Calliope_Geneva School of Boerne

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the calliopeLETTERFROMTHEEDITOR
Graduation is just around the corner, and, like any other ending of an
era, it has caused me to reflect on my time at Geneva. I remember 3
playing on the playground in Grammar School, meeting Mary Poppins
every so often in Mrs. Dunn’s class, and being told one day that we
couldn’t go out to recess one day because a goat had gotten through
a neighboring fence and was running around campus. I remember the
Christmas programs, the P.E. assemblies, and the dreaded “back to school
nights” that meant summer was over; the drama performances, the poetry
projects, and the purely scientific egg tosses in science class (we were just
double checking that everyone was right about the whole gravity thing).
Most importantly, I remember the friendships I’ve made, the teachers
I’ve had, and the moments I saw God work in wondrous ways. I’ve been
thinking for a while about how to accurately describe this place, and there is
no better way to describe it than “this place is special.” Nowhere else could
you find teachers who are passionately invested in your academic wellbeing,
and also in your personnel wellbeing. I know for a fact that I can walk up
to any faculty member on campus and count on them to happily help me
with anything I need. Whether it be meeting me early before school to help
me with homework, letting me cry and then comforting me, or aiding me
in doing small tasks when I have a million things on my plate, I know they
will always be there to lend me a much-needed hand.

Reflecting on the moments while working on “The Calliope” has given
me a new perspective on our student publication. It is a culmination of our
education at Geneva. We have been taught how to eloquently express our
thoughts in writing and artistically create works of art that represent the
beauty that God has put into the world. While looking at this publication,
I pray that you keep in mind the wonderous blessings God has given this
school and the people who are a part of this incredible community.

In Christ, Emma Ingram

�content
Blog: Photography: 41............ Aisling Ayers
47............ Jacqueline Knox
40............ Maddie Inglish 7............. Aisling Ayers 48............ Nathan Zuniga
10............ Claire Williams 52............ Erin Kasprowicz
Short Story: 13............ Claire Lunsford 53............ Jacqueline Knox
15............ Alexandra Grote 62............ Arianna Flores
44............ Coggin Galbreath 17............ Nathan Zuniga 63........... Arianna Flores
55............ Mariah Lowery 18............ Arianna Flores
21............ Claire Lunsford
cover photographed by Emma Ingram 22............ Nathan Zuniga
29............ Hogan Petrie
4 25............ Miranda Ward
25............ Aisling Ayers
25............ Morgan Hagan
33............ Delaney Young
36............ Claire Lunsford
38............ Claire Lunsford

nts�Volume six
Poetry: Artwork: Essay:

6............. Erica Shelton 9............. Noah Benson 23............ Erica Shelton
11............. Emily Riedlinger 20............ Claire Williams 23............ Emma Ingram
14............ Anna Riedlinger 30............ Jessica Cox 50............ Hunter Hamon
16............ Nathan Young 34............ Aiden Hamilton
19............ Aaron Southwick 34............ Jillian Albus Song Lyrics:
26............ Davis Metzger 34............ Jessica Wheeler
26........... Grey Moeller 39............ Miranda Ward 8............ Rick Poole
31............ Emliy Shelton 42............ Olivia Lipe 12............ Brad Blackburn
32............ Paul Johnson 43............ Emily Shelton 28............ Jake Bomgaars
60............ Delaney Young 49............ Noah Benson 37............ Luis Arizpe
54............ Abbey Lipe
58............ Maddie Jones 5
59............ Claire Williams
59............ Miranda Ward
61............ Sarah Beth Stolle
62............. Nathan Zuniga
62............ Mary Liz Winston
64............ Adison Cate
65............ Mary Liz Winston

Poem by Erica SheltonPPRAISE Praise

The Holy Creator who spoke a design.
The Eternal Lord who set the beginning.
The Father of Glory who leafed the trees
and girded the ground in green.
Beyond the dome appears, realm of
The Lord Almighty, mankind’s shaper;
The Guardian who protects his work.

Praise

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Photographed by Aisling Ayers

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YONDERVILLE

Music Lyrics by Rick Poole

They say the streets are painted gold
And no one drinks their coffee cold
And every hand’s a hand to hold on tight.
They say that every heart is young
And dreams come true when songs are sung
And there’s a song on every tongue tonight.

In Yonderville, Yonderville
Forgiveness is an easy thing to find.

In Yonderville, Yonderville
Where true love’s growing sweeter on the vine.

On every street’s an ice cream truck
And you won’t even need a buck.

They bet on love and not on luck – that’s right.
And when the Mayor strolls through town
The laughing children gather ‘round
There’s not an orphan to be found in sight.

In Yonderville, Yonderville
Forgiveness is an easy thing to find.

In Yonderville, Yonderville
Where true love’s growing sweeter on the vine.

You – pale as the moon, leaving too soon
Haunted by longings so deep you could drown.
Close by your side, bloodshot goodbyes
Mist on the window- a song without sound
That can never be found…

In Yonderville, Yonderville
Forgiveness is an easy thing to find.

In Yonderville, Yonderville
Where true love’s growing sweeter on the vine.

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Artwork by Noah Benson

�watercolor and ink�

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Photographed by Claire Williams

Gold standard bothered me PoemGUTENbyBEmilyE RiedlingerRG’S
When I was little
The idea that we put so much weight in BIBLE
something
That does nothing to nourish us in Free Verse
Sure it conducts electricity
doesn’t oxidize
And makes stuff shiny
But when the world descends
I doubt anyone will wish they had more gold
Or dolla dolla bills
got so many g’s don’t need a generator
Or water filtration system for all this fall out
I’ll drink through this rolled up 20
And pretend I don’t have rapid hair loss
Or a second thumb on each hand...
Words are much like currency now,
They used to be backed by a standard of
action
But once we decided we needed more paper
worded currency
We abandoned the standard in order to
inflate
So now dripping from the tongue of every
politician and 2 year old
Is a printing press we think we have a god
given right to
We drool ink and verse onto pillows when
we sleep with our mouth open
Because now we take wheelbarrows of words
to buy bread
And it makes more sense to burn them to
keep the house warm
Than it does to pay the electric bill

BHopefully a wordsmith will come around

and paint us beautiful pictures with his
currency
Maybe he himself will be beautiful
But he will most likely cause a genocide
Of those people x that caused the inflation
Even though we all had the god-given right
to the printing press

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HEAVEN KNOWS
Music Lyrics by Brad Blackburn

Heaven knows I sure as hell ain’t perfect
The road behind me marked with my mistakes

And heaven knows that I do not deserve it
But I am holding on for heaven’s sake

Cause I can only take me as far as I will go
But I’ll get so much farther if there’s hope, if there’s hope…

I’m tired of living for myself
I know that I need something else
My beaten, broken heart is perfect proof
That I need something to look up to
Tried to fill the void by chasing pleasure
Doesn’t do too much to ease my mind
However good I feel won’t last forever
And enough is the hardest thing to find
Oh I’ve been low and lonely, I’ve wandered down dark roads
But I feel something keep pulling me home, take me home…
Cause I’m tired of living for myself
I know that I need something else
My beaten, broken heart is perfect proof
That I need something to look up to
Heaven knows that I still got some questions
And Lord knows how impatient I can be
But if this life has taught me just one lesson
It’s that Heaven knows a whole lot more than me

I’m tired of living for myself
I know that I need something else
Oh my beating, broken heart is perfect proof
That I need something to look up to
I think we all need something to look up to
Thank God there’s something to look up to
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Photographed by Claire Lunsford

Poem by Anna ReidlingerSpaces between fingers will never FINGERS
see an end
creases on Palms formed in the
womb are the only
wrinkle deemed beautiful from the
beginning
Papercut spaces on knuckles
old scars fresh wounds
pinstripe freckles
holes like craters from the Moon
hiding civilizations
hiding towns
hiding faces
hiding my face

FI know my hand as if it were the
back of my hand
if you gave me a haystack of hands
I could find my own in the blink
of an eye
in the blink of my eye
I blink my eyes  behind my hands,
My hands I know so well hiding
my face
freckles map constellations
of a place I will never arrive at
the place I’m willing to go but no
one will take me
I know the Arc of my palm
like the ark and Michelangelo’s
Halls
like the ark and Mona Lisa
smile but will I ever know his
his old scars and fresh wounds
his freckles that map of
constellations
The Arc of this palm
And will he ever know mine

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Photographed by Alexandra Grote

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THAASNHKORYOTU

Modern Poem by Nathan Young

Mom kept on saying, “Just do it, it’s important.”
Dad taught me how to dribble, shoot, throw, catch,
and hit. Grant suggested some good bands. A lot of
camp counselors tolerated me summer after summer.
Grandpa told me to never say “can’t.” Luis taught
me how to pick at a guitar and Ron taught me how
to strum it. Eric said, “Ever tasted a mocha?” James
Naismith invented basketball. Dean got up with a
smile on his face. Magnolia always did a good job.
Mark subbed me in. Daniel suggested a job as a
ref. Ray Bradbury wrote 100 short stories. William
stayed with me in Mrs. Styles’ office even though he
was late. A handful of adults valued my education.
Max taught me about God’s grace and John showed
me what it looked like to be passionate.

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Photographed by Nathan Zuniga

Photographed by Arianna Flores

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POSEIDENb’Sy ATarEonMSouPthwLickEMarble littered on a limestone floor!
Our students gaze at Homer’s sea –
on the right second from bottom;
Byron is placed on square column,
Yet long before the waves could hear,

PKing Aegeus lept to his death from here.
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Artwork by Claire Williams �watercolor�

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Photographed by Claire Lunsford

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22 Photographed by Nathan Zuniga

chop ped

Imagine being given five minutes to craft a persuasive paragraph using three
“ingredients” you learn of when the five minute clock starts. [For those of
you who like the show “Chopped,” this is the rhetorical version of that show.]
This is an exercise often used in Mr. Shelton’s Dual Credit English Class.

Enjoy the following samples from this year:

Ingredients: Flowers, Ice, Anxiety

Teenage boys often worry about how to talk to a girl and break the ice with
a casual conversation. The anxiety bottled up in these young men can drive
them crazy with worry about how the whole scenario might play out. They
often wonder about whether or not they should buy flowers or chocolates to
seem genuinely interested. The girls, however, are just thrilled that a boy is
interested at all and any efforts a boy makes to express his feelings towards
her are good enough. Written by Emma Ingram

Ingredients: Breakfast, Pencil, Reputation

What is the measure of a man? Contemporary culture tells people that it
is money or wealth—the number of possessions a man has determines his
worth. But is that the case? Maybe it is a man’s intellect. His skill with a
pencil might be just as valuable to society as his finances. Yet, this seems
wrong as well. Many wonderful people do not have the knack for academics,
but they have noble characters. Thus, a good man is often like breakfast in
this manner; he can brighten a whole day. Neither money nor intelligence is
the measure of a man. A man’s most important possession is his reputation.

Written by Erica Shelton

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Photographed by Hogan Petrie

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Photographed by Miranda Ward Photographed by Aisling Ayers
Photographed by Morgan Hagan

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THE SONG OF Whan that Aprille new life now is sprung
MILLER AND This tale by breath of Eurus now is brung.
BUTCHER To lands and faces they had known before
These aged scholars sing from that far shore
Poem by Miller and Butcher* Which Dawn with rose-tipped fingers first awakes
A Miller first, which grindeth by his trade
*pen name for Grey Moeller and Davis Metzger Had drained his pint and to his comrade said,

The Argument: Two old friends meet at a “A drink and story glad the spirit makes
bar to tell tales. They recount the story of And from our weary bones the sorrow takes,
Rahbert, a squire in days of old, who, thru
some unexplained reason, is totally bald. So out with it, before from life we pass!”
For this he is scorned, and so he sets out to To which the faithful butcher gave this word:
find the enchanter Clive who he has been “I have no tales which this room has not heard.
told can bring him hair. Along the way he
meets Friar Roussel, Court Jester Ardhow, I’d rather spin a yarn of that fair lass
and Diviner Rochek, three misers who To whom our dear Lord gave a graceful…”
constantly bicker about predestination,
and want to ask the enchanter to judge “Dear Butcher!”
between them. In the end they are cursed “enough of idle chit and bawdy chat!
I’ll hear no more of this intemp’rate jest
and taught a lesson. Let’s hear instead of Rahbert on his quest!”
“Neither a purely apophatic (negative) “Ah yes! That squire who always wore a hat
nor an exclusively cataphatic (positive) A single hair his mazzard never gat!
method for talking about God is adequate” Forsooth that man was cursed by the Fates.”
Quoth Miller: “yes tis oft I’ve sung this tune,
-Rochek The young Rahbert went searching for a rune
Which the enchanter Clive holds past his gates.
Rahbert is told that baldness it abates.
So seeking Clive upon the trail he set.”
Then Butcher: “Long and hard our hero rode
And weary, nightly sought a new abode

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When by perchance his gaze an abbey met Quoth Ardhow “learned men would scarcely
And three discordant voices then beset think
Upon his ears in harshness and in tone.
That you two scholars were not lost to drink!
Three men inside sustained a raucous feud, There is one thing that keeps you from Hell’s
In Rahbert stepped and broke the anxious mood:
‘Dear Sirs, why would you raise this awful groan? coal,
What is thy strife? By what names are you known?’ God’s middle knowledge leaves man some

To which in turn each man gave their replies: control’
‘I am Roussel, a friar of our God. ‘Enough of this! Clive’s castle looms ahead.’

This is mine home in which these villians trod’ Inside they found the wizard at his pen
‘Speak you of me, Rochek, the ever wise? So Rahbert gaped his mouth there to begin
My craft can see God’s will in starry skies. But Clive ‘I know the smoothness of your head
And what dumb words your vile tongue would
Why do you plague us with your quarrel fool?’
‘The fool is I!’ Spake Ardhow, the King’s clown. have said
But mortal men I do not suffer here
‘Yet in your senseless words I nearly drown!’
‘Enough!’ Quoth Rahbert ‘Of this jester’s drool. For interfering now within my lair
I’ll punish you four souls and grant no hair’
What is the source of all your dictums cruel? First, you three knaves have reason for your fear
But speak in haste for I seek Clive to-day’ As newts you all shall spend the coming year.
To which dear Rochek loudly did exclaim: But Rahbert shall be spared your horrid fate.
‘Clive’s wisdom passes all in worldly fame.
Let’s let him judge who has the better say Instead, because your time has wasted mine
On God’s election and his sovereign way Your head shall always show its brilliant shine
To reason out the nature of free will!’
They took the road and argued as they went You shall forever bear the teacher’s weight
And children now your your daily life frustrate
Each thought him right, and both the others bent
Roussel: “Behold those tulips by the mill Just as you trouble me, they’ll bother you.

They show God’s power and his mercy still! So let this be a lesson to the man
How can you think that you can save your soul?’ Who ever thinks it an effective plan
To ask those whose engagements are not few
To do the work which he is bound to do.’”

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THE VACANT STATE

Music Lyrics by Jake Bomgaars

We strummed out tunes to the red sun behind the canyon
Took a walk to ease our worried minds

and as the stars were almost always nonexistent 
We could see our dreams shining in the night

Ooo. Right back on the ground again
Ooo. Can you even remember when

We were free to do as we please?
Decisions based on visions that we see

We took a ride straight to the nearest city
To find that only scraps were left behind
And as we danced all through the streets to shake our worries
We realized nothing left us something to find

Ooo. Right back on the ground again
Ooo. Can you even remember when

We were free to do as we please?
Decisions based on visions that we see

Done with the struggle
Blood on our knuckles will wash away.

See only pavement
Oh I’m an agent to the vacant state.

Ooo. Right back on the ground again
Ooo. Can you even remember when

We were free to do as we please?
Decisions based on visions that we see
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Photographed by Hogan Petrie

Artwork by Jessica Cox

�pastel�

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MAROSDHEMTAOLALOW

by Emily Shelton

To that form white as snow, whose appearance is like that
of a cloud, and whose taste is sweet as pure sugar.
Calliope herself ne’er could describe all your attributes.
However, even you have pain in your life, afflicted upon
you by man.
And now corrupting your smooth texture,
a cruel metal pierces your innocent flesh.
Like a dagger which takes a life so pure,
Woe to the hand which strikes such unrelenting blows.
Why do the fires sear your pure flesh?
Mulciber’s great ally, used to harm you.
For what was once white, now black,
charred with the relentless heat.
Once removed from the tongues of flame,
placed upon a dark substance, which men desire for its’
sweetness.
For when it your burnt skin touches, becomes soft,
as when metal becomes pliable in an intense flame.
You become pressed between two solid structures that will
crumble.
Like the lofty walls of Ilium, which crumbled at the hands
of the Greeks,
so too will those two strong walls be destroyed by the
Force of man, and his ravenous hunger.
Soon to be devoured and crushed by man’s cruel desires.
Alas your end has come, but your memory will
Live forever. Neither will your life fade nor your
innocent and pure form be quickly forgotten.

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Poem by Paul JohnsonTWTOOOPOLEOMNSGFARGOOM

10 September 2012 30 May 2012 (Last Day of School)
(First Day of School)
For all our bluster, we fell down a lot,
I lost my book and forgot bashed our shins on the coffee table,
my name. Swore, and shook our fists at the sky. 
I was drunk on prose and Ungrateful child.
guilty as Cain. Hold on to this hour
I used to see with Milton’s (though it’s passed)
eyes or in Tiresias’ oracular Hold the cough syrup in our mouth, sickly sweet.
trance, Hold the waiting, broken teeth.
but the letters dripped off It wasn’t all for naught. All the cold. All the shocks.
my wrist from a river down We understand now how to tie our shoes, tie a tie, and
the back of my arm from Forgive and inconsolable shaking wound. 
somewhere behind my We understand you didn’t mean it and hope we can
shoulders. still breathe.
I used to breathe in the Hear these faint rolling rattles like a hamster trapped
smoke in the coat closet.
hovering over a copper This wasn’t the plan.
brazier in a cleft of rock by If we knew the distance to the sun, or the perimeter of
the sea. this town, 
The salt air stung my lungs The volume of a human lung,
and dried out my tongue but How many times would you say, “this can’t be
I still refused to leave. undone”?
Those fumes rolled back my For all our faith (faith?) in science
eyes into my brain until I We’ve said this spell, but spelled the words wrong.
could see and wonder and We spoke into the dark, and we’re still afraid. Turn on
breathe. the lights.
But now I’m untied like a We’re home.
ship in the night We left off at the right angle.
from the wandering aimless The right angle of a broken arm, bent at the elbow,
aim. Arms akimbo.
I’m settled and sore We gave them “the look.”
gray haired and bored We know you’ll write back.
critiquing impossible claims. Say the magic words.
If that book wasn’t damned  Write them on your arms.
and still mine to command Forgive us our sins as we forgive our brothers
I could drink bitter suffering Trust us to retell the stories of our fathers
again To make friends out of our sisters
then spit out in black 
my self pity and lack And to fight for holy mothers
across the page in cramped And even after all this, we’ll still sing. 
32 rivers of pain goodnight. 

Photographed by Delaney Young

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�pastel�

Artwork by Jillian Albus

Artwork by Aidan Hamilton

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Artwork by Jessica Wheeler

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Photographed by Claire Lunsford

CAROLINA
Music Lyrics by Luis Arizpe
Carolina.
Secret tenderness refrains
And ballad verses strain
To sing
The poetry of your name.
Carolina.
Her heart breaks for me.
And I could fall so easily –
But, I’m not free.
Her smile ….
Her smile takes my breath away.

And the sky in her eyes lets me know I’ll be ok.
Ok ….
Carolina.

I hope you know it’s true
I could spend my life reaching out to you.

Reaching out to you.

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Photographed by Claire Lunsford

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Artwork by Miranda Ward 39
�watercolor�

BEING KNOWN
Blog Post by Maddie Inglish
In high school we had a rule that once
classes started you were not allowed to have in which she wasn’t included.
your phone out. In fact, it was supposed to This was a reality check for me. I realized I
be completely off and in your backpack for
was a culprit. I was definitely guilty of being the
girl who walks to class checking Instagram or
the entirety of the day. At the time, as a 16-year- texting friends. Soon after, I challenged myself to
old girl, I thought this was the most absurd rule not be that girl. I vowed to walk to class with my
ever. However, now that I am in college and have phone in my backpack—to always have my head
absolutely no rules regarding technology and cell up and my hands free to engage in conversation
phones in class, I have seen the wisdom in that with friends I see on campus.
high school rule. I want to be a face-to-face person. I want
We are an attention-driven culture. And to be the girl on campus people are comfortable
approaching. And I can’t be that girl when I’m
what’s worse is that our society facilitates this too distracted and concerned with what’s going
need. I have noticed more and more that in down on my cell phone screen.
awkward or unpleasant situations I immediately
want to grab my cell phone. I gravitate towards Your phone cannot satisfy you; hiding
that device because, in a circumstance where behind technology will not mask you. You may
I may not be getting attention, the cell phone not think you are encompassed in this attention-
allows me to feel attended to. As embarrassing driven culture. But believe me, to some extent,
as it may be to admit, Facebook, Instagram, you are. You can be the most confident, social
Snapchat and texting make me feel needed. person in the world, but still get antsy when you
don’t have your cellphone on you.
But that cell phone and those apps aren’t real Why?
creatures. They aren’t alive; they don’t breathe. Because we are a society that wants to be
known. If you aren’t being known at that party,
So why do I feel fulfilled by them? or on that walk to class, you feel unnecessary,
Because they gratify my desire for attention. invaluable, unloved.
When I’m at a party where I don’t know people, But we are not unloved. We have security
walking from class to class on campus, or at in something better than anyone’s affirmation.
dinner with a group of people I’m not familiar We don’t need the attention of this world
with, it is just easier to hide behind the screen of because we have the complete attention of The
a phone. Creator of this world.
Though I kind of recognized this was The world told me I need constant attention
the case, I didn’t do anything to change the to feel loved and valued. God reminded me
behavior until one of my friends mentioned her that this world is fleeting and my desire for
frustration with others always being on their affirmation in this world is self-glorification and
phones in group settings. Additionally, she not God-honoring.
mentioned that being on social media—seeing
Snapchats or scrolling through Instagram Restricting myself from cell phone use is
posts—caused her to feel left out because it was a a step I am taking to be active about crushing
chance for her to see snapshots into other’s lives, my need for attention. Through this act I am
teaching myself discipline and that God is the
only One who can truly satisfy me.

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Photographed by Aisling Ayers

�colored pencil� Artwork by Olivia Lipe

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Artwork by Emily Shelton

THE ANGEL

Short Story by Coggin Galbreath

Diary of Mr. Soren Ellington. Submitted to the Megalopolis And then they see Comet and it’s, “Blue! Be afraid!”
Hall of Records on the occasion of his death: 11 December Honestly, for an arch-nemesis, he’s kind of pathetic.
1997.
But I digress.
*** The fight was going well enough at first. But then—
23 March and I’m not making this up—his cape fans picked up the
pile of cash on the counter and blew it all full in my face.
Not all heroes wear capes. I mean most do, and, let’s Completely blinded me. Idiot. The press will give him
be real, the coolest ones do. But not all heroes wear capes. all the credit, of course, even though it was just a suit
Some wear tablecloths. malfunction. Oh, media bias. They love to sensationalize
this stuff, stir the pot, strike fear into the hearts of
It was humiliating. The absolute low point of my citizens. Papers sell when the villains win. Everyone loves
career. a good scare.
Long story short, I tripped backwards into a table—
The scene: Megalopolis City Bank. Where else? The classic bank one with the pens chained to it, bowl of
problem: Comet. Who else? gummy candy on top—my cape got caught, ripped clean
off, and I came up with the tablecloth stuck to my collar
So the gunman—Jerry was his name—had a gun to like a horrible, abominable, unspeakably embarrassing
the teller’s head, and the girl from behind the counter was replacement. Pink, if you can believe it. So the enemy
getting the cash. Not super classy, granted, but effective. prevailed today. I mean the money got into the right hands
One look around, and I saw him: Comet, hovering over in the end, but it almost would have been better if the
in the corner with that stupid grin and that awful cape. Comet had made off with it—if I could have been spared
You know the two things that annoy me most about the the tablecloth debacle. The press will have a field day.
Comet? The hover-board, for one. He can’t even fly NOT ALL HEROES WEAR CAPES, Tribune
properly, for crying out loud! Hardly qualifies as a super, headlines will read. SOME WEAR TABLECLOTHS.
in my opinion. And would you believe he actually has fans
installed in the back of his suit to keep the cape billowing ***
even when he stands still? Revolting. Especially because 24 March
it’s not the kind of cape you want to show off. Looks
like he made it himself. Blue. At least mine has symbolic ANGEL’S SUPER-SIZED FASHION FAUX PAUS.
value: black and white. Right and wrong. No in-between. That’s today’s headline. But they’ll be back on my side
Everyone in Megalopolis looks at my suit and thinks, “I
know what he stands for. I know he’ll defend this city
against Comet and his ilk, even when no one else will.”

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next week, once the Comet strikes again. They just follow path, there’s no going back, not completely, not ever.
the latest drama. And it’s hard to be too angry. I owe my Interesting though, isn’t it, that sometimes the good guys
name to that paper, after all. July of 1989, after my debut go bad, but the bad guys never go good? So often it feels
appearance in a spectacular victory over Comet, they like a one-sided fight. But that’s the kind of thinking that
called me the Angel for the very first time. They gave me you can’t let into your head, or you just give up, and your
my wings. city falls apart. I won’t give Megalopolis up. Never. I will
fight for this city to my last breath, tablecloth or no. They
Comet, of course, made up his own name. Tacky never have to worry that their Angel will fly away.
Super Tactics 101.
***
The cape is in the wash now. Still can’t get the bank- 2 July
floor dirt and cheap, sticky candy stains out. I’m not usually sentimental, but some things are so
sweet even I get emotional. My friend Jerry gave me a call
*** and told me to check the morning paper, and what do you
11 June know? The Tribune ran a spread on me today, a sort of a
I gave the Comet a call today. Asked him out for tribute, and not even a mocking one. It discussed my mark
coffee, no traps, no tricks. Sometimes you just need to on Megalopolis history and my special legacy in the city.
catch up with your arch-nemesis. For old time’s sake. It’s good to feel wanted. Not required. Not even
We chatted for a while—crime rates, cyber-security, tolerated. I really am wanted—their words, not mine. The
corruption, the usual—but eventually it came back to our editor called me, and I quote, “Megalopolis’s Number
same old squabble. Somehow, someway, Comet still thinks One.” I’m their number one super. Bet the Comet didn’t
he’s on the right side. I pity him. I think of the suffering much like that.
he’s caused, the chaos his delusions create, and I pity
him. What does he have to show for all his efforts? He’s ***
famous. But he’s penniless. He loses everything every time 18 August
he interferes in my city’s affairs. He insists on hurling Interesting bit of news today. The Comet is planning
himself into my way, and for what? People die every time. something—something big. If my sources are correct, he
It breaks my heart. But isn’t that always the way with knows where I’m going to be in November. But now I
supers who go wrong? We all start out at a crossroads: know that he knows, and he’s lost his advantage. I refuse
left or right. Right or wrong. Hero or villain. But the to be intimidated.
power goes to their heads, makes them go all funny, and
they give into temptation. Once you start down that 45

*** ***
24 November 25 November
At the courthouse, they took me up to testify. Boy,
Governor’s mansion today—the banquet. I was in did I testify. I testified against the Comet until I was blue
attendance, of course, and I was right. The Comet knew. in the face.
Doesn’t he always? Everyone seemed upset about the governor—
understandably. Governor for thirty years! That’s longer
The governor was making a toast. The lights went than I’ve been in this town. They’ll all miss him terribly.
out. There was a shot. The lights came back, and there The police took me with them afterwards. They want
was blood, and there was screaming. And where there me safe and secure until all this gets worked out. But it’s
are screams, there’s the Comet. We fought long and we not so bad here. I have my very own room, all to myself,
fought hard, and we tore that mansion inside out, the and they feed me well. I’ll admit I feel a little less super
Comet and I. Our last dance together. The screams are cooped up in this place. But super isn’t a suit. Super is
our song. inside. Once you find it, you have it forever.
Since my suit got torn to bits in the fight last night,
But then they came, and they cut in. Other supers they’ve given me a change of clothes. Guess what colors?
from other cities, out of their jurisdictions, and they Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear jumpsuits.
ganged up against me. Isn’t that always the way with his Black and white. Right and wrong. Wrong and right. I still
kind? For all their talk of justice, they have no concept of know which side I’m on.
a fair fight. I didn’t stand a chance. It would have been the
end of me if the police hadn’t intervened and dragged me ***
from the rubble. It was touching, in a way. After all I’ve A NOTE from the Records Keeper: Mr. Ellington,
done for Megalopolis, Megalopolis does something for noted Megalopolis super, was defeated by Jonathan “the
me. I mean too much to the people of this city for them Comet” Williams following the murder of Governor Stephen
to let me die. If it weren’t for those policemen, I think O’Donald. At the time of his death, Mr. Ellington had
Comet would have killed me. Actually killed me, his own been Public Enemy Number One for six years running, a
arch-nemesis, his age-old rival. Do I mean so little to him? Megalopolis record. It was the Megalopolis Tribune that first
gave Mr. Ellington his now-iconic nickname on 3 July 1989:
Now the police have me somewhere safe, where those The Angel of Death.
villains can’t get their hands on me. I asked to go home,
even offered to pay them (I have plenty of cash from last
March), but they want me to stay overnight, just to be
safe. Thoughtful to a fault.

The trial is tomorrow.

46

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Photographed by Jacqueline Knox

Photographed by Nathan Zuniga

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�ink�

Artwork by Noah Benson 49

BLUE PRINT FOR A BETTER CAMPUS:
The House System

Essay by Hunter Hamon

There is a day each and every Logic School House System was implemented as a way to grow
student looks forward to: House Selection Day. the student body closer and create a stronger campus
Once a school year, all of Rhetoric and Logic fill into all-together. Some think this cannot be said about
the Multi-Purpose Building in order to celebrate new today’s House System, but it is not impossible
members joining each of the four houses: Chaucer, to regain the former prominence it once had. If
Lewis, Milton, and Sayers. students collectively see the good in the House
As the eighth graders sit upright in their seats System, the view of it being just another thing to do
awaiting their names to be called, colored confetti would drastically change.
sifts through the air, loud chants ring eardrums, The House System is reminiscent of traditional
and each House’s corner brightens the room. Each British public schools where the students actually
eighth grader is selected and placed into a House, lived in and with these houses. Geneva, thankfully,
at which time they are taken away in a fashion does not take the House System to that extreme,
unique to the house. The beauty of the process is but does offer many valuable opportunities to the
that this is a Logic School student’s first step into individual student and the school’s community. The
Rhetoric School. Houses serve as one of the major Houses provide a stronger relationship across faculty
foundations of the Rhetoric School, and the fact and grade levels, providing a sense of unity. They
that a Logic School student’s first step into Rhetoric also offer leadership and service opportunities and
School goes through the House System is fitting. friendly competition that is beneficial to the campus
One of the very last Geneva events a Rhetoric environment.
School student will participate in is Field Day, which Relationships are made from the first second of
is completely centered upon the House System. joining the House; the new inductees are immersed
Contrary to popular belief among some students, the into the House with students from all grade levels
House System plays a stronger role in the school- greeting them and congratulating them. It is almost
wide community and experience than realized. The overwhelming—this sense of hospitality among the
House System is an integral piece in the structure of Houses. The uniqueness of these relationships is that
the Rhetoric School. they are grade independent. Grade boundaries do
As a student’s high school years go by, the true not exist within the House System, which makes it
idea and identity of the House System can become much easier to take those boundaries away in other
hidden under student’s discontent and countless areas of social life. This lack of boundaries creates
other tasks. Today, the House System’s importance something special and unique to Geneva, the sense of
seems almost irrelevant to many students and has school unity. Every school has its sense of unity, but
even grown to be a burden to some. Houses should Geneva’s is different. Rarely do you ever see groups
not be viewed this way, but rather as an opportunity that only stick with one another and exclude others;
to do something for the improvement of school everyone can be a part of anything—something
life and to escape the miniscule tasks at hand. The unique to Geneva. The Houses play a vital role in

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