Rugged Spring 2025

Rugged Spring 2025

Welcome to the spring issue of Bishop Dunne’s literary arts magazine. This issue of Rugged celebrates spring and contains creative literary projects from our some of our 8th grade students. It also features two short stories and the winning entries for the 2025 Literary Festival orator competition. And we are pleased to include more of the photographs, drawings, and paintings by the talented AP art students.

Welcome, springtime!

“Gentle Displacement” Painting by Nia Abrams

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“The Comeliness of Our Hair” Photograph by Alandra Barfield

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“Glowing” Painting by Kennedi Hyder

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Literary Festival Orator Competition, Dear Martin Max Lanier, Winner, Middle School Category Dear Cesar Chavez, You have greatly influenced my view on social equality and justice. Your fight for equal pay for migrant farm workers in the hot desert of California inspired me to help my community, just like you.

For the past year and a half, I have volunteered countless times at food clinics, charities, and non-profit organizations. These actions were brought about by my learning of your activism in your community.

When you were a young boy, you were forced to work long hard hours in blazing heat for low wages.

From an early age you experienced injustice and knew you needed to make a change. This is why at age 25 you started protesting for more pay for migrant farm workers.

With your values always in the back of your mind, you led protests by waving signs and chanting slogans focused on raising wages for workers on farms. Because of these protests you faced violence from owners of farms, as well as people who didn't believe that workers deserved higher wages. Through these challenges, you continued to fight for what you believed in, without using any sort of violence.

One very notable example of your activism is the times when you fasted: 25 days in 1968, to show a nonviolent way to oppose injustice; 24 days in 1972, to protest a law making it harder for farm workers to protest; and 36 days in 1988, to draw attention to dangerous pesticides commonly used in farming fields. Each of these acts used the value of nonviolence to portray a need for justice in your community.

I strive to protest nonviolently when I believe there is injustice and wrongdoing in my community, just as you did.

Yours truly, Maxwell Lanier

Nic Stone was the 2025 Bishop Dunne Literary Festival keynote speaker. She is the author of many bestselling novels, including award-winner Dear Martin. In it, high school senior Justyce McAllister faces discrimination, racial profiling, and police brutality. Searching for answers, he begins writing letters to Martin Luther King, expressing his frustrations that things haven’t changed much since the fight for civil rights decades ago.

Following this idea, students were invited to write a letter to someone who inspires them to pursue justice or positive change.

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Literary Festival Orator Competition, Dear Martin Jada Wilson, Winner, High School Category Dear Jasmine Crockett, The complexities of politics have never been clarified in a way I have fully understood, until I discovered you. Sitting on the couch with my parents every Sunday, we’d watch videos, read articles, and discuss politics—“a political rollercoaster with no seatbelts,” as my dad calls it. The purpose of these discussions wasn’t solely to expand my knowledge of the modern world, but to expose me to my culture and enhance how I process information.

However, my growth felt stagnant. While scrolling through every article and watching many policy discussions, I felt like I was learning a foreign language. I heard the message in the videos but didn’t process it; I read the words in the documents but didn’t comprehend them. This is the result of the common disconnect between how information is presented to younger audiences and how they interpret it. As a teenager, it's difficult to find the discipline to fix a problem when you don’t fully understand the root of the difficulty.

However, you—Jasmine Crockett—alleviate this disconnect in your debates. The assertiveness in your voice, the passion and undeniable facts you bring to the debates, show me that you want to influence many ranges of audiences, while doing what you love. Seeing your confidence and knowledge through the screen immediately piqued my interest in your discussions. For example, you started your response to the “Dismantle DEI Act” with an anecdote that correlated with the discussion, allowing me to relate and fully understand your argument.

Another pattern I noticed is when you commence your debates, you directly address the problem, leaving me with zero confusion and a full understanding of what is to be discussed throughout the debate.

Throughout persistently watching your advocacy, I’ve developed a desire to pursue a career in criminal defense. Altogether, your effective strategy in presenting speeches and debates allowed me to relate to politics like never before. Through studying your communication and strategic approach to issues, I now have seen growth with my presentation at my family's weekly political discussions. I understand the information and effectively apply it.

Altogether, your ongoing impact has not only helped me grasp an understanding of many misconceptions in politics and social justice, but you’ve additionally inspired me to take the steps needed to change and bring awareness to underrepresented subjects. You taught me that communicating uncomfortable truths is more effective than shielding the realities from others. Just as I strive to redefine and sharpen my understanding of the world, I hope to encourage others to explore to find a method that helps them better themselves—whether that be through a book or another inspiring speaker. Now, I present my argument confidently to my family, and in the future, I plan to share my discussions with many more people.

Sincerely, Jada Wilson

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Drained Minds Photograph by Alandra Barfield

In this photograph, I tried to capture the stress and pain that many students go through, by having undertone meaning inside each aspect. The girls were stacked on top of the books as if they were novels. This is because students nowadays feel as if they are stuffed with knowledge, like books, and are expected to recite any fact at any given moment. I used three girls with similar eye colors and shapes to further draw attention to the eyes. The same depressed and drained eyes many kids have are reflected in the photo to further present the theme. Had I used a lighter eye color or a brighter color palette, it would present a happier tone, versus the dark academic, saddened tone I wanted. The result encapsulates the emotions students feel in school: stressed, depressed and drained.

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The Pink Wall Short story by Abigail Bussey

My bed is pushed up against the white and pink wall, touching the brightest part of my room, which has three large windows looking out to the backyard. It is not a subtle pink, but it is not bold; it is almost neutral between the two. Above the headboard lies a mirrorball that spins only when plugged into the outlet. It spins slowly as light flickers through it causing it to dance across my room. The different colors of light dance across the three white walls, the wood floor with a white carpet, and the one pink wall. As I lie

in my bed with the snow outside the window and the disco ball spinning light across my room I feel as if nature and science can create beautiful things like light and snow, but I feel as if it is not possible to explain why or whether it will change.

Across my bed, there is a closet. One on the left with a huge mirror hanging on the door inside it. The closet is where I store things, not just clothes, but two shoe boxes, one blue and one a glittery green. The two shoeboxes sit on the top shelf. The first one is full

of the good and happy memories of my life. Pictures of me with my friends from homecoming this year, flowers, bracelets, letters from my friends and family, and things from my favorite music artist. It’s the box I like to go through when I want to look back or laugh with my friends to remember the good times I have had throughout my life.

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“Princesa” Painting by Alyssa Lopez

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The second box is different. Although it is a happy box, it is one I no longer like to look at. It’s full of memories from friendships that are no longer as close. Although I'm still acquaintances with these people, I went through hard times and have burned bridges with them. They are ones that I thought would last forever but didn’t. Inside are

notes, letters I wrote but never gave, gifts they gave me, and evidence of things they did. Every time I look inside the box, I don’t feel sad. I kind of just feel numb to it all.

The box is like a time capsule of everything that was happening in that time of my life.

The box is not about sadness but rather a reminder that things change, and I might not always be prepared for it, but change will always happen, no matter how much I wish it didn’t.

And then there’s the pink wall again. The most noticeable thing in the whole room. Although I used to claim I hate pink, it’s the only pink I've grown to like. It’s not just a color, but it holds all my secrets, even the ones I've never said out loud. Sometimes I just stare at it and let my mind wander. It’s funny how the silly pink wall can feel so personal like it’s been there for every laugh, every tear, and even the silent times when no one else is in my room but me. As I’m lying here in bed, with the heated blan-

ket and firm pillows, I find myself staring at the textured wall wondering if it knows me better than I know myself, but at the end of the day I will never find out.

Somedays it’s like the color pink is encouraging me. Most people think the color pink is a happy, girlie color, but sometimes it feels like it’s encouraging me to do better or achieve my goals. Other days, it can feel like the wall is closing in on me, like it’s

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forcing me to think about things I don’t want to think about, but it’s like I can’t ignore it. I sit here and keep thinking—it’s like, even when I’m sleeping my mind doesn’t shut off. I’m thinking between the wall, the memories in my closet, and the snow outside my window as if my thoughts are traveling throughout the walls of my “girlie” room.

Today and some other days when I feel exhausted, like there’s something heavy in my chest, I sit against my wall, not sad but numb, as if the pink wall has drained all of the color from me and given it to itself. I don’t feel sad. I feel nothing, like there’s an absence, something missing, but the wall always stays the same. The wall is just there with its plain old textured pink staring back at me. It’s almost comforting and funny, but also a little disturbing.

I take a moment to stop thinking and to go to the light blue fridge inside my room and grab a cherry coke and go back to thinking. I take a quick sip and pop in my headphones and decide to play Lana Del Ray on shuffle. As I'm listening to music, I think how often the pink wall has seen me blast music so loud in my ears as I drown out everything else. It’s where I've sat and made my playlist for when I’m feeling dramatic, happy, or need a quick distraction. The wall has seen every version of me as I grew up as a little 8-year-old girl. It’s seen the girl who is brainstorming all her ideas, the overstimulated and unsure, the happy, and the numb one.

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I pause my thinking again as my mom walks into the room and asks, “What are you doing?” and I say, “Writing an essay.” I quickly take in a deep sigh as I know what is coming next: “Oh good, you need to have better grades this semester. Do you understand?” And there it is, the same sentence I've been hearing all month. I think about

how I know I need the grades if I want a future. The same one I planned next to my pink wall, but I’m burnt out and no longer care for grades. I quickly say to my mom, “Yes, I understand,” and watch her leave my room with the dog and lightly shut the door. I think about my future and how I've planned some of the best things next to the wall. I wonder about every thought that has come to my mind next to it, planned sleepovers, our summer trip to Croatia, and what my life would be like in four years in college. The

wall has been there throughout the whole process of my thoughts and ideas.

I feel like the wall had its own mind and eyes staring, watching it all, my late phone calls, my addiction to TikTok and Instagram, and so much more. It’s the wall that my friends and I sleep next to when we are up late laughing or having late-night talks.

The wall never changes. Never judges. And never moves. But most importantly, it supports me even when I change, judge, and move.

Even though I feel the wall supports me, it’s not real, it doesn’t care. It’s just there. A bright pink wall that never changes. I wonder why I could talk and think about the pink wall all day but come to the conclusion I’m attracted to it because it doesn’t care. Its bright and doesn’t do anything about it or explain why just like how I feel.

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It just lets me be, doesn’t bother me, doesn’t notice me, doesn’t care about me, just lets me live my life while supporting the structure of the house and me.

I stare out the snowy window and wonder if I will paint over the pink wall. I never liked pink either way but for some reason, I like this one. Maybe when I go off to college my parents will sell the house and paint the wall, or I will because I outgrew it. But right now, I feel comfort in the pink wall, the two shoeboxes in my closet, and the disco ball above the headboard of my bed. It reminds me that everything can change, sometimes you can control it and sometimes you can’t but right now the pink wall will stay the same even if I as a person don’t.

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“Veil of Petals” Painting by Rosemary Keglovits

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Heart Poem by Kristen Clifford She was raised with loud voices and slamming doors, She fears the loud roars, And wills away the need to blend into the walls.

But you were raised with hugs and racing down the halls, Sweet dreams and memories.

You fear nothing but the dark, And falling from the high tree bark.

When you meet, she will flinch when your friends play fight, You'll be matched for an assignment and have long calls at night.

She will fall first, Making her heart burst, With love she never got to feel, When you bend down and kneel.

Four words fall from your mouth a few years later, When you believe you're meant to be.

“Will you marry me?”

She will say yes, Spinning in her dress.

As she finally feels herself mend, When you have her a hand to lend.

From then on you dedicated yourself to her and her health, You two will be rich in love's version of wealth.

For you get to live the dream, I call a misty fantasy.

Though I won’t get to live it, I'll watch you in silence from afar, As you drive her away in your car.

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Booked in Possibilities Photograph by Hailey Meza

I created this artwork to represent the reality of a teenage girl in love. Love is a fantasy that can be read in many different forms. In a girl’s mind, this fantasy at times feels too real, that we get lost within the lines of the story. We are sucked into a world where fantasy is a possibility.

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Poster by Allison Hardin Lord of the Flies Project

Ms. Julie Coxe's Literature 8 classes studied William Golding’s classic novel, Lord of the Flies. Students then created posters illustrating the archetypes, symbols and themes of the book. Students chose eight aspects to illustrate and provided textual evidence to support them. These are some of the posters students completed, on pages 20-25.

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Poster by Carmelo Legrone Lord of the Flies Project

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Poster by Javier McBride Lord of the Flies Project

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Poster by Londyn Johnson-Brown Lord of the Flies Project

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Poster by Andrew Price Lord of the Flies Project

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Poster by Leilah Champagne Lord of the Flies Project

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The Visible Character

Photograph by Hailey Meza

This self-portrait explores aspects of my face and character. My eyes reflect the independence and resilience that define me. My lips convey the voice and determination of my words.

Together, they draw attention to the most powerful parts of who I am. The colors represent the vibrant spirit I bring to the table. This vivid exterior is what people see, but the Polaroids reveal the interior, the deeper layers of the person I truly am.

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The Real You Matters

Photograph by Scarlett Dye

The barrier between the way people perceive you and how you perceive yourself does not always match up. This photograph conveys how people can see someone as so many things. I connect with this because I often try to cover up what I am feeling and do not share my emotions with anyone. I want the viewer to see that even when people are judging you, they do not know your true self and only see what is on the outside. What people see on the outside does not matter because knowing who you are is the most important thing.

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A Different Kind of Christmas Creative Nonfiction by Quinton Moss Last Christmas, the air was filled with a cinnamon and apple pie scent from the candles. You could feel the Christmas spirit, through the decorations, the delicious desserts, the twinkling lights on the tree, and the colorful boxes under it. My brothers and I sat on the floor, wrapping paper scattered everywhere like a battlefield of expectations. We’d had a good Christmas, no doubt about that, but something felt different. The gifts were not as high this year. My little brother, Micah, glanced at the backpack he got, wondering if whoever had his name was not listening to him. “This isn’t the one,” he mumbled under his breath, loud enough for me to hear.

My other little brother, Jeremiah, later walked up to my mom, like there was an elephant in the room, and he was the only one brave enough to try and move it. "Why does it seem like there is less presents this year?” he asked, his voice mixed with genuine curiosity. Mom stopped in the hallway and looked at him. “Be thankful,” she said, her tone gentle but not wanting to debate. “The older you get, the less presents you will receive.” We all exchanged quiet glances, the words sinking in, but there was something else hanging in the air. An understanding that maybe Christmas wasn’t just about the size of the gift pile.

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My Grandpa started to open his gifts slowly and steadily. He usually had less gifts than us, but this year he had this shiny brand-new Apple Watch. He saw us staring, and he chuckled and smiled at us like Santa Claus. Later, we gathered around the dinner ta-

ble with the smokey smell of barbecue beans and ribs. All eight of us, including my parents, auntie, and grandparents, were so hungry that our stomachs were growling like a dog. After prayer, Grandpa cleared his throat, like he had prepared something to say for a long time. “You know,” he began, eyes twinkling with nostalgia, “When I was a boy, one Christmas stands out more than any other...”

Christmas Ending News “Our parents leading up to Christmas, sat as down to share the terrible news. Our Dad had been laid off from work. That’s when me and my sisters realized that there weren’t going to be as many gifts this year — if any at all.” He paused for suspense while chewing on his barbequed ribs. The candlelight began to fade just a little bit, but the smell was still strong. “You know, as kids, you are always excited for Christmas — especially for the gifts. But that year we had to adjust our hope. Even though this was the case, we still had decorations and our Christmas tree to look at. Most importantly, we were satisfied because we had each other and our Christmas spirit. I was of course sad that I wouldn’t be getting gifts this year, but I figured I would be all right.” The table was quiet, listening to the story as everyone was almost finished with their food.

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The True Christmas “Christmas came around and my mom traditionally always put apples, oranges, nuts, pecans, and hard candy in our stockings. That always was a good treat — but

something else caught my eye. The tree had two gifts under it like it was advertising a product to me. Nothing too big or fancy, but wrapped in simple, plain Christmas paper. My heart jumped with joy as I ran to it.” The smile on my grandpa’s face was like when he got the Apple Watch but bigger. “When I tore it open, it was a tin pistol, a little cap gun, and a pack of caps. I pointed the gun around the room in excitement, but my mom told me to put it down. I ran outside and played with it for hours, imagining I was the fastest cowboy in town. It was the best Christmas I had, and it made me feel like the luckiest kid. When I went back to school, I had something to share with my friends.”

Grandpa relaxed his posture, and he looked at me and my brothers. “Looking back at it, it wasn’t the gun that made that Christmas special. It was being around my family and feeling the love we had for each other, even when times are hard. Mom still

baked cakes and pies that filled the house with a sweet smell. We’d get a slice whenever we wanted, and it was like we were in heaven. The best part of Christmas was when my mom gatheed us around and would tell us about the reason for the season.

That made me appreciate all they did for me and Christmas.”

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My Grandma, who had been sitting quietly, leaned forward towards him. “Well, that was a beautiful story” she said. “Don’t forget it’s my birthday today. I mean, I love a good Christmas memory, but you just spent the last ten minutes stealing my spotlight.”

The whole table laughed, and Grandpa shook his head with a grin. "Ah, you're right! I guess I’ve been stealing the spotlight since 1963.”

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“Grand Canyon, December 23” Photograph by Allison Hardin

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“Grand Canyon, December 23” Photograph by Allison Hardin

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Euphoria Photograph by Alexandria Calderilla

My artwork is titled Euphoria. When I was creating this, I thought of how I could show some type of sadness while having all these colors on my face. I liked how the colorful lighting represents some type of happiness while I have a sad almost expressionless face. I think this allowed me to show emotions that I don’t normally show to others.

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Rugged Spring 2025 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 information they will encounter throughout their lives.

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

to students in the library, these works often explore life beyond the classroom.

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.

I hope you enjoy Rugged.

Melanie M. Gibson School Librarian Editor of Rugged

“Fading into Flowers” Rosemary Keglovits