Stanford Anthology for Youth: Volume 24

Stanford Anthology for Youth

everywhere I'm going and everywhere I've been

Copyright ©2021 Stanford Anthology for Youth
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced

without prior permission from Stanford Anthology for Youth.

Layout and Design by Riley Jackson

Stanford Anthology for Youth
[email protected]
Stanford, Calif.

Stanford Anthology for Youth strives to ensure the originality of the
submissions contained within this publication. Stanford Anthology for Youth

assumes no responsibility for any works that may not be the original
creation of the contributor to whom the piece is credited.

2

COVER

Cover Art: "STOP" by Sabine Fuchs. Sabine is a homeschooled eighth-
grader. She always includes deeper meanings in her art and writing.
When she isn't drawing or painting she can be found playing with her 3
dogs.
Title: Excerpt from "Resilience" by Genna Pravdin. Genna Pravdin is a
7th grade student at Central Middle School. She's a competitive
ballroom dancer at Dance Vita who also enjoys playing with her two
cats. When she's not doing at dance practice or doing homework, you
can always find her curled up in a chair with a book on her lap.

EDITORIAL BOARD

Riley Jackson Leadership:
Matt Liao Riley Jackson (President)
Jada Hallman Matt Liao (Vice President)
Danielle Amir-Lobel Tanya Watarastaporn (Financial Officer)
Sheila Cochrane
Story Frantzen

3

DEAR WRITERS

It has certainly been a long and difficult year, and the world has changed in
previously unimaginable ways. Many of you have not been in the classroom
for a very long time. Many of you have likely been touched personally by
COVID-19. We suspect that many of you have coped with the past year's
events by creating and sharing your voice. As a result, this year's Anthology
is filled with pieces highlighting the beautiful and the tragic in everyday life,
imagined worlds, and some of the unique experiences of being a middle
schooler during a pandemic.

At the Anthology, we've also changed as a result of the pandemic. We regret
being unable to publish a physical copy of the magazine this year. But, with
our online edition, we gained the freedom to publish more student pieces
and a longer Anthology than ever before! Additionally, we introduced a
theme of Resilience to showcase narratives and artwork that portray this
critical skill. We hope you enjoy this opportunity to appreciate even more of
your peers' work.

This year's Anthology is titled "everywhere I'm going and everywhere I've
been," as a nod to the challenges that you all have faced in the past year and
new adventures yet to come. We hope you look at this Anthology and reflect
on both the good and bad of the past year and how much you've grown.
Thank you for continuing to share your incredible writing and artwork with
us!

The Editors, Stanford Anthology for Youth
July 2021

4

Resilience

THEME

For the first time in the Anthology's history, we have a theme! This year, we
invited students to participate in our optional theme of Resilience by
sending in submissions that they felt pertained to this theme. These pieces
are scattered throughout the magazine, and can be identified by orange
graphics and the word "Resilience," as demonstrated above.

CONTENT WARNING

We always strive to publish a body of work that reflects the diversity of
experiences that exist in life. As a result, some of the pieces of writing in this
magazine address potentially upsetting topics such as death, addiction, and
intense negative emotions.

5

FIND THE ARTISTS

Sabine Fuchs

cover STOP

Catherine Cammack

24 untitled
46 Reading Girl
213 Bird

Abirami Kumar

29 Colored Hair
244 The Jacket

Sadie Laing

37 Anywhere You Want To Be

Clara Lawrence

50 Harmonies Reaching Heights

Elia Gvili

60 Finally Blossoming

Anjuli Das

71 African Daisy Photograph

Zerach Chan

76 untitled

6

Deeksha Vajha

79 Melting Homes

Nicholas Cottrell

83 Visions of Music

Soundarya Vasudevan

93 Sailing Over The Horizon
148 My Vintage Guitar

Samhita Konduri

99 Desert Sunset

Madeline Silva

103 Silver
129 Cold

Alex Dills

110 untitled

Elisa Patterson

116 In the eyes of Gloria
249 Hiraeth

Riya Hariharan

120 Contour Hand 2

Ezri Rohatgi

137 Beautiful

Emma Dougherty

153 Wake Up

Golsa Sadrieh

158 Companion

7

Simone Brown

167 The Moon and The Tree
240 See

Kate Lee

171 Sonder
220 Opia

Khushi Kolte

178 I matter, You matter, We matter together
184 Apex Predator

Katherine Tan

189 Resilience Creates Miracles

Mia Stahler

195 Watercolor Boots

Christine Chang

198 Sunlight Meadow

Akiva Forrester

208 untitled

Corinne Mitchell

236 Nestled Away

Sophia Howell

252 Liberty Chocolate Coin Against a Navajo
Carpet

Juliana Vattuone

255 Mountain on the Lake

8

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Liam Giffen

15 The Oculanors

Sonya Kothari

25 Separation from Seb

Sabine Fuchs

30 The People of Inverness

Sophia Fu

32 Beyond the Town

Dylan Tanner

38 Boxcar

Christine Chang

41 The Letter

Blanche Li

47 Rain and Finger Sandwiches

Margot Zelkha

51 Close Your Eyes

Christine Chang

54 Lise

9

Blanche Li

56 Alpine Creek Cemetery

Neema Sakariya

61 You Told Me I Wouldn't Get Hurt

Emma Wang

66 The Misfortunate Astronaut

Jane Yoon

72 Revenge

Francis Luo

77 Snowmen

Victor Delvat

80 The Day

Emma Billing

84 Family Time

Isabella Taylor

86 Shadow

Taliesin Miller

89 The Sun is Also Orange

Cameron Reynolds

94 The Blind Putt

Tommy Miller

100 Drifting into The Sea Grass

10

Madison Figaro

104 Letts Lake

David Zhang

107 Separated

Deeksha Vajha

111 Weeping Willow

Cayla Chen

114 Where Beauty Resides

Grace Ker

117 Sorbet

Nisha Shenoy

121 The Light Above Us

Francis Luo

130 There's No Vaccine

Ethan Politzer

135 Sky Cries

Eine Youn

138 The Gift

Miles Harris

149 Blackberries

Michael Samuelsen

150 A Ripple In The Water

11

Ella Gvili

154 The Violet Lilac

Skye Lee

159 Stars

Quinn Olson

163 Heritage

E.C.

165 You.

Vicx Nelson

168 I Want to Kiss You But I Can't

Leia Seevers

172 Eleven Feet Up

Kayden Cho

175 The Day That Changed Everything

Neema Sakariya

179 Our Biggest Mistake

Angela Liu

182 It's Not My Fault

Gianna Federighi

185 An Unexpected Event

Grace Ker

190 Bai

12

Nisha Shenoy

196 Sunshine

Jill Gladstone

199 Drowned in Lies

Audrey Ke

200 Rewind

Sophia Zhang

202 Sharing Curiosity

Clara Lawrence

205 Fire

David Zhang

209 The Pigeon

Samantha Fan

214 Nevertheless

Ashley Louie

217 A Taste of Freedom

Kate Lee

221 A New Beginning

Mia Ravishankar

222 Room of Memories

Michelle Tang

225 Lost Tiles

13

Sabine Fuchs

228 Awake at the Witching Hour

Cayla Chen

229 Lakeview Boulevard

Sophia Howell

232 Small One Lost

Lucia Kitching

234 The Mountains of Chamonix

Jenna Swei

237 The Forfeit of Competition

Carolyn Cao

239 Anti-Ode to Pickles

Ben Romanowsky

241 Le Crunch à Paris

Madeline Silva

245 Let Me Tape You

Genna Pravdin

250 RESILIENCE

David Henri

253 Empty Streets

Sophia Howell

256 World By Us

14

Liam Giffen

The Oculanors

The Watcher

The Oculanors Mercenary group was, for lack of a better term, poor. Ever
since their mage Isaac stole everything and left, they’ve been struggling,
and occasionally, begging for odd jobs.

Orion, the group leader, the main fighter, and the father of Eric hated
these jobs, fighting was what gave him life, and up until now, his hammer
gathered dust. Mango, the scout of the party and the second youngest of
the group, as well as Eric, the cart master and the youngest, both liked the
quiet; Mango loved the thrill of adventure, but she disliked the danger of
being killed, and Eric just enjoyed spending time with this group, living a
comparatively everyday life. Corazon, the other fighter of the group, was
just happy that everyone was safe.

Get the rats out of an old woman’s garage, help in the kitchen of local
restaurants, stand guard for a merchant, all things that were bottom of
the barrel boring, until this job.

Liam is an eight grade student at JLS Middle School who enjoys
playing video games with friends, writing, and listening to
music.

15

The group was surprised that they had been given this job directly. 10,000
gold pieces, the Oculanors got the break they needed. It was an easy job; they
just had to grab a book and some flowers from the old library on the
outskirts of Slociro.

The thing about these flowers is that they only bloom at night, and regress
during the day, so as the sun left the sky and the moon arose, the group
began on its way.

“Can you believe it?” Orion’s deep voice said, filled with life, “The Oculanors
are finally getting back in the game!” he exclaimed as he polished his
hammer.

“I-I’m not sure about this Pa, Don’t you think it’s weird that all we gotta do is
grab some flowers and a book?” Eric asked as he steered the cart.

“I just think the dumb kid who gave out this job has too much money for his
own good.” Orion stated as he continued polishing.

“Why did he come to us directly?” Corazon asked as she sharpened her
blade.

“He’s the son of my old friend Tiana from the War of the Cursed Blood.”

“Wait Tiana as in Tiana the Baron of Viscera?” Corazon questioned.

“Ya she was one hell of a fighter, didn’t realize she was the politics type.”
Orion exclaimed.

“I thought her son died?” Corazon asked, confused.

16

“Apparently not.” Orion finished, the conversation coming to a close as the
chorus of wind continued.

“Oh guys, in my bag, there’s two boxes of food, one for each of you,” Eric
said, Orion and Corazon immediately digging into the bag and grabbing the
two platters of food.

“Ey thanks, kid.” Corazon said as she began to eat.

“You’re like four years older than me.” Eric responded, his voice cracking.

Corazon just shrugged and continued eating. The group all turned to the
right side of the cart as the bushes began to ruffle. Corazon and Orion
gripped their handles as Mango jumped onto the cart, sitting directly next to
Orion, stealing a dumpling from his plate.

“Hey! Give that back!” Orion demanded as Mango scruffed it down.

“Still want it?” She asked, causing Corazon and Eric to laugh as Orion sat
mumbling to himself.

“Well, anything to worry about?” Orion asked, interrupting the laughter.

“No, we’re clear.” Mango explained.

“Ay guys, do you uh, do you see that?” Eric said, pointing up to two shadowy
figures in the trees, two pointy ears going up from their dark faces, their
four bright blue eyes staring down at the group, their bodies hidden in the
trees.

“Just the locals, don’t worry about them; they’re probably just confused.”
Orion said calmly as he drew his gaze back down to his companions.

17

“Y-ya you’re right. Ey Mango in my bag, there's a box of food for you.” Eric
said as focused forward and saw an old, crumbling building, surrounded by
a garden of glowing flowers. “Ey guys, we’re here,” he continued.

A large weight was lifted from the cart as Orion got up and walked beside the
cart, Corazon doing the same on the opposite side of the cart. Mango
jumped onto the forward set of seats, sitting next to Eric.

A large weight was lifted from the cart as Orion got up and walked beside the
cart, Corazon doing the same on the opposite side of the cart. Mango
jumped onto the forward set of seats, sitting next to Eric.

“Why do you look all…dying like?” Mango asked as she placed her head on
Eric's shoulder.

Eric

I was worried about this one, those figures didn’t look friendly. My dad
looked way too relaxed as we walked toward the library, but the warm heat
from Mango’s head layed on my shoulder. My arm moved behind me and
scratched, out of my control.

“Just uh- nervous, this doesn’t feel right.”

“Ya, but even if there is something, we got this.”

“Ya, your- you're probably right.”

We both stepped off of the cart into the cold forest, her nice warmth leaving
me. I tied the cart around a nearby tree, the wood warped in weird circular
ways, it’s texture lonely and metal-like.

18

My dad led us with Corazon walking beside him.

“These flowers are really pretty,” Mango said, looking down at the blue
glowing petals.

“Uh-oh ya, ya, they really are.” Goshdangit Eric, why are you like this.

“Alright well, everyone ready?” My dad asked as he looked up at the
abandoned library, stopping before the steps. We all nodded as my dad
slowly opened the door, revealing the cold inside of the library, worn tables
immediately ahead of us, a spiral staircase to the left of us, a dead, wood
counter to the right. The Floor was cluttered with books, many damaged with
water and torn apart. Behind the tables, bookshelves stood broke and
untouched.

The sight of destroyed books leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

I looked out the mostly cracked windows to see three dark figures, the same
piercing eyes staring back at me. The blue light illuminated them, revealing
rough, purple, stringy skin. I immediately ducked below the windowsill.

“You good, kid?” Corazon asked, squatting in front of me as my dad and
Mango began searching for the book.

“Uh- ya, ya I’m good.” My hand scratching the back of my head on its own.

“Great, now get lookin’, the one with the purple gem on its front.” She said
before standing up and walking up the fragile steps. I quickly stood up and
looked back to where they were standing, but nothing was there. I’m good,
I’m good, they’re probably just confused.

I swallowed deeply before moving to the bookshelf and investigating each
cover, many of them old, torn, and ruined.

19

As I moved through the shelves, every time I’d feel the slightest touch, I
couldn’t help but jolt around.

Eventually, I found the book. Grabbing it, the book felt new, the leather fresh
and tight, the gem unstained.

“Ey guys! I found it!” I yelled out, causing them all to run over, Corazon
almost landing on me as she jumped from the upper balcony. I made them
proud, finally.

We all huddled around the book as I placed it on the unstable table.

“Good job son! All we need now is flowers.” Orion yelled as his face lit up.

“Just the flowers and 10,000 gold pieces is ours!” Mango yelled out, followed
by Corazon and my dad whopping and hollering. I still felt uneasy about this.

“You alright, kid?” Orion asked, looking down at me.

I knew I wasn’t at my best. I was shaken up, this didn’t feel right. And without
Sara here to save us with her magic, I didn’t know if we could get out.

“Ya, 100%.” I said, nodding before grabbing the book.

I looked out into the wood as we left the broken building, no creatures in
sight. Maybe this is just a lucky break, but I can’t get the paranoia out of my
head. I looked around at the flowers as Corazon carefully cut a few flowers
and delicately placed them in her bag.

As we walked back to the cart, I swear I could see some familiar blue eyes.
Four, then another four next to those, another twelve behind us, and four to
our left. The panic filled me again as we all sat in the cart, our horses
beginning to pull. The eyes began to converge quickly moving towards us.

20

“He-Hey guys, guys!” I screamed, feeling my life leave my body as the figure
leaped at me, it's a humanoid figure with inky violet skin, but now, I saw its
claws, large and thick.

I pulled up my arm to block its attack but was saved as my dad slammed
away the creature with a large crack. I screamed out and fell back onto the
trunk of the cart.

I layed on the floor of the cart for what felt like hours, I was spinning before
Mango disrupted my view of the night sky.

“Take this.” She said as she handed me a dagger, still warm from her grip.
“Be careful.”

I nodded as she stood up and pulled out her crossbow, firing it at another
beast.

I stood up and turned around to see Corazon blocking the claw of one that
was balancing on the edge of the cart. She immediately shoved him off with
her shield and sliced into another creature with her sword, the creature
screeching in pain before vanishing into a purple puff of smoke.

In front of me, I saw my dad slamming his hammer into one of the creatures
before swinging it into another, a large crack ringing out with each hit. My
dad turned to me as more approached him.

“Drive!” Orion yelled.

I immediately flipped back onto the front seat and grasped the rope,
cracking it, causing the horses to immediately pull the cart to a fast pace. We
continued moving towards the town, the cart shaking as we moved, many of
the creatures teleporting onto our cart, purple puffs of smoke conjuring
before each of them teleported.

21

As the town walls entered our sight, I began to become hopeful. Looking up
the path at the gate, I suddenly felt three rough claws slice against my face,
an immediate burn as my skin teared and the sharp claws cut in. the feeling
of my skin tearing apart like three friends being separated from each other.
I felt shocked as I felt the flesh slightly sog down causing me to fly off the
cart, my body falling violently onto the hard path.

Screaming out, I slowly stood back up, falling back onto the cart as I turned,
seeing three of the creatures directly in front of me, each of them ready to
strike and finish me off. I couldn’t lift my leg onto the cart as it ached in
pain from the fall. I sliced forward with the knife Mango gave me, missing
them but causing each of them to step back, all three of them dug into the
ground before charging forward.

As they closed in on me, I squeezed my eyes closed, this can’t be happening,
this can’t be happening, I knew we shouldn’t have done this, I’m going to die.

A large smash filled my ears as my dad leaped infront of me, his armor
taking the attacks.

“Come on!” I heard Corazon and Mangos voices like angels from the
heavens as they grabbed my arms and pulled me up. I immediately took my
seat again, my dad climbing back onto the cart after he destroyed the three
monsters.

The horses pushed on as we finally got to the tall wooden entrance into the
walls.

“Hello?” My father yelled looking at the closed doors. For the first time today,
I heard confusion and fear in his voice.

22

They never lock the gate. Why did they lock the gate? Why is no one here to
open it?

My breath uncontrollably quickened as I looked back to my friends, my head
spinning as the spirits continued coing. I felt the need to throw up. I...I
couldn’t control it.

The Watcher

At that moment, Eric began to float, a bright light emanating from his skin.

The creatures all screeched out as divine light covered them, their fragile
bodies burning deeply as they returned to the forest. Eric turned towards the
door, it followed his mind as he demanded it to open, Corazon, Mango, and
Orion all looked in shock at the godly glow.

Once Eric opened the door, this blessed form faded, Eric's body dropping
limply onto the floor, the party safe and alive, Orion recognized this form, in
the war, his fellow soldier Derick had a similar transformation, the god of
war overtook him and granted him immense power, but this phenomenon
stopped once the war ended.Seeing Eric turn into the form caused great fear
in him, as Derick died once the war ended, not from battle, not from disease,
but by the blood soaked blade of the gods. Orion knew what this meant, his
son, the gods newest titan, Eric, the divine savior.

23

"Untitled" (inspired by multiple cubism paintings by Pablo

Picasso), Catherine Cammack. Catherine's friends call her Nara

and she is an 8th grade student at JLS middle school. She enjoys

playing with her cat and baking tasty treats for her friends and

family. 24

Resilience

Sonya Kothari

Separation From Seb

She sits by the window, tears stinging her green eyes. Her back is rigid
after years of ballet. The window seat is too firm and something sharp
pokes at her. Whether it’s guilt or just a loose feather, she doesn’t know.
Her hand follows the rains’ tracks on the icy glass. This much rain was
uncommon back home, but here the rain seems to be never-ending. Her
thoughts flicker between a young boy and the sadness that has been
plaguing her heart.

"You used to love the rain."
Their laughter fills the empty road. The puddles explode with each jump.
Her red rainboots make a huge splash as she jumps in a puddle near him.
His shrieks echo loudly as he becomes even more drenched.
“Lizzie!!!”
There’s more giggling as she picks up a small pile of mud, stopping only
for a second to check for stones. As soon as it gets the okay, she hurls it at
him. The dirty mud stands out against his bright blue jacket. She’s already
scooping up a new pile as the mud hits her right on the shoulder. It burns,
but only for a second, then it’s Game On.
She finds a new pile and throws. He ducks at the last second and throws
one at her. He misses.

Sonya Kothari is an avid reader and an eighth grader at Central
Middle School. She has a passion for both eating and cooking
food, and through the pandemic, has discovered a love for long
walks.

25

They spend the afternoon like that. Playing in the rain, not a care in the
world.

The red boots still sit in a moving box. The scratchy brown packing paper
mutes their magnificent glow. Their sparkle’s disappeared in this new place.
The constant rain made her heart ache with longing for her home. The rain
made her miss him.

Abruptly, she turns from the window and leaps onto her bed. The bed
sinks under the weight of the small girl and that only makes her cry harder.

In her haste to cry, she kicked off her stuffed animal- Bubbles, a small
gorilla. Seeing Bubbles on the floor only made her cry harder. Years before,
Seb had won the gorilla for her at the fair.

“C'mon Seb! We still have money. And we need to finish it!” The urgency in
her voice only made him laugh. It was a rule that by the time the fireworks
went off , all money had to be spent. If there was any leftover, then the night
had not been satisfied, and they would not be allowed to eat anything sugary
for a week. To Liz, it was the worst possible punishment ever to be imagined.

Neither wanted to go to the blankets with the adults, so they found the one
booth that they could afford. After years of going to the same fair, they knew
all the booth's prices.

The rubber ducks floated in a kiddie pool, their yellow muted against the
darkness of the sky.

The goal of the game was to get as many ducks in the pond as possible.
Each duck had a number on the bottom, and in order to get a good prize you
had to get a large quantity of points. The smaller ducks were worth more
points than the larger ones, but occasionally the small ones had measly
amounts or the big ducks were jackpots.

Liz was never any good at the pond games- not like Seb. Seb was a genius
at these. The clock was ticking for the fireworks as Seb grabbed the plastic rod
and started ‘fishing’. What Liz was good at, was finding the jackpots.

“The big one! The big one is a jackpot!!” She screamed over the change in
song that signaled a ten minute warning for the fireworks.

26

Seb pointed the rod over the duck and..
“Yes!” Seb was muttering as he concentrated on pulling the duck out of the
water. Up, up, almost…
“500 points to this young man.” The booth keeper pointed over his shoulder
to a wall full of treasures.
As they ran to the other side of the booth, Culture Clubs’ ‘Karma
Chameleon’ started blaring over the speakers. Five minutes.
At the time, Liz and Seb were going through a gorilla phase, so it seemed
like fate when they saw two identical gorillas on the wall marked for 250
points each.
It was only after the fireworks, when the pair were lying on the floor
huddled in blankets, that they decided to write their names on the others’
gorilla. Shark had her name on his right hand in a loopy cursive, and Bubbles
had his name on his left hand.
Now she traces the letters on Bubble’s hand. The swoop of the S, the
capital E, and the gigantic B. Her eyes flit around the room, stopping only on
the calendars.
The photo calendars occupy a large portion of wall space in her room.
The words Seb & Liz : A Superheros Schedule are printed in a loopy font on
each calendar. There were many calendars - one for each year they knew
each other. She had half of them. He had the other half. What had become of
them now?
When she first read the letters, two weeks before, she was upset and
shocked. Then she was shaking with anger. But she was angry at herself. Her
thoughts circled back to their last conversations, how angry she was she
spoke. Her fists were marked red from punching the walls and her throat
scratchy from endless nights of crying into pillows. She couldn’t look at the
wall with the calendars. Soon after, she became a bundle of sadness.
Now all she is, is a shaking shell of tears and recollections.

27

Dearest Liz,
We miss you so much and hope you are enjoying England. Unfortunately we
have some sad news, so I think you should sit for this. Today, Seb got hit by a
car. As I am writing this letter, we’re sitting in his hospital room. They don’t
know how much longer he has to live, but they told us that they expect under
an hour. By the time this letter gets to you, my baby boy will be gone. We are
going to have a ceremony for him on 10/01 if you want to come visit. I know
you guys haven’t spoken in a while, but Seb does miss you dearly. As do I and
Z. Of course, if you can't make it, we’d understand. Lastly, Seb wanted to tell
you he's sorry. He also said that you need to ‘enjoy life to its fullest and eat
some ice cream’.

We all miss you dearly,
Eleanor, Zach, and Seb

The first letter came a few days before the second one. The second letter
was dated two days before the first.

Dear Lizzie,
It's me. As I’m writing this letter, I'm sitting on the beanbag chair at the round
desk. Mr. Snuffles is purring on my lap. Shark is sitting on my dresser eating a
twix (I still don’t understand why you like those). Snuffs really misses you. I
miss you. I miss our orange-juice-Sundays and our hot-coco-Fridays. I miss
our 2 am parties and the ice cream eating battles. Most of all, I miss your
cooking. Just kidding!! Although I do miss your amazing stir frys. But really,
what I truly miss is my best friend. I miss you. I know we parted badly and I
know you didn’t mean what you said. I mean, I really hope you didn’t mean
that, because that would be super awkward :) . I regret how I acted too. I’m
sorry I didn’t help you pack or give you a proper goodbye. But think of it this
way, I didn’t give a proper send off (who even says that?) because it wasn’t the
last time we’ll see each other. Miss you lots and will you be my best friend
again?

Love you,
Sebster

28

"Colored Hair," Abirami Kumar. Abirami is an eighth grade
student at John M. Horner Middle School. She enjoys doing
digital art and playing the piano in her free time.

29

Sabine Fuchs

The People of Inverness

I am told that hippies roam the streets and green leaves
grow in the back yards, in the town from which I come.
But through the windows and down the lanes, hopscotch
and midnight tag take hold. Oyster bingo and Cow Tail candies
sit in stomachs covered by cotton and plaid. I am made up of rainy days,
and Christmas music in September. Study clubs with chocolate
and online shopping. I am 316 pages of history notes--
left on rocky grey beaches or forgotten between leather couch cushions.
My home is a cold June day and a fog-laden bay. Grandparents on
porches
and Sunday night bagpipes. My brain is inlaid with Sophia’s laughter,
and Cam’s excited screams. Kia’s silent smirking and Kieran’s 80s
dancing.
My eyes are full of secret paths and 10-minute plays,
friendly pastors and rainbow flags.

Cold creeps into the bones of those who let it. Instead, we sit by roaring
fires and sing at midnight, we play songs on a new radio

Sabine is a homeschooled eighth grader. She always includes
deeper meanings in her art and writing. When she isn't drawing
or painting she can be found playing with her 3 dogs.

30

and search the mossy woods for houses left by those before us.
We are chocolate chip waffles and boarded-up stores.
We are glittering 90’s nail polish and yelling in the streets.
We are lost friends, called by summer fog and peeling sailboats.
You are an outsider to my icy August days and fashion shows at dusk,
warm food paired with vintage blankets, mismatched plates, and warm
embraces.
But you are welcome in my town; you are welcome in the sprawling green
hills
and hidden tree nets. Frothy white waters and illegal camping grounds.
For we welcome you: to peek through our windows and wander down our
lanes.
Call us hippies or intruders, druggies or loners. But we are none of those
things.
We are hopscotch and midnight tag. Oyster bingo and Cow Tails,
cold summer days, and fog-laden bays.
We are the people who roam the hills of Inverness.

31

Sophia Fu

Beyond the Town

The town was there like an old photograph. The brick houses with their
slanted, metal rooftops—an odd combination—gave the feeling that the
place was desperate to look welcoming to outsiders. A polished plaque
stood at the center of the town, presenting the words, “All efforts are for
you and your town.” A layer of black dust accumulated in gutters and
blanketed the roads and sidewalks. The land was barren, and there was
only a sprinkle of green brush that could be seen on the hillside from a
rare, recent rain.

Around a bend in the road, the small booth and the even smaller bench
stood next to the railroad tracks. Amelia liked to think that long before
she came here, before the factory was built for people to generate food,
there were visitors bustling to and from the train and into the town, but
now, an armed guard blocked anybody from going on the train. Usually
when it arrived, it would drop off supplies like soap and paper products,
and then carry away crates of food generated by the factory.

Sophia is a seventh grade student at Ralston Middle School. She
spends her free time reading books and exploring her backyard.

32

Amelia strode along the road as if she were delivering a meal package from
the factory to Mrs. Warrington. She kept her head low and steadied her
walking pace. She felt the sun beating down on her, as if it wanted to burn
her up.

Ever since she arrived at the town to work in the factory, Amelia had started
wondering whether her job was doing good or harm. She had lived there for
four months, and every day except for Sunday, she would walk from her two-
room flat where two other workers also lived, to the factory. Security guards
would stand and watch passersby at every corner, their weapons by their
side.

Inside the factory, a smell of plastic and rotting, moldy compost made her
feel sick to her stomach each day. How could that smell result in food fed to
the towns? Often, after her roommates and she finished their meals, Amelia
would get a queasy feeling in her stomach, and her roommates would
occasionally complain about having to vomit as if they were eating inedible
ingredients like cotton or stones. But they had to be grateful for what they
had, so they kept their mouths shut.

When Amelia was a child, she dreamed of growing up to be a professional
artist, so she could express herself through colors and textures of fabrics.
Back then, jobs were plentiful. People could work on farms, in stores, in
business offices, in hospitals, in schools, in museums, in any place
imaginable, but then the planet grew hotter, sea levels grew higher, the fires
burned up crops and buildings, businesses shut down, and finding a job
became closer to impossible everyday. Riots were more frequent, and to
obtain order, the towns were established.

33

The towns were supposed to be a solution to the scarceness of jobs but they
ended up acting as prisons. In spite of this, they were places of order and
safety, unlike the vast areas of land between each town where there were no
laws and everyone was each other’s enemy and everything had to be self-
provided. But out in the land of tumbleweeds and parched soil, of hastily
made shacks that were frequently torn apart by bandits, of holes in the earth
where people dug for water—that was where Amelia’s parents and brother
lived. That was what made living in the lawless land so different from living
in a town. Still, she missed her mother’s scolding, her father’s whittling, and
her brother’s jokes.

Amelia clutched the package, trying to ignore the guard’s stare. He was
dressed in a black uniform and wore a black cap and sunglasses to shield
himself from the sunlight. He was standing in the shade, not moving. She
knew that he was observing her when she walked past, and she was almost
out of his eyesight when he hollered her name. Amelia abruptly halted.

“Where are you going?” the guard demanded. He was stepping towards
Amelia, his eyebrows arched and his hand hovered over his weapon. Amelia
stopped. Her shoulders were shaking and she was loosening her grip on the
package. It was unusual for people to leave the town, but the guards had to
do their job.

“I’m delivering a package to Mrs. Warrington, sir,” Amelia said after a long
pause. Except it wasn’t a package; it carried her clothes, a toothbrush and
toothpaste, a flashlight, bandages and ointment, and meal bars.

The guard cocked his eyebrow and questioned, “Mrs. Warrington lives in the
other direction, near the center of town, not near the train station. Are you
sure you’re delivering a package to her?”

34

Amelia glanced down, then looked at the guard and replied, “Yes, I am.”

“Well, then, continue on.”

Amelia heaved a sigh of relief and walked in the direction of Mrs.
Warrington’s, occasionally checking behind her to see whether the guard
was still eyeing her. The guard wandered off to another spot to keep watch.
Amelia slowly headed back towards the train station, wondering why she was
trying to escape. This town provided protection, shelter, food, and a safe
environment. Was it right to go back into the danger just so she could see
her family? Amelia shook her head, she was so close to escaping to suddenly
give up just because of a mere thought.

A few moments later, she arrived at the abandoned booth. No one had
spotted her, but a guard had come and stood near the tracks, clearly waiting
for a train to arrive. After a few minutes, Amelia began to shudder and she
told herself to calm down, that she wouldn’t get caught. Soon, a distant
whistle filled the air, and a black train came into view. More guards arrived,
and when the train completely stopped, the doors of each compartment
opened. Guards began to haul off products for the town. Now was her
moment.

Amelia stepped out of the booth and started running towards the train,
stopping to hide behind an old broken down train car.

The guards were lifting the crates out and carrying them to the town’s
warehouse. They were calling out to one another. “Is Compartment C
emptied?!”

“It’s empty!”

35

“Compartment D?”

“It’s empty.”

Amelia saw her chance and darted across the platform, hoping that nobody
had spotted her. If she did get caught, then she would have to live with being
surrounded by guards and staying at a heavily secured building. She
clenched her teeth and tried to empty her mind of that thought. The guards
slowly headed out towards the town, away from the automated train. The
compartment doors were still open, but Amelia knew that she would have to
act quickly. Without much more thinking, she ran out on the platform,
heading straight towards her only means of escape.

“Hey! Who’s that there?”

Amelia focused and sprinted faster. Shouts of voices began to call after her,
and a few of the guards chased after her. The compartment door was just
about to close, too. The train was about to leave. Amelia would lose her
chance of escaping. But just as her mind flooded with the thoughts of getting
caught and punished, her feet touched the hard floor of the train
compartment and the door started closing. The guards glowered at the train,
but the train whistled a high pitched note, and started lurching forward on
the track.

Amelia collapsed on the train’s floor behind a stack of crates, her parcel in
her hands. It was a cramped area, but a sense of relief washed over her. She
had made it onto the train and was free of the captivity of the town. She
peeked through a hole in the wall of the compartment and watched as the
train moved farther away from the hills, where the town’s name, “Petherlly
Town” was imprinted on a sign. The train headed towards the valley where
there was no safety, no protection, but the place where she last saw her
family.

36

"Anywhere You Want To Be," Sadie Laing. Sadie is an eighth
grade student at Central Middle School in San Carlos. She's
lived in San Carlos her whole life, and she enjoys playing soccer
and doing art.

37

Resilience

Dylan Tanner

Boxcar

Staring off out the depressing boxcar door, the night illuminated the
tops of trees as they raced past. My head against the wood floor curled up
with Bo, my dog. Bouncing up and down with the train. Click clack, click
clack, It was hypnotic, kinda hurt on the wood and metal boxcar.

My third orphanage, I chuckled. They could not keep me in, well at least
for long. Every time I would escape and get caught, only to be sent back to
another orphanage. The thrill of running through the woods, the wind
blowing through my short hair, them yelling for me to stop, me weaving
in and out of the trees like a skier, the dog Bo I gave food to every day
running by my side. The leaves’ crunch was mellowed by the sound of the
horn of the train leaving the train station and my feet now running on the
gravel next to it. I eyed the second to last box car, looked over my back to
see if they had followed me, threw Bo in and hopped on.
Every time I did it it felt like I just robbed a bank whether I got caught or
not. One thing was for sure, I loved the adrenaline, way, way too much.

I didn’t know what I would do, heck I didn’t even know who my parents
were. I didn’t care that much though. Selfish enough to leave me, I’m a
gem.

Dylan enjoys playing sports like baseball and football, he also
likes playing trumpet. He enjoys being out in nature and with
animals.

38

It still confuses me, even though iIm fourteen. What was I to do now
though. I don’t even know where this train is going, there were so many
questions I wanted answers to. I just wanted to get out of there, they didn’t
care about you. An excuse to say you're helping the world. All three of them I
didn’t care for, all had terrible food, curfew at nine, you only got a shower
once a week. Alas I was out but with only a backpack on my back, a brain and
no plan. Heh I out ran grannies and a six foot security guard with a ten
pound backpack.

At least I had a book that I could read to pass the time in the morning. I
also had a couple bottles of water and a cereal box that I stole from their
kitchen. It was sad how fast the buzz of stealing wore off, before you knew it
you wanted to do something bad again. Hopefully Bo likes cereal because I
don’t know how long this train ride is and was not expecting him to come
with me.

I only had my mind and Bo in the boxcar so I started to talk to him and
bounce what I was thinking to him because it is easier to say it to a set of
eyes than nothing at all. I soon came to realize something. The food, curfew
and hygiene weren't the problem. It was how they made you feel. They always
called you sweetie and you just sorta cringed it off uncomfortably and they
acted like they were your mother and father. I didn’t like it. Maybe it was just
because I wasn’t used to it and that normal kids would be. I just hated that
they did that. You could never tell them not to do that though because they
were just trying to be nice and make you feel at home. That weird feeling
started to crawl up my throat, that string of words I thought didn’t feel right,
and I realized why. The truth was, I did miss my parents and wanted a home
and I knew it. A tear ran down my cheek. It made sense why I did what I did. I
almost cried myself to sleep that night.

39

The train had come to a slow stop as I wiped the dry crusty tears from my
eyes. It was still pitch black out but lights had brightened the sky. I hopped
out, so did Bo and we scurried out of the train yard into a flourishing city. It
was almost too bright. What was I supposed to do? Only one thing crossed
my mind, I had to go back. But I wouldn't let myself. Once again having too
many questions rather than answers and wanted to weigh my options and
went on a walk.

The street was congested, cars jam packed, people walking every which
way. I peered into every shop's window, there was everything I could imagine.
I was getting ahead of myself and went to an alley to stop getting
overwhelmed, Bo followed. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, I needed to go
back. I knew their phone number, I used to mess with the people, calling
them. Bo nipped at my ankle and then, sitting in front of me with big dilated
eyes, small whimpers. He made this way too hard and was too cute. Although
he made me realize a point. The people at the orphanage were not my family
and no one had gotten adopted since I got there, so I probably won't get a
new family. Maybe it was worth a shot. Start from scratch, no one knew who I
was, or at least cared. The thing stopping me was how would I get food or a
job. I’m fourteen years old, who would hire me? I didn’t like to beg because I
was anything but social and hated getting weird looks from other people. I
mainly hate getting pity from other people because I am an orphan.

I sat there getting colder and colder. Maybe I did make a new life for
myself. I was going to struggle one way or another, maybe I did start from
scratch and start from the bottom, rock bottom. I hated being in the loop,
escaping, getting caught and returned. Yet this time was different, this time I
had a choice in what I do, this time I will take advantage of it, this time I
finally had a family, my family.

40

Resilience

Christine Chang

The Letter

Dust drifts around the room as I gently clean out my desk drawer. A
slice of cake from my retirement party perched to the side. An award for
Best Teacher Of the Year, ten years in a row. A certificate claiming my
students had the highest grades in the school. Voted favorite teacher of the
year by the student body, fifteen years running. I smile. But then- I glimpse
the corner of a yellowed letter bearing familiar handwriting. I hold the
paper up to the soft glow of my ancient lamp, remembering the beginning.

“So you’re Robert.”
He sneered, staring out the window. “So you’re Mr. Bernstein.”
“Well, well. What landed you in my class?” I sighed. A master’s degree,
and I was stuck teaching remedial math in a dead end job.
No response. He flicked his hair, already headed for the back of the
class.
I turned to the whiteboard, muttering darkly to myself as the bell rang
and the rest of the students filed in.

I circled a bright red ‘F’ at the top of Robert’s homework and sidled over
to his desk.

Christine is an eighth grader at Central Middle School. She
cares deeply about the environment and loves dancing ballet.

41

“And so they stick me with yet another apathetic teenager. Where were
you yesterday, and the day before? The principal will hear about you
skipping class. And how much time went into this?” I asked, letting the
crumpled sheet float onto his desk.

“What’s it matter to you? I got better things to do than come to your class
and do your dumb assignments.”

I laughed dryly. “Oh?”
“You don’t wanna grade them anyways. How ‘bout you and I, we’ll make a
deal. You don’t grade ‘em, and I won’t do ‘em.”
A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Sorry, no deal. I need a steady
paycheck, and you,” I said, nudging the paper towards him, “are going to
help me. Meet me in my office tomorrow before school.”

As Richard ran out the door that day, I glanced over to where he had been
sitting. A college application form sat on the chair. I almost laughed. What
kind of college did he think he was getting into? I shook my head, grabbed
the form, and walked back to my desk. A quick thumb through the directory
told me he didn’t live far from school. I packed up, still holding the form,
and hurried out, reciting his address in my head so I could drop it off on the
way home.

“This can’t be the right street,” I mumbled as I inched my car along. The
apartments were dirty, covered in graffiti, with cigarettes littered on the
ground. A rat skittered across the street as I parked my car. I climbed
carefully up the cracking cement steps and knocked on the rickety door. I
craned my neck around. Dumpsters overflowed with beer cans, an old man
stood staring at me with his hands in his pockets. No one answered the door.
Wanting to get out of the neighborhood quickly, I tucked the form into his
mailbox and hurried back down the steps and into my car.

Robert barged in, face sweaty and hot and grinning. “You won’t believe
what happened,” he sighed, flopping onto a plastic chair.

42

I looked up and observed Richard, truly seeing him for the first time. He
was dressed like most kids, in sweatpants and a hoodie. He was smiling,
shoving one last potato chip into his mouth before stashing the bag in the
cupholder of his backpack where I was sure it would stay for at least a week.

“Well?,” I asked, sipping my coffee and putting my pen down, smiling.
If Robert noticed my change in tone, he only paused a moment before
launching into his story. “I thought I lost my college forms but somebody,
they come by and drop it off! Wanna know where I want to go? UCLA.”
Robert began filing papers for me as I got lost in memories of my own
attempts to secure a teaching post there, at UCLA. I shook my head and
looked back at him. “How do you plan to get in?”
Richard grinned. “Somehow ‘imma get an A in every class.”
I nodded, drained the rest of my coffee. “I can help you there,” I said,
before realizing what I was saying. I had never offered to give a student extra
help before. “As long as you stop skipping my class.”
“Deal.”

Every morning, Robert would barge into my office unannounced and
show me the homework from the previous night that he’d struggled with. We
fought through the History homework together, both of us sometimes
throwing our pens down and giving up. Sometimes we talked about news or
girlfriends that Robert said he was “looking into.” With Math, I could see the
look on his face when he understood something. And in my class, he raised
his hand more and more, daring to volunteer an answer. The last day of
school waited, teasing us, until it finally came. And went.

The halls were virtually silent. Class had been out for half an hour, and I
sat still, red pen in hand, cramming last-minute assignments into the
gradebook.

I laughed aloud when I reached Robert’s name. Robert, the one who had
been ready to flunk, had received a B. I poked my head out into the hallway
hopefully. Robert stood halfway down the hall, stuffing a tattered book into
his backpack.

43

“Robert-- you hoping for a prize or something?” I called, grinning, waving
the gradebook.

He shrugged, hiding a smile. “Yeah, it was nothing. Yeah, it was a breeze.
Since when did you write such easy assignments?

I chuckled. “I’m glad to see you applied yourself.”
Robert glanced away, then back at me, still smiling sheepishly. “You
proud of me?”
“Of course. Nice work.”
His grin broadened. He turned away, ran for the doors, and pushed one
open wide. He disappeared around the corner, letting out a joyous laugh
before the door slammed shut, echoing and leaving me standing alone in
the dark hall, hand still raised in half a wave that he never saw.

I glance down once more at the letter in my hands, faded and tattered
after many reads. I picture Robert’s figure, the last I ever saw of him, darting
out the door. I picture his sheepish smile, his voice always straining to keep
from laughing.

Dear Mr. Bernstein,

How are you? I am well.
I was in your seventh-period math class. Do you remember me?
What have you been up to? Tomorrow I am starting a new job. I’m on the
marketing track, but I don’t know how far I’ll get. I got interested in it at UCLA.
Some people say I don’t have the right temperament for it. But hey for now,
I’ve landed a comfortable desk job! Met a wonderful lady, and I’m going to be
a dad.
I never thanked you for what you did for me in my senior year. Times were
tough, and it was tempting to keep skipping class. My brother and mom had
been deported, and my dad was in and out of prison. I was staying at my
aunt’s place, but I don’t remember much about her except that she was out
every night, partying.

44

I didn’t have much time for homework between the jobs I worked, trying to
help my aunt pay the bills, because she hardly ever worked herself. Sometimes
my uncle would come home from who knows where. He was always drunk or
high on drugs. And he had a temper, man. I would sometimes run out and
skulk around the nearby rich-kid neighborhood all night until people gave me
dirty looks. Other times, I would stay and make sure he didn’t hurt my aunt.
The time we spent holed up in your office was safe, slow, calm. I would have
skipped school every day. The truancy lady would have gone crazy! But I
knew I couldn’t skip, I had an appointment with you before school. That hour
you spent with me kept me coming back. You were the first person I met who
cared.

I guess that’s all I want to say. Thanks, Mr. Bernstein. You helped me more
than you realize.
-Robert Newhall

45

"Reading Girl," Catherine Cammack. Catherine's friends call her
Nara and she is a 8th grade student at JLS middle school. She
enjoys playing with her cat and baking tasty treats for her
friends and family.

46

Blanche Li

Rain and Finger Sandwiches

"Oh no, it's raining!” I look out the window to see a dreary gray sky and
wet streets. “Will we still be able to go to Central Park?" I ask my mom.

"I don't know," she replies. "Hopefully the rain will stop."

I'm most excited to go to Central Park. I've seen pictures of it: grassy
fields, picnic areas, duck ponds, large rocks to sit on, and even boats to
rent. Back home, when I see my parents, they are usually hosting a work
meeting on Zoom or typing away on their monitors, so I miss those days
when we had the time to see the stingrays at Monterey Bay Aquarium,
walk across the Golden Gate Bridge, and eat sour rainbow belts at the
Cottage of Sweets candy shop in Carmel. I understand that they have to
work, but I miss spending time with them.

"We'll have a free day!" my dad chimes in. "There's an inexpensive
French restaurant across the street."

"I guess,” I say as I grab my jacket from my suitcase. I really wanted
this trip to be perfect.

Blanche is a seventh grader at DVMS. She enjoys hiking and
photography, along with spending time with her friends and
family.

47

Like professional event planners, my Mom and I had meticulously arranged
this trip so none of the days would be wasted. My family likes to live in the
future, and we plan out every detail. We strictly follow it, to make sure that
nothing is forgotten. At 8:45 PM every Friday, we even have a family meeting,
when we discuss events for the next week and create detailed plans and
goals. We always do laundry on Saturday at 3:00 PM, and organize the house
the first Sunday of every month starting from 10:00 AM. Our schedules are
like our religion.

With our umbrellas, we cross the crowded street to the restaurant. Mom
and Dad order oatmeal and cream puffs. I order an oatmeal raisin cookie
and finger sandwiches. Facing the city, we sit on high-back chairs. There is a
beat to the lo-fi music that the restaurant plays as I sip my carrot juice while
my parents drink coffee. Outside, people stroll with umbrellas, while others
have their jacket hoods on and reluctantly walk their wet dogs who splash in
small puddles.

Back home, I like to go grocery shopping with my parents. We write down
everything we need to buy, and check them off as we get them. We
reorganize the cupboard and refrigerator when we get home from the store.
I also like to help my parents color-code their closets. But we don’t have
much time these days to do spontaneous and fun activities.

I always wanted to hike Mt. Diablo, eat spring rolls and green papaya
salad at The Slanted Door restaurant in the city center, or walk through the
dinosaur exhibit at Lawerence Hall of Science. But we always remember
something else we have to do before we can go. Mom might have to pick up
something at her workplace, or I might have to finish up homework.

Then the food arrives. The finger sandwiches are filled with turkey,
avocado, and a pinch of herbs. It feels weird not to be thinking about what's
next, what I'm missing, or what's coming up. I don't gobble down my food.

48

The sandwiches are just the right combination of savory and cream cheese.
A family of four is now seated behind us, and the younger kid who looks
about five says, "Yum!!" He has a plateful of waffles covered in strawberries
and whipped cream.

Once we finish, Dad suggests that we walk around the city with our
umbrellas. We grab them and head outside.

“Where are we going?” I ask my dad.

“I don’t know. Wherever life takes us!” he exclaims.

“Really?!”

As the door opens, I feel a gust of fresh air in my nose, and with the pitter
patter of rain on our umbrellas, we head out for once without a GPS, without
a checklist to follow.

Outside, the city smells like petrichor from the rain, and every breath I
take feels like hiking in the mountains. The subway whistles from a distance,
and cars traveling through Times Square sound like white noise.
Advertisements flash in different colors. A musician sits under a canopy
playing his saxophone. Across the sidewalk, street vendors sell hot dogs and
chicken, while others sell souvenirs, hoodies, and embroidered hats. It's like
San Francisco, but ten times more crowded.

I feel the anxiety of not knowing, the tension that feels like a rubber band
stretched too far. We amble down the overfilled sidewalks, our bulky
umbrellas bumping into other people's as we glance at all the stores. I am
distracted by the noise and excitement bouncing around me. I start to feel
exhilarated, a warmth surrounding me like love and my heart jumping with
anticipation. I think, where are we going next? We don't know. And that's the
best part.

49

"Harmonies Reaching Heights," Clara Lawrence. Clara is an
eighth grade student at Blach Junior High who is most likely
reading right now. She also likes ballet, soccer, and art, as well
as playing viola and piano.

50