2026 Spring Summer Sextant

The Sextant

Spring/Summer 2026

The Sextant Staff Names

Roles

Ryan Chang-Wu Suhas Kaniyar Josh Myers Ryan Li Tristan Dolan Will Sandor Teodoro Rivera-Wills

Editor-in-Chief Editor-in-Chief Staff Editor Staff Editor Staff Editor Staff Editor Staff Editor

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Editor’s Note They say “April showers bring May flowers,” and I don’t think there could be a better fit for Belmont Hill right now. As AP season is winding down, we are swiftly approaching the end of a very fruitful year in many senses. We have seen tremendous growth as so many people branch out into new fields and try something new, and we at the Sextant truly appreciate all your efforts. As a community, we tend to focus on the work and keep our noses to the grindstone, but as the weather warms, I hope we can stop to appreciate all we have accomplished this year.

In this issue, Upper School students (and some brave seventh graders) have submitted a great number of entries to our brand-new contest, the Nautillus, many of which are represented here. The works in this issue are very diverse, ranging from poems about love to powerful poems on one’s faith. We have seen much more diversity in this issue than in previous publications, which is really showing how much we are branching out this year!

Our kind faculty and staff have continued to help guide students to use their talents in ways they had never thought possible. We would like to thank Dr. Tift not only for mentoring us but also for her work with her Creative Writing section, which has provided us with many works for this publication.

We would like to thank our school’s English and Arts departments for their assistance in creating the 2026 Spring Sextant, with extra special thanks to Dr. Tift, our faculty advisor, and all the other teachers who have urged their students to try something new and submit work. This would not have been possible without you!

Your Editors-in-Chief, Ryan Chang-Wu Suhas Kaniyar

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Artworks By: Will Days ’27 Andrew Cotter ’26 Marc Tyler Jarvis ’27 JJ Pena ’26 (including Cover) Nate Brennan ’29 Finn Whitman ’29

Hank Greene ’28 Budom Ezeani ’26 Ari Itzkovits ’28 Sean Park ’28 Panos Gianoukos ’26

Writing: A Snowstorm Ferris Won’t Forget.....................................Jackson Bowhers ’27. pg. 10 Day & Night.................................................................................Jack Tarbox ’27. pg 17 Love......................................................................................Jackson Bowhers ’27. pg 18 Driving...............................................................................Matthew Williams ’28. pg 19 The Cave..................................................................................Henry Bordeau ’31. pg 21 The Pulse......................................................................................Josh Myers ’28. pg 23 Dirty O..........................................................................................Hugh Wylie ’28. pg 27 A Fenway Frank...........................................................................Jack Tarbox ’27. pg 30 Excerpts from Checkmate*..................................................Tadhg O’Sullivan ’29 pg 31 The Quest for Boba...................................................................Krish Chandar ’29 pg 35 Duplex Vir..................................................................................Thomas Egan ’28 pg 36 The Dreams of a Ship in a Bottle..........................................Ryan Chang-Wu ’27 pg 38 Guilty Cloud........................................................................Harun M. Ibrahim ’29 pg 39 Birds’ Rules***.........................................................Owen Popkowski-Smith ’27 pg 40 The War Zone.............................................................................Sammy Flood ’26 pg 42 The Fall...............................................................................Ky-Mani Monteiro ’27 pg 44 April Fools............................................................................Marc Tyler Jarvis ’27 pg 49 “Whiplash”: Andrew Neiman’s inner monologue.....................Babikir Saeed ’26 pg 50 A Lovely Sunday Afternoon.................................................Owen Goodband ’28 pg 52 US: Fallen/Risen**...................................................................Marcus Griffin ’26 pg 53 Two Poems.......................................................................................Peter Wall ’27 pg 59 Small Town Minds........................................................................Nolan Ehler ’27 pg 61 Television Adventures......................................................................Will Days ’27 pg 64 NOTE: *** Signifies the 1st place winner of the Nautilus, ** Signifies the Runner Up, and * Signifies the Honorable Mention. Thank you all for your submissions! ….

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Interpretation of Cobb's Barn

by Edward Hopper A collaboration between Hank Greene ’28, Budom Ezeani ’26, Ari Itzkovits ’28, Sean Park ’28, and Ms. Bradley 5

Sean Park ’28

Nate Brennan ’29

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Will Days ’27

Roger Wellington ’28

Andrew Cotter ’26

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Finn Whitman ’29

Andrew Cotter ’26

JJ Pena ’26 8

Ty Jarvis ’27

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A Snowstorm Ferris Won’t Forget

By Jackson Bowhers ’27

I struggle to open the window; it's old with cracks and paint chips all over it. On the other side of the glass are snowmountains reaching the third floor of my home. I stand by the window shivering. The thermostat reads 61 degrees. I can't believe my eyes, there must have been 25 feet of snow. I remember watching the news right before the power went out early yesterday morning. They had warned the people of Stowe, Vermont, that a major winter storm was coming, but I don't think they ever expected this much snow.

I run downstairs to find my Mom, Dad, and dog in the kitchen. The look on their faces seems like something is wrong. My Mom's face is in her hands, my dad looks like he may have just seen a ghost, and my dog, well, he is just lying on the ground next to his favorite toy.

"Mom, Dad, why do you look like the world is ending?" I ask.

"Twenty-five feet of snow sounds great to me!" I say excitedly.

My Mom replies, "Who knows when all this snow is going to disappear?"

Dad adds, "There is no way of getting out of the house, and the streets are nonexistent, son."

I answer, "Which means I have no school for the foreseeable future, the sledding hills are bigger than I have ever seen before, and I have unlimited time with my best friend Jett."

Jett is my dog, by the way. ***

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As an only child, there's not often much going on around here. Especially not when you live in a house that isn't within 5 miles of anything else. When I say "nothing else" I mean there is not a house, store, sidewalk, or legit anything within that 5 mile radius. So just like any other spoiled eleven-year-old kid, I begged for a pet dog. And that's what I got. Now I have Jett, my best friend in the whole wide world.

It was my 10th birthday that we got him, the day that, honestly, changed my life.

I remember every moment of that first day together. I jumped out of bed at 7:00 a.m. I had been up since 5:00 a.m. because I was unable to sleep, knowing it was my birthday. The only gift I asked for was a pet dog. Specifically, a golden labradoodle. I ran downstairs to find my parents sitting at the kitchen table with a box on the table.

My name, "Ferris Bennett," is written across the top. Oh boy, I knew what was inside that thing. No "Hi Mom, Hi Dad," just a straight sprint to the box. I quickly opened the top, and sitting inside was my soon-to-be best friend.

“JETTTTTTTT!” I screamed.

"THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH, I LOVE HIM ALREADY!" I said.

My parents were in tears just like me, "You're welcome, kiddo," my Mom replied as she wiped the tears away.

The rest was history.

Yes, I know it's only been a little over a year. But Jett and I have become so close ever since. I tell him everything, my thoughts, ideas for the future, and what I want to eat for lunch. He tells me everything, too, at least I think that's what he's doing when he barks.

Along with telling him my every little thing, we do everything together. He has his own bed in my room, with the name Jett embroidered on it in the color red. As soon as the day starts, we jump out of bed and get going. We usually start with a good breakfast to begin our day. My favorite is Apple Jack cereal with milk, and his is dog food. I've never tried it, but Jett seems to like it a lot. After a quick bathroom break for Jett, we're off. We go on fun adventures together every day. The good news about not having anything near you is that there is a lot of land to explore. Then we return home for lunch, and Jett gets some more of that dog food. I'm not quite sure how he eats the same thing every day, but whatever floats his boat. A nap consumes a majority of our afternoons, and we follow that up with some dinner. After dinner is video game time.

Jett loves watching me play Fortnite. When he gets bored, I make sure to turn on a movie. His favorite is either Air Bud, the original, or The Secret Life of Pets. A little desert, then bed, sums up our almost daily routine.

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Jaiden Lee, V

Now you can imagine why Jett and I are best friends and why this epic snowstorm is going to be the best time of my life. It's not even 9:00 a.m. yet, but I already have a list of things for Jett and me to do now that we have all this snow.

"Jett, come here, boy," I yell out.

Jett comes running over, with his tail wagging.

"I'm not sure how much we are going to get done today, but here are some of my ideas: 1st, we can go sledding. This is an obvious option, but these aren't any normal sledding hills. It's like a bunny hill compared to a black diamond; these snow mountains are legit."

"Woof, Woof," Jett barks.

I think he likes this one. Jett loves to sled. We have this blue plastic sled that fits the two of us.

I continue, "2nd, build a snowman. I already got the carrots and scarf out for when we want to build our version of Frosty the Snowman. 3rd, and maybe my favorite idea, build an igloo. This would be a perfect place for you and me to hang out.

4th, check out the waterfall. It's likely to be frozen due to the freezing cold weather and the winter storm that recently hit us. Making it look like a frozen ice palace. This is a little tougher because it means a lot of walking, but it seems like a fun adventure. 5th, the last I'll share because you probably don't want to hear me list 27 of my ideas, is a snowball fight."

I usually win these. *** Blah, blah, blah, I have no idea what Ferris is saying right now. The only thing I heard him say was "play", my favorite word. And "outside," which is probably my second favorite word, or "food". Everything else he said was like he was speaking in a different language. He's talking way too much. The worst part is I'm hungry, and he hasn't fed me the really good brown ball-shaped food I get every day.

"FOOD PLEASE, FERRIS!" I yell as I sit next to the food container, hoping he takes the hint. ***

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Jaiden Lee, V

I know it's still early, but it's about time, Jett, and I start our adventure. I give Jett his food, and then I head upstairs to get dressed for battle with the winter storm. I slide on my sweatpants, on top of them my camo snowpants, then two pairs of warm socks, a long-sleeve Patriots sweatshirt, a North Face ski jacket, gloves with handwarmers, a ski mask, tinted goggles, and a Celtics winter hat. I am ready to face anything that gets in my way. I rush downstairs, almost tripping because I'm walking like a penguin with all these clothes on. I tie my Timberlands in the mud room, as Jett waits patiently by the door.

I yell, "Bye, Mom, bye, Dad. See you guys later!"

Before I even get a response, I am out the door, faster than the Flash.

Less than 10 seconds later, I remember that the snow is going to be blocking the garage door. This is no longer a way out of the house. I run back inside, through the kitchen, "Hi Mom, Hi Dad," I say as I make my way upstairs.

"WAIT!" My Mom yells.

I stop halfway up the stairs to listen.

"Son, you have to be very safe out there." My dad says in a strict voice.

Following a short pause, he adds, "Things tend to go bad when there are storms like these."

My Mom continues, "Make sure you bring your phone, make sure you dress warm, and make sure you come back before it gets too dark."

I yell back, "Okay, guys, love you!"

"Love you too, Ferris!" They both respond.

I continue heading up the stairs, but something feels a bit off. I begin to wonder why they are so worried. I always play outside alone with Jett. What is so different about this time? They never question me or worry about my adventures. But anyway, I am back in my bedroom, where I hope to be able to exit the house through the old creaky window. I hear the wind howling outside. White fluffy snow is nearly reaching my window; it will only be a step down to reach the snow.

I take a deep breath, slide my goggles down over my eyes, pull up my ski mask, and ask Jett, "Are you ready, boy?"

Jett responds with a "Woof, Woof!"

He's ready. I push open the window, and a freezing cold wind hits me in the face like a Mike Tyson knock-out punch. Oh boy, I think to myself.

"Woof, Woof, Woof!" Jett barks again.

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Jaiden Lee, V

I am no longer sure if this is a bark of enjoyment and readiness. But it doesn't matter, we are still going on this snowy adventure.

I swing my right leg over the ledge of the window cell, then my left. I push off the ledge, leaping into the snow. Jett pounces through the window, landing on all four legs in the snow. We have done it, the mission has begun. The snow is thick, although it looks fluffy. I am able to walk across the top; it's like walking on clouds. Jett seems to be in heaven, as he runs back and forth rolling in the snow. Not only have I never seen this much snow, neither has Jett.

I feel weirdly excited to play in the snow, I mean I guess it is the most snow I have ever seen but it seems almost too good to be true. There's no way Mother Nature is giving me all this snow, leading to all these good things: unlimited playing outside, no school, and no work for my parents. But this thought of questioning and fear in the back of my mind isn't going to stop me from having fun.

I reach back in the window, grab my royal blue plastic sled, then slam the window shut. No turning back now, I think to myself. There are sledding hills everywhere, some taller than my house. As I ride down the hills, snow and wind shoot up into my face; luckily, I came prepared. Jett, on the other hand, is covered in snow by the time we reach the bottom of the snow mound. He quickly jumps off and does his dog shake, snow flying everywhere.

Jett and I continue our adventure through the treacherous terrain caused by the snowstorm. Snow has not yet stopped falling, and winds continue to push against us, making the storm feel even stronger. My ultimate goal for today is to reach the nearby waterfall. The waterfall is a place we often visit when going on trips together. During the warm summer days, we like to cool off from the glaring sun by taking a swim in the lake that the water falls into. While during the Fall and Spring it's a great place to fish, and enjoy an often breathtaking view as the leaves show strong colors on the trees, the sun beams off the water, and wildlife explores the local environment. During the winter, it is mostly frozen, with some water still falling from the cliff where the end of the stream reaches the side of the mountain. The lake beneath is covered with ice and snow; every once in a while, a local fisherman may be here ice fishing. Today's view will be different, one I will have never seen before, who knows what it may look like, and what mysteries it might reveal.

As we get closer to what I believe is the waterfall, I begin to feel that feeling of questioning. Is this a good idea? What if something goes wrong? Maybe I am right?

Maybe I am crazy?

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Jaiden Lee, V

"Jett, what do you think, boy?" I ask in a questioning tone.

No reply from Jett, just a kind of look that says, "You're crazy, man." I mean, what's the worst that could happen? I think to myself as I continue to get closer. My legs are getting heavy, the once lightweight plastic sled now feels like I'm dragging a car, and even Jett the dog, who seems to never get tired, is walking at a much slower pace. The snow is continuing to pile up, reaching nearly my waist as I am no longer able to walk on top of it. Jett's legs are no longer visible; he is practically hopping like a bunny just to keep moving forward.

I am now close enough to see that the once flowing stream that pours into the lake is completely frozen. Along with that, the lake is no longer visible, and the cliff that usually seems as tall as the Empire State Building now has snow reaching halfway up the side. I also notice something near the bottom of the waterfall, it seems to be an animal. Well, maybe not, it looks like it's walking. More like a human. But what would a human be doing out here in the middle of the snowstorm? Especially since I am the only person who lives near here. Maybe it's Bigfoot… Ok, definitely not that, I'm not that crazy. Wait, he's climbing the snow mountains near the waterfall. I'm not sure where he thinks he's going, though. It's not like there is anything behind the waterfall.

He looks like an older figure, not old old like my grandparents, but maybe in his 30s.

He's tall, not skinny but not fat. He continues to climb until suddenly he goes behind the waterfall. I lose sight of him, but how? What is behind the waterfall? He must appear shortly. I sit waiting from a distance, as snow continues to fall.

Time passes, and passes, but nothing; he never reappears. After some thinking, I decide to get closer. Jett and I walk stealthily through the snow, watching the area where this man first disappeared. Once I reach the bottom of the mountain, where this figure climbed no longer than 15 minutes ago, I begin my climb. Slowly but safely, I make my way up, my heart beating faster every step I take. Jett follows by my side, watching his surroundings like a guard dog. As I reach the top, I discover something I never knew was here.

A cave, dark, rocky, and hidden. I had been coming to this same waterfall for almost my entire life. And not once had I seen this. But I still haven't spotted the man who entered this cave. It's too dark to see anything; clouds cover the already dark sky as the early evening approaches. I need to start heading home, but I feel wrong leaving without figuring out who this person is.

"HELLO," I yell out, hoping someone will answer.

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Jaiden Lee, V

What I assume to be the man whom I recently saw answers, "Hi Ferris…"

Ferris, how does he know my name? Who is this guy? Millions of thoughts go rushing through my head. Should I leave? Is this some stalker? I freeze, it's like my body can't move. He appears from the cave. He's tall and fit, like I thought. Brown shaggy hair, with a stubby beard and mustache. He must be at least thirty years old, maybe even older. Dressed in dirty jeans, Timberlands just like mine, and a heavy winter coat.

"Who… who are you?" I ask as my voice trembles and body shakes, as I hold Jett close to my body.

Jett growls fiercely, making sure this man keeps his distance.

"Don't worry, I know you," he answers in a calm tone.

After a short pause, he continues, "I've known you since you were born and have watched you grow, even followed you on some of your adventures with Jett."

With very little idea of what to say, I ask, "What's your name? How do you know me?"

He answers, "I am Hayes Bennett, your brother."

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Day & Night

By Jack Tarbox ’27

The Sun wakes me up in the morning Its roaring glare, lighting my room.

I am discontented, my day shadowed with gloom.

I hear birds chirping. Mourning Dove.

Bringing reminders of lost love.

Each blade of grass is tipped with water droplets.

Giving reflection, where morning sun rests.

Dark, black sky, beginning its quiet creep.

As glowing, silver stars stare and peep.

It looks infinite, dark, and deep.

A blank canvas where shadows sleep.

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Love

By Jackson Bowhers ’27

One day you love something, the next day you don’t.

One day it’s all you can think about, the next you try to forget.

Your love for it comes, and then it goes.

Like the tides at the beach, one hour its high, 12 hours later it's low.

Or the changing of the seasons, one day there’s snow, the next day sun glows.

This may be true of one thing in your life, or maybe two, three, or four.

One day you may find something, something that you love endlessly Or maybe you won’t…

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Driving

By Matthew Williams ’28 A black sea of darkness looms over the horizon.

The dark, desolate wilderness restricts his path, parted halfway by a double yellow.

It seems this stretch of concrete goes on forever.

Three digits on the clock stay the same most of the time, with the fourth mutating shape often.

Like a magnet suddenly snapping into a different position, even the third one, or the second, or the first one, can alter its appearance.

His speed is determined by his mind.

However, it seems that how fast he travels no longer matters.

While the trees will jump, and jump quicker, it seems this stretch of concrete goes on forever.

There is a sense of peace in this slab of concrete, in the secluded nature of the path, and in the straightforward way.

Yet it feels mysterious.

An interconnected web of powerlines stretches across, over the road, with its flowing electricity ignored.

Animals hunt and survive in the forests around him, with their communities unnoticed.

Here and there, a bump in the road comes, A pothole, or fluctuation in road angle.

The suspension nearly absorbs it all, and the little cracks and small gaps between pebbles are rendered insignificant. (continued on next page)

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A Slowly, the man gets tired, and more tired, and more tired, until he can barely keep himself awake.

The man has been driving too long, too long, so long.

By now, the gases from his exhaust pipe have incorporated themselves into the atmosphere.

The numbers on his dashboard have jumped, manipulating themselves to become unrecognizable, and the trees, too many trees, have passed by unappreciated The man can’t tell how long he has been driving, where he started, or where he will end up.

This stretch of concrete goes on forever.

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The Cave

By Henry Bordeau ’31 So there I was, trussed like a turkey above a blazing firepit, the flames a mere foot away. The rope binding me was thick and held strong, despite my struggling. All in all, it was not looking good for me.

Did I mention the dragon?

There was an enormous dragon sitting next to the fire, slowly turning the spit to which I was tied. It was at least 30 feet tall, with scarlet red scales that seemed to glow in the light of the fire.

You’re probably wondering how I got there. Allow me to explain.

It all started with me skipping school. I had decided enough was enough, that I had worked hard all year, and that it was time for a break.

It was a beautiful May morning, the kind that makes you long for summer. I woke up, pretended to leave for school as usual, but instead went to the park.

None of my teachers would miss me. They hardly took attendance, and I was the kind of student who sat in the back of the classroom and hardly talked. The quiet kid, if you will.

Anyway, I went to the park, and just played around for a little. I read a book, kicked a ball around, and took a nap next to a big rock in the center of the park.

No one really paid attention to the rock. It was about the size of my house, and sometimes little kids liked to climb on it. The sides weren’t too steep, and it sort of resembled half of a basketball stuck in the ground.

I woke up right next to a giant crevice that I was almost positive hadn’t been there before. I, in my eternal stupidity, tried to fit through it.

It was just wide enough for me to squeeze through at first. Then, just as I was about to turn back, it widened. I stepped into a kind of hallway.

I was still in a rock, mind you. The walls were jagged, and the floor was uneven beneath my feet. But it was much larger than the crack, about thirty feet high and twenty wide.

This is where I made a decision on the stupidity level of a horror-movie protagonist.

I kept going.

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It should have been dark. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but it was lighter than should have been possible. There was a source of light coming from ahead.

I followed it to an even larger chamber, with a fireplace in the center. And sitting near it, tending the fire with its back to me, was the dragon.

I gasped in shock. This may have been my worst decision yet, as the dragon spun around. I tried to duck out of sight, but it was too fast. It snatched me up in its claws. I struggled, trying to get loose, but the dragon’s claws closed tighter and tighter. I couldn’t breathe.

The last thing I saw was the dragon taking me closer to the fire, and, whether from shock or lack of oxygen, I passed out.

And there I was, tied over the fire. I figured that I would be spun here until I was roasted like Thanksgiving dinner, then made into this dragon’s lunch. No one would realize what happened to me.

Then, another dragon stepped into the room. This one was much smaller, barely ten feet tall. It must have been a baby.

It looked at me with giant eyes. I looked at him back, full of desperation.

We locked eyes. Each seeming to read the other’s mind. There was a surprising amount of intelligence in it, a touch of sympathy.

That was when I realized. Dragons aren’t beasts. This baby dragon realized my situation. He cared.

The baby dragon went over to the other dragon who was tending the fire, probably his parent. The two had a brief conversation, mostly growling and grunting and a lot of gesturing, mostly toward me and the fire. After much debate, the larger dragon grumbled, then waved a claw over the fire.

Somehow, the flames instantly vanished. I was so astonished, I didn’t even notice that my bindings had also been cut until gravity kicked in, and I tumbled to the ground.

The adult dragon, looking very annoyed, nudged me toward the passageway where I had come. The baby looked at me, and I waved at him back.

I don’t know if the dragons understood the motion, but it felt like the right thing to do.

I went back through the hallway, squeezed through the crack in the rock, and there I was.

Back through the rock, I emerged. My book and ball were still there, exactly as I left them. I took a few deep breaths and pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. It hurt, but that was a small price to pay. I was alive.

What’s the moral of this story, you ask? Don’t try to fit through mysterious cracks in 22 rocks. Don’t keep going onward if you fit through the aforementioned crack. And most of all, don’t skip school.

The Pulse

By Josh Myers ’28 The band snaps tightly around my wrist. At first, the band only tightens, then the pain intensifies, and a burning sensation shocks my hand as if lightning struck my body. The heat surges through my wrist, up my arm, and throughout my whole body. I try to pull the band off, but it does not help. It never does. The familiar warning tone erupts from the band in three loud bursts, each one piercing through the plaza. The band turns red, pulsing with a rhythm that matches my heartbeat. Heads turn instantly, and people step back as if I carry something contagious. A large circle forms around me as parents drag their kids behind them, trying to shield them from me. I scan the crowd, looking for someone, anyone who can help me. I see the town baker, my close friend, in the crowd, and we hold a glance before he turns away as though I’ve already disappeared. Above me, the sound of surveillance drones engulfs the air, searching for the disturbance. They glide through the air, emitting a sharp mechanical hum; their cameras scan and search the crowd. I quickly pull my band behind my back so the drones will not catch it.

I look around at the now-silent plaza, with its dull gray stones and dearth of trees and color. The gray rocks look almost too symmetrical; there are no weeds, no dirt, no signs of life. I have never seen a tree in real life, but I have seen them in the faded pictures in the books I read as a child before the government destroyed them along with the rest of the “dangerous lies.” I remember running my fingers over the smooth green drawings. My mother told me to forget these pictures; she warned that the book carried danger, a luxury we couldn’t afford as Mortars. That night, I heard the band for the first time.

I remember that night well. At seven, I lived in a small two-bedroom apartment with my mom. A single pale yellow light loomed over my bed, and I remember the cold stone slabs beneath my feet. I pulled out a small green book with a tree on the cover from under my bed. I started to flip through the pages as my eyes scanned each illustration, looking for every detail, each pencil stroke, and each smudge of paint. The book looked aged. I remember my father gave it to me before he disappeared. He said the book came from the past and that no one could ever forget it. As I flipped through the pages, I stopped at a large tree, which the book referred to as an oak tree. I ran my fingers across the tree, and I imagined the rough brown bark rubbing against my fingertips. I felt as if I had transported into the book. I closed my eyes and breathed.

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When I opened my eyes, I stood in a meadow, a large oak tree looming before me, the scent of grass filling my nostrils. The sweet and earthy aroma ran through my whole body as the calm wind blew against my face. I walked up to the tree and placed my hand on the bark. I felt the rough, damp bark and ran my fingers through its many layers; it fascinated me. I looked up at the leaves, and the sun filtered through the branches, bathing my face in warm light that crept into every pore and crevice of my skin. I yearned for this reality.

“ADRIAN HOLT, DROP THAT BOOK IMMEDIATELY.” I opened my eyes, and I saw my mom in the doorway; she trembled, out of breath.

“Give me that book right now,” my mom said in a tone of fear.

She yanked the book out of my hand, and as soon as she did, the band let out a deafening shriek as pain surged through my body. My mom yelled and told me to clear my mind and think about the wall. As I cleared my mind, I saw the images of the trees' leaves blowing away, as if they never existed.

Later that night, I remember hearing my mother cry while looking at the picture book, “Why aren't we a part of the Pillars? Why do they keep us trapped in the Mortar class?” This was our reality.

But reality remains cruel. The colossal wall looms just beyond the city plaza, blocking off the little sky that remains. Its shadow looms over the plaza, creating what seems like a second night. At last, night falls. As the darkness engulfs the plaza, the signs attached to the surrounding buildings come to life. The bright luminescence of the signs blazes into my eyes as if trying to penetrate my brain. I read the large red letters, “THE BANDS PROTECT, THE WALL IS YOUR REFUGE.” I feel my eyes stinging as I stare at the bright signs and red letters. The sirens shock me back into reality by their shriek, emanating from approaching police cars. Before they can get to me, I must clear my mind and rid myself of all facial expressions. The stomping of the boots echoes against the cold stone slabs.

The people in the plaza, silent and expressionless, make way for the police. I calm my breathing and empty my mind, thinking about the gray, blank wall. I let it fill my mind so that there’s no room for anything else. My breathing slows, and my heartbeat returns to normal. The red glow of the band flickers, then returns to green.

The sound dies, and the plaza falls silent. I feel safe. I run into the crowd and push through people; no one says a word as I hide. The police arrive in response to the disturbance. I can see the officers, their slick black coats reflecting the blinding light 24 from the boards, their large boots pounding against the stone as if trying to crush it.

They wear dark black helmets that cover their faces, and their visors conceal their eyes; they almost don't look human. Instead, they appear as shadows, moving in a rhythmic, programmed motion, and they nearly seem unreal. I keep breathing, forcing myself to think of nothing. The officers pause and pull out scanners from their belts.

For a brief moment, they seem confused, almost dazed. They can't find where the sound came from. My band maintains silence. Everyone holds their breath. I can feel the tension in the crowd; it's thin, fragile, and ready to shatter. I scan the crowd looking for the police. Through the blank faces, I see familiar ones, friends from school, shop owners, and a girl from my neighborhood.

I think her name’s Skye, and she seems the same age as me. Briefly, we lock eyes.

She has long, dark brown hair hanging loose down her back, different from the rest of the citizens in the plaza. As she moves, her hair reflects the glare of the signs. I stare into her bright green eyes, a striking contrast to the gray world around us. She keeps staring at me, her gaze alive, almost defiant. She lifts her hand slightly and motions to meet her in a nearby alley. My body trembles as I realize the danger: my band will go off if I meet her. I question her motive. What if she's part of the police and trying to trick me? I already face trouble since the police will scan everyone’s bands. My mom constantly warns me to control my impulses, but in this moment, I don’t hear her voice. I decide to follow Skye and see if she can help me. I push and make my way through the deathly silent crowd when a large man immediately grabs my arm.

“Watch where you walk,” he says in a gruff voice.

“I'm sorry, sir, I did not see you. I really need to go,” I say in a stutter.

“Where do you think you're going? No one can leave here anyway. Someone's band went off, and now the police are searching and scanning everyone.”

“I…I really need to go; someone's waiting for me.”

I try to yank my arm away, but the man keeps a firm grip. He appears to stand over 6 feet tall, with short black hair and piercing hazel eyes. I try again to escape from his crushing grip, but he squeezes harder, and I wince in pain.

“Let go of me now, I need to go,” I say in a stern voice.

“We all need to get scanned. If I can't leave, neither will you.” I feel anger surge through my body. I need to escape this world.

“LET GO OF ME RIGHT NOW,” I yell.

25

The man, shocked, releases his grip and signals to the police, screaming that he found the disturbance, me. I try to run, but suddenly, the band shrieks, and I fall to the ground with immense pain shooting up my arm. I get dizzy and lightheaded. I look up and see the green-eyed girl waiting near the alley; her band flashes red, but immediately blinks green again, as if nothing had happened. Bands don’t glitch. Before I can finish my thought, I look up, and the police loom in front of me. One of them then raises a small scanner from his coat pocket, and I can see the ghostly blue beam go over the band. The band shrieks again, “VIOLATION DETECTED.” I freeze; the world around me seems to stop.

Everyone around me gasps, then immediately looks away. They don't want to suffer the same punishment as me. The officers push back my band enough to see the angry purple and red bruise forming on my wrist, confirming my violation. Without warning, the officers grab my arms and put me in handcuffs. People have started to back away; no one dares look me in the eye. They yank me to my feet, the world spinning around me, and I feel faint. We move towards a black van, and people move aside as the police drag me through the crowd. How did Skye’s band turn green so quickly? I hope she's safe. I wonder if the police saw her. They throw me onto the cold metallic floor of the van, the impact rattling my bones. The putrid smell of oil fills the air. I see the police step in as the world fades.

“ADRIAN HOLT, YOU ARE UNDER INVESTIGATION FOR THE SPECULATION OF OUTSIDE ENVIRONMENTS.”

26

Dirty O

By Hugh Wylie ’28 I inhaled deeply, drawing out my breath. 47 read the counter on my wrist attached to my mask. I counted 10 people ahead of me, each taking their time on the dispensary machine. 40. I remember my grandmother's advice: inhale slowly, exhale slower. I tried to stay calm but couldn’t stay quiet in the crowded courtyard surrounded by abandoned buildings with years of disregard showing through the piles of waste stacked five stories tall.

25. Inhale, exhale.

20. Inhale, exhale.

My throat, dry with thirst, and my stomach, rumbling, screamed for any food scrap. Our water rations ran out yesterday at 2 pm when Georgia couldn’t control her fit of coughs. Georgia, my younger sister, bedridden for 3 weeks now, makes me have to work on lower O and take extra shifts at the data mining center every day. Mother does not help either; her 90lb frame does not help in the competitive elbows out society. She used to fight for us. She stood in this very line every morning, fighting for our rations. Now her eyes dull and hands weak, I stand here, mask hissing with each shallow breath, praying the counter doesn’t hit zero before I reach the front.

10. Inhale, exhale.

As I took another step forward, low whispers rippled through the line. Emerging from the smoke behind the resource machines, three patrol guards appeared, masks glowing blood red and AK-6741s slung across their chests menacingly referred to as 67’s. Their military boots crunched broken concrete and piles of trash as one raised a scanner to a petrified man standing 5 yards in front of me.

“Resource Theft” the patrol guard barked, loud enough for the whole line to hear.

The man dropped to his knees, screaming and shouting for help, and that he hadn’t taken more than his shares. His mask glitched; it would only be minutes before he suffocated breathing the dirty O. Nobody in line helped him. We all knew better.

One patrol guard grabbed him by the collar. “You waste water!? You will die!” the leader said as he pressed his thumbprint to the side of his mask, powering it off. The man gasped for air, breathing in the dirty O, and coughing furiously. He clawed at it desperately as the guards dragged him behind the machines into a door marked ‘Restricted’.

5 27

I froze. My throat tightened up, not from thirst but in fear. If the machine judges wrong, my mask glitches, or I lie about anything, my fate would end up in the same place as that man's. Numbers on a screen dictate my life.

3. My mask started flashing red, pointing out the obvious that I needed more O. The person in front of me seemed to take forever. I clenched my fist, trying to stay calm. 2. The counter blinked red again, slowly as if mocking me. My lungs burned Finally, the man moved away, holding his new mask like gold, and I raced towards the machine. Frantically, I raced to enter my name, allowed rations, and scanned my thumbprint. The machine whirred quietly, then paused. Too long. Too quiet.

1. “Insufficient credits,” the screen blinked red.

My heart stopped, flashing at the red letters. My chest heaved, and I started to hold my breath. Behind me, the line watched impatiently, and I heard someone mutter for me to hurry up. If I moved out of line, I finished. Georgia, finished.

I took my thumb off the scanner and pretended to fumble my nonexistent cartridge and mask. I crouched to pick it up, and my eye wandered to the side panel where loose wires dangled in a mess. I had repaired enough drone wires in my past to recognize a bypass.

I shielded the panel with my body from the line and quickly twisted a wire. A spark. The machine whirred, and the screen blinked green. “Dispensed” The slot opened, and breath masks and cartridges for my family and me dropped.

My lungs screamed in agony, letting me know I had to find air. I quickly threw on the mask and shoved the rest in my bag. I had to get home soon.

No one saw. Or maybe someone did, but did not speak up. Silence meant survival in this world.

I stepped away. Heart racing. Lungs flooded with clean O. Georgia will breathe more easily tonight. But beneath this relief, a new feeling emerged. A dangerous feeling. The system was flawed.

The red flashing “insufficient credits” still burned clearly in my mind. My hand stayed clenched over the air masks, hidden from the world. Each step I took felt too loud. The machine gave out a low hum, then resumed its regular loading screen, although I could’ve sworn I saw a red message with my name on it flicker.

A patrol guard leaned one foot on the wall, 67 in hand. I could’ve sworn his head turned my way. My legs stiffened, and I forced myself to look straight ahead. I had to go unnoticed, slip through the cracks.

28

The streets gave me no comfort. Rusty steel towers leaned against each other, towering high, blending in with the smog-filled skies. Hologram ads blinked with the company's slogan “Ration Today, Survive Tomorrow”. Above, the faint whir of drones surrounded me, their cameras glaring down like hawks' eyes. I ducked into an alleyway, telling myself the drones weren’t following me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling they knew.

Every creaky doorway, moving shadow, and flickering streetlight seemed minutes away from turning me in. My mask beeped once, indicating lower air quality (LAQ).

The noise flustered me, and I jumped, as if it had shouted about the crime I had committed. I pulled my hoodie up. The city judged me.

The door to our unit creaked open on its rusty hinges. Mother sat curled in a chair in the corner, eyes fixed on the cracked tiled floor. She didn’t say anything when I came in; she rarely does anymore. Her eyes flicked up to my mask, then to the bulge in my chest, containing her new mask and cartridges.

I slipped past her into the back room where Georgia lay on a pile of molding towels and blankets. Her cough rattled the thin walls before I entered. She looked thinner than I had seen her last, sweat plastered her forehead.

“I brought something” I said as I pulled out the mask, placing it gently over her mouth, and pressing the on button. Fresh O flooded her lungs, and I could see her chest move deeper and steadily. For the first time in days, her cough slowed.

Her eyelids opened, “Owen?” she whispered. Relief flooded my body, chased by guilt. If anyone found out about my crime, Georgia and I would end up in the same doorway where guards dragged away the man screaming, and my hands would carry the blame. Yet as I watched her breathe easily, I knew I would steal more to keep her alive for longer.

29

A Fenway Frank

By Jack Tarbox ’27

Ballpark food. I can’t get enough. Something about a man in a yellow shirt with “264” labeled on his back. “Hot dogs here!” He yells. My ears perk up, my eyes shoot around. Spotted. I raise my hand high into the air, hoping that he spots me. The large metal box on his head looks like a treasure chest. I see the large, white lettering, plastered on the box spelling “Kayem” and I know its time. He finally spots me after giving another fan a frank. His walk over is cinematic. Step after step, my excitement grows larger and larger. “Hey kid, I’m out of dogs, I’ll be back in the 7th inning.” he says.

Forget it, my day is ruined.

30

Excerpts from Checkmate

By Tadhg O’Sullivan ’29

(Honorable Mention in the Nautilus Competition)

Down comes the judge’s gavel.

“Court in session.” A man stands up, a lawyer I believe. It's a blur, but I managed to stay somewhat self aware during that time. All of a sudden, the lawyer man calls me up as a witness. I think he called once or twice, but it took me a while to come to my senses. I breathe in and out, I take one step, then another. I have some money, but you wouldn’t think it based on how I dress, my tattered gray suit, just a bit too big for me. I got it before I moved to the city. God damn, that was 30 years ago.

“Mr. Henry, please take a seat,” the judge says in his BOOMING voice. I do as he says. Then another person gets up.

“Mr. Theodore Henry, thank you for being here.”

“No problem,” I reply meekly, not in my usual tone. I run an investment bank in New York, but today, I’m a dumbass old man, in a lame ass courtroom, in a small ass town, the one and only boring ass Eugene, Oregon… Great.

“Tell me about your brother,” the second lawyer man says.

“OK,” I say, and a tear falls from my eye, nobody saw it… I hope so. But that’s not as important as it usually is for me…

My life flashes before my eyes. ...

My sister, Dorothy, who was always the most motivated of the bunch, dragged herself to the shores of the Pacific, only carrying a cinder block, and she descended into the dark murky waters, never to be heard from again, she was only nine years old.

My mother was devastated when she discovered Dorothy’s cot empty, with a few pillows stuffed under her blanket to divert attention away from her absence. But my father could not have been more disinterested.

“Eh,” he said. “She was only one of five, we have back ups.” He continued to chuckle at his astute observation for the next half hour, until he dragged himself off to the harbor for work. That moment stuck with me, the most promising of all of us… gone… snap… her existence practically evaporated. Three of us children were overcome with sadness, but for one, the youngest of the bunch, Liam, I noticed a change in his eyes. The way he looked at my dad changed after that moment, he used to have that innocent sparkle of a little seven year old, but his light seemed to get just 31 that little bit dimmer.

“Kid, come here for a second.” He would always say before I left. “A few bucks for your trouble. I appreciate it.” WOW! I thought, the first time I heard it. It was the first time someone let me know that I was appreciated. “I… I don’t know what to say, Mr. Doe, this is more money than I’ve ever been allowed to see!” I replied. “I know. I was a lot like you. My father was a ********, my mother barely cared, and I didn’t have very many friends. There was a man who was named John… His last name I can’t recall, but he gave me a few dollars, and with that I got a deck of cards. My brother and I got a lot of mileage out of those 52 flimsy pieces of paper… He was my best friend… my only friend. I want you to get something for you and your siblings to enjoy. You were never allowed to have some good times… Loosen your noose just a little bit.” I was stunned by this monologue… but I knew what I was going to buy. The only time Liam and I were walking through downtown, we looked into a store window and saw a chess set. But we never could buy it, until now that is. “Thank you sir.” I was ecstatic. “No need, and just call me Franklin, drop the sir BS,” he responded stoically. “Have a good evening Mr… Have a good evening Franklin,” I said as I walked back up the gravel road, through the old harbor gate, and around onto the hilly road towards downtown. With… a smile on my face. At the intersection with the coast highway, I usually turn left to walk home, but this time I turn right, heading to downtown Depoe Bay. It had started raining, just like that day my brother and I were walking with one another. And a little while later, I see it. I step under the awning of the shop and HEAVE the heavy metal door open. As soon as I step in I get hit with a blast of a nostalgic scent. Why I have nostalgia for that particular smell, but it smells like the word “cozy.” I approach the clerk and say to him “Can I purchase the chess set in the window?” He walks in its direction, and I wait excitedly.

“This fella?” he says, chess board in hand. “Yes please,” I say. “twenty bucks, I can bag it for ya, if you’re interested.” Twenty dollars was a lot, I only had twenty-five in my pocket, but I remembered what old man Franklin told me. “Yes, I would like it bagged. I hand over a ten, and two fives. The man smiles, then places the board into a small paper bag, and slides it over the counter. “Take care!” I say. “And you,” he replies. I waltzed out of the store, and began the rainy walk home. I wasn’t walking at my normal cadence, I was excited, I was quick. I see the sign that reads “SW Coast Avenue,” and look for a gap in traffic before sprinting across the highway.

“I’m home!” I yell as I swing open the flimsy wooden front door. I gotta fix that hinge some time, the door is hanging on by a thread. Either way, I receive no response, as 32 usual.

“LIAM!” I yell. “What?” I hear, I can’t say he sounded enthusiastic, but I beckoned him from his place on the ripped couch. “Come here.” He does as I request. “What is it?” he asks. “Well, old man Franklin said that I need to allow myself to have some good times, and do you remember when we were wandering through downtown, and we looked into a shop window and saw…” “A chess board.” He finishes my sentence.

I hand over the paper bag. I think he knows what I’m giving him, but he is still in disbelief. He grapples the bag, curiously. Then, he reaches in and draws from it a beautiful (actually pretty s*****) chess board. “I… I… No… But it cost 20 dollars…” he says, stuttering after every word. “Money that I am happy to spend on us, not beer.”

I say.

From that moment forward, Liam became my absolute best friend in the world. We would spend every second of our free time together, playing chess on that one chess board. We got pretty good at it. I usually let him win. Unless he was pissing me off that day, which was one of his special talents. But I loved every second of the time we spent together. The game never ended, but deep down, both of us always won that game. ...

Dear Liam, It’s been a while since we talked. I’m sorry about that. I just wanted to talk with you about how life is going, now that you’re the only boy to roam the hallowed halls of our flimsy shack. How is work, I know you started to work with old man Franklin. I hope that is going well for you. Trust me, that will be important when you and mom have a falling out, if it hasn’t happened yet, it will soon. Only give her half of the money you earn, take the rest and keep it in a safe place, you will need it when you go to college.

Speaking of college, I have enclosed a bus ticket, and a letter from the school. This is your way out… It is an acceptance letter to Oregon State. Take it, and when you believe the time is right, take those bus tickets and run. The bus stop is on the Coast Highway. Take the money you’ve earned, and save yourself. I will protect you, and shelter you at every step of your life. I will ensure you are thriving. I will make sure you can pursue your dreams, or ambitions of any kind. If you ever have something to tell me, if you ever have a secret, it is forever safe with me. I love you, Liam.

Sincerely, Theodore Henry

33

...

“Yes, I want to talk to Liam…” I take a deep breath. “Liam, growing up you were my everything. Every time I tried to escape Depoe Bay, I wanted to take you with me, and give you a life worth living. I hoped we would grow old together, continuing to crack open beers and play some chess. But when I got your letter, my window shattered, cutting me as the pieces fell to the ground. You deserved a better life than what I was able to give you, the cards we were dealt were s***** in the extreme. I know we will never be the same, but when I tried to clean the cloth both of us were cut from, I accidentally ripped it in two. I cleaned my half and you threw yours into the trash, before I had the chance to sew it back together. I know you will never be able to forgive me, I hate that this is the final move we make on the chessboard that is our life, but it’s checkmate Liam, and I’m sorry that it’s your king getting captured. I’m sorry…

I failed you.” I cry so damn hard after that. But when the judge's gavel came down, all I could say was “I love you.”

34

The Quest for Boba

By Krish Chandar ’29 In the spring of 2019, we took a trip to see family in Texas, not knowing that we wouldn't be back for four months. I was in third grade, and the week before, our teacher sat us down and told us we would be getting out a week early because of that virus everyone kept talking about. We had already planned to go to Texas to visit family, but now I had an extra week. To my nine-year-old brain, more free time was something worth remembering. I went on many adventures during those four months, but none as perilous as our Quest for Boba. Before going to Texas that year, I had never had boba, and in the first week we were there, my cousins dragged me out to try some, and I was instantly hooked, having never been exposed to that much caffeine in such a colorful package. Once lockdown began and quarantine kicked in, we all stayed at home most of the time. We kids especially never went out.

Both my cousins and I were begging for boba each day, and eventually, as the lockdown slowly lifted, the adults granted our wish. Around this time, the eldest of us kids was learning to drive, and COVID had thus far kept her from the miles required for a driver's license. She had been begging to drive almost as much as we young ones had been begging for boba. In this way, the adults decided to kill two germs with one wash and make us all quiet down once and for all. The boba place was only fifteen minutes away, and with two adults in the car, we thought their combined fifty-plus years of driving experience would make up for my cousin's two hours. Naturally, it did not go to plan.

She missed so many turns that soon the GPS was telling us that a boba place one hour away was closer than the one we originally decided to go to. What's worse, there was a highway between us and our goal, and my cousin had never driven on one in her life. I don't think any of our jaws unclenched until we arrived. Once we got there, we had our boba, but after finishing it and still having forty-five minutes left in the car, it felt less like happiness and more like the calm before the outbreak. As a nine-year-old, that car ride traumatized me. It felt like every obstacle was jumping onto our path, and every semi truck was an armored tank barreling toward us. At the time, my only thought was simple: no boba, no matter how good, is worth dying for.

35

Duplex Vir

By Thomas Egan ’28 Latin: Parva villa in ripa celeris Tiberis insideret. Intra villa, simplex vir se diei parat. Suam anticuam tunicam ac adtritam soleam induit, tum agrum in suum parvum partem loci coepit arare. Pax et tranquillitas non permanent ut mox adolescentia, currens, sub orienti sole venit. Adolescentia, sine spiritu, nuntium calamitatis nuntiat quae rem publicam mox obtingat. Exercitum Romanum in montibus circumcingitur ac quid est peior, senatus dictatorem nominavit quo exercitum ducendus est auxilio eis! Vir suspirat; iampridem recessit sed nunc denuo conscribitur. Vir pacatum fundum proficiscor est et indigestum Campum Martium advenit. Exercitu convento ac viro parte numerorum hic ad Montem Algidum discedit. Aequi alium Romanum exercitum obsederunt, sed nunc alius Aequos coepit obsidere. Vir fossas ac muros cum militibus facit. Aequis circumventa, hostis sub iugum venit. Cum oppugnatio tollat, simplex vir Romam reddit et suam infinetam potestatem tradit. Habuit sex menses potestatis quorum quindecim diebus usus est. Similem peditem spectavit quod humillimus erat.

Cum militibus incessit et non honoribus rogavit. Hic vir, Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus, tum villam ambulavit. Post Aequem caiavit, suas betas solum cupivit! (continued on next page)

36

English: A small farmhouse rests on the bank of the fast Tiber River. Inside the house, a simple man prepares himself for the day. He dons his old tunic and worn sandals, then he begins to plow the field on his small piece of land. The peace and tranquility do not last long, as soon a youth, running, comes under the rising sun. The youth, without breath, announces news of a disaster which might soon befall the Republic. A Roman army is surrounded in the mountains and what is worse, the senate has named a Dictator who must lead an army as an aid for them! The man sighs; he retired long ago but is now being conscripted one last time. The man departs his peaceful farm and arrives at the chaotic Campus Martius. With the army assembled and the man part of its ranks, it departs towards Mount Algidus. The Aequi have besieged one Roman army, but another now begins to besiege the Aequi. The man makes ditches and fortifications with the soldiers. With the Aequi surrounded, the enemy comes under the yoke. Since the siege is lifted, the simple man returns to Rome and yields his unlimited power. He had six months of power, of which he used 15 days. He looked like an infantryman because he was so humble. He marched with the soldiers and asked for no honors. This man, Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus, then walked home. After he beat the Aequi, he only wanted his own beets!

37

The Dreams of a Ship in a Bottle

By Ryan Chang-Wu ’27 In my room rests a ship in a bottle, With its sails filled by air left still.

it almost makes me want to destroy it; Yet it's the prettiest thing I own.

Its broken pieces would glitter in silence, And perhaps nothing would change.

The soul of a giant, trapped in its urn.

Its gaze holds me in a cage, With its key thrown far away.

If it could think, I wonder if it would want to leave; To sail the high seas With true winds pushing it on.

But I would sit with it, motionless.

Once again staring at nothing, I would finally lose myself to remorse, Remorse of dreams left unrealized, And perhaps finally think of my urn, Letting dreams of exploration fade with the tide.

Maybe it would just want to stay here, Content with me staring at it.

Us both set adrift in thought Dreaming, unified in our silence.

My reflection shines on the bottle, My face slightly twisted in glasses curve …I stare into those eyes, and they look back.

Their intention slips from me like oil from water.

The duality within sways back and forth, The confusion leaves me seasick.

38

Guilty Cloud

By Harun M. Ibrahim ’29

The floating clouds darken the sky, Above huddled masses, entitled to breathe free.

Clouds cursing upon the hope, That once dwelt liberally.

Mistreated were the poor.

Misguided were the tired.

Shame on the powerful cloud, For no hope left when hope is all desired.

Responsibility turns a blind eye when faced with guilt, But guilt is what the cloud is with, filled.

39

Birds’ Rules (WINNER of the Nautilus Competition)

By Owen Popkowski-Smith ’27 When Jay woke one morning, he dropped from his nest and glided toward the forest floor in search of breakfast. He found seven worms—fresh, translucent, writhing in the damp soil. One for himself, one for his partner, Robin, and five for the five chicks waiting above. He carried them carefully in his beak and flew home through the pale morning light.

Jay had been relaxed lately. The chicks had grown quickly, and soon they would leave the nest for the first time. He had dreamed of that day ever since becoming an adult bird himself: teaching his young how to survive.

When Jay was a chick, his own parents had taught him the three rules of gathering food.

Take enough to survive the day; never more, because too much food was dangerous. It would weigh a bird down. It would rot before the next morning. Worst of all, it would leave less for tomorrow.

Every bird in the tree knew the rules. If everyone followed them, there would always be enough.

Robin believed in the rules as deeply as Jay did. Since laying the eggs, she had stayed in the nest while Jay gathered food alone. Every morning and every night, she whispered the rules softly to the chicks before they slept.

When Jay returned that morning, the chicks looked larger than before, and only then did he realize how much time had passed.

Each day their growth had been so slight he hadn’t noticed it, but now their wings stretched nearly across the nest. Jay looked at them, then at Robin, and felt a fierce certainty settle inside him.

He would protect them. Whatever happened, he would protect them.

A week later, Robin could fly again. Together they descended to the forest floor.

Jay gathered five worms. Robin gathered two. Fresh, translucent, wriggling between their beaks.

When they returned, the chicks devoured the worms in seconds. Then it happened. One by one, the chicks stepped to the edge of the nest and leaped. Jay’s heart seized as they circled clumsily above the trees before tumbling safely back into the nest beside their parents. That night, Jay and Robin slept curled around their chicks, certain they had reached the happiest moment of their lives, getting the rest needed for tomorrow’s hunt.

40

The worms were gone.

Jay stared at the empty ground below the tree; nothing moved.

No writhing shapes in the dirt.

No glimmer of translucent bodies beneath the mud.

Robin landed beside him in silence.

The chicks fluttered down moments later, eager for their first lesson in gathering food.

They never received it.

There was only one explanation: Someone had broken the rules. Jay’s chest tightened. Every bird knew them, every bird depended on them.

Take enough to survive the day.

Never more.

The chicks chirped impatiently behind him. When Jay turned, he noticed that they had already flown back toward the nest. He tried to laugh off the fear crawling into his mind. Robin had flown toward another field in search of worms, so Jay returned home alone.

The nest was empty.

The chicks were gone.

At first, he assumed they had followed Robin, though the journey would have been difficult for birds so young.

Then he noticed the nest itself.

The eggshells were gone.

Jay and Robin had woven the broken blue-and-white shells into the walls of the nest after the chicks hatched. The fragments had made the nest warm, familiar, alive.

Now there was nothing.

No blue.

No white.

No trace that the chicks had ever existed.

Only dark sticks twisted together into the shape of a home.

Robin returned carrying two worms, and without a word, she placed one beside Jay and settled into the center of the nest to rest after her long flight.

Jay stared at her in disbelief.

Their chicks were gone.

Every sign of them had vanished.

And Robin lay sleeping in the middle of their absence as though nothing had changed.

Jay looked down at the worm beside him.

41 He had followed the rules.

Hadn’t he?

The War Zone

By Sammy Flood ’26 There are a lot of scary things in life: death, cats, and my mom when she’s angry, to name a few, but none will ever compare to my sixth grade science teacher, Ms. H. Ms. H would be far from an imposing figure if you saw her in the outside world, she looked an other sweet old lady, standing at 4 feet and 5 inches and wearing leopard print glasses, but the classroom was an entirely different story. Simply put the classroom was like a war zone for Ms. H. Everytime she entered a classroom she had combat boots laced high, that now made her an imposing 5’5, and she swapped out her pair of leopard print glasses, for the most heavy duty and extreme safety goggles, that looked more akin to a pair of night vision goggles used by Seal Team 6 for a covert operation, than a piece of safety equipment for a middle school science class.

Her reputation preceded her, as past 6th graders recounted their heroic war stories as veterans of Ms.H’s class still struggling with PTSD from all-night homework assignments, dangerous labs where kids lost limbs, and impossible pop quizzes. For all incoming 6th graders, there was a dreadful day two weeks before school started when you finally got your schedule. Every student prays to any and every deity while crossing their fingers, hoping that they could avoid the daunting class of Ms.H. I was not so lucky. On the fateful day, I opened an email with my schedule and was met with the words of doom: Ms.H, 6th-grade science, period 1.

On the first day of class, we learned that no one was safe from the war path of Ms. H and her scorched earth strategy in the classroom. I still remember the first day of class, as we all filed into the classroom and scurried to our assigned seats, fearful of the incoming attack. I remember hearing her booming boots echo through the halls as Ms. H entered class. It was probably a coincidence, but the lights began to flicker and dim. She marched into the classroom, removed her glasses, and donned the goggles of doom. For what reason I don’t know, were we doing a lab that day? No. Did we do a lab all year that involved any risk of harming one's eyes? No. But Ms.H was tactically prepared for every situation.

She droned on for hours about her rigorous expectations for our class work and the necessity for attention to detail, as well as the need to thoroughly read through any paper or assignment handed out. Scared half to death, the class continuously nodded in unison while accepting the terms and conditions of our surrender.

42

Our first class ended, and left us questioning the rumours of the endless hours of homework that Ms. He was known for. Our first homework assignment was merely to read over and have a parent sign the syllabus, and turn it in during tomorrow's class.

Unbeknownst to the class, Ms. H's expectation of reading through all material was being battle-tested. I remember running home, leaving the syllabus on the counter to be signed. It never crossed my mind again until I pulled it out of the bottom of my backpack, crumpled in a ball, to hand to Ms. H. The class lined up and solemnly filed to her desk to hand our signed papers in. At the same time, Ms. H began to don a disappointed facial expression as we processed by. A gleeful smile spread across her face as the last kid handed in their paper. She stacked the paper behind her desk, sat down, and stared. The unbroken silent air sent chills down everyone’s spine as we had done something wrong. Ms. H was loving her moment in suspense. She picked up the syllabus and excitedly pointed to a section of fine print we had all neglected to read. A report was assigned and due today before class; it was worth a test grade, and no late work would be accepted.

The blood drained from my face as Ms. H passed around pre-graded pieces of blank paper marked in red with a big zero right in the middle. We sat there in shock, but slowly came to our senses. Indeed, this was a teaching moment, and we all get to redo the assigned work for tomorrow. Wrong. Ms. H felt no need for mercy. But knowing she couldn’t give every student a zero in the first week of school, she proposed an option to raise their grade. Every student now had a zero in the glass, but every piece of room equipment you cleaned that passed her standards, or every piece of old gum you removed from the bottom of a desk, was one point back.

I spent every recess period for all of September in that room. Chiseling away old gum, polishing Bunsen burners, and removing strange goop from beakers, all for a 78 on my first test.

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The Fall

By Ky-Mani Monteiro ’27 “We finally made it out,” Ryder shouted as they escaped prison.

Rico responded, “Not yet, look over there!”

Rico and Ryder were completely surrounded as they stood in the middle of the street across from the prison. Cops were everywhere, and all they could see was the bright, ironic blue lights shining through the dark, as the sirens echoed throughout the night. They had to act fast or else it would’ve all been for nothing.

“Look, the woods are our only option; we have to make a run for it,” Ryder whispered.

They didn’t wait; they made a run for it as the cops yelled, “There they are!”

They dashed towards the woods, gasping for air, as branches clawed at their arms and faces. It was pitch black, making it impossible to see anything, but all that mattered was getting as deep into the woods as possible. They felt their feet pounding against the crunching leaves while sirens faded behind them. The only thing they could hear was the heavy breathing as they came to a stop, not knowing what to do next.

Ryder said, “Yooo Rico, that was sick dude. I can’t believe we got away!”

Rico didn’t answer right away. His mind drifted back to three months ago, back to the night everything went wrong. The stadium lights. The roaring crowd. Senior Night.

Rico was a star football player with offers from schools all over the country. Alabama, Georgia, LSU, Texas, you name it. His entire life changed on his Senior Night, when he was having a record-breaking game, only for the worst imaginable to happen. He had 5 touchdowns, and he jumped up trying to get his sixth, but he heard a crack. His legs gave out, and boom! His helmet slammed into the ground, pounding his head, as the monstrous crowd came to complete silence. He came to find out he had a concussion, but worse, he also tore his ACL, meaning he would be out for an entire year or more. The Fall crushed his hope and dreams of his football career. Rico began losing all his scholarships to these football powerhouses. One by one, the calls stopped. Then the offers quietly disappeared, which caused him to go into a really dark place, replaying the moment of his injury over and over in his head. The loud crack haunted him, replaying in his mind again and again.

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Thoughts rambled in his head, “Why did I jump up for that? I should’ve just sat out and gotten ready for college. Why didn’t Coach just bench me? Is this really the end? No, it can’t be. But what’s next? Will I ever be the same Rico Powers again?”

Rico barely left his room, while his football cleats sat untouched in the corner, collecting dust. He would stare at his phone for hours and hours, hoping it would ring with a coach calling back, but it never did. Every time it buzzed with a random notification, his heart jumped for a second before sinking again.

That’s when his brother Ryder came into the picture because he was sick of seeing his brother sad all day. Ryder was forced to grow up fast after their parents died. A drunk driver smashed into their car one rainy night, killing both of them instantly. They died when Rico was 15, and Ryder was 19. Now Rico was 17, and Ryder was 21.

While Rico focused on football, Ryder spent years trying to pay the bills and keep food on the table for Rico. A regular job wasn’t cutting it for Ryder, so he decided to make a decision that would change his life forever. He met the wrong people, and hustling turned into the only life he knew. Ryder was a part of a known mob that robbed stores all over the city. One day, Ryder came home with loads of cash in a duffel bag. He burst into Rico’s room, as Rico was lying down with his face in his pillow with the lights off. Ryder emptied the duffel bag, spilling thousands of dollars onto Rico.

Rico said, “Bro, what is wrong with you? I’m trying to sleep.”

Ryder replied, “That’s all you ever want to do. I already told you, come with me on just one of these hustles and you won’t regret it.”

Rico responded, “A hustle? You know what, fine. I’ll go with you since I don’t got nothing better to do.”

Rico then went on a few robberies with Ryder and his crew, and honestly started to enjoy it. They would move quickly, shouting orders while Rico was the lookout. All Rico had to do was stand near the door, scanning the street through the glass, watching cars drive by, hoping none were the cops. Every single robbery ended the same exact way. They would burst through the doors as they jumped into the car. The tires would screech against the pavement, and the engine roared as they sped off while sirens blasted in the distance.

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Enjoy honestly might be the wrong word for Rico. He didn’t enjoy actually robbing the banks because he hated the rush of almost getting caught, and he always felt bad for the people he robbed, but he loved the money. During every single robbery, he felt a deep sense of guilt twisting in his stomach. However, getting all of this money reminded him of his glory days and what he could’ve had if he had never gotten injured. Because of this, he began to love the rush of these “hustles”, and the deep twist in his stomach began to fade as he got used to being a criminal. He even agreed to go on a massive heist with the mob, where they planned on robbing a bank.

That turned out to be the night everything truly changed. The day started with all the boring stuff Rico often ignored: the planning. But something was different this time. Rico found himself staring at the duffel bag on his bed, and he told himself it was just another job. Just another chance to make extra cash, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about only the money. He was thinking about what would happen if they got caught. Fast forward, the alarm was blaring, glass shattered across the floor, and Ryder was yelling for him to move.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go,” Rico said with a shake in his voice.

“Stop whining and let’s go, we gotta make a run for it!” Ryder shouted.

Rico followed Ryder and the rest of the crew, and just as they made it out the door, hundreds of cops surrounded them.

“Everyone get down now! Drop the weapons and duffel bags and get on your knees!” The cops yelled.

“No. No. No. No. No. How could this be?” is all Rico whispered to himself.

One by one, the cops went to all of the criminals and pulled the masks off of each of them. Everything was normal until they pulled the mask off of Rico. Everyone’s jaw dropped, and they looked like they had just seen a ghost. All the people in the background started to talk to each other, and Rico even heard a cop say, “Isn’t that Rico Powers, the star football player?” The rest of that day was a blur for Rico, as he spent the whole time on the way to prison crying, as Ryder looked like he was planning something in his mind. Rico just looked at Ryder like he was staring at a stranger instead of his own brother.

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Rico cried, “I can’t believe you dragged me into your bs. You ruined my life.”

Ryder snapped back, “I didn’t do anything. You chose to join this lifestyle. Now YOU have to deal with the consequences!”

Rico said, “I can’t believe you, dude. I don’t see you as my brother anymore. Ever since Mom and Dad died, you haven’t been a big brother to me at all. Football was the only thing keeping me afloat.”

Rico’s words shook Ryder, as he took a deep swallow and stared at the floor. His breathing became louder, and he quickly wiped his face when a tear came down, trying to keep up his tough act. The rest of the car ride to prison was silent. They both just stared out the cold, metal bars, watching the world move on without them.

A few months passed in prison, and life didn’t get any better for Rico. He still felt the deep pit in his stomach thinking about what could’ve been, and it made it much worse when he saw his rival, Michael Jones, commit to LSU, Rico’s dream school. It felt like a punch to the gut, reminding Rico that the life he once dreamed of was now slipping further and further away. As Rico was lying down on the hard, cold mattress, the prison lights buzzed overhead. Across the cell, Ryder sat on the floor, quietly twisting a small piece of metal in the lock. Click! Rico heard the door quietly creak open.

He sat up and said, “Ryder what did you do?”

Ryder smirked like he had been waiting for this moment forever and pushed the door wider. “We’re out of here!”

Before Rico could even think, Ryder grabbed his arm as tight as a trap and pulled him into the hallway. The buzzing prison lights flickered overhead while their silent footsteps tiptoed against the cold concrete floor. Rico’s chest tightened as he glanced down both ends of the hallway, nervously waiting for a guard to appear at any moment.

They sprinted down the empty corridor with Ryder leading the way like he had done this before. At the end of the hall, Ryder shoved through a rusty side door. It slammed against the wall with a loud bang as they burst into the cold night air. Alarms exploded behind them, and flashlights lit up the yard. Rico’s mind was racing, but he just followed Ryder’s lead.

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“Run!” Ryder shouted.

They climbed the fence, dropped to the pavement, and took off into the street.

Rico shook his head, the memory fading as the sound of the wind through the trees pulled him back to the present.

Ryder’s words replayed, “Yooo Rico, that was sick dude. I can’t believe we got away!”

He replied to his crazy brother, “Sick? Bro, I thought I was going to die.”

He responded, “Nah, we’re all good now. Let’s just figure out what’s next. I think we’re good to back in the street.”

“Whatever you say,” he responded.

They walked back to the street, and the red and blue lights lit up Rico and Ryder as they stood there in shock. The flashing red and blue lights felt like a spotlight shining on every mistake they had ever made. Rico’s stomach dropped, and his knees started to shake. His heart was pounding through his chest, as his eyes darted from one police car to the other. He finally realized there was nowhere left to run. On the other hand, Ryder sprinted back into the woods as fast as a cheetah. Before Rico could follow him, his future flashed in front of his eyes. Did he want to risk it and follow his brother? Or did he want to do the right thing, serve his time, and fix his life? Rico tried taking a step toward the woods, but his legs wouldn’t move. He looked back at the dark woods where Ryder had disappeared, and that’s when he decided to do the right thing.

He slowly raised his hands towards the officer, as they shouted, “Hands behind your back! Don’t move!” The cold metal cuffs snapped around his wrists as the officers pulled him toward the car. Rico didn’t fight or resist at all. For the first time in a very long time, the tight knot in his stomach loosened.

As the police car door shut, he looked out the window and whispered to himself, “Maybe this isn’t the end.”

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April Fools

By Ty Jarvis ’27 April is when true colors show. Between upcoming exams and classes finishing, a lot of weight is on everyone's shoulders. Counting graduation, we have 20 days left.

Despite the prospect of summer, friendships can waver, and relationships can fail.

Everyone is outside again, and you realize you failed to make the progress over the winter that you had expected. Four months of the year are wasted. “Get up,” you say to yourself at 6:30 am, fighting every effort your body is making to get more sleep. Home no longer feels like a refuge in april, but a cage. In the fall and winter your house protected you from the elements, it kept you comfortable. Just a few months later the same house has become the only barrier between you and the free, warm, outside world. Knowing summer is around the corner challenges your brain to resist the instant gratification of quitting and to push through.

Looking around you at Belmont Hill can be hard at times, especially when all you see is greatness and success. Moving through campus, you start to measure yourself against everyone else. Naturally, comparison creeps in whether you want it to or not.

Occasionally, it feels like everyone else is ahead. Pressure builds as expectations stack higher and higher by the day.

Quiet moments become rare, replaced by overthinking. Reality sets in that time isn't slowing down. Still, something in you refuses to quit. Trying, even when you are exhausted, becomes the real achievement. Underneath the stress, you are growing stronger and stronger. Victories may be small and meaningless, but they still count.

With each passing day, you get closer to the end. Xenial bonds with others remind you that you are not alone. You begin to see that nobody actually has it all together. Zeroing in on your own path becomes the only way forward.

Note: look at the starting letter of each sentence!

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“Whiplash”: Andrew Neiman’s inner monologue as he grapples with ambition and connection:

By Babikir Saeed ’26

She is beautiful. Probably the best thing to ever happen to me. But her sweetness is too much to bear—a love that blares.

The smug look on Connoly’s face, his red crooked V-neck shirt, annoying face, horrible double time; I can’t stand it. From the second I walked through these Shafer doors I knew that these sticks, these drums, this seat, had to be mine. I earned this seat.

I KNOW I earned this seat—IT WILL BE MINE! Now Fletcher wants to bring in this kid–is he messing with me? What has he endured? Did he know what happened during that first day I sat up to sub in for Carl? The things, the feelings, that I went through all over his tempo? He hurled a chair at me—tried to put me in a hospital for God's sake.

Then he humiliated me. Slapped me. Called me a f*****; slapped me again.

Humiliation, over, over, and over again— is this trouble really worth the price for greatness? To be one of the greats? The next Buddy Rich?

What if I could be free; what if I could be free from the hand blisters, bloody drums, gallons of sweat, and mountain of pressure? To be just like Nicole— without a worry. I could go to a decent school. Hey, I think Fordham is actually doing some pretty good stuff over there. No blood churning ambitions, or at least not quite yet, and just be able to enjoy her company. I suppose I could spend more time with my Dad too! We could eat popcorn and milk duds, just like the old days. While I’m at it, maybe I’ll even see the rest of my family? Wait, no. Absolutely not.

(continued on next page)

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So that they can drool over Travis running his little ball into a Division III touchdown? Does he think that he is going to the NFL? Are we being completely serious? Do they know what Shafer is? Do they even know who Fletcher is?; that I am the core in THE BEST MUSIC BAND IN THE COUNTRY? Please— I am going to become the next Charlie Parker and we are glorifying a bunch of meatheads smacking each other around? Screw that. I’ll show them. I’ll show them I’ll be the best—the last one standing, and I’ll do anything. I don’t need anyone else— and neither did Charlie Parker. I’d rather be drunk and filled with heroin at 34 with people talking about me at a dinner table than to be sober and healthy at 90 and have no one remember me at all.

Now that I am thinking of it, I won’t be able to do any of that without Fletcher. Family, friends, and girls do not do a thing for me; if I am going to become the best drummer in the world, I need Fletcher. If I can’t put up with his rehearsals, cruel practices, and abuse, what makes me think I have what it takes? To get to where I want to go I have to be obsessed. I have got to want it as bad as I want to breathe. Some call it insanity but at least I have a goal. Nothing can stand in my way– not even Nicole. I need to talk to Nicole. We can’t do this anymore– I don’t think we can be together. She is obviously a girl who has no direction in life and I have a goal that I need to pursue. To get to where I need to be, I need to be practicing more, and practicing more will take up more and more of my time. Time that I do not have for Nicole. I want to be great.

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A Lovely Sunday Afternoon

By Owen Goodband ’28 It was a brisk Sunday afternoon, mid October in fact prime football season. I was 7, the Patriots were good, life was easy and I had no homework. Watching the games on NFL redzone next to my family really got me going this particular day. I was in the middle of my undefeated flag football season and thought if I could use the moves from the pros I would be unstoppable next weekend in my game. So I dragged my dad out of the living room, grabbed the football and started droppin dimes. Then my dad got tired and didn't want to play wide receiver anymore and made me go run and play receiver. I was snagging em one handed, behind the back, toe tap the whole shabang. Then I said to myself, “ This guy's lightwork I can take him down easily”.

Then I suggested that we do a 1v1 style duel where the goal was to try and reach the other side of the yard without getting tackled.

First Rep, “Down set hut” and I was off rushing down the sideline and I decided to try a Lamar Jackson type spin move around my dad which lets just say was probably the worst thing I could have done. I spun straight into his chest and got wrapped up and I was down, play over, I had failed.

Next play I’m on “D” I step up ready to school this fool. He says hike and he makes a quick bounce left then makes a hard juke right but I'm right with him the whole time im closing in ready to show that loser who's boss, but he hits me with a mean spin move I slip but I was able to recover, I turn pushing off the ground with my hand exploding after him. I am tracking him down when I realize, “ shoot he’s almost in the endzone so I decide to make a bold choice and lay out for him from behind. In my mind I thought I would absolutely make this play no problem and make a sportscenter top ten play. I dive for him, however he swerved to the right avoiding my dive, sending me on a face first trajectory into a face plant, but I sent my hands out as a beacon of hope, just praying that maybe I wouldn’t face plant into the ground and I would catch myself and just laugh it off. But that didn't happen. I sent my hand out, and there just happened to be a massive rock buried in the ground so my right hand reached out and as I reached the firm rock it went, “Crack.” I got up slowly and stood up in tears watching my dad celebrate as my hand currently looks like an uncooked hotdog. Then my dad turns around and sees it and we head straight to the E.R to find out I have a broken wrist and I will not be playing the rest of the football season.

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US: Fallen/Risen (Runner-Up in the Nautilus Competition)

By Marcus Griffin ’26 Part 1 My birthday was yesterday, But I will not toast To my own aspirations— Of my feats, I won’t boast. ‘cause my birthday was yesterday, And yet I was hurt, Both physically injured And mentally inert.

For I’ve been broken a while, For trying my best To be rewarding to others Who in me did invest.

Now those others are me, And my friends and my kin, Who have put in their time To ensure that I win.

But now I am sidelined And unable to stand, Unable to walk onward Without somebody’s hand.

Now, this isn’t about sports— No, it’s more about life, How the joy of this world Is drowned out by its strife.

But I’m yet still encouraged By the word of my God, For the Lord is my strength— No matter the odds.

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Just like David the shepherd Exalted to king, If God stands before me, I shall not fear a thing.

I will stand before giants With a rock and a sling; The sling is my faith, And the rock God will bring.

And they shall fall before me, But not by my strength— Nor by might, nor by power— But God’s Spirit by faith.

So yea, though I walk Through the valley of death, There’s a light in the night, For God’s word is my breath.

Yes, though I am broken And alone cannot stand, My God has thus given His own helping hand.

And by grace and by mercy That abound without fail, I’ll walk boldly in faith, For with Christ I’ll prevail.

And so, Though my birthday was yesterday, To myself, I won’t toast— Toward my own aspirations, And my feats I won’t boast.

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For I wouldn’t be here Without the Lord above all, And His armies who lift me Whenever I fall.

So thank you, my Jesus, And all those who have just— Given love that has risen me Up from the dust.

Part 2 In the former treatise, I did so inform Of the miracles, I’m sure God is going to perform.

Though my spirit was shattered By pain and by strife, I was yet encouraged

By God’s Word of Life.

But I’m here yet again, Disheartened and dreary, With the floor pulled from under, With no foundation beneath me I feel much like Job, Though nevertheless, I am surely not perfect— I have sinned, I confess.

But like Job, I do feel That all God once gave— My dreams and accomplishments— Now sleep in their grave.

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My body’s afflicted, And my soul is in pain, For my work toward my goals Seems been done in vain.

But though I am dust And have lost worldly things, My treasure is in Heaven— My victory, God brings.

For it’s He that hath given And taketh away, But once this is finished, I know He’ll yet say: “Well done, beloved child, My servant on Earth.”

And He’ll give more blessings Than ever I’m worth.

Yes, weeping endures For long-lasting nights, But with morning comes joy— For my battles, God fights.

So I’ll praise Thee, O Lord, With the breath of my lips, Though the storms keep on raging And rocking my ship.

Because, likened to Job, When God’s glory is given, In due season, He will Restore all that was riven.

Part 3 There once came a time When my soul was disheartened, And my mind was made up— To give up what I’d started.

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But then came a knock At the door of my heart; It was the Spirit of God With a word to impart.

So I opened my Bible, Then began to pray.

The Spirit then moved And began to say: “I’m the God of this world, Of Death, Hell, and the Grave; Not a thing has been given That I have not gave.

All power I hold In the palm of my hand, This here is the place Where you, too, shall stand.

And if I stand before thee, And thou stay with Me, Who can be against thee And claim victory?”

I rejoiced when I heard this, And did proclaim gladly— To others, the promise That God had then shown me.

But then came the storms, And my bow it did shake, For the waters were roaring, And my countenance did break.

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And I know what they say When my back’s turned away— How they laugh me to scorn While I’m weary and worn: “Where’s your God now?

You have said, ‘He’ll deliver.’

But now you have lost, And your lips, they do quiver.”

Though you mock and detest, Yet, my soul to is at rest, For God’s Word, I have read, And here’s what it said: “Because I was slain, And rose up from the grave, All power in Heaven— And Earth God has gave.

So though you go through, And afflictions exceed, The righteous shall rise, For their cries I give heed.”

And when I had heard this, My heart burst in two— With joy, for I’m sure Of what God will do.

For though I am lowly, His Word has surmised: That likened to Christ, I too, shall rise.

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Measured Shadows

By Peter Wall ‘27

We say we don't care about who's ahead or behind, but we check anyway, discreetly, and often, comparing anything and anyone to ourselves When they build their names like massive towers, we put up and measure our shadows against them, getting bigger and smaller, yet never fully satisfied, But what of all this survives?

Not rankings, not the applause, not the thoroughly calculated conversation.

Even the greatest legacies fade, fade to a murmur, like smoke dissipating in the wind.

Still, we’re immune to time, or pretend to be, running from a truth barely told: nothing we chase will hold us forever.

So exist fully, and quickly, like a spark– burning not longer, but brighter in its moment.

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Quiet Thoughts

By Peter Wall ‘27

I lie awake in the dark, thinking about tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, and even about years I'm not promised Questions fill my head, fierce and endless, of who I will become, or if I’ll become.

The stars outside of my window don't respond, they just stand and wait.

Sleep comes slowly, something I can't force.

And finally, I realize, growing up, is just learning to sit, with questions that never stop coming.

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Small Town Minds

By Nolan Ehler ’27 The first time I heard the bells, I panicked, just like everyone else. I didn't know what they meant or where they were coming from. I still remember me and my friend were walking down the road when that (now familiar) ringing started up. We froze in place at the sound, that's all we could do. We had never heard such a commanding noise in our small town before. Our reaction when we heard the bells back then was much different from how we would eventually act. The first few times we heard the bells, we would run home in a panic. However, the low melodic ringing that occurs twice a day is part of a routine, one that can be expected every day. The week after the bells started ringing, our mayor issued an online announcement demanding that everyone stay inside during the (now scheduled) ringing. He claimed it was a safety precaution, as he, too, did not know where the ringing was coming from. There weren’t many protests from most, as the ringing only lasts for about 20 minutes. I was surprised by everyone’s docility, as I have been asking questions for the last two years that no one seems to want the answers to. Every time I ask one of my friends, “Where are these coming from? Why do we have to go inside? Do you think they mean something?” Every time this happens, I am always told the same thing: “Who cares, bro? It's only 20 minutes, besides, even the mayor doesn’t know, so how could we?”

I tried my best to agree with them, but I always felt a curiosity in the back of my mind that no one else seems to have. Little did I know I would soon find out where the ringing came from.

September was finally here. It’s the time of the year when the leaves aren’t turning their vibrant colors just yet, but the rays of sun feel weaker, alerting everyone that summer is coming to a close. I was walking home from school, down by the river, like I sometimes did when I didn’t have to rush home to help cook dinner. The bells have been ringing for about two and a half years now, so I had no reaction when they started up. But this time something was different. I was rounding the usual corner on the river, the one where the cement walkway turns to loose gravel, when all of a sudden I felt the earth shake. I felt a slight rumble in my bones, but it wasn’t super noticeable, at least not like the earthquakes sometimes are. The fish in the river started jumping, so I decided to climb down the wall of rocks to go visit the clear water's edge. I didn’t see any more rock; in fact, there was a crevice much too big to be a mistake, but small enough that it meant it was supposed to be hidden.

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I had no trouble squeezing through the crevice, and once I did, I found myself looking down a hallway made up of a loose sandy path that led into an abyss of black.

Something told me to continue forward, so I did for about five minutes, traversing the low ceiling and sharp walls of uneven rock. Eventually, the ceiling opened, and I stepped out into the light, which I had only been able to see for the last ten steps or so.

The ground was more solid, it reminded me of a clean tile, but once I looked up from the ground, I realized I was on a balcony, looking down at hundreds of desks, and on the far wall of the cave looked to be a five-hundred-foot TV. But that wasn't the craziest part; it was what I saw on the TV that concerned me. Looking back at me from the TVs was my entire town. The screen showed hundreds of smaller TVs flipping through different angles. There were traffic angles, bank security cameras, and other views that weren’t out of the ordinary. However, something was off; I realized it was more than just publicly placed cameras. Some of the angles appeared to be coming from inside people's homes and workplaces. There were people talking to their children, some cooking a meal, and others reading a book. They all looked oblivious to the fact that they were being recorded. A panic started to rise in my chest. I looked around and realized what had been unsettling me ever since I set foot on the balcony.

The chairs that were at the desks downstairs were empty. There were a bunch of vacant workstations. Where is everybody?

I decided to walk down the steps to the left. The crisp sound my shoes made on the glass stairs frightened me. It felt as if the footsteps weren’t my own. I made my way to the rows of desks. On each desk in the top left corner, there was a piece of tape with a last name on it. There were also thick files neatly placed on each desk, and a large computer with more video angles. I noticed that the name on the piece of tape was plural. The one that was at this desk read “Andersons.” I looked to the next and realized it was lined up so that each column was in alphabetical order, starting from the back seat, the one I was looking at. I walked up and down the columns, growing more and more panicked as I recognized more names. There were the last names of my friends, townspeople, and some I’ve never seen. However, one desk made my blood go cold. There on the piece of tape was the last name, Vertuzzi. My last name. My face rushed with heat, and nausea took over my entire body as I looked at the computer and saw different angles of MY home. My kitchen, where my mother and little brother were cooking, and my bedroom, which was a tiny room that just housed my neatly made bed and a small desk where my clothes were laid out.

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I couldn't cry out even if I wanted to. My voice was gone. I felt the bells' rumbling start to slow, and a voice came over the intercom. “Attention! Twenty-minute break is over.

Come back to the central workroom.”

The voice was very familiar. In fact, I was sure I had heard it before, but I had no time to think because just then I started hearing noise across the room and realized people were coming down a hallway at the far end. I snuck out the way I came, but just before I went down the balcony, I looked at a door opening on the other side of the room. It seemed like all the people who worked at the desks were coming back to do so, but at the head of them all was Mayor Washborne. My jaw could not have gone any lower. That’s whose voice I had just heard. I had no choice but to turn and sneak down the hallway as quickly as I could. As I peeked around the boulder I had come in by, I heard two voices talking. One was low and had a mysterious tone. The other seemed like a voice that carried no real weight to its words.

“Okay, we should head back in, or else the boss will be on us for the rest of the day,” said the mystery man.

“Yeah, I know, I’m almost done with my smoke.”

“Yeah, finish up, we've got a huge day today. The operation’s coming up.” I heard two feet grind the sand, which, judging from the smoke in the air, was them putting out their cigarettes. Their footsteps were given away by the beach-like shore, and I had to jump behind a rock in the hallway in order not to be seen. My heart was racing, and I felt the fear on the back of my neck. Once they passed, I snuck out and climbed up the way I had come down. I was on high alert but once I got back to the main street I started running as fast as I could. All the conditioning I had ever done in my life had not prepared me for the mile sprint that ensued. My lungs had no air left in them and burned the entire way. However, the adrenaline carried me when my legs felt like they couldn’t. I was getting weird looks from everyone who was starting their days again after their short shelter-in-place. I finally turned the corner onto my street and burst into my house. My mother looked at me, her face wrinkled and her eyebrows contorted with concern. I immediately went over to our shelf that overlooked our kitchen. I carefully inspected each picture and its frame until I saw something on the frame of a picture of my brother and me playing in the sprinklers on a hot summer day when we were younger. There was a barely noticeable black dot at the top of the frame. I grabbed the photo and made my way to the front door.

“What are you doing, honey? Hey!?” my mother followed me to the door.

I wound up and threw the picture as far as I could into the road. Then I turned to63 my mom and brother. “We need to talk, NOW.”

Television Adventures

By Will Days ’27 It's a Friday and school ended 30 minutes ago. Finally I have a few minutes free no one in my family is around to bug me. All my brother ever wants to do is play video games, my sister is constantly hounding me to watch her ride her scooter, and my parents….don’t get me started on them…all they talk about is my grades, my homework, and my college prospects. I know they love me, but they’re all really driving me crazy, so I’m trying to avoid spending much time with them. I have a few hours to kill before I go to my friend Lukas' house, so I’m sitting quietly, alone, in my living room, watching professional darts on TV, rooting for my favorite shooter. I don't know much about him, just that he has a cool walk out. He swaggers out to one of the most iconic walk-out songs - Titanium by Sia. Just as he is about to throw his final group of darts and complete the 9 darter, my TV goes dark. I run to the TV and begin fiddling with the cords and connections. I jiggle the largest one and notice that the screen is starting to get fuzzy. I’m confused; our TV is relatively new, so this shouldn’t be happening, and then poof…suddenly I’m in the stadium preparing to defend the darts title in front of thousands of people. I look down at a pair of hands that aren’t mine and notice that suddenly I went from my 140 pound, 6 '2 lanky, skinny body to someone 6 inches shorter but 80 lbs heavier, and I seem to be about 20 years older, too.

Thousands of people are yelling at me, calling me a name I've never heard before. I panic…I have no idea what to do. I’ve played darts like once in my life and I’m definitely not world-class. All of a sudden a loud buzzer goes off as the entire stadium erupts, throwing insults and screaming at me. Time is about to run out as I step to the line, realizing there’s nothing to do but play. I can’t back down now, I have 360 points and need exactly 141 more to win. The only time I held one of these metal, pencil-like darts was over 4 months ago, on Christmas Eve at my uncle's house, when I lost a game to my cousin, Edwin, who left his couch for the first time in weeks to be there.

But just as I grip the dart tightly, close my eyes for a minute, and prepare to throw… click….My Mom turns the TV off, wondering where I went and why I left the TV on.

I’m trapped inside my own family’s TV, with no way to tell anyone where I am and no way to escape. At first, I kind of feel like maybe this will give me the rest I need from the world. But a few minutes totally alone in the dark does weird things to a guy. I start to panic a little. How will anyone know I’m in here? It’s not like I can text or call anyone; my phone is back in my living room, stuck between two couch cushions. I start to worry a little.

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I realize that my only way out is to hope someone comes along, turns on the TV. and finds me. Even then, I think my chances of being discovered are kind of nonexistent. I start to wonder if maybe I was too hard on my family. I start to wish I was back with them. Then panic really sets in, I feel my breathing grow shallow, and I’m even sweating a little. What am I going to do?

Pretty soon my little brother Ryan and his annoying best friend, Matt, come rushing into the living room and start fiddling with the cords on the TV, setting up the Xbox. I can hear them talking, but I can’t see them because the TV screen is inky black like the night sky, and I know they have no idea I’m inside it. I wish there was some way I could signal to them, but I can’t think of anything. The boys turn on the Xbox and decide they are going to play Forza Horizon 5, a new racing game. Suddenly I’m in the desert with cactuses everywhere and I realize I’m in Mexico. I knew I was in trouble, because my little brother has been playing this game nonstop for the past month. I look down and I’m driving a light blue McLaren 750S with a jet black stripe down the side and hot pink interior. Other cars are passing me on both sides, but I don’t feel stressed at all. I’m exhilarated. There are courses in the game, but that’s not my brother’s style. He likes to jump off random things with his cars, so that’s what I’m doing. I drive through houses, shoot off ramps, climb little hills.

Then Matt said, “I’m getting bored, Can we do something different?”

“Not yet,” Ryan answered, his eyes narrowing, “I need to climb the volcano first.”

“Not that again,” Matt begged, “I hate it when the lava shoots out and burns everything.”

“But that's the best part,” Ryan yells.

That really gave me something to be nervous about. I watch Ryan climb the volcano almost every day. I know what can happen if he makes a mistake. But I have no way to tell him to stop, no way to tell him I’m inside the game. I have no idea whether I actually will die in real life if I die in this game. I have no choice but to go along, and then suddenly my car is zooming up the side of the volcano. I’m starting to feel hot… and terrified….and then my car flies into the air, trying to jump across the rim of the volcano as lava swirls below me, orange and blue, the hottest kind of fire. As my car flies across I can see the paint melting from the hood in the heat and then, suddenly, I’m on the other side, safely zooming down the other side of the volcano, out of danger. I hear Ryan swear loudly, disappointed that none of the lava shot out. Instantly, my Mom was in the room.

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“That’s enough, Ryan. You boys are done with the Xbox for now. It’s time for Matt to go home,” said Mom. “But Mom,” Ryan protested, “it’s still early.”

“You have practice tonight and homework to do,” said Mom, not budging.

Matt got his backpack and said, “see you tomorrow, man.”

Annoyed, Ryan goes upstairs to do his homework and Mom disconnects the Xbox, hooks up the TV, and goes to the kitchen to make dinner. No one in the family knows that I am still stuck inside the TV. As for me, I’m just grateful to be alive after my trip across the volcano.

Just when I thought I might have a few minutes to relax, Mom comes into the living room and turns on the TV again. She’s got dinner in the oven and has a few minutes free. She changes the channel and sits down to watch a rerun of Grey’s Anatomy, an old hospital show that she loves. Mom’s always trying to get me to watch it with her, but I’m not into it because there’s so much blood and chaos everywhere. I know I’m definitely not ever going to be a doctor; that stuff is really disgusting. Then I look down and all of a sudden I’m in scrubs and rubber gloves and I have my hand inside someone’s chest. My vision blurs and all I can see is pulsing veins and blood. I have this overwhelming desire to throw up, but I’m worried if I do I’ll kill the patient.

Acid burns in my throat and I feel dizzy. Sweat drips down the back of my neck and I can feel the dampness on my back. Blood splurts up out of the patient’s chest and hits me in the stomach. I’m a mess, but I know I have to pull myself together for the patient or he won’t make it.

“Doctor, pay attention! The patient is losing oxygen fast…we need to intubate him now!”, shouts one of the other doctors. Here’s the thing, though, I never went to medical school and I have absolutely no idea how to intubate anything, much less a real patient. I know I can’t experiment on a real person. I know I’m going to have to figure out a way to give the job to someone else. I decide that the only way is if I deliberately contaminate some of the instruments we need by knocking them onto the floor. The metal tray that they are on clatters to the floor and the instruments scatter.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, turning red and running out of the room. I hide in the bathroom. I’m starting to really worry about what is happening to me. I’m not a darts player or a race car driver or a surgeon; I’m just a regular kid with an ordinary life.

How am I going to return to my real self? I’m starting to miss my family; even my annoying little brother.

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I can smell the dinner my Mom is cooking through the TV. A timer rings and she turns off Grey’s Anatomy and goes back to the kitchen. I’m alone again, inside the dark TV. I’m so hungry and tired, but no one even seems to realize I’m gone. What if no one wonders where I am? Even if they do wonder, how will they find me? What if I can’t get out? I feel kind of like that donkey who turns into a rock in that little kids book I used to love when I was in preschool. I think his name was Sylvester. In the story, Sylvester the donkey sees a lion, gets scared, makes a wish on a magic, red pebble, and turns into a rock. His parents look everywhere for him, but never find him.

Months later, his parents have a picnic on Sylvester the rock and just wish he is with them. Then he magically reappears and is a donkey again. But Sylvester’s just a made up story. Things like that don’t happen to real people. Maybe I’m imagining all of this?

Am I dreaming? I pinch myself, and wow…that hurts. That’s how I know I’m not dreaming. But how am I going to find my way back to my real life? I’m really starting to miss my family, even the annoying parts of my life with them.

Pretty soon I hear my Dad come home from work and my brother and sister arguing about who’s turn it is to set the table. “Where’s Josh?” asks my mom, “I haven’t seen him all afternoon.” Everyone shrugs. Mom texts me, but I can’t answer because my phone is back in the living room, shoved down between the couch cushions. “Maybe he has a late practice,” says my Dad. When I don’t respond, they assume that’s the case and decide to eat without me. My mouth is watering inside the TV. I want to call out and let them know where I am, but the TV is off and I’m in the dark, alone again with my thoughts. Pretty soon, I can hear them cleaning up after dinner and putting everything away. My sister goes outside to scooter with our neighbor and my brother starts getting ready for practice, complaining the whole time.

I hear my Dad whisper to my Mom, “I’ll drop Ryan off at his practice and then drive by the baseball practice field to see if Josh is there.”

“Call me as soon as you find him. I’m starting to get worried. He always responds to my texts,” she answers.

“I promise,” says my Dad. Right after they leave, my Mom starts calling all of my friends’ Moms asking if they’ve seen me. None of them have. Then Dad comes back without me. Even though I’m inside the TV, I can sense the panic in the house.

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“Where could he be?” Mom says, “I think we need to go to the police.”

“You might be right,” says Dad. Suddenly, the house is empty. I think I might fall asleep. I’m just so tired and hungry. I miss my family….all of them…and that’s saying a lot. I start to doze off, but before I am fully asleep my parents are back.

Mom is sobbing, “I know something is wrong. Why won’t they help us look for him?”

Dad explains, “the police can’t look for him until he’s been gone for 24 hours.

He’s not technically missing until then.”

“But I know he wouldn’t just disappear like this with no contact,” says Mom. Her face is wet with tears. She looks like a small bird that has been out in the pouring rain.

Dad goes back out to look for me. Mom stays home in case I come back on my own.

“Call me right away if you find him,” she sobs.

“I will,” he promises.

Mom sits down on the couch. I can feel the tension dripping off her body. She can’t get comfortable. She turns on her show, but it just makes her feel like maybe I’m hurt and alone somewhere. She turns off the TV and calls all of the area hospitals, asking if I have been admitted. None have seen me. She’s spiraling. She turns on the TV again and tries the sports channel…darts are on! My ears perk up inside the TV. It seems to be the same match that was on when all this started.

Mom holds the remote and says in a trembling voice, “darts is Josh’s favorite. I wish he was here with me to watch it.” All of a sudden, she is overcome with sadness and rushes out of the room, sobbing loudly. Meanwhile, I start feeling really weird and fuzzy inside, kind of like a TV on the blink. Instantly, I’m back in the living room like nothing ever happened. Hearing a commotion, Mom rushes back into the room and her mouth opens in surprise. She is so shocked that at first she can’t even speak, and that’s saying something because my Mom usually talks a lot. She grabs me, hugs me hard, and doesn’t let go for a long time. After a while, we call Dad together. Soon the whole family is in the living room. Everyone is talking all at once. When they quiet down, I explain what I think happened. It’s hard to believe, I know, but they all were part of the experience in their own ways, too, so they know I’m telling the truth. I’m just glad to be safely back at home, eating dinner in the kitchen with my family surrounding me.

You really don’t know what you will miss until you don’t have it anymore, and for me, it was everything little thing in my ordinary life.

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