eunoia | Fall 2019

PACT Charter | Volume 5 | Issue 1 | Fall 2019

eunoia

eunoia Vo l u m e 5 | I s s u e 1 | Fa l l 2 019

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Creative Staff Editor-in-Chief Christal Ruppert

Marketing Tommy Bare

Editing

Dresden Anderson

Brielle Holman

Rory LeBlanc

Emma Ellison Design Team Proofreading

Sidney Idowu

Anthony Carlson Jacob Barthel

Sammi Brickman Khloe Stinson

Cover Art: Ella Gessner. Giraffe. Painting.

eunoia is the literary journal of the language arts department at PACT Charter School.

Ramsey, Minnesota

“Everyone say Colorado-” “IMMA GIRAFFE!”

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Dedication To all the people who try to shine through their work in this spectacular collaboration. To all the talented artists, photographers, and writers. We dedicate this eunoia to you all. We enjoyed reading all of your fantastic and thrilling stories/poems and looking at all the drawings/photographs.

We hope you all enjoy this year’s edition of eunoia.

“On all levels except physical, I am a wolf…. ARF!”

Acknowledgements Thank you to all of the people who submitted to eunoia, and a special thanks to Ms. Ruppert and the creative writing class. Thanks to everyone who helped put this all together and make it happen. Also, rest in peace to the creative genius that is Vine.

“What do you have?” “ “A knIfE!” “NO!!”

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Editor’s Notes Eunoia is a collection of writing and art submitted by the students and staff of PACT Charter School. However, it’s not just another showcase, but also the culmination of the talent and passion of the students here at this school. This fall, the eunoia team has been focusing on all the people who find and lose themselves in their art and try to shine their light on this everdarkening world. We’ve been thrilled to find so many people who have done just that. On that note, please enjoy PACT Charter School’s Fall of 2019 eunoia Magazine.

“-and they were room-mates” “OMG they were room-mates”

Once upon a time, when I started eunoia, I didn’t really think about themes. I just picked a pretty picture to make into a poster and ran with it. It was probably around the third edition that I started being more intentional with my poster designs, and I chose a quote from Anne Frank: “Look how a single candle can both defy and define the darkness.”

Years later, light in darkness is still one of the guiding principles of this publication, at least for me. Writing has always been a way for me to define my surroundings, to put a name to the unnamable, to process the things my external senses can’t. This, to me, is the defining part. The defying comes when we write with truth and courage. When we create beauty to put back into a dark, cruel, ugly world.

This year, the creative writing class chose to focus on the symbolism of a lighthouse for our fifth volume. As one student said, “Lighthouses make me think, lonely.” And, sure, art can be lonely.

But it can also draw you in to safe harbor, bring you home to the people who understand the process. Another student said, “This class is kind of like therapy.”

That is my hope for this fall’s edition: Regardless of the content of the pages, I hope you find yourself drawn to the light. I hope these pages serve as charts for an uncharted journey of the human experience. Writers, artists, readers alike, I hope it helps you find your way. Your place.

Your safe harbor.

Christal Ruppert December 2019

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Table of Contents Poetry

What’s an anxiety attack like? | Rebekah Jones…………...………….……….

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Brother | Anonymous ……………………………………….………………….…..

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Fire & Ice | Anthony Carlson ……………………………………………………..

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The Love Inside Me | Lucas Anderson ………………….………………………

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Mother | Khloe Stinson ………………………………….………………….……

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Excuses | Kyra Warner …………………………………………...………………

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The Ignorance of Others | Lucas Anderson ……………………….….…………

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My Thoughts Aren’t Mine | Rebekah Jones ……………………………………

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Fiction

The Chip & The Framework | Izzy Anderson .…………………………………

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To The Ones Less Fortunate | Jacob Barthel …………..………………….....

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Rust | Dresden Anderson……………………...……………..….………………..

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Bus Route | Christal Ruppert ………………………………………..…………..

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Piano | Sammi Brickman ……………………………………….…………………

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Visual Art

Peeking Sunlight| Anthony Carlson ……………………………...…………….

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Untitled | Kelly Lemus ……... ………..………………..…..…..........................

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Home | Megan Pangier ………….……………….………………..………………

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For Honor | Evan Konnad …………………………………..….…………………

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Untitled | Lucas Saburn ………………………….……………...………………..

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Stars | Brenden Jankowski …………………………………….…………………

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Elephant | Olivia Bailey ……………………………………….………………….

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Arizona Wildlife | Jayme Lisell ……………………………………….………….

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Elephant Butts | Aliyah Givand ……………………………………….………..

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Fern | Lucas Saburn ……………………………………….……………………….

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Untitled | Sadie Ellison ……………………………………….……………………

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Peeking Sunlight Anthony Carlson

Photograph

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What’s an anxiety attack like?

Rebekah Jones

Poem It's like a blanket she said A blanket that's too small to cover your whole body You can curl up to keep warm But not too long or you'll have to stretch out When you stretch out for even a second it grabs at your ankles It drags you out of bed and onto your feet Then downstairs, if you're lucky enough to make it that far without passing out When you're downstairs you find yourself screaming for help Not that anyone could help you You then grab at your own hair like it's the only piece of sanity left While you throw up all the medication you take to prevent the blanket from slipping off Which makes the blanket smaller and smaller day by day The next day you're expected to be eating full meals But how can you eat a meal when you feel like your insides are shaking How can you sleep knowing that you have nothing to keep the blanket up when your eyes shut It's like a blanket she said But the blanket seems to keep getting smaller

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Brother

Sinking in your sins Sinking in your self-hatred Your lungs fill with water Anonymous You thought it was air But it’s too late now Poem You’re stuck down here You try to breathe Breathe the relief Get down from your high But it crushes you Before it drags you too low It breaks your mind You were trying to fly And only the fragments of you Trying to fly solo Are left behind You thought you soared above your You’re too far gone to see it problems You reject our love saying But they just buried you It’s not real And now you’re stuck in a grave Acting like it never was A grave you dug with your own When all we ever gave was shovel Love A shovel that led you in with lies We love you Saying it’d make life better We love you But it was really a shovel forged More than you could know Forged out of the negative Yeah emotions You’re drowning The emotions that said And we’re trying to keep you afloat You will never be enough Trying to dig you out of your hole You’re stuck in a hole But you just jump back in What’s the point in trying to get Thinking that you’re getting away out Thinking you’ve escaped When the walls are made of your But you really fell failures You jumped People push their expectations on Jumped off a cliff you You built this prison Adding to the pile You built this cage The pile of dirt A cage of lies Saying Of broken promises “You’re better than this” You want your freedom?

“We know you can succeed” Then why’d you sell it?

“You’re choosing not to be better” You sold it for the drugs But really they’re just sitting there Sold it for the high and Sold it for our love Watching you bleed Thinking we left you to die Watching you drown We didn’t Saying they’re the lifeguard We’ve been here the whole time Saying that they’ll grab your hand You think you’re the only broken And rescue you one?

Really?

Look around If that was true You may be lost in your own mind Then why are you at the bottom But you’ve broken ours too Watching the bubbles rise Broken our hearts Bubbles that held your hopes Broken our faith in you Held your dreams But you’re too blinded now What do you when the bubbles Too blinded to see the truth pop?

You closed the door When the bubbles leave?

Shut the cell You’re And locked it up

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You threw away the key And now you ask where we went When you’re the one that left So now Now we’re watching you burn And there’s nothing we can do It’s torture That we can’t be there for you I’m sorry Maybe if I’d been better Maybe if I’d loved more Maybe if I’d opened the door Maybe if I’d found the key Maybe if I’d been your lifebuoy Maybe if I’d caught you Caught you Before you fell Maybe if I’d seen you Really seen you Before you couldn’t see yourself Maybe it wouldn’t have come to this I can’t save you And I’m sorry Will that ever be enough?

I don’t know Someday Maybe it will be But for now I can’t do anything So I’m sorry And I love you

Untitled Kelly Lemus

Oil on canvas

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The Chip and The Framework Izzy Anderson

Fiction The lights flashed outside my window. New Sacramento was a city whose lights never go off. Billboards and buildings always flashing. The new casino down the street stood tall with it’s green and blues lights doing that weird blinky thing. Tomorrow, the Mid Era Festival starts. It marks the beginning of our new era. It’s also a city-wide birthday party.

You can be born one day, but you only celebrate during the Mid Era Festival. It’s not terrible though being as it lasts for a full week. The best part is getting the chip. You become a citizen, and you get access to the internet. No more having to go to school and on field trips to learn. Now I just use my chip. My best friend, Ray, and I are going to go tomorrow, hopefully, first thing in the morning.

“Phoenix! You excited to go to the festival tomorrow?” My big brother, Samuel Maximus Ryder, was home for once in his life. He lives with two friends on the other side of town. All three of them were only-lonely boys of the family. Each family in this city can have two kids and that’s it. It’s supposed to keep the population down and it works.

“YEAH! Why wouldn’t I be? Though Ray doesn’t seem as excited as I am, I guess. But hey, I turn 13 tomorrow, plus I get the chip. I couldn’t be more excited!” When I’m excited, I tend to just spew whatever comes to my brain. I’m kind of dumb like that, but who cares anyway.

“Phoenix Vincent Ryder! You get to bed this instant! You can talk to your brother tomorrow. Right now you need to get your butt in that bed of yours this minute! I won’t ask again!” My mom only has two volumes. Loud and louder. I guess I’ll go to bed then because she hit louder.

10 Hours Later “Hi, I’m Jack.” That’s what the boy said to my best friend, Lincoln Ray, as they stood there on the street. I didn’t recognize him and it was obvious that Ray didn’t either. We were meeting at the stairs to Dosier Hall, named after our illustrious president Dex Dosier. It’s basically our city hall, only it’s a skyscraper. I heard that before in the early 2000s, city halls were only like two stories but ours is at least 80.

“Ray! I’m right here!” I shouted to her as I waltzed over. I never just walk, but nor do I run. My brother says I tend to swagger or as my mom says, I sashay, but what can I say. I like being noticed. I guess that’s what happens when your parents don’t pay attention to you.

“What are you doing? We need to go in before the line gets too long. C’mon! What are you doing?” I stared at her as she and the boy, Jack, looked at me.

“I’m not getting the chip, Phoenix. Jack was telling me how bad it actually is, and I’ve decided I don’t want it.”

“What!? But… You can just not get it. You said we would get it together!” I shouted at her. I tend to be loud when I’m upset. Actually, I’m always loud. Unfortunately, this time there were some Enforcers nearby.

“Excuse me, miss. Did we hear you say that you wouldn’t be getting the chip?” One of the two near us said as they walked over.

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“Um, yessir. I did. Uh, is that a problem.” Lincoln looked a little uncomfortable as she talked to them, which made me feel bad.

“Alright then. I’d like you to follow me then. We have a special place for those who choose not to get the chip. It gives you access to the internet, being as you won’t have the chip.” And with that, they took her away from me. I tried to follow but they wouldn’t let me. I yelled, wanting to know what they would do, but they just ignored me. I turned and looked at Jack, desperate for an answer, “Where are they taking her?”

Another 10 hours later

They took her to the huge black building near the edge of the city. There aren’t any lights on that building, it’s joyless, hopeless, dark. Jack told me it’s because of all the energy they are using inside. They put all the people without chips in this thing called The Framework. It’s a super complex program. Basically an alternate reality kind of program. Creepy, right?

“You ready?” Jack said from our position outside the sewer. We were using that to get into the building’s basement and then we would go from there. I simply nodded and we climbed down into it from the alley we had been sitting in for a couple of hours.

2 hours later Bang! Bang! Ping! That was the sound of bullets hitting the heavy steel doors we were camped behind. We had taken the second floor where all the ‘sleeping’ people were. We had found some prisoners in the basement, who were guards that tried to leave or tell others about what was really going on there.

“Can you put another one of those cabinets in front of the doors? Please?” Jack said from the computers lining the west wall.

“Of course, Oh Ye Of Little Faith And Much Computer Knowledge.”

“You ready to go in? Whoever was controlling this decided to start shutting it down not long after we made the mistake of starting a revolution.”

“Yeah, I’m ready. You have the mic so I can talk to you? Also, that group that left a minute ago went to get more weapons from that room on the fifth floor. They should be back in no fewer than five minutes.” I laid down on one of the empty beds and put on the headgear. I was going in to find Ray, lead everyone else out through a door that Jack would make, and THEN I had to make sure that the program was shut down from inside. That required that I stay inside, but unfortunately we haven’t figured out a way to get me out before it shuts down completely. I guess we will see if Jack can make a door fast enough out of the main room. The world is supposed to have the same building and if I can shut down that building in there, then it should shut down The Framework out here. If not, well, I guess, it’s goodbye world. Though it’s really not that bad of a way to end, I guess, I mean at least I’ll be helping the rest of the people here get home to their families.

“Alright. Send me in.” And with that, I was out and in another yet the same world.

4 hours later “Darn it. LINCOLN-RAY! COME OUT, COME OUT, WHEREVER YOU ARE!” I had been wandering around looking for her for the past couple of hours. I finally got to that big black building, except it wasn’t black and scary. It was pretty normal looking, and to be honest kind of cool. I noticed a large line of people going outside the door. That’s when I heard her yelling.

“Come on, everyone! Go to the room with all of the computers on the wall. My friend, Jack, said he would have the door open in a minute. PHOENIX? What are you doing here? You need to leave with the rest of us.”

“Ha, that’s really funny since it’s you who needs to go. No, no arguing. Get up there now 13

and leave. I’ll make sure the rest of these people get out as well. This was the reason I came in. If I can, I’ll get out too. If not… Well, I guess that’s a bummer for me.” I looked at Ray. I could tell she wanted to argue but I knew she wouldn’t. I just gave her a hug and watched her walk towards the front of the line. I looked around as she did so. The line was considerably smaller than when I looked a couple of minutes ago.

“All right y’all! Let’s move. We need to get you home to your families.” I move through the doors. I see on the screen is Jack’s face. Ray is with him “Hey, buddy! I hope you are keeping up with all the kiddos coming through. Ray! Glad you made it back,” Both of them looked sad. “What’s going on? Never mind, I know. I got the stuff with me right here. I’ll be alright. I’m turning this off though. Don’t want you guys to see me blow to millions of pieces, right? Well, that was the last of the people. Bye, Ray. Take care of the others. Bye, Jack. I wish I could have gotten to know you a little more.” With that, I signed off. I tried not to think of the fact that I was about to die. I put the dynamite all over the room and then walked over to the middle of the room. I looked around the room and then pulled out some matches. I stuck them on the side of the box and tossed them at the pile of explosives and watch as it started to burn. I was too young to be dying, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

Not how I imagined going but… As Robert Frost said, “Some say the world will end in fire, others say ice.” I guess it’s the former. Then there was a flash, a little pain, and then nothing.

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Fire & Ice

engulfed in the path of destruction Peace left this world, it had no part in this warfare, the fiery demon cast Anthony Carlson out the angels Ice melted Poem Water evaporated The land dried into a desert “Fire and Ice don’t make snow The fire grew with every day and Anger and Hate do not make night, engulfing pain and suffering resolutions to all that came against it Fire and Ice only make worsen On the third year of his rampage, Only to be calmed, by the watery the fire started to die solution” There was no land to overthrow, The lands were placed, with forests There was no sea to destroy blooming with love There was no ice to melt, there was The sea calmed within her own, only Fire, and couldn’t manage to with waves of relievement to wash survive on his own on the shore Peace saw this. He saw all that the The sun was to look down and see fire had committed all was perfect, and all was good The fire was all but a torch, around The magical world was perfect, it lay the dead world perfect harmony, perfect tranquility, The fire looked up at Peace, “Where perfect were you?”

The fiery flames against the chilled Peace answered, “I was where I was ice needed, you never looked for help, The ice piercing through the skin of just yourself.” one's cheeks “I’ve killed and I’ve taken all, now The only way to become even with there is nothing for me.” Fire both two Quarrels proclaimed Is to breathe in, the watery solution “Fire you fool, to think that this is The fire attacks the ice over your end, is nothing more than a The ice fights back against the hell foolish proclamation,” Peace said flames “How am I to renew?” Fire asked in Raged in anger the fire overcomes his dying breath And the ice is known, to whom has With that, a rumple of activity won shook the earth Fire looked to the sky, where his Water erupted from the dead world power came from It’s carried along with life away Sun from the dead Sun’s power was to enraged his evil Water swallowed the earth as fire purpose stood behind Peace, shocked in fear With that Fire jumped to the Water glided over to Peace with Fire heavens and drained the stars heat. cowardly behind Balance, disturbed.

“Peace…,” Fire croaked, With the balance gone, the peace is “Forgiveness…” gone With that, wings erupted from The Fire takes over the land and Peace and Air was summoned over the sea Air picked up Fire and soar through Forests full of life and peace are the sky

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Fire closed his eyes as the Air tore into the black covered sky Fire opened his eyes and saw that the black smoke that he caused was changed to a blue Fire couldn’t bare to look at the beauty, so Fire fell into a deep sleep Air slumped to the ground and the dead home of fire erupted from the sea Air slowly lay the kindle left of Fire on the volcanic floor Peace stood at the top of the home of Fire and said, “There will be a time for your return,” With that the top of Fire’s home closing in, Fire opened his eyes and breathed his last Peace left the rugged home, with the heart of Fire in his right hand Peace flew above the circling world and looked down upon it He looked at the heart of fire and knew how to make everything survive with the unbalance He flew till he reached the dead star Peace gave the dead star a new heart, and the star was renewed Fire awoke after his years of sleep with a shining ball of heat touched his face Sun He rose to the top of his home to see all that had surrounded his home Forests have grown at the base of his home with Water surrounding the forests Peace came down and met Fire saying, “Your sacrifice has saved your own life,” Fire responded, “What is that in the sky?”

Peace smiled at him with a wave of his hand, “Your raged storm caused a new birth. The dead rose. Sun rose,” With that, the Sun shined with warmth and Fire had rekindled his own, breathing in the new balance.

The Love Inside Me

Is to lead the charge Fight the battle

Lucas Anderson

And finish the work of our forefathers

Poem

Let my love shine throughout the world Let my love burn bright and quick

My soul is shattered

Let me heal.

My spirit crushed

I seek healing

My heart rent in two

I seek peace

I am beaten down, broken

I seek rest

But the fires of love within me

I am full of love

Burn with relentless, unquenchable heat.

And I search unceasingly

I am weary, so weary

For someone who will share my affection

Ready to collapse

For someone to heal me

I carry my pain

For someone to love me

Chained inside, dragging me down

But who can love

Down, into darkness.

A shattered, broken Man?

But the fires of love within me

Who can mend the wounds

Warm me, comfort me, sustain me.

Clean the infection

You look at me, think you know me

And heal my heart?

But you see a mask

Who will extend their hand

A fixed, impersonal face

Pull me from my cage

You see light

Wash away my misery

That covers the darkness within

And wipe away my pain?

You see a bandage

Light up the darkness

That covers the poison within

With the fires of love

The love inside me begins to falter

And let me rest.

Shrinks back from the evil all around.

My only desire

I have searched my whole life

Is to right the wrongs

Searching, ever searching

Fix the hurts

And still, my journey continues

Find Peace from Hate

Meandering over the horizon, awash with the light of a new day.

And Order from Chaos Unity from Separation My purpose

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Home Megan Pangier

Photograph

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To The Ones Less Fortunate Jacob Barthel

Fiction

When the broadcast was sent out, the ground seemed to vibrate from the screams. The men, the women, the children, all thrown into a panic. The smart ones found their basements and made a beeline for it. The less fortunate either began to bawl their eyes out or simply tried to write it off as some sort of prank, although deep down everyone knew this was not some sick joke that they decided to pull.

The town’s meeting began as normal. Mr. and Mrs. Barbreton arrived with the snacks, the delicious peanut butter & chocolate cookies that just melt in your mouth, but also the mint ones that no one ever seemed to touch. Chairman Bee and her secretary, Mark, sat at the head of the table with a large stack of papers. The roll call begins. Barbreton, both Mr. and Mrs. Wilbur. Frances. Abrham.

Rakes. Symons. Braxton. Herriot. Sherman, both Mr. and Mrs. Millward.

The group is reminded of Bee’s podcast, even though she knows that no one listens to it except Frances. The recap is about the same as it always was. A newlywed is celebrated, even if it’s bittersweet. The town knows that the husband wants to move to the South with his parents. It’s only a matter of time. The library is missing another set of books and even though they try to play it off like someone simply forgot to check back in and they were going to investigate it, they’ll drop the case in a week. The more knowledgeable see all that happens in this town, is it suspicious that the garbage load from the library is normally quite light, but last week it was suspiciously ten books worth heavy.

A hush when Bee calls for attention. “Now that we have that out of the way, we have a guest speaker.”

A guest speaker?! The crowd is filled with excitement. Finally, they had something interesting. Some are more skeptical, “Remember the last speaker? She droned on about her cats.” The optimistic felt like this would be the day that something exciting would happen.

The front door opens. A man with a black tuxedo and a bright green tie, followed by two men with heavy vests and weapons in each pocket.

The meeting was adjourned. There was a hesitant clap to end it off, and a slow walk outside for all the members of the chair. Following them was everyone else.

“Braxton.”

“Yes, Mrs. Millward?”

“What in the world was that all about?”

Braxton took out a cigarette and lit it. “If I knew, miss, I woulda said somethin’. You know I speak my mind how I see it.”

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“Come off it! This surely must be an endangerment to our town!”

“You think I don’t know that?! If I had the power, I’da sent that stuck-up pretty boy back home, crying to mama. If you want somethin’ done, take it up with Mayor Preston.”

With a huff, Mrs. Millward stormed off. Braxton tossed his cigarette in the bin, he knew what would have to be done.

After the meeting, the town continued to exchange worried glances with each other. The basements of all the houses seemed to wail as stuff was loaded into them. One of the older town members had some posters up on his door, and even though people desperately wanted to come in his eyes twitched as they lined up at the door.

The hysteria continues, but not for long. The flashing televisions and the blaring sirens.

A mother and two little girls. Hidden below in a cellar, listening to the screams, the rocking of the foundation above them, wondering how long it will take for father to be helping those less fortunate.

This is how it feels.

To lose what you love.

To others. Greed. Selfishness.

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Rust Dresden Anderson

Fiction Clunk The Machine starts up once again, grinding to find its footing and get up. The gears turn and the frame rumbles quietly. The pipes squealing in opposition to the attempted movement and The Machine doesn’t move.

“Why?” the pipes seem to ask as The Machine powers down.

“We only know what, and how,” the gears return. The engineer comes by and gives the side a smack before starting it again.

Thunk... Ping The gears grind a find their mark. The pipes squeal again, yet The Machine is up. But the pipes are cracked, the engine is coughing, the circuits are fried, the gears are moaning. It begins to move but with no reason, purposeless. The Machine used to start right up. Used to work fast. Used to make the engineer proud. Used to feel good.

Used to.

Crunch The machine starts to move slowly, and begin its work. The others are already out working. Those near the Machine sometimes clang back as if to say, “We see your wear, what is broken.” The Machine simply coughs a quiet “Sorry, nothing” in reply. The Machine carefully hides the cracks and the noises. The Machine sees the concern but can’t bring itself to be fixed. When it was better it was happy, but now it’s broken. It reminds itself of how disappointing it is for the engineer and for the others. All it does is break.

Clang The machine shuts down. Shuts down like every night. Shuts down after a day of feeling slow, of feeling like it should be shut down for good. Like it’s running low on power every second of every day since it can’t remember and should stop being a burden, an extra weight.

Bang The sound the machine waits to hear. The sound that would finally say, “I’m done. I can’t go on any farther. I know I didn’t do enough but I can’t do any more”. Then it’ll turn off and never come back on again. The engineer may miss it and the machines it worked with may have to do more but they will work on and the machine's life will have meant nothing. Its broken pipes lay in a heap, collecting rust.

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For Honor Evan Konnad

Drawing

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Untitled Lucas Saburn

Photograph

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Mother Khloe Stinson

Poem I’m not sure I’m made out to be a mom If it was a girl she would just end up having another breakable heart just like her mom I think that’s my biggest worry Having a girl The day she says she's fallen in love is the day she is no longer mine She’ll change herself for him no matter my warnings She’ll wear her heart on her sleeve, which is already covered in bandaids Because no matter how many times I say “I love you” Her ears will be plugged from boys who’ve said “not interested”

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Excuses Kyra Warner

Poem Excuses are the nicotine in the cigarettes that you smoke daily.

Inhaling the fire of your problems into your lungs And exhaling what you think is peace But it's only a matter of time Before you need another And another AndYou are addicted.

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Stars Brenden Jankowski

Photograph

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Elephant Olivia Bailey

Painting

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Bus Route Christal Ruppert

Fiction

The first time he saw her on the bus, she was wearing yellow.

He remembered because it was so unusual. The city bus always ran the same route and carried the same people in the same monochromatic tones. Jonah had them all memorized. At 6:15 in the morning, Mrs. Collins boarded the bus in her long slate-colored overcoat and black shoes. At 6:37, Mr. Snell's brown loafers climbed the steps and his dark khaki pants creased on the seat just behind the driver. One by one, the grey and black and pewter commuters made their way down the aisle and back. It always happened like this, every day, since Jonah could remember.

Until one day, she boarded the bus at 7:13 in a yellow sweater and blue Converse sneakers.

Even Titus noticed -- Titus, who looked up from his phone for nothing less than the squall of a tornado or the crack of gunshots. He elbowed Jonah's rib with a force and suddenness that made him squawk. The girl glanced at them on her way by, eyebrow elevated. Jonah blushed crimson and looked down at his hands.

The girl continued down the aisle, dropped into a seat, and the bus continued.

She didn't get off at their stop, Jonah noted, and this felt significant. He'd been riding the city bus to school for the last three years, ever since his sister Allie had graduated and stopped giving him rides.

It was a long route; Jonah boarded early to make it across town by the time school started, but it yielded certain advantages in the people-watching department. Yet in three years of careful observation, he'd never seen her before.

Titus shoved his phone in his pocket as they were shunted through the school doors with their blazerclad classmates. "That was weird. She looked our age, right? Sweet kicks."

Jonah nodded but said nothing. If not their stop, then where? The bus route didn't extend far past Danvers Prep. If the girl was going to school, she'd be walking from the last stop, or transferring busses, but that was unlikely, too. They were on the skirts of the suburbs; kids at school cracked jokes about how DP was the closest thing to prison the founders could have made because it had a gated campus and no escape routes.

Titus was still talking. "I wonder how she keeps them so bright. Maybe she just never wears them?

No scuffs or anything."

"Maybe they're new." Jonah fought to reemerge from his spiraling curiosity.

The bell rang for first hour, and the stranger on the bus faded from Jonah's mind, replaced by AP World History and pre-calculus. It wasn't until after school that he remembered her.

"Joe!" Allie waved him over in the costume shop, where she was holding a messy sheaf of papers and had a measuring tape draped around her neck. "I'll give you a ride home tonight after rehearsal. I already told Dad." 27

"Oh. Right." He felt his brow furrow. "I thought you weren't going to be here tonight. Aren't costumes finished?"

"Artistic director," Allie reminded him, waving the papers. "I'm here for the long haul." She frowned.

"Unless you really want to ride the bus?"

Jonah tried to make his laugh sound casual. "Ride the bus after five on a weekday across town? No thanks. I'm glad you're here."

He hurried back up the steps to the theater, leaving Allie with her suspicions. He wanted to see if the yellow-sweater girl was on the bus this evening — though that was stupid. She probably wouldn't be riding the bus after his play rehearsal anyway. A ride from Allie would be better.

He kept a keen eye out for her the next morning, doing an even worse job than usual at looking casual. Mrs. Collins boarded at 6:15; Mr. Snell took his place at 6:37. Jonas' leg started bouncing with tension when Titus shuffled to the seat beside him at 6:52, but Titus was already too consumed in his video game to notice. At 6:58, the bus pulled to a hissing halt at the stop before hers. A dismallooking group entered, some clutching coffees, most looking sleep-deprived. Jonah jerked forward as the bus started moving and had to catch himself on the rollbar on the seat in front of him. He gripped it for the next few blocks as his watch inched along: 7:02...7:06...7:10...

At 7:12, the bus pulled up at the Nevada Avenue stop. There was a window of chaos as some patrons shuffled off and more shuffled on. Jonah sat up straighter to get a good look at the stranger with the yellow sweater and blue Chucks.

But she never boarded the bus. *** The second time he saw her on the bus, she was wearing orange.

It had been a week and a half—not that Jonah was counting — and life had moved on as it always did. Passengers got on and off the bus. A pre-calc test loomed threateningly and then passed with a mere ripple of displeasure in its wake. Titus passed another few levels in his game. The tides of Danvers Prep ebbed and flowed as students turned in their homework, copied down notes, constructed projects, and manufactured new drama in the hallways.

The play took up most of Jonah's concentration. He was Peter Quince, leader of the Rude Mechanicals, in the spring production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Between Allie running the artistic side and his oldest sister Mia directing, Jonah stayed late at every rehearsal — whether called or not — and had his lines memorized in record time.

He was mentally running through his lines in his head that morning, barely noticing the passengers as the bus lurched from stop to stop. But her bright orange windbreaker made him lose his place.

Once again, she tossed a careless glance his way before she found a seat near the back.

"Did you see that?" Jonah hissed.

Titus didn't even glance up. "See what?" Apparently the blue Converse were less interesting today.

"I didn't even say anything and she looked at us."

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"Who?" "Never mind." Jonah slumped back against his seat and watched passively as the elderly lady in front of him swayed to some nonexistent music. He wasn't sure why the mystery girl was so fascinating - by all accounts, she wasn't. He'd never stood next to her, but Jonah estimated she was maybe a few inches shorter than he. She didn't wear glasses or have any remarkable physical characteristics. Her hair was a perfectly average shade of brown.

And yet.

She wore bright colors in the gloom of midwinter — and, bonus, no winter coat. She had pristine blue sneakers and boarded the bus near the end of the route and rode past Danvers Prep on an unpredictable schedule.

Ever since he could remember, the variables in Jonah Hoffman's life had been controlled. In the absence of a mother, his two older sisters had incurred strict bedtimes and curfews. His father had been meticulous about ensuring Jonah ate all the necessary servings of various food groups, drank plenty of water, and exercised regularly. Without fail, his backpack had been placed beside the front door every night, homework completed, everything but the next day's lunch already packed.

His bus ride lasted the same amount of time each day, and generally, the same crowd rode the route with him. Titus worked his way through a new fantasy video game every two months.

Danvers Preparatory Academy - its bell schedule, its hallways, its teachers and drama-generating students - had functioned the same since Jonah started kindergarten there. It was comforting the same way math was comforting: Everything had a prescribed set of reactions, and the universe functioned within the limitations. Rare was the anomaly in Jonah's world.

Today, the girl exited the bus at the stop before Danvers Prep.

Jonah's head continued to spin. *** The third time he saw her on the bus, she was wearing purple.

It was really more of an orchid, Jonah decided, though it was still unusual as purple was usually classified as a cool color, and up to this point the stranger had worn warm colors - he'd expected a red next, or maybe pink. Her blue sneakers remained perfectly unscuffed, and though the colors would have clashed on any other person, on her they looked... good.

It was two days later, and afternoon - the first after-school bus ride Jonah had taken since her initial appearance. Allie was out sick from rehearsal, and Mia was going out afterward. She hadn't told Jonah with whom she was going out, but he hedged a guess that it was Mr. Cole, the industrial arts teacher; Mia had pretty easy tells. Since he wasn't called for rehearsal and didn't have a ride with either sister, he trekked to the bus station and mentally prepared himself for the afternoon cross-town traffic.

She was already on the bus.

He registered her presence and her orchid cardigan with a blush and sank into the nearest empty seat he could find. The man in the seat next to him gave no more than a cursory glance and grunt 29

and turned back to his phone. Jonah could hear the tinny music from the man's earbuds. Jonah turned his attention to his shoes and felt grateful that Titus was at least his morning bus buddy.

Jonah's thoughts churned with the wheels on the asphalt. She was here. In the afternoon. He wondered how many afternoon rides he'd missed. Was there a pattern to be derived in the afternoon, since the morning one didn't seem to exist? What about her color choices? The one semblance of order she'd shown in two sightings was now totally thrown off — though, Jonah reminded himself, two occurrences hardly counted as a pattern. That had simply been his imagination, his wishful thinking.

Jonah was vaguely aware of the stop where his seat partner bumped his knees in an attempt to exit the bus. He was mentally running through his pre-calc homework, his lines — anything to get his mind off the strange girl and her apparent disregard for order — when she appeared at his elbow.

"Is that seat taken?"

Jonah blinked. She was pointing at the vacated spot next to him, even though she already had a seat farther back. And she was talking to him, like she wanted to sit there. He scrambled to recover.

"No, no it isn't." He slid to the window seat so she wouldn't have to bump past him.

Her slide into the seat was graceful, though her backpack was unzipped and overflowing. The sleeve of another sweater (this one a light green) dangled out of the main pouch. This was another incongruity that Jonah wasn't sure how to reconcile: Jumbled and nimble seemed like oxymorons.

"I've seen you on the bus before," she said without preamble. "In the mornings. You watch people."

"I've seen you, too." He nodded to her feet. "Blue Converse."

She studied them, too. "I have a pair in every color, but I like the blue ones best."

Jonah's head launched into mental calculations of the cost of so many Converse All-Star sneakers.

"Just the ROY G BIV colors," she corrected. "And some of them were secondhand. Don't overextend yourself, there."

Before Jonah could respond, the bus stuttered to a stop at 69th Street, and the girl made an abrupt grab for her backpack. She shot him a quick grin. "See you around."

And then she was gone.

Jonah rubbed his temple. This wasn't the stop where she boarded in the mornings. She had approached him and talked about the morning bus route and been able to tell he was running calculations. And — Jonah looked down at the space her backpack had occupied — she had left behind a notebook. *** The fourth time he saw her on the bus, she was wearing green.

Jonah recognized it as the same green sweater that had been spilling from her backpack at their last tete-a-tete as she boarded at Nevada Avenue, sent a small smile his way, and made her way to 30

the back. Once again, Titus didn't notice his tense shoulders or sweaty palms. The girl's notebook sat just inside his backpack, waiting for the right moment.

"It was probably an accident," Allie had told him a few days ago when Jonah had told her about the mystery girl. "You said stuff was falling out of her backpack."

"What if it wasn't?" Jonah pressed. "Nothing about this girl seems like an accident. What if she left it on purpose? Am I supposed to read it?"

Allie sighed and pulled to a stop at a traffic light. "You said yourself, Joe, that she defies patterns. I doubt you're supposed to read it. It's too weird to be anything but an accident."

But it didn't seem that way to Jonah.

The notebook was simple and unassuming: It was a one-subject, spiral-bound, college-ruled notebook with a yellow cover, yellow like the sweater she wore the first day on the bus. He'd dared to flip through some of the pages, not pausing long enough to read anything but enough to notice the loops in her y's and g's, the straight backbones of her t's and b's. Many of the pages were filled not with writing, but with doodles and sketches and comic panels. Some were done in graphite, but many were in colored pencil.

It fit her — or, what little Jonah knew of her.

He watched carefully out of the corner of his eye as the bus trundled down its normal route. At the 77th Street stop, the dark coat next to the green sweater pushed past her to the aisle and exited the bus. Jonah palmed his jeans, grabbed his backpack, and made his way farther down the aisle toward her.

"Is that seat taken?"

She smiled at his mimicry. "Not at all." She moved over. "What about your friend?"

Jonah glanced up the aisle at Titus. "He doesn't even know I'm gone. I'll catch up with him at our stop." The said stop was drawing ever closer as the bus rumbled over the Medicine Valley River bridge. Jonah took a bracing breath and plunged. "The statistical probability of seeing you again in the next week is about 300 to one, and the likelihood of matching your shoes to your shirt is even lower."

The slight tilt of her mouth gave the impression of amusement. "I didn't peg you for a numbers guy until you started calculating the cost of my shoes, but it makes sense. The way you watch people, I mean."

"I could tell you were artistic," Jonah countered, reaching into his backpack, "long before you left this behind."

The bus pulled up to Jonah's stop, and he quickly rezipped his backpack and shouldered it. The girl accepted the yellow notebook with a look of surprise, but Jonah didn't let himself dwell on the way her sweater made her eyes look brighter. He was halfway down the aisle when she called out.

"Hey, kid!"

He stopped and turned.

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"What can I call you?"

Her wording was unusual, but the bus wouldn't be stopped long enough to dissect it. "Jonah."

She smiled. "Clara."

He grinned until Titus jabbed him in the ribs. He let himself be led off the bus and shoved down the sidewalk and through the gates of Danvers Prep. He didn't know when he'd see her again or what color she'd be wearing when he did, or at what stop she'd board or exit, or why her appearances were so sporadic. He didn't know if she'd find the post-it note he'd left in her notebook, or what would happen if she did. But there was one less variable in this equation.

He had her name.

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Arizona Wildlife Jayme Lisell

Photograph

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The Ignorance of Others Lucas Anderson

Poem The ignorance of others, is more than I can bear.

The assumptions they have, and the judgments they make.

These foolish little lies are more than I can take.

And like a disease, the only cure.

They twist my words, and they twist my heart.

Is a cleansing by fire that’s true and pure.

They pierce my soul with a poison dart.

So don’t be like me, don’t bottle it up.

They think they know me but they really don’t.

Speak with your loved ones, and let them help.

Why don’t they just ask? I do not know.

I was bullied for eight years with nary a rest.

They put words in my mouth and make me choke.

Don’t let them do that to you, stand up for yourself.

Their comments are thoughtless, they sting like Let the Sun bring you joy, and lt the Moon bring you rest. a bee.

Don’t listen to your mind, don’t give in to the Their words lash like a whip and bring me to test. my knees.

They call me their friend but leave me behind.

What could possibly be going on in their minds?

I try to speak up, but they just drown me out.

You don’t have to care about the ignorance of others.

Just be yourself, that will be enough.

I try to explain, but they just sit around.

I try to do better, but it’s never enough.

Why can’t they just accept me and let it be?

The anger that burned and the tears that I’ve wept.

I begin my journey to find my cure, let me bring some back for you.

I locked up inside and like a secret I kept.

And I wondered how long it would be, before off of the cliff, I lept.

This feeling inside me, this burning, this passion.

Has done naught but grow, like a lethal infection.

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Elephant Butts Aliyah Givand

Watercolor

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Fern Lucas Saburn

Photograph

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Piano Sammi Brickman

Fiction The day I got kidnapped, was the day my hearing never hindered me and I actually missed my eyesight.

I had a routine. So I knew where everything was and at what time. Other than the general morning routines -- like eat, sleep, school, bathroom and then to start over again the next day -mine more so consisted of… piano. Yes, only that one word. It's everywhere in my life. Morning, noon, and night.

Ever since I lost my eyesight when I was 10, I've been teaching myself. I had just started a few years back and instantly fell in love with the way the piano made me feel. The sound so soothing; dulcet, lilting, melodic. It quickly became my everything. Then my only solace.

When I lost my sight, my life stopped and I became very depressed. I had to drop everything and start anew. New school, new friends, new routine, new feelings, new senses. My solace didn't save me at first. I was so scared that I couldn't see the one good thing in my life. So afraid that if I went back, it would change my view and it wouldn't sound the same.

I got to know a lot more people. The nurses and doctors became my new friends. The hospital, the therapy, the classes, became my new norm and my new routine.

Mr. Daniels became my new best friend. He was a little weird at first and a little distant but then he approached me and. He was great, but also my teacher/therapist -- since he did it better than my actual therapist. Some find that weird, but I warmed up to it a little more each day. He's the only one that has had this happen in his life and still understands it even though he himself isn't blind. He keeps telling me that I should pick up the piano again. He says that it could be good for my health, for it to be my coping mechanism at home. So I gave it a try. The first time hearing it again washed over me in waves.

“I forgot how much I missed this.” I said to myself.

Once I started, I was on a role. I only got up to eat and then end the day. So excited to wake up and play. So excited to come back home and play. So excited to stop eating -- and not choke on something -- and get some time in before bed. It was like before, just leaving the house more within the day.

One day -- like any other -- I heard the door open. I stopped playing the piano. With how long I have been playing and knowing my appointment time isn’t for another hour, that shouldn’t be my parents.

“Unless they got off early?” I whispered to myself, head down trying to listen to the scruff of the shoes against the wood floor. I hear the soft shuffle of shoes and not the hard clank of heels, so it isn’t my mother. So it must be dad. I started to softly play the piano again, where I could still hear the scruff of shoes just in case.

The stride sounded heavier than my fathers, the feet dragged and stomped a little harder too. A little too hesitantly distinctive in his own home -- if it even was my father. The footsteps approached, my muscles got tenser. My breath, ragged and shallow. The footsteps stopped in the doorway and hesitated. The sound louder and louder in my ears, that's all I heard and felt on the inside. The terror that something was going to happen to me. Then it did.

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To gigantic hands grabbed my hand and mouth. I could feel anything and my screams were muffled. This is definitely not my father.

“Shhhhhhh!!” The captor said close to my ear. He started to drag me outside by the way he was going. Once I was in whatever vehicle this man brought I started to reason with him. Even if I tried to run I wouldn't make it far. I can't see anything, and I wouldn't recognize anything once we started moving.

“P-p-please….. Please, let me go. I'm scared and I don’t understand what is going on. Whatever it is that you want, I'm sure we can figure something out.” I gulp and wait in the deafening silence of the car. My fingers playing keys of the new song I’m learning, to calm myself down for this.

After a few pauses for breath, he spoke, “I’m sorry this had to happen. I really am. You wouldn’t understand, and It's nothing material that you can give….. only you.” that last part spoken in a soft whisper. By the first word, I could recognize who it was -- and I really hoped for the first time my hearing had failed me.

“Mr…. Mr. Daniels?”

Silence again.

The van came to a sudden stop and I started to really panic. Either my reasoning worked and he changed his mind or -- sadly, the more likely side -- we have arrived at his destination. By the smell wafting from his open door and his pacing feet hitting asphalt instead of concrete, he did not turn around, and I am nowhere near home.

When he was done, he came for me. In my head, I used a technique that my other teachers told me to use to get used to my surroundings. If I can count how many steps I take and use a sense of echolocation than I can at least know what's around me and at the very, very least I will know what direction to run in if it comes to that.

I will fight.

I will fight.

I Will fight.

I WILL fight!

I chanted this to myself when I was set down in a chair in a damp room. It took 125 steps to get to the building in a straight line. We took a left turn for 25 steps then a right turn for 13. Then we hit the building. We took 2 left turns and 1 right all a total of 64 steps. Now… It's a matter of how and when.

“I have to try…” I said to myself when Mr. Daniels left the room.

Once he got back he walked up to me and crouched in front of me. His left hand made me flinch when he started to slowly caress my face. He started by mumbling incoherent things to himself while repeating the motion. I was starting to squirm when I heard certain words float coherently my way. “Mine… soft… what would she think?...”

No has to be the time. Once his finger gets close to my mouth I take it in my mouth and bite it as hard as I can. He lets out a painful yelp. I stand to my feet as fast as I can and push him over. I don't even glance back, and head in the direction of the door that I heard him enter and exit from.

Not even 2 steps towards the door, I feel a hand grab my foot and I slam face-first into the cold concrete floor. Everything stopped.

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Everything was slowly coming back. A low humming of the light overhead, a door closing in the distance. It was hard to breathe and I could feel the warm blood dripping down my face. The spot on my head was burning and everything was slight. My panic was subdued because at this point I couldn't tell what was real and what was a pain-filled delusion.

I heard stomping in the distance slowly approaching, and then all at once a big crash.

“How! How could you do this to me! I was… we were… us ...” His ramblings got more heated with anger and it looked as if this conversation was happening with himself, and I'm only hearing a little bit of what wants to come out.

“I-I-I didn't -” “Don’t!” His head whipped toward me and he stormed towards me with malice in his eyes and his hands forward, aimed for my neck. I tried to break away but he was too fast. To driven. He was out to kill. Once his hands were wrapped around my neck I knew it was over. Everything started to leave me gradually. My will, my happiness, my family, my breath, my fear, my love, my hearing.

My piano.

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My Thoughts Aren’t Mine Rebekah Jones

Poem My only thoughts are ones I’ve adopted from other people’s words I am the creation of many people’s actions The ticks you’ve noticed Those aren’t mine either I flinch because I was shown that I should I didn’t start off this way My fears and sorrows were given to me like a baby on the doorstep of a rich man they were given to me without my knowledge I will care for them like the rich man would this new life First I will search for answers as to where I’ve been forced into adopting these unwanted worries With no answers I’ll keep them I’ll watch them grow into these big strong creatures that I am unable to control I didn’t create them I didn’t ask But they are mine to take responsibility for I will feed them and nurture them I will try to coax them out of their stubbornness purely for my benefit I’ll question where they got their unwillingness to bend with my will and then I will remember They’re the ones with the power over me.

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Untitled Sadie Ellison

Watercolor

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Contributor’s Notes

Jayme Lisell teaches Spanish at PACT. She enjoys spending time with family and friends, reading, photography, travel, playing Nintendo and speaking Spanish on a daily basis. Her photos hardly ever include people; rather she focuses on the beauty and culture of the world around her. When she's not teaching or making up stories in Spanish with her classes, you can find her gallivanting around somewhere in Europe.

Jacob Barthel is in his senior year. He enjoys video games, reading, and hanging out with his friends.

He hates anime that isn't related to video games and horror movies. If you can't find him, check the corner, as he's probably sitting there on a laptop or reading a book.

Dresden Anderson is a sophomore and needs everyone to know that his sleep schedule is in shambles. :) Khloe Stinson wishes Rose jumped off the ship.

Anthony Carlson is a junior of 2021. He has this thing called the favorite five, which include the following: Theater, Soccer, Music, Family/Friends, and God. One of his best friends is his fluff ball called Ada. She is Anthony's stress reliever. He wants to give you words of encouragement...... "Do it."

Bekah Jones can't tie her shoes correctly.

Kyra Warner is a sophomore at PACT. She likes eating food, Netflix, and sharing butter with the world.

Samantha (Sammi) Brickman is already senior sliding and taking on everything at once. She is in PACT theater and is on the Speech team. She plans to get through graduation before getting shipped off to Oklahoma for boot camp. Is she nervous? Yes. Is she excited? Maybe. She's loving life.

Lucas Anderson is dead.

Aliyah Givand is in tenth grade and likes tea. Literal tea. The beverage. She also likes to draw and paint and listen to cds.

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Christal Ruppert deeply regrets sharing her college short stories with the Creative Writing class, but she does not regret sharing the Eunoia process. She is all about that nerdy teacher life and being her students’ biggest fan, and in her very limited free time, she’s probably at a sporting event, speech practice, or hiding under a desk reading or writing. She’d like to thank Lisell’s first hour Spanish 3 class for not judging her when she does this. :) Sadie Ellison is a sophomore at PACT. She likes drawing, playing instruments, and stress eating.

She's most likely to be found in the corner wrapped in a blanket, crying, and eating ice cream.

Olivia Bailey is a freshman at PACT. She enjoys baking, playing the flute, eating food, and anything to do with the arts, but her true passion is Theatre and the Speech team.

Kelly Lemus enjoys painting and drawing in her studio when she have downtime. She also enjoys working out and learning more about health and wellness through nutrition and other sources that help build muscle. Lastly, she enjoys spending time with her dog Maximus by going on a run, walks, or just simply playing fetch. He loves it all!

Ella Gessner is a sophomore at PACT. She enjoys painting and traveling to new places (especially places with waterfalls). Her only personal quality is that she has a weird obsession with pineapples.

Evan Konnad is a June Bug Junior of 2021. His spidey sense tingles every time he hears the Spiderman theme song. "It is Wednesday my dude, aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH" Brenden Jankowski is a junior at PACT. Hopefully, by the time this edition of Eunoia is published, he will have successfully taken a star trail photograph. Fingers Crossed.

Megan Pangier is the last person to submit their bio because she’s really good at procrastinating.

Izzy Anderson loves writing and reading and playing soccer. She listens to music and cries over homework.

Lucas Saburn is tired, please send waffles.

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eunoia “beautiful thinking”

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Jacob Barthel Ella Gessner Dresden Anderson Khloe Stinson Bekah Jones Jayme Lisell Kyra Warner Anthony Carlson Lucas Anderson Isabelle Anderson

Sammi Brickman Christal Ruppert Sadie Ellison Olivia Bailey Kelly Lemus Evan Konnad Brenden Jankowski Megan Pangier Lucas Saburn Aliyah Givand

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