Switch

by: Fiona P. ’26

I wasn’t supposed to remember.

That was the whole point. I played the Switch card, and it didn’t work. Well, it did. But there were holes.

Memories came like consciousness, so when I was a baby I of course couldn’t recall them. When I was seven most slowly came back, dripping into my brain like dirty pipe water. Imagine if you were given a second chance at a test, but were constantly reminded about the failing grade you made that caused you to get the redo? That’s what it was like for me. But a hundred times worse.

So, of course, I played one of my two Forget cards. That didn’t work, either.

At that point, I was extremely unsettled. The cards never, ever made mistakes like this, no matter who they belonged to.

My older sister, Miranda, was baking a cake. Matilda Grace or Tilly, the youngest, was “helping” Miranda in the kitchen. My younger brother, Blake, had his friend George over and were playing cricket in the garden. Mum and Dad were at work and would be home soon.

It was a perfect spring Saturday in the Caldwell home, and I should have been happy to have no homework, no school, and time to do as I pleased.

Fate had given me the best of best families, but the card had made it so I could never escape my past. That was the point, no? Why give us the cards when they only work half way? I kept it secret for years. Not even my parents knew. The government doesn’t tell anyone, not even the person who switched, that they switched because then they’d be treated differently. Switching gave you a fresh start, a clean slate. A chance to forget and have a new life from the beginning. You even get a second Switch card and a new Do-over, Perfection, Forget, and Free Pass cards, but to you it’s not another, it’s your first. That’s what I had wanted.

Only Aurora, my best friend, knew. She knew about the Rodgers and Caroline and Ledgerville, Alabama, every detail I could recall I told her. She knew how I felt cheated, and how it was hard for me to enjoy this life when it just felt like a fake one.

Miranda’s sixteen birthday had passed without much fanfare last month, just the usual relatives coming and cake baking. I, along with everyone else in the family, would have been shocked, hurt if Miranda had chosen to play her card. I would have missed her terribly, even though the card would have wiped Miranda from our memory. She was never moody or rude; she was patient and played with Tilly; she volunteered at the local animal shelter; she made cakes. Miranda leaving was preposterous. She thought so too. Why would anyone want to leave your picture-perfect English family?

After lunch, I took the tube to Aurora’s flat. I went up the steps and knocked on her door. Her mother, Adele, answered it in her David’s Pub waitresses apron.

“Hi, Porter!” She said. Unlike most of the mothers at St. Paul’s, she had a south London accent.

“Hi, Ms. Webb. Is Aurora home?”

“Porter, for the last time call me Adele, dear. Aurora’s in her bedroom, sweetheart. Tell Aurora my lunch break is over and I’m heading down to the pub. Would you like a snack before I go?”

“No, thank you, Ms. Webb.” I walked down the hall to Aurora’s room and knocked.

“Come in,” she said. I opened the door. She was sitting on her bed in a ribbed lilac tee and jeans, reading a book. 

Aurora had been my friend since Year Two. We met on the playground, when this boy Henry was bullying me and she stepped on his foot and told him off. Whenever I get mad at her she reminds me that I still owe her for saving me. Aurora was slender, with toffee brown hair that fell to the middle of her back and tapered at the end like a flame. Whenever her hair was blown in the wind, it reminded me of Caroline’s, the way it would whip around lightly and tie itself in small nots. Her eyes were a grey-blue, round, with a thin purple outline like an atmosphere around the iris. When she was in a swimsuit, you could see her ribs in her back.

She looked up. “Oh. It’s just you,” she said, then went back to reading her book.

“Want to go to the park? Your mum just left for her shift.” Aurora was an only child, and was used to being home alone while her mum worked long into the night waitressing. Her dad left when she was three, so Ms. Webb did all she could to keep Aurora in St Paul’s. I’d grown accustomed to having Mum home by three, then Dad by five.

“Eh.”

“Please? It’s important.”

“Fine.” She slipped on her sneakers and a blue and yellow St Paul’ Basketball sweatshirt and we took the elevator down to the street. Once at the park, we found a bench with a dedication plaque under the shade of a leafy oak tree.

“What is it that’s so important?” She stretched out the so several seconds too long.

“I need your help.”

“Why?”

“I need to get help.”

“With what? Stop being so elusive here, Porter,” she snapped, to the point as always.

“I need help. With the memories. And my cards. I need a new set.”

“Porter!” She shouted. A flock of pigeons beat their wings in a hustle and flew up to the nearest rooftop.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“You know you can’t do that!”

“Why? It’s not my fault.”

“If they find out you’re screwed, Porter. You’ll become some scientific experiment or something!”

“I just need new cards, that’s all.”

“And what are you going to say when they ask why you need new cards?”

“What else? Mine aren’t working. It’s the truth.”

“And then…” she prodded.

“And then they’ll hand me a fresh set.”

“No! First they’ll check to see if you switched, and since you said your cards aren’t working that meant the switch wouldn’t work, either.”

“I’ll just say the less powerful ones aren’t working.”

She sighed, exasperated. “They’ll figure you out, Porter. C’mon, I’m just looking out for you.”

“They won’t ‘figure me out’. It’s not illegal or anything.”

“Who knows?”

“Please, Aurora, come with me to the Department of Public Health?”

Aurora sighed. “Where is it?” I smiled and pulled up Google Maps.

We pushed heavy revolving doors open and stepped through, greeted by a blast of cool air. The Department of Public Health was located near the rest of the government buildings in Westminster on a broad, busy street. We had taken the tube from Greenwich, where Aurora lived. The central hall of the DPH was quite grand, with a tall vaulted ceiling and a marble floor. A wide staircase led up to the second level. Officers dressed in navy blue uniforms strode purposefully. At a circular desk with the sign, Check In For Appointments Here hanging from the ceiling above, several secretaries clacked away on computers.

I glanced at the circle table of secretary desks, searching for an open spot. A flash of vibrant red hair caught my eye.

“Caroline?” I murmured, picking up speed as my heart rate rose – but no, it was just another secretary. My gaze dropped to her silver nametag.

“Welcome to the Department of Public Health London, how can I help you today,” ‘Amelia’ said. Though middle aged, her wavy red hair, still vibrant, was pulled back into a thick, large ponytail and a bright red lipstick was smeared thickly on her lips. Her mouth was twisted in an amused smirk. Even though she was sitting and thus below me, it looked as though she was looking down at me. 

“I would like to schedule an appointment with a card specialist, please.”

“And why is that?”

“I have an issue with my cards.”

She looked at me skeptically. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“And do you have a parent or guardian with you that is able to sign your form?”

“Um… no.”

“You have to be sixteen years of age or older in order to schedule an appointment without a parent or guardian.”

I hadn’t planned on coming here, but now that I was here it felt capable to solve my problem. I wanted it more than anything. “But please, I need to talk to a specialist.”

“I’m sorry, but you are not permitted to speak with a specialist without an appointment. They are very busy.”

“Can I just phone one? Please?”

Amelia sighed, clearly exasperated with me. “The telephones are over there.” She pointed to the wall across the way with a few phones hooked up to the wall. “The cards department is number 7.”

“Thank you!” I rushed over to the booths and quickly dialed 7. A recording answered with, “Thank you for calling the London card department. To schedule an appointment, press one. To inquire about the London card department policies, press two. To speak with a specialist, press three. To file-” I pressed three.

“London card department, how may I help you today,” said a woman.

“I would like to speak with a specialist, please.”

“May I take a message?”

“Am I able to speak to them in person? This is important.”

“They are all very busy.”

“Please? I must.”

“Alright, one moment please.” Muffled noises came from the line. “Dr. Seif, there’s a boy who wishes to speak with a specialist.” I strained to hear Dr. Seif’s response.

“Oh. Here, can I have the phone?”

“Sure

“Hello, this is Dr. Alison Seif,” said someone on the other end.

“Hello Dr. Seif!” I exclaimed. I sounded over-energetic I know, but I was ecstatic to finally be able to talk to someone who could help me. “My name is Porter Caldwell, and I have an issue with my cards.”

“Ah. Of what manner?”

I suddenly realized that they needed to know my problem. “Umm… I’m in the lobby…” I asked tentatively. “I- I-”

“Are you in the lobby?”

“Yes.”

“We honor our patients’ confidentiality. Would you like to come up to my office?”

“Yes please!” I decided to take confidentiality as my reason for 

“Alright. Take the elevator to the third floor then follow the hallway until you reach the drinking fountain, then take the hall across from the fountain until Room 313. That’s my office.”

“Thank you, Dr.”

“See you soon.” I hung up.

“Ready, Aurora?” I said to her. She looked terribly bored.

“Do I have to come?”

“Yes.”

She groaned. “You owe me for this, Porter Caldwell.”

I laughed. “I’ll add that to my list.”

Dr. Seif’s room was fairly easy to locate, and we managed not get lost. We got multiple strange looks from people, likely wondering why two kids were wandering around a government building on holiday, but other than that we arrived at her room with ease.

I knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said a female voice from inside. I pushed the door open to see a regular office, with a desk facing the door and two chairs in front of the desk. Behind was a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the rooftops of the city. Seated in a swivel chair behind the desk was a woman of maybe forty-two, with bobbed, straight black hair, olive skin, and a warm smile. A whiteboard on the wall was covered with pictures of what I presumed to be her kids and dog. “Ah! Porter, right?” said Dr. Seif, smiling warmly.

“Yes.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Seif.”

“Pleasure to meet you as well, Porter!”

“Aurora, could… could you stay out in the hall?” I asked shyly. She rolled her eyes but closed the door.

“Alright. So Porter, let’s get down to business. You said you had an issue with your cards.”

“Right. Umm…”

“This is a safe space, Porter, remember.” A tingly heat rose in my cheeks, and I fiddled with the cuff of my sleeve.

“I remember.” I said after a moment, feeling more and more nervous as I shifted my weight from side to side.

“What do you mean?”

“I- I know that I switched.”

“Oh.” Dr. Seif managed not to look too shocked, but I could tell she was.

“Yeah.”

“And do you know everything about your past life or just that you switched?”

“Everything.”

“Goodness.”

“Yeah.” I twiddled my fingers. After a moment I said, “Has this… is there something wrong with me?” I felt like a child.

“No, no, Porter!” She said, back to her warm, comforting manner. “There’s actually a solution developed by the World Union Science Institute.” I let out a breath so big it was as if I had been holding it since I walked in the DPH. “But, you see, Porter, in order to prescribe you the vaccine – that’s the form the medicine comes in – I need to know why you need it.”

“Oh.” No.

“I know this may be hard. But could you try?”

“I’ll try. So. Well, I had a difficult home life?” I twiddled with the cupcake squishy on the edge of the desk, squeezing the foam and watching it as it slowly crept back into its normal shape.

The smell of leather and bracken and manure assaulted my nose, memories of my past life. How Father would make me come on hunting trips with him. How Mother would refuse to give me dinner when I didn’t want to go to church. The sunburnt skin and callused hands.

“And- and I had a girlfriend…” I felt my eyes water. My throat choked up. “A girlfriend named…” Dr. Seif handed me the tissue box silently. I took it, grateful. Wiping my eyes, I continued.

“Caroline. And she was one of the reasons I didn’t just leave. She was kind and funny and understanding and everything you’d ever want, beautiful too.” The memory of Caroline pushed into my mind, how her red hair smelling of honey and sunshine would blow into my mouth that day on the beach, that eyeshadow palette of coppers that could only ever look good on her, that pearl choker she wore everyday and refused to take off. The kisses we stole at midnight, her horrible apple pie.

“Then one day-” I started crying again, this time hard. “We were in the car,” I managed to choke out. “And this truck came and hit the car and she was in the passenger’s seat and she-” I sobbed into my hands. “She got hit,” I sniveled. “She got hit and she- she- she- um, died and it was all my fault! It was all my fault and I-” I hadn’t noticed it but the door had opened and Aurora, so unlike her, was patting my shoulder awkwardly.

“I’m so sorry,” said Dr. Seif. “I understand. And I know what to do. If you’ll just let me check your file we can get it to you right away.” She checked my file.

“Alright Porter. So this vaccine takes about twelve hours to work, and once it does the memories will be gone forever. By tomorrow, you’ll wake up feeling light and free, and you won’t remember a thing. And Aurora, I’m going to give you a pill to remove anything Porter may have told you about his past life. Same rules apply for about twelve hours. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aurora and I said in unison.

“Perfect. Here’s this, Aurora.” Dr. Seif handed her a small white pill and a paper cup. Aurora filled it with water and downed it in one gulp. She smiled at me.

“A nurse will come in in a minute.” She stepped out and left me and Aurora thinking as the sun streamed down, illuminating the room.

A nurse in elephant-patterned scrubs walked in with a cart.

“Porter?”

“That’s me,” I said.

“Alright.” She cleaned me up. I watched as the shot was lowered to my shoulder and punctured my skin.

“Done.”

“Thank you,” I said. I felt free. Real. It hurt to think that by tomorrow I would forget the woman who saved my life, but then I reminded myself that by tomorrow my life would be free of the pain that had weighed down on me for thirteen years.

“C’mon, Porter. Thank you.” Aurora took me outside and led me down the street to a pedestrian bridge that curved over the Thames. We stood at the arc of the bridge, looking out over the river as it wound its way through the city. The sun was edging towards the horizon, making the sky as red as Caroline’s hair, red that would disappear by dawn.

“It’s beautiful, huh?” I said.

“Yeah.”

 

See Through

by: Pippa G. ’28

I had not realized anything was wrong until people started filming me. What is so special about a teenager holding coffee. To them, nothing. They just saw coffee. That was the day people “saw” me differently. That was the day people never saw me at all. 

I do not know how it happened. One day I woke up and BAM! I was invisible. Most people would say that this is amazing but no. It rips you apart. Tell me how amazing this sounds! Your friends and family are scared trying to look for you when in fact you are begging them to see you, everyone videotaping and taking pictures of things you are holding, screaming at night even when  you know no one can hear you! It isn’t anything close to a dream. Sorry, it is just that you are the only person who can hear me. 

From now on I try to minimize the amount of time I hold things. You might be thinking ‘wouldn’t their clothes show?’ no they don’t. I am thankful for that because I would definitely not want to walk around not wearing clothes. Of course no one would see me but still, it’s weird. In school I just walk to class without books. If I need them, I just look over a classmate’s shoulder. I am one for following rules, once in a while they get broken, but I don’t want to cause chaos. 

One day, I was sitting in spanish class when the cops came in with three police dogs. I panicked. There was a reason why I never told anyone about my secret power! What if they find me? The police explained the rumors about an invisible person. I held my breath. The dogs ears perked up and they looked dead at me. The german shepards circled my knees and snarled. I warily backed up while the police walked over to me. I ran as they lunged! One police man grabbed my hand, so I tried wriggling free of his grasp. He would not let go so I dug my nails into his palm, making him yelp. I sprinted to the door and glanced back. My classmates were scared, shocked, nervous, confused.

Teton Valley

by: Anders J. ’27

6  Ways  to  Look  at  a Wet  Dog

by: Nora H. ’27

Why F1 is the Greatest Motorsport of All Time

By: Ivan L.J.

Essay by Ben I. ’26

Introduction

An orphan, a senator, a general, a lawyer, a vice president, a father, a husband, a leader, a traitor, and a murderer. A man who had so much to lose and lived his life without taking a risk. When he did, he ruined his legacy, was known to be the murderer of Alexander Hamilton and a traitor to his country. A man who did whatever it took to get to the top only to lose it all. This man was Aaron Burr. 

Young Life

Aaron Burr Jr. was born on February 6th, 1756 in Newark, New Jersey. His parents were Aaron Burr Sr., who was the second president of the College of New Jersey, now known as Princeton University, and Esther Edwards Burr, his mother. He had an older sister named Sarah (“Sally”) Burr.

Burr’s father died in 1757 while being the president of Princeton College. Burr’s grandfather, Jonathan Edwards, was after Burr’s father as president, and he and his wife began living with Burr and his mother in December 1757. Burr’s grandfather died in March 1758 and Burr’s mother and grandmother also died within the year, leaving Burr and his sister orphans when he was two years old. Aaron and Sally were then taken care of by the William Shippen family in Philadelphia. In 1759, the children were given to their 21-year-old uncle Timothy Edwards. The next year, Edwards married Rhoda Ogden and moved to Elizabeth, New Jersey. Burr had a very terrible relationship with his uncle, who was often physically abusive. As a child, he tried to run away from home several times.

At the age of 13, he was accepted into Princeton and he studied there till he was 19. He met Hamilton there as well, but Hamilton was not accepted and the bursar of the school laughed and called him an idiot, Hamilton’s response was punching him in the face. The two became friends and would sometimes meet during the war but spit when they split parties. When he was 19 he decided to move to Connecticut to study law with his brother-in-law. But in 1775 he heard the news of the revolutionary war and put a hold to his studies to join the Continental Army.

Burr in the Revolutionary War 

During the American Revolutionary War Burr took part in Benedict Arnold’s expedition to Quebec, which was more than 300 miles through the frontier of Maine. Arnold was impressed by Burr’s “great spirit and resolution” during the long journey and sent him up the Saint Lawrence River to contact General Richard Montgomery, who had taken Montreal and escort the general to Quebec. Montgomery then promoted Burr to captain and made him an aide-de-camp (fancy word for secretary), Washington did also except for Hamilton. Burr did an amazing job during the Battle of Quebec on December 31, 1775, where he tried to recover Montgomery’s corpse after he had been shot in the neck.

             In the spring of 1776, Burr’s step brother Matthias Ogden helped him to get a position with George Washington’s staff in Manhattan, but he quit on June 26 to be able to fight. General Israel Putnam took Burr under his wing, and Burr saved an entire brigade from capture after the British landing in Manhattan by his idea to retreat from lower Manhattan to Harlem. Washington failed to commend Burr for his idea in the next day’s General Orders, which was the fastest way to obtain a promotion. Burr was already a nationally known hero, but he never received a commendation. He also tried to be accepted as Washington’s secretary but was replaced by Alexander Hamilton. According to Ogden, he was extremely angry by the incident, which may have led to the odd relationship between him and Washington. Burr still defended Washington’s decision to evacuate New York. It was not until the 1790s that the two men decided to be on opposite sides in politics.

Burr was placed with a regiment in 1777 where he was placed in Westchester County, New York. 2 years later he became ill and in March 1779 he resigned from the Continental Army and went to Connecticut to help until 1781 when the war was finished.

 Marriage to Theodosia Bartow Prevost  

Burr met Theodosia in August 1778 while she was married to Jaques Marcus Prevost, a British officer placed in Georgia. While Prevost was gone, Burr would visit Theodosia regularly. The visits began starting gossip and by 1780 they were open lovers. But, in December 1781 Theodosia learned that Prevost died from yellow fever while in Jamaica. She and Burr got married in 1782 and moved into a house on Wall Street. 

Burr’s Children

Aaron Burr had many children with different mothers, and he kept some in hiding and did not even know about the other children. Which makes it so hard to count all of them. We do know that he was the father of Theodosia Burr, John Pierre Burr, Louisa Charlotte Burr, and he also fathered Francis Ann and Elizabeth later in his life and acknowledged them by giving them his estate in his will a year before he died. John Pierre Burr and Louisa Charlotte Burr were both the children of one of Theodosia’s servents and were born during the marriage of Aaron Burr and Theodosia. He also adopted Aaron Colombus Burr and Charles Burdett and was the stepfather to Augustine James Frederick Prevost and John Bartow Prevost. He also served as the legal guardian of Nathalie de Lage de Volude and John Vanderlyn who painted the painting you see on the cover.

Burr After the war 

Burr served in the New York State Assembly from 1784 to 1785.  He became seriously involved in politics in 1789 when George Clinton put him as New York State Attorney General. In 1791, he was elected by the legislature as a Senator from New York, defeating Philip Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton’s father in law. He was in the Senate until 1797. He ran for president in 1796 and came in fourth. Burr was elected to the New York State Assembly in 1798 and did it till 1799. During this time, he joined with the Holland Land Company in making a law to permit aliens to hold and convey lands. In September 1799, Burr fought a duel with John Barker Church, whose wife was Angelica Schuyler Church and was the sister of Hamilton’s wife Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton. John Barker Church had accused Burr of taking a bribe from the Holland Company for his political influence. Burr and Church shot at each other and missed, and afterward, Church realized that he was wrong to have accused Burr without proof. Burr accepted this as an apology, and they shook hands and ended the argument. In 1799 he also founded Bank of The Manhattan Company. Burr was a Democratic-Republican but was very close to the Federalist party.

The election of 1800

Burr ran for president in 1800. He gained a place on the Democratic-Republican presidential ticket in the 1800 election with Jefferson. Though Jefferson and Burr won New York, he and Burr tied for being president, with 73 electoral votes each. Members of the Democratic-Republican Party intended that Jefferson should be president and Burr vice president, but the tied vote meant that the final choice was made by the House of Representatives, with each of the 16 states having one vote, and nine votes needed for election.

Publicly, Burr remained quiet and refused to surrender the presidency to Jefferson, the great enemy of the Federalists. Rumors came that Burr and a bunch of Federalists were encouraging Republican representatives to vote for him, blocking Jefferson’s election in the House. However, solid evidence of such a conspiracy was lacking, and historians generally gave Burr the benefit of the doubt. In 2011, however, historian Thomas Baker discovered a previously unknown letter from William P. Van Ness to Edward Livingston, two leading Democratic-Republicans in New York that proved the theory. Van Ness was very close to Burr—serving as his second in the next duel with Hamilton. As a leading Democratic-Republican, Van Ness secretly supported the Federalist plan to elect Burr as president and tried to get Livingston to join. Livingston agreed at first, then reversed himself. Baker argues that Burr probably supported the Van Ness plan. The attempt did not work, due partly to Livingston’s reversal, but more to Hamilton’s opposition to Burr and how in a dinner with the House of Representatives he openly said Burr was “a dangerous man and one who ought not to be trusted with the reins of government”. Jefferson was elected president, and Burr vice president.

Hamilton vs. Burr duel

Burr, very angry at Hamilton, sent a letter talking about how Hamilton had been disrespectful and the two exchanged letters until Burr challenged Hamilton to a duel. Dueling had been outlawed in New York in which the sentence for dueling was death. It was illegal in New Jersey as well, but the consequences were less severe. On July 11, 1804, the old friends now enemies met outside Weehawken, New Jersey, at the same spot where Hamilton’s oldest son had died in a duel just three years before. Burr fired and Hamilton did as well, but in the sky and Hamilton was mortally wounded by a shot just above the hip. He died with his loved ones in New York the next day. Burr was charged with multiple crimes, including murder, in New York and New Jersey. He ran away to South Carolina, where his daughter lived with her family, but soon returned to Philadelphia and then to Washington to complete his term as vice president. He avoided New York and New Jersey for a time, but all the charges against him were eventually dropped. The reason it wasn’t just New Jersey was because although Hamilton was shot in New Jersey, he died in New York. 

Conclusion

Most people believe this is the end of Burr’s story but there is so much more about his life. He lived another 30 years after the duel with Hamilton, and I will tell that story in my second essay The Life of Aaron Burr: Succeeding Hamilton. 

Parrot & Idabelle

by: Fiona P. ’26

Idabelle Nibley had spent her twenty-one years ignorant of the world around her.

Which most certainly bothered some people, the doll in the green dress on her shelf to name one.

She called herself Parrot, for she had overheard Idabelle bragging to a friend about the gift her sea-faring father was to bring back to her and thought the word was simply splendid. She had no idea what a Parrot was, of course, but thought that if Mr Nibley had anything to do with it, it had to be perfect.

Idabelle spent exactly three days paying any attention to Parrot. Parrot longed to relive those days that the vain, spoiled girl had spent with her: showing the doll off to her cousins, bringing her to show-and-tell (one of Idabelle’s major accomplishments was always having the best things for Miss Blakely’s show-and-tell), sitting her next to her in the family pew on the Sunday. Parrot grew ecstatic after she went to her first mass, and patiently awaited for the next Sunday to come around and for Idabelle to put on her frilly pink satin frock and put ribbons around her milk chocolate ringlets and then dress Parrot up to match. But, the second Sunday never came, and instead Idabelle showed off her new pink lace parasol to the church. (Yes, Jesus would disapprove of her vanity, her pretentiousness, and really many other things, but she was confident not even He could hold out against her dazzling angelic smiles.)

Parrot’s naïveté entertained the other toys in Idabelle’s room. On the shelf between the windows where she sat, there was a teddy bear and a set of nesting dolls. The nesting dolls had long foreign names with lots of ks and vs and os and as, and were always unstacked, unfortunately for Parrot. They, along with the other nearby toys, would laugh at and taunt Parrot often. However the bear, who called himself Sebastian, had plenty of advice for the heartbroken doll.

Parrot spent her days longingly gazing at Idabelle’s newest craze. She knew, however, that those toys would all soon be retired to their shelves and never fawned over again.

And they all followed in the footsteps of their predecessors to the bookcase which held no books or the shelf between the windows or the desk Idabelle had never sat down at.

At the moment, however, Parrot was in a predicament. Idabelle’s room was being cleaned – not by her, of course, for she didn’t even know how to pick up a mop – but by one of the housemaids to fix up her room before Idabelle’s wedding. Idabelle wanted all her toys to move with her to her new house, and there was a great fuss. Parrot had been removed from her shelf and tossed hap-hazardly face-down on the pink carpet. Her arm was bent underneath her in the most uncomfortable manner and her dress, which was already covered in dust, was getting more and more wrinkled by the minute. She could hear Idabelle prattling above her.

“Put all the dresses in this trunk, here,” Idabelle’s nasally voice demanded to her maid, Augusta. “And make sure the best ones are on top.”

A gentle knock came on the door.“Idabelle,” Mr Nibley said from outside. Parrot heard a hint of sadness in his voice. “Are you almost ready? Your mother and Mr Coombs are awaiting your presence in the carriage.” The door opened and Parrot heard footsteps enter the room.

“Maid, fetch me some tea,” said Idabelle. Augusta scuttled out the door.

“Idabelle, are you almost ready? Please, we must go.”

“Well yes, almost, I wanted to get all my toys before I left. I’m so elated I could nearly faint!”

“Idabelle, are you sure you wish to bring your childhood belongings?”

“Of course, Daddy. Most of them are from you so why do you complain? After all if you didn’t wish for me to have them why would you wish me to be away with them? They will all help make the Coombs estate feel like home.”

“You wish to bring all of the toys?

“Well of course, Daddy.”

“Just this once, Idabelle, I must put my foot down. You cannot bring them all. I’ll give them myself to the poorhouse.”

“No! Daddy, you wouldn’t! Don’t do such a thing!”

Just then, the door burst open and two sets of footsteps bustled in.

“Oh, Idabelle!” gushed one of the newcomers, Mrs Nibley from the sound of it. “I can’t believe my little girl is all grown up! You look lovely, doesn’t she, Mr Coombs? Oh, do step inside. We must have a chat before you head off. The carriage is downstairs, but it can wait a minute. Sally, pour us the tea. Sally! Yes, you. Good. Now. We must speak of the service, oh, it will be so beautiful! I can’t recall all the details.” Mrs Nibley prattled on about the dress, the new house, and the cake for minutes on end before Mr Nibley could remind her they had a carriage to catch.

“Wait!” Idabelle exclaimed. “Daddy, can I take a toy with me? Please?” Parrot could practically hear Mr Nibley’s eyes roll.

“It’s your wedding day, Idabelle, don’t be silly.”

“But Daddy! I want at least one!” whined Idabelle.

“You’re no longer a little girl.” Mr Nibley leaned closer to his daughter and whispered, “This is for your sake, my dear. Hemptonshire is a small town and I don’t want the entire village to think ill of you, your husband included.”

Idabelle tittered. “Oh, you’re so funny, Daddy! Who could ever think ill of me?” She snorted and Parrot imagined that she tossed her plait over her shoulder. Mr Nibley sighed.

“No one, dear.”

“Good. Maid, pack up the toys.”

“Do not pack up the toys!”

“Yes, do! Now! You’re my maid!”

“And I am your father and you will do as I say!”

Poor Augusta just stood there, not knowing who to obey or what to do. Should she stay still and face the wrath of Idabelle, or pack the toys and risk losing her job? Parrot had learned from maids talking in the room that Augusta had seven siblings and an ailing mother. The torn maid decided, after several rather awkward seconds, to stay still. It was, after all, Idabelle’s last day at Westbrook. She could bear Idabelle’s temper for one more day. Perhaps she would be moved to one of Idabelle’s sweet-tempered sisters!

“Good. Idabelle, move along.”

“No! Give! Me! My! Toys!!”

“Absolutely not. I won’t have it.”

“DA-ddy! You’re so horrible! You never let me have any fun!”

“You cannot have the dolls and that is final.”

It was Mrs Nibley who spoke next. “Mr Nibley! For once in your life make your daughter happy! All you’ve done is stop her from having fun. Now now, Idabelle, take this one. She has such nice, pretty curls and blue eyes just like you.” Parrot gleefully watched the rug shrink as she was lifted into the air and handed to the grumpy girl.

“Thank you, Mother.” Idabelle blew a raspberry at her father. Parrot felt a soaring rush of ecstasy. Unfortunately, Parrot thought for a moment that Idabelle was actually going to care for her again.

As the parents and Mr Coombs left the bedroom, Idabelle stopped.

“Where are these doll’s clothes?” she demanded of Augusta.“Over there, ma’am.” Idabelle snatched up a lacy white dress and took Parrot’s old, green one off. She stuffed the bridal-like gown over Parrot’s head and slipped on white tights and baby pink satin flats.

“Perfect!” Idabelle danced down the downstairs leisurely, flitting past the portraits of her ancestors and running her fingers along the antique canvases. For Parrot, seeing the mansion’s entry hall brought back all sorts of memories. She recalled how Mr Nibley had scan the shelves of the toy store in London for a new addition to his daughter’s collection. Parrot, or Sylvia, as the tag on the box she came in read, was the perfect choice for his daughter. She was dressed in the latest fashion and made by the fanciest toymaker in all of England. She had heard, on her first day, a few dolls talking of the fate of a previous toy, Colette: after it was out of fashion, it was put into the waste bin and incinerated. She had just begun to think that Colette’s fate might be her own when Mr Nibley had saved her.

She remembered how those first few days at Westbrook had shown her about the world beyond the shop, and how she watched with jealousy and heartbreak as Idabelle unwrapped a silk-covered box and discovered a new pair of leather boots the fourth day.

Idabelle flitted out the door with Parrot in her arms and joined Mr Coombs, Mr Coombs’ parents, and her parents in the open carriage.

“Oh, hello, Edward!” Idabelle tittered. “Oh, how thrilling this day is! Now Edward, this is Sylvia.” Idabelle pointed at Parrot. “Make room so she can sit, that’s a dear.” The driver cracked his whip and took off to the church.

Idabelle stepped out of her carriage and all the people who had come to see Idabelle’s wedding stood in front of the church and clapped.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present Lord Edward Coombs and Lady Idabelle Nibley!” The crowd clapped.

“Careful of the mud, dear,” said Mr Coombs.

“Carry me, dear.” Idabelle was hoisted up unenthusiastically and they set across the mud. Suddenly, Parrot slipped from her grasp and tumbled down, down, down and into the mud.

The dirty water soaked chillingly through her satin slippers. The mud caked onto her skin and stuck in her joints, rendering her unmovable. Her dress was torn on Idabelle’s ring and seeped into the fine lace. Only half her body was saved from submergence, her fragile sterling ear-rings clanking against pebbles among the soupy sludge. “Save me, Idabelle!” thought Parrot.

But Idabelle only continued inside, ignorant, and left Parrot lying face up in a pile of horse manure and muck. Parrot felt as if she could cry.

“That stupid, simple-minded girl,” thought Parrot. “She’s all decked up in a nice white dress while I lie here in the mud with nothing I can do for myself! What did I do to deserve this? Nothing, I tell you, absolutely nothing. All I did was sit on that shelf for eight years and wait, wait for something to happen! I waited and I waited for days but nothing ever came. What was I looking for in the first place? An escape, likely. Well, I escaped, that’s for sure, but now I’m here and I might as well be back on the shelf-between-the-windows! Even Sebastian and those nasty dolls are luckier than I, sitting nice and clean in that trunk of theirs to go the poor. Oh, how silly I was to think Idabelle liked me again. She got me in her trap again, didn’t she. Why does such a horrible girl get to be a human when I’m stuck here in the lace dress becoming a mud pie and I can’t do anything about it! Stupid limbs, stupid horse-hair ringlets, stupid glass eyes.”

Just as Parrot’s despair was about to consume her, she had a new problem to deal with.

A gang of young boys came down the road.

“Look here, Johnny!” said a lad about eleven, with scruffy blond hair and eager brown eyes. Johnny, the oldest, turned and looked at what he was pointing to. “A little doll!” Johnny squinted at Parrot.

“What’re ya trying to get at, Tom?” asked Johnny.

“Let’s tease my sister with it, shall we?” The boys agreed and Tom, the youngest and new in town, picked up Parrot.

“What, oh what, has become of me?” she thought desperately as the boys carried her to town. They stopped on the cobblestone road and Idabelle caught a glimpse of the small, two-story white stone house Tom must have lived in.

“Hey Charlotte!” called Tom to his sister. “Come down here!” A little girl of eight in a light blue gingham frock peeked out the front door.

“What is it?” She asked tentatively,.

“Look here!” Tom tossed the doll high into the air and it spun down into to Tom’s hand. Parrot felt her stomach go queasy. He threw her up again and again until the little girl’s face was wrought with anger.

“Give her here!” Charlotte ran to the boys and pushed Tom, making another grab at the doll. Tom threw it to one of his buddies, who promptly tossed it to the next boy. The world spun around as Parrot was thrown from boy to boy and her stomach churned. Charlotte’s eyes brimmed with tears and when Parrot was thrown back to Tom, she pushed him and snatched up the doll. The boys laughed behind her as she stomped back inside.

She set Parrot down on the oak kitchen table and furrowed her brow. “Look at you, poor thing,” she said to Parrot. “Let’s clean you up.” Parrot was soaked, scrubbed, and dressed. An odd, new feeling warmed in her chest as Charlotte carefully tended to her.

Charlotte played with Parrot every day and never ignored her. Only once, as Charlotte was chatting to her, did she hear of Idabelle. It had happened that the ignorant girl fell sick and was rushed out of Hemptonshire to go to the sea.

Four 

by: Pippa G. ’28

There were seven at the start. We had all drunk the poison so we all have to fight for the antidote. The anonymous person told us all to meet at the mountain for a “rock-climbing” session. We each introduced our names: Sarah, Chad, Olivia, Zach, Anna, Eva and Harry. There were seven bottles of water each with our names, so we grabbed them and drank away. We did not realize the water would lead to our end. A person in all black showed up and told us, 

“That water is deadly venom. There is an antidote at the top but not enough for everyone. You must fight for your life and climb to the top.” 

Our faces drained color. We glanced around and ran to the mountain. It was a rocky start. By the time we were a quarter up (65 meters high) we had already lost someone. Sarah had collapsed right there in the hot sun and no one had dared to stop after that. All of us had cuts and bandages on our hands. Blisters burned our feet and pools of sweat ran down our necks. The rocks were sharp and hard as steel. There were crevices that shaded us from the burning sun. Everyone was tearing through food and taking off layers. Chad let his empty backpack drop down until it got stuck on a ledge. Seconds, minutes, hours passed by but it felt like they weren’t moving at all.

Eva lost her footing and slipped but Zach grabbed her arm and pulled her up. They then remembered their mission and leapt up onto the rocks once more. We unexpectedly heard a scream. Harry gasped and fell down the rocky mountain. It looked as though he was in slow motion and Eva screamed again. She sat down in a crevice wailing at the sight of her husband plunging to his death. She wept and sobbed as we all passed her. Eva, her face red from crying, snarled and dashed up the rocky terrain angrily. She was fueled by pure madness and sadness. Everyone’s hands bled and feet ached. We could soon see the tip and with relief we pulled ourselves up with courage. Anna was the first to make it up, then Zach, then Eva, then Chad and Olivia. Another person in black held a vile with a purple substance. Anna suddenly lost all feeling in her legs and crumpled off the ledge. Chad dived to save her but was too late and she disappeared over the edge. 

The man in black gave us each a vile and we gulped down the antidote. Then, the remaining people who were safe sat down and took a breath. Our socks were caked in blood and sweat. We all got a drive home and went to the doctor. One secret though is who did it? 

Two Haikus

by: Arya G. ’27

Thanksgiving: 

Happy Thanksgiving

Even if I can’t see you

Know that I miss you

 

Turtle getting caught: 

Turtles swimming

Sometimes getting caught in nets

Dying slowly

Covid

by: Theo A. ’27 

 

Covid doing a lot

Covid hospitalizing a lot

Covid destroying fun

 

Police making a bad move

Starting protests and violence too 

 

People not wearing masks 

People not doing their tasks

And they think things will change

 

Summer, we want to reopen

They opened up but the world was still copin’

With countries and relationships

And Covid

 

Covid wrecking many lives

Breaking many hearts

But even though on the outside we looked hopeless

We were strong inside

 

We wore are masks

We did are tasks

And opened the gateway to fun

Six feet apart

 

2020 has been the worst year of our lives

Wrecking our plans

And fun and travel, cut by a knives

Or scythes

Or anything that destroys happiness

 

We’re strong, we’re tough

And even though Covid was rough

We are rougher and tougher than a virus will ever be

If we are together

If we work as one

Where I’m From 

by: Meron B. ’28

 

I am from cozy apartments

From Sephora skincare and Burt’s Bees chapstick

I am from the town-house

Home-like, lively 

It sounded like never ending phone calls from the basement

I am from the front yard daisies

Lavender bushes

sweet smelling, surrounded by bumblebees and  butterflies

I’m from the church sundays and black coffee

from Tata’s cookies and Dad’s greenthumb 

I’m from the Saturday hikes with mom

and painting and sewing in Tata and Ababa’s basement

 

From “Keep your hair down, it wont be frizzy”

 and “Wear a dress, it’s warm out”

 I’m from kolo, served under church arches

From donations, bread, and sour grape juice

I’m from Ethiopia and North America 

Blackout chocolate cupcakes and vegan burgers

From the hours of raking, picking up leaves, and creating and growing life with dad 

To the wet sneakers, and smudged t-shirts from crossing my backyard waterfall with my neighbors.

I am from scented lotion, lipgloss, and earrings. I am from books, from pointe shoes, from sunflowers. I am from African culture, from reggae music, from ripped leggings. I am from where I’m from, no matter where I am. 

Embers

 by: Jayson P. ’27

            In the air

       on the ground

as if no one would see

      the spark in us.

The flickering light

      or the volatile wind ahead.

    With no one thinking about us 

      no one wanting to have us

        just wanting to watch us

          Slowly fly away to an unpredictable fate

or rather, be an opportunity for us 

or something worse

          as cold winds have it 

putting everything out.

      Hearing the popping and crackle

      of the heart-warm fire flickering.

             The wood’s odd smell

          and the burning sensation

          of being released

            to an uncertain destiny.

Ways of seeing skis

by: Josh G. ’27

———- 

They are worn, used, taken off, and put away. 

The dirty smell of dust fills the room.

Once every glacial season in the midst of cold, taken out and put to use.

———-

Put in a car on a long journey 

carried on shoulders

thrown on the wet snow – 

a giant’s shoe. 

———

Traces of others 

imprinted in the ground

big and small

the first taste of snow

on a yellow welcoming sunrise. 

———-

A fun tool 

used by many 

made long ago, forged by sweet hickory.

———

A new and scary experience 

the dark black fear of falling                       

———–

The slopes are open 

skis are on it.

————

A pair.

Twins, never separated.

————

More Than Tomatoes and Cheese

by: Olivia H. ’27

A picture of a little girl on a step stool, with sauce all over her, next to her aunt, sits on the desk. That picture was taken six years ago, showing how long Friday pizza night has been a tradition. Over time, the recipe for pizza has advanced; now, instead of store-bought dough, my mother goes through the tedious task of making the dough. She rolls, kneads, shapes, and feeds her own sourdough starter. While she’s rolling the dough, she always allows taste tests. She lets my siblings and I help roll the dough, and then hold it up so it spreads using gravity. The dough sinks down as if it had just jumped to the moon and was now falling. The dough is as soft as a cloud. Then, we spread the tomato sauce leaving a thin strip around the edges. After the first cooking of the crust, my mom adds the toppings, then she puts the pizzas back in the oven to cook the cheese and tomato sauce into the crust. From anywhere and everywhere in our house, you can smell the aroma of meat, cheese, and tomatoes blending. It smells as familiar as if it was part of home. Flavors have advanced as well, currently a favorite is sourdough crust with olive oil, feta cheese, scallions, and pancetta. Every Friday night, my family sits at the counter; at the first bite of my pizza, I feel the solid but soft crust, the tomato sauce and cheese singing a delicious harmony, and the pancetta adding some salt and texture. It melts in your mouth, like an ice cube, it’s gone all too fast. It tastes so good that before you know it, you’ve eaten 10 slices. Friday pizza night is special to my family because we always do it together. Most nights we have activities and homework, but pizza time is together time. We sit around the white table in the breakfast room. We talk about our days, things in our lives, upcoming vacations, and past memories. There are many people who are busy in my family. My Dad works hard at his job all day, and my Mom works all day helping my siblings and I, doing errands, and chores. My siblings and I are either at school, working on homework, studying, or going to all of our after-school activities. I am thankful for all my family’s hard work, but I love how on Fridays we all convene and talk. Friday pizza night is a very long dinner. We might sit as long as an hour and a half talking and eating. Friday night marks the end of the week, and it always feels joyous. My family all look forward to Friday, and so do I.

A Magnificent Culinary Experience (With a Side of Couscous)

by: Rani B. ’27

The first time I tried chicken tagine was in Morocco, when I was roughly five years old. My Mima (grandma), my aunt, and my mom made it in a very large tagine pot. I was playing outside with my cousins, and I could smell all the flavors, like the onions and the brothy, thick sauce. You could smell the paprika, pepper, and salt in the air. I was hypnotized by the amazing smell, and I came to watch the adults making the delicious-smelling food. I watched the art of making and layering the sauce and the beautiful form of placing all the different ingredients like chicken stock, couscous and onions. They spent so much time arranging it. 

When we were called to eat, there were heaps and heaps of couscous, mountains of chicken smothered in sauce, and onions that were so tender and soft they melted in your mouth like a savory version of chocolate. The chicken was soft and tender too, and the skin was crispy and flavorful. The couscous mixed with sauce created an artistic reaction. It tasted like heaven on a plate with extra onions. The chicken was equally amazing. It was a magnificent experience, and I love eating the delicious sauce, chicken, and onions. It was a culinary delight. The aromatic food tasted very, very amazing. The members of my family have different ways of cooking it. My grandma puts a lot of onions, my aunt puts more couscous, and my mom puts lots of sauce. I am working on my own way to do it, because I am still learning how to make it, but I hope I will master it soon.

Ways of Seeing Golf Clubs

by: Sadie G. ’27

 

A generic toy

passed from one hand to the next 

to help the ball through the windmill 

in the salty heat of a summer night on the Cape.       

 

An experiment with the laws of physics;

half a pendulum;

a tap, a push, a whack.

 

3.

A head, a hosel, a shaft, a grip;

irons, wedges, woods, putters;

endless options for your path to victory.

 

A yearly investment to up your game

until outgrown, upgraded, and replaced by

the sparkling smoothness of new technology. 

 

5.

An orchestra of instruments

like wind chimes tinkling in my bag

creating metallic sweetness to my ears and

imitating my stride beat by beat.

 

An extension of my body,

like a fifth limb dancing through

plugging mud, stinging sand, tickling grass, and uplifting air.   

 

Precise as a surgeon’s scalpel 

or an artist’s brush

requiring choice, strategy, and trust.

 

The pressure of a confident handshake,

no more, no less;

fingers intertwined and woven

like my grandmother’s sweater.

 

A best friend 

who can sometimes betray you

with a crushing hook or slice. 

 

A bitter weapon hurled in anger,

unjustly blamed and

smashed on the innocent blades of grass.

 

11.

Comfort in the palms of my hands;

a perfect fit like Cinderella’s glass slipper,

customized uniquely for me. 

 

12.

A trophy finish

held high in the air and 

captured in gleaming gold. 

CRAZY TALK!

      by: Kalin H. ’26

I thought I’d make a birthday cake for my best friend. I totally goofed! Turns out I had accidently made a rotten chicken and mustard pie that looked like a bog trog sitting on a log eating eggnog. I don’t know why I picked chicken to put in the batter but it looked awfully wet so I thought everyone likes chicken and chicken is hard, so why not put it in a cake and make it hard. The icing was not a good color so I put a gallon of mustard to help stabilize the color. Sadly, I had accidently put the cake in my chipotle which I unthinkably put in the oven. My friend is coming so I plan to tell him that my cat ate and messed up the cake, for she was a cat who had recently ate a bat and was quite fat. This awfully reminds me of the time I took a fried chive, and I went to the strong tide with a kite to catch a fly which was surprisingly hard so I took my fried chive and taped it to the kite which was alive and added the chive with tape and then I got the fly! But I had no fried chive so I blamed it on the cat who had ate my hat so my friend Tat thought I was still good at making habitats, and that was that!

 

“Tis a tongue twister”

Winding Wind

by: Micah J. ’26

 

I break hard to see the dawn,

Were blacks and whites get along 

And sing a song 

 

I pray to god for harmony as my brothers and sisters gather by me

The teens hit hard cause their Pa can swing along

Left without love a endless decay of life,

The drug hit hard that no one can fight

The AKs so strong that people can’t walk the street at night

 

I heard the cries of those who died from police and bothered brothers

I saw the son and daughters so caught up in their body they couldn’t smile one time

That they had to hide and throw all them feelings away

 

I sing a song were no matter what color you are you live in piece’

That drugs and guns didn’t ever hit the street 

I wish that people didn’t worry bout’ their looks cause,

 everyone’s beautiful in their own way 

The Three Little Pigs as told by the Wolf

by: Sasha H. ’25

 

One day I craved some boar

So when I spied one at my front door

I opened my maw

And blew down his house of straw

But still I hungered for more

 

Then I saw a fat pig

It really was very big

I really love meat

And I knew he’d be quite a treat

So I blew down his house made of twig

 

I spotted the last hog I’d picked

Hidden in a house he had bricked

I blew gale after gale

But couldn’t prevail

And I knew I was finally licked

Third Cardinal Sin

by: N’Darri P. ’25

The blinding lights mangled her focus. She wouldn’t be deterred; it was instilled in her to be everything but. Her opponent sitting across from her; a villain who was dealt the same cards as her but somehow managed to hold them all in her deceitful palm. With all her cards on the table, she realized she should’ve seen the signs. She knew that love, life, and everything in between was a game of chance, but she never expected anything like this. She at least thought her feelings, her very being at the least, would have been respected, which made her feel even stupider for not realizing her mistake sooner. Never again. Now, she knew better. She knew not to be so trusting, knew that who she was didn’t matter to people who cheated in this gamble. She picked up her hand, her choices laid before her. There was only one out. With a flick of the wrist, a final decision was laid across the table. A joker. Forever the wild one, unpredictable, often undealt and unwanted, but when given the chance, would make or break the game. A replacement had been given, and a choice had been made, and another day had been gifted to her. Her luck wouldn’t last forever, but in her eyes, good things come to those who are forever greedy.

The Ocean Blue

by: Fernanda P. ’25

 

As blue as the sky

As loud as a train passing by

As deep as a dog’s love for their owner

The ocean blue

As scary as going to bed after watching a horror movie

As fun as going to the park as a toddler

As calming as curling up into cozy flannel sheets

The ocean blue

As nerve wracking as taking a test

As exciting as trying something new

The ocean blue

Is an old friend 

Once you leave

And come back

The ocean blue

Will always recall you 

Lovely Songs

by: Tyler C. ’26

 

There is a song that I love

And once it gets into my eardrum

Once i hear those guitar notes

Than I know it can’t go wrong

 

My mom always has it on the radio

Sometimes even on her phone

I will listen to it with earbuds 

Or even with headphones

Assorted poems 

by: Pippa G. ’28

Put your eyes to the test

Work really hard

And do your best!

That is what my teacher said 

When I could not focus

My mind is blank 

I can not think

There is no point in rhyming

I should try something else

Like dancing

Or swimming 

I could possibly 

Do miming

Graceful and bright,

Smooth like ice

The most interesting thing on earth

Majestic and proud

Abstract and loud

Is how my friend

Describes mice

The Rise

Dan E. ’27  

         During the lockdown, my family needed a morale booster. My mom came to the rescue with two bags of bread flour and yeast. She needed a bread recipe that would make the most amount of loaves with the least amount of bread flour, because bread flour was very limited. She found a recipe for “Buttermilk Bread” and decided to make it. The ingredients are bread flour, buttermilk, Kosher salt, and yeast. My mom started to perfect the bread by making it over and over until my family really started to love it. She would let the bread rise overnight then put it in the oven in the morning. I would smell the dough baking in a Dutch oven from my room. The rich aroma of buttermilk and dough would flood our house with a delicious smell. The appearance of the bread is round, crispy, and bumpy with a nice golden color. The bread feels crispy on the outside and on the inside it feels soft and fluffy. The bread reminds me of what a wheel of cheese looks like. It tastes very soft and has a hint of creamy milk. But when you put a little bit of butter the whole bread explodes with flavors rushing into your mouth like a chemical reaction. The bread has a very deep meaning behind it. The bread represents resiliency during an unprecedented time. It shows resilience because we can still enjoy life in a hard time. The bread also represents family. Because every night my mom would make the bread, and we would gather together at the dinner table and enjoy it. Lastly the bread represents the dedication my mom has for learning a new skill just to bring a little more light into my family.

Thanksgiving

Theo A. ”27

Friends, family, food

I love it and you do too

Crisp leaves and dead trees

 

Stuffing, turkey, sauce

‘Round the table and we talk

Fun six feet apart

 

Cornbread, cranberry

Stuffing and sauce, cinnamon

Gravy, the cold, warmth

 

Of family and 

Fire and food that fills us

Pumpkin spice flavor

 

Potato, pumpkin

We are all eating something

Marshmallow, stuffing

 

Giving thanks to all

Leaves reminding us of fall

We can hear our call

 

We put down cell phones

We shut off the lights inside

We take in beauty

 

No school, no homework

No friends, I’m lonely, save me

Covid restrictions 

 

We see others too

With masks, gators too

I like holidays

 

Great memories made

Great Thanksgiving on my plate

Great food that we ate

 

Thanksgiving this year has not ended, we have lot’s to give thanks for,  say your thanks 

The space race  

Mariana D. ’28 

Debra 

I couldn’t take my eyes off of the tv, it just didn’t seem real. I watched as the rocket went up, with fire strong enough to make an explosion. They Called it the juno 1, and inside was the first ever american satellite, the explorer 1. I could hear my mom calling me for dinner, but I blocked all of the noise out. Even dinner couldn’t get me off this couch.

The next thing I know I am already 15 minutes late to dinner. I look over at the door to see a very upset mom, looking at me with a disappointed face.  she didn’t have to say anything i already knew what i had to do 

“Sorry mom, it will never happen again”.

 At least that’s what I say, I am late to dinner almost every night. every time i say that it will never happen again it always does. So I marched out of the room with my head down, not even thinking about looking at my mom.

I sit down at the table with my head still down. And when I finally look up, I see my sister Linda giving me the stink eye. I wanted to give her one back but I was already in enough trouble.

After dinner I decided to read a newspaper about the rockets. If you haven’t already noticed, I am used to rocket science. I want to be a rocket designer when i am older, but my mom and dad want me to have a family. I pick up the newspaper and read every bit of info I can get. What I found most interesting is that the man who is making theas amazing rockets, was actually working for the Soviets before he surrendered to the americans. Now he is one of the best rocket designers in the country. His name is Wernher von Braun. 

My parents and my sister were never really that interested in what was going on between the Soviets and the Americans. But me and my older brother James have always wanted to know who was going to win, and hopefully get a man into space. Of course my brother wasn’t as big of a fan then me, he would never miss donner or disobey my mom to watch rockets with me.

 

 

To think of love is to think of thee.

Why sky art blue? Why trees art green?

All things must pass. Thy chicken, my youth.

But not my love for thou

Anytime I hear the wind blow, it will whisper the name Popeyes chicken tenders 

by: David G. ’27

Twirling Personas

Jordan L. ’26

Black, white

Up, down

Left, right

Spinning like a top in my own head

Which is which?

I turn right, but my brain moves left

I walk upstairs, but still I feel down 

My head pounds as I try to make sense of

Dueling sensibilities

My personality splits and as I laugh and joke with friends,

Inside sometimes I cry

I long to reveal my true form,

But right/left now, I’m not sure what that looks like

 

You know how you have two different 

Personalities around different people, well

What if those different personalities were really two separate people?

That’s how I feel

Always feeling like I’m hiding something 

From someone all the time. If even if I  

Know I’m not, it still feels like it.

Feeling like I’m the fake one

Trying to please others but not myself

It’s exhausting at this point

What about me?

The Last One 

Suka N. ’25

God, everyone’s so excited. Momma’s smiles finally reach her eyes and Poppa’s usual sharp yells have softened to bright guffaws. My pretty red dress that pops against my melanated skin screams at me in utter joy. 

“The first in the family to receive some kind of teaching,” My aunties gossiped in the jam packed kitchen, lines of paint peeling from the heat of the smouldering heat of the pot. The same heat making the little beads of sweat across their foreheads, “Never thought she’d live to see it.”

“Oh hush,” Auntie Shannon says sharply, “It won’t be the same as it is outside.”

They scoff in unison. “Says the lightbright who wouldn’t have toiled away like we would have in those cotton fields.”

I never truly knew what they were talking about, the associations lost on my young mind. My father sucked his teeth, scolding them for mentioning ill about the start of our family’s name being etched into the ivory plaques of recorded history. My eyes drift to my uncles playing dominos in the small showbox corner, mumbling and muttering,

 “This is it, this the one. The little bird finally flying away from this heavy nest.” 

Their words left a soft indent on the front of my mind, like the one a soft touch into a marshmallow makes when you need a numbing distraction from the world. Instead, this seemingly innocent indent refused to float back up from my mind until the late hours of golden dusk. Finally, the lulls of sleep were too strong to ignore, and I drifted off to the rising sun peaking just behind my torn up curtain. It was too late before I realized I had spent one second too long on a lingering thought before morning came. The dim lights of the hallway dust the very front of my eyes, a warming remnant showing the overflowing emotions of celebration for the great journey ahead today. The urge to smile extended on from yesterday made an appearance on my face as well. So I emerged from the bed and tiptoed across the hardwood floors damp from my mother’s deep cleaning just before. As I made my way to the freshly cleaned bathroom, that vibrant red dress made an appearance at the corner of my eye. Yet this time, it looked like it held some sort of haunting malice behind its moonlit face. My mind flashed to the thoughts of the night before, still not seeming to have let upon me. My reluctant feet padded on, still pondering what really made the dress switch to its original mood. This thought made the morning a quick blur, another hidden glint behind everybody’s eyes as well. But it was not malice I saw this time, but pity sprouting its gray seed in the back of their tussling minds. I watched the plant grow and bloom into a beautiful brussel with little dots and a dash of tears falling from its veins. I put on the red, velvety dress and immediately felt little pricks from the tag’s corners digging into my skin, creating its own secret hiding space between the folds of the dress and my rattled undershirt. As the car sputtered down the road leaving black spurts of smoke in its wake, I watched the neighborhood houses drift farther and farther while the buildings grew taller and taller, the length of them all turning symmetrical, the silence between them ringing louder than screams. Suddenly the car sputtered to a quick stop. I stepped out of the car, and the building in front of me screamed the song of silence most of all. One by one, my parents and I walk up to the brass door and ring a doorbell, those little circle knobs that I’ve only seen a couple times in my life. As the door swings open, a woman’s narrow eyes zero in on me, and she sneers, 

“Oh, you’re the last one.”

And with those simple words, it all makes sense. The sudden looks of pity on their faces. The open yet silent conversions about the day to come. The sudden change in my big bright dress’s face. It’s all tied together now. For my dress was the same color as the woman with the pale face standing above me at the door. And the dress cried and cried at the sight of its long lost mother.