
16 minute read
Davion James, Tessa lttlcConville, Zora lohnson,AnikaWilsnack
from Crest 2020
-Davion James
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-Zora Johnson
CONCERTO, No. 3
r'6i Mov.6.ir - lbrdtd
-Tessa IVIcConville t\-
-Anika Wilsnack
-Annie Wollmuth
-Abigail Van Santen -Ella Taira

-Hannah nzlckee
-Daniel Weiss

-Zachary Traczyk
-Christopher Ray
-Joe Roucka
-Luca Andersen

-Joe Roucka
-Joise Lappe
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-Nina CIeofe
-Holden Green

-EIena Catrombone
-Gianna Perez
-Tyler Williams

-Kyle Ryniewicz
-EIIa Taira
-Amelia Yu
dhnSno, by lames Diskin
She sets new digs with the ticks and twigs; The fresh spring snow chills her limbs, The wind sways her coat like an old winter's hymn.
The solemn river beside her wails; Near the cypress tree,the quiet impaled, When the barrel cracked, her eyes grew pale.
-EIijah Jennison

31
g $ronil,rnotlrn*'s by Abigail Ryan Have you ever heard of the fairies of old? I'm sure you have. They're a staple of children's books, the magical fairy that lives in flowers and helps people. Or,you might know them as the good people, mischievous beings who dance in circles and lure people in with their magic. But,like any reasonable person in the twenty-first century,you know that they don't exist. They're legends and myths, not needed for anybody who wants to think rationally about the world. Well, I'm here to prove you wrong. Our story begins in a small apartment. There are faded pictures on the walls, shelves of knickknacks. There's countless wind chimes in the open window, reflecting rainbows onto the walls. Oh, and one more thing. There's bright light everywhere. It's like the sun has taken a bit of it's light,the best bit,the most golden bit,and put it into this apartment. Contributing to this golden glow is the sound of laughter,of music,and the smell of something - you know that one smell that you can't ever place but it's good? Yeah,that smell - filling the rooms. "Grandma,Grandma," There's a little girl here,too. Small,but smiling bright and talking loud. She tugs at her Grandma's skirt as she stirs the pot on the stove. "What is it?" The Grandma replies. "l saw a fairy yesterday." "Did you? Really? What was it like?" The Grandma smiles, and you can see that this, this smile, this spirit, is the source of the glow in this apartment. "Awesome." The little girl falls back onto the floor of the apartment, her arms spread wide and her eyes closed, a ghost of her grandma's smile on her face. "You know. I saw the fairies once." The Grandma (You know what? Let's call her by her name, Elva.) Elva shoots a smile, her golden-light smile, over her shoulder as she goes to sit in her favorite chair,the one with the softest cushions,well-worn and well-loved. "You did?" This pronouncement is apparently enough for the girl (Zoey) to get up from the ground,and run and plop down at Elva's feet. "Was it awesome too?" "lt was! I can tell you about it, if you want." That smile appears again, bigger this time. If you were there, you could've seen the apartment glow brighter, just for a second,like the flash of a camera. "ygs!" She'll tell you, too, if you're willing to listen. But I bet you aren't, I bet you're reading this as a pastime,a silly,made up story. You know,that's what Elva thought too,so read on. "lt happened long ago,when I was a teenager. My Grandpa,your great-great grandpa,believed in the fairies. Well, he called them the good people, but fairies is easier, don't you think? Anyway, I did not believe in fairies. Not at all. I thought I was so smart, only believing in things I could see. That day, I grabbed my camera, ready to take pictures for my photography class. I decided to walk to the forest Preserve, to take pictures of all the plants. The sun was shining, and it was gorgeous outside. Not a cloud in the sky. Oh,you should have seen it-" "Grandma? The fairies?" Zoey's laying on the ground again. "Oh,was I rambling? Ok,back to the fairies." Elva boops Zoey's nose as she sits back up again, causing both of them to giggle. "l was out for a long time that day,taking pictures of the evening sunlight dyeing the plants gold. And as the sun fell,the world turned purple. Only a bit of the indigo light was slipping through the

trees, silhouetting them against the sky. I've always loved that- when the trees are silhouetted. The lines are always so crisp, so clean. I walked through the forest, taking pictures as I went. There was a bit of mist forming, sweeping through the trees and giving everything a mysterious look. I kept walking, ever forward,even though I knew it was time to turn back,Grandpa would be worried,it's dark now,time to go home. But I didn't,and I'm glad I didn't,because right then,when I was going to force myself to turn back,l heard it." "Heard what?" Zoey, now, is completely caught in the story, her eyes focused on her Grandma's face as she leans forward. "The singing. There were no words, only a melody, but it was beautiful. I didn know what was happening,who was singing,but I knew I needed to find out. I turned around,not towards home,but into the forest, where the music was coming from. I followed a deer trail, and then when that ran out,I just clambered through the bushes,wanting to find out who was making that beautiful noise. It reached a peak just as I was stumbling onto the shore of the small lake in the forest." Elva leans back, her eyes closed, head against the back of the chair. I have a question for you- yes you, reading the story. Have you returned from the forest yet? Once you have,read on. Have you ever listened to the sounds the creatures in the lake make at night? You'll know if you have- think about it for a second. If not, go out and find a lake at night. I dare you. It's haunting, and almost impossible to resist. In the pause,a rush of wind pulls a cloud over the sun. There's a smattering of wind chimes,and the glow in the apartment starts to fade. Elva's eyes open, slowly, and she glances over to the window, a blink and you'll miss it glance. "Grandma?" Zoey asks. "What happened then?" "The song stopped. It felt like I was waking up from a dream, almost, and I knew I had to get home. Feeling confident on my location,l found a path, and followed it. And as I was following it,I kept hearing things again. And the sounds kept getting louder and louder- it almost sounded like a party! I broke through the trees. There, in the glow of the moonlight, was a perfect ring of stones. The mist was covering everything around it,but inside the circle it was perfectly clear. And inside there was a multitude of fairies, all dancing in a circle. The dance was joyous, everyone switching places and laughing, their feet moving so fast that you could hardly tell when one step ended and another began. All the girls were wearing brightly colored dresses, and the men were all wearing green jackets. They also all had red caps on, and some had white feathers in them. They were laughing, singing, and they looked like they were having the best of times." "Were those the fairies?" Both of the girls are smiling at this point,bright, golden smiles. "Yes, those were the fairies. I couldn't believe my eyes! Grandpa was right- they were real. I knew I had to have proof, so I took out my camera and snapped a picture. The music stopped, and all the fairies turned as one, facing me. The forest was deathly silent. Then, suddenly, there was a rush of wind, and all the fairies disappeared at once. When the wind finished,there was no ring of stones,no fairies, just a path leading towards home. How it was there,why it was there,l never figured out. But by the time I got home,the memory of the fairies had all but faded. The house felt like the forest,all quiet and still." Are you convinced yet? Maybe you think that it was a dream. Maybe it was just a circle of mushrooms swaying in the wind. Or maybe it was the good people,having a party. You never know.

33 "The next morning,l knew that something had happened last night,but I didn't quite remember what. It was the weekend, so I didn't look at my camera until l\4onday. And when I looked at it, can you guess what I saw?" "The fairie st" Zoey squeals. The sun has returned, once more filling the apartment with the golden glow. "Yes, it was the picture of the fairies- here, I have it somewhere." Elva goes looking in the pockets of her skirt, and inside is a folded up picture, its creases well-worn. It is a faded picture of the fairies, mid-dance,and looking at it,you can almost hear the music. "The picture must've jogged my memory, because as soon as I looked at it, I remembered all that happened that night." They stay there for a second, staring at the picture. Suddenly, a timer in the kitchen goes off, and EIva and Zoey are snapped back into that glowing apartment. For a moment, all is silent except the beeping of the timer. Then they both explode into giggles, and Zoey follows Elva into the kitchen as she goes to finish dinner. Our story is over now- what did you think? Has it convinced you to believe in the supernatural? If not, don't be worried. When you go into a room and forget what you did there, or the time you spent outside iust flew away, or heard a sound you just can't place,you've found the fairies. Or they've found you.
Oh! There's one last bit of Elva's story- one I almost forgot. If you looked through the window, after Elva finished her story, you would've seen two small humanoid forms, about as large as your hand. One's in a long, flowing, brightly colored dress, the other in a green jacket, and both in red caps. With a rush of wind,they disappear,the only evidence of their presence the ringing of the wind chimes. frf"logies

by WiIIa Sagal
The art of apologizing has been lost. What the wrongdoers of our world have forgotten is the classic saying, "actions speak louder than words." The phrase "I'm sorry" does not equate to instantaneous forgiveness,as many of the apologizers of our day have mistakenly assumed. It leaves me utterly dumbfounded when I am presented with an apology for an action that the apologizer simply refuses to stop committing. If the action is continued, then how can the connected apology ever be seen as genuine?
I think of these ungenuine I'm sorrys as false apologies. The false apology can be seen in manydifferent forms. For instance, a few examples include, "l'm sorry it happened like this", or "l'm sorryyou're upset", or "I'm sorry you had to go through this", or "l'm sorry you didn't like my actions". "I,m sorry that what I did made you feel this way". What the receiver of these words may notice is that each and every one of these false apologies is missing a factor that is of the utmost importance: the feeling of regret. Not a one of these false apologies shows a single inkting that the apologizer is actually sorry,or reveals any notion that the apologizer was at fault. The admittance of responsibility is not present. None of them show the message of a true apology: "I'm sorry that I hurt you. I won't do it again". The words "l'm sorry" have lost their meaning. Their weight and importance have dissipated from the English language due to overuse and mistreatment. False apologies wrack our society with abuse of trust and damaged emotions. False apologizers run wild, true intentions unchecked, wreaking
havoc within every relationship they enter. The art of apologizing has been lost. Who knows when it was lost. Irllaybe it has been lost ever since the English language was created,and the word "sorry" was given its meaning. Maybe apologies were never sincere. The words "l'm sorry" are continuously utilized as a mask as to which cruel misusers hide their unchanged opinions and intentions behind. Actions speak louder than words. Work and effort towards improvement are both essential,yet are often the forgotten components of a true apology. The words "l'm sorry" are a start, but are, in the end, only a beginning.
Jnllnrs lo OQJ"ro;oJ bvAnikawitsnack
6/10- Last night was my lowest point. I felt very alone. I had a terrible panic attack and I tried to find help, but it just continued. I ran into a bat, got all my adrenaline out and finally slept.
6/11- Ruby and I talked about our home community and what we missed. Some of India felt familiar,like my grandparents house,but I still feel out of place.
6/12-The harder part was coping with the responsibility of being a teacher,and trying to genuinely help without reinforcing a white savior complex. I want to focus on empowering the kids to work toward a future they want. I'11 be ok but I feel so scared. I feel responsible for the girls and looking out to 50 of their faces staring back at me brought a lot of emotions.

6/18- It's hard for me to really know why I came here versus why I want to stay. I mostly wanted to see my culture and teach something I'm passionate about. One of the hardest things on this trip is that you never get used to India. I've realized this is ok. I can learn a lot from discomfort even if it doesn't sink in until I'm home.
6122- One thing I want to remember is talking to some students about how to get to college and convince their parents they deserve an education. That made all of this program feel worth it.
6/24-Everything about charminar was overwhelming,both in good and bad ways. What really got me was the harassment. A group of men swarmed our group and filmed us,the more we fought back the more they laughed. When we got to the train station I felt unsafe and too noticeable,I didn't know how to cope with being alone in an overnight train cabin full of older unfamiliar men.
6/28- We got back to Tagore at 5 am and I immediately fell asleep. At some point a monsoon woke me up. Everyone crowded around the doors to watch it, and lilah slipped running into the rain. It was the most comfortable and bittersweet I've felt. I love these girls and I'll miss them.
6129-We're on a plane back to New York. I can't believe this is pretty much over. We had to say a lot of quick goodbyes and I'm not ready to do it again in 20 hours.
35 I8g @lrnuy
by Eliza Zamudio
Rained poured down onto the bed of the truck,sounding like little drumsticks beating down onto the chipping paint of the old chevy. The whirring noise under the hood seemed like we were going to break down any second,so loud we could hear it over the downpour outside the sealed up windows. I looked down to the glowing numbers illuminating the deep charcoal dashboard. It was almost midnight, I had to be home in 20 minutes. I was savoring the last few minutes I had in this seat,the one I spent most of my summer in,as the truck groaned while attempting to make its way through the potholed streets.
I looked to my left,seeing my driver just as I had most nights. I could only pick out a few of his features when the small street lights came over us. His long hair, as dark as the black chipping paint of the truck, flowed past his ears, topped with a Cubs baseball cap. I promised him we would go to a game as soon as he came he came home. His hands draped over the steering wheel,with wiry tanned arms flowing into a shirt a little too big. As we drove,the rain seemed to get stronger and stronger,fading out the sounds of the sputtering engine. Noises got more and more distant as I tried to focus on the happy memories of this truck. The truck wasn't so dead at the beginning of summer, ushering me through all of the memories I had shared with its owner. Driving around the small streets seemed to be a recurring activity.
A hand grasped mine. The familiar icy cold hand laced it's fingers around mine. "I'm coming back for Thanksgiving,and Christmas,and everything. This doesn't have to end right now," The voice he spoke with was soft, sounding like it was trying not to crack. It felt strange, having to really recognize that the two months he had spent here were really over. IVIy hand slowly pulled away from his,bringing my feet up on top of the dashboard where I usually put them. I studied my surroundings in order to avoid responding. The size too big shoes I wore,to the small glittering anklets covering the tops of my socks, all the way up to the bottom hem of my t-shirt covering my shorts. My finger traced over the small stain on the tan colored seat, from a red slushie the first time I had ever gotten into this truck. It was almost two months ago, but from this seat, it felt like only a week ago. "l think it's the right thing to do right now,l have too much going on to focus on something like that,you know that." We had tried to avoid having this conversation all summer,knowing it would eventually have to happen. VIy eyes scanned the interior of the car, avoiding eye contact. A few developed pictures from the disposable cameras we had used were scattered on the dashboard. They were all snapshots of the summer, from parties we went to, pictures of people in the cab of the truck, to the long days spent in our friends bedrooms. A long string of red beads hung from the rear view mirror, matching the stripe on the seats. "l don't know," were the last words uttered in the conversation. I couldn't bring myself to keep talking as the truck slowly rolled on. I felt tears beginning to form in my eyes. I could feel his eyes staring, the color of grassy hills on a day when the sun shone directly onto the blades. I looked over into them, a smile slowly curling on my cheeks, scooting closer to the driver's seat to have an arm wrapped around me. "l'm sorry,l don't want it to be this way" I whispered. The truck slowed and pulled to a stop on the side of the road in front of my house. I couldn't bring myself to get out.
