Images 2014

Images

Robert Neithart - 4th grade

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Images From the Images Editors: This year the literary magazine staff received a plethora of fantastic submissions from cover designs to extensive short stories. We had the difficult job of choosing a select number of pieces, but we loved all of the entries. Our mission for this publication is to present a diversity of student voices, as well as to display the wide array of talents in our classmates. Thank you to everyone who sent in writing, art, and photography, and to the teachers who support the magazine.

Editorial Staff: Tara Adarkar, Saenah Boch, Zara Castillo, Marina Francis, Aron Guevara, Sarah Johnson, Ria Lalwani, Vivian Lu, Joshua Ma, Paul McKinney, Indu Pandey, Ryan Pizante, John Politis, Ian Tien, Aaron Treloar, Taylor Vaughn, and Ethan Wu

The distinguished American writer Joan Didon expressed her reasons for writing: “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see, and what it means. What I want and what I fear.” In this literary magazine our Chandler students, too, share thier unique perspectives and narratives through the magic of words from simple observations to more complex connections to their histories and yet-to-be-lived, nebulous futures. Each peace of writing, and I might add, art in this edition of Images is an authentic attempt to depict what the eye sees, what the heart feels, and what the intellect ponders. Through the written word we are all profoundly connected.

Donna Dretzka, Images Sponsor With special thanks and gratitude to the indispensible Bob Kondrath for co-ordinating and collating the copy.

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Images Flip Flopped Colors I jump out of my chair I jump out of my chair Race to hug my drained brother His sweet cologne And his rough sweater Music booming from his ear buds

It is Friday I tear open the crayon box Blue Pink Yellow Green The inevitable odor of wax A rumble breaks the silence As the garage door opens

It is Friday He hands me a bag Plastic and imsy Filled with treats Within seconds Two gummy bears disappear The sugary delights

It is Friday I color the owers green The sky yellow The grass pink The sun blue I color Mindlessly eager

It is Friday I smile He grins An unexpected surprise A longed for tradition Everyday should be Friday

It is Friday I hear the doorknob twist The jingle of the keys Cat Lee 8th grade

Kristina Yin - 8th grade

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Images Snapshots I hold my camera and take photos of the world around me.

I look at my friends; I see them all smiling.

I see the little details and patterns; I take pictures of those.

I look at my camera roll, and see tons of photos.

I scroll through the images; I select the first one.

I see…

Me and my family in the my grandparents’ cozy living room, on Christmas Eve. The room, decorated with multi-colored lights and paper snowflakes on the walls My younger cousins shouting with glee as they eagerly tear up the Glistening snowflake-covered, wrapping paper.

I see…

Everyone excitedly guessing what they received My small fingers tightly gripping a bright yellow pencil. before opening boxes An explosion of creativity bursting from my mind.

The multiple, loud calls of “This is just what I The vivid, colorful, sparks leaking onto a blank white wanted!” page.

The feeling of being connected with my family One dot, two dots.

Fill the room, and I feel A crooked curve an upside-down rainbow.

Loved.

A lopsided happy face.

I see…

I see…

Disneyland.

My hands kneading through soft yet resilient, dough.

My friends and I- the six of us, waiting patiently in Trying to make it into a round circle. line for 3 swirls of red tomato sauce.

Space mountain.

5 sprinkles of mozzarella cheese confetti.

Our screams are submerged in complete darkness.

0 slices of salty pepperoni.

Our hearts jump at the thrill of the ride.

A 350 degree masterpiece.

Up and down The oven door opens, and the smell of warm pizza hits Up and down me.

It has only been a minute; it is over I look at my creation, an oblong of distorted, burnt, top- We are all laughing. pings.

And I taste it, slightly grimacing.

I see…

The end of the camera roll.

I see…

But there is one photo, Myself flying down the court, feet pounding, heart Yet to be discovered, yet to fall into focus thumping.

In the near future.

Bouncing the ball on the shiny wooden floor.

Is it of me and my friends, laughing?

A rubber band slowly stretching inside me.

Is it of me, running down the court in joy?

The basket’s red rim appearing before me.

I will not know until the day comes, I gather my hands in the right position.

For another piece of my life to be captured.

Left, check.

In one photo.

Right, check.

A rubber band snaps within me — The ball propels towards the basket, becoming a mere blur.

Swish.

Vivian Lu 8th grade

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Images

Harrisan Smyser - 6th grade

My Land

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Aron Guevara - 8th grade

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Images Rivers My river has run long enough And it has been running strong It has twists and turns And bumps and stops No one said it would be easy

And you know I wish For nothing more Than to go back to how it was before I wanted us to be free Two healthy river, flowing side by side

I remember when you were young Always by my side Flowing happily next to me I saw you grow Into the man you are

But it can’t, and I know that you need me But there is nothing I can do The things we have done And the time we have spent Is what I have given to you

A long time ago we both knew That I was going to go To sink into the earth Without a trace Or evaporate into the sky above

Life for you should be good Don’t fall short Keep flowing on and don’t stop Until you reach the ocean Don’t stop until you are free

Whispering and turning Through our lives As you grew stronger I slowed and weakened Your whole life has been with me

Now before I go Before I sink away I need one promise from you For me to be happy And for you to flow free

A few short breaths is all I can take You tried to stop me From the choices I made And I really tried I did it for you

Do not make the choices I made Learn from my mistakes And as I lay here Living off nothing but mere oxygen I want nothing but the opposite for you

But it was too late I had done too much damage All of the life has left my river Like the smoke from a chimney Like the life from an old man

Now son, my river is all gone But you know yours must flow on Keep going, be free Stop at nothing Stay strong Max Mullin 7th grade

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Images

The Louvre

Walter Corngold - 6th grade

The Eiffel Tower

Walter Corngold - 6th grade

Aron Guevara - 8th grade

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Images i remember i remember the spring where mariposas lit up the sky with rows of buttermilk fringe that christened each wing flaring on the lilac and rose i remember the jam jar that stood half-full and the filter of sugar afternoon through the bend blinds i remember the heat that sunk in my skin and heaved on my neck like a thousand crooked diamonds i remember plucking a daisy from the sky with dots of power blue on its rim and cuddling it in my fingers to press into sticky glass i remember heartbeats echoing on the fold of the light-strained roof capped in black metal until the noise ceased and the beauty i had captured cried out in blank agony its dark, tender eyes retracting in the gloom i remember shattering the shell and watching it shower to the ground limply hovering above before falling flat lovely is confined by a two-breadth lifespan that craves the foul oxygen that tickles the sun and when it dies so sudden so flawed with time pursed on its upper lip i’d never have known to jam a fork in and out the silvery cover so stars of holes would let the winged soul fly and i must’ve cried the corpse away back to its heavenly grave Ryan Pizante 8th grade

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Images U r gr8 I come from a place where the world is only six seconds long A place where the arms of the angels ring in my ears Turned down for what is never amiss Eating away the hours on a small telephone I come from a place of selfies, fashion, and Harry Styles A place where likes matter more than life Fear to express yourself without a ton of effects I enter this place after I am freed from school A time for me to shine I come from a place where night and day do not matter A time to let go and post anything my heart pleases Hipsters, flowers, clothes, and text post 24/7 A heart button follows my every scroll and the power of reblogging is in my hands No one to judge my every move Oh, but how I love to tweet Contract my thoughts into 140 words Retweet 1D and favorite J.B. A chime every second And the story abbreviated to „u r gr8‰ Carina Grande 8th grade

Aron Guevara - 8th grade

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Images Quiet night, sleep tight don’t let the bed bugs bite warm covers good night can’t sleep counting sheep one-two-three nope, still not asleep Kristina Yin 8th grade _______________________________________________________________________________________ Cold mornings and chilly feet Burrowing into covers, refusing to acknowledge The sunny beams between window shades The lulls of dreams still clinging to me Even as my grandma screams, “Wake up!”

The alarm clock is annoying BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!!!!!

Slam the clock and hide deeper Into a sanctuary of warmth, heating bliss Until the blanket is stolen from me By a grandma-like meanie Begrudgingly open my eyes Get up extra slow just to annoy her Payback for waking me and Taking away my refuge From cold mornings Kristin Yin 8th grade

Katherine Arcinue - 6th grade

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Images A Cool Summer Day A cool summer day I watch Sable lay Ready for her end

As we lifted her body Her lifeless body We saw her bones move in an odd way And we knew that she has gone away

I watched as she cried Then slowly died On a cool summer day

They took her collar off And we watched her peaceful body lay

I touched her rough fur But she didn’t move I smelled grass and flowers I wondered if she did too But she couldn’t, she wouldn’t On that cool summer day

I felt my friend’s hair For her; it was too much to bear Her face against my shoulder I felt the need to hold her And the the words I told her Were a complete and made-up lie

There was a hole A great big pit Ready to be filled

I said “Sable is in a better place,” Not knowing what it meant or where Sable was My heart filled with regret

I saw a shovel A familiar shovel That had dug another grave

We filled the hole Cried some more On a cool summer day

I felt fear There were tears And quietness all around Megan Hsu 8th grade

Travis

Taylor Vaughn - 8th grade

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Images Will the Sidewalk End? (Response to “Where the Sidewalk Ends” – by Shel Silverstein) There used to be a place where the sidewalk ended Where flowers thrived and animals lived Where the sky was blue and clouds were white And the sun gave off much light Where you could escape the city And grey of the world And just come out and laugh and play But this place may not exist evermore For the clouds of black creep closer And the buildings loom taller Casting their stark shadows upon the grass Greying the colors of nature And sucking the oxygen from the trees Cities constantly expanding And taking what isn’t theirs The last of the place where the sidewalk ends Is shrinking and dying and being ignored Losing life, losing light So now the real thing to ask is Will the sidewalk ever end?

Uma Durairaj 7th Grade

Oceanfront

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Walter Corngold - 6th grade

Images R.A.H.P. my name is that of feverish Irish, grit embroidered in my veins a churn of origin and culture, the name is whispered in a spinster’s ear. the name is virtue, and opportunity, a white flag waving among storm-ridden war. the blood is Catholic, thick and pulsing name is custom. name is story. name is truth. i come from breweries and rebellion, of drunken Scots, and vast ivory hillsides of golden bobs and emerald eyes, of languages too immense to speak. of iron bloodlines, and preacher’s son by name as by self, myself as by name, I am branded branded in history and time alike, a name carries less meaning name is a foreclosure of existence, for the self holds the worth. Self dates beyond religion and trait. self is individualism, is foundation, and is discovery name is irrelevant, a bud of winter amidst the sun, ever unyielding amongst ourselves, we keep peace of mind, in knowing past is figment, and present is chance relics of the soul do delight in remembering our forefathers, but have conscience to the importance of generations to come discard the name and heritage tree, and uncover meaning upon self we are all of name, quotient, and value, but ascertain evidence of the soul of aspiration and longing take two leaps, or three, and find the self buried beneath one’s past my name is not self, my name is penny jar, and pocket stitch, and needle press my name is the lost, and my self is remembered.

Ryan Pizante 8th grade

A Day in France

Ashley Wu - 8th grade

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Images Seven Streets I come from a town that you’ve probably never heard of– Or your mother Or the girl next door Or the pimply Mexicatessen employee who always draws ninja cats on your takeout containers.

I come from a town infiltrated by my relatives, Where my grandfather is the mayor And my great-aunt works in every Mom n’ Pop, stained glass, and antique shop And if you ride your old bike to eat the ice cream at Margot’s you’ll probably run into one of my crazy cousins– or at least a cussing auntie.

I come from a town so small there are only seven streets And the gas is 50¢ more expensive but the coffee from Vertigo’s is twice as good Where mornings are sleepy and unproductive and all you can do is ride your old bike around until you slowly start to grow crazy like my cousins.

Saenah Boch 8th grade

Four Eyes I remember walking on stage with my entire body shaking, nervous fingers uncontrollably fumbling on the piano, heart violently palpitating against my ribcage to the beat of the Prelude.

I remember the day my mother discovered I hadn’t been wearing my glasses to school after all, And I remember the first time I actually did wear them.

I remember my friend from France who had a name as hard to pronounce as mine and who couldn’t spell and hated Tuesdays because Tuesdays meant modern dancing and she preferred ballet.

I remember the first time we played at her house She tried to teach me how to do pirouettes and I ended up falling on my butt, and it was years later before she finally gave up on my dancing career.

I remember when I didn’t have to wear glasses anymore, and my friend stopped calling me Four Eyes, and everyone else acted as if nothing had happened, their same reaction as last time.

I remember waiting for my turn to go on stage bored by Mozart and Beethoven and Bach and Chopin thinking about John and Paul and George and Ringo so distracted I forgot to be nervous– no mistakes.

Saenah Boch 8th grade

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Images Where I Come From I come from mounds of dark chocolate Where the bitter and sweet collide I come from rice Soft when cooked correctly I come from rigid hierarchy Where the top seems out of reach I come from scars Faded through time I come from eraser shavings Where I know mistakes are not an issue I come from a blank canvas Absorbing a plethora of acrylics I come from luxurious blankets Where what you want is what you get I come from rural villages The soil pleading for a single drop I come from soft palms Where trust is no issue I come from reality The truth will be told I come from hellos Where you make the first move I come from farewells The key thrown away I come from stacks of books Where knowledge is everywhere I come from vintage cars The classics never fade Cat Lee 8th grade

Aron Guevara - 8th grade

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Images Ma Jien Ping or Josh for Short Running like the wind, I hear the click, clack of my arch nemesis’ spikes, as I cross the finish line Dancing across the piano keys, groovin’ to Linus and Lucy Vince Guaraldi would be proud Playing basketball with my little brother I lower the hoop so he can make all of his shots Joshua Ma, Positive Leader Number One Grandson, Ma Jien Ping Sock Fashionista, Authentic Boy Scout My cute, little, loquacious brother Moses, makes me laugh My mother speaks of the history of my ancestors because she wants me to know that I come from greatness My father, my personal cheerleader, encourages me to persevere, when my goals seem unattainable I want people to know that our cultural heritage defines who we are I want people to know that I celebrate my African American heritage and my Chinese heritage I want people to know that both cultures define my identity Running like the wind, I feel confident that I can win I am free to dance across the piano keys like Oscar Peterson and play basketball like Jeremy Lin I am mentor to the Number Two Grandson, as he finds his Identity Joshua Ma 8th grade

Kara Garikian - 3rd grade

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Images Letter About Literature Dear Ms. Harper Lee, We have been taught to edit ourselves as humans, but what if we never did, would the world be a better, kinder place, or dangerous and deadly? Your book is the unedited version of life. Scout is the writer with no filter and Atticus is her editor, trying to soften the hard truth. At a young age, Scout does not realize how powerful her words are, nor did I at her age either. We all have the gift of words; it is powerful and can be used dreadfully incorrectly or, like the words in To Kill a Mockingbird, to send a message. You sent a message loud and clear, carefully choosing your words, creating vivid images of Jem’s and Scout’s life. The segregation that occurred in the South during those 100 years is graphically rewritten, but still softening the truth.

After reading your book, I realized how greatly times have changed since the 30s; it was a reality check.

Your book is a viewing glass into the segregation my grandfather, his father and mother, and my other relatives endured. They did not have the pale skin I possess, which hides my true background. Nor did they have the freedom I have now as a visually white American citizen when I truly am African-American, Mexican, and white.

They were judged by their skin color, like I, but their skin was dark and pure, unlike mine, pale but touched by different cultures. My grandfather grew up with Jim Crow laws just like Jackie Robinson. I grew up swimming in the same pool as Jackie Robinson, at Brookside Park. Swimming at Brookside is available for me seven days a week. Jackie and the rest of the African-Americans in the surrounding area could only swim every Friday, just before they emptied the pool for its weekly cleaning.

I am the mixed child Jem and Scout discuss with Dolphus Raymond, but I am not depressed, I AM PROUD. I am proud of my maternal grandparents for risking their lives, moving several times from Michigan to Oregon to finally California, and enduring the pain they felt when their marriage was annulled because biracial marriages were not legal in the state of Michigan, where they were originally married. They eventually crossed the state line to Ohio where mixed marriage was legal. Finding housing for their mixed family also provided obstacles. My white grandmother would secure an apartment for her family, her husband and two young daughters, the second my mother. At the time of the move in, the landlord would discover my grandfather was black and immediately evict them. I am proud to say my grandmother is an Ashkenazi Jew and my grandfather a black Catholic, for without them life would be boring. I am proud to say I celebrate Hanukah and Christmas.

To say I make tamales with my paternal side of the family on Christmas brings joy to my heart. If it were not for the risks my family members have taken I would be like everyone else. America would have no diversity if people only married within their races and religions. “Mixed” children would not exist if limits hadn’t been tested and boundaries hadn’t been passed.

I am saddened though; America still judges the book by its cover. Many people assume your skin color is who you are, not your last name, or family traditions. Never have people presumed my heritage as black or Mexican, I have been only called white. Maybe humans will never learn to look deeper beyond what they assume, or maybe they will come to the same conclusions and disbeliefs every time. Many people who do not believe the truth about my true background ask, “Why would you even want to be black or Mexican? At least lie about a race people want to be!” When these phrases, or similar ones are tossed at me, a quote of yours comes to mind, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his (her) point of view…until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” You are very right when you say this; I have reasons for wanting to be perceived as my true heritage, ones that people won’t even understand until they walk into my skin for a while.

Aron Guevara 8th grade Editorial: Aron’s letter to Harper Lee was the runner-up in the Level 2 division of the Letters About Literature contest sponsored by the Center for the Book and the Library of Congress. In May she received a certificate and prize at a reception on the campus of UCLA. The author Gene Luan Yang, who wrote and illustrated the graphic historical novel, Boxers and Saints, spoke to the audience.

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Images The People there are the stallions who whip their heads back and scream at the sky the stallions are free pure, beautiful, and powerful the hands of the government cannot grasp their reins these are the wild. there are the kittens who scream when they are in trouble who cry throughout the day the kittens are young helpless, adorable, weak the jaws of predators often grasp their backs these are the vulnerable

there are the dogs who walk each step on the road behind their master the dogs are accepting dedicated, trustworthy some fall into the traps set by evil there are the followers. there are the whales who cry through the water and glide through the depths the whales are majestic strong, gentle, and serene they know the claws of the government that scratch at their backs but they are gentle nonetheless these are the compassionate.

Amanda Schaller 7th grade

Andrew Kuai - Kindergarten

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Images The Bahamas cool wind in my face as i walk by the smoothie stand, bathing suit on, dripping tiny raindrops but my bright toenails are on fire my piùa-colada is protected under the toothpick’s shade as i walk back to my family nana lounging under her umbrella chair and dad in the river with baby, floating and laughing i sip and admire the radiant waves crashing against the dark rocks while the sand tickles my toes my brother calls to me i walk over and join the fun in my inner tube i lie and lounge but the lazy river is not so lazy after all, my brother turns me upside down i fall into the cool chlorine we laugh and smile because there is nothing else like The Bahamas.

Sarah Johnson 8th grade

Joanna Kwok - 3rd grade

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Images

Generations I come from the American dream Immigration to the new world Success in business and family

Rhyt hm My eyes are closed while people glance at me .

I’m humming to my favorite song As I smile and beam at my classmates Looking over the rail , I see the world around me .

I feel rhythm in the air Where every action beats accordingly With every step I take .

Isabel Arcinue , Nature’s beatbox .

Baby Bell , the Archer , Frizzy Izzy, Two Zees, Masked Music .

Without my lover My comrade Or my partner in crime; Without my music My pace I’m nothing But a title .

Close my eyes, Hum the tune , Smile and Remember the rhythm .

Isabelle Arcinue 8th grade

I come from children of Depression Strength to overcome hardship Living in hunger and poverty I come from talented dreamers Musicians and educators For everyone to see I come from bravery I come from courage I come from assiduousness I come from a small street Quiet companions Shading trees towering I come from a small house Crowded in some places Spacious in others I come from soft clamor Barking of dogs Clashing of cymbals I come from support I come from noise I come from respect I come from generations Faint and loud ambiance Art and education surround I come from love Warm bear hugs Slobbery kisses on my face I come from “I remember when..”

You were this big You were so adorable” I come from family Corah Forrester 8th grade

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Images Leather Shoes My grandpa, seated in front of me, Is ready to tell me a story.

We sit in prickly wooden chairs, In a cozy living room.

Ears wide open, paying attention, I am eager to hear what he will tell me.

He starts off by showing me A tattered, tea-stained, map of the world, with Overpowering oceans, Colossal continents, Vast landmasses, And a beaming red pushpin, Seated on a tiny island off the coast of China.

Taiwan.

Suddenly I am there.

A leaf-shaped island, Known by some as the Republic of China, or simply, Formosa; beautiful island.

I am a mere bystander, Looking through the foggy lens of the past.

My grandpa, a child, wearing nice leather shoes, Is on the way to school.

Having been raised in a frugal traditional appreciative family, He takes his shoes off, Swings them over his shoulder, And clutches them by the thick, brown, shoelaces.

He walks the rest of the way to school, Barefoot.

I feel his feet slapping against the unforgiving dirt road.

Slap-slap-slap.

It hurts, but it is worth it.

The school is just up ahead.

Taking a clean, soft handkerchief from his pocket, He wipes his grimy, dirt-caked, feet, And slips on his leather shoes, still polished and clean, Back on.

The sun about to set, My grandfather gathers his books and says his thank yous One to the teacher, Many to his fellow classmates,

And a last one to the clouds, For not raining; since he wants to keep his leather shoes dry for the next day.

I am tossed to another time.

I picture my parents, My father in the north; Taipei My mother in the south; Kaoshiung Both riding a bus to school, Backs straining against stiff seats, But with perfectly fine leather shoes, That are meant to stay on their feet.

Approaching the bus stop, my parents prepare to exit.

Before departing, both of them stop to say thank you To the bus driver.

I see myself, In a comfortable, jet-black Lexus sedan, Equipped with beige, cushioned seating Sleeping on the way to school.

I wear a forest green jumper over a white polo shirt, Springy pink and gray Nike sneakers, And white cotton socks with a tiny green clover on the edge.

At school, after each class, I say thank you to all my teachers, In appreciation for the knowledge I have gained.

It is common in my family to hear Tremendous tides of “thank yous�

To show our appreciation For everything that has been done for us.

I, Like all others in my family before me, Come from a community of frugal, traditional, thankful, hard-working, people.

Always making the best of what we have, Striving to achieve more than what we can do, Persevering Through hardships, Through good times, Soaring with leather shoes on my feet.

Vivian Lu 8th grade 21

Images Agents of Erosion Once upon a time, there were four agents of erosion. They were Water, Wind, Ice, and Gravity. Water was in the creeks, the streams, the oceans, the rivers, and all of the liquid water on Earth. Her human form was a young woman wearing a blue, flowing dress, with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. Wind liked blowing materials around on the Earth. Her human form was a young woman in a white dress with large wings attached to her back. She had an invisibility cape that she often wore to look like her nature form. Ice formed all of the frozen water, such as glaciers, and snow. His human form was a man wearing a light blue suit and light blue sunglasses to match. He had spikey, dark brown hair. Gravity was what kept everything, including the other agents of erosion on Earth. His human form was a very big, tall, strong man with a big moustache. He wore a pair of black shorts and dark sunglasses that covered much of his face. All four of the agents of erosion loved eroding the earth and they sometimes took turns daring each other to erode a certain landform. Often, eroding got tiresome, so the agents of erosion decided to make it into a sort of game. It was much more fun for them that way.

One day, when the agents of erosion were out eroding various parts of the Earth, they saw that some humans on Earth were in need of their assistance! Even though sometimes they dared each other to erode landforms, this time, they wanted to do something nice for the humans. All four agents deposited their eroded materials and went off to see how they could help the humans.

All of the agents arrived in their human forms. The humans all looked very worried and scared, so Gravity spoke up and said, “We are the agents of erosion. We saw that you were in need of our help, so we have come. What is it that you need of us?” One human, who looked like he was the leader, replied, “Thank you, agents of erosion! We have come to a big dilemma – some of our families have gone across those mountains.” Here he pointed to the very large mountain range in front of them, “but they have not returned in many months. We don’t know what has happened to them, but we believe that they are trying to find their way back home. They must be stuck on the other side of those mountains. Is there anything you can do to help us find our families?” Here Gravity paused for a moment before responding. “Yes, in fact, there is a way to help solve this problem – I will keep everything and everyone here, on Earth’s surface. Wind will weather the mountains away, so all that will be left is sediments on the ground. Ice can then erode those sediments away, and deposit them with Water, out by the sea, where they will be out of your way.” All of the humans cried, “Thank you so much, agents of erosion! Thank you so, so much! How will we ever repay you all?” The agents of erosion just smiled, and said, “You do not need to repay us. We just love eroding the earth! Now, let’s get going.”

Gravity disappeared, and he went to his secret lair where he could make sure that everyone would stay on Earth. Wind turned back into her nature form and weathered the mountains into sediments. Ice turned into a glacier and eroded the sediments out to the sea, where Water then took the sediments and kept them in the ocean.

The agents of erosion then turned back into their human forms and went to see if the humans had seen any signs of their families. There had not been any signs yet, but they were probably already hiking back. The humans were so happy to finally be seeing their families again for the first time in so many months! Once again they thanked the agents of erosion many, many times, and asked if there was anything that cold be done in return. The agents of erosion just said, “It’s alright! We just wanted to help you. There is nothing better than eroding the earth and being able to do something nice at the same time!”

After waiting for a while with the humans, the agents of erosion finally said goodbye. “We must go now.

Tell us when your families return safely! We will see you all sometime soon! Goodbye!” With that, the agents of erosion left. To this day, they have been eroding here, on Earth.

Yumi Balthazar 6th grade 22

Images Beautiful Dolphins Soaring, tossing, twisting Slicing through the shining ocean Resting in the sand Observing, wanting, desiring I want their liberty To swim away worries Drifting in the soothing sea Swim with the lighthearted dolphins Swimming through the waves Farther farther farther Deeper and Deeper Into the deep blue ocean.

Vasisht Chaluvadi 7th Grade

Kristina Yin - 8th grade

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Images The Name-Game In Arabic my name means “brilliance,” but to me it means a brilliant curse. It means painful roll calls where the teacher looks down at the list and says something like “I’m sorry if I mispronounce your name” since the first name they see is mine. It means old people calling me “Diana” and young people calling me “Sienna.” It means always having to spell it out for adults when they write you a nametag or correcting your teachers with a plastic smile even after it’s already been a semester. It means letters strung together by force instead of mellifluously dancing with each other on their own accord. If my name were a piece of paper, I would tear it up into a million little pieces and watch it slowly catch fire–especially on the first day of school. And don’t get me started on my last name.

I was named after my great-great-grandmother, Saenah binte Sulaiman, the grandmother of my adoring grandfather. A young widow and a single mother, Saenah struggled to support her growing children and had to do menial labor to get by. She became a fast food vendor by hawking breakfast food from door to door before sunrise in order to scrape a living. My grandfather believed that she represented a paragon of virtue that he later has always tried to live up to. One of his fondest memories about her was taking a six-hour train ride west of his home with her to a small, rural town in Lahat, Indonesia. On the way they rode a ferry along the Musi River, where he saw row after row of rakit (houses on rafts) and watched workers peddling their wares on the banks. Gradually through Saenah and by osmosis, he was able to learn about the social and cultural values of his people. When he moved to the United States, he learned that she had passed away; although he was completely devastated, he still remembered her as a courteous, civil, and fine lady. Now her name is mine, and sometimes it feels like a lot to live up to.

When I was six years old, I noticed that my childhood friend would pronounce my name “Sighanna” as if it were a mixture of a long, deep, audible breath (a sigh), and a common girl’s name–Anna.

This pronunciation stuck ever since, and I have been telling friends I have made and people I have met that it is the correct way. The actual correct way of saying my name would be if you divided my name up into syllables (sa, e, nah) and pronounced it as such: Sah. Eh. Nah. No one says my name correctly anymore, but I don’t mind because my name is hard enough already. Likewise, whenever people see my last name, their first assumption is that “Boch” is pronounced the way it is spelled. However, my last name is pronounced exactly as Johann Sebastian Bach’s. Ancestors on my father’s side immigrated from Astro-Hungary to build a new life in America. My great-grandfather, Charles Boch, married an Irish girl and moved to Detroit, Michigan, where they had four sons. Both my grandfather and my father are also named Charles Boch. Ironically, my father’s cousin married a man whose last name is “Bach.” I found out that many people could easily pronounce his last name. However, when I explain to people that my last name is like the musician’s, it suddenly clicks and the subject is never brought up again.

Sometimes it feels like I have a treasure chest full of the names that people have called me for the past fourteen years. Cyan. Say-na. Sigh-na. Stephanie, even. But even after all these years, I would never change my name; it makes me who I am. I have come to realize that I should be proud to be named after my grandfather’s grandmother. Nonetheless, if my parents had given me a generic name, I would probably dislike it with the same amount of loathing anyway. And even though I’ll have to correct people for the rest of my life, my name has finally started to grow on me.

Saenah Boch 8th grade 24

Images A Promise Kept She fancied that she heard steps, creaking up the stairs, and a hand on the knob, turning to open the door to her room. But, of course, that was impossible. For the being in front of her was only a ghost. ________________________________________ “Welcome back…”

She let the thought drift in the air. Days she had spent rehearsing these words, reserved only for him.

The circumstances were different than she had daydreamed, but she still meant them.

She glanced at his face- dirty and bloodied. It was a new sight for her. She had only seen the face smiling, clean and sharp. His eyes used to be so bright- hopeful. Now, they were lifeless and haunted by the reality of war. Jagged lines ran through his face- a small one near his brow and another across his cheek and disappearing along his neckline. A single, small hole on his chest - barely noticeable, save from the pool of dry blood around it.

She gulped. “A little late, aren’t you?” She settled for a dry laugh.

I apologize. It was no more than a whisper, a little gust of cold wind.

“Well, what are you here for then?” She asked to emptiness.

I came to fulfill that promise.

“Now?” She couldn’t help but slip in a bit of hostility in her voice. Twenty years, she had waited after all. Always deliberately leaving the door open, preparing two meals instead of one...from a naive, young girl, she was now no more than a lonely old woman. Never wed, never had children, saving wasted experiences on him.

When he did not reply, (he didn’t need to, she already knew the answer: Sorry, I’m dead) she asked another question, “Do you still want me, now that I am nothing more than an old woman? I lost my young looks long ago.” It was silly, really, to think about appearances now, but the words slipped out of her mouth before she caught herself.

Yes. He hugged her. It was an odd feeling; like something was there, but she couldn’t quite feel it. It was more like the temperature had dropped considerably around her, and she shivered a bit. But it was still warm. Warm to her heart, anyways. She smiled.

I take you to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health.

I will love you and honor you even in death.

“And I take you as my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

They held hands, finally, after so many years.

It was a vow, a goodbye, and a promise kept. ________________________________________ She woke up to the wailings of a child and cried along with it.

Kristina Yin 8th grade

Andrew Kuai - Kindergarten

25

Images Strength and Determination

ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก วฒ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วณ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก วฒ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วควณ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค

ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วฒย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วกวณ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ฦก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ฯ ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ฦก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ศ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ศ วค ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค

ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย วฆ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ฯ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย

ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วฏย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค

ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค

ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย อณอปอตอธ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วฏย ฯ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วก ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วฆ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ฯ ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย วค ย ย ย ย ย ย อบย ย ย ย ย ย ย

Max Krech - 4th grade

26

Images The First Day My father had just arrived at school and was navigating to his kindergarten classroom, for this was his first day of school, and he had never gone to school anywhere else in his entire life. He was feeling very nervous with so many people watching him. This was the biggest crowd of people he had ever seen. There were so many people that he didn’t know how to feel, so he freaked out. To make matters worse, his brother and sister had gone to their classrooms! He was alone and frightened because he could barely comprehend what they were saying. This was a result of moving to the United States of America from South Korea when he was one. Not knowing anyone was just one of the reasons he was sacred. When he was left alone in a classroom with no one, he knew that he wanted his family.

His parents were not around much. They were learning to speak English, learning to do taxes, managing a business, and doing work. My father also wasn’t home much because he was being taken care of by his brother and sister. The only people he felt comfortable with were his family, and no one else. And none of them were in the classroom.

My father was overwhelmed by the amount of people because he was familiar with a very small community in Seoul, but in America everywhere was a mystery. He was raised in Seoul, South Korea, when it was very small and had dirt roads.

That kindergarten classroom terrified him, but he didn’t know why. His classmates terrified him even more. There were different faces, and few were like him. They spoke a different language that he didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend what to do or what to say.

That day they sang the A, B, C’s, played a game to get to know everybody’s name, and more games that my father had never heard of, but he was unsuccessful at all of them.

This was the toughest time of his life so far.

My father was horrified by how different everyone looked, and no one looked like him.

People would often look intently at him, which had never happened to him before, and he was clueless. What were they doing? My father thought that they were being rude and disrespectful. His unusual name made him stand out like a sore thumb even more. His name was Jung Nam Lee. One boy pronounced Jung wrong because he assumed his name was John. That day everyone made fun of my father’s middle name.

At school that day, people would do mean things to him, instinctually and unintentionally, which was another reason that made school more difficult for him and why he was afraid of it. It was also the first day of school. He didn’t know who to trust or be friends with, so he didn’t have friends. He often cowered because he couldn’t figure out who would punch him and who would offer him lunch money because to him everyone looked the same, and he couldn’t recognize anyone.

He tried to make friends, but the people he tried to make friends with were bullies and beat him up. He had trouble participating in classroom activities because they were all in English. Normally, when you start kindergarten, you get a playgroup for about three people.

My father wasn’t in a playgroup, so he didn’t have a “go-to friend” when he felt uncomfortable. Aside from not having any friends, his terrible comprehension skills made him the last in his class to complete tasks, do work sheets, and answer questions. That’s why no one wanted to be his friend. They thought that being friends with an unintelligent person wouldn’t make them cool. If they did, they might be mocked by their friends.

Once they were about to finish up the day, he began to lighten up because the first day of school was over. And, they say the first is always the hardest—until he learned that he had to go again the next day.

Lucas Lee 5th grade 27

Images Eyes ǯ

ǯ

ǯ

Flamingo

ǯ ơ ǡ

ǯ ϐ Ǥ ϐ

ǡ ǡ ǯ Ǥ

The graceful ballerina Waddling through the water And when it is weary It Lingers On One Pink Leg Michael Maytesyan 7th grade

͹

Lauren Chretien - 5th grade

28

Images Blue Throne Queen of a kingdom far away from the booming, bubbling bustle of suburbia.

Among my subjects, doting on my silken royal gown with finely knit teddy-bear tea parties in a sea of yellow.

Monarch of a castle in fields of beige setting the scene for presumed monotony.

Nothing further from the truth, the knights clad in eccentric armor with wispy, brown fur march about in search of adventure.

Empress of a new world brimming in excitement everyday precisely at six thirty.

For lack of society, the women trace about with bare paws long, thin tissue dresses dragging on the paint and dirt stained floor.

Vassal of an extensive fiefdom sovereign in spirit awaits the thundering order of the leader.

Unfortunately, smells of delectable cuisine, entirely foreign, waft in the air like a looming predator ready to strike killing the celebration stone cold.

Lady of her house nurturing and kind fearfully arranges cars and trains.

Finished partaking in festivities in dire times, she rushes about trying to warn her citizens, her reign shatters around her tumbling over a misplaced Barbie.

Majesty of an empire vast but unassuming counts her seconds before the inevitable.

Panicking and afraid, she watches as the women one by one topple onto their stuffed spines the clatter of plastic crowns the lurch of shaking wood the men drop from their mighty steeds fantastical inventions, motors and all, stop cold colorful books fade to black and white the stony, cold floor loses its lush white flora the clock ticks faster tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick the sun sneaks past the black window pane little bumps begin to emerge from the wall of the throne room maps turn into game boards knights into worn stuffed animals ladies into toys with shabby tissue dresses suddenly too aware of the dirt and grime decorating the room a frenzied buzz of a rogue fly the unpleasant flavor of a sandy mouth the flicker of the unnatural television from outside the glass doors the stomping of an eight year old boy the commotion of dishes clattering the tempting odors pervasive the room Footsteps tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

The door flies open as if hit by a gust of wind. “Dinner,� she says with a weary smile, surveying the kingdom in shambles.

Mournfully, she glances at her land, shifting uncomfortably on the ugly, navy toy box infested with monsters and other creepies.

She gazes at toys strewn about everywhere, a kingdom no more.

I am no longer a queen and my world has disappeared until I once more sit upon my perfect blue throne.

page BO - 1

Indu Pandey 8th grade

29

Images Did You Miss Me? Breathing Running Talking Everyone is so Boring Uninteresting There’s only one person But no I made a mistake He’s no good either I have no choice He goes Or I do There he goes F A L L I N G Sometimes I wish I could just Fly away Stay alive But I am trapped My mind is trapped Am I crazy?

Am I going down, like the sun set?

Has my time come?

No Because I’m back Did you miss me?

Marina Francis 8th grade

Katherine Arcinue - 6th grade

30

Katherine Arcinue - 6th grade

Going Dark A soccer ball in the face. . .

As you start to zone off into space If you are feeling any kind of repercussion That’s a sign that you might have a concussion If you have blurry or double vision Or have a bad headache If you can’t make any split decision Don’t say you are ok or even fake it You probably have a concussion No school for at least a few days That means living life in a haze No stimulation or movement Until the doctor sees improvement No school for a week at least No homework, no quizzes until you are released From this blur in memory and balance Kaley Penichet-Khaw 7th grade

Images Face of the Moon “Congratulations! It’s a girl.” Upon first sight, my mom instantly decided to name me Indu. Mom said my face was round like the moon, the meaning of Indu. She never once doubted her decision, as I never did lose my original, round cheeks. In the months leading up to my birth, my parents began to construct a list of possible names. They would add or remove names for months, completely indecisive until my birth. Near the end of my mother’s term, she and my dad decided on three traditional Hindi names that are generally uncommon for my generation: Indu, Uma, and Jaya. Unlike many people whose names are chosen months before their birth, my name is actually indicative of one of my physical features. While my father solely named my older brother, Puru, my mom was given freereign in choosing my name; however, my parents jointly selected Indu.

My mom’s story of reaching the conclusion of naming me Indu is similar to my father’s; however, it follows a tradition in her family. My mom hails from a deeply religious family. During her pregnancy, she would often watch religious renditions of Hindi epics, like Ramayana. In Ramayana, a pivotal character is named Induja; however, she was unsure of naming her child exactly that. Instead, she decided that Indu J. Pandey would solve both problems. Unfortunately, she also thought of two other dreadful names: Jaya and Bhabya. In retrospect, I am ecstatic that my name is Indu. In contrast, my dad wanted to name me Indu as a tribute to a dear relative.

Growing up, my dad idolized Indu Bhaiya, literally translating Brother Indu. Indu Bhaiya was a distant cousin of his, as well as a professor at the prestigious Banaras Hindu University. He served as a mentor to my father after my grandfather died. Indu Bhaiya remains an inspiration to my dad; despite his many accomplishments, like working with Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, he remained caring and family-oriented. When I was younger, my dad used to tell me stories about Indu Bhaiya and all of the memories he had with him.

In addition to being a mentor, Indu Bhaiya was a friend of my father, often playing cricket with him during the summers. More than the people whom I was named after, the meaning of ‘Indu’ enamored my parents.

In Sanskrit and Hindi, Indu means, “moon.” As soon as I was born, my mom named me Indu because my face was shaped round like the moon. Purposefully, my mom also chose a middle name beginning with “J,” Jyoti. In Hindi, Jyoti means, “light.” My family’s last name, Pandey, is a result of the caste system. Pandey is a Brahmin last name, meaning we are of the highest caste. The last name Pandey was given to those who were scholars and teachers back in ancient India. My father’s side of the family has a long history of pursuing higher education, specifically in Sanskrit studies. I feel attached to my name because it has actual relevance to my physical appearance while most people’s names have nothing to do with their nature or appearance. During my childhood, I always felt safe during the night because I knew the moon would be watching me. My name has affected some of my tendencies as a child towards acting reclusive like the pale moon. But now it is I who writes the story of Indu Jyoti Pandey, Moon Light Scholar.

Indu Pandey 8th grade

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Images Dear Mr. Taylor, Since third grade I thought that I was weirder than a zebra without stripes. But I soon learned that I have ADHD. Since then I have been trying different ways of staying focused. When I read ADHD and Me, I came to the realization that while I have never set the table on fire, I have hidden in a packbpack and burnt the floor of my garage. I even walked at eight and half months.

When I was first tested for ADHD in the third grade, I got the idea into my head that I could fit in my backpack. Upon telling this to the lady testing me she said, “Really?” Of course, I replied with an affirmative “Yes.” So being somewhat of an odd child, I promptly put pack on my head and said, “Tada!” Then the lady told me that I could take off the pack, but of course, what better excuse to prolong the testing process than saying, “It’s fine, I can hear you perfectly fine in here.”

I would have to say that while my ADHD has not been the most beneficial attribute when it comes to academics, I have excelled in most sports that I play. I now fence, mountain bike, and backpack on a regular basis. So, let this be the first time that I thank you. I am sure that I will continue to thank you throughout the rest of this letter. Your book has proven that I was not a super hero despite my six-year-old ambitions, but in fact, quite a normal child. (Although there may still be times that I think that I have some sort of abnormal super power that my parents have yet to tell me about.)

When I was about two years old, my parents took my older brother and me to a park. Well, at this park there was a bridge that was safe but swung from side to side quite a lot, according to a two year old. My older brother slowly walked across the bridge, making sure it was safe. But as soon as he had stepped off the bridge, I was running across the bridge with no regard to whether or not I would fall.

These stories may not seem relevant to your book or you, but what I am trying to say is, “Thank you.” Thank you for showing me that I am normal, and even if I am not, that it is ok to be the odd man out. When I come home after a long day, I think to myself that have received a gift, and that no matter what people say, it is true. I may have never met you, but you are a great friend. I will always appreciate the feeling of normality, and that I will always have someone to back me up. You and your book have given that to me.

Sincerly, Matthew Culpepper Editorial: Matthew’s letter was a top ten finalist in the Level 2 division of the Letters About Literature contest sponsored by the Center for the Book and the Library of Congress 32

Images 21 Gun Salute The block of glass A bullet encased like Captain America in ice This was the same one In the 21 Gun salute The one given to my great grandfather Pat Brown The man who created the California aqueduct.

My grandpa went after the ceremony was over Picked up the shells One by one Had them encased in glass Then gave one To all his children All his stepchildren Then in turn my mother gave it to me.

Now it sits in my room When I want to give up I think of how he never gave up So I continue on In his honor The booming echoes forever on Chazen Mellis 7th grade

Kristina Yin - 8th grade

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Images Green Garden

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Harrisan Smyser - 6th grade

Taylor Vaughn - 8th grade

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Images Letter About Literature Editorial: One of the English assignments at Chandler School in the Eighth Grade is writing a letter to any author (living or dead) about a book they wrote and how it affected them personally. The letters are submitted to a contest known as “Letters About Literature,” a writing contest for students in grades 4-12, and are judged on state and national levels.

This letter is written to the author Stephen Chbosky, who wrote The Perks of Being a Wallflower in 1999.

Dear Mr. Chbosky, Every Sunday I walk by a bug-eyed vagrant who camps in front of Trader Joe’s and is always whispering to his dog. His favorite pastime is threatening the locals that the milk will curdle in their fridges when they are asleep. He is a monochrome Picasso painting, with eyes on opposite sides of his head; a spittle-flecked, bedraggled beard; and a crudely ravaged face, like a corroded coin washed up on shore. He leers at me to try to spark something inside of me. Anger? Revulsion? Pity? I don’t feel sorry for him because he probably wouldn’t want me to.

Further up the spectrum is my grandfather, the smartest person I know. He immigrated to America from Indonesia to study at Berkeley and received his master’s from Yale, then became a librarian at the Library of Congress. He spoke and wrote better English than most educated Americans. Now, whenever I visit him, I find him staring blankly at the T.V. mounted on the wall, his face illuminated from the glow of the light. When he notices me standing by the door, he yells at me to GET HIM OUT OF HERE, “here” being his skilled nursing home. I sit on the edge of his bed and he grips my arm, a wild, haunting look flashing in his red-rimmed eyes.

When I tell him that he has to get better if he wants to leave, he sighs to himself and doesn’t look at me for the rest of my visit, which can be rather heartbreaking from the person I love the most.

Then there is my neighbor with the orotund voice and trademark booming laugh. The “Loud One.” He is determined to strike up a conversation with every person that passes by his house, which is why people cross the street when they see him. He laughs at the self-deprecating jokes he can’t pull off and likes to ask personal questions. Every day–all day–he sits on his porch, just waiting for someone to walk by. It’s a full-time job, and the pay stinks. I wouldn’t make eye contact if I were you.

Lastly, there is the effervescent hippie lady on Sunset Boulevard who sells cheap bling those tourists and yuppies love. She could be Janis Joplin’s doppelgänger with her round pink sunglasses and the feather boa dangling in her unkempt, frizzy hair. Not to mention the rings on every finger, the long necklaces, and a collection of bangles jangling on her wrists. If she dislikes the outfit you are wearing, she will wrinkle her nose in disgust and say that your fashion sense is “passé.” Being around her has helped me perfect my eye roll.

Mr. Chbosky, the reason I am telling all of this to you is because it seems like everyone I know is talking and no one is listening. Because these people mutter to themselves all day long, and not one person pays any attention to them. When I was younger, I used to be embarrassed to be seen around these eccentric people or to be associated with them. Now, in order to make up for my deplorable behavior, I always return the hippie lady’s vacuous smiles and try to attempt small talk when I see my loud neighbor. And whenever I visit my grandfather, I bring a book to read to him. (He’s a Jane Austen fan.)

But I know it’s not enough, and I feel like I owe something to these people, these “misfit toys”: a vagrant, an old man with Parkinson’s and dementia, a hippie living in the wrong decade, and a lonely neighbor who just likes to talk. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that they are people, too, because most of them are definitely not right in the head. Too many heartbreaks, probably.

What I learned from reading your novel, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, is that people like Charlie are rare. Even at sixteen, Charlie is a loner and an observer, rather than a person that partakes in life. He seems to live in his own little world as he watches people and analyzes them. As his friend Patrick says, “he sees things, he keeps quiet about them, he understands.”

He’s a wallflower.

But I’m not Charlie. The only wallflower quality I have is that I’m always shy when I meet new people

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Images Letter About Literature (cont.) do certain things or behave the way they do. Instead of accepting the odd cast of characters in my neighborhood for who they are, I found myself constantly questioning their motives and judging them like the rest of society.

However, I realized that I didn’t want to be that person avoiding the vagrant’s gaze or hiding behind my mother when I saw my neighbor. Why should I be like everybody else? I just wanted to be someone who could listen and understand––who could be the person Charlie needed the most when no one seemed to care. Charlie has taught me that each person has a voice, a story, a secret desire for someone¬–anyone–to listen, and that sometimes I should try to pay more attention to these people.

Mr. Chbosky, I fell in love with The Perks of Being a Wallflower the way a girl falls in love with a boy: helplessly, hopelessly, infinitely. I enjoyed reading about Charlie and Sam and Patrick as much as the crazy hippie lady loves her bling, as much as my neighbor loves to talk, as much as my grandfather enjoys classical music and Pride and Prejudice. Through reading your book, I gained a new sense of appreciation towards these four idiosyncratic, quirky, and yet very human people. And I’ve started to wonder if maybe it’s society that’s not right in the head.

So thank you, Mr. Chbosky, for helping me understand that everyone needs to be heard sometimes–– even the misfit toys.

Always, Saenah Boch 8th grade

Aron Guevara - 8th grade

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Images Rain, Reign Inspired by Mona Cesario When it rains, I reign A kingdom of falling water The drops on the leaves The arms of my father But I deny them I sing in the rain It beckons me It is my domain Calling louder and louder With its thundering drops The noise on the asphalt On the gravel the plops A monarchy of precipitation A world of anticipation Pranav Law 8th grade

Aron Guevara - 8th grade

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Images City of Angels I walked down the misty streets of Los Angeles With nothing but the clothes on my back And the shoes on my feet I walked past the barber Saw a shaky man giving haircuts I walked past the flower shop With an aroma of freshly cut roses I walked down the misty streets of Los Angeles With nothing but the clothes on my back And the shoes on my feet I walked past a herd of dejected bums Spare some change for a cig?

Smelled of reeking depression I walked down the misty streets of Los Angeles With nothing but the clothes on my back And the shoes on my feet I walked past a ransacked bakery Smelt of stale bread and molded fruitcakes Goodbye I walked away from the misty streets of Los Angeles With nothing but the clothes on my back And the shoes on my feet Eddie Kim

Aron Guevara - 8th grade

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Images A Day in the Life: Ancient Rome Dear Father and Mother, The most wonderful thing happened to me a few days ago. At first it was a normal day.

As always, I would go outside to work in the fields in the morning. I thank the gods for allowing me to work at dawn and not during the burning midday with the harmful and painful sun. Thank goodness the great gods have blessed me with a great master. Though he may not be the best, he is better than some. He had assigned me to work inside the villa during the midday, to prepare a luncheon for him and his guests. I normally serve fresh grapes with some goat cheese to the guests. I serve along with another slave, the cook, who always works in the villa. After the guests have been satisfied and left, I always go off to school, not to learn, but to teach.

My master educated me, however, the people at the school are unfortunately not as kind as he. They glare at me, with all their power. Of course they would do that. I am teaching their own children for the gods’ sake! After finishing teaching the afternoon classes, I head back and work in the field as the great Sol settles down and disappears in the horizon. I dug out the muck in the irrigation as the sun vanished.

When I was finished with one of the smaller fields, I went back to the villa. My master was standing next to a smiling, rather wealthy looking woman. She stood there, draped in the highest quality fabric wearing a huge grin. She looked at me and said, “I’ll take this one!”

Master said, “Great doing business with you.” The woman dropped bright gold coins into my master’s hand. At first, I was incredibly terrified. I thought to myself, what if she whips me and sends me out to work in the fields or mines.

The woman, to my surprise, took my hand and beamed. “Hello, dear child!” I thought, is she crazy? No aristocrat or wealthy patrician would do that! Normally, they would think of us as dirt, little flies or potential rebels to overthrow the wealthy. “You are free now!”

I looked up in surprise, but then I realized that there were actually some wealthy patricians who looked towards slaves as almost equals. The lady dropped a bag of silver coins in my hand and said, “Run off now, and don’t waste your freedom!” She pushed me off on the path to the village.

Now I work as a plebeian baker. I again thank the gods and the cook of the villa. Even though my life is still harsh, it is better than before. I am given food, but only enough to stop all the plebeians from revolting. Also, they have given us free entertainment, like chariot races and gladiators, but I have no time for loitering around. I have been working very hard and saving my money. I hope that I will one day be at the top and be able to be as free as a bird. May that kind patrician live a long life.

Wish me luck, Dulcea Katherine Arcinue 6th grade 40

Images I see you I see you You’re so green With long slender trees And sweet smelling mangoes I hear the laughter of the children The soft mellow sway of the flowers I see your worn cracked streets I hear your school bells pounding in my head I taste the sweet corn with cheese dripping from our mouths I hear my sisters jumping in your puddles when the cool wet afternoons come I feel the calloused palm bark I see your prickly thorn bushes I hear the earsplitting rain fall on our metal roofs Scenery in a Small English T Town own And the chickens cackling with rage I see the lonesome pastures with animals to spare At my grandparent’s house I see my cousins, friends and family in the backyard I see El Salvador head tilted back, ray of sun on my face that had managed to escape the dark gray clouds.

Cynthia Hernandez fingers running against the pale brown table 8th grade trying to avoid splinters biting into a cookie made of caramel and chocolate swirling together and combining as one crumbling in my mouth as I sniff the sweet orange flowers and watch ancient vines strangle the steeple as it lets out its hourly cry and the old, rusty bell swings back and forth interrupted by the cackling sound of laughter just beyond that red brick wall from my 3 year old cousin.

Elizabeth McCarthy 8th grade

Ella Belzer - 2nd grade

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Images Snapshots I hold my camera and take photos of the world around me.

I look at my friends; I see them all smiling.

I see the little details and patterns; I take pictures of those.

I look at my camera roll, and see tons of photos.

I scroll through the images; I select the first one.

I see…

My small fingers tightly gripping a bright yellow pencil.

An explosion of creativity bursting from my mind.

The vivid, colorful, sparks leaking onto a blank white page.

One dot, two dots.

A crooked curve an upside-down rainbow.

A lopsided happy face.

I see…

My hands kneading through soft yet resilient, dough.

Trying to make it into a round circle.

3 swirls of red tomato sauce.

5 sprinkles of mozzarella cheese confetti.

0 slices of salty pepperoni.

A 350 degree masterpiece.

The oven door opens, and the smell of warm pizza hits me.

I look at my creation, an oblong of distorted, burnt, toppings.

And I taste it, slightly grimacing.

I see…

Myself flying down the court, feet pounding, heart thumping.

Bouncing the ball on the shiny wooden floor.

A rubber band slowly stretching inside me.

The basket’s red rim appearing before me.

I gather my hands in the right position.

Left, check.

Right, check.

A rubber band snaps within me — The ball propels towards the basket, becoming a mere blur.

Swish.

I see…

Me and my family in the my grandparents’ cozy living room, on Christmas Eve. The room, decorated with multi-colored lights and paper snowflakes on the walls My younger cousins shouting with glee as they eagerly tear up the Glistening snowflake-covered, wrapping paper.

Everyone excitedly guessing what they received before opening boxes The multiple, loud calls of “This is just what I wanted!”

The feeling of being connected with my family Fill the room, and I feel Loved.

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Images Snapshot (cont.)

I see‌ Disneyland.

My friends and I- the six of us, waiting patiently in line for Space mountain.

Our screams are submerged in complete darkness.

Our hearts jump at the thrill of the ride.

Up and down Up and down It has only been a minute; it is over We are all laughing.

I see‌ The end of the camera roll.

But there is one photo, Yet to be discovered, yet to fall into focus In the near future.

Is it of me and my friends, laughing?

Is it of me, running down the court in joy?

I will not know until the day comes, For another piece of my life to be captured.

In one photo.

Vivian Lu 8th grade

Sasha Le- 2nd grade

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Images No Ordinary Girl Sarah was no ordinary girl. She was a twelve year old. She had long brown hair, and she was not shy in any way. However, she was special. She could ride a fifty-foot long narwhal and could breathe underwater. The breathing underwater came from when she was a newborn. A scientist tried to make her talk with a potion he made. Somehow it took a little left turn and made it so she could breathe underwater. When Sarah was three, she found out she could breathe underwater. She decided that she would enter a breath holding competition and beat a fifty year old to win.

One day on the island of Brandobob, Sarah was fishing. She could catch hundreds of fish every hour or so. But that day, she caught zero fish! She jumped into the water to see what was going on. There were no fish.

Sarah knew that something was wrong. Brandobob was a peaceful island that relied on fish. If there were no fish, there was no food. The island was about the size of Massachusetts and was voted to have the most fish in the world.

Sarah desperately wanted to find the fish and save them. She took her fifty-foot long narwhal and went on the search. After seventeen hours, Sarah had accomplished absolutely nothing (except for getting lost). She was traveling so fast that her whole world turned into bubbles. The ocean was so fishless she could see fifty million trillion miles out. Then she saw a fish head pointing straight so she traveled straight for a while. Eventually she found a fishing net with millions of trillions of billions of fish in it! Sarah took her narwhal’s horn and sliced the net open. Trillions of millions of billions fish charged at her! It was like taking a slimy bath. She finally accomplished something!

When she got back, Brandobob threw a huge party for her. Everyone was fishing again! Every day seemed to be better after the event. Even the fish seemed happier. Sarah was so glad she finally accomplished something! She couldn’t wait to be a hero again!

Lucie Renick 4th grade

The Seine River

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Walter Corngold - 6h grade

Images Ine, Keko or Joe?

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Images The Auburn Boy I trace about the playground in anguish. I watch the children run, squealing in delight. I envy their merry faces with big dimples. I yearn to flail my arms with such freedom like a bird in flight. I sink into a stone cold bench, slumping over. My eyes focus on the single strands of hair that impair my vision. The blur of strollers and light-up sneakers overwhelm the environment.

I can’t take it anymore. I draw my knees to my throbbing eyes and curl up. Tears begin to well up my eyes. The burning feeling of hot waterfalls and a clawing monster attacking me from within. My stomach ties itself into tight knots and my thoughts pound my weary head. My sensible thought dissolves into panic and pain. The world spins off its axis and hurls me around viciously. Yet, I remain still.

I feel a distinct tugging from my left side. My head shoots up and locks eyes with a peculiar little boy with messy auburn hair. He keeps his firm grip on my forearm, demanding attention. The boy tugs my arm again, and somehow I just cannot refuse him. “Yes?” I grind my teeth in a crooked smile.

“Are you sad?”

“No,” I say as I plaster a smile on my face.

“Momma says lying makes God sad,” he replies disconcertingly.

“I’m not lying,” I try to assert. Suddenly, I feel silly, having a conversation with a random, little boy in a time of crisis.

“I’m like that when I’m sad. You look sad.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m sad,” I reply aggressively.

The boy lets go of my arm and slides into the seat next to me. He sits quietly for a few moments before sighing. “I’m tired.”

“Me too, bud. But, aren’t you having a good time?”

“Yeah, o’course.”

“Then, you can’t be tired. You’re having fun!” I laugh inwardly, trying to forget my troubling thoughts.

“Having fun,” he pauses for a moment, “is fun.”

“Genius,” I mumble to myself. “How can you ever get tired of having fun?”

“You wanna do someth’ng new. Grow up,” his eyes travel up to the tree looming overhead, “like that tree!”

“What do you mean?” I ask quickly.

“I go to school next year. Cool, right?”

“Right. But, you want to go?” I ask suspiciously.

The boy turns to face me and grabs my hand. “Are we friends now?”

I stop myself from replying immediately. I watch games of tag and children meeting lifelong friends.

They share melodic laughter. I hear the boom of metal against a baseball bat behind me. I can smell baby wipes and the pervasive scent of dry sand. I turn to face the little boy again.

“Hey! Friend?” He shakes me in a bid to win my attention.

“We’re friends.”

He gives me a toothy grin. “Can I tell you a secret?

“Definitely.”

“Playing isn’t always fun… Sometimes getting bigger, doing something new is cool too. Like playing baseball every day is fine, but when your parents let you play football… Wow!” I beam at him. “Thank you so much.”

“Momma says to always say, ‘you’re welcome.’”

“Where’s your Momma?” I smile down at him, still contemplating his words of wisdom.

“Up there,” he says pointing to the sky. His eyes glisten in the sunlight. “You know? She loves it when it’s sunny and her favorite color is blue.”

I pause in shock for a few moments. “I bet you look just like her.”

“How did you know?”

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Images The Auburn Boy (cont.)

“She has beautiful auburn hair like you.”

“Yeah! You’re smart,” he grins.

I stand up, offering him my hand. I give him my hand and I hoist him up. He walks out from the shade of the tree. Some of his friends motion for him to join them. I feel a twinge of envy as he begins to run over to the sandbox. My new ‘friend’ waves at me. But, maybe that isn’t always a good thing.

“Bye, whatsyourname!” He waves.

“What’s your name?”

“Wha’?”

“Your name?”

“Eric.”

“Do you think we’ll meet again?”

“You’re not coming to Sunday play time next week?”

I chuckle as he runs away without an answer. I begin my lonely stroll down the next two blocks, contemplating my simple conversation with Eric. I look up at the blue skies and think of vivid auburn hair.

Indu Pandey 8th grade

Meena Durairaj - 3rd grade

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Images Andante and Rondo Capriccioso Up And Down The Piano Softly Pressing On The Keys Prestissimo Again And Again Fingers You Can Hardly See Getting Louder And Louder Faster And Faster Until The Last Of Notes Is Played.

Hard Powerful And Beautiful.

Never is the same The moment of silence As they take in all that was given Then the applause As they stand And ask for more.

Sofia Stellar 7th grade 48

Max Krech - 4th grade

Images I R em emember e m be r Sitting with my mother She would sing lullabies Slowly luring me to the comfort of my dreams Bolting upright in bed After a vivid nightmare With the hooded figure coming around the corner Clambering onto my horse My first ride Nervously clutching the horses rough mane, awaiting instruction Fidgeting restlessly on the pews in church My eyes wandering aimlessly While my mother nudges me and tells me to pay attention Standing in line to get into Disneyland My first time there The colors and attractions swirl as if in a dream Walking in the rain Collecting water droplets on my tongue Seeing the small dots collect on my glasses Talking with my friends My new friends Being able to start over at a new school Writing a real, meaningful poem The emotions coming from within Feeling free Marina Francis 8th Grade

Kristina Yin - 8th grade

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Images i come from i come from the ashtray of morning the lights all doused and squinted and the reverend hypocrisy god wrote a script and let the hot ink seep into the puddles of mute footsteps crept like shingles through the sheets and infatuated the idealist in polaroid cacophony i come from the whispers strung ear to tongue like the tinsel wrapped in hickory pine the same that sprouted from my lung and cut off the circulation which snipped on a bent wire and folded me up like spider web spindles i come from the record scratch and the wish-washed tablecloth that sung like traffic’s roar on the 105 where the vinyl chrods faded in the wave and plucked three eyelashes i come from the dysfunctions of memory where every other easter i’d fold the gold-spun tablecloth that prided my waist and made my lips churn as the cranberry sauce spilled on the marble countertop i come from the boardwalk where static slides weren’t the issue and scrambling to the tallest pinecone with scrapes and bruises that rallied the play creased right through my tussled, pale heartbeat i come from the lips of fly that jotted from windowsill to the doormat which soured its larva like dewdrops in spring i come from earl grey that stung my tonsil and dried my eye i come from dog-eared covers that stained the magnolia walls i come from the lost ryan pizante 8th grade

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Images The Blowing Breeze It starts off as a whisper, Only a few can hear, Then builds and builds, Till the sound is clear.

You can hear it throughout the streets, The sound of a triumphant cheer Wisps through the air, For all to hear, And revolution spread over the city, Like a thunderous downpour.

Ashley Wu - 8th grade

Graham Finch 7th grade

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Images The Grave’n Raven of Catalina Long has he lived on Catalina a cranky, unpleasant sort of raven.

He who prances about like a ballerina receives particular condemnation from the grave’n.

Forgotten and far away, the university is a safe haven.

Receiving the eager rays of placid sunshine to the dismay of a certain raven.

Sometimes, he haunts my view of the majestic mountains, bats away the delicious smell of lunch time rush hour, stalks around the courtyard’s fountain, or leaves all other squirrels and vicious, little cats to cower.

He soars the skies, watching the torrid east and the tranquil west.

He scoops down to pick up little French fries and to smell the slight scent of the shop’s lemon zest.

The bird chuckles at the suffocating throngs of greedy, pathetic little shoppers.

Snorting as cars drive wrong and speed over neglected stoppers.

A dark figure in the night, he notes the old melting away to new.

The raven adores the daily sight of the demons rushing of to chew.

A lone ranger, the raven struggles to converse with local turtles and ducks.

He feels in constant danger of causing amuck.

He stands on his L-shaped perch, the only place I’ve ever called home.

Though I always thought he would prefer some birch.

All the while, he has created his own petite dome.

The raven chooses here the equinox of city and town, studies and pleasure in order to overhear every bit of baby talk and other blather at any measure.

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Images The Grave’n Raven of Catalina (cont.)

For he is my raven who flutters between the lines of chaos and peace.

Although often grave’n, I know that he will never cease.

And so the raven sweeps for leftovers in Chipotle’s forgotten garbage and inhales the fresh scent of the university’s delicate flowers and just barely missing the weekly Saturday carnage until he has but no power.

So he once again returns gazing peculiarly at the buildings with their backs turned forgetting all of his concerns to once again conveniently block my view of the mountains just as the day adjourned.

Indu Pandey 8th grade

Sonia Schmidt and Jessica Choi - 3rd grade

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Images I Know the Most Beautiful Place I know the most beautiful place A deep space A quiet space A peaceful space I know the most beautiful place The trees hide the sunlight I feel the gentle wind blow A million soft leaves Blow and bend in the wind I hear it echo A soft sound Smooth Bark Straight Soft leafs like sand

A moist scent Fresh as the air around Wet like the water nearby A soft buzzing from a bee The soft tune of the crickets The trees let in the moonlight And the cool night’s breeze.

I know the most beautiful place Cool, quiet Beautiful, soft It is the heart of the rainforest It is a tree.

I know the most beautiful place.

Gabriela Rojo 7th grade

Ashley Wu - 8th grade

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Images I come from a small green island A hot and humid place With lush rice fields And tall mountains, the color of jade I come form a small green island It houses the second-tallest building in the world The smells of cigarette smoke From the stressed out businessmen The honks of impatient taxi drivers Rushing to drop off their clients With old, tiny neighborhood temples Sprinkled amongst gleaming skyscrapers filled with modern technology I come form a small green island With neon jungles called night markets Bombarded with the shouts of street vendors Trying to sell you stinky tofu and grass jelly Clusters of tables with sticks of sausages and bowls of sweet bean curd soup I come form a small green island Where the fishermen wake up in the dark And come back moments after sunrise With an abundance of fish Fish to be eaten during lunch and dinner I come from a small green island Where thousands of Buddhist temples cater to a very religious population The droning sounds of the chanting monkeys Reading sacred scriptures from ancient times The smells of incense, pervading the air Little kids running around, trying to burn each other with incense I come from a small green island I come from Taiwan Nick Yeh 8th grade Max Krech - 4th grade

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Images

Horses Beautifil creature galloping by, Tail swinging by and by.

Hooves so soft in the sand, The drumming of hooves brings life to my heart.

Peyton Burns 3rd grade

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Images My Mom Eloquent Elegant Not at all arrogant Intelligent Excellent Helps with my development Delicate Redolent Sometimes can be petulant Eminent Extravagant Always is resonant.

Looking upon me with her sweet brown eyes Shining in the crowd with her vibrant hair Knowing that someday I will fly Deep into the vast sky Because of her I fly high.

Staying at home Guiding me as I have grown Planting her flowers With her gnomes I am her special flower I bloom Because of her.

Ashley Lim 7th grade

Daisy Wan - 6th grade 57

Images Vera in Venice Vera needed a vacation. A nice, long, relaxing one. Her job, believe it or not, is to be a hero. on the skiing mountain, if somebody took a tumble down the side, she had to cathc them. If a volcano erupted, it was Vera’ responsibility to cover the opening with rocks. If an earthquake came, Vera had to hold the ground down.

Vera enjoyed her job, but it was hard. That was why Vera needed a vacation. She booked two seats on a plane to Venice, Italy. This was because she was a giant. Besides her size, Vera looked like a typical princess. She had pale skin, blue eyes, and blond hair. Long, blond hair. When Vera got in the airport, people screamed and ran, “Oh well. . .” she said sadly.

But as soon as Vera stepped out of the airport, her grumpiness melted away. “Wow. . .” Vera sighed.

Wow was right. There was green scenery all around. The full moon glittered on the river, as if it were made of gold. Vera strolled the streets calmly. Word had spread that there was a giant in town, so nobody ran.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the evening air. “Mama mia, my pizzeria is ruined!”

“Not again!” Vera cried, and she ran to help.

News was spreading like wildfire. “Fire! Fire!” people screamed. Vera ran faster, but the fire was fast, too. Luckily had an idea.

Vera reached the fire and looked around for a solution. The joice store, the school, the woodcutter’s, even the ice company went up in flames. Fortunately, no one was hurt. “Wait, that was it! The woodcutter’s!” thought Vera. Vera plucked two planks from the shop. She didn’t need help because, well, she was big. Giant, in fact. She set them on the river and asked the local fisherman to pull her. He agreed, and she stepped on the planks. They held, without sinking to the bottom of the river. The fisherman tossed Vera a rope, and started the motor. Vera started flying across the water on her makeshift waterskis. By the time she was done, not a spark of fire was left.

Vera looked around. Everything was wet or burnt, and the city was abandoned. “Venice was so beautiful, and now it’s ruined,” she thought regretfully. Vera turned her back on the city, but couldn’t resist looking over her shoulder. But then something happened. To any other pair of eyes, Venice looked like the mess of the century, but Vera’s hope was restored. She set to work. Vera picked up the joice machines. She build new desks for the school out of the wet wood from woodcutter’s. For the ice company, she went back home and brough a few icebergs back to Venice. It took forever, but in the end, Venice was more beautiful than before.

Manya Lalwani 4th grade

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Images Procrastination Procrastination, Procrastination You are the devil of the devil’s temptations You sneak up to my door, waiting for my resistance to abate My fingers Twitch, my heart beats faster “Go away,” I briefly say.

But nay, slowly you begin to fill me With hate and sorrow, I can resist thee I press command tab to change the page, And suddenly I fill with rage “No! I will not go on google chrome I have not lost yet, you have not won” But then you slowly fill me again Now you have won, I’m 0 for 10.

I get engulfed, in the internets, As my hands type and my face sweats.

I do not know, how long this lasts, For seconds, minutes, hours pass.

I am engulfed, I cannot win, Procrastination, is a deadly sin I cannot leave, I must now stay As someone texts me, they say “Hey!” I type “not now, Not today” I cannot do this everyday.

I check the assignment center, it is empty I jump for joy, I say Hooray However this is a hollow victory, For Procrastination got the better of me.

Joanna Kwok, Olivia Daniel, Antonia Brooks - 3rd grade

Another day, in the life of me, This is my life, this you must see, Though at homework, I am not zen, And I will procrastinate now and then Though I am harmed, this is what I say I’ll live to procrastinate another day.

Max Caragozian 7th grade

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Images

Falling

What Makes Me a Princess?

What makes me a princess?

An invisible crown An old baby blanket wrapped into a gown.

What makes me a superhero?

A leap from a tree When a brave firefighter is talking to me.

Falling Burning Lights spiral toward the ground All around me Everything is empty I fell. . .

Anger Confusion Longing. . .for what?

What makes me a teacher?

The cracked glasses I found Or the rosy red apples I bought by the pound.

What makes me an astronaut?

An old cardboard box That takes me to space in my pj’s and socks.

Teacher or princess, they’re all part of me.

But they live in a world that only I see.

Shaya Naimi 7th grade

I felt doubt for him I rebelled for him I killed for him I fell- for him I’m going this for him I’m doing this because of him And though I’m no angel I swear I have wings When he’s with me Riley Frey 8th Grade

Katherine Arcinue - 6th grade

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Images An Intriguing Book Turning the pages of an intriguing book, New stories filling my head of fantasy and adventure.

My feet hitting the concrete ground as I run through the streets While my hair flies through the cool breeze.

Laughing until tears come to my eyes as my brother makes another joke.

Hannah Hirsch-Marin, thinker and wanderer through life.

Daughter, sister, Friend, student, teammate.

My mother helps me through every situation I must face, My brother always knows how to make me laugh when I am down, And my dad has watched me grow up and journey through each step in life.

The ink necklace hanging around my neck giving me the knowledge that I am never alone.

My pearl white phone, connecting me to the outside world of people far away.

Pages constantly flipping, Running through “nature” in my community, And laughing with the ones I love until I can’t speak.

Hannah Hirsch-Marin 8th grade

Daisy Wan- 6th grade

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Images The Pitcher (In response to The Base Stealer by Robert Francis) Runner on 1st, he·s on his toes Nervous and twitching Wanting to pick him off In the stretch position Looking for the sign Head over my shoulder Stepping off the rubber I·ve made up my mind Now has to be the time Delicate, delicate, delicate – Now! Jack Stellwagen 7th grade

Christian Cauvel - Kindergarten

My Little Eraser Erasing away my small mistakes So helpful, but yet so strong Rubbing is all it takes To get rid of my crazy mistakes Erase here and erase there, It goes with me everywhere Leon Kuo 5th grade 62

Images A Sudden Rush The one moment of solitude When the ball is suddenly snapped back Into the hands of the quarterback You feel free As one by one the seconds pass No time to be lost Only time for action I hit the grass with cleats Filled with aspirations To stop the quarterback From having his one last desire From passing the last line Completing the touchdown This is my chance This is my final rush Diego Jaime 7th grade Sonia Schmidt - 3rd grade

Wolfbloods Weird mythical creatures Owl-like eyes will stare Lurking in the dark Frightening to see them Baffling you at night Look where you step Ow! Don’t let them bit Old friends of mine Drinking blood is gross to them Super senses they use Andrew Kuai - Kindergarten

Simone Obregron 3rd grade

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Images Pan Dulce I love pan dulce. Pan dulce is bread with sticky sugar on top. It is delicious and sweet. It is very sweet because it has colorful sugar on top. Pan dulce is colorful, soft and bumpy. It is the tastiest thing anyone has ever tasted. Pan dulce is all different types of bread. My favorite type of pan dulce is the concha. The concha looks like a turtle’s shell and it can be pink, white or brown for strawberry, vanilla, or chocolate. My favorite concha is the vanilla kind. I don’t know why. When you bite into it the bread and sugar melts in your mouth. The bread is soft and fuzzy, it is like a pillow. The sugar is my favorite part because I like mostly anything with sugar.

Eliana Longoria-Valenzuela 3rd grade

Daisy Wan - 6th grade 64

Images Songs I hear songs all day. Cloudy and bright. I fail my homework because of songs. What can I do without music? Beating through my old headphones, down to my heart. It waves up and down. Soft and loud. I feel proud to know the music, surfing the web for all music. From town to town to music in the underground. The Oldies, the Newbies, to country to R&B to pop to parodies to rock and on and on. Mixed with songs inside my body, keeping me going. Fast and slow. With each song, I can t help to bounce my foot. Tunes have different kinds of feelings to me. Jazz is calm, rock is spaz. Each song has its own special video or performance in my head. Songs will forever be in my family from Dad to Mom. From Sheila E to One Republic to Red Hot Chili Peppers to the Strokes to Arianna Grande to Vampire Weekends and on and on. I hear songs all day. Day and night. Music takes the night.

Simone Cundieff 5th grade

Maya Celis - 4th grade

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Images

Asher Singla - 3rd grade

The Gummy Bear Fiasco “Why did I have to do that test?!” It was January 13, 2014, the day of the Gummy Bear Fiasco. I had just walked upstairs to the bathroom to wash my hands, which were doused in machine oil and grease. I turned on the faucet and out of it came a nice, steady stream of. . . gummy bears? Wait, where are my manners? My name is William Farhat and I am the lead inventor at CrazyLab Inc., the world’s leading company dedicated to crazy experiments.

Now, back to the bears. My latest experiment was to test different materials in pipes. I had made pipes out of ice (kept frozen by its own personal freezer), pasta, and – you guessed it – gummy bears! I had most likely not fastened them together and the water must have pushed some up the pipe and into the faucet. The leak couldn’t be left unattended, so I grabbed a flashlight and went into the maintenance tunnels. On the floor I saw a stream of water.

The water led to the pipe, which had a hole in it. At first glance it seemed ordinary but a closer examination revealed the hole had bite marks on it. Sabotage! Or not . . . hadn’t I seen my new junior assistant Scott Montelbury with some gummy remnants on his lips? Quickly, I hurried up to Scott’s usual post in the office. “Hi Scott,” I greeted. “Do you like gummy bears?”

William Farhat 5th grade 66

Images Turning Something Gross to Good

Dz Ǩ ǯ ǫdz Ǥ

Dz Ǩdz Ǥ

Dz Ǩdz ǯ ǯ Ǩ

ǯ Ǥ Ǥ Ǥ Ǥ Dz ǫdz ǯ ǡ Ǥ ǡ Ǩ ǡ Ǩ ǡ ǯ Ǧ Ǥ

ǡ ǡ Ǥ Ǥ

ǡ ǣ Ǥ Ǥ Ǩ ơ Ǩ ϐ Ǥ ǡ ǯ Ǥ Ǥ ơ Ǥ

Ǥ Ǥ Ǥ

ǨǨ Ǩ Ǩ ǡ ǡ Ǥ Ǩ Ǥ Dz ǡdz

ͷ

Lily Carlson - Kindergarten

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Images

Theodore Tsai - 2nd grade

Aidan Chao - 2nd grade

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Images Responding to Literature: Would You Rather Be a Fisherman or a Farmer?

I would rather be a famer. My grandparents live on a farm and we go there and farm. It·s fun. We ride on a gator, which is a car that can drive on rocks and grass and does not have a top but is not a convertible. We pick tomatoes and get eggs from the chickens.

My grandpa·s the farmer. Sometimes he lets us drive the gator. I think the farm is 45 acres The cow poo smells bad. I sit in the back of the gator without a seat, and my sister sits next to the driver.

If I were a farmer I would live in Missouri. That·s where my grandparents live. It·s cold in fall and winter and hot in the summer and spring. I think that is the perfect weather. I·d like to live in Missouri even if I·m not a farmer. I like to farm.

Graham DesHotel 3rd grade

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Images

A Fun and Fantastic Time Last month I had a time to play with my friend Asher. First, we walked around Asher’s house. Then, my dad drove us to a park to have fun. I swung on the swings with Asher and rolled around. We had a fun time!

Now, Asher showed my dad and me where a store was. In that store we relaxed and drank some cool lemonade. After 30 minutes, we decided to play at my house. We first ate Korean meat for dinner and ate apples for fruits. After, we went to the theater to watch Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2. The movie was exiting and lasted for one our and thirty minutes. When we were done watching the movie, we dropped off Asher back at his house. It was dark then. I had a fantastic time.

Alex Oh 3rd grade

Kuba Clemons - Kindergarten

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Images The Tower Chandler had a tower. It was clean, smooth, and soft. It had this special power that would bring us to the top. The tower used to hold a lot of kids and kids from Chandler liked it a lot, but the tower will be gone. We used to say hello to the tower, but now we can’t! We have to give lots of thanks to the tower. We will be sad and miss it, but as long as we are learning some more and more and more, we will always, always, and always, be happy and stay smart and strong. We will probably get a new one, one that looks the same. But, if we don’t get one, just don’t PANIC! But, always try your best.

Dylan Lam 1st grade

Maggie Albrecht - 1st grade

Responsibility Responsibility is one of the most important parts of the Pillars of Character. Some traits are: be accountable for your choices, practice self-control, do your best, and keep trying, and finish what you begin.

You can show that you are responsible by perseverance. That means don’t give up. You can also show extra responsibility by paying special attention to all of your teachers. Do all of your homework to show your teachers that you care about the work you do. You can show adults that you can be trusted. If this helps, your parents will give you more privileges like leaving you alone in your house with younger siblings. You also may get more electronics to use. Being responsible can help.

Sienna Lam 3rd grade 71

Images Too Many Video Games There was an ancient old legend about Jake. The legend is true: he can throw fireballs!

One day, an old man saw him throwing a football 500 yards in length of the field. Another person saw him do an alley-oop one hundred times in a row. One of the baseball players said he hit a thousand home runs. Jake wears a red shirt and blue pants and always carries a backpack. He is 12 years old and he is really tall for his age. He is smart, curious, and learned to throw fire when he was eight. Jake’s super power is throwing fireballs. He can throw so much fire that he can set the whole world on fire! He is also so hot that he can set fire to the woods.

Jake was in Paris, France. He saw that people were playing too many video games, which can ruin their minds. So, he decided that he would start a shop called “Jake’s Sporting Awesome.” But no customers came to the shop. He waited so long that it felt like he waited for one year. The shop was still vacant. That night he went home and saw that every kid or teenager was playing video games, house by house. He thought of an idea to stop everybody from playing video games. He thought, “ Should I start a boycott? No. Start a war between video games and sports? No.” He thought really carefully this time. Then he thought of something, but it was as dangerous as eating a poison cow. He was going to throw fire at the power line, so then there would be no power to play video games in the whole town. He had to do this task in the night when everybody was asleep.

He got ready at night. It was really dark so he had to light fire from his finger to use as a flashlight. He said to himself that he would have to be careful around wood so it won’t catch on fire and alert the fire truck. So he had to be silent as an ant walking. After, he went silently to the main power line and threw the biggest fireball at the wire. It started burning, but it made no sound. In the morning nobody could play video games, so then everybody went to, “ Jake’s Sporting Awesome.” They bought gear and balls to play with. Even when the power line was fixed, nobody played video games anymore. Now it helped the community by not ruining their minds. It let them see people play matches, games, and tournaments. Also, it helped by giving sports coaches jobs. Now, Jake’s life was as peaceful as a butterfly. Things got better and better. Some people even made it to the championships or to the national league of sports. He lived happily ever after.

Leon Liao 4th grade

Emmie Hewlett - 3rd grade

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Images

I Found Cake I found some cake That was down, down, down Down on the ground.

Chas Waldheim 1st grade

Artemis Ledbetter - Kindergarten

The Fox’s Tail The fox’s tip Is like the top of a mountain.

The top of a fox’s tail Is like snow on a mountain.

Maggie Albrecht 1st grade

Bunny and the Carrot Patch

Lauren Lee - 2nd grade

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Images Hand My hand in your hand makes friendship We make friendship with our hands all together The happiness we make Just by one hand Maggie Albrecht 1st grade

Aremis Ledbetter - Kindergarten

Lucky Puppy and Lucky Ducky One day ducky saw puppy And bought a bone And gave it to puppy And they became best friends Forever Like me and Mitzi Camille O’Brien and Mitzi Vasquez 1st grade

Chloe Palmer - 2nd grade

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Images The Tooth Fairy’s Problem Once upon a time there was a girl named Invisa, and she had the gift of invisibility. Invisa had mousy brown hair, large brown eyes, and freckles, so she did not really look like anything special. When Invisa was in fourth grade she won the spelling bee. She was really quite smart, but she turned invisible when the audience applauded because she was very shy. That is how everyone, including herself, came to know about Invisa’s legendary power. Over the years, she worked hard to master her powers and she succeeded. By the time she was twelve she could turn invisible on command. She soon found that it could be very useful sometimes. For example, when she had gym class at school and they were playing dodgeball no one could hit her. But she would soon discover that she was going to have to use her powers for something much more important.

One day in seventh grade Invisa lost her last tooth while eating a sandwich. She was sad about this because she was a big believer in the Tooth Fairy even though others teased her for it. She went to sleep that night, but when she woke up and reached under the pillow she pulled out… a note! It was written in curly letters and said:

Dear Invisa, I have heard of your powers and desperately need your help. Please come to 803 Sycamore Street, Maine.

Sincerely, The Tooth Fairy Invisa was shocked, and then realized the problem that the Tooth Fairy had. The Tooth Fairy was too old to fly and gave the children nightmares when they woke because they had heard the loud creaking of her bones. She decided to leave immediately to Maine because it was a long ways away, almost six hundred miles.

She would be invisible the whole time because she would travel a lot faster that way. Invisa arrived in Maine in under an hour and sat down on a bench to rest a little bit.

While Invisa was resting, she saw a red-haired boy teasing a girl about believing in the Tooth Fairy. “But she is real!” the girl wailed. Invisa got angry and marched up to the boy, but she was still invisible. She spooked the boy by slapping his face lightly and saying, “Believe me, the Tooth Fairy is real.” The little girl said, “Told you,” and stomped off. The boy, whose name was Jeff, grabbed Invisa and forced her to become visible. She struggled, but Jeff was stronger. Finally they agreed that if he would stop teasing children she would take him to see the Tooth Fairy. They became good friends on the short walk to 803 Sycamore Street, Maine. There they gasped because it was a house made entirely of TEETH. When they rang the doorbell, an old woman, so ugly she would give Jeff nightmares for the rest of his life, opened the door and said, “Welcome. I am the Tooth Fairy. Please come in.”

The old woman got down to business, “Invisa, I asked you here for a reason and”- Invisa interrupted her, “I know your problem and… if you want me to be the new Tooth Fairy, I will.” Years later, the older Invisa flew out of a child’s bedroom window carrying a bag of teeth with Jeff, her new husband. She was gleeful because she was going to have a baby. The doctor had told her that the baby had invisibility powers, too. Then she flew off into the night with Jeff at her side, whooping with joy and doing flips in the night air.

Eliza Williams 4th grade

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Images Fruit Fruit, fruit It s like candy Apples, blueberries And mini, mini grapes All so tasty and sweet Izzy Lanstra 1st grade

Lauren Bradford - Kindergarten

Pets I love pets They are the safest pets in the whole world Pets are funny Pets are stinky Pets are jumpy Pets are sleepy Pets are fun Vere Pizante 1st grade Victoria Boumajdi - 2nd grade

Math Math is fun Math is good For your brain Math is happy Vere Pizante 1st grade

Lily Carlson - Kindergarten

Rumpte Roo Rumpte roo, skippety doo I love you And you love me So Rumpte roo and Skippety doo

Dylan Docter - Kindergarten

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Ryan Mayhew, 1st grade

Images

The Cool Tower I like to see a tower that is very very cool, I do see that the tower is so beautiful, so I want to call a friend over so they can look with me. They will know how beautiful the tower is.

Kaitlyn Hong 1st grade

Maggie Kurtz - 1st grade

Maggie Kurtz - 1st grade

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Images

The Thoughts of an Olympic Champion One, two, three four What was the basketball score?

Five, six, seven, eight I really cannot be late The clock is ticking My heels are clicking There’s no place like Ahmanson There’s no place like Ahmanson I prepare for the worst My gastorcnemius is about to burst One step at a time I slowly begin to climb Math test tomorrow What is the Spanish word for avocado?

Oh how I would love the opulent comfort of an escalator Did I bring my calculator?

The sky is nice cerulean blue Study hall should be something to look forward to Almost there. . .

My lungs are begging for air I arrive with two minutes to spare I feel like an Olympic champion Breathless as I see a companion Truthfully, I will the tower Its mighty, muscle-building power It is time to say goodbye Doesn’t time fly?

Cat Lee 8th grade

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Brandon Cheng - 2nd grade

The Tower The Tower stands so tall.

Who would want to make it fall?

No one would.

That doesn’t mean you should.

I wish I could climb it in middle school.

So the new Tower must be cool.

Let’s say hooray!

Today’s the day, that the Tower falls.

Maggie Kurtz 1st Grade

Images

Taysha Kim - 5th grade

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Images

To view Images online and in color, go to the Chandler School website and look for Images 2014. chandlerschool.org/publications

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