Stanford Anthology for Youth: Volume 24

"You know, I don’t want to say goodbye either.” I gazed over at her
knowing what was going on. “I’m not ready,” She mumbled quietly, looking
over, eyes wide like a puppy. She looked about ready to cry.

“If you don’t want to do this you don’t have to, you know that ri-” I was cut
off.

“What do you mean I don’t have to!” giving a distraught look.
“It’s not too late Lauren.” I tried to calm her down, kept a straight mind,
even if she wasn’t trying to take my advice.
“Yes it is! A school like Cal Poly won’t be around for me in another year!”.
“It might not, but it also might be. Look, if you aren’t ready, you aren’t
ready, mom, grandma, me. We will all accept what you choose to do. You
initially wanted to go into nursing, we would have followed you on that path,
you said you wanted to go into business. We followed you down that path.
When you said you wanted to go to Chico, San Diego State, we were all there.
We let you make the decision, and this is what you chose. If you go back on
that choice, you go back on it. I understand why, and you deserve what
makes you happy. If you want to spend another year at home, if you want to
go to community college I’ll follow you. For my entire life, you’ve been there
for me, let me be there for you. And even if it isn’t there next year, there are
other schools.” That was probably one of the best things to have been said in
that moment. At least that I could think of.
Tears started to run down her face. I gave a smile, giving a reassuring
look to her. “We’re at the view point,” she shakily said, forcing on a smile
and getting out of the car.
We walked over to the edge of the hill and looked out. “The city,” I
chuckled trying to hold back the tears. The city looked so small, but so big all
at the same time. Out past it was the ocean, blue as the sky. Just like her eyes.
Everything in the city, every building, every landmark. Everything made a
difference. All parts had significance. If I’ve learned anything about Lauren,
it’s that no matter how you look at her, she isn’t the silly wild child from
when we were younger. She’s grown as a human, in so many different ways.

151

Kind, caring, responsible. A grown woman now, and it’s about time I
accepted that. Looking down at the city, there was one thing that stood out to
me. The buildings. Certain parts are old, some new buildings. There are
parts of her that will always be there. But there are other things that are
constantly changing. More elaborate parts evolve, and at some point, every
part of her changes in one way or another. I stood with her for a good
amount of time staring into it. Then she looked at me, and I looked at her. By
that point, the crying had stopped. Lauren came in and hugged me. Her long
hair flowed against me as we were together. For a moment I enjoyed it. Then
I clenched her harder, and I started crying again. There was a nearby puddle
from rain earlier that day.

A tear fell, and landed right into the puddle.
It rippled, slowly, and it was a small ripple, still one nonetheless. Being
there for her and talking. Going somewhere which brought peace to both of
us. This let us be able to connect even deeper, and for me to get through to
her. Thinking, knowing that someone has changed so much in such a short
amount of time hits you really hard. You see them change into a brand new
person. And I know no matter what she chooses to do, it will be the right
decision for her. If I learned anything today it’s that no matter how small an
action is it makes a difference on a person, “Thank you.” I smiled. Even a
small ripple can make a difference in a puddle.

152

"Wake Up," Emma Dougherty. Emma is a sixth grader at Central
Middle School. She enjoys soccer, crafts, and nature.

153

Resilience

Elia Gvili

The Violet Lilac

Day 1

The pain I felt was incomprehensible. It expanded like a wet sponge and
invaded me. An anchor fell from my heart and sunk low in my body. What
possible sin did I do that caused God to make me endure so much pain?

A burden of guilt fell upon me, and I didn’t know why. Although I’m not
responsible for Toby’s old age, I deemed that it was my fault. A cascade of
feelings flooded me. All of a sudden, my flaws and insecurities came
rushing in. My brain began to criticize my bad habits and rub them in my
face for something that I didn’t even have control over. My messiness
became a crime, and my emotional strength became a weakness. Instead
of telling myself that I’ll be okay like I usually do, I broke inside like never
before.

Toby lay there, breathless and alone on the rug in my room, without a
pulse, without a life.

Toby offered the comfort and motivation of a best friend. When I felt
blue, he’d rub his soft fur against me and instantly cheered me up.

Elia is an 8th grader that attends Central Middle School. She is
artistic and enjoys drawing, and likes to play the clarinet.

154

Sometimes Toby would recognize that I’m not feeling well and whimper
because he was so empathetic. When I took him on walks to the park, or let
him have a puppy playdate with my friend Bella’s dog, Nina, he would always
smile at me with that big, slobbery tongue of his. Toby made my life eventful
and lively, and helped me through my hard times as if he were a therapist.
He had the most angelic, loyal soul that I knew, more than any human could
ever have.

I sobbed endlessly on the rug next to Toby and reached down to the locket
around my neck. The delicate silver heart opened up to display a picture of
me, my sister Chloe and Toby three years ago. We were the best trio. A rush
of joyful memories rose to the surface of my mind and caused my tears to
gush down even harder than before.

Day 45

I’ve started to comprehend that life can be demanding and formidable.
Memories of Toby flash by me every now and then.

I walked over to my desk and sat down at my no-longer-fluffy pink chair.
The last time I recall doing that was when I was somewhat organized. Now,
empty chip bags and missing homework assignments pile on my floor.

I searched for my collection of keychains, attached to my house keys. I
was delighted to find them in the bottom drawer of my desk. My eyes pooled
with tears as I stared at Toby’s collar that remained untouched since he
passed away, resting on top of the other keychains. Ever since he died, I kept
his collar clipped to my keys so I would feel his warm presence every time I
touch it.

Sometimes, I stand in a certain spot in my room and feel a warm, tingly
feeling. I like to imagine that I’m standing in the exact spot that Toby is. I
hope it’s true . . .

155

The collar seemed much rougher than it used to be, and the violet-
colored threads are breaking off in every other inch. The black, dancing
flowers are shockingly still as intensely detailed as they were when he used
the collar. They remind me of how much Toby adored flowers, especially
white Lilacs. I’m not sure precisely why, but it was really considerate and
welcoming. He used to sprint to our backyard every morning and pick a
single white Lilac flower from the Lilac shrub and run back to my room, his
golden floppy ears bouncing along. He would set it so perfectly centered on
my pillow, so I would see it when I got home from school that day. The
thought of it made me smile.

At first, those Lilacs were simply sweet. But the more I saw them, the more
thought I put into it. Why would Toby bring me the same flower every single
day and put it in the same place? It bewildered me, yet I loved it. Those Lilacs
were so beautiful, and delicate, and pure. They were almost . . . innocent.

Day 62

Gazing out the window as the snowflakes fell gracefully, I looked up at the
niveous clouds and I knew that Toby was looking down at me and waiting for
me to come. Sometimes, I can hear him calling “Lina!” in my dreams, and I
envision his paw reaching in for me, as if he wants me to join him in
heaven.

I’ve been feeling a little bit better lately. I’ve even been somewhat more
motivated to do the occasional room cleaning. All my scattered papers are
now piled on my desk, and my forgotten dirty laundry is shoved in a gloomy
corner in my closet. At least I can finally see my floor again!

Day 88

I walked back from Bella’s house today, with a strong gut feeling weighing
me down. I don’t know what it was or why it was there, but it was present.

156

I saw a leaf fall from a tree. I knew that soon it would turn brown and
crumple. It was a reminder of how short one’s life can be. I think that maybe
life isn’t about just existing. It’s about living and growing. If you’ve wasted
your life, by the day your time comes, you’ll regret it.

Opening my front door, I shouted, “I’m home!” but there was no response.
I took a tour around the house to check if anyone was there, but I didn’t see
anyone. I opened the door to my room and looked around, as if I’d expected
to find them in a hidden corner. Right in front of me was the most
unforeseen, most precious thing that I could find. Open mouthed, I was too
speechless to even think. It was vibrant and colorful. It was no longer pure,
or innocent. It bloomed bigger than I’ve ever seen one bloom.
Just.
A violet.
Lilac.

157

"Companion," Golsa Sadrieh. Golsa is an eighth grade student at
JLS Middle School. She has been playing piano for eight years
and enjoys learning.

158

Skye Lee

Stars

What is the best part of life? If you ask this question to a hundred
different people, their answers will vary. They family, their friends, their
home, their love. But if you ask this question to a hundred people; dare I
say a thousand; no one will say the stars. And that’s where they’ve been
wrong.

The stars. Tiny flecks of paint splattered across the endless canvas of
the sky, so exact and detailed yet so imperfect at the same time. The stars,
blanketing infinitely across the night, seeable from the earth but still so
distant from reality itself. They tell stories through their patterns; of a
hero who fought for his country, of a majestic queen who ruled the land
with her shining crown and deadly eyes. Humans see the stars as our
own, confining them as just another look to our past, our creations. But
they’re so much more than that. They’ve shone down on us since the
beginning. They’ve seen our evolution, our creations, our faults, our
mistakes. They’ve seen everything. And they don’t tell stories about us;
we’re just some meddlesome bugs in an anthole, our escape blanketed by
the canvas above our head. Stars are light itself; not the yellow hue
emitting from street lamps, not the brightness that shines from a
restaurant sign after hours.

Skye aspires to be an author when she grows up, and loves reading
stories that fan her inspiration and improve her quality of work. She
mostly withers away in her room (but this has nothing to do with the
story, it's all made up) and lowkey hates and loves online school at the
same time :}

159

That light is nothing. Manufactured by humans, created with a history of
blood and illusions, pretending to light our way when in reality, just leading
us along the wrong path entirely. That light isn’t light at all. That light
radiates captivity within the confinement of the human world, just a small
blip of the light, the real light; the light you see when you look up into the
sky. They are, and forever will be, a speck of yellow and white in comparison
the stars, the love and hope and freedom contrasted against the dark
nothingness, illuminating the way for souls trapped in the birdcage that is
this chunk of land, riddled with destruction and smoke. Their light guide
hearts who don’t know where to go, not unlike that of a lighthouse shining
on an outcrop of rocks in Santa Monica bay, reaching out to them and
telling them that it’s going to be okay; that it has to, because I am forever
with you. Fueled with the stories of a steel battalion riding into battle, horses
whinnying, hooves trampling the soiled dirt under them that’s held a
thousand wars and will hold a thousand to come, and the metal swords of
the men soon to die at the hands of their own glinting in the dusty red
sunlight. They tell stories of an old oak tree, thousands of years old, rising up
into the sky, the tips of its branches scraping the heavens, leaves whistling in
the wind and roots older than time itself, and they tell the story of a young
carpenter looking for wealth and seeking the finest of planks to carve out his
destiny with bloodied knives. The stars tell a story of everything, everything
they’ve seen, and everything they’re meant to see.

They tell the story of a girl, trapped in the cage of her own mind. They
watch, listen, as they observe the story of her looking out over her balcony,
cheeks wet with mist and tears. Of her breath coming out in puffs in front of
her and evaporating as quickly as it came, rising into the crisp night air that
bites her bare skin, making her shiver, but also soothing her at the same
time.

160

The stars tell the story that they see; of her life, her miserable life
contained in a silent city on the suburbs, how she has everyone but no one
at the same time. Late at night, the stars witness her climbing out her
window, escaping from her prison that is her life. And only then, do the stars
know she is truly happy, when her aura almost matches that of themselves
up in the heavens. when she walks down the street, when she makes a left on
Hillcrest and keep walking, walking, walking away from her prison, one
soiled sneaker in front of the other, until she reaches the place that she can
truly call her own; the small park on the side of the road, never visited
because it’s so out of order, the untrimmed hedges bordering the grass that’s
been unkempt to the point of no return, the chain-link fence that
encompasses half the patch of damp grass in need of repair so it isn’t so
easy to hop the weak part of it that slants inward. When that girl is there, in
that park, she feels some of the pain in her heart lessen, tugged away by the
beautiful pinpricks of light that she sees when she looks up; because if you
asked her what her favorite part of life was, she would say the stars. She
would tell you how the stars call her, beckoning for her to join them, for an
escape from her life. She would say how when she’s not in the comfort of the
beautiful painting above her, she feels lost; cold; in pain. When she hears
distant shouting from the other room as she wallows in her own, staring up
at the ceiling devoid of the things she desires to see so much. Because only
the stars know. Only the stars know the reason she always wears long sleeve
shirts and sweaters that always cover her wrists and forearms. Only the stars
know the dull yet constant ache in her heart that she can never pinpoint
what it means, but only knows that it’s empty; missing something valuable in
the excuse that is her life. Only the stars know what she actually wishes when
she looks up at them.

161

How she wishes she could escape.
Fly away and never come back.
Fly up to the stars.
To the heavens.
Leave everything behind.
I wish to be free.

162

Quinn Olson

Heritage

As the Midnight hour strikes,
(Nothing)

In the first minute,
Gravity pulls dust into a sphere
In the first hour,
Molten rock forms and flows

Early morning finds
Meteors offering the unexpected gift of water
Followed by the hot planet cooling, causing rain
Life blooms on the ocean floor

At dawn,
Simple cells soak up sunlight separating night and day
By noon,
Larger cells absorb smaller ones forming the world's first symbiosis.

Quinn is an eighth grade student at Central Middle School. He
enjoys playing trumpet, reading and woodworking.

163

In late afternoon,
Animals and plants split ways, remaining single cells

Just after nightfall,
What was one is now many and the complexity of life jumps
Plants fill the open space on land, insects follow
An explosion of life: trilobites, sponges and snails

Late into the night
Dinosaurs begin their reign
Less than an hour later
Birds and mammals get a turn shaping the world

Four seconds before the hour strikes twelve
Homo sapiens emerges
Three seconds pass
The first paintings are brushed upon cave walls

Just before the clock strikes midnight
They discover electricity
Travel to the moon
Drop the atomic bomb

We are now
This is our legacy

164

E.C.

You.

It's a stupid little thing. A feeling from only storybooks and fantasy
lands, where the curling flames of hatred and fear morph into pink and
yellow, dusting a princess and her prince in Happily Ever After. A
fabricated tale a grandfather tells his grandchildren, of patience and
tears, of waiting everyday for Your Person to come home, leaving the
gunsmoke and bloodstained battlefield behind. This physical thing that
doctors can store up in little bottles, waiting patiently for their turn.

We give this little chemical a name, a reason, a purpose. This little
chemical that can be faked, the lies building up, until finally it lashes out,
forming scars so deep, so dark and harsh even a magician and his Bag of
Tricks couldn't fix them. This little chemical that we get hooked on, an
addiction worse than any drug, that makes us desperate, needy, wrecking
us from the inside out. We vow to stay sober, to never turn down that path
again, to never resort to that beautiful buzz it brings, but leaving a broken
body in its wake.

E.C. is an 8th grader at CMS. They like the smell of light green
tic tacs.

165

But even still, after all these feelings, moments, memories of hurt and
betrayal, why do my ears get red when I look at you and the way your stupid
hair falls over your eyes. Why do my hands get clammy and fidgety when
you look at me, a dumb little smirk tracing your face, amusement set deep in
your eyes, painting them bright, like two stars that outshine the rest, leaving
the sky empty. Like a spotlight had been placed on you, every turn of your
body matching each crescendo and decrescendo of your symphonatic voice,
there's nowhere else I can look besides You.

Why do I seek your attention, even a laugh, a smile, a glance.
Why, why WHY?
Why do I think of you at night while my pillow gets wetter, sobs that could
shatter even the toughest of hearts getting shoved into a pile of woven cotton
sheets, stuffed into my mouth, surely to leave my throat dry and hoarse by
the time the sun has raised and the birds have started serenading the empty
morning air with high pitched warbles, pretty little sonnets of Love.
Love.

166

"The Moon and The Tree," Simone Brown. Simone is an eighth
grader at JLS Middle School. She enjoys roller skating, painting,
and playing with her dog Justice.

167

Vicx Nelson

I Want to Kiss You But I Can't

The lights of the dance blared. Flashing from photos was going on in
the hall. My blue dress looked black in the light. You stood near me,
chatting with our friend.

The music suddenly played a different tune. Smooth, and soft like an
ocean's wave. You swayed this way and that. You wanted to dance a little.
My heart raced. I knew I should say it. I turned to face you. The words
flowed out of my mouth. You heard those words. Do you want to dance
with me? You took a while to respond, but in the end you said yes.

As we moved across the dance floor for a good space, I looked at you.
Your hair is short yet neat enough for a clip. Your red glasses matched
your plaid dress. Your black cardigan had speckles of silver. You looked
like the sky with the early morning streaks of red. And your eyes. The
beautiful blue and brown tint in them shined like jewels. As pretty as you
were, I was not so beautiful. My knee length dress as a royal blue, with
black birds flying. My hair was pinned with a rose gold clip. My sneakers
were used from one of my basketball games. It looked like the evening
decided to give it an apocalyptic touch. We made our way to a space that
was big enough for us to dance. I took your hand in mine, as did you.

Vicx is an 8th grader who is fond of video games such as the
Legend of Zelda. She has a hobby of drawing and loves to draw
people and characters from shows like Voltron Legendary
Defender.

168

My nerves eased with the touch of your hand. I never knew how calming that
was until now. My hazel eyes locked with your blue eyes, an unspoken silence
in them. We swayed this way and that, never once touching our feet.

My heart rate sped up as I twirled you around. My face felt hot with a
million colors of red and pink. Your body moved like rain. Beautiful,
graceful. Soft. I could remember a time where things didn't matter. We
would try on our wigs and goof off. I remember your lovely smile. The fire to
the cold in my head. I remember my voice telling you how frustrated I was
from a basketball game. How I so desperately wanted to go to the playoffs.
You comforted me saying it was fine. Your eyes told the truth. I remember
our sleepover. We goofed off and cosplayed all day. I remember confessing
to you. I told my basketball team members that you were my crush. They told
you because they went to the same school as you. You asked me if I had a
crush and you knew who it was. I told you. You said you liked me back. My
happiness flowed everywhere. I couldnt breath. My face made my mouth
smile huge. We went out for lunch on wednesday. Our first date. I was way
too overdressed and you came in casual clothes. You took me to the local
thrift store and we walked around in there for a while. A month passed and I
got a text from you. It read “hey i was wondering if we could maybe go back
to just being friends. I'm just not ready for the commitment of being in
another relationship. Really hoping we can still be friends. I'm really sorry”
my heart hurt. My lungs couldn't get air. My throat closed. I responded
sounding happy, so you wouldn't worry. After I set my phone down my eyes
stung. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. My sister Jojo saw me and asked
what was wrong. I didn't tell her, knowing full well it would end up getting
worse. Weeks went by. I still felt that pain. All my friends knew I had a
girlfriend, but I told them all we were done. My friend Kelsey hugged me at
school when I told her. After all of that I tried to move on. My heart lied to
my brain. Saying we had to move on, find someone else. Love was against
me. The other people I tried weren't the same as you. In fact they all didn't
like me. I was alone. I hid my feelings deep down and moved onward. Now
here I was.

169

Dancing with you, months after our break up. I still loved you. The lights
illuminated your face and your eyes shined like stars. I want to kiss you, but I
can't. I tried to move, but my feet just continued to dance. You moved on
from me and found another girl. Better than me…...
The music stopped and went back to the pop and rap songs, it was over.
After we left that moment, I found myself in a bathroom stall. Crying. I
thought I moved on. I thought I was over you.
Turns out I still love you.

170

"Sonder," Kate Lee. Kate is an eighth grade student at Blach. She
enjoys playing basketball with her friends, as well as drawing
both traditionally and digitally in her free time.

171

Leia Seevers

Eleven Feet Up

“One,” I said slowly, taking a deep breath.
“One, two, three!” I mumbled. I was still standing on the rock with my
feet in the same position. My left foot two inches in front of my right. No
matter what the eleven foot drop worried me. My feet were on the only two
patches where there was no water. From the second I caught the eye of the
two giant rocks standing beside the waterfall I knew I wanted to jump but
being up there was terrifying. Behind the two massive rock structures,
trees swayed sided to side in the summer breeze.
Mom didn't want me to jump but the excitement got to me. Although
dad said I could, I didn't feel that way. Since they gave me mixed messages
it was up to me. I had been to Rainbow Pools many times but never went
in since the icy water was unbearable. It was up north so the snow didn't
make the water any warmer all the times I went.
*Should I jump?
The thought of falling flashed through my head. I could see the little
boy as his back grazed the rock on the way down. Hitting the thick
limestone couldn't have felt nice. It was like rubbing your back against
sandpaper.

Leia is a eighth grader at Central Middle School. She spends her
time with friends and family or playing volleyball.

172

“Huh!” Mom gasped as her hands immediately covered her eyes in fear.
Going down he had no expression but when his head peaked back up from
under the water I could see his smile. It was bigger than the moon. I didn't
know who he was but I was happy for him.

The freezing cold water laid in the crevices of the rock. It was getting
heated fast by the sun as it beat down. My stomach was aching, inside a
roller coaster with corkscrews and loops. I was in the front row, screaming
as air flew through my finger. My hair flies every which way. But fear kept
hitting me. Where I once could hear families and friends talking, eating,
jumping into the lake was now gone. I could hear a pin drop. With two ways
down I felt as if there was only one right way and it wasn't the one mom
wanted.

My fingers were clammy, and my feet were fighting against the grainy
rock. I tried not to slip but sweat was flooding down my body. My two arms
that were stretched out so I could balance felt useless.

Looking down I could see my fear reflecting off the green cloudy water as
it flowed making arches in the water just like a rainbow. I knew it was deep,
but didnt know how far the impact would bring me down.

“Come on, Leia!” Emerson shouted. My sister Emerson. Average-height.
Encouraging. Great athlete. In a pink, blue, white bathing suit. The kind of
older sister who protects me.

She had already jumped. Now there was only one way down. She jumped
down gracefully but the sound that came out of her mouth wasn’t.

“Ahhhhhhh.” she squealed. Then her body hit the water.
I couldn't be the one that was too scared to jump. I was younger I had to
be just as brave as them. If I didn't, the car ride home she would still be
talking about how she jumped and I didn’t. This was my chance.
They fear didn't leave and it wasn't going to, but I jumped. I didn't get the
courage to jump. I didn't think. The hot breeze hit my body. My feet were now
shoulder length apart and my arms swung around like a windmill slow as
the tips of my fingers pulled the rock. My fists clenched. So many thoughts
filled my head it was hard to enjoy the moment.

173

As my feet hit the water It broke, like a sheet of glass shattering. Then my
legs, arms, and head hit the water. I felt so relieved. I had done it. Weight lift
off my chest. I couldn't help but smile. Although nobody could see it, that
didn't take away from my pride. Not even the ice cold, salty water that filled
my mouth did.

There is no better feeling than the first jump into the lake. The cold water
hitting my face meant more to me. The late nights doing homework and the
cold rainy days were over. It meant school was over and summer had just
begun. Jumping off the rock, soaring through the air like a bird seemed
impossible. The feeling of being top of the world looking down on my fear
was frightening. But once I jumped I looked up on my accomplishment. My
fear was no longer below me, it was gone.

174

Kayden Cho

The Day That Changed Everything

Click, click, click. That was the sound of my locker clicking, and I didn’t
realize that would be one of the last times I heard it. That purple
troublesome lock, that was truly the bane of my existence, it would always
just lock up (pun intended). Sometimes it would not turn and thus
restarting the process of entering the code. It was as if the lock was like
Dori, the fish, and suffered from short-term-memory-loss, because every
time I entered the combination, it could not unlock. For it had forgotten
what the code actually was and had to be reminded EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.
But this time, I was able to open it with ease and grab my math notebook.

It was Friday, March 13, 2020, and who would’ve known from that day
forth, a new experience would affect the whole entire world. Everyone at
school had that Friday lazy energy just trying to get through the day and
the weekend was ours to seize. It was the 5th period, the final period
before lunch, our salvation was just in the next hour if we made it
through. As I walked towards the stairs with my notebook, and pencil case
clutched to my chest, I could hear my classmates talking about what they
are going to do this weekend, or whatnot. I could still remember what I
watched last night on the news, of a new strain of virus that was deadly
and highly contagious, known as COVID-19.

Kaden is an 8th grade student at JLS Middle School. He enjoys
playing soccer, the trumpet and guitar.

175

It was a chilly day, and walking into my math classroom was like a warm
welcoming hug, and enveloped my entire body in warmth. I still remember
my seat, closest to the door, in the back of the class, the farthest away from
the smartboard, where today’s warm-up problems awaited us. As I opened
my brand new notebook, I had just got rid of my old one. It was a very
satisfying feeling opening to the first page. I made a promise to myself to
stay neat and number everything, but I knew that after a few days it would
not happen and I would be lazy. But it's always good to have a goal :). In the
next few minutes, all of my classmates had filtered in, wearing all of their
cozy jackets.

Just as I was finishing up my last problem and checking my answers with
my friend, CJ, who happened to sit next to me. The class was interrupted by
my teacher, Ms. Stock.
She said, “Guys, I have some shocking news. The county has ordered all
schools to shut down and resume through distance learning”

I just remember being in shock, and joy. The whole class seemed to be
rejoicing, that they would be able to do school from home. People were
talking to their friends, plotting what they would be doing with all this “free
time”. What we didn’t know is that we would not be able to just go and hang
out whenever we wanted. I was naive and was happy to think that I could just
do whatever I wanted during this school shutdown. I did not appreciate what
it meant to be in a classroom and learning then, but I would learn to respect
and cherish it.

As I arrived home, I was greeted with more serious news, that the county
would be going into a shelter-in-place, meaning only to leave the house
when necessary. I.e. going to the store, or walking dog, etc. This was a major
shock because here I was, planning to go out and hang out every day, but
now my city was shutting down, and we have to wear masks when we go
outside?

176

This made all the hairs on my body stand up, and send a shiver down my
spine. It is not easy taking such harsh news all at once, my brain could not
handle the tsunami of information just given to me. I remember being
scared, how else was I supposed to feel when our whole world was being shut
down? It felt so real and yet I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
I imagined that I was in World War Z, the movie, and people were getting
infected left and right. I retreated to my room and told myself, just get
through the next few weeks, it will all be fine then. Little did I know then, that
I would still be living this new lifestyle even 9 months later.

177

"I matter, You matter, and We matter together," Kushi Kolte.
Khushi Kolte is an eighth grader at Horner Middle School. Some
of her hobbies include making art, dancing, and singing.

178

Neema Sakariya

Our Biggest Mistake

Everyone’s heard the adage
an eye for an eye
and a tooth for a tooth.
But how many people have acknowledged
that an eye for an eye
will make the whole world blind?
How many people have understood
that a tooth for a tooth
will make the whole world go hungry?
How many people have considered
that an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth
will make the world devoid of laugher,
of friendship, of love?
Has anyone ever realized
that perhaps the first wrong,
the first curse,
the first thing that fueled the hunger
for revenge,

Neema is an eighth grader who loves to dance, read, and laugh
about random things with her friends. She also enjoys solving
logic puzzles and doing card tricks.

179

may have been a blessing in disguise?
Because beauty is in
the eye of the beholder
and two wrongs
don’t make a right.
So why approach the world
with anger
with hatred
with greed and jealousy
when it’s just as simple
to approach it with a smile,
with a laugh,
with life?
Is it really so hard
to turn that curve that
resides on your face
the other way around?
To make it so that
you’ll be giving instead of taking?
Is it so hard to pardon them
and move on with life?
To live and let live?
To forgive and forget?
Because here’s the thing.
Revenge is a mastermind.
It penetrates your body, your being,
and whispers to you,
persuades you,
proves to you, in its own twisted way,
that the one little mistake someone made,
that one little way someone playfully teased you,

180

means that
someone’s out to get you.
Someone’s out to get you
and that someone
will stab you in the back,
will disgrace you and shame you,
will stop at nothing,
because they’re out to get you.
And so you listen to it.
You listen to Revenge’s voice—we all listen.
We take action
when that person may not have even
done anything wrong.
Maybe they have.
But maybe they haven’t.
And that, right there
is our biggest mistake.

181

Angela Liu

It's Not My Fault

I didn’t win first place, but it’s not my fault.
It’s not my fault because Sarah won first place.
She just too talented ...
Too smart...
Too lucky ...
You see, I didn’t win first place, but it’s not my fault.

I guess I should’ve practiced more,
but Sarah probably never practices.
I guess I should’ve worked harder,
but Sarah probably doesn’t work at all.
I guess I shouldn’t have played so many video games,
but Sarah probably plays them all day.
Sarah won first place, and everyone knew she would.
It was preordained—I didn’t stand a chance—because she’s
more talented,

smarter,
and better than me.

Angela is an eighth grade student at JLS Middle School. In her
free time, Angela plays the violin, spends time with her family,
and studies math.

182

She has had it easy.
I wonder why Sarah looks so tired.
I don’t feel tired.

183

"Apex Predator," Khushi Kolte. Khushi Kolte is an eighth grader
at Horner Middle School. Some of her hobbies include making
art, dancing, and singing.

184

Gianna Federighi

An Unexpected Event

One hour away.
Familiar, loving, faces of family walk through the door, with large
joyful grins. Hugs and kisses follow. It almost looks like we are giving away
free food with the crowd in front of our house.
I stand in the living room contemplating, as all my grandparents,
aunts, uncles and of course my parents and Gabe reunite. Happiness runs
through me. “Hi Gra—” I tried to talk.
“I love the dress!!” Grandma shouts as she interrupts me staring at the
pink design. “I missed you!” I said in return, going in for a hug. I’m really
close with my grandma. Short, light brown hair. Long blue and black
dress. Shoes with an inch heel on the bottom. Generous. Good hearted.
Grew up as a teacher in a small town just to make extra money.
After months of not seeing my family, this is perfect. Biting my nails,
and gittering with excitement. Mixed emotions fill a bubble around me.
Flicks of a camera shining directly at me. What is going to happen once
my computer opens on the dining room table?

Gianna is an eighth grade student at Central Middle School. She
enjoys playing volleyball and hanging out with her friends!!

185

Perched up on a cooler covered in a table cloth. We covered the cooler so
you couldn’t see it in the pictures. How am I going to make a negative turn
into a positive? It felt like I was told I needed to change the weather outside
or else I would fail and get punished. I walk to the dining room to meet the
family there as I'm wasting time. Staring at the background. The pink and
blue flowers are the only color I see except for the sunlight shining through
the glass. Dad's hand flips the computer open. Still wishing this day didn’t
have to be on Zoom. Some of my friends and family were missing. I feel like
part of me is missing. Waiting. It feels like the sun has traveled through the
window now and it’s heating my face. I feel claustrophobic in my small
house with all these people inside. I see “Gianna’s Bat Mitzvah” as the title of
the Zoom.

Sitting at the table. Following rules of closing our eyes at a certain part in
the service. I don't see absolute darkness. Red and blue dots in front. I see
what is quiet. Silence. Mom, dad, and Gabe are standing right next to me.
Looking at the rest of the family across the room with proud smiling faces
and tears running down their cheeks. This is the moment I had been
imagining but I never had imagined it would be on Zoom. The moment I
have been pushing myself to attain over the last three years. Practicing
everyday. I came home from school and set many alarms and reminders so I
could be successful in this moment.

“Gianna,” Rabbi Eisner says my name reading the paper on his table, I
arise in my own dining room. I see the proud look in his eyes and it makes
me proud of myself.

I smiled. A big smile for all the people watching me, on Zoom and the
family in the nearby room.

I think about all my family's love and support they have for me for
pushing me to practice. Getting the teachers and tutors I needed so I could
learn a whole new language and “present” it to so many others.

How could I mess this up? I have practiced so many times. I keep talking
to myself. I feel the more I talk, it really doesn’t change anything.

186

Reciting the prayers one by one silently.
"...‫ ֶמ ֶלך ָהע ֹו ָל‬,ּ‫ל ֹ ֵהינו‬-‫" ָּברוּ ְך ַא ָּתה ה' ֱא‬

Reading the Torah is what I am really nervous about. Try reading a book
without vowels. You will then understand.

My stomach has butterflies. My legs begin to shutter and feel weak. The
palms of my hands are dripping with sweat. My face slowly turning a bright
cherry red again but from the nerves and not the sun.

“One, two, three,” I try to calm down, taking deep breaths in and out.
I observe the box with my tallit in it (The prayer shawl that is resembling
an adult/men/women. The corner fringes on this ritual garment remind the
wearer of all the commandments in the Torah). Looking up at the computer.
Watching all my friends and family staring at the screen, just like me.
Dad lifts the top off the box. I process the rabai saying the prayer as the
tallit is getting wrapped around my shoulders. Kisses and hugs meet the tallit
and me. This is the moment. The sun came out and caved over me. I could
feel it. Finally I am becoming the woman I’ve been pushing to become.
I’m not sure if I officially felt like a woman or if I just feel like no one can
hear me. The whole world has caved around me. I feel as if I am in a
different world with everyone still staring at me but this time I'm looking
down, hoping I don’t mess up. I will honestly never know what the people
behind the screen are thinking of me. We go on with the service and more
and more random words start to come out. Reading my
interpretation/meaning of this week's torah portion made me feel like I just
screamed all my feelings out and every part of me is floating. Hearing mom
and dad's speech made tears drip down everyone's cheeks. Even the people
on Zoom.
Almost me.

187

All my life I have been dreading for this day to come. I would’ve never
thought my special day would be on a Zoom call. All I know is that my goal
has always been to make sure I make it to this day, prepared and ready. At
the time, I knew nothing was going to stop me from achieving my goal and I
was correct. I think to myself and imagine all those days where I really
wanted to give up, when I was yelling at my books, frustrated.
But now I am here, I am officially the person I wanted to become.

188

"Resilience Creates Miracles," Katherine Tan. Katherine is a
seventh-grade student at Horner Middle School, Fremont,
California. She has liked drawing since she was 3 years old.

189

Grace Ker

Bai

I once saw a picture of my great aunt Bai. She was only three years old.
She was standing in the doorway wearing a white dress with a frayed
collar. She was leaning against the cracked wall of a building. Beyond the
photo was a field of yams and small houses with bamboo rooftops. A
vegetable garden with rows of bell pepper plants grew in the yard. A large
tree shaded a small pond. Bai never reached her fourth birthday.

“What happened to her?” I asked my grandmother.

“I was only eight years old. I don’t remember much, but I remember that
day. I remember the last time I saw her.”

***

With the basket resting on my shoulders, I trudged to the nearby river
surrounded by fields of potatoes and carrots. There, I scrubbed each article
of clothing with a pungent soap: I washed our dresses and underclothes,
but I didn’t have to wash my father’s. He had been away working on the
railroad in Chengdu for months. The cold water and harsh soap made my
hands hard and rough.

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.

190

Afterwards, I hung them outside our small house on the clothesline. Then I
walked to the local food market, where the shop always reeked of rotting
vegetables. I hauled a huge sack of rice onto my back, careful not to spill even
one kernel. Food was everything in life back then. I fumbled around in my
pocket and handed the crumpled notes to the store owner. Every few steps, I
hopped a little to balance the heavy rice sack on my back. The scratchy
material made my arms itch and bugs flew around my head. When I reached
home, I set the bag of rice down on the front doorstep and opened the door.
Every time I came home, I always walked on my toes and sucked in my lips,
holding in all my fears. I couldn’t relax.

Just as I took my shoes off, I heard the crash. I ran to the kitchen and saw my
younger sister Bai bending down, picking up pieces of broken glass on the
floor. Like a four-year-old imitating her mother, Bai used the palm of her hand
like a broom over the floor sweeping all the glass onto a newspaper. Mother
stormed into the room and slapped Bai’s hand away from the glass.

“You uncareful child! So careless!” mother yelled.

At school that day, I saved the best part of my lunch, steamed potatoes, for Bai,
hoping it would make her feel better. I also made her an origami flower from a
piece of paper I found on the road. She loved origami flowers and birds.

I jogged home that day, past the slipper shop and the steamed buns stand,
without stopping as I usually would. I couldn’t wait to surprise Bai with the
potatoes. I walked into the room we shared and saw Bai lying down, her head
covered in a blanket, which was weird because she never slept during the day
anymore. Her arms were twisted in an unusual way and her elbow pointed
upwards forming a lump under the sheet. The room was dark, and I didn’t
want to wake Bai by lifting the curtains.

191

I lowered myself lightly onto the bed and brushed Bai’s forehead. Noticing that
my hand was wet, I turned on the oil lamp and saw that my fingers were
covered in blood. Slowly, I lifted the blanket off Bai. A pool of blood had
soaked into the bed. I put a shaking finger under Bai’s nose and jumped away,
screaming for my mother.

She gently lifted Bai in the soaked sheet, as if my sister were something fragile.
She placed her on the ground outside, careful to keep her covered, and then
she started digging. I was only eight but I knew that dead things usually got
buried. I never thought that I would be witnessing my three-year-old sister
being buried. My mom held the shovel in her unscarred hands. She chose a
spot near the tree, and I imagined she did that so that the roots of the tree
could wrap around Bai and give her all the hugs that my mother never did.

She put Bai inside the earth and covered the hole with dirt. The sun was going
down, and the sky had turned an angry red and orange. There was no breeze
and the air was hot and unmoving. I couldn’t tell if it was the air or the sight
of my sister’s grave that made me catch my breath.

At dinner that night, I trembled with fear each time Mother walked across the
brown polished kitchen floor. When I held my dinner plate, my hands kept
shaking so I squeezed the plate tightly with both hands.

A few months later, my mother had her third child. She cradled the baby girl
as if one rough movement would kill it. By then, the mound where my sister
was buried in the yard had curved inwards.

***

192

Four years ago, my grandmother and I traveled all the way from America to
visit my great grandmother, Zeng Zu Mu, in He Mu Village in China. Her
small house sat in a row of other small houses, right outside the small town.
Getting out of the cab, I smelled the temple incense and flowers mixed with
muddy earth. The sky was grey.

“We must visit her while we still can,” my grandmother had said while
booking the tickets.

My grandmother opened the front door and we walked inside. For several
minutes, all I heard was overlapping voices fighting to see who could
compliment whom first. There, my grandmother's sister greeted us wearing
her green-patterned vest and a white skirt.

Inside the house, the walls were different shades of gray. On the opposite
side of the room was a couch that looked like an ancient abstract painting,
the rust and yellow colors smeared together.

The dented table was surrounded by small red plastic stools and a large
wooden box with an old tablecloth thrown over it.

There she was, Zeng Zu Mu, my great-grandmother, sitting across the living
room on a wooden chair. Her bony hands clasped the knobs of the arm rest
tightly as if she was trying to stand. She smiled at us and her eyes crinkled.

I watched as Grandmother fed Zeng Zu Mu soft noodles with some red paste.
It was hard to imagine that Zeng Zu Mu was the woman who killed her own
daughter.

193

When my grandmother raised the spoon up to her mother’s chin, she gently
placed the spoonful of warm food inside as if there were never an unkind
word between them. As if my grandmother had not lived her whole
childhood in terrible fear of this woman. Seeing them together made me
think about forgiveness and what it means. I always felt that it meant being
willing to forgive, but maybe it also meant understanding someone else’s
regret.

We stayed for a week, and when we left, I asked Grandma, “Why didn’t Zeng
Zu Mu get arrested?”

“Back then, no one kept track of these things. They just didn’t care enough or
see the need. There were too many children anyways.”

“Do you think she feels bad?”

“I think she never forgot. I think it always made her feel awful.”

After my great grandmother passed away from old age, my family began a
tradition. On the first day of spring, we all get together in the driveway, and
instead of burning paper money, we burn origami flowers and origami birds
for Bai. We greet her and say a few words. I tell her that Grandma still thinks
about her. Sometimes I tell her that I’m sorry she didn’t get to live like the
rest of us.

194

"Watercolor Boots," Mia Stahler. Mia is a seventh grade student
at Central Middle School. She plays the tenor sax and likes
hanging out with her pets, family, and friends.

195

Resilience

Nisha Shenoy

Sunshine

A silent tear trickled down my cheek, shock beginning to overwhelm
my body. My breathing staggered, each exhale forced to come out against
its will. A wave of dizziness overtook me, its hands gripping onto my
shoulders and dragging me down. The surrounding air crushed me, its
sudden weight too much for me to bear. Looking back down at the papers
in my hands, I flipped to the next page in the packet, trying to understand
what had just occurred. All I knew was that he had left. That he had left
and was never coming back.

I skimmed through his notes, one page standing out amongst the rest.
It was a letter. For me. My eyelids shut tightly, tears threatening to escape.
Memories of laughter, joy, and love flashed through my mind, their
presence bringing a small smile to my face. Though through it all,
sadness and rage tore through my heart. How? How could he just walk
away? My knees began to buckle, my legs not able to hold me up any
longer. A sob screamed out of my lips, salty tears flooding from my eyes.
Small hands grasped my shoulders, their warm comfort breaking me
away from my thoughts. Blinking back the tears, I pulled my head up to
face my mother. To face a sorrowful smile that mirrored my own.

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.

196

She engulfed me in a hug, her arms tightening around me. Her body
began to shake, her cries muffled by my shoulder. As she sat with her head
buried into the crook of my neck, I just stared ahead, not willing to accept
the facts. While one part of me wanted to run, kick, punch, and scream at
something, the other part just wanted to hide in a corner until I woke up
from this horrible nightmare. The two options echoed in my mind, their
quiet voices ringing loudly.

The small packet in my hand rustled, the noise grabbing my attention. I
pulled it up to my eye line, my name bolded at the top of the paper. For my
darling Cora. Below, a small poem was written out, my father’s handwriting
evident.

When the world ends,
know that I will be with you.

When the daylight fades into darkness,
I will be with you then too.

Whenever you need me,
I will always be with you.

Don’t forget, sunshine. You are my heart, my pride, and my joy. I love you
so much. Take care of yourself, and your mother, for me. I’ll see you soon.

My head bobbed up and down, a small grin plastered to my face. “I will,
Dad. I will.”

197

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

198

Jill Gladstone

Drowned in Lies

Henry: Palmer:

I lie through my teeth,

I say one thing that leads to another,

Drowning in my lies

I shelter him from this harsh world,

To keep him safe for the prying hands of a wringer,

To keep him from laying lifeless after one effortless twist of his neck,

I knowingly follow along

With the friends I don’t want,

But still have,

If it were not for my anxiety of being friendless,

I would escape,

Though I stay, I dread day after day,

I hope to find the courage to speak up and leave,

But I didn't know then,

It would be so difficult to make new friends,

I won’t stop trying.

But sometimes through restless and tiring days,

I come out only to wither away

My name is Jill Gladstone I am in eighth grade at Central Middle
School. I play 3 sports: soccer, basketball, and volleyball. I am
also the youngest of three kids with two older brothers.

199

Audrey Ke

Rewind

For the clear rivers that flowed through the land,
replaced with dark liquid like foggy skies.
For the waste drifting about like ominous clouds.

For the forests who trembled in fear,
burned to the ground leaving nothing but ashes.
For the air cloaked by the billowing smoke.

For the plastic spreading like disease,
suffocating our planet, our home.
For the lives cut short like severed thread.

For the people who live happily in their homes,
oblivious to the creatures who had lost theirs.
For the place that was meant to be a utopia.

Audrey is an eighth grade student at JSL Middle School. She
likes to read and listen to music.

200