Page 1 By Any Other Name

Volume 21, Issue 2 Spring 2021 Hana, Grace Garvey Pg. 9 Artist spotlights are generally given to senior artists Happy Birthday, Grace Garvey Pg. 9 with large portfolios and are typically enrolled in an advanced level of art class. While these criteria are typically Spring Time, Grace Garvey Pg. 10 followed, exceptions can be made. Any student with a wide array of work may be considered to be the subject of an artist Fly, Emma Watson Pg. 10 spotlight. Inverted Butterfly, Pg. 11 Alex Sinelli Pg. 5 Arden Spehar Arden Spehar Pg. 11 Lana Del Rey Portrait, Pg. 11

Spotlights Arden Spehar Something Borrowed, Maddy Pg. 2 Smile More, Arden Spehar Pg. 12 Russell Tea Party, Sherise Lyou Pg. 13 Elegy for an Orange, Daniel Liu Pg. 3 Dry Lake, Zia Patel Pg. 13 The Mind You Own, Daniel Liu Pg. 4 Four Friends, Grace Garvey Pg. 14 Daylight Savings Time, Lauren Pg. 4 Sore Thumb, Ethan Leckie Pg. 15 Kurtz Escaping, Jack Leary Pg. 16 O’Young and Fired Prince, Alex Pg. 5 Sinelli In Search of a New Home, Pg. 17 Lauren Dill incandescent, Daniel Liu Pg. 7 Desolation, Sherise Lyou Pg. 17 The Stars Around Maria, Alex Pg. 8 Out of Reach, Santiago Calderon Pg. 18 Sinelli A New Perspective, Pg. 18 Julia Nicholson My Friends Are in My Phone, Pg. 10 Ngäbe-Buglé Grandmother, Pg. 19 Leslie Ying Sophia Pensula Spring Day, Zain Sadiq Pg. 10 Everybody Needs a Home, Pg. 20 Clio Williams The Man with Everything, Pg. 14 Santiago Calderon Swimming, Grace Garvey Pg. 20

Poems, Short Stories, & Essays Stories, Short Poems, The P, B, and J, Santiago Pg. 14 Pierce the Veil, Calderon Aishwarya Vangala Pg. 21 October 6th, 2018, Jayde Pg. 15 The Truth Untold, Kelli Qi Pg. 21 Lombard Betty, Emma Watson Pg. 21 A Letter to my Freshman Self, Pg. 16 Jaclyn Recksiedler Window to Florence, Luis Roldan Pg. 21 Arthur’s Letter, Sarah Finfrock Pg. 19 Beauty of Age, Lauren Eisen Pg. 22 Piggy, Sarah Steadman Back Discovery, Sherise Lyou Front Cover Cover

Lazy Afternoon, Evelien Stiffler Pg. 1 Editor-In-Chief: Santiago Calderon; Director of Photography: Sarah Finfrock; Copy Editor: Alexandra Staff Deer Skull, Sophia Pensula Pg. 2 Caballero; Co-Editors: Luis Roldan, Zeal Patel; Staff: At Peace, Zeal Patel Pg. 3 Ethan Leckie, Kaia James, Lauren Shang, Rebecca Reif, Sophie Geraghty; Sponsor: Ginger Bryant Home is Where The Heart is, Pg. 4 Elisa Davis Submissions for the Lake Highland Preparatory School Literary Magazine, By Any Other Name, are open to all My Play-ground, Pg. 5 Art students grades 9-12. Any student may submit artwork or Sophia Pensula writing to be considered for publication. Submissions are judged by the Editor-In-Chief, Director of Photography, and Encroaching Thunder, Isabel Pg. 6 Copy Editor of the literary magazine based on a number of Mestey-Colon criteria including, but not limited to: originality, artistic integrity, and aesthetic appeal. Submissions can be emailed Midnight on the Rooftop, Julia Pg. 7 to Ms. Ginger Bryant at [email protected] or submitted to 901 Nicholson Highland Avenue, Orlando, Florida 32803. Spring 2021 Page 2 Something Borrowed By Maddy Russell, Grade 11

I. ii. walking down my driveway, the day’s air is sticky and heavy, wind wicks my hair, but somehow somersaults over my head dancing in the feeling of emptiness that only comes as a soft breeze. from a vacant parking lot. the cars brush the asphalt on the crosswalk I drop minutes behind me as I search for my reflection like rice in each window on a wedding day, (tinted and one-way glass) (impossible to pick up afterwards black against the young blue sky. but we try anyway.) be home by supper only means something through the store windows when there’s time to kill, the shoppers are making masks out of veils time I spend twirling my watch around my wrist & pretending they’re older until the clock hands blur until each day peels back like a blister, their only wedding guests are shadows just painful enough to mark the passage of time. (in a world alone, there is always dancing.) the tires start again, kicking up sawdust and dirt, I dance down the aisles, mosquitoes find my knees. rice marking my way home. some things never change. (in a world alone, there is always someone dancing.)

(Above) Deer Skull, Sophia Pensula, Grade 12, Chalk. Page 3 By Any Other Name

it died a stupid death Elegy for an Orange a life lost because I forgot to eat it. By Daniel Liu, Grade 10 the fruit I left on this counter I suppose it had to go either way? rotted away like roadkill, in my mouth or in the mouth of mold. a vegan grave. some stupid death

(Above) At Peace, Zeal Patel, Grade 11, Photography. Spring 2021 Page 4 The Mind You Own Daylights Savings Time By Daniel Liu, Grade 10 By Lauren Kurtz, Grade 10 When the water was young and your mouth was blue It is dark outside when I awake, when you could not control your tongue nor your head So sunshine is my expectation, when unfiltered happiness poured out of a It is winter still which is my mistake spring unbound: some playing deer, a child The sky, a gloomy creation. Your mind was still yours. The days drag on and time moves slow But spring is surely around the corner and when your hair turns into little slivers of moon-bodies The flowers bloom and the trees grow when your bones slip and sound when you dance, This is the year’s natural order. when you have lived a lifetime, maybe even two, We spring forward and we spring back, with memories all around you for you to enjoy, Time is ours to control Your mind will still be yours. We live by the farmers almanac As we anticipate the groundhog coming out of its hole. So why, when you suffer, when comets come hurtling toward the Earth, when your thin golden thread is at the cliffside and God is holding his small black scissors so close to it, waiting for you to mess up, Isn’t your mind still yours?

(Above) Home is Where The Heart Is, Elisa Davis, Grade 9, Ink drawing and wash. Page 5 By Any Other Name Alex Sinelli Writer Spotlight What genre do you write in the most? Which do you enjoy writing in the most? I definitely write in realistic fiction the most. It’s a genre I’m comfortable in because it lets me focus on human emotion as the central driving catalyst. I definitely enjoy writing in scientific fiction because it lets me get creative with setting as a lens to examine the characters. What is your favorite style? I almost exclusively write first-person short stories. I like being able to shine a light in the thoughts of the character while still having mystery as to what other characters are thinking. What subject matter do you use the most? Man Versus Self is definitely my favorite for short stories, but for longer stories I love Man Versus Nature. Both are immense power struggles between a vulnerable, stubborn character and an immense force they don’t have control over. Characters that are perfect and never in danger are boring. What inspires you? Shorebirds. I got a very good opportunity to describe their fragile relationship with the ocean in “Stars Around Ma- ria.” It’s a struggle between something that is evolved and adapted to deal with the danger of rushing waves while still (Above) Photo courtesy of Alex Sinelli. risking the fact that they could get swept up. Have you won any awards for your writing? Which one of your works are you most proud of? I won the 2020 Page 15 short story contest, but I don’t It’s a solid tie between “Stars Around Maria” and “Mom.” often submit things to competitions. Both are recent pieces that fleshed out two different char- acters in two distinct styles, and they were signs to me that Do you have any publishings of your writing? I was published in the aforementioned Page 15 Anthology I was getting into my element. because I won, as well as several publishings in the Lake Highland literary magazine By Any Other Name. O’ Young and Fire Prince Who is your favorite author? All authors have their own special writing styles that make By Alex Sinelli, Grade 12 them unique. I love Chinua Achebe, Zora Neil Hurston, Not O’ Young and Fired Prince, that you would send Hemmingway, Shakespeare, J.R.R Tolkein, and so on. as droplets to a desert these scores of thousand men. That your reign may water this garden of slime and rotted skin and bloom out a new age of Denmark. Tis against my thought, sure as sun of yours, that these men may escape this brambled kingdom to see their faithful loves and unsul- lied mothers. By my hand, I had cleaved through corrupt men so that to all hope of the divine you have strolled into this palace to take what is rightfully mine. But you were braced by these men around you to see the heavens ‘fore you sat on that throne. A greaséd mirror, is you to I. Two princes, father’s wronged; yet I see myself not fit to take the crown. May you defend this weeded patch against the next fool so simple as to risk all for your eggshell. I ask you, give me leave, not from your presence only, but from this fleshéd prison. You are a witless man, O’ Prince, so witless as to sit upon that throne and pray no man realizes how blind thy sanguine rage has made you. Bid it, or bid it not, I leave, and pray Hyperion is kind to you. (Above) My Play-ground, Sophia Pensula, Grade 12, Chalk. Spring 2021 Page 6

sea could wash over its legs—the tools of its life— and The Stars Around Maria gulp them down into the uncaring depths beyond the shelf, By Alex Sinelli, Grade 12 to be blotted from history like the great wooden vessels The oyster’s carapace clattered to the bottom of the tossed about the seafloor in a leprous pattern. Everything pot with a resonating crack that filled my home with the sound the turnstone had was that white-gold ocean, and the white- of my success. The way it should be. I looked at the picture of gold ocean would rip it apart if it got too close. I considered my father as I ate, a sullen look betraying his cheery demean- going down from Maria’s deck, saving the little bird from its ig- or, as his frame glanced out at the sound through the soda- norant ways, shaking it awake, but there was no pull stronger lime window— at the glowing fibrous clouds that dominated than an animal to its habitat. To shred those bonds was to split over the ceaseless blue, that skipped across the hull of his the sky and ocean and create a great in-between on the horizon. Maria, sitting tranquilly against the dock. Every so often, she I gave the aquatic regality that skittered near the hull bumped it, like a dog begging a hand for the adventure outside. a polite nod before shooing it off, to give it the chance to find I hadn’t had oysters this good in months. One didn’t its own food on the ocean, as I set off to do. Soon, it was me find them as much in the shallows of the sound, nor in the and Maria, two specks on the uncaring abyss, floating upon deep shelves beyond the waves.There was a special spot to the water with thoughts of home in our hearts. I nodded to find oysters in, a spot that no barge could drag a net through, Clark’s Sound as her captain passed me on a different jour- and no cage could be ney. Her ship was set. It was a spot the stuck in the in-be- longshoremen loved tween— of the new, like a secret— there artificial way and the was no end to it, just way of her people— the satisfaction of the way life should a long day’s work, be. We were a dying something that no ma- breed of people alto- chine could enjoy. I set gether, departing the my dishes in the sink, linear shore to catch, gazing out at the ris- eat, and sell, on ing sun— I would em- the verdant ocean. bark once more, out As I steered Maria across the barrier be- towards the abyss, tween sky and sound, I took note of the and find that spot. little things around The sum- me. Titanic clouds mers of late had not looked down on me been good for any from above, giv- man of sound mind, ing me the impend- but to the glossy-eyed ing feeling that the spotlights of a barge, nimbus could take it was a time of great (Above) Encroaching Thunder, Isabel Mestey-Colon, Grade 10, Acrylic. Maria over. A driz- profit. There was nothing organic about that kind of fishing, zle like that was a death sentence to a barge, and so they only the cold clicking of a winch being reeled. I vented my would stay close to shore, glancing out fearfully at the sav- troubles to Maria as I checked my bait trap by her dock. age trawls that would still brave the waves. There’s no glory The warm waters had brought crayfish to the shore, and it in longshoremanship, only what the ocean can give you— seemed they’d had a feast on the minnows and guppies I calloused hands, good protein, and a satisfaction of mov- would otherwise find. Yet, I took them and brought them to ing with the currents and crags: the way it should be. The Maria, where she bowed her hull in welcome to my weight. slime and grease of the ocean was not one to be taken Nothing fantastical described the feeling of a boat lightly. It was a reminder, like the turnstone, or the storm on water— no poetry, no Romantic image could replicate clouds that still loomed over Maria, that there are things hu- the sway of still water under a well-made boat. Maria was mans need to understand. That’s what my father had told built the way boats should be: not with tons upon tons upon me when he chose to brave the tempest again and again. tons of steel and wrought iron and rope, but with the skilled It’s why I couldn’t unhook myself from the sea. What hand of one man, a longshoreman, who was married to the awaited me on land? An office job, or a line cook position? sea and her ways— bating ways, passed through parent to What did security have to offer me that I could not dredge child on the waves of the sounds— the way life should be. A tawny turnstone zipped and unzipped the sandy The Stars Around Maria, bank with its small, uniform feet, dancing along as if the Continued on Page 8 ... Page 7 By Any Other Name

was heavy when the flames soared like falcons. In a slow-mo- tion scene, the sparks grew like flowers budded and waves By Daniel Liu, Grade 10 of paint tangoed on the midnight canvas. Finally, it was all- “emitting light as a result of being heated.” consuming when the emboldened fire pinnacled. In a con- tinuous peak of glory, the planet brilliantly winged like golden In my youth, I saw wild fields adorned with crowns laced droplets swallowing ink and spitting out infernos of yellows. with blades of grass.There I had picked daisies and relent- less ivies ordained in the religion of carelessness. It was a It is Eden on fire to streak the darkness with empty a frac- garden which fed on starlight and moonlight and its sight tion, of original its love. It is careless violence that rips and everything was right.This little planet of earthly delights heaven away from the heavens it is so in awe of. Ambi- used to fly suspended in space impudent to suns and black tion leads bliss to immolate its daises and relentless ivies holes and obeyed only the law of whimsical love. Life un- to nest possibility of a temporary color-filled night, only to furled as March uncurled as richly raw perfection ran rife. fade into the blackness of a dying sea. A falling star once brimming with life dies a cosmic grave; as above, so below. It was sudden when the ground first cracked. In everlasting colors, the planet set ablaze as gravity sold its spell. Then, it “An incandescent meteor flies across the night sky.”

(Above) Midnight on the Rooftop, Julia Nicholson, Grade 10, Photography. Spring 2021 Page 8 pinning me twixt, one vast and slimy, the other loud, an- …Stars Around Maria, gry, and both cared only for power and respect as they Continued From Page 6. tore viciously at each other with fire and water. Beasts that dug their nails into Maria to rip open her shell and feast. up from the seabed? What weather radio could betray the I could not reason with the storm, only my hands that ocean’s secrets better than a well-trained eye or the feel of threatened to release the rail and throw me into the ocean. wind against a longshoreman’s breast? My hands, the tools The heavens cackled at the thought of the tools of of my life, had served me for years, honed by my father and my life betraying me, and the ocean laughed back with a his father before him—they were my own, could never be loud, frothy chortle that threw its foam onto the deck. The powered off by overuse; only by the slow march of time or, platinum lights in the sky gave the sea’s spittle a parasitic perhaps, the beastial weave of brume that raged above me... look, as if it were crawling with little bugs as the bubbles Lightning gutted the sky, spilling out the deafening suckled the ferrous deck like bleached leeches. I hooked sonic viscera that growled like a dog for me to move back. my hands once more unto Maria’s rail—the inky depths Maria wrestled with the waves of the ocean, holding me to threw more and more at me, trying to shove me away from her back as she tried to break free. The wheel wrenched itself my life, and my father’s life— the way life should be— but from my hands, throwing me from the cabin as I slid out on I held onto Maria and she held onto me. The azure set- deck. The rain spit against me, and I spit back, dancing cau- tled, glaring at me as the firmament receded with one last tiously around its power like the turnstone skated across the sputter against me. The sable sea beneath me settled. beach. The ocean was an uncaring beast that was not scared My eyes were opened with the silent rocking of her by automatons, only the hardworking who dared to scale its hull. Maria was dead, nothing but a gutted carapace drifting stormy waves. To turn back was to invite the barges to sink along a sea of fog. The haze wrapped around her, cradling their greasy teeth into the oysters and gorge themselves on her back and forth, and blocking my view of anything be- a long shoreman’s inactivity. I puffed out my chest and faced yond its reach. The sun injected its light through thin rays up at the angry sky— I would find out what I was made of. that drunkenly paced the deck, looking around the cerulean Shapes appeared in the water, like ink spilled from twilight and creating brilliant golden petechiae on the sheet- the sky— the undulating waves of rain painted angels and metal. I was yet another creature of the ocean, swaying to demons that slashed at Maria, scraping her pockmarked the music of waves now absent from my ears. I needed no skin with wash and wind. The crab cage threw itself to the stars, no compass, to know where I was. Instead, I gazed sea, taking a coward’s voyage to the bottom of the ocean. I through the fog as the pearlish sun was guzzled by the reminded myself I was more than wood, and kept my hands mauve ocean— it moved on to another target, and I was on the rail as I steadied my mind and gazed into the sky. left in the void, the stars above me and below me around It growled, and spit, like the beast it was— two beasts, Maria. For a longshoreman, it was the way life should be.

(Above) Hand Study, Sophia Pensula, Grade 12, Chalk. Page 9 By Any Other Name

(Above) Hana, Grace Garvey, Grade 12, Pen and ink.

(Above) Happy Birthday, Grace Garvey, Grade 12, Pen and ink. Spring 2021 Page 10 First Spring Day By Zain Sadik, Grade 2

It was a sunny spring day, the winter goes away and we all shout “Hooray!”

People fly a kite, or they ride their bike, then an airplane has gone by, it is finally springtime.

(Above) Spring Time, Grace Garvey, Grade 12, Pen and ink.

My Friends Are in My Phone By Leslie Ying, Grade 12

I grab my laptop to join class— To watch a piece of glass. My teacher greets me, “Hey Zoomie!” But that’s not really me.

I sit “in class” behind my screen, Feeling like I’m unseen. Because the lagging is so bad, I constantly feel mad.

I sit at home and try to hear. I wish I weren’t stuck here. Confused and kinda in despair, It’s more than I can bear.

I sit in my own home on Zoom, Missing the true classroom. I wish that I could see my peers Without Corona fears.

I grab my laptop; class is done. I wish that I’d had fun. The room is quiet; I’m alone. My friends are in my phone.

(Above) Fly, Emma Watson, Grade 11, Photography. Page 11 By Any Other Name Arden Spehar Artist Spotlight What medium do you use the most? Which do you enjoy using the most? The vast majority of my pieces are created with colored pencils, but more recently, I’ve been interested in mixed media, so I’ve been experimenting with collage, a piece that adds elements of depth. What is your favorite style? The Impressionist Movement produced my favorite artists, as I am incredibly inspired by Paul Signac and Monet. What subject matter do you use the (Above) Photo courtesy of Arden Spehar. (Above) Lana Del Rey Portrait, Arden Spehar, Grade 11, Colored pencil. most? What inspires you? My pieces are somewhat scattered in My family. They consistently encourage me to create new pieces, and they subject matter, but I tend to focus on inspire me to work to challenge myself in the process of doing so. As of lately, human faces, as I love the flexibility I draw inspiration from points of the socio-political environment of modern involved with drawing a face. When society. selecting a subject matter, I love looking for something that sends a message, Which one of your works are you most proud of? which tends to shine through even more While I am proud of all of my pieces, as they each represent different points in in my mixed media pieces. my life, Smile More and Inverted Butterfly are probably my two personal favor- ites, as they took the most time and effort to complete. Who is your favorite artist? It’s hard to say! In terms of abstract art, I love Daisuke Yokota; his work is absolutely incredible. Because I enjoy drawing the human face, I absolutely love seeing how other artists interpret it.

(Above) Inverted Butterfly, Arden Spehar, Grade 11, Colored pencil. Spring 2021 Page 12

(Above) Smile More, Arden Spehar, Grade 11, Mixed media. Page 13 By Any Other Name

(Above) Dry Lake, Zia Patel, Grade 10, Photography.

(Above) Tea Party, Sherise Lyou, Grade 12, Graphite. Spring 2021 Page 14 The Man with Everything The P, B, and J By Santiago Calderon, Grade 11 By Santiago Calderon, Grade 11 Why the lavish car? Between two slices The extravagant mansion? Where smooth and crunchy collide Yet empty within. Happiness lies there.

(Above) Four Friends, Grace Garvey, Grade 12, Pen and ink. Page 15 By Any Other Name October 6th, 2018 distance we could recognize our coaches, talking to their friends, the coaches other schools, and realized, they had By Jayde Lombard, Grade 10 not even watched our race. They never even saw how hard The day started like every other Satur- we had worked and how far we had come. We saw an open- day. I woke up before sunrise, dragged my tired, ing and asked a Bennies’ boy to pull us in. I reached for the aching body out of bed, and headed to the green, jetty and quickly leaped out of the boat in order to prevent us foul-smelling racecourse, also known as Plaat. from floating away. As I got out of the boat, I felt a sharp pain Our age group was fairly big; there were twelve of on my knee but ignored it as I was furious with my coaches us, enough for two quads, but not enough for three. I was and ‘friends’ for not helping us. We placed the boat on its one of the unlucky two who did not have a quad. I knew rack. I felt that my leg was wet and looked down to see a today would be a long bright red waterfall flow- day of helping everyone ing down my shin; I had before their three races, cut my knee open. I ran and receiving no help to the bathroom, avoiding before my only race of my coaches, to clean it. the day, the two kilome- As soon as the ters uneven pair race trailer was packed, I left, from hell. I still woke up, avoiding everyone’s star- prepared my two water ing eyes. As soon as I got bottles, and an extra one home I went straight to in case anyone forgot my parents’ bathroom to theirs, made my way to shower, as people were Plaat because as much already showering in as I hated this sport, mine because they also I would never let my came from the regatta. team down, even if it did I did what my parents consist of two people. asked and made sure The day was everyone was happy, but extremely long and boil- by nine o’clock I had hit ing hot. Whilst trying a wall and collapsed in to get coffee from my my sister’s room, ask- mother, I discovered ing my mom to wake me that my dad had unfor- up when everyone was tunately invited people gone as I wanted to sleep to our house for a braai, in my own warm bed. knowing full well I would At ten, I felt my be getting home late mom’s gentle touch in- covered in an unhealthy forming me that every- layer of green slime and one was gone. I slowly sweat as well as having dragged myself to my trained at seven in the bedroom, still half asleep. morning the next day. My mother noticed the Even worse, my sister gashing cut on my knee was off doing who knows and fetched an an- what with her obnox- (Above) Sore Thumb, Ethan Leckie, Grade 12, Photography. tibiotic cream to ious boyfriend, meaning I was left alone to entertain. put on it. The second the cream touched my knee, I My race was one of the last few of the day; an felt a burning sensation and screamed in agony. The hour before our race started, we began the long pain- tears were flooding out of my eyes. My mom scram- ful warm-up. We got our boat on the water and com- bled to get the cream off and comfort me in my pain. menced the long row to the start line; the nerves started As my mom is about to turn off my lights, I hear to kick in. We knew there were strong competitors in our da buzzing coming from her pocket. She reached for race, but we promised each other to just do our bests. her phone and realized it was an unknown number. We finished our painful race. We were ec- Her phone’s volume was loud, allowing me to hear ev- static; we came in fourth place, and there were ery word the voice on the other line said, but I had no seven other crews. As we were coming in, we no- clue that these words would change my whole family for- ticed no one was on the jetties to catch us. In the ever: “Your daughter has been in a horrible car accident.” Spring 2021 Page 16

new things. Don’t compare yourself to others; instead focus A Letter to my Freshman Self on your own work. Make your mark on the world and live. After all, I did well in high school, and believe By Jaclyn Recksiedler, Grade 12 it or not, most of it has been beautiful. The bad things Dear Freshman Self, taught me lessons, and the good things helped me have I know you’re scared about high school. You’re plan- fun. And though high school is coming to an end for ning your classes, hoping you make friends, and praying that me, it’s going to be the start of a new chapter in my life. the bullies that follow you to high school will be nicer this year. I’m about to commit to a college. It wasn’t I can honestly tell you that everything will be okay. where I thought I would end up, but it’s where I’m It won’t work out according to your plan, but it will work out. meant to go. I’m not sure what’s going to happen, First of all, don’t forget to have hope. Instead of dread- but I’ll try my best to relish whatever comes next. ing waking up at five in the morning, look forward to watch- Sincerely, ing the sunrise. Instead of fearing that some of your teachers Your Senior Self may be mean, enjoy the lessons you learn with the fun ones. Focus on doing your best, for that’s all you can do. And try not to procrastinate, because as good as you are at that, it’s not something to be proud of. The less you procrastinate, the more sleep you get. And trust me, you need sleep. I’m a Senior now, and life is pretty crazy. In a good way for the most part. I made it way farther than we ever thought we’d make it, and I learned that I am capable of more than we thought. I’ve submitted all my college applica- tions, and I got my first acceptance letter in Oc- tober. I also got my first rejection in February. Neither of those decisions define me, no matter what anyone says. I made academic life a priority, and it paid off (in everything but mental health).You’ll switch from the IB program to a private school Sophomore year, and you will absolutely love it. People are much nicer. The plan you made for your future even- tually changes, as it was built on the ever-shift- ing sands of time, but you still have control over your life. As a Senior, I have great friends that I’ve known for a few years, and my classes are challenging but entertaining. I learned that life can be exciting when you stop trying to predict it. What I’m trying to say is: breathe. En- joy your time as a Freshman- as a high schooler for that matter. Yes, you should still work hard to maximize your study time and pay atten- tion in class. But don’t forget to spend time with your family and friends. You’ll learn that time is your scarcest resource, so be wise with it. Learn to do things for the sake of fun. There are so many things you will get to experience if you just let yourself live. And yes, not every experi- ence is beautiful. Some of it is excruciating, but some of it is so wonderful that it makes you feel like it’s the reason you’re alive. And that’s life. And you’ll love it if you give yourself a chance. You’re so young, and you don’t even real- ize it. Enjoy the moments you’re in because they come and go so quickly. Don’t be afraid to try (Above) Escaping, Jack Leary, Grade 9, Pen and ink. Page 17 By Any Other Name

(Above) In Search of a New Home, Lauren Dill, Grade 10, Graphite.

(Above) Desolation, Sherise Lyou, Grade 12, Acrylic and pastel. Spring 2021 Page 18

(Above) Out of Reach, Santiago Calderon, Grade 11, Photography.

(Above) A New Perspective, Julia Nicholson, Grade 10, Photography. Page 19 By Any Other Name

Arthur’s Letter ternational consulting firm. All I had to do was get a bachelor’s degree, and the whole company would be By Sarah Finfrock, Grade 10 mine.” “But you didn’t?” asked Cliff. “Of course not. I be- It was a warm summer afternoon. Cliff Mason de- came an aid worker instead, and pursued my dream to cided to go for a walk in the gardens of Mercy Hospital. He travel the world. I’ve been to 112 countries already,” add- felt the sun warm his face and the breeze fiddle through his ed Harry. “Hmm,” Cliff clicked his tongue, “Interesting.” hair. The birds chirped gently. Cliff did something he seldom “Have any kids?” Harry asked. “Just one,” answered has: he took a break. He sat on a wooden bench to enjoy Cliff, “And now a grandson, Arthur. He speaks three languag- the moment and live in the present. He was well-dressed, es already and knows how to play the piano like a pro, even as always, wearing an ash colored suit and saddle tan Bru- though he’s only six. He has a recital next month. Hopefully no Maglis. His hair was well kept and his face well-shaven. I’ll make it till then.” “Well, he must be quite smart then,” While enjoying his sojourn, a man of much less so- insisted Harry. “Not too much, he just likes to play baseball, phistication approached him, “Is this seat saved?” he asked but his mother worked to straighten him out.” “Why not let in an almost juvenile tone, even though he, like Cliff, was him play baseball?” asked Harry, “Nothing wrong with that. probably well into his 60s. “It appears not,” Cliff replied. They It’s a fine game, isn’t it?” “Haha, Henry, you must not know sat in silence for a much about life. moment, when the Baseball is a game. man interjected, Knowledge leads “My name’s Har- one to money and ry,” he remarked. wealth,” declared Cliff nodded gen- Cliff. “Well, life is a tly. “Well, my real game isn’t it? Ex- name is Henry cept, no one makes Holder III, but it out alive. If time is that’ll be our little money, why spend secret. I don’t get all your time trying called that any- to get money? The more, not since saying doesn’t work I was a young in reverse,” Harry boy.” “Why so?” chuckled, softer this responded Cliff. time than before. “Well, I just don’t It was his like it, you know? apartment on the It implies that I’m East side. He sat sophisticated or there on the floor, something, like pretty young, four, my father, but six year sold at the I’ve turned out most. Finally, 4:00 much different P.M. weather time. than him.”“Hmm,” Little Cliff stood Cliff replied, won- (Above) Ngäbe-Buglé Grandmother, Sophia Pensula, Grade 12, Chalk. up, “Hello New York dering why Henry was telling him so much. Maybe he City! This is CJ Mason reporting live from Times Square. was on some medicine for some kind of treatment. Yeah, Today’s weather will be a high of 45 and a low of 30, with that must be it, he thought. “Well, what’s your name?” clear skies and a 15% chance of snow.” “Shutup CJ. No Harry inquired. “Cliffton James Mason,” answered Cliff one cares about the weather. That’s only for the rich peo- with dignity and grace. He decided to hide that his name ple, like on Wall Street. Y’know how people on the East wasn’t really Cliffton. It was just Cliff, and as a kid it side learn the weather? We look outside,” his father yelled. wasn’t even Cliff, but CJ. How unworldly Cliff thought. Never again did Cliff bother with such silly ambi- “You seem to take life pretty seriously, huh?” Harry tions. Becoming a weatherman took connections, some- chuckled. “Well I’ve worked my whole life to afford clothes thing Cliff had nothing of at the time. If Wall Street-ers like these. I was no trust-fund baby. I earned every penny,” cared about the weather, then that was what Cliff was Cliff declared. “I grew up poor on the East Side of New York to become. Hmm, Cliff had forgotten that’s why he got City, got a scholarship to Columbia, and became an invest- into banking, always thought it was about the money. ment banker, first in my family to graduate high school.” “Well, we must be quite opposite,” Harry chuck- Arthur’s Letter, led again, “My father was a businessman, owned an in- Continued on Page 20... Spring 2021 Page 20 ...Arthur’s Letter, Continued From Page 19. Harry awoke him out of his reminiscence, “Good luck with your grandson’s recital. I’ve seen you in the ter- minal ward. I’m there too. See you around, Cliffton.” “Uh-huh, see you around, Harry.” Harry smiled, and walked off, almost strolling away. “Wait,” Cliff yelled, “Call me CJ.” “Well, alright then, see you around CJ.” Now CJ was alone on the bench just like be- fore Harry approached him. The sun was still shining, the birds still chirping, the breeze still swaying, but noth- ing was the same. He thought of his young and youth- ful grandson Arthur. Oh boy, CJ thought: He must teach him Harry’s lesson. Maybe, he should write a letter. “For little Artie, to be opened on your 14th birthday:,” CJ addressed it. “Dear Artie, There is a lesson I would like to teach you as you embark on your journey in high school. A wise man taught me this today, as I sat on a bench just after hearing the news I had only weeks to livefrom the cancer: I’m sure you’ve heard the story by now. There’s just one (Above) Swimming, Grace Garvey, Grade 12, Pen and ink. thing I want you to remember, Life is an adventure. And a clam, treasure that time and protect it with all your will. like all adventures, it will one day come to an end. The time Do with this what you like. Whether or not you heed this you get is more valuable than any pearl in the sea. So like advice, I will also be proud to be your papa. Love, C.J.”

(Above) Everybody Needs A Home, Clio Williams, Grade 10, Pen and ink. Page 21 By Any Other Name

(Above) Pierce the Veil, Aishwarya Vangala, Grade (Above) The Truth Untold, Kelly Qi, Grade 12, Graphite. 9, Pen, ink, and marker.

(Above) Window to Florence, Luis Roldan, Grade 11, (Above) Betty, Emma Watson, Grade 11, Photography. Photography. Spring 2021 Page 22

(Above) Beauty of Age, Lauren Eisen, Grade 11, Graphite and white charcoal. (Above) Piggy, Sarah Steadman, Grade 12, Acrylic.