N o n f i c t i o n
F i c t i o n
Vignette
Grade 10
Grade 9
Editors' Note
Happy spring! It is almost April, the air is getting warmer, spring sports have started. . . We’re really getting into the home stretch of the year. In this issue of the Apricot Journal (Volume II, Issue III), we explore a variety of topics and forms of writing, from peaceful and contemplative poems, to thoughtprovoking short stories and vignettes. We were thrilled with both the quantity and quality of the submissions we received; there are really some amazing writers at South!
Additionally, we noticed a strong theme in many of the pieces submitted: that of identity. We read a number of pieces about the writer’s identity: how they think of themselves, how they form their identity—in terms of their name, their family, and just in general. It was really moving to read such insightful and thoughtful writing. We are delighted to present those pieces in a special section about identity, and we hope you enjoy getting to know our authors through their writing.
Last year, in its first year, the Journal only published three issues; but this year, we will publish one more! Our fourth issue of the year will be released likely in May, and we’re looking forward to it! Furthermore, we know many of you are looking forward to the Journal’s next writing workshop, and while we are still working out the date (more details to come soon!), we hope you see you all for a workshop either in April or May.
We hope you enjoy reading the incredible writing in the Apricot Journal’s latest issue!
All the best,
The Editors-in-Chief
Anya Geist
i·den·ti·ty
/ˌ īˈden(t)ədē/
a the fact of being who or what a person or thing is b the distinguishing character or personality of an individual
I am From...
Mary Nzoka, Grade 10
Iamfromabigbluehouse, fromcleaningandplayingwithmycousins. Iamfromcurtainsonthewindows Andfromhearingthecows“moo”intheafternoon. Iamfromthebigtalltree, fromMaryandSamuel. IamfromcookingalotoffoodonChristmas, fromnicknamesandlaughter. IamfromNgimaandNyeni, fromthesmellofroastedcornatnight. Iamfromallthelove,joy,andclosenessofmyfamily.
MGA
Megan Ashun, Grade 9
Megan Golden Ashun (pronunciation: me-gin, gol-din, a-shen)
IfIcouldwriteaboutmyself whatwouldIsay?
Especiallytowardstheend wherethemostimportantthings pend likeablinkingcursor onrepeat lettingmethink aboutme anautobiography.
Maybethat’sit Iliketothink.
Writeabout theendless circuitsofthoughts whirringinandout. Cyclical Iliketothink butcannever get awink ofsleep.
AllIneed ismymind tobeblind forashort-while soIcanbegintolisten tothethoughts ofmine.
My Name
Chloe Williams, Grade 10
Idon'tlikemyname.Notevenjustmyfirstname.Idon’tlikeanyofit.Allofit.
Meadow.Blooming.Fertility.That’swhatmynamemeans.Chloe.Tome,itsoundstoo plain. Too basic. A sheet of paper on a gray desk. A bowl of oatmeal. A white plate on a marblecountertop.Ablackandwhitephoto.
Iaskedmyparentswhytheypickedmynameonce.Wethoughtitsoundednice,they said.Anditworksinbothlanguages.FrenchandEnglish,bothmylanguages.Itsoundsnicer inFrench.Morelikeleapingthroughafieldofwildflowersandlesslikeasingularwildflowers inaseaofthesame.Hasasweetertone,likecursive.Looping,makingclean,pinklinesinthe airwhenyousayit.NotinEnglishthough.InEnglishitsoundslikeababycrying,nailsona chalkboard.Abellringingtinnilythroughtheair.
Mymiddlenameisn’tbetter.Anne.ThesecondmostcommonmiddlenameintheU.S. A knock-off version of Anna. Even simpler. Where is the uniqueness? Where is the flavor? I don’tknowwhereitis.Idon’tthinkthesmartestpersonintheworldcouldfinditeither.If theycoulditwouldbeamiracle.
Theworst.Williams.ThethirdmostcommonlastnameintheU.S.1,625,252people withthatlastname. My lastname.Althoughisitreallymine?Mynamewillprobablyshowup amilliontimeswhenIgraduate.Replicaafterreplica.Sameaftersame.Nobodywilleversay, “Ohwow,whataspecialname!”BecausethereisaWilliamsoneverysportsteam,school, andcommunitythatyoucanname.AswellasanAnne.AswellasaChloe.
But maybe names don’t need to have meaning. Maybe the way I act, think, feel, can describe me. I am not plain. I have a meaning and a purpose, even if my name doesn’t. MaybewhoIamcanbewhopeopleknowmeby.Notablankfacewithablandface.Notone ofsomanypeopleinacrowd.Me.Theonlycolorinablackandwhitephoto.Me.Thesplatter ofpaintonanemptycanvas.Me.Makinganameformyself.
My Honest Poem
Anonymous, Grade 12
IwasbornonSeptember19
Someonesaid“that’sarandomday”
Ican’tformylifeorderadrinkandfoodin I’mobsessedwithcats
IliketothinkI’mabove5’4
YetI’masshortasmyfriends
Ilikethecolorpink
Idon’tknowhowtosewbutIwouldloveto Iknowitsoundscrazybutforsomeonewh
IpreferAmericanfoodovermymom’sViet Ineverlivedanywhereelse
NorhaveIreallylivedmylife I’mscaredtodeathofwhat’soutside
BecausemostmylifeI’vebeeninsidemyh Ihaveanoddfascinationwithindependen forhowtheyseeminglyhandlesituationsw I’masuckerforthembecausetheyaresom whohaswhatIlack
Myselfesteemis6ftunder
EverytimeItrytodigitupallIcanfindare I’mafraidofhowdisgustedpeoplewillbe sowhenevertheywanttomeetherIinstea
Idon’tallowmyselftoopenup
ButIgetsofullandsick allmyproblemsjustbarfsitselfout thenIscarfitbackdownsonoonebother Hi,mynameisDalena
Ihaveasweettooth
Idon’thaveaspicytooth Ilovereadingonlinecomicsandwatching Ihopetodrawmyownstoriessomeday
Ispendmyweekends; Gamingallnight
Sleepingallday
Anddrawingat3AM
Becauseit'stheonlytimewhereIfeelI’mr
Nire Izena…My Name
Leire Cuberes Barluenga, Grade 9
Asubstitutewalksintotheclassroom,carryingthewordsattendance. Amillionheadsturn. Sweatstreamsdownmyforehead. Eyesblinkfast. Iknowwhatthismeans. Firstdayofschool. Greetingnewfriends,classmates,people. Shiverswrappedupmyspine. Iknowwhatthismeans.
Hello,whatisyourname? Pokerfaceon. Howdoyoupronounceit?
Thoughtsfloodmymind, Doubtandhesitation, Andthenthatinsidevoicewithquestions.
Whatismyname?
WheredoIstart? MustItellthemtherightway? DoIexplainwheremynamecomesfrom? ShouldIbothercorrectingthem?
ThroughwhicheverpathIpaveinthismoment, Itrytokeepmyselfknowing, Mynameisme. Astory.
Apast,presentandfuture. MynameisthePyreneesMountains, Itisancestorsrisingup..
Ialwaystellmyself, Thisiswhereitends,
Nomorejustification!
Buthereitcomesagain… Theheadache, Theanxiety.
Livinginmysecond-langu
Imaginingalifewithoutth
TobeaSarah,Anna,Emily Aperfectprivilege.
Becauseitisaprivilege
Whenyournamefitsthe“ Whileothersare“tooweir Anickname.
Ashortenedversion. Orasimplemispronuncia
Whatanunsettlingfeeling
Tohearthenamethat’ses
Formattedintothewayot
Piecesofmydignityandp
Nailsonachalkboard,scr
Butenoughisenough. Nomoremumblingtothe Noworryofpeoplefeeling
Buttothosewhoavoidmy Fearinguncomfortablenes
Listen:
Justsayit. Makethateffort.
Beuncomfortable. Nopressuretogetitright
Buttry.
MynameisLeire.
Ley-reh.
Growing Up vs Growth
Nicole Collins, Grade 12
Therewasalittlegirlwalkingtoschooltoday, Allonherown.
Everyonealwayssays she'ssosmart! Everyonealwayssays¨she'sgonnagoplaces
Thatplacewasthepark.She'sonlyseven. Sheisjustalittlekid.
Akidsoexcitedtogrowupandbeeverything Akidwhocouldn'twaittonotbeakid.
Therewasagirlwalkingintoherhomeroom Allonherown.
Everyonealwayssays¨she'ssoloud!¨ Everyonealwayssays she'snoteventrying!
Sheistrying;sohard.She'sonlyseventeen She'snotreadytogrowup.
Shejustdecidedwhatshewantedtodowith Sometimesshewishesshewasstillakid
Igrewup,buthaveIgrown? HaveIchangedatall? Wellthat'sformetodecide.NotEveryone.
Theshortanswerisno. Mygoalshavechanged. Whatdrivesmehaschanged. Ineverdid.
I'mstillthelittlegirlwhowalkedtoschoolto Allonherown.
I'malsothegirlwhowalkedintoherhomero Allonherown.
Andthat'sokay. I'mgoingtobeokay.
House of the Past
Anya Geist, Grade
10
Thishouseisthepast.Rustynailspoketheirsleepyheadsthroughthepeelingwhitepaintand thewindowsashessagundertheweightofold,dustyglass.Theroofiscrumbling,slowly,having held the weight of hundreds of years of rain slamming into it like sheets of blue glass. Blue. The wholehouseisbluetomenow.
Onthoserainydayswewouldgotoplayintheattic.Thehotstuffyaircocoonedus,thethunder rumbledoverhead,andwesoughtrefugeintheclubhouse,tuckedawayinthecorner,wherewesat on rotting, decaying mattresses and organized a crooked little bookshelf full of titles with hefty yellowpages.WewrotecodesandjobsandsecretIDsontornpiecesofpaperinshakyelementary schoolhandwriting.TheAncientHottel,Iremember,wetackedthesigntotheeaves.YesHottel.It’s beenyearssincewewereupthere.Iimaginethosepapersandmattressesandyellowedbooksjust sitting there, waiting for us to return. They slowly turn blue and faded and the rain from the roof dripsontothedustyplanksoffloor.
Beneaththeatticarethebedroomsandclosetsstuffedwithmoreofthepast.Mymom’sblue prom dresses that were once different colors (pink and swirling purple) are held up, shoulders saggingontheirwirehangers,micewheretheheadandfeetandarmsshouldbe.Iwantedtotry themoneonce,beforetheyturnedblue,butIwasn’toldenough.StarWarsstickersareplasteredto aclosetdoorframe,scratchedandfadedcartoonishfiguresfromthe70s(sounlikemyownflashy actioncards)peeringoutfrompeelingwhitebluepaint.
InthecornerofthemasterbedroomIknowthereareplasticboxesstackedupfourfeethigh besidethewindowrippledwithrain.Onesummerwelookedthroughthemall ittookdays.They holdmygrandma’smemoriesinsoftalbumsfilledwithnewspapercutouts,birthdaycards,school schedules, dance invitations, and yellowing tape. There is more than just her life between those pages; Scott Lowdon, a high school beau, is forever preserved in notes written in neat pen script; postcardsimmortalizeLindaClarke,aonceclosefriend,nowrivalforunknownreasons.Theblack ink carved into these cards and cutouts and invitations and notes is dark blue like the rain has seepedinandwrittenoverthewords.
Down the steep once-creaking stairs I imagine the living room is silent, empty without the concert music that used to warble from the radio, and lit by the blue light of rain instead of the shining colors of sunset that usually slid in through the windows. On the mantle of the fireplace neverusedaresilverframesandblack-and-whitephotos.Wetsmilingfacesgrinatthedustydead roomfrompackedpicnicbenchesbythelake.Aheadatopastripedbutton-downshirtlaughsashe holds a croquet mallet, and the camera laughs too. Two girls lean their heads together, with matchingsummerfrecklesandtoothgapsandhappinessintheirblueblueblueblueeyes.
Therewassomuchlifehere,once mychildhoodisetchedintomybrain.Thereweredeviled eggs at parties, red paprika on top. The green screen door swung open and closed and open and closedasgenerationsoflittlekidswithpinkcheekstrackedtheirmuddyfeetacrossthewornbrown floors.
Butnow,thebluerainwaterfallsdownthesideofthehouse.Itslipsintothewarpedroofand along the crooked windows; it urges along those rusty nails and washes away white paint. The memoriesinsidearecaptiveandstuck,immortalizedintheirblueshrine.
Likesomuchinthehouse,theyareleftbehind,leftbehindbyeveryonebutme.
Loud
Malia Montalvo, Grade 12
Theloudesti'veeverbeen Wasbackin2004
Withonefootinthewomb
Andtheotheroutthedoor
Intotheworld
Whereeveryoneisloud
Alltalkingoverme
SothatIcan’thearthesound
Ofmyvoice
Toosmallfortheirears
Soihideit
Untilitbecomesmybiggestfear
Iforgetwhatitsoundslike
AndIforgettospeak
BecauseI’mafraidI’mnotloudenough
Andthey’llthinkmeasweak
SoIlockmylips
Andthrowawaythekey
Andsoonthequietkid
Becomesme
andontomore amazingwriting...
A Long Time Ago
Lila
Tallagnon, Grade 9
Sheopenedherpalmstostrangers, Offeringrocksanddandelionsa Shehandmadebirthdaycards. Herheartspokeinglittergluean
Shescoopedupcaterpillarsfrom Andputtheminglassjars, Andwhisperedapologiestobee Shetriedtounderstand.
Shebrushedandbraidedhair. Sheinstinctivelynurtured.
Shewasajournalcollector. Herthoughtsskippedpages. Shefelloffofbikes, Threwcoinstothewell, Openedherarmstothesun.
Shesawstoriesintheclouds, Rainbowsinthegardenhose, Starswhensheclosedhereyes. Andwhenallwasstill, Sheknewwindwouldpickupag
Andyetnowsheasksme: Howoldiswise? Howmuchissensible? Howdoesbeautyglowfromfing LikeIhaveaclue.
Istoppedpickingflowersalong
Burnout Anonymous, Grade 12
Somuchdepends Upon
Adullwooden Pencil
Shortenedtoa stump
Fearfulofred Ink
Normal School Day
Raquelle Ketter, Grade 10
Itwas8:40amonacoldwinterday,snowhuggedthebranchesofthetreeshoveringoverourhouse andsoftsnowflakesdancedfromtheskyandlickedthecoolsurfaceofmybedroomwindows.My bed was covered in more than 5 blankets, all working and toppling over themselves to wrap me withtheirlovingarmsofwarmth,cocooningmefromtheharshcoldthatranrampantinthehalls andjumpingaroundinmyroom,anddancingonthehotstove.AllwhileIsleptinthetighthugof blankets, a knock and a call of my name in bold letters, shattered the fragile image of a dream playingonrepeatinmyhead.
I drifted out of the arms of my bed and gently placed my feet against the rugged flooring of my room,butasslowasasnailIwas,onelookatthetimeflashedacrosstheelectronicsurfaceofan alarmclockIneverused,asuddenkickofadrenalinefueledbythebody,andIquicklyyankedany clothes that were semi-decent for school, bounced off my door and shot into the bathroom at lightning speed, well, that’s how I would’ve liked that moment to go, but I made it safely to the bathroom. Then came the hard part, try not to freeze to death in your own bathroom, try not to zoneoutstaringatthemirror,andalso,pleasetrynottolookatyourphonewhileyou’reinthere too?
All of those things were tough tasks to handle, I felt myself sinking in quicksand but at the last moment my eyes quickly darted to the time. 5 minutes! I only wasted 5 minutes! Thank god! I registeredthatintomybrain,myeyeslitupindetermination,andIquicklyrippedmylegsoutof thequicksandandrushedoutofthebathroom.Igrabbedmybag,pulledonmycoat,slidonmy shoes,butwait,wasIforgettingaboutsomething?Food!Yes,food!Iranovertomykitchenasfast asIcouldinmythicksnowbootsandsnatchedashinyredapple,beforequicklybarragingdown mystairsandburstingoutthefrontdoor,tobewelcomedbythesofthummingofmygrandfather’s car,waitingforme.
Ihoppedinwitheaseandfromtheretheneverendingrollercoasterstarted,Izoomeddownthehill anddidatemporaryhaltatthebusstop,intheshiveringcold,Ihuddlednexttofriendsandmadea bit of small talk with them, until the bus came and flew us away to the nature reserve where us animalsliveinpeaceandprosperityonlybythestaffthatworkstofeed,medicallytreat,andhelp uslearnandgrowintostronglions,tigers,elks,andhyenastotakeontheworldintheirspotsone day.Fornow,however,wewerestillpuppies,fawns,cubs,kittens,andcalves,wobblingourlegs among the ice of responsibility, running endlessly through the tall grass of social standing, and constantlyswallowingdowntheinformationfedtousinscoopfuls.
All while this was happening, I walked quickly through the flooded hallways, with animals of all typesofsizes,strengths,andlives.OnceIreachedmylocker,Ibegantoshoveallthethingsfrom other classes I didn’t need into my locker without mercy. An old math paper I never passed, an English paper with a failing grade, and a detailed drawing of Finn Wolfhard. Once, I slayed the lockerandwatcheditsdemiseasIpulledmylockeddoorshut,Ilookedaroundthehalls.Thehalls werealmostempty,ohno,Ifranticallypulledmybinderandworkbox,closetomyheartandranto myclassroom.Tomyrelief,myclassmateswereinthesamespotasme,clutchingtheirbooksclose to their hearts tightly around their hooves, tapping their paws against the cold marble floor, and staringdowntheclassroomdoorwithanticipation.
Finally,amongsttherhythmoffoottappingandtheoccasionalyawnthatcomplimentedtheslow songoftheclasswaitingforschooltoend,thedoorclickedandswungopen.Fromthere,theday blurredtogether,Isatinclass“blahblahblah”,andsatinthecafeteria“blahblahblah!”,andsaton thebushome“blah!blah!blah!”Onedaywentonandonendlessly,untilIfinallymadeithome, kickedoffmyshoes,andcollapsedinmybed,Iraisedupthemirrorthatlayinmypawandraisedit tomyface.Acreamybrownjackal,withalargesnout,andtwolongbushyears,thattwitchedever so slightly, looked back at the mirror, but I slowly raised my paw and whipped away the fog coveringthemirror’ssurface.
Thejackalwasreplacedwithagirlwithdarkbrowneyes,shortfluffyhair,andglasseslookinginto themirror.Iletoutasighofreliefandsetdownthemirrorfrommyhands,andgentlyclosedmy eyes.Onedayislongerthan356daysbecauseonedayisalwaystomorrowandtomorrowisnever toofarawayandnevertoogone,becauseeverydaywe’reoneinchclosertoleadingtheworldas lawyers, politicians, and doctors, but for now, we are high schoolers, middle schoolers, and elementary schooler, waiting each day, to make our parents proud. I finally fell asleep, for a new schooldaytomorrow.
Unhide-able
Jedidah Mwaura, Grade 10
I’mUnhide-able.
Idon’thavefancyclothes. Idon'thavecoolshoes.
Idon'thavemanyfriends. Idon'thavetheperfectbody.
Everyonetalks. Everyonestares. Everyoneglares. Butnoonecares. Ifeelanxious. Ifeelscared. Ifeelsad.
Iwanttobeawayfromeveryone. Butatthesametime,Idon't.
The Story of How I Was Lost & Found
Rachel Vuong, Grade 10
ifoundyouandthoughtiknewyou. ifoundmomentswherei’vefoundpiecesofmyselfwithyou. butilosttoo. ilostmyselfcompletely. ilostmomentstoyou. ilostsmilestoyou. buttimehasagedandsohavei. sowhenisaythesenextfewlines…isayitwithallofme. there’snopoeticwaytosaythis,buti’llsayitwithpassionanyway. ilostmyselfinyouandthenfoundmyselfonmyown.
Beautiful Color
Ariel Guzman, Grade 10
Hair.Itcomesinmanycolors,lengths,andstructures. Somearebornwithanalreadysilkypatchofbeautifullocks,andothersarewithout.Some people have red hair, like fire in the darkest depths of a volcano, and black, common yet beautiful.Whilesomehavewhite,likethefallensnowoftheshortwinterdays.Itcomeswith maturityandwisdom,astheyareontheirlaststrandsbeforetheironceelegantmaneislost.
Musical Freedom
Lucy Reidy, Grade 9
Beingaloneisbeingfree
Iusuallyhaveapeninmyhandwithpaperinfrontofme
Shadingwithpink,drawingtoClairo
Having1earbudinmyleftear buthavingtoputtheotheroneinwhenTheBeatlescomeon.
Ihavenolimits,norestrictions
Icanlistenonrepeat
AndforonceIcanputtheworldonmute
Theonlysoundiscomingfrommyheadphones
Sporadicallyswirlingandspiralingintomybrain
Beingaloneisbeingfree
BecauseforthatonemomentIcanturnthemusicup
Icantakethattimeformyself
TorelaxtoBeachBunny
Andbreathedeep
Peninmyhand,oneearbudinmyear
Dismantling a Heart Anonymous, Grade
12
Dismantlingaheart.
Startoffinapurestageofinnocence&cleaness.
Haveachild-likeexperienceinwantingtolisten,love,learn,careandlive.
Be gullible with a strange naivety to the things around you, accepting it all, the achievementsanddisappointmentsthatcomealong.
Pickupa cleanplate.
Admirehowpureandcleanitis.
Hopefullytheoneyoupickeduphasnotascratchorstainonit.Nowdropit.Watchitshatter into a billion pieces from the time it leaves your hands till it touches the surface of the groundbeneath.
Tryingtopieceittogetheragainisnouse.
Damagedpieces,linesandcracks,sharpendsandpints,there’snownoturningback
Out at Sea
Alexa Benson, Grade 9
IfeelthemostfreewhenIamtoobusytofocusonmyself. Whenmyto-doliststaresatmewithshame.
Isurviveknowingmyguiltandanxietycannotreachme, AslongasIpushittothedeepestdepthsofmymind.
Theoxygenisnotfillingupmylungs
Butsomethingaboutthatisliberatingtome
BecausethemomentIhaveasecondtomyself
Allthethoughtscomefloodingin
Andintheblinkofaneye, Iamlikeabutterflytryingtogetoutofitscocoon. Likeaship
Drowninginaseaofmyownthoughts.
Rest
Alyna Nguyen, Grade 9
Layinginmybedinthisdimlylitroom
Thesoftblanketthatwrapsmyentirebodylikeasnakewrappingitsprey TheroomisquietthatIcanliterallyhearbreathing
Theheatfillstheroom,thatmythroatbecomesdry Likethesaharadesert,nowaterinsight
Mybodysinksintothebedlikeit’sanoceanwithawavecrashingovermeand takingmein
Layinginbed,feelingsostillthatIfeellikei'mrockingsidetoside,slowly Allmyworriesdisappear,mindbecomesblank Inablackroomwaitingforsomethingtohappen
Memories,thoughts,andrandomimagesflyby Makingastorythatdoesn'thaveastartoranend
Somecanfulfillwishesordesires
ThingsIwishthatcouldbetrue ItrytograbthethingIwantmost ButonceItry,Iwakeup
Iwakeupfromthedreamsthatmakesmefeelfree
Thatallowsmetodoanything
Good Day
Ella Rivera, Grade 12
Thesunhasyettoriseanddarknessfillstheair.Myeyesbarelyadjustingtothelighttakeonagreat dealasthebathroomlightflickerson.DirtycountertopsareallIsee.Ashowerstainedfrommylasthair dyestarebackatmepleadingtobecleaned.
It'scoldtoday.EvenwiththetemperaturesdroppedIstillwearshorts.Thewindhasn'tpickedupto its potential so the cold doesn't bother my sensitive skin. I look up and see someone. Is that actually whatIlooklike?Thatmustbesomeoneelse.Iwearmakeup,thatgirlinthemirrordoesn'thaveanyon.I wearcuteclothes,thegirlinthemirroriswearingstupidsmileyfacepajamas.Couldn'tbeme;right?In disbelief,IadventurebacktotheonlyplaceIcantrulybecomfortable.Aplacewithmyfavoritesongs, skinproducts,andclothes.Irummagethroughmypileofclothessittingonthedustyfloorhopingtofind onespecifichoodie.“Finally,hereitis.”It'sgreenandsayssomethingaboutMiamionit.I'veneverbeen butIheardthebeachesaren'tthebest.Theyhaveusedneedlesunderlayersofthesandandremindme ofmyuncle.Miamiwouldn'thavebeengoodforhim.Luckyforhimhewasanortheastaddict.Theparty sceneisn'tasbigyethestillfoundawaytomakeitbig.Well,technicallyhedidn'tmakeitbig.Hismind did.That'swhyIwearhishatsomuch.Itwastheclosesttohismind.Hemayhavenothadthewholelife thingfiguredoutbutIknewhewantedmore.Hewantedluck.Thatgreenbaseballcapwithathree-leaf clovergavehimluck.
Ipickupthehatforthemillionthtimeandplaceitonmyhead.Ineverknowhowtostylemyhair withhatssoIjustputitinabun.SomejeansandconversecompletetheoutfitbutIstillendupbeing late.
Most mornings I don't say goodbye when I leave for school. On random Tuesdays I find myself thinking, “what if this is the last goodbye”, so I shuffle over and bid my adieu to my parents. “Have a goodday”,myparentsreply.OxygenfillsmylungsandCarbondioxideexitsasIreply,“Youtoo.”Ialways hopetohavegooddaysbutsomearebetterthanothers.BeforeIgo,Ifindmyselfrunningintothatgirlin themirroragain.Shelooksmoreputtogether,exhaustedbutbetterthanbefore.MykeysjingleasIleave thehouse.MostmorningsthesunisstillrisingwhenIleave.It'snice,feelslikeahug.However,thehug becomes a punch once I enter my car. Driving a 2011 Prius sucks in the winter. Especially if you don't havethemoneytofixtheheat.Somedaysit’ssocoldthatmyfingertipsbecomeice.Thefogofwinter surroundsmycarinteriorlikethat'sitsjob.It'spaidlessthanminimumwagesoittakesoutitsfinancial anger on me. I adjust to the cold though. Only takes the entire ride to school for my car to heat up so that’s not too shabby. It's better than no heating at all. I pick a specific playlist or end up playing FleetwoodMaconmywaytohell.Ithelpstolosetheanxietygrabbingontomelikeachildhoodstuffed animal. After a couple of red lights, I beat traffic by one second to be exact and pull into my middle schoolparkinglot.Atthispoint,IrealizethatthesinglesecondIbeattrafficdidn'thelpatall.I'mstuck behindparentsdroppingofffreshmenorkidsinmygradewhorecentlygottheirlicensestoo.Eachcar movesuphalfaninchinhopesofgettingoutofthere.OncethetrafficmovesalongIfindaparkingspot. AftercontemplatingifIshouldevengoinatallItellmyselfonething,“Haveagoodday.”
Staff Members
Editor-in-Chief
Anya
Denisa Iljas Editor-in-Chief
Barluenga
