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TEENS, GET PUBLISHED! F EBRUARY 2012 | V OL. 23, NO . 6 Submit Online – www.TeenInk.com Or by E-mail – [email protected] 4 Feedback THE FINE PRINT 18-19 College Directory • Submit your work through TeenInk.com. We no longer accept 23 Art Gallery submissions by snail mail. Writing and artwork submitted through our website is not only considered for publication in the magazine, Nonfiction but may also be posted on TeenInk.com. If you don’t want your work posted online, e-mail it to us. You must include your first and last 6-7 POINTS OF VIEW Texting • Makeup • Equal-opportunity dating name, year of birth, home address/city/state/ZIP code, home phone OUR WORLD Inside the Bosnian Genocide number, school name, and English teacher’s name. 8 • Submitting art or photos. We prefer that you submit though our 10 HEALTH My special education website or by e-mail. If you must send art by mail, attach all the 12-15 TRUE LOVE STORIES Valentine’s Day focus above information to the back of each piece and send to Teen Ink, Box 30, Newton, MA 02461. Please don’t fold art and don’t send us 16 SPORTS Fight club the original since we can’t return it to you. 17 COMMUNITY SERVICE Guilty conscience • Plagiarism. Teen Ink has a no-tolerance policy for plagiarism. We 20 HEROES Educator of the Year nominees check the originality of all published work through WriteCheck, and any submission found to be plagiarized will be deleted, along with 22 PRIDE & PREJUDICE Standing up to sexism • Big is beautiful any other work previously published on our site. 24-27 MEMOIRS New ‘do • 17 and pregnant • • Your submission may be edited. For space and other reasons, Good-bye, ghetto • God is my head we reserve the right to publish our edited version of your work without your prior approval. 26 ENVIRONMENT Beautiful cosmos • The Omnivore’s Dilemma • Anonymity. If, due to the personal nature of a piece, you don’t 28-29 TRAVEL & CULTURE Ethiopia • Italy • Bangladesh • France want your name published, we will respect that request, but we must still have all name and address information for our records. 30 INTERVIEW Author Kate Klimo • Gifts. Teens published in the magazine will receive a complimentary copy of the issue containing their work, a Reviews congratulatory letter, a Teen Ink pen, and a Teen Ink Post-it™ pad. 31 BOOKS Into the Wild • The Little Prince • The Girl • Submitted work becomes the property of Teen Ink. By submitting your work to us, you are giving Teen Ink and its With the Dragon Tattoo • The Road • Peter the Great partners, affiliates, and licensees the non- exclusive right to publish 32 MUSIC The Sign of the Southern Cross • T-Pain • your work in any format, including print, electronic, and online INXS • Dead Man’s Bones media. However, all individual contributors to Teen Ink retain the right to submit their work for non-exclusive publication elsewhere, 33 MOVIES & TV Say Anything … • Easy A • and you have our permission to do so. Teen Ink may edit or Bill Cosby: Himself • Teen Mom • Drumline abridge your work at its sole discretion. To prevent others from stealing your work, Teen Ink is copyrighted by The Young 34-37 Fiction Authors Foundation Inc. 38-47 Poetry SUBSCRIBE • • • • • • ■ $35 INDIVIDUAL SUBSCRIPTION (1 copy per month) I am enclosing a check or credit card information for $35. ■ CLASS SET (30 copies per month) ON THE COVER I want 30 copies of Teen Ink each month. If I subscribe now, I will be billed $109 for the rest of the school year. Price includes shipping & handling. PO# (if available) ______The Love Issue ■ CHARITABLE DONATION Nonfiction essays on heartthrobs & heartbreak pages 12-15 I want to support Teen Ink & The Young Authors Foundation. Fictional tales of crushes & crushed hope pages 34-37 ■ ■ ■ ■ Enclosed is: $25 $50 $100 Other______Passionate poetry pages 38-47 You may pay by credit card: ■ MC ■ VISA Card #______Exp. ______I Joined a Fight Club

Name: ______The art of fighting Sports, page 16 Title/Subject:______School enrollment (est.):______Txting: the Gr8 Deb8 School name (for Class Set):______Can texting be educational? Points of View, page 6 Address: ■ School ■ Home ______City:______State: ______ZIP: ______Bosnia: The Hidden Genocide Email address: ______A survivor’s story Our World, page 8 Phone number: ______WW/PP Mail to: Teen Ink • Box 30 • Newton, MA 02461 2/12 Cover art by Tze En, Pulau Pinang, Malaysia FEEDBACK Articles mentioned here can be found on TeenInk.com

race survives, this cycle of violence will magazine that I and other teen writers enjoy. It is impressively original and speaks the Missing the continue. Call me a pessimist or a skeptic or Teen Ink is above all other magazines and truth. Health Care Bus whatever, but I believe that this past year of books I have read. Thank you! “You Are Lucky” reminds us of what we I enjoy reading essays on national and revolutions will be just another bullet point Mauricio Curiel, Commerce City, CO may sometimes take for granted: little worldwide issues. These articles often con- on the list of revolutionary waves that have things do count. It’s true – we take lightly tain strong, well thought out arguments. In rocked the world. what we are given. This article is a reminder “Missing the Health Care Bus,” Rebecca Timon Luo, Brooklyn, NY The Snowman to be thankful for everyone and everything Booker explains why she believes that “The Snowman” by Caeleigh MacNeil is we have in our lives, and how lucky we are everyone should have access to health care. a story about an innocent subject: drawing to be alive. When she was younger her parents were un- She’s Beauty snowmen. However, hidden between the Jess made a brilliant choice in using the able to afford health insurance for her. She I loved the nonfiction piece “She’s Beau- lines is a message that shouldn’t apply to- second person point-of-view; it puts the had to live extra cautiously, always anxious ty” by Courtney DeJoy. Courtney talks day: don’t rock the boat. People who do reader in a personal perspective, making her that she might get injured or sick and would about how she longed for a younger sibling something different get ridiculed and words more attention-grabbing. “Out of not be able to afford the medical expenses. and how she would do anything to have a shunned. Though teachers claim that we are seven billion people alive on earth, you are I agree that health care should be univer- sister/brother. Courtney’s lifelong dream all unique and should be proud of it, a boy the only you that has ever existed or will sal in the United States. In today’s modern came true on October 31st, 2005. She got a in Caeleigh’s third grade class was ridiculed ever exist.” This sentence alone makes me culture people should not have to forgo little sister. for drawing a purple snowman with four feel at peace with myself. There will never medical attention because they cannot However, this was not the ordinary “wait circles increasing in size. be another me. afford it. nine months and watch Mommy’s tummy Today in our society, you must be part of “You Are Lucky” is a breath of fresh air. Maddie Brinker, Bethlehem, PA grow” situation: Courtney’s parents adopted the “normal” group in order to be accepted. Anyone, from young to old, can relate to it. a baby girl. Courtney’s love for her sister is You must look a certain way, act a certain something only she can describe, but I think way, and have a certain set of beliefs that fit Nicole Javillo, Wilmington, DE A Peaceful Revolution I know how she feels. I longed for a little with the crowd’s. The pressure to be part of I’m not as hopeful as Amy Gofton is in sister too. On July 7th, 2002, she was born. the group is enormous, and nobody wants to Spreading the Word her article “A Peaceful Revolution.” Sure, When my sister was born, I realized I had be viewed as a weirdo. About Teen Ink there were many revolutions in 2011, but my work cut out for me. We are nine years However, what would happen if people the world is not a stranger to revolutions. apart, so I try to be the best role model and didn’t challenge the ideas of the “normal” My father lives abroad and is always We had the Atlantic Revolutions in the late always protect her. No matter what, she will group and let their imagination take charge? teaching us about lots of interesting stuff. 18th century, when America, France, and be by my side, and just like Courtney said, What would happen if people didn’t speak One example is Teen Ink. Haiti liberated themselves from oppression. my sister is the greatest gift ever. their minds? What would happen if people When I told my father that I like to write, We had post-WWII Communist revolutions, Anyssa Maestas, Thornton, CO cared more about their reputation than do- he said, “Try browsing through this site. It when many Eastern European and Asian ing the right thing? Without people like the might interest you,” and he was right. When countries were lit up in fiery red. We had boy who draws a purple snowman, who will I went on TeenInk.com, I realized that it can the Revolutions of 1989, when the world Thank You, Teen Ink stand out from the crowd and take chances? help teens find our talents, share them with witnessed the fall of Communism in East- Teen Ink is great entertainment because it These are the people who make a difference other teens all over the world, and improve ern Europe. In the past year, we have had in the world. our skills. Above all, what makes me happy the Arab Spring uprisings, Russian election provides a variety of selections. The maga- So instead of making fun of the boy who about Teen Ink is that teens who usually go protests, and the Occupy Wall Street move- zine and website allow young people to draws a purple snowman, we should em- online without a purpose finally have some- ment. Frankly, I don’t see much difference. share stories, reviews, and poems with oth- ers. Writers like me are always looking to brace his creativity. We can all change the thing that will interest them. Every generation is marred by hatred and get their work out there, and Teen Ink gives world, one purple upside down snowman at I keep introducing Teen Ink to everyone. bloodshed. Every time, we believe our ac- us the opportunity to get published and a time. When I was given a chance to speak in my tions will change the future and that there share our work with the world. Laolu Ogunnaike, New York, NY class recently, I told everyone about will be no more conflicts. That’s what hap- TeenInk.com and had the pleasure of writ- pened during World War I. It was called Teen Ink has so many options that you never know what to expect, which is what ing the URL on many notebooks so they “the war to end all wars,” but little did they You Are Lucky could check out the site. Teen Ink is indeed know that it would soon be followed by makes it great. I personally find the nonfic- tion stories most enjoyable, but the fiction, “You Are Lucky” by Jess Roberts defi- a brilliant idea; thanks to all who are re- World War II, which would eclipse it in sponsible for it. both scope and casualties. reviews, and poems are all well written too. nitely left a mark on me. Only seven para- I want to thank you for creating this graphs long, with its full-on power and Aafiya Fazie, Kandy, Sri Lanka I’m convinced that as long as the human emotion, it will touch anyone who reads it.

CIRCULATION NOTICE TO READERS Reaching millions Teen Ink is not respon- of teens in junior and sible for the content of THISIS IS ELLA. senior high schools any advertisement. We ttest writwriters Box 30 • Newton, MA 02461 nationwide. have not investigated One offWf WWattpad’saatttpad’sttpad s ho hottest writers (617) 964-6800 advertisers and do not THE YOUNG AUTHORS necessarily endorse their NAMEAME Ella EnchantedEnchanted [email protected] FOUNDATION products or services. IN www.TeenInk.com TheYoungAuthors LIVESS IN NarniaNarnarn e e Foundation, publisher of EDITORIAL CONTENT LOVESES Eragong Series & The riises Teen Ink, is a nonprofit Teen Ink is a monthly Mazerunner Seeries Publishers Stephanie Meyer corporation qualified as journal dedicated to f stories a 501(c)3 exempt organi- publishing a variety of HAHATESATTES VVampire/Wampire/Wmpir / erewolf st John Meyer zation by the IRS. The works written by y Deppp Foundation, which is teenagers. Copyright © SESECRETECCRRET CRUSH Johnn Senior Editor Stephanie Meyer organized and operated e 2011 by The Young HOPES TOTO MakeMake a difference Editor Emily Sperber exclusively for charita- Authors Foundation, Inc. ble and educational pur- y The Ivy League Production Susan Tuozzolo All rights reserved. FFAMEAME Her story poses, provides opportu- Publication of material reads! nities for the education appearing in Teen Ink is has ooverver 2 million readsr Katie Olsen and enrichment of young prohibited unless written trong Associate Editor Cindy Spertner people. permission is obtained. FFANAN CLUB 12,000+00 s Assistant Editor Adam Halwitz FREQUENCY PRODUCTION Ten monthly issues, Outreach Meagan Foley Teen Ink uses Quark We’re the world’sorrl from September to June. of Advertising John Meyer Xpress to design the lallargestarrggesg st comccommunitymmmunmuunninityy of ADDITIONAL COPIES magazine. ers! Intern Alex Cline readerseaa & writ Send $6.95 per copy Volunteer Barbara Field for mailing and handling.

4 Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO SUMMER SESSION ’12

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5 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink Txting: the Gr8 Deb8 by Teresa Chen, Brooklyn, NY

as high tech really reached a new low? The and children have a sophisticated understanding of most critics believe that in the instances when text- average teenager sends more than 3,339 the appropriate use of words,” states Dr. Beverley speak appears in schoolwork, the student has usually Htexts per month. We all know how easy it is Plester, lead professor of the study. done it on purpose. to flip open your phone and type a quick “meet me This research is fueling supporters of texting by When looked at from another angle, texting may @ the mall @ 2 plz!” to your BFF. But is texting as encouraging school boards to incorporate the use of not be damaging our language, but rather, building view harmful and destructive to grammar as teachers texting within education. According to statistics, 54 it. The English language has evolved over hundreds claim? Will texting cause – OMG – the death of the percent of those who text are teenagers. Because it’s of years, and English from the Shakespearean times English language? Despite popular belief, texting such a huge part of a student’s life, educational or- changed greatly to become modern-day English. isn’t creating a generation of illiterate teenagers. In ganizations are working to create a curriculum that Textese could be shaping the new and improved fact, it’s doing just the opposite. involves this technology and engages both English language. It fosters creativity and, I believe, of According to recent studies by re- the attention and the interest of teenagers. is not just an example of linguistic laziness. Like the searchers at Coventry University and Is texting as States such as Connecticut are beginning clichés “all that glitters is not gold” and “star- the University of Toronto, texting actu- to see uses for this way of communicating, crossed lovers” from Shakespeare’s works, texting is ally improves literacy. The studies harmful as and are convinced that “nonstandard Eng- inspiring new phrases, words, and symbols that are found that texting had no detrimental claimed? lish” doesn’t actually interfere with the making their way into our culture, for example, link with linguistic development, and development of the ability to write in stan- “smh,” “ily,” and “g2g.” that it improved comprehension and dard forms required by school, higher Opponents of texting have also claimed that it reading development. The 10-year study, which education, and careers, as opponents claim. They causes grades to drop for many students, but it’s not tested 88 eight- to 10-year-olds, found that those believe that it helps motivate students and can be the physical action of texting that should be tar- who were better at understanding and creating text beneficial in a teaching environment by testing stu- geted; it’s the addiction. Instead of paying attention abbreviations did better on literacy tests. This dents’ grammar and comprehension. to the teacher and the lesson, some students focus “boost” effect is similar to what happens when But these new findings are definitely overshad- more on their phones hidden under their desks. One parents talk to infants or read to toddlers; the more owed by public perceptions, shaped by the media, reason for this could be that teachers are not using

points exposure children have to language, the more under- which is constantly unleashing stories of students good techniques to motivate and engage students standing of the language they have. In the case of using textisms in formal writing. In during the class. texting, in order to comprehend shorthand abbrevia- one well-known case, a 13-year-old But this doesn’t let the teen who tions, teenagers have to have a strong sense of the girl handed in an essay written entirely Textese could be write “LOL” in a term paper off the longhand behind it. “What we think of as mis- in texting shorthand. As shocking as shaping the new hook. Like any slang appearing in a spellings don’t really break the rules of language, this may seem, it does not prove that formal research report, textese should the English language is and improved be considered a grammatical error and disappearing. Dr. rebuked with a red pen. It may be true Plester’s report states: English that electronic communication has its “The alarm in the media own faults and fosters its own care- is based on selected anecdotes, but ac- lessness, but texting slang can be seen as no differ- tually when we look for examples of ent from academic terms or journalistic shorthand in text-speak in essays, we don’t seem to writing. And as for the texters, maybe they should find very many.” This is due to the consider typing out the whole word once in a while. technique of code switching – know- It really doesn’t take that much longer. ing what type of behavior is appropri- It’s time to loosen up the English language and ate in certain situations. One example tolerate texting as a growing part of communication of this is when teenagers switch from today. It may bend all the rules, but it is still 100 talking in slang with their friends to percent a part of this language and is fostering new speaking politely to a teacher or par- innovation with words, all while improving the liter- ent. Slang is much like texting, and acy of those who are heavily involved. Textese is the though there’s the occasional slip-up, modern dialect of the world, it seems, and our soci- it doesn’t happen often. Even more ety should accept it. That heathen Shakespeare rare is the occurrence of texting short- would have been on board. ✦ Photo by Tiffiny Le’Anne, Parker, CO hand in a formal piece of writing, and

Texting While Walking by Jake Langevin, Welch, MN e have all heard about the he stepped into oncoming traffic. “The security officer responsible for she would sue. It may sound crazy, tragic deaths caused by Who’s at fault? The distracted texting sharing the video of this incident has but she may have a point. Under any Wpeople who text while driv- teen or the driver who hit him? These been terminated and is no longer with circumstances, the manhole should ing, but how about deaths from tex- accidents warrant another look at the the company.” have been marked to prevent acci- ting while walking? Like driving, laws pertaining to texting. Now wait a minute, he lost his job dents. But on the other hand, the teen walking while texting can be very On a lighter note, in for sharing a stupid mis- who was texting while walking dangerous. Has technology become another incident, Cathy Just as take that occurred in pub- should have been alert enough to see so advanced and texting so addictive Cruz Marrero was texting lic? That’s a little harsh. the hazard and avoid it. that these tragedies are now an ac- while walking in a mall dangerous as My point is that texting So, in order to save yourself from cepted part of our culture? Some of and tumbled into a water driving while while walking will only death, injury, or simple humiliation, the worst cases of walking while fountain. But her humili- make you look stupid. don’t text while walking. It may texting have led to death, injury, and ation didn’t end there. A texting? Exactly 40 years after sound crazy, but walking while tex- humiliation. mall security camera man first stepped on the ting can be life threatening just like The most tragic cases of walking caught the mishap and it soon ap- moon, a teen who was walking while texting while driving. As addictive as while texting include the death of a peared on YouTube. The video now texting stepped into an open manhole. technology can be, it can wait. My 14-year-old boy from Florida in 2008. has more than three million views. City workers came to her rescue and advice is to stay alert and keep your He was so focused on his phone that The company that provides security apologized for the unmarked hazard, eyes on the sidewalk. ✦ for the mall issued this statement: but the 15-year-old’s mother declared

6 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 points Throw Away the Makeup by Amy Gofton, Elmira, ON, Canada ast week I threw out my makeup. The mas- Today I’ve come to a number of conclusions. more is bought and consumed. It’s a cycle that goes cara, the eyeshadow – all of it went right in Makeup is unhealthy for the skin. Makeup distorts on and on, but where is the end? Women buy an Lthe trash. I hadn’t worn it in months, and as I genuine beauty and real confidence. Makeup is a overpriced product as if it’s something they require threw it away, I knew it was my final declaration. product of a consumer society. Makeup is sexist. to be part of this culture. Maybe it is. Women are When I was in middle school I gravitated toward What’s in makeup? By reading a few labels you’ll told: you’re better, you’re more mature, you’re more the stuff. I wanted to be grown up. I had visions of find preservatives like BHT, chemicals, artificial col- competent if you wear makeup. maturity and beauty in it. My best friend taught me ors, and if you’re lucky, some natural things like oat Makeup is sexist. Most women in high paying and to apply eyeliner and my mother showed me how to flour or zinc. Most of the ingredients, the average professional jobs wear makeup. It seems to be ex- put mascara on. I loved bright green eyeshadow and person cannot pronounce. Every time you put it on pected. Nobody says, “You must wear makeup,” but pale lipstick. your face, your skin is absorbing it. it’s the social norm. Take a look at your female The last time I wore makeup it was snowing. I Makeup has a way of distorting what is truly teachers, politicians, and those working in any job of kept pulling out a pocket mirror to inspect my eyes beautiful. In my eyes, everyone is that requires a suit. The majority wear to be sure my mascara wasn’t running. I wore it for beautiful. It’s when a person covers Makeup has a makeup. Why aren’t the men expected the play I watched that night and for the guy in it. herself with products that I find it dif- to wear makeup too? That was last winter. I haven’t worn makeup since. ficult to see that beauty. Beauty is way of distorting You’re laughing at that statement. something natural. It has to do with what is truly Why aren’t men expected to wear view the way a person sees and interacts makeup? Well, because men don’t wear with the world. It’s the way he or she beautiful makeup. That’s the logical answer. Yes, blends with nature, the urban envi- there are products for men, but only a ronment, and what is real. Makeup simply covers up limited number touch them. Welcome to inequality and distorts the beauty of being human. It’s stepping in the workplace. Makeup makes the professional into the world with a mask on, whether you con- woman. sciously see it as one or not. Logically speaking, no I say let’s scrap makeup! Leave it to actresses and one would spend so much money on something to actors who are playing a role. Leave it to the news cover her face unless she truly believed, either con- anchor who doesn’t want you to be distracted by a sciously or unconsciously, that beauty could be glare on his or her face from the lights. gained from it. By trying to be beautiful, women Throwing away the makeup is a statement that cover their true beauty. says “I care about my health. I’m beautiful no mat- Makeup is the product of a consumer society. We ter how ‘pretty’ I am. I am not a victim of a con- buy and buy and buy. Makeup doesn’t last long. sumer society. I am equal.” Those are all things I When it runs out, the packing is thrown away and can say about myself. ✦ Photo by Jess Deibert, Klingerstown, PA

Good-Bye, Wallflowers by Sarah-Alice Hanna, Portland, OR t always annoys me how willing our society for ages. However, these the ball is in your court. You have all people don’t do double takes every girls are to play the “damsel in ideas are outdated and discourage the cards. You’re not sitting around time I explain that I’ve never been Idistress.” Yes, we girls may not be girls from empowering themselves. waiting,” she explains. Imari ac- asked out but I’ve initiated several re- physically as strong as boys (on aver- “I don’t think I’d ever ask anyone knowledges that there are societal lationships. I look forward to the day age). We are, for the most part, out because it’s so embarrassing. I’m standards that say boys when girls can, in the smaller too. Evolutionarily speaking, not a very forward person,” says should take the initia- eyes of society, be we are supposed to depend on men to Stephanie, a junior at my high school. tive instead of girls. Historically, girls equal to boys when it bring us food while we make babies. She has always been shy and says, as “There’s more pressure could ask boys comes to initiating rela- Historically it has made sense for a result, she does not have the confi- on a guy,” she says. tionships. women to look to men for protection. dence to ask someone out. Stephanie “Girls expect a guy to out on Leap Day, It’s the twenty-first However, society now is set up so does not directly relate this to societal just ask.” February 29 century. We women are that we women can support ourselves standards but admits that this could Imari believes that no longer fragile dolls just as well as men can, if not better. affect her on a subconscious level. it’s often surprising who require special We can be just as independent as Some girls, however, are confident when a girl asks a boy out because it treatment. We are capable of just about men. Even so, many double standards enough to take the first step. Imari, a is so out of the norm. “It shakes guys anything men are. Why shouldn’t we still exist from the time when men sophomore, has asked two guys out. up and makes them realize that you’re initiate relationships too? ✦ were seen as the dominant sex. For “I knew he wasn’t going to ask me not going to sit around waiting for example, in high school, boys are still because I wasn’t too obvious, so I them.” expected to initiate thought, if he’s not It takes courage and confidence to romantic relationships going to ask me, I may ask someone out, regardless of gen- and pay for dates, Why shouldn’t as well ask him. der. Whether you’re a girl or a boy, while girls are ex- girls initiate There’s nothing to there will always be that uncomfort- pected to be passive lose,” she says. able feeling of putting yourself on and look pretty. relationships too? The first time she the line, but that’s just part of the I like the idea of a asked someone out was dating experience. boy treating me with for the Winter Semi- I look forward to the day when it’s respect; girls should do the same for Formal Dance her freshman year. He just as common for a girl to ask a them. However, it makes no sense turned her down. But last summer boy out as it is for a boy to ask a girl. whatsoever that boys should be the Imari asked out someone else, who I look forward to the day when girls only ones to initiate a relationship said yes. They are still dating, and she don’t hesitate to approach a love in- when girls are just as capable of enjoys the empowerment of taking terest, and when shy boys won’t have doing so. Many girls believe it is not the initiative. to assume that they’ll never get a their place to approach a crush be- “When a girl asks a guy out, it’s girlfriend if they don’t ask someone cause of standards that have existed in different. It’s a lot more fun because out. I look forward to the day when Photo by Corrine Ramstead, Kirkland, WA

LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK 7 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink Bosnia: The Hidden Genocide by Sabiha Masud, Salt Lake City, UT

e’ve all heard of the Holo- was being held. during the genocide. The soldiers concentration camp called Batkovici caust. We’ve read about the “They raped one woman whose would pile the bodies on top of where I spent a year. I was not killed Wmass murder of 800,000 children and parents were present, sewage drains to get rid of the blood, because of my position in the SDA; civilians in Rwanda. People write along with everyone else,” testified almost as if to eradicate the evidence the Serbs still wanted information. books, make movies, hold memorial Alija Lujinovic, another survivor. Ac- of their horrible deeds. The men who were not as lucky were services, and advocate awareness of cording to the Red Cross, over two He continues: “At the jail the ordered to dig trenches. They did not million people were displaced from guards questioned me every day, ask- know the trenches also served as their world these terrible genocides. While it would be nice to say that those were their homes during the Bosnian War, ing how many weapons I had and graves. When they finished, the guards the only genocides our world has ex- and 200,000 people died, including what political positions I had held in would slit their throats. perienced, there are countless others 12,000 children. Fifty thousand Sanski Most. If I refused to answer, I “On the 9th of October, 1993, I was that are rarely mentioned. women were raped, tortured, sold, or would be beaten. They took my traded for Serbian soldiers being held The Bosnian genocide took place killed. Men were sent to clothes, documents, hostage and sent to Tuzla, a free city in between 1992 and 1995, around the concentration camps. everything. I was put in northeastern Bosnia. I brought my time my generation was beginning. It Osman Talic was a “No one was a room the size of a daughters back from Slovenia, and my

our was a result of the war between survivor of not one, but small garage with 70 whole family went to live in Vodice. A Bosnia and the Serbians (and a num- four camps. He was a trying to free us other detainees with no few years later, we came to America.” ber of Croatians). In 1946, Yugoslavia witness for the Interna- from the camp” windows so there was Osman looks down at his hands, was divided into six federated re- tional Court where he no way to tell if it was which are now clenched fists. publics: Bosnia and Herzegovina, attested to the torture he day or night. “When I talk about what they did to Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro, endured. I was fortunate to be able to “We were beaten every day and me, I get agitated,” he explains. “I Serbia, and Slovenia. Bosnia passed talk to Osman Talic. His English is not given very little food. Every day the imagine being beaten and tortured. I a referendum for independence that perfect, and he searches for words, guards would bring a loaf of bread for still have nightmares. It made no sense was supported by the country’s Mus- smiling after each sentence and saying 24 of us to share. We would get one that my neighbor, someone I ate with lims and Croats, but rejected by repre- “You understand?” small glass of water for two. Before and invited to my house, would be the sentatives of the Serb population, who “I lived in a small town called San- the war, I was 220 pounds. A few first to turn a gun on me. established their own republic, Repub- ski Mos in Bosnia,” he told me. “After months later, I weighed 130. “I don’t understand the trauma and lika Srpska. the breakup of Yugoslavia, there was “I would think each morning, Today torture these people put on innocent Following Bosnia’s declaration of fighting and anger between the Croats, might be my last day. Sometimes I Bosnians. My cousin watched 13 independence, Bosnian Serb forces Serbs, and Muslims. In my town, I would wake up at night with a gun to members of his family killed in front (supported by the Serbian govern- was the leader (with a few others) of my head. For some reason, once I of him, including his eight-month-old ment), accompanied by the Yugoslav’s the SDA, an organization that repre- woke up, the soldier would decide not daughter and two-year-old son. This is People’s Army, declared war on sented the Bosnian Muslims. In 1991, to kill me. what gives me the most pain, the death Bosnia so they could take the land for there was the first election in Bosnia. “The guards would place my hands of children and women. I saw a house themselves. Although Croatia had first Since Muslims made up so much of on a cooker and put a knife to my burned to the ground with 30 people supported Bosnian in- the population, many of neck. I was told that if I lifted my locked inside. I will never forget these dependence, their those elected were Mus- hands, the guards would slit my things. I can never forget.” president, Franjo “They did not lim. The Bosnian Serbs throat. My hands were burnt so badly I We sit in silence for a few moments Tudman, decided to were very angry that the still have no feeling in my fingers. I while he gathers his thoughts. join the war to secure know the trenches Serbians had become a slept on a slab of concrete for two “It frustrates me that no one will land for his republic. also served as minority. The Serbs de- years and not allowed to shower for talk about what happened. It is not Along with this came cided to declare war and seven months. During this time, I was recognized as a genocide. It is painful an “ethnic cleansing” their graves” get rid of the Muslims. allowed no contact with the outside. to talk about, but it should not be for- of the Muslims in They had help from “Then, on August 28, 1992, I was gotten. I wish more people knew Bosnia, who repre- Croatia, and the man- taken to a third concentration camp about the genocide and the terrible sented almost half the population. This power to destroy us. The Bosnians had called Manjaca. This was one of the things Bosnian Muslims endured.” genocide wiped out 66.2 percent of no weapons or outside help. We were biggest, with 7,000 to 8,000 people. He smiles at me, and though his the Bosniaks, or Bosnian Muslims, in barricaded inside Bosnia. Here I was not scared. There were so story is horrific and hard to hear, I the country, according to the Interna- “On May 26, 1992, Serbian soldiers many people, I knew that the soldiers smile back. “My English is good?” he tional Committee of the Red Cross. came to my town and forced me and could not hurt all of us. We were sent asks, laughing. It’s hard for me, a On October 13, 1991, on the eve of other men out of our homes. My to do menial labor every day. I re- sheltered teen living in Utah, to under- war, the future president of Republika daughters were 15; my son was 18 and member, once I dropped a hammer on stand how someone can even function Srpska, Radovan Karadzic, expressed had joined the Bosnian army. My wife the head of a Serbian guard. I thought, after surviving four concentration his view about the future of Bosnia had died. My sister took my daughters Now they will kill me. camps. and Bosnian Muslims: “In just a cou- to Slovenia to safety. I was taken to a But although I was pun- I ask one last question: ple of days, Sarajevo will be gone and concentration camp called Betonirka. I ished, I still had my life. “What do you want people there will be five hundred thousand spent two months there while Bosnian “The lack of food was “Our stories to know?” dead, in one month Muslims will be men came pouring in from all over. still a huge problem. I should not be “My story,” he replies, annihilated in Bosnia and Herzegov- “The last day in that camp was July gave my food to anyone “is the story of many ina.” There were no Bosnian forces to 25, 1992. That day my name was who was sick or younger. forgotten” Bosnians. This happened, fight back, and because they had been called from a list of men who had When we went out to and it was terrible and still left defenseless, the country ultimately been businessmen or leaders of some work, we would we hurts me, but people need ceased to exist. organization, and we were put in would eat grass and dirt. If we were to know what they [Bosnian Serbs] Bosnian Muslims and many non- buses. During the trip, the other bus lucky we found a frog or bugs to eat. did to us. We had no help for five Serbs were forced out of their homes, stopped. The men came out and the The Red Cross came with food, years. This was not only the Bosnian and women and children were sent to Serbian guards, who had long knives, clothes, and supplies. I did not war, it was the Bosnian genocide. The unhygienic detention centers or places slit their throats. One by one they fell understand why no one was trying past cannot be erased. Our stories known as “rape camps.” Zehra Sma- at the side of the road. There was no to free us. should not be forgotten.” jlovic, a witness for the International reason. They acted like it was no big “In December 1992, everyone was Osman has since returned to Bosnia, Court of Justice and a Bosniak sur- deal to take a life. My bus arrived at released and allowed to flee to Croatia but he says his country still has many vivor, stated that nearly two dozen the jail later that day.” and Slovenia. I thought I would finally problems and will never be fully whole women disappeared when Bosnian This method of randomly slaughter- see my family, but instead I and 221 and peaceful. He is one of the Serbs came to the center where she ing innocent men was very common other men were taken to a fourth strongest people I have ever met. ✦

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health Handicapped.” My Ivy League-edu- (ODD) and conduct disorder (CD), Because my immune system was termination. My experience in high cated parents were devastated. When obsessive compulsive disorder compromised, the doctor recom- school continues to help me realize they asked what they should do with (OCD), developmental delay, and on mended a non-contact sport, so my that I am willing to work twice as my college fund, the and on. At various times parents enrolled me and my brothers hard as most of my classmates. I still Sponsored by doctor replied, “He’ll in my childhood, I was in swim classes. After the first six struggle with final exams, but I am need it to live in a group I was in special diagnosed with terms I months, the warts that covered my more skilled with day-to-day study home. College is out of think were invented just knees were gone, I suffered less ill- habits. Academic growth is always the question.” My education my for me. ness, and I was physically tired at the my top priority, with swimming being mother cried for days, whole life My parents surrounded end of the day. And I have continued a close second. My high school expe- but with the help of both themselves with great swimming to this day. rience has taught me many things, but sets of grandparents, she doctors who gave them In 2007 I informed my parents that the most important is that success is found the strength to prove that hope and encouragement. One, Dr. I wanted to go to a regular high completely in my hands. I know I will doctor wrong. Jose Ferreira, my neurologist from All school so I could play sports. They not be sorting screws, because I have My mother says I was a perfect Children’s Hospital, told my parents agreed to let me take the entrance the desire to be great! ✦ baby. In fact, I reached all the mile- they needed to treat me exactly like exam at a local Catholic high school. stones early. In the spring of 1995, my brothers – holding me to the same Apparently my scores were the low- within hours of receiving my DPT expectations and punishing me for the est in the history of the school. (diphtheria, pertussis, and tetanus) same things. It might take me 50-100 They suggested I return to seventh vaccination from the pediatrician, I times before I learned a behavior that grade and try again in two years. I suffered a seizure that lasted over 15 my older brother could easily grasp, was crushed! My mom convinced Asthma minutes. I was rushed to the hospital but they had to be consistent. This them to let me attend for a proba- (the Price of Life) for a battery of inconclusive tests. I was reinforced by my Opa, my dad’s tionary period, and if it was a com- went on to experience seizures for the father. He was very involved, since plete disaster, they would pull me Inhale next ten years. my dad was busy traveling and work- out in December. Exhale ing. Opa believed in me and treated They agreed, but I was expected I remind me as though I was normal. This was to earn at least a 2.0, and I would be Puff a saving grace. enrolled in a class designed to help 1 … As a child, my days were spent develop study skills. Up until this 2 … getting hours and hours of therapy. point, I had no experience with 3 … Weighted belts, educational toys, a textbooks, tests, homework assign- 4 … special diet, music ther- ments, or reading require- 5 … apy, and deep tissue mas- ments. Attending a 6 … sages were all part of my Success is regular school would be a 7 … daily routine. Of course, huge adjustment for me. 8 … there were also many completely in My parents knew I would 9 … medications, each requir- my hands require hours and hours 10 … ing extensive research by of tutoring just to learn Medicine flows my parents. Finally, in the basics. Through 2002, my parents said, “Enough!” I managed to maintain a 3.7 GPA Trachea They had a hunch that many of my and finished my last semester with a Larynx behaviors were medically induced. 4.1. Unfortunately, as a result of my Or was it pharynx They decided to go against the doc- struggles freshman year, I will not To alveoli tors’ orders, wean me of my drugs, have a career GPA high enough to Clearing airways and re-evaluate my situation. make National Junior Honor Soci- Letting oxygen through According to my family, what ety – one of my goals. To the slowly emerged was a miracle. I still had Today I have my driver’s license, Pulsating seizures, but not every day. I was in which is great for getting to school Beast. school and could read, but had fine and to my nine swim practices each Giving it motor skill problems, speech issues, week. I hold a leadership position in Renewed Art by Zuzanna Czerny, Phoenix, AZ and needed occupational therapy for the Mission Club and hope to run Life help with coordination. But one new for president this year. This club Vigor Seizures are a funny thing. When positive side effect was that I finally reaches out to less fortunate stu- So its you’re having one, you don’t have had a personality, something they dents to enlighten them and open Eternal control of your body, and you have no hadn’t seen since I was a one-year- their eyes to possibility. Hunger memory of it afterward. This incredi- old. Eventually, I was put back on I am the captain of the swim team Craving bly scary event affects everyone medication for obsessive-compulsive and have swam in several high-level For affection around you, but you are strangely pro- tendencies and remained on these meets. My times continue to im- Attention tected. I have never witnessed another until I was 15, at which time I told my prove, which indicates that the next Love person having a seizure, so I have no parents I no longer needed them, and few years should be my best. Last Can go on idea what it looks like. I wish I could they agreed. season I was the team statistician Because that’s the price say the same for my older brother, To say I was in special education for varsity football. It was through Of life. Marty. Many times he cared for me my whole life is an understatement. this experience that I realized my by Lizzy Buckingham, when I was seizing, laying me down, When I was three, they didn’t even gift: I have an incredible ability to protecting my head, and calling 911. have schools for kids like me. I retain sports facts. I have always Memphis, TN At the age of three, I was enrolled wasn’t a behavioral problem; I was loved sports, with football, baseball,

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11 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink Patchwork by Catherine Malcynsky, Chester, CT t was a patchwork blanket. Just a sheet of fabric, unoriginal, and predictable, like every other book torn and sewn and stitched a hundred times, then on the shelf. But you said you liked my pages and Ifolded up and tossed over a chair in the corner of that my words kept you on your toes. I’d told you the world. once that you liked complicated things, and you love Before I met you, my front yard was dull. I know, told me that was why you liked me. it sounds weird. But the trees were dead and the When you first held my hand, you picked the roses were dry and the fingers of winter were still patchwork blanket up off the floor. It was cold be- dragging through the mulch. You hadn’t come yet to tween your fingers, but I hope it felt soft. You stud- drape silly string all over the garden and the side- ied every square of fabric, quilted into a forgotten walk, or to shower the driveway in a thousand sharp masterpiece, and memorized every wrinkle and pieces of glass. You hadn’t come yet, and my front tear. And I loved you right then, when I was yard looked tired. It didn’t look like Spiderman had wrapped around your fingers. thrown up on it yet, and my feet didn’t You asked me once if someone had true sting when I walked out to my car. gotten sick of me before. I thought of Before you sat next to me and gave the boy who called himself Superman, me a pencil you did not borrow, the I thought I and the others before him who had blanket was wrinkled and torn. A boy was simple, tugged on my strings until patches of had wrapped it around his body like a me had come loose. I couldn’t explain cape, calling himself Superman, and unoriginal it to you, even though it would feel then had changed his mind and torn a good to have you understand. But you patch out – the patch of fabric that understood just fine anyway, and you looked like my Halloween costume and smelled like traced shapes on my skin with your fingertips. You him – and he tossed the blanket aside. pressed your lips to my forehead and said, “Well, I asked you once if you were sick of me. You I’ll just have to show you how much I like you.” laughed. Silly me, for thinking that after five days of When you came into my room that night, you my face, you might want to look at someone else’s. saw the blanket on the floor. You picked it up and Silly me, for thinking that you would tell me even if sat beside me, draping the quilt across our bodies. you did. But you smiled and said you didn’t think it You held me against you beneath the broken and Photo by Katya Kantar, Westfield, IN was possible to get sick of me, and swore that you repaired pieces of fabric, all sewn together to closed and cut off the loose strings. You patched on never thought you would. I appreciated that you keep us warm. You liked that blanket, every tatter new fabric where pieces were missing, and you thought I would believe that. To me, it was only a and tear, and so I gave it to you. You took it with made the blanket whole and new. matter of time. you, and I hope it kept you warm. I hope you I was just a patchwork blanket, forgotten and Before you told me I was, I never thought of breathed in the smell of me that clung to it. tossed over some chair in the corner of the world. myself as complicated. I thought I was simple, It was just a patchwork blanket. But in your And then I met you. ✦ hands, it didn’t look as battered. You sewed the tears

Yes, I dream of an honest poem We all wear masks poem. I Want an Honest Poem so that similes are not subtle Any doctor can see that. but as potent as the scent of another I want a poem so vulnerably honest, woman’s perfume I want an honest poem, Truthfully, I could use an honest that it or loud like lipstick stains on a where “I did it on purpose” and “Yes, poem … hesitates before exposing its soul white collar. it’s my fault” are dutifully wed, so that emotions can gaze upon and No, I don’t want my similes to wrapped in a honeyed-moon metaphors st-st-stutters when it talks to a stay silent and in a few years “It’ll never happen with unconditional love and tell them pr-pr-pretty girl for the sake of the kids. again” poem those jeans and asks is born. are not flattering, I want a poem so honest a lot of questions when it’s nervous and say so because they care. it cries. poem With tears woven in stanzas why are we here and stanzas woven in tears, where do we go a Matt Damon in “Good Will why is it I would do anything for Hunting” poem you, even write you an where what we’ve seen and where honest poem, but you can’t seem to we’ve Ben return the feeling Affleck’s our sensitivity poem and it is not our fault poem. I want a poem so free of deceit, We are just victims of ourselves you say our hearts beat the same, poem. and even though we can’t be together we always are poem. I want a deliberately honest poem that admits even though all the world You feel like home poem. is a stage, But we’re not like that poem. the audience Jekylls us from time to time So maybe I just want a love poem. to the point of Hyding ourselves and by Jenzo DuQue, we can’t Crown Point, IN Photo by Holly Cooper, Mole Creek, Australia help that sometimes we give in poem.

12 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 true 365 Days by Grace Zhou, Douglaston, NY hat were you doing a year I was stuck in the research room, star- A whole year of memories: good, that zipped and zoomed through my ago? You sat in the second ing into the depths of a microscope. bad, terrifyingly real. A year of expe- stomach as you held my hand for the Wrow of the clarinet section, Were you happy then? For months I riences just waiting to be revisited first time are imprinted in my mind. listlessly staring ahead, probably was so near but never attempted five years from now. I look back and The cuddling in the park, cold as it wondering when the period would more; I regret it always. I think that watch her fall in love with you. I see was, romantic as can be, is forever en- maybe if we had had more time to- her walk along a road that could have graved in my heart. I looked at us in end. I watched you, only a couple of love feet away. But the distance between gether we’d be somewhere different been better. Half a year of waiting, the reflection of the building. You us stretched for miles. What are you now. But I’m tired of what-ifs. I’m three months of happiness, the rest, were handsome, tall, and illuminated thinking? I used to wonder. Look at tired of wondering, because now I pain. Was it worth it? Was the year by the sun, and I stood next to you, me! I only dared to hope. An entire know. You weren’t available a year amazingly beautiful? fingers intertwined and year has passed, and here we are, sep- ago. You’re still, in a sense, not avail- Yes. Could things have gloriously moved by the arated by real distance. You’re happy able now. Yet I keep staring. I been different if I had I watched and image in front of my where you are, and me, I’m all right. I watched and observed you a year ago changed what I did? observed you a eyes: beauty. manage. and I’m still doing it. Some things Yes. Could it have Three hundred and What were your dreams a year never change; I didn’t change. Or per- been better? No. Noth- year ago and sixty-five days, that’s ago? You had ninth and tenth period haps I did but I can’t see it because ing is better than I’m still doing it how long it’s been. Or free and spent your time with friends. retrospect hasn’t kicked in yet. knowing that there is maybe a bit more since I potential to love. Noth- first saw you in class. A ing is greater than waking up in the lot has changed; you’re no longer in- morning to someone’s face in my nocent and I, I’m no longer cynical. mind. Nothing compares to the soar- You changed me, more than I like. ing feeling of a first kiss. I would You gave me what I was looking for: Memory Thief change nothing. redemption. To this day, I love you, A whole year of growing up – I’m more than words can express. I’m The trophies I have of you are not written finally an adult. I experienced the thankful to have met you – so even in photographs or notes. magical moment of being kissed in though I can’t remember the day that Not in tape recordings or sound bites, the rain. I explored the thrill of a I first laid eyes on you, and though and our movie is about a German serial killer movie date. The fluttering butterflies we’re not together, happy one year. ✦ with a penchant for whistling. But I’ve been a memory thief for quite some time now, and I want every sense of you seared into my temporal lobe. Your eyes after you’ve been crying are gleaming malachite cobblestones in the gray downpour. A Geek’s Guide to Love You don’t show teeth when you really smile, by Maia Silber, Cortlandt Manor, NY your lips pink as sunrise barely part. Sweat at your temple curls dark your hair, plan the date. (Date [n]: A word used by and I tilt your chin up for a feather’s kiss. t’s spring. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and love is in the air. Per- non-geeks that refers to socializing with I swallow down the earthquake sounds you make, Ihaps you’ve been noticing how cute that one’s significant other outside of school.) a laugh and a growl and a moan boy in your AP biology class looks without Despite the fact that a date takes up hours of like a landslide in your white throat. his protective goggles on, or maybe how precious studying time, it seems to be a I draw your kiss with my teeth like a bee sting, that girl in your SAT prep classes (that very popular activity. But don’t worry – you good and painful. you’re retaking just to be safe, even though can plan a date with just the right mix of academics and romance. I breathe your air you got a 2300 the first time) has been Many geeks accompany each other to the like the atmosphere of a different place, sporting a sexy new backpack, equipped library, where a romantic afternoon can be stepping out of a plane and with an extra pocket for a mini dictionary spent reading Shakespeare’s love poems or “this is Africa, this is somewhere else.” and graphing calculator. Yes, love is all researching courtship in the Middle Ages. If Salt and sweet and hot around us, and we’re all dying to find that you get tired of the library (as if like foods never tasted, special someone. that’s possible), you can always wine never drunk, alien, Now, we geeks are not take your special someone to you smell like exploring a new planet, a new star. known for our social skills, We geeks are but with a couple of easy tips, the museum and perhaps share You sparkle, effervesce, you’ll be able to get a date not known for an ice cream while discussing a shock through my teeth like purple cocktails, faster than you can complete our social skills the techniques of post-Impres- electric buzz over my skin, a complex trigonometric sionism. Or if the geek you’re pain and strange sherbet powder static on a tongue. equation. (Trig is easy. We interested in is more of a home- A blue lightning jolt that rewires me to you, mastered that in third grade.) body, you can just spend some time staring sent through synapses, every one, First you need a catchy pick-up line. For into each other’s eyes, thinking deeply branding you to my tongue. example, you could approach that attractive about the electro-chemical impulses in your girl/boy in your chemistry class and say, photoreceptors that connect light with My palms and fingers and nails “You must be really electronegative, be- movement. know you. cause I’m highly attracted to you.” Or if it’s If all goes well, you’ll soon be involved in I learn you, your movements a physics student who catches your eye, you a whirlwind romance with the geek of your and shivers and luminescent shudders, could try, “I think I’m falling for you, and dreams. It might not seem as great as the width of a joint in teeth, the scrape of callous it’s not just because of Newton’s law of uni- achieving a 4.0 GPA or writing the perfect or soft of hair on scalp, versal gravitation.” No sexy supergeek will research paper, but studies have shown that burning pathways through my brain. be able to resist your charm. those with life partners live longer on aver- YOU. Now that you’ve successfully asked out age. (Yay, more studying time!) So go polish by Beatrice Waterhouse, Santa Rosa, CA the guy/girl of your dreams, it’s time to that pocket protector and get out there! ✦

LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK 13 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink Waiting by Coral More, No. Vancouver, BC, Canada

t was evening on a Saturday and I was him. Head over heels, irrevocably, painfully, running late. Flustered, I clutched my heart wrenchingly in love. And want to Ibag with my free hand and darted across know the funny part? I loved every second the narrow, crazy streets. Fair lights bubbled of it. He loves my smile and he loves my love up like rainbow sparklers in front of my family and he will wait for me. He makes eyes. My feet, clad in navy ballet slippers, me pinky promises and kisses me in the rain. squished across the grass and into the midst With a rainbow and a sunset, no less. of the tourists in belly tops and braided hair This picture-book-perfect love is a new adorned with flowers. As I passed our meet- experience for me, but I can’t say I don’t ing spot (he wasn’t there) and walked up the like it. I deserve devotion. I deserve this boy Art by Jessie Archer, Lawrenceville, GA aisle between the rows of fair who will give his heart to me, rides, I saw his Mohawk hair and he deserves me. He de- bobbing in the crowd, his head In long-distance serves to hold my heart the true searching. I was twenty min- way he holds me, because I In a Matter of utes late, but he waited. relationships, it’s know he won’t let go without a In long-distance relation- all about waiting fight. Our hearts fold perfectly Eight Minutes ships, it’s all about waiting. together like origami paper, There’s a boy sitting in front of me. Waiting for an Internet con- and our hands are perfect puz- One table up, two chairs to the right. nection. Waiting for a letter, a postcard, a zle pieces. And when I look into his eyes, I I use my pencil to help me squint. phone call. Waiting and saving and hoping trust him. He’s got nice hair. for a plane ticket. You spend hours of your I want to spend more evenings on the If only his stupid hand would quit blocking his face. life waiting, traveling, missing. But in the couch with him, just sitting there in perfect I think he’s doing homework. Looks like math. end, it’s worth waiting for something as silence, because I’ve never been happier close to perfect as a 75% off sale at River with anyone. These butterflies are crazy; I hate math. Island. Honestly, the fact that I know he will every time he breathes, my heart jumps wait for me is enough to staple my heart to- a beat. It’s too quiet in here. gether until I see him again. Four thousand miles is a long way. An He’s texting someone. eight-hour time difference is difficult, to say Probably his girlfriend. the least. Internet connections are unreliable I’ll bet she likes math. and post offices go on strike. Four months between visits is a long time to wait, and a His leg is twitching, and he’s sitting at the edge of year is a long time to wait for him to move his chair. here. But in the long haul, what is a year? He looks stressed. It’s a blip in the flow, an ebb in the tide. It’s Or maybe disciplined. not enough to fracture this love. Intently studying his calculator. Yeah, I miss him so much it’s hard to take What is he really thinking? sometimes. I have to let myself remember About his math, our time together in mediated gasps, in inter- Or his girlfriend, vals and stretches that aren’t long enough to Or that girl in the blue sweater cause my heart any further damage. The one One table down from him? thing that keeps me believing? The fact that He can probably hear every scratch of my pencil. he makes me so happy that missing him I get out my glasses to help me see. doesn’t cancel out the happiness. ✦ Is that too obvious? Yeah, he’s definitely cute. But I don’t think he’s all that good at math, Because he’s counting on his fingers. Legs outstretched, Charm Penny loafers lazily erected off of his feet. You took my hands He touches his face a lot. Though they were cold, Insecure, maybe? Redeemed my body Or just thoughtful … Young for old, He’s fidgety. Photo by Kebree Alyzandra, Bartlesville, OK Returned my silver He’s texting again. Hair to gold I’ve never been a strong believer in love at I wonder if his girlfriend wears blue sweaters. And said it was a dream. first sight. I criticize friends who fall head I bet he dreams of going to Princeton, or Harvard, | over heels on the first date, and bathe in bit- You stole the shadow or Stanford. terness about love songs and Shakespearean From my eyes, He sees a girl in a pink shirt run across the room. plays that always seem to have a tragic end- Replaced the dark He smiles. ing. But something clicked with Connor. With starry skies, (He has a beautiful smile) Something clicked for both of us, like a latch Then softly laughed Maybe he dreams of having a family. falling into place or that cracking sound At my surprise when a tennis racket hits the ball. Spot on. And said inhale the theme. I hope he marries someone Whom he meets at Harvard Perfect. Even though I’ve always preferred You kissed a smile I hope they have a daughter older guys and he’s a year younger. Even From every frown, Who likes to wear pink shirts though I wanted a summer fling and got true Our bodies danced (Or maybe blue sweaters) love. Even though he’s the nephew of the In eiderdown. wife of my uncle, and that’s undeniably We fell so deep And I hope, one day, his daughter meets a boy weird. Even though I tell myself I’m done As if to drown Who is one table up with falling in love, I’m not. In passion’s racing stream. And two chairs to the right. It took me five days to fall in love with by Carly Pierre, Stamford, CT by Tori Sargent, Middlefield, OH

14 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 true Pennies by Brian Fanney, Gaithersburg, MD

hat about the minute chance that we we tried again. We drove to Charlottesville, down the Blue Ridge actually survive senior year and this At heart, I’m far more of an emotional person Parkway to Myrtle Beach, and then to the Outer “Wsummer?” I said. than Julie. She is the logical one, the cold one, the Banks and Chapel Hill. It was 75 degrees on the last “That doesn’t seem likely,” Julie said. thinker. Our biggest arguments have been about day of our road trip. We were listening to the radio “But what if it happens?” whether it is better to be guided by our minds or our and I had the T-tops off my freshly waxed Firebird

“Stop thinking so much.” hearts. Clearly, we were not normal. and a Slurpee in my hand. love “I don’t think I want to date in college,” I said. But what bothers me is the thought: what if I am “Why does everything keep breaking?” I yelled. The thing I’ve always liked/hated about Julie is not the emotional one? What if I am the cold one? “You mean in our relationship?” Julie asked. that she is an absolute pragmatist. She isn’t roman- What if I am everything I argued against? What if I “I mean in my damn car. Relationships can be tic, and it’s reassuring to know exactly where I stand am a penny too and my personality has its own dark healed. My car requires time, pain, and money. at any given time. side that must accompany what’s good about me? You’re relatively cheap.” So many of Julie’s behaviors have both a light Trying again was hard. During the school trip to “Why did you buy a 13-year-old Pontiac?” side and a dark side. Because of this, I always imag- Europe, we weren’t back together “Because it’s awesome,” I replied. ined her personality as a penny. I couldn’t have yet, but I was sick and she took care “Well, the CD player is skipping, the heads and not tails. I couldn’t have pragmatism and of me. When we walked into stores, I did not know pop-up headlights don’t work, we logic but also sentimentality and romanticism. we played a game. I would pick out don’t have turn signals, we can’t open But I can never forget that I was the one who her top three favorite articles of how easily our the trunk, and the sun visor just fell in spoke the words that broke us up more than a year clothing, and if I got one right, I my lap.” later. The simple phrase “I don’t think I want to date won. I was actually fairly good at it, love could “We don’t really need the sun visor. in college” turned out to be so much more signifi- because Julie’s style is pretty simple. dissipate Although the CD player is unfortunate. cant than I ever thought. She likes bright clothes with flowers Plus I have a tool kit and I’m a future And yet, I had broken up with her before. and anything with a Spanish influ- journalism major,” I coolly added. I couldn’t always stand Julie’s degree of detach- ence. Her clothing reflects her personality. “What could possibly go wrong?” ment. I was tired of always trying to reach out. I was Toward the end of the trip, we walked into one She just shook her head and turned up the radio. disgusted that I felt so far from her after a couple store, and I was trying to describe how a shirt would “The car’s still moving, we have one sun visor, months of dating and years of friendship. look on her. I went on and on about her body type and I’m with you,” Julie said. “Everything’s okay.” When she told me nonchalantly that her youth and how it would make her look beautiful, and sud- I thought for a second and then replied, “Like I group was the only reason she was glad she didn’t denly she kissed me on the cheek. It was so power- said, you’re relatively easy.” graduate early, I was frustrated and jealous. But ful that I was speechless. We had our moments and our chemistry, freaks most of all, I was done. It took months to get back together from there, but though we may have been. And it was, to summa- I tried to talk to her about it, but it wasn’t going I always consider that innocent kiss the turning rize, a damn good day. anywhere, so I gave up. I was breaking up with her point. We talked about the future during my time in I popped in a mix tape and Semisonic’s “Closing because I was unhappy and didn’t see any other relationship purgatory, and that’s when I told her I Time” blared through the speakers: “Every new be- choice. I could only see half of the penny. didn’t want to date in college. Little did I know that ginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” As I sat with her in my car outside Borders, ready this statement was both more innocent and more sig- My summer ended when I watched the girl I to say those final words, a truck crashed into us. I nificant than Julie’s lips on my cheek. loved leave for college. I did not know the meaning should have taken it as a sign. God was clearly I asked myself, “What do we live for, if not to of bittersweet before that moment. I did not know pissed. Instead we broke up a week later, and I make memories, despite whatever pain may come of how easily our love could dissipate. I cannot forget started to date someone else a month later. them?” that it was me and not her who spoke the words that This was not my proudest moment. If it wasn’t some inherent warmth that made her broke us up twice. I have not yet been able to figure A month after that, my new relationship turned take me back, then she must have been either dumb out whether I regret giving in to cold-hearted logic. out to be an unmitigated disaster and mercifully or crazy. Logic should have told her to run. But she More significantly, I do not know which side of imploded. I took some quality alone- gave me a second chance. She loved the penny this makes me. I hope one day I will be time. me far better than I loved her. In our sure that I made the right choice, but throughout this Months passed, and then Julie and I She was my relationship, we were certainly two first year of college, my mind has been awash in re- arranged to meet at a local café to talk sides of the same coin. But which side gret and indecision every day. about everything that had happened. best friend and was me and which side was her? Am I The lyrics to “Closing Time” echo continually As I approached her, I caught her scent my first love cold or caring? through my head. and a tremendous weight hit me in the If I had ever asked Julie this, her “I know who I want to take me home. Take me chest. I stopped walking. I was frozen. first question would have been “Why home.” ✦ I guess what I was perceiving was shampoo, be- am I a penny and not a quarter? Is that all I am to cause Julie is an all-natural kind of girl. I couldn’t you?” stand it when she wore makeup, which thankfully But here’s what I know. Julie found she only did for dances. Makeup looked like plastic a penny on the road heads-down. She on this girl’s face. Perfume would only have been a turned it over to make it good luck. further insult. She made me better. I can’t begin to outline all the memories that small The summer before I left for college sensory reaction set off in me. My heart beat in dif- was the best of my life. Our relation- ferent directions as my mind raced. I thought several ship was exponentially stronger than it things, the most important being that Julie had loved had ever been. She was my best friend me as best as she knew how, and that was all I could and my first love. She put up with my have ever asked for. I had more faith in this fact than quirks and I had faith in her love. I I had in God, and I knew that I wanted her back. don’t think I had ever had faith in any- Weeks later I told Julie, for the first time, that I thing before I had faith in her. loved her. I hadn’t said it in the six months we had She and I traveled over the summer. dated. In fact, I had never said it to anyone else. I We camped near Frank Lloyd always hated the way others threw that term around. Wright’s “Falling Water” because I wanted it to mean something. “Chasing Cars” by Julie was interested in architecture. I Snow Patrol played in my head – “Those three remember watching “Toy Story 3” at a words, said too much, but not enough.” drive-in and being thankful that no I think that she had been waiting to hear it. It must one but Julie could see my man-tears Photo by Maria LaFauci, Boise, ID have counted for something because, miraculously, at the end.

LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK 15 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink The Art of Fighting by Josh Burkhard, Saint Joseph, MI don’t know why fighting is Locking me in his steely gaze, Bam’s. He twisted my body into a sounds, those men became like broth- frowned upon. It is a primal, vis- Norm asked if I had any experience in pretzel, locking me in what I later ers to me, and all because I was will- Iceral experience that releases a Mixed Martial Arts, or MMA. Unsure learned was called a triangle choke. I ing to weather the initial beatings. number of chemicals in your body whether a wrestling background car- fought against the blackness for what Not everybody I saw come down that are designed to make you feel ried much weight in this room of pro- felt like eternity. those stairs was as passionate as I good. And yet, in modern society, fessional tough guys, I played it It was closer to three minutes. was. I saw many arrive with my same we’re supposed to shy away from down, simply telling him I had wres- Finally I had to tap out. That was cocky attitude, and watched Bam and fighting. We’re supposed to suppress tled without any specifics. After ask- when Norm blew the whistle. It was Ed put them through the ringer too. I ing about my height, weight, and time to begin warming up. Class had- saw perhaps two of them return.

sports these urges that are as old as the human race itself. That’s why I was body fat percentage, he looked me up n’t even started yet, and I had already Then, after three months, my defin- shocked to find myself standing out- and down. He then snapped his fin- been given two of the most severe ing moment came. It was a typical side of a tattoo parlor one cold Febru- gers and waved over two of the mean- beatings of my life. It was time to Monday practice. Everybody was ary day, a duffel bag in hand. I knew est-looking men I had ever seen. make a choice: I could slink out to stretching and talking about the fights that in the basement was a dingy little They smirked as they swaggered lick my wounds and pretend I’d never that happened over the weekend, over. They were utterly confident, even been there, or I when the door flew open and I could tell that they were thrilled could stick it out for and a new guy came to have some fresh meat to play with. the practice. In modern society, strutting in. He was I was instructed to box with the first It wasn’t even a big – around six foot six man, Ed. With the second, who was close; I chose to prac- we’re supposed and 260 pounds – but he called Bam, I was to do a form of tice with them. Mus- had clearly gelled his grappling where the goal is to cause cles tightening, head to shy away hair before practice and your opponent so much pain that you throbbing, and body from fighting his arm band tattoo make him quit. This is called submis- aching, I threw myself screamed “poser.” He sion grappling. wholeheartedly into swaggered over to Norm I strapped on a pair of gloves and the push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, tire and introduced himself as “The shoved in my mouthpiece, ready to flips, and sprawls. We must have Wrecking Ball.” show these guys exactly what I was spent an hour on that alone. But I Norm put on his most serious face made of. When the buzzer went off, I could see that Norm was impressed and shook his hand. Everybody in the touched gloves with Ed, then imme- that I hadn’t given up. I got a chance room had stopped their warm-ups be- diately began firing off punches with to talk to him briefly before the next cause they knew what was coming: murderous intent. I had been in my set of drills, and found out that nine Norm was going to call over Bam and fair share of scrapes, but I knew noth- of every ten who come to the gym Ed. ing about the science behind throw- don’t make it past the initial rounds of Norm snapped his fingers to silence ing a punch, and Ed easily avoided sparring. That gave me the extra boost the room and yelled for Bam to sub- my blows with a series of deft head I needed to finish the class. mission grapple with the guy. But in- movements. I lay in a heap on the mat, sucking stead of Ed, Norm called my name. I He shot back with a single punch in gallon-sized gulps of air and chug- jogged over, not completely sure what Photo by Gemma Arioli, Lubbock, TX that went straight down the barrel. It ging water, when Ed walked over. I was doing there. Norm said he connected flush with my nose, and I Thinking he wanted to spar again, I wanted me to spar with the guy. I was gym containing roughly a dozen pro- felt like I had been hit with a bat. I began to put on my gloves. Instead, a little nervous, but I nodded and fessional fighters. My plan that day kept fighting, but less aggressively. he gave me tips on how to defend jammed in my mouthpiece. was, in essence, to go down there and The wild punches stopped, and I fo- against certain punches and how to I touched gloves with Mr. Wreck- let them fight me. cused on keeping my face out of the bob and weave my head. He said that ing Ball, and he started throwing wild I am a very self-confident person; I way. My hands stayed up high, and he looked forward to seeing me to- hay-makers at me. I used slight head can’t remember ever backing down my chin stayed tucked in close to my morrow. I hadn’t even thought about movements and easily avoided them. from a challenge. I had just finished chest. I kept circling Ed, but knowing tomorrow. Then I saw my opening – he dropped wrestling season, and I thought I was nothing about boxing, I was circling When I woke up the next morning his right arm after throwing a punch – in great shape. So I threw the door into his power hand. It didn’t take Ed every inch of my body was sore. I had and I quickly threw a left hook with open and stormed down to the gym. long to realize that I had no business a black eye and was covered in everything I had. It connected flush Inside I found some of the most in- being in the ring with him, and he bruises. I knew that the last thing I on his chin and he went down hard, tense people I’d ever seen in my life. toned it down a bit. He needed was to go back out cold. The entire room erupted into They were pounding on heavy bags, stopped trying to re- to the gym, but a few cheers. sparring, shadow-boxing, and arrange my face and short hours later I found The Wrecking Ball didn’t even wrestling. They barely noticed me, focused instead on my I knew nothing myself walking down make it to submission grappling. He which was fine with me. I found the footwork and stance, about the science those stairs toward what came to a few minutes later and im- owner, Norm, in the corner, teaching occasionally stopping I was sure was going to mediately scrambled out of the gym. Muay Thai (a combat sport from to give me pointers. behind throwing be another beating. And He had obviously seen enough. From Thailand) to a group of men. It was Regardless of all my a punch I have to tell you, it’s that point on, Norm used me to break an intense session, with all of the men mistakes, and relying much harder to go back in the new guys; I was a little bigger sweating and grunting. The thunder heavily on a strong a second time, because than Ed, but most guys thought they clap when a man kicked the mitts was chin and pure stubbornness, I sur- you know what is waiting for you could take me simply because I was deafening. vived the initial five minutes of box- down there. The first time I could pre- young. Only two got past my initia- After he finished, I introduced my- ing. However, I had forgotten all tend I was going to be the toughest tion, and they’re some of the best self. Although Norm is not a large about Bam and the submission grap- guy, when in reality I wasn’t even guys we have now. man, he has the ability to fill a room pling. I was heading for my water close. As for me, I’m currently waiting with his presence. Quiet determina- bottle when I heard the buzzer. The But for some reason, I went back, until the end of wrestling season be- tion radiated from his fierce eyes. His next thing I remember was being and I continued the day after that too, fore I go back. I’ve been talking to dark skin looked like beaten leather. I slammed onto the mat. Bam was and the day after that, until eventually Norm, and he said that if my parents outweighed him by 30 pounds easily, freakishly strong and threw me I began looking forward to those agree, he could get me my first pro but I still found myself slightly intim- around like a rag doll. I put up as classes. I started noticing openings in fight as early as July. Then I’ll have a idated by this man who had dedicated much of a fight as I could, but it was other people’s defense, and even whole new challenge ahead of me. ✦ his life to the art of fighting. no use. This was not my world; it was started winning rounds. As crazy as it

16 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM Teen Ink •FEBRUARY ’12 community Spoiled by Irina Huang, New City, NY lease, Mom. It’s on sale for $24.99! It’s passing commuters, gently shaking an aluminum want to believe that there were children living such Abercrombie, and you know how expen- can. Printed in fading but delicate Chinese handwrit- shattered lives. “Psive that store is!” I whined, my eyes ing was the word “money.” Her hair was greasy and “Hold your purse close,” my aunt warned. She brimming with tears. uncombed; her clothes were soiled. I couldn’t be- pushed past the boy and tugged my hand. “Exactly. I don’t see why you can’t just get the lieve what I was seeing. I felt my throat tighten as I As we sat down to dinner, my appetite disap- one at Gap for five bucks! You can get five for the looked at her younger brother, sprawled in her arms. peared. I ate in silence, haunted by the boy’s face. price of that one at Abercrombie.” At most, he was two years old. Like his sister, the God, why him? He doesn’t deserve this. At the end “But it’s not Abercrombie!” I stormed out of the boy’s scraps of clothing were covered in dirt. Trem- of dinner, my eyes darted across the table to an un- room. She just didn’t understand. bling, I reached for my shopping bags that now touched plate of food. I silently thanked God and That was the summer of 2007, and my 11-year- seemed to weigh a million pounds. I moved closer. asked the waiter for a take-out box. old mind was polluted with its obsession over de- I could see the girl had a water bottle that was al- “For him?” my aunt asked tenderly. I nodded. signer clothes and Coach handbags. Every part of most empty. Her forehead was beaded with sweat as Stepping out into the heat of Beijing, I looked to- me longed to be at the mall buying the latest fash- she lifted the bottle to the boy’s lips. His tears ward our car. The same boy was standing next to the ions. Instead, I was trapped on an airplane dragging stopped and for a moment, so did the world around passenger door, still but alert. I ran over, growing me halfway across the world to Beijing, China. me. He smiled, and I witnessed happiness in its more self-conscious with every step. “Here. This is Once off the plane, I knew China purest form. The girl’s face broke into yours. Eat it, please,” I begged. My American accent was different from any place I had a smile too, and I broke into tears. I seemed to strain my words. ever been. People seemed conserva- I didn’t want wanted so badly to say something to Unsure what to expect, I stepped back. Would he tive and appreciative. An unfinished her. I wanted to walk over and hug her. want my leftovers, my garbage? Everything seemed sandwich belonged in the fridge, to believe that I wanted to tell her that I loved her. I to flash before me: the dress I spent hours begging never abandoned in a garbage can. At children lived wanted to do so much. for, the excessive amount of food I’d devoured in the service the marketplace, a shopper would She coaxed the little boy to sleep. last hour. I was scared. spend countless minutes haggling shattered lives Rocked between her delicate knees, The rustle of the plastic bag shook me from my with a storekeeper just to save a Chi- his expression eased from stressed to thoughts. He inspected the container’s contents, then nese dollar or two. serene. A tear slid down the girl’s face, looked up. For a second, I thought I was looking My mom and I spent a full Sunday afternoon leaving a brown streak on her cheek. I covered my into the eyes of Brian, my little brother. I shivered. emptying her wallet at a local mall. Our arms filled mouth to keep from screaming. How could children “Thank you,” he blurted in an angelic voice. He with bags of clothing and shoes, we exited the shop- be living like this when all I cared about were ran off behind the building and out of sight. That ping center to be immediately strangled by the sti- clothes and shoes? As if she felt my connection with could be Brian. fling heat of a typical Beijing day. her, the girl looked up. Her eyes shot emotions at me I don’t know what the boy did with the food. “Ice cream?” my mom suggested. all at once: anger, frustration, and loneliness. Maybe he shared it with his family. Maybe they all “Sounds good,” I replied. We found a shaded area For days, all I could think about was the girl and enjoyed it. The possibilities were endless. Now, four to sit, and my thoughts drifted to the shirt I had just her brother. As if it wasn’t enough to handle, my years later, I wonder if that boy knows I’m writing bought, perfect for the first day of school. Everyone aunt took my family out to dinner one night. As we about him with a full stomach, in an air-conditioned at school is going to be so jealous. This shirt is to die pulled up to the fancy restaurant, my jaw dropped. It room halfway across the world, in a promising was beautiful; the massive chandelier hanging in the country called America. I wonder if the subway girl for! Mid-thought, something caught my attention. Sponsored by My eyes were drawn to the nearby subway stair- doorway pierced the surrounding night. has a home. I wonder if she still has that strength I well. I had taken those stairs a number of times in A boy of about eight approached the car to tell us admired – the strength to smile even when the treas- and out of downtown Beijing, but I’d never before where to park. I was uncomfortably close to him, ures in her life are practically invisible. I wonder if seen the two kids sitting below the handrail. A girl our faces and lives divided by the thin car window. I they both know how much they mean to a spoiled of about six or seven hid in the shadows of the couldn’t help but wonder who he was. I saw his tat- young girl like me. ✦ tered clothes and his sad brown eyes, but I didn’t

Beulah’s Story by Katie Collins, Manteno, IL eulah Corum was 90 years old and dying of lung and a pen. I said, “So, start at the beginning.” She took a cancer when I met her. Her sparse cotton-white sip of water and began talking. Bhair was meticulously curled, and her lips were Words flowed and wrapped around each other, weav- painted red. She wore huge bifocals that went down past ing pictures. I could suddenly see a three-year-old in a her eyes, making her look bug-like. Her arms were hospital bed. Tubes snaked from the girl’s left arm, and a folded across her chest, and she wore a pink sweater younger Beulah clung to her right. A machine screamed with tan trousers. It was burning hot outside, and the the death. I watched the tears flooding the creases of nursing home did not believe in very much air condition- Beulah’s cheeks. We were both quiet for a long time. ing. I remember my blue volunteer polo I visited Beulah many times over the next stuck to my back and my hair looked like ten eight weeks. Each time, she would talk and I hairdryers had hit it all at once. She taught would listen. She gave me piles and piles of I sat down on her loveseat and crossed my memories, some with more weight than others, legs. As my foot bobbed up and down nerv- me to step and I complied them all into a scrapbook and ously, I asked her how she was doing. “I sat carefully typed her biography. She held my hand and at lunch for an hour before my food came. smiled when I presented it to her. I’m ready to get out of this place.” Her apart- I know that what I did for Beulah would fall ment reflected that feeling, with its sparse decoration. I under the category of community service. And yet when couldn’t see a single personal item anywhere. The only I tell people what I did that summer, no one seems to un- thing that made it different from the rest was the huge derstand the gift she gave me in return. I was able to see plastic breathing mask tucked under the television cabi- a life laid out from beginning to end. I learned that a sin- net. She caught me staring at it and explained the treat- gle event can melt and spread its colors onto every mo- ments she had to undergo to fight the cancer. I put the ment thereafter. She taught me to step carefully when mask into the cabinet, out of sight. needed and to leap high when not. Best of all, she was The next time I came to see her I brought a journal my friend. ✦ Art by Leonora Jew, Placentia, CA

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Gino Scalo by Morgan Chen, Encinitas, CA efore I first stepped into the “Jeopardy” a few years ago. On the had slick whiteboards. capitals, and their locations at the be- frigid atmosphere of Mr. last day of school before winter His classroom is home to an ag- ginning of the year. This was just the BScalo’s realm, I pulled on my break, he showed us a “special video glomeration of rusty, antique-looking start of a long, hard struggle with fur-lined parka and took out my seal- presentation.” Though we did not Swingline staplers that are probably memorizing that year. After states, we skin gloves, well-prepared and ready watch the whole show, we saw him older than I am. I had never seen a learned the presidents, from George to brave the cold. make it past his first day on the show, stapler like his before. But despite Washington to Barack Obama, and Well, actually, I just shivered and and we couldn’t help but cheer him their apparent age, they have never their vice presidents and terms. This tugged at the ends of my T-shirt, on. We were impressed with his broken. Mr. Scalo once joked that once caused me to have a dream that wishing I had brought a jacket. I knowledge of presi- Abraham Lincoln had Justin Bieber changed his name to J. stepped through the door and craned dents’ inaugural used one of his staplers. Danforth Quayle (for those who are heroes my neck to look for familiar faces speeches (to teens this His humor Had his tone not been so not familiar with him, Quayle was that first day of school. Unfortunately, seems the most boring comical, we might have vice president under George H.W. I did not get to sit with my friends topic ever), but we were makes history believed him. Bush, the 41st president). We are cur- since the assigned seats were not the least bit sur- a class to look Mr. Scalo never fails to rently halfway through memorizing arranged in alphabetical order. I was prised. make us laugh, which is 100 important dates in U.S. history. forced to sit in the front column of Mr. Scalo is undoubt- forward to why he still is my favorite Mr. Scalo is a dynamic teacher, one desks while my friends sat far away, edly odd in his own way. teacher. His humor is irre- I am very lucky to have. Though I’ll in the other half of the frozen tundra Instead of the flexible sistible, and he makes his- admit his classroom no longer feels of a classroom. document cameras that some teachers tory – a subject that some consider like Antarctica, he is still significantly I have an abundance of friends who use, Mr. Scalo insists on an old- bland and boring – a class to look for- different from most of my teachers. had Mr. Scalo as their history teacher, school overhead projector that re- ward to. The words in our history His way of teaching through humor is and I heard he was challenging. I quires transparencies and squeaky book become an enjoyable story when appealing and easy to follow, but his heard his classroom was an icebox. markers. In fact, he even told us that told in a clever way. Of course, Mr. challenging requirements keep stu- But all my friends described him as he refused to change from chalk- Scalo’s talent of speaking in hilarious dents on their toes. He is unique in his funny. Whether they meant odd or hu- boards to whiteboards in his previous accents with edgy humor helps. teaching skills and his quirkiness, morous, I wasn’t sure. Now I consider school. Eventually, he was forced to However, his class is still a chal- which makes him an unequaled men- him to be both. use them when he moved to teach in lenge for even the brightest students. tor in the lessons of yesteryear. ✦ Mr. Scalo was a contestant on sunny Cali, where the schools already We have to memorize the states, their

English Teacher • Harlan Independent High School The 21st Annual Vickie Ball by Nicholas Howard, Harlan, KY “A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his on the first day, I remember Mrs. Ball presenting a humorous influence stops.” – Henry Brooks Adams PowerPoint slide that compared a student chewing gum to a know that those who taught me were once taught by others. cow chewing her cud. On another occasion, she showed a Pow- In that way, one teacher’s influence on a student is a reflec- erPoint illustrating the dangers of misplaced modifiers. As we Educator Ition of another teacher’s work. I know that one day the im- laughed at the funny examples, we learned and became more pact my teachers have had on me will allow me to impact aware of our own mistakes. As Shakespeare would say, “There others. This is one of the many reasons I am privileged to know is a method in the madness.” of theYear Mrs. Ball’s experience as a mother helps her build character Mrs. Vickie Ball, English teacher at Harlan Independent High School. Her influence on my life and my education more than in her students. Those in her classroom are treated more like Contest qualifies her as Educator of the Year. her children than students. She takes time to work with each of Do you have an outstanding Regardless of background, Mrs. Ball makes all students be- us individually – something a good mother and a good teacher knows to do – ’til we understand the content. She expects all teacher, coach, guidance lieve in themselves. I have seen students enter her classroom expecting to breeze by and get on with their lives. However, students to be well-mannered in and out of her classroom, and counselor, librarian, what they soon realize is that no one in her classroom will be to develop morals and virtues to guide them in life. or principal? allowed to “breeze by.” She believes in and en- I also believe Mrs. Ball deserves this award due courages her students to the point that they begin to her outstanding teaching skills. She begins teach- 1) Tell us why your nominee is spe- to believe in themselves. One thing she never al- She takes time ing before the tardy bell rings, making sure that not cial. What has your educator done lows students to do is tell themselves they cannot a second is wasted in her class. I have experienced for your class, you, another student, to work with days where I begin writing before the bell and do or the community? Be specific. do something. She expects her students to put forth their best each of us not finish until two minutes after class is over. Mrs. 2) Essays should be between 150 effort – in other words, to try. She expects this so Ball teaches students to retain the knowledge they and 500 words. strongly that none of her students ever utter “I gain, rather than memorize for a test. Her assess- 3) Only junior and senior high don’t know” in her presence (to do so would be near blas- ments are designed so students must explain what they have school educators are eligible. phemy). Mrs. Ball will not accept that answer. Newcomers tend learned, as well as apply those concepts on a deeper level. I can say (without a doubt) that of all the tests I have taken in 4) Include your nominee’s first to use that as a safety answer, expecting her to move on to and last name, position or subject someone else, but they are sorely mistaken. Like a bird of prey my life, Mrs. Ball’s have been some of the most difficult, be- taught, and the school where he/she circling, Mrs. Ball will patiently wait for that student to delve cause I actually had to think. One of Mrs. Ball’s best skills is teaches. deeper for the answer. She knows that they know, so she will her ability to realize when she has made a mistake and to cor- rect it, which few people are humble enough to do. And so, Online: TeenInk.com/Submissions not accept defeat, and she teaches them to not accept it either. Another reason Mrs. Vickie Ball should be Educator of the Mrs. Ball teaches by example for me how to admit my own or E-mail: Year is the way that she teaches students to have inner strength. mistakes and correct them. She teaches her students humility. [email protected] In tough situations, Mrs. Ball will kindly tell her students (male The way I see it, Mrs. Ball’s influence on my life will last for Winners and honorable mentions will or female) to “put on your big girl panties and deal with it.” eternity. As I influence those around me (whether it be offering be announced in the June 2012 issue. She says this often when her students feel as if life is pressur- advice, mentoring, instructing, or counseling), I know that the ing them or that something is too difficult. Although the phrase part of me she has impacted will reach others. Mrs. Ball goes is comical, Mrs. Ball uses it to teach her students that they can above and beyond what is asked of her, and it has made all the ✦ Deadline: May 1, 2012 endure – they can “deal with it.” difference to me. Mrs. Ball tries to include life lessons in her teaching. Even

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For more info, e-mail [email protected] or call 800-363-1986 Take a Joke, Sweetheart by Jess Rockeman, Cottonwood Court, MN e leaned over my desk, his body casting a talk instead of towering over me. away the only weapon I had to defend myself. shadow over my writing. Two fists were “They may mean those jokes to be harmless, but But he didn’t have the power to do that. I will Hsuddenly pressed hard next to my book, giv- they’re ignorant,” I continued. “Believe me, the never stop fighting for what I believe is right. I will ing him an air of undeserved authority. “You know jokes don’t end at ‘Women should stay in the never stop standing up for myself, my friends, and they’re just joking, right?” His voice was gentle, as kitchen.’ They continue until they become sexual my gender, and I will never stop using my (stupid, if he were speaking to a timid animal. and inappropriate. I want them to stop now before I useless, fruitless, beautiful, powerful, amazing) I nodded slowly, confused, trying to focus on my have even more reason to be angry.” I’d been down words. work as my blood boiled. “I’m aware that they’re this road before, many times. He backed away, easing off my desk. Frustration joking, but jokes can be offensive, and I was feeling “I think you should just give it up before they was apparent in his face, but he kept his features uncomfortable,” I said. gang up on you,” he replied, calmly and reasonably, stony and emotionless. “Fine, whatever. But you’ll He took a deep breath, a small, nearly unde- like an adult pacifying a cranky child. never get anywhere with them, believe me.” tectable smile playing at the corners of his mouth. I was so upset I wanted to cry, but the steam gath- I didn’t believe him. To this day, I don’t believe He shoved his sleeves up his arms. ering behind my eyes made tears im- him, because I have continually used my knowledge “The more you ask them to stop, possible. I wondered who he thought and my words to make others rethink their actions.

prejudice the more they’ll just keep doing it. “The more you he was, standing over a girl he’d never Sometimes I fail and they don’t stop. Sometimes my That’s how they work.” He was spoken to, telling her that her words words get me into trouble. But sometimes I even telling me what many men had ask them to stop, were useless, that she could try but make a new ally. tried to explain before: men don’t the more they’ll she’d always fail. If we had been Little did he know, that boy didn’t break me change, men don’t stop, men won’t friends, I would have listened; if he’d down. He made me stronger. ✦ & listen to you. just keep doing it” spoken to me like a peer, I would have And oh, he was so very smart, his cared. But he was just pushing me words so very wise. I knew that he down, stuffing me into a box until thought he was imparting some helpful, kind-hearted I suffocated on all of my useless, silly words. wisdom on me. He was trying to save the silly girl I looked him in the eye and said, “If they’re Perfection who was making a fool of herself by refusing to toler- going to be rude, then I will be rude back.” My body is perfect. ate something that made her and other girls uncom- My comment didn’t even make sense. Ten Absolutely perfect. fortable. He was playing big brother, daddy, the minutes earlier, a group of boys had been trad- My head, shoulders, knees, and toes, savior on a white horse sent to shut me up. ing sexist jokes about women. I had turned My eyes, my ears, my mouth, my nose I looked at him, anger burning the back of my around in my seat, looked one of the boys in Are all fully functional, fully beautiful. neck and my cheeks. “So, because they won’t stop, I the eye, and said, “Just please stop, for me. I’m Sure, not everyone will look at me and love pride should just give up? I should let them make sexist asking you to stop.” That boy looked doubtful everything they see. jokes that make me very uneasy?” We were in his- but he stopped, and I resumed my work. I I am not blonde, tory class. I thought I deserved to feel safe. didn’t yell, lecture, or swear. I simply asked. I I am not flat, His smirk faltered a bit. “They’re just joking. used words, the only weapon I knew how to My nose is big, They don’t actually mean what they say.” use, and everything was okay. My legs are fat, People were watching us; I could feel their eyes. I Now this boy had the nerve to tell me that My tummy’s too chubby, was suddenly vulnerable. I wanted them to stop star- my words didn’t mean anything. This boy hurt My skin is too white. ing, to go away. I wanted this boy to sit down and me more than he realized. He tried to take I have cellulite. But these “flaws” are okay; I’m only human, right? Well, these chunky legs let me walk upright, Let me walk right down the street with a smile Loving My Size by Kellie Scholefield, Hollis, NH stretched across my cheeks. These crooked teeth, they let me eat french fries have size 12 women’s feet, and I’m proud of it. clothes because I thought they only looked good on and gummy bears and oranges and chocolate. I like walking into shoe stores and having only six girls who wore a size two and had size seven feet. In- Look at this – Look at ME! Ipairs to choose from – it cuts down the decision stead, I would wear a sweatshirt and sweatpants, or oc- I can dance. time. I also enjoy being able to order my prom shoes casionally jeans if I was feeling adventurous. In stores, I can do a cartwheel. from yourfeetmakeyouunique.com because I know no I resented the cute clothing as if it was the clothes’ fault I walk extremely well in heels. one else will have the same shoes. It doesn’t hurt, either, I couldn’t try them on. I wished I could wear my And at the end of the day when those heels have that the name of the store is a confidence booster. smelly softball uniform everywhere because that was blistered my feet, People ask me how I deal with having big feet, but to what I felt most comfortable in. On the softball field, it My eyes be honest, I rarely think about it. I have been the biggest didn’t matter what size I was, only how well I played. Will not cry because this body feels no pain. girl in my family, among my friends, and I don’t know exactly when it happened, Even when they leave me stained black and blue in my grade my whole life. I am athleti- but one day I realized I didn’t hate my My brain lifts me up and carries me through. cally built and am not meant to wear size On the softball body anymore. Maybe it was the day I But my heart, four clothing like my sister. field, it didn’t pitched five games in a row and could have I can feel it in this heart, my favorite body part There are benefits to my size. When I’m kept playing, or the time I tried on a bikini that feels sorrow, joy, love, and hate playing softball, I am able to maintain my matter what for laughs and saw that it actually looked And I love to listen to the constant beat, balance if a girl slides into me at home size I was good on me. Maybe I just grew tired of The steady flow of blood through my veins plate. My feet, hands, legs, and arms are all wishing my body was different. Giving color to the stains on my pearly in proportion, so if I were to lose 30 Now I’m happy when I step onto the vol- white skin, pounds, I would look abnormal and might even be mis- leyball court wearing tight spandex, because I know I Giving life to all my parts within taken for E.T.’s twin. can serve a ball that most girls can’t dig up. I am even And all my parts without. I used to be uncomfortable with my body, which is happy walking on the beach in a bikini because I feel Pumping normal for kids my age, but I always thought I was powerful. And when I walk down the halls at school or Pumping worse off than everyone else. I never ate more than nor- the mall, I am not self-conscious. I wouldn’t change a Pumping to every beautiful, functioning cell in mal size portions, and I played sports, so I was not lazy. thing, even if my fairy godmother gave me three my beautiful, functioning body. When I was young, I was pretty frustrated, thinking I wishes. I will just keep walking with my head held So even though I may not look like much to you, had been born with a less than ideal body. During junior high, putting one size-12 foot in front of the other, I dare you to tell me this body isn’t perfect. knowing that I am beautiful. ✦ high and into high school, I was afraid to wear nice by Blythe Culpepper, Gibson, GA

22 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM Teen Ink •FEBRUARY ’12 art art gallery

Photo by Abdullah Abussaud, Qatif, Saudi Arabia

Art by Maria Sweeney, Whiting, NJ

Photo by Ellena Pfeffer, Northoaks, MN

Art by Maria Tomski, Vaughan, ON, Canada

Art by Emma Hoppough, Chico, CA Photo by Ashton Dixon, Vincennes, IN 23 Draw … Paint … Photograph … Create! Then send it to us – see page 3 for details FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink 24 Through theEyes ofaPregnant 17-Year-Old Stretching thefabric ofmybody toits Through mypaleislandshores Silver-violet rivers cut From thesidesofeveryone’s mouth Besides thesnubsandsnidecomments Unworthy of any affection Unholy I amunclean The girlwhowearshersinonskin I amthatgirlnoonewants Without lookingback And thenwalked away Where someboy threw I amadumpster A freight-traincarryingunwanted I amamountain Just tryingtogetthroughschool Eyes tothefloor Head down Books andpaperinhand I walk enIk•Teen Ink• to be away hisexcess luggage unnoticed nonfiction Just a Little Off the Top T red claws. Nothingserious. bated bycreepy hairdressersinstilettoswithpointy only spasticshivers 12or15timesanhour. Exacer- It’s aspecialcase,youcansay:norealseizures, Or maybeyoucantellheryou’remildlyepileptic. more. Ofcourseyoushiver. chair anddragsherclaws alongyourscalponce making youshiver again.Sheleadsyoubacktothe wash yourhair, gettingshampooinyourearsand brae ofyourspine.Shetakes youtoanotherchair tip-top ofyourheadandpoppingdown eachverte- fail. It’sashiver ofepicproportions,startingatthe claws throughyourhair. You trynottoshiver. You one ofthosesquishyswivel chairsandrunsher Most ConstipatedExpression,sheleadsyouover to of yourhead. giant chunkofmissinghairontheside were mauledbyabeartoexplain that Maybe youcantellyourfriends “Oops!Sorry.” wrong snipand– fend theonewieldingscissors.One your own risk.”It’snever goodtoof- taph goes,“Speaktothehairdresserat But youthinkit. As thetime-worn epi- Medusa andchopsoff yourhead.” your fangs beforesomeonemistakes youfor expression off yourface andpullyourlipsbackover constipation. smile somewhere betweenpassinggasandextreme like redfingernails, andshows herteethinapained hobbles upinherheels,gripsyourhandwithclaw- who-knows-what growing ontopofherhead.She ing withahunkofcongealing,over-gelled Maybe she’lljustthinkyouhave aweirdtwitch. After sheshakes yourhandandwinsthePrizefor Okay, somaybeyoudon’tsaythat. “Do something,”yousay, “justwipethatpained wielding fiend instilettosanddesignercloth- putting yourhairintothehandsofascissor- here’s somethingfundamentallywrongabout FEBRUARY ’12 wants tobe girl noone I amthat So letthemscorn And cherish Has becometheonlythingIlove Ever ridiculed Ever hated Not wheneverything Iever feared Not whenIamsoclose I can’tletgo I can’tgive up He isperfect He isholy The life I carry inside me All thatkeep mealive Are allthatkeep memoving Small twitchesofthrashesandkicks Movement inside breaking point fingernails Now completewithtoesand My tiny alien of theoutsideworld Defenseless againstthecruelty This tiny littlelife He isclean It’s never good to offend the one wielding the scissors The first thingyouthinkis, flashing bladesofthedreadedscissors. net drawer andemerges bearingthe deep intheshadowy recessesofacabi- your placeinmyheart. worry, theglasseye willnever take It’s beenniceseeingoutofyou.Don’t sors, good-byeLeftEyeball,ol’buddy. in thoseheelswhileholdingscis- weight isattachedtoyourchin. You stareatyourself You raiseyourhead,feelinglike a100-pound shivering, andsuddendeafnesscansave younow. to lookinthemirror. Noamountoftwitching, demon fromhell. Wielding theScissorsofDeath. waiting forhertoturnintoaflame-eyed, bat-winged and shatteryourlifebeforevery eyes. Just Just waiting forhertomake anirreparablemistake ball, andthenpopitoutagainlike ashishkebab. just waiting forthescissorstoslip,skewer youreye- claws. Nothingserious. creepy hairdressersinstilettoswithpointyred you canspeakisstiltedRussian.Exacerbatedby you undergo avocal-cord bypassandsuddenlyall you speakperfectEnglish,but onceortwiceaday Eenglee.” It’saspecialcase,youcansay:normally blade. You squeezeyoureyes shut,pray, snatches ahandfulandpositionsthe She buries thosepointyredclaws Finally themomenthasarrived. Sheasksyou You keep youreyes furiouslygluedtothefloor, She’s poisedover yourhair, then say somethinglike, “Menospeaky think you’redeaf.Ormaybeyoucould attempts atconversation. Maybeshe’ll fusing torespondthehairdresser’s seat untilyourknucklesarewhite,re- of thehaircut,gripping in stony silencefortherest scissors raspshut. You sit and stifleascreamasthe Looking justlike hisfather He willnever know hislittleface Or know histiny fingers He willnever hearmybaby’sheartbeat The way hepledgedthosemany He willnever careforsomething He willnever love theway Ido I know And whenIseehisunshedtears When Iseehimsitalone And walk away When Iseehimavert hiseyes In hisredshirtsandfaded jeans Walking down thehall So whenIseehim At 17 And Iamgoingtobeamom I am strong I ambrave Because Iamsomuchmorethanthat Like Iamadisease Let them avert their eyes Let themsnub nights ago If she trips by KeilahSullivan,Eureka, MO C METO N RIL AT ARTICLE ANY ON OMMENT stilettos withpretty, red-painted fingernails. raise yourheadandlookatyourself. undergo asinkinggloominessandyoucanbarely special case,youcansay. Every onceinawhile you say yousuffer fromconvulsive depression.It’sa So youthankheragain. Bridge toNew York, MarstoPluto,EarthHeaven. the bottomofoceantosky, theGoldenGate to theroofofyourmouth. Your smilestretchesfrom each “thankyou”isasecret“I’msorry”that’sglued you thankheragain. And again. And again.Because fled edgeswithyourfingertips. You thankher. Then Couldn’t askfor. Wouldn’t askfor. perfect. Everything youwanted but didn’taskfor. Flabbergasted. in themirror. Silent.Speechless. Thunderstruck. Nothing serious. But it’scuredbysmilinghairdressersincute Maybe she’llthinkyou’rebipolar. Maybeyoucan You gushover it,andfondlefeeltheruf- It’s beautifulandlightstylishsassy Because youlove it. Thrust intolifetoosoon I amamother But morethanthat? Bearing lifeformsinmywomb I amanalien And aknockingsoundwithin Complete with silver-violet rivers I amamountain Like atattoouponmyskin Because Iamtheonlyonewhocarries He willnever say“Ilove you” He willnever meanthose threewords To alifehehelpedcreate Because heisnotstrongenoughtosay And face theworld theway Ihave Because hecannotbeartostandup Because heisafraid And hewillnever know the edgesofhis our broken secret to anyone hesaysthemto those threewords been forcedtodo child’s heart T EEN by “Sara,”FortWayne, IN ✦ I Photo by Olivia Ezinga, Alto, MI Alto, Ezinga, Olivia by Photo NK . COM ✦ nonfiction I Can Move Through Worlds by Antonio Lopez, East Palo Alto, CA

ometimes I forget I am an adapted pariah, an philosophy. However, in spite of its native features, outcast who fits everywhere but belongs here is the problem since day one: I don’t belong Snowhere. Which universe is the real one? Both there. As a kid, I’d walk to school, hoping to greet a realms seem surreal to me, for both shock me on a group of students as passionate and devoted to daily basis and both have remarkably redefined my learning as I was. Instead, I’d see a bunch of pre- perceptions of right and wrong. I have come to see teens who let their impoverished state, their chau- that. And both realms, despite their vastly different vinist community, and their misguided intuition teaching conventions, have together molded my identify them. They made the ghetto look like the socio-political identity. ghetto, playing the Hispanic stereotype of baggy I was born into a humble Mexican family 17 pants, knotted hair, long white T-shirts, and worst years ago in the city of East Palo Alto. It was, is, of all, malicious faces. They preached racism to- and always will be my hometown, the roots that ward white people, homophobia, and a general in- hold together the blossoming flower that is my tolerance for anyone who refused to conform to intellect, the soil that erects the stem of my their lifestyle. I, however, strove to remain resilient, reminding myself that this environment was an interim step toward success and that the great- est leaders have always faced oppression, even from their kin. I remained resilient – until my family wasn’t there to support me. Art by Heather Rose, Mill Valley, CA Enheduanna I love my family: they provide me with food, Magnetic attraction refuge, and constant concern for my needs. when peers slander the very place I live, saying My fingers hover However, in my final year of middle school, my they’d “get shot instantly.” Yes, I am vexed at the poised over the paper with purpose mother suffered a severe clinical depression. In sheer aristocracy that I immerse myself in every Praise the woman other words, the sole person who brought me day, where teenagers take luxuries for granted and Who, like Enheduanna, into this world, who always slapped a giant kiss criticize perfectly good food, when I am simply loves the smell of concentration on my greasy forehead when I came home from thankful to no longer be eating moldy hot dogs for Who writes school, who always cooked my favorite dish of lunch. Yes, I am annoyed at the perfect academic/ As if walking around a wall frijoladas, transformed virtually overnight. No athlete profile this school has strived to maintain. Could bring it down forever. longer did I wake up to smell pancakes sizzling Yes, I am infuriated when students assert that Praise the woman who has trampled that wall on a cold morning. Now, I woke up with both poverty is a result of laziness and a lack of dili- To the ashes the house and my psychological state an ab- gence, not unfortunate circumstance. And yes, I feel Where the prejudices of humanity crumble solute mess, with my mother, for reasons I still poorer when my peers know everything about col- to nonexistence cannot understand, sobbing silently in the cor- leges and financial resources to visit them, not to ner. And so, when I confessed that I’d been mention SAT coaches to increase their odds of ad- It calls me by my name beaten, bullied, and ostracized from our commu- mission, while I grew up in a place where high My real name no one knows nity, she met me with empty eyes. school dropouts are as common as iPhones are here. And pensively I contemplate, I began to wear long white tees as well, and In short, I have jumped from one stereotypical ex- perhaps it named me my accent was laced with an treme to another – from attending an My face shines with awe at the woman urban voice. But I realized that inner-city school where being Mexi- I couldn’t just loiter around the Who, like Harriet Beecher Stowe, Conformity is can means that you are normal, to a does not mind inky hands front door; if I wanted my suburban bubble where being Mexi- As if the work of her small hands brothers to welcome me, I simply the absence can means you probably clean toi- could compel tears needed to demonstrate that I lets, serve food, or pick up trash. I radiate awe to the woman could be as hostile and as men- of the courage to However, despite the financial and Who has united this world through emotion acing as they were. All of this, be different racial isolation I face at this school, I And has wet the faces of her neighbors frankly, I would have done, but am generally thankful for escaping I quickly realized that this life my self-subjugating former commu- Perhaps it is a fatal addiction was not what I wanted; these nity and joining a collection of bright minds in a If so, I beg to capitulate to its poison clothes weren’t mine. place where pursuers of knowledge are not mocked Spare me the opiate if this is pain Over time, I came to two important conclu- but exalted. I have been challenged to manage my Rather, hone the weapon which afflicts me sions. First, everything you love, every piece of time wisely and to write a paper effectively, lessons fabric you weave together into the quilt that is Honor the woman I may not have learned otherwise. It has prepared your life, can be ripped apart in a moment. Sec- Who, like Maya Angelou, me as the son of a man who never graduated from ond, when a friend was Fans her face with the wings of a book sixth grade, as the first member of my family who killed in a drive-by As if freeing her words plans to attend college, as that young boy who tried shooting, I immediately could so hard to fit in and make his peers laugh, to develop realized that this is not Liberate people from their into a powerful, confident individual for whom nei- my home; despite the hurting ther of his worlds can take sole credit. fact that I grew up and Honor the woman I cannot be a Mexican-American; I am either too live here, I cannot sur- Who has left the cage Mexican for whites or too white for Mexicans. I vive here. And so, door ajar cannot be a ghetto intellectual; I am either too ghetto without my mother’s and still does not forget for the intellectuals or too intellectual for the ghetto. approval, I applied and the prisoner’s laments But to be blunt, who cares? Conformity is simply was accepted to a private Long after it has flown the absence of the courage to be different, and high school in privileged wealth is a poor, arbitrary way to measure such Praise the Woman who Atherton, a place I so assimilation. Writes wanted to belong. These stereotypical extremes have only strength- by Keely Hendricks, Here, I feel relieved. ened my beliefs. I sometimes get confused about Yes, I am angered when Nashville, TN which universe is the real one and which is the alter- I hear a white boy mak- nate reality. But in the end, it does not matter. I shall Photo by Michelle Moy, Brooklyn, NY ing racist allusions, or intertwine them. ✦

LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK 25 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink The Beauty of the Cosmos 21st Century by Alex Fong, Golden, CO young man, not yet a high school grad- millions in the known universe. Evolution uate, lies in a canoe floating on a still His mind’s eye now abandons its useless lake deep in the North American forms of measurement; the distances he per- We’ve lost their wings A So we sprout plastic ones. woods. An almost imperceptible breeze flutters ceives now are of such dizzying scales that just above the water’s surface, its chilling ten- they render his puny world inconsequential by Grow radar goggles to see drils faintly brushing over the contented teen. comparison. He imagines the distant quasars What we want It’s just past midnight, and the cabins lining and pulsars, gamma ray bursts and red-shifted Through the film the shore show no signs of life. This, coupled galaxies, toeing the edge of what the light- Plastered with the only nearby town being a small com- speed boundary allows us to see, and he is On our airplane windows. munity, means that light pollution is negligi- thankful. Try to ignore nature ble. Without that nuisance, the heavens are He is thankful for the rod and cone cells Knocking. Facing fully revealed in all their glory. covering the walls of his retina, reacting to Our own destruction He lies, overwhelmed. The every ray of light and firing a Hurts too much. Yet haze earth drops away and his breath The heavens pulse down the optical nerves to a Threatens us. It’ll engulf is taken from him by the splendor central location in a web of neu- Our precious cities. of the night sky. He observes a are fully rons. He is thankful for every It’s already started. glowing band of light, a highway chemical reaction, every electron of billions of stars known by the revealed in all transfer through the synapses of We shut the shade ancients as Via Lactea – the their glory his brain that allow him to feel the To sweep over the gash. environment Milky Way. The galaxy above cool water into which he now dips We want to ignore him spans the entire night sky, his hand. He is thankful for the Nature screaming, curled horizon to horizon, illuminating the otherwise sun, the magnificent fusion bomb that powers Up in a corner. dark, pitiless vacuum of space not 200 miles every action and reaction on Earth’s surface. But it bangs above his head. He knows it’s massive, Tears brim the edges of his eyes as he re- On the glass. Claws 100,000 light-years across and another 1,000 flects on the laws of the universe, the notes, Us to wake our dormant thick, the distances almost inconceivable. melodies, and harmonies through which the Brains, to open But he knows there is more. He lets his cosmos plays its tune. Quarks form hadrons Them to scarred fields imagination pierce the confines of the visible, form atoms form molecules form objects from Below. It begs us to hear over and his mind perceives the Milky Way as just grains of sand to galaxies. Gravity, electro- The propellers, to not one galaxy of 30 in the Local Group, and even magnetism, the strong and weak forces, ther- Let them shred further as a member of the Virgo Supercluster, modynamics – all play their pivotal roles in the Mother into withered husks. an immense collection of galaxies over 110 intergalactic opera, and he is thankful. The million light-years across. His mind staggers universe is an incredible place. ✦ It tells the bubble people as he realizes this supercluster is but one of They’ve broken one wing. It pleads with our closed eyelids To protect the other. But we crumple its pleas BOOK REVIEW In a paper fist To toss behind The Omnivore’s Dilemma And litter by Michael Pollan Our footsteps. he main problem I’ve always had with books about the food industry is, if they do their by Helene Lovett, New Orleans, LA Tjob, they end up making you not want to eat anything. I’m not saying that that’s necessarily a bad thing, but it makes me hesitant to recommend The Omnivore’s Dilemma. The first half of the book is a look inside the industrial food industry. All you self-loathing neo-food-nature-hippies who want fuel to protest with should look here. It contains a startling amount of information about the state of the food industry, from feedlot conditions to cattle feed to chemical processing plants. It even goes a bit into the industrial organic industry, which is in some ways just as bad as traditional industrial food. If, however, you are a more optimistic neo-food-nature-hippy, you’ll be more interested in the second half of the book. People should Here, author Michael Pollan looks at a more natural way of ob- taining food: through local food chains that include grass-fed be personally farms, and by foraging in the wild. This section is less informative connected to and more philosophical, which made it more interesting to me. It delves into the idea that people should be personally connected to their food their food, an idea supported by Pollan’s loving descriptions of the meals he enjoys during his expeditions into the natural food chain. In fact, Pollan prepares a meal completely self-reliantly, learning how to identify mushrooms, hunt for wild pig, and harvest yeast from the San Francisco air. The way the book is divided into two separate world views helps to brilliantly demonstrate the contrast between how we eat and how we should eat. The description of the cynical – some would say realistic – portrayal of food in the first half, however, pales in comparison to the lov- ing detail given to the wholesome, delicious food prepared in the second half. Reading how the animals actually live good lives on local farms may make you feel bad about eating a Big Mac next time you’re hungry and short on time and cash. But does that guilt make reading this book not worth it? In short, no. ✦ by Kyle Ferris, Littleton, CO

Photo by Joanna Eaton, Spotswood, NJ

26 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM Teen Ink •FEBRUARY ’12 nonfiction God Is My Head by Mark Levin, Los Altos, CA hen a person is born they was Jewish because I refused to partici- million Jews were killed because they the whole time. I just hadn’t real- know nothing, and I was no pate in Christmas activities. While they believed something that others did not. ized what it meant. Wdifferent. All I knew was caroled, I mouthed the words. While Six million chosen people, including You brought her here, the what they told me to believe. I didn’t they made Easter eggs, I stood on the much of my family and almost my voice in my head reminded me. know that what they had told me made tables and made noise. They wore grandma. And where was God? You’re responsible for her. God’s me different. Santa hats, and for a time in sixth I began to question every moment words resonated inside me, and At my preschool in December, Santa grade, I wore a kippah under my something had gone wrong for the Jew- my feet stayed glued beneath Claus was all the talk. Most kids had 49ers hat, reminding me that God had ish people. Had he just ignored us Sarah’s head. There was a God. sat on the big red hero’s lap. Siaosi control. when we were kicked out of Spain in There is a God. wanted a Nintendo 64. Brian wanted a I loved the 49ers. In sixth grade, dur- 1492? Had God been sleeping for the It was then I realized that for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bed. And ing a crucial playoff game, I prayed to past 60 years as Israel has existed in me God is not a supreme being. I wanted a Batman movie. I knew who God that the 49ers would win. The constant turmoil? God was supposed to He can’t make seas part and he Santa Claus was. Like 49ers had fumbled the ball protect us. Why would he let us face can’t control the weather. I have everything else my with only a four-point such oppression? Why would he let us my own god. I created him. He world had told me to How did I know lead. I know people usu- be constantly attacked? didn’t create me. My god is my believe, I believed in God was out ally turn to God when a Like he created conflict between me head. him. I believed in his ship is sinking or when and Chris in third grade, God had been He can’t save lives. He doesn’t jolly smile. I believed in there if he never their child is drafted to creating conflicts for as long as he’d create miracles. But my god does his godly powers. I was join the armed forces, but existed. The Spanish missionaries and create nonetheless. He creates a nice kid, so he’d responded? the 49ers making it to the the Native Americans had fought over morals and beliefs, talents and surely be stopping by. Super Bowl was just as God. People had killed in the name of interests. He tells me what’s When my father came to pick me up important to me. God. A suicide bomber had smuggled a good and what’s evil. I don’t al- I asked, “When can I tell Santa what I “God, please let the Niners stop them bomb in his underwear for God. ways follow his orders, but I do want for Christmas?” here,” I pleaded. “Please. I’ll do any- First Chris told me God didn’t exist. believe in him. I believe in my “Santa doesn’t come to our house, thing.” Then God gave up on the 49ers. Then god. My god is my head. Marky,” he confessed with a chuckle. The opposing quarterback took the evolution made me doubt that God cre- God helps me when I need to Something was funny, but I didn’t get snap, dropped a few steps back, and ated everything around me. And then I make a decision, and to me, he’s it. “We don’t celebrate Christmas. Jews threw a long pass downfield to the end learned a troubling history that God always right. He’ll rationalize my don’t believe in Santa Claus.” zone. had failed to prevent. All this pointed to choices and make suggestions like a So now I knew. I was a Jew. My god “Let there be an interception. Let the the same inconceivable idea: God isn’t mentor, like a conscience. was not Allah. My god was Adonai. His receiver blink,” I begged, kneeling and out there. We’re alone. My god has been my head ever since son is not Jesus, but we were all created gazing up at the TV screen. Everything And that was what I believed until a I could think. When I sin, my god pun- in the image of God. Christians, Mus- was moving in slow motion. “Some- few months ago. ishes me with guilt, and that’s enough lims, Buddhists, Hindus. They’re all thing. Anything. Please.” ••• to make me want to do good. So I don’t wrong, and we’re right. My rabbi may The ball continued in a perfect spiral. Her eyes were shut. Her lips were need heaven or hell to guide me. I just not have taught me this, but that’s the I expected God to make it wobble like painted with vomit. Her legs were limp need my god. And while everyone feeling I got. an injured bird in flight. The receiver as she dropped to her knees. Her head fights over where or whether or how or My pride began to gleam blue, silver, continued downfield, galloping ahead slid down my legs to rest on my feet. when God existed, I won’t fight. I and white. Judaism was my identity. It of the defender. I expected God to The smell of alcohol attacked my know my god is my head and no one made me feel like I belonged. I was one make him trip. nostrils as Nick pulled out his phone. can convince me otherwise. of the “chosen people.” My ideas sur- The clock wound down to the last This wasn’t our fault. Everyone was So, with Sarah at my feet, I had a passed those who had not been chosen. five seconds. I was still waiting for a saying we needed to get her help and choice. I could stay and make sure she Pretty cool. miracle. The ball continued to fall. The get out of there. If my parents found was all right, because that was my re- My parents entered me into classes at only force acting upon it was gravity out that once again I had gotten myself sponsibility, or I could flee to avoid my temple. The stories of the Bible now, propelling it into the hands of the into trouble, I’d be punishment. Then, red and were taught to me like facts – what receiver. I made one last prayer. Per- shipped to Utah by blue lights flashed, and a goes up must come down, and a glass haps locusts would eat the ball. But tomorrow. Sarah was still paramedic hopped out of half empty is the same as a glass half instead it fell into the fingertips of the Nick dialed, gave our passed out at the ambulance. full. There was no question: On the first receiver. Touchdown. Game over. location, her name, and “She had too much to day, God created light. There was no Niners lost. her condition. A voice my feet. I was drink,” I told him. disputing that God took the next day to I didn’t understand. How did I know echoed in my head, my As the paramedics loaded separate the skies from the seas. He God was out there if he never re- voice, reminding me that all alone. Sarah into the ambulance, a created everything in existence. No sponded to my wishes? I thought back I had brought her here cop questioned me. He doubt about it. God had the power to do to what I had been taught in temple. On and there was no God to save her. asked who gave her the alcohol and anything. No one would suspect any- the first day, God created light. But I looked down at Sarah. She was still where everyone went. I answered po- thing else – except maybe the kid sit- who created God? For the first time, it passed out with her head on my feet, litely, knowing there was no way my ting next to me in third grade. didn’t make sense to me. fastening them to the ground. I looked parents weren’t going to find out. He Chris and I had no reason to hate The next week, my doubts increased; around me again. I was all alone. Why nodded with each answer, then pushed each other. We both liked sports. We we started learning about evolution in had everyone else left? Should I leave me against the hood of the squad car were both nice people. We both had school. It seemed that each day in the too? and proceeded to pat me down. Jansport backpacks. We could have Bible was millions of years in evolu- I begged for an answer. I needed “That was an honorable thing to do,” been great friends. We should have tion. On the first day, we were apes. On some guidance, and so I waited. I he said as he clicked the handcuffs been great friends. Chris and I got the second day, we were Homo habilis. thought maybe, just maybe, God was around my wrists and guided me into along until one day when he asked if I On the third day, we began to walk on real and would help me. Maybe he’d the back seat of the cruiser. “Why’d believed in God. I didn’t know this was two feet. On the fourth day, we became make me invisible or make Sarah re- you stay?” something to be debated. Of course I cavemen – Homo sapiens. On the fifth cover in time for me to get her out of I looked at him through the barred believed. Who didn’t? day, we became human. It was awfully here before the police arrived. So I window of the back seat and smiled. “You’re an idiot,” Chris muttered. different from what I had been told. I waited. Frustration pulsed through my “Something in my head told me to. No, Chris, you’re an idiot. After all, I felt I had been lied to. veins. Maybe it was God. Maybe it was my was chosen and you weren’t. The next week in sixth grade social “Goddamnit!” I screamed. Every- conscience. But I like to think it was Chris wasn’t the only idiot, though. studies, we learned about the Holo- one’s a liar. God’s a liar. God isn’t real. both.” ✦ My class was full of them. Kids knew I caust. That week, I found out that six But then, I heard it. It had been there

LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK 27 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink Mother Tongue by Leeya Mengistu, Somerset, KY

“Sometimes I wish I had never come here.” to boys, and back. My father doesn’t realize that his words stick with me. I didn’t know that because of my skin Backwards, not forwards I already had a predestined track to the day he arrived in this country I didn’t know that I was expected to somewhere in 1992. wear hoop earrings, Nothing in his hands but a medical degree, listen to hip-hop, a waiting, pregnant wife, and love fried chicken. and his family’s blessing. So just as I had denied Ethiopia, The epitome of the American dream: black America denied me. culture an immigrant building himself up in the land of I remember going to the hairdresser’s opportunities. one day, Even if that land killed one of his daughters, and an elderly black woman asking me, failed his wife’s business, “Oh you’re not really black … are you?” & and crumbled his family. I was flabbergasted. He said those words in a conversation Just as I had I vaguely nodded and moved on. about how I still couldn’t speak denied Ethiopia, That started the awakening. Amarangya, the language of his people. No one accepted me. Not-so-secretly, I blame my older sister black America Even though I wasn’t biracial, who spoke Amarangya first, I felt split between two cultures. but eagerly drank up English at school. denied me Be black, or be black? And I, always eager to follow her, I remember being little and saying, refused to speak Amarangya, “I’m not black, I’m brown!” Photo by Zoe Case, Upper Arlington, OH waiting at the door like a friendly puppy, and I’d hold out my small arm ready to hear what she had learned that day: so no one could tell me otherwise. young woman, “Hi” Is it odd that I found myself raceless? stunning, yet docile, travel travel “My name is Leeya” Clear as a glass pitcher, wearing a shy smile, “L-E-E-Y-A” waiting to be filled. like she had a secret that no one would ever know. “See Tom run” One day, in my grandparents’ house I guess I was crying because I would never know “The cat is fat on a hot day, why, even in her seventies, and the rat has a hat” I asked if I could look through some old albums. she still hasn’t married. I absorbed the words and disregarded my parents’ I flipped through pictures of my grandmother Was she ever in love? I was a first-generation American before she got her gold teeth Did she ever want to be? God bless the USA. that used to mesmerize me as a child. I guess I was crying because, But I guess I loved “my country” too much Pictures of my father as a boy, with her barely passable English, Always jumping from phase to phase that this place had scrawny as he was, and in my terrible Amarangya, to offer with his eight other sisters and brother. I would never be able to ask. Princesses, then monkeys, Before long, my eyes began to sting and And I think my father said what he said then musicals, then photography, I swallowed back the rock in my throat because with every day that his accent faded, New York, to indie music, when I saw the picture of my great-aunt as a he realized that I would never have one. ✦

by Mikayla Becich, Red Ruby Memory Il Gato Bradfordwoods, PA by Lauren Mabie, Brattleboro, VT he beautifully ragged cobblestone streets of Manarola, Italy, were no place for such an unkempt cat. Shabby and is beautiful tanned skin didn’t look like it belonged in Brattleboro. His jet dilapidated, the stray wandered the bright avenues of the black hair was short on the sides and longer on top, the army cut. He wore T coastal community. This creature was as misplaced as the bum- Hfitted Levis, caked with dirt, and tan workboots that came above his ankles. bling American tourists who ambled about the Piazza del Popolo. His shirt was just tight enough that it clung to his body. His small blue eyes were From behind, fur matted tightly to its bloated torso, the feline tucked back in his head, but when he got excited, they immediately lit up. Outside of easily could have been mistaken for a canine. Its misshapen form his truck, he looked like a regular country boy. But inside the rigged-up white Chevy, ✦ hobbled along, the left leg dragging, bringing up the rear. Ears his pride and joy, he looked like a true hick – the most beautiful hick I’d ever seen. mauled, the animal was oblivious to the distant crashing waves by the sheer cliffs on the Cinque Terre. One eye held the cloudi- ness of a murky pond, blind to the passing pedestrians who gawked at the scraggly figure. Paved paths, absent of cars and the grumbling sounds that ac- company them, allowed for this beast’s existence. Slinking among villas shaded in every hue of the spectrum, the vagabond sported a gray-black coat like a spilled drink on the white table- cloth of an open-air café. Dirt-encrusted hair trailed wherever the nomad treaded. Fresh, salty ocean air blanketed Manarola, but this aroma was marred by the fetor of the feline. Some attempts were made to disconcert the grimy degenerate by brashly swinging brooms in its direction. Elderly local inhabitants sympathized and embraced the outcast, leaving gourmet scraps of pastas, breads, and fish that added to its rotund belly. A quaint town is the last place to find a bedraggled alley cat. Such a desirable location for such an ✦ Photo by Madeline Wood, Fayetteville, NC Fayetteville, Wood, Madeline Photo by undesirable animal.

28 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 travel

Two Worlds by Tausif Noor, North Babylon, NY come from two worlds. than a rite of passage; it is the entrance into civilized manifested her hopes and dreams of a brighter fu- One is a land far, far away where barefoot girls society. The scent of the air is strong, mixed aromas ture in this little boy, and boarded a plane to meet Iwith gold studs through their noses carry chil- of Victoria’s Secret Love Spell and new money. This her husband in order to realize these dreams. dren barely older than they are on slender hips, co- is Long Island, New York, where I live. Thirteen years later, my mother tells me that I am conut oil combed carefully through their plaited I sit astride a line that divides these two lands. not an American, that I will never be American. hair. Where dirt roads, cheap sandals, and immense They are separated by 8,000 miles, but I can close Although I don’t tell her this, I think she is wrong. I crowds reign supreme. I come from a land of rice this gap with a blink of my eye; I can erase the will always be American and I will always be paddies and lotus flowers, of corrugated tin roofs and space with the nudge of my finger. If home is where Bangladeshi, but I don’t believe in the hyphenated the heart is, my heart is everywhere. Pieces of me love child of two cultures. They are separate worlds, occasional air raids. A land of teeth stained red from & betel leaves, of gold bangles and bright silk, of ven- are in the bungalows of Rampura and the quiet, cul- but I have found a way to coexist in them. I am not dors and henna tattoos. A land where unaccustomed turally barren streets of suburbia. I try to complete confused about who I am or how my race will play eyes water from pungent chili peppers, where feet the puzzle, but there is always something missing. in the rest of my life. I am not afraid of losing my struggle to pass through packed cars and I cannot say that I feel equally com- identity in either world. I am simply trying to say, rickshaws. fortable in both homes, but, perhaps para- this is who I am; this is where I come from. ✦ culture This is a land where hungry eyes Bangladesh doxically, I am equally uncomfortable. wander the streets, rags tied to thin bod- To my suburban friends, I am an anomaly ies, begging for a spare anna. This is a is the land of every time I chatter in a strange tongue to land I’ve seen, felt, dreamt about, and my birth my parents; to my relatives in Dhaka, I longed for. I’ve walked the dirt roads of am forever whitewashed. I don’t know a quiet village; I’ve seen the taut backs where the Bengali Tausif starts and of young men carrying sugar cane. I’ve sailed along where the American Tausif ends – all I can say is the Padma River in a canoe, and sampled puri from that I am an alien, foreign to all, but grateful of the a vendor, his stall lit by a kerosene lamp. This is fact. I am a first-generation American; I am not suf- Dhaka, Bangladesh, the land of my birth. fering an identity crisis. It is difficult to merge the My other world is equally exotic, equally real. It two cultures that compose my life, but I am lucky I is a land of SUVs and spray tans, of ranch houses am not torn between the two – that would be such a and homogeneity. Here, waves lap endlessly against cliché. boats in the bay, and the sun rises on dewy, mani- If I dig through the file cabinets of my memory, I cured lawns. Here I travel highways that stretch into can distinctly see a young, frail woman dressed in the distance. This land is dominated by swimming her new green salwar kameez, her hair done in a bun pools and strip malls; it is run by PTA mothers who for the first time at a fancy Dhaka salon. She is operate minivan carpools like KGB missions. Here, holding the hand of a small boy dressed in his nicest Juicy Couture bags and blond highlights are ubiqui- suit, and her other hand is tightly grasping a British tous among females. Here a driver’s license is more Airways boarding pass. This woman, my mother, Photo by Toria Rose, Bethesda, MD

New Yorkers Idealizing France by Tim Rebholz, Stafford, VA Like vultures with talons out y desktop wallpaper is a merry-go- the rows of enchanting cherry trees. I want to visit They scramble for the last seat on round of places I’d like to visit. the St. Martin monastery on the way down and the subway M Previously, it was a black-and-white stare off the edge of its tree-covered cliff at its The last H&H bagel checkerboard of broken hearts and band-aids, pastel-toned buildings. I want to spend the fall in The last Marc Jacobs bag at a sample sale superimposed over what appears to be a couple Beaune, where the leaves match the latticework of kissing. Go figure. the rooftops and the world becomes a wonderland Flying through the streets Anyway. That was then. Now it’s a picture of of orange and gold. On neatly tailored wings Paris. Conveniently sans Eiffel Tower. I’ve never And even then, my need for France and all Claws tucked in silk really liked the Eiffel Tower. things French would not be sated. The cycle Hard, sunglassed eyes stalk their prey I find myself drawn to France recently. The would repeat ad infinitum. A few months in Those elusive yellow taxi cabs countryside, Lyon, the Louvre, Chateauroux, a year in Orleans, a great Mating calls join the chorus of the streets espresso, cafés with little wiry tables, while spent in Avignon, simply sitting Blackberry shouting and kosher deli châteaus, Normandy, wine, film. I want to go at the fabled bridge, watching, think- ordering French nights and simple food and the to the land ing, writing, free from worry. Heels up, heels down, clickety-clack trickle of the river as it passes by our This is the allure of France: a place On the gum-strewn pavement. picnic blanket. Everything so stereo- of Voltaire where inspiration runs freely in the typically French. Except for the Eiffel hearts and art of her people. A place to At sundown comes the stampede and sauces Tower. And baguettes. find peace, a place for contentment. A They emerge from steel caves to I want to go to the land of Voltaire place where materialism can be put on Jump on loud grumbling trains and sauces. I want to experience Hugo and Notre hold and at last the human connection can rise to Fold wings down and read the Times on Dame and the Bastille. I want to see Versailles prominence. A place where life can be what it slippery seats and the Jardin du Luxembourg. I want to breathe wants to be, where introspection can form the Rush-rush, clickety-clack the atmosphere in which the opera Carmen was core of being. A place where life strolls leisurely The New York vultures burrow into written. I want to hear the music of Debussy in along the road that defines it. A place for rejuve- Pottery Barn nests the land of its origin. I want to feel the French nation and restoration. A place I want to be so Handcrafted beds with lavender grass on my back as I admire the French clouds desperately. But until I get the chance to bask in scented sheets and ponder the French penchant for stripes. French sunlight, I will sit, bathed in the glow of At dawn, they fly again I want to be in Annecy for Christmas, and on desktop pictures, and reminisce and idealize about by Maia Silber, Cortlandt Manor, NY the beaches of Lorient by summer. I want to climb things that never were and that will never be. ✦ the Pic du Canigou in spring and look out across

LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK 29 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink Author Kate Klimo Interviewed by Devin Murphy, Jackson, MO ate Klimo has been creating from my editor that the book I have some pretty epic world-building for and do other things. Sometimes I Kworlds since she was in the written is actually publishable, that’s you. I love the books of Tamora write all day. fourth grade. Now, she is the au- when I feel a genuine thrill: that all Pierce, Susan Cooper, Nancy Farmer, I have to be careful, though, I don’t thor and editor of an array of pub- my hard work has paid off! That the and Peter Dickenson. I love mysteries write myself stupid. That can happen. lished books. Her latest work, book will be read by more than just for the escape, and history, especially I have to give myself time to regener- Daughter of the Centaurs, is a fan- me and one other person. biographies, for the details of lives ate my mind and my ideas. If I drive tasy that tells of a girl’s quest for lived in other times. I am working my myself too hard, then I start muscling survival and companionship in a What advice would you give to way through the presidents right now. my way through the narrative, bossing world populated by half-human aspiring writers, like me, who I’m only up to Madison. the characters around and depriving creatures. hope to be published some day? them of the independence they need to Write, write, write. Get up every Why did you choose to write a be surprising and interesting. Daughter of the Centaurs is full of day and write. I write daring character like mythology and unusual creatures. very early in the Malora? What do you hope your readers What made you want to write a morning, when my I don’t think of Mal- will take away from your novel? fantasy novel? “It’s a delicate

interview mind is fresh, before ora as being daring so I hope that reading my book will Ever since I was in fourth grade, the distractions of the thing, letting your much as a survivor. I take readers to a time and place they fantasy has been my favorite genre. Of day set in. And don’t characters come wanted to write about a never imagined. I hope that the char- course, when I was in fourth grade, I listen to the voice in- survivor. Malora is the acters become lifelong friends with believed that the magical realms I read side your head that alive on the page” sole survivor of her set- my readers – friends they will want to about – Narnia and Neverland and sometimes says you tlement, and possibly of come visit in future adventures. all – were real. Now, of course, I don’t suck. That voice is the human race. In the … except that the older I get, the more just subversive noise. If you write last five years, I lost my mother, my Did writing Daughter of the convinced I grow that this world, the every day, and put your heart and soul brother, and a son. I know what it is to Centaurs change you in any way? one we live in, is but one room in a into it, you’re going to wind up, survive, and I wanted to share the or- If so, how? large house filled with other rooms. sooner or later, with something that deal of it, and the ultimate joys. I surprised myself by creating a So I guess you could say that I am very likely won’t suck … at least to complete world. The more I write gradually returning to a state of sus- some readers. What do you think makes a piece about it, the more I discover. And this pended disbelief, which is very useful of writing worth reading? world feels real to me. I enjoy spend- in the writing of fantasy. What is the hardest part for you in Its honesty. ing time there. I am always eager to the process of writing? How do find out what’s going to happen next. you overcome those obstacles? What inspires you? The hardest part of writing is not Dreams, traveling, my editor, If you were not a writer, what overwhelming my characters with my Mallory Loehr. would your life be like? What own considerable personality. It’s a would you be doing? delicate thing, letting your characters Why do you write? If I were not a writer, I would be come alive on the page, giving them Because I am happiest when I am outdoors a great deal more. I would be room to breathe. It’s so easy to lean on writing. leading a much more physical life as a them, to hover over them, to pick them horse trainer. Working with horses is up in my sometimes ham-handed fists What do you do when your river one of the most gratifying experiences and move them around like dolls on a of ideas runs dry? How do you of my life. I’m only sorry I came to it stage, rather than letting them – their overcome that and start writing so late. I started taking lessons, which characters and their own inner voices – again? my husband bought me, for my fiftieth determine their fate. I give myself permission to stop birthday. I started out in classes with The other hard part of writing is writing for a few weeks or months. eight-year-old girls. My husband and I dealing with reviews. Let’s face it – During this time, I usually take a trip now have our own horses, and we ride not everybody is going to love every- and visit someplace new with my hus- every chance we get. Horses keep you thing that’s written. But a bad review band, almost always on the back of a in balance; they make you aware of can really hamper the creative process, horse. your moods and quirks. make you doubt yourself and every- Riding, day after day, They keep you honest. thing you’re doing. I learned this les- puts me into a zen state “You have to son the hard way. of mind. My inner voice get out and What have you learned stops chattering and I during the publishing Did you always want to be a settle down to just being. promote process? writer? During these times, I yourself” No publisher is going to – I always wanted to be a writer. At keep a journal and write poof! – turn you into a best- least since I became a reader. I still letters to friends where I seller. You have to get out have my notebooks from fourth grade, am storing up impressions, stockpiling and promote yourself. This is some- containing the unfinished fantasy ideas and images for the day when I thing that one of my favorite writers, novel my best friend, Justine, and I am ready to fit them into a narrative. Esther Friesner, told me. There is no worked on. My parents are dead, but I room for shy and retiring and modest. have recently discovered, going What sort of schedule do you As a writer, I am a more modest per- through their journals and letters, that follow when writing a novel? Are son than I am as a publisher. But I What was your reaction when you you organized or do you just sit discovered you were going to be both were frustrated writers. This have to learn to get out there and use a makes me all the more determined to down and write? little of my publisher’s brashness to published? I’m pretty organized. I start with an I’ve been a publisher/writer for write my heart out. I’m writing, not toot my own horn. just for me and my editor and my outline, even though I may not wind most of my 30-year career, so I can’t up sticking to it. The outline is sort of say that I experienced the anticipation readers, but to honor my parents’ How does writing affect your life, like the Ouija board; you push it for better or for worse? of publication that other writers might. memory. around until you hear the voice of the Writing makes me a bit more Nor, however, have I experienced the muse actually breaking through and thoughtful person, but it also makes inevitable letdown authors discover What kind of books do you read? talking to you. Then the outline usu- me a bit of a slug. In the best of all when, on publication date, the earth How have they influenced what ally gets abandoned. possible worlds, I would hook up my doesn’t actually move. I also generally you write? I wake up around four and I write laptop to a treadmill and write while I write my books in their entirety before All kinds. I’m halfway through The Game of Thrones right now. There’s until I’m spent. Sometimes I’m fin- walked. ✦ I get a contract, so when I find out ished by 10 o’clock, and can go out

30 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 book NONFICTION CLASSIC in and out of psychiatrists’ care give me nightmares, or at least man with “American Dream” and foster homes, there are tat- persistent thoughts the rest of activism – a man who isn’t an Into the Wild The Little Prince toos and piercings all over her the day. But McCarthy wove American. by Jon Krakauer by Antoine body, she never finished high these unsettling moments so I began the novel with a set de Saint-Exupéry school, and she has a police smoothly, it was impossible to of preconceived notions, or ead. That is how they record. However, she is a tal- untangle them without unbal- rather, worries. What could an Dfound Chris McCandless – lthough The Little Prince ented hacker and a near ge- ancing the rest of the story. It American historian possibly just another crazy drifter who Ais classified as a children’s nius – and a good character for was etched beautifully through understand about a Russian thought he could survive in the book, it should be required a thriller. the use of careful details. king? Would it be yet another wild without the necessary ex- reading for every grownup – This book is about the miss- What propels the story is the piece of Reagan-era Russopho- perience or knowledge. How- those who, according to the au- ing niece of one of Sweden’s relationship between father and bia? Anti-communist propa- ever, Into the Wild presents a thor, are blinded by time and

most distinguished million- son. This part is what I most ganda? A diatribe on Russia’s reviews deeper and clearer picture of numbers and cannot recognize aires, Henrik Vanger. The mys- enjoyed. I think the main idea backwardness? A compelling this misunderstood man who that a drawing of an elephant tery of her disappearance has is the love between father and case for capitalism? Most im- died alone in the Alaskan inside a boa constrictor is obvi- son, which often saves them. portantly: 800 pages? Really? wilderness at the age of 24. ously not a drawing of a hat! Without the powerful drive of Let me set aside those Chris McCandless was not In no more than 80 pages, Suspenseful and love, they could not have sus- worries by first giving you a your average drifter; he came The Little Prince teaches us exciting plot tained the energy or desire to glimpse into the historical con- from a good home, graduated how to live a meaningful life. survive another day. Because of text. Before Peter, foreign rela- The little prince persistently remained unsolved for almost his love for his son, the father tions were seen as necessary The solitary journey asks questions, never answer- 40 years and Vanger wants one was driven to provide food and evils; unorthodox obsessions of Chris McCandless ing any, but the marooned pilot last chance to discover what shelter. Because of his love for with the Orthodox Church fed a who befriends him in the re- happened. He asks Mikael his father, the boy was able to mote desert manages to put to- Blomkvist, a disgraced re- protect his father and trust him from college with excellent gether the prince’s magical porter, to help. In a weird tan- completely during their long Honest, factual, grades, and had planned to at- story. gle of events, Salander and journey. and fascinating tend law school, but something Blomkvist end up working to- I am totally overwhelmed by in Chris made him steer his life Teaches us how to live gether. That combo creates a my reaction to this book. When self-defeating xenophobia; and in an unorthodox direction that suspenseful and exciting plot. I began reading, I could tell it monarchs, fearing for their some consider but few actually a meaningful life I really like Larsson’s style. would be a dull and wearisome lives, were powerless to the try. In 1990, he donated his col- He has no boundaries when it novel. But coming to the in- demands of their own soldiers. lege savings, packed his be- The little prince comes from comes to language. That said, triguing and mystifying parts Peter took control of his longings, and set off to see a planet the size of a house. the business parts of the book opened my eyes to the power of church, his people, and his America. Two years later, he There he owned three volca- can get a bit confusing. This armed forces. He transformed burned his remaining money noes and a beautiful red rose book is definitely targeted for Russia into the Russian Em- and headed into the Alaskan that, with its vanity and pushi- an adult audience. Hauntingly disturbing pire – and himself into Peter wilderness with a gun, a diary, ness, made the prince leave his This novel didn’t grab me in “the Great.” a knife, and a 50-pound bag of home. On his journey, the inno- every aspect, although I really love, survival, and dark sin in So, what did I – with my rice, never to be seen alive cent prince meets a lonely king liked the suspenseful buildup to the world. Russian heritage, Russian again. His body was found in and a greedy businessman and the end. The resolution was Especially in this day and patriotism, Russian spirit, and an abandoned school bus. finally arrives on Earth, where kind of lame, in my view, and age, Cormac McCarthy’s pow- “Russia! Russia! Russia!” atti- When he died he weighed a countless beautiful truths about the antagonist could probably erful and haunting post-apoca- tude – think of the book? It’s shocking 67 pounds. humanity are revealed. For ex- have been identified from the lyptic world inside The Road is absolutely fantastic. The narra- As his story circulated, peo- ample, the little prince discov- beginning. This is a good book chillingly close to our reality. ✦ tive format makes it both read- ple began to wonder who Chris ers that his rose is different just shy of great. I’m really in- able and relatable to audiences was. An outdoor writer and ad- from all others because he terested in the sequels and look by Ruth Arriaga, spanning a historical, educa- venturer himself, Jon Krakauer loves it for itself. He learns the forward to seeing the movie. ✦ Goodyear, AZ tional, and yes, even ethnic traces the solitary journey of “secret of life” from a wise fox: spectrum. Students, teachers, McCandless from the Gulf of what is most important in life, by Joe Keller, St. Louis, MO HISTORY and even casual readers will California all the way to like love, is invisible. relish Massie’s approachable, NOVEL Peter the Great Alaska, comparing his story to With each page it is as if you well-researched, and respectful other courageous adventurers’. are peeling away, layer by The Road by Robert K. Massie prose. Through the journey, layer, the mistaken priorities t took just the copyright page Massie does not sacrifice the Krakauer reveals a much we all have in life. This by Cormac McCarthy to discover that Robert K. dignity of his writing for either deeper look at McCandless, un- poignant book could be read a I he Road is a tangled yet Massie’s Peter the Great: His border of the Cold War barri- veiling a life led by few. As you thousand times, for all ages and Tstraightforward look at a Life and World is an oddity. cade. Rather, he writes genuine read, you may find yourself for ages to come, and the story post-apocalyptic world where a Penned by an American histo- history. Profound history. Hon- connecting to a man who seems would still be as magical and man and his young son are rian during the 1981 tensions of est, factual, and fascinating his- nothing like you and wishing true. After reading it you will forced to wander through an the misguided Cold War, it tory. The book demands little things could have turned out never look at the stars the same ashen, desolate America. They turns out to be an eloquent and but for the reader to simply differently for him. way again. ✦ have no one but each other to erudite narrative of a dedicated pick it up. Despite its Harry One flaw of this book is that rely on as they walk on an end- Potter-esque length, it is a tome after Krakauer tells his story, he by Sugee Liyanage, leader who transformed a prim- less road south. itive realm. that is almost impossible to put rambles on comparing McCan- Mississauga, ON, Canada The book is profound, but I Though Massie sidesteps the down. dless to other adventurers, even found most of it monotonous Whether you’re looking for a THRILLER Russophobic tendencies that himself; it’s pretty dull and and dreary. It did have exciting book to fill the Potter void, his- adds nothing to the story. This will soon send R.R. Palmer’s A moments, but they were short History of the Modern World torical nonfiction that isn’t a diminishes some of the awe The Girl with and happened in the middle or textbook, or simply something you initially feel at Chris’s ef- into textbook retirement, the Dragon at the end. Although it was a Massie cannot escape the influ- to do on a lazy afternoon, give fect on people. Up until that book I had to plod through, I Peter the Great a chapter or point, however, Into The Wild is Tattoo ences of his environment. Put did enjoy it. simply, the author is an Ameri- two. You’ll be hooked before a book that you won’t be able I had not expected The Road you know it. ✦ ✦ by Stieg Larsson can historian writing for an to put down. to be so hauntingly disturbing isbeth Salander is one of American audience. And with yet darkly beautiful. I must by Anastasia Golovashkina, by Olivia Ryckman, Sweden’s socially unac- Peter the Great, he delivers a L admit there were parts of this Naperville, IL ceptable citizens. She has been beautiful American tribute to a Littleton, CO book that I thought I would

LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK 31 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink 30

enIk•Teen Ink• interview K fantasy novel? What madeyouwanttowritea mythology andunusualcreatures. Daughter oftheCentaurs creatures. world populatedbyhalf-human survival andcompanionshipina tasy thattellsofagirl’squestfor Daughter oftheCentaurs published books.Herlatestwork, authorandeditorofanarray fourth grade.Now, sheisthe published? discovered youwere goingtobe What wasyourreaction whenyou Author KateKlimo writing offantasy. disbelief, whichisvery usefulinthe ally returningtoastateofsuspended I guessyoucouldsaythatamgradu- large housefilled withotherrooms.So one welive in,isbut oneroomina convinced Igrow thatthisworld, the … except thattheolderIget,more werereal.Now, ofcourse,Idon’t all – NarniaandNeverland and about – believed thatthemagicalrealmsIread course, whenIwas infourthgrade,I fantasy hasbeenmyfavorite genre.Of written isactuallypublishable, that’s from myeditorthatthebookI have I getacontract,sowhenfind out write mybooksintheirentiretybefore doesn’t actuallymove. Ialsogenerally when, onpublicationdate,theearth inevitable letdown authorsdiscover Nor, however, have Iexperienced the publication thatotherwritersmight. that Iexperienced theanticipationof of my30-yearcareer, soIcan’tsay worlds sinceshewasinthe ate Klimohasbeencreating Ever sinceIwas infourthgrade, I’ve beenapublisher/writerformost FEBRUARY ’12 , isafan- is fullof to bepublishedsomeday? aspiringwriters,likeme,whohope What advicewouldyougiveto you overcome thoseobstacles? the process ofwriting?Howdo What isthehardest partforyouin writer? Did youalwayswanttobea you write? How havetheyinfluencedwhat What kindofbooksdoyouread? Pierce, SusanCooper, Nancy Farmer, you. Ilove thebooks of Tamora some prettyepicworld-building for Game of ThronesGame of one otherperson. will bereadbymorethanjustmeand hard work haspaidoff! That thebook when I feel a genuine thrill: that all my … atleasttosomereaders. something thatvery likely won’t suck going towindup,soonerorlater, with soul intoit,you’re and putyourheart If youwriteevery day, just subversive noise. you suck. That voice is that sometimessays voice insideyourhead don’t listentothe the daysetin. And fore thedistractionsof morning, whenmymindisfresh,be- and write.Iwritevery earlyinthe son thehardway. thing you’redoing.Ilearnedthisles- make youdoubtyourselfandevery- can reallyhamperthecreative process, thing that’swritten.Butabadreview not everybody isgoingto love every- dealing withreviews. Let’sface it– determine their fate. characters andtheirown innervoices – their stage, ratherthanlettingthem– and move themaroundlike dollsona up inmysometimesham-handedfists them, tohover over them,topickthem room tobreathe.It’ssoeasyleanon come alive onthepage,giving them delicate thing,lettingyourcharacters own considerablepersonality. It’sa overwhelming mycharacterswith ers, but tohonor myparents’memory. just formeandmyeditorread- write myheartout.I’mwriting,not makes meallthemoredeterminedto both werefrustratedwriters. This through theirjournalsandletters,that have recentlydiscovered, going worked on.Myparentsaredead,but I novel mybestfriend,Justine,andI containing theunfinished fantasy have mynotebooksfromfourthgrade, least sinceIbecameareader. Istill Write, write,write.Getupevery day The otherhardpartofwritingis The hardestpartofwritingisnot I always wanted tobeawriter. At All kinds.I’mhalfway through right now.right There’s Interviewed byDevinMurphy, Jackson,MO alive onthepage” thing, lettingyour characters come “It’s adelicate The down andwrite? you organizedordojustsit followwhenwritinganovel?Are What sortofscheduledoyou come thatandstartwritingagain? ideas runsdry?Howdoyouover- What doyouwhenyourriverof Why doyouwrite? What inspires you? of writingworthreading? What doyouthinkmakesapiece daringcharacterlikeMalora? Why didyouchoosetowritea all day. and dootherthings.Sometimes Iwrite ished by10o’clock,andcangoout until I’m spent. Sometimes I’m fin- ally getsabandoned. talking toyou. Then theoutlineusu- muse actuallybreakingthroughand around untilyouhearthevoice ofthe like theOuijaboard;youpushit up stickingtoit. The outlineissortof outline, even thoughImaynotwind them intoanarrative. day whenIamreadytofit ideas andimagesforthe pressions, stockpiling where Iamstoringupim- write letters to friends times, Ikeep ajournaland just being.Duringthese stops chatteringandIsettledown to zen stateofmind.Myinnervoice horse. band, almostalways onthebackof a and visitsomeplacenew withmyhus- During thistime,Iusuallytake atrip writing forafew weeksormonths. writing. Loehr. Mallory and theultimatejoys. ing somuchasasurvivor. Iwanted to I’m onlyuptoMadison. way throughthepresidentsrightnow. lived inothertimes.Iamworking my biographies, forthedetailsoflives for theescape,andhistory, especially and PeterDickenson. Ilove mysteries I wake uparound fourandIwrite I’m prettyorganized. Istartwithan Riding, dayafterday, puts meintoa I give myselfpermissiontostop Because Iamhappiestwhen Dreams, traveling, myeditor, Its honesty. I don’tthinkofMaloraasbeingdar- C METO N RIL AT ARTICLE ANY ON OMMENT to sharetheordealofit, to survive, andIwanted a son.Iknow whatitis mother, mybrother, and five years,Ilostmy human race.Inthelast and possiblyofthe vivor ofhersettlement, Malora isthesolesur- write aboutasurvivor. “You have to get outand yourself” promote for betterorworse? How doeswritingaffect yourlife, would youbedoing? would yourlifebelike?What If youwere notawriter, what If so,how? Centaurs Did writing will takeawayfrom yournovel? doyouhopeyourreaders What walked. laptop toatreadmillandwritewhileI possible worlds, Iwould hookupmy me abitofslug.Inthebestall thoughtful person,but italsomakes brashness totootmyown horn. there andusealittleofmypublisher’s publisher. ButIhave tolearngetout more modestpersonthanIamasa ing andmodest. As awriter, Iama me. There is no room for shy and retir- favorite writers, Esther Friesner, told honest. your moodsandquirks. They keep you in balance;they make youaware of every chanceweget.Horses keep you now have ourown horses,andweride eight-year-old girls.Myhusbandand I birthday. Istartedoutin classes with my husbandboughtme,forfiftieth so late.Istartedtakinglessons,which of my life. I’m only sorry I came to it one ofthemostgratifyingexperiences horse trainer. Working withhorsesis leading amuchmorephysicallifeas outdoors agreatdealmore.Iwould be find outwhat’sgoingtohappennext. ing timethere.Iamalways eagerto world feelsrealtome.Ienjoy spend- about it,themoreIdiscover. And this complete world. The more I write come visitinfutureadventures. friendsthey willwant to readers – ters becomelifelongfriendswithmy never imagined.Ihopethatthecharac- take readerstoatimeandplacethey surprising andinteresting. of theindependencethey needtobe characters aroundanddepriving them way throughthenarrative, bossingthe self toohard,thenIstartmusclingmy my mindandideas.IfIdrive my- have togive myselftimetoregenerate write myselfstupid. That can happen. I T Writing makes me a bit more If Iwerenotawriter, Iwould be I surprisedmyselfbycreatinga I hopethatreadingmybookwill I have tobecareful,though,Idon’t EEN I ✦ change youinanyway? NK is somethingthatoneofmy and promoteyourself. This seller. You have togetout turn youintoabest- poof! – process? during thepublishing What haveyoulearned Daughter ofthe . No publisherisgoingto– COM book reviews 31 Harry • Ink Teen a chapter or ✦ -esque length, it is a tome and fascinating Honest, factual, Honest, factual, I began the novel with a set a with novel the began I Let me set aside those So, what did I – with my the Massie does not sacrifice Whether you’re looking for a activism –activism an who isn’t a man American. notions, or of preconceived What could an worries. rather, historian possibly American about a Russian understand it be yet another Would king? Russopho- piece of Reagan-era bia? Anti-communist propa- A diatribe on Russia’s ganda? A backwardness? compelling Most im- case for capitalism? Really? portantly: 800 pages? you a giving first by worries con- glimpse into the historical rela- foreign Before Peter, text. tions were seen as necessary unorthodox obsessions evils; with the Orthodox Church fed a and self-defeating xenophobia; monarchs, fearing for their to the were powerless lives, soldiers. demands of their own his of control took Peter church, his people, and his armed forces. He transformed Russia into the Russian Em- pire – and himself into Peter “the Great.” Russian heritage, Russian patriotism, Russian spirit, and atti- “Russia! Russia! Russia!” tude – of the book? It’s think The narra- absolutely fantastic. read- both it makes format tive able and relatable to audiences spanning a historical, educa- ethnic tional, and yes, even spectrum. Students, teachers, casual readers will and even relish Massie’s approachable, well-researched, and respectful prose. dignity of his writing for either barri- War border of the Cold he writes genuine cade. Rather, Hon- Profound history. history. his- and fascinating est, factual, The book demands little tory. simply to reader the for but pick it up. Despite its Potter that is almost impossible to put down. his- the Potter void, book to fill that isn’t a torical nonfiction or simply something textbook, to do on a lazy afternoon, give the Great Peter before be hooked You’ll two. it. you know by Anastasia Golovashkina, Naperville, IL FEBRUARY ’12 FEBRUARY ✦ is The Road is an oddity. , he delivers a , he delivers Though Massie sidesteps the What propels the story is the What propels the story by I am totally overwhelmed Especially in this day and t took just the copyright page t took just the copyright K. that Robert to discover Hauntingly disturbing Peter the Great: His the Great: Massie’s Peter Life and World histo- American Penned by an rian during the 1981 tensions of it War, the misguided Cold turns out to be an eloquent and of a dedicated erudite narrative leader who transformed a prim- realm. itive Russophobic tendencies that A will soon send R.R. Palmer’s World History of the Modern retirement, textbook into Massie cannot escape the influ- Put ences of his environment. Ameri- the author is an simply, can historian writing for an And with American audience. the Great Peter a to tribute American beautiful man with “American Dream” by Ruth Arriaga, AZ Goodyear, give me nightmares, or at least me nightmares, give of the rest thoughts persistent wove But McCarthy the day. moments so these unsettling impossible to it was smoothly, without unbal- untangle them It rest of the story. ancing the through etched beautifully was the use of careful details. and father relationship between This part is what I most son. the main idea I think enjoyed. and between father is the love them. son, which often saves of drive the powerful Without sus- could not have they love, or desire to tained the energy of Because day. another survive for his son, the father his love food and to provide driven was for Because of his love shelter. able to was the boy his father, and trust him protect his father completely during their long journey. When my reaction to this book. tell it reading, I could I began be a dull and wearisome would But coming to the in- novel. triguing and mystifying parts of to the power opened my eyes and dark sin in survival, love, the world. age, Cormac McCarthy’s pow- erful and haunting post-apoca- inside lyptic world chillingly close to our reality. HISTORY the Great Peter K. Massie Robert by I ✦ The Road is a tangled yet exciting plot exciting he Road look at a straightforward Suspenseful and Suspenseful and This book is about the miss- This book is about the Larsson’s style. I really like in me grab didn’t novel This The book is profound, but I The book is profound, but I had not expected and foster homes, there are tat- there are homes, and foster her all over piercings toos and high finished she never body, she has a police school, and she is a tal- record. However, ge- and a near ented hacker nius – good character for and a a thriller. ing niece of one of Sweden’s most distinguished million- The mys- Vanger. aires, Henrik has tery of her disappearance for almost remained unsolved one wants Vanger 40 years and what last chance to discover happened. He asks Mikael Blomkvist, a disgraced re- to help. In a weird porter, Salander and tangle of events, to- Blomkvist end up working That combo creates a gether. plot. suspenseful and exciting He has no boundaries when it That said, comes to language. book parts of the the business This can get a bit confusing. for targeted book is definitely an adult audience. although I really aspect, every to the suspenseful buildup liked The resolution was the end. and kind of lame, in my view, the antagonist could probably from the been identified have This is a good book beginning. just shy of great. I’m really in- terested in the sequels and look to seeing the movie. forward post-apocalyptic world where a post-apocalyptic world man and his young son are through an forced to wander ashen, desolate America. They each other to no one but have on an end- walk rely on as they less road south. found most of it monotonous exciting It did have and dreary. were short they moments, but and happened in the middle or a it was Although at the end. book I had to plod through, I it. enjoy did by Joe Keller, St. Louis, MO St. Louis, by Joe Keller, to be so hauntingly disturbing yet darkly beautiful. I must admit there were parts of this book that I thought I would NOVEL Road The McCarthy Cormac by T ACEBOOK F teaches us ✦ COM ACCOUNT TO . The Little Prince Little lthough The as a children’s is classified a meaningful life isbeth Salander is one of Sweden’s socially unac- NK The little prince comes from each page it is as if you With In no more than 80 pages, I Teaches us how to live us how Teaches ceptable citizens. She has been in and out of psychiatrists’ care a planet the size of a house. three volca- There he owned noes and a beautiful red rose and pushi- that, with its vanity his ness, made the prince leave the inno- home. On his journey, cent prince meets a lonely king and and a greedy businessman on Earth, where arrives finally countless beautiful truths about ex- For humanity are revealed. ample, the little prince discov- ers that his rose is different from all others because he the learns He itself. for it loves “secret of life” from a wise fox: what is most important in life, is invisible. love, like layer by are peeling away, priorities the mistaken layer, This in life. we all have poignant book could be read a thousand times, for all ages and for ages to come, and the story still be as magical and would will you it reading After true. look at the stars the same never again. way book, it should be required – grownup reading for every to the au- those who, according by time and are blinded thor, recognize numbers and cannot of an elephant that a drawing is obvi- inside a boa constrictor of a hat! ously not a drawing Prince Little The life. a meaningful to live how persistently prince little The answer- asks questions, never the marooned pilot but ing any, who befriends him in the re- mote desert manages to put to- gether the prince’s magical story. by Sugee Liyanage, Mississauga, ON, Canada THRILLER Girl with The the Dragon Tattoo Stieg Larsson by CLASSIC Little Prince The Antoine by de Saint-Exupéry L A EEN T is presents a INK YOUR L ✦

Into theInto Wild ead. That is how they That is how ead. McCandless – found Chris

As his story circulated, peo- Through the journey, of this book is that One flaw Chris McCandless was not Chris McCandless was The solitary journey solitary journey The of Chris McCandless from a good home, graduated with excellent from college grades, and had planned to at- something school, but tend law in Chris made him steer his life in an unorthodox direction that actually few some consider but he donated his col- In 1990, try. be- his packed savings, lege to see longings, and set off he years later, Two America. his remaining money burned Alaskan and headed into the wilderness with a gun, a diary, a knife, and a 50-pound bag of to be seen alive rice, never found in again. His body was an abandoned school bus. When he died he weighed a shocking 67 pounds. who Chris to wonder ple began An outdoor writer and ad- was. himself, Jon Krakauer venturer of traces the solitary journey McCandless from the Gulf of to way the all California Alaska, comparing his story to other courageous adventurers’. a much Krakauer reveals deeper look at McCandless, un- As you a life led by few. veiling yourself read, you may find connecting to a man who seems you and wishing nothing like turned out things could have him. for differently he after Krakauer tells his story, rambles on comparing McCan- even dless to other adventurers, and dull pretty it’s himself; This adds nothing to the story. diminishes some of the awe you initially feel at Chris’s ef- fect on people. Up until that Into Wild The point, however, a book that you won’t be able a book that you won’t to put down. your average drifter; he came your average deeper and clearer picture of deeper and clearer picture who this misunderstood man Alaskan died alone in the of 24. wilderness at the age just another crazy drifter who just another crazy drifter in the thought he could survive ex- wild without the necessary How- perience or knowledge. ever, by Olivia Ryckman, Littleton, CO Into the Wild Into the Jon Krakauer by NONFICTION D METAL word would be “energy.” Songs makes it pop. contains an almost folksy piano released in 2009, and they col- like “Unwelcome in That The third track, “It’s Not You riff and spot-on guitars, as well laborated with the Silverlake The Sign of the House” and “Hog Callin’” have (It’s Me),” is a great party song as some of the sweetest lyrics Conservatory of Music Chil- Southern Cross energy that you can’t find in and stands out on this painful for a lover. “Need You To - dren’s Choir. They chose to the most brutal death metal album. It also features, Pitbull, night,” the band’s first number- play all the instruments on the Of Mountains and tracks. You can’t sit still and one of the greatest Latino rap- one single in America, is album, including those they had Moonshine listen to this; you’ll be moving pers of all time. He gives a perfect for dirty dancing, with never touched, and never did in one way or another by the spicy flavor to the song, mak- its driving drumbeat and catchy more than three takes, believing or being as far north as pos- time its 68 minutes are through. ing you want to jump up and guitar hook. “I need you that imperfections highlighted sible to still be considered F It’s a hell of a ride. dance. In the next few tracks, tonight, ’cause I’m not sleep- the strengths of the music. Southern, The Sign of the Not only is this the ultimate the album’s earlier potential ing,” Hutchence sings. My initial thoughts were Southern Cross is one of the backyard barbecue album, it’s drops. They’re basically T- However, all of these tunes What the …? and This is the most Southern bands you’ll just an amazing record that de- Pain’s old style, twisting the pale in comparison to “Never creepiest thing I’ve ever heard. ever hear, and they’re damn serves your time. If you like Tear Us Apart.” Its string But after I got over these feel- reviews proud of it. Their debut album, that swampy heaviness that arrangement and convincing ings, this album started to grow “Of Mountains and Moon- bands like Down bring to the lyrics make it one of the best on me. The songs provided a shine,” is littered with Southern Standing still while table but want some fast-paced, the world is moving love songs ever. feeling of comfort through the punch-in-the-face metal, this is Looking past the singles, trance-like voices of the men Fast-paced, punch- for you. It’s the best of every- “Kick” doesn’t have much else. and the choir of children. Each in-the-face metal thing the South has to offer: lyrics around a bit and keeping With the exceptions of “Guns song has its own feel. Some are great riffs, blistering solos, and the same slow instrumental in the Sky” and “Tiny Dag- catchy and humorous while some crazy man vocals. Let’s beat. This kills the album and gers,” every other song is filler others are resonant and serious. influence. You can hear it in the party! ✦ makes it very hard to listen to. I’ll start with the first creepy lyrics, riffs, grooves, vocals: Instead of changing his style, song, “Dead Hearts.” It begins just about everything. They by Jordan Baker, T-Pain shows he does not want Every track is upbeat eerily, with something that draw influence from multiple Romeoville, IL to move on. He is standing still sounds like a heartbeat and genres including groove metal, and danceable

music while the rest of the world is rhythmic guitar. At the climax, sludge, blues, and – dare I HIP HOP moving around him. He mixes glass shatters in time with the say – perhaps even country. it up a little in “Best Love and, for the most part, forget- music, then it slows and you They blend them all together T-Pain Song.” Chris Brown’s vocals table. This is especially true for hear footsteps and scraping extremely well, but they may Revolver add to the track, making it fun “Calling All Nations,” which noises. I would probably get rely a bit too much on their in- to listen to and sing along with. contains some cringe-worthy scared if I listened to this alone. fluences for their own good. -Pain, a rapper known for Overall, “Revolver” is bland, lyrics. “Of Mountains and Moon- his reliance on Auto-Tune, T with a few fun songs to dance Overall, “Kick” is a solid shine” isn’t the most original brings a familiar, slow vibe to and sing to. album, but despite its fame, this Background music album ever, or a groundbreak- his new album, “Revolver.” Two out of five stars. ✦ is definitely not INXS’s best. ing masterpiece. Rather, it is Best known for his 2007 hit from a zombie movie (That title would arguably go simply a fantastic slab of single, “Buy U a Drank,” by Jojo Jorge, to their 1984 effort, “The groove metal. And riffs – don’t T-Pain grew up in Florida and Roslyn Heights, NY Swing.”) This album is worth The title track is my favorite forget the riffs. This album has joined the rap group Nappy buying even if the singles are because of its upbeat rhythm. tons of ’em, and while they Headz in 2004. In 2005, he ROCK all you want, but the rest would The beginning is similar to might sound similar at times, began riding solo, cutting his only be recommended for hard- jazz music. When the chorus you’ll find yourself headbang- first tracks on “Rappa Ternt INXS core ’80s fans. Though “Kick” comes in, a tambourine and ing and air-guitaring anyway. Sanga.” Six years later, his Kick has not aged too well for teens piano join as well. The lyrics Everything about this album is style hasn’t changed, aside of today, it remains the perfect explain that no matter where thick and heavy, from the guitar from the addition of excessive f I had to describe INXS’s party album. ✦ you are, chances are you’re tones to the sound of the skins Auto-Tuning and endless mon- breakthrough album, “Kick,” I standing on a dead man’s pounding away in the rhythm otone lyrics. The songs on in one word, it would be by Keely Burn, bones. section, even the vocals. “Revolver” are similar to most “funky.” Each song throbs with Richmond, VA “Pa Pa Power” is one of the Seth Uldricks’ voice is simi- of his previous work. a dance beat, moving listeners better-known tracks. It begins lar to Phil Anselmo’s of Pan- “Revolver” contains a few to their feet. “Kick” propelled INDIE ROCK with a techno beat and tam- tera, but he can produce grunts slower, sweeter songs. Very Australian band INXS to super- bourine, drums, and synthe- even lower and shrieks even different from artists like Em- stardom back in 1987, winning Dead Man’s sizer. Then a man and the choir higher, all while maintaining a inem, T-Pain bases all his lyrics them acknowledgment and hit Bones of children alternate singing bluesy melody. In ballads like on love, not hate. Even though singles. And it’s no wonder – “Pa pa power pa pa power.” “Eating the Sun” and “Weeping these songs may be more ap- every track is upbeat and Dead Man’s Bones pealing in an emotional sense, danceable, even the weakest. Lyrics like “Burn the streets, Willow,” he sounds like he’s ention Hollywood heart- they grow extremely repetitive. The album opens with “Guns burn the cars” and “Broken ready to beat the tar out of you throb Ryan Gosling, and At the start, T-Pain includes in the Sky,” in which vocalist M glass, broken hearts” seem to and steal your cattle. Sadly, the the grungy, bearded guy in heavier club tracks that are Michael Hutchence grunts and be about the destruction power bass is hardly audible, but I “The Notebook” comes to great for party-goers, while the groans over a pounding drum can cause. guess that’s the price you pay mind. Most don’t picture him at middle and end of the album track. As soon as the infectious “Dead Man’s Bones” was for riffs and solos this good. an indie rock music festival get more and more dry. It guitar riff hits, it’s impossible definitely not what I expected, The lyrics are basically what with his best friend, Zach would have been better if he to keep from nodding to the but turned out to be a lot less you’d expect in an album as Shields, and a bunch of kids mixed the party tunes with the beat. Next is “New Sensation,” creepy than I first thought. This Southern as this. Covering dressed in Halloween cos- slower love songs. an uplifting track with jangly album is worth the listener’s topics including Huckleberry tumes, and definitely not play- Most of the tracks feature guitars that was the album’s time, and I’d recommend it to Finn, fathers who leave, and ing in an indie rock band. generic T-Pain qualities, includ- third single. Indeed, “Kick” any fan of alternative or indie pig slaughtering, they’re well Zach and Ryan met in 2005 ing endless monotonous beats seems to thrive on its singles, music. It’s a combination of written, albeit ridiculous at when they were dating sisters. and the same robotic vocals. certainly living up to guitarist/ creepy, upbeat songs and back- times. They might be a tad over They discovered a mutual ob- The album kicks off with saxophonist Kirk Pengilly’s ground music from a zombie the top, but I’ll be damned if session with ghosts, zombies, “Bang Bang Pow Pow,” a great hopes that every song would be movie, and it’s perfect for any they’re not awesome. and monsters, and decided to ✦ collaboration with Lil’ Wayne, perfect for airplay. fan with an open mind. I’ve used the word “South- write love songs about them. who rarely disappoints. Here “Devil Inside” is undeniably ern” a few times to describe Their first album, self-titled by Kristina Mills, his style lights up the song and the sexiest song here. “Mystify” this album; another appropriate “Dead Man’s Bones,” was Waverly, KY

32 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 movie DRAMA COMEDY of us who had read the novel time to develop his jokes. leave her child with her mother and could identify similarities Nevertheless, “Bill Cosby: and father in order to attend Say Anything … Easy A along the way. Himself” is the best comedy college. s a teenage girl, I have al- n the surface, “Easy A” is Overall, “Easy A” has great I’ve ever watched. Cosby’s re- Caitlynn and her boyfriend, Aways wanted a boy to lift Oa comedy about the reality acting and great humor. It’s a latable jokes and hilarious ex- Tyler, deal with being “birth his giant radio to my window of the high school rumor mill. film for everybody, even my pressions are a treat. The live parents” and their decision to and replace the sun with the However, the film has several chick-flick-hating father. The audience laughing and reacting give their daughter, Carly, up wise words of Peter Gabriel. In deeper themes drawn from fact that it uses The Scarlet Let- with him make it feel like you for adoption. simpler terms, I have always Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The ter as inspiration allows it to are watching him live too. ✦ Last but not least, teen wanted “Say Anything …” to Scarlet Letter, including sin explore themes not normally mother Amber faces domestic by Laolu Ogunnaike, be my life. “Say Anything …” and redemption. found in this genre, including violence from Gary, her is one of those movies that is Published in 1850, The sin, redemption, and slander. Brooklyn, NY boyfriend (and her daughter’s best to watch on a rainy day. Scarlet Letter tells the story of Olive is able to ask important father). Their verbally, emo- REALITY TV Every character, every detail, Hester Prynne, a young woman questions: what is the worst tionally, and physically abusive & and every breakup and makeup living in Puritan Boston, who is sin – lying, adultery, or perhaps Teen Mom relationship affects everyone, will leave you laughing and forced to wear a scarlet A be- lying about adultery? ✦ including their toddler, Leah. crying for more. cause she gave birth to a child he MTV reality show I would recommend “Teen by Gregory Briker, The movie stars John Cusack out of wedlock. “Easy A” of- T“Teen Mom” is based on Mom” to reality TV fans. Other four teenagers who allow us to as Lloyd Dobler, a recent high fers a unique, modern version New City, NY teen mothers especially may tv school grad who, like many, is of Hester Prynne’s tale. observe their lives as they face love this show, as I did. ✦ COMEDY Protagonist Olive Pender - the challenges of the first year by Felisha Feliciano, ghast (Emma Stone) is the Bill Cosby: of motherhood. Maci, Farrah, Will leave you archetypal high school nobody, Amber, and Caitlynn all share Hockessin, DE unknown and unpopular. Un- Himself anecdotes of their struggles, laughing and crying complications, and accomplish- DRAMA reviews like Hester, however, Olive hough the days of the VCR for more ments. never commits adultery; she are long gone, the demand T “Teen Mom” is an inspiring Drumline simply lies to her best friend for excellent old-fashioned show for other teen mothers. rumline” is an inspira- wondering what to do with his about having sex. As any high stand-up comedy is still high. Being one myself, it has helped tional story about life. He’s a real “man’s man” school student knows, gossip “Bill Cosby: Himself” satisfies “D me understand that I am not Devon Miles (Nick Cannon), a whose two best friends are this need with laugh-out-loud alone. Seeing other people’s drummer from New York City women. He’s not only the pop- humor. Cosby’s amusing twists point of view helped me to be who earns a scholarship to At- ular guy from Lakewood High, on normal situations keep audi- Great acting more humble and flexible about lanta A&T University to play in he’s also the nicest guy you’ll ences laughing throughout this and great humor certain situations as well. It has the marching band. As Devon ever meet, and happens to be in spectacular show. truly become therapy for me. I finds his rhythm within the love with the beautiful and “Bill Cosby: Himself” was can totally relate to the show band, he develops a conflict smart Diane Court (Ione Skye). spreads like wildfire in a filmed in 1983 at the Hamilton and I’m certain, or hopeful, that with Sean, the leader of the Diane, like Lloyd, just gradu- schoolwide game of telephone. Theatre in Canada in front of a ated, but she has her whole life Olive, rather than deny the others will be affected in a pos- drum section. planned out and has won a rumor, embraces her newfound itive way too. Devon thinks he can carry scholarship to study in Eng- attention and even decides to Best comedy I’ve However, for certain viewers the whole band by himself, but “Teen Mom” has had a nega- after challenging Sean to a land. Also unlike Lloyd, she affix a red A to her own cloth- ever watched doesn’t have many friends until ing, inspired by The Scarlet tive impact. Some teens believe drum-off, Devon soon realizes their first date, when Lloyd is Letter, which she is reading in that the moms on the show are that it takes more than talent to doing well despite having a succeed. I believe the movie’s given the role as “key master” English class. Olive’s new live audience. This whimsical young child. They overlook the message to teens is simply “the of the party and Diane is left to reputation sets off a chain of performance, including antics struggles and only pay attention will must be greater than the socialize. events that drastically change about everything from going to skill.” Once Lloyd convinces Diane her social life. the dentist to giving birth, is I particularly liked the to go out with him, he picks her Emma Stone delivers a con- definitely worth the 105 min- Inspiring show for development of the relationship up in his blue Chevy Malibu. At vincing performance. She fits utes. Cosby combines stories between Devon and Sean. the party everyone is wondering into the high school setting, such as his “people who drink other teen mothers Through their forged friend- how a guy like Lloyd got a girl even three years after playing a too much” sketch with comedic ship, an outstanding marching like Diane. “He made me high schooler in “Superbad.” anecdotes from his life. His fa- to their good fortune: the fact band is created. The team be- laugh” is the only explanation The supporting cast is surpris- cial expressions play a key role they own a home and car or gins to work in amazing ways she gives. He made her laugh. If ingly excellent, especially Stan- in the reason audiences have have a job. They don’t under- only love were that simple. ley Tucci as Olive’s extremely been laughing for years. stand how difficult it is being a Lloyd and Diane seem to be liberal father, and Thomas Another reason “Bill Cosby: Teaches about teen mother, and the hard work perfect except for one thing: Haden Church as her favorite Himself” has been so popular is that’s necessary to get these teamwork how different they are. She English teacher. The writing is because of his routine. When luxuries. Some believe “Teen grew up in a wealthy, protective clever, with clear and meaning- he comes on stage and begins Mom” glorifies having children and coins the phrase “one band, family, while Lloyd lives with ful themes. his performance, he is having a at a young age, but that is not one sound.” his sister and spends his time It is obvious that “Easy A” is conversation with the audience. the case at all. “Drumline” is a spectacular training to be the world’s best inspired by The Scarlet Letter. He doesn’t try to force a joke One of the show’s stars, movie I would recommend to kickboxer. The two are great In fact, my one and only issue but goes with the flow, taking Maci, demonstrates the real all teens. It not only entertains together, but their lives couldn’t is that this connection may be the audience with him. His struggles of being a single but also teaches viewers about be more different. too obvious, beaten to death by jokes are also relatable. From mom. She faces custody and teamwork. The movie is not just every the fact that Olive is reading changing stinky baby diapers to child support battles with her I really enjoyed “Drumline.” girl’s fantasy – it seems to be Hawthorne’s novel for school. I dealing with annoying siblings, son’s father and the challenges The rage, action, and excite- taken straight from the pages of would have preferred if “Easy everyone can relate. of balancing school, her son, ment made it awesome. It’s a 15-year-old’s diary. Watching A” followed a similar plot to However, this film, along and a new romance. definitely worth watching. ✦ “Say Anything …” hits a soft The Scarlet Letter but didn’t with every other movie out Another mom, Farrah, shows spot in my heart that just feels mention it, as the Coen broth- there, has its flaws. Since it’s what it’s like for her child to by Khadia Baptiste, good. ✦ ers’ “A Serious Man” followed old, the video and sound qual- have no father, since her daugh- Wilmington, DE the biblical story of Job. I feel ity aren’t that clear. This film is ter Sophia’s father died. Farrah by Madie Rapp, that this style would have en- also not for those who want struggles with her decision to Cannon Falls, MN hanced the experience for those punchy one-liners. Cosby takes

LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK 33 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink by Annie Krueger, Confessions of Prince Charming Ilderton, ON, Canada I’ll tell you my story. I climbed up her hair And none had been great. But the queen of my country I’ll start from the top. And freed her from her tower. One in a madhouse, the other in jail, Needed this century’s styles. I’ll leave out no details, I was already married, Hadn’t talked to Rapunzel since Now at this point And at the ending I’ll stop. But I’m a sucker for blonds. our wedding date. My mother went crazy. And on the eve of our wedding My parents were desperate. She assembled a plan My troubles with women She got a dye job! So they hosted a ball. Of which the logic is hazy.

story Began right from birth, The passion fizzled and died. And I met Cinderella, We had one different princess With my very own mother, I was in love with her hair. The most famous of all. Over each night Queen Beth Merryworth. I explained this to her She was gorgeous and lovely, And they slept upon mattresses That name that she gave me And then ran out of there. But I missed all the signs. At a great height. Is one no mother should give. Not three weeks later, Something was wrong My mom put a pea I mean, what was she thinking? One crisp winter night, With my pretty wife’s At the base of each stack, “Charming” is an adjective! I met another woman. mind. And we waited for the girl I was only sixteen Her name was Snow My troubles I know that I found her Who felt a rock at her back. When I ticked off a witch. White. With the glass slipper’s The one girl arrived She made me a beast. with women love love And she was a darling. match. And we were married like that. Man, that girl was a b***h. No one was patient or began right But that girl would lose But she was not sensitive, I would have been beastly kinder. her head Just an insomniac. For the rest of my life, She’d been living for from birth If it wasn’t attached. She could only sleep But Belle came and saved me. years She misplaced her ring, If she was doped to the gills. So I made her my wife. With seven short miners. Lost her tiara, my crown. And it wasn’t too long That was a mistake But Snow White had a problem: And when I’d question their Before she was addicted to pills. I learned pretty quick. She loved talking to strangers. whereabouts My wife was a drug addict. My new wife was crazy, I’d come home each night She’d ponder and frown. She was locked in a ward A pure lunatic! To find her in danger. “Your wife has dementia,” After two more attempts She was convinced that the teapot She’d shelter the wanted, Said Dr. Gerome. To take her life with my sword. Was the teacup’s mama, Have thieves in for tea. And she moved from the palace And had long conversations By this point in my life, “But they were so nice!” To a retirement home. With the candelabra. I’ve been married six times. She’d say later to me. I was defending the border, So I put her in a madhouse, And I’m totally sick I hired a doorman, Doing my princely duty. Went to France with a friend, Of those wedding chimes. A gateman and some guards. When I first came across And out walking one day, So I’m swearing off women. But she cohorted with criminals My dear Sleeping Beauty. I saw a long braid’s blond end. My dreams of wedlock are sunk. And was put behind bars. She awoke with my kiss Her name was Rapunzel It’s just not working out … Three times I’d been married, And we were happy awhile. And with my strength and power I’m now Prince Charming the Monk. ✦

Stupid Love by Katie Callahan, Valrico, FL dial and my hands are trembling oh-so-slightly And what I have to say is so important that I nerves and awkward silences and everything. holding the phone to my ear, as I wait for you to laugh and forgive you for calling me stupid, because You say slowly, stuttering, your voice dull and Ipick up and say hi, and I’m praying because this of course you don’t know why I’m calling or how dim instead of bright and intelligent: “What are you is really really important even if you don’t realize it important it is. talking about?” yet. But part of me is secretly hoping you do know I start laughing, thinking you’re just pretending to And the phone rings eight times before finally – why, that you’ve already figured it out and have a be stupid to be funny, even though it’s really not, finally – you pick up and say “Hello?” and your fantastic speech all planned so that as soon as I’ve and any moment now you’ll cover up the awkward- voice has that little question at the end that people fumbled my way through this first bit, you can ness by laughing with me and saying, “Of course I get when they don’t know exactly who is calling sweep this whole situation away with your words know, stupid. I was just kidding.” and they’re a little annoyed but still being polite. and your voice like you always do. But then you speak up again, all confused, and So I say, “Hi, it’s me,” and you kind of laugh and So I cheat, kind of, and say, “So, I’m guessing say, “Why are you laughing?” And immediately I say, “Oh, duh, of course it’s you. you know why I’m calling ….” And stop. What’s up?” wait, holding my breath, hoping you’ll For a long, tiny eternity I’m frozen, realizing And for a moment I’m swept away “I’d like to hang fill in the blanks. you’re not pretending, that maybe you really are just by your voice, what I know you look But you don’t. You stay there breath- stupid. I’m horrified, and wondering, How could like – your eyes, your hair, half-gelled out more, just ing on the other end, not saying any- this have happened? and Could I really have fallen and mussed from where you were you and me” thing, and I start to doubt myself just a in love with a stupid person? And I’m confused, sleeping on it. And I know that you’ve little, and still you don’t say anything, too, not wanting to believe it, wondering how you probably ruined yet another couch and now I’m seriously worried. I know could sound so stupid after how brilliant you cushion with all that gel, and that this is why now you must need a bigger hint, a clue, so I say, sounded in math class on Thursday. How could you your mother knits those little cozies that cover the “Well we’ve been hanging out a while” and “You stutter now when you have always armed yourself pillows. know you’re one of my best friends, right?” and with words before? And then you say “Hello?” again, like you’re not “I’m really fond of you.” It’s a big nudge, really; You say “Hello?” a third time, sounding really sure if I’m still here, like maybe I’ve hung up or how can you not see where this is going? uncertain, maybe a tiny bit afraid, and not at all walked away because I really didn’t mean to call But still you’re silent, so I take a deeper breath smart. And I don’t say anything, just hang up, you. But I did mean to call you, so instead I laugh and curse you insincerely in my head for letting knowing you must have been stupid not to have any and say, “Hey, I’m still here. Just had to think for a words fail you now when they never have before. idea this was coming. second,” and you give that half laugh again and say, And I clinch it, saying, “I really like you. I’d like to And really, I can’t be in love with you, anyway, or “Think about what, stupid? We haven’t even started hang out more, just you and me.” if I was, I’m not anymore, because God forbid I ever talking yet.” I’m proud of myself for getting through this love a stupid person. ✦ whole speech without any help, all by myself,

34 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 love Panophobia by Elizabeth Waldie, Phoenixville, PA sit and watch the clock, hood over my head, Androphobia. Fear of men. I know she isn’t an- hands gently resting on the coolness of my desk. drophobic, but it fits. It almost makes me laugh. I Epistemophobia. Fear of knowledge. “Desiree, right?” New Boy asks, looking at me. I I am not saying I’m epistemophobic. I am simply hate my name, so I have people call me Des. New stating that I am not in the mood to be in school boy doesn’t seem fazed by my name, though. He right now. Is that such a crime? grins a perfect, pearly grin. Gosh, even upside-down story Mr. Patterson started class with a boring lecture he’s gorgeous. I sit up and turn to him, well aware and then left. He must be ephebiphobic. That’s that gravity has made my frizzy brown hair a tangled pretty much saying that he’s afraid of teenagers. I mess. I try not to look directly at him. He is too guess I can understand why. I mean, considering distracting. that most of the girls have a crush on him and half “Yes,” I say. “I never caught your-” the boys try to light his room on fire once a week, “Ash.” He grins. “Call me Ash.” That smile … I’d be pretty ephebiphobic myself if I were in his My legs go numb as he runs his thin fingers – Tara shoes. The thing is, he’s always mak- would call them piano fingers – through ing excuses to leave. A coffee stain on his dark hair. his shirt. A paper cut. It never ends. Out of the “Right.” I swallow as he moves I peel my eyes from the clock as forward. Mr. Patterson walks in. Apparently corner of my eye, “Can I sit here?” he asks. today’s excuse is a new student. Mr. I see the new “Umm …” I look at Tara. Will she Patterson doesn’t even bother to intro- be upset if somebody – a boy – sits duce him to us. The boy simply saun- boy staring with us? ters in with a peculiar confidence in “I need to go to the library. See ya!” his stride, walks to the back of the She winks at me and hurriedly exits the room, and sits next to me. I notice he doesn’t make a lunchroom. sound. He is so very silent. “Well, I guess you can now.” I smile at Ash. The new boy is dark – his vibe, I mean. His long, He sits across from me. “No lunch?” he asks, Photo by Katya Kantar, Westfield, IN pale fingers curl into a folded position, and the room gesturing to the bare table. suddenly feels thick, dense. Nobody watches him I want to shoot back, “Okay, hypocrite. Where’s I shake. I will not be tremophobic. I will not be like I do. They’re either asleep or plotting another your lunch?” But instead I shrug and say, “Sitopho- tremophobic. way to light Mr. Patterson’s room on fire. Out of the bia.” “If you were tremophobic, you wouldn’t be shak- corner of my eye, I see the new boy staring. He laughs. It’s such a genuine sound. “Fear of ing like this,” Ash says, brushing a piece of hair Ophthalmophobia. Fear of being stared at. eating?” from my face. I feel the color rise in my cheeks. “Nah,” I said. “I’m just not very hungry.” “It’s like you know me – like you can read my Ereuthrophobia. Fear of blushing. A period of silence follows before he says, “So I mind,” I whisper. “What?” New Boy asks, as if wondering what I have English next period, and I heard that you do “Come with me. I have something to show you,” said. too. Would you mind if I borrowed your poetry book he says as the next class files in. Shoot. I must have said it out loud. to see what I missed?” ••• “Nothing,” I mutter, hiding my face. It’s going to I pull the old, torn poetry book out of my bag. The clearing in the woods is soggy with rain. I am be a long class. I’ve written “metrophobia” all over it – fear of grateful for my old rainboots and jacket. ••• poetry. Nyctohylophobia and ombrophobia drift through I am lying across the bench that connects to the “Wow,” he says. my mind. Fear of dark wooded areas and fear of lunch table. It’s raining, so we are not allowed to eat “What?” I ask, suddenly nervous. Does he think rain. at our regular tree. I wouldn’t mind sitting in the it’s weird that I wrote all over my book? “Why did you bring me here?” My body tenses. rain, but apparently the principal doesn’t agree. Tara He doesn’t answer at first. My voice comes out raspy. “How did you know?” looks at me with her unusually bright green eyes. Macrophobia. Fear of long waits. “Des,” he says, his voice thick and “What is wrong with you?” She pokes my stom- “There must be a lot of poetry in tired as he looks into my eyes. I look at ach with a plastic spork. I think there should be a there.” He whistles. “Will you just him. God, he is so familiar. I’d know word for the fear of sporks. Sporkiophobia. Yes. I I sigh. Right. “Yeah, the book really shut up with that face anywhere. Why didn’t I see it quite like that. is huge.” before? I shrug. “Well,” he says, standing up and all those “Ash … as in Ashton.” My eyes widen. “You’re lying on the bench. Are you sick or some- stretching. “I’ll give it back in English. Mnemophobia. This is a fear I have thing? Protesting the cafeteria tables? You could at Thanks.” phobias?” had for the past year and a half. Fear of least sit on the floor.” He walks away, and I wonder why he memories. “Kathisophobia,” I say. “Fear of sitting down.” I didn’t just stay and walk to class with me. It all comes back: the fire, the accident, the close my eyes and don’t need to open them to know ••• death …. that she is sniffing her purple Jell-O, debating We work in pairs in English, and Ash is my part- Arsonphobia, dystychiphobia, thanatophobia. whether or not the lunch lady’s latest experiment is ner. He hands me my poetry book, takes a look at Fear of fire, accidents, death. edible. the test paper and says, “Testophobia,” showing me “Ashton.” I take his face in my hands. His long “Will you just shut up with all these stupid pho- his famous grin. fingers move to cradle my face as well. “Oh,” I bias?” she asks, accidentally knocking over her tiny I smile. I’m beginning to like this guy. whisper. “How?” cup of raisins in the process. I know this, because I We are the first to finish the test, so we talk qui- He kisses me. My boyfriend, my love, the one I hear them. It happens almost every day, only the etly. “Why’d you transfer?” I ask, and immediately thought I had lost. They said he was gone. How ants usually get to them before she can scoop them regret it. could he be back? up. Because we’re inside, I hear her drop each one His face clouds over and his eyes go dark. Those Philophobia. I’ve been philophobic ever since the back into the container. “Ms. Rickle really needs to full lips form a thin, white line. “Things happened.” accident – afraid to fall in love. stop the phobia lessons, or you need to switch to a “Oh,” I say. I am grateful when the bell rings, and I open my eyes while my hands curl in his hair. different class.” I move to leave, but Ash takes my arm. The pressure of him – of the kiss – is still there, but “I think it’s cool,” says a warm, honey-like voice Haphephobia, I think, my heart pounding. he is not. I pull away and gasp. from above me. I open my eyes and see the new kid. “Fear of being touched,” Ash says quietly, as if “Phasmophobia,” I whisper, my lips quivering. I turn my head and see Tara’s eyes go wide as she reading my mind. I shudder. “Look,” he says, “I’m Fear of ghosts. ✦ brushes a strand of purple hair behind her ear. sorry I stoned up on you like that.”

LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK 35 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink The Dreams of Fred by Anonymous, Newton, MA Thursday Afternoon As the man in the apron began country, or to use magic. He got up And Carla said yes. he first time it happened to grilling the hot dog, a peculiar smile quickly and walked back to work. Even Fred could not have dreamt Fred Perls, the setting was a found its way onto Fred’s face. It was He had not eaten his hot dog. this would happen. Thot dog stand. a feeling he couldn’t explain. It Early That Night Once They Were Finished Eating It had been a cold morning, and by wasn’t really that he was happy, but He was in his long green pajamas. It had been decided over lunch, half past noon, when Fred left work rather that he was amused. Fred could Fred was 30 years old and unmarried, which had gone very well, that neither story for his lunch break, it had not gotten not – not yet, at least – explain why. and this was the most excited he had Fred nor Carla felt like returning to much warmer. As he walked along the Once Fred’s Hot Dog Was Done ever been to get into bed. He lay a work for the rest of the day, even crowded sidewalk and passed the Being Grilled notebook and pen on the bedside table, though two adjacent empty cubicles scent of delicious, smoking hot dogs, As Fred took the bills from his wal- took off his socks, and climbed in. would be very noticeable, a point there was little doubt in Fred’s mind let and handed them to the man in the He reached out from under the Fred had brought up. that it was a hot dog kind of day. apron, the strange feeling took hold of down covers and moved the alarm They left the restaurant and began The Night Before him again and his tongue stopped back ten minutes. He squeezed his walking away from their drab office Fred slept on his stomach, as al- working in the middle of saying eyes shut and, incredibly, fell asleep building, east along the river. ways, his left arm draped over the “thank you.” Only when Fred said it, within minutes. The only sound was The river and the boats, thought

love love side of the bed. He was fast asleep it sounded more like “thu.” the ticking of the clock down the hall. Fred. and a small circle of drool had formed The man in the apron, who was of Early in the Morning “I need to step into that bank,” on the sheets under his mouth. course unaware of the strange feeling Immediately after waking, Fred Carla said suddenly, letting go of his When he woke at 5:30, he sat up Fred was experiencing, was unsure of began scribbling furiously in the note- hand and jogging across the street. and thought about his dreams, but by what to do. Thankfully, Fred regained book. He wrote about a box of Chi- She turned and yelled, “Wait there!” 5:42, as he walked to his composure, handed nese food, a river clogged with boats, Fred turned toward the water and the bathroom to brush over the money, took his a giant key, masks, a girl, a shoe, and thought about how strange the last his teeth, he found hot dog, and hastily a bulls-eye. With a snap, he flipped two days had been. He reached into them impossible to Fred had just turned toward his office the cover of the notebook back into his jacket and took out the notebook, remember. dreamt about a building. place and rolled out of bed. and judging by the rest of what he had Thursday Afternoon What Was Happening Pleased with himself, Fred began written, decided that this day could Again hot dog stand in Fred’s Mind his morning routine. As he dressed, he only get stranger. Fred’s mind was What was happening slipped the notebook of dreams inside Fred turned back toward the street, happily empty as he in Fred’s mind was the his jacket. At 7:15, he walked out the leaning against the chains that kept stood in line to get his hot dog. The same as when he would hear an old door and wondered if it would happen people from falling into the water. He two large women in front of him wore song and struggle to remember the again. looked into the windows of the bank even larger coats, restricting his view title. Or when, in college, he had stud- Fred’s Lunch Break and saw a man in a mask pulling of the hot dog stand to just the metal ied all night for a French quiz and Unfortunately, it was cold again. down a shade. shelf for ketchup, mustard, and relish. then could not remember the French Fred walked in the opposite direction There’s the mask, thought Fred. After a few minutes, the women word for an English one. It was the from the day before, toward the At this point, Fred realized that the left, and Fred took a final step toward nagging, annoying feeling of knowing restaurant district and the shopping bank was being robbed and that the the hot dog stand. “One hot dog, that you know something but just not malls. Fred and his coworkers did not love of his life was inside. please,” he said, although he felt knowing it at the moment. usually head this way because it was Shoving the notebook into his strange saying it because this was, In fact, Fred was trying to remem- quite a ways to walk and their lunch jacket again, Fred walked toward the after all, a hot dog stand, and there ber something. He did his best to ig- break was short. But work, and the bank with a confident stride. It was was nothing else to buy. nore it. Instead, he focused on all the pile of reports left on his desk, were the stride of someone who thinks he reports he had to finish by that not on Fred’s list of priorities. is much braver than he is, someone evening. Later That Day who is probably about to do some- Thursday Evening The reports were still not done. thing very stupid. Fred had not finished his reports. Back to Fred’s Lunch Break He walked right up to the front Thursday Afternoon Again In the restaurant section of town, door and peered through a crack in Of course, the exact moment Fred delicious smells once again found the blinds. A man in a mask, a differ- began focusing on something else their way to Fred’s nostrils. He ent man who was much taller and fat- was the moment he figured it out. smelled garlic chicken. ter than the other one, pulled back the When he had woken up at 5:30, Fred There’s the Chinese food, he blinds and shoved a gun in Fred’s remembered, he had just dreamt thought. face, thus confirming Fred’s suspicion about a hot dog stand. What’s more, Like the day before, Fred followed that the bank was being robbed. the man at the hot dog stand had been his nose. He opened the Fred backed away, his the same man as in his dream. door of Oriental Panda. stride much quicker now. And the more he thought about it, Sitting at a small table to Fred was On the one hand, he wanted the stranger it became, because he the left, with a menu ob- to get as far away from the had dreamt about the two fat ladies scuring most of her face, no superhero bank as possible, because he with their big coats too. was Carla Hall. had almost died. On the The smile still on his face, Fred Carla Hall worked in a cubicle next other hand, Carla was in the bank. walked over to a nearby park bench to Fred and, like Fred, rarely finished And so Fred neither walked away and sat down. It was, for sure, the her reports on time. She collected from the bank nor toward it. Instead, strangest and most excited that Fred quarters. She often wore green, and he walked around it, and at the back of had ever felt. It wasn’t just that he brought orange juice to work in a cof- the building, he found a fire escape. had dreamt about the situation he had fee mug. And if Fred were ever going Fred did not call the police, a decision been in; he had dreamt of those exact to be married, he wanted it to be to he would later ponder. What he did people, their clothes, their fuzzy blue Carla Hall. was take a step back, get a running coats. He had dreamt of the ketchup, With a smile and a confident stride start, and jump onto the bottom rung. the mustard, and the relish. unlike those that belonged to the On the Roof of the Bank All the details of the dream sud- usual Fred, Fred made his way over to He looked around, trying to think denly flowed into Fred’s mind. Carla and asked to join her. of a plan. There were some metal He imagined that this is what it What he said was, “Hi Carla, mind boxes, a flagpole, and right in the Art by Ashley Lian, New Milford, CT would feel like to discover a new if I join you?” middle of the roof, a metal ➤➤

36 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 love Facebook Love by Leah Barteldes, Olney, MD

or some reason, I cannot put away the mem- everything). If that was your motive, then you didn’t have looked stupid in a giant crab-shaped tiara with ory of you in that picture on your Facebook. It think it through too well, because you certainly tears streaming down my face, but I was thinking of Fwasn’t a particularly spectacular one, just you don’t look too all-American: good looks and Ralph your reaction when I got it. I wanted you to know in that perfect light blue shirt that matched your Lauren polos, yes, but football, Coca-Cola, trucks that I’m special, like you, Mr. Quarterback. eyes, goofing off with your best friend, being boys and/or baseball caps, no. I’m sorry, but your logic Speaking of which, maybe you could come with failed. Besides, she has a boyfriend. me to one of my appearances for MMCJ, unless

for whatever reason. But between the story way the sun made your hair shine like I never liked baseball caps anyway. you’re allergic to shellfish. I hope you’re not, be- melted butter and the fact that your Maybe for Maybe for some reason you did take cause for the next eleven months, I’ll be eating more carefree laugh showed off your smile some reason this picture for me. It would mean the crab cakes than you can shake a can of Old Bay at. in the most flattering way, I became entire world to me if you had. At the If you did go, I guess you could eat the lemon. And infatuated with you. And yet, I don’t you did take this very least, it would make me feel better maybe some tartar sauce, if you’re into that type of even know what your motives were picture for me than knowing you just took it to show thing. At least you have options. for taking this picture. You certainly off that you had friends and a life. I Oh my gosh, you just made a new status update! didn’t mention them in the caption. don’t want to sound like one of those Is it to ask me out? To confirm that you posted that Maybe you were trying to look masculine, like the melodramatic Nicholas Sparks movies, but I wish I picture for me? To confirm that you’re not allergic perfect All-American teenage boy for that perfect could tell you how much I love this picture. More to crustaceans? To … All-American girl, the one who’s a cheerleader than Cherry Garcia ice cream, more than a new You’re now in a relationship with Miss All Amer- and a straight-A student and Student Council presi- episode of “Glee,” more than what it felt like to have ica. Three people like this. dent to boot (and much better than me in, well, the Miss Maryland Crabs Jr. crown placed on my I guess I should stick to Cherry Garcia. ✦ head last summer. Did you see that picture? I may hatch. Fred scrambled over and tugged This procedure took quite some time, bag of money when with desperation on the massive iron lock. and he made so much noise that, had the Fred fell from the Although he was discouraged, he knew storage closet actually opened into the ceiling. it couldn’t end here. His dreams told him safe room where the robbers were, he Back to Fred’s Fall it couldn’t. He felt along the sides of the would have been shot before his hand The beam, which hatch, trying to find something to tug on. even touched the ceiling. Lucky for Fred, was pretty heavy, fell There was nothing on the right, but his but not so lucky for the robbers, the stor- on Jeremy’s head and left hand grazed something small. age closet was situated between the men’s knocked him over, There’s the key, thought Fred. and women’s bathrooms. while Fred collided Ecstatically, he ripped off the tape that After Fred Managed to Pull Himself with the floor. held the key, jammed it into the keyhole, into the Ceiling of the Bank With pieces of ceil- and twisted. The lock popped open. Fred knew that he had done a pretty ing falling everywhere, Fred paused for a moment to consider good job so far, at least in terms of his Jeremy, Stan, Fred, what he was doing. Fred was no super- athletic feats, but he still had no idea what Carla, and everyone hero, nor had he worked out since his trial he was going to do about the bank rob- else in the bank were gym membership had expired the year bers. He didn’t know how many there blinded and confused ago. Also, his fighting experience was were (there were two), if they all had for a moment. As Je- limited to two years of karate in elemen- guns (they did), if they were holding remy stumbled to his Art by Vivian Tong, San Francisco, CA tary school. hostages (they were), or how he was feet and started to run, A Moment Later going to get out of this Fred reached out and grabbed his shoe. that the two robbers were either dead or at Fred dangled his feet ceiling (by accident). Jeremy tripped, hit the floor with a thud, least not going to be doing anything for a over the open hatch and He had no idea Fred did the only thing and fell unconscious. while, and the lobby of the bank erupted found the first metal step. he could think of, which There’s the shoe, thought Fred. into applause. Even Fred began to clap He began climbing down, what he was going was to crawl forward. He Jeremy’s gun skittered to the edge of after he spotted Carla. aware how loud his passed over the women’s the room, and Fred followed it on his The police had been alerted to the rob- breathing sounded in the to do about the bathroom, a hallway, and hands and knees. bery (Jeremy had not done a very good narrow space. Every 30 bank robbers then the tellers’ booths. The debris from the ceiling had basi- job), and at this point they arrived, crash- seconds or so, he passed a To move past this point, cally settled, and Stan had figured out ing through the door, and were surprised landing that led to another Fred realized he would what was happening. He raised his gun. to see that, apart from two men on the floor. After a while, he lost count of how have to trust his weight to a thin beam. As Stan Turned Off the Safety on His floor and a heap of ceiling tiles, there many he had passed. After what seemed With his shirt already soaked in sweat, he Gun didn’t seem to be much out of place. like hours, a typical feeling for someone gingerly placed his hands, then a knee, Fred grabbed Jeremy’s gun. He had The Next Morning doing something they shouldn’t, his feet and then the other knee on the beam. It never fired a gun before and had no idea Fred rolled out of bed, briefly reflected finally touched the linoleum floor of a creaked and then snapped, and Fred how it worked. On the other hand, Fred on his dreams from that night, and went storage closet. began his descent into the lobby of the had dreamt all of this the night before. to brush his teeth. Fred stayed far from the door, afraid of bank. And as he slid around to face Stan, the At 6 o’clock, he went into the kitchen accidentally opening it and falling into Ten Minutes Before the Beam Broke memory of his dream clicked into focus and put two slices of bread into the the safe room where the men in masks The two masked robbers, after forcing a as it had the day before as he sat on the toaster. He poured a glass of orange juice would put a gun to his head and kill him, teller at gunpoint to open the safe, had park bench thinking about the hot dog and walked out to get the mail. right then and there. Instead, he tried to stuffed as many bills into two black duffel man. Fred’s fingers found the safety, On the front page of that day’s newspa- think of something to do with the mops, bags as they could. One, Jeremy, had clicked it off, found the trigger, and shot per was a small picture of Fred and a brooms, paper towels, and shelving stood outside the safe with the hostages Stan square in the chest. short description of the failed robbery. As around him. while the other, Stan, had done the actual Bull’s-eye, thought Fred. Fred sat down with the newspaper, the And then, because he had seen it in stuffing. Both guns clattered to the floor. toast popped up. It was a pleasant light movies, Fred thought about crawling Once the bags were full, Stan stepped The lobby was silent now, as everyone brown color. through the ceiling. The shelves would out of the safe and threw one of the bags (other than Stan and Jeremy) tried to fig- Carla came out of the bedroom, picked probably hold his weight, and then it was at Jeremy’s feet. “Let’s go,” he said to his ure out whether it was safe to move. Fred up the glass of orange juice, kissed Fred, just a matter of pushing aside one of the partner in crime. was the first to stand, and then the rest and sat down to eat. tiles and hoisting himself up there. Jeremy was bending over to pick up the joined him. Slowly, the realization formed And there’s the girl, thought Fred. ✦

LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK 37 FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink Where My Hands Balloon Catchers poetry Dandelions Roar Are Empty We were the balloon catchers The tree jumpers Virginia, stop sinking – Your green, green dress made me laugh. And bread carriers take those rocks from your pockets This is as nice as it will ever get We were the coat pocket hide-n-go-seek and step away from the river. You said, and your knees were bruised sunshine pals Let’s catch a ride, you and I, Above red shoes ill-matched and still wet We were the cat walkers to the place where dandelions roar; With puddles of dirty rain. Boy kissers where the alley-cat boys Would you like to dance? My hands Closeline hanging dirty-kneed trousers use their cherry-red lighters are empty, We were the satin cigarette on the tip of to ignite the stars, And your dress is green as love and coarse your fabricated tongue inspired by fireflies as memory brighter than the sun. We were the toad capturers We are made of layers, layers, layers, Drum beaters What’s your rush, Virginia? That has always been the way And flower crown crafting field runners Heaven may be nice And in season we shed these layers We were the carriage-pushing crocheted Photo by Grace Kim, Port Washington, NY but it may not be there at all Until there is nothing left to lose baby blanket thinkers and death is on its way And when you went home and peeled off We were the picnic havers but Virginia, I’m here now, Rooftop that green, green dress, Pipe smokers and I’ll give you some deliverance Inside there was a girl Bunkbed whispering wing flappers Hands dusted of peach pit, à la I-75, Small and fair and young as anything; We were the paintbrush whisking tulips Gravel, and feathered things no Sunday dress required. Which perch in souls, Inside her was a woman of your withered garden Think about it, Virginia: Strong and lovely, coursing energy, Tiptoes clutching ledges, you could drown in your sorrows, or You are the war fighters And inside her, an old, old soul Love hunters Rawboned, everything that is us take a dip in the honey pot with me An old, old heart, Groped for the courage to leap. but either way, Virginia, And pumpkin-patch hand-holders A tree; You are the carnival-going popcorn promise me Green as love and coarse as memory, Pulses jagged, smile throwers Slowly Vertigo in every direction, you’ll keep trying to swim. You are the music dancers Shedding A fraying tidbit of moment, by Breanna Bowers, Burlington, KS Test-takers Its leaves All we ever wanted to do was fall. Picture-taking flower-pickers You examined the sprawl below, Still, I cannot abstract you, You are the world fixing babies of The wrinkled visage of landscape and Excuses But what will be left of us our destruction When we have lost every layer fractal cities, distance has never Here’s the world, child And shed every shell? Watched the people pursuing the horizon, been an issue. you let it Don’t mind the bruises What will we find together And determined that the world was flat. become an excuse. In the cupped hollow of the hands of by Emily Watterson, Algonquin, IL I remember looking at my toes and staring by Myesha Bolling, Richmond, VA friendship’s love? for a long time. Who can tell? You didn’t laugh when I asked you, Love is Colors But you didn’t say yes. The Boy God is I love to watch the people, I watch the boy Love Rather, what is left behind: We walked back home. With blue eyes and the In empty hands A certain color, flowing free by Thomas Costello, Breathtaking sweep of his hair Imprinted in the mind. Across his forehead. Waltz (2, 3) Hastings on Hudson, NY Adults shuffle hunchbacked He’s all jock. Waltz (2, 3) Brown, and black, and gray, Such a newbie We danced the most terrible waltz (2, 3) With cracking, folding faces self realization Striving to fit in, but I will say Oh, but our words danced incredibly free Corroding every day. He’s got good looks. through your eyes And so sparse like the dances of stars And have they not a reason? He’s probably a jerk. That our feet no longer mattered to us; For time has taken its toll Please have the decency The cocky thinks-he-knows-our-system We were alone and time was ours le couteau est dans le main, le coeur bat … With future’s ceaseless task driving Kind of guy. (2, 3) Fretting at the soul. Don’t twist, don’t turn When he doesn’t and we all know it. (2, 3) Make the incision clean for my sake 2, Poised on the edge of adulthood, Open my body and the revelation of the I watch the boy 3, Teenagers shift their hues beating is faint With blue eyes and the Fin Alternating from brightest reds Now you can see all that I am: Breathtaking sweep of his hair Thank you To the darkest blues. The weight on my shoulders that I cannot Across his forehead. This is as nice as Most distill their colors continue to carry Light filters through the blinds. It will ever get, With cynicism, doubt. The reason you should bend and break me Illuminating him, his face. You said. Pastels quiver to explore, The clarity of just how sick I can really be. The excitement of first day Funny, I was thinking the same thing Unwilling to venture out. Probe away at my lack of ambiguity Has died down. by Ziggy Unzicker, Juneau, AK Analyze the absence of hope But my love is for the children He’s reading quietly at his desk. You’ll become surrounded in the depths Streaks of crimson, teal and lime He looks sincere, real. of my cynicism Glancing off like rays of sun The kind of nice guy Continue to pry until it hurts, darling And Then You light, striking every time. Everybody wants to get to know. For this will be as unguarded as I shall They hear music for what it is It’s then I realize Were Gone ever be with you The magic behind the play That’s all he is. It was not Finally you will find just why Flaring brightest in happiness A nice guy who, I must say that they were too big Keep prying until I scream and cry Slowly fading away. Come to realize that I am the nectar of He’s got good looks. but my feet were too small to fit your prints left behind forbidden fruit I watch the boy I often have cause to wonder, They never go away I am poison With blue eyes and the Do we lose something as we grow? and always lead opposite So poisonous to you. Breathtaking sweep of his hair Is it children with the clearest lenses? the way I’m heading by Myah Jones, El Cajon, CA Across his forehead. I believe, I believe so. by Grace Lemley, Highland, MI by Hope Klingensmith, Stuart, FL by Nina Kamath, Saratoga, CA 38 Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 • POETRY The Language of Dreamer An Old All of those memories Listeners To pass the time I doused the light Familiar Shirt spinning together and stumbled blind into the night the smells and the feelings well, if you do happen to remember to brave the darkening twilight terror I wonder what it’s like of those clothes how we used to take dictation in search of life’s most joyous error When you can still remember from the trees a heart when you wore that particular shirt In the deepening crushing black so over-used on that date and scribble their murmurings I lost all hope of turning back is sick of trying with that boy onto the sky And so I tread uncertain steps and loving his name was in the script of our language Where poets dreamt and madness slept living Christian which everyone, I left my common sense behind weeping you went to the movies including us, For hollow prophets to someday find; caring but had forgotten how to speak I threw my soul into a gust making it was boring so Of fragrant multicolored dust breaking you left then please call me again tonight keeping and walked around in the cool night air and we’ll both stand alone The skies were painted teal and gold and he bought you a cinnamon roll on our separate mountains Where powdered-sugar clouds unrolled Does it which you ate and touched the cresting milky seas stop altogether and maybe listen licking the sweet sugar from your fingers while I gazed in awe from shaded trees its final beat to what the stars ringing which he held in his have been trying to say I danced with angels, and demons too like a last note intertwined They’re not so different from me and you. in a song You get sad all these years. I cheated death, I beat the odds by Evelyn Weinstein, and then the singer steps off the stage remembering And taught pottery to the gods that note still hanging the shape of his hand Cold Spring Harbor, NY But when the end came slowly near in the air the skinny fingers with their And my world was soaked in Heaven’s tears Like a smell that lingers beautiful bones I bid farewell to my friend, the strange long after the person is gone how they memorized your face Of Jake And tread slowly back from which I’d came and his eyes that shade of hazel Jake told me the weather forecast A league of men and women all so deep you would swear Even though he’s from Michigan. With impressive papers on their wall he could read your mind He said he’d be thinking of me Will preach the worship of what is real and And to stay safe. But I know none but what I feel. see your soul All that day held foreboding. by Zack Flint, Loveland, OH with its markings I wondered how the padded sky not as beautiful as Could rear up and scowl his Enough to bring a thunderstorm. Every Moment But he always can. Maybe a heart never wears out Changes You maybe it just Near supper hopes After just a moment I went outside to touch the kittens. and sticks it out a different world is open. I found the gusts until You thought of something Had already raised their hackles. you find someone who can but then you noticed Hot cotton rose in my throat hold it and never break it you never get everything right And I knew I couldn’t stop someone who you can take your “fragile” at first glance. What was coming. sticker off for Every time the wind began to waltz, by Andrea Aguayo, Clinton, OK and Every time the sky was grouchy just be And I felt his outburst coming straight away, Art by Hillary Snyder, Waterloo, ON, Canada yourself I saw us frantically preparing Her Legs and reminds you of Whole and alive For clouds to You wouldn’t think. the boy with your sometimes, maybe, beautifully Explode. You wouldn’t think legs with his damaged, “alma” would weigh much, particularly With lightning lashing at our heels paint-stained fingers these ones, withered by Taylor Powell, And thunder taunting on every side, the shy smile as they are. People starve Ray City, GA We covered the little plants that makes you want to describe for legs like these, except Yanked jeans from the porch railing in a hundred different ways not exactly these. Slammed and latched the barn door how he looks no one passing by Room 201 And dragged the trampoline to the woods in his looks jealously at them. Atrophied So it wouldn’t flip. rumpled canvas jacket Then came the quarantine. Four white walls muscles and acres with the gold buttons closing in. Even filled with fright of nerveless skin would be highly fashionable the one you promise to never wash Benedictions have become too feeble I remembered Jake said he was thinking if they could support weight. Instead for fear of to wrestle the debacle of body tissues. About me. they are carefully positioned losing that smell of All I hear is nickels clink as my dad leaves And I could mock the fear. in scooters and chairs, dragged paint and dusty rooms, of to light a cigarette. behind walkers. She We ate casserole and cantaloupe sunlight pouring in the window Now the inertia. Taciturn, has MS, and as we In blackness for a few minutes; pretending to scrutinize cuticles. slowly And so you do the laundry Dread dripped from my armpits. As we listened to him respire under the thin get her upstairs, one always leaving out the jacket When the lights rejoined us, bed sheets you watch the clothes we knew the steps to take and arrangements My forehead cooled. step spin at a time, she pulling to make. Forty-five hours later, the Later that evening around and around her body up, I wrestling ice thawed The sun danced a bit maybe that is how a heart looks with her awkward, heavy, unbending legs why did we linger by the doorsteps until For me. when it is all used up I think the moon like an old familiar shirt leaned over the private ward? It made me think of Jake. she is beautiful in all the wrong ways that has been washed many different times by Kayla Ensz, Hillsboro, KS for all the wrong reasons and by Sera Park, by Emma Tremblay, Kirkland, WA mixed in with everything else Southborough, MA 39 POETRY • FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink Burn My Heart Another One The View Why I Shouldn’t Burn! Like a thousand flames. Another tale of Romeo and Juliet You’ve got me smiling nonstop, Text at Night Burn! Hear me scream your name They fell in love, forbidden yet Laughing like a child Burn! Like my heart tonight. They stayed together through the end You are beautiful, wonderful, At night, I lose my inhibitions in the dark And I actually thought I might Here’s my take of Romeo and Juliet Free-spirited and wild And my filter in my brain all but be in love disappears, until There’s the lad who lives next door I’d climb a mountain Suddenly it seems okay, Burn! You alone made my heart sing To the beaut who washes hardwood floors As long as you are there Even smart, You were my everything. Always glances, never stares And when we’re up To tell you everything. But no more, no more love, no hate Soon they swore to have evermore I’ll stop and stare To tell you more than what you want to hear. Leave behind the past. Away they ran Not at the trees I will tell the truth as I see it, No more pain, no more tears, A plan to seek Or at the view With no smooth edges, like a burning photograph, Each other out But at the stunningly breathtaking, No – truth as ragged as a disc used as a Burn! Before dawn’s peek Beautiful you. dog’s chew toy. by Nathan Hart, Enfield, CT Truth as bare as an Arizona desert. The beaut awaited for her lad by Camelia Alikashani, Truth as cold as the deepest secret corners Until a cougar scared her mad Vancouver, BC, Canada of the human heart. Tangled She ran in fright right out of sight If it pops in my mind, Leaving her veil of Persian white I HAVE to share it. The words are getting tangled Fall Came My fingers twitch, my mind rushes, and all As they pass between my lips The lad appeared I want to do is send They grow twisted and contorted Then saw his end Fall came today One With every passing trip It stabbed his heart and with it, the spare blankets from Which he couldn’t mend the cupboard More You say you need some time and the kiss of icy wind Message. So you’ll avoid me for a while His eyes rolled back that blows the leaves from their Maybe then my mind will clear. Drooled crimson red You promise that we’ll still be close watch towers But what will spill out? But there’s reluctance in your smile His hand on his heart I will sleep with my window open tonight. For he was dead by Kaitlyn Manley, Loveland, OH I never wanted what you asked for Fall came, so I spread flour on the Or for things to be displaced Out of the bushes came the maid rolling pin I couldn’t give you what you wanted Shocked in sorrow here she laid and tied back my hair Sunday Morning So instead I gave you space Next to her lad pulled the old cookbook from off the shelf This is where they stayed to make the first apple pie of the season. Every Sunday morning When I couldn’t handle waiting But when I cracked the spine, You can be sure to see I took to knitting hearts They’d planned to get married a handful of pressed violets fell out The beautiful old couple But the yarn tumbled from my fingers Their parents forbade onto the floor Sitting in pew three. They were to meet up And our friendship fell apart paper thin, with summer’s lazy scent I can’t help but notice In a harmless way It’s the knotting of our strings still holding in their petals. The love in his eyes That keeps us terribly confined To make their vows I have tried not to write about those days, Not just for his bride And the fraying of loose ends To be forever more it would be too easy But his God lifted high. or too hard, That unravel over time The wish came true The strong bond between And I’ll tell you how those days we slipped away One day you’ll grow entangled and learned how our bodies worked. This man and his wife, As you dance on twisted threads Instead of saying “I do’’ Beforehand, you mowed the lawn It’s something I’ll strive for While the spider keeps on weaving They took the plow without your shirt My entire life. Catching insects in her web Forever will they have each other while I sat on the fence and braided violets I sometimes notice by Marina Watanabe, Past the end with one another and told you about my father My thoughts drift away, Fair Oaks, CA by Becca Hooks, Homewood, IL but I think of their love every inch of my apple-white arms just And forget to pray. itched for you, We say the Lord’s Prayer, A New Kind of Fall so we left the rest of the world to The church as a whole, its business Her hand in his, As the ribbon is tied and cut a piece of and played a little game, They pray with their souls. glitter falls. geography lesson, can you find the capital? It falls right into her eyes, where everyone Charting unknown territory, He steals a glance says it belongs. mountains, valleys, forests At the woman on his arm, As she walks to the car, her heel gets needed exploring He smiles and blinks swallowed by a crack in the earth, in the ocean of the blankets on the couch As a tear causes alarm. causing her to fall. you taught me how to learn He bows his head, He is there to catch her. and how to want Quickly finishes his prayer, The smell of pumpkin fills the kitchen as the I hadn’t really felt that before Squeezes her hand, leaves fall off the tress. it was strange And smiles with care. A lightning storm approaches. Alone, you and fun, but not As Mass comes to close, cuddle up in a ball on the couch. poetic, He looks at the cross, You listen to the thunder crash and heavy because Mouths a quick thank you, rain fall. Art by Emily Linville, Columbus, OH you were not sweet and Then nods in awe. As their lips meet for the first time, he it really meant nothing at all whispers, “I’m falling for you.” but Now Mass is over, A clear night opens up the wonders of what A Broken Heart I still saved the violets I slide out my pew, they call a falling star. A broken face can be replaced and pressed them in the cookbook on Smile at the man Alone in the house, she falls down the stairs, Or glued back together the shelf Who then smiles too. alone she slips away from reality. But a broken heart so I could remember that it wasn’t all for The lesson I learned by Rebecca Howe, Can fall apart nothing. Is short but true, Springville, NY And feel the love forever I better make that pie. Love is so strong by Desiree Granados, Montebello, CA by Indigo Erlenborn, Madison, WI It captivates you. by Katelyn O’Brien, Watertown, MN 40 Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 • POETRY My Heart Is the Thunderstorms Zest of My Heart An Old Friend Only One Who We sat on the sidewalk in the thunderstorm A piece of paper floated down from the On my shoulders that day. hands of a A jacket tortured, Could Explain It It is the only day that I remember being Boy who held the rest of my heart in Enduring every aspect of living. with you, his fingers. I have twenty-seven hour glasses, A cigarette-burned hole, because fortunately, I have remembered to Careful, he whispered, and i wished he’d let But there will never be enough time Matching left-arm scar. forget everything else. the fake words linger. In the day for me to say how your Hip torn by barbed wire. Or, I have remembered to want to forget Delicacy was on my mind in a way, and Grin makes me smile, how your smile Blood-stained from fights, everything else. Everything seemed to take longer in this Is the solemn lantern in this abandoned briars, and masochistic needles. Or, I have remembered to try to want to place that was quiet. Town that we have all to ourselves. forget everything else. Forget me, okay? I haven’t been around How your eyelashes battered and sparkled If I shake the sleeves, so long that you should the wafting scent of an October campfire And lit the hormones seeping from our I remember the lightning as it dripped Give up on who I made you. will kick-start memories. Bodies and into the air on fire like down our throats. He pressed a piece of paper into the hands of A million fireflies, bred from your freckles, It never tasted sweeter than on that day. He has warmed the bodies of several girls. me, and Kissing my cheeks lightly, giving It almost tasted like Loves, lovers. I realized I held the rest of my heart in endless warmth. your tears. He has caught their tears, and mine. my fingers. The silkworm sews the fabric of your And like Just so, he whispered, I can’t Fought off sickness and addiction Thoughts in strands of dreams and luxury. the millions of fireflies that lit up your chest, Keep myself away from you. You know Made lonely feel like just a word in a song Forty-nine butterflies are born a minute making your heart look brighter than it that I’ll Danced to every punk-rock power chord In your mind, in my mind, in our mind, really was. Linger: You pulled me from my cocoon and that made my parents worry. and I remember that Told me to just flap my wings and fly, I remember holding the thunder in the Reminded me that I’m used, not useless Malt liquor was your father’s favorite I did, and here we are, soaring like a palms of our hands, Felt the wet of rain. thing in the hands of a A pair of mighty eagles, as bald as we are; and I remember pretending that the thunder New accomplice and none I wonder if He could use a jacket. The silkworm stole all our hair, our dreams. was your kiss, Of those things were relevant to the fact by Zach Turner-Ball, Even if we could fly like the ostrich runs, because, I really wanted it to be, that we were Chasing the sun over the fleeting horizon, and because, Nashville, IN Protecting ourselves from asking Making every second of a falling day last, I knew it never could be. Questions. I I could never explain why I chased the I remember that there was no rain, Revolved around you and my revolutions had Sunset to begin with, why I was brave and I cried that day because of it. Stopped. Enough to flap my wings and to fly, Because, Turn around, you whispered, and I wished Why I even left my cocoon in the first place, what was thunder, no matter how soft it he’d let his hands stay And how I had the audacity to dream was to hold, Under my cashmere sweater, staying warm with you. and what was lightning, no matter how and applying Just take my hand, like a friend should, sweet it was to taste, Varying pressure to my hips that were Place your head against my chest when without rain? moving farther away from our diluted You cannot hold your head high like So then you told me that I was the rain. Water of love. I forget about those you taught It was a lie. X-rated lies and I held the rest of my heart Me how to hold my head high, and listen; I knew that then, and I know that now. in my fingers. My heart is the only one who could explain it. But today, I would give anything to You threw that piece of paper down from believe in by Phillip Helget, Kensington, MD your hands and the remaining Your Lies. Zest of my heart didn’t linger. by Loisa Fenichell, by Chela Novak, Southampton, NY Before We Die Nyack, NY I thought of you tonight in sleep, My heart you stole away. I Met You When You gave me yours and said to keep, How Far? Art by Kelsey Kenney, Denham Springs, LA I cherish it every day. how far would you go? Red Met Blue When bloody battles and wars we’ve fought, everyone asks but I haven’t a clue I met you Shopping for Love Turn into desperate pleas. I think it depends on the moon When red met blue I’ll think of you with my last thought, and the stars and that blade of grass When Harry met Sally Is love ever considered gratis And wait to be set free. you can never tell with a heart Excluding the blending of primary colors Or is there an unspoken return policy it changes like dish cycles You left blue on me Who to ask I tried to warn you about my wrongs, one minute it’s on heavy rinse As I rendered your face purple Operator: can you find me love’s manager My pain, my fear, my hate. next it’s on filter out … Blue rained in my eyes Certainly a well-spoken man, woman, But I hear you singing our last songs, but I think if you’re set like a table Looking at our colors clash or neither I take it as too late. then you’ll be fine On my arms To be running such a large array of One last thought, I’ll hold you tight, a glass will fall once in a while Like a tiger being striped by God department stores Wipe your tears before you cry. yet it only takes seconds to clean up With a color not his own splattered across the world in humans and Remember, dear, the key to life, but if you’re set like a calendar Like a whip we clashed and cracked non-humans Is to love before you die. then I’m sorry, but you’re better off dead And I bled blue alike if you miss a week or even a day I started to bleed Put me through the line by Marilyn Wolbert, Dover, PA your world is chaotic and topsy-turvy The day I met you Because I have a shopping cart of love’s how far would you go? I saw red in my dreams embodiments that blank eyes and quivering lips I saw red behind my eyes I’d like to return Umbrella that’s not the answer she wants to hear Red was a flower in a field of flowers For someone who wants or needs it more i’ll always be your “I wouldn’t for you” realization. Red was a volcano surrounded by volcanoes than me umbrella if life tries to how far would you go? Red was brave and funny and strong I’ve so much stock, it seems unjust and rain on your parade For the one you love? Red had a heart, a soul, a song I think I’d like the savings back, you see by Emily Jones, St. John, WA by Lilian Cruz, Red was red until red was blue That porcelain pig took many years to feed Medford, NY Red was red by Kira Weiss, Until the day I met you Arcata, CA by Abigail Holloway, Broken Arrow, OK

41 POETRY • FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink What a Man Pick Me Up Of Poets’ Eyes & Your thin lips a Flower Mechanical Hearts curled at the ends Telling me you lied about the Pick me up a flower, A breeze, a breeze, “No more than a movie” not a rose or an orchid, the sweet wind of winter whispers lovesick night don’t buy it, fools in my ear I only want one. a sighing song of crystal butterflies that i I caught myself staring Pick me up a flower, pinned in your hair At that stupid thing off the side of the road, after we fell down dizzy from dancing You call a mustache from a meadow, in the fog. The handful of overrated hairs I don’t care, The buzz of my mechanical heart on your upper lip I only want one. is beating away at your concrete walls and Refusing to shave them Fine, don’t pick me up a flower, brick by brick You’ve only encouraged their stay buy one for someone else, I tear you apart buy her a dozen long stem roses, so that ice sharp love can pierce your soul. Beads of objective wrap them in crinkly plastic, Our laughter a husky smoke-stained melody, Grew from the dimples in give her all the flowers you can buy, Photo by Christopher Wright, your skin all the flowers in the world, Cave Junction, OR we pop soda cans and toast them like ambrosia. Your thick eyebrows I only wanted one, just one. the cliff we watch from withered with tattoo Arched Cigarettes love and hate. Acting as though they knew nothing by Kelsey Traeger, of the lips’ intent Palmetto Bay, FL and Tangerine But your poets’ eyes are fixed on me and Your restless legs my sutured scars (the nearness of you throb with hope because your eyes are Snitched on your thoughts as invoked a loneliness freedom life hope you shifted in your seat Stuck and i never knew before) blue and “It’s okay” Unstuck Love Only when I sleep, they whisper behind frozen shadows the se- My thin bangs whispered back We were two birds stuck am I awake. crets of life (of death?) I sometimes wonder I’ll be damned if I let your On the wire between the telephone poles. Sleep, where you got those bruises on your arms Chapped reddened lips We were perched but i don’t ask ’cause and reels of thoughts Touch the soft surface Just far enough so our wings could my bruises are pretty fresh too … (did i tell spin on infinitesimal hope Of mine not touch. you that I love you?) I’ll be damned if I let your grease-filled Sparks danced between us, and sound waves So in my purple-leather princess trenchcoat Mechanic’s knuckles Sizzling on the electrical wire, lock with ropes of tears and ratty jeans my sister wore Invade the waves in my hair And all we could do was gaze Sleep, I sit and watch the sunset with you, your And I’ll be damned if Into each other’s beady eyes. My taste buds are soiled and I’m drifting scarlet hair tickling my hands By your But when we did, on the black waves of slumber, as you rest your head on my thigh. Heinous chew We felt like we were soaring dreaming of your opaque eyes, The patchwork quilt of black and silver In response to your face’s entrance Above rooftops, and treetops, circling the November sun, and garish blue is tucked around your to my side of the vehicle each other cigarettes and tangerine. curled form I introduced you to my But we were two birds stuck in love to keep off the winter’s laughter as we soak On the wire between the telephone poles. But wake, in heat from our concrete bed. Left cheek and you will be Our feet gripped and could not ungrip And I sing us folk songs from countries I hope you enjoyed the three just a quiet hope We could not scoot closer, we’ve never been to with you humming Carefully picked eye shadows tucked under We could not shift farther. abstract chords to keep the roar of I applied for blush a wing of my prayer. highway traffic at bay. And the grand view of my silver earrings We looked at each other, Wake, as dreams and salt-scoured breaths take our Placed perfectly Sorrow in our black eyes and I cannot love you. souls to flight to adventures in my ear As we began to realize There was no point in wasting time. by Fatimah Zainal Abidin, with our well-loved monsters and Maybe you got lucky For we were two birds stuck in love Georgetown, Malaysia closet-skeletons as our guide As I turned my head On the wire between the telephone poles. while we wander away into the peace to smell the scent of black amethyst Our talons grew tired from gripping, of oblivion. As my neck was made exposed Our hearts became weary of wishing, Dreary Arizona (Did i tell you that i Love You?) And we little by little accepted the Enjoy, stupid boy Dreary Arizona, dripping cold, wet by Erin Osterlind, Oceanside, CA heartrending truth. Enjoy rain today. We could not scoot closer, Blurry cars drive past out the windows under But before I leave, let me We could not shift farther. Reiterate a low gray winter sky, but four letters This was no Until one day, inside the temperature is rising Guilt drips off and burns Shy A gusty wind came as anger seeps through the walls like like a melting candle. Accident And toppled our telephone poles red paint poured on an altar. I still can feel a lingering flame That had once held us in place. This day was meant for the opposite haunting in the back of our minds. Hopefully your nose stung We could stretch our talons. of what’s being felt right now; you snapped the Us in two. With embarrassment We were two birds unstuck and free. roses lay crushed and forgotten Summer nights with movies As I smiled and slammed the passenger door and the explanation is in pieces, I flew and flew and flew away, Our own romantic comedy in theaters To your feeble excuse set aflame all on the ground. So shocked that I was unhandcuffed Maybe you shouldn’t have said For a truck Maybe if it was brought outside, Until I found you flew another way. those horrific things it would turn to steam and then As my hair waved good-bye And it was with the freedom that the and you wouldn’t have made release the red-hate feeling to the gray Maybe you answered a reply to wind finally gave a cut into a scar. and float away, harmless, on my mind’s only question That I lost the love I had always meant I want to forget and let go Saint Valentine’s day. Of your lifeline Who flaunts to save. by Kara Wixtrom, But a four-letter word a Ford? by Samantha Cassidy, Tightens my grip. Duncan, OK Gwinn, MI by Valerie Williams, Oshkosh, WI by Hannah Schacherl, Oshkosh, WI 42 Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 • POETRY One of Scar Tissue The Absurdity of I Hate Your Laugh Those People I don’t need him a Heart-Shaped I hate your eyes. I don’t need his compliments But it’s not that murky excuse for green She was one of those people who ate to float through the telephone wire Necklace that I hate breakfast in bed, and slither in my ear It’s their ability to stare in mine Sometimes I wonder why jewelers Who woke up alone and Because once he’s gone Hold them so intensely make necklaces shaped like hearts. Never listened to what her parents said. they’ll fester And pour Grade A lies so fluidly They’re inaccurate, to begin with, She was one of those people who bought turn ugly and backwards window seats, they get the shape wrong, every time. I hate your laugh. lies. Like a teacher’s sturdy nails against Who boarded the plane and closed I’ve never gotten an x-ray of my heart, I don’t need his kisses the blackboard the shutter, but trust me, I’ve seen enough doctor shows leaving trails from my With a hint of base of course Complaining of heat on television to know what a heart lips to my neck. To make up for the basics that define you She was one of those people who closed looks like. Bread crumbs that will lead me as a man. her eyes, Kay Jewelers, I’m sorry, but your design to him Maybe. Who closed her eyes to the world is wrong. And mumbled her good-byes. after he’s left. I hate your hair. Besides, why would I want to wear a heart She was one of those people who put on I don’t need the butterflies The eight-dollar bottle of that pharmacy around my neck? I have one already, thanks, her headphones, in my stomach chestnut brown beating loudly and proudly inside my chest. Who refused to talk, whenever I think of him. That now traps your natural beach I don’t need a hunk of gold impersonating it. Who preferred to be alone. When he changes his mind blonde locks She was one of those people who thought they’ll turn to bees Plus, if I were to wear a second heart around I believe your haircut has been long overdue the world was beautiful, and sting me my neck But that would mean chopping off your Who believed it was good, so I can’t hardly breathe from the I would want it on something sturdy, maybe wannabe Bieber shag. But never tried to live in it. pain and swelling. a chain like the kind in prisons to lock up I hate your teeth. He was one of those people who lived They’ll fly up the inmates. Who knew behind those pearly whites life with ease, to my heart I want my heart safe, not dangling from a Festered so much rage Who never took a coat puncture it. flimsy metal string. When you would clench them together And the scar tissue Throwing one of your first-class hissy fits. And who loved the cool breeze. Heart-shaped necklaces seem so unnecessary will be so thick He was one of those people who loved Although I guess I can reason that What [I] hate the most about you? that no one will ever with his heart, it’s always I don’t even know breach my security Who appreciated time together convenient and even rather wise to hold If you would be ab[L]e to comprehend ever again. After being apart. an extra heart, just in case mine the truth He was one of those people who watched I don’t need him. breaks somehow. That I’m about to sh[O]ot through with his eyes, No. by Michelle Lesniak, So. Plainfield, NJ your veins Who listened to his heart But I want him If it could e[V]en sink through that And who deemed it wise. in a masochistic thick skull He was one of those people who opened self-harming way. Ninety-Four Lay[E]red with your various comics his soul, My bee-stung stomach And your classic John Ma[Y]er CD’s Who let into his life aches with the thought You said you wanted to be with me till Y[O]u wo[U]ldn’t even be able to grasp it. The world as a whole. of another love we were 94, So the question still stands. He was one of those people who watched but it’s a good ache … but the more and more I can’t exactly put my finger on it. the world, He is a pain that hurts every part I think about it I see But. Who lived, but makes every part stiff you played me like your own guitar, I’m pretty sure I just hate you. Who never let a second go by too soon. and stronger you let me believe the distance wasn’t so far, by Jason Tinero, with light pink and all the while you never gave an answer. by Hannah Sawyer, No. Brunswick, NJ Calabasas, CA scar tissue. You let me smile and trust, by Hannah Kiel, Bloomington, IL and now it’s all rust crumpled, This Much scattered in the dust, I’ll write a love poem for you Series of Haikus: and I must confess that I hate the fact that On the graffiti-covered wall of the even though it was rushed Detachment bathroom stall I LOVED YOU. This is how it is: In a rundown gas station in the middle I loved you a little then, I guess you have another girl to share your of nowhere insomnia with now, but not anymore. And I hope that says enough for you I guess you’ll tell her how she’s a “cute I hope it means enough to you Perhaps once, I fell cherry” the same way you did with me, That you won’t leave me here into old habits of love – and I guess you’ve shut the door on 94 At a rundown gas station accidents happen. and I hope you know you can’t open it back up. In the middle of nowhere. I’m not hiding now by Emi DeBruyn, Durham, NC because trying to be yours by Kelly Long, Holbrook, MA was too difficult. There are no fancy Loveful Lust Crying Love words to describe us because Love is a funny thing I feel these butterflies biting at the lining of we were simply there. It can be a cruel game Art by Juice Choe, Powell, OH my stomach, Add -ed and it becomes what you were to me We were not special And that shock burning through my veins Add -s and it is what or brilliant or lovelier every time your hand brushes mine, A Cadaver’s Heart I still do to you than most. Not profound. Sitting at this table Add -r and it is the thing you were, Ashen light strikes his jigsaw puzzle heart, In this bar, We just were, right then. The thing that ended when we kissed Cut with precision so rapier sharp; Drawing our names on napkins, And so it worked, for a while – Farewell and good-bye It’s fixed upon a tray, with gunk and grime, And sipping Dr. Pepper, Then time slowed us down. Love is funny sometimes And handed off, a macabre Valentine. It’s obvious what’s going on. It delights us in messing with our minds by Kaitlin Duchene, by Amirio Freeman, Hampton, VA But I’ve cried “love” too many times, and Tallahassee, FL by Ellen Zhang, Troy, MI no one will believe us now. by Allyssa Lantis, Naylor, GA 43 POETRY • FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink education Spanish Weirdo they were learning each other. Mira Weirdo is what we called her figuring each other out. she says because her name couldn’t fit into there was no textbook, no equation, My name’s Mira our mouths. no handbook, no rules. as she shuts our In our second-grade classroom while we they were trying. front door were throwing books experimenting, testing, working. calm cool across the classroom and wrestling on they learned each other by trial and error, and I nod the rug, secret by story by fear by passion, to her fake Crocs and she was reading a chapter book. baby steps, then bigger, then bigger – thick coffee hair In the corner, alone, but still not too fast. Eyes careful with concentration that couldn’t possibly they asked questions I think she be natural. she wondered knows why I All quiet he guessed stumble and peaceful. what made her smile red and shaky It was like watching water stand still. what made him laugh Hello And I can’t remember her saying a word. when to talk – when to listen Hola She didn’t like playing tag either. when to challenge – when to accept She ran funny. they reached in through their stomachs I am embarrassed Her skinny legs took her nowhere. and found each other’s soul I want to say Once she was it, Art by Vivian Tong, San Francisco, CA hidden there in a nook behind the ribs yeah we eat at that was it – game over. adjacent to the heart McDonald’s too She wore green leggings You are my habit. a place where no one would think to go all the time (Sometimes, they still had tomato sauce You are nicotine-stained fingers, they mapped out the geography like you stains from last night’s dinner) A rattling cough that reminds me that, the ridges and the valleys like you with “sensible sneakers” yes, the depths of the brokenness without any brand name. Mira’s mom there is still air in my lungs, the mountains of elation Because her dad refused to condone she cleans the I can keep they charted and plotted Nike sweatshops floors so breathing. bar graphs of happiness A view that I would adopt later in life hard and shiny You are my ragged, line graphs of events But was allowed to be blissfully unaware I feel small broken nails, data tables of everything in between of until she told me standing over the every chip and curve they turned each other into math, while she sat on the sidelines during gym small woman a canyon filled for a while, in middle school. as she wipes my dust by nervous energy. before they knew better That same day and smiles You are a bag of chips, they learned the contour of the other’s face she told me she wanted pink spaghetti a banana, where the light had to hit to reflect their eyes We listen to “Swan Lake” strap tops a cheese stick, the size of their hands in my room tight jeans a quart of ice cream, the shape of her mouth music box whirring and platform sandals like all the other girls a pack of Starbursts, the curve of his chin and her lighter eyes She’d started crying in a shoe store once and a hot dog, the freckles, the dimples, the indents, softly clench my when her mother wouldn’t buy them for her. every bite struggling to the prints darker ones and she I nodded my head replace the empty pit that is some things they did wrong, says But she never gave me the chance to tell her my stomach. only to be expected, “I understand” I don’t know You are a shining, new credit card, here was an unexplored place – before she went back to reading. about you but purchase after purchase the being of another – But I didn’t know that it mattered then this sort of depresses filling my arms, they each knew to tread carefully me I used to think of her when I watched a poor facade for baby steps, then bigger, then bigger – “Matilda” debt and guilt. but still not too fast. I want to I imagined that one day You are my habit, they were only learning. say me too me too she was going to prove us all wrong. and I’ve found, by Danielle Colburn, but I keep quiet and start moving glasses of water with that the first step to quitting Byron Center, MI her mind, is admitting And I wonder about and that her name would be chanted in the that you’re not my habit. Spanish music schoolyard You’re my addiction. not sad droopy roll rhythmically off our tongues. Contrasting but lights Mostly I imagined her huddled in the public by Audrey Deiss, Bethel, AK gold hoops Shadows library on Saturday mornings like arms reading every book in alphabetical order. I wish I could just legs spinning She must’ve been in the Gs by now. dip my hand into the light of morning hair waving Coming Soon to a Smack in the middle of Great Expectations and spread it evenly tumbling across your deepest shadows. She would show up in my dreams when Life Near You She will be having These are the places where you hide things got lonely In the air last night, there lurked an a quinceañera and everything is tucked away neatly: usually a white turtleneck and green all-too-familiar cat. in four years all the words you want to set free legging ensemble. It snuck close and wrapped around us with but that remain caged Eating quesadillas It was only in those dreams that I realized the sound, behind the soft darkness. dancing with boys that the green matched her eyes just right a breeze that rustled soon rusted leaves Don’t you know these things multiply? who are tall and I saw her for real once. as we sang of opening a restaurant in They only strengthen behind the bars. know how I was fifteen Santa Fe And someday they’ll spill, And I know it is and there she was on a fire escape, since all this misery pays no salary made savage by time. stupid with a cigarette dangling from her lips, and as the L word fell like lightning bolts They’ll cut across this town but wearing a pink dress. through the silence of the night this sad, awful, beautiful town I want her to I had to look away. The chill grew at the back of my mind where day and night lean toward each other take me “It can’t be Fall,” said the left side but never meet. by Cecilia Stein, away “It will be soon,” said the right by Angela Adduci, Glen Ellyn, IL Brooklyn, NY by Hayun Cho, Wilmette, IL by Brian Fitzpatrick, Chicago, IL 44 Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 • POETRY The Year Carousel Memoir #67 Finders Would you like to buy a ticket? The year they played Frac Jack I’d like to say we met at the homecoming I found the words hiding. said the master to the girl. Was the one where he smiled dance Curled between my toes, And how could I refuse And told her she was fine the way she was But my Sneakers squeaked too much Itching with every step. the lure of the whirl in your smile? It was the year she blushed And he was too curious They are the poems. And locked her feelings out like intruders Snow glare was our disguise, Because Shoes make sounds that grate Because she didn’t know what to make and gold-gilt poles that glittered on nerves Poems hiding in corners of mouths of them east-to-west, in a spectrum In a way that lets you know they are here Pulled upwards in a smirk. of white and blue. The year they felt older I’d like to say that we both fell in love Drifting through fingers Was the one where he whistled in The winds blew ice flakes Staring into each other’s eyes as we Of pleading hands. passionately – the hallways into my eyes, Fingers running rough, but he thought I was annoying and I had no time And made friends with the right kids they bit and stung, narrowed, Feeling the raised edges for ones who did not appreciate my presence It was the year she forgot about him my horizons shrank to you. Of blank canvas Squeaky Shoes or otherwise And was satisfied because You were beautiful, so bright, And listening to whispers so a day passed and we saw each other in She couldn’t handle any intrusions your gaily colored wooden horses Of words indiscernible the hallway spun us The year they stopped listening me with my Shoes But still I listen, ’round and ’round. Was the one where his wrist borrowed the and him with his unnerving stare Blessed by ignorance, razor from his face A perfect picture show Personally, though, I felt attached Blessed by things I can’t understand, And he kissed the pretty girl who had it all you painted As if every passing glance or blink in While my strained ears But it didn’t make things any better in mirrors and cracked glass, My direction meant the world to me Line thick with perfect words. It was the year she opened the door I thought it showed me everything. and therefore by Caitlin Wolper, New City, NY And they talked about the trees When dusk gathered, meant the world to him While her stomach hurt and no one had and the flying flakes slowed I didn’t understand the importance of dance any idea why to a thinning veil of bright, But it was important to him On Life Not Having The year they did nothing and therefore important to me I saw our horses And so with loud Sneakers that sang along Was the one where his road stopped could only run a Pause Button twisting for a moment with the music in circles. and a dress that would much rather be She likes a boy And let him take a rest And her grandfather’s in a hospital It was the year she spent in silence by Beatrice Waterhouse, paired with heels Santa Rosa, CA I moved and danced and my friends Some six thousand miles away, And watched him sleep while she tossed Surviving every day but and turned laughed and I squeaked and he stared and looked away Slowly losing his smile. Waiting for something She likes a boy Just anything at all and stared And I realized that prettygirls loved him And her grandfather has thirty-six The year they made speeches and wasipretty? Tumors on his spine, Was the one where he stopped and listened But he paid no mind to prettygirls and Two in his pancreas And gave her the chance to change his mind walked to me And says he feels fine but It was the year she begged and pleaded his shoes scuffled toward canary Sneakers He’s refusing to eat. And ripped her hair out beckoning him with sounds that only Shoes She likes a boy While he held her close can make And her grandfather might not For no reason at all And we Danced and He Talked and Smiled Make it until Christmas, and my Her grandfather who played chess The year they saved the world And laughed his chesty laugh Was the one where he chose redheads sneakers were less audible Replaced by the beat of the music pounding And poured her wine she wasn’t over blondes Really supposed to have. And felt like for once, he was nothing more Within my chest. Photo by Abigail Price, Uniontown, OH She likes a boy than ordinary by Annabel Sharahy, Wayne, NJ And she doesn’t know if she should It was the year her wrist stole the razor Keep on living or from his Plumey’s Brother Pause, And she began to give up Parallel Parking Temporarily, and pray that I remember spotting you, One scratch at a time Her grandfather, who sat every morning a sleeping flame pushed Ink fingerprints stain the palms of my hands The year they almost finished Reading the paper and jumping at her hello, against dirty glass and And your terrified white words whisper Was the one where he felt like things Could make it through. my heart got attached along alleyways were hard She likes a boy just from the very sight of Masking my forearmed fear with hope And began to wonder why she always And her grandfather was never religious, your burning. For starlight encrusted highways of tomorrow looked so sad And he wants to live so badly, After all, it was August and Tingling sensations in my toes point me in It was the year she closed the book Because he never wants to waste a second that coat you were wearing your direction And turned out the light Of what he has, had me staring Knowing that I’ve taken these defiant Gave him one last look because it was too Because life is the only thing that is because it was hot as f*** steps before hard not to Solid and certain. from the sun’s constant blaring, And even with car-crash likelihood She likes a boy The year he was leaving and I wanted you out of that I’ll take them again And she feels selfish, living Was the one where he couldn’t let go heat-ridden cage. Tainted solemn cries When her grandfather’s life is so tentative, And wondered why And so it was; I unleashed From one or two or all of us, together But when she tries to He hadn’t held the book open with all of you and your brother Gasping for breaths or twinges or jolts Pause, his might. and only minutes passed before of happiness She can’t get life to stop. my mother came to a decision by Isabel Kerr, Greensboro, NC Ringing from the ones we’ll somehow She likes a boy without my permission. justly love, always And she walks with him Although I am not upset about the And she thinks of her grandfather one we came to choose, Molten black asphalt stains the soles of our feet Capturing Love And she lives time after time my thoughts move As we chase after your soul along derelict Because it’s the only thing If love could be drawn, back to you, and I wonder suburban roads She knows she can do. I’d grab every color, if your fire Palpably, I hear her grovel for more chances Use the globe as my canvas, is still burning like it used to. Hoping, if nothing else, mine are superior by Amy Clark, And paint the world for you. in eloquence. by Lauren Skaroff, Yardley, PA Santa Monica, CA by Emily Jones, St. John, WA by Tess Edwards, Perry Hall, MD 45 POETRY • FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink Liberty Dragging Me In A Winter’s Breeze What Georgia Did When the sun glares in from the Sapphire eyes The crisp wind, like freshly prepped “I’ll paint them big,” she said, wrong direction, With little flecks of green cookie dough, is and so she did – I sit down in the kitchen with my coffee mug Bursting with light Numbing my skin with a burning brush. sending huge splashes of color in hand Caught in the undertow of your stare. As the soft air scrapes past me, rolling across sinewy canvasses, peering down into valleys in the creaky I peer across the terrace. rioting through art halls. Long black lashes teak table. She escorted the dusky palette of the desert Contrast with the deep blue I can see a winter’s eternity burning to the ambitious New York skyline. “It’s actually supposed to be a soup bowl,” Reach out and grab me with passion She brought the beauty of bypassed details, my mother would mention gently – Dragging me in. The liberated winter landscape concealed blossoming with swirls of fluorescents embarrassed by my incorrect usage of the mug: with the color white Drawing my eyes to yours and pastels concerned, as she was Our eyes so close Just then a rabbit hopped across the scene to the eyes of the fast-walking, fast-talking, to teach me social graces and manners Almost touching With clumsy yet precise movements through fast-living city-people. tying me down arbitrarily. Our lashes knit together the deep snow. Her careful eyes searched out the A house sparrow tickles the attic, giggling It’s time to go back to sleep. modest furrows, Making us And I hear bees dozing with a quiet purr It’s winter. the bold ripples of huddled petals, Part of each other. under my shutters breathing soft reverberations of life Binding a couple into by Nick Lee, Clarkston, MI outside; it is cold, I remember into her page. One. wiggling my toes inside woolen socks. Georgia paid homage to what no one else did: by Rachel Henline, Irmo, SC “We’ll have to set traps to get them out,” Fairy Tales The flawless energy of a flower. by Bethany Clarke, Gilford, NH my father would conclude, sighing. I used to call you my white knight. Still I climb the stairs, This Poem Will When we were five, carefully opening my attic door You saved me from the dragons in and excited sparrows flitter Satirize Poems my backyard What Apparently this way and that around my head, An Apple (notice the capitalization And promised to make me your queen. past my ears with a sing-song longing Seems Ordinary It’s important In time, you threw aside your as they careen down the stairs with me; (That line break An ordinary Experience of life, Plastic breastplate So it would always Seem. I see their wings, striped tawny and white was too) And grew steel under your skin. blaze past me And the reference to Adam and Eve) A life with Ordinary Leaves, I always wondered whether you really Randomly placed on Ordinary Trees. and I let the windows fly open, Sidles and slouches in a wrinkled felt no pain embracing the buzzing bees, awakened cluttered place In your new armor A capture of Ordinary Skies, from their winter nap (the line is Or if it simply kept the hurricane in Melted together with Ordinary Greens – while the curtains float melodically in frigid air Cluttered your eyes from And some Ordinary Sea – surrounding me like a blanket of ice, and there is an alliteration Spilling out. Past illustrations of how ordinary life – also I am vague) Was previously Seen. hugging me as the sparrows swerve into I dropped my tiara at the last show-and-tell Mold creeps, Years have added some “Ordinary” War. the open Before middle school. With personification, Years have added some “Ordinary” Gore. like freed souls dancing down from heaven The flexible plastic snapped on impact On our old apple Years have added some “Ordinary” Sin. back to the life they had missed, to the And I learned to find a different kind (I’m addressing you) Regretfully Now – life they had wished for. Of dragon: a dragon that breathed A worm won’t ever choose These are All seen as ordinary Happenings. I remember now that my parents aren’t here; To reside within sweet talk and empty promises and their advice, well-founded, maybe, Such a place. I learned to spar with my own words The ordinary Car-Crashes-into that isn’t always right. (Nobody wants the apple I learned to stand my own ground ordinary Tree. Dust bunnies hiding in corners cautiously because mankind has ruined I learned to play carefully with needles The ordinary Plane-Falls-from that capture waltz onto the open floor Our knowledge (that’s commentary Never to accept fruit from strangers of ordinary skies. desiring the same freedoms, but too afraid to On society And not to underestimate the utility of The ordinary Being-Dies-onto those ask outright, with a rhyme.) talking mice. ordinary Greens, “Go ahead!” I cry, “Go!” And the ordinary Ship-Sinks-within that by Abigail Schneider, New York, NY But sometimes ordinary Sea. The doorway accepts them without doubt, When the walls of my castle feel a little without judgment, without prejudice. Too thin These used to be Unordinary things. “Go ahead!” the hinges on the door And the drawbridge shakes under my feet Until the moment He saw that Ordinary shout, “Go!” I think I still need a knight Life as something – and everyone now has found freedom, And I wonder if that hurricane has No Longer – Interesting. I know, Finally seen its by Jenna Atta, Kensington, MD myself included as I sink blissfully Rainbow. to the earth by Catherine Kulke, Wellesley, MA and blow away with the affectionate wind. Kisses by Rachel Spayd, Stockton, NJ First, exploratory, exciting, and nervous. Faces Fumbling, young, freckled, and watched. I told her that her face Bossy, uncomfortable, worried, and new. $limy was my favorite face of all Titillating, right, wrong, and exhibited. The color of the bad weather the faces I had ever been with. Deep, sweet, delicious, and loving. Has let go the hundred little fingers of Curious, devastating, exciting, and She laughed and told me of cannabis. red, green, that her face had nothing Art by Ama Liyanage, Mississauga, ON, Canada Casual, wasted, forgetful, and regretted. yellow, blue, and numb of black sticks to do with who she was. Cecito and Arturito, scuttles off dodging Friendly, acceptable, fun, and arousing. the many So I told her I liked her laugh, too, Funny, desirable, awkward, and a lost bet. schoolyard colors What Love Taught and she seemed to like that better. Erotic, swirling, hair-pulling, and exotic. With a geography of scars Love has only taught I asked her if she liked my face. Rough, unexpected, hungry, and perfect. Crooked hair and crooked teeth Me how to hurt somebody She said she preferred my hands. Non-consensual, struggling, aggravated, Without a weapon and slobbery. by Jacob Wilson, Clinton, TN by Tyler Peschel, Newburgh, NY Clumsy, doomed, musical, and unlikely. by Kate Dudek, Memphis, TN by Jenn Smith, Shelburne, NS, Canada 46 Teen Ink • FEBRUARY ’12 • POETRY Like no offense. Sorry So I don’t like apologies. The Mystery of Me I won’t do it. And while you have the authority, At first I don’t exist, I can’t. And are determined to make it happen, But I can be brought to life by anyone Who do they think they are, I will say sorry. or anything. Trying to make me lose I will not like it. Just like everything else, All status at school, at home, And I will not mean one letter of it. As I get older, In all of my life? Goodness gracious, what’s happening I get bigger To do that now To the English language now? I grow and grow and eventually, As I come to the end of my life, Would be Sorry if I’ve offended you. I disappear … To back down, by Katelyn Hefter, San Ramon, CA To show weakness, But, To be forever remembered In contact with another person or Photo by Michelle Kiss, Vancouver, WA As the one who listened another thing, Rapunzel I come to life again, To the voice Today Of “authority.” Her hair broke the scales. And the process starts over, 5 minutes for every strand to reach the bottom, I get bigger, I wrote a song. And who do they think they are anyway? celestial threads moving as one animal. And bigger, I called an old friend. Just a bunch Undeniably, And then I disappear. I ate an apple. Of people who come and try This is my life. Today To teach us stuff, but really, it’s beautiful, like a National Park or a thin I die, I drove barefoot. Really, golden hand. I reappear. I sang loudly in the car. Does anyone think that they actually But what would happen if each nervous A single touch, I let my hand Succeed? fiber was daintily Creates my entire being. Catch the air. cut from its own system? Would the little I can’t back down. Young at first, Today umbilical cords I’ve done nothing wrong. Then old not seconds later. I rolled down a hill. scream in their own detachment like I don’t need some adult taking my hand Here I am, I caught a ladybug. stirred spaghetti? And saying, “Come on, girl, apologize to And there I go, I named it Frederick. Would a weight be lifted from her head? What’s-her-face,” I am a ripple or a ring in a stream. Today There, she could Because, I bought a homeless person food. grow a halo. by Kara Oyer, No. Tonawanda, NY Goodness knows, I walked with him to the park. That would be the I don’t I taught him how to play guitar. Be-all, end-all want to tell you how many hair stylists Pastoral Sea Today Of humiliation. have either cried or paid her just to touch it. I realized life doesn’t have to be complicated. She hasn’t used it as a whip, or a lasso, A current whips across green tendrils What’s the point of apologizing anyway? by Sarah Logan, Tulsa, OK or a blanket, but she could. A wave of emerald spreading over a Just because you maybe If it came to her waist, maybe even skimming vast void Say someone’s shirt is not gorgeous, her hips, I’d be satisfied. A shoal of robins floats up to the sky Or that their art project looks like Maybe I’d wait until she’d fallen asleep, And come down again to glide over An elephant painting take out blades, scissors, and the crests. Maybe today (Which was meant to be a compliment hack it all off. The words will bloom Anyway, you idiots – A school of wooly critters and I will walk barefoot through the grass I was being kind and not calling Grasp it in my hands, victoriously, Frolic in the foam collecting them, sweet and ripe, It the garbage heap it truly is!) glue her severed locks to my own head. And a solitary trawl in a warm woven basket nestled Doesn’t mean you should by Claudia Taylor, West Tisbury, MA Springs from swell to swell. beneath my arm. Prostrate yourself before them, saying, The fisherman wades in the depths Maybe today “Oh, you poor mistreated little person Whistling to his beast (Calling them idiot, sadly, is not an option) I will thread my glistening needle Esmeralda A swiftly moving shark with long pieces of pale blue string I’m sorry, so sorry, That hauls the mob together. Will you ever forgive my humble soul” she wore daisies, take the words from their place And all that nonsense. woven into a Crown, by Mariah Cleveland, Gilmanton IW, NH and string them into a garland It’s time people learn to grow up, ’cuz in her hair. of what-I-want-to-tell-yous In the big, wide world out there her bones were thin, like the Maybe today Not everything is perfect. pages of the Bible, Break Up, Wake Up I will take my dented hammer but her heart was strong. Not everything is great. Today I woke up with its worn wooden handle her winged shoulder blades and And people need to get over it. and washed the tears off my face and pound my words above your door sharp elbows were batons. I made myself tea and not in the mug you where you will see them I’m not perfect. she said the color gray smelled Nobody is. used last before I can change my mind deeply of The New York Times again. And how, just how, and fish. in fact, I washed it twice, with fresh Is it fair that some she said that power and beauty were lemon soap Maybe today Very imperfect distributed and scrubbed all the coffee away I will watch you walk (Drinking coffee while we do their through your green picketed gate equally and I wrapped it up in the shirt you left in stupid assignments, with its peeling paint I love so much like communism. my car Treating us like little kids) and see your kind lips shape it's all clean now and smells like flowers People get to chose when and to whom eventually her lips parted the message I have left you. to reveal not you We repent? Maybe today. But the gleam of a white so yeah, mug in shirt in the box by the door There’s another thing I’m annoyed about. The words hanging on their soft green stalks Lie, Oh, and I vacuumed up the footprints When we have to say sorry are too high for my reaching fingers, mistaken for her teeth. even the teeny tiny crumbs of dirt For every little thingy-ma-bopper, my thread is twisted and knotted, her words then made an incision every last atom of you It kind of diminishes the purpose in my chest and stole your peeling picketed gate is closed I threw all the letters For when there are big “Sorry’s” whatever remained inside. and my hammer cannot be found. and dead flowers away Necessary, when you that Esmeralda was in such a daze for so long Maybe today and put the box out on the porch Kill people, that one day, I will be brave enough to give you Hurt people, she was Today I shut the door with a final click My carefully strung garland of words. Tell your parents big whopping lies – forgotten. and honey, I opened some windows. That type of thing. Or maybe tomorrow. Sorry is overused now, by Luo Qi Kong, Brooklyn, NY by Lisa Moskowitz, Orange, VA by Emma Vargo, Grand Rapids, MI 47 POETRY • FEBRUARY ’12 • Teen Ink