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. 

 

 

Thanksgiving Haikus

by: Olivia H. ’27

 

Around the table,

Pilgrims once stood holding hands

This year, they distance

 

What is that good smell?

which dances around the house?

When do we eat it?

 

Although some forget,

Some still stay true to the thought

Thanksgiving stays blessed

 

When the world needs love,

Who will give it? Who will

Spread its pure message?

 

Every Thanksgiving

The floats take to the vast sky

Crowds of thousands gather

 

 

Grace D. Rockefeller was on her bed reading a book. The book had a red cover and gold letters that spelled out “Diary.” It was her father’s diary  when he was a kid. Her father had died, and it broke poor Grace’s heart. She was left with her two brothers, Luke and John, and Mom. Before Grace could finish the page, her mom called for a family meeting. Grace came in a pink dress with a bow around her neck and waist. When they were all nice and seated at the dinner table, Mom came over with a tray of muffins and her green dress. She sat down and gave a great big sigh with a nervous look on her face. 

by: Sofia I. ’28

 

The Great Filter

By: Juno Y. ’26

You finally wake up and look around. The lab you were in is still miraculously preserved, yet there are no new changes that you can see. You climb outside and stare at what you see. You remember what you perceived was only minutes ago; They said it was for the better. They said that when you woke up, it would be to a better world. Now, it must be 3050, if the Gregorian calendar was still being used. 2000 years, and we managed to destroy ourselves. You look outside to the desolate landscape; buildings crumbled to dust, pavements cracking. We had to destroy ourselves, you had supposed humanity wasn’t enough. You look to the west, to the setting sun. A cliff. You vaguely remembered it from Before, and walk towards it. The water level is much higher than you remember. No matter, it will do. Humanity has failed, now it is time to move on. You jump.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and will probably not happen.

 

 

A Couch’s Call to Action

By: Ace P. ’27

 

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

I happily bounce in the back of the rattling truck

I’ve finally hit the big time

I’m going to a home.

 

No longer held captive

By the cruel gods Crate and Barrel;

Freed from a dimly lit warehouse prison

To a paradise once unknown.

 

I used to be a nobody

A useless lump in a climate-controlled cage.

The wise men told me I’d one day be free

If my smooth grey leather pleased the ones above.

 

Others were stacked atop me crudely,

Like a puppy pile on a bed.

Surely this must be indecent

In the worlds of gods and men.

 

As the cramped truck rumbles along

I prepare in the dark for my salvation:

A place without kin crushing down on top of me.

Wait, what will they use me for again?  

 

 

Шпион (Sh-pi-on)

(The Spy) 

By: William S. ’28

The year is 1966, and Sergei Korolev has just passed away. Vasily Mishin is now in charge of Russia’s Space program, and he needs more information. He calls four men into the N1 building site. 

“Welcome to the N1 building site, I am Vasily Mishin, and I will choose one of you four to spy on the American space program,” Comrade Mishin said.

“You,” Comrade Mishin said pointing at the first man, “Name and where you are from.”

“Sergei Lakosko Lukashenko from Stalingrad,” he said.

“You,” Comrade Mishin said to the second man.”

“Alexei Kaminski Zargabdo from Moscow,” he said.

“You,” Comrade Mishin said to the third man.”

“Yuri Pavolovich Minski from Moscow,” he said.

“You,” Comrade Mishin said, pointing at me, the last person.

“Vladimir Bocharski Rechapski from Stalingrad,” I said.

Next, we gave our grade from secondary school, medical records, passports, resume, and recorded history.

“We will have to examine your papers, we will send a letter to the person we will be sending abroad, and they will begin training,” Comrade Mishin said.

Two weeks later, I received a letter from the Soveit Government. And, I was approved, I was going to spy on the American Space program. As I anxiously tried to fall asleep, I thought of all the possibilities that could happen to me. What if I was killed? I started to have regrets. 

The next day, I rode in the back of a van with other officials to a remote location south of Stalingrad. There, Comrade Mishin greeted me.

“Hello Comrade Rechapski, it is nice to see you again,” he said.

“Same to you, Comrade Mishin,” as I said . 

“This is Comrade Sergei Terolevski, he will be briefing you on your training plans, and restrictions,” Comrade Mishin said.

“Hello, I am Sergei Terolevski. You, Comrade Rechapski will be infiltrating the American space program to only gain information. They are looking for more astronomers, people to work on their projects. We have already registered you for a position that you will not be doing much work, but, you will be close to Werner Von Braun, lead American Scientist. You will travel there as American teacher that has just come back from a business trip from France. One crucial part, you must always use an American accent and you must go by your fake name, John Fernald, do you understand Comrade Rechapski?!” comrade Terolevski said.

“Yes, I do,” I said.

“Now, training will start tomorrow,” Comrade Terolev said.

“Some restrictions include no documenting, no making friends, no finding lovers, no having a jolly time in Washington, and especially, no one can know you’re from Mother Russia,” Comrade Terolevski said.

“Ok,” I said, “How will I transmit information to you?”

“Да, (da [meaning yes]) excellent question. You will be transmitting the information via transmitter,” Comrade Terolev said.

“Know, that is all you need to know. I will see you at training tomorrow Comrade Rechapski. Dismissed!” Comrade Terolevski yelled.

I arrived home later that night. As I laid on my bed, I thought that I should document my trip, even though they said I couldn’t. I wasn’t so sure, then I finally convinced myself to do it.

Training lasted two week. I was taught how to shoot a gun, parkour, and trained better on my american accent. Finally, I was ready to go.

I used my Soveit passport to get into West Germany, and gave my soveit passport to a fellow spy to take back to Russia. From West Germany, I took a train to the Netherlands. Once I arrived, I used my American Passport to go to Paris, France. From there, I used American Passport to fly to Washington D.C. And there I was in the United States.

Once I arrived to my apartment, I wrote my first entry into my diary:

Today I arrived in the United States. Tomorrow, I’ll start work. I will eat some soup and go to sleep.

The next day arrived, and I was to head to work, and it was busy. That day became my routine for a month. Wake up, Get ready for work, get to work, go through security, work, come home with all my supplies, transmit the information to the Comrade Mishin, make dinner, and go to bed. The work was easy to transmit. My section of work was working on blueprints and taking notes. 

Today was like any other day. Tonight’s dinner are perogies (Polish dumplings) and I will transmit the work, then I will go to bed

The next day I got to work, I was pulled aside at security. My heart was racing, and they pulled me over for the reason I thought they would. They found my diary. I was to be held in a cell, and wait.The next morning, I was greereated by von Braun. He said to me:

“Hello. You may know me already, but I have some questions for you. I need Russia’s information. I don’t know if they are building a rocket and I don’t know the size, weight, and many other aspects. You are the person to give this information,” Von Braun said.

“I will give you the information. But, what is in it for me?” I said.

“We wont send you back to Russia,” he said. 

The next day, I gave all of the information to Von Braun. I told him the height, weight, and other key information about the N1. I even gave information about our spies. When I got home, I got a transmission from Comrade Terolevski, it read:

“The thrust for the engines was wrong, and our rocket exploded in mid-air. A new man will take over your position, you are to return back to Russia.”

Once I saw that transmission, I immediately destroyed the transmitter. I knew it was from my number slip-up. The next day, I told von Braun. He was pleased. After that moment, I gained United States citizenship and changed my name to Adam Charger to avoid any trace. After that moment, I lived in the United States free.

Шел 1966 год, только что скончался Сергей Королев. Василий Мишин сейчас отвечает за космическую программу России, и ему нужна дополнительная информация. Он вызывает четверых мужчин на строительную площадку N1.

«Добро пожаловать на стройплощадку N1, меня зовут Василий Мишин, и я выберу одного из вас четверых, чтобы он шпионил за американской космической программой», – сказал товарищ Мишин.

«Ты, – сказал товарищ Мишин, указывая на первого человека, – имя и откуда ты».

«Сергей Лакоско Лукашенко из Сталинграда», – сказал он.

«Ты, – сказал товарищ Мишин второму».

«Алексей Камински Заргабдо из Москвы», – сказал он.

«Вы, – сказал товарищ Мишин третьему человеку».

«Юрий Павлович Минский из Москвы», – сказал он.

«Ты», – сказал товарищ Мишин, указывая на меня, последнего человека.

«Владимир Бочарский Чапский из Сталинграда», – сказал я.

Затем мы поставили оценку в средней школе, медицинские записи, паспорта, резюме и историю болезни.

«Нам нужно будет изучить ваши документы, мы отправим письмо тому, кого будем отправлять за границу, и они начнут обучение», – сказал товарищ Мишин.

Через две недели я получил письмо от правительства. И, меня одобрили, я собирался шпионить за американской космической программой. С тревогой пытаясь заснуть, я думал обо всех возможностях, которые могли со мной случиться. Что, если меня убьют? Я начал сожалеть.

На следующий день я ехал на заднем сиденье фургона с другими официальными лицами в отдаленное место к югу от Сталинграда. Там меня поприветствовал товарищ Мишин.

«Здравствуйте, товарищ Чапский, рад снова вас видеть, – сказал он.

«То же и вам, товарищ Мишин», как я сказал.

«Это товарищ Сергей Теролевский, он проинформирует вас о ваших планах тренировок и ограничениях», – сказал товарищ Мишин.

«Здравствуйте, я Сергей Теролевский. Вы, товарищ Чапский, будете внедряться в американскую космическую программу только для получения информации. Они ищут больше астрономов, людей для работы над своими проектами. Мы уже зарегистрировали вас на должность, на которой вы не будете выполнять много работы, но вы будете близки с Вернером фон Брауном, ведущим американским ученым. Вы поедете туда в качестве американского учителя, только что вернувшегося из командировки из Франции. Одна важная часть: вы всегда должны использовать американский акцент и вы должны носить вымышленное имя, Джон Фернальд, вы понимаете товарища Чапски ?! – сказал товарищ Королевский.

“Да.” Я сказал.

«Теперь завтра начнутся тренировки, – сказал товарищ Королев.

«Некоторые ограничения включают в себя отсутствие документов, никаких друзей, отсутствие любовников, отсутствие веселья в Вашингтоне, и особенно, никто не может знать, что вы из России-матушки», – сказал товарищ Королевский.

«Хорошо, – сказал я, – как я буду передавать вам информацию?»

«Да, (да [то есть да]) отличный вопрос. Вы будете передавать информацию через передатчик », – сказал товарищ Королев.

«Знай, это все, что тебе нужно знать. Увидимся завтра на тренировке, товарищ Чапский. Уволен! » – закричал товарищ Королевский.

Я вернулся домой позже той же ночью. Лежа на кровати, я подумал, что мне нужно задокументировать поездку, хотя мне сказали, что я не могу. Я не был так уверен, но, наконец, убедил себя сделать это.

Тренировки длились две недели. Меня научили стрелять из пистолета, паркура и лучше тренировали с моим американским акцентом. Наконец, я был готов к работе.

Я использовал свой советский паспорт, чтобы попасть в Западную Германию, и отдал свой советский паспорт своему товарищу-шпиону, чтобы тот забрал его в Россию. Из Западной Германии я поехал поездом в Нидерланды. Когда я приехал, я использовал свой американский паспорт, чтобы поехать в Париж, Франция. Оттуда я использовал американский паспорт, чтобы лететь в Вашингтон, округ Колумбия. И там я был в Соединенных Штатах.

Придя к себе на квартиру, я написал свою первую запись в дневнике:

Сегодня я приехал в Соединенные Штаты. Завтра приступлю к работе. Я съем супа и пойду спать.

Наступил следующий день, и я должен был идти на работу, и она была занята. Этот день стал моим обычным делом на месяц. Просыпайся, готовься к работе, приступай к работе, пройди охрану, поработай, приди домой со всеми моими припасами, передай информацию товарищу Мишину, приготовь ужин и ложись спать. Работу было легко передать. Моя часть работы заключалась в создании чертежей и заметок.

Сегодня был как любой другой день. Сегодня вечером ужин – вареники (польские пельмени), и я передам работу, потом пойду спать.

На следующий день я пришел на работу, меня задержала охрана. Мое сердце колотилось, и они остановили меня по той причине, по которой я так и думал. Они нашли мой дневник. Меня должны были держать в камере и ждать. На следующее утро меня встретил фон Браун. Он сказал мне:

“Привет. Возможно, вы меня уже знаете, но у меня есть к вам несколько вопросов. Мне нужна информация из России. Я не знаю, строят ли они ракету, и я не знаю размера, веса и многих других аспектов. Вы тот человек, который предоставит эту информацию », – сказал Фон Браун.

«Я дам вам информацию. Но что в этом для меня? » Я сказал.

«Мы не отправим вас обратно в Россию», – сказал он.

На следующий день я передал всю информацию фон Брауну. Мы оба остались довольны. Я был рад, что больше не работаю по плохому делу. Когда я вернулся домой, я получил сообщение от товарища Королевского, в котором говорилось:

«Высота двигателей была неправильной, и наша ракета взорвалась в воздухе. Ваш пост займет новый человек, вы должны вернуться в Россию ».

Как только я увидел эту передачу, я немедленно уничтожил передатчик. Я знал, что это было из-за ошибки в моем номере. На следующий день я сказал фон Брауну. Он был доволен. После этого я получил настоящее гражданство Соединенных Штатов и изменил свое имя на Адам Чарджер, чтобы не было никаких следов. После этого я жил в Соединенных Штатах бесплатно.

 

It’s that time of year again. All middle school students can submit your art and writing to the Hackley Middle School Arts and Literary Magazine.

Follow along here to see your classmates’ creative expressions.

Then at the end of the year, keep an eye out for the hard-copy published magazine.

Submit writing to jdifalco@hackleyschool.org and visual art to mcarrier@hackleyschool.org. Let us know if you have any questions.

Don’t delay – submit right away!!!