Towodi 2017: Geared In

GeARED IN Towodi 2017 Vol. 12 Mill Creek High School

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Mill Creek Literary Magazine Vol. 12

GeARED IN towodi 2017

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CoNTENT art:

6………….Hyunju Bae (“Bot-99”) 6………….Morgan Buschman (“Toy Soldier”) 7………….Hyeji Kim (“Unspoken Monologue”) 8………….Dani Williams (“Tangible Emotions”) 8………….Hyunju Bae (“Saturday Morning”) 10………...Hyeji Kim (“The And”) 11………...Emma Babushkin (“Theodore”) 12………...Krista Knapp (“Hunger”) 12………...Krista Knapp (“Missing Teeth”) 13………...Delanie Mason (“City of Lights”) 13………...Delanie Mason (“Primary Flowers”) 13………...Dani Williams (“Emigma”) 17………...Hyunju Bae (“Escapism”) 17………...Krista Knapp (“Bust”) 19………...Sarah Crawford (“Addicted”) 19………...Jessica Hincapie (“Prickly Emotions”) 21………...Kayla George (“Unknown Below”)

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26………...Maggie Winek (“Imprint”) 26………...Hyunju Bae (“Tangled Mind”) 28………...Alysa Grant (“Roller Derby”) 28………...Jessica Hincapie (“Worry”) 29………...Levi King (Untitled) 29………...Madison Meeker (No Title) 31………...Caitlin McCall (“In Chains”) 32………...Kayla Vickers (“Awkward Moments”) 33………...Krista Knapp (“Listen”) 34………...Sarah Ciravlo (“Drowning in Death”) 35………...Levi King (“Ocean Rolling Thunder”) 35………...Ashley Tsay (“Harbored Promises”) 36………...Emma Babushkin (“Time’s Up”) 37………...Paige Barton (“Growth”) 37………...Morgan Bushman (“It’s A Big Deal”) 38………...Levi King (“Nature’s Colors”) 39………...Haley Cross (“Jmonty”) 41………...Caitlin McCall “Spaced Out”) 41………...Terry Park (“Contact”) 42………...Emma Babushkin (“Amelia”) 42………...Hannah Richardson (“Fractured Realities”)

poems:

7…………..Madison Jackson (“Obsidian Light:) 10………....Senora Merritt (“Roots”) 18………....Branton Fletcher (“Now and Forever”) 21………....Dominique Jasper (“Fruit of Mind”) 32………....Allison Bolton (“Some Days”) 33………....Jessica Montoya (Listen to the Panic”) 34………....Dominique Jasper (“Mindlock”) 35………....Jessica Montoya (“The Beat of your Heart”) 38………....Jessica Montoya (“Young Acorn Sun”)

short stories:

9…………...Leah Wright (“Somebody”) 14………….Catherine Lysaught (“Looking to the Stars”) 20………….Leah Wright (“Coloring Books”) 22………….Kayla George (“Prussia Excerpt”) 27………….Leah Wright (“Small Talk”) 30………….Leah Wright (“Adulthood”) 40………….Leah Wright (“Babies”)

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Bot 99 u Bae Hyunj

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Toy Sol Morgan dier Buschm an

PoEMS---Art Obsidian Light

Madision Jackson I am an obsidian mademoiselle A lady of the darkest nature My title is one of ancestral nomenclature One without limitations Built on sound foundations I stand proudly Project my opinions profoundly Waiting for an eager audience One that could complement my rockiness A stableness that could only be found In a free society crowned I am obsidian Dark like a moonless night Only a few can understand my light

logue o n o M n e Unspok Kim Hyeji

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Tangib le

Emotio

Dani W

illiams

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orni M y a d r u t a S e

Hyunju Ba

ShOrT STOry Somebody Leah Wright

Somebody lost their life today Somebody took their first steps today Somebody was born today Somebody was killed today Somebody lost their innocence today Somebody was betrayed today Somebody cried today Somebody waited and was rewarded today Somebody waited and was not rewarded today Somebody lost a parent today Somebody lost a child today Somebody lost a sibling today Somebody lost a love today Somebody stole something today Somebody lost their faith in humanity today Somebody was treated unfairly today Somebody made music today Somebody yelled today Somebody lost their trust today Somebody had the best day of their life today Somebody had the worst day of their life today Somebody has not eaten today but wants to Somebody has not eaten today but doesn’t want to Somebody has eaten today and wishes they hadn’t Somebody has eaten today and thinks nothing of it

Somebody cut themselves accidentally today Somebody cut themselves on purpose today Somebody found their first friend today Somebody smiled today Somebody went to school today and didn’t like it Somebody went to school today and loved it Somebody got beat up today Somebody wished they were dead today Somebody lay dying a slow death today Somebody wished they would see their kids again today Somebody realized they would be raising their kids alone today Somebody got their life changed for the worse today Somebody got their life changed for the better today Somebody took their last breath today Somebody took the life of another creature today Somebody had some adventure today Somebody learned something new today Somebody read for the first time today Somebody decided to end themselves today Somebody reached the exact middle of their lives today

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PoEMS---Art ROOTS

Serona Merrit Reevaluate your roots.

Are they dry or soaked and saturated with the oil of knowledge?

Feel the strands of history...?

The strands made of rugged, ridges, and rough shafts.

The only way to grow the fro with flow is we must constantly wash our hair-itage and treat it delicately.

The strands may not be as healthy as those of others, Yet they are ours, We mustn’t forget who we are, where we come from, and what we have done.

We use picks to minimize tangling, tears, and tension.

Though it may hurt to do so, it reminds us of our hair-itage.

But these irregular strands grew from a scalp that was bleeding, beaten, and bought.

That is why there is always a period of new growth.

New growth for more strands to coil around the earth unapologetically, unified, and unassimilated.

Coils so powerful out eyelashes interlock with our fros, Forcing us to open eyes.

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The And Kim Hyeji

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Theodore Emma Babushkin

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Hunger

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Krista Knap

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Missing Te Krista K eth napp

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Primar

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Delanie

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Delanie M

Enigma

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Dani Willia

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Mason

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Short Story Looking to the Stars Catherine Lysaught

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he stars danced across the inky situation. Heck, they’d probably throw black void above, illuminating a celebratory party when you jump, It the tears that stained her pale, whispered again, pushing her farther freckled cheeks. She sat staring at the and farther forward until all she saw bright pins of light above her as they was the cement under her. What are twinkled and shone brightly against you waiting for, fatty? Why don’t you the ebony sky. Her peaceful night was just get this over with? Are you not interrupted by the return of that crackly even strong enough to end your own voice, echoing in her otherwise empty miserable excuse of a life, Astrid? This, mind. No one cares about you, you this right here is pathetic my dear girl, loser. No one would care, you wouldn’t this is why I came to you, you obviously be missed. Go ahead, step off this roof, need my help. And who else would help you know you want to Astrid, you know someone as useless as you? Now come it’s what you’ve been planning anyway. along now, let’s get this over with. Astrid Why else would you come up here? Do knew she shouldn’t listen, she knew she She wanted so everyone a favor now shouldn’t let herself succumb and just leave already, desperately to leap off to It, but she couldn’t help it. we’ve been waiting for this cracked roof and She wanted so desperately you to crack anyway, no to leap off this cracked roof join the stars in the sky. one wants you, no one and join the stars in the sky. can help you, no one can talk to you, They never spoke, they never listened, you can’t even hear them, you loser, they merely shone above, observing go ahead, jump. It whispered into the the scramble of mankind in its pointless darkest section of her mind, prodding endeavors. Oh how desperately she her forward, pushing her towards where wished to hurl her ugly, scarred body off the roof ended and the cement gleamed of this planet and into the atmosphere. in the moonlight. It was right, anyway, There at least, she wouldn’t be bullied she could very easily jump. It’s not like for her condition, she wouldn’t be taken anyone would miss a deaf, advantage of, she wouldn’t be ignored mute, depressed, fat idiot and despised, but most importantly, she who failed in every social wouldn’t hear It. No longer would Its

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Short Story snide, devious voice slide into the depths of her silent mind, no longer would it wake her out of her restless sleep, only to remind her that she wasn’t loved, wasn’t important. She wouldn’t have to curl up in a ball and cry her eyes out because that was the only emotion she could actually show. Her nights of silently screaming, trying desperately to hear something other than Its condescending voice consuming her every limb would come to an end. She wouldn’t have to scar her fat, freckled arms with a razor and watch the blood flow out of the cut like the words she wished to speak, she wouldn’t have to mutely bandage her destroyed limbs hoping that she’ll accidentally get hit by a bus tomorrow. She could be free of the chains restraining her to the brick wall like the wasted words of her bullies. She could simply be Astrid, Astrid as she was meant to be anyway. You’re forgetting one thing, sweetheart, what about me?

It interrupted as she was about to slide her socked foot off the rickety roof railing, do you think that… Its voice was interrupted by a single shingle letting go of the roof and slipping down to the cracked cement, shattering on impact.

Astrid, perched precariously on the roofs edge, almost toppled over with it, but managed to catch herself last minute.

Breathing heavily, she doubled over

and clutched her pudgy stomach, both relieved and embittered that she didn’t fall with the exhausted shingle. Looking down at the chunks of shingle lying broken on the cold cement, Astrid could almost imagine her plump body taking a similar flight through the brisk November air, shattering just like her sanity years ago. She had tried her hardest to avoid thinking about her past. What good would that do anyway? Thinking about her past only got her feeling more guilty and more useless than she already knew she was. She didn’t ask to be the sole survivor of the plane crash. She didn’t ask to be surrounded by the scent of burnt flesh and the cries of the helpless.

She didn’t ask to see her mom’s head be snapped off her body like a twig as the plane crashed into the ground, nor did she ask to wear the blood of her mother for the next two weeks like warrior paint.

Astrid didn’t ask to see her father be burned alive, his pained screams mixing with the smoke abundant in the acidic air. She didn’t ask to see the bodies of perfect strangers torn and bloodied, and she certainly didn’t ask to watch everyone around her die until she was the only one left. She didn’t ask to lay on the bloody sand, too weak to move away from the nearest casualty. Astrid didn’t ask to be alone

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Short Story on an island full of dead people and negative thoughts for two weeks before she was rescued. She didn’t ask for the recurring thought of cannibalism, but she also didn’t ask for the reality of utter starvation. She didn’t ask to hold her brothers burnt head in her lap and watch her tears drip down onto his beautiful, charred face, nor did she ask to be there when the fight finally drained out of his mutilated, broken body like the words she would never again speak.

Astrid didn’t ask to be there that day when her brother looked her dead in her puffy, red eyes and told her to hold on, to be strong, and to live her life without them. She didn’t ask to be there when her sole reason for breathing closed his wise, emerald eyes and told her, tears still pouring down her dirty face, that it would alright in the end, that one day they’d be together again. She didn’t ask to be left behind by the only people who actually loved her, nor did she ask for her life to be spared. This was something Astrid never asked for. Just like she didn’t ask for the remaining plane fuel to ignite and engulf her in a fireball so powerful, she felt her brother turn around and wait to see if she would be joining him after all. She didn’t ask for the pressure to be so overpowering that her ear drums swelled and burst, sentencing her to 16 a world void of noise. A

world empty of the sound of children laughing, music blaring, and people talking, the sounds of life. The funny thing about life though, it often gave you something you never expected , and certainly something you didn’t want. But that’s life for you, she heard It say bitterly as she regained her footing on the slick old rail, full of surprises. It was in this moment, that Astrid Hazel Moore knew what she was meant to do, and without wasting a single moment, she looked one more time at the glittering stars dancing above her, smiled for the first time since The Accident, and whispered, voice hoarse from lack of use, the seven words she had waited far too long to say, before she hurled herself off the rusty roof of the orphanage, finally feeling the weightlessness of her chains breaking away from her. She was free.

We can all be together again someday.

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Bust

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Krista Knap

Escapis

Hyunju

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Bae

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PoEMS Now And Forever

Branton Fletcher

I tell you, somewhere, there is this land, Far past hill and desert sand.

O’er mountain high and valley low, Past water in streams that ebb and flow.

In forest, deep and dark at night, Beside the meadow, warm bright, It lay.

To get there, you must travel far, Guide by day, by night by star.

Past stony mountain, stark and steep, Through oceans vast and turbid deep.

In glaring sun and sweated brow, In darkest night, we make this vow, To get there.

We travel on, with hopes held high, Mountains vast pass by our side.

In peaceful seas we sail, so grand, When winds die down we row by hand, And takes us this journey does so long, But our hearts be filled with song!

We travel.

When we shall come upon this place, Lost in folds of time and space, For to that place we must

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return, And thus this place we must adjourn, So why struggle so?

My friend, my friend, my beloved friend!

Tis not this place that is the end, Tis not this why we travel far Or guide by distant morning star.

We go for memories now in hand, Made in that journey to this land, You and I. Of struggles fought and thusly won, Of mountain vista, of warming sun.

Of starry sky against the night, Of dawn-lit meadow growing bright.

Of feelings that cannot convey With word or mouth, our hearts do weigh, We remember.

My friend, you see, this journey thus, Was made for the both of us, And memories o’er the years shan’t fade, Of times in meadows that we laid.

Together we shall ne’er forget, Of this Journey we made of yet, You and I Shall remember, Both now and Forever.

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Jessica Hin

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Short Story Coloring Books Leah Wright A few days ago, my younger sister came into my room at around midnight carrying her sketchbook and separate coloring book. Of course, neither of us were asleep, but it was late, so I told her to get out. She naturally didn’t listen, and proceeded to ask her questions.

because they didn’t believe in themselves and couldn’t say no?

I can’t fix the harm that has already been done, but I can tell you that anything you create is worth something. It’s beautiful, It has value, It is a perfect representation of you that “It is magnificent, deserves to be known in the no matter what any- world.

She asked which colors go together and where on the pattern they should go. I, being an existential jerk of one tells you. It’s an older sister, didn’t want yours.”

Don’t let anyone take your to tell her. She punched me, works of art from you. You and I eventually told her my can listen to preferences, but it got me thinking. comments and grow from them, but keep How much can I do before the picture your art yours. It is magnificent, no matter becomes mine and not hers? what anyone tells you. It’s yours. Don’t ever give it up.

I mean, I picked the colors and chose where they went, but she colored it. We both contributed, but who’s to say who did more for the overall outcome?

Artists, writers, creators of the world, how many suggestions can you accept before ownership of your oeuvre bleeds from yourself to someone else?

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How many truly creative people in history were stifled

PoEMS---Art Fruit of the Mind Dominique Jasper

The mind is a dainty object.

Likely to implode.

But if you treat it right it will bloom just like a rose.

Water me with patience.

Sow me down with care.

Where there once were weeds MagniďŹ cence now grows there.

The Un

known

Kayla G

Below

eorge

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ShORT STORy Pruissa Excerpt

Kayla George A man lie on a single, tiny bed near the center of the otherwise completely white and bare room. His skin was unrealistically pale, white as the freshly fallen snow, with blue veins and spots of green and red making their way to an unsightly surface. He laid on his back with both arms at his sides, the one Elisabeth could see appeared to be thinning with the outline of his bones near his wrist covered just barely by skin. With a step closer, the woman noticed his lips were a pale blue, and his eyes remained shut.

What would have once been silvered eyelashes were now grey and dull, and what would have once been hair as lively as its owner slopped out on the pillow as a soggy mess. She reached a hand out only to stop halfway near the man’s shoulder. He looked so delicate, as if a faint touch could shatter him. Elisabeth let herself me comforted by the gentle whirr of machines and the soft beeps of a heart monitor until she found her gall and spoke, softly, for fear the wind from

her breath would blow him away.

“Gilbert?”

Burgundy eyes opened about half way and the man in question turned his head slowly, to a minute degree, and looked at her. When their eyes met there was a moment of confusion, followed by shock, and finally, a light smile graced the man’s blistered lips.

He looked so delicate, as if a faint touch could shatter him.

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“Elisabeth,” he lifted his arm and gestured with what looked like all his strength to a chair near the bed, “sit.” He coughed after speaking two simple words.

Elisabeth did as she was told, pulled the chair in so it’d be facing his bedside, and took rest in it. The two stayed still for a moment, Gilbert with a weak smile on his face and Elisabeth with a sorrowful expression leaning into his bed.

“Are you okay?” she finally asked.

“Ye-” his voice was horse. He paused to cough again, a pain radiating through

his head and throat as he did so, and spoke again. “Yes. I’m fine.” his head and throat as he did so, and spoke again. “Yes. I’m fine.” with a sorrowful expression leaning into his bed.

“Are you okay?” she finally asked.

and slightly annoying man before her lie near motionless, looking crumpled, and horrid. The corners of her frown began to tremble.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” He shook his head all too slowly.

“I know you said you had suspicions but, you never...told me...” He seemed to smile and frown at the same time.

“Ye-” his voice was horse. He paused to cough again, a pain radiating through his head and throat as he did “Gilbert...” Tears came to the edge of so, and spoke again. “Yes. I’m fine.” her eyes all at once and blurred any vision she could have had, turning her “You don’t look fine.” He smiled furpale friend with an affinity towards ther in response. He felt the gentlest odd hair dyes and red colored-conof touches against his forehead and tacts, and the mattress that held on it let his eyes lull closed to the sensasuch a precious, illuminated life, into tion. nothing more than a mesh of white and red. She couldn’t even be both“Gilbert, you’re freezing cold. Do you ered to blink them back, and stared at know what happened to you?” He her blobby hands as tears slipped off raised an eyebrow in lieu of speakher eyelashes and onto them. They ing. “Internal bleeding, lung damage, streamed over the hills of her dimpled you went into cardiac arrest, stopped cheeks, and stung at the backs of her breathing, not to mention the raneyes. Tears; rueful, sadistic, conspiring dom external wounds...Gilbert you against her, shattering her pride, and almost nearly died.” He opened his keeping her from looking properly at eyes and thought something about the only one in this room who mat‘my awesomeness’ and it not betered. ing possible for him of all people to die, but preferred not to try to speak. “You didn’t tell me it was this bad, Elisabeth removed her hand from his Gilbert.” forehead, dusting some hair out of his face before doing so, and returned it to her side. She sighed, leaned back, and watched the usually boisterous

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FeATURED ArTIS T MINA DUNCAN

restrictions of body image:

Low self-esteem can hinder a person from doing any number of things. It can lead to a person to lose interest in the things they love just because they fear what others will say about them. People that suffer from low self-esteem have a “little voice� inside their head that makes them think of all the horrible things that the people around them could possibly say.

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drowning:

When going through high school, the school work and extra curricular things that you have to do can make you feel as though you are drowning.

insomnia:

Insomnia is the inability to sleep. Artist Mina Duncan brewed a cup of coffee and used the coffee as water color.

Duncan used this technique because of the known fact that coffee is made to help people stay awake. She speciďŹ cally labeled this Insomnia for that very fact- that coffee keeps people awake and so does insomnia.

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Imprint

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in Maggie W

Tangled M i

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Bae Hyunju

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ShOrT STOry Small Talk

Leah Wright Small Talk is defined as “polite conversation about unimportant or uncontroversial matters, especially as engaged in on social occasions.”

I hate small talk so much.

It’s awkward, boring, and though this is kind of immature, stupid.

fort building under the stars.

I want to sooth your worries and tell you how beautiful you are, inside and out. I want to compliment your brain, praise your kindness, and flatter your heart. I want to tell you to take care of yourself and how to love yourself as much as I love you.

I want to debate over politics and religion, the forbidden subjects. I want Can’t you just see it? Two people saying to scream and argue until we’re blue in the face, and agree to disagree. I want something about the weather, one agreeing, the other agreeing, and both to see some passion. wanting to be anywhere but in that I want to feel like I understand you and conversation. what you stand for. I don’t want to walk I don’t want to hear about the weather; away and hate the conversation I just I want to hear about your dreams, your had. I want to actually see you, the real you. hopes, your fears. I want to tell you stories of outlandish adventures, and I want to hear your opinion on the latest I just really hate small talk... article about molecular biology.

I live for your ideas on how to change the world, and your college excursions.

I love to tell you about my childhood

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Worr y

capie

Jessica Hin

Roller Alyssa

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Derby

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Woods

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Madison M

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ShOrT STOry

Adulthood Leah Wright

D

o people become adults at defining points as they grow up or just when we turn 18?

I’ve asked several people about this, and my favorite answer was…

“We become adults when we learn to put another person before ourselves.”

This answer is definite, but allows for some questions to arise.

“Could a kid become an adult when he or she saves someone from misfortune and protects them forever?”

“Could someone never become an adult because they only care about themselves?”

“Are we only adults when we have spouses or 30

kids?”

I think that we become adults when we get dragged kicking and screaming from our little kid dream world, and into the real world. When we get kicked when we’re down one last time, and we start to rise.

When we cry our eyes out all night, and dry them so someone else doesn’t have to see what happened. When we lose something we’d never thought would be lost, and are forced to reshape our lives around it.

This, my dear friends, is when we come of age.

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In Chains

Caitlin McCall

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PoEMS---Art Some Days Allison Bolton

Awkwa rd

Mome

Kayla V

ickers

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nts

Some days just aren’t good.

Cold mornings, To cold days, To sick afternoons And cold days seem colder As the day trickles down From my head To my eyes To my heart To my stomach Then leaves my body Numb that night To linger in my toes My scalp My core Whenever I try To tell myself I am enough

PoEMS---Art Listen to the Panic Jessica Montoya

At night instead of listening to the silence or listening to your breath rise up and down rhythmically with the pulsing lights of the street outside listen to the panic and the fear and the worry and the way your breath goes up down up down with the rattle of the train and the scream of the siren and hear how it keeps you up at night

Listen

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Krista Knap

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MindLock

PoEMS---Art

Jasper Dominique Trapped in the conďŹ nes of my mind.

I explore my prison wrathfully.

Doing the best to bide my time; One day I shall y fearlessly.

Until that day however, I tread the waters that are my sanity.

Fearing that if I dive too deep, Lost is what my hope will be.

Death n i g n i n w Dro lo u

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Sarah Cira

PoEMS---Art

nder

Thu g n i l l o R n a Oce Levi King

The Beat of Your Heart Jessica Monyoya

Let me listen to the beat of your heart Until I tire of it As I tire of ticking clocks And ocean waves Let me pull away Until I again desire to hear your heart With fascination once more As I am fascinated by ticking clocks And ocean waves

Harbored

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Ashley Tsa romises y

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Growth

Paige Barton

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Time’s

Emma

eal It’s a Big D man ush

Morgan B

Up

Babush

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PoEMS---Art

Young Acorn Son Jessican Montoya

rs

olo Natures C Levi King

Young acorn son Stowaway in the sleeve of a wanderer Whose only goal is to get far Rise with the sun Before they can see that you’ve gone Only birdsong and wildowers will bid you goodbye

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Jmonty

Haley Cross

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Babies

ShORT STORy

Leah Wright

here, where so many terrible, like babies. Cute, squirmy little horrible things happen. I’m so balls of laughter who are usu- scared that they won’t be able ally happy and smiling. Alas, to see the good intermingled I feel sorry for babies. I feel so, with the bad, and stay afloat so sorry for that happy little hu- because of that.I like tiny man who’s going to grow up a humans, but I’m so, so, so, so sorry for them. little bit, and eventually come home crying because he or she I’m going to apologize on begot teased on the playground, half of the humans inhabiting the world, because I don’t I feel sorry because that That’s our see anyone else doing it. child will get a bad grade fault, and we I’m sorry, babies, that you and feel like they’re are so, so, so, have to grow up here. We worthless. I feel sorry beso sorry. should have done betcause that child will lose ter to keep this place nice its sense of wonder either by choice, or because it has been for you. I’m sorry you have to lose your sense of wonder, inforced out of them.

When we’re born, everything is nocence, and beauty. That’s our perfect for a while. Then, day by fault, and we are so, so, so, so day, you get a little less happy, a sorry. little bigger, and a little more understanding of the world and its misfortune. I feel so, so sorry for tiny, sleeping babies that 40 will have to grow up

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Contact

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Spaced Ou

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Caitlin Mc

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ities l a e R d e r u Fract son ard

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Amelia

Emma

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Babush

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CoLOPHON Volume twelve of Towodi, the Mill Creek Literary magazine was produced as the cumulative project for the Introduction to Journalism course in the spring term. The theme Geared In was designed by students Tess Davenport, Hannah Nunn, and Victoria McClure.

Geared In represents the entire student body working together. Just like a factory, many different parts come together for the common goal of producing something great. All of the different gears symbolize the uniqueness and diversity of all Mill Creek students. Despite the distinctness of each student, the school community still manages to come together and produce an enjoyable, learning environment.

Submissions to the magazine were solicited from the student body. Over 150 pieces of artwork, photographs, and works of literature were submitted to the Towodi staff from students of all grade levels. The staff members made the ďŹ nal selections from the publication in April, 2017.

Towodi: Geared In was produced using Adobe InDesign 5.5 on lenovo computers and published by Greater Georgia Printers of Athens, GA. The 44 page magazine was printed in full color on #80 stock. One hundred copies were delivered to the school in time for distribution the week before Mother’s Day, and sold to students, staff and the community for $7 a copy.

The Mill Creek journalism program is a member of these journalism organizations: ASPA, CSPA, GSPA, NSPA, and SIPA. The staff of Towodi: Geared In includes: FRONT: editors Tess Davenport, Victoria McClure, Hannah Nunn. ROW TWO: Sydney Stone, Kimberly Brychta, , Grace Everett, Sarah Sulak, Elena Rodriguez, Valeria Alvarez, Reagan Rodriguez. ROW THREE: Emma Williams, Madison Jackson, Myles Jackson, Meghan Hamby, and Essence Vassell.

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