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Inkwell The Literary-Art Magazine of West Hills High School

2018-19

Inkwell The Literary-Art Magazine of West Hills High School

2018-19

Featuring work by

West Hills High School Student Body at Large Published in conjunction with the

West Hills High School Readers & Writers Club Cover Artwork J Martinez, Grade 10 Student Editor Hailey Kaloustian, Grade 11

Faculty Editor Suzanne Sannwald, Teacher Librarian

Inkwell POETRY Eyes Highschool Crush Sakuya I Could Tell People how to be comfortable in your own body The Series of Emotions

The Bird Sinner My Undoing The Gift Of Letting Go

a. m. b. Lily Winter Josh Simpson Waldo-Not-Found s.c.n Adrien Irby, Leonie Pohl, Jacob Joralemon, Calvin Crom, Brooklin Latimer Carson Seals Auna Schwabe Jay Evalynn Mae Whitney

2 5 6 7 9 11

14 22 25 26

NARRATIVE are u still there Home in the Catacombs Love is "Weak" Nameless

b. Winter Rose Aeverheart Rider M.

The Life of Kai Homan Admitted Defeat Unrealistic Dreamer Waiting Self Portrait with Arya Freddie Stairwell Stare Far O

Kai Homan Lindsey Johnson Lindsey Johnson Lindsey Johnson Eric Hyde Bouchonnet Darla Schaefer Lynsi Marie McCullough Lynsi Marie McCullough

6 13 16 18-20

VISUAL ART/PHOTO

1 3 3 3 4 4 5 5

VISUAL ART/PHOTO (continued) An Anthem of Women Insecure skeedles skadoodles Blue Light Monument Valley in Blue Violet Hidden Pain Armor Of God Fellow Flower War Unlucky Fate Skeletory Loyal to Their Cards Vessel Overwolf Chains Crowkette Genji A Magical Girl, But With Hammers Jitter Critter Mandragora - Witch of the Wilds Sea Major Whispering Woods Nostalgia 1964 Rooted In Christ Nature In Between Change and Comfort Dancing in the Rain Pretty Sky A Beautiful Change Inspiration CONTRIBUTORS

Aeverheart Madison Amaya Aeverheart Darla Schaefer Sarah Warner Fatma Ismail Olivia McEvoy Amy Manahan Natalie Narciso Kai Homan Lauren A. M. Jacob Thomas “Rusty” Henderson k.f. Julian R Aviril M Katalina M. J Martinez L. E. Rasmussen (Parth) Kai Homan Jay W. Jay W. Jay W. Aleyah.p Christine Pankow Olivia McEvoy Kirsten Fraga Jay W. Fatma Ismail Katalina Miranda-Clueless Sarah Baroz Kai Homan

7 8 8 10 10 11 12 12 12 13 14 15 15 15 15 15 17 17 17 21 21 21 21 23 24 24 25 26 26 27 28

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The Life of Kai Homan Kai Homan, Grade 12

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Eyes a. m. b., Grade 11

you are absolutely stunning beauty manifested in olive skin and warm eyes tanned hair and freckles dripping down your cheeks but i realise that means nothing to you so i’ll try and say it in a way you can appreciate your eyes taste like co ee rich brown dark and heavy against my lips in the sun they’re lighter skimmed milk frothing at the top everytime you touch me spoonfuls of sugar melted in i drown at night they’re black your heartbeat pounding like waves and you can almost taste the grounds my skin sinks underneath your fingertips your freckles feel light against my hands as your hazy, co ee eyes meet mine glittering in the pale window light i’m swept up in your touch dancing across your skin mixing with your other a roadmap of where i’ve been flavors of places i’ve seen, it’s intoxicating of caves and oceans, cli s and wide every breath a reminder sweeping planes a persistent presence of you your skin makes the loveliest sound paraded against my own you surround me it flits and flings and encase my body in buries itself in my every corner memories of you hiding behind mine shoving your way through your skin is shy, at night every thought bold and bright in the day, showing o in the sun but quiet and timid in the mood you are absolutely stunning epitome of perfection co ee eyes and strawberry lips bright, glimmering freckles that catch the light in the most splendid way yes, you are absolutely stunning and i know you don’t believe me but i hope i’ve said it in a way that you can appreciate.

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Admitted Defeat Lindsey Johnson, Grade 9

Unrealistic Dreamer

Waiting

Lindsey Johnson, Grade 9

Lindsey Johnson, Grade 9 3

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Self Portrait with Arya Eric Hyde Bouchonnet, Grade 9

Freddie

Darla Schaefer, Grade 10

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Highschool Crush Lily Winter, Grade 11

The sky is blue; The days are brighter. It is my heart, That beats and skip when I see him. The deepness of his blue eyes; I feel like I could drown in them. My heart rushes, And my head spins. Liking him? It’s like jumping out of an airplane. Scary, yet exciting. And the days without him? They are cold and cloudy. You see, It is simple To move one step forward, And ten steps back. A note, A confession, Written, but never returned.

Stairwell Stare

Lynsi Marie McCullough, Grade 11

Far Off

Lynsi Marie McCullough, Grade 11

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Writer Note: This piece was inspired by a disconnection I had between a friend two weeks prior. I have since then moved on from this incident.

are u still there b., Grade 9

Everything in life clashes with an opposite, like how every choice made is conﬂicted with regrets. So when I confessed my love to you in Cupid’s harsh winds, you quickly regretted the decisions you have made. The next Thursday, you approached me and laid out the situation like a murder scene, except the only thing killed here was my heart. The news did not hit me as ﬁrst until the words, “Are you okay?” started hurtling at me from all directions of the room. I could not let you spot me like this. Tears rolled down my face and my sleeve was holding back the cries of pain as I ran away from you and never turned back. I never knew how you endured all of this happening before your eyes and I never knew how much you truly meant to me until it punched me right in the face. After that day, you could not get out of my head. You were inside of my brain, living inside all of my thoughts and dreams and rearranging my emotions like IKEA furniture. Maybe this was a curse for all of the torment I blindly put you through and maybe I was in your head too. Without love’s assistance in covering up reality, all of my thoughts were met with storms of self doubt. I should have asked how you felt about me and I should have spent more time with you without having my anxiety pull me back. But you did not have to put everything on your back and you did not have to say the things you’ve said. I got too ahead of myself and all of the mental pain you went through this past week was my fault only. Those weights dragging us down the ocean of grief are mine. You were my other half for a short time and without you, I just feel empty. Because of all of this, I would like to apologize for everything I have done. I hope we could talk soon.

Sakuya

Josh Simpson, Grade 11

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I Could Tell People Waldo-Not-Found, Grade 12

I could tell people all the things I love but then I am selﬁsh for talking about myself. I could tell people what I am scared of but then I am a coward. I could tell people that I care for others but then I am a pushover. I could tell people that I am emotional but then I am a crybaby. I could tell people what I dislike but then I am judgmental. So what do I say to them if they assume things about me that are untrue. Do I say “Hi”? Or “Hello”? But, I feel my heart about to explode. What if I say the wrong thing? What do I do if later on they leave me? What do I do if later on I ﬁnd out they hate me? So, could I tell people my life, my experiences, my challenges, my….. Everything?

An Anthem of Women Aeverheart, Grade 11

Artist Note: Shaded with HB No. 2 pencils, mechanic, dull lighting.

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Insecure

Madison Amaya, Grade 9 Artist Note: Most of the time, it is best when you draw your feelings out. I did just that and created this art piece, which I'm very proud of. It is unbelievable to what you can do or create when you put your heart into it.

skeedles skadoodles Aeverheart, Grade 11

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how to be comfortable in your own body s.c.n, Grade 11

dye your hair every colour of the rainbow and when people ask, tell them you like your hair better when it’s dead, anyway. paint your nails jet black to hide how disgusting they are from how often you bite them; your anxiety can be hidden so easily if you just try, just pretend for once. and never tell anyone about that tattoo you gave yourself that one time, you know, the one right above your hip bone, how could you forget how much it hurt? hold onto that pain for the rest of your life and pick at your blackheads until they’re red and scarred and when people ask, tell them you like your skin better when it’s dead, anyway - wait, no, tell them the sight of your body falling apart comforts you, wait, no, tell them it’s a dirty habit you’re trying to stop, don’t stop, never stop, hold onto that pain for the rest of your life and pull your hair until it falls out and when it ﬁnally does, tell people you shaved your head as a statement. nosebleeds are your new best friend - a friendly reminder that the stress is sometimes worth something; become acquainted with your veins, they’ve been there your whole life and you’ve never even bothered to get their names, don’t you think it’s time? push thumbtacks into your palms until you feel them chipping away at the bone, hold onto that pain for the rest of your life. remember: the needles in your lungs are your burden to bare and yours alone, nobody else knows what you’re going through and you should keep it that way. hold onto this pain for the rest of your life, and remember it when you’re closing your eyes at night.

Poet Note: This poem was written when I was going through a really rough time in my life; I have always struggled with extreme body dysmorphia and I still do to an extent. This poem is by no means hopeful, it's not optimistic, it's not happy; it's a poem written from the point of view of my dysmorphia, trying to bring me down, telling me what to do and how to make myself look 'normal.' However, rereading it now, I see it as a moment of helplessness that I was able to overcome. I am proud to say I no longer think like this about myself. I am hoping that someone at West Hills will see this poem and will know they're not alone in what they struggle with. Some days are really hard, some days aren't, but you are never alone.

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Blue Light

Darla Schaefer, Grade 10

Monument Valley in Blue Violet Sarah Warner, Grade 12

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The Series of Emotions

Hidden Pain Fatma Ismail, Grade 10

Adrien Irby, Leonie Pohl, Jacob Joralemon, Calvin Crom, Brooklin Latimer, Grade 11 My anger is ﬁre Like the devil inside me The world laughs at me Black like the night sky The end, a walking shadow My tears are ﬂowing Love is like a drug Love is life, it will come soon Hearts running so fast Eyes walk through the dark Approaching like a lion It’s soul; a shadow Laughter runs through me Smile as wide as the ocean Happiness is key Poet Note: This was an assignment in English where you and your group had to create a haiku chain about a certain topic; you could pick the topic. We chose the topic of emotions. Irby wrote the 1st one about anger, Leonie wrote the 2nd one about sadness, Jacob wrote the 3rd one about love, Calvin wrote the 4th one about fear, and Brooklin wrote the 5th one about happiness. We got the best grade in the class.

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Armor Of God Olivia McEvoy, Grade 10

Artist Note: Going to school is always a struggle; it's almost like going into a battleﬁeld everyday hoping to make it out alive. For me, I do not want to go into the war without armor on, so the armor I wear is the armor of God. The parts of the armor are as follows: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shoes of readiness, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit. Ephesians 6:11-17 (NIV)

War

Natalie Narciso, Grade 11

Fellow Flower Amy Manahan, Grade 10

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Unlucky Fate Kai Homan, Grade 12

Home in the Catacombs

Excerpt from longer work by Winter Rose, Grade 10

Author Note: What inspired me was when I started getting into random moods, switching moods from happy to angered within a second, like someone ﬂipped a switch. While angered, I wrote down my anger and, using my optimism, used my anger to tell a story, leaving me with this excerpt.

He handed me a gun. “I’m giving you a choice here. Either shoot the old man, or I choke you to death, doesn’t matter. Someone’s going to die today,” he whispered in my ear. His arm came around me, barely grazing my chest, prepared to strangle me at any given moment. Tears began to form, but I couldn’t let my captor see me crying. I know he would laugh. I just know it. “What are you waiting for? Shoot!” he pressured me, choking me a bit, giving me a taste of what’s to come if I didn’t shoot. “Don’t do it!” Daniel shouted, held back by Mr. Lee. “Daniel get back!” I shouted back at him. “Shoot, you hear me?! Shoot the old man!” my captor shouted at me, choking me a little more. Afraid, I closed my eyes and shot blindly. But nothing happened. “Wh-what?” I stuttered. Behind me, my captor began laughing hysterically. “It was a test, my dear,” he charmed, lifting my chin up. “Now, I really must go! But remember! Someone will die today. I never lie.” With that my captor left, leaving us on our own. I collapsed to the ﬂoor, tired and helpless. How many more mind games will he play? 13

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The Bird

Carson Seals, Grade 12

Running through the sky every morning because she knows that I cannot stand it Slowly antagonizing and inciting all of my hate Painfully watching the joy she receives from these childish antics She doesn’t realize that I am the one controlling her fate She thinks that she’s better than me because I walk on two feet She thinks that she’s better than me because she’s free It’s always the fault of her not me My feathered friend’s end will justify the means Tear apart her nest Cut down all her trees Listen to her music The cries turn to screams Stop all her words and melodies by tearing o the beak She really believes she was meant to live a life above me Shoot the bird from the sky so she learns humility Rip every one of her feathers so she bleeds Lock her in my cage so she can never escape She’s just a serpent with wings carrying disease She thinks that she’s better than me because I walk on two feet She thinks that she’s better than me because she’s free

Skeletory Lauren A. M., Grade 9

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Loyal to Their Cards Jacob Thomas “Rusty” Henderson, Grade 12

vessel k.f., Grade 11

Artist Note: entertain my faith.

Overwolf

Julian R, Grade 9

Artist Note: I started making logos about a year ago and I recently changed software and got better at it. I just want people to enjoy the logos I make as they sometimes take a lot of work and creativity for ideas.

Crowkette

Katalina M., Grade 12

Chains

Aviril M, Grade 9

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Love is "Weak"

Excerpt from longer work by Aeverheart, Grade 11

Author Note: So, this is an excerpt, but the idea is that Logan, the hybrid, has narrowly escaped death from his nemesis, who was his former friend, Nicholás. He is prone in his bathtub, stiff and reﬂecting.

The hybrid shudders. The water has grown lukewarm, stale and strange. He's sunken beneath the surface, where the water covers him like a gentle washing blanket, a tired soothing comforter, as if it was alive itself. Logan is overcome with grief. His brother was presumed dead. He recalls how he ended up with the dagger in his chest. It was one of Nicholás's, curved and ﬂecked with iron. He had snarled at the child, used his saccharine voice to try to persuade the child to leave. Jordan hadn't hesitated. But if Nicholás had come, the hybrid knew he was as good as dead. Because Nicholás had that sort of connection that would have been impossible to leave behind. How cruel of him, though, to send the eleven year old to do his dirty work, because Nicholás was weak. "See?" The boy with the almond shaped eyes and the golden skin lifted the net from over Logan, smiling gently. "We're not so di erent, you and I." "What do you mean?" Logan whispered, shaking from fear. The boy held out a hand, taking Logan's webbed one in his own, gentle. "We are on the same side." He smiled, black hair falling over his face, as he pocketed the knife which had previously been held to Logan's throat. Nonetheless, the hybrid smiled in return, nodding as the boy stood and left his side, grinning back over his shoulder. Logan sits up, water sloshing. Nicholás should have come to kill him. But he was weak. Love was weak.

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Genji

J Martinez, Grade 10

A Magical Girl, But With Hammers L. E. Rasmussen (Parth), Grade 9

Jitter Critter Kai Homan, Grade 12

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Nameless

Rider M., Grade 12 I am so very glad the jailer had allowed me to keep my memoir when the rest of my possessions were stripped from me. I have plans for this precious diary -- before I am brought to her highness Archangel for my execution I shall cast it to the realm of mortals, so that in the distant future when it is unearthed, my soul shall be pardoned. Yet before I write my tale within these pages, I must say that I excuse the actions I am about to recount with one quality -- love. The pure, maidenly desire that burns beneath my breast. It is fitting to prelude a tale for mortal eyes with this: your myths of celestial beings are all true. We, angels and demons, from our perch in the heavens watch over the protectorate for the sake of maintaining balance. I am one such angel, diligent in completing the duties placed upon me by my superiors. At least, I had been, until I met her… My beloved. A demoness, one whom I had only seen from afar. But the moment my eyes set upon her, I immediately fell deeply and madly in love. The sight of her became ever more intoxicating to my eyes as I watched her, and soon I found myself completed enraptured by her presence. And as my infatuation grew, a single, zealous need arose within me -- to make her mine, and mine alone. I had a plan to accomplish just that. To whisk her away to a personal paradise, constructed only for the two of us, wherein we can spend our days. Together. It was during supper, some weeks ago now, that I decided to finally set enact my plan. I had caught myself staring at my beloved from across the mess hall. She was just too… enthralling. The low, silken tones of her voice coming out as raucous laughter, the flash of a brilliant smile, the way that flawless ashen skin shone in the firelight… I could wait no longer. continued on next page 18

Inkwell Nameless (continued) Without hesitation I retrieved a small vial from underneath my garb -- an elixir I had procured from a coven of witches -- and emptied its contents into the goblet before me. She was not one to refuse a gracious, innocent gift of wine. Our fingers brushed for but a moment, and I smiled when she brought the drink to her lips. My excitement grew as I turned and walked away. The potion would lull her into a deep sleep soon enough. All I had to do now was wait. It was exceptionally easy to pluck my beloved from atop her bedding, her sleeping form fitting lovingly in my arms. She did not stir in the slightest, and it was with haste that I made my retreat to the outside of the dormitory. Even with my darling’s taller frame cradled in my arms, it was a brisk flight to our destination: a small cave on the edge of my domain that I had taken care to furnish with odds and ends since I had discovered it. Everything the two of us would need for our new life together… I placed my love upon the bed when we arrived, admiring the tranquility on her features as she slumbered away for but a moment. There were pressing matters to attend to -- the first of which was to bind her slender limbs together with rope. So that she could never leave me… Of all my treasure’s features, I absolutely adored her smile… and I would make sure that it remained during our entire time together. From atop the headboard I grabbed the needle and twine stored there, my other hand tracing along the curve of full lips. The way her expression twitched with discomfort made my heart ache as I drove the needle beneath supple skin for the last time -- I would make her feel better once my task was complete. Once the thread was cut, I admired my handiwork. Neat, cross-shaped stitches running along the length of her lips, across that lovely, lovely smile. With heat spreading along my cheeks, I leaned in and placed a chaste kiss to threaded lips, smiling into the soft, blissful contact. I cuddled into her form until she awoke the next morning. Time passed briskly once our time together truly began, to my dismay. I doted upon her devotedly, preparing meals, chatting about nothing and everything, soothing my beloved with kisses to the top of her head while pulling the thread from her lips, licking clean the crimson stains left on tender, pink skin… I preferred to spend my time embracing my dear demoness atop our bed, lulled nearly to sleep by the aroma of her skin and the steady rhythm of her heart. I would whisper sweet nothings against her skin, marking jaw, neck, and collarbone with kisses and bites… not allowing beads of crimson to blemish her for long after my teeth pierced her flesh. continued on next page 19

Inkwell Nameless (continued) It was only natural that the flavor of her blood was so intoxicating, when it belonged to the goddess between my arms… Weeks had passed since the start of our wonderful time together. I was returning home from a trip spent gathering food, when I saw a shadow not belonging to myself racing along the ground, for only a split second before it left my vision. The silhouette of an angel, flying low overhead. Low enough to see the cave entrance. Low enough to see me. My blood ran cold. Plagued with anxiety, I rushed inside, greeting my love with only a hurried peck on her cheek. My hands shook, eyes darting around the darkened walls. We had been found. The guardians, they are aware of my absence. Of her absence. The scouts were searching domain. That search had just bore fruit. I was caught, guilty of- Living with the woman I love. Those fools think that they can just take my happiness away from me for no reason, that they have the right to disturb our peaceful life? My grip tightened around the dagger at my side. How dare they… I was gentle in my movements, grasping thin wrists together above her head. The blade rested against the middle of her arm before carving down, digging just deep enough to draw out her essence. It was like the stroke of a brush, painting a thin streak of red in its wake. My breathing was heavy by the time my grip let loose, drawing in the rich, alluring scent of fresh blood running along the expanse of dusky skin beneath me. Beating footsteps were mistaken for the thunderous roaring of my heart. I looked to my darling, fingertips tracing her circles along the scars lining her back, with a promise that I would return to her side shortly. When I stood, turning to the cave’s entrance, I found myself staring down the barrel of a hand cannon. Our saccharine honeymoon came to an end. ~x~

Author Note: I wrote this story for the Edgar Allen Poe unit in English last year and won the competition at the end. I want to share my work that I'm passionate about with as many people as I can. For this particular story, since it is meant to emulate Poe, I guess the intention is to shock or unnerve the reader.

Inkwell

Mandragora - Witch of the Wilds

Dream Sweet in Sea Major

Jay W., Grade 12

Nostalgia Aleyah.p, Grade 9

Whispering Woods Jay W., Grade 12

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Sinner

Auna Schwabe, Grade 12 If pride is a sin, I’ll gladly burn Lust, pride, gluttony, sloth, wrath, greed, and envy All worthy of damnation, yet without at least one, I’m incomplete If God should punish me for loving who I am- My country, my family, my friends, All things he gave me… If this is right of him, I’ve never been more glad to be wrong How could I not love what God gave me? How could I not love the sister who calls me “greaser” and doesn’t make things easy? How could I not be proud to hear her confession, to hear that she likes girls too? To understand intimately how she feels, in a world that tells her it’s blasphemy? To know that she isn’t yet happy, but she’s ready to be? How could I not be grateful for this blessing? How could I not be proud to be descended from my mother, who raised three alone with her husband in the other room? How could I not be proud to know her love is unconditional? How could I not cherish and mourn her battles as if they were my own? How could I not treasure all she’s done for me? How could I not be proud of the friends he created for me? How could I not love their passions? Their imperfections? How could I not be proud to have earned their a ections? To know their struggles because they’ve gifted me their trust? I take pride in the stars and stripes that ﬁght for my equality. I take pride in the liars and troublemakers that led to me- The shotguns and feathers and slavery. I take pride in the world and life God has created for me. How could I be hateful of the colorful ﬂags? Of the skin and eyes that do not match mine? Of the beliefs that challenge my own? Of a world of people so diverse that the only “sameness” is in our genes? continued on next page 22

Inkwell Sinner (continued) Pride is not immoral It does not suggest a lack of virtue It is acceptance and love for blessings granted to them by the lord It is gratitude for the life they’ve led and hope to continue leading Pride is only dangerous when it is used as an excuse for blindness and ignorance, For segregation and subjugation, For bitterness and prejudice Pride is not the problem, people are People who cast aside others out of hate, out of supposed superiority, and out of their rejection of their faults If pride is a sin, I’ll gladly burn If Hell is ﬁlled with sinners like me, is being damned such a bad thing?

1964 Christine Pankow, Grade 11 23

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Rooted In Christ Olivia McEvoy, Grade 10

Artist Note: Roots - running up the spine and going out the sides where the arms would be; represents the cross Pink Roses - represents love, gratitude, and appreciation from and for God Heart - located in the middle of the cross (can best be found if you look for the red tint on the roots); represents Jesus being at the center of your life and your heart Roots+Leaves+Roses - represents the life that Jesus gave us and how we bloom if we are rooted in him Ephesians 3:17-18 (NIV)

Nature

Kirsten Fraga, Grade 11

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My Undoing

Jay, Grade 9 My tears pool at my face Waiting, begging to cascade And turn into a waterfall of hurt But as I look into my mirror I smile and laugh Today’s not the day for my undoing I have too much going on for them to fall Another morning shall come And only until that morning comes These little droplets Shall not fall My undoing will come to me when it is worthy of undoing me That time Is not now So I stand up I sigh and stretch And get ready to face another day

In Between Change and Comfort Jay W., Grade 11

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The Gift Of Letting Go

Evalynn Mae Whitney, Grade 10 The angels gathered near your side For they knew the pain and su ering That you were going through I thought about so many things As I held on tightly to your hand Oh, How I wished that you were strong And happy once again But your eyes were looking homeward To that place beyond the sky Where God held his outstretched arms It was time to say goodbye I struggled with my selﬁsh thoughts For I wanted you to stay So we could walk and talk again Like we did… just yesterday But God knew the answer And I knew you loved him so, So I gave to you life’s greatest gift, The gift of letting go

Dancing in the Rain Fatma Ismail, Grade 10

Pretty Sky

Katalina Miranda-Clueless, Grade 12

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A Beautiful Change Sarah Baroz, Grade 10

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Inspiration Kai Homan, Grade 12

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Contributors

a. m. b. Adrien Irby Aeverheart Aleyah.p Amy Manahan Auna Schwabe Aviril M b. Brooklin Latimer Calvin Crom Carson Seals Christine Pankow Darla Schaefer Eric Hyde Bouchonnet Evalynn Mae Whitney Fatma Ismail J Martinez Jacob Joralemon Jacob Thomas “Rusty” Henderson Jay Jay W. Josh Simpson Julian R k.f. Kai Homan Katalina M. Katalina Miranda-Clueless Kirsten Fraga L. E. Rasmussen (Parth) Lauren A. M. Leonie Pohl Lily Winter Lindsey Johnson Lynsi Marie McCullough Madison Amaya Natalie Narciso Olivia McEvoy Rider M. s.c.n Sarah Baroz Sarah Warner Waldo-Not-Found Winter Rose

2 11 7, 8, 16 21 12 22-23 15 6 11 11 14 23 4, 10 4 26 11, 26 17 11 15 25 21, 25 6 15 15 1, 13, 17, 28 15 26 24 17 14 11 5 3 5 8 12 12, 24 18-20 9 27 10 7 13

Inkwell is a West Hills High School tradition showcasing the creative works of students.

Members of the West Hills Readers and Writers Club would like to thank: All of you, our kind readers of Inkwell Students from previous Inkwell editions who paved the way Staff members who encouraged students to submit work to Inkwell Students who bravely shared work to be included in this edition of Inkwell Santee County Librarians Tiffany Hanson & Kelly Chung for fueling our creativity Grossmont Union High School District Print Shop Principal Robin Ballarin for guidance & support

We are One We are the Pack