The Astonishing Color of Trauma

Dear Reader…

Thank you for taking the time to read and enjoy the works that the Sleep Deprived Bunnies have procured and produced over this semester of high school. Within this magazine’s pages, you will be sure to find spectacular stories and statements that explore the themes of trauma, adventure, discovery, stress, and frustration produced by the creative minds behind the Sleep Deprived Bunnies – Drew Cai, Allison Lin, Alicia Pearson, and Cali Weidner.

We also extend our massive gratitude toward Dr. Mark Pangilinan for an excellent and enriching semester. Thank you so much for all the knowledge, feedback, and care you ’ ve provided us with every class!

Happy Reading!

Take care, The Sleep Deprived Bunnies

LosingFace

Alicia Pearson

AnOutlier

Drew Cai

As a child in an asian household, my parents had the expectations of most stereotypical asian people. Excel in school, never EVER get anything below an A, excel in music; be the PERFECT child that every auntie and uncle would envy and vie for until death.

Keep in mind that my parents essentially ALREADY had two flawless children. From the moment they were born, they basically had everything Asian parents wanted in their children. If not, they were probably perfect. Me on the other hand, I was one of those common everyday birds found on the streets. Nothing out of the ordinary while my siblings were like peacocks, one of nature’s most ethereal creations. The kind of creature with unworldly beauty and grace which can’t be comprehended. They were my parent’s pride.

Since I’m so much younger than them, I never really had that kind of close relationship that I saw on T.V. or in my peers. I don’t think they really saw what I thought of myself so this kind of topic was never really brought up. Even now, I still would never tell anyone any of this unless it was a complete stranger that I didn’t have to physically face.

I was everything my siblings weren’t. Not academically smart, couldn’t learn to play an instrument, and so on. I didn’t even know how to communicate in Chinese on very small scale conversations.

This shame and disappointment was brought to my attention by my father He had stated something along the lines of, “If you can’t speak Chinese, you will just bring shame to your relatives ” The second part of the statement not only applied to my nuclear family, but also the relatives of mine back in China.

“Shame, shame, shame.” , were the only words I could think of that twisted my way of thinking Causing the underlying guilt to consume my every being whole from the inside just because I was less knowledgeable about the Chinese language compared to my parent’s very pride This is what those words did to me

The distance and disconnect repetitively made me feel inferior to my siblings in the million ways you could think of. I felt like the disappointment in the family. I felt like a disappointment to everyone And to tell the truth, I think for the longest time, I probably

was in my parents’ eyes. Someone they were ashamed of. Someone they wish they didn’t have to bring up.

“I didn’t belong.” I felt like that for what seemed like an eternity. I felt ashamed and thought that it was my fault that my family was “losing face”. A common phrase in China used to describe losing one ’ s honor or dignity essentially. It drove a wedge within me and halted me from wanting to learn more about my culture and language because of my insecurities and hesitation. I thought, “If I’m so bad at academics and all the other things my siblings could do, how could I possibly be able to learn Chinese well enough to ‘ save face’ for my parents. Why even try?”

Although now-a-days, I’m learning Chinese and have become more open to interacting with my heritage by doing more traditions, I'm still reminded of the quote my father said every time I step into the Chinese classroom. The quote stuck to my brain for eternity. The remnants of maple syrup that didn’t get washed clean the first time. Everything was terrifyingly true to the core. I felt suocated by fear and worry.

To this day, I still constantly fear letting down my parents like a timid mouse being captured against its will. Extreme expectations that oppress me from the inside-out like vicious tyrants to their people.

They say they don’t care about these expectations anymore, but I know deep down they do; that’s the scariest part of it all. In reality, I don’t think they ever will “not care about it anymore. ”

Mushrooms

Drew Cai

After your first experience with camping in 4th grade, you most definitely were not looking forward to this next camp experience as everything went wrong those few days. For example, you lost your voice the first night, had water constantly spilling out of your water bottle because your mom forgot the rubber part of the cap, had perverted boys try to look into the girl’s cabins because one of them brought binoculars, and so on. Now that it’s the 6th grade, and you had just realized that you were assigned to the same group with someone you really didn’t like, you quite literally wanted to take an endeavor towards unaliving yourself right then and there.

“We put you guys in groups with people you don’t really talk with. These will be your group members when doing small activities at the campsite”, said one of the teachers. “Bullshit”, you thought. Now your friends are laughing their butts o because of your misfortune and the irony of being put in the same group with someone you disliked just like true friends do. “Could this trip possibly get any worse?”, you thought. Yes. Yes it could and it very much did.

As the second day of camp rolled in, everyone was forced to work on more small group activities. Of course, you do your best to avoid that person at all costs like a plague. Instead, you opted to just hang out with some of the people you do know and don’t dislike in your group as to not actually attempt at the campsite and further entice the ticking time bomb in you. Luckily, you were able to survive whatever activities you had to do with your group that day and by the end of day two, before dinner, our class was separated into dierent groups of our own choice, again, doing the random activities on the teachers’ agenda.

One of the activities was to build some sort of shelter with large wooden sticks. Around that area, as you and your friend find more sticks for the shelter, you both find an interesting, gray, o-white looking rock. You both first felt it by pushing on it with your shoes Then you proceed to touch it it’s not moving from its place “Crap ” Now you ' re worried. You try to squeeze it and it squishes.

“Oh shoot.” That’s not a rock. Internally, you are now panicking because this “rock” had a very smooth surface. All the signs were currently exploding in your head and slapping

you across the face for your stupidity. Because of the interesting characteristics of this rock, you thought that it was probably a mushroom. A random mushroom. One that could very likely be poisonous. Now this camp experience not only got worse because of having to deal with that one repulsive person but also a goddamn mushroom that could have possibly killed you. But hey, isn't this what you wanted to happen in the first place. So now, even if you do die, at least it probably won’t be listed as suicide, right?

At this point, your friend goes over to call the random camp teacher that was leading your group. They tell you to just make sure not to touch your mouth or eyes, now that you have touched an unidentified mushroom. When everyone goes back to the cabins, you immediately wash your hands and talk to one of your cabin mates about what had just happened at the sink. Coincidentally, they were also washing their hands because they touched the same supposed poisonous mushroom as you did One thing’s for sure, this camp experience will definitely be set in stone for the rest of your life.

TheMidnightEscapade

Alicia Pearson

TheBostonFiles

Allison Lin

The opening doors of a gambling house sent a blast of humid air through my hair as I walked through them, passing crowded tables full of lazy middle-aged burnouts to get to the back. I pushed through another set of doors and dropped my heavy bag on the nearest counter.

“Jes?” I called. “You there?”

Clang! There came several more clatters somewhere. “I’m here!” an out-of-breath voice yelled. “Give me one seco–” Just then, a girl swung into the room, her hair in frazzled curls and dust covering her entire body. Taking a breath, she said, “Evangelina! Hey! Good to see you. Why…why are you here?”

“For the last time, call me Evan,” I said, reaching into my bag. “I brought the stu you asked for.” I took out a heavy box of empty containers and old textbooks that were previously rotting in my attic. “I don’t know what you’d need them for, but here, take this before it rips another hole in my bag.”

“Oh yeah, okay Sorry” Jes took the box from my arms awkwardly and left the room I put my bag around my shoulder. I wasn’t sure if she was coming back, so I leaned against the counter and pulled out my tattered notebook to figure out what else I had to do

“Evangeline!” a gritty voice exclaimed.

I looked up, and my stomach dropped to the floor. A tall woman was standing in the doorway with a sly grin on her face. And she was the leader of the deadliest gang in the city.

“Mrs. Winchester. M-my name ’ s Evan,” I said, almost whispering. “Or Evangelina.” Ignoring me, she said, “I see you know my little assistant, Jes. She tells me you ’ ve been friends for years. ” She paused, smirking. “It’s been quite a while now. Where’ve you been? I had so many assignments lined up for you, and you just disappeared.”

My heart sped up. “Oh, you know, I’ve been at university. Studying. I’m sorry. I meant to send you a letter, but I was so wrapped up in my…studies.”

“University! So that’s why you haven’t been answering my calls. Nothing else?”

“Y-yes,” I stammered. I could feel her seeing right through my lie. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

Winchester smirked “That’s more like it I have a job for you You’d better execute it

well. It’s been years since your last.” Scrunching up her face with a fake pout, she continued, “After all, you wouldn’t be here without me. I remember picking you up when you were a scrawny little child at the orphanage. After your parents abandoned you!”

Something snapped inside of me, and a heavy sort of sadness started flooding my entire body. How dare she bring up my personal struggles and history! I tried to squash it down, but I couldn’t. Gathering up every last crumb of courage in me, I stepped forward defiantly “No I think you already know that I want absolutely nothing to do with your little group of thugs.”

“Did you just say ‘ no’?” Winchester said, a wave of shock rolling over her face. “Well, I’ll show you what happens when you disobey my orders.” Scong, she rolled up her sleeve and lightly pressed a tattooed flame on the underside of her wrist.

Instantly, the twin tattoo on my wrist screamed in pain, and I staggered backward in surprise. This was new; there was never a connection before, or at least I had never known of one. I had thought it was just a mark that showed Winchester’s ownership and control over her gang.

“No!” I had to strangle the words out of me.

“You dare disobey me?” She dug harder, and the pain multiplied until I was writhing on the floor.

“Okay fine! STOP! I’ll do it!” I screamed, my boots kicking around, making contact with nothing

“Good.” Winchester’s eyes burned holes into me. “The corner of 42nd Street and Lynde Bring me the Boston Files You’ll know what they are when you see them You have until dawn.”

“What?” I gasped, looking at the clock. “It’s already midnight! You’re giving me hardly enough time.”

“Go! Don’t make me make you, ” Winchester bellowed, making me leave the house as quickly as I could.

I hurried down the street, running. I blinked, forcing away the tiredness creeping up on me. If I couldn’t get this done, Winchester would kill me for sure. As I was weaving through a crowded night market, the tattoo suddenly seared in pain again, and I stumbled, tripping right into the body of a boy around my age.

“Hey, watch it!” he grumbled, graciously catching me. His friends, who looked long

gone, paused their conversation and glanced at us with glassy eyes before starting their chatter again.

I rubbed my wrist and stood back up. “I’m sorry, ” I muttered, walking away. He took another look at me and grabbed my wrist. “Not so fast.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. But I’ve got places to be, and-and”

“Winchester?” he asked.

“W-what? How do you know?” I stuttered

He glanced at my wrist. “The tattoo,” he said quietly, showing me his, and tapping a weird pattern on top of it. “Look, I can help. I’ve been with that witch for years. I’m Everest, by the way. ”

“I’m Evan, and well, Everest, I have until dawn, so I need to be on my way. ”

“Oh okay. Let me help you out.” He fell into step beside me. “Fill me in along the way. Let’s go. ”

I stopped, skepticism seeping into me. “Weren’t those your friends? You just left them.”

Everest rolled his eyes. “They’ll never notice that I’m missing.”

“But surely you have plans! You were standing in line for…for,” I glanced back to where he was standing and squinted. “For candied fish kebabs!”

“You really think I want to spend a night in this crowded place? I’d rather go on an adventure with you ”

“What if it’s not an adventure though? This assignment might be boring, and you ’ re signing yourself up for no fun ”

“Well, knowing Winchester, I’m sure that this is a million times more interesting than standing in the middle of a crowded street with drunk friends waiting for overpriced kebabs. I can help you. I promise.”

He looked like he genuinely cared; I could see it deep inside his eyes. I finally gave in. “Okay. Let’s go. I’ve wasted enough time already,” We broke into a run.

“Winchester is always going on with these crazy deadlines, I swear. ” Everest chuckled lightly.

“You talk about her so easily,” I noted. “She’s so intimidating. If I had the chance to run away and never see her again, even if it meant moving across the world to a place where I couldn’t speak the language, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

“Whoa. I guess she is really scary sometimes.” Everest looked straight ahead, not

meeting my eyes. “For me, I think I just started to build up walls. I tried to not let it get to me. If I don’t let myself feel anything, then nothing really aects me. And nothing will ever matter too much.”

“Oh,” I said, going quiet.

“So, when were you recruited?” Everest asked. “I was eight.”

“Damn. I was eleven.”

“It must’ve been dicult for you, yeah?”

“Yeah–” I felt a tug from my side, and the next thing I knew, I was crashing to the ground, my bag pulled o of me. “Hey! Someone just stole my bag!”

“We gotta keep going,” Everest said.

“But everything I have is in there. I have to get it back,” I cried.

I ran to the nearest building and started climbing up its drain pipe. Everest followed behind me. Running along the rooftops, I spotted the culprit. Luckily, this street wasn’t very crowded, with all the festivities going on. They sat under the awning of the train stop, carelessly emptying my contents like pieces in a new game. Seething in anger, I shimmied down another waterpipe and dropped onto the street. Everest wasn’t behind me this time. I spared a second to look up for him, and I saw his head peeking over the edge of the roof. He swiftly slid down beside me and grinned.

“Let’s go get your bag.”

We ran across the street, but halfway there, the guy saw us He scooped everything back into it and broke into a sprint. I bit down hard and followed after him, Everest at my side, but soon overpowering me I watched as he crashed into the guy and tackled him to the ground, throwing punches at their face.

“Everest!” I shrieked, snatching my bag back. “Stop! You’re being unnecessarily violent!”

He looked up. “This guy took your stu! These people need to learn a lesson!”

“No! Let’s get out of here before the authorities come. ” I tugged on his arm.

He threw another one, eyes wild. This time, it felt like he was upset about more than the bag. Like it was personal.

“Please, Everest! We’re losing time!”

Everest got up and shook his head, the odd look disappearing from his eyes. He kicked the guy one last time for good measure. “Okay, let’s go!”

By the time we made it to the other side of the city, my pocketwatch read 2:13.

“We’re almost there,” Everest panted. “39th Street!”

“You don’t have to stay with me. You’ve done more than enough. Go home. It’s late, and you probably have stu to do tomorrow.”

“Well, I have nothing, so I might as well have some fun while I can. I love adrenaline rushes,” he said.

“Thanks, then,” I said quietly

“Mhm.”

Finally, the two of us were standing on the corner of 42nd and Lynch.

“This is an antique shop!” I said, my stomach dropping so hard that it went through the floor. “I’m supposed to be looking for files! Should this be an oce building? Winchester didn’t say anything, but how am I supposed to find some freaking files in here!”

“We’ll find it,” Everest reassured me, in a freakily calm voice.

“Now, we gotta break the glass doors, I guess, ” I dug around in my bag for something sharp.

Everest held up two slim metal sticks. “Or, I can pick the locks.”

With ease, he opened the doors, and we crept inside.

“Oh, this feels so invasive!” I whispered.

“How did you even get recruited?” Everest laughed “You seem so timid!”

“I honestly don’t know. I wish I had fought back, to be honest.”

I blindly moved my hand along the walls until I found a light switch and turned it on

“Guess we ’ ve got to start looking. Winchester said I’m supposed to look for something called the Boston Files, and that I’d know what it is when I see it.”

“How fun,” Everest remarked sarcastically.

“Yeah. Wait, do you know what the Files are?” I asked.

Everest shook his head. “No, but I do know that Winchester is from Boston.”

Two hours later, I felt like pulling my hair out. We searched the tiny shop over thrice and found absolutely nothing. The whole place was in shambles, with cabinets wide open and piles of antiques littered everywhere.

“I hate Winchester. I hate this. I hate everything,” I said, sitting on the floor.

“We’ll find it. Just keep looking,” Everest said, crawling under a desk in the corner.

I sat there for another second, and an idea popped into my head. “What if it’s not a paper file? What if it’s an object or some collection?”

“Oh! Smart,” Everest remarked from across the room.

“No, I’m so delirious right now. I’m running on two hours of sleep, and I’ve been up for twenty hours now. And we ’ re running out of time,” I stressed.

“Breathe,” Everest responded happily. “Guess who just found a safe!”

“Oh, thank God!” I breathed a sigh of relief and rushed over to look My excitement evaporated as quickly as it arrived.

“Oh, Lord. The lock is alphabetical. We’re never going to get into it now!”

I rubbed my temples. Everything was going south.

“I’ll take it apart. It seems really old,” Everest said. The two of us sat there for what felt like forever as he slowly removed the back of the safe. As he lifted it, he said, “Here we go!”

I reached into the safe and felt around.

It was filled with nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Oh my God, kill me now, ” I moped, pushing my hair behind my ears with my sweat-slicked hands. “I’m so done with this. I hate this. What’s the point of locking a safe if there’s nothing to safekeep?!”

I stood up and sank into a sofa beside Everest, who began flipping through a box of stu again I picked up a box and started looking through it too, my sweat coating everything I touched.

“So what do you do? Full-time for Winchester? Oh, I shouldn’t have said that No one in their right mind would do that.” Small talk wasn’t my thing, but I could certainly try.

“Yeah, I–” Everest paused, catching himself. “Wait no, I don’t work for Winchester. I guess I do freelance stu sometimes. I work at the medicine store during the week. Not much.”

“Oh, nice,” I said. I adjusted myself to sit cross-legged and felt an odd lump under me. I promptly forgot about my box and dropped it to rip open the sofa. Digging through the stung, I felt something hard, so I grabbed it. When I took out my hand, I found myself holding a little stone box. It was pearly white and almost translucent. There were intricate floral patterns carved into it.

I turned away from Everest and opened the box. Inside were neat stacks of clear discs, each row a dierent size. I picked a little one up and held it up to the light. It shined

and glittered impossibly bright. It seemed as though these disks were shinier and prettier than actual diamonds.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, putting the disks back into the box.

I replaced the lid and looked at the base of the box. At the center, the initials C.W. were engraved, with a ring of flowers around it. Could this be it? W for Winchester? I wondered. I opened the lid again, itching to look at the disks one more time. When I picked up the lid this time, I felt some kind of engraving on the inner rim of it Carefully, I held it up to the light and read the inscription.

THE BOSTON FILES

My heart sped up. I took a deep breath. The inscription was tiny, and my insanity could’ve been making me read things wrong. It probably was. I pushed away my excitement and picked up a big disk. It was what I initially wanted to see anyway. I held it to the light again, and the whole room started sparkling. Blurry and murky objects flashed by in the glitter.

“Whoa, Evan, what is that?” Everest exclaimed.

Feeling weirdly protective, I said, “Oh, just some random thing I found.”

“Oh okay. Let’s keep looking. We have almost an hour left.”

“What? Oh god,” I said

I took one last look at the disk, and my eye caught on a blemish at the bottom of it. I rubbed it with my hand and brought it closer to take a look at it It wasn’t a blemish, but another inscription.

BOSTON XV

“Everest! Come here!” I yelled. He ran over and I shoved the disk in his face. “What does this say?”

He squinted, and his eyes grew wide. “Boston 15! You found it!”

“I did!” I exclaimed.

I put the disk away and shoved the box into my bag.

“Let’s get out of here,” Everest smiled triumphantly.

“Yes, please!” I stood up and looked around, and a sense of realization settled in. We

had just broken into and completely trashed some random person ’ s shop.

“I feel so bad to leave this place like this,” I said. “Maybe I should leave a note or something…”

“Are you out of your mind!” Everest exclaimed. “At this rate, we ’ re not getting back to Winchester’s. It took us over an hour to get here, and we don’t even have an hour to get back.”

“But–”

“No buts, let’s go!”

Everest broke into a run, and I had no choice but to follow.

“Oh, this break-in is going to be in the paper in a few days,” I said, clutching my bag to my chest like it was a newborn. “I feel really sorry. ”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s Winchester’s.”

I noticed Everest rubbing at his tattoo and tapping on it rapidly again. “You okay? It looks like the tattoo’s bothering you. ”

“Huh? Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m fine,” Everest said distractedly.

Out of nowhere, he turned left.

I skidded to a stop. “Everest! We’re supposed to go left!”

“Shortcut!” he yelled back, without stopping.

I decided to follow him. A while later, we stopped before a moving train. Rocks were flying everywhere and musty air was blasting through my hair and against my face

“Now what?” I screamed, fighting to get my words heard over the rumbling train. Frustration sent cracks through everything holding me from falling apart

Did he want to kill me? Was this all part of some intricately calculated plan?

“We get on!” Everest took a deep breath and a determined look settled in his eyes. With a running start, he jumped towards the train, caught the rung of a ladder, and pulled himself up.

Oh shit. Shit shit shit fucking shit.

“I can’t do this!” I screamed. My hands and body shook so hard that I was surprised I wasn’t causing a massive earthquake. Tears started to flood my eyes, despite my massive eort to hold them back. My heart was about to burst out of my chest.

Everest was out of sight, and to my left, the butt of the train was approaching quickly.

You’ve got this, I told myself. You’ve done tons of more perilous things, and this is what

you ’ re scared of?

Another part of my brain fought back. That was true, but it’s been years since the last time I’d done any life-threatening thing.

“Well here goes nothing,” I muttered.

But I hesitated. I hesitated for just a moment too long, and the end of the train was in front of me, and I had one chance left.

I ran towards the train and launched myself o the ground, barely latching onto a handle. With trembling limbs, I pulled myself onto the top of the train, where Everest was walking towards me.

“See? That wasn’t too bad,” he remarked.

“Says you!” I sat down and put my head in my hands. “Thanks though. I would’ve collapsed if we had to run another mile.”

Just when I had finally caught my breath, Everest started climbing over the side.

“Get ready. We’ve got to get o soon. ” He stood on a ladder over the side and scooted over, gesturing for me to come beside him.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this with my life–Oh GOD!” I said, peering over the edge.

The ground was blurry beneath us, and if I didn’t do this perfectly, I was going to become a pile of dirty guts and flesh. I joined Everest, and we were so close that my back was pressed up against his chest

“Here we go!” he said suddenly. I stood frozen in shock as I watched him eortlessly jump down He curled up into a ball and rolled forward until he stopped and stood up, looking perfectly fine.

I knew I was running out of time, but I was even more terrified to take the leap. I tried to find some way to arm myself, but my head was scrambled with large, dark scribbles. Closing my eyes, I ran forward and felt myself falling. I tried to hug my bag and bring my knees into my chest as Everest did, but I knew I was nowhere as graceful. I hit the ground hard, rocks cutting into me.

“Not bad,” Everest said, helping me up.

“Thanks, I guess?” I assessed the damage on me and found the arm on my impact side to be completely scraped up under my ripped sleeves and the leg to be skinned in a couple of areas, where the rocks had torn through my pants. I stood up and searched through my bag. Luckily, nothing seemed to be broken, and the files were safe.

We only needed to run two more blocks before we were back at the gambling house.

“Thanks,” I said again.

“No problem. I needed a way to spend my night anyway, ” he grinned.

We walked into the house and I winced at the mildewed stench.

“How did you know to come here anyway?” I asked.

“Well, I told you I’ve been with Winchester for years, didn’t I?”

“But there are multiple locations ”

“I just assumed it was here because…because I was a couple of streets away when you crashed into me. ”

Just then, she rounded the corner.

“Everest! Evangeline! Just in time!”

“I have the Files,” I interjected, passing her the box. “And for heaven’s sake, it’s Evan.”

She ushered us into a side room and opened the lid, pulling out a disk. The second she touched it, a glittering projection shot up and onto the ceiling, blinding me for a second.

I squinted through the light and saw more blurry blobs.

But there must’ve been something in Winchester’s touch that unlocked the projections. The blobs started to get more defined, and I was watching a tape of a little girl talking to an older man. This almost seemed like it was a memory from how hazy the edges were. I was inclined to believe that the girl was her. Winchester was staring at the ceiling in awe, and a hint of longing crept into her face before she broke out of it and put the disk away.

“Thanks, dear,” she said sarcastically, standing up straight with her signature smirk

“Everest helped a lot,” I said.

Everest stood in the corner, a strange look in his eyes. Winchester looked over at him, and he started to tap his flame like he’d done earlier, refusing to make eye contact with me. He looked pointedly at her wrist, and she gave it a tap too.

What is going on? Is this some form of communication as well?

Before I could contemplate it, his gaze hardened. Suddenly, a horrible pain flared in my wrist, stronger than ever before.

I immediately collapsed.

Winchester stood over me, and Everest joined her. He somehow looked so dierent, yet the exact same.

“What are you doing?” I gasped as soon as she eased the pain.

“You fell right into our little plan,” Winchester said with delight.

“You were in on this?” I asked, hurt flooding my voice and heart, as I turned to Everest. I wished I could’ve strangled him right then and there.

“Of course, ” he said, malice dancing in his eyes.

And thinking about it, it all made sense. The abrupt way he abandoned his friends–were they even his friends?–without a second thought, how helpful he had been, the weird stumbles in conversation, the random tapping, how calm he was, the way he knew what to do and where to go.

I didn’t even have time to gather my thoughts before Everest’s sharp features loomed over me.

He smiled wickedly and held up a cane.

“Where’d you get that?” I breathed before realizing what was about to happen. I looked over at Winchester. “Oh god. Please, no. I’m sorry I ignored you! I’ll make it up to you, just hear me ou–”

With one swift motion, he slammed it down, and everything went dark.

GeometryHonors

Allison Lin

It’s my freshman year of high school. I’m taking an assortment of dierent classes, but the one that seems the most like hell is Geometry Honors.

Notice how it’s an honors class? Yeah. I guess the word “honors” implies that it’s more dicult than a regular class, but my brain never got the memo when I was choosing classes in 8th grade.

Honestly, I feel like this class isn’t as hard as I think it is. It’s just that my lack of time-management skills and sense of time makes everything seem worse than it actually is.

My whole life, I’ve always believed that I was good at math. (Which probably isn’t true but it was nice to think so.) But taking Geometry Honors really changed my opinion.

Last semester, I really tried so hard to get a good grade in the class; I was aiming for an A, and if worse came to worst, an A- Oh, how humbled I was after the first week I single-handedly managed to drop my grade from an A to a B+ within the first three weeks of school.

Before this, I had never gotten a B before. I had always prided myself on being a good student and bringing home report cards filled with A’s to happy and proud parents and grandparents. I thrived o of academic validation, and not getting any seemed like the end of the world.

This sent me into a spiral, where I was fiercely trying to do anything I could to get my grade up. 90% of it was made up of tests, so I would rewrite my notes, study hard, and read the textbook and material over and over, but nothing seemed to be working. Every time I got a test back, my heart would drop to the floor in disappointment.

My friends would tell me, “It’s okay!” Or “You’re doing great!” because like a lot of people, they never strived for straight A’s or perfect grades or any semblance of academic validation I could feel their confused eyes following me as I left them during lunch to jog to the library to squeeze in as much time as I possibly could to study.

Walking to class felt like a walk of shame because I just couldn't understand certain things that everyone else seemed to pick up just fine, and it kept coming back to bite me in the butt.

I convinced myself that it was okay though. No one was going to remember this in a week, right?

But in class, my teacher would randomly call on students to answer questions.

“Allison, do you know the answer to ajskdhjfks?” he’d ask.

“Uh, I think it’s fjiosdifjk…” I’d say.

And then he’d be like, “Actually, the answer is sjwxvckjh.”

Then my face would burn up and I’d feel my cheeks flush and I’d look down at my notebook in embarrassment because I completely understood why I got it wrong and how my answer was so stupid and now the class probably thinks I’m stupid too and they’re probably wondering how I even got into this class and I don’t even know how I got into this class and I can’t believe this keeps happening. Every time, I’d just sort of freeze and have a mini panic attack.

The worst part about this class was when everyone would immediately start comparing test answers and grades, and in a way, that also made me feel inferior.

“How’d you do on the test?” someone would ask me.

“Oh, I got an 87%, but I really thought I did better than that,” I’d respond, heat creeping into my cheeks.

“That’s really good!” they would say back.

“Thanks,” I’d say sheepishly. “What’d you get?”

I had to buckle myself up for their answers because I already knew what was coming They’d start rambling about how they did SO BAD because they got a 94, and that dropped their overall grade to a 95%, and now they were completely FAILING the class

“You have a 95% in this class?” I’d ask incredulously, heart and stomach smooshed on the floor, all semblances of self-confidence rinsed clean from my body.

“Yeah, but it used to be at a 97! I can’t believe I did so badly…”

And I would have to try so, so, SO hard to not get upset. I found it appalling how someone could be complaining about a 95% grade, which is an A! I was struggling to maintain an 89%, which is a B+, while someone else was mad over an A. I didn’t even want to think about them congratulating me on how “well” I did, especially when they scored something much higher than me and thinks that they didn’t do well and is visibly upset about it. This part bugged me out the most because compared to them, I obviously did horribly. My grade was absolute shit.

It’s okay, I’d tell myself. Maybe the next test will help your grade.

Eventually, I squashed my irrational fear of asking for help and scheduled oce hours with my teacher. I spent hours in his oce, asking stupid questions and having him clarify things over and over.

It seemed useless to go though because at first, all I was getting out of it was a ton of red-hot embarrassment. The heavy sigh and long blinks wrote what my teacher wouldn’t say all over his face

But then, I saw the smallest improvement in my grade. My percentage rose, even if I still didn’t get into the A- range. So I kept attending oce hours. I kept asking my silly questions. I kept shedding hours pouring over my notes and textbook and online materials.

Suddenly, the last two weeks of the semester were creeping up on me. My grade was still at a solid B+. I felt like ripping my hair out of my head in fistfuls. I wanted to bang my head against the wall so hard that I ripped through to the other side.

That’s when I decided to start trying new ways of studying. I guess it never occurred to me that my study habits were one of the biggest roadblocks in my way to getting an A or A-. At the same time, I never really knew how to study, and I was just doing my own thing by memorizing my notes and doing practice problems from the textbook.

One night, while attempting to studying for one of my last tests, I decided to compile all the information I thought most crucial into a smaller document so it could all be in front of me at once, and it was life-changing I know it sounds so stupid It is stupid I don’t even know how it never occurred to me or why I was never taught to make them, but chapter summaries and study guides were my saving grace Suddenly, it was a million times easier to memorize the things I needed to know, and that left me with a ton of time to work on the parts where I had diculty with.

Don’t get me wrong – my life didn’t magically become so much better. I still had to fight blood, sweat, and tears to do well in the class. That involved several late nights and cups of tea to keep me going. And eventually, I guess all the eort did pay o because I made it out, or more like scraped by with an A-. I made it out alive!

This hell of a semester really taught me about reaching out and giving things a try, even when they feel uncomfortable. I’m willing to bet my grade would’ve been a B+ at the most if I hadn’t sucked it up and gone to hours of oce hours or tried other methods of studying and doing my work.

Dewdrop

Alicia Pearson

The jagged concrete hit my head like a flash. When I finally got up, the stinging sensation around my body brought me crashing back down I was too distracted and confused by my jumbled thoughts to notice that my hands had lost their color.

“Welcome to the dewdrop,” a loud, grand voice said

“Oh my god, did I die? Did I make it to heaven? IS THIS HELL??” I screamed. I couldn't die now. I couldn’t die now; I still had to get back to my parents, my girlfriend Sophie, my friends. I sat down. I never got to try the wae house on 45th street, or skydiving, or burn my geometry textbook.

“Dewdrop is not the afterlife, rather the fine line between your dimension and everything else, the very fabric of your plane enveloped by every possible lifetime and reality. All consciousness begins, ends, and comes here when there is nowhere else to go. ”

I could feel my heart thumping in my chest and the perspiration on my brow dripping down my temples. My heart felt like it was wrapped around a python, squeezing out every last drop of its blood. There wasn’t anywhere to run, the starlight path around me looped around itself for what seemed like infinity. Oh my god. Am I hallucinating? Ok, so if I’m not dead, then perhaps I’m just dreaming. I slapped my face to make myself certain, like a wacky cartoon character in a typical 90s sitcom FUCK

Ok, so I’m unfortunately awake. What if one of those manifestation tik toks worked and this is some sort of utopia? Maybe I went far down enough the internet rabbit hole that I quite literally shifted realities into some weird internet forum. I cringed at the thought; when I get back home, I’m definitely deleting reddit o my phone just to be certain.

I finally looked around at the scene before me. All around me were stars and constellations with stars so bright they looked like-colored gems. The constellations illustrated everything, not just the Greek myths I was used to seeing, but the peanut butter sandwich I ate for lunch last Tuesday and how my mother’s nose wrinkles when she laughs. All around me were doors filled with swirling pools of iridescent pearls and the rainbow reflection from an oil slick. I felt drawn to the doors, they almost looked like swimming pools. I felt a magnetic connection was pulling me in.

Before I could ask who, or rather what, this voice was or why on God's green Earth I had been transported into some sort of reality fabric, I felt a hand push me back. I didn’t even have time to scream before I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. If I had to be transported to the fabric of reality, couldn’t I at least get goggles? Honestly, I would leave a one start review.

When I opened my eyes, I was sitting on a haystack on a farm. The sun wasn’t nearly as hot as Southern California and the field felt slightly less scratchy I heard flies buzzing in my ear and chuckled while watching a team of ants walking across my Converse with the smallest breadcrumb. I watched as a young boy, nearly identical to me, emerged from the picturesque red farmhouse. Hang on, hang on, this can’t be right. “I’m a farmer?” I asked the looming voice above. I awaited its response, but to my dismay, I was left to make my own conclusions.

I couldn’t imagine myself as a farmer. I hated the outdoors nearly as much as my geometry class. But when I looked at farmer Elijah, he had that stupid grin on his face and his freckles blended into his sun kissed skin. He looks only a few years younger than me. He wore a pair of scued overalls and had his curly hair messy, not gelled like I usually wear it. After he sowed the plants, he fed the pigs and got down in the dirt with them. Frankly, I was disgusted, but the look of sheer carefree joy on his face is something I haven’t seen in a long time. He didn’t care about his grades, about disappointing his parents, about whether or not Sophie liked him back, all he cared about was the wellbeing of family, friends, and farm animals. Here, the grass was plush and soft, the sunlight wasn’t blistering, and the air felt cleaner

A familiar hand pulled me o the haystack and back into the dewdrop.

“Why am I here?” I asked.

Souls get sent to the dewdrop when they have lost their way, searching for something they haven’t managed to find in the mortal realm.

“Woah, woah, slow your roll bud. I'm not “lost”, I said with heavy annoyance. I know exactly who I am and what I want to do. My name is Elijah Chavez. I’m 16 years old and attend Wooddale Prep. My parents are Suzanna Sung and Blake Chavez and we live in Sunnydale California. After high school, I’m going to become a successful lawyer and make millions.”

“Hurry up, we don’t have much time. Your mortal body can withstand these reality jumps for only so long. If you can’t find what you ’ re looking for in your life within the next two hours, your life will cease to exist.”

I could feel my face go pale. The jumps between realities must have slowed time because what felt like 10 minutes at the farm, was 50 minutes. This time I didn’t wait for the hand to push me in, I saw the door and ran straight through, before any sense of rationale in my brain could tell me not to

I felt a rough shove before I could open my eyes. I was being frantically pushed aside by at least twenty paparazzi with blindingly bright cameras. I groaned at the sight, had I become a paparazzi? I stared at the red carpet, the least I could do was watch the premiere. And that’s when I saw myself, with neatly slicked back hair and flashing a wicked grin. He walked with utter confidence I wouldn’t dare to have. I blinked and there was a bucket of popcorn, staring at the largest cinema screen with my face on it. Albeit, I had never watched country movies before, but this one had piqued my interest.

“Jim, how long have you been surviving instead of living?” Movie Elijah asked his partner in the heaviest texan accent I had ever heard.

I finished the rest of the film with my eyes glued to the screen. Acting had always just been something I did on the side, a hobby, but never something I thought I could pursue. His eyes, or rather mine, delivered every line with such raw conviction that I was hanging o the edge of my seat

When I finally finished the movie, I checked my watch. Damnit, only 15 minutes left. I ran out of the door frantically My legs started to feel like jello that was barely set I wanted to punch something, wanted to let my anger out on the world, go down fighting. I can’t let this be the end. I can’t let my parents find out their teenage son, a good-for-nothing loser, went missing without even attending a top school or becoming a lawyer. I can’t let go of my pathetic life without making my parents proud of me, just once. I could feel my cheeks moisten and for the first time in 3 years I cried. I cried because of the movie because the stars were too bright. After all, I didn’t understand why I couldn’t find such peace or serenity in my own life.

Only 10 minutes left before I would be vaporized into stardust. I collapsed to my knees and fell through yet another door. Before I could think about how stupid it was they had doors on the floor, I heard my mom yelling for me to help her fix breakfast. I saw the

PC in my room, the star wars posters hanging on my wall, my unfinished math homework, and the bag of popcorn on the floor from last December.

Worst of all I saw myself, with my greasy hair, and chubby cheeks, huddled up in my blanket waiting for the day to end so I could collapse in on myself. I nearly scoed at the sight. I checked my watch, only two more minutes, and did the only thing I could think of. I got down on my hands and knees and begged, just for one more day. One more day to break things o with Sophie because I can’t keep holding out hope for a girl who’s dating my friend Josh. One more day to get my academics on track and my assignments turned in. One more day, to find my peace, passion, and perseverance because I know that it’s possible. I blinked the tears from my eyes, and suddenly I was coughing? Salt water sputtered from my lungs and the smell of chlorine hit my nose. Seeing my dead eyes regain their life, my dad stopped CPR. I guess the voice wasn’t lying, death wasn’t ready for me just yet. I wrapped my parents in the biggest bear hug ever.

“I’m sorry, ” I wept. “I’m back, don’t worry guys.

I’m not sure what I want to do with my life, but I know I’m ready to start living it.

Alicia Pearson

“Didn’t your mother teach you?”

I can feel my cheeks heat up a tomato shade of red, like a rotten tomato. If anyone were to poke me right now, I’d burst – out of frustration, although tomato guts would be cooler. Of course my mother didn’t teach me; otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing here dumbfounded while she speaks Chinese.

Some people just don’t get it; you don’t get it. I stu my face with mochiko chicken and fried rice to avoid responding. Piano recitals make me want to crawl out of my skin, but the potluck is always so delicious.

“Come on Alicia, let’s go home,” my mother calls. As I shyly wave to the woman in front of me, who I’m assuming is one of my mother’s friends, I can feel the judgment in her eyes I’m sure my mom will get chewed out by her later, but right now, I can only nod and bow my head out of shame. That judgment chooses a nice, cozy spot in the backseat to settle in Until one particularly bad morning, I’m stupid enough to sit on the seat. I try to pull out my book to finish doing annotations, but I can feel the judgment soak into my skin and exhale through my lips.

“Why couldn’t you teach me Chinese?”

It’s not like I don’t know. Well, I don’t know. She always answers this question like she’s tip-toeing on a sheet of ice, ready to crack at any second. At any second she could plunge into the cold, arctic ice water and be drenched in the inescapable truth. I’ve heard her story, and it’s heartbreaking. I'm sure anyone who went through what she did with her parents would obviously want to leave. So, that’s exactly what she did. Another asian immigrant who married a white man to grasp a semblance of the American dream.

I understand why she only taught me English, and I know she was trying her best with what she had. But I can’t help the twinge of restatement every time I hear her conversing with her friends or mom in a language I can barely understand. I can’t help the humiliation I feel being in level 2, Chinese regular instead of honors I can’t help the way I want to scream every time she nags me for saying it “like a foreigner.”

“You aren't not missing out. Besides, you can always learn.”

I can feel the hot sting of tears fall down my cheek. It’s not like the loud crying she thinks sounds like a “dying seal”, the salted tear drying on my lips is one of mourning. No

matter how hard I try, I can’t silence the longing of missing something I never got the chance to have.

Some people just don’t get it; you don’t get it.

All I can do is turn my head and stare out the window to try and distract myself. I hear the chirping birds singing their morning songs or smell the scent of fresh morning dew. The trees are half as green as the day before, and the city feels like it has been awake too long without its morning coee Maybe, she’s right I should let it go and stop seeking some sort of closure to validate my identity. But I can’t.

“Besides, it’s not like you ever showed interest when you were younger. ”

“I was four.” I aggressively rather than passively remind her.

The comment leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. If I swallow, I can taste the blood soaking my gums. The phantom pain starts to set in as I futilely search for the tongue that American assimilation has cut from my mouth.

I take a deep breath to compose myself before responding.

I quietly muttered under my breath, “Some people just don’t get it.”

“You don’t get it”

Drew Cai

TheMorallyRightThing Cali Weidner

“Now don’t act too surprised by this, but I’ve managed to create a time machine.” I said proudly

“That’s it? But why would you build it?”

I thought it was pretty obvious why I built it One month ago, I was diagnosed with melanoma, the most serious type of skin cancer. I found out that I only had about five weeks left to live, so I got crafty. I built a time machine, but now there were only about three days left till my death. My genius plan was to go back in time, make sure to apply a ton of sunscreen, and just stay out of the sun. That way, I wouldn’t get skin cancer, and I could stay alive, right? Containing my excitement was the hardest part of the entire thing. I just had to tell someone. That someone was my best friend. However, instead of a happy ecstatic reaction like I expected, I received a disappointed sigh.

“First, do you even know how cancer works? Cancer isn’t always preventable, it could be genetic. Second, do you know if this even functions properly? Finally, what if something goes wrong? What if the universe wanted you to die in three days? What will you do?” My friend questioned.

“Well, I guess you ’ re right about the cancer part, but it’s worth a shot, and yes I know it works For your last question, I’m not religious I don’t think a nuclear war will break out just because I don’t die. It really shouldn’t be that important that I don’t die. How do you know it will change the present by that much?” I answered.

“Ugh,” my friend stormed out. A nurse walked in right after my friend had left.

“I- um, am super sorry about your friend,” she said with an apologetic tone.

“Don’t be, he’s just like that,” I comforted.

He had been like that since we were young. Criticizing my every action and always opting for the morally right thing. He was a vegan activist, who regularly did community service and was a huge blood donor. I was the exact opposite. I spent the rest of that day thinking about my friend and my life.

When I woke up, a large crimson patch had formed on my skin. My eyes focused on it, a little too intently, and suddenly everything that was once around me condensed into a singular red blemish that wouldn’t disappear no matter how many times I scratched it. I

finally stopped when I noticed my arm had become every shade of red that existed. I looked up. My friend was sitting there, examining me like he had murder on his mind.

“Hey,” I stated, breaking the eerie silence.

He jumped a little, nearly dropping the sandwich he was holding.

“Hey,” he responded.

“Um, is that a turkey sandwich from Subway, I thought you were vegan?” I asked.

“Oh, I was actually going to give this to you ”

“But it’s half-eaten?”

“I gave half to the nurses outside,” he smiled.

“Thank you, ” I smiled awkwardly.

That was pretty strange. Honestly though, I was probably overthinking things like he always tells me. He was just being considerate.

The window next to him projected violet rays throughout the room, illuminating the clock next to him and reminding me of my looming death day. Tick Tick Tick. I could feel the sweat ticking, no, trickling, down my forehead. Even though I had the time machine, I was still nervous for some reason. Perhaps it was what my friend had said earlier.

As if reading my thoughts, my friend asked, “Are you really going to go back in time?”

“I have to. I need to. There are just too many things I still need to do with my life.”

“Have you heard of the butterfly eect?” He asked

“I know, I know. Something as small as the flutter of a butterfly could cause an earthquake on the other side of the world,” I said, rolling my eyes

“And if you went back in time to kill the butterfly?” He said in a questioning tone.

“Ok, I’ll think about it,” I said with a sigh.

“I just have one question, where exactly is this time machine?”

I looked down.

“The hospital bed? Interesting,” my friend whispered. No more than a minute later, he left. That night, I couldn’t sleep. My friend's words echoed in my head along with a slight ticking noise, “What if the universe wanted you to die?” Tick.

Surely it didn’t want me to die. I mean this was me we were talking about.Tick. Still, the moral dilemma struck a nerve. Is it right to save yourself with the possibility of ending the

world? Tick. Is your life more valuable than others? Tick. Is it right? Tick. Is it? Tick. My conscience was really starting to get to me.

I woke up with pink eyes and for some reason, my pillow was wet. I checked the clock. Crap! Two hours left! Just then, my friend entered the room.

“Have you decided?” My friend asked in an expression that I couldn’t read.

“Well, to be honest, I’m not sure. ”

“Do you mind if I lay down while you decide?” He asked I shued out of the hospital bed. “Go ahead,” I said nervously. Twenty minutes later he opened his eyes and smiled.

“I wonder what it would be like to go back in time,” I stated. My friend snickered, “I guess you'll never know.”

As I was still processing what he said, he kicked me hard on the nose, pressed a few buttons and disappeared.

FiveStagesofMath

Cali Weidner

“Math is the root of all evil,” said a very smart person. When I think about it, I should’ve probably studied more, or been a little bit more prepared However the x ’ s and y ’ s didn’t seem to form a sentence in my mind rather a xxxyxyxyyx. Now here I was, test in hand, ten minutes in, and only my name written down Denial, the first stage I faced, repeating in my head, “I will wake up soon. I’m just dreaming. This is not real.” Then anger, furious with myself for not studying more and not paying attention in class. Why hadn’t I studied more? Why was math so dicult? Bargaining, the third stage, thinking about how I could possibly reason with the teacher for a retake. The fourth stage, depression, sat with me for a while, feeling sad and sorry for myself. I could feel the tears start to build up in my eyelids and it took the rest of my willpower to not start sobbing. Not wanting to wallow in self-pity any longer, I made it to the final stage, acceptance. I try to answer every question as best I can, accepting that I may not get many checks or smiling faces by my answers. What I do know however, is that I tried my best, and that there’s always second chances.

In my vignettes, I have mainly used anaphora, hyperboles, and sarcasm. I used anaphora as an outlet to show the impact of what it is like to grow up in an Asian household. I thought that using anaphora for my more heavy vignette about the expectations and feelings of inferiority would make the audience understand the severity of my feelings. As an example, I touched on the topic of what I thought my parent’s perspective of me was like; therefore, I wrote, “Someone they were ashamed of. Someone they wish they didn’t have to bring up ” (Cai, An Outlier). On the other hand, my more light-hearted vignette was filled with many expressions of sarcasm and hyperboles to really capture my thoughts about a sixth grade camp experience that felt world-ending. When I first mention the topic of going to camp again, I start o strong with a little sarcasm to really convey feelings of dread and discontent by saying something like, “(...), you quite literally wanted to take an endeavor towards unaliving yourself right then and there” (Cai, Mushrooms). I also added in examples of hyperbole when I wanted to intensify something that was happening to my story by saying something like, “Now your friends are laughing their butts o because…” (Cai, Mushrooms). By adding in these types of literary devices, I enhanced the way my story was delivered to the audience in dierent ways; although, I do think that in hindsight, the way I used these devices were all for the purpose of emphasis or exaggeration so readers can understand the severity of a particular subject.

For my two art pieces, I made one for Cali’s The Morally Right Thing and one for Alicia’s piece, Monday Morning Car Rides. In Cali’s piece I wanted to depict the betrayal of the main character’s friend; therefore, I had drawn a random person giving a glare with malicious and murderous intent. I also wanted to have attention drawn to the eyes of the figure, so I made sure that the eyes were the only part of my piece that would have color. Below the figure, I had two hands, to try and showcase one asking for help. On the other hand, quite literally, I decided to draw the hand oering the struggling one “help” I wanted this to show that at the last second, the helping hand was actually a facade. This relates back to the sudden betrayal of the friend As for Alicia’s piece, I opted to make a simple stick figure drawing to contrast the intensity of her vignette. I thought it would be an interesting way to oset the audience so that when they read Alicia’s vignette, it gives them a surprise as the art piece itself does not seem that alarming. In the thought process of deciding how I

wanted to interpret Alicia’s piece, I knew that I wanted to focus on her one line: “Some people just don’t get it; you don’t get it.” Since this was a repetitive theme to her story, I drew a stick figure with headphones on, getting confused by what the agitated person in front of them was trying to say. This, in a way related to how people in real life won’t understand what you said if they didn’t hear it. Furthering the theme of poor understanding in a dierent way from Alicia’s story.

In my vignettes, I used many dierent literary devices, but the most prominent ones were hyperbole, personification, and simile. I used hyperbole to magnify the emotions and feelings my characters or I were feeling. To project feelings of shock, I said things like, “[my] heart and stomach [were] smooshed on the floor” (Lin, Geometry Honors). And to show how commanding and sharp someone was, I wrote, “Winchester’s eyes burned holes into me ” (Lin, The Boston Files). Although these things aren’t possible at all, exaggerating the slight dropping feeling that I feel in my stomach when I get surprised or nervous, or projecting how controlling and intense someone could be helps with conveying exactly what my characters or I were feeling. I also utilized personification to communicate feelings. When my character was hurt, I said, “The twin tattoo on my wrist screamed in pain” (Lin, The Boston Files). By doing this, I was able to show readers how severe the pain my character was feeling was. When something is screaming in pain, the pain sounds like it has to be at a ten or way past it when placing it on a scale of one to ten, so it was useful to use personification to convey this. Another device that I used to enhance my writing was a simile. In The Boston Files, I wrote, “[I clutched] my bag to my chest like it was a newborn child” (Lin, The Boston Files). By comparing a bag to a newborn baby, I was showing how precious and delicate the bag and its contents were, just like a newborn. It shows readers how important it is to my character and how important it was to her to keep it safe.

I created two pieces for my peers ’ vignettes, “Mushroom Garden” for “Mushrooms” by Drew Cai and “Empty-Minded” for “Five Stages of Math” by Cali Weidner. “Mushroom Garden” is a collage of dierent photos and magazine cutouts. For the background, I chose a photo of a wooden forest, darkened it, and added a motion blur eect. Then, I found dierent pictures of dierent types of mushrooms and cut out the background in a rough, scrapbook-y way. I lessened the saturation on these and added some grain to give them a vintage eect The last step was finding a ton of magazine letter cutouts I scoured the Internet to find good quality ones, and I took out all the color, cropped them all, and arranged them in a pattern I liked The last thing I did was add a halftone eect over everything. It was pretty weak and barely noticeable with the background, a little stronger with the mushrooms, and very strong with the letters. Doing this helped give everything the collage-made-from-lots-of-magazine-cutouts feel. “Empty-Minded” is another piece of

digital art. I wanted to make sure that the idea of someone frustrated with taking a timed math test was prominent. Thus, I drew a whiteboard in the back that showed the day’s agenda, which included an exam, and a clock in the background to convey the ticking time bomb idea. The focus of this piece is a girl sitting at a desk with a test in front of her. I made sure she looked frustrated and stressed by drawing a scrunched-up expression on her face and her hands pulling at her hair.

For my two vignettes, I used repetition, imagery, and simile as my primary literary devices. In my vignette Monday Morning Car Rides, I wanted to shine a mirror into my relationship with my mother and with my culture as a Taiwanese american. I used vivid, even grotesque similes to describe how painful it feels to feel disconnected from your culture. In the second to last paragraph, I say, “If I swallow, I can taste the blood soaking my gums. The phantom pain starts to set in as I futilely search for the tongue that American assimilation has cut from my mouth” (Pearson Morning Car Rides). This line creates a vivid picture of American assimilation as a cold-blooded murder who has cut me from my culture. In a way, this last line is the culmination of my understanding for my mother. Instead of blaming her, I shift my perspective to understand that she, like many other immigrants, wanted her child to grasp the “American dream”, even at the risk of appearing “foreign.” The phrase, “Some people just don’t get it. You don’t get it” is repeated throughout the vignette (Pearson, Morning Car Rides) This phrase is repeatedly ingrained into the reader’s mind I intentionally mentioned my mothers perspective in a vague, brief manner both to respect her privacy and to showcase the generational gap between my mother and I and how we sometimes fail to understand each other’s perspectives. Dewdrop is about a young boy who loses consciousness and travels to dewdrop where he gets to see alternate reality versions of himself and reflect on his own life. The major literary device I used in this vignette was imagery. One of my favorite lines that showcase imagery is when Elijah says, “All around me were stars and constellations with stars so bright they looked like-colored gems. The constellations illustrated everything, not just the Greek myths I was used to seeing, but the peanut butter sandwich I ate for lunch last Tuesday and how my mother’s nose wrinkles when she laughs” (Pearson Dewdrop). Here imagery is used to showcase how beautiful and magical dewdrop is and also add a personal touch about Elijah’s life. He reminisces about his mothers smile and lunch which strengthen his character as someone the reader can sympathize with and connect to

I created one art piece for Allie Lin’s Boston Files and another for Drew Cai’s An Outlier. I wanted my piece Midnight Escapade to capture the magical moment of connection between Evan and Everest. I painted silhouettes of Everest pulling up Evan to illustrate how trusting Evan is of Everest which ultimately makes Everest’s betrayal hurt even more. I used

gold origami paper and black construction paper to create the city buildings. My favorite touch in this piece is the sky. I used acrylic paint and a modeling medium to get the 3d swipes of paint and added glitter to make it sparkly. These techniques helped me create a vivid sky with warm pinks, yellows, and oranges and cool purples and blues that were popping out of the canvas. In my piece Losing Face, I wanted to capture the cultural disconnect and insecurity Cai wrote about feeling with the rest of her family. This is a digital art piece I created using the program Procreate I had the girl’s face turning into abstract shapes and colors and adding dierent color squares to make it seem as if her face was glitching out. The title Losing Face is a reference to a line in An Outlier where the main character states, “I didn’t belong.” I felt like that for what seemed like an eternity. I felt ashamed and thought that it was my fault that my family was “losing face.” The abstract details represent the uncertainty of the main character and failure to maintain the perfect image that Cai writes is expected of her.

In the vignettes I created, I mainly used repetition and imagery in my pieces. I really wanted to highlight the stress of a ticking clock as well as the despair that I face while taking many tests. In one of the last paragraphs, after each sentence I would add the word tick. For example, “Still, the moral dilemma struck a nerve. Is it right to save yourself with the possibility of ending the world? Tick. Is your life more valuable than others? Tick. Is it right? Tick. Is it? Tick,” (Weidner, The Morally Right Thing). By doing this, I added a layer of suspense and tenseness, to hopefully keep the reader on their toes Imagery also helped to form the nervousness in both vignettes. For example, “When I woke up, a large crimson patch had formed on my skin My eyes focused on it, a little too intently, and suddenly everything that was once around me condensed into a singular red blemish that wouldn’t disappear no matter how many times I scratched it.,” (Weidner, The Morally Right Thing). In this section, I tried to capture the helplessness a person may feel.

Regarding the art pieces, I designed one for Allie Lin, “Shapes of Honor,” for her vignette titled “Geometry Honors” as well as for Alicia Pearson, “Everything Everywhere Not At Once,” for her vignette titled “Dewdrop.” “Shapes of Honor” was created using a digital art application. Because of the geometry and sorrowful subject, I decided to create something that incorporated geometric shapes as well as something relatively sad. I used shapes to create a face and added a few extras on the sides. “Everything Everywhere Not At Once” was also created digitally but using a dierent method. First, I found a man online who somewhat represented the main character. I printed two copies of this joyful fellow and ripped one of the copies in half Next, I taped the half-men on to the full man so that I was left with three equal sections of men. I then photocopied it and assigned each section to a dierent main character Afterwards, I found attire and items that matched each person