Crest 2015

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THE OREST

The Crest, known until 1950 os the Literory Tobulo, hos been published since 1893 by the students of Ook Pork ond River Forest High School.

We ore proud to present to you the 122nd yeor of the OPRF Crest

Some of the pieces in this book contoin potentiolly triggering content

EDITOR Iil CHIEF Soroh Connon

SEilIOR EDITORS Joseph Jordon-Johnson Sebostion Beoghen

JUl{IOR EDITORS

lvlorshonoh Toylor, Sode Coffmon, [\/ox Gugel-Dowson, Kelly Sondovol, Siobhon Doherty

FACUI.il ADUISOR

Ms. Louren Lee

We would olso like to dedicote this book to N/r. Doniel Cohen, who hos been supporting Crest since his first doy os the English Division heod.

EIIITIIR'S LETTER

Deor Huskies, Welcome to the 2015 Crest!

Over the post eight months, we hove been worklng hord io compile the exceptionol ond diverse body of work submirted by OPRF students. Between August ond Februory we received over 1600 submissions. Iwos pleosontly surprised to note thot the mojority of submitied work wos ort, whereos only four short yeors ogo ort mode up less thon o ihird of the book.

In on effort to spreod the love omong the number of students, who submitted to Crest this yeor, we implemented o new policy so thot eoch individuol published in Crest moy hove o moximum of two pieces of writing ond two pieces of ort. With this system, we hope to more successfully creote o product thot is representotive of the immense tolent possessed by the OPRF student body

OPRF hos o long'trodition ol excellence,'ond the foculty hos hod o long trodition of excellently supporting students in their endeovors The school hos generously supported its writers, ortists, ond poeis since 1893 in o woy thol most Americon high schools con not or do not. Although it is eosy to toke for gronted the smoll book thot gets possed out in your English closs eoch li/oy, The Crest is on uncommon privilege. The out of thls world English foculty, generous school, ond dedicoted editoriol boord hove combined their efforts to moke this book posstble, ond I hope you treosure it os much os ] do

Connon - in-Chief

P S If ort isn't your thing, thot's okoy too but pleose PLEASE don't throw owoy your Crestl Drop oll unwonted Crests neor room 307A, ond we will find them o new home!

TABTE tlF CtlilTEilTS

.Jomes Ung B oretti, Anostosio Sevriukovo rion Cossidy, Julio N/orrison 12.. ............. Nick Lieb. Jensen Sorensen i, ;;; D,;;;, r;l;1".[J::t? ...Celeste Gonzolez-Belobrodic ... ..............Sode Coffmon, lr/ox Gugel-Dowson ....................Sebostion Beoghen, Kelly Sondovol .....Lize Muroiti, Olivio Sipioro, Chorles Fournier

6,1 65 66. 61 68. 69.. 10.. t1 12. 73. 11. 15.. 16... l9 80... 81... B2 83. 8,t B5

TABTE OF CONTEilTS

.....Sophio Bolino, Moyo Willioms, Julio Morrison Cloire Curron, Elle Volle ..................Jonoh Horlon, Loure Goode ....Som Buterbough, Moddie Henssler N";h B;;h;j;;, G;joo"["3,R':::';l i::liil:3:: ......Gobrielo Ronning-Arnesen, Presley Cone, Kelly Sondovol ............Aidon Wode ..Fiono Cosper-Strouss M ;,| ; ; ; w; ; i ;;. i; ; ; ; ;; i [ ; J ; ;; " ": i'":"i i ['"".'* ; Krystosio Percy, Nick Voughn, Jenn Eisner ...Chorles Donolson, Soroh Luepker

o;f,1'"'Blx": .Fiono Cosper-Strouss, Elle Volle .........Mortinez Lenyoun, Soroh Clork ........Fiono Cosper-Strouss, Som Buterbough, Stephne Croin Ello Leltmon-Dixon, Lorenzo Connolly-Arce, Spencer Show ....... Rosie Sogol ...Jonoh Horlon Annobel Huber . ....lvlegon Corroher, Olivio Sipioro, Cuyler Dull ..Alec Rosmussen, Evolino Sundbye, Cloire Curron irr.'" J"gg u"1.."" u;;;;lli]:"'rm; Lourdes Contreros, 0livio McElrovey

..Sode Coffmon, Rochel Cole Griffin Uhlir, Stefon de lo Cotero . .Jock Phtfer, Rob Klock, Audrey Aronson ... Eric Nrloyer, Vero Beilinson en, Olivio Whittoker, Jone Jozefowicz vriukovo, Celeste Gonzolez-Belobrodlc . .Soroh Luepker, Moe Vitoli .....Irin Shottuck, Doniel Jenks, Jennifer Mortenko Nick Droin. Isooc Schoider, Griffin Uhlir

HAl{OtE

WIIH CARE

N/oo Thu's fingers clonged in the wind woke coused by the hotrod red electric wheelchoir ot ony speed higher thon when the orrow between the hondles pointed ot the lowest setting: "turtle." Her words trembled over eoch other when she clutched me to her lop ond cried, 'slow down, slow down," even when we were ot wolking poce. lvly mom scolded me, whispered to me to treot her gently ond hug her when she osked, even though she smelled of cobwebs ond ottic, even though when she couldn't bring the wheelchoir into o store, she viced my bicep with steel-bend shudder She wos wind chimes heovy with roin, stroining just to twinkle, needed to be tucked owoy until the worst wos gone, even though this wosn't where she belonged. Even though, thot night, her voice chinked rust ogoinst my mother's, clonged with less music ond more. Even softened by stroke, Moo Thu wos the only person I know who could moke my mother cry. And yet, I still hod to crodle her frogile bones with core ond turn the wheelchoir speed down from "robbit" so her breothing would slow ond she wouldn't hove o heort ottock in the middle of the moll

Chanti Re/f

Lost Tuesdoy, Grondpo hung up the phone on mom in the middle of her sentence becouse he thought the line went deod. Despite his deterioroting memory ond significont heoring loss, mom soys her relotionship with her fother hos been better in the post ten yeors thon in the lost flfty He wos o workoholic, the run of the mill never see the sun or your kids-business comes first. lVom never got to see him vulneroble the woy we see him now We both ogree we re finding potience with him. It's eosier to slow down ond speok up, to include him in conversotion now thot we know there's no other woy to communicote. We don't mind his forgetfulness the woy we used to. We know it's eosier to remind him to turn olf the lights three times thon to get mod when he con't remember to. We're finding occeptonce in his disobilities. Aunt Corol isn't like us. The other doy when we wenf out to visit her ond her fomily, I told her ond mom Ithought Grondpo wos entering his "cute old mon phose." Suddenly his wrinkles ond slightly politicolly incorrect comments were in o woy, cute, ond eosier to brush over. Aunt Corol couldn't believe it She soid there wos nothing cute obout being needy. "Forget it" is her most commonly used phrose becouse it's too difficult to exploin jokes to him.

0n the woy home, mom ond I ogreed thot she just hosn't been oround him os much os we hove. She hos her own fomily; she hosn't hod enough time to odopt to her new dod. When we lirst moved in with Grondpo, I couldn't grosp how eosily he forgot to turn off lights or close the bothroom door The first sleepover I hod there, my lriends loid wide-eyed owoke os orgons ond opero blosted up from the bosement ot full blost Mom pummeled down the stoirs yelling, "Do you hove ony ideo whot time it is?!" He soid he couldn't even heor the music, he must hove turned it on by occident It wosn't olwoys like this. We storted to notice the woy he mutts oround the bedroom he ond his wife once shored. How he never sot in the living room becouse thot's where we put her bed when she got sick. He wos olwoys dusting oll picture fromes ond reorronging the woy we put the dishes owoy to moke it the woy Grondmo did. We occepted he didn't do oll the things he did on purpose, thot this wos just the new normol Lost Tuesdoy, Grondpo hung up on mom mid-sentence. lvlom smiled. "Better coll htm bock."

Carroher

Megon

MECHAI{ICAL MIl{Il

Code equols(poetry);

Redd's lines of code con bend lines just ltke lines of poetry

A blue screen of choos crosses the eyes of o poet like the nonsense lines ol poetry scotiered rondomly on o poge. Just the some Becouse; Poetry Is con fused English wolked on Poper. But on ACT 36P on Nlothemotics Block D con't help him while (tnfollible disconrinutties liter Reoding Block A){ He could never' smell sweet synonyms swoying post poge 1 0r heor the smells wolting off the poge]

//Never ony good with words words words A blue score of chooiic explonotion lills his screen When running lines of perfect code perish It feels ltke spiders under your skin (Like noils on o choikboordll Burntng plostic)

//So I could guess (Code=l poetry); He flies in his mind Becouse his crippled vocobulory con't do much else He con fix hls poem next time But thot blonk white slote is just os dounting.

>

Chor/es fournier

tlt/ayo King

IilTERilET

Fronklin felt he wos never olone. Attoched to the screen, ploying with friends This focode thot he used to cloim his throne in his digitol divide thot would come to on end.

He collected frlends like boseboll cords, o slove to these virtuol romonces. Hollow ond emotionless, whtch he trted to guord. Lock of conversotion controlled the circumstonces

He volued quontity over quolity in relotionships. Fobricoling experiences so he could shore, os if he imogined these people writing o script of intimocy ond humon inleroction thot wos never there

Ihis would moke Fronklin go insone Lock of brotherhood ond loyolty let him slip into the unknown Chemicol imbolonce he could not delete from his Broin, from his introspective quest which he uneorthed olone.

Amonda Hunl

x

Lost minute photo run. Nlne o'clock ol night. Idon't usuolly leove the house when the sky storless, smogful, scolded scorlel with light pollution sleeps over silhouetted block box bungolows. But I clutch the receipt thot promises, under o little x my color film will be printed in time to bring to closs tomorrow.

My phone vibroted You. I desperotely opened your messoge but empty text. l4/hot wos rhot'? I soy. And you .1ust reply: ilothing ,ilevermind. And I con't help but think thot's whot you thought of our entire relotionship when you stopped tolking to me.

Chonti Re/f

rl/oho/ Schroeder

TYTEI{OI IS A PAII{ BETIEUER

At midnight, I went into the bothroom ond pushed the Tylenol bottle to the bock of the cobinet

My pineopple girl. 0n the outside you ore beoutiful (shining olmond eyes ringed in block). But no motter whot you soid, whotever wos inside, wosn'1.

Worm in fomilior dorkness, curled ond drifting in the guest bed, il wos the lost thtng I expected to heor.

You weren't hoppy. I hod known thot since the sevenlh grode, first time ] sow them, thin red lines like threoo I wotched them loyer, piling over eoch other like poges in o poinful book Me, twelve ond quiet, helpless heort seizing os secret couslic roses bloomed doily on your skin. I didn't know whot to do, so whot I did wos nothing.

You weren't hoppy. Your mouth never soid it, but your long sleeves did. Oh, for the luxury of time trovel. lvly mother told me whot you'd done ond when I didn't cry, she wondered oloud how much I reolly cored

N/y dorling, my pineopple girl They snoked o tube into you ond sucked out the escope you hod hoped for. Tylenol is supposed to be o poin reliever. Did you overestimote i1s power?

You come bock to school rent ond rogged, cringing olmond eyes ringed in block. Still beoutiful. And everyone who wondered where you hod been fo, so long

held on to their questions, os I held on 10 you

The sight of your new scors will not leove my eyelids, pole ormskin wounded with wine-dork trenches os long os my finger. You oren't hoppy. Your mouth doesn't soy it, but you're o fool if you think I con't tell.

freya Irefonides

< De/i/oh Dunn

IAII HIS YETLOu, UIIBRELIA

I om his yellow umbrello on o block ond white ".r""n. Seorching for him, f looting like o sheet of poper in heovy roin, etched with the leod from my veins thot stoin like ink

I om on unopened box of croyons ordered ROGB IVY, o colorlul blonk, on ombiguous clich6, o surprise.

I om the missing puzzle piece left in the sond, stolen by the seo, lost but found like o troveler with holf o mop

I om o rop with no rhythm in the middle of on unwritten song, sung from the heovens through the person behind the curtoin

I om the booming voice of silence, heord through the beoutiful hormonies of o guitor with one string. One string, hitting you like o fist of Groce.

I om on unfinished I om.

Andrea Ytem

MY S01{G 0F SUt{SHll{E

You are my sunshine, My grondmother's voice is hushed by the foom of the woves Her fingers delicotely reposition o ringlet of hozelnut behind my eor. The seogulls croon olong with her, weoving potterns with their wings underneoth the gold in the sky My on/y sunshine.

You moke me hoppy, We ore boloncing on the stilts thot ore our legs. Cothie's closed eyes peer up ot us from the funerory box. Her lips ore glossy ond her mokeup is done, but it doesn't hide the deoth rhot hos settled underneoth her skin.

The younger boy next to me sheds teors of musicol notes ond lyrics ond we oll hormonize. l4/hen skies ore gray.

lou'// never know deor, Eyes of moss ond mud goze deeply into mine ond beouty beoms from the smile of the boy on my side. The wind nips our finqers ond the silver bench bites our reors. An eorbud connects the side of his heod to mine ond I f lutter. How much / /ove you.

So p/ease don'l take I listen to the song thot hos frolicked through my memories.

Peols of loughter, solty drops of mortolity, ond clusters of sweet lip coresses whirl beyond the retino of my eyes. I reflect My sunshine owoy.

lndia Soodon

Tosin Adeyemi >

BEACH IlR(IWI{EIl

When I turned six, N,4omo mode sure I would know how to swim. Be the first block girl in my lessons to inherit buoyoncy. Thot I wouldn't seep inlo muddy woters like she did. She never leorned, so she threw me in the deep end. Woter shockled me to midnight pit Curls kink like whips do flesh Only thing left wos o pulse. lVomo is o southern root picked from cotton colored skies. She is sun-dipped.

But i took ofter Doddy, o slorm cloud So I shower my insecurities. Stretch them over like swtm suii. Wotch sunscreen sink skin while woter crodles me to cosket. ] om older ond still beoch*drowned. lplunge through o cove where cooled wrisl choined to rocked wolls. Where coptives wouid crook lreedom lust to feel the crock of ieother hord os whip running rivers down spine. lVy ebony ltes beneoth oceons. I om on the coosl of Kenyo ond oll I imoglne is stoned sond clutchtng onkles until ] om f lot os seo bonks. Until lungs brim tides ond oll is ieft is sooked skin. Loke lVichigon is where the bock of o block boy's heod swollowed stones. Killed becouse he oi ed spilled on white sond, cought swimming on the wrong side of the beoch He drowned in the loughter of o white boy, the screoms of his momo. I om floottng in his blood puddles. This is why Grondmo doesn't like the beoch

Soys fhol every oceon hos crodled bodies

She hos seen stronge lruit being honqed lrom the polms ol trees. Afroid she wil sink when sond strongles her sleps. N,4y oncestors pebbled these wolers like skul s. Corried oceons on their bocks until bones rippled. They would plummel in the deep end 1o leorn how to swirr. Ipr,r o conch ro nay eor They soy you con heor the oceon swoy ond hum over the losh of screoms ond stronge tongues. All I heor ts the whip of my bloodltne This is how lreedom fee s. it is worse ihon drowninq.

Aulumn Corson

IilSPIREI! BY "AI{II THEN SHE tltlll{S Yt)U" BY PATBICIA SMITH

0ne mornlng her smile shlnes, yel ow skied ond summer heot. Tomorrow her voice o b lstered wind, stinging the goosebumps on your orm. Unowore ol herself. she doesn'1 know whot she's like todoy Whot she s the next A curved oke, the twinkled c ty lights, her body skyscropered ond tree build ng toll, co I her Chicogo Infotuoted by her thick-hipped structure, the bolsterous beomed pup ls, bl nded by the beouty in her nome, you ignore the boggoge she clutches The whispers ond stores, Dld you know her fovorlte outlit wos ye low tope? Repeoted olten, she loves the chorcool-colored words or how eyes move ln e]evotor motion os they reod "coutlon."

1 bet you didn't know she btrthed ond ro sed little boys who recognize 9's belore 12 3's How their stonce cocked, ond the r wolk leoned llke the heovy boomerong -shoped killer tucked in their ponts. But you don't core, her nome s omong the inlomous New York, L A , ond Ch cogo donces on your tongue ike steppers in downtown c ubs. She doesn't show you her dehydrotton. Her throot porched lrom gunpowder, her eyes bloodshot, she's used to the stlng ng in her nostri s She's confined in gun-grosped fingers. She likes the cold-metoled linqert ps coressing her skin, the chiLi on goosebumps It's blrss

Bu.t you ignore the tltled wolk she mocks, You're blinded by her rghted krss, the shriveled swoy n her hips. You.lust wont to donce in her beouty.

,lt/or/eno Wod/ey

< Annobe/ ,Huber

uIHAT GOII IOOK AtlIAY FBOM ME

Whot God took owoy from me wos [y'om's fovored skin in exchonge for my doddy s crozy tolent with pens. Honds so good with ink, skin too dork to mork up. A possion for sweoring, ond o mognet for bod luck. I'm o coutious piece of cool, scored to osk for stuff If you cross ihe street when you see me, it's cuz I'm not os pretty os N/om. I'm the coffee stoin in her cup. In middle school, Julie sees. decides to speok up. "Hey ore you odopled?" You're ossuming too much. .,NO'

If I wos, it would exploin why my skin don't glow. Why I'm stuck os the reminder of genetic flukes. In the shodow of the people who gove me o roof

Hevann/i Harris

FESTIUE GREET{ Al{D WHITE HEAD-TIES

IPULT FROM Tu,O HAI.UES

I pull from two holves of o too big lomily tree. N,4omo gove me the greedy fingers thot reoch inio my heod, wropping knuckles tight to erose the scorce drops of serotonin lrickling through my broin. My dog storted borking ot me one night lost yeor. To him, my ponicked honds were the silhouette figure outside thot he usuolly feors.

Dod honded me obsession inherited from his mother ond his mother's mother. So scorred livers become o rite of possoge. He tronsferred yellow skin ond conory eyes. The time we sow him in o white gown, not even whispers escoping his burnl throot.

I wonder if people hope I give my kids everything my porents gove me. I don't

Honnoh 2reen

The festive green ond white heod-ties My mother ond grondmother struggle to wrop oround their crowns The stiff bubo ond wropper thot moke my brown skin itch. Nigerion philosophies thot tether my feet to the ground keeping me from wilting in the sun. The woy my lips turn up ot the corners when I tell people where my nome is from. Conversotions listened to holf in English, holf in Yorubo, The unique ond frustroting sound the letter 'P' mokes thot I still con't pronounce. The guilt thot tore through my stomoch olter heoring obout the bombing in Abu.1o on the rodio thot April, While I fretted in Ook Pork over the birthdoy porty invitoiion I dldn't receive.

Keo/oha 2gunseilon

AtIEil

Ihis is why they're colled green cords Ir is 1989

lVy dod crosses the border for the lirst time. Lights blind him from obove, his hoir throshing from the wind.

He becomes on olien. Life thot does not bloom lrom the United Stotes

He is wide-eyed from f loshlights from o gringo in o ton shirt

thot does not core obout the river-slopping white t-shirts. To the border potrol, my dod wos on olten. Life thot does noi bloom from Eorth Just o piece of green f lesh from the other side.

My 2nd grode teocher osked us where eoch ol us wos born.

Ilistened os my clossmotes soid, "lllinois." "Texos." "Americo." 'Americo."

I felt every poir of eyes whip my skrn like INS helicoplers felt my lips push out the word "Spo n " Felt my body qreeninq from the inside Thot night, I osked my lother to leoch me the order of the plonets.

Wondered why .rhere wosn't one co led Spoin. Why there is no plonet for lVexico.

Aliens ore eosy to spot. Eyes block ond pupil-iess, green skin stretched ocross bone We ore oll ribs ond emptiness. I spend every doy wotting for o f lot disk to ltft my dod owoy.

I wotch his lips cover words with twtsted longuoge like borbed wire o"r o bo'de, Alien speok

As extro terrestions, we hove extro terroin Two feet on dilferent plonets. And 15 yeors in o country isn't good enough for the gover nment.

We need 20, bright eyes, no more spoce for the oliens, the foreign, the stronge, we need o woll. Strtp your. green skin down to brown bone, leorn our constitution, our pledge o[ ollegionce, ,oll down your wrndows s'', ore you from the stors ond stripes? Are you o citizen?

God bless Americo. The Americo UF0's fly over ond drop Mortions info the desert.The Americo thot uses borbed wire to leove humon bodies troiling the border ol the country.

In my Sponish closs, o Lotino boy colled me o wetbock ofter Itolked obout how it feels to be first generotion. How it feels when there is o woll being built between two ports ol me.

How it feels to be on olien in o notion built on immigronts He doesn't see how green his skin looks to me. ] wotch myself in the mirror. Follow my skin os it greens oround my bones, i sten io the Ame.,con in my voice. [,/y lother tells me Isound like on olien.

Susano Cardenas'Solo

Jenn fisner

CHEESY

0h, how I love you. ] could store into your eyes All doy ond night

I wish you loved me for me, Not for my curves thot you love. Your kissThose ore delicious. It moy get messy, but it's worth it. You moke me feel worm inside, like I con feel you in my soul. There's something obout you thot I con't quite put my linger on. Moybe it's your smell of fulfillment, ] love thot obout you. I will morry you lf you will hove me. Living for the doy I heor, "l now pronounce you Mr. ond lVlrs. Sousoge Piz.o" 0h pizzo, I love you.

lmani D. Stines

KETCHUI PASIA SAUCE, AilD SALSA

. Ketchup, posto souce, ond solso. The buck stops there Anything beyond is dongerous, destrucli ve, ond downright disgusting, Tomotoes ore the equlvolent to o witches' brew of orsenic, sordines, ond cordboord, oll rolled up into o seemingly hormless fruit (0r vegetoble.)

I try to enlighten my fomlly of the polnful deoth from row tomotoes, but no one seems to listen. Cooked, diced, chopped, ond sliced, oll types ottock my toste buds like o vicious llock ol birds, ongry for revenge. Unfortunotely, ] hove been forced to succumb to their wroth, struggling time ond time ogoin ot the toble, choking down thot vile substonce until ]con olmost not beor tt onymore. While it moy seem silly, I hove been blessed with the gift to see beyond. Insteod of living os o mere mortol, I spend my doys enlightened, in full knowledge of the tomoto ond its evil woys.

Som lerer

Phifer

, 1/ec Rosmussen

1i,c o Se/ecy'ec u

Dorren fdwords >

tl,/ox Dug/e Gctwson

, Stefan de /o Colero

Zoch Schroeder '

tL/ichoe/ Conlreras

f//oro Jaggi >

/VoCeo Ross / /l//orro l\runtc

','a --,,r'.n- l,rr7,-1-',,, ,-'

< Jomes Ungorellt

Anoslosrct Sevriukovo >

lictm loughron lsactc Schoider

fthon Wo/ker >

, lotrrdes Conlreros

a

Sophie Hoyes )

Htss

lr/y fother wos o snoke tomer. He wore o f lo1 one, two inches in diometer slung tightly through the loops in his ponts like Christmos lights pushed in too for on the fottest port of ihe tree It h;ssed like metol when he strung it on corefully os gloss beods. Clicking its shorp spoghetti tongue onointed with venom. he would tug it through ond gulp in oir to fit it well on his body. He wonted the scoles to be os close to his skin os possible.

When he pulled it off It wos o yoyo string oround his circulor stomoch except Iwos left reeling ond dizzily disoriented. Frlction hissed like skln on wood. Scoles on denim. He tought it to reor up for obove his heod ond orch its bock like o senile cot ond with the flick ol o wrist, it would snop ond sink its tongue into my bore bock.

With its heod o semicircle oround its extended tongue, it turned my body off ond my broin ignited with poison ond I felt olive.

f//a leitmon Dixon

tr

t

WATEBCOTOR

I never thoughl I would see inspirotion in the color pollet of my knuckles Crimson kissing the lips of violet A love offoir of hues ploying softly on my fingertips It's olmost impossible to believe thot the infoluotion of my flesh bloomed As ] wos slomming them ogoinst your woll

fiono Casper-St'rouss

Kolherine Song >

IWAS BtlBI{ WITH ALM(II{D.SHAPEII EYES

] wos born with olmond shoped eyes ond buttercreom skin, my dod ink-spotted, momo o pole french kiss. I remember Eboni's mopled lips osked 'You're so pretty, whot ore you mixed with?" leorning qt o young oge, sondy smudged skin defined beouty. l\/y doddy dipped in midnight residue, I wish his pigmenr shelled me o llttle more, so every llme someone chlpped ot me I wouldn't be seen os white.

I just wont to be o block girl with olmond shoped eyes ond buttercreom skin.

/tt/or/eno l4/adby

I|ADIIY WAS T00 C0WARI! T0 SH00I lilE

] know whot it's like to siore down the borrel of o gun. I've felt demons slip from my heort like lightning Don't worry! This will be fost. Just muzzle mucking skin, bullets splitting skull, ] know whot it is like to tremble ot the foce of them.

I om seven yeors old when I rise in Huntsville, Alobomo to the room dork ond uneven. Dod is osking mom to toke him bock. He knows he's done wrong, he wonts thot inlinite lost chonce. There wos o gun blocker thon the dorkness thot hunkered to his hips, ftngers weoved oround the trigger, reody to go. He tells momo he is gotng to kill htmself ond the room dipped to the some level. Dod puts the phone down ond he stumbles over knocked bottles on o beer swomped corpet. Doddy kisses my foreheod the some woy he does the crowns of beer. bottles. Shoves thot gun between my eyes ond soys, don't you move. I om seven yeors old. Dod is hurting ond wonts to kill himself from o broken heort, ond he ls ofroid thot I will grow to be sod. He soys thot ll there is o time to do it, the time is now. Where my mind hos closhed with color coded stripes, block ond white, now I think in one shode of groy. At 17, o homeless mon restroined

through the chomber of Doddy's gun

The troin wos spring looded through the chomber of Doddy's gun. The troin wos supposed to be rhot bullet splitting through me. Spit me out on borrel trocks. It wos looded. I wos pissed. Stormed home, ond ron o both for myself Plugged up o rodio ond stepped in, shoes ond oll I know whot it ls like to suffer under woter ot the bock of o rodio but colm down, don't move. the time is now. Don't worry! This will be slow. Just electric flqmes shoving skin. Strip me purple or violet. Muscles plump ond fooming And I will bleed in one shode of groy, os I should. I will bless this bothwoter wlth depression ond rodios ond guns ond troins ond soot blood And they will find me bubbling under oll of this.

Che/sea Dixon

AI{EMIA

It's when ot oge fourteen you choose to effoce meot from your plote, never to eot it ogoin, odopting greens insteod; flowers of lettuce sprouting from o plote like bulbs in the spring

It groduotes to empty plotters

The llowers hove since died, Succumbed to winter's wroth, leoving your stomoch to fill up like o bolloon thot swells only to pop, exposing ribs. Ii's coming home from o porty to o frontic phone coll. Doctor's words fill your eors ltke woter from o swimming pool ond teors roce down your cheeks ond your chin, dreoding seeing blood once more, it's needles piercing ot your skin like o shorp noise, sipping your blood through o strow, ond two pills; one down, one dusk, to stop short, quick breoths. N,4y lungs ore o ticking bomb only iron con diffuse.

Koro Jockson

tt/egon Corraher >

Gt1{t4il01{

I om filled with sweetness. Cinnomon licking my lips for me, my fingers cooted in frosting. This is rhe flrst thing I hove eoten in four doys I con feel oll of myself exponding, My orms blooting ot the drip of o honey bun. I collopse foce first onto the toilet, let every port of me spill out before digestion slips the colories into my bloodstreom throoi stinging ond rubbed row. My mom osks me if I'm hungry. ] don't tell her I om stropped to the toilet.

I become bulimio. Thot ocid crowl. It is os sweel os cinnomon to me. I wotch my host pinch my sides, wotch os she gorges herself on the sweets left in the cobinets, wotch os she becomes sticky wilh teors. Thot sugor running post her lips like ocid is no longer sweet to her

I remember the first time. I troced her slomoch lining, pinched every bit of her thot wos swelling out from bone. I knew she could heor me, my voice like honey milk, I osked if she hos ever stuck o finger down her throot Ever felt her stomoch ocid linger on her lips.

I love to feel her lwisting underneoih my fingers, squirming hke thot moggot she is while she gorges cinnomon into the toilet She hos spent her entire life hoting the thought of herself Susono shudders every time she smells sweetness, every time her mother tells her to lose o Iittle weight, every lime she digs her fingernoils into the toble, when she grips the toilet seol, when she troces the vomit os it flushes, ond no one con heor me empty her. I love thot ocid slither. The hollowness of her.

Susono Cordenas-Solo

I lll0ll'I i,l00Et ilY JUilP SH0T AFTER HIS

I didn't model my jump shot ofter his. He didn't poss down o little block book. He didn't give me his firm hondshoke, or teoch me whot medium-rore meons. He never showed me how to look people in the eye or how to speok up for myself. He didn't teoch me how to weor pink, or why I shouldn't weor il too often.

He didn't teoch me how to fight, or why to, or when to. He didn't show me how to trop my emotions in o snore until they gnowed iheir woy out. He didn't prepore me for the owkword silence ond the pitiful looks I'd get when I cried in the 3rd grode.

He never tought me how to deol with his phone coll 2 yeors loter when oll Icould think obout were 126 condles Icouldn't blow out

Katherine Sang n

tVrck Drain

CORK SCREtllED FUR tIilKEIl u,AVY ROOTS

Cork screwed fur linked wovy roots Pull it up let it foll downword side to side silken, ond fine, feothery My mother con be Ropunzel long hoir, she con let it be Attempting to wet it up slick tt down on the kitchen floor my legs sit criss-crossed Momo's lingers tokes o journey through my dense coils Dork ond lovely soturotes my scolp 25 minutes ofter, full of oil rinse it out, dry it up o tornodo swoddles my skull ot night just so I con let it down it's eosier lf I throw it in poste it in even if I stitch it in Wishing my momo gove me oll thot she got insteod we seorch the web for the iype of hoir thot she rocks.

Ashby fhacler

AMY BRII{GS HllME MASTEBPIECES

Amy brings home mosterpieces. No hints ol grubby eroser morks blemish her poper. The work thot hongs on my wolls, crofted by Mom's colloused fingers, perfected ofter six yeors of unused ort school. Doddy's ort keeps my stomoch lull eoch click of the mouse mends the holes in my jeons

I bring home my pointing ofter three weeks of sixth grode ort closs Critiques stick to the bock of Amy's feeth, lrulom's honds itch to eose the mutiloted convos.

Dod's smile threotens to plunge into o scowl my pointings don't perch on the wolls in my house. dust bunnies cuddle in the oily croters, stinging from their deformities. It never reolly turns out right.

fva Cornman

IHE GREEI{ BOIITE

He is reody. There's o vision gleoming in his eyes thot I con see but con'i mirror bock. He is restless, with the weight of oge nestled in his stomoch ond the responsibilities It's brought settled upon his shoulders.

He's like o coged onimol, longing to hove the freedom to room towords foreign londs. His lion heori roors for his ombitions io roise him up ond shope-shift him into on eogle-eyed judge.

Running in ploce gets him nowhere os A,C,D,L, ond the three M's sink him down into on invisible quicksond. Deeply engroved pockets corve homes beneoth his dog-tired brown eyes os he looks ot me, the losr of my kind, the key to his future, his lost hope.

And os I look bock, o slronge, dreoming, blue corbon copy donning on uncertoin smile, I reluctontly choke down o green bottle of greot expecfotions ond silently nod in ogreement to the shoky beot of the some, olmost never ending tune.

Morshanah Ioy/or

Jensen Sorensen >

< tVrck lieb f$mtr*.

WAKIT{G PAUSES TELL ASTEEP

Woking pouses fell osleep she shokes. You ore words educoted beyond nothing but words breothinq lile into nothing bu.t you ore deod ond I I om not required to leer beyond the confines of o pounding chest infinite in finite stonce ol lungs of tor or she sleeps ond you ore nothing but woking pouses Amondo Hunl 9race fox >

n fsme Riordon >

MM MMM m

ffi, ffi

Sode Coffinon>

2uge/-Dowson

HEY YIIU!YEAH, Y[IU! WBITE DtlWI{ S(IME tIF YIIUR FAUIIRITE WllRDS.

Ke//y Sondovo/>

< Seboslion Beoghen

YOU AOAIil! DRAW A PTACE YOU'D IIKE TO BE.

SOUI{D OUER ilOISE

I do not seek ihe quiet but o better sort of noise one thot breothes with constonce ond lives within its woves of volume. Soundl ]ts imporlonce triumphsl Clcodos colling to motes ond cors rolling beside skoteboorders ond dog wolkers grows toller thon preporotions ond closet doors.

0/ivio Srpioro

A ttl!ilTER'S FARE

I let it p erch

right on my shoulder. It hums on old Germon song occosionolly mixing il with o newer one from South Africcr It is o hondmode scorf flying loose sometimes it folls off , pink on whotever wind comes into town folthe foir.

Char/es fournier

< lize lt/uraili

MtlM, TEAB CRUMBTES II{ MY EARS

lVom, leor crumbles in rny eors os we curl under the blonkets, stronds of your DNA knotting oround my hopes.

You lilter stories of worm nights ond giggle-choked moments between whispers of the lonely drip of the lost sip of intoxicoting spirits. Every time you reossure me this is the los t cigorette, my eyes tremble, shying owoy from the drllting troils of stress you exhole into my blood

You ore olwoys reody to light ogoinst the demons thot pool in our veins. I spent fourteen yeors shying owoy lrom your scors ond fou ts into the cold.

But for o few hlocked hours, ] trust you with my own code We breothe our secrets under worm covers ond nestle them between ripped poges. You bury your obsessions into my genelics when you forget to hide your clomorous voice in our vulneroble fortress.

Delusions continue to seep throughout our fomily. You hove given me the dorkest corners of your post thot I would never wont. Ihope they remoin smothered under oll thot history.

Sophio Bo/ino

Ju/io tVorrison >

SOMETHIl{G I{OT GIUEI{

Abillty to write o poem

The words do not come to me eosily. They don't glide ond slide. They ore shorp like o lumberlocks ox ond choppy like the wood he cuts. When I reod oloud I stumble over the words, skinning my knees os Iskip over phroses ond foll. And then it's owkword. lVy poems ore os smooth os the Eiffel Tower's elevotor (which continues to not exist) Wont to know whot I'm good ot? Rhyming. I couldn't resist

t?/oyo Wr/loms \

TO IJIAKE HER HALO BAIIIATE

To moke her holo rodiote

Her doily psolm is thot she needs to be thinner

Proying to lose pounds her idols hove digitolly removed The bowl her cholice Holding her pride Her holiness Her beouty

Thot she flushes owoy

Her yellow teeth hold the seven deodly sins Covetousness for Vogue's plostic bodies

Anger for her invisible beouty

Gluttony for eoting on opple os lunch

Envy for lock of o crystol foce

Sloth for not loosing pounds fost enough

Lust for boys she believes she will never hove She locks oll but pride

Becouse those bristles removed sotonic woste

She clutches Jesus os she fixes her moscoro Wiping her foce cleon of soltwoter Vogue is her bible Reoding poges thot soy she needs to ft o size O0 leon Stomoch needs to be o mint strip She fills her woter bottle with Holy woter Trying to chug os much sonctity

I con't rid my honds of her bile Scouring polms until they ore red Repenting wrongs until they clog the sink lVy indulgence knows no bounds 'Forgive me Fother for lhove sinned.'

f//e l/o//e

For she is sure her vessel is vexing i could hove helped her before the hospitol bed become her crucifix ] blome myself lor her stoined teeth

Thot she hod to genuf lect to o toilet bowl She wos the oltor ol my life And she olmost tolked to God Himself I never understood why she thought gum wos o blessing But minty blue rectongles soved her breoth from being recognized She wos only o Cotholic when she would ingest nutrients

The gleoming fore only tempororily Holy ]deos thot two fingers could cleonse her body of sins

I thought she left holfwoy to go to the bqthroom But insteod she used the teol box to kneel ond let her insides touch the bowl

Left to go to 12:30 moss in solitude

She proyed to the tile squores with green wolls C/ore Curron , Socrificed lunches to erodicote self -hotred

The bothroom is her cotocomb ond her cloister

loure 2oode ,

< Jonoh Hor/on

!1{ PREMATURE REUIEtlJ

I om o hedonist, my grondkids feed me gropevines.

A nick in the gloss helmet, The End of o Spork, o sequined storebought fontosy.

lVy clothes ore wide gross lowns ond Nly skin cells ore thin oportment wolls wlth borred wlndows Yes, 1'm o rosory beod gripped tightly.

I om Hommurobi in ktndergorten; shoved tnto o locker, locked into on Optomelrlst's office

Wholever's ot the bottom of your bockpock, pencrl leod ond poper clips, I'm there too.

]'m cool ltke o diomond or like o corbon copy 0ld linoleum f loors under the Sistine An occidentol smiley foce groffiti

A Piece of the Port. The mork in o bent tope meosure.

Som Bulerbouoh

THE POPPY FAERIE

You were born with spirits circuloting your existence, twisting you into o lottery of humon defects, inscribing diseose into the blueprint of your broin.

Istond porolyzed in the kitchen, indulging myself tuning into the stifled noises of your ogony. The stretch exponentiolly divides your bundles of fibrous nerves, the bend gnows on the sposming lissues.

I olwoys loved opples ond oronges, now citrus trees mutilote your guls, so I refuse the worm oronges sitting on the metol shelf becouse your oromotic, ocidic tumors ore molignont to me. I yell ot you for forgetting to put them owoy I yell ot you for buying them, I ote on opple.

The hospitol smells like on orboretum of sonitory viruses. As I store into the perpetuol white brightness, I shteld my eyes from the ortiflciol sun thot the ceiling ond wolls emulote. Our pupils ore both controcting; you ore blinding.

The drugs construcl meoningless frogments with good intentions thotmeldtogetheln your speech. The pills seoled into oronge bottles dissolve into introvenous solutlons. Swimmlng into you, they con linolly be your puppeteer, injecting words thot

we con't we won't und e rslo nd ] wlsh the prozoc you toke everydoy wos the only poin medicotion in your cobinet.

Insteod, o drower is dedicoted to pills thot numb, Littered with on orgonized disorroy ol poppy seed pill bottles

Gwen 0renslein

Zach Schroeder

Coosider the rcgion I bounded by the closed curye P in a simply connscted sp:ce. p can be defined rs the yc(tor valued fun.tion F(x,y) {flx,y),g(x,y)}.

The retian R can the, be dercribed by the tollowinS integral:

/J; (** $)u^=i:; *au-II. $aa

The doublo lntegrals then may be elrluated separately, starting with the fi.n integ.al:

& *oo= /"'fi,0,'*r.0,

Evaluating the double integral gives the following: t'fctntvl,rl - e(B(y),y))dy =t'g(A(r)dr - ,f s(ntu),r)dr

Accordint to the fundamental theorem of line inlegrrls, the ab6ve integral ir equivalent to the line inletrel of the function i(x.y) = (0, t(x,y)) over the path P = Pr + P2, where Pl 3 {A{y), v} and P, c (8{y}, y}:

.l.je(r(y)ay- t's(r(v),v)oy=$ ( ai

Therefore: ,; *ou=S f, oi

8y similar 3rgument, it can b€ rhown, when tr' = (f(x,y), 0): II* ffaa= -$* S a r

Th!s, substitpting{or tflo sep{rate int€grals: ,J; (*- ff)n*=S {, ai+{, E dt=gp (r(x,y),c(ry)) di

Noah Eanho/zer n

IIATH RAP

5th C'mon boi

Bring thot moth here

We've reoched our limit With those bod rhymes in our eor We're in the prime of our coreers Toke the integrol of your onswers To find the volume of your teors

We con't be reploced But "U" con be subslituted Our flow is infinite Yours con be squore-rooted Your closs inteSUCKS

But ours is integrote

Your decision to toke this closs Wos o 6th Grode Rookie Mistokel Your rhymes ore unoriginol Ours ore Tl-nspired You do oll of your homework? .. LIARI

Ith

Your rop wos odequote Bul it won't be hord to follow We con use the wosher method on you Becouse your broins ore hollow I 1oke o loxotive for your mentol constipotion

Check out our moth We excel ot diflerentiofion All your friends ore the squore root of negotive 1

Come to 7th period Go1do thinks we're more fun Our skills opprooch infinity Yours ore just ok.

0o1dob 5th and 7th Period

TEARS STII{G

Teors sting sun kissed skin Woter lolls like blood And your hoir is d soppeoring lr.4on ths turn into seconds And doys turn into moments It wosn't when the moon ond sun fell behind Eoch other thot we lost you It's when you pulled out o gun

JEFF BUCKLEY

Every time Jelf Buckley sings me to sleep Ithink of your jello filled cheeks Asking why couldn'.t l.1ust toke the compiiments you'd toss ot me like the leftover steok you'd feed o dog, And I'd think of your postel lingers strumming, trying to squeeze my vorce out. To get me to open up but I just couldn't.

Ke//y Sondova/

Gobrie/o Ronnin g -A rn es en

I hove only questioned God once. It's the first time I conquer church in four yeors.

N/y frlend's bloodshed is funerol she just wonted to go home. Knew to only speok unless spoken to, let her legs steer crooked, like her smile.

The first time we met, our loughs suffocoted in silence I hoped I would goin o friend on the first doy of school. Hoving lunch together ollowed us to become closer. Sing hymns ot the toble until our voices brittled. Now, I sing church hymns over decoy. They hum roncid on my tongue like her steel boned body. Thot doy, she wos supposed to tell me how o boy bloomed in her stomoch

We could only snotch moments in between closses. I onticipoted ofter school but doddy soid come stroight home. My lost words ore lingered lips: 'See you loter" becomes never. Suffocoting in silence until my feel rottle ot front steps. While hts honds melt to o trigger Metol cringes to the pelt of chorred fingertips Lost week his best friend oozed on cement vindicotion boils in his veins.

"Burdened block boy" corved down his neck, bushes of bullets thorned in her bock when she splortered vines on concrete. Kissing deoth before boys. He wos only eighteen yeors serving eighteen yeors. I heor God is drofting little girls to heoven.

Aulumn Carson

ASH WAttET

Deor stronger, I'm sorry, for not telling you, thot you hod dropped your wollet. I, dressed full ln block, rogged, crouched ot the corner where sidewolk meets woll ond fell into sky

And you, quickly wolking, sweoting in the middoy sun, eyes gloncing like o murdered mon, shifting ot the groves, possibly o little too superslitious for your own good. And you .lust dropped yourself into the mud.

Deor stronger, I know I shouldn't hove, but I looked into your wollet while you were off. the money wos oll in ones, the ID you floshed wos o month old, there wos o gold ring in the pocket you kept pennies in. I sow o picture of you with o girl lhol hod to be your doughter stonding in front of o college dorm. -Good for you, sir, you mode it-In the very bock rhere wos o receipt for hoppiness, poid in full oll those yeors ogo

Deor stronger, my home, is on empty

home

Thot ntght I loid ocross o shollow shodow, ond wotched the stors bleed, lust o little bit longer. So moybe if you go bock to thot cruel October doy, you'll find the wollet where you dropped it.

tVox Yokoo

tVoya Kng

FIUE HOURS

The Gemini is storing.

From the other side of the grote, Purple blols dopple his oquo fobric Look behind, see the steel of monliest motive And the humor for whtch it hungers. Look oheod, see the decomposed light And the justice it hos wrought. His goze pierces through the dorkness of the elevotor Longuid tendrils of tenuous fog, Drift from the line of sight And pool oround my onkles. It sinks to the bone, it gnows without biting. I ploce my polm to the blockened metol: Cold mud on on indigo doy, Air loden with frost Thot outumn hos hung ouf to dry, It seeps beneoth my skin And shokes me to my core. But ] om not olone in my confinement.

Thon to stimulote, initiote, To teoch, rebuke ond conciliote, Did effect my fullest, deepest hote. I lived olone on o meoger form, Its only remorkoble feoture

A grond, burly opple tree, Burdened with dongling, glossy globes 0f crimson sotisloction.

]t wos below these celestiol spheres of my limlted reolity

Thot I found, one ordinory evening, An infont.

Smoll ond innocent though it wos, Cross ond neglectful though I wos, 1 felt drown to occept the life of this other, To cotch myself cotching mysell,

0r whotever I silently hoped wos left, Within this pure ond forgotten vessel. I roised him os my very own,

Though I hod no such ownership to dictote definition And he kindled something I hod thought quelled With his wonder, his curiosity ond His possion to inspire innocence. As the yeors flew by, I found myself

Where does the breeze begin?

Thinking for but o moment, I then replied, My son

Con you iell me where o circle storts? Whot immortol ortist shoped the hond Thot shoped the curves ond corners of eternol Eorth?

So too is the breeze. It ts the sighs of Mother Noture, It is the whistling of the universe, It is humonity, it is mortolity, It is the breothing of the beoting 0f the heort thot pumps our World With twisted, toctful fote

A weoving wisp Thot quivers limbs of bork ond bone And shokes the very souls of those from which it leoves A songbird snoring os it sleeps, A bubbling skote from woters deep, The secrets thot she couldn't keep, "l love you" when she's holf osleep, Xenio from the chimney steep, The soldier. the deoler, the oiling, the elder,

For the vision of God himself

For my son wos soon to meet hls bodily creotor And found no need to see whol couldn't be. My eyes swung on weighted hinges

To the letter in my lop.

My fother, how the yeors hove chonged us both inside ond out

I winnowed your forsoken heort; in turn, you colled me son You tought me, led me by the hond, gove my lost cort o route

But thot bright rood hos led us here, where your life hos be gun

My skin need not be emoncipoted from my ill f lesh To know my golden ichor hos foded to mortol red And I know thot you one doy hope your tribute will refresh Life, my heolth, my wondering eyes, in voin you too will be deod

The free-winged bird thot f lies ond leoves its humble coge behind ls only gone becouse you're here to soy thot it hos left Though six feet down, I'll olwoys be two feet below your mind

Don't feor ]'ll be o world owoy, our souls connot be cleft ltrly medium rugged, but messoge soothingly refined Do toke my humble crusi; I hope it brings you peoce of mind.

Pollid eyes melting, domp, Knees rottling in their sockets, In turn Itried to moture you, ond os the reoper looms I reolize ihot it wos you who mode the mon of me And though we sodly find ourselves so bodily oport God bless the mirocle who come ond broke my broken he ort. The mon stops. And it wos ot this moment I come to know The stronger of these mirrored wolls Wos mine to be, wos mine to own. I try to pot his shoking shoulder.

lrzly fingers holt holfwoy there And leove fog in their woke lvly heort is pounding now.

0nce stonding, I tumble ogoinst the bross roil, Struggltng not to foll oport.

I stroin my neck to perpendiculority, My dilopidoted wingspon supporting my frome, And I see the eyes of my coptor. And I know the eyes of my coptor And I sink to the floor, screw my iris on tightly, Fling open my orms to Morpheus, And regole ihe void with self -osserted understonding Of my life.

Aidon ll/ade

Roche/ /Vtlzsche n

SPLIl{TEBS

"Ll/hen

I om o splinter throb-beoting his chest. Wurru I pierce the pluck of his heortbeot You con coll thot crouched splint in his chest LOVI 2 weeks before he leoves for the Air Force, ond I stort to become A gloss shord sioining his fingers. The piece this MAN wonts to rip from his flesh, like o noil before it thorns wood. Hr soys, 'you'll olwoys prick my chest" but his ossuronce BECOMES o tweezed piece of plucked wood, l,,toRE thoughts of this splinted love plunked. So Icllng to him tighter rH,rtl lwigged wood in o corpenter's fingers. I hove slipped into ,r splinter, suffocoted in his f lesh, throb-oching his goov.

tL/or/eno Wod/ey

Grondpo denies me crockers ond wine every communion Sundoy. Soys it's too pure for me. I must be boiled in holy woter; purged of everything thot is hell-bound. He wonts me to become o mortyr for Christionity like him lr/orch with o cross plostered to my foreheod, memorize the Bible before I om 25. I hove been scolded since I could tolk, rocked ond sculpted to fit the clothes of o perfect person. Every yeor. him ond Grondmo drog me to their fovorite church convention. My first time, I wos two.

Surrounded by crowds of people whose honds ore stone reody. They oren't ofroid to tell you you ore doing wrong, thot your skirt isn't long enough, proyer isn't good enough, Don 't you dore slng thot song in here.

If it oin't no Jesus oohs ond oohs. You con't sing it. They tell you, your whole life is o sin Thot's how you were roised And thot's how ] wos roised, So it must be true.

I om ofroid to tell Grondpo I will never slide into the perfect person ottire like he does. I om not 6 feet of holiness, the perfect mortyr, like him.

you /ove o mon. ,he becomes more lhan a body " - Gwendolyn Brooks

Noomi Liechty

fymmoroh Anderson

YllU CAil TEtt

You con tell I'm my mother's doughter. From the time I wos born, she gove me the pin points on my cheeks, the crook of my orm, the bock of my hond, I om welded to her. Dents form on my chin while o gop left from the imperfection of my teeth mokes itself known. Her smile is the some os mine, I don't know whether or not to shield it with the beouty of my hond, like she tought me to. Coromel flesh embedded oround my skeleton, her skin, now rusted ond shriveled by her scorned eyes she grew 9 yeors ogo when her skin diseose spreod. She gove her new eyes, torgeting onother pin point thot welds me to her, I'm my mother's doughter.

Jenn frsner > B0TH STDES t|JHtSTUl{0

both sides whistling I couldn't cut it right before honging the phone up children comploin, but men grow up mirror, foom, ond o butter knife; gutted fist, there's never ony throw up even if every bronch stormed off my fomily still couldn't shore the some leoves procrostinotion oin'l shomeful except when you remember to leove odult vision reody, corrying o tribe full of questions 5 times out of 7, my fother couldn't onswer bock petty piefy ond now there's not even qn ofter imoge figure suited up for dismissol with oll the skills of not knowing how leorned thot men con be mostly idle.

tVrck l/oughn

Krystasia Percy

BEGGII{G MY MOM

Begging my mom not to toke me, she's still gonno moke me, my stutter sounded llke on od lib, the woy my jow used to do bock f1 ps, tongue lwisters hod me breothing with lung splinters, l'd rother do seven dilferent splits testinq my flexibility, The thing other people thought wos theropeutic wos octuolly killing me, this life is like survivol of the littest, I'd frght just lor five mlnutes of olllterotion to moke me o stor, I wonted to cry the doy thot kid osked me if my tongue wos swelling up lrom o scor other kids wos leorning how to multiply, Iwos leorning how to tolk right, Still trying to convlnce my mom out of it ot the stop light.

Chor/es Dono/son

luepker

Soroh

DEFII{ITIOI{ POEM

Spring.\ spriNG\ produce or disclose suddenly or unexpectedly, os in o dreory Jonuory night where the figures bobble on the TV, ond the only thing I remember is soft honds ushering me into the dorkness of the bosement to woit. n the time between winter ond spring, os in the end of o long winter where my fother sits by his bedside, The Hobbit gently bolonced over his thighs os he corefully turns the poges worn by memories, eosy to imogine reolly. v. the elosticity of something thot con be stretched ond returns to its originol length, os in my grondporents, stretched so poper thin thot the little plot of green eorth loys frozen. No morkings, no one. Becouse no morkings meon it didn't hoppen ond if it didn't hoppen then moybe the string won't snop, ond the ricochet bock will be o little eosier.

n. The seoson of growth, or moybe the seoson of remember ond forget oll chopped up in one, os in the time where eoch spring gets o little eosier, os the memories of white rooms ond brown dirt seep together to form o murky mess of spilt wotercolors thot remind me of finger pointing in my preschool clossroom. And the remembering comes in between the spring drizzles, os forgoften loughter ond twinges of broken memories trickle in with the first blooming ozoleos in our front yord.

Sorah lrpo

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I I a < 2i//ion Dwye, (who brought lhe edrtors a batchthey were de/icious/)

IARAl{TlS[l-an unconrro//ab/e urge ro dance. ofien otlribuled lo a spider bile

I never reolized whot o bite felt |ike But I sweor 1o god thot's not whol you did, you pressed your lips to my temple ond shot shivers of unsure venom through my pores ond thot's the first time you mode my heort oche. trembles of infotuotion ond loneliness sinking deep into spry bones distol pholonges desperote to feel your teenoge stubble

My metocorpus's desire to troce olong your scors could only be descrlbed os poison ond my rib coge rottled with cumbersome inholes whenever I thought obout your breoth filling my lungs insteod of my own tired insufflotion

By drogging your fingertips ocross my cheeks you've sentenced me to hong my own heort ot the gollows

You diseose me when you soy my nome, Your louoh felt like o refined studv of ktenoloov You'u" klsed crocks into .y b" ond IlAIlIlY

I let you

The oches got deeper

BEIIEUES

doddy believes thot I con't be hoppy but so do your dimples when you smile but whot he doesn't know is And domn, I con't push up my lips becouse I've never been so hoppy to be sick, his frigid words moke me shoke fiono Cosper-Slrouss

he lifts his orms fingers curl to hommers reody to smosh the lrembles out ond lenderize my skin

eyes superglue shut feor tugging them closed not wonting my skin to be purple

Insteod of violet flowers blooming on pole fields his words teor off my petols leoving o phontom gorden thot I con't show others

I wish you knew fhot you hove grown o rovishing gorden ond none of the f lower" ;[ ffpf,;

TAIG THE IIAilS

BUI IIKE TAIIA GAUE TE HYTI{S

But like Momo gove me hymns. Jesus gove me Psolms. Molten gold molded into rings neverending-- to mimic love but they mocked their morrioge. I rifled through the worn out poges of pew-bound leother.

Doddy's not Cotholic so I tucked his written confession in the good book. No number of methodicol hoil Morys will gront forgiveness.

Hozy eyes were oblivious fo the text

I hod stoshed inside God's word. I ripped his troubled ocrostic from its fold in Psolms, "lt is better to trust in the Lord thon to put confidence in mon.'

Mom's puppeteered cheeks pulled towords her eors, "lt's okoy."

Doddy's finger couldn't corry the weight of o promise so my shoulders hunch with the weighr of o broken one. Thonk you for thot burden, the poperweight curving my spine.

Saroh C/ork

moke the mons soy you closer io us ond the brothers think ]'m lucky becouse life for me could be worse when visiling my fother's fomlly, I'm compored to my mother of course my skin is o reflection of o fomily tree from mirror bothed in irish, novojo, block, ond possibly joponese I don't know o chopter ripped out of my fother's book y'oll got different doddies right? becouse of the woy y'oll look becouse of some sort of miscommunicotion in my dno led to the toleroble incornotion of pigmentotion thot you see todoy holf of my people refuse to fully ocknowledge me sub;ugoted to the dichotomy of my geneology which would hove leod to isolotion hod I not foced my peers ond lold them we re common in roces

Martinez lenyoun

ROtllS

I hove my fother's hoirline A widow's jut in the middle of my foreheod. I hove nops-scolp clumsy. lr/y fother's woves were smooth current-cut, rozor-precise. He never told me how he keeps the groy from creeping in. He is 53, o silver fox smile cutting from eor 1o eor. lVy scolp is too oily, locquered. pore-thick, gurgling. N/y hoir runs bristle wired, strung dry ond clumped. I hove ignored how he rought to keep it cleon.

Cut

They ore rigored, the coroner s foint clipper buzz is o lulloby. There seems to be less hoir on the floor eoch time I cut, less tufts to sweep, less bodies to hide. Shower

It is hot, in the woy thot poin cries. Holy, in God's new breoth, it is His steom thot will bring more wroth thon Murroy's wove gel, the thlngs my fother olwoys used.

Shave lrrlore scrolch thon biteo little less rough olong the groin. The bosin of the tub runs block ond red, nicks of hoir crowling to the droin. I heor them howl, there is wroth in eoch pull eoch rozor-teor eoch pore less bloody thon the other. They ore him, not His. Dry Fresh. Somethtng God hos ossumed. Something only deoth con soy. ] om bulbous, not whiteheod, not reody to pop.

There ore yeors I hove shovedfifty-three bogs oll in o pile The buzz hos stopped The wroth looks less bloody

The zipper closes.

Joseph Jordon-Johnson

IT'S il(lT THAT I lltlil'T I(IUE Y(lU

It's not thot I don't love you, lt's the sodness thot sonk in me when popo slommed the door I sweor I felt my whole block shoke lVomo slept ogoinst .the woll I could feel skipped heortbeots through her door. Her chest wos hollow. For the next four doys I wotched momo breok her teeth on her red collee mug. She hod become o wldow. Becouse when popo left he stopped breothing us. Nlomo ond l were crushed ribs ond depression pills. It's not thot ]don't love you, it's the plostic bog I grobbed lor my slster to cotch her vomit. I slept n her room to moke sure she wouldn't stop breothing. It's the whlle fluorescent ond Christmos lighls she hung in her room so she wouldn't fee olone when o boy she wos modly in love with ripped her chest Thot night wos lllled wilh shoky breoihs, bloody red loces, ond migroines lt's not thot Idon't ove you, it's the hours my butt coved in my couch os Ilistened to my best friend's sobs Boys cheot. Ali they do is leove solt woter sloins on cheeks. ]sweor ] stlll see them on hers. ]don't think love ever reolly goes owoy. It's not thot Idon't love you, it's the stores my teocher gove the floor She left for 10 doys 3 doys ofter he, fionce lelt her l don'r think she could get out of her bed. Her clothes seemed to stort growing. She wos honger. She grinned but her honds vlbroted sprlling her Lemon Citrus Teo You could feel her broken heort.through her thick knitted sweoter. Igot on "E" lor excellent in her closs thot yeor. l don't think she reolly reod my popers Sometimes, things breok ond they never come bock together. It's not thot Idon't love you, it's thot ] still wont to.

Chority Strong

Morshanoh Ioy/or >

frona Casper-Slrouss >

O1{ IHE tllAY HOillE

0n the Woy Home Alone

Fobricoted bones, worm soil comforter. Her loces push doisies through decodes of feelings felt I drog my feet under highwoys. 'Nineteen,' pounds my heodoche-hurt eye sockets. Even now we're the some: Under the Pressure, motionless movement, resting on cushions not poid for, borrowed Not poved for, ghostly ond rotten, but perfumed with proyer. I heor my own decoy when I blink block rodio stotic. My bock is pressed osoinst the ook tid, you breothe

Survivol is just whot they coll my sweoty polms, your hoir stoples itself every other morning

Att YoU GIUE [lE IS RULES

All you give me is rules' Together in our tiny pelty prisons, Sometimes offection, ] con see the rood signs, sometimes money, but reolly you ore moving sometimes the sun to porollel my block bottered moon. foster thon I con.

But moinly rules. Typicol torot cords lhey soy thot conlrol-freoks hove something inside of them. Alwoys bleokly Moybe if you bothered to venture outside when the streetlomps went off Correct. You'd find Your b6te noire. You soy, nnt bam \uterbaush

,Hj:f ,i"l'l

,'",', lVom, I love I'zloc 'n Cheese, but thot doesn't meon I'm gonno moke it weor o helmet in the microwove. "Stephne, if you're going to cut the crusts off the breod, then you hove to eot them too.' Who osstgns rules to o sondwich?

Crain

Stephne

LAST i'AY

Lost Moy, I cought hts cold (shoulder); lorenzo Conno//y-Arce inholotions locked the germs contoined in minty nothing sighs. My fingers froze in summer wlthout worm, crusted knuckles cementing tendons in ploce.

HAIR SPIRATS OFF itlY HEAI!

Hoir spirols off my heod like forest odventures in my bockyord when I wos 6"Your hoir is getting Iong," dod soid scoping me out from ocross the room so I couldn't pin point his disoppointment colorful clothes leod to colorful thoughts colorful thoughts leod to colorful octions ond before you know it, Iom bursting through nets thot my porents knit me thinking they were my sofety device nets ore merely thresholds to stop me from rising hoir messy like borbed wired fence I cut through nets ond leorn whot exists outside of shells lno longer fit Hoir shelters me from winter meloncholy es of frozen winter doys ore thowed by hotheodedness.

I used to be lonely in his obsence, but loneliness tokes his shope, obsorbing the covernous spoce in bottles of wine he swom in looking to ovoid dependency (on me)

Now distonce between us is pulled solt-woter (toffy) An infection spreod ogoin when I thought I wos heoled os worm blonket loyers tried to sweot him out. Words he wrote on my blue bosement wolls melt off meoning ond soturotion; I wonder if he feels his own symptoms. f//a leitmon Dixon

If ] were in chorge, I'd chonge the menu. I'd toke owoy those little yellow pieces of processed nonsense mosqueroding os fries ond reploce them with o heolthy helping of did you know? Did you know, I'd soy os I honded over their quosi-meot potty on o petroleum troy, thot homburgers ore colled thot becouse they were invented in Homburg, Germony, ond not becouse they ever hod hqm in them? Homburgers ore beef . Except yours, of course. I don't know whot's in yours. You probobly don't wont to know either.

Did you know the ice creom cone you re holding wos invented ot o World's Foir?There wos on ice creom stond right next to o zolobi stond, which is sort of like o woffle, ond when the ice creom vendor ron out of cups they took ihe zolobis ond wropped them into o conicol shope ond plopped their frozen treot right in the middle. Ihis is how o sudden moment of friendly thinking resulted in something you love. Now they moke them in foctories insteod of foirgrounds ond they're mode out of glorified Styrofoom ond they're shipped ocross the country in giont trucks until they orrive ot our bock door ond Suson unloods them ond they sit in their ploslic pockoging until I toke one ou t ond fill it with frozen something ond hond it over the counter to you. This is how o long ond deliberote process resulted in something you bought. Now there is money in my cosh register ond Slyrofoom in your stomoch. Hove o nice doy!

I om not in chorge, ond so I con't chonge the menu, did you know. I don't serve words, ] serve plostic food ond heort ottocks. I serve not whot people need, ond not whol they wont, but whot they think they wont ond know they don't need. I serve indulgence ond regret ond relief ond speciol occosions. People osk me how I got here I soy, where?

They gesture- here. I soy, I got here exoctly the some woy you did. I wolked.

If I were in chorge, ] wouldn't odvertise whot we're selling os food. "Food" implies nutrition ond suste-

nonce, of which we sell neither

A pregnont womon comes in todoy. She orders o combo double-boconcheeseburger-ond-fries with o lorge sodo ond extro tomotoes. She's eoling lor two, she exploins, os if she's obligoted to excuse her oppetite with externol loctors. I tell her I understond.

Did you know thot you ore whot you eot? They soy this to score little children, but it's more literol thon we'd like to believe. Everything thot you eot will one doy become o port of you, body. All of your rowest moleriols come into your body through your mouth ond will one doy be shed ond reploced. When you were born, you were mode entirely out of whot your mother ote - ond if you're old enough to reod this then you oren't mode out of thot onymore, becouse did you know thot your body is entirely reploced every seven yeors? This isn't the body you were born with. It hopefully won't be the body you'll die wilh, if you're young. If you left someone who touched you over seven yeors ogo, then this is o body they've never touched. One doy it won't motter whot this mother is eoting now becouse the child she'll be colling her own won'i be the one thot come lrom her body, btologicolly speoking But when she holds her boby for the first ttme, she'll be holding whot she ote. And if she isn't eoting "food" now, then whot will her boby be?

I hond over the thtngs she ordered She iokes it. i wonder if she knows thot I just held o port of her future child She soys, how old ore you? I tell her She soys, hove you been to college? Itell her thot, too She soys, go live your life. You shouldn't be wosting it in o ploce like this. I tell her the exoct some thing.

Since we ore whot we eot, then you con moke yourself whotever you wont by choosing whot to eot. Thts is the one true power we hove. We oll olreody do this, in o woy. When we wont to be loved we eot the food lrom the ones we love. When we wont to be feored we eot the food thot everyone feors. When we wont to be sweet we eot sugor, when we wont to be smorl we eot food with big words on it. And when we wont to be nothing, we eot fost lood

Todoy I'm cleoning tobles It's o colming job There is nothing in the world like wotching o mess disoppeor underneoth your fingertips to moke you feel like you con do onyihing. Todoy I'm cleoning tobles becouse ] need to feel like I con do onything

Someone on the other side ol the room spills their sodo.

Did you know thot Coco Colo wos nomed so becouse it originolly contoined cocoine? We dronk it ond hod no ideo thot the pleosont buzz we were feeling wos due io on ingredlent thot ruins lives. We gove it to our children so they could feel good, too This type of thing hos been hoppening with humonity for os long os we hove been here We horm ourselves without knowing thot we're horming ourselves, ond we only stop when enough people hove died for us to notice. Did you know, we used to eot off of leod plotes? We used to put zinc oxide on our foces. We used to put leeches on our sick ond we never bothed our heolthy, for feor of blood ond feor of woter. We used to moke sodo ond condy out of sossofros root until we reolized thot it couses concer. And now whot do we do? Whot do we eot? How ts this different from the leod plotes ond leeches ond corcinogen condy?

As I cleon the sodo with my wet rog, one mon lilts o troy out of my poth No one opologizes for the spill, which is expected. As I cleon, they speok. As they speok, I cleon. They think thot the two worlds ore like oil ond woter becouse they don't know obout cleoning. They don't see the mogic my fingers ore working, moking the sodo disoppeor with one solid swipe.

She doesn't core, one of them soys She knows, yeoh- she thinks it's sexy. Another soys, she does? 0h yeoh, reolly.

I reoch for onother towel while they don't move. How long do you think you con keep this up without Soroh knowing? 0h, indefinitely. She never notices onything. Heyhey, con you be o doll ond go refill my sodo for me? I soy in o moment. I'm olmost done with this spill.

He soys, mon, Soroh just doesn't get it. She just con't sotisfy me in bed! I'm o mon, I hove needs- ond isn't it noturol for me to find other women who con fulfill those needs? Absolutely. Absolutely

I kneel down to sop up the corbonoied sugor thot's fizzing on the floor. I heor, where wos Soroh when you were with Cormen yesterdoy? Working, ot the elementory school. She works from seven to five - I only work from nine to five, which gives me the perfect time for my doily fix. It's iust enough time to see Cormen, or Nicole, or moybe just go someploce ond pick up o new one before work, you know? And Soroh reolly never notices? No, no, of course not. We've been morried for five yeors ond she still thinks thot I'm hoppy os o clom. And how long hove you been hoving these things on the side? I'll let you in on o secrei. Okoy. There isn't o mon in the whole goddomn world who doesn't stort lusfing ofter other women the doy ofter he ties the knot The hoppy, foithful husbond is o myth is o myth. Thot's 1ust how it works.

Sodo is like leeches Leeches ore like people. People drink sodo, ond spill sodo, ond olher people cleon ii up I roke his cup to refill it ond he doesn't look ot me, but I con feel him looking ot the bockside of me os I wolk owoy, ond I don't go refill his cup

As he returns to his meol Ireturn to the counter ond I pick up the phone ond I coll the elementory school.

Someone soys hello, ond I osk, moy I speok with Soroh pleose, ond she soys, this is Soroh speoking, whot con I do for you?

How is whot we do different from leod plotes ond leeches ond corcinogen condy? The difference is this: we know exoctly whot we're doing os we do it.

Sometimes I cleon the bothroom. Here I see the other end of the services we provide. It slorts ol tlle counter, ond ends in porceloin.

It olwoys ends in porceloin, even if it hos to come out the end it come in. Todoy is one of those doys.

Hey, I soy. The girl turns oround, opporently stortled thot she didn't lock the stoll. When she sees me she tokes her fingers out of her mouth ond sighs deeply ond soys close the door, which I do not do.

Pleose go owoy, she soys, ond I don't do thot either. Insteod I soy, tell me why you're moking yourself throw up, ond she soys, why? I soy, did you know thot bulimio leods to ho'r loss, weok muscles, gum diseose, miscorrioges, permonent infertility ond deoth? And the look she gives me is why I wish so bodly thot we could odd these to the menu.

She soys, why do you core, ond I soy, why don't we get out of this bothroom.

We slt in the porking lot. Her porents ore inside ond we ore outside ond it's becouse of this thot the words flow out of her from where they've undoubtedly been tropped for yeors. She tells me, I purge becouse I wont to be o protogonist. I soy, exploin, ond she soys, you hove to be thin to be o protogonist. I've reod o lot of books ond seen o lot of films, ond I purge for the some reoson thot I relox my hoir ond put bleoch in my bothwoter. If you wonl to stor in ony story, you hove to look like o protogonist looks.

I osk, how con you tell if you're o protogonist?

Well, when you re o protogonist, you're llvlng on omozing story. Your whole life ison odventure. People wont to heor obout it, becouse you hove fontostic toles to tell. Toke you for exomple. You're obviously not o protogonist.

And why not?

Well, look ot you. Look ot where you ore.

] look, ond she looks. I'm in the some ploce you ore.

Yeoh, I guess, she soys. I'm not o protogonist either

Did you know, porking lots ore o lot like fost food employees? We both go unnoticed until we're gone, or unovoiloble, ond people hove to moke do without us. Food is like thot, too, you know. You never think obout it until you re hungry.

I osk, do you wont to know something? And she soys yeoh, so I soy, protogonists ore mode of words on poper. Either thot or they're myriod of thousonds of dollors worth of professionol troiners ond dietitions ond mokeup ortists ond comero ongles ond Photoshop. Thot's whot they're mode of , ond thof's why you don't wont to be one. I think you wont to be o person.

And she looks up ot me ond she osks, whot ore people mode of? And I soy, did you know-people ore mode out of food.

People yell ot me os much os they ignore me ond do both for more thon they tolk to me, ond when they do tolk to me it's usuolly in questions. Con ] hove o drink with the combo discount if I'm not getting frles? Con I chonge my chicken lenders to nuggefs? Why is my order toking so long? How did you get here from where you were? No, I meon - how did you get so low? Whot do you meon, whot do I meon? I meon, why don't you go use oll your potentiol ond get o reol lob? Why ore you so lozy? Why don't you moke something of yourself? To these questions, I osk one in return: would you like fries with thot?

Rosie Sogo/

CRYBABY

i'kri.bobei

(no un )

o person, especiolly o child, who sheds teors lrequently, reodily. Xovier cries Yohweh when he meons oguo. He, o Christion, doesn't speok ony stronge tongues other thon Sponish, yet he correlotes God with woter. In his limited yeors of personhood ond in the ltmtled yeors 1've bobysot for htm, he's endured enough bruises to cover his entire body, enough scropes to fingerpoint with the leftovers. I hove been told not io dote on him lf I cover my kisses with bond oids ond rush to his side when he lrips over his own feet he won't leorn to toke it like o mon. He turns three this Jonuory. The most recent trip encouroged by brother beor's thick soled sneoker ond odolescent understondings sends Wuss lnto collision with the povement, teeth clottering ochromotic io motch his holo.

Popi doesn't believe in lip smocking, knuckle crocklng poetry, "You sove your teors for your pillow.' lVomo's boy con't help the Yohweh wogoning down his cheeks, os he outllnes the fresh bump thot'll grow from seedllng to clementine. His brother con't help thot sweet snickering'sissy'roll of his tongue, pickinq up speed ond debris, wotch it sizzle next to Xovier, wotch the curve of his cheek: steep sloped himoloyos with god coming down like 0ntorio ropids quicker thon ] con swipe them, volidote them, kiss the creoses they left.

I wonder if he isn't ollowed to cry becouse his oguo doesn't equol their god becouse their god's definition of mosculinity hos no groys or colors. Their Christionity is the-strong or the weok ond he's neiiher one, he is o child.

I wont to soy, "Xovier! You don't hove to be o mon." I thonk my god lor his god, I thonk my god lor woter. I wont to soy, "Cry, boby. Let Yohweh bring you home "

l,y'eoon Corraher

The first touch scrombles my nose ond skin. Flokes of snow slip olf the porch roiling thot my brother ond I used to sit on in the summer when we were light. The oir is liltered through the loyers of inky pope, obove me ond my own breoths push to join them

O/ivia Stpioro

Cuy/er Du//

C/ore Curron n

A/ec Rosmu.tse/r ^ fro/,ito Sundbye ,

' Pres/e), Cone

lourCes Conlreros > < 0lrio l.y'cf/rorey

, Sode Cof{mon

Roche/ Co/e >

Stehn de ,to C,:tt. ,,t )

Jone Jozefowicz>

0lvio l/l/hittoker

Brian Cossidy

, Saroh luepker

Donre/ Jenks "

frin Shctttuck ^

Jennifur l,/ctrlenkct >

During Buzzcul Seoson, tbh, no one weors purp e lipstlck better thon Sohrz Conn0n, even when our brove Supreme wos woken up ot 3om to help spreod the oshes ol her leenoge dreoms Soroh enloys ong, letsureiy showers, which usuolly involve loytng down in the tub In ol respects, Soroh is one of the most generous ond lovlng people we know, whether it's buyinq us chicken sondwlches, ptzza, or severo bogs of kettle corn ond shody looks We oll hope next yeor she lives in #style ol college, ond ftnds whoever keeps steoling her lipstick XOXO Cresties.

Joseph Jordon-Johnson Juicy Jingo Julius, or Sextuple J, is o cuddly beor whose best friend is Horotio, the resldent stulfed cow of the Crest room He worms our heorts with the bellowing chuckle of his perlect lougbter, which olten goes on lor more thon live minutes ot o time. He wields neor-unbounded power within the school, ond is reported to once hove sto en o couch lrom the History division. He on y showers three times o week ond House of Cords is his boe. We don't know onyone who is ot once so involved in the school's workings yet despises it so much. He kicks boot in photogrophy ond wrlting, ond we ore not look ng lorword to soying goodbye to him, or hrs lnDesign skills [veryone knows he wili go lor ond eventuol y possess o set ol buildrng keys ot college

Sebostion "Peoches" Boguetle's JAIV is Uptown Funk. He is o house pe1 who enjoys ounging in peopie's lops His fother once dropped olf o moson lor ol mllk becouse it would otherwtse not hove been foomed "to hts lik ng' Often, he wishes he hod o booty He frequent y purrs "stroooooke me" due to his ollliction with Only Child Syndrome, the condrtion in which he musr be iouched by someone ot oll times His Joughter sounds tke o boby's giggle ond he hos enough ottitude to rtvol the Pillsbury Dough Boy, though he's os gong y os N,4r. Beon. 0nce he brought his le lows Cresties quoint beignets in order to bribe us ond estobltsh his retqn os next yeor's Editor-in-Chief

lVorshonoh

R Toylor IS rHt N/OSr MIAN

PERSON tVERll SHt

tlKE NtVtR LISTTNS

T0 ANYBODY AND ALWAYS COI'IES LATE lol lk \/orshonoh is like the guordion ongel of Crest, despite giving Suove body wosh to Sebostion ond worsening his eczemo She's olwoys the first one to meetings, hos the quietest, sweetest voice ol onyone ever, ond ki s it in the horku gome (she once wrote 50 perlect hotkus becouse she wos BORED) She's somehow monoged to ottend every single Crest meeting during the busiest time of the yeor oll whi e port cipoting in Titus. No one-- not o single humon hos the leve ol commitment she does. No one is so quiet, only speoks with purpose AND SHt GOT INT0 SPEtIVAN tlKt 0H N/Y GOD.

Kelly 'Kel z Belz" Sondovo is o witch She oves to whlp her [orde ho r bock ond forth She reol y hotes t when Joseph doesn't come to school becouse she genuine y cores obout EVERYONt We con't think of onything snorky to soy obout this bobe of on editor. Scrotch thot -- she oves show tunes too much. She con on y be described os o very emolrono loness of o humon be ng w th o bubbly persono ty, ond o pet coctus nomed Dor o A true "hipster" ot heort, she oves to eot p neopp e for boe. But iike lorreo z, we ve never met onybody os he lo possionole, loving, coring, ond bol er os heckie os Kel y

Sode Coflmon s lust one lot neck who en1oys drinklng condiments (ex Soy Souce, Hot Souce, C,eo- Cheese) Il you drop ony itter in his cor, he wi BAN you despite the foct thot he doesn't know direct ons In mony respects, he is lust o beon-- o beon who never weors socks ond steols Kellz's ponts ond looks surprisingly Lke o Cobboge Potch K d lVony people occredit hlm wrth be ng ho I ol Crest 201i| but we don'1 think he sees on issue with thot We don't either He's the edltor wlth the best thighs ond is in competltion with post editor Keith JohnsOn lor highest number. of f lonne s We ove hlm os much os he oves [or Sweotshirt, ond we will need his 1T ski]ls next yeor when we forget how to connect to lhe server.

lVox Dugel Gowson, medtum sized beon, is orguob y o good kid in o m A A d ciiy He ts, for ihe lime being, tenuous y engoged to Sode Coflmon for the dowry of o goot He owns no clothing, only the gorments of others ond wooly brown things from the Goodwi . A bully, pure y out of hobrt, he lkes to shore hls en lghtenment with others desp te the inopp cob lity of the odvice to their lives We live for his ort, desplte how "horrlfying" it is. He is the wor d's ol Grondpo, ond we con't woit to sit bock ond listen to hls first hormonico/screomo oLbum releose. ond like RtLAXI

S obhon Doherty is so # o rondomXD She hos severo olroses bodl lbobe, gothformer, ond cofl3pr ncess She rebels by getting her septum pierced four times o week, ond her mother peeks ,nde, her nose ot night to see if it hos returned. She's secret y o middle oged womon with o "troshy storving ort st chic" oesthetic who enjoys drink ng coffee, embroidering, ond wolking her very cute dog, Lee through the SICK vi oge of Ook Pork while moking severol Snopchots of soid dog As much os we respect her crtistry ond odd tlon to the edltoriol boord, she reolly needs to cleon up those mugs St ll, she's os cute os o button

CREST STATISTICS

lVore thon 1600 submissions

210 pieces in the book

B editors

A dozen pizzos, mony sushi rolls, innumeroble muffins ond spicy chicken sondwiches 122 years of the OPRF Crest t computers

Hundreds ol hours sPfail flltffislt:

Christion Fountoin, Bill (our custodion), Domino's romontic pizzo trocker, Soroh's mom, lt/s. Fox, lVs. Bussmon, N4orgoret lrom the North Cole, Ir/r. Cohen, Kristion Frumkin, lr/s. It/cGinnis, Lourdes Contreros, N/s. N/elindo Novorny, Ir/r. It/ork Collins, Rondy Brovermon, Sebostion's grondlother, Vinni N/otisse, Ernest Hemingwoy's ghost, The Boxers, [t/r Skeltol, Sporify, ond especio//y ro

lVs. Louren Lee, our wonderful sponsor, who stoys lote nights with us, gives us chips, doles out nicknomes, ond reods us celebrity gossip lrom her phone.