Excursions 2023: Deja YOU

Please understand that the AHN literary magazine, Excursions, is a student-run publication. As such, the ideas, opinions, and views expressed are creative endeavors, and not necessarily reflective of the AHN High School Administration or faculty. The intended audience of Excursions are young adults and older. Some content may be sensitive to some readers, as art usually deals with the serious issues of life.

If you or someone you know is struggling, a good online resource is The Society for Adolescent Health & Medicine. Thank you.

inner child Riley Rubio ‘23

i didn’t realized i’d stopped looking at clouds until i really saw them again not in the sense that i never looked at the sky, more so in the that i stopped seeing the things i used to see in them: a pelican an elephant a mouse when i asked my cousin what she saw, she simply replied: “clouds” i didn’t realize i still got excited about butterflies until one landed right in front of me a pretty little monarch floating around without a care i had to fight the urge to chase it like a toddler around the garden so i simply followed behind and acted like i wasn’t overjoyed to be seeing a butterfly so close when i told friend about it, barely containing my enthusiasm, he simply replied: “that’s nice, hun”

i didn’t realize that The Princess & the Frog could still make me as happy as it does until i watched it again somehow, i still remember every single line, song, and scene by heart. muscle memory, i suppose. years of having the movie on loop for days on end finally showing for something. when i asked one of my moms to watch it with me again, she simply replied: “aren’t you a little old for that?” i didn’t realize that i was still scared of monsters in the dark until i slept in a dark room without my bear i thought for sure i’d have grown out of that fear by now what with me being seventeen and all. but after several sleepless nights in a pitch black room without my security blanket, having to turn on every light in my house past eight in the evening, and being too scared to go downstairs at night without a flashlight it hit me that i might have still retained some of that fear from when i was younger when i jokingly brought it up to my grandmother, she simply said: “what are you, a baby?”

realizing all of these things makes me cry after trying so hard to forget what my childhood was like trying to erase any trace of my unconventional upbringing from my mind all of these little moments remind me of the kid i haven’t been in so long: that ball of energy with the big imagination the aspiring playwright who always forced her family and friends to put on shows with her the light of her family’s life the little girl who hadn’t had to grow up so fast and so soon i realized i can never be her again that’s probably for the best but i’m grateful to still have so much of her within me now she still exists in the little things i do: the way i make up little songs for every situation the way i narrate my everyday life like a movie the way i love the color pink the way i genuinely smile she will always be with me

Picture on the Fridge Avery Rogan ‘23

There’s a photo of a four-year-old girl on the stainless steel fridge, Nestled between stellar report cards and graduation photos of distant cousins.

She’s smiling from ear to ear, Hair disheveled, clothes mismatched.

Her smile lets me know she hasn’t seen the girl in her class who never has a lunch, She hasn’t heard the sharp words of a disappointed father, She hasn’t tasted the bitter elixir of knowing that boy will never call her beautiful, She hasn’t smelled the stench of rejection when the neighbor won’t play with her anymore, She hasn’t felt the cold, lingering stare of a stranger.

Let me live in the world of bedtime stories, Of pillow forts, of hide-and-go-seek, Of drawings pinned to my wall with Scotch tape, Of secrets whispered into a friend’s ear, Of kisses pressed into my mother’s cheek, Of shameless smiles and unfiltered, unsullied, unadulterated joy.

Alaina Salathe ‘23

Children’s game Sophia Sweezy ‘23

A sudden opening was created in a door. Aside from the artwork that was displayed on the walls, the room was empty. In the paintings, these people looked to be sprinting at breakneck speed, almost as if they were attempting to catch each other mid-stride. Was this the last round of tag? Nearly on fire, the flesh on Claire's hand started to glow scarlet. She released a terrifying scream as she cried.

Calvin claimed to be ignorant of what Claire needed to do to conceal the fact that she was "it" and he was the susceptible target. As Claire cried for assistance, he felt a tear fall down his face. Claire shifted her focus to him after a time. She gave him a smile before racing to his location. He attempted to run but was unable to do so due to the limits of the region in which they were. Claire grabbed him as he lost his balance and collapsed as they were racing in circles. As soon as Calvin returned his focus to the clock, he discovered that just three minutes remained.

Then, his hand began radiating and acquired a brilliant crimson hue. Because he was so exhausted, he was unable to tag Claire. Is this the ending? Is it conceivable that this is his last moment on earth?

When Calvin lifted his head, he saw that one of the wall figures was going in the opposite direction of the others. He sprinted as quickly as he could through it, but his body was lifeless when he emerged on the other side. On the opposite side was a land overflowing with intrigue.

Reality Check Ella Isackson ‘26

Running, spinning, twirling. My ballet-loving, four-year-old, pre-K self could not resist the temptation of the brightly colored parachute spinning above my head. This new toy, a gift from my parents, was a smaller version of the quite large one that was dependent on the other kids' help in my weekly Gymboree classes. The excitement of having my very own parachute that I could independently play with at home was too enticing to resist.

The parachute was an array of colors. It was divided into six individual pie-shaped segments, but when connected, it formed a giant pinwheel. It consisted of blue, red, orange, yellow, green, and purple slices. Galloping barefoot down the hall in my white tank top and striped pajama pants, four-year-old me was entirely captivated with the parachute grasped tightly in my small hands, trailing above my body. When I let go, tossing it above my head, I saw how at its pinnacle, it resembled a kaleidoscope.

When the parachute cascaded down on me, it felt like a giant cocoon somewhere safe away from reality. This shows how sometimes people resort to things they find comfort in to block out reality, but unfortunately, they also often block out the dangerous aspects of it. Each color of this protective barrier could represent a different aspect of my life now, and how when you throw the parachute up, like stress building, it always will come crashing down at some point. I was completely mesmerized and so wrapped up in having fun with the parachute that I wasn't cautious and let the possible negative consequences of completely blocking out reality slip from my mind. When I was underneath the large parachute, I could not see outside of it, and people on the outside could not see in. This idea shows how when you’re underneath and covered by stress, it not only blocks you out from reality but also the people in your life.

As someone who lives daily with stress, I think this memory has stayed with me for so long because I see it as the embodiment of what happens when I don’t keep my stress and anxiety in check. As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned that some level of escapism is healthy, and some galloping and dancing with our metaphorical parachute feeds our soul. Still, I have also gained the understanding that completely ignoring reality will never end well. So there are days when I allow the cocoon of my well-loved but long-gone parachute to envelop me for a while, but I always keep in mind the need to peek out to reality before it’s too late.

Luna and the Mouse Maddie Hines ‘23

Luna’s right eye wanders off to the left, she sees dust in the air. Her left leg cramps up. A mouse creeps up from the gutter, but she's ready. She’s gone through this a million times. Feet wandering closer to the gutter, her body moves toward the mouse, as the rain starts to drizzle, skies turn gray. A noise and the mouse scatters. Luna’s eyes slowly close.

Luna walks towards the train station. She reaches under the gutter, stretches her right arm, and moves it downwards. Her left leg reaches over her body. Luna can still move her head and can feel a tightening in her neck. She knows; it's just a matter of time now. A matter of time.... is it better she still feels pain in her body?

She remains in the train station. Things begin to darken. Feeling overwhelmed with exhaustion, Luna starts to feel drowsy, inspired by the darkness. The next morning, Fall has now become Winter. Luna feels snow.The month of December has a downfall of snow of about 6 inches; then comes January and the snow settles in like a white carpet. Snowmen are being built and snowball fights are taking place but the world moves on and Luna watches from the shadows of poverty. Luna watches and one dayy the mouse watches with her. Luna inhales and exhales a deep breath, then suddenly another mouse appears.

The new mouse has dug a deep hole in the snow. Luna’s voice breaks in the cold air, brittle and hard.

She is so hungry. “Mouse, where’d you go?” The curious mouse appears right back on top of the snow.

Luna’sbody stretches over the snow as she reaches toward the mouse. The mouse darts off once again.

Luna closes her eyes, as she makes a snow angel in the snow. If only the mouse would stay. Luna feels nothing, not cold, not hunger. The mouse stays, whisker twitching.

Cookies and Milk Nyonyose Varmah ‘23

Chip and Leche had always been best friends. Leche lived in a cold crystal glass jar with circular cracks towards the rim. He was housed in a small crammed door on the bottom shelf, next to an empty ketchup bottle, in what humans would call the refrigerator. The subtle, but steady, hums of the motor running lulled him to sleep as he breathed crisp cool air. Most of his days were spent in darkness with the occasional occurrence that the fridge would be opened and closed allowing striking glimpses into the outside world.

Across from Leche there was a different binome with room temperature cool, but not a cold, refreshing atmosphere. Tightly packed together with her other companions, who were pretty much identical except for the fact that some had more or less freckles, lived Chip. Chip could only dream of a day where she would be liberated from her forty-nine sisters; where she would get the chance to be independent without being stuck as her sisters’ shadows. She hated that she had to share a single row with nine others, that she had no privacy, and most of all no social life.

The first time that Leche encountered such beauty was a moment, down to the second, that Chip would never forget. A day like any other, he was left on the white marble countertop.

The outside of his glass collected condensation from the temperature difference, but something other than heat was the air. Inhaling a sweet, warm vanilla scent, he turned his head to the right and fell into a trance. There she was in all of her glory; she was Aphrodite reincarnated. His eyes must have lingered too long because the next thing that he saw was a gentle pair of dark brown eyes staring back at him. Her eyes were so deep that they just engulfed you, dragging you further with every passing second. Just as quickly as Leche’s eyes met Chips, it ended. Leche was escorted back to his residence by the humans. Although his living situation was small and crammed, his heart was open and ready to be filled with the one who caught his eye.

From those small glimpses into the outside, where the fridge was left open just a crack, Leche finally mustered up the courage to introduce himself to Chip. He spoke broken, mumbled sentences that left long pauses of awkward silences. Sweat streamed down his face; his eyes casted downward. He did not know how he was able to get her to agree to a date due to his horrible speech, but he later found out that it was because of his cool, creamy looks.

Their days were filled with laughter and deep conversations. Chip and Leche talked about everything under the sun from what their favorite color was to what the meaning of life was. As much as they enjoyed their daily conversations, they yearned for the day they could meet face to face, uniting not only in soul, but in body.

October 17th is when Leche finally got the opportunity to physically embrace Chip.

Leche became emotional as he watched tears stream down Chip's face, with her arms wide open, and her beautiful bright eyes. Finally, Leche could assume by Chip's soft expression, they both felt a true sense of happiness. Chip and Leche knew that their lives wouldn’t last much longer due to their purpose. Their romance quickly blossomed with fingers intertwined, and whispers of sweet nothings into their hearts. As their final day arrived they allowed each other a kiss, or what could be called as their kiss of death.

Chip died in Leche’s arms, remnants of her left with her past lover. Leche was placed back in the fridge as he waited for the new packs of cookies to be placed onto the counter.

Kit the Beaver Erica Port ‘25

Kit the beaver was a small beaver with a big heart and even bigger teeth. He loved to build dens in the creek. Every night, he left to find food, but tonight, he wanted tastier food, so he went to find apples. The apple tree was at the other end of the river, a long distance away from his den. Kit started out on his quest to find apples. After a while, he thought it would be nice to have some friends with him. Kit stopped by a group of ducks resting on the bank and asked them if they wanted to go with him to the apple tree. But the ducks made fun of his big teeth and called him names. Kit was sad, but decided he would not let them ruin his trip to the apple tree.

Although he was tired, he continued swimming. He finally made it to the apple tree just as the sun was starting to rise.

On the way back home, happy as could be, with his stomach full and enough ripe, juicy apples for a week, he came across the ducks again. A huge tree had fallen across the river, right where the ducks needed to cross, so they were trapped! Kit rushed over to them and started using his big teeth to clear the path for them. As the ducks waddled helplessly, Kit continued clearing away the tree. He even made the large pieces into wood chips for the ducks’ nests. They were very grateful to Kit’s kind heart and big teeth for saving them. They were worried though, knowing they would not have enough time to go find food because it was already morning and the sun was shining brightly. Kit knew that he could help them again, and shared some of his apples with them. While they ate delicious apples together on the bank, the ducks apologized to Kit for their unkindness to him. They realized how special he was and how much he had helped them. They became friends and helped each other build dens and nests and journeyed together for apples every week.

One day, another beaver came into town. He was jealous of Kit and his many friends. Kit remembered what it was like to be lonely, and he invited the new beaver to meet his friends. They cooperated to carry the apples to Kit’s den, where they made all types of new, yummy dishes that the other beaver knew how to make. Together, they made applesauce, apple pie, and apple juice and had a feast. Eventually, they were all friends and invited the rest of the animals that lived along the creek to go to the den and have a party with all different kinds of food. The animals were so happy they were able to meet new people and try new foods, all because they did not judge Kit based on his teeth and, instead, they got to know him and appreciate his traits.

Absurdism Amanda Lather ‘23

Is it better to avoid ruminating on the past?

Is there something beneficial to pick out from it?

To look for a moment or person that made your damage worthwhile.

I look in the mirror to see how I’ve changed, for better or worse, I am not the same.

I have found no purpose in the past, only that it has made me skittish about the future.

And those who find their meaning in religion, devote themselves to a higher being out of fear.

Out of love, lust, or greed.

It is only philosophical suicide.

To take away the autonomy of freedom.

To squander the choice between the life of an uncaged bird soaring through the sky, or repeating meaningless phrases as a parakeet. Your choice.

Only when you release the idea that there is a purpose at all here, will you be free.

Snap the chains of your existential crisis, as it is only a crisis when you stress.

In the case that I will burn for eternity after death, so be it, for I reached my fullest potential in life to simply exist.

Make your own morals, lead your own life, and the rest of the puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit will slide together in the practice in acceptance of the absurd.

Absurdism.

Memory Lane Kaitlin McHugh ‘23

I feel like I’m forgetting, I’ve been away for too long; I can no longer remember where that one path continued on, where the old table was placed And where the faded furniture has gone.

My dreams of it are distorted, The familiarity is there, Yet I cannot remember which door led where.

I see faded trees and the river The yard and my room now bare: everything is misplaced--I wish I could remember How everything once was For now, I only linger On the faded feelings of memories A past birthday here A thanksgiving there Sounds of joy echo through my mind

’m grateful for those senses the wooden floors against my bare feet The filtered light through the butterfly curtains Now in a box.

These memories sealed in a corner Collecting dust. Never to be seen; I’m grateful for the time spent They are part of me; But it hurts to know I can never go back. I can never go home.

Aphrodite’s Drought Anita Buchanan ‘23

Love never fails; if proves to be defective, it wasn’t love.

For love is precarious, treacherous to a fault; Yet the double-edged sword is not detoured inwards, Rather in the hands of the captor, the warden of the heart.

Clasping the trigger of love, flirting with the rhythm of the heartbeat, As the drawn blood from the puncture, piercing of pain skims the soul.

Between real and delusion, the blood falls victim.

For the vain of one’s heart leads undeviating to the ring, separating love from lust, intimacy from distance, warmth from a brisk chill.

Or some may believe.

For Psyche residing in the soul, fulfilling the breath of life, All whilst Cupid drains the merciless spirit accredited to the arrow of tribulations.

The trajectory of the trials exposes the true intentions of love, Yet the silence of discrepancies speak more of Aphrodite’s defects than love in itself.

For the one desire of the human race does not fail, only between conjectures of the gods.

Love, the fire of the heart and the fuel of the unsaid, shall not be measured on flaws, But appraised on the determination of another’s.

First Love Evie Matthews ‘23

The cold air hits my face, the elegant sight of green oak trees creating a tunnel for us as we walk down the trail. I am with my boy.

My 16.2 hand black beauty. He looks back at me to reassure himself that I am still there with him. I reach my hand down, rub his neck and remind him he is the prettiest and best boy. The way we communicate is so unique- so beautiful. He has the ability to perceive how I feel without me saying a single word. He’s always able to tell what I need by just being in my presence and I can do the same for him.

The relationship we share is like no other. I have been given the privilege to experience such a deep connection, one shared between a horse and his rider. It takes an incredible amount of trust and courage to partner with an animal fourteen times the size of yourself, and yet without speaking a word, we speak the same language.

I can’t recall the first time I ever saw a horse but I know that since then, they have always been a part of my life. I spent most of my elementary and middle school years with the horses. Every waking moment I was free, I was with them. At that time, I never could have imagined that I would have a horse of my very own. The first horse I ever had was Betty. Betty was an old girl, 22 years off the track- a thoroughbred. Even though I was only leasing her, she was my whole world. Betty was an anxious horse and not many people were able to ride her without her spooking, but it was different when I was on her.

She understood I was a child, and she trusted that we would each do our best to protect the other. The bond I felt with her was indescribable. We were able to figure eachother out in just a few short rides and she quickly became my best friend. I would spend hours grooming her, talking to her and loving on her. Tragically, after a year, she died in a fire; after that, at the age of 12, I decided that I would never allow myself to love a horse the same way.

Then came, Korsella, my second, very green off the track, thoroughbred. She was another lease horse that I had got two years after Betty left me and she was nothing like what I was used to. She was constantly trying to hurt me and when I would fall off, she would try to kick me while I was already on the ground. Through the difficulties that I experienced with her, she taught me patience and how to love and care for a horse who would not give much back in return. The year I spent with her healed my heart. Even with her flaws I couldn’t help but love her. She relied on me and trusted me enough to teach her new skills. Each horse has a lesson to teach and it is important that as a rider, you are willing to learn. She showed me that a horse does not owe a rider anything and that you should always keep trying, which made me open to the idea of finding my next heart horse. During this search, I met my boy.

Cali, a 1,500 pound puppy whose favorite things include licking my face, giving kisses, and getting treats. He follows me around the barn and has chosen me as his person. Cali is a great teacher and even when I make my mistakes, he always stops and makes sure to check on me. He is exactly what I have needed and never fails to show me it is possible to love an animal as much as I loved Betty. At first, I wasn’t sure he was the right horse for me. Our second lesson together, I fell off twice and that was enough to discourage me. I thought to myself ‘ maybe I’m not ready after all, and allowed the disappointment to swallow me whole. At the end of our lesson, I took him to his stall and nuzzled my body next to him. I whispered to him that he was what I had been waiting for my whole life. In that moment, I believe he realized that he was mine and I was his. Just like that, that boy became my world.

Since that day, Cali has been the one constant in my life and the only one that I know could never leave me. He is there for me when no one else is or wants to be. He has given me the courage to try new things such as showing at large horse shows in front of an expansive audience of people or simply to keep trying when I cannot seem to do anything right. He is the one I run to after a stress filled, exhausting day. When I see him, my worries drift away and the world becomes quieter. He has not just taught me how to ride effectively, but he has taught me thatwhat may seem impossible isn’t as long as you don’t give up and continue to work towards the goal. My friends will often ask me how I know he will not hurt me: the answer is I don’t. In all honesty, I have no idea if one day Cali will just decide to throw me away; but I trust him and I believe in my heart that he trusts me. The love I show him every time I get onto his back makes our bond stronger each time. He was my dream- is my dream and we continue to improve with each ride, each show, and each lesson. I look into his eyes and I see my wish come true: I see the little girl who never thought she would have this. I see my best friend.

Gilded Memory Anonymous ‘24

The Glass Girl Perfect and admired, A coveted rarity.

Fatally fragile.

Lost causes Hope without action, Without faith; Destined for failure.

Unwritten doubt The ink of regret Soaks the page That I call my past.

yesteryear/tomorrowland Riley Rubio ‘23 do you know that place out west? the one where, if someone were to stand and stare at the sea’s edge, looking straight towards asia, they’d be looking at a place in the future? if it were midnight here where we are, that’d mean those at the sea were in the past of yesterday, looking toward a tomorrow we don’t even know of yet. i think it’s strangely poetic in a sense: the idea of two people on opposite edges of the world, staring back at one another across an ocean, one reminiscing on the past and the other dreaming of the future. time is mysteriously beautiful concept, the only thing of its kind that allows us to imagine ideas of time travel, even if all we’re doing is thinking of venturing between time zones. sure, time is a construct, but without it, there’d be no memories of yesteryear or dreams of tomorrowland. and that within itself, is a purely beautiful thing.

America Needs Student Debt Forgiveness Isabel Bequer ‘23

Student loan payments were meant to restart this Sunday, January 1, 2023, after a series of pandemic-based moratoriums. Yet, on November 22, 2022, the Biden administration announced another extension on required payments, this one without a definite end date. Rather, payments will resume 30 days after deliberation is reached on an influential Supreme Court case that will determine the future of student loan forgiveness in the United States.

On August 24, the Biden administration announced its student loan forgiveness plan. The plan required borrowers to fall under an income cap to qualify for debt forgiveness, earning less than $125,000 per year for individuals, or less than $250,000 for multi-person households. Borrowers would then qualify for $10,000 in loan forgiveness. Those who received Pell Grants in college would receive an additional $10,000, for a potential total of $20,000 in forgiveness.

"I don't know anyone who's planning to take out loans, especially if they can help it. I think everyone knows it's a bad idea," said Riley Griess ('23).

However, the plan faced much opposition from conservative groups, including multiple groups that brought forward court cases to block the plan, claiming it to be unconstitutional. Two federal judges blocked the implementation of the plan already. Additionally, a lawsuit was brought forth by Missouri, Arkansas, Iowa, Kansas, Nebraska, and South Carolina. This was heard by the 8th US Circuit Court of Appeals, which also prevented the plan from moving forward, and is the case being heard by the Supreme Court.

Despite this backlash, It is imperative that this forgiveness plan pass through the Supreme Court, as it is a key part of keeping higher education accessible in the United States. Whilst student loans are an essential part of helping many students gain access to college, they also place an intense burden on borrowers that can affect their economic status and abilities for the rest of their lives.

This is a disproportionate effect that reflects a larger issue within the education system as a whole. Student debt forgiveness is one step toward rectifying these issues and increasing accessibility in education.

Many have argued that the plan is too costly, and would come at the expense of taxpayers.

However, this plan has the potential to help many Americans financially, as loans are a significant economic barrier for many. By eliminating this barrier, more Americans could have higher quality of living and access to things like homeownership, benefiting the economy as a whole.

The cost of college in the US has risen more and more in recent decades, increasing in price more than almost any other good or service, with the exception of hospital care. This has prompted students to take out larger and larger loans, as their families attempt to keep up with these rising prices. This is especially true for private universities, which tend to have even higher tuition than public colleges. Colleges in the US also have many hidden additional expenses that make affording them even more difficult. While many colleges have strong financial aid programs, many students still cannot afford college with the aid they receive, prompting them to take out loans, often expecting the benefit of a college degree will be enough to earn a high enough paying job that will allow them to pay off their debt in the future. Many of these students also do not realize the true burden that loans place on them, making the choice to take out loans a rather uninformed decision.

However, many do not end up making enough to pay off their loans, forcing them into intense debt for the rest of their lives. This unpaid debt then affects their credit score and can prevent borrowers from doing things like taking out homeowners’ loans. This leads to a lack of economic mobility and growth, leaving borrowers unable to truly reap the benefits they thought a college degree would provide. It also generally impacts their quality of life, as they are forced to choose between making student loan payments and other necessary expenses.

This issue is especially prevalent for people of color in the US. There is a racial disparity associated with student loan default rates.

Defaulting occurs when borrowers miss payments for a specified period of time, often 270 days, and can lead to legal repercussions. In 2020, the default rate was nearly twice as high in majority-Black zip codes than majority-white ones, 17.7% compared to 9%. This is one example of how student debt hits already marginalized groups harder in the US. One large argument against student loan forgiveness is that the majority of those with loans are in higher income brackets, and thus should be able to pay off their loans themselves. However, there are many borrowers in lower income brackets, who have more potential to remain there if the burden of their loans are not even somewhat alleviated.

Additionally, by not forgiving these loans, not only would the federal government continue to harm these people’s lives and financial futures, it would also reinforce the idea that higher education is closed off to those that cannot afford it. The pandemic had a clear effect on higher education — at the beginning of 2022, 1 million fewer students were enrolled in college than in 2019, before the pandemic began. Many people’s reasons for not pursuing college are largely financial, with one study finding that 38% of students chose not to enroll due to the cost of college and the fear of amassing debt. By choosing not to forgive debt and doing little to further reform the system and lower the cost of college, the federal government is only reinforcing these fears.

"The cost of college definitely factored into my decision process as I chose where to apply. It also made some schools I really loved seem really unrealistic because they're just so expensive," said Delaney Ross ('23).

While student loan forgiveness is not the final solution to the issue of student debt, it is a necessary step in the right direction. The Supreme Court should rule in favor of letting the case pass. However, the government should also focus on building reform that can lower the cost of college as a whole, making it more accessible to students from all income levels. Education is a key component of progress for the country as a whole, and thus should be affordable for all.

"College is really expensive. I think that definitely makes it hard for a lot of people to pursue it, which is really unfair," said Griess.

Politicizing Education: Florida’s 2023 Controversy Raquelle Elson ‘23

On January 12, Governor Ron DeSantis’s administration sent a letter to the College Board stating that the proposed AP African American Studies course lacks educational value and would be outlawed in Florida. Following this controversy, the College Board released the curriculum for this new course – notably lacking the topics and subjects that were initially deemed reprehensible.

The issue many like-minded Floridians have with this AP class is the fact that it teaches Critical Race Theory, a sentiment shared by those in support of the Stop Woke Act. However, these classes do not teach Critical Race Theory as C.R.T. is a graduate-level course that could not be taught to teenagers through these classes. The phrase is constantly thrown into these discussions to strike fear into the hearts of parents and build up dissent for these classes. In reality, AP African American Studies teaches the origins of the African diaspora, Reconstruction, the Harlem Renaissance, the Civil Rights movement, historical figures, the Haitian Revolution, Black Lives Matter, and the reparations movement. However, this was just the preliminary course material and on February 1, the College Board released the official curriculum. Despite denying any influence due to political controversy, the Board reassigned many of the more controversial topics as optional sources for an end-of-year project.

This is not the first time Governor DeSantis has played a hand in vastly construing what is taught in Florida schools. In 2022, he signed the “Stop Woke Act” which was written to prevent teaching about race relations in a way that attributes privilege or oppression to race, color, national origin, or sex. He also signed the Florida Parental Rights in Education, or “Don’t Say Gay,” Act which prohibits teachings about sexual orientation and gender identity to students in kindergarten through third grade. More recently, DeSantis has targeted the New College of Florida – one of the state's very few public liberal arts colleges – due to its "wokeness."

To combat this alleged predicament, he has appointed 6 new members to the board in an effort to realign the school's values.

An element that lies at the center of this issue is the feelings of white students. Parents and politicians alike express deep concern that white students will “feel bad” if they are taught the roles other white people played in the oppression of others. This has no relevance to the conversations at hand.

These classes do not shame white students for actions from the past so there would be no guilt to be felt as they are not the people in the history books. Also, this blatantly prioritizes their feelings over proper education of Black history. Every history class teaches in depth about the successes and failures of white people throughout history but does not allow Black students to learn that their ancestors were so much more than slaves.

“As someone who has taken many AP history classes, I am alarmed by this proposed legislation. I think that my education experience at Academy was enhanced by the advanced history courses I took and I worry that Florida students are missing out on an enriching academic experience,” said Avery Rogan (‘23).

An integral factor in this issue that no one mentions is that AP African American Studies is a course that appeals to a niche subset of students. Most AP classes are not required and while some classes are often taken in sequence or in the place of another class, AP African American Studies would not be one of these classes. Enrollment in this class would entirely depend on a student’s interest in the course material making the notion that this class would force-feed students CRT simply untrue. Moreover, this is not a topic mandatory for a student's education meaning that there would be no academic repercussions for not taking this class. However, the subject is one that is critical to better understanding the effects our country's history has on modern-day issues – a benefit that many interested Florida students will not have access to.

Florida’s Banning of AP African-American History a satricial response

Nyonyose Varmah ‘23 Florida's Governor Ron Desantis once again shows his brilliance in education by the banning of AP African-American studies. America has enough identity issues as is, and we should focus our energy on courses that really make a difference instead of adding to the confusion. For example, a new initiative in Florida to create a $19.99 required class for all elementary school teachers should take precedence over this AP controversy. Courses like “How to Disarm White Teen Male With AR-15 Who Thinks He’s At a Gun Range with Moveable Target Practice,” and “If Women Should Be Imprisoned or Executed for Even Remotely Believing That They Have a Say on Their Bodies” are the more pressing issues that our state should focus on. Why should students be educated about all types of people within such a diverse country? We already live with diversity.

Such a course like AP African-American studies lacks historical accuracy of how the American economy was rightfully colonized in the name of religion to establish an order amongst a land of savages. Rather than focusing on more pressing issues, such as why mental health is declining and suicide rates are rising, Florida has chosen to shift all of the weight, creating ways to stain the minds of now and future generations about why people do not matter if they hold no position of power; which obviously means to remove this detrimental class. It is not enough to simply allow students themselves to reject this AP course, and Governor DeSantis’s decision to instead erase it so no one has to even think about it is the right decision.

Just like everything else in America’s motto, “If we say that it never happened then it did not happen,” regardless of the thousands pieces of evidence that have been accumulated, because history only matters if it is explained through the side of the victor; those who have lost have no say so, otherwise, like toddlers, the inconsequential details from the losers only adds a guilty conscious and will hurt people’s feelings.

As a matter of fact, erasing other AP History courses would be beneficial. Why do Americans need to study Human Geography, a course concerned with refugees and immigrant life? Although snowflakes like to point to immigration as the foundation of American life, our brave country was actually built on the concepts of freedom, and not the ones who built the foundations of America based on free labor. Or World History, with so little emphasis on the American perspective? Why should we, as Americans, want to be bombarded with useless facts about cultural, economical, political, and social developments that are outside the United States and therefore must surely only have minimal impact on society?

Clearly, any man or woman disguising himself as a self-established historian yet who tries to cover too many untruthful perspectives, should never be in charge of the education for our future generation. As Desantis states, “Education is about the pursuit of truth, not the imposition of ideology or the advancement of a political agenda.”

All of this brings the question as to why we don't rewrite all of Florida school’s curriculum? Let’s ban books such as Dreamers, by Yuyi Morales, Sam!, by Dani Gabriel, or The Hate U Give, by Angie Thomas in order to silence the communities that they represent.

What really should not come to a surprise to us is that these laws to ban such books are being passed faster than bans on assault rifles are even being written. The perfect school curriculum should be modeled after The Giver, by Lois Lowry. Making this perfect dystopia disguised as a utopia where race, color, and problems do not exist will establish the belief in children that it is okay to lie, cheat, and kill only if you hold a high position of power. Schools were essentially created for parents to have a seven hour break a day from the little gremlins that we classify as children. So, instead of making sure that Floridan’s have access to affordable housing or quality health care because we do not care about such trivial matters, let’s pass bills that will rewrite our school curriculum to represent the true demographics of Florida’s belief: God, Guns, and Country!

Seniors acknowledge their ending childhood with nostalgic backpacks Sophia Odmark ‘23

Both teachers and students have acknowledged the resurgence of glittery, child-like backpacks in the Academy of the Holy Names halls, but why have the seniors been drawn to this juvenile style of backpacks? The senior class was inspired by a Tik-Tok trend to buy kiddie backpacks to say goodbye to their childhood ways before moving on to college.

The idea of buying childhood backpacks for one’s senior year originated from a Tik-Tok trend that began during the summer of 2021 and has been passed down since then. The trend quickly made its way to the Academy’s class of 2022 last year, and some members of the class of 2023 have decided to carry on the trend. Around ten Academy Seniors can be seen walking through the hallways with backpacks featuring, glitter, unicorns, and other child-like imagery. These seniors are not afraid to stand apart from the crowd and use these backpacks to mark themselves as seniors.

Olivia Lucas (‘23) says, “Growing up, I loved unicorns. Their bright fun colors and imaginative aspect fascinated me. For senior year I decided to get a unicorn backpack to dive back into my childhood. Being at the Academy for 14 years I thought it would be a fun idea to leave Academy just how I started.”

Although the backpacks may seem like just a fun trend at first, there is a much deeper reason for the seniors’ urge to reminisce on their childhood. The transition from high school to college is a relatively monumental change. Many students go from the comfort of living with their parents or guardians, living in their hometown, and being surrounded by those they know to be put into a completely new environment. In light of this massive change, 52% of high school seniors report they feel pressured to make these important life decisions too soon.

Recent years of high school have been very different for the class of 2023 than they have been from their parent’s high school experience and Academy’s other recent graduating classes. The impacts of Covid-19 stopped the class of 2023 from having an entirely “normal” high school experience. Since they were quarantined during March of their freshman year, the seniors have not had a completely normal year of high school. This only advances the pressure these students feel to grow up. They did not get their childhood experience of high school. Now time has passed and these students feel pressure to grow up even faster than in the previous Senior classes. This stress and the impending life changes have inspired some students to “relive” their childhood for one last year before they are forced to grow up and mature.

Once they had acknowledged the major changes approaching, many seniors rushed to get these backpacks in remembrance of their younger days. Ella Fernandez (‘23) says, “I choose my Peppa Pig backpack because the mixture of vibrant colors and sequins reminds me of my childhood that I will be leaving for the next stage of my life. Many of my friends and teachers have told me that they love my backpack and appreciate the dedication I have to the show.”

Although a backpack will not truly make this change go away, it comforts seniors to know their childhood is still a part of them.

Despite the move away from one’s family to college, students acknowledge that the lessons and memories they made when they were younger will help them deal with this change and manage it in the best possible way. Still, it is nice to look back on their past and see how far they have come. These backpacks help students to mitigate the stress of change. Other ways students tend to dilute this stress are to engage in childhood activities, such as going to a playground for fun, or surrounding themselves with young children, such as babysitting, to remind themselves of when they were that age. Even things as simple as listening to childhood throwbacks can bring some level of comfort to high school seniors during these stressful times.

Mary Chase Germain (‘23) says, “Being a senior is fun and exciting, but seeing all the littles at school pass me in the halls makes me remember when I was that small and would look at the older kids, thinking it would be a million years until I would be like them. It makes me nostalgic. I think having the fun kiddie backpack is like remembering my inner kid and the things that brought me here.”

Act I Scene I; Session 1, First HeartBreak Mykhia Pursley ‘23

Love Doctor We all have our first At this age Where feelings seem to burst Needing love like a dry thirst Alone on this brightly lit stage But when you sit and rehearse There will be no more of this curse No sign of anxiety and rage Some see it as the worst Hoping one day life will reimburse The Heartbroken But how much would be the wage?

When repaid what would disperse?

Love, will you have to be coerced?

When will you, love, engage?

If only time can be reversed Where this feeling was only conversed But now I cry in blankets of beige Hoping someday I will immerse Pray this feeling not linger in my hearse But it seems we all have our first At this age

Family Reunions Sophia Sweezy ‘23

a star twinkles, Leaving a lasting impression Of affection and joy, Always remembered in our hearts.

Friendship rekindled, Bonds that are stronger than ever, A reunion of a family By a shared loving link.

I consider myself fortunate to have been present.

To share for the time being, A gift that will last For all eternity.

The Pain of Envy Rosie Mele ‘23

I envy everything about her.

How she seems not to care about every matter.

Her presence makes me sadder As she doesn’t even dare to consider consequential chatter.

I envy her soaring social stature.

Her skin astonishingly fair; making my looks no competing factor.

I despise her beauty that is a dagger thanks to her luscious auburn hair.

Her actions spawn a backstabber.

I long for nothing more but to smack her, Causing damage far beyond any repair.

But I shall not cuff worthless slackers -I envy everything about her.

How she seems not to care about every matter.

#23

Sofia Girgenti ‘23 I met you in the sweltering August summer I walked here from up the road and held fear like heavy change in my pockets Our eyes were always open, our arms always crossed Still we found ourselves outstretching our hands, Twisting around the darkness to grow towards the sun The storms were never foreseen, Still we learned to let the rain chill us to the bone, wash us clean and new Since that first August, I learned your name and may have never said hello Yet I know that something burned you, That the moths chewed holes in the clothes that you do not wear anymore That once you were the forest and the tree that fell when no one was there to hear We have lost parts of ourselves along the way Yet I still see from my periphery how your face has changed, How quickly you grew up and painted over the kid that you once were, How you find yourself here, where the sidewalk ends After all this time, Millions of strawberries have grown and ripened and rotted and been grown again Which is to say that the earth spins and life continues on, And we have made it here

There is a mourning for all of the things that I did not do, the letters I wrote to people which lay folded in notebooks and hidden in bookshelves I only wish that I had been braver than I was That I had walked through the frame when the door was open, Laid waste to the poison ivy and nurtured the hummingbirds Now, I see so clearly the golden thread laced through this ever-expanding timeline Tying together stalks of lavender pulled from the garden And once I laid on the beach at midnight, the dunes of sand cold like the kitchen tiles on which my dog likes to sleep Stared up at the sky of stars, Realized that we were fated to meet here, but it was also just chance If it is willed to be so, let me one day look back on this now with fondness, What it meant for us to have been here, To have been 18 now or later, on the precipice of this mountain, this path that we have built Stone by stone, memory by memory, all of the moments gathered and planted together like evergreens / How I hope that they might grow into titans, tall and old and generous And all of the times that we laughed until our stomachs hurt, Cried until all of the water was gone, Smiled somberly, knowing that the sand of the hourglass slipped past Before we even tried to grasp it in our hands

If it is willed to be so, let me always remember this feeling This ache of nostalgia, a hollow firework in the chest, I know that you feel it, too That you were a child at the start and now you are more like something else Still with hair ties on the wrist, flavored chapstick, games of sticks to pass the time, voices blasting in eardrums and a favorite pair of beat-up shoes sitting by the door We cannot escape the knowing that we will never be 17 again, That soon we will hold tightly to our friends in driveways with fully packed cars, in airports with bags of luggage in tow, Pleading, “please, don’t be a stranger” If it is willed to be so, let it be so / Be it that my heart may keep these moments as souvenirs, keep the memories we made as heirlooms of friendship, Glass jars filled with sunbeams that shone through these windows And one day it will be bittersweet to see you again So be it that you might dance in remembrance of the music we once shared Be it that you might remember it all With a tug at the heart As will I

Betrayal of Friendship in Song Titles Sara Klimek ‘25

This is me Trying to envision that the Invisible String of betrayal is not tethered to my wings and preventing me from flying away from anguish.

This is me trying to pretend that the Cardigan of friendship I once wore was not burned in the blazing fire of treachery.

This is me trying to neglect the reality that the Mad Woman deceived and manipulated me into believing I had found happiness and loyalty.

For our friendship was a Hoax in which you were plotting for Seven years. A hoax to bring about my downfall and suffering.

My Tears Ricochet against the partition that prevents me from finding Peace.

The Mirrorball of cynicism spins around my mind acting like a dizzying kaleidoscope.

Last August I was merely a pawn abused in your deceitful games, oblivious to the truth that was staring at my unknowing eyes.

No longer shall I waste moments in disbelief, but rather cut the invisible string to allow myself to fly once again.

Sunsets

Kaitlin McHugh ‘23

Sunsets Pink, orange, and gold.

I watch them and immediately feel safe and calm.

But then it fades to a blue glow and I see the stars.

I look at the moon. A smile appears on my face.

If I could, I would stay out here for hours, staring at the sky and feeling free from all the things that have been consuming me.

Out there is an escape.

A place where I can disconnect from reality I wish it could last forever but the sun has to rise . . .

The “Perfect” House Mykhia Pursely ‘23

Rebecca buys a house, her dream house. A tiny home near the seashore of Cohasset, Boston with two bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, and a balcony bearing out to the ocean. Her kitchen has a customized marble island similar to her grandmother’s for the sense of nostalgia; the room is decorated in dark nautical blues and seashells, exactly as she wants it to be. Leading to her living room, photos of her family and friends throughout her lifetime decorate the walls, filling in almost every corner, directing the eye to a cozy candle-lit living area with comfy amber-colored couches, red medallion rugs, and devil ivy seeping the corners. Each bedroom is decorated with boho furniture, with her room, in particular, being occupied by her cat companion and a window facing a field of seagrass. Connecting to the rooms, the bathrooms are kept organized and cream-colored with glass decorations, clean and sleek. The “perfect” house.

To keep the perfect house, well, perfect, there has to be a routine: Wake up, clean the bedroom, use the bathroom, clean the bathroom; whatever you use you must clean. Being only the first month she is occupying this living space, Rebecca wants the house to look and smell just as new as it did the moment she bought it. Every inch of the house results from her hard work, worth every penny she saved. The majority of her time in her new house is spent just cleaning. As she takes a current break in her career, she has enough time to excessively sweep and mop, scrub and wipe, and admire and awe her residents. Every morning she changes into a t-shirt and jeans with microfiber slippers accessorizing with gloves, masks, and a utility belt with different size brushes and cleaning products.

Being in this new environment seems like the only way to feel an attachment to the world around her. At the moment she does not seek a social life and being a new homeowner her only outings are for mail or groceries. She has moved relatively far from her family, to be in her ideal location that works with her career that she currently has on hold. But to her surprise, this does not stop her family from coming to visit.

One evening during the lull of a storm her family came knocking on her front door, bringing parts of their home with them: putrid smells, oily foods, and dirty children.

“Hi honey, surprise! Since it’s labor day weekend, we wanted to visit you! What are you standing there for in those rags, let us in dear it’s starting to drizzle!” Mouth agape in shock she regains her character and quickly lets her family in, “I didn’t know you were coming, mom.” She spoke awkwardly, looking hesitant at the bags entering the doors with her family, parents, and three younger siblings “Well, you have not called in a while so we just wanted to check up on you!”

“You should have told me you all were coming, you know how I hate surprises,” she states while rubbing her hands with disgust at the muddy feet trailing behind.

“Well honey we just wanted to” “All right girls,” her father interrupts, “Let us stop with the fussing and just enjoy our company! Rebecca, I brought your favorite, spaghetti!”

She forces a smile,“ I would have made something rather than you having to bring anything.”

“Oh nonsense honey, we know how these are your favorite, plus we didn’t want to make a mess in the kitchen, we can just heat this, sit together, and talk. Oh dear, but maybe not on these ugly couches.” her mother counters back.

Her father jokingly warns his wife, “Now honey, be nice this is her style. No one asked for those peacock feathers in the living room” As the two laugh Rebecca pretends as if she did not even hear the comment as she trails off to get a mop. She enters the supply closet of her kitchen and huddles around her brooms, mops, and sprays. From outside she can hear the rain increasing. Taking a moment of silence for herself she breathes in the lavender, lemons, and bleach scents.

She returns from her cleaning closet, and notices her father already in the kitchen heating the spaghetti they brought in their worn-out pot. The tomato sauce begins to bubble, and out of fear that it may splatter, she offers a top, “Don’t worry about it lovebug, it’ll ruin the taste, water it down! Let your pop get this one, you’ve already done a bit.” As a predicted bubble pops and lands a splatter on her counter, “Oops, here let me wipe that, see nothing to worry about, kiddo!”

“Thanks, dad, I’ll go check in on mom.” pushing herself to smile. She walks into her living room, eyes immediately laser-focus on her youngest brother being held in her mother’s arms. His hand had a sticky treat, edging to land on the ground. As her mother was busy telling her about the trip that is all she could focus on. “ Did you hear me, dear?”

She hmms at her mother.

“I said, would you mind showing me around the house?” She repeats again out of exhaustion, “You seem to be doing pretty well on your own, especially with the time you put into your little home.” Rebecca nods on impulse, eyes still stuck on the candy.

Before setting off she notices how her youngest brother offers her the sticky treat in his hand, but before reaching, he drops it on the rug. “Oops.” says the mother who picks up the fallen lollipop, and hands it back to her son. She tries to clean out the residue by smearing it more into the carpet, but it only makes it worse.

“Mom!” lightning and thunder awake outside.

“Oh sweetie it is only a little stain, we can clean it up later with some water. Now come on dear.” She says placing the toddler on the floor. He crawls closer to her rugs with the candy, and she hurriedly snatches it out of his hands, causing him to get upset. “Sweetie!

Why did you take that from him, he wasn’t finished. It is just a little stain!” The mother said with a concerned face.

Sighing with defeat she mentally notes to clean the mess later and shows her mother around. From each room, the mother admires her daughter's work, similarly to a museum, the daughter asks for her to look and not touch, in fear of anything rearranging or broken. After thirty minutes of reminding her mother of the rule and straightening every room, they entered Rebecca asks the big question, “So, what do you think mom?”

“Welllll I don’t like it. Now don’t get mad dear, but it is not my style—but hey this is your house! If you think your little home is cute, it’s a cute home sweetie—Even if you wanna live by this tropical storm hazard, Oh my it is really pouring down out there.”

Before she can reply to the snarky comment she returns to the living room, with her mother following, finding it not as she left it. Her siblings are sprawled around the carpet: sticky residues of snacks smeared across the floor, leaves ripped out of their pots, and dirt scattered. She was furious, all of her hard work taken into account. “ Oh dear, you know how your siblings are—come on kids, let’s start cleaning up your mess.” As they all begin to timidly stand, a crash abrupts from her room with one of her sisters running out of her room. When did she get there? She rushes back to see a glass decoration from her bathroom break. Her sister begins to tell how the cat swatted, but it is too late. She grabs her little sister by the arm.

“Why couldn’t you all just do this one thing right? This is my house, you are to treat it, to treat me, with respect!” In shock at her actions, she releases her sister’s hand, watching as tears begin to swell in her sister’s eyes.

“Rebecca! That is no way to treat your sister, what is wrong with you?!” yells her mother, alerting her father from the tomato-stench kitchen of all the commotion. Her mother shakes her head while holding her hand up to stop her husband, “Jerry, please, I got this.” says her mother as the rest of her kids huddle behind her. “Now I understand you left our house a little unraveled, but that doesn’t mean you can chastise us for not meeting your standards, Rebecca. You used to make a bunch of messes when you lived with us, but did we chastise you?! Nooo we let you do what you wanted, waste our time and our money on whatever you wanted. Now that you live in this uptight neighborhood and only buy the best that your uppity job pays you, you think you are above us, but you’re not!

I’m your mother. I can do whatever I want, and make a mess whenever I want because you are still the useless little girl who only got to where you are because of me!” She laughs, “ Do you think you can make it out here on your own here?! It’s funny because your father and I were talking about it in the car, and please, we don’t think you can make it another month.” Hot tears start to stream down Rebecca's face, “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get out!” she starts to hurl the alien items into her home, “ Take your luggage, take your food, take all of your opinions, and get out!”

She screams. Her father appears behind her, grabbing her shoulder in an attempt to calm her.

“Now honey come on I think what your mother is trying to say is that you have changed a bit. She wasn’t trying to get frustrated at you. Now come on let us all just calm down and eat. The food is set already on the table, we will clean up the mess later and talk this out. I just think you are becoming a little-” Her eyes trail onto the tomato sauce splattered from the planned dinner on the apron he borrowed from her.

“Is that my apron?” she grits her teeth, “You ruined it! You know how long these stains will take to get out!?” Shoving past her dad she goes back to her cleaning closet to get supplies.

“Rebecca! I’m still talking to you” calls out her mother. She returns back with her usual cleaning uniform and orders in one breath, “Mom just shut up and sit at the table. All of you.” Her siblings rushes to the table and started to feel a familiar uncomfortable air arising from their older sister’s habit. She continues to ignore her parents’ banter as she starts to routinely clean around her. Out of defeat they too sit at the table as they watch her become more robotic with her movement, tasking from one place to another: the bedroom, the bathroom, the living room, and then silently to the kitchen. The rain begins to quiet as she sits with her family at the table, who could only reply with concerned and confused expressions. As they sat eating, keeping clear of their mess, the head of the table sits Rebecca. She peers over at her father, who is overwhelmed with emotion. She then notices a tear in his cutout, “Oh, you must have gotten wet from the rain. Here let me get that for you.” She carries him out to the trash, and enters back into the closet to a newly constructed figure of her father .“There better?” She is answered with silence as she peers out at her poster board family. “Perfect, back to being a happy family.” she smiles.

Kaitlin McHugh ‘23

Pinch a Penny Alaina Salathe ‘23

“You don’t mean that.”

Those were the last words I said to my brother before I took off down the streets of Waikiki. Adrenaline from our argument still pumped through me as I sprinted down the smooth concrete sidewalk, lined with palm trees that swayed in the island breeze. I had no idea where I was going, with little money in my pocket. Our hotel room was small, a tight tan room with two queen sized beds and a balcony overlooking the beach. It was beautiful, no matter what time of day and the tropical weather allowed us to keep the sliding glass doors open. We had changed into our swim trunks late into that Thursday morning, ready to go down to the beach. That was when the bickering initially started with Robby- in the elevator ride down. He kept tugging on my shorts, messing around as if he was going to pants me right there in the elevator. We had piled into it with the sunburned family of four that came from the floor above, and rode it all the way to the lobby. As we got off I wacked him with the beach towel I took from the hotel bathroom, grumbling.

“You’re so uptight Spence,” Robby teased “We are going to the beach you need to stop worrying so much or else those hot babes will never give you the time of day!” With a roll of my eyes I led us down the tourist ridden walkway that led to the white sand of Waikiki.

With sand taking permanent residency in my flip flops, Rob and I had finally arrived at the beach. Its water was a dazzling azure blue, gently lapping against the rocks and shore line. “Holy shit, there’s so many bikinis!” I hear from next to me, the beauty of the beach suddenly ruined by my girl crazed brother. “Oh, do you ever shut up about girls?” I sigh, shooting a sharp look over my shoulder at him. “Relax, we’re on vacation-” Robby motions to the expanse of beach surrounding us, “Where is a better place to have a summer fling than in Hawaii?”

My fingers pinched my nose, dark eyebrows furrowed in disappointment. “C’mon, lets just go rent out a couple chairs.”

Robby trailed behind me, probably to get a good look at the women sprawled out across the sand without getting chastised. I strode up to the rental stand, pulling the pleather wallet out of my deep mesh pocket to pay the sunburned man at the counter. He motions to the side of the shack, where chairs are piled up for paying customers to take after snatching away my twenty dollar bill. I scooped up the first two beach chairs and hung them by their middle around my shoulders, now behind Robby as he walked along the barely visible sidewalk.

After walking for a couple minutes Rob finally spots what he has deemed ‘the perfect spot’ to set up for the next few hours. I could spot his ulterior motives at least two miles away, seeing as they were wearing what hardly qualified as bikinis to begin with and all eyes were on them. Two girls with bleached blonde hair and dark terracotta tanned skin were lounging on beach towels fifteen feet

away from where Rob instructed I put the chairs. It was like looking at a Baywatch episode, with their skin tight red bathing suits and mussed up curls splayed out across their striped towels. “Hey Spencer, watch this.” Dread pooled in my gut, and Robby moved quickly to talk to the girls.

Year after year, girl after girl, I had fallen victim to many of Robby’s short term lovers. And no matter how many times it has happened, there is no getting rid of the undeniable sting of being slapped by a random woman who thinks you are your identical twin.

While I hold no doubt that Rob is charismatic and has a weird charm that somehow makes people like him, it feels as though he does it just to rope me into trouble sometimes. The last girl had approached me at a college frat party, throwing her drink all over the front of my shirt. I had to reek of cheap liquor the rest of the night, and earned another hand shaped bruise on my left cheek the next weekend.

I had never been a ladies man, and clearly my compassionate brother wasn’t one either. So as I watched him pad his way over to these girls, I cringed and stared as he introduced himself. Robby’s attempts lasted a ceremonious ten minutes before the girls tell him to shove off, muttering about how pushy he was when he finally started to walk away.

Unfortunately the rest of the morning went like this- as if some higher power was copying and pasting this scenario over and over like an overdue essay. Rob had followed some girl over to the snow cone stand a few minutes ago, and I glanced over at the two girls still laying on their towels. Mentally I prepared myself as I rose from my creaky lawn chair, and I ground my toes into the sand in anticipation. My pink tinted legs carried me over to them, and I heard a very audible groan of “Sophie he’s back” coming from the one laying on a purple towel. “Hello ladies,” I started, clearing my throat. “I just wanted to apologize on my brother’s behalf. You see, we are twins and you might’ve noticed we look, well…” I pause and gesture to myself. “We look identical. And I just wanted to say sorry for his very crude and obnoxious behavior-” my anxiety started taking over as these girls stared me down, my voice picking up in pace.

“You know, you say you two are identical but clearly you’re much more attractive, I never caught your name.” Sophie, the one on the pink towel, said slyly as she cut me off. Despite the heat radiating around me, cold sweat dripped down my spine. “Excuse me?”

I tried to ask politely, taken aback and honestly shocked by the obvious flirting she was trying to engage in. She looks up at me through her lash extensions, fiddling with her nails. “If your brother just learned some manners he might be appealing to people, y’know?” The other girl chimed in, as though I hadn’t tried that before.

“Ahem.”

“Liz you can’t just say that he is right there-” Sophie hissed at her giggling friend. My head turned as if in slow motion to find my brother standing behind me, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. I gave him a sheepish smile, dragging him away from the scene of the crime. “Were you really just badmouthing me in front of those chicks?” He accused, voice strained from trying to keep his voice low. “No, I was apologizing for your lack of respect or basic human decency.” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You’re just jealous that I can actually get a girl, and you have no game.” He muttered.

Well that was a surprising statement, I had thought to myself. “You need to realize that objectifying women isn’t game,” I said with air quotes, “It’s borderline harassment.” Robby scowled, and I could see his pride rearing up on its ugly head. “This is why no one likes you, Spencer. You’re a goody two shoes know it all who does nothing but preach. You always piggyback off of me, hanging out with my friends and now my girls?” He kicked at the sand in front of us, straight into me. “You should be thankful for everything I’ve done for you, I’m the only reason anyone puts up with you.” His words didn’t stop, the insults and jabs poking and prodding at the most sensitive parts of my insecurities. But it wasn’t until he was out of breath, huffing for air, when the most fatal blow came.

“I wish we weren’t twins.”

I was taken aback, my eyebrows twisted up in confusion.

“You don’t mean that.”

My eyes water and I pretend it’s from sand in my eyes, or sea salt that managed to fly in our direction. Robert’s face was dead serious, as chilling as the icy waves that crashed against the rocks that lined the beach. I searched for any sort of sign, something to tell me it was just the heat of the moment and not something he truly meant. But I found nothing.

“I meant every word I’ve said.”

And my heart splintered, this person who I had grown up with and shared every aspect of my life with hated me. I couldn’t manage a single sound, my throat closing up and the redness in my cheeks no longer caused by the summer sun. He had never in our twenty two years of life said that before, never wished us to be apart. So I did what Robert always did, I ran. I turned tail and sprinted down the shabby sidewalk covered in sand, down the path that we took from the hotel, and all the way onto the main street. I didn’t stop running until my legs were jelly and my feet burned from the pavement.

As my pace went from matching my rapidly beating heart to slow and steady I took a moment to look at my surroundings. How could such a beautiful place be where this horrible argument took place? I am in the heart of the Waikiki shopping district, the streets lined with designer boutiques to local jewelry stands. I let myself wander, drifting from stall to stall, occasionally stepping into a cool air conditioned store. I wander for hours, roaming the streets mindlessly. There was no way I was going back to the hotel room, I don’t think I could handle seeing his face right now. After looping through a couple of the same stores, I checked my wallet but found a couple bucks and my lucky penny. Sitting down on the curb, I inspect the penny in the remaining sunlight. It would get cold soon, as the sun was beginning to set. Which meant I would have to go back to the hotel, and into that tiny tan room. My thumb runs over the grooves on the edge of the coin, and I smile fondly at the memory that was attached to the piece of copper.

Robby and I had found it on our first day at a new school, we had just moved from Vermont to South Carolina and were full of first day jitters. It had been on the concrete just before the front doors, and after we picked it up we met some of our closest friends for the next few years. Our school year went great, and as naive kids we attributed such a successful social life to the lucky penny. My

thumb rubs over Abraham Lincoln, my smile falling. Maybe after all these years the penny had lost its luck, it certainly wasn’t helping me out now. With a cynical laugh I wind my arm back and throw it out into the street.

Only I’m not an athlete, and my aim wasn’t going to let the coin travel onto the street and it hit the back of someone’s head, falling onto the ground. “Oww, who threw that?” A strangely familiar voice whined as they turned around. Leave it to me to throw my lucky penny and hit Sophie, the pink towel girl from the beach. When her eyes landed on my shocked expression she used her quick deductive skills and walked over from further down the sidewalk and placed her hands on her hips. “Now, I know I said you were more attractive but that is no way to get a girl’s attention.” She giggled, her blonde hair falling forwards around her face. I scramble to stand up, rushing to explain to her it was an accident and she stopped me. “Look hun, me n’ Liz heard that whole situation with your brother. And while I’d love to give my two cents I only got one on hand,” she grabbed my wrist and pressed the penny into my palm.

“You two are brothers, and take it from me that guys can be a bit emotionally constipated. Butcha need to communicate if you want to understand each other.” I am giving her the blankest stare I could muster, because clearly she must know it’s never that easy.

“With my last boyfriend, he felt like he couldn’t talk about his feelings ‘cuz he was around all those hypermasculine football player guys and they were all yelling about sports and no talk about real world problems, if ‘ya know what I mean.”

“He didn’t feel like it was appropriate for a guy to express his feelings like that, thought it was too girly. Not to say your brother is girly, but maybe try talkin’ it out instead of letting those bad vibes fester.” She smiled, her peachy lipstick stretching with her lips. I looked into her eyes, finding the reassurance I desperately needed to go back to the hotel. “Go talk to him, I’ll even give ya’ my number cuz’ I want updates.” I grabbed my phone out of my pocket in a rush, handing it to her so she could input her contact information.

With a grin, I take my phone from her once she finishes. “My name is Spencer, by the way.” She nods, taking a step back.

“And I want an update.” Sophie waves goodbye, jogging off back to her group of friends who had gone into a boutique while they waited for her. I look down at my phone, and see a text from Rob. ‘I’m sorry, can we talk?’

Academic Pressure Nyonyose Varmah ‘23

Veracross has become the new bible.

Read like a daily prayer.

Give us this day, our daily bread As insignificant mournful numbers Wreak havoc.

High functioning anxiety plagues the mind.

Leading us into temptation, As girls trudge the halls with acne scarred faces dressed in pimple patches.

Laziness is considered among the deadliest sins, and Crammed knowledge only leads to forgetfulness, but We are proud to boast her teachings Of sleep deprived caffeinated machines where Eyes bags carry the weight of wanted sleep.

An academic marcher, in a crowd full of sorrows.

With its ivory walls so stately, A gilded cage to flaunt; chasing empty dreams Where discomfort is essential, for fleeting validation.

Comparable faces Scrutinized for lack of individuality.

Pray for us In this corrupted education system Where five letters establish rank.

Facing identical tomorrows A sign of the cross is made.

Hail, Mary, full of grace.

With palms faced towards the heavens,

The First Burn Carolyn Jacobson ‘23

Once Upon a Time…

The first time Bridget heard the word “witch” was a decade before the burnings. It was just after the death of her husband, that people grew suspicious of her. She was childless, widowed, and shunned by her neighbors. All but Mary, of course. Mary was different; she looked through the grief, and past the gossip, to see Bridget for all that she truly was. A woman. A human. Nothing more.

With time, the accusations ceased, and their fondness prospered into a love. A love so rooted, so raw, that it would overcome even the most devastating of ends.

Years later, Bridget found herself sneaking from her home, each night, to meet her lover, in secret. They would venture to fields beyond the forest that fenced in their town. The dusted, dirt path stretched only a few miles long, but a few miles was more than enough for them. Out there, in the vastness of the planes, surrounded by an endless sea of lavender, they were free. Free to be themselves, together; free of judgment and persecution; free from all expectations and responsibilities.

When Bridget reached the edge of the forest, she was startled by a faint sound. Was someone there? Anxiously, she observed her surroundings before cautiously stepping onto the field. In the distance, she could see Mary lying on the petaled ground. She glided through the grass and playfully threw herself to Mary’s side, slipping her hand into her lover’s. Their eyes met, softly, and they exchanged a gleeful look; but Mary’s smile quickly disappeared, as she was overcome with shame. She squeezed, gently, then pulled her hand from Bridget’s and put both her arms at her sides. They laid together for a few minutes, in silence, as the sky darkened.

Mary contemplated the risk- the consequences that they would face if they were caught. Then, she looked to Bridget, who was still, with a dazed look on her face. The most beautiful girl to have ever lived, Mary thought. Then, with a smile, she leaned in and kissed the purse of Bridget’s lips.

As the blackened sky turned a cloudy blue, the girls headed home, with their fingers intertwined. When they reached the outskirts of their town, Mary turned to Bridget, embracing her tightly. A sudden noise made Mary’s head snap around. Was someone watching?

Briskly, they stepped apart and hurried to their homes. Bridget waited by her door for a few moments, listening- awaiting the sound of Mary’s closed door. Bridget’s chest tightened, and she shakily fell to the floor as she listened to the sound of two doors shutting.

The morning after, Mary was startled awake by the sounds of shouting and pounding coming from outside her house. There was an ill feeling in her stomach as she rushed to the window. Mary watched, petrified, as a wrathful crowd surrounded her home. They screamed and cursed- spitting wicked things as they ravaged her property. Her legs quavered, stumbling her back onto the bed. She raised her hands to her mouth and trembled, wailing faintly through the cups of her hands. Mary fell to her knees and cried, begging for her God’s forgiveness. Who could have known? Who could have seen?

Hurriedly, Mary dashed to her front door. The shouting had grown louder and the pounding turned aggressive. She paused for a moment, before opening the door. To think? To process. To be sure that she was prepared to handle what she would face when that door opened.

All at once, the door swung open- throwing Mary to the floor, as Bridget rushed in. Their eyes met, urgently, as their bodies collapsed to the floor. Mary looked at Bridget, who was mortified, and soothingly laid her hand atop her lovers’. Her heart pounded with the shaking of her walls. Bridget began to say something that was inaudible to Mary. She couldn’t hear anything anymore over the mob’s screaming and cursing, but she didn’t need to. All she needed was to memorize the details of Bridget’s face.

As the crowd poured into the house, the girls were lifted from the floor with their arms restrained behind them. Bridget observed as she and Mary were led and tied to parallel trees. Her eyes darted, anxiously, as she searched her mind for a way out. But there was no escape; not for them both. Bridget turned her head towards Mary’s tree. She examined the rope that held Mary’s arms against the bark; how her bones poked through her skin as she resisted; how her hair laid so elegantly on her shoulders, despite her persistence to break the rope. She watched Mary’s expressions shift between rage and terror. Even in that moment of impending doom, she was resilient. She didn’t deserve this fate; and Bridget felt guilty knowing it was her doing that led to this. She analyzed Mary’s face and knew then what she needed to do to save her lover.

Bridget had already been accused before; she knew her fate would be this. But she wasn’t worried for herself; in fact, she hadn’t thought about herself at all that morning. Since she had woken, rescuing Mary was the only thing on her mind. She turned her head back toward the now-violent townspeople and began to shout:

“ I am Bridget Bishop and I have conspired with the Devil, Satan. I have bewitched Mary Oliver under the orders of the Devil and I intend to bewitch more ”.

Scattered gasps went through the crowd. A group of men quickly conspired before releasing Mary’s arms. She screamed and cried and pleaded with the town, but no one was listening to her. The mob closed in on Bridget, spitting and cursing at her from every side. As they gathered in closer, Bridget’s body was met with rocks, sticks and tools. Soon, the air had turned a dark gray and smelled of fire. Bridget’s flesh had started to burn and peel away. Mary screamed for the both of them, watching as the love of her life died.

When it was over, Mary found herself on the ground, her body trembling, gasping for air through her sobs. She crawled towards the tree and layed herself beside Bridget’s remains. Gingerly, she placed her palms on either side of her lover’s face, and tenderly kissed the burnt crisp of her lips. Even in death, she had never looked so beautiful.

Tragic, I know. The only thing they could not have escaped was consequence.

An Act of Kindness Sasha Paloma ‘23

The warm feeling of making someone smile. A spark of fire in one’s heart. Something I cannot live without. It doesn’t take much effort. It doesn’t take much time. It doesn’t leave you empty inside. That’s the power of kindness: it is always kind.

I remember the first time I felt the effect of a kind thing.

I was shaking in nervousness for my first race as a swimmer. Believing that I was a horrible swimmer, I thought I would be a disappointment to my team. The day was bitter cold, which did not help the shaking. I remember crying in fear of the upcoming race, but just as I was breaking down, I heard a soft voice so warm it dissolved my fears.

“It will be okay. You will do great.”

I responded with an unsteady voice full of tears, “But I am so slow.”

She put a hand on my shoulder, “The only thing that matters is that you try your best.”

I never got her name, and I never saw her again. She was like an angel disguised as a human.

How could she brighten my day in only seconds with just the touch of a shoulder and a few words? I was mesmerized by an act of kindness.

My journey of kindness had begun; I learned to change lives with a single smile. Sometimes all one needed was for someone to look in their direction, to feel what they were feeling, and see how troubled they were. It felt so good every time I helped someone out: the smiles and “Thank you’s” I got were my version of adrenaline. It kept me moving forward and helped me with those sorrowful times in my life. Although I was introverted and could not communicate very well, kindness was like a language that helped me talk to others. I started making new friends by helping people out. An act of kindness gave me a sense of belonging, until it didn’t.

In middle school, some people looked down upon my sweet side. It made me an easier target; I was someone who could not bring herself to fight back. Terrible words like bullets hit me repeatedly, but I fought back with acts of kindness. However gentleness can only go so far in a sea of ruthless quarrels, and three years later, my shield shattered. I felt nothing but heartache and confusion.

How could an act of kindness leave me so miserable? I started to reject kindness.

I said mean unforgivable things back to my bullies. I too hurt people with cruel words because I felt that I needed to protect myself from misery; I needed to protect my fragile heart. Then, I realized I was hiding, hiding because I was a person that was loving yet not accepted. I started to think that something was wrong with me. Why did I have to be so different from my classmates? Why did I feel wrong saying hurtful things when others seemed content being selfish? I would only spend seconds of my day contemplating my poisonous actions. So, I found a place of peace and listened to myself because that other way of life only made me feel sick, unnatural, and alone.

I laid in bed studying my heart. I was so busy I forgot to think about myself. After meditating on my feelings, I concluded: it hurt me more to defend myself than it did to break down. I stopped caring about what others said to me. Words had no effect on me. I could be lost in thought thinking about something more beautiful and greater than what they were saying. I was free to be myself again.

By sheer coincidence, at my next swim meet, I comforted a crying girl. Someone small, shivering, and confused, just like a person I used to know, like a memory burning in the back of my mind. I felt the need to help such recognizable hopelessness.

“It will be okay. You will do great.”

She responded with a familiar voice of agony, “But I am not good enough.”

I put a hand on her shoulder, the moment full of nostalgia, “The only thing that matters is that you try your best.”

How could I enliven a little girl’s day in only seconds with just the touch of a shoulder and a few words? An act of kindness changed my life.

Mutilation of Violence Anita Buchanan ‘23

Victim nor survivor, timidity nor bravery, For pillars, cracked and weathered, quiver.

Familial oral tradition shakes in dismay of treason.

For the foundational bonds sever along with the worth of another.

The recollection and repetition of the beatings, thrashings, pummelings.

Pulsating at the thought of freedom from the chains of folk narrative.

Being told of memories filled of punishment and retribution, Frothing at the mouth of luminary tradition with the worth of another.

Vulnerability lies beneath the cleaved crevices.

Of which begs necessary for the culminated extremity of raw commands striking raw wounds, Reopened with the taste of verbal corruption.

For blood sheds, yet love conceals by deviation from desired habits with the worth of another.

But from the distinct heritage, separation of lineage and novelty.

The chains shatter even, the virtuous break for immunity from exploitation and perversion, From disaster and terror, from abuse and more abuse that the posterity will never hear, Never see, never smell, never touch… For one price to pay for the worth of another.

Allegro Allies Parker Johnson ‘26

Under a spotlight of misty turquoise, I look down on the 88 keys displayed beneath me, to be played in an error-free order. My hands are trembling so violently it feels I am no longer in control of them. The crisp air clamps my fingers as I blankly stare toward the piano’s pedals. I look around for reassurance but it’s desolate backstage. The curtain’s shadow on the wall creates an endless void of darkness reminding me that I am in this alone. Adrenaline slams into my neck, the cracking jolts of my knuckles mix melodically with “The Night Before Christmas” read aloud in front of the curtains. The beat of my heart chimed with clock-like precision, ticking down until it grew deafening. I anticipate the moment that little slip of light between the curtains would show itself. In that single instance, there would be no going back.

No one can tell how hard I’ve practiced for this.

No one can tell how fiercely my leg is shaking.

In my bubble of darkness, no one will know I'm floating away from reality.

Rowdy clapping tunnels into my ears, drowning out my adrenaline. The velvet curtains unlock in slow motion, stripping away any defense I had moments ago. Murmurs from the crowd test me. Teasing me to press the middle E, first note of ‘What Child is This’. I could no longer recognize the shadowy mob. The crowd’s ignorance to my plight builds the most maddening rage inside of me. It’s giggles and remarks deemed itself my opponent.

So the fight began.

A somber melody breaks into the atmosphere as my fingers waltz along the keys. With the sensation of cold sweat splashing from my palms, I realize my hands have completely separated from my arms. It is as if they have a mind of their own as they prance to the Yamaha’s trill. While I transition to ‘We Three Kings’ in my christmas-medley, I gain the knowledge that I am no longer playing for the audience, but I am playing for myself. I have trained for this fight for months, I am not letting my guard down. B to G, to another octave of D. Dotted note to treble clef, I became merciless in battle. I’ve lost all connection with reality as I explore the depths of the music I’m fabricating.

I am one note closer to the final, ‘Carol of the Bells’. I inhale deeply as I prepare for the crescendo. My fingers rampantly scale up the keys, each beat reverberating through my body. I jab the ivories in the piece’s allegro tempo. In the ultimate and most dilatory measure, I strike the last keys and crush the pedal. With the theater in my grasp, I peek back to the crowd cuing them to erupt into cheers. I victoriously stand from my seat after diminishing my rival, enlightened that when I conquer my hardships, I am unstoppable.

I Hate Poetry Winsom Storm ‘23

I hate poetry Why did I sign up for this then?

It’s simple I don’t like trying to find meaning When it doesn’t seem to be there Trying to rhyme leaves my mind screaming And I feel like there has to be rhyme, so it can at least sound pretty Even now I have a list of rhymes pulled up So I can find a word to match poetry Ovary, rotary, rosary, orthopsychiatry It also comes down to writing Prose, like this, is just writing a story And now suddenly it’s worth praising I don’t think so.

Sometimes...They sound...Like this...

And I...hate it...there’s no...meaning...

At...all...please don’t...make some...

Poor...high schooler...decipher...

This...meaningless...stanza

Or Sometimes They Sound Like This And It Takes Forever To Read Or even sometimes they sound like this and the linesaresolongIfeellikeIcan’teventakeabreath sowhyisthisacceptabletowritewhenitdoesn’tmeananythingexceptthatIcan’tbreathenow Poetry.

People will say I just don’t understand it.

Or clap back with, “If you hate poetry, do you like music?”

Yes I like music, because it’s nice to hear.

Poetry just goes in and out the other ear.

So why did I sign up for this?

Or even write a poem that contradicts its very existence?

To prove a point.

Anyone can write something and call it a poem.

That doesn’t mean it’s good.

That shouldn’t mean it’s great.

If you really like poetry I’m glad someone can enjoy it If there’s one thing you should take from this Is that poetry is a thing I hate.

I also thought it would be cool To share my opinion with people who will disagree In a form of media they appreciate.

But maybe they’ll be able to see Why exactly I hate poetry.

This poem has no meaning, except that it’s Just a bunch of words I put together to fit.

To English teachers everywhere, I’m sorry.

Isabelle Meckley ‘24

360° in 365 days Erica Port ‘25

House of Sand One home at the beach Two girls building memories Three days and it’s gone

Summertime Sadness Chilled yet it’s summer More confused than awaited Not incensed nor glad

A Decade Plus Six Forever unknown What is between life and death At sixteen or sixty

Recipe for Giving Combine spice and love Infuse cultures of many Yielding nourishment

Golden Hour Quietly coming Bursting colors in the sky Rising and falling

Silent Admirer Mykhia Pursley ‘23

I have been affected by the cruel love For I can only love you from afar As I have taken precautions thereof Yet cruel illness only grows more bizarre How can you, without relevance, remark?

I don’t seek to push any hints on you.

Because rejection will crush my frail heart I decide not to reveal a breakthrough I crumple all of my avowed letters Content solely being in your presence Others think my mind has a pure error But why deal with love in adolescence?

Just enjoy the view as you would the sun For like Icarus I will fall undone.

Living the Teenage Dream Anonymous ‘23

Who could love as tenderly, As desperately, as genuinely As a teenage girl?

Pink lace & hidden diaries; Singing her first name with your last & Spending hours curating a playlist Just for you.

Photos posted only in the hopes you'll see them; Dreaming up scenarios with you before she falls asleep, & thinking way too much about your zodiac sign.

For all our faults, we sure do know How to show affection.

It makes me never wanna grow up.

Teenage Dream Maddie Hines ‘23

If I could go back and tell my younger self what teenage life would be I would tell her being a girl is madness and magic all at once.

Stars in my eyes at one second, Then the world on my shoulder the next.

I am so young and beautiful, But why am I so tired?

Years of nightmares, Shielded by visions of hope.

The pressure is getting to me, ugh .

But I have so much to live for?

My shoulders begin slumping, And the stars begin to die.

The hope that was once in my eyes, Withered, Into another shattered dream.

walls can’t talk

to fall asleep

I’m grateful my walls can’t talk If they could, I’d be screwed Truly and royally so Not because of what they’ve heard or seen But because of what they really know

They know the way that, sometimes if I’m really upset, I’ll remove any trace of him from my room The pictures come down, the videos get deleted, and the things he bought me go in a box My walls know the angry tears and silent rage too

Riley Rubio ‘23

They know the way I look at him when he’s not paying attention The kind of way that, if he’d seen, would probably cause me to vehemently deny any kind of lovesickness I may be feeling My walls know this face well They know the way I stare at his pictures when he’s not there The photo strips on my bed posts are fraying at the edges from the way I mindlessly run my fingers over the edges as I look My walls know how much I miss him when he’s gone They know the way I replay the voice memos and videos just to hear his voice The videos I make a point to take of him when I don’t want to forget a moment I could listen to him talk for hours, even if it is just through a screen My walls know these memories just as well as I do by now They know the way I cry when he does something mindlessly stupid He doesn’t often pick up on the fact that he’s hurt my feelings until I shut down Even when he asks what’s the matter, I deny it My walls know my puffy, watery eyes and sniffling nose as I try to

But they’ve also seen how he’s put me back together after a breakdown The way I couldn’t not cry in front of him when I realized he loved me He held me tighter than anyone else ever has that night.

My walls know that I fell in love again right then and there And they know why I won’t tell him any of this Because of the way that, for so many years, I cried over how the people that loved me continue to betray me, so he couldn’t be different My walls know that’s not true They know he’s good for me Even if he does suck sometimes They know he loves me Even if he doesn’t always show it But above all else They know I love him too

Memoirs Anonymous 25’

Alana stood in the quiet forest. The tall trees with their beautiful green leaves and majestic trunks surrounded her. She took a deep breath and smelled the fresh clean air. Nothing smells as good as the air here in the forest. She started walking, her house was still half a mile away and she had to reach it before it was dark. The birds were chirping, singing the sweetest song that Alana had ever heard. Alana looked up into the sky which held the sun which was slowly setting and sighed, this might be her last ever walk home from school. Tomorrow, she will graduate and soon she will be off to university. A really big university, in a really big city, very much unlike her small town surrounded by woods. Alana felt unsure about graduating, school and her small town had always been her life and now she was going to have to leave it behind. Luckily, she was getting to go work at her summer camp up in the mountains before she left for university, that was her one saving grace. Alana had been going to the summer camp for 9 summers now but this year was the first time she would ever be on staff. She had met her best friend 5 summers ago and ever since they would come to camp. Camp was where Alana had her first kiss, where she had first snuck out, where she had first skinny dipped and where she had her first love. Camp was everything to Alana and she was scared that this might be her last summer. After all, her new university was a 2 day drive from home and a 3 day drive from the camp and she didn’t know whether she would be able to come back next year. Alana sighed and kept on walking trying not to dwell on the future.

--------------Kacey did not want to work at a summer camp. Summer camp was hot and muggy, filled with bugs and poison ivy and that was not how Kacey was supposed to be spending her summer. She was supposed to be at basketball training camp for the University of Illinois, not working at a summer camp in the middle of nowhere Michigan. Sure, Kacey had gone to this camp for a good chunk of her summer during her adolescent years but she was an adult now, going into her first year of college. She didn’t need to be reminded of the past. She looked out her car window at the tall stalks of corn, and the lettuce fields that she drove past. This camp really was in the middle of nowhere

Kacey was really starting to regret ever agreeing to take this job in the first place. Sure, since she had torn her ACL during the last game of the season she couldn’t train with her college team this summer and she had nothing to do, but coming back to this camp was not a great idea. The camp was filled with memories and out of all of those memories there was James. Kacey felt butterflies in her stomach, and reminded herself that she would not let those memories get to her. She was confident and she was strong, she is not the kind of person to be brought down by memories of a first love. After all, what is the worst that could happen in one summer?

--------------When I was 9 my parents told me they had bought a lake house. I was excited, at first. Then they told me it was in Michigan. I don’t know where else I thought my parents would get a lake house but I didn’t expect Michigan. Walkersburg, Michigan: Population 387.

The majority of homes on the lake were lake houses and only a few people actually lived there year round. When we first went to the lake, I wasn’t excited. We were leaving the city for a tiny town and I had to leave all of my friends behind. Now, every year I get so excited, when we leave the city, when we cross all of the state borders and when we finally reach that small town of 387 people and we get to our lake house. Because the lake house is where I feel free and where I feel at home. The lake has my best friend Cleo and her entire family and we spend all of our time together. I guess I should say that I met Cleo when I was 10, her family bought a lake house the year after ours. Cleo has wavy strawberry blonde hair and freckles and stands about half an inch shorter than me.

She’s feisty and bubbly and undoubtedly loyal. The best friend a girl could ask for. Cleo is from Indiana, her family lives really close to the lake so they go there a lot more often than we do. But every summer from June to July we spend our days on the lake. And it is the most perfect feeling. When I’m at the lake, I feel like all of my problems go away, like I’m at peace. Cleo likes to joke that I’m in love with the lake or that the lake is my girlfriend. And to be honest maybe it is. I love the lake, it’s my happy place. The lake is full of my happiest memories. Coming out to my parents, going skinny dipping for the first time, sneaking out to a party, and so much more. And now that it’s our last summer before college, I feel like this is my last chance at a summer for the ages.