Stanford Anthology for Youth: Volume 24

The current kept pulling us to a new part of the ocean that was very
grassy and full of new fish. I wondered if I could hide in the tall grass but I
had to save that idea for later. These fish that were starting to swim are
much smaller than the old ones and are definitely more playful, as they are
circling the group and dodging into the grass to hide. The fish shoot out
somewhere else almost as if it is a dance, and I am the audience. Even
though I am rising farther from their home the fish follow and continue
their dance.

In the silence a sound almost like a jet engine comes out of nowhere,
stealing my attention away from the little fish. It scared me, I thought I was
going to be run over by a boat, but when I turned I saw the dive master
unleashing a fury of bubbles the size of a small car into the surface like
some sort of volcano eruption. Right away my Dad tugs on my arm letting
me know it is time to start ascending. So I take one last look as the little fish
dive into the grass to go find somewhere else to play. When I look back up all
I see is bubbles surrounding me making it difficult to see.

As soon as our heads rise above the water leaving behind the underwater
world we were just in I start talking as fast as I can to let my Mom and Dad
know all
the cool stuff I found and saw. I am interrupted almost immediately as my
dive instructor swims toward my parents and I and says, “ Tommy, that was
your final test, do you know what that means?” I looked at my parents and
smiled. And the instructor says, “ you passed the test Tommy,
congratulations!”

As the dive instructor takes off all my gear except my goggles and fins, I
swim over to my Mom and Dad, and give them a hug. They tell me that they
are really proud of me for finally passing after all the hard work that I have
been doing. I'm happy too, because now I can be with my parents by
ourselves away from the group, but I am also a tiny bit sad because I liked
diving with the instructor.But the sadness goes away very quickly. I am so
happy and I don't know what to do.

101

I take a deep breath and dive as deep as I can before I run out of
breath.The deeper I get the bigger my smile grows. I see the little fish again
and they play the little dodging game around me again, almost like they
knew I would come back. When I look up and see both my parents looking at
me,and when I look down I see the little fish swimming off together until I
can no longer see them, and before I can make it back to my parents I see
something way off in the distance. Almost human like, but not quite a
human and definitely more than one. When I make it to the surface gasping
for air, I tell my parents.” I saw a family of turtles.” They laugh and tell me
“your first of many you will see” and then we climb up onto the boat to
celebrate with the others.

When I get onto the boat, I drop goggles in the bucket and take off my
wetsuit. Then start making my way toward the front of the boat where I can
have a moment to myself. I lay down and feel the sun on my skin, and smile.
A feeling of accomplishment washes over me and I can't help but smile,
because I finally got what I was working so hard and so long for. Which is
the best feeling in the world, and I feel on top of the world.

Once the boat starts driving to drop us off David my dive master comes
over and says, “Tommy how do you feel?” I tell him I'm feeling good and I'm
really happy. He says “good,the world is different down there isn't, mother
nature really took her time to create something so amazing and so complex,
it really is special.” I smile, and tell him thank you for helping teach me. He
smiles and leaves to go talk to the driver, and help bring us home.I never
thought that there would be a whole new world in the waters not even far
from the world I live in but there is and it really is amazing.

102

"Silver," Madeline Silva. Madeline is an eighth grader at Central
Middle School. She enjoys reading and writing as well as
drawing in her free time.

103

Madison Figaro

Letts Lake

It’s the end of a strange summer. After six months of living in a
pandemic without an end in sight, I found myself feeling free and happy
as this was my first trip in months. I stood in my bathing suit with
anticipation on the side of Letts lake. With my pole in the still water, I
could feel the warmth of the sun beaming down on my shoulders. Not
only did the sun beam on my shoulders, but it also gleamed brightly on
the lake. The sound of hovering dragonflies buzzing filled my ears. I
noticed the trees gently swaying and big white butterflies fluttering all
around. I spotted my brother across the lake in our fishing boat. It was a
silver rowboat and he had taken it by himself for a little alone time. The
boat was glossy and shone in the sun. I was hoping he would catch a fish.
It would be his first. He has tried a couple times to catch but had no luck.

Suddenly, I was the one who felt a tug on my line! I’ve hooked many
plants before and even a few fish that got away. It was heavy like a plant,
but it was pulling more continuously and with more strength than
anything I have caught before. It was then that I was convinced that it had
to be a fish. Once I was assured of this my instincts kicked in. I knew I had
to pull the pole back and up with strength.

Madison is an 8th grader from Central Middle School who loves
to dance and draw. She also really likes animals.

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If I didn’t, I knew from experience that the fish would keep swimming,
pulling my line out, and eventually get away like all the times that I’ve fished
at this lake before. I started to reel it in. I was so excited! I could see flashes
of green and silver thrashing in and out of the water. I kept reeling and from
the left side of me I was aware of laughing and excited squeals. I realized I
was jumping up and down and making a comedic commotion, but I
continued to reel.

I had gotten the fish to the surface of the water and now had to get it
through the layers of reeds and tall grasses growing on the shore of the lake.
I was getting nervous that the hook was going to get stuck in the plants. This
has happened to me before. Not only does it cause 1 the fish to break loose,
but sometimes if it’s really stuck and the plant is too far away to reach, you
may have to pull the line and end up losing your hook. That didn’t happen
this time. I ran up to the very end of the shoreline, grabbed the fishing line
close to where the fish was and picked it up over the plants to make sure that
the fish wouldn’t get away. It didn’t!

“You caught a fish, you caught a fish!” The noise coming from the left was
my friend Sophia. Green bathing suit with little white flowers. Brown bucket
hat. Poofy brown hair peeking out from under the hat. She hadn’t caught a
fish yet either. We were both jumping up and down out of excitement! I
grasped the fish in my hands. It was slippery and still moving so I had to
hold tight but not too tight. I looked at it closely yelling, “Dad!” “Dad, I caught
a fish!” In this moment I felt pride and like I had just accomplished
something amazing!

I was still holding the fish when my dad came running over from the
beach. He was smiling and I could tell he was proud of me too. He then told
me that the fish was a bass and that it was about seven inches long.
Unfortunately, the fish have to be at least eight inches for people to be able
to keep them. This didn’t really bother me though, I was just excited that I
had really caught my first fish.

105

I held it by one hand, and carefully removed the hook from its mouth. It
was slimy and scaly.

The fish started flopping around. I didn’t want to drop it in the dirt and I
didn’t want it to suffocate, so I threw it back in. At first it floated like an apple
bobbing around, and then it rapidly swam away. Although I did not get to
keep the fish, I still really enjoyed catching it. It may have been my first
catch, but I don’t believe that it will be my last!

106

David Zhang

Separated

On the 1,000-foot-long piece of metal bobbing in the sea, I strolled past
metal trays filled with macaroni and cheese, lobster, cookies, and cakes,
wondering if something was wrong with me. I was carrying nothing but a
plate full of greasy gray sausages—clearly the result of exercising too
much free will. As I left the buffet area, I tried my best to ignore the
critical expressions of those around me.

It was my fifth day on the cruise ship, and I still hadn’t gotten used to
it. In the daytime, being on a cruise ship felt like being in the Disneyland
Hotel with all the pools and food and festivities, but by nightfall, it felt
dark and doomed like the Titanic.

Minutes later, I followed my family out onto the ship deck, where
groups of people milled about, talking and laughing. The sun was already
halfway below the horizon, shedding glimmers of light on the dark blue
ocean.

We walked along the ship’s edge, where a glass barrier separated us
from the sea 130 feet below. I could feel the ocean rocking the ship and
hear the lapping waves.

As we passed a swimming pool, a grown man dressed in a t-shirt and
khakis strolled by, fixated on his phone.

David is an eighth grader at Windemere Ranch Middle School.
He enjoys working on math problems and running.

107

He didn’t see the swimming pool until he disappeared below the water with a
splash. I watched the man scamper out of the pool, his clothes dripping wet.
It was better than the show we’d seen the night before with the clown
spinning plates on the ends of poles. As the man made his way to the pile of
towels and dried himself off, I stood there holding in my laughter.

When I turned around and grabbed my mother’s hand, the hand let go of
mine. A face glared down at me. This woman was not my mother. When I
looked around, I saw only strangers: an elderly couple dressed as sailors, a
kid screaming “You’re stupid!” to his sibling, a couple posing for a picture,
and a man playing a ukulele and singing “Take me Home.”

I felt that sensation when a plane falls too quickly. When the roller
coaster tips over the edge and begins to accelerate. It was as if the decks of
the ship had collapsed, all the railings had fallen off, and I was spiraling
down into the sea. As strangers ambled around me, I thought, I’ll never see
my family again.

I darted around people toward the direction I thought my family had
gone. I passed groups lounging on the decks, children playing on a massive
chessboard, and lifeboats hanging eerily off the side of the ship. I stopped
running and hollered, “Mom! Dad!” Several faces turned towards me, but
none of them belonged to me.

I was only five years old, but I was observant. I knew what the word “lost”
meant. It meant not being able to find my way, but it also meant losing
something that can never be recovered. Here I was surrounded by over 6000
people, but they were all strangers I wasn’t supposed to talk to—people who
might give me poisoned candy, or kidnap me and pretend I was their child,
or throw me overboard and feed me to the dolphins.

I wasn’t alone, but I felt agonizing loneliness. I knew that this wouldn’t be
the last time I would feel this way. I knew that at some point in life, I would
be alone again. Right then, my family was on the ship, but what if, sometime
in the future, they weren’t on the ship with me?

108

I continued wandering around for a while. Through the windows, I could
see people dancing and laughing in a ballroom, and hear the pop music. I
could see families headed towards the formal dining hall wearing their shiny
wrinkled clothes. I saw a young couple who looked like they were on their
honeymoon. I was the observer from the outside looking in. It was like
visiting someone else’s house that smelled different, like vinegar or cabbage
stew, a place with strange buckets and weird clothes hanging in the shower.
It made me sick. It made me want to go home.

But it turned out that all my anxieties were unnecessary. Because that
evening, thirty minutes later, I reunited with my family in the lobby with
hugs and gentle scolding. Among thousands of strangers, I found the three
that I needed. And even though I couldn't see them, they were just up ahead,
and they had been looking for me, too.

109

"Untitled," Alex Dills. My name is Alex I’m in 8th grade at Central
Middle School and I like art, video games, and building
computers.

110

Deeksha Vajha

Weeping Willow

On an ordinary day, you could find Francine sitting on her couch at
home knitting. Today, however, wasn’t an ordinary day. It was her 95th
birthday, and possibly her last. While everyone else spent their birthdays
eating cake and blowing out candles, Francine was slowly climbing up a
grassy hill. The memory of a young Francine hanging upside down from a
willow tree branch flowed in her mind. In the memory, Francine’s dark
hair swirled with the wind. Her tanned skin glowed in the afternoon
sunlight. Then she jumped down from the branch and sat under the
shade to eat the lunch she packed. It was difficult to imagine that this
agile girl who glowed in delight was now a dull, old woman struggling to
climb a slightly sloped hill.

Francine’s face, however, retained its childlikeness when she
remembered she was finally going to see the tree in whose shade she
spent the majority of her childhood.

She began walking faster.
More memories rushed in. Like the time when she pretended the
willow was a boat and she was the ship’s captain. Or when she sprained
her ankle trying to balance on the highest branch. After almost 80 years,
she felt that she owed the tree an apology for abandoning it.

Deeksha Vajha is an eighth grader at Hopkins Junior High. Her
hobbies include singing, acting, writing, drawing, and painting.

111

Growing up, money was tight. Francine was brought up by her mother.
Her father had left them. Francine’s mother tried to provide the best life for
her daughter, but she couldn’t help herself when it came to shopping. Her
mother would assure her that everything was under control, but Francine
wasn’t stupid. She knew that they couldn’t afford the new vase, or necklace,
or whatever her mother brought home that day. Sometimes, Francine’s
mother would take some coins out of Francine’s coin jar. Francine always
knew how much was missing. That’s why when she wanted to buy the new
sled that all the other kids had, she buried her savings next to the willow
tree. After all, there was nothing she trusted more to look after them.

In the middle of the night, she and her mother packed their bags and left.
Even though her mother was juggling jobs, it wasn’t enough. They didn’t have
enough to pay their bills and had to restart in a small town an hour south.
She never did get that sled.

About an hour ago, Francine had taken the 10:00 AM train. She planned
to eat lunch under the willow’s shade, one last time.

“The tree must be frail and weak like me,” the old woman thought. “How
could it take so long for me to reunite with it?”

Finally, she reached the hill’s peak. She looked up, and her smile fell.
Something must be wrong, she thought. The old woman removed and put on
her glasses, but there was no difference. The tree was not there. In its place
was a convenience store, bustling with people.

“Where is it? Surely a whole tree cannot vanish into thin air?” The old
lady exclaimed, ignoring the perplexed expressions of the customers.

She tried her best to stay composed and walked into the store.
Immediately a worker came to her assistance, “Welcome ma’am, how may
I help you today?”
“Uh, yes. Do you know what happened to that willow tree?”
“I’m sorry ma’am. I’m not sure what you mean.”
“The willow tree! There was a willow tree right where this absurd store
lies!” Now Francine’s composure had been tossed out the window, and her
outburst was followed by a series of coughs.

112

"Well, I only started working here recently, but if it was where this store
currently is, then they must have cut it down. They did that to quite a few
trees in the area, you know, to even out the landscape, I guess?”

Francine was afraid that this was the answer, but knew deep down it was
true. She apologized to the worker for her flare-up and walked out of the
store. She looked around and remembered the lush, pristine area in which
she would skip around all day with flowers in her hair. Where she would
bury every penny she made so that it remained safe. Then she scanned it in
its current state, now littered with soda cans and cigarette butts. Ignoring the
tear trickling down her face, she started down the hill.

113

Cayla Chen

Where Beauty Resides

The late afternoon breeze carries the golden corn leaves. They dance
with the warm wind, smells of the fall waft through the air. A bead of
sweat rolls down my temple. A sigh escapes my mouth and my eyes travel
to Megan. She’s shorter than me. About five feet. Shiny black hair.
Ecstatic. Bright, flashy leggings and a shirt with a puppy. Almost too
happy. Standing in the back, she has her right hand on the handle of our
wagon. I let out another sigh.

“How long has it been?” I say
More time drags on as I search. Just minutes ago, I had stood at the top
of the sloping terrain above the pumpkin patch. With the sound of Megan
exclaiming “Let’s go!” I had run down as quickly as I could, ready for the
challenge.
The ideal pumpkin. Sunset orange, smooth exterior, and most
importantly absent of any faults. I roll up my sleeves. Pumpkins are
placed in unruly rows. I look across the field impatiently. A group of
orange pumpkins sit on the opposite corner of where I stood. A pumpkin
so perfect, catches my eye. The orange color of its exterior is the same
shade as the one I had imagined.
This is the one.

Cayla is an eighth grade student at Central Middle School. She
enjoys expanding her knowledge on subjects such as english
and enjoys playing soccer.

114

The corners of my mouth lift. My feet seem to fly to my destination.
Squatting down next to the pumpkin, I look at the smooth exterior. As my
eyes reach the back of the pumpkin, the place where the pumpkin should
have been round was dented. The indent where the pumpkin had laid all of
its weight was its only imperfection. My forehead wrinkles and I stand up. My
shoulders droop. Like a shell laying on the sand taken away by the lapping
waves, the hope that had overwhelmed me earlier quickly dissipates. Megan’s
forehead creases.

Shaking my head, I say “It is not good enough.”
Her head tilts down, noticing the flat indent, she continues to say “There
is nothing wrong with this pumpkin, I think we should get this one.”
How could she think this is the pumpkin we should get?
I stood still, silent as a mouse. Thinking of an answer that would appease
my question. Confusion clouded my brain.
My face flushes. The moment where I had judged my favorite restaurant
thinking it would not be good because of the neighborhood it was located in
was the first to surface out of many others. The poorer neighborhood was
filled with tanned Hawaiian children playing in the middle of the streets.
Houses on each side had a fence that surrounded a small plot of grass that
made up a front yard. Driving down the roads, I was skeptical. When I
entered the restaurant, it seemed like nothing special. After hearing such
good reviews for this restaurant, I had expected a more recently remodeled
building than the one I entered. Although the doubt still resided in me, I was
hungry. I sat down and ordered. Upon tasting the fresh noodles, I realized
that even though my assumptions were that the food would not be as good as
the food at a restaurant that was more recently remodeled or in a nicer
neighborhood, the noodles were better than I could have thought.
Faint words bring me back. Megan is still waiting for an answer. “I think
you are right.” Her lips lift into a dazzling smile. Bending down, I wrap both
arms around the center of the pumpkin and place it into the wagon. The sun
grows tired and recedes to hide behind the horizon casting a golden glow.
With my arms growing sore from the weight of the pumpkin, I finally
understand that beauty can be found anywhere.

115

"In the eyes of Gloria," Elisa Patterson. Elisa is a 7th grade
student at CMS. She has a passion for art and music. She also
enjoys reading manga in her free time.

116

Resilience

Grace Ker

Sorbet

In mid-March 2020, the beginning of the Coronavirus outbreak, my
father and I pulled into a parking spot at Costco. The scene was a frenzy of
people, cars, and carts. Cars were fighting over parking spots. Workers in
neon vests each pushed long trains of shiny carts. Customers shuffled into
lines, standing six feet apart. Coming from the yellow circle tables inside,
the smell of fresh hotdogs and pizza made my mouth water and stomach
growl. I felt a shudder of excitement as I remembered that we would be
getting our sorbet today. I liked to slurp sorbet on the patio with dad. My
favorite flavor was strawberry lemonade. The tangy sweetness was like the
taste of frozen candy. Drops usually slipped off my spoon and fell to the
ground, where ants crowd around the melted drops. They pushed and
shoved each other to get to the sticky fruity juice. After a few minutes of
struggling, a few ants always remained still, floating inside.

When we got into Costco, I saw that everyone was wearing face masks
and gloves, just as we were. We saw a big white sign above the entrance
that read: “Limit one bag of rice per customer.” I had heard rumors that
people were so desperate for food that they brought all their family
members to buy more bags of rice.

Grace is an eighth grade student who enjoys fencing, creative
writing, and hanging out with her family. She hopes to someday
major in business and become an entrepreneur.

117

At the entrance, fluffy blue blankets and sunglasses sat on top of boxes. The
giant televisions looked down at me from their tall display stands. On
screens, white foam slid over red rocks and luminescent orange sand. I
reached out to stroke one of the blue blankets. My father quickly grabbed my
hand and pulled it away from the blankets.

“Don’t touch anything unless you have to.”
I knew a lot about risks. The coronavirus had killed over 30,000 people
around the world already, and the number of deaths and new cases was
rising. My school had closed, and I was doing all of my classes online. For
some reason, this didn’t worry me. Instead, I worried about my dad. He’d
been in remission for three years, and I was still nervous that the cancer in
his lungs might come back. Our family had been very careful to make sure
Dad stayed healthy. We had installed four air purifiers in the house. Dad
stretched daily and went on hikes on weekends. We ate a lot of home-cooked
meals packed with fresh vegetables. Part of me had learned to live a fulfilling
life in the face of Dad’s cancer, as if I needed to appreciate every moment
with him. I appreciated when Dad drove me to places, when we played chess,
when he made me corn stew. Despite all of our precautions, I realized that
the cancer could come back at any time. It could even come back worse the
next time. Sometimes I felt that it was like studying hard for a test and
finding that I knew nothing that was on it.
“Hey Dad, why is everyone panicking so much? It’s just a flu. People that
get coronavirus still have a chance to live.”
“In everything, there's a chance.” He looked away and said, “Let’s go check
out the fresh vegetables. And we can’t forget to pick up the sorbet. You can
go get the sorbet first. I’ll be at the cabbages.”
I walked towards the sorbet section and saw that there was only one left.
My walking turned into a frantic fastwalk. With a sigh of relief, I placed my
hands on the box of sorbet just to realize another pair of hands were
reaching for it.
“Hey, I had my hands on it first!” a boy around my age said.

118

“Can I please have it?” I should have been more insistent, but I didn’t
want to be videotaped and put on the internet arguing over a sorbet.

“No!”
“Hey, six feet away!” I said.
“Yeah, get away from me.” He scowled.
The tips of my fingers were starting to numb from my tight grasp.
Reluctantly, I let go. With my back slouched, I walked to the cabbages. I
spotted Dad placing a cabbage into the cart. On the way out we looked for
hand soap and tofu but couldn’t find it anywhere. We passed piles of pink
sweaters, juicy meat covered in air-tight plastic packaging, towers of
croissants. Huge crates filled with watermelons. Hundreds of wine bottles lay
next to each other. The shelves that used to hold the rice and the flour were
nearly empty.
While waiting in line at the checkout and paying for the items, I glanced
at the other shopping carts full of milk, eggs, rice, and flour—all staples that
stores were quickly running out of. This thought filled my heart with
uncertainty and sadness. But as I walked with Dad out to the parking lot, I
noticed a couple of doves sitting on a telephone wire. In spite of all the
things I did not have, I had Dad, and that was all that mattered.

119

"Contour Hand 2," Riya Hariharan. Riya's life consists of mostly
dance. She loves doing hip-hop, contemporary, and Indian
classical dance. Riya also enjoys doing horseback riding on the
weekends.

120

Nisha Shenoy

The Light Above Us

Chapter 1: Ready.

Waves crashed against my legs,
the sand’s rough, calloused hands grabbing
at my feet with every step.
It was time.

I pushed the large board ahead of me,
getting ready to jump on.
A large wave passed by,
Sweeping me like a broom into a dustpan,
and sending me tumbling back into the sand.

Large clumps of the grainy material
smothered my arms and legs,
my eyes weeping at the stinging sensation
they felt from the residual saltwater.
I couldn’t give up now and I wasn’t going to.

Nisha is an eighth grade student at Blach Intermediate School.
In her free time, she enjoys spending time with her family,
playing piano, and rewatching her favorite TV shows.

121

I repeated the steps in my head:
grip the edges of the board,
set one foot down on the center,
With the other foot,
launch yourself and get ready to swing that
foot over and into the water.

I pushed the board forward once more,
steadying it on the surface of the water.
I cautiously placed my hands on top of the
paddle, adrenaline pumping through my
veins.
I slid one knee onto the middle of the board,
trying to stay upright.
My legs quivering with fear,
I let out a small whimper.
I couldn’t stop.
I was almost there.

I pushed off the ground,
propelling the board further from the shore.
With my body stretched outwards,
I soared above the water, a grin plastered
onto my face.

A loud sigh of relief escaped my lips.
I grabbed the paddle,
the edge of the board shaking as it
rebalanced from the loss of weight.

122

I stuck the blade in the water,
One hand wrapped around the grip,
and one hand pressed tightly onto the shaft.

I pushed in and pulled back, my mind wandering to the sky.
I picked my head up,
my eyes skimming through it and
taking in every detail.

Large white strands of cloud were scattered
perfectly across the vast blue ocean above
me, their perfectly round curves accentuated
by the contrast.

Hummingbirds and sparrows chirped from
all around me,
their cheerful, uplifting tune bringing a
smile to my face.

I was ready.

Chapter 2: Fading.

The scent of the salty ocean water infiltrated
my nose as I inhaled sharply.
My hands were beginning to tire, my body
wanting to fall limp in the water.

I couldn’t move.
Not another stroke.
Not another inch.
Not another centimeter.

123

I laid down on my back,
a small wave rocking me from side to side.
As time passed, my eyelids began to droop,
getting heavier with every second until I
couldn’t do anything but let them close.

Then everything went dark.

A loud crash woke me up from my slumber.
When I opened my eyes,
I was submerged in the water.
I struggled against the strong currents,
now realizing how dark the sky had gotten.
I was tossed around from side to side as if I
was on a never-ending rollercoaster.
The once bright blue space above me
was now filled with dark grey clouds and the
echoes of distant rumbles.

The waves shook my body as I searched for the paddleboard.
It was nowhere in sight.
I glanced around,
trying to figure out which way was home but all that was there was the faint
outline of the hills I was once by.

I pulled my body with me,
trying to push against the large waves.
Nothing was working.

124

Panic coursed through my body, the air around me feeling thin.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
I tried to keep a steady breath,
not stopping in case I lost my focus.
In an instant,
the water enveloped me,
my struggles now pointless.

I finally did what I had been longing to do.
I let go and everything faded away.

Chapter 3: Breathing.

Light flickered in and out of my vision,
only the vague outlines of the bodies around
me visible.
Open.
Please.
My eyes begged to see the light.
To see the people.
But they can’t.
I can’t.
It won’t work.

The darkness consumed me once more.

125

My ears buzzed,
the quiet humming of a fan echoing through
my body.
The dark was quiet.
Peaceful almost.

Hushed whispers resonated from around me,
the voices soft yet troubled.
Concerned yet kind.

What’s going on?
Where am I?

My breathing became rapid and shallow,
a sharp pain stabbing my head like a bullet
constantly being shot into me.
A loud groan escaped my lips.
I squirmed on the hard surface that I laid on,
my stomach tossing and turning.

The darkness began to slip away,
the walls around me beginning to slip away.
All that was left is me.

A silent breath is taken.
Then another.
And another.
Over and over again.

126

The darkness began to dissipate,
the light now shining through.
A sigh of relief tumbled out of my mouth,
the evident smile on my face growing.

It was alright.
I was home.

Chapter 4: Alone.

My eyes fluttered open,
the light above me shining as bright as a star.
I winced at the sight.
Too bright.
I shut my eyes closed once more,
taking a deep breath.

A small gust of wind brushed by,
the chilly air turning warm against my skin.
The murky sky was filled with sullen, grey
clouds,
an echo emanating from a small clearing.

Go on.
You can do it.
Go.

I walked towards the water,
playing with the sand beneath my feet
anxiously.
I couldn’t do it.
I wouldn’t.

127

My mouth opened to argue,
But nothing came out.
Nothing at all.
I had no choice.
I had to go.
I took one last stride,
Letting each wave envelop my feet.
A shiver ran down my spine.
One more step.
I dove into the water,
The light disappearing from all around me.
The silence suffocated me,
My body wiggling around in its grasp.
Then everything fell apart,
And I was left alone.

128

"Cold," Madeline Silva. Madeline is an eighth grader at Central
Middle School. She enjoys reading and writing as well as
drawing in her free time.

129

Resilience

Francis Luo

There's No Vaccine

There’s no vaccine
for loneliness.

For the child whose
best friend moves away
and they’ll never
meet again.
Years later,
he sits alone at lunch
and lies
to teachers, and classmates,
that he waits
for a friend.
Another Godot.

For the people who
lock themselves up
in an imaginary cage
of their own making,

Francis is an eighth grader at Horner Middle School in
Fremont. Along with writing, he enjoys playing the trumpet and
debating.

130

who feel imprisoned
but could choose,
if they wanted,
to be free.

There’s no vaccine
for hate.

For those people who
spout vicious slurs,
for violence, the kind of
ungrateful, irresponsible violence
that only occurs
in peacetime.

For the burning, selfish
kind of hate
in those who hate
the haters.

For the handicapping,
despondent hate
that one can only feel
for oneself, a hate
no one else
could ever deserve.

There’s no vaccine
for regret.

131

For those who
look at themselves in a mirror
and search
for any semblance of virtue,
and find only
that clichéd abyss of
disillusioned soul
which no longer believes
in its own right
to life.

For the people who
look at what they’ve done
and see only the bad things, only
the mistakes, the pain, the anger,
the stupidity,
and so they’d rather cry
than be happy.
But they can only do that
underneath a fake smile.

These people cannot be compared
to trees in an out-of-control wildfire,
for all flames fizzle out eventually,
though not without
a great show of sparks and fire.
Instead, it is the outbreak
of some stealthy, unseen virus within the mind
which spreads and spreads until
it touches every thought,
each emotion,

132

and twists every one of them
in some cruel fashion,
with a passion unique to the individual which,
in retrospect,
no one else could understand.

The gods’ hourglass is filled
with these infected, morose souls
as they tumble along
the slippery curve of the bulb
toward the narrow neck of no return.
There is no vaccine, but
a kind of immunity
is delivered
along this path.

It’s a numb feeling
that replaces any emotion
that may have existed.
The glass of the bulb
becomes dirty, scuffed,
and the outside world
is no longer visible—
naught but a distant memory.
Nothing seems to matter;
life seems to be
a lifeless journey in vain,
without end,
toward an inevitable death.

133

And we lose some—
some of our best—
to this contagion of the mind.
But the rest of us
forge on. For even if
for some reason we don’t matter,
even if life isn’t worth living out,
we’re here.
We might as well go on, and maybe—
just maybe—
we’ll shatter the brittle glass that holds us.
And the world will be whole again.

134

Resilience

Ethan Politzer

Sky Cries

I look up at the storm ahead...
the clouds creating a dark curtain,
shielding the world from all sunlight,
a reminder, of the old times.

The sky cries, weeping,
almost as though the tears of those we lost
are slicing through the darkness.
The rain washes away our blood but we will forever have our wounds.

A flower sprouts through the ground,
a bright, beautiful, yellow, chrysanthemum.

The chrysanthemum was pounded by rain,
the chrysanthemum wasn’t plagued by the rains sorrow,
the rain fed the delicate flower,
not hurting it but helping it grow.

Ethan is attending eighth grade at Central Middle School where
he was elected ASB President. He is very active in his local
theater and has starred in a film that was accepted to the
Cannes Film Festival as well as commercials and showcases.

135

I dream of growing,
growing like that flower sprouting through the damp soil,
making light and beauty thrive from pain and hurt.
The sky cries,
but soon light will surface.

136

"Beautiful," Ezri Rohatgi. Ezri is an eighth-grader at Blach
Intermediate School. She loves reading books, ranting about
books, writing about books, and treating the walls of her room
like a canvas.

137

Resilience

Eine Youn

The Gift

“Sorry” was a funny word. He said it again, and again, and again in his
head. Sorry. Soh-ree. SAR-EE. Sor-RY.

He had heard it too many times in the past month.
“Master Michael?” called the voice of a middle-aged man from the
living room. The voice was lined with a British accent. Michael winced at
the formality of the words; he still wasn’t used to the fact that his life was
now what seemed like a story right out of an old fairy tale.
Once upon a time, there was a boy named Michael, he imagined in his
head. His parents died in a car accident, and he was to be taken to his
uncle’s home in who-knows-where England. The uncle was very rich, and he
sent over a manservant for Michael to accompany him to his new home.
“Master Michael?”
Michael snapped out of his reverie and called back, “Just a second,
Melville!” He picked up his bag—just a small suitcase with his personal
items in it—and took a final look around his room. He knew he wouldn’t be
coming here again, not anytime soon. Legally, the house still belonged to
him, so one day, after he turned 18, he would be able to come back, but as
of now… he was to go to England.

Eine is an eighth grader who loves to write, read, and beat her

sister at Mariokart. She hopes that she will always be a writer

because stories have influenced her life for as long as she can

remember, and she would be honored to share some new ones

with the world. 138

The walls were still light blue, as they had always been from his earliest
memories. There was a crib toy hanging from his wall that had only recently
been taken out. Tigers, lions, and zebras dangled from it, all smiling like the
world couldn’t be better. On the side of the room was his desk—now
completely empty due to its cleaning out—and a rolly chair. On the right of
the room was his white bookshelf. Most of the books on it were still there,
collecting dust.

Michael sighed before giving the room one last look and walking out of
the doorway. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. It would only make him feel
worse, and that was the last thing he needed.

In the living room was Melville, a middle-aged man who seemed just like
a butler out of a storybook. He had crisp-white hair and wore an immaculate
tuxedo. “There you are, Master Michael,” he said. “All ready to go?”

“Actually,” said Michael, setting down his bag on the couch (which still
had blankets and pillows resting on it), “I’d like to take a walk before we
leave.”

Melville nodded, to Michael’s relief. “Of course,” he said. “Would you like
me to go along with you?”

“If you won’t mind, I’m going to go by myself,” Michael replied. “I’m just
going to take a walk at my elementary school. It’s only down the street. I’ll be
back in fifteen—”

“Go ahead, Master Michael,” said Melville.
Michael gave a nod of thanks and walked out of the front door, closing it
softly behind him. As soon as his feet started walking to a steady rhythm, he
stuffed his hands in his pockets and let out a puff of air. He looked down at
his feet.
One, two, one, two. His laces were uneven.
One, two, one, two. There was that big crack he always had to look out for.
One, two, one, two. A sound of someone else’s footsteps drifted to his ears.
Michael looked up.

139

A group of teenagers—maybe a little older than him—were ahead, walking
toward his direction. There were six of them, four girls and two boys. They
were all laughing at something one of the girls had said, until…

They caught the sight of him. They all fell silent.
Five, four, three, two, one.
Michael passed the group. None of them said a word. When they were
ten, fifteen feet apart, his ears picked up the sound of them talking again.
Go ahead, talk. It’s okay. I didn’t mean to make it awkward.
I didn’t mean anything.
When he got to the school, he took a sharp right and went straight to the
dirt track. The school mostly looked the same as his memories of it from
when he was younger; the classrooms were brick buildings with cherry-red
doors and the yard was as wide as a football field. However, he did notice
that there was considerably more garbage here and there then he
remembered. He kicked a soda can on his way to the track.
There were only a few other people on the campus. A little girl with her
mother. Two boys with their parents. Some teenagers. A man running.
Michael knew they were probably watching him as he walked on the track.
He imagined their conversations. Oh, look, it’s the Laurens boy. You know, the
one whose parents got killed? Poor boy. He’s moving to England, do you hear?
Yeah, with that butler.
I feel so sorry for him.
There was that word again. Sorry.
Michael shook his head. Trying to distract himself, he searched for
anything in his sight. The first thing that caught his eye was a bright yellow
dandelion on the field. He stared at it.
“Look, Michael. Isn’t that a pretty flower?”
“Yeah, Mommy!”
“Your dad thinks they’re weeds” —a laugh— “but I think they still bring
beauty to this world, don’t they? You know, soon, they’re going to turn white.
Then we can come back here, and blow them.”

140

“Why?”
“So we could make a wish. The seeds would fly in the wind. Then your wish
might come true. As long as you believe in it, Mike.”
As long as you believe in it. Michael gave a quiet snort. The nonsense that
he had believed as a small child seemed so irrational now. It was the typical
plot of a story—holding hope in something. Well, his life wasn’t a story. Real
life wasn’t something you could hold hope in.
Stop thinking about that, he scolded himself. He rubbed his eyes, then
tried to look for something else to focus on. He found an abandoned bat,
leaning against the fence ten feet ahead of him.
“Dad, I really, really, really need this bat—”
“Can’t you get it when you come back?”
"No, because the game’s on Saturday morning, first thing after the trip,
remember? Dad, please, could you just run over to the store and get me a new
one? I promise, I’ll pay you back and everything—”
“Alright, buddy. I will, okay? Just have fun on your camping trip. It’s not
every day you go on a nature retreat with your class. Go finish packing.”
“Thanks, Dad!”
Michael rubbed his head. Have fun. Well, the camping trip had been
everything but fun for him. He looked back down at his shoes.
“You’re going to be late! Come on, are you ready?”
“Yeah, I am, Mom! Just give me a second—I need to put on shoes.”
“Are you sure you don’t need a ride, bud?”
“No, I don’t, Dad, for the last time. I’ll run.”
“Have fun! Bye!”
“Oh, shoot, I’m gonna be really late! Remember to get that bat!”
Then he had shut the door. He remembered that. It was such a miniscule
detail, but all he remembered about that moment was that he had shut the
door and run from the house like his life had depended on it.
Michael clutched his head. No no no no no—

141

“Michael, could you come here for a moment?”
“What’s up, Mrs. Hamilton? I thought I was going on the hike with my
group. Did I do something wrong?”
“There’s been an accident, Michael. With your parents.”
Michael gave a little whimper. He could never stop thinking of the terror
that had sprung on his chest that day. His heart had started thumping
harder than he had imagined it could and sweat had broken out on his
forehead. He remembered feeling the glands running down his neck.
When Michael had first received the news, he had blinked, and stared at
his teacher in shock. He had felt numb. He felt that same numbness now.
The numbness was why he couldn’t feel the tears now streaming down his
face and he couldn’t feel his heart pounding as he ran as fast as he could,
just as he had on that horrible day.
He ran off of the track and toward the classrooms. He found a ball shed
resting under a tall pine tree and quickly sat behind that. He wrapped his
arms around his knees and started to sob, and sob, and sob. He couldn’t
stop. He was afraid to stop.
Say goodbye why didn’t I say goodbye I shouldn’t have told them to get
that bat they died for that bat why would this happen to them why does it
have to be us why did it have to happen why is this world so cruel?
This world. This world had ripped him and his family apart. This world
was too dark for anybody to live in. His mother had said that anything was
possible as long as he believed in it. Well, he didn’t believe in anything.
Certainly not the world.
All Michael wanted was his parents. All he wanted was to relive that
moment so he could fix his mistake…
I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry. I miss you. I need you. I love you. Please come
back. Please, please come back. I can’t go on without you, I just need you back
and I promise I’ll never ask for anything else—
“Whatchoo doing?”

142

Michael’s head snapped up. It was that little girl who had been with her
mother. She wasn’t with her mother now. The girl couldn’t have been more
than eight years old—she was short, for one, and her dark-skinned face bore
a naive expression. She had short black hair in small pigtails and was
wearing a peach jumpsuit. On one hand, she held a coffee-brown teddy bear,
and one the other, she held a plastic grabber toy.

Michael quickly wiped his face and blinked. “What?”
The girl eyed him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” He changed the position of his legs so he was
sitting criss-cross-applesauce. “I’m okay.” He sounded odd, like he was
talking to himself more than the girl.
The girl smiled. “I’m Lizabeth Scarlet Sandborn,” she offered, “but you
can call me Lizabeth.” She kneeled down, put down the toy grabber, and put
out a hand. It was small. When Michael took it, he noticed it was warm.
“I’m Michael Newton Laurens,” he said, shaking her hand, “but you can
call me Michael.”
The girl—Lizabeth—nodded vigorously. “Michael. That’s a good name.” She
showed him her teddy bear. “This is Teddy.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah?” “Yeah. Mommy and Daddy gave him
to me when I was three. I’m six now,” she added. “I’m in first grade. How old
are you?”
“I’m thirteen. In eighth grade.”
Lizabeth’s eyes widened. “Really?” she breathed. “That’s super old.”
Michael gave a little laugh, as he could not help but do so. “One day, you’ll
be thirteen, and you won’t feel so old. I still feel like a little kid sometimes,
you know.”
“Okay,” Lizabeth said. Then she paused. “Why’re you here? You’re one of
the big kids. This is a little kid school.”
“I just wanted to take a walk,” Michael said, suddenly feeling
uncomfortable. Thankfully, Lizabeth didn’t seem to recognize him, and he
wanted to keep it that way. He quickly changed the subject. “What are you
doing here?”

143

“Mommy, Teddy, and I are picking up some trash,” said Lizabeth proudly.
“Watch.” She spotted a plastic bag, sadly and pointlessly drifting in the wind
before it landed on the ground. She put Teddy’s hand—paw?—in hers, and
together, they picked up the bag and placed it in a nearby trash can.

Michael knew he should’ve felt happy— glad, maybe—that Lizabeth and
her mother were picking up the trash that seemed to be everywhere. But for
some reason, all he felt was annoyance.

“What’s the point in throwing them all away?” he asked a bit moodily. He
couldn’t help himself. “They’re all going to come back. It’s pointless, Lizabeth.
You can’t hide the fact that this school is a trash dump.”

Lizabeth eyed him again. Surprisingly, she didn’t look offended—she
looked more like a mother who was about to chastise her child. “Of course
it’s not pointless,” she said firmly. “There’s a point to it.”

“Oh, yeah? What?”
“Our school’s not a dump. It might look like it sometimes because of all
the trash, but if you pick up all the trash, then our school’s not a dump. You
just have to look for it.”
“Look for it?” Michael asked, a bit exasperated. His tone was sharper than
he had intended it to be, but he couldn’t help but feel that Lizabeth was naive
and didn’t know as much as he did.
However, Lizabeth ignored Michael’s tone. She continued to talk, her gaze
drifting over to the school itself.
“You haveta look past the trash,” she explained. “Do you remember the
school before it was trashy? When you went here?”
“Yeah,” said Michael.
“Exactly. You didn’t think the school was a dump then, did you?”
“No, because it was before, when I was younger…”
“That doesn’t have to do with anything.” Lizabeth stared at him. “This
school — this school, right now — is the same pretty school you remembered
before. You just didn’t see the trash before, right? But the school itself is still
the same. You just have to remember the pretty school, and really, you
should work harder towards putting the trash away.”

144

Michael raised his eyebrows, surprised. Huh. What Lizabeth said made no
sense at all, yet complete sense at the same time.

“You really think so?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Thanks, Lizabeth,” he said, giving her a smile. She smiled back.
“Lizabeth!” a woman’s voice yelled from a distance. Lizabeth’s head
snapped back.
“Oh, that’s my mommy,” she said, pointing and waving to a woman
running over to them from a distance. Michael stood up in time for her to
arrive.
“There you are, Liza,” the woman said, sounding relieved. She kissed her
daughter’s head before turning to Michael. “Hello… oh. Hello, Michael.”
He didn’t recognize Lizabeth’s mother, but she sure recognized him.
“Hello,” he said, smiling.
“We have to go home now, but would you like to walk with us part of the
way?” she offered, smiling back. She seemed like a nice lady, and Michael
nodded gratefully. The three of them walked, Lizabeth chatting the whole
entire way.
“I told Michael about cleaning the school, Mommy!” she chortled. “He
said we shouldn’t clean the school, but I told him that we just had to believe
in it.”
“Did you really?” Michael, however, wasn’t listening to Mrs. Sandborn’s
response—he walked in silence, slightly amazed at Lizabeth’s word choice.
We just had to believe in it.
Yeah, we do.
A man came frantically running from the front of the school, and when
he was close enough, Michael saw that it was Melville. “Master Michael!” he
gasped when he reached them. “You were gone for longer than I expected—
we should get to the airport soon—”
“The airport?” Lizabeth asked loudly. She looked at Michael. “Why are you
going to the airport? Who’s this? Why does he have a funny accent? Where
are you going?”

145

Mrs. Sandborn opened her mouth to quiet her daughter, but Michael
responded anyway. “This is Melville, my uncle’s butler. He’s my butler,
actually. I’m moving to England to live with my uncle.”

Lizabeth’s face fell. “You are?” she cried. “But you can’t!”
“I want to stay, too,” said Michael gently, bending down to be on eye-level
with the girl, “but this is where I have to be right now. One day, I’ll be back,
okay? In four years, I promise I’ll be back. By then, you’ll be in sixth grade!
You’ll see me again and then you’ll tell me all about how you cleaned up the
school, I promise.”
Lizabeth nodded, laughing at Michael’s last sentence. “Okay. You
promise.”
“I promise,” Michael repeated. “Bye, Mrs. Sandborn. Bye, Lizabeth.” He
gave a hug to the little girl and a nod of thanks to her mother, who nodded
back, giving him a sad smile. He then turned to Melville, and the two started
walking toward the exit when—
“Michael!”
Michael turned back. Melville looked a little exasperated, but he stayed
silent.
“Hey, what’s up?” Michael asked as Lizabeth ran up to them.
“Here.” Lizabeth thrusted Teddy into his arms.
“What?” Michael asked incredulously. He looked down at the coffee-
brown teddy bear, who smiled up at him. “Lizabeth, this is yours. Teddy is
yours. I can’t take this from you. Your parents gave it to you and—”
“You need him more,” Lizabeth said firmly. “You need him to remind you
that you need to believe in stuff, and that you can clean up places. Sorry, I
can’t give you my picker-upper because it’s my little brother’s, but Teddy is
all mine and I can definitely give him to you.”
Michael was speechless. Then he smiled and hugged the teddy bear.
“Thank you, Lizabeth,” he said softly. “I really appreciate it. I’ll take really
good care of Teddy and I’ll bring him along when I come back, okay?”

146

“Okay!” With that, she gave one last hug to Michael, a last kiss to Teddy,
and skipped back to her mother. She didn’t turn back. Michael gave a little
laugh to himself and walked back to Melville.

“What did that little girl give you?” Melville said warily, as if he couldn’t
see the teddy bear in Michael’s arms.

Michael smiled. He hugged Teddy before glancing up at Melville.
“Hope,” he told him.

147

"My Vintage Guitar," Soundarya Vasudevan. Soundarya is a
seventh grader at Union Middle School. She enjoys playing
basketball and spending time with her friends and family.

148

Miles Harris

Blackberries

on the edges of fields
next to small, murky creeks
cowering under the towering trees
black, red and green sweet, slightly tart, with an earthy undertone

in large colonies
shady as criminals
pain bringers but joy givers
full of seeds and sweetness

I don’t suppose
that much notice comes of them, except for blackberries
and how they lure you in with the temptation of their mouth watering sweetness

just to shove you back with their thorny arms

Miles is a 6th grade student who lives in San Rafael. He enjoys
playing guitar and catching lizards.

149

Michael Samuelsen

A Ripple In The Water

“Blue raspberry and cherry please.” My sister always got the same
flavor. It had a sweet, yet light and basic texture to it. I guess that was one
of the many things we have in common. In the past few years, I have
learned so much, and become closer to Lauren than I ever thought
possible.

“There you go,” the lady running it gave us the snow cones with a grin.
“Thank you” exclaimed her and I. We headed back to her car with
them. Once we got back to the car, we finished our snow cones, the ice
slowly dissolving in our mouths, and threw them out at the trash can in
front of the Mountain Mikes by the car once we were finished.
“You wanna go for a drive?”
Once on the road, there was a period of silence. The silence grew
larger. For multiple minutes we simply drove, over a couple of hills,
through streets, and past many buildings. Over time, we hit the freeway.
She didn’t look very excited to go to the viewpoint. She even
recommended it, not me. I at first didn’t know why she was unhappy to go
somewhere she really wanted to. Then it hit me.

Michael is an eight grade student at Central Middle School. He
plays video games and runs in his free time.

150