Pen & Paper - Volume 12 - 2021-2022

How We Produce Pen & Paper

Pen & Paper, The Unquowa School’s literary and art magazine, is published annually and offers an outlet for students to share their literary and artistic talent. Students in grades 5-8 submit writing, photography, art, and poetry throughout the year for consideration.

The magazine embraces the original mission of its founders (Page 4) while continually incorporating new ideas. The editorial, art, and production staff meet weekly after school to write, edit, and eventually, produce the magazine. The literary and art sections of Pen & Paper are determined by accepted student submissions. The placement of student work is determined by overall fit within the magazine’s thematic sections and the editorial staff’s standards of excellence.

The editorial staff, invited to Pen & Paper by their teachers, focuses on writing their own work, selecting pieces for publication, and providing feedback for submissions. All pieces, writing and art, are made anonymous to the editorial committee, keeping the review process as objective as possible. Editorial committee members review selections to finalize submissions. Editors then organize print submissions for review and inviting peers to submit work for publication. The art staff links writing to illustration, pursues individual art projects, and selects the cover photo.

Lastly, the production staff is charged with the final layout of the magazine and make final edits and adjustments before going to print.

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Cover Art Avery Speller Turning Over New Digital photograph Grade 8 6

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Pen & Paper

The literary and art magazine of The Unquowa School

Pen & Paper Volume 12

JUNE 2022

The Unquowa School 981 Stratfield Road Fairfield, CT 06825 (203) 336-3801 unquowa.org

“How The Light Gets In”

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2022 Pen & Paper Staff

The mission of Pen & Paper is to provide opportunities for students to embrace wonder and challenge themselves to freely express their imagination and passion for art and writing.

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Editorial Board

Matthew Anto ‘22 Editor

Michael Jones ‘22 Editor

Lukas Keras ‘22 Editor

Madison Mitchell ‘22 Editor

Ethan Kirk ‘23 Editor

Noah Kurzenberger ‘23 Editor

Eddie Musser ‘23 Editor

Mateo Rojas ‘23 Editor

Raleigh Simmonds ‘23 Editor

Ebba Werring ‘23 Editor

Avery Speller ‘22 Art Co-Director

Clementine Thomson ‘22 Art Co-Director

Elliott Goodman ‘22 Production Designer

Isabel Alfageme ‘22 Editor-in-Chief

Mr. Eric Snow Adviser

Mrs. Krissy Ponden Art Consultant

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Dedication This year’s issue of Pen & Paper is dedicated to our adviser, Eric Snow. Mr. Snow kept Pen & Paper alive this year, especially after the departure of his former co-adviser.

He took on the responsibility of advising the magazine, from start to finish all by himself, and brought the 7th and 8th Grade together to form the editorial staff. Mr. Snow spent hours upon hours working with us to assemble this year’s issue, and our editorial team could not be happier to spend our Tuesday afternoons with him. Without Mr. Snow, not only would Pen & Paper not exist, but neither would the afterschool Dungeons & Dragons Club that he also leads (he apparently has a thing about ampersands). We are so grateful to have him at Unquowa as a teacher and an active leader of clubs. Thank you, Mr. Snow!

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From the Editor Dear Reader, This year’s issue of Pen & Paper, our twelfth, is an important one for our school, and for me in particular as Editor-in-Chief. Not only was this school year our first full year back to something that resembles pre-pandemic normalcy, but this issue is also our first publication since receiving the prestigious Gold Crown Award from the Columbia Scholastic Press Association (the highest honor awarded to literary and art magazines like ours from that organization). Needless to say, we had big shoes to fill, but with the help of our incredible editorial staff and the moving, poignant, and refined contributions from 5th through 8th Graders, I think we have achieved exactly what we set out to.

This edition, “How The Light Gets In,” is as unique as the participants who collaborated in its creation. The quality of its photographs, stories, poems, and diverse works of art have once again exceeded the high standards that our school upholds. We have risen above the difficulties of the COVID-19 pandemic, and we have been fortunate to be able to work on Pen & Paper together, in person, for the entirety of this school year.

This year’s issue exudes a bright light of persistence, ingenuity, and individuality that could not be achieved except by weathering the pandemic and breaking through it together. The editorial staff has worked hard to present to you, the reader, an inside look at the dozens of creative minds that wrestle with deep questions across our Upper School. My time as Editor-in-Chief of the twelfth edition Pen & Paper has brought me great joy this year, which I hope is reflected in the pages that follow.

Thank you, Isabel Alfageme Editor-in-Chief Pen & Paper

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Table of Contents (Bold denotes artwork)

10 Droplets

by Isabel Alfageme ‘22 12 Pink Erosion

by Clementine Thomson ‘22 Light 13 ImprintbyofEthan Kirk ‘23

Glory 14 Gold and

by Isabel Alfageme ‘22

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Where Dreams Are Made

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Hidden

by Isabel Alfageme ‘22

by Matteo Brebbia ‘24

by Alegria Rojas ‘25

Street Tweeter

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by Matteo Brebbia ‘24

Lost at Sea

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Candid

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The Bird

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by Marianela Cardona ‘22

Upward

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by Matteo Brebbia ‘24

Cloudscraping

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Reflection

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Civilization Imperfect

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Cityscape

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Building the World

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Peaks of Sunshine

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House on Halloween Hill

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Pink Mandala

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Torchlight

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Beaded Tower

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Cozy

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A Single Ship Called Hope

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Rainbow Bridge

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Suspicious

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Traintracks

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by Noah Kurzenberger ‘23

by Ebba Werring ‘23

17 I AwakebyFrozen Elliott Goodman ‘22

by Matteo Brebbia ‘24

18 Trappedby Michael Jones ‘22

by Matthew Anto ‘22

20 Icicles by Matteo Brebbia ‘24

by Mateo Rojas ‘23

21 The Eyes

by Matteo Brebbia ‘24

by Madison Mitchell ‘22

Meditation 22 Climbing

by Ethan Kirk ‘23

by Madison Mitchell ‘22

23 Beyondby Isabel Alfageme ‘22 Milk 24 Pale as by Noah Kurzenberger ‘23 of Year 26 That Time

by Elliott Goodman ‘22 The Sunbeams Go 27 I Sadly See

by Marianela Cardona ‘22

by Virginia Murphy ‘24

by Max Oberhand ‘22

by Noah Kurzenberger ‘23

by Avery Speller ‘22

28 Shadeflower

by Zeylah McDowell ‘24

by Noah Kurzenberger ‘23

That Once Stood Bare 29 The Trees

by Elliott Goodman ‘22

by Noah Kurzenberger ‘23

30 The Beach

by Noah Kurzenberger ‘23

by Mateo Rojas ‘23

of Flowers 32 Symphony

by Eloise Young ‘23

by Oola Breen-Ryan ‘25

34 A SmallbyBird Raleigh Simmonds ‘23

by Elliott Goodman ‘22

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Locked

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What Do You See?

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62 The Zooby Matthew Anto ‘22

by Ava Leykikh ‘25

by Sylvia Barbuto ‘25

Only I Can

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63 Lightscape

by Eliza Raben ‘23

by Michael Scotto ‘22

Soccer Fans

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Behind the Sunset

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333:1

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The Weight of Words

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Anti-Biased Approach to Education

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60 Hands by Matteo Brebbia ‘24 Thousand Years 61 Once inbyaMatthew Anto ‘22

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Mechanical Sun

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Looking Back

by Alegria Rojas ‘25

67 Lost

by Madison Mitchell ‘22

by Noah Kurzenberger ‘23

68 Welcome

by Michael Jones ‘22

by Ethan Kirk ‘23

by Eloise Young ‘23

by Ethan Kirk ‘23

by Nathan Howe ‘22

by Bryan Wilson ‘22

of the World 70 Maladies

by Oola Breen-Ryan ‘25

by Madison Mitchell ‘22

It’s Just for Protection

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72 Slava Ukraini

by Robert Krueger ‘22

by Charlotte Roberts ‘23

Testing the Animals

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Congrats! It’s a... Baby!

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73 The Event

by Michael Jones ‘22 74 Hyperthermia

by Ryan Kavanaugh ‘24

by Ella Morris ‘22

by Elliott Goodman ‘22

Shalom

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by Marianela Cardona ‘22

Yearning to Breathe Free

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78 Music Man

by Isabel Alfageme ‘22

by Noah Kurzenberger ‘23

Shredded Pride

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Silhouette 79 Morat in

by Isabel Alfageme ‘22

by Isabel Alfageme ‘22

When We Stand

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75 Nori

by Noah Kurzenberger ‘23

80 Solar Sails

by Matthew Anto ‘22

Colophon 104

Trade 80 Tools ofby the Matthew Anto ‘22 Guitar 81 A Distant

by Matthew Anto ‘22

82 Presidentchthul

by Ebba Werring ‘23 83 Heat Death

by Matthew Anto ‘22 84 Mr. 21 by Mateo Rojas ‘23 I Serve You? 85 How May

by Raleigh Simmonds ‘23 Pen & Paper

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Isabel Alfageme Droplets Digital photograph Grade 8 14

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Light of Creation

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Clementine Thomson Pink Erosion Digital Photograph Grade 8 16

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Imprint of Light Ethan Kirk Grade 7

I crossed the bridge, The bright sun glistening in the sky.

The sound of cars and people filled my ears with noise.

The sounds were comforting in a way.

I saw birds gliding through the ocean of sky above.

The red coloring of the bridge was almost blinding When the sun was at its highest.

With a window open, the wind blew across my face.

At night the bridge looked even more magnificent.

The wires and support beams Holding the structure together seemed to shine: Each one with its own color, Providing variety to the usual white light.

The car lights looked like an accent.

With the primary colors glowing, They left a mark on the night sky.

An imprint of light.

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Gold and Glory Isabel Alfageme Grade 8

Heart pumping.

Lungs taking sharp breaths that cut through my chest.

My legs feel lit on fire.

The finish line looks blurry and out of reach, but I still keep fighting for the gold, for the glory. I keep my head looking up at the gates to come. The emerald green forests coated with glittery white snow pass by in a blur. The cold air bites my cheeks and cracks my lips. I had been going through the bright blue and red gates with ease, but as the next one approached, my ski slides from underneath me.

My heart drops.

Do you know when you miss and step on the stairs and you feel a burst of acid come to your chest, but soon you calm down realizing that you are safely on the next pace? That is what I feel, but instead of having that safety step, my heart goes tumbling down the stairs. Snow fills my helmet, immediately piercing my head in an excruciating freeze.

My skis detach from my boots as if liberated from the fall to come.

I relinquish control of my body, and I toss and turn till the end of the hill.

I get to the finish line.

But not the way I desired.

No gold.

No glory.

Just four paramedics hovering over me as I am lifted into a sled.

My back is throbbing as if being stabbed numerous times in the same place over, and over, and over again. A tear rolls down my cheek, and soon I start to weep. My chance of victory is out of reach in less than a second, and it feels as if someone has ripped out my heart.

I look out the window of the emergency room that hovers over the trail. I see the gold medal being perfectly placed on someone else’s neck.

As I look, the medal seems awkward, out of place, as if it knew it didn’t belong.

At least not with her.

It belongs to me.

Belonged to me.

More tears flow from my eyes.

No gold. No glory.

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Isabel Alfageme Where Dreams Are Made Digital photograph Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Matteo Brebbia Digital photograph Hidden Grade 6 20

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I Awake Frozen Elliott Goodman Grade 8

I awake frozen In my bed, My covers snuggled up, Craving warmth.

I turn my numb body Over.

The glass of my little window, Covered in condensation.

I put each of my legs outside The covers; The cold Surrounds me.

I tip-toe quickly Shivering I sink into the couch My chin leaning against the back.

I look out to see the wonder of winter: Trees turning bare as the thief wind snatches their clothing; The sun and grass hide from one another; The fruit selection lessens.

A smile smudges across my face As the snow covers the ground And the warmth hides For the season.

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TRAPPED Michael Jones Grade 8

I walked down the sandy path into the face of the rising sun. Cacti from beside me stood looking at me as if expecting me to collapse at any moment and join the array of lifeless objects lying in the barren landscape. My destination lay straight ahead in the small village that had now entered my range of vision. I removed my top hat that now had sweat stains from the boiling sun and wiped my head with my hand. It was one of the hottest days ever in Texas, and it was taking a toll on me. Though fatigued, I knew that my reward would be worth all of the trouble I put myself through on this steaming July day. The path was long, and it took more than an hour to reach my destination. The village I stood in front of was small, sad, and dilapidated, with debris scattered all across the sand in the surrounding area. But I had come here to do my job, not to feel sympathy for a bunch of strangers.

The shed consisted of ripped-apart planks of wood decaying on the rough ground. Amazingly, the ones still standing formed some sort of doorway that I ducked under to get through.

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Everything inside was dark, and I could hear water dripping from further in the shed. I took my steps wearily, afraid something was lurking in the shadows.

Waiting for me to enter its trap. With every step, the floor let out a strained squeaking that sounded eerie to me. I could barely see my feet in front of me, and, at a certain point in my walk, the shed became pitch black as the door closed behind me.

The wind had shut it, I figured, and I continued walking. Though I was cautious throughout my journey through the barn, I knew what I came here to retrieve would be well worth it.

Once I thought I had reached the end of the barn, I stretched my hands out to feel the wet, splintered wall.

I bent down and fumbled around until I felt what I was looking for: the chest. I promptly opened it, but was dismayed to find it empty.

It was then that I heard the footsteps.

They surrounded me quickly, panting all around.

Someone - something -was inside of the barn with me.

And they didn’t seem friendly.

I should have known.

Clearly this was a plan that had been set up by my source in an effort to remove me from the picture.

I could not escape, I was surrounded, and the only exit was the same way I came in. I was trapped.

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Matteo Brebbia Icicles Digital photograph Grade 6 24

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The Eyes Matteo Brebbia Grade 6

In the dark forest I walk No one but myself with whom to talk When the shadows seem to recede Forming figures soft with slithering mist A seed of fear is in my heart Black and ugly from the start It grows and grows as the shadows do Almost as if inviting you Into its deadly mournful void Though I avoid the void the shadows grow And suddenly Though I don’t know I think I see a pair of eyes Dark and red like sunset skies And then a bony hand grasps my neck And the shadows seep through To my body and soul My fear I cannot keep in check I hear myself scream, a hollow sound In the moonlit night it echoes ‘round And ‘round And ‘round And ‘round And ‘round

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Climbing Meditation Ethan Kirk Grade 7

The soft snow brushes across my feet As I finish climbing the cliff face.

The rays of sun glisten on the snow, Blinding me from looking below As a gust of wind glides past me; I spot a bird floating through the air.

The sound of the snow falling speaks to me.

Fear of falling down the cliff face Runs a chill through me.

The bright blue sky provides A feeling of comfort As I get ready to climb back down To go home I say goodbye to the beautiful sight.

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Isabel Alfageme Beyond Digital photograph Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Pale as Milk Noah Kurzenberger Grade 7

The little girl’s steps crushed the leaves down below, her skin as pale as milk. She had to run, yet was running not knowing where to start and where to end. Though as like a story, in her mind it seemed so simple; run from those who come to seek you.

Her cries were not visible through the locks of her hair the color of the darkest crow, and even if you looked her dead in the eyes the tears would be hidden.

The walls seemed to close in, even though there were no walls at all. Her body shivered, yet she was covered in a thick blanket made of wool. She couldn’t speak, nor feel. Even the stabs of a thousand knives would be numbed. Though at the same time, she felt all the pain in the world weigh heavy on her heart.

Yet, this is what we see on the outside. How are we so sure to know this child with milky skin was a girl, and how are we supposed to know what the child is feeling if we were not the child?

The presence is unknown, and we can only assume so much until it turns into make-believe.

What if I told you that I was the child, skin as pale as milk, running not knowing where to start or where to end. What if I was never running at all, in this world where in a room with no walls there’s walls and in a room there is no room.

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The weight of the world on their shoulders, the child suddenly came to a spot. They noticed you, how you had been standing here this whole time, watching, waiting, not even knowing if you were here at all.

The child is not make-believe. It was engineered with metaphors, feelings, and personal experiences to create something entirely new, like a car fresh out of the dealership. What if I told you that I was the spirit behind the child, skin as pale as milk.

Since I am not in front of you, you’re going to make that decision for yourself, leaving the story with either a finished ending or a cliffhanger. We need trust, trust in each other to make the right decision.

Only me, the writer of this “story” can tell you if this is made-up or real, or even a mix of both. Reality and story-telling meets, all inside the 420 words you have just read until up to the end of this sentence. The ending to this is for you to decide.

Yours truly, The child with skin as pale as milk

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Elliott Goodman That Time of Year Digital photograph Grade 8 30

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I Sadly See The Sunbeams Go Marianela Cardona Grade 8

I sadly see the sunbeams go as September culminates.

The fern tones of trees start to fade, The shining sapphire of the sky starts to dim; I quietly think as time stops, And my head resides in deep silence: “Where did it all go?’

But then, I realize what awaits me.

Marigold leaves sitting on the coffee-colored tree bark, The fire-hued maples dance softly in the wind.

They smile as they acknowledge their beautiful change.

I stand up and walk Through the layer of warm-toned leaves.

They crunch as if singing a deep, low tune.

I reach the top of the mountain, And find something that makes me gasp.

Atop an irreplaceable treasure, Neither gold nor silver nor precious jewel, It is the gem of fall.

I stare, my lips shaping a crescent moon smile, At the sea of sunset.

The trees engulf the landscape As my sadness departs, quickly as it came.

Behold - autumn’s true treasure.

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Zeylah McDowell Shadeflower Nature installation Grade 6 32

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The Trees That Once Stood Bare Elliott Goodman Grade 8

The trees that once stood bare Shine in the sun as buds curve along branches.

The fields, once mud-worn and dead, Spike silky bright-green grass all over.

The sweet smell of elegant bouquets Serenade the fields.

The bushes bloom, Starting with a single bud, Then transforming into bursts of color.

Birds sing happily with the morning sunshine, Swooping down to the dewy grass.

Children giggle their big round grins, Racing down the burning slides.

Dogs run full-tilt after nothing In circles, chased by their tails.

The winds gust sporadically, Their cooling breezes leaving Trees swaying as if dancing to unheard music.

Squirrels sprint across the streets, Making quick collections for the winter to come.

The sun shines its reflecting heat.

I feel it absorb into my skin, spreading through my body.

The children smile with the delight of the warmth, Running to get long-awaited ice cream, Licking their cones and growing melted goatees.

The delight of days seem to never end When the sun likes to play.

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The Beach

Noah Kurzenberger Grade 7 The sand and sea collide The moon rises above Rocks fill my feet as I continue this run Away from the memories The glimpses of my dreams Yet no matter how far I sprint They still follow A head clouded with fear On a beach full of sand The sun barely lighting my way As I hide among the shadows The land begins to clear Light leaks in Clouds swirl the sky And words fill my head My mind starts to wander Wondering if this may be the end

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I strayed from the sun My thoughts rising from the hills Yet somewhere in the reflection Your smile catches my eye I sink my feet into the beach Just as my heart sank on that fateful day My feet come back up, But the heart never does.

My tears join the ocean My mind in the clouds My feet in the sand My heart on the ground Yet when I shift my gaze into the daylight My heart climbs my chest My grin shining through Just in time to see you smiling back

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Eloise Young Symphony of Flowers Watercolor Grade 7 Pen & Paper

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A Small Bird Raleigh Simmonds Grade 7

It jumps more like hops actually watching pedestrians small sounds for only the ears or the observant such of children quite like the one approaching flying away possibly a good idea right now possibly not for when it leaves it is gone from the mind of the child and all others for it is no ordinary bird just a common tweet I mean it looks the same does it not?

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Alegria Rojas Street Tweeter Digital photograph Grade 5 Pen & Paper

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Matteo Brebbia Lost at Sea Digital photograph Grade 6 40

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Candid

Noah Kurzenberger Grade 7

A moment in time A brisk thought or feeling The cat reaches to takes a scratch A bride falls into the groom’s arms A tiger sprints in the fresh june air A child carefully weeps Tears stroking their pale face A baby cries out Hungry for a mother’s touch Moments surround And envelope our memories Candid every second Not one moment is staged

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The Bird Ebba Werring Grade 7

November 1st, 2022 “Aaron? Can you make sure to lock up?”

Aaron Ledger looked up from the counter where he was working, his boss, Angelica, was looking at him.

“Oh uh, sure.” Aaron gave her an awkward grin and went back to “work.” (Or, rather, playing video games.)

“Aaron, you are working right?” She gave him a playful glare and then burst into laughter. Angelica, aside from being his boss, was Aaron’s best friend. They had met during middle school after Angelica had stood up for him when he was being teased.

“Of course I am, what else would I be doing?”

Angelica rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow, dorkface,” she said as she walked out.

The place where Aaron worked was a small coffee shop in New York, Angelica always had plans so Aaron would usually close the cafe for the night. It wasn’t an ideal job, but Aaron needed to get through college and then he could finally start his dream. Angelica had been kind enough to offer him a job at her cafe and the job had been keeping him going through college. Locking the door Aaron started his usual path through the city. He took his camera out of his bag and started watching. Every time he saw a new piece of graffiti or 42

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a bird sitting in the road Aaron would make sure to capture the moment.

Today however he decided to go to a different place, one he hadn’t visited for a long time. Central Park, the place held so many memories, most of which were painful. Central Park was his mom’s favorite place before she had died. And whenever she picked Aaron up from school they would always go there. The camera Aaron used was also hers and he still had the photos she had taken whenever they were in the park.

His favorite photo was one of a bird. The bird had been in a strange position and his mom had taken the photo at the perfect moment.

November 13th, 2013 “Aaron! check it out!” Matilda pointed to a pond near the bridge she and her son were standing on.

“What is it Mom?” Aaron was eleven and extremely brilliant, and whenever he came to the park he always asked questions.

“There by the flowers! Look at the bird-” Aaron’s eyes widened and he started laughing. “Why does it look so weird? Why is it doing that Mom?” Matilda laughed, “I don’t know - maybe it is practicing gymnastics.”

Aaron rolled his eyes, “Can we take a picture Mom?” Pen & Paper

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Matilda grabbed her camera, “You always have the best ideas! Come on now - three, two, one!”

The camera flashed and the moment was captured. Startled by the flash, the bird lept from the flower and flew away.

“Awww, I wanted to take more pictures.” Aaron whined.

Matilda scolded him, “Don’t complain my love, maybe we’ll see the bird another day.”

Aaron, still pouting, looked up at his mom, he was growing every day. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so.”

Exactly a year later the bird did come back to the park, but there was no one there to see it. Instead Aaron was standing in a hospital hall having a panic attack, his mom in the room next to him was slowly dying and nobody knew if she would make it to the end of the day.

On November 14th 2014, Matilda Ledger died from lung cancer.

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Marianela Cardona Upward Digital photograph Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Matteo Brebbia Cloudscraping Digital photograph Grade 6 46

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Light of Civilization

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Matteo Brebbia Reflection Digital photograph Grade 6 48

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Civilization Imperfect Matthew Anto Grade 8

Society is a mere illusion of the true destructive nature of humanity, and of life itself. We are hardwired to self destruct, and inch closer to our doom every ticking second.

Since the dawn of life on Earth, animals have fought and killed for their own survival - for the ever-growing demands of our finite supply of resources. Over three billion years later, and these concepts endure.

Now we harness machines designed to aid our thirst for annihilation. And the political militias we call governments are simply ploys for the benefit of the few.

Life is unstable, peace is impossible, and every day we inch closer to the end.

What can we do? Nothing. It is already too late.

We had a chance to miss our destruction, but civilization is and always will be imperfect.

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Cityscape Mateo Rojas Grade 7

It was on that day It was on that day that I was there Under the beautiful cityscape The view of from below can turn The eye inward Or turn The eye upward Feel the cold breeze blowing Across my face Below: See the busy people driving Their cars making The ground look Like a moving puzzle Above: A new set of eyes Opened A new reality Given The beauty was a pleasant shockwave Shot right through my vision Until I saw Suspended, Inverted, The spectacular and breathtaking Cityscape.

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Madison Mitchell Building the World Digital photograph Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Peaks of Sunshine Madison Mitchell Grade 8

The water speckled Drip.

Drip.

Drop.

One drop after another.

Warm sun and bits of blue sky peak from behind clouds.

She sat down slowly rocking in her chair, Her light blonde hair had started to turn pale white.

She began to sing the song of her childhood That we all love so dearly.

Rain, rain go away Come again another day...

Her voice brought us joy As she would sit in that chair on rainy days Such as these And sing.

The raindrops would keep the beat.

Drip.

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Drip.

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Drop.

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Virginia Murphy House on Halloween Hill Digital photograph Grade 6 Pen & Paper

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Max Oberhand Pink Mandala Digital illustration Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Torchlight

Noah Kurzenberger Grade 7 The small stone room felt frigid, the warmth from just a torchlight spreading around her. The arch she entered through seemed to close shut, leaving the torch as her only source of warmth. No one knew how she got there, or what she wanted. It was just a young girl in a stone cold room.

The torch’s light never seemed to fade, and the night never seemed to leave. The moment in time was trapped in an endless loop, and she was stuck right in the middle of it.

Yet after she opened her eyes, everything stopped standing still.

She reached out to feel one of the bitter stone bricks, the rough edges irritating her fragile hands. Her hair blew beside her, wisping so close to the torch that it seemed it would catch on fire right then and there. Yet, it never did.

Feeling the stale brick brush against her pale skin sent shivers down her spine. But even so, it did not seem to touch her warm heart. The mellow and wintry feelings from her and the room were neck and neck, each trying to take the other one over. Yet even so, the torch never went out, her heart never chilled, and the small stone room’s temperature never rose. The moment in time had slowed, and time no longer rested. The girl was safe from the brisk weather that surrounded. Everything was going to be okay.

For now.

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Avery Speller Beaded Tower Digital photograph Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Cozy

Noah Kurzenberger Grade 7 She always thought of her nightmares as unpleasant dreams, and last night was no exception. Yet when she awoke, the outside was blanketed with a soft, thick snow. It was a standard chilly day, and she had no tasks to complete. Sit by the fire? It was already going. Drink hot cocoa? Did that already. Yet, even though she had accomplished everything she wished for, there was a hole missing in her heart. She wanted to complete it with someone; someone special. That was her deepest desire, one that some forced her to hide.

A soft blush traced her cheeks, and a feeling of warmth filled her up inside, more than the burning wood in the fireplace did. The girl in her dreams was a complicated person.

She loved her, whom she would never understand. Someone who’s voice made her feel wrapped in soft, fluffy blankets and huggs that warm you like hot chocolate in your favorite mug. That is who she wanted to spend her time with, so that is what she wished to complete. She didn’t have a lot to give, but she would give her everything. Together on a fluffy pale brown couch together they settled, sipping warm mugs of tea, huddled together over a Christmas movie on the screen.

An average snow day it was, but it turned into something special. That is what the cozy feeling of one person can do, just a touch. And that is one of the coziest feelings in the 58

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world.

The soft blankets felt like you were cuddling a puppy, and the raging snow outside made the house seem even more snug. They were protected from the cold, safe and sound. It was a love in winter, the coziest season of all. Together they counted the months by season, making time go by so much quicker. They cherished each other and the feelings of winter on their skin, for it only came once a year. The feeling of warmth and coziness from a person is a moment that would happen once in a lifetime. By a raging fire they slept, lighting up the whole house with it’s sparks. Each little one was a moment going by, a moment never to be replayed. How one moment could light up your whole day, maybe a whole season.

They go by fast, and you only have so long to cherish. Yet, settled on that soft pale brown couch, the moments seemed to last forever. They went together like the moon and stars, never seeing one without the other.

The perfect pair they were, and not even the blizzard raining down could change that. The hole in her heart had been filled, filled by a girl on a warm snug day.

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A Single Ship Called Hope Noah Kurzenberger Grade 7

Some draw near on ships, Many approach on planes, But in all they carry a slice of hope Whether it’s just a tablet, Or a plentiful mass; All the ones venturing far bring hope.

When you set sail You may never know what’s to come; You are assembled for change Only carrying your hopes and dreams It travels through rugged waves right beside you, And takes more than lifting a finger to remain.

With many packed on the ship, A solitary knob of ambition Amidst a swirling unknown.

It fills to the brim In pursuit.

Hope is its charge, And without it, All stand still When so many dreams coalesce, It is no longer just a ship,1 It is a single ship called hope.

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Mateo Rojas Rainbow Bridge Mixed media Grade 7 61

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Suspicious Oola Breen-Ryan Grade 5

The scribbled-on page stares at you, Hiding it’s true meaning.

It looks like it has a Secret.

Hmm. It’s quite suspicious, actually– So many strange-sounding sentences And odd word choices, Not to mention the sudden and random Line breaks Like Pansies in a field of daisies, Randomly scattered.

Only the sharpest will find me, It seems to say.

Even the most uncanny poems Have undiscovered messages, You know.

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Elliott Goodman Traintracks Digital photograph Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Matteo Brebbia Hands Digital photograph Grade 6 64

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Once in a Thousand Years Matthew Anto Grade 8

Once in a thousand years, The constellation of Perseus looms over Earth.

The demon star glows its brightest, And sends down damned souls like acidic rain.

The demons, who were left to thrash In a cage for all eternity, In all their fury, They rip consciousness from their victims, And continue to thrash within.

The victims rise from their beds, rise from their graves, Rise from the grips of existence.

They feel neither pain nor sorrow And their hearts rage with fury on the sane living.

They rise up and kill.

They parade through the streets And throughout the countryside.

You can run from them for a long time, But rest assured they’ll find you eventually.

And when they do, They will creep up on you in your sleep.

And when you almost feel at peace, They get you.

And after they do, You are now merely a husk, Meant to thrash against the walls of your mind.

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The Zoo

Matthew Anto Grade 8 Sol, a star that resides in the Orion arm of the Milky Way. At least that’s what they call it. In my homeworld, we reside in the cartwheel arm of what they would call the Wolf-LundmarkMelotte Galaxy. It is very different from this system. Seventeen inhabitable planets, countless habitable moons, two stars, and a large asteroid belt with plenty of mineable resources.

Our homeworld was a desert planet. Dry with a single great lake and arid climate. It was from these waters that my civilization emerged. In time, we managed interplanetary travel, and then interstellar travel. Now, we have relations with thousands of species across 1500 square lightyears. Currently, I am on a science vessel and we are in the Sol system, and observing its only intelligent inhabitants: terrans, or, humans.

In addition to their primitive culture and conceptual framework concerning existence, they seem to be becoming more destructive as they progress. When they first emerged, they beat their brothers and sisters upon the head with a rock. And now, they harness radiation to melt the life away from those selfsame siblings. I sometimes find it frustrating to watch such a foul society on course to self-destruct.

Recently, however, I have seen a side that I had never seen before. As we observed them from afar, we noticed that they seem to be… evolving. They became evermore complex, but their destructive nature has seemed to slow. It seems like a completely different society, and my guess is that the knowledge of near destruction has given them a new perspective. Now, they seem to be examples to other civilizations and could be and used as a guide. How a bomb rigged to combust can be deconstructed and turned into an engine for innovation and progress. Finally, they were ready. Ready for us to come through the glass window of the zoo of the cosmos and say, “Hello.”

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Eliza Raben Lightscape Mixed media Grade 7 Pen & Paper

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Alegria Rojas Mechanical Sun Digital photograph Grade 5 68

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Light of Transformation

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Madison Mitchell Looking Back Digital photograph Grade 8 70

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LOST

Noah Kurzenberger Grade 7 I weep as I wait for your return Clutching every last memory Wondering if we’ll ever have another one again Tears roll down my cheeks Until they have all been used up Praying for your arrival Until I drift into a heavy slumber The world has gone quiet A piece of me missing Unable to be replaced So I sing these words Hoping one day you will be able to sing them with me The weeks fly past as the numbers rise Our flowers that once shined begin to wilt Exhausted but at the same time Always waiting for you to come back No one can find the words A possible loss Like flipping a coin Clueless of which side will be your last Promises are broken Yet I still wait Hoping, wondering If you’ll ever come back For now you’ve disappeared And I pray it will not stay this way forever Despite my tears The days The weeks I know you’ll find your way back Your way back to me Pen & Paper

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Welcome Michael Jones Grade 8

I stumbled over a tree root as I sprinted towards the woods.

There I would be safe. With nowhere else to run or hide and no one else to trust, I didn’t have a better option. Everyone I had ever known had betrayed me, and they would be looking for me. My head was spinning, but all I could think about doing now was hide.

After jumping over several rocks and dead branches, the sound of crunching footsteps chasing me faded to a stop. I fell to the ground in both relief and fatigue. However, my quick, heavy breathing did not stop. What was I to do now? I had no shelter, no food, and nobody left to run to. On top of that, everyone would be looking for me anywhere I went. Even though I was exhausted, I knew that I had to keep moving, keep walking. Then, I blacked out.

When I woke up, I was lying down in a soft bed. I sat up as fast as I could but was restrained. I was trapped. Everything looked fuzzy to me but the place that I was in reminded me of a hospital room. There were two bands restricting me; one one my legs and one across my chest. I fought with all of my might but couldn’t escape. Then I realized that there was a strip of duct tape across my mouth. I was being held captive. They had found me and caught me. I had been betrayed by the people who I had once called friends and family. They had once been so close to me but now, they were my enemy. I was trapped with nobody to help and no chance to escape. A door slammed shut down the hallway and soft, brisk footsteps emerged. As the footsteps became louder and louder, I became nervous. Suddenly, a shadow of a figure appeared through the covered-up window of the door. I could see that the 72

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figure had muscular shoulders on top of a large frame. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, as if hesitating, but proceeded to turn the handle. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the menace that was coming through the door. When I opened them I saw the door hanging open but with nobody attending to it. I was curious, but I couldn’t stand up and investigate. I once again fought against the restraints that held me down but I couldn’t escape. I was still confused but I was fully conscious at this point. I rolled over to the right and saw my nightmare. It was the same man that stood at the door minutes before. He had a six and a half foot frame with muscular arms that could kill somebody. Sweat beads streaked down from his bald head and got caught up in the beard he wore. Without any prior notice, he tore the duct tape off of my mouth and unbuckled the restraints. I stood up abruptly but the man put a firm hand on my shoulder and proceeded to walk me out the door and through a narrow hallway that led to a tiny wooden door.

When the man had successfully dragged me a hundred feet down the hallway with seemingly no effort, he turned the handle of the door that stood before us. Inside of it was an extremely neat office with an organized desk where a man with glasses sat. His hands were interlocking and he wore a slight grin on his face.

“Welcome,” he said.

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Maladies of the World Oola Breen-Ryan Grade 5

We live here in our own lives, Complaining about homework and swim team.

The fact that you got a C in Literature for first trimester; Or a B in Math; An A-minus in Art. Not willing to acknowledge That those issues are Nothing Compared To what others face.

Girls: Our own age Sold, or Told, “You have to move with a husband you barely know, One you haven’t begun to love, Now.” Girls: Our own age Bruised, or, Abused When they meet Their New partner Who they barely know, Who they haven’t begun to love.

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Children In poverty-stricken neighborhoods: Sometimes The lunch they have at school Is the only meal they have all day.

Wartime women Commanded to hide their faces, To pretend to be a thousand times inferior To the men Controlling, Manipulating, Oppressing them.

These are the problems that plague our world, Not our terrible scores in History or Science.

Or the just slightly higher grade in Performing Arts.

These are the problems That need to be changed.

These are the hidden maladies of the world.

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Robert Krueger Slava Ukraini Digital photograph Grade 8 76

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The Event Michael Jones Grade 8

The rain poured down onto the hard concrete. With only a dim street light illuminating my path, I continued to walk forward.

Television screens lit up in houses that I passed. Billions of people across the world were glued to their couches tonight, unable to look away from their televisions. The streets were empty. Not a single car drove and not a single soul was seen walking past me.

The only sounds my ears received that night were the sound of rain hitting the ground, and a single call from a crow.

My fingers had turned blue on this cold, rainy day as I looked at my watch. It was midnight, yet everyone was still awake; both children and adults. The world sizzled with an electrical silence. It felt like everybody recognized the energy of tonight and felt something wrong about it. The street light flickered off as I continued to stroll through the darkness. Then, there was movement. I was positive that it was not a bird or an animal, it was a person.

“Hello?” I said softly into the darkness. There was another flash of a shadow in front of me which made me uneasy. Then, a whisper emerged from the shadow underneath the streetlight.

“Finally, finally. Tonight is the night.” I backed away reluctantly.

“I beg your pardon sir, what is tonight?”

“Tonight is the night,” responded the voice. Suddenly, I felt the buildings closing in on me as I stood there in shock. My eyes opened wide and my jaw dropped. I saw only total destruction and devastation in the world. Sadness and anger filled the minds of every human across the planet. Then, I was standing in the street in the pouring rain again. The streetlight was on. I sprinted home.

Tonight was the night.

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Ryan Kavanaugh Hyperthermia Digital illustration Grade 6 78

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Nori

Noah Kurzenberger Grade 7 Have you heard the story? The one of Nori, the apparition in the girl’s bathroom by the gym? She rests in the third stall. Knock once and you will hear her voice. Knock twice and she will show herself.

Knock three times and Nori will grant you a wish. Be aware, for she is powerful. Be careful of what you wish for.

The rumor was going around rapidly. Everyone from ages 4 to 14 had heard of the tale of Nori. With this, many had tried it. Some wanted wishes granted. Some wanted to disprove her existence. The thing all of the ones who tried to summon her had in common is that they never returned.

I opened the bathroom door with ease. It creaked loudly, but I didn’t have to worry about that. The time was 5pm, meaning I had fifteen minutes to do this. The school was empty except for the small group of kids playing Dungeons & Dragons in the Humanities rooms, but they were too caught up in their game and snacks to notice.

I fumbled my way into the bathroom, my eyes wide and legs shaking. Making my way to the third stall, I held my left hand up and curled it into a fist, terrified. Adrenaline was rushing through my veins, but despite my anxiety and uncontrollable fear, my desires caved in. I had a wish I wanted to be granted, and I didn’t care if my life depended on it.

I knocked three times as the rumor said. One, two, three.

The three knocks on the door rang in my ears. Pleased, I took a gasp and stepped back in relief. I wasn’t dead, but nothing Pen & Paper

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had seemed to happen. It was just me, the stalls, and the shadows. All until the shadow behind the door formed into a ghostly shape. Then into a person.

She was opaque and fragile, obviously a spirit. Her skin was pale, her hair long. Everything I was seeing felt like it was out of a fever dream, so unreal but casted right in front of my eyes. After the racing thoughts in my head cleared, it wasn’t until five seconds later that she spoke.

“Hello there. I suppose you want a wish granted?” She grinned, reaching her ghostly hand out to mine.

“Y-yes...” I shook it promptly, passing a laugh with a hint of fear. Her eyes were so big, and she was so pale..

“So... what-chya want?” She floated behind me and flicked me in the back playfully. Nori seemed playful, not very terrifying. Despite this, what she said next was unexpected.

“You’ll have to give me something back, y’know. Every wish comes with a price. Fail to pay it and you may fail to ever leave this little creaky bathroom again.” Her smile suddenly seemed devious, and my palms shook. I needed to tell her. I needed my wish to be granted, no matter what it took.

“I wish for me to be liked. I wish for friends that will pat me on the back and run laps with me in gym, play in the field and share secrets. That’s all I’ve ever really wanted.”

“You poor thing. I can most certainly make that come true, but you’ll have to pay me back. So many people come here, desperate for something to come true, and agree to something that ends up taking them, for the payment was too grand. The feeling of desperation can kill if you let it overpower.” Her words were wise, Nori’s speechment frisky and teasing but serious. can deal with that, right?”

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“Your payment back to me will be ten years shaved from your lifespan, all ten given to me. I have a wish too, could you guess? Y’know I can only give wishes to the living, right?

Well, all I want is ten more years of life. You can deal with that, right?”

Ten years taken away in exchange for all I’ve ever wanted?

That’s a great deal, I thought, grateful for the opportunity.

“Yes, please! I will gladly accept!” I remarked, stumbling over my words from the joy of Nori’s response.

“So it settles it then. I will get to live for ten more years, and you get your wish. It comes with a catch, though. Our lives will be tied. We will be forever connected, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I passed when I was twelve, and you’re currently thirteen. I live to twenty-two, and get to see the rest of your life play out. It’s perfect.”

I had so many questions. How did she know my age?

How did she die? How was she going to see my life? Yet, the voices calmed and I realized I had gotten what I truly desired.

Despite my unanswered thoughts, I was satisfied.

“Alright. Thank you.” I turned to leave the room, but her hand grabbed my wrist and held me back.

“No, thank you.”

And just like that, she disappeared.

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Music Man Isabel Alfageme Grade 8

He had everything. The idealistic life with the perfect family, the bright future. He came from parents who worked every day of their lives to get where they were. And he was happy. But just happy.

He wanted more. To chase fame and flee from the trap of happiness that left him emptier than he knew it should.

So one day he decided to run. As fast as he could, he ran with nothing but a guitar on his back.

Would they think him a coward? unappreciative? selfish? To cast aside what was given him, and seek what he might never have?

Perhaps.

But he hunted larger game than the waking world he left behind: the power of the stage and waves of people adrift on his creativity, in his hand and under his spell.

At least, that was the dream.

On the night of his debut, he stood backstage, immobile. He heard the crowd beyond the curtain that he had known until then only in his mind.

Yet. Instead of the rush he knew he’d feel - the thrill and exhilaration of adrenaline, the spark of fame within his grasp - he was crushed and devastated with longing for what he’d left behind.

The crescendo out there wasn’t enough, at least not in that moment.

But it had to be.

So he walked, lacking the confidence he’d always had, through the curtains and into the golden lights and into his dream. He played his heart out, that night, singing and strumming with all his might.

And the crowd adored him - overjoyed beyond anything his wildest expectations would suggest was possible...

Isabel Alfageme Morat in Silhouette Digital illustration Grade 8 82

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After the show, he made himself reflect.

Look around, he said to himself. See what your mighty hands have wrought.

And made himself feel satisfied.

Like he made the right decision.

As long as the fans, his followers, were caught up in what he left of himself onstage, his heart would be filled.

He had given up so much for them.

And they would be with him always.

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Solar Sails

Extended play album Matthew Anto Grade 8

Matthew Anto Tools of the Trade Digital photograph Grade 8 84

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A Distant Guitar Matthew Anto Grade 8

Only in the early morning can you hear it. Just as the sun creeps over the horizon dotted with the green rolling hills, accompanied by the clouds saturated with vibrant color, only then will you hear it.

You must walk through the fields bathed in the morning dew, and then hike through the dense forest that echoed the songs from the songbirds. Only then will you hear it.

Once you emerge from the forest, in the great distance, there is a country farm that no one knows about. Before the farm is planted an oak tree, strong and bold. You mustn’t approach in any disruptive manner. You must go completely silent, and step with the softest of strides. If you can stay completely speechless, you will hear it.

A young girl sits at the bottom of the tree, with a spirit indulged in an old nylon guitar in her lap. Keep silent now, for this is most important. Her song tells a story of loneliness, of sadness, and of grief. Her rhythm cycles throughout the songbirds, now emerged from their slumber in flight. You cannot distract her from her song, for she will not stop to start again. You must stay silent, don’t worry, though. She knows you’re there. If you close your eyes, she will lull you into a deep dream-filled sleep.

She knows all of your sorrows, and she knows just the piece to play for you to make them come back. Your deep pains and the music dance to a ballad of life. You may cry, but still you cannot make the slightest whimper. She will end on a ringing chord, and the birds will carry the sound into the distance, endlessly echoing. Now, you must back away, still slowly and silently. As your distance increases, she may glance at you, but there is a shadow obscuring her face.

The music fades from your heart, although you can still hear the ringing. And it will always be there the next day.

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Ebba Werring Presidentchthul Mixed media Grade 7 86

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Heat Death Matthew Anto Grade 8

One day, everything society has existed for will cease to exist. Every single existential crisis we could ever imagine will be trumped by the final dissolution of reality. The universe will become so prodigiously empty that quantum particles will be spaced out an infinite amount of distance, and it will become a great darkness in what we call existence. Nothing will stop it, and there is no escaping it. In this way, we as lifeforms are united.

For we all have the same end….

Princess U’yhin’ar’, Cynurus 7 Andromeda Galaxy, 25896 CE The darkness rolls over the billowing nebulae. It dims every flickering star in the night sky. We all run, but can’t hide for long. Nevermore do we roam the stars in search of new worlds, but we run inwards, as if we reverse our evolution. Nevermore do we utilize the quantum highways to reach new frontiers. It was disrupted long ago by the sudden increase in entropy. The space that we flee through grows colder and we see fewer stars every day. And some days a ship or two in our fleet is consumed in the darkness. Over the years, life dwindles. Now, on the brink of annihilation, I send this message into the warped quantum space.

Hear my message: perhaps you think that life is infinite. It is not.

Perhaps you believe that existence is infinite. It is not. What lies beyond the gilded cage I do not know. But to whom it may concern, utilize existence well, should the universe one day repeat itself. I speak with pessimism, but I have not lost hope.

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Mateo Rojas Mr. 21 Illustration Grade 7 88

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Raleigh Simmonds How May I Serve You? Digital illustration Grade 7 Pen & Paper

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Locked Ethan Kirk Grade 7

I wandered around the forest for a long time, it’s long skinny branches poking overhead, I eventually came across a small little hut. The huts’ wood was rotting, had mold on it, and I could see smoke coming out of the chimney. I slowly walked up to the door and peeked through the holes in it. I didn’t see anyone inside, by the fireplace though there was what seemed to be a steaming cup of hot coffee. I heard footsteps behind me just when it was too late.

I felt something cold and hard slam down onto my skull, the sun beamed into my eyes as I fell backwards onto the cold icy ground. I saw something that appeared to be a weapon get raised up ready for another hit out the corner of my eyes but moved just quick enough to dodge it. I was able to make out 3 different people standing around me. My whole body was numb and I didn’t even realize that I was running. I heard more footsteps from all around me as an explosion went off to my right. I was startled and turned around to see more people chasing me. More explosions went off all around me until one knocked me off of my feet.

I looked up to see a person walking towards me. All of a sudden I was inside of the hut after the last thing I remember seeing was the person extending their palm towards me. The fire 90

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in the fireplace began to grow, spreading across the whole little house. I ried to run but quickly realized that I was tied to a chair. I began panicking. The sound of my heart beating in my ears made it hard to even hear myself. My eyes began to water and I started coughing because of the smoke from the fire.

I heard the door open and looked over to see a tall figure holding an axe in its hands. The person didn’t seem to be coughing at all while they walked over to me. I heard more explosions from outside and heard what I thought was the sound of planes overhead. My ears began ringing and the only thing I could see was the orange glow of the fire and the black silhouette of the person in front of me.

I saw the axe get raised above their head. I could tell they were preparing to swing down. As they did this I could see that the person was wearing a police uniform. The axe got closer to me. I looked over and saw other people like me, on the ground, screaming. The axe got closer. I looked around one last time and saw no other people or cops. I saw the axe get closer.

Then I woke up, still in my cell. Only one year left until my release I told myself. I sat up, made my bed, and let the guards take me.

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Ava Leykikh What Do You See? Mixed media Grade 5 92

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Only I Can Sylvia Barbuto Grade 5

You can’t change the way I look-Only I can.

You can’t tell me who I love-Only I can.

You can’t decide my gender-Only I can.

You can’t force me to wear makeup-Only I can.

You can’t define what’s femine or masculine-Only I can.

You can’t alter my friendships-Only I can.

You can’t say if I’m gross-Only I can.

You can’t judge my self-exploration-Only I can.

You can’t dress me-Only I can.

You can’t change who I am-Only I can.

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Michael Scotto Soccer Fans Mixed media Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Eloise Young Behind the Sunset Mixed media Grade 7 96

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Ethan Kirk 333:1 Mixed media Grade 7 Pen & Paper

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Nathan Howe The Weight of Words Mixed media Grade 7 98

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Bryan Wilson Anti-Biased Approach to Education Digital photography Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Madison Mitchell It’s Just for Protection Digital photography Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Charlotte Roberts Testing the Animals Mixed media Grade 7 102

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Ella Morris Congrats! It’s a... Baby!

Mixed media Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Elliott Goodman Shalom Mixed media Grade 8 104

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Marianela Cardona Yearning to Breathe Free Mixed media Grade 8 Pen & Paper

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Noah Kurzenberger Shredded Pride Mixed media Grade 7 106

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When We Stand Isabel Alfageme Grade 8

When we stand We stand together United in love and hope Hope that one day when we stand Once more We will be noticed, Acknowledged.

Acknowledged in the game of society We must play every day Waiting to be seen as more than just an object; Seen As more than a pair of pretty eyes that look and do not speak; Speak out About our impact on the world Change We want to See. We want to see Bodies of beauty and power Strong and unique People that prove our worth.

We want to see Because we are When we stand together We show a collection Distinct perspectives and personalities, Demanding acceptance, Authoring brilliance.

For when we stand We stand together.

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Colophon This year’s edition of Pen & Paper, “How the Light Gets In,” is organized around the theme of light. The purpose is to artistically investigate the visibility, often obscured, that is shed onto three areas of human experience: the natural world, human habitation, and the process of transformation. Each section begins with a thematic heading and a full-page photograph.

The digital file of this edition was created on a MacBook Pro using Adobe InDesign 2022. Spreads and the layout were designed using Adobe InDesign 2022. The font used is Iowan Old Style. llustrations were scanned using a Sharp MX-4070 scanner.

Pen & Paper is printed on sixty-pound white bond and the cover is printed on 100# stock.

A special thank you to Gary Boros of Signworks Studios in New Milford, CT for his professionalism, promptness, and precision in printing our editions each year.

The Unquowa School is Pen & Paper’s home base. Unquowa is a progressive, independent, Pre-K-4 through 8th Grade school located in Fairfield, Connecticut. There are 160 enrolled students in total (97 in the Upper School, Grades 5-8) and 45 faculty and staff members. The contributors to Pen & Paper, ranging from 5th through 8th grade, make the final production of the magazine possible through their serious dedication and talent. Each year, Upper School teachers nominate writers, editors, and artists to join the Pen & Paper staff, where they engage in the creative process of producing the entire magazine.

The June 2021 edition of Pen & Paper earned the following awards: Columbia Scholastic Press Association (CSPA) Gold Crown Award First Place with Special Merit Most Outstanding Middle School Literary-Art Magazine 108

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