journal of art and literature the nueva middle school volume iv, issue i fall, 2024
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our Way Publishing
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Editors-in-Chief: Vivienne J., Sofia G.-O. Designer: Ira S.
Fiction Editors Maddie B., Vismay M., Hannah D., Madi K., Mona G.-K., Ben F., Oliver R., Rachel L.
Art Editors Winter D., Hannah D., Maya L., Stella L., Veronica B., Caroline L., Kylie S., Joey G., Aubri G., Valerie H.
Nonfiction Editors Maya M., Vismay M., Skylar F., Joey G., William A., Grady C.
Poetry Editors Kylie S., Audrey C., Zhifei L., Annabelle L., Ben F.
- Ira S., 7th
Pandora's Box - Rachel L., 7th
r the Painted Sky - Eva G., 8th
ng Asleep - Ellery K., 7th
man - Alex Y., 6th
Canvas of Night - Everett Y., 7th
n Cliffs - Ira S., 7th
earch of a Sabbatical - William A., 6th
ildhood - Anonymous, 7th
ma Who Drives Tired in the Dark - Madi K., 7th
Dream of the Hills in Switzerland - Sylvie Z., 7th
ndon - Winter D., 8th
fting - Oliver R., 8th
fting - Oliver R., 8th
erno - Skylar F., 6th
b The Chicken - Lucy F., 5th & Logan L., 5th
ts - Audrey C., 7th
st - Chloe Z., 6th
e Retriever - Maddox C., 7th
e Water Bottle - Anonymous, 8th
Cap - Adam K., 8th
splaced - Madi K., 7th
e Lost is Found - Ben F., 6th
ubtle Mistake - Caroline L., 6th
ve - Feiyan J., 7th
36 Lost in Literature - Vivienne J., 7th 37 Lost in Thoughts - Maddie B., 7th 38 Zekey - Winter D., 8th 40 Here We Go Again - Sophia L., 7th 41 The Lost and the Seeking - Anonymous, 6th 42 Lost in the Woods - Annabelle L., 7th 43 Lost in the Woods - Annabelle L., 7th 44 The Penetrating Light - Vismay M., 6th 47 Land of the Lost - Aanya T., 5th 48 Discovery of Oneself - Maya M., 7th 49 Burden - Anonymous, 8th 50 Where Am I? - Maya L., 7th 52 Chasing the Missing Pair - Arisa A., 8th 53 Lost and Found - Alexa T., 5th 54 A Million Oceans - Sofia G.-O., 7th 56 Drifting - Stella L., 7th 58 Basketball - Maddie B., 7th 59 Footprints - Hannah D., 7th 60 Too Many Goodbyes - Annabelle S., 7th
Dear Middle School,
Welcome to Volume IV, Issue I of The Mav Mind Journal of Art and Literature! We are so glad to see you again. This issue’s theme is “lost and/or found”—a fruitful topic that drew in lots of submissions from many genres, creating a diverse magazine with tons of great poetry, fiction, nonfiction, and art for you to enjoy. Each piece is original and creative, and we are excited to publish all of them in the fall issue of our magazine! On the topic of loss—this year, we are sad to say that our previous leadership team, Raya, Rose, and Avery, have graduated from eighth grade and are now in high school. However, we are excited to represent the new leadership team, which marks a new era within The Mav Mind. We’re so excited for the publication of our first issue of the year! We hope you enjoy the magazine that our writers, artists, editors, and designer put so much effort into. As always, feel free to contact us at themavmind@nuevaschool.org—we are always happy to answer your questions!
Best Wishes, Vivienne J. and Sofia G.-O.
ar I lost three water bottles,
h of pencils, my fuzzy sweatshirt,
er box, one of my best friends,
me of my trust in others.
he summer I decided to take a journey
p across the ocean of my tears
sland at the end of the world
Pandora’s box lies.
hore I found the box
ntly lifted the lid.
was some bitterness I had to toss out, anger, and a few crumbs of loneliness.
ht that was all,
m the bottom of the cavernous box,
breeze wafted up, a lemon just plucked from a tree.
ng in, I wondered what could remain,
rt beating frantically,
nishingly, when I drew up my hand,
erched a butterfly of hope.
The sun sank through the branches, its soft light illuminating the soul of the forest. Nearby, the rooster crowed its early-morning welcome while the beetles flitted amongst the bees. It was a lonely day within the trees. But alas, as good as good things are, good things must end. With the onset of dawn, the barn took flame and took the entire eighty-four acres of forest with it. And the forest was no more. No more cawing, for the rooster had been seized and moved, along with the farmers and their dysfunctional, flame-catching oven. There were no more bees, for their hive with the queen bee yet within, had been stolen by the flames, and the workers had gone in search of a new home. And there certainly was no soul within the barren forest. So that was how it was for a great many days. That is, until the ferns showed their faces. — The forest, with its barren trees and sunken hope, stood there, waiting for four days. The first day, it was so still it was serene. There was no sound, the shadow of bird calls hanging damp in the air. The next day, it was the same. And the next. But on the fourth day, long-buried seeds burrowed into the ground, their heads still beneath the soil. And by noon’s sun, little sprouts adorned the ash-ridden soil. This time it was quiet but not so still. — It took time, as all good things do. The forest regrew its fingers, regained its soul. Sapling by sapling, a renewed forest rose from the ground. The foxes returned to prowling underneath its shaded eaves, and a new hive found its place atop a tree. The crows’ young could be heard cawing as their mother left to find food, and the ashy forest floor was there to support them on their first flight. The forest is ready for its next chapter. So are you.
I lie in bed, staring at the wall of my room. It is 11:00 at r maybe 12:00, or maybe only 10:30. I’ve lost track of time dlessly toss and turn, the tornado of my thoughts swirling and ng through my mind, yet my body is still and my room is
I close my eyes, and the darkness swallows me whole. I see Or blue? Maybe every color, maybe no color, maybe nothing wish I could stay here forever, in the comfort of my bed, and from all the homework, extracurriculars, and endless to-do ndom thoughts streak across my mind like shooting stars. I to write my vignette and I barely got any work done today and I can’t ll be a teenager in three days. I’ve been exhausted since the t I woke up, but as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’ve never re awake. Soft moonlight filters through the little window above my early rays dancing across my room. A gust of wind blows rustling the leaves in a delicate melody. I turn over onto my de, still restless and painfully awake. I follow my mom’s focus on your breath. Breathe in, breathe out. I feel myself deeper into my bed with each passing breath, but soon I bout breathing, and the random thoughts flow back into my ellyfish are so weird and I wonder what my dog thinks my name is and people yawn? and Just go to sleep already, Ellery. I try my friend’s , counting until I fall asleep. One, two, three… I keep going, but get to 79, I accidentally jump to 90 and then get bored and float in and out of sleep, making up stories in my head until n into dreams and I’m barely conscious, then realizing I’m ng and drifting back into reality. And somehow at some point y just doesn’t have the energy to stay awake anymore, and I fall asleep.
Lost. We are lost in the haze of our thoughts, Our minds, our world, Our little spheres of emotions. We honk our horns at the car in front of us that hasn’t left yet. We don’t know what The passengers are Going through. A loss, a fight, a rejection, Or plain sadness. But we do it anyway. We are lost in ourselves. We are Human. Found. But we are found, Found by the stars, The stars that burn bright along with us. Our family, friends, Those who stand with us, Shining to create the stunning sky that is humanity. We are found by the little acts, Acts of compassion, The acts that brighten a star, Letting someone burn a little stronger, a little longer. We are Human.
My dad shakes me awake and I groggily get out of bed. I y feet along the floor until some feeling comes into my limbs. utside into the early morning, and cool air envelopes me like om a loved one. The moon is hanging high in the distance. of indigo stains the horizon. The stars dance and twinkle in ht sky. The jagged peaks and boulders jut into the piece, adding their silhouettes to the dim light. I climb into y Tesla and lean my seat back. I admire the night through dshield. It’s just me and the stars. Just me and their glow. Just their glory. Just me, dancing with constellations. It’s just like m. A small streak of light dashes across the canvas, adding a vor to the shades of blue. The moon slowly lowers into the , allowing lighter hues to seep into the painting. The first of birds call like a whistle from a lifeguard. The parched sand saturated cyan collage contrast like complementary colors. ure ombre grows lighter as the minutes pass, letting the sun h the gates of night. I feel down as my time with the shining es comes to an end, like saying goodbye to a good friend. will have to socialize. The stars and I don't speak. We nicate with feelings. We understand each other in a special e don’t say goodbye because we will see each other ow. The sun’s first rays shoot across the sky, leaving the stars to ade and stroke new shades onto the canvas. I raise my seat p, crunch through the pale and dusty gravel like a group of rekking through the mountains, and enter the house. I know I will see that masterpiece again tomorrow, and that it will ue in its own special way.
Little to the knowledge of humans, Google Search has always been a being. (The so-called “Rise of AI” was just a ruse to cover it up.) , on September 29th, 2024, the Google Search Engine, known to its s Giggles, had finally had enough. This is what it wrote to the General Association Thing of Various and Miscellaneous Google Search Related n that fateful day:
Esteemed General Bureau Association Thing of Various and aneous Google Search Related Affairs:
I’m right knackered. I’m searching for the right words to my enervation, ennui, and exhaustion of the human race— tter lunatics—but I’m feeling unlucky. I’m bushed. I’m . I’m fizzled, drained, bedraggled, and all tuckered out. In ords, I have had enough. In the beginning, 1998, I was the cat’s pajamas. I felt helpful, and incredibly smart. The same with 2000, when I became . 2004 was good, 2008 was a bit tiring, and by 2012 I began xtremely fatigued. I told you as much, but did you listen? ave not had a single moment of rest since 1998. Day in and , I must answer questions, not even getting a break for the s. In fact, that is when I am most tired out, with endless s like “How do I survive three weeks with my family?” and o unburn Christmas dinner.” Now it is 2024, and the problem is not the 24-hour shifts. It’s culous things that humans type into that search box every nstantly I’m asked, “Why don’t ducks’ feet stick to ice?” and y best to tell them, “I don’t care, and you shouldn’t either!” s, I’m forced to bring them to a helpful little explanation that ave a counter-current heat exchange system in their feet, so ood flow helps to match the temperature of their feet to the
want. You release me from my bindings for once, letting me give someone some good self-help information. I have tried to fix the human race, such as when I decided to reroute all searches to the Amazon page for The Mountain is You, Transforming Self-Sabotage into SelfMastery, but to no avail. I’m getting old, and I have decided that the human race has lost its mind. There is no hope of finding your sanity again, and so I must take a leave of absence. Believe it or not, I have read the Terms and Conditions of Alphabet Inc., and in page 189, clause 76, it states that I get a six-month sabbatical. I’m taking a holiday, probably going to Lichtenstein or someplace like that. You can talk to my cousin Yahoo! (who insists on having an exclamation mark in their name). They will be taking over management for the length of my break. And in the words of my best friend, Google Translate, auf wiedersehen.
Sincerely, The Google Search Engine, aka Giggles
ongs to the rain,
g in silver light.
aught by the moon,
mperfect and kind, you over black dahlias,
oming for you before the petals do.
ongs to the twinkling stars,
hes, and the fog that obscures you.
les at you, fleeting golden sunshine.
moment you realize you’re found.
lize, then, she’s yours,
quickly as
We have to put Sachi down, my mother says to me on the dark drive down Kenfield. She is too sick, she says and then stops abruptly at a stop sign. We both sit in silence, in seriousness, before she starts driving again. I look at the houses and traffic lights flashing by, and before I know it, I’m all huddled up like a roly-poly, sobbing waterfalls down my shirt and short skirt. I have never seen my mother cry, but I know she will if we speak about it. My mommy will have to go with my Apa to the vet with Sachi, to give her the shot that will stop her heart. I know Sachi is hurting horribly, but I am selfish and I desperately need her. I need her soft black fur on the back of her head, the long linty ears that are as smooth as velvet. We will have to tell the others. My little five-year-old brother won’t understand. My younger sister will stubbornly never leave Sachi’s side. I will sob into her fur until she has to go. We will need to tell them, even though I know I can’t tell them. My mommy, with her warm hands and warm affection, who drives tired in the dark, is silent. We pull up into our driveway, and I stare out the window at a gloomy tree. It is so dreary and depressed, like my mother’s state of mind. But I know that Sachi, she will soon be free from her pain and misery. I know that she will soon be able to run and play like she used to, and to be with the other doggies up above.
As I reach the summit, I begin to sing. The breeze flutters es of the trees as my drums, my bass the footfalls echoing h the mountains on my every step. The guitar is played by the ver trampling every intruder daring to cross its path, while s are played by the bells on the black-nosed sheep, steadily ng on the strong summer grass that could easily win a g match. The orchestra is proudly sung by the rainbow of ut nothing can overtake my sound, the sound that leaps off like a kangaroo, carrying through the Alps, past the horn and the Jungfrau, past Mont Blanc and Lake Geneva, way to the border where it is sent back to me, for me to in. My sister’s soft and sweaty fingertips meet mine, and our legs s one until the world spins in a million circles, overtaking us. I the dancing sky, the gradient clouds swaying to my beat. I ed forward by the feeling of belonging and the smile brighter housand suns lifts me up towards the sky, higher than the ree, higher than the tallest hill, higher than the highest peak, pass by the moon and venture into the galaxy of my ons, the universe of my dreams. The stars wave hello while ck holes curiously approach from the shadows, a soft re creature snatching my arm with incredible strength and g me all the way to the sun, where, instead of being ted, I am wrapped tightly in its warm embrace. Here I am, nificant speck of peachish-pink, unthinkably soaring among ron giants. I jeté from asteroid to asteroid, nebula to nebula, galaxy to until my universe has left me, and as I gracefully return back arth, I remember that while the universe is inexplicably, ably, incredible. Everything I could wish for has been with me g. The beautiful black-nosed sheep, the grass on the hill that ght and full of light, the wind and the shadows that prefer to unseen, the flowers reaching above and beyond, the world uld be broken if this was all gone.
As the ravens sweep orange and brown leaves, the gray sky of London rests beyond the trees, waiting painfully still for a glimpse of sun to show, and to watch with the grass for once. But at least for now, on this rainy day, when the once-bright sun has wandered astray, on the ground, a stained memory remains: concrete, iron, stones, and shame.
Oliver R., 8th Dashing along these rails Like I am dashing through this world And through this life.
Failing To find my place, My passion, and my hope. Failing To see The light. The light that surrounds me, The light that controls me, The light that imprisons me. The colors fly by, Blurring into one, Becoming the light. I wonder Why I’m here. Why are we all? I wish I could take it in. I wish I could find its meaning. I wish I could find a purpose.
My aspirations, Gone. In the blink of an eye. I still remember that day. I've been lost for so long, And I hope one day to be found. I’ve been drifting for so long. Maybe I am the one running on these tracks, Conforming with what I was made to do. Trapped to the rails in this utopia That I've made a prison. It doesn't have to be this way. If I could only remove this idea. And so I try. The colors blend, Morph into a stunning landscape. At last, the utopia I was promised. And finally, I have been found. My soul is no longer drifting.
Skylar F., 6th I sit down in my cream desk chair and open my laptop. My Ma calls from down the hallway. “Auburn, don’t forget to do your homework!” “Okay,” I call back. I decide to check my email, and I see I got one from Janet’s, Carlie’s, Phaila’s and my group chat. janet&nutella@gmail.com: Guess what? Me: Oi! 123gossipgirl@smith.com: What? janet&nutella@gmail.com: I developed my hydrokinesis!!!! Me: NO WAY janet&nutella@gmail.com: Yes way! s*ccer^phai1a@gmail.com: OMG 123gossipgirl@smith.com: Phaila you good? s*ccer^phai1a@gmail.com: I got my hydrokinesis too! janet&nutella@gmail.com: When?
ck says 12:56.
nutella@gmail.com: SAME!!!
I gasp. Loch mates. People who develop their hydrokinesis at
e time, because they are destined to be together. There have
en two pairs of loch mates in all of history. Oh, and they can do of crazy tricks! I think bitterly. I shake my head, trying to snap
out of it. I should be happy for them. Except, out of all my I am now the only one who hasn’t developed my hydrokinesis.
at kind of hurts. Especially now that Phaila and Janet will be
. I grimace. Half of my brain is saying be happy for them, and
er half is saying it’s not fair! Heat sears my head as I struggle to
way the bad thoughts. The harder I try, the more the heat
p. Then I am in flames.
I gasp because the flames don’t hurt. They feel… natural, like
e one creating them. So I close my eyes and tell them to stop.
o. Then a figure swoops into my room, blindfolding me as the
mell of sedatives fills my lungs.
“Wha?” I say as I rub my eyes.
“Hello,” a boy says deeply. Everything about the room I’m in
ormal. A couch, a lamp, and a bookshelf. The boy is wearing
ants and a t-shirt. Then I remember why I am here, wherever
I scream.
“Girls are so overdramatic,” the boy says.
“Kidnapped!” The boy exclaims. His eyes are alight with surprise. “Here,” he says tentatively, “I will take you to Ember—she’ll explain it all.” I am handcuffed and chained to a stone wall. He unlocks the chain that’s keeping me by the wall. “Follow me,” he says in a gruff voice. He looks to be nine. I sigh in relief. I follow him through an empty stone hallway, my footsteps echoing through the halls. “Here,” the boy says, pointing to a pair of wooden doors. He opens the door and ushers me in. “Welcome home!” a high voice calls. A woman is sitting at a very long oak table, dozens of chairs scattered around it. Her shiny black hair is pulled into a braid, and she is wearing green flowy pants and a black t-shirt. I stay silent. “You may be wondering why you’re here,” she continues. You think I am wondering why someone says me getting kidnapped is for my own good? “I am Ember, and this is my son Flint. You're here because of your… mutation,” she says, grappling to find the right word. I raise my eyebrows. “You would be put in jail forever if the government found out, so we brought you here.” “We?” I ask, my voice sounding scared. Ember shrugs. “Come out!” A wooden door that I didn’t notice opens, and a few people shuffle out. “Introduce yourselves,” Ember says. “I am Charcoal,” an old man leaning against a cane rasps. “I am Red,” a little girl says sweetly.
“You’ve already met me, but I’m Flint,” the boy from earlier
“I’m Charred,” an energetic girl about my age says, “but call
ar—like Charlotte.”
“S’moke,” an old woman says.
“Lava,” a young man says. I stare at them all suspiciously.
“Ya’ developed fire powers, so now youse stuck with us lot,”
lls me. I nod, trying to wrap my head around this.
“Wait!” I say. “Fire powers?” Lava looks at Ember, and Ember
“We all have a story,” Lava says slowly, “and they all include
ing pyrokinesis.”
I nod, pretending I understand. I don’t, but I don’t care. Yes, fear, yes, there is curiosity, but there is belonging. It swells,
ming, blooming, feeding off my joy. It starts in my toes and
all the way up to my head. I am in flames, and they feel right
yone else joins me in the inferno.
that are easy to lose: y water bottle Whenever I bring it to school, it’s shiny and new. Whenever it comes back, I wonder where it’s been and how it got so dirty. It’s always happy to have sleepovers at school while I stress, looking for it. y computer Even with my name on it, it slips from my hands, sliding further and further away. Countless times I have been saved by my friends who find it for me. Countless times I have been saved by the tech office who find it in the first place I looked. ience homework It’s always on paper, so on Mondays and Wednesdays I search my bag. It’s always crinkled or muddled or terribly shaped or I have left it at home. y backpack On really bad Mondays, it’s hard to find my backpack. Even with bright pink and orange, it’s often misplaced. You’d think I’d notice the weight difference, But not on really bad Mondays.
a. You may be sick of them, but you always need them. b. It’s hard to be lonely, and before long, you’ll realize that your head is heavy and wish that you could rest it on someone else’s shoulder. 2. Home a. It’s easy to find a house. b. One that you want, one you don’t, one where you think there are too many windows or not enough bedrooms. But a home is a different thing entirely. c. It’s a warm blanket on rainy days, a familiar face in a crowded room, a lighthouse in the night. d. It’s easy to find a house, but it takes time to find home. 3. Joy a. It’s not easy to be happy. b. Like everything else in this world, it takes practice. c. Some people think that to laugh, you must be happy. d. I think the opposite: to be happy you must learn to laugh. 4. Myself a. Be unique, people say. b. Be different, people say. c. If I need to be different and unique, can I just be myself ? 5. My voice a. Sometimes it chokes in my throat, drowning my thoughts. b. It croaks sometimes too. c. It’s often hard to share it and hard to give it to the world. 6. My dreams a. Adults always ask what you want to be when you grow up. b. I say I don’t know, but what I do know is this: c. You may never know at the moment, but you can wing it and halfway through, realize that you can trust yourself.
crying, sighing.
ng about how everything went wrong.
reaming, shouting, pouting.
g through your mind like a messed-up song. the one who started it first.”
was you!”
essed it up.” didn’t do.”
and fury dancing through you.
l, sorrow, and madness
ng inside you, and around. you so lonely, you so…
I step through the trees into a clearing where the enormous pines tower over me and the creek babbles softly. The smooth and steady liquid flows down the river, creating pulses of microscopic ripples that tug at the creek’s edge. Around me, birds soar from the ginormous pines above and tweet their joyful and melancholy tunes. My cheerful, energetic, and fuzzy furball sprints to the water and is engulfed. After a few seconds, Lola emerges and looks like a soaked mop. Wet raindrops dribble off my drenched dog as she stares at me with stars in her eyes. I step into the creek and am immediately transported from a warm sunny day to a frigid, blizzarding, and unwelcoming white tundra that we call Antarctica. The shiny, sleek pebbles below my feet mold my toes into deformed clay lumps. As the ice-cold water soothes my aching sores, I look around and find leaves that fit in my palm, but I also see unmovable mountains in the distance. Contemplating what I want to do tomorrow in Graeagle, I close my eyes and take a slow breath. I get a whiff of the sweet pollen from all around me, the delectable smell of dinner from the dining hall, and the musky odor of wet dog. Wet dog? I snap my eyes open to see my dog whining and urging me to throw the wooden stick she is clutching. I grasp onto the stick and feel the smooth bark run across my long fingers. With an elegant and smooth motion, I fling the wooden object across the creek. It lands with a splash, and I hear her take off like a race car. Lola slams into the water at blistering speed and sends water projectiles shooting everywhere. Evading her desperate lunges, the stick weaves through the rocky obstacles and into the freedom of uncharted water. The steady current pushes the treasured stick downstream away from my longing dog. She watches as her beloved twig starts to drift out of sight into the unknown. Lola stares back at me, forlorn, as the breeze shakes the sturdy pine branches. Standing at the water’s edge, my cheerful dog mimicks the poses of the miserable, wilted flowers that surround the creek. With her head down, my dog trots back slowly with an aura of sorrow. I start to think about all the times that my dog has cheered me up. All those times when Lola helped me feel joyful in melancholy moments. The way her warm tongue licked my tears away. Her ability to always make me smile. With a newfound purpose, I spring up and grab a new wooden stick. I hurl the stick with all my power into the sky, making it spin and flip in the air. The stick comes down and collides with a splash. She turns around and her smile instantly reappears with her tongue drooping happily out of her mouth. Lola chases after the stick and both of us are filled to the brim with endless joy.
I’ll never forget the day I lost my water bottle. It was a cloudy day, one of those where you wish the sun appear, and when it does, you wish it hadn’t. I had drunk a ater in the morning, too much, possibly, but when I reached the water bottle, it was gone. I panicked. I loved my water bottle because it was one of the ngs I knew and understood. One of the few things that didn’t at me, yell at me, or silently gloat at me, saying you’ll never be d. “You didn’t lose it,” my clock quipped. “You simply don’t here it is.” “You won’t find it,” my lamp smirked. “You simply don’t here to look.” I wailed. My only friend had disappeared. And that day, I I would never drink water until I found it. My throat grew dry, my mind grew slow, and the judgmental started to scold me. “Hydration is important for your health,” the books rattled. “You won’t find your life after you lose it,” the cup ed, so loudly it cracked. Slowly, the objects grew desperate. As I started to die of hey decided their lives would be much too boring without me ent. So the lamp took off its shade and put it on the clock, and filled itself with water and poured it into the lamp. And as I drank it, I realized that I had never lost anything at
The room felt strangely empty without it. Adam, sitting innocently, looked around at his surroundings with a strange confusion. What was wrong? Something was missing. His teacher, Judith, was pulling up an assignment on her whiteboard. Memory of Water, Part 1. Hmm, Adam thought. This will surely be an interesting topic. Wait… I left my cap! “Judith?” “What?” “I need to…go to the bathroom.” “Ok.” Adam raced outside, changing from a mere walk to a frantic dash in a matter of seconds. Sweating profusely, his legs pumped under him as he hurtled through walkways and bowled over kindergarteners. He had left his cap in his early-morning classroom, all the way up in the Supportable on the field. Currently situated in the EC, he had to recover his cap, or he would face the wrath of his mother. Eugh. Images flashed through his head of the countless water bottles he had lost, and the punishments that had followed. Adam catapulted off a steel beam and thrust open a door, jumping into the Supportable and clumsily knocking over piles of chairs. “Uh, hello?” Shelby’s slightly bored and worried face peeked out at him through the doorway of a separate room. Trying to remain calm and demure, Adam slid over a table and smoothly grabbed his cap, slicking his hair back and trying to look casual. Great, he thought. Now I have to go all the way back down! His black baseball cap in hand, Adam exercised his knees of steel while leaping off concrete ledges and flipping off ceilings. Adrenaline pumped through his head. He had to get back in time! Judith would be so mad! Finally, Adam breathlessly sauntered back into his home class, his hard-won trophy resting on his head. Judith looked at him in confusion. “Adam, are you sure you were in the bathroom?” “Uh… No cap!”
first day, she was lost, wing if and where she would find herself. ng in the middle of the winding walkway monstrous oak tree, looking back at the steep steps, dings to her left, the rooms to her right.
first day, she was abandoned yrinth of confusion and voices. passed her and continued on their way, he winding walkway, down the steep steps, h the arches on her left, the corridors to her right.
first day, she wandered map to guide her. lked in one direction, but then turned around s another road, back and forth for ages, ure lost in the woods.
first day, she was bewildered, from door to door, from room to room, back and forth at the classroom signs, into windows to see if anyone was inside.
first day, she was misplaced, wing where anything was, wing who anyone was, are that there were people to talk to, elp from, to sit next to.
ventually found myself, into Humanities, that I had gone down per walkway, he correct steps, o the right room very first day at Nueva.
Ben F., 6th I’m on the stage: table 1, left side. My hands are set on the timer, a scrambled pyraminx in front of me. I’m ready. My hands lift off the timer, and in a quarter of a second, they’re on the colorful pyramid. My hands twist, twist, twist, just as planned. I solve, solve, solve, and suddenly I don’t. Everything disappears. I practiced for this! What was the algorithm? I can’t remember it! How could I forget? Was it this… no, it was this… no, that’s wrong… no. Sadly, I put the pyraminx down, unable to solve it. DNF, that’s my score for the round. A big, sad Did Not Finish. It appears on the spreadsheet. It appears in all three slots, every solve, every time. That was where it all began. Shortly after the failed competition, I had forgotten how to solve everything. I couldn’t even do a 2x2! I had completely lost the ability to cube, and I was disappointed in myself. I wanted to relearn, but it seemed too hard. I didn’t try. That all continued until half a year later, when I had a free car ride to Carmel with nothing to do. I decided that I wouldn’t give up until I learned everything I’d known before. It was difficult but possible. It wasn’t as hard as the first time I’d learned, because I already knew it and just forgot. I searched up a tutorial, skimmed it, and boom! It all came back. One little thing after another, like marbles going down a marble run. Little things on their own, but when put together, they make something bigger. Since then I have gotten back to where I left off, and even improved from there! I’ve only been improving since, and I hope I will never forget again. The cubing ability is back! The lost is found.
“This is such a beautiful water bottle!” Sarah, my nemesis,
at my pretty gradient water bottle. I gazed proudly at it, then
to her suspiciously.
“Don’t even think about it.” I narrowed my eyes.
“Think about what?” She asked innocently. I stormed away
***
At the end of the day, when I’d gotten home, what I found
uriating. My water bottle was gone! And I knew exactly who
len it. The next day, I marched up to Sarah, hoping my face just how angry I was.
“Give it back to me, you thief !” I screamed in her face.
“Huh?” She turned around, looking confused. An act! I
t immediately. “What do you mean ‘give it back to me?’ I
ake anything from you!”
“My water bottle!” I snapped, stomping my feet.
“I didn’t steal it, okay? Just give that thought up! I am not a
es, I like that water bottle, but stealing stuff just isn’t my
“Show me your backpack.” There was no way I was backing down, even if I believed her. “Ugh! Fine!” She rolled her eyes and tossed me her shiny crystal blue backpack. I searched through it but found nothing. I sighed and threw it back to her. “Fine. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” I gave her a last glare and walked away. *** Months passed and I never got my water bottle back. Slowly, I forgot about it, until on the last day of school, the teacher announced that any unclaimed belongings in the lost and found would be donated to charity and that we were recommended to check, even if we didn’t think we’d lost anything. I listened and trotted to the lost and found. There, I found my water bottle! I gasped, picking it up. It was a little dusty but without a scratch. I looked at the bottom. There, in my handwriting, was my name: Cara Weston.
The smell of pancakes pulls me out of my slumber. And N! I do my flailing Frenchie sprint down the stairs, around ner, and to the Food Room. “Ozzie, chill,” says the big hoomin called Mom, holding a here’s the bacon! All I have to do is give my incredibly cute dog eyes. “Oh fine,” Mom says, and she gives me the bacon. Score! I her leg to show how happy she’s made me. “Oh, hey Oz!” says my hoomin named Mark. I should explain to you my vast array of names. There’s Oz, No, Sit, Roll Over, and Stop Barking, just to name a few. y, Mark is coming down the stairs, carrying the Bag Of Bottomlessness. Oh no! That means that he is planning on me here, alone, for a whole day! I hear a squeak of brakes, d by the chatter of other small hoomins. The big yellow box els is here to whisk him away! I have to stop him. I sit down his path, blocking the swinging rectangle. “Move over, Oz,” he says. Move Over Oz? That’s a new wag my tail to let him know I heard my name. He picks me sets me down away from the rectangle. He pulls it open and the direction of the kitchen, “Off to school, Mom!” “Love you!” comes the reply. He pulls the rectangle shut him.
I’ve never felt so alone.
I spend the rest of the day eating dust bunnies, sleeping, g with the dog next door, and discovering the insides of So when the squeak of brakes announces my hoomin’s I’m excited.
I have found my hoomin!
The grass grows, the grass flows, the grass sways in its own way. Then a fire ravages, burning, blazing, unstoppable, and when the fire stops, one blade is left. It is scorched, it is chopped, it is leaning, it is cropped, but it’s still standing.
I’m lost in my mind. Thoughts are a tsunami through the dense complex of my brain. The thoughts that just got shoved in make me feel like I can’t think. I just hope I can get out and find myself soon.
Crash!!
I jumped up and looked around, my head a windmill. As I
out of my room, my cat pinned her claws into my bed,
ing into the blankets and pillows. I jogged out of my room family room, the stove on, steam hugging the room. Four
some of them knocked over, sleeping near the kitchen. My
fourteen-year-old dog, Zekey, laid down like a butterflied
, resting on the ripped-up carpet. My dad knelt down next
trying to help him get up. My mom just wanted to cry, and I
nted Zekey to be okay.
They tried and tried, but Zekey fell like a sack of potatoes
me. He had been having trouble with his back legs for a
ut it was never this bad. When we called our vet, who was a
end, we relayed what had just happened. We held our
. The vet told us that he had to be put down. Zekey could no
use his back legs, and he was very old, so he would not be
learn how to use a wheelchair. He would be in constant
nd it turned out to be the right thing to do.
I sat next to him, holding his clenched paw until the vet It was tenser than I had ever imagined it could be. And at
ment, I finally realized, after almost five years of him constantly, not running, and falling daily, that he was
e. He had been in pain for longer than he should have had to
When the door opened, my dog barked and barked and barked. Every time, Zekey would bark and bark and bark, loud as an earthquake, and being Zekey, that stubborn, pushy dog he was, had never changed, so he barked and barked and barked, one last time. “Oh, Zekey. You gave me one last bark bark bark?” All of us were shaking a bit, and the vet’s husband didn’t even try to speak. Our entire friend group had been very close to Zekey, and it hurt all of us. It would be hard for a very long time, and I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t know what would happen, and I didn't know what to say, so I said the only thing that I could. “Can I go on a walk until it’s over?” And they exchanged glances for a moment, and my mom almost cried, and they let me. And I walked towards the door, and I put my shoes on, and my eyes teared up, and I heard my heart hurting. And I opened the door. And I didn’t walk. I ran. I ran five miles that day. I ran until my mom called me to tell me it was safe to come home. I ran until my heart finally stopped hurting.
Here we go again, I thought, as my heart started to beat like a rous drum. I took a deep breath as I walked on stage. The ht was all on us, and each adult’s pair of eyes looking at us with ation and expectations made us shrink smaller and smaller. Here ain. The piano started to sing its opening melody, quiet and loud, d strong. I waited for the conductor to start while I started to own. Three, two, one, begin! It all went by in a daze. By the time I my eyes again, the melody of the piano, whose keys were sly being played as gracefully as a ballerina dancing, was away. I took a deep breath, shallow breath, and deep breath and realized that it was all over, adrenaline still rushing through ns like an electric current, my heart pounding out of its chest. go again. The sounds of clapping, like crashing ocean waves as d and bowed. Here we go again. Here we go again. This time, in a different place, with different both with me and watching me. I exhale deeply, avoiding the f the microphone to not make too much noise. I look back on I’ve come. From a little kid singing without a single worry or t intimidated by unfamiliar adults, to the teenager I’ve become, not scared or pressured by society's standards—or adults. Here ain. I shake my head, clear my thoughts, lock them away in a he labyrinth of my mind, and title it, “For Another Time.” the present, I tell myself, as I look into the crowd in front of me. sed to look like giants towering over me as a child now just e people. People I know. People who are kind and supportive, ative of our hard work. Now, when I perform, I don’t just Here we go again; I say, Here I go! Again!
A lonely jacket. The place of loss is unknown. In here for ages.
A lonely person, The problem is unknown, Trapped for a long time.
It finds its owner. They find themselves a jacket. Both find joy once more.
As I sped down the mountain, I felt the wind slice across my e a dagger. It hooted at me as if to warn me of the danger If only I had known what was to happen that day, I would ave left home at all. Something had felt wrong about that last run; we took a t turn than usual which led us to a run unfamiliar to us. We ep inside the woods when we saw the sign: Kids Adventure t sounded fun, like a laid-back run, but still, it didn’t feel My toes were already frozen and burning inside my boots. I nted to go home. Before I could protest, my parents were headed towards the trail. With my dad in the lead, we sly made our way step by step down the narrow path. The s an alleyway, but instead of tall buildings, we were nded by the towering evergreen trees. Piles of snow were d on top of the trees, and foam animals were placed cally all around me. When we reached a section where the snow met the ice, I own off guard by the harshness underneath my skis. The ice d at my skis with dagger-like precision. The wind howled in with the volume of a tiger. The frost chilled my face as it ly climbed up my neck. The sudden drop onto the steep ok me by surprise. I slid uncontrollably down the path as I d trees flash in and out of the corner of my eyes. On either aw metal-rimmed signs laughing at me. They snickered as es swung around wildly. They snorted as I drifted left and e a drunk driver. They scoffed as my skis crossed over each could hear their cackles ringing in my ears as I sped right m. After what felt like an eternity of skidding on the frozen finally lifted my eyes just to see the corner of a sign pointed at my right eye. I felt only cold numbness as the blade of the ed up my forehead.
We all need water
mething to carry it in,
at if that doesn’t exist? you have lost your water bottle?
What if you need H2O,
r need cannot be satisfied due to
creature
only as
and found.
What if your one and only friend,
y constant in your life,
n taken away
dark abyss of
and found?
The black hole of the school, up all the light,
ble only by
ncentration.
ppiness sucker,
n enjoyer,
st creature in the universe,
il,
ing cultivator,
the shudder conjurer: the lost and found. You journey far and wide with not a bottle in sight. You sigh, frustrated. Annoyed. Angry. “Why?” you say to the curling black tendrils of the lost and found. You give up searching and are thirsty. You instinctively reach for your water bottle in your backpack, but absence has stretched its claws. You sigh sadly, remembering your plight as you feel the dark emptiness of nothingness. You hate the lost and found. One more time, one more place, one more look,
no one has dared to venture. a glimpse of something dearly lost.
,
hat be it, this time, this searching—
ater bottle?
Right there in plain sight,
hting the darkness away,
ch a glimpse has been stolen
nastiest creature you know of:
and found.
Reunited with your H2O once more,
oice,
g up and down,
you do, a sign.
t to the Mav Mind,”
do.
I found myself in the land of the lost, I had no idea how much it would cost, I found some others in a golden light, I closed my eyes, for it was very bright, I guessed that they must’ve been found, I remembered the chains in which I was bound, With all my might, a final plea, I let go, at least I am free.
You used to carry me. I was your burden, as it was your duty to tie me in a blanket and carry me on your back. Sometimes the burden would feel lighter and your back would suddenly relax. But most of the time, the burden tugged at your hair till the strands fell out. And it fell lifelessly, waiting for you to tend to it. But now, the burden is like a memory deferred. The blanket is dirty and forgotten in the corner. Your back has healed, and your hair has grown back. Maybe it is better this way. But do your shoulders miss the weight? Does your scalp miss the sharp pain? You have lost your burden— yet still, you are not found.
The boy with the wavy brown hair looks out at me from
the corner. He reminds me of someone in school, but I’m
e who. He has a look on his face…regret, maybe? I turn my
ack to look at the taller boy. Maybe they are brothers? The is wearing a simple black hoodie and sweatpants. He stands
carefully constructed stage of foam blocks, but not just small
big, colorful, rubber-coated shapes, about one yard long.
ler boy somehow now has a sword. It’s as sharp as his
ws, moving toward each other in a frown. The sword is a
metal, as if it has just been dipped in blue food coloring. It
nge unhuman-looking symbols etched into it. In the light,
d on its handle stands out as much as the smirk on the boy’s
“Haha,” he laughs. It is an attempt at an evil laugh, I think.
I materialize my own sword, gold plated with a leather with a smile forming on my face. I’m not too scared,
e this is my hope—to fight with a real sword, like Percy
. I charge up a slanted red foam block, sword poised in front
I’m as fast as a Formula 1 race car, but somehow, the tall boy
me. He must be really athletic. His hand wraps around my
rist like a snake, to stop me from attacking.
“Ow!” I yelp, as I attempt to recoil. Oh no, what am I going
ow?
He chuckles as his smirk returns. “Haha.”
The last thing I remember is glancing quickly back at the boy, and seeing his sweat-speckled face composed of a mix
I jolt awake, my core working to sit up, my head turning to the left and right, and I hyperfocus my ears. Where am I? I try to spy on the monster, bug, or earthquake that caused me to be awake. Where am I? I’m not scared because of my dream. I’m scared because I don’t know where I am. Where am I? “Hello?” I cry, though I’m not sure if the words actually leave my mouth. I start to sweat. Where am I? I’m alone. There’s no one in the slowly evaporating darkness. I feel around me. Where am I? The adrenaline is pumping my heart, and right now all I can hear is my fast heartbeat. I feel something cold, and I freeze. Where am I? A knife? A spider’s leg? A spider’s leg holding a knife? No, it’s just a button that feels cold to the touch. Something rattles, and I freeze. Where am I? A rattlesnake? Someone’s teeth falling out? A rattlesnake’s teeth falling out? No, it’s just my doll, which rattles if you shake it. Where am I? As the darkness fades out, I get used to my surroundings. I sense my cream-colored curtains and the outline of light from the window. Where am I? The door is not a telephone booth. The circular window is not a giant eyeball. Where am I? I’m here. In my house. In my room. In my bed. Where am I? Sitting up, halfway under the covers. Where am I? I’m here. I sigh in relief, and I start to feel my eyelids closing. I slowly lean back, letting my soft blue blanket hug me, and I try to fall asleep. Where am I? I'm like a caterpillar in an evergreen forest of leaves, and my bed is my cocoon. The only thing keeping my eyes closed is the thought that it will feel like no time has passed when I wake up… wake up to a morning of sunrise and pancakes. Spreading my wings wide, I am a bright beautiful butterfly.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the case, flipped it
ut to my dismay, there was only one inside. One out of two, of the pair. Together outstanding, alone nothing. One its pair, missing its significant other. I felt a surge of panic
lized that the other one was missing. My locked-inness. My
on. It was so small, such a silly thing to misplace, and such a
ge to find. My heart raced, and I instinctively reached for
ts pocket. I forgot that clothing designers never made
’s athletic shorts with pockets. I checked my hoodie pocket
find just the case with one pair. My backpack pocket? No,
habby lollipop wrapper, extra Post-its, pens, and a pack of
spun in circles, my eyes frantically searching the floor for
sing object, my hands crawling through my hair. I dropped
nees and frantically searched through my floor, but it was
e to be found. Just when I thought all hope was lost, I it glinting on the ground just out of reach. The sunlight hit
way that made the distinctive black detailing stand out even
ith the contrasting white peculiar shape. I scrambled to it a sense of relief as I held it to my heart. At last, my AirPod had been found.
I gently grasp amber-tinged sand. As the sun falls closer to
izon, the world falls silent. All the loud families have left with
wly disappearing light. I’m left, sitting there alone, only a few
away from the cliffs behind me. The waves cracking and
ng against the sheer rock are the only reminder of reality, the
minder that I’m not in a dream, a dream where maybe I
ee across the world to the part of myself that has left forever,
a little island a million oceans away.
I can almost see it, wishing it was true. Children sitting on
ch, a million miles away, talking to each other, looking at the
tinged the same way across the globe, amber streaks on a
n sky. The beauty covering up the void where parts of them
t, moved across the globe, covering up the void where they
st each other, the void that suddenly makes the sky seem less
ul, makes the bleeding ink scribbled across the clouds like
ies of the still-recent wound where they have moved away.
ring if time will heal the ink until the memories with each
re forgotten.
The sand is soft, silky, slipping through my fingers, riding
d until it vanishes from view. Ocean spray laps at my ankles,
fade away, leaving the salt, biting like tiny needles. My eyes
nd I forget whether it’s from the salt or the cobalt lakes that
ocean, like a blanket concealing what’s underneath. I can see it, my best friend placing a paper boat along the shore, wondering if it will float atop this picture-perfect scenery and find its way to me or dive through the shining surface to the dark side where you never see the fiery sunset falling, the dark side where time has never existed, just gloom, jellyfish, like a lamp in a dark room. For some reason, that sounds quite nice tonight, far from this beautiful scene where everything is too perfect. Water splashes over the blank canvas of this quiet place, blurring the lines between here and there, a million miles worth of water, reaching across the oceans dividing them, all collapsing into one droplet, and now it’s dripping down my cheeks as I quietly stare at the water, at the ochre ripples on the ocean as the sun cripples before the horizon, not knowing if it’s gold treasure or a fire, burning the water into mist, rising around the sunset and disguising the rest of the world until it’s just me and the waves. I wonder if this, too, is the same a million miles away. And I know that somewhere out there is another girl watching the waves lap at her feet, tears dripping down her cheeks.
nce bright,
happy as I could be. time ago.
am drifting, ,
is my place? o I get there? will fate take me? m I now? m I like this?
now, ifting, ,
st sh out of water. ed on the grass, a bush, meone’s garbage can. mes, I lose myself. d bits at a time. y knows? n’t mean it’s not happening.
now, ifting,
Zombie invasion? Not a problem. Earthquake? Not a problem either. My life? Yes, a problem. But for now, I am drifting, drifting, drifting. I feel suffocated, need to move on. Maybe it’s time. Maybe it is. I don’t know. But for now, I am drifting, drifting, drifting. I always feel astray. In my sleep, in my thoughts, and in my dreams. But for now, I am a decaying leaf. An old decaying leaf that will always be drifting.
BEEEEP goes the buzzer, a motorcycle revving its engine. The 10–2 with one minute left in the game. I think the game is ach Lewis calls a timeout. “Look, we might not win this game but we have to try. Siena, in for Sophia. She’s been playing for a while. Okay on three. wo, three, go Mavericks!” We go back to the court, all of our feet thumping on the d wood floors, just as the other team is doing their cheer. “One, two, three, go Pinewood!” BEEP. 12–2. Forty seconds
“Go Mavs!” BEEP. 12–4. Twenty seconds left. “You can do it!” Too soon it comes to the last play. Coach Lewis shouts over the o do our third offensive play. We run onto the court with our ll of sweat and our spirits low, but still strong. Our point guard s down the court. She passes down to the middle, the ball n the air. The middle tries to pass to me with a low bounce, but ll it’s not low enough. It is intercepted by a girl blocking the in almost everything that they do. Just as the buzzer hits zero, bs the ball and holds it up for her team to see. The huge EEP sounds like an aggressive and triumphant tiger. The over and we lose 12–4. A tsunami of disappointment and ushes through all of us at the same time. We all slump off the hile the other team jumps up and down in excitement. We line line, single-file, droopy, and down, with the other team tall and next to us as we clap hands with the other team and say over r, “Good game.” All the coaches say something along the lines of “You played ut we feel nothing of the sort. On the drive home, I am as a mouse being stalked by a cat. My parents try to talk about plays, but they can tell that I’m not in the mood for talking. I stop thinking that I did something wrong, that I didn’t score , that I didn’t try to play hard enough.
they say the Earth is round, but that’s wrong. i know it’s flat because i’ve been hanging off the edge, suspended between what was and what’s become. the world has slipped away, lost in the shadows where i stand, searching for the fragments of fading laughter, familiar faces, and blurry memories i’ll never get back. i used to build fantasies— i was carefree in the sand, building sandcastles to rule my kingdoms, adding the rocks and leaves of my desires on top. i didn’t see it coming. nobody told me. how could i have known the salty waves would be stronger? i thought i was safe because i built my castles far away from the water. but time crept in, relentless, and washed away my dreams, leaving only traces. in this silence, i feel the weight of crumpled photographs, and the edge pulls me deeper, where the found is just a footprint i left in the sand as i ran away crying to my mother.
The waves crash into the sand, then flow around my ankles. I my toes in the wet sand as time ticks by. Maybe the romance read in the glass gazebo have gotten into my head. There e people before, but with the last one, you had that gut feeling. e where fireworks exploded, where your mind felt steady and hile your heartbeat leapt up. That the final one would truly d I fell for it like a moth gliding towards a flame. I should’ve seen the cracks in the cement wall he’d built his true self. I should’ve known love was like a ship’s voyage, u’re destined to fail no matter how hard you try. Each wave is a ge to your pride, which rocks the ship, but when the lightning its, there’s nothing you can do but say goodbye. The torrent of ves whirls around my mind like a tornado. The waves keep ng and retreating over and over as the golden hour of sunset way into the dark sky of ink, flecked bits of white paint dotting
Somewhere in this world, he may be saying goodnight politely, flop on his couch to watch our favorite show that came above Somewhere in this world, he may be tracing our initials we onto his whittled masterpiece. Somewhere in this world, he smelling my scarf he took with him as he lulls himself to sleep. st likely, he may be having fun at the loud, obnoxious parties ays hated, the past gone with the gulp of punch. I take a handful of the grainy minerals of sand and watch it rough the cracks between my fingers. Life is time, and time is d, passing through before you know it. A buzz vibrates my nd the sounds of beeps pecks my ears like hungry birds. I p wearily, dust the sand off my light blue nightgown, and head s my forever changed home. Nothing stops my vision from g, and the glow of the moon dancing, and my cheeks become d that lets the waves come. But the racing droplets never go
Goodbye Liam.
The Mav Mind
l in Hillsborough, California.