CCHS Fine Print 2021, Volume 1 by CCHS Fine Print

Staff

*portraits were drawn by Judy Chen

Abby Barnes Co-Editor-In-Chief “I’ve had great success being a total idiot”- Jerry Lewis

Viv Montoya Art Editor “Quack quack to a duck and a chicken too” - Nicki Minaj

Judy Chen “Sadge” - Stefan Kern

Mikayla Lin Co-Editor-In-Chief “noyce!” - Stefan Kern

Sarah Bian “I plead the fifth.”

Kalisi Loveridge ““I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Maya Angelou

Melissa Chu Co-Editor-In-Chief “I’m still thinking” Melissa Chu

Addison Smith “All I know is fine dining and breathing” -Spongebob

Emma Hoen “Don’t give up on your dreams. Keep sleeping :)”

Ms. Vernal Pope Our Wonderful Sponsor “The aim of art is not to represent the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance”- Aristotle

Letter from the Editors Dear Reader,

It is with great joy and pleasure that we present to you Fine Print 2021 Vol. 1, the product of another year’s hard work of dedicating ourselves to the celebration of Creek’s artistic and literary talent. While we were fortunate to receive the highest number of submissions we’ve ever had, it was all the more difficult to choose which pieces we wanted to include in this edition. There were so many incredible pieces this year that we created two volumes of Fine Print. You hold the first volume in your hands right now, and we highly encourage you to pick up the second. All of our pieces were anonymously and objectively reviewed so that we could afford every piece an equal opportunity of being published in the magazine. We are incredibly proud of all our artists and writers, and encourage them all to keep pursuing their creative passions, regardless of whether we could publish their work this year or not. 2021 has been a difficult year as we’ve navigated through remote and in-person learning, all while handling global problems including the pandemic. We’ve faced tremendous changes in a very short timespan, but we’ve managed to keep going forward every single time. Thanks to everyone’s efforts and hard work, we’ve been able to develop to match the changes. Whilst reviewing our magazine, we saw these changes reflected in the pieces of our artists. While there were many times where everything seemed overwhelming and hopeless, we eventually learned how to fight and keep living. We decided to use what we saw in our pieces to inspire the theme of our magazine. Deciding upon a theme for every edition of the magazine is always an organic process, based on the impressions that our submissions as a whole provoke as we discuss each one in a socratic seminar-like process. Our theme this year is growth, based on the events of 2021 (and, of course, the year before it). Our experiences this year have shaped who we’ve become. As we reviewed the works of our artists, we could see the pieces display a narrative of happiness, despair, perseverance, and finally, reflection. The first volume of Fine Print 2021 illustrates life during the childhood to teen years. The second volume illustrates adulthood to death and after. Be on the lookout for the order of our art pieces, as it illustrates a story of its own. These incredible works will have you look into your own growth throughout the year. We hope you can take some time to reflect on your experiences and appreciate all you’ve managed to do, no matter how small it may seem. We three editors take great pride in the magazine we’ve put together this year and have taken great efforts to publish this magazine in order to showcase the amazing talents of our community. We hope this magazine will resonate with you and encourage you to keep moving forward, no matter how trying the times may be. Keep going and keep growing.

With kind regards, Abby Barnes, Melissa Chu, and Mikayla Lin Co-Editors-In-Chief

Table of Contents Burden of Time - Dahn Bi Chong A Little Friend - Viviana Montoya Household rules - Aethorn Solemn - Julio Withdrawing - Kristen Konkoth Untitled - Milla Chunton A Forever Family - Kaia Schiff Neo - Selen Serder Haiku - Lauren Pierce Backyard’s Brook - Claire Semerod Saphi - Maria Ignatieff Read Between the Lines - Kalisi Loveridge A Letter To You - Mikayla Lin and Judy Chen Symmetry - Emily Zhang Bridget - Grace Carter Untitled - Zachary Haines Simplicity - Claire Semerod Contradicted Heart - Harry Takaki Questions, the Sequel - Mikayla Lin dew from a wallflower - Kalisi Loveridge Untitled - Amanda Ampiah Monster - mlg_pepe21 Apocalypse Boogie - Jamison Ryan Untitled - Arineemal Kaul Creation of the Internet - Yunseo Jung Depressive Anger - Michelle Markevych Fringe - Anonymous Repelling the Storm - Alexandra Nugent Beep. Beep. - Genevieve Holliday The Grecian God - Sarah Bian broken I, II, V - Andrea Lan Untitled - Hannah Xu Long Days - Jäger Harrison Damage Control - Amelia Russell Kissing The River of Desperation - Melody Nigam

Cover 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 7 8 9 10 11 12 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 23 24 25 29 30 31 31 32 32

Embracing Elegy - Thanh-Tu Nguyen The Rain - Miri Refuge - Grace Carter Visions of a Tiny Dancer - Victor Stamenkovic Snødekte Morgen - Cheyne Iman sorry, i left the window open - Sarah Bian Gaze - Judy Chen Flower’s Embrace - Grace Carter Dotted Waters - Jäger Harrison And I Fly, Fly Away - Melody Nigam Beautiful Courage - Dahn Bi Chong Snake g Camouflage - Andrew Cho In Loving Memory - Amie Cai The Music of A Tuesday Afternoon in the Heat - Grace E. Galligan Earthlings Out of Place - Jay Rawlinson Being the Stars - Dahn Bi Chong Supernova - Anonymous dreams - Emily Zhang

Acknowledgements

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 47 48 50 51

A Little Friend Viviana Montoya

Household rules Aethorn

White house Black room Red window Blue broom Sweep sweep Away the yellow Stains on the carpet It’s dirty I’m dirty From the black window In the red room Cards Play a spade Or a queen Live like the king Hang his head Drown the men They’re coming To the black room Standing on the white carpet It’s dirty again Didn’t you learn from last time? Sweep sweep The broom has faded It’s dark again Where’s the carpet? Where’re the men?

Red Drip Red Now turn to yellow Forget about the color change You never saw You’ve never seen You’ve never heard Hang your head Look at the carpet See it be cleaned Through the red window It’s red? It’s pink. The white carpet The red carpet White room Black house Red broom Blue window Why has it changed? It hasn’t. Learn to see Learn to hear What we show you What we tell you They are the household rules.

Solemn Julio

Withdrawing Kristen Konkoth

I am perpetually bound But my handcuffs are strange They are made of liquid And no one can see them but me Some days I feel they are tighter than usual I withdraw from them, wrenching my hands away But I cannot stand to be without them, it hurts when they are gone But don’t have worry, they are never gone for long I stand at the counter My hands, still tightly bound, reach out To complete their favorite, most dreaded task Prescription collecting

Untitled Milla Chunton

A Forever Family Kaia Schiff

Dear brother, When you were one, you didn’t know you had a sister Well, for that matter I didn’t know either We lived on opposite sides of the planet Both wrapped in a separate blanket Our destinies were entwined But we shall meet at a different time Right now your parents love you And mine love me too However, something happened along the way Little did I know that I could not stay Thousands of miles from you, my future was unknown The first faces I saw, the place that I called home Would slip past my fingertips before I could even get a grip Subject to this hellish world that they called life I went on a journey One that I cannot remember Things went so fast, and it was only December

So many people had held me When my life burst into flame And, to the people who held me Could I ever learn your name? I was brought to an orphanage Of no more than 50 Too young to ask why my mother and father had left me Surrounded by girls my age I waited to see what was written on my next page It was at this time that your parents got on a plane They traveled thousands of miles in order to learn my name Once again, my life had changed But under your roof, my world would stay the same I finally got the stability that I needed After the ten months that I had pleaded I soon arrived at my forever home The home and the family that I needed

Haiku Lauren Pierce

Joyful ball of fur You Always make me happy Greets me at the door

Neo

Selen Serder 7

Backyard’s Brook Claire Semerod

Saphi Maria Ignatieff

Read Between the Lines Kalisi Loveridge

she was usually able to make the nightmares go away, but this time, the little girl couldn’t seem to get the darkness to disappear, so her parents sighed and let her sleep with them that night, and almost every night after. later, the adults whispered about her in small white rooms with closed metal doors, worry evident in the furrows in their brows as they fretted about her inability to tell between what was and wasn’t real. the monsters can’t get you here, the doctors told her, but she said that it didn’t matter. she could still hear them. 10

A Letter To You Mikayla Lin and Judy Chen

Hello! It’s nice to meet you. Yes, you! How are you doing today? No, don’t just answer me with good. It’s great if you truly are, but if you’re not it’s okay to say that you’re not. I’m not always okay either. Tell me how you’re feeling. I want to hear about your day. I want to listen to you. You want to know who I am? I AM SPIDERMAN Haha, just kidding. Clever of you to divert my attention though. Oh no, you don’t think it’s worth talking to me? You think I’m just a piece of paper that doesn’t know anything? ...I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Wait wait wait, please don’t leave. I have cookies! Chocolate chip cookies, not oatmeal raisin. Well, if you like oatmeal raisin I guess I have those too. I also have stickers! I know you love stickers. Everyone loves stickers. I have a great selection of stickers; animal ones, music ones, sport ones, Frozen 2 ones… You’re back! Have a sticker (your choice, I won’t tell)! Now then, let me talk to you about a little something- no you’re not in trouble. I just wanted to let you know: I’m happy that you’re alive. Being alive’s pretty cool, don’t you think? I’m proud of you for coming so far already. Good job! I know you might have done a lot today or even nothing at all, but guess what? That doesn’t change your worth. You’re valid and your feelings are too. It might be hard or seem stupid to someone else, but you’re going to achieve your dreams and goals. Hey, don’t leave again! I know it’s cringy, but I mean it. Well okay, you could at least say goodbye. Until next time! Sincerely, not just a piece of paper

Bridget Grace Carter

Symmetry Emily Zhang

Untitled Zachary Haines

Simplicity Claire Semerod

Contradicted Heart Harry Takaki

Questions, the Sequel Mikayla Lin

Last year’s question continues to plague my life There’s no rest from the burden on my mind For I cannot even indulge in chocolate these days Without turning around to meet your gaze I try so hard not to crinkle the Dove foil paper Yet you continue to appear out of nowhere Watching me, waiting for the garbage On which to wreck carnage Shouldn’t cats catch mice? Instead you stubbornly keep this horrible vice The thief of my wastebasket You know darn well you shouldn’t chew plastic I’m constantly left in unease I’m begging you, please, Stop eating my trash!!!

*please refer to Fine Print 2019-20 for the prequel, Questions

dew from a wallflower Kalisi Loveridge

you wore your smile like a broken necklace: gingerly, with your head held high, craning your neck to keep it from slipping. but i saw those tears slide down your cheeks, and i thought them to be the realest jewels you wore that night.

Untitled Amanda Ampiah

Monster mlg_pepe21

Apocalypse Boogie Jamison Ryan We find ourselves grieving for people still here

Do you remember your friends faces?

Ticking but not moving

“It’s just temporary” they say, yes yes yes it’s only temporary

We find ourselves cutting our own hair in our bathroom

All things come to and end both good and bad and neither

Breathing but not living We find ourselves forgetting our friends faces

So what everything you used to love has lost its spark, and what does it matter if taking care of yourself doesn’t make you feel nice anymore

So, so lonely but not alone

It’s just temporary

But that’s the step once step twice

Twist and shout only in your mind, trap yourself farther there because if you can’t go out you can only go deeper and deeper in

The left, behind, right That’s

Feel free to bury everything you fought so hard to uncover, that’s one of the moves don’t you see?

The apocalypse boogie

Do a little dance atop the empty parking garage, go to Walmart at Its absolutely terrible how when we most need help we will do 10 pm and then have dinner with your bus driver anything to prove to ourselves that no one is willing to give it Pet cats that aren’t yours, then dogs that are

But it’s fine

Drink coffee and smile, rewatch your favorite TV show play dungeons and dragons do you feel awful yet?

It’s only temporary

Are you grieving yet are you still breathing do you feel alone yet?

The apocalypse boogie 20

Untitled Untitled Arineemal Kaul

Arineemal Kaul

Creation of the Internet Yunseo Jung

Fringe Anonymous Fatigued from human interaction Recluse forced to socialize In one snip, creates emotional space New curtains to blind and block out Gifted with intake moderation Elude conversations, now I’m trapped

Depressive Anger Michelle Markevych

Repelling the Storm Alexandra Nugent

Beep. Beep. Genevieve Holliday

The mechanic slides out from under my car on a bright yellow creeper. She wipes her hands on her jumpsuit, stands up. The microwave in the corner of the automotive shop is humming, and she checks its time— approximately one minute and thirty seconds left—before strolling back to me. “Cindy”, her name tag reads. “All fixed up.” She has hair like uncooked ramen noodles, the cheap kind, and she tosses this over her shoulder. “Just fill out this paperwork and you should be good to go.” She leads me to a piece of paper on her desk, clamped crookedly onto its clipboard. I take the pen, attached to the desk by a string and strip of tape, and start to scrawl my name and birthday on a set of rigid lines. Beep, the microwave goes. Beep. Beep. I look up and across the room. The microwave is small, red, and losing its paint. White smoke curls from its door, fills the room with an acrid odor. Beep. Beep. Beep-beep-beep-beep. The microwave screams, the sound of teeth on a chalkboard, then explodes. Molten pieces of plastic and metal fly everywhere. They leave holes in the shell of my car, they burn through my exposed skin. I am frozen, hunched over the desk. I do nothing. Cindy opens the microwave and removes a pale, steaming burrito. She slaps it onto a paper plate and takes the clipboard from me, smiling. 25

“Alrighty, thank you dear. Come back in two weeks if you have any problems.” I nod as she hands me back my keys. The drive home is a silent one. The black wipers scrape over the windshield in an icy whisper. Snowflakes sail down from the sky, hesitant to meet their black, oil-soaked ends. I turn on the heater, and it murmurs into my outstretched fingertips. I park in the garage, right in the center. Dad’s gone to visit his parents, so the Toyota is at the airport for the week. The door to inside squeals on its hinges, and the scent of black beans and toast greets me in the back room. I yell that I am home. I meander through the squat hallways and find Mom in her study. She peers at me over her blocky reading glasses, hands lifting from the keyboard. “The car all fixed?” I tell her yes. She leans back and stretches in her indigo cardigan when I don’t leave. “Did you still wanna go with me to that electronics store off of Yosemite?” Her voice always sounds as though there’s a stone lodged in her throat. I tell her yes, and that I will see if Ivan wants to come. “Good, good,” she mumbles to herself. Ivan is in the living room on the worn grey couch that is still wrapped in plastic, scribbling incorrect answers to his calculus homework. I ask if he wants to come with us to the electronics store. “I don’t know.” He doesn’t glance up. “I gotta finish this, then print out my essay for English.”

I ask when he will be finished. Beep, Ivan goes. Beep, the printer goes. I look between Ivan and the printer. Something’s not right. Confusion blurs the lines of the room. Beep, the printer goes again. Beep. Beep. Beep-beep-beep-beep. The printer short-circuits, shooting sparks onto the hardwood. I grip the plastic-wrapped back of the couch. A scream shreds the air around me, the sound of teeth on a chalkboard. Ivan goes limp, his eyes dead as the snowflakes on the ground outside. Mom steps into the room. “Are you ready, love? It’s alright if Ivan doesn’t want to come. Let him finish his homework.” I get into the car, the passenger’s seat this time. Mom always likes to drive when we’re together, says it helps her forget that I’ll be off to college next year. She smiles an airy smile, turning up Bon Jovi on the radio. The snowflakes are accumulating on the road, huddling together to mourn the loss of all those before them. Mom asks me about school, about my plans for the Talent Show, and maybe even Prom. I answer in short sentences. I’m not really paying attention. My thoughts are adrift, and I’m staring out the fogged window. We pull onto the ramp of the highway, next to a large stone wall etched with the shapes of zoo animals. Mom is singing along to a Bon Jovi lyric, something about giving love a bad name. The ground slips beneath us. The car shifts to the left. 27

Beep. It’s the car’s warning. Beep. Beep. My eyes dart to Mom. There’s something wrong with her face, it’s all twisted up. The Bon Jovi lyric has fallen from her tongue, and a grey lion looms in the window behind her. Beep. Beep. Beep-beep-beep-beep. The car lurches. Metal screeches against stone. A scream, a scrape, the sound of teeth on a chalkboard. Beep. The microwave. Beep. Ivan. The printer. Beep. The car, crashing. Beep. Beep. The hospital monitor. Now, I try to remember. I try to remember that day. But it’s all one thing, all one sound in my head. Beep. Beep.

The Grecian God Sarah Bian

i chisel off their skin i replace it with marble within deflesh their cheeks granite teeth where no air leaks i take a hammer to their necks where muscle comes off in flecks and i mold their faces and in their places

Out of Any, I am the Most Able to Eat from this Table.

i mount another Greek bust

A Stone Tail leaking from the Cradle Who do we table? mother of marble Or a mother unabled

to marble-ize, idolize an ego personified my models my mother of marble Celebrate! The Senators come! a Caesar of pleasers countless of us eaters eating dust out of her fingers, of cold, unborn hands the sands that we ate tumbling into our gizzards as we peck asbestos and calcium drink its carbonate a crate and cradle 29

Senators! See her limestone eyes same as teeth retained by chiseled wives a statuess blessed by uncured leather hands and chipped granite fingernails in a desalinated daughter baptized in salted Indian Pale Ale

my dulled beak has drilled a semblance into a beached mountain a stone whale marooned carved by algae and starved cod: The Grecian God.

broken I, II, V Andrea Lan

Long Days Jäger Harrison

Untitled Hannah Xu

Damage Control Amelia Russell I wake up I am hanging Suspended in a state of imitation. My eyes are wide open to a real-life street With real-life people painted In hues of fading mortality. A girl I think I know- no, I do know- goes And steps into the street. A scream as real as blood ripples in the airA scream I realize is from my throatBut the girl just looks at me, confused Before she becomes nothing but a streak of blue Painted against a fading facade. Suddenly, burning eyes land upon my ghost by the thousands. They seethe with questions, Demands, accusations of my guilt. I did not balance control With pandemonium And now look at the mess I have made.

Kissing The River of Desperation Melody Nigam

Embracing Elegy Thanh-Tu Nguyen

The Rain Miri

Neon signs set her face alight with fluorescent pink Her mind finally free of him, she can finally think His body limp in the alley, washed by rain Her scarlet knife cleaned, flowing down the drain A creature of pain, of suffering, of death It was a mercy she drew out his final breath He understood the danger of acting like she was inconsequential Yet to acknowledge their pain? The dread was existential She had long feared to write his elegy Yet the act filled her with revelry She begins to laugh as she stares up to the sky For her to be free, her old form had to die

Refuge Grace Carter

Visions of a Tiny Dancer Victor Stamenkovic

I sit here on my chair of suede Her warm cheek coldens on my shoulder, her pouring tears Sipping the last drop of whiskey, still cold strayed I sit, looking upon the darkness of my bare room And though I now know I must not give trade When a muffled tune calls for me from a room where once was I cry for my tiny dancer gold For I have lost and was scared I couldn’t find The same room where my love once stayed She looks up at me as if I found my answer As I stumble with the legs my mother has made The tune brings light into my heavy head Reaching upon the door, the knob turned, I peer through My droopy eyes lie on the sight of my love, as if she were not dead The tune, louder, her smile cuts my heart, sharp blade As I stand there, I felt unafraid Though my love kept dancing to that beautiful tune, She greets me with nothing but her eyes and smile That smile gave thoughts as to why she left so soon Tragedy for love like marmalade Dancing in a white dress, for me she displayed Saying words with only her smile and gaze For I too could not speak with my voice I only stood there like the old days I wonder if she knew she left me decayed

She slips from my arms and began to fade

The tune stops as if never played I look down to her, only to see the place she took the last breath And though the memory is not one to make joy I stare and wonder why it was death I start to think life has obeyed I stumble back to the chair made of suede To pour another one, still cold I sit, looking upon the darkness of my bare room When no tune came from the room where was once gold The same room where my love formed my mind’s blockade

Reaching out to me, her ring finger covered in jade She laughs like god, and sways her hands towards me 36

Snødekte Morgen

Cheyne Iman

sorry, i left the window open Sarah Bian

sorry i left my window open i didn’t know i would let the smoke in the jukebox won’t take my token my alarm clock is rain-soaked and broken sorry I didn’t check the forecast before the lore was that there was a storm in store i didn’t know i didn’t know that we’d be gone so long that our house would be tall enough for king kong to climb but stopped on the dime that fell out from your bank account next time, i swear, we’ll take a different route how about turning right on orchard road instead or goodnight after getting out of bed or throwing the fight before you bite the lead i do not know what you read but please give me some credit i do not pay in gift cards or in debit i do not know where debt goes after you die 2 minutes after the stream goes live i am sorry that i left my window open the jukebox detoxed the air inside but my alarm clock still reads 26:05 but then i realized that the smoke outside was actually pyrotechnics departing the cement the forensics department never figured out where the storm came from or went some believe, or some are dumb enough to grieve, that it only rains when i leave the window open sorry i had just misspoken

only once did i leave my window open i swear i didn’t know i would let the smoke in the air pressure it dropped so quickly so fast i think that maybe the weather forecast couldn’t pick up the signals and so flew the flag half-mast I am not the lead in this one-person cast see when you left I left the window open because all the doorknobs are locked or broken from my second story window i could see your car but the song from my jukebox it don’t go that far and my alarm clock it could wake people on Mars but not you because then you peeled away from the driveway and spent a dime on everything you could find and in kind, you never won the lottery it never rains silver on the oxenfree when the fireworks went off, you thought it was a gun sorry my window is broken 38

Gaze

Judy Chen

Flower’s Embrace

Grace Carter

Dotted Waters Jäger Harrison

And I Fly, Fly Away Melody Nigam

Beautiful Courage Dahn Bi Chong

SnakegCamouflage Andrew Cho

In Loving Memory Amie Cai

The Music of A Tuesday Afternoon in the Heat Grace E. Galligan

Her head tilts back. The music beckons her In and out of daydreams. The summer’s bite Abides by the willow branches. And she was there, On the ground. Soles to the earth. Soul to the sky. Her and the music there On a Tuesday afternoon In the heat.

But this time, The boy can’t run To the willow field. To the girl with her head back. He can only find boots That kick and tear. To fall again, Back bruised, To the city that keeps him captive.

Somewhere, a boy cries. His face kisses asphalt. The warmth of it, burning. He hears the same music. Same summer hum. Same satisfaction settling Safely into bone marrow. 46

Earthlings Out of Place Jay Rawlinson

Being the Stars

Dahn Bi Chong

Supernova Anonymous

Just a girl Dancing alone in a crowd. She glances at the sky And you see The sunshine in her smile The moon in her arms The planets in the revolutions of her world. You can see the glow of distant stars in her eyes The secret smiles she makes with the corners of her mouth That only the heavens ever see. She is the one luminous, radiant star In an endless field of dust and empty spaces. On the surface, she is light and air and warmth. Everything cherished in this world. Ice cream and laughter and long summer nights. But it is only a mirage. For you cannot see the tear tracks that run down her face from the craters called eyes. You cannot see the bitter fractures of her smile, sealed with cherry lipstick. The constellation of scars where drops the color of her lips fell from her arms She had so much brilliance that people did not see the black hole she lived in. 48

It left her forgotten In an endless void of her own design. There was no one to help her escape. To be the light when she went out. To be her sun in the night. The gravity was too strong. And she didn’t feel like fighting any longer. After caring so much for so long, without anyone to care back, She became a supernova. The magnificent final farewell of a dying star. Most people only saw the beauty of a supernova. Not the collapse of something fundamental And seemingly eternal. Just a moment in space, a single breath. The universe didn’t even flinch. But the planets in her orbit, the ones the star never noticed, felt the absence. And they could not sustain themselves without her, and they fractured into pieces. Destroyed in the eruption. She was gone, living only in the memories of nearby stars and the fragments of the planets. Gone, but not forgotten. For in the ashes of her wake, she left the memories of her light.

dreams Emily Zhang

Acknowledgements There are a number of individuals to whom we are indebted for the fruition of this edition of Fine Print. Our staff is blessed to have the support of all of our dedicated faculty and staff members, particularly Principal Ryan Silva, Assistant Principal Marcus McDavid, Assistant Principal Darren Knox, Assistant Principal Traci Dougherty, Assistant Principal Kevin Uhlig, Dr. Krista Keogh and the Activities Office, Mr. David Stallings and the Fine Arts Department, and Ms. Kim Gilbert and the English Department. In addition, we appreciate the support of Mr. Jim Bartlett and the OneTouchPoint Press staff. We cannot express enough gratitude towards Ms. Alissandra Seelaus, who provided invaluable assistance in putting together every aspect of the magazine, from navigating Adobe InDesign to suggesting fonts and layouts. Most of all, we extend our heartfelt appreciation towards Ms. Vernal Pope, our amazing sponsor, for being our safety net and soothing voice of reason and supporting us every step of the way. We would also like to thank our colleagues in the staff, who helped us make this magazine despite the many extraordinary difficulties this year. If you’ve reached this part of the acknowledgements section, thank you for flipping through and engaging with the material that your students and peers produced. We are a large community here at Creek, and it can be difficult to communicate with each other at times. This magazine is just another attempt at bridging our divides and bringing us together. The Fine Print Staff of 2021

Cherry Creek High School 9300 E Union Ave Greenwood Village, CO 80111 Disclaimer: Any views or opinions expressed in Fine Print are solely the artists and writers’ and are in no way representative of the Cherry Creek School District, Cherry Creek High School, or its staff or faculty. 53