Bethpage High School Literary and Arts Magazine 2019-2020

Perspectives

Mr. David Schneider, Superintendent of Schools Mr. Nick Jantz, Principal Mr. Kevin Healy, Vice Principal Mr. Ralph Tocco, Vice Principal

Bethpage Board of Education Michael Kelly, President; Sandra Watson, Vice President; Anna Isrealton, Trustee; John Lonardo, Trustee; James McGlynn, Trustee; Christina Scelta, Trustee; Marie Swierkowski, Trustee

Literary Magazine Advisor Mrs. Maria Whalen

Student Editorial and Design Board Emily Morano, Erica Marciante, Elizabeth Bordt, William Ellinger, Mia Dircks, and Angelo Clausner

Artwork

Cover page- Katelyn Corsaro 1- Josh Raia 21-Malika Rattansi 4- Stephen Bello 22- Benjamin Faggiano 6- Nick Karaisarides 25- Cassie Peters 9- Leah Verschell 26- Emma Regateiro 11- Guiliana Razzano 29- Ciara O'Toole 12- Sam Rose 30- Laraib Arshad 15- Malika Rattansi 32- Leah Verschell 16- Fabian Jara Robles 35- Georgia Karaisarides 19- Victoria Leogrande 36- Ava Nargentino

Poetry & Prose

3- Meghan Panella 21- Ariana Mehrzad 4- Joyce Choi 22- Ally Midgette 5- Erica Marciante 23- Elizabeth Bordt 6-7- William Ellinger 24- William Ellinger 8- Angelo Clausner 25- Ava Nargentino 9- Nicole Brindisi 26- Emily Morano 10- Emilyanne Arena 27- Max Verrelli 11- Ally Midgette 28- Isabela Pujols 11- Angie D'Avanzo 29- Kirnpreet Kaur 13- Ava Nargentino 30- Bryanna Ackerman 14- Emily Morano 30- Ava Nargentino 15- Ariana Mehrzad 31- Aidan Radcliffe 15- Ally Midgette 32-33- Erica Marciante 16- Max Verrelli 34- Elizabeth Bordt 17- Nicole Brindisi 35- Angelo Clausner 18-19 Geanna Kouloris 36- Michelle Guerrero 20- Meghan Panella 37- Angelo Clausner

7,735,638,439— Give or take a few. 7,735,638,439 different stories, With different names. Different backgrounds. Different families. Different memories. Different lives.

But what makes a story worth reading? Is it the events? The impact they have? Or is it just the ending?

Are our stories worth reading? Are our memories worth sharing? Would it impact anyone? Or would it just be forgotten?

To believe that anyone will remember us after our stories end is a fantasy. To believe that our stories will be New York Times bestsellers is a dream. But is that why we do it? Is that why we write? For others? Or for ourselves?

Does it even matter if we are remembered? Does it even matter if our stories are read? Does it. Does it. Does it?

Most people, if not all, have a favorite color. But how many have a theory for the colors? I have this theory that every good memory I have is associated with blue. The blue sky when younger me would walk around town with my grandmother and then eat our favorite snacks on the porch afterwards. The blue sky when I’d play cops and robbers with my friends at church back in sixth grade. The dark blue hue of the bowling alley when I went with my friends after our midterms. The blue sky whenever I visited potential colleges. The blue sky and blue sea when my family and I visited Annapolis, Maryland; Quebec, Canada; Bar Harbor, Maine; Atlantic City, New Jersey. The blue sky and strong winds when my family and I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, our hair flying in every direction. The blue socks my cousins wore when they were born. The blue sky when I went on missions trips to Nicaragua. The crystal blue of the ocean. The transition from light to dark blue hue of the approaching night as I sat near the campfire with loved ones.

Everywhere I looked on each and every one of those days, I saw blue. I personally think my theory is proven to be 100% statistically accurate (forget that I’m biased to my own train of thought). But what should I call it? Hmm… maybe… something blue. I’d say it has a nice ring to it. Yeah, yeah it does. So here it is, folks. The Theory of Something Blue.

It was three o’clock in the morning. Of course, I didn’t know this until there was a knock at my apartment door. While in some combination of peeing myself and falling off the bed, I noticed the neon green lines on my alarm clock. 3:04 AM. What the heck. Once I got myself onto my knees, I realized this must logically be a dream. And then I heard the knock again. With an adrenaline rush, I picked up my seven hundred paged History Of Rock assault weapon and slowly approached the door. And there she was — my tenth grade ex-girlfriend. Perhaps it was that classic 3:08 in the morning daze or the fact that I hadn’t seen her in six years, but Meghan looked very different from how I remembered her. She clearly had dyed her hair pink, but had given up on its upkeep, as her strawberry blonde was already creeping down to her jaw. She had a nose piercing and seemed tanner than usual, but I knew it was her all the same. You never forget your ex’s eyes. “Hey Clay,” she greeted me nonchalantly. I put my hand on my hip like one of those birds I watched in biology class in the midst of a mating dance. “Hey,” I said, my voice way too deep. In my 3:09 in the morning testosterone, I missed placing my hand on the wall and proceeded to fall in the doorway, not even bothering to catch myself before hitting the ground. Meghan shows up to your door for the first time in eight years and somehow you still seem like the moron, I thought to myself. “You okay?” she asked, still too calm for my liking. “Yup, just great,” I grunted, three octaves higher. With the three grams of dignity I had left inside, I picked myself up from the ground. Reality set in. “Uh Meghan,” I began. Her brown eyes darted around, waiting for me to continue. “Why are you at my apartment at 3:10 in the morning?” She scratched behind her ear, eyes glued to my Big Bang Theory t-shirt. “And how did you know where I live?” Now, she stared at my ceiling, admiring my broken fan. It was her turn to ask a question. “Can I come in?” I took a look around my apartment, at the laundry on the sofa, at the empty Captain Crunch box resting on the floor, at the hole Randy punched into my wall. I stepped aside and let her in. “Sorry, I would have cleaned up if I—.” “If you had known your high school ex-girlfriend you haven’t spoken to in nearly a decade was showing up at your house at,” Meghan glanced at the clock on the wall by the TV. “3:12 in the morning.” She moved my shirts from the couch and sat down. I watched the clock change to 3:13. Stupid Randy. “So, what brings you here?” I asked.

September 4th, 1978 Dear Mom, Hello! You’ve been gone for two whole weeks now and we all miss you so much. We know how important this opportunity was for you, and we have a lot of questions about it. I wondered a lot about the train and if the journey was as chaotic as Dad said it would be. Do trains break down a lot? Are they fast? We’re really curious! Please get back to us as soon as possible. -Leon and Lucas

September 6th, 1978 Dear Leon and Lucas, I think you are mature enough now to understand that parents have certain things they cannot tell their children. I can not tell you much about where I am or what is happening. They told me to keep quiet because we are so uncertain about what is going on. I am surprised that I even found a place to stay because many people were not as lucky. I do not have time to answer questions, but I will try to keep writing as much as I can. I miss you both and I am starting to think that going on this trip was not a very fortunate decision. No matter what, do not try to come here. From, Mom

Job 80154 Year 2020 Page 006 (979868644) Master (954478454) 05/11/2020 10:41 AM Copyright © Jostens Inc, 2020 September 12th, 1978 Dear Mom, After we read your letter, we have many concerns. We have heard nothing on the news about any Outbreaks. What sickness did you catch? Was it the flu, or something worse? Write back as soon as you can. We have many questions that need to be answered. Even if you can’t tell us, we’re wondering. -Leon and Lucas

September 24th, 1978 Dear Leon and Lucas, Writing this is very risky, but I feel like it is more important to give you answers than to worry about what can happen to me. The Outbreak is not an illness you can overcome with medicine. It is something much worse. Something I have never encountered in my entire life. I’ve seen people go mad and we could not do anything about it. The guards just throw them away like trash. And now there is talk about an infection and rumors about zombies. I am scared for myself and I am praying that the Outbreak does not reach you back home. Again, do not try coming here. I will be back soon. Hopefully. From, Mom

September 28th, 1978 Dear Mom, Zombies? If it’s true that there are zombies here, wouldn’t they warn us by now? Everything looks peaceful here. School is in session and everyone seems calm. It is strange to think that something so serious is happening on the other side of the country. We’re worried and we wish you were here. Please write back. -Leon and Lucas

October 10th, 1978 This is the last letter I will be able to write to you. Today, the officials here announced that they are dealing with a “zombie-like apocalypse” and that we have to move locations immediately. I don’t know where we are going or why we have to leave so suddenly, but I am scared. I promise that I will try my best to fight for survival. I will come home. Love, Mom

All alone one peaceful night. With pen in hand, I begin to write a melody, a song to sing and give your heart a little zing

The words flow freely from my hand, and right onto the paper they land. The verses may be long, the words may not rhyme, but this song will be a hit. Just give it some time.

This song’s for you. It’s a song to call your own, just a simple song to sing when you’re alone. For when I’m gone, these words will show just how much I love you so. So, sing, my love, this soft melody, one that’s been written by little ol’ me.

This song may be cheesy, the song might sound strange, But with a couple of listens, your opinion I'll change. I knew when I recorded it that it would make your heart soar like so many love songs from decades before.

The instruments you hear play an important role, they’re always my music’s heart and soul. With an elegant piano and a mellow guitar, this is my prettiest song by far.

When I was young, my mom used to always tell me to fall in love with someone's eyes because the eyes are the only thing that will never change no matter how much time has passed. And let me tell you, that’s exactly what happened when I first looked into Madeline Hill’s big brown eyes. Dark and rich almost like chocolate, but once the sunlight hits them they turn into golden rays. We’ve been friends for forever. I’ve been there through every breakup and every fight with her best friend or her mom. I want to confront her about how I feel, but what if she doesn't feel that same way? What if she does? What if this ruins our friendship? What if it doesn’t and we’re meant to be? What if she secretly hates me and she’s just my friend out of pity? She literally calls me by my last name, if that isn’t friendzoning 101 then I don’t know what is. The second she walked into the room and caught my eye with those big brown eyes, I knew that I didn’t want to waste anymore time. I have to know. I just have to and if she doesn't feel the same way, it’s okay because I love her enough to set her free. She starts walking towards me and I feel my heart trying to escape from my chest. A huge smile comes across her face and now we’re only inches away from each other. “Hey Madeline, umm I was wondering if maybe, umm if I could possibly, umm talk to you about something?” 9

accomplish : Getting things done is my passion, and waiting for others to complete it for me isn't my speciality. People always brought me down and made me lose my confidence, so now I will prove them wrong for the right reasons!

admirable: I look up to my father because he's hard working and makes everything seem so easy. Sadly, he passed away about a month ago. He always showed me how to be strong and to have fun with life. That’s what I’m going to do to show him I can make it in this business.

codeword: When my cousins and I met at my house, my mother made cookies for us to eat only until dinner was over. But with our strong craving for the cookies, the wait killed us inside. We made up a codeword just in case our plan to steal some didn’t go so well. The codeword was “peanut butter blueberry banana split,” which makes no sense and was very long. Eventually, we shortened it to “peanut butter,” which I thought was so foolish of us. Thinking back now, we were only 6 years old.

competitive: I was a dancer for 4 years, but I was forced to quit after my mom and I were involved in a terrible car crash- it was a terrible time for us. As a dancer, I would always work towards my goals to advance my skill set. I always wanted to win sparkling trophies just to see my mom and dad smile. I still look at those pictures, which usually ends up with tears flowing. I will never know what would have happened but I still blame myself.

confidence: When I first got hired as a writer, my confidence levels went down because of the harsh criticism and judgement of my work. It scared me from unleashing my full potential as a writer and made me lose all of my self-confidence. I would always question whether it was good enough for them or even myself. But I shouldn't let that bother me, I should take the criticism and use it to improve. People always say the corrections will only make you a better writer, but it shouldn't be okay to reward someone that did not do as well as others.

embarrassed: We all have something that has caused us to feel embarrassed, like losing our parents at the park or the mall. For me, it happened speaking in front of the class. I was a total mess and couldn't remember a thing about what I was supposed to say.

exhausted: The exhaustion sets in everyday when travelling back and forth on the train to work. It does get tiring, but it's definitely worth it. I love going to my job and doing my favorite thing in the world-- being a writer and creating new stories for people to enjoy.

excitement: Today, I got a promotion at work and found out that someone likes me. A secret admirer has left me some flowers on my desk with a little note. This made me really optimistic since these things make you want to keep doing what you love. I know that something good will happen eventually.

It was the blinding lights flashing The deafening sound of the crash The pungent smell of the airbag

My body ached, my head hurt For a split second I couldn’t hear

But then, The ear piercing screams, “Oh my god, she’s unconscious.”

Falling to my knees- Screaming, crying, and shaking I dialed, tears hitting the touch screen “911, what’s your emergency?”

My thoughts brought panic. My heart was racing. I couldn’t breathe. “Please, please help me!”

“There’s been an accident.” Guiliana Razzano

Red T-Shirt Angie D’Avanzo

After today’s mistakes, what comes of tomorrow? I love you. We’re done. Which will it be? I can’t fix what I did. As you approach the basement door, your body shivers. You descend the stairs. I follow. You make a left and open the washing machine. There’s your white wardrobe, now pink. Oops. 11

“Oh look, look. That’s your grandfather. Right there, crouched down in the middle.” I stare at the picture. Old and in black and white. “Who are all the others around him?” I reply. “They’re the siblings. He had a big family,” my grandma says. We all crowd around the picture. She continues, “He was so handsome. Dreamy eyes paired with a cute smirk. His wink would flatter me. Oh I wish you girls would have met him” “How did you meet him again?,” I say. She then proceeds to tell the magical story of how she met her beloved Tony. A large family from Italy moved a couple doors down in Corona. 5 kids total. 3 boys. 2 girls. Their friendly, European aura melted into everyone living on the block. In that day and age, kids were almost never inside the house. Always outside, always playing with the neighbors. It was expected for my grandma to cross paths with the new kids. And she most certainly did. She was first greeted by Carmella. She was the younger daughter and formed a friendship with my grandmother right away. They hung out frequently and since they were only a couple houses apart, they grew close. Of course, my grandma was very interested in meeting the rest of Carmella’s family....specifically her brothers. While washing her father’s car, my grandma caught a glimpse of a boy standing on his stoop a few houses down. Instantly, she told her mother of the boy. My grandma was over the moon. Impatient to meet him, she asked Carmella if she had any pictures of her family. In fact, Carmella did. She pulled out her wallet with wrinkled pictures of her whole family. She pointed out her only sister, Maria. Pictures of her brother were in clear sight below the picture of Maria. Joseph, Jerry, and Tony. My grandma stood gazing at the pictures, almost like she was making a major decision. She points to the picture of Tony and says, “That’s the one.” The image showed an attractive teenage boy with his hair messed up in a perfect way. His t-shirt was cuffed at the sleeves with a pack of cigarettes hidden inside, but poking through just enough to see them. My grandma explains to Carmella that she is going to marry him one day. Carmella laughed and thought nothing of it. All just nonsense that a young teenage girl would say. Days transformed into weeks, which transformed into months. My grandma met the rest of the family, including Tony. When she met him in person, she fell deeper into a love that no one can describe. Being just friends morphed into dating.They made trips to the movies and hung out every day. Years fled by and my grandma still remained in love with the dreamy boy from Italy. Being her first and only boyfriend, he was beyond special to her. At the age of 19, she did what she said she was going to do when she was just 14. She married him. From this story, I manifested a great belief. I believe that everyone in this world has a connection with another. It doesn’t specifically have to be in a romantic way. Just in general. Love exists within and among people. I believe that love is able to be found whether it’s in an extravagant way or even in a simple way, such as a quick glance of someone standing on their stoop.

Friday, December 21st 10:16 pm I’m the kind of person who won’t cry in front of anyone. And when I do cry, by myself, it’s over the stupidest reasons because the real reasons have been bottled up for so long. I’m falling to pieces. I shake as I let out inaudible heart wrenching sobs. I’ve never heard silence quite this loud. The silence seems to bounce off the walls as if to say no one is here but me.

Tuesday, December 18th I catch myself constantly saying throughout the day “I’m fine.” Lie. What else do you say? They all believed it anyway. Always do. No one can see past the mask I wear. Sometimes I wish someone finally would.

Friday, December 21st 8:32 pm Tonight my best friend dragged me to a party that I couldn’t get out of. It would only raise questions if I didn’t go anyway. Now, I have to keep the whole “I’m fine,” line going. Here goes nothing, I guess! I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

10:16 pm I’m shaking. Everything came rushing back and I can’t deal with this right now. This is how I have to spend my night? Curled up in the corner, bawling my eyes out? Well, guess it doesn’t matter. No one hears me anyway.

Years later... For the longest time, I wore my heart on my sleeve. Many people tore my sleeve until it was left in tatters and shreds. It took me a while to learn I have to change where I keep my heart. Now, my heart is protected behind concrete walls that no one could get into. Except myself.

My heart.

My soul.

It belongs to me.

This is what I want. Right? No.

This is not what I asked for.

In the sprite of day. I never knew this faze. Missing the first glimpse of light at dawn. So, is it too much to be this astray?

My future, caliginous*. This facade has driven us.

Sunless day. Thinking I was used to the moon. Stargazer, I say. Malika Rattansi But, what's the use through the silence. Forget Me Not Ally Midgette In this sprite of day.

Remind me again *obscure why he's so bad?

Tell me more about his reputation.

Make me remember all those times he broke my heart.

And help me, because dear God

I think I'm falling again.

I am from a place where the sun never sets. Where the smell of cooking food from small blue and white houses attract all stray cats. I am from a place where the bright blue waters of the ocean never get deeper, A place where hundreds of people come to see my grandfather’s beautiful clocktower. Where the faint song of a bouzouki resonates through a forgotten town reflourished. I am from being called a “Chazos kolo” in Greek to being called “A spitting image of my grandfather” in English. From befriending strangers who I will only know for a day out of pure innocence. From a room that is just a little bit too close to that corner of the house I don’t like. From a place where my dog could run free in the street and always knew his way home. I am from spending days at the beach with my mom and sister From my friends house who I would go to everyday and never get bored of. Those days have long passed, life has gotten harder, things have changed. Today I am not there I am in a place where those memories reside inside of a small box of treasured items A picture of me and my grandfather, rocks from a volcano that I went to a long time ago. Today I am not there, but tomorrow I will return to the place I am from The place where the sun never sets.

There's a legend around here, about an old woman who walks around town. I’ve never seen her here, but people say she's real. I had just moved to Scotland when I first heard about this woman, but it's been two years since I moved and still nothing. That all changed on January 4th. I suddenly woke up to a knocking at the door. When I looked at the clock it was 3:32 in the morning. I got up and looked out the window to see who knocked, but no one was there. I went back to bed only to be woken up again by the same knocking, but this time it was 3:57. I looked out the window and I saw a woman standing outside. She was wearing a black jacket with her hood over her head and grey sweatpants. There was something different about her though, but I couldn’t figure it out. When I opened the door to speak to her, she was already gone. The next morning I went to work trying to figure out what had happened last night. Was that lady really there or did I just imagine her? I finally convinced myself that It was probably just a dream and I’m just over tired from working so much. I didn’t think about the lady at my door again after that. It was around 12:05 a.m. when I finally got home from work.I was so exhausted that I went straight to bed, but that peaceful sleep was disrupted at 3:32 when I heard a knocking on the door. I decided to ignore it because I continued to convince myself that it was all in my imagination, but now I couldn’t fall asleep. I watched as the numbers on my clock changed from 3:37 to 3:45, 3:50, 3:51, 3:52…. Again there was a knock. I know now that I am fully awake and that this can't be in my imagination. I got up, opened the door, and there she was standing in front of me. She was wearing the exact same outfit as last night. After a few seconds and keeping her head down she quietly asked if she could use my bathroom. Her voice was high pitched and squeaky. It sent shivers down my spine. I went to close the door, but her hand shot out and held it open. Her hand touched mine and I could feel how ice cold she was. “Can I use your bathroom?” She asked again. “You have to let me in, it's the law.” I slowly reopened the door and let the old woman in. I directed her towards the restroom and waited in the living room for her to come out. About 10 minutes had passed when I started to worry about her not leaving the room, so I knocked and asked if everything was okay? There was no answer. I knocked again. Still no answer. I turned the knob to open the bathroom door and when the door opened, no one was in the room. I couldn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t sleep any night after that. It’s been three years since I moved from Scotland, 3 years since that night. I still think about that woman. I go over that night in my head and try to make sense of it. I've told people, but they just laugh in my face and say I imagined it. I know she was real. I know it happened.

“Hey Dev, it’s, uh, Jerry.”

“Oh, I didn’t even recognize your number. Are you calling from the hotel phone? So how was Mike’s wedding? I wish I could’ve been there.”

“Good, good... uhh, about that...listen, I’m not calling from the hotel. I’m-”

“Are you at the airport already? I thought your flight didn’t leave until-”

“Dev honey, please! Would you let me speak? I don’t have much time left.”

“What?! What do you mean you don’t have much time left? Jerry what’s going on?!”

“Something happened. It’s all really just a big misunderstanding, but we’re working it out.”

“Working it out? Working what out? You didn’t get into any trouble did you?”

“Okay, okay..so you know that thing they do in TV shows and movies? You know, that thing at weddings when they say ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ and someone stands up and yells ‘I object’ or something cool like that?”

“Jerry...tell me you did not!”

“Well, me and a bunch of Mike’s other buddies from college thought it would be funny if… you know… if we all stood up during the ceremony— like that one SNL skit— and shared stories from college about this one time when Mike-”

“You promised me you wouldn’t do anything stupid!”

“It was an honest mistake! Apparently, Mike’s new wife’s uncle is some sort of cop and… See, this is the funny part...By any chance did you know it is illegal to disrupt a wedding here in Australia?”

“...”

“Yeah, I know pretty crazy right? Yeah so I’m kinda...in jail.”

“Not again, Jerry! You’ve got to be kidding me! ”

Job 80154 Year 2020 Page 018 (978292208) Master (954478454) 05/11/2020 10:44 AM Copyright © Jostens Inc, 2020 “Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine. Mike’s trying to work things out with the police, but they said it’s gonna be a week or two before they can release me.”

“Two weeks!? If I wasn’t on bed rest I’d fly over there right now so I can tell you how dumb you are to your face.”

“Hey! No need for name calling.”

“You got ARRESTED!”

“It was a misunderstanding!”

“You’re 32 years old, married, and about to be a father! When will you grow up?”

“Okay, okay. You’re right, Dev. I'm sorry.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know...I’m so sorry...I have to go now, my time’s up and the guy behind me is giving me the death stare.”

“This isn’t over.”

“Yes, I know. Love you. See you in 5 to 10 business days.”

19 Victoria Leogrande

I believe in second chances. That no matter what happens along your path, you can always change the destination. I believe that you have control over your life. That’s why it’s yours.

Sure, I think some things are going to happen no matter how much you try to stop it, but that doesn’t have to apply to everything.

I believe that every successful person isn’t where they are by fate, or luck, although that could be a factor, but they are where they are because of their own belief in themselves.

I believe that the first step of doing. Is the belief of doing.

It is and will always be the most powerful tool. Acquired and at the disposal of everyone who has the knowledge and wisdom of wielding it correctly.

I believe how you choose to look at different things, can change how they affect you.

I believed in Santa, and the tooth fairy, and people who have continuously let me down.

Holding on to belief can be the hardest thing. But it can bring the greatest gifts.

I believe in mermaids, love at first sight, and happily ever after.

But most importantly I believe in me. I believe in the capability for anything on the other side of my tunnel. Whether I choose to light some matches along the way; well that is all up to me.

The familiar rumbling. Laughter, it moves through our souls. What follows is the mischief of mankind. It's a group mentality. But I don't like it here. I like the outer rims of society, where I can find my inner thoughts. Judgement is seen as guidance here. But to belittle another in your mind is not what I would call guidance.

I don't understand. I incline towards a solitary life where you can be free from judgment and inconveniences. A peaceful life with necessary silence. It's too crowded here; I feel like I might combust. I do value the ones in my life who rain on me with knowledge and genuinity but I always prefer isolation.

The useless tactics people are put through everyday here…. It’s certainly like a loophole of madness. Put on a facade, make fake small talk, go to work, come home, eat, go to sleep- do the same thing every day over and over again. All of this stupidity just to please society, yet the ones who prefer to be companionless are seen as uncanny or even eerie.

Self-worth is based on how others view you here. Everyone follows the herd, yet I still can't find myself to follow along. I feel as if my head is spinning down a deep hole. People are attracted to each other like magnets. For that reason many fail to understand that once you learn to take pleasure in solitude you have reached fulfillment in life. That is important because life passes by before you know it. It elapses. It flashes. It ends. 21

At first hesitant- unwilling to give, and afraid to fall.

Little by little, he built it back up. Put the pieces together again

It even started to beat, strong and loud- pounding when she saw him.

But once again, he crushed it. Shattered it into millions of pieces- 22 unfixable and unforgettable.

I haven’t met him yet. But I will. I dream of the day that I can meet him. That I can walk up to him and say, “I’ve loved you since 2015. You’re so entertaining, and funny, and smart.” And he’ll say, “Stephanie, that’s great. Thank you so much.” I know I’ll be nervous. I’ll probably cry. But, it will be worth it.

I know everything about him. He’s six feet tall. Taller than me. He’s twenty-four. Five years older than me. He lives in California. Two states away from me. He’s an entertainer. Thousands cheer his name every single day. I am one of them.

But, I’m not like the others. I’ve been there since the start. I’m so much more than a “fan.” That word makes my stomach churn. He might not know it yet, but we’re going to be the best of friends. Maybe even more than that. He’ll never say no. Because I know him, and I know he won’t. I’ll never forget the days he responded to my messages. In fact, I have the messages all saved. When I need a pick-me-up, I look at them.

Those were the best moments of my life. Of all the eyes that stare at him, mine stick out the most. It’s been so long, and I owe him so much. He is the only one who’s ever made me happy. I love the stories he tells about his childhood. His way with words is unlike any man I’ve ever met. I’m lucky that such a person exists, and that one day, I will meet him in person. Sometimes he doesn’t respond to my messages. And I get angry. Who are those other people? He should talk to me, not them. They don’t know him like I do.

I know the day will come that I will meet him. I can feel it in my gut. And my gut is never wrong. Maybe when I meet him, I’ll finally learn his real name.

*A type of relationship in which there are two members: one party develops the relationship, while the other is completely unaware of the former’s existence. Typically, this one-sided relationship forms between a celebrity and a fan whom they idolize.

When adults take their children to the zoo And see their smiles at the smelly place, Do they ever stop to think about the animals behind that face? Can they picture the monkeys, lions, and tigers plead? Will they stop their malicious deed Of ignoring their well-beings? Please stop ignoring what you’re seeing!

When students take it to the city streets with cries And leave school to fight an indignance and reject the lies Is there any thought in their head that this is an error? Or are the politicians denying climate change too clever For science that proved global warming And scolded their verbal storming Of young teens who must scream and yell About the harmful stories we hate to tell.

Greta Thunberg and the 1.4 million others Who have fought for the next generation And spoken out about the abomination Of mankind who has created an impending doom Are braver than the people who ignore the way Earth has turned into an almost-tomb. Our extinction may have no set date, But why ponder about our future when we have no time to wait?

To put this all into simple words, There must be actions taken to stop the herds Of doubters and disbelievers who Make me question “Could they ever be like us too?”

I am from colorful, brisk autumn afternoons in the park From annual jack-o-lantern carvings with “pumpkin guts” spread across all of my fingers To HalloweenTown grabbing my whole attention while wrapped in my mom’s arms Racing through the corn maze, seeking a way out before my sisters did

I am from cozy winters, the cold not reaching my heart and staying the warmest and purest of all Hanging fragile ornaments on my tippy toes while holiday music piles in my eardrums Trembling hands as I put the last gumdrop on my gingerbread house Sipping hot cocoa and imagining what it would be like if I was on the The Polar Express

I am from sunny Spring days where I was greeted by the birds with their beautiful chirping Learning how to ride a bike, always looking back to make sure my dad didn’t let go Blowing the largest bubbles and popping them before they hit the ground Always skipping on the bright hopscotch squares

I am from the most glorious summer days, the time of the year I always looked forward to Messily eating my rocket pop on the front steps as the sun began to take a rest Splashing into my grandma’s pool and laughing while digging into her broccoli pie Chalk creating a vibrant mess on my hands, but a masterpiece on the hot pavement

I am from a foundation of bright recollections 25 I am from a youthful spirit that still dances in memories of the past

It’s amazing how caught up in our own worlds we are. Artificial. Fake. Idiotic. Self-absorbed.

We all see ourselves as the primary focus of the world, yet we are only one of a billion people on this Earth. Emma Regateiro Isn’t it funny how our lives become the whole world? The whole world isn’t us, yet we are the whole world?

It took awhile for me to see the whole world. Not me as the world, but the world as a vast never-ending space. One look outside— seeing the sky, stars, and moon stare back at me from my insignificant spot— has changed me. As it should be enough to change all of us.

Yet it isn’t. We can all have epiphanies, but forget them in an instant. I don’t want to be the world anymore. That just isn’t me.

I just want to be...a spot. A figure in the distance that somehow is a part of this beautiful, vast, never-ending space.

That is what I want to be And this is what I am.

26 Insignificant.

A wilted flower. Once a symbol of beauty, now ugly and grotesque. Such goes as the story of Adris, known to many as The Plague. In the mid 1300’s Adris was a devout believer in her religion. Every night she would study the holy scriptures, her dreams being to one day be the high priestess of her church. Years and years of faith, devotion, and hard work, it had all finally paid off. Adris was the high priestess, her power in her city unimaginable. Along with this power came her beauty. Adris had the face and physique of a goddess. Her long black hair and delicate, yet powerful face was one that her people both adored and respected.

For the first few months, Adris ruled with a gentle peace and tranquility that many in her city looked up to. Adris was kind and holy. However, this didn’t last. Adris began to get sick. She weakened and started to frequent the church she loved less and less due to her sickness.

When a person with such power finds themself in a place of such desperation, they resort to desperate matters. She believed this was her God punishing her, and that she must redeem herself. Adris began to perform animal sacrifices in the basement of the church. She started with pigs, goats, and sheep; digging her sacrificial knife into the hearts of the beasts.

When this didn’t work, she started to conduct public human sacrifice. Women, Men, Children. Even newborns were sacrificed to the high priestess in an attempt to save her from corruption. Her people feared that her sickness would spread and corrupt the city. In the end, over a hundred civilians were sacrificed in bloody public displays.

Still, she did not get any better. As a last resort, Adris exiled herself from the city, leaving with nothing more than a dozen followers to help her along her way. Her expedition was short lived. Four days after Adris had departed, she grew too weak to follow. Her once beautiful face was now covered in lumps and sores, her long black hair had been falling out since the start of the expedition. Two nights after her followers had stopped and tried to heal their priestess, Adris died as patient zero of the bubonic plague.

What happened to her followers is unknown. Many believe that they died with her, her corpse infecting them and bringing them to the same fate. Other believe that they survived and started a cult in efforts to bring Adris back. Her story was spread as a warning, then told and displayed as a myth and legend. It is told that she died in the Drach Caves in Spain, and that invoking her name will cause her spirit to arise, looking for more sacrifices to appease her God.

May 12, 2020 Hey, you. Guess what. I can predict the future. I know what you’re thinking: “That’s stupid.” And you know what? I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t believe me, either. But I know my predictions are always right. So keeping these predictions to myself is not a matter of possible misinformation. I’d just prefer it that way - it’s better not to cheat fate. Even if I foresee some kind of wicked accident, I keep it to myself. Nobody wants to know that they’re going to get hit by a bus one day. Plus, it’s not like anyone would take me seriously. Some strange kid says you’ll get hit by a bus one day and for a few days afterwards, you’ll cautiously look both ways before crossing the street, but then you forget about it and after getting hit by a bus you’ll remember that kid and think, “Oh, wow, what a strange coincidence.” I’ve kept a tab on every person into whose future I got a sneak peek. So far, only two people have stubbornly remained missing from my databases. That is, until tomorrow. The first person is a little twerp. He pretends I’m not worth his time, yet he finds every possible way to mess with me. This time, though, I honestly have to clap for him. He’s found the right way - the only way - to anger me. He’s found my notebook.

May 13, 2020 Surely enough, the next day when I checked my bag before lunch, the book had vanished. But I had time. Time to cheat fate. So after school I sprinted across campus to find the violator, and when I found him, I yelled, huffing and puffing from running, “Hey you!” He pointed at himself. “Me?” “Get over here.” He grinned at his friends, like, get a load of this guy, and walked over to me. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, he said, “Wait, let me guess. You’re going to say, ‘Hey, I know you’re the jerk who stole my notebook, and I would like it back, thank you very much.’” Oh crap, he already - “And now you’re thinking, ‘Oh crap, he already read it’!” He laughed. “And now you’re thinking, ‘What? What’s he going on about?’” “What? Just give it back, what’s wrong with you?!” “What’s wrong with me? You’re the one who already wrote down this entire conversation, down to the last detail! I read your freaky notebook already. Honestly, I didn’t think you could get any weirder!” He dropped his bag on the ground and said, “Just calm down. I’ll give it back now.” I was silent as he held up the notebook to me. I snatched it, quickly flipping through the pages. He began counting down my response on his fingers, to the very last second. I played along. “Isaac. Did you write in this notebook?” He paused, then remembered to laugh and said cheerfully, “Yeah, did you see what I wrote? The story seemed unfinished, so I finished it for you.”

May 12, 2020 Ah, forget the introductions, I’ve written this too many times. I’ve kept a tab on every person into whose future I got a sneak peek. So far, only one person has stubbornly remained missing from my databases. She thinks it’s funny to dig into people’s personal belongings. And that’s not the worst part - she tells everyone about it. She will read your diary with no qualms and then turn around and tell everybody your deepest secret just to humiliate you. Yeah, no. Not with me. That ends today.

I lived and I learned. You claimed I manipulated you when I simply offered you advice. You claimed I was the toxic one when I went through so much and came back just for you. You spoke with the serpents mouth and twisted my words into things I’ve never said before. Why? For what? Did you gain anything from removing the light that was once in my heart?

I now know because of you that even the closest among me can spread their poison and corrupt others. I now know because of you that when you give someone a second chance, you’re opening the door to heartbreak once again.

It’s been quite a ride with you.

I’m glad I left you on “Read” that day.

And I'm sorry to say this, but the lies you’re spreading about me… yeah, I couldn’t care less. And the words you’re saying about me, I don’t care. In fact, please continue, I would love to hear what else your poisonous mouth has to say about me.

Good luck without me Kirn. (No wait, it's Kirnpreet to you now.) 29

Hearts are pure, eyes are bright, playing in a puddle of innocence. Not knowing that the world can unravel and unfold into hate.

Oh, isn’t it wonderful to be a child?

Running next door, ringing doorbells for a fun time, not staring into a mirror, analyzing a despised reflection, seeing others purely as friends, not labeled with a religion, race, sexuality, or stereotype,

Oh, isn’t it wonderful to be a child?

No worries of next week, month, year, or even tomorrow. Living in the present is what they do Laraib Arshad best. Remember Me Bryanna Ackerman giggling, dancing, I mentally review the people. skipping, I am led toward the back. no weight on their shoulders, But slowly I realize I can’t remember myself. I’m not remembering. Why yes, it is wonderful to be a child. Then I catch a sudden glimpse. Despair floods me. No. I wish for a moment that would lift me out of this day. But, I feel guilty for wanting to avoid the sadness. I’m sorry I don’t want to burden you with grief. So I’ll leave. Goodbye.

Life is fraught with a myriad of challenges and experiences, in fact it's those challenges themselves that define our world view. Those challenges that intrinsically influence our lives and push us to not only succeed but to mature and grow as individuals to great extents. One of the greatest challenges of my life was a ten day challenge of leadership, physical hardship, and creative situations meant to put you in constant discomfort called the Summer Leadership and Character Development Academy (SLCDA). A competitive Marine Corps program in which nearly 1,500 applicants attempted to join but only 200 were selected. I remember the Officer Candidate course as one of the most mentally challenging experiences of my life vividly:

Perturbation washed over me as a wash of color left a canvas that was now left pale and trembling. I quavered as I described my disquietude for what was about to come, “I can’t do it’s” and “It’s too hard’s” struggled to leave the pit in my throat. I let trepidations and an abhorrence of heights control my thought process, and as I stood upon a criss-crossing of telephone poles sixty-five feet high in a pyramid shape, meant to be scaled and straddled—I reverted to a timid pusillanimous version of myself, one who had no ambition but only comfort. Yet as I rested betwixt two logs at the top of the structure with a four foot gap between them meant to force you to look down—I could see the far drop to the comfort of a gravel pit—and I panicked. Stopping and holding on for dear life to a splintered wood log that cut and bisected my skin, all that I could now hear was the thump of my heart and the faint voice of the instructor telling us earlier that there was no shame in giving up and climbing back down the way we had came up. But there was shame. There was tremendous shame and the guilt of letting those down who selected me for the honor of attending the school. Yet my biggest regret was considering giving up so heavily that I shifted my weight and brought my forward leg down.

But before I could make substantial downward progress, the hulking thuds of a junior instructor stopped me in my tracks as he sprinted up the obstacle and planted himself firmly onto the log above me. WIth a striking bonhomie demeanor he calmly asked my name, and I stammered for moments before collecting myself and responding. It wasn’t his job to help me, it wasn’t even asked of him, it was a moment of arrant kindness. Likely a moment he forgot days later, but a moment that has entirely changed my life for the better and put me on a path of bettering myself each and every day. I still remember the echo of his voice in the back of my head saying,

“It’s heights, isn’t it?”

Still hardly able to collect myself, I shook my head yes.

“Well, Aidan, it’s hard and it’s tough. I know it is. It’s a lot and many people who go through this fail, but for what it’s worth I believe in you. I’ve seen you and your group on the other obstacles and I've seen you push through a lot. I know that you can make it over, so you can climb back down and it will be okay, or you can make this obstacle yours”.

With a new determination I pushed harder than I thought possible, and moved over each log with a fiery drive until before I knew it, my feet were planted back on the ground. I looked around, smelling the air, almost about to pound my chest in pride, looked over at the instructor, re-leveled myself and gave him a gratified nod before continuing further into the obstacle course.

I was always told that heaven was a world of white— but this felt more like hell. And as I jammed my windshield wipers on then off and flipped off the driver who swerved into my lane, I could feel Andy’s eyes bearing into me. Not in a judging way, no, never in a judging way. To my dismay, Andy was all too loving for that.

“There’s no use to that, Sabrina,” he says so softly it almost comes out as a whisper. It feels like a parent trying to scold their child without raising a temper. I pound the horn with my fist in response.

The long, drawn out beep almost messes with my head enough to forget my current situation. It almost allows me to forget how I’m stuck on the highway with my ex-boyfriend of six months in the middle of the biggest blizzard since cavemen rode mammoths to arrive at a five year high school reunion that must have already been cancelled. Carpool, they said, save the Earth, they said. The honking almost lets me forget.

After preceding to knock my forehead against the steering wheel, likely damaging my prefrontal cortex for life, I finally decide to do the adult thing. I unbuckle my seatbelt and curl up in the fetal position.

“Oh come on, please,” Andy begs, shaking my legs vehemently. He’s stronger than I remember, and I wonder what else has changed about him since mid August. Does he still go on morning runs or buy the same sweater in three different colors or fall asleep with his left arm dangled over the bed? I wish I knew.

I cough, slightly embarrassed, and buckle myself back in. We move two feet and stop once again. “So, how’s Sara?” The name feels foreign on my tongue but I push it out just the same. I have to show that I’ve moved on, because he has already. Oh she’s doing well. The end of law school is always a stressful time but it will all be over soon,” he explains. I can tell he wants to say more but quickly shuts himself up in fear of it becoming too awkward. Oh, we're already there, pal, I think to myself, and the memories of our long kisses come back in waves...no, a...blizzard.

Job 80154 Year 2020 Page 032 (978292399) Master (954478454) 05/11/2020 10:50 AM Copyright © Jostens Inc, 2020 Andy coughs to himself. “How’s the band?,” he asks oh-so-casually. I can feel the tension beneath my fingertips on the dashboard. The solar power hula dancer watches me die slowly.

“Oh great, we just booked a gig in Nashville,” I answer.

“Really? That’s awesome, you should let me know when it is.” The good part was he sounded genuine in his enthusiasm for me. The bad part was he sounded genuine in his enthusiasm for a gig that did not exist quite yet.

We sit in awkwardish silence for a while. He tries to turn on the radio with no luck. I squint to see past the six feet of snow. He takes off his winter jacket as the heater finally kicks in, revealing a blue sweater I’ve never seen before. And all the while, Andy opens his mouth, bites his lip in discontent, and puts his head down in a never ending cycle of doom.

“Andy,” I finally say. He quits pressing the buttons on the radio and even takes off his jacket again. The car feels warmer now.

“Something’s up,” I continue, finally facing him directly. He looks ashamed. He sighs.

“Remember when we went to our first movie, Sab?,” he asks.

The words nudge me towards the memory, but the nickname shoves me into it. Sab. I remember when I was Sab. When I had a long bob for a haircut and Andy refused to shave and I loved physics class, and more than anything, Andy loved me. “I told you about a new horror movie that was coming out on Friday, and you insisted on going. We went on opening night, so the theater was packed with superfans, nonetheless we were there. Your eyes were closed for half the movie and I had to make a promise with your roommate that he wouldn’t prank you for a good week,” I recall. The words flow out of me easily, as if my consciousness could easily sort through my memories with a Control F for “Andy.” What a sinister device.

He chuckles softly, licking his front teeth like he did back on our Division III track team when one of the other hurdlers would crack some wise joke. Pure bliss.

“You could always see right through me, even then. Even now,” he says. He takes a breath as if he has been holding it this whole conversation and turns to me. Andy’s eyes light up like I have never seen them before.

“Sara and I are getting married,” he smiles. I have only ever vomited three times in my life. Once behind the swingset in kindergarten, another due to the stomach virus, and once more in a lasagna eating contest my freshman year of college. This should be the fourth. But the bile doesn’t come out;the words do.

“That’s really, really great Andy,” I say. The lie is as white as the snow in front of us.

“Really?”

“Really,” I repeat, and promise myself to erase the word from my vocabulary.

“Oh that’s so great, Sabrina!,” he exclaims, sighing in relief. “I’ve been the most nervous to tell you, but I want you more than anything to be there.”

I am back to reality. I am no longer in the highest clouds nor the darkest underworld. That is what Sabrina does to you. I am not the Sab Andy fell in love with two years ago, or the Sab that understood fashion, or even the Sab who could hold a steady job. I am the Sab that fell in love with Andy, but to him I am just Sabrina. 33

When you’ve been playing this game for as long as I have, the advice provided to you tends to fall short. Here’s the truth; the most candid advice you’ll find around here.

Don’t get caught. Don’t show them how you really are. Don’t take off the mask.

Don’t let them see through you. Don’t let them stop their obsession over you. Don’t stop pleasing them.

Don’t tell them how you really feel. Don’t tell them you’re burned out. Don’t make them sad. Their parents do enough of that already.

Don’t hide the relatability. Don’t shy away from outbursts. Don’t let them find out about you.

Don’t let them spread rumors about you. Don’t let them stalk you. Don’t let them know it hurts you. Don’t be sincere. The last time you did that, They hurt you.

Don’t let them steal your fame. Don’t let them exploit you for their gain. Don’t let them lie for you. Lie for yourself.

Do not let them know that it eats you alive, To know that you’re taking all this time, To hide behind the years of your prime. And don’t get caught. They won’t support fools like you.

Every moment I spend with you makes my life worthwhile.

Every day seems anew. Just greet me in the morning and I just smile.

For the love you make is greater than the ones I knew before.

You’re like the breath G e o r g i a K a r a i s a r i d e s that I intake, the one that I truly adore.

You’re the rock in my life, You make everything seem alright. We never have a strife 'cause the world we live in together ain’t black and white. All this is possible... 'cause you're the rock in my life.

You walked into my life like a comet in the sky and when I looked at you, I knew you loved me from the stars in your eyes.

There is not a single thing that I would not do for you. You’re the one who gave me life, so, I would die for you.

Memories of Robin Vaux Michelle Guerrero

I remember when Nebraska was the only place I knew that had Kool-Aid at the time. I remember going to the movie theater with my father to go see Gone With the Wind with my favorite actor Clake Gable. I remember making Ezekiel bread every saturday with Viola to soothe my pain that my mother was gone. I remember getting my Maserati for my 17th birthday from my rich uncle Daniel and naming it Amelie. I remember complaining to my dad how much I hated my mole on my upper cheek and how it was too obvious to the world to see. I remember coming home from school seeing my new pet lionfish on my bed; I named him Jasper. I remember eating lunch on the rooftop because I hated being bullied by my peers. I remember every time I won a Philosophy tournament I felt like I was on top of the world. I remember that the weeping willow tree growing through my porch. I remember rereading The Great Gatsby a 100 times more. I remember staying after school with Viola to find out the latest gossip in school. I remember seeing my mom the last time before the car accident.

I’ve grown old, my feelings have been diminished. You’ve left me with nothing but a sad and lonesome memory. A memory of a love gone sour, A hero without a sidekick.

Way down south, I saw an angry man. And with a tough lookin’ face, his speech began. He spoke of the politicians and the people in his way. By the looks of his expressions, I just had to say:

“I know how you feel, corrupted everyday. Every man in this world feels like you’re his prey. But if we all just take a stand, and with my guiding hand, we will reach the promised land.”

He raised his fist into the air for no one ‘round him seemed to care. He said, “Now more than ever we need a man who’ll set aside all differences and come up with a plan. Who in the face of danger will not back down and when there’s sad and lonely times, not put on a frown.

“They promise you fame. They promise you fortune. But all you really get is exhaustion. You’ll reach the highest mountain, you’ll sail the longest sea. You may be a free man, but you ain’t totally free.”

I told him...

“I know how you feel, betrayed everyday from your neighbors and your friends and to strangers along the way. But if you just take a stand, and with my hand, then you’ll reach the promised land.”

Well, I know why you feel the way that you do. But every man in this world’s gotta pay his dues. Whether they’re big or whether they’re small, the engines that push us onward mustn’t stall.

You’ve gotta be tough, you’ve gotta be strong. When times seem rough, just keep pushin’ on.