Table of Contents

Yellow (Friendship) Page 3

Green (Nature) Page 9
Red(Love) Page 14
Purple (Hope and Imagination) Page 21
Blue (Contemplation) Page 31

Dear Reader,
This year’s WE Magazine is a celebration of our unique and diverse personalities,
which, of course, are most visible in our art and our writing. Our magazine is
organized by color, and each color represents a different topic. Green represents
nature, yellow represents happiness, red represents love, blue represents
contemplation, and purple represents imagination and hope. We have tried
to include a range of ideas and subjects, artistic styles, and opinions, and the
magazine you are holding most definitely reflects the middle school. Thank you
for your submissions and your support!
The Staff of WE Magazine

Front cover illustration- Spying on Life by Tori (pencil sketch with digitally-added
color). Front and back cover design by Kai (Kylie).
 Cheer

Friendship Mrs. Van Gogh Trims the Flower

Bouquet by Elizabeth (inspired
by Van Gogh’s Vase with Daisies
and Anemones, 1887)
 gazelle
Before I was me I was a gazelle.
I was always surrounded by my herd who loved and
cared for one another.
I would skip, and hop, and sing my joyful and silent
gazelle song.
There were always cheetahs and lions around,
ready to strike.
All gazelles could go where they like,
As long as they stayed near the herd.
But when the herd was attacked by a cheetah,
Two of my favorite elder gazelles had died.
After that I was extremely sad.
I would not skip. I would not hop.
My gazelle song was sad and lonely.
A day later our herd was attacked by lions.
The rest of the herd was all grouped together,
except me.
But I was small and an easy target,
I was surrounded by the lions.
They were closing in on me.
It began to rain,
As if the sun could not bear to watch.
I then saw myself in a puddle of rainwater.
I looked awful, and not myself.
Tears were soaking up my face,
And my heart felt like it was sinking into a dark hole.
Only one spark was lighting that abyss,
And it was happiness.
I then remembered who I am,
And I saw the sun filter down from the clouds.
I sang a happy song as I skipped in the only space left.
A lion pounced, but I did not even fear.
I gave a great leap over the lions.
My song was so happy,
And so optimistic that it scared the lions away.
Now whenever I am in doubt and sorrow,
I search myself to find courage,
And the cheerfulness that has always been there for
me.
—Katie
4
excuse
Cast of Characters:
Bill – Trouble Maker, Funny, Amiable
Mr. Glair – Strict, Bossy, Skeptical
Principal Peters – Amiable, Gullible
As the curtain rises, Bill is sitting in a classroom at his desk. Mr.
Glair is checking for homework. Bill has not done it, and is therefore
looking quite nervous and guilty. Cacti is written on the board.
Mr. Glair: Now everyone, please take out your essay on
the Average Life of a Cactus.
When Mr. Glair sees the nervous look on Bill’s face, he asks him to
read the first paragraph of his essay.
Mr. Glair: Bill, why don’t you read the first paragraph of
your essay?
Bill: Ahh, Mr. Glair, my best pal, my favorite teacher, my
mentor, the one that always helps me when I…
Mr. Glair: (looking irritated). – You don’t have it, do you?
Bill: Ahh, the word "don’t," that’s one of my favorite
words, such rich meaning. I mean, I wish I had thought of
combining the words "do" and "not." I mean, SUCH COM-
PLEXITY. As for my homework, I think "don’t" is a little
strong for my homework.
Mr. Glair: COME SEE ME, NOW! (Mr. Glair shouts.)
Bill: Why certainly, Mr. Glair, and did I mention your tie
looks spiffy today?
Mr. Glair: I’m NOT WEARING A TIE!! (shouting and look-
ing very angry)
Bill: Well if you were, it would be spiffy. (smiling)
Bill gets out of his seat and turns to face Mr. Glair. Mr. Glair has his
back to the door.
es, excuses: a one-act play
Mr. Glair: You think I am stupid enough to believe that?
Bill: I believe the question you asked me is why I don’t Maybe our stupid mess of a principal would believe that,
have my homework. This is a very simple question, yet it but not me!
does not have a simple answer. In fact, it has a quite com- Principal Peters – stands up, looking shocked - Mr. Glair,
plex answer that I am sure you will find fascinating. what did you just say about me?
Mr. Glair: P-P-P-P-Principal Peters. I didn’t know you
At this point Principal Peters walks in the classroom carrying a clip- were here. See, I was just comparing you to Einstein…
board. Since Mr. Glair’s back is turned, he does not see the principal Yeah, Einstein.
walk in. The principal takes a seat directly behind Mr. Glair. Principal Peters- You know, I think that a little respect
might go a long way. But you lost your chance. If you
Bill: You see, Mr. Glair, I was outside enjoying the day don’t get out of this classroom in the next five seconds…
and was taking a walk. I stepped in a puddle. I thought it
was just water, but it turned out to be acid rain (when he Mr. Glair: No, Please give me one more chance!!
says this, Principal Peters looks horrified) . The acid burned a
hole in my shoes, so then I had to go out and buy some Principal Peters: Five…
new shoes. (he takes his shoes off and holds them up. Principal Pe- Mr. Glair: (down on his knees) I’m SORRY!
ters gives him the thumbs up sign)
Principal Peters: Four, three, two, one, SCRAM. Now
Bill, I completely believe your story; you must have gone
Bill: I finally thought I could do my homework. But then,
through so much. You are excused from all homework
We came home and found out our house had been robbed
this week.
of all the milk. My parents started freaking out because
tonight was apparently their annual cereal party. Appar-
Mr. Glair: What?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ently they invite every single living person that they know
over so that they can all "experience" new cereals. It's a
total waste of time, but my parents are crazy. So they Principal Peters: GET OUT! (Leads Mr. Glair away and out of
dragged me to the store to get milk. But they were out of room)
milk, which really ticked me off because the commercials
say (starts singing a jingle) “Supermarket, The place that has Bill: Sweet, No HOMEWORK!
EVERYTHING!” Well, guess what?? THEY DON’T
STINK’N HAVE EVERYING! (at this Principal Peters puts his —Sam, Thomas, and Robert
head in his hands and sobs silently.) But fortunately, the next
store had some.

Bill: I finally thought that I could get my homework done.

But right as I was about to start, my mom called me
downstairs and asked me to try this new kind of cereal.
Well, apparently I’m REALLY allergic to something in the
cereal, so I started gagging. I was rushed to the hospital,
put under sleeping pills, and didn’t wake up until this
morning. Fortunately, I was fine and able to go to school.
But I had such a horrible day yesterday; I just couldn’t fit
in my homework. I’m sure you understand.

5
 french fries
Inspired by Kyle

I was eleven,
in the seventh grade,
and having the worst time of
my life.
lamp
We were going bowling
s. C eram ic
Swiss M is
aniella as a seventh grade.
created by D
I was so excited,
as we drove to the alley.
We listened to G105,
with Kiran and Mel singing in
the back of the bus.
When we arrived,
I met up with my best friends.
We had signed up to bowl together,
and were ready for the greatest time
of seventh grade.
After each gutter ball we would high five and go absolutely crazy,
not caring our friend had failed miserably
(Maybe because of the fries that we were worshiping after every ball)
After that day I realized it was one of my happiest moments.
On that day I was just like a little kid again,
all of my fears whisked away.
For two hours of my life.
(Maybe because of the fries)

—Kevin
 the white house paint is peeling.
The gardener came to tell me today I’m writing my speech, or I should be;
“I bring bad news,” he warned me, I’m planning what to say
“The tourists have just come and seen The people will be mad, you see
Now, please, sir, come and see yourself…” It will not be a very good day…
The White House paint is peeling The White House paint is peeling

It really is necessary to paint the White House, too

It was true, I did admit
The gardener had said what was true
I felt embarrassed, I confess
And I hate feeling blue…
The White House paint is peeling
The Cabinet met at once
To discuss the budget and dues
I need help, I must confess
I don’t know what to do…
The White House paint is peeling
Oh, the disgrace, oh, the disgrace
If the newspapers found out
I’d never live it down,
And my people would be filled with doubt…
The White House paint is peeling
And yet because we paid off debt,
Our budget is stretched thin
There’s no way to end this mess
There is no way to win…
The White House paint is peeling
The scars are showing now, from the fire long ago
I’m sure they look just hideous
Nobody will be glad to know…
The White House paint is peeling
And as the President, I’m blamed
Which really isn’t fair
I do keep up with the White House
I really do care…
The White House paint is peeling
I suppose that sleep will help,
And that is what I’m hoping.
So, to write my speech is what I must do,
In order to stop the moping…
The White House paint is peeling
—Katie

So in the end we did conclude

The best thing we could do
Is go into debt to buy the paint
Without further ado…
The White House paint is peeling

“Mr. President, be careful,”

I was cautioned on all sides
“If we borrow more than this,
A disaster will arise…”
The White House paint is peeling

You see, we had just paid

off our debt Tiger Lillies. Digital Photograph by Rachel
 we roll as one
We roll as one
We rock the sound
We dance to the rhythm like an ongoing song
We listen to the waves
Of our foot tapping beat

We roll as two
We rock the music
We dance to the sound of a spinning DJ
We listen to the motion
Of our foot tapping beat

We roll as three
We rock the voices
We dance to the pulse of a music-filled heart
We listen to the feeling
Of our foot tapping beat

We roll all together

We rock, dance, and listen
To the waves, to the motion, to the pulse, to the feeling
Of our foot tapping beat
-Shay

8
 L’été
Coloré, chaud, camping
L’eau claire de l’océan crie à moi.
Coquillage, coucher du soleil, pique-niques
L’été

Summer
Colorful, hot, camping
The clear water of the ocean calls out to me.
Seashells, sunsets, picnics
Summer

—Laura, Kai (Kylie),

and Sydney

Flurries Full Sail. Digital Ph

Breathtaking
otograph by Shanno
n
mes,
As morning co of my window.
et lies outside g works of art.
A white blank nnin
sform into stu
It waits to tran s and icicles surround me,
Snow angle en in g silver necklace
s.
as g li st
As beautiful
late
akes hot choco
My mother m tm ent.
h at ta st es li k e pure enchan
T d the flavor
The warmth an ind with joy.
and m
Fills my mouth is moment forever.
r th
I want to savo
y friends
I run to join m
a snowman.
To help create n,
zle like the su
Our smiles daz snow surprise.
yable
What an enjo
—Caroline L’hiver
Gla cé, bla nc, aux chandelles
Les fées blanches m’entourent.
nes
Jour férié, chocolat chaud, châtaig
L’hiver

Winter
Freezing, white, candlelit
White fairies surround me.
Holidays, hot chocolate, chestnuts
10 —Laura, Kylie (Kai),
and Sydney
 mama mia! 11

The teeth increase the surface area of the food

To keep its mixture with the digestive chemicals in a good mood.

The salivary gland

Is definitely not bland!
It contains saliva,
Which has so many functions it’s practically aliva!
Mucin, anti-bacterial agents, and protecting agents are all part of the deal,
But the salivary amylase also has quite an appeal!

The Pharynx is commonly known as the throat –

If I had the chance, it is that which I would kindly promote
The epiglottis is a flap
That prevents a windpipe mishap

Between the pharynx and the stomach, the esophagus is placed

Through this, peristalsis makes the food race

Part of what makes the stomach fantastic

Is the fact that it is pretty elastic
Although the stomach has mucous,
Hydrochloric acid and pepsin are some of the stomach’s gastric juices
One of the stomach’s infamous crimes
Is back flowing, into the esophagus, acid chyme.

I will tell you about the small intestine

Because sometimes it tends to raise a few questions
Bile and enzymes are secreted by the pancreas and liver,
Because of this, I’d say it’s not such a giver.
After breaking down the nutrients as best as they can
It is given to the blood stream secondhand
The villi and microvilli do have a purpose
They increase the area of the surface
The Duodenum makes up the first section
Which uses so many chemicals, many would consider it perfection.

The large intestine is not a joke

Because of its lack of oxygen, the Magic School Bus Kids should have choked
As a collection,
Wastes are gathered from digestion.
To the rectum and anus it is then transferred,
Though thinking about it is not preferred.
Infections result in diarrhea,
Which causes many to cry, ―Mama Mia!‖
When too much water is absorbed and the feces’ departure is put on probation
This, my friend, is called constipation.

— Emily
 satisfying the senses
We hear the sound of peaceful waves
climbing up the sizzling sand.

We catch the sight of the wind lifting the colorful kites

across the never-ending blue sky.

We feel the sea shells crackling and crunching

beneath the touch of our feet.

We taste the salty mist of the refreshing water

drizzling on our sun-burnt lips.

We smell the fisherman’s bait as they cast their rods

far from shore, hoping for tonight’s fishy dinner.

We sit on the crumpled sandy towel

and gaze at our magnificent surroundings.

The ocean,
What’s not to love?

—Gabrielle

Mr. Monet Hang Glides by Marion (inspired by

Claude Monet’s Woman with a Parasol—Madame
Monet and Her Son, 1875)
what is light?
What is light?
Light is something that shines in the sun, the stars and anything
It is heat that shows through your skin in anger and embarrassment
Light is something that is any color
Some people see it as red, I see it as gold
What is light?
Light can be good or bad
Light is the blazing hot doughnuts that you eat on a Sunday morning
The cold ice cream that you eat on a summer day
The creamy sunscreen that you put on your
burning skin
What is light?
Light can be the reason you go to church
Or something that shines in your eyes
Even a long walk through a deserted alleyway
Or the words you learn in language arts class
What is light?
Light is the Devil with his steaming pitch fork
God with his glowing heart
Love that shines through us
Light is poetry Saddlebrook Sunset
Digital Photograph by Anastasia
—Rachel

tree
Outside my window there’s a tree
I feel that it shows its green leaves just for me
The rough bark
Looks stiff and stark
Next to delicate flowers
I used to spend hours
Under that tree
That I felt showed its leaves just for me I fear
My dear
That years have been lost
Versailles Gardens. Digital Photograph by Lydia. At a great cost
That I haven’t spent under that tree
That used to show its leaves just for me

—Isabelle
Section cover goes
here!!

Love
 minus life never.
The class was working on subtraction, She told the boy:
And the teacher said: “I learned a lot today… what did you learn?”
“„2 – 1 = 1‟” And the little boy said:
So the little girl asked the teacher, “I learned about the life of a moth,
“What does minus mean?” And how to spell never,
And the teacher said: And how to minus one thing from another.”
“‟Minus‟ means to take away” Then he asked the little girl:
The little girl thought about it for
awhile. Pencil sketch by To
ri
And looked to the back of the class,
And smiled,
Then put it out of her mind.

The class was talking about the life of

a moth,
And the teacher said:
“The life of a moth is very short”
So the little girl asked the teacher,
“What does life mean?”
And the teacher said:
“Life is how long you are living and
breathing”
The little girl thought about it for
awhile,
And looked to the back of the class,
And smiled,
Then put it out of her mind.

The class was talking about spelling,

And the teacher said:
“Never is spelt n-e-v-e-r”
So the little girl asked the teacher,
“What does never mean?”
And the teacher said: “What did you learn today?”
“Never means not for eternity” And the little girl said,
The little girl thought about it for awhile, “I learned that I never want to minus you from my
And looked to the back of the class, life.”
And smiled, Then she looked at him and smiled
Then put it out of her mind. And skipped all the way home.

On the walk home from school, —Erin

The little girl ran to catch up with the little boy.
The little boy that sat at the back of the class,

15
 Home to You at Last: Le
An original story by Nic

,
Dear Marianne
y moment of the
day. We My dear brother,
u ev er
I think abou t yo ing chased
mb at ye t, but are be t to be go
Oh how I miss you! I try my bes
en co cross into
have not se ! We're about to
cr ea ti on ems like I've nne and
all over
Pe nn sy lvania. It se ny truthfully say that I believe Maria
the colo ny of of 5 weeks. Ma right, a
aw ay fo r 5 years instead fo r th em at friends. Mother is fine, but you are
been n waiting for her
French and Indian War, it is hard
re ha ve wo me to
of the men he the strength
what gives us for. I p
ho me . Th at is
h th e bi tter cold , ev en th ough remind her of what you are fighting
march on th ro ug ral Wa ing-
sh
safely as soon as possible.
n' t ha ve shoes. Gene ps
many of us do le of the troo
tr yi ng to keep the mora I wa s ba ck
ton is I wish
, bu t we ar e despondent. ha ve mo re All my love,
high n't
I'm sorry I do
home with you. st go to have break-
wr it e, but I mu My darling
ti me to
o to everyone
for me. Georgiana
fast. Say hell
Dearest James,
nate husband, I am so pro
Your affectio
I miss you as well. reassurance t
James long for you to come You have no idea ho
home, but am trying w much joy receiving dear. Did y
have been taking on to accept that it is your letter brough
more your duty to fight t me . I fifteen years o
to the livestock them duties at home, too. With you gone, ma for our freedom. I
selves, water and we ny of the women he
been kept busy sewi ed re have had to tend well? I do w
ng shirts for the ma the garden, and continue upkeep at the
extra food, but I do ny soldiers that pass farm. I have also I don't kno
give what I can. here each day. We gether a joy t
I moved in with your don’t have a lot of
much I miss you. I mo ther and sister. It gone off to fig
am glad that you ha is nice to be with pe
even put that though ve not seen combat op le wh o understand how
t into writing. Your yet. It scares me to
the day the colonie sister and mother se think...oh I shouldn't
s will gain their fr nd Your dotin
eedom and you can re their love and best wishes. I long for
turn home to me.
Until then, I remain Mother
your loving wife,
Marianne
Dear Mother and Georgiana,
My dear family,
I hope this letter finds you well. I
cannot thank you enough for letting Marianne live
A joyous Christmas this is indeed!
with you until I return.
Mother, keep your spirits up and remember we crossed the river in boats and
what we are fighting for: life, liberty, and the by surprise. We burst into their h
pursuit of happiness, which is how a Mr. Jefferson evidently partaken of too much dri
of Virginia so eloquently states our goals. I know fore. They surrendered, so now, in
you must be going through a hard time, remembering oners, we have food and supplies.
Father, but this is what I must do. I will always for our troops and everyone is ver
love you.
mander Washington. Perhaps I will
Georgiana, listen to Mother and be nice to
Marianne. She admires you so much. Remember to wear soon.
your apron when you write because the last thing
Mother needs is another one of your dresses to be God Bless,
ruined. Be strong and remember that your brother
loves you. James
May I always remain your devoted son and brother,

James
etters of the American Revolution
cole, Maryam, and Maggie

My dear Mari
anne,
ood and obedient and can Just a brief
d I will become the best of terday, Comm note before
ander Washin we march off.
Yes-
after losing Father in the newest articl gton read Th
e, The Crisis omas Paine's
to let you go. I try to inspiring. On
e line in pa
, to us. It
rticular stuc
was truly
head: “Heave
pray that you return to us its goods; an
n knows how
to put a prop
k out in my
d it would be er price upon
celestial an strange inde
article as FR ed if so
highly rated. EEDOM should
” It reminds not be
times, any pr me that in th
ice is worth ese hard
for ourselve paying to ga
s and our ch in freedom
The Hessians ildren.
g boy, , the German
camped across soldiers, ar
the river. We e
beginning to can already
party and dr he ar them
their downfa ink. This ma
oud of what you are doing. It gives me immense joy to hear from you and to get ll. General y prove to be
the river la Washington pl
te tonight an ans to cross
that you are well. Georgiana is behaving wonderfully and Marianne really is a
are all stil d attack them
l asleep and while they
you know that the Hamilton boys have joined up even though they are not yet
it will lead intoxicated.
He is hoping
to surrender.
Christmas an
old? I greatly admire their mother for giving them up to the cause. Are you I wish you a
d wish I was ha ppy
brate the Ch home with yo
wish I could see you, if only for a day, and give you some of my home cooking. rist child's u to cele-
birth.
ow what I would do without Marianne. She is so helpful and polite and alto- Your loving
husband,
to be around. I have many chores, now that most of the men in the town have
ght, so I must go now. James
My darling James,
g,,
y tha t you are saf e ton igh t. It is Christmas Eve and your mother
I hope and pra like her one
pla nne d a sma ll fea st for us. I do so admire her and hope to be dent
has h us, making toasts to the indepen
nex t yea r, you will be hom e wit
day. Mayhap ristmas.
onie s. Ple ase tel l you r frie nds that I hope they have a happy Ch
col
ely,
May God bring you home to me saf

! Christmas night, Marianne

My dear M
took the Hessians arianne,
I was wou
huts and they had nded a li
because I ttle whil
am fine n e back. D
ink the night be- ow, but I on't worr
the use o will neve y
n addition to pris- f my righ r recover
tially bl t hand. M
own off b y fingers
The morale is high y gunfire were par-
to amputa and the d
ry proud of Com- te the re o ctor had
your husb st. I am
and is mi sorry for
be home with you s s ing four y o u that
a sacrifi fingers,
ce I am h b u t it is
my countr appy to m
y. As I c ake for t
an no lon h e sake of
they are ger hold
sending m a m u sket,
you in a e h ome. I wi
few days. ll be bac
ways by h W e must tr k with
elping ou y to find
r country o t her
for now,
All my lo
I'm comin
ve,
g h o m
win this
e to you
at last.
war, but 17
James
never forever
I stood by my locker
Slowly, automatically,
Shoving my binder into its depths
With the repetition of the daily routine
A strange feeling washes over me,
And I look up
Too see you
Standing there in the hallway
Our eyes meet
And I know
what's wrong.

You dash towards me,

Your eyes filled with tears
Streaming down your face
like silver drops on a window pane Convers
e. Graph
Your head in your hands, ic art by
Kylie
You sprint into my arms
Sobbing and murmuring.

The world seems frozen

As you thrust your arms around me
Leaning and shaking with your cries

The air seems so cold

As my arms wrap around you
Embracing you Convers
e. Graph
ic art by
Protecting you. Kylie Ma
rs h
Your head lies on my shoulder
Tears falling onto the tiles
Mixing with mine in a small puddle
Where we stand.

I knew it,
I always knew it
I knew it wouldn't last.
I knew he would leave you
I knew it couldn't last
Forever.
nn
—Katherina l Ph o t og raph by A
My D og. Digita
 a boy’s true best friend
It was the beginning 5th grade when my Mom
brought him home. A mist was coming down from
the grey and depressing sky as I ran down the side-
walk to the carpool line. It had been a long day at
school. I had been watching the clock since 2:00, ea-
ger to greet my new friend. Finally, I went to my car
and opened the door. There he was.
Lying in the back seat shivering from the
cold was a dog. A black lab, to be exact. He had a
big nose, small paws, and wide, friendly eyes. He
was tiny; all four of his feet could have probably fit
in my palm. He couldn‟t get settled in the car and
was glad when we finally made it home.
I hadn‟t had a dog since my old dog,
Winston, had died. He passed away at age nine be-
cause he had cancer. I was very sad, but was eager to
get a new dog. It had been two years, and I was
ready for a new dog.
We had had the hardest time trying to name
my new dog. Finally, we came up with a name that
everyone agreed on. Since the Carolina Hurricanes
had just won the Stanley Cup, we decided to name
him Stanley
The most prominent thing about him was
his head, especially the eyes. They were curious and
friendly, inviting me to play. He was stocky, but not
fat, and very quick on his feet. He wore a silly grin on
his face, and always looked as though he had just
drunk a Red Bull®.
I think I took about 100 pictures that first
day. The best one was of him running around, tail a
blur, cross-eyed, with his new toy, a soft duck. He
loved to get up in my lap and shove that thing
right on whatever I happened to be wearing. Usu-
ally, when I got done playing with him, there
would be a wet spot about as big as a silver dol-
lar on the place where he had attacked me.
Stanley was a rambunctious dog. Every min-
ute, he was getting into trouble. Whether it was
stealing my socks or begging for table scraps, he
was always up to something. Perhaps the fun-
niest thing he did was chew on the wall. Yes,
he actually chewed on the wall in our kitchen.
I don‟t know how he did it, but we came
ne. downstairs one afternoon to find teeth marks
on the wall. He also chewed up cabinets, box-
ers, shoes, shoelaces, rocks, soccer balls, footballs,
tennis balls, and the plants in our backyard (which
happen to be poisonous to dogs.) That should have
taught him to stop chewing on everything in
eyeshot, but of course it didn‟t. One time, he even
got two pairs of my babysitter‟s underwear in his
mouth when she came to do her laundry and ran
around with it!
Stanley loved his toys. His all-time favorite
was his furry hot dog. It was a squeaky toy. When I
threw it, He would leap, bound, and slide his way
along the kitchen floor, falling at least twice before
getting to the soft plastic toy covered in a thick layer
of saliva. He would then trot back and lay it at my
feet, expecting me to put my hand in that goo and
throw it again. Sometimes, when I would throw it,
he would slip and go flying across the slick floor at
full speed until he crashed into a cabinet. He would
then get up and try to find the ball, acting as though
nothing had happened.
He also loved his blanket, which was a dirty
towel with rips in the edges that he carried around
in his mouth. He would bring it to me, laying it at
my feet while I was watching TV, looking at me
with those expectant eyes and silly grin that made
me want to play. Somehow, he would convince me
to get down on the floor and play tug-of-war, run-
ning in circles until I finally had to give up.
Outside, he loved sports. Soccer was his fa-
vorite. I would kick the ball and try to get it past
him, and he would jump on the ball so I couldn‟t.
Then I let some air out of the ball so he could pick it
up. He would steal it from me and sprint away, look-
ing back with expectant eyes, wanting me to chase
him. Sometimes, I would chase him for 20 minutes at
a time, diving all over the ground, trying to catch the
flying fur ball that was going 50 mph on the ground.
He also loved football, but he had to play defense.
When I had friends over, he would actually tackle
them. He would jump in the air at full speed and
crash into them. He would then stand on their
chests and lovingly slobber all over their faces and
clothes.
Stanley really helped me get over the
loss of my other dog Winston. My family had had
Winston since I was a baby. Winston was a good
dog, but somehow I think Stanley is better. He and I
are growing up together, and so we have a bond
Winston and I never had. I think that Stanley is eve-
rything you could ask for in a dog, and a little more,
which makes him a true man‟s best friend.
—Sam

drenched
The tension builds
Little fires grazing the grass
Until we start dancing faster and
faster.
Our little game called love.
Fires burn everything around us,
And you look me in the eyes.
Feel the passion.
Our little game called love.
The rains come and just
As you think we‟re thriving,
The wetness drenches
Our little game called love.
—Anastasia
Cam
ea k. D igit al Ph otograph taken by
Daybr
heartbreak
song lyrics written for guitar
The sound of the waves crashing
Drowns out your hate, lashing out
At your fate.
You're standing here weeping,
Just the sun knows your secret and she's
Asleep.
Those ten holes in the sand,
Fill with your tears.
The heals of your footprints are as
Deep as your fears
That the tide will
Never change.
Gentle spray kisses away your heartbreak.
The ocean breeze frees you from your heartbreak.
Looks like you're moving on from your heartbreak.
The seagulls are diving, and
Your sad eyes are drying out-
You're sighing.
Your tears mix with the ocean, but the
Salt water won't begin to change it;
This only mattered for you.
Looking down, you've found the world collapsing;
The tide keeps stealing the ground away.
Looking up, the heavens are bleeding,
But look at you- you're doing okay.
Gentle spray kisses away your heartbreak.
The ocean breeze frees you from your heartbreak.
Looks like you're moving on from your heartbreak.
—Katie
i
20
 Hope

Violet Iris. Digital Photograph

by Cami

Dreams
Imagination
 somewhere
Somewhere over in another place, there are people who do different things.
There are people who side-step when they walk,
there are people who shiver when it’s warm.
There are people who put their windows next to their stairs;
there are people who glow when they are outside.
There are people who put on shorts in 20 degrees,
there are people who tip-toe when they are trying to be noticed.
There are people who drink their chocolate ice cream with a straw,
even people who drink their water from a plate.

People who buy clothes with large blue circles pasted on the sides.
People who crawl down the stairs, and wear wings when it is windy,
People who go bananas over seeing a mechanical pencil,
People who eat strawberries as ripe as a tart,
People who run outside in the dark shadow of the day,
People who grill salads until they become as brown as chocolate,

Musical Dreams. Guitar painted by Katie

Even people who think the slow,
whispering wind is their best friend calling them from a phone.

Somewhere in this far away place, somewhere where these people live,
something is different.
They have different rules, different practices, and different ideas.
But everywhere this is true; in this place it is only obvious.
So if you ever want to visit this place, it is not very hard,
Because it is called your imagination,
and it is something everyone has inside them.
—Ivana

i once was
I once was a bead of water,
Sitting peacefully in the sea.
Then suddenly the sun shown bright, I once was a snowflake,
I quickly passed up through the trees Lying peacefully on the ground.
I didn’t know where I was going, Then suddenly, down came a foot,
But I knew I was going up above. Running; homeward bound.
While I was happy to see the world around me, I now am a child,
I missed the droplet that I loved. Existing peacefully in a home.
I live a life so wonderful,
I once was a raindrop, There is nowhere for me to roam.
Living peacefully in a cloud.
Then suddenly the wind blew hard,
And as I fell, I bowed.
I was now slowly declining, —Sami
From my high up, quiet haven.
I looked everywhere as I fell,
I even saw a raven.
 Those days of August, humid, dry, and long, seemed des-
i am Arthur, he is Pal: tined to have more excitement than the constant confu-
sion and curiosity of living in a new place. However un-
a memoir accustomed I was to cobblestone streets, buildings in
shades of cream and red that seemed to squat, low and
fat, on the streets, and piazzas encrusted with pigeons,
the time was too slow. Italy, as far as I was concerned, held only one prospect of joy: My Dog.
The burning sun of Tuscany was unfamiliar and I longed for the polluted, foggy skies of home.
Yet, that single beacon, visible just ahead past Gelateria Veneta, the Hotel Rex, and the train station, satisfied my
hopes of happiness. My Dog, which was the name he became known by, was out there, waiting for me to come
and take him home. Maybe he was a golden retriever, maybe a terrier. It didn’t matter. The only thing I cared
about was that soon, I’d be taking home a puppy who would become my best friend, our companionship remi-
niscent of Arthur and Pal in the favorite books of my younger days.
I was impatient to get My Dog; I had always wanted the long-missed puppy that I would carry
around everywhere: a dog that would sleep in my room, at the foot of my bed, and be the best thing that could
ever have happened to me, just like in books and movies. Fate nearly granted my wish just a few days after we
moved into Sandy’s villa in Pieve di Compito. The stuffy apartment that my family and I had rented for our first
Italian month had been deserted for the next group of tourists wishing to stay in the heart of the vivacious
town, and we moved into the white house. Though it gave the implication of a shady hideaway from the outside,
on the inside the air was milk-curdling and the light filtered into nothing but steamed shadows.
“Hey, Ted? Today we’re going to go look for a dog, okay? There’s a pound that has some puppies
ready to move into their permanent home.”
“Really? Let’s go!” I replied to my father.
“Okay, but, these puppies may not be right for us, and we may not get a dog there.”
“Uh huh. Can we go now?”
This was the work of fate that I had been waiting for, though I imagine I would have believed
more in the readiness of my parents than the willingness of fate. We left in the white rental car with the coarse
seats. I couldn’t stop talking and inquiring, of course, when we’d arrive at the pound. We finally approached a
building announced by the constant barking of dogs. There, we were greeted by the owner, a woman whose fea-
tures do not stand out to me today. She took my father and me into a small room with a British couple who was
also interested in getting a dog.
After we had waited for some time, she brought in three small boxers, all of whom ran around
jumping up our legs and barking. I was surprised. I never thought about an energetic Boxer; the image of a Lab-
rador lapdog (which was an unrecognized oxymoron at the time) was seared into my mind. But I wanted a dog
badly enough to agree that these dogs seemed great. At the very last minute, when my dad finally asked me if I
was sure that I wanted one of these boxers, I said no. He told me we’d find another, better dog, and then cheered
me by explaining that we probably wouldn’t have been able to keep one of these dogs anyways.
“Imagine what Charlotte would say,” Dad mentioned, commenting on my younger sister’s fear of
large and noisy dogs.
“Yes. We’ll have to find a quiet dog. But I would be fine with those dogs. Big dogs don’t scare
me.” I don’t think I quite enjoyed saying that when we walked out of the pound. The owner, after we had told
her that we’d think about the dogs, had decided to take us out the long way, through the cages of the grown
dogs, in hopes that we’d like one of those animals. They were large and not frightened of us at all. Instead they
barked loudly and I, contrary to my earlier declaration, grabbed my father’s hand and nearly pulled him out of
the pound, all the while managing to hide behind him.
The real work of fate occurred when my whole family drove into Lucca, the town of which, had it
been a bountiful metropolis, Pieve di Compito would have been a suburb of. It was not a bountiful metropolis,

23
however. It was a small, yet elegant and beautiful town, with life around every street corner. The weekend mar-
ketplace was set up in an open concrete expanse where western-European and African men verbally advertised
their miscellaneous wares. The foreign women, wearing everything they owned, sold textiles. As my family and I
shifted through the ravines of Italian shoppers, perhaps examining animated purple cloth or a black umbrella,
we arrived at the small plot of concrete set aside for dogs.
A tall, ginger-haired lady with a limp ponytail and a long nose protruding over her wide mouth
stood above several laundry baskets holding puppies. The little dogs were yipping to each other vigorously,
nearly overturning their baskets, or sitting almost sullenly in their plastic cages, their eyes shifting back and
forth in nervousness. This was the state of the little black dog in his blue basket. This was the state of My Dog.
I knew it immediately. It was him. Everything about him, from his emerald eyes, to his soft and
silky black fur, to his oversized ears was perfect. It was him. It was My Dog. He was sitting on the white towel
that was his basket’s rug. It had been, however, stained with small yellow puddles. He was definitely nervous.
Really nervous.
I knew it was him the minute I saw him, but Mom, Dad, and Charlotte weren’t as convinced.
“He’ll be big,” said my father. “See his ears? When a dog’s ears are big, it means the dog will to be
big, too.”
“I don’t like big dogs,” said Charlotte.
“You’re just scared of them and if you get one, you’ll like them.” I said.
“No I’m not and now I like this dog- I just had to get used to him.” I normally would have men-
tioned that the only reason she had “gotten used” to My Dog was because she didn’t want to admit she was
scared, but I didn’t really think that would sell the dog any better.
“Yeah! Can we get him?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t want a big dog, remember?” Mom said, trying to discourage us from
hoping that we’d be able to get him.
“I know we didn’t,” I replied, “Now we do.”
“We’ll see,” Mom said. At that moment I thought of Arthur Gets a Dog. I’m a bit embarrassed to say
that I didn’t think of Arthur actually getting the dog. Instead, I zoomed in on D.W.’s response to a “we’ll see”. It
goes something like “That means no!”
As my parents were talking a few steps away, I inspected the dog again. I knew it. He was My
Dog. His little eyes seemed to peer up at me, and for the briefest second, the nervousness disappeared and I
could have sworn I saw a twinkling smile through those cute emerald orbs.
“What’re you going to name him?” Charlotte asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What about Pal?”
“No, not Pal. I like Esmeralda because he has green eyes!” So he, yes, he, became Esmeralda.
Just as my father was walking back, a pair of dachshunds ran over, yipping and squealing. Char-
lotte pulled back, but I let the sausage-dogs lick me.
“Make them go away, Daddy,” she said. “I’m only used to our dog, other dogs I’m scared of.”
“We don’t know if he’s our dog, yet, Charlotte,” Dad replied.
“Yes we do. Ted even has a name, Esmeralda.”
“Well, Esmeralda may be a bit too big. You know how to say that in Italian? You say troppo
grande.”
Hearing this, the ginger-haired owner came over and said “Non grande, medio. Sara medio, medio, me-
dio, non grande, medio!”
“She says he’ll be a medium-sized dog.”
“Yay! Then we can get him!”
“We’ll see.”
Digital photograph by Ted Waechter

24
 This time, instead of D.W., it was my sister. “That means no.”
That, in fact, meant yes, because Mom and Dad decided we could keep him. I carried him away, panting
under the weight of his heavy body. After we had walked what seemed like a long time, we arrived at our
parked car. Dad took the basket and, as if on cue, a yellow liquid trickled off the basket and onto Dad’s shirt! I
could not stop laughing.
We dropped Esmeralda off for his first shots and returned to the villa. NO DOGS INSIDE. That’s when I
remembered: he was an outdoor dog. So I swept out the dusty garage for him in my bare feet and I waited for
him in the driveway. As I sat, I decided that the name Esmeralda was a bit too girly for my dog. So I asked my
dad if I could change it.
“Sure,” he said. We went through a list of names: Pal, Puccini, My Dog, Chester, and finally arrived at
Charcoal, in Italian carbone. So that is what we named him: Carbone, for his pitch black fur.
When he came home, tiny compared to his giant surroundings, and tiny compared to his size today
(medio, yeah right!), I greeted him. “Ciao, Carbone!”
Those words were the red flag that signaled the bull of friendship, love, and happiness. They were the
permit that licensed the building of companionship, joy, and barking. They were the beginning of rolling around
in the grass, being licked by a ticklish tongue, and, of course, having my very own Pal, just like in the movies.

—Ted

a penguin
Before I was a child,
I was a penguin.
I was all alone, and I
was cold.
Snow was falling dow
and the ice on the grou n
nd was getting thicke
I wiggled my feathers r.
to shake the snow of
It did little for my pr f of m e.
esent state.
It was too cold to just
stand there.
So I went searching fo
r food.
Diving into the water
I gulped down the bi
ggest, fattest fish I co
sadly, it was not that uld find,
big.
But it would do for no
The blizzard was gett w.
ing stronger, and I w
I curled into myself, as getting colder.
trying with all my m
shaking off more of th ight to keep warm,
e snow that kept falli
I wandered on more, ng on me.
until I saw a big blac
k and white dot up ah
I waddled over to it as ead.
Right now, any hope fast as I could.
at all was worth goin
As I got to it I realized g for.
that it was a pack of
penguins--
just like me!
I curled into them an
d dug deeper into the
They accepted me, an pack.
d I accepted them.
We were family, and
we were warm.

—Laura

25
the towers in the sky
The two white towers in the sky
Reach up and strive
As if to imitate the trees,
Blooming below.

Though white with the color of winter

They blaze with the power of
Rebirth
And renewal.

The robins dart among the green spires below

While unearthly images and dreams
Dance about the blank slate
Of the counterparts in the sky.

And when I turn around

They are gone,
Replaced by the fresh blue of a robin’s egg
And I know that someone else
Can see them now.

—Adrienne

Sacre Couer, Paris, France. Digital Photograph by Lydia.

 “Audrey!” yelled her coach, leaning into the girls' locker
sporting strength room. “Hurry up and get the water jug to the field! The boys are
thirsty!”
“Ok, Coach!” Audrey sighed and threw her shin guards in
her bag as her soccer coach slammed the heavy locker room door shut. It was a little disturbing how freely her
coach let himself into the locker room, as if it were the boys' locker room. As she shouldered her bag, she la-
mented how she was becoming more like a team manager than a player on the school team.
Audrey crossed the hallway of the gymnasium to the trainer’s room, glancing at the workout posters on
the wall, and picked up a large orange jug with “Gatorade” emblazoned on the front. She hefted the jug and
staggered under its weight. Hunch-backed with the effort, she trundled through the door, only to walk straight
into something very large, which she gently bounced off of. She staggered backwards and dropped the con-
tainer, which wobbled before righting itself on the floor. She found herself being glared down at by the school
trainer, Mr. Calsinki.
“Watch where you're going, missy! AND WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” the large man de-
manded angrily, in his haughty voice.
“Sorry, I was just getting a water jug for my soccer te…” Her voice trailed off under his wilting stare.
“Not that, you ignorant girl! Those cleats!”
Audrey looked down and realized she had her cleats on. “Oh, I'm so sorry Mr. Calsinki, I’ll take them
off.” She bent down, face red and hands sweaty, and started to fumble with her laces.
“Do you have any idea how much these tile floors cost to maintain?” he insisted as she took off the cleats.
“How could they let such a clueless girl onto the school's soccer team?” he asked--more to himself, than to her.
Audrey’s face burned, and her heart stung, but she held her tongue, placed her cleats on the jug and side-
shuffled away. As she entered the hallway, she passed an older boy wearing metal cleats, the clacking noise of
his footsteps echoing through the halls.
“Oh, he’s gonna get it!” she thought viciously, waiting for the outburst of yelling that was sure to come.
Instead, however, she heard a different tone floating down the hallway: “Come on in, John. Have some
Gatorade. You really had a great play against St. George's in the game yesterday.”
“Thank you, Mr. Calsinki. I think I will,” came the voice of the boy.
Audrey started hauling the jug along ferociously with the energy of the burning injustice. She pushed
past the few people roaming the halls with unnecessary violence and burst out the double doors toward the soc-
cer field, positive that her hair was going to frizz up because of the steam that was sure to be coming out of her
ears. She stomped her way past a row of pine trees to the field, where the boys were just starting their "1,2,3 GO
TIGERS!" chant, slammed the jug down on the bench, marched to the far side of the field, and plopped down on
the other bench.
Audrey stared sadly at her cleats that she had bought last summer back when she lived in Charleston.
She had had to move here, a small, gloomy town called Pikesville, in Tennessee. Pikesville was so small that her
school only had a boys' soccer team, which Audrey was now forced to play on. Actually, she wasn't quite forced
to play on it, because she definitely wanted to play soccer, but she was forced because otherwise she wouldn't
be able to play soccer at all. Her grandfather had taught her how to play when she was three, and it had been her
passion ever since. He had played on the team for Argentina when he was in his 20's, but he had died three years
ago. Audrey wanted to make him proud. In one of his final days, he had told her, "I hope you'll always think of
me when you play soccer, Audrey."
"AUDREY!"
Audrey resurfaced to the present. "AUDREY, PUT THOSE CLEATS ON AND WATCH THE GAME!
THE BOYS ARE STARTING TO PLAY!" the coach yelled at her furiously from across the field. Audrey frantic-
ally scrambled to knot her laces, and looked up, just as the ref blew his whistle to start the game.
"Way to go, Audrey," smirked Ryan as he took off after the ball. Audrey's blood boiled. I hate how all the

27
guys treat me-- like I'm stupid-- and won't pass to me. I've never even gotten to play in a real game. I'm just
as good at soccer as any of them, anyway. It’s just because I'm a girl. And girls are weaker and delicate. She
had heard the guys on her team grumble about this before, plenty of times.
Audrey looked up and started to watch the game intently, studying every move of every player. Jack
was passing the ball to Mark. One of the defenders from the Strikers was charging at Mark’s back like a line-
backer. Audrey knew exactly what was coming, but by the time she shouted, “Look out, Mark!” it was too
late. Mark had been body checked by the Strikers' defender before the ball had even gotten to his feet.
Audrey stared at the ground. She couldn’t watch Coach carry Mark off the field while he wiped the
blood away from his nose. An instant fear shot through her entire body as she realized that Alex was out
sick, Collin was in detention, and she was the only substitute. She was going in the game. She tried as hard
as she could not to picture herself being carried off the field in Coach’s arms, howling in pain, just as Mark
was, on the side of the field.
“Audrey! Can you do this?” hollered Coach, in a slightly panicky voice, still on the other side of the
field.
“I’m ready to go,” Audrey said nervously, to herself more than anyone else. The second Audrey
stepped onto the field, she knew she was in trouble. The Strikers played rough, probably rougher than she
had ever seen soccer before. It reminded her of the game her dad took her to last year, in Charleston. It was a
professional game, in a large stadium. The rain crashed down, like cold buckets of water falling over their
heads in through the darkness. The stadium lights barely filtered through the torrents of water pouring
down on them to reveal a large, green field with 22 soaking men running and sliding through the miserable
mud puddles. Men were being body-checked and slide-tackled right and left, and they were slipping and
falling in the slippery mud. Hewitt passed Convoy the ball, but before he could trap it, a man slide-tackled
Convoy from behind. Convoy, caught when he wasn't expecting it, tried to react, but his hands weren't fast
enough to break his fall. He smashed face-first into the ground, and his shattered nose spurted glistening
ruby blood everywhere.
“Oomph!” Audrey grunted as she fell to the ground. She had to pay more attention in a game like this.
The player that pushed her over smirked as she looked up at him and then at the ref. The ref was facing the
other direction. Clearly he hadn’t seen Audrey get pushed to the ground. Or else, more likely, he didn’t even
care.
Audrey knew she had to be tough to stay in the game with these guys. She thought back to last year.
It was the league finals of her team in Charleston. She was on a girls' team then. The team they played, the
Blaze, had some of the biggest girls Audrey had ever seen. They pushed her around then, but she fought
back. She just had to play like that, and she would be fine.
The next thing Audrey knew, she had the ball at her feet. She had stolen it from one of the Strikers’
midfielders, and started dribbling up the field. One by one, she dribbled past the defenders until she was in
the goal box. It was just her and the goalie now. She pulled her right leg back, ready to take a shot. It was
perfect. She had the entire goal to work with. All she had to do was place the ball in the corner, and the
game would be tied 1-1. It was her chance. The crowd would go wild.
Audrey fell to the ground with another grunt. She had been slide-tackled by the biggest of the Strik-
ers’ defenders, from behind. Audrey heard the ref’s whistle blow, calling a foul. It was a foul in the goal box,
which meant someone on her team had to take a penalty kick on the goal. She tried to get up from the
ground so she could move out of the way so one of the boys could take the kick. She felt a sharp pain in her
knee as she tried to stand, and she fell back to the ground. She could tell her knee was bruised and starting
to swell, but she knew if she wanted any respect from her teammates or her coach, she would have to be
strong and get up.

Moonlit River. Graphic art by Nisha

28
 “Audrey, get up! You’re taking the shot!” Coach yelled from the sidelines. “I’m giving you a chance
here! Don’t blow it!”
Audrey stood up slowly, surprised, but very pleased. This was her big chance. It was her chance to
prove herself worthy of being on the team. Her heart pounded nervously as she took the ball from the referee
and placed it in the spot he was pointing to. She took three steps backwards and stared at the goal. She fo-
cused in on the bottom left corner of the goal. It was the perfect spot to place the ball. The ref blew the whis-
tle, indicating for her to shoot the ball.
The crowd roared. Audrey had placed the ball perfectly in the left corner of the net. The game was tied 1-1
and her team was going crazy.
“Come on guys, we’re in this now! We can take the lead!” screamed the captain of Audrey’s team.
The team was pumped up now. They were ready to fight back and be just as physical as the Strikers. Audrey
didn’t know what came over her. She was ready to fight, too. As the forward passed the ball back to the de-
fense in the kickoff, she sprinted up the field and immediately stole the ball from the defender. He tried to
slide-tackle her, but she saw it coming and raced out of the way, leaving him slide-tackling the spot she had
been seconds before.
She passed the ball to Ryan, the forward, who sent the ball to Jack. Audrey ran up the field, and she
was wide open now. She called for the ball as loudly as she could. Jack obviously heard, but decided to ignore
her. He took a weak shot from far out, which rolled right to the goalie.
“Jack, pass the ball! Audrey was wide open!” screamed Coach.
Finally, she was getting some respect, Audrey thought.
The goalie punted the ball to his teammate, who quickly received the ball and sprinted towards a Ti-
gers defender. He ran past two of the defenders and prepared to take a shot. Audrey watched as her team’s
goalie charged the player dribbling the ball. The player touched the ball past the goalie and had a wide open
goal. It was 1-2 now, and the Tigers didn’t have long to catch back up.
Audrey was furious now. She wanted to win more than anything. The center midfielder passed her
the ball. She took the ball up the sideline and crossed it into the box. The goalie jumped up and tried to grab
the ball, but it slipped out of his hands and went out of bounds. Corner kick.
“Audrey! I want you to take it!”
Audrey had never really taken corner kicks. That was always Cindy’s job on her old team. She drib-
bled the ball to the corner flag. She placed the ball next to the flag and backed up three paces. She looked up
and saw Jack wide open in the middle of the goal box. She ran at the ball, raising her arm to signal that she
was going to kick it, and crossed it perfectly in front of the goal, flying through the air, straight to Jack. He
easily headed the ball past the goalie’s hands and into the goal. 2-2! The game was tied again.
The other team took the kick-off, and Mark tried to steal the ball from the offender, but he pushed
past him, pulled a fake on Ryan, who was sent sprawling in the other direction, and crossed it to his team-
mate positioned right in front of the goal. The goalie, James, who had been facing the other offender, tried to
turn, but the other player slipped the ball in behind him. Audrey's heart sank, and she stood there, furious at
what they had just let happen.
The ref blew his whistle to signify a goal. Audrey took the kickoff, and they tried to fight back and get
another goal, but seconds later the ref took a final blow on his whistle. The game was over.
Audrey started to jog back to the sidelines, but then realized that the rest of the team was slouching
and dragging their feet as they went. She quickly slowed her pace, not wanting to go any faster than anyone
else. As she approached the sideline, Coach tried to cheer up the team with false confidence.
“Good try, guys. You played your hearts out, out there,” he began, but a look at their disappointed
faces quickly silenced him. Audrey tried to keep an indifferent outer appearance, but inside she was jumping
for joy. She was overjoyed at finally being able to do something for the team. Still, she felt a little upset that
she hadn’t been able to drag the team to victory.
“I could have done it if I’d played the whole game,” she thought to herself as she slapped hands with
the other team. She resolved to make sure to get Coach to give her more playing time.
 Audrey traipsed over to the bench and unfastened her cleats and shin guards. After rummaging around
in her equipment bag, she found her sneakers and pulled them on. As she was about to get up and leave, a
shadow fell over her. She looked up and saw her coach looking at her, a peculiar look on his face.
“Uh, hey Coach” Audrey stammered out, disconcerted by the lopsided mouth and half squinting eyes
of her coach. A small silence followed.
“Audrey,” he started after a breath, “I want you to know I’m proud of what you did today and I… I’m
sorry about ignoring you during the season.” He looked a little ashamed.
Audrey was surprised; her coach was always a hard man, focused on training them, but he was never
really their friend, and he never showed much emotion. Audrey wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh, thank- thanks
Coach. It’s okay,” was the best she could come up with.
“Okay. See you at practice tomorrow,” he said, regaining his composure and walking off.
Audrey smiled slightly as she collected her shin guards and socks and walked towards the gym. She
might actually be looking forward to practice.

—Orlin, Julia, Aliza

Two-ton Tulip. Mosaic by Mark

Picasso Gets a New
Guitar (Inspired by
Pablo Picasso’s Old
Guitarist, 1903) by
John
 sea green eyes
You think you don't fit in
You think you should seem like them.
But look at yourself.
What do you see?

Look beyond those sea-green eyes

Look at the person inside.
Why do you need
To be like everyone else?
I like you how you are.

I don’t care
who you think you are
I don’t care
How you look
I don’t care
What you say you are
All I see
Is beauty.

You may be different than me

And you may be unlike them
And you may be unusual to some
But when I look in your eyes
You’re the same as me.

I don’t care
who you think you are
I don’t care
How you look
I don’t care
What you say you are
All I see
Tori
Blue Girl. Pencil sketch by Is beauty.

All I see

Is beauty.

—Katherina

32
 my friend
Her eyes are like windows,
Showing me what she is
thinking about,
Or how she is feeling.
Mary Cassatt’s Sister Text Messages Her Friend. Oil Painting by Aliza

Her smile is a warm hug,

Comforting me,
In my times of need.

Her heart is always there

for me,
A safe shelter for me when
I’m sad.

Her hands reach out to me

in warmth,
To shield me from my
fears,
And to help me along
when I need guidance.

My life is never the same

without her,
Without running with her,
Without smiling with her,
Without laughing with
her.

And each day I think about

her and wish,
That she would wake up
from her permanent sleep.

When the sun rises I feel

her smile.
When the sky is clear I see
her eyes.
But only in my heart do I
see HER.

—Cari
humans
We are all….
Shoes.
We’re stepped on
We’re used
We are props for other people.
Yes.
We are all shoes.

We are all…
Birds. Sunset. Digital photograph by Cami
Trying to leave the nest.
looking for our wings.
Searching for our independ-
ence.
Yes.
We are all birds.
to be human
We are all….
Windows. To be human is to make mistakes,
We are seen through. To feel the pain of the fall.
Clear. To be human is to believe
People looking but Even if we don’t know.
Never seeing. We die when our time is over.
Yes. To be human is to cry
We are all windows.
As tears roll down your cheeks.
We are all… To be human is to smile,
ourselves To feel the happiness absorb your
We have feelings soul.
We make mistakes. To be human is to love
We laugh and we hurt The love that is not yet lost.
We anger and we adore.
Yes. —Erin
We are all….
Humans.

—Mel

34
 Weed. Digital Photograph by Katie
growing older
Inspired by Holocaust survivor Joann Abramson

Hitler, among other things, stole my childhood. I was growing older.

He stole the long hours in the classroom and the hot In a concentration
summers playing with friends. camp,
Instead I was forcefully thrown into adulthood, Sitting in the back of
Taking on responsibilities heavier than I was. a bunk,
The first time I was forced to walk in the wet gutter, Trying unsuccessfully
With the wet muck sloshing on my feet, to sleep sitting up,
Seeing the looks on the people’s faces who walked Instead, talking to
on the sidewalk, God,
Realizing that we were not all treated equal, Asking “Why? Why? Why?”
I was growing older. Wondering when the glorious day would come,
When my friends started disappearing, That my suffering would be over,
And I didn’t know where they went, I was growing older.
But I knew they weren’t returning, Going to work one day,
I was growing older. My best friend being pulled out of line,
Walking to the market, With the horrible shout “Du!” of the Nazi guards,
Buying food for my family when it was illegal for a Later seeing her hanging, dead, gone from the
Jew to shop, world,
Knowing that if I was turned in, much trouble Vowing never to become close to someone again,
would happen, I was growing older.
I was growing older. Working for the Nazis,
When I was in the ghetto, Translating their orders,
Slipping out through cracks in the large brick wall, Saved only because I could speak many tongues,
The taste of danger in my mouth, Telling young men that they had to be in the army,
Holding my breath as I slipped down the hill to get That they might never return to their family,
food, Sometimes lying to help them,
Knowing the whole ghetto depended on me, I was growing older.
I was growing older. Told to dig a hole,
Holding my two small cousins’ warm hands, Digging my own grave,
Taking them to safety, A whispered remark “Slow down”,
In the warm straw of a Czech farmer’s hayloft, And knowing that the end was near,
Knowing that one mistake could mean their death, I was growing older.
I was growing older. Being rescued by the Soviets,
Watching from the bushes, Taken to a hospital and saved,
As thousands of men, women, and children dug Learning that kindness still exists,
their own graves, Wondering at the promise of America,
Were shot and pushed in. I was growing older.
The smell of death and blood hanging in the air, Of all the many things Hitler took from me,
The horrible sound of a Nazi voice asking for some One thing I will never repossess
vodka, Is my childhood.
I was growing older.
Working for the Polish Underground, —Nicole
Eavesdropping on a Nazi officer,
35
revelations
When I was younger I thought I knew…
That the military was all fun and games; there was never any real danger
That the world revolved solely around me, and no one else mattered
That God would never allow for such disasters as famine and war to strike others
That the world is wide open to everyone, no matter who you are or where you come from

Now that I’m older I realize that…

The military is really a fight for survival, not a fun game against others
I must take others into account and must know that I will not always get my way
Life isn’t perfect; even God can make a few mistakes
Many people from families of lesser economic status cannot receive that same opportunities as those
of the wealthy

If I had the chance I might try to help others understand the world and how they see it better
If I thought I could I would try not to believe all the lies I was told as a child in order to protect me
Why can people not be given the clean truth-- not the lies which fester like open wounds?

—Chase

still a kid
I wish I was still a kid,
That I didn't have all this responsibility.
I wish I was still a kid,
Pretend playing away my days,
Which were measured only in five minute time-
outs.
I wish I was still a kid,
Every story another world
To explore,
And every day another adventure
To embark upon.
Upon anyone who said "hello":
Innocent until proven guilty,
A friend until proven an enemy.
I wish I was still a kid,
My only fright the inhabitant of a movie,
And my only injustice a game at school.
I wish I was still a kid,
A smile that brightened the world,
A carefree confidence,
And an absolute acceptance.
I wish I was still a kid.

I wish I was still a kid, —Ted

My only problems simple enough
To solve in a day,
And all the trust in the world bestowed

36
 the artist perfect “a” or
The brush glides gracefully across the rough canvas
Paint oozes out of the tube like colorful toothpaste,
Silky bristles dunk into the rainbow puddles,
perfect “b”
The artist’s hand waltzes across the blank sheet,
As a trail of color emerges from behind,
A hand reaches up and blots a sweaty brow, Perfect A,
Wiping away worries. She sits alone,
At last it is finished Holding the folder of perfection
The once black canvas is now clad Perfect Tests,
in a colorful suit of oranges, reds, browns, and blues. Reports,
An audience is drawn like metal to a magnet. Quizzes,
They devour the skill, and praise the beauty. And Homework,
Hundreds of chattering crickets gathered, But she sits alone.
To marvel at this wonderful piece of heaven, Her head bowed,
That a small-town nobody created. Her hair messy and tangled,
A bump on the edge of her cheek,
—Katherine She is perfect,
But she sits alone

Perfect B,
She sits,
Holding the folder of F’s,
Surrounded by a crowd of many
Admirers
And Friends,
But she fails.
She sits,
Staring at the folder,
Her blonde hair hanging,
In a perfect curtain,
Her blue eyes shining,
She is perfect,
But she fails.

—Nisha

isha
. Graphic art by N
Pool with water

37
worth
Inspired by Holocaust survivor Gizella Abramson

Their eyes talked to each other,

But never once did they look me.
I was not worthy.

The whispers from the gutter,

I could hear the sound,
but not the words.
I was not worthy.

The luxurious smells from

my Aunt's big pot of soup
In the ghetto drove the
darkness away
that told us
"You are not worthy.”

Escape and then death and despair,

But I could help.
I was worthy.

I am a person,
A person of the world.
I will always be worthy.

No matter what they say or do,

I will not hate
Because I am worthy.

—Adrienne
WWII P-51 Mustangs. Graphic Art by Josh Milligan