Hackley Middle School Literary & Art Magazine 2021

The Arrow Spring 2021

Special Thanks To: Cyndy Jean, Richard Robinson, & Brad Walters Faculty Support: Cameron Virrill, Merideth Maddox, Ellen Ferguson, Jennifer Louros, Oshon Temple, Dan Lipin, & Trevor Ogden Faculty Advisors: Jessica DiFalco & Monica Carrier

Hackley Middle School Literary & Art Magazine 2021

Cover Art: Ella C. ‘26

Inner Cover Art: Nina Z. ‘25

Ellie K. ‘26

Where I’m From

____________________________________________________________________________________ Meron B. ‘28 I am from cozy apartments, from Sephora skincare and Burt’s Bees chapstick.

I am from the town-house home-like, lively.

It sounded like never-ending phone calls from the basement.

I am from the front yard daisies lavender bushes, sweet smelling, surrounded by bumblebees and butterflies.

I’m from the church Sundays and black coffee, from Tata’s cookies and Dad’s green thumb.

I’m from the Saturday hikes with Mom and painting and sewing in Tata and Ababa’s basement.

From “Keep your hair down; it won’t be frizzy” and “Wear a dress; it’s warm out”.

I’m from kolo, served under church arches, from donations, bread, and sour grape juice.

I’m from Ethiopia and North America, blackout chocolate cupcakes and vegan burgers.

From the hours of raking, picking up leaves, and creating and growing life with Dad to the wet sneakers and smudged t-shirts from crossing my backyard waterfall with my neighbors.

I am from scented lotion, lipgloss, and earrings. I am from books, from pointe shoes, from sunflowers.

I am from African culture, from reggae music, from ripped leggings.

I am from where I’m from, no matter where I am.

Helena A. ‘27

Teton Valley

____________________________________________________________________________________ Anders J. ‘27 l.

I know a place where the mountain spires reach to the sky, to the heavens above ll. where cool, sparkling streams and the crystal waters flow through the land I’ve learned to love. lll.

I’ve taken the trail, the acidic taste of pine and the brown smell of the horses.

With my horse and saddle, lV. I’ve hiked the ways of the mountain man I’m hard as a nail, and a real rough rider, so you can see how tough I am.

V. I’ll always dream, of the Teton Valley.

When I return, I long to roam up high on a hill

Vl. where the wranglers wandered, so I can call Teton Valley home.

Vll. The dusty feel of a rope lassoing the cattle is a feeling very close to my heart.

Vlll.

The shimmering butterfly feeling of a horse and the orange color from the sense of feeling at home are way up in the Teton Valley to me. lX. The cows that roam are as tough as the rough ground, and their pies as mushy as slime, and the burgundy smell of the wind, and lastly the birds’s damp chirping.

All the animals seem to be saying, “This is my home”.

Kareena P. ‘26

Aftokrateira

____________________________________________________________________________________ William S. ‘28

One afternoon, Athena felt a pain in her neck. She returned to Olympus from Athens and asked her sister, Artemis, to open her neck up with her arrows. When Athena’s neck was opened, a newborn baby arose from her neck. Even though Athena didn’t want children, she couldn’t adore her daughter any more. She had long, blond hair that would shine at night. But, there was something off about her daughter. She was barely crying. As Athena slept that night, a spirit came to her.

“Athena,” the spirit said, “ your daughter is dying and has little time to live. Bring her to the Parthenon tomorrow night, and there we will heal her.”

That next night, Athena placed her daughter in the center of the Parthenon. The night went from a mild temperature to a freezing wind. Then, red fumes started coming out of Athena’s daughter’s forehead, and white fumes were being distributed into her hands and feet. Then, her daughter arose; her eyes opened. They looked like the night sky. When she returned to Athena’s arms, she started to cry.

“Now, your daughter is the g-ddess of the entire solar system; she controls us,” the spirit said.

The spirit reunited with seven other figures. Athena’s daughter’s eyes opened again and were a lavender color. The symbol of Saturn formed onto her forehead for a moment. The spirit turned out to be Saturn and the seven other planets. Then, they flew away. Athena now knew what to name her daughter. She named her daughter Aftokrateira (ATO-KRAT-E-ra), meaning empress.

Annika D. ‘26

Twirling Personas

____________________________________________________________________________________ Jordan L. ‘26 Black, white up, down left, right spinning like a top in my own head.

Which is which?

I turn right, but my brain moves left.

I walk upstairs, but still I feel down.

My head pounds as I try to make sense of dueling sensibilities.

My personality splits, and as I laugh and joke with friends, inside sometimes I cry.

I long to reveal my true form, but right/left now, I’m not sure what that looks like You know how you have two different personalities around different people? Well, what if those different personalities were really two separate people?

That’s how I feel, always feeling like I’m hiding something from someone all the time. Even if I know I’m not, it still feels like it.

Feeling like I’m the fake one, trying to please others but not myself, it’s exhausting at this point.

What about me?

The Last One

____________________________________________________________________________________ Suka N. ‘25 God, everyone’s so excited. Momma’s smiles finally reach her eyes, and Poppa’s usual sharp yells have softened to bright guffaws. My pretty red dress that pops against my melanated skin screams at me in utter joy.

“The first in the family to receive some kind of teaching,” my aunties gossip in the jam-packed kitchen, lines of paint peeling from the heat of the smouldering heat of the pot. The same heat making the little beads of sweat across their foreheads, “Never thought she’d live to see it.”

“Oh hush,” Auntie Shannon says sharply, “It won’t be the same as it is outside.”

They scoff in unison. “Says the lightbright who wouldn’t have toiled away like we would have in those cotton fields.”

I never truly knew what they were talking about, the associations lost on my young mind. My father sucked his teeth, scolding them for mentioning ill about the start of our family’s name being etched into the ivory plaques of recorded history. My eyes drift to my uncles playing dominos in the small showbox corner, mumbling and muttering, “This is it. This the one. The little bird finally flying away from this heavy nest.”

Their words left a soft indentation on the front of my mind, like the one a soft touch into a marshmallow makes when you need a numbing distraction from the world. Instead, this seemingly innocent indent refused to float back up from my mind until the late hours of golden dusk. Finally, the lulls of sleep were too strong to ignore, and I drifted off to the rising sun peeking just behind my torn-up curtain. It was too late before I realized I had spent one second too long on a lingering thought before morning came. The dim lights of the hallway dust the very front of my eyes, a warming remnant showing the overflowing emotions of celebration for the great journey ahead today. The urge to smile, extended on from yesterday, made an appearance on my face as well. So I emerged from the bed and tiptoed across the hardwood floors damp from my mother’s deep cleaning just before. As I made my way to the freshly cleaned bathroom, that vibrant red dress made an appearance at the corner of my eye. Yet this time, it looked like it held some sort of haunting malice behind its moonlit face. My mind flashed to the thoughts of the night

The Last One, continued

____________________________________________________________________________________ before, still not seeming to have let upon me. My reluctant feet padded on, as I was still pondering what really made the dress switch to its original mood. This thought made the morning a quick blur, another hidden glint behind everybody’s eyes as well. But it was not malice I saw this time, but pity sprouting its gray seed in the back of their tussling minds. I watched the plant grow and bloom into a beautiful brussels sprout with little dots and a dash of tears falling from its veins. I put on the red, velvety dress and immediately felt little pricks from the tag’s corners digging into my skin, creating its own secret hiding space between the folds of the dress and my rattled undershirt. As the car sputtered down the road leaving black spurts of smoke in its wake, I watched the neighborhood houses drift farther and farther while the buildings grew taller and taller, the length of them all turning symmetrical, the silence between them ringing louder than screams.

Suddenly the car sputtered to a quick stop. I stepped out of the car, and the building in front of me screamed the song of silence most of all. One by one, my parents and I walk up to the brass door and ring a doorbell, those little circle knobs that I’ve only seen a couple times in my life. As the door swings open, a woman’s narrow eyes zero in on me, and she sneers, “Oh, you’re the last one.”

And with those simple words, it all makes sense. The sudden looks of pity on their faces. The open, yet silent conversions about the day to come. The sudden change in my big bright dress’s face. It’s all tied together now. For my dress was the same color as the woman with the pale face standing above me at the door. And the dress cried and cried at the sight of its long lost mother.

Juno Y. ‘26

More Than Tomatoes and Cheese

____________________________________________________________________________________ Olivia H. ‘27 A picture of a little girl with sauce all over her on a step stool next to her aunt, sits on the desk. That picture was taken six years ago, showing how long Friday pizza night has been a tradition. Over time, the recipe for pizza has advanced; now, instead of store-bought dough, my mother goes through the tedious task of making the dough. She rolls, kneads, shapes, and feeds her own sourdough starter. While she’s rolling the dough, she always allows taste tests. She lets my siblings and me help roll the dough and then hold it up so it spreads using gravity. The dough sinks down as if it had just jumped to the moon and was now falling. The dough is as soft as a cloud. Then, we spread the tomato sauce, leaving a thin strip of dough around the edges.

After the first cooking of the crust, my mom adds the toppings, then puts the pizzas back in the oven to cook the cheese and tomato sauce into the crust. From anywhere and everywhere in our house, you can smell the aroma of meat, cheese, and tomatoes blending. It smells as familiar as if it were part of home. Flavors have advanced as well. Currently, a favorite is sourdough crust with olive oil, feta cheese, scallions, and pancetta. Every Friday night, my family sits at the counter. At the first bite of my pizza, I feel the solid but soft crust, the tomato sauce and cheese singing a delicious harmony, and the pancetta adding some salt and texture. It melts in your mouth; like an ice cube, it’s gone all too fast. It tastes so good that before you know it, you’ve eaten ten slices.

Friday pizza night is special to my family because we always do it together. Most nights we have activities and homework, but pizza time is together time. We sit around the white table in the breakfast room.

We talk about our days, things in our lives, upcoming vacations, and past memories. There are many people who are busy in my family. My dad works hard at his job all day, and my mom works all day helping my siblings and me, running errands, and doing chores. My siblings and I are either at school, working on homework, studying, or going to all of our after-school activities. I am thankful for all my family’s hard work, but I love how on Fridays we all convene and talk.

Friday pizza night is a very long dinner. We might sit as long as an hour and a half talking and eating.

Friday night marks the end of the week, and it always feels joyous. My family looks forward to Friday, and so do I.

Sydney M. ‘26

A Couch’s Call to Action

____________________________________________________________________________________ Alberto P. ‘27 Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

I happily bounce in the back of the rattling truck.

I’ve finally hit the big time: I’m going to a home.

No longer held captive by the cruel gods Crate and Barrel, freed from a dimly lit warehouse prison to a paradise once unknown.

I used to be a nobody, a useless lump in a climate-controlled cage.

The wise men told me I’d one day be free if my smooth, grey leather pleased the ones above.

Others were stacked atop me crudely, like a puppy pile on a bed.

Surely this must be indecent in the worlds of gods and men.

As the cramped truck rumbles along I prepare in the dark for my salvation: a place without kin crushing down on top of me.

Wait, what will they use me for again?

Calliope Y. ‘26

Thanksgiving, excerpt

____________________________________________________________________________________ Theo A. ‘27 Friends, family, food I love it and you do too Crisp leaves and dead trees Stuffing, turkey, sauce ‘Round the table and we talk Fun, six feet apart Cornbread, cranberry Stuffing and sauce, cinnamon Gravy, the cold, warmth Of family and Fire and food that fills us Pumpkin spice flavor Potato, pumpkin We are all eating something Marshmallow, stuffing Giving thanks to all Leaves reminding us of fall We can hear our call We put down cell phones We shut off the lights inside We take in beauty No school, no homework No friends, I’m lonely, save me Covid restrictions We see others too With masks, gators too I like holidays Great memories made Great Thanksgiving on my plate Great food that we ate

August T. ‘27

The Great Filter

____________________________________________________________________________________ Juno Y. ‘26 You finally wake up and look around. The lab you were in is still miraculously preserved, yet there are no new changes that you can see. You climb outside and stare at what you see. You remember what you perceived as only minutes ago. They said it was for the better. They said that when you woke up, it would be to a better world. Now, it must be 3050, if the Gregorian calendar is still being used. Two thousand years, and we managed to destroy ourselves. You look outside to the desolate landscape: buildings crumbled to dust, pavements cracking. We had to destroy ourselves; you had supposed humanity wasn’t enough. You look to the West, to the setting sun. A cliff. You vaguely remember it from Before and walk towards it. The water level is much higher than you remember. No matter, it will do. Humanity has failed; now it is time to move on. You jump.

Mariana D. ‘28

To Think of Love

____________________________________________________________________________________ David G. ‘27

To think of love is to think of thee.

Why sky art blue? Why trees art green?

All things must pass. Thy chicken, my youth, but not my love for thee.

Anytime I hear the wind blow, it will whisper the name: Popeye’s chicken tenders.

The Switch, excerpt

____________________________________________________________________________________ Fiona P. ‘26

I wasn’t supposed to remember.

That was the whole point. I played the Switch card, and it didn’t work. Well, it did. But there were holes.

Memories came like consciousness, so when I was a baby, I of course couldn’t recall them. When I was seven, most slowly came back, dripping into my brain like dirty pipe water. Imagine if you were given a second chance at a test but were constantly reminded about the failing grade you made that caused you to get the redo? That’s what it was like for me, but a hundred times worse.

So, of course, I played one of my two Forget cards. That didn’t work, either.

At that point, I was extremely unsettled. The cards never, ever made mistakes like this, no matter who they belonged to.

My older sister, Miranda, was baking a cake. Matilda Grace or Tilly, the youngest, was “helping” Miranda in the kitchen. My younger brother, Blake, had his friend George over and were playing cricket in the garden. Mum and Dad were at work and would be home soon.

It was a perfect spring Saturday in the Caldwell home, and I should have been happy to have no homework, no school, and time to do as I pleased.

Fate had given me the best of best families, but the card had made it so I could never escape my past. That was the point, no? Why give us the cards when they only work half way? I kept it secret for years. Not even my parents knew. The government doesn’t tell anyone, not even the person who switched, that they switched because then they’d be treated differently. Switching gave you a fresh start, a clean slate, a chance to forget and have a new life from the beginning. You even get a second Switch card and a new Do-over, Perfection, Forget, and Free Pass cards, but to you it’s not another; it’s your first. That’s what I had wanted.

Only Aurora, my best friend, knew. She knew about the Rodgers and Caroline and Ledgerville, Alabama, every detail I could recall I told her. She knew how I felt cheated and how it was hard for me to enjoy this life when it just felt like a fake one.

Miranda’s sixteenth birthday had passed without much fanfare last month, just the usual relatives coming and cake baking. I, along with everyone else in the family, would have been shocked, even hurt if Miranda had chosen to play her card. I would have missed her terribly, even though the card would have wiped Miranda from our memory. She was never moody or rude; she was patient and played with Tilly. She volunteered at the local animal shelter. She made cakes. Miranda’s leaving was preposterous. She thought so, too. Why would anyone want to leave your picture-perfect English family?

After lunch, I took the tube to Aurora’s flat. I went up the steps and knocked on her door. Her mother, Adele, answered it in her David’s Pub waitress’s apron.

“Hi, Porter!” she said. Unlike most of the mothers at St. Paul’s, she had a south London accent.

“Hi, Ms. Webb. Is Aurora home?”

“Porter, for the last time call me Adele, dear. Aurora’s in her bedroom, sweetheart. Tell Aurora my lunch break is

The Switch, excerpt continued

____________________________________________________________________________________ over, and I’m heading down to the pub. Would you like a snack before I go?”

“No, thank you, Ms. Webb.” I walked down the hall to Aurora’s room and knocked.

“Come in,” she said. I opened the door. She was sitting on her bed in a ribbed lilac tee and jeans, reading a book.

Aurora had been my friend since Year Two. We met on the playground when this boy Henry was bullying me and she stepped on his foot and told him off. Whenever I get mad at her, she reminds me that I still owe her for saving me. Aurora was slender with toffee-brown hair that fell to the middle of her back and tapered at the end like a flame. Whenever her hair was blown in the wind, it reminded me of Caroline’s, the way it would whip around lightly and tie itself in small knots. Her eyes were a grey-blue, round, with a thin purple outline like an atmosphere around the iris. When she was in a swimsuit, you could see her ribs in her back.

She looked up. “Oh. It’s just you,” she said, then went back to reading her book.

“Want to go to the park? Your mum just left for her shift.” Aurora was an only child, and was used to being home alone while her mum worked long into the night waitressing. Her dad left when she was three, so Ms. Webb did all she could to keep Aurora in St Paul’s. I’d grown accustomed to having Mum home by three, then Dad by five.

“Eh.” “Please? It’s important.”

“Fine.” She slipped on her sneakers and a blue and yellow St Paul’s Basketball sweatshirt, and we took the elevator down to the street. Once at the park, we found a bench with a dedication plaque under the shade of a leafy oak tree.

“What is it that’s so important?” She stretched out the “so” several seconds too long.

“I need your help.”

“Why?” “I need to get help.”

“With what? Stop being so elusive here, Porter,” she snapped, to the point as always.

“I need help. With the memories. And my cards. I need a new set.”

“Porter!” she shouted. A flock of pigeons beat their wings in a hustle and flew up to the nearest rooftop.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“You know you can’t do that!”

“Why? It’s not my fault.”

“If they find out, you’re screwed, Porter. You’ll become some scientific experiment or something!”

“I just need new cards; that’s all.”

“And what are you going to say when they ask why you need new cards?”

“What else? Mine aren’t working. It’s the truth.”

Farah G. ‘28

Ways to See a Pitbull

____________________________________________________________________________________ Lola F. ‘27 1.Some people see a scary dog: a demon that always FIGHTS 2.Others see a sad soul and will never know the light.

3.Some will pet the fur and see RAINBOWS in the sky.

4.Some will know the misuse and still turn a blind eye, 5.Some will see the torture, the lives of misery and pain.

6.Some will think that in their lives there is always rain.

7.Some spend their whole lives helping the PERFECT and the SWEET. 8.Some will say to save them, Just give them a treat.

9.Some will see the dog and their vision turns to RED. 10.And sadly some will hope it just goes to bed.

Mateo A. ‘26

Heredity, excerpt

____________________________________________________________________________________ Abigail N. ‘26 “I’m going to be a pilot someday,” Maya informed Thom.

“You’ve only told me a million times.”

She ignored her brother. “I just think it would be cool. Since there aren’t astronauts anymore, pilot’s the closest you can get to the stars.” The moon was overhead, faint against the blue sky. Maya scrunched her nose up and bent her head back to look at it. Waning crescent tonight.

“Maybe there will be astronauts again someday. But why d’you want to be one, anyway? It sounds scary.”

“It’s not scary. Don’t you think it would be fun to walk on the moon? It’s like… it’s like deep-sea diving.

The only difference is that the first astronaut died, and the first deep-sea diver didn’t. So everyone’s just scared to go into space again.” That was why Maya would be the first. Someday, she would be standing on the moon, standing on that little crescent, looking down at all the tiny people on the Earth…. ...The US Air Force Academy qualified Maya to be a pilot on April 12, 2036. It was a day so hot and muggy that all of the airplanes overhead seemed to be moving at half-speed. To celebrate, Thom used his savings to rent her a Cessna for two hours. They went up together — Thom and Maya, Maya and Thom.

Maya lifted off, the hum of the engines reverberating through the body of the plane. There was no moon that day, or that night. The sky was a flat sheet of blue, and if Maya went high enough, she could pierce the paper and see the stars. She could see the stars and pretend that she was flying among them, up above the rest of the world, and look down from the crescent of the moon at all the tiny people on Earth.

Birthday Trouble

____________________________________________________________________________________ Gabrielle D-A. ‘25 Scene 1 Lights up on Chloe and Maddie, both enter stage left and are walking to school together on a Monday morning. Both are carrying backpacks and are dressed as students. Maddie seems slightly agitated, but Chloe does not seem to notice. Both girls look at their phones every so often. Maddie has an obviously fancy phone that seems new, at least compared to the phone Chloe has.

CHLOE: Hey Maddie, did you text me last night?

MADDIE: Yes, didn’t you see it? I texted you to tell you that I got a new phone.

CHLOE: [Slightly distracted, scrolling through something on her phone] Oh sorry, I thought it might be you, but since your new number wasn’t in my contacts I wasn’t sure.

MADDIE: Oh, okay. [pauses] Well, I got a new phone yesterday. I also got a new calendar and a new notebook.

CHLOE: Still scrolling through her phone. Wow, you got a lot of stuff yesterday. Was it some kind of special occasion?

MADDIE: Yes, it was January 17th.

CHLOE: What’s so special about January 17? [pauses and looks up from her phone] Did I miss something?

MADDIE: [Starts to talk in an angry voice, seeming annoyed.] Yeah, you did miss something.

CHLOE: What could I have missed? I’m not sure what you’re talking about...oh my God, did Taylor Swift release a new album? How on earth did I miss that? I thought that was January 19th.

MADDIE: [Even more annoyed and angry at Chloe.] No, and that’s the 29th, not the 19th.

Birthday Trouble, continued

____________________________________________________________________________________

CHLOE: Confused Was it...your piano recital?

MADDIE No. CHLOE: Seeming very confused about Maddie’s demeanor and why she is angry. Well then, I don’t know.

MADDIE: [angrily] It was my birthday. You’re my best friend, the least you could’ve done was text me. [begins to raise her voice, even more angrily] You didn’t call me, you didn’t come over to my house, you didn’t email me, I mean I would’ve been happy with even smoke signals, but nothing! I would never forget your birthday. I can’t believe you forgot mine CHLOE: I’m sorry. You know how forgetful I am. I’ll make it up to you. We can celebrate this weekend.

MADDIE: It doesn’t matter. It’s too late. There’s nothing you could do that would make up for this. [runs off stage right] Lights out on Chloe standing in the middle of the stage alone, still holding her phone.

Sarah R. ‘26

The Rise

____________________________________________________________________________________ Dan E. ‘27

During the lockdown, my family needed a morale booster. My mom came to the rescue with two bags of bread flour and a package of yeast. She needed a bread recipe that would make the most loaves with the least amount of bread flour, because bread flour was very limited.

She found a recipe for “Buttermilk Bread” and decided to make it. The ingredients were bread flour, buttermilk, Kosher salt, and yeast. My mom started to perfect the bread by making it over and over until my family really started to love it. She would let the bread rise overnight, then put it in the oven in the morning. I would smell the dough baking in a Dutch oven from my room.

The rich aroma of buttermilk and dough would flood our house with a delicious smell.

The appearance of the bread was round, crispy, and bumpy with a nice golden color. The bread felt crispy on the outside and on the inside, it felt soft and fluffy. The bread reminded me of what a wheel of cheese looks like, and its taste had a hint of creamy milk. But when you’d put a little bit of butter on it, the bread exploded with flavors rushing into your mouth like a chemical reaction.

The bread held a deep meaning; it represented resiliency during unprecedented challenges because we could still enjoy life in a hard time. The bread also represented family, because every night my mom would make the bread, and we would gather together at the dinner table and share it. Lastly, the bread represented the dedication my mom had for learning a new skill, just to bring a little more light into my family.

Emmanuelle K. ‘26

Alessia S. ‘25

Drew L. ‘27

Why F1 Is the Greatist Motorsport of All Time, excerpt

____________________________________________________________________________________ Ivan Alexander L.-J. ‘26 F1 is the greatest Motorsport of all time because of the speed, aerodynamics, and, amazing possibilities. To let you catch up a bit, Formula One is the highest class of single-seater auto racing sanctioned by the FIA. F1 has been a premier sport ever since 1950, when it all began. Throughout the decades, there have been many inventions to boost the car’s ability. For example, a team in 1978 accidentally discovered ground effects. This fixed the unreliable stability and set the downforce standards for today. These kinds of pioneering inventions led F1 to be the sport it is today. In my eyes, F1 is the best because the cars go really fast, and they are always capable of fighting each other for the lead, which is great because of the drama that happens on track. Also, did you know that an F1 car has about 8,000 parts?! That isn’t even counting spares! These parts contribute to speed like the cunning shark-like car shape and the aerodynamics which let it flow through the air easily. ... That is why F1 is the greatest motorsport of all time thanks to the speed, aerodynamics, and amazing possibilities.

As I mentioned before, the speed of an F1 car is incredible. Speed enhances F1 because it makes racing much more competitive. While going at 231 MPH, it is not using any assistance whatsoever. That is very fun to see. Over the past years, speed has gone through lots of changes. Before the 70’s, the engines were practically all the same. When the speed was accompanied with aerodynamics, these cars were all out of control and would crash easily. They were just the daily car and could most likely have been street legal!

As for the newer era’s cars, they started using turbo-charged engines. The turbo basically reuses the fuel that you burn, and that thrust goes back into the engine and increases the engine speed. That is why cars got faster. Then, we got hybrid power. This meant that we could use electricity to boost the cars to go even faster. In F1, it is called “ERS”; the higher the mode you are in, the more speed you gain. That is how speed has evolved over time.

Another thing that helps in F1 is the improvements in aerodynamics. This helps F1 because not only does it contribute to speed, but it also is very cool-looking. The first thing that I wanted to show you is DRS (drag reduction system). This lowers drag (suction to the track) and improves the car’s airflow, therefore increasing speed. As seen in the green and yellow image, a normal car drives like in the first picture. However, when DRS is active, a little flap opens and enables better airflow and speed. This is a safe system because the second one breaks with the pedal, it lowers down. If not, you end up like Marcus Erricson in Monza Italy, 2018. When turning, the car needs drag going at 50+ MPH around a corner, so it enables by itself.

Ways of Seeing Golf Clubs

____________________________________________________________________________________ Sadie G. ‘27 1.

A generic toy, passed from one hand to the next, to help the ball through the windmill in the salty heat of a summer night on the Cape.

2.

An experiment with the laws of physics: half a pendulum, a tap, a push, a whack.

3.

A head, a hosel, a shaft, a grip, irons, wedges, woods, putters, endless options for your path to victory.

4.

A yearly investment to up your game until outgrown, upgraded, and replaced by the sparkling smoothness of new technology.

5.

An orchestra of instruments like wind chimes tinkling in my bag, creating metallic sweetness to my ears and imitating my stride beat by beat.

6.

An extension of my body, like a fifth limb dancing through plugging mud, stinging sand, tickling grass, and uplifting air.

Ways of Seeing Golf Clubs, continued

____________________________________________________________________________________ 7.

Precise as a surgeon’s scalpel or an artist’s brush, requiring choice, strategy, and trust.

8.

The pressure of a confident handshake, no more, no less; fingers intertwined and woven like my grandmother’s sweater.

9.

A best friend who can sometimes betray you with a crushing hook or slice.

10.

A bitter weapon hurled in anger, unjustly blamed and smashed on the innocent blades of grass.

11.

Comfort in the palms of my hands: a perfect fit like Cinderella’s glass slipper, customized uniquely for me.

12.

A trophy finish held high in the air and captured in gleaming gold.

Emmanuel H. ‘26

The Journey, excerpt

____________________________________________________________________________________ N’Darri B.-A. P. ‘25

“Hello? Hello? Let’s hope that they haven’t gotten a concussion. Then again, is that even possible here?”

My eyelids fluttered as I returned to what I thought was consciousness. I opened my eyes to see a field of what appeared to be soft, fuzzy, pink grass, opposing a dark, starlit sky, which contrasted each other beautifully, as well as someone who looked familiar. Hang on...is that me?!

How does that even work? Where am I? When I realized that I wasn’t in a place that I recognized.

I jumped up to run.

“Hey! Wait!” said my twin. I took a deep breath, turned around, and got a better look at my adversary. The thing was...they looked like me...but with key differences. Their hair was as brown, short, curly, and wild as mine, but it wasn’t as much of a mess as I’d usually leave it. They were dressed in a pink, flowing, strawberry dress, which swished with the pattern of the wind. In a normal universe, or, a normal version of whatever bizzaro world I’m in, I’d have been dressed in a pair of jeans and the same hoodie I’ve been wearing for the past two weeks. Their eyes were a beautiful golden brown, in contrast with my near black ones which were always hidden by my long bangs. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. This is the person I’d always wanted to be.

Шпион (The Spy)

____________________________________________________________________________________ William S. ‘28 The year is 1966, and Sergei Korolev has just passed away. Vasily Mishin is now in charge of Russia’s space program, and he needs more information. He calls four men into the N1 building site.

“Welcome to the N1 building site. I am Vasily Mishin, and I will choose one of you to spy on the American space program,” Comrade Mishin said.

“You,” Comrade Mishin said, pointing at the first man, “Name and where you are from.”

“Sergei Lakosko Lukashenko from Stalingrad,” he said.

“You,” Comrade Mishin said to the second man.”

“Alexei Kaminski Zargabdo from Moscow,” he said.

“You,” Comrade Mishin said to the third man.”

“Yuri Pavolovich Minski from Moscow,” he said.

“You,” Comrade Mishin said, pointing at me, the last person.

“Vladimir Bocharski Rechapski from Stalingrad,” I said.

Next, we gave our grade from secondary school, medical records, passports, resume, and recorded history. “We will have to examine your papers. We will send a letter to the person we will be sending abroad, and they will begin training,” Comrade Mishin said.

Two weeks later, I received a letter from the Soviet government. And, I was approved. I was going to spy on the American space program. As I anxiously tried to fall asleep, I thought of all the possibilities that could happen to me. What if I were killed? I started to have regrets.

The next day, I rode in the back of a van with other officials to a remote location south of Stalingrad. There, Comrade Mishin greeted me.

“Hello Comrade Rechapski. It is nice to see you again,” he said.

“Same to you, Comrade Mishin,” I said .

“This is Comrade Sergei Terolevski. He will be briefing you on your training plans and restrictions,” Comrade Mishin said.

“Hello, I am Sergei Terolevski. You, Comrade Rechapski will be infiltrating the American space program only to gain information. They are looking for more astronomers, people to work on their projects. We have already registered you for a position in which you will not be doing much work, but, you will be close to Werner Von Braun, lead American Scientist. You will travel there as an American teacher that has just come back from a business trip from France. One crucial part, you must always use an American accent and you must go by your fake name, John Fernald. Do you understand, Comrade Rechapski?!” Comrade Terolevski said.

“Yes, I do,” I said.

“Now, training will start tomorrow,” Comrade Terolevski said. “Some restrictions include no documenting, no making friends, no finding lovers, no having a jolly time in Washington, and especially, no one can know you’re from Mother Russia,” Comrade Terolevski said.

Шпион (The Spy), continued

____________________________________________________________________________________ “Ok,” I said, “How will I transmit information to you?” “Да, (da [yes]) excellent question. You will be transmitting the information via transmitter,” Comrade Terolev said.

“Now, that is all you need to know. I will see you at training tomorrow Comrade Rechapski. Dismissed!” Comrade Terolevski yelled.

I arrived home later that night. As I lay on my bed, I thought that I should document my trip, even though they said I couldn’t. I wasn’t so sure; then, I finally convinced myself to do it.

Training lasted two weeks. I was taught how to shoot a gun, parkour, and trained to improve my American accent. Finally, I was ready to go.

I used my Soviet passport to get into West Germany and gave my Soviet passport to a fellow spy to take back to Russia. From West Germany, I took a train to the Netherlands. Once I arrived, I used my American passport to go to Paris, France. From there, I used the American passport to fly to Washington, D.C., and there I was in the United States.

Once I arrived at my apartment, I wrote my first entry into my diary: Today I arrived in the United States. Tomorrow, I’ll start work. I will eat some soup and go to sleep.

The next day arrived, and I was to head to work, and it was busy. That day became my routine for a month. Wake up, get ready for work, get to work, go through security, work, come home with all my supplies, transmit the information to Comrade Mishin, make dinner, and go to bed. The work was easy to transmit. My section of work was working on blueprints and taking notes.

Today was like any other day. Tonight’s dinner are perogies (Polish dumplings), and then I will transmit the work.

Then I will go to bed.

The next day when I got to work, I was pulled aside at security. My heart was racing, and they pulled me over for the reason I thought they would. They found my diary. I was to be held in a cell and wait.The next morning, I was greeted by von Braun. He said to me: “Hello. You may know me already, but I have some questions for you.

I need Russia’s information. I want to know if they are building a rocket and the size, weight, and many other aspects. You are the person to give this information.”

“I will give you the information. But, what is in it for me?” I said.

“We won’t send you back to Russia,” he said.

The next day, I gave all of the information to Von Braun. I told him the height, weight, and other key information about the N1. I even gave information about our spies. When I got home, I got a transmission from Comrade Terolevski. It read: The thrust for the engines was wrong, and our rocket exploded in mid-air. A new man will take over your position. You are to return to Russia.

Once I saw that transmission, I immediately destroyed the transmitter. I knew it was from my number slip-up.

The next day, I told von Braun. He was pleased. After that moment, I gained United States citizenship and changed my name to Adam Charger to avoid any trace. After that moment, I lived in the United States, free.

Giulia S. ‘25

Ben N.‘26

Philippa G. ‘28

See Through

____________________________________________________________________________________ Philippa G. ‘28 I had not realized anything was wrong until people started filming me. What is so special about a teenager holding coffee? To them, nothing. They just saw coffee. That was the day people “saw” me differently.

That was the day people never saw me at all.

I do not know how it happened. One day I woke up and BAM! I was invisible. Most people would say that this is amazing but no. It rips you apart. Tell me how amazing this sounds: your friends and family scared trying to look for you when in fact you are begging them to see you, everyone videotaping and taking pictures of things you are holding, screaming at night even when you know no one can hear you!

It isn’t anything close to a dream. Sorry, it is just that you are the only person who can hear me.

From then on, I’ve been trying to minimize the amount of time I hold things. You might be thinking Wouldn’t your clothes show? No, they don’t. I am thankful for that because I would definitely not want to walk around not wearing clothes in order to stay hidden. Of course, no one would see me but still, it’s weird. At school, I just walk to class without books. If I need them, I just look over a classmate’s shoulder.

I am one for following rules. Once in a while they get broken, but I don’t want to cause chaos.

One day, I was sitting in Spanish class when the cops came in with three police dogs. I panicked. There was a reason why I never told anyone about my secret power! What if they find me? The police explained the rumors about an invisible person. I held my breath. The dogs’ ears perked up and they looked dead at me. The German Shepards circled my knees and snarled. I warily backed up while the police walked over to me. I ran as they lunged! One police man grabbed my hand, so I tried wriggling free of his grasp.

He would not let go, so I dug my nails into his palm, making him yelp. I sprinted to the door and glanced back. My classmates were scared, shocked, nervous, confused.

Bode C. ‘26

The Three Little Pigs as Told by the Wolf

____________________________________________________________________________________ Sasha H. ‘25 One day I craved some boar, so when I spied one at my front door, I opened my maw and blew down his house of straw but still I hungered for more.

Then I saw a fat pig.

It really was very big.

I really love meat, and I knew he’d be quite a treat, so I blew down his house made of twig.

I spotted the last hog I’d picked, hidden in a house he had bricked.

I blew gale after gale, but couldn’t prevail and I knew I was finally licked.

Keira P. ‘26

Six Ways to Look at a Wet Dog

____________________________________________________________________________________ Nora H. ‘27 1 The happy barks float through the air as the cold water cools the dog like fire flickering out on an icy surface 2 or the exasperated horror of getting wet vibrating around the air making a small humming sound causing ripples to form in the bends of the universe 3 While the water is flying with the wind leaving the fur of the dog the flowers silently wilt beside him 4 The salty wafts of the ocean’s touch letting go of its grasp from the dog leave behind a trail of water 5 The footprints splash around in the dark puddles inhabited by the small glass orbs holding the powerful liquid while more drops fall down like little blue confetti 6 The spray of the hose on the sunny morning spraying only upon the dog casts an acrid shadow upon the roses

Lucia B. ‘25

The Rockefeller Story

____________________________________________________________________________________ Sofia I. ‘28

Grace D. Rockefeller was on her bed reading a book. The book had a red cover and gold letters that spelled out “Diary.” It was her father’s diary from when he was a kid. Her father had died, and it broke poor Grace’s heart. She was left with her two brothers, Luke and John, and her mom.

Before Grace could finish the page, her mom called for a family meeting. Grace came in wearing a pink dress with a bow around her neck and waist. When they were all nice and seated at the dinner table, Mom, in her green dress, came over with a tray of muffins. She sat down and gave a great big sigh with a nervous look on her face.

John Pierre N. ‘26

Aaron Burr: The Man Whose Legacy Died in the Duel With Hamilton, excerpt

____________________________________________________________________________________ Beniamino I. ‘26 Introduction An orphan, a senator, a general, a lawyer, a vice president, a father, a husband, a leader, a traitor, and a murderer. A man who had so much to lose and lived his life without taking a risk. When he finally did, he ruined his legacy, becoming known as the murderer of Alexander Hamilton and a traitor to his country.

A man who did whatever it took to get to the top only to lose it all. This man was Aaron Burr.

Young Life Aaron Burr, Jr., was born on February 6th, 1756 in Newark, New Jersey. His parents were Aaron Burr, Sr., who was the second president of the College of New Jersey, now known as Princeton University, and Esther Edwards Burr, his mother. He had an older sister named Sarah (“Sally”) Burr.

Burr’s father died in 1757 while serving as the president of Princeton College. Burr’s grandfather, Jonathan Edwards, seceeded Burr’s father as president, and he and his wife began living with Aaron, Jr., and his mother in December 1757. Burr’s grandfather died in March 1758 and Burr’s mother and grandmother also died within the year, leaving Burr and his sister orphans when he was only two years old.

Aaron and Sally were then taken care of by the William Shippen family in Philadelphia until1759 when the children were sent to their 21-year-old uncle Timothy Edwards. The next year, Edwards married Rhoda Ogden and moved to Elizabeth, New Jersey. Burr had a terrible relationship with his uncle who was often physically abusive. As a child, he tried to run away from home several times.

At the age of 13, he was accepted into Princeton, and he studied there till he was 19. He met Hamilton there as well, but Hamilton’s acceptance was revoked, and the bursar of the school laughed at him, calling him an idiot; Hamilton’s response was punching him in the face. The two became friends and would sometimes meet during the war, but their friendship ended when they split parties. When he was 19, he decided to move to Connecticut to study law with his brother-in-law. But in 1775, he heard the news of the Revolutionary War and put a hold on his studies to join the Continental Army.

Bella E. ‘25

The Ocean Blue

____________________________________________________________________________________ Fernanda P. ‘25

As blue as the sky As loud as a train passing by As deep as a dog’s love for its owner The ocean blue As scary as going to bed after watching a horror movie As fun as going to the park as a toddler As calming as curling up into cozy flannel sheets The ocean blue As nerve-wracking as taking a test As exciting as trying something new The ocean blue Is an old friend Once you leave And come back The ocean blue Will always recall you

Evelyn W. ‘28

The Space Race: Debra

____________________________________________________________________________________ Mariana D. ‘28 I can’t take my eyes off of the TV. It just doesn’t seem real. I watch as the rocket goes up with fire strong enough to make an explosion. They call it the Juno 1, and inside is the first-ever American satellite, the Explorer 1. I can hear my mom calling me for dinner, but I block out all of the noise. Even dinner couldn’t get me off this couch.

The next thing I know, I am already 15 minutes late to dinner. I look over at the door to see a very upset Mom, looking at me with a disappointed face. She didn’t have to say anything. I already knew what I had to do “Sorry, Mom, it will never happen again.”

At least that’s what I say; I am late to dinner almost every night. Every time I say that it will never happen again, it always does. So I march out of the room with my head down, not even thinking about looking at my mom.

I sit down at the table with my head still down. And when I finally look up, I see my sister Linda giving me the stink eye. I want to give her one back, but I am already in enough trouble.

After dinner, I decide to read a newspaper about the rockets. If you haven’t already noticed, I am into rocket science. I want to be a rocket designer when I am older, but my mom and dad want me to have a family. I pick up the newspaper and read every bit of information I can get. What I find most interesting is that the man who is making these amazing rockets was actually working for the Soviets before he surrendered to the Americans. Now he is one of the best rocket designers in the country. His name is Wernher von Braun.

My parents and my sister were never really that interested in what was going on between the Soviets and the Americans. But me and my older brother James have always wanted to know who was going to win and hopefully get a man into space. Of course though, my brother isn’t as big of a fan as me; he would never miss dinner or disobey my mom to watch rockets with me.

Elizabeth S. ‘28

Ways of Seeing Skis

___________________________________________________________________________________ Joshua G. ‘27 ---------They are worn, used, taken off, and put away.

The dirty smell of dust fills the room.

Once every glacial season, in the midst of cold, they are taken out and put to use.

---------Put in a car on a long journey, carried on shoulders thrown on the wet snow — a giant’s shoe.

--------Traces of others, imprinted in the ground, big and small, the first taste of snow on a yellow, welcoming sunrise.

---------A fun tool used by many, made long ago, forged by sweet hickory.

--------A new and scary experience, the dark, black fear of falling ----------The slopes are open; skis are on it.

-----------A pair, twins, never separated.

------------

Mia S. ‘28

Crazy Talk

____________________________________________________________________________________ Kalin H. ‘26

I thought I’d make a birthday cake for my best friend. I totally goofed! Turns out I had accidently made a rotten chicken and mustard pie that looked like a bog trog sitting on a log eating eggnog. I don’t know why I picked chicken to put in the batter but it looked awfully wet so I thought everyone likes chicken and chicken is hard, so why not put it in a cake and make it hard.

The icing was not a good color, so I put in a gallon of mustard to help stabilize the color. Sadly, I had accidently put the cake in my chipotle which I unthinkably put in the oven. My friend is coming so I plan to tell him that my cat ate and messed up the cake, for she was a cat who had recently ate a bat and was quite fat. This awfully reminds me of the time I took a fried chive, and I went to the strong tide with a kite to catch a fly, which was surprisingly hard, so I took my fried chive and taped it to the kite, which was alive, and added the chive with tape, and then I got the fly! But I had no fried chive, so I blamed it on the cat who had eaten my hat, so my friend Tat thought I was still good at making habitats, and that was that!

Kayla R. ‘28

The Third Cardinal Sin

____________________________________________________________________________________ N’Darri B.-A. P. ‘25

The blinding lights mangled her focus. She wouldn’t be deterred; it was instilled in her to be everything but. Her opponent was sitting across from her — a villain who was dealt the same cards as her but somehow managed to hold them all in her deceitful palm. With all her cards on the table, she realized she should’ve seen the signs. She knew that love, life, and everything in between was a game of chance, but she never expected anything like this. She at least thought her feelings, her very being at the least, would have been respected, which made her feel even stupider for not realizing her mistake sooner. Never again. Now, she knew better. She knew not to be so trusting, knew that who she was didn’t matter to people who cheated in this gamble. She picked up her hand, her choices laid before her. There was only one out. With a flick of the wrist, a final decision was laid across the table. A joker, forever the wild one, unpredictable, often undealt and unwanted, but when given the chance, would make or break the game. A replacement had been given, and a choice had been made, and another day had been gifted to her. Her luck wouldn’t last forever, but in her eyes, good things come to those who are forever greedy.

Zora Blu T. ‘25

Jordan L. ‘26

Leah H. ‘27

Parrot and Idabelle, excerpt

____________________________________________________________________________________ Fiona P. ‘26 Idabelle Nibley had spent her twenty-one years ignorant of the world around her.

This most certainly bothered some people, the doll in the green dress on her shelf to name one.

She called herself Parrot, for she had overheard Idabelle bragging to a friend about the gift her sea-faring father was to bring back to her and thought the word was simply splendid. She had no idea what a Parrot was, of course, but thought that if Mr Nibley had anything to do with it, it had to be perfect.

Idabelle spent exactly three days paying any attention to Parrot. Parrot longed to relive those days that the vain, spoiled girl had spent with her: showing the doll off to her cousins, bringing her to show-andtell (one of Idabelle’s major accomplishments was always having the best things for Miss Blakely’s showand-tell), sitting her next to her in the family pew on Sunday. Parrot grew ecstatic after she went to her first mass and patiently awaited for the next Sunday to come around and for Idabelle to put on her frilly pink satin frock and put ribbons around her milk chocolate ringlets and then dress Parrot up to match.

But, the second Sunday never came, and instead, Idabelle showed off her new pink lace parasol to the church. (Yes, Jesus would disapprove of her vanity, her pretentiousness, and really many other things, but she was confident not even He could hold out against her dazzling angelic smiles.)

Parrot’s naïveté entertained the other toys in Idabelle’s room. On the shelf between the windows where she sat, there was a teddy bear and a set of nesting dolls. The nesting dolls had long foreign names with lots of k’s and v’s and o’s and a’s, and were always unstacked, unfortunately for Parrot. They, along with the other nearby toys, would laugh at and taunt Parrot often. However, the bear, who called himself Sebastian, had plenty of advice for the heartbroken doll.

Parrot spent her days longingly gazing at Idabelle’s newest craze. She knew, however, that those toys would all soon be retired to their shelves and never fawned over again.

And they all followed in the footsteps of their predecessors to the bookcase which held no books or the shelf between the windows or the desk at which Idabelle had never sat down.

Cadey M. ‘28

A Magnificent Culinary Experience (With a Side of Couscous)

____________________________________________________________________________________ Rani B. ‘27

The first time I tried chicken tagine was in Morocco, when I was roughly five years old. My Mima (grandma), my aunt, and my mom made it in a very large tagine pot. I was playing outside with my cousins, and I could smell all the ingredients of the brothy, thick sauce in the air, the onions, paprika, pepper, and salt. I was hypnotized by the amazing smell, and I came to watch the adults making the delicious-smelling food. I watched the art of making and layering the sauce and placing all the different ingredients like chicken stock, couscous and onions. They spent so much time arranging it.

When we were called to eat, there were heaps and heaps of couscous, mountains of chicken smothered in sauce, and onions that were so tender and soft they melted in your mouth like a savory version of chocolate. The chicken was tender too, and the skin was crispy and flavorful. The couscous mixed with sauce created an artistic reaction. It tasted like heaven on a plate with extra onions. The chicken was equally amazing. It was a magnificent experience, and I loved eating the delicious sauce, chicken, and onions. It was a culinary delight. The aromatic food tasted incredible. The members of my family have different ways of cooking it. My grandma puts a lot of onions, my aunt puts more couscous, and my mom puts lots of sauce. I am working on my own way to do it, because I am still learning how to make it, but I hope I will master it soon.

Cole B. ‘25

Covid

____________________________________________________________________________________ Theo A. ‘27 Covid doing a lot Covid hospitalizing a lot Covid destroying fun Police making a bad move Starting protests and violence too People not wearing masks People not doing their tasks And they think things will change Summer, we want to reopen They opened up but the world was still copin’ With countries and relationships And Covid Covid wrecking many lives Breaking many hearts But even though on the outside we looked hopeless We were strong inside We wore our masks We did our tasks And opened the gateway to fun Six feet apart 2020 has been the worst year of our lives Wrecking our plans And fun and travel, cut by knives Or scythes Or anything that destroys happiness We’re strong, we’re tough And even though Covid was rough We are rougher and tougher than a virus will ever be If we are together If we work as one

Mason L. ‘26

Winding Wind

___________________________________________________________________________________ Micah J. ‘26 I break hard to see the dawn, where blacks and whites get along and sing a song.

I pray to God for harmony as my brothers and sisters gather by me, the teens hit hard cause their Pa can swing along, left without love, an endless decay of life, the drug hit hard that no one can fight the AKs so strong that people can’t walk the street at night.

I heard the cries of those who died from police and bothered brothers.

I saw the son and daughters so caught up in their body they couldn’t smile one time that they had to hide and throw all them feelings away.

I sing a song where no matter what color you are you live in peace, that drugs and guns didn’t ever hit the street.

I wish that people didn’t worry ‘bout their looks ‘cause, everyone’s beautiful in their own way.

Lola F. ‘27

Embers

____________________________________________________________________________________ Jayson P. ‘27

In the air, on the ground, as if no one would see the spark in us.

The flickering light

or the volatile wind ahead.

With no one thinking about us,

no one wanting to have us

just wanting to watch us

Slowly fly away to an unpredictable fate

or rather, be an opportunity for us or something worse,

as cold winds have it,

putting everything out.

Hearing the popping and crackle

of the heart-warm fire flickering.

The wood’s odd smell

and the burning sensation

of being released

to an uncertain destiny.

Layan S. ‘27

Hackey Middle School 293 Benedict Avenue Tarrytown, NY 10591 https://www.hackleyschool.org/