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Beneath The Surface Northside High School Spring 2013 Vol. 1

Beneath the Surface Northside High School 926 Green Street Warner Robins, GA 31093 Foreword The idea of the literary magazine at Northside High School has always stood on its own. Yet unlike the previous years, Beneath the Surface is different. A collection of student stories and artwork, the magazine was created as a side project to the 2012-2013 Aquila yearbook, Just Be. Like the yearbook, the magazine includes stories about the students of Northside High School, written from their point of view and perspective. This time, however, it is written by the students themselves. Composed of photography, artwork, stories and autobiographical pieces, Beneath the Surface was made for the students, by the students. -Jessica Furtney STAFF Jessica Furtney (Editor-in-Chief) Hunter Craft (Copy-Editor) Nekyha Fox (Graphics-Editor) Rebekah Scarborough Monica Beard Olivia McMillan Taylor Holland Angeline Eugene


Table of Contents Cover by Natalie Boswell Page 4: The Real Me by Kendall Clark Page 5: Photograph by Jessica Furtney Page 6-7: Photograph by Jessica Furtney Page 8: Picture by Taylor Holland Page 9: Secret Kept by Amber Chrones Page 10: Who Are They? By Angeline Eugene Page 11: Drawing by Leanne Dowden Page 12: Photograph by Sean Smith Page 13: Poetry by Dylan Treend Page 14: Drawings by Bryan Landreth and Corey Leverette Page 15: Drawings by Dylan Treend and Jessica Walters Page 16: Drawings by Victoria Yun and Joshua Wood Page 17: Pictures by Selena Brown and Preston Rainey Page 18: Photograph by Jessica Furtney Page 19: My Friend the Angel of Death by Jessica Hedden Page 20: By Your Side by Hunter Craft Page 21: Photograph by Sean Smith Page 22: Photograph by Kayla Evans Page 23: Boy on the Wall by Cierra Atchley Page 24: Too Scared To Be Me by Kelvin Clark Page 25: Photograph by Jessica Furtney Page 26: Drawing by Jessica Colson Page 27: Red by Jessica Hedden Page 28: What Do You See? by Angeline Eugene Page 29: Picture by Taylor Holland Page 30: Photograph by Jessica Furtney Page 31: Rainy Days by Ashley Toellner Page 32: White Rose by Raenishea Noles

Page 33: Drawing by Jared Watson Page 34: Drawing by Jared Watson Page 35: Please by Jessica Hedden Page 36: Masked by Jessica Hedden Page 37: Photograph by Jessica Furtney Page 38: Picture by Nekyha Fox Page 39: A Night in the Theatre in Okinawa by Nekhya Fox Page 40: The He in Me by Kelsey Kennedy Page 41: Picture by Taylor Holland Page 42: Photograph by Kayla Evans Page 43: The Things We Say by Jessica Hedden Page 44: LOI by Taylor Holland Page 45: Photograph by the Northside High School Journalism Staff Page 46: Photograph by Kayla Evans Page 47: Lazy Bones by Ashley Toellner Page 48: Nothing by Jessica Hedden Page 49: Photograph by Jessica Furtney Page 50: Picture by Damon Kurn Page 51: Change by Devin Whitest Page 52-54: The Real Kenneth Eason by Jessica Furtney Page 55: Photograph by Jessica Furtney Page 56-57: Photograph by Sean Smith Page 58: Photograph by Jessica Furtney Page 59: Biracial by Monica Beard and Olivia McMillan Page 60: Behind the Iron Crown by Olivia McMillan Page 61: Drawing by Olivia McMillan Page 62: Photograph by Jessica Furtney Page 63: Salute by Blake Eason Page 64-65: Photograph by Kayla Evans Page 66: Contributions


The Real Me Beneath the surface Between the Gravel and Dust Lie fears covered with rust. The smell of rust isn’t really me, you see. It’s all an act to hide the inner me. A high school teen hiding That’s nothing out of the ordinary But when you look in the mirror That’s when it gets scary. I’m truthfully a nerd who loves the God he’s never seen. But at school, I’m a hypocrite who likes making Cs And writing rhymes just to waste time. I’m really mediocre when I want to be. But beneath the surface, I’m uniquely made, and you are too. By Kendall Clark


Photograph by Jessica Furtney

Photos by Kayla Evans(11)





Secret Kept What matter is the roof? Way above the worn rug holds the almighty roof. Standing tall against the elements, providing shelter, but also thankful for the wall. Being tall and proud does not give the roof right to discriminate against its supporter. It values the wall for being loyal and adores the ground for grand support. Yes, the roof forms a continuous bond with its lowers, for the roof knows he will be there forever with his faithful companions by his side. Does this thought sadden him? The roof will always be high and mighty, but will he ever tire? He does his job well, blocking out the storm’s rage, but does he do it too well? He blocks out what the wall and floor talk about. The shadow-people never reflect upon the roof because the walls absorb them with their enticing tales. The walls could always block out the shadow-children – should they get annoyed – with the torches and tapestries. What does the roof hear except the dreadful rain pounding on its back? At least the ground is smiling upwards towards the roof. But what if that smile is fake or smug? As the ground trembles with joy as the robe that he adorns causes comfort against the spikes of shoes and rolling carts. Yes, the floor and walls share secrets with each other. Oh how the roof wish it knew just one. The walls know secrets that even the floor does not know; this is true, but what if one night when the wind is battling with the keep, the window buckles under such scrutiny? This torture technique proves too intense as the secret the wall swore to protect hangs by a thread, hoping the floor had not heard it. No one can be trusted now. This ringing in her pierced ear, letting itself be known in the form of a gunshot indicating that the game has just begun. Her game? Self-worth. Graciously flowing down the crowded hall, head bowed with apologies lying on her tongue in case sge had need of a quick getaway. Eyes penetrate her curtain of hair. She wonders what they think of her. What do they whisper as she floats past? Her best friends welcome with arms wide yet nails sharp. She blocks out her potential and fades back while others grab the spotlight and aim it on their greased faces. These others that she has known since she could totter on two feet, they do not even know her name. This seems to last forever. Her intertwined beginnings shared with these others that know nothing about her past, the past she shared with these very same people. She looks towards her only escape. She looks upward. The roof shifts in despair. He looks downward. For the first and last time in their lives, there is a shared unison. There is a sorrow unveiled beneath the surface, and a ray of hope shines forth. By Amber Chrones

Picture by Taylor Holland


Who are they? Bumps in the hallway Passing conversations Harmless joking imitations You see them everyday Snippets of their childhoods How they always have a hand to lend But if someone said to describe your friend Do you think you could? Charismatic, kind, a bright and shining star Delightful, funny, and incredibly charming But you may find it quite alarming That you have no idea who they truly are. What they show to you and me To him and her, to he and she Does it reflect who they were? Are becoming now, or crave to be? By Angeline Eugene


Drawing by Leanne Dowden

Picture by Leanne Dowden(12)



Poetry My most beautiful, Never one was more And always wanting more Than those around her, very Perfect, her, my only. Whenever around I go, I find myself looking up, Up my eyes settle up, And downward they come. Inevitable, they need her. Hands flitter, twitch, Over flaxen fields run, Every nerve awake; they run. But then stop. Why stop, But to hold a moment? Hearts shutter, they yearn. My doubly, when near her Pump, heart’s love. For her Through cloth and night, beats The heart and my love. Words can fly meaningless And hit ears, erode worth But you see, nothing but worth, And I love you madly And I hope you like poetry. By Dylan Treend Photograph by Sean Smith


Drawing by Bryan Landreth


Drawing by Cory Leverette

Drawing by Dylan Treend

Drawing by Jessica Walters


Drawing by Victoria Yun


Drawing by Joshua Wood

Drawing by Selena Brown

Drawing by Preston Rainey



My Friend the Angel of Death Yellow eyes flashing in the dark Hurry and hide! He’ll take your heart. He’ll eat your soul. He’s evil. Power sits in his hands; Darkness circles him in bands. He’s part of the shadows. He’s the grim reaper. By Jessica Hedden

Photograph by Jessica Furtney


By Your Side When you sit long enough alone, You begin to find your friends. They’re the ones always by your side. They’re with you ‘til the end. Their love for you is never-ending; Their loyalties hold true. They’re the ones always by your side. They want the best for you. If ever you are lonely, If you need some time to talk, They’re the ones always by your side. Your problems they won’t mock. Your friends are always there for you. For you, there’s always time. They’re the ones always by your side. They’ll work through all your grime. When you sit long enough alone, You begin to find your friends. They’re the ones always by your side. They’re with you ‘til the end. By Hunter Craft


Photograph by Sean Smith



Boy on the Wall Beneath the surface he lies, while trying to find Himself and all he can be. Wandering around, only assuming the worst, Never making a sound. He waits for you to speak first. He stands on the wall watching you all and Listening to all you fret. He’s the best of them all, Not that all you see, And everyone owes him a debt. Do him a kindness he has long since deserved. Show him the mines, And let him see all he can truly be. This boy on the wall. By Cierra Atchley

Photograph by Kayla Evans


Too Scared to Be Me If I walk the wrong way, you pick at me. If I speak in the wrong tone, you laugh at me. If I’m not like you, you stare at me. Too scared to be me Having to lie about being myself Pleasing you by bullying somebody else Wanting to be you because you’re free – unlike me Not trusting anybody because I can’t know what’s real and what’s not. You’re telling me to find out what’s in and what’s hot. It feels like I’m being myself, you see? That’s why I can’t let you guys control me. So what I’d rather be is in glee. Maybe we aren’t meant to disagree. I would rather be free than plea on to my knees. So I might seem weak or cheap But I’m not scared to be me. By Kelvin Clark


Photograph by Jessica Furtney



Red Red falls through the cracks. Nothing you can do will get it back. A fallen angel weeps in the background, Hoping you won’t follow him. But you do. The devil claims you. You lay waste to your life, kill everything you touch. There’s nothing left; No one will help you. Lost trust is hard to find again, Like a black dog in the woods at midnight. You cry out. Pain washes over your mind. Help! It’s all you need. But in the end, the only one who can help you is me. By Jessica Hedden

Drawing by Jessica Colson


What Do You See? I have seen you every day of my life. I have seen you grow and mature. I have seen you go through struggle and strife. I have seen what you can endure. But as I see you staring back at me, Who is it that I really see? By Angeline Eugene


Picture by Taylor Holland

Picture by Taylor Holland(10)



Rainy Days Rainy days And frozen toes. Lots of yawns and heavy eyes. All I want to do is sleep and wipe away the clouds. By Ashley Toellner

Photograph by Jessica Furtney


White Rose No one could see the pain in her eyes. No one cared. She was a good and bashful person. She was always smiling, but beneath the surface, she was dying. Lucas made his way to class with a grin. He had his mind set on the pretty girl in his Calculus class. It had taken months to bring up the courage to talk to her and two more months to make her comfortable with him. This was the day he hoped to finally ask her out. In one hand, he held his book bag secure on his shoulder. In his other hand, he held her favorite flower: a white rose. She sat in the back of the class. Her head was down, her brown hair hanging and masking her face. At the sight of her, his heart raced. Lucas was always timid, and he was extremely nervous now. With a shaky sigh, he made his way to her. He sat down next to her and put on his best smile. “Bethany! Hi, how are you,” Lucas started with a chipper tone. She did not respond. Lucas frowned slightly. This was unlike her. She would usually look at him and smile at least. “Are you alright?” Bethany stayed quiet for a few moments. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t even move. She sat there silently. Her long hair didn’t quiver as it draped her face and desk. Lucas became worried. He rested a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle nudge. “Bethany, please look at me. Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmured. “Lucas,” Bethany whispered. “I-I’m sorry…” “What do you mean?” Lucas asked. Bethany glanced at him. Her face was dripping with tears. A small sob burst from her as she gazed into Lucas’ eyes. His eyes widened when he looked upon her morose features. “I’m sorry… but I won’t be seeing you again,” she whispered. “Wh-what?” Lucas stammered. He was confused. What did she mean she wasn’t going to see him again? “Bethany,” he said sternly, “what are you talking about?” Her sobs became stronger, making her entire body shake. She leaned into his chest, weeping heavily. Lucas hugged her close, puzzled over why she was so upset. Bethany looked up at him. Her mouth was open as if she were about to speak. The intercom came on. “Bethany Hale to the office for an early dismissal,” it blared. Bethany sighed shakily, getting up and gathering her things. “Bethany, wait!” Lucas called out as she headed to the door. He held the rose in his hand and stood, rushing to her. “I got this… for you,” he said softly, handing the flower to her. Tears were forming in his eyes as they locked gazes. Bethany smiled, taking the flower. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered. “I’ll miss you, too,” she said softly. Lucas watched as she walked away. Days passed, then weeks. Every day, Lucas had a faint hope that he would see Bethany again. But she was not in school. A month had passed before Lucas decided to visit her house. What if she moved…? he thought as he followed the address Bethany’s friend had given to him. He nervously knocked on the door. It was Bethany’s mother who answered.


“Mrs. Hale… I’m Lucas, Bethany’s friend,” he said softly. “Is Bethany home?” he asked. Mrs. Hale sighed softly. She looked as if she had just been crying. She opened the door and let him in. She slowly led him to Bethany’s room. Lucas came into Bethany’s room quietly. “Bethany…” Lucas whispered to the form curled under the blankets of the bed. Bethany slowly pulled herself from under the covers. She gazed at Lucas, touching her fingers to her short hair. Lucas’ eyes widened. “Lucas…” Bethany whispered. Lucas came and sat next to her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you why I left. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand,” she whispered. She grabbed his hand, looking at him with teary eyes. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why did you leave?” he asked. “I have cancer,” she said softly. “The doctors say I only have a few days to live,” she said. Lucas’ heart shattered. “I never told anyone because I thought they’d treat me differently,” she whispered. “I thought you would treat me differently…” “Bethany, I could never treat you differently,” he said, tears starting to run down his face. “I care about you. Nothing could ever change that. It’s not what’s on the outside… it’s what’s beneath,” he whispered. He hugged her close, not ever wanting to let go. He held on to her for fear that each moment may be their last together. He glanced at her. “I got you something,” he said. He dug into his book bag and gave her a rose. Tears streamed down Bethany’s face as she looked at the white flower. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “You’re beautiful,” Lucas replied. Lucas visited her every day. Each day, he gave her a white rose. Eleven days later, Bethany died. Every day since then, Lucas mourned silently for her. She was his rose. No day would pass that would make him forget about his beautiful, withered rose. No one could see the pain in his eyes. No one cared. He was soft-spoken and kind. He was always smiling, but beneath the surface, he was dead. By Raenishea Noles

Drawing by Jared Watson



Please Disturbed and in a corner, The darkness crawls inward Seeking her soul. But it’s too late. It’s already been taken By the one she wants But will never get. A soulless being Preying on the young and foolish. The time has come for the pain to end. What is there to do but weep For the possible life they could’ve shared? Young and foolish, they both were. But they knew what they were doing. The pain is too great to bear. One acts like he doesn’t care, Yet he’s there for her When the pain is too great. But does he know that he’s the one causing it? By Jessica Hedden

Drawing by Jared Watson


Masked Masked Tears stain the pages of my life, Erasing away the act I put down, So I can create a new one: A different person; A fake. By Jessica Hedden


Photograph by Jessica Furtney



A Night in the Theatre in Okinawa He stepped to the stage He took a big breath; He gave a small sigh Of what he had left. He listened to the thought Of what he would say; He thought of the sound Of the light on his face. He looked at his cast mates All dressed in their robes With makeup to cover The secrets they’d show. He stepped on the stage. The change then occurred – Because it was her part To say all the words. By Nekhya Fox

Picture by Nekhya Fox


The He in Me I was about to bust a cap. I was beyond ready to snap. But I was going to let it ride And hide my ghetto side. But then she put her hands on me, And he finally broke free: The monster inside Could no longer hide. My raging anger caused him to buck As if he were The Incredible Hulk. The fire burning in his eyes Could have lit a thousand skies. There was nothing I could say To keep him from having his way. Using all his might, He put up a fight, And when he was through, She was too. By Kelsey Kennedy


Picture by Taylor Holland



The Things We Say The power of words: They can leave the deepest of cuts. Invisible, they may be, But they’re there. Never healing, Constantly bleeding, Until you bleed out completely. Your heart stops; Your soul turns to ice. You just don’t care. Earning the title stone cold When underneath, You’re still bleeding. And in desperate need of healing.

By Jessica Hedden

Photograph by Kayla Evans


LOI The League of Overactive Imaginations encourages new members to join its big family and to create exciting memories that can be relived for a lifetime. By adding new video, card, and board games and new art, more people will be inspired to join the organization. With new members coming in every year, the club can only get better as time goes on. The club meets every Wednesday in Mr. Masters’ room to engage in the various activities available for the group. “I love being an officer of such an amazing group! I’ve made a lot of friendships because of this club,” said Stephen Ramey (11). The group often has gaming tournaments, not only for friendly competition, but also for bringing members together. “LOI is like one big, happy, nerdy family. The tournaments are a great way to bring us all closer,” said Ramey. The group is made up of students from different grades and backgrounds. The gamers unleash their skills, students play out their strategies in Magic: The Gathering, and artists come up with creative new ideas in the nerd haven. Most think that LOI is a group only for video gamers and nerdy kids, but it is a club where everyone is welcome. “LOI is a great way to not only make friends, but it sets up a family-like place full of people with similar interests,” said Brendan Kern (9). You can play video games, draw, play card games, or socialize with friends. Friendships are made easily in the League of Overactive Imaginations because many kinds of creative minds are brought together. By Taylor Holland


Photograph by Taylor Holland



Lazy Bones Lazy bones a-restin’ there Sittin’ lazily on the chair Ask ‘em to get up ‘n take a walk But them lazy bones won’t even talk By Ashley Toellner

Photograph by Kayla Evans


Nothing In a time of great need, A child stands Alone, helpless. Her golden strawberry hair flows In the wind. Leaves dancing around her, Wishing to take the pain of A mother with a heart as cold as fall, A father who wanted nothing to do with her. She didn’t ask for this, But this is what she got. They saw the pain, but no one cared. Such a young life Wasted. By Jessica Hedden


Photograph by Jessica Furtney

Picture by Taylor Holand(10)



Change You know how I know what I feel? My mind’s brought out the big guns. The end. And I constantly fight myself for life because of some misguided hope that life does get better after high school, though preschool logic dispels any such thing. I unfortunately can’t have you, so I’ll concede to being friends, but I’m not used to your open, or rather doggedly closed, displays of sentiment. The hand holding: I hope it makes him feel how I felt. I hope it’s a good enough trampoline because the parachute just ripped. And you threw it away. But that’s what you do with broken things. I hope you don’t take offense, but I’m on to better things for me. I may be in a dumpster, but sooner or later, every piece of metal is recycled and remade. So while I may take people’s trash so they don’t have to carry it around, I also may carry vows for those whose fingers I rest upon. This would be the best fate I could hope for. Metal will always be metal, and love will always be love. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt, and I do see the way you light up when you see him: the affection, the undeserved infatuation. You give people the amount of chances you feel is right. It’s your life. I only wish you’d slapped Mary Jane before everyone else left. And lately, I find that you bring more discord than pleasure for me. That’s not a valid reason for giving up, but it is when paired with the bland expression I seem to put on your face. Don’t lie. It’s not true because I’ve heard things you say, and the little things tell me: That smile for him, the hugs, the way you speak of and about him. You aren’t fooling anyone. It only saddens me that you either felt the need to lie about it to me for whatever reason or that you’re genuinely this confused about what you really want. But I can’t keep my life on hold for you to change, and since I don’t want to be anyone’s second choice, this is goodbye to Devin in anything other than a friend. He may leave a few articles of clothing lying around, though, so be prepared to find the occasional sock. And he’ll be far away in South Africa unable to receive calls or anything from choice, not circumstance. I love you, but I’ll never see you again. And since I personally find couples inspiring, but aren’t a natural third wheel, I’ll leave you to walk with him to your locker and do whatever you want because you belong not to me, and Liya isn’t a good consolation. I told you that I spoke to Eddie, and he and Kevin gave me what I needed: The truth. People don’t lie to you; you lie to yourself. Well this time I really am done lying to me. Minor obsession over. End transmission. By Devin Whitest

Picture by Damon Kern


The Real Kenneth Eason (as told to Jessica Furtney) There will always be people trying to bring you down. No matter where you go, what you do, or who you are there will always be someone who wants to see you fall. Even at a few hours old in the Macon Hospital, I was a handful. I had the stereotypical home life: one mom, one dad, one pets, and two siblings…the average American dream. My family was normal. I was normal. My life was normal…and ridiculously boring. But even growing up, in the small town of Warner Robins, I knew that I was meant for something more. Call it intuition or say I’m crazy, but I knew in my gut that I was meant to be more than just “Kenneth Eason”. But it was there, in the classrooms of Thomson Middle School, that I would find my passion. There, my life would change. Growing up, like other kids, I loved music. But unlike my peers, it was more than just something I listened to: I thrived on it. It was in my soul and running through my blood. While the other guys in my class were messing around in class to pass the time, I was writing in my journal. It was my high. I wrote my passions, my frustrations, my life, and everything in between. I poured my heart into my poetry, and it was through my writing that I could truly express myself. Eventually, my writings turned to my lyrics, and my lyrics turned to my raps, and it was then that I knew what I wanted to do. The Thomson Middle School talent show seemed like the perfect place to make my debut. Originally, I was only to perform during the intermission, not in the actual show itself. I wrote the lyrics to my song and even choreographed a routine for three dancers to perform alongside me. I was ready for it, and once it was all said and done and I realized how hard I had worked up until that point, the intermission wasn’t enough. We begged the woman to let us in the show, and eventually she agreed. In the end, I was left with the second place prize of $7 and a need for more. After that night I was hooked. I jumped at any and every opportunity to perform. The following summer I began to write every day, recording any and every chance I got. It was through my friend, Khalil, that I realized just how far I could go. His dad was a producer and owned his own recording studio. I only had 10 songs under my belt (each of them covers that I had remixed) but the thought of being in a real studio made my heart race. I spent the entire day working in the studio, and by the end I had 10 CDs and a newfound pride in my work. After the TMS talent show, not many people thought I would continue. After that night, unbeknownst to them, I continued to write. It wasn’t until I released my first song on YouTube in February of 2012 that people began to notice me. The support and encouragement was overwhelming and by March, I had my first mix tape out. I kept going, pursuing my passion, and, coming full circle, I returned to the place where I got my start. At the next TMS talent show I performed during the intermission, only this time I had a fan base to back me up. Seeing them there, cheering me on and even wearing “B. Eason” shirts, made me realize just how far I could go.


When the chance to open for Diggy Simmons, son of New York Hip-Hop legend, Rev Run, at the Macon Centreplex, I jumped. I was nervous (I was used to performing in front of shows of 100-500, whereas the Centreplex held at least 5,000), but I knew I couldn’t pass it up. When I stepped on stage at the audition, the whole thing became surreal and the pressure to perform was on. My mind was running a thousand miles a minute. My thoughts were scattered everywhere and in between: Will this be my only chance? Will I fail? Will I make it? If I do, how far will I go? My palms were sweating and I could feel my heart drop in my stomach. But just as quickly as it started, it was over and in a blur I was off the stage and the next person was up. As I got offstage, finally coming back to my senses, the DJ came up to me. “Look man, you did great.” He said. “I’m gonna call you later because I know you won.” The assurance blew my mind. Me? All the people there and they picked me? My heart stopped, but I didn’t let him or anyone else know that. It didn’t matter what happened after: I had won. My focus couldn’t remain on the audition for very long. I had a show to do right after, but still, the thought lingered in the back of my mind. So I went and I performed, and the next day I waited for the call. But it never came. As it turned out, despite having been told that I was allowed to go because I’d already won, I was required to stay in order to claim my prize. Because I wasn’t present, however, I ended up losing my title. A thousand emotions ran over me immediately when I found out what happened: anger, grief, and just overall confusion. It wasn’t fair, and I let the judges know it. “I just got the phone call saying that y’all picked a new winner.” I told the DJ when I called him a few days later. “I was told I could leave because I’d already won. What’s going on?” “You talked to the wrong person.” he told me. He gave me the number of the man who gave me the chance to audition in the first place and once I got his number I called him the following Monday to find out the truth. “That’s crazy!” the man told me. “I never thought anyone on my team would do that to you. You were supposed to stay. Let me see what I can do. I’ll call you back tomorrow.” Tuesday came and went, and still no call. On Wednesday, I called back again. “Look,” he told me. “I can put you on stage if you sell 50 tickets. If you sell them by next Wednesday you’re in.” One week. One week was all I had and I didn’t waste one second of it. Friends, family members, anyone who wanted a ticket got one. By Wednesday I had met my goal and the promise was kept. I was on Cloud Nine. This was it, I was on top of my game and nothing could bring me down…until the backlash came. At the try outs, a few students from Northside had auditioned and hadn’t even made it to the final round. The day after, when we returned to school, they asked me how far I had made it. “Look I don’t even know.” I said because, at the time, I had no idea. By that Wednesday, I was already promoting it, leading them to call the people at the audition back to ask what happened. “Look, if you don’t want B. Eason to perform than pay me $5,000.”


$5,000? Obviously (in their minds) that meant that I had paid to secure my spot, when in reality I had earned the money by selling tickets and promoting the concert. Eventually word got around school about what happened and I was suddenly caught in the ugly side of fame. “He paid his way.” “He doesn’t deserve it.” The hate and the rumors continued and suddenly the rumor became the truth. It snowballed from a miscommunication of information to my name being slung through the mud. People were so quick to believe what they heard but slow to understand the truth and hear my side of the story. I couldn’t let it get to me, though. At the concert, I performed and in the end I knew the truth and in my heart I knew I had succeeded. Because of the incident I lost a few friends, but God puts people in your life for a reason or a season, and in the end I found out who my true friends were. Some people were truly there for me, and some were just along for the ride but not prepared for what would happen if I crashed and burned. And that’s okay. I’ve found my calling, and with my friends and fans behind me, nothing can stop me. I’ve dealt with the negative side of “fame”, and I’ve come out stronger from it because I have the greatest support system behind me. Whether at the TMS talent show or the Macon Centerplex, they’re there behind me 100%, and that’s something that will never change. I’ve come a long way from just writing songs in Mrs. Cape’s class, but I come from humble beginnings, and I’ll never forget where I came from. If I don’t make it big, that’s okay, because life will go on and I’ll come out a stronger person. And, once my time has come and gone, if I find some young kid who wants to make his own way and make a name for himself, I’ll be behind him every step of the way. This past year has been a roller coaster, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Whatever my future holds (whether I’m in New York like Rev Run or in Warner Robins where I got my start) I know one thing is for sure: people can hate on me all they want, but they’ll never keep me down for long. By Jessica Furtney “This is for the people that said I wouldn’t make it. This is for the people that always hated. This is for the people that used to fade to black. Now they see that I’m winning, and they’re all on my back! This is for the people that said I would fall. This is for the people that didn’t want me to ball. This is for the people who thought I wouldn’t go big. And this is for the people that thought I’d stay small.” -“Salute”, by Blake Eason


Photograph by Jessica Furtney





Biracial I am not one but two Of the race that belongs to you. My face does not shine like the sun, Nor is it covered by shadows that run. “High-yellow” or “creamy” Is the name that they give me. “God’s experiment,” “God’s mistake” Are what I am called by those filled with hate. But I am God’s creation. God’s mediator between two cultures separated by walls of hate and time The meeting of day and night is mine. I’m proof that walls can be broken down over time. I am not one but two Of the race that belongs to you. By Monica Beard and Olivia McMillan

Photograph by Jessica Furtney


Behind The Iron Crown Winning Miss Northside is the greatest honor that I could ever receive here at Northside. It’s like a rite of passage into the school and the community. You automatically become a role model for little girls who, in spite of the plastic crown, think you’re a “real-life princess.” You become a representation of your school and all of the Miss Northsides who have come before you. I look back at my journey to the title, and I can promise you that before this, being a “beauty queen” was not on my radar. To be honest, I’m probably one of the clumsiest people at this school. So I can scratch graceful off of my list of attributes: I snort when I laugh too hard, and I’m the biggest goofball I’ve ever met. There is always pressure to act your best and be the best that you can be. When you are crowned Miss Northside, you are no longer solely representing yourself. You also represent your school and everyone in it. There is an unspoken expectation of a put-together girl who completely encompasses grace and beauty. But I’m just me, Olivia McMillan: the goofball, the movie expert, the no makeup, sweatpants-wearing me. “Putting on heirs” is not in my vocabulary. All I can do is try my hardest at whatever I do and remember that I am a reflection on the school. I may not be a conventional beauty queen, but I can promise you that there is no one who believes in Northside more than I do. I believe in us. I know that Northside has given me more opportunities in the two years that I’ve been here than any other high school could think about giving me give in four. The staff cares about their students, and I swear Northside is the largest family I have ever seen. Becoming Miss Northside has opened my eyes to all that I can be and accomplish in this great big world, and I am so thankful for this amazing title. By Olivia McMillan


Drawing by Olivia McMillan



Salute This is for the people that said I wouldn’t make it. This is for the people that always hated. This is for the people that used to fade to black. Now they see that I’m winning, and they’re all on my back! This is for the people that said I would fall. This is for the people that didn’t want me to ball. This is for the people who thought I wouldn’t go big. And this is for the people that thought I’d stay small. But I can’t stay small because everything is epic. Man, I took over my city, my town; I straight up wrecked it. And the top I’m going, yeah, yeah, you straight up guessed it Because I’ll always be first. I won’t settle for second. If I ain’t give it my all, then I ain’t gonna give it none. My dream is now reality, but it started off for fun. Nobody can touch me; I’m so hot I’m like the sun. Man, look where I’m am and look how far I’ve come! I may be young, and I swear I work the hardest. And you say you’ve gone far, but I will go the farthest ‘Cause I’m more than a rapper, man; I’m more than an artist. It’s Beason takeover and I’m just getting started! Man, they started hating when my fans started growing. They didn’t wanna show emotion, but their emotions started showing. Oh, you mad? You jealous ‘cause I’m getting promoted? At least I know you cared when the first emotion showed! By Blake Eason

Photograph by Jessica Furtney




The 2013 Legacy Staff would like to thank the following students for their contributions to the magazine: Amber Chrones Angeline Eugene Ashley Toellner Blake Eason Cierra Atchley Damon Kurn Devin Whitest Dylan Treend Jared Watson Jessica Colson Jessica Furtney Jessica Hedden Jessica Walters Joshua Wood Kayla Evans Kelsey Kennedy Kelvin Clark Kendall Clark Leanne Dowden Monica Beard Natalie Boswell Nekyha Fox Olivia McMillan Preston Rainey Raenishea Noles Sean Smith Selena Brown Taylor Holland Victoria Yun 66

Legacy 2013  
Legacy 2013  

This is the 2013 Northside High School literary magazine.