Bloom SEAL 2023

Mixed Media - Stevie Robinson

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Divine Sophia - Mixed Media by Catherine Mendrzycki

St. Elizabeth's Arts & Literary Magazine is published annually to showcase the creative work of Academy students.

The students in Digital Publishing class who produced SEAL Magazine 2023 selected "Bloom” as the theme to celebrate the lifting of spirits as the community gets back to normal.

Being the first full school year since the COVID-19 pandemic with no masks or restrictions, students stepped out from behind their masks to flourish socially, academically, and personally-to greet life's challenges and bloom.

The work presented in this magazine showcases the talent and hard work that goes on throughout the Academy as students blossom into strong, confident young women.

Thank You Janet Antico Kimberly Borin Ellen Denuto Catherine Reilly Caitlyn Roper Cristina Rovayo Alexandra Settembrino

Staff Emma Bradley Mia D'Angelo Reagan Gavrilovic Lily Moran Maureen Brady, Advisor/Instructor

Mountainscape - Acrylic by Jenna Brenner

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Thecla - Watercolor by UmaSofia Srivastava

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Boxes

by Uliana Leshchuk

Boxes. I never knew someone’s life could depend so heavily on this one word.

Even before the war, I was that Ukrainian girl. Any chance I got, I talked about Ukraine. Because if I didn’t, then who would? Often in classes, it would become a running joke when I would bring up Ukraine.

It was never out of malice that people would chuckle; it was more their lack of understanding. And, in all honesty, I didn't fully understand at the time why I cared so much.

All that changed in a matter of minutes.

It was around 11PM when my mom got a call from my older cousin in Ukraine. She was speaking in English, which wasn’t something she would usually do. She started saying “They are attacking… missiles have been fired.” We didn't understand what was going on. Was she watching a movie? Was she reading some news article?

It wasn’t a movie or a nightmare. It was reality. Russia declared war on Ukraine. One phone call changed the course of my life.

I knew I couldn’t just sit by and watch, as the very streets I had walked countless times before were being destroyed, as humanity and democracy around the world is being threatened. Being that Ukrainian girl meant something more now.

February 24th opened my eyes and the eyes of my classmates-- the day my heart was attacked, the day I died a little inside. People finally realized that I needed to talk about Ukraine because Russia has tried to destroy Ukraine for centuries. They have tried to wipe away my people. It all clicked for them, and even for myself. My heart is Ukraine.

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The next morning my family drove into the city to join others protesting the atrocities Russia was committing.

Thousands of people flooded the streets of New York.

I had never felt more connected to my community as

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we chanted different slogans: “Glory to Ukraine!

Glory to our heroes!” As I yelled with all my might, I looked over and saw my mom tearing up. At that moment, I realized how strong my ties to Ukraine are.

My next course of action was a humanitarian aid drive.

When I helped my mom plan the drive a few days after February 24, we didn’t expect such a turnout from the American community; it was uplifting to see. The collection had not even begun, and there were already hundreds of boxes. Cars were flowing in, backing up into the main road. Over a thousand cars, a thousand families, ordinary people, coming to the aid of those whom they had never met-- people who are an ocean away, people to whom they have no real connection.

By the evening, the whole center was filled with boxes of medical supplies, food, clothes, sanitary items, shoes, and more. I felt like I was being enveloped by boxes, and in that moment I was living up to what being that Ukrainian girl meant.

And we return to that one simple word: boxes.

People in Ukraine now rely on boxes of aid and supplies. They don’t even have shoes to put on their feet. Bombs fly over their homes. I wake up and call my family hoping that they are alive.

Boxes.

As Ukraine has fought on for months, I have realized that I come from a strong nation. Each day, as I watch my people struggle and my homeland being destroyed, I realize that I have been given an important and unique task. I am tasked with carrying on my culture. While a genocide is being carried out against the Ukrainian people, language, and culture, I refuse to let it die. I must fight for justice and improve this world. I must work to protect democracy. Even if it’s just one box at a time.

I am proud to be that strong Ukrainian girl.

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Woman - Acrylic by Devyn DeLaura

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by Chengli Payton Measure I - The Introduction It gets lonely, being chained to an apartment. Those were the words that echoed in Cordelia Harmon’s mind. Yes, that Cordelia Harmon: the piano player, the overnight celebrity, the complete and utter artist.

Cordelia was what the tabloids referred to as an “enigmatic prodigy.” For one reason or another, Cordelia’s lifestyle piqued the interests of everyone from Gen-Z TikTokers to elderly patrons of the arts. But in the confines of her own home, Cordelia felt like the world’s richest starving artist. Her mind had an insatiable hunger that only her piano could appease.

Today was like any other. “Beethoven before breakfast, and sonatinas before supper” was Cordelia’s music coach and mentor Eunice’s mantra. It was thanks to Eunice that Cordelia had been discovered as a pianist-- and became a smashing success. Cordelia’s hands found their way to the keys of her glass Steinway piano she had affectionately named Philip-- after Philip Glass, one of the most influential composers of the late 20th century.

It was a thing of beauty, really. It was supremely state-of-the-art; there was nothing else like it. Eunice had called it “fit for a queen” the day the movers brought it up to Cordelia’s apartment in Manhattan's Upper East Side.

She lived in a hotel owned by Benedict Bellamy, a real estate developer who was like a second father. He had been one of the reasons Cordelia started playing the piano. Well, there had also been Renée.

Cordelia still had a hard time speaking about Renée. She was unlike any other woman the pianist had ever met. Benedict's wife, Renée, had been an unstoppable life force until the day she wasn’t. Suffice it to say, Cordelia never went above 60 miles an hour anymore.

Benedict, on the other hand, returned to normalcy without Renée. As much as Cordelia loved Benedict, she also loathed him for never bringing up Renée.

For all the awful things that had happened, at least Cordelia still had her piano-- 88 keys were always there. Her bench creaked as she reached for the croissant that Benedict had brought her.

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wintergreen breath mints. Cordelia thought of Eunice as the finest mentor a pianist could have, but quite possibly the worst nurturer and confidante. Lately, Cordelia had been in a nervous state, and Eunice’s blunt personality did nothing to appease that.

Despite all of Eunice’s faults, both were close and shared a tacit relationship of a mentor and a prodigy: nothing more, nothing less. Some days, she wished they had more of a mother-daughter relationship. Maybe it was because she missed her own mother, who was living the sweet life back home at their Greenwich estate. Cordelia desperately wanted to return home and embrace her family, but Eunice maintained an iron grip on the prodigy’s schedule. Affection would not come today; it was a day for drilling. Up and down Cordelia’s fingers flew, racing to one key after the other. Cordelia’s mind was swirling; regrettably, any plans for the night were nonexistent. Around one in the afternoon, Eunice left, dashing off to an impromptu Pilates session. Had they really been practicing that long?

As she raised it to her lips, the doorbell buzzed. The short and frantic tones signaled that it was Eunice, who saw doorbells as fanfare rather than requests to be let in. Eunice smacked down a huge Louis Vuitton bag that held everything from music theory books to

Measure II - The Reverie How many weeks had she not fed the horses, walked through the gardens, or sat in the cozy bay window in Greenwich?

Disrupting her daydream all too soon, there was a knock at the door, which meant only

Homage to Henri Cartier's Martine’s Legs by Amanda Jimenez

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Audrey Hepburn - Colored Pencil by Reagan Gavrilovic

one person. Hugo bustled in, erasing any plans of visiting family. She paused to admire Hugo for his tall stature, his tousled hair, and even his annoying outfit. As Hugo bent down to grab a croissant she wondered why he was so fascinated with her. How could Hugo be so enamored with her-- a boring piano prodigy? She shrugged away her doubts, and turned back to him, smiling and closing the lid of her piano.

Hugo looked at Cordelia with a puppy dog grin. His two main dispositions were “Golden Retriever” and “bachelor.” He pulled out his phone, zooming in on a picture of a nightclub. Her eyes grew wide, realizing that this would be just the thing to get her out of her funk. As Hugo was rambling on about this club called “The Silence,” Cordelia mentally went through her endless closet of extravagant outfits gathering dust. She hadn’t been a party-goer since college. Oh, what a partygoer she had been, frequenting

exclusive bars, nightclubs, and venues. Leaving the party life and attending Juilliard hadn’t just launched her lucrative career; it had launched her into the abyss of music halls, record labels, and seeking endless perfection. She was overwhelmed by her online presence and, most of all, her status. Status was a word that scared her, but "influencer" scared her even more.

Cordelia could imagine an uncomfortable number of people who had her pegged as an influencer and a “social media presence.”

Cordelia liked social media but the pressure and amount of effort needed were overwhelming at times. Her mother’s reassuring voice echoed in her mind as she tried to shake away self-doubt.

At any rate, a place like “The Silence” sounded appealing. It would obviously be anyhing but silent, and she wanted the discord.

Too many classical piano pieces affect a person.

She wanted something in her life to be less predictable, and looked forward to a night out.

Measure III - The Discordance That night, before Cordelia slipped beneath her silken bed sheets, she said a prayer. She was not much of a believer, but every so often, a prayer would help her focus.

What if I can’t function? Lord, if you're there, I need a little help. Despite these stressors, she managed to slip into a deep sleep.

Like a slap in the face, Cordelia’s eyes flew open. The sound was coming from the window. A shady figure appeared, casting an ugly shadow on the carpet. Cordelia was paralyzed with fear, but she reminded herself that the figure couldn’t be real; this would pass. This nighttime visitor had an evil, twisted grin on his face. Admittedly, this was not the visitor’s first appearance; it had been making selective appearances for at least a month. This disfigured shadow always appeared at the window, when the line between reality and dreams blur. It was just a figment of her imagination; she could not bring herself to admit the alternative…

Lying quite still, she managed to ease her anxiety and take deep breaths. Not a soul could know about this. Eunice would cart her off to a psychiatrist in disbelief, or hire security guards around the clock. Cordelia admonished herself for imagining such a sinister possibility. Ghosts and “things that go bump in the night” were reserved for her beloved books, like The Picture of Dorian Gray. So, instead, she imagined how enjoyable The Silence Club would be with Hugo.

For some inexplicable reason, Cordelia awoke cheerfully the next day. She spent the morning prancing happily around her apartment, singing, and ordering cookies from Levain’s. Eunice had called promptly at 8AM, confessing that Pilates class had wiped her out. Cordelia suspected that it was the thought of mentoring her that wiped Eunice out, but remained silent. Not giving her mentor’s absence a second thought, she kept piano practice short and went about her Friday. The weekend beckoned!

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(Continued from page 5) That evening, at nine o’clock on the dot, Hugo knocked at the door. Cordelia hurried to the door in her stilettos, shimmying down the hemline of her gorgeous Valentino mini-dress.

Soon enough, the two were in his Porsche, zooming down the city streets, or as fast as the Big Apple avenues allowed for. Below the impressive city skyline, the crowd tittered when Cordelia stepped out. Memories of red carpets, Carnegie Hall, and obsessed fans flooded her mind. Smiling and flipping her hair, she looked at the sea of captivated faces and wondered how playing the piano had given her such fame and recognition. It didn’t matter how or why, did it? She was here now, living her best life. After scribbling a multitude of autographs and pouting for selfies, she bypassed the line and was swiftly escorted into the bouncing club by a lumbering man whose name tag said “Dexter.” Cordelia chuckled at the hilarity of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson’s doppelganger being named Dexter. Slipping her arm into Hugo’s, the couple walked in.

Despite looking around the dance floor and feeling the music in her chest, she decided the bar looked… enticing.

Measure IV - The Silence Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound of a heart monitor jarred Cordelia awake. The stinging odor of rubbing alcohol– not the type of alcohol she enjoyed– permeated the air, as did the stark lighting. The last thing she clearly remembered was yelling, “A toast to a night that I won’t remember in the morning!”

Alerted by Cordelia’s rapid heart rate, a concerned nurse appeared.

After spending a few days resting, Cordelia was finally allowed to have visitors. Hugo soon arrived, leaning over the bed. Tears welled in her eyes as Hugo patted her hand solemnly and slowly told her the story. Though Hugo was usually a descriptive person, he kept his words somewhat vague. But Cordelia knew in her heart what had happened. She started to recall flashes of light, shadows, and screams. She remembered being violently shoved to the ground. She remembered a man screaming, "I love you, Cordelia!" She gulped emotionlessly. She noted some familiarity about the attacker, but she couldn’t quite place him.

The nurse interrupted and motioned for Hugo to leave. As the two squeezed hands a barely detectable tear rolled down Hugo’s cheek. Watching him walk away, Cordelia felt grateful for his love and support; it almost erased the anger and confusion she felt about her attacker. Darkness and sleep soothed her racing mind when the nurse turned out the 6

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light. When she awoke, Eunice was there with a pitiful smile on her face, offering a bouquet of flowers and a plush teddy bear, sans any hint of piano drilling books.

Cordelia leapt up from her bed and embraced Eunice with the strength of a bear. At that moment, there was no anxiety or pain, only peace. The hug was eventually interrupted by the nurse whispering that Cordelia was being discharged.

Measure V - El Fine Back at home, Cordelia sensed a shift.

Oddly enough, she felt ten times better than she had the night before her accident.

Priorities set straight, Cordelia was not about to let anyone dictate her life. Still, she accepted her circumstances and she was grateful to be alive and well. After all, her mother had always believed the human anatomy was strong and it knew more than the brain did. Despite a still-aching body, Cordelia had as much energy as Hugo. Every day she whistled gleefully, took long walks in Central Park with Hugo, and spent quality time with Eunice away from the piano.

A couple of weeks after the accident, Cordelia went through her social media feed.

She had neither visited social media conspiracy theory videos, nor any Access Hollywood segments. Most of her time had been devoted to recuperating in addition to cooperating with police and lawyers. The whole thing was a daze and she wanted to let it go entirely. The only fact she could recall was that the deranged attacker had been

refused bail. When Cordelia logged on to TikTok– to her surprise– the outpouring of her followers’ love and support was astounding.

Every video had comments like, “We love you Cordelia!” and “Let’s get this attacker IMPRISONED FOR GOOD.” She laughed and cried and forwarded all of the links to loved ones. Imbued with newfound energy, she bounced around her apartment and updated her fans about the situation on Instagram Live.

Every night, while listening to Brahms, Cordelia watched her subscriber count climb steadily. Deep sleep came easily now that the terrifying nighttime visitor was history.

Before long, Cordelia had watched every last news video. Feeling a sense of clarity, she decided it was time to return home. No plans or schedules were made, but she figured everything would turn out fine. As Cordelia scanned the apartment in search of her suitcase and bags, her eyes drifted to the piano bench.

She was tempted to bring all her books, but imagined what Hugo might say: "All work and no play again, Cordelia? You barely ever relax." She remembered Eunice’s recent text message: "My Pilates teacher said you need to rejuvenate your mind, body, and soul."

Cordelia bit her lip and confidently packed a single book of Christmas carols for the holiday festivities. Zipping up the last bag, she hurriedly dialed her mother’s number. It was almost surreal: “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” was playing in the background and before her mother could say hello, Cordelia burst out, “I’m coming home, Mama. I’ll be there for Christmas.”

Musical Movement by Morgan Lomax

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Spare Keys

by Maara Lovelace

Buying an electric piano has got to be one of the best financial decisions I have ever made. Living alone, I get really bored sometimes. Ever since I got this piano, I have suddenly had no free time. I have been sitting on the floor playing for about two hours now. Don’t get it twisted though: I still have no idea how to play. Other than those two classes I took when I was 7, I have no knowledge of the instrument. I’ve been watching YouTube videos as the keys of Adele's "Hello" stream through the speakers of my iPad. I am getting through the last notes of the chorus when I'm startled by the clapping of hands behind me. I whip my head around to find my mother standing in the doorway.

"Oh, my goodness, Mom!" I ran to her with open arms. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?" I query.

"I came to visit you for the weekend! And you still have spare keys under the mat!" I always forget to move those.

"Well, I'm so excited you’re here."

"So am I. You’ve taken on a new hobby."

"Yes, come see!" I pull my mom down to meet the keys of the piano.

"Isn’t she pretty?" I ask as my mother glides her finger down the plastic keys.

I play what little I know of Adele, and she is utterly amazed. Not that I have done anything impressive, but she is a mother, and her smile encourages me to continue playing even when I mess up. We sit there for who knows how long, my mother keeping an eye on me and me playing. The sound of the night hums away, and all is well. I adore times like this.

Growing Music - Mixed Media by Madelyn Riordan

Rolling Hill Drive

by Sophia Vail

Dear 54 Rolling Hill Drive, I miss you.

Not a day goes by without me thinking of you, Or all the memories I made with you, Or all the people that lived inside you.

I can still so clearly see your exact shade of dark blue carpet.

I can still so vividly remember your kitchen wallpaper and its floral design.

I can hear the sound you made when I would walk up the green stairs.

I can see the weeds growing in between your patio bricks in the yard.

I can still recall the smell of the bathroom soaps that Grandma filled you with, And the feeling of your plush sun room chairs, But most importantly I remember all the people I share these memories with.

I recall trying oysters with Grandpa for the first time.

I remember playing card games for hours with Grandma at the kitchen island.

I remember playing pool with all the cousins in the basement.

I remember looking through Dad’s old bedroom.

I thank you, 54 Rolling Hill Drive, for all the joy you’ve brought me, And thank you, God, for blessing me with the time I had there.

I haven’t gone back to see you since because I know what I will witness: Your gray walls with black shutters knocked down And a tacky modern McMansion in your place.

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Oysters - Acrylic by Lucia Ferriso

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Summer Sunset by Magnolia Kern

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A Pilgrimage to Nantucket

by Abigail Villa

The Leaf by Ava Montaruli

Pear Still Life - Oil by Devyn DeLaura

Off the East Coast, there is a place up north, Which is an island, where many go forth.

A name for the island is A.C.K, And in the summer it is clear as day.

Traveling to Nantucket, A.C.K, Does not require you to cross the blue bay.

It takes five hours to get to Hyannis Port And then the one hour ferry ride is short.

Nantucket has some beautiful beaches And a couple farms that do have peaches.

The town has beyond amazing shopping And some picturesque places for stopping.

When on a pilgrimage to Nantucket, You are bound to need to bring a bucket.

A thing not a single traveler brought, Not one caring to give it any thought.

One particular passenger in mind Surprises me because of his trip grind.

He travels all around the globe, worldwide, Starting in area code 305, with the tide.

He has an iconic signature look: Sunglasses and suit, all down to the book.

He has gone through tough times, been there done that, But above ground is great, remember that.

The next passenger is closer to home.

We have all met her under this school dome.

She's not in our class but you can't miss her Snd she has the same name as my sister.

She has brown eyes and even long brown hair.

She's also in AP Lang. Were you aware?

Now that we are finally done with her, We are on to our other traveler.

He is a main character in Top Gun. The most recent one, which watching was fun.

His call sign is Rooster, his dad's was Goose, The first movie he was in was Footloose.

In Top Gun, he sang "Great Balls of Fire" live, Which I would give a star rating of five.

I love the people coming on this trip, Which requires us to travel on a ship.

I, myself, love many good long car rides Because of what is on the other sides.

Nantucket is, for sure, my happy place, And is lovely in almost every case.

It is great to unwind and to relax, A place where the UV rays are to the max.

Nantucket sure gives a peaceful escape Where to rejuvenate right off the Cape.

Morning Dew by Brugge Erikson

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She's Not My Cousin

by Samantha Lado

“She’s not my cousin?” I asked my mom with a perplexed look, as I learned that Heidi, my best friend, was not related to me. At the age of 2, our parents introduced us to each other as “cousins” and from that day forward, Heidi and I were a big part of each other’s lives. From playing with Barbie dolls, to putting on theatrical performances for our parents, to convincing them to let us have sleepovers, we were always together. When we were in the car, we would blast music and sing along at the top of our lungs. Heidi is my other half, someone who understands and accepts me for who I am. She always has my back and has been my biggest support. Most importantly, she has been there when others were not.

This became more obvious to me as eighth grade approached. I noticed I was not being invited to get-togethers and other events. It was as though I was being slowly frozen out,

marshmallows, and the saltiness of the nuts.

The more I enjoyed this flavor, the more I realized that what I liked most about it was what it represented during this difficult period of my life.

The chocolate chips were happiness and positive things, such as my love of singing with my youth chorus and dancing. What made the chocolate chips special was the random way they appeared in the ice cream.

They were like a little gift, something unexpected. When I tasted these sweet bits of chocolate, I was reminded to notice when good things happen and not take them for

savory taste of a nut found in this flavor, I figured out how to balance the bad with the good.

That year, I learned who my real friends were. I overcame my feelings of sadness and disappointment brought on by the disintegration of my former friendships, by focusing on the positive people in my life who reassured me that there was nothing wrong with who I am. Life isn’t always easy. It’s not always a straight path or a smooth ride. There will be bumps along the road. I guess that is why they call it a “rocky road.” And the positive experiences and people are the cherries on top.

Bright Intelligence by Maddie Soliman

In my time of need, when I thought nobody would understand how I was feeling, Heidi did. and eventually these “friends” stopped talking to me. I spent a lot of time wondering what I had done wrong and how they could treat me this way.

To get my mind off it, Heidi invited me to the beach for the summer. I spent the days swimming and surfing (or attempting to) with my best pal. When we got hungry after a day of paddling out into the ocean and trying to stand up on our boards to catch a wave, we would get some sandwiches and ice cream.

After a few visits to the local ice cream shop, I discovered rocky road, and it quickly became my favorite flavor.

The first time I tasted rocky road ice cream, I fell in love. At first lick, I could taste the sweetness of the chocolate chips. Immediately after, I noticed the softness of the

granted. The marshmallows were gooey and went down easily. They represented a sense of comfort provided by the genuine people in my life, such as my family, Heidi, and my fellow Girl Scout troop members. The nuts were hard and required time to chew and swallow, representing life's challenges. Rocky road wouldn’t be the same without the nuts, just like life wouldn’t be the same without its challenges. Like the salty, Spring Is Here by Ciara Hadley

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Seeping Sun by Carley Dumaresq

The Shreds of Melancholy

by Caroline Clarke

Sixty pages of pain, Yet I still can withstand the paper cuts– The paper cuts of others and of my own.

And my book Which rests limply on a shelf Of broken dreams and hopeless romance Is borrowed constantly.

I wonder when the parts of my pages, The pieces of me that were ripped out Shredded and thrown on the floor, Burned and turned to ash, Will ever be returned.

Taken so much from my book That had so little, You said you understood my story But I knew you never really read it.

And I watch as you take my pain From my pages And turn it into your own Taking ideas from a story That was never yours to tell, Transforming me Into the monster that was once you.

Switching the words around because I’m the evil one I’m the one that did this to you.

And while I suffer, Torn apart by What you ripped from me I somehow still want to go back And read it again.

More

by Alyssa Rossini Ever since I was young, I wanted a big family. I wanted Arguments, slammed doors, and siblings Who are also my friends. I wanted more.

I wanted lively family dinners, And people I could always count on.

I wanted older siblings to look out for me, And young siblings to take care of.

In reality, I had one aloof older brother, Who was embarrassed by his younger sister.

I had quiet family dinners, and only parents to talk to.

So, I would sit in my room and dream, dream of more.

Watch Out by Amanda Jimenez

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SqueeZ The Day Part of me is ashamed to admit that even at the ripe old age of eighteen, squeezable applesauce is one of my favorite foods. But it is not just the irresistible tang of the unsweetened apple puree, nor is it the sensational opening click of the resealable HeliCap lid that made me fall in love with this so-called "juvenile" snack. This applesauce fixation of mine is ageless because of a series of lunchroom photos collected my freshman year. I would never have imagined that packing an applesauce pouch for hundreds of days could inspire such an enduring legacy.

I snatched my phone from under the pile of candy wrappers and mustard-smeared Saran wrap, along with the one item left inside my lunch box: an apple-cinnamon GoGo SqueeZ applesauce pouch.

“Everyone look up and smile!” My phone camera captured the priceless moment: my tablemates, most of whom I had never talked to before, their bemused looks, all surrounding the

by Emma Kelly

singular, half-eaten snack that lay crumpled in my hand. It was at this moment where I not only discovered the impressive lengths to which my arm could outstretch for a selfie, but the difference a single action can make in the lives of such an emotionally vulnerable age group. I watched as the girls erupted in laughter over something so mundane. A lunch table originally divided into four groups of four now became one giant table of sixteen.

I needed a caption to embellish the soon-to-be photo series. Analogous to the phrase "carpe diem"-- Latin for "seize the day," my purpose was to help my peers “SqueeZ the Day.” When I coined my catchphrase, I meant for it to be more than just a play on words. It was a reminder to always extract every last ounce of good from the day, just like how I kneaded my applesauce pouch until every last drop was consumed.

Apples - Pastel by Devyn DeLaura

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Farmhouse - Pastel by Devyn DeLaura

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Job 80160 Year 2023 Page 013 (1695937049) Master (1333872452) 05/01/2023 2:12 PM

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The Colony Hotel - Acrylic by Lucia Ferriso

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Job 80160 Year 2023 Page 014 (1695961043) Master (1333872451) 05/01/2023 2:12 PM

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The Droplets by Ava Montaruli

Summer Days

by Montserrat Soriano Gutierrez

The blue skies were clear and the sun shone bright.

The atmosphere was more than just alright; You could feel it was dreamy and unmatched.

The summer began and I am attached.

The beach is the perfect place to relax With some friends while talking and eating snacks.

Therefore, I invited some companions To de-stress and escape from the canyons.

I brought a media personality Of American nationality.

She has a special personality, And made up the "that's hot" mentality.

She has very beautiful, long blond hair, And brown or blue eyes that are very rare.

One of our acquaintances came along.

He is a bit old and his legs are long.

His hair is snow white and he wears glasses.

He made up a software for the masses.

He is too smart and analytical, Hence his spreadsheet is very critical.

In today's work and school society, He taught us how to treat anxiety.

Colored Pencil: Chris Evans - M. Soriano Gutierrez, Gerard Way - Nina Bohensky

Home by Mia D'Angelo A breeze from the shore refreshes you, as the tide pulls the waves and the sun hits the ocean. There's a feeling in the air, something familiar, something exciting. So many times before you’ve said goodbye to this paradise, this home away from home, always to return wanting more. You think about it every day; you can't shake it because you know it all begins when you get there. Everyone in town knows your name and you know theirs. The beloved same old, same old: your job, your friends, your routine. Nights are filled with lazy bike rides, summer movies, and late-night ice cream with friends. It only takes a moment to realize you're in the best place on Earth.

The last friend who joined is very humble.

She helps people who are in a tumble, And those who are materially needy.

She despises the terribly greedy.

She has glowing, tan skin and wears all white.

Her smile and her heart shine so very bright.

Just like that, our pleasant trip is all done, After many days of sand, sun, and fun.

I am very glad we went to the beach, Where everyone got to share their speeches.

When around the light I feel much better, Specially if I don't need a sweater.

I am happy I got to meet them all, And with the famous celebs tag along.

From all I learned something big or small.

I cannot wait for our next fun recall.

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Job 80160 Year 2023 Page 015 (1695961491) Master (1333872452) 05/01/2023 2:12 PM

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T ROU INE The air was cool as I walked up to the door of my friend’s house. My striped sweater hung loosely on my body while I knocked on the door. She promised to do my hair today while we chatted. We catch up once a month on the same day, at the same time, for the same amount of time: the 21st of each month from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. We would have dinner together, and every time she gave me the same food. It was comforting. It is a routine I still enjoy to this day, so I waited excitedly for a response at the door. I waited. And waited. And waited more. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. I knock again, and finally someone answers-- but it isn’t my friend.

Instead it's a tall woman with pink hair and plenty of gold jewelry. She has a slight tan, and looks down at me with a scowl. “What do you want?” she asks dryly. I’m shocked. I’m always here on this day at this time every month, and she isn’t. Yet she’s looking at me like I’m some unwanted salesperson. “Uh… I’m here to see my friend. Is Amira here?” I ask quietly. Why am I so quiet? I’m the one who is normally here, not this scary-looking woman. “She’s out.” The statement is quick and curt. It takes me aback for a second before I become concerned and suspicious. “Out? Out where? That makes no sense: she’s always here. She knew I’d be coming. I’m literally here the same day each month-- it’s our routine.

She knows it.”

“Um, what do you want me to say to that?

I can’t give you an answer other than ‘she’s not here’ so you can take that as the truth and get out of my face.”

I stared at her for a second. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. We made a plan, and the plan made sense, and it was consistent.

Why did she change it? Does she not want me around? Did I do something wrong? Is she dead? With all of these questions spinning in my mind, I felt myself start to shake. “Do… you know how much longer she’ll be gone?”

As I uttered those words, the woman in gold looked past me and smiled.

“Hey, Amira, you’ve got… someone here for you. Glad you’re back because I was kinda sick of talking to whoever this is.”

“Luna. My name is Luna. Um,” I stumbled on my words as I turned to face Amira, “Hey…

Did you not remember I was going to be coming?

I just thought… Well, we do this at the same time every month… Is everything okay?” I tried not to let too many of my insecurities slip into my speech. She was my friend. Just because she’s late doesn’t mean she hates me, right?

She flashed a sheepish smile, “Yeah, I’m good.

Sorry for being late. I was gonna call you but I got distracted. The amount of people at the store was kind of insane…

Come on in! Oh, and this is Fiona.

She’s my new roommate.”

I gave a nervous smile to Fiona and waved slightly. She stared blankly back

by Emma Marsh

at me as I walked inside the house.

Everything was okay now, making sense and back to normal. Along the way, I learned a valuable lesson: life won’t end just because my routine was altered.

But I hope it doesn’t get altered again.

Concrete Glass by Molly McKegney (top) Solitude - Pastel by Emilia Lucas (bottom)

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Job 80160 Year 2023 Page 016 (1695938300) Master (1333872451) 05/01/2023 2:12 PM

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One Shoe by Julia Calderaro One shoe lay in the middle of the road.

For God's sake, it had looked so worn and old.

But I myself with only one shoe Knew exactly what to do.

I grabbed that darn shoe and slipped it right on.

It may have been two sizes too big, But to me that wasn’t a worry.

When flurries of snow Came down from a above Now I needn't worry.

Shadows by Emma Bradley The shadow on the wall resembled a bird. Or was it a dog? It could have been a toaster. We were in that conference room for hours. The voices in the room were muffled as my eyes began to shut. I was supposed to be taking notes, but the pen slowly stopped.

With the sun set, the shadows had changed. The bird’s feathers were beautifully colored. It started to fly. Then I saw a dog wagging its tail and chasing a ball, while through the window of a house the toaster popped up. As I walked through a neighborhood, airplanes soared through the sky and dinosaurs roamed through the streets.

Out of nowhere, the ground started to shake, airplanes fell from the sky, and dogs ran under porches.

“Sophie... Sophie...” My colleague was shaking me.

“The meeting is over,” he said. I quickly gathered up my things, said thank you, dashed out of the building, and started walking to find a cab.

Now every time I see a shadow, I can't help but think about the bird, the dog, and the toaster that got me fired for sleeping on the job.

Train in Twilight by Isabella Bergamini There goes the blazing train of San Westigo, flaming down the tracks with hell’s fury. It never runs too late nor too early and it never makes any extra stops.

It is dark maroon with gold accents and entirely full of foreign packages waiting for pick-ups never made. Those that have tried to ransack the train suffer from severe burns and cry that no man could have built it. They say it is possessed by evil and it shall know no rest until the final destination is made. What that final destination is no one knows, but rumors run through the forlorn towns on its route. The train shall not cease until the final days, when the oceans swell, volcanoes roar, and the final destination is reached. The old locomotive will cut through any and all in its path until it dives straight into the eternal fiery depths, never to be seen again.

Musee d'Orsay by Morgan Lomax (top) Colored Gloss - Colored Pencil by Amelia Calveric (center) New York City in January by Grace Potter (bottom)

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Enthusiastic chatter engulfed the dinky town that was Nixem, Michigan. Although they remained trapped in their povertystricken bubble, the town was considered one of the most rowdy and therefore undesirable places to live. The mayor, Mayor Grenwitch, constantly received complaints about leaky pipes, poor electricity, cracked pavement and various other health and safety concerns. One by one these problems would be fixed only for them to reappear again in a few months.

However, there remained one issue that no fixing nor building could temporarily solve.

Neighbors of all ages and personalities stood in solidarity as they prayed for a solution to the most egregious threat they ever faced: children. Oh, how they longed for polite, little girls, content in playing with their dolls and makeup. Instead, the residents of Nixem found themselves stuck in a land of conflict and carnage, stuck in the center of a war.

He needed to secure a position and create a perimeter only he and his men dared cross.

Naturally, he began to dig out trenches in the snow. Albeit a large task for a pint-sized soldier, he was not alone for long. The Bulls, as Walt had named them, were intensely loyal and never failed to assist their fellowmen. Soon came the Ernest twins, tying their scarves and running down their crooked, concrete steps.

Their neighbor Donnie always tried to distract them. He was bored and the occasional slip made him laugh. They never failed to deliver.

This time it was the older of the two that tumbled his way into battle. Still, not a second could be wasted, so the younger dragged his wounded brother straight into little Walt’s trench.

On the opposite side of the street, Robby Jr. snuck out of his decrepit back door to deal out freshly baked rations to his fellowmen, the Hawks. He slid the plastic container across the snow before barrel-rolling behind Ms. Duncan’s car for cover. He was one of the most valued soldiers on the field, second only to the Hawks’ leader, Jack who had yet to appear.

Next there was a clatter of hooves and a clang of drums followed by a ferocious battle cry.

Young Hawk Finny galloped straight through the frontlines on his trusty steed, Caramel the

Conqueror. Caramel was a majestic stallion with a body built out of the strongest wood and a head with the richest of stuffing. Walt and the twins readied their weaponry and aimed at the rider’s chest. POW! The first snowball overshot its target. BANG! The second smashed into poor Ms. Duncan’s battered car. WHAM! The third sped straight for its target, missing only after Hawk

Sheldon yanked his comrade behind a barricade of garbage cans. Sheldon never made a fuss; he had experienced too many casualties to be one for theatrics. Regarded as the most experienced for the job since he diligently watched his father apply a band-aid, he was the one soldiers would crawl to once they were hit. Sheldon could do anything, from wipe off the frosted particles on his wounded officers, to prescribe hot chocolate when necessary. It was a messy job, but someone had to do it and who better than Sheldon?

Although the majority had acquired some sort of alliance over the years, such as the Hawks or

the Bulls, there remained a rogue combatant.

Ollie crouched behind his garbage can, whispering fervidly to an imaginary lieutenant. He spotted his target and creeped out from the tin barricade, aiming his chilly weapon and smacking Bull Davey, face first, with a snowball. Davey yelled out in anguish before he collapsed to the winter floor Meanwhile, Ollie simply creeped back into the shadows and watched as the opposing sides erupted into a mad scramble for ammunition.

Strategies spread, coat buttons fastened, snowballs stockpiled, and adversaries aimed for oblivious men as gray clouds glided into the scene. After dividing the rations on his side and taking the leftovers for himself, Robby Jr. discovered a new use for his plastic container.

He lifted the container and shielded himself from incoming attacks whilst narrowing in on the twins. The two panicked as they formed pile after pile of ammunition. It wasn’t until Robby Jr. reached their trench that the older of the two noticed him. In a heartbreaking set of events, the older was struck by Robby Jr. in the midst of warning his brother. The younger twin gave his opponent one last glance of rage before he pummeled him with an array of snowballs. Finny gave his general a final salute before Robby Jr. succumbed to the flurry. They continued their fire, regardless of who was lost.

Afterall, they had gone through plenty of training to lead up to their particular battle.

Each of them had mastered the art of hiding behind the nearest object whenever their superiors called them in for lunch.

If only

Pups in the Snow - Paper Collage by Juliana Looney

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Mountainscape - Oil by Devyn DeLaura

these taller generals knew the magnitude of what they were fighting for. It was a war for their great land, the very symbol of freedom, the big kids’ playground. A ground like no other, it was filled with swirly slides and monkey bars—every soldier’s dream. It had been decided that the winning side would have claim on the territory for an entire week. That is unless Ollie won, then he would have the whole playground to himself. The men eventually realized this and came to the conclusion that Ollie had to be eliminated.

Finny chucked Sheldon’s hideout, collecting ammo as he went and ducking for cover when necessary. He reached the dingy hideout, snowball prepared and arm ready, only to find it desolate. Sheldon’s snicker amplified behind him. Walt winced and instinctively closed his eyes, realizing he had lost the war. POW! The snowball hit, except he wasn’t the casualty.

Sheldon swore under his breath, before he carefully made a spot for himself in the snow, he had been hit. Walt opened his eyes to see none other than Bull Harry standing before him! Harry was always the latest to arrive because he was born of the strictest superior of them all. Unlike the other soldiers, he received a very different type of training. Harry was certified in Theo watching. His younger brother, Theo, had failed his military training and was since barred from battle according to their superior. It was because of this that Harry often dodged the draft, despite his desperation to join. Still, whenever he was available, he was instantly welcomed. Walt needed all the help he could get, especially against an opponent like Jack. The two cemented their alliance with a spit and a handshake and it was

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done. A snowball launched just an inch away from Harry’s head. The two darted their glance in the direction of the throw, setting their sights on a frollicking Finny making snow-angels. Evidently, Jack had finished with him. With only three of them remaining, one thing made itself clear: chaos ruled in their land of flurry and war. There could be only one man— or one boy— on top and each of them was determined to win.

The hurricane of projectiles poured down on each side of the street, covering every patch of land with a sparkling white. Jack seemed entirely unstoppable and especially vicious. He ripped the flag off his broken vehicle and waved it with pride whilst winding up his free hand. Walt, being unable to properly express his emotion with actions, took to shouting his war cry. This only egged Jack on more as he followed Walt’s lead.

Soon enough, the battle expanded from just out-dodging the other to also out-screaming.

They became so incredibly loud that Harry failed to hear Theo’s delicate voice calling out to him. After being ignored several times, he headed towards his older brother.

Normally, he didn’t dare interact with his brother when the others were out and about.

They frightened him with all their noises, but

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he trudged on. Jack pelted his adversaries’ weathered tin barriers in hopes they would eventually collapse.

His unrelenting persistence angered Harry who now became laser-focused on his foe. They needed to win; he needed to win. Meanwhile Theo managed his own battle against the forces of nature. The kicked up snow and blasting flakes acted as a blizzard blocking his brother from him.

Although Theo was not a warrior in the physical sense like Harry, he carried the same determination. His eyebrows furrowed and his head pointed forward as he dragged each fragile foot closer to the battle-field. He moved in on the front-lines, albeit unbeknownst to him. Strong gusts of wind hauled snowflakes across the land, brushing against faces like sandpaper. A cruel chill froze each exposed limb and carried on to the next. The only sparks of color resided in the flushed faces of the soldiers. War raged on as little Theo stood in the middle of it without a clue.

Blinded by passion and pride, Harry paid Theo no attention. He gathered a horde of snowballs and waited until Jack unwinded his arm. Jack’s eyes widened for the first time in genuine fear-- not for himself, but for the boy in front of him. Little Theo just about managed a wave to his brother before he was slammed down by Harry’s fury.

Silence. The wind ceased to whistle, tin cans refused to clatter, and the boys stared in shock. Gradually, Theo pulled himself up to a sitting position and interrupted the quiet with a cry that rang through the ears of every boy.

Without a second thought, the surviving and the deceased became one, forming a circle around the frightened boy. Snowballs fell, barricades pushed aside, and strategies were thrown out the window. Harry rushed to his brother and cradled him, uttering a string of apologies. The Ernest twins offered their scarves and Robby Jr. managed to salvage a half-bitten cookie from his pocket. Finny crouched down to slip Theo his toy horse Caramel, as Sheldon ran to get his mother. Jack quickly grabbed his cardboard sleigh.

Together, he and Walt maneuvered it under Theo to keep his bottom from getting wet. Even Ollie volunteered his assistance. After a moment or two with his newly acquired items, Theo’s cry softened and he wrapped his arms around his brother. It was time to head home.

The boys packed up their things, each wishing Theo well and waving their goodbyes. They waddled their way through the snow towards their cozy homes with light hearts, grateful to know not the true horrors of war.

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Seats at the Counter 4PM by Chengli Payton “I’ll have a root beer float, Sam.” As Sam fills up a cup, I look over at the most obnoxious girl in our high school. Her name is May and she’s got her hair in curls and a new dress on today. She’s smiling coyly at Sam, acting like he’s Superman for filling up a little rootbeer. It’s the only thing I can focus on, even though a million other conversations are going on. I’m waiting for my dumb brother, Eric, to pick me up, even though school let out an hour ago. After much disagreement and fighting, Mom finally let him have Dad’s old car, so he’s riding around like a man about town. Picking up younger sisters (even only by a few years) hurts your popularity. Not for me though: my friends all think Eric is super cute. As if! I have a frown on my face as Sam slides the rootbeer to me.

Here I am, without a license yet, staring into my drink like a forty-two-year-old alcoholic. That’s probably the main reason Sam never looks my way. All of my friends say I’m pretty, but am I as pretty as May? Mom says it’s all about personality. Personally, I don’t see what she’s got going for her. I think her teeth are a little too straight and her hair is a little too perfect, but that’s just me. She looks like she would blow away in the wind. What Sam thinks about her is another story, I guess. Her personality is peaches and cream and mine is basically housewife.

I pay her no mind as I look up at Sam and ask him to refill my soda. My smile comes out kind of forced, but Sam is too busy to notice. Anyway, I like independence. That’s why I like coming to this diner. It gives me a place to think and watch the world go by. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the owner, Lou. He always looks like he’s got the most hilarious joke to tell, but tries to keep a stern expression. He thinks all teenagers are dumb, except we all know he’d do anything for us, besides sharing his secret recipes. The doorbell jingles and the smell of coffee and pie wafts out the door to all the hungry passersby. My brother's here, in a leather jacket he probably nabbed from some nerd. He’s looking as much of a jerk as ever. Next thing I know, Sam is standing next to my idiot brother, and they’re joking and laughing. Eww, never mind. May can have Sam.

Still Life - Pencil by Nina Bohensky

7PM by Maara Lovelace I discovered Sally’s about two months ago when Mama and Papa started bickering again. I don’t know what drew me to the diner, but I’m thankful for it. Now the small square joint is a second home to me, the place I run away to even when my parents aren’t arguing. Inside there's laughter, music, the smell of fried food, and the same group of grumpy men sitting at the bar every night.

They used to frighten me, but I have warmed up to them. "Hey kiddo!" is how they greet me. Sally, the owner, has also become my best friend. Every time I sit in my designated booth, Sally slides me a tray of fries without my having to ask. I think she feels sorry for me, but I don’t mind the kind gestures, plus the fries are delicious.

There's this one kid, Peter I believe, who has been stopping by lately. This town is small, so everybody knows everybody, but I’d never seen him before last Friday. I’ve been wanting to introduce myself, but big kids intimidate me.

So, I watch him from a distance. He always sits in the same booth and receives the same side of fries that Sally gives me. I can’t help but wonder if we are living the same lives. One day he caught me staring and waved. It was nice of him; he must have felt my stares from a mile away. We have yet to say a word to each other, but we’ll get there. We've got stuff in common: each solo, claiming territory at a small diner. We’ll be good friends when the time is right.

Still Life - Pencil by Courtney McGough

Still Life - Pencil by Montserrat Soriano Gutierrez

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Winter Afternoon - Acrylic by Montserrat Soriano Gutierrez

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In the Garden Bed Camouflage by Casey Cox

by Kayle Brody She crouched low in the garden bed, hiding behind the brilliant stalks of green, spotted with yellow, orange, and brown sunflowers. The sun hung above her like a spotlight in the sky, marking her location. Darting through the garden, it was as if the plants helped her along, bending to her will before snapping back into place.

The girl crouched once more, her lips spreading wide as the sunflowers shook at the reverberations sent forth by heavy footsteps. Poking the soft ground beneath her, the girl spread mud underneath her bright, twinkling eyes.

She became one with the green stalks, delving deeper into their shadows.

Suddenly, an arm shot out, pulling her back into the sunshine. She giggled, “Mom! That was better, wasn’t it?”

Her mother laughed, “Until you hid in my sunflowers.”

The girl deflated, though she was not being reprimanded. She should have known that her mother would spot any difference in her beloved sunflowers.

“Next time!” Her mother assured her, grabbing her hand and kissing it.

They traipsed the garden bed that seemed to be a whole world to the girl, but was merely a backyard to her mother. The little girl longed for nothing more than what was there, but her mother yearned for an abundant yard with a greenhouse at one end.

For now, though, they were both content in the garden bed.

Tree of Color - Acrylic by Emma Bradley

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Lady Bug by Ava Montaruli

Raphy by Julia Calderaro He always had a gaze of disbelief mixed with utter terror on his face, like I was going to poke his eyes out. “Raphy,” I would say, “You know I am not mean like Jojo. I would never rip your eyes out as he did to Beesh Beesh.” He would always stare back at me blankly, with the same dot eyes and the same motionless face. “I’m sorry when I sleep I roll over on you or drop you on the floor. I don’t mean to do it.” I would always play with his raggedy body, which was just a sheet of fabric with a little stuffed head sticking out of the middle. He was a giraffe, and when I was young I would spend hours staring at him, studying the print in his fabric, trying to find some sort of pattern to crack Motherhood by Brugge Erikson some secret code. “He has been by my side for many years. He has always been a loyal friend, watching over me in my times of need, and now I hope he does the same for you.” I handed Raphy to my little sister and watched as she looked at him in shock, then proceeded to nibble on his head. “I hope you love him just as much as I did.”

by Isabella Bergamini Scurrying through the forest With restless eyes And dreadful thoughts, I head in the direction Of those relentless gunshots.

I fear not what was there, But what remains And my fears reign true.

Their cold bodies lay In their bloody, Matted hair As the wind blows by Without a care.

All four lined up In a tear-stained row, Waiting for their mother Who failed to show.

Too late.

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I stare At their once pretty, Little heads As I weep Of the cruelty of man.

A punishment, it seems For simply inhabiting the land.

Still, it makes no sense.

I remember How you’d watch My boys play And you’d laugh and smile.

My boys entertained you, Yet your minds change Like the weather.

We were the light In the dark, The peace In your manly nonsense.

Yet, here I stand Ensnarled in your Meaningless pity.

I’ve seen What you do On your leftover Segments, Telling yourselves Of all the ways You’ve wronged me.

Then you’ll investigate, Promise to find My babies’ killer Until your nonsense Overpowers Your hearts and minds, Leaving me alone

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With mine.

You’ll shove My babies, My loves, My life, In a dusty filing cabinet Where they’ll never see the light Of your precious day.

You’ll move on While I’ll continue To sit and stare, Remembering My lost title Of Mama Bear.

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something

by Siena Bascom

in bathroom mirrors there is something behind me, pointing out my flaws. at the kitchen table there is something behind me, taking my food. in the playroom there is something behind me, handing me scissors. in my bedroom there is something behind me, pushing me closer to the window. no matter where i go or what i do, there is always something behind me. but now there’s not. i’m alone in the bathroom, alone at dinner, alone while playing, alone at night. there is no longer something behind me. and although she was mean, i can't help but feeling lonely; empty. so i stare at the mirror and empty my plate. i surround myself with harmful things and open the windows in order to see something again.

Monochromatic - Acrylic by Nina Bohensky

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Snow Flurry by Morgan Lomax

Accustomed

by Kathleen Byrne

Accustomed to the loneliness Accepting there’s no fate.

Learned to accept the “what ifs” That danced around like it was yesterday.

Accustomed to the emptiness That cuts through frozen months.

A love that started in the summer Withered in the cold winter front.

And i’m accustomed to the comfort, The solace no one could replace.

Faint footprints of a first love Remain the hardest to retrace.

Tubby

by Bridget Lomax May she hover and guide Though she is somewhere else She was here once long ago.

Survived by the breath of wind In pale, dappled November Petrichor and rainy car rides The slow drip of time elapsing Into leaden, ceramic bathtubs Warming callused feet

And i’m accustomed to that summer night, The songs that always sound like you.

Your name, again, ringing in my ears, But I'm accustomed to that, too.

Actually

by Julia Calderaro

"Did she actually just say that?"

I heard Julian cry.

Did she actually tell you that she was leaving? Goodbye?

Did she rip out your heart and leave it on a plate?

And leave your last supper next to the front gate?

Did she tell you she loves you, then take it all back?

Did she get another man that you now wish to smack?

Did she truly never love you or cherish you at all?

Was your whole relationship just like a game of ball?

If this is truly the case, please tell me this: Is it fair if she watched you steal another's kiss?

Versailles by Morgan Lomax

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Sunday mornings are the worst because every Sunday morning my roommate Amelia decides to clean our apartment, top to bottom.

Now, I appreciate the gesture and love her very much and all that she does. You see, Amelia is like a cat. She is loving, gentle, and soft, but she likes things done her way– and Amelia’s way is a clean apartment. Her passion for a spotless abode isn’t what's got me riled; it’s the singing and the loud and obnoxious belts that come with it. No matter how often I mention how I prefer not to wake up to Taylor Swift blasting through the speakers at 7AM, she insists it helps her clean faster. So, I concur.

"Good morning," I grunt as I walk out into our now clean kitchen. Amelia is in a silk gown and robe; her hair is in a high bun; her face is glowing; and... do I smell roses? I swear this girl is a shiny ball of perfection. Meanwhile, I am still in my SpongeBob pajamas and haven’t showered in three days. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found a piece of food stuck to the side of my neck.

"Well, good morning, Sunshine. How did you sleep?" Her country accent is strong when she’s happy. That’s how I know she’s in a good mood.

"Like a pig. What's got you in such a chippy mood?"

"Oh, no reason. Would you like some bacon with your eggs?"

She can cook the most delicious meals I've ever tasted. She can somehow make a boiled egg taste exquisite.

"Yes, Ma’am. So, what are your plans today?"

"Well, I have another job interview at ten and a meeting with the real estate agent at one."

Amelia and I have been roommates since our freshman year of college, paired in a small dorm at New York University. I came from the sunny side of California, and Amelia was from the southern part of Texas. We instantly got along. I still don’t understand how: we are complete opposites. She likes pop music; I prefer rock. She goes to the gym; I stay on the couch. She likes movies; I like books. Despite all our differences, here we are, in our senior year, living in an apartment off campus, Amelia dropped out of college halfway

through the semester, claiming it wasn’t part of her journey. Now she's planning to move out; I guess she never got used to the hectic streets of New York City. On the other hand, I’m still in college, trying to get my poli-sci

26

Mysterious Gate by Maria Clara Bragagnolo

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degree, and quite frankly, I love New York.

That’s what I love most about our friendship: we like different things, live in different ways, and come from different backgrounds, but we work so well together. She is my

5/1/2023 3:52:10 PM Copyright © Jostens Inc, 2023

Artistic Hands by Brugge Erikson

After responding "CU@1," regret fills my gut as I struggle to find something to wear.

When you stay in your room as much as I do, laundry becomes dreadful. Rummaging through a pile of clothes, I manage to find jeans and a tank top. The outfit looks even plainer than I expected. As I stare in the mirror, I wonder if this will be worth it. I hear Amelia’s voice in my ear: "You won't be young forever, Get out there and see what's waiting for you."

Already regretting my decision, I grunt, gather my things, and head for the door. closest friend in college… probably my only friend.

"Nice! I have no plans other than to stay in bed and study."

"Oh, Juliette. You do that every day. Why don’t you change it? Perhaps you should go outside." I giggle at her suggestions. By now she should know that I am very comfortable in my bedroom, away from all the chaos outside its perimeters. Plus, I always have schoolwork to do. There is absolutely no time to dilly-dally.

"Oh, don’t look at me like that. When was the last time you went to Dave’s Cave or the library? You used to always enjoy those things."

Another thing about Amelia is that she is always right. It’s true: I used to love those things. After a long day of class, I would go to the library, select a book and head over to Dave’s Cave. I was a regular and the workers would never forget my order. School just got the best of me, and I haven’t had time for myself. Deep down, I wish I did and I hate that I don’t.

"I don’t know. I have so much work to get done. I have an exam next week…"

"You can prepare for it later. The weather is absolutely beautiful. Soon, once school is over, you’ll officially be a lawyer, and you’ll barely have time for yourself, so make the time now. I promise that a few hours away from this apartment will not derail your well-planned strategy for passing that exam. You never know, you might come across an opportunity."

I let Amelia’s words sink in as she walked back into her room. I hate when she’s right. Think of all the things I could do instead of being

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imprisoned in my room... My phone chimes.

It’s a text from Gavin, a former student I used to tutor in high school– it was part of this senior tutor club thing. We haven’t spoken since he graduated, so it was weird to see his name pop up on my phone.

The message reads, "Hey! It's been a long time. How've you been? I heard NYU has been treating you great. I hope this isn’t weird to ask, but I was wondering if maybe you could help me with this project for history.

College is kicking my derrière, and I thought why not ask for help from the smartest person I know?"

I contemplate the request for a few seconds. This could be a sign from the gods telling me to get out of the house, plus it’d be nice to help out an old friend. I text back, "Hey! Sure. I didn’t know you were in the city! I’d love to help. Are you close to Dave’s Cave?"

"No, how bout Sally’s Avenue? Great coffee. Close to NYU. Meet at 1?"

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I like it when the city is crowded, but I especially love it when it’s quiet. It’s not something that happens often, but when it does, it’s the most peaceful place. As I walk out of the apartment, I greet the old lady who always sits on the stairs with her French poodle. We exchange grins, and I head to my Uber. The drive shouldn’t be too long according to my maps app. I didn’t get any rest last night, so gently resting my head on the window, I tell myself I'm not going to fall asleep. I’m just resting my eyes.

I jump to the taxi driver banging on the window. Wow, I've arrived. Dazed and confused, I step out of the car.

"I’m so sorry. I was up all night studying.

I guess I am more tired than I thought." The taxi driver grunts while waving me off.

"I said I'm sorry!" I yell, but he is gone. It’s not until his car is out of sight that I notice my surroundings. There isn’t a building in sight, only large fields of grass and a long driveway that leads to a large, square building. Where am I? I text Gavin as thoughts run through my mind. Was this a setup? Did I enter the wrong address? How far is the nearest restroom?

I’ve never seen New York so empty. Am I even in the city anymore? There is still no text from Gavin, and I seriously need the bathroom, so I head toward the building in the distance.

After the long walk on the unreasonably long driveway, I make it to the front doors. KNOCK KNOCK "Is anybody there?!" I call, "Hello!

Can anybody hear me?" No response. I try to call Gavin, but it seems there is no cell service.

(Continued on page 32)

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Where Camels Roam

by Charlotte Knight Imagine a land, a faraway place Where camels roam, made of sand to erase Footsteps that traveled from the east to west.

Their people have an eagle as their crest, Iraq, the home of a mighty palace.

I hope to come and see Sultan's chalice.

There is a princess, dressed in bright turquoise.

She resides in her castle, she is poised.

She is incredibly compassionate, You might know of her, she is eminent.

She treasures her striped companion, Rajah, Her family and kingdom have drama.

A master thief, who struggles with money Goes on a quest, and gets extra lucky.

He has dark hair and is described as prim, Abu, his faithful sidekick supports him.

He wishes for a newer preferred life.

He will become a known prince with a wife.

There was also a magical being.

He lives in a lamp, excels at dealing.

You can make three wishes, he will provide.

Can shape shift and disguise, useful to hide.

His complexion is blue, his grin is great.

He teaches you why not to mess with fate.

They came with me along the great journey.

On the way they shared with me their story.

Although different they all shared the same goal: To help a foreigner on his grand stroll.

They shared with me their knowledge of Iraq And in their kindness, they had never lacked.

When we had reached the long-awaited goal I linked the effect it had on them all.

Waterlilies - Pastel by Isabella Misrahi

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Nature Confronts Me

by Colleen Dooley The trees sing my name.

The leaves look to impart blame.

Nature confronts me.

Our environment Cries to be saved from humans.

Who should answer it?

The trees speak to me.

I listen fervently, But I never understand.

I sit beneath the shade, Drowning out the world around.

Should I answer the phone?

Waiting in the Waves A True Story by Julia Calderaro I sat on the beach, basking in the warmth of the summer sun, listening as the waves pulled back like a cowering army in battle, then rose and grew before crashing to the ground and running away again. The kids were playing in the water, throwing big wet globs of sand at each other.

Suddenly, shadows surround the girls. Alarmed, I jumped up and saw a large mass of creatures.

They were dolphins! Their “eeeee”-ing sounded like giggles as they danced around the children with seemingly big smiles. Playfully, they had encircled the girls as if protecting them. I snatched my camera and took a couple of photos.

Later at home, I printed one of the pictures, planning to hang it. When I looked at it again, I noticed another shadow in the water– with a large pointed fin. The dolphins had been protecting my girls from a shark! A friend who is a marine biologist told me that it is common for dolphins to save humans like this. That night as I tucked the kids under the covers and gave them a goodnight kiss, I thought to myself maybe dolphins are more “human” than we think.

Eulogia

by Morgan Lomax

Never have I been so thirsty. Although it is not yet evening, when we young women typically retrieve water, the sun’s incessant rays are unbearable at this time of day; the sand under my feet is like fire. The Lord has not blessed us with one drop of rain this month, but for what reason? Did we not worship Him devoutly in the Samaritan temple? Why the heat is of such a suffocating nature today is unknown to me. And so, propelled by a need to quench my thirst, I begin the trek up to the well. I am Eulogia. I am 14 years old.

Mother suggests against traveling up to the well on my own. Away from her watchful eye, she worries that I will socialize with young men from the village, but this will never be. I am far too intimidating of a target as the daughter of Mount Gerizim’s High Priest. My ancestors had helped reorganize our community after the attack by John Hyrcanus on our temple and cities. The debt of the people has yet to be repaid, and so we reap the benefits of our grand legacy.

Dust and sand rise above my head as I make my way up the gentle incline of the hill. Each step I make bears a heavy weight on my body. The clay pot on my shoulder is meant for one of a greater stature, yet I insisted that I could bear the load. If Father could carry it, so could I. It is about noon when I arrive at the well. Luckily, the canopy above shields my face from the blinding sun. It appears pink through the fabric. A few steps beyond, I hear the sound of sandals pressing into sand as someone enters from the opposite direction. My body tenses, weary of strangers. Through the weaving branches of a tree, I make out an elderly woman. She is clothed in old robes and stands proudly, yet there is a heaviness to her gate. Photini is her name. With one calculated movement, she brings the jar down from her shoulder with weathered hands and places it upon the sandy floor.

A stranger appears from behind. Run. I think to myself. Young men, such as the one who has approached the well, are forbidden to talk with us Samaritan women. Yet, this man does not seem to be of a malicious nature.

He slowly approaches Photini. From the cover of a tree, I watch what unfolds.

He speaks of living water. What is it, I am not sure. Perhaps what we have been desirous of all along? Is it not the reason that we worship at the temple, to be quenched of our insatiable thirst for love and peace? The stranger proceeds to identify himself as the Messiah. He claims that he will reveal everything with his coming. But how can this be true that a man, a stranger, has been tasked with saving us all? No. No mere mortal could handle such a task; this man is no exception. But the way he communicates this is odd. He does not say it with grandeur or with hubris, but with a certain heaviness. It is the mark of someone who is weighed by duty, weighed down by the hugeness of their responsibility.

Could this man be the Messiah? In a hurry, Photini abandons the well and heads towards the city square. Intrigued, I follow.

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by Carley Dumaresq

"Aim High." "Fly-Fight-Win." "Forged by the Sea." "Army Strong." "The Few, The Proud, The Marines." And let us not forget the "Born Ready." These are the altruistic and inspiring battle cries of both yesterday's and today's soldiers. How patriotic and noble it must seem to be a soldier and, better yet, a veteran. A warrior and a defender of these United States, but what does it truly mean to be a veteran, and why is this important?

By definition, a veteran is a person who has had an experience in the military. What does this experience look like? If one looks at it honestly, being a veteran does not come with all the pomp and circumstance that these battle cries may imply. It is the understanding that these soldiers have shown extraordinary sacrifice, courage, and unselfish service to the people of this great country. Due to the selfless action of a veteran, we have been given the freedom of opinion, thought, expression, information, and publication.

In the world today, many people have their heroes. Most likely, they come in the form of sports idols, such as Aaron Judge or Tom Brady.

Fans idolize and memorize their stats, their victories, and even follow their personal lives.

They get so caught up in all the hype, they forget that sometimes, it is the average person on the street that deserves such accolades. For it is the veterans who have left their homes, their families, and the safe haven of this country to defend something greater. Put into perspective, it would be safe to say that an 18-year-old who has left their family to be dropped into foreign deserts, jungles, mountains, or shores, not knowing what

Elated - Acrylic by Emma Kelly

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fate awaits them, tops any sports figure out there.

These veterans have done it with no glory, very little money, and no entourage of fans waiting to applaud them.

Veterans come home, sometimes with both emotional and physical scars, forever changed.

And yet, they are a proud bunch. They are proud of their service, their country, and their flag. They forge on. They are our grandparents, spouses, parents, siblings, and friends, and they live and work among us every day-- most of the time without us even knowing.

Dove on Fire - Pastel by Lily Moran

So when asked, "Why is the veteran important?" one should boldly answer as follows: Our veterans are a part of the very fabric of this country. They are the past, present, and future of what has shaped and what is to come of these United States. They are truly the few, the proud, the strong, the selfless, and the bravest we will ever know.

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(Continued from Page 27) I pace back and forth, trying to remember the steps to a wilderness survival video I saw on YouTube. Then I hear a click come from the metal doors. I slowly push on them and discover they have been unlocked.

I walk into an empty corridor with a stairwell that leads to who knows where. It must be the adrenaline or the urgent need to pee, but I begin to climb the stairs. There are seven flights, and by the time I make it to the top, I am ready for another nap. I come across another door, and hearing a commotion behind it, I whip it open and see… dozens of desks, maybe hundreds. Behind each desk is a person in a suit, intensely working on a computer.

Everyone is so busy, they barely notice me, except for this one tall guy in a man bun.

Halloween by Bianca Rodin

"Hello, you must be Amelia. Welcome to your first day at TSD Headquarters!” He reaches out his hand toward me, and I instinctively shake it.

"Sir, there must be a big mistake. I’m not--" "Don’t worry. There’s no need to be nervous. Before you begin, you’ll need to answer a few questions. Make your way to the room down the hall."

"But, Sir, you don't understand--" "Hurry. You have an assignment."

Assignment? What assignment? And why did he call me Amelia? There are so many questions and no one to answer them. I accept my defeat and scurry to the room he mentioned. I sneak a glimpse at the people in suits working vigorously. This place isn’t like a regular office: it’s eerie and quiet. Sticking out like a sore thumb in my tank tops and jeans, workers glare at me as I pass by. I quicken my pace and make it to the door. This time I am 32

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not hesitant to open it; I need someone to give me answers. Inside the dimly lit room, a woman sits at a table in the center, looking straight ahead as if she knew I was coming. A sign above her says, "Top Secret Detectives—TSD." "Why hello? Why don’t you take a seat?" she says calmly.

This lady scares me, so I sit down in the chair across from her. The way she folds her arms on the table somehow makes her even scarier.

"Please state your name, age, and ID number."

"My name is Juliette Jones, I am 21 years old, and I don’t have one."

The lady raises her eyebrows as she puts on her glasses and reads the sheet in front of her.

"It says here that your name is Amelia Fermont."

"That's the thing. I am not Amelia Fermont.

I think there’s been a mixup."

"You’re not?"

"No, I don’t know how I got here."

"GUARDS!" Suddenly, two muscular men emerge from behind the door and rush over, lifting me by my scrawny arms.

"Wait, no, you don’t understand. There’s just been a mistake." I kick and squirm, trying to free myself from their grip. I’ve almost given up when I hear a familiar belt from outside the door: "Wait!" Amelia bursts in, pleading, "Wait! There has been a misunderstanding." The lady rises from her seat, ready to have Amelia escorted as well.

"I’m Amelia Fermont. This is my friend Juliette. She accidentally took my Uber here and-- I’m sorry I'm late for my first day." The lady shoots the guards a look, and they gently release me.

"Both of you take a seat." To the guards she adds, "You may go." We all do as we’re told.

I give Amelia a desperate look of confusion, and she responds with silence.

"Are her words true, Juliette?"

"Completely. Amelia is my roommate. I must have taken her Uber instead of mine. I

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only came up here because I wanted to use the restroom. I didn’t mean to intrude."

"Why didn’t you just say that from the beginning?" she asks, but it wasn't a question, and I’m too exhausted to argue.

"Amelia, we'll reevaluate your start date.

It seems as if today isn’t the right time."

"Thank you, and please accept my sincere apologies."

Amelia and I are escorted out of the building, this time by our own will. Both of us walk in silence. Once we’ve made it outside and out of earshot, words spill out of my mouth.

"Amelia, you're a spy? Why didn’t you tell me? Wait, don’t tell me you’ll have to kill me."

"Juliette, relax. I’m not a spy."

"But I read the sign that said Top Secret Detectives--" "Exactly, I'm not a spy. I’m a detective."

"What? Are you joining the FBI or something? How is this possible? Is this why you dropped out of college?"

"No, let’s just say don’t stay out late in a run-down New York library. A TSD recruiter might tap your shoulder."

"This is crazy, Amelia. Who are these people?"

"It’s a company that solves crimes in the city, like robberies, missing persons, that sort of thing. The recruiter said I had a keen sense of detail when I was reorganizing the bookshelves and said that my skills would come in handy when looking through security footage."

"Who knew your obsessive cleaning habits would land you a job!" A big black car pulls up in front of us, and the driver rolls down his window. "Hello, I was told I need to get you home safe and sound, per the boss's orders." Amelia and I jump into the car, eager to get out of here.

"Wait, who did they say this Uber was for?" I ask the chauffeur hesitantly.

"Um, Juliette and Amelia, right?"

"Okay, good."

Amelia looks at me with sincere eyes and says, "Hey, if I get to keep the job, you can’t tell anyone."

"Amelia, who would I tell?... Gavin!"

"No, you can’t tell Gavin."

“No, I mean, I forgot about Gavin. We were supposed to meet up today." I whipped out my phone and see a new message from him: "Hey, have to reschedule. Something came up. What days work best for you?" A weight lifts off my shoulders, knowing that I get to go home.

“Are you alright? You look weary."

Perfect Amelia was concerned about me, instead of worrying about losing her new job.

"All good." I am never leaving my room again.

5/1/2023 3:52:10 PM Copyright © Jostens Inc, 2023

Reflection - Colored Pencil by Samantha Sloan

Index Siena Bascom 24 Isabella Bergamini 17, 18, 23 Nina Bohensky 15, 20, 24 Emma Bradley 17, 22 Maria Clara Bragagnolo Rose 26 Jenna Brenner - Inside Front Cover Kayle Brody 22 Kathleen Byrne 25 Julia Calderaro 17, 23, 25, 29 Amelia Calveric 17, Inside Back Cover Caroline Clarke 11 Casey Cox 22 Mia D'Angelo 15 Devyn DeLaura 3, 9, 12, 13, 18 Colleen Dooley 29 Carley Dumaresq 11, 31 Brugge Erikson 9, 23, 27 Lucia Ferriso 7, 14 Reagan Gavrilovic 5 Ciara Hadley 10 Amanda Jimenez 4, 11 Emma Kelly 12, 30 Magnolia Kern 8 Charlotte Knight 28 Samantha Lado 10 Uliana Leshchuk 2 Bridget Lomax 25 Morgan Lomax 6, 17, 25 (2), 29 Maara Lovelace 7, 20, 26 Emilia Lucas 16 Emma Marsh 16 Courtney McGough 20 Molly McKegney 16 Catherine Mendrzycki - Inside Front Cover Isabella Misrahi 28 Ava Montaruli 9, 15, 23 Lily Moran 31 Chengli Payton 4, 20 Grace Potter 17 Madelyn Ricordan 7 Stevie Robinson - Cover Bianca Rodin 32 Alyssa Rossini 11 Angelina Salese - Back Cover Samantha Sloan - Inside Back Cover Madeleine Soliman 10 Montserrat Soriano Gutierrez 15 (2), 20, 21 UmaSofia Srivastava 1 Sophia Vail 7 Abigail Villa 9

Fish Eye - Pencil by Amelia Calveric

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Peacock - Paper by Angelina Salese

St. Elizabeth's Art & Literary Magazine Academy of Saint Elizabeth 2 Convent Road Convent Station, NJ 07961 973.290.5200

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