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CROSSROADS ‘10 The Middle School Literary and Art Magazine

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CONTENTS

Cover Art: Into the Cup by Sophie Lasdon 8th grade

4. Starbuck Sculpture by Madeline Goldberg and Jenna Wilf 6th grade

5. Ode to a Coffee Cup by Jonathan Rolfe 8th grade

6.. Ode to the Pencil by Brianna Fernandez 8th grade

Limerick by Isaac Simons 8th grade

Sneaker by Cloe Hymowitz 7th grade

7. Pain by Jerron Love 7th grade

8. Memoir by Margaret Stone 8th grade

9. Collage by Sam Weisberger 7th grade

10. Memoir by Jake Margolis 8th grade

11. Sailing Collage by Jacob King 8th grade

12. Fiesta Jugs by Aditi Ahuja 8th grade

Limerick by William Kaye 8th grade

13. Self-Portrait by David Branch 8th grade

14. Poem by Rebecca Thau 7th grade

The Wind by Jordan Knitzer 6th grade

Flower and Vase by Elena Anderson 8th grade

15. Glowing in the Sun by Maddy Abrahams 6th grade

Sunset Creeps Over the Horizon by Amaris Z. Hemmings 6th grade

Mixed Media by Camryn Berman 6th grade

16. I Am by Kayla Waterman 6th grade

The Glove Pair by Emily Becker 7th grade

17. Pear by Elena Anderson 8th grade

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Still Life by Alessandra Mistri 8th grade

18. Some Notes from a Selfless Cook by Zach Stimler 8th grade

19. Kitchen Window by Caroline Benson 8th grade

20. Collage by Elena Anderson 8th grade

I Shall Climb a Tree by Caleigh Forbes-Cockell 6th grade

I Shall Do My Homework by Jennifer Berge 6th grade

21. Airplane Sculpture by Sam Arcara 6th grade

My Life by Noam Z. Barnhard 6th grade

22. Collage Chair by Ana Barrett 8th grade

23. Review of PRIDE AND PREJUDICE by Miranda Hoyt-Disick 7th grade

24. Pen and ink by David Branch 8th grade

25. Ode to the Invertebretes by Patrick Orenstein 8th grade

26. Home by Sitara Richards 7th grade

Venice Collage by Caroline Benson 8th grade

27. Memoir by Cassie Cohen 8th grade

28. Color Printing by Evan Gaines 6th grade

30. At the Movies by Dorian Dreyfuss 7th grade

31. Animals in the Park by Madison Kahn 7th grade

32. Grapes by Henry Dana 8th grade

35. Collage by Ksenia Morosovia 8th grade

36. Flowers and Vase by Samantha Dunat 8th grade

37. Wine Bottles by Julia Sessler 8th grade

38. Food and Drink of the Gods by Judah Gray 7th grade

39. Violin by Alessandra Mistri 8th grade

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STARBUCK Sculpture by Madeline Goldberg and Jenna Wilf

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Ode to a Coffee Cup

by Jonathan Rolfe

Oh faithful friend, though you can’t talk to me

I wish to thank you for your help, you see

There’s not a morning where you do not show

And help me get my butt running, although

A machine fills you up—straight from the flow

If it did not one day, I must warn you

My morning regimen I might eschew

I might not make it out to school—boo hoo!

Filled with Starbucks’ most interesting brews

Simply the best, all else would be a snooze

Though thrifty with some matters, I am not

With coffee brews—but with most else a lot

Some days flavored, but still some days I ought

To try Oren’s, though that makes me distraught

You know not the grief variety does cause

Dunkin’s and Oren’s and Starbucks’ lineup flaws

Today you and I must cease to be good friends

My doctor says my obsession transcends

Normal behavior, and I must try to stop

Don’t worry, I won’t just give you the chop

Atop my counter, now there you shall stay

Perhaps I’ll give you to my Aunt one day

She will take good care of you, my old friend

But if this concept you can comprehend

How ’bout a last drink before I end this trend?

I found a new hobby now that’s good for me

You may know it as your first cousin: Tea

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Ode to the Pencil

by Brianna Fernandez

With its sharp, point

It runs around the page

Like a tall towering building, in the city

Overlooking all other writing utensils

Its graceful, precise movements rarely

Make a mistake

But when it does, the sharp point

Leaves the surface of the page

And the soft, pink pillow reaches the

page

Its smooth, long, yellow body

Makes it recognizable in the

City of Writing Utensils

Limerick

by Isaac Simons

There was once a little girl named Meg

Who accidentally snapped her leg.

She slipped on the floor

Through the open door

And crashed into the beer keg.

Sneaker by Cloe Hymowitz

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Pain

by Jerron Love

I could spell pain with the first letters hope

Ask mother earth

Pain is given birth

Pain is when your father leaves you and your mother

Pain is when he comes back just because he loves ya

Pain is what the disciples had to go thru

Pain is why Jesus died for me and you

Pain is knowing the truth and living a lie

Pain is when you mentally dead but still alive

Pain isn’t breaking your nail or scraping your knee

Pain is the holocaust pain is slavery

Pain is when you set goals but never achieve them

WHY?

Because they too big for u to believe them

Without Pain where would I be

Without pain I wouldn’t be me

Without pain what would I do

Without pain black people wouldn’t sing the blues

Without pain what would I be Dr King, Marcus Garvey, Noble Dru Ali

Without pain where would I go nowhere I suppose cause pain is struggle

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Memoir

by Margaret Stone

Only professional fishmongers are allowed to bid on the fish at the Tsukiji market. On the second day of

my trip, I got to the market at around 4:30AM and, walking on wooden planks, looked around at the fish with

my parents for a few hours. I don’t remember much about the market, just that it seemed to be filled with fish,

people and nothing else. I also remember getting bored after a while, thinking that it was interesting at first, but

that I was losing interest.

My dad has always been involved in Japan. A very driven person, he was hired to work for the major

Japanese trading company Mitsui, straight out of college. After working for Mitsui, he worked for Toray, an-

other major Japanese trading company. This is unusual, because these companies do not normally hire non-Jap-

anese. My mom did bookkeeping for him while he worked for these companies. While taking a hiatus between

working for these companies for political reasons, he took a Japanese language course in Japan. After working

for Toray, he became Iron Chef Morimoto’s manager. So, because of my Dad’s involvement with Japan, Japa-

nese culture and food is a huge part of my life.

When I was three years old, I went to Japan for the first time. Ever since then, Japanese culture and food

have been a huge influence in my life. I love fish, and fish is something that is of national importance to Japan.

Early in this trip, I went to the Tsukiji market.

The Tsukiji market is the largest fish market in the world, and it supplies fish for most of Japan, some-

thing I did not know until years after I went there. After we looked around, we went to a very small sushi bar in

the market at 6:00 AM, where I got my first taste of sushi and greatly enjoyed it. The appearance of the bar was

very gritty, and we sat on chipped Formica stools, but contrary to the appearance of the bar, the sushi there was

of the highest quality. My mom tells me that the chef was so taken with me that he cut the sushi in half to make

it easier for me to eat. What I think happened once I got the sushi was:

Me (after eating my first piece): “This is yummy!”

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My parents (smiling) order more sushi for me. The chef smiled and asked if I wanted it cut in half to

make it easier to eat.

Me: “Yes, please.” (I ate the sushi and thanked him.)

The chef: “Would you like some more?”

Me: “Yes, please.” He kept cutting up sushi for me to eat until I was full.

Years later, I realized that it is highly unusual for a sushi chef to cut sushi in half to make it easier for a

young kid to eat. Although I don’t remember this happening, I will always remember that relatively few people

have had the experiences that I have had in Japan, particularly at age three.

Collage by Sam Weisberger

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Memoir

by Jake Margolis

For as long as I can remember I have spent most of my summers at our beach house in the

small town of Woodmont, Connecticut. My parents always say it’s like a time warp there because

everything moves at a very slow pace. The Good Humor truck comes by the beach several times

a day and old cars and motorcycles always cruise the beach route right in front of our house. The

great thing about our house is that the beach is right across the street. Most of the families in our

neighborhood only live there in the summer and there are lots of kids around my age. We only see

each other in the summers but every year we pick up right where we left off from the last year.

Most of our family friends have boats of all sorts; sailboats, powerboats, little dinghys, and jet skis.

My dad has had a powerboat since I was a baby and it has been one of my favorite activities in the

summer.

A lot of my friends up at the beach got their boating licenses when they were young. You

only have to be 12 years old to get a boater’s license there. I was always thinking about taking the

test but I knew you had to take a six-hour course and then take a 50-question multiple choice test

right afterwards. One morning right after I had turned 12 years old, my friend Dylan, who comes

from Pittsburgh, stopped by my house really early in the morning and said, “C’mon, Jake, we’re

going to get our boating licenses today. You have five minutes to get ready and my dad will bring

us.”

We had to go to the Coast Guard Auxiliary center which was right down in the Milford

Harbor. Men dressed in their Coast Guard uniforms greeted us and it looked very official to me.

There were around 30 people in the room and piles of workbooks and instruction manuals on

the tables. I had a really nervous feeling in my stomach and thought maybe I should run out

the door before it got started. I was definitely the youngest person in the room and people would

understand. The next thing I knew we were all seated at long tables and the Commander was

up front lecturing us on safety in the water. The first hour wasn’t bad but we had to go through

eight chapters of material by 3:30 and do review questions at the end before we took our test at

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I made it through the course and then texted my mom that I was going in to take the test and

she could pick me up at 5. The test was 50 multiple-choice questions, and although my hands

were sweating and I had a sick feeling in my stomach, I thought I did okay. The Coast Guard

gives you your results right after you take the test. There is a group of five very official looking

old sailors correcting the tests as you hand them in.

Sailing Collage by Jacob King

When my mom walked into the classroom, she had one of those mom-like faces ready to give you

sympathy if you didn’t do well at something. The Coast Guard Commander came over to her and

said, “Is that little guy over there your son? Well, we don’t usually give out scores but he got ev-

ery question right.” I think my mom and I were both in shock. I was now getting my own boater’s

license. My older brother talked about doing this every summer but never made the time for it. I

could now drive him around on our boat and start shuttling other kids around on our dingy right

in front of our house. When my boater’s license arrived in the mail, I quickly put it in my wallet

and now I carry it with me everywhere.

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Limerick

by William Kaye

I once had a great friend named Ben.

He ended up moving when ten.

I cried all night

And said, “It’s not right,”

But that’s a story from back then.

Fiesta Jugs by Aditi Ahuja

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Self - Portrait by David Branch

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Poem

by Rebecca Thau

Sewn thoroughly,

Embroidered tightly.

With a big knot,

As to make sure the stitches don’t come undone.

But it rips,

There’s a tear.

The quilt’s undone

Square by square.

A pattern so intricate it can’t be undone

By the skillful hands of the weaver,

Once so proud of her art,

But now says she’s a failure as she watches it come

apart.

A frayed edge,

A song unsung,

A single thread that that’s run a little long.

But he quilt won’t redo itself.

The first stitch must be made.

The weaver must do it

Before the quilt disappears.

The quilt can’t weave itself,

It wouldn’t know how.

It will try,

But the stitches will unfasten

Quicker than they were made.

I will try,

But the stitches will unfasten

Quicker than they were made.

Flowers and Vase by Elena Anderson

The Wind

by Jordan Knitzer

A bully who pushes you around,

He forces you to flow through the air,

While pushing you around like a storm.

Into the poles, and into the signs,

Don’t let him come too close,

Or he may never resign.

He has an advantage,

A better side,

But if you refuse,

You will be able to guide.

If you leave him alone,

He will just let it go,

But if you annoy him,

He will just blow.

You have to rush,

He’ll follow you,

And turn you into dust.

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Glowing in the Sun

So random but amazing

Nature is beauty

It is time for spring

The pretty flowers bloom now

I hate Winter so

Maddy Abrahams

Sunset creeps over the horizon

Flying stars twinkling

August is coming to close

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back really soon,” the calm cool weather assures

Although we humans cannot understand their language

“But we’ll miss you!” the crashing waves whisper

September is finally here

And August drifts away

Amaris Z. Hemmings

Mixed Media by Camryn Berman 6th grade

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I Am

by Kayla Waterman

I am from patterns, colors, and textures.

From thoughts and sketches, to needles and thread.

I am from my childhood blue star-speckled rug that lies beneath my feet.

I am from the dueling aromas of chili-spiced meatball, and gooey semi-sweet chocolate chip

cookies coming out of my kitchen.

From the spirals and swirls of curly bamboo stalks growing side by side, whose long limbs I

remember as if they were my own.

I am from videos of the past, and stories from the present,

From mom and dad.

I am from summers in the Hamptons, and Sunday night dinners,

From a present a night during Chanukah, and from getting money from the “Tooth Fairy.”

I am from, “Your such a good girl,” and, “Don’t fight with your brother!”

From, “Do onto others and you want others to do onto you.”

I am from skiing in Vail every March, when the snow is frozen just right, each snowflake

unique and different in their own special way.

I am from New York, and England,

From baked-ziti and matzah ball soup

From my Poppy Max landing on Ellis Island, and having his name changed from Zilberman to

Silverman.

I am from Mommy’s vintage collection- Hermes, Prada, and Chanel, silently waiting for me in

the back of mommy’s closet.

I am from, “Never be afraid to start over,” said Abuela.

The Glove Pair by Emily Becker 7th grade

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Pear by Elena Anderson

Still Life by Alessandra Mistri

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Some Notes From A Selfless Cook

by Zach Stimler

½ Cup of Chopped Red Onions 3 Cups Stew Leonard’s Tomato Sauce 1 Tablespoon Fresh Basil ¼ Cup Olive Oil ½ Cup of Cream ½ Cup of Vodka. It was a nice night, a little cold but nice. Our kitchen was small and the red tiles which were normally cold were heated slightly by the boiling pasta water. I couldn’t see out the windows because they were lined with wonderful steam. We had never visited camp Walt Whitman and the directors were coming to meet the prospective campers: my sister and me. I was nine, and nervous as hell about the idea of being away from home in New Hampshire but even more nervous about getting my first vodka sauce right.

I precooked the pasta and had already sautéed the onions and reduced the tomato sauce. All that was left to do was add the vodka and finish with the cream. The doorbell rang and in walked the camp directors. They were tall and intimidating and with every second they sat in our living room, my desire for the penne alla vodka to come out perfectly in-creased. I said hello and excused myself back into the kitchen where I would soon find myself more and more often. Okay… awesome. Pasta’s not sticking too badly and the tomato sauce is hot. I poured in the vodka, finished with the cream and tasted the sauce. “HOLY CRAP!” I didn’t taste all the subtleties and nuances of velvety cream and vibrant basil that the recipe had insured. All I tasted was… vodka. I returned to my recipe: ¼ Cup Olive Oil ½ Cup of Cream ½ Cup… Vodka. Slowly and with caution I wiped the moisture off the engravings on the measuring cup I held in my right hand. It read 1 Cup. I had butchered my first penne alla vodka and I couldn’t have been more mortified.

Not knowing at the time how to fix the penne alla vodka sauce, I spooned it reluc-tantly but lovingly into our dark blue flowered, antique plates and placed them on the place-mats in front of our guests. I smiled foolishly as they said that the pasta “looked and smelled like heaven.” I wanted to cry nay I wanted to die. “How could I have screwed the sauce for these guests?” I wanted nothing more than to please and impress them with my sauce, and insure a wonderful evening of eating laughing dishing about camp camp food and exchanging stories. The naïve couple simultaneously and what felt like mockingly slowly brought their forks that had pierced several pieces of perfectly cooked penne, clung to by a far less worthy alcohol saturated sauce to their mouths. In went my pasta. I watched them with immense interest and an incredible amount of anxiety. Initially their eyes widened with a sort of sur-

prised look, as if they had actually been expecting something worse. In retrospect, I was only nine.

To my utter amazement they went back for more, and more, and more. Within a minute, their plates

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were wiped clean. My mother God bless her said “It’s delicious Zachy.” And I said “Thanks but

I thought it was gross.” The camp directors said “Nonsense,” and tried to deconstruct the dif-ferent flavors of the sauce. I rolled my eyes. Growing impatient with what I perceived as their B.S, I replied “Fine, it just wasn’t my crowning moment okay?” They left after a couple hours of talking about a day at Camp Walt Whitman.

Listen I ate the sauce and it sucked. My Blood Alcohol Content was probably at like .1, or .2 after finishing my plate. But what I understood only after the meal ended and my future camp directors left “our house,” was that they didn’t care about the doneness of the noodle and they didn’t care about my watery and even more offensive rather alcoholic sauce. What they noticed and cared and appreciated my cooking for was for the love and thought and intention that I had poured into the pan. They’re true.

Good people understand food. Food isn’t fuel and food isn’t to be taken lightly. It is to be cherished and understood for what it is… an expression of the cook, an art form. I’m not writing about food because I think making penne alla vodka is a good time though it is. I’m writing about it because it’s my element and frankly, I’m absolutely awesome at it. In fact, that’s probably even being modest. The point is that as my dishes have evolved into being progressively fancy and have become, by anyone’s standards, outrageously complicated (believe me, at least three star NY Times worthy dishes). I’ve maintained one thing in my food… the love to feed and the need to please. Come to my house on a Sunday night for a rustic and un-complicated Braised Short Ribs. Trust me, you’ll taste it and feel the love.

Kitchen Window by Caroline Benson

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I Shall Climb a Tree•

- Caleigh Forbes-Cockell•

Because I want the wind to blow in my hair•

Because it is a good thing to know how to do•

Because sitting around the house all day is not fun•

Because I am not a frilly girl afraid of getting my hands dirty•

Because I like the feeling of bark on my bare feet•

Because it is an escape•

Because the ripest apples are always the hardest to reach•

Because I will be on top of the world•

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I Shall Do My Homework

by Jennifer Berge

Because I have to.

Because I must.

Because I have this fear.

Because I need to complete this year.

Because I need to get somewhere.

Because I need to make a living.

Because I need to keep on giving.

Because I need to share.

With everybody everywhere.

Collage by Elena Anderson

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MY LIFE

by Noam Z. Barnhard

My Tree was long, but from a distance was short,

My Tree had grown from cruel humans

My Tree had faded from gentle humans,

My Tree had been damaged.

My Tree was thick on the top, but thin on the ground,

My Tree had many lovers, and had accumulated many

rings,

My Tree was hard to look at.

My Tree had a lot of green, accumulated like its rings,

My Tree had made that important, when it had really only

meant something to others.

My Tree’s days had grown repetitive,

I was tired of

My Tree.

Airplane Sculpture by Sam Arcara

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Collage Chair by Ana Barrett

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PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

a review by Miranda Hoyt-Disick

Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen, is a glorious novel that I would recommend to even the most jaded of readers. Though the book was written more than a hundred years ago, its lively and often ironic commentary on society is enough to make anyone smile, if not laugh out loud. The radiant protagonist, Elizabeth Bennet, is one of the most nuanced and enchanting characters in all of literature. In other words, Pride and Preju-dice is a perfect book for anyone with a good sense of sarcasm and a taste for romance.

One of the most compelling qualities of Pride and Prejudice is its main character, Elizabeth Bennet. The second of five daughters in a family that doesn’t quite get along, Elizabeth is by far the wittiest, wildest, and most charming character in the story. At a local dance, she is swiftly dubbed as merely “tolerable” by the seemingly haughty and insufferable Mr. Darcy. However, instead of taking his criticism to heart, she laughs it off, turning the insult that she has suffered into a big, merry joke aimed directly at him. When she receives a letter from her sister, Jane, who has fallen ill after being forced to ride in the rain to the house of the very handsome and very eligible Mr. Bingley by her determined mother. Elizabeth happily walks three miles “at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing over puddles with impatient activity” to tend to Jane. Even though her dirty petticoats cause much amusement in Mr. Bingley’s malicious sisters, Eliza-beth’s liveliness and determination further endear her to the reader. These episodes of delightfully unruly conduct, along with many others that occur throughout the book, make Elizabeth Bennet one of Jane Austen’s most beloved characters.

The novel’s brilliant way of using words enhances its wonderful characterizations. Jane Austen, infamous for her dry wit, tricks readers into thinking they are reading a typical romance. But, just as her fluid writing style is absorbing her readers, the author throws in something deliciously sarcastic, causing a double take in those who are read-ing most carefully. For example, when Elizabeth’s friend, Charlotte Lucas, out of a desire for security, marries the smug and sycophantic Mr. Collins, who is due to inherit the Bennet’s estate when Mr. Bennet dies, the comments wryly on the reaction of the Lucas

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Family. “[Mr. Collins’s] prospects of future wealth were exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began to directly calculate with more interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer Mr. Bennet was likely to live,” By pointing out Lady Lucas’s unladylike and morbid inter-est in Mr. Bennet’s estate, the author maintains the book’s dignified style while making viciously truthful comments on her society.

Aside from being a great novel, Pride and Prejudice is also a twisting turning maze of romance. Characters who thought they hated each other end up head-over-heels in love. Charm-ing and amiable people turn out to be shameless villains. With Elizabeth, I have learned never to trust a first impression. Things may be the opposite of what you think.

Pen and Ink by David Branch

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Ode to the Invertebrates

by Patrick Orenstein

Think of the invertebrates, the

Lesser animals, so deemed by

We, bipedal snobs, Chordata

Say that we are better than that are, though

They withstand this suffering in silence,

Knowing that they will survive longer than

Us, to see us go extinct and leave us

On their path to the end of time.

We, the highbrow chordates, call them “lesser.”

We say how we are kings of the

Earth, and they less capable.

We pride ourselves on our achievements,

And bask in our seeming control of our world.

Not seeing the work of the “lesser” beasts

Lagoons, atolls and reefs,

Which dwarf our human buildings.

Oh, the invertebrates, the lesser beasts,

Crawling and flying and swimming for they are

The real kings of this world

Living everywhere, thriving in every extreme, without the aid of vertebrae,

Missing such solid grounding as we have.

Without the microbes who live in the soil,

We would all starve, backbones and all.

So think of the invertebrates, our neighbors on earth.

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Home

by Sitara Richard

Home sweet home!

Home of me, and my family

Home of my TV and computer

Home of my Wii and Playstation 2

Home of my bed and couch

Home of my beloved pictures and items

Home of my food and fridge

And the greatest treasure of all

Home of my memories with my friends and family!

Venice Collage by Caroline Benson

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Memoir

by Cassie Cohen

10 seconds left! 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and I heard the buzzer go off. I was the host of my own game show. Can you believe it? Yeah, well neither could I. In reality, I was at my fourth-grade birthday party at the Children’s Museum on west 83rd street in Manhattan. All my friends were there and we had an entire floor all to ourselves. There was this one room that looked exactly like a real TV studio. It had the host table, the game show stands, the camera, everything. But we can get to that later. So, as always, the birthday girl, being me, always gets to the place way before the party even begins, so she can set up the party favors and the present table, and can make sure that everything is just how she wants it to be. Boy, was I excited or what? My friends were coming in less than half an hour. The place looked amaz-ing, and today was all about me. The party table only took up about half the room, so I was wondering what the other half of the room was for because it was the only thing left that hadn’t been set up yet. So I went to the party planner and asked what was going in this huge open space on the floor. She said that it was a surprise and she would tell me when all my friends were here. Now let me tell you, if there is one thing in the ENTIRE world that I hate most, it’s surprises. I hate surprises. H.A.T.E. hate them. But because it was my birthday, my friends were already coming in the door, and I just didn’t feel like being angry, I let it slide. So the first friend who arrived was my best friend Claudia, I ran up to her to give her a hug (and of course get my present) and show her all the cool things we were going to do today, but before I knew it, all my friends had arrived. I was SO excited to start the party and I was just about going to burst if I didn’t know what was going to hap-pen in the massive open space on the floor. So the party began and you would never believe what the big space was for. Well, that’s a lie; you could probably guess what it was for. The big open space was covered in 3 sheets of printing paper big enough to fit Shaquille O’Neil on only one of them. Now, what are you going to do with so much paper you ask? Well, I will tell you what we did with so much paper. We traced me 4 times, and let every other kid at my party, which was a lot of children, trace their hands and sign them. And who do you think got to keep this GINOR-MUS piece of paper? I DID!! It was my fourth-grade birthday card, and it meant the world to me. I am almost positive that you can still smell all the different flavors of the smelly markers that everyone was obsessed with back then. All I can really remember about that card was that it was the coolest card I had ever gotten, and

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Color Printing by Evan Gaines

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totally worth the agonizing wait.

But moving past the things that happen during the party, we arrive at the topic of the preparation, like the theme and decorations, the cake flavor, and of course that party favor. The special item or two that is handed out so people will re-member your birthday party for as long as possible, which isn’t very long at all, but still. So, as I am sure you have heard me say before, your birthday is a day filled with fun, laughter, smiles, occasional happy crying, and cake. Its all there for your enjoyment, and for most people, including myself, it must be flawless. And when I say flawless, I mean perfectly flawless to the point where you feel like your entire life is going to end if it’s not. Oh yes, parents are pressured to the max, just in case you were wondering. So, as I have mentioned, anything that’s out of place or mis-placed, ends in disaster.

“So, Cass, what do you want your party favors to be this year? You can choose anything you want. This is a big year for you and I want it to be perfect almost as much as you want it to be!” my mother said to me excitedly as my tenth birthday was approaching and the party planning process had begun.

“I don’t really know actually?” I said confusedly, which is abnormal for me considering I usually have all of this planned out the day after my birthday the year before. I guess I felt this way because I was hitting double digits this year and I wanted the perfect party favor.

“Well, is there anywhere special you would want to look?” my mom muttered with a hint of worry in her voice.

“I’m really not sure. What do you think all my friends would like? Where do you think we should go, mom?”

I think we should check Blue Tulip. They have everything there and we can go visit aunt Maria. Sound good?”

“Sounds awesome!”

My mom’s childhood friend Maria wasn’t actually my aunt but my mom’s sis-ters live so far away she thought it would be nice if I had someone who lived close and acted like an aunt to me because I saw mine so rarely. Maria was super cool and had this awesome store full of all these grownup things like stationery and tote bags with your name and initials on it and it all looked so elegant and pretty back

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then. I loved going in there.

So we walked in the door and I went right to this shiny table filled with picture frames and collage books placed all over it. It was really amazing to me because I imagined my bedroom filled with picture frames and books just like that when I was older.

About a minute later Maria and the other workers eagerly greeted us and were so excited to help pick my party favors.

“Cassie! Johanna! How are you two?! What can we do for you today? Pos-sibly some party favors for the birthday girl over here?!” she said while picking me up and spinning me around in circles.

“Yes, actually, that is exactly what we are here for! Have anything in mind for us?” my mother said readily.

“I might have something in the store somewhere that’s just perfect for our

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little birthday princess!” she said as I smiled and grabbed a princess crown sitting on the shelf next to me.

As we looked around and through the store, we looked on high shelves, and we looked on low ones, tables, sale racks, everything. I saw a couple of things that I liked, but nothing really screamed out to me. When I find what I am looking for, I am posi-tive that it will scream BUY ME, BUY ME! IM PERFECT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY PARTY! And nothing I had seen yet really did that.

So moving on, looking high and low, and somewhere in between, I knew we would find it sometime. Maria had seen my worried and a bit saddened look, so she did something sneaky.

“You know, because you’re such an important person, and I love you oh so much, I think I have something that you might like,” Maria conveyed in a hushed tone.

“What is it?! What is it?!” I said hopefully.

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“Shhhhhh! You can’t tell anyone what I am about to do. Now, these haven’t been released yet but because we need the party favor to be perfect, I’m going to let you use them if you want to.

So we snuck into the back and arrived at three boxes filled all the way to the top with packing peanuts and tissue paper. Maria reached inside one and pulled out the CUTEST teddy bears you will ever see in your entire life. Ever. It was the softest, cutest, stuffed bear you will ever see.

“So how about these? Do you like them?” asked Maria.

“I LOVE THEM SO MUCH! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!” I screamed pos-sibly way more overjoyed than anyone could ever get.

So as you could probably tell, the teddy bear was the one thing in the store that immedi-ately jumped at me and said BUY ME BUY ME! IM PERFECT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY PARTY! And it was. (:

If there was ever one person that always comes to my mind when I think back to my birth-days it would be my grandmother. She’s is always the type to start emailing you and calling asking what you want for your next birthday, staring about 4 months before your birthday even comes around. She always bought very extravagant gifts from any little boutique or antique shop she could find. One year I had been hoping for a pretty necklace with a small heart pendant on it that I had found in a store window, but my parents said to wait a year or two before I went for something so sophisticated. I told my grandma over the phone how upset I was that I couldn’t get it, but she said not to worry about a thing. My birthday was three days later and that morning my parents handed me a small green velvet box with a bow around it and said this was a special

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request from someone very important. I opened the box slowly and sure enough it was the neck-lace that I had wanted from the store window. They said that Nana had called and said that you wanted it so bad that she just had to find a way to get it to you. Later that day I got a package with my name on it, and inside was the most magnificent black and white necklace holder you had ever seen in your entire life. It was one of those headless mannequins with the most tremen-dous pastel pink puffy dress on it, and the 5 golden rods coming out from the head slot for your necklaces. It was truly one the most breathtaking things I had ever seen in my entire life. Inside was a note.

Dear Cassie,

I know how much you wanted the necklace, but since I couldn’t get that for you, I knew your parents would give in sooner or later! I was walking in town and I saw this in the window of Alexandria. I thought now you would have a pretty place to put that necklace when it’s not around you lovely neck. Happy birthday sweetie.

Love, Nana

I could only imagine what was going through her head when she was telling my parents to get the necklace for me. “C’mon you two! Life is too short to waste away and tell her to wait until she’s older! If she wants to act like a young lady, let her! Who cares! Life is just too short.”

Nana was always saying things like that. Things that have to do with getting old and not wasting any time doing stupid things while you should be living life to the fullest while you still have the chance. She threw money away like it grew on trees but I mean, who can blame her? When you’re going on 90, you want to look the best that you can. She never wanted people to help her either. Whenever we go visit her, my mom is always worried that she will fall down the stairs or something, but she always says, “No no, Jo, I’m fine!! I’ve been alive for a long time, I can handle a couple of stairs, don’t you think?” I always laugh when she makes those funny re-marks. It’s like all she wants is to be sarcastic and cynical. She always says that I picked that up from her.

My grandma is a naturally sarcastic person, but in her own special way, she is probably one of the nicest and most caring people anyone has ever met. In her own special way, of course. My Nana’s sarcasm is even funnier because she is this tiny little grandma whose hair is not quite gray yet; instead it’s some sort of an oatmeal color with wisps of an ivory color here and there. She has the wrinkles and bags like every grandma does and she sometimes even wears those nurse-like orthopedic shoes (rarely, since she thinks they’re weird too), but you would never think that some of these things would ever come out of her mouth! If there is one thing that she will never shut up about, and I mean never shut up about, is swimming. Boy, does she like to swim or what? Every Tuesday night at six and every Wednesday morning at nine, she and all her little grandma friends down in her retirement home go to the pool for water aerobics. Now, don’t even get me started with my grandma and water aerobics. She is nuts for them. She tells

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me all the time that if she could live in the pool, doing water aerobics, she would.

The one thing that always surprises me about her is that every time I see her I always ask her what she thinks is the very best part about being a grandma, and I always get the same answer. “You want to know the very best part about being a grandma? Well baby cakes, the very best part about being a grandma is getting to spend time with all my grandbabies. I don’t care what your mama says, because you’re mine. Christ! If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even be here right now!”

“I love you, grandma.”

“I love you too, baby cakes. I love you too.”

So now we have talked about birthdays in the past, but we have not yet discussed birth-days in the future, important birthdays in the future. Knowing exactly what you want early can sometimes be an amazing thing. So when you are in a school of mostly Jewish people, seventh grade is a big year for parties-bar and bat mitzvah parties-and being a Christian at a school like this, sweet sixteen’s are your time to shine, and you always want to know what you want in your own. Since seventh grade and all the parties, thoughts have been floating around my head, saying to me things like, “Oh, wouldn’t it be cool if you had this at your party!” or things like “What if my dress doesn’t match my theme colors?” and every time I have one of these thoughts, I wish more and more that the day I turn 16 will come.

I always kind of knew what I wanted at my sweet 16. All I ever really wanted was a sort of simple party where everyone would want to dance the moment they got there, and wouldn’t want to stop until the moment they left. But there are certain things involved in achieving a goal this big. You have to find things to fill in all the awkward spaces between these dancing times. I’ve been to parties with tattoo booths, karaoke machines, carnival games, bull rides, and one party that had a velcro wall. People will go out of their way to make their party the one that people remember forever. They have performers, elaborate giveaways, the hottest DJ’s, and so much more. Personally, all I have ever wanted is one night where I feel like a princess. The beautiful floor length gowns, the hair and makeup preparation, and that one special ballroom that makes you feel like Cinderella.

When I was 12 years old, I began asking all my friends who they called to get all these things for their parties. They said party planners. All right, so what do you think I did? I went straight home and I asked my parents if we could hire the best party planner in the entire world, but I was only 12, so anyone my parent’s hire would seem like the best in my book. But my parents said to wait a while (of course) and so all the responsibility to hunt down any and every website that had the words sweet and sixteen in it was left to me. So off to the web I went! I searched for dresses, invitations, themes, and I even hunted down whatever I could find for party spaces available on the 28th of April in 2012. (Yes, I have picked the date in my

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mind already.) Unfortunately, Google was less helpful than I anticipated it to be which is depressing considering that Google has never failed me before this point in time. I made fold-ers on my desktop just to put in pictures of all the dresses that I would like to wear, and my friends and I imagined the perfect night under the stars. To this day, as I am only 14 right now, I am still left at home to search the rarely unhelpful Google search engine for dresses, themes, invitations, and party spaces available on the 28th or April in 2012.

Have you ever dreamt a dream that is so terribly frightening but it seems to be only scary to you? It seems that way because it isn’t a dream with aliens, zombies, were-wolves, vampires, killer clowns, or anything like that in it. It’s the type of dream that seems to be some sort of sign sent straight to you and no one else. It’s the kind of dream that sends one single chill down your very spine. Ever had one of those dreams? No? Well I have.

As you probably know by now, I really cannot wait until my sweet sixteen. That one special time that I am just tired of waiting for because that night is my night. It’s one night that all about you, and no one else, and c’mon, who isn’t excited for something like that? Well, I was too one of those over-excited freaks up until this morning. And do you know what happened this morning that ruined my image of a fun filled room filled with totally rambunc-tious teenagers in it, having the time of their lives at my party? Last night’s dream. That is what ruined all anticipations for that night.

Collage by Ksenia Morosovia

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It all began last night with my friend Julia and I while our eyes were simultane-ously glued to the computer screen in search of the perfect sweet sixteen dress. We had spent the entire night looking at themes, invites, cakes, caterers and all else we could find on the subject, but we lost track of time and it was already one in the morning. So, we fell asleep with the topic fresh in our minds and that’s when the horror began. My dream was off to a good start with me just hours before my party was going to start, arriving at the party rooms with my mom and Julia, but before I knew it, the dream was headed in the wrong direction.

So, I was sitting in front of one of those vanity tables with the cool lights around it and my makeup artist was going to arrive any moment now. So I hear the front door open and I turn to greet my makeup art-ist Patricia, but not to my liking, Patricia’s intern Jenny walks in the door. So I ask what is going on and turns out Patricia had a fami-ly crisis to deal with and sent Jenny to do the makeup. Now I’m not really the arguing type but I had a feeling that this was not going in the right direction, but whatever, I’m cool with it, as long as she gets the job done and it looks good I’m okay with it. So she says she’s going to start with my eyebrow routine to make sure they are even and polished for the party. Okay, go ahead I say to her. She pulls out the tweezers and starts plucking and all is going well I think to myself. Turns out I was wrong. So next she takes out the shaver and is going to begin when she slips on some water and shaves off my entire eyebrow. Pa-tricia’s intern Jenny just shaved off my entire eyebrow 4 hours and 32 minutes before my

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sweet sixteen is going to start. Holy. Crap. I. Want. To. Cry.

“Oh my gosh. Cassie I am so sorry, I can fix this, I really can all I need is....” she stopped right there and look over at me “Cassie?” Jenny says in a panicked voice.

Nothing but air escapes my mouth as a stare into the mirror with a blank expression on my face, so shocked and horrified to say or do anything.

My mother escorts Jenny, as she knows I am probably going to want to punch something, or someone right after this and she has a pretty good idea of who that person might be. We all just sit the in silence as I continue to examine my no longer symmetric face in the vanity mir-ror behind the makeup desk. Thirteen minutes later the first three works escape my mouth.

“Oh. My. Gosh. She did not just do that to me.”

I think maybe I’m in a dream, and if I pinch myself it will all be over and none of this will have actually happened. I tried it. Nothing happened. It was real, and this really was hap-pening. To me. Four hours and eleven minutes before my sweet sixteen was going to start.

Now anyone who knows me knows that I am one to jump to conclusions, quickly. So of course, the next thing that pops into my head is what else could go wrong tonight. What if they deliver a hideous green dress instead of my elegant red one? What if my hairdresser puts my hair in an up-do that makes my look like I have antlers? What if they deliver some random seven-year-olds birthday cake instead of my custom made five-tiered cake with edible flowers on it? What if this whole party turns

Julia Sessler 8th grade

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Food and Drink of the Godsby Judah Gray

Draynion, king of the gods and God of the Elements (Earth, Air, Fire, and Water), created the Earth and all who inhabited it with his brothers and sister. They were Eichna, Goddess of Wisdom, Undrus, God of the Dead, and Trites, God of the Sea. The creation of the Earth took sixteen days of the gods working day and night without rest, and afterwards, the gods were hungry, thirsty, and almost powerless.

So Draynion started on a new project: to make food and drink for them-selves and the Earth’s inhabitants that would refresh the power inside of them. So he went down to Earth and started to gather foods from what the gods had created. He took apples and nuts and dates from the trees, and grapes and watermelons and pumpkins from the vines. Then, he took some honey created by the sacred bees in their hives and put it in a jar and finally returned to the Heavens.

When Draynion returned to the Heavens, the gods realized that none of them knew how to prepare these sacred foods. So Draynion took some stones and his chisel and carved the first man out of that stone. He and the other gods breathed on that stone and it came to life. Eichna gave the man knowledge of many things. One of which was how to prepare these sacred ingredients. So the Gods went for a stroll in the newly created Earth until they heard a scream for help from the Heavens. They rushed back to Heavens only to find that the man did not have the strength to get the ingredients to the size he wanted. So while Trites squeezed the juices of the grapes, apples, and watermel-ons for the drink, Undrus opened the jar of honey and Draynion gave the man the gift of strength. Eichna gave the man a knife to obtain meat and to cut up tough foods. The man used his gifts to slice up the dates, nuts, and pumpkins. The man took the seeds from the pumpkins and threw the rest down to

into one huge disaster and all the things I’ve wanted since I was 11 are ruined?! My hopes and dreams crushed within 32 minutes and it’s all because my makeup artist’s intern shaved off one of my eyebrows, hours before my sweet sixteen party.

It turns out that all of this was just a dream, but what if this really did happen to me? What on earth would I do?

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Earth to decompose. He then left some grapes and the pumpkin seeds out to dry in the sun. The man put the dates and nuts into a huge pot on the left half of the Heavens, while the juice from the grapes, watermelons, and apples were put into another huge pot on the right half of the Heavens. After a while, the grapes were done drying and Draynion called them raisins. The man put the raisins into the pot on the left. Undrus put half of the honey into the pot on the left, and the other half of the honey into the pot on the right.

The left pot was then heated by the fiery Southern Wind, Sophnia, while the right pot was chilled by the icy Northern Wind, Morrion. After three days

of chilling and heating, the food and drink of all beings was complete. Draynion gave the food in the name ambrosia and the drink in the name of nec-tar.

By now, all of the gods were starving and parched so they sat down with Morrion, Sophnia, and the man for a feast of ambrosia and nectar. The first to try the nectar were the gods and immortal beings, so therefore, everyone drank except for the man. They were all highly impressed with the work of the man and commended him. The gods let the man be the first one to try the ambrosia, and the man was very grateful. The minute the food touched his mouth; how-ever, he screamed and turned to ash. Thus, the gods asked the Winds to try the ambrosia next. Though they put up a fight about it, they eventually tried the ambrosia and nothing happened. Presently, the gods tried the ambrosia as well and nothing happened except that they felt renewed and replenished. Draynion

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made another man with a stone and his chisel to try the nectar with. As with the ambrosia, the minute the drink touched the man’s mouth, he screamed and turned to ash. The gods then figured out that this combination of ingredi-ents was so sacred, no mortal being could eat or drink it without being turned to ash. The gods kept the nectar and ambrosia to themselves and that is what they have lived off ever since.

The gods had to occupy the Heavens; however, and now there was nobody to populate the Earth. So Draynion took two stones and his chisel and carved another man and the first woman to be together and populate the Earth. These two beings had the gifts that the gods had given the first man ever created. But the gods took pity on the beings because they had nothing to live off of. So Trites took some of the water from his seas and threw it onto the Earth, becoming the rivers, lakes, and reservoirs that humans have relied on to provide clean drinking water. Draynion also gave the beings all foods that were presently on the Earth to eat and to take their juices to drink. But if any human attempted to re-create the ambrosia and nectar that were so sacred to the gods and immortal beings, they would be punished severely. Finally, Draynion granted Undrus the Underworld where he would govern all beings who have passed away.

When Undrus went down to his new abode, there were already two men living there. They were the two men who had turned to ash from drinking the nectar and eating the ambrosia. So the gods got a sacred and sweet food and drink and had people populating the Earth to govern from the Heavens and the Underworld.

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