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Pendragon is a publication of the Greens Farms Academy Middle School, 35 Beachside Avenue, Greens Farms, Connecticut 06838.

Front cover: Maia Carpenter Back cover: Kallie Fellows (Grade 7) (Grade 8)

Pendragon Board Members (* denotes a student in eighth grade):

Leah Attai Tyler Bieder Ellen Burbank

Maia Carpenter Kallie Fellows* Shira Friedson*

Eva Hafner Patrick Howard Lauren Jennings

Macy Lawton Owen Petno Caroline Rintoul*

Lauren Ritchey* Alice Robins* Sidney Swearingen*

Faculty Advisors: Thanks to:

Mr. Benjamin Gott Ms. Elizabeth Cleary Mrs. Robbi Hartt Mr. Drew Meyer Mr. Griffen Stabler Mr. Matt Norko

http://www.gfacademy.orghttp://www.writingattheforum.org

pendragon@gfacademy.org

All submissions were reviewed anonymously and chosen on merit alone.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS!

.....................................................................“Scatterbrained” 5............................................................................“Forgotten” 6

......................................................................“Life of Snow” 7...................................................................“Grandpa Barry” 8..................................................................“Taste of Winter” 9.................................................................“My Friend in Jail” 11

....................................................................................“Cider” 12...........................................................................“The Flakes” 13

......................................Excerpt from “Clipperton Island” 14..........................................“My True Feelings About You” 17

......................................................................“A Spring Day” 18..............................................................................“New Kid” 19

.......................................................................“The Peacock” 21.................................................................“Raging Thunder” 22

..........................................................................“Guacamole” 23........“The 80 Million—Pilgrim March at Ganges River” 24

...............................................................................“Longing” 26..........................................................................“The Fridge” 27

..................................................................“Where I Belong” 28................................................................................“Dreams” 30

...................................................................................“Teddy” 31...........................................................................“A Fall Day” 32

...“All You’ve Got To Do Is Stand Up And Walk Away” 33...................................................................“Thirty Seconds” 34

..............................“Seasonal Disease Known As Winter” 35

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...............................................................“The Pen Incident” 36.............................................................“Christmas Cookies” 38

....................................................................“Spring Scenery” 39........................................................................................“Oz” 40

......................................................................“Winter Poem” 41“Police Identify Body of 13-year-old Girl Found Dead at

.....................................................................California Park” 43................................................................................“Untitled” 45

...............................................................“Staged Avalanche” 47..........................................................................“Snow Days” 48

.............................................................“The Music of Life” 50....................................................................................“Alone” 52

......................................................................“The Accident” 55

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Photograph by Teagan Martindale, Grade 6

“Scatterbrained”

!

Hmm, I wonder what I should write about. UGH! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WRITE!Maybe I’ll search the internet. NO. WAIT. I’ve got to focus. Eh, not going to happen. Let’s see. Search: *Pandora*No! Not the jewelry! The radio!COME ON PANDORA! LOAD! Okay, really have to focus. OH MY GOSH! GOOD SONG! It feels like a perfect night to dress up like hipstersand make fun of our exes. Uh-uh. Uh-uh. Ah, you’ve got to love Taylor Swift. Okay, getting off topic. What to write. What to write...Type on Google: *What to write*Really? I don’t feel like writing about my shoe. I think I can do better. Back to Pandora. Switch the station. Come on! Ads? Really?I don’t want to hear about the new menu at McDonald’s. Hearing about the new Fish McBites is so not music. Okay, back to Google. Search: *Dancing with the Stars*Okay, let’s see who got voted off. WHAT? NO! ADOBE, WORK!

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DON’T FAIL ME NOW!I COMMAND YOU TO WORK!Ugh. Now I have to shut down?This is so not my day. And I haven’t even written anything yet...

— Celeste Matte, Grade 7

“Forgotten”

!Forgotten is all he remembers.He was allies with time, until now.This very day in 1945 everything disappeared, except him.Time has betrayed him now.He remembers being red.He remembers being bold.He remembers being strong.He remembers when he was not alone.Look at the reflection now, and you’ll see what he has become.

— Henry Brennan, Grade 7

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“Life of Snow”

!In a field under rolling cloudsI wake up, I am meChildren’s voices ring clear and loud.

With fallen snow that small hands have plowedMy shape grows, by now I can seeIn a field under rolling clouds.

I’m now so large that I am proudOf my shape, stick arms, and round bellyChildren’s voices ring clear and loud.

The children leave in a large crowdThe mothers call them in for teaIn a field under rolling clouds.

Darkness surrounds me, like a shroudI am left for now, filled with memoryChildren’s voices ring clear and loud.

I start to sleep, my body bowedWaiting for their joyful companyIn a field under rolling cloudsChildren’s voices ring clear and loud.

—Luke Hammer, Grade 6

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“Grandpa Barry”

!I only had five years with my Grandpa.He was the patriarch of our family.Growing up, I thought he would be around forever.I was little,too little to know that the man I spent my first five exciting, action-packed summers with had more stories than Dr. Seuss had books.Learning about my Grandpa’s death was strange:I was confused.As the explanation went on, it began to become painful.Summers wouldn’t be filled with giggling like they had in the past.“Florida” on the map would no longer equal “Grandpa.”If he was around today,with me,he would be filling me with all of the amazing details of his life,like the time he sailed around the Bahamas for a weekand all of his other great stories.It would be like watching my favorite movie over and over again.

—Miles Feuer, Grade 8

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“Taste of Winter”

!A flurry of snow in the window greets me as I walk into World Ex class. Everyone is smiling, hoping for no school tomorrow, but I don’t think it’s worth it.

I imagine the blast of wind that will grab me when I open the double doors.

As it wraps me up in coldness, fragments of snowflakes and hail will assault my face like bullets.

My ears will burn as the ice penetrates my once-cozy hat.My fingers will grow as numb and stiff as the icicles that will drip from everyone’s rooftops.My eyes will sting as they try and fail to flush out the cold with frosty tears that freeze to my cheeks.My chapped lips will quiver like Jell-O.

As I inhale, I will feel the strong taste of winter in my mouth like the sharpest of knives slicing my throat.

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My white breath will seep out like warm steamengulfed in the icy coldness of the snow storm.

Even a snow day does not make up for this— not even close.

—Lil Breier, Grade 6

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Photograph by Celeste Matte, Grade 7

“My Friend in Jail”

!Looking through the eyesOf the significant liesOf the exiled friendAnd the letter I sendHope for returnBut the memories burnTrying to cope with the rangeWith the distance of change Earning misfortuneSeeing the proportionOf my heart shrinkMy integrity sinkAfter the uncivil attackHoping my friendWould come back.

—Nicholas Attai, Grade 7

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“Cider”

! The cider glistened like liquid gold. Aerated bubbles collapsed over the crystal rim and cascaded in a golden waterfall. Lovely, creamy white foam sat on top of the beverage like fluffy clouds hovering over a sunset.  Its fragrance was fruity and wonderful. Putting my ear up to the glass, I could barely hear the subtle pop of the sparkly bubbles. I was about to take a tiny sip and leaned against the glass, mouth watering. I could feel the vibrations of the bubbles popping.  Suddenly, my thought process was interrupted. “Do it,” a voice urged me. “Do what?” I asked, dazed. “Drink it, all in one gulp, and then spit it out on your brother. Quick, before the fizz runs out!” my so-called friend pressed on. No way was I going to do that. Suddenly, the carbonated drink spat out a big fat bubble which had to burst right above my glasses and INTO MY EYEBALL. “Owwwwwwww,” I wailed. My right arm fidgeted, knocked the glass off the table, and sent it plummeting to the ground. “Nooooooooooo,” my friend yelled, one of those deep, slow man-movie yells. With an explosion in slow motion, shards of glass were splayed across the used-to-be-shiny wood floor. With a painful CRACK, pieces of crystal flew into the air. I clasped my palm over my left eye, and I could barely see. It stung horribly. My foot felt oddly wet due to the sparkling apple cider on the floor. It slithered like a rattlesnake, still hissing and rattling from carbonation and the impact of the fall. In a blink of an eye, a random piece of glass nailed me in the leg, embedding into my flesh and spewing out crimson blood. This supposedly delightful beverage didn’t strike me as that then.  All I saw was gold—yes, gold—as I blacked out completely.

—Saloni Jain, Grade 6

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“The Flakes”

!White flakes fall from heavenSilently they drift downwardLanding on the frozen groundCollecting as a cold white sheetA blanket for the worldThat only brings the coldSitting on the earthSnow slows the day’s timeSilencing the lifeOf the previous daysWhile children may playOn the vast canvasNot a bird may chirpIn the winter’s cold earthWaiting for springMay be sufferingBut I am filled with delightAt the glorious sight When white flakes fall from heaven.

—William Shabecoff, Grade 6

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Excerpt from “Clipperton Island”

! A huge burst of heat slammed into my face and I went sailing through the air next to Cameron. A burning in my left shoulder immobilized my body. I felt as if we were airborne for an eternity, flying through the air and into the void. Debris pummeled my body while still in the air. My lungs filled with smoke, and I squeezed my eyes shut to keep the flecks of metal from getting into my eyes. Instead of a void, I crashed into the cool water with bone-shattering force and plunged below the surface. I popped back up to the surface because of the lifejacket and twisted my head around to get a better view of the situation. I lost sight of Cameron; I couldn’t see her anywhere because of the black waves surrounding me. The night was now completely illuminated by the burning plane. The fire licked the tail of it and the middle and front of the plane were completely destroyed. The flaming carcass of the plane floated there for a few seconds, and then it descended into the blackness of the water below. Wreckage ablaze with golden and scarlet fire drifted where the plane used to be. After treading water for a few minutes, unable to think, I suddenly became aware of the rain coming down in sheets from the storm that plucked the plane from the sky. The rain suppressed the small flames coming off of the debris. The only sign any plane had crashed was the blackened scrap metal strewn around in the water and a faint moaning coming far from my left. A blast of lightning flashed and illuminated the sky. I caught a glance at a black outline to my right. Unable to correctly process what the outline was, I treaded water for a few

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minutes while replaying the change in events in my mind a million times. Unless there were other people out of the plane before it blew up, only Cameron, Stephen, the old man, the woman who stepped onto the raft, and I were the only survivors, and we would probably drown if we didn’t find a raft or land. Anyone inside the plane when it blew up would be dead. Another flash of lightning brightened the sky and I saw what could only be an island. For a few moments, I forgot completely about the plane crash. If there’s an island, there might be people living on it. I can be saved, I thought. I started swimming in the direction of the island as the huge swells rolled around me. The current in the lukewarm water was like a cool breeze drifting through the air. It was like ice compared to the burns that covered my left arm and shoulder. Flashes of lightning revealed that I was only a short distance from the island. When I finally got to the shore, I fell to my hands and knees in the inch-deep water. I looked up to the tops of the black outlines of trees and ran my hands through my auburn hair, which cascaded around my shoulders after being torn from the ponytail that was now long gone. Hopefully, there were other people on this island, and Cameron and the others had gotten safely to shore.

—Alice Robins, Grade 8

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Photograph by Sidney Swearingen, Grade 8

“My True Feelings About You”

!Who do they think I am?Do they think I’m not like them, just because of my color or my gender?So my color changes us, makes you better than me.You can buy me; you can sell me.Can I buy you; can I sell you?NO!I hope you realize that I’m not a dog.I shouldn’t be treated like this.Everyone in the South hates me; what did I do?I don’t think I have ever met you; don’t jump to conclusions.If I owned you and treated you like you treat me,you would be dying inside.I work all day; you do nothing like me.Nothing at all.You sit in your chair all day, rocking back and forth.I accomplish way more than you ever could. We all can do better than you;you buy us to do what you can’t.You sell meto buy another,one that you think could put up with you.What you don’t know is that none of us can put up with you.We’re all against you, and you’re all against us.See how similar we are? No, you’re better than me—I forgot.

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All of the work that I do,all of the work that you make me do,I don’t want to do.I want to stop being treated differently;I want you to do something for once.Most importantly, I want to be free from you.I want to be my own person for once.

—Bella Litt, Grade 7

“A Spring Day”

!I dreamed a dream of a spring day:birds chirped and flowers bloomed.

When I woke up from my dream, it had not come true: I heard no chirping birds, only the sound of the quiet breeze.

No flowers bloomed.

But the snow that danced in the skyseemed as joyful as a spring day.

—Grace McGonagle, Grade 6

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“New Kid”

!

I stepped out of the yellow school busNot knowing what was to comeThe first thing I sawWas an enormous stone buildingIt looked like a castleAs I thought to myselfI was thenew kid.

In my eight years of elementary and middle schoolI was never the new kidAlways knew what was comingWhat to expectBut this was not the caseI was thenew kid.

Since the day I visitedI wondered what it would be like in a new schoolNew kidsNew teachersAnd a new environmentI was thenew kid.

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In years past, when there was a new kidI tried to help him aroundMake sure he did not get lostAnd I hoped this would happen to meI was thenew kid.

I had butterflies in my stomachI felt like I was walking into a room withThe lights turned offNo idea what was aheadI was thenew kid.

—Miles Feuer, Grade 8

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Drawing by Kallie Fellows, Grade 8

“The Peacock”

!

Majestic,magnificent,incredible.

The feathers, with eyes always staring.The neck, so blue it is like looking at the sea.The tiny legs to support this creative creature.

Peacocks move in their mysterious ways,elegantly opening their feathersand always ready to put on a show. Catching them would be a challenge, soopen your eyes because these peacocks can fly, carefully displaying their feathered fans: a kingly cape for a kingly bird.

—Gregory Preiser, Grade 8

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“Raging Thunder”

!The sparse water in the air blocks off the suncreating white, fluffy drawings above,swirling around my view.It’s a relaxing sight.

But still, I recognize the formations of darkness.The clouds create the sinister war,like a gentle king creates his evil empire.

The gray clouds clash togetherlike giants in intense combat.I hear their maces parryas they create a waterfall that sprinkles down on usand drenches the cold, hard ground.A bright arrow charges downfaster than anything I have seen,like a viper charging a bite at its prey.

I hide from the chaos in my home,so I am safe from our sky.It will always be a mirror image of the human race.The war is still going on.

—Ethan Furman, Grade 6

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“Guacamole”

!

I glide across the kitchen’s smooth wood floor as I make my way to the opposite end of the island. My dad’s sharpest knife accompanies the squeezed limes that lie on the cutting board constructed of scuffed up chestnut-colored wood. Five avocados become green cubes that are soon tossed into the glass bowl with juice extracted from the limes. From the window shines sunlight as raw as the onion being chopped beneath my fingertips. Two ample tomatoes now accompany a head of leafy, emerald-green cilantro on the cutting board as a steel blade slices through both of their centers. I deposit two squirts of Tabasco and one pinch of salt into the bowl to finish it all off. As I blend the ingredients with the worn wooden spoon, the green concoction nears its final destination.

The bowl lies full to the brim with guacamole, exposing the red and green hues of color tracing back to the plump tomatoes and vibrant green cilantro. My child-size sterling silver spoon dives in for a “taste test.” I add a pinch more salt and another squeeze of lime to reach ultimate perfection. I sit by the window, left slightly ajar as crisp air journeys indoors from space amongst the trees. My brothers join, opening a bag of chips to enjoy the guacamole. The sun beams on my back as I turn to scoop some onto my chip and then into my mouth.

Guacamole is food, yes, but for me it means something more. Avocados are its foundation, as my family is my foundation. Limes can be sour, but, in the end, the dish would not be the same without them. That is why I think of limes like obstacles from the

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past that I have overcome. Hot sauce and onions add sharp spice and spunk to the dish, like my best friends adds spice and spunk to my life. Salt is like kindness, since just a pinch can make such a difference. And, just like a person, a perfectly delicious and unique bowl of guacamole can never be created twice.

—Kate Flicker, Grade 7

“The 80 Million—Pilgrim March at Ganges River”

!

I stare into the dark murky waterA putrid smell of decay fills my nostrilsHow a river of such holiness could be masked in such a revolting façadeWas a mystery for my simple mindThe sea of people began to flow towards the stagnant riverI was pushed forward in a universal movement Toward the seemingly bottomless riverA river whose bottom cannot be seen but only feltA river that masks ones destination with a rancid smell and ambiguous waterWe are eighty million strong and move towards the river as a unitI enter the holy river and waitI wait to be cleansed of sin and become pureI wait for all my suffering to be lifted from my shoulderI waitAnd waitBut when I emerge, I am filthier than ever

—Oliver Ferry, Grade 8

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Photograph by Mia Krishnamurthy, Grade 7

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“Longing”

!The wind bites at my nose.“It’s cold out here,but I have to get the smell of the compartment out of my nostrils for a moment.”How could anyone love the sea?Its ever-changing ways are too hard to handle.In one moment, the sea looks like glass,silently shifting,while in the next moment, the waves become walls surrounding me,locking me inwith no way to get out.Oh, how could anybody love the sea?“It’s just a gray lump of water moving about.”There’s only water as far as the eye can see.Oh, how I yearn forthe land which my Moishe is on,the land with our little house,the land where the ground doesn’t move from side to side.Oh, how I long to get to America.

—Caroline Telesz, Grade 7

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“The Fridge”

!

The fridge lies in front of me like a dark and never-ending black hole. Finally, I get up the nerve to reach inside this mystical place. I fish around for a while to see what there is. Eventually, I grab the eggs, milk, berries, and batter. I then cross the floor, careful not to drop the ingredients. I open up the drawer and grab a whisk and bowl. I dump the eggs and the milk and the batter into the bowl and slowly whisk them together as I stare outside my multi-windowed kitchen at nature. As I mix the ingredients together, I drop the berries in one at a time, watching them disappear under the thick and chunky surface. Occasionally, I see some berries rise to the top. The berries remind me of my own life. Most of the berries sink down, struggling to get to the top again.

I pour the mixed batter onto a burning and buttered griddle. I see the pre-developed pancakes slowly grow and take over more and more of the griddle; it looks like Germany invading Poland. I stare into the bubbling pancakes, slowly but surely rising, and I see berries peeking out the top.

I smile and flip the pancakes, hoping the others will make it, too.

—Quinn Schneider, Grade 7

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“Where I Belong”

! “Come on!” my sister said, shaking me. I groaned and turned over in bed. My eyes were blurry, but I could make out her devilish smile.

“I said I would show you yesterday!” she said, trying to drag me awake.

“Are you crazy?” I asked. “It’s eight in the morning during the summer. I’m sorry, but I made a rule for myself never to wake up before ten o’clock during the—”

My sister splashed water onto my face. I sat up and spluttered. “What the heck?!” I yelled.

“Shhhh! You’re gonna wake up Mom!” she said. I groaned. “I’ll go into the barn and grab the lifejackets and

towels; you get the sail.” She nodded in agreement and quietly tip toed down the stairs.

I got up, changed out of my pajamas into swimming shorts and a comfortable t-shirt, walked down the stairs, and followed my sister into the barn. I grabbed my favorite red life jacket and opened the doors, shielding my eyes from the blinding bright light as I walked into the yard.

The day was beautiful, as if the weather itself was giving me a birthday present. I looked over to the beautiful view of the stretch of water. The wind was choppy, but there were moments when the water was so still it looked like a shimmering mirror reflecting the sky and the land across the reach. An eagle soared over the ocean, and a pod of porpoises surfaced, blowing out the water in their lungs with a loud burst. One baby did a summersault in the air, and the beautiful creature landed with a splash that left a crowd of ripples oozing across the water.

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I walked down to beach and met my sister; she was sitting in the rowboat with the sail across the bow.

“Where are we going?” I asked “Dad said when you were old enough, you could sail the

Doughdish. I think it’s time.” I gaped at her as if she had made me king.

“You’re kidding!” She smiled and splashed her hand in the water, trying to catch a small crab that was skidding by.

“You have the skills,” she said, then doing an imitation of my dad, “and now you have the mindset.”

I laughed and rowed toward the amazing sailboat. After rubbing my hand across the wood, I began to rig the boat. I sailed around the reach, down to Swordfish Harbor, and under the loud and impressive bridge. The wind was choppy, and I felt it grab at my hair and shoulders.

When we finished, we didn’t go back to the house. Instead, we harbored the Doughdish and de-rigged it. Then, we lay on the front of the ship and relaxed, watching the porpoises and seals frolic in the water. My hand was submerged in the water when a porpoise with a dark blotch on its fin surfaced underneath it. I felt the sandpaper skin and laughed. Even nature seemed to know it was my birthday. An adorable seal surfaced next to the boat and nearly scared me straight off the ship. I saw the black blotch on his forehead.

“Come on, Blotchy!” I laughed. He made his usual seal sound like the bark of a dog, but lower and thicker. I scratched his furry head as I watched a sardine swim by in the super-clear water. Blotchy dove under and chased the sardine, consuming it.

My sister tossed me a bag as we laughed. “It’s my famous grilled cheese,” she said as I dove in.

This is where I belong; this is who I am.

—Owen Petno, Grade 7

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“Dreams”

!

The wind pushes at the door as I try to get out.I fall under the snow,as soft as a pillow that shines in the wind.

I can only see my shoulders.

I try to sled but can barely move.The snow is too soft and hard to sled in.No sledding for me.

The walk around the house takes 15 minutes.So long, so hard, so annoying.

I go in and get so warm, as warm as the sun.The hot chocolate is so good,as good as ice cream.

I go to sleep with white dreams in my head.

—Madison McCreesh, Grade 6

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“Teddy”

!

I thought it would be fate:that we would stay together forever.It was going great: a fake marriage; a friendship as big as two Twinkies—well, at least to us—until that one day, the worst day of my life.It was a hot summer day,and they had their pool open.His parents were out, his grandmother was sleeping, and his babysitter was doing who-knows-what.He had always wondered what it would be like to swim in the big pool.He had always seen his sisters do itand he had always wondered why he never could, too.

Thump...thump...thump. Splash!No one was there to see him drown.

I never really understood what happened.I would go over, asking, “Where is Teddy? Where is Teddy?”I would get only these three words in response:He is gone.Those three powerful words have scarred me for life:never knowing where my best friend wentand when he would come back.

—Lauren Jennings, Grade 7

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“A Fall Day”

!On the warm and humid fall day, the sound of crackling leavesgoes in one ear and out the other.Surrounded by pumpkins and scarecrows,there she was: the little girl.

Once before and once again,anticipating the flash to go off on the chunk of metal.There she was, sitting on the stoop,her short bangs hanging just right above her eyes,her hair pulled back by a flower hairband.There she was: the little girl.

Precisely posed on the stoop, picture perfect.Her deep blue eyes mirrored the immense dark ocean.Right below was a button nose plastered to her face.Bright red lips surrounded a luminous smile.There she was: the little girl.

A white long-sleeved shirt, soft as a blanket.Three red stripes knitted across,her shirt topped off with three witch stickers, and a flower pin.This particular shirt was worn with jeans,her favorite jeans with white embroidering.Hands on her hips.There went the flash.There she was: me.

—Bella Mattera, Grade 8

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“All You’ve Got To Do Is Stand Up And Walk Away”

!He says that I’m different from them because I can change and allThey can do is be blinded by color. He says you’veGot light eyes, the eyes that look beneath the surface. And all they’ve gotIs ignorance. Dark eyes that skim the external layer, and don’t even try toLeave the bench that is branded with discrimination. The eyes of ignorance doSo little, but they are the same color of his skin, and yet he isMy man of magnitude. Not only is it ironic, but it’s wrong. If I could just standUp tall every day like he does, and fly upLike a kite, soaring through the bright sky, growing my imagination, andTeaching others to appreciate color, while my brain is free to just go for a walk.But first I have to learn how to appreciate him, and maybe then I can get away.

—Michaela Cohen, Grade 8

(This is “golden-shovel” poem based on Athol Fugard’s “Master Harold”...and the boys. The bold-faced words at the end of each line combine to form a passage from the play.)

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Photo by Bella Litt, Grade 7

“Thirty Seconds”

!Thirty seconds:A lot could happen in thirty seconds.It’s like time slowed down and let your life play out in front of youlike a slow-motion movie.

My shoulders started to shake, my lip started to quiver,and before I could even blink, a big fat tear rolled down my face. One by one,tears rolled into my mouth, onto my sister’s hair which I clutched tightlyas I prepared myself for what was to come next.

—Alexandra L. Wagner, Grade 7

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“Seasonal Disease Known As Winter”

!Every year,between December and February, a disease infects me.

The cold air pierces my skin.I feel as if I have been slapped in the face.

My ears sting like fire and are as red as the Evil Witch’s apple.My face becomes flushed, and my nose begins to run as fast as a cheetah.

Tongue stuck to a pole;eyes frozen wide open; traffic and crashes;bumper cars and monster plows.

Will I take my chances this year?

—Jaida Williams, Grade 6

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“The Pen Incident”

! “Can I borrow your pen?” he asked, his smile so charming that I thought I might melt, and his blue eyes making time slow down. My stomach dropped as if I had just missed a step on the stairs, and my palms began to sweat in an anxious fit. It wasn’t that I liked this boy, despite his popularity and dazzling good looks. It was more a fear of embarrassment and shame in the middle school community. The Spanish classroom was filled with judging eyes, all fighting to get to the top of the social pyramid, waiting for someone to trip and fall. I was probably the most likely to screw up and embarrass myself—me with my red hair that I could never seem to get to fall just right, my lack of the least bit of fashion sense, my abnormally large feet, the height that I wasn’t quite used to after my most recent growth spurt, and my uncontrollable awkwardness. For those reasons, when the most popular boy in the entire seventh grade asked me for a pen, it felt like I was being asked to deactivate an atomic bomb. “Um… sure,” I mumbled quietly, reaching for a pen out of my rainbow pencil case. “Here you go.” “Thanks,” he said, flashing me that million-dollar smile again and sending my heart pounding uncontrollably. I felt every eye on me at that moment. Spanish class went by incredibly slowly, considering that it was the period before lunchtime. When the bell rang, the moment I had been dreading for fifty long minutes finally came. “Hey, Abby,” he called from the seat behind me. Just be cool, Abby. Just let him hand you the pen and don’t do anything stupid. “Thanks for the pen,” the boy said with a sideways smirk. “Catch.” That five letter word sent me spiraling into a state of terror. My stomach churned and I forced a smile. I’m good at math. I’m pretty

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good at basketball. I play the flute, and I’m great at cards, but I cannot catch a flying pen thrown by the most popular boy in my grade. His hand drew back as he prepared to toss the pen to me, the most uncoordinated human being on Earth. It was like the moment went by in slow motion as the pen toppled end over end towards my perspiring palms. Just catch the pen, Abby. Just catch the pen. Finally, the pen reached my hand. I tried with all my might to avoid being the girl who tripped on the pyramid, but my nerves overtook me and I swatted my hand through the air in frantic effort. The tips of my mouth began to turn up as I made contact with the pen, but, for some odd reason, I forgot to wrap my hand around it. The writing utensil went soaring through the air, hitting the window on the other side of the room. The boy’s face broke out into a smile, and he chuckled. “I guess not all of us can be coordinated, Abby,” he laughed as my face turned a deep scarlet. I walked across the room and retrieved my pen, rushing out of the room while feeling mortified. That was it: I had tripped and fallen and would soon fall to bottom. Yet, the next day my best friend and I were the only two people in the entire seventh grade who remembered the famous “Pen Incident” that we would talk about for months to come. No one noticed one of my most traumatic middle school experiences. Maybe next time I’ll catch that flying pen—or maybe I’ll just swat it even further away.

—Abby Comey, Grade 7

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“Christmas Cookies”

!

I jump up:today is the day.

I rush to the table,my mouth watering in anticipation.I grab all necessary materialsas I let the fragrances flow through my nose.

An hour passes.

I see edible, garnished children lined up on the tray.They know that, in a while, their heads will be gone.

As I peek out the living room window,I see small animal trackslike jellybeans scattered across the blinding white snow.

I turn to my left. On the counter is my blue mugfilled with swirly, warm, chocolatey goodness.Marshmallows float like majestic clouds in the sky.

When I take a sip, the world feels like a better, warmer place.

—Leah Attai, Grade 6

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“Spring Scenery”

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I look off in the distance. The sea shines. I look below me. The pebbles glisten with the morning dew. Little bushes are scattered around me and a huge cherry tree is in bloom. The white petals from the low branch brush my faceand small dandelions crunch under my feet.The blossoms fly around softly in the light wind. I sit down at the base of the tree and the rough bark scratches my back. It hurts. I take a pebble in my hand. It is as smooth as silk. I walk around the treeand the sticks snap under my feet while the wind whistles through my ears.

—Tyler Bieder, Grade 7

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“Oz”

!The snow is a lush meadow. Grasses flap in the wind.

Her meek snow fort, a castle, welcomes allinto a plentiful forest where gnomes and witches hide.

The warrior gnome speaks,snowballs clumped behind the castle:an army that only she can command.

My snow-boot tracks are the footprints of an enemy out to steal the princess.

My twig is a custom-made sword;my fall in the snow, a sign of her victory.

Her laugh is the laugh of the princess;her snow gear, her elegant dress.

She pretends to fight off a troll while I am wounded.

To me, it’s winter.To her, it’s Oz.

—Lila Wells, Grade 6

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“Winter Poem”

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I could still hear the wind as it howled at no one.

The footprints I had made just a moment before were already covered in a blanket of snow.

The trees quivered at the sound of the wind.

I took a sip of my hot chocolate. It wassweet with a little bit of bitterness at the end.

I looked at my brotherand his big, brown hot chocolate mustache.

We finished laughing, which took a while,and looked out the window to see it snow even harder.

The snowflakes danced endlessly toward the ground.

—Bryn Morrison, Grade 6

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Photograph by Carolina Conzelman, Grade 7

“Police Identify Body of 13-year-old Girl Found Dead at California Park”

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Just a young girl holding a small red backpack, with her phone in her hand and headphones in her ears,dreaming about tomorrow. Just a girl with sunny blond hair and bright green eyes,feeling infinite as she writes poems in her headabout a mother and a father who only exist in her thoughts.She dreams about tomorrow.

But, of course, he didn’t know. Nobody really knew what she wantedor what she dreamtor what those poems really meant.But even if they did, would it change anything?

Would he have grabbed her little wrist?Would he have flung her to the ground?How did it make him feel,taking the breath out of the dreaming girl?Did he even feel sorry that the girl, so desperate to see the world,only got to see how evil and brutal it was?Why?

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It was quite simple:she got trapped,trapped in someone else’s messed-up life—someone else’s life that brought her under that young apple tree.She lay in the shade and watched the sunlight leak through the green leavesand the perfectly rich red apples.

She thought it was fate that drained her blood,taking the flush from her cheeks and the pink from her lips.She didn’t care.She wasn’t even scared.She still had the headphones in her earsand that poem in her head.

She still dreams about tomorrow.

—Emma Parry, Grade 8

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“Untitled”

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Maybe the birds in the big open forest that we knew so well were enough for us.Maybe it wasn’t the familiar smell of sunscreen and chlorine that soothed us to sleep in the hot playroom that we always called our club, but each other’s company. Why did the birds fly away when we came?Why were we told not to talk to strangers?Why couldn’t a cherry popsicle always fix the problem?

The sun bleached our hair, and our minds were emptybut at the same time overflowingwith the questions that were never quite answered. Thoughts ran through our heads like our feet through grassthat hadn’t been cut in far too long.

The fresh green grass crunched underneath our small feetas we ran from activity to activity or simply lay and watchedeach cloud form into something fluffy and perfect.Our eyes were big as we looked down upon streams and people that we were told were differentyet never knew why.

We weren’t alone, but we were left alone to ponderhow we could be so far from home

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yet feel as if we had finally reached our home. The time passed more quickly than we had ever hoped for, and our hearts ached to remember each moment for what it was. Had we taken advantage of the shelter we had?Why did things have to change? Why couldn’t cherry popsicles heal the pain of forgetting?

—Katie Metro, Grade 8

Photograph by Pia Martindale, Grade 7

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“Staged Avalanche”

!The snow falls sideways down the slope, down my shirt, and through a slit in my goggles as I start my first ride up the chairlift.

I can see the sun begin to show itself on the peak of the mountain. I can feel it warm me up ever so slightly.

Devil’s snow that glitters like diamonds swirls around me as the flakes catch the rays of the sun.

In the distance, I hear the noise of the staged avalanche. After it is over, there is complete silenceuntil another flood of snow comes crashing down the mountain,this time much closer.

The sound startles me and I nearly fall off the lift.

My dad grabs my shoulder to steady me.

The chair sways. I look down.

What a long way to fall.

—Christina Brittis, Grade 6

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“Snow Days”

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I look outside the window.The snow falls so quickly.It looks like a bunch of golf balls.

All that I think is, No school!I will sled all daythen come inside to get a cup of hot chocolate,the marshmallows like big icebergs in a brown sea.

—Teddy Brown, Grade 6

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Photograph by Pia Martindale, Grade 7

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“The Music of Life”

!Are you listening?Do you hear the music?All around us like a rainstorm, the notes swirl and spin, dancing in front of our eyes.

Are you watching?Do you see the people?They are smiling, laughing with each other.Do they hear the music? The music that calls out, a baby bird yearning for its mother?

Do you feel the notes, the rhythm all meshed together, a beat of life, a beat of spirit?Can you see the people listening? Are they ready to fly, to play the music with me?

Do you taste the tunes that try to touch the untamed?Eighth notes battle quarter notes, wishing for more time to shine.I can listen. I can hear the music of life. And it is a kind of music that wants to breathe fresh air; to see the light. I can see the people, and they hear it too.

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For one girl, the tune is dark:heavy notes and a bass drum boom battle calls.The boy next to her—he can hear it too. A bright beat has come to him, and the smile on his face and the sparkle in his eyes show that he is listening.

The man over there, do you see him? The corners of his mouth perform a backbend, mirroring the contents of his heart. He is a heavy kind of thin, frail to the bone and full of sorrow.

And here I am. I can hear the music, clear as day. My brain plays the melody, content with itself. Yet my heart overpowers it, blaring the harmonies with no limit. My tune is unique, changing from light to dark, high to low.

Do you hear that? The faint tugging of your heart, connected to your ears? That is the music of life.

—Shira Friedson, Grade 8

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“Alone”

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Alone.

Every day, I look around. I feel enclosed—cut off from the world. No one ever asks about me.I am alone.

I stay at home.When I come out, people laugh.I want to quit my life,but I cannot do that.I have to stay strong.

Sometimes, I wish I had friends.Kids who would come over every day.We could sing and play.But I do not have any friends,I am alone. I find that life is hard.Getting through every day is tough.Sometimes, I just want to play sports like any normal kid does,but I cannot do that,I have to stay strong.

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I stay in bed all day.My mother is ashamed of me.I wish I had siblings who would comfort me.I do not have siblings.I am alone.

Everyday, I try to walk.I try to make myself worthy.I try to be a normal kid.I cannot do that—I must stay strong.

—Ella Murphy, Grade 6

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Drawing by Celeste Matte, Grade 7

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Photograph by Alexandra L. Wagner, Grade 7

“The Accident”

!I sit atop my snowmobileas I glide through the dense woodswith my grandfather behind me.We run away from the feeling of crashinglike a mouse runs from a cat.

The forest is a bubblethat rips away realityas I speed by on my snowmobile.

Nothing matters as I ridealong the dense woods.

Until.

Anxiety rushes through me as I charge up the hill.I speed up too fast as I crest the top.

And Boom!

We tumble downinto five feet of powder;five feet of nothingness;five feet of darkness.

The snow covers me like a white blanket.

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Water rushes up my pants legstoward my kneeslike a mini-tsunami.

The snowmobile is on top of us.We need to get out.After a struggle with the heavy beast,our legs come freeand we are up on our feet.

And then reality hits:

How are two people going to get a one-thousand-pound snowmobileout of this water-filled ditch?

—Charles Packard, Grade 6

56Photograph by Chuck Li, Grade 7

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Drawing by Alice Robins, Grade 8

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