Rugged - Spring 2021

Rugged Spring 2021

Rugged

The Literary Arts Magazine of Bishop Dunne Catholic School

Rugged Celebrates 10 Years of Creativity Rugged is the literary arts magazine of Bishop Dunne Catholic School, a digital publication of student writing and artwork.

The first issue of Rugged came out in spring 2012.

For that first issue, the English Department sponsored a contest. Parker Spence (class of 2012) submitted the winning entry for the high school division. His poem “The Birthday” appears again in this issue. See inside for Parker’s winning poem.

Many of the photographs in this issue are the work of senior Leah Gonzalez, taken prior to her senior year on various trips with her family, locally, nationally, and internationally.

This issue contains work by current and past students, some submitted last year for an issue that

was delayed by campus closing for the pandemic. We thank all of these students for sharing their pieces with the community, and congratulate them on their hard work.

While the pandemic has limited many things, it has not limited our students’ creativity. They continue to produce amazing work in print and in the visual arts, and Rugged celebrates them as they explore and give all of us different perspectives on our world.

Thanks to the student contributors and many thanks to their teachers for encouraging them and spurring them to greater heights.

Melanie M. Gibson, Editor

In this issue: • Poems by Parker Spence, Daniela Garcia, Nicholas Smith, and Natalia Michel • Photographs by Leah Gonzalez and Mia Morales • Visual artworks by Emily Fordan, Katelyn Bagwell, and Gabriella Saucedo • Stories by Mari Gonzalez, Jake Griffith, Meghana Lammata, Zoe Andrews, and Abby Martin Firewheels, Twelve Hills Nature Center, Spring 2020 Photo by M. Gibson

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Rugged

The Birthday Poem by Parker Spence, Class of 2012 At six o’clock he wakes up, ringing with energy, as if each limb and organ in his body came equipped with its own alarm clock. He shuffles in bare feet to his bathroom in his cold apartment. He is 62, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he walks. He wouldn't, either.

It’s someone’s birthday today.

“It’s the fourteenth of October, he reminds himself, just as he did yesterday.”

He inspects his face and neck in the mirror, searching for liver spots, new wrinkles, the ever-present bags under his eyes. His face is a history book with the pages torn out; his eyes boarded-up windows to a fractured soul. It’s the fourteenth of October, he reminds himself, just as he did yesterday.

It’s someone’s birthday today.

Whose birthday is it, he wonders as he stares at a stranger in the mirror. He’ll meet some colleagues for lunch. Is it one of theirs? If he can remember whose birthday, he’ll be able to buy something appropriate for the men who he worked with at the university, fifteen years ago, and who have met him for lunch on every October 14th since.

It’s someone’s birthday today.

Has he bought something already? He’ll check the living room, but by the time he’s ambled over, he’s forgotten. He clings to this lapse in his memory the way a man overboard clings to a bit of flotsam in the raging sea. When he looks at the calendar in the kitchen, his eyes flood with tears.

It’s his birthday today.

This, too, he will forget.

Rugged

Page 3

Value Mia Morales, Class of 2020

Sweet Reminiscence Digital Illustration Emily Fordan, Class of 2022

Fallen Anchor Natalia Michel , Class of 2021

An anchor on its ship has a purpose.

It’s there for a reason, the anchor doesn’t appear automatically It stops the ship from any movement It stops any sort of journey in its tracks and stays put.

Sometimes, the pirate hates his anchor He can’t travel with a fallen anchor, he has to stay in place He wants to leave but the anchor won’t allow it.

Let the pirate leave, Let the pirate find joy in sailing once again, Let the pirate leave!

Get up anchor, you shouldn’t be here Go back in your place, you shouldn’t be here You’re making the whole ship feel useless out in sea You’re making the pirate feel unforgiving feelings.

The anchor becomes a terrible obstacle Creating a hopeless sensation in the pirate’s heart.

The pirate is no longer mischiveous, He is no longer the enjoyable sailor in his youth, He is a trapped soul in an empty body sailing with his fallen anchor.

Walking in Another’s Shoes Nicholas Smith, Class of 2021

Put yourself in someone else’s shoes Even if it takes a while, let your mind sink into the thought of living a life other than your own.

You can’t

Maybe you’re able to picture the outside, The bright white laces which are loosely woven barely keeping the shoe on your foot The blue color which has formed a shield protecting the inside from the outside Or even the stitching which connects every piece of the shoe to form one whole body Some precisely sewn thread by thread While others barely holding on

However, you will never know the way someone else’s sole feels on the arch of your foot The impression of an old shoe size tag that has been fading since the day the shoe was made And definitely, the tearing in the heel of the sole which has been built up over a never-ending run Unless the shoes you’ve run in bear the same signs of wear as the person next to you, it is unimaginable to know what it’s like to run in theirs.

March for Life Leah Gonzalez, Class of 2021

Like Friend, Like Foe Story by Zoe Andrews, Class of 2023

Her name is Heather. You would think she’s a real person, but in reality, she’s not. She lives in the depths of your brain and only comes out when she has something to say. You would think she’s a nice “apparition,” but she is actually hell to you. She has long hair, beautiful skin, and the perfect body. In your terms, y’all are best friends and have been really close…. up until last year, at least. See, you were a “thick” girl, you had big thighs, big breasts, and a little tummy fat. Your mom has always told you that you can wear anything you want and that men are weak if they think otherwise. You believed it and wore what you thought you looked bomb in. The thing is, Heather thinks differently of you. She thinks you are fat, and nobody wants to see you looking that confident. Coming up with a plan is going to ruin your confidence, and she knew this. She knew you were insecure in certain areas of your body and wanted to target it. It’s not that hard to find a girl’s insecurities…. right?

As a tenth-grader, senior parties were the highlight of the year. You were one of the popular girls, so you get invited. Not knowing what’s to come you say yes. Heather was telling you that you should go to get a boyfriend because “everyone has them.” So, you went to the mall and picked out this cute outfit. It was comfortable and unique, but Heather didn’t like it. She said, “You are fat. Why would you pick that?

Lose some weight and maybe you might get a boyfriend.”

In this fight, you knew she was right. Of course, you knew you couldn’t fit into that zero-size dress. Also, you tried your hardest to fit into what society says you should, but she keeps showing up every time you feel good about yourself. Making it hard to accept your body. The thing is, she has been doing this for a long time. Telling you that you were fat. Telling you, you aren’t worth anything. She knows how to trap you and you always comply. You cried that night knowing she won’t leave, and your confidence is gone.

Completely shattered….

You start to lose yourself. She becomes thrilled. Wanting to see you suffer was like giving candy to a baby. Your friends were starting to notice but you always hid the fact that you hated your body…. “Wish I was Heather” you thought to yourself, thinking about what she looks like. Comparing yourself to other Instagram models was becoming essential, while thinking I don’t have that skinny waist or small thighs.

Heather broke you, and you realized this. Aren’t friends supposed to lift you up? Heather was not your friend who wanted the best for you—she wanted the worst.

So, you pulled yourself up and began to understand that you were worth it: beautiful no matter how skinny or big you are. Putting on that bomb outfit, you had some doubts but quickly pushed those thoughts away and go to the party.

And with that Heather disappeared… she was no more because you realized your self-worth.

The End

[untitled] Leah Gonzalez, Class of 2021

Gabby Solves the Case Story by Mari Gonzalez , Class of 2020

One day, in a small town in Mexico, twenty years ago, a young woman was found dead. She had a single blow to the back of the head. The case was closed because no one could figure out who had done it, but then the police arrested a young man. He was convicted and sentenced to forty years in jail.

Years later, in 2018, a young lady named Gabriella Gonzalez found an old newspaper clipping about the young woman. Gabriella had always had an interest in old cases, and she especially was interested in the case of Suzette Mosiah’s murder. The article she found said the police gave up investigating and made up a case about a suspect, just to close the case. That man was convicted, but she did not believe he was guilty or that justice was served. So, she took it upon herself to reopen the case and find out what really happened.

Gabby had read enough murder mysteries to know the first step to solve a case. First, she had to go to the police station, get the files from the case, and then she could interview the suspects. It was surprisingly easy to get the file from the station, so she decided first to go talk to the man who was convicted.

“Number 226, you have a visitor,” the guard called to his cell. Slowly, a man came around to the booth. “What do you want?”

“Hello, I am Gabriella. I am reopening the case of Suzette Mosiah. You must be Richard.”

“Yes, what do you need from me? That case was closed twenty years ago.”

“How were you connected to her and the case?”

“She was my best friend, we met through her late husband, Mark. After his death, we became very close because she was the only other person who could understand what I was going through. On the day of the murder, I found her dead at the bakery she owned and called the police. They had no leads after some time and decided that I did it because I found her. But why on earth would I kill my closest friend?”

“I have taken an interest in the case because I feel there was an injustice done. So, I need your help to find the other suspects and actually solve this case,” Gabby replied.

“Of course! Here are the people to speak to: Raul Martinez, Ana Garza, Ivan Rodriguez, and Marie Lozano.”

Gabriella set out to find these people. She went to Ana Garza’s quinceañera dress shop. Ana knew very little of Suzette. “She had only had her shop for a year before she died. Her baked goods were so delicious, and she was so kind. I have no idea why someone would want to kill her. But that was so long ago,” Ana told her.

“Well, I am reopening the case, because an innocent man was sent to jail for it.”

“Innocent? That’s what you think. He was not innocent at all! If he was innocent, explain why he was actually found on the scene covered in her blood and holding a bat?”

A Good Read Painting on Newsprint Gabriella Saucedo, Class of 2022

“Richard says he found her when he came to visit and make sure she was all right. So that is why he was found there and was the one to call the police.”

“Oh really, did he say that on his word of honor?”

“Yes, he did.” Gabby headed home.

When she got home, she called, Bryant, her best friend for some help.

“HELLO! I am here! The best person ever has arrived.”

She hugged him, “Hey, Bryant. I need your help with something.”

After Gabby explained, he said, “Gabby, you don’t need my help with a mystery. It’s you—you’re the best mystery solver ever.”

“Thank you, but flattery won’t get you out of this.”

After they talked about some theories, they both went to interview Raul Martinez, Ivan Rodriguez, and Marie Lozano.

They found Raul Martinez at his house. They knocked and asked, “Is Raul Martinez home? We just wanted to ask a few questions if he would allow it.”

“I’m Raul, what do you want?”

“I’m Gabby and this is Bryant. We were wondering about your relation to Suzette Mosiah?”

He just stood there before inviting them in to sit and talk. “She was my neighbor. Just over there, in that house” and he pointed to the house to the right of his. “But that was years ago.”

“Were you close friends or just cordial neighbors?”

“We were friends, more than just neighbors but less than close friends.”

“Do you remember the case well, sir?”

“Yes, I do. They blamed that poor man, Richard I think, just because he was found at the scene. He said she was dead when he went to visit her, and I believe him, but the jury didn’t. I personally always suspected Ana Garza, just because her business dropped when Suzette opened her shop.”

“Did you know her late husband?”

“I didn’t know about her husband until after she was murdered. She never really talked about him.”

Gabby thanked him and they left. “Gabby, who do you think would benefit the most from her death?”

“Normally, the spouse. But he died before her. Maybe Ana because she could have Suzette’s store. But it’s too early to tell.”

Next interview was with Ivan Rodriguez. He was at his office. “Hello, how can I help you, young lady?”

“Hola, I am Gabriella Gonzalez and this is Bryant. We wanted to ask you about Suzette Mosiah. If you knew her, or had a relationship with her, or if you remember her.”

“Suzette? Well, she was my patient. I was her chiropractor. She was a beautiful woman. I liked her very much. After her husband passed, I couldn’t help but send her flowers. But she never knew they were from me. Everything I sent her was anonymous. And do I remember her? How could I forget her?! I loved her dearly, but she never thought of me as more than her chiropractor. It was beyond frustrating! I could’ve died or killed her from the love I had for her. But I never did.”

Bryant asked one last question, “Who do you believe killed her? Other than Sr. Richard.”

Ivan thought a bit. “If not Richard, then Raul. He just showed up one day and not too long after, Suzette was found dead. Why are you so interested in this case? It was closed 20 years ago.”

Gabby answered for them, “Well, I believe Sr. Richard is innocent, so I have reopened the case and will find out who did it.” With that, Gabby and Bryant headed out to find Marie.

They found Marie working at a bakery near Ana’s dress shop. They introduced themselves and asked her about the murder of Suzette and explained why they are asking. “Suzette? My, she was a sweetie. She could bake, too. She was everyone’s friend. What I don’t understand is how someone could just kill her like that. But that Richard got what he deserved.”

Gabby took the time to explain, “Well actually, señora, we believe Richard is innocent. Therefore, I have reopened the case out of hope for justice.” After that, Marie told Gabby and Bryant that she had to close, and they had to leave.

“That was suspicious. You know, she gave me a bad feeling too,” Bryant said as him and Gabby were walking away.

Back at Gabby’s house, she and Bryant sat at the kitchen table with all the information from the interviews and police report.

“Gabby, I’m so lost. Why’d you have to reopen this case?” Bryant said as he went to the fridge.

“There was injustice done, and I can’t stand it, Bryant.”

“Ugh! Why you gotta be nice to other people?”

“Thanks, I think.” They both laughed at the idea of Gabby being nice.

The next day Gabby took Bryant to meet Richard. “Richard, what do you know about Marie?”

“She’s pretty, but can be very annoying. She always went to Suzette’s bakery. But other than that, she was very rude to me.”

“We are going to talk to her today.”

Bryant looked at Gabby with surprise. “Gabby, she told us to leave yesterday. I don’t think she wants to talk to us” but before he could finish Gabby was already saying goodbye and was walking out. When they got to the bakery, it was closed. They went around looking for Marie, but she was nowhere to be found.

Sweet-n-Sticky Acrylic on Canvas Gabriella Saucedo, Class of 2022

“It’s Monday, she’s never closed on Monday. Gabby, what do we do?”

“Calm down Bryant. Next door.”

“Hola señora. Yo estoy mirando para señorita Marie.”

“Hola mija. Para elle estoy no aqui. Lo siento.”

“Gracias, hasta luego,” and with that Gabby and Bryant went back to Gabby’s house.

“She’s gone, she left. Gabby what do we do now?” Bryant said panicking.

All Gabby said was “Vamos.” They headed down to the police station, and Gabby went straight to find Marie’s file. They looked through it and found she had paid bail for a crime that could have led a 20-year sentence. But the crime had been scratched out or covered up. Right then, Gabby knew exactly where to find her. Gabby left and Bryant followed her all the way to the mystery destination. They found Marie cleaning the floor and some other things with bleach. No surprise to Gabby, Marie was exactly where she thought, at Suzette’s old bakery, they scene of the crime 20 years ago. Gabby called the police, and they arrested Marie on charge of murder in the 2nd degree.

It turned out that Marie had left the weapon in a cabinet by the crime and forgot about it until Gabby reopened the case. She was tried and found guilty of the murder of Suzette Mosiah, and with that Richard was released.

Gabby had one last question for Marie, so she went to visit Marie in jail. “What criminal charge was scratched out on your record?”

“The murder of Mark Mosiah. It was supposed to be Suzette to drink the drink with poison, but he did. I wanted Suzette out of the way so I could be with Mark.”

With that question answered, Gabby left. “That was fun, Bryant, we should do it again sometime.”

“Sure Gabby, just know that there is no need to go opening such a confusing case again.” They both laughed and went home.

The End

Light of My Life Story by Jake Griffith, Class of 2023

A story of the pandemic The speakers blared, loud enough even my declining ears could detect them. Startling messages littered the screen and panic was clearly in the air. Words that I had never heard in my long life rang out: “Stay at home, we are going into a worldwide pandemic.” Confusion rushed upon me and my wife like a tsunami. It was all so new and unusual, something straight out of a movie. What would we do? What happens if we catch the virus?

Where can we go? These and many more questions flooded our minds.

We knew it would be a huge challenge to follow the orders put in place by the government. It was uncharted territory, something even old souls like ourselves had never even seen before. It would test our bond, push us to our emotional limits, and force us entertain each other. But, we were up for the challenge, because of our powerful bond. Any situation, any problem, we could get through it together. We could never get bored because we are together. We’ll be able to stay safe because we are together. We’ll overcome this pandemic, TOGETHER............right?

This was five months ago, when I was filled with so much optimism. For the first three weeks of the unprecedented quarantine, that belief remained prominent. We played cards, we read books, we did almost anything to keep each other company. We made do with our unfortunate situation......until the day my life came crashing down. April 2, 2020, I sat in the den flipping the crisp pages of my freshly ordered novel. My wife stood in the kitchen, whipping up some of her delicious chicken pot pie for us to enjoy for dinner. While scanning the pages, a harsh thud rang out throughout the house. I passed it off as pots and pans clashing together; how foolish that was. Thirty minutes passed, and a burning scent rushed into the living room, knocking me out from my literary trance.

I barged into the kitchen to investigate and came upon the worst scene imaginable. My wife’s lifeless body lay on the kitchen floor, blood pooling around her head. The casserole was charred, as black as coal. I knew she had been down for way too long. I scooped her up, put her in the car, and bolted to the hospital. I dropped her off, fearing the worst. I expected to go in with her, but the doctors made it very clear that because of the pandemic, I had to leave her alone. I was absolutely heartbroken, and tears gushed from my eyes onto the floor of my car.

Times Square at Night Leah Gonzalez, Class of 2021

Times Square, NYC Leah Gonzalez, Class of 2021

I arrived back home and sat in silence for what seemed like forever. The next day, my phone rang, and I answered almost immediately. The doctor said she was going to be all right, and I was filled with relief from head to toe. The day after, I got another call, and I expected good news about her progress. Instead, I was greeted with a very harsh reality. My wife had contracted COVID-19, the dangerous virus the whole world was talking about. My heart sank to unimaginable depths. She was quickly placed in the Intensive Care Unit, where she was to be monitored closely. For the next four days, I called and talked to her, listening to her spirit diminish, and her health take a steep decline. It was clear the virus was taking a huge toll on her, but I was not ready to give up hope.

Six days after admitting my wife to the hospital, I got an ominous knock on my front door. On the other side stood two suited gentlemen, sadness painted on their faces. The tension was astronomically high, and it felt like I waited hours before words spewed from their mouths. What they said to me in that doorway will stay with me for the rest of my life. My wife had passed away, and the light in my life had been completely shattered. The one soul who truly knew and loved me was forever gone, and I never even got to kiss her goodbye.

Without my wife, life is very bleak, and loneliness is always lurking around the corner. During the nights, the silence is deafening and every minute that passes is another moment of harsh realization.

The optimist in me hopes to see my wife's beautiful face bust open that front door and claim it all as a trick. However, the reality is, she is gone from my life forever. No more cards, no more goodnight kisses, no more home cooked meals, no more “I love yous.” It is just me and the silence left in the old creaky house, praying for the impossible return of the love of my life.

The End

God is a Woman Oil and Colored Pencil Katelyn Bagwell, Class of 2022

“—tha” Story by Meghana Lammata, Class of 2022

I thought that I was no different from my classmates until my name came to prove me wrong. My name was Americanized the moment I stepped into my first-grade classroom. The pronunciation was construed to conform to America’s tongue. At the age of 5 years, I realized my name wasn’t “Nikitha” to everyone, but rather “Nikki” to Americans and “Nikitha” to Indians. The separation in pronunciation of my name turned out to be the system that would later mold my identity. It didn’t necessarily bother me that people called me “Nikki,” but it bothered me when my classmates laughed and pointed fingers at me when my mother called me “Nikitha” over the phone or as she picked me up after school. They would try to pronounce it the Indian way, but their tongues butchered it. I guess they never heard of something so Indian.

But it was funny to me to know that Americans are thrown off by the sound “-tha” at the end of my name. My name on the roster causes people to hesitate and dart their eyes across the room, nervously saying, “Sorry if I don’t pronounce your name correctly…” One simple sound has made such an impact.

It was as if they had invited Nikki, but Nikitha showed up to the party instead.

After realizing the pronunciation of my name evoked such a reaction from peers, I decided it was best to adopt “Nikki” and introduce her at school for the subsequent years. Most went with it. Some questioned it. They would ask, “So, why is your name spelled differently?” I would smile awkwardly and nervously ramble how I Americanized my name for the comfort of others and security of mine. It made me feel no different from my classmates. My Americanized name proved my American identity.

I am American.

How did I become American? A question I constantly wondered. I associated “American” with certain clothes, music, and social trends. I also saw little to no representation of myself across various platforms. Yet, I spent a lot of my childhood looking for something or someone Indian in books, movies, and magazines. Anytime I casually passed by books and saw an author with an Indian name like mine, I would immediately stop and rush towards it. It was as if seeing a familiar face among strangers. No matter what the book was about, it felt like my purpose to learn all about it. To know and see that someone like me wrote a story important to them was something that made me smile.

Whenever I did see secondary characters who were Indian in television shows, their prominent characteristic appeared to be an excessively exaggerated Indian accent. These Indian characters made me cringe because they were mostly based off stereotypes, and viewers mocked these characters. This mockery eventually led me to believe that being Indian was the equivalent of being a joke.

Even though I would feel “too” Indian at times and was pushed to prove my Americanness, I also felt “too” American and had to prove my Indian identity in other environments. I struggled to speak in my parent’s native tongue, Marathi. English was comfortable; it rolled off the tongue. However, when I visited India with my family, Marathi took precedence over English when conversing with family. Around there, I was known as the foreign “American kid.” Relatives. Family friends. Even strangers. All would come up to me and ask questions in Marathi, in which I would cultivate a mumbled and butchered answer in response. People laughed when they sensed my broken Marathi words in the air. It was weird to them that I didn’t know a language that my whole family breathed and conversed in. My embarrassed parents would apologize for my broken Marathi.

Despite looking similar to those around me, I realized I was so American in this land.

I eventually enrolled in classes to learn Marathi, and in the following visit to India, there were clearer and proper responses given to questions. It was a relief to me that no one had to apologize for me. My parents and relatives were pleased that I could speak Marathi well, and once again, I affirmed my identity.

I am Indian.

Looking back at varying social situations, I find myself angry that my name was Americanized even as I continued to Americanize it to please others. I was also angry that people laughed at me for not knowing Marathi well, but their laughter drove me to devote three years learning and striving for fluency in Marathi. No matter where I was or who I was around - Americans or Indians - I never seemed to accept myself for being me. I fought for acceptance from others and ignored my own. I would constantly assimilate. My identity depended upon external validation. I wish I had realized sooner that I never had to prove to anyone if I was American or Indian enough.

Because despite my name or lack of fluency in Marathi...

I am both. I am Indian-American. I am Nikitha, with the “-tha”.

“Because Living for Others Isn’t Truly Living” Poem by Daniela Garcia, Class of 2022

When she passed, she made me promise I wouldn’t cry, trusting I would abide.

But it all happened so fast.

Not her passing, of course.

Because, of course, She who gave — generously, She who cared — selflessly, She who loved — unconditionally, Died without living much.

Gradually before our Eyes and Swiftly to our Touch.

When She passed, I promised not to cry.

Pros and Cons of Being a Quiet Kid Essay by Abby Martin, Class of 2022

Pro: Movies are written about you. All the Bright Places. The Perks of Being a Wall Flower. I guess the quiet kids do grow up to create something beautiful. Which is nice. Besides, it’s fun to cheer on the underdog. Especially when you see them in you.

Con: Movies are written about you. Which means the threat of some kind of dramatic downfall always seems to hover around in your future. It feels almost like the air you breathe has been infiltrated by a toxin, anxiety. But it seems to be only your air and no one else’s. Which doesn’t make much sense and can be quite confusing.

Pro: Teachers like you. You’re not difficult. You do what you’re told. And if you’re honest your overwhelming fear of disappointing people is the main reason you never turn your work in late.

Con: Teachers like you, but you’re pretty sure that one teacher still doesn’t know how to spell your name.

Which kinda sucks cuz he’s one of your favorites.

Pro: You and the other quiet kids have a sacred bond now. It only takes one glance to communicate that it’s time to leave a crowded room. And you both get up at the same time. And you both find a nice corner.

One that doesn’t feel as uncomfy.

Con: People are going to think you’re boring. Which is to be expected. I mean… you don’t talk much.

Pro: You and the other boring ones are going to have a sleepover one day, and they’ll tell you their life story. And you’ll feel like you’re in a soap opera. You’ll cry over things you should have cried over a long time ago. That and scream over the things you love the most. You’ll laugh and laugh until you can barely breathe, and it is in that moment when you realize these are the loudest, most interesting people you have ever met.

Another Pro: When someone says the words “I love you” you’ll feel it. Because you feel everything. And for a while now something inside you has been telling you that maybe you feel things a little more than what could be considered normal. Now “I love you” is everywhere you go. You carry it around in your backpack. You see it on the walls of every classroom. On every desk. Locker. And when the room gets too loud once again, you come to realize that this “I love you” is louder. A kind of loud that maybe you could get used to.

Con: If that “I love you” ever dies it’s going to hurt a little more than you expect. And by a little I mean you’ll be tempted to sleep for a few years. Or at least skip school for a while. Because the way you present yourself—your happy face and your sad face—look… fairly similar. It’s not their fault that they don’t notice. You haven’t made it all that easy for them. And you know you need to open your mouth, but you don’t know how. It eats you up inside, and in one crushing moment you’re going to wish you weren’t the way you are. You’re going to wish you could scream and have the whole world hear you. But trust me, it will fade, and you will be you again.

Another Con: Socratic Seminars Pro: When you finally do open your mouth and have that conversation with no stutters or awkward silences, (one or two stumbles are still good), your whole day gets so much brighter, it’s ridiculous.

You’ll be on this weird sort of high for hours.

But whether or not you are a quiet kid, whether you relate to this list entirely, feel no connection to it at all, or are somewhere in between, there are always parts of yourself that are beautiful. And even the parts the world labels as “cons”- they make your soap opera even more interesting.

Mosque, Abu Dhabi Spring 2017 Leah Gonzalez, Class of 2021

Rugged Spring 2021 Bishop Dunne Catholic School 3900 Rugged Drive Dallas, TX 75224 214-339-6561 bdcs.org

Mission Statement Bishop Dunne Catholic School empowers each student to explore, inquire, lead, and serve through a college preparatory education in a joyful community of faith.

Bishop Dunne Library

A Message from the Librarian The Bishop Dunne Library is a place for students to explore and discover the joys of reading, as well as a place to learn the skills to navigate a constantly changing, technologically sophisticated environment.

My mission as the librarian is to help students become lifelong learners, equipped with the tools to navigate, evaluate, analyze, and understand the diversity of information they will encounter throughout their lives.

Rugged began as a platform for students to share their creative work. Like many of the books that are available to students in the

library, these works are often not directly connected to an assignment or to a course; they may sometimes be far from typical classwork.

But learning is not confined to the school walls. Reading, writing, and creating are joyful enterprises that we encourage in every part of our students’ lives.

It is a pleasure to share their work.

I hope you enjoy it.

Melanie M. Gibson School Librarian Editor of Rugged