Felicity SEAL 2024

SEAL 2024

STAFF

KatherineHornby

AvaPetrecca

SofiaUribe

KatieWong

MaureenBrady Instructor

Felicity: SEAL Magazine 2024 isacurrentexpressionofAcademy students’spiritual,emotional,psychologicalandsociallives. From freshmantosenior,thespectrumofcreativeworkwithinreflectsthe variousstagesandaspectsoftheirjourney.

Selections were chosen for their unique voices-- often quirky, playful,andmysterious. Whileoccasionallysomberandraw,the overalltoneisstrong,sassyandresilientasstudentslookforward toabrightfuture.

Inlessthanthreemonths,ourDigitalPublishingstudentslearned basicconceptsofdesignandhowtouseadigitallayoutplatform. They poured over hundreds of  student submissions, chose a representative mix, organized the visual and written work thematically,andlaidouttheelementsonthesepages.

Wehopeyouenjoy Felicity.

THANKS

JanetAntico

KateDeMatos

EllenDenuto

CatherineReilly

CristinaRovayo

AlexandraSettembrino

Constant - Avery Kelly (top), Power - Bridget Lomax (bottom) Wonder - Morgan Lomax

Imagine a vessel, carefully crafted encapsulate the essence of an individual-sanctuary of secrets, a pool of pondering thoughts,andaquietconfidant.Thisobjectis adorned with colorful accents and a textured surface that gently envelops blank canvases, yearningtobefilled.Withintherealmofthis object lies millions of doorways that lead to worldswaitingtounfold,fordreamstocome tolife,andforsoul-searchingtotakeflight.As the page turns, symphonies of various ink colorsdancefrompagetopage,engravingan author's voice. In this case, I am the author. And the key to unlocking my innermost self startedwithonesmallword:“cherries.”      Aneight-year-old,brown-hairedgirlsitsin her bed with only the moon to help her see, holdinghervoice-activateddiaryclosetoher chest. “Cherries,” she whispers softly, awaitingthemagictohappen.Yetagain,that hotpinkdoorunlocksandopensthetunnelto

work,herheartdoesthespeaking,givingher asenseofcalm.Astheweekspass,thereisn’t a day where the word “cherries” is not spoken.

Now, a sixteen-year-old, brown-haired girlliesawakeinherbed,andthebrightest colorsfillherhead.Shereachesouttoward hernightstand,lookingforeitheratassel,a surfacecoveredingrooves,orgolden-lined pages.Asshegraspsherjournal,herfingers glide across the crisp paper, tracing over inklingsofintrospectionandmostcherished moments.

Andintherealmofpersonalgrowthand transformation,thereexistsahiddentool,a key,toopenthetunnelthatleadstoafresh start. Offering solace and understanding in times of trouble, and whispering waves of encouragement in moments of self-doubt,

lockeddoorwasoneIhadalwayswanted ItisonlyrecentlythatIrealizedthat ithasalwaysbeenopen,andIhavebeenthe key.AsIgrewup,Imayhavegraduatedfrom my hot pink, voice-activated diary to something more mature, but the thought of “cherries” has never left my mind. As a juvenilegirl,allIdidwaswriteaboutthepast, but now, as I continue to write, I am slowly beginningtonarratemyfuture.

Whilesomethingassmallasaneight-letter word may seem meaningless to you, that simple word means everything to me. That word encouraged me to take up the pen, flip open to a blank canvas, and unlock my ideal entrance to success and security with the opportunitytorewritemystory.Anunwritten chapteriscallingmynameforasecondchance, allIhavetodoismusterthecouragetoturn thepage,seizethepen,andfearlesslywritemy owndestiny.

Divine Sophia - Acrylic - Brooke Wesbecker

Untouched Reflections

by  Jacqueline O’Connor

Inthemirror’sgaze,achoiceunfolds, Togiveintothepowders,thecreams, ThepaintIusetohidemyverybeing, Ortoleavemyselfuntouched. Raw,natural,andhuman.

Ihavemademydecision, Fortwodays,Imustrefrain, Andbattleagainstmydisdainfuleyes. Imustmeetmybarereflectioninthemorning Anddaretoleaveitasitis.

Noconcealertobrightenmyunder-eyeshadows, Noblushtocloakmynaturalhue. Myeyelashesareleftunextended, Andmyeyebrows,unbrushed. Ifeelnoneedtoenhance Whatisalreadymadeperfect.

Myfaceisacanvas, Unadornedbypigmentsthatarenotmyown. Ihavesetasidecosmetics, Andintheirplace,Ihavefoundtime, Timetolivefreely, Timetoaccomplishmore, And,mostimportantly, TimetocelebratewhoIam, Raw,natural,andhuman.

Digital Art by Katie Wong: Lonesome (top)

Sugar (middle)

Fireflies (bottom)

Confused - Acrylic - Devyn DeLaura (left)

More Than Fine

by Ava Breault

Drivingdowntheparkway Going79, ListeningtoSpringsteen Everything’smorethanfine.

Ourlastsummer

Takingitallin Makingmemories,ourlastattempt

Leavingthebeachwithtanlines, Returningtoparentsdrinkingsummertimewine Everything’smorethanfine.

Asthesummerstartstodwindle, Wepreparetoleave Alltherelationshipswe’vejustrekindled Thebittersweetmemories

Remember,takeamomenttobreathe Youaresomuchmorethanyouseem We’llmissthesummers, Buteverything’sgoingtobemorethanfine.

Home From College

by Emily Muir

Itstartedlikeanyothernight,familydinner.Mysisterhadreturned fromcollegeforChristmasbreak,sothedebateswereevenlivelierthan usual.Afterdinner,mysiblingsandIheadedtoanotherroomtowatch TV.Igushedaboutfriendstomysister.Westoppedinourfamilyroom; my sister started spilling advice. Time flew by unnoticed; my brother wenttobed.MysisterandIspentmoretimetogetherwatchingamovie. Mysisterrandomlypausedthemovietoshareherinvaluablewisdom. Inthatmomentmyworriesvanished;myworldfeltsimpleforawhile.

A Summer Stroll by

Morgan Lomax

Thelandscapeburstswithsummer’sfragrantscent, Asflowersbloomanddrowsilyunfurl; Andthoughtheboughsoftreesstraintorelent, TheybeartheweightofNature’sheavytoll.

Forevenwiththeirverdantcanopy, Thatformsalacebelowtheheaven’srealm, TheSunwillshineinperpetuity Andstriketheleaves,intenttooverwhelm.

Andstilltheirrootswhichplungeintotheearth, Toseeksomerespitefromthelightofday, Mightsoondiscoverthatthesoil’sworth, ThroughApril’srain,hasallbeenwashedaway.

Yetstrollingthroughtheforest’sscentedpaths, ManthinksthatfromEarth’sfrayheisdetached!

Vacation Home

by Annie Rojack

Iwalkedupthestairs,pasttheemptybedrooms,andcrawled under my covers. It didn’t feel the same. With my siblings in college,itneverwouldagain.Iwantedtogobacktowatching DisneyChannelshowsonthecouchtogetheruntilwewerecalled upfordinner,tojumpingonthetrampolineuntilsomeonegot hurt,tohavingsleepoversineachother'srooms.Iwantedtogo backtoknowingwhattheydidthatdaywithouthavingtolook at Instagram. Now, I accept that what used to be home is now justtheirvacationhome.

Someone watches me everywhere hearfootstepsatnight.Doorsopen by themselves. There have been times something I have placed on a table aloneforafewminutesdisappears trace. Am I living with a ghost, or goinginsane?

I sit at my computer trying newspaper article but can’t write. checking my surroundings like someone watchingmyeverymove.MaybeI crazy,ormaybeI’mjusttired.Idecided tobed. Untuckingthecovers,Iglance familiar bed, empty walls, and the stacksofboxesIhaven’tunpacked.

Imovedintomyhouseafewmonths excited to start a new chapter of my hopeful to make some friends. However, excitement soon turned into paranoia. houseseemednormalatfirst,butthen footsteps at night. Initially, I thought imagining things, but now I’m sure real. The ghost who lives in my house rowdyone.

Ilieinmybed,contemplatingmylife. Will Ieversleeppeacefullyagain? Icouldmove, butIstilladorethishouse.EversinceIsawit, Ifellinlovewithitscalmingchestnutwalls, cylindricalwindows,andopenlayout.Iknew this was where I wanted to live, but now I questionmydecision.

Clumsily,Itripoveracloth,landingheadfirst. Ineverplacedthatclothontheground.Igive upinanger,hopingthenextstepwillbemore helpful.

Step2:Contactandseekassistancefrom familyandfriends.Youwillfindcomfortin theirhelpandconcern.

I hesitantly dial my mother’s phone number. Itellheraboutmysituation,realizing it was a horrible decision to call. Anything would have been better than hearing my mother call me deranged and unhinged. I try explaining to her, but she won’t listen. She speakstomeinacondescendingtone,telling me to get help from the doctor as if I need a mentalcheckup;shedoesn’tbelieveawordI say.  Great!  Now, I am isolated.  Nobody is heretoreassuremeorspeaktome.Iamalone inlife--exceptwhenI’mathome.There,I’m neveralone.

Step 3: Make a ghost-repellent. Your ghostwillleaveonitsown.

Ifnooneelseisgoingtohelpme,Ibetter helpmyself.Iscourtheinternetforrecipesto repel ghosts. I could make ghost glitter by

A genius idea lights up my mind. The internet has the answers to everything. Why didn’tIthinkofthissooner? Ijumpfrommy bed,flickthelightswitch,andploponmydesk chair. I turn on the computer and search for waystocatchghosts.Thefirstresultisanad forreal-lifeghostbusters;Iscoff.Neverwill I ever resort to something that outrageous. I scroll down, looking for a more sensible option. The second result is a list called “A Beginner’s Guide to Catching a Ghost.” It’s worth a try! Maybe if I follow these steps, I couldmoveonwithmylife.

burningsage,abathinfusedwithholywater, or a piñata filled with positive words. Who wrote these recipes? Though they are ridiculous,Idecidetogiveoneatry.Ifollow therecipefortheghostglitter,sinceitseems the most sensible. I buy sage, burn it, and sprinkleitthroughoutmyhouse.Thatnight, afterI concoctingthe substance,I stillhear footsteps.

WhenIwakeupthenextmorning,small footprintscovermyfloorsandmyfurniture was dusted in gray. The ghost must have spread the ashes around my house. Why didn’t the sage scare away the ghost? I examine the footprints. They are tiny and oddly shaped. Strangely, they look like an animal’s.Didmyghosthaveapet?

Step4:Hireaghost-huntingbusiness.

Never did I think I would stoop so low. My finger hover over the phone number, hesitant to call. I take a deep breath and a plunge. Itelltheghost-huntersaboutmynew roommateand,foronce,someonetreatsme likeI'msane.

The next day, I hear a knock. I tiptoe aroundthehouse,scanningeverydoorfora sightingoftheetherealfigureplayingjokes onme.Then,Irealizetheghosthuntershad arrived.Ianswerthedoor,tryingnottothink aboutmymishap.

Theysearchthehouseforwhatseemslike hours, opening every cabinet, walking into every room, and looking under every bed. They use the most outrageous tools, too. I

can’t even watch when they pull out an obnoxiously large, neon-green inflatable camera.  And they have a vacuum that “sucks up spiritual essence." For my safety, I have to standoutsidetheroomuntiltheyfinishusingit. AsIeditapaperatmydesk,theworkerscome down wearing defeated frowns. One tells me, “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but we failed to find anything.Yourhouseiscompletelyghost-free.”

Myheartdrops.Istutter,“Areyousure?I'm certainsomethingislivinginmyhouse.”

Themanshakeshishead.“I’msorry,butwe didourjob,andwecan’thelpyouanyfurther. Maybeyoushouldgetamentalcheck-up.Have aniceday.”Theystarttopackuptheirridiculous equipment.

Here I am, back at the start. Is this my life now?AmIevergoingtosleepagain?Mygut tells me contacting ghost hunters was a silly idea. Ishouldhavelistened,insteadofwasting mytimeandmoney.

The ghost hunters are leaving when we all heard...bleats,likeananimal’s,echoingthrough myemptyhallways.

Onemanthrowshisequipmenttotheground andsearchesforthesource.MaybeI'mnotgoing crazy! Inafewminutes,heemergeswithababy goat in his arms. Apparently, this small fluffy goat was living in my basement. The ghost hunterstellmetheyneverheardofanysituation likemine.Theyguessthatsinceitwasababy, thegoattraveledaroundmyhouseinthemiddle ofthenight,searchingforitsmother.Myheart meltsasIstareatthepoor,lonelybaby.      Beforelong,Idecidetokeepthegoat. After all, I'm lonely, too, and could use some company.  The next day, I register the goat at thevet,andnameherCasper.

Step 5: Find a roommate. Some people mayjustfeelscaredlivingaloneinanempty house.

CasperisthebestroommateIcouldeverask for. She keeps me company and comforts me whenI'mupset. Imaynothavefoundanyhuman friends yet, but Casper and I are best friends, And,fornow,thatismorethanenough.

Break the Chains - Pencil - Brugge Erickson

Pink Paradise

The Pink Eraser

by Francesca Coniglio

The day had finally come. The day I had been planning for years. I was going to give the eraser back. I had borrowed my friend’s pink,heart-shapederaserfouryearsago,and Iforgottoreturnit.Iamapersonwhosticks to their promises, and the fact I still had this eraserburdenedmyconscienceforyearsand years; I couldn’t take it anymore. When I borrowedtheeraser,Iwasinfifthgradeina schoolinScotland.  Isearchedmyoldfriend’s name online and discovered she still lived there.Unfortunately,IhadmovedtotheU.S. That meant I would have to travel a great

distance, but nothing was going to stop me fromgivingthiseraserback.

Icouldhavetakenaplaneoraboatthere, but my parents wouldn’t let me pay for a flight to only give back a silly eraser. That meant I needed to find an alternate way. I packedabackpackwithonlynecessitiesand thecovetederaser.ThenIputonmyswimsuit and walked to the beach, which was only a fewblocksawayfrommyhouse.Itookadeep breathandjumpedintothecooloceanwater, beginning my journey to swim across the AtlanticOcean.Ihadmappedoutmyroute,

and it would only take about 36 days. I just neededtotakeminimalbreaks.

Afterhoursuponhoursoftrekkingthrough thewater,Ihadreachedthecoast.Afterasking aroundthetown,Ilocatedmyfriend’shouse and returned the eraser. She didn’t even say thank you, she just said. “You can keep it. I don’twantitanymore.”Shehandedmeback theeraser.Isighedinanguish.Ihadswamfor what seemed like a year for me to be back whereIstarted,withtheeraserinmyhand.

Bubblegum Bliss

by Carly Dumaresq

InthesmalltownofBrookeville,amannamedLarryalwayswished formoreexcitement.Oneday,whilestrollingthroughthetownsquare, he stumbled upon a magical lamp. After giving it a rub, a lively genie appeared,readytogranthimthreewishes.Ashisfirstwish,Larrywished foranever-endingsupplyofbubblegum.      Suddenly,hishousetransformedintoabubblegumparadise,withwalls and furniture made of bubblegum wrappers. However, as Larry tried to liftonefootoffthefloor,herealizedhewasstuck.Panicking,hecalled forhelp.Whenthetownspeoplecametorescuehim,thebubblegumgrew, and Larry was nowhere to be seen. As the bubblegum overflowed, the townspeopleleft,hopingitwouldnotspread.

Childhood Enchantment

by Madelyn Riordan

Wefoundrocksandmadethemintotables,weaddedwallsand tinydecorations.Wemadethetinyhouseasenchantingasitcould be. I was a hopeful little girl awaiting magic to appear in my backyard.Myoldercousin,mylittlesisterandIhadputsomuch effortintothetinyfairyhouse.Weleftforafewhours,andwhen wecameback,wekneltdownnexttothedaintyhouse,lookedin, andsawthem.Thereweretinyfairieswithlittlebagsofpixiedust and notes to each one of us. We had radiant smiles, we were exuberantandfulfilled.Ifonlychildhoodmagicwasafeelingthat lasted.Imissthewistfulness.Imissthewonder.

Heavenly Rays - Acrylic - Angelina Salese (opposite)

Chocolate Covered - Acrylic - Gracelyn Spina (left)

Donuts - Acrylic - Evelyn West (top right)

Sisters - Oil - Montserrat Soriano Gutierrez (bottom right)

Melodies & Ink

by Ciara Mulcahy

Hundredsofthousandsofwordsonapage, Ineedtoknowthemall.

Hundredsofdifferentsongsonreplay, Igettohumalong.

Anewbookgivesmeanewlifetohave.

Anewsonghelpsmelearnmyown.

AnescapeorembraceisallthatIneed,

Ican’tpossiblydoitalone.

Thewallsthatsurroundme

Aremadeofpagesandmeasures,

Thewordsarethedoorstocomein.

Atthelastnoteandfinalwords

Imournthelossoftheescape.

Ican’tbealonewithmythoughts,

I’vefalleninlovewithmelodiesandink.

Love & Loss

by Samantha Farnsworth

Praynowforafairsummer, Seethegreatdoingsintheworld

And,forlove,itwillsoonitselfcomeback Iwakeandwalkaboutthehouse,

AsthoughI’dfindyoucomingthroughsomedoor.

Youlovedmethenandyoudonow,

OrdidIdreamthat?

Asuddencoldwind,atremblingbelowtheground

Envyisadeadlysin

Soletherturnherselfcoldnow

Iseenowyourspirittwistsaroundthesingleerrorofmylife

Weburnahotfirehere;itmeltsdownallconcealment

IwillleaveandIwillnotcomebackagain

IwillcutoffmyhandbeforeI'lleverreachforyouagain

Iwillnevergiveyouhopetowaitforme.

The Nails  -  Ava Montaruli (top)

Nuzzo (middle)

Rust

Olivia Nuzzo (bottom)

How Soon Is Now? - Oil -  Valentina Barbella (opposite)

Window Panes

by Caroline O'Callaghan

Thewindowatmydesk

Aviewtotheyard

Winterspringsummerfall

Theglassstandsstrong

Windrainhailsnowsleet

Thewindowinsulatesmefromtheworld

AsIlookoutuponthelawn

Iadmirethroughtheglass

Thecolorfulriseandfallofeachday

Fromthebleakdarknessofmygrayroom

Eachmorningthelightfromthewindow

Rousesmyheadfromrest

Theglassthatseparatesme

Fromtheelements,thebeauty,thecold.

Double Take - Acrylic - Harrison Parker (top)

White Lily - Morgan Lomax (bottom)

Cola Cam - Mixed Media - Sarah Heflin (left)

The Cold Embrace

by Francesca Coniglio

Twodays.Nosteam,nocomfortingwarmth.Nothingbuttheshockingchillofacold shower.Asthefirstdropoffrigidwaterpiercedmyskin,goosebumpseruptedacrossmy arm. My teeth chattered and my body shivered. But as the cold enveloped me, it transformed,awakeningmysenses.Steppingoutoftheshower,Iwasn’taccompanied bysteamycomfort,butbyacrispenergythatlingeredwithmethroughouttheday.Ifelt alertandfresh,readytotakeonwhateverImayhaveencountered.Imissedtheheat,but thebriefdiscomfortopenedthedoortoanewfeeling.IfeltasifIwasabletobepresent inthemomentandnoticewhatwasgoingonaroundme.AllbecauseIturnedtheknob downonmyshower.Hotshowersmayreturntomorrow,butthememoriesofthechilly showerswillstickwithme,forIhavediscoveredwarmthwithin.

Runway Resilience

by Kylee Rafferty

A hush fell over the elegant fashion show as I trippedonmyextravagantgown,tumblingontothe runway. Iwassomortified,Iwantedtocrawlina hole! Theroomhelditsbreath,awaitingmyreaction. Instead of hiding, I rose with grace, my misstep transforming into a beautiful pivot. The audience exploded in cheers, transforming my mistaken fall into a great moment. I discovered the strength to shine in my weakness, and the road to success becamepavedwithcourage.

Rapunzel - Mixed Media - Olivia Ventola (above) Abstract - Acrylic - Grace Walsh (left)

Innocence  Interrupted

Every day of my life felt like it was the same:itwassoroutine.Thebuspulledupto my house around 3:45 every single day. My brotherNicholasandIgotoff,excitedtoget home after a long day of school. I was three months into middle school and biggest issue

Spanish

toMichaelswithmymomtogetthematerials tomakeapilgrimhatoutofapot.Iremember sovividlyreturninghomeonthevergeoftears because my project just about broke in class whileIwasassemblingit.AllIwantedatthat momentwasmymom.

Whenweopenedthesidedoor,something was off. The house was dark. We called out "Mom,"butnooneanswered.Beforewecould even think, my aunt and cousins pulled up. “Your mom and dad got stuck in traffic.” Those words echo in my mind every time I thinkbackbecauseIwouldgiveanythingfor thattohavebeenthetruth.

Wespentthatafternoonatmyaunt'shouse, and by dinner time I knew something was wrong. Who gets stuck in traffic for 3 hours? Around8PMmydadcametogetus. Helooked tiredanddrained.

“Wherewereyou?”Iasked.

“Thehospital,” hesaid.

Iwantedtobelievethatmydadwouldtake mehomeandmymomwouldbelyingonthe

couchwithabrokenarmorsomethingminor, butIknewsomethingwasseriouslywrong. Dad's next words shattered my heart: “We don'tknowwhatiswrongwithheryet. The doctorsarekeepingherthereforafewdays.”

Myworldwastossedupsidedowninamatter ofminutesandlivingthatroutinelifedidn’t soundsobadanymore.

"My world was tossed upside down in a matter of minutes and living that routine life didn’t sound so bad anymore."

Thanksgiving

Ithadbeentwoexcruciatingdayswithout Momandstillnoanswers. Myfamilyalways hosts Thanksgiving and my mom always preparesfordays.Soforthosetwodays,we came home to a house that was ready for a holidaythatwewouldnotbecelebrating.The night before Thanksgiving my dad told NicholasandIthatwewouldgotoseeMom in the morning and  watch the parade with her.

Iwokeupthatmorningsoexcitedbecause it would be the first time I saw her since Tuesday morning.  I ran down the stairs as mydadgotaphonecallfromthedoctor. My dadcameintothefamilyroomtotelluswe weren't going to see Mom after all.  He couldn’ttelluswhyatthatmoment,butyears laterIwouldfindoutthattheswellingofmy mom’s brain needed a craniotomy, and she hadtobeputinacoma.

Allhappinessandlightweredrainedfrom thatThanksgiving.Weatewhateverfoodwe had in the house as we awaited my

A True Story by Julia Paragano

grandparent'sarrival.Mymom’sparentslived inFloridaandtheycametohelpusdealwith everything. This made me realize that something really bad was  happening, I just didn't know what. I remember feeling like I wasinthedark,butIamforevergratefultomy fatherforkeepingmethere.

Christmas

The holiday season felt dull: everything wasdifferentandIhatedit.Iremembersetting up the Christmas decorations and getting so madatmyGrandmaforputtingeverythingin different spots. That's not how Mom used to setitup.MydadtoldmethatIneededtobe nicerandthatChristmaswouldlookdifferent this year. “Remember your Grandmother doesn'thaveherdaughterrightnow,justlike youdon'thaveyourmom,”hewouldsay.       ChristmasmorningcameandIremember looking at the tree with all the presents and feeling so angry. Everything was just so different than how my mom would do it. It soundssostupidthinkingbackatitnow,but when you have been used to a certain magic on Christmas morning, it's hard when that spark is gone. I opened my presents and felt disappointed.IgotsomadatmyGrandma:she was messing everything up. I ran up to my room and started to cry.   My dad walked in and said that I should apologize to Grandma becauseIhurtherfeelings.Iwantedtoscream, “I want Mom back so badly! I want Mom back!” Years later my dad has told me that Christmas morning was one of the hardest things he had to do without Mom. I was so focused on myself that I forgot my dad was barelyholdingonandhewasmissingher,too.

NewYear's

Atthedinnertableeverynightwetriedour hardest not to discuss what was going on.  It wasliketheelephantintheroomthatnoone wanted to talk about. One night during Christmas break, my dad and grandparents werediscussinghowtheyhadstartedtowake upmymom.Backthenmydadmadesureno oneusedthe“coma”wordbecausehewanted to shield me. So they were very careful how theywordedeverything.

“Mom is going to start to wake up soon. Thedoctorsaregoingtoslowlytakeawaythe medicinethatismakinghersleep,”Dadsaid.

Over It - Acrylic - Devyn DeLaura

Despite the good news, the house was in a cloud of tension that week.  My dad and grandparents were stressed and worried. I wassoconfused.Whywasn'titagoodthing thatMomwaswakingup?WhenIaskedmy dadwhytheyweren’texcited,heexplained thattheydidn'tknowifshewouldwakeup, andifshedidifshewouldhavehermemories. Myheartstopped. Howcouldmyownmom forgetme?

Stressedout,formanynightsIwastossing and turning; I just couldn’t sleep thinking aboutmymom.TheideaofhowIwasliving now being permanent scared me. I didn’t want my Grandma to be my new mom. I wantedmyteachers,friendsandadultstojust treatmenormalagain.Ireallywantedmydad tobehappyagain,andIwantedthedarkcloud thathadbeencoveringmylifetobelifted.      A few nights later, right before New Year's Eve, my dad came into my room to tuckmein.Thistimewithhimwasspecial. Hestartedmakingahabitofdoingthiswhen

Momgotsickbecauseitwasatimeoftheday forjustthetwoofus.Hewassobusywithwork andmakingsurehevisitedmymommultiple timesaday,thatsometimesIwouldn'tseehim until night. That particular night, when he camein,theairshifted:itwaslighter.      “Yourmomwokeuptoday,”hesaid.The biggest smile came across my face. I saw somethingcomeovermydad’sface,too,that Ihadn’tseenthisentiretime.Hestartedtoget alittleteary-eyedashetoldme,“Beforeshe was taken out of the room for a scan she mouthed, ‘I’m okay, I love you.’” My smile grewsomuchmore.Sherememberedus.      Aftermymomwokeupshewasmovedto Kessler Rehab Center, and in February, I visited her for the first time. It was weird, to saytheleast.Shecouldn'tmove,herheadwas shaved, she was so tiny, and she sounded different.Mydadexplaineditwasbecauseher voice had rested for a month so she sounded quieter.Shelookedweakandnotlikethemom Iremembered.Itwassohardseeingher.From

February onward I would only visit her once everytwoweeksonSundays.Ihatesayingthis, butapartofmedidn'tlikeseeingheratall.

Easter

During spring break my dad took me and mybrothertovisitheralotmoreoften.Because it was nicer outside, we could push Mom aroundthefacilityinherwheelchair.Oneday theytolduswecouldbringourdogbecauseit might be good for her to see our pet, so we brought Murphy. Mom was rolled out to the courtyard area and I remember how excited Murphywastoseeher.Mydadplacedthedog onherlapandMom’sfacelitup.Shetoldus shewasnervoustoseehim,butimmediately shefellbackintoarhythmwithhim.Afterour visit, Mom was freaking out, in a good way though!Itremindedmeofhowsheusedtobe asshestressedoverMurphymakingamessof her leggings.  “Why didn't you bring a lint roller?”sheasked. IwassohappywhenIleft because something so little as freaking out aboutdogfuronherclotheswasahintthatmy oldmomwascomingback.

On Easter, we visited again. I was all dressed up and so excited to show her my Easteroutfit.ThiswasthefirsttimeIwentout withmydadtobuyadressforaholiday,and I wanted Mom to see what I had picked out. Wespentaboutanhourwithher,talkingabout whatwegotfromtheEasterBunnyandwhat weweregoingtodofortheday.Bytheendof thevisit,allIwantedtodowastakeherhome but,shewasstuckthere.

Mother'sDay

Theweatherwaswarmeragainandtheend oftheschoolyearwasnear.ItwastheFriday beforeMother’sDayandIhadaGirlsScouts meeting after school.  After the meeting my friend's moms drove me home and when I walked up to my front door something felt different.Iopenedthedoorandtherewasmy mom!Itfeltsounreal.Shewashere,shewas home,thiswasreal.Iranupandgaveherabig hug,orasgoodahugasIcouldwithherina wheelchair. The timing was perfect. She arrivedhomejustbeforeMother'sDay,andwe spentthatweekendalltogethercelebratingmy momforherstrength.

Under Control - Oil Pastel - Devyn DeLaura

Sensory

Blank Canvas

by Emma Ginsberg

Thesmellofafreshlypaintedroomhitsyou assoonasyoustepfootontothecoldwooden floorsthatleadtomybedroomdoor.Theplain, blank white walls stare at you with ten eyes wondering what is next for them. These monotonous walls hold endless possibilities, like a blank canvas waiting to be painted, decorated,andmadeyourown.Isitonmybed, inmyemptybedroom,surroundedbynothing but these plain white, freshly painted walls, questioningmylife.Thoughtsrushthroughmy brain, one after another, distracting me from everything else in my life. I forget how to breatheand functionastheinsidevoicestake over my body, whispering a thousand little details, ideas, and critiques. Decorating this

brand-new bedroom is like the pressure of deciding what is next in your life. A clean startIhave.Acleanstartinlife.Acleanstart with my bedroom. A clean start with my family. A clean start with myself. The pressureofdecidingsuchalittlething,like decorating my room, stresses me out, and I starttosweat.Myhairlinestartstofeelwarm anddamp.Whyisthissuchabigdealtome? Why does it matter so much? Can’t you always change your room? Questions flow throughmymindasifIdon’talreadyknow the answers. My face turns red as embarrassment comes over me, stemming fromthefeelingofnotbeingunderstood.No onewillunderstandwhythisissoimportant

to me, but the little people are constantly jumping around in my brain and I will understand. I look around all four corners of my room once again and finally settle on a decision-- to keep what looked like boring wallsthesameastheyarenow:freshlypainted, plainwhitewalls.Whatappearstobeboring to everyone else isn’t to me. These walls describeme.Plain,boring,andnotunderstood from the exterior, but built with layers and layers of history, from sadness to happiness, making me more than what I appear to be physically. Like the walls' layers of wood, drywallandplaster,Ihavelayersofemotions, experiences, memories, history, trauma, sadness,andhappiness,thatmakemeEmma.

Heat Wave

by Grace Hiatrides

ThegustofheathitsmyfaceasIwalkintotheclassroom.Everyone wasquiet,nottalking--exceptformeandmyfriends.Wealwaysfinda waytohaveaconversation.AsIsitinmyseat,theheatisreallygetting tome.I'mjustthinking,“Howmuchlongerisleftinschool?”and“I'mso hungry."Onlyrealizingitisstill9AM,IknowIjusthavetositback,relax, andgetthroughtherestoftheday.Scanningthetenotherpeople,Isee everyonesilentlydoingtheirwork,thestillnessbrokenonlybytheteacher discussinganassignmentwithaclassmateandthetinyfanattemptingto coolusdown.Icansmellmyperfume,theoneeveryonealwaystriesto stealfromme.

Feelingmyfingersclickingthekeyboardonmycomputer towritemyfirstjournalentry,thestressisonmetomakethebeststory, but in his heat wave I'm just trying my best to think. The taste of my Starbucksthismorninglingersinmymouth,makingmewishIhadmore andthinkofthenicedrivetoschoolthismorningintheairconditioned car.AirconditioningisallIcanthinkabout;airconditioningisallIneed.

Sole

Symphony

by Alea Bediner

IfeltthecomfortablepaddingbeneathmyfeetasIsteppedinto myfavoritesneakers,providingawarmbufferbetweenmeandthe chillyground.Asymphonyofacitywascreatedbytherhythmic thud of every stride resonating through the rubber soles. But as I removedmyshoesandwalkedbarefootonthegrasscoveredindew, a faint rebellious feeling raced through my body. The ground enveloped me in its crisp but rough grumbles, reawakening an instinctivebondthatwentbeyondthesturdinessofshoes.

Blues - Mixed Media - Piper Tricarico (opposite) Ocean - Maddy Brisby (left) Summer Sky - Maddy Brisby (top right)

Dreary Day, Pretty Leaves - Morgane Farrell (bottom right)

Monarch

by  Katherine Hornby

Iwatchedherthinlipsslurpthesoupoffherspoon.Iwonderedif the fresh chicken noodle warmed up her cold heart.  “So…” she awkwardlybegantospeak,“haveyoupickedoutapromdress?”What amundanequestion.IwantedtorollmyeyesbutItoldmyselfbefore comingherethatIneededtobenice.

“No,Ihavenot,”Ireplied.

“Hmm…” She responded not knowing what to say, “Well, you alwayslookedgoodinyellow.Youshouldgowiththat.”

“Thanks.”Silenceloomedoverus,“HowhaveyouandLukebeen? Isn’titfouryearscomingup? Man,itiscrazyyouguyshavebeen togethersincebeforeweproperlyhitpuberty!”Ichuckledtryingto lightenthemood.

“Actually,”Ifeltmysmiledropasshecontinued,“Webrokeup awhileago.Itjustwasn’tright.”

“What?!”Ijumpedfromshock,“ButyouandLuke-” Iwasstunned.Howcouldhavetheybrokenup?HowdidInotknow? Iwastherewhentheystarteddatingbackinmiddleschool!

“Itwasawhileago,”sherepeatedandtookasipoflemonade.

Lookatus.WeusedtobewhiskedawayonadventuresinNYC, oroffonourannualsunnyvacationtoFloridaforbeachesandDisney. Nowwe'resuffocatinginagrossPaneraBreadbooth,unabletohold a conversation, not knowing the details of each other's day-to-day life.Shetoldmethatwecouldfixthis,andshetoldmethatwecould gobacktothewaythingswere.Iknewthatwasalie.Iknewfrom thedayImetheradeceivingMonarchcouldneverbethetruebest friendofaMothdrawntoaflame. Shewasadelicatepoison,yetI amthefoolwhowascrazilyintrigued.Shetookanotherslurpoffher spoon.

“HaveyouheardbackfromGeorgetownyet?”Sheaskedannoyed fromthelasttopicbuteagertocontinue,attemptingtorekindlethis clearlyfadedrelationship.

“No,”Ipausedforaminutelookingdownatmyhands,“I-Ididn’t even apply.” I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to take thatstupidsoupandthrowitinherface.

“Oh…well,whereveryouendup…Iamsureyouwillmakethe mostofit.”Herreplystungmyheart.The“whereverIendup”used to be a dream of our shared dorm room which would eventually translate into our next door houses and shared yards that our kids, who would undoubtedly be best friends, would run around in. The “whereverIendup”willneverbetheseatnexttoheranymore.The “whereverIendup”hasmecountedoutofherfuturelife.

Theworldpreparesyouforyourfirstbreakup,thefirstheartache. Theyneverprepareyouforthefirsttimesomeoneasksyouwhoyour bestfriendisandthenameofyour“bestfriend”strugglestocometo mind.Therealpaindoesnotcomefromsomestupidlyhotlacrosse boy. The real pain comes from the 5’4" blonde with a Starbucks addiction.

Cut Paper:

Butterfly - Ava Montaruli (top)

Slice - Gracelyn Spina (middle)

Zebra - Stella Hatch (bottom)

Mascara - Acrylic - Samantha Sloan (left)

A Time to Sea  by

Crystal Pisello

Hegrewup, Upper-middle-class, Onlychild.Twoparentsinthehome, Privateschools, Neverfacedhardship. Nothingmadehimunique. Right? Yes.

FatherenlistedintheUSArmy, Straightoutofhighschool.

Motherforcedtojoinacommunistarmy, Anofficer. Anoddduo, Bothsidesdifferent. USimmigrants. TheAmericandreamworked. He’dseenforhimself.

Himself, Freedom,theluxuryoffreedom. Afirst-genAmerican, Nowhe’sgrown, Timepassed…

Abigkidinthebigworld. Nolegacyorfamilyname, Aboywithabigdream. Whatthatdreamis, Whereitwilllead, Isforhim, Onlyhim,tosee... Tosea.

Soul of the Sea

by Francesca Coniglio

Theoceanwavesarerolling,andadovefliesby. Anetherealbeingenvelopsthesky.

Hebeginstowhistleafantasticalsong. Hesingsaboutloveanddreams. Hissongsturntheweakstrong.

Thousandsofpeopleseekhisguidance Andhisspectacularwisdom. Othersontheshoreenjoyhisconstance.

Oh,thesoulofthesea, Thankyouforyourenlightenment. Pleasecontinuetoguidehumankind.

The Crucible by Dalila DeLaura

Noonecanreallyknowwhatourliveswerelike. Theybelievedthatweheldinoursteadyhands, Thecandlethatwouldlighttheworld. Whenonerisesabovetheindividual, Onecanonlypityme. Wecannevercatchitbyrunningafterit, Itwillsoonitselfcomeback. Ihaveinheritedthisbelief, Andithashelpedandhurtme. Ihaveoftenwondered, WhatshallIsaytohim?

Thereisnothingmore, Therebenoblushabouthisname.

Imayspeakmyheart, Itoldhimeverything,

True Memories by Grace Hiatrides

Atrashcan,allpaintedblue, Holdssecretsoldandmemoriestrue. Aredframecapturespicturesbright, Lockinginmemories,holdingthemtight. Anoldteddybear,itsstuffingflowingout, Cryingofchildhood,there'snodoubt. Apadlock,firm,itsmessageclear, Treasures,thoseweholddear.

Hewasthekindofman. Iamlookingforyoumoreoften, Weweredancinginthewoodslastnight. Iamwaitingforyoueverynight. Imaythinkofyousoftly

Fromtimetotime, Willyouleavemenow?

Oh,he’sonlygone… Iamnotusedtothis, I'dalmostforgothowstrongyouare. IfImayaskyou, Whathappened? Whatarewedoing?

WhathaveIdone?

Ilovedyou, Andyoulovedmethen...

Wine - Cut Paper - Piper Tricarico Vintage Car - Cut Paper -  Emma VanDerhoef On The Boat - Cut Paper - Crystal Pisello New York City - Cut Paper - Scarlett Claps

Clockwise:

In the elegant neighborhood of Beacon Hill in Boston, a new resident arrived one Augustday.Wordspreadquicklyamongstthe small population, and everyone greeted this youngladyquickly.Manypeopleintroduced themselvestoIliaeveryday,andsheknewshe had picked the right place to settle. As she explored her new neighborhood, she heard someonebehindherannounce,“Didyouhear aboutthenewcitizennamedIlia?Iheardshe is beautiful.”  Ilia whipped her head around, suddenlyfacetofacewithacharmingpolice officer named Atlas, and was instantly attracted to his bright green eyes. It felt like loveatfirstsight.

Ilia'sfirstfullweekinBeaconHillhadbeen a whirlwind of discoveries, and the local bakery had become her favorite morning

discoveredthejoyoffillingthevoidinAtlas' life,whileinturn,hetreatedherlikeroyalty.      Seamlessly,weeksbecamemonths,asthe bond between Ilia and Atlas grew stronger. However, hidden layers began to unravel, casting shadows on their once-perfect relationship. Atlas started to venture out at oddhourswithvagueexplanations,missing important events. A shroud of secrecy surroundedhim,andasubtlesenseofunease creptintoIlia'sheart.

One evening, amidst the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the vibrantcolorsoftheflowersonthetable,Ilia couldn't contain her growing concerns any longer."You'vebeenactingstrangelylately, Atlas," she began, her voice tinged with worry and curiosity. "What's going on?"

oftrustingthemanshelovedorunravelingthe mysterythatcouldtodisrupttheirlovestory.      Onechillyevening,asAtlasleftforanother inexplicable excursion, Ilia's curiosity overpoweredherhesitations.Shedecidedtofollow him discreetly, her heart hammering with eagerness and anxiety. A quiet Beacon Hill street soon morphed into an unsettling alley. Atlas entered an unassuming building. Ilia pausedmomentarily,hermindabattlefieldof doubtanddetermination.Shemusteredup her confidenceandenteredthebuilding,walking through shadowy corridors until she came acrossadoorthatwasslightlyajar.Shegently pushed it open and found herself in a room filled with maps, case files, and evidence boards. It was an improvised investigation headquarters.Atlaswasinvolvedinsomething

"The connection between them sparked like an invisible force, drawing them together..."

by  Emma  Ginsberg

Shadows of Love Shadows of Love Shadows of Love Shadows of Love Shadows of Love

retreat.Littledidsheknowthatthiscozyspot wouldplayapivotalroleinthenextunfolding chapter of her life. One morning she found herselfonceagaininthewarmembraceofthe bakery,thefamiliararomaoffreshlybrewed coffee wafting through the air. And there he was—Atlas, the man she had unknowingly been searching for. The connection between themsparkedlikeaninvisibleforce,drawing them together once again. Their interactions werenaturalandeffortless,andsoontheywere inseparable. The initial weeks of dating felt likeadream,andtheirlovestorybecamethe envy of the entire community. Ilia and Atlas basked in the adoration, relishing every magical moment the inseparable pair  spent together.

Coffeeandflowersbecamedailytokensof his affection, turning routine gestures into expressions of love-- the kind of love that inspired songs and fueled fairy tales. Ilia

Atlaslookedintohereyes,takingamoment beforeresponding. "Ilia,IwishIcouldtell you everything, but there are things I can't share. I hope you understand it's for your safety."

Theweightofhiswordshungintheair, intensifying the unease between them. Ilia, tornbetweentrustingthelovetheyhadbuilt andthegrowingsenseofsecrecy,pressedon, "Atlas, we're supposed to share everything. Ican'tshakeoffthisfeelingthatsomething's not right. Please, help me understand."  As the coffee shop buzzed with the hum of conversationsaroundthem,Atlassighedand said,"Ineverwantedtokeepthingsfromyou, butmyjob...It'smorecomplicatedthanIcan explain.Ipromise,whenthetimeisright,I'll tellyoueverything.Justtrustmefornow."

Thefragrantflowersonthetableseemed towilt,mirroringthetensionintheair.Their seemingly idyllic love story was facing a crossroads,andIliagrappledwiththechoice

far more complicated than she could have anticipated, and the revelation hit her like a gustofwind.

Ilia hid herself as Atlas returned. To her surprise, he was not alone. Another officer, stern-faced and forceful, conversed quietly with Atlas. Their conversation hinted at a secret investigation, one intertwined with a memberofBeaconHill. Ilia'spulseraced,torn betweenloveandtheunsettlingtruthemerging beforeher.Thestakeswerehigherthanshehad foreseen. Atlas sighed as the conversation dissolved,hiseyesshowingtheweightofthe secretsheboreashelefttheroomandheaded for the door. Ilia peeked out, checking if the coast was clear. She ventured towards the evidence boards and case files, searching for answers to her questions. Delving deeper, a suffocatingsenseofdreadclungtoherasshe graspedthemagnitudeofthesituation.

Theevidenceboardsandcasefileslaidout before her painted a chilling panorama of

crimes committed in her former town-- crimes that she had orchestrated. The once-charming policeofficer,whomshebelievedshehadfallen in love with, was an undercover agent meticulouslyassignedtoensnareherintheweb of justice.  Clumsily, Ilia tried to slip away unnoticed,butAtlasheardherinthestillnessand turnedbacksharplytowardthesound.

Their eyes locked and the room seemed to freeze.Ilia'sheartracedasshecomprehendedthe gravityofthesituation.

"Atlas," Ilia stammered, her voice confused and desperate. "What is all this? What are you doing here?" Atlas maintained a stern gaze, revealingtheconflictwithin.

"Ilia,it'snotwhatyouthink.Ihadtoprotect you,evenifitmeantplayingarole."

The tension in the room thickened. "Protect me?Fromwhat?Thesecrimes,thisdeceit?You wereapartofitall?"

Atlassighed,aheavyburdeninhistone."Ihad to get close to you to expose the truth. The

"A suffocating sense of dread clung to her as she grasped the magnitude of the situation."

organization you were involved with is dangerous, Ilia. I needed to stop them, and I neededyourhelp."

Ilia's mind reeled, torn between the shock of betrayal and the possibility that Atlas might be telling the truth. As the weight of the situation settled,shewhispered,"Whydidn'tyoutrustme enoughtotellme?"

Atlas'seyessoftened,ahintofregretflickering acrosshisface."Iwantedto,Ilia,butitwasn'tthat simple.Therewerelivesatstake,includingyours. Ihadtokeepyouinthedarktokeepyousafe." Theroom,oncefrozenintime,buzzedwiththe weight of revelation.  Ilia faced a choice— to believe the man she thought she knew or to confrontthechillingtruthlaidoutbeforeher.

More police officers emerged, surrounding her.Atlas’soncesparklinggreeneyesturned dim, torn between his feelings for Ilia and his profession.Thestern-facedofficer,whomIlia

(Continued on Page 24)

Soul Ties - Watercolor Brugge Erikson

Jaded Journey

Shadows of Love

(Continued from Page 23)

now recognized as Detective Sterling, stepped forward and shared the extent of their elaborate operation. Ilia, cornered and defeated, admitted to her past crimes. As the cold silver handcuffs tightened around her wrists, a heavy silence settled in the room. Detective Sterling, directed the other officers to secure the evidence and prepare for Ilia's transport to the police station. Atlas hesitated for a moment before following. ThecharmingfacethathadinitiallycaptivatedIlia nowreflectedamixtureofregretandduty.Hehad played his part well in this elaborate operation, buttheemotionaltollwasevident.

As they stepped into the crisp fall night, Beacon Hill was eerily quiet, as if the neighborhood itself mourned the shattered love story.WordofIlia'sarrestspreadlikewildfirein

thecommunity.Thesamepeoplewhohad warmlywelcomedhernowgazeduponher withamixofshockandbetrayal. Thecozy bakery, where Ilia and Atlas had once sharedstolenglancesandsweetmoments, felthaunted.Thearomaoffreshlybrewed coffee,whichoncecarriedthepromiseofa perfect morning, lingered as a bitter reminderofthedeceptionthathadunfolded withinthosewalls.

Ilia,escortedbythepolice,castonelast glance at Beacon Hill—a place that had promisedafreshstartnowheldtheechoes ofhertroubledpast.Asthepatrolcarpulled away, the elegant neighborhood struggled toreconcileitspicturesquefacadewithits newharshreality.

Inthedaysthatfollowed,BeaconHillwas consumedbywhispersandsidelongglances. Theillusionoftheperfectlovestoryhadbeen shattered, leaving behind a community grappling with the aftermath of a crime. Atlas, burdened with emotions for the woman he had pursued and ultimately apprehended, found himself navigating a conflicted path between duty and the remnantsofthatbrokenconnection.

Soon the fall days turned colder, and Beacon Hill began the process of healing, learningtotrustoncemore. Ilia'sunexpected arrival left an indelible mark, a cautionary taleaboutthedangersofappearancesandthe complexity that lies beneath the surface of seeminglyidealizedlives.

Insidious Ink

by Katherine Hornby

Black lines caress my arms. “Unlady-like,” I hear one scoff, “What trash,”Ihearanotherwhisper. Itookthefirstinked-upneedletomyarm at15.By17,Ihadnine.Mytrashtellsastory.Thearmsthat“won’tget meajob”remindmewhyIamhere.Eachcrescentmoon,plantandsaying forcedmetostay.Iapologizeifmypersistencemakesyouuncomfortable. I apologize if you feel I am a bad influence. Before you speak on what youdonotknow,rememberthis:itisnotourstoriesthatdefineus;they aremerelywhathelpusalongtheway.Somestorieswillremainuntold, somesoboldly.Themostimportant,goodandbad,areingrainedinme forever.Theyarewhatmakemedecidemynextsteps.Theyarewhatpoint metomynextcryordancebreak,notsomesnottyremarkofdisapproval fromapersonthatdoesnotevenknowmeormysoul.Thisinsidiousink isembeddedundermyskin, not yourdaft,hatefulopinions.

Leather Trap

by Francesca Coniglio

Foryears,Maryhadbeenblindtothetrueworld.Hershoeshad beenamask,limitingherfromwhattheworldhadtooffer.Sliding off her boots, Mary saw the forest in a different light. She could sense every grain of dirt and gravel. Leaves crunched against her toes.Coolairbrushedagainstherheelasshefelttheenergyofthe Earth channel through her body. She danced through the forest, becoming one with the terrain. Mary had been free of the leather trapthathadrestrictedherforyears,andshewasreadytodiscover whattheworldhadtooffer,atgroundlevel.

Connection - Dual Canvas Acrylic - Angelina Salese (opposite) Swans - Acrylic - Katie Wong (left) Wolf - Acrylic - Katie Wong (top right) Labyrinth - Reagan Gavrilovic (bottom right)

Music Box by Piper Misita

Unusual giggling came from the attic. I investigated the dusty space andfoundsomeoldtoys.Awhisperofmusicstartledme,andIspieda ballerinamusicbox.Curious,Iopenedthelid,andanethereallittlegirl escaped–likeawispofsmokeemanatingfromapinkribboninside. She toldtalesofasecretuniverse.Thentheclockstrucktwelve.Shevanished, but the ribbon remained, quivering inside the box. I tugged on it and it tuggedback,pullingmein.ThelidslammedshutandnowI’mtrappedin thelullaby’sloop.

Escaped Room by Alea Bediner

It was pitch black and the claustrophobic walls seemed to be caving in. I took one creaky step: screams filled the room. Another step: an anonymousvoiceechoedaboveme.Ilookeduptoseeamaskedcreature. Howhadwegottenentangledinthis? Oursignaturesensuredtherewas no turning back. My heart beat fast as he pushed me down a tunnel. Disoriented,Ilandedtwentyfeetoutsideofthehouse,completelyisolated. Inthestillness,Icouldhearthescreamsofmyfriendsinside. Istillhave nightmaresaboutit.

Hunted

Hunted

Taken by Julia Paragano

Wewereclose.Thecoldtinwallswerecomingtoanend.Icouldsee thelightnow,justafewmorestepsuntilfreedom.Mylegswereheavy; myankleswerethrobbing.MysisterLuna'sfootstepsechoedwithmine throughthelong,grayhallway.Thebrightrayswereshiningtowardsus. Forthefirsttimeinforeverwecouldsmellfreshair.Thenahandpulled mebackintothedarkness.Iscreamed;IheardLunascream,too.Inever sawmysisteragain.Whoknowswhathappenedtoher.Iprayit'sbetter thanhowIendedup.

Midnight Harvest by Grace Hiatrides

December 1: Their time had come. Arrows, spears, and bows– the barbaric group had everything imaginable to capture their prey. New settlersbeyondthewoodswerefastasleep,anditwasfinallyhuntingtime again.Thescreechingandwailingcontinuedfromdusktodawn,untilthe group gathered enough fresh carcasses and creeped back into the dark depthsofthewoods. Onceayeartheygatherwhattheyneedtosurvive, andthenwaitforanothertwelvemoonstopass.

Avery - Bridget Lomax

Unchipped by Carley Dumaresq

Untouched by their malevolent technology, Logan evaded the oppressive regime. Citizens had chips implanted,initiallyascellphonereplacements,promising ease– yet we discovered they tracked our every move, turningconvenienceintocontrol.Thosewithoutimplants heldthekeytooverthrowingTheCircuit'srule.

Covertly aiding Logan, we are leading a rebellion to exposethetruth.Ourfactionaimedtodeprogramthechips and liberate humanity. Our mission was compromised whenregimespiesinfiltratedourranks.It'snotsafenow thattheyknow.

Asharbingersofchange,wemustremainresoluteand accepttherisks.

Ominous by Kylee Rafferty

By the quiet shoreline, Piper and Emma splashed through the foam and soaked in the sun.  Laughter filled theair,buttheclearskiessoonturnedfrighteninglygloomy withdarkcloudsfillingthesky.Raindropsfellandthewind howled.

Innotime,beachgoersgatheredtheirbelongings,left behindwhatcouldn'tbesaved,andvanishedlikeshadows. "Wehavetoleavenow!"Pipershouted,tremblinginfear. As they left the beach, the storm intensified, forcing the girlstoseekshelterwhilethetownwasravaged.

Theonce-peacefulhamletnowlayshatteredinthewake oftherelentlessstorm.

The Stranger - Avery Kelly

Presence by Sofia Uribe

While love is a beautiful feeling, Don’t worry too much about it. Stop worrying who will love you, Or how they’ll love you, Or when you’ll find love.

Love is the most infinite, Effortless presence in the world. Like the way a flower blooms, And how a bird sings, It is found in the tiny details of human nature.

It is found in a hospital room And a home-cooked meal. It is in the smile of a passing stranger, The music you listen to, And the jokes you make.

Love is an “Are you okay?” And “Get home safe.” Love is the way your heart beats, How you wake up every morning, And how your soul exists so freely.

Don’t worry about love. It is all around you–Every day at every moment! It can reach you at your best And your worst.

There’s no force in this world Stronger than love. There is no reason to believe Love can’t find you. You are so loved.

Self-Portraits - Colored Pencil & Ink: Makayla Dye (top)

Samantha Donnelly (middle)

Caroline Zabik (bottom)

Olivia Ventola (opposite)

The Universe & Me

by Maria Clara Bragagnolo Rose

Theuniverseisamysteriousthing. Whereandwhen,itadherestomyquestioning.

Weseeitastobefaraway,

Imbuedinthecosmicessenceofdeepspace.

Yetalsosocloseastheskies

WhokissourownEarth, OrtheSunthatwakesher.

Perhapsascloseastheleaves Isteponinautumn,

Orthechirpsandflapsofbirdsinflight.

Ascloseastheairwebreathe,

AscloseaswhatIfindinsideme.

Constellationsofveins,signalsinnerves

Andwheretheyconverge,

Theheartandthebrain,

Andwheretheyconverge,

Theheartandthebrain,

Ablackholeorquasar.

Ofatomsallmade,

Andwheretheyconverge,

Theheartandthebrain,

Ablackholeorquasar. Ofatomsallmade,

Oxygenandnitrogen, carbonandhydrogen.

Inmeistheuniverse, AndIaminit.

Asastarisborn, Soisathought.

Asameteoritecollides, Sodoesmyvoice.

Ofexplosionsandimplosions, Matterisformed.

Insynapsesandcurrents, Emotionisforged.

Andinthenebulasofthesubconscious Liesthedarkmatterofthebeing, Thatstuffthatmakesupmydreams.

InthedepthsofthisspaceIfind mysoulechoing,thespiritoftheself, Offaithandpromise,thecenterofall. Callitstardust,callitenergy,callitlunacy. Fornowit’sjusttheuniverseandme, Thisuniverseinme.

A Bedtime Retreat by Sienna Ulukaya

Theblaringalarmpullsmefromthecomfortofmybed,andIstallbeneaththe blankets,hesitanttofeelthecoldofthemorning. Throughoutthetiringandlaborious school day, my mind drifts off to the thought of returning to the welcoming and familiar warmth of my bed.  Returning home, the mere sight of my bed is like a reward,remindingmeofitsabilitytosoothemyexhaustion. Beingabletoslipinto theembraceofmysoftcomforter,andthesupportofmymanypillows,somehow allowsmetoforgetallofmytroubles.

Savanna - Acrylic - Rebekah Marsh

Divine Sophia's Seven Gifts - Acrylic - Nicola DiRienzo

August by Kaylee Brody

wesatoutlookinguponthebay andtalkedaboutourdays. aheadandbehind, daydreamingatnight. icould’vesworn inthatmomentweownedtheworld–orattheveryleast–twoofthehousesonourstreet. itwasfuntopretend withallofourdreammoneytospend. socarefreeandcarelessinthatinstant, allofourworkanddutiesseemedsodistant. butthenitwasshattered, likeapieceofglassthrowntothefloor oraperfectsheenofwaterbeforeitpours. andreallywhatmatters? ourscenarioswemadeupinourheads? orthethingsoftodaythatwillleadusahead.

The Dawn of Endless Night by

Isabella Misrahi

Asthenightcreptfromthetrees, Acoldshivermovedwiththebreeze. Withdaygone,arrivedtheblack, Andsuddenlytheairwentslack. Eternaldarknesscameinfast, Reminderthatthedaywouldn’tlast. Allwereleftinfrozentime, Nothingseenbutgritandgrime: Wonderinghowthetimehadpast, Withoutasingleshadowcast. Astimecontinued,longerandlonger, Peoplequestionhowthenightfeltstronger. Thoughthenightshouldbreakatdawn, Hopeseemedlostwhenlightwasgone. Ashourspassed,theworldwasdistraught, Butthrougheverythingtheystillfought, Inhopestoseethelightandjoyoncemore Dreamingofthedaysbefore. Stillwaitingforthesuntoshine, Theworld’snolongerbydesign. Finallyrecognizingthatnothing'sright, AstheyaresoontrappedinEndlessNight.

Divine Sophia's Radiance - Acrylic - Francesca Rosato

Divine Sophia - Acrylic - Olivia Ventola

Thesadnessofmovingislikethelossofafriend,eachpackedbox holding memories engraved into the walls—whispers of laughter, sharedmoments.Theroomsechowiththesilenceofthepast,andthe ache of the unknown grows with the anticipation of my future. Goodbyesareheavywords,leavingatrailofbitteremotioninmyheart. Theoutsideofmyworldchanges,buttheinsideofmyheartremains the same. In those quiet moments, sadness becomes a poignant remembranceofthechaptersclosed.Everystepisahesitantdanceof nostalgia,ajourneythroughmyhistory.

Gonzo, Dogs, and Breakfast

byCiaraMulcahy

Thememoriesarelikeafarawayplanetthroughatelescope,visible, but hard to achieve full sight. One thing that has always been in my childhoodmemoriesisGonzo.Hesitsacrossfrommybedinmyroom now,watchingoverme.Lookingathim,youcanseeabeat-upstuffed animal with brown circles around his eyes from his first and last makeover.ButwhenIlookathim,IfeellikeI'minmytoddleryears. Icansmellbacon,eggandcheesesandwiches,anddoghair.Icould feelmyolddog'sfurundermyhandswhilelearningtowalk.Mydad's music blares as he whistles along in the kitchen. I see my old living room,whichalwayshasaChristmastreeinthesememories,andIlong forthosesimpletimesofbacon,egg,andcheesesandwiches,learning howtowalk,andChristmastreeseverydayoftheyear.

Santa's Workshop - Oil - Brugge Erikson (above)

London - Mixed Media - Evelyn West (opposite left)

Christmas Baubles - Colored Pencil - Morgan Lomax (opposite right top)

Morning Tea - Ava Montaruli (opposite right bottom)

Index

BValentinaBarbella10

AleaBediner17,26

MariaClaraBragagnoloRose30

AvaBreault4

MadelineBrisby17,BackCover

KayleBrody31 C

ScarlettClaps20

FrancescaConiglio6,8,13,20,25

DalilaDeLaura21

DevynDeLaura2,4,14,15

GiovannaDesimone34,BackCover

NicolaDiRienzo30

SamanthaDonnelly29

CarleyDumaresq9,27

MakaylaDye29

E

BruggeErikson7,23,32 F

SamanthaFarnsworth11

MorganeFarrell17

CaitlinFlanagan Cover G

ReaganGavrilovic25,27

EmmaGinsberg16,22,32 H

StellaHatch19

SarahHeflin12

GraceHiatrides17,21,26

KatherineHornby19,25 K

AveryKelly27,InsideFrontCover L

BridgetLomax6,26,InsideFront Cover

MorganLomax5,12,26,InsideFront Cover,InsideBackCover

M

RebekahMarsh30

CatherineMendrzycki4

PiperMisita26

IsabellaMisrahi31

AvaMontaruli11,19,Ins.BackCover

EmilyMuir4

CiaraMulcahy11,32

OliviaNuzzo11

CarolineO'Callaghan12

JacquelineO'Connor3

JuliaParagano14,26

HarrisonParker12

CrystalPisello20

KyleeRafferty13,27

MadelynRiordan9

AnneRojack5

FrancescaRosato31

S

AngelinaSalese8,24

SamanthaSloan18,19

MontserratSorianoGutierrez9

GracelynSpina9,19 T

PiperTricarico5,16,21 U

SiennaUlukaya30

SofiaUribe1,29 V

EmmaVanDerhoef21

OliviaVentola13,28,31

GraceWalsh13

BrookeWesbecker1

EvelynWest9,InsideBackCover

KatieWong3,25

CarolineZabik29

Ode to Sailing by Maddy Brisby

Oh,thejoysofsailinginthesun,

Thetallwhitesailabovemyhead,

Andthesaltysprayuponmyskin.

Theserenityoftheopensea

Dissolvesmillionsofmyworries,

AndIamreplacedbyagentleease.

Thewaterglidesgentlyacrossit

Thewavesdancecrashingatmyhull,

Leavingtheirwakeasliveascanbe,

AsIfloatalongthesparklingbay.

Oh,thethrillofthebrightbluebay,

Filledwithmanymysteriesbeneathme,

Twinklesasthesunbeamsdownonit.

“Woosh,”thewindcalls

Asitblowsthroughmyhair,

Andthewatersplashesuponmyface.

Oh,thejoysofsailinginthesummersun,

Allowingthewindtofillmycourse.

Embarkingonthewildwaters,

Leavingbehindtheglisteningshore,

Asittwinkleslikeastar,

Thewindfillsmysails

Andguidesmyvoyagethrough.

Ohsailingthroughthebay,

Whatadelighttoexplorethevastseas.

Thehorizonstretchesfarandwide,

Acanvasofblue,

Wheremydreamscometolife.

Nothingbeatssailingunworriedandcarefree!

Above: Abstract - Ink - Giovanna Desimone