Atelier 2017

Atelier

2017

2017 Atelier Staff Senior Editors: Catie Nolan, Kate Oelkers, and Vanessa Revilla Junior Editors: Elizabeth Anthony, Madeleine Dugan, and Lindsay Everhart Faculty Sponor: John Morgan XII Emily Condlin Noor Samee Luisa Vosmik

XI Caitlin Biggs Madi Haine Katie Hogan

X Claire Bowes Caroline Boyd Izzy Gaenzle Elle McNeill Addie Simkin

6001 Grove Avenue Richmond, VA 23226

IX Sophie Rice

To the readers, writers, photographers, painters, and designers...to those who doodle in their margins... to those who write, sitting in the sunshine, with a chewed-up red pen...most of all, to the artists: Thank you. We have loved receiving your submissions, and we are endlessly grateful to feature them in this year’s issue of The Atelier. Without you, this publication would not be possible.

Our imagination would be dull; our campus would be less vibrant. You have been brave enough to share your personality, memories, and dreams with us through your words and art. And now, we click our keyboards and flip pages as we prepare to send your voice and lens out to others to surprise them, to comfort them, and to inspire them.

Thank you, and keep creating.

The editors of the 2017 ATELIER: Catie Nolan, Vanessa Revilla, and Kate Oelkers Madeleine Dugan, Elizabeth Anthony, and Lindsay Everhart

* Front Cover- Vanessa Revilla, XII * Back Cover- Maddy Fratarcangelo, XII 1

Lily Ernsberger, IX

THUNDERSTORMS When I cry, I cry like a rainstorm With heavy rainfall And blue and purple lightning bolts under the storm clouds that are my eyes.

The wails of my voice mimic those of crackling thunder And the pit of my stomach in where the rain catches.

When I cry, I cry heavily.

Almost as if my eyes need to be puriďŹ ed of the horrors and tragedies they have seen.

Tears not ceasing to fall until every spot is clean of the sins of humanity they have done their best to forget.

If only my soul had tear ducts.

Elizabeth Anthony, XI 3

BE QUIET

Rachel Page, XI

Noise Noise, noise, noise Loud, loud, loud Run, run, run Go, go, go That’s all I seem to do I just want to Stop Be quiet Listen Take a break Dream for a while See where life takes me Drift aimlessly Float on dreams Be quiet Listen for the crickets The soft sounds at night Birds chirping in the morning The little sounds The ones you tend to miss In the hustle and bustle The rush and hurry The noises of the days The constant stress in every moment Everything would take a minute Everything would pause Just be still In that quiet moment So, listen Be quiet 4

Susanna Plageman, X

AS THE DAYS GO ON Jamie Newton, X

As the days go on, I define myself more and more with the word, “sick”.

And I have a desire to do so.

I long for something to define me and as I come closer to appearing to be stitched back together, that yearning for sickness grows and consumes me through every breath I take.

It hurts almost as much as the moments that I could not bear to take another step.

Shouldn’t I be thankful?

I have the chance to diminish this grim logic that grips onto my very being.

I understand how difficult this is meant to be, I understand that the light at the end of the tunnel will soon draw near.

But, the steps I have to take to reach the blinding light that I am supposedly promised to reach are too poignant at times.

I ache and I crave for the moment that I will feel the weight of a million bricks lift off my shoulders and bury themselves into my past for no one to see, not even me.

I won’t have to continue to watch my friends enjoy their life-filled bodies, while I sulk in my own sad, tortured body.

I am aware that as this pen glides against the journal laying against my touch-yielding, freckle-covered thigh, that I do have the strength to feel the rays of glistening recovery on my skin.

But I am also aware that all I will want in that moment is the ailing body I am aware I once had.

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DRAMA Ava Gardner, IX They live off of it as if they consume it, Their tongues charred black after they finish.

Their ears burned and blistered listening to what others say, knowing it’s not true but lighting the match and letting the flame spread anyways.

Gulping it down as if it’s air, The sticky words clog their lungs like gasoline, suffocating.

For the victims, unknown before, become named.

Named as prey.

As food, feeding the fire And I, all I can do is sit and watch because all that will happen either way is I become engulfed in flame.

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Hannah Robertson, XI

THE PUZZLE

Liddy Wade, IX

It’s a terrible way to live, trying to grasp the spirits that linger in the bodies surrounding you.

Taking and taking, what isn’t yours.

It’s a crime that can’t be condemned, an animal that can’t be caged.

You rip the puzzle apart, only to jam the pieces back in a different order.

“They won’t fit,” you tell yourself.

Your heart won’t listen.

To keep from drowning, you yell for a lifeline.

Little did you know the lifeline was just out of reach.

All these opportunities to take someone’s spirit, fit the puzzle, and reach the lifeline.

But why take others’ spirits when you had your own, rip the puzzle when it was already together, and jump into the ocean when you had the safety of the boat?

Why waste a life trying to find a new one?

Seren Bilgeturk, XI

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Callie Clements, IX

LITTLE GIRL As the little girl ran down the wooden steps that Christmas morning, in her reindeer covered onesie, she stopped in awe. She saw what she had been waiting all year for. A pink bike covered in sticker owers with training wheels attacked. Before a week passed, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl was riding like a pro. It didn’t take long for her to convince her parents she no longer needed the training wheels.

When the time came to travel down the largest gravel covered hill in her neighborhood, the girl was ecstatic. In her T-shirt and polka dot shorts, naive to the idea of a fall, the girl headed down at full speed as she heard the wind rush past her and felt leaves brush against her face. She made it all the way down injury free. It was when she pressed the brake to stop herself at the bottom of the hill that she ew off the bike and skid her knee. That is the moment for which there is no name.

Anna Brugh, XII 8

TRAVELS Shepard Williamson, XII Rushing through the crowds, And finding your way, You reach the destination.

But you cannot settle yet.

Put away your belongings And find your seat next to that stranger.

But don’t talk to the stranger, Take out your headphones And listen to your relaxed music.

Find time to gather your thoughts, And reflect on the last two weeks.

The people, the places, the food, the lessons.

The car rides, the flights, the buses.

But especially the people: Memphis, New Orleans, Fairfax.

The pictures and the videos will keep your memories alive.

Social media will keep the relationships alive.

But who knows if you will ever have an experience like this again.

You hold on to it, On that last flight home, Until your parents greet you at baggage claim.

Kali Hodges, XIII

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THIS IS THE MOMENT FOR WHICH THERE IS NO NAME Katie Hogan, XI

The pen between my fingers quivers, shaking from cramps crammed together somewhere in between metacarpals and bone tissue. The near-soundless scratch of words against paper hums between my ears. The faint sound of my story unfolding before me catches a heartbeat, stealing it away from my natural rhythm. The split second of emptiness burns into my brain, the memory remains tangible hours later to remind me of my budding addiction.

The moment in which I first recognize I have missed a heartbeat yanks the corners of my lips upward. I have found my fire again / It is in this moment in which I realize I am utterly obsessed building paragraphs and personal essays, with forming constellations from letters and twisting nouns into verbs. I realize I am beginning to think in lines of poetry-- simple dialogue is fractured with line breaks, commas splice the air hanging between words not meant to be separated, metaphor shadows the edges of basic thought. All of this swirls in my head, and I terrify myself with the tsunami of syllables and syntax that rests under my tongue, waiting to surge through my veins to my fingertips, waiting to be slammed into a keyboard or scrawled between college-ruled lines / I realize now the potency of my addiction, as I robotically scramble to weigh the fears of inadequacy that surface with my realization that maybe I could be good after all with the urgent craving to unchain the story squealing for liberation from my throat. As is the nature of any addiction, I am out of control. The words slip before I have a chance to quantify the value of expressing them over the value of remaining hidden, talentless, unspecial. The escape my fingers, and I’m free before I have a chance to acknowledge what just came over me.

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Catie Nolan, XII

MONSTER MASH Haley Robb, XII

With a creak, the beast arose from the cold table. I had tried a new saline concentration combined with an electric jolt, but had seen no initial reaction. Yet from the corner of my eye, in the moonlight streaming in from the gothic arched window, I saw him twitch and jitter with seemingly random muscle movements. Sitting up, straining newly awoken abdominals from a different cadaver than his legs, he groaned. I could see skin stretching almost too tight over his sinews.

Tender, unused, bare feet hit the stone oor and he timidly began to twist his ankles to an inaudible beat. This monster began a dance I’d never seen. A paranormal signal was sent to other ghouls. Filling my laboratory was every monster nearby, zombies rattling chains and werewolves howling to the irresistible tune. I didn’t just create life from death, I created the most successful monster jukejoint in all of Transylvania.

Helen Poole, X

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POEM #3

Shala Munn, XII

That daylight wastes in our dark Not sleeping at four Wasting our days No magic occurs

One of my friends She doesn’t eat She stays in bed And watches the world on a 12-inch screen

I’m sleeping now So is my town All of my friends They party alone So do our folks But I haven’t gone dancing all night

Maybe one day we’ll learn Loving the world It’s pretty damn hard Especially when it’s so mean

Born of the world wide web We don’t know right from wrong Only having fun Everyone’s numb To explosions on TV But they’re studying business They’re studying Freud I’m studying noise

Carolyn Pratt, X 12

But I haven’t gone dancing all week Born of the world wide web We don’t know right from wrong Only having fun Everyone’s numb To explosions on TV But they’re studying business They’re studying Freud I’m studying noise

AHOGARME

Madeleine Dugan, XI

El mar vive en tus ojos y creo que puedo nadar por horas en el agua tan azul, como el cielo sin nubes Pero, eres tempestuoso y tengo miedo que voy a ahogarme Porque el agua en tus ojos hace frío y tiene hielo como un cuchillo Si mi amor por ti es un barco, ¿se puede navegar por esos tumultos?

Y si mi barco se rompe en tus olas, ¿puedo sobrevivir en los restos del bote?

Tus ojos no responden a esas preguntas, pero creo que ya saben las respuestas Porque las olas en el mar de tus ojos Están caminando sobre mi corazón vacío Quiero nadar por tus ojos como un barco perdido y mirar un faro en tu alma como el sol Pero mi boca solamente te siente la sal del mar cuando lloro durante tus tormentas Sé que no me quieres, y no puedo vivir en tu mar Pero, si debo morir en tu agua, con la mentira que me amas Puedo ahogarme felizmente en tus ojos

Susanna Plageman, X 13

Catie Nolan, XII

SAFE

Claire Bowes, X

Under the covers. Resting my head on the right corner of my careful positioned pillows, I make sure no skin is exposed to the surrounding air. I shift. The cocoon around my body peels back. I immediately feel coldness crawl across my entire body. I yank the covers closer and once again feel safe.

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Susanna Plageman, X

LIVING TRUTH

Grace Williams, XI

Purpose begins when you find something worth fighting for. My purpose is to fight for acceptance and love.

Feeling alone makes living almost impossible. Death will begin to sound more and more appealing after the countless nights of isolation and self loath. If anyone ever tells you who you are is wrong, you will experience more pain than any physical matter. Never let anyone dictate who you love or how you want to pursue. Some may shame difference because their inability to be open minded and look past initial judgements. Living is feeling alive with pursuit of following your heart and allowing yourself to be free. Boundaries regarding love will only barricade true happiness. Find the person who makes everyday feel like 79 degrees with wind in your hair driving along the river. Find the one who makes you smile just because of their presence. Once you discover the reality of love, hold on to him or her. Let go only when their happiness becomes more important than your own; relationships only function with the mindset of always loving yourself. I am annoying, complicated, and emotional. Those flaws don’t change overtime because they are apart of me. Learn to embrace the attributes of yourself that are unappealing. Every characteristic of myself makes up an individual that is different. I change and grow everyday for myself, not for others. Time and love will teach about the value of life.

Never stop fighting for your purpose.

Hannah Robertson, XI

Sophie Halish, IX

Vanessa Revilla, XII 16

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WOULD YOU?

Noor Samee, XII

but if only syrian children just cried with a K panted wireless connection

Susanna Plageman, X

screamed into china cups bled in oil then maybe we’d pay attention

SUNSHINE M.E. Williams, XII The hallway is empty and the floor is covered in shadows, except for a single area where sunshine pours in through a window. I walk towards the small spot of light and the sun that hides behind a wall slowly comes into view. Then all at once, when I step over the end of the shadow, the light hits me at full force. The warmth wraps around my entire body like a blanket, and I am blinded by the brightness. In that half second that my eyes have not adjusted to the light and my skin is tingling from the heat, the hallway melts away and I stand covered in sunshine, breathing in the dust specks that float through the air like glitter.

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Kaavya Shetty, XI

Elizabeth Anthony, XI

AIR Grace Williams, XI I put the car in park after driving down the empty, dark road. Reaching the end, I knew we were in isolation from the world. Looking over into the soft brown eyes, I couldn’t help but smile. It was mid-fall, and the crisp air sharpened by the night.

We bond over our love for nature, preceding me to climb on top of the car. I laid with my head against the roof and my body again the cold

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outskirts of the car. Without a hesitation, she joined me. Hand in hand looking through the tree into the sky full of stars, I knew in that moment that I found my person. The person who makes me excited to get up each day, even on Monday mornings. As we lay there discussing the future and the world, we both knew nothing existed in that moment but us. The words ‘I love you’ are unnecessary

in these moments because it’s an understood presence in the air.

The feeling of liveliness and faith in the future floods into my heart.

This rebirths itself during every moment spent with her. An angel saved me from experiencing life alone. She found me in the most unlikely circumstance and held on to the instant love between us.

Townsend Dotterer, X

Reny Horner, XI

SWEAT Claire Bowes, X Sweat dripped from the tip of my ponytail in a steady rhythm. Drip, Drip, Drip. I sealed my eyes shut hoping, praying, the pain would go away. The pain started from the temples of my head and slithered down, reaching every vein, and encased my body in a thick coat of venom. The room felt dizzy, or maybe I was the one who was dizzy. Everything was hot. I saw the fans spinning but felt no air. I never felt air from them. The whole room continued as I stood struggling to maintain my composure. They wouldn’t understand if I stopped, I would be interrogated in front of everyone. I moved into the next person unsure if I could ďŹ nish.

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Seren Bilgeturk, XI

Madi Haine, XI

ONE BED FOR ME

Grace Williams, XI

Hundreds of beds I rest Day and night the light comes Putting faith and hope to test This doesn’t blend well with some Pushing me to my mental limits I beg to endure the hardest cries Growing my knowledge by the minute I stumble sometimes with lies Leading me alone in the dark Deserving this hurt and pain I know this will leave a mark On my heart from the strain Hundreds of pillows and beds Differing in feel and size My blood staining it in harsh red I have two more tries To attempt this life God gave me Time brings unwanted nights I shelter the hurt and let nobody see The broken girl in need of light One came unaware of the gift she had That would soon fill my dark spot The love replaced the sad Knowing the risks we gave it a shot Alive and pumping my heart feels No thoughts of death fill my head This love and connection is real Let’s spend a life together in just one bed

Catie Nolan, XII

Seren Bilgeturk, XI

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WHAT WOULD IT BE LIKE

Lindsay White, XI

Helen Poole, X

What would it be like, to be alone To have everything paused in the last moment No movement interrupting the landscape No one wreck havock, on the newly conceded sensation, of the pure, continuous serenity To have uninterrupted calmness, encircle the whole of the globe No buzz of existence No voices or technology To fill erie, quiet, void of sound, silencing the earth To an old sense of stillness, almost lulling the earth to an ancient sleep Would this new found peacefulness, be enough to fill the space now vacant in the heart and mind To have not a soul or kind face, to turn to for camaraderie No one else to turn to for guidance No other human mind to speak to, or conversations with No one to acknowledge your presence No one to remember you Left to fade into oblivion Like an insignificant speck on the timeline To have your mind descend, into the uncontrollable sense of loneliness No way to escape

Scarlett Han, XII Vanessa Revilla, XII 25

FIRST LOVE

Kat Collin, XII

The choice I made to meet you didn’t seem like a choice at all. It was compulsivity, an area of my personal expertise. I was confused and afraid, though I’d never admit it behind my façade of maturity.

The only example I had of love had violently torn me from my youth and led me to believe my body was not my own. I had been snatched up and violently thrust into a strange, exciting, dangerous, heartbreaking new world that I didn’t yet understand. I was young, and I was all by myself and I didn’t have anyone to guide me or take care of me. I chose to meet you out of every single person in that huge city because some miniscule piece in the endless,

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tangled, winding fabric of the universe latched itself into my distant, fantasy-like teen haze and manipulated me into making that decision that would thrust me cold and hard into real life.

But this time, it wasn’t so cruel. This time it changed the entire course of my personal, completely convoluted coming of age movie plot. Suddenly, with a swipe of my finger, we were abruptly shoved together, dancing around our words, each trying our best to communicate and get through to a complete stranger. I spun a long web of lies to feel safe and nest in, all the while being slowly captivated by your kind eyes and your sweet smile. Later that night, our souls collided into a kaleidoscope of passions, tears, dreams,

fears; connections that I didn’t even know existed trapped in my chest until they poured out the floodgates through to you. Your very being combated with the hatred that was left in me to rot by the man who didn’t care if he left a crumpled shell of a little girl behind. All of a sudden, I wasn’t so all alone in this new world. I wasn’t surround by ugliness, preyed on by everything around me for being a trespasser in my own body. I had hope for myself, my worth, for love, and for life. You and I weren’t meant to be, but I’ll never be more grateful for anything than the guiding light your soul gave me in the dark.

Susanna Plageman, X

Grace Murphy, XI

THE TURTLES BITE

Carter Vaughn, XII

Children dressed like movie stars Roll down the street like Ferrari wheels Taking short cuts across trim green lawns That seem to never turn brown...

Filthy ďŹ ngernails dive into glass bowls: greedy thieves!

Wrinkly hands decorated in diamonds greet them with the best pickings Candles glow behind the velvet drapes of foggy windows Gym mom checks her ďŹ tness watch. 5:30.

Nude statues peek through the windows of dimly lit stone masses The black poodle and the white poodle sniff shoes and purses, not butts Perhaps trying to guess the designer.

Hooligans run wild, jump into the murk, While their mother reads Southern Living on the love seat.

So unaware of the turtles at their feet!

Snapping, snapping...

Seren Bilgeturk, XI 28

HER Noor Samee, XII I created her. I fed her that first spoonful of peas. She showed me music can come from stubby fingers and bouncy feet.

She belonged to me. She created me in ways far that childbirth could never comprehend.

She was the first succession after my forest fire, the first full inhale after a year long cold.

But she consumed me. Made me forget what salt tastes like. She made me wonder why I ever loved the drums.

I am her press secretary. Her formal apology.

The lettuce that sticks to the bottom of her salad bowl.

I don’t remember what it felt like to inhale through my nose. I don’t remember the last time I could leave the house without a coat.

I don’t remember what it felt like live outside my head. And think. About nothing.

Seren Bilgeturk, XI

Now I only find comfort in the lumpy sofa.

Tamsohs shoulder. That turtleneck sweater shield. My white stuffed cat that looks more like a gray now – Rani. Prickly skin. My knees. The Antlers. A passion tea with cool lime juice instead of water. The way my neck pushes to make that velvet falsetto. I rest my tailbone against my heel and let my shoulders drop and struggle to find myself a breathing hole.

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ON LEARNING TO LAUGH & EUDAEMONIA Luisa Vosmik, XII Once upon a time a seventeen year old girl called her mom from her bedroom... But it wasn’t a lazy call inspired by a desire for cookies from the kitchen downstairs. See the girl, she’s me. And when I call my mom on FaceTime , it’s because I’m 6000 kilometers away from where I used to call home. For the past five months, I’ve been lucky enough to live a dual life - the sixteen years I spent in my birth family in the United States and the time I’ve spent in France. When I refer to my home now, my friends have to ask if I’m talking about Virginia or Chartres. I consider myself to have four siblings - two French brothers and two American sisters. When I send text messages, autocorrect will scramble everything until change the keyboard to the right language. The duality has created an overlapping, far more vivid version of myself.

I’ve spent five months abroad - only two percent of my life so far - but I’ve begun to recognize the impact it’s had on me. I’ve developed a tradition of telling at least one funny story each time I call home...and often it involves me learning from some mistake I’ve made. At the beginning of the year, missing a bus was enough to have me choking back tears on the phone with the school director. Now, accidentally temporarily staining the couch blue remains awkward, but afterwards I could barely tell my mom the story because I was laughing so much at how frightened I’d been. I used to think I knew how to laugh at myself, but I was wrong. It’s something I’ve mastered here in France. It’s gotten to the point that if I call home and don’t tell a story about some bizarre “learning experience” I get asked if everything’s okay.

My new environment - and being alone in it - has also given me the opportunity to learn who I actually am, and what was more a factor of the environment I’d always been in. I’ve begun appreciating even unfortunate events, because even the very worst offer something to learn from or laugh about. I’ve even learned a favorite word - eudaemonia- from a book for English class. It’s a Greek word that usually gets translates to mean “happiness” but is actually closer to “human flourishing.” I loved the definition but it took me a while to realize that it fits with so many other discoveries I’ve made this year. Happiness sometimes means just success, while flourishing means more learning and progressing, mistakes included. These months have taught me the value of difficulties mixed with success. Uncertainty, challenges makes success far more meaningful.

At seventeen, I know I’m probably at a pretty resilient phase of my life but I hope I can always carry this crooked appreciation for overcoming difficulty with me. That alone would make my year ten thousand times worth it.

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Elizabeth Anthony, Townsend Dotterer, X XI

BLINDNESS

Vanessa Revilla, XII

The brittle glass cracks between my fingers It’s blue glint bursting into dust A pile lies on the cool white Some whole pupils Some jagged slivers Some flakes;

Abby Craig, X

They cling to each other Floppy and sticky as a dewy child, Desperate to find companionship, But their grasp releases and They sit there and Shrivel Into themselves They peel away from my eye, Exhausted from A day of slipping around the cornea Blocking tears With its industrial film An eye over my eye Seeing all Seeing nothing

Kali Hodges, XII 32

MY LOVE FOR YOU AND STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM Carter Vaughn, XII

The sky had melted to licorice already, when I got there; The rubberneckers had slowed us down.

The world was placid and the lion was purring heavier.

The images floated by. Perhaps on a lit-up screen, perhaps in your own vision. Perhaps both…

The new pair of glasses gleamed softly under the dimmed lights.

The ornament dangled from your fingers- the same fingers that wrapped around mine with amazing strength.

The Virgin Mary guarded her kin outside of your door.

The bricks sat patiently as they had for generations, watching yet another life soar among the eagles.

The music played softly, as if it was a distant memory.

Perhaps it was.

The comforter screamed shoulder pads and Breakfast Club, shouted Guns N’ Roses much too loudly for such a quiet room.

I whispered much too softly for you to hear: Let’s get strawberry ice cream soon, ok?

Reny Horner, XI

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Maddy Fratarcangelo, XII

THIS ROOM Our hearts beat in sync, echoing and bouncing off each other to create symphony. This room is single entity. Every person’s soul presses against their ribs as we inhale a world that finally, finally exhales for us.

My skin vibrates but my teeth stand still. I feel my eyes water for the first time in public. And I am silent.

He turns, I recognize him but don’t remember his name. He holds me until my skin settles back into place and my teeth break from one another. And for the first time, I am not scared. I can’t remember his name, but I know this room. He is this room, and thus I know him. This room. This room is an innocent, romanceless love. A soft pressure. A forgiveness when you don’t know what you’ve done. A comfort for when you wake up to find blood. drenching your right hand.

Noor Samee, XII 34

WAVES

Virginia Nelson, IX

Waves lust listlessly after the horizon The sea persistently charges the coast Waves rage Waves lapse into tranquility Waves yearn towards the corners of the sky Waves are tied to the ground They capture the sun in crests and dales Enraptured rays putter along the surface Glistening with admiration But never daring into the depths The Moon brands the sky with secret tears Her distorted reection swathed in the undertow Desperate to free that vast blue prisoner Rendered powerless The Ocean seems free Yet he is ever faithful to the shore Retreating and returning The earth pulls him back Dragged by the chains of the current He submits to the sand As waves continue to bow to impulse, the ever-potent sovereign

Hannah Robertson, XI

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Susanna Plageman, X

GROWING I am recklessly, obsessively in love with the words in my ďŹ ngers.

Soft and golden and thick with light, I heal like the honey that drips from my lips.

I dance on the gravesites of my previous selves, the smaller selves, And, grafted from my very own words, I grow.

I have every right to.

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Katie Hogan, XI

Bella Pearson, XI

LAKE WAWASEE I wish I was sitting on my grandparents porch, looking out over Lake Wawasee. It’s morning and the lake is quiet except for a few fishermen and skiers trying to beat the afternoon waves. The reflection of the morning sun on the lake fills the room with warmth, no matter the temperature outside. My grandpa is reading the paper and sipping coffee. I settle into my spot on the corner of the couch and prop my feet up on the ottoman. The possibilities of the day play out in my mind, but for now, I just look out over the lake and take a deep breath.

Lillian Cooper, XII 37

FOR DAD Elle McNeill, X Bad Day for the worst of days Save It For A Rainy Day to cheer me up, when it’s a rainy day She Will Be Loved for when the world is falling apart Dancing in the Moonlight for literally dancing in the moonlight Daughters for when I miss you 100 Years to remember life is short Chasing Cars for screaming in the car Blackbird to make me smile, even when you’re not around Breakeven school.

Landslide for singing in the shower Lovely Day for a truly lovely day Ophelia for the piano break This Love for just dancing it out Say i didn’t forget about you mom-Drops of Jupiter for many firsts-Bohemian Rhapsody Galileo!! Somewhere Only We Know for the ups. and downs. Your Song no, these are our songs

Susanna Plageman, X

Hannah Robertson XI

TRAIN ENGINE HEART Caroline Lynch, X

My love for you chugs like a train The engine only stops when it is on fire The pounding of my heart sounds like rain I feel as if I am bounded by a chain The harmony sounds like a choir My love for you chugs like a train

Seren Bilgeturk, XI

Sometimes it feels like a sprain I’m floating higher and higher The pounding of my heart sounds like rain I moment I first saw you my love was profane I felt a desire My love for you chugs like a train You are not just someone who is plain By your confidence I truly feel inspired The pounding of my heart sounds like rain

Susanna Plageman X

When you hurt me I do not feel pain You call me a liar My love for you chugs like a train The pounding of my heart sounds like rain

Madeleine Dugan, XI 40

THE GIRL

Ava Gardner, IX

They all talk about a girl Who I would like to know.

I would like her, I know for sure.

They say she’s nice, Pretty, Sweet.

I asked where to find her.

They tell me I have, That girl is me.

But when I look in the mirror, As I scan my own face I don’t see the girl they described In my wavering reflection.

The only thing I see Is me.

So, I would still like to meet that girl Who is apparently Me.

Madeleine Dugan, XI

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EIGHTEEN

Lindsay Everhart, XI

Yesterday Cameron graduated from high school. Today she’s jumping out of a plane at 10,000 feet in the air. She recently committed to UCLA for soccer; it’s her last week in New Jersey before she travels to California to begin practice. It’s all part of her new lifestyle; she wants to take more risks. “Life is what you make of it” she explains to her father. Ever since Cameron was a child, she had a unique fascination for planes and aviation in general. She’s planning on studying to become a pilot in college. When she was 9, her dad told her that in order to become a pilot that had to be familiar with the sky and appreciate all it takes to make flying possible. Now, she’s doing just that. “Are you nervous, Katie?” Cameron asks. “This is crazy,” Katie yells over the sound of the plane’s engines.

They’re about to take off. Their families wait near the landing area where the girls will be arriving in about 7 minutes.

Before the plane takes off, the girls take an Instagram picture in front of the plane. Cameron posts it instantly and adds another picture to her Snapchat story; “Ready to live my life,” she captions it. She hands the phone to her dad.

The picture quickly spreads to her 1353 Instagram followers as the girls get ready to go.

The plane lifts off as the two best friends scream excitedly. The pilot yells back to the girls, “Are you ladies ready to fly?” “Yes sir!” They exclaim. The pilot’s assistant opens the plane’s door. “You first, Cameron,” yells Katie.“Let’s go at the same time” Cameron replies. The pair holds hands. They’re going to separate colleges next year. they’re determined to spend every day together until Cameron leaves.

“1, 2, 3!” The girls scream at the top of their lungs. The pilot tells them to pull their parachutes when they can read the number on the ground. It feels like they’ve been in the air for 5 minutes. They both see the number at the same time. It’s an 18. Cameron laughs to herself. She just turned 18 a few days before graduation.“Pull on 3,” screams Katie. Cameron can barely hear her but nods in agreement.“1,2,3!” Katie flies up. Her pink parachute slows her down immediately. Cameron pulls hers.“Okay, okay.” She tries to calm herself. She yanks as hard as she can. The string rips off and flies into the air.

Cameron’s father waits by the landing zone. He can barely make out the pink parachute that Katie is wearing. As the pink blob gets closer and closer, he realizes that there is only one parachute. Katie lands on the ground. She’s screaming. Why is she screaming? What’s wrong? “It’s Cameron. It’s Cameron. Her parachute didn’t go off. Where is she?”

“Oh my God. no, no. Not Cameron. It can’t be” He runs to the building. “Where is my daughter? Where is my daughter? What did you do to her?” He yells as he grabs the worker by his shirt.

“Sir. What happened? What are you talking about?” *bing* “What was that?” *bing* *bing* Cameron’s father pulls Cameron’s phone out of his pocket. “catherine.martin liked your photo” “seth_carrion commented ‘i’m so jealous!’” “isabellesmith commented ‘life goals’”

DEEP BREATH Julia Palumbo, XI

I see a wave rolling closer and closer, I am prepared to take a deep breath, To fight my way through the current, To come out stronger on the other side.

I breathe out, and then in as much as I can, I dive under.

I feel great, so far only a test and a quiz, Then, another test and an essay.

I don’t have as much breath as I began with, but it’s enough, A big game tomorrow, but also two tests, Do I work or do I sleep for the game?

Definitely work.

My breath is running out and the current is stronger.

Only 3 more days in the week, is it enough?

The game goes well, but I am running out of energy, How will I have enough time and energy to continue?

I must push through, it’s only one wave, it’s almost over, Right?

I can see the top of the water, I am almost in the clear.

I am struggling to keep myself from sucking in water, It’s hard, but I tell myself I can make it.

Another game tonight, do I have enough energy?

The test goes well, we win the game.

One day left.

I only have a quiz today, then I can breathe.

I am so close to the end, 1 hour left.

All of this work will make me stronger, I think.

The bell rings, I can breathe. Approximately two days Until the next wave arrives, but I know It will be easier.

Because every wave makes me Stronger.

43

MEMORIES

Townsend Dotterer, X

I pass by that spot on my way to work. Memories always flood back, yet everyday brings a reminds me of a different time. I spent my childhood hanging out there. It’s where I broke my first bone playing football when I was ten. It’s where I brought my first girlfriend to watch the stars then had my first kiss.

It’s the last place I visited before leaving for college with my best friends. Like I said, it was my childhood spot.

The cranes did their job while I was away at business school. I didn’t know it was going on until one of my friends texted me that they were building a new office building there. It was a builder’s dream because there’s so much space.

I came back from school to witness them break ground. All of us did.

That is the moment for which there is no name.

Liza Williamson, XII 44

BLUE JEANS Ava Gardner, IX When they all look at me, They only see a skinny girl Wearing big old baggy blue jeans.

They tell me I can wear tighter clothes, That it will look good on me But I continue to wear those big old baggy blue jeans When I squeeze and squish into those tight little jeans There is no room for anything else No dreams can come with me None of my hopes Everything is left behind When I squeeze into those jeans I see the girls whose legs are sticks And I see mine, big and uncomfortable And they don’t look right And all though the other girls see skinny old me, I see my big legs And all of my insecurities So I strip off those tight, tight jeans And replace them with my baggy old blue jeans Because where they see sticks for legs, I see everything I’ve done Because the only place I can fit all of me With all of the emotional baggage and everything, Are in those old, baggy blue jeans.

Madi Haine, XI

45

DEATH, BE NOT PROUD Suha Minai, XI Death, be not proud Of what you have done.

For when it really comes down to it, You have done nothing at all.

You claim to have struck down A man of the ages, But be not deluded, oh Death, For the victory is not yours.

They all take his passing As an example.

They use him as a model, Someone to live up to.

So, Death, be not proud Of what you have done.

For, when the truth is made clear, You’ll find that, if anything, You’ve done him a favor.

His death was set in stone From the moment he entered this world.

From his first laugh, his last breath was written In the stars, by God Himself.

But wait, you say, he has No legacy to leave behind.

You dare say that? Well, I’m afraid you’re quite wrong.

He has a loving wife, Three darling children, And stunning grandchildren Who daily grow wiser.

46

Caitlin Biggs, XI

IT’S A TERRIBLE WAY TO LIVE Liddy Wade, IX

MY ESCAPE

It’s a terrible way to live, trying to grasp the spirits that linger in the bodies surrounding you.

Taking and taking, what isn’t yours.

It’s a crime that can’t be condemned, an animal that can’t be caged.

You rip the puzzle apart, only to jam the pieces back in a different order.

"They won’t fit,” you tell yourself.

Your heart won’t listen.

To keep from drowning, you yell for a lifeline.

Little did you know the lifeline was just out of reach.

All these opportunities to take someone's spirit, fit the puzzle, and reach the lifeline.

But why take others' spirits when you had your own, rip the puzzle when it was already together, and jump into the ocean when you had the safety of the boat?

Why waste a life trying to find a new one?

My feet plunged into the refreshing sea, feeling relief from the hot summer sand.

Gone is winter’s cold, how wonderful summer will be!

Susanna Plageman, X

Carrington Bowles, IX

My beach chair points east; the air blows free any worries behind me over miles of land.

Relief lies over the broadening sea.

The waves break on the beach where there is only me.

My heart is lightened while my skin is tanned.

No clouds in the sky and no concerns there will be.

Birds run forward hesitantly.

First they scatter, then they band, protecting their land from Poseidon's sea.

A clock is nowhere for my eyes to see.

Time is inattentive and nothing is planned, it is relaxed as relaxed can be And so I lay my head upon the beach chair carefree.

Letting my hair lose, the wind blowing through every strand.

Life is picture perfect when you are near the sea, and I intend to rest my head here for as long as can be.

47

TO ALL WHO REGRET Eva Gravely, XI

I know you are scared of the future.

I know you live between what ifs and should haves.

But I also know that you are alive.

That your stories are told through adventure And that the greatest moments that define you happened Because you took a chance A chance to make a friend To finally tell a guy how you felt To realize that you need help To ride a roller coaster and for the first time Be filled with awe and the rush of life Pumping Through Your Veins Instead of dread.

To be lifted into the sky and shown places you didn’t even know existed Places so magical and buzzing that you vow to Never look back down And you don’t.

Because that’s living.

Catie Nolan, XII

Maddy Fratarcangelo, XII

FALLING Reny Horner, XI

Each raindrop fell from the sinister clouds in a speedy motion resembling the salty tears that slipped from her vibrant eyes while she quietly contemplated the newfound fears the corrupt world constantly brought her but the rain was momentary relief because it proved to her the world wasn’t perfect just like her.

But eventually the pounding rain stops and the anxiety returns to haunt her like evil demons that surround her every dreadful and draining day and always telling her that she is not worthy of light or love yet it she is incapable of forcing them out of her mind because they consume her like an ocean current swallows one in a dangerous riptide and she can’t swim to safety because each moment she is drowning deeper into sorrow.

49

BLUE

Cailin Petrus, IX

I’m seeing the world in shades of blue Blue like my heart Blue like my shoes Even the boldest, bloody stars Look sort of blue Look sort of far What did I do to deserve this fate?

Who did I hurt?

Who did I hate?

Clear blue trails crawl like a cancer They give no sign They give no answer I can’t seem to find a single friend Is this my fault? ...Is this my end?

50

Jamie Newton, X

THE ONE

Grace Williams, XI

sitting on a dock mid july with humid air the night i met the one the night i knew what it meant to feel alive the darkness began to crack and the light started coming this was the feeling i felt alive give me your love give me your time give me a chance to experience a life with you i feel alive when i am with you they can take away time they can take away call they can not take away love the love rests forever just accept it and let it be i will sit down my kids and explain to them that night on the dock and let them know their time will come and soon will meet the one

Catie Nolan, XII 51

THE GRACEFUL LARK Becca Allen, X

The graceful lark flies He wakes the flowers to their bloom As he brings morning to the skies The two lovers say their good-byes Out the window he must zoom The graceful lark flies Her father’s wish she defies The day goes boom As he bring morning to the skies Against the good nurse’s advice They hope their wedding day will resume The graceful lark flies His family, his only vice The star crossed lovers meet their doom As he brings morning to the skies Romeo embracing Juliet as he dies That bird outside the tomb The graceful lark flies As he brings morning to the skies

Catie Nolan, XII 52

WHAT WOULD IT BE LIKE Lindsay White, XI What would it be like, to be alone To have everything paused in the last moment No movement interrupting the landscape No one wreck havock, on the newly conceded sensation, of the pure, continuous serenity To have uninterrupted calmness, encircle the whole of the globe No buzz of existence No voices or technology To fill erie, quiet, void of sound, silencing the earth To an old sense of stillness, almost lulling the earth to an ancient sleep Would this new found peacefulness, be enough to fill the space now vacant in the heart and mind To have not a soul or kind face, to turn to for camaraderie No one else to turn to for guidance No other human mind to speak to, or conversations with No one to acknowledge your presence No one to remember you Left to fade into oblivion Like an insignificant speck on the timeline To have your mind descend, into the uncontrollable sense of loneliness No way to escape Hannah Robertson, XI

53

THERE ARE POEMS IN MY BLOOD Katie Hogan, XI The pen between my fingers quivers, shaking from cramps crammed together somewhere in between metacarpals and bone tissue. The near-soundless scratch of words against paper hums between my ears. The faint sound of my story unfolding before me catches a heartbeat, stealing it away from my natural rhythm. The split second of emptiness burns into my brain, the memory remains tangible hours later to remind me of my budding addiction. The moment in which I first recognize I have missed a heartbeat yanks the corners of my lips upward.

I have found my fire again.

It is in this moment in which I realize I am utterly obsessed building paragraphs and personal essays, with forming constellations from letters and twisting nouns into verbs. I realize I am beginning to think in lines of poetry-- simple dialogue is fractured with line breaks, commas splice the air hanging between words not meant to be separated, metaphor shadows the edges of basic thought. All of this swirls in my head, and I terrify myself with the tsunami of syllables and syntax that rests under my tongue, waiting to surge through my veins to my fingertips, waiting to be slammed into a keyboard or scrawled between college-ruled lines.

I realize now the potency of my addiction, as I robotically scramble to weigh the fears of inadequacy that surface with my realization that maybe I could be good after all with the urgent craving to unchain the story squealing for liberation from my throat. As is the nature of any addiction, I am out of control. The words slip before I have a chance to quantify the value of expressing them over the value of remaining hidden, talentless, unspecial. The escape my fingers, and I’m free before I have a chance to acknowledge what just came over me.

Helen Poole, X

Caitlin Biggs, XI

Catie Nolan, XII

Vanessa Revilla, XII 56

SHIVER Vanessa Revilla, XII I’m holding my head over a bowl of scraped ice The frost escaping in radiating breaths Coating my skin for a moment in a meek fight Before receding away in wisps.

With each gust I hear the moans of a heavy old chair dragging across a thick, short carpet Whimpering and whirling as the breeze fights to embrace each limb, tree, hair strand, sweater hole The sun’s golden gel glazes me in light Its deceptive rays pierce my squinted eyes My vision dances with freckles But the wind’s steady inhalations deepen from an infant’s sigh to forceful daggers They split through the mellow balm Gutting holes in the creamy, warm butter.

Mounds of crystals coat my flesh My veins swell and contract with the throbbing pulse of the wind Each gust crashes against my body and inundates my lungs Like a wave I gulp, drowning.

The ocean recedes Under the glimmering beams and the clenched Magnolia buds I grit my shivering jaw and brace for the next flood.

Caroline Boyd, X

57

DANCING AT A FUNERAL Catie Nolan, XII Through my father’s stethoscope, I learned life Ends with silence.

The muscle contracts.

Metronomic beating, Pumps of crimson honey Stutter to a stop For the first time since they started.

A body is “absorbed in the magic of movement and light.

Movement never lies,” Her life only to continue, Celebrated by dance at a funeral.

The man in the white coat His light supposed to ignite a movement, but the iris does not constrict or dilate.

The body, at rest.

The service was empty.

Family members, friends, janitors, strangers attended the continuous celebration of her life, creations and contributions, Twenty fives years past her death, her rhythm lived.

That metronomic beating echoed, LOUDER From the streets of Manhattan, To the John F. Kennedy Center.

Pablo Picasso was not his painting, Stravinsky, not his music, Donatello, not his sculpture, And Frank Lloyd Wright, not his architecture, Martha Graham is her dance.

58

Scarlett Han, XII

Scarlett Han, XII 59

DRIVE.

Townsend Dotterer, X

Elizabeth Anthony, XI To put the rumors to rest, yes, it’s true. I was in his car. The exterior was chipped and duct tape held loose parts together. The night was cold. I wrapped my coat closer to my body before opening the door and sliding in. He smiled at me. He said something jokingly in Spanish about his ownership of the car. A 2006 Usher hit played on the radio. Heat blasted from the new air ducts on the dashboard. A few food crumbs laid on the floor. He had a plastic water bottle sitting in a cupholder. I put my seatbelt on. He put the car into drive.

He didn’t look to the street before pulling away from the gutter. My body shot back in the seat. He laughed.

He took a sharp turn, then another. He took a sip from the water bottle. I asked where we were going. He said he didn’t know, to trust him, that I would have fun. I looked at the speedometer. It reached 58. He took a sip from the water bottle. I held onto the handle on the door as his speed reached 65. We were in a neighborhood. He turned the music up. I asked why he was speeding. Life is moving too fast, he said. We have to catch up. Then, I smelled it. I asked him what was in the water bottle. He laughed again. I asked again. Just something to give me courage, he said. I asked him if he was drunk. He didn’t respond. His speed hit 70. I told him to slow down, to let me out, to take me home. He told me to loosen up. He offered me the water bottle. I told him to let me out. He ignored me. He looked at me. He told me I was pretty. I told him to look out. He didn’t look. He crunched. He snapped. He screamed. I cried as my head hit the dashboard. I heard his soul leave his body in a gasp. And then the car was silent. Finally. It was over. I was free.

60

TO ALL WHO REGRET Ava Gardner, IX

Eva Gravely, XI

I know you are scared of the future.

I know you live between what ifs and should haves.

But I also know that you are alive.

That your stories are told through adventure And that the greatest moments that define you happened because you took a chance A chance to make a friend To finally tell a guy how you felt To realize that you need help To ride a roller coaster and for the first time Be filled with awe and the rush of life Pumping Through Your Veins instead of dread.

To be lifted into the sky and shown places you didn’t even know existed Places so magical and buzzing that you vow to Never look back down And you don’t.

Because that’s living.

Catie Nolan, XII

THE FIRST SIP Madeline Brosseau, XII It’d been so long since i’d had something so perfect In life.

Rarely now does something come up that Refocuses what I know and care about.

It stood in front of me, Neatly segregated.

The glass allowed me to Peer into the fragile structure That separated the factions.

With the white foam Stark against the black espresso, The typical pattern broken By the mocha colored milk in between.

I was almost hesitant to taste ...but I did.

It was bitter with only a touch Of creamy wonder.

It was wonderful.

It was as it was.

It was as it should be.

No extra crap thrown in to cover it up.

It was a cappuccino and it Embraced that.

Jamie Newton, X

62

TAKE A BITE

Ari Aganbi, XI

I wandered down the country side In a glass of red wine Swear pride was on my mind The drunkest kind of wine I walked past the apple tree Heard the snake calling after me Took a step too close Apple wine to wicked toasts “Take a bite” I-I might “Close your eyes” I-I can’t fight “Getting close” “Take just one bite” I-I might

“Close your eyes” I-I can’t fight “Getting close” “Take just one bite” I-I might I wandered on the mountain side With the edge on my mind Limitless and emptiness Here spirits coexist “Take a bite” I-I might “Close your eyes” I-I can’t fight “Getting close” “Take just one bite”

Vanessa Revilla, XII

I wandered down the river side With some weight on my mind Swore time was on my side Most precious glass of wine I walked on as the night turned dawn Saw Levi’s ghost as I walked along Took a step too close Wicked Eyes, my mournful host “Take a bite” I-I might

Catie Nolan, XII 63

UNITY Maris Crump, XII

Anti bright Anti light U a product of a world that's anti rights My brother sees 12 coming and he gotta take ight Get a citizenship in Canada, I just might Nah I'm playing But do u hear the words that I'm saying?

The truth that comes in the message that I'm making?

The reality is that black beauty has and will be staying So get used to my girls and me slaying We are the core Though our hearts may be sore We are living proof that love can endure Bc with all the mayhem and ppl trying to shoot us down You still don't see a dent or scratch on my crown So although the chaos of the world can be a lot Remember that unity is all we've got

Caitlin Biggs, XI 64

Madeleine Dugan, XI

Kate Oelkers, XII

GOOD NIGHT Aiza Chaudhry, XI

There’s something about saying good night that is so personal to us. Without taking into account every quick, “night!” or meaningless “gn,” which are only said in haste or to insult the receiver with a lack of emotion, the process of biding someone a good night’s rest goes beyond the surface. When you genuinely say good night, you acknowledge you are parting with them, and you care about their well being as they rest. It is the coward’s “I love you”. Saying good night is a way to escape from saying those 1,000 other feelings and thoughts you have inside of you. It’s almost as if you’re on the edge of a diving board, and there a few words on your lips, that if you said them, would be an act of plunging into the unknown into whatever happens next. All you could do was say the words, do the action After that it would all be about response. There they are, those words, on the tip of your tongue almost about to burst out of you with passion, with anxiety, maybe even with tears. But you hold them in out of fear, fear that your feelings may not be returned, fear that it’s just the thrill and quiet loneliness of night talking. Fear that when morning comes, things will never be the same. So instead, you say good night. And in those two words lie all those other ones, the ones you never said but just might have, if saying good night wasn’t a million times easier. It’s a tragedy for the millions of stars that peer down from the ebony sky at dusk, witnessing every “good night” and secretly hoping…

65

FIFTEEN MINUTE STUDIES

Maddy Fratarcangelo, XII

66

Catie Nolan, XII

LOOK AT THE MESS YOU MADE

Elle McNeill, X

Look At The Mess You Made On Monday May 1st, I sit typing on my computer Trying to figure what’s worth writing, But all I can think about is You This isn’t a story about love and finding yourself, Friendship or beautiful landscapes, Instead how 5 of my best friends ruined my life, Although they admitted to what they had done, Everything is there fault anyway, One friend in particular happened to be my bestest, You devised the plan.

We don’t talk anymore.

You know what You did, So why do I feel like You don’t feel the guilt inside, That I undeservingly feel, I lie awake at night, I see things I want to tell You about, But I can’t.

Because this mess is Yours, Not Mine

68

Lily Ernsberger, IX

MY ENEMY Grace Williams, XI My enemy stares back at me Her weakness disgusts my soul Striving to feel accepted and free The words and looks take toll Forcing herself into a dull life Where she doesn’t belong

Escape this cycle I scream to the mirror Your better than this state The lack of love and constant fear Death is near if I continue at this rate Worthless and empty I tell myself One day they will love you for you.

Kate Oelkers, XII 69

CARRY ME

Arlo Gray, X

Eliza Cart, IX Carry me in your smile.

Carry me when you hold your head high.

Carry me when you drag your feet.

Carry me when your eyes water.

Carry me when you shout with joy.

Carry me when you are as strong as fire.

Carry me when you are as weak as glass.

Carry me when they look down on you.

Carry me when you can’t see through.

70

Alizeh Khalid, XI

I’LL MISS YOU

FLAMES

Get blown off course with a smile on your face Get knocked down with a fire in your belly Fight with zeal, sail with hope Find your way among the stars Make you mark like a drop in a puddle Wise as a bull, Fierce as a lion Taurus and Leo walk together in the stars For today I must say goodbye I’ll walk with you soon someday I’ll miss you my friend But we will be together again

A flame, burning in the night, Two people beside it.

Voices rise in tandem with the flame, Another is born, this one small but strong.

The tears that fall only feed both.

Eliza Cart, IX

She breaks first, His flame consumes hers, And she falls to his feet, Tears frozen on her cheeks.

His eyes widen, But too late–her flame is no more.

Suha Minai, XI 71

WAVES Virginia Nelson, IX

Waves lust listlessly after the horizon The sea persistently charges the coast Waves rage Waves lapse into tranquility Waves yearn towards the corners of the sky Waves are tied to the ground They capture the sun in crests and dales Enraptured rays putter along the surface Glistening with admiration But never daring into the depths The Moon brands the sky with secret tears Her distorted reection swathed in the undertow Desperate to free that vast blue prisoner Rendered powerless

Mary Lewis Simpson, IX

The Ocean seems free Yet he is ever faithful to the shore Retreating and returning The earth pulls him back Dragged by the chains of the current He submits to the sand As waves continue to bow to impulse, the ever-potent sovereign

Grace Williams, XI 72

2017 Atelier Staff Senior Editors: Catie Nolan, Kate Oelkers, and Vanessa Revilla Junior Editors: Elizabeth Anthony, Madeleine Dugan, and Lindsay Everhart Faculty Sponor: John Morgan XII Emily Condlin Noor Samee Luisa Vosmik

XI Caitlin Biggs Madi Haine Katie Hogan

X Claire Bowes Caroline Boyd Izzy Gaenzle Elle McNeill Addie Simkin

6001 Grove Avenue Richmond, VA 23226

IX Sophie Rice

Atelier

2017