties in my room with myself or my friends was about the only thing on my list of qualifications for being a dancer.

85 A week before classes started my Freshman year the dance team was having tryouts, all my friends were trying out so I thought why not? It couldn't be the worst thing and if I make it I get to go into High school knowing a small group of people also it couldn't hurt to make a couple new friends.

Now when I had told my parents that I was thinking about trying out for the dance team they were in shock “you can't even walk let alone dance”, my mother said while laughing, to her dismay though she did pass down the clumsy gene to me and I had done my fair share of falls, tumbles, and crashes by that point in my life, When I had told my parents that I was thinking about trying out for the dance they were in shock, the kind of shock that makes your jaw hit the ground long enough for a couple of flies to fly through.

“You can’t even walk let alone dance,” my mother said while laughing, but to my mothers dismay though she did pass down the clumsy gene to me and I had done my fair share of falls, tumbles, and crashes by that point in my life, “If you make the team, you can do it,” said my mother, which was good enough for me, so I signed up.

During the week of tryouts, I was a real mess. All I thought about was dance, dance, and more dance. I really did try my best though, I would practice every night at my house after tryouts were over, and I Next Gen Writing Partners

would even get to tryouts an hour earlier so that I could practice more. I was determined to make it: even though I wasn't the most qualified girl trying out, I worked hard, I had a good attitude, and I just smiled the whole time, mostly because I was actually having fun and I was extremely nervous.

When the day of tryouts came I had butterflies in my stomach all day, I couldn't even eat until the tryouts were over. The tryout process was such a blur as well, I remember walking out there with my group, my heart beating out of my chest, and then we were done. I was so nervous my fingernails were chewed to the nub, I waited hours and hours after the tryouts ended waiting until they posted the results.

My phone lit up, my eyes in shock and in tears …

“Buzz, Buzz”, my phone lit up, my eyes in shock and in tears…

“I made it! I made it!” I screamed running down the stairs to tell my parents the very exciting news.

My Freshman year on the dance team was extremely rough for me: like I said I had never danced before, and even though you make the team you are still required to try out for every single performance we did. This meant every single pep rally, every single football game, and every single competition dance.

I only made maybe about a handful of dances my first year on the team. You might think that this was sad and this might have took a toll on a person, which it did trust me but I was always determined to

87 do better and it never really cut me too deep because I knew that our team performances had to look good, and I wanted our team to look good, so if that meant that I couldn't perform, I was okay with that.

I feel like it is important to share that I am not one of those people that can just pick up a new skill or hobby and can just automatically be amazing at it. I have always defined myself in everything I have done in my life “not the best, but not the worst,” I would say that I have always been average.

Something had changed in me the summer before my Sophomore year, the leaves were falling and it was time for change.

I had spent all summer practicing dance, watching videos, going to dance workshops, always trying and waiting to do better. To my surprise I actually did improve a lot! I came back that school year and was doing extremely well in dance.

Along with my passion for dance, I have also always enjoyed music, therefore I had been in choir since I was in 5th grade.

One day while eating lunch with my choir teacher before our class started, the theater teacher walked in…

I had never really formally met the theater teacher, but my sister who was three years older than me did theater all throughout High school, so I had

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seen her many times, her name was Mrs. Shamp, and she scared/intimidated the crap out of me.

She sees me when she walks in, she definitely knows who I am and Mrs. Shamp says, “Jordan, are you going to audition for the upcoming musical?”

I said, “I have seen the posters and I was thinking about it a little but I have never acted before.”

Mrs. Shamp shrugs her shoulders and says, “There is never any harm in auditioning, you might be surprised.”

I have to admit, I didn't pay that much attention to choir class that day, because what Mrs. Shamp said really sat with me for some reason, so when I got home that day from school I called my sister to talk to her about it because I didn't know the first thing about acting or auditioning for a musical.

My sister was so ecstatic that I was showing an interest in theater, especially since when she was in High School I always called her weird and strange for doing theater because who would just go up there on a stage and do stuff that could embarrass you like that… definitely not me.

The day of auditions for the musical finally came, and I felt sick to my stomach because of how nervous I was. I don't remember much, just going in there and trying my best but I actually felt really confident after the audition was over.

89 “Buzz Buzz” my phone goes, the cast list was posted! I couldn't believe my eyes, I just kept checking and checking all night long to make sure that it wasn't a mistake.

Not only did I get a part in the musical… but I got a leading role in my first show ever!

While doing dance for all four years of High school and theater for three year of it, I came to an epiphany…

I was in love with performing I loved the feel of the stage and football lights on me I loved the way it made me feel about myself I loved the way I could become a different person when I performed I loved the rush and joy that came with a great performance In all reality performing saved my life, gave me the emotion I needed in life, and made me the person I am today.

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In gratitude…

A very special thank you to all the teachers who nurture the hearts and minds of writers so that they can be, now and in the future, our storytellers and poets. And thank you to our students for showing us the way.

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Oklahoma State University Programs What is Upward Bound?

Upward Bound is a college preparatory program designed to provide academic skills and motivation for students who are interested in pursuing an educational program beyond high school. Students generally enter the program in the 9th or 10th grade and remain through graduation from high school and entry into college.

Upward Bound gives the high school student a chance to learn first-hand what college life is all about and helps the student develop skills necessary to succeed in college. The program emphasizes reading, writing, math, science, and study skills. Personal, career, and academic counseling is also provided.

Upward Bound is one of the federally-funded "TRIO" programs that allows selected educational institutions or agencies to provide fundamental support to participants in preparation for college entrance.

422 Scott Hall, Stillwater, OK 74078 (405) 744-9378 trioub@okstate.edu

What is Secondary English Education at OSU? Empower lives through teaching grades 6-12 in your chosen subject of English, foreign language, mathematics, science, social studies or art education.

Why secondary education at OSU? We integrate classroom curriculum with field experiences in schools that help you facilitate positive educational outcomes for your students. Upon degree completion, graduates are recommended to the Oklahoma State Department of Education for full teacher certification and are prepared to take certification exams in other states, if applicable. The high-quality reputation of our program makes graduates highly sought after for teaching positions in Oklahoma and beyond.

Department: School of Teaching, Learning and Educational Sciences College: Education and Human Sciences Available At: OSU Stillwater Campus