Creative Writing Anthology

Home , Alex Cline, Gone Crazy, Wall climb

Somerset County

The Somerset County Creative Writing Anthology is a component of Somerset County’s Virtual Teen Arts Festival.

Students’ creative writing is read by respected, professional writers. Video critiques that highlight strengths and offer constructive suggestions for improvement are provided for each student.

The Somerset County Teen Arts Creative Writing component is a complement to the County school districts’ regular English classes in that it offers students the opportunity to work directly with professional writers and poets. Students are encouraged to fine-tune their writing skills and are given insights into the creative process.

The Somerset County Cultural & Heritage Commission wishes to commend the students whose work appears in this anthology, and hopes the experience will inspire them to continue writing as an expressive art form.

All students, artists, and school liaisons have our heartfelt thanks for their work in helping us produce our first Virtual Teen Arts Festival!

Cover Artwork: Maia Vidal, 13 Branchburg Central Middle School Grade 8 3

SCHOOLS & STUDENTS

ALEXANDER BATCHO INTERMEDIATE SCHOOL Teachers: Erika Barney

Vanessa Dickson ...... 8 Trip Freitag ...... 10 Sebastian Gazda ...... 13 Hannah Kunjumon ...... 16 Alexancra Kuznetsov ...... 19 Janely Munguia ...... 21 Edward Zuniga ...... 24

BERNARDSVILLE MIDDLE SCHOOL

Teachers: Danielle McGovern Cyrus Mehrrostami ...... 25

BOUND BROOK HIGH SCHOOL Teachers: Courtney Nemerofsky Zujeidi Lopez ...... 28

BRANCHBURG CENTRAL MIDDLE SCHOOL

Teachers: Suzanna Updegrove

Christopher Dugan ...... 29 Shloka Moosthiala ...... 30 Cassara Nguyen...... 31 Tiana Nguyen ...... 32 Maia Vidal ...... 34

BRIDGEWATER RARITAN HIGH SCHOOL Teachers: Stacey Fleissner Ameya Nerella ...... 35

HILLSBOROUGH HIGH SCHOOL Teachers: Lynn Mound, Rebecca McManus, Anthony Smith Meghna Bharath ...... 38 Caitlyn Chui...... 39 Alex Cline ...... 40 Morgan Hodorowski ...... 41 Riti Krishna ...... 44

HILLSBOROUGH MIDDLE SCHOOL Teachers: Dawn Cervellino, Bill Dixon, Heather Pozsonyi, Nina Presuto Maya Barajas ...... 47 Colleen Bull ...... 48 Joseph Campana ...... 49 Isabella DiStasio ...... 52 Ryan Gear ...... 55 Nicola Johnson ...... 56 Alaap Joshi ...... 57 Shreya Malhorta ...... 58 Karolina Matejcsyk ...... 62 Isabella Nunziata ...... 63 Noah Offiah ...... 66 Srija Patel ...... 68 Emma Payne ...... 74 Marisol Perez ...... 75 Kunal Shah ...... 76 Xienna Still ...... 77 Emily Stuart ...... 78 Ethan Tang...... 80 Alexa Tietjan ...... 82 Blair Yusko ...... 83

MANVILLE HIGH SCHOOL

Teachers: Rachel Lopa, Jennifer Kohl Williams

Emily Cano ...... 84 Xiomara Castro ...... 87

WATCHUNG HILLS REGIONAL HIGH SCHOOL

Teachers: Christina Dwyer Rachel Elevathingal ...... 89 Siena Martin ...... 90

Artwork Brandon Alvarado ...... 18 Emily Cano ...... 86 Skylar Clarida ...... 65 Gina Fry ...... 51 Alison Rivera ...... 7 Daniel Cubillo Solano ...... 88 Maia Vidal ...... Cover Jackie Zuza ...... 37

Artwork: Alison Rivera, 18 Bound Brook High School Grade 12 7

ALEXANDER BATCHO INTERMEDIATE SCHOOL

Words Of Beauty

Chrysalism (noun) - the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm

I look forward to the thunder during the rain. I love patterning against the rooftop. It almost sounds like an argument upstairs, muffled conversations between the thunder and rain that I silently try to uncover.

I never get tired listening to the two talk, such pretty sounds individually but extraordinarily pleasant placed together. The euphoria it gives me as I look to find art right outside my window, such beautiful colors light blue, yellow, silver, and when I'm lucky, purple or pink. As the storm silently grows farther from me, I can still see the colorful streaks against the night sky, and I can still hear the muffled conversations. This chaos is a dear friend of mine, and I cannot wait until the day they seek to find me again.

Musicophile (noun) - one with abnormal fondness of music; a person who loves music

In my own words, I am unable to describe my love for music; it is a nearly impossible feeling to cap- ture when you stare at the moon--like temporary, short-term pleasure. Music makes me feel unaware of what is happening around me; everything stops when you listen to a particular sound that is smooth and musical and pleasant to hear. In the state of isolation, it's even better, and it makes me still and almost numb, but in a good way. It feels like a forever-frozen January indoors at 6:00 a.m. Yes, that's exactly how to describe it, as if winter steals away summer's breath. Music invades my thoughts in the most extroverted way; it's so desperately beautiful as if I'm running away. Not running away from people or a place but running to a utopia. I can feel it course through me--so romantic, gorgeous, yet filled with hatred. Every piece is filled with magic.

Music is my therapy, and it fills me with pretty lies and ugly truths, and the best part is, it never truly lies to me. Music is honest, as am I to music. Music is my everything, and I'd be lost without it.

Apathy (noun): a lack of feeling or emotion

Guilt. Guilt is one of the worst things someone can feel, especially if you're an empath. Love. I'm afraid of losing control of myself, being overtaken by another, only for them to hurt me in the end. Anxiety.

Being overwhelmed and nervous doesn't feel good--you start shaking; your heart beats faster and faster, and

you just pray no one can tell; it makes me mad. Anger. I just don't want to hurt anyone around me--people don't deserve that, but then I just get angry at myself. It's tiring. Disappointment. I hate being disappointed, specifically in myself. I don't mind anger. I just don't want to disappoint people. Hiraeth. I think too much about being somewhere I'm not. I long for a place beside the one I'm in.

Every single emotion possible--anger is awful. Fear makes me feel powerless. Sadness hurts. And happiness can be taken away at any moment. It's better to just…turn it off.

Nyctophilia (noun )- a preference for the night or darkness

I find comfort in the dark. It's the most toxic distraction, the most addicting pain. Oh, the pain when

when you see it when you start shaking, and everything just stops. The utter shock, the anxiousness, and the stomach pains leave me speechless. . .the feeling is indescribable. The night helps me think about all the unfixable things going on in the world--the world is slowly crumbling and there's nothing else we can do about it. It's so real and raw at the moment. All the things you have done--things you've regretted, you're unforgivable sins. The night sky tears your regret apart piece by piece, finding its way to your heart--your head possessing you with temporary reassurance so you can forget just for a moment, it's beautiful. My biggest nightmare became my perfect escape until the sun sets again. I'll be waiting just for your darkness, my old friend.

Infinite (adj)- you have that special moment when you feel complete and happy and nothing can bother or hurt you

I did it. I left my house at 4 a.m., and I ran in the pouring rain for the first time in two hours. I danced under the street headlights, not caring who was watching. I ran past the pitch-black forest with no fear thinking about all the limitless possibilities I held, and then finally went back at the break of dawn. My biggest escape, my greatest power: this is probably the biggest moment of my life that I will never forget. I'm officially off the rails. You should try it, too.

Vanessa Dickson, 14 Alexander Batcho Intermediate School Somerset County Grade 8

Homerun Nightmare

Picture this: Memorial Day weekend, and your baseball team is the best in the 11U League. In the air, you smell the mixture of dirt, grass clippings, and the leather of your newly conditioned baseball glove. The sun warms your face and stings your eyes at the same time.

On the way to the game, I am nervous as usual. Coach says that it’s good to be a little nervous--you never want to be too relaxed or too sure, because the other team can catch you off guard. Having nerves gives you a competitive edge. But my nerves would be tested on more than a game that day--an event happened that changed my life forever.

On the car ride to Prince Rogers Field, my mind wanders to the last few days. On Tuesday, Dad had- n’t been feeling well, so Mom took him to a Medemerge where they gave him bronchitis medication. This

Friday morning, Dad was supposed to coach, but we all decided that Mom would take me to the game and then take dad back to the doctor--his real doctor.

The siren of an ambulance snaps me back to reality. We pull into the parking lot. Warm ups go as usual; James and I are throwing, and my pitching arm is on fire--I could thread a needle with my accuracy.

Coach calls us over, and the game begins. I pitch the first four innings, and our opponents only score two runs. Josh closes off the last two innings and lets up another run. Our hitting is on point. We beat them sev- en to three. Mom never shows up, and James’s dad gives me a ride.

After lunch at James’s house, we head back. I play first base this game to rest my pitching arm. Mom shows up in the fifth inning, and I am ecstatic. The sun is setting, and I can’t wait to get home and see how

Dad is feeling. On the way home, mom says we need to talk.

“Trip, Dad’s staying at the hospital overnight. . .he’s in heart failure,” she says quietly. As mom is ex- plaining what that means, I think to myself, I wish it was me in trouble. At home, Grandma is there, all the way from Syracuse. She decides to take us out to dinner--just my older brother Rich and me while Mom heads back to the hospital to spend some time with Dad.

The next morning, I wake up to birds chirping and the sun piercing through the curtains. There is no baseball because of our two wins the day before. 10

“Get dressed, we’re going to see your dad,” Mom states. In the car, I don’t recognize the route. “Early this morning, they transported your father to Robert Wood Johnson in New Brunswick. This hospital spe- cializes in treating the heart. They have the best doctors, facilities, and experience there,” Mom informs my older brother Rich and me.

At the hospital, the place reeks of medicine, cleaning products, and sick people. As we head down the hall to Dad’s room, the excitement is building. I cannot wait to see him, but when we get there, Dad’s asleep.

He looks pale and weak, not his strong, vibrant self. At his bedside, I try to watch TV, but hospital television programming is the worst. After about what feels like a day, Dad wakes up. Immediately, he asks about my games. I am excited to tell him about our wins. He says, “Oh, thank God, I was worried.” What? He was worried? At least I can tell that he’s still the same old Dad. I leave the hospital to play another game with Dad on my mind--he’ll be okay. The game flies--another easy win. But I keep thinking about Dad in that hospital bed.

The next two days are filled with hospital visits and baseball games. Mom manages to attend my games, but I know she wants to be with Dad. We end up winning the tournament and are crowned Manville

11U Tournament Champions.

Tuesday comes around, and Mom makes me go to school. It is the first time I get to see friends since

Dad has been hospitalized. I tell a couple of them what is going on, but I mainly keep to myself because I’m eleven years old, and we just don’t share that kind of stuff. When I get home, Grandma takes us to see Dad again. He doesn’t seem any better.

“The doctors were supposed to run more tests but couldn’t because of the holiday weekend. Now they are behind schedule, so Dad won’t be able to visit the cath lab until tomorrow. He was on the schedule for today, but they didn’t get to him,” Mom explains. Grandma brings me home, but Mom lingers. Around mid- night, Mom finally gets home, and the phone is ringing. It’s the hospital--something terrible has happened, and Mom rushes back.

“Dad had a stroke, and during an emergency procedure, the doctors manually pulled the blood clot out of his brain,” Mom utters the next morning. Needless to say, I don’t go to school.

“Why aren’t you in school?” Dad asks hoarsely. “You will use any excuse to get out of it.” We all chuckle at his truth, even though our reason is valid. 11

My father spent one week in the hospital and then another in rehab. Three weeks after my tournament, Dad was finally recuperated enough to attend a game. He has since recovered from his heart condition, and mostly recovered from the stroke, often referring to himself as having “dain bramage.” Today we can joke about that weekend, but at the time, it was really scary.

What I have realized is that it is important to cherish the time you have with loved ones, because everything can change in a moment. One day, you are headed off to your baseball game, and the next, you are wondering if your father will survive through the night.

Trip Freitag, 14 Alexander Batcho Intermediate School Somerset County Grade 8

Death Behind the Door

October 5, 1940

I was recruited out of nowhere; I was a private. The general approached me and said, We want you to join us. I gladly accepted without thinking. My journal became an important part in the war; my first mission was brutal. That was the day, I figured out what Man can do to another Man while making sacrifices for one’s country. Brother Fin, don't leave, my sister pleaded, filling me with sorrow. I'm sorry, but I have to go, I replied, and I gave her my teddy bear. Remember me. She slightly nodded, Okay.

It was the next day, and I was on a boat leaving the States. We’re going to die, one of the soldiers ut- tered. Then, the person I despised arrived. Hey shut it--if we win the war, we will be honored! the captain roared.

Captain Pierson, what if we lose? inquired one soldier. We were shipped from boat to boat until we arrived at camp in Spain. The Spanish held us there until we could arrive on German land.

June 6th, 1944

I'm much stronger than I was before. I finished boot camp, and I have been in Spain for four years. I am on a boat about to experience hell in real life. Today’s the day I experience the battle that changed not my own life but all of humanity. Jealousy can turn into war. I pulled out a picture of my mother and sister. My father died in World War. Now it's my turn to die, I thought.

Ok soldiers, we’re about to reach the land of the French! LET’S FIGHT WITH OUR HEARTS OUT! yelled Pierson with determination. SIR! everyone else replied. I readied my gun, and once the gate opened, gunfire emerged: POW, POW.

Gun fire at the mountain! yelled one of the soldiers. The gate opened, and ten soldiers were shot dead: ten boys on the sandy ground. In a German moat, I ran and hid with a grenade in front of me, which I immediately threw into the water. Fin, get the bomb on the chains--BREAK OPEN THE WALL! screamed Pierson. I took the grenade without hesitation, and I grabbed one of the bodies as a shield. Feeling I disrespected that person, I said to myself, Sorry, but this is for the sake of humanity. I lunged for the machine gunner and pulled out my knife for a painless kill. On my left, an injured German squirmed. Dieser Krieg leidet nur, he whispered

13 before he passed away. I'm pretty sure he meant, This war is only suffering. Even the Germans, the enemy team, understood this war was pointless. Then I shot the machine gunner in the back of the head and secured a part of France.

June 7th, 1944

Today was my break: the calm after the battle. People called it D-Day, and some people called it “The

Battle for France.” I decided to call it, The Battle for Pointless Reasons. The injured German soldier had given me notes to stop the war. By the number of signs on his badge, I inferred he was Private First Class. For a year, I was sent back to the States. The military told me to rehabilitate there--they understood people com- mitted suicide after D-day.

July 10th, 1945

July 4th was great; I felt content until a soldier came to my family’s house; my sister was relieved that

I arrived at our hometown. She’s fourteen and much taller and mature, but the little kiddie traits came back to her upon my entrance. I did my rehab and was finally cured. Sorry, I must go away now--don't worry, I won't die--I promise, assured my sister. My mother was still sleeping and didn't know I was about to leave again; she was so worried about me.

July 15th, 1945

My next mission was to exterminate a Japanese base nearby. I was supposed to disguise myself as a prisoner. If it is for the country, let's do it, I thought before I walked into a trap the Japanese concocted. They captured me and put me in a cell. The one thing they didn't check was that I had a bomber. Pierson was waiting carefully, but I was also ready to attack; I grabbed my pistol, and then the bomber. I shot the guard and activated the bomb. I blew up the wall and then Pierson’s troops arrived. We took over the base and got in- tel. They had a nuke in the base that could destroy a huge part of Japan. We grabbed the buggy and sent it to the government.

September 1st, 1945

I was resting in the bay when the nuke was delivered, and the Japanese were fighting for their lives.

At almost exactly 4 p.m., the bomb was dropped, and the day after we had won the war. In all, we lost 56 million people in the missing category/dead category. I was one of the survivors--one of the lucky ones; if

you can call living with the memories luck. Tragically, I lost a friend in the battle; he was captured in Japan and executed before the nuke hit. Even though the Japanese knew they were going to lose, they persisted.

September 2nd, 1945

I have just retired and received the badge of honor for being an arrested prisoner and also grabbing the nuke to end the war before it happened. I felt great, but events sometimes don't happen the way you want them, for my mother died protecting my sister from a burglar attack in our house. The burglar was stabbed dead. I survived the war only to find Death at my door upon my return home.

Sebastian Gazda, 13 Alexander Batcho Intermediate School Somerset Grade 7

Big Trouble in Little San Marino

One rainy summer evening at Olive Garden, the waiters started singing Happy Birthday instead of shouting “Happy Anniversary!” I tried to hide under the table. Then my husband Ethan told me, “Now my surprise--tomorrow we're going to…San Marino!” I screamed because I was overjoyed he wasn’t taking me to Costco--like our last anniversary. The next evening in sunny San Marino, at our cab driver’s suggestion, we ate dinner at La Terrazza--he promised he’d wait outside with the meter off, but after dinner, our cabbie vanished. The television in the restaurant said one of San Marino’s leaders was kidnapped: We report that police claim the car the leader was kidnapped in was black and yellow with stripes. Ethan and I both looked at each other in fright. “You don’t think that our cab driver kidnapped the leader?” questioned Ethan.

“I mean, he couldn’t have. He was with us the whole time,” I replied, and it was true.

We now report to you again, that we have the names and images of the people inside that car: Melissa and

Ethan Watson, the reporter explained. Everyone in the restaurant glared at us; we fled with the mob on our heels. A man grabbed us and yanked us into a store. “I’m a local here in San Marino. My name is Roberto . . .

I saw that both of you are on the news,” the man whispered behind a coat rack. “Good thing I’m here to help you.” Ethan and I nodded and ducked into a department store to find a disguise.

“Why would someone want to kidnap one of the leaders of San Marino? And which leader--I saw on

Google that San Marino has multiple,” questioned Ethan.

“Someone kidnapped Vito Rigatoni to possibly kill him,” explained Roberto. We were appalled someone would actually kidnap a leader who is very important to this country.

“We have to find a way to clear our names and also discover who kidnapped the leader and why,” I answered. “We should go to the American Embassy for protection.”

“No, we can’t go to the embassy because they know your faces,” added Roberto.

“But you can go--they don’t have to see us. They don't know who you are, so you can go and tell them your friends are in trouble,” Ethan explained. Roberto still refused. I wondered, he must have been the one who kidnapped Vito, and maybe he didn't want to go to the embassy because he knew he would get caught. From that moment on, I didn’t trust him.

The next morning, the news reporter blasted, We now hear from the owner of La Terraza, who saw the two suspects the night the leader was kidnapped at her restaurant. I wanted to bolt.

“I need both of you for something urgent,” spoke Roberto. I was eager to uncover his message. He continued, “I’m not really a local. I’m the MOST IMPORTANT person in this entire country,” exclaimed

Roberto.

“You’re the leader, Vito Rigatoni!” I screeched. Vito nodded his head, but I slapped him in the face.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It was monotonous lounging in my mansion all day, so I took the job of cab driver. I hoped no one would notice me,” he continued, “When I was doing my usual run, a man in black clothes told me to be quiet and go in the back seat. So I did, because he was holding a gun. He said he knew my real identity and was going to kidnap me.” Ethan and I exchanged flabbergasted glances. “He then drove me to a gas station in Ap- perto and demanded me to stay there. But I fled the scene to Serravalle, where I dressed as a local, so he wouldn’t see me,” Vito explained.

Before Ethan and I could respond, Vito and Ethan were almost struck by a car. The car looked like the same cab Ethan and I were in before dinner. Then it clicked: the driver must have fled when we were eating to find Vito, but he couldn’t find him at all. The driver grabbed Ethan and Vito, and forced them with his gun into the car before he drove away. I was stunned.

Then I wondered, Vito said that the driver took him to Apperto, so that must be where they are going! I stole a local’s bike and plugged Apperto into my GPS. When I got there, I saw Ethan and Vito jumping on top of their assailant; they knocked the man unconscious. The man’s phone started ringing, and Ethan picked it up; it was someone who the man knew. The voice said, Hey, did you get Vito yet? Come to my house, and I’ll know what to do--he will learn to never underestimate the co-leader, Giorgio Spaghetti. All of us were speechless, especially Vito, because he thought that man was his friend. “We have to share this recording with the police, so we can clear our names,” I gasped.

Outside the police station, I was a little embarrassed to see all the cameras and news reporters asking us random questions. Rubberneckers gawked. Inside, we told the chief every obstacle we encountered. He didn’t believe us and was about to arrest Ethan and me. 17

“No! I order you to leave them alone. I am the leader of San Marino. Don’t arrest them because they know the real culprit,” ordered Vito. The police heard the recording on the phone, and they realized Giorgio

Spaghetti was behind Vito's kidnapping. “Giorgio, why did you do this? I thought we were best friends,” Vi- to disappointedly asked.

“Because I wanted fame and adoration--nobody cares about a co-leader,” Giorgio fiercely replied as he was shackled by police. Vito turned in our direction and proclaimed, “As a reward, I declare Melissa and

Ethan Watson citizens of San Marino who can visit any time!” We were relieved yet had one burning question: “Vito, are there any Costcos in San Marino?”

Hannah Kunjumon, 13 Alexander Batcho Intermediate School Somerset County Grade 8

Artwork: Brandon Alvarado, 15 Bound Brook High School Grade 9 18

Two Grid Poems Reflecting on 2020

A grid poem is a poem that is written so that you can read it vertically or horizontally and get two entirely different poems. This format typically consists of 25 words or phrases (groups of words) and a grid of five by five boxes. Like a crossword puzzle, you should be able to read it across or down for two different poems that use the same words in a different order.

Across:

Lonely, confusing, chaotic Thinking to myself thoughtfully Things have to get worse before they get better. Suddenly outside in my backyard Calm Arguing Suspicious All negativity turning more positive

Family, friends, pets Stay true to you Fire in the air finding yourself There's fighting all around you Confused, making jokes, souls talking to others Cold, sad, disappointing California dreaming getting stronger, getting smarter Hope, promising, change.

Down:

Lonely, confusing, chaotic Outside in my backyard Turning more positive But there is fighting all around you Cold, sad, disappointing

Thinking to myself calmly Friends, family, pets Confused California dreaming

Thoughtfully arguing Stay true to you Making jokes Getting stronger

Things have to get worse before they get better Suspicious fire Souls getting smarter

Suddenly there is all negativity Finding yourself talking to others Hope, promising,change.

Alexandra Kuznetsov, 14 Alexander Batcho Intermediate School Somerset Grade 8

Me and My Friend Lonesome

Being born in Honduras and living in the United States makes one live through conflicting customs. I live in a Hispanic household with Hispanic ideals. Those ideals are oftentimes seen as “old school” because they are--very old and from experience, not beneficial. Observing the way modern American kids are raised makes me question everything. When people ask about my story, I find myself searching for what that is exactly. The more I learn about how relationships between parents should be, the more I decide I don’t like mine.

The first time I met my cousin, Genesis, was when I was three years old, and she was coming with her family to pick me up from the airport. Her mom one day told her, “We’re going to go pick up your cousin that you’ve never met before.”

And she was on board. What happened in the airport was kind of a blur, but the car ride home was the “exciting” part. The silence in the car was loud--like when you haven’t seen someone in a long time, and you might be very close, but when you meet them in person, it's still just awkward. Yeah, it was like that, but ten times worse because we weren’t close, and we hadn’t met each other at all. I was sitting in the back seat, and she was in the front, and I could hear her head rubbing against the seat every time she would try to slowly turn and catch a glimpse of me.

The whole process of starting a life in America was a little tough; it is for every immigrant looking to live the “American Dream.” The first few years we lived in my cousin’s house with six other people. While living there, I would follow Genesis around everywhere. Along with my crippling social anxiety and confu- sion, I just felt a little lost. I was living in a place that wasn’t mine, in a place that was unfamiliar and petrify- ing. However, with Genesis, it felt like home--safe. And I can still say that today.

We have this weird family dynamic where we like to joke around about our trauma and my parent’s awful disciplining choices. They, themselves, are the ones doing most of the joking.

“Hey son, remember when I would hit you just a little too hard as a kid,” Dad would say to my brothers.

Yeah Dad, I think we all remember. I don’t think they realize how much it affected us. I know they

love us unconditionally and all, but sometimes their actions are just a little questionable. There have been moments when I have thought to myself, when I’m a parent I’m gonna be everything that they couldn’t be for me.

I’m going to teach my children it’s okay to be themselves, and it’s okay to not follow society’s rules. Lucky, I’m not a product of all those insecurities and issues my parents experienced as a child. The whole source of the problem is that they project their trauma from their childhood onto me. I can’t fathom why people who have abusive parents are abusive to their children or why people who have alcoholic parents and then become an alcoholic who is no good and can’t provide for their family. Why would you not want to change for your children?

Why would you want someone else to experience your personal hell? That’s just a lifestyle I’ll never comprehend. I want my child to listen to me because they respect me, not because they fear me and the consequences that follow.

The next couple of months we looked for an apartment because we couldn’t keep bothering my cousin’s family. Finally, we rented one. It was pretty crappy but sufficient enough to live in. Things fell apart every now and then, but it was fine. There were only two rooms, so I slept with my mother and father for half my life, which would probably cause a child to be very attached and lose independence, but I am not close with either of my parents and am a pretty independent person. I hold a fair amount of resentment towards them that they’re unaware of, and I hope that with time it will fade away, but it just hasn’t yet. I’m okay with it though--being there for myself is familiar, and I’ve never really needed anyone.

The apartment that we lived in had two stories. The bottom was a little convenience store, and the owner of that store was our landlord. Whenever I got hungry, I went down and bought a bag of chips or brownies. During my time there, I would visit the store less and less because the owner, who also happened to be the cashier, gave me the creeps. He was such a weird dude. At one point I legit thought he was going to kidnap me and kill me. The interactions that we had were. . .bizzare.

“You look nice today,” he said quietly.

Seriously, I ran out of there as fast as I could. I realized later that this was a common theme. Not because men are inherently creepy, but because I am a woman, men are creepy.

After living in that apartment, we moved to a different one, minus the weird cashier, but with the addition of a quiet, old couple below. I’ve been living in this apartment ever since. I have my own room now. Although 22 my twin size bed takes up more than half of the room, I like it--it's cozy.

I still don’t really know what my story is exactly, but I don’t think that I should know. I am only fourteen years old and still have time to figure it out. As for my parents, I think they mean well. They just don’t know how to love me the way I want to be loved. Hopefully, they’ll figure it out soon because the more

I grow, the more I detach from them. And if they don’t, that’s okay too--I can love my children the way I wish to be loved. At the end of the day, I always have myself, and now I realize that’s enough.

Janely Munguia, 14 Alexander Batcho Intermediate School Somerset County Grade 8

Edward Zuniga, 14 Alexander Batcho Intermediate School Somerset County Grade 8

Brenardsville Middle School

Those Who Ignore

Those things that people ignore, like me, are enlightening, and I fear that if I lived a normal life, I, too, like these many people, will ignore those they don’t want to see.

You see through your eyes, and to you, those other eyes staring back at you are simply blank mirrors that seemingly have no mind. We definitely listen to them if they're our friends, but we never stop to think of their thoughts, of how they see the world. Neither do we experience their situations, and most of the time, we simply do not desire to do so. Due to this, when our teacher, when our parent, or other person asks about your thoughts on poverty, insanity, and depression, you recite a script that has no meaning or emotion unless you truly stop to think about the other 7.5 billion people who are currently seeing through their eyes at mainly horrible things. But when you stop to think, you want to let go. You simply do not want to think of those who have no choice in their station in life and are born into families who care not for them or who at least care enough to abuse them. You refuse to think of those who are forced into insanity or depression simply because of the chance of their birthplace.

They exist though and since taking the time to think of others has depleted, they are growing. So look at those who don’t get enough food or clean water and don’t turn your back. See them and act so that the future people don’t need to worry about having enough food, so the people now get to experience something other than the horrible. My thoughts might not impact those who read it to the length where they take action, but at least those who speak upon this plant seeds of thought in others mind which might hopefully grow into a tree of prosperity. When I first heard of these problems, I thought of fictional stories that could not possibly be true because I had yet to experience them, but with age comes the realization that the tree of prosperity is not nearly as healthy as it could be.

New York City, Jersey City, Athens, all these glorious vacation sites as well as my past homes dis- cluding Athens, yet they all have something that bleaches their magnificent towering landmarks, those who

25 sit on the side of the street asking for money. Just as pigeons reside in the majority of the cities, so do the homeless, those who suffer. People see them as well as ignore them. The world of the homeless is a hard con- cept to imagine, let alone empathize with. So, distinguish that need to empathize with them, help them reach a life of prosperity rather than watch them in misery.

Ergo I sat there, whether it be in the apartment buildings of New York or New Jersey or the hotel of

Athens and the rest of Greece. I saw the beautiful Eiffel tower or the Temple of Athena, but that was one tiny dot of glory in a sea of stragglers, as though only one hero arose from a barracks of a thousand, as though it was the hero that got all the attention. That is why I had not thought of or rather did not want the man at the hotel’s steps to arise. He dipped in a bow that would be worthy of a noble, yet those in front of us walked on. His eyes flickered with an emotion other than the expected anger or envy as they continued walking, barely giving him the time for recognition.

“Here,” my father said, dropping a wad of extra bills into his outstretched hand when we crossed paths with him, ending the line of people who simply patted their pockets and shrugged.

“Thank you,” he happily yet tiredly sighed, leaving me simply awestruck. The soft music that hovered in the air seemed to make him even more tired. He had seemed rude to simply say thank you and sit down, but I heard not only that. My mind raced with the words that hid themselves behind “thank you”, a story hidden for only me to read. I have seen things and heard sounds that seem to be on another frequency, the hidden words read, for people seem to ignore them. I have been ignored as if I am simply inanimate, but you have shown me that someone sees something other than what they want to see.

Would you like to come to our hotel and rest? I asked those hidden words. Due to society's standards, I was afraid to talk to this man, especially this man’s hidden words. I was taught to ignore their ranting, to move along, yet I wanted to hear what they had to say for once.

Ah, they would rather not have a filthy rat in their prestigious rooms. This as well as the new things you can derive from down here on the ground. Those things that people ignore, like me, are enlightening, and I fear that if I lived a normal life, I, too, like these many people, will ignore those they don’t want to see.

We walked on. With each turn of a corner I saw the myriad people laying or sitting on the street, as though light was consuming the darkness that had clouded my eyes. I was mystified by the people who sat and played music, their tunes much better than many people could play, and yet when I returned at night, I saw them sprawled on the sidewalk with their instruments or without. In the midst of a city of robbery as the supposedly glorious Athens was, people forgot to steal their instruments or their belongings that they held dear.

I fell in line that day, as if it were that I were hovering between two different ideals before-ignoring was bliss and realization was paramount. Rather than wanting to return to my safe and seemingly impenetra- bly comfortable home, I wanted to aid others in finding one.

Cyrus Mehrrostami, 14 Bernardsville Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Bound Brook High School

Zujeidi Lopez, 16 Bound Brook High School Somerset County Grade 10 28

Branchburg Central Middle School

TAKE A LEAP

Atop an icebound tree, A nestling nestled in a blanket of Safety, Its abode a barrier from the terrors of the Outside world. And when it peered over the wall dividing, It saw only a raging river igniting chaos upon its Innocent inhabitants. Thus, it confined itself to his comforting cage, And froze in a world of snow, oblivious to the wonders Of the world below. Christopher Dugan, 13 Branchburg Central Middle School Somerset County Grade 7

Light Life

Golden orb shining on waves of milky blue, How the setting sky is dripping with warm tones usually more than a few Now as it turns black, there are only two things coming out The moon and sparkles in the sky without a doubt You can always count on them to make a debut But yet again the golden sunlight comes out everyday back on queue

Days eventually go by And time starts to fly Like a bird drifting effortlessly through the sky The same pattern over and over again, but all of a sudden the clouds start to cry Wind blows and moans rushing around like a warning for all nearby Only thing left to do is wait, and try to keep safe, all of mankind

Been a little while soon everything has cleared Crystal oceans are back and all skies of gray have disappeared Coming back open and ready for every new beginning No more worries for now, as the bright sky is doing nothing but grinning Everything changes, but right now out of everything one thing is true Back up there, is the golden orb shining on waves of milky blue

Shloka Moosthiala, 13 Branchburg Central Middle School Somerset County Grade 7

Shadows

Who am I to you? A dark, secretive spy following your every move? Maybe, a perfectly drawn silhouette I’m you, but don't fret!

A 90 degree angle of a different world A different perspective swirls Endless black, even at day A stalker, your my prey

Am I your puppet you have strung? Possibly, a slip of the tongue Mysteriously not here a time, Disappearance is my only true crime

Merging in the amidst of gloom Alas, I shall see you soon

Cassara Nguyen, 12 Branchburg Central Middle School Somerset County Grade 7

Forget Me, Not?

Rue steps onto the porch of her quaint little cottage, her fingers curled around the handle of a steam- ing mug. Clearly still half-asleep, she mourns the loss of her couple of minutes of extra sleep. Rest in peace dear ten minutes of being wrapped burrito style in my limited-edition Harry Potter blanket. I shall miss you. A curtain of messy black curls softly bounce against the fuzzy pajamas she wears, and the look is complete with a set of matching slippers and glasses crookedly perched on her nose.

It’s a serene morning in June, and dew glistens in the shimmering sunlight. A few birds merrily chirp to greet one another. One might describe the scene as magical. Anyway, it’s enough to raise Rue’s sullen spirits, and her frown is now replaced with a small smile. Maybe getting up early was worth it after all. She lifts her mug, letting the familiar scent of coffee fill her nostrils. With a little tilt, a rich, earthy taste spills onto her tongue. It’s so bitter that it makes her face scrunch, but the dark brown beverage spreads desperately needed warmth through her body.

A low rumble wakes Rue from her reverie, alerting her that the postman has just dropped off today’s mail. Should she be responsible and fetch the mail, or should she sit down, finish her coffee, promise to re- trieve the mail later, and probably forget to actually do it? She’s not the most productive, okay? After long consideration, Rue eventually decides to keep her responsible streak (Two for two now, seeing as she did manage to not hit the snooze button on her alarm earlier!), and reluctantly sets down her mug, making her way down the dirt driveway.

12 years earlier...

“Rue! Rue! Look what I found!” Sammy yells to an 11-year-old Rue. His face is lit up with wonder, excitedly motioning for her to come and see.

She hurriedly waves goodbye to the postman as he drives off, before running over to inspect Sammy's discovery. It’s a dainty ladybug, crawling on the petal of a yellow tulip.

“We’ve already found at least four of those,” Rue sighs in disappointment.

He ignores her obvious annoyance and continues to closely observe the tiny creature. “I know, but

this one’s so pretty!”

She doesn’t have the heart to ruin his mood, so she pastes on a smile and carries on picking flowers.

Sammy’s favorite ones are the bright yellow tulips. According to him, yellow means happiness, so if he col- lects enough yellow tulips, he can never be sad. Rue thinks it’s a little childish, but he doesn’t need to know that. She, on the other hand, holds a soft spot for the petite blue five-petaled forget-me-nots. To her, the name signifies a promise to always remember one another, just like how she and Sammy promised to remember and maintain their friendship, even when they get older.

Clearly, promises are meant to be broken. Was it school, growing up, or a combination of both? Rue doesn’t know. It begins with an occasional “Sorry, but I’m busy tonight.” or a “Maybe some other time?”, but soon the excuses start piling up. Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. At first, they try to make time. They really do, but when one is free, the other always isn’t. Eventually, they both just stop trying.

Rue snaps out of the bittersweet memory, realizing that her legs have abruptly stopped working.

She’s standing in her thin pajamas in the middle of her driveway, looking like a lost puppy. Thoughts run rampant in her head. The past is the past. It’s too late to change anything. Besides, there’s no way he remembers me now. After scoffing at her ridiculousness, she takes a deep breath and completes the rest of the journey to her mailbox, thankfully with no further distractions.

Rue arrives, noticing old paint chipping off the weathered down wooden box. I should repaint that some time. The handle is gently tugged, and the mailbox door falls forward, revealing an assortment of letters inside. She shuffles the papers in her hands, eyes flicking back and forth while skimming over seemingly endless sentences. Electricity bill, water bill, the monthly newspaper. Oh, and that parking ticket fine that I have to pay!

With at least five more things added to her mental to-do list, Rue's ready to make the expedition back to her porch when a flash of pastel blue suddenly catches her eye. She curiously outstretches a hand to grasp the mysterious item. It doesn’t feel like a package or another letter. Fingers securely wrapped around the ob- ject, she retracts her hand and uncurls her fingers. In her palm is a small cluster of petite, five petaled flowers, oh so familiar. How could she forget? Tiana Nguyen, 14 Branchburg Central Middle School Somerset County Grade 8 33

“What Comes After”

All is still no children playing

What had brought so much delight is simply now decaying

The carefully crafted snowmen are quickly diminishing

While the job of the snow plow in simultaneously finishing

The sun strips the streets and yards of the fresh powdery snow

Leaving nothing behind but the question of where it all will go

The sleds in the front yard leave a trace of what had been,

Allowing the children to recollect on a day that had surely brought them a grin

The gloves, hats, and scarves are collected and stored away

Leaving the children with only the hope for soon another snow day

Maia Vidal, 13 Branchburg Central Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Bridgewater Raritan High School

When the Sun and the Rain Meet

There were once two boys, best friends. The first boy was bustling with energy, like the world was his playground and it wasn’t ever time to go home until the colors started blurring in the sky. The second was the opposite, reserved and quiet, rather enjoying the peacefulness silence brought. Despite their differences, the two loved each other like brothers, spending every breathing moment laughing together. Hand in hand, they faced their troubles head on, their mission only to embrace the scents of a sunny summer day. Not the scary sights of the future, not the pressure of decisions, not even the creeping whispers that plagued them when they tried not to listen. After all, the first boy’s ears were powerful, listening to anything, everything it could lay its hands on. Like shadows shifting in the darkness, hidden conversations were all of a sudden exposed.

“You know that boy right there?” Across the street were two girls, covering their mouths with their hands as they spoke, as though it served as a sort of protection of their words.

The second girl curiously eyed the boys. “That one?”

“Don’t point fingers, they’re going to notice us!” She nagged, slapping her friend’s hand down.

“Apparently he’s blind.”

“Really, he’s so smart and energetic?” She pursed her lips in thought.“What a pity.”

“It's kind of depressing, isn’t it? Thinking of what he wakes up to see?”

“He’s living a hard life, poor guy.”

And so, the first boy would always stop for a second to place his hand on his heart, listening to it pounding rapidly in retaliation. Taking a deep breath in, an artificial smile appeared on his face, dimples the perfect depth, cheeks a flawless rosy shade, almond eyes tilted a precise angle upwards. You couldn’t even tell it was fake.

Days of pretending to be fine passed, when he decided to ask his friend a question, something he was dying to know about, something that had never before crossed his mind.

“What do colors look like?”

The second boy stood in a state of thought for a moment, after all, he’d never taken the time to notice all the bright colors that lit up his world. The red poppies dancing in the wind, the baby blue sky, home

to the fluffy white clouds. They were always just there, never desiring attention, so the second boy never paid attention to the shades in the background.

“Hmm, let’s see. Red, is the color of warmth and passion, like a bonfire surrounded by friends singing through the night. Their singing might not be in tune, but each one of them has a smile on their face because they’re all together. Red is that feeling when you have a goal, and your loved ones give you motiva- tion and a drive to change the world. Red is that spicy flavor that makes your tongue tingle, sipping water between every bite.” The boy chuckled for a second as he reminisced.

Without hesitation, the first boy became even more curious, asking, “What about orange? And yellow, and-”

“Well, orange is the color of what’s bold and sweet, like those citrus clementines, whose juice always seems to splatter in your eyes, no matter how you peel them. Orange is that reckless thing you feel when you scream something embarrassing, standing motionless in front of a crowd with your goofy laugh. Oh, and yellow is the color of joy and summer, when you wake up in the morning and feel the warm sun kissing you gently, the birds singing in a foreign language. Yellow is the color of the sunflower meadow fantasy in your head, the peaceful one where you’re lying one the ground. It’s that cold shower you take every afternoon, with the mellow pop playing in the background as you belt your heart out, hoping no one will hear.”

“And what about the rest, tell me about those too!” The first boy said, fully immersed and en- grossed in what he was imagining.

“Green is the color of nature and growth, when you’ve spent months tending to the smallest sapling, watering it diligently, and finally you see a budding flower. Green is that pillar in your house, where your parents mark your height every birthday, as you try to hide that you’re on your tiptoes. Green’s the smell of dew drops on a fresh day, the sun still shy, peeking out from behind the clouds. Blue, although it seems sad, is emotional and peaceful, which is in no way a bad thing. It’s the scent of the sea that you visit every summer, the concentrated salty water you were dared to drink. Blue is the sound of the rippling waves that live in the conch, though everyone says there’s no ocean in the shell. It’s relaxing and calming, appreciated by everyone.

And then there’s purple. The clever, cunning color that royals wear, the darkest shade the most enticing. It’s the sweet taste of grapes, getting more sour as you keep eating. You’re well aware of the fact, but for some reason, it’s like there’s a force that makes you want to keep eating. It’s the color of your hair in your ongoing

dream, imperfect yet perfect in an abstract way.” The first boy turned to the other in absolute amazement, then paused to listen to the last thing his friend had to say.

“Now, you can imagine what the entire rainbow looks like!”

The first boy sighed as he ruffled his friend’s hair. “Why do I need to imagine the rainbow, when you’re here right in front of me!”

Ameya Nerella, 14 Bridgewater Raritan High School Somerset County Grade 9

Artwork: Jackie Zuza, 18 Manville High School Grade 12 37

Hillsborough High School

Good Over Evil

In most pieces, light overcomes the dark. A flower of hope bursts from the dead stem. It’s time for good to cast the world its mark And let the true gleam like a lucid gem.

All can rejoice in any form or shape. But just as the blithe joy seems to begin, The pools of pure seep slowly to escape From inside the one who might just give in.

For evil is the perfect Satan now. Who will be at the doorstep of real doom? Call its corrupt name and it shall allow A sea of darkness to forever bloom

Unless the righteous can once again claim And prosper after clearing its pure name.

Meghna Bharath, 17 Hillsborough High School Somerset County

Grade 12

“Metamorphosis”

One day, he asks her what she wants for dinner. “Anything you want.” She says back with a smile. His happiness is her happiness, and she’s okay with it- Really.

He nods, he walks away. He feels a little something Crawling on his back when she answers. It’s cold, it’s odd, And he can’t seem to forget it. But it goes away as the sun sleeps, And by nightfall, he doesn't even feel it.

It’s gone when she Does the laundry Folds the clothes Washes the dishes Every Single Day.

In the end, he doesn’t expect work clothes- It’s laid out for him. He can save those extra words for his games And TV shows, like “That’s great” “You’re the best” Or “Thank you”.

Just like his-- or their-- favorite song goes, Things change over time. Isn’t that so lovely? He thinks so, She thinks so.

He used to say “want burgers for dinners?” Now he says “Burgers now.” He used to say “can you clean the floors?” Now he says “Why are the floors dirty?”

She met with her friends once, and they asked her What her name was: She pauses because she almost said Caitlyn Chui, 18 His. Hillsborough High School Somerset County Grade 12

Dust

Dust is dirt and people, and other small things. Dust is sand and rock, fly legs and gold flecks, leaves that the winter tree rejects. Dust is feathers and fur, a breeze filled with fears, old bone mixed with ashes, and dried, forgotten tears. Dust is old ceramic mugs and swirling dandruff, cobwebs and copper and dandelion fluff. Dust once was a love poem, burned up in a lot, with the ashes ground up and abandoned to rot. Dust is old, worn fabric, the pollen from last spring, Dust is the scales off of butterfly wings. Young as wind and old as time, Dust is all we’ll leave behind.

Alex Cline, 16 Hillsborough High School Somerset County Grade 11

Replacements

I met Evelyn in college during freshman orientation, your cliche love-at-first-sight. Amid the Arizo- na swelter and crowd of wide-eyed freshmen, Fate must’ve dabbled when someone collided with me. And, in that following moment of profusely apologizing, there was a spark: that somehow instinctual yet, at the time, ignored understanding that this was my person. Shy smiles, parting looks, burning cheeks — it was all wonderful and stupid and confusing and absolutely perfect. Five years later, we married. And, beneath the golden haze of sunset, we spoke our vows, that irrevocable promise to eternally cherish each other. That night, we imagined the future, our future: traveling the world, owning a home, starting a family. Complete unadulterat- ed happiness. Within this matrimonial utopia there existed infinite possibilities, unfettered dreams, limitless love. Everything had seemed right.

I should’ve known it was bound to collapse.

Now, I sit at a bare table with a stranger. This stranger looks like Evelyn. With her unruly curls, freckled cheeks, inquisitive gaze, she can still illuminate any room with a simple twitch of her lips. This stranger talks like Evelyn. In moments of spontaneity, her mouth rambles and runs until her lungs can no longer keep up, leaving her breathless, teary-eyed, and laughing. This stranger dances like Evelyn. This stranger smiles like Evelyn. This stranger drives like Evelyn. This stranger cooks like Evelyn.

I want this stranger to be Evelyn.

But—a plate of scrambled eggs is placed in front of me. “You know,” a familiar yet unfamiliar voice starts, “my co-worker Lacy — you met her once at a company outing — well, she told me her brother is getting a Double.”

“Oh, really?” I can’t look at her.

“Yeah, I was surprised.” Evelyn ties her hair up into a ponytail. “I mean, his wife did pass away recently. Heart-wrenching to lose your partner after only four weeks of marriage.”

“Yeah.” She frowns at me. The truth is, this normalcy is anything but normal. In every interaction, every conversation, every farewell peck on the cheek, the reality of my artificial life looms. It’s not real. And,

I know that’s true, but I keep suppressing, keep deflecting because I'm scared that, if I accept it, my perfectly constructed lie will give way to grief and pain. So, I continue to plaster on a happy face, forge genuine smiles, 41

paint a picture of domestic content; all the while, the knowledge that it’s a fantasy lingers, my own personal shadow. Yet, undeterred, I deny its existence.

Evelyn sighs. “Well, if you’re not going to engage with me this morning and—” she gestures with a spatula to my barely-touched dish “—if you’re done eating, can you look for my phone in the bedroom?” I stand up to leave.

Upstairs, our bedroom is a mess. Pushing aside unfolded clothes and random papers, I lean down and stretch my hand under the bed. While searching, my hand hits a box. It’s covered in dust, evidence of its ne- glect and my avoidance; this box is full of memories.

Some force, some need to feel real, compels me to have a look—nothing too long, just enough to remember. Lifting the lid, I first spy a postcard from Tokyo, Japan: Evelyn and I, embracing beneath cherry blossoms for our honeymoon. Next, I spot a pair of friendship bracelets. Beneath the bracelets is a necklace.

And a hospital wristband …

A deafening crash wrests me from my daze. It’s loud, too loud, rever- berating like the somber toll of church bells, and an indescribable, over- whelming sense of panic sends me racing into the hallway and sprinting down the stairs. This anxiety, this fear, it’s just like that time—when everything suddenly went wrong. In the kitchen, leaning against the cabinet, Evelyn rubs a hand over her face. Besides her, water oozes, like blood, from an overturned pot. Kneeling in front of Evelyn, I gingerly place a soothing hand on her arm, and she releases a stifled yet relieved sniffle.

She’s crying. This simple fact elicits an ire so potent and raw that I feel it searing me from the inside.

I hate that she’s crying. I hate that this imposter can seem so, so human, while everyday my own sense of humanity is diminished by my inability to cope. While I live a lie, she lives in oblivion. So, yes, I hate that she’s crying, because I should be the one crying. And, when this strange, fake Evelyn removes her hand from her head and eye, there’s no blood, no bruise, no indication that she’s made of flesh and bones. No, instead broken skin gives way to machinery: gears in perpetual motion to provide sentience and false life. Her eye is glitch- ing, the pupil rolled up revealing her robotic nature. This thing is merely a replacement for something lost. A

Double.

Evelyn asks, “Do I look okay?”, and I have enough control to refrain from blurting, “You look hideous.” Instead, I say, “You look fine”, proffering her an arm to help her up.

Glancing about the room, Evelyn groans, “Now, I have to clean up this mess.” Pivoting towards me, she smiles, “Thank you. I love you.” She looks at me expectantly, and I cringe. I’m still angry. Angry at Fate.

Angry at Evelyn. Angry at myself. And, yet— sometimes a lie is more powerful than the truth. Sometimes we need to protect ourselves within a fantasy. The strength of moving on is an elusive being; it taunts us with promises of peace yet leaves a wake of destruction. So, with this pitiful thought in mind, I tell myself, once again, one more month. And, this is the biggest lie of all. Because I'm in love with a memory, and I don’t think I can escape.

“I love you too, Evelyn.”

Morgan Hodorowski, 17 Hillsborough High School Somerset County Grade 11

Second Chances

Years have past and gone

I’m sorry for what I’ve done

I ask for a second chance

But accept me for who I am

“What are you doing here?” The deep, baritone sounded hollow and wrong, and Nat Caroban flinched, forcing herself to meet Will Tessing’s cerulean eyes, watching her warily.

“Well,” Nat shrugged, playing at nonchalance, “I’m here for my sister’s baby shower. I—I’m sure you got an invit—”

“No. What are you doing here?” Nat’s shoulders slumped at the harsh tone, and she stuffed her hands into her pockets to stop fidgeting.

“It’s been years, Will. I thought I would come and… say hello.”

“Well, you’ve done that. Good-bye.” The dismissal cut like glass.

“Wait!” Nat jammed her foot between the door and the jamb. “Please. I—W—We need to talk, Will.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yes, there is. Look, I’m sorry… f—for… everything.”

“Everything? You’re going to have to be more specific.” Will’s eyes narrowed, and his posture re- mained relaxed, giving nothing away as Nat stuttered and struggled.

“Yes. Everything. For the things I said. For not apologizing sooner—”

“Go.”

“... What?”

“Just go, Natalie.” Nat didn’t notice the way his voice hitched; ire and desperation steadily bubbling inside her, grasping for a foothold in the steadily collapsing conversation.

“Look, I’m trying here! I’m trying to get past this! Just… please listen: I’m so, so sorry. Please, don’t shut me out. I miss my best friend.” A humorless laugh escaped Will.

“Well, I needed my best friend! Ten years ago! But you left. You shut me out.”

“I was angry! And an idiot…. You have every right to stay mad at me. I deserve that. And if you don’t want to see me again… that’s fine, too. But—But I’m not going to apologize for leaving. I didn’t regret that decision then, and I still don’t.” Will’s eyes were now shining with anger and hurt and a torrent of emotions she couldn’t identify; the blank facade cracking. “That’s all I have to say. I guess I’ll see you at the baby shower… or not.” Before she could leave the porch, Will called her name.

“Why did you leave?”

“I—I… you know why. I couldn’t stay here. I mean: I love this place, don’t get me wrong…. But, I needed to get out. Here, I was just… stuck. I needed to start anew and figure out… what I wanted. And what

I could be.” Nat sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” She turned to leave, but Will grabbed her elbow, halting her steps.

“Nat. Don’t go.” Nat kept her back toward him, frozen; eyes still lowered. “Please. I—I’m the one who was being an idiot. I shouldn’t have… have...”

“It’s not your fault.”

“And, it isn’t yours. I’ve said some really hurtful things back then—”

“We both did,” she interjected softly.

“—And I understand why you had to leave. This place can be… suffocating.”

“... You’re not mad at me?” Nat’s voice was soft and shy. Will hesitated and dropped his hand from

Nat’s elbow.

“I… I wanted to hate you. To be mad, and I still want to be, but I can’t. I didn’t want to lose my best friend. And look how that turned out. I’m sorry. Can you—can you forgive me?” Nat couldn’t help but shake her head, joyful tears welling up in her eyes as she pulled a shocked Will into a hug.

“You are such an idiot. Of course, I forgive you. You’re my best friend. Nothing will change that.”

Will gave a choked laugh, hugging a grinning Nat tightly. Pulling back, Nat gave an amused huff, and the two shared small smiles. “You know… if you find this place too suffocating, I could always use a flatmate.”

Will raised an eyebrow, mirth replacing that wrongly placed coldness in his eyes.

“Flatmates, huh? Sounds like a nightmare.”

“Hilarious. But, it’s perfect timing. I’ve been looking for a flatmate for ages now.” 45

“I’m not surprised.”

“Watch it, Tessing. You’re lucky you’re my best friend.”

“Yeah. I am.”

Things are different here

Time has changed us

But what will always remain

Are the ones who fight to stay

Second chances are rare, don’t waste them

Riti Krishna, 17 Hillsborough High School Somerset County Grade 11

Hillsborough Middle School

Art

I dove into the waves Art is pencil and shaders like your world is people and animals Art is paper and canvases like eating and sleeping Art is paint and brushes like feet and hands Art is materials guide your hands when you can’t speak

Drawing, using a pencil and paper like words in a book Painting, using paint and a canvas like seeing with glasses Sculpting, using clay and tools like using your eyes to see Art, using your mind and heart like using your mind to think

Expressing your feelings Blocking out the world Escaping your problems Finding yourself like someone finds their home.

Art has meaning Art has love Art has saved Art has life

Maya Barajas, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

If Only I Could Soar

If only I could soar above the clouds, Around the sphere we call Earth. If only I could soar, to escape, To be free from the darkness boiling inside me.

If only I could soar, to be free, From the madness, from myself, From the problems I choose not to solve. If only I could soar, to drift with the clouds, To be able to leave everything behind.

To have the privilege to soar is everything. If only I could soar. I would be unconfined from my mind. I would finally be able to let go of the hand holding me back.

No one would know where I would go. If only I could just jump and soon be with the clouds. If only I could soar right out of the darkness of my mind. If only I could soar.

Colleen Bull, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Flabbergasted

When I was in elementary school, I was an only child and never had any siblings. That was until my mom married a man who became my stepdad. Then a couple years after the wedding, my mom was pregnant with boy and girl twins at my in-law’s (my step dad's parents) anniversary. When I walked into the classroom my teacher was as surprised as someone getting a bike on Christmas day. Some of my classmates were excited too. Seeing the shock on their faces made me feel a bit awkward and I felt like I wanted to run home and forget about this entire day. When I walked in, my teacher said in a surprised tone,

“Oh, my goodness. You’re gonna have a baby sibling?!”

Then I replied “Yeah.” I said it like I was depressed because I didn’t know what everyone else would say about this. During class, people were asking if it was a boy or a girl, left and right all day like reporters trying to get answers for news articles after someone got arrested. They wouldn’t stop at all; they already were excited to meet them. I thought in my head,

“Is time moving fast now or are they just crazy about this?” After thinking about it, I believed it was the second one. After my mom was in the hospital for several days I heard a lady on the speaker say to the teacher,

“Could you please send Joseph to the main office?” Once I walked into the office I saw my grandma sitting in one of the chairs next to the door into the main office. When I saw my grandma sitting in one of the chairs I was confused and a tad flabbergasted. I was soon to be surprised to find out that my mom was in the hospital with my new brother and sister.

About ten minutes after leaving the school we arrived at the hospital to see my mom laying in the gurney and hearing my new baby sister screaming like she’s living at a slaughterhouse. My baby brother however was out cold like he worked a full 24 hours. Seeing was a joyous moment for me and my family.

About a week or two after my mom got out of the hospital, the teacher walked my classmates and I out to the front of the school where we sat for a minute or two. Until we saw a car pull up right by

us, and wow, big surprise. It was my mom. The sight of this left me in shock, my classmates had more enthusiasm than I did (by a motherload). I felt a celebrity with his wife visiting with their kid. Each student of the class had a chance to hold one of the babies. My teacher was the most excited out of everyone. As soon as she saw them, she squealed like a teenage girl talking to her crush for the first time.

Some students were talking about it a lot and it was just about enough chaos when the third one came along.

A year later my mom had been tested positive for pregnancy, again. Hearing that left me flabbergasted and afraid from how my classmates might react to me having another baby sister.

Hearing this I said in a loud voice,“WHAT!?!?” When that came along it was like a non-scary nightmare, yet I was still terrified of what was to come. And whaddaya know everyone just freaks out, again. No surprise there. People were asking the name and gender whether the baby was gonna be a girl or a boy. Everyone in my class was freaking out about this one topic (Have I been here before?).

People freaked out like Maroon 5 was in town.

“Sheesh” I said in an annoyed tone like I was being pressured.

I didn’t know how long until I snapped. But I knew it wasn’t going to happen. I thought I re- membered my mom saying she would be born at 8:00 AM.

Right when the clock ticked over to 8 I shouted,“She’s born!”

After saying everyone in the class went nuts like squirrels in a nut tree. Needless to say, they were crazy, even the teacher. Things began to calm down though, thankfully. We went through the usually daily grind until the main office called me down. Once I heard that I had no reaction, no surprising feeling. I just knew that it was straight back to the hospital, and straight back to my mom. My grandma took me to the hospital where we walked up to the room that my mom was in and gave her a great big hug.

I asked my mom, “How are you holding up?”

She replied, “I’m doing alright.”

I was thankful to hear that. Seeing my mom in that gurney frightened me, I thought that I might lose her. But my grandma said she would be okay (thank goodness). Seeing my next baby sister was a shocker. She was so tiny and adorable. She cried a lot, but that’s what babies do. My gosh, she was cuter than a puppy with her mom. And when she was brought to school, everyone loved her. So did I.

Joseph Campana, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 7

Artwork: Gina Fry, 18 Bound Brook High School Grade 12 51

From the Ashes

There’s a warmth on my face. Not a sweet warmth. A bitter one. It rages. Bites up my leg as I lay on the bench. You would think that I’d have gone crazy by now- but here I am. Alone at the end of the world.

There’s no zombies or nuclear warfare. We got that over with around 40 million years ago. This, however, is real.

The sun is supposed to rise, not stay in the sky. But it’s not my fault. I didn’t want to be the last person alive on Earth anyway. It was a mistake. I was a mistake. Now, after all these years that I’ve spent in the same little house, on the same little hill, I must now die for all humanity. Every minute, I inch closer and closer. For a while, I thought it would never happen. The Earth has been on a collision course for years now, but it has always felt eternities away. Today will be the end of, well, everything. Way back in 2021, the scientists told me that I would crash directly into the sun at 5 o’clock today. I didn’t think much of it then, but now it consumes me. It chews me up all day and swallows me whole as I patiently wait to burn along with this prison of a planet.

Humans were made to die. We were placed on this planet to live and perish. We must play with the cards we are dealt with and make the best of them. Perhaps I was dealt the right cards. Maybe I was meant to be the end of humanity, but it doesn’t mean I want to. When I was 23, I was dealt a special card, per se.

Look me up in your history books, “The Trials of John Doe”. You would think that scientists would know better than to replace my blood with radioactive material. At first, I was supposed to be a ‘Captain America’, a war device. I spent years in the lab. Doctors pulling and pushing me around on the operation table, count- less paparazzi, and thousands of dollars. I was a marvel, a work of scientific genius. That was until it came to a stop. I never died. I had to watch my loved ones slowly decline, had to watch as the wrinkles on their forehead grew and the skin on their face sagged. I watched the life sucked out of them as they neared the end.

Every single one of them. Papa, Mama, my sister, wife, daughter, son. Naturally, over billions of years, I grew used to it. I’ve spent the last billions of years sitting waiting for this day- and yet now, no one will be here to finally watch me decline.

The little house on the hill. The one I’ve lived in since I was young. The shutters are clean and the fence is painted- just how Papa would have wanted it. I don’t know why I care so much. He’s been gone for 52

billions of years. The grass is just the way he left it, the same with the furniture. My little race car bed still sits on the creaky wood floor where it sat when I was young, and the half-empty cocoa puffs are still in the cabinet. The ugly clock that Mother bought still ticks, even though I wish it would stop. The putrid wood varnish, the ticking that has made my ears bleed since the day it entered the house. Mama, however, loved the clock. Every morning, she stood before it, running her fragile fingers around the careful wood carvings, and every morning, I do the same. The clock is hideous- yet it is one of the few things that have made it along with me. It’s lived with me my whole life, and now it will die with me.

I can feel the warm air filling my lungs. It bites and hurts and pulls and whines. I can feel the flames creeping closer as they reel me in. It’s inevitable. I’m going to die either way. There’s no one and nothing to say goodbye to. I feel it nibbling on my toes. Eating away at me even though it’s not even here yet. It flows through my nostrils and my ears, coursing through my body. The doctors said that it wouldn’t hurt this bad so early on. I glance back at the clock. It’s only 3:30. What do the doctors know? They died billions of years ago. They left me.

I couldn’t have gotten the time wrong. I’ve been preparing for eternities. I’ve seen the highs and lows of humanity and I’ve seen the pain that this world has caused them. I admire humans though. After all, their pain and curiosity is the only reason I am here now. The doctors made a mistake when they made me- they couldn’t have made another predicting my death. Now I’ll just have to endure. Billions of years surviving on this god-forsaken Earth alone, and this is how I end? I must feel the pain of all the mistakes humanity made before me. I am the final straw. Perhaps this is the best way. No one will miss me. No grief or mourning.

I can feel my eyes closing, the gates of whatever comes after death opening for me. Perhaps I should give in. Let it nibble and bite at me. Let it rip me apart. It rushes through me like the current of a vicious tide. The flames filling my lungs until they burst. My fingertips melt into the fiery landscape and all I can hear is the rushing of the solar wind. It rages inside of me. It grows tall and wide until it rips me to shreds. I am stretched too thin. Like a rubber band when you pull it between your hands. It pulls and pulls and pulls.

The pressure building in my head as the flames eat away at my skull. I clench my eyes and fists and toes and everything in between until it all goes dark. Snaps.

Look, I hate to end a story this way. I know the answer you are looking for. The classic “It was all a dream.” My apologies. But those stories are gone. They burned too. All of Earth. Even where you are sitting right now. You burned. I burned. We all burned. Someday soon, the sun will burn too. The vastness of space will be quiet. All the stars will have eaten themselves alive. All of the pain and hurt that humanity has felt will simply be erased. Maybe one day we will begin again. Maybe humanity will return. Maybe this is all just wishful thinking. I can only hope that we will meet again soon, dear reader. May we return to the shore we were born from, and from the ashes may we rise.

Isabella DiStasio, 14 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

The Life of Having Pets

Bark! My dog’s bark is as loud as a lion roaring, as they see a mailman put mail in the mailbox. These dogs bark to protect me from strangers nearby because I trained them this way. My dogs protect me from anyone unwanted coming close to our house. Dogs truly are a man’s best friend.

My bird never stops screaming. His screams are so obnoxious, I tell him to be quiet one million times a day. He screams whenever he wants something, so I give him everything. Food, water, my hand, toys, but nothing makes him interested. His screaming makes me wish I never had ears because It hurt my eardrum every time.

You would think that my dogs will be harsh and mean with the bird, but it’s the other way around. My dogs get bent out of shape when the bird makes the slightest sounds. When my bird chases them the dogs run as fast as a cheetah to get away. My house is a zoo when I let these animals out together.

Besides all the craziness around the house, I love these animals with all my heart. Rocco and Rex are my dogs, followed by the bird himself Rio. These three are as energetic as energy in a bottle itself. They are a blessing in disguise. They bring so much love and happiness to me and my animal-loving family. And I know my animals love us back and are acknowledging our care for them.

Ryan Gear, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Swish

Butterflies fill my stomach, as we all line up for foul shots I look around to see everyone watching me as I stand on the foul line I breathe in and out as I spin the ball in my hands Each breath telling myself, I got this, I just have to remember my form

“Swish!” I smile as I make the first shot I grow nervous thinking about how important this shot is Chills run down my spine I take a deep breath trying not to sike myself out

I spin out the ball 3 times, One, you got this I tell myself Two, relax you can make foul shots Three, just like practice, focus and get your from

I line up my shot, making sure my form is good Swiftly I release it from my grip Silence fills the room as we all watch to ball “Swish!”

Nicola Johnson, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Rainbows

Rainbows, born from the rain One tiny drop Split into colors Dancing in the sky with the pot of gold at the end A prism turning water into the rainbow

The mighty colors Red orange yellow green blue The colorful shades bright as a star in the sky Dying the sky like a paintbrush

The shape A upside down smile Gleaming like a colorful banana A boomerang projected up in the air like clouds.

The Rainbow The majestic colorful upside down smile of the gods The colorful beauty The art of the gods

Alaap Joshi, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Diary

Preface

As I wake up in a dimly lit room my thoughts are fuzzy, figures are dark and blurry and as I now sit here, clips are replaying in my mind from the blurriness of the hit and I can still feel the large bruise on my head. Hard to believe, I think, only hours ago I was delighted at the thought that now becomes prison for my father.

Monday, October 27, 2013

Dear Diary,

My name is Kim Eun and I have the displeasure of living in North Korea. I found this diary on a Sun- day morning near my shack in the Kangdong Concentration Camp. Today as I walked to my school, as usual, I saw yet another boy whose body looked as if someone had taken all the blood and fatness out of it, whose bones were clearly visible and eyes looked as if they were set in stone, laying there dead. He couldn’t have been any older than 5 years. His mother whose face was covered in tears looked away as she saw me and continued sobbing. I shake my head and tell myself that one day all of this will be over, that Kim Jong- un AKA the Hitler (which was a nickname made because of his actions) will step-down from the presidency and that all of this is going to be resolved. As I was walking I noticed that the sun was high today and that I might see some kids finally playing outside lightening the dull mode and the tension of this place, somebody grabbed my hand, too scared it was going to be a gyeongchalgwan. I stared at the ground as I felt my face growing hot with hate.

“Ttal,” A manly voice called, I looked up from the familiarness of the man’s voice.

“Appa?!!” I cried as I gave him a bear hug, “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry for startling you, did you eat?” Why was he looking so nervous? I thought he was going to explode.

“Kim Eun today we are going to escape, your brother has gone to gather supplies, and your mother is packing essential items. After school, go near the exit of the camp and take a left to a narrow street, there will be a hole in the wall, climb into it and we will meet you there.” Just as he had come, he ran away. 58

I was curious for a long time where Kim Sehyoon, or as I call him hyung, was. I guess that answered my question. Even so, I was more excited to finally wriggle out of the wrath of Kim Jong-un, but there could be some flaws if we accidentally get caught, I even shuddered to think about it. And a hole in a wall? How is that going to help? I had to do it though because my father is the most intelligent person I know, if he isn’t right, I don’t know who is.

After school had ended, I ran up to our house to see if eomma was home. As I had expected, I saw the shack with all our belongings. Aren’t we taking anything? Everything seemed normal, nothing was out of its place, neither was anything taken. I saw this diary sitting next to my pillow and took it as a thing to remember this place with, although I am sure that I will never forget. I ran up near the exit of the camp and just before any gyeongchalgwan could suspect anything. I took a left to face a narrow street whose walls' paint was hanging and graffiti-covered it. I walked and walked until I saw a ginormous hole. Without giving it a second thought, I hurled myself into it and quietly screamed, carefully not to make a sound as a gyeongchalgwan could hear my yells. Eyes closed shut, I felt my surroundings, it felt as if I had entered a gloomy tunnel.

“KIM EUN???!!” An angelic voice shook me awake, “Are you okay?” A beautiful lady, with a bob hair- cut and an oblong typical Korean face, whom I recognized to be my mom, loomed over me.

“Eomma!!” I hugged her as tight as I could have for 5 minutes before releasing her.

“What is the plan?” I ask in a confident voice to reassure them about this decision.

“Ok, so basically, we are in a tunnel which your Appa is covering, and we are going to travel at least a mile, and then wait until night time which starts exactly in 8 hours to get out in the forest, from there we will take a train to a city just before the border where we will show forged papers to escape to South Korea.”

She handed me a bag with all essential items I might need for this trip while I was occupied being amazed at the well thought out plan and stuffed the diary. Something tickled in the back of my mind and I knew we would have to lie for a huge part, which is something I am not umm, great at.

“Let’s start” Hyung suggested, and we started walking towards paradise.

“It is here.” This walk had been easy since we walked about the same distance to get our groceries every week. He looked at his cheap-looking, worn-out watch and informed us that we had three more hours until dawn. I sat next to Hyung and we just sat there for an awkwardly long time.

“So,” Hyung started, “ Are you scared?” What kind of question is this?

“I am, aren’t you” he took a deep breath.

“Dad can be put into jail, mom and I can be flogged if we get caught doing this, we might be accused of treason.” I took a moment to take that all in, then rested my head on Hyung’s shoulder, and as a tear dropped down from his eyes, I was wrapped up in the wrath of sleep.

“Wake up,” I heard a gentle voice calling for me and I opened my eyes. Hyung’s clear eyes, clean-cut, and handsome face got me off guard and my heart skipped a beat. “It’s time.”

My mind was confused for a second and I looked around to see that we were still in the tunnel, were we finally going to get out of this trash hole? My question was answered when appa opened the cloth and grass fell over us. Flashlights peered in filling the dark hole with brightness. I squinted my eyes to see what was happening, Eomma was screaming and Hyung was trying to pull on something. Finally realizing that

Hyung was trying to pull on Appa, I held his leg and tried pulling him down because I had a scared feeling that this might be none other than the gyeongchalgwan. Tears poured down my face as my dad was pulled up despite our desperate attempts to help Appa. Next, my Eomma was taken and my mind was already blank as my hyung I was lifted. One second I could see the clear sunset the next I saw my appa, eomma, and hyung were being heavily beaten by a uniformed and expressionless gyeongchalgwan still bothers me.

I watched them helplessly trying not to cry. I didn’t want to show them that I was weak. They suddenly picked Appa up and after putting salt in his wounds, put him in a van and drove off. I knew well that this might be the last time I saw him. Before I could even start to process that fact, they also put salt in

Hyung and Eomma’s wounds and made them stand. Clueless about what is going on, I looked around and saw that the gyeongchalgwan was nearing me. Oh no! I had heard of many people who got caught, the youngest would always get slapped as the government thought that “protecting” the future is the best thing to do. A gyeongchalgwan with the same uniform, emotionless face that was covered with a tub that came towards me and slapped with the back of his hand right on my cheekbone. If you think that it doesn’t hurt you’re very wrong. He continued until I couldn’t take it anymore, and my consciousness slipped.

head. Hard to believe only, I think, hours ago I was delighted at the thought that now becomes prison for my father. I grab a pen and a paper, fish for the empty notebook and start writing,

“Dear Diary,

My name is Kim Eun and I have the displeasure of living in North Korea…”

Signed Kim Eun

*ttal-daughter

*eomma- mom

*gyeongchalgwan- police officer

*appa- dad

*hyung- older brother

Shreya Malhorta, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 7

Heading South

First snow of the season, the wind carries cold air near. Birds flying around mad, like they have something to fear.

It was a warm, mild fall, like winter would never appear. And the birds are still up North, even though winter came running, and is finally here.

So there they are flying, as fast as cheetahs trying. To get out of the bitter, ice cold, and to head down South, where it's warmer, I'm told.

They are drained and worn, as they reach their destination. And yet through all the struggles, they still managed to complete migration.

Karolina Matejczyk, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

The Noisy Graveyard

Two friends are walking home from a late movie, and they have to cut through a cemetery. As they’re about halfway through, one of the kids suddenly hears a noise. Both kids stop dead in their tracks.

Suzie and I left the theater at 10:30. My mother would be furious, but Suzie’s father’s car broke down so we said we would walk home.

Mother shut the book.

“Well I think that is enough for tonight children. We will read more tomorrow, try to get some rest.”

“But mother I want to know more about the noise. Who made it? Who heard it? What was it?”

“Yeah, come on mom just a little bit more.”

“No!” replied the mother as she kissed her children goodnight and walked out of the room shut off the lights. The children fell asleep.

“Hey Anabelle, what do you suppose the sound in the graveyard was?” said Peter.

“I don’t really know, but there is only one way to find out, Peter are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we should eat Five-Hundred peanut butter sandwiches?” replied Peter.

Anabelle hit her head with her palm.

“No Peter, we should wander into the graveyard to find out what that sound was.”

“I don’t know, graveyards kinda freak me out” replied Peter.

“Please!” said Anabelle.

“Fine,” Peter said.

“But only if we’re back by morning, you don't want Mom to catch us missing.”

“Deal” replied Anabelle. The siblings shake hands. The children waited until their mother was asleep until they made their exit. The clock struck ten and the children decided their best option was to go out the window, so one after the other they left.

They were walking down the sidewalks and they came across the light sweeper. The children stopped. “What are you two children doing out here? It's past ten.”

“Hey George” the children replied. “We were just…umm...stopping at the post office.” Annabelle said with guilt.

“The post office huh. And what would you be dropping off at the post office.”

The children look at each other with the face “we messed up.” Annabelle adds “Oh will you look at that we must have dropped the letter on the way over here. We better go trace our steps and look for it.

Well good night George.”

“Oh would you like me to come with you guys? I have yet to go down that was” replied George.

“Oh don’t be silly we got this” added Peter. George says “Okay if you say so, goodnight then.”

The children walked a different way to the graveyard. “Look Peter, a movie theatre. There was one of those in the story, we must be going the right way” added Annabelle.

“Your right” replied Peter. The children eventually made their way to the graveyard and sat on a tiny bench by a gravestone. They started to listen and hopefully find the sound. But they heard nothing.

Then out of nowhere an old man popped out of the graveyard, He was in charge of the graveyard shift that night. “What are you too children doing at the graveyard at Ten-Thirty at night?”

“Well, our mom was reading us a story about two kids who heard a noise here. So, we came to find out that that noise was” the children explained.

“What! You two children came all the way out here in the middle of the night to figure out what the sound you read in your story was” yelled the man.

“Yea…. so have you heard any mysterious noises recently” added the children.

“No, I haven’t but If I do I will let you know” the old man said and then rolled his eyes with con- tempt.

“Ok goodnight” said the children with sorrow.

“Goodnight” added the old man.

While the children were walking out of the graveyard they heard something. “Could it be?” said the children. The ground started to rumble. Every time the children took a step forward the noise got louder and louder until they were standing right in front of it.

A stroke of wind busted the children’s bedroom window wide open and in flowed a cool gust of air.

The children both jumped up from bed, their faces filled with fear. “What was that” shouted Peter.”

“I think it was the wind, go back to sleep'' said Annabelle. The children both fell back asleep, no one will ever know what the sound was. But there was always tomorrow to go figure it out.

Isabella Nunziata, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Artwork: Skylar Clarida, 16 Bound Brook High School Grade 11 65

Time for Bed

When the sun started to set and the sky started to slip through the fingers of day, my mom had to go to work early and my dad was on a business trip, so my grandmother was home to take care of us until my mom came back the next day. Me and my sisters calmed down to watch some TV and then went to play again but when my two little sisters started to get rough, our grandmother said it was time to get ready for bed.

We went to our parents’ room because they were not there, and their bed would fit all of us. So, we got comfy, and decided we were going to watch a movie. As the moon started to rise into the sky, it shone like a silver coin. My sisters started to complain that I was taking too long to pick a movie.

“There’s nothing good, so will you just be patient?!” I exclaimed. The constant nagging was getting on my nerves. My sisters got their tablets and watched YouTube as they waited.

“I don’t wanna watch a movie anymore. You’re taking too long” Rebecca whined.

“Okay, okay” I said. The night slowly closed in on us. I had no idea how much time had passed, because it was already 11:45 and my sisters were sleeping. My eyes drooped like there was a dumbbell in them. I yawned, and slowly fell asleep, forgetting to turn off the TV.

I woke up to the sound of the CNN channel on the TV. I looked at the bottom-right corner of the

TV, and lo and behold, the time. 4:02 AM?! I had no idea how I woke up this early, but my sister Rebec- ca started to wake up as well. We tried waking up our sister Hannah, but she just got grumpy and told us to leave her alone. So, we did as we were told. My sister said she was hungry, and so was I. Our stom- achs growled like a hungry pack of wolves.

Looking out the window as we descended down the stairs, the sky was still clearly gripped by the hands of night. With every step, the stairs creaked. “I’m scared, Noah” Rebecca said, her face contorting.

As we entered the kitchen, we turned on the lights, and opened the fridge. Of course, it was too early to eat any kind of breakfast. I slowly opened the freezer door and I spotted some cookies tucked on the top of the freezer shelf. I grabbed one pack of cookie dough, grabbed a pan, and some foil. I usually used foil before, so I had a hard time getting the length right.

“Oooh, can I roll the cookie dough?” My sister asked with joy, like all the sleepiness had somehow been drained from her.

“Alright.” I said sleepily.

After we had finished rolling the cookie dough, I set the oven on bake and 350 degrees. I put the cookie dough inside the oven, and we turned on the kitchen TV to pass the time. There was nothing good on, seeing it was 4:20 AM, so we just turned on the news. After waiting at least 15 minutes, I checked on the cookies. When I opened the oven, an amazing sweet smell emanated from it. Me and my sister breathed in, then let out a sigh. I tried to take the cookies out, but the heat was too much and I was really scared of burning myself. so, I took a towel hanging from the oven handle and took the cookies out, the heat briefly hitting my eyes.

“They look so good…” My sister reached for a cookie.

“SMACK!”

“Ow!” Rebeca yelled.

“Do you know how hot that is? Be careful!” my face showing concern. I wrapped the cookies in foil, and took them upstairs with my sister.

When we got back upstairs, I opened the window and a cold breeze brushed my face and upper body. The moon slowly fading, as if its magical power originated from the night, which was slowly fading. I laid the cookies by the window, hoping the cold morning air would cool the cookies down. I thought it would be a good idea to watch a movie again, and this time, I already knew what we could enjoy while eating cookies.

“Wanna watch Black Panther again?” I asked.

“Yes, yes, yes, ye,s yes!” my sister exclaimed. The sun slowly climbed up the sky. We enjoyed our cookies, put our arms around each other while eating them, sat back, and relaxed.

Noah Offiah, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 7 67

One Giant Leap for Me

Tick, Tock. Tick Tock. The clock at the top of the bulletin board was agonizing. It was 11:57 A.M, and the room I was in was chilly. My left hand kept my head from falling on the desk and sleeping. My right hand was twirling my curly hair around in loops, until I was at the top of my scalp. My wheelchair was pac- ing. The muffled voice of my math teacher was in the background, and us students were expected to listen to her. But as I looked around, my fellow classmates looked as bored as me, picking the fuzzy lint off their sweatshirts or glancing at others. Then, I heard it. The sound that would save me from torture. The sound that would save us all in the classroom. The sound that I loved to hear at this time of day. The bell. My math teacher stood up.

“Ok class, good discussion today. Make sure to study for the quiz tom-”

I didn’t listen to any more of that talk from my teacher. I rolled my wheelchair outside of the classroom, and I could hear the wheels clinking on the glossy school tiles.

Outside of the classroom, was a person that I recognized. I saw her almost every single day. It was

Lily. Lily's body was leaning back on my locker, which was right outside the classroom. One foot was down, while the other was on my locker. She was chewing bubble gum, even though they don't allow gum in classes. Her straight hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and she was wearing a anime hoodie. Even though

Lily was totally different then me, we were still friends. She was my best friend and my only friend in this school

“Heeyyyyy Jovita” she said, exaggerating.

“Hey Lily” I said. I rolled my eyes.

“Can you get your foot off my locker?”

“Ugh, fine” she said, sliding her foot off.

“Thank you,” I said. I put in my locker combination as Lily rambled on about her day so far.

“So, today I forgot to do the homework for science so now I have to spend 2 hours after school in detention.” Lily said like it was no big deal.

“What! Mr. Mars gave you 2 hours of detention for forgetting to do homework?” I said.

Lily blew her bubble gum until it was a round pink ball. Then it popped. “Well, I didn’t do homework 68

for 10 days, so that might be why” she said.

“Oh Lily” I sighed, putting my books in my locker. I closed my locker, and then locked it. The bell rang again. It was exactly 12:10 A.M. It was time for 5th period, a.k.a my lunchtime. I walked with Lily to the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was packed with hungry students, where some were impatiently waiting in line for their food. Others were on the tables, unwrapping the lunch they brought from home. Me and Lily went to stand in the line for lunch. My mom is really busy, so I usually get lunch from the cafeteria. Lily does so too. Me and Lily got our lunch trays, and the lunch lady plopped a big spoonful of gooey mac and cheese into my tray. I picked an apple as a snack, and Lily picked a bag of Lays. We went to our normal seating arrange- ment, table 9, which was usually where all the smart kids hanged out. Me and Lily weren’t smart, but they were accepting and let us sit there. When we sat down, Lily started talking immediately. “So, Jovita. Are you excited for art class today?” she said.

I started plopping the mac and cheese in my mouth. “yat, imf reafly sftoked'' I muttered.

“Talk English Please” Lily responded.

I swallowed the mac and cheese down my mouth. It was a little salty, but other than that it tasted pretty good. “Ya, i'm really stoked” I said.

“Yah, I am too. It's like the only class we have together” Lilly said, opening the bag of Lays.

“Hey, aren’t you going to eat your mac and cheese?” I asked Lily.

“Nah, I’ll just stick with the chips” she said.

“Oh ok” I responded. Suddenly, the lunch room speaker turned on. All of the students turned around to see what was going on. Mrs. Potter was at the front of the cafeteria.

''Students, Mrs. Caldwell is hosting an art contest. You can sign up for it by tomorrow morning. It will take place at the County Fair, and all students will present their artwork. The winning art piece will be displayed at the town hall” Mrs. Potter said. After Mrs. Potter said the town hall, immediately everyone in the cafeteria started talking. Getting something you made displayed at the town hall would be a great honor, everyone in the town could see your artwork. And the best part was, the artwork would stay up there for at least a month.

Lily turned to look at me “Oh my god, Jovita you should totally sign up! Come on, if I had 50% of the talent you had, I would be selling art for millions of dollars! Unfortunately, I can barely draw a stick figure”

Lily sighed. We both laughed together. Lily doesn’t have the best talent when it comes to art. But maybe I could potentially sign up.. No. I could never publicly present my artwork. It would be too humiliating for me.

“Ding, Ding!” the bell rang again, disturbing my thoughts. I quickly finished up the rest of my mac and cheese and hurried out the lunch room with Lily.

We went into the hallway to go to our lockers. I opened my locker and got out my art palette. I would need that for next period. Suddenly, the hallway seemed to darken, and the air seemed to be toxic. I heard the footsteps of bouncy sneakers squeaking on the floor, so I turned my wheelchair, only to face a 5ft 4 big girl, hovering over me and Lily. Oh god. It was Patricia, with a little smirk on her face. Her acquaintanc- es, Sarah and Clarie, were behind her, with the same smirk on their face.

“Looks like hot wheels arrived,” Patricia said, looking at me. She looked at Sarah and Clarie, staring at them. Sarah seemed startled, and quickly said something.

“Haha” Sarah said, barely forcing a laugh.

“Yah, good one Patricia” Clarie said.

“What do you want, Patricia?” Lily said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh nothing, just the homework answers for the worksheet in math that’s due today” Patricia said.

“Well, Jovita is not going to give them to you, Right Jovita?” Lily said looking at me. Within a few seconds, all eyes were on me. Sweat was beaming down my face.

“U-uh u-um” I mumbled. I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with them.

“Right, Jovita?” Lily repeated, this time it sounded like an order.

“Uh, here you go, Patricia” I said, quickly pulling the worksheet out of my backpack. I glanced at Lily.

I could tell from her face that she was disappointed in me.

“That's what I thought” Patricia said, snatching the worksheet from my hands. I swear I almost got a papercut. I watched as her and her goons walked away, joking around.

“Jovita Cruz! Why on earth would you give it to her” Lily said, arms crossed.

“You're starting to sound like my mom” I said to her.

“Don’t avoid the topic! Why did you give her the homework answers?” she said, starting to get angry.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. I’m not that good at communicating my feelings” I replied.

“It's fine, It's fine. Just next time stand up for yourself, okay?” Lily said.

“Sure” I said, starting to feel better.

“Come on, Jov, let’s go to art class” Lily said.

“Ok sure” I said, as we went to our next period.

Art class was my favorite class. It’s just something about the vivid colors and beautiful masterpieces that make me feel happy. And in some way, it made me feel normal. As I entered the room, I breathed in the smell of fresh, colored paint. The art room was so colorful, with paintings that my art teacher hung up on the wall. There were wooden tables with rainbow stools lined up in the front of the classroom. In the back of the classroom, there were two sinks and the teachers desk. Sitting in the chair of the desk, was my teacher, Mrs.

Caldwell. Mrs. Caldwell was wearing a purple shawl with a bright blue top. She had bell bottom pants on, paired with customized Nike air forces. Her wavy brown hair touched her thighs, and was tied back. As everyone walked in, Mrs. Caldwell stood up, and took her place at the front of the classroom. “Good morning everyone! I hope that everyone had a wonderful day so far. Today we are going to have a free paint session.

So, if you have any questions, just ask me. Otherwise, you guys can get started” she said, going back to her desk. Me and Lily grabbed watercolor paper and went over to the tables. Lily sat on a stool, while I took my place next to her in my wheelchair. I immediately opened my watercolor palette and started painting. I swished the colors around the scenery I drew last art class. I colored the sky into a mesmerizing sunset, and the farmhouse into a bright maroon color. I loved doing this. This made me feel like I didn’t even have a wheelchair, that I was a normal student making a beautiful painting. I was zoned into painting that I didn’t even realize the bell rang.

“Jovita, it’s time to go” Lily said, tapping my shoulder. I looked at her, confused.

“Already?! It’s only been like 5 minutes” I said. Lily pointed at the clock. 30 minutes have passed by since I was painting. “Oh, ok” I said. I put my painting on the drying rack and went out of the classroom with my other classmates. I let out a sad sigh. I didn’t even finish my painting! I wanted to do more, and

71 paint more. I guess that would have to wait till next art class.

“Ok class, have a good rest of the day! And make sure to sign up for the art contest if you want to!”

Mrs. Caldwell said.

I sadly walked out of the classroom and slowly went to my next period. I would have gym, but that got canceled a while ago because i can’t do gym in a wheelchair. So, I just spent my next period in the library because I didn’t have anything else to do. It was now 12:50, and I reached for the library door. Someone else beat me to it.

“Here, let me open that for you” said a young woman I have never seen before.

“Oh, you don't have to do that” I said as I rolled my wheelchair into the library. I looked at the woman confused, and she looked back at me. What was a college like woman that I have never seen doing in a middle school?

“Oh, I’m sorry if I didn’t formally introduce myself. I'm the substitute librarian, Mrs. Cally” she said, reaching out her hand. I shook the hand awkwardly, and then started to go into the 7th grade books section.

I reached the novel “Bethany Hamilton: Follow Your Dreams!” by Michael Sanders. This was one of the books Lily recommended to me, so I thought I might try it out. “Uh, are you sure you don't need any help there?” Mrs. Cally said from the other side of the library.

“No, I’m fine” I said. Mrs. Cally rushed over to where I was.

“No, I insist” she said, grabbing the book from the middle shelf.

“Uh, ok, thank you” I said, taking the book from Mrs. Cally’s hand and rolling my wheelchair over to one of the tables.

“If you need anything else, just tell me” Mrs. Cally said, going back to the librarian's desk. I was so confused. Why did Mrs. Cally- Oh. She thought that I couldn’t reach the book because of my wheelchair. I looked at Mrs. Cally, and I saw her looking at me. She quickly glanced away, pretending she was busy with her phone. But I knew the truth. She was watching over me, thinking that I wasn’t capable of doing normal things. I started to read the book, to get my mind off the topic. It was quite interesting so far. Bethany was a surfer who had lost her arm due to a shark attack. Despite her injury, she kept on doing the thing she loved…. The bell rang again. This time, I wasn’t sad when the bell rang. I wasn’t happy or annoyed. I was

motivated. I rolled my wheelchair towards the door. “Oh, let me help you with that-” I ignored Mrs. Carly. I opened the door of the library and it swinged shut. I rolled my wheelchair down the school and glanced at my surroundings. There was a handful full of students getting ready for their next class. Some were looking at me, and others were minding their own business. I approached the art room door, and took a deep breath before going in.

I opened the door gently and said in a high tone, ”Mrs. Diaz?”

My art teacher looked up, glancing at me. “Yes Fovita?” she asked.

“I'm here to sign up for the art contest?” I said.

A wide smile spread across Mrs. Diaz face, highlighting her freckles. “Oh Fovita, I’m so glad that you wanted to sign up! I absolutely love your style of artwork!” she said, motioning for me to go to the sign-up sheet.

“Really? Thanks” I said, writing my name on the art sign up paper.

“Well, it was good seeing you! Thanks for signing up!” she said.

“No problem” I said, opening the door and rolling my wheelchair out of the classroom. I pat myself on the shoulder. Watch out, my fellow art contest competitors, because this was one small step for humankind, but one giant leap for me.

Srija Patel, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Living in the Fantasy!

Reading to escape, Not hearing a thing, As silent as a fish, With nothing else to hear,

Being alone, With no one else around, Being as relaxed as a cat, With only your enormous book,

You’re now in the book, Everything becomes real, Seeing the characters, Watching them become your friend, Having unrealistic things come to life,

The words become real, Seeing everything you read, Not knowing what to do, But only living in the fantasy!

Emma Payne, 14 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Xenophobia

One minute I'm swimming across the vast ocean. Before I know it, I'm battling against aliens and cyborgs. The worlds that I experience all seem so real, To the point where I think that I'm a part of it.

There are so many diverse places I could go to. The isolated desert, on mars all the way in space, Even places I can’t simply put into words.

All of these experiences humble me. I am an ant whenever I explore a new realm. I get this odd feeling, however. Anxious? Bewildered? Fearful?

Perhaps I am fearful of what I haven’t seen. After all I have experiences thus far, I am afraid that I’ve missed so much more. After seeing all these new things, They leave me wondering about what I haven’t seen.

After I place down my headset, I enter back into reality. Yet, now it all seems so old. What the world used to make me think about is gone, And in its place is a constant paranoia.

Now I am left with only two questions. How much do we humans actually know, And how much there is out there, we can’t even fathom.

Marisol Perez, 14 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Back to Square One

Covid-19 flew in like a home-run People started catching it, and it wasn’t just one person At first, life was a rollercoaster and it really agitated everyone We also weren’t able to visit anyone However, everything had just begun

Quarantine emerged, everyone felt blue and life was boring “Boom!” As the thunder was roaring and the rain was pouring Everyone was in their cozy beds snoring We wish we could once again go exploring But, the only hope was in the world restoring

However, Covid-19 caused immense amounts of bane Everything was a grey area, nobody was in the right lane “This is unacceptable!” they all yelled It was agony all over and over again

We realized we were in the same boat and things were back in place We learned how to embrace and not disgrace But, everyone was still cautious just in case Now it is time to simply retrace

Kunal Shah, 14 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

To My Little Brother

Life gave me a brother. Life gave me a built-in best friend. We play games together and watch movies, and we’ll always be there for each other in the end.

I could be a wreck, but while you are still here, my worries fly away, like birds on a summer day.

You may not perceive this, but wherever we go, I make sure to keep you safe. I’m Batman and you’re Robin. The way Batman needs Robin, I need you.

You may be aggravating at times, but another brother is not what I would ever desire. As we get older we may stray apart, but like a boomerang, I know you’ll always come back and stay in my heart.

Xienna Still, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

The Beach

It was a warm summer day and I was at the beach with my parents, younger sister, my best friend Arden, and Arden’s mom. Before we went to the beach, we stopped at Arden’s beach house to say hi and walk to the beach together. When we picked a spot, we started setting everything up and getting sunscreen on.

“Are you gonna go in the water and jump the waves?” I asked.

Arden replied “Yeah. Are you going too?” I nodded. When we were done setting everything up, we all decided to eat lunch since it was around noonish. After we ate lunch we went in the water.

“That's cold” I said.

“I know right” Arden replied

“We'll get used to it,” I said.

As we slowly stepped into the water we started to get used to the water.

“Ow, ow, ow!” I said as the shells kept poking my feet.

“There won’t be any shells once we get farther out” Arden told me.

“That's good. and the sand will also be softer right?” I asked

“Mm-hm” Arden said as she nodded her head.

After we made it past the shells the sand was definitely softer. For the next 20 minutes we talked and jumped waves at the same time. Arden taught me how to jump the waves properly and really helpful tips. Then a big wave was coming. I still didn't go underwater because I was too afraid. but the wave was too big to jump so we had to go underwater. When the big wave was coming closer and closer me and Arden countdown from 5 until we had to go underwater.

“Five, four, three, two, one!” we both screamed. As I went underwater, I could feel the water pressure pulling against me but I kept grounded. When I came up to breathe, I wiped my eyes and wanted to do it a thousand times more. Another hour passed by and the sun was starting to set. me and

Arden went to get a snack out of the cooler. As we sat, ate our snack watching waves crash one after another we talked.

“Soooo what should we do next?” Arden asked.

“Do you wanna help my sister Serena, build her sand castle?” I replied.

“Sure,” Arden said.

When we got to Serena and her sand castle we started to help. The waves kept crashing down into the sand castle so it was just a pile of wet sand. So, we decided to just do a moat with no sand castle. After we gave up on that me and Arden went back in the ocean to jump some more waves. About an hour before we left, we went to get the kite and fly it. We started by untangling the rope- it felt like I could fly. It took a couple tries to get in the air but when we finally got it in the air it was really cool.

But people were leaving the beach and it was time to go. We noticed that there were storm clouds in the sky and that it wasn't safe to stay at the beach. So we packed up and left the beach and said our goodbyes and headed home.

Emily Stuart, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 7

New Things

Have you ever tried new things? Have you been scared of the thought of it? I was scared to try new things. I was scared to try new things because if I didn’t like it then I would feel disappointed. For these reasons I never wanted to try sushi. Before 2019, I didn’t know what sushi ever tasted like. I thought sushi was disgusting because it would have a slimy texture and it will also be tasting like saltwater. I was picky so I never wanted to try many different kinds of food. The only foods I like to eat are pasta, eggs, apples, waffles, bagels.

Me and my mom, dad, and my brother Kyle were at Disney in Florida for vacation. It was interesting to be in a state that felt like it was summer even though it was in the middle of November which was supposed to be cold. Usually we go around Disney a lot and we usually go to different places for lunch. I was eleven years old.

“Where are we going for dinner this time?” I asked my dad. I didn’t know until we went to another hotel. The hotel looked more tropical than the one we were staying in. The inside was really big and it looked like something in Hawaii.

We went up the stairs until we went to the restaurant.

“Table for four please” my dad said kindly. The person took us to a brown table and me, my dad, my mom, and my brother sat down. I heard lots of people talking and waiters bringing out trays of food. I scanned the menu very carefully and when the waiter decided to take our orders my mom ordered a poki bowl, my dad ordered a tray of sushi, my brother Kyle also wanted sushi as well even though he never tried it.

“Seriously! Everybody wants sushi?” I thought strangely. I feel like if I ordered something that’s not sushi then I will feel weird. I originally wanted pasta but since everybody is ordering sushi.

“I want sushi as well,” I asked the waiter politely.

Me and my family waited and ate the bread that they gave us. I tried to not eat too much bread because I don’t want to get full.

“What does sushi taste like?” I said, trying not to ask worriedly to my mother.

“It tastes delicious and I think you will like it,” my mother said. Well, that wasn’t a very good description. I was worried I wouldn’t like it and I would be disappointed and end up with a lot of fresh fish in the trash. I asked my dad what sushi tastes like. It was nearly identical to what my mom said. I was thinking it would taste like slime and saltwater. I tasted saltwater and it was not good at all so I was as worried as a scared cat. The sound of the people talking in the restaurant sounded tense making me tense.

The waiter finally came with three trays of sushi and a bowl of poki. Then she set the tray of sushi down on the table. I took the chopsticks and. Do I seriously have to eat this seawater flavored slime? I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to be mean so I just risked it all and ate a sushi that looked orange and looked like it was slimy.

The texture seemed fine the second it touched my tongue, my teeth and tongue chewed and tasted.

“Wait a minute! This is actually not bad at all” I thought about taking another piece of sushi. I dunked a red piece of sushi in the soy sauce and then put it in my mouth. The smooth sushi was slowly picked up and sent into my mouth tasting super good. I ate like a pig as I took every single piece of sushi until my plate was clean.

Me and my family walked out of the restaurant, then out of the hotel, to the one we were staying at.

“How was dinner?” my dad asked us as he was walking on the sidewalk.

“This is the best dinner by far” I thought while being proud of myself for being able to eat sushi.

Ethan Tang, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 7

Summer days are always the best,

Summer days are always the best, especially trips to the beach and riding bikes to the beach with my cousin. Once we get to the beach, we take off our flip flops, and feel the burning hot sand It's as if I am walking on hot coals.

I ran as fast as I could into the ocean, I could hear a sizzle as, my hot burning feet hit the cold ocean. A big wave was coming. Go into the wave, stand your ground I felt the wave crash over me I dove into the waves I was safe. Time to leave the beach.

Arrive back home and put away bikes. My face was burning, red like a lobster It felt so good to put cold water on my face What a great summer day at the beach.

Alexa Tietjen, 13 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Pitching: My Love for Pitching

Strike one it’s a sound I like to hear. Strike two the umpire yells it loud and clear. Strike three you're out! It’s a pitcher's delight. The pitcher is the position baseball can’t play without. It’s the position that I play because I love striking people out. When I am on the mound I am in control.

They give me the ball I get in my zone, It’s a position that I love because I can command the game. Changeups, two seamers, four seamers, my fingers on the seams. I get in my windup now I am throwing steam. I have been pitching since I was young. Trying to help my team.

I have had good games and bad games. Sometimes with no in between. One thing is for certain I am out there to win for my team. So when I grab that ball and feel the leather and the seams. I look down at the catcher to get the sign I need. One thing is for certain I want to win it for my team.

Blair Yuskao, 14 Hillsborough Middle School Somerset County Grade 8

Manville High School

On the Dock at Sunset

Panting and gasping for air, as I ran through the dark and lush forest of Crystal Lake, New Jersey. I could hear the yells and screams of the people behind me getting closer, so I picked up the pace. As I ran, I quickly came to my senses that I didn’t want to keep running away and hide from my mistakes. I ran for miles and days until I reached Wamego, Kansas, that’s where we all agreed to meet. After two days, I met up with Jigsaw in Pennsylvania at an antique store.

“Hey, there Jig…”, I said before I was cut off.

“Shhhhh… I’m trying to stay still, so they won’t notice”, Jig whispered while trying to be a ventrilo- quist.

“Come on Jig, stop playing around. We got to keep moving on to meet Freddy and Ghost in Kansas and we still have a long way to go”, I said as I kept tapping Jig on the shoulder.

“Alright, alright, alright, let me dust myself off and stretch out,” Jig said as he dusted his suit off and stretched his arms and legs out.

As we left the antique store, we spent a good amount of time deliberating which way to continue on with our journey. We turned left, right, up, down, and sideways on every road we came upon until we saw the big, blue sign that read “Welcome to Kansas.”

As we continued our journey around Kansas, we finally made it to Wamego, a small town with small buildings and small people, Jig fit perfectly in with them.

As we kept walking and searching all around town, we heard loud voices coming from behind us, approaching us quickly. We turned around and realized it was Freddy and Ghost running toward us.

“Finally, you guys made it! I was starting to get tired of old Ghosty over here”, Freddy said with a chuckle, while approaching me with a hug.

“Yeah, it took a long time to get here with only a map” I said to Freddy while hugging him back.

After we finished greeting each other, we all went to some kind of burger restaurant called Bill’s

Burgers.

“So, why did we all agree to meet here? Is there anything going on?”, asked Ghost.

“Look, I’m done with running away from my past life. I’ve been done with that and I served my time.

I want to change for the better, and I know that means changing my look and my current obligation, but I need to do it and I think you guys need to do it too” I said while looking down at my burger and looking up to Freddy, Ghost and Jig.

“How can people like us just change into someone different with the snap of our fingers? We’d have to change our names, ID, personalities, appearance, I mean the list goes on and on”, Freddy said while eating his burger.

After exchanging some looks and continuing to eat our lunch, Jig started to talk, “I’m with Jason, I want to change too. You know how I’ve always wanted to become a comedian, well on our way here, I saw a sign a couple streets away that said “Late Night Comedy Talk Show”, and I feel like I have some good material. I can finally do what I’ve always wanted to do”, Jig said with a big smile and tears running down his red cheeks.

“I’ve always wanted to be a barber. Ever since I was a little kid, I always cut my own hair and it looked amazing”, Ghost said with another big smile and a chuckle.

“I think we can really make a change for the better, so who’s with me?”, I said with a mighty voice as

I put my hand out in the middle of the table.

“I am”, Jig said as he put his hand on top of mine.

“Count me in”, Ghost said as he put his hand on top of Jig’s.

“Alright, I’ll do it”, Freddy said as he put his claw gloved hand on top of all of ours.

“Okay boys, let's get to work.”

After one year of living in Wamego, we all achieved our biggest dreams and changed for the better.

Jig became one of the most popular comedians in all of Kansas and changed his name to Jimmy Saw. Ghost became the best barber in Wamego and opened up his own shop called, “Fresh Cuts”, and changed his name to Gerald Cali. Freddy put his unique hands into good use and became one the Kansas’s most prestigious and 85 talented gourmet cooks. As for me, I always loved to travel around the ocean so I became a local fisherman and I’m living the dream.

After all this time, I thought it was a good idea to call everyone back for one last final meet and goodbye. I sat on the dock and waited for everyone to arrive, Gerald and Freddy sat next to me and smiled and laughed.

“Sorry Jason, Jim couldn’t make it, he had a big show tonight with SNL”, Freddy said patting me on the back.

While looking at the sunset, we heard the sound of a plane in the sky with a banner of Jim’s promo- tional commercial for his new skit for SNL.

As we looked towards the sunset for one last time, I put my arms around both Freddy and Gerald and we sighed in relief and happiness.

Even when you give all hope up, there is always that tiny bit of yourself that keeps you moving forward and never forget it because without it, there is no hope

“I’ll see you guys, soon”, I said looking up into the sky and closing my eyes.

Emily Cano, 15 Manville High School Somerset County Grade 10

Artwork: Emily Cano, 15 Manville High School Grade 10 86

If I ever leave too soon , I want you to know If I leave too soon, I want you to know, that I didn’t love you at first sight. I loved you the first time we were at that park, where everyone could see us, although we hoped not to be seen.

If I leave too soon, I want you to know, that I am so thankful for each time, that you opened my eyes and told me things, that I would never see myself.

If I leave too soon, I want you to know, that when you are attracted to someone, they look good no matter what. To me, you were the most beautiful.

If I leave too soon, I want you to know, that I forgave your mistakes. And they me stronger, while I was still there.

If I leave to soon, I want you to know, that you were the inspiration, of everything I ever did. You were the reason for my victories. And losses.

If I leave too soon, I want you to know, that your voice, always took my pain away.

If I leave too soon, I want you to know, that I’m deeply sorry, for no longer being there to take care of you. Although not married, I promised you, to be there in the good and bad.

If I leave too soon, I want you to know, that you can find someone else. To take my place and make you happy. But if we meet again, leave me be. I would never want to be with anyone else, but you.

If I leave too soon, I want you to know, that you always made me feel butterflies, in my stomach, with the strength of earthquakes. That made me stronger - each time.

If I leave too soon, I want you to kiss my forehead, just one last time, to feel safe.

If I leave too soon, that I couldn’t say “Goodbye,” looking into your eyes, while holding hands - Forgive me.

Xiomara Castro, 17 Manville High School Somerset County Grade 11

Artwork: Daniel Cubillo Solano, 18 Bound Brook High School Grade 12

Watchung Hills Regional High School

The Fire

She had been full of fire. Always craving, always wanting. For something more. Hoping to burn bright Brighter than the others

She wished for nothing more But to be the sun, the center Everyone drawn by her warmth From her steady fire

But instead she burned herself And everyone around her, Her flames diminished And hatred smoldered in the embers of her heart. It had festered within her So all that left was ash.

Rachel Elevathingal, 15 Watchung Hills Regional High School Somerset County Grade 10

UNKNOWN

Jennie’s ankles wobbled as she sprinted across the slippery train station tiles and down what seemed to be mile long hallways. The manager at the convenience store she worked at was old fashioned and even on long, night shifts enforced an absurd dress code including two and a half inch pumps. Not for the first time, Jennie mentally cursed him out, forcing her legs to move faster as she desperately stumbled down the empty train station hallway. She had to catch this train, the walk back home was too far to be an option and finding any other way to get home at this hour of night would be close to impossible.

In the distance, the rumbling noise of an incoming train could be heard, slowly getting louder as it entered the station.

“Oh-” Jennie squeaked a startled, panicked noise as she scrambled down the long flight of stairs leading to the platform.

A relieved smile broke across her face as she staggered across the empty train platform and through the train doors. She made it.

With her chest heaving from her impromptu late night sprint, she flopped into a train seat, dramatically throwing an arm across her head. Behind her, the doors gave a warning ding before closing and she distantly registered a jolt before the train slowly started moving.

With her train ride now secured she slowly sat up from her slumped position in the plastic train car seat, looking around at the empty train car. Jennie froze. Sitting at the end of the car were two men, one of whom was looking right at her. Jennie quickly looked away, whipping her head in the other direction and resolutely staring at the ground, hands fisting the material of her pants as her cheeks burned.

Slowly, Jennie snuck a look at the two men, both of whom are now not looking her way. The one who was looking at her appears to be younger, and he’s dressed casually with his eyes glued to his phone. The other man sits two seats away from the first one, dressed in a ratty, worn black jacket and facing away from Jennie as he stares out the window.

It strikes Jennie as odd for there to be two people on the train with her. Given the time of night, the train should be completely empty as it usually is. The only other late night passenger is a usual who comes on

Wednesdays and gets off at the stop before Jennie’s, Monday nights usually mean an empty train car. 90

Jennie purses her lips, it's not terribly odd, the night just always makes her a little...paranoid. She turns to look out the window at the dark suburbs flashing by. She still had five or so stops to go before she was home and she was dead tired. Casting a quick glance around the traincar and at the two men on the other side, Jen- nie resolves to just close her eyes for a minute. It won’t be too long, just a minute…

When Jennie is awakened by a jolt, she’s quick to realize she slept for more than a minute. Holding back a curse, she hurriedly looks outside at the passing landscape which has suddenly changed to desolate country- side. The neighborhoods and occasional streetlamp had flattened into nothing and with rising panic, Jennie realizes she can’t recognize anything.

Looking around the train car with jerky movements, Jennie sees that sometime while she was sleeping, the first man must have left, leaving her alone with the man in the black coat.

Ignoring the other passenger, Jennie shot up out of her seat, moving to the door behind her and looking out through the glass. Again, Jennie was met only by a long, lonely expanse of endless fields.

Twisting to check the time on the wall opposite her, she caught a glimpse of the other passenger. The man in the dark jacket was staring right at her. Unnerved, Jennie looked away, averting her eyes to the clock. She froze, she had slept for almost an hour. By now she would be far past her stop and maybe even nearing the end of the line. Jennie hurried towards the door of the traincar, surely one of the main compart- ments would have some sort of map.

As she exited to the next train car, Jennie could hear the sound of soft footsteps behind her. Picking up her pace, her heels clacked loudly as she speed walked through the traincar, glancing around for a map.

As Jennie hurried down the line of train cars in search of a map, it became apparent that the man in the dark jacket was following close behind her. With a sinking feeling in her stomach Jennie started moving faster, only for the sound of the footsteps to pick up as well. Now Jennie wasn’t even looking for a map, she was running through the train cars, hoping desperately that she would stumble upon another passenger. Deep down though, Jennie knew that wasn't likely.

Suddenly, the train began slowing down, forcing Jennie to stop and grab onto the side of the train as her heels slipped over the floor. Looking out the window she saw that they were coming into a station. Ener- gized, Jennie scrambled for the door, smashing the emergency open button and stumbling out onto the train

91 platform.

As Jennie came out into the train station, she suddenly stopped. The train station was empty and abandoned. The walls were covered in graffiti, the broken windows partially boarded up and the building looked like it was falling apart. Taking a step forward, Jennie realized she recognized the train station; it was the one she had left an hour ago.

“What..”

Jennie’s ankle twisted and bent beneath her as she stumbled forward, but she kept going, racing towards the turnstiles. The turnstiles she had passed just hours earlier were ripped apart, metal panels missing with the inner wiring exposed. With trembling hands Jennie reached out to brush the cold metal of the turnstile.

Slowly turning away from the turnstiles, Jennie faced the train she had just exited. Amongst the crumbling train station, it stood out with its gleaming silver exterior.

Behind her, Jennie heard a soft noise, the faint click of hard sole shoes on tile. Whipping around, she saw the man from the train standing behind the turnstiles, motionless. How had he gotten there? It should have been impossible. Swallowing, Jennie slowly backed away, never taking her eyes off the man.

With a shaky breath, Jennie turned and took off down the platform, tripping and stumbling in her heels as she sped towards the hallway leading out. The sound of her footsteps, rushed and uneven echoed through the long, empty hallway as Jennie struggled to remain upright. She could feel her heart racing in her chest as she slowed to kick off her shoes, continuing on only in her stockings with the cold trainstation tiles biting through the fabric. In front of her, the train station hallway seemed to stretch for miles.

Siena Martin, 15 Watchung Hills Regional High School Somerset County Grade 10 92

SOMERSET COUNTY BOARD OF COUNTY COMMISSIONERS

Shanel Y. Robinson, Commissioner Director Sara Sooy, Commissioner Deputy Director Melonie Marano, Commissioner Paul Drake, Commissioner Douglas Singleterry, Commissioner

SOMERSET COUNTY CULTURAL & HERITAGE COMMISSION

Don Esposito, President Rory Britt, Vice President Kathy Faulks, Secretary Donnetta Johnson Dennis Quinlan Edwin J. Scannell Peter Stavrianidis Marge Sullivan

Kaitlin Bundy, Manager Thomas R. D’Amico, Historic Sites Coordinator Natalie Zaman, Program Coordinator Robert Meyer, Special Projects Assistant Cathy Bunting, Administrative Assistant

This program is made possible in part by funds from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts.