The Northwest Passage: Volume 55, Issue 3

NW PASSAGE

Too

Growing

OUR PASSAGE

The purpose of the Northwest Passage is to relay important and interesting information to the community, administration and students of the Shawnee Mission Northwest High School.

As a news magazine, the Northwest Passage will cater to the interests and concerns of the student body. Outside concerns and activities will only be covered if they somehow affect the school or students.

The Northwest Passage is a news magazine. The paper will be distributed monthly. Subscriptions will be available to the community for $25.

The Northwest Passage firmly supports the First Amendment and opposes censorship. The

content of the newspaper will be determined and created by the entire staff. When questions concerning word choice, legal problems or ethics arise, the editorial board and adviser will discuss the problem to find the solution. In these cases, the editor-in-chief and editorial board will have the power to make the final decision.

Letters to the editor will be accepted and encouraged. The staff reserves the right to edit for grammatical mistakes, length and good taste. Letters may attack policy but not people. In no way will ideas or viewpoints be changed. The editor-inchief and editorial board reserve the right to refuse any letter.

PUBLICATION OVERSIGHT

Editor-In-Chief Izak Zeller

CONTENT MANAGEMENT

Copy Editor Sofia Ball

Design Editor Greta Grist

Photo Editor Ashley Broils

Photo Editor Kara Simpson

co-Social Media manager Ashley Broils

co-Social Media manager Bella Alvarado

WRITERS

Grace Rau

Zia Carter

Emma Wycoff

Jesus Lara Rivera

ADVISER

Chris Heady

DESIGNERS

Bella Alvarado

Kennedy Woolf

Stella Miyares

Will Fandel

in Room 151.

Photo by Kara Simpson

TOO

by Greta Grist

design by Bella Alvarado

My feet are swinging in the air, higher and higher off the ground. The blue sky behind me, my sister beside me. The rusty old chains hold me to the rapidly aging plastic swing, pinching my palms, but I don’t jump off. I can’t lose to Stella. I have to get higher than her. I can’t admit defeat.

She’s older and taller, so inevitably I lose but I just can’t handle it. I could get sad, angry, or be a team player and pat her on the back. But even given the choice, I would always cry and slam my door. I would insist on staying silent at the dinner table, because even when I lose a childish game I’m too much.

Now, I can’t even fit in the swings of my old play set collapsing from decaying wood and rusted bolts that sit right in front of my kitchen window. And I feel every growing pain catching up to me.

I look in the mirror and I see my mother, but somehow I still feel thirteen. I’ve grown to dread birthdays, summers and first days of school. I avoid the thought of a future, especially not one past the age of twenty-five. I put on lipstick and I look like a child who got into their mothers makeup bag. I clutch any independence I get, but dread the thought of an apartment.

I am everything and nothing of what I’m supposed to be.

Always “too loud,” “too quiet,” “too old,” “too much” and never enough. I’ve molded myself to match every trend, stapled myself to what was in and tore myself apart because of what was out.

Cropping t-shirts to throw them away a month later because oversized is in.

I’ve sucked in my stomach because low rise Levi’s are all the rage. Now it’s high waisted mom jeans and cargo pants.

I look back at elementary yearbooks with my badly cut bangs and Justice t-shirt and it almost doesn’t feel like that was me. I knew everyone’s name in 3rd grade, we shared animal crackers and played foursquare. The girls didn’t care what people thought of them and the boys didn’t know the power they held with their words. We played soccer, lava monster, tag and sat together on a colorful carpet.

Now, I watch the girls I grew up with scurry side to side

in the hallway because, God forbid, the boys move instead when there’s not enough room.

Be small so a man can be big.

Be quiet so a man can be loud.

Be just enough, so a man can be too much.

After fifth grade, the lessons of believing you can be anything you want turn into lessons of how to make the boys like you and how to protect yourself from them. From age 10 all I’ve ever wanted was to be liked. So I learn to be flexible and morph myself into what people want me to be.

“How do I look?”

“What do I wear?”

“Was I too loud?”

“Did I talk too much?”

I feel like I’ve utterly lost any sort of self I’ve ever had because I left myself up to interpretation. I can’t tell if I like who I’ve become or if I’m tolerated.

I’ve let every word I’ve been called consume me. I’m “too bossy,” so now I hate group projects. I’m “too stubborn,” so I don’t fight for anything. I’m “too headstrong,” so I settle for less.

I’m too much, even when I feel like I’m not enough. But on the other hand, I look in the mirror and I see my mother. A strong, independent woman, who knows exactly how smart she is, and isn’t afraid to show that. She doesn’t change herself to meet old-fashioned expectations that don’t mean a thing. Be exactly who you want to be, regardless of what others think. Being “too bossy” is what gets you promotions, and being “too stubborn” often gets confused with standing up for yourself and that’s never going to be a bad thing. How you feel about yourself is the only opinion that matters.

My old swing set sits vacant with a tree growing through the old rotting wood. I’m convinced it’s from the apple seed I planted in fourth grade. I couldn’t swing if I tried, but I still hold onto the rusty chains like I did before everything changed with age.

Growing up I always felt like too much, but I’ve come to learn that’s never a bad thing

Sophomore Greta Grist applies lipstick Sept. 25 in the privacy bathrooms. Photo by Addison Griswold

NO ESTOY SOLO

A peek into my dreams, into my past, my present and into me

by Jesus Lara Rivera

The class booms with noise, peers all around me talk about their day, their weekend and their life. All while I sit there silently in my seat, staring into the emptiness of space.

Somewhere deep inside I wish to be among them talking, laughing and living. The thought of even starting a conversation makes my heart pound. I haven’t said a word and my face has already turned red.

Slowly, I fade in and out of reality, from the classroom to the place where dreams live.

I can’t keep my eyes from closing. I’m trying to keep the sky from falling. Sandman blows his sand into my eyes. Blinding and binding me to his realm of dreams. My chair turns to smoke underneath me and the earth opens up to a void.

Dreams are special, like nothing else. They can take you anywhere, anytime. Today my dream takes me to the past. ***

Snow slowly fell to the ground, its cold touch chills my skin. My phone is ice cold, and it sticks to my hands. Tears slowly rolled down my face.

He’s gone.

All it took was one phone call to break me down into pieces.

All I wanted to do today was crawl into a hole and cry. But the constant messages from people break me down even further.

“He was a great man. He will be missed,” they say to me. “It’s okay, just cry, let it all out.”

On Monday, Dec. 5, 2022, I got a phone call from my older sister, Yuridia Lara. Thirty or so days before, he had gone missing somewhere on the border between the United States of America and Mexico. They found him.

“Jesus - lo encontramos,” Yuridia said, sobbing through the phone.

Three years without him, three years alone and in a vaccuum. His face, his smell, his voice, his laugh has disappeared from my mind. Yet I have a phantom somewhere in my head, like a police sketch I see him.

The big game plays in my mind. The day that my papa promised would come, the day we watched a big game. The Royals are playing, we sit high in the stadium looking down as they throw the ball. Bang.

The ball hits the bat and rings throughout the stadium. My papa’s smile is bigger and wider than I had seen it before.

He’s gone and I will never see that smile again. Tears slowly roll down my face like a river, I can’t stop them. I don’t want to. ***

I awake suddenly, a tear rolling down my face. Alone, surrounded by people, I sit there, just staring.

I pull out my phone, I want to talk to them, I want to talk to my friends. I tap on an app, the infinite circle of boredom appears on the screen. No service.

I get lost in thought and with each passing moment I go deeper and deeper into my mind.

The room seems to slow, their voices become sluggish and distorted. I zone into the emptiness, I fade in and out. Everything seems to fade away from me.

The smell of my mom’s cooking is all around me. The smell of fresh chicken stock mixed with garlic and onion, of freshly made rice, chopped cilantro, onion, and jalapenos. It makes me feel at home.

My cousin and my friends sit around the couch. I sat down and without trying I entered the conversation. Hours passed and we just kept talking and never even questioned why.

The sun slowly went down and one by one they left. Why? I don’t know, they just did. Even the smell of my mom’s cooking has disappeared. Soon enough I sat there all alone, staring at nothing, talking to nothing, doing nothing. Even here in my dreams I am alone.

There’s a knock at the door. A familiar knock, I hadn’t heard for years. As I walk closer the smell of perfume gets stronger. I open the door slowly. He’s just standing there as if he never left. I jump on him and as I hug him I squeeze him, as maybe if I do he may never leave again. Tears rolled down my face.

“No estás solo mi gordo. - No estás solo.” ***

The bell rings and the floor rumbles like a drum. The sound pulls me up and on my feet. The smell of perfume lingers in the air like a dream in the back of my head.

“No estoy solo.”

The words weigh themselves in my mind, until they feel right. Until they feel like they belong there.

I’m alone, I’m not alone. I have my mom, I don’t have my dad. I have friends, who I don’t talk to. I have a cousin who’s like my brother, but he’s far away. For every positive there’s a negative in its shadow.

How can I find peace?

Sometimes balance is easier to gain, sometimes it takes time. Today it takes too long and so I put on a smile and walk away and continue with my day. Maybe tomorrow I will gain balance but not today.

“No estoy solo.”

FORKS D W N

Starbucks vs. Dutch Bros

by Zia Carter designed by Kennedy Woolf

Starbucks: Iced Pumpkin Spice Latte

Starbucks Iced Pumpkin Spice Latte had a much stronger pumpkin flavor and an amazing caramel addition. The coffee flavor was still present, but definitely took a back seat to the delightful pumpkin spice taste I bought it for. The drink had an amazing combination of bitter coffee and sweet dessert. The whipped cream was even more rewarding than the coffee itself. Its cinnamon spice and sweetness emphasized the drink’s already delicious qualities. I even began to like the whipped cream more than the drink itself. The only downsides were a mild headache the excessive sugar gave me, and the smaller portion for the same price as the Dutch Bros drink. But I’d buy it again anyways–after all, it’s worth it. I rate it 4/5 stars.

Dutch Bros: Caramel Pumpkin Brulee Cold Brew

An aesthetically pleasing and well-loved drink, I was excited to try Dutch Bros Caramel

Pumpkin Brulee in a cold brew.

At first it was underwhelming. The taste of coffee was very bitter, and it had only had a faint trace of its promised pumpkin flavor. The whipped topping was also disappointing. An amazing opportunity for more flavor fell flat, blending right in as though it were never there at all.

However, I can’t deny that bitter coffee is a rare plus for some, since many nice coffee places have too much sugar and not enough coffee. The price, $5.85 for a good-sized medium, was also pretty good, and I did enjoy the drink the more I got used to its qualities. the more I drank it.

Overall, Dutch Bros Caramel Pumpkin Brulee cold brew was quite bitter but just right for those who hate super sweet coffee. But while other people can appreciate it in ways that I don’t, it didn’t live up to my expectations and isn’t something I would buy again. I rate it 3/5 stars.

FINAL

The Starbucks Iced Pumpkin Spice Latte is definitely worthy of being a fall drink. Its pumpkin spice and caramel flavors are sweetly striking but not overwhelming, and the cinnamonsprinkled whipped topping adds a whole new level to its taste. These flavors remind me of a forest full of red-leaved trees or a cozy evening in a cottage home.

The Dutch Bros Caramel Pumpkin Brulee has a faint, bitter taste in comparison. There is also only a small connection to the warm fall flavors in its advertisement. “Salted caramel”, “pumpkin”, “cream”–almost none of these flavors are noticeable in the drink. In my opinion, the Caramel Pumpkin Brulee is a worthy fall drink for people who decorate with beige and white pumpkins–because it isn’t necessarily bad, but lacks the festivity of most fall items.

On one side, Dutch Bros has a bigger portion and left me with some extra energy. While Starbucks costs the same but for a smaller portion. It also left me with a small headache. Yet the Starbucks drink is worth more than the Dutch Bros one. Starbucks has amazing flavor followthrough, delicious whipped topping, and more fall festivity than the Dutch Bros drink. Dutch Bros Caramel Pumpkin Brulee had a dull, almost nonexistent flavor, and was too bitter for my taste. So, while Dutch Bros costs less for more, Starbucks costs more for more. Starbucks is worth the price–and the small headache. So…

Starbucks wins.

NO MATTER WHAT

NO MATTER WHEN

by Sofia Ball design by Bella Alvarado

April, 2017.

Senior Maddie Yepez works through the struggles of her childhood

Senior Maddie Yepez gets dropped off by her best friend Mia’s mom, in her 2007 silver honda.

She can see the lime green slip from a mile away, the big red letters almost blurring her vision.

“Shit.”

“Maddie, Marina’s right there,” Mia said, gesturing to her three year old sister in the back.

“Thanks for the ride.”

She darts out in her sweatshirt and black leggings, across the lawn, up the concrete steps, face to face with the screen door of her home.

Was her home.

I’m gonna cry.

I’m gonna cry.

Embarrassment turned her face beet red.

Oh my god. What do they think of me and my family? Who else has seen this? Who else knows?

She crumples the paper and runs inside.

Eviction notice.

No more late night talks by the pond, where she took photos of the geese with her Canon camera.

Eviction notice.

No more days at the pool across the street, playing sharks and minnows in her american flag bikini.

Eviction notice.

No more spaghetti and hawaiian rolls on the new couch binging six seasons of Glee.

Eviction notice.

Boxes had littered the apartment for the past week, her favorite accent piece, a yellow love sign that hung in the living room, strung with fake flowers and candles sat wrapped in plastic, mocking her.

“I knew it was gonna happen,” Yepez said. “A part of me really didn’t want it to.”

That evening her mom got home at 5:30, when Yepez showed her the green slip she said “Well we’re already packing.” and went upstairs.

That made Yepez angry, really angry. How could her mother of all people not care? How could she allow this to happen? Couldn’t she have done more? Yepez knew this wasn’t true but a part of her was still unsure.

In a week they were out, they grabbed the stuff from storage and moved into Carlyle apartments, where they got evicted again. Then they moved to the Boulevard with her big sister Jasmine and her fiance.

But this time was different, Yepez was in middle school now, Math was harder, she was sleeping over at Mia’s most nights and when she wasn’t she had to listen to the screaming matches between her mom and her sister. She got to a point were she couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t keep eating dinner in her bedroom, avoiding her mom. She couldn’t keep pretending she was fine.

That’s when Jasmine broke the news “I’m pregnant,”.

The timing couldn’t have been worse, and her mom couldn’t have more upset, threatening to leave every other night.

“After a fight, my mom came in the room to say we were leaving,” Yepez said. “I sat and said ‘I can’t, I wanna stay somewhere more than

a year’. That’s when it flooded all out, the first to the second eviction, all the domestic violence growing up. She was just crying. She kept telling me how she was so sorry and she knows how bad it’s been. How I’ve seen way more than I should’ve at the age of 13.”

They hugged, tears streaming down their faces.

They packed their stuff and moved to Retreat of Shawnee, but this time was different, not in the way it had been before.

Yepez and her mom talked. They talked about her dad. They talked about the 20/90 Yepez got on her Psychology final. They talked about drama and boys. They went shopping. They bought tickets to see “The Little Mermaid” at Cinemark.

Yepez was no longer angry like she was before, her mom looked different, calmer.

And when she turned 16 they got tattoos.

Her mom’s forearm saying No Matter Where in swirly ink, hers saying No Matter What.

Yepez is 18 now, and she’s moved a total of seven times.

“I don’t know where I’m going to college,” Yepez said. “I don’t know if I’ll graduate. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop living with my mom. But I know that even if I’m 40 and half way across the world and I need my mom she’ll be there.”

Standing with her mom, senior Maddie Yepez smiles at the camera Sept. 29 in Room 151. Photo by Anna Marie Torres

There’s more than meets the eye with Olivia Beck

December 2022.

Winter break had just ended and Olivia Beck could barely get out of bed, every inch of her body ached. She couldn’t even keep a spoonful of strawberry yogurt down. Her best guess was that she caught a stomach bug from her cousin, who came down from Kansas City, Missouri for the holiday.

Beck had never taken a Physics class in her life, and the more she forced herself to read chapters from the online AP Physics textbook the more it felt like someone had emptied a vacuum canister in her head.

A JCCC student sent the link to his Canvas, with some cash and a deadline of a week to submit a three page assignment. She gave herself two days. It’s how she kept business smooth.

It started freshman year.

Beck was the shy kid, who had just moved to Shawnee from St. Charles, St. Louis.

She was smart, classmates noticed. She didn’t talk often, she got her work done fast and right the first time, an overachiever, an academic weapon.

She started doing homework for her friends to be nice. Some Orchestra, mostly Math, every once in a while a Shakespeare essay or two. Then it escalated.

Before she knew it, she had 50 customers and an extra two or $300 to spend each month. Which Beck usually used on anyone but herself.

Beck’s friends always called her “the smart one”, which annoyed her. Smart implied that things came easy, that it was talent, which it wasn’t.

Easy is not the way to describe Beck’s life.

Her parents had her at 19 and split before she was born.

Every woman on her mom’s side had a child before 20 and she came from a military family.

“My mom said school comes first every day of my life,” Beck said. “Dad

says I can do whatever I want as long as my grades are good.”

Students see her in the hall, in her Arizona t-shirt and sweatpants, speedwalking to College Trig, teachers listen as she rambles on about In The Time of The Butterflies. Everyone knows her as the girl who will do everyone’s homework, except for all her teachers and her parents. Either way, no one sees the tears in her eyes around Christmas. No was standing in the doorway when her mom broke the news, wrapping her in a hug as tears rolled down her face. The day she found out her cousin, whom she would’ve called her brother, died of a drug overdose.

No one felt the awkwardness of having a strange man in the house. Her mom got off of work one day and her new boyfriend trailed behind, bringing four stepbrothers with him.

“He’s goofy sometimes and mean when he wants to,” Beck said. “I love him now, I just didn’t like sharing my mom.”

No one was on the phone with her mom when she told Beck her grandma had passed away from cancer.

“It didn’t register to me that the people I was close to could pass away at any time,” Beck said.

But school was simple, Math had the answers, English was just words on a page, Biology was memorization. Beck likes doing others’s work, she

her teachers, she likes making her parents proud, she likes the 10/10’s, it makes her feel special. It helps her get away.

If you were really close with Beck you would see her love for scrap booking.

“Because I’m 85,” she says.

Or her obsession with true crime and forensics, her natural talent for roller blading and baking brownies. You would know that her favorite thing to cook is fettuccine alfredo and that her mom is her best friend in the world.

“I don’t really want people to know about what I’ve been through,” Beck said. “I don’t want them to see me that way.”

But not many people do, and not many people will get that chance. People will still see her as the girl who will do everyone’s homework, except all her teachers and her parents.

likes being busy, even if it means pulling all nighters, she likes that she can shut down.

She likes getting praise from

EASY A

by Sofia Ball

Vast numbers of students stress about homework

% of students that stress about homework

93% stress

7% don’t

design by Stella Miyares

photo by Finn Bedell

THE ASK

Sophomore,

almost lets a summer crush break her friendship

She thought Caleb Smith was going to ask her homecoming. They had talked every day over summer, texting and Facetiming to keep in touch through their busy sports schedules. Only seeing each other on the way in or out of practice.

“I like him,” Paige Johnson told her friends. “I don’t know if he likes me or not though.”

But Johnson and Smith were no secret. Her best friend, Mia Brown was a little upset about it but that was normal. She got over it fast.

Brown liked him in seventh and eighth grade on and off. At the beginning of sophomore year, she caught feelings again.

Smith and Brown started hanging out more. They were always talking on the phone. Eventually, Brown called around 10 o’clock at night to break the news to her best friend.

Smith had asked her to Homecoming.

She said yes.

Johnson was pissed off, but she didn’t tell her best friend that she felt betrayed.

Most people don’t get asked to homecoming. Johnson thought she was getting asked by her summer crush and he asked her best friend instead. People can always go with a group of friends but it’s not the same. People want to be asked.

“She prioritized him, which I thought was really rude,” Johnson said. “We’ve been friends since kindergarten. She’s known me longer.”

Johnson held off on telling the truth. She didn’t want to deal with the drama.

That’s why Johnson couldn’t just “drop her.” Both girls play on the volleyball team, share the same social groups and a couple classes. Johnson didn’t want to start anything with someone she saw on a daily basis. It wasn’t worth it.

“There’s definitely times where she

by Emma Wyckoff design by Greta Grist

flaunts it. And I kind of want to say something,” Johnson said.

Johnson might eventually say something, but she wasn’t planning on it anytime soon. It was a summer crush and she needed to move on. Brown and Smith were basically dating now. “I don’t think I should be the reason that they can’t do anything,” Johnson said. They were kinda cute together. It’s okay.”

One of Johnson’s guy friends asked her to homecoming. She said yes. They just went as friends. She wasn’t trying to make anyone jealous. The girls had been friends since forever. They had never fought over a boy before. And Johnson wasn’t going to let one ruin their friendship. She just wanted to move on and have a good homecoming.

She saw them there and it was fine. She was there to have a good night.

Paige Johnson

Photo by Kyra Highlander

THE PRICE OF A DREAM

Danie Eaves didn’t expect to be on homecoming court. But she wanted to be, really wanted to be. So when her name was called over the intercom as one of the ten girls nominated for court, her eyes lit up. She jumped into the air, her classmate’s cheers and congratulations ringing in her ears. It felt like a dream come true.

And then, she heard about the cost.

The dress, the shoes, the hair accessories and the convertible. It was a lot. A lot, a lot. And it weighed down on her as her friends and fellow court members sent pictures of their beautiful $500 dresses into their group chat.

Was her dress good enough? She couldn’t help but wonder.

It was $125.

Only $125.

Eaves loved her dress so much — the glittery navy blue fabric, the square neckline, the lace up back, and the mini train. She felt beautiful when she wore it, like a princess on her way to her coronation. But still, something in her heart whispered, “Is this enough?”

Eaves’ situation isn’t unique.

When you’re nominated onto court, you’re simply expected to pay for all that entails. For girls, this often includes three dresses —

Sitting in a car, seniors Danie Eaves and Tad Lambert wave to the crowd Sept. 28 on Caenen Ave. Eaves and Lambert were voted into court by the senior class. “Getting on court was an incredible experience,” Eaves said. “It was great being able to experience the tradition and community brought along with it.” Photo by Ashley Broils

one for photos, one for the parade and one for the crowning — new shoes and getting their hair, nails and makeup done. On top of that, there’s pressure for court members to rent a convertible to ride in the parade.

by Grace Rau design by Greta Grist

Homecoming court expenses aren’t feasible for some families

But this isn’t feasible for some families.

“It’s expensive,” court member Kayley Givner said. “It’s pretty expensive. It also comes with realizing that I have a privilege a lot of other people don’t have.”

Givner spoke with spirit club leaders and Dr. Gruman about making court more affordable for those less well off financially than her after being nominated for homecoming court.

“Everyone [should be able to] have the experience, not just those who can afford it,” Givner said.

Currently, Northwest is able to offer court candidates trucks to ride in for the parade, but students generally disapprove of it.

“[It] is looked down upon,” Givner said. “No one wants to have to ride in the truck.”

Northwest also has a clothing closet — which includes formal wear — that any Northwest student can use. Court members could also rewear their dress for all three occasions to cut costs, but that’s looked down upon, too. The Love Fund could potentially provide aid to cover costs of court as well, says spirit club sponsor Morgan Moberg.

Northwest isn’t considering changing the amount of assistance they provide either, according to Moberg.

“The financial aspect of [homecoming court] has nothing to do with what the school does,” Moberg says. “It’s in the candidate’s hands. I think the problem is, is that there’s a strong tradition — especially with homecoming — that there are several outfits. That’s a tradition at Northwest, but we have nothing to do with it.”

Despite the expenses, Eaves has loved the sense of community that has come along with being on homecoming court.

“I didn’t expect it to be this fun,” Eaves says. “Everyone’s super nice and super sweet. I don’t know, it’s just giving, like, girlhood, with all the girls sending their dresses and being like, ‘Oh my gosh you look so beautiful!’”

But, moving forward, there’s a push to make the homecoming court experience more financially accessible to the entire student population.

“I really hope there is a change in the future of Northwest through making it more inclusive for people who don’t have the money for [court],” Givner says. “I don’t want homecoming court to turn into nothing more than a flash of wealth.”

A sophomore cross country runner struggles to get out of his older brother’s shadow

It’s a Saturday at 6:45 p.m. The last 200 meters of the twilight race, Rowan Bartelt is on the ground.

His breath is heavy, and his stomach whirls like a hurricane. He thought he felt a sprinkle until he looked down, it was his own vomit. He’s nauseous and lightheaded. His legs throb with pain. His lungs feel heavy.

It’s hard to breathe.

Thirty seconds pass, Bartelt gets up. He wipes his mouth, takes a deep breath and begins running.

To finish the race.

To get out of his brother’s shadow. ***

Bartelt stands in front of a mirror, in his house, the day of the race, looking himself up and down. He touches his back, it no longer hurts.

Six months before his race Bartelt had received a back injury which devastated the way he ran. He was unable to run like he once used to for a long time, shattering his routine.

All it took was one bad jump, one loss of balance and bam, his back was done for.

Six months ago while Bartelt was doing his triple jump during practice, he went too far during his last jump, lost balance and poured his weight onto his lower back causing it to fracture. It felt like nothing so he thought it was nothing.

As the months went by the pain got worse. Until one day when enough was enough, he went to the doctor.

“So I had to get in a back brace, and then like stop running completely” Bartelt said.

He’s taken his time, training, working out and trying his best to get in shape, all so that he can run once again. And it’s worked, he can run.

He’s confident, more than normal. He’s been training for two weeks, he feels stronger and better than before. Confidence fills him up.

But something still plagues his mind.

Someone he wishes was there, someone far off in Fayetteville, Arkansas, someone who has him trapped in his shadow.

A shadow which contains an international baccalaureate diploma and a Seal of Biliteracy in Spanish. Varsity cross country and track, State president of Business Professionals of America, Chapter vice president of the National Math Honor Society, member of the National Spanish Honor Society and a member of the National Honor Society.

The shadow left by Lincoln Bartelt.

He’s tried. He’s run all the miles, he’s worked out by the track, he’s done the strength and core training and even on special occasions, when temperatures rose, he did pool running. He even joined the classes and clubs Lincoln recommended.

All of this and more because of his brother.

He ran because he ran.

He practiced because he practiced.

He pushed himself because he pushed himself.

The Bartelt brothers have been compared multiple times, by family, friends and especially their coaches and teachers.

“There’s been little things and big things like people at the beginning of the season, last year when I was a freshman,” Bartelt said. “People called me like Lincoln’s little brother”

Bartelt wants to change this.

by Jesus Lara Rivera design by Greta Grist

Sophomore Rowan Bartelt runs Sept. 30 at Baldwin Golf Course. Bartelt ran the 5k race in 22:08. “My meet was difficult to be completely honest,” Bartelt said. “The first mile I thought I was doing well, but as the race progressed I realized that I wasn’t going to keep up my pace.”

The crowd roars with applause and cheers.

One runner crosses, two runners, and then a dozen.

Bartelt is there making his way through the finish line.

He holds his stomach with one hand and with the other he holds his back. The pain in his stomach is small, it’s worse in his legs. But the thought of his time fills him with anger.

In a span of six months, Bartelt got worse. A year ago Bartelt would have been able to finish the race in 20 minutes, but that day Bartelt got 22 minutes and 45 seconds.

It’s over now. The sun has gone down and the air feels cooler. Some runners are out of breath, some are celebrating, but Bartelt just stands there at the finish line, thinking.

Why am I even doing this if I’m not even going to get better?

His time was bad, really bad. He ran out too fast, he ate without knowing that his stomach would push it back out.

He was too confident and he pushed himself more than he should’ve.

“My parents just said, it doesn’t matter what time you get,” Bartelt said. “Just finish the race and don’t worry about it”

But he did, just like Lincoln did.

Those last 2 minutes and 45 seconds matter more to Bartelt than

Photo by Cooper Evans

FIGHT

Congress narrowly avoided a government shutdown

by Izak Zeller

FEDERAL

On Sept 30, congress passed a temporary spending plan that allows nonessential government services to remain open hours before the government was due to shut down. This could have affected every federal worker except for workers involved with public safety, who are deemed essential. Those employees would have worked under backpay.

The spending plan that directs the US government runs on a fiscal year. It starts on Oct 1 every year. By then, congress needs to enact 12 annual appropriation bills, each setting different budgets for various government agencies.

To make it law, the House first has to propose a bill and pass it. Next, it gets sent to the Senate, which also requires a vote. Then, with approval from the president, it becomes official. In the case of a spending plan not being done on time, congress can pass a Continuing Resolution. This allows for the government to stay open for 45 days running on a temporary spending plan.

Recently, House Republicans have been infighting about the most recent spending bill. A far right group of Republicans have been pushing for massive spending cuts and no aid to Ukraine. Though other Republicans think it’s too conservative for a bipartisan Government.

The far right Republicans also said they will vote House Speaker Kevin Mccarthy out of his position, if he doesn’t meet their demands.

In a surprise move by Mccarthy, he worked with democrats at the last second to create a Continuing Resolution that cut the far right ideals, but still didn’t include funding for Ukraine. It passed in the House, Senate and was signed by the President hours before the deadline. This temporary plan funds the government until Nov 17, meaning this fight will happen all over again sooner rather than later. This temporary plan funds the government until Nov 17, meaning this fight will happen all over again sooner rather than later.

1. Include the Housepassed “Secure the Border Act of 2023” to cease the unchecked flow of illegal migrants, combat the evils of human trafficking and stop the flood of dangerous fentanyl into our communities.

2. Address the unprecedented weaponization of the Justice Department and FBI to focus them on prosecuting real criminals instead of conducting political witch hunts and targeting law abiding citizens.

3. End the Left’s cancerous woke policies in the Pentagon undermining our military’s core warfighting mission.

The House Freedom Caucus’ Demands, statement on Aug 21, 2023

and Zia Carter design by Will Fandel

Senior Izak Zeller Holding paper with stamp in room 151.

Photo by Jack Pischke

was a ride playing that character, as I did write him,” Larkin said. “I felt I was able to do him justice by playing emotionally.”

MONTH IN MONTH IN

1. Junior Mateo Jurani runs in a cross-country race Sept. 9 at the Olathe District Activity Center. This was cross country’s second meet of the school year. “The best way to do good is to stay in the right mindset,” Jurani said. “I try to think about other things to distract myself from the pain and exhaustion.”

Photo by Braden Bazzel

2. Putting on a show, sophomore Gabriel Larkin yells at sophomore Sienna Dehaemers Sept. 8 in the Auditorium. Larkin and Dehaemers performed the scene “The Note” during the show “Crazy 8’s”. “It

Photo By Haylee Bell

Senior Cooper Newkirk Cheers with the crowd Sept. 15 in the SM North District Stadium. The theme for the football game was USA. “USA is my favorite theme of the year,” Newkirk said. “It was one of the loudest football games that I have seen at Northwest.”

Photo by Ashley Broils

3. Kicking up sand, freshman Lilly Christy chips out of the bunker Sept. 14 at Prarie Highlands Golf Course. The sand trap can lead to golfers adding unwanted strokes. “My main goal is making it out in one shot,” Christy said. “Which can be difficult at times because you have to hit it just right otherwise you end up back in the bunker or overshooting it.”

Photo by Sidra Sakati

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IN PHOTOS IN PHOTOS

6. Painting on a canvas, Lillia Kleinow works on her project Sept. 22 in Room 7. Painting often involves the use of layering to achieve different effects. “The most consistent techniques I use when I paint are prepping my surface with a color wash, then I go in with an underpainting,” Kleinow said. “When I’m in the detail stage of my process I like to raise the textures in some areas of my painting such as the eyes and any plant life or foliage.”

5. Concentrated on her work, sophomore Calla Hardison is makes a pot Sept. 22 in Room A. In her ceramics class, she creates pieces of art out of clay. “My favorite thing about ceramics is that it is so tactile and never boring,” Hardison said. “I really love that when a piece comes out of the kiln it’s a surprise to everyone on how it turned out.” Photo by Maddi Roof

4. Seniors Cameron Kelly and Gabriel Hoskins celebrate after scoring a touchdown Sept. 15 on the North football field. The Cougars lost to the Jaguars 14-7. “I felt really good about [scoring a touchdown] but I felt like I didn’t do enough to get that W for my team,” Hoskins said. “But just wait for it, we are going to turn it around.” Photo By Ashley Broils

Photo By Braden Bazzel

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Crying, senior Lily Chalfie gets crowned 2023

Homecoming Queen by alumni and 2022

Homecoming Queen Erin Moody Sept. 28 at the SM North District Stadium. It’s a Northwest tradition for the previous year’s queen to crown the new one. Photo by Kara Simpson

I was so happy Erin got to crown me because her and I are really good friends. It made [the crowning] so much more special. - senior Lily Chalfie