MAY 2009
O U R 2 0 TH Y E A R
T E E N IN K . C O M
It’s those
butterf lies
again.
Life’s going to come at you from all directions.
There’s stress. And there are people asking you
to smoke weed, and to change who you are.
All that pressure can build up inside of you.
But you don’t have to get caught up in all of it.
There are ways to let it go. How will you
deal with it?
Office of National Drug Control Policy / Partnership for a Drug-Free America®
Contents
M AY 2 0 0 9
A RT G ALLERY
12
COVER FEATURES
Driving Special Focus
“I Am a Donor”.............................................18
“Stop Talking, Start Driving” .......................19
“My Bus”.........................................................19
“Sunday Accent”............................................19
“The Automotive Landscape” ....................20
“The Long Way”............................................20
“Driven”..........................................................20
“Uncle Billy”...................................................21
“My Boyfriend’s Car” ...................................21
Paintings, drawings & photos
22-24 C OLLEGE D IRECTORY
25
26
27
13
33
4
40-43
36
16-17
6-10
Interviews with
High School Musical Stars
Lucas Grabeel, Zac Efron &
Vanessa Hudgens...............................16-17
28-29
34-35
32
39
Cover photo by Jess Ball, Nottingham, England
C OLLEGE E SSAYS
C OLLEGE R EVIEWS
C OMMUNITY S ERVICE
EDUCATOR OF THE YEAR
E NVIRONMENT
F EEDBACK
F ICTION
H EROES
I NTERVIEWS : “HSM”
N ONFICTION
O PINION
P OETRY
PRIDE & PREJUDICE
R EVIEWS : B OOK
The Stranger • Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson Story •
Blink • Golden Buddha • The Princess Diaries •
The Innocent Man
Honoring Parents
“The Best Kind of Superhero” ....................6
“A Family in Prison”.......................................7
“Survivors”.......................................................9
“Mother’s Day” ...............................................9
“Thank You, Father”......................................10
“Motocross Memento” ...............................14
“The Story of None”...................................25
Mom and Dad as Heroes...........................36
V OL . 20
NO. 9
38
REVIEWS: MOVIE & TV
Marley and Me • Taken • Nick and Norah’s Infinite
Playlist • Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind •
Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles • Seven Pounds
37
REVIEWS: MUSIC
Angels & Airwaves • Kanye West • Muse •
Video Games Live
S PORTS
30-31 TRAVEL & CULTURE
18
YOU & YOUR HEALTH
14
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05/09
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Articles mentioned here can be found on TeenInk.com
SO LONG, WONDER YEARS
BREAKUP LETTER
“So Long, Wonder Years” by Denise
Leland is an amazing article. I could not
agree more with her opinion of today’s children. I remember being 10, running home
from school, throwing on play clothes and
rushing outside to play soccer with neighborhood kids.
When I see 10-year-old girls now, I am
honestly shocked. Not a day goes by that I
don’t see a fourth- or fifth-grader wearing a
mini skirt and fur boots! Whatever happened
to overalls and sneakers?
As the sister of a 10-year-old, I notice that
most girls her age aren’t interested in common activities of “my day” – watching feelgood cartoons, playing outside, not caring
how dirty you get because you were having
so much fun, and begging to stay up late …
not to watch some boy on TV dance, but to
play hide-and-seek in the dark.
Really, what did happen to the “wonder
years”? This great article really made me
reflect.
Ashley Zaletta, Oxford, CT
Thank you, Kirsten Wright. You have successfully, and quite humorously, declared
what is on everyone’s mind when attempting
to get on the Internet.
In a lot of ways, Windows Internet Explorer
is like an outgrown boyfriend – a lot of problems and zero excuses. It was hilarious and,
best of all, it was so original and inventive.
The delivery was excellent! I was amazed at
how gracefully this piece was put together.
I loved when you wrote about how Explorer
was so cruel and unfair because it refused to
give you access to the most important things
the Internet offers: e-mail and MySpace. But
my favorite part had to be the postscript. That
was pure comedy.
Victoria Ramos, Glendale, AZ
BIKERS
FOR
BABIES
I was totally surprised when I read “Bikers
for Babies” by Monica Bachmann. You see, I
was a premature baby. Each year, my mom
takes me to the hospital where I was born to
visit the doctors, nurses, and staff. While
there, we traditionally take my
picture standing in front of my
portrait hanging in the neonatal
intensive care unit.
Reading the article, I was
inspired by those who give back
through their work with the
March of Dimes. This summer I
plan to volunteer at a March of
Dimes event to help my fellow
+HHOG DW 8& %HUNHOH\ -XO\\ preemies!
Adrienne Little, Newark, DE
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INSPIRATION
“Inspiration” by Kaylee Jones
is a beautiful piece. It is a
wonderful metaphor written so
convincingly that the reader
wonders whether the author is
truly describing a lover. The
writing itself flows perfectly –
poetry in motion, if you will.
I can absolutely relate to it: inspiration is
like a fickle flirt. The piece describes a
writer’s emotions flawlessly. The line “He
comes and goes, leaving my notebooks full of
erratic bursts of passion,” really caught my
attention. Inspiration is a frustrating thing, but
it’s spectacular all the same.
Elissa Li, New York, NY
THE COST
OF
PROM
I agree with Matt Francisco and want to
thank him for writing this article. This is not a
topic I had ever considered, but now I see that
it actually matters.
I don’t have $1,000-plus to spend on one
night. After reading this article, I realize that
there are many ways to defray this cost. I
hope readers take Matt’s advice. Even with
the economic downturn, we can still enjoy
things like prom.
Robert Orzechowski, Wilmington, DE
TRUE NIGHTMARE
I can relate to “True Nightmare,” the story
of Sophie Wasserman’s trip to the dentist. She
illustrates why she hates it, and her fear of
being there. She first describes what the
office looks like, the hated tools, and the
torturing posters. But I think the best part is
how she portrays the dentist.
“True Nightmare” is very descriptive. I like
the concluding paragraph, which says that all
her fears and hatred teaches her the importance of that evil place and why everything is
the way it is.
The writer has a vivid imagination also.
She views the poster as an evil, demented
smile, and imagines that the masks the dentist
and hygienist wear are to cover their twisted
smiles and laughing.
I will never think of the dentist in the same
way again. I have never liked getting that
letter telling me it’s time for a visit. When I
read those words, I get chills up my spine.
This is a great story!
Jordan Radebaugh, Thornton, CO
MY NEW WORLD VIEW
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04
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
EDITORIAL CONTENT
Teen Ink is a monthly journal dedicated to publishing a
variety of works written by
teenagers. Copyright © 2009
by The Young Authors Foundation, Inc. All rights
reserved. Publication of
material appearing in Teen Ink
THE YOUNG AUTHORS is prohibited unless written
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The magazine reaches over
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in animal shelters. I also think that if the
puppy mills weren’t so cramped and dirty,
they wouldn’t have all the problems they do.
The puppies wouldn’t be so sickly and mean
to people. Even though puppy mills are a
business, I think they should give the female
dogs a rest between litters. Claire’s article
gave me a huge wake-up call about where
most puppies in pet shops really come from.
Victoria Nichols, Wilmington, DE
Emily Compton, who wrote “My New
World View,” reminds me a lot of myself.
I am traveling to Haiti this summer on a
mission trip with other students. This article
made me realize how little I know about
Haiti. I will definitely do some research
before I go on my trip. Thanks for the
advice!
Danielle Schuch, Dell Rapids, SD
PUPPY CRUELTY: MILLS
I had never heard of puppy mills before
reading this article. I always figured that
people just bred puppies and sold them to
pet shops. I agree totally with Claire Hart’s
point of view on this situation. People need
to pass this article along to others so we can
end this cruelty.
Informing more people may prevent four
out of five animals from being put to sleep
JOHN LENNON
Zaid Qureshi’s hero article on musician
and antiwar activist John Lennon was both
informative and enjoyable. I’m sure most
readers know about Lennon’s greatness in the
musical world, but they may not have known
he was an activist too.
Being a big Lennon fan, I was surprised to
find that I didn’t know certain details of his
life. This article inspired me to listen to some of
the songs Lennon recorded without The Beatles that promoted world peace and tolerance.
I, like Zaid, view John Lennon as a hero.
Although he was killed at the age of 40, his
message was heard around the globe. I think
his perseverance should be admired, even
though it has been almost three decades since
his death. Zaid’s article was, I believe, a great
tribute.
Dina Berliner, Brooklyn, NY
SAVING SURVIVORS
Emily Wasserman’s article, “Saving
Survivors,” was informative and interesting.
Irving Roth’s Adopt a Survivor program is a
great way for teens to get an inside view of
the genocide of World War II.
We all learn about the Holocaust in history
class, but if I could talk with a survivor and
hear his or her story, I think I would get a
better picture than what our textbooks portray. It would give meaning to this horrible
period of history. Usually I memorize dates
and names in order to pass a test. Speaking
with a survivor would certainly bring more
meaning to it.
Not only could the Adopt a Survivor program bring history to life for teens, but also
give them an understanding of how wrong
genocide is. It is obvious that not everyone
has learned the lessons of the Holocaust;
genocide still happens today in places like
Darfur and Kenya, primarily for ethnic
cleansing.
Emily’s article inspired me to get involved.
I like that she included a website to find out
more. I hope other teens will be inspired and
get involved with this project.
Katie Cosman, No. Platte, NE
Editor’s note: To learn more about Irving
Roth’s Adopt a Survivor program, visit
http://eev.liu.edu/holocaustrectr/.
CORRECTION
We incorrectly credited April’s cover art.
It was actually photographed by Norah
Gustafson of Ocean Springs, MS. We regret
the error.
START
T PUSHIN
NG YOURSELF FURTHER.
START MAJORING IN LEADERSHIP.
STA
ART
T HIGH
HER THAN YOU THOUGHT POSSIBLE
E.
START MAJORING IN COURAGE.
START COMMANDING MORE ATTENTION.
START MAJORING IN CONFIDENCE.
START STRONG.
SM
In Army ROTC, you’ll gain the classroom and leadership experience needed
to succeed in any field. Many of today’s CEOs and top leaders started
out here. Also, when you enroll, you could qualify for a full-tuition,
merit-based scholarship, and upon graduation earn a commission as a
Second Lieutenant in the Army, Army Reserve, or Army National Guard.
There’s strong. Then there’s Army Strong.
Find out more at goarmy.com/rotc/startstrong.
©2008. Paid for by Army ROTC. All rights reserved.
n o n•f i c•t i o n
The Best Kind of Superhero
I
woke up just as we got off the
highway at our exit. I peered out
the window at the church I never
knew the name of, at the familiar stoplights and street signs, marveling that
no matter how deeply asleep I am, I
always manage to wake up at exactly
this point. The silent bends in the road,
the dark passing landscape, gently
rock me out of sleep. There’s something about home, I think, that transcends slumber, that penetrates the
soul even when it is unconscious.
The rhythmic snoring from the back
seat was mesmerizing, calming. My
parents were sitting in silence. The
moment was so lovely that I laid my
head back down, feigning sleep, so
that it would continue for just a bit
longer – until we turned onto Bartlett
Street and the potholes jostled the car,
waking my brother and my sister too.
From the front seat I heard a sniffle.
I peeked in the rearview mirror at my
dad and saw tears gushing from his
eyes. He didn’t even wipe them away;
he just let them fall. Water pooled at
the crevices beside his mouth and
overflowed, streaming down his chin.
Never taking his eyes from the road,
he stared straight ahead. His hands,
normally grasping loosely to the
bottom of the wheel, were clenched
around the rubber. His arms were
flexed, as though he were competing
in a NASCAR race, not meandering
through the quiet back roads of
Needham, Massachusetts.
The sound had to have come from
my mom. Propping myself up on an
elbow, I glanced at her. She, too, was
beach towels, and soak up the
crying, but with boundless emotion.
interlacing streams running down
Her chin quivered and her eyes were
his face. Instead, I struggled to keep
searching as she gazed up at my dad’s
my fluttering eyelids closed.
hard face and put her hand over his on
As we pulled into the driveway, I
the wheel.
pretended to wake with my siblings.
He didn’t seem to react. He did not
Not saying much, I carried my suitlook at her. But I noticed a moment
case to my room, changed into my
later that his hand loosened a bit, and
pajamas, and crawled into bed. I felt
his knuckles, so white, returned to
drained, but sleep did not come.
their normal color.
I’d seen Mom cry often – during
Don’t you think you should pull
sappy movies, while reading the
over or something? I wanted to ask,
Chicken Soup books, through my
but was hushed by a rush of sadness
whole fifth-grade graduaso powerful that it seemed
tion, even at my singing
to physically force my
head back onto the headI could see recitals. She’s a sucker for
sentimentality.
rest. I felt clobbered; a
the phantom
So the reason the incidull pain throbbed in my
dent struck me, then, was
neck and my mouth felt
words he
because of my dad. I’d
dry and shriveled. I had
no idea why they were
longed to say seen him cry before – at
family funerals, even when
crying, but nevertheless
my brother was born, I
tears began to prick my
think. After all, I realized, everyone is
eyes and constrict my throat, making it
supposed to cry at these occasions.
difficult to swallow.
When I was younger I would pinch
My mom and dad remained still,
my eyes shut, willing the tears to
past the library and through the
trickle down my cheeks, convinced
winding neighborhoods I knew by
that if I didn’t cry it would mean I
heart. I lay quietly, trying to control
wasn’t sad or happy enough.
my breathing, determined, for some
But in that instant, I understood that
inexplicable reason, not to be discovmy dad was not the person I’d always
ered awake.
thought he was. My dad, who’d been
We turned onto Highgate Street,
an Eagle Scout, who saved lives every
and my dad twisted to look at my
day and balanced my mom’s anxiety
mom. The silence was so thick I felt
with his unshakable calm, was susas if I could hear the muscles in his
ceptible to pain. I now saw that he’d
back realigning, see the phantom
concealed it when he could because
words he longed to say forming
he felt that he had to, because he
behind his pursed lips. I was struck
knew that we were relying on him.
with an uncanny desire to reach into
I had always likened my father to a
the trunk, grab one of our oversized
superhero, capable of escaping worry
and sadness and doubt. The discovery
that my dad was not, in fact, invincible
should have disappointed me, should
have shattered my childish image of
him. But instead, it only made me
admire him more. That night, my dad’s
facade crumbled, and that did make me
sad. But he was still as strong as ever.
Sure, my dad wasn’t an impervious
superhero anymore – he was a human
superhero, and to me, that made him
even more incredible. ✎
Art by Anna Yates, Hernando, MS
The Cup
Mind Game
When you look down into your cup
to see how much is left
do you catch your face reflected there?
Does your own look make you stare?
lack of understanding.
knew him. It only took a few short, tense hours to
But it seemed that mistake would never come, as
become accustomed to his mannerisms. I knew his
his
pieces slowly squeezed the life out of mine. He
look of concentration and his unsettling smile. I
understood. He knew there was no need to rush. I cast
noticed how clumsy his motions were, as if he were unmy eyes around for some avenue of escape. My oppocomfortable in the midst of all these people. When he
nent knew my end was near and, with a self-satisfied
complimented my math shirt, I learned he taught math.
expression, asked his friends, who were concentrating
“Nerds,” coughed a player sitting next to us wearing
on their own games, if they would like to get dinner
orange-tinted sunglasses. I knew him because he was
that night. Sensing this was the wrong
the one I had to beat.
time, the player with the orange-tinted
My opponent slid his piece across the
Stubbornly,
glasses patted my opponent on the shoulboard and struck the clock, starting my
der, saying, “Later, man, okay? We’ll talk
time. It always amuses me how “Searching
I refused to
it about it later.”
for Bobby Fisher” glamorizes chess, with
Stubbornly, I refused to concede defeat. I
the flurry of action and slamming of clocks. concede defeat
would not lose to this awkward man with
In reality, nobody would dream of slamhis unsettling smile, who taught his beloved
ming anything in the quiet tension of the
craft to uncaring ears. I would not give him the satisfactournament room. Since every move is played only after
tion of beating me. Another player who had finished
deliberate thought, there is almost no motion. I had not
pulled his chair up to watch. I could not help but feel the
anticipated this when I began competing, but now chess
motion of his eyes as they traveled over the board and
is a childhood passion I am unwilling to let go of.
then to the math problem on the front of my shirt.
I scanned the board with a face that I am told is
Trying to ignore the feeling of being X-rayed, I
expressionless, but inside my stomach sank. The
struggled to stop my opponent’s pieces in their march
complications were gone and there were few pieces
across the board. I saw my position slowly give way as
on the board, but the odds were against me. My chess
I tried to defend everything at once. Suddenly, I knew
tutor always said that Americans were bad at endthe outcome. Seeing the fight was over, I turned down
games and Russian players were much better in that
my king and shook my opponent’s hand. ✎
regard. I hoped for a mistake by my opponent due to a
Is that why you tip it back so fast,
potion dumped into your mouth
because what you see is what you hate
and all else has turned south?
Does it, that magic mirror,
slide down your throat with ease,
the bottom of your cup
drying like the floor of the Red Sea?
Does it warm you up inside
as it slides down past your heart,
that organ there as cold as stone
all in pieces and apart?
Does it blur that world before your eyes
images colliding as they spin around
harsh noises, voices, dipping up and down
sweet tone to blaring sound?
So does it really help you cope?
I ponder as I see you stand up.
Guess not, I thought as I watched more.
You just refilled your cup.
by Heather Limmer, Friendswood, TX
06
by Becki Steinberg, Avon, CT
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
by Dennis Tseng, Mason, OH
I
COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH
I
liked being a mess. The desk that
should have been clear so I could
do my homework was always
besieged with bowls of cereal and
spoiled milk, old magazines, and
Post-it notes I had forgotten to remember. My floor was a vacuum in itself,
eating anything entering my room. It
consumed sweaters, stuffed animals,
socks, shoes. When I occasionally
did laundry, I would dig up clothes I
couldn’t even recall purchasing. My
shelves overflowed with containers
of little odds and ends: hair bands,
chapstick, matches, loose mints, coins,
earring backings. I couldn’t always see
these things, but I knew that they were
safe, nestled somewhere on a shelf.
Like old friends in a phone book, I
figured that someday I would find all
the loose strings and tie them together.
One lonely day in August when all
of my friends had yet to return from
camp in Maine, visiting family in
Florida, or some community-service
trip in Mexico, something inside me
began to itch. I tried taking a shower,
scrubbing myself with every bodywash
and bar of soap I could find. I brushed
my hair and my teeth, but didn’t feel
any cleaner. I checked my e-mail,
which was empty. I checked the
DVR to see if any new shows had
been recorded, but I had already seen
everything.
I went downstairs and found my
brother playing video games, my mom
on the phone, and my dad in his office
– everyone in their right place. I told
my mom that something didn’t feel
right, and she suggested that for once
I should clean my room. The thought
itself made me nauseous. I went
upstairs to sulk, feeling so overwhelmed that I might as well have
been floundering without a boat in
by Rachael Wingate, Westport, CT
until they were looming monsters
the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
before my eyes. They were threatening
When I opened the door to my
to swallow me whole. I had to get rid
bedroom, everything was in its usual
of them. And so I started to clean.
cluttered arrangement. A plate of halfIn a box buried under old textbooks,
eaten pancakes sat on my desk, soggy
I found a letter that my Poppy had
with syrup from the morning. My
written me at camp. I hadn’t thought
bikini hung lifelessly from my doorof him since his funeral. I suddenly
knob, dripping pool water. My heavy
remembered the thrill of running
covers lay crumpled and cold across
naked through cold sprinklers with my
my bed, molded by the twists and turns
cousins, the spicy smell of barbecue
of the previous night. Piles of dirty
mixing with the salty air at his beach
clothes sat unsorted, collecting dust.
house, and the distinct feel of his soft
I stood in the middle of the cluttered
sweater rubbing warmly against my
room, breathing in the filthy air that I
cheek each time he enveloped me in a
had become so used to. In the silence
hug. I remembered my dad rocking me
of that moment, I began to hear the
to sleep the night Poppy died, and how
clock ticking. I became aware of the
the tears wouldn’t stop.
moldy smell. I noticed
I sat with his picture,
that a spider had spun a
I had lost so
blocking out the rest of the
shimmering line from
my lamp to the top of
many precious mess around me. I was in
the middle of a storm, but I
my mirror. I shivered in
sat there and studied him
disgust. I remembered
childhood
until I had memorized
that winter how my
memories
every line in his face. Tears
stuffed animal, Vanilla,
began to roll down my
had fallen behind my
cheeks again, and the relief was like
dresser and I hadn’t noticed until I
the sound of heavy rain pounding on a
caught the repulsive scent of her fur
roof at the end of a drought.
burning against the heater, until it was
In the drawer next to my bed, I
too late and she was permanently
found a friendship bracelet my childcovered in brown spots.
hood best friend, Aubrey, had given to
I suddenly felt sympathy for everyme before she moved to California. I
thing in my room that I had buried,
traced the green and purple pattern
never to be seen again. Lost items I
with my thumb, realizing that I hadn’t
had blocked out for years made their
spoken to her in years. The next day I
way back into my consciousness: my
called her, and we talked all night,
favorite yellow tank top, the picture
laughing about memories like dressing
of my mom and me on that boat in
up as the Spice Girls for Halloween.
Jamaica, my baseball card collection.
She reminded me of the time we built a
I had an urge to dive under my bed
family of snowmen in my backyard
and uncover everything lurking in the
and had a funeral for them when they’d
murky depths of dust, and to climb up
melted. I had lost so many precious
into the highest corners of my closet
childhood memories over time, letting
and rescue items that had been minthem slip away into the tide like grains
gling with the spiders. The innocent
of sand. It was the kind of conversation
piles were growing higher and higher
A Family in Prison
by “Natalie,” FL
crying, and he came over and hugged her.
was five when I watched my dad get led out of a
It felt so surreal, like I was dreaming. Now I can
courtroom in handcuffs and shackles. There
hardly remember my dad without his uniform. Some
were so many people moving around, I wasn’t
mornings I wake up and, for a split second, forget
sure what was really happening. One thing I did
he’s not home anymore. Then it hurts even worse
see very clearly and will never forget was the tear
when I remember where he is and that my mom and
rolling down his cheek. That was the first time I had
I will never have him back.
ever seen him cry. Almost 11 years have passed and
It hurts to think of all the special
I still remember that day perfectly.
memories my dad didn’t share with
That was the last time I saw my dad
I can hardly
us. All the birthday parties and family
outside prison.
Being young, only in kindergarten, I
remember my vacations he missed. It’s one of the
worst feelings in the world for a girl to
was frightened by this terrifying place.
dad without
know that her father won’t be there to
Surrounded by barbed wire and razor
walk her down the aisle.
fences, I thought it was a horror house.
his
uniform
While my sisters, mom, and I are
That first visit was just the first of
out living life, Dad is in that horrific
many times I’d go through the process
place every minute of his life, only getting to see his
of being frisked and walking through metal
family one day a week. My mother and I feel so
detectors.
much pain not having him with us, but I can’t begin
That first time my family and I stepped into a
to imagine his pain and suffering every day in there.
large room filled with dozens of men wearing
We continue to hope for a miracle. My dad will
blue uniforms, I wondered if the other inmates’
be eligible for parole in 2023. We continue to pray
loved ones felt the way we did. The convicts looked
that an innocent man will be freed from his life
almost like clones – until I saw my dad. He looked
sentence for a murder he did not commit. ✎
much thinner and really frail. My mom started
I
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Photo by Cassandra Y., Williamsport, PA
n o n•f i c•t i o n
Lost and Found
you never want to end because for
each moment we talked, it felt like a
bucket collecting droplets of water
from a leak.
Under my bed I even found that
picture of my mom and me in Jamaica.
I had forgotten how turquoise the water
had looked from our ship, but what
really caught my attention, though,
was my image. I had buck teeth, short
hair, and pimples covering my face. I
stared at that girl, barely able to recognize this person who had drowned in
the mess of my room so many years
before. I decided to completely reorganize and revamp my room so that
all the books, belts, and baskets were
in their right place. It was like finding
the missing pieces of the puzzle.
The finishing touch was framing that
photo and hanging it high up on my
wall. After all, it was me I had been
searching for. ✎
Economic Breakup
I didn’t notice, I didn’t see
That our stocks were slowly falling.
We should have thought of liability
And the pain that we were causing.
I didn’t notice, I didn’t see.
They say that time is money
And I guess I didn’t have the budget for you.
There’s no need to be angry
Because I really think you knew.
I didn’t notice, I didn’t see.
We couldn’t afford the loans
Or the favors bought on credit.
My heart is the Dow Jones –
It’s dropped six points; and you just stood back and let it.
I didn’t notice, I didn’t see.
What we had was no more than a transaction
And I think that you declined me.
It’s gonna take more than numbers and fractions
To be what we’re supposed to be.
Now I notice, now I see.
by Kelsea Askew, Dallas, TX
M AY ’ 0 9
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fiction, creative nonfiction and memoir writing.
Six-week sessions
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by Ashley Keane, Wyckoff, NJ
hadn’t been the same since. My “daddy” had been
une 31, 2007, started out like a normal summer
taken away and a new, more intimidating and angry
night. I hung out with friends, my dad picked me
man came home from the hospital.
up, I stayed up late watching TV and reading a
Then I thought of the recent past. How we got into
book, and finally I went to bed. All seemed fine and I
petty arguments almost daily. How I had told him I
was content.
loved him when I was thinking I didn’t at all. How I
Then at 2 a.m. I was suddenly woken by the phone.
aggravated him because I refused to let him intimidate
Even though I checked the caller ID and saw that it
me into being obedient (as he had when I was a kid).
was Valley Hospital, I felt no panic. I rationalized
Although our relationship had been improving
that it must be a nurse calling to confirm my father’s
lately, I still hadn’t forgiven him for how he treated
cardiology appointment. So, when I answered and
me or my mother when I was growing up.
was greeted by my mother, I became a
My mother always told me to let go of it
bit confused, to say the least.
because she had. But I couldn’t, and in
“Mom? Why are you calling from the
“Mom?
that moment, I regretted that. All I could
hospital? What happened? Are you
okay?” I asked.
Why are you think about was that my father could die
without really knowing his daughter and
“Ashley … your father’s with the
calling from I would never know the man my father
doctors. He’s had another heart attack. I
truly was.
don’t know when I’ll be home … somethe hospital?”
The next day is still a blur. I remember
time later this morning.” Although my
walking through the hospital lobby that
mother sounded as if she’d been to hell
looked more like a hotel (except for all
and back, she was all business. After an
the sick people in wheelchairs), thinking about the
awkward moment, we said good-bye halfheartedly.
words my mother had said to me when I was 15. She
After I put the phone down, anger like bars of seartold me that God does these things to us because he
ing iron seemed to embed itself in my chest, replaced
knows how strong we are, because we are the ones
moments later with an arctic chill bleeding through
who can handle it. She said that God knew the weak
me. My father had almost died, and I had been readwouldn’t be able to handle these hardships and that is
ing a book. I had been told the danger was over, that
why he sent them to us, because we’re survivors.
his heart was healing after multiple stents had been
“That is why we cannot cry,” she said gently but
inserted, but apparently, it wasn’t over. I wanted to cry
firmly, as if teaching a child an important rule. “We
and vomit but I didn’t dare do either. Instead I walked
need to be strong for those we love.”
to the living room, sat on the couch, and thought.
Although I tried to compose myself in that blank,
Mostly I thought about my past with my father. It
white hallway, nothing could have prepared me for
was 1996 when he had the first heart attack, and life
J
the sight when I walked into my father’s room. My
strong, healthy father had been reduced to a haggard
old man in just hours. His face looked ashen and
aged, with every wrinkle and blemish accentuated by
the fluorescent light. His salt and pepper hair seemed
brittle and thin. Tubes and wires ran in and out of him
in every direction. I didn’t know if I could handle
seeing this, but I knew I had to.
I still remember the blood stain on his sheets
from when his catheter tube was taken out. The dark
crimson seemed to be screaming at me in that white,
sterile environment. The horror of seeing my father’s
blood spilled and not being able to prevent it … I’ll
never forget that. The worst part was pretending it
wasn’t there. Pretending that everything was okay,
that I didn’t sob when I was alone begging for this to
be some kind of sick dream and for forgiveness, and
begging that I wasn’t really sitting in the Critical Care
Unit of Valley Hospital with my father looking as if
he’d stared death in the face and barely managed to
come back alive. The entire scene disgusted me in a
way that still haunts me in an occasional nightmare.
At first, my father and I didn’t look at each other.
Whether we were both pretending like we usually did
or were afraid of the emotion we might see in each
other’s eyes, I’m not sure. But when my father’s tired,
brown eyes finally locked with mine, a lazy grin
spread across his face, and I knew my world had
changed again. I knew I had forgiven him. Life was
too short and too fragile for me to stain it with my
stubborn refusal to forgive him. Finally I understood
my mother’s words and I became what she told me we
were: a survivor. ✎
n o n•f i c•t i o n
Survivors
Mother’s Day
Childish Games
by Kathryn Marrinan, Hyde Park, NY
with a slight Jamaican accent. He said that it was too
y twin sister and I always made a game out
late to go to the fair but that there was always next
of everything. We made games to clean our
time. I heard next time and felt never. I must have
room, games to get ready quickly, games to
stopped listening to, or rather hearing, what this man
determine who was the faster runner or the higher
said because the next word I heard was good-bye.
jumper, the better hula-hooper or basketball shooter.
And then he crept off in his burgundy van, maybe
We had a game for everything. But there was one
to his home, maybe to the fair to see the
game neither of us ever won because we
whirling merry-go-rounds and Ferris
were destined to lose from the start.
I
did
not
wheels, bumper cars and arcade games,
One summer night, we were both
candy and funnel cake. Wherever
excited to be going to the local fair. Our
want to play cotton
he went, I knew it did not involve me.
five-year-old minds were fixed on images
Our game of passing cars was exhausting
of whirling merry-go-rounds and Ferris
anymore
and disappointing, and I did not want to
wheels, bumper cars and arcade games,
play anymore. I was looking for a car that
pink cotton candy and powdery funnel
didn’t exist. I was looking for a car that would never
cake. Our mother dressed us in identical outfits, and
come to take me away. I could never win this game.
we waited by the window for our father to pick us up.
From that moment on, I resolved never to wait
We made a game of guessing how many cars
for anyone to come take me away. I would find my
would pass until our father’s burgundy van came
own way. ✎
cruising down the street to our gate. I guessed five,
six, seven, next car. She guessed, three, four, five
cars until he comes. An hour later, three cars until
he comes. An hour and a half later, when darkness
filled the empty street and 9 o’clock struck, we said,
wearily, two cars until he comes.
We fell asleep on the couch by the window, forgetting our game and the whirling merry-go-rounds and
Ferris wheels, bumper cars and arcade games, cotton
candy and funnel cake. We forgot about the passing
cars – red, green, blue, but never burgundy.
We awoke to the sound of our mother’s voice. She
said that our father was outside. My sister and I, in
our identical outfits, with drowsy eyes, looked out to
see a burgundy van with a man standing beside it. He
seemed tall but not tall enough, responsible but not
responsible enough, and sorry but never sorry enough.
Photo by Kathryn Weatherly, Austin, TX
He yelled into the window, his deep voice tinged
W
hen I was in the third grade, Mother’s Day came
around much too quickly; I found myself emptyhanded with nothing to give my mom on her special
day. So I was thrilled when an announcement over the loud
speaker said that one of the older grades would be selling pins
that said “Number-One Mom.” It may not sound like much, but
to an 8-year-old, it’s perfect.
So each day I told myself that the following day I would bring
the money to buy the pin, but I always forgot. And I was incredibly disappointed when the principal and a few of the older kids
selling pins came into my classroom and announced that it was
the last day to buy them.
always intimidated by my princi“My mom pal.I was
She could be sweet and sugary, but
this frosting coating was a tough
passed away, under
cookie who didn’t take any … garbage. If
so I want you you stepped out of line, she was quick to
set you straight, so I remained as stiff and
to have this” disciplined as a soldier in her presence.
On this day, however, my principal
was in a good mood. And she must have heard me tell my classmates I’d forgotten my money again. I wasn’t crying or throwing
a hissy fit, but she knew I really wanted to buy a pin.
After she left, I got called to her office. I’d never been there –
ever – so I was terrified. When I arrived shaking in my navy blue
dress shoes and plaid jumper, she told me to come to her desk,
and she pulled out the pin I’d had my eye on for days.
“The kids gave me this to give to my mother,” she began. “But
my mom passed away, so I want you to have it.”
Taking the pin, I looked at it in my tiny hands. I didn’t know
what to say. I probably thanked her and walked back to class, and
proudly presented this free luxury to my mother.
I don’t know if my mom still has the pin, and I don’t know if
the principal remembers giving it to me. But I will never forget
that act of kindness from someone I’d never expected it from. ✎
by Andrenne Coleman, Bronx, NY
M
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M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
09
n o n•f i c•t i o n
Sunlight Through the Smoke
inconvenient maze. We could have ridden our bikes
ire looks more dramatic with snow providing a
through the dark night, down our street, around the
stark backdrop. This was the perfect day for a
small lake, and through the woods, but the car
house fire, if such a day exists.
seemed the more sensible alternative with temperaAn hour before, I had been sitting at my kitchen
tures that scoffed at the sight of scarves and gloves.
table, eating dinner with my dad and reveling in the
We had stopped at all of the mocking stop signs. It
glory of my earlier Scholastic Bowl tournament.
never ceases to amaze me how juvenile simple acts
Now, I stood, shivering and frozen, blankly watching
seem under intense circumstances.
smoke meander through the broken windows of a
I had been wondering what to expect: a raging
house that used to represent everything good in the
inferno, ruthlessly demolishing this center of my
world.
childhood memories, or the wimpiest flicker of flame
I had not worried when the phone’s shrill ring had
we would laugh about in two weeks? As we pulled
interrupted dinner, echoing the screaming sirens of
into the parking lot of the nearby forest preserve, fire
the fire trucks that, at that moment, were speeding to
trucks had blocked any view of the house, making
my late grandparents’ house. It’s not in my nature to
our anticipation even harder to bear.
expect the worst. I had worried, however, when the
Now, I stood watching, so cold I
first sentence my dad said into the phone
wouldn’t mind warming my hands over
was, “Are you serious?”
the embers of my cousins’ bedroom.
I had calmly put down my fork and
This was the
Three of my aunts stood on the sidetaken a deep breath, waiting for his conperfect day for walk beside me, shivering in the wind,
versation to end. I always know when
wearing only the clothes they had on
something bad has happened – a death in
a house fire
when the wall burst into flames.
the family or something someone did
“They broke all of the windows,
wrong – from the inflection in my dad’s
Tony,
every single one,” one aunt told
voice as he asks that futile question,
my dad, her teeth chattering like miniature maracas.
knowing that his words will have no impact on the
“They pulled the boys’ mattresses out, and they
tragedy unfolding. So, I had sat, bracing myself for
were completely charred,” another said.
the news, still hoping for the best.
“Just what we need,” moaned the other.
“The house is on fire,” he’d said, knowing we’d
One aunt went to talk to the firefighters, who
understand that “the house” meant the small, one stomentioned something about a hotel. The other sat
ry home he’d grown up in, the house his sisters now
in the car with my dad, trying to warm up. I stood
lived in with their children. He had gone on to say
there, getting a headache from the flashing lights
that it was electrical, which made me feel immensely
of the three too many fire trucks crammed into the
guilty, because my first thought was that some fool
dead end.
had been playing with one of the many cigarette
Don’t cry, I thought. Wait, just wait. Wait until you
lighters scattered around the house like Easter eggs.
get home. You don’t know the exact condition of the
After five minutes of him yelling, demanding
house yet, so don’t get all emotional.
from the indifferent silence of our house what would
“Well, there goes everything left of Grandma and
happen next to our family, I’d asked, “Should we
Grandpa,”
my aunt choked, as I bit the inside of my
go over?”
lip.
That
wasn’t
what I needed to hear.
“I don’t even want to see it,” my dad answered,
An hour later, with two cousins, my brother, and a
pulling on his coat.
whimpering dog, my dad and I returned home. I
The car ride had seemed like some horrible,
F
Thank You, Father
by “Sarah,” Etna, ME
and think, There is no God. Something like that isn’t
’m really happy for my father. I’m not happy for him
decided over night. But over time, I found myself in a
because he’s won any special award or pulled ten
category without my mother. For once in my life, I was
orphans from a burning building. I’m simply happy
something she wouldn’t approve of. I was afraid of
that he’s my father. And he’s happy too.
authority down to my very core (that hasn’t changed).
Some days when my mom was away, my dad and I
As a result, I believed that telling my mother about our
would sit on the bed in his room. It was king-sized and
difference would be unwise.
there was an indent where he always sat facing the teleAs I sat and talked with my father about what we did and
vision. It was his cave, his den, his big comfy chair. If my
didn’t believe, he made me stronger. Soon, I
father was anywhere in the house, it was in his
realized I was ready to tell my mother.
room in that spot, watching the news. No mat- I found myself
When I think back to our conversation, I
ter what business he had to do, he worked
can
taste the words that left my mouth until it
from that seat.
in a category
was dry with anticipation. It went basically the
I would sit next to him. We would watch
way I had envisioned it would. Her face went
without my
the news. It was our father-daughter bonding
from shocked to confused to stern. I saw it and
time. Although I was the oldest of three, I was
mother
I waited for her to speak. I could have written
still his little girl, and I tried to keep it that
the words she would say before she said them
way. As I grew up, our conversations matured.
– until she got to the phrase, “Then, I have failed.”
We drifted from the 2008 elections to my mother, which
I never quite knew what she meant by that. I never
led us to religion. These topics proved that he and I were
asked or told her she was wrong. The two of us are all
similar. I was not alone.
right; she’s repressed that conversation and we have moved
Why did I think I was alone? Well, although my mother
on like nothing happened. Sometimes there’s a twinge
never brought us to church, she always told us about God,
inside me when I feel separate from my mother because
Jesus, Moses, and any other biblical figure she could
of religion. But when I remember her disappointed words,
remember. She and her sister could find common ground
they are soon soothed by time spent with my dad and the
when it came to faith. My brothers also believed. I did not.
late-night news. ✎
It wasn’t always that way. I didn’t wake up one day
I
10
by Kira Bonk, Romeoville, IL
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
Photo by Carson Potter, Nashville, TN
called the only person I knew I could talk to, someone who would listen and not be scared. He came
over, and I broke down. Like anyone experiencing a
house fire, I listed all of the material objects lost, in
addition to the irreplaceable paintings and mementos
damaged by smoke, water, fire, or a combination of
all three.
I explained to him that the worst emotion I was
feeling was shame and disappointment. My family
seemed to be falling apart as easily as the house had.
I was angry. I felt that my grandparents were looking
down on this catastrophe and were disappointed in
us, even though I knew that the fire wasn’t anyone’s
fault, just old wiring. My anger stung me as relentlessly as the frigid air had.
We talked for the rest of the night, and when he
left, I felt better, more optimistic. I understood that it
was an accident and that I shouldn’t feel ashamed. I
knew all of this, but something inside me remained
unbalanced. There is a huge difference between
telling yourself to feel a certain way, and actually
feeling it.
I wandered downstairs, feeling hungry. My cousins
were at the kitchen table. They began telling me about
the fire while I made us peanut butter toast, clearly
not a meal, but something to put in our stomachs.
Suddenly, one said something that made more
sense than any of the garbage I usually hear. I’ll
admit that I’d never been especially fond of him,
and had made that clear many times, but what he
said restored my balance.
“Our bunk bed was completely destroyed. If
the fire had happened during the night, we would
have been sleeping. We would be dead right now.
Grandma and Grandpa were definitely watching
over us. I have no doubt,” he said.
There might as well have been dramatic lightning
and angels singing, because at that moment, an
epiphany slapped me in the face. How blind I had
been not to see the unfortunate situation in a grateful,
divine way. I had twisted it into some demonstration
of everything wrong with my family, rather than
feeling lucky that someone was looking out for us.
I called my friend to tell him that I now understood
what he had been trying to say. I fell asleep feeling
sad about the fire but not angry.
In the two weeks since that day, I have accepted
that some things are beyond my feeble control. I am
forever grateful that no one was injured. The house
will be gutted and rebuilt from scratch. I can’t bring
myself to go see what it looks like; I don’t want to
taint my memories with a dark, dirty misrepresentation of the place I love.
I believe there is a greater reason behind this
experience. I am not ashamed or disappointed,
because I know everyone is doing the best they can.
Most importantly, I know that we are being looked
down upon with nothing but pride and occasional
laughter. After all, it just wouldn’t be my family if
2009 hadn’t started with a bang … literally. ✎
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ENGLISH BLUE VALLEY NORTHWEST HIGH
by Erica Johnson, Overland Park, KS
M
y freshman year, I was an
anxious, paranoid 14-yearold who was deathly afraid of
high school. I vividly remember my
terror from what I had seen and heard.
It was no help that popular culture
embraces the clichés of high school:
mean, popular cheerleaders, jocks
stuffing nerds into lockers, and kids
sitting alone at lunch. I entered Blue
Valley Northwest High School with the
expectation that I was walking into the
depths of hell. Erin Kelly-Pearson, or
EK as she is more commonly known,
changed all that.
My school has a wonderful program
called Rookie Camp, which introduces
incoming freshmen to Northwest. I
signed up because my friends had. As I
approached the ominous building, I
could hear a loud, shrill voice. When I
entered, it was not Satan standing
there, but a short, blond woman
screaming her head off at a mass of
stunned freshmen. In effort to elevate
herself, she was standing on a pillar,
smiling down at us with excitement.
We played ice breakers and the
dreaded “name games.” We toured the
was. All of a sudden, the door flew
school and ate candy. Finally, the afteropen and that familiar short blond
noon came to a close, and we received
woman jumped in and screamed, “Hi,
our locker numbers and schedules for
you guys! Are you ready for seventh
the following week’s freshman orientahour honors Communication Arts?”
tion. Examining mine, I saw that my
EK was the only teacher that day
English teacher was named EK. When I
who seemed genuinely excited to see
asked a friend, she replied, “I have EK
us and ready to teach us lessons we
too. She’s that hyper lady who greeted
would need for the rest of our lives.
us at the door.” I was astounded. I could
And the first day of school wasn’t
only imagine the teaching style of this
the only time she was
woman who greeted us
hyper … this continued
at Rookie Camp as
She seemed
every single day. I can’t
though she was meeting
recall ever saying during
the president. Oh, how
genuinely excited that year, “English was
ignorant I was of the
really boring today.” EK
events to come.
to teach us
never allowed class to be
Our first class period
dull, whether we were
with EK was anything
going over vocabulary, reading a book,
but normal. Her room was decorated in
or taking notes. Room 106 represented
a beach theme (complete with grass
excitement to learn and to achieve
skirts lining the walls and a small
more than we ever thought possible.
cabana table with chairs in the corner),
EK didn’t just make learning fun and
loud pop music greeted us, and a sweet
easy, but addicting.
scent enchanted our noses. The board
In her class, we were required to
was adorned with colorful agendas and
read a myriad of books, like Anthem by
instructions for what to do when we
Ayn Rand. Although these books could
walked in the door. The bell rang and I
be considered uninteresting to average
sat with my friends. Students began to
14-year-olds, EK elaborated on them
whisper, wondering where the teacher
Tyrone Parker
Zabrina Nicholson
SOCIAL STUDIES NORTH STAR ACADEMY
ENGLISH CROTHERSVILLE HIGH
by Anastascia Davis, Charlotte, NC
by “Jane,” Crothersville, IN
two weeks I was stuck in a place where
hrough our school years we have
I knew no one. A few days passed and
many teachers – some we love
along came visitation day. My grandand some we can’t stand. But I
parents walked in, giving me hugs and
was lucky to find a teacher who actually
kisses. As we sat, in came Mrs. Nicholchanged my life.
son. She embraced me, and I started
Struggling with bulimia, I had no
crying.
one, not family or friends, who would
The whole time she and my family
help me. I was depressed and moody.
were talking I kept asking myself why
Upset all the time, I was miserable.
she would take the time to come see me.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Nicholson
Before she left I gave her a hug and fiasked one day as I was walking to class.
nally said three words I hadn’t uttered in
“I’m fine,” I said, looking at the tile
a lifetime: “I love you.” And
floor that seemed to go
in return she replied, “I love
on forever.
Mrs. Nicholson you too, kiddo. Hang in
Who is this woman? I
Never had someone
thought. Why does she
cared when no there.”
said that to me. Growing up
care if I’m okay?
in an abusive household, I
I walked off feeling
one else did
never knew real love. But on
hurt because she didn’t
that day I did.
push me to tell her how I
This
wonderful
woman took the time
felt, but also happy because that was the
and
effort
to
help
me.
I’ve opened up to
first time someone had been truly conher a lot and she has convinced me to
cerned. As a teen with security and trust
start eating right again – no throwing
issues, I was afraid to rely on anyone.
up, no starving myself. Mrs. Nicholson
But something told me she could be
cared when no one else did. That is
trusted.
what makes her so special to me. She
I started off slowly and began writing
deserves recognition for that.
to her. She replied in long letters enShe is a wonderful teacher and an
couraging me and letting me know she
amazing
person. She opened up a part
cared.
of me that I hadn’t felt since early
Then spring break came, and my
childhood. She saved me and is confamily decided they couldn’t handle my
tinuing to save my life. Thank you,
bulimia anymore. So they sent me to a
Mrs. Nicholson. I love you. ✎
hospital an hour and a half away. For
T
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so that they were real to us. We cared
about the characters. And EK prepared
us to create our own characters.
Unlike some of my peers, I enjoy
finding the “Aha!” moments and discovering new things in books. EK and
I share a passion for making those connections and rejoicing in them, which
has inspired me in my own writing.
EK not only created a wonderful
learning environment, but she made a
special haven for her students. She was
always ready to talk, but more important, to listen. If we had a problem, she
would listen with the closest attention
to detail and treat us with respect. I
always felt comfortable talking to EK
about anything, not just grades or
school. Even now, I visit Room 106
whenever I can.
I will always be grateful to EK for
changing my view of the high school
experience and sparking my desire to
learn and to gain more from my educational opportunities. She has encouraged me to become a better student,
reader, writer, and person. I can only
hope some day I will be able to do the
same for someone else. Thanks, EK. ✎
educator ofthe year
Erin Kelly-Pearson
T
here is no other teacher who I would say cares for his students as
much as Mr. Parker. He was my eighth grade social studies teacher,
and I was a handful. I was always getting into fights, always in
trouble, and clearly I had anger issues I was struggling to deal with – all
these really got in the way of my education. But no matter how much I
seemed not to care, Mr. Parker never gave up on me. He always made sure
that I did what I needed to do in order to graduate.
Mr. Parker always made sure we understood what we were learning. I
can honestly say that I remember just about everything I was taught in
Social Studies, which made me the A+ student that I am today in that
subject.
Unfortunately, during that year, I was suspended for 90 days and sent to
a Renaissance Alternative school to complete my
suspension. When I returned to North Star, I had a
Mr. Parker zero grade point average for the three months that
gone. The one teacher who cared and wanted
never gave Itowas
see me walk down the aisle with the rest of my
up on me graduating class was Mr. Parker. He helped me out
tremendously. He spent his own time staying after
school helping me catch up on the class work, homework, and notes that I missed. There were times I wanted to give up,
because the projects that were due every week were exhausting, but I
completed all the work and graduated with my class.
I don’t think I could have achieved what I wanted in life if it hadn’t
been for Mr. Parker. I am honestly very grateful. He always told the class,
“Knowledge is power. With knowledge you can be anything you want.”
I choose Mr. Parker as my educator of the year because he is truly
worthy. He’s one teacher I will never forget. ✎
Check back next month for the 2009
Educator of the Year contest winners!
M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
13
sports
Motocross Momento
by Derek Hom, Cameron, WI
it so much, because he loved me.
erek Hom!” screeched the announcer,
Gripping the handlebars and clutch, I shifted my
his voice nearly drowned out by the
shoulders
forward, thigh muscles tensing as I pushed
thunder of bikes. “It’s Hom in third
firmly onto the foot pegs, trying to focus and ignore
place. He’s taken over Bobbles’ position as they head
the increasing closeness of the drone behind me.
into the last lap.”
“Come on!” My dad’s voice carried over the
The deafening roar of the spectators, their bodies
others, urging me on. My dad emptied his lungs and
pressed against the plastic barrier, as they jostle to
lost his voice every time I passed; he always gave his
get a good view of the race’s exciting end, competed
all for me, so I did the same for him.
with the rumble of the bikes. Rain threatened and
“GO!” he demanded. “GO, son! GO!”
gray clouds, wisped with shades of deep purple, cast
Bikes, sounding like bumblebees, neared my green
shadows across the brightly colored machines.
fender, buzzing with their desire to sting,
My dad was on the crest of the first
to take my glory. Some were not merely
corner, lungs full of air and red-faced,
Truthfully, I bee-voiced; the four-strokes, had a deeper
eagerly waiting for me to fly past. Face
a rumbling, rippling (and sometimes
shiny from the sun, his strong hands held
raced partly voice,
roaring) sound that would become the
the shovel that perfected my gate at the
of the sport.
start. He always had so much fun at the
for my dad future
“You really need to hit that first corner
races. My dad had created a family from
harder,” my dad had explained, his eyehis racing friends. He had a ritual of staybrows crinkling and his strong voice convincing.
ing up by the fire the night before, and during a race
“They’re catching you right there, and it’ll drop your
he always chewed tobacco. I can remember that smell
lap times down.”
to this day. The rich mahogany fragrance burned my
At this race in Minnesota, there were huge, mounnostrils every time he opened that bronze tin.
tainous jumps – hills that demanded riders dig their
The sunrise was cloaked in a foggy haze that outfingers into the dirt to even walk up them – and a
lined the track. The bulldozers were deafening as
calm, trickling river to add to the beautiful scenery.
they rolled up and down the jumps, packing them.
The smell of fuel revived memories sheltered in my
Dad would yell out ideas to help me on my way,
mind from my childhood at the racetrack.
just as he’d been doing the last three laps. It was
My dad always had a stern look in his eyes that was
motivating and helpful.
so convincing it made me pay attention to everything
Truthfully, I raced partly for my dad … maybe
he said … almost. Pasting that father-knows-best
mostly for him. I always wanted to prove I was
glare on his face, he counseled, “I’d rather see you
something to the sport of motocross because he loved
“D
push your limits than settle for riding within your
margin of speed. It builds character to try to improve
and maybe some day become a professional at something you have put so much time and effort into.”
I lived for that saying, and it will be with me for
the rest of my life. My brother and dad have our
motto tattooed between their shoulder blades and
across their spine. I plan to get the same tattoo on my
eighteenth birthday.
“We can make an appointment with the artist who
did ours,” Dad said with that serious look in his eyes,
as if we were at the track again.
Doing this means a lot to me for some reason. It’s
a memento of a meaningful part of my life that will
always remind me of my childhood: the traveling, the
races, and most importantly my dad. ✎
Photo by Cole Shobert, Wolfforth, TX
It’s Over
Sailing
by Andy Thompson, Fairmount, ND
there on, I looked forward to that 48 minutes
our years ago, during my freshman
every week when ten other guys and I were
year, 28 of my teammates and I arrived
the center of attention.
at the field house to suit up for the
To me, when I pad up to play, I get a kind
season-opening football game against Two
of euphoric high. I love it when
Harbors, Minnesota.
seems to slow and even stop
The preceding two and a
Here I am, a time
as I set down into my stance and
half weeks had not been easy,
filled with grueling twice-a-day
senior, and my contemplate my next move to
break through the opponents’
practices in the summer heat
final season offensive line. Or if I’m on the
and lots of abuse in the form of
O-line, my job is to keep the
running and seeing who was
just ended
quarterback on his feet and the
more willing to work hard to
defensive line out of the pocket.
earn a spot.
It’s something I learned to love. For the next
That night as I suited up, I learned that I
three years, I experienced the running, the
would be starting both sides of the ball at
hitting, the pain, the hardship of a tough loss,
offensive tackle and middle linebacker. From
and the glory of the win.
If you had asked me that first night what I
would do the last game of my senior year, I
would have said that it was a long way off
and there was no need to worry about it.
Unfortunately, I was wrong; here I am, a
senior, and my final season just ended. It
sneaks up quicker than you’d think, and it
hits even harder. But life is about growing
and experiencing new things.
It is going to be hard not having any more
Friday night games under the bright lights or
grueling practices that we say we hate but
deep down really love. Yes, I cried when it
ended; it was a good run. Roy, Josh, Trevor,
and Dean – thank you, guys. We had a great
couple of seasons together. And now it’s time
to pass the torch and let the others have their
time to shine. That chapter may be done, but
the book is just beginning. ✎
Photo by Kristen Strobak, Orlando, FL
F
14
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
by Katie Manning,
Hull, MA
S
ome people imagine sailing is sitting in a boat and
gliding slowly across the water – but that’s not competitive racing.
I compete in lots of regattas, or sailing races, and they are
not easy. We race in teams of two in a 12-foot boat. These
boats, called Club 420s, were built for speed. In even just a
fair amount of wind, it is hard to keep the boat from capsizing.
No time for relaxing, you need to be alert and ready to react.
Last summer in the National Junior Olympics regatta, I was
sailing with my partner, Ned. We weren’t used to sailing in the
open ocean where there is a lot more wind and waves. At first
we managed to keep our boat upright and stay on course. We
were sailing against 50 other teams.
Many boats were colliding because
Our boat
the wind was so strong.
In the last race, we were in seccapsized and
ond place with a substantial lead,
threw us into but as we rounded the first marker,
our boat capsized and threw us into
the water
the water. The sail went completely
under.
As we struggled to get back up, we thought the other teams
would laugh, but they didn’t. They stopped to make sure we
were all right. Some kept going because they wanted to win,
but there were many nice people who helped us. We managed
to right our boat and finish the race. It was an exciting finish
because we still didn’t come in last.
Through sailing I met lots of new people I know I will see
again. Sailing is a great summer activity because you’re on the
water, getting stronger, being with your friends, and competing against others.
I have taken many of my friends out on my boat, and
they love it. My friend Giovanna started two years ago, and
now she competes and does well. As for me, this is my sixth
year, and I have won many regattas and can’t wait until this
summer. ✎
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M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
15
interviews
Actor Lucas Grabeel
Was “High School Musical” your first big role?
I started acting when I was 12. The first thing I did
was a musical called “Secret Garden.” Once I got on
stage and saw the audience, I realized this was what I
wanted to do for the rest of my life so I ended up
from then on doing everything I could to get there.
I came [to LA] in 2003. I was extremely fortunate
to start working very soon doing some national
commercials to start out, and then my first film was
“Halloweentown High” for The Disney Channel. I
shot that in Salt Lake City as well as “High School
Musical,” so I have a nice little family down there
now. [Laughs] Obviously “High School Musical” is
the biggest thing.
Did you ever attend acting school?
No. I actually never even took a
drama class in high school because I
didn’t want to. I was in all of the school
musicals, but choir was more my thing.
It was a better department.
What was a typical day like while you were
working on “High School Musical”?
When we started, we were in rehearsal so I would
roll out of bed, stretch and play with [Director]
Kenny Ortega and the choreographers and just have
fun all day working really hard. I’ve never sweat so
much in my life doing those dance rehearsals. It was
hot – we were in a school, in a gym – dancing all day
long but at the same time getting to know everybody,
which was really nice.
Once we started filming I’d wake up and the driver
would take me to the set and we would shoot. There
was a lot of waiting around, and we got to learn more
about each other and have fun. And afterward I
would go back to the hotel and soak my whole body
in the bath because I was so sore and then just chill
for the rest of the night.
“My goal now
is to do
independent
films”
“High School Musical” has gotten so
big there’s even going to be a Broadway show. How do you feel about
that?
It’s pretty crazy and weird. My drama teacher
called my mom and told her that my high school is
going to put on “High School Musical” this year, and
when I talked to the directors at the two community
theaters I went to, they were both doing it too.
Are you going to go back and help or give them
some ideas?
I doubt it because honestly I don’t think they
should do it. I don’t have anything against my high
school or community theaters. I’ve gone back a few
times and taught a couple classes for the theater and
did some fundraisers for their performing troop there.
What’s a typical day like when you’re
not working?
It’s very weird because my life is either
extremely busy or really not. So on the
days when I don’t have anything, I wake
up late, check my e-mail, and listen to
music all day long. If I’m not listening to
music I’m playing it, or maybe drawing or painting,
stuff like that. Mainly hanging out at my apartment.
Is there a way for your fans to contact you
online, like MySpace?
No MySpace. I do have a website. It’s something
that my friends and I made as a joke. And then it
ended up being a big deal and now there are tons of
people on it.
Do you look at blogs like those on IMDB?
I did and that was the main reason I started the
website. The forum has 600 users or something
like that. Every time I check it I have like 1,162
messages, so it’s hard to check them all.
Actor
Zac Efron
Are you excited to film
the next “High School
Musical”?
Yeah, I can’t wait to get
back. I’m not sure where
we’re going to be filming,
but we’re probably going back
to Utah. It was a blast and hopefully we
can have it happen again.
Zac Efr
on
and Ja
y Tenam
What’s it like working with Kenny Ortega?
The man is an absolute genius. It’s so fun to work with him. The energy he
provides is enough to feed off of for months. It’s great.
Do you and the cast members hang out outside of work?
Yeah, a little more than the average. You normally hear about people who
come to work on movies and then don’t hear from each other for five years, but
we see each other probably a little too much. [Laughs] We are all best friends
and are together all the time.
What advice would you give someone who wants to be an actor?
I would say go out and get into theater because that’s where you have the most
fun and it’s a great place to learn. Get out there, do theater, see if you like it, and
if you enjoy the experience, keep at it. Who knows where it will take you.
16
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
Interviews and photography by Jay Tenam, Syosset, NY
“High School Musical” star Lucas Grabeel
at a premiere you’ll turn away when you
appear onscreen?
No. But for me the craft or the art or however you
define acting is the job and the process and working
on set. No one else but me and people there get to see
that. And it’s sad because that’s the most important
part for me. And all this other stuff afterward comes
with it sometimes.
After wrapping “High School Musical,” I didn’t
care if it turned out to be the worst movie in the
world. I had an amazing experience shooting it, with
all the memories and the experiences.
I just don’t like hearing myself and watching
myself and I obviously am my worst critic. [Laughs]
During the filming at the school, were kids lining up at the gate to see what was happening?
No, all they knew was that it was for the Disney
Is your family supportive of
Channel. Even we thought we were just filming
your acting?
another Disney Channel original movie, and we were
Yes, extremely. My
having an awesome time. We never thought
mom is an entertainer at
anything like this would happen.
“If I’m not thatWhen
heart, even though she
we were making the first movie,
didn’t go into it profeswe had no idea there was going to be a
listening
to
sionally. She’s always been
sequel. I mean, people were talking, and I
that kind of person.
music, I’m was like, “No way – that’s not going to
I’ve been very fortunate
happen.” The last day of shooting we were
playing it” doing “We’re All in This Together,” and I
to have a whole city supporting me. Everyone was
was thinking, This is the last time I’m going
always there wanting to help. I
to do this dance and sing this song. Little did I know
actually had a benefit show for myself
I would be doing it 100,000 times more. [Laughs]
before moving out to LA. [Laughs]
Everyone showed up and it was great. What type of training did you do for Ryan?
I just thought a lot about my own high school
Did you film “HSM” in an actual
experience. Ryan is a spawn of every horrible theater
school?
person I ever met back home. I thought of different
Yeah. We filmed in East High and
movies and put those characters together to make
Murray High. We changed the decor.
Ryan.
They had the same school colors but
weren’t the Wildcats. They were the
What cast member are you the closest with?
Cougars or something. But the mascot
As far as hitting it off, it is Monique Coleman. I
on the gym floor is actually their cat,
think one reason is because we were the oldest. It’s
not a Wildcat.
not like everyone else is much younger – it’s just,
I’m an old soul and I’ve always grown up with
How do you feel watching
people who are older, so I act like an old man all
yourself on TV?
the time. The funny thing is, I hear that from my
I don’t watch. I hate it.
friends. [Laughs]
Monique is a really cool girl. And [I’m friends
I know a lot of stars feel that
with] Chucky – who was one of the choreographers
way, but is it to the point where
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What advice would you give to aspiring actors
and actresses?
If you’re young, start five minutes ago and do as
much as you can to get yourself prepared. Take an
acting class or a dance class. Get involved and experience life. Travel. Do different things and try different
hobbies. As an actor you’ll have so many things as
possibilities to do as a job.
Working at Blockbuster when I was younger helped
me before I became an actor. I can’t complain about
Blockbuster … it’s retail. I’m sure you’ve heard
Ashley [Tisdale] say she worked in retail too. I’m
glad, though, that my first job was at a restaurant so
every time I go to one I know how to treat the server
and respect everyone who works there because I know
what it’s like. I know every time I walk into a retail
store that I’m not going to mess stuff up on the
shelves because that was my biggest pet peeve.
Things like that are what make you a better person.
So I’m glad that I got to work at that kind of job for a
long time. It builds character.
wanted to mold Ryan into,
simply because I’m new to
the business. It was making
sure what I have going on in
my head was what was going
on screen.
Actress
Vanessa Hudgens
Are you excited to film the next “High School Musical”?
Yeah, I can’t wait. It’s just so fun to be here with everybody and
knowing I’m going to be working with them soon.
Do you think because you
are so down to earth it will
So you hang out with the
be harder for you to deal
cast all the time?
with all the fakes and
Of course.
phonies out there?
No. I’ve learned a lot in
What’s it like
the last three years about
working with
people and business and the
Kenny Ortega?
whole industry. It’s basically
It’s really fun.
like a roller coaster that goes
He’s like a big kid
up and down. I just have to
at heart.
stay laid-back and chill. But
there does come a point
Do you have any
when you have to be tough
idea what the
and do things that you don’t
y Tenam
and Ja
s
next
“High
School
n
e
g
d
want to do. But you go in
a Hu
Vaness
Musical” is going
with a smile and it’s over
to be about?
before you know it.
No, except I think it’s going to take place during the summer when
My goal or dream right
school’s out.
now is to slip under the radar
How do you feel being in the spotlight all the
and do independent films
time now?
that are cool and interesting
I don’t like it. Here’s the thing … I try to make the
and different. Disney has
most of it and all situations that I’m dealt because my
been an amazing platform to start from, What was it like working with Kenny Ortega?
number-one goal in life above career,
Kenny is one of those brilliant artists whose mind is
and they have been so good to me. I
family, and spirituality/religion is
“We
thought
always
moving. To the normal person he would seem
can’t
complain.
But
I
also
don’t
want
to
happiness. That’s all I want.
scatterbrained and crazy, but that’s because he has so
be
making
kids’
movies
for
the
rest
of
I’m thrown in a situation where I
we were just
much stuff going on in his head. It’s a dream to work
my life. I am so much older than I look,
am in the spotlight. I’m going to
with someone like that. We were so lucky to have him
make it good and I’m going to make
filming another so I want to push that along.
direct our little film, and he turned it into what it
myself happy from it. I’m different in
Disney Channel Was it hard to memorize your
became today.
the fact that I don’t look for things
lines?
like that.
original movie”
No, I’ve been memorizing lines since What’s it like working with such a great cast
I don’t walk around malls looking
and crew?
I
was
12, doing theater where you have
to be recognized. It’s just not imporIt’s a gift. I’ve worked on some bad sets, though
to remember two and a half hours of lines. Yeah,
tant to me. What is important is my art and my
I have been fortunate to work on mostly good sets.
when I first started it was hard, but the more you
happiness and my family and my friends – those
“Return to Halloweentown” we shot this past
practice, the faster you become at it. Now I can
things that aren’t tangible. I don’t need free stuff, big
summer also in Salt Lake City and also for the
memorize a 10-page script in 15 minutes. I don’t
cars or expensive houses. None of that matters to me.
Disney Channel, so I’m three for three in both.
know how it happens, but after you look at the
I want to do my art, I want to be an actor, and I want
[Laughs] Going back there and everyone knowing
format
of
a
script
for
memorization
purposes
only,
to have people around me who support me.
who you are and what you’re like and accepting you
you
start
picking
it
up.
So fame is something you have to deal with that
with open arms was great because you work so much
comes with the job of being an actor in Hollywood.
quicker, better, and you’re happier the whole time.
What’s your reaction when people come up to
It’s dealing with people talking your picture and
If you’re happy on set you will make a good product;
you on the street?
asking you silly questions, but that’s all part of it.
if you’re not, it’s up in the air. ✎
The first time, I didn’t realize they were coming up
You’ve got to make the most of it and try to have fun.
to me. I was like, what’s going on? People would turn
You have to put on a smiley face, shake hands, and do
and do that whole face and I was like, “What famous
your little two-minute interviews.
person is here? Who are they looking at? Oh me!”
Last night was a perfect example of a bad situation,
[Laughs] But the fact that it’s kids makes it all the
and you try to make some good come out of it. There
better. If a young person is going to come up to me
were screaming girls all around, I couldn’t hear a
and be excited and want a picture or an autograph,
word anyone was saying onstage, and I was just kind
I’m more than happy to do it.
of like “Aaah!” I would never choose to do that, but I
had fun because I was hanging out with cool people
After filming a movie, does it come out
like you, Zac, Ashley, Vanessa, and the rest of the
differently than you expect?
guys. I made the best of it.
Oh, yeah, completely. “High School Musical” is a
prime
example. We had so much footage of those
Do you have a favorite TV show?
dance numbers, you never knew which they would
I don’t watch a lot of TV, but I rent episodes. My
pick. We spent two and a half days shooting “Stick to
favorite drama of all time is “Six Feet Under.” And
the Status Quo” and two and a half days shooting
the show “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” is
“We’re All in This Together,” and they’re 14-hour
really great.
days. I think we shot 8,000 feet of film before lunch
one day. It was insane because we had three cameras
What was the hardest thing for you in “High
going and tons of people everywhere.
School Musical”?
The hardest thing was figuring out what character I
interviews
and also had a small role on the basketball team. He is
25, but he’s just like a kid inside, so we had a lot of
fun hanging out.
Lucas Grabeel and Jay Tenam
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M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
17
you&your health
Baked or Fried?
exposed to the sun. Not so, according to Dr. David
h, the joys of summer: no school, getting
Leffell, a professor at Yale University who specialtogether with friends, the familiar jingle of
izes in dermatology and is author of the book
the ice cream truck, and long days in the
Total Skin. He believes that tanning salons “should
warm sun. But those golden sunbeams are doing
absolutely be avoided,” and considers them “dangermore damage than you think. UV rays can cause
ous for young people because they can get excessive
melanoma, a type of skin cancer that is more severe
UV exposure.”
than squamous cell or basal cell skin cancer. Sadly,
You can prevent this from happening to you.
it is not uncommon. More than 50,000 people in
The best way to avoid melanoma is to reduce the
the United States are diagnosed with melanoma
amount of time you spend in the sun. This is espeeach year. Fortunately, if you take the right precially important between 10 a.m. and
cautions, you can avoid this ugly disease
4 p.m., when the sun is most powerful.
altogether.
Anyone
Going out cannot be completely avoided,
Melanoma can occur when the skin is
though, so when you are outside, make
exposed to too much UV light. The light
can get
sure you wear plenty of sunscreen, even if
causes melanocytes (a type of skin cell)
just for 20 minutes. “Look for labels
to mutate and create an excess amount of
melanoma it’s
that say SPF 30 and ‘broad spectrum,’”
melanin (the chemical that gives skin its
advises Dr. Leffell. Broad spectrum
color). This is why you appear tan after a
means that the sunscreen protects against UVA waves
day at the beach. Unfortunately, these abnormal
as well as the more common UVB, both of which
melanocytes are also likely to be cancerous, so every
contribute to skin cancer. Reapply the sunscreen
time you go out in the sun without sufficient protecthroughout the day, every two to three hours, as well
tion, you are putting yourself at risk.
as right after you swim, since no sunscreen is waterAnyone can get melanoma, though some people
proof, just water-resistant. This might sound like a
are at greater risk. If you have fair skin and light
hassle, but it’s a small price to pay to keep your skin
eyes, a family history of melanoma, experienced
healthy and cancer-free.
severe sunburns as a teen, or had melanoma in the
If you are diagnosed with melanoma, you need
past, you are especially likely to be diagnosed with
to get treatment right away. Melanoma in its early
it. Many people fall into at least one of these catestages can be treated with surgery alone, depending
gories, but they still put themselves at risk. Some use
on the age and health of the patient. But, if the
tanning salons, thinking that this is safer than being
A
I Am a Donor
H
ave you ever wanted to be a superhero? If
you have the word “donor” on your driver’s
license or permit, you may just get to be one.
Knowing you can save lives by simply checking a
box on a piece of paper is a great feeling. The day I
went to the Public Safety Building in my small town,
I knew I was making a life-changing decision.
Grandma
Grandma told me it was cold today,
that she’d seen the neighbors,
that she needed to go home.
But she’d been here forever,
confined in a chair
that tells her she’s there to stay.
So she laughs
as she walks through her brain,
and calls for a son
who won’t come back.
And she tells me her mother
is waiting at home.
Somewhere this is true –
Grandma just doesn’t know it yet.
Grandma slept today.
And she was silent,
something she’s never done before.
When she wakes
she stares at the tablecloth,
not telling me about her day,
not fighting to stand on her own.
Grandma’s dreaming
of a place where her mother stands
and her son will come
when she calls.
by Alyssa Tucker, Moses Lake, WA
18
by Gillian Christian, Fairfield, CT
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
condition goes untreated, it “can be very severe and
even deadly,” warns Dr. Leffell. Once melanoma
spreads beyond the skin to other organs (such as the
lungs or liver), it becomes much more lethal.
Don’t let melanoma happen to you. Why would
you, when it is so easily preventable? By taking
precautions now, during the first 18 years of your
life, you can reduce your risk of skin cancer by 78
percent. Perhaps Danielle, an eighth-grader whose
grandfather died from melanoma, put it best: “While
it’s ‘totally hot’ to have that olive skin tone, is it
really worth it?” ✎
Photo by Kristen Vogler, No. Easton, MA
by Emmy Miller, Cannon Falls, MN
donor, but as an EMT, he has saved many lives. He is
In November 2008, I applied for my driving pernow a nurse in a local emergency room.
mit. A lady started to explain what being a donor
Organ, tissue, and other transplants save up to
meant, and I immediately checked the box. I clearly
500,000 people each year. My cousin
understood that being a donor is about
Nikki had leukemia and stomach cancer,
saving lives when your life can’t be
Will you save and she went though many procedures and
saved. I have experienced tragedies, and
before she died at 16. Without
some of those people who died could
someone’s life transplants
those donations and transplants she would
have been saved by an organ, blood,
not have lived for the five years after her
bone marrow, or other transplant proceone day?
diagnosis – four years more than she had
dures. Saving a life is a personal goal of
been given by the doctors. Nikki was
mine. When I can’t live any longer, I
given hope by donations from strangers.
want to help as many people as possible. Will you
Don’t just sit back and relax – make a difference.
save someone’s life one day?
Become a donor, be a superhero, save lives. ✎
Transplant: this word may sound scary, but you
can choose to think of it as saving a life. Organs
such as the liver, kidneys, pancreas, heart, lungs,
and small intestines are transplanted every day. The
most important issue in transplants is matching the
donor and recipient. Blood type and organ size are
the two biggest factors in a transplant, along with
the health of both people, according to the website
Transplant Living.
When you hear the word donation, what do you
think of? Most people picture money, food, or blood.
Donating blood can save lives. But just one organ or
tissue donor can save the lives of more than 100.
Tissue donations include bone marrow, tendons,
corneas, veins, heart valves, and skin.
Making a blood donation is most common, and
when I turn 16, I am going to donate blood. I also
plan to donate marrow in case someone close to me
or any patient needs it. Please help save a life too.
Ever since I was a child, I’ve always wanted to
make a difference. When I was three, I was run over
by a car. The tires went over my head. My parents
were terrified, not knowing how things were going
to play out. After my accident, my father became a
superhero by training to be an EMT. He is also a
Art by Nina Gokhale, Nashville, TX
COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH
T
My Bus
F
by Sam Hill, Dixmont, ME
or the last 11 years, I’ve ridden
the bus to and from school almost every day. Occasionally,
my parents would surprise me with a
ride that required a seat belt, but the
majority of my transportation took
place on that yellow tank. Over the
years I’ve had my fair share of opinions about that bus – from love to hate.
But like anything you do for two hours
every day, it’s bound to have some
effect on you.
In kindergarten and first grade, I was
always envious of the children who got
to ride home with their parents. It just
wasn’t fair that they left school earlier,
while the rest of us had to wait for the
Sunday
Accent
in my car I am
a rock star –
musical legend.
playing the gas pedal with my foot,
(accelerate)
the bass pedal of a drum
(brake)
slamming hands on the
steering wheel,
smashing cymbals.
singing with windows down,
my microphone to the world.
maybe the wind will
carry my words to your ears.
slam into you at
seventy miles per hour.
by Jennifer Gates, Hopatcong, NJ
young adults and older adults tended to show deficits
in performance. They made more errors in detecting
important changes and they took longer to react to the
changes.” So even with hands-free devices, you are
still at risk of causing an accident and injuring or
killing yourself or others.
The most troubling question of all is, will a law
make a difference? Or will drivers ignore it? A law
won’t eliminate the problem but perhaps it will raise
awareness that cell-phone use while driving isn’t
smart. If more people understand the risks, maybe
they will be less likely to use their phones while
driving.
Every year 42,000 people die in automobile accidents. Two thousand six hundred of those are because
someone was using a cell phone. Many of those deaths
could have been prevented. So think twice next time
you consider calling about your haircut on Tuesday
while you’re driving. Think again before texting a
friend to say hello while you’re speeding down the
highway. Think about the people on the road –
mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, yourself – whose
lives you are risking. If we stop cell phone use while
driving, many lives could be saved each year. Two
thousand six hundred, to be exact. ✎
DRIVING
phone were 12 percent slower at reacting to brake
wo thousand six hundred. That’s the estimated
lights and took 17 percent longer to regain speed after
number of people killed every year by autothey braked. The use of cell phones impacts the overmobile accidents involving cell phones. Howall flow of traffic, slowing it down. As you can see,
ever, research is limited. The actual number could
talking on a cell phone really does negatively affect
very well be 8,000. People die every day just because
your driving.
other drivers decide they need to send a text, make a
Five states – California, Connecticut, New Jersey,
call, or answer the phone while driving.
New York, and Washington – and the
Cell-phone use while operating an
District of Columbia have banned
automobile should be banned. The
Drivers on cell
handheld phone use by drivers, but that
number of people who have died and
means 45 states haven’t.
those who die every day because of
phones are less
Then there’s the debate about
cell phones distracting drivers is
hands-free
devices. Are they safe to
outrageous. And that’s just fatalities.
skilled than those use? The scientists
who conducted
Nonfatal injuries are a hundred times
more common: approximately
under the influence the cell-phone safety study “found
that even hands-free cell-phone use
330,000 per year. The number killed
distracted drivers … Drivers look but
and injured for no good reason is
don’t see, because they’re distracted by the conversamuch more than what it should be: zero.
tion,” wrote Britt in LiveScience. Drivers are too preThese accidents could be prevented and all of these
occupied with their conversations to react to everyday
lives saved. “Chatty motorists are less adept than
occurrences such as braking at stop lights, stop signs,
drunken drivers with blood alcohol levels exceeding
yield signs, etc.
0.08,” Robert Roy Britt wrote in LiveScience, citing a
Another research group conducted a similar experirecent study. This means that drivers on cell phones
ment in Illinois. “With younger adults, everything got
are less skilled than people who are under the influworse,” said Arthur Kramer, who led the study. “Both
ence. According to the study, drivers using a cell
FOCUS
by Lisa DiBona, Cumberland, RI
FOCUS
Stop Talking, Start Driving
everything by simply pressing a button.
bus at the end of the day. I hated riding
I could experiment with music genres
the bus since none of my friends did,
and find out what my ears preferred.
and my bus was the last one to leave
My bus was a music lounge.
and had the longest route. And it just
Eighth grade was full of rough rides.
so happens I was dropped of dead last.
A friend died and other friends were
My bus was hell.
inflicting pain upon themselves for
A year later, my mother started
reasons unknown to me. There were
babysitting a few kids from my school
many people on my bus who were
as well as being our cub scout leader,
directly involved with my hardships,
so there were boys my age riding the
and there were others who had heard
bus a couple of times a week. They
about them and only wished me the
were kids I enjoyed. So every day on
best. I could talk to them about what
the bus we either played Pokémon on
was happening and tell them my feelour Game Boys or debated what games
ings. It was one of the only places
we would play the next day during
where the prying ears
recess. We could talk
of teachers and parents
about how stupid all the
girls were without getThe majority of couldn’t listen. My bus
was a support group.
ting in trouble! This was
my transportation
When I first got to
where my bus riding
high school, I was
experience took a turn
took place on
scared about meeting all
for the better. My bus
was a clubhouse.
that yellow tank those new people. Luckily, half of my eighth
A few years later,
grade class was on my
most of the big kids had
bus, so I could be myself; I didn’t have
gone on to high school, and there
to make a good impression on them.
were new students on the bus, but not
We reminisced about good times. This
enough to fill the void. The bus was
comfort let me ease into a new school
quiet now, almost silent. I could think
sooner than if I had been by myself.
without being interrupted, and I liked
My bus was a circle of friends.
it. The bus was a place where I could
Later that year, I became more
get away from everything – the work I
comfortable with the upperclassmen
had to do at school and the chores at
on the bus. Being teenagers, we
home. My bus was a sanctuary.
thought everything we said was hilarFor Christmas one year, I received a
ious and deserved a hearty laugh.
CD player. I was one of the first kids in
Horrible sexual innuendos reigned
my class to get one, so I was extremely
above other humor, and inside jokes
excited. I quickly built up a sizeable
that half the bus hadn’t heard came in
CD collection. This music replaced the
a close second. Everyone was the butt
silence on the bus. Now my bus was a
of a joke. My bus was a comedy club.
haven where I could sit back and get
I am an open-minded person, and I
lost in the music. I could block out
VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW
have an opinion on almost everything.
I want the world to know what I think.
Sadly, I can’t exactly speak out whenever I want during school. So the bus is
a place where I can do that. Everyone
will listen, even if they don’t care. I
mean, what else do they have to do?
Anyone can speak out on the bus, and
we’re encouraged to do so. I can express myself safely, without fear of
being judged. My bus is my very own
soapbox.
Soon, I will be getting my driver’s
license. I’ll be able to transport myself,
instead of riding the bus, just like I
wanted when I was five. I’ll always
have the memories I made on that bus.
The bus has been good to me and I’ll
never forget it. I cannot wait to be rid
of it, but at the same time I know I’ll
miss it dearly. My bus will be a longlost friend. ✎
Photo by Cierra Woods, Odenton, MD
M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
19
FOCUS
The Automotive Landscape
DRIVING
jobs. Hyundai, a Korean company, makes the majorOPINION
ity of its cars right here. A relative newcomer (in the
n this time of a withering economy and reduced
American market since the 1980s), Hyundai had the
spending, people are more critical than ever about
reputation for making inexpensive but poorly built
who gets their money when they buy a car. Smart
and unreliable cars. However, this stereotype no
shoppers take it all into consideration: price, quality,
longer applies. New Hyundais are as good as Toyreliability, brand reputation, service, depreciation.
otas, and certainly better than any Chrysler or Chevy.
However, many buyers take none of this into considObviously, I am a big supporter of Hyundai and
eration and just buy an American car.
recommend these cars to everyone. I believe that the
In my experience, foreign cars far exceed the overkey to the company’s success is that it is never satisall quality and driving experience of domestics. Yet, I
fied with the current car models and is always findwill admit that many American car companies have
ing ways to improve. Each generation of Hyundai is
been improving. The Chevrolet Malibu, for instance,
better than the last, and I don’t see this trend ending
is miles better than its predecessor, but it’s still light
anytime soon. I still wholeheartedly
years behind a Honda Accord or
like and recommend cars from Honda,
Hyundai Sonata. After I test drove a
Subaru, Volkswagen, and many others.
We call them
new Malibu and countless other
But it’s Hyundai that impresses me
American cars, I wondered if the
domestic cars,
again and again.
people from GM or Chrysler had ever
What we need is reform in the car
even sat in an Accord. The general
but how American industry. If domestic companies have
consensus about American car interiany hope of surviving, they need to
ors is that they are flimsy, shoddily
are they?
rethink their strategies and production
built, and unattractive, both to the eye
processes. With the recent infusion of
and ergonomically.
bailout
money
from the U.S. taxpayers, domestic
When you look at the entire car market, you can
automakers have few excuses left.
see reliability as a major difference between the imGM is improving, but it has a long way to go. Cars
ports and the domestics. Year after year, without fail,
like the Cadillac CTS and Pontiac G8 are certainly a
American cars rank at the bottom for overall reliabilstep in the right direction. However, the G8 is simply
ity and quality, while companies like Honda, Toyota,
a repackaged Holden Monaro, an Australian car.
and Subaru rank at the top. It’s their commitment to
What we need is real improvement from the Ameriquality that makes these companies so successful.
can automakers to secure their future. Only time will
We call them domestic or American cars, but how
tell how they end up, but they’d better be careful.
American are they? On closer inspection, many
I have to give credit where credit is due. The
American cars aren’t built here. They’re made in
American company that has made the most improveCanada, Mexico, Japan, and even China. How can
ments and builds the best cars of the Big Three is
we support the American economy by buying a
Ford. Its most recent models are actually quite good
Chevy built in Mexico? We can’t.
and can be seen as worthy competitors in the market.
Meanwhile, foreign companies Honda, Toyota,
The new Lincoln MKS is a very nice car. Ford as a
Nissan, Suzuki, Mercedes-Benz, Subaru, and
whole still has a way to go, however. What Ford
Hyundai have factories in the U.S., bringing new
I
FOCUS
The Long Way
On the way home
This car hears my confessions.
I think tonight I’ll take the long way.
T
he CD in my car blared out the
familiar words of a song I’d
heard at least a million times.
My attention was drawn to it, like my
brain had been magnetized. It was my
escape song, and that’s what I needed
– escape.
My hands gripped the squishy skin
of the steering wheel, and I watched as
the beauty of the starry night sky was
bombarded by raindrops striking the
windshield. The light roar of my Sunfire startled my already edgy nerves.
The wind outside is biting
It has left me feeling tired and
exposed.
The car seemed to accelerate on its
own, like it could feel my pain and
frustration. I drove on what felt like a
never-ending road, unsure of where to
go, whom to run to. An eternity of
tears, falling seemingly as hard as the
rain, wet my cheeks and poured into
the sides of my mouth. The saltiness
20
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
by Ryan Schmid,
Auburn, NY
needs to do is globalize its product line, because
while its cars in America are good, its cars in Europe
and other international markets are excellent. If Ford
can phase in its European lineup here in America
(which it is beginning to do with the Fiesta in 2010),
its future will be more secure.
The current car market is seeing drastic changes,
like the rest of the business world, due to fluctuating
gas prices and a falling economy. Toyota has already
surpassed General Motors as the top automaker in
the world in sales. If American car companies have
any hope to succeed, they need to change now or
they will be nothing but dust in the rearview mirror
of the imports. ✎
Photo by James Wersackas, Lynnfield, MA
by Kayla Dyson, Cameron, WI
stung my tongue, and I reached up to
wipe them from my drowning eyes.
backbone, the support necessary for
my soul. It was the only thing keeping
me sane. It was my shoulder to cry on
It’s clouded
and a companion to whom I vented
And so is my head.
my feelings. It always listened.
Eyes swollen, I pulled over to
I turned the music up louder, hoping
breathe and question whether anyone
to mask the anger that had initiated
had even noticed I was gone. I turned
this drive. My thoughts raced, and my
on my flashers, their incessant blinkheart tried to keep up. The acoustics
ing seeking help, not from
rang clearly. I mentally
a passerby, but from God.
grasped each lyric with
car acted as an intermy temper-tainted
I pleaded for My
preter. I pleaded for help
mind and hung on the
choreographed ballet of
help and relief and relief from this mess.
After my conversation
words. I yelled at my
from this mess with The Big Guy, I
dashboard and then
turned off my flashers and
took a deep breath as if
seized my place on the
to give my car time to
road – calmer, but still in a shaky state
reassure me or give me advice. The
of mind.
inside of my car took abuse from my
The song seemed like it had been
fists and even more from my painful,
written just for me, just for nights like
angry words.
this. Every word was sung for me. The
The hint of these new tears are sharp.
singer knew everything, and now, so
I try to choke them back
did my car.
But it’s useless.
I pressed repeat, knowing that the
I am useless against them.
melody of both the song and my life
They are beating me with ease.
must repeat ceaselessly until I finally
understood their message as well as
My two-door seemed to be my
my car understood me.
On the way home
This car hears my confessions.
I think tonight I’ll take the long
way. ✎
Driven
In a lot of pain,
you bear abandonment,
waiting for familiar control.
Seeking you out,
I pace myself.
Calmly approaching your
streak-covered windows,
cracked headlights,
and quiet nature.
You’re mine,
and my mind can finally relax.
You’ll carry me through life,
over paved and dirt roads.
Surrounding me with serenity.
I adore you.
by Elizabeth Yung,
Middleburgh, NY
COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH
by Kelli Stephenson, Zebulon, NC
I
t has driven over 300,000 miles but still runs smoothly. There’s a one-armed wobbling
tiki man holding a solitary maraca affixed to the dashboard, right beside a swaying
shark playing a ukulele. Stickers plastered in the back windows loudly display a
plethora of surfing-related euphemisms and bikini-clad women.
The exterior is a shiny blue. When the windows fog up, flourishing finger paintings become visible. My signatures are prominent among them, sandwiched between hearts and
lightning bolts.
The windshield wipers don’t perform too well. Every seat
It has held
reclines, and the trunk is as spacious as any crossover SUV.
scolding parents Music blasts through speakers near the floorboards, playing
from my iPod synched to the stereo or the six-disc CD player
and glossy
under the driver’s seat.
It has traversed parking lots and rolling beaches, but right
guitars
now it rests on a gravel driveway. The sun peeks through the
trees and dances across the windshield, obscuring the invisible artwork. Papers and textbooks are strewn across the back seat, and empty soda bottles
fill the cup holders. Retracted windows allow a throbbing melody to escape.
Before I can cross the grass,
the passenger door opens. I can
feel static electricity from the
seatbelt and the fuzz of gray upholstery under my fingertips. The
all-wheel drive has no trouble
with the potholes in my driveway. It hugs the curves of the
subdivision, steady under the
sure hands on the steering wheel.
It has held scolding parents
and glossy guitars, hyperactive
siblings and abused surfboards,
sweaty teens and bagged groceries. But right now it holds
freedom. ✎
Photo by Kristine Morgan, Indianapolis, IN
Draw with Ink Used by Manga & Comic Artists
®
FOCUS
DRIVING
“O
kay, Emily, slow down now. Slow down! Brake, Emily,
brake!” These words were commonly heard in any vehicle I
was driving when I had my learner’s permit. I was told I had a
“lead foot” and that I drove like a race car driver, never slowing down until
the last possible second. However, there was one person I practiced driving
with who didn’t mind my speedy driving and last-minute braking because
he enjoys NASCAR races and drives just like I used to – my Uncle Billy.
Uncle Billy was always willing to let me slip into the driver’s seat of his
2005 Chrysler 300 with a brand-new deep blue grill. Okay, I know what
you’re thinking: Who in the world lets a 16-year-old drive an almost new
Chrysler 300? His car was his baby, and I was the only person he let drive
it – with my learner’s permit, no less. But Uncle Billy trusted me behind
the wheel, and he didn’t want to change my
style of driving, rather just tweak it.
Uncle Billy would sit in the passenger seat
He didn’t want
and help me with everything. He was so differto change my ent from my mother, who was scared to go
35. My uncle understood the need to keep
style of driving, over
up with the flow of traffic, and would let me
know what I should do without being annoying
just tweak it
or pestering. He would help me in situations
when I didn’t know what to do, and when a
driver needed to be cursed at for cutting me off, he showed me how it was
done. He was so happy to see me drive.
Sadly, last week my Uncle Billy passed away from leukemia. It was a really
hard time for me, especially every time I saw his car just sitting in the driveway. But I know he would be so proud of me, since I now have my full license
and my own car. I know how to service my car – putting air in the tires, changing the power steering fluid, checking the oil – just as he taught me.
When I think back to the times when my Uncle Billy would pick me up
from school and let me drive home, I can only be happy. He was so eager to
teach me to drive and he wanted me to be the best at it. I’ve come a long
way since my learner’s permit, and I know he couldn’t be more proud.
Whenever I drive or I see an old car, I’ll always think of Uncle Billy. ✎
My Boyfriend’s Car
FOCUS
Uncle Billy
by Emily Desimone,
Wilmington, DE
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M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
21
Teen Ink • May ’09 • Page 22
ASSUMPTION COLLEGE
5!HASARICHTRADITIONOFEXCELLENCEIN
ACADEMICSSPORTSANDSTUDENTLIFE
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Personal attention.
Engaged learning.
Explore the world.
Visit www.alma.edu to learn more about
the Alma College experience and the
students and faculty who embrace it.
"OXs4USCALOOSA!,s"!-!
www.alma.edu • 1-800-321-ALMA
Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree Programs
„ 3D Modeling and Animation
„ Multimedia/Web Design
„ Design
„ Illustration
„ Life Drawing
„ Painting
„ Watercolor Painting
American Academy of Art
332 S. Michigan Ave.
Chicago, IL 60604-4302
312-461-0600
Visit us @ www.aaart.edu
Since 1904
An independent, accredited,
four-year college of art and design
located in Cincinnati.
BFA degrees for fine artists and designers.
Our nurturing environment embraces
your uniqueness.
2895 College Drive
Bryn Athyn, PA, 19009
267-502-2511
www.brynathyn.edu
Office of Admissions
61 Sever Street, Worcester, MA 01609
1-508-373-9400 • www.beckercollege.edu
The City College
o f N e w Yo r k
Hawaii’s only Catholic university provides an excellent education in the liberal
arts tradition, offering unique programs
(e.g. Early Childhood Education,
Forensic Sciences, Interior Design)
and generous merit scholarships.
3140 Waialae Avenue
Honolulu, HI 96816-1578
800-735-4733
www.chaminade.edu
Find your future in more than
90 specializations in architecture, biomedicine, education,
engineering and liberal arts &
science at CCNY.
Convent Avenue @ 138th Street
New York, NY 10003
212-650-6981
www.ccny.cuny.edu
Liberal arts college with an emphasis
on preparing leaders in business,
government and the professions.
Best of both worlds as a member of
The Claremont Colleges. Suburban
location near Los Angeles.
890 Columbia Ave.
Claremont, CA 91711
909-621-8088
www.claremontmckenna.edu
CORNELL
U N I V E R S I T Y
CCH is the film school with focus.
You learn the whole art and the
whole business.
You graduate with a hot reel, and a
real BFA.
Come Find Your Focus.
Cornell, as an Ivy League school and a
land-grant college, combines two great
traditions. A truly American institution,
Cornell was founded in 1895 and remains a place where “any person can
find instruction in any study.”
18618 Oxnard Street, Tarzana, CA 91356
800-785-0585 • www.columbiacollege.edu
410 Thurston Avenue
Ithaca, NY 14850
607-255-5241
www.cornell.edu
For info, text 6484cch to 64842
$%,!7!2% 6!,,%9 #/,,%'%
s 5NDERGRADUATE3TUDENTS
s .ATIONALLY2ANKED!THLETICS4EAMS
s -ORETHANPROGRAMSOFSTUDY
INCLUDING#RIMINAL*USTICE"USINESS
!DMINISTRATION3MALL!NIMAL
3CIENCE%QUINE3TUDIESAND
#OUNSELING0SYCHOLOGY
$ELAWARE6ALLEY#OLLEGE
$OYLESTOWN 0!
777$%,6!,%$5s$%,6!,
For info, text 6delval to 64842
• Quality and affordable private
university
• Safe and historic campus near the
Jersey Shore
• Choose from over 30 majors
• Residential Women’s College
• 7 NCAA Division II Sports
• Coeducational University College
900 Lakewood Avenue • Lakewood, NJ 08701-2697
800.458.8422, ext. 2760 • www.georgian.edu
DUQUESNE
UNIVERSITY
"UILTON#ATHOLICEDUCATIONVALUESOF
ACADEMICEXCELLENCE $E3ALES5NIVERSITY
ISDRIVENBYDEDICATEDEDUCATORSAND
ADVISORSTHATINSPIREPERFORMANCE
3TATION!VENUE
$%3!,%3 #ENTER6ALLEY 0!
WWWDESALESEDU Earn a BA in Global Studies
while studying at our centers in
Costa Rica, China, India, Japan,
South Africa, and New York City!
9 Hanover Place, Brooklyn, NY 11201
www.liu.edu/globalcollege
718.780.4312 • [email protected]
For info, text 64gcliu to 64842
Duquesne offers more than 80
undergraduate programs, more than
140 extracurricular activities and
personal attention in an atmosphere of
moral and spiritual growth. Ranked by
US News among the most affordable
private national universities.
600 Forbes Avenue • Pittsburgh, PA 15282
(412) 396-6222 • (800) 456-0590
E-mail: [email protected]
Web: www.admissions.duq.edu
Hamilton College is a national
leader for teaching students
to write effectively,
learn from each other
and think for themselves.
Writing resources from a writing college:
www.hamilton.edu/teenink
ÎÎÎ
500 Salisbury
Worcester,
500 St.,
Salisbury
StreetMA 01609
1-866-477-7776
Worcester, MA 01609
www.assumption.edu
1-866-477-7776
www.artacademy.edu • 800-323-5692
1212 Jackson Street • Cincinnati, OH 45202
For www.assumption.edu
info, text 648acma to 64842
BURLINGTON
URLINGTON
C
COLLEGE
OLLEGE
Carleton
College
E
arn a B.A. on or
A religiously-affiliated liberal arts
college located just outside of
Philadelphia offering an outstanding
and truly personalized academic
experience grounded in an
environment of faith.
• Small New England College founded in 1784
• Welcoming atmosphere, easy to make friends
• Every incoming fulltime student receives a
laptop computer
• Thorough preparation for a career-targeted job
• We place 95% of our students in jobs upon
graduation
• Academic Excellence in the rich,
Catholic intellectual tradition
World Class Faculty in Small Classes
averaging 20 students
Quality of Life in a 90%
Residential Community
Earn a B.A.
on or off-campus,
off-campus, develop
develop
y o u r your
o w n own
m a j o rmajor,
,
a t t eclasses
n d c l a s s eat
s a The
t T h e Film
attend
Film School, become
School,
become a civically
a civically engaged
engaged
citizen,
citizen, and and
muchmuch
more.more.
bu
u rr ll ii n
n gg tt o
on
n .. ee d
d u
u
b
80
00
0 // 8
86
62
2 -- 9
96
61
16
6
8
For info, text 6burcol to 64842
CVA is a private, accredited, four-year college
of art and design offering Bachelor of Fine Arts
degrees in graphic design/interactive, illustration,
photography, drawing/painting, sculpture, and
interdisciplinary art and design studies.
College of
Visual Arts
344 Summit Avenue
Saint Paul, Minnesota
55102
651.224.3416
CVA
w w w.cva.edu
Dartmouth
A member of the Ivy League and
widely recognized for the depth,
breadth, and flexibility of its undergraduate program, Dartmouth offers
students an extraordinary opportunity
to collaborate with faculty in the pursuit of their intellectual aspirations.
6016 McNutt Hall
Hanover, NH 03755
603-646-2875
www.dartmouth.edu
rSmall seminar-based classroom setting
rInterdisciplinary curriculum focusing
on social sciences, humanities, arts and
sciences
rLocated in the historic Greenwich Village
neighborhood of New York City.
r880 students from 43 states and 13
countries
www.newschool.edu/lang
Fostering creativity and academic excellence since 1854.
Thrive in our environment of
personalized attention and in
the energy of the Twin Cities.
1536 Hewitt Avenue
Saint Paul, MN 55104
800-753-9753
www.hamline.edu
A national liberal arts college of
1700 students, located 35 miles
south of Minneapolis/St. Paul.
Distinguished in humanities and
science education, 60 percent of
students study abroad.
Admissions Office
Carleton College
Northfield, Minnesota 55057
1-800-995-2275
www.carleton.edu
Columbia College
Chicago
Learn to Write: Fiction Writing Department
Learn skills to help you
publish fiction, creative nonfiction
and scripts and to succeed in a
wide range of jobs – at one of
America’s premier writing programs
600 S. Michigan Chicago, IL 60605
[email protected]
www.colum.edu
Preparing students with individual
learning styles for transfer to
four-year colleges.
15 majors including two B.A.
programs in Arts & Entertainment
Management and Dance.
99 Main Street
Franklin, MA 02038
www.dean.edu
877-TRY DEAN
Fordham offers
offers the
the distinctive
distinctive Jesuit
Fordham
Jesuit
philosophy of education, marked
philosophy of education, marked
by excellent teaching, intellectual
byinquiry
excellent
teaching,
intellectual
and
care of the
whole
inquiry
care of of
thethe
whole
student,
in and
the capital
world.
student,
in the capital of the world.
www.fordham.edu/tink
For info, text 6FRDHAM to 64842
Harvard offers 6,500 undergraduates an
education from distinguished faculty in
more than 40 fields in the liberal arts as
well as engineering and applied science.
8 Garden Street
Cambridge, MA 02138
617-495-1551
www.harvard.edu
Teen Ink • May ’09 • Page 23
A challenging private university
for adventurous students
seeking an education with
global possibilities.
Get Where You
Want To Go
www.hpu.edu/teenink
For info, text 64HPU4U to 64842
A leading liberal arts college,
where writers thrive (together with
artists, scientists, and other
lovers of learning).
Office of Admissions
Ransom Hall, Kenyon College
Gambier, Ohio 43022-9623
1-800-848-2468
[email protected]
www.kenyon.edu
Mount Holyoke is a highly
selective liberal arts college for
women, recognized worldwide for
its rigorous academic program,
its global community, and
its legacy of women leaders.
MOUNT HOLYOKE COLLEGE
50 College Street, South Hadley, MA 01075
www.mtholyoke.edu
Hofstra University can help you
get where you want to go, with
small classes, dedicated faculty
and an energized campus.
hofstra.edu • 1-800-HOFSTRA
[email protected]
Academic excellence
and global perspective in one
of America‘s most “livable”
metropolitan areas.
1000 Grand Avenue
St. Paul, MN 55105
800-231-7974
www.macalester.edu
rA faculty consisting of 70+ worldrenowned jazz artists.
rStrong emphasis on small group
performance.
rPriceless experience in clubs,
performance halls, and recording studios
in New York City.
my.ithaca.edu
100 Job Hall 953 Danby Road Ithaca, NY 14850
800-429-4272 www.ithaca.edu/admission
For more information call
1-800-847-PACE
or email [email protected]
www.pace.edu
Talent teaches talent in Pratt’s writing
BFA for aspiring young writers.
Weekly discussions by guest writers
and editors. Nationally recognized
college for the arts. Beautiful residential campus minutes from Manhattan.
200 Willoughby Avenue
Brooklyn, NY 11205
800-331-0834 • 718-636-3514
email: [email protected]
www.pratt.edu
Hands-on learning from industry-experienced
faculty
Co-ops and internships built into the curriculum
Johnson & Wales plans to award $105 million in
financial aid in the 2008-2009 acdemic year
Four campuses: R.I., Fla., Colo. and N.C.
Johnson & Wales University
8 Abbott Park Place
Providence, RI 02903
1-800-DIAL-JWU
www.jwu.edu
BELIEVE.
PREPARE.
CONNECT.
SERVE.
The World Awaits.
www.newschool.edu/mannes
Ohio Northern is a comprehensive
university of liberal arts and professional
programs offering more than 3,600
students over 70 majors in the colleges of
Arts & Sciences, Business Administration,
Engineering, Pharmacy and Law.
Office of Admissions
Ada, OH 45810
1-888-408-4668
www.onu.edu/teen
Palmer College is where
chiropractic began
Three campuses to choose from –
Iowa, California, Florida
Natural, drug-free,
non-surgical health care
Graduate-level program leading
to a Doctor of Chiropractic degree
www.palmer.edu
Princeton
degrees that work.
BACHELOR X ASSOCIATE X CERTIFICATE
Degree programs in business, culinary arts,
hospitality and technology
rWorld-renowned faculty
rSmall classes
rPersonal attention
rInternational student body
rNew York City location
www.newschool.edu/jazz
Pace University offers talented and
ambitious students the opportunity to
discover their potential and realize their
dreams. Campuses in New York City and
Pleasantville, NY.
Experience the Power of Pace.
Choose from more than
100 career fields.
www.pct.edu/ink
Located in New York’s stunning Finger Lakes
region, Ithaca College provides a first-rate
education on a first-name basis. Its Schools of
Business, Communications, Health Sciences
and Human Performance, Humanities and Sciences, and Music and its interdisciplinary
division offer over 100 majors.
University
Princeton simultaneously strives to be one
of the leading research universities and
the most outstanding undergraduate college in the world. We provide students
with academic, extracurricular and other
resources, in a residential community
committed to diversity.
Excellent Programs.
Programs.
Excellent
Outstanding Facility.
Outstanding
Faculty.
Affordable Cost.
Cost.
Affordable
337 College Hill
Johnson, VT 05656-9898
1-802-635-2356
WWW.JSC.EDU
A visual arts college north of Boston
where creativity and independence
thrive through choice, connection
and community. BFA and Diploma
programs. Founded by artists to
educate artists.
www.montserrat.edu • 800.836.0487
[email protected]
MyMarywood.com
For info, text 6484mca to 64842
· Over 40 undergraduate programs
• Nationally ranked liberal arts college
• Self-designed and interdepartmental majors
• Small classes taught by distinguished faculty
• 100+ campus organizations
• 23 NCAA Division III sports
• A tradition of service-learning
offered with Dual Admissions into
graduate and professional schools
· Located in Fort Lauderdale, FL
· New state-of-the-art Performing
and Visual Arts facilities
www.nova.edu/admissions
(800) 338-4723
Located in New York City,
Parsons’ rigorous programs
and distinguished faculty
embrace curricular innovation
and global perspectives in
design. Programs in all art
and design disciplines.
61 S. Sandusky St. • Delaware, OH 43015
800-922-8953 • www.owu.edu
For info, text 6484owu to 64842
Central Pennsylvania’s only
professional art college, offering
BFA programs in fine arts, graphic
design, illustration, and
photography.
Where art becomes opportunity
www.newschool.edu/parsons
A picturesque New England campus,
offering programs in Business,
Communications, Health, Liberal Arts,
Education and Law. Located
mid-way between New York City
and Boston with Division I athletics.
Consistently rated among the top
Master’s level Colleges in the North
in U.S. News and World Report.
275 Mt. Carmel Avenue
Hamden, CT 06518
1.800.462.1944
Princeton, NJ 08544
(609) 258-3060
www.princeton.edu
www.quinnipiac.edu
2o4 North Prince Street
Lancaster, PA 176o8-oo59
1-8oo-689-o379 • www.pcad.edu
ST. MARY’S
UNIVERSITY
• Personal attention to help you excel
• Powerful programs to challenge you to
think in new ways
• No limits to where St. Mary’s
can take you
One Camino Santa Maria
San Antonio, TX 78228-8503
800-367-7868
www.stmarytx.edu
SlipperyRock
A culturally diverse urban, studentcentered, Catholic university, dedicated
to educating leaders who contribute to
the economic and cultural vitality.
16401 NW 37th Avenue
Miami Gardens, FL 33054
800-367-9010
www.stu.edu
For info, text 6484stu to 64842
University
Develop your creative mind in BFA
and BA programs emphasizing
independence, experimentation, and
the development of personal vision.
The interdisciplinary environment
combines studio and liberal arts.
SRU provides a Rock Solid education.
Located just 50 miles north of Pittsburgh, the University is ranked number five in America as a Consumer’s
Digest “best value” selection for academic quality at an affordable price.
800 Chestnut Street
San Francisco, CA 94133
800.345.SFAI
www.sfai.edu
1 Morrow Way, Slippery Rock, PA 16057
800.SRU.9111 • www.sru.edu
For info text 64srupa to 64842
75 years of keeping Hands-on in Higher Education
Training Pilots and Technicians for
aviation and related industries since
1928. Call or log on today and begin
your flight to a successful career!
Licensed by:
OBPVS
8820 East Pine St.
Tulsa, OK, 74115
800-331-1204
www.spartan.edu
A distinguished faculty, an
innovative curriculum and
outstanding undergraduates offer
unparalleled opportunities for
intellectual growth on a beautiful
California campus.
Mongtag Hall – 355 Galves St.
Stanford, CA 94305
650-723-2091
www.stanford.edu
Teen Ink • May ’09 • Page 24
SWARTHMORE
Suffolk University, located in vibrant
downtown Boston, offers over 80 areas
of study, providing students with the
skills and experience they need to
achieve lasting success.
A liberal arts college of 1,500
students near Philadelphia, Swarthmore
is recognized internationally for its
climate of academic excitement and
commitment to bettering the world.
A college unlike any other.
www.suffolk.edu
500 College Ave.
Swarthmore, PA 19081
800-667-3110
www.swarthmore.edu
Undergruate Admission 800-6SUFFOLK
8 ASHBURTON PLACE, BOSTON, MA 02108
THE UNIVERSITY OF THE ARTS®
Located on the vibrant Avenue
of the Arts in Philadelphia,
The University of the Arts is
devoted exclusively to the study
of the visual, performing, and
media arts.
TM
The University of the Arts®
320 South Broad Street
Philadelphia, PA 19102
800-616-ARTS (2787)
P. O. Box 7150
Colorado Springs, CO 80933-7150
www.uarts.edu
Earn a world-renowned degree in a
personalized environment. Work with
professors who will know your name
and your goals. Choose from 41
majors and many research, internship
and study-abroad opportunities.
1-800-990-8227
you can
go
www.upb.pitt.edu
• 1-800-872-1787
Bradford, PA 16701
www.uccs.edu
www.upb.pitt.edu • 1-800-872-1787
Bradford, PA 16701
beyond
For info, text 6upittb to 64842
7),+%35.)6%23)49
A medium-sized university, the
University of Rhode Island offers both the
resources of a larger research institution and
the friendly, comfortable atmosphere of a
traditional New England college.
Newman Hall
Kingston, RI 02881
401-874-7100 • www.uri.edu
For info, text 6484uri to 64842
Private, Catholic, liberal arts college
founded in 1871 by the Ursuline Sisters.
Offers over 30 undergraduate majors and
9 graduate programs. The only womenfocused college in Ohio and one of few
in the United States. Ursuline teaches
the empowerment of self.
2550 Lander Rd. Pepper Pike, OH 44124
1-888-URSULINE • www.ursuline.edu
e
At Westminster College, you'll engage
in a full college experience.
Reach your fullest potential –
Inside the classroom. And out.
Visit us and
turn YOUR college thinking inside out.
501 Westminster Avenue
Fulton, MO 65251
800-475-3361 • www.westminster-mo.edu
,OCATEDINTHEBEAUTIFUL.ORTHEASTERN
0ENNSYLVANIA7ILKESISANINDEPENDENT
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4AKEATOURATWWWAROUNDWILKESCOM
WWWWILKESEDU
7EST3OUTH3TREET
7ILKES"ARRE0!\7),+%35
Yale College, the undergraduate body of
Yale University, is a highly selective liberal
arts college enrolling 5,200 students in
over 70 major programs. Residential life is
organized around Residential Colleges
where students live and eat.
P.O. Box 208234
New Haven, CT 06520
203-432-9300
www.yale.edu
Join the growing community
of teen writers and artists
BROKEN BRIDGE
SUMMER ARTS WORKSHOPS
for high school students, grades 9-12
POETRY
FICTION
ACTING
DRAWING
SCULPTURE
DANCE
June 21 – 30, 2009
Lin
ka
Your
Link to
wri your ll
your
art ting
articles
wo &
rk posted daily favorites
at Pomfret School in Pomfret, Connecticut
for application guidelines visit
Create a
Profile!
Tell
others
your
interests &
hobbies
supporting the arts, celebrating the mind
Find out Comment
on
how many others’
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work
votes you
received!
ive ns
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on Teen Ink
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PCS provides a college preparatory program especially designed for young
people pursuing challenging goals in the performing arts, sports or other
endeavors that may sometimes require time spent away from school.
Founded in 1914, PCS is a fully accredited, independent day school enrolling
185 students in grades 6-12. To learn more, visit our website or call our
Admissions Director, Sherrie Hinkle at 212-582-3116.
132 West 60th Street, New York, New York 10023
www.pcs-nyc.org
212-582-3116
T
www.TeenTnk.com
by Connor Carreras, Irvine, CA
*
*
*
hree hundred millimeter zoom. Black. Slightly
Eighteen millimeter wide-angle. I sit on the sofa,
bumpy ridged leather, bordered by painted
the yellowing snapshot in my hands. Ever since I took
black metal. The hard edges of the camera
up photography four years ago, my family has comreflect the industrial design of a bygone era, the early
pared me to Henry. “You’ve got Henry’s gift for phopost-war years. At the top, metal dials and knobs
tography, Connor,” they say. I hope that mine proves
protrude from the body, tiny visible screws anchoring
as lasting as his. Throughout high school, I have
them to the leather and metal. The lens zig-zags away
quietly chronicled life through the lens of my Canon
from the front of the camera, connected not by a
Digital Rebel XTi, attending most school events for
metal bolt but by a delicate leather bellows, folded
my school newspaper, camera in hand. Sometimes,
crisply. The dials – aperture, shutter speed, rangewith my camera bag slung over my shoulder, I feel
finder – gleam in the reflected light. An inscription
like Henry, tromping around Orange
etched into the soft leather reads,
County in search of the perfect photo.
“Zeiss Ikon Super Ikonta 531/2.”
“You’ve got
Today, my connection with Henry is
*
*
*
even
stronger: balanced on my lap is his
Seventy millimeter zoom. The camHenry’s gift for camera.
After years of neglect, the exteera sits, nestled under the arm of my
rior
is
not
nearly as pristine as it once
great-grandfather, Henry. The two are
photography,
was. The black paint has chipped off the
frozen in an old snapshot, fading with
Connor”
lens, the viewfinder is yellowed, the
time, yet still the quintessential portrait
rangefinder filled with dust. The faint
of photographer and equipment.
smell of my grandfather’s cigars clings to the camera.
Henry and his cameras were inseparable. ThroughSince 1994, the metal flap containing the bellows and
out his life, he toted them wherever he went, looking
lens has remained sealed.
for photo opportunities. Even in his later years, when
I push the release button and, with a snap, the belhis memory had all but disappeared and he no longer
lows
pops out, freed for the first time since Henry’s
took pictures, Henry still carried his cameras. They
death. The lens and dials are just as shiny, the bellows
were an integral part of his identity.
just as crisply folded as they were in that old photo.
We still have his photographs, some hanging
A few days ago, I took Henry’s Zeiss Ikon to a
framed on the wall, others – thousands of them –
camera store. I desperately wanted the camera to
stuffed into shoeboxes in the garage. Whenever I flip
work, hoping that years of disuse and neglect had not
through the photos, I feel a visceral connection to my
damaged it permanently. For the second time, the
family’s past, and to Henry through the art he left
bellows unfolded, the lens gleamed in the sunlight.
behind. Henry died in 1994, but his memory endures
The shop owner opened and closed the shutter, tested
through his photography.
T
the bellows for pinpricks. Finally, the verdict: “The
camera still works.”
Before leaving, I ordered rolls of 120mm film for
the camera. Soon, I hope to use it again, 53 years
after my great-grandfather bought it.
*
*
*
Three hundred millimeter zoom. Black. Slightly
bumpy ridged leather, framed by chipped, painted
black metal. But this time, the camera isn’t in an old
photograph; it’s in my lap as I sit on the sofa, connecting past to present, present to past, me to my
great-grandfather Henry. ✎
college essays
Super Ikonta
Photo by Andrea Schuchardt, Stanardsville, VA
Black Stool
by Colton Walworth, Lubbock, TX
A
black stool, as black as the night sky, stood alone. There was
nothing special about it that anyone could see. It was simply
a cheap black stool, but it was not ordinary to me. To me it
symbolized something special in my life: time spent with my brother.
Our family purchased the infamous black stool because my brother
told my parents that he must have an electric piano. And he needed
something to sit on while he played. True to my brother’s nature, he
rarely played the must-have item. And the black stool sat there reminding us of the impulsive purchase. No one ever went near it. That is until
the day my parents purchased computers for my brother and me.
When, out of the blue, my father decided to buy us computers, I knew
the people in the next town must have
heard me yelling with joy. Of course my
For the first
older brother got a much nicer and faster
time, I felt like I computer. He was even given a new computer chair with wheels. I, on the other
really connected hand, did not get the executive chair.
“Use the piano stool,” my father said.
with him
With my lip sticking out a mile, I went to
the basement to get the filthy old stool.
In the weeks that followed, that stool became my favorite item in the
playroom. After school I would run into our house like a madman to
use my computer. My brother and I would play the same video game.
Having a ball, we loved our time together. For the first time, I felt like I
really connected with him. Previously I had only seen him at dinner.
Now we shared adventures on the computer.
On that stool I have learned many life lessons. I learned to deal with
sorrow and anger. From time to time my brother would get depressed,
thinking no one loved him. But I was there, on that stool, loving him
and helping him get through those dark emotions.
Because of that stool and a pair of computers, I gained a best friend.
This ordinary object will always remind me of that special time I
shared with my brother. ✎
The Story of None
by Jessica Bland, Fabius, NY
eight, only a child. But when I remember the
uring the early days of the Clinton presitemper tantrums I threw when she made me carry
dency, after years of war on antipoverty
the laundry basket, or when she wouldn’t give
programs, struggling single mothers
me an allowance, I feel a knot of guilt well up in
were all too common. Somehow, some found
my chest. Even now, all these years later, long
ways to provide for the children they loved and
after Mama has forgotten what a terrible, bratty
were willing to give the world for.
child I was, my face still burns with shame.
Mama was one of those women.
Today, life is better. Life is easier.
When I was younger, there were times we had
Mama can (usually) afford to see doctors and
no electricity, times when we had to accept food
pay for her medication. She still has bad days.
from strangers, times when all we had was each
Sometimes, she has to grasp a wall
other.
as she walks, hunched over. SomeSomehow, Mama made it all
times, she bites her lip in pain.
work. She was willing to sacrifice
In the end
Rarely does she complain.
anything for my brother and me.
Mama’s trials have, ironically,
all she had to
She was willing to sacrifice the
provided me with my most valuable
world.
sacrifice was vantage point. I’m able to look at the
In the end, all she had to
world through eyes that don’t persacrifice was her health.
her health
ceive everything as black or white. I
It happened when Mama
know that being poor is not a mark
switched jobs. She lost her health
of
unworthiness.
I know that everyone, regardcare, and COBRA was too expensive. In order
less of income, deserves everyday necessities
for her to pay the heat and electricity bills and
like health care.
put food on the table, Mama suffered from unPeople ask me why I want to enter politics.
diagnosed, severe rheumatoid arthritis for six
That’s when I point out that my story isn’t as
months.
unique as many people want to believe. Every
I was eight when she lost the ability to tie her
day, there are parents who worry about affording
shoes, put on her seat belt, or even turn on the
groceries and others who can’t pay medical bills
ignition of her car. She depended on me, a child
because it’s winter and heating is more imporin all senses of the word, to do these things for
tant. When parents cannot pay for the cost of
her.
living, their children suffer too.
I won’t lie. I was selfish and resentful toward
My story is the story of millions.
my mother, the “evil witch” who disrupted my
I want to make it the story of none. ✎
playtime because she needed my help. I was only
D
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M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
25
college reviews
Lewisburg, PA: As a sophomore, I am just starting my college search. I
always thought I would be attracted to a large university with great sports
teams, like Duke, Notre Dame, and Penn State. But visiting Bucknell
University, I was pleasantly surprised.
My sister is a freshman there, so I spent a weekend with her. Bucknell
has 3,500 undergraduates, which seemed on the small side, but this has
several advantages. The class sizes are small and you receive individual
attention. You get to know professors and you aren’t taught by teaching
assistants. One professor even invited my sister’s class of 10 students
over for a lasagna dinner at the end of the semester.
The campus is beautiful, and the dorm rooms are nice too. The students are upbeat and friendly. Bucknell is academically challenging but
not in a cutthroat way. Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, is rather rural, but the
town is really nice,
with a movie theater
and restaurants. It reminds me of the town
C
O
L
L
E
G
E in “Gilmore Girls.”
Bucknell plays in Division I in the Patriot League, and sports, although
not quite at the level I originally wanted, are a big part of the school
spirit. There is always something to do: Ludacris in concert, the Harlem
Globetrotters, Nobel Laureate Eli Wiesel, and of course, frat parties.
One last thing worth mentioning is the “residential colleges” living option. As a freshman you
can choose to live in one of many subject-specific
dorms: art, social justice, language, etc. This
allows you to reside with others who have similar
interests. Everyone in your dorm takes a seminar
together. This, in combination with a great freshman orientation week, makes it easier to make
friends and adjust quickly.
So now I have to re-evaluate my criteria for
choosing the right college for me and, perhaps,
so should you.
Check out www.bucknell.edu for more info. ✎
Bucknell
by Bruce Rubin, New City, NY
Brookville, NY: Rain. Pouring rain. I had come to the C.W. Post Campus of Long
Island University for an open house. I was unbelievably nervous, which was compounded by the extreme discomfort of my soggy pants, drowned-rat hair, and
blown-out umbrella. But somehow the way I felt about seeing this school changed
my mindset.
The counselors I met were outstanding. They made me feel respected. I felt like I
could make my life in this place. I felt at home. For once the “diversity” line that all
schools feed you seemed to ring true: here were kids from every walk of life ready to
take the next big step together. There was the tall blond guy with glasses and Chuck
Taylors whom I knew I would have a crush on before the end of the first semester.
And the girl with ribbons in her hair who seemed much more prepared than me. It
seems cheesy, but who wants homogeny anyway? I loved it!
Walking through the 308-acre campus, I felt that this is what a college should feel
like: woodsy
trails, a big
library, and
beautiful
U N I V E R S I T Y • C . W . P O S T buildings.
In the dorms, it was a lazy Sunday afternoon and save for a few groggy students
traipsing to the bathrooms, the halls were deserted. But I could see myself running
down these hallways, falling through doorways doubled over in laughter with friends.
Even though I was scared, it was amazing. Something about this school seemed to
scream “Push yourself.” My interview with the Theater Department was challenging. It made me think about what I wanted
from my education, my career, and my life.
After one final, wet trek across the grounds, I climbed the
last set of stone steps and looked down to see a small gathering
of painted rocks. On one of them I saw the Latin words Esse
quam videri (“To be, rather than to seem”), one of my favorite
sayings that has gotten me through the scariest of times when I
didn’t know how to feel about myself. Call it irony, karma,
whatever, this little rock was the cornerstone and confirmed
that Long Island University at C.W. Post is where I am supposed to be.
Find out more at www.liu.edu/cwis/cwp. ✎
Long Island
by Sarah York, Harpers Ferry, WV
Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North CarSherman, TX: The many fountains squirted streams of
olina at Chapel Hill is a suburban campus in the
glistening water. The green of the grass radiated throughout
northern part of the state. The school prides itself
the 70 acres. The ivy-covered buildings stood tall, stylishly
on its long history of academic achievement.
surrounding the quad as the chapel bell began playing songs
UNC-Chapel Hill is one of the most competiof joy. It was 5 o’clock at Austin College.
tive schools in North Carolina when it comes to
Austin College is a small liberal arts school located an hour
sports. It is known for its defensive line in footnorth of Dallas in Sherman, Texas. When I first stepped onto the
Photo by Chelsea Clinger, Auburndale, FL
ball and its sharp-shooting basketball players.
campus on that bright day, I knew I could not be happier anyBut during my visit, I learned that the school is
where else.
not just about sports. UNC-Chapel Hill is the oldest public university in the
Not only is Austin the oldest college in Texas, it is also one of only 40
United States.
recognized by Loren Pope in his book, Colleges that Change Lives. Pope
Life on campus is very full, with students doing everything from running
wrote, “This 150-year-old community of learning, with its [1,320] students,
The Daily Tar Heel newspaper, planning homecoming events, helping in the
will excite you, stretch you, expand your world, and make you believe in
community, to throwing campus-based parties and concerts. The school also
yourself. This college does marvelous things to multiply talents and to develop
has a large ROTC program.
character … Austin will do more to give you a successful and satisfactory life.”
Austin College has also found a place on U.S. News and World Reports’ top
U N I V E R S I T Y
O F
100 liberal arts colleges and
Princeton Review’s top
college list.
Other than name recognition,
what does this quaint
C
O
L
L
E
G
E
C
H
A
P
E
L
H
I
L
L
school have to offer? Well,
The dorms have wireless Internet access and include multiple housing
as a matter of fact, it has several programs that make it stand out from other liboptions. There are also many options for eating, whether you’re on the run
eral arts schools. The study abroad program is one of them. Over 70 percent of
or sitting to take a break; there are diners everywhere that offer pasta, makestudents study abroad; Austin College was ranked as the number-one school for
your-own pizza, and even breakfast during lunch. Although the lines may be
study abroad three times in the past five years by the Institute of International
long, the food is worth the wait.
Education.
The University of North Carolina offers 71 majors and is known for its
Austin College also is known for its unusual January term, when students
business, law, and pharmaceutical programs. It allows transfers from technifocus on one subject. Most take classes off campus, and the majority venture
cal schools, but basic classes are needed. The classrooms and class sizes are
extremely far off campus. Several even study in Australia, Hawaii, or England.
large, but the student-faculty ratio remains low at 14:1, with a student popuAttending a small school definitely has class-size advantages, with the
lation of a diverse 28,000. UNC has a large campus, and many ride bikes
average at less than 25. This allows students to get to know their professors on
from building to building. It has three large libraries that offer computer and
a personal level and really excel.
technology services.
The campus was modeled after Princeton, giving it an Ivy League feel. In
UNC-Chapel Hill has a lot to offer if you want to study law, medicine,
some ways, Austin is an Ivy League school without the title. It has the look, the
or sciences. This campus is filled with history and community. Its large
feel, the education. What else could you want?
population and diversity guarantees that you will meet a variety of people.
I would strongly recommend visiting Austin College. It’s my perfect school
So, if you are a people person who likes large classes, this school is for you.
and I’m sure it could be yours too.
Check out www.unc.edu for more info. ✎
Learn more online at www.austincollege.edu. ✎
26
North Carolina
Austin
by Dana C-Howard, Wilmington, DE
by Elizabeth Golden, Kansas City, MO
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH
by Claire Mahoney, Oakton, VA
common? Was she pretending so I’d feel sympathy
oday I was at the mall waiting for friends,
for her? But her eyes were genuine as she said this.
when a lady wearing a knit hat and a sweater
Meanwhile I was eating my lo mein, picking
came up to me and, shivering, said, “I’m homearound the cabbage and the other vegetables. Joyce
less. Would you mind buying me some food?”
said, “If you don’t like it you can take it back.” I told
In that split second, everything I’d learned since
her that I liked it, but was not fond of the vegetables.
kindergarten flashed through my mind. Don’t talk to
She broke into a big grin. “You don’t like vegetables,
strangers … Be a good citizen … People will take
huh? Neither did I. But now I do.” I immediately felt
advantage of you … Treat others as you wish to be
guilty. How could I be picking at my food across from
treated … The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just
someone who barely gets to eat at all?
to love and be loved in return … I guess love won the
I tried my best to finish, but she seemed to sense
debate. “Sure,” I said. “What would you like?”
my guilt and said, “You don’t have to eat it if you
She thought and then said, “I’d like to get Chinese
don’t want it.” How could she know what I was feelfood.” We headed upstairs. On the way she told me
ing? I told her the dish was my favorite,
about when she was a teenager. She rebut I just eat slowly.
members taking pictures for the yearShe replied, “I used to like lo mein, but
book with her best friend. She was in the How could we
pepper chicken was my dad’s favorite, so I
band and played basketball. She got
have so much get that now.” Noticing that she used the
good grades and was a good student.
“was,” I assumed her dad had passed
She ordered soup, an egg roll, white
in common? word
away. I found it sweet that she gave up her
rice, and pepper chicken. I would norfavorite in order to honor her dad.
mally think that was a lot, but she had
She asked why I was at the mall.
probably barely eaten in the last few days. I got my
“I’m waiting for friends. We’re going to see ‘The
usual – lo mein and General Tso’s chicken.
Curious Case of Benjamin Button,’” I replied, stumAs we ate, we got to know each other. She asked if
bling over the words a bit.
I played any instruments. I replied that I played the
“‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,’” she
violin, cello, and guitar. She told me she played the
echoed
in awe. “What’s that about?” I realized that
flute, piano, guitar, and violin. In the middle of our
she didn’t see commercials for movies.
meal, I realized something. And she thought of it at
I explained the basic plot and she chuckled. “A man
exactly the same time.
who is born 80 years old and ages backwards! That
“So, what’s your name?” she asked.
sounds interesting.”
“I’m Claire,” I said, startled at our exact same
She got up to get a to-go box. “Would you like
thought. “What’s yours?”
one?” she asked, but I refused. I realized that this food
“Joyce,” she said with a smile.
would probably last her for a few days, and I was glad
We continued talking, and she asked my favorite
she had ordered a lot.
subjects in school and if I wanted to go to college.
“Would you like these?” I asked, gesturing at the
“Hopefully,” I replied. “I’m interested in nursing.”
food I had left untouched. “Oh, no, thank you,” she
“I went to college for nursing,” she said.
said. “This is enough.” I got up to throw my tray
I was taken aback. How could we have so much in
T
Hard Times in the Big Easy
I
am fortunate to have witnessed my
fair share of breathtaking moments,
moments that have shaken my
world and broadened my perspective.
These snippets in time seem to shatter
reality and force me to question my beliefs, opinions, and most importantly,
my purpose. I can pinpoint one moment in particular that permanently
shifted my view of the world. One
glimpse at the battered, suffering city
of New Orleans in 2006 forever broadened my vision, allowing me to take a
long look at what was once beyond the
periphery.
Nothing could have prepared me for
the devastation of New Orleans. Seeing
video on TV, reading news reports, and
overhearing countless conversations
between worried individuals did nothing
to prepare me for the pain that ripped
through my heart when I first caught
sight of the city. Few roamed the sidewalks, and those who did exuded an
emotion that I cannot quite explain and
that still brings me to tears. I felt overwhelmed by the suffering that lingered
on every street. Yet, I felt blessed to
have the opportunity to make a positive
impact. I knew the work I would do
would be incredibly important.
away, feeling guilty about wasting so much.
“I need to meet my friends now,” I explained. “It
was so nice to meet you, Joyce.”
“You too, Claire,” she replied with a smile. “Thank
you.”
I headed to the theater, and she went back downstairs. It sounds like a perfect coincidence, but I can’t
help but think that some force compelled us to meet. I
kept puzzling, Why is Joyce homeless? It seems so
unfair. She shouldn’t need people to buy her dinner.
She was a nurse. She got good grades. She took pictures for her yearbook. She was the person I hope to
be in the future. What went wrong? How could such a
good life be rewarded with horrible luck?
I feel lucky to have run into Joyce. She changed my
outlook. She is still a wonderful person, despite what
the world has done to her. I wish her the best, and can
only hope that the force that brought us together will
help her find what she deserves in life. ✎
Photo by Olivia Branham, Pikeville, KY
by Ariel Rainbow, Plano, TX
neighborhood filled my thoughts and I
I headed to New Orleans with my
struggled to comprehend how I would
youth group for a week to help victims
feel if my home experienced a similar
along the Gulf Coast. I had seen countfate. Plenty needed to be done and the
less people suffering in poverty on
task was intimidating.
mission trips, but when I met Ms.
As we moved everything from the
Bishop, a sweet, blind woman in her
home, we had the daunting task of
eighties, and heard her story, my heart
distinguishing between trash and Ms.
filled with a need to help her. She told
Bishop’s valuables. My face covered in
us how she felt when she was forced to
a breathing mask, I trekked in and out
leave her home to find safety and the
with things for her to sort.
devastation she discovered
The somber woman, with
when she returned. Her
I felt over- the help of her daughter,
home was totally deassessed what I brought her
stroyed. She had to clean
whelmed by and told me whether to throw
up her property within two
away. As we worked, she
months to avoid handing it
the suffering itrecounted
amazing stories of
over to the government.
her life. Everything she
My group’s goal for the
owned had a history.
week was to help clean up what was
After several hours, I finally made it
left so she could sell the land, a preto a bedroom at the back where I found
ferred alternative to having her proan antique dresser. I struggled to drag
perty taken with little compensation.
out one of the drawers full of knickShe needed all the help she could get.
knacks and jewelry. The rotting wood
I felt tremendous grief when I first
fell apart and its contents scattered. I
saw the devastation that Ms. Bishop
dropped to all fours to try to recover
once called home. Opening the doors
what I could.
for the first time in eight months, we
After several minutes, I came across
encountered an unbearable sight. Black
two small pins with medals attached to
mold coated every surface. The floors
striped ribbons. I asked Ms. Bishop if
were hidden under several feet of cockthe pins were significant. Her daughter
roaches and debris. Visions of my own
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community
service
Lunch with Joyce
recognized them immediately and
exclaimed, “These are Daddy’s war
medals! I thought we’d never see
them again!”
Tears streaked down my face, as
they do every time I tell this story. The
ribbons had belonged to Ms. Bishop’s
late husband, who had served many
years in the military. I felt like I was
holding history in my hands.
By working with Ms. Bishop that
day and being a part of this project, I
had saved something close to her heart.
Never before had I felt so connected to
a complete stranger. I had, in a small
way, touched Ms. Bishop’s life. My
world would never again be confined
to my neighborhood, my family, my
school. In that moment, I understood
that my life can intertwine with
whomever I choose to impact.
My trip to New Orleans did not end
with Ms. Bishop. I met several incredible individuals that week. I hope to
have more breathtaking moments,
continuing to intertwine my life with
those around me, impacting lives in a
positive way. No boundaries exist that
can stifle my opportunities to connect
with the world. ✎
M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
27
opin!on
Batman and Our Psyche
I
’m not going to lie. I saw “The
Dark Knight” five times over the
course of four weeks, and still I
was not entirely satisfied with my
intake of Bat-o-rama. Something
about the most recent incarnation of
the series made my skin tingle as if I
was witnessing something great – a
long-awaited event, a momentous culmination. The film made $158 million
its opening weekend, selling out in
venues across the country and breaking many records, so I’m guessing one
or two people agreed with me.
Batman’s long-running status as an
American superhero has had its ups
and downs, but at select moments (like
Photo by Sophie McCormick, Wolfforth, TX
reflected the public’s need for an iconic
this one) the true magnificence of this
character, a sort of Robin Hood for the
character shines. “The Dark Knight”
1940s. It was a daring personality for
was the culmination of years of Batthe day, and introduced a new comlore; a long-traveling genre finally
plexity to the superhero genre. Still,
coming together in a perfect combinathis format was very dry, and the chartion of gritty realism, good writing,
acter itself just a template from which
and a flair for the substantial and
many later versions would be built.
stylish. Audiences loved it.
In his reintroduction to TV in the
The initial concept of the Caped
1990s, Batman’s character and image
Crusader remains intact today. He still
developed. As audiences became more
carries the burden of warding off the
attached to the idea of fleshing out Batghouls of the night, still embodies the
man’s personal history, the realism of
modern-day Robin Hood, and continthe series grew. The idea
ues to be a vigilante. His
of blurring the line bemessage remains solid:
tween fantasy and reality
maintaining ethics in a
He reflects
was introduced by the
chaotic world, standards
in a lawless city. His
the American films of the ’90s when
people suddenly wanted to
image and his humanity,
public’s fear
see their favorite superhowever, have drastically
heroes portrayed as real,
changed over time.
emotionally complex
When Batman first
humans, not just corny caricatures. In
came to life in the 1940s, his simplis“Batman” of 1989, starring Michael
tic style and lack of character depth
Keaton and Jack Nicholson, for the
was due in part to the cartoon. Adam
first time a Batman film offered distinWest’s Batman was a direct translation
guished, nontraditional characters and a
from the newspaper funnies, and this
cast of top actors. Despite some lagging
showed in the costumes and screenscreenwriting, the film was heralded as
writing. Simplistic, easy-to-follow,
a critical success; audiences loved the
lacking developed characters – the
idea of a superhero film that embraced
films were essentially the cartoons
the humanity of its protagonist.
rehashed, and thus worked on the
The superhero films released after
same childlike level.
2001 achingly wished to portray
His conception as a new kind of
superheroes as real. The events of
superhero was attributed to his antihero
9/11, and the frightened American
format: a vigilante who sometimes
culture that followed, increasingly
crossed the law to deliver justice. This
reflected our desire to indulge in
fantasy and nostalgia, making the
classical Marvel superheroes a perfect
cache for the executives at Universal
and Warner Brothers. What has
become most popular is the idea of
superhero realism; characters and
situations mimic life to a degree
unheard of in past generations.
“The Dark Knight” is a perfect
example. Heath Ledger’s Joker is
sneering, unfathomable, chaotic, and all
around undefeatable. The Joker is the
apotheosis of contemporary American
fears: a madman who cannot be caught,
defined, or killed, he stands as isolated
and impenetrable as a disguised terrorist in the New York populace.
Likewise, Batman has become increasingly human. He has abandoned
the stage makeup and cheesy leotards
and adorned himself in battle-gear and
bulletproof vests. His code of ethics
has grown only more stringent and
bold, a necessary defense in a world
that becomes more chaotic by the day.
He reflects the degree to which the
American public fear for their lives; he
is that great protector who is necessary
in times of peril.
His necessity, then, defines the
degree to which we, as an audience,
humanize him. He is a reflection of
our own desire to be safe. Seeking
patterns in the forms Batman takes,
the public need look no further than
their own fear. ✎
What Is an American?
Carpe Diem
by Erin Lavitt, Granby, CT
by Anthony Franzmann, Akron, OH
want to make a new home and are willing to
hen I asked my father this queswork for the opportunities we have?
tion, he laughed and shook his
If you really think about it, the people
head. I have a knack for asking
who risk life and limb to come to our counthe hard ones. But as our nation struggles
try have a higher opinion of U.S. ideals than
with the issue of illegal immigration, we
a lot of us do. Their ancestors have lived in
don’t bother to ask this of ourselves.
the same place for hundreds of years, perThe first time this question occurred to
haps more. Can you imagine the courage it
me was while I was watching “American
takes to leave all that behind?
Idol” a few years ago. A beautiful Russian
Furthermore, we owe immigrants a lot.
performer was struggling to get her green
For example, our fresh produce
card. The judges loved her but
is cultivated by migrant workers,
rejected her all the same. My
a harvest picked in shame. I
mother said it was because they The U.S. once
believe the very least we can do
wanted an American idol. I
welcomed all is grant them citizenship, miniblinked and asked her, “What’s
mum wage, and schooling for
more American than an immiimmigrants
their children. In addition to
grant?” She sighed.
some of the more skilled jobs
Every single American citiimmigrants do, we take many advantages
zen is an immigrant, even Native Americans,
for granted – aisles of produce, janitors at
who came across the Bering Strait thoufast-food restaurants – that are made possisands of years ago. Homo sapiens originated
ble by the people some scorn and wish to
in Africa, and every other place we settled
remove from our country.
we were strangers, right? But the United
Some say if we let everyone in, we won’t
States is unique because it once welcomed
have
room. We’re the third-largest country
all immigrants. The majority of Americans
on the planet. There’s room, and immigrahave ancestors who came over barely a huntion is happening regardless. Let’s screen for
dred years ago. My earliest family immicriminals but let others in. After all, can’t we
grated scarcely three generations ago. And
share Thanksgiving with the laborers who
so we must ask ourselves: is it right to deny
have more than earned their wages? ✎
entrance to people who, like our ancestors,
T
W
28
by Lucas Ropek, Parkdale, OR
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
oday we have higher buildings and wider highways but shorter
and narrower points of view. We spend more but enjoy less. We
have bigger houses but smaller families. We have more compromises but less time. We have more knowledge but less judgment.
We have more medicines but less health. We have multiplied our
possessions but reduced our values. We talk a lot, love a little, and
hate too much.
We reached the moon and came back, but we find it troublesome to
cross the street and meet our neighbor. We have conquered outer space
but not our inner space. We have higher incomes but fewer morals.
These are times with more liberty but less joy;
with much food but less nutrition. These are
Every day is days in which two salaries come home but
are increasing. These are times of
a special divorces
finer houses but more broken homes.
why I propose that as of today, you do
occasion notThat’s
keep anything for a special occasion, because every day you live is a special occasion.
Search for knowledge, read more, sit on your front porch and admire
the view without paying attention to the needs. Pass more time with
your family, eat your favorite food, and visit the places you love.
Life is a chain of moments of enjoyment; it isn’t just about survival.
Use your crystal goblets. Don’t save your best perfume; use it every
time you want to. Remove phrases like “one of these days” and “some
day” from your vocabulary. Write that letter today that you planned to
write “one of these days.” Tell your family and friends that you love
them. Never pass up a chance at adding laughter and joy to your life.
Every day, hour, and minute is special; you never know if it will be
your last. Remember that “one of these days” can be far away and
you may not be there to see it. ✎
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T
he popular television show
“Eight Is Enough” aired in
the late 1970s and fascinated
viewers of all ages who followed the
trials and tribulations of the Bradford
brood, eight independent children
headed by their father, Tom. In the last
30 years, doctors have created in vitro
fertilization, a procedure for artificial
impregnation, and as a result, the
Gosselins, parents of a set of twins
and sextuplets, became stars of TLC’s
hit show “Jon & Kate Plus 8.”
The surge of reality shows, YouTube,
and Facebook provides many with the
ability to capture the eyes of the country and hear their name spoken around
the world. However, parents should not
seek stardom by having a large family,
nor should they get a free pass in child
rearing because they have more kids
than most. The parents of this nation
need to grow up, face the realities of
parenthood, and assume the full
responsibilities of child rearing.
When a couple wants to have a baby,
they must consider whether that child
will truly benefit from the life they can
only a sperm donor. In addition, some
provide and whether they understand
publications reported that Suleman
the responsibilities involved in raising
plans to use her fame to launch a telea child. The recent case of Nadya
vision show. Though she denies claims
Suleman, a mother of octuplets, shone
that she is seeking fame, Suleman has
a huge spotlight on the responsibility
employed a publicist and an agent. She
of parenting.
says that all she wanted was babies, but
Unmarried, unemployed, and living
one has to wonder if she was thinking
in her mother’s home, she already had
of their need for comfort and love when
six children younger than eight, three
she decided to have this many children.
of whom are disabled, and receives
In the United States, no
money from the state to
one can dictate how many
care for them. When
The parents of children families have.
doctors announced that
However, the country needs
Suleman had given birth,
through in vitro fertiliza- this nation need some sort of counseling,
similar to the advice a
tion, to octuplets with
to grow up
doctor gives a patient who
pride and excitement –
smokes three packs of cigareporting that the delivrettes a day. They simply state the conseery was “amazing” and the mom was
quences of smoking before the damage
“incredibly courageous” – the 46appears and bluntly ask the patient to
member medical team expected praise
stop. If adults know that they will be
and high-fives. Instead, jaws dropped
incapable of or even unable to provide
and talk of her courage changed to
for the needs of children, then they
questions about both her judgment
should reconsider becoming parents.
and the doctors’, as well as the ethical
In the case of Suleman and many
concerns about fertility treatments.
others, the cost will be paid by the
Instead of the vital role of a father in
American taxpayer. Millions have been
their lives, these eight new babies have
Still Not Colorblind
by Aaron Stroud, Zebulon, NC
I
by Kaleigh Loeffler, Heath, TX
often heard about the presidential election on the news. You probably
did too, if you expose yourself at all to the sickly sun of the American
media. Journalists, reporters, and every other member of the information
army practically wet themselves with exultation at the election of the United
States’ first African-American president. And so have American citizens.
There are still “Obama ’08” signs in yards, on cars, bridges, babies, and
anything else that can be decorated with that godly O – his supporters still
have that smug smirk glued like a bumper sticker across their faces.
Reading this, you might come to the conclusion that I am a rabid racist and
torch-waving conservative, but hear me out! I am not a racist – in fact, I am
almost certainly more colorblind than you, Obamanite. Barack Obama is now
America’s first black president. You may say “Hooray!” but I say “So what?”
You might tout his victory as a sign that racism is dead, and equal opportunity
is, if not here, then well on its way. I disagree.
Racism is discrimination. Discrimination is not
Obama is
simply the act of deriding or oppressing a particular
I believe it is any emphasis of racial differnot a racial race.
ences. If a caucasian sees himself as “white” and
crusader but identifies with others of his skin tone to form a
coalition promoting his race, this is racist. By this
a politician logic, pro-black coalitions are racist too. And those
who vaunt Obama’s presidency as a victory for
African-American people are included.
In my experience, modern society is not discriminatory in its presentation
of opportunity. There are black CEOs; there are white hobos; there are
members of every race in every position. It’s the beauty of America! And
yet still some insist on highlighting Obama’s victory as something strange
and wonderful. Not only is it an insult to the American spirit to be fascinated
by a black president, it’s an insult to those who have fought for this spirit.
The proper response to Obama’s election should have been: “We have a
new president. Will he do a good job?” It is foolish to think that just because
Obama is black, he will do a good job. Those who share my opinion see
Obama not as racial crusader in shining armor, but as a politician whose
actions must be analyzed logically. In short, the fact that America still
perceives races as “different” is shameful. In a land of equal opportunity,
the best will win – and the best has been chosen.
Celebrating Obama’s victory in a racial context is simply celebrating past
racial divides. The election was not a victory for African-Americans, but a
victory for all Americans. ✎
spent to care for her babies in the
neonatal intensive care unit and supply
her large family with diapers, blankets,
and clothes. Realistically, Americans
have a stake in the outcome, and we
must not encourage a repetition of this
by putting Suleman into the spotlight.
Clearly, the necessary measures must
be taken to ensure that parents’ reproductive rights – or media ambitions –
do not come before their child’s right
to a decent life. ✎
A Curved
Construction
opin!on
For Love or Money?
Patriarchy,
Monarchy,
Matriarchy,
Oligarchy …
So many arches
yet not one
can uphold
its burdens.
by Alexis Reed, Clarkdale, AZ
When I Grow Up
by Sara Dickinson,
Wyckoff, NJ
a counter. Underneath was my barely legible
n kindergarten, my class was asked,
handwriting: “When I grow up, I want to
“What do you want to be when you grow
work at the Market Basket because it would
up?” Crayons danced across sheets of
be fun to swipe orange juice across the scanpaper to illustrate our dream occupations.
ner.” To this day my parents
Our drawings were hung in the
won’t let me forget that out of
hallway for our parents to see at
everything I could have aspired to
Back to School Night. I rememTeens are
be, my five-year-old self wished
ber looking down the line and
to work at the local grocery store.
seeing pictures of ballerinas
expected to
When we are young, questions
dancing, firefighters putting out
know
what
we
of
what we want to be when we
a blaze, and astronauts leaping
grow
up are common. Yet we are
across the moon – careers that
want to be
not expected to respond with an
were seen as typical dreams of
answer that is likely to come true.
five-year-olds.
However, when we become teens, we are
My picture showed a stick figure with
asked the very same question twice as often.
brown hair holding a carton of orange juice
The difference is, now we are supposed to
over a large rectangle that was supposed to be
answer with confidence.
Teens are expected to know exactly what
we want to be and how we are going to
achieve that goal. Not all of us can be so
sure. Even though I am in high school, I
cannot answer convincingly. But I don’t
consider that a bad thing. How am I supposed to know what I will want to spend
my time doing at age 40?
When I think about the future, I definitely
don’t see myself working at the Market
Basket, but in reality, if that was what would
make me happy, I would do it. So, the next
time someone asks me what I want to be
when I grow up, I will simply say “happy.”
Happiness is a destination for everyone.
We may want to walk different paths in life,
but we all want to be happy wherever we
end up. Choose your path, but don’t worry
too much about choosing wisely. Make a
mistake or two and try new things. But
always remember, if you’re not happy, you’re
not at the end of your journey yet. ✎
Photo by Molly Flanagan, Mclaren Flat, Australia
I
VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW
M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
29
Travel & Culture
The Road to Hana
I
t’s 9 a.m., and my family and I are
on our way to Hana, Maui. It’s a
50-mile ride, and my brother and I
are crammed into the back seat of the
rental convertible. Within minutes,
new-car smell and the sweet, sickening
scent of sunscreen fills the car. I ask,
“Dad, can you please put the top
down?” He does, and the warm,
Hawaiian sun pours down on us. I
am ready for another perfect day of
beautiful sights.
The first hour is uneventful; I see
familiar Hawaiian towns, mountains,
and the ocean. Around 10, we stop in a
hippy-filled town called Pa’ia. Here,
my dad gets gas. My mom, armed
with ideas from Fodor’s, Frommer’s,
and Maui Revealed, purchases a
cooler and pre-made lunches. She
explains, “There will be no places to
buy food until we get there.”
About 30 minutes later, I begin to
understand why this road is worldrenowned. As we slowly twist and turn
through the tropical forests, I see
bright red, orange, pink, yellow, and
green plants and flowers bursting
everywhere. Trees and vines tower
stories above us. I smell sweet fruit
and freshly cut grass. My mouth feels
dry, and I crave the juicy pineapples
and papayas I see. I hear birds and
wind through the forest. I feel the sun
burning my shoulders and face.
The road gradually narrows until
only one car can fit. Whenever one
by Sarah Torp, Palatine, IL
to explore the cave. To get there, I
approaches from the other way, my
walk through the dirty, knee-high
dad pulls over, bringing my face
water. The bottom is covered with
inches from the jungle. Because of
slippery rocks, making this an annoythe unexpected turns and oncoming
ing challenge. Eventually, I reach the
cars, we must drive very slowly.
cave and discover a long, bright yelAfter another long hour of slow,
low rope hanging from the cliff above.
curvy roads, we reach our first stop:
It smells moldy and looks worn.
Waikane Falls. Mom’s book describes
Dozens of approaching tourists
“A short hike to spectacular triple
watch me. I step onto a platform of
waterfalls and pool.” I put on my
stacked rocks and holding onto the
hideous black water shoes. At the
rope, swing out over the water and
entrance, a local man is selling banana
through the waterfall.
bread and smoothies.
My stomach drops as I
We eat some bread and
I am ready
swing back. Though it
start our hike. The path
reminds me of a playconsists of dirt and
for another
ground swing, this is
rocks and is uneven
perfect day of
much more fun. I take a
and difficult for me in
few more swings. Maybe
my water shoes.
beautiful sights this is worth the terrible
There aren’t many
hike. My brother takes
people, just a family in
his turn; my parents snap pictures, and
front of us. I am beginning to see why.
then we hike back to the car.
After two miles, we finally approach a
As we drive, I hope the next stop
waterfall. I am immediately disapwill be a bit more enjoyable. My mom
pointed. The waterfall looks weak.
explains, “It will take us 45 minutes to
The water runs off a hundred-foot cliff
get to Waianapanapa State Park, which
into a dark, muddy “pool” filled with
has a black sand beach called Honoleaves. The pungent scent clashes with
kalani. We’ll eat lunch there.”
the pleasant taste of banana bread in
When we arrive, I walk to the beach
my mouth. I hear the trickling stream
ahead of my family and take my shoes
of the waterfall and footsteps gushing
off. I can’t believe my eyes at the
and sloshing in the wet mud. My feet
round, fist-sized, black stones that surhurt from the walk, and cold mud
round me. These volcanic rocks scorch
oozes through the holes in my shoes.
my feet as I rapidly tiptoe to the water.
I am unimpressed with the “waterTheir size gradually decreases into
fall” and just want to get back to the
grains of sand. This black sand is not
car. However, my dad encourages us
Coming to America
by Spenta Mehraban,
Clinton, CT
mother and sisters would use me as their “secret weapon” to
ear Mr. Abdullah Mehraban,
escape police scrutiny. At four years old, I was the picture of
We would like to invite you to America for a
innocence, and my family’s freedom was in my hands.
conference on peace in Afghanistan.” Our Russian
On one such excursion, our whole family came along, makfriend read this to us as we sat around her, curious to know what
ing us an obvious target. An over-zealous officer arrested us and
these words meant. We spoke Russian and Farsi but recognized
put us all in a tiny cell, except my youngest brother and me. We
only a few words in English. My father was very excited when
were forced to stand in the waiting room, terrified about what
she translated the message: this was good news. He immediately
would happen. After two hours, a friendly officer vouched for
started planning how he would go to America and then bring us
us, and my family was released. To this day, I remind them of
over to start a new life filled with wealth, love, and peace.
how foolish we were to risk going out in public. I still rememWe had been smuggled from Pakistan into Russia by family
ber the fear and anger I felt that day when I was
members who lived there. We were happy that my
treated like a criminal.
father was able to go on this marvelous trip even
We fled
After experiences like that, I was relieved to
though he was unable to bring us. Once he got
there, we sat in our apartment, anxiously awaiting
Afghanistan come to the United States. The first few weeks were
both exciting and frustrating. The most daunting
his letter that held our future.
to escape the challenges were understanding the language and
As illegal aliens in Russia, we were uncertain
getting used to the customs. The first day of school
what awaited our family. Finally, after four years,
Taliban
was fun but confusing because of my lack of lanthe letter arrived. I jumped as I saw the smile in
guage ability. On the second day, I drank expired
our friend’s face and didn’t even need a translation
milk and had a terrible stomachache, but couldn’t tell anyone
to know that it was finally time to be free! I noticed a drop of
how I felt. The teacher and students tried to help, but I couldn’t
joy running down my mother’s face. She was going to be reunited
communicate until they brought in a student who spoke Farsi.
with her husband. I had even started reading some English
This was an unsettling experience for everyone, and made me
books to learn a few words. All I knew so far was, “Hi, my
realize how important it was to learn English. I also saw how
name is Spenta. What is yours?” We didn’t have to live illegally
kind people were in my new home.
in Russia anymore. We were finally going to America!
A few years later at a school assembly, my name was called:
When I was only six months old, my family fled Afghanistan
“Spenta Mehraban, please come to the stage to accept this award
to escape the civil war and violence caused by the Taliban. After
for citizenship.” Through my experiences in Pakistan and as an
a brief stay in Pakistan, we settled in Russia without passports,
illegal alien in Russia, to my first day at school in America, I
making it difficult for us to go out in public. Our biggest chalhave come to appreciate my new home and freedom. ✎
lenge was avoiding arrest. Usually when we went shopping, my
“D
30
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
fine or powdery – its substantial,
coffee-ground-sized pieces are irregular and rough. This natural foot scrub
feels heavenly on my sore feet.
I lie on my back on the refreshingly
wet shore and breathe in the beachy
smells of saltwater and sunscreen. The
air tastes sweet and salty. I close my
eyes, letting the waves rush over my
feet and up to my knees then pull
back, over and over again. Little
pieces of gravel sweep along my legs.
Gentle waves crash, and I can hear
people talking, laughing, and taking
pictures. I am in a state of complete
relaxation, without any cares or worries. The warm sun heats my forehead,
stomach, and legs. A strong wave suddenly pours cool water over my stomach, bringing me back to reality.
I immediately squint into the unbearably bright sky. I sit up, hugging
my knees so only my feet are in the
path of the waves. I glance out at the
ocean and see golden light dancing on
the waves. The black sand and rocks
amplify the ocean’s blue. I think of the
tropical background on my laptop.
Still adjusting to the light, I stare at
my feet and the black specks covering
them. Through the crystal clear water,
I can see the sharp contrast of my hot
pink toenail polish against the black
bottom. I grab my camera and capture
the image.
I then look around. The shore is
shorter than it appears, less than a
hundred feet. Yet, dozens of people
cram on the sand, relaxing on colorful
towels and mats. Children play in the
water while their parents take pictures.
Nearly everyone is smiling.
Looking to my left, I see a 40-foot
cliff about half a mile away with
waves that are white explosions as
they hit the cliff. Volcanic rocks slope
steeply upward, and at the top, lush
greenness bursts from the rock.
To my right, clumps of volcanic
rock are surrounded by water, like tiny
islands. A long, thin peninsula sticks
out from the land. Halfway between
this peninsula’s tip and base, the rocks
curve upward, forming a jagged arch. I
find this scene beautiful, so I take
more pictures. I feel blessed and
amazed as I view these postcardworthy sights.
My dad interrupts my bliss saying,
“Sarah, we’re headed up to the picnic
tables.” After we eat, we continue on
the road to Hana. The drive becomes
very boring, and I’m definitely tired of
being cramped in the back seat. After
the hundredth “Are we there yet?”
from my brother and an hour and a
half later, we arrive in Hana.
The town of Hana turns out not to
be anything special. Though quaint
and charming, there’s not much to do.
When I tell my mom, she quotes, “It’s
the journey that’s important, not the
destination.” ✎
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by Logan Breslow, Cohasset, MA
brother and I are deep friends.
umpy, bumpy, bumpy, bumpy,
Walking down Mansion Beach Road the next mornsmoooooth,” chant my parents. Right on
ing,
Austin and I run ahead of Dad to get to the farm.
cue, my brother and I add our voices and
The three of us click our tongues and wait for our
laughter. This incantation – now a yearly ritual – seems
familiar friends to gallop around the corner and meet
to somehow magically draw our overloaded car off the
us at the fence. I stick my hand out to greet “my”
ferry and onto the island. It is the one fantasy that we
horse. Whiskery and corpulent, he buries his nose in
permit ourselves: by saying these words we are transmy hand searching for carrots. My brother, on the
ported from “there” (bumpy) to “here” (smooth).
other hand, stands near my dad. Austin’s horse strains
Block Island. The tang of her warm salty breath and
against the fence, also looking for carrots.
the fragrance of her beach plum perHe is a rich auburn with a white blaze
fume daintily dabbed behind her ears
Like molting on his face. The horse’s coat is smooth
welcome us again. I can hardly wait to
and perfectly in place. My older brother
see the house; the one, I, for so many
spiders, we
slowly gets up the courage to stick out
years, believed was ours. I have, of
course, come to realize that this cottage
shed our “off his hand “nice and flat” with a carrot
carefully balancing in his palm. The
is only borrowed, but I also know that
island” selves horse, unaware of Austin’s fear, hastily
what happens here truly belongs to my
grabs the treat. I laugh, realizing that he is
family alone.
not
as
tough
and stoic as he tries to convinced me. Or
Like molting spiders, we shed our “off island”
did I convince myself? Here, everything reveals itself
selves and run up the familiar wooden stairs. We peel
for what it really is.
away socks and sneakers first, then the tension of
A few minutes later, with boogie boards held high
work, school, life. My brother, Austin, and I rush into
above our heads, we “hang glide” down the skinny path
our room and throw our bags onto the beds we sleep
to Mansion Beach, all the while eating honeysuckle,
in year after year, already untroubled. We stop. “Wait
carefully choosing only the yellow ones (the sweetest).
for it …,” my brother instructs; I do not dare move.
Coated with sand like chicken cutlets, we paint rocks
The crackle on the radio slowly becomes clearer and
(which of course we will sell for a handsome price),
classical music is soon dancing through the house
search for starfish to add to our collection, and read
with the aroma of dinner as its partner. Here, my
“B
Basel: A Sensory Tour
Photo by Danielle Schoen, Katonah, NY
hungrily under the shade of the umbrella. After lunch,
we play two-on-one tackle football, my dad clandestinely mapping out the plays on his sunburned chest.
Here, leisure is life’s most important work.
After a luxuriously long day at the beach, each of
us, freshly showered, prepares for our final ritual: a
family photograph taken on the same steps, at the
same time of day, with the same camera propped up
on two boogie boards precariously placed on the back
of our car. It is this photo that reminds me how deliciously unrestricted we become with each other when
given the opportunity to just be. With no other distractions, we sit a bit closer, we laugh a bit louder and we
linger a bit longer. Of course, life’s bumps do not
magically disappear, but this one enchanted week
each July is as smooth and silky as custard. ✎
by Jessica Cottrell, Glendale, AZ
rest and realign. You purposely divide yourself; your right
asel, Switzerland, is a metropolis. It’s small – in no
side is dressed in the buildings’ shadows and your left bathes
way can it be compared to Zurich, let alone New
in sun. Glancing at the source of warmth, you may take in the
York. Still, it thrills like a city ten times its size.
fluid river. The water is majestic. The sun’s treasures are hidPeople buzz about in psychotic tremor, though there is not
den within. A sparkle known only to jewels is produced as
much ground to cover. There is no particular need to rush,
blue-green ripples catch your eye on the surface.
yet no one can calm their nerves. There is laughter and
After a few minutes, the hum of human eccentricity is
conversation from varying masses as they pass by. From
interrupted. Gleaming silver tracks that stretch perpendicuthe bus station come the shrieks of Basel’s “crazy” woman.
lar to the river’s flow, deep into the city’s abyss, begin their
Her long black braids swing in a flurry of color as she
whining, vibrating warning. Every seven minutes the fordances flamenco to the wisps of a street cleaner’s broom.
agers return. They come in several shades of green, lime to
She declares the victory of the town’s soccer team, “FCB!
emerald to forest. They cut through tangles of people, whisFCB! Never defeated!”
tles blaring, like staffs to the Red Sea. They perform this
Crowds slow to watch her, but just for a second. Take it in
task with ease before coming to a halt and opening their
and keep on moving. There is shopping to be done. There
doors for the import and export of bodies. The
are new Sony Eriksson cell phones and the
trains take people from city ports and hot spots to
coolest H&M threads to be bought. These adverPeople
buzz
their suburban and country front porches. They
tisements shout at the vulnerable consumer: “Be
are man’s best friends and worst enemies. An
cool. Be fashionable.” Delicate mannequins do
about in
oblivious youth, thin white cords coiling from head
wordless persuading in each display.
psychotic to pocket, stands in the tracks. Only those who
Everyone seems to be in constant motion. You
don’t value life would dare to tango with a tram.
gaze at the ground, leaning against a building.
tremor
Becoming its obstacle is to dance with death.
Some feet stomp, some dance, some drag, some
Of course, the trams offer a way out of Basel’s
skip, some tap, some pound, and some scuttle by
intoxicating sounds and smells. However, few desire to
so fast that a pattern cannot be detected. Shoes mildly differ
abandon their addiction. Heavy scents pop the realms that
– a dark shade of brown, then two blacks, then brown, then
your eyes are accustomed to. Delicious meats, lamb, duck,
a dingy white. There are shiny business blacks and school
and chicken sautéed, smothered, shredded, covered in whatbegrimed colors that barely touch the ground with their
ever savory sauce you can imagine. The wafting temptation
rapid tempos. If your ears were to focus on just the sounds
beckons to the unsuspecting stomach. Delicacies and river
of feet, an alluring sequence would be discovered. It is irregwater – the smell makes your nose quiver. Mounds of sugar
ular at times but always comes into tune with the chattering
leave the desserts and join the air’s moisture in heavenly
and sweeping and other calamitous noises.
evaporation. Couple this with the aroma of fresh-baked
Most interesting are the pitter-patters of children. Their
bread, the best in the country. However delectable each item
little hands struggle to clutch their mothers’ and fathers’ finis on its own, the harsh collision of scents can make even the
gers as they teeter-totter down the sidewalk, having their own
strongest stomach nauseous.
effect in the street song. Amid the drab grays, browns, and
Your eyes, your stomach, search for relief. Your head falls
blacks of the adult population, the babies splash oranges,
back against the bench. You find refuge in the caressing blue
pinks, and blues. The contrast makes you notice your own
of the sky. It’s like nothing you’ve seen before. Soothing yet
clothes. You begin to wonder when your pinks will become
intense, the azure blanket suffocates land as far as the eye
grays and your purples will cease to exist.
can see, with one exception. The sun is a glowing hole in the
All the electricity is enough to wear someone out. You take
patchwork. Almost as if it were the source of a leak, the
a place on the city’s skirt. A hand-carved bench allows you to
B
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Travel & Culture
Just Being
clouds scatter about it and distance cobalts from sapphires.
The theatrical works above your whirling head are not
complex, and finally you can relax. Your eyes begin to slip
and soon your purring breaths are just another rhythm in the
song of Basel. ✎
What Be an
Africa to Me
Spicy grove
treasure trove
cinnamon tree
or scarlet,
starlit
sea
What be
an Africa to me?
Ancient
deep like the rivers
the horizon’s embrace
winds – flashing horror
rebellious
uneasy
What be
an Africa to me?
Hills of endless light
copper sun
blazing through corridors
full of mirth
sweet as earth
the small
imperfection
of the world
a coppered sun
That be
an Africa to me.
by Nicholas Hébert, Austin, TX
M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
31
prejudice
pride
&
Armenian Genocide
by Dan Kennelly, Wyckoff, NJ
leaders. They also deported Armenians
history is the summation of
through forced marches under condistories. My family history and
tions designed to lead to their death.
the stories of our country,
They did this to stop the Armenian
Armenia, have an important message
dream of an independent state after
to share with the world. It is the hisWorld War I.
tory of the first genocide of the 20th
The Young Turks used the war to
century when two million Armenians
mask the horrific actions taken against
living in Turkey were removed from
the Armenian people. Human slaughtheir historic homeland through forced
ter was happening throughout Europe,
deportation and massacre.
and Turkey had sided with the Triple
It is the story of a grandmother,
Alliance. They fought mainly against
whose memories of 1915 include
the Russians on the Eastern Front.
burying her father, hiding as a servant,
They confiscated Armenians’ land to
and escaping to live in an Armenian
expand and strengthen their empire.
orphanage. It is a history of an uncle
The recognition of the Armenian
and father taken away in the night and
Genocide is important to my family
brothers shot in the family garden. It is
because of our direct ina history filled with
volvement. My family
human cruelty and the
an important role
kindness of strangers. It
April 24th is an played
in the Armenian nationalwould take one branch
of my family seven
important day istic movement after
World War I. All four
years, and another l3
for my family maternal great-grandyears, to reach America.
parents were born in
In Brooklyn and the
Armenia. Three emiBronx we wrote new
grated
after
the
genocide, before the
stories and changed history. April 24th
Soviet Union took control of our
is an important day for my family.
homeland.
Every year on that day my family goes
My great-great grandfather Hoosig
into New York City to Times Square
Catchouny, who was an Armenian
to rally for the recognition of the
priest, was asked to say the ArmeniArmenian Genocide. Thousands of
ans killed were rebels. When he
Armenians come together on this sad
refused, he was forced into hiding
day to remember our loss and promote
and was one of the first 200 intellecacceptance of our cause.
tuals killed on April 24, 1915, in
Many people recognize these
Constantinople, the start of the
events as the first genocide of the 20th
Armenian Genocide. The Turks did
century, but unfortunately not everynot want the well-educated Christian
one. Some people have spent billions
Armenians to have any power.
of dollars denying the horrors and
Yeghishe, Father Hoosig’s son, was a
atrocities committed 94 years ago.
lawyer. At the end of the war, he fought
A political party known as the
with the resistance leaders against the
Young Turks took control of Turkey
Turks, and became a magistrate in the
from before World War I until its end.
newly formed Armenian government
During the Armenian Genocide, this
that lasted from 1918 to 1921.
nationalist group killed a million and a
I wrote this article to share my
half Armenians (there were only about
family’s story and the history of the
two million). The first to be targeted
Armenian people. Due to our efforts,
were the political and intellectual
A
True Colors
21 countries have officially recognized
the Armenian Genocide. However,
the United States still has not. In
2005, 178 members of the House of
Representatives and 32 senators cosponsored a letter to President Bush,
urging him to use the word “genocide”
in his annual statement on the April
24th memorial. However, Turkey
threatened the resolution on U.S.Turkish relations, causing many to
lose their resolve.
What is the continuing story of
genocide for the people of Armenia?
After eradicating the Armenian
people, the Turks demolished any
remnants of Armenian cultural
heritage. They leveled entire cities
to remove all traces of our 3,000-
year-old civilization. After achieving
power in Germany, Adolph Hitler told
his generals in 1939, “Thus for the
time being I have sent to the East only
my ‘Death’s Head Units’ with the
orders to kill without pity or mercy all
men, women, and children of Polish
race or language. Only in such a way
will we win the vital space that we
need. Who still talks nowadays about
the Armenians?”
Yet our story continues. We unite to
take action on a grassroots level. We
work toward correcting the human
rights violations of those governments
who distort, deny, and delude history
and disguise past and present genocides, massacres, and human-rights
violations. ✎
Yaya
Wishing to know Yaya’s contemplations
glancing out windows for long periods of time,
there were potent men flexing, carrying produce behind
her, elevating the past labor of our people’s struggles
to achieve greatness through a woman’s own money house career
Yaya’s sweat droplets form who we are today.
She stood for women those who were meant for kitchens, making
gyros, avgolemono, and spanakopita. Futures of families of women,
attempts for power.
Our worlds of olive skin tones, deep chocolate
hair strands, wholesome functioning forms of powerful frames.
She dreamed of the potential of her offspring, strong and
intelligent, sturdy, proud, independent, rich.
Awaken me from way back, from an ongoing strife,
from Yaya and her women to me and future generations,
with deep aspirations, and enthusiastic minds;
filling up souls with positive mindsets
living with spirits of Yaya’s inner potency
stay intact, angels in peace. May they take the flesh of the lamb
roasted on spits, royalty of my blood, and abscond
Or rather let bones alongside enflame, burning hardships of
my relatives. Or will they prosper in the riches of our wealth,
and aspire to resemble Queens?
by Sophia Petris, Linden, NJ
by Tim Woodland, Wilmington, DE
sound intelligent doesn’t mean I’m trying to
he idea of “race” in the United States
act “white.” I’m just being myself.
is based on physical characteristics
I have a white friend who loves hip-hop
and skin color, and has played an
and wears Bob Marley shirts. That does not
essential part in shaping our society. Stereomean she acts “black.” Whether I’m making
types continue today as blacks are often porrap music or playing Vanessa
trayed as athletic, religious, poor,
Carlton on my piano, I’m not
musically talented, and criminal.
How can
trying to be or act like anyone
I love rock music; Linkin Park
else, just me.
and Sum 41 are two of the best
someone
act
I know no one wants to believe
bands right now. I recently picked
they
are capable of stereotyping,
up the guitar. I skateboard, I
like a color?
but we all do it. When someone
windsurf, and I speak with correct
doesn’t fit a stereotype, people
English. So I’m white? How ’bout
may say they are acting like someone else.
this: I love fried chicken, I make Kool-Aid
But the coolest thing to do is be yourself
because it’s cheap, and I eat cereal when I
and appreciate things that you honestly
don’t feel like cooking. Now what am I?
prefer. Forget those who think they know
How can someone act like a color? Just
who you are and how you should act. ✎
because I skateboard, play the keyboard, or
T
32
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
Photo by Cheyenne Bennett, Elwood, KS
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S
cientists are searching the galaxy for signs of
life. They are looking for another planet with the
major ingredient of existence; without it, life
certainly would not be possible. Seventy-one percent
of our planet is made of it. We, earthlings, take this resource for granted and are using it with little thought
of the consequences. Earth could become just another
desolate planet circling the sun if we do not realize
soon that life is built on a very limited resource that it
is steadily decreasing. It is water, and it will not be
around forever if we continue using it as we do.
Earth is called “the Blue Planet” for a reason. Over
Photo by Kenta Murakami, Issaquah, WA
two-thirds of its surface is covered with water. Yet,
only one percent is suitable for direct human use as
well as our many other needs, such as farming. Of
that one percent, U.S. citizens use about one trillion
gallons a day. And the state that uses the most water
is California – about 25 percent of our country’s
consumption, or 250 million gallons a day.
The water that California uses goes primarily to
irrigating crops, making it the fifth largest supplier
of produce in the world. Without water, the state’s
agriculture and economy would collapse.
Water is extremely important to our daily lives.
Just think of living a day without it: you couldn’t
shower, brush your teeth, flush the toilet, wash dishes,
or do laundry. However, these luxuries create a costly
lifestyle.
The use of water is obviously not unique to California. However, two factors make the issue of greater
importance there than elsewhere in the country. California is one of the hottest and driest states. The snow
each winter supplies water for the summer drought.
But climate change is diminishing California’s snowpack by about 10 percent annually. With increasing
The Tree
S
This easy step saves three gallons each day. Shortentemperatures, the Sierra Nevada snowpack is expected
ing your showers by just two minutes will conserve
to decrease by 90 percent by the end of this century.
five gallons a day. If 50 million people started washThe second factor that makes California’s water
ing only full loads of laundry, that would save one
shortage even more severe is population growth.
trillion gallons of water a year.
Scientists predict that the state’s population will
Did you know that you can recycle about 40 perincrease by about 20 million by 2031; that’s 65 percent of the water you use at home? The waste water
cent in just over 20 years. The stress of the rapidly
from showers and sinks is called gray water. Although
growing population and the dire impact of climate
not safe for consumption, it can be used for
change mean that California’s future is in
watering your lawn and plants.
jeopardy. A change is needed.
California’s
Conserving water outside is important,
The solution must include a combinasince hoses can use 10 gallons a minute.
tion of scientific methods to increase
future is in So, use a broom to clean driveways. Water
water availability, as well as decrease its
your yard before 8 a.m. to reduce waste
demand. Desalination – the process of
jeopardy
from evaporation and wind interference.
removing salt from seawater – is one
Also choosing plants that are accustomed
method of increasing supply. It seems
to your area’s climate will significantly reduce the
like the perfect solution; after all, we have a seemneed to water.
ingly unlimited supply of ocean water. However,
Simple, effective steps like these are our best bet to
desalination has many downsides. For starters, it’s
conserve water. The water situation in California – and
expensive. The process also requires massive amounts
many other states – is increasingly precarious. Water is
of energy, which will produce CO2 and other byprodessential to life and is our most precious resource, but
ucts, the leading cause of climate change. As a result,
it is also a very limited one. It is clear we need to do
those greenhouse gases will make the earth hotter,
something. Whatever the method, we must conserve
causing snow to disappear at an even greater pace.
as if our life depends on it, because it does. ✎
Another science-based solution is a process known
as cloud seeding. Clouds hold a lot of moisture but
sometimes need encouragement to release rain. There is
evidence that we can force clouds to rain by dropping
chemicals into them. However, the results are uncertain
and we do not know what other problems could occur.
Upon closer inspection,
Given these complications, science and technology
the gashes in the sky (or electrical wires)
may not provide an easy solution. In other words, we
leave cerulean cracks around your pupils,
need to seriously consider how to decrease the decarefully formed to weld to your eyes and
mand for water. This challenge can be attacked from
obstruct your view
many angles. For example, curbing population growth
of the valley below.
is one way to lessen the burden. Restrictions on immigration might help, but ultimately, it requires reducing
The highways are lined with
birth rates. However, would Americans be willing to
shards of glass and smashed rubies.
let the government control something so personal?
They were once salt-dripping stalactites
Lifestyle changes do not need to be this drastic,
in the Cave of Endless Wonders
however. Each of us can take simple steps to help
before the sky ripped open
preserve water, save money, and slow climate change.
and men decided they needed shelter.
The wonderful thing about this is we do not have to
Trails of gray and silver
wait for the government to take action. Every individsnail their way down the windshield
ual can make a difference.
and last month’s polluted gutter water
One way to save water is to eat less meat. It takes
washes drink lids up our shoes
2,500 gallons of water to raise one pound of hamburger
and drops gyro wrappers on our heads
meat, whereas a one-pound soy burger, with similar
as the stars sparkle
protein content, requires one-tenth that amount.
in a burgundy sky.
There are many ways to save water around your
env ironm ent
Will California Be Left High and Dry?
by Kathryn Keeley,
Three Rivers, CA
Pinnacle
house. While brushing your teeth, turn off the faucet.
by Maddie Townsend, Salt Lake City, UT
by Blair Hartman, Chester, NJ
ometimes if I stared at the tree in just the right way,
in just the right light, the limbs seemed to sway and
breathe as they stretched toward the open, periwinkle sky, their tips scraping the bellies of the cotton-swab
clouds. The scars and wounds in the tree’s torso almost
appeared to gasp and whistle in the wind; and from where
I sat on the muddy ground, I felt comfortably small.
How old could this dinosaur, this magnificent arbor,
be? I wondered, my gray eyes tearing as I struggled to
trace the spindly limbs up toward the white glow of the
sun, blinking owlishly and leaning back on my elbows.
The clearing was alive with music – choirs of mockingbirds and lonesome doves competed on rotting branches
as summer crickets chirped and buzzed in their tall
stalks of grass. The playful breeze sang a taunting tune
as she brushed against my bare, pale arms, and the
newborn frogs in the murky pond croaked from their
gloomy home in the algae.
I found this tree a year ago, when my family moved
into the ramshackle house just across the field, when the
flowers were giving off the same alluring scent I could
smell now. The barren clearing was my lonely place,
hidden by a large meadow of grass as high as a horse
and prickly trees that separated the other houses in the
neighborhood from mine.
I lay back on the soft ground, itchy nubs of grass
poking through my thin shirt into the small of my back.
The earth wafted sweet odors of ferns and grass, of mud
and mold. I smiled and brushed at an insect that landed
on my sunburned cheek, leaving a dark streak of dirt on
my skin.
I lost track of time as I bathed in the intoxicating rays
of sun, waiting for another human voice to wake me from
these peaceful summer daydreams. ✎
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Photo by Olivia Ezinga, Alto, MI
M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
33
Poetry
Porch Light
The doorbell rings
At least once a week.
I dash down the slippery stairs
To yank open the great green door
Rustling the tree with the plastic leaves.
There is a small army
Of smiling faces
Expectant faces
Basking in the twilight
Of anticipation.
We sit
Perched under the porch light,
Feel the cool concrete underneath our fingertips.
The cobwebs in the corners
Eavesdrop on our conversations.
Secrets soar from whispered mouths
Like the mosquitoes
That nip at our skin.
We sway back and forth,
Rubbing leaves in between our fingertips
The sun slips down
And the birds stop to chirp.
We signal hushed good-byes
And tiptoe
Past the porch light.
Days slip away.
The air turns cold.
And the doorbell doesn’t ring
As often as it used to
In the summertime.
Heart and Sole
consolation
Some pin their hearts on their sleeves,
Or chains sliding down their necks,
Or clips woven into brightly streaked hair.
I wear my heart, large and bright,
On the bottom of my Converse low-tops,
Crusted with dried dirt that has long since hardened
On the glow-in-the-dark rim
That envelops shiny, clear vinyl
In which my purple-and-yellow-patterned socks
show through.
They stretch up to my knees,
Slightly crumpled, uneven and striking.
Winding and folding down long tan legs
And into size 10 low-tops hugging size 10 feet
That have never longed for the caressing softness
Of gentle sheepskin in Australian boots.
With neon stockings pulled over them,
My thin, long feet progress into
Thin, long toes, irregular and bent by nature.
Tips dipped in shiny cobalt and midnight charcoal,
The brilliant colors are useless and hidden.
I wear my heart large and bright, though unseen,
On the bottoms of my shoes.
Shown only through the acts of jumping, kicking,
or falling,
Dirtied with mud and worn from miles,
I pin my heart proudly on my sole.
if, on Tuesday mornings, a desert expands
from the corner shop where he sells flowers
wrapped in illegible scrawlings of ribbon,
by Morgan Renner, Cincinnati, OH
and if the sun dips, then all the windowsills
that are lined up against the curves of the
darkening world will
catch with tiny flames, sparking
consolation – the source of all literature.
on Tuesday evenings, she buys
from the shrunken man a few
demure, long-stemmed lilies
to press against the damp
pages of poetry books,
wet with the imprint of translucent flowers.
by Cynthia Miller, Chevy Chase, MD
Gravelly Point
Midway to morning,
Baby moon speckled freckled horizon
Sweeping ’cross my lashes
Makes me think of you states away
Caught reliving last time we were us
Watching crabgrass grazing on the bank
Of the Potomac where boots batter rocks in bellows
For their mate and the children along the marshland
in burgundy and cobalt and ginger dripping pizza
sauce and soda drops
from their lips that fall along their chins to rest in pools
past the neck kissing the collars of their T-shirts,
by Taylor Benson, Clarkston, MI
Nerd
34
the sun dips too, inverting like silver
pilot fish that dart along windowsills
and frames with quick, furtive movements.
they ran around us in shrieking circles
when you clasped your hands around my waist
and I pushed my toasted nose into the dip above your
collar bone
as the planes fluttered overhead up and down, calling out
a notice of their landing on time … or twenty
minutes delayed
which didn’t matter for we had nowhere to go just
the right person to do nothing with
Unlike most of the guys who popularize the industry, me?
I wasn’t raised in the streets, most of my life I’ve been
considered a geek.
Shielding my test papers from cheaters,
Discussing the exponential growth rate of bacteria with
my teachers
Instead of feeding addictions, my nose was in the dictionary
and Sisson’s.
Kids on the street would laugh and point saying,
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Au contraire, the nightmares you awake from in the dark
Don’t compare to the imagery evoked by Clive Barker’s diction.
I wore my britches high and tight and shirts unbuttoned
to the third.
First love called me Britannica because she’d throw
out random words
And I’d define them, etymology was extra.
Next to Webster I was not only a giant, I was
N-E-R-D-I-E-R, fa real.
Square black glasses and swinging dreads on a
six-foot-three body,
I could hardly just blend in.
Disciplined in the art of creative expression,
I found myself on stage in front of crowds as early as 1997.
Ten or eleven years later, ink reunites with wrinkled paper,
My voice is a little deeper and teeth a little straighter.
Pants still ride high, making it easier for haters to
kiss my Adidas
Who’d now rather join us than beat us
Because defeat is not an option when you’ve been through
what I’ve been through.
I’ve never had to trap but that doesn’t mean I haven’t spent too
Many nights contemplating how to make it quick
and painless.
Don’t get it twisted just because the “Star Wars” theme
is on my playlist.
After Wounded Knee
You still wear that old war paint
(angry lines slashed above your eyes)
I can feel you waiting for the battle to come
(spikes of red staining your cheeks)
Teen In
There are no pawing horses now
RA k
ReadW
No painted hands on their haunches
Choiceer’s
(the number of warrior souls you stole)
No noonday sun beating on bare backs
No smell of sweat and leather and bravery
Puncturing the familiar woodsmoke
(breastplates of porcupine quills, feathers in hair)
No ululations of war, yelling at fear
No singing, no dancing, no tribes, no homes
(scars left from the struggle free from the sun)
Just a drum drum drum beat
(a piece of flesh left for the Great Spirit)
Piercing through dreams.
Out of the corner of my right eye
I catch glimpses of the landscape we
pass by, but I’ve seen it all before.
Concrete barriers and painted lines
keep my driver on course.
by Rodney Wilson, Dallas, TX
by Elise Lockwood, Carmel, IN
by Megan Buckner, Gilford, NH
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
by Mackenzie Hoska, Arlington, VA
Shotgun Slumber
Photo by Jessica Chantler, Corvallis, OR
My face is smushed against the glass –
cheekbone and jawline numb from
the cold, and long hours spent pressed
against the window. Rhythmic breaths
create patches of fog along the contours
of my nose and lips.
Beyond the asphalt and wildflower medians
sprawl cornfields, suburban neighborhoods,
vast parks. Perpetual movement fools me
and for a moment, I am stationary –
free to view the passing still frames
of others’ lives.
Another mile marker and tired eyes flutter –
the endless strings of telephone lines,
cow pastures and landfills blur together
as the lullaby resonating from the spinning
axles beneath my feet sings me to sleep again.
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And I remember she wouldn’t wake up.
Her lips were mushed together in a
Horrible shade of red
They buried my mother in a white dress
And red lips.
And she couldn’t see.
Where are your glasses, Mommy?
And still at sixteen I bring them to my face
And peer through the distorted murky lenses
To see what she saw
Maybe one day …
And I remember it hitting me
Like it does every day
When I hear them all talk and complain about their
“Horrible” mothers
What’s it like to have a mother
I’d give anything to know,
Or at least for them to know how lucky they are.
They know.
And I remember she wouldn’t sit up
And I dreamed of a stuffing machine because
Someone whispered by my ear she was
Cut in half and stuffed
And it made no sense
And still at sixteen I wonder
What happened to my mother?
And I remember her faintly
She doesn’t even smile in my dreams anymore
And I wonder if she’ll ever be proud of me
If she’d ever approve of me
And who I’ve become
The things I’ve seen
The things I’ve done
And I remember her singing
Though I can’t hear her voice
The only happy Christmas I hold on to
Every year
Maybe one day it’ll come back
I used to think
Maybe one day she’d come back
And still at sixteen I hope
Maybe one day she’ll come back …
And I remember she wouldn’t wake up
Not even to say good-bye.
maybe next time
you’re as sweet as the sugar pan of rio
the words dripped from your mouth
like water from a leaky faucet
i’ve been meaning to fix it
but just haven’t had the time
or so they say.
the look in your eyes
like straight black coffee
no sugar, no cream, no nothing
almost makes me wince the first hot sip
trickling down my throat
still swollen from your kisses.
surviving off a staple diet
of lattes – extra foam
sleep crusted at the corners of my eyes
doesn’t let me forget last night.
not yet.
flannel shirts against my cheek,
tear-stained and puffy,
but when is it not.
sour gummy worms snake through my throat
as slippery as your glances in the hall
dripping with disdain.
you’re too good for me,
you once said to me over a coconut macaroon
and a grande chai,
too hot still.
you told me I didn’t deserve this
damn right I didn’t deserve it.
and here you are now, wondering why I left.
wondering why I turned away when you told me to go.
I didn’t think it was that hard of a concept
to follow words as simple as those.
sleep drifts in and out of the window
like coffee at two in the morning
trying to stay awake, desperate to sort out my thoughts
before I can lay my head down
but it doesn’t seem to be working.
by Hillary Rasker, Bozeman, MT
I close my eyes and listen to the storm battering
around me,
enjoying the balmy sensation of the car vents
breathing hot air,
warming my skin despite the bitter cold outside.
For once I have nowhere to be, no deadlines to meet,
no class to rush to,
and so I stay here just a little while longer while the
world races on around me.
by Keegan Watters, Dallas, TX
Why I Write
I write to create
In the world’s massive novel
A page of my own
Teen In
RA k
ReadW
Choiceer’s
by Emily Marsteller, Washington, DC
Shade
Rock star,
drug addict,
or geriatric on the rebound from cataract surgery,
she said,
are the only legitimate personas for sunglass-wearing.
What about adolescence
and wrinkled hot dogs
and the velvety shores of Jersey?
Those lucky enough to find it
Will throw it away.
Those who cannot see it
Will scorn it.
And all the while
Someone out there
Will be wishing
For a chance at both.
Do you have an opinion on the grammatically stunted drugstore novel
or the vulgarity of toe rings?
What of that sapphire swimsuit that’s missing three jewels
and chapped lips
and that obscene practice permissible only after achieving a stupefied state
of tourism (long after fanny packs and card decks) known as bike-renting?
by Vanessa Quarinto, Surrey, BC, Canada
In high school they all say
the universe is ours to save.
But we ended up just
shrugging our shoulders
I can faintly hear the wind pecking at the cracks
on the door,
sending the puddles of water on the ground into
frantic ripples
and propelling crackled autumn leaves onto
my car windshield.
What about beaches
and tan lines
and ocean-stained copies of Time?
On Love
There are knicks in the
girls’ bathroom doorknob
and I imagine someone has
a homicidal obsession
and that is where they count
their “privileged” victims.
I sit with my feet up on the dashboard,
music bursting from the speakers in rhythmic little puffs,
windows rolled down just enough so I can dangle my
left hand over the edge.
But what about style and flirtation and Jackie O?
by Ambar Duverge, Allentown, PA
Corrupt
Time Takes a Breath
Poetry
Memories
Art by Sam England, Las Vegas, NV
Ginko Biloba Supplements
A magnesium salsa
of mild dandelions
licorice weed
and humble bees
Seriously, Mother, what do you make of chuckling quietly at women
whose shrunken, upturned noses can’t support their aviators,
or that psychedelic rainbow emitted by misshapen lenses,
rivaled only by oil leaks in the parking lots of supermarkets?
Nonsense. UV rays are fictionalized by the same people
who invented evolution and
global warming
and NASA.
No daughter of mine shall subscribe to that mongering,
that hullabaloo.
You’ll just have to squint.
and pinning each other up against the lockers.
Save Johnny Appleseed
He’s married to the serum of truffula trees
watch him here and there staggerin’ ’cross the sky
Far up above in a bicycle-powered blimp
he’s sure as Haiti, one heavenly boy
But when she turned, I shaded my rusty eyes anyway,
if for no other reason than to shield myself for a little while
against that blinding
light source
called humanity.
by Grace Gregory, Greenfield, MA
by Adora Lee, Lebanon, NH
by Danielle Charette, Durham, NC
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M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
35
heroes
Father
Wen Zhao
Mother
by Victor Zhao,
Brooklyn, NY
Anita Bechel
H
is eyes strained to make out the tiny characters in the
dim candlelight. “5x2 - 23x -10 = (5x+2) (x-5),” he
wrote on the cheap yellow paper he had managed to get.
It was 1978, and his family was stuck in poverty in China. He
knew the only way out was education, but a good education was
almost impossible to obtain. His teachers couldn’t teach him
anything – he was smarter than they were. He had to study on
his own, without any guidance.
With just a few books his uncle had kept from his school
days, he began the difficult task of teaching himself math.
Although the books were hard to understand, he tackled them
with fervor. Every day, he woke up early to listen to the radio
and learn English. After school, he worked to support his family.
At night, after a long, hard day, he
retired to his bedroom to study,
He taught
sometimes staying up until two in
morning.
himself math theSince
the books did not have solution manuals, he had no idea whether
his answers were right. His goal was to finish as many problems
as he could and master each concept as quickly as possible before moving on. Some problems took him days to figure out.
In just two years, he learned everything from basic fractions
to calculus. His arduous work paid off, and in 1980, he was
accepted into Sun Yat-sen University, one of the most prestigious in China. He later immigrated to the United States, where
he got his master’s degree. Even though he had a tough time at
first, he is now a successful IT manager at Deutsche Bank.
Throughout the challenges life threw his way, he persevered
with determination and will. His spirit carried him through
hardships, lifting him out of poverty and into a successful life.
Listening to his story has made me realize how strong my father
is. It has inspired me to work hard on my own studies, following
his example. My father is someone I look up to and admire
greatly. He is my hero. ✎
by Kayla Bechel, Elmwood, WI
is her optimistic outlook on life. She is a
ome heroes have lightning speed;
free spirit who loves to have fun and be outsome can fly, be in two places at once,
side. A jack of all trades, when things go
excel in a hobby or activity, or show
awry with a motorcycle, car, or tractor, she
unconditional love and support. Believe it or
is there with tools in her hands. When she’s
not, my hero can do all of these.
not riding her Harley-Davidson motorcycle,
Every morning this incredible woman
she enjoys maintaining the motocross track
wakes early, racing to the barn with lightin our backyard.
ning speed to care for our goats and chickShe is constantly improving our home,
ens. Then she goes to work until lunch,
our lives, and our goals. She believes in us
when she returns home to feed and water
and pushes us to meet our potential every
our animals. The next part of her day is
day. She lives by the motto, “Life’s too
spent working diligently until it is time to
short. Don’t sweat the small
watch my twin brothers and
stuff.” We are reminded of that
me compete in our track
time to time when an
meets. She flies there in her
She plays the from
insignificant teenage “crisis”
1998 Chevy Silverado just in
time to take pictures and cheer
hand she has arises. My mother doesn’t take
anything for granted, and she
us on.
been dealt
instills this and other values in
My brothers and I had a
me. In poker terms, my mother
wonderful childhood, growing
plays the hand she has been
up with a mom, a dad, a big
dealt, and she plays it well.
house, a big yard, and plenty of toys. But
This truly remarkable woman is my
tragedy struck our family one September
hero and my best friend, someone I can
evening in 2002 when my father’s life was
confide in. She has taught me about love,
taken from us. My mom stayed strong and
generosity, and perseverance. She has
didn’t let us see her grief or pain. She raised
also shown me how to put others before
three teenagers single-handedly, never commyself. She never gave up, even when
plaining. She tries to provide us with everythe going was tough. She has made many
thing that children with two parents would
sacrifices for us and for herself. She is a
have. She has great will power and rarely
wonderful role model and a compassionate
asks for help. In her mind, if there’s a will,
woman I will always admire. I hope I will
there’s a way. She is completely selfless and
grow as strong, willful, and respected as
sacrifices herself so she can give her chilmy mother until it is my time to go up, up,
dren what she thinks they deserve.
and away! ✎
Another of my mother’s heroic qualities
S
Mother
Dawn Tierney
by Lauren Tierney, Hull, MA
W
hether the weather is stifling hot, excruciatingly cold, or anything in between, you can
bet your bottom dollar that at 8 a.m. sharp
Dawn Tierney is taking Chloe for a walk. Dawn is
known throughout our community as “the British
woman who walks her dog everywhere.” Every day
Photo by Ali Rae Armstrong, Eau Claire, WI
36
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
prove everyone wrong. Her childhood diligence was
for the past six years, she has taken Chloe, our yellow
ever-eminent in Dawn’s recovery. Every day for five
Lab, for a leisurely two-hour walk around town.
long years, she struggled to control her emotions and
Through these walks, and over time, she has compiled
complete tasks she had previously taken for granted:
a motley assortment of friends and acquaintances,
eating, drinking, and watching TV. Six years later,
from a bashful 20-year-old dog groomer to a spunky
Dawn strolled along the coast of the North Sea with
90-year-old kite maker. Although her friends are quite
her border collie, Zoe, wearing a smile that spoke a
diverse, there is one common thread that ties them
thousand words: she had accomplished the impossitogether: they are oblivious of the hardships Dawn
ble. While doctors may call my mother’s recovery a
has overcome to make her everyday life possible.
“medical miracle,” I know her perseverance and
As a child, Dawn possessed a passionate desire
passion paved the way.
to learn. Daughter to a British “Bobby”
Whenever I need a helping hand, she
(policeman), Dawn and her four siblings
Doctors
offers guidance that has molded me into
constantly moved around the United
Kingdom every time he was restationed.
the diligent, inspired person I am today.
doubted she
Nonetheless, her acute intellect and
Through her experiences and encourageundisputed diligence led her to thrive
ment, she has taught me that nothing is
would ever
impossible. Her strength has equipped me
in school.
walk again
with the drive to never accept mediocrity.
By 21, she was well on her way up the
In times when I feel hopeless, I imagine
elevator of success; she had studied dilihow my mother would handle the situation. This
gently for a nursing degree, earned a highly competialways supplies me with the strength to overcome
tive internship in Saudi Arabia, and fallen in love. She
was on top of the world when the unthinkable hapobstacles, and for that I am eternally grateful.
Every day my mother walks our dog all over town.
pened: a debilitating stroke. Everything Dawn had
As she greets her friends, she is blissfully aware of
known, everything she had loved, everything she had
the accomplishments that proved the experts wrong
worked for was lost in an instant. The left side of her
and allowed her to live life to the fullest. Strolling
body was completely paralyzed, and major parts of
her brain were declared dead. Doctors doubted she
down the Atlantic coast, she wears a smile that offers
would ever walk or talk again, let alone have children.
refreshment on a blistering summer day and warmth
on a bitter winter night: her smile is the epitome of
Dawn, however, begged to differ.
She concentrated all her efforts on one mission:
success. ✎
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Angels &
Airwaves
I-Empire
W
hen listening to the radio,
I notice all the seemingly
popular songs these stations
play over and over, but I don’t
seem to fall into the hype. The
rappers rap to the same beat,
the pop stars pop their way to a
similar chorus, and the rockers
jam with an unchanging guitar
riff. To be blunt, the songs are
very un-original, and the sound
is something we’re all too
familiar with.
If you’re like me, the thought
of derivative music makes you
want to throw your speakers
out your bedroom window.
But if you
New
to avoid
adventure want
spending your
of sound
allowance
and space on a new
stereo because your old one
is smashed to bits on your
front lawn, go out and buy
“I-Empire” by Angels & Airwaves. It will do your ears, and
your speakers, some good.
Following their first album,
“We Don’t Need to Whisper,”
“I-Empire” was a much anticipated sequel from this band
(often abbreviated as AvA).
The album, which includes the
upbeat single, “Everything’s
Magic,” creates a new wave of
alternative music with a soothing but solid sound. The lyrics
build a view of the world
through songs of love, war,
betrayal, and peace. Not
only that, but the lyrics are
meaningful and very thoughtprovoking, with lines such as
“If you see the light break
through the clouds/And fire
run at distant towers/Well the
world will begin, exactly how
it ends” from “Heaven.”
For those who haven’t yet
heard AvA, you’re in for an
experience like no other, with
the sound from your speakers
painting a picture of dark and
light hues. What you hear may
make it seem like you are floating in space; the hair on the
back of your neck may stand
straight up, as mine did. Or
maybe you’ll let out some emotions of your own as you listen
to frontman Tom DeLonge spill
his heart. Either way you look
at it, each time you press play
you enter a whole new world of
music.
AvA has a knack for building
up each song with dramatic
musical introductions. What
starts as a couple of simple
pokes of the keyboard or drums,
crescendos into a wave of sound
and energy. Large musical
introductions like those in
“Heaven” begin as soft wisps of
a beat, small gusts of wind, then
add an organ, and build in guitar and drums as they continue
into the chorus. Either way a
song plays out, each is uniquely
put together, and finely intertwined with the others with
hints of previous songs in their
introduction or ending.
Whether you listen to country, rap, hip-hop, or techno,
“I-Empire” will take you on a
whole new adventure of sound
and space. What you will enjoy
about this inimitable band and
their beautiful harmonies are
the words that every teenager
can relate to about being human.
I highly recommend “I-Empire” to all who enjoy a taste of
something new, or those who
are open to diving into this
breathtaking new adventure of
our generation. ✎
pieces on the album by Kid
Cudi, Young Jeezy, and Lil
Wayne (who also sang with
Auto-Tune). Despite this, his
lyrics are still quite different
from anything he’s written
before.
An emotional After
masterpiece losing his
mother and
breaking up with his fiancee,
West poured his sadness from
these losses into this album.
“808s and Heartbreak” is
West’s fourth CD to go platinum and is the highest debut
of his career. Although the
album has been criticized by
some hip-hop magazines, many
artists respect him for releasing
something different and experimental. With a deep, cold,
lonely sound, “808s and
Heartbreak” is an emotional
masterpiece. ✎
by Andrea Ciofalo,
Lemont, IL
ALTERNATIVE
HIP-HOP
Black Holes and
Revelations
Kanye West
808s and
Heartbreak
W
ith lyrics focusing on
love and heartache,
Kanye West’s latest album
“808s and Heartbreak” shocked
many. When he traded his
flashy hip-hop attire for a gray
plaid suit, it was clear this new
album would be nothing like
his first three.
To start, paralleling his new
look is West’s change in production. Using only Roland
TR-808 drums and synthesizers, West creates an experimental musical landscape that
would never be expected with
such limited tools. His album
primarily features him singing
with Auto-Tune (popularly
used by T.-Pain), which had
many hip-hop fans mocking his
new approach.
Right from the start, one
might be shocked to hear the
slow, spacey track “Say You
Will,” which may make the
listener think of experimental
music like Radiohead. His second single, “Heartless,” is the
only one reminiscent of his hiphop beats, even though he still
sings with Auto-Tune.
Songs like “Paranoid” bring
the listener back 25 years, with
an electro beat you would never
expect from the man who produced tracks on Jay-Z’s “The
Blueprint.”
Even though “Heartbreak” is
far from West’s earlier work,
there are still songs for new
hip-hop heads out there, with
by Nick Carr, Wyckoff, NJ
Muse
“B
lack Holes and Revelations” is a perfect name
for Muse’s latest; the album
gives you the feeling of being
on another planet. It combines
synthesizers, low but deep bass,
heavy drums, crisp guitar, and
high-pitched vocals to make
quite an alien sound. With a
perfect mix of slow and fast
songs, Muse’s diversity makes
the music appeal to any type of
listener.
The album’s theme of political corruption bleeds profusely
through the songs “Take a
Bow,” “Exo-Politics,” “Assassin,” and even “Knights of
Cydonia.” “Take a Bow”
blatantly incriminates corrupt
leaders with lines such as
“Corrupt/You corrupt/Bring
corruption to all that you touch/
Hold/You’ll behold/And beholden for all that you’ve done/
Spell/Cast a spell/Cast a spell
on the country you run.”
The album has a unique and
refreshing sound. It is a great
choice for those who like electronic rock with a synthetic
sound that utilizes the sliding
technique on a guitar. The heavier songs, such as “Map of the
Problematique,” are almost like
a less hardcore Rage Against
the Machine. The softer ones,
such as “Invincible” and “Soldier’s Poem,” sound like Pink
Floyd with more synthesizers,
and “Starlight” has a sound
similar to U2.
The strongest songs on the
album are “Assassin,” “Knights
of Cydonia,” “Invincible,”
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“Starlight,” and “Take a Bow.”
“Assassin” is by far the heaviest. It begins with a menacing
guitar riff and then explodes
with tremendous force sure to
knock even the heaviest giant
off its feet. “Knights of Cydonia” gives you the feeling of
galloping through the countryside on horseback on a mission
to save the world. “Invincible”
and “Starlight” are both uplifting tracks, and “Take a Bow” is
like nothing
Unique and you’ve ever
refreshing heard before.
When I
sound
first bought
“Guitar Hero: World Tour,” I
never thought this would be a
gateway to finding a new
favorite band. When I first
heard “Assassin” in the game, I
thought, I have to hear more.
So I picked up Muse’s latest,
“Black Holes and Revelations,”
and it proved to be $15 well
spent.
If you are looking for something new and unique, take a
journey with “Black Holes and
Revelations.” ✎
by Joey Powalski,
Wilmington, DE
CONCERT
Video Games
Live
T
ry to imagine the energy
of a concert, the beauty of
orchestral music, the intensity
of live action from video
games, and a dazzling light
show all combined into one live
performance. This could prove
difficult, until you see “Video
Games Live.”
Created and produced by
world-famous video game composers Tommy Tallarico and
Jack Wall, the show consists of
a full symphony orchestra playing onstage in front of a cinema-sized video screen. Stunning, state-of-the-art lighting
dances over the walls of the
theater and its occupants while
explosive video from cuttingedge games plays on the screen.
Along with guest pianist
Martin Leung, the orchestra
presents a powerful array of 20
pieces featuring a classic arcade medley at the start and
several interactive elements
involving audience members.
All in all, “Video Games Live”
provides a spectacular sensory
performance that leaves you
stunned and blinking days
afterward.
Something that shocked me,
however, is the enormous
amount of violence in these
video games. The creators
seem to have no qualms in
showing extreme destruction,
killing, brutality, and other
violence.
Spectacular There also
seems to be
sensory
performance no consequences,
but only rewards for this destruction. It shocks me that
games with such beautiful
animation could also contain
such violence.
I was fascinated by the interactive pieces of the performance. Twice the host brought
audience members up on stage
to play the actual games while
the orchestra responded on the
fly. The talent and overall unity
of the musicians astounded me
in their ability to do this.
Other times, people dressed
as characters from the video
games came on stage during
the concert. At first, the characters appeared as comic exaggerations, which gamers in the
audience appreciated. After a
while, though, the characters
grew more serious, and eventually one appeared pointing a
fake machine gun at the audience. I found this not only
distasteful but rather horrifying,
and it put a slight damper on
an otherwise captivating
performance. ✎
Music reviews
ALTERNATIVE
by Cole Kelly, Montpelier, VT
Art by Faith Brown, Mount Shasta, CA
M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
37
Movie & TV reviews
COMEDY
Marley and Me
“M
arley and Me,” based
on the popular book
by John Grogan, is the story
of the miraculous connection
between dog and owner. It stole
the hearts of dog-lovers everywhere. You not only appreciate
your own dog more, but you
form a relationship with Marley
and John.
The movie brings you
through a sea of emotions
as you follow John (Owen
Wilson) through ups and downs
in his life,
The bond including
between a when he finds
person and Marley, and
through the
a dog
adventures
of married life (his wife is
played by Jennifer Aniston)
and parenthood. As his life
changes, one thing stays the
same: Marley is by his side.
As John and his dog become
closer, you feel yourself falling
in love with Marley. The way
the movie presents the bond between a person and a dog will
definitely leave you in tears.
“Marley and Me” also
teaches the great lesson of
sticking to what is most important to you. As the demands of
work and home are compounded by the struggle of keeping
up with a hyper dog, John
knows he must choose what
is most important. This movie
allows you to bond with each
character as you follow them
through life and reminds you
to always stay true to what is
important to you, even if you’re
learning it from a dog. ✎
by Devon Graves,
Grapevine, TX
ACTION
Taken
“I
told you so” would be an
understatement for Liam
Neeson’s character, ex-CIA
operative Bryan Mills, in the
film “Taken.”
Mills retires from his job to
spend more time with his 17year-old daughter, Kim, who
now lives with her mother and
wealthy stepfather. Kim plans
to travel to Paris and seeks her
father’s permission, but he is
worried about her safety. Kim’s
disappointment and the anger
of his ex-wife convince Mills to
change his mind.
However, almost as soon as
Kim arrives in Paris, she is
kidnapped. Now Mills is faced
with his worst fear, losing his
daughter. He uses the skills he
learned from his job to track
down her captors.
38
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
“Taken” does not have much
of a storyline (and what little
plot it has is clichéd and predictable). Nor does the film
feature original, developed characters; the audience is forced
to put up with the seemingly
superhuman Mills, his spiteful
ex-wife, the naive, spoiled
Kim, and the inept “bad guys.”
Consequently,
Relies on “Taken” relies
action to on action and
some suspense
engage
viewers to engage its
viewers. Perhaps the best scene of the movie
is Kim’s kidnapping, in which
the element of suspense is
executed very well.
Unfortunately, the strengths
of the film are negated by the
ending, which I can only describe as terrible. There is a
complete change in mood, and
there is no transition for the
change to make sense. The
finale also leaves many loose
ends and seems to question the
audience’s intelligence with the
amount of liberties it takes.
Bottom line, expect a mildly
entertaining action flick with
one-dimensional characters, a
dull script, and a predictable
plot. ✎
by Karen Jin,
West Chester, PA
COMEDY
Nick and
Norah’s Infinite
Playlist
A
decade ago “When Harry
Met Sally,” a wonderful
romantic comedy, came out
about two friends who realized
they were in love after knowing
each other for 10 years. The
chemistry was adorable; they
seemed to have so much connection, making the audience
just say “come on, already!”
“Nick and Norah’s Infinite
Playlist” is a new romantic
comedy about
Has all the two 18-yearqualities of olds who kiss
before they
a classic
love story even meet and
fall in love in
one night. Oh, how times have
changed!
But “Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist” still has all the
qualities of a classic love story
like “When Harry Met Sally.”
Based on the book by Rachel
Cohn and David Levithan, the
movie begins with a depressed
Nick who just broke up with
his girlfriend. Played by the
always subtly adorable and
hysterical Michael Cera, Nick
pulls on your heartstrings when
he acts like an empty shell as
he sees his ex dancing with
another guy. Norah (Kat Dennings) sees Nick performing on
stage and in an act of desperation kisses him to annoy her
arch enemy, Tris, who happens
to be Nick’s ex. What a turning
point, right?
Nick, Norah, and their entertaining friends then embark on
a wonderful scavenger hunt in
New York to find their favorite
band, Where’s Fluffy? When
they lose Norah’s drunk, hysterical best friend, Caroline,
the gang gets sidetracked.
Throughout the night the chemistry between Nick and Norah
goes up and down but keeps
the audience rooting for more.
“Nick and Norah’s Infinite
Playlist” embodies the music
and freedom of youth. The
awesome soundtrack, which
includes Band of Horses, We
Are Scientists, the Dead 60s,
and Vampire Weekend, accompanies the movie perfectly. This
movie is a nice snapshot of the
youth of our generation: music
obsessed and enjoying the
company of friends. ✎
by Veronica Samuel,
Rockwall, TX
COMEDY
Eternal Sunshine of the
Spotless Mind
W
hen couples split, they
tend to focus on the negatives in their relationship. “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless
Mind,” created by Michel Gondry and Charlie Kaufman, applies science-fiction to the topic
of memory and love. This film
is definitely worth watching.
Joel (Jim Carrey) is trying to
deal with a painful breakup
with his girlfriend, Clementine
(Kate Winslet).
Memories He doesn’t
are always know it yet but
valuable he has been
erased from
her mind. They were on the
rocks, and Clementine was tired
of dealing with his boring ways.
So Joel visits her doctor
(Tom Wilkinson) and signs up
for the same procedure. Techies
remove everything from his
home that might remind him of
Clementine. However, Joel
changes his mind, and tries to
hold onto his precious memories of her by mentally outrunning the scientific process.
Carrey and Winslet are incredible and show the true
meaning of love, teaching viewers that memories are always
valuable. The special effects are
good, and lights and editing are
done well throughout. It’s one
of the rare sad movies Hollywood has made.
In my opinion, this amazing
movie is my favorite. It taught
me a lot, especially how memories are something you want to
hold onto forever.
“Eternal Sunshine of the
Spotless Mind” isn’t just a surprise, it’s an eye-opener and one
I’ll definitely never forget. ✎
by Taylor Lautt,
Dell Rapids, SD
after week, to see what will be
thrown at the characters and
whether they will finally bring
Skynet down and ensure the
continuation of humankind.
Tune in to the Connors’ battle
against the machines and you
will find a show you won’t be
able to turn away from. ✎
by Danielle Plant,
Lyn, ON, Canada
DRAMA
This movie is rated R.
Seven Pounds
TV
“S
Terminator:
The Sarah
Connor
Chronicles
“T
he Sarah Connor Chronicles” brings a whole
new angle to the popular Terminator movies, showing you
what Sarah and her son, John
Connor, the future leader of
mankind, endure every day to
survive. Mother and son must
fight the Terminators sent from
the future to kill John; their
mission is to prevent him from
leading the human resistance
against the machines in the
post-Judgment Day world.
Fighting alongside this duo
are Cameron – a Terminator
who was sent to protect John –
and his resistance fighter uncle,
Derek, both of whom won’t let
anything get
Actionpacked and in their way.
The acting
filled with in this TV
adventure series is phenomenal, drawing the viewer in
so deeply that it’s hard to pull
yourself away at the end of the
episode. Thomas Dekker does a
great job in his angst-ridden
portrayal of John, who wishes
for a normal life and to escape
his future fate. Lena Headey is
awesome in Sarah’s role of a
fighter and a mother who loves
her son more than anything.
Their relationship is strained
when she must make tough
decisions that her son doesn’t
agree with. It’s moving, tuning
in week after week and seeing
their struggle to survive and
their attempts to be like a
normal family when they most
definitely are not.
Each episode is action-packed
and filled with character development that sheds new light
on someone’s past, or in some
cases, future. New plot twists
are constantly thrown in, keeping the viewer intrigued and
preventing predictability from
ensnaring the show.
All in all, it’s definitely a TV
show worth watching week
even Pounds” is a movie
about self-sacrifice and
love, starring the incredible
Will Smith and Rosario Dawson. This deeply moving tale,
nominated for six awards, will
have viewer contemplating its
deeper meaning and captivated
by its genuine beauty.
The movie begins as Ben
Thomas (Smith), an IRS agent,
visits a variLeaves
ety of people to collect
viewers
heartbroken their taxes.
and satisfied Ben is an
interesting
character who seems merciless
when he criticizes and insults a
blind meat salesman. However,
he later helps rescue an elderly
woman in a nursing home. This
seemingly contradictory character of Ben continues for
much of the film.
All these random encounters
have the audience confused
about the direction the movie
will take. Not until halfway
through does the viewer learn
that Ben Thomas is really Tim
Thomas, and has been using his
brother’s IRS credentials. A
flashback reveals that Tim
caused a terrible car accident
by using his cell phone while
driving, and the collision killed
seven people, including his
new wife.
This tragic memory haunts
Tim, and his grief compels him
to seek out and test the character of seven individuals to see if
they are deserving of gifts he
wishes to give them. In this
way, he hopes to atone for the
seven lives he ruined. Along the
way, Tim falls in love with
Emily Posa (Dawson), who
needs a heart transplant.
This movie has a bittersweet
ending that will leave viewers
heartbroken but satisfied. It also
forces the audience to work to
put the pieces together and even
examine their own lives, unlike
many current superficial films.
The combination of extraordinary acting, moving content,
and a captivating plot make the
theme of sacrifice in “Seven
Pounds” one to remember. ✎
by Kristin Glastad, Heath, TX
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AUTOBIOGRAPHY
The Stranger
Gifted Hands:
The Ben
Carson Story
by Albert Camus
T
he best books are the ones
that make readers envision
the story. The Stranger does
that exceptionally well. It
depicts a quiet, compelling
man who commits a murder,
but not because of rage or
vengeance. There’s a sense of
film noir woven into the book.
Camus never even mentions the
character’s name.
One of the reasons it’s a
phenomenal book is because
100 percent of the time, the
audience knows exactly what’s
going on; getting lost or sidetracked isn’t a problem. Most
books are so busy with excessive details and descriptions
that the reader loses interest
and yearns to toss it aside.
In The Stranger, even when
something uninteresting is
happening,
The
the reader is
character’s locked down,
narration is unable to
fascinating break away.
For example,
an entire chapter describes the
protagonist on his balcony,
watching people go by on
the streets of the city below.
The scene should be mindnumbingly boring, but the
narration is fascinating. It is
possible to complete this book
in one sitting.
Another reason The Stranger
is so amazing is the characters
themselves. They’re attractive
and fun to read about, especially
the main character. He is so
calm and in control throughout
with no opinions about anything. He is the epitome of
indifference. When his lady
friend asks whether he loves
her, he replies, “Probably not,”
obviously being incredibly
frank. And although his mother
has recently died, he never
once sheds a tear the day of her
funeral. Afterward, he even
goes on a date. I’m not sure
if people will care for these
characters because they’re not
the flawless, infallible, and
faultless heroes the general
public is accustomed to, but
they sure are unique. I applaud
Camus for that.
Make this book next on your
list. Readers may take away a
good lesson from it. The moral:
be yourself and embrace honesty. The book is not outdated
in any way, nor it is too out-ofthis-world. Anyone can get into
it … way into it. So slap it on
your reading list. ✎
by Ryan Curley,
Phoenix, AZ
by Ben Carson &
Cecil Murphey
D
o you like real, lifechanging books? Then
Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson
Story is perfect for you. This
inspiring autobiography tells
the touching story of an underprivileged boy who grows up to
be a successful surgeon.
Reading about what Carson
went through will make you
think about
Touching what you
story of an need to do to
underprivi- get where
leged boy you want to
be. You’ll
meet all the great people who
helped Carson get where he is
today. Each chapter is a new
adventure from his childhood,
college years, and all the way
to his adulthood.
He writes so vividly; it feels
as if you are growing up with
him. Since he’s a doctor, he
uses a lot medical terms, and he
uses old-fashioned words like
“funky” and “capped.” Despite
the vocabulary, this is a big
book of life lessons.
I love this book because it
reminds me of my own life,
except for some obvious
differences. It will inspire
you just like it did me. ✎
by Ashley Burnette,
Carrboro, NC
NONFICTION
Blink
by Malcolm
Gladwell
B
link: The Power of Thinking
Without Thinking is a sort
of primer to understanding the
unconscious mind and that
mysterious, ubiquitous sensation known as the “gut feeling.”
Gladwell names the processes
we go through when making
split-second decisions, illustrating the way we make choices.
Gladwell explores almost
every facet of automatic judgments, which after a while
becomes rather repetitive. One
can easily get the gist of the
book just from the introduction,
and once you understand the
author’s point, the rest becomes
nothing more than a collection
of anecdotes culled from
research and experience.
While this really does drill
the message of the book into
the reader’s head, sometimes
the drill is less of a drill than a
blunt rock. The reason I
became aware of the book’s
repetitive nature was because
Gladwell points it out! He
prefaces many stories with
phrases like, “By now, you
probably
A primer realize ….”
In all honfor the
unconscious esty, it’s
unlikely that
mind
I’d have
noticed his constant rehashing
if he hadn’t said that.
Consequently, I’m reticent to
fully recommend Blink since
I’ve got some reservations. The
book does relay an enlightening
concept, however, if you’ve
read Freud’s discourses on the
subconscious, there’s really
nothing new in Blink. That said,
most will benefit from it, and
I’m sure that some will enjoy
its many anecdotes. Unfortunately, I’m not one of them.
I enjoy reading accounts of
“mind-reading” New Yorkers
and face-searching marriage
counselors as much as the next
guy, but after a while, I realize
the irony of being able to thinslice a book about thin-slicing,
and it’s then that Blink loses
its luster. ✎
by Daniel Stack, Dallas, TX
ADVENTURE
Golden
Buddha
by Clive Cussler
& Craig Dirgo
A
priceless object and an
entire country’s fate rest in
the hands of Juan Cabrillo and
his crew aboard the high-tech
spy ship Oregon. To the untrained eye, Oregon is a derelict
tramp steamer. However, below
deck are millions of dollars
worth of
Engrossing gadgetry and
and awe- equipment
inspiring available to
anyone who
journey
can afford it.
Cabrillo is charged by the
CIA with finding the Golden
Buddha, a statue of the utmost
importance to Buddhism in
spite of its somewhat shady
history. If Cabrillo finds it, the
exiled Dalai Lama will be able
to return to Tibet. It will not be
easy; others want the Buddha
for darker purposes. Will the
crew of Oregon find it, or will
they fail?
Golden Buddha is impossible
to put down. It makes you want
to stay up until 3 a.m. reading
until your eyes are bloodshot.
You’ll find Cussler crams
action into the plot until it
overflows. Also the author of
Sahara, he creates epic battles
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in exotic locales and dreams
up interesting characters who,
despite their differing backgrounds, are brought together
on Oregon because of their
passion for espionage.
Golden Buddha, the first
adventure of the Oregon Files
series, is an engrossing and
awe-inspiring journey from
cover to cover. This is a great
book for anyone who is a fan of
action-packed quests with lots
of high-tech gizmos. I give it
five stars. ✎
by Jeremy Levenson,
Stamford, CT
NOVEL
The Princess
Diaries
by Meg Cabot
Y
our world is in chaos. Suddenly, your life changes in
just a few minutes and you are
not who you thought you were.
This is the scenario of Mia
Thermopolis in The Princess
Diaries by Meg Cabot.
Mia, a 14-year-old freshman
living in New York City with
her artist mother, is a normal
teen. Her main problems are
dealing with the non-vegetarian
food at her
Excellent school, making
plot, full sure her cat,
of twists Fat Louie,
doesn’t eat
another sock, and her social
life, which is sadly lacking.
This all changes one day
when Mia goes to meet her
dad at the Plaza Hotel and he
reveals that he is the prince of
Genovia, a small European
principality, and she is the sole
heir to the throne. Mia is horrified that she will one day rule
Genovia. Plus, this means she
will have to take lessons from
her insane grandmother to learn
how to be a princess. Even
worse, Mia still doesn’t have a
date for the Cultural Diversity
Dance!
The Princess Diaries is one
of my favorite books. I love the
use of pop culture and humor,
as well as loveable Mia, whose
worries and thoughts are so
strangely similar to mine that I
can’t help but relate to her. It
has an excellent plot, full of
twists and fascinating details as
well as excellent characters.
The book, as you may have
guessed from the title, is
written as Mia’s diary. Her
personality makes her words
speak to you like an e-mail or
note from your best friend.
I loved The Princess Diaries
from its first page. Its characters and plot pull you in and
don’t let go until you’ve read
the last word. I would recommend this book to any teenager
who is the mood for a laugh
and a little romance. ✎
by Julia Grant, Dexter, MI
NONFICTION
The
Innocent Man
by John Grisham
I
t is a shame that John Grisham
waited so long to attempt his
first nonfiction work.
This story of Ron Williamson
is both tragic and disturbing.
The town of Ada, Oklahoma,
seizes upon an opportunity to
rid itself of an undesirable
character and “solve” two brutal murders.
True story of The local
a wrongful constabulary
chooses to
murder
conviction prosecute
the shady
Williamson and neglects to
pursue other possible suspects.
This false accusation leads
to decades of suffering for
Williamson and his family.
He is forced to deal with the
terrible work of the police,
the overzealous and unlawful
conviction, the weak defense
against his charges, and the
horrible ineffectiveness of
the judge. When he is finally
released, he emerges a broken
man, both physically and
mentally.
Grisham shines a spotlight
on the tiny town of Ada so
perhaps future aberrations
of justice can be averted.
Although Grisham does not
build up suspense, his work is
detailed and informative in
telling the real story of this
wrongful murder conviction.
The Innocent Man is a compelling account of everyday
failure in the justice system
and a depressing drama about
a man’s grueling battle with
mental health. Grisham wrote
about an unbelievable American tragedy and this work is
probably his strongest legal
thriller yet. ✎
Book reviews
CLASSIC
by Shelby Wilson, Plano, TX
Photo by Alexis Bonifate, Pittsburgh, PA
M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
39
f i c•t i o n
On the Top
by Aliza Gans, Woodbridge, CT
I look up to see a tangle of stringy hair and stringy
he man with the raisined face and a blue glass
legs kicking in air. The leggy girl’s bra strap snaps,
eye straps us into the seats and we’re off,
and she giggles. I decide to close my eyes.
circling around the flashing spokes of the
I spread my arms in front of Howie like a bird dipFerris wheel. It’s early September, and it feels like
ping and rising through warm air. The wheel stops
what Howie calls “naked weather” – you can take
rising. Howie smiles in my ear and whispers: “We’re
all your clothes off and feel just fine.
on the top,” so I open my eyes. Below us, the whiteIt’s speed up, slow down, speed up, slow down as
capped tents leak sweet-smelling steam. The carnival
the glass-eyed man loads more boyfriends and girlscene looks like an exaggeration of the sky above us.
friends, parents and children, and boys carrying overLots of flashing, twinkling, shooting, and spinning.
stuffed teddy bears into the cold, metal cars. Howie’s
Howie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack
wearing those tattered Birkenstock clogs that I hate.
of cigarettes and lights one.
He keeps saying he’s going to drop them on one of
“Where did you get those? You don’t smoke.”
the cars below us. When we’re slowing down, Howie
“I do at a time like this.”
wriggles his toes like squirming cocktail hot dogs so
Howie takes a drag, and the ashes
the shoe balances on the tip of his
dance from the glowing tip like gray
foot. He laughs and then slinks the
“Really, Jenna, confetti. I cough. He finishes it and
clog back on.
flicks it over the edge of the car. I wait
“Your expression is priceless,” he
you
just
have
to
for the shriek of a burn victim or the
tells me.
of singed hair.
“I can make that same expression
lighten up a little” smell
The wind blows away the tobaccowithout you bugging the crap out of
laced air. I’m watching a flock of
me,” I tell him, slinking toward the
migrating geese honk southward until they disappear
other side of the seat where the metal is cold.
into dark sky. Howie starts to rock the car. I’m so
There’s something smeared on Howie’s cheek. It’s
scared that I scream, holding onto the sides. Howie is
probably a splash of marinara sauce from the meatlaughing wildly and making a great time out of it, but
ball grinders we ate earlier. I want to tell him to wipe
I feel as if these steel bars will split and I’ll plunge to
the tomato scab off his cheek, but then I’d have to
the ground like a kamikaze pilot.
play “hot, cold” the food-on-face edition. Where is
“Cut it out! We’re not on the Zipper. We can fall
it? To the left … no, more. Did I get it? No, it’s still
right out!”
there. I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand to
“This is fun,” he laughs. “Katie loved this.”
see if Howie failed to notice any grinder sauce spots
I look at him hard.
on my face. My hand wipes off clean.
“Oh, Jesus, Jenna. I’m sorry,” he whimpers.
The newlyweds in the car below ours argue about
“Don’t say anything. You’re just stupid … stupid
putting their collie to sleep. She’s been in doggie
as
a clam ….”
hospice for over a week. And three cars up, a four“Really, Jenna, you just have to lighten up a little
year-old and his older brother are having a belching
sometimes, that’s all.”
contest. Yours is louder, but mine smells worse …
“… and you have a big-a** splotch of marinara on
like onion rings.
your face. Why can’t you eat right, Howie? Didn’t
A girl with skimpy shorts and her boyfriend with
your mother teach you anything?”
long, greasy hair are making out in the car above us.
T
Photo by Jess Ball, Nottingham, England
I reach over and scratch the spot of sauce off his
face. It looks cleaner now, but raw and fresh. Watery
red rushes to fill its place.
“Christ, Jenna! That’s a scab!”
“I’m sorry. I thought it was from the grinder ….”
“I cut myself shaving with my grandpa’s old razor
this morning. Now I’m bleeding again.”
I wipe off the blood with my finger and stick it in
my mouth.
“Taste any good?” Howie asks. I shrug.
“It tastes like metal.”
It’s a safe, solid flavor. Now, I have a part of him
and he doesn’t have a part of me. The spokes start to
rotate again, and even though we’re not on the top
anymore, the swinging car has slowed down to swaying, and I feel like a baby being rocked to sleep. ✎
The Color of the Inside of My Mouth
by Kelley Johnson, Tampa, FL
I
wipe at my stupid eyes with the back of my
hand, and it startles me for a second that my
tears are gray. I dunno why it surprised me; I
mean, I buy the s***ty mascara that’s $1.99 in the
20 Items or Less checkout lane. Why spend oodles
of green on something I hardly ever use?
I just wanted to look nice, you know? Like those
Photo by Anna Harvey, Buckeye, AZ
40
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
girls who’re just naturally fake pretty. The girls who
am not crying about some stupid XY.
can blend shades of eyeshadow like no one’s busiDefinitely not.
ness, and match their lipstick to the exact color of
I’m crying for all the whales that have to give up
their toenail polish or whatever. Seemingly efforttheir fatty insulation so that some fugly anorexic
less, yet impeccably coordinated.
super bitch can paint herself pretty every freaking
This is good stuff, I should write for a living –
day, giving him something halfway decent to oggle
solely on the subject of beauty queens with
all the time.
superiority complexes, of course.
Seriously, I’m not leaking saltwater over a guy.
I just want … God, what do I want? I
I just think it’s cruel and unfair
want to feel the sun on my face and paint
that the fat-endowed marine life
the clouds and hear the music in the trees
population doesn’t even get the
Seriously,
and love myself and love someone else
slightest warning that they’ll
I’m not leaking soon be on a cosmetics endcap
and just feel perpetually beautiful.
But that requires the $14.99 waterat K-Mart.
saltwater
proof, fire-retardant, Grade-5-hurricaneHe could have at least broken it
resistant mascara, not the tube that’s two
to me gently, you know? We’ve
over a guy
bucks in Lane 4.
been friends since the George
My shoes are dirty and outdated, but
Bush/Al Gore debacle.
I mean come the Bette Midler on.
that’s how I like them. I like these shoes. They’re
I spill my blood, guts, and viscera out to this guy
comfortable. Why do I need new, expensive, fashand he throws down the “Let’s just be friends” card
ionably appealing shoes in order for someone to
without a second thought?
say, “Hey dogg, you look nice today”?
It’s just … it’s common courtesy to ease someone
And why is it that whenever I get deathly bored
into heartbreak, not smash it over their head like a
and slather cheap, pore-clogging makeup all over
whiffleball bat.
my face everyone suddenly says, “Wow, you look
You know what? I’m going to take my $1.99
pretty!”? Since when is “pretty” about whale
blubber and cocoa butter?
checkout Lane 4 mascara and chuck it right at her
I’ll tell you one thing, though. I most definitely
big, stupid square head. ✎
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f i c•t i o n
Toy Soldiers
by Michelle Margulis, New York, NY
blinking red light of the radio like I’ve suddenly
A girl with a bandaged wrist nudges me. Time for
recovered my sight after 30 years of blindness.
group.
When I am discharged, my mother comes in her
“Hi, my name’s Natalie, and I’m here because I slit
maroon minivan to pick me up. My brother is with
my wrists.”
her, clutching his stuffed snowman. Pens and pencils
“Hi, Natalie,” we chorus. I mouth the words because
are contraband except in the common area, so that’s
if I say something out loud, that means I’m here.
where Randy and I stand. We write our phone numThe rapper boy is next. He’s wearing black nail polbers on each other’s hands, though he tells me to send
ish. From before, I guess. “Hi, my name’s Randy, and
letters to Horizons “for now.”
I’m here because I pushed my father down the stairs.”
I promise. My resolve crashes, and as my mother’s
“Hi, Randy.”
heels click past the reception area, I shudder. I’d
It goes like that for a few more people. Then it’s
rather stay at Horizons for seven years than go back
my turn. “Hi,” I say. This is only my second time in
with her. What hurts is that I can’t choose. I could
group, and this is the first time we’ve had to say why
fake a suicide attempt, but I know I won’t.
we’re here. Before, we just had to say how
Something in my face lets Randy know all
long. “My name’s Vanessa, and I’m here
“Don’t let of this. “Hey,” he says in that raspy way of
because I hit my grandmother with a
“Hey. You be a soldier, okay? Don’t let
chair.”
them get to his.
them get to you this time. Be strong.”
There is an uncomfortable silence.
Suddenly my pride is leaking away, my
you this time” I close my eyes. “Like Eminem,” I say
quietly.
remorseless acceptance of my actions
“Yeah,” he says. “Okay? Say it.”
crumbling at my feet. “She’s, like, 50,” I
“I’ll be strong,” I mutter.
snap. “And she goes to the gym. I mean, she’s, like,
“No,” he says seriously. “Say what I said. Say ‘I’ll
this big,” I say, holding my hands as far apart as they
be a soldier.’”
can go. “Don’t get mental images of this weak old
“I’ll be a soldier,” I promise.
lady with, like, white hair. And the chair was ….”
Randy kisses me on the cheek. Casually, because
“Vanessa,” the counselor says. “That’s enough.”
that’s all we’ve ever been. “I know you will,” he says.
I realize that I am leaning forward. Abashedly, I
I walk to the car with my chin up. When my mother
slump back like a sullen child.
hands me my headphones with her familiar cluck of
Newbies don’t get to watch TV, but Randy recaps it
“I wish you wouldn’t listen to this,” I tune her out
for me anyway. We’re not allowed in any rooms but
without any help from the music. ✎
our own without two counselors to supervise, so we
lean against the reception desk. He tells me about
some show on MTV. I tell him about how much I miss
my books and computer. He tells me how badly he
wants a cigarette.
What strikes me as more painful than anything is
the fact that I don’t want to go home. I know I won’t
do what I did again, but the circumstances will be the
by Julia Holemans, Arlington, VA
same. I’ll still be in my grandmother’s condo with my
am standing on the corner, hesitant, waiting for the beauty that
mother, who’s the reason why we can’t live in our
maybe
will come for me. Vulnerable, perhaps, behind my black
house. My clingy brother will be there with his stupid
Photo by Jessica Furtado, Bradford, MA
glasses and pearled ears, zits and braces. The cars whiz past
stuffed snowman, and my grandmother will check the
me, carriages smoothly gliding, and I watch the people. I watch
computer history to make sure I’m only going to kid“Here at Horizons, the first step toward mental
the men driving alone, the older girls with their shiny, straightened
friendly sites.
health is taking responsibility for your actions,” she
hair and perky breasts, the women barely visible behind piles of
The only company I want right now is Eminem’s.
lectures. I tune her out, mentally rapping what I can
groceries, the older couples. I watch these people’s hands. They
And failing that, Randy’s.
remember of Eminem’s latest. She leans forward
clutch cigarettes, coffees, soda cans, each other.
Or my father’s. But he’s in New York with his new
and for a second I think she’s going to slap me. She
I watch their faces, lined with sorrow and laughter, lined with
girlfriend, and I … well, I’m not.
doesn’t, though. She just looks me hard in the eyes.
makeup
and the crusty remnants of sleep. I watch these people,
“So this one time,” Randy tells me, “I stole my cell
“You do want to get out of here, don’t you, Vanessa?”
these
strangers
driving by me, not seeing me, and I think how
phone
from
the
nurses.
And
I
was
just
standing
there
I don’t understand why headphones have to be
funny
it
is
that
they
sit in their thrones of leather and vinyl, thinktrying
to
think
who
to
call.
’Cause
who
do
you
call
contraband.
ing they are alone, but there, there I am, watching them, trying to
when you’ve been stuck in a hospital for six
I am one of only two non-suicidal
read their pasts, their presents, their futures, without tarot cards,
months? I wanted to talk to everyone I knew.
patients. The other one is here for reasons
I don’t
thinking how odd it is to see human souls encased in glass and
But I knew I had, like, ten seconds, so I ran to
I don’t understand. He raps Eminem in the
steel, private tragedies driving to some unknown destination. ✎
the bathroom and stood in the shower and
halls too, but with a fierceness I can’t quite
want to go turned the water on.”
muster, talking back to counselors and
“Who’d you call?” I ask urgently. That
swearing at the receptionists. I just don’t
home
detail makes his whole story. I want him to
care that much.
say it was his dad, or his girlfriend, or his
My tray of kosher vegan-friendly cuisine
drug dealer. I want him to say that it was the most
has two Lexapros and one Topamax where the milk
beautiful conversation he ever had.
carton should go. All around the room, kids take their
But he picks at his nail polish and says, “This
medicine like candy, joking as the pills dissolve on
kid from my psych class. I asked him about the
their tongues in smears of pink and white. I take mine
homework.”
quietly in a single gulp. I’m not practiced enough yet
I sit there, stunned.
to swallow them dry.
“He was all, ‘Dude, you haven’t come to school in
After lunch, everyone gets up and silently moves
six
months.’ I didn’t know what to say, so I hung up
the table to the side and pushes the chairs into a cirand gave the phone back to the nurses.”
cle. A counselor enters, his glasses askew. I reach up
“Wow,” I say quietly.
automatically to check that mine are in place, but then
On my eighth day at Horizons, Randy and I find a
remember that they took them and issued me contacts.
small radio in the custodian’s closet. We search for
They said glass is unsafe, that even if I don’t want to
Eminem songs for a good 20 minutes. Finally, we
hurt myself, someone else might ask me to help them.
catch one, just as it’s winding down. We mouth the
I wouldn’t though. I’m not here to cater to someone
Photo by Sarah Hnatek, Wolfforth, TX
words that are bleeped out, and I stare into the
else’s agenda, to play Kevorkian to their wounded souls.
“W
hy are you here, Vanessa?” asks the
woman with the bun. Two blond
ringlets fall behind her ears and I want
to yank them, to see if they will straighten when you
pull them.
“I don’t know,” I mumble. She looks at me irritably,
pen poised like a dancer at the top of her notepad.
“Because of my grandma,” I relent. My voice is
hoarse. We have to drink tap water here, and I’m
really an Evian kind of girl.
“Vanessa,” she says sternly. I hear the undertone
in her voice: You know that’s not why. And I do,
minimally. But I don’t speak. My ears are itching for
the headphones that have filled them almost nonstop
for the past two months. My eardrums quiver at the
unnatural silence
Passing Cars
I
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M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
41
f i c•t i o n
15th and Main
coffee stains on your favorite shirt and no small part
he man licking coffee from his ink-stained
of your mind left over for this man who represents
fingertips does not look like a prophet of old,
the cruel beauty of the suffering.
a symbol of change, or a martyr of those withAnd as he runs his fingers over the smooth
out voices. He holds no tragic metaphors tucked
quarters you tossed in his cup, he won’t remember
away in the tattered folds of his windbreaker, or in
you, the wool-coated patron eager to escape his
the stubble that has erupted across his face to conceal
disturbing company for more important tasks. Your
the straight nose and once-striking jaw line. He does
passing on the pearl-gray street goes unremembered,
not make you think of the prodigal son, thrown out to
as insignificant as the faded newsprint on which a
face the world’s cruelty, suffering for a greater cause.
hunchbacked old man lies.
For some unknown reason, he makes you think of the
Perhaps at the end of the day some
plain, placid face of your banker.
errand will compel you, unwillingly, to
Here he sits, facing the brick facade
What has placed your bank. As you step out of your car
of city building to shield his frostand curse the cold, no small part of you
bitten toes from the wind. But what,
him here, on the will recall the encounter this morning.
really, separates this man from Mr.
But as you approach the counter, who
Jones or Smith or Thomas? What has
intersection of
should sit there but Mr. Jones or Smith
placed him here, on the intersection
of death and despair, instead of at a
death and despair? or Thomas. And in the instant that his
straight-edged features catch you off
vacation home on Cape Cod, reclining
guard, you see not the man with three
in a lawn chair and wondering what
cell phones and no reception, who this very morning
kind of reception his three cell phones get way
shaved away every bit of persistent growth with a
out here.
$300 razor. You see the open-book face, with no
What hand of fate has dealt him three-month-old
secrets to withhold and no tales to tell. The man who
newspapers and arthritis in his hands, instead of a
has no message for you of redemption or wickedness
shiny silver Porsche and bumper stickers advertising
or the demons that chased him to 15th and Main, but
honor roll students at Silver Falls High?
who merely mumbles “thank you” as his ears detect
He does not see you standing there, and unlike the
the clanging of coins in a styrofoam cup. And you
frugal banker, he does not hound you for money. In
will stare dumbly at your banker’s pink, smooth face,
fact, he barely harbors hope for it. When the wind or
and he will wonder what happened to you.
the smell or the time drives you from the sidewalk,
And the overburdened clouds will release their
your day will continue. You will enter your appointed
load with a sigh, their poetic flakes spiraling down,
building and shake the stray flakes of snow from
and a man’s dark eyes, like the knotted bark of an
your jacket as the cold air is chiseled off. You will
elm, will sting at the sight of them. Another cold
have business appointments and dinner plans and
T
Time of Death
T
he first death on your watch isn’t
even your fault. You’re just one of
the many interns who rush to the
bedside when the code is called, peering
at the doctors crowding around. As the
patient gasps and chokes, you too gasp
and choke as each electric shock blasts
through the body. The doctors are grimfaced but determined; you hopelessly
wonder why they even bother. Again
and again the voltage is cranked up, but
thunderbolts can only do so much.
The doctor holding the paddles slowly
turns away from the flaccid flesh and
another quietly asks, “Time of death?”
You back away, feeling as if the defibrillator was really meant for you as your
heart pounds out its own furious pace.
A devastated mother takes your wrist.
Photo by Brian McGuffog, Fishers, IN
42
by Maggie Cregan,
Mayfield Village, OH
Teen Ink •
M AY ’ 0 9
Photo by MacKenzie Davis, Overland Park, KS
night, he will think, as he pulls a blanket over
his toes. And his sigh will not echo, poignant and
evocative, round the steel-and-glass dome that
encompasses him. And your blank staring and your
banker’s worried wondering will not shield anyone
from the cruel drafts that plague him tonight.
The stars above the city will gleam like the
quarters tucked away in his calloused palm and fill
him with as much warmth. And all the high-flown
metaphors of the ages won’t save his huddled form.
It seems that kind thoughts and grateful prayers
cannot reach him here at 15th and Main, but only
the smooth-faced coins that rattle mournfully in a
styrofoam cup. ✎
by Grace Hoo, Palatine, IL
brought him back. You saved him. You.
“Time of death?” she whispers, mistaking you for a doctor, someone who
The eighteen death is the hardest. That
tried his best to resuscitate her darling
little baby in neo-natal care should never
daughter, someone who knew what he
have been forced to live on machines.
was doing, someone with guts enough to
Each breath is a struggle, and the medchallenge death. Not a first-year intern
ications are flowing in a poisonous
who never could remember which numconcentration for such a small body, yet
ber was the systolic for blood pressure,
the parents insist on continuing the farce
not someone who didn’t even dare to take
of life. They’re unwilling to bear any
blood sugar levels.
grief while their baby boy wheezes and
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” you blurt.
thrashes weakly, seeking comfort but
“You’ll be able to talk to the doctors
receiving only the hard embrace of a
inside …,” you mumble,
hospital cradle and the groan
patting the trembling hand.
of machines.
She bites her lip and nods,
The mother shrieks, “He’s
A devastated blue!
Do something!” After
letting go of the scrubs that
you shouldn’t be wearing,
mother takes you reach the crib and despair
the scrubs reserved for
at the readouts, you motion the
your wrist
those who can save lives,
code team away and beckon to
not for those who don’t
the mother and father.
even know how to gently
“The best thing for him is to
break death to a loved one.
take him off the machines,” you say.
The third death is similar, only this
The dad glares. “You want to kill him.”
time you’ve been dragged along for scut
They don’t understand the torture they
work. You’re the one ramming your
have put him through. “If he even survives
hands into the sternum, trying to force
a year, he will be severely physically and
the fluttering heartbeat into your rhythm.
mentally disabled. For life,” I persist.
You’re the one leaping out of the way of
The mother moans, “He’s blue! I don’t
the defib paddles, jumping back to start
care. Just save him! Now!”
compressions again. The patient bottoms
You nod at the code team, maneuvering yourselves around the tiny crib and
out, but after the paddles thunder a third
pulling off the oxygen mask, trying to fit
time, you can feel the thump of the heart,
tangoing with yours as you collapse
your large palms against the flimsy baby
against a chair, arms quivering with
with his face scrunched up in a silent
strain. You shudder with relief. You
wail. The heart drugs aren’t having any
effect due to the amount of medication
already flowing through his body.
“Use the shocker!” the mother wails.
“We can’t!” you snarl, trying to give
compressions to a weak chest and an
even weaker malformed heart. “Your
baby is too small and his heart is
deformed! If we do, we’ll kill him!”
The code leader shakes his head.
“Time of death ….”
“No!”
“3:36 p.m.”
The thirty-third death is the best death.
You’re the one in charge. If a code is
called, you will wield the paddles, call
out “Clear!” You have the final say on
time of death if it occurs. You won’t let
those words pass your lips.
But she smiles at you through her pure
white hair. “I’m ready to leave. Are you
ready to let me go?”
You sob, throw down the clipboard.
“No, Mom! I don’t want you to.”
She still wears the tender smile of
years past as her body wastes away and
shrivels to a mere fraction of her vitality.
“But it’s necessary. I need you to. And
you know it.”
“Mom ….”
And she brushes her hand against
yours, squeezing it once before closing
her eyes. “You’re ready.”
You kiss her cooling cheek then note:
“Time of death: 9:12 a.m., Thursday,
April 24 ….” ✎
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f i c•t i o n
Sparrow
by Sara Ramey, Vail, AZ
businesswoman’s shiny black shoes. She glares at the
very morning I look out at the streets but I
driver, a sweaty gray man who has been in the busidon’t watch the cars. I watch the people – the
ness 25 years and has never run anyone down. Just
fat man who sells hot dogs on the corner, the
three dogs and a cat.
newspaper lady wearing the neon orange vest. SomeShe is so distracted that the green car is on her betimes a kid rides by on a bicycle. Other times, the eldfore anyone who is not watching can blink. Thump!
erly woman who lives one floor down will put a leash
Time does not freeze. Times moves just fine, but
on her German shepherd and then will be dragged two
perception is off because the businesswoman is not
blocks before disappearing out of sight around the
lying on the asphalt, sprawled out in pain. She is
corner. They all do that, at some time or another.
panting on the sidewalk, cell phone crushed beneath
I sit still for so long that a bird – a little sparrow
the tires. Her neatly coifed hair is askew, eyes wild
with twitchy eyes – lands on the sill. Its feet shuffle
and disbelieving as they take in the young girl with
back and forth, back and forth, until it is level with
brown skin. The girl is so still, her face pale – she is
me. I am sitting straight, but I am small, so my chin is
not Indian after all.
even with the sparrow’s beak.
I sigh into the window. It is autumn now, and the air
“Hello there,” I say. I imagine the vibration of my
has adopted that crisp snap that warns of the coming
voice has scared the tiny creature as it flies off. My
freeze. From now on, every night will be terribly cold,
eyes return to the street where the traffic light has
especially for those who sleep alone, as the
changed in accordance with the rising
businesswoman does. I can only hope that
sun and drifting river of commuters.
The
light
is
she is changed, but in the end the only
A long time ago, a girl was killed on
that corner. I remember the day because
green! Don’t thing that I can do is wonder.
The sparrow is back, pecking away at a
it was my birthday, the twenty-second.
walk! Please, black bug racing across the window. Both
Double twos.
predator and prey are blocking my view, so
She wore her hair in a braid, and jeans
don’t walk! I can only see the first few letters of the hot
and a red shirt like the kind that can be
dog stand and a blur of orange that is the
found in the thrift shop on 53rd Street.
newspaper lady.
Her skin was brown from time spent in the Californ“I’m sorry,” I tell the bird through the window. It
ian sun, and I remember thinking, This is a long way
pretends not to hear. “But I don’t have any food for
from California. The worst part is that she didn’t
you. You’ll have to tough it out on your own. Do you
know what people were like here. She’d seen gangs
hear?” The beetle is crunched, and with a flurry of
and once even lived in a neighborhood where gunfire
wings, the bird disappears.
was a constant concern. She’d been to funerals; the
The glass is a mirror and a window at the same
funeral of her sister, specifically. She was no stranger
time. I can see the fat man and the elderly lady now,
to death, and yet she didn’t understand!
but I can’t see them as I used to. They are not people
I am not seeing the street any longer. The glass
anymore; I don’t know what they are. Souls, perhaps?
reflects the glare of the light, blinding me. In that
The door creaks open so fast, with only a jingling
glare I see the yellow taxi swerve to the left. I see
of keys for warning. I spring out of my chair, and turn
the young businesswoman on the sidewalk, talking
sharply to face my new roommates.
distractedly as she crosses the street. The light is
They are a young couple toting a bulky baby
green! Don’t walk! Please, don’t walk.
carrier. Haggard faces, black ovals beneath weary
I see the green car. The man inside is a drunk beeyes. They look Dutch. I’ve never met anyone from
cause his girlfriend cheats on him and every Friday
… where are the Dutch from, anyway?
he goes to the Puss ’n Boots to get back at her. Her
They set down the carrier, and the baby, who has
mother is dying. Her mother dies of cancer even as
been making an abominable fuss, quiets instantly.
he flirts with the redhead in the silk camisole. Even
Surprised, the couple look dubiously down and then
as he pretends to have an excuse.
exchange long glances.
The taxi screeches to a halt just inches from the
E
Instances
I
t took me 15 years and 364 days
to turn 16, three tries to pass my
driving test, and several months of
nonsense to finally earn the right to
drive on my own.
It takes a song and a half to get out
of the school’s hellish parking lot at the
end of the day, until the second chorus
of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” to reach the
first traffic light, and more or less half
of any album in my collection to get
home.
It takes an instant to lose everything.
Not one of those commercial instants
either: Lose ten pounds instantly! Regrow a full head of hair in an instant!
In an instant, that troublesome fungus
will disappear! When those people use
the word instant, it means at least a
minute, or, if they don’t mind lying to
the public, days or more. I don’t imply,
and I don’t lie. When I use the word
instant, I mean a fraction of a second. I
Photo by Tamara Henry, Camden, DE
“I guess Susan likes it here,” the mother says.
The father rubs his eyes. “Thank God.”
But I know differently. The baby is staring at me. I
stand over her and touch my pale fingers to her forehead. She laughs and reaches up, trying to catch my
hand, but her chubby little fingers pass through mine.
Again and again, she tries, until her worried parents
pick her from the carrier like a ripe apple. The mother
retrieves the ingredients for the formula while the
father rocks her, singing the same lullaby my father
sang me once, a long time ago.
I am too busy for the street. My roommates are
always moving, doing something. If it’s not the parents, it’s the child, who has taken a liking to passing
her hands through my stomach and face as if I am
some sort of will-o-wisp. The couple is somewhat
bewildered but pleased with the sudden contentedness
that radiates from the baby.
“My name was Francis,” I tell her at night. She
watches me with huge brown eyes as I recite the story
of my life, as I try to make her understand what I see
when I look out the window. I wonder, as I do with
the businesswoman, if she will remember me when
she is older. But for now, all I can do is rub my fingers
across her forehead and whisper stories of sparrows
and heroes. ✎
by Madison Bishop, Stratford, CT
mean less than a heartbeat.
would probably run a red light if I were
I mean my head through the windlate for a dentist appointment too.
shield, my mouth still open from
Maybe not one at a busy intersection,
singing along to whatever song I was
but who’s to say it wasn’t a really imlistening to the instant before.
portant appointment? Perhaps he was
It wasn’t even my fault, not really. I
getting a new filling. Yeah, I’d race
suppose I could have chosen a safer
across the road with no regard for
car, but when deciding
traffic in my 2004 pickup
between a bunch of safety
for that, too, especially if
It takes an
features I might never
there was nothing in my
even need and CDs I
way except a wimpy ’98
instant to lose Civic. Because I would be
would absolutely want in
the next year or two, my
the only person on the road.
everything
judgment was not at its
Every other car would be
best. I blame the econodriven by a robot, a drone
my, and the constant civil war between
that doesn’t matter in my world. The
heart and head. I blame The Killers for
only thing that would matter to me is
coming out with a new album every
being on time for my appointment.
five minutes, and statistics that say I
Like him, I too would be surprised
would probably never die in a crash
when, after stepping out of my barely
anyway.
scratched vehicle, I saw the other car
Come to think of it, the accident
scrunched up like an accordion, like a
wasn’t even the other driver’s fault. I
piece of paper balled up and thrown
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against the side of the street. I would
be shocked to see blood on the shards
of glass strewn about the pavement
because apparently I hadn’t realized
running that light meant plowing into
the Civic, which would lead to crushing the 17-year-old inside it. The 17year-old who just wanted to listen to
The Smiths while driving home.
Maybe I’m being too bitter about all
of it. After all, the other driver did
stand by while someone else called
911, waited patiently while the paramedics extricated me from my mangled vehicle, and even went through
the trouble of leaving a note of apology
beside my bed in the hospital. I, of
course, wouldn’t know of his contributions to my well-being until after I
woke up from the coma a week and a
half later.
I sure hope his dentist was a good
sport about rescheduling. ✎
M AY ’ 0 9
• Teen Ink
43
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