Outcroppings 2017

Outcroppings Volume 38 • Brewster Academy • 2017

They all look just like me For the first time, I fit in where I am, they tell me.

Am I home?

OUTCROPPINGS Volume 38 2017

OUTCROPPINGS Volume 38 • 2017 • Brewster Academy • Wolfeboro, New Hampshire Editor in chief: Allison Caravella ’17 Managing Editor: Helen D’Angelo ’17 Contributing Editors: Saige Buffington ’18, Duidui Yue ’18 Art Editor: Jenna Burgess ’17 Faculty Advisor: Jennifer Metcalfe Dumont Cover Photo: John Cha ’17 Cover Verse by Maria Draper ’17 Back Cover Photo: Colin James ’17

From the Editors: First of all, we would like to take this time to thank everyone who submitted to Outcroppings this year! We received many well-composed pieces and beautiful works of art to consider. As the magazine came together, the theme of reflection emerged. This year’s edition is insightful and honest. From poems about transformative moments to recollections of beginnings, you’ll get to know a lot more about the Brewster community. There is so much talent on every page! A big thank you goes out to Mrs. Dumont for all of the hard work that she puts in each year. We couldn’t have done it without her!

- Allison Caravella ’17 and Helen D’Angelo ’17

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Table of Contents Title Page: Artwork by Jenna Burgess ’17...........1 Poem by Nick Canezin ’19 and Boy Under by Alicia Childers ’01 ...................... 4 Swimming Snapshot and Photo by Tasha Getten ’17................................... 5 Red Eyes by Jawan Lawson ’20 and Artwork by Jenna Burgess ’17............................. 6 Spring Flies by Meg Panier ’19 and Photo by Ms. Kim Ross....................................... 8 Official Review: Huck’s Hoagies

by Noah Spiegel ’17 and Photo by Tara Fitzpatrick ’17...................... 9 Zeke by Jenna Burgess ’17................................ 10 Open Letter to My Cell Phone

by Morgan Price ’17 and Artwork by Jenna Burgess ’17.................... 11 The Wicked Tree by Maria Draper ’17 and Twisted Tree by Mr. Zack Apgar.......................12 Conversation with Papa by Noah Spiegel ’17 and Artwork by Caleb Getto ’17..........................13 The Boy Rangers by Mr. T.J. Palmer................14 Artwork by Caleb Getto ’17.................................15 Thursday, Oct. 27, 2016 by Mary James ’20.....16 Ant’s Journey by Herbie Hazleton ’17 and Photo by Ms. Michelle Rafalowski....................17 Artwork by Michelle Su ’18................................ 18 Makeup’s Meaning by Sumayya Al-Kindy ’17 ..19 Artwork by Michelle Su ’18................................20 Scared by Renying Zhang ’19 and Artwork by Caleb Getto ’17.................................21 Photos by Ms. Deanna Rowley and Ms. Maria Found....................................... 22 Photos by Michael Trepanier ’17, Tara Fitzpatrick ’17, Ms. Barb Thomas, and Ms. Alicia Childers ’01................................ 23 Protest by Maria Draper ’17 and Artwork by Caleb Getto ’17................................ 24 Discrimination by Dani Slap ’17....................... 25

.YSDLEXIC by Megan Olszewski ’20 and Artwork by Yuerei Wang ’17...................... 26 Empty by Robbie Rohrbaugh ’20 and Artwork by Caleb Getto ’17......................... 27 Snapshot by Joy Cartwright ’17 and Photo by John Cha ’17.......................................28 Rain, Rain, Don’t Go Away

by Audrey San Cartier ’19 and Artwork by Jenna Burgess ’17........................... 29 Open Letter to Music

by Sumayya Al-Kindy ’17 and Artwork by Jenna Burgess ’17 ...................30 30 Years from Now

by Build Sricharoenlumsam ’19 and Photo by Colin James ’17............................31 6:54 by Grace Factor ’20 and Photo by Hailey Buffington ’18......................... 32 I Am by Elsa Smith ’20 and Photo by Tasha Getten ’17................................. 33 Artwork by Hailey Buffington ’18 and Artwork by Saige Buffington ’18 et. al.............. 34 Open Letter to Kanye West

by Peter Leach ’17 ............................................. 35 Artwork by Kyla Mae Gardiola ’17................... 36 Finally Rich by Herbie Hazleton ’17 and Artwork by Caleb Getto ’17......................... 37 Artwork by Jenna Burgess ’17........................... 38 Autumn by Emily Raynowska ’19 and Artwork by Brianna Brown ’19......................... 39 Poem by Maria Draper ’17 and Artwork by Aaisha Al Jabri ’18.........................40 Elton Street by Jawan Lawson ’20 and Photo by John Cha ’17........................................41 Snapshot by Maria Draper ’17 and Artwork by Aaisha Al Jabri ’18.................. 42 Photos by Ms. Michelle Rafalowski.................. 43 The Big White Tents by John Campbell ’19 and Artwork by Ms. Deanna Rowley....................... 44

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Poem

by Nick Canezin ’20

Taking these pills Paying his bills Feeding his crew Buying them dew Dealing dew To people like you Counting the green Surmounting the mean.

Gun shots fired Death has acquired The police have come To take this bum Tears flying From this crying His supplying must be underlying Look at him Only a limb Burn this kid This is not my little Jim.

by Ms. Alicia Childers ’01

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by Tasha Getten ’17

Swimming Snapshot

by Tasha Getten ’17

The inviting ocean breeze. The weirdly comforting feeling of abrasive sand shimmying between my toes. My mom slathered me in sunscreen to the point where I was dripping. I was full of energy; the last thing I wanted to do was stand there while she fixed my bikini bottoms and swim shirt. I looked around for my goggles, digging around in her bag to find them. Strapping my swim goggles around my head, I dashed; I jumped; I splashed.

Swimming as a child in Florida was something I always looked forward to. There is something about the water that is always peaceful. As a child, my favorite animal was a dolphin, or a mermaid, and I always envied their long days spent immersed in the water. It was truly magical. No one could talk to me while I was under the water, nor could I talk to anyone. It was a seven-year-old’s taste of freedom.

When I would come up for air, I knew to open my mouth wide, like a dolphin, so I could catch the rainbow goldfish my mom would throw to me from the side of the pool. I would jump up and down, and spin, and flip, and be thrown more goldfish for my tricks. Hours would go by, and I would not get tired. I was a dolphin! Dolphins don’t get tired of swimming. As the sun fell, my mom would have to drag me out of the pool so we would have enough time to get ready for dinner. I wrapped a towel around my wet, wrinkled body.

I took my goggles off and returned to reality.

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Red Eyes

by Jawan Lawson ’20

It was nighttime, around 8 and I had red eyes.

My father had hurt my mother’s feelings.

He did something unforgivable and I had red eyes.

What he did changed my outlook on him. He stole from us, in more ways than one. I thought he was a good person…

I tried to give him a chance in my life. But he didn’t take that chance.

God he’s such an... I have a potent dislike for my father.

I cried and tried to stop him from leaving.

I ran and blocked the door for a long time.

Even though I was young, I wanted my father to own up for his actions.

I knew he was going to leave again and I didn’t want to accept it, He should’ve never come back into my life.

I was livid. He pushed the boundaries on this one. That Man, As I decided to call him, would never come back into my life, or any of my family member’s lives.

If he ever tried to do anything, I vowed to hurt That Man. I said little kid bad words about him like “I’d flip him up,” Or “I’d mess him the heck up.”

As I grew up, I started to hate him.

I didn’t think it was fair that he could just leave me like this.

I had 13 great birthdays without him. Plenty of great times.

Each time, I thought about him, I just wanted to kill him.

He was a piece of crap, And a deadbeat who couldn’t do anything. And here he is back in jail. He wrote a letter saying he’s a changed man, but I don’t believe him. I would never give him a chance, well, another one that is.

I hate him so much. He was never there for me when I needed him the most.

He hurt my mother, and I will never let that happen again.

And I was glad that he had left, but made the imprint he did.

I’m glad that my mother was always there for me.

But, still I have red eyes. This time, Though, These tears are tears of joy.

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Red Eyes II

by Jawan Lawson ’20 I had red eyes one night, It was a hellish nightmare, Mom and Pops and I Two stepped Around the apartment Tears and anger filled The rooms It was like being in the womb Trapped and confused “Papa please don’t leave” “I just need to relieve” We ran around in the hall Like a dog chasing a thrown ball Running up and down And out and about I chased my father around And went under and down And blocked the door And looked to the floor With red eyes But forevermore I rise

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Spring Flies

by Meg Panier ’19

The Bubble. You think I’m talking about soapy bath bubbles. News flash! You’re wrong.

I’m showing you what a Wolfeboro spring is. It is about getting to know those you live with by spending time with them. You will never believe how great a friendship you can create in a short span. It can all start with a walk to Bailey’s Bubble, the local ice cream shop. You talk on the way there, laugh while you are standing in line. Then, you might even wander down to the town docks.

At the docks, you may be pushed into the water fully dressed. Being wet and cold is not fun, but it is a memorable experience you will remember and laugh about for a lifetime.

A shamrock green turf that glimmers in the sun, a breeze that makes you want to stay for games full of excitement, that is a Brewster Spring. A moment in life that is often taken for granted, until you return home and realize you have to wait an entire year till it happens again.

It is a bittersweet time, full of goodbyes, but also in anticipation of a long stretch of needed relaxation. When it comes time to pack your room and drive away you’ll wonder what next year will bring. You will still be reminiscing about the year you just flew through. A Wolfeboro spring is one that will shape your friendships and linger in your memory.

You work hard in the classroom, because spring does not alter the fundamental roots of educational necessities. On a stressful day, you can just breathe, take in the fresh air and look at the lake. Somehow for that split second you will forget your worries, a weight can be lifted off your shoulders. After a cultivating, educationally dense trimester you will transition into the project period. This period is full of experimental processes, beneficial as you will learn more than just the content. It is an opportunity to work with an array of capabilities and diverse thought processes.

Your mind is challenged by opposing views and conflicting opinions, then when the time comes to present you will get butterflies in your stomach. But, overcoming these adversities will make you a better thinker, a bolder presenter and provide you an unparalleled sense of self achievement.

At the conclusion of academic programs, you feel the year coming to a close, like a train coming into the station. You’ll wonder where the time went because it felt like just two days ago you were at freshman orientation, sitting in the gym bleachers getting lectured by student leaders about dress code and such. I seem cheesy, I know, but enjoy every minute. Don’t blink because you’ll miss it. .This spring I want to keep my eyes wide open, laugh whenever I can, and go spectate every game. Soon the seniors will move on to their new schools, while all others will rumble down the gym bleachers during Moving Up Day to enter their new grade. Then we will have to say goodbye to our friends for the summer. But we will still smile because next fall will bring a new start, even if it is not at Brewster.

by Ms. Kim Ross

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by Tara Fitzpatrick ’17

Official Review: Huck’s Hoagies

by Noah Spiegel ’17

We all dread the long and exhausting downhill trek to the bread and meat supplier known as “Huck’s Hoagies”. They have established themselves as the top of the hierarchy ever since they took over the rule of “Mike’s Meats” back in 2004. I still remember reading about the battle on the telegram, chopped vegetables, raw meat and an abundance of sauce obliterated the streets of Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. I was nervous to make the haj to Huck’s, but I had to, it was my duty as a human, the reason I was placed on this sullen ground, to review a cheesesteak, (no mushrooms of course, as they are the spawn of Satan in vegetable form). As I stepped into the pale white edifice, a wave of scents attacked my nares, and a shriek of melodies entered my ears. The time had come to request my order. I stood, legs wide, ready to duel, and I stared into the pit of her soul, waiting. “Can I help you?”, said the woman, draped in a white garment. “Yes, yes you can, you can start by removing your mask and revealing who you really are, as we all know

you are the beast”. The crown went silent. “You can also help by preparing for me the cooked meat of the finest cow in town, doused with the cow’s milk, fermented and flavored, and prepared with all of the luxurious greens, and gently placed on a casket made of grain. “So the Deluxe Steak and Cheese?” she asked.

“Affirmative!!!, and speedily beast, I can hear the cries from my gastrulas!”, I responded. The sun had set 30 degrees south, so I knew my creation was ready to be consumed. I picked up the meticulously wrapped object and pulled out my blade. With one swift motion, it was unfolded and the sandwich appeared in front of my eyes, steaming, almost crying for help, but no one could save it... not now. As I clenched the coarse, yet soft object and brought it to my mouth, the townsfolk hushed. It seemed as if all eyes of this small New England town were focused on me, as this was the new reckoning of Christ. The casket was inching closer and closer to the dark pit known as my mouth when suddenly, I remembered, I’m a vegan.

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“Zeke” by Jenna Burgess ’17

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Open Letter to My Cell Phone

by Morgan Price ’17

Dear cell phone: I guess I kind of have a love-hate relationship with you.

By now, I’m at that point in senior year where I’m in college and I really don’t want to do anything anymore. You don’t exactly help with that.

Like, at all. You actually kinda make it worse.

But, on the other hand, you help me. How else am I going to look up words I don’t understand when people are texting me? How else am I gonna get out of awkward situations? Do you even know how many times I’ve used you to get out of strange conversations with strange people?

“Oh, sorry, be right back, my dad is calling me.” Spoiler alert: my dad isn’t calling me. That was you saving my ass.

I mean, you also waste my time. Snapchat, Twitter, and Instagram? Yeah, you kinda ruined my life with those. My attention span is now down to that of a goldfish. Do you know how long theirs is? Three seconds.

Another thing I used my cell phone to look up. So thanks again, I guess.

I guess, at the end of the day, I’m on the fence mostly about you. While I love you and can’t imagine life without you and all the amazing things you do for me, you also kind of ruin my life in ways only a cell phone could.

But in the end, you’re alright, so I guess I’ll keep you.

Love, Morgan

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The Wicked Tree

by Maria Draper ’17

The wicked tree The wicked tree You’ve seemed to change But will you turn on me?

The summer shafts of light snake between your branches But I have seen a darker time heavy with doom Once my brothers hung from you Now the children climb you through The wicked tree The wicked tree When will you come for me?

by Mr. Zack Apgar

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by Caleb Getto ’17

Conversation with Papa

by Noah Spiegel ’17

“Spiegel,” my grandfather asked, “do you know what it means?”

“It means our last name,” my 8-year-old self responded. He always wore that same grey wool sweater. It had the warm smell of a crackling fire, and I always wanted to be around him.

“It means looking glass.”

“Looking glass?” I said “What’s that?”

“A mirror,” he replied “As a Spiegel, we have three basic rules that go along with our name…

“Number one is Never Give Up. “You must never, until the day you die, put your head down and quit,” he said. “Sometimes you will be defeated and sometimes life will hit you so hard that you don’t want to get up, but Spiegels are fighters, so we get up even stronger and push on.”

I was hypnotized by the soft tone of his voice.

“Number two is Be Kind, be kind to others as you would want them to be to you. Be kind to your elders because they have much to teach you, respect your teachers, coaches, and friends. Be kind because in

this dark world we live in, kindness can be your light.

Kindness can lead you and others to happiness, and happiness is the key to life.”

I looked up to my papa. I believed that he and only he held the secrets to life, and the secrets to the world. He was a World War II vet, a Yale professor and renowned architect, but that didn’t mean much to me. To me, he was a superhero.

“And number three, the reason I told you the meaning to our name, is Always Be You. Always reflect, like a mirror does, your best self. If you look in the mirror and the person you see is not the person you want to be, then change.

“You are a fantastic kid, Noah, and I know you will grow up to be an even better man.

“Never forget these rules and never forget the meaning of our name.”

I haven’t forgotten, and I never will. Papa passed away a few years after that conversation. That hurt me for a long time. But I know he wanted me to be happy, and I know he wanted me to remember.

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The Boy Rangers of America “Talk Straight, Think Straight, Live Straight”

by Mr. T.J. Palmer

I’d guess that many “baby boom” kids who grew up in Wellesley were part of the Boy Scouts of America organization, but there was another splinter group of kids with Indian headdresses on their heads and wampum in their pockets that is worth mentioning – the Boy Rangers of America, Lodge No. 527.

Meeting in the basement of the Wellesley Congregational Church, the boys and their Dads had the distinction of being the very last “lodge” left in the world, having dwindled from a reported 200,000 members in forty-states and several foreign countries to about fifty youngsters in Wellesley by the time I showed up around 1971. In fact, the Wellesley Lodge had continued long after the national organization had dried up in 1933. I guess the head “Ranger Guide” here in Wellesley didn’t get the memo and decided to soldier on with an independent organization. That turned out to be a great decision for all us Rangers.

The Boy Rangers were built upon Native American traditions, complete with lodges, tribes and braves. All Rangers learned a whoop call, a special salute and a secret handshake. Wampum was paid every week from chores the boys did at home, and if you attained a certain rank you won the “Golden Sachem” trophy at the end of the year. Like any respectable organization we also had a motto – talk straight, think straight, live straight. We believed the skills we learned would allow us to live in the woods with nothing but a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a dull Swiss army knife.

As a young kid it was all very exciting, although I never did learn to start a fire by rubbing two sticks together.

On Saturdays we had our meetings, packed into a room that wasn’t much bigger than a large bedroom. It was jammed with Ranger paraphernalia from decades past like a downsized variety store. I do remember we recited a lot of words, which apparently included the “Great Laws,” the Lord’s Prayer, the Pledge of Allegiance and a Ranger Pledge. By the time all that was accomplished you had a room full of kids in need of some serious physical activity. For indoor energy release, we used the church “gym,” rolling and throwing leather basketballs at each other in games of dodge ball. Most of what we did was outside, the most famous activity being “Capture the Flag” using the aqueduct at Nehoiden Golf Course.

The most distinguishing feature of the Boy Rangers, and, my theory for why they are no more, was that the dads were actually involved. When a dad signed his son up, he signed himself up too, which meant sons and dads spent the better part of their Saturday afternoons together.

Instead of the drive-by-drop-off-see-you-in-two-hours ritual of many organizations today, the father actually had to get out and participate. I’ll be honest, I mostly saw my dad in blue suits and polished wingtips during the week, but on Saturdays he broke out the sneakers, the chinos, and left his tie in the closet.

Beyond just participating, the dads were to report their expertise to the Ranger Guide and then help lead the whole group in that activity, whether it was canoeing, knot-tying, or bird-feedermaking. My dad’s work involved inertial guidance systems for ballistic missiles, so he organized the launch of multiple Estes model rockets. Naturally, chasing down “real” rockets by the sight of their plastic parachutes beat working on a chickadee house any day.

The dads did it all in this organization, even going along on the famous weekend retreat in June to the Grotonwood Camp. For $12 for the dads, and $8 for each Boy Ranger, it was a fairly cont. on pg. 15

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cont. from pg. 14

cost-effective way to keep all us Rangers busy with baseball, swimming, movies and a big mountain climb during the day. At night, with dozens of bunk beds tightly packed in a single room, I’m afraid the Dads were woefully ill-equipped to keep us boys to the declared “lights out” at 9:45 p.m. We consumed our hidden stashes of Milk Duds, fired our spitballs at unsuspecting faces, and pillow-fought our way toward midnight. The dads, taking turns at verbal warnings, showed a remarkable amount of patience and fake anger. Our Ranger Guide, a Mr. Henderson in my career, only had two rules for the weekend in 1972 : “Anyone who misbehaves at bedtime will run laps” and “Good manners and clean clothes and hands are a must in the Dining Hall” . omewhere around 1985, there was a last ditch effort to save the organization by trying to S coax a neighboring town to start a lodge of their own, believing there was safety in numbers.

Unfortunately, when the Dads of that town discovered it wasn’t a drop-off event, the idea died, and so too, several seasons later, did the Wellesley Lodge No. 527.

I suppose it’s a bit sad to speculate how many young boys could have benefited from such an organization over the past several decades, but to all those former Boy Rangers out there who were lucky enough to spend a whole bunch of Saturdays with their dads, I’d say you’re better for it. To all those dads who don’t need an organization to do it today – I’d say that’s one of the best decisions you can ever make.

by Caleb Getto ’17

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Thursday, Oct. 27, 2016

by Mary James’20

If you had one wish What would it be Like for real what Would you Money?

Would you Power?

Would you True love?

would

you

wish for wish for wish for wish for

I mean all that sounds nice However Did I ask

you

You the $250 shoes, and $20,000 dollar earring that you’ll only wear twice I wasn’t asking

you

You the privileged, private school educated, perfect grades Petty Is what I call that state of mind Now I’ll ask that question again If you had one wish, What would it be?

Who’s the you that comes to mind now?

Maybe the man down the street who was once a boy one of seven single mom “So he comes from a big family...So what?” that privileged mind says His house was a kitchen a washroom a tv room and a room where they all would sleep But the man who was once boy says he would see he doesn’t He just

live is

wish for down the street down the street

his life living there again

And your privileged mind wants money power and true love?

I don’t know what I’d wish for Maybe I’d wish that Didn’t always mean

you yourself

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by Ms. Michelle Rafalowski

Ant’s Journey

by Herbie Hazelton ’17

The small strip of horribly paved blacktop relaxes in the sun beneath my feet. The sun’s powerful rays are no match for the wind sent from the lake, who emerges victorious, making this day rather cold. The cold makes sense considering the fact that the spot I chose to sit is near a lake in New Hampshire as the seasons transition from summer into fall.

The smallest of beings attracts my eye as I consider the long journey this ant has to travel across the blacktop. I would crush that trip in a matter of seconds, but to this little guy it’s like a whole world. An open area with all sorts of dangerous crevices just waiting to swallow the poor guy. Multiple oceans anywhere he looks. To me the oceans are just small puddles created by the previous day’s rainfall, but to him it is dying the horrible death of drowning. I think about how hard it is for him to travel through the wind, and I notice he is moving toward the grass.

His microscopic insect legs propel him toward the grass, yet another mini-world inside a far bigger world. A safer world for a little ant. The blacktop is too open and has too many hazards. The grass allows him to be hidden and in the shade, protected from the sun and the wind. No one can see him in the grass, and I imagine he loves it for that reason. I wonder if he can see me and if so, does he depict me as some big monster to be afraid of? The grass is his protection. The grass to a little ant is like a jungle to me. I don’t believe I would feel safe in the jungle compared to an open plateau, but I am also bigger than anything that could potentially crush me.

The ant is about halfway done with his journey, and he can almost taste the sweet grassy raindrops slowly creeping down the sides of each individual blade. He now can smell the pungent aroma of the majestic grass which acts as motivation for his tired limbs. I think of how tired he must be and make a connection in my head to myself doing advanced every day. My running compares to this ant’s twelve-foot journey. We both are very tired toward the end, but know we have to push through to get to the Promised Land.

He is practically there now, countless blades of grass towering over the worn down little fellow. A major feeling of satisfaction falls over me when I watch him submerge into the jungle. Instantly greeted by shade and shelter, no more gusts of wind and blaring sun rays exhausting him of all his energy. He just went from one world to another. It felt good to have seen his whole journey and to know that he is now safe and out of harm’s way. No more risk of falling into a trench or drowning in an ocean. His exhausting travels are done and now he gets to relax just like how I am now done with my school day. Very productive 20 minutes for the both of us.

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17

by Michelle Su ’18

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Makeup’s Meaning

by Sumayya Al-Kindy ’17 When I was a child, I used to watch my teenage sister put on her makeup. Luxurious it was not, but I was hooked.

How she powdered her face, how her lipstick was practically smeared on her lips yet looked perfect, and how smokey her eyes were. I was completely mesmerized. It was no surprise that I then wanted to wear makeup in my pre-pubescent years. Red lipstick, bold kohl eyeliner, and so much powder that if one were to merely look at me in broad daylight, the streaks would be ever so prominent.

I then went years without makeup, considering it to be too fake, until I stumbled on MakeUpByLex. She is a beauty blogger, who does a lot of Halloween makeup, and I was once again hooked. It was from that night onwards that I discovered my absolute love for creating new things using makeup. From skull candy face, to neon zombies, I’ve tried a lot of looks, which I’ve loved experimenting with.

That being said, when I bring up this passion of mine to friends, especially my male friends, I face all the jokes and stereotypes. I didn’t understand why people linked liking makeup with being too girly, not that it is a bad thing, or with looking good for males. So, I decided to investigate and prove my point that makeup might have been about one stereotypical thing in the past, but it is far from it now, and is, in fact, a source of further confidence.

I first started with searching about a quote I heard in a Beyonce song. Yes, Beyonce helped me write this essay. In a Ted Talk, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a feminist Biafran author, said, “We say to girls, you can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful, but not too successful. Otherwise, you would threaten the man.

Because I am female, I am expected to aspire to marriage.

I am expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important thing. Now marriage can be a source of joy and love and mutual support; but why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? We raise girls to see each other as competitors; not for jobs or accomplishments, which I think can be a good thing, but for the attention of men. We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are” (Goldstein 124).

I think of this quote every time someone makes fun of my genuine interest in makeup. Whenever they do, I immediately think of giving up and shutting down, and that I was not good enough compared to other girls. But, this makes me realize that I only think that because I am programmed by society to think so. I am adjusted to living my life sub par to my dreams. Chimamanda truly is a woman who encourages girls to break free for the restraints of society. During her interview with the New York Times, she was asked about why she decided to go against what people thought and wore makeup (Safronova).

Her response? When you get older, you realize there really is no time to take shit from anyone. She didn’t care what

others thought of her wearing makeup because she isn’t doing it for them. She wants to, so she does. .When one looks back in the history of makeup, and how it’s progressed over the years we notice that through different eras, and different cultures, different styles of makeup arose. From bold eyes and lips of ancient Egypt, to the face powdered white with rose cheeks in royal England, and from the rise of the unibrow in Greek era, to the stick thin eyebrows of the rad 90’s, styles varied drastically from one another (Cowie). Those examples were varied not just in style, but in cultures as well. For example, let us see the history of makeup in Iran.

In a video titled, “100 Years of Beauty,” they show the different styles through different decades. They start in the early 1900’s when women had a thick unibrow, a heavy hijab, and basically no makeup for conservative reasons.

A few years later, they use stylistic hats to suit the roaring 20’s. Two decades after, they had bold maroon lips, smoky eyes, and dusty rose effect on their cheeks. The 60’s came in strong with a beehive hairstyle, pink lips, smokey eyes, and red cheeks. However, with the Islamic revolution in the 80’s, women began not to use makeup anymore, and wore a full hijab. And during the Green Protest women wore looser hijabs, had little to no makeup and would smear green paint on their cheeks. And in 2010, the makeup was very little, going for a more natural look. The whole point of this is to say that I am pretty sure that America didn’t have an Islamic Revolution where women covered up and didn’t wear makeup. Every culture is different.

In the past, the reasoning for women wearing makeup was to please men, in order to get married, and to settle down. This was especially after the first world war, when women wanted a stable life. They used makeup to get noticed by returning men from the army (Spivack). It was the social norm, and the pressure was too high to vary from that. However, in today’s age, more and more women AND men are breaking free from that. They prove that makeup is a tool to enhance one’s features, and is a way to gain confidence. Through it, people learn to accept themselves.

I have two examples showing how makeup grows confidence for people. The first is from YouTube beauty blogger NikkieTutorials in her video, “The Power of Makeup,” where she states that it is absurd that it is practically a crime to say that you genuinely love makeup.

So, she fought back by doing a half face of full glam makeup, and the other just her, with nothing on her face. The purpose is to say that makeup has no guidelines, no regulations. It is there for when you want to look “hella fine” while knowing you are beautiful with or without the makeup, however, other than that it is just fun (NikkiTutorials). .The other example is from yet another YouTuber by the name of Manny MUA, (in case you haven’t noticed, cont. on pg. 20

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cont. from pg. 19 I love watching makeup tutorials on YouTube). Manny MUA has recently been named one of the first ever male spokesperson for Maybelline, a few months after another fellow male YouTuber by the name of James Charles was named Cover Girl’s very first CoverBoy (Krause).

Although both Manny and James are just two of the many males proudly wearing makeup and breaking social norms, I choose to speak about Manny since he is one of the first men making makeup tutorials that I have seen. I remember discovering him through my instagram explore, and it was a meme, which -in case you did not know, means “A special word meaning ‘trend’ or ‘fad’ that occurs solely on the internet,” (Urban Dictionary). The picture showed Manny with makeup on one side and without on the other, and it was captioned, “Get you a man who can do both.” I still remember thinking that he was so attractive in both pictures, and got very jealous at his makeup skills. In his videos, he talks about being insecure and how he tries not to care, and how makeup helped him a lot. Does he have people who hate on him? Of course. But, he’s finally accepted himself, so no one can take that from him.

Additionally, different cultures have different expectations. For example, did you know that in South Korea it is expected that all stars wear makeup, including men (Noor)? Any longterm lover of Kpop music, also known as Korean Pop, will know that it is a must to have makeup on. Kunpimook “BamBam” Bhuwakul, a member of Kpop group Got7, is known for his beautiful application of makeup and his great sophisticated sense of style (JTBCentertainment). In a juxtaposition to BamBam, Amber “Llama” Liu, from the Kpop group F(x), is breaking South Korea’s expectations by having a more masculine style. She has previously stated that because of her choice to dress comfortably, which comes off as “manly”, she has been harassed and now has a phobia of public bathrooms (Lim). Although she faces these hardships, she still sticks to her ideals and preferences, and advises people who are going through similar situation, as she believes in the statement, “There is beauty in variety,” (Liu).

In the end, there’s just no way I can write one essay discussing all the benefits of makeup trying to prove a point. There’s just too many; be it confidence, to comfort, or from a fun stress reliever to performing for the world (Falletta). There’s just so many reasons why women and even men enjoy or prefer makeup. So to those saying that “women wear makeup for men”, or “men who wear makeup aren’t real men”, or even those reading this essay and not believing a single word written, I shall end on the slightly modified words of Manny MUA. “If you don’t like this [article], if you don’t like me, please don’t fucking [read] it.”

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Works Cited “100 Years of Beaty: Iran.” Your Middle East. N.p., 11 Mar. 2015. Web. 20 Jan. 2017.

Cowie, Caitlin. “This Is How Dramatically Women’s Makeup Has Changed Throughout History.” Buzzfeed.

YouTube, 11 Apr. 2015. Web. 14 Dec. 2016.

Falleta, Augusta. “14 Women Tell Us Why They Wear Makeup.” BuzzFeed. N.p., n.d. Web. 10 Jan. 2017.

Goldstein, Jennifer. “POWER MOVES. (Cover Story).”

Marie Claire (US Edition) 23.11 (2016): 124. MasterFILE Premier. Web. 7 Dec. 2016.

JTBCentertainment. YouTube. N.p., 25 Nov. 2015.

Web. 10 Jan. 2017.

Krause, Rachel. “YouTube Star Manny MUA Was Born To Be The Face Of Maybelline.”

Maybelline First Male Spokesperson. N.p., 5 Jan. 2017.

Web. 10 Jan. 2017.

Lim, Steven. “We Spent A Day With A K-Pop Star And Her Life Was Normal AF.” Buzzfeed. N.p., 13 Aug. 2016.

Web. 10 Jan. 2017.

Liu, Amber. “4 Things Show.” Mnet. N.p., 24 Feb. 2015.

Web. 10 Jan. 2017.

MannyMUA.”MannyMua733.” YouTube. N.p., n.d.

Web. 10 Jan. 2017.

NikkieTutorials. “The Power of Makeup.” YouTube.

N.p., 10 May 2015. Web. 10 Jan. 2017.

Noor, S.Mubashir. “Why K-Pop has Men Wearing Makeup.” Medium. Cuepoint, 03 Apr. 2016. Web. 10 Jan. 2017.

Safronova, Valeriya. “Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Talks Beauty, Femininity and Feminism.” The .New York Times. 28 Nov. 2016. Web. 08 Dec. 2016.

Spivack, Emily. “The History of the Flapper, Part 2: Makeup Makes a Bold Entrance.”

Smithsonian. Smithsonian Institution, 7 Feb. 2013.

Web. 10 Jan. 2017.

Urban Dictionary. N.p., n.d. Web. 10 Jan. 2017.

by Caleb Getto ’17

Scared

by Renying Zhang ’19

When I walked in my grandma’s room, saw her lying on her bed with her eyes closed, I felt scared. Crying lingered in my ears and my mind went blank. I moved my body slowly towards her. When I touched her arm, it was cold. I tried to shake her arm because I felt she was just asleep. I still had hope that she would open her eyes and smile at me like always, but this time she never did. She fell asleep forever. I rushed into bathroom, turned on the tap, let the water flow out. I splashed the water on my face and let the droplets fall from my face. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red, and I...

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“Wall of strings” by Ms. Maria Found (above) “Wilma” by Ms. Deanna Rowley

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(left) by Ms. Barb Thomas (below) by Michael Trepanier ’17

by Ms. Alicia Childers ’01

by Tara Fitzpatrick ’17

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Protest

by Maria Draper ’17

Protest Boots stomp Voices cry Being forced back But still they try To stand their ground Heads held high Losing loved ones We weep and sigh Tear gas, vests, and shields Look me in the eye Don’t you tell me what I feel I march on Chant the mantra They close in.

by Caleb Getto ’17

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Discrimination

by Dani Slap ’17

.Being adopted leaves you with many questions. Not knowing who you are, who you came from, and really not knowing anything at all. I was born in Baton Rouge, Louisiana and adopted right at birth. My adoption was closed, so in that case, my parents don’t know my biological parents, nor do I. Since Hurricane Katrina happened, I guarantee most of my files have been washed away, which makes it much harder emotionally, considering I want to meet my birth parents someday. I don’t even know what race I am. What little information my mom was given was my biological mom had blonde hair and blue eyes, and my dad had hazel eyes and blonde hair. This leaves me thinking a lot, about what I’ve dealt with basically my whole life. The same questions over and over again. “Are you black… You look black…. You have a black person’s butt…. You have black people hair… Are you a [the N word]…?” It’s all I get. It’s annoying. Can people be nicer about it? They can’t help but ask. It’s like they can only accept me knowing my race. I look mixed, and I’m perfectly fine with that. But when people ask, I have no choice to say, I don’t know. Then, when I say I don’t know, they ask me why I don’t know. When I tell them I’m adopted, they look at me all weird like, “oh ok never mind.” I just wish people wouldn’t have to ask and be bothered by my response. Sometimes I’ll make up what race I am to see if they will respect me better, and it seems like it works. I just wish people could accept someone for who they are.

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.YDSLEXIC

by Megan Olszewski ’20

. Dyslexic kids are sometimes judged to be Les S mar than kids who don’t have it But they just look at problems differently It’s how their Brains are W-i-r-e-d I could finally B r e a t h e when I began To start my Journey of reading during second grade Sometimes, I wanted to Curl up in a Ball So no one could see me, Because I am so small.

When I realized that my life Would be okay and everything would be impossible

by Yuerei Wang ’17

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Empty

by Robbie Rohrbaugh ’20

Like a clean slate, empty.

Broken down, beaten down; His father (a lefty) came with the hand, knockdown.

He leaves, just for twenty.

His body lay, with a frown, boiling like hot tea his face all blue and brown

by Caleb Getto ’17

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Snapshot

by Joy Cartwright ’17

.The shell of the boat skims across the inky black surface. It is still dark, and the sky is filled with stars twinkling above my head. The moon sits low in the sky, its light beating down on the water creating a shimmering reflection. The only sound that can be heard is the click as the oars lock in place, and the sound of the seat moving up and down the slide. Sitting in the bow of the boat I can feel the swing and the check of the boat as I get rocked back and forth, the sensation lulls me to sleep, like a lullaby I am rocked in the arms of the boat. The rhythmic sound is only broken by an occasional bark of an order I command. The commands sound harsh, however, the tone of my voice and fall according to the swing of the boat, rising and falling as the pressure rises and lessens. Working in a crew shell is something ancient. Although the shapes of the boats, and the shapes of the oars may have changed, the same swing and feeling stays. As sunlight breaks the sky line, I make out the fog skimming across the water, and obscuring everything from view.

by John Cha ’17

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Rain, Rain, Don’t Go Away

by Audrey San Cartier ’19

I stand outside.

I feel the wind on my back.

I wait. I listen.

Drip. Water splats on my head.

Drop. It lands on my foot.

Splat. The cold liquid runs down my face.

I feel at peace The soft pitter patter of the rain lulls me to sleep. The rain reminds me. It reminds of my sadness. It reminds me of my happiness. It reminds me of successes and my failures. The rain reminds me. It reminds me. Makes me remember the good times and the bad times. It cries with me when I need to cry. It rages with me when I feel anger. It cleans my heart and my mind.

I love the rain, when I can run outside and feel the water running down my face, soaking my body, soaking my mind, and cleaning it. My mind becomes clear and for an instant, I feel like I’m flying, I am soaring, no longer a bird trapped in a cage. My wings shall never be tied again, preventing me. Preventing me from touching the gray sky.

In the rain.

There I stand, alone, and cold I wait. I listen.

Drip. Water splats on my head.

Drop. It lands on my feet.

Splat. The cold liquid runs down my face.

I am free.

by Jenna Burgess ’17

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Open Letter to Music

by Sumayya Al-Kindy ’17

Dear Music, As I stare out of the window of the car, and gaze open the blur of things passing too fast, you are with me. You calm me down, take me to a place without moving from my place, create a feeling of ease, and stop me from having severe motion sickness. My parents don’t understand the deep connection I have with you. How I shut everyone out in the car, how I can’t sleep unless you’re there blasting in my ears, or even how I have near panic attacks when my headphones stop working; they don’t get it. You’re toxic for me in all the right ways.

No one understand exactly how I’m feeling at any given moment but you, nor do can they pull me out of a sour mood.

When my grandmother passed away, I prayed a lot and that helped. But, I also listened to you. When I couldn’t stop crying the following days after her death, when I had to run out of class trying to hold my tears in, I simply put in my headphones, and there you were. It started slow but then you managed to stop the tears from flowing. It’s almost embarrassing for me to write this as I am listening to you right now, but this is the only way I can actually write freely.

To be honest though, you were there for me through a lot of things. Back home you get a lot of hate from people, they say you’re bad for us and you destroy our connection with people and with God. If I’m frank, they speak some sort of truth because when I am with you, I’m yours and if anyone take you away from me I get irritable. I guess in some ways you are damaging. However, I can’t ever let you go. You’ve done too much good for me to let you go. You’ve been too good.

You are too good.

I don’t know if I have expressed just how much I care for you, but I do care. I hope you know. Thank you for everything.

Sincerely yours, Sumayya Al-Kindy

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30 Years From Now

by Build Sricharoenlumsam ’19

Ten years from now I’ll be sitting in my office at 10 pm trying to figure out on how to do a project. I probably have a cup of coffee to my left laptop on my right my feet up on a table crisscross together and a stack of sketches in my hand. I will probably sit in a room that is half dark half light all alone.

In 30 years, though, I’ll be chilling on the beach. Instead of sketches and coffee, I will have my phone and a Mojito. No more work, I’m retiring. My life goal is to make so much money so that I can retire by the age of 40. I believe that you have to work hard when you can and so you can enjoy life at the end. You might have to work more that play, but it worth it. Think of the time that you get all of your work done by six and you’re just watching football or taking a nap in study hall.

How does that feel?

by Colin James ’17

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6:54

by Grace Factor ’20

People think space is an unreachable thing.

But I found it between your fingers and behind your eyes.

Someone told me it takes three years to travel to Mars.

But I can spend twenty minutes in your arms and have traveled farther and learned more than any astronaut could learn in their entire life.

by Hailey Buffington ’18

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I Am

by Elsa Smith ’20

I am from the oceanside all the way to the Rocky Mountains and back From driving across the county with two dogs, four kids and a U-Haul- I am from Colorado I am from fairy houses in the tall rotten woods of Maine built on love and imagination, From the wind whipping through my hair and the salt on my skin - I am from Massachusetts I am from the bottom of pools fetching torpedoes with chlorine stung eyes and tan lines From the sting of cold on my fingers and toes and the wind burns on my face - I am

by Tasha Getten ’17

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by Hailey Buffington ’18

Artwork by Mrs. Hunter’s students and members of the class of 2018: Saige Buffington (including balloon), Isabel Dodds, Trevor McLean, Jake Cahill, Junrae Kim, Gates Arnold, Anne Alperin, Robbie Worthington, Xiuyi Li, Abbi Hoff.

Wire figure by Sarah Geisel ’11.

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Open Letter to Kanye West

by Peter Leach ’17 [All song titles by Kanye are underlined.]

Dear Kanye West fans, I understand your struggle. Why can I buy Kanye West merchandise All Day, but still not be able to achieve Kanye status? I also understand your pain. It’s Amazing the way Kanye West walks, lives, and even breathes. Oh God, why can’t I walk in Kanye’s shoes just for one day? For those of you fans wondering how you will ever achieve superstar status just like Kanye West, fear no more. My name is Peter Leach, and my goal is to help you fans achieve your dreams and Touch the Sky! Yes you all heard me right! I am going to show you how to be Kanye West!

Step one on your journey To the World of being Kanye West is as follows: Buy a pair of Yeezy’s. Kanye West has come out with a brilliantly designed sneaker line called the “Yeezy’s”.

These shoes may look like Skechers, and also may not be the most comfortable. However, If you shove these two facts to the back of your mind then The Joy of being like Kanye will be radiating throughout your body. However, shoes do not complete one’s ensemble. In order to achieve Kanye status, one must also purchase his clothing items. Kanye sells shirts for the low price of $2,000 on Amazon. True these shirts do come with rips and holes in it, but you can just tell people you were in a fight. This is a low price to pay in order to be popular. In fact, Hold My Liquor while I make my purchase.

For this next part, one needs to be Stronger. Step two in the road of being a Kanye clone is as follows: Never crack a smile. It is noted that in history nobody has ever seen Kanye West with a smile on his face. I Wonder why he is never happy since he is the most loved human being on earth by all. An old wives’ tale states that Kanye West was dropped on his funny bone as an infant. His mother was shocked, causing her to drop Kanye West during one of his temper tantrums. Kanye was sobbing tears of gold, while he was screaming in perfect pitch. I recommend that if one of you fans out there have an infant; drop him/her on the funny bone.

This act is not Heartless. Take all necessary precautions to ensure that your child is destined for a Hell of a Life like Kanye the God. Kanye West this year was released from a medical hospital due to “making a scene on stage” as some uneducated spectators call it. Kanye was ranting about the government on stage during one of his concerts. Sentences such as “Trump is evil”, “The illuminati is real”, and “Toilet bowls are used for alien transportation,” were said. He arrived at a crazy hospital, and for weeks there were No More Parties in L.A. Kanye West was diagnosed with sleep deprivation. For all you Kanye West fans out there, this is the plan. Whether you are a sign spinner, a fast food drive thru worker, or an illegal immigrant smuggler, I challenge you to do as I say. Make a scene at work! Rage about the government, Gold Diggers, paranormal activity, Girl Scouts. Rage about whatever is needed to rage about. The end goal of this is for you fans to build up your publicity in order to achieve Kanye Status. DO NOT LET KANYE DOWN! cont. on pg. 36

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by Kyla Mae Gardiola ’17

To Kanye cont. from pg. 35

At the VMA awards a year ago Kanye West had no Mercy on Taylor Swift. Taylor Swift won a major music award, however Kanye let the audience know that Beyonce was more deserving of it. I have no idea why Taylor Swift took this as a personal attack! She was So Appalled! She had absolutely no idea how to write a song about somebody trashing her reputation at the VMA awards. She is known for writing music about every break up that she has ever been in.

However, this is uncharted waters for her. Take notes Kanye fans, this act is how you all build up your reputations.

Lastly, choose the right family because you are Bound 2 have a Good Life. All of you fans, marry a woman like Kim Kardashian. She is wifey material. Kim has always had successful past relationships. Kim is an amazing woman because she steers clear of all drama. She is very open with her body, which is great for publicity. Lastly the two have great taste in baby names such as “North West.” Fans, follow my guidelines that I have provided you all with. Read this letter and use it as your life motto. I believe in you all.

Best wishes, Peter Leach

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by Caleb Getto ’17

Finally Rich

by Herbie Hazelton ’17

The tapping of my fingers against the velvet seems to calm my nerves. I’ve never been in this situation before and my fingertips are prickling, sending waves of an unfamiliar nervous feeling throughout my body. I sit there sipping my drink as it warms the chills that generate from this nervousness. The very pretty waitress, wearing her tight black dress with sparkles that catch my eyes, keeps coming back with my favorite drink. My friend hands me another cancer stick. For some reason, I feel cool sucking down that horrid brown chemical, wrapped in a thin white papery material. The smoky haze drifting over the table acts as a distraction for my anxiety as I lock eyes with the slender Dominican man standing across from me, a sly look on his face. My only concern was beating him, and so far me and my boys were doing very well for our first night in this wonderful place. .Hand after hand is distributed by the thin brown man dressed in a black tuxedo with a shiny purple vest tucked into his flashy gold belt buckle. I ride the roller coaster up and down, wondering if I’ll slip up and lose it all. I have no willpower as I am having way too much fun and stepping away isn’t an option I am considering anytime soon. I am on a mission with all my friends to beat this soulless man standing before us. He has no worries in the world and he knows how important every hand is to us high school seniors trying to enjoy our spring break.

I gulp down drink after drink, slowly feeling the effects of the succulent liquid. The alcohol flows through my body causing me to let my guard down and because of that the chips in front of me lose their ever so important meaning. .At this point I am in a dull state of mind. The waitress bringing my drinks is even more beautiful than before, and the sparkles on her tight black dress are almost blinding. A quick look cont. on pg. 38

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cont. from pg. 37

around the table brings joy to my heart as I see the humongous smiles lit up across my best friends’ faces. We are all having the time of our lives, and I don’t want it to ever end. One of my friends, Knowlt, doesn’t care much at all for the money in front of him because it’s all from his parents. The drunker Knowlt gets, the more and more he starts putting down. At first I expect him to quickly lose his money, causing him to suffer as he watches us continue, but something about Knowlt that you should know is that everything goes right for him in every possible circumstance. Thousands of dollars’ worth of chips begins to stack, and before I knew it the Great Wall of China was before him. .We are too engaged in our environment to keep track of time. What I thought to be an hour was really six. I alert my friends, and we all remember that the place closes soon. Now, smart kids would get up and cash out with their earnings, but at this point in the night we are far past smart. We decide to go all in on our final draw of the night. .Biting our nails and grinding our teeth, we watch the same brown man, who at this point we are very familiar with, deal us our 2 cards each. Not a single one of us had below 19. We are literally chillin’.

Thousands of dollars at stake, we stand up and pull on our hair, clench our fists, hold our breath, anything that we thought would stop our hearts from beating so fast. At first it seemed like a fun idea, but now comes the realization that we don’t want to lose our money.

“He’s gonna bust!” we yell. “He’s got nothing!” We were pacing around the table, yelling anything we could to make ourselves believe we had a chance of winning.

The room was spinning, the mellow Dominican music seemed to be droning on, and another round of drinks was brought our way, as we stand there waiting for this obnoxious man, who is taking his sweet time to flip his cards.

The first card he flips is a face which does not bode well with us and our money just waiting to be snatched up. He slides it onto his little mirror to check for the win, but he doesn’t have it.

The next card is a 6. It’s the best possible thing that could have happened. Now we need a 6 or higher to bring us to the Promised Land. We huddle together and watch him flip his final card.

When we see a 9 land flat on the table, we explode into the air and yell as loudly as we possibly can. Everyone in the room looks over and grants us congratulations. We had just won more money than any of us have ever possessed. What a magnificent night.

by Jenna Burgess ’17

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by Brianna Brown ’19

Autumn

by Emily Raynowski ’19

. y favorite season is obviously fall. It has my favorite holiday, all of the leaves M are so beautiful especially here, and the weather is amazing. It is just starting to get cold and there is a certain smell in the air. As soon as September rolls around my fall radar goes up and instant Halloween comes out. Pumpkin spice everything, orange, black, and purple decorations, spiders, vampires, everything Halloween. Then when those haunt nights roll around, they are filled with the amazing smell of fog and gasoline from the chainsaws, the air is filled with screams and the adrenaline runs high. Fall also has the best food, apple cider, apple cider donuts, apples in general, pumpkin seeds, pumpkin pie, pumpkin spice everything. I love it, and surrounding myself with other fall fanatics makes it even better.

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Poem

by Maria Draper ’17

We ran through the streets under the glowing streetlights Weaving between the rubble of paved roads They all look just like me.

For the first time, I fit in where I am, they tell me.

Am I home?

The next morning, we get up and cook breakfast for the homebase Gloves on, sweatbands tied, under the searing sun, we get to work Lifting, stacking, and sealing thousands of cinder blocks This school will be the gateway to their future Pride, empathy, and freedom swell in my chest as we walk to dinner The chances that could’ve been me stepping into the new school house in a couple months with its dirt floors, donated pencils, and one teacher: Luck?

by Aaisha Al Jabri ’18

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by John Cha ’17

Elton Street

by Jawan Lawson ’20

I. love Elton Street. It’s been my home for basically all of my 14 years of existence.

Even though, I am not that old, Elton Street has such a good vibe. Elton Street is shady with lots of trees and leaves throughout. We have beautiful plants that grow on and around the block. Sometimes during summer we have such splendorous water fights when the hydrant is opened. Elton has some of the best leaves, but also most annoying leaves, in East New York. .I like it at Elton. We’ve had the house for almost 30 years. It’s almost as if the house is a relic. Actually, the house is a relic. I have had so many great memories in the house on Elton Street. For example, when I was around four I rolled down the stairs with a lollipop in my mouth. I exposed my kneecap that day, I think. I also learned how to read words when I was about 1 year old. My mother set up different basic words around in the kitchen for me to learn how to say. I loved those days. .But, enough about the good of Elton Street. Elton Street is a two-sided coin. It’s dangerous over on Elton. There’s gang members and bikers over here. There were gunshots and street fights. People fighting over stupid stuff, the regular, the regular.

Somebody’s mans got popped. It’s crazy how the switch up happens, how life can change in just an instant. Tags and rags, druggies high off K2, all on Elton Street. It is really crazy (or brazy) how life is on Elton. Don’t even go to the park, ’cause that’s where another guy got popped. .I have escaped from Elton Street, for now, that is. I am in a different place, a different state. I have learned about peace and quiet. But Elton Street can never escape me. And I can’t escape Elton Street.

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Snapshot

by Maria Draper ’17

.It was dark there. No moon to illuminate the figure sprawled across the middle of the intersection. The low hum of the Ferris wheel and roller coasters drone on. The screams of the thrilled teens on the rides fill the air. The cars begin to slow and come to a stop as they realize what they have arrived upon. Their headlights create a spotlight effect on her. The sirens grow louder in the background. There is hysterical sobbing somewhere to my right. It must be the unscathed of the crossing group, reconvening and realizing they were short one person. Blindsided to say the least. We stand there, just staring. Is she okay? Well, of course she is not okay, what the hell! ... Do you think she is alive?... I do not dare move. The men in blue walk up to us, pull my dad aside, and talk quietly at the side of the road. They hand us the yellow papers, and walk off to manage the tragedy.

The large red truck backs up to her. They dismantle the stretcher and roll her limp body onto the clean, white, innocent bedding. She is hurriedly welcomed into the truck. The door swings shut. Then, they were gone. Guilt washes over me like a child who just cannot stand under the ocean wave’s force. The warm summer air stuck to the bloody asphalt twenty yards away.

by Aaisha Al Jabri ’18

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“Cog 1, 2, 3”

by Ms. Michelle Rafalowski

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The Big White Tents

by John Campbell ’19

So break is done and I—Am—Miserable. Going back to school after spring break sucks. It probably is pointless to feel that way, but it’s not something to control, like a disease that creeps up your spine.

I arrive at school and guess what, it’s snowing, oh yeah welcome to New England. I ignore it and then I hear my name called out, “John-John!” That’s what my best friend calls me. Oh! I actually forgot I had friends. I was too caught up in my own little bubble of solitude over break to notice. That was the first ray of sunshine that started to warm my day.

Okay so Biology first class, huh? As I sit through my first class, I realize I’m having an amazing time seeing all my teachers and peers again. Lunch? That means Esta! Wow, I can’t believe I forgot about how much I missed Esta food instead of pasta and chicken each night. The first day ends and I’m very content. I think I’ll actually survive the next eight weeks. A week passes and all I can think is seven left… only seven left. The icy grip of time crawls around my heart, but I manage to shake it off.

It’s been a few weeks and it is officially warm, sunny weather. Brewster is always a good campus year-round but man, spring is when it’s the most beautiful. All the bright green grass is back and that one little dead tree I passed during winter is now flooding radiant white petals. The academic part of spring has ended, time for PBLs, which are usually pretty chill because; A) there are no finals and B) you get to choose what you do it on. Graduation is close, too close.

PBLs are pretty much done and the only thing left to do is to attend graduation. During graduation the school chorus sings, and I’m in it. The song is always chosen by the seniors; it is tradition at Brewster. My sister wins a bunch of academic awards as usual, except this is the last time she will get any awards from Brewster. Damn it, I can’t think like that. I mean she’s not dying, and we’ll still have the summer together.

After graduation come the big white tents, set up at the end of each year. Underneath them lie tables

44 • OUTCROPPINGS • Volume 38

and little food bars with all sorts of fancy stuff. I have to admit, the tiny sandwiches are my favorite, not because they taste amazing, but because they’re so gosh darn cute. I plan visiting my friends every single day over summer, so I don’t get depressed and lonely.

As I watch the tents get taken down, I think to myself about all the amazing things that have happened over the school year. All the amazing people I have been able to meet. I wait on the steps outside of Esta, looking up at the sky and wondering, where will I be in five years? I don’t know, but what I do know is that I can’t wait to do it all again. The tents fall, oceans of white collapsing on itself, and as I walk away I can’t help but smile.

by Ms. Deanna Rowley

Outcroppings Brewster Academy • Wolfeboro, NH