Mount de Sales Academy's Upper School Literary Magazine Page Break
Volume 12: 2019-2020
Literature:
Table of Contents
Of Knights and Princesses- Part III........................................................ 4 The Compost Bin.................................................................................. 12 Time...................................................................................................... 13 Unconditional Love.............................................................................. 14 Julius Caesar End Scene....................................................................... 15 "Listen, This Time?"............................................................................. 17 "Look Like Him".................................................................................. 18 "Live Another Day".............................................................................. 19 Opposites Attract.................................................................................. 25 Porcelain............................................................................................... 27 Reconciliation....................................................................................... 28 The Jewelry of the Monarchy............................................................... 29 Echo, Chapter 1.................................................................................... 31
Artwork:
Bearer of Hope......................................................................................34 Phora..................................................................................................... 35 Pangaea................................................................................................. 36 Corrin.................................................................................................... 37 I Was Bored.......................................................................................... 38 A Flower Fantasy.................................................................................. 39 Seattle Eye............................................................................................ 40 Sunrise, Sunset......................................................................................41 Launch.................................................................................................. 42 Mountain Range....................................................................................43 Lord Boros Meteoric Burst................................................................... 45 The End.................................................................................................46 Credits............................................................................................... 47
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Of Knights and Princesses- Part III Akuorkor Allotey & Juliana Fdoul, 11th Grade Chapter Three Avis made her way towards the sparring site, preparing herself mentally. Now, more than ever, she wanted to do well in this competition. Juliet had given her confidence and she wanted nothing more than to do well; that was her main goal. If she accomplished this ambition of hers, her life would feel like it was worthwhile — defending royalty, possibly even defending princess Juliet. Well, as worthwhile as it could be, guarding could also be dangerous. Sterling then called out pairs for the sparring competition. The rules were fairly simple: beat your opponent and steal their sword in order to win. The man didn’t seem to be going in any particular order as he shouted, “Adda and Andromeda!” Avis quickly looked around. She didn’t know anyone named Adda, but as a ginger-haired boy pushed his way to the front of the crowd, she figured that was him. “Janet and Asher!” Asher turned around, glanced at Janet, and grinned as he turned back around. “Easy,” he whispered to Andromeda, who simply rolled her eyes. “Avis and Berwyn!” A boy with sandy hair stepped up next to Adda, and Avis realized the two were probably brothers, seeing how they looked nearly exactly alike, minus their hair colors. Avis glanced at her opponent. He was tall and more muscular than scrawny. His boots were all wrong for fighting in the mud; he was probably going to slip from lack of traction if he tried to go too fast. He looked up and saw her staring at him and she immediately looked away, hunching her shoulders as if she was embarrassed. When he returned her gaze to him she saw he was grinning and talking to a dark-haired boy, his stance relaxed. He was already underestimating her. “Sage and Ortensia!” Avis blinked. How long had it been? She didn’t mean to stop paying attention. She yawned, shaking herself. Probably not that long. “Auburn and-” Avis zoned back out again, already planning her moves. She would confuse him. Distract and conquer, as she liked to call it. Andromeda thought it was a stupid tactic and said it was much too simple to actually work. Funnily enough, Avis had won more spars than Andromeda had. “I’m off. Wish me luck, sis,” Andromeda said, and although she knew that her sister didn’t need it, Avis muttered a short “Good luck.” “I bet she’ll beat the daylights out of this guy.” Asher was watching Andromeda and Adda chose their swords. Luckily, they were just wooden practice swords so that no one ended up with an arm chopped off due to a sharp blade or something worse than that.
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They got into the ring, standing a few feet from each other. Adda swayed in his stance, but Andromeda just planted her feet, gazing intensely at him. He squirmed as Sterling bellowed, “May the best fighter win! Start!” Andromeda immediately went in for the kill, and Adda just barely had time to raise his sword in defense. The force of the block caused the girl to stagger back and Adda drew back to strike, realizing much too late that the stagger was a feint. Andromeda barreled into him and he couldn’t hold her back as he tried and failed to plant his feet in the mud, instead sinking into the brown, watery mush below. He attempted to pull his boot out but, unfortunately, he was stuck. It only took a second for Andromeda to disarm him and snatch his sword up. The other trainees cheered half-heartedly, Avis included. She had watched Andromeda ace every competition and she was positive that her sister would get a spot as a guard. Sadly, she couldn’t have said the same for herself. “That was amazing, Romeda!” Asher cheered, bouncing off ofAvis’s shoulders and nearly sending her to the ground. “I’ve told you a million times not to shorten my name in any way, shape, or form. It never sounds good.” Even while Andromeda snapped at Asher, she smirked with pride at her accomplishment. All that extra training she did with Sterling paid off after all. “Good fight!” Sterling looked at Andromeda, clear pride in his eyes as he spoke, although it appeared he was trying to hide it. “Asher and Janet, choose your swords and step into the ring,” he continued and Asher winked--perhaps blinked-- at his sisters before making his way towards the practice swords. They got into the ring, standing a few feet from each other. Adda swayed in his stance, but Andromeda just planted her feet, gazing intensely at him. He squirmed as Sterling bellowed, “May the best fighter win! Start!” Andromeda immediately went in for the kill, and Adda just barely had time to raise his sword in defense. The force of the block caused the girl to stagger back and Adda drew back to strike, realizing much too late that the stagger was a feint. Andromeda barreled into him and he couldn’t hold her back as he tried and failed to plant his feet in the mud, instead sinking into the brown, watery mush below. He attempted to pull his boot out but, unfortunately, he was stuck. It only took a second for Andromeda to disarm him and snatch his sword up. The other trainees cheered half-heartedly, Avis included. She had watched Andromeda ace every competition and she was positive that her sister would get a spot as a guard. Sadly, she couldn’t have said the same for herself. “That was amazing, Romeda!” Asher cheered, bouncing off ofAvis’s shoulders and nearly sending her to the ground.
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“I’ve told you a million times not to shorten my name in any way, shape, or form. It never sounds good.” Even while Andromeda snapped at Asher, she smirked with pride at her accomplishment. All that extra training she did with Sterling paid off after all. “Good fight!” Sterling looked at Andromeda, clear pride in his eyes as he spoke, although it appeared he was trying to hide it. “Asher and Janet, choose your swords and step into the ring,” he continued and Asher winked--perhaps blinked-- at his sisters before making his way towards the practice swords. The fight was quick. Asher tried his hardest to keep Janet away from his blind side but Janet was incredibly swift, darting out of view, and by the time he turned, she was behind him or on the other side. She was having fun, laughing every time he whirled around to just miss her, like a cat playing with its prey. Asher delivered one incredibly lucky strike, sending her flying back, and Janet decided that she would stop teasing him and end the fight, knocking the sword out of his hands in just a few seconds. Asher just watched as she took his sword and held it up triumphantly. “Bad luck,” Avis murmured as he returned, but he just shrugged. Andromeda patted him on the back and he sighed. “I knew I wasn’t going to win that. I doubt the king would want a one-eyed guard on his team, anyway.” “That’s not true. Look at him, he’s looking over here right now. You’re totally his favorite.” Then more quietly, Andromeda added in a mutter, “For whatever reason,” but Asher wasn’t listening as he walked away, his eyes narrowing at Janet. “God, he better not do anything drastic. I swear, that boy makes me more stressed than I need to be.” Andromeda immediately followed Asher, leaving Avis alone once more. Avis knew she had a better chance than some people, but knowing that now she could have a better one than Asher didn’t quite settle right with her. It was supposed to be the three of them on the guard, serving next to each other, but now Andromeda had a higher chance than both her and Asher, and now, she had a higher chance than Asher. As a matter of fact, she doubted any of her acquaintances that she made here would make it. Ortensia had failed the main race but passed the riding. However, she didn’t look too confident, Avis noted, as she nervously glanced at Sage, sizing her up repeatedly. Sage, on the other hand, was rather apathetic. She didn’t win anything, saying that she didn’t try, and rather doodled in the mud with a stick, not bothering to watch any of the matches. Janet had won her fight with Asher and although she finished the riding course, she had one of the slowest times. Then, of course, she was near one of the last finishers in the race, claiming that she preferred to do long distance.
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“Hey, are you going to go or what?” A voice snapped Avis out of her thoughts and she realized that she had probably been standing in the same spot, staring out into space while her opponent had been waiting, standing in the ring. He had a friendly smile on his face, and Avis only felt slightly bad about what she was about to do to him during the sparring. Sighing deeply, she pushed down her constant embarrassment and walked over to the ring, grabbing the same sword that Andromeda had used. She tried it in her hand. It had pretty good balance for a practice sword and she noted that not all the swords that were offered were the same. Maybe she had missed out on getting a better one by simply choosing the one that her twin had used. Disregarding the thought, she got into a fighting stance, narrowing her eyes at Berwyn. Well, his chest anyway. He was bigger than she had anticipated up close. Blue eyes, sharp but soft at the same time. She felt like she was looking at a giant. A somewhat handsome giant, she admitted, but a giant nonetheless. “Hi. I’m Berwyn,” he said, and Avis raised an eyebrow, debating whether to ignore him or not. “Ready? May the best fighter win! Start!” Sterling yelled before she could answer, and she just ducked as Berwyn swiped at her with ferocity. She was much faster than him, she realized, as she darted away from another blow. He was putting too much energy into his hits, and he was missing. He was easily going to be tired out. The sound of wood against wood surprised Avis, and she stared in dismay as her sword went flying out of her hand. “Are we done?” Berwyn asked, but rather than dignifying him with a response, Avis reached into her satchel and threw her bag of sand right into his eyes in one fluid motion. He screamed as sand got into his eyes, the small, sharp particles were probably extremely irritating, and Avis ran dodging under his flailing arm and grabbed her sword. Then she dropped it, a new idea coming to her. Berwyn was still rubbing his eyes furiously and Avis pushed him with both hands. Off balance, the tall boy slipped in the mud. It was almost comical, the sound he made when he hit the ground, and Avis scrambled to grab her sword, pointing the wooden tip at the blonde's throat. “My name’s Avis. Pleased to meet you,” she introduced. Berwyn opened watery eyes to stare at her as she grabbed his sword too, therefore winning the match. She glanced back once as he was pulling himself out of the mud and he had an amused and surprised grin on his face, looking a bit bewildered. “Hey, good job, sis! I especially liked the part where you threw sand in his eyes.” Asher seemed to be back in a good mood, slamming into Avis as she walked out of the ring. “Told you distracting and conquering worked,” Avis smirked as she spoke, and Andromeda just raised her eyebrows, looking over at Berwyn.
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“Looks like ‘distract and conquer’ worked a bit too well,” the other girl retorted, and Avis followed her gaze to see Berwyn staring at her. When she looked over, he blushed, grinned, and looked away. The rest of the fights went back and forth, winners and losers, before finally coming to an end. “Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you at the end of your fight. You were really good.” A voice behind her startled Avis, and she turned around to see Ortensia looking apologetic. “Yours was, too. Sage was a better fighter than I expected her to be.” “Same. I’m glad I managed to win, though. Sorry about pushing your brother, by the way.” “Sometimes he deserves it.” Avis let out a small laugh, and Ortensia gave her a hesitant smile, eyes seeming to change from a pale blue to a pale green. “Stop lollygagging, you two. Downtime is almost over.” Avis looked away at Andromeda’s call and by the time she looked back, Ortensia’s eyes appeared green again. “See you later, I suppose?” Ortensia asked and without waiting for an answer, she slipped off into the crowd, eyes focused on a brunette. “Did you just see that?” Sage’s soft voice tickled Avis’s ear and she turned, surprised that someone else was actually talking to her. “Um…” “You know, there’s a completely logical explanation on why people’s eyes change color,” Sage continued, green eyes searching Avis’ own dark ones. “But not one for a change that drastic in color.” “It’s always possible that she may be a witch,” Avis joked, recalling their earlier conversation. Sage smiled, brightening almost immediately. The two chatted as they walked and Avis learned that she had much in common with the girl. "We should hang out more often,” Avis suggested, a bit surprised that she genuinely meant it. For a long time, she hadn’t had many friends, but she spends one day with a bunch of other people and she makes two new ones. “Assuming we both don’t make it. You probably will and I’ll be stuck bored at the village for the rest of my dull life,” Sage said, and while it was rather nonchalant, Avis could practically taste the underlying disappointment. Whether it was for her or for Sage herself to feel was a mystery. “Yeah right, I doubt it. Either way, I’d make time for you. I take my friendships very seriously.”
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“Friendships?” Sage sounded dubious now, even a bit suspicious as she glanced down at Avis. “I mean, isn’t that what we are? Friends?” “Sure. Yeah, of course. I’ll see you around,” The girl ran off after her unenthusiastic reply, leaving Avis very confused. Where had she messed up? “My Lord, she’s annoying.” “How long have you been eavesdropping?” Avis usually would have snapped at her sister, but she was still in a state of confusion and just let it go in favor of analyzing her previous conversation.” “For as long as we’ve been taking this walk back to the castle. You didn’t honestly expect Asher and I to believe that you’d be able to make it all the way, even in a group, did you? You’d probably get lost halfway there, despite all the people, go into the woods, and die.” “Hi, sorry, but she’s right. Are you even listening right now?” Asher waved a hand in front ofAvis’ eyes. She slapped his hand away. “I’m always listening, Asher,” she said seriously. “Sure thing Avis, but you weren’t really attentive during the competition,” Asher said in reply, and Avis blinked at him. “You weren’t attentive that time that you were riding on a horse, ran into a tree branch, and lost an eye. I guess we all have our flaws, brother.” Asher let out a sputtering noise, and Andromeda masked laughter with a cough. “You really just said that? No sympathy. Andromeda, make her stop being mean!” “New rule: no more talking until we reach the castle.” The moment they were back on the stone ground of the castle, Asher repeated, “Andromeda, make her stop being mean!” “Everyone in the throne room, now. The royal family has made their decisions on our walk back.” Sterling’s announcement cut off whatever the eldest was about to say and the trainees whispered, some nervously, some with excitement as they all shuffled in, some looking around in what they knew would be their last time seeing the throne room. “First, we will announce who will be chosen for training for the royal guard. Benjamin Baker, Ortensia Clarke, Patrick Dravers, Henry Farmer, Victor Octavius, Adda Perry, Berwyn Perry, Carmelita Piper, and Lloyd Robers.” There was a lot of nervous shifting as numerous people realized that their chances were now completely obliterated. Being chosen for the royal guard was what many expected to be chosen for, and many of them weren’t.
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“Additionally, I will be retiring in one of the next years coming,” Sterling continued, sparing a glance at the king, who gave a small nod. “So the time has come for me to take on an apprentice. I have gotten permission from King Eric, and Asher Ashdown has been chosen as my apprentice.” Avis saw her brother’s knees buckle and he fell on his face before she could even attempt to catch him. Luckily, Andromeda was ready, holding their brother up by under his armpits. “My God, Asher, are you okay?” she asked, sounding concerned. “Please pinch me,” Asher mumbled, and Avis did so with glee. “Ow. Does that mean this is real?” “Congratulations. Now get off me. You weigh so much.” “Thank you, Sterling. We will now be moving on to the royal family guards.” The king’s gold eyes gleamed as he stared at the apprehensive faces in the crowd. “Starting with Philip. He has chosen Andromeda Ashdown, if she could please step out.” Andromeda’s face was a mixture of mild hatred and shock- mostly shock- as she confidently walked past other people and to someone inexperienced in reading her faces, it might look like she was happy. Avis, however, could tell that she had her “murder face” on. It was the face that she usually got when she was talking to Dara, anyone who she hated with a burning passion, and Avis herself whenever she said something particularly stupid. A smile paired with flaming eyes of death. “Liliana has chosen Janet Cooper and Diana has chosen Arius Carpenter.” Janet walked through the people, pride in every step she took, head tilted up the slightest bit. Then Arius, a boy that Avis thought she had never seen but then realized that she had seen him at every competition. He really blended into the background for someone with golden hair. He walked with a happy bounce to his steps, taking his place next to Janet, grinning widely. “Juliet has chosen-” King Eric paused as the princess whispered something to him. Avis’s heart beat so hard and she was positive that everyone else around her could hear it as the king slowly raised his head and looked right at her. Juliet smiled, and then, “Juliet has chosen Avis Ashdown.” Avis swore to God that her heart stopped beating and the silence was so deafening that her body decided that she immediately had to lie down, and what better way than to have her vision go grey and her legs go limp. It almost worked too, as her legs decided to wilt like dying flowers and she slowly, at a crawl, walked to the forming line, nearly face-planting like Asher had attempted to.
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“Avis, calm down. You’re shaking again,” Andromeda whispered, and Avis bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to stop, but to no avail. “And by code, since Asher Ashdown is now Sterling’s apprentice, he also is assigned to the eldest child, in this case, Jahath.” Asher looked pained at Jahath’s icy glare and gave Avis his “wish me luck,” look, although it went straight over her head as she tried to keep her inward panic inward. “This concludes the choosing of guards. Thank you for coming, and-” the king stopped short, tensing, and suddenly clutched at the arms of his chair so hard that his knuckles went white before he finished, “the ones of you which were chosen need to be at the castle tomorrow morning by sun-high.” Sterling herded them all out in record time, and as the sunlight hit Avis in the face, she faintly heard Andromeda mutter, “Is it just me, or was the king a bit odd?” The king being odd was the least ofAvis’ problems. The first thing on her agenda tomorrow morning was to figure out exactly why Juliet had chosen her of all people.
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The Compost Bin Daria Mayville, 9th grade Every day I walk past The old compost bin It sits right outside a house That no one dares to look in I thought that whatever was inside Smelled really bad I gathered courage to look and find What was inside was extremely sad I gasped for air, I couldn’t breathe The owner of that house, an evil mister ‘Cause I peered inside to see Lying there was my dead, missing little sister
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Time Virginia Grace Todd, 11th grade Time seems to slip through my fingers as though it’s sand.There is nothing stopping it. The minute and second hands tick by past the numbers, working endlessly to give our lives structure. This time has downfalls. There never seems to be enough lifetime to grasp all of what has been created for us to enjoy. Time creates so many negative emotions like frustration, anger, and sadness. Time goes hand in hand with age to bring everyone’s autobiography to a close. Whether this be by illness or of weakness, this time brings grieving for the loved ones we have lost. This time we have been given limits our ability to make more memories with those people who slowly leave us as the clock ticks second by second. They become lost in the void of years, months, days, seconds- until there is nothing. No time. There is, however, happiness in time. Time brings us new life within infants and nature. Time brings us the seasons and the celebrations that we created for them to spend with our loved ones. Although the turning hands of time bring some lives to a close, they also open new books with fresh pages to be filled with words and chapters. The numbers on the clock or calendar have never truly mattered. Time should be measured in how much life a person has lived. Once we all leave this rock floating in the universe- time will go on, with or without everyone to notice it.
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Unconditional Love Johniya Barnes, 10th grade I know a love that is so far and wide That from it we cannot hide No contracts, no conditions Nothing that could contradict it See, this love brings such a joy It couldn’t even be ignored Sometimes I can’t comprehend How this love can exist Or at least how it would extend to me This love is the love of God And I’m proud to be his Hopefully, this poem reminds you of how lucky you have been that God's love has always been within.
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Julius Caesar End Scene Noah Silver, 10th grade As the warm spring sun began to rise, the dreaded commanders, Mark Antony and Octavius, began to discuss their battle plans at Philippi. Their serious discussions were interrupted by a messenger. “The enemies appear as if they are about to attack,” said the very tired looking messenger. “You take the left side, Octavius,” said Antony. “I’m taking the right side,” said the confident Octavius. “What’s wrong with you? You dare defy me?” said the furious Antony. Octavius turned with a face of annoyance to Mark Antony and said, “I’m not defying you, but I’m still going to the left side.” As the two fearsome war generals bickered unnecessarily, Brutus and Cassius were continuing to prepare for war. “They want to speak with us,” said the honorable Brutus to his brother Cassius. The two brave brothers approached the ruthless generals as the morning began to fade away. The crisp spring breeze and the faint cries of gulls were the only sounds present at this time. “Words before fighting. Is that it, countrymen?” said Brutus. “I guess, fool, but we would rather be slaughtering you right now,” said the obnoxious Octavius. The spiteful words of Octavius did little to anger the patient Brutus. “Words are better,” said Brutus. “You are an arrogant hypocrite, Brutus,” said the triggered Antony. “Aw, you are so sweet,” said Cassius in a sarcastic tone. The rivals looked at each other with menacing glances before Antony killed the silence. Antony yelled, “We will kill you vile murderers! Caesar was your friend and you ruthlessly killed him, you insolent fools.” The angry brothers responded with fire, and the bickering continued to go back and forth. “Shut up everyone!” yelled Octavius. “We are wasting our time arguing! Let us fight! I will kill all of you traitors as mercilessly as you killed Caesar.” The fired up brothers claimed they were not traitors as Octavius continued yelling his clever insults. “Let’s go, Antony,” said Octavius and, at last, the two groups of rivals split apart. The sunny sky was soon replaced with dark gray clouds. The menacing clouds cast an overwhelming umbra on the flowery field. The clouds hovered above the brothers like a hawk waiting to make its attack. Hundreds of crows covered the sky like a hundred tiny fleas. Brutus and Lucillius conversed as Cassius approached Messala.
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“Today is my birthday, but I am doomed,” said Cassius. “I used to not believe in omens, but the sky is covered by crows; I can’t ignore those facts. Our army is going to die.” There was an eerie silence for a few seconds before Messala bluntly said, “I don’t think that is going to happen.” “I only partly believe it. Even if I did, I would still fight,” said Cassius. As Brutus and Lucillius returned, Cassius turned to Brutus and asked, “What will we do if we lose?” Lucillius and Messala turned to Brutus, eager for an answer. Finally, Brutus quietly stated, “I accept whatever fate I have been given.” Messala looked surprised and Lucillius looked frustrated; however, Cassius just looked deep in thought. “So you’re saying that...you would be willing to be a slave for our enemies.” Brutus laughed and then said somberly, “I will never return to Rome in chains. I will die before I am a slave to Antony. I might never return. Farewell, my brother.” Cassius didn’t know how to respond due to his shock, but finally he quietly said, “Farewell. If we see each other again, we will rejoice.” Lucillius and Messala looked content at last. Finally, Brutus said, “I wish I knew how this day will end, but at least I know it will come to an end.”
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“Listen, This Time?” Taylor Budacz, 10th grade I’m telling you how I’m feeling or did that just sound appealing? I’m so done with this, I’ve had enough. I keep trying but every time I give a piece of myself to you, I feel that it’s never enough, my efforts I gave to you. It’s tough. I’m trying to learn from my mistakes, but I can’t take all my emotions. Acting like you’re giving me a promotion, where’s my solution? Because everything around me is crashing down, erosion, commotion, I don’t understand this. I’m giving you all I got. How can I cope with all my emotions when all you do is tie the knot? You see these explosions in me? How am I supposed to give you want you want when you always disagree? You make these explosions in me, it’s time to be honest even if you don’t agree.
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“Look Like Him” Taylor Budacz, 10th grade I’m sorry I have his laugh and I’m sorry I have his face. I heard he was a mental case, but you were the only one who sang that tune. I heard he’d come home in gloom, but he didn’t even see your room. I’m sorry the sneer on your face shows the way you felt he was a waste, but I shouldn’t get the torch for the damage left on the porch. You have the power to set it on fire, so why? Why don’t you tell me to pull the wire? Are you overbearing with guilt, or so filled with pent up lies that keep being built?
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“Live Another Day” Stephanie Pierson, 12th Grade “You- you are-” Jason Guilles trailed off, nodding towards me. After about an hour of all of us sitting around the table, he was on his fourth drink, and everyone could see his diminishing inhibitions. I was hoping that he wasn’t going to say anything inappropriate. “Beautiful? A genius? Immensely talented?” I tried to fill in the rest of his statement with the nicest qualities that I could think of for myself. “Dangerous,” Jason said with conviction. My colleagues around the table laughed heartily, and I joined in with them. I did not know at that point that one of my missions was a failure, but I wish that I had. I couldn’t believe that they were not dead. We had planned everything out perfectly. I had never failed a mission in my life, and I was mortified when Blaine called me one Tuesday evening, while I was eating dinner in my Manhattan apartment, to tell me that my portion of the scheme to take down the government of New Prussia a few months prior was unsuccessful. He explained to me that Lamar Brueger and his personal chef, Pierre, were spotted at a hotel outside of Prague, obviously not dead, as the newspapers had claimed. Blaine told me that he could send me pictures of how the pair looked now along with modified instructions on how to proceed in order to carry out the mission. I graciously thanked him for calling me and told him that I would be looking forward to receiving the package in my mail soon. I hung up as quickly as possible and sighed. I was grateful that Blaine was giving me another chance, but I could not comprehend how I could have messed up the mission. I had shot Lamar in the shoulder, the stomach, and the head. It was nearly impossible that he survived. And I didn’t even know that Pierre was in the palace during the murders. I hoped that Blaine would not take away my cut of the 25 million that I had earned by working with the mission. I had plans for what I was going to do with the money. Maybe a nice vacation to the Amalfi Coast? Or possibly a visit down to Australia again to pay Jason Guilles a visit. I chuckled, remembering Jason’s comical comments following the murders at the Monarchs’ Palace just a few months ago. I pushed my worries aside and realized that I had never added the charm on my bracelet to represent Lamar’s death. That must have been some sign that I knew deep down that the mission was not completed. Four days later, I saw my new mission details in my mailbox from Blaine. I was excited to head back out to Europe to finish what I had started. I knew that I had to be successful this time. As I opened the manila envelope that had his initials in wax across the seal, I tried to predict what I was going to have to do. Would I have to sabotage their next plane ride? Maybe poison their drinks as I had done with Marshall? I pulled out two sheets of paper and a stack of photos. My eyes slowly traveled across the sheets of paper. I was supposed to go to Siberia for a clandestine attack on Lamar and Pierre during their next hunting trip in the South Siberian forest in April. It was still a few weeks away, but I instantly began my preparation for what I needed to do to be successful this time.
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Looking at the pictures, I barely recognized Lamar. None of his features before his makeover were particularly attention-grabbing. He was run-of-themill height with brown hair and brown eyes. Not muscular, but not stocky either. In these new photos, he had buzzed his hair close and died it blond. I also saw his half-failed attempt at facial hair -- he had grown a patchy and uneven beard, but did not bother trying to die it. Even though I had no clue what Pierre looked like before, he looked weary of the world, with a scraggly beard and pale blue eyes. His beard may have been hiding a scowl, but it was difficult to tell. I tried to commit their pictures to memory, but I knew that I would have to review them daily if I were to have any hopes of remembering anything significant. Almost a month later, on a Wednesday morning, I entered the LaGuardia airport, dressed in what I thought was casual Russian attire, feigning confidence, trying to hide the fear that I had about this mission. As I walked out onto the tarmac to my personal airplane, my carry-on bag seemed to feel heavier. I had traveled with weapons before, but I still felt uneasy. I knew that if I failed this mission again, I could probably kiss my career goodbye since I would lose my reputation of success. On the flight, I reviewed my itinerary over and over again. I was supposed to camp out in the South Siberian forest steppe for two nights. The first night, I would be in the wilderness alone, preparing for Lamar and Pierre to get to the area. If I arrived before them, they would not be looking for me as someone who was following them. I had already bought a tent and a sleeping bag that was suitable for sub-zero temperatures, but I needed to stop by a local grocery store to buy a stash of food. I planned on cooking my food over a fire, only cooking when I was certain that no one could see me. As my plane touched down at a small airport in southern Russia, my eyes were flooded with Cyrillic characters that I vaguely understood. I had learned Russian during my time in the Assassination Academy, but I realized that I had forgotten a large portion of the language as I struggled to comprehend the signs and billboards. Walking towards an awaiting taxi and lugging an oversized duffel bag over my shoulder, the wind whipped at my face. The air was chilly, and I knew that it would make for a cold night in the forest, but not unbearable. I flipped out my book of Russian phrases and skimmed them quickly, trying to find phrases that would help me negotiate a fare to the village grocery store near my campsite. I had difficulty negotiating, but when I got out of the taxi about two and a half hours later, I tossed a wad of rubles in the driver’s compartment. It was not enough to be suspicious, but I was certain that it covered the cost of the lengthy ride. I flipped the hood of my parka over my head as I walked into the grocery store. I wanted my face to be concealed as much as possible, but I tried not to look suspicious, even though I was still carrying my duffel bag. Inside the small store, I spent a fairly equal amount of time on each of the aisles, grabbing dried meats, canned vegetables, and crackers. I was minimalistic with my supplies since I knew that I would have to carry everything with me to the forest.
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After paying at the front register, I tossed everything into my duffel bag and set off walking, following the direction of the sun to the west. I already felt incredibly jet-lagged because of the thirteen hour time zone difference, but I hoped that by the time I could get adjusted to the time, I would be ready to head back home. By walking, I hoped that there would be no traces of me going into the forest: no taxi drivers, no eyewitness accounts of a vehicle dropping me off, no need to search for a place to hide a bike. Just as the sun began to disappear along the horizon for the rest of the night, I found the location that Blaine had wanted me to use as my campsite. It was secluded in a clump of trees, but only about one hundred meters from a desolate clearing that was probably where Lamar and Pierre would spend most of their time. I set up my tent quickly before starting a fire to cook my vegetables over. I planned to heat up enough just for the night and then cook the dried meat the next morning. I ate my vegetables out of the can once they felt warm, and after eating, I looked over my plan one last time by the fire’s light. Pierre and Lamar would be there around noon tomorrow, and I was supposed to make my move after dark that day. I went through my weapons stash, ensuring that each gun was loaded and ready for use before killing the fire and retreating to my tent. Was I lonely? No, but being in the middle of nowhere in Siberia dramatized how alone I was. I couldn’t risk leaving the fire going, so I shivered slightly in my mummy sleeping bag, underneath four layers of blankets, thermal clothing, and jackets. I did not have any real concept of time out here besides night and day, but I was awakened when the sun was almost all the way up in the sky. I crawled out of my tent and perked my ears up before peering through a gap in the trees. I saw two figures shuffling around, setting up a tent of their own. I crept through the clump of trees and saw the two figures up close. It was in fact Pierre and Lamar. Lamar’s hair had grown out a little bit from the pictures I had seen him in, but his blond hair still looked mismatched on his head. I headed back to my tent as quietly as possible. I changed out of some of my layers and snacked on some of the crackers that I had bought. I wasn’t exactly sure how I wanted to pass the time, but I settled on studying my Russian phrase book again. When nightfall came, I snuck out of the tent, firmly clutching my pistol by my side. My heart was racing, and I was surprised when I realized that it was more nervousness than adrenaline. I wanted to wait for Lamar and Pierre to go to sleep, so I made my way to the edge of the clump of trees, near the clearing, and crouched down, waiting to hear if the conversation would subside. I could see the back of their tent from where I was crouched, but they could not see me since the material for their tent was opaque. I had changed into all black, wearing practically the same outfit that I had worn during my last encounter with Lamar.
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After what felt like an hour of silence, I slowly crept out into the clearing. The ground was wet, and I wasn’t sure if it was from dew or from melting snow from a few days prior to my arrival. When I was only a few feet away from the front flap of their tent, a yellow light suddenly beamed all around me. Startled, I looked behind me, and I was aghast to see Blaine standing about forty feet away from me. I reluctantly glanced up and saw a helicopter silently hovering above us, casting the yellow beam on both of us. “Hands up!” Blaine commanded, and I panicked for a second before blindly shooting a few bullets in Blaine’s direction without aiming them. After I fired my last bullet, I turned back around and saw Lamar and Pierre beginning to stir. This was going to be bad, and I knew that it was pointless to fire at Blaine again or even Lamar or Pierre. I dropped my gun and started running towards the clump of trees that I had come out from. I didn’t make it far before I realized that I was cornered. I saw Armani Pascal coming from my right and Alejandro Fernandez from my left. Directly in front of me, I made out Matthew Moore’s figure in the shadows. Closing in behind me was Earl Darwin. I knew that I could not run far in any direction, especially in the dark, so I slowly raised my hands up. I had been betrayed, and I was incredulous. Once Earl Darwin grabbed my wrists and forcefully pinned them behind my back, he whispered in my ear. “Did you really think that Blaine would give you a second chance?” He chuckled to himself as Matthew Moore hoisted me up by the ankles. They carried me back into the clearing the same way that you would carry a dead body before they directed me to climb the ladder hanging from the helicopter. “Don’t try anything,” Alejandro said. In the helicopter, I learned from Blaine that Lamar and Pierre had made a deal with Blaine and all nine of my backstabbing colleagues from the first New Prussia mission. In exchange for their spared lives and my capture, Lamar and Pierre granted each of them a ruling position in New Prussia’s government. Even though Lamar Brueger’s family was all dead, he still had connections with the current government leaders. Since Blaine was so hungry for power, he took the first opportunity that presented itself, even though it meant giving up on me. I knew that night that my career was over, so I took off my charm bracelet, the one that had served for years as a constant reminder of my identity and my calling, and tossed it out of the helicopter.
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Defective Beans Roxanna Davis, 10th grade Jack sat on the hard ground, watching the soil with no sign of life openly mock him. The mere sight of such a waste of good money made his blood boil. Half of his mother’s life savings had been given to a sketchy old man in the back of an alley, far from home. He had promised Jack a lifetime of wealth from some “magic” beans if he could get ten gold coins — the equivalent of buying thirty acres of land. All he needed to grow the beanstalk was water and a little patience. And, of course, Jack, wanting to rise up from the misery of not knowing when his next meal would be, gave him the ten gold coins that his mother was saving to buy more land. The old man didn’t immediately run off, cackling because he hustled a naive kid — he only sighed in relief and thanked Jack. Then he gathered up what little he had and hobbled away. Now, as Jack stared at the dying plant, he wondered if the old man really had hustled him. Jack suddenly felt horrible and stood up. He spat at the soil and stormed inside, wanting to forget the past three months of his life that were wasted by a bunch of defective beans. For three whole months, Jack had watered the ground with care, despite his mother’s angry complaints of wasted money. He made sure to saturate the soil, but not too much, for the beans could drown from too much water. He had taken multiple breaks out of his day to ensure that no pesky birds ever dared to set foot within a two-foot radius of his precious beans. He had devoted every minute of his free time to care for the stupid, defective beans, only to have a small area of moist soil and no beanstalk, not even a sign of germination. Despite having much more work to do before the day ended, Jack stomped into his room and climbed into his bed, not worried about his dirty clothes and shoes. He closed his eyes and sighed, worried about what he’d have to do to gain all that money back. — A pair of hands violently shook Jack’s shoulders, ripping him out of a fitful sleep. He opened his eyes wide, struggling to see his mother’s concerned visage. She was breathing heavily and stood over him, still in her pajamas. “Those beans,” she breathed. “They work.” If his mother had made at least one joke in her life, Jack wouldn’t have believed her current statement. However, Jack’s mother was never anything other than serious and composed. Therefore, something about the situation felt important. He matched his mother’s urgency, throwing off the covers and following her to the backyard.
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Before they even reached the back door, Jack could see through the small windows that there was something big and green with large leaves that broke down the fence completely. His mother didn’t stop for anything and opened the back door as far as she could, which wasn’t much. It opened just enough for her to get through before it was stopped by the sheer size of whatever sat in the backyard. Once Jack slid through the opening and hopped to the ground, he realized that the round, green mass was the base of a plant. It was the base of a beanstalk. He raised his hand to the plant, feeling an odd texture that he was sure he would never feel on any regular plant.Jack looked straight up, throwing his head back, hoping to catch sight of the top of the beanstalk. However, the freakish plant shot up through the clouds and further beyond. He wondered what was up there to make him rich. What would be at the top of a beanstalk anyway, other than leaves and beans? “How did you do this? Is this trickery? You said those beans didn’t work,” his mother said, in awe of the plant that surely couldn’t be real. “No,” Jack whispered. “They’re magic. The old man said we’d get rich from these beans.” Jack’s mother side-eyed him then looked back to the beanstalk, squinting. She seemed to be silently daring the beanstalk to yield nothing of value. But after a moment of silence, she spoke with a newfound determination in her voice. “Then let’s go get rich,” she said. Jack watched his mother hoist herself onto a leaf and climb up to another. Now was the time to get back those ten gold coins and more. And so, after silently thanking the old man who had sold him the “defective beans,” he climbed onto the leaf that his mother had used and reached upwards.
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Opposites Attract Madison Yousif, 9th grade My sister, Izzy, and I are complete opposites. She’s silly, I’m serious. She’s an extrovert, I’m an introvert. She goes left when I go right. There’s nothing that we agree on. When we were little kids, there was one thing that would bring us together: storytelling. It could’ve been straight from a book or something we made up; whichever it was, it didn’t matter to us. We would go into Izzy’s room each night and my mom would read us a story, and then I would read one. When we were alone, we would make up stories and then die laughing because of how crazy they were. My stories were always about princesses and fairies, while she came up with stories about animals that didn’t make sense. As we grew older, we stopped telling stories in Izzy’s room and drifted apart. I became more mature while she stayed a kid. I discovered my own interests and pursued them. In an attempt to become closer to me, Izzy would copy whatever I did or said. This only led to my perception of her being annoying and a copycat. As 2016 came to a close, my family took our last vacation of the year in Rome, Italy. We were casually walking through the streets. I had an ice cream cone in my mouth while Izzy had finished hers. My parents stopped as we came upon an unknown castle-like structure, which was unusual because at the time I had a great amount of knowledge about ancient Rome. We began to walk through the gates until an employee stopped me and said I could not bring food into the structure. I claimed that I could quickly finish it, but instead, my mother snatched the cone from my mouth and threw it away. Izzy and I walked into the castle mildly upset because I had lost my ice cream cone and she didn’t want to go in in the first place. As we sulked through the first part of the castle, I got an idea for how to lighten the mood: a story. I soon asked Izzy if she wanted to hear a story. Once she said yes, I took on a strange accent that I don’t think I could ever recreate. I pretended to be Izzy’s grandfather, I told her to call me Good Ol’ Gramps. Good Ol’ Gramps has been alive since even before Julius Caesar’s reign. The story I told at the time took place in World War Two. Good Ol’ Gramps was a general in the Italian army and he trained his troops in the castle we were walking through. Although the story didn’t even make sense, we laughed and bonded over it. The story of Good Ol’ Gramps has become a tradition for every time we go to a European country. His stories have evolved into something that is still silly but makes sense. In the summer of 2019, my family took a trip to Venice and Florence, Italy. We went through a palace in Venice where my parents enjoyed the history of it, and Izzy listened to my story of Good Ol’ Gramps: The prequel. Even through times when we’re upset or sad, stories helped build a bond between my sister and me that can never be severed.
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I believe in the art of storytelling. I believe in the power that storytelling has to bring different people together. I believe in the importance of sibling bonds.
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Porcelain Justin Kim, 12th grade As a child, the plates in the curio confused me. My father had always taught me not to run around inside. It was to protect the vases on the table, the plates in the curio, the wine in its rack. Each item had its place, and at the dinner table, we could not use the plates in the curio. We used the ones hidden away in the cupboard. Chipped, cracked, stained. They weren’t pretty, but they had stood up to the test of time. I left that household, with its perfect plates, and found myself on a playground. I ran and jumped and skipped until I tripped and fell, ankles sprained. As I passed through the doorway of my house, scraped, bruised, and aching, I made sure not to disturb the plates in the curio. As I grew, I learned to hold part of myself back once I entered within those four walls. That way, things would remain the same — the vases idyllic, the plates unparalleled, the wine sublime. I departed from those floorboards, and I found myself at school. I cracked jokes, drew pictures, and made friends until my jokes fell flat, my drawings were thrown away, and my friends left me behind. As I greeted my mom by the door, discouraged, disheartened, and disappointed, I envied those plates, unscathed from the wearies of the world. Having grown and gained more sense, I set out, entering college. I had experienced an entire semester of excitement and heartbreak. I returned to that house tired, but excited to go back. As I walked in front of that curio once again, I stopped. The plates that had been chipped, cracked, and broken had lived more life than the ones displayed for their perfection.
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Reconciliation Harris Noland, 8th grade He dresses in all black He watches from afar as I continue to try to find my way through the deep, dark woods An animal, he somehow silently crawls behind me as I trudge tirelessly through the forest I hear the snap of a twig I turn around No one there Hello, old friend I turn back around and I see him His claws shining almost as bright as his wicked smile in the light of the full moon as he wipes the saliva from his lips I try to run but he's too quick Sweaty hands grab my face before I can even begin to take a step in the other direction I feel a slight tingling sensation as he sinks his teeth deep into my neck I try to break free, but it's no use For I am no match for myself
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The Jewelry of the Monarchy Ella Shuster, 7th grade I was just wandering around a big, tree-filled park with my coffee colored chihuahua, Bruce, and my big black Great Dane, Princess. The way the sun glared on Bruce made him look hazelnut brown. They each walked at different paces, so I was being jerked around from side to side. Then a mysterious looking man came out from behind an oak. I didn't even notice the man for a minute as I was observing the trees’ beauty; the leaves were the perfect shade of orange-yellow due to the crisp fall air. I heard a blue jay singing its song of delight from a nearby tree. It was the perfect day, until the man came out from behind the tree. All he said was "choose a hand.” I had no intention of doing that so I turned around, but then he brought out a switchblade from his back pocket. He repeated himself in a more grueling and dark voice. "Pick a hand.” I had no choice. It was my life or his hand. I chose the right hand. He gave me a necklace filled with priceless gems, from rubies to emeralds. There was one thing about this necklace that was peculiar, though. I didn’t quite know how to word it. I was so busy staring at the necklace, in a rather joyful mood, that I hadn't even noticed that the man was gone. All he left was a note. It said: "Live today, die tomorrow. Your life will be full of sorrow. You have chosen the right hand, so you shall be given a command, to not die the next day. You have quite a price to pay." That's all it said. I stared at it in dismay before running as fast as I could with my dogs back home. I had never lived in a big house, never even a medium sized one. My house is what you would consider the rotten apple on the tree. It's that one house in the neighborhood that everyone wishes they could change. It's very small with not the best architectural design throughout. I don't even know if it is structurally sound, but it's all I could afford. It may not be what you would call home, but home is where the heart is. I went to the rickety, front door and started examining the necklace. The structure was amazing and it stopped me in my tracks just to look at it. I could tell this was no ordinary necklace, so I scraped together all the money I had and had it examined by a professional. Before I showed the professional the necklace, I got to know him a bit. His name was Gary, and he said he had always loved gems, no matter how big or how small. He said he had lived in India his whole life and moved here about two years ago. I thought he had picked up English rather nicely. When I showed him the necklace, he said that he had never seen anything like it, but he had heard stories about necklaces as amazing as this. He kept staring into the little gems. I cannot lie, I did the same thing ever so often, wondering if the little gems had stories that no one ever knew. Then he finally spoke and said, “This necklace may look beautiful, but it is very dangerous and has a dark origin. You must not get hypnotized by its beauty." He asked me where I got it from, and I said a man just gave it to me, leaving out the details of the switchblade. He stared at the wall for a second and said, “What did he look like?" with the slightest bit of anger in his voice. I said that he was in a coat, but I could see a big scar on his right cheek, or was it left?
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I didn't remember. He ran out of the building with the necklace and almost fell into his car. He was trying to turn the car on, but it wasn't working. I ran after him. With not enough time for me to grab the necklace, he drove off at least thirty miles past the speed limit down the cracked road. Wait, let's back up here. My name is Crystal. I have never been the luckiest person. When I was seventeen, I got wrongly accused of murder and got sent to jail for about four years before they found out that I was innocent. By then, I was a changed person. From A’s on all of my tests to walking through the alleyways doing who knows what. Going to jail ruined my life. It is so hard to find a job when you have been to jail, even if you were falsely accused. So now I work at a 7-Eleven as a cashier. You have no idea how many prank calls I get a day asking for a Big Mac. When I finally get home, I still have to pay the bills and walk my dogs. The day I got that necklace was the day I had off, and the same day I found it, I lost it. That's not just with that necklace though. It's been a rough life, and those twelve year old kids that are prank calling me in the middle of my day asking for a Big Mac have no idea what I've gone through. Anyway, back to the necklace...He got away by a millisecond. I got into my Toyota Corolla and just sat there. I was thinking about what he said: “This necklace may look beautiful, but it is very dangerous and has a dark origin. You must not get hypnotized by its beauty." It kept replaying in my mind over and over again until I had to turn on the radio to stop myself from crying. I wondered if the little gems had a story that I would soon know.
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Echo, Chapter 1 Akuorkor Allotey, 11th grade The ride to Mr. Smith’s house was nothing like Semyon had expected. He felt a sense of deep excitement burrowed beneath layers upon layers of anxiety. Semyon had taken a lot of car rides. More than he could probably count. He’d been through a number of foster homes, each seemingly worse than the last. Then, there was always the drive back to the agency… overall, a lot of car rides. This time was different though. He wasn’t going back to the agency. He was going to a different state with a different school and a different family. He’d been adopted by Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith was a large, somewhat burly, and hairy man with a grufflooking exterior and the interior of a teddy bear, everyone had assured him. He had a crooked nose, probably broken a few times in fights years ago. Semyon suspected he had been in some sort of military or government position in the past but had yet to ask. Mr. Smith didn’t talk much, but when he smiled, it was genuine. Semyon wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when he had met the man. Mr. Smith had experienced a lot of loss. Despite this, he lacked a cold and prickly aura. He was not reluctant to let people in. Unlike Semyon. Mr. Smith had a son named Eros, whom he called a number of affectionate nicknames ranging from “E” to “Cupid” to “Andy.” Never Andrew, though. When Eros was in trouble, it was “Eros Andrew Smith!” Semyon found that sort of funny, even if the other teen didn’t. Eros was tall, skinny, and lanky with a long neck. Though he did not have Mr. Smith’s freckles, he had his father’s chocolate brown curls and soft, hazel eyes. He was quiet, too: low-energy and calm. Semyon did not fit in. He was extremely pale, had straight, black hair, and sage-colored eyes. He wasn’t tall, but he was skinny. Though he was reserved, he had been called “spazzy” before and could talk someone’s ear off if they let him. He always felt like he was annoying when he did speak to someone for an extended amount of time. He wasn’t warm, like the Smiths. He was as icy as the arctic winds that his mother used to tell him about. He would never be mistaken for a Smith. Semyon was fine with this, though. He didn’t want to be mistaken for a Smith. He was a Reed, and as disgraceful as his real brothers had deemed their family line, he liked his name. It wasn’t like his brothers could see him now. They had been carted off to separate orphanages all those years ago. He didn’t even know what names they were going by.
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That didn’t matter now, he supposed, because he was with his new family. Despite that, the thought of them lingered, right next to his anxiety. “Here we are,” Mr. Smith said, peering in the rear-view mirror to look at Semyon. Semyon looked out the window. It was just a house. Pale yellow with a gray roof and white paneling around the windows. The garage door was closed. The grass was neatly cut, the bushes were neatly trimmed, and everything in the yard seemed rather symmetrical. It was almost weird. “Dad’s a bit OCD when it comes to our yard,” Eros explained as if he had picked up on Semyon’s confusion. Mr. Smith let out a small, amused huff. Semyon thought it was an understatement. The car engine turned off, and the three of them exited the car. Hefting his dirty, green backpack on his shoulders, Semyon took a deep breath of air outside. The anxiety in his stomach had solidified to a rock. The trunk slammed shut and a hand landed on his shoulder. If Semyon jumped, Mr. Smith didn’t mention it. “Welcome to your new home, Semyon.” Inside, the house was as normal as the outside had been. Near the door, there were stairs that led upstairs. On the left, there was a living room, and through the living room, a kitchen with a marble island. On one side, the kitchen had a hallway that led to a white, closed door that Eros said was the laundry room. Bedrooms were upstairs, and the backyard was neatly fenced in, lawn perfectly trimmed and the beginnings of what appeared to be a garden in one of the corners. The house was so unbelievably nondescript that it almost looked like it could have been plucked out of a catalogue of “homey” houses. Eros briefly disappeared during the tour, leaving Semyon alone with Mr. Smith. “You’ll be starting school at our local public school, Sunset High, on Tuesday. On Monday, you should be shadowing with one of the other tenth graders.” “Not with Eros?” Semyon asked after a beat of silence. The thought of having to deal with even more new people who would likely eventually identify him as a nuisance was something that he had no desire to rush. Usually in school, he sat in the back of the class and only spoke when he was spoken to. He never went out of his way to interact with people because as much as he longed to get into class discussions and join clubs and make friends, he just couldn’t. Most of the time, he wasn’t even at the school for that long because he just kept getting into trouble. “Eros is in eleventh grade, though you two are the same age,” Mr. Smith reminded him. The boy frowned slightly. Right. It was a miracle that he had only been held back once, and he should have been much more grateful for that than he was.
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“I’ve already talked to the administration, and I was assured that you will be paired with a trustworthy and reliable student. I’m sure they say that for every student.” The last part was said with a conspiratorial grin. The laugh that Semyon responded with was more of a sigh. He was saved from having to continue the conversation by a jingling noise and the click of nails on tile. Mr. Smith’s face brightened as he looked past the boy, and Semyon turned to see what had caused the noise. A medium-sized, long-haired dog wagged its tail, pulling on the red leash in Eros’s hands. “This is Fish. He’s a Border Collie.” When Mr. Smith had said that they had a dog in the house, he wasn’t expecting this cock-eared, dappled gray, pink nosed, blue eyed...for lack of better wording, creature. He had expected something cool like a German Shepherd or a Husky. Fish was easily the ugliest dog that Semyon had ever seen in his life. The boy kept his face carefully blank, glancing at his new guardian. There was adoration and muted hope in Mr. Smith’s brown eyes as he looked to the dog, then to Semyon. Reluctantly, the teen reached a hand towards Fish, letting the collie sniff his hand, though he withdrew at a single lick. “Why Fish?” he asked neither one of them in particular. “The way he wiggles.” A quick glance at the dog showed that the dog was indeed wriggling with excitement, much like a fish trying to return to water. Semyon took a brief moment to appreciate the odd way that people seemed to be attracted to the broken and the ugly despite the fact that they were obviously broken and ugly.
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Bearer of Hope A'nna Wilcox, 10th grade
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Phora Alicia Thomas, 11th grade
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Pangaea Arianna Cioffi, 12th grade
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Corrin Camdyn Doucette, 11th grade
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I Was Bored Chris Afful, 11th grade
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A Flower Fantasy Juliana Fdoul, 11th grade
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Seattle Eye Lawson Hickman, 10th grade
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Sunrise, Sunset Molly Balducci, 12th grade
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Launch Molly Balducci, 12th grade
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Mountain Range Molly Fitzpatrick, 9th grade
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San Juan Peyton Lautzenheiser, 12th grade
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Lord Boros Meteoric Burst Ikenna Nwoke, 9th grade
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The End Skylar Mayfield, 12th grade
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Page Break 2020 Staff Art Editor:
Arianna Cioffi
Literary Editor:
Stephanie Pierson
Layout Editors:
Akuorkor Allotey Akweley Allotey
Art Team:
Carson Butcher Juliana Fdoul Lawson Hickman Peyton Lautzenheiser Skylar Mayfield A’nna Wilcox
Literary Team:
Justin Kim Daria Mayville Noah Silver A’nna Wilcox
Publicity Team:
Juliana Fdoul Justin Kim Skylar Mayfield Daria Mayville Noah Silver Alicia Thomas
Cover Art:
Arianna Cioffi
Faculty Sponsor:
Ms. Eileen Carlson
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