MIRABILE SCRIPTU 2018

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MIRABILE
SCRIPTU

Literary Magazine

Ottoson Middle School
63 Acton Street

Arlington, MA 02476
June 2018

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Student Editors 2018
Emilie Bell
Anya Brewer
Tessa Connors
Beril Dogulu
Maddy Fox
Alisha Gandhi
Meredith Gast
Daniel Gorbunov
Ariella Harris
Jillian Hinck
Valerie Ho
Sarah Hoffman
Jiya Iyer
Jenna Kenney
Olive Lawrence
Anna Lindsay
Elizabeth Madden
Meghan Mei
Lucy Pachter
Nina Peukert
Anya Sharif
Maren White
Linda Zhou

Cover Design: Jillian Hinck

The student literary pieces and artwork in this publication are the result of process writing and draw-
ing in Ottoson Middle School classes. Each published selection represents individual creativity and
critical editing by students and teachers. The final choices for the magazine were made by the diligent
group of seventh and eighth grade student editors listed above. The selections therefore reflect
themes that are of particular interest to early adolescents, as well as the editors’ stylistic evaluation
of the written and artistic expressions. The authors’ personalities unfold in each work, and readers
will enjoy satire, fantasy and realism as well as a glimpse into the lives of middle school students.
The student editors and I congratulate all of our selected authors and artists, and extend our sincere
thanks to the many more students who submitted work for the editors’ consideration. We’d also like
to give special thanks to the Ottoson faculty, who promote excellence in writing and the visual arts.

Mrs. Duke, Ottoson Literary Magazine Advisor

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Table of Contents

Creative Writing

Can’t Write
By Louisa Szaraz……………………………………………………………………….………..……9

The Song in My Ear
By Clara Webster…………………………………………………………………………...…………9

Ode to Books
By Kiley Barry-Smith……………………………………………………………………...………….10

Word Play
By Aurora Schifferli………………...…………………………………………………….………….11

Riddle Poem: I Am In Everything
By Aubrey Jensen………………………………………………………………………..…………..11

The Itrox
By Aidan Thielman……………………………………………………………………...……………13

Shouting Silence
By Laura Davies……………………………………………………………………...……………….15

Still, We Move
By Madeleine Blandy…………………………………………………………………………………16

Where I’m From
By Lexi Lombardi……………………………………………………………………………………..17

Where I’m From
By Jenny Brigham…………………………………………………………...……………………….18

Where I’m From
By Orly Diaz……………………………………………………………….……………………………19

Learning From the Stars
By Greta Billingsley………………………………………………………………….……………….20

It’s Always Raining Here
By Anya Brewer……………………………………………………………………….………………21

To Say Hello
By Kiley Barry-Smith…………………………………………………………………..…………….23

Don’t Forget
By Aubrey Jensen……………………………………………………………………..……………..23

Beautiful
By Greta Billingsley……………………………………………………………………..……………24

My Friends
By Belen Sanchez Mathews…………………………………………………………..…………….25

Perfection
By Greta Billingsley……………………………………………………………………..……………26

Before the Storm
By Maren White…………………………………………………………………………..……………28

Lead the Way
By Anonymous………………………………………………………………………………….…….29

Trees
By Giovanna DeStefanis………………………………………………………………………..……30

A Scene
By Aurora Schifferli...…………………………………………………………………………..…….30

Old Hydrangae
By Maren White……………………………………………………………………………….……….31

Monarch
By Sierra Farrington………………………………………………………………………...………..32

Where Am I Going To?
By Louisa Szaraz………………………………………………………………………………………34

In Science Class
By Gavin O’Brien……………………………………………………………………….……………..35

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Sleepless
By Maren White……………………………………………………………………………..………..36

An Extremely Verbose Morning Routine
By Aiden Thielman………………………………………………………………………...………..37

4:19 AM
By Courtney Dougan………………………………………………………………………...………39

August 10th-23rd
By Lucy Pachter………………………………………………………………………………..…….42

Decapitated Teddy Bear
By Molly Rosenberg…………………………………………………………………………….……45

Home
By Ella Barker……………………………………………………………………………...………….46

Never Ending Road
By Ellie Kachoria……………………………………………………………………….…………….48

My Poem
By Luisa DeCicco………………………………………………………………………...………….48

Just Listen
By Lillian Forney…………………………………………………………………………..…………49

The Death of Someone
By Clara Webster……………………………………………………………………….…………….49

For You
By Clara Webster……………………………………………………………………..…………...…50

Nightmares
By Sophie Leigh……………………………………………………………………..……………….51

Night Weaver
By Anna Peters……………………………………………………………………...……………….52

The Roller Coaster
By Brendan Rubel…………………………………………………………………………….……..53

Found Poem
By Alice Morgenstern………………………………………………………………………..……..55

I Am Bulletproof
By Ruthie Hyry-Weintraub………………………………………………………………...……….56

No Matter
By Gavin O’Brien…………………………………………………………………………………….56

Fight Like A Girl
By Maeve Padien…………………………………………………………………………..…………57

I Am A They
By Anonymous……………………………………………………………………………...………..58

Namaste
By Logan Hahn……………………………………………………………………………..…………58

Anti-Hate
By Audrey Sarah Kelly…………………………………………………………………...………….59

Bullets
By Belen Sanchez Mathews………………………………………………………….……………..60

Hope
By Virginia Sanzo……………………………………………………………………..………………61

The Lady With The Kleenex
By Emma Phillips……………………………………………………………………………...……..62

Where Do You See Yourself in Ten Years?
By Anna Lindsay……………………………………………………………………………...………64

Hold Your Breath
By Jiya Iyer…………………………………………………………………………………………….65

Bird Girl/Vogel-Madchen
By Anonymous………………………………………………………………………………...……..66

Holding On To Hope
By Cayla Kwok……………………………………………………………………………..…………67

An Excerpt from “A Misunderstanding”
By Jessie Ma……………………………………………………………………………………….....68

An Excerpt from “Staeria”
By Olive Lawrence……………………………………………………………………………….…..70

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An Excerpt from “Different”
By July Desparrow……………………………………………………………………………….…72

An Excerpt from “Nature’s Soul”
By Aurelia Le Hegaret………………………………………………………………………...……73

An Excerpt from “Iluminutters”
By Lucy Pachter………………………………………………………………………………….….76

The Gallows Tree
By Juliette Bennett…………………………………………………………………………...…….80

An Excerpt from “Embers Burning”
By July Desparrow…………………………………………………………………………...……..82
Art

Dragon
By Helly Leber…………………………………………………………………………………………….……….8

Toothless the Nightfury
By Jack Higgins……………………………………………………………………………………..………...….10

The Story Behind Socks
By Jessie Ma…………………………………………………………………………………..………………….12

Uniqueness
By Ines Kacemi………………………………………………………………………………………….…...…..14

Water Spirit
By Rosemary Raughley……………………………………………………………………………… ………..15

Untitled
By Anna LaButti…………………………………………………………………………………………………..17

Hands Holding Hands
By Caroline Kenneally……………………………………………………………………………………..…….22

Love, An Original Character from Inside Out
By Molly Rosenberg………………………………………………………………………………….…………..24

Lydia
By Molly Rosenberg…………………………………………………………………………...…………………25

Beta
By Jiya Iyer………………………………………………………………………………….……………………...27

Silence in the Night
By Giovanna DeStefanis……………………………………………………………..…………………………..29

Reaching
By Toni Mueller……………………………………………………………………..……………………………..31

My Wise Cat Huckle
By Chloe Pearson…………………………………………………………….…………………………………..33

Pluviophile
By Giovanna DeStefanis…………………………………………………..…………………………………….34

Sleepy Sally
By Chloe Pearson………………………………………………………….……………………………………..36

I Was The Duck
By Ines Kacemi……………………………………………………………………………………………………37

Untitled
By Lillian Forney………………………………………………………...………………………………………..38

An Old Friend
By Lilliane McGloin…………………………………………………………………...………………………….41

Huckle’s Gaze
By Chloe Pearson……………………………………………………………………..………………………….45

Lillian in the Woods
By Amarech Kohn……………………………………………………………………..………………………….47

In the Dark
By Mayra Chacon……………………………………………………………………….…………………………54

Dragon #2
By Elsie T. Coleman………………………………………………………………...……………………………55

Reaching
By Toni Mueller…………………………………………………………..…………………………...57

Through A New Perspective
By Jillian Hinck………………………………………………………………………………………..62

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Zoom
By Patrick Mukherjee…………………………………………………………………..……………………..63

Dragon #1
By Elsie T. Coleman…………………………………………………………………..………………………71

Cecilia Among The Flowers
By Lucy Pachter………………………………………………………………………...……………………..79

Fallen Angel
By Elsie T. Coleman…………………………………………………………………….……………………..81

A Note Regarding the Significance of the Title “Mirable Scriptu”
The word “scriptu” is a Latin supine in the ablative case, which is a very unusual Latin gram-
matical construction. The author who used this particular construction most prominently was
Virgil, writer of many works including The Aeneid. The Aeneid is the story of a hero, Aeneas,
who flees the destruction of Troy and embarks on an adventurous journey that eventually ends
with the founding of Rome. During this journey, Aeneas lands in North Africa and enters the
court of the ruler of Carthage. It is at this point in the epic that Virgil writes the famous line
“Infert se saeptus nebula mirabile dictu/per medios, miscetque viris neque cemiter ulli,” or “He
(Aeneas) had entered swathed in a cloud-strange to relate (or a wonder to tell)- among them,
mingling with men, yet visible to none.” (Robert Fitzgerald, translator)
“Mirable Scriptu,” or “A Wonder to Write,” is a direct reference to Virgil’s innovative use of the
Latin language and his skill in crafting unique and memorable poetry. This phrase has been the
title of the Ottoson literary magazine for at least fifty years. We no longer know which Junior
High West teacher originally composed the phrase, but the choice of this creative and informed
reference is an apt reflection of the Ottoson’s long history of commitment to sophisticated liter-
ary and artistic expression by its students.
(contributed by Ms. Rachel Kirtly, Ottoson Latin teacher, and Ms. Amy Duke, Ottoson A.C.E.
teacher, 2012)

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Creativity

Can’t Write

By Louisa Szaraz
I can’t write because

life isn’t fair
and people will say anything and everything

to hurt me
they will go to unspeakable measures

to speak against me
and they do

I can’t write because
the forest is too dark and deep

and I have no sword
because I can see the glowing eyes

staring back at me
I can’t write because
I know that I am alone in my experience
and I am an individual
because I think differently
and some don’t like that
I can’t write because

it’s never happy
the thoughts swirling in my head

but I write
because I crave validation
and a chance to share that

experience
because writing is the only thing

with power enough to tame
the darkness inside

Dragon

By Helly Leber

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Can’t Write The Song in My Ear

By Louisa Szaraz By Clara Webster
There’s a song in my ear

I can’t write because A beat to dance to
life isn't fair There’s a world in my head

and people will say anything and everything A tune to live to
to hurt me Thanks to the music
To the songs that saved
they will go to unspeakable measures Thanks to the artists
to speak against me To the worlds they create
and they do There’s a way to escape
I can’t write because It’s a coping mechanism
The place with the rhythm
the forest is too dark and deep The heart that will beat along
and I have no sword
Thank you music
because I can see the glowing eyes For saving my life
staring back at me Gracias a musica
I can’t write because Por salvo mi vida

I know that I am alone in my experience
and I am an individual

because I think differently
and some don't like that

I can’t write because
it's never happy

the thoughts swirling in my head
but I write

because I crave validation
and a chance to share that experience

because writing is the only thing
with enough power to tame
the darkness inside



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Ode to Books

By Kiley Barry-Smith


Thank you for
a bridge.

Thank you for
a story.

Thank you for
a sister.

Thank you for
a dream between bound paper,
busy marching letters that form a wish.

Thank you for
a folded page when things were getting hard.

Thank you for
a shield

and thank you for a sword.
Thank you for

a rustled paper under covers,
when the night is all but dead.

Thank you for
a taste of Narnia.

Thank you for
the exhilaration of a jump.
and thank you for catching me in your arms.
Thank you for the words
Thank you for teaching me when to use them.
Thank you for the hand to hold.
And thank you for my story.

Toothless the Nightfury: How to Train Your Dragon

By Jack Higgins

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Word Play

By Aurora Schifferli
I am right, right?
I have to be right;
Even if there’s no one left,

I’m right.
Write.

That’s all I do lately.
I’m good at it, too,
Like there are straws
And writing is the only one I can draw.

Buy.
Something I do too often.

Bye.
Something I’ve said too much.

Riddle Poem: I Am In Everything

By Aubrey Jensen


Appearing all over the world, I am in
Everything, slipping into your thoughts, speech and writing.
I am in your 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9, though you may not realize it.
Only sometimes I am seen as five, mostly counted as six. I put you in the
Universe
And I am in the middle of sandwiches, subways, and hugs.
Sometimes younger people forget me, but you don’t very often. You remember now.
What am I?


(Hint: Look at the first letters of each line.)

(Answer found on page 85



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The Story Behind Socks

By Jessie Ma

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The Itrox

By Aidan Thielman
The Itrox is a multicellular, extremely complex, space-dwelling amoeba-like creature that wan-
ders throughout the universe. It is shaped similarly to a bean without a curve in the center. It has a sin-
gle, purely black eye, a wrinkled, compressed sac, the end of which expands during consumption of
materials, and a mouth.
The Itrox propels itself by excreting gases at extremely high speeds, using its highly
photoreceptive cells to absorb and use the momentum of photons. It uses its radiation-powered inner
muscular sack to transfer its center of gravity as far towards its destination as possible while moving its
outer protection membrane in the opposite direction. This causes all of its innards to be at its edge,
causing it to be pulled into a position where its insides are concentrated in the middle, as usual, propel-
ling it forward. When in the ocean, they use their muscular sac as a floatation and propelling device.
Because of its extremely resistant and powerful properties, the Itrox must not only absorb
radiation and solar power for energy but also must devour many different types of elements and
isotopes in order to sustain the chemical reactions that are necessary to maintain the Itrox’s overwhelm-
ingly complex biological machinery. Typically, this is done through the process of consuming celestial
objects. However, the consumption of a planet with an active core will kill the Itrox through heat death
and explosion. This is why they tend to stay away from large rocky planets in systems that are relatively
young (a trait they can detect using numerous sensory capabilities involving the collection of
free-flying particles).
Any non-Itrox active biomass coming into contact with the Itrox’ hard-working
inner cells causes the Itrox instant death. This is because the Itrox is highly reactive to adenosine tri-
phosphate, the chemical that fuels most life in the universe, and also the hormones of most species; the
Itrox’ access to numerous types of isotopes, elements, compounds, formulas, and mixtures result in its
inner processes working much differently and utilizing other chemicals and reactions to fuel
itself. The inner workings of an Itrox are so specific and complex that influences from non-Itrox
life will disrupt critical biological processes, resulting in a fatal chain reaction. On top of that, its
inner cells’ cell walls are pathetically easy to be penetrated by other life forms. If an Itrox was
devouring a planet with organic life, which Itroxes never do (the only recorded exception in
history being an Itrox known as ‘Stupid Jotzgrengt’) its acids would kill all organic life before entering the
interior.
Itroxes have no concept of maturity outside of brain development occurring simply out of the
experience of life. It does not age and it does not cease to grow. The more an Itrox eats, the larger
it grows and vice versa. Many Itroxes, if not most, are microscopic, live in the oceans of Morloapel, and
feed on smaller materials. But some Itroxes can reach a larger size, and when they do they develop
sentience, emotions, personalities, relationships, and communication, which are all traits they refuse to
lose when achieving them. However, most possess empathy and prefer to eat small moons and aster-
oids and on the occasion a large uninhabited barren planet.
Itroxes prefer to travel in packs when they become sentient, and enter a system of monogamy.
Itroxes are capable of manipulating their inner machinery, and this allows them to develop many organs
and appendages used for communication, consisting of electric, visual and scent signals. Some
Itroxes have been rumored to develop numerous ‘psychic powers’ such as telekinesis and telepathy, but
this is unconfirmed as of now.

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Identity

Uniqueness

By Ines Kacemi

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Shouting Silence

By Laura Davies
I speak my mind

No one hears
No one listens

They try
They care
But I can’t speak loud enough for them to notice
I whisper my thoughts
Hush my opinions
When the time comes
I will be the shoulder to cry on
The mediator
The healer
The mender
I speak softly
Because sometimes
That is the only way to be heard

Water Spirit

By Rosemary Raughley

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Still, We Move

By Madeleine Blandy
Our world moves around us. The sun, the stars-- all drifting past.
Sometimes we see what they are. What they’ve done.
Sometimes we don’t want to see their truth.
We hide behind what we believe is the answer.
We don’t try to stop the world. We don’t fight its pull.
We don’t need to.
Sometimes what we do is different than what has been set upon us.
But still, we move.
We move with the stars, the Earth, the sun.
Together, as one, although we try to be apart. Try to be different.
Better.
And still, it moves. Still, we live, and die.
Still, we love. And break love that never was to be.
We believe that we are the ones defying. We believe that we are special.
Yet we cannot escape the universe. We cannot escape time.
So we are still in the pull. Neither falling, nor rising above.
We are with the world. We are with the galaxy. We are with the universe.
We are with existence. We are part of existence.
Not the rebels we believe ourselves to be.
We do not defy. Cannot defy. Will not defy.
The belief that we are alone is but a wish.
And still we move.
We move with every cycle of life,
with every rotation of the planets, every turn of the galaxy.
We have never longed for company; proud to be alone, special.
But if that were so, who would there be to witness us?
Still, we move.
Pulled not by ourselves,
But by everything that influences us, our lives, our existence.
Still moving. Pulled and pushed at the same time.
But always moving. Always turning. Always existing.
Living on.

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Where I’m From

By Lexi Lombardi
I am from the sand,
From the salty waves.
I am from overpriced French fries.
I am from worn out flip-flops
And the pain of bare feet
On broken seashells.
I’m from the scary times
Of being forced to jump off Jaws Bridge.
From the sticky salt water taffy
From Scoop Shack.
From the beach days,
To the rainy days.
I am from Martha’s Vineyard
In the summertime.

Untitled

By Anna LaButti

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Where I’m From

By Jenny Brigham

I am from a loud soda stream, that I won in a bet
From vinegar Cape Cod chips,

And using matches as air freshener
I am from a castle, standing tall in my mind,

The flip of a page, and new adventures.
I am from walking to school no matter what

From a face covered in brownie batter
And the smell of fresh baked bread.

I am from the peach tree I stood under for pictures.
The attempts of a garden every year.
I am from watching Survivor
And the battle that is cancer.
From Roblyn Anderson,
And Peter Brigham.

I’m from my first lip gloss I got at my cousin’s birthday.
And Chipotle’s Queso.

From never letting the turkeys get me down,
And positive attitude changes everything.
I’m from AGAPE,
And Chimney Corners Camp.

I’m from a poor kid, adopted into a rich family.
From jumping into a 35 degree lake.
I’m from Irish dancing,
And being really weird.
From self consciousness,
And fighting with my friends.
And slamming doors,
And The Office.
I’m from Buffy the Slayer,
And crying a lot.
I’m from “being a dumb blonde,”

And sticking up for myself… Most of the time.
From mac n’ cheese,
And Sven Fish.

I am from the imperfect, the shorthaired, the live strong, the Buddha.
I am from the Bridge to Home.

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Where I’m From

By Orly Diaz


I am from a soft pink pig blanket
From the movie I watched last night
And the book I am not supposed to read

I am from the house on the hill
I am from the fairy houses I built when I was four

From being the middle child
And from the soft grass on the lawn

I am from the forest
The swing going from side to side

Tree to tree
I am from family dinners

And healthy meals
I am from the shared bedroom

And happiness
From Felix and Perla
From Mia and Pancho
I am from being late
And waking up early
From always do your best

And you can do it
I am from fairies
To drawings all over the table
From painting and singing
I am from inventing
From rice bowls and tacos
From driving across the country
From Arlington to California
I am from home

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Learning From the Stars

By Greta Billingsley


I closed my eyes and smiled. A blissful scent in the air: the mesmerizing aroma of thousands of
pine trees, dancing with the tantalizing smell from the remains of the fire. Sweet and crisp, although you
know that if you get too close, this wonderful luxury could turn into a smoky inferno as fast as a strike of
lighting, rippling across the endless waves of the park. This overall sense of perfection, of completion,
could only be found in Algonquin Park, aroused through the freshness of the Northern Canadian wilder-
ness.

The gentle swaying of the trees, echoing over the hundreds of lakes: the serene heartbeat of
the forest. The endless rhythm, the torrents of water always reaching, transfixed, over and over, strain-
ing towards the shore. Always falling short, restrained solely by the unknown grace of the clear blue
depths.

As I look back on this memory, I understand now that a part of me, deep down, must have al-
ways known. It may have taken a life near perfection, if only for the few short moments, when searching,
to truly understand my self with such a sense of clarity as to truly be at peace with what I found.

The sun had just finished setting, leaving my good friend Robin and me truly enveloped in a
darkness, only accessed in utter isolation, such as where we were at the time. Northway Lodge, an all
girls sleep-away camp placed in the middle of Algonquin Provincial Park, Ontario, Canada. The only
light sources were the rebellious pinpricks of starlight burning through the sky, leading the naughty
beams of light cutting across the ground from the occasional headlamp or flashlight.

As the forest around us seemed to go to bed, the shouts and laughter of the girls around us
slowly dying down, Robin and I found a secluded area to watch the stars in peace. We lay down at the
top of a hill, a bed of pine needles cushioning our heads. Our conversation started out simple, both of us

mainly focused on our peaceful surroundings.

Eventually we both drifted off into a calm kind of silence, and as I began to relax, my thoughts
began to wander. From one topic to the next, one moment to another, my mind swirled, never set in one
specific place in time. From the loons calling out to their children I had woken up to that morning, to the
double rainbow that had graced the dusk sky, burning bright through the ever vibrant colors of the set-
ting sun.

Eventually the flow came to land on Robin. On her appearance, her composure: short brown
hair, a dazzling smile. Also about her personality: gentle and kind, always there, always showing and
trying to the best of her ability. But that wasn’t enough. My mind kept going, reaching out to what it want-
ed me to realize, to what I may not have wanted to know. I admired her. Her fierce spirit, her persis-
tence, her striving to always be the best person that she could, but mostly her pride. She was never
afraid to be herself. Set on who she wanted to be at age thirteen, always capable of standing up for
what she believed in. Lying there, in her pink yellow and blue jacket covered in rainbow pins, I realized
something about myself.

Yes, I admired her spirit, but I also connected with it. The colors pink yellow and blue seemed to flow
perfectly throughout my entire being, and the description of how she felt resonated with who I was.
And although sexuality is something fluid and ever changing, it still resonates with me to this day.

She had mentioned it earlier that day. How to her, gender didn't matter and the only thing that really
affected who she would want to spend her life with was personality.

Turning onto my side to smile at my friend, I saw the moonlight reflected off the water and into her
hair. Her dark brown eyes were closed slightly in concentration with upturned lips, letting me know that
whatever she was thinking about must have been pleasant.

If she could be so at peace with herself and her decisions, in order to be at a good point in my life
eventually, I knew, I would have to do the same. I thought back to people who had shaped me in the
past, and I understood that with my true friends and family, even if they didn't agree, they would be able
to accept me for myself. They would have to.

As Robin opened her eyes and smiled at me, I opened my mouth to tell her the truth. And with that, I
was able to accept myself. From that day forward, I've known, without a doubt, that inside I've always
been pansexual.

21

It’s Always Raining Here

By Anya Brewer
It’s always raining here. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month. And
despite what you’re thinking, today is no different. No, today it is raining like any other
day of the year. No rolling waves of thunder. No searing hot lightning strikes. Just thick
heavy sheets raining down on our faces and hands. Dripping from every surface. Soaking
hair and clothes. The sun would not dare show its face here. This is not a story about the
sun.
What about me? I am not a genius. I am not dumb, either. I am just in the middle,
just about average. I am not beautiful, but I am not ugly. I am not nice and I am not mean.
I am not popular, but I am not an outcast. I am the person you pass in the halls everyday,
but never speak a word to. I am the person who sits behind you in math class, but you’ve
never really seen. This is not a story about people.
When I walked to school today, I was not late. Maybe, if I had woken up too late
to walk, I would have had to take the bus. I might have been on the bus that slid off the
road and into a ice cold river. I could have drowned. I could have been the sole survivor.
But I was on time. My alarm went off and I walked to school through the torrents of rain
that splashed on my face and hands before I opened my umbrella to shelter me from the
storm. This is not a story about buses.
There was a pop quiz today. I studied because the teacher told us to prepare. If I
had not studied for this quiz, I might have failed. If I failed this quiz, my grade would be
a B+ not an A. If my grade was a B+ then I would be rejected from the college I wish to
attend. But I studied. And my score will be an one hundred. This is not a story about pop
quizzes.
When I walked home, I did not forget my umbrella. If I had, then I would have
been forced to share with a classmate, or walk home in the rain. If I was forced to share,
then perhaps I would have made a friend. Perhaps I would have fallen in love. Maybe we
would have never talked again. Maybe nothing would have happened at all. But I have
my umbrella with me today. I was not forced to share or face the downpour. I will be dry
and alone. This was never a story about umbrellas.
When I went home, the phone rang and I didn’t pick up. I didn’t recognize the
number. Maybe in some other world I did. Perhaps, in that world, I was invited to a
contest, and I would have become rich and famous. Maybe it was a friend, inviting me to
a party. But how would I know? I didn’t pick up the phone. This isn’t a story about a
phone call.
It’s always raining here. But this isn’t a story about rain. It isn’t a story about the
sun. It’s not about cold or death or friendship or love or failure or mistakes. It’s not about
umbrellas or phone calls or quizzes or living or dying. It’s not about me. It was never
about me.
It’s always raining here.

22

Relationships

Hands Holding Hands

By Caroline Kenneally

23

To Say Hello Don’t Forget

By Kiley Barry-Smith By Aubrey Jensen
Don’t forget
This is just to say hello Your lunch.
I don’t know you, but maybe you know
To water the plants.
Me? To do your homework.

Your sweater.
Maybe I’ve passed you in the halls, To do your taxes.
Maybe we shared a smile. To say please and thank you.
Maybe I heard you cry. Your friend’s birthday.

Maybe I tried to comfort you, but I didn’t To reply.
know what to say. To feed the dog.

This is just to say hello. Your bag.
Maybe I saw you with your friends, To tie your shoes.
To take out the trash.
Maybe you were laughing.
Maybe I saw your head Me.
Hunched over a book, The world doesn’t want you to forget

But mine might have been too. It wants things to be done
Maybe you are in pain, And things to be remembered.

And maybe I know how to fix it. It hopes that you will learn.
You don’t know me, Me?
But maybe I say,
I know you.
Don’t forget
that someone cares.

24

Beautiful

By Greta Billingsley


You say I'm beautiful,
You say you aren't.
You may not think it,
But you're lying to yourself.
At least the smallest bit.
The twinkle in your eye,
The smile on your lips,
That's what makes you perfect.
I don't care about the color of your hair,
The quality of your outfits.
Though when you laugh
It melts my heart.
To see you happy is
As precious as any jewel.
You are a work of art.
You make me smile,
You keep me happy.
I may be beautiful,
But only when you are there to help.
To keep me laughing,
To wrap your arms around me.
We are both beautiful.
You are what makes me beautiful.

Love, An Original Character
From Inside Out

By Molly Rosenberg

25

Lydia

By Molly Rosenberg

My Friends

By Belen Sanchez Mathews
You went to the mall together. Jumping from store to store, trying on clothes, putting on
sunglasses and taking pictures in the mirror. Slipping on gold high heels and walking around,
pretending to be rich. You ate ice cream while peeking in stores together, just to say you went
there. You laughed and felt relaxed, as if nothing could hurt you. They are your friends.
You made pasta together. You almost broke the pasta machine, jamming it with rolled out
dough. It tasted perfect. You laid on the couch, feet overlapping, watching The Parent Trap to-
gether, eating a skillet cookie out of the pan. You ate all of the ice cream-coated cookie. You
draped the blanket over yourself and fell asleep, at peace. They are your friends.
You chatted together. You sat next to each other in math, chattering away when the
teacher wasn’t talking. She gave you a stern look, but one that meant that she didn’t really mind.
You would do your work, and then turn around and start talking. You would talk about anything
that came to your mind. Everybody around you wouldn’t say a word, but you would always jab-
ber on. She is your friend.
You listen to gossip; things about people you never wanted to hear. You want to tell her
to stop, but you don’t have the courage. Instead you sit there, motionless, trying not to listen.
She isn’t your friend. Friends don’t say those things. You need to know your friends. You’ll know
when you’ve found them. I did.

26

Perfection

By Greta Billingsley
Beautiful,
Gorgeous,
Perfect,
Flawless.

So many words to describe you,
Yet you won't believe a single one.
You say I bring out the good in you,
That you don't usually act this way.

But I don't believe you,
I can't.

Even in a million years,
If this lie was ever proven true,

Even then,
So what?
Nobody's perfect.
Not me,
Not even you.
Though you're the closest I've met so far.
Everyone,
Every single person on this earth
has flaws.
But that is not a bad thing.
These “flaws” are what make us who we are.
If I left you for being human,
For having those opportunities to be yourself,
For showing off those so-called flaws,
What kind of person would I be?

No,
I will always be here,
Right by your side.
Not always in character,
But I will always be with you in spirit.

I'll stick with you.
Through your anger,

Sadness,
Love,

Your laughter
And your tears.
Because to me,
You're more breathtaking than Broadway,
The finest piece of art.
I will never stop loving you.

And for me,
You will never stop being enough.

27

Reflections on Nature

Beta

By Jiya Iyer

28

Before the Storm

By Maren White
Before the storm
The world is still.
The birds have settled down
To witness the spectacle.
Not even the trees
Dare move their branches.
The sky casts an orange haze
Over the world that lies in wait.


The street has become a house of mirrors

Each car window reflecting
The eerie glow.

The orange hangs in the air
Almost tangible--
Almost touchable--

As if it is glass, encasing the world
Holding it in place.


Soon, it will shatter into a million pieces
Freeing the world
And with it, the sky

And everything will burst into chaos.
But for now all is quiet
And misty and orange
And frozen
still.

29

Lead the Way

By Anonymous
When all is dark
There’s not a sound being made
No worries cross your mind
As nature's beauty buries them deep within
The water shimmering
The happy fish
Swimming through their underwater home
The stars glistening as they whiz through space

One by one
You think of the glowing balls of hope as your thoughts

Getting smaller and smaller
Further and further until they disappear

The peacefulness of the night
Is when you come alive

The owl inside explores the distances
In this time you’re no longer on Earth

You choose your world
You lead the way

Silence in the Night

By Giovanna DeStefanis

30

Trees

By Giovanna DeStefanis
Flames of breath flare out beneath the melting homes
Breeze blows its soft petals like a lock of hair in the autumn mist
They can drag you down a stream of fire never to be seen again
Crackling sparks of fairy dust twinkle in the still moonlight
Torturing forces cover you like a cage with nowhere to hide.
Elegant leaps of leaves gracefully detach from its root

Preventing you from leaving your home…
Only to keep you from the danger of the silence.

A Scene

By Aurora Schifferli
A boat, if you could call it that
Floats shakily on dark waters.

A sky, moon shining bright
Clouded with grey

Some days I am the boat
Shaky and unsteady

Other times I am the water, choppy
And harsh and unforgiving.

I can be the sky, with shining stars
Covered up, not fighting to show them
Or the clouds, covering up something

Beautiful and not willing to let it go
But never the moon, shining brightly

And beautiful, above it all.

31

Old Hydrangea

By Maren White
old hydrangea

dried-
up, brittle
leached of its
brilliance
but its beauty stays behind
in the petals that
bend but
don’t break,
in the rosy gold

blush
that tinges
their wrinkled cheeks.
youngness
runs warm
through their dead stems.
their strength
will not waiver,
they will stand tall
in their vase,
they will not bow

down
until their fragile

bodies
give out
they will stand tall

until
they can stand

no more.

Reaching

By Toni Mueller

32

Monarch

By Sierra Farrington


The butterfly touched down
Simply, softly, silently

Velveteen wings fluttering
Stone beneath it
Is there
And always will be

Lustrous flecks shine
In the sun’s waning light

The stone knows
The Earth’s inexplicable secrets

Primordial in nature
The butterfly left

Not prepared for the wisdom
The stone had to impart
Soaring above villages
With ouzels and ortolans

Flitting in and out of an ancient family home
The scent of vichyssoise and lavender perfume

Permeate the air
Peeling paint

Can’t cover the ague’s miasma
A recluse hides

Disgraced by an imbroglio
The only reminder of her past
A lonely monogrammed teddy bear

Rests on an unmade bed
The butterfly moves on
To fields and rolling hills
Somehow seeming sentient
Searching for understanding
In caves, in forests, in streams
In picturesque waterfalls, old as the hills

All seem empty
Complacent and tired
Never expanding, or discovering
Finally the butterfly stops

For the last time
In a place filled with knowledge
The scent of old leather and parchment

Literary aficionados
Concocting floods of phrases
And studying the etymology of each

The butterfly is satisfied
A partisan of learning
Thirsting for knowledge

Exposed to the Earth’s grief
Finally ready for the truth

33

Moments in Time

My Wise Cat Huckle

By Chloe Pearson

34

Where Am I Going To?

By Louisa Szaraz
Life is the grain of sand
easy to fall through trembling fingertips
slowly churning in the plastic hourglass just out of reach
the tree that passes by on the yellow bus trying to play eye spy
at one point I may take it for granted
let it slip through my clutches willingly
but for now I will try to live every moment

live it
feel fear
great bubbling joy
like the waterfall where I swim every summer
great sadness
like the emptiness and loneliness of a dark parking lot
I can and will try to live without deep shattering regret
life is ugly and cruel
and it is beautiful and dazzling.
I can’t promise much of life
I can’t promise to have it long
or overturn the hourglass and start anew
I can only promise that
for every tear streaming memory
there is hope.

Pluviophile
(A Lover of Rain)

By Giovanna DeStefanis

35

In Science Class

By Gavin O’Brien
In science class
There is no free pass
We must learn all about mass
Mass is about grams
And after that we somehow jam
Another subject on the kilogram
And in our next unit
We will learn of temperature
During that subject we study degrees
And Celsius, I tell you, is not a breeze
After temperature we learn about time
It is based on the second, which is hard to rhyme
Then length will come in, with the meter
Close behind it will be volume, with the liter
After those we will have a quiz
That will not be a whiz
Though students may think it’s over
The work never stops
There is so much, it makes the average student drop!
When the quizzes are through, then comes an exam
Though it’s true, it seems like a sham
The work feels like it never ends
But wait! Bam!
The bell has rung
We are thankfully still young
And the weekend, finally, has come



36

Sleepless Sleepy Sally

By Maren White By Chloe Pearson

Stumbling through the bright
foggy eyed
foggy minded
Loud lights pierce my eyelids
Voices echo in my brain.
With each movement
I must force my way
across a dense swamp
of sleeplessness.
I see figures moving
through the haze
Yet I sit in a stupor.
I long for blessed sleep
to fly me off into the darkness
Into the solitude,
My sanctuary from the harsh light of the day.
But it slips through my fingers
Like grains of precious sand
Gone.
Instead I sit
Behind the iron bars
of my bright-cold prison
Listening to the drone of words
that will be forgotten within a month.
Yet not daring to put down my head
(though it gets heavier
with each passing moment)
Lest that mischievous being, sleep
seizes the opportunity
To steal me away,
To twist the bars of my prison
and bring me beyond its gates,
Into the twilight land
Between darkness and light,
Sleep and wake.
I will just have to wait,
to endure
Until my prison time is up
And I can finally slip
from one world into the next
In peace
And quiet.
Where for a moment
A golden,
blessed moment
I will no longer be
Sleepless.


37

An Extremely Verbose Morning Routine

By Aidan Thielman
I remove the covering sheets from my recharging site frame, lift my legs on to the 3rd base frame
of my dwelling, and walk forwards. I put on my garments and move down the interfloor scaffold to the
kitchen. I pour liquid from the breasts of female cattle that is produced for their offspring onto cereal and use
a scooping mechanism to lift the sustenance into my mandibles for energy. I consume some dihydrogen
monoxide and then move up the scaffold to the excretion and cleansing chamber. I tidy my teeth and re-
move plaque using a viscous fluid I apply to a small brushing handle and then move it along the interior of
my mouth. Next, I grab a canister with two fluids inside that, when vibrated around in the canister and then
swished in and spat out of the mouth, produces a minty-fresh exhale scent and removes plaque as well. I
vibrate it well and pour a solution of the two fluids into the cap of the canister and gulp it up. I swish until
the desired results have been achieved and spit it out. I then remove food bits from my chewing mechanism
rearrangement devices using a specialized controlled stream of dihydrogen monoxide. I proceed to move
down the scaffold again and gather all of my materials needed to travel to the local educational facility. I
apply my low-temperature fabric covering and foot protectors and go on my way to the educational facility.
When I arrive at the dreadfully designed structure, I enter through the door set.

I Was The Duck

By Ines Kacemi

38

MEMORIES

Untitled

By Lillian Forney

39

4:19 AM

By Courtney Dougan


I don't know if it was the look in your eyes
your perfect and super contagious smile

or the soft bright purple hair
that was always curled for comp days
It could've been your charismatic voice
And the way that it would light up the room as soon as you walked in
maybe it was the way that you could make anybody laugh

at any time
anywhere


But something about you was different
Something I'd never seen in anybody else
But it was someone who I wanted to be just like


You didn't let anything hold you back from what you wanted

No person
No obstacle

Nothing
Not even cancer


Some of my favorite memories that I'll remember for a lifetime are

when I was at science camp
in fifth grade and you wrote me a letter

it said
“bring me home a roll from camp they were good when I went

xoxo Courtney Jones”
even now I laugh about it
and you were pretty disappointed when I didn’t bring back a roll


or the time that you insisted on taking me to Scoop ‘n Scootery
because you thought I needed to try the fluffernutter ice cream sundae

and the whipped cream from there


and last but not least
the time when I was on your team and one of the girls wouldn’t run clean
so you taped our hands to our legs with duct tape and made us run around the gym 50 times until
we ran clean and then, of course, Faith wasn’t running clean afterward

but thank God practice ended
because I didn’t want to run the gym again


Five years ago
I met one of the strongest people I've ever known
you were always so positive about everything
and anything
even when something didn’t go your way
As if nothing bad had ever happened to you
On Sunday January 22nd, 2017 at 4:19 am
A little over 1 year ago
Heaven gained another angel
someone else lost their life to this dreaded disease so-called cancer
the same that has taken so many lives from innocent people
and the one that is continuously taking more lives each day

40

I lost one of the strongest and most beautiful people I've ever met
Someone I want to be just like

Somebody who made an impact on other people's lives
somebody who brought so much joy into other people's lives

And somebody who changes people's lives
somebody who changes people's lives forever
Not a day goes by where I don't think about you

And hopefully, a day never will
But when I think of you

I think of how lucky I was to be able to know you so well
But the same time I wish I could see you one last time

One last hello
One last smile
One last laugh
One last hocus pocus reference
And one final goodbye


On Friday, December 8th, 2017 at 10:16 am

“It was one of those never forget it
better stop and take it in kind of days

Everything was just right
except for one thing
You should be here

standing with your arm around me here
Cutting up, cracking a cold beer
Saying cheers,

hey y'all it's sure been a good year
It was one of those moments,

that had got your name written all over it
And you know that if I had just one wish it'd

Be that you didn't have to miss this
You should be here

You'd be taking way too many pictures on your phone
and would have showed them off to everyone that you know back home

And even some you didn’t know yet
They say now you're in a better place
And I would be too if I could see your face

you should be here
You'd be loving this, you'd be freaking out, you'd be smiling, yeah

I know you'd be all about what's going on right here right now
God I wish somehow you could be here.”


Even though you weren’t physically there with us the day we won Nationals
I know that you were watching over us every step of the way
the good and the bad
the worst and the best
and most of all the happiest
Do you ever just get one of those feelings

a feeling where a chill runs up your spine and through your body?
on that day I got that feeling

As this little green dragonfly came flying into the room
here’s not a doubt in my mind that it wasn’t you

41

knowing that you’re actually gone makes me ache inside
but knowing that you’re no longer hurting or struggling
gives me peace of mind and closure
I was so lucky to know you
and even luckier to share the same name as you.
Thanks for being my shoulder to lean on

for making me laugh when I’d thought I would never smile again
for the priceless memories

for being a person who I look up to so much
And for helping me with all of my shenanigans
And most of all teaching me that life is about making the best of every situation

proving people wrong
And going beyond the limits that I thought I would never be able to bypass.

still to this day
even though you aren’t physically here

I know that I want to be just like you
in almost every possible way
rest in peace Court
until we meet again

Forever in our hearts Forever Courtney strong

(“You Should Be Here” by Cole Swindell”)

An Old Friend

By Lilliane McGloin

42

August 10th-23rd

By Lucy Pachter


An Uber ride driver
Who trusts his phone more than his eyes

Turns off the highway
For traffic in the other direction
Drives backstreets and tanker bridges
Arrive at the airport and board the plane
The sunset colors for eternity
As the west outruns the night
San Francisco for the first time, a night bus ride
We drive through the thirsty grassland

My grandma with us
We climb up the mountains
My ears pop so frequently

Drive into Yosemite
Bear-proof the car and leave it be

The many-sectioned lodge
Its terrible Wifi

I dare not complain
I have cousins to see
A show in a small museum
Taking a shuttle bus

Our car untouched
A crashing waterfall
Pictures and rocks
Walking everywhere
The stars so clear

A dark meadow
Away from lights
Perseid night, a few streaks
A hike to a water mirror
Wade into the cold biting
The monster of reflection
Water of winter, air of summer
The sandy shore on my feet
Walk ahead, wait my turn
A steep slope trail
My heart booming under my skin
An orange morning sun
Flakes of ash, my parents witnessed
A waterfall breeze
Air conditioning for a hot summer day
On a bridge with memory photos




43

Climbing the face
The old rock captain
Scaled by those braver than I
The ground perspective
Miss the shuttle, wait some time
The lodge outdoor pool

My sister and I
Tales of silver and wolves and portal adventures

All the new food and memories
Leave the park

Same thirsty landscape
Cross bridges, enter the city
We stay at a Centenarian hotel

A room for us youth
My sister and I, without parents

A slip on my nightstand
Pillows promising miracles

Walk to the pier
The fog shatters and breaks

Odd sculptures in the city
Pier 39’s 39th birthday

Why else not wait till 40?
Summer of Love anniversary
Not like I care, but pretty hearts!

A shrimp restaurant
For a movie I don’t understand
An old arcade of simple pasts
My heart pumping, struggling to step

The hill streets of fame
All for chilled chocolate cream

A science museum
For a special date
Of balloon gas and solar discovery
A planetarium show of the impacts that last
The rocks call for my attention
Elements of rocks and phones and us
Make- believe earthquakes

Huge aquarium
Special light, a blue I can’t describe
Leaving the city on the red bridge of gold

Into the fog, into the wild world
Driving for hours

The trees of the old wild
The sunset sun shone at 5pm

Illuminating the green walls

44

Afternoon ride
Closer to tomorrow and its gift
A windy beach I dare to explore

The harsh wild fired bullets
I turn around to spare the gunshots

The Oregon coastal weather
Fog and sun fighting to control the stage

The quicksilver ocean
The sun paints the backdrop

Little time to stay
The event of the years, a universal magnet

Side roads to get there
A crowded gas station, 9am
A sun bite through glasses

The town park
An airplane blanket to lay on
The wet grass perfume never leaves it

The sun grows smaller
The shadows intensify

The cosmos aligns
Sun, Moon, Earth, complex dance

The 10am twilight
The invisible halo
Pictures cannot capture the moment
A life, a dance, a truth
Squeezed into two minutes
The day to leave
Red sun on white sky
Like the Japanese flag, almost
Back to the airport
A rest stop takes my breath away
The view so complicated
The airplane sunset much shorter
Waiting for landing
Check every aspect
From frozen sky to summer ground
Next day begins in the air
Uber ride lineup
This one has candy
My jetlag resistance

Awake at 4
Or is it 7?

45

Decapitated Teddy Bear

By Molly Rosenberg
Decapitated teddy bear
Your button eyes so blank
Decapitated teddy bear
When I saw you my heart sank
Decapitated teddy bear

Oh how I cry for you
Decapitated teddy bear
All the things you didn’t do
You’ve earned a sky of grey
Decapitated teddy bear
I think it’s time to put you away

Huckle’s Gaze

By Chloe Pearson

46

Home

By Ella Barker
Today was the day that I had dreaded for months now. My thoughts fluttered back to a
few months ago, when my parents were sitting me and my siblings down. They were trying to pre-
pare us for what they were about to say. Yet nothing could prepare me for the words about to be
spoken. All of this was too familiar to me, way too familiar. I clenched my hands tightly. Finally the
exact words I was afraid of came out of their mouths: “We are moving.” Next thing I knew my
body had collapsed, shaking, as my family hugged each other.
Looking back I should have known what was happening. I had been through that scenario
before. Now standing in front of the house that I had spent the majority of my life in, I clutched my
last memory of the house to my chest. Tears threatened to flow, but I tried to choke them in. I
would be leaving my home, friends, school, teachers, and everything I had here to live some-
where I didn’t want to. A place where I would have to create all of that again.
It was time to go now. I had already said most of my goodbyes. The last one I had left was
to say goodbye to our house. The house my family worked so hard to fix up. The added wooden
deck that I would sit on and read for hours in the sunlight and the millions of stairs inside the
house forcing me to exercise everyday. The forested backyard wasn't scattered with the shell of a
bus anymore.
You could almost see into my bedroom window, gazing in on a now empty room that was
filled only with memories. Memories of my sister and me together, memories of me by myself, and
memories of my friends and me. “Goodbye, House,” I croaked in a whisper, before I was called to
come get in the car by my parents.
We started driving, slowly at first but then getting faster and faster until the trees blurred
into one green splotch of color. Tears streaked my face as we drove further and further away from
my home.

* **
The car ride had been a disaster; for fifteen hours I had been an emotional wreck. My
family tried to cheer me up and it would work for a few seconds, but then I would remember
where we were going and that we weren't going back. Now we were only five minutes away from
my new house; the knot forming in my stomach wasn’t getting any better. I tried closing my eyes
to make me feel okay. It started to work, but then my peacefulness was broken by my parents
saying we had arrived.
As we pulled up to the pale blue house I opened my eyes. My vision of the house was
nothing like it truly was. There was a odd porch on the top of the roof that was impossible to
reach. There was no back yard or front yard like I was used to, only two side yards. However, the
place seemed very similar to my old house; after all, a house is a home no matter what. I walked
in the back door greeted by the emptiness that my family would soon fill.
My life will become the way it was and maybe even better. I will find friends I love. My
house will become a home of new memories and old ones combined. I love North Carolina and I
can learn to love here too.

47

FINDING COURAGE

Lillian In The Woods

By Amarech Kohn

48

Never Ending Road My Poem

By Ellie Kachoria By Luisa DeCicco
Dance remains my passion

Life is a never ending road, It is seen by dancers
Never perfect, Imagine yourself taking to the air
Proving your secrets you have hidden
Not always smooth and easy-going.
Sometimes, your car breaks down, You must not hide yourself
You must be seen by the competition
And you can’t move.
You can’t just stay on the side of the road, The people that ever imagined
Hoping you’ll appear where you need to be. Looking straight remain moving
Dancing, passionate, caring, powerful
Maybe you take a wrong turn, Hold your head high, take control
You have to find your way back. Prove yourself, you deserve it
Maybe you’ll get in a traffic jam, Dance like nobody’s watching
And have to find another route.
Life isn’t a smooth, easy going road,

Enjoy the challenges,
Enjoy the twists and turns,

Enjoy going uphill.
You can't just stop, and give up.

Push down on the gas pedal,
And keep on moving!

49

Just Listen The Death of Someone

By Lillian Forney By Clara Webster
The death of someone
Just listen leaves perilous hearts.
And stop your rambling
You’ve always talked Words wobbling
unspoken on the tongue.
But just this once Breaths shortened. Tear-stained pillows
Stop and think. The death of something

It takes a lot, leaves broken paths.
To voice my opinion Pieces that eventually get taped back together.
To open my mouth
And let myself be heard. Pieces that can break now
I fear no one cares, ever so easily.
Or no one will listen,
Which is why I ask But, for some reason,
death leaves an urgency for death.
Now, please
Just listen. Destruction.
For some reason you don't know

if you can go on any longer.
I find this very interesting.

Can't someone see
that if death left them hurt
their death would just hurt someone else too?

It's a circle of dread
that we never want to enter.
It's vulnerability and it's loss.
"We're all going sometime."
So why does it have to be today?

50