Portraits 2024-2025

PORTRAITS 2024 2025

Dear Readers,

LETTER FROM EDITOR

Was it a cat I saw?

Possibly. With a Rorschach inkblot, I could, possibly, see a cat within the ink. At the same time, when I see my cat, you might see a dog, hat, or face—it just depends on your perspective. A Rorschach inkblot is purposefully made to be open to multiple interpretations: it’s just ink poured onto paper and then folded. The shape it creates after unfolding is a symmetrical inkblot that your brain interprets as familiar images, like cats or hats.

This year’s theme—inspired by the Rorschach inkblot—is all about seeing different perspectives, in both the symmetry and the ink. The fun thing about anthologies is that they bring creative works together for an audience to see and interpret and celebrate.

In this year’s publication, you’ll see the incredible work of CDS’s talented artists and writers. You’ll notice Rorschach Inkblots on the pages as a nod to our theme. There’s also things that you won’t see that I hope to bring to your attention: the time spent and the journey taken by the creators of these works as they make their art.

Now let me briefly guide your eyes to see the invisible. I want to highlight the journey that this Portraits publication has had. Each work in this anthology began as ideas swirling in the mind of a student. They took shape between brush and canvas, or appeared on screen through tapping keys. They passed through the thoughtful eyes of teachers and mentors. They were placed by Lisa and me in the layouts created by Lisa. They were sent to the printer. Now, finally, they’ve made it here, into your hands.

Please, if you happen to pass anybody whose name appears in the pages of this publication, make sure to congratulate them for their contributions to making this publication possible!

Now, dear reader, I invite you to go back to the beginning, and read the first sentence again. Backwards.

Angelina Cai, Your Portraits Editor

CONTRIBUTORS + THANKS

Portraits 2024-2025 would not have been possible without the efforts and support of the following people:

The English and Art departments and the Middle and Senior Schools’ Staff, Faculty, and Administration for their continued support of this initiative;

Mr. Viotto for his support and assistance through the editing process;

Ms. Weening for her invaluable and continued technological support throughout the creation of this publication;

Ms. Williams and Mr. Lesiuk for their essential leadership during the year;

The Office of Community Relations for their promotion of Coffee House and competitions;

Mac Walmsley, Meghan Weinroth, Josh Griffin, Mr. Barbanchon, Mr. Marchessault, and Mr. Hofstetter for their technological support at Coffee House; and

all of the featured writers and artists for their outstanding creative contributions.

The Portraits Team

The Wonderful Boss - Angelina Cai

The Unpaid Intern - Lisa Wang

The Purr-secutor - Kitty Zhang

The Voice of Reason - Ms. Williams

The Voice of Chaos - Mr. Lesiuk

INDEX

Diviya Amarnath 48

Alexandra BagnallTrofymowych 50

Angela Barani 19

Savannah Bratty 31

Ronin Bray 15

Adhya Chandradat 22

Akshaya Chandradat 57

Lele Chang 1

Vivienne Chen 39

Belinda Cheng 42

Logan Colozza 49

Taylor Cooper 53

Lauren Davies 52

Charlie Davis 4

Eden Davis 43

Teagan Delaney 32

Amelia Duff 51

Livia Easton 9

Arden Estabrooks 28

Mia Gordon-Mazzuca 23

Andy Hamilton 44-45

Taran Hudson 55

Runqi Hu 12-13

Tina Hu 14

Melanie Kalogritsas 54

Zak Khan 36-37

Bella Koskinen 56

Ben Li 6-8

Orrick Li 10

Layla Longo 16

Amber Loxton 5

Keyara Meghji 47

LELE CHANG [10]

One Yonge Street

Jessica Nigul (12)

Short Story in the Style of Ernest Hemingway

It was late at night. Past midnight. Everyone else had left the office. The man sat staring at his screen as the cursor flashed. He could not write anymore, not for the past while. By day the office felt bright. It was a place of work. Phones rang. Papers and notes coated the walls and gleamed in the sunlight. By night it was different. Dark. Eerie. Quiet. The silence filled the space. But the man did not feel saddened or scared, this darkness provided a sense of melancholic peacefulness he craved. Footsteps came from the editor’s office and the man remembered that he never really was alone.

“Are you finished with the article yet?” the editor asked.

“Getting there.”

“Good, hard piece is it?”

“Yes.”

“Come have a smoke with me.”

“Sir, we’re inside and I don’t smoke.”

“You will. Come on.”

They went outside and stood on the street. The man leaned against the wall of the building and his editor stood tall across from him. A few young people were wandering home. Another group walked from the office next door. The man looked at the number one plastered on the building as the street light illuminated it.

“Take one,” the editor handed the man the cigarette pack.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Why not? It’s great.” The editor fumbled with the lighter. He tried too hard.

“Tried it, didn’t like it.”

“You’re missing out.”

“If you say so.”

“I know that you haven’t started that article.” He finally got the lighter to work. He stood taller, took a long drag inhaling, and blew the smoke slowly into the other man’s face.

“Oh.” The man slumped indifferently further against the wall, the number one above mocking him. He was not number one. He was not great. He was not anything.

“Listen, I know it’s not easy, but writer’s block can only be an excuse for so long,” he said. Another long drag. Cigarettes make men feel bigger than they are.

“What’s the point, sir?” The man grew tired of the conversation. He looked around and noticed the surroundings. It was beautiful, he supposed. The buildings stood tall and imposing, the street lights gleamed onto the puddles and they distorted as cars drove by. It was the same scene every evening. It was fine, it was not great, nothing there was. Not the young people hurrying home. Not the drivers honking in traffic. In a few years, no one would remember this evening anyway.

“What did you say?” the editor responded, insulted, he blew his smoke at the man again.

“Nothing,” he choked, fighting to not cough.

“I want it on my desk tomorrow or you’re fired. Good night.” His ego was hurt. He flicked the cigarette at the man’s feet and stamped it out aggressively. He turned without anything else to say and set off down the street to look for a taxi. He tried to walk with pride, but his shoulders sagged. He was old and tired.

“Good night.” The man exhaled quietly to no one in particular. The streets emptied as the editor left. Cars passed. Laughter echoed. But he was alone. It was quiet. It was perfect. The temperature dropped and the man went back inside for warmth. He wouldn’t be there tomorrow morning. He didn’t care. He ascended the building in the elevator floor numbers flickering by. When the doors opened he stepped into the dead office. His desk sat unchanged, waiting as it always did. He walked over to it and grabbed a lighter from the drawer then crossed to the editors office to open the window. The air was frigid. His fingers shook as he reached for

the cigarette in his pocket. The man placed it between his lips, and paused. He held it there for a few seconds as if he was contemplating it. Then he lit it. The smoke fit into the silence. He inhaled, exhaled, coughed, then tossed the cigarette carelessly. Without hesitation he went back to his desk, faced the screen, and began to type for the last time.

A few storeys below, the editor did not get very far. Taxis had become scarce and the nearest Uber was a twenty-minute wait. Instead, he walked to the bar that he went to every day after work and ordered the same drink he ordered yesterday and the day before as he sat at the counter.

“How was work?” The bartender pretended to be interested though he did not care much. He leaned over the counter and got to work on the drink.

“Fine.” He stared at the television.

“Not talkative today?”

“It’s that one writer, there’s something wrong with him.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“He came in the other day.”

“Oh,” the editor sipped his drink. He was confused. Tired. His eyes gave him away.

“Well, what’s his problem?”

“He doesn’t care anymore.”

“He gave up?”

“I suppose.” The editor downed his drink.

“Well, that’s the new generation for you,” both the editor and the bartender were older. They judged most of those younger than them.

“Yeah, I guess,” the editor did not agree, and his face made it clear. The conversation exhausted itself. The bartender went back to work, the editor went home, and the next day he woke up ready to do what he does everyday.

He climbed the same elevator up the same building and entered his office hungover as usual. The paper was there, he expected it to be. The man was not. But a cigarette sat burned on his desk, the smoke long swallowed by the wind from the open window. The editor flipped open the paper. His expression shifted. He paused for a moment. It was quiet, he noticed, too quiet, or maybe it had always been that way.

CHARLIE DAVIS [8]

AMBER LOXTON

The Mysterious Letter

Ben Li (7)

On a Friday afternoon, Liam was sitting in his English classroom, wondering when the school day would end. It always felt like the school day would never end! RING

RING

RING

Everyone ran out of the classroom, excited for the weekend. Liam waved goodbye to his friends and started biking home from school. He looked at the green summer trees dancing in the wind, the blue sky, and the tall and beautiful lamps. The sky was as clear as glass. He decided that it was a perfect day to buy pizza. He always went to John’s Pizza because it made the best pizza in town at affordable prices.

Liam went home with his pizza. While eating, he remembered that his math teacher had told him to check his mailbox for the grade that he got on his test.

Liam reached into the mailbox and retrieved his test. Just before he was about to close the mailbox, he noticed that there was another letter. It was strange, because he was only supposed to receive one letter.

Liam returned to his house with the two letters.

Liam closed his eyes before looking at his grade. Then he looked at his grade.

95%! I got 95%!

Liam felt like a massive weight was lifted from his shoulders. Just a few days ago, it had been his birthday. His best friend Jack had given him a tiny model of a bike since they both loved biking. He grabbed his phone and called Jack. Jack had been his friend since they were six years old, and they were in grade seven now.

“Hi!” Jack said. “How are you doing, Liam?”

“I’m fine,” Liam said. “Hey–did you get your math test back?”

“Yeah…”

“I got 95%! How did you do?”

“Uh, I got 65%.”

“Oh.”

None of them talked for a minute.

“It’s fine, Jack. You can always do better next time!”

Jack would always cheer him up when something bad happened to either of them.

“Okay,” Jack said.

“I’ll arrive at your house in 30 minutes. I got this mysterious letter. We can open it together. It can distract you so you wouldn’t think too much about your test grade.”

“Okay.”

Liam hopped on his bike and started heading for Jack’s house. It was pretty far, and he had to pass through a forest. On the way, Liam stopped to get some water at a bridge. He saw a squirrel in the trees and walked forward to get a better look. Suddenly, his foot caught onto something and he tripped.

His water bottle went flying into the woods. Splash! The water spilled out of the water bottle as it hit the ground. Liam looked around and saw it lying beside a tree about a dozen meters away from him. He walked to the tree and picked it up. Liam was just about to head back, but then he noticed a bright blue square spray-painted on the tree. He was curious but didn’t know what it meant, so he continued going to Jack’s house.

He arrived a while later. Jack was wearing casual attire when Liam arrived at his house. Jack always wore clothes for biking.

Liam and Jack opened the mysterious letter.

Hello,

From your house, head north for 10 kilometers, then west for 20 kilometers. You will see a beach. On the beach, go to the red beach umbrella with a small beach ball and a chair under it. If you move the chair aside, you will see a small box. Open it.

Liam and Jack were both suspicious of this mysterious letter. They had lots of questions. Why did this person send us this letter?

Who sent us this letter?

Should we follow these instructions?

In the end, they decided to listen to these instructions because they hadn’t had anything exciting happen recently. They wanted to have an adventure.

Both of them had tools mounted on their bikes, just in case their bikes broke. One time when they were biking in the woods, Jack’s bike suddenly broke. Liam arrived back home at 10:00 pm that day since they had to walk all the way back home from the woods. Since then, they have always kept water and tools on their bikes.

Liam took the letter with him and they both got on their bikes.

Since Liam was the one who received the letter, they had to go back to Liam’s house first before they could follow the instructions.

From your house, head north for 10 kilometers and then west for 20 kilometers.

A while later, Liam and Jack arrived at the beach. They searched for the red beach umbrella with a beach ball and a chair under it. The beach was big, and after 10 minutes of searching, they started thinking that the letter could be a prank. Finally, they found the red beach umbrella with a beach ball and a chair under it. They moved the chair aside, and just like the letter said, there was a small box underneath it.

Liam opened the box, and inside, there was a small piece of paper inside it.

Suddenly, Liam had a feeling that someone was watching them. It was an unsettling feeling, and he didn’t like it. He looked behind him, but he saw no one there.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

“Nothing, I just had a feeling that someone was watching us,” Liam said.

“Well… I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“We’re already this far, though! How can we stop now?” Liam replied incredulously.

“Okay, well then, let’s hurry and open the letter.”

Liam and Jack opened it and read it. It was almost the same as the last letter they received.

Hello,

Congratulations on finding the ultimate note!

Head towards a mass area of green.

Search for a tall, strong figure with a bright blue square.

“This is obviously a riddle,” Jack said.

“What does it mean though? Do you have any ideas?” Liam asked.

“I don’t really know.”

“It’s okay; let’s keep thinking about it.”

They thought about it for a minute.

“Maybe the mass area of green could be a bush…” Jack said.

“But a bush would be too small for a mass area of green. I think it’s probably a forest,” Liam said.”

“That would mean that the tall, strong figure is a tree!”

“Yeah… Wait! I just remembered. On the way to your house, I accidentally dropped my water bottle and I saw a tree with a bright blue square on it.”

“Do you remember where it was?”

“We first have to head back to my house, then follow the road until there is a bridge. Then we have to go right for about a dozen meters, and you’ll see it.”

Liam and Jack headed back to Liam’s house and then went to the bridge. Then, they got off their bikes.

“Yeah, it was here,” Liam said.

“Okay. Let’s go see it. We should probably bring a wrench and knife with us, just in case there is a lock or door we have to open.

Liam and Jack walked to the tree with the bright blue square on it. The earth beneath them suddenly opened! They both fell down into a room.

“Hey! Jack! Are you okay?” Liam asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine! It’s just that my shoe got stuck on something. I think it’s still up there,” Jack said.

“That’s fine. Where are we?”

Jack and Liam looked around. They were in a dark room with four dim lamps. There were two doors, but they both had locks on them. Liam froze, realizing their mistake. He had had a bad feeling about the letter before, and he finally understood how stupid they had been.

“We should have known better, Jack. We shouldn’t have listened to the random letter that a stranger had sent us, as they taught us in school,” Liam said in a quiet voice.

“What should we do now? Both doors have locks, and it’s too high for us to climb back to the top, ” Jack said.

“We have to get out of here! The door, there’s a lock on it, right? Do you still have your knife?”

“Yeah. Let’s use it to open the door.”

“Hurry! I think I hear footsteps coming this way from the other door.”

“Wait. I just need a couple more seconds…”

Click!

The lock opened, and Jack swung open the door.

“Let’s go!” Jack said.

Liam burst through the door with Jack. The door behind them swung open. Three people holding pistols appeared at the doorway.

“Hey! Get back here!” the person in front yelled.

Liam and Jack kept on running as fast as they could down the hall. The three people were close behind.

“I think I see light ahead. That must be the exit,” Liam said.

Right before they got to the door, Jack, who didn’t have his shoe, tripped on something.

“Jack! No!” Liam shouted.

The pursuers started shooting at them. Liam had no choice but to leave Jack behind and keep running.

Liam rammed the door open and ran outside, diving into a nearby bush. He waited for a while and didn’t see anyone come out of the door, so he quickly ran away. Liam looked back multiple times just to make sure no one was following him. He found his bike and biked as fast as he could to his house.

He got home and collapsed into his chair.

Jack was probably killed. This is all my fault. Why did I listen to the letter? It was a stranger who sent the letter. We should’ve known better. I also shouldn’t have told Jack.

Liam glanced at the table and he saw the tiny bike that Jack had given him.

This shouldn’t have happened. It was all because of us biking. If we hadn’t had our bikes, we wouldn’t have followed the instructions.

Liam remembered how he would always go biking with Jack when something bad happened. It was always exhilarating. Every now and then, they would have a race. No matter who won, they were both really tired and satisfied afterwards.

Every time Liam went biking after the incident, he couldn’t stop thinking about Jack.

The day afterwards, Liam rode his bike on his favourite trail. It reminded him of what had happened, but also of all the joyful things they’d done together.

A few weeks later, Liam went biking again. He raced through a trail and then arrived at the bridge where he lost Jack. Suddenly, Liam thought he heard a rustle of leaves.

“Who’s there?” Liam asked.

“Liam?”

Liam froze. He recognized this voice. It was Jack’s. Liam turned around, trying to see who it was.

“Jack?” Liam shouted, his voice filled with hope.

But the only answer was the wind blowing through the trees.

LIVIA EASTON [10]

ORRICK LI [7]

How To Catch a Snowflake

Kaitlyn Zhang (11)

[faith] (noun)

complete trust or confidence in someone or something.

I demand a complete luxury, — but I don’t need a single penny. You demand promises, — but they are fragile assumptions, like snowflakes prancing, only to vanish when met with fingers, dissolved, unheld.

You desire to grasp the slight feeling of trust in me — yet this is a desire you can’t buy when control is a luxury you can’t afford to give up.

“What if I trust, and break?”

“What if I give, and lose?”

“What if I drop it all, an impetuous decision, and we stand in the wreckage— unmade?”

When you cannot have the confidence, you seek to shape the air, the space between us, and claim it as your own.

But you cannot hold air, just like how you cannot hold snowflakes, and even so,

you can still reach me, hands out, eyes closed having faith even when a snowflake melts

First Day of School

Runqi Hu (7)

The first thing Anastasia felt was the warmth of the sun shining on her face. She vigorously sat up in bed excited for the day. The sun had just risen above the horizon in her little neighbourhood. As Anastasia’s vision swept around the sunlit room, it landed on something that made her stomach drop. September 9th, circled in bright red crayon on the calendar – her first day of school.

It was as if she was hit with a bucket of cold water. All previous excitement had seeped out, and Anatasia begrudgingly walked over to her closet. She looked at the calendar just to be sure, but the number only seemed to be mocking her predicament. Picking up her uniform, she traced her finger over the buttons and patterns. She continued to stare at it for a moment, letting reality sink in before putting it on. The unfamiliar fabric rubbed against her skin as she moved and it made her feel uncomfortable and itchy. Anastasia made sure to brush her teeth until they were pearly white and styled her hair to perfection. Adding a final touch of lip gloss and making sure not a single hair was astray, she made her way downstairs to help her mom prepare for breakfast.

“Darling, how are you feeling? I hope you’re excited for your new year of school,” Anatasia’s mother said, pouring a bowl of piping hot porridge.

“Do I have to go to school?” Anastasia whined while stuffing her mouth.

“I think it’ll do you some good to get out there and make new friends. You’ve barely talked to anyone else since COVID started,” Anastasia’s mom said. “A new school means new friends, new teachers, new classrooms, and new beginnings. Maybe you’ll even end up enjoying it! Be sure to make lots of friends so you can have lots of people to talk to!”

“Easier said than done,” Anastasia muttered, her voice coming out as a breath of air. She stared at her plate, picked up her spoon, and continuously stabbed it into the porridge as if she had a personal vendetta against it.

She grabbed her bulky backpack and made her way into the car as her mom started the engine. Anastasia felt butterflies in her stomach, her hands felt clammy, and she couldn’t stop her legs from bouncing up and down. What if she didn’t make any friends? What if she ended up failing all her classes? What if she didn’t fit in? Even worse, what if they hated her, and started to make fun of her? All her overthinking did not make her better at all. She opted for staring out the window to zone out all her scary thoughts. Time seemed to have sped up as Anastasia knew it was supposed to take at least 15 minutes to arrive but it felt like it had only been two minutes.

“Good luck! I’m sure the first day won’t be that bad,” her mom said, trying to reassure her.

Just as Anastasia was about to leave, her mom called out, “Don’t forget to wear your mask, honey!”

Groaning, Anatasia opened a new box of masks and took the thin, blue sheet of cloth. It felt still in her hands and she quickly pulled it over her face only to stop.

Itchy.

So itchy. It rubbed against her cheeks, and her breathing felt constricted. Again, Anatasia wished that she had not been born with such sensitive skin. She did not like how her lips brushed the fabric every time she tried to speak. The air inside the mask felt sticky and humid. She felt disgusting wearing it.

“You should hurry, or you’re going to be late!” her mother said good-naturedly.

She begrudgingly agreed and exited the car. She pulled her mask down while walking, taking a deep breath of air, and watched the plumes of condensation gather around her face. Her stomach felt like it was doing flips and somersaults as the impending doors of doom got nearer and nearer. Cold sweat dripped down her back, and Anastasia fought the urge to run away. At long last she reached the double doors that were the entrance to hell for all she knew! Pulling her mask back up, and with a quick decision, she pushed the door open and stepped into the building that would now be a part of her everyday life.

Inside was a stark contrast to the peaceful environment outside. Chatter rang through the hallways as people mellowly organized lockers and mingled together in corners. Artificial lights hung overhead. The atmosphere was heavy with tension and people were already splitting into their respective friend groups. If Anastasia had to describe the place in a nutshell, she would have used the words, cold, grey and scary. She bowed her head and curled up, trying to appear as small and unnoticeable as possible. Anastasia felt as if she were a rabbit among a den of hungry lions. Their eyes followed her similar to how a predator stalks their prey, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Even though Anatasia knew that logically no one would probably hurt her, she still did not feel safe in the environment.

“Come on, where’s this stupid grade four classroom?” she muttered under her breath.

Coincidentally, despite trying to avoid being noticed, she was too distracted and slammed into something, knocking the wind out of her. An identical ‘thud’ sound came from in front of her. She winced as pain shot up from her tailbone. When she realized what had happened she bolted upright with speed that could rival even a cheetah. She immediately started bowing down and spewing out apologies.

“Owwwwwww,” the person said, who she now knew was a girl because of her high-pitched voice. Her stomach lurched as she internally cursed herself. Her face was hot, and she felt everyone laughing and mocking her. Everything was over, Anastasia felt all of her worst fears come crashing down on her. Her chest felt heavy and she couldn’t breathe. Anastasia shut her eyes as tightly as she could, willing herself to just disappear from the world when she heard chuckling from below. Slowly the chuckling turned into full-on laughter.

“You’re so funny! You can relax. You’re not in the least bit of trouble. It’s not like I’m royalty or anything,” the girl said between giggles and fits of laughter.

She forced herself to crack an eye open to look at the brightly laughing blonde girl. She had a medium build and seemed very athletic, and, like her, she was also wearing a mask. Anastasia was dumbfounded as the girl did not seem to be the least bit offended, in fact, she seemed to be enjoying the moment.

The girl wiped a tear from her eye and said, “The name’s Malissa, how ‘bout you?”

Malissa had a very easygoing manner and slurred some of her words together. Her voice was somewhat high and scratchy. Although Anastasia couldn’t tell whether it was because of a sore throat or if it was just naturally like that.

“Hello?” she said.

Jolting, Anastasia realized Malissa had asked a question.

She shyly introduced herself, “Ah! I’m Anastasia and I am in fourth grade this year”

“Grade four!” she exclaimed. “Well, who would have thought! We’re in the same grade! Quick! show me your class information.”

Scrambling, she reached into her backpack and started rummaging for the paper. Anastasia handed it over to Malissa once she had found it.

“We’re in the same class!” she excitedly squealed, “Come on then! Let’s go find our class together.” Stunned, Anastasia tried to figure out whether or not Malissa was being genuine or not. Growing up, her classmates did not like her and it was a rare occurrence when anyone treated her with kindness. Anastasia’s friends never stood up for her and she did not feel like she could count on them either. Hope blossomed in her chest, Anastasia had a feeling that Malissa would be a wonderful, supportive friend, and she could only follow flabbergasted as Malissa excitedly dragged her along. The school was no longer an icy and grey place as it had turned into a place of vibrant colours and warmness. Her expression soon morphed into a smile, similar to the one Malissa wore when she realized she had just made a new friend.

“Huh, maybe school isn’t that bad,” Anastasia thought as she was dragged along, their ringing bells of laughter echoing throughout the hallways.

TINA HU [10]

Blitz to Change

Ronin Bray (12)

Seasons change

Seasons express

Express meaning

Express growth

Growth fulfills

Growth changes

Changes lives

Changes minds

Minds questioning

Minds exploring

Exploring the unknown Exploring ahead

Ahead of the game

Ahead there’s trial

Trial breaks down

Trial refines

Refines the mind

Refines our souls

Souls wander

Souls question

Question where

Question when

When will it end

When will I realize

Realize potential

Realize the truth

Truth is sought

Truth sets free

Free from fear

Free from delusion

Delusion of comfort

Delusion of excess

Excess that confines

Excess that blinds

Blinds you from the road

Blinds you from your path

Path to acceptance

Path to the future

Future of fulfillment

Future of peace

Peace of the conscience

Peace in the heart

Hearts confuse

Hearts evolve

Evolve through life

Evolve in spirit

Spirit of eternity

Spirit with a calling

Calling…

Eternity…

When Love Unravels

Layla Longo (12)

She left with love though hers slowly died

Ending quiet with no anger just release

He understood as sadness filled his eyes

Their story is filled with grace but ending with no pain

But eventually whispers stirred betrayal as they would claim And lies began to fracture what they had built

Their relationship that was once built

Slowly seemed like a lie making him feel that love had died

Each voice straying along with their claims

Until he decided to question her release

Their happily parting ways shifted to straight pain

And trust was lost under suspicious eyes

He met her gaze but gone with softened eyes

Now replaced with anger, breaking what they had built

He asked for the truth but she could feel the pain

Of doubt within his faith slowly dying

She tried to speak offering her release

But he continued to believe the lies that others claimed

You never loved my bitter words he claimed Accusing her with coldness in his eyes

Each memory they shared with sweet release Now twisted into questions of what they have built

He threw their past at her as if it had died

She couldn’t endure this pain

She fought to try to clear his pain

But he still couldn’t stop believing all the claims

The love they have shared has now died

He believes that she has moved on with a wandering eye

Giving up on the friendship that was built

He felt that he needed to release

He stopped messaging her to let her release

Days passed and she waited for a message but only caused pain

The relationship cannot be rebuilt

All because of these claims

With teary eyes

It has now remained that the relationship has died

Leaving only pain

These stupid claims

Have now destroyed a relationship being forever released

Dream Come True

Lukas Speranza (10)

Lukas Speranza, a 15-year-old soccer fanatic from Toronto, stared at his poster of the Chelsea star, Cole Palmer. His room was a sanctuary of his favourite team, Chelsea FC, and he often imagined himself playing in front of screaming crowds at Stamford Bridge.

After missing a crucial shot in his school’s soccer game that afternoon, Lukas muttered, “I wish I could be Cole Palmer even just for one week.”

When Lukas woke up the next morning, his wish had come true. He found himself in a London apartment far from home, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He was Cole Palmer. Panicking, Lukas paced the room until a notification popped up on Cole’s phone:

Training at 10 AM.

At the Chelsea training grounds, Lukas struggled to blend in; his first few touches were awkward, and his teammates teased him.

“Rough night, Palmer?” joked Benoit Badiashille.

But soon, Lukas realized that Cole’s instincts were still in the body. As the practice went on, he grew more confident, executing perfect passes and even scoring a few goals.

Match day arrived quickly, and Lukas’s nerves hit their peak. Chelsea was playing Manchester City, Cole Palmer’s former team. As he stepped onto the field, the stadium’s roar sent shivers down his spine.

Early on in the game, the ball came to him, and instinct took over. Lukas nutmegged a defender and fired a screamer into the top corner. The crowd erupted in chants of “COLE PALMER!”

Lukas had never felt so alive.

But the glamour came with its downsides: endless interviews, demanding practices, and the pressure of perfection left Lukas wanting his quiet life in Canada back. By the end of the week, he missed his mom’s home-cooked dinners, pickup games with his friends, and even his little friend Michael’s annoying pranks.

When Lukas woke up the next Monday, he was back in his small bedroom. He sighed with relief, but when he checked his phone, he froze.

A package had arrived that afternoon which included a signed Chelsea jersey with a note that said:

“Thanks for the break, mate. Let’s swap again next week. Cheers, Cole.”

Lukas laughed, hanging the jersey on his wall. That week had been a dream come true.

ANGELA BARANI [11]

STEPHANIE ZHANG [11]

Climbing the Hill

Mac Walmsley (12)

Never say never

Never give up

Up in ashes

Up the hill

Hill to climb

Hill to success

Success is earned

Success is a reward

Reward your work

Reward for trying

Trying to move forward

Trying to move on

On my way

On the path

Path is difficult

Path has bumps

Bumps in the way

Bumps into me

Me on the path

Me and my goal

Goal to climb

Goal to progress

Progress through problems

Progress in life

Life is uncertain

Life is changing

Changing tides

Changing times

Time is precious

Time moves fast

Faster than a cheetah

Fast like the wind

Winds of change

Winds that push

Push up the hill

Push towards the end

End is now in sight

End of the challenge

Challenge of the days

Challenge to finish

Finish the race

Finish the project

Project is hard

Project is long

Long way up

Long way to go

Go to the goal

Go to the end

End…

Goal…

The Daughters of Revolution

Adhya Chandradat (10)

“You must give me my freedom or you will have to kill me!” Sylvia has accepted that the sole way to make a difference is to make noise, regardless of strenuity. She is tired of feeling like an inanimate object, and so she marches. Not only for herself, but for the future. Sylvia looks forward, and her eyes meet her unrelenting nightmare. Her knees buckle before she can regain her composure. An ugly force impedes her path, striking her down. Despite her efforts to create change, there is always another obstacle standing in her path, ready to push her down. Baring her teeth like the savage creature the man thinks she is, Sylvia raises her gaze and looks to his soul. Sylvia was not afraid of death, or at least not anymore. The only thing she truly feared was having lived her life in vain.

Rumours of an uprising echo throughout the streets. Amid hushed whispers and the loud slams of doors, Inez draws her battle plan on a newspaper. Ghosts will walk the streets tonight, alongside the women who demand choice. Inez adorns herself with a flower crown made of white roses and picks up a matching wreath to commemorate her lost sisters. Surrounding her are grandmothers, mothers, and daughters. All is well in the placidity of Inez’s living room, but it is only when the bullets begin to fly through her window, shattering glass and dreams concomitantly, that she remembers how essential her fight is. Despite her efforts to create change, there is always another obstacle standing in her path, ready to push her down. Inez grabs the ragged newspaper, bloodstained wreath, and horrified women, leading them out. The women will not walk tonight, leaving the ghosts of the past to fight in solitude.

Cars, sirens, people shouting, and footsteps softly beating on the pavement are typical sounds associated with city life. Sharp breaths, keys jangling, and the twitches of Kavya’s head moving fervently back and forth to see her surroundings are never heard. Kavya left her apartment to purchase band-aids, white carnations for her mom, and some red pens. The store was six blocks away and Kavya didn’t intend on running there. Even still, her mom sternly reminded her to put on her running shoes and lace them up tight. As she walked, Kavya felt soulless eyes marking her. This wasn’t paranoia. Quickening her pace, she tried to recall advice. Don’t look like a victim, don’t go straight to your home, don’t be alone. Rushing into the nearest convenience store, Kavya hid for an hour.

This is not the world that Sylvia and Inez died for.

Did their lives have an impact?

Will yours?

MIA GORDON-MAZZUCA

VICTORIA SARI [9]

Notes of Solace, Strings of Struggle: Ode to My Guitar

Millie Steinmann (12)

My fingers itch

To pluck and strum you

To create and compose

What I hear in my mind.

Sublime sensual curves

Chocolate mahogany, Taut strings stretched

As if you are smiling at me.

You create waves of vibrations

Moving invisible through hollowness Into sensations.

Repeating, failing,

Repeating, succeeding, The relief of your melody comes But it is fleeting.

Yet your smooth soft shiny skin

Draws me back

Unrepenting, unapologetic, Forgiving what I lack. The solace I find in you.

Now my fingers are calloused

The pain sears through me

Blood drops on your strings

You mock my failure as I plea

To search for the chord

To search for a way out

Stuck in the maze of doubt

My incompetence, my inadequacy, My frustration grows and slows The harmonious journey.

Like a moth to a flame, I return again to your fire.

I am powerless against the fever of joy

In the creation of something that cannot be destroyed. Your notes emerge smouldering from the wooden cave

Until my words ignite you and the room is ablaze.

A Childhood on Replay

Yuling Qian (10)

When you have a photographic memory, you spend a lot of time flipping through the past like an album. There are images you are glad to keep with you always, and some you would give anything to forget. For me, this past is all I can remember, and the photos in my photo album, both good and bad, will keep cycling through my head until the day I die. Why, you may ask? Because the battery in my camera has been taken out and will never be put back in; my camera has lost its ability to take photos forever.

Sometimes, the vividness of the moment still haunts me: the intense, blinding headlights piercing through the rear window, the high-pitched screeching of tires, my seatbelt tightening across my chest, the sensation of floating in the air, and then pure darkness, all within the blink of an eye.

But on the worst of days, I try to replay the happiest of photographs: the vibrant colours on the pages of a book that my parents read to me before I fell asleep, the blur of children running across the playground, fighting to get to the swings first once the recess bell rang, the aroma of spaghetti wafting from the kitchen when I got home from school, the imperfect, faded lines of chalk, scrawled messily on the side of the road; the nostalgic memories of my precious childhood, all before my life took a turn on my 18th birthday.

My eyes used to be my biggest strength. It was like they could have intricate conversations with my mind to communicate the most elaborate of details in a given moment. But all of a sudden, I was starting a new chapter of my life without my most important sense.

I used to be the strongest visual learner you would ever meet, and I relied on my eyes to just take a mental photograph of the whiteboards at the end of lessons. Now, I can only listen to my professors ramble, hoping to pick up some keywords from the lecture. When I’m not paying attention in class, which is more often than I like to admit, I walk down memory lane in my head, my childhood echoing in my ears. I also love to daydream during the long school hours; it’s more of a hobby than a habit, at this point. I dream of the day that I can see the world through my own eyes again. The day that my battery gets put back into my camera. The day that I know will never come.

Candy Crush Heart

Monika Nascimento (12)

K C A B

Into the sea

Catch a fish

New puppy love

Hershey’s

K C A B

Into single comfort

Buy myself

A box of chocolates

In love

Not with the boy next door

Or anyone else

So long as I have me I’ll be okay

Until we meet again

Repeat

ARDEN ESTABROOKS [11]

Happily Ever After

Kitty Zhang (12)

The walls start closing in

The walls of darkness

Darkness of heartache

Darkness of the abyss

Abyss of emptiness

Abyss of fading hope

Hope against hope

Hope for escape

Escape in dreams

Escape to something new

New lease on life

New was foreign once

Once upon a time

Once bitten twice shy

Shy to admit the truth

Shy to fall in love

Love is a fleeting thing

Love will hurt the heart

Heart burns with pain

Heart filled with fear

Fear of being hurt

Fear of Cupid’s bow

Bow being drawn back

Bow is slowly tugging

Tugging on heartstrings

Tugging to move on

On the brink of change

On the edge of trust

Trust the process

Trust it is true

True as the north star

True to my feelings

Feeling something fuzzy

Feeling something bloom

Bloom despite the thorns

Bloom like a rose in spring

Spring has sprung

Spring brings new colours

Colours chasing the darkness

Colours that bring light

Light that rekindles

Light brings warmth

Warmth of laughter

Warmth to stay

Stay in the moment

Stay as love flowers more

More than a memory forever

More than I could ask for

For…

Forever…

EFFIE SU [8]

California Glow

Savannah Bratty (12)

California summers smell like sea salt and coconut

Pink skies blend into blue waves

Filters like golden dust, glowing bright

Hair tousled and beachy curls catching the light

Erewhon smoothies bright with colour

Wellness is a lifestyle, vibrant and pure

Denim shorts paired with cropped tees

Chilling in the bronzed sun all day, living with ease

Because white drapes like sunlight on tanned skin

The ocean whispers secrets

To dreamers with salt-kissed hearts, feeling free

Manifesting long Malibu days in the sea

Every sunset filled with pastels and stars

A picture-like scene, very aesthetic

Almond milk lattes and oversized sunglasses

In the golden hour the world feels like ours, all worry passes

The Hollywood sign stands elegantly

The city where dreams are made

Where stardom is guaranteed

And hearts keep chasing the bright lights

Gleaming eyes say, paradise is near

Here we are, free with no fear

California is a feeling

A mood, and memory

In LA’s glow, we dare believe

That anything can be ours, if we just achieve

But the days slip into the sea

Summers not as long as they used to be

TEAGAN DELANEY [7]

CHLOE TAORMINA [9]

Purpose Zak Khan (12)

A Short Story in the Style of George Saunders

Terry walked over the sunburnt grass, approaching the man who stood atop the jagged rock that overlooked the barren land below.

The wise-man was wearing a black cloak and had a thick wooden cane. Why was he just standing there? Surely, he should have better stuff to do than, well, nothing, being the wise-man. He himself certainly wouldn’t waste his time like this. He would do productive things like—

On second thought, he probably knew what he was doing. He was the wise-man. The person who knew where to go and what to do. Everyone knew that. He was the person who had solutions to problems before they even happened! He knew where to find true purpose. He must be doing something important.

Terry wanted to find that purpose, too. His father left when he was little to learn from the wise-man, and now it was time for him to do the same. His father was brave and righteous for wanting to learn such an important topic.

Well, that’s what everyone who used to know him said. To be honest, he was so young that he barely remembered his father at all. And although he couldn’t ask him, he knew this is what he would want.

He would learn from the wise-man, too.

He cleared his throat to get the wise-man’s attention. For some reason, he didn’t turn around.

Did he not hear? OK. He tried again, louder.

Yes. He turned. Terry explained that he wanted to learn and travel with him.

A pause.

The man said No. No? What? Why?

The man politely explained that too many people like Terry have come before, but no one ever has enough patience to understand the important work he does.

Terry believed he could handle important stuff. He knew he had to persist, he needed to live up to his dreams. He told the man to at least give him a chance. He wouldn’t leave without joining him.

Another pause.

Fine, the man said. Yes! He could join, under the condition that he couldn’t ask about or interfere with any of the wise-man’s methods until he explained them.

Fair enough.

He started to follow the man as he walked away from the rock. He followed far until the sun was fading into the horizon, spreading its dim, orange trail across the sky.

What a nice day! But did the man even know where they were going? It seemed to be a random direction. No, he must, being the wise-man. He always knew where to go.

They eventually came across a cozy little rural village with colourful houses. Maybe it was time for a rest. Or maybe something to learn. He was ready for what was to come!

He followed the man to a farmhouse with three large grain bins behind it. The man told Terry to wait. Wait?

He thought the point was to follow him; why did he have to wait? But he figured the man-wise knew what he was doing, and besides, he could just watch instead.

The man walked over to the first bin and broke the latch on the door. Did he see that right? This definitely wasn’t his farm. They probably shouldn’t even be there in the first place. No, never mind, this was the wiseman. It’s probably just his friend’s or something.

The man took something from his pocket and threw it inside. What was he doing? The man walked over to the other two bins and did the same. He then walked back to Terry and told him they were finished

here.

Finished with what?

Hold on. What’s that smell?

Shoot! Fire in all the bins!

The man burned all the grain!

This wasn’t what he signed up for. This man wasn’t wise at all, he destroyed the poor farmer’s hard work!

He was about to share his thoughts, but he remembered the man told him to be patient. Maybe there was something he didn’t understand.

Yes. This was the wise-man, he must know what he’s doing.

The grain was probably ruined anyways. Or his friend told him to burn it. Yes, that could make sense.

He followed the man as he left the town and continued on his way. It was nighttime now. The man led the way through a nice hike and reached a forested mountain range circling a town in the middle. The mountains were vast, their peaks reached the clouds, and birds could be seen soaring above.

This man really did know where to go! This time, they must be doing something more exciting and purposeful.

He followed him to a small wooden house with an oversized roof slanted to the side. The man told Terry to wait.

Wait again? Alright. The wise-man was probably right, he knew what to do.

The man opened the door to the house and walked inside.

Hmm. He could just make out the person sleeping in the bed.

The man covered the person’s mouth with something. A cloth? This doesn’t look good.

The man took his cane, held it high above his head and brought it crashing down on the sleeping person’s legs.

WHAT! WHY DID HE DO THAT!?

The person woke up, tried to scream, but no sound left his mouth.

This is ridiculous! His legs are ruined!

There couldn’t be a possible reason for this, the wise-man must have gone crazy.

He started to march over to the wise-man in anger.

Wait.

He remembered the man’s reminder to be patient. Maybe there was something he didn’t understand. Maybe the man wanted his legs to be broken. He was probably working so hard lately, he wanted a day to rest, and this was the only way to force his disciplined self.

Did that make sense? Not really.

But maybe there was something else he didn’t understand. He decided not to question the man. He would continue to learn. He didn’t want to let this precious opportunity go to waste.

He continued to follow the man far until they reached a village on the edge of a lake. The sun was rising, and the lake was crystal clear, with luscious greenery surrounding it. The cool morning breeze flowed through his hair.

How scenic! It even had a large dock near the middle. A man was trying to fish near the end.

The wise-man told Terry to wait.

Again? He really didn’t want to this time.

But then, he was the wise-man. He must know something Terry doesn’t. He would be obedient. He wanted to learn the ways of the man.

The wise-man walked towards the end of the dock. He started to pull something from his pocket. As soon as Terry saw the silver gleam of a knife, he knew what was about to happen.

He had to stop this.

He had seen enough.

This guy wasn’t wise at all, he just went around ruining innocent people’s lives!

He ran to the dock. The wise-man was almost at the fisherman’s side. No!

Terry charged his fist back for a punch, but before it could reach, the wise-man had turned around.

He heard the young man approach him from behind.

He was busy thinking about his important journey coming up. He predicted what the young man was here for, and didn’t want to entertain him for long.

The young man cleared his throat to get his attention.

He had told the young man to get lost. He had an important purpose to fulfill, and this young man certainly didn’t have the courage or patience to continue with him.

The young man continued to pester him. Did he realize how annoying he was? Did he not understand that he had important work to do? He had multiple stops up ahead, there was no time to wait for this.

Why is he still asking?

Fine, he could come along—if he really wanted.

Maybe it would save some time arguing. He made sure to make it clear that the young man was not to ever get in his way or question anything he did until he explained.

His first stop was the ugly old isolated village. Why did they make it in the middle of nowhere? People had no sense these days. And why was the sun so darn bright while setting?

Well, regardless, he had important business to do there.

He got to the village and strictly told the young man to wait so he could complete his work.

He found the target farmhouse near the front of the village.

Find the three grain bins on the farmhouse. Burn them all.

Simple, but not everyone could do this work; it was too important for most to understand.

The young man didn’t question him. Good start, maybe he had some hope.

Probably not, though.

He knew he had no time to waste. His work was too important. He made his way to the next stop, a town in the center of a mountain range.

Why was the path to the mountains so hard to trek? How did they manage to leave and enter town? Those birds have it easy, flying above. Too dark to see far too… they should have moved quicker. The young man didn’t seem to mind much.

But it didn’t matter, he had to get to the town.

The target house was right by the base of the mountains. He told the young man to wait and got straight to work.

Break the latch on the door. Located target; sleeping inside. Tied a rag around his mouth for safety measures. Use his cane and break both his legs.

His work was finished here, and the young man still didn’t say anything. Maybe he understood the importance of his work. No. Highly doubtful.

His next stop was at the village near the lake. The sun was rising, once again with its terrible blindness. And the muddy path from the rain made it take double the time to get there. They really needed to work on proper roads.

But he couldn’t delay, he had important business to get done.

His target was fishing on the dock. He told the young man to wait, made his way over, and got started. Walk towards the fisherman. Take knife out of pocket. Sta—

What was that? In the corner of his eye? The young man ran towards him, fist out.

That’s not right.

The young man was doing so well, but it didn’t matter. He had important business to complete.

Temporary change of plans.

Turn around. Stab young man. Explain previous actions that he couldn’t be patient enough to hear.

No one understood his important work. If only people could understand. As the knife was in the young man’s chest, he explained himself.

The grain farmer was planning on scamming a poor family. He had to stop him.

The sleeping person was planning on stealing from the local butcher. He had to stop him.

The man fishing was planning on murdering the mayor to take his place. He had to stop him.

Now, why did no one understand the importance of his work?

He was true justice.

The pain was numbing. But he heard the explanation.

The wise-man looked at Terry to see if he finally understood.

Terry was trying hard to think. He knew he only had a minute or two left.

What if the people changed their minds? The wise-man couldn’t know for sure what they would do, right? If that’s true, everything he did was wrong.

But then again. It was the wise-man. He probably knew what he was talking about, right? They probably wouldn’t change their mind, right?

He never should have intervened. That was the wise-man’s condition to follow him, and he didn’t listen. How did he mess this up?

His chest was really starting to hurt. Actually, everything was really starting to hurt. But he knew it would be over soon.

In his final moments, he realized that he hadn’t fully looked at the wise-man before. He was so focused on his teachings, and never got this close anyway.

He took in the man’s tired face, wrinkled all around.

His short, messy hair, silver from old age.

His sharp jawline showed through his thin beard.

That was the last thing they both saw: father looking into son, son looking into father.

The Last Letter

Tiffany Wu (12) Freeverse Poetry

On a lonely night, with tears continuing to flow I read Dad’s letter, taking in each word slow He shared no place, no hint of where But wrote, “I am safe, I swear. Hold tight and I’ll be home soon!”

A quiet promise beneath the moon

Though miles may keep us apart

His words drew close to my heart

Each night, I’d look at skies so deep

Wishing his safe return to keep

But days grew long, the letters slowed

A silent worry began to grow

One day, two men stood at our door

Faces solemn, bearing grief and more Whispered to Mom with words of woe

A truth so cold, like winter’s blow

My family shattered, our world turned gray An unbearable ache, that would forever stay

They handed me Dad’s hat and a folded flag My heart sank deeper, my spirit dragged He no longer returned, I chose to deny To you, Dad, I would not say goodbye I honour you, though you’re far away Your legacy shines through night and day

Each Remembrance Day, I stand in grace

Holding onto your words in my embrace

We pray for those still out on the field

May peace guide you home, your wounds to heal

For all you’ve given, we can’t repay

We honour you all in every way

“Do You Believe in Luck?”

Vivienne Chen (7) Short Story

I had always been an optimist. But lately, the world has had an interesting way of testing that belief. In fact, I was drowning. Dying. Completely covered up to my face in homework, makeup tests, and textbooks. The little wooden table was going to crash onto the floor with the weight of another piece of paper. Matter of fact, I was going to crash onto the floor. Nevertheless, I knew I should study for my English test. I knew I should ignore the annoying glow of the Snapchat logo. I knew I should stop stalling and finish the practice test, but I went to eat dinner anyway.

In the small, rusty house downtown my mom and I lived in, it wasn’t modern, but at least we had a roof over our heads. My mom and I had just moved here this summer. I walked out of my room, checking my messages that I couldn’t ignore after all. My mom placed two tacos onto my bright pink plate.

“You have an exam tomorrow, right? I think you should finish your dinner and call it a night,” my mom suggested.

She was right. I was practically falling asleep standing up at this point.

“Mmph.” Great reply, Alessia, I thought.

I bit into the crunchy taco, and the filling exploded everywhere. I groaned and picked up the pieces that fell to the ground. As I heaved myself up, I banged my head on the corner of the table.

“Ow!” I exclaimed, rubbing on the now bruised part of my head.

After finally making it through dinner, I walked, half asleep, up the stairs, and into the only good-looking part of the house: pink and purple wallpaper, a small but cozy bed, a fluffy carpet, and bright lights. I scanned the desk where I did my homework. I turned my head towards the bathroom but then whipped it back to the desk again. Strange. What was that? I didn’t remember there being a pink envelope on the desk. I picked it up suspiciously, already having an idea of what it was about. Great, I thought to myself, another scam letter. I ripped the top of the envelope. I opened the neatly folded letter cautiously. I started to read. I’m sorry, but once you have started reading this, you can’t stop. This is a chain letter. My heart skipped a beat. So many people have told me these things were fake, but the letter was so detailed, so sketchy, I almost wanted to believe it. Despite my heavy breathing and breaths, I kept reading. You are one of the chosen ones. Jeez, so cringy. Send this message to 20 people. A girl ignored this and got killed the next day. I stopped reading. After a couple of minutes, I decided to ignore it and throw it in the trash. Why should I keep it? It’s probably fake and a scam... right? If only I knew it was a big, fat, no.

Beep Beep Beep

The irritating, continuous beeping of my alarm woke me with a start. I tossed and turned, trying to ignore the fact that it was five in the morning. I started squirming and squinting around in the dark like a blind fish. I squirmed too much, and accidentally rolled off the bed. I landed with a thump and stubbed my toe on my bedside table – as if falling off my bed didn’t hurt enough already. Ow, I whined silently. I pushed the pain to the back of my head. Thoughts started racing back to me. You have an exam today. Volleyball practice is starting in 45 minutes. The chain letter. I brushed away the last one. I went to the bathroom to do my routine, walked down the stairs (more like tripped and flew off the stairs) and eventually made it to the kitchen.

To make sure I didn’t starve myself, I decided to make some toast and a cup of tea. The toaster shot up two slices of toast into the air, falling towards the pot of boiling water. Oh no, I thought. The toast landed smack on the side of the pot, causing it to fall over. I instinctively backed away, afraid that the water would burn me. The water spilled onto the ground, so hot it was almost smoking. In fact, it was smoking. I glanced

at the time. Awesome, now I’m going to be late for school, I thought to myself. I threw some paper towels to attempt to clean the mess (and to hide the evidence), and then casually walked out of the front door as if nothing happened.

“NOOO! WAIT…pant… FOR… pant,” I wheezed and frantically waved my hands as I chased the bus, driving at least 70 kilometres per hour, “...me.” Great. Now I had to walk to school, and I was already late. I sprinted off of the road, and into the trail. I sped through the dips and hills of the trail, getting bruised and cut on the sharp thorns of plants and flowers. A branch caught a braid in my hair, which I had to rip out of my ponytail. Double great. I was going to look like a disowned, homeless troll when I got to school.

After fifteen frustrating minutes, I finally arrived at school. I walked through the tall, glass doors of The Country Day School. As soon as I got in, I ran into my best friend, Rachael. Her shiny, gray eyes twinkled when she saw me. Rachael sprinted towards me, her wavy, brunette hair trailing behind her like a cape. “What about your hair?” you might ask. It looks like a rat’s nest. A tangled, filled with leaves, rat’s nest.

“Woah, what happened to you?” Rachael asked.

I told her everything, from this morning’s mess to missing the bus to managing a marathon of misfortunes to make it to school.

“Honestly, you should’ve just stayed at home at this point,” Rachael said slowly after I was done.

“No way, my mom would kill me! I c-” I got interrupted with a booming voice.

“Girls, why are you not in class? YOU’RE. LATE!” our Principal thundered in a harsh voice.

We spun around to face him, apologizing and swearing to never be late again. We ran towards our classroom when he stopped us again.

“GIRLS! NO. RUNNING!” the Principal yelled.

Right. Rachael and I looked at each other. We calmly walked down the hall. As soon as we turned the corner, we continued to sprint. It was too late for me to stop by the bathroom to fix my rat’s nest of hair, so we collected our binders and arrived at our first class, music.

By the time lunch rolled around, Rachael and I lined up for pasta. I waited for her to get soup, and she waited for me to get fruit. We walked, side-by-side, to where our friend group was sitting. But someone decided to throw a banana peel on the ground and not pick it up. So guess what? My unlucky self tripped. I slid forward to the other side of the dining hall to the “popular” girls’ end of the table. Then Emma, the most annoying one, stood up to make an announcement to her gang.

“STOP, GUYS. I’M G-”

Just then, I slammed right into her face, causing her to fall backwards, and into her plate of food. She fell dramatically and broke the plate with her head. She got multiple weird glances from her friends, because, thank the lord, her friends didn’t realize I crashed into her. I picked myself up, walked casually towards my friends, and sat down to eat my lunch. Once is a chance, twice is a coincidence, but what’s three times? I thought that to myself. I mean, this could’ve happened to anyone. Anyone could have slipped on the banana. But no. It had to be me. Was it because I threw away the chain letter? But I thought chain letters weren’t real… Despite my increasingly hurting head, both physically and mentally, I managed to make it until the end of the day.

Not again, I thought, exasperated, as I watched the school bus swish around the roundabout and into the road. I’d missed the bus again. Looks like I have to walk home. I zipped up my coat, hung my bag comfortably around my shoulder, and prepared myself for the long trek home.

Following my bad luck trend, of course it had to start raining. The gray clouds wept large, heavy raindrops. The wind went from whispers to whistles to a watery windstorm. It was raining sideways, the rain and wind teaming up to slap my face. I started running, spying a silhouette of a little shelter a couple of meters away and aiming towards it. Finally, I reached the shelter. I was drenched from head to toe. My hair was dripping wet, and I wouldn’t have even realized there was an old woman beside me if she hadn’t coughed gently.

“Cough… Are you feeling alright? You look a bit…overwhelmed.” The old woman said.

“I’m fine. Just…today wasn’t the best day for me.” I replied. I thought about telling her what happened. I don’t think she would’ve kept my words at heart anyway since she was a stranger. So, I told her.

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll pass. You look like you could use some luck,” she said after I was done. She handed me a white envelope. I swear, if this is another chain letter, I thought. The soft pattering of the rain outside stopped.

“Thanks for the envelope. I’ll make sure to open it at home,” I told the woman. I waved at her, then quietly walked home, thinking about the envelope.

My hand lingered above the envelope placed innocently on my desk. I didn’t want to risk it. Outside my room, I could hear my mom muttering.

“6, 8, 12, 16, 26, 80. Hmm…” she murmured. She repeated those numbers time after time after time –if I heard any more, I was going to blow up like a bomb.

In the end, I decided to open the envelope. Just as carefully as I did for the envelope with the chain letter. I cautiously ripped the rim of the envelope. I unfolded it and brought it up to my eyes. Congratulations! it started. With every word I read, my eyes widened another centimeter. It was so quiet I could hear the faint beating of my heart.

Thump Thump Thump

There they were, numbers 6, 8, 12, 16, 26, and 80, marked with rich, blue ink at the bottom of the hand-written letter.

Oh. My. God.

I’d just won the lottery.

Flash! Click! Snap!

I stood in the middle of the pavement, holding onto my huge, board-like check, with so many microphones and cameras pointing at me.

“Alessia, how does it feel to have your life turned around?”

“What does it feel like, winning the lottery?”

“What are you going to do with the $70,000,000,000?”

Questions were asked from every direction. This is so overwhelming, I thought to myself. A lady invited me on to a podium, where apparently, I had to give a whole formal speech and everything. I nervously stilled in front of the microphone. Talking in front of a huge audience wasn’t really my thing.

“Um..ahem..hi, everyone. First, I’d like to say a big thank you to the woman who gave me this letter. She also left a note. Alright, let me read this out loud.”

“Dear, reader. I’m not sure whether you will win or not, but sometimes your luck can be turned around when you least expect it. So here. Here’s a lottery ticket.”

“Second, please know that most of the money will go to charities and fundraising. Thanks for listening.”

I walked off the podium and pulled out my phone. I had to tell someone.

“Hi, Rach! So…”

BELINDA CHENG [12]

Growing Pains

Eden Davis (12)

I once had a happy place.

It was full of pine trees whose needles blanketed the ground, like a soft carpet woven just for me, where I would lie down, letting the world slip away as I relished the silence and scents of the forest.

It had a lake that glimmered like a million shards of glass in the sunlight. When the heat would surround me, and I felt like I could evaporate, the lake would call my name.

It had big wooden cabins, each with its own creaky door and old tin roof that serenaded me the nights that it rained, lulling me to sleep with the rhythmic pitters and patters, while my friends softly giggled in the dark.

It had dusty couches where every night, we played guitar until our fingers were numb, and sang until our throats were dry, the melodies echoing long after the music stopped.

Now, the trees still stand tall, their branches swaying in the stagnant winds. The lake still glistens under the sun, a glassy mirror reflecting what no longer feels like mine. The rain still dances on the tin roofs, but the sound doesn’t soothe me the way it once did. The laughter doesn’t carry the same warmth, and the music feels more like a hazy dream than a song I still know how to sing.

I once had a happy place.

As If It Was Enough

Andy Hamilton (10)

How can a paper loaded with childhood dreams weigh more than the rucksack on one’s back? One question lingers in your head relentlessly: Am I enough? Every story that was heard – the gruelling marches, sleepless nights, and the voices of the cadre that could break you faster than your fatigue. This gives doubts. But why would you want to endure such pain for a small chance of glory, secret glory – one you could never talk about? Even those who pursue such a feat never know.

The sun was starting to rise and the amber-yellow graces the trees with its presence. It’s not ordinary for one to see the spruce’s tips in November, though this whole month feels like nothing ordinary to Dallas. Gasping for air and trembling in his boots, he looks down at his watch, and says to himself, “5:17. A new record.” Perched on the railing of the lookout, Dallas looks behind him to see where the frozen Lake Ontario meets with the frozen St. Lawrence River. Everything is still – no waves, winds or distant sounds. Not even a bird or passing airplane is present. Not even a car or dog barking in the distance. He thinks to himself, “Why am I out here? No one else is.”

Doubt starts to fill his mind, earlier than he thought it would – Dallas never expected this dream of his to fall in such critical times. He is preparing for the selection of Hivemind, a covert special operations unit based out of Kingston. Dallas lets out a shaky breath, watching it condense into a misty plume before it disappears into the still air. He clutches the railing, his gloves creaking against the frost-covered metal. Hivemind… He would have never thought that the name carried such weight. Spoken in silent tones by those who knew, and dismissed as a myth by those who didn’t. Few even dared to dream of it, and fewer had the ambition to try.

Yet here he was, standing in the frigid dawn, questioning his values, and what he has ever wanted. With each crunch of the ice beneath his boots being the only thing he could hear, Dallas plows forward in silence below the tall dead-looking spruce trees. The trail ahead seems endless. It takes a while for him to descend the trail and look up to see where he just was. A small glimpse of honour and delight falls onto him.

He has always moved forward despite everything in him screaming the letters, S-T-O-P. His legs are burning, and his shoulders are aching under the weight of his rucksack. Every breath is a sharp stab in the chest. However, Dallas remains standing.

He remembers sitting in the barracks a couple of weeks ago, just before submitting his application, writing why he wanted to be in the unit, and most importantly, why he deserved a spot. It was a surprise to him that the answer didn’t come quickly.

Why did he deserve to be among Canada’s best?

Did he cure cancer?

Did he solve poverty?

His bunkmate, Harris, sees Dallas putting such deep thought into his application. Harris was usually the barracks’ clown – the one who, even if there were a gunfight right outside the doors, would find some way to make fun of the enemy. Despite having this humourous demeanour, it seems like no one ever notices him. Dallas is his only friend. “Hivemind, eh?” Harris’ eyes are fixating on the paper, “You gotta really hate yourself

to be going through that… But I will say one thing,” Dallas’ eyes glare at the question on the application, “People don’t root for those who need it.” Was this teasing or was Harris trying to be his humourous self? Dallas didn’t know. All he did was chuckle it off, thinking it was one of Harris’ jabs.

But now, alone in the frozen woods, the words rang in his ear sharper than the cold itself. Dallas now knew exactly what he meant. People love a winner, someone who conquers the impossible without breaking a sweat. They admire the strength that seems effortless, the kind of untouchable resilience. But what they never see – what all refuse to see – is the pain, struggle, and fear within, which fuels said strength.

Dallas tightens his shoulder straps as his hands whiten from the frost-covered nylon. He isn’t doing this to be admired nor is he chasing glory. He feels that he doesn’t even deserve the silent respect of those too timid to take a shot. Dallas is here to see if he can stand up to a challenge, to face boundaries that might kill him.

Why you ask?

Because no one else could.

Harris had been right. Maybe no one was rooting for him. Maybe no one even knows he was here. As Dallas pushes through the cold and the ache in his muscles grows heavier with each step, he realizes it doesn’t matter. He didn’t need them to. Because the bleachers on his sidelines are empty, he smiles remembering he didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. Dallas is here to prove himself to the person in the mirror on the morning of selection. He would be staring at his own reflection begging the question: Am I enough?

A week later, his question would be answered.

He was. He really was.

NIHAAL MITHRA [11]

Threaded Together

Keyara Meghji (12)

Two train travellers, telling taboo tales Tie together through travels, testing trust. The truest treasure tucked through them, Tethered thoughtfully through their torsos. Together, the two thrive, the two trust, The two threads tangle, tracing through tender trails.

Then, the tenuous travels take their tolls, Thoughts turn to thorns, tough truths told, Tension tears through their tethered torsos, Their trust trembling through tempests. Tears turn to tornados, toppling their truth, Tenderness turns to turmoil, they tread the tumultuous tides.

The tension thaws, the tangled thoughts trickle through, Their threaded torsos tug together, transcending their temporal tension. Two tandem torsos, triumphantly together, tethered, through trust.

A Shine, A Ripple, A Page

Diviya Amarnath (12)

All that glitters isn’t gold

All I know is temporary

Temporary tattoos

Temporary loves

Loves to smile

Loves to skip

Skip that class

Skip a rock

Rock that ripples

Rock and roll

Roll up your skirt

Roll down the blind

Blind by lust

Blind with fear

Fear of the dark

Fear of no spark

Spark a conversation

Spark an explosion

Explosion in the news

Explosion in your heart

Heart too heavy

Heart can’t start

Start a game

Start more medicine

Medicine for your soul

Medicine is only laughter

Laughter at the lunch table

Laughter over your shoulder

Shoulder the blame

Shoulder expectations

Expectations to succeed

Expectations that grow

Grow even taller

Grow a network

Network events

Network is down

Down a drink

Down the road

Road unpaved

Road is winding

Winding the clock

Winding streams

Streams of consciousness

Streams lead home

Home is my harbour

Home is three clicks away

Away from colouring pages

Away from carousels turning

Turning…

Pages…

LOGAN COLOZZA

ALEXANDRA BAGNALLTROFYMOWYCH [10]

The Diary of a Woman Who’s Just a Girl

Amelia Duff (12)

From the moment you opened your eyes, the world was vast and strange, but in your tiny hands, you held all the possibilities. Don’t rush through the quiet, those early moments of wonder. In them, you’ll learn the strength of stillness and the beauty of simply being.

Your feet, small and unsure, touched the earth for the first time, and you learned how to stand tall. But there will be times when you fall, and that’s okay… all will remain well. The world is full of uneven ground, but it is in the getting up that you will learn, to be brave… to be strong.

There will be days when the world feels heavy, when you’ll wonder who you are, and if it’s enough. But oh, my darling, you are more than enough. Your laughter is a song only you can sing, and the world will try to change you –but hold on tight to the girl you’ve always been. Your power is in your truth.

in shadows’ depths

Lauren Davies (12)

In shadows’ depths, silence hides

A trembling heart with fright abides

A small creature with legs outspread

Venomous whispers fill my head

A spider dance where none divides

Its hungry gaze I cannot guide Terror that I try to deny

A fear not taught but born instead

In shadows’ depths

For in the web, the souls collide

The darkness fears that non-derides

Within its grasp, all hope has fled

A fate by silent fear is fed

A world unseen where dread resides

In shadows’ depths

The Quintessence of Life

Taylor Cooper (10)

The ‘Quintessence of life’ - that’s a big idea, isn’t it? I believe there isn’t a correct answer as it can vary from each individual’s perspective on life. To me, this statement can be defined as the most essential or significant thing in one’s life. It’s that core element that makes us feel whole and gives us a sense of purpose. When I reflect on what my quintessence of life may be, countless images come to mind; but, the deeper I dug into my thoughts, I discovered all those ideas circle back to one thing; Hockey.

Hockey is my quintessence of life. It’s not just a sport to me, it’s everything. It has given me more than I could ever ask for, and it’s the one thing I can’t imagine living without. From family and friendships – a passion to a purpose – hockey keeps me going day in and day out.

Every time I step into the rink, a wave of pure happiness washes over me. The cool breeze, the sounds of skates carving the ice, and the familiar feeling of the puck on my stick fill every bone in my body with a sense of belonging and happiness. The rink is my safe space, where I can escape all the noise of the world and just be present in the game I love. It is a passion that consumes me; it’s an obsession that never leaves my mind. Hockey is my drive, it’s my reason to push myself not just as an athlete, but as a person.

Through the highs and lows, hockey’s impact on me is immeasurable, moulding me into the person I am today. It cultivated my work ethic, fueled my unwavering dedication and passion, and taught me the value of resilience. It’s opened my mind to countless lessons and taught me how to overcome any obstacle thrown at me. Hockey is continuing to expand my mind, pushing me to grow in ways I never would have imagined.

Even more than that, hockey has brought my family closer together. It’s a passion we all share that allows us to bond in a way nothing else can. We support each other through every win and loss while making lifelong lasting memories together. We’ve all found common ground at the rink that keeps us connected, no matter our busy schedules or the challenges we are forced to overcome. I can’t forget the second family my hockey community has become to me. From my coaches who’ve monitored and pushed me to be the best version of myself, my teammates who’ve become lifelong friends, and my trainers who are always there offering me unwavering support; it’s a community I can always count on. They’ve celebrated my victories, lent me a hand through my struggles, embracing me for who I am.

But perhaps the greatest thing hockey has given me is my best friend, Brooklyn. Brooklyn is one of those rare people who instantly brightens up the room by just being in it. She’s beyond kind and can somehow always manage to put a smile on my face. While her presence brings out the best in me, it equally brings me a sense of warmth no one else’s ever had. She’s an essential part of my life and I am forever grateful for our friendship. I can’t thank hockey enough for bringing us together, knowing that our friendship will forever be the greatest gift I’ve ever received in my life.

In the end, hockey is so much more than just a game to me – it’s my life. The rink is, without a doubt, my second home, and hockey will always be the force that propels me forward. It has provided everything I value and is the foundation of who I am. It’s taught me who I am and who I want to be; without it, I would be at a loss. Without question, hockey is the quintessence of my life.

Your Twisted Whispers

Melanie Kalogritsas (12)

I constantly ignored your whispers, but eventually you made me break. you left me feeling shaken and now the trust we built is gone. Why are you always the victim? Did you not take note

of how you ended our story on a bitter note? You twisted words, spread quiet whispers, just to become the victim. But your lies unravelled, and when they broke, so did the fragile trust you didn’t deserve. Now you’re the one left shaken.

The day you spoke to me, I was shaken— Watching you recite your story, reading from notes like you were rehearsing the loss of my trust. But you forgot your own whispers and lies, contradicting yourself, letting the truth break through. In the end, you weren’t the victim

in the story. The only victim in this story was me. The one who was betrayed and left shaken, the one forced to watch everything break. You rewrote my words, changed every note, and turned them into rumoured whispers. But I stood strong in my trust

in myself. When the truth spilled, so did their trust. Not in me, but in you, the false victim. You thought you’d control the whispers But your lies left people shaken. They saw through your script, through every note, until you even began to break.

And now you know how it feels to break, to stand alone with no one’s trust, to hear your name spoken in sharp notes, not as a friend, but as a fallen victim. Now you’re the one left shaken, drowning in your ocean of whispers.

I won’t whisper or lie to make you break. I’ve moved on and kept my trust while you remain the victim, a ghost of your own making who’s lost and shaken.

“1996/12/25”

Taran Hudson (7)

Based on a true story:

I woke up on a frigid December 25 to the sound of my wife screaming. I rush down the stairs to discover a note. In messy writing, it includes my fear, a ransom. It says that my girl, Jonbenét, has been kidnapped. Everything became a blur. I phoned the police; they came in shouting.

Now, after hours of just sitting there, I search the house. I discovered a broken window, swung open.

And then I enter a small, concrete basement room.

And there she was.

Jonbenét Ramsey… dead.

It was over. All my hopes of seeing her again were gone.

Wonderland of Snow

Addison Palmer (8)

Snowy wonders circle my bruise Intricate flakes cling to me and fuse They sink into the ground sweet nectar, one falls after the other.

The sky is pitch white, almost like lace. I stare around, animals cuddling in for the long-awaited season

Burying themself under, as their sleep deepens

As I walk inside to lie, The snow hurling around my window

The daylight is aglow I’m in a wonderland of snow.

Alone In the Cold

Bella Koskinen (10)

…Cold.

It’s so cold.

I see them in the distance. My parents. They’ve been searching for me for hours. I heard them. They were screaming, crying, desperate to find me. I was lost in the snow.

I’m getting weaker.

I can feel the frost biting at me, threatening to crawl its way into my heart, but I try, I really try to hold on just a bit longer. For them.

They’ll find me.

Buried in the snow, freezing, on the verge of death.

I’ll be fine.

They’ll find me.

Those are my final thoughts as I finally slip into unconsciousness.

[Untitled]

River Sidhu-Mead (11)

If you looked up right now, you’d see the gray swirl of clouds, stark against the black night sky. The stars speckle the darkness, auras of purple and blue swirling beneath. And covering this entire masterpiece is the thick swirl of snowflakes, large and fluffy, barely melting as they hit your nose. The lights from inside the house seem distant, and even the sound of carolling is dampened by the flurries. Your hands are warm inside your gloves, but if you pay enough attention you can feel the tips of your fingers, numb and stiff. Still, how could you complain?

The Gift of Friends Akshaya

Chandradat (7)

Every single year since these four girls met on their first day of school, an amazing bond was cre ated and they became inseparable. When the memorable, heartwarming holiday, Christmas, comes around, Amayah Patel, Aylee Baker, Millie Kim, and Juliana Chan would do Secret Santa together, as well as fun-filled sleepovers with each other. Since they were eight, these girls would rotate to host this special event at either of their houses. This year, Aylee will be hosting at her house. Aylee planned perfectly to do Secret Santa the day they got off of school on December 20th, 2012. The four girls rush out of the school building and a big whoosh of cold wind blows their hair to surround their faces. The piles of snow fill their furry boots and snowflakes cover their joy-filled faces.

“See you guys at 8:00 pm! I can’t wait for tonight!” Aylee excitedly says.

“See you!” Everyone else exclaims.

At 7:58 pm, Amayah and her mom pull into Aylee’s driveway.

“Have fun honey! Make sure you get good sleep tonight!”Amayah’s mom says.

“Bye!” Amayah replies.

Juliana runs up to Amayah, almost running her over like a car.

“AMAYAH!” Juliana yells.

“JULI!” Amayah yells back.

“So who’s the gift for? Is it me?” Juliana asks.

“You’ll see. Now ring the doorbell!” Amayah replies.

“WAIT FOR ME!!!” Millie yells at the top of her lungs as she runs past the frosted shrubs. The slush she is sprinting in makes a splash.

“Millie! Come quick!” Juliana and Amayah yell in unison. Ding dong, the doorbell sings.

It is currently 8:01 pm as the three girls walk into Aylee’s house. Snow flies through the door as if it was escaping the cold.

“It smells really good in here,” Millie says, her mouth watering.

The house is filled with peppermint, tinsel, and all different kinds of aromas. The girls set their presents under the glimmering glorious Christmas tree. This was no ordinary tree. This tree illuminates the entire room. Filled with winter white lights, this tree had glistening golden ornaments and a shimmering star on the tip. Aylee grabs four boxes, gingerbread men peering out from inside the box.

“Let’s start building our gingerbread houses,” Aylee says.

They decorated the houses with candy canes, mints, and even the old candies from Halloween. Decorating gingerbread houses, baking lots of cookies, with each being a different type, and exchanging gifts. These weren’t even all the fun festivities planned for this evening. Before doing Secret Santa, the girls decided to make each other warm cups of hot chocolate as it was getting later into the night. They sit down on the soft, white rug in the living room, ready to give each friend their gift.

“Juli, this is for you. I hope you like it!” Amayah says.

“I knew you got me! Thank you!” Juliana replies and gives her the biggest hug ever.

The rest of the girls exchange their gifts, hearts put into all of them. Everyone is rejoicing.

Amid the opening of gifts, chatter, laughter, and great fun they are all having, Aylee’s phone gets a notification.

BEEP BEEP.

Aylee grabs her phone and sees a message that says, “Aylee Baker. We’ve been watching you and your every move. Even your little friends too.”

The message is from an unknown number. Aylee had gotten weird texts before, but her phone usually would send a little alert saying, ‘Most Likely Scam.’

“That’s strange,” Aylee says confused. Millie asks, “What’s strange? Aylee?”

As Aylee stands up and shows the rest of the girls her phone, she announces, “I just got this weird text. Probably just a scam caller…”

Excited to see the text, Amayah jumps up, “Ooh! I wanna see it! My mom always lets me troll the scam callers.”

Aylee is about to hand over the phone to Amayah when, in an unnaturally shaky voice, Juliana reads, “Ms. Chan, say your goodbyes. We gave you a choice, so now we have no choice…”

The room falls silent.

Juliana continues, “Unknown number too. How do they know my name?”

In a half-joking, half-not voice, Amayah says, “Still think it’s just a scam caller? They had your full name too, Aylee.”

A thickness fills the air, and the girls are unsure of how to break it. Tension and small pockets of anxiousness consume the girls, not leaving any room to joke any more. The tiny sounds of snow falling on the ground, the bare branches swaying in the wind, and the creaks of Aylee’s floorboards are the only things that the girls can focus on. It doesn’t help that in all of the horror movies that they’ve watched together, things always start with a weird call before people start dying. Maybe the girls were just being paranoid, but suddenly, they all heard footsteps leading up to the main door.

Just as things couldn’t have gotten any scarier, Millie yelps, “THEY HAVE PICTURES OF ME. PICTURES FROM THIS MORNING, PICTURES FROM LAST WEDNESDAY, AND SO MANY MORE!”

About 25 pictures of Millie had just been loaded into her phone. All from an unknown number.

Reading from the bright screen, Millie reads aloud, “A photo says a thousand words, Millie.”

“I still haven’t gotten a text. You guys think it was all one person?” Amayah guesses. Too shocked and scared to hear her, the girls sit and stare at their phones. Just then, Amayah gets one of the last messages of the evening. It is a picture of the four girls, sitting in Aylee’s living room, huddled in a circle. The faint Christmas lights from Aylee’s porch are visible through the image. A chilling realization moves through the room.

Aylee glances at all of the girls, softly whispering, “The unknown caller is outside. Whoever it is took that picture just now… and we’re alone in the house.”

Tempted to scream, cry, and run, the girls stare at the door, wondering what to do. Juliana quickly thinks about her mom’s self-defence rules and leaps up to shut the blinds. She instructs the other girls to stay calm and call 911.

Millie, feeling the bravest out of them all, decides to call 911. The call goes straight to voicemail.

“WHAT! HOW! THEY ALWAYS ANSWER. THEY HAVE TO! ” Millie exclaims in shock.

KNOCK

KNOCK

KNOCK

The girls go silent. Juliana turns off all the lights so everything goes pitch-black.

KNOCK

KNOCK

KNOCK

Holding each other’s hands really tight, sweat dripping down from their foreheads, anxiety climbing their thoughts, could this be their moment of death? Amayah peers through the peephole on the door, shaking her eyesight. All she sees is a street light beaming through the door. “No one’s there,” Amayah’s voice trembles, whispering the phrase.

KNOCK

KNOCK

KNOCK

Quietly, they open the door.

“AAAAAAAHHHHH,” the girls scream.

Millie’s ten-year-old brother, Jeffrey, stands at the door, clenching his mother’s phone in his hand. Her

mother is in the car wondering what all the kerfuffle is.

“JEFFREY GREGORY KIM!” Millie angrily shouts. “ YOU FREAK! DOWNLOADING ALL THOSE PICTURES OF ME, SENDING MY FRIENDS CREEPY MESSAGES! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Jeffrey says in a very monotone voice, “I got bored. Mom told me we were picking you up early, so I decided to prank you guys. I thought it was hilarious. I mean, Mom had your friends’ numbers.” As Millie was about to start yelling again, Juliana put her hand on Millie’s shoulder to calm her down.

Juliana whispers, “C’mon Millie, don’t be mad at him. We’ll get him back eventually.”

“Oop. I’m super tired.” Amayah drowsily said.

“I’m going to sleep.” Amayah gives Millie a humongous hug as a farewell.

“Ugh. I hate you,” Millie says to her brother while packing up her things. “I’m sorry my brother ruined our annual get-together. How about we meet up on the 22nd for lunch?”

Juliana and Aylee nod.

“Bye, Millie!” The rest of the girls say while giving her big hugs.

At the end of the sleepover, the girls make a humongous cup of hot chocolate and then go to sleep.