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CONTENTS M AY 2 0 1 1 | V O L . 22, N O . 9 FEATURES DEPARTMENTS Parents 12 Mommy-Love ............................................page 14 Deployed.....................................................page 14 Ping-Pong.....................................................page 14 Maternal Expressions .............................page 15 Sacrifices .....................................................page 15 On the Outside..........................................page 15 A Different Kind of Love .........................page 16 Next Generation........................................page 16 8957 Oakwood Way ...............................page 16 Home Is Where the Badge Is ................page 17 This Is Why, Dad.......................................page 17 The Eyes of My Soul ................................page 18 Being a Father..............................................page 18 A MotherвЂ™s Kitchen..................................page 18 A True Hero .................................................page 19 DaddyвЂ™s Girl................................................page 19 Dear Mother ..............................................page 19 Bittersweet ................................................page 33 The Watcher..............................................page 33 Paper Cranes.............................................page 34 Kiril and I.....................................................page 35 Plus lots of poems starting on page 37 Puppy Mills вЂњPuppies and kitties in pet stores are hard to resist. But animals in shelters are just as cute, and when you adopt a shelter animal, youвЂ™re saving a life.вЂќ page 13 Cover photo by Jennifer Branch, Cincinnati, OH Art Gallery Paintings, drawings & photos 20-21 22 23 13 4 33-36 28 6-8 37-47 24-25 10 32 College Directory College Reviews Community Service Environment Feedback Fiction Health Nonfiction Poetry Points of View Pride & Prejudice Reviews: Books Unwind вЂў Going Bovine вЂў The Lost World вЂў My Point вЂ¦ And I Do Have One вЂў Room вЂў The Lost Symbol 31 Reviews: Movies 29 Wavves вЂў Guns NвЂ™ Roses вЂў Sparklehorse вЂў mewithoutYou 30 Reviews: TV The Walking Dead вЂў Chuck вЂў Community вЂў Everybody Loves Raymond вЂў NCIS WE NEED вЂў If, due to the personal nature of a piece, you donвЂ™t want your name published, we will respect that request, but we must still have all name and address information for our records. SUBMIT IT Online вЂ“ www.TeenInk.com Mail вЂ“ Teen Ink, Box 30, Newton, MA 02461 E-mail вЂ“ [email protected] THE FINE PRINT вЂў Label all written work fiction or nonfiction. Please include a title. вЂў Type or print carefully in ink. Keep a copy. For more information: .com 617-964-6800 Please call for a media kit or advertising information 26-27 Travel & Culture вЂў Writing may be edited; we reserve the right to publish our version without prior approval. 2. This statement must be written on each submission: вЂњThis will certify that the above work is completely original,вЂќ and sign your name. Your subscription helps support the nonprofit Young Authors Foundation, which has been publishing Teen Ink for 22 years Reviews: Music TEENS: SEND YOUR WORK 1. Your name, year of birth, home address/city/state/ ZIP code, phone number, e-mail address, school name, and English teacherвЂ™s name. For art and photos, place the information on the back of each piece. Please donвЂ™t fold art. Just $35 a year for this magazine written entirely by teens HowlвЂ™s Moving Castle вЂў Easy A вЂў Michael Clayton вЂў Se7en Designer Knockoffs вЂњThe U.S. economy is continually affected by the estimated 98 million untaxed dollars spent on counterfeit accessory items annually.вЂќ page 24 Know someone who would like Teen Ink every month? вЂў Include a self-addressed, stamped envelope, and weвЂ™ll send an acknowledgment of receipt. вЂў Published students will receive a copy of Teen Ink, a pen, and a Teen Ink Post-itв„ў pad. вЂў All materials submitted become the property of Teen Ink. By submitting your work to us, you are giving Teen Ink and its partners, affiliates, and licensees the nonexclusive right to publish your work in any format, including all print, electronic, and online media. However, all individual contributors to Teen Ink retain the right to submit their work for nonexclusive publication elsewhere, and you have our permission to do so. Teen Ink may edit or abridge your work at its sole discretion. Teen Ink is copyrighted by the Young Authors Foundation Inc. All written work in Teen Ink is checked for originality by SUBSCRIBE в– $35 INDIVIDUAL SUBSCRIPTION (1 copy per month) I am enclosing a check or credit card information for $35. в– CLASS SET (30 copies per month) I want 30 copies of Teen Ink each month. If I subscribe now, I will be billed $189 for the 2011-12 school year plus the remainder of this year. Price includes shipping & handling. PO# (if available)____________ в– CHARITABLE DONATION I want to support Teen Ink & The Young Authors Foundation. Enclosed is: в– $25 в– $50 в– $100 в– Other_____________ You may pay by credit card: в– MC в– VISA Card #____________________________________ Exp. __________ Name: ______________________________________________________________ Title/Subject:____________________________School enrollment (est.): _______ School name (for Class Set):___________________________________________ Address: в– School в– Home __________________________________________ City:_____________________________State: ____________ ZIP: _____________ Email address: _______________________________________________________ Phone number: (______) _______________________________________________ Mail to: Teen Ink вЂў Box 30 вЂў Newton, MA 02461 WW/PP 05/11 FEEDBACK Step Back From the Railing Liz DoyleвЂ™s article вЂњStep Back From the RailingвЂќ is extremely moving, and I feel the same way she does about the value of an individual life. In the article, Liz witnesses a man almost take his own life, but her quick thinking saves him. She later says, вЂњThat day, I came face-to-face with evidence of the preciousness of human life, as well as the importance of looking after your neighbor, whether white or black, man or woman, rational or delusional.вЂќ I agree; everyone is similar regardless of their differences, and we should all look after one another. Thank you, Liz, for showing me the importance of caring. Arizona Vu, Phoenix, AZ Hazel вЂњTell me what color my eyes are.вЂќ This simple and poignant line in Gina Lione-NapoliвЂ™s poem, вЂњHazel,вЂќ tells the powerful story of a resilient girl who is abandoned by her father. Throughout this poem, the speaker says how her father was never there for her and that she doesnвЂ™t want him in her life (вЂњYou werenвЂ™t her first words! You wonвЂ™t be her lastвЂќ). Every word tugs at your heart and floods your veins with a multitude of feelings: pain, sympathy, shame, anger, and surprisingly, self-empowerment. This poem teaches the reader never to let anyone drag you down and to use every blow youвЂ™ve endured to become a stronger, more courageous person. Without a doubt, вЂњHazelвЂќ is one of the best pieces IвЂ™ve read in Teen Ink, and itвЂ™s certainly a poem everyone needs to read. Amy Zhen, Brooklyn, NY Review: вЂњThe KingвЂ™s SpeechвЂќ In the April issue, Amelia BrownsteinвЂ™s review of вЂњThe KingвЂ™s SpeechвЂќ was an example of the common misconception that filmmaking involves only directors and actors. Amelia, like most people, forgot to acknowledge the screenwriter, film editor, Box 30 вЂў Newton, MA 02461 (617) 964-6800 [email protected] www.TeenInk.com Publishers Senior Editor Editor Associate Editor Production Outreach Advertising Intern Volunteer 4 Stephanie Meyer John Meyer Stephanie Meyer Emily Sperber Cindy Spertner Susan Tuozzolo Katie Olsen Meagan Foley John Meyer Alex Cline Barbara Field Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 Articles mentioned here can be found on TeenInk.com and cinematographer (among many others), who, respectively, came up with the plot and all the dialogue; assembled the shots into a coherent piece with appropriate pacing and thematic connections; and created the lighting, angles, and overall look and feel of the film. No movie could be made without these crucial players. The director is far from the only person behind the camera. Statements like вЂњDirector Tom Hooper made good decisions about the timing of the movie and what to emphasizeвЂќ donвЂ™t recognize the input of others. Claiming that вЂњThe lengthy scene with the kingвЂ™s brother was another fantastic directorвЂ™s choiceвЂќ is especially an affront to screenwriter David Seidler. It was he who wrote this scene and came up with the idea of putting BertieвЂ™s life on screen; it was a labor of love stemming from his own experiences of stuttering as a child. He literally spent decades researching and writing the script, even through his fight with cancer. Therefore, it is important to recognize and appreciate the efforts and talents of all those involved to bring a wonderful piece of entertainment and art to us all. Karen Jin, West Chester, PA Less Poetry I am a high school junior who recently started reading Teen Ink. I would not consider myself to be a great writer by any means. I probably will never get any of my pieces published, but I still enjoy writing in hopes that one day I will. Being published in Teen Ink is an honor that should be awarded to only the best writers and artists. I have noticed that you choose to publish a lot of poems. By publishing all of these I feel that Teen Ink is, in a way, giving out the opportunity to be published too easily. In no way am I trying to be disrespectful of the poets. I just feel that many more teens are writing better essays and stories, both of which I believe take more skill and time to create. Sometimes these poems seem quite elementary and quickly written. I think readers would rather see more essays and stories. CIRCULATION Reaching millions of teens in junior and senior high schools nationwide. THE YOUNG AUTHORS FOUNDATION The Young Authors Foundation, publisher of Teen Ink, is a nonprofit corporation qualified as a 501(c)3 exempt organization by the IRS. The Foundation, which is organized and operated exclusively for charitable and educational purposes, provides opportunities for the education and enrichment of young people. FREQUENCY Monthly, September to June. ADDITIONAL COPIES Send $6.95 per copy for mailing and handling. NOTICE TO READERS Teen Ink is not responsible for the content of any advertisement. We have not investigated advertisers and do not necessarily endorse their products or services. EDITORIAL CONTENT Teen Ink is a monthly journal dedicated to publishing a variety of works written by teenagers. Copyright В© 2011 by The Young Authors Foundation, Inc. All rights reserved. Publication of material appearing in Teen Ink is prohibited unless written permission is obtained. PRODUCTION Teen Ink uses Quark Xpress to design the magazine. Please consider cutting down on the number of poems to preserve Teen InkвЂ™s prestigious reputation for publishing skillful writers. Cameron Trostle, Phoenix, AZ Cherry Cough Drops I enjoyed вЂњCherry Cough DropsвЂќ by Colette Bersie because it is descriptive and intriguing. While the story is a bit morose, the author has a clearly developed style. Her long sentences and frequent use of similes and metaphors enhance the piece. Another aspect I enjoyed is how the story slowly unravels, which keeps the reader interested in figuring out the details. For example, the reader is unsure what she is describing in the beginning as a вЂњpizza romance.вЂќ Later, she reveals what she meant. Lastly, I think itвЂ™s clever that Colette addresses the boy as вЂњhe,вЂќ never naming him. This keeps the mysterious, serious atmosphere of the story. Camille Pipino, Bexley, OH Crazy вЂњI want to be crazy.вЂќ This is the first line of the short piece called вЂњCrazyвЂќ by Madeline White. In it, she talks about all of the tasks she would like to do. She wants to go around all night giving out socks to the homeless. She wants to stick Post-it notes on public mirrors telling people they are beautiful. She wants to show the goths and emos the sunlight in their lives. She wants to buy a random, sad-looking person some ice cream. She wants to give a struggling single mom a makeover. She wants to show love to a cranky old man. вЂњI want to make a fool of myself, just for the smiles of others. I want to be crazy like that. Completely. Utterly. Insane,вЂќ she writes. The moment I read the first line, I wanted to read more. The way Madeline says, вЂњI want to be crazyвЂќ in the same way someone would say вЂњI want to be happyвЂќ or вЂњI want to be an architectвЂќ is unique and captivating. I was truly moved by everything Madeline wants to do for others; she is selfless and compassionate. As I read the rest, I found myself smiling and agreeing; I wanted to do those things too. What she wants to do are small things we can all do. We can smile at strangers and compliment someone nobody notices. We can pay for the guy behind us at McDonaldвЂ™s and salute the soldier as he walks past. Sometimes, itвЂ™s the little things that brighten the day. When I finished reading, I wondered why we have to be considered crazy to do these little things that we all should do. Why does being friendly and considerate of neighbors mean being crazy? I think that just one thoughtful act from each of us every day could make a difference in the quality of our lives. So, starting today, I will do one caring act each day. Carmen Yeung, Brooklyn, NY AuthorвЂ™s Comments On the Teen Ink website, when submitting an article or art, you can make a comment on your work. Whether itвЂ™s about what inspired the story/art piece or how the author/artist feels about it, these comments personalize the submission. While some authorsвЂ™ comments are вЂњPlease rate and comment!вЂќ (I know you have said this, donвЂ™t lie вЂ¦ I have too), most are about inspiration or dedications. These are interesting and important for the reader, since often poems have personal stories behind them or an abstract art piece may be a symbol for вЂњGoing Green and Saving the Planet.вЂќ These comments help readers understand what the creators were thinking when they crafted their pieces. Unfortunately, authorsвЂ™ comments are only available on the website; no space is provided for them in the magazine. While some may need to be weeded out, many authorsвЂ™ comments are enjoyable and help us understand the piece better. I think Teen Ink should consider adding this to the magazine. Rachel Herriman, Ellenton, FL Tired of Being Ignored on YouTube? is now accepting videos! Just click on вЂњSubmit Your WorkвЂќ on TeenInk.com for simple instructions PHOTO BY JAMIE ROSKKO Columbia College Chicago believes in the power of your creativity, and is proud to offer an education speciп¬Ѓcally tailored for studentsвЂ”like yourselfвЂ” who want to pursue a life in the arts. I OVA INN OVAT AT TION N IIN N THE T H E VISUAL, V I S UA L , PERFORMING, P E R FO R M I N G , MEDIA, M E D I A , AND A N D COMMUNICATION C O M M U N I C AT I O N ARTS A RT S Schedule a visit on-line and see how we provide the Schedule rigorous academics and unparalleled rresources esources that will future. turn your talents into a rreal eal futur e. F==@:<F=LE;<I>I8;L8K<8;D@JJ@FE /'' =FI;?8Ds\eifcc7]fi[_Xd%\[lsnnn%]fi[_Xd%\[l colum.edu/admissions [email protected] admissions @colum.edu / 312.369.7130 в™¦ в™¦ в™¦ ! " # $ JSA Summer School ACADEMIC PROGRAMS FOR FUTURE LEADERS Join an engaging group of politically aware, successoriented high school student leaders at Princeton, Georgetown or Stanford University this summer. JSA Summer School offers college-level courses, public speaking, debate workshops and life-long friendships at our world-class, 3 week programs. Make Art Ireland: Summer 2011 Painting, Drawing & Photography APPLY NOW Visit: summer.jsa.org/ti 1-800-334-5353 Use code: TIM02A3 [email protected] 1 800 677 0628 www.cowhousestudios.com www.4starcamps.com M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 5 nonfiction Attack of The Blob by Kevin Anderson, Vancouver, WA the dark cool of the night, spreading to am a guy. Now many guys, regardall corners of the campвЂ™s boundaries, less of age, have the desire to apseeking the best way to spend their free pear tough, but the majority of the time. For some it was soccer, for others time they come off like morons. You the zip line, for many the pool. I was probably have already observed this bent on testing out a new attraction: a scenario: Guy wants to appear mascufeature appropriately named The Blob. line, so he bolts head-on into a brick The Blob was situated on the edge of wall. Whatever common sense he had the lake. As I drew closer, I is driven from his head on saw two towers emerging impact, along with some from the water. Below of his teeth. He then picks Please draw a floated a partially himself up and staggers line between each deflated nylon tube. As I around like a drunken watched, one person sat on masculinity idiot, holding his bulbous end of The Blob, while head, slurring, вЂњSee, no and stupidity the another jumped from the pain,вЂќ then collapses flat tower onto the other end, on his face, which is allaunching the first person into the air, ready swelling to the size of a waterlanding in the lake. This caused me to melon. Therefore, I beseech you, question my choice of activities. males of our generation, please draw a I was about to abandon this idea and line between masculinity and stupidity hike up to the zip line when I spotted a to save yourself from bodily injury pack of girls heading toward The and agonizing humiliation. Blob. Attractive girls. This caused me There are many examples I could to suddenly reconsider. Why not take give of my own stupidity and вЂњtoughthis opportunity to show off and win ness,вЂќ but I thought it best to share this their favor? I found myself climbing one. My story takes place a year ago at the stairs to the highest tower, joining my annual youth camp in Wild Horse a line of five others awaiting their turn. Canyon, Oregon. What an exquisite Below, on the shorter tower, were the place. It wasnвЂ™t just the countryside girls. Perfect. that caught my attention but the As I waited, I thought about how campвЂ™s facilities: two zip lines, an manly IвЂ™d look when I conquered The enormous gymnasium, three soccer Blob. Then my turn rolled around and fields, a swimming pool, and a manI stood at the edge of the platform. I made lake. But it was that last attracfound myself locked in a trance as I tion that would lead to my downfall. gawked at the cold, black lake below вЂ“ After the evening service, the and The Blob. Suddenly I found campers poured from the chapel into I The Guitar Player myself thinking, Gosh, this is high. my mind. First was my stupidity вЂ“ that IвЂ™m not sure whether it was fear or I would risk my well being by leaping the last shred of common sense left in off a 15-foot tower onto a nylon tube my hollow cave of a head, but either that had mechanical problems, wearway, I backed away from the edge and ing a life jacket that was unbuckled. began unbuckling my life jacket. Then Then came the headlines: вЂњ14-YearI heard the voice of deception. Old Boy Drowns Showing Off for a вЂњKevin, are you going down The Girl.вЂќ A girl! When there were 10 Blob?вЂќ one of the girls asked. I shook million of them in the state of Oregon, my head no. I had to die for this one? One who вЂњPlease?вЂќ she pleaded. I started didnвЂ™t even share my affection but walking away, ignoring her. вЂњDo it only wanted a laugh. She wouldnвЂ™t be for me.вЂќ laughing after the dive team recovered Hearing those words, I threw caumy corpse from the lake. But it aption вЂ“ and common sense вЂ“ to the peared no dive team would be needed, wind and threw myself over the edge, only a life guard with quick reflexes. plummeting feet-first toward The After recovering my live and humiliBlob. Which is exactly what youвЂ™re ated carcass from The Blob, the lifenot supposed to do. guard helped me to shore. My ankle When I hit The Blob, my left side was throbbing in waves of agonizing plunged into the dark pain. I turned to the same lake, while my right voice of deception, now foot became tangled in I threw caution вЂ“ transferring to mockery, some loose fabric on that yelled out: and common The Blob. The momenвЂњHey, Kevin! Next time sense вЂ“ to tum of my body falling you try The Blob, bring a sideways violently coffin.вЂќ the wind wrenched my foot, disI couldnвЂ™t blame her for locating my ankle with my misfortune. It was my a sharp pop. My body sank into the choice to break my ankle and humilidark depths of Wild Horse Canyon ate myself on the Blob. Lake while my foot remained topside, Therefore, I implore all my male tangled in The Blob. My life jacket friends to learn from my experience was halfway off, so it held me upside and look before you leap. You risk injuring your body and your dignity. down underwater. Next time you get the urge to show In the few moments between me off, listen to your common sense, not going down and the lifeguard respondthe agonizing voice of stupidity. вњ¦ ing, a thousand thoughts flew through by Kathryn Robinson, Jacksonville, FL falls, happy and sad and lonely and together all rolled ountless pairs of eyes gaze up at him as he is into these eternal seconds вЂ“ the power of music. In it I introduced by the judge. He smiles from under hear the passing of days, the lingering of an age; Hephis shock of brown hair and sits, acknowledghaestus forging the world, pausing, hearing the song, ing the polite applause. One leg rests on the stage, beand reshaping our Earth to better receive it. I hear a ginning to tap out a beat. The other is raised on the year spent with notes passed, troubles shared, and rungs of the black stool to support a battered guitar. happiness together. And remembering the look on the His arms curl around the instrument and strum tentaaudienceвЂ™s faces, I know they hear it too. tively, tuning it. He adjusts the microphone and softly He strums a final, flawless chord, and I open my speaks into it, as if unsure of the sound. eyes. The silence is deafening. He rises with a quick вЂњI wrote this myself вЂ¦ I hope you like it.вЂќ thank you and a small wave, and hurries offstage. And then he begins to play that beat-up guitar. All Backstage, he packs away the guitar, whispers fall silent, and even the teachers disappointed in the common instrustop to listen. From where I kneel just beHe purses his lips ment it has transformed back into. hind the curtain, it seems as though the I kneel in front of him, my jeans whole world has stopped, everyone in in concentration complaining at the pose. I look him in unison straining to catch the faintest note plucked from those strings. as his fingers fly the eye, and as his gaze meets mine, I completely forget anything I had I close my eyes to better hear, and in thought of saying. the darkness, I see each note appear as it вЂњHowвЂ™d you get back here?вЂќ is played. As the song continues, though, it gets harder вЂњStage door was open. That was amazing! I am so and harder to imagine the notes and easier to see him proud of you.вЂќ coaxing a voice from the marred wood. The guitar He stares at me, a question in his eyes that I canвЂ™t вЂ“ sings with a pure, clear voice, a tune that sounds like a or donвЂ™t want to вЂ“ answer. swing, the sky, lemonade in summer. The instrumentвЂ™s I hug him tightly and try to convey all my love, all song carries waves of melody, a rhythm of light blue my heart, in that one simple touch. His arms wrap waves crashing on a shore of pure white sand, the around me and he hugs back, and I can feel how silent moon reigning as queen. nervous he was, how relieved he is that itвЂ™s over. He purses his lips in concentration as his fingers fly, My eyes tear as I commit this perfect moment to brown hair falling into his eyes. The music rises and C 6 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 COMMENT memory forever. I rush off before he has a chance to respond вЂ“ before he sees my tears. I swipe angrily at them with the heel of my hand and walk faster. As I depart, the belated cheers of his brand-new adoring fans draws his attention. I smile, so glad for small blessings. I am so, so proud of you. вњ¦ Photo by Grace Booher, Chapel Hill, NC ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM T he shower head dumped steaming water onto my back as I leaned over, studying my feet. My hair, pushed by the scalding water, tumbled over my shoulders to shroud my face. IвЂ™d never considered suicide like this before. I cupped my hands between my eyes, covering my mouth and nose tightly. Tears began to mix with the water, and both seeped into my hands. A small pool formed in my palms and I inhaled the water gently, just enough to choke me. I coughed until my lungs were clear, disappointed in my cowardice. Millions of people were starving, freezing, and dwelling in their own waste, and here I was, unable to face the next day but incapable of doing anything about it. ThereвЂ™s something weird about water, I guess. ItвЂ™s been a family favorite. Ever since my dad tried to kill himself in the bathtub 10 years ago, IвЂ™ve always considered water a death sentence. Just a chip off the old block. I turned the knob up, scalding my skin. IвЂ™m not the type of girl who typically considers suicide. I could be a cheerleader or on the drill team if I wasnвЂ™t so busy balancing AP and college classes as a high school junior. I could be at parties with boys every weekend if I didnвЂ™t work at my motherвЂ™s dress shop. But yet, here I was, the happy girl, choosing to end it all. Fact: Everyone will die. Fiction: Everyone can choose how they die. Some people are youthful, cheerful, and beautiful. Some peopleвЂ™s deaths are accidental, coincidental, and completely happenstance, like my cousin, the only girl I know who will remain forever young. She was my age, and she would be still, if she hadnвЂ™t been hit by a car when we were two. I imagine that sheвЂ™d be gorgeous now, just like she was then. Fact: I was going to choose to die. I suppose I had every reason to live. It was January by вЂњLucy,вЂќ Layton, UT recalled the rumored mountain. IвЂ™d gracefully dealt and the girlsвЂ™-choice dance was coming up. I could with my shame by hiding myself away. ask the football player in my chemistry class IвЂ™d had Isolation is a terrible monster, with claws that grip an eye on. I could be elected royalty. your heart and teeth that crush your mind. It wasnвЂ™t Who was I kidding? I had my sweethearts dress so much the embarrassment of the gossip that led to and no date. There wasnвЂ™t anyone to ask. What was my suicidal thoughts, but the loneliness that resulted the point going, anyhow? My dress didnвЂ™t fit anyfrom the rumors. I stopped going to church when more. As I said, I work at a dress shop, and I had they preached that those who committed suicide wanted this dress since the day we got it in. It was an werenвЂ™t allowed into heaven. I canвЂ™t believe that the extra small, but it was too big for me now. I guess I God I know would turn so tortured a soul away from just didnвЂ™t have time to eat, and when I did, I simply His arms. chose not to. God had His reasons, and the Devil had his moI wasnвЂ™t going to admit it to anyone, but I knew the tives, and either way IвЂ™d take what was given to me. truth: I was a suicidal, anorexic teenage girl. I slept Then an atheist vegan or, in other words, little, ate less, and stressed a lot. Those the hero who defeated isolation, waltzed were the facts. You canвЂ™t change facts, my life. Either an ironic act of Proviright? I became my into dence or a scheme by Satan, this girl Fact: Facts can be changed. high schoolвЂ™s showed me fellowship in my darkest Fiction: IвЂ™m still a suicidal, anorexic hour. Somehow we belonged together, teenage girl. very own though we were exact opposites. It didnвЂ™t take long for me to realize She noticed my pain. SheвЂ™d felt that that I was part-crazy, but it took others Hester Prynne pain herself. After I was abandoned by around me longer than I could bear. I the girls IвЂ™d once considered friends, she was a recluse, not suddenly, but gradushowed me what a best friend really was. We found ally. When I didnвЂ™t go out to lunch with friends or some help for me after I told my parents how I felt, bother to make weekend plans, no one worried. I and the counseling had an impact on my life. I no wasnвЂ™t invited anyway. Presumptions were, in all longer feel like a broken Barbie doll, with perfect reality, my stairway to hell. hair, no waist, and a fake smile. It all started with one night, one mistake. One slipFact: I still canвЂ™t fit into my dress. up turned into a rumored many. One boy turned into Fiction: ThereвЂ™s no one to ask to sweethearts. 20, and a small mishap turned into a sin. I became my IвЂ™m going to ask a boy I know at another school, high schoolвЂ™s very own Hester Prynne. It seemed as if one whoвЂ™s never been a jerk. IвЂ™m climbing out of my people devoured my life behind the covers of Hawgrave. It seemed like the earth was pressing so inthorneвЂ™s book, pretending to read as they received the tensely on my chest that I was about to be crushed slew of texts telling my story. If theyвЂ™d read the book under its weight, but a shovel and a friend to dig with they might have seen that my story wasnвЂ™t very differmade all the difference. ent. But after IвЂ™d stood on the scaffolds and the Fact: There is hope. wounds were no longer fresh, people forgot. No one Fact: I will not choose how I die. вњ¦ remembered the molehill, and they only vaguely Science Works Thank You by Justin Hart, Rochester, MI Y T he fluorescent lights flicker on as I sanitize the fume hood. Gloves on, I swing the incubator open. I stack the dishes and flasks next to the microscope. Laser on, focus adjusted, the sheets of cells reveal themselves. I slip the next flask under and focus, refocus. Nothing, thereвЂ™s nothing to be found. I shake the flask. Cell debris swishes around. My cells are dead. Yes, my cells. Though they were never physically a part of me, a bond still existed; their successful propagation had resulted from my care and work, The sheets of my science in the lab. Unlike the experiments I read about or cells reveal conduct in high school, thereвЂ™s no cheat themselves sheet, no teacher or website to tell me whatвЂ™s supposed to happen to the cells in their different treatments, only postulates and results. And right now, my results are up in the air; my cells are dead. But why? Science continues. Investigation reveals the culprit: a tiny ball of fungus has poisoned my cells and ruined my data. The overwhelming desire to break protocol, open the flask, and drown the murderous clump in methanol takes hold of me. I take one last look at the fungus and stop, vendetta scrapped, surprised. The toxic clump is extravagant, intricate like a snowflake, and shockingly beautiful. The motivation of all my work is revealed: to discover and protect the beauty of all life. вњ¦ nonfiction YouвЂ™re Not Alone вЂ“ IвЂ™m Crazy Too by Anna Claire Little, Baltimore, MD ou are the one place in this world that has experienced all of my biggest feelings. I canвЂ™t see your tall, white stone walls that once seemed to stretch to the sky and the stained glass windows that reflected every color of the rainbow without seeing them in my heart too. In your refuge, IвЂ™ve felt it all вЂ“ and I mean all. In you I began, 14 years ago, dunked under cold water and surrounded by people who loved me. You are where my first memory took place, so long ago that itвЂ™s really more of a memory of a memory: my cousinвЂ™s wedding where I saw my first fairy-tale love story. When I walk in through your tall brass doors, I remember the first time I snuck my allowance into the donation box, feeling like Santa Claus, so proud of myself. I remember harder times too. I remember your walls draped in black cloth and you filled with tears, with people who hung their heads and were as pale as the walls. I remember you teaching me what family was, as I sobbed in my cousinsвЂ™ arms at that funeral. In you, I found out what it meant to believe in something that canвЂ™t be seen. In you, I have felt more powerful, happier, and stronger than anywhere else. In you, I felt what it was to be brought back when I thought I was lost, to be held up by belief and to know I was loved. You have made each of my Christmases magical and shown me love beyond compare. I have seen you filled with flowers and laughing faces, and I have heard you echo with the sound of weeping. You taught me to believe. You taught me to love. You were my beginning, and one day you are where I will end. I just wanted to say thanks. вњ¦ Photo by Ashlee Price, Sandpoint, ID LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 7 nonfiction Keeping Pikachu by Cara Lane, Suffern, NY was a trade he accepted. And so I hen I was in first grade, successfully obtained a Pikachu. I PokГ©mon was the in thing. I went home and put it in my red binder went to a small Catholic with the plastic pages with slots to school where your mother knew everyhold cards. I put Pikachu right in the one elseвЂ™s, and where they all conmiddle and I decided that my collecverged to create little activities for the tion was now complete. class. One such happening was FridayThe next bowling night, VincentвЂ™s night bowling. The only problem was mom spoke to my mom. She said that that the balls were as heavy as us, makVincent really wanted that card and ing it a difficult pastime for a bunch of hadnвЂ™t meant to trade it. She asked if six- and seven-year-olds. But we did he could have it back. I use the time between overheard the conversation throwing gutter balls to Vincent in horror. Give back trade PokГ©mon cards. How could my I was the only girl who revealed that Pikachu? crowning PokГ©mon acquicared about the cards. The sition slip through my finhe had a only reason I collected My mom played it them, admittedly, was bePikachu card gers? cool. She pretended to cause I wanted a Pikachu have no idea what Vincard. That was my goal. centвЂ™s mom was talking about; I think Once obtained, I would no longer feel she was grateful that my nagging for the need to beg my mother to buy me more cards had ceased since PikachuвЂ™s another pack to see if this time, arrival. So I kept Pikachu. I donвЂ™t Pikachu would appear in the pile. think Vincent held it against me. One Friday, I sat in a circle with By twelfth grade. I had lost touch Danny, Tyler, and Vincent. They, too, with Vincent, along with the rest of the were PokГ©mon connoisseurs and my PokГ©mon traders. We had gone to difusual trading buddies. On this particuferent high schools вЂ“ they to public, I lar Friday, though, Vincent revealed to yet another Catholic school. It was that he had a Pikachu card. I offered March; college applications were in, so him three cards in exchange, I canвЂ™t the year was basically over. I had been even remember which ones now. It W The Way You DonвЂ™t Exist by Isabel Henderson, Bedminster, NJ Last night, as I pulled on my coat, you saw you just 12 hours ago. The light told me to put everything I had into the test. outside was fading as I held your hand, To forget that my dying grandfather even feeling the veins pulse timidly, as existed in this New York hospital room. though they were afraid to declare your To strike the view of Fifth Avenue, the way survival as permanent. the dusk settled on the feet of the stoic resiIt was almost eight. We had a polite dential buildings that line the hospital like conversation, pretending that we could not sentinels. hear the frantic countdown of your last Now, I sit in my chair in the back of an hours. You asked what I was doing over the unfamiliar classroom. The proctor is readweekend, as though it were one of our ing the directions while the test-takers tap monthly phone calls. The comfortable number two pencils, nervously distance that separated us click calculators, and throw through the telephone had been вЂњTime will their eyes to the clock. broken, yet I maintained the to take this test forgetsame polite tone. run out before tingI am that you exist. My mind вЂњIвЂ™m taking the SATs tomoryou know itвЂќ will be filled solely with testrow,вЂќ I said. taking tips and verb tenses and вЂњYou should go home,вЂќ you the proper way to simplify a said. вЂњRest up. YouвЂ™re a smart fraction. I will focus on the elimination of girl, but you still need to sleep.вЂќ A, B, C, or D. I will fight my way up the I didnвЂ™t want to leave. I wanted to say percentiles, not thinking of the tears I that a test wasnвЂ™t as important as sitting fought back driving home last night. with my grandfather who was dying. That I After reading the directions, the proctor could hear the clock ticking faster with gives a smile of encouragement. вЂњWatch every breath you took on borrowed time. the clock,вЂќ she offers. вЂњTime will run out I wanted to decipher you more than I before you know it.вЂќ wanted to find the correct answer on the She doesnвЂ™t have to remind me. I have test. I wanted to find the mystery behind you. The ticking of the clock grows panthose calloused hands and grizzled brow. I icked as you lie in a hospital bed, watching wanted to find the man behind a life in the the sun rise over Manhattan for the last military, on the front page of the newspatime. вњ¦ per, and on the forefront of technology in the 20th century. I 8 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 accepted by several schools, but New York University was both the one that mattered the most and the one I would attend. That day I was taking an economics test I could not have cared less about, confident I would pass and that my GPA would remain great, because all the lights had done nothing but turn green for me. In the middle of the test, my name and a few others were Art by Fiona Fodera, Reno, NV called over the loudspeaker to report to the guidance office. I waited to finish made onto Route 202 from his block вЂ“ the test before I went. I figured it was but I didnвЂ™t want to. I didnвЂ™t want to nothing important. visualize the moment when his heart When I finally arrived, I found a stopped, when his mindвЂ™s eye looked barrage of people from my elementary up to the heavens, blinked, and poofed school who, despite having gone on to away like a cloud. But that was all I the same high school, were practically could think about. strangers to me. Three of the girls I marveled at how, before that mowere crying hysterically, the two othment on that rainy March day, all I had ers were drying the tears rolling down concerned myself with was finishing a their cheeks. The guys stood stoically stupid economics test and what I was against the wall, staring at a spot on going to eat for lunch. I hadnвЂ™t thought the floor I couldnвЂ™t see. about Vincent once. And why would I? вЂњCara,вЂќ my guidance counselor He wasnвЂ™t part of my life, nor was I asked serenely, вЂњdo you know whatвЂ™s part of his. But after that moment, I going on?вЂќ could not stop thinking about him, or вЂњNo,вЂќ I replied. at least the idea of him, the idea of unвЂњWell, today Vincent got in a car actimely death. Everything, every aspect cident on his way to baseball practice of who he was, who he could have on Route 202. The rain must have been, who he would have become вЂ“ made the roads slippery, and he skidwas gone. His whole future was taken, ded into the other lane, and a truck all his plans destroyed in seconds, but slammed into him.вЂќ mine were intact. I didnвЂ™t say anything. I sat and tried Over the next few days I felt guilty to process this. I did not cry because for my initial reaction. Was I callous, the reality was that I had staring at these sobbing not seen or heard from girls and believing they Vincent in four years. were just drawing attention His image as an Yes, of course, it was to themselves? I donвЂ™t 18-year-old tragic, but this was a guy know. Even though VinI was not really close to and I had never been would be the cent to begin with, and had close, I couldnвЂ™t help but forgotten about. think that maybe our last for him The same was true of elementary school aceveryone else. I knew quaintance counted for that not one of them was close to Vinsomething. I just wasnвЂ™t sure what, cent anymore, if they ever were. But exactly. here they were, weeping like it was Several months later, on a rainy their mother. summer day, I decided to clean out my For me, it was hard to picture closet. I divided mounds of clothing I someone so young вЂ“ my age, even вЂ“ hadnвЂ™t worn in years into вЂњkeepвЂќ and dying. It was not even about Vincent; вЂњdonateвЂќ piles, I threw out shoes IвЂ™d it was about a young man dying. It worn holes in, reorganized shelves of could have been any young man. And sweaters. Then I got to the two plastic eventually Vincent would be any bins that held what remained of my young man. The rest of us would go childhood stuff. I opened them up for on with our lives, probably get marthe first time in years. ried, have careers, raise children, but There I found American Girl dolls, he wouldnвЂ™t. His image as an 18-yearmy favorite childhood books, lost Barold would be the last for him. We bie doll shoes, old diaries. And there, would go on to be novels; he would at the bottom, was the PokГ©mon forever be a short story. It seemed binder. I opened it to find Pikachu heinously unfair. staring at me from the center slot of I could picture Vincent driving the plastic page. down that road. He lived only a few The funeral and wake had come minutes from me. I occasionally saw and gone, but I thought it might be him driving around town. And so I nice to return Pikachu by placing it on could picture him in his car, his high VincentвЂ™s grave. I got in my car, but school baseball team magnet on the found myself staring at the dashboard. bumper of the car, skidding вЂ“ no doubt Nevermind, I thought. IвЂ™m keeping off the narrow turn he would have the card. вњ¦ COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM DonвЂ™t forget all of the other ways to get involved online: вЂў вЂў вЂў вЂў Interact with teens like you on our forums Check out cool summer programs & colleges Enter one of our teens-only contests Submit your writing & artwork online for a chance to be published in our magazine вЂў Vote for your favorite written pieces & art вЂў Check out some of the 10,000 images in the online Art Gallery вЂў Follow us on Twitter and Facebook pride & prejudice Mulan: Just Another Princess the rest of his Hun buddies have faces that are rather ulan,вЂќ the animated Disney movie more вЂ¦ ethnic. They have eyes you can barely see, based on the ancient Chinese legend gray skin, and a sickly appearance. They are either of Hua Mulan, is just another racist, hulkingly huge or way too skinny. The appearance of sexist product of this giant corporation. As a child, all these characters, in my opinion, perpetuates WestMulan was my all-time favorite movie вЂ“ finally a ern stereotypes of Asians. According to Disney, all Disney title character who wasnвЂ™t blond-haired and Asians look the same. In addition, if an Asian characblue-eyed! I could identify with Mulan because she ter is evil, he will simply look even more Asian. looked like me. Although I am Korean rather than Aside from the mild racism in вЂњMulan,вЂќ there is Chinese, I felt represented in this movie. As a fivealso a bit of sexism mixed in. вЂњMulanвЂќ year-old, I loved that Mulan wasnвЂ™t waithas been hailed as a feminist Disney ing in a tower for her prince to save her. According to movie because it showcases a young I reveled in the fact that her life goal woman who leads China to victory using wasnвЂ™t to go to some medieval version Disney, all her quick wit, pride, and a strong sense of the prom and wear glass slippers. Asians look of family honor вЂ“ all while masqueradRecently, I watched the movie again ing as a man named Ping. Even though with the knowledge I have today. Lo and the same Mulan (as Ping) gains the respect of the behold, I was disappointed in both the army commander and her comrades, movie and myself for ever believing it once they discover that she is a woman, her army was feminist or politically correct. Sure, the graphics commander and potential love-interest, Shang, loses are great. The setting is made with DisneyвЂ™s traderespect for her and even hates her. mark precision and beauty. But even so, I was вЂњPingвЂќ had been doing an even better job than appalled. Shang, but when Shang finds out Ping is a woman, DonвЂ™t get me wrong, вЂњMulanвЂќ is a giant step forhis stupid male ego breaks on impact. Mulan is senward in terms of feminism and racial equality вЂ¦ for tenced to death, and Shang, the macho man of the Disney, that is. For the rest of the world? Not so film, ultimately gets to decide her fate. The only much. reason she survives is because Shang decides heвЂ™d First of all, every character has a similar appearrather just send her home. Wow. To add insult to ance: slanted eyes, short limbs, and a flat nose. The injury, at the end of the film, Shang fixes up his only factors that differentiate them are gender and shattered ego by claiming Mulan as a suitor. hair style. Also, ChinaвЂ™s arch-nemesis, Shan-Yu, and вЂњM Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum I t started as a joke. вЂњHow do you say your name?вЂќ asked the lady in the main office, perplexed by the foreign spelling. To save her the trouble of treating my name like an abracadabra, and to subtly dismiss her inquiry, I answered quickly, вЂњI go by Phy.вЂќ вЂњLike fee-fi-fo-fum?вЂќ she blurted, followed with a hysterical laugh. She wasnвЂ™t the only one who had made the connection to the giantвЂ™s rhyme. It almost sounded like a mockery, the hidden desire of a diminutive 5'1" girl. So I turned it into a shtick, a Photo by Mikaela Pederson, Bellingham, WA 10 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 by Phy Tran, Chicago, TN reference to the fairy tale вЂ“ that awkphrase I often used to introduce myself, ward moment when I stood like a making it a head fake of my sense of statue, then pretended I understood, humor while killing the fun of those laughing politely but frigidly. who would otherwise have made the I gave the story a try today. The reference themselves. phrase, it seemed, transformed from an In essence, I did resemble the giant. intimidating message to an expression We both fit the stranger prototype: forof frustration when the giant could not eign and unusual, something others figure out where Jack was. Anger, would fear or ridicule. Fee-fi-fo-fum perhaps. connoted an unknown danger, captured Maybe fee-fi-fo-fum was the giantвЂ™s attention, and for its odd sounds, had a defense mechanism. Maybe it spoke mysterious, almost deceptive quality, for Jack, whose presence, despite being as if linking the giant to little JackвЂ™s petite, was somewhat mischief. alarming. Maybe I resemI was curious enough to skim through the summary In essence, I bled Jack more by climbing up the sky and intruding in of вЂњJack and the did resemble a foreign world. Could a BeanstalkвЂќ when I read a person gradually morph short narrative by writer the giant from the hideous giant to SaГЇd Sayrafiezadeh in the courageous Jack? which he recounted acting But why didnвЂ™t the giant and Jack out the fairy tale with his mom. I could compromise? Why did fairy tales only relate to many of SayrafiezadehвЂ™s depict fights, not handshakes? works, mainly because we shared an To Wayne Shorter, the greatest living analytical mind for small details and a jazz composer, fee-fi-fo-fum was a tune socialist childhood in a dysfunctional he wrote that resonated with the mythifamily. To Sayrafiezadeh, fee-fi-fo-fum cal creature. stood for the moment he held high his I could be either one, Jack or the imaginary ax and rid his father from his giant. Regardless of where I go, I say home вЂ“ the fight between the oppressor my shtick. People think that despite my and the oppressed. foreign accent I have a good sense of To me, fee-fi-fo-fum marked the emhumor. In reality, IвЂ™m subtly asserting barrassing moment when the lady in my presence. People will remember my the main office pointed out how foreign name. Fee-fi-fo-fum, here I come. вњ¦ I was, not only because of my strange name but also for not understanding the COMMENT by Michelle Koh, Buffalo Grove, IL Even as Mulan is being praised and cheered in the Forbidden City after she almost single-handedly saves China (this time, as a woman), at the end of the film, the audience is reminded that Mulan is really just another woman looking for a man. MulanвЂ™s real victory isnвЂ™t saving her country from invasion. No, itвЂ™s marrying Shang. The fact that this is a movie I grew up idolizing makes me sad. All in all, вЂњMulanвЂќ perpetuates Western stereotypes of Asian culture and very quietly shows that even a successful woman will need a man at the end of the day. This movie is, admittedly, much better in terms of gender equality and world cultures than previous Disney movies, but that doesnвЂ™t change its subtle messages. As a proud Asian girl, IвЂ™d like to inform Disney that my familyвЂ™s honor does not come from marriage, but from our achievements. вњ¦ Theme for English 8 Teacher said, Go home and write A page tonight And let that page come out of you Then, it will be true. Forget that. IвЂ™m not going To try again to explain who I am. It just DoesnвЂ™t work. Instead, Let me try To convey to you Just why. Maybe then You will begin to understand. Patrick was just the beginning. You canвЂ™t forget a thing like Patrick. You donвЂ™t forget what Patrick did to you. You donвЂ™t forget being literally Run over, You were so invisible. You donвЂ™t forget the far end of the bench Or the place By the tetherball People always knew Was yours. You donвЂ™t forget the mockery And the tears, The cruel words that made you Bow your head As you walked through the years. But some day, you keep in the Back of your mind, That some day The tears will grow, (like you) Into an ocean, and The ocean Will swallow up what Patrick Did to you. This is my theme for English 8. by Zoe Ferguson, West Orange, NJ ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM art gallery Art by Kimberly Krakosky, Macomb, MI Art by Maddie Nayfa, Dallas, TX Photo by Cara van Wyk, Hassloch, Germany Photo by Dee Dorrance, Toronto, ON, Canada 12 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 Art by Krystal Sze, Santa Monica, CA Photo by Ashli Wojciechowski, FL Art by Emily Bravaco, Mansfield, MA Draw вЂ¦ Paint вЂ¦ Photograph вЂ¦ Create! Then send it to us вЂ“ see page 3 for details H er round yellow eyes flickered brightly in the light of the waning sun. Flashing in and out of sight like a spotted ghost, she crouched low, sliding through the tall grass. The setting sun spread a lace of golden rays through the savannah landscape, alchemizing the grass, browned by the dry winter of South Africa. Knobby thorn trees erupted from the ground like the gnarled hands of an old man reaching for the sun, and an acaciaвЂ™s leaves were a passing cloud of emerald entangled in its branches. Having followed her for a few days we had come to know her well. With her yellowish fur that faded to white as it wrapped toward her underbelly and innumerable black spots, it was easy to admire her beauty and forget she was an agile and furtive leopardess, capable of taking down the fastest antelope. Now, though, her ferocity had subsided. Over and over her low plangent growl spread across the openness of the plains. The only answer was a quiet echo from a distant cliff. She repeated her mournful call, waiting for a response. It had been seven hours and her cub was nowhere to be found. At four months, he was the first cat we had encountered on our safari in Mala Mala, a game reserve in South Africa. Only a few days earlier, we had seen him lying lethargically on a large boulder by a rocky outcropping. In our by Daniel Listwa, East Brunswick, NJ of the savannah streamed by. We noisy Jeep we pulled up beside him, passed termite holes that looked like but his interest was piqued only to the high-rise hotels, baby elephants that sat extent that his ears rose sharply and he playfully while their mothersвЂ™ trunks turned his head toward us. Appraising sifted through nearby trees for someus, he looked until, distracted by its thing green, and lilac-breasted rollers fleeting motion, he turned to watch a painted in watercolor hues that spiraled salamander scurry across a rock. With slowly from the sky, cooing for a mate. his scruffy, mottled fur and flat face, From the bottom of the tree, we one could not help but think of a kitten. spotted him. Perched like a bird, he sat For over a day he had been languishon a branch, his tail hanging down. ing on that rock where his mother had With the blistering sun of high noon left him while she hunted. His brother, beating down, he got up, anxiously a fraternal twin and the young leoppaced, and sat down again. ardessвЂ™s only other cub, Leopard life is cutthroat; had been with him at first, male leopards will kill cubs but now he was gone. This An aggressive was worrisome; the leopmale leopard that are not their own. Atop the tree, the cub was lucky ard cub mortality rate is had run the cub to be alive, but he was far astronomical. from safe. Dangerously When we saw him again up a tree jealous, a dominant male a few days later, the situawill do anything to remove tion was not quite as trana cub from a female, giving her the quil. We had been watching zebras chance to mate again. graze, flanked by a few boxy-headed, As darkness fell, this babyвЂ™s fate pointy-bearded wildebeest, when our seemed sealed. The ignoble male had rangerвЂ™s radio squawked loudly. An agreturned. Bounding up the tree, he gressive male leopard had run the cub snarled menacingly. Petrified, the cubвЂ™s up a tree. Shaken and scared, he was balance faltered. The male drew nearer, awaiting the arrival of his mother, who his gleaming eyes вЂ“ solid disks of was off searching for food. On rugged gold вЂ“ fixed on the cub. Suddenly, the Jeep trails that cut through the rough cubвЂ™s foot slipped and he tumbled bush like a brown and tan river of dust, down. He hit the ground but immediwe sped, as though pulled by a current ately got up and limped off toward the through rapids and waterfalls. As the riverbed. trail curved, banked, split, and then When his mother returned from joined, the brown and green landscape How Much Is That Doggie? by Makayla Balcher, Townsend, MA to a shelter. In pet stores, the average price for a pureido is held down by a volunteer while the vet bred puppy is $600 to $1,500, depending on the prepares the needle. This frisky pup doesnвЂ™t breed. However you can get a purebred at a shelter for know whatвЂ™s coming, but this time itвЂ™s not just a fraction of that. Did you know that a quarter of shelanother vaccination. He feels the prick of the needle ter dogs are purebred, and itвЂ™s an even higher percentand gradually his eyes close and his breathing slows, age for cats? Also, most shelter dogs are already as if he were falling asleep, but he never reopens his spayed or neutered, vaccinated, dewormed, and have eyes. вЂњEvery year, between six and eight million dogs been checked by a vet. Store-bought dogs claim to be and cats enter U.S. shelters; some three to four milvaccinated, but many carry illnesses because of their lion of these animals are euthanized,вЂќ according to the puppy-mill origins. Humane Society. Fido was given up by his owner beA lot of puppy mills also inbreed, so cause she didnвЂ™t have the time to raise your new puppy could have problems later him. She had bought him at a pet store When you in life. Why do you think pet stores donвЂ™t and was not given enough information about the responsibilities of owning a pet, adopt a shelter offer refunds? They donвЂ™t want to be responsible if a puppy dies from illness. On so she found out too late that she couldnвЂ™t animal, youвЂ™re the other hand, most shelters will take back care for him. She gave him up to a huanimals that their owners canвЂ™t care for. mane society, where he was put up for saving a life I have to agree that those cute little pupadoption. Three months later, with other pies and kitties in pet stores are hard to redogs constantly being brought in, there sist. I understand they need homes too. But thousands was no room and Fido had to give up his spot to make of others await a death sentence. Animals in shelters room for new arrivals. If more people adopted from are just as cute as those in pet stores. When you adopt shelters instead of buying pets from stores, Fido a shelter animal, youвЂ™re saving a life. YouвЂ™re helping would have a loving home. make room for the hundreds of animals that come to Have you ever considered where pet stores get their the shelters each day. I guess you could say that puppies? Most are supplied by puppy mills. The ownyouвЂ™re saving more than one life. Last year thousands ers of these breeding facilities force dogs to reproduce of animals were placed in loving homes while thouover and over and donвЂ™t care about the animals вЂ“ only sands of others were put down due to lack of space. It about profits. If more people adopted shelter dogs, is far better to adopt than to buy a pet. fewer puppies would be bought at pet stores and Pet stores always have many customers. Animal puppy mills would lose business and shut down. shelters and humane societies, on the other hand, If you want a purebred dog but canвЂ™t afford one, go F LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK hunting, she searched for her cub. We followed her as she grievingly cut through the darkness, roaring softly, a gentle sonar seeking a single target. My family sat tensely, holding our breath, as we fervently hoped that each distant sound would be the cub bounding back. The angst of the leopardess knew no bounds. Crossing the barrier of millions of years of divergent evolution, it seeped into each of us. My mother, thinking of the time I had gone missing while camping when the police were called, began to cry, knowing too well the pain the mother was experiencing. One cub not seen for days and the other now gone, she was deprived of those she loved above all else. With the stars burning brightly, we had to return to camp. Reflecting on the harsh life of the bush and the reality of the circle of life, we extinguished our lights and drifted off to sleep amid the high-pitched calls of hyenas and angry barks of baboons. The next morning, with the sun shining again, a feeling of hope prevailed. While we were out in the Jeep, a squawk on the radio brought news. Another group had been out on the trail when the ranger smelled the sharp tang of fresh blood. Following the stench, they had come upon a kill, an impala, being feasted upon by none other than the leopardess and her two cubs. вњ¦ environment Tracking the Spotted Ghosts never get enough visitors. Shelters are always filled with animals waiting for someone like you to give them a forever home. The next time you are drawn to that cute puppy in the pet store window, think of all the dogs and cats euthanized each year because no one picks them. Think of the puppy mills that are hiding behind those pet store animals. Think of the money youвЂ™ll save. Think of the life youвЂ™ll save. Think вЂњI can make a difference.вЂќ вњ¦ Art by Kseniya Ostrovska, Flushing, NY M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 13 parents Mommy-Love succeed at school, in life. They wanted to express n an attempt to grow closer, my youth group their love by showing interest in their daughtersвЂ™ leader suggested taking our small group sessions lives. I was troubled by the lack of respect these girls вЂњdeeperвЂќ by sharing real, serious problems in our had for their mothers. lives with each other. It was a great idea, and the first I, like every other person on this planet, also have session went well. We girls felt closer afterward, esa mother (surprise, surprise), so I understand that the pecially since we all had the seal of secrecy stamped mother-daughter relationship can be tense. My mom across our lips. Nothing draws people together better and I definitely have our days when we canвЂ™t be in than a well-kept secret. A few girls cried, everyone the same room without steam shooting from our ears. was hugging, and at the end we all felt better knowWeвЂ™ve have bad weeks. Yet I realize that more often ing we didnвЂ™t have to bear our burdens alone and that than not, I am equally to blame (if not more so) for we werenвЂ™t the only ones dealing with those specific our arguments. I admit it freely: IвЂ™m arproblems. gumentative. Sometimes, even when Yet the second time around, our alI can genuinely someone says something I agree with, if legedly civilized share-time rapidly deI hear a loophole in the reasoning, I simteriorated into a vicious mauling of one say that my ply have to take advantage of it. Even if I specific person in each girlвЂ™s life: her mother and I are try to respectfully agree with my mother, mother. We did not discuss legitimate sometimes just a bit of that sauciness life concerns this time. There was none good friends creeps into my voice. In my defense, my of the depth and sister-like affinity of the mom has the hearing of a bat, and often previous week. Instead, the most prodetects sarcasm in my voice that honestly is not found statements made went something like вЂњI hate there. my mom. SheвЂ™s a total idiot, and she doesnвЂ™t have a But Mom and I have our good times too. WeвЂ™ve clue about parenting.вЂќ laughed so hard weвЂ™ve cried. WeвЂ™ve snuggled on the Eventually, every girl was yelling in an attempt to couch and watched chick flicks (in a house full of be heard over the others detailing the transgressions guys, itвЂ™s hard to find someone whoвЂ™ll watch Pride of their mothers: вЂњMy mother wonвЂ™t buy Coca-Cola and Prejudice for the thirty-eighth time). WeвЂ™ve anymoreвЂќ вЂ¦ вЂњShe wants me to clean my roomвЂќ вЂ¦ talked about guys and school, friends and life. I can вЂњShe made me wear something other than sweatpants genuinely say that my mother and I are good friends. to my job interview.вЂќ Yet, typical of close friends, not a day goes by I would completely sympathize with these girls if when we donвЂ™t have some sort of quarrel, or when I their mothers had crystal meth addictions or were listen to music that she doesnвЂ™t approve of, or when bringing home abusive boyfriends or beating them. she asks me to bathe our dog after heвЂ™s rolled in poop But these mothers were simply trying to do what and I donвЂ™t necessarily refuse point-blank вЂ¦ I just their title implies: be mothers. They wanted to know never exactly get around to it. where their daughters were at 2 a.m. They didnвЂ™t like All IвЂ™m trying to say is, moms and daughters have midriff-baring tops and short skirts. They wanted their ups and downs. I canвЂ™t say how long those ups their daughters to be respected by their peers and to I Ping-Pong Ping-Pong The ball hits the table Like a ballerina on her toes Then leaps over the low net To my dadвЂ™s side of the ping-pong table Ping-Pong The humming buzz of the radio Mimics the sound Of the lone mosquito circling my head With a flash and a serve as strong as lead My dad backhands a tricky shot A tennis player at his best Ping-Pong My foam Adidas flip-flops Are a soft pillow for my toes As I switch from right to left In an intricate chase For the lightning fast ping-pong ball As my dad serves another match Ping-Pong The endless soothing rhythm of each bounce As the ball jumps over the net Makes a soft lullaby that I will never forget Thank you, Dad, for playing ping-pong with me When I couldnвЂ™t hit or run For any other ball Thank you for Ping-Pong by Julia Grant, Dexter, MI 14 by Keilah Sullivan, Eureka, MO Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 Deployed Art by Tiffany Yuen, Brooklyn, NY and downs will last, and granted, I donвЂ™t know what your mother is like. IвЂ™m only speaking from my experience. But I do know that mothers and daughters contribute equally to their disagreements. It takes two to argue. Additionally (and I canвЂ™t believe IвЂ™m actually saying this; if my mom reads this IвЂ™m screwed next time we have a fight), there remains the simple fact that she is the mother and I am the daughter. As such, I owe her a certain degree of respect, obedience, and вЂ“ however difficult it may be at time вЂ“ love. So whenever IвЂ™m arguing with my mother and I feel like sheвЂ™s being ridiculous, I remind myself that my mom can be my best friend in the whole world, but her first priority is to be my mother. вњ¦ by Lindsey Butler, Colorado Springs, CO at church. We prayed with neighbors. We prayed with y face was wet with tears as I said my final each other. All I could hope was that God could hear me. good-byes to my father. I tried to hold on, not My sister dealt with it silently. She was quiet even beto let go. I wanted to somehow keep him here fore Dad was sent away, so we didnвЂ™t notice much differwith me. My heart pounded, rattling every bone in my ence. My mom took the same approach as I did; we body as he picked up his bag and began to walk toward stuck to our routines. I guess thatвЂ™s the only thing that Gate 6B. How could they do this? DidnвЂ™t they realize kept us sane. Dad called almost every two weeks. It was that he may never come back? Desperately, with every nerve wracking waiting to hear from him, but any wait fiber of my being, I wanted to speak to them. I wanted to was worth those ten-minute calls. ask them how they could risk my father never breathing Four months into his deployment, we got a call from the sweet Iowa air again. DidnвЂ™t they know that they my father. A suicide bomber had hit his were ripping my family to shreds? SUV. There had been six soldiers with The drive home was silent. My mother I knew exactly him. One man burned to death. Two died stared blankly at the road. My sister had that dead look on her face the whole where my father on impact. Two sustained severe injuries and burns. My father walked away without time. My breathing was uneven as I held was going, and I a bruise or cut. He survived a deadly crash back tears. without a scratch. God had heard me and I wondered if they had ever been knew he might He answered. I knew that this moment there, been to the place he was going. I not return would forever be embedded in my brain, a had watched the news. I knew what it perfectly clear memory that I could sumwas like. I had seen the soldiers who mon at any time. My outlook on DadвЂ™s deployment was were missing limbs because they hadnвЂ™t been able to permanently altered. I knew that God was watching over escape the fury of the explosions. Oh, I knew exactly him and would bring him home safe. where my father was going, and I knew he might not My face was once again wet with tears as we pulled return. into the Omaha Airport parking. My hands trembled as I We tried to keep our routine the same; it eased the pain opened the car door. Dad was safe and coming home. It of the hole in our lives. My sister and I went to school felt like we waited a century for his plane to land. When and our youth group, and my mother woke us up for I saw him step through the gate, my legs almost gave out. church every Sunday. And every Sunday, there his face Finding the strength to move, I ran to him. I breathed in would be, posted in the bulletin under вЂњKeep Them in his smell and felt the rough canvas of his uniform and Your Prayers.вЂќ Every time we saw his photograph we knew that once again my family was complete. вњ¦ would leave church in tears. We prayed often. We prayed M COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM by Yoon Sung Choi, Tenafly, NJ fade a little every time I look away. Thus is isten: these are the observations of a the way of nature; it is ephemeral and brief. daughter whose mother left her. And thus is the way of all things but love. This is what I see. I see my mother What make us human вЂ“ love, trust, honor вЂ“ who was вЂ“ and still is вЂ“ an artist. She cut are eternal. And it is only with time that stone and carved marble, hoping to create one realizes the single quality that goes something that would last. Three months beyond love, beyond trust, beyond honor, after I was born, she left for Rome. She beyond truth and acceptance, fury and was not ready to lose her life, her self. mirth: sacrifice. My mother had been away six months Not long ago, I asked my mother why when I became very sick. She returned imshe did what she did for me. To give up her mediately. She could not touch me or even independence, her art вЂ“ was it not impossisit near me; I was so susceptible to disease ble and irrational? She looked that even the common cold at me, smiling, and replied, would have been deadly. All вЂњLife is as it is. YouвЂ™ll see one she could do was stare through Through joy day. YouвЂ™ll make big sacrifices the thick hospital window that and sorrow, she and little ones, and thatвЂ™s the separated us. way itвЂ™s supposed to be. And When she was finally alhas held me art is something IвЂ™ve never lowed to be with me, she missed. My greatest, truest found that she could not leave. masterpiece has invariably been you.вЂќ She felt my fingers and hands for hours and This is what I know. Sacrifice is no act hours, refusing food and drink, refusing of heroism, no fantastic feat. It is, as my sleep. She made a promise to herself. She mother said, a part of life. Sacrifice is a would put her needs aside. All she knew, all strange word and an even stranger concept. she had ever wanted, would give way to this It is duty and obligation, beauty, humanity helpless child. All her life, she had lived for at its best. It is something to aspire to, not no one but herself; now, she would live for something to regret or resent. Only through her only girl and no one else. From that day sacrifice can one learn firsthand what is on, I was all that mattered, and since then, most great and true; my mother taught me she has never left me. Through joy and sorthat. The hard-earned lesson is this: indirow, she has held me вЂ“ tenderly, tortuously, vidual moments may glimmer and shine tightly. but they soon become dry and dusty, lost Outside, it is pitch black and bits of red forever. It is not the individual moments speckle the horizon. These bits are the stuff that matter, for only the spirit of sacrifice of dreams, dreams of dusk left over from remains forever in the human heart. вњ¦ desire and dread. These bits, these dreams, L On the Outside I rested my hands on my knees, my shallow panting slowing into deeper breaths. The frozen air stinging my bare face contrasted unpleasantly with the sticky heat of my back, covered in layers of sweatshirts and Spandex. Squinting into the glow of the porch light, I could make out my dad, arm resting against the door frame, glasses steamed up with sweat, a mirror of my exhaustion. I trooped up to the house behind him as the throbbing in my legs subsided. вЂњGood run,вЂќ he said with a smile as he held the door for me. I canвЂ™t remember when I started running with my dad, but it immediately became a tradition. On weekdays after my dad came home from work, or on weekends after our breakfast had been thoroughly digested, weвЂ™d pull on our shoes, stretch the stiffness out of our legs, and head for the roads. The first few steps were always spent debating which route to take. Then weвЂ™d settle into a pace. Some days were hard, and weвЂ™d converse only in heavy huffs and thumping strides. But usually weвЂ™d talk. IвЂ™d narrate the drama of the school day, from the momentous (becoming an attorney in a mock trial) to the trivial (who sat at my lunch table). IвЂ™d whine about the RedsвЂ™ most recent loss. IвЂ™d speculate about my LINK YOUR Maternal Expressions No otherвЂ™s face is more familiar, more terrifying, Or more sheltering than hers. Wracked with strain of her life It contorts into many forms. Eyes shining and crinkled at the edges like the pages of a book. Brow smooth, even, undisturbed. Mouth set comfortably, lips pink and chapped Uplifted at the corners, revealing two rows Of perfect white teeth. Eyes piercing, harsh and rippling with anger Her brow is drawn together with no hint of wavering. Her lips appear thinner, stretched tight Across her features. The cheeks are colored with a faint red That surely is not blush. Eyes spread wide in astonishment look so tired and wasted. A sheen of sweat gleams atop her forehead. Her brows rest high atop her head And her mouth makes an O. Beneath this face is bliss. Conjured from imagination, her face undoubtedly must have Resembled such a shocked and loving look That first time she laid me with some Uncertainty, hesitation, and caution just below her heart. Atop her breast by Amelia Sadler, Ann Arbor, MI by Danielle Zucker, Cincinnati, OH weekend plans. IвЂ™d sing. And my dad just listened. As the months of running accumulated, I began to notice a curious trend: my dad always ran on the outside nearthe run in record-book-cold January est the cars. In our town, the streets weather, the biting wind numbing even donвЂ™t have sidewalks. Running in the our gums into silence and the several breakdown lane nearest the cars is allayers of sweatpants reducing our strides ways undesirable. Preoccupied drivers to mere inches; the run on a muggy Auare liable to zoom mere inches from the gust Sunday when it was too hot to go outside runner, leaving his mouth full anywhere except the community pool; of fumes and his thoughts shaken. Also, the runs on darkening weekday nights, the white painted line designating the so numerous that the success edge of the shoulder can be or failure, discussions or sislippery. Even worse are lences blended together into a He wanted no the streets with no shoulder mix of years on the road with at all, leaving no buffer be- thanks and he my dad. And he was always tween that runner and the on the outside. How could I wanted no traffic. Yet despite this, my repay the countless hours he dad always took the outpraise spent listening, matching my side. It was never stated expace, running on the outside? plicitly, never even hinted This aching question began to nag at at. He never drew attention to his me in stabs of alternating guilt and adsacrifice. miration. I needed to find a way to reOn a run several months ago, I began turn the favor, but I was at a loss. Each to reflect on all my dad and I had experiplan felt simultaneously too insignificant enced together, his pounding footsteps and too excessive. On one hand, he had serving as the metronome for my taken the outside for years, shouldering thoughts. There was the run on unthe burden to which I hadnвЂ™t even given plowed streets in the aftermath of OhioвЂ™s a second thought. On the other hand, heaviest snowstorm, which culminated there seemed to be a tacit understanding in an icy slip-and-slide up the driveway; TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO parents Sacrifices FACEBOOK Photo by Krysta Lane, Summit, MS that my dad expected nothing in return. Finally, I could no longer stand my own badgering. One run, after talking about the day was exhausted, I turned to my dad. вЂњI noticed that you always run on the outside,вЂќ I said, my heavy breathing awkwardly punctuating my equally awkward statement. вЂњDo I?вЂќ my dad answered with a tone that suggested that he was unwilling to talk about this. Then, before I could answer, he asked, вЂњSo, what were you saying about your art project?вЂќ I could have been taken aback by his abrupt change of the subject, but I wasnвЂ™t. I launched into a detailed discussion, all discomfort melting into our usual compatibility. I never mentioned the subject to my dad again. There was no reason to. He wanted no thanks and he wanted no praise. He wanted to prepare me for my turn. And now, as I face the rest of my life, I am ready вЂ“ not only for my children, but also for my classmates, my coworkers, and my friends, I too will run on the outside. вњ¦ M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 15 parents A Different Kind of Love W hen you are five years old, your mother is your everything. She is your provider, friend, nurse, and listening ear; the only person whom you trust implicitly with your hopes, dreams, fears, and wishes. A mother is the person you run to when you fall and scrape your knee because you know she will be there with a hug to make it better. She by Krystal Jordan, Hilton Head Island, SC dentist, and was passed from drughad abandoned me. reads you books and when she tucks addicted cousins to mentally unstable I did learn to love my new parents you in, you know she will be there in neighbors as my mother fought to try and sister, though I could not forgive the morning, no matter what. For me, and save me from what our lives were my birth mother for rejecting me. however, this was not the case. becoming with each passing day. I Hearing people tell me that she did it My mother suffered from depreshave started to understand the reasons in my best interest вЂ“ that she actually sion and other health issues that would loved me вЂ“ made me even more bitter. she put me up for adoption, and that in keep her in bed for days, leaving me to I insisted that if she had truly loved me the long run she really did save me. care for her and fend for myself. This she would have made it Only recently have I begun to unsituation reversed our work for our little family. derstand how a mother could give her roles as child and careThrough the years I have child to strangers, and I realize now taker, which forced me to My mother resented her for this decithe sacrifice it must have been for her grow up much faster than sion; I always wondered to let me go. She was incredibly sick, the average child. Seeing suffered from how she could abandon me but even in her state she understood her there, her hopeless depression like an old sofa at the dump. that she was steadily pulling me down eyes staring through me, I tried to avoid telling peowith her. She loved me more than anyterrified me more than I ple I was adopted because I thing, so she wanted me to have a can describe. was ashamed that my mother hadnвЂ™t chance in life, one she realized she While I knew my mother was sick, I could no longer offer me. When I look wanted me. However, the older I got, felt deep down that we could get back now, I am grateful to her. Even the more I began to understand how through it and everything would be though I resented her for a long time, I desperate our situation had been. okay. However, in 1997 everything now know my life has been a special We had been surviving on boxes of went horribly wrong, and my life gift only because she was selfless noodles, and at one point we even changed forever. enough to give me up. вњ¦ lived in our car. I never went to the Adoption is a foreign word to a fiveyear-old, but when I realized that my own mother had signed me over to strangers, I felt it was the ultimate betrayal. I suffered from shock, anger, and confusion as I attempted to adjust to my new family. No longer could I trust anyone since the one person I had I remember my fatherвЂ™s old home. loved more than all else in the world What happened to the bulging yard 8957 Oakwood Way Art by Fallon Kesicier, Baldwin, NY Next Generation and the somewhat cracked driveway? They were only the pathways to the crooked, layered steps that go to the entrance of my memory. by Jared Czech, So. Plainfield, NJ mirror. Instead of seeing my own reflection, I o describe myself as anxious would have saw my fatherвЂ™s; he had probably looked in a not even been close to how I was feeling. similar mirror in the moments before I arrived on It was one of those rare moments when this earth. I could see him anxiously waiting to you have the opportunity to experience such a meet the infant he would forever mentor. I could wide spectrum of emotions all packed into one. I not help but wonder if the same thoughts had run knew that in a matter of five minutes I would be through his head. However, what weighed heaviembarking on a manвЂ™s most important journey. est on my mind was whether I had met all the exResponsibilities, along with every other life pectations heвЂ™d had that day. Had I grown into virtues, were lessons I had learned from my fathe young man he had envisioned? ther. Through the nauseating smell of latex As I looked in the mirror, I apologized to his gloves and hospital cuisine, I took time to cherish reflection for all the pain I had caused him, as if my last minutes of being just a son. I rememthe mirror had the ability to hear or respond. My bered the crisp autumn days when I ran for hours, mind provided the answer I was lookcatching small plush footballs ing for. I heard my fatherвЂ™s voice: thrown perfectly by my father. It always seemed like with each pass My father had вЂњDo not apologize. I love you, son.вЂќ At that moment, I realized how I caught against my chest, he had prepared me much I was anxiously waiting to meet thrown love with the ball. All my baby boy I would forever mentor. life I had been the receiver while my whole life the I said a sincere good-bye to the remy father quarterbacked me; in for this moment flection, and reached out my arms minutes I would be taking over hoping for one last hug and one final that role as the gunslinger. life lesson. I would cherish each one In a way, the fear of taking on a forever, and pass it on. responsibility so sacred was the reason for the With the courage I needed from my fond memknot in my stomach. I was like a sixth man, who ories of the greatest man I knew, I walked slowly badly wanted to get into the game, but secretly toward Room 146. I was met by a nurse who utwas filled with anxiety each time the coach tered the words I had been waiting to hear: turned and looked at him. I had received the best вЂњMr. Czech, I am so sorry we kept you waitcoaching in the world in the sport I would soon ing, but there is a woman and a baby boy named be playing for the first time. My father had Allen who are very eager to see you.вЂќ guided me and prepared me my whole life for I stepped into the room, with baby Allen now this moment, and for everything that would folclutched to my chest, as I had clutched the footlow. He had led me in the most effective way ball so many years before. I turned to the nurse there is: by example. and said, вЂњDo not apologize,вЂќ then back to baby I stood up from the chair where I had been a Allen and said, вЂњI love you, son.вЂќ вњ¦ fixture for several hours, and walked to a nearby T 16 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 The weary doorвЂ™s paint grew long and curled. The crusty and green snow blanketed my feet as the whispering hinges corroded my inner ear. Now, down the hallway I go, toward the confined bathroom and past the bedroom (Also known as the place where I measured my height). I turn right into the ever-present aroma of our kitchen. I still see my dad reaching into the oven, stirring the wooden spoon in the pot on the stove, and grasping the appropriate amount of sterling silver. I follow the striving cook as he runs outside onto his sweat-soaked, handmade deck, and finally, gallops down the flawlessly flat stairs. He opens the grill. A plethora of black and opaque smoke shrouds his eyes as he reaches for the tall and tenacious tongs. The steak is plump and perfectly pink in the middle, the noodles are limp and drape my divine dish, the potatoes taste sweet and are colored orange and brown. They burn my tongue, the roof of my mouth, and the back of my throat as they coagulate in my stomach. However, I do not taste these ambrosial delights anymore. I walk backwards, parting the opaque smoke, up the flawlessly flat stairs, onto the sweat-soaked and handmade deck, through the slightly skewed glass door that leads into the divine scent of our kitchen, past the confined cubical of a bathroom, stopping, only slightly, to remember the time when I was only four feet tall. As I walk, still backwards, through the stentorian olive green and wilting door. I thrust the rusty key into the now unused lock of the door and shut the memories behind me for the last time. For this is no longer my fatherвЂ™s home. by Travis Healy, Lancaster, PA COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM by Samantha Harmon, Morgan Hill, CA I 6XPPHU7KHDWHU This Is Why, Dad by Jenica Jessen, Riverton, UT N o, you may not read this story. I really am proud of it, yes. ItвЂ™s not embarrassing. IвЂ™m not hiding anything. And I have indeed posted it on the Internet for hundreds to see. People say itвЂ™s good. You still may not read it. Why? Because youвЂ™re my dad. It has everything to do with it, okay? Hear me out. Sometimes, when IвЂ™m bored, I take a little bit of my soul. I distill it, organize it, refine it, and then slap it down on a piece of paper. ItвЂ™s private. ItвЂ™s mine. And I canвЂ™t share it lightly. Okay, yes, I did post it online where anyone can see it, where thousands of strangers can criticize and discuss, but there is a difference. That difference is that the Internet is anonymous. That difference is that these people are looking deep inside me but they donвЂ™t know it. The difference is that they analyze my writing, some of them, but donвЂ™t think too hard about the creator. You are my father. We are related and will be for the rest of our lives. And though this story is not about me вЂ“ not about anyone I know, not about anything thatвЂ™s ever happened to me вЂ“ itвЂ™s still my soul. I have a deep, probably unfounded, and unshakeable fear of how it will change your view of me. I am not brave enough. IвЂ™m sorry, but no, you may not read this story. (Feel free to show this to Mom.) вњ¦ ment my dad is on duty that IвЂ™m not worried for his well-being; my police family is always on my mind. What I have come to realize, as the child of a police officer, is that the world is a cruel place. People kill because they can, and at any point the person on the receiving end of that anger could be someone I love. However, we as humans cannot live in fear. I will not live life like that. I believe there is a perfect balance between the power of fear and the power of happiness. And I have my dad and my police family to thank for this. вњ¦ L OV 6( D 8 O HW 2 UL ' + S RU 1 \$ HI 3( D LW 2 XUG HEV W 6D XU: WR VL 9L disorder. My dad doesnвЂ™t like to talk thought anything of our annual trip to remember when I was five years about what happens at work. He exLake Shasta, where our parents would old I had only the utmost respect plains that itвЂ™s to protect me and to teach us to shoot from the roof of a for my dad. Although my parents keep me from worrying. Watching houseboat вЂ“ legally, of course. I fighad just signed their divorce papers вЂњTaken,вЂќ which depicts a law enforceured all parents quizzed and my mother remained ment father fighting to save his daughtheir children on what to in our house, it seemed My dad ter, inspired my dad. Suddenly, the do in case of a break-in. that somehow, home was truth began to spill out. He couldnвЂ™t It never occurred to me to always where Dad was. doesnвЂ™t like to ask why, when purchasstop saying how much he worried for When he first moved me and truly cared. talk about what ing his first home, Dad out, he lived with his I donвЂ™t have to be the person staring was hesitant about a twomother and then moved happens at work story house because it into the barrel of the gun to feel fear. I to his own apartment. feel it every day. I see my dad and would be more difficult Friends and relatives some of the most important men and to escape in case of emergency. joked that he was вЂњslumming itвЂќ by women in my life fight for me and This was my life. No questions choosing to live with his mom or in an those they love. There is not a moasked. Well, at least until eighth grade, apartment, but none of that seemed to when, suddenly, my bother him. dadвЂ™s job made me a Come to think of it, nothing seemed tattletale or a snitch. I to faze my dad. He focused all his athad always been tention on his children and his work. proud of my life and At that point, he had been a police ofmy dad. I began to ficer for 15 years. The mental toll his question what I had job took on him is something I will been told about police never fully understand. I was always officers and soon becurious about his job and asked about lieved the sad lies of his day regularly. Typically, I would the misinformed teens get the same answer: вЂњI wrote a ticket I knew. I lost a big or two, responded to a few calls, and part of myself for a did some office work.вЂќ He knew I while. craved real stories of crime, but my fa$JHVВІ It wasnвЂ™t until a few therвЂ™s world remained a mystery. 7KHГ°YHZHHN6XPPHU7KHDWHULQWHQVLYH 7KH Г°YHZHHN 6XPPHU 7KHDWHU LQWHQVLYH weeks ago вЂ“ when my In my eyes, I belonged to an elite GHYHORSV G H YH O R S V NQRZOHGJH N Q R Z O H G J H LQ LQ D DOO OO D DVSHFWV V SH F W V R RI I dad and I sat down to society of children. In a weird way, it WKHDWULFDO SUHSDUDWLRQ W K H D W U L F D O VWXGLHV V W X G L H V LQ LQ S U H S D U D W L R Q IIRU R U watch the movie was an honor and privilege to be the IXUWKHU VWXG\ VFKRRO DQG FROOHJH IXU WKHU V W X G \ LLQ Q V FKRRO D QG F R O O H J H вЂњTakenвЂќ вЂ“ that a bit of daughter of a police officer. 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I never IURP I U R P VRPH V R P H RI R I WKH W K H FRXQWU F R X Q W U \ГўV \ ГўV OHDGLQJ O H D G L Q J FROOHJHV 7KH VXPPHU F R OO H J H V DQG D Q G XQLYHUVLWLHV X Q L YH U V L W L H V 7 K H V X P P H U VHDVRQFRQVLVWVRIVL[SURGXFWLRQVLQГ°YH VHDVRQFRQVLVWVRIVL[SURGXFWLRQVLQГ°YH ZHHNVIRXUSOD\VDQGWZRPXVLFDOV ZHHNVIRXUSOD\VDQGWZRPXVLFDOV parents Home Is Where the Badge Is -XQHВІ-XO\ :DOQXW+LOOLVDQLQGHSHQGHQWFRHGXFDWLRQDOERDUGLQJDQGGD\VFKRROIRUWKHDUWV IRUJUDGHVВІZLWKDSRVWJUDGXDWH\HDURIIHUHG,QFRQMXQFWLRQZLWKLQWHQVLYHDUWV WUDLQLQJWKH6FKRRORIIHUVDFRPSUHKHQVLYHDQGULJRURXVDFDGHPLFFXUULFXOXPLQDOO FROOHJHSUHSDUDWRU\VXEMHFWVWR\RXQJSHRSOHIURPDOORYHUWKHZRUOG 6XPPHU:ULWLQJ $JHVВІ -RLQ R L Q RWKHU R W K H U \RXQJ \ R X Q J ZULWHU Z U L W H U V V IURP I U R P D DURXQGWKHFRXQWU\IRUDWKUHHZHHN URXQGWKHFRXQWU \IRUDWKUHH ZHHN S U R J U D P VWXG\LQJ V W X G \ L Q J )LFWLRQ ) L F W L R Q 3RHWU\ 3R H W U \ SURJUDP D QG 3OD\ ZULWLQJ 7KH SURJU DP LV DQ DQG3OD\ZULWLQJ7KHSURJUDPLVDQ H [FLWLQJ OODERUDWRU\ D E R U D WR U \ R I LLGHDV G H D V Z KH U H H[FLWLQJ RI ZKHUH VWXGHQWVH[SHULPHQWZLWKODQJXDJH VWXGHQWVH[SHULPHQWZLWKODQJXDJH D Q G GLVFRYHU G L V F RYH U QHZ Q HZ SRVVLELOLWLHV S R V V L E L O L W L H V IIRU R U DQG WWKHLU KHLU Z U L W L Q J WWKURXJK R U N V K R S V KU RXJK Z ZULWLQJ ZRUNVKRSV P D V WH U FODVVHV F O D V V H V DQG D Q G WULSV W U L S V WR WR ORFDO O R F D O PDVWHU V L WH VL QD Q GD U R X Q G% R V WR Q VLWHVLQDQGDURXQG%RVWRQ -XO\ВІ ZZZZDOQXWKLOODUWVRUJ parents The Eyes of My Soul by Miriam Friedman, Wesley Hills, NY the day, and that night my father confirmed my fears. ou look different,вЂќ I tell my mirror In tenth grade I remember the bone-marrow transimage. IвЂ™ve just taken the sheet off the plant she underwent. I remember the fear I felt as my mirror in my room. ItвЂ™s been a week father spent nights in the hospital and we spent nights since IвЂ™ve seen my reflection, and I canвЂ™t figure out with people sleeping on our couch. why I donвЂ™t recognize the image that stares back at I remember the elation of remission that lasted me. I peer at the green eyes watching my every seven months, the fear that came with the diagnosis move. They donвЂ™t have the innocent, naive look I the second time around, and the hope that remember. They look world-weary, somehow everything would turn out okay. scared, sad. They look like theyвЂ™ve seen I remember The rest of the ten months passed in a the worst the world can offer before blur. I vaguely remember the fainting, having seen the best. This thought rethe last three the six-week hospital stay, the frequent, minds me why I look so different. violent emotional outbursts that were a My eyes seem to take me back to weeks of my result of the chemotherapy and the ninth grade, when it started. I rememmotherвЂ™s life steroids. I remember the winter vacation ber the last Passover before my mother in Seattle with my mother in the hospiwas diagnosed. I spent the whole day tal, and I remember the second bone-marrow transbefore cooking while she lay in bed, talking to the plant that never happened. doctor. I remember the week after Passover my parI remember the last three weeks of my motherвЂ™s ents told us that the treatments would make my life in a hospital bed, the terrible week when shiva mother sick, but no one wanted to tell us what she had not been allowed, and the actual horrifying week was sick with. of shiva. My mind fast-forwards to the day I found out she For the first time since shiva began, tears come to had cancer. I figured it out during Hebrew class, and my eyes. Why not? TheyвЂ™re a portal straight into my I somehow knew I was right. I cried for the rest of вЂњY Being a Father soul. IвЂ™ve just relived the past two horrifying years in five seconds, and all I can do is cry as I finish taking the sheets off all the mirrors in the house. I can hear my father on the phone downstairs, telling another person that we donвЂ™t need food. IвЂ™ve been doing the cooking for the past two years and IвЂ™ve done a pretty good job. Why would we start needing food now? My tears start again as I realize that this will continue to be my job, as well as the cleaning, the homework help, the laundry, and everything else IвЂ™ve been doing since this began. A voice in my head tells me that it isnвЂ™t fair, but another assures me that I wouldnвЂ™t have been given this test if it werenвЂ™t meant for me. So all I can do is take the last sheet off the mirror and ask my ferociously green eyes what they have to offer me about the new person IвЂ™ve become. I see within them a person who is improved by the challenges she has faced. I see someone who is more sensitive, kind, and caring. I see someone whose lifelong goal of going into medicine is only helped by this compassion and newfound way of relating to future patients. I can see my future and, unlike my past, itвЂ™s as bright as futures come. вњ¦ by John, Wilmington, DE father; I was a bad son. My mother had me hen I was six my father walked institutionalized. I was in and out of the out on my family. Overnight I hospital the rest of freshman year into sophwent from being the son of a omore year. wealthy attorney to being the son of a single Since I was six I had wondered what I mother raising two children and pregnant would do if I ever saw my father. I fantawith a third. I resented everything about my sized how I would make him suffer as much father. as he had made me and my sisters suffered. My mother struggled to keep us fed and I would make him pay for making me the warm. My father had found a way to avoid вЂњweirdвЂќ kid, the kid who couldnвЂ™t make child support. We were on food stamps and friends, the kid who didnвЂ™t fit in. I wanted to constantly borrowing from my grandparmake him pay for ruining my childhood. ents. I never had the nice things other kids When I was a sophomore, 10 years after had. I wore handed-down clothes. Everyhe left, I saw him. He had track marks all thing was a struggle. over his arms. He was dirty and wore ratty As a child I was angry at what my father clothes. He was pale with bags under his had done to us. At six I vowed that someday eyes. He looked dead. I would make him suffer for leaving us. InHe wasnвЂ™t my father. He was stead of dealing with these feeljust another junkie. He didnвЂ™t ings, I blocked out every I wanted to even realize me. After all my thought about him, every early about what I would do, memory, and pretended IвЂ™d make him pay fantasies I simply turned and walked never had a father. for ruining my away. He was already suffering; I was awkward as a child. I he had lost his chance to see us couldnвЂ™t make friends. I never childhood grow up. He missed watching did schoolwork. I let the other his youngest daughterвЂ™s birth. kids bully me. I was in my own More than anything, he missed out on havlittle world. While I thought everything was ing me for a son. He missed out teaching fine, it was obvious to everyone else that me to play ball and helping me with my something was wrong. I started seeing therhomework вЂ“ and everything else that goes apists when I was seven but never opened with being a father. up to them. They all asked the same quesNow IвЂ™m busy fixing the hole IвЂ™ve dug tions. They tried to get into my head and get myself into. Every time I meet someone, me to talk about my father, but not one of they ask about the scars on my arms. I still them succeeded. have to look at them every day; they remind I was a straight F student from fifth grade me of how out of control I was. But I have until high school. Freshman year it all close to straight AвЂ™s now, and IвЂ™m planning caught up with me. The mental fortress I to go to college. My goal is to never be like had built came crumbling down. I went him. I want to be successful, and when I from bad to rock bottom. I would cut and have a son of my own IвЂ™m going to be there. burn myself, and wouldnвЂ™t get treatment IвЂ™m going to teach him how to play ball, when I needed stitches or had an infection. and IвЂ™m going to help him with his homeIt was my way of punishing myself for what work, and be there for everything else that my father had done. I was blaming myself. goes along with being a father. вњ¦ I convinced myself that he wasnвЂ™t a bad W 18 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 Art by Caroline Kimberlin, Blandon, PA A MotherвЂ™s Kitchen My motherвЂ™s kitchen, it will always fill my head with memories, like it has always filled my belly with its delectable delights. I will always see the fluorescent lights penetrating through the smoke of the oven like heavenly luminescence pierces the clouds. I will always crane my head at the cat, perched high atop the fridge, overseeing the rough and tumble of everyday life, a furred king overseeing his peasants. I will always hear the echoed gurgling flush of the toilet down the hall like an ancient leviathan bellowing toward the lonely sea. I will always marvel at the ocean blue marble countertops piercing through the linoleum tile like a geographic wonder. I will always laugh at Mom slipping on the newly shined tile, or DadвЂ™s cursing drowned under the dutiful whistle of the smoke detector every time he burnt his pizza. I will always ache from the clanging thunderstorm of the pots and pans, only to be comforted by the calm drone of the dishwasher. I will always shuffle through the countless drawers, wading through seas of starch and oceans of oregano to reach the solitary pepper jar. I will always feast upon the endless delights from the freezer after ungodly hours of homework and sleep deprivation, fueling my dreams with lucid amazement. I will always look upon the hardwood portal separating the futuristic cleanliness of modern appliances, from the old hardwood wonder of the tables and hutches. I will always remember my motherвЂ™s kitchen as a provider, a friend, a tertiary parent living amongst us like a silent guardian, a room I will always remember even if time forgets. by Glenn Edridge, South Plainfield, NJ COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM M y mom grew up with the words вЂњYouвЂ™ll never make itвЂќ and вЂњYou canвЂ™tвЂќ constantly thrown in her face. With a strong will and independence, she has spent her life proving those people wrong. вЂњI was often told that I wasnвЂ™t educated enough to do certain things,вЂќ she says. вЂњI had people tell me that I couldnвЂ™t make it as a single mom. Had I listened to those voices, I never would have done what I love.вЂќ Growing up, I took for granted many of the things my mom provided. She raised three of us on her own for nine years, and rarely have I seen her struggle. She is selfless, caring, independent, gentle, and kind вЂ“ all qualities that make my mom a true hero. Growing up, my mother was a victim of sexual, physical, verbal, and emotional abuse. Being young and naive, she kept those secrets to herself by Meghan, Westfield, IN about myself. The wonderful thing and never asked for help. Finally, with about being in the Marines is that you the support of her four siblings, my travel and completely change jobs and mom spoke up. She bravely got locations every two years. You get to through her rough childhood, learned experiment with who you are and start from her past, and moved on to make a entirely fresh with new confidence and difference in the world. new friends and new challenges. You My mom now goes to shelters to talk to and help children who get to perfect yourself in stages.вЂќ have experienced the same My mom has powerlessness. Because of My mom has told us her close relationships with that she hopes we find shown me her siblings, my mom has what we feel most pashow to be always encouraged the sionate about. She hopes same for us. вЂњIf you donвЂ™t we have the good forindependent that have your family, then you tune to be able to support literally have nothing,вЂќ she ourselves and be indereminds us. pendent and happy in whatever we do. Right out of high school, my mom My mom has always had her childrenвЂ™s best interest in mind. Even when enrolled in the Marine Corps and there wasnвЂ™t much money, she found a served the United States for 10 years. way to make sure we didnвЂ™t miss out With hard work and perseverance, she on anything. SheвЂ™s always done her became a successful broadcast journalbest to fill any gaps we might have felt. ist in the Marines. вЂњI learned a lot DaddyвЂ™s Girl Dear Mother by Courtney Anderson, Mesa, AZ D M y mom was not around much when I was little. She disappeared when she and my dad split, leaving him with a brown-eyed, one-and-a-half-year-old girl. I can guarantee that my father had no inkling how to fly solo with the whole parenting thing, but with each day, he continued to try. I donвЂ™t remember much about my early years, but my father made sure I had a chance to be a little girl. He now admits that he was always worried I would become a tomboy because of him. To prevent this, he would dress me in lacy pink dresses and black patent leather shoes. He even managed to style my hair, although he knew only one method: I would lie on the couch, with my feet pointing toward the ceiling and my head dangling off the edge, and my dad would gather my long hair into a ponytail smack dab on top of my head. At school, I flaunted that up-do, trying to make the other girls wish they had a daddy like Being a mine. In addition, my dad was not a bad cook. parent is Despite Hamburger Helper appearing on one of lifeвЂ™s the menu a few too many times, there was variety вЂ“ breakfast for dinner, toughest jobs always grilled chicken, vegetable soup, grilled cheese вЂ“ but the best were his egg sandwiches. Nothing compares to a perfectly fried egg on white bread. It sounds simple, but for some reason, no one makes it like he does. Hands down, I am DaddyвЂ™s girl, or вЂњlittle oneвЂќ as he likes to call me. Not because I have his olive complexion, ape-like arms, or big lips. Not because I love to work with my hands as much as he does. But because I simply admire him. He was faced with the challenges of both a fatherвЂ™s and a motherвЂ™s responsibilities. IвЂ™ve heard that being a parent is one of lifeвЂ™s toughest jobs. Well, what about being both parents? My dad faced the challenge and succeeded; I lacked nothing. My father was, and is, always there for me. I remember once I was walking barefoot around our complex. I stepped obliviously into an ant frenzy on the sidewalk. I screamed for my daddy, and instantly, he was there asking what the heck was going on. When he noticed the small specks covering my legs, he brushed them off so quickly I forgot why I was crying. Memories like this remind me that my dad was always there with open arms, ready to help me. I want be to be like my dad. I want to be able to face lifeвЂ™s toughest challenges and be there for the important people in my life. I want to give others an opportunity to make their own decisions. I want to make the best egg sandwiches. Most of all, I want to be my daddyвЂ™s little one. вњ¦ LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK And she always puts herself last. Faith has been the one saving grace that has gotten my mom through all the rough times. Some nights she was gone for hours, praying at church. There were weeks when she went every day. SheвЂ™s always given us that same opportunity, teaching us to trust in God. вЂњWhen I look back, there were times when I felt completely desperate and I had to rely on my faith. And on countless occasions, IвЂ™ve been relieved of some of the heaviest burdens because I didnвЂ™t try to fix what I could not fix,вЂќ she explains. As IвЂ™ve grown up, my mom has shown me how to be independent and strong-willed, and to persevere through tough times. She has provided me with a positive example and has made me who I am today. IвЂ™m proud of my mom, and I strive to have the patient, kind attitude that she has always demonstrated. вњ¦ parents A True Hero by Olivia, Greenwich, CT ear Mother, So here I am, about to graduate. You did not make it this far. It has been six years since I touched your skin or smelled your perfume. Faint remnants still linger in your closet, embedded in the threads of your clothes that I wonвЂ™t let Dad throw out. It has been six years since I saw you reach for just one more glass of champagne. Six years since you continually left me stranded at school without a ride, my trust in you waning. It has been six years since I tucked you in at night and mothered you like you should have done me. Six years since your sickness got the best of you. It is hard to think that, in a sense, you have no idea who I am. If we met today, IвЂ™d be a stranger to you, and you to me. If you were asked about my favorite things, my flaws, ambitions, and fears, you would answer (in that beautiful voice I so wish I could remember) that you did not know. You will never know that I take photographs now, that my camera is an escape. I photographed you this summer вЂ“ your silk scarf with the music notes, your wedding shoes, your Photo by Caroline Schmidt, Phoenix, AZ delicate blouses, objects that would have remained in musty, dark drawers, gathering dust, waiting to be forgotten had I not discovered them. It was almost as if I rediscovered you, as if photographing them helped to preserve my memory of the relationship that once existed between us. You will never know that I still love to write, and that the pages of the countless journals I relentlessly pestered you for have been filled. You will never know that I doodle faces and floor plans and scribble shopping and to-do lists exactly like those in your notebooks. You will never know that this past summer, I saw DegasвЂ™ вЂњThe Little DancerвЂќ again, stirring memories of the rare sober nights you spent with me, leafing through your drawing pads, teaching me how to sketch a perfect leg, a perfect hand, telling me stories in which I starred as the prima ballerina. You will never know that after six years, when I fly to California to see your family, IвЂ™ll smile in that same bashful way you always did when you were purely happy. I may have suppressed your memory after you were gone, but I never forgot you. Why else would people say how similar our mannerisms are, how I wear my hair exactly as you did, how I am, without a doubt, my motherвЂ™s daughter? No, I never forgot you. I just decided to forget the person you became when you chose alcohol over me. I know you loved me, and I hope, more than anything, that you knew I loved you too. Your Daughter, Olivia вњ¦ M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 19 Teen Ink вЂў May вЂ™11 вЂў Page 20 ASSUMPTION COLLEGE UA has a rich tradition of excellence in academics, student life, and sports. Ranked in the top 6 percent of universities surveyed by U.S. News & World Report; UNDERGRADUATEDEGREEGRANTINGSCHOOLSAND COLLEGESSTUDENTTEACHERRATIOALLLOCATED on a 1,000-acre historic campus. To learn more visit gobama.ua.edu/teenink. Box 870132 s4USCALOOSA!,s"!-! Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree Programs В„ 3D Modeling and Animation В„ Multimedia/Web Design В„ Design В„ Illustration В„ Life Drawing В„ Painting В„ Watercolor Painting American Academy of Art 332 S. 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MOUNT HOLYOKE COLLEGE MyMarywood.com 6(7 ,1 7+( 52&.< 02817$,16 ZH FKDOOHQJH RXU VWXGHQWV RQH FRXUVH DW D WLPH ZLWK RXU XQLTXH %ORFN 3ODQ 3URYLGLQJDEURDGOLEHUDODUWVFXUULFXOXP HYHU\ VXPPHU ZH ZHOFRPH SUHFROOHJH VWXGHQWVDQGRWKHUXQGHUJUDGXDWHV SUHFROOHJH#&RORUDGR&ROOHJHHGX ZZZ&RORUDGR&ROOHJHHGX 50 College Street, South Hadley, MA 01075 www.mtholyoke.edu 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 вЂ“ at one of AmericaвЂ™s premier writing programs 600 S. Michigan Chicago, IL 60605 [email protected] www.colum.edu DELAWARE VALLEY COLLEGE $%,!7!2% 6!,,%9 #/,,%'% вЂў 1,600 Undergraduate Students s 5NDERGRADUATE3TUDENTS вЂў Nationally Ranked Athletics Teams s .ATIONALLY2ANKED!THLETICS4EAMS s -ORETHANPROGRAMSOFSTUDY INCLUDING#RIMINAL*USTICE"USINESS !DMINISTRATION3MALL!NIMAL 3CIENCE%QUINE3TUDIESAND #OUNSELING0SYCHOLOGY $ELAWARE6ALLEY#OLLEGE DUQUESNE UNIVERSITY 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. $81,48(,17(//(&78$/$'9(1785( $OYLESTOWN 0! 777$%,6!,%$5s$%,6!, 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 Built on Catholic education values of academic excellence, DeSales University is driven by educators and advisors that inspire performance. 2755 Station Avenue CenterValley, PA 18034 877.4.DESALES www.desales.edu/teenink 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 An experience of a lifetime, with experience for a lifetime. 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 BUSINESS CULINARY ARTS HOSPITALITY TECHNOLOGY Providence, Rhode Island 1-800-342-5598 www.jwu.edu Add your college to this monthly directory. Call Tyler Ford Teen Ink 617-964-6800 Teen Ink вЂў May вЂ™11 вЂў Page 21 BACHELOR вќ� ASSOCIATE вќ� CERTIFICATE 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 В· Over 40 undergraduate programs offered with Dual Admissions into graduate and professional schools В· Located in Fort Lauderdale, FL В· New state-of-the-art Performing and Visual Arts facilities www.nova.edu/admissions (800) 338-4723 Princeton Talent teaches talent in PrattвЂ™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 вЂў 718-636-3514 email: [email protected] www.pratt.edu 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. вЂў Nationally ranked liberal arts college вЂў Self-designed and interdepartmental majors вЂў Small classes taught by distinguished faculty вЂў 100+ campus organizations вЂў 23 NCAA Division III sports вЂў A tradition of service-learning 61 S. Sandusky St. вЂў Delaware, OH 43015 800-922-8953 вЂў www.owu.edu For more information call 1-800-847-PACE or email [email protected] www.pace.edu ST. MARYвЂ™S UNIVERSITY A picturesque New England campus, offering programs in Business, Communications, Health, Arts and Sciences, Education and Law. Located midway between New York City and Boston with Division I athletics. Consistently rated among the top Regional Colleges in the North in U.S. News and World Report. вЂў Personal attention to help you excel вЂў Powerful programs to challenge you to think in new ways вЂў No limits to where St. MaryвЂ™s can take you 275 Mt. Carmel Avenue Hamden, CT 06518 1.800.462.1944 www.quinnipiac.edu One Camino Santa Maria San Antonio, TX 78228-8503 800-367-7868 www.stmarytx.edu Princeton, NJ 08544 (609) 258-3060 www.princeton.edu Choose from more than 100 career п¬Ѓelds. www.pct.edu/ink 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. SlipperyRock University SRU provides a Rock Solid education. Located just 50 miles north of Pittsburgh, the University is ranked number five in America as a ConsumerвЂ™s Digest вЂњbest valueвЂќ selection for academic quality at an affordable price. 1 Morrow Way, Slippery Rock, PA 16057 800.SRU.9111 вЂў www.sru.edu SWARTHMORE A distinguished faculty, an innovative curriculum and outstanding undergraduates offer unparalleled opportunities for intellectual growth on a beautiful California campus. Mongtag Hall вЂ“ 355 Galves St. Stanford, CA 94305 650-723-2091 www.stanford.edu uri.edu/artsci/writing/ 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 вЂў www.ursuline.edu P. O. Box 7150 Colorado Springs, CO 80933-7150 1-800-990-8227 www.uccs.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. you can go At Westminster College, you'll engage in a full college experience. Reach your fullest potential вЂ“ Inside the classroom. And out. Visit us and turn YOUR college thinking inside out. www.upb.pitt.edu вЂў 1-800-872-1787 Bradford, PA 16701 501 Westminster Avenue Fulton, MO 65251 800-475-3361 вЂў www.westminster-mo.edu beyond Want to Become a Better Writer? Join Teen InkвЂ™s Online Creative Writing Classes * Located in beautiful northeastern Pennsylvania, Wilkes is an independent institution dedicated to academic excellence, mentoring and hands-on learning. Wilkes offers more than 36 programs in pharmacy, the sciences, liberal arts and business. Check out www.becolonel.com. www.wilkes.edu 84 West South Street Wilkes-Barre, PA 18766 I 1-800-WILKES-U Attention Students! Join the Teen Ink Student Advisory Board TeenInk.com/StudentBoard Six-week sessions start online: 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 Add your college to this monthly directory. Call Tyler Ford Teen Ink 617-964-6800 June 7, July 12, August 2 For more info, go to teenink.writingclasses.com View a sample class and learn more about this unique opportunity. Receive a free one-year subscription to Teen Ink when you enroll. Questions? Check out TeenInk.com Email: editor@Teen nk.com Call: 617-964-6800 (Weekdays, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. EST) * Classes are restricted to teenagers age 13 вЂ“ 19. www.TeenInk.com Newman Hall, Kingston, RI 02881 401-874-7100 500 College Ave. Swarthmore, PA 19081 800-667-3110 www.swarthmore.edu TM Written a Book Lately? Submit Your Novel Online! Attention all writers! URI has a great major called вЂњWriting and Rhetoric.вЂќ Prepare yourself for a career as a journalist, a novelist, an advertising copywriter, a public relations professional, or an English teacher! Located minutes from RIвЂ™s gorgeous beaches. 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. college reviews The Ohio State U N I V E R S I T Y and great coaches like Woody Hayes, the Buckeyes Columbus, OH: вЂњO-H!вЂќ These two letters can be are always a nationally respected team. Other footheard echoing throughout campus, from the dorm ball-related traditions include tailgating outside Saint rooms to the famous football stadium, вЂњThe HorseJohnвЂ™s Arena, cheering with Ohio StateвЂ™s mascot, shoe,вЂќ or even while strolling through the center Brutus Buckeye, and listening to The Best Damn Oval on campus. They always await a reply; a reBand in the Land at Skull Session. To the non-Bucksponse usually delivered by a complete stranger. eye, Skull Session sounds trivial (a pre-game warmвЂњI-O!вЂќ It is more than the spelling of this great state. up for the band), but it is attended by more than This chant has unified Buckeyes everywhere, past, 50,000 fans gearing up for the big game. All these present, and future. This chant is a long-standing athletic traditions are emotional events for devoted tradition that represents more than four letters. It fans. However, picking a college should embodies the pride and spirit of The Ohio not be based on just tradition and athletState University. I was fortunate to have the opportunity Full of diversity ics; academics always plays a part. During the past decades, Ohio State has to visit this elite institution this year, and which gives it improved its academic standards and now was not only excited by its traditions but also its academic excellence and vibrant a big-city feel sits among the top institutions in the nation. With a variety of undergraduate macampus life. The Ohio State University is jors, the university has the flexibility to a great fit for me and would be an excelsupport everyoneвЂ™s interests. In 2007, OSU was lent option for anyone seeking a higher education in ranked among the top 20 public schools in the nation a fantastic atmosphere. by U.S. News and World Report. The quality of those The heart of The Ohio State University revolves accepted has also improved. For a recent incoming around its strong athletic programs, particularly its class, 91 percent of freshmen were in the top 25 perlong history of football dominance. The traditions of cent in their class, and the average freshman scored OSU are best experienced by attending any athletic between 25 and 30 on the ACT. event, and witnessing a home football game in the With the development of new facilities including crisp autumn atmosphere is a life-changing experience. It is amazing to see thousands of loyal students, the renovated Thompson Library, the pursuit of academic excellence is certain to continue. Ohio State is faculty, alumni, and sports fans gather in one square one of the top schools in the nation for political scimile to cheer on The Bucks. Through the legacies of ence and business. Outstanding academics makes legends including multiple Heisman trophy winners Eastern Michigan Photo by Maggie Zhang, Manlius, NY Ypsilanti, MI: As soon as you enter the city of Ypsilanti, you know you are in the home of the Eagles. My initial impression of Eastern MichiganвЂ™s campus was that it was a clean and pleasant place: a place I could see myself one day calling home. The campus is small; it takes no more than 15 minutes to walk all the way around. DonвЂ™t let age deceive 22 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 OSU a worthy choice, but even then, the environment of a college most be considered before making a final choice. The Ohio State University has a fantastic atmosphere that can be experienced in every part of campus. I had been at OSU as one of thousands of loyal fans to cheer on the Buckeyes on game day, but had never visited on a weekday. I was expecting the college to be lethargic by comparison, but this was not the case. Ohio State sits in the heart of Columbus, on the banks of the Olentangy River. It was bustling with students and residents, and full of diversity, which gave it a big-city feel. вЂњBig isnвЂ™t for everyone, but it works well for the students seeking a college environment that mirrors the real world. We are a university that believes an educationally diverse environment вЂ“ one where we donвЂ™t all think alike, look alike, or act alike вЂ“ cultivates students who grow into talented and confident citizens of the world,вЂќ said OSU Assistant Vice President Mabel Freeman. This statement truly captures the philosophy of Ohio State. This college looks for students who will live and grow in this type of environment. College selection is a serious time for everyone. The setting you choose should fit your needs. I believe that The Ohio State University perfectly fits mine. I look forward to seeing if others will answer my call. вЂњO-H!вЂќ Discover more at osu.edu. вњ¦ by Christopher Burke, Canfield, OH U N I V E R S I T Y you, even though Eastern Michigan is in four teachers in Michigan graduone of the oldest universities in the ated from Eastern; nationally that state, with recent renovations and new number is one in 16. Eastern Michigan also has a top-ranked business buildings, it is very up-to-date. school. But if business is not your inSafety is a priority here. Students and parents can sign up for text mesterest, donвЂ™t worry, over 33 percent of sage alerts for updates on anything the students are majoring in the arts happening on campus. Emergency and sciences. telephones are located on every corEastern offers over 200 majors, ner, and there is an escort program to along with the opportunity to create help you get around campus at night if your own. Studying abroad is also you are alone. Eastern available, which has the Michigan has its own posame tuition as campus. I could see lice force, and is close to Eighty-eight percent of two hospitals. myself one the classes at Eastern are Ypsilanti is a small colno larger than 30 students, day calling it and there is a student-tolege town with a lot to offer. There are over 300 teacher ratio of 19 to 1. I home restaurants. The city is also heard from current students just 10 minutes from Ann that teacher and student Arbor and 40 minutes from Detroit. bonds are really good and not only are Dormitories are all co-ed but have encouraged but also are common. single-gender floors. The entire camEastern Michigan boasts excellent pus has Wi-Fi. Freshmen are allowed job preparation. Teachers, administrato have cars, but if you donвЂ™t have one tion, and the prestige of the school itвЂ™s okay because not only is everywill help students and graduates land thing close enough that you can walk, internships and jobs and other opporbut there is a shuttle service. tunities. One great aspect of Eastern MichiEastern Michigan is all about acagan is that you wonвЂ™t leave college demics. Their slogan, вЂњEducation heavily in debt. Not only is tuition low First,вЂќ reflects both their focus on for in-state students, but in 2009, Eastacademics and the fact that the school ern Michigan had the lowest increase was originally a teaching college. One COMMENT in tuition of all public schools in the state, and in 2010 it was the only school in the country not to increase tuition. Despite the low cost, many scholarships are offered based on ACT or SAT scores and high school GPA. Student life at Eastern is very active. There are over 150 activities and clubs, as well as a Greek system. A nice aspect of Eastern is that any student can participate in any activity, regardless of your major. They recently completed a new Student Center and Recreation Center, filled with work-out rooms. There is also an auditorium that shows free movies every Friday. The sporting events are also another free activity for all students. Eastern Michigan is a Division I school and has a top swim team. From just a simple campus visit and tour, Eastern Michigan makes a terrific presentation. The school is extremely diverse in many areas, especially academically, ethnically, and socially. I can already tell that by attending Eastern Michigan and by utilizing all it has to offer, you can go far. Find out more at umich.edu. вњ¦ by Lily Martis, Perrysburg, OH ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM classrooms and studentsвЂ™ homes for recess during my first summer. The problem with this half-hour soccer break was what we called the вЂњman-eating diving bug,вЂќ something between a mosquito and a flea, and its posse of a thousand cronies. The young students of Ciudad were models of resilience. Undaunted by the attacking bugs, they pulled me along with eager grins, determined to play. I dove full force into those soccer games and left the field covered in bites. The only other issue involving our games arose when choosing team names; everyone wanted to be on вЂњTeam Mexico.вЂќ After much deliberation, I suggested a solution that met everyoneвЂ™s satisfaction: during the daily Mexico vs. Mexico soccer matches, Mexico always won. Last summer, I returned with a fresh objective. I had Photo by Creighten Benally, Churchrock, NM worked hard to hone my poetry skills at Cal ArtsвЂ™ Creative Writing best hours of my life in those moments program and wanted to share this with of growth and play shared with the stustudents at Ciudad. With an enthusiasdents in all the friendships forged, tic thumbs-up from the lead teacher, I books read, and in the poetry written created and taught a 10-day poetry together. course for the fifth-graders. As I conI also measured that time in bug structed my first lesson, I imagined I bites. We used the grassy field by the was a painter with an empty canvas, A n hour can mean nothing; it can be wasted like vegetables left for too long in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator. Or, an hour can change your life. I volunteered 20 hours a week, three weeks a year, for two summers at the Ciudad del Sol Migrant Center. I measured some of the by Scott Panek, Davis, CA just like Sr. AlarconвЂ™s. With his inspirathinking, Anything is possible. The retion, everything changed and the projality of the first day, however, revealed ect took flight. Day by day, we that my students didnвЂ™t connect with practiced different styles, from lyrical my first lesson; they claimed complete to haikus to free-form. I brought paintdisinterest in the world of poetry. ings and music, fossils and ribbons to For example, there was Miguel, who trigger their imaginations as they spent his year traveling California and crafted their first tentative poems. south into Mexico following farm crop A crystalline moment: the proudest cycles, continually adjusting to new experience of my life, and I mean this homes and schools. How could I reach sincerely, was when Bibiana, a ramthis boy who protected himself by bunctious girl who being tough and recluloved diamante poems, sive? I went to the licame to class with a brary for help. There I Some of the best sheet of paper. вЂњI wrote found the works of Francisco Alarcon, a hours of my life were these at home,вЂќ she said, showing me the local poet who writes those moments of page, a little embarillustrated childrenвЂ™s rassed. It was covered books in both Spanish growth and play on both sides with and English. Many of poems. his poems address the How do you describe a moment like lives of migrant farm children. this? I was brimming over with happiI cleared the shelf and brought nine ness. Even Miguel wrote his fair share, of AlarconвЂ™s books to class, each seincluding haikus about 50 Cent and a lected to link personal struggle with descriptive poem about Pancho Villa. art. With my heart pounding expecOn the last day of class, as I handed tantly, I silently laid them on the table. out the chapbooks containing 30 My students smiled, curious about tipoems written in six styles, illustrated tles like Laughing Tomatoes and Other and typeset by the students, they Spring Poems. beamed with pride. I nodded encouragement as they вЂњDo I have to give this back?вЂќ asked opened the books and began exploring. Miguel, clutching his chapbook. As we read lines from our favorite вЂњNo, Miguel, that one is just for poems in both languages, I proposed you.вЂќ вњ¦ that we create our own book of poems, community service The Poetry of Ciudad del Sol Sponsored by School Is a Gift by Sophie Vitter, Metairie, LA didnвЂ™t dwell on the significance of this project. ost high school students view their edAfter all, I had done many similar rebuilding ucation in a less-than-enthusiastic tasks. manner. We sometimes let ourselves Then, just as we were about to leave the believe that classes are intentionally made imschool, I saw them: a group of children walkpossible to pass, teachers actually take pleasure ing вЂ“ or sprinting, rather вЂ“ toward their newly rein failing us, and homework is there for the sole furbished school. The looks on their faces were purpose of torturing us. I now realize that this priceless; it was as if they had just spotted an allmindset is totally ridiculous. Two years ago, you-can-eat candy buffet. I distinctly remember however, I completely agreed with it. thinking, They canвЂ™t really be that I was always a hard-working stuexcited about school, can they? dent. I completed homework on But they were. These children time, participated in class, and studAttending were ecstatic finally being able to ied hard for tests and quizzes. But school is a return to a beautifully renovated for years, I had absolutely no idea It was then I realized how why I pushed myself. I suppose I privilege, not a school. fortunate I was. Attending school is just wanted to achieve temporary a privilege, not a punishment. punishment success вЂ“ to receive that A and be Now, I view school in a totally done with it. different way. IвЂ™m not saying I run During sophomore year, however, home every day thrilled to begin hours of homemy perspective completely changed. The San work. I still occasionally complain about school, Francisco 49ers Foundation traveled to New Orbut whenever I am tempted to wallow in selfleans to help with the continuing relief efforts pity, I simply remember the excitement and after Hurricane Katrina. Hearing about this opeagerness of those children. portunity, I decided to go and help restore a local I continue to work hard in school, but now I elementary school. do it because I want to make the most of the opA friend and I spent time painting the schoolвЂ™s portunities I have been given. I want to learn, to cafeteria in an assortment of vivid colors.When make something of myself, to become the best I we were finished, the room looked truly fantascan possibly be, and all this I learned from a tic. At the end of the day, I felt accomplished, group of 10-year-olds. вњ¦ proud to have helped my community. However, I M Photo by Michelle Long, Syosset, NY LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 23 points of view Holocaust Remembrance Day prejudice and discrimination. Being against prejudice to stain our hands and malicious evil to continue. f I had been born 85 years ago, I might have been and discrimination means realizing that listening to No longer can we remain a nation of ignorance. It a Holocaust victim. I might have been the child an ethnic joke without disapproving is wrong. It is up to each of us to carry the torch of remembrance, reaching for my mother as I was forced into a gas means never teasing someone because of their ethfor that is the key to never allowing something like chamber. I might have been the sad face in a photo in nicity or religion. When we hear racial slurs, somethe Holocaust to happen again. The survivors of the the pages of a history book, wiped from existence, times just letting our friends know we do not approve Holocaust have almost all died now, but their words dwelling only in the memories of surviving family is all it takes to fight discrimination. can live on. There are hundreds of thousands of artimembers. Because of my religion вЂ“ I am one of Never should we say we are too young to carry the cles, books, and memoirs written by JehovahвЂ™s Witnesses вЂ“ I might have torch of remembrance! At 22, Sophie Scholl, along these survivors. If we let their stories been, but fortunately, I was not. It is up Their voices were go unread, we allow the victims to be with her brother Hans, was executed for speaking out to each of us to remember the atrociagainst the Nazis. Aware of the horrors carried out by forgotten. ties committed during the Holocaust silenced, but our HitlerвЂ™s regime, they found their voice in the face of Today, in schools, the Holocaust is and, through education, erase such evil and proved to the world that no one is too young voices and their covered briefly. Many students have evil and hatred from the world today. to speak up. never been to a Holocaust RememThe perpetrators of the Holocaust stories remain But how can young people speak up if they are not brance Museum or read a book about did not just persecute JehovahвЂ™s Wittaught? We cannot allow children to remain ignorant the Holocaust. It is vital that we, the nesses. Instead, Hitler and his followof the Holocaust. They must be educated; with the next generation, take the time to open our minds and ers took the lives of Jews, the handicapped, gypsies, help of books, movies, and music, they must hear the hearts to the plight of the victims. By reading about homosexuals, and others. It did not matter if you stories of the survivors and learn the lesson of hope. concentration camps and broken families, and comwere a father, a mother, a son, or a daughter, the With images of the Holocaust in their minds, they prehending the horror of watching the extermination Nazis only cared if you were, or more importantly must advocate for a world without prejudice and of loved ones, we will better remember the Holowere not, of the Aryan race. People were punished, never back down from the fight against oppression caust. By reading personal accounts of those who tortured, and killed because of their appearance, and discrimination. fought to stay alive, we guarantee that actions, or beliefs. When we allow hatred to consume us, a Holocaust could never happen again. Dr. Gordon Zahn of the University of Massachuwe invite evil into our hearts. Instead of To forget is to the let the deeds of setts defined the Nazi victims as three types: вЂњ(1) Holocaust shrinking back, we should want to do the evil perpetrators go unpunished, those who suffered for what they were; (2) those who Remembrance Day something, anything, to rid the world and we must never let that happen. suffered for what they did; (3) and those who sufof oppression. During the Holocaust, a Ultimately, we students must make it fered for what they refused to do.вЂќ They were is May 1, 2011 generation of authors, poets, artists, our duty to educate ourselves about stripped of their dignity and essentially demoralized. and teachers was lost. Their voices the Holocaust. We owe it not only to Millions endured heinous torture for years while othwere silenced, but our voices and their stories remain. those who suffered, but also to those who suffer perers turned deaf ears to their cries of anguish. One voice can always make a difference, and by secution and discrimination today, by refusing to reHas anything really changed? Even today, with the making sure the voices of the Holocaust victims main silent in the face of evil. We must display the genocides in Rwanda and Darfur, we feel compassion never die, we make a difference. By educating ourhealing power of love and fight against the evils in in our hearts but doing little to ease their suffering. selves and all children about the horrors of genocide, the world; only when we show and practice love will Instead of speaking up and doing something, we look we educate the world. And by using our voices to evil and hatred begin to disappear. the other way. By not taking action we are as guilty as educate the world, the torch of remembrance will Fighting against evil goes much deeper than saying those who deliver the death blows. By remaining forever be kept alive. вњ¦ you are against genocide. You oppose all forms of silent, we allow the blood of innocent men and women I The Cost of Counterfeiting A fter spending hours browsing the Coach website, youвЂ™re convinced you must own this seasonвЂ™s latest handbag. If only there were a magical way to change the $250 price into $25. Then the idea of buying a knockoff pops into your head. With a few clicks on the Internet, an almost exact replica of the style you want can be in your shopping cart in minutes. After all, it seems like everyone is buying counterfeits. WhatвЂ™s the harm? The truth is, knockoff purses may cause a lot more damage than you realize. One overlooked aspect of the counterfeit industry is where the money actually goes. It is not taxed. The U.S. economy is continually affected by the estimated 98 million untaxed dollars spent on counterfeit accessory items annually. Unlike designer brands, the profits from knockoffs donвЂ™t go to factory workers or salespeople; they may in fact go to illegal organizations. The FBI found that the 1993 bombing attempt on the World Trade Center was partially funded by the sale of knockoff Kate Spade bags. 24 by Ashley Felder, Sumter, SC Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 by Caroline Desantis, Staten Island, NY should be viewed as an investment. Fake Not only is the publicвЂ™s well-being bags come with absolutely no warranty. jeopardized by the counterfeit fashion inIf it falls apart after one use, youвЂ™ve just dustry, the designers are also affected. wasted your money. Every accessory produced by a company Instead of buying a fake or saving up is the result of creativity and hard work. for the real thing, there are other options. But when you buy a replica, those profitStores like Target are collaborating with ing arenвЂ™t the ones who designed the designers like Carlos Falchi to help blend bags. Companies like Louis Vuitton are affordability and fashion. FalchiвЂ™s bags, trying to catch counterfeiters. However, which can retail for up to paying to expose the $4,000, have been recriminals and pursue them Knockoff purses designed to feature faux in court is expensive. Deand new textures. signers have no choice but may cause more snakeskin Though some may argue to pay these costs, and in damage than theyвЂ™re not as glamorous, turn, this further raises the theyвЂ™re certainly a bargain. price of their products. you realize The collection is a limited Buying a fake bag also edition, but the idea is comes with the guarantee growing. Walmart and KohlвЂ™s have unthat youвЂ™ll have to replace it fairly soon. veiled similar collaborations, proving Knockoff bags are not only sold at a fracthat style doesnвЂ™t have to be sacrificed tion of the cost, but are also a fraction of for price. the quality. A genuine Coach bag comes However, counterfeiting is an ongoing with a lifetime warranty. If a clasp breaks or stitching comes undone, CoachвЂ™s polproblem. Though illegal in the governicy states that the bag will be fixed or mentвЂ™s eyes, the estimated number of replaced for the cost of shipping and hanfake bags purchased each year continues dling. As a consumer, a real designer bag to increased. The easiest way to stop this COMMENT Photo by Jessica Furtado, Bradford, MA is simply not to buy knockoffs. Be sure to buy directly from the manufacturerвЂ™s store or website, or from an authorized seller. Beware of Internet deals that offer prices too good to be true вЂ“ this is a sure sign that the bags arenвЂ™t real. If you really must have the newest Coach purse, try saving your money. YouвЂ™ll get a bag that will last a lifetime as well as the satisfaction of knowing that your money is going to reputable hands. вњ¦ ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM by Andrew Plante, Portsmouth, VA Although Huck Finn displays examples of alarmark TwainвЂ™s The Adventures of Huckleberry ing ignorance and racism throughout, the story also Finn has been controversial ever since its contains several of the most inspirational lines release in 1884. It has been called everyin American literature. When Huck dething from the root of modern American literature to cides that heвЂ™ll вЂњgo to HellвЂќ in order to a piece of racist trash. The greatest controversy, howsave Jim, the reader sees that HuckвЂ™s ever, comes with its presence in high school classreal beliefs differ from those of his rooms. The bookвЂ™s use of the вЂњn-wordвЂќ causes many contemporaries. The book must be to question TwainвЂ™s real motives in writing it. HuckвЂ™s read for what it truly is: a classic of constant musings about JimвЂ™s uncouth and lowly deAmerican literature, and a satire of meanor can cause the reader to feel uncomfortable, our country at the height of its ignobut we must remember that Huck acts as he sees rance and despair. adults acting, and his views merely reflect those of Many critics contend his fellow Southerners. Twain intended that Huck FinnвЂ™s offensive The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn to language makes it too advanced for satirize the South and its long, excruciatHuck Finn high school students. Minnesota Enging process of eliminating slavery and atprovides a lish teacher Paula Leider argues that taining equality for all people. Huck Finn provides an accurate glimpse into our ter- glimpse into our most peopleвЂ™s lack of experience and knowledge of вЂњwhat it means to be rible past, and for this reason, it must be terrible past persecuted due to raceвЂќ makes us incataught in classes across the country. pable of understanding the offensive Considering that a lot of high schools nature of the novel. This argument defare racially mixed, strong discomfort eninitely has merit, and the language in Huck Finn sues when classes dive into The Adventures of Huckoften borders on excessive. For example, when Huck leberry Finn. If teachers do not confront the issue of attempts to explain the fact that different countries the novelвЂ™s offensive language ahead of time, people have different languages, Jim stubbornly refuses to are bound to get upset. In Cherry Hill, New Jersey, in believe it. Huck gives up, saying, вЂњyou canвЂ™t learn a 1995, a group of eleventh-grade black students boyn---er to argue.вЂќ cotted the book because of its racist content. PresHuckвЂ™s ignorance often surfaces, and his frequent sured into making a change before these students use of the вЂњn-wordвЂќ certainly causes the reader to flunked out of school, the district brought parents, cringe. In a racially mixed classroom, this discomfort students, teachers, administrators, and scholars tois magnified tenfold. Black critics of Huck Finn, ingether to remedy the problem. After a year of intense cluding school administrator John H. Wallace, bedebate, they finally figured out a way to teach Huck lieve that the novelвЂ™s excessive bigotry delegitimizes Finn that addressed each groupвЂ™s concerns. M In This Country by Lauren Joy Delhomme, Seabrook, TX be called united without really being united. n this country, there are children who have In this country, some couples are allowed to no home. They were born here, to citizens marry while others are not. IsnвЂ™t love love? of this country, but no one in this country But in this country, some important issues are wants them. just left up to the states. Living creatures are treated as machinery In this country, we have black skin, we for profit. The land, the sky, the water are have white skin, and everything in between. raped for profit, and our fellow citizens are We have really blonde hair and really black made sick from the fumes of this profit. But hair, and everything in between. Because in in this country, we do not care, so long as we this country, our ancestors have come from make a profit. other countries вЂ“ except for less than 1 perIn this country, there are neighborhoods in cent: the native population. Some of our famiwhich violence is a way of life. Children give lies have come recently, while birth to children, people are killed others cannot remember when for recognition, for status, and no one says a word for fear of their ArenвЂ™t we a they did not live in this country. But it does not matter. Some of us own family being killed. But in country of came to escape persecution, this country, thatвЂ™s how it is. famine, war. Some of us came beIn this country, we have the aliens? cause we were forced. But we all problem of drug addiction. We buy came to believe in this hope: a them from the country to our dream of a new life here. We all want to live south, supporting their biggest economy. Or what has come to be called вЂњthe American we find citizens looking for a profit to give us Dream.вЂќ what we want underground. But in this counSo why is it that today, in this country, one try, we have bigger problems. of our biggest concerns is what we call In this country, we want our children to вЂњaliensвЂќ coming into our country? Why is it a grow up and have lucrative jobs. But in this problem that families are coming to this councountry, we are cutting education budgets, try to work, to go to school, to pursue the because education is not important. American Dream, just as our families did? In this country, we have many of our citiWhy are they aliens? If they are aliens, arenвЂ™t zens deployed to other countries, serving in we a country of aliens? wars. And in this country, there is a lot of pain In this country, we are called the melting and disagreement about these wars. But in pot. But we donвЂ™t mix very well. вњ¦ this country, that is okay, because itвЂ™s okay to I LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK its message. The offensive language in Huck Finn certainly makes it a difficult book to read. Although the argument against reading this novel certainly makes sense, many forget how influential and important The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn was in our country. Critics often forget Samuel ClemensвЂ™ strong views on slavery and abolition. They forget that he supported the liberation of slaves; he even paid for a black youthвЂ™s education at Yale University. In an article in College English magazine, Lucille Fultz calls WallaceвЂ™s criticism of the novel вЂњself-righteous indignation.вЂќ Sadly, many critics refuse to analyze the novel and read Huck Finn for its intended purpose: to criticize AmericaвЂ™s despicable views of black people, and to offer a look at our hopeful, tolerant future through the eyes of a Southern boy. When Jim gets mad at Huck for lying about his dream, Huck feels terrible. The process of вЂњhumbling [himself] to a n---erвЂќ presents Huck with a moral dilemma, but he does apologize, adding that he вЂњwarnвЂ™t ever sorry for it afterwards.вЂќ This act portrays Huck not as an ignorant Southern bore, but rather an empathetic child slowly beginning to understand that the man he perceived as property and less than human actually has feelings and needs similar to his. After reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, I believe that the way a teacher approaches discussing it is critical. Before beginning, the teacher must acknowledge the severity of the language. Taking a vote on the use of the вЂњn-wordвЂќ in class discussion could cut down on awkwardness in the classroom. Despite the controversies, I believe that Huck Finn must be read in American literature courses because of the important role it played in our countryвЂ™s past. No classroom should skip Huck Finn; every English class can find a way to read this novel that meets their specific needs.вњ¦ points of view Huck Finn Make your opinion count and win $200 Enter the Teen Ink Points of View Contest* Teen Ink has partnered with EBSCO Publishing to create the Teen Ink Points of View Contest. Each month, $200 will be awarded to the student with the winning essay, which will be published in our magazine, on our website and on the EBSCO Points of View website. Give us your point of view on any issue that is important to you. For topic ideas, check out TeenInk.com/pov. To enter, submit your work online at TeenInk.com under the Points of View category. Be sure to indicate вЂњPOV Contest EntryвЂќ at the beginning of your article. ItвЂ™s as easy as that. If you have any questions, e-mail [email protected] *This contest is sponsored by EBSCO Publishing and the Points of View Reference Center (powered by EBSCOhost). M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 25 travel & culture Memories of Chamberlain, Maine by Eden Gordon, Armonk, NY poignant feelings of the heart. Would you like to take a ride on our knotholes, alive with memories s we drive away from this Chamberlain has hardly changed boat? IвЂ™ll leave my flip-flops, slip a spanning generations. time-worn little town, I alsince I can remember. The post office crumpled yellow life jacket over my But all of this would be nothing ready miss the thrashing sea is still surrounded by tall wildflowers sweatshirt, and weвЂ™ll cruise around without the colorful cast of characters grass, the endless cawing of gulls, and вЂ¦ ah, the wildflowers! They are buoys until we plunge past the point I have come to know and love. People the yellow snapdragons reaching for streaky slashes of color swaying in the and explode into the open sea. IвЂ™ll be here are easy to trust and always the sky, which seems to have been sea breeze. I used to imagine the path singing some song and buckling my smile. ItвЂ™s easy to say hello to everysplattered with a long white cloudy between poison ivy and white bursts knees each time we crash over the one. Although the scenery is full of inbrush. The air is settled, peaceful; I of Queen AnneвЂ™s lace to be a fairy crest of a giant emerald wave. We may spiration and beauty, the laughter and can hardly imagine my hectic life back path вЂ“ itвЂ™s easy to believe in those litsee dolphins rising above the waves, harmony of the people is just as spehome. I guess I have finally adjusted tle sparkling creatures on a starry their backs gray and shiny under the cial. We spend our days playing tento the salty Maine air, to the mist bilMaine night. I can remember the first summer sun. We might see a thousand nis, gossiping at dinner, roasting lowing off the sapphire creases of the time I saw a shooting birds rising, leaving a million creases marshmallows at bonfires, and chatocean and mixing with star. I was lying on the on the water, or seals poking their ting out on the point past 11 at night. the evergreen, northeastdock looking out into the heads up, looking with their big brown Chamberlain and the towns around ern temperatures. This Maine nights are constellations, each tiny eyes. We could see eagles rising from it are filled with tiny little gems in the place I am leaving is everything you spark a burning fireball, their nests, as the sun lights up the enform of fun things to do. We can drive beautiful, a tiny diamond when a meteor shot tire sea, reflecting impossibly bright to the swimming hole and leap off the stud on the fabric of my might expect across the entire sky, sparkles off the waves. But the best bridge, plunging into the cold depths, world. So let me go back leaving a trail of rainbow part is that feeling of freedom, that exor swing from a rope, dodging tree to the beginning. dust. That shooting star could have plosion of excitement, sailing above it branches before crashing into the Not that beginning, of course, not been a fairyвЂ™s escalator, skating up and all, a tiny speck on that huge ocean. water. when the sea carved out these chunks up into the dome of sky. Back in the cove, weвЂ™ll stumble off Damariscotta, a neighboring town, of rock and nibbled out the pebbles From the post office, a stroll past the dock and snag a few wild blueberis a shopperвЂ™s delight, filled with and shoreline. No, I mean my own bethe tennis courts leads to giant rocks ries on our way home. And with the shops and cafГ©s. I could spend all day ginning, my earliest memories of this along the coast that spill out onto the house comes food. Food! Calories inspecting each trinket, sipping milkbeautiful place. I stayed in the yellow edge of a sandbar вЂ“ an open stretch of trapped in a peanut butter and fluff shakes at the bookstore cafГ©, and tryhouse then. I remember, faintly, the sand filled with hermit crabs, opportusandwich sliding down my throat вЂ¦ ing on scarves, sunglasses, and bedroom with the picture of a blue nity, and early morning mystery. The or better yet, lobster! sweatshirts. Some days we butterfly, the warm soapiness of a carmoon sucks out the tide and lets us Another Maine tradigo to Pemaquid Beach, wash, and the sweet taste of a flufferMaine is a walk along this clean and perfect gift. tion, as revered as any. though the water is too nutter sandwich. Maine has always Mussels peer through the sand. Water The family packs the to stay in very long, been a peaceful oasis, a big gulp of gigantic fruit for cold threads in, tickling our toes, and trickkids and dogs into the and we watch fireworks fresh air. a writer to sink shoot off over the water in les back out into the sea. This is the car and drives to Round I learned a lot on this trip, like how sea in which dolphins race, the Titanic Pond for lobsters and of Bristol much sea glass can teach you, and her teeth into celebration sank, and Captain Ahab fought a great clams smothered in days. Then thereвЂ™s the anhow lovely a dock can be at night, white whale. Now its water washes butter, eaten from the nual firemenвЂ™s parade swaying back and forth. I know words seaweed from my feet and breathes in shells that came from the sea on the where they toss candy from the trucks are not enough to describe this place, and out. The ocean, city of dreams, other side of that rickety fence. When and spray us with the hoses. and no photograph can do it justice. three-quarters of the planet, carries the trays come, we crack the scarlet Of course, some days in Maine are Maine is all about the senses, the small fish and whales, supports boats shells and eat until our stomachs endlessly long, with nothing to do but and coughs up tidal waves. The ocean quiver and nothing is left. play cribbage, watch movies, and lisis dark on the bottom, blue and green Maine nights are everything you ten to the rain. But my memories glow on top, shimmering, mysterious, might expect; with the shimmering with sandbars and boat rides, laughter bringing peace while roaring with rowater reflecting the silver moon, they and beauty. Maine is always peaceful mance, terror, darkness, and new beare easily as romantic as any tropical and always quiet. Time sort of stops ginnings. It brings waves and fish вЂ¦ Caribbean eve. But the jet-black sky is and you hang suspended in the blue, and sea glass! fringed with pine trees and the wind your journey each day involving no Sea glass is a Maine tradition, a has a northern nip in it, bringing memmore than a quest to find that special beautiful relic of the ocean. It took me ories of snowy winter eves and crackpiece of blue sea glass or spot dola long time to realize ling fires. Sometimes phins in the sea. Maine is a gigantic that these blue, green, we lie on our backs, fruit for a writer to sink her teeth into. brown, and white staring at the sky, and if ridden with shimmering beauty Chamberlain is a weвЂ™re lucky, weвЂ™ll see a Itandis mystery. pieces of triumph and It bares the soul to the loveliness came from sea. It changes people, bringing peace town that seems shooting star. Nights in the shattered skeletons can be spent and romance and laughter. to exist as it did Maine of beer bottles trashed playing cards beneath a I hope to return to Maine every year by strangers from formoonlit window, watchof my life. Even as a teen, I can appredecades ago eign continents, that ing movies in our cotciate the beauty and tranquility of this ended up in my chubby tage, or sitting on the little town I love. When I think of child-fingers, catching the light, dock, surrounded by ribbons of ebony Chamberlain, I think of wildflowers, smooth and round and soft as an sea threading beneath us, seaweed huge green waves, and salty sea air. I angelвЂ™s face. In some cases, the search groping for the surface. think of lobster and ice cream and for sea glass took us close to the rickChamberlain isnвЂ™t all scenery; itвЂ™s laughter. I think of starry nights and ety dock. Then, as certainly as the sky also a town that seems to exist as it did the merging of sea and sky. I think of is blue, the sea would call, and weвЂ™d decades ago. Cell phone service can cliffs chiseled by a careless sculptor, stand, peer over the damp driftwood, be found only atop certain hills. The filled with overhangs and indents. I scramble over the rocks, past the wild tiny wood shack of a post office still think of my family and friends. I think raspberry bushes (how sweet those stands amid rows of wild vegetation. of the extraordinary beauty that lies swollen raspberries were!), and onto The old houses are beautifully crafted right in front of us there, if we just the dock. of dark wood, with slanting roofs and open our eyes. вњ¦ A Art by Kelly Benson, Wichita, KS 26 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM by Cynthia Onyeka, Richardson, TX at the Port Harcourt International Airport. I he infectious pounding of the ceremonial fanned myself discreetly, trying to hide the drums fell into the rhythm of my beating heart. fact that I was sweating through my hair Black, red, and green masked faces blurred in follicles and act like the locals, who were front of my eyes. I tried to distinguish the individuals used to the heat. yelling my name from the palm trees and cocoyams in After collecting our luggage, we met our the distance. вЂњDance, American girl!вЂќ they yelled in relatives. Lightning-fast Igbo phrases Igbo, our native language. вЂњCanвЂ™t you move your yam meaning вЂњWelcome home,вЂќ вЂњThank God legs and dance?вЂќ you made it safely,вЂќ and вЂњYouвЂ™ve gotten so My legs turned to blocks of lead as embarrassment bigвЂќ rushed past me as I tried to hug and flooded my body. My mother had failed to mention kiss as many people as I could. My uncle that utter humiliation would be part of this trip. The Julius grabbed me by the shoulder. вЂњAre yelling turned into taunting laughter; I searched the you enjoying the heat?вЂќ His voice sounded crowd for my cousin and siblings. One of the voices amused, not condescending. I told him I pierced my mind. вЂњDance, now. ArenвЂ™t you a Naija was. Photo by Karimi Ndwiga, Anaheim, CA girl?вЂќ I stopped moving. Not again. It was one thing While driving to my fatherвЂ™s village, my uncle not to dance well enough, be fast enough, or even like Christmas itself. Small children danced, their mentioned that the yearly Christmas black enough, but I refused not to be bare feet kicking up sand, while grown women used masquerade was the next day. These Nigerian enough; it was one characterI felt like I this as an excuse to dance as they had years ago. My are traditional celebrations where the istic I could not compromise. Not cousin pushed me to the center of the circle. young men of the village dress in large, again. couldnвЂ™t live up At first I was enthusiastic and animated, moving exaggerated masks and dance to My life has always been a giant like the women I had seen. Then the laughter began. to my relativesвЂ™ drums. Just thinking of the drums oxymoron. Opposites, in my case, The circle seemed to close in, suffocating me. Despite made my foot tap. I was excited and tended to attract nicely. I was a nerd expectations the jovial jabs, I stopped, afraid. This was not happeneager to participate, despite my jet lag. who enjoyed discussing the socioecoing. I am a Naija girl, and instead of fearing it, I The next day I awoke to five new nomic issues of To Kill a Mockingbird should start acting like it. mosquito bites and the synchronized beats of the reas much as listening to hip-hop songs whose AutoI continued to dance, using my instincts to pass the hearsing drummers. I went to help my aunties with Tuned lyrics stemmed from the very same issues. I rhythm from one foot to the other. I lifted my arms breakfast, but they shooed me away because, in their was a snob about indie music and films, yet had an over my head, clapping to the drummersвЂ™ cadence, words, вЂњI was on a holiday.вЂќ I took the opportunity to undeniable weakness for вЂњKeeping Up with the Karand let the beat take over. The laughter turned into catch up with my cousin instead. dashians.вЂќ I felt closer to authors like Amy Tan than clapping and hooting, matching the pulse of my beat. We prepared for the masquerade by tying wrappers Stephenie Meyer, and despite my glowing ebony skin, I smiled as the circle pulled toward me as a sign of of colorful African fabrics around our waist. Then we I had the voice of a commentator on NPRвЂ™s вЂњAll acceptance. I finally belonged. all walked to the village center, where the masquerade Things Considered.вЂќ Although I lived happily within Traveling to Nigeria gave me the confidence to was being held. Eyes followed us as we approached; these various juxtapositions, one I could not shake characterize myself as a true Nigerian. As I looked up it was pretty obvious we were American. was my culture. at both the sun and the moon in the afternoon African Suddenly the drums began, each beat punctuated As a first-generation American, I often struggled sky, I noticed that the two opposites, like those in my with clapping. Men wearing elaborate masks bounced with my Nigerian heritage and the American culture I life, corresponded beautifully with one another. вњ¦ to the rhythm; the bells around their ankles sounded had grown up in. Although my parents instilled our Naija culture in my siblings and me from a young age, it often conflicted with American customs. I do, first and foremost, consider myself an AfricanAmerican, with both my African heritage and my American upbringing playing equal roles in my life. This often felt like a game of tug-of-war, with me by Tina Dornbusch, Califon, NJ being pulled in two different directions, toward two lifestyles. three naive Americans вЂ“ which is just what we were. Out of traditional respect, I ate Naija foods like he Lima airport was bright and strangely busy But neither my aunt nor my cousin was suspicious, fufu, Jollof rice, and Ogbono soup with my right at 11:58 p.m. when I first set foot in Peru. My so I allowed us to be led to the sidewalk. hand at home and chowed down on Chick-fil-A sandsenses were numbed by a full day of travel and вЂњTaxi ride very cheap,вЂќ Juan explained. вЂњOnly five wiches with both hands with friends. And while my hours of layovers. American dollars.вЂќ friends went out on dates, I stayed home watching вЂњWell, we survived Friday the thirteenth completely I glanced back regretfully at the airport as Juan led my younger siblings and cousins. I usually didnвЂ™t unscathed,вЂќ I said jokingly to my aunt and cousin. I us into the dark parking lot, unwilling to voice what I complain; I was used to it. had never been, and will never be, superstitious. assured myself were unreasonable reservations. One thing, however, that I wasnвЂ™t used to was The first thing I noticed about Juan was his Inca As the taxi pulled away from the airport, my Nigerian relatives considering me вЂњnot Naija Kola. The drink was something of a the uneasiness in my stomach grew. My enough.вЂќ Outwardly, I was a typical Nigerian: thick, myth to me вЂ“ I had read about it in travel mind has blurred my memory of that taxi textured onyx hair, tough hands, and a slightly larger books, but now I was seeing it for the He approached ride, possibly to protect me from the nose. However, my lack of Naija accent and mannerfirst time. The neon yellow soda stood of fear it contains. Because I was isms prompted constant ridicule from relatives. out against JuanвЂ™s conservative navy us quickly and essence right вЂ“ the whole thing was a scam. Juan вЂњWhat type of Nigerian are you?вЂќ they would ask, blue suit and tie, complete with an airand three accomplices, including the purposefully stifling their laughter. line badge that hung just below his driver, held my cousin, my aunt, and me in Being Nigerian on the outside and American on jacketвЂ™s top button. their taxis for four hours that night. the inside was one oxymoron I would not allow myHe approached us quickly and purThree ATM stops, $1,000, one attempt at separating self to be identified with. No matter how hard I tried, posefully, asking in broken English where we were my aunt from my cousin and me, one new taxi, and I felt like I couldnвЂ™t live up to relativesвЂ™ expectations. headed. When my aunt told him, he gave us a quick several tearful breakdowns later, we were returned to So, when my family traveled to Nigeria for Christonce-over. the airport. mas vacation, it was the perfect opportunity to prove вЂњA national flight, yes?вЂќ I will never again ride comfortably in a taxi. But them wrong. I would rekindle my Nigerian roots, My aunt nodded in agreement. who knows вЂ“ maybe my new level of caution is a regain their respect, and be a Naija girl. вЂњThis is international airport. You drive to national. good thing. Besides, I am lucky I escaped that Friday I had visited Nigeria twice before, but this time it Separate place. I take you there?вЂќ the thirteenth with my life. My aunt, my cousin, and I felt as though I were seeing it for the first time. AlI frowned doubtfully. This airport seemed plenty were left unharmed вЂ“ physically, at least. though it was December, it seemed as if the sun was big to support both international and national flights. And for that, I am grateful. вњ¦ shining all 98 degrees of its heat on me as we arrived JuanвЂ™s story seemed like the perfect scam to trick T travel & culture Naija Girl My Friday the 13th T LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink xx 27 health Sponsored by Staring at the Ceiling Breathe. Calm down. ItвЂ™s not a big deal. No oneвЂ™s was staring at the ceiling, trying to convince mylooking at you. No oneвЂ™s laughing. YouвЂ™re okay. self that I wasnвЂ™t going crazy. YouвЂ™re okay. Things I was afraid to turn around. I didnвЂ™t want to know are going to be okay. EverythingвЂ™s fine. Just if people were staring at me. I figured they were. I breathe and sleep will come. I tried to muffle the spent the rest of the class staring at the chalkboard. noise of my crying with my pillow, but if I couldnвЂ™t I knew I was losing it. I was going crazy. I had lost sleep then why should anyone else get to? my old self, and I couldnвЂ™t find her again. I wanted to Think of happy things. send out a search crew but then IвЂ™d have to tell peoIt took me a while to think of anything that made ple. And I was afraid that they wouldnвЂ™t believe me if me happy anymore. I thought of my favorites places. I told them something was wrong. Maybe if I was there I would be able to sleep. IвЂ™m My feelings of sadness led me to look up the sure IвЂ™d be happier anywhere but here. symptoms of depression. As the computer loaded the One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, four sheep, five page, I prayed that I didnвЂ™t have them. sheep. IвЂ™m not depressed. IвЂ™m not the type of person who I checked the time. It was 2 a.m. IвЂ™d had enough of gets depressed. ItвЂ™ll be okay. IвЂ™ll just confirm that IвЂ™m lying in bed, so I got up and went into the bathroom. not, and then everything will be normal. Just breathe. I looked at the girl in the mirror and wondered who The page loaded, and a list of sympshe was: the girl with the sad, tired toms appeared. eyes, hair plastered to her face, red, вЂњSigns and symptoms of depression in puffy cheeks, and dark circles under her I knew I was teens: sadness or hopelessness, irritabileyes. I splashed cold water on my face losing it. I was ity, anger or hostility, tearfulness or freand when I looked again I saw myself. Days passed like this, and looking going crazy. quent crying, withdrawal from friends and family, loss of interest in activities, back I wonder how I made it through. changes in eating and sleeping habits, Sometimes the sadness of not sleeping restlessness and agitation, feelings of worthlessness and the fact that my body was being taken over by and guilt, lack of enthusiasm and motivation, fatigue anxiety was too much. I began to hate the things that or lack of energy, difficulty concentrating, thoughts I used to love and I searched for something that made of death or suicide.вЂќ me happy. But nothing could fill the holes. I told myself that because I didnвЂ™t have all of the * * * symptoms, I wasnвЂ™t depressed. Each day I looked at I sat in Spanish listening to the sound of the the list to make sure I didnвЂ™t have more of the sympteacher writing on the board. toms, even though I always did. Please let the day end. I just want to go home. A few weeks later, my mom told me that she had We had just finished an assignment, and the scheduled a doctorвЂ™s appointment for me. She said teacher was calling on students to read their answers she and my dad thought this had gotten to the point aloud. I didnвЂ™t want to listen, so I pulled out my liwhere medical attention was necessary. I absolutely brary book and read one page over and over. agreed. вЂњKathy? вЂ¦ Kathy, what did you get for number The doctor wanted to hear my symptoms, and she five? вЂ¦ Kathy!вЂќ did a blood test to rule out any physical issues. A I jerked up and fumbled for my notebook, knockweek later when the blood test came back, we ing some of my books to the floor. learned that there was nothing physically wrong. So вЂњA-ab-abrela,вЂќ I stuttered. I Cystic Fibrosis Slipping away without a purpose, My name no one will ever know. Before the ground turns frozen again I will have breathed my last breath. My body will have matched the temperature of the frosty air. Those suffering with cystic fibrosis also Have begun to pull out their bucket lists, Leaving this world in bitter sorrow, realizing on their deathbed all that they have missed. Such a young age to give up hope, But oh does our future look bleak, Surrounded by oxygen masks and endless transplants, Doing all that we can not to fall off the face of the earth. An ocean of a disease, toying constantly with our health and emotions, Trying to hold in our bitterness as others continue to breathe with ease, Putting fake smiles on our faces as we try to swim up for air, We break above the surface and then finally disappear. by Colleen Black, Lake Zurich, IL 28 by вЂњKathy,вЂќ Sunman, IN Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 that meant that there was something psychologically wrong with me. Once again, I headed to the doctor. I prayed that it wasnвЂ™t depression. I prayed that it was just a suspicion that I was depressed and not a fact. вЂњI think that you have anxiety,вЂќ the doctor said. Anxiety? Like IвЂ™m anxious? IвЂ™ve never heard of that. I donвЂ™t think itвЂ™s even a real problem. вЂњAntidepressants are probably the best treatment for your situation.вЂќ Antidepressants вЂ¦ so I am depressed. ItвЂ™s okay вЂ“ donвЂ™t cry. вЂњArenвЂ™t antidepressants for depression, though? I thought you said she had anxiety.вЂќ My mom seemed as unsure about this as I was. вЂњAntidepressants are used to treat a variety of issues,вЂќ said the doctor.вЂќ Anxiety is one of them. Many people who suffer from anxiety are also depressed, so it works hand in hand to treat both illnesses.вЂќ I am ill. There is something psychologically wrong with me. вЂњWhat do you think, sweetie? IвЂ™m not sure about it, but if you think itвЂ™ll help-вЂќ вЂњMom, I donвЂ™t want to do this anymore!вЂќ And thatвЂ™s when I lost it. The dam that had been holding in my emotions broke, and next thing I knew I was sobbing. My mom held me and told me everything would be okay. She told the doctor that we would try the medicine. I was embarrassed about taking antidepressants. I didnвЂ™t tell anyone except my best friend. I didnвЂ™t even write it on my medical forms, I was so ashamed. But then I did research, and I learned more. Anxiety and depression arenвЂ™t weaknesses. TheyвЂ™re battles inside your body for who gets control. And most of the time, you donвЂ™t win. I also learned that a lot of people wake up every day and face the same problems I did; I learned that just by talking to my friends. IвЂ™m not alone, and I wonвЂ™t ever be alone in my battle against anxiety. And maybe one day, IвЂ™ll win. вњ¦ An Abnormal Childhood by вЂњAllison,вЂќ Platteville, WI this option because they realized it would be hard to reghile most teenagers have memories of playing ulate the diet of a six-year-old. in the sandbox or going to a friendвЂ™s house for Then they researched brain surgery. They discovered their first sleepover, I have none of these. Inthat while it was risky, it was probably the best option stead, I remember my parents hovering over me, never and if successful, it would cure my epilepsy forever. letting me do anything by myself. I also have memories So, on October 1, 1999, my grandmotherвЂ™s eightieth of passing out in class and waking with the school nurse birthday and nine days after my seventh, I had an operaat my side. This is because I was one of the unlucky chiltion to remove the left temporal lobe of my brain, an area dren with epilepsy, a disease in which abnormal electrithat controls speech and memory. One possical signals in the brain cause seizures. ble side effect was that I might have to reI was under a year old when I began havI was under a learn how to talk. Fortunately, I was able to ing seizures. After my first, I was medspeak right after the surgery, and a week flighted to the hospital, but the doctors said year when I later, I was released from the hospital. I had this wasnвЂ™t uncommon in babies. Then I began having to miss school for the rest of the month. had another, and my parents knew someSince half my head had been shaved, my thing was really wrong. seizures parents and relatives gave me hats to wear. When I was diagnosed with epilepsy, a In the decade since my operation, I routine began. I would have a seizure about havenвЂ™t had a single seizure. And after an EEG (a test in every two weeks, go to the doctor, get blood drawn, and which the patient falls asleep with electrodes attached to have my medication increased. A few times, the doctor her head), an MRI scan, and a neuro-psych test, doctors overdosed me and I had to be medflighted to the hospital. confirmed that I had no negative side effects from the This was my routine for my first six years. epilepsy or the surgery. My parents realized they couldnвЂ™t do this for the rest Every day I enjoy the benefits of being free from of my life. They worried I wouldnвЂ™t be able to drive a car epilepsy, whether itвЂ™s driving to school or swimming on or be alone, and that I might never be able to live indemy own, or simply not feeling like I am attached to my pendently. They researched various options, one of parents anymore. вњ¦ which was a special diet. However, my parents dropped W COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM Wavves King of the Beach T he instantaneous, bloggedout superhighway that is the modern music machine can be the boon and bane of many a band. Nobody knows that more than Wavves. Wavves, or more accurately, 23-year-old guitarist/singer Nathan Williams, has seen its own meteoric rise and fall in the indie music community in the span of two years. It all began in his house on the San Diego shore. Williams, along with then-drummer Ryan Ulsh, recorded their debut album, вЂњWavves,вЂќ in WilliamsвЂ™ bedroom using Garageband on his Mac. Yes, Garageband. Combining catchy punk riffs, The band was ready for a comeback frenetic drumming, and layer upon layer of distortion, Wavves created a joyous, dystopian wonderland filtered through the hazy eyes of a jaded twentysomething misanthrope who had already lived too much too young. Wavves soon caught the attention of hipster tastemaker Pitchfork.com, which generated buzz for the bandвЂ™s first live show in San Francisco. Between the releases of his first and second albums (the second is вЂњWavvvesвЂќ with three VвЂ™s instead of two), Wavves had become a critical darling all over the Internet. The live shows were filling up. Then WilliamsвЂ™ train derailed. Last year at Primavera Sound, the annual music festival in Barcelona, Wavves was set to play in front of thousands. But Williams was overwhelmed. To escape the pressure, he ingested a cocktail of prescription drugs and subsequently didnвЂ™t show. Nervous breakdowns were had, the band split, and people hated Wavves. After he become the butt of every bloggerвЂ™s joke, Williams recruited a new and improved drummer, Zach Hill from the prolific math-rock band Hella, and tried to stay out of the spotlight. Then, opportunity bloomed from tragedy. Fellow abrasive punk rocker Jay Reatard had a similar falling out with his band, drummer Billy Hayes and bassist Stephen Pope. Tragically, last January, Reatard died in his sleep after mixing cocaine and LINK YOUR alcohol. Hayes and Pope were available. It made sense, then, that they join Williams. Hence, the new Wavves. After plenty of backlash and bad blood between Williams and the world, the band was ready for a comeback. They recorded their third album, вЂњKing of the Beach,вЂќ in the backwoods of Mississippi. Wavves ditched the distortion for something more accessible. Williams kept the forceful, vital energy of his old work but infused the music with a new life, a new anger. HeвЂ™s been to hell and back and now heвЂ™s ready to tell his story. вЂњKing,вЂќ however, is not much different from the other two albums ideologically; itвЂ™s just more self-aware. In вЂњTake on the World,вЂќ Williams sings, вЂњWell I hate my Ryan/ItвЂ™s all the same/Well I hate my music/ItвЂ™s all the same.вЂќ HeвЂ™s definitely matured, but the more deeply ingrained loner side remains. Take 2008вЂ™s вЂњWavvesвЂќ: вЂњI wanna be alone, I wanna be victorio/I wanna be victorio.вЂќ Now compare it to вЂњMickey Mouse,вЂќ from the latest album: вЂњI never wanna leave home/Everything in the back of my brain/Told me that I would be sick/When IвЂ™m out there.вЂќ Williams has redeemed himself and is back on top of the world. вњ¦ by Alex Curtis, Seattle, WA ROCK Guns NвЂ™ Roses Chinese Democracy I t took over 14 years for вЂњChinese Democracy,вЂќ the much-anticipated Guns NвЂ™ Roses album, to be publicly released. There were a lot of things for singer Axl Rose to take care of as the sole original member of the band, but he took a mighty long time to make one measly album. Was it worth the wait? ItвЂ™s overdramatic, itвЂ™s overly ambitious, and over one hour long, but excess of this sort is expected from the band that caused riots and controversy while other вЂ™80s era вЂњrockвЂќ bands teased their hair and applied their makeup. GNRвЂ™s first album, вЂњAppetite for DestructionвЂќ is considered one of the greatest of its time. Raw aggression pounds out in every note. Their 1991 releases, вЂњUse Your Illusion IвЂќ and вЂњIIвЂќ include several sweet love songs like вЂњDonвЂ™t CryвЂќ and вЂњNovember RainвЂќ that show TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO musical maturity. Nevertheless, GNR was still the meanest rock band in the country. вЂњChinese Democracy,вЂќ to put it plainly, sucks. It sounds like Rose couldnвЂ™t make up his mind about what kind of record he wanted to make, so he threw together a colorful array of genres. вЂњShacklerвЂ™s RevengeвЂќ is pure heavy metal, a headbangerвЂ™s anthem. And the next track, вЂњBetter,вЂќ is pop, with several corny melodies. When the album takes a sharp turn from pop to Broadway-rock in вЂњThis I Love,вЂќ thereвЂ™s only one logical conclusion for listeners: вЂњI guess Axl really is bipolar.вЂќ They say a singer will find only one guitarist he has perfect musical chemistry with in his lifetime. Slash, the original GNR lead guitarist, was AxlвЂ™s musical soul mate. He put as much expression into his licks as Rose did in his trademark vocal flourishes вЂ“ which, on a side note, are missing from this album. In the old GNR, every solo fit the mood of the song, emotion poured out of every bend and pull-off. Izzy Stradlin, the Overdramatic, overly ambitious, and over one hour original rhythm guitarist, dueled harmoniously with his awesome riffs and progressions. Most of the solos on this new album donвЂ™t have Slash and StradlinвЂ™s passion, partly because Rose couldnвЂ™t even manage to keep a consistent lineup during the recording. Granted, вЂњSorryвЂќ has an extremely fitting guitar solo. It also has relevant lyrics that relate to the less-than-flattering image of Rose the media has created. However, once the song kicks into the chorus, it takes a turn for the worse. RoseвЂ™s voice sounds jaded, and the bizarre use of vibrato makes him come across like a bitter old man. Tracks four through six are basically the same, with a lot of piano and Rose singing like Justin Timberlake trying to be rock nвЂ™ roll. However, вЂњI.R.S.вЂќ shows that Rose still has the ability to write butt-kicking rock tunes. The song is reminiscent of вЂњAppetite for Destruction,вЂќ complete with gritty instrumentals and a flawless display of AxlвЂ™s vocal range. But no one should suffer through the endless drone that is the rest of the album. FACEBOOK How вЂњChinese DemocracyвЂќ ended up such a failure is a mystery when it had so much potential. But maybe itвЂ™s too early to put GNR in the ground. I guess weвЂ™ll see in another 14 years. вњ¦ by Anjali Nair, West Windsor, NJ INDIE Sparklehorse Dreamt for Light Years in the Belly of a Mountain S parklehorseвЂ™s newest album, вЂњDreamt for Light Years in the Belly of a Mountain,вЂќ consists of 12 tracks running the gamut from bitter guitar solos to mellow pop songs. Ideally listened to on a rainy day, many of the songs are depressingly dark, yet most are strangely packaged with rhythms that make them comforting to listen to. After releasing вЂњItвЂ™s a Wonderful LifeвЂќ in 2001, Mark Linkous carefully constructed вЂњDreamt for Light Years in the Belly of a MountainвЂќ for five years before its release. Linkous admitted that several of the tracks were pop tunes that didnвЂ™t make it onto вЂњItвЂ™s a Wonderful Life.вЂќ Linkous turned to producer Danger Mouse to help him finish it. Sparklehorse is bizarrely unique and can be described as Dreamy pop or psychedelic rock dreamy pop or psychedelic rock. Linkous uses abrasive guitar melodies, woozy mellotrons, skewed wire recordings, and bargain drum machines. His voice is soothing though itвЂ™s almost always distorted in some way to match the emotions in his songs. His voice can be lethargic and lulling, as on вЂњReturn to me,вЂќ and on вЂњDonвЂ™t Take My Sunshine AwayвЂќ itвЂ™s choppy and staticy to complement the sporadic guitar. The album reflects LinkousвЂ™s many years of depression. The lyrics are dark and depressing and merge with perplexing imagery to give all his songs a surrealistic feel. In вЂњMorning HollowвЂќ Linkous faintly sings of a woman who вЂњdonвЂ™t run through the fields anymore.вЂќ вЂњDreamt for Light Years in the Belly of a MountainвЂќ is sadly LinkousвЂ™s final album. In March 2010, he tragically took his life. He will always be remembered for his beautiful music and forever missed by his fans. вњ¦ by Sarah Gantt, Wilmington, DE INDIE mewithoutYou ItвЂ™s All Crazy! ItвЂ™s All False! ItвЂ™s All a Dream! ItвЂ™s Alright! M ewithoutYou has drastically pulled away from their original sound, attempting to distance themselves from comparisons with Brand New and move toward a more indie approach to their music. While many find this change offensive, the more flexible listeners respect mewithoutYouвЂ™s decision to turn away from their original screaming mash. вЂњItвЂ™s All Crazy! ItвЂ™s All False! ItвЂ™s All a Dream! ItвЂ™s AlrightвЂќ is spiked with numerous instruments, each complementing the song in its own way, whether it be a harp, flute, trumpet, electric guitar, violin, or a choral appearance. However, these many instruments always fit perfectly with the music around them. Aaron WeissвЂ™s vocals are wiry and nasal, an odd voice if youвЂ™ve ever heard one. However, no vocals could be more perfect for this band. All of the songs are lively save a few. вЂњThe Fox, The Crow, and The CookieвЂќ is whimsical and purely joyous. вЂњThe King Beetle on a Coconut Estate,вЂќ the most impressive song on the album, is slower and more melodic, and conservative in a way. Then thereвЂ™s music reviews INDIE Religious messages tucked within outstanding lyrics вЂњAllah, Allah, Allah,вЂќ which feels like a jubilant sing-along. But one thing all the songs have in common is the religious messages tucked within outstanding lyrics. MewithoutYouвЂ™s approach is quiet and altogether a celebration of religious belief. Any indie fan or any person in their right mind should appreciate this album. вњ¦ by Caitlin Wolper, New City, NY M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 29 tv reviews HORROR The Walking Dead Z ombies are one of the most popular monsters of all time. They have inspired a generation of movies, video games, and books, and have earned their place among other popular monsters like vampires and werewolves. However, there have never really been any zombie TV shows. That is, until now, with AMCвЂ™s new show вЂњThe Walking Dead,вЂќ based on the series of graphic novels by Robert Kirkman, Tony Moore, and Charlie Adlard. Before вЂњThe Walking DeadвЂќ there were only vampire shows вЂ“ and not scary vampires but vampires who fall in love and express their feelings. The great thing about zombies is theyвЂ™re not capable of emotion or falling love. You canвЂ™t sweettalk a zombie; itвЂ™s either going to eat you or you have to put a bullet in its head. In a sea of repetitive cop shows and вЂњLostвЂќ knock-offs, вЂњThe Walking DeadвЂќ is one of A smart, compelling apocalyptic series the best new shows of the year. It may not have the most original premise, but itвЂ™s a mixture of many zombie/apocalyptic films that still works because itвЂ™s something we have never seen on TV. The action and drama flow well together, and the excellent camera work makes each episode feel like a small movie. The show has a gritty, intense look but at the same time conveys a tranquil and adventurous spirit. After being hospitalized with a gunshot wound, Officer Rick Grimes (wonderfully played by Andrew Lincoln) awakens to a world overrun by the living dead. Rick is a likable protagonist who always wants to do the right thing but isnвЂ™t afraid of some dirty work if it means finding his wife and kid. At the start of the pilot, Rick is shell-shocked and unsure of what to do. He staggers around and cries when he canвЂ™t find his family, but later becomes cool and in control. In one scene he finds a horse and rides into overrun Atlanta, almost reminiscent of an old Western sheriff riding into town. As he explores the abandoned towns of a fallen world, he encounters groups of survivors, each bringing him closer to his family. One of the best aspects of вЂњThe Walking DeadвЂќ is that it doesnвЂ™t focus on zombies or survivors killing zombies. Instead it becomes more about the survivors dealing with their own conflicts. This helps build the characters, resulting in the viewer caring about them. Nevertheless, вЂњThe Walking DeadвЂќ is still about zombies, which means itвЂ™s gory and messy. It shows everything, down to the last zombie-feasting scene. This may be enough to keep some of the general TV audience from tuning in, but take away the gore and youвЂ™ve still got a smart, compelling apocalyptic series. вњ¦ by Drew Powell, Seattle, WA ACTION-COMEDY Chuck вЂњC huckвЂќ is an intriguing NBC show about a normal guy (Zachary Levi) working a dead-end job at an electronics store. However, he is a genius. Knowing this, Bryce (Matthew Bomer), ChuckвЂ™s former roommate, sends him an e-mail containing a stolen program that downloads the U.S. governmentвЂ™s most confidential secrets into his brain. This turns Chuck into the governmentвЂ™s most important asset. But Chuck is not an athlete or a spy, and is incapable of protecting himself. This is where Agents Sarah Walker (Yvonne Strahovski) and John Casey (Adam Baldwin), two top spies, come in. Their mission is to protect him as he hunts down some of the worldвЂ™s most dangerous criminals and assassins. вЂњChuckвЂќ is a perfect blend of charm, wit, plot twists, romance, and action, the exact recipe for an ideal television series. Its high-intensity action scenes give it the drama it Charm, wit, plot twists, romance, and action needs, while characters like ChuckвЂ™s dim-witted best friend, Morgan (Joshua Gomez), provide comic relief. There is also a tangible chemistry between Chuck and Agent Walker, who struggle to keep their romantic feelings separate from their professional relationship. Chuck and SarahвЂ™s undefined relationship keeps viewers hooked, while other story lines, like the various returns of Bryce, have the same effect. No good crime-fighting team is complete without muscle, and in this case itвЂ™s John, a tall, brawny agent who provides the showвЂ™s exceptional, fast-paced action and fighting scenes. The trio mesh perfectly, and deliver a great show week after week. Nothing can end a Monday for me better than curling up on the couch and indulging in my favorite TV show, вЂњChuck.вЂќ вњ¦ by Bea Ronan, Glendale, AZ COMEDY Community T Photo by Andrea Morris, Waynesboro, VA 30 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 hirty-something disbarred lawyer Jeff (Joel McHale from вЂњThe SoupвЂќ) enrolls in community college after having problems with his law school degree, allegedly obtained вЂњin ColombiaвЂќ and mistakenly believed to be вЂњfrom Columbia.вЂќ At the college, he befriends the token foreign guy, Abed (played by Danny Pudi), as well as Pierce (Chevy Chase), the old and socially disturbed guy who makes awkward and unappreciated advances toward fortyish divorcee Shirley (Yvette Nicole Brown). Of course, no formulaic comedy would be complete without a love interest, this time a 28year-old high school dropout named Britta (Gillian Jacobs). As an added bonus, and, one might even say, an afterthought, Worth watching the casting directors threw in John Oliver (from вЂњThe Daily ShowвЂќ) as a friend and former client of JeffвЂ™s. The cast is undeniably great, and the premise has some serious potential. Unfortunately, nothing more is offered as a reason to watch the show. A few funny one-liners here and there, a few вЂњSoupвЂќ references, and some clichГ©d jokes add occasional laughs, mostly at the expense of Abed. The cast seems to have what could pass as chemistry, but they fail to develop it. With such a wonderful cast full of recognizable people who are only a bit past their prime, one might think that the show would warrant some compliments and viewership. However, it doesnвЂ™t. The writing is weak and the characters seem shallow. Regardless of how disappointing the first episode was, I say the show is still worth watching, if only to see where it goes. вњ¦ For teens, this show demonstrates that two grown men can act like little boys, especially when their mother is involved. Siblings of all ages can argue, compete, and become jealous of each another, fighting for their parentsвЂ™ adoration. But it really boils down to the truth that blood is thicker than water; before the show ends, despite the painful jokes, name-calling, and brawls over who is the most beloved son, the Barone brothers have nothing but love between them. That is why вЂњEverybody Loves RaymondвЂќ is one of my favorite sitcoms. вњ¦ by Kendall Rivers, Charlotte, NC CRIME DRAMA NCIS A ddiction is an understatement when describing my relationship to CBSвЂ™s вЂњNCIS.вЂќ It is the cure to all my problems and the highlight of my day. I own every season and am constantly adding to my collection. The comedy of a dysfunctional family in a work environment is one selling point of the show. вЂњNCISвЂќ has crime, comedy, and gore вЂ“ which combine to make it the best show in America. вЂњNCISвЂќ has crime, comedy, and gore by Madeline Welsh, Winter Park, FL COMEDY Everybody Loves Raymond I n вЂњEverybody Loves Raymond,вЂќ Ray Barone is a sports writer, family man, and the apparent favorite son of his parents. RayвЂ™s relationships with his wife, kids, brother, and mother and father play out in comedic ways while addressing serious real-life issues. The Any family can relate to this one Barone family portray an extended Italian family in a show that has captured the interest of men, women, boys, and girls of all races, cultures, and socioeconomic backgrounds. Any family can relate to this one on some level. This is why I believe the show has been such a success for nine seasons. COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT Each cast member has their own personality that adds to the show. For example, Abby Sciuto (Pauley Perrette) is a forensic scientist and an abnormal, sweet, sensitive, and spontaneous worker. She is my favorite because her attitude and vibe make the show better. Mark Harmon plays the serious, straight-forward Leroy Jethro Gibbs, who is the chief of investigation for NCIS. Gibbs is like a father to Abby, since his wife and kids were murdered. Gibbs swore he would seek revenge, and he is doing just that. вЂњNCISвЂќ is my favorite show because it always keeps the viewerвЂ™s attention with its element of surprise, never letting its audience down. вЂњNCISвЂќ has completed eight seasons and is now one of the top shows in America. вњ¦ by Sarah Kingeter, Colleyville, TX TEENINK.COM HowlвЂ™s Moving Castle вЂњH owlвЂ™s Moving CastleвЂќ was the winner of the Tokyo International Anime Fair Animation of the Year in 2005. It is also a compelling movie about a cursed girl turning to the infamous wizard Howl (who has his own problems) for help amidst a raging war between two kingdoms. From the start, viewers are stunned by the beautiful scenery of late nineteenth-century Europe. You can really feel the lively atmosphere director Hayao Miyazaki tries to convey. In addition, the soundtrack beautifully captures the movieвЂ™s imagery and themes in a style reminiscent of that era of European music. Like MiyazakiвЂ™s previous films (вЂњPrincess MononokeвЂќ and вЂњSpirited AwayвЂќ), вЂњHowlвЂ™s Moving CastleвЂќ is a mix of romance and suspense. All his movies have unique characters and donвЂ™t stray far from the main story, with history and background that are enriching, all based on a specific tradition. What sets вЂњHowlвЂ™s Moving CastleвЂќ apart, however, is its character development. Sophie (with the voice of Chieko BaishГґ in Japanese and Emily Mortimer in English) has the misfortune of inheriting the family hat shop, and is soon cursed by the Wicked Witch of the Waste. She is a timid girl who is very self-conscious and basically antisocial. After being transformed into an old woman, her personality sparks the audience with her humorous age-related jokes and crackly laugh. However, Sophie isnвЂ™t the only character who is memorable and loveable. Wizard Howl (Takuya Kimura in Japanese and Christian Bale in English) is a handsome playboy who is immature and cowardly. In one scene, he runs out of the bathroom half naked and starts oozing green goop because his hair is dyed orange! The movie is a pure joy to watch, but it does have its flaws. There are parts where viewers may become confused and need to backtrack. Moments where Sophie appears young while being under the curse may confuse first-time YOUR by Michelle Lam, Brooklyn, NY COMEDY Easy A вЂњE A pure joy to watch LINK viewers. Her appearance matches her mood. For example, she appears the youngest when she is happiest. The motive for the war is also unclear, but if you listen carefully to the conversation between two men at the start of the movie, youвЂ™ll understand better. Overall, I enjoyed the movie. The characters are funny and quirky, but the plot intrigued me the most; a moving castle with four doors to four different places вЂ“ what other word can possibly describe that except for original? вњ¦ asy AвЂќ is definitely a comedy to watch with friends. It will have you falling off your seat laughing, or at least thatвЂ™s what I did. The comedic Emma Stone (вЂњSuperbadвЂќ) plays Olive Penderghast, an ordinary, clean-cut, high school girl who tries to increase her popularity by telling a little white lie. At first it helps her A comedy about teen life use the schoolвЂ™s rumor mill to her advantage, but soon things get out of hand, making her realize she needs to come clean. The movie is very funny, but it also has an important message: a lie, no matter how small, can turn into something bigger in the blink of an eye. I wouldnвЂ™t recommend this movie for those under 13 because it contains a bit of sexuality and bad language. All in all, вЂњEasy AвЂќ is satisfying. вњ¦ by Madalynne Carattini, Hemet, CA DRAMA Michael Clayton T ony Gilroy was the screenwriter behind the Bourne trilogy, and with вЂњMichael Clayton,вЂќ Gilroy directs, upping his responsibility. This was a risky move, but it paid off; вЂњMichael ClaytonвЂќ is so well-constructed, so well-acted, but so subtly and seamlessly compact, that one does not realize itвЂ™s a tour de force until the credits roll. The plot takes the form of a sophisticated law procedural, but unfolds with painstaking intricacy. The opening sequence shows a car bomb and then TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO rewinds a few days to reveal cause and motives. This particular jump against the linear narrative has become a popular device lately, and has proven effective at whetting viewerвЂ™s appetites and drastically heightening the suspense. In вЂњMichael Clayton,вЂќ the suspense is on full throttle. Michael Clayton (George Clooney) works as a вЂњfixerвЂќ for prominent law firm U-North. The exact details of his job remain fairly ambiguous, which underlines the shady company policies. He is not a celebrity per se, but his efficiency is well-known to his clients and coworkers. That is more than can be said for his family life, which is in a shambles. In debt, he struggles with a gambling addiction, as well as balancing family and his job. The central conflict occurs when Arthur Edens (Tom Wilkinson), a respected attorney for U-North, strips naked in public and rants against the firm, calling for a class-action lawsuit against a particular executive decision he opposes. Michael is held responsible for ArthurвЂ™s outburst, using his friendвЂ™s alleged mental instability and failure to take medication as an excuse. Also involved is U-NorthвЂ™s general counsel, Karen Crowder (Tilda Swinton), who has to remedy the situation before Arthur inflicts lasting damage. This synopsis scarcely scratches the surface. Here is a legal thriller that does not try to stoop to a laymanвЂ™s understanding of business. вЂњClaytonвЂќ utilizes political jargon, cold The suspense is on full throttle logic, and a knowledge of the nooks and crannies of the law to tell a convincing tale. Like вЂњSyrianaвЂќ (in which Clooney also starred), вЂњClaytonвЂќ is a intelligent film, an immersive experience into a world we do not necessarily understand but accept because of the excellent writing, acting, and directing. The screenplay is unconventionally sophisticated. Its prose is ruthlessly assured, and characters deliver their lines with conviction. The opening monologue by Arthur is bizarrely sensational, passionate, and more than a little crazy. But the lines flow like songs, beautifully constructed, scorching FACEBOOK barrages of hard-edged dialogue. It is real and surreal, convincing but carved to an uncanny perfection. Its words are founded upon iron professionalism while they are interwoven with dark allegorical references. It is so good, itвЂ™s poetic. The casting is spot on, and this is not just an ensemble film but also one where each steals the show. Clooney is increasingly cast as brooding, complex characters, and Michael Clayton is a role he was born to play. He commands reverence with an authoritative finesse and is unstoppable. This performance is ClooneyвЂ™s best to date. Wilkinson, a versatile character actor, plays a wrecked and vulnerable Arthur. It is a hardhitting performance featuring both alarming unpredictability and cunning, but he is is pitiful, and wallowing in paranoia. Swinton is astonishing, an image of cool composure, but she too is tainted by an intrinsic weakness. Not surprisingly, these three bona fide actors all garnered Oscar nominations (with Swinton winning). вЂњMichael ClaytonвЂќ is a strong film all around. For a night of intelligent entertainment marked by dramatic force, look no further. вњ¦ by Jonah Jeng, Westchester, NY This movie is rated R. SUSPENSE Se7en D irector David Fincher brings a whole new meaning to the word thriller in вЂњSe7en.вЂќ The film centers around detectives David Mills (Brad Pitt), a cocky cop who is new to the detective beat, and William Somerset (Morgan Freeman), a well-known and respected man on the force. In his last week before retirement, Somerset is assigned, Suspenseful, fun and smart with Mills, to a case involving a series of brutal and sadistic murders. The killer uses each of the seven deadly sins вЂ“ gluttony, sloth, greed, lust, envy, wrath, and pride вЂ“ as his motives for killing his victims. Despite the entire movie being about murders, thereвЂ™s hardly any blood. Or do we see the killer act. Instead, we view the aftermath, and despite what you might think, it is actually scarier than watching the victims die. Fincher creates a creepy mood throughout. However, the movie does have some lighter scenes where we learn more about the main characters and how they got where they are. As Detective Somerset, Freeman delivers yet another powerful performance. There is not a single moment when he under or over reacts. Somerset tries to remain calm and collected as he attempts to solve the case, but as time passes, he realizes that he and his partner are getting nowhere, and we start to see him losing his cool. Although this may not be PittвЂ™s best performance, he does make Detective Mills enjoyable to watch. There are moments when you will burst out laughing at what he says or does. He interrupts the grimness of the film, which makes him a welcome addition. MillвЂ™s wife, Tracy, is played by Gwyneth Paltrow. If I had to describe her performance in one word, it would be solid. She plays her role with passion and maturity. Even though she isnвЂ™t in the movie much, her role is central to the story. Every character either runs into or has some sort of connection with the killer, played by Kevin Spacey. Trust me, knowing this will not spoil the film. He portrays his character with little emotion, which makes him seem truly evil. Andrew WalkerвЂ™s writing is the best I have seen in a long time. It is true to each of the characters and makes you understand what drives them. Plus, he creates dialogue that gets better as the film progresses, especially between Freeman and Pitt, who have an intense relationship and play off each other very well. They may not be the best of friends, but they both have one goal: to catch the killer. Despite this, вЂњSe7enвЂќ is not a cat and mouse film. It revolves around the actions of the characters and the consequences. This creates a thrilling and suspenseful experience. вЂњSe7enвЂќ is one film you have to see. It is exciting, suspenseful, fun, and above all, smart. This film deserves five out of five stars. вњ¦ movie reviews ANIMATED by Joseph Berg, Oak Brook, IL This movie is rated R. M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 31 book reviews SCI-FI Unwind by Neal Shusterman H ow would you feel if your parents could вЂњunwindвЂќ you? In the thrilling sci-fi novel Unwind, Connor and Risa do their best to keep from being вЂњunwound,вЂќ or having their organs distributed to people who need them. Neal Shusterman describes their struggle for survival in a futuristic United States, in a time after the Will keep you on your toes Second Civil War was fought over the rights of life. Connor gets in too many fights and is nicknamed the Akron AWOL for his reckless behavior in attempting to avoid being unwound. Risa doesnвЂ™t have enough musical talent to escape being sent to a Harvest Camp to be unwound. When the two meet, they run away and their adventure takes them to a school, an antiques shop, and an airplane graveyard. They encounter many new faces along the way, including a baby, a bully named Roland, an admiral from the Second Civil War, and an old woman named Sonia. This exciting book will have you on the edge of your seat! As I read, I realized how lonely Connor and Risa must have felt. They couldnвЂ™t trust anyone, even their own parents. Shusterman does a great job conveying the emotions of the characters as they try to survive until their eighteenth birthday. IвЂ™m not usually a sci-fi reader, but I couldnвЂ™t put this one down! вњ¦ by Alex Porte, Dexter, MI Going Bovine by Libba Bray I n Going Bovine, Libba Bray delves into the sarcastic, skeptical, вЂњcouldnвЂ™t-care-lessвЂќ mind of Cameron Smith, a teenager who essentially has to save the world in order to save himself. Does this book have action? You bet. Drama? ThereвЂ™s some. Romance? Check. Crazy people who live in a utopia and try to convert everyone? Yes, this book has them too. Going Bovine perfectly captures the struggles of being a Teen Ink вЂў Action, drama, romance, and more cosmic irony, and truth. Moreover, Bray candidly handles issues such as drugs, alcohol, and dating without getting too serious. Nonchalance and a wry playfulness usually characterize her voice. At the same time, she allows sincerity to shine through. During the most mysterious and surreal parts, Cameron mulls over some heavy thoughts about being in the moment and taking life as it comes. Libba BrayвЂ™s Going Bovine is otherworldly on many levels. But most importantly, it will take you to an alternate dimension. Read it. You know you want to.вњ¦ by Anita Lo, Bellevue, WA ADVENTURE The Lost World by Michael Crichton NOVEL 32 teenager without using dreaded clichГ©s. While a typical teen might undergo a rite of passage in high school, Cameron has bigger things to worry about and brighter cities to see. ItвЂ™s a fast-paced bildungsroman set to the soundtrack of the modern world, making it terrifically cool. But more impressively, the book handles the realities of being a struggling teenager perfectly. Sure, Cameron has an incurable disease, but all teenagers can relate to feeling helpless and cynical. Yes, he has hallucinations, but everyoneвЂ™s caught up in their own mind to some extent. ItвЂ™s funny, itвЂ™s tragic, and itвЂ™s full of pithy quips to use on your friends. The whole story is a rollercoaster of emotion, humor, M AY вЂ™ 1 1 C osta Rica has a few unwanted guests, so the island of Isla Sorna is shut down to tourists. However, a past visitor, Ian Malcolm (who was injured by the islandвЂ™s dangerous inhabitants in the prequel, Jurassic Park), and his unlikely cohort, Richard Levine (a pompous, rich 30-year-old), have decided to travel to the island to study extinction. They are helped by naturalist Sarah Harding, car engineer Dr. Thorne, and LevineвЂ™s superintelligent eighth-grade students. They meet many obstacles as they encounter death, dinos, and Dodgson. A series of bad choices (and a few smart ones) make up The Lost World. For instance, Dodgson (who wants the dinosaursвЂ™ eggs for animal testing) is talking to one of the men in his posse before going to get a tyrannosaurвЂ™s egg. He mentions a theory that a T-rex has a brain the size of a frogвЂ™s. Fast pace and enticing details well as her inner feelings. This is an entertaining, interesting, and quirky autobiography. I think aspiring comedians would benefit a lot from reading it, since DeGeneres talks about her time on stage. I also think that people struggling with image issues will find it helpful, since some chapters are very uplifting and she gives some great advice. вњ¦ by Christen Stearns, Oxford, MA His choice to believe in this unproven fact leads to a disastrous turn of events. The fast pace, realistic details, and enticing theories bring the reader to the edge of her seat, especially in this part of the story. Science-fiction fanatics and people who love action will have a hard time putting this book down. The hard-core action and suspense keep the reader flipping pages and flying through chapters. The dialogue is very bland in most cases, though, mainly ending in вЂњhe saidвЂќ or вЂњshe said.вЂќ Other than that, the book is very descriptive and has plausible theories; one at the end will undoubtedly put a smile on the readerвЂ™s face: a satisfying ending. вњ¦ by Brooke Bird, Prosser, WA NOVEL Room by Emma Donoghue T he world, as seen through the eyes of five-year-old Jack, is a strange place. There are no trees, no children playing in the park, no sky to look at. His world is a small room with a bed, a TV, a wardrobe where he sleeps every night, his friends (a broken remote, Dora the Explorer, a snake made of clay), and of course, his mother. Ma is the only person Jack has ever looked up to. Or, to put it simply, sheвЂ™s the only person he has ever looked at. Jack and MaвЂ™s life is not what most experience. Room is the story of a young woman held captive for seven His world is a small world AUTOBIOGRAPHY My Point вЂ¦ And I Do Have One by Ellen DeGeneres I n Ellen DeGeneresвЂ™ book My Point вЂ¦ And I Do Have One, she speaks with truth. And she does have a point. She alternates between what is actually happening in her life and what she feels and imagines and tells outlandish stories about. DeGeneres shows off her talent as a comedian by including funny anecdotes throughout the book. Not just funny I found it refreshing that she didnвЂ™t just write about her rise to fame. She spoke of real life and real people. I feel a connection with DeGeneres. She is not feminine and delicate, and neither am I. She has few good memories of her childhood, and this is a sad fact that we share. I suppose I expected a comedianвЂ™s book to be funny, but I enjoyed it because it was not just funny but addressed real-world issues as long years in a dungeon shack in a manвЂ™s backyard. The man, Old Nick, does not want ransom; all he wants is company. He is mentally unstable and seeing people tortured is his hobby. Maybe this is the reason he kidnaps a happy 19-year-old from her college campus and throws her into a secret room in his backyard. The walls are thick, the door is guarded by electronic password security, and there is no outlet except for a single soundproof window in the ceiling. The torture inflicted on the poor girl resulted in first a still birth and then, two years later, another baby who survives. Room is told from the viewpoint of that boy, Jack. He doesnвЂ™t know any world outside of this stinky garden shed. Intelligent beyond his years, he believes that Old Nick comes in from outer space. Every night, to make sure that he is not in the vicinity of the brutal Nick, Ma makes Jack sleep in a closet at the far end of room. It is only when Ma finally COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT tells Jack about her kidnapping and of the existence of an outer world, that he realizes the gravity of their situation. When he sees Ma weeping helplessly, he realizes that they must escape. Room is all about the cruelties inflicted on a poor family by an sadistic man and how, despite the odds, they have the will to survive. When we read about this woman who is considered dead and this young boy whose existence is unknown, who gather the courage to stand up and fight, it gives us strength to overcome obstacles too. вњ¦ by Yamini Gaur, New Delhi, India ADVENTURE The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown D an Brown has always captured readers with his simplistic way of keeping mysteries, well, mysterious. With a well-recognized writing style that forces one to believe the controversial truths he reveals, he has penned another marvelous story about everyoneвЂ™s favorite hero, Robert Langdon. Pivoting around AmericaвЂ™s little-known symbolism and a new breakthrough field of science called Noetics, this tale links the mysticism of ancient eras with modern science in a way that is strangely satisfying. The forever-pondered mysteries of life and death are particularly provocative because the answers can never be found. Or can they? Another marvelous story Katherine Solomon, the female lead of this amazing book, is a Noetic scientist who taps into the unknown potential of the human mind and the nature of thoughts. When her brother is held hostage by a man intent on killing her, she pairs up with Robert, who has been tricked into coming to Washington, D.C., by the very same man. The race against time is an integral part of BrownвЂ™s stories, and this 600-page novel spans the events of one night. As usual, many readers will be skeptical of the facts Brown reveals, but still, this book is worth every minute of the four hours it took me to devour it. вњ¦ by Chitra Idnani, Dubai, UAE TEENINK.COM by Jean Ye, Chapel Hill, NC the window, when my dad jumps out of his seat and am five, standing on a chair, stealing a sip from rushes off, claiming that he is late for his meeting. I my dadвЂ™s coffee while he searches for todayвЂ™s think nothing about this at first. Then I hear a crash; paper. The hot liquid scalds my tongue and IвЂ™ve my mother screams, and I am dimly aware of my barely tasted it before my mother snatches the cup. mug smashing on the floor, coffee spilling everyShe scolds both of us, saying I am too young for cofwhere. I shove out the door and into the road. I am fee, that it will stunt my growth, that I will become frantically pulling on the car door when I realize that an addict. My father has a somber look, but when my it is too late. вЂњHit by someone going 80 in the neighmother turns her back, he slips me another bitter sip. borhood? There was no hope,вЂќ the police officer tells вЂњOur little secret,вЂќ he whispers. I make a face when I me. That night, I move all my coffee cups to a drawer turn around. and bury the espresso machine in my closet. He is I am 10, entering the coffee shop on the corner gone. I cannot handle the memories. with my dad, clutching his hand. The bell on the door I am 21, rushing past a coffee shop in New York tinkles, and the scent of coffee hits me full on. I wonCity on my way home from class. I hate der how something can smell so good how I can smell coffee every time someand taste so bad, and I try to read the The drink one opens that door. I hate how the handwritten words on chalkboard while warmth beckons to me when my dad orders me a mocha. I want to brought my itвЂ™s so cold out that I can see refuse it, dimly remembering the bitter my breath hovering in the air father and liquid I stole from his mug five years ago, in front of me. I hate the look but it smells so good, and when he says me closer of joy on peopleвЂ™s faces, sitquietly, вЂњJust give it a try,вЂќ I take a tiny ting in the window and sip. It is sweet and delicious, and before I laughing while sipping a mug of coffee. know it, the cup is empty. And I hate myself for giving in to it and I am 16, watching my dad read the instruction walking in. manual for his new espresso machine. I eye the maI am 21, listening to the bell on the door chine warily, thinking of the bitterness. I have stuck tinkle, feeling both the heat and the scent to mochas, cappuccinos, and lattes for the past six of coffee hitting me full on. The memories years, despite assurances from my dad that espresso surface and it feels like a punch in the is вЂњnot disgusting.вЂќ When he has finally brewed the stomach when I remember that first day. I first cup, he pushes it across the table toward me. I am dimly aware that I may be hyperventiforce myself to drink it, thinking that it is worth it for lating and turn to leave. ItвЂ™s too much. My the happy expression on my dadвЂ™s face. And so he hand is on the door when I see the handgreets me every morning with a steaming cup of written specials on the chalkboard. A man espresso, and I learn to love it. is shoving into me on his way in, and beI am 18, sharing my morning cup of coffee with fore I know it, I have turned around. My my dad. I am leaning against the counter, staring out I The Watcher F or once, her hands were not smoothing out wrinkled shirts, scrubbing mildewed tiles, or sorting the fruits and vegetables on the third shelf in the refrigerator. Her shapeless, vegetable oil-stained apron, with the frayed right pocket and faded sunflower design, lay beside her. She gazed through the thin layer of grime coating the window, passing over the vibrant signs dangling in the doorways of the shops below, over the posters advertising shampoo and novels, over sun-bleached roofs and weathered concrete walls, over the road that meandered through the jumble of houses and emerged on the other side, creeping through the vivid, quilt-like patches of rice fields. But her eyes lingered on the people flitting through these scenes. She observed the farmers in their widebrimmed straw hats, knees caked with mud, bending tirelessly over each shoot, the men and women wearing spotless business suits, bustling along the sidewalk, вЂњBusyвЂќ etched into every twitch of their head, every swing of their arms вЂ“ even the lady across the street who came out onto LINK YOUR mouth opens before I can stop it, and the barista is saying, вЂњWhite chocolate mocha? ThatвЂ™ll be $2.89.вЂќ I am 21, clutching the drink that brought my father and me closer, standing in the middle of the coffee shop, not quite sure what to do. I slide into a booth and stare out the window, watching people hurry by. I should be one of those people. I shouldnвЂ™t be in a coffee shop drinking a mocha. I can almost hear my dadвЂ™s quiet voice, a voice that stood out against the background noise. вЂњJust give it a try.вЂќ I lift the cup to my lips and take a tiny sip. The memories flood me, and I expect that a car will come out of nowhere. It doesnвЂ™t. I am 21, feeling memories overwhelm me. I welcome them. вњ¦ Art by Alice Levene, Coquitlam, BC, Canada by Shirl Yang, Hsinchu, Taiwan her hair, and applied lipstick (though the balcony every afternoon at 4:30 to clip up socks and blankets. why she did not know), and then Had they ever imagined that they, shuffled into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. On Sundays, she would too, would one day become just another dot plodding along the sidecook rice porridge, but on most mornwalk, just another indistinguishable ings she just groped through the resmudge for someone else to scrutinize frigerator and fixed whatever she from her living room window? unearthed. A few slices of week-old Was someone else watching her, as ham and stale bread made edible she gazed at passersby from her sandwiches, and the kids loved hardcouch on the seventh boiled eggs with slivers floor? She couldnвЂ™t of cheese. Her life now imagine anyone wastaround these There were the centered ing their afternoons details. Would she use peering into her life. the cucumber for soup simple joys of What was there to see? today or for salad tomoreveryday life Perhaps the stranger row? Would she wash black socks or white would catch glimpses socks first? of her bursting through Of course, there were the simple the door, staggering under bundles joys of everyday life. A homemade overflowing with carrots, loaves of (though slightly lopsided) cake from bread, and cheese crackers, or watch as she tried to repair the table that the kids on MothersвЂ™ Day, a call from the gossipy neighbor to pass the silent wobbled whenever she removed the afternoons, a roll of new fabric she books she had stacked underneath. had discovered on one of her weekly She clambered out of bed at six trips downtown. But during those weekdays (seven on weekends), usually before the alarm clock began its hours of emptiness, the only hours that truly belonged to her, she would clamor, and roused the rest of the house. She brushed her teeth, combed often pull out the battered sketchbook TEENINK.COM fiction Bittersweet ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK that she kept behind the laundry detergent. She fingered the sketches of tall, spidery-legged women clad in flamboyant gowns and dazzling suits, and the scraps of cloth pinned to the pages. To think that these sketches, faded and yellowed from age, were the only shards of her dream that remained. No one else knew that the housewife of Apartment Building C, seventh floor, the inconspicuous, softspoken woman who always purchased five cans of tuna and stored her quarters for the laundromat in empty film canisters, had once longed to be a fashion designer вЂ“ a fashion designer whose creations would inspire others. Once. Not now. Now her afternoons were spent watching the world from her living room window. She was simply a spectator, a watcher. Her eyes followed a row of Mickey Mouse T-shirts bobbing on a clothesline. The lady across the street was now tenderly watering her begonias, wiping her palms on her checkered apron. Time to make dinner. That window needed cleaning. вњ¦ M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 33 fiction The Naming by Emily Wesling, Brownsburg, IN вЂњFrom now on your name is Brilliant. Do you n the beginning, there was man. Man had a know the answer?вЂќ name вЂ“ a title by which he was known. Man вЂњJuly 4, 1776?вЂќ multiplied and passed his name to his progeny. вЂњThatвЂ™s вЂ¦ thatвЂ™s вЂ¦ well, thatвЂ™s brilliant!вЂќ In those days, family names corresponded to proIt does not stop there. fessions, hence surnames such as Miller, Baker, or Scurrying into the classroom two days later, late Fisher. as usual, my hands are full and I drop a book. Now the year is 2021. Negativity has prevailed; вЂњLinda, can you help me?вЂќ people no longer have names based on their skills, вЂњMy name is Acedia.вЂќ but rather, their vices. вЂњYour name is now Linda. Linda Hand. Now Sloth, Whiskey, Lust, and Gluttony вЂ“ these are can you please pick up that book for me?вЂќ the names of some of the tenth-graders in my вЂњSure вЂ¦ why not?вЂќ classroom. The daily routine follows acAnd so it continues, until each student cordingly: has a new name вЂ“ one that suits them, Avarice steals the apple from my desk, Chaos. one that accompanies them in their jourwhile Scotch whistles to the tune of Disorder. ney from vice to virtue. вЂњWhiskey in the Jar,вЂќ and Gossip passes Watching the newly reformed students notes to Lie-za, and Acedia sleeps as Anarchy. excel in the classroom is a treat. Week Envy stares at VanityвЂ™s new necklace, and by week, I give them a vocabulary asSloth rests his head on his desk, all the signment in which they have to write each word, while, Blasphemy shouts, вЂњI am God!вЂќ include its part of speech and definition, and use it Chaos. Disorder. Anarchy. These are the names in a sentence. that I gave to my classroom вЂ“ a place in which stuIf given this same assignment, I reflect, how dents cannot learn, live, or laugh, a place without would I define myself? hope, without love. Emily: (noun) The student formerly known as I have an idea. Ms. Procrastinator, now a college graduate and вЂњClass,вЂќ I begin, вЂњWhen did the framers sign the experienced high school educator. Declaration of Independence? вЂ¦ Does anyone In 2021, Emily taught her students that a flaw, know? Anyone? вЂ¦ How about you, Brilliant?вЂќ blemish, or imperfection cannot define a human, вЂњMe?вЂќ but rather, it inspires him to surpass his shortcomвЂњYes, Brilliant, you.вЂќ ings and create a new name for himself. вњ¦ вЂњBut вЂ¦ my name is Despair. Why are you-вЂќ I The Telemarketer Monologue T ELEMARKETER. Consults manual, dials number, waits, hands folded on desk. Phone rings on the other line four times before someone picks up. Reading from a large billboard wall opposite. Good afternoon, sir slash maвЂ™am. (Two second pause) Damn it. Dial tone. He repeats the consulting/dialing process. Phone rings on other line. Good afternoon, um вЂ¦ sir? Dial tone. Repeats process. Phone rings. Good afternoon вЂ¦ maвЂ™am. I am calling from the (Squints at billboard) Zenith of Living (Makes a face: what the hell?) Time ShareDial tone. Repeats process, a little faster this time. Good afternoon, maвЂ™am. I am calling from the Zenith of Living Time Share Company. Could I interest you inDial tone. Glances at manual, dials number, drums fingers on desk. Good-afternoon-maвЂ™am-IвЂ™m-calling-from-the-Zen- Photo by Alexandra Creel, Las Vegas, NV 34 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 Paper Cranes by Alex Cline, Newton, MA S he taught him how to make them, one careful fold at a time. Even when he messed up and the wrinkled paper became useless, she patiently handed him another and walked him through the steps again. One thousand cranes. One thousand cranes and a wish for each, the same wish, and when the thousand cranes were done, the wish might come true. She taught him, one crane after another, until one day she couldnвЂ™t fold them any more; her hands were too shaky to make the careful creases. He took over then, carefully, lovingly folding one crane after another, lifting each finished one to his lips to breathe the wish over it. He worked at it all through her diagnosis вЂ“ cancer вЂ“ through the chemotherapy вЂ“ no sign of remission вЂ“ and through the proclamation of her death day вЂ“ only weeks to live. He didnвЂ™t finish in time. She died the moment he completed the nine hundred and ninety-ninth crane. The thousandth was laid on her grave, a bright spot of red against the gray stone and dying grass. Red like blood and a wish, unfulfilled. вЂњLet my mother get better.вЂќ вњ¦ by Crystal Liu, Palo Alto, CA ruffling their hands through my especially wavy hair. whatever-Company-of-LivingAnd then I get to junior high and suddenly IвЂ™m noDial tone. Shoves manual aside, dials a random number body вЂ“ no one even cared about the hair anymore! ItвЂ™s like quite violently. Waits, breathing hard. the minute I grew up, I entered hell. I was still a good kid, HI. My name is JONATHAN. Yes. Pleased to meet you, you know, itвЂ™s just there were like 500 other equally good too. Thank you for acknowledging the fact that I actually kids from 500 other elementary schools. The somebodies have a NAME and possibly a soul. Technically, I am callwere never good kids, they were the ones who did drugs ing from some stupid company called the Zenith of Livor dated people even though they didnвЂ™t have a clue what ing, which only has that name because the idiots who they were doing, or they were the crazy geniuses who won created this ridiculous institution for the hopelessly jobthe National Science-thing when they were 13. But if less thought they would be sued by Looney Tunes if they youвЂ™re just a good kid, you canвЂ™t be either of those. You used the name Acme. Yes, they DO mean the same thing; just вЂ¦ lived, and that was it. zenith and acme are both defined by WebsterвЂ™s Dictionary I donвЂ™t know. Maybe, maybe this entire planet is hell for as вЂњthe highest point or stage that represents perfection of the five billion good-but-mediocre kids. The the thing expressed.вЂќ IвЂ™ve never forgotten bad ones kill each other or OD or whatever those synonyms, you know why? Because leave early, and the geniuses become our contrary to what you might believe, I actually I get to junior and bosses and make us feel inferior and powercompleted high school and went to college, high and less by naming their companies the Zenith of except thereвЂ™s not much out there for a psyYeah! ThatвЂ™s it. We get torturous jobs chology major, and IвЂ™m now being professionsuddenly IвЂ™m Living. like this one where people who get paid 20 ally ignored for a living. times as much as we do taunt us by telling us (Pause. Matter-of-factly) I hate this job вЂ¦ nobody to go to hell! But, see, WEвЂ™RE ALREADY Every day, exactly 14 people tell me to go to THERE! Ha-HA! I get it. IвЂ™m onto the plan, hell over this damn phone and everyone else now вЂ¦ Whatever that changes. hangs up. It doesnвЂ™t even occur to them that IвЂ™m already in (Long pause. HeвЂ™s done venting.) So, um, Miss вЂ¦ Susan, hell, and it just happens to be called the freakinвЂ™ Zenith of if you get this message on your, um, answering machine, Living! No no no, actually, you know what, IвЂ™ve been to PLEASE donвЂ™t report me to my boss and donвЂ™t tell him hell three times already: junior high, high school, and state what I said about this job being, you know, hell. (Laughs university. Three circles right there, baby. LetвЂ™s see how nervously) And, uh, donвЂ™t call the police, either, PLEASE, many youвЂ™ve been through, huh? Oh, yeah, I know Dante, because, like, you know my full name now and stuff. too. S--t. No, SORRY, sorry, didnвЂ™t mean that, taking that Look, I peaked in elementary school. I was the one back, um вЂ¦ BYE, Susan, bye-eee. male kid who had neat handwriting and good spelling and He disconnects and lets the dial tone run for a while as perfect manners, and I wasnвЂ™t afraid to dance with ANY he slowly hangs up. He sits back slowly, exhales. Looks at girl, even the one who never washed her hair. Everyone billboard, reaches for the manual, and begins to dial. loved me back then, you know? Teachers were always real Lights go down. вњ¦ proud when I was in their class, and parents were always COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM by Sara Kellar, Fort Frances, ON, Canada wasnвЂ™t that scary. that I was still on the property and not etrayal was painful. I returned to establishing foundahalfway down the dirt road, which natThatвЂ™s what this was. My dad tions, wanting to erase my disappointurally made me want to get out of there glanced at me but didnвЂ™t say a ment in Kiril. I could feel my dadвЂ™s even more. Paradoxes suck. word, which infuriated me more. His calculating and protective gaze on my The house was small, and the air silence acknowledged that he knew back. seemed permanently tinted with dust. how I was feeling and wasnвЂ™t going to It was a rotten start to my stay. It was suffocating, both the size of the do anything about it. My dad stayed that first night on the house and the nothingness around it; I Complete, utter betrayal. pullout while I got the spare room (my wasnвЂ™t made for the country. I had a вЂњDad?вЂќ motherвЂ™s). Kiril had tried to insist my penthouse in the city calling me home. His eyes once again appraised me father вЂњget a quick startвЂќ to his вЂњbusiSome days, I really hated my father. until he deemed it necessary to return ness tripвЂќ (all of us knew that it was Kiril was getting surprisingly them to the road. His look was hopeful. anything but business), but my dad was twitchy, then he disappeared. вЂњKaia?вЂќ adamant. HeвЂ™d pulled out the couch For two days, I did not see my Time to shoot down that hope. вЂњI before Kiril had really responded. grandfather. Then, suddenly, he was hate you.вЂќ Kiril had once again given in withback, sitting in the kitchen like heвЂ™d I knew I sounded like an angsty out a fight. My frustration never gone. teenager, but I was justiwith him grew. вЂњKaia?вЂќ вЂњKiril?вЂќ fied. He had divorced his I turned in early but (unвЂњThereвЂ™s something I want to show wife, my mother, on her Some days, I fortunately) overheard my you.вЂќ deathbed, then sent me to really hated father and KirilвЂ™s late-night It was a tree. A knotted, old willow. I stupid boarding school conversation. It confused me was unimpressed at first, but I figured right after, then remarried my father that they managed to pull off the least I could do was see what he and redivorced in the span the вЂњwe hate each otherвЂќ had to say. We did one full circle of a week. We had been charade when I was in the room, but around it, and then he walked into a slated to travel together for two weeks, could act perfectly cordial when alone. hidden opening in the curtain-like but apparently вЂњSomething came up,вЂќ вЂњI wonвЂ™t be back until August,вЂќ my branches, waving me after him. and I was being carted off to my granddad said quietly. I followed. A bit apprehensively, but fatherвЂ™s. вЂњThatвЂ™s two months, Jaret. SheвЂ™s a I followed. Maybe that was the point of It didnвЂ™t take a genius to realize that teenager. IвЂ™m her boring grandfather. the whole exercise. Trust. my presence hindered my fatherвЂ™s When you were a teenager, you affecInside the protective shield of the bachelor lifestyle, especially if he was tionately said this house was вЂ�in the branches, there were two lounge chairs going to measures like this. I hadnвЂ™t middle of goddamned nowhere,вЂ™вЂќ Kiril and a hammock. There was an opening seen my motherвЂ™s father since I was sighed heavily. вЂњSheвЂ™ll try to run away in the branches framing the sunset alsix. by the end of the week. You watch.вЂќ most like a picture. There wasnвЂ™t much My father sighed wearily. вЂњI know.вЂќ вЂњSheвЂ™s a spitfire, got that from her else вЂ“ a cooler, a bookshelf covered in * * * mom.вЂќ A quiet chuckle. вЂњI never said plastic, some woodworking tools. I I carefully observed the aged man that to your face.вЂќ resisted the urge to raise my eyebrow before me. вЂњIвЂ™m Kaia McMichaels.вЂќ Kiril snorted, which added to my at Kiril; he was showing me something He inhaled deeply, eyes focused on confusion. вЂњMy hearingвЂ™s better than dear to him. my face. He couldnвЂ™t have been a day you know, Jaret.вЂќ A small pause, and Really. This time was going to be over 55, which startled me. вЂњI know.вЂќ the mood immediately sobered. KirilвЂ™s different. Hopefully. I closed my eyes, breathing as voice was low. вЂњYouвЂ™re holding her Kiril cleared his throat. вЂњThis is вЂ¦ steadily as I could. They had told me down, son.вЂќ this was your momвЂ™s special place. She that establishing known facts, solid My brain only slightly malfunclearned to walk in here. ThereвЂ™s a truth, helped with the changing of tioned at the term of affection. Son. notch high up in this tree somewhere вЂ“ comfort zones. Would I ever be comMy dadвЂ™s tone was guarded. вЂњItвЂ™s she had been climbing, and she wanted fortable here? harder than it looks keeping up with a to mark how high she got.вЂќ He let out вЂњYouвЂ™re my momвЂ™s dad. Kiril teenager, Kiril. Especially a teenaged a small laugh, but it was tinted with Chessa.вЂќ girl. YouвЂ™ll learn soon enough.вЂќ sadness. вЂњShe fell and broke her arm You didnвЂ™t even call. вЂњYou never shouldвЂ™ve once. It was the only time A bemused smile crossed his face, sent her to boarding she fell.вЂќ but it was gone when my dad gave him school.вЂќ He stole a glance at me, a stern look. вЂњThatвЂ™s true,вЂќ Kiril вЂњItвЂ™s harder I smirked. Go Kiril! eyes speculative as he tried replied. than it looks to gauge my reaction. I was I could envision the I took a deep breath. вЂњThat makes snarl creeping into my trying to absorb it all; you my grandfather.вЂќ keeping up with still fatherвЂ™s face. вЂњIвЂ™ll be gone my mother had been here. вЂњNo.вЂќ before either of you wake She had climbed this very a teenagerвЂќ My eyes, which had been focused on up.вЂќ tree. a spot over his shoulder, snapped to his KirilвЂ™s tone was clipped. вЂњYour mom had her first in panic, but that stupid smile was still вЂњGood.вЂќ kiss in here. With your dad.вЂќ on his face. My father hissed; he had True to his promise, there was no I finally raised that eyebrow. вЂњYou never liked Kiril much, judging from trace of my dad in the morning. spied?вЂќ the stories I had heard. It was because The first words out of my mouth He shrugged. вЂњThis is my special of these stories that I didnвЂ™t entirely were, вЂњWhereвЂ™s the orange juice?вЂќ place too.вЂќ know why I had been brought here. One thing that Kiril and I had in Soon it was my special place too. I вЂњKiril,вЂќ my father murmured warncommon: we let things lie. disappeared for hours, curled up in the ingly, and it appeared to do the job. He hammock, reading or thinking, preI hated to admit that my father was sighed, smile erased with the wipe of tending to hear my motherвЂ™s laughter, right, but, in this case, he was. I was his hand. envisioning her trek up the tree. One prepared to run away by the end of the вЂњJaret,вЂќ he said, his voice, for the day, I brought a pair of binoculars and third day. My only ally was my notemost part, strong. However, there had picked out a notch high up; a few days book. Kiril was beginning to get anxbeen a slight hitch вЂ“ conceding defeat? later, I spotted another notch several ious, checking on me often, ensuring I hated him for it. My dad really B LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK feet higher. Kiril occasionally joined me. He would tell me stories about my mother and father, claiming that they had been, at one point, in love. I didnвЂ™t believe him. I think he knew, but he never said anything. вЂњOne time, your mom kicked him out,вЂќ he said thoughtfully one day. вЂњGood to see that she had some sense,вЂќ I said airily, and Kiril chortled. вЂњNot going to disagree with you,вЂќ he replied, вЂњbut he was a different boy back then. Before the big breakthrough that catapulted him to вЂ¦ money.вЂќ I snorted. вЂњThatвЂ™s putting it lightly.вЂќ вЂњBefore you came along.вЂќ Kiril later took that back. He said my presence had made my dad a better fiction Kiril and I Photo by Maddy Starr, Rocklin, CA man, so much so that he quit work for the first three years of my life. He said that my dadвЂ™s mistake had been returning. I believed him. * * * Leaving Kiril was harder than I expected. My dad was waiting impatiently in the car, but Kiril and I were observing a moment of silence in the safety of the willowвЂ™s branches. There was no rush, except maybe for my dad; we knew it was likely he was hung over and just wanted to get home. The silence surrounding us was serene, the sun peeking through the branches was calming, and not even my fatherвЂ™s honking could ruin the moment. вЂњYou know why your dad divorced your mom?вЂќ вЂњBecause heвЂ™s an idiot.вЂќ I almost thought that was the end of the conversation. Almost. вЂњвЂ™Cause she asked him to, Kaia, and he would have done anything for her, even if it broke his heart.вЂќ Kiril and I never did say вЂњI love youвЂќ to each other, but nothing else filled that summer vacation except that emotion. It signaled a new beginning. вњ¦ M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 35 fiction Barroom Politics by Paul Durante, Belleville, IL with the woman-talk, Leo. Anyway, I or anything.вЂќ didnвЂ™t mean anything by it. If you вЂњWell, itвЂ™s a little late for that.вЂќ want to make something of it, we can вЂњI didnвЂ™t mean anything by it.вЂќ settle this in the parking lot. Otherwise вЂњNo, of course you didnвЂ™t. So just I suggest you chill out.вЂќ because IвЂ™m black, that means I voted вЂњCalm down, Mike. No one wants for Obama? I didnвЂ™t know that was to start anything with you. Maybe you how it worked. Boy, you white guys should lay off the beer for a while.вЂќ must have had a real tough time voting вЂњOh, youвЂ™re one to talk.вЂќ in the past elections with вЂњWell, IвЂ™m not trying to two white people running. вЂњI donвЂ™t see start fights at least.вЂќ HowвЂ™d you ever decide вЂњCould have fooled me who to vote for?вЂќ you coming the way youвЂ™re running your вЂњActually, I donвЂ™t vote.вЂќ up with any mouth.вЂќ вЂњOf course you donвЂ™t. right, letвЂ™s cut this Why would you? ItвЂ™s just good ideasвЂќ out.вЂњAll Go back to complaining our countyвЂ™s future. AinвЂ™t about D.C. YouвЂ™re more no biggy.вЂќ pleasant to be around when youвЂ™ve got вЂњLook, Marv, you need to calm something to focus your aggression down. Have another drink.вЂќ on.вЂќ вЂњNaw, IвЂ™m out of here. Bigots!вЂќ вЂњIвЂ™m pretty sure I should be mad вЂњMust be his period or something.вЂќ about something you just said, but IвЂ™m вЂњI donвЂ™t know, Mike. Even I thought not entirely sure what and IвЂ™m a little that was insensitive.вЂќ too drunk to care.вЂќ вЂњInsensitive? How about you stop вЂњDonвЂ™t you think thereвЂ™s something sad about a group of middle-aged guys sitting around a bar on a Wednesday afternoon arguing about something none of them really care about?вЂќ by Elizabeth Leader, Dulles, VA вЂњItвЂ™s all WashingtonвЂ™s fault.вЂќ вЂњHow do you figure?вЂќ вЂњThey need to fix the job market. I ith a sigh, Ana reached for should be working right now, but inвЂњCourses for the Incoming stead IвЂ™m sitting here drinking with CornhuskerвЂќ and flicked it to a you losers.вЂќ random page. Her eyes skimmed various вЂњYou could always go home to your three-digit course numbers with their wife and daughter.вЂќ respective titles leaping out: вЂњYou worry about your life, IвЂ™ll HISTORY PROGRAM worry about mine.вЂќ 201. Despots of the Late Roman, ByzanвЂњSorry, and anyway, I donвЂ™t see you tine, and Ottoman Empires coming up with any good ideas.вЂќ And a little further down вЂ¦ вЂњIdeas for what?вЂќ 410. De-Stalinization and How It Led to вЂњIdeas to fix the job market.вЂќ the Destabilization and Derequisition of вЂњWhy should I do that?вЂќ the Soviet Union вЂњSomebodyвЂ™s got to.вЂќ As she read, Ana waited for the spark, вЂњThatвЂ™s their job. They can figure that little spark that came when she knew it out.вЂќ something was right вЂ“ the same spark she вЂњWell, until someone figures it out, I felt when she spun across Studio LвЂ™s dance Photo by Michelle Moy, Brooklyn, NY suppose weвЂ™ll be spending a lot more floor to the music of Tchaikovsky, or study seemed to leak out of her like helium time at Puzzles.вЂќ opened her history (or really any) textfrom a blown balloon. Was she deranged? вЂњWhat kind of a name is Puzzles for book, anticipating the discovery of new Depersonalized? Ana dearly hoped not. a bar anyway?вЂќ theories and old times. It was the spark One minute, no spark. Two minutes, no вЂњBeats me.вЂќ that had flashed in her mind as she walked spark. Three minutes вЂ¦. вЂњDoesnвЂ™t really matter. The beer is down the main quad of the University of Ana slapped the catalogue shut. She good and itвЂ™s right by my house.вЂќ Nebraska-Lincoln a year ago, and here she needed to write her crazy (but вЂњWell, IвЂ™m sure the beer would be was, an accepted Cornhusker, sounding less crazy all the just as good anywhere.вЂќ sitting at her desk with the catAna smiled at time) idea out before she reвЂњStill, IвЂ™m used to it.вЂќ alogue, wondering why on turned to so-called sanity. As вЂњYeah, me too.вЂќ earth the course Despots of the the limitless she booted up her ancient PC, вЂњBetter enjoy it while itвЂ™s here. Late Roman, Byzantine, and possibilities she thought of all the things Pretty soon Mr. President will find a Ottoman Empires existed. she could do during her 365 way to ruin this too.вЂќ Ana had always looked days: learn a language, tutor mathematics, вЂњYou think the president is going down on those who deprecated the concept devote herself to ballet, and push herself to after small town bars all across the of beginning college right after high the limits. Ana smiled at the limitless poscountry?вЂќ school, people who ignored de rigueur and sibilities. вЂњWouldnвЂ™t surprise me. ItвЂ™s not like chose instead (in AnaвЂ™s opinion) to derail With many clicks and groans, the dialheвЂ™s doing anything else.вЂќ their academic lives and go вЂњfind themup connection was finally established and вЂњMike, IвЂ™d love to see you as selvesвЂќ in various exotic locales. She had Ana clicked on вЂњcompose newвЂќ: president.вЂќ believed from an early age that such вЂњgap To: [email protected] вЂњLet me tell you, things would be yearsвЂќ were frivolous, and prided herself From: [email protected] different.вЂќ on not planning for anything other than Subject: Deferring Enrollment to Fall 2012 вЂњHow so?вЂќ college after high school. Needless to say, sparks flew. вњ¦ вЂњWell, for starters IвЂ™d fix the And yet, as Ana continued to stare at the economy.вЂќ swirl of courses, her intense passion for вЂњвЂ¦ the economy.вЂќ вЂњGod, donвЂ™t even get me started on the economy.вЂќ вЂњIвЂ™ll tell you, these guys in Washington couldnвЂ™t care less about us. ItвЂ™s not their money. We could be bought by China tomorrow for all they care. WouldnвЂ™t make a bit of a difference to them. TheyвЂ™d fly off on their private jets, off to their private islands, and live out their days in luxury. TheyвЂ™re crooks, the whole lot of them.вЂќ вЂњAnd then thereвЂ™s the president.вЂќ вЂњDonвЂ™t get me started on the president. No offense, Marv.вЂќ вЂњWhy would I take offense? I didnвЂ™t vote for him.вЂќ вЂњYou didnвЂ™t?вЂќ вЂњNo вЂ¦ why would you think I voted for him?вЂќ вЂњCome on, Marv, donвЂ™t make me say it.вЂќ вЂњSay what? Oh, donвЂ™t tell me-вЂќ вЂњIвЂ™m not trying to offend you Life Deployed W 36 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 COMMENT вЂњHow do you plan on doing that?вЂќ вЂњDonвЂ™t worry about it. IвЂ™d figure something out.вЂќ вЂњOf course you would. Then what?вЂќ вЂњThen IвЂ™d end the war.вЂќ вЂњSounds good. How?вЂќ вЂњIвЂ™ll just pull the troops out.вЂќ вЂњWell, if it was that easy, donвЂ™t you think someone would have done it?вЂќ вЂњThose morons? They have no idea what they are doing.вЂќ вЂњOf course they donвЂ™t. All right, then what?вЂќ вЂњIвЂ™d set everybody up with jobs, of course.вЂќ вЂњWhat kind of jobs?вЂќ вЂњGood ones. No one would have to worry about money.вЂќ вЂњEven as I ask this, IвЂ™m pretty sure I know what you are going to say, but how are you planning on doing that?вЂќ вЂњWell, I donвЂ™t know off the top of my head! IвЂ™d figure something out.вЂќ вЂњOf course you would. Yep, youвЂ™d make a great president.вЂќ вЂњIвЂ™d vote for me.вЂќ вЂњI thought you didnвЂ™t vote.вЂќ вЂњIвЂ™d make an exception just this once.вЂќ вЂњYou know, you have to have a clean past to become president. They look into that stuff.вЂќ вЂњYeah, so what?вЂќ вЂњYouвЂ™ve had a few run-ins with the law.вЂќ вЂњNothing serious.вЂќ вЂњYes, well, youвЂ™ve been arrested.вЂќ вЂњThose were just misunderstandings.вЂќ вЂњAssault, public drunkenness, I donвЂ™t know how many DUIs. Where do the misunderstandings come in?вЂќ вЂњWhat are you, a cop?вЂќ вЂњNo, IвЂ™m just saying. I donвЂ™t know how many people would vote for somebody with as colorful a past as yours.вЂќ вЂњYouвЂ™re probably right. I probably wouldnвЂ™t be elected because it seems like they only elect idiots anymore.вЂќ вЂњI wouldnвЂ™t say that.вЂќ вЂњOh no? HavenвЂ™t you read the newspaper lately? DonвЂ™t you know how much trouble our country is in?вЂќ вЂњYeah, I know. Still, they canвЂ™t all be stupid.вЂќ вЂњWhy do you say that?вЂќ вЂњWell for starters, didnвЂ™t most of them go to Ivy League schools?вЂќ вЂњYeah, so what?вЂќ вЂњWhat college did you go to?вЂќ вЂњThings were different then. My girlfriend was pregnant; my dad kicked me out. I didnвЂ™t have time for college.вЂќ вЂњI know, Mike, I know.вЂќ вЂњWhy do you got to bring that up anyway?вЂќ вЂњIвЂ™m sorry, Mike. I donвЂ™t know. I wasnвЂ™t thinking, I guess.вЂќ вЂњWhatever. Even without college, IвЂ™d still be a great president.вЂќ Mike drained his sixth beer, knowing full well that it wouldnвЂ™t be his last. вњ¦ ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM poetry Art by Kennedy Cooke-Garza, Rockdale, TX This Is Enough ItвЂ™s all blue up there And streaked with wispy white clouds That look like sea gulls from the porch. And on the opposite side of the horizon line the lake reflects yellow flecks of sun Sparkle On the ripples of the slow waves Slow like today. On the creaking faded blue porch A family soaks up the youth of the summer day Through open pores. A vinyl umbrella blocks the sun that bounces white off our teeth вЂ™Cause weвЂ™re smiling. Pan right past the green nylon chairs And the squat glass side table And the virgin strawberry daiquiris congesting the table. ThatвЂ™s my dad, and smiling in his arms like life is beautiful ThatвЂ™s me. The Hawaiian flowers blossoming on his shirt Continue to flow onto my starched summer dress. IвЂ™m smiling because we match Because my front teeth are poking through my tender pink gums for the first time And because Pa just made a funny face. My brown hair is tied into a tight ponytail that whips wildly in the wind And DadвЂ™s short black hair is gelled into place, fighting strong against The pull of the breeze. The breeze It carries sand and salt and sweet scents of seaweed And my smile. The camera clicks Flashes Snaps. And this moment is forever preserved on flimsy photographs And carried off in The summer breeze. by Kate Monica, Milford, MA How is it? No Lollipop A New Person How is it? That despite your dry lips you deny those last few drops of that sweet sweet soda pop Daddy, can you see me? Now that I can tie my shoes, Now that I am taller than your knee, Would you recognize me? How is it? That though your hunger grows you pass me those last few pieces of warm tortilla Daddy, can you hear me? Now that I donвЂ™t sing my precious songs, Now that I can hold in my cries and screams, Would you want me more? In and out of life Things just never seemed right. They were always different. In love for most of my life, but then suddenly it all fell apart. How is it? That you can ignore your weary hands and tired eyes and still make me delicious cookies Dad, can you taste that? When I speak, can you taste my knowledge, taste that I have hardened? I am no lollipop anymore. Would you understand that? I drank that last drop ate that last piece and napped while you baked I love you, Mom I just hope that when the time comes my son will ask too вЂ¦ how is it? by Robert Lopez, Harlingen, TX Mother Sweat drips down my back, black shirt sticking to my skin. My hair вЂ“ long then вЂ“ glued to the fabric with the salt, my palms bleed fluid onto the handle of her shovel. Lift the dirt. Drop it. Repeat. I drop the garden tool, and push the wheel barrel down the hill in my backyard. Push it up. Repeat. One week and two days later, small pebbles, a pond and snapdragons lay where the dirt once did. My mother stands triumphant near the crab apple tree. Smiling, she thanks me. Dad, do you вЂ“ sniff вЂ“ smell that? I donвЂ™t smell of cotton-candy perfume, do you see? I have my own teenage smell, different from all. Would you forgive me that? Father, can you feel that? My skin has become rough with age, with pimple scars and callouses. With holes in my face and bags under my eyes. Wait, no. I donвЂ™t want your devil hands near me. DonвЂ™t want your brutal hands grasping for me. Father, would you understand all this? That IвЂ™m not who you left behind. That IвЂ™m not the girl you never wanted in the first place. Would you want me now; Now that you have found your God and done your time? Beady, black eyes flash open. A convoluted world is seen, yet, left uninterpreted. With so many questions, where is truth? We drink up force-fed answers, like water we were told was wine. Pseudo-immorality, defined by disbelief and dissent Questioning authority becomes a necessity. Still, we march on, like sacrificial soldiers to the beat of a foreign drum. The hour grows late. We must all fully awake. For too long have we needed change. by Grayson Wilkins, W. Fulton, NY Dew of the morning Dew of the morning Collects yesterdayвЂ™s sorrows On a verdant perch by Abigail Emrey, Greensboro, NC LINK YOUR TEENINK.COM ACCOUNT TO FACEBOOK He drove us around like nothing was wrong. Keeping his head up every time so we wouldnвЂ™t See what was underneath. Days went by, we grew older. He was still alone, and still trying. A girl came into his life. None of us wanted to know. We wanted him to ourselves. She changed him into a person I had not seen in years. Grew to someone much bigger. Much stronger than before. They fell in love. by Jordan Lingle, Cannon Falls, MN The day Mom and I bought flat-bottom taco shells so all the filling wouldnвЂ™t spill out, Colby Kirkland told us that tomatoes were fruit instead of vegetables. Yeah, right. We called him a liar. We knew fruit was sweet and good and you didnвЂ™t put it in salad or on burgers or anything like that. Nobody took Colby Kirkland seriously, anyway. He was always saying how much he traveled the world and China and Italy and crap, and his name meant the stinky cheese Grandpa Davis always ate with a can of cold beer in front of the TV. When Mom and I watched horror movies in the den later and ate our tacos, I asked her if tomatoes were fruit, and she said they were. I sulked and ate my taco without any stupid fruit. We blindly stumble on, numb from overexposure. Feeling how вЂњtheyвЂќ want us to feel. by Madalyn Walker, Holliston, MA HeвЂ™s my hero. HeвЂ™s my best friend. Humanoid The Stew Tenants huddled in grim kitchens Widow churns thin stew Child voices pierce her melancholic shell. Man standing outside the glass Leans his head in to sniff. Days went by when he was all alone. Fighting to make us happy. Trying his hardest in everything he did. Sometimes nothing seemed right, but He did it over and over again until it was. tomatoes Humanity is sick, transforming into creatures of habit and undying loyalty. Individuality lost in translation. He looks up, listening to music Pour from an open window, Coating bricks as it falls. Heartbroken pianist Who should only play, But opens his mouth to sing. Finally it was over. Free from everything, Not having to worry about anything. Finally it was over. by Anonymous, Independence, OR by Emi Hasty, Catonsville, MD Tall man takes long strides Through the dark alley An empty leather suitcase Pressed against his worn suit. Fights all the time, never-ending it seemed. Screaming, Yelling, And throwing. by Mallory Skinner, Richmond, ON, Canada M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 37 I was raised by Long Distance Parenting Life lessons Punishments and consequences Gentle and understanding Always working вЂњIвЂ™ll always be here for youвЂќ Big Saturday morning breakfasts вЂњLook at me when IвЂ™m talkinвЂ™ to youвЂќ Hunting, fishing, camping, high school football, State champion swimmer My dad On my first day alone in this country, it was you who cried my tears came later, when it sank in that my self-imposed separation was permanent. Success lectures Stay focused and stay in school вЂњIвЂ™ll pay for anything athletic or educationalвЂќ Watch your mouth Respect your elders Do the right thing My grandfather Art by Marissa Neal, Wharton, TX What Mother Wanted Dear Mother, paint a portrait Reflect the child you have grown Nothing terribly fancy Just tarnished bones Take nothing for granted Professional rodeo Horseback riding вЂњLearn from your mistakesвЂќ вЂњNever give upвЂќ Singing Good times Old friends Home-cooked meals Family recipes My mom Dear Mother, paint a portrait Mirror the depth of this endless hole Not deep like an ocean ItвЂ™s deep like a soul Church on Sunday morning Thanks to Jesus Late-night prayers Bible summer camp Old white-haired women pinching my cheeks Christians Dear Mother, paint a portrait Recreate the eyes kissed with rain Wept upon by the underbelly of the sky The candy-coated pain Dear Mother, paint a portrait Mimic the breath between their lips Words caged, the song is hushed With bloody finger tips Dear Mother, paint a portrait Forge the person they should have been. Crack the skull, erase the sin and cut out The child buried within. Arguments Wrestling Snowball fights Snowboarding вЂњStay away from my sisterвЂќ Football games Dirt bikes Video games Getting lost in the woods Brothers by Julia Mihalich, Ravenna, OH hugged by walls Jogging in the rain Shopping Sleepovers Arm wrestling Volleyball Dreams Writing Talking on the phone вЂњYouвЂ™re my best friendвЂќ Sisters I was raised by family by Julia Plumer, St. Helens, OR In the Kitchen I pour myself some of my mother's iced tea, and it tastes like late July on the porch swing with you, stifling hot under the cool eaves, holding the sweating glasses as we prop our feet on the railing and let our words sweeten the tea. by Lydia Keener, Jamison, PA IвЂ™m being hugged by four walls Or better yet strangled They hold me hard and donвЂ™t let go I canвЂ™t find how to escape these prison walls The ones I constructed when my parents divorced I hold my head And scream вЂњHow this can be!вЂќ I canвЂ™t accept the fact there is no more family I cry while thinking this canвЂ™t be I miss those old melodies IвЂ™m being hugged by four walls That donвЂ™t let go I pull a frame of that summer The summer that is now dead In it, me and my fondest memories Mom, Dad and brothers all being hugged By the wind from the trees that hung I gasp, a tear falls fast I canвЂ™t recall that happy past I wish our family was like way back Together as one. But now we are so far apart That I feel our love wonвЂ™t last. Because of that divorce there is not a meaning for the word вЂњfamilyвЂќ anymore. IвЂ™m being hugged by four walls Instead of the four people who once meant my world. by Tania Cinco, Anaheim, CA 38 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў POETRY I missed you too much to comment on the criticism. Five minutes out of the airport: hug, kiss, and вЂњWhy is your coat dragging along the floor?вЂќ Back then it was playful threats of charm school, and nicknaming me вЂњGrace.вЂќ Then I turned 13. Things changed; I know they do for everyone. Shouting, on both sides, and tears. The criticism started to gouge holes in me, and I told you so. You said I was hurtful. Alone in my room, I cried. Not out of sadness. Because You were right, and I had been wrong. But, like most things, it was too hard to admit. I whined to my friends and you bought a book on How to deal with your angry teenaged daughter. I wondered why I bothered missing you, because seeing you was so hard. But I did miss you. Just like I had nine years old and scared in a big building filled with children who disliked me. Time changes everything even the fractious relationship between a mother and daughter. IвЂ™ve started to lean on you again. Sometimes you call even though thereвЂ™s nothing to say. There are fewer angry phone bills. Fewer fights. We live a cautious dance between too many open doors and too few. Six months ago, I found something that made me smile. That book you bought? You never even cracked the spine. by Aleka Gurel, High Wycombe, England Cruelty Laughing to the bitter wind You held my heart in your fist And squeezed the lifeblood out You drank it down with glee And your scarlet lips turned up Into a sneer of cruelty by Katherine McAuly, Birnamwood, WI MotherвЂ™s Heart Blue socks with yellow ducks. Orange bills black eyes. Fresh thread skirted across the gaps, closing the holes that my toes poked through. Pink hands hold a silver needle. A quick kiss a tender smile you gave. I said IвЂ™d just throw them away, but them you stitch anyways. Later my boots come off, feet slip out, duck socks, toes poke out. A motherвЂ™s heart will take her daughtersвЂ™ mend mend again. by Kaley Land, Chapin, SC Poem 1 My mom read too many neonatology textbooks while I floated in utero mourning the death of Cobain Newsted and Free Will. I emerged puffy-eyed, wrinkled, cynical wasnвЂ™t held up against the light. Or was that Walt DisneyвЂ™s fault? There was no soft flesh, no wallpaper just sanitized gloves disinfected floors disinfected mother She didnвЂ™t know. When she broke her foot I opened doors When she forgot her purse I ran back inside. So where did I go wrong? Did I trip over her frown? Did I stumble upon my future as I looked over my shoulder? by Savannah Steamer, Florence, SC My FatherвЂ™s Daughter He smokes He screams He yells I am my fatherвЂ™s daughter He ignores He lies He orders me around I am my fatherвЂ™s daughter He hurts I worry I care I am my fatherвЂ™s daughter I dream I think I try I am my fatherвЂ™s daughter I show He sees He doesnвЂ™t care I cannot be my fatherвЂ™s son I wonder And I wish IвЂ™m not my fatherвЂ™s daughter But I still love him. by Anonymous, Meridian, ID Beauty If I Were President My mother sinks when she gets disappointed. You can see her shoulders sag, her head gracefully bow, her eyes rest below their normal stance, from the harsh words, or sudden realizations that are presented to her. She shows everything she feels. My mother dances in the car, while singing with the wrong lyrics, and in a voice that I can only describe as my motherвЂ™s. She is a morning person, she actually jumps around the kitchen every morning, laughing about almost everything, and wondering audibly how any of us can stand ourselves at this time of day. Inside I beg her to stop, most of the time. Inside I plead with her, sending her messages loud and clear that she should keep all of this emotion to herself. But she shouldnвЂ™t. When we see movies together, sappy ones, my mother always cries. And if she is sitting next to me sheвЂ™ll grab my hand for a communal act of sadness. Thing is, IвЂ™m never crying when she does this, so I pull away. My mother has such a loud opinion about anything on the radio. She hates this song, she canвЂ™t believe what that guy said, she laughs with vibrant joy when a song comes on that she knew when she was my age. She wonders why I donвЂ™t sing along. Sometimes I just get mad at her, I snap. And then she sinks again into disappointment. Despite her vibrant extroversion, I received this blatant inability to express myself. Everything turns into frustration, or guilt, or annoyance. Even in this it all came out backwards. I only meant to call her beautiful. If I were president, I would write all of my own speeches. TheyвЂ™d be short and abridged, Reminding people of some greater cause somewhere in the world, And then IвЂ™d walk away from the podium and off the stage, Leaving the people wondering what I would do next. by Nicole Lucia, Haverhill, MA Lies I lie Always I donвЂ™t want to tell you ItвЂ™s like I canвЂ™t Even if I tried I just wouldnвЂ™t be able to find the words You hit me Fast and hard Like a train It was short and painful You were around But then you were gone ItвЂ™s like a car passing by ItвЂ™s there one second Gone the next YouвЂ™re not around anymore Feels like itвЂ™s been forever Please donвЂ™t ask whatвЂ™s wrong For I donвЂ™t know And if I did IвЂ™d lie. by Ashley Newcomb, Wilmington, DE The world would be resting on top of my fingertips. Small and fragile, as it is, And if I accidentally turned it upside down IвЂ™d watch the world crumble beneath me. Falling and breaking, Like wet sand As my empire grew and grew, And grew. But I would not do that. For my fingertips are just as fragile as the world, Just as soft and impressionable. And they too could be lost in a gust of wind. But there is something sacred, something righteous In the idea that everything you do will be debated By the small people in your hands who have split into groups And brew tea with your blood. Eventually, Burning marks into your pointer fingers So that even Uncle Sam canвЂ™t point at you any longer And tell you to join the war. His hands are so crippled. If I were president, Then people would crawl onto my palms and up my arms. TheyвЂ™d remind me that my power could only go so far And that my skinny fingers could only hold so much. TheyвЂ™d follow my veins like pathways and create new lifelines on my palms. TheyвЂ™d dance in my pools of tears. But I would grab two tambourines, one in each hand, And have them dance on the dancing disks instead, IвЂ™d watch them walk in circles, Around the looping prints on the pads of my fingers, Deconstructing my identity as they go, until IвЂ™ve lost myself. Because with a job as powerful as president You oftentimes forget who you are. And if I were president, IвЂ™d travel to other planets, And ask the stars if the world is dying If we will burn out eventually like them. And IвЂ™d debate the aliens about world trade and the souls we are forever indebted to. IвЂ™d say I could make a difference. But really all IвЂ™d do is paint the White House a different color Maybe IвЂ™d write a new Constitution, And transform the words Into iambic pentameter, And the amendments would be poetry And be printed on millions of sheets, Beautiful rhyme, So Far Gone Cast out to the growing cities Etched into every one of my joints. But one day, My wrists would grow tired, The world would have grown too heavy вЂ“ Too heavy to ever go back to being light. And my palms would drift downwards like ski slopes. The people would slide away and fall off the edges of my fingernails, Clutching, as if on the precipice of a cliff, But eventually dropping like drips Making textbooks soggy Blurring the ink, distorting the history, So that my reign of power would never be remembered, As it really was. Almost as if I had never been president. And then, I would watch the world lie Underneath the soles of my feet. And I would be forced to walk back and trace the pathways of my own veins Like water running through the drains and back to its source. by Alexa Cucopulos, Franklin Lakes, NJ Alone Pick your partners the teacher said. I groaned inwardly as everyone got to their feet. I stood there, like the eye of a storm. Unmoving. As the people rushed toward each other. Where is he now? How can this be? Everything was so good when I was about three. He came back years later. Then he left again soon. The one month I hate has to be June. All the laughs from happiness, fathers with sons. While I play at the park saying I donвЂ™t have one. Sometimes I just say I blame myself. IвЂ™m the real reason he packed up and left, She says itвЂ™s not my fault and that he loves you. No calls or gifts, kind of hard to believe itвЂ™s true. So far gone he left with no shame. I donвЂ™t think of it much so I start over like a game. Sometimes I wonder where he is. Probably back in St. Louis with some other kids. I smile and laugh when IвЂ™m asked for my dad. Even though he left it shouldnвЂ™t make me sad. IвЂ™m kind of confused. Why did he leave? Was it me, my mom, life wasnвЂ™t just an ease? We had problems but it all resolved into peace. So IвЂ™m left to say so far gone, where is he? by Mike Mullins, Houston, TX I shut my eyes to block them out It didnвЂ™t help. I could hear them giggling laughing holding hands together. But there I was standing there. All Alone. I bit my lip to keep from crying embarrassed to the core. They all turned to look at the teacher ready and attentive together. Photo by Michelle Trejo, Carbondale, KS A Box of Brushes and Paint I opened my eyes to glare determinedly at her, hoping half-heartedly, she would ignore me, and spare me the humiliation. Her eyes roved throughout the room and landed on me. I sighed, and my shoulders slumped. There I was again. The leftover person the scorned one the letвЂ™s-be-a-group-of-three-to-not-be-withher one. His story is tucked into the painting. His mind flickering As he dresses the canvas In French ultramarine And raw sienna. His eyes swimming in brush strokes, His lips cadmium red. He paints a ghost of an artist, Outfitted in colors. Bounded in the name of imitation. Again. His silent conversations Become models of concentration. Written in words, inventive, He continues to say the same thing. by Bekah Diamond-Bier, Durham, NH by Jessica Manafi, Lafayette, LA POETRY вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 39 Missing Love in Piano Keys Death breathed on you taking you from your Baby Girl taking you from the earth where you laughed taking you from the people who loved you taking you from Everything Dancing fingers across the ebony and snow-covered keys, The melody evaporates into the old worn couch Where I sit, admiring the beautiful sound. I slowly turn my head, glance out the window, Death swept its cloak of misery over everything important to you Baby Girl Wife family Everything But the sunlight guides me to your sparkling Gold eyes. The music conducts me to follow Your calloused hands, rapidly leaping to the Perfect chord. Our perfect chord. by Marley Mayer, Cannon Falls, MN Death interrupted your perfect life it stampeded into raising your family it crashed into your work it interrupted your life it ruined Everything Changing Birthday They told me the news today That if IвЂ™m lucky IвЂ™ll see my next birthday Death took its toll on Wife on Baby Girl on everyone whose life you touched on Everything They were sitting in the chair Crying tears without a care Of what the others thought ThatвЂ™s when I finally said Your death made me: Number 52. My basketball number. Your football number. Your death made me wonder Would have I been DaddyвЂ™s little princess? People say I look like you. I miss you. I turn 15 in two weeks I can make it this time Around They told us the same thing Last year But look where I am now by Anonymous, Oshkosh, WI Lost in Thought I am running and running All around me are black-and-white photos Images from the past I donвЂ™t know where I am. I think IвЂ™ve seen these images before Is that Nana? Is that my first car? Is that my sister? Is that my birthday party? Yes, and these are memories Why canвЂ™t I leave? Where is the marked exit? Why are these memories slipping away? Is it because I am old, ancient? My family has died, leaving me in the asylum Everyone, alive and dead, is waiting for me to die. I feel very alone Is it because I canвЂ™t remember my own name? Is that NanaвЂ™s photo or someone else? I knew a second ago It is all slipping away, and it is frustrating. Maybe it is AlzheimerвЂ™s Or IвЂ™m just lost in thought by Katie Davis, Ocala, FL Photo by Michaela Wheeler, Port Byron, IL 40 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў 10 months later IвЂ™m still here CryinвЂ™ tears without a care Of what the others think Trying to get my mind straight With the surprise I woke up to find. Wearing a cap every day People keep staring at the bald space Ignoring whispers I can hear Keeping my head held high I turn 16 in two months I can make it this time Around They told us the same thing Last year And look where I am now They told me this would be the Last time I saw them again My parents sitting in the chair CryinвЂ™ tears without a care Of what the others thought They were losing their baby girl A Conversation with Mom Once I asked my mother Am I ever good enough for you? And she replied Of course As long as youвЂ™re doing your best But you can always be better You know You can always be better But even if I scored a million goals Or ran the fastest time SheвЂ™d still shake her head And say You could have done better You know You could have done better Just look at the other girls They donвЂ™t cry after a game TheyвЂ™re always doing their best And thatвЂ™s why they beat you Every Single Time Because you could have done better You know You could have done better But Mom I wanted to say I donвЂ™t cry because IвЂ™m frustrated I cry because of you And because I know what youвЂ™ll say I canвЂ™t do any better Mom please I canвЂ™t do any better I think when I grow up I wonвЂ™t let my children play sports I donвЂ™t want them to feel like a failure Like how she made me feel I donвЂ™t want them to have to hear Grandma Tell them everything they did wrong I donвЂ™t want them to hear her say You could have done better You know You could have done better by Anonymous, LeeвЂ™s Summit, MO Horizon Nobody will ever tell me that I have your blue eyes The same color hair, or long legs and thin thighs Nobody will ever say that I вЂњgot it from youвЂќ They donвЂ™t have to lie; I know itвЂ™s not true But IвЂ™ll tell you a few things that people know about us You taught me to love, to be kind, and to trust We may not share genes, blood, or skin tone But I know for a fact, IвЂ™ll love you now, and when IвЂ™m grown So I may not have your eyes, your blood, or your skin But you are my mother, and you make my world spin The warm sun is burning the hate of the world to charred ashes that will float away in the torturous wind that wouldnвЂ™t let me stand. The sun hits and the red mercury rises. Cold frost slowly melts. As I stare into the blazing star my lifeвЂ™s kaleidoscope turns yellow shades and spherical shapes. There is only blue sky, no clouds in sight and the sunвЂ™s warmth on my bronze face. The gloom of night sets in the west. There is light in the east horizon with todayвЂ™s forecast, happiness. by Emily Watterson, Algonquin, IL by Kate Wyman, Oshkosh, WI by Elizabeth Erlanson, Cannon Falls, MN Stepmom POETRY Knives, Rocks, and Late-Night Infomercials Give me 12 more slashes To my face To my throat To my being Rip me up inside Break me Shatter me As if I were a windowpane Cut up what I am With your KitchenAid knife And fry my thoughts With insults With a tablespoon of hatred Pound me down To the floor With your fists DonвЂ™t break a nail Stand over me Tall as the Twin Towers And love me Like cream of wheat. by Gabriella Ciaccio, Bethlehem, PA Puzzle Pieces of Memories I hear kids talk in the hallway About their вЂњhorribleвЂќ mothers. And like I always do, I ask What is it like to have a mother? I wouldnвЂ™t know. Last I saw my mother, she was lying in a hospital bed, Pale, tired, weak and suffering. I can remember each night when it was time for bed She would kiss me three times and in between she would say вЂњPeace, love, happinessвЂќ I can remember she use to slide her hand In the direction my hair flowed to ease me. The rest is like puzzles. I remember her work clothes and some jewelry she wore, But I canвЂ™t remember that very important piece of the puzzle, Her face; her face is a blur in my eyes. Every time I try to dream, it pains me not to see her face, Her hopeful eyes and smile. Five years gone by, 15 now I still wonder why, I still wonder where she is, I still have hope of her coming back into my dreams, And I still wonder if thereвЂ™s a God. So every time I hear those kids talking in the hallway About their вЂњhorribleвЂќ mother, I stop and say I would trade you any day. by Mariah Boggs, Craig, CO The Once-SoQuiet Peace I am stuck in a box If I stay in my upstairs room With the ongoing flickering light Called my dreams, Only hope can fulfill The scribbles of my dreams My soul, Which was once Planted by the sun, Begins to fade into the shadows. It can no longer be Tasted by the sky or Heard by the grass or Relieved in the lakeвЂ™s forgiving waters. The forgotten truth Reveals that following the path, Which carries the sweet melody of acceptance, Is the true exit to individuality. Leaving the building behind to diminish in the tranquil fire Only corrupts the Quiet opinion that sparks my flames of achievement, Only breaks the once-so-quiet peace. by Stephanie Thomas, Pompton Plains, NJ Can You See Me, Dad? Dad, could you see me when I ran Could you see me when I jumped? Did you see me when I shot that buck? Did you see me when I did the back flip? Dad, did you see me get into a fight Could you see me cry night after night? Did you see me when I got jumped? Dad, did you see me when I did drugs to hide the pain Dad, did you see me when I robbed that house Dad, did you see me when the drug dealer shot me Did you see me, Dad, did you or did you even look? Of course not, your eyes were closed or you were gone Why didnвЂ™t you see me, Dad Why werenвЂ™t you watching me, Dad What happened I thought that you would match me, Dad I thought that you loved me, Dad, I thought you cared Why wonвЂ™t you watch me now, why? Dad, quit closing your eyes ArenвЂ™t you going to watch me now? by Daniel Shinost, Worland, WY Somedays I like to, I Magine somedays your, treasure, chest against the seas. of mine, with your sea legs and feeling mine and your fishermenвЂ™s hands against mine, soft. watching the waves on the sand of peace. by Lindsay Reed, Wilmington, DE Quake They See In Conclusion They were the Perfect People Smart, funny, brave, nice They see books Learning and smarts They see intelligence Careers in the future I. Closure is something I stopped looking for years ago. IвЂ™m accepting this as it is: a door mercilessly slamming on my fingers every time I try to reach through it only to open again once IвЂ™ve taken a step back. They were the Perfect People To seek out for advice. They were the Perfect People Had the largest shoulders to cry on They were the Perfect People Who you could rely on. No one thought their lives could quake Their dreams could crumble Their hearts could break. They see friends Social interactions They see appearances And a new grant I see an iron cage Locked doors and few windows I see useless information Forced into our brains YouвЂ™re always smiling at me inches from the door frame. So before the Perfect People Truly meet their end Make sure youвЂ™ve set in stone That you are THEIR friend. I see who my peers are Through their facades And I watch The school collapse around us. II. Repair is just another failed attempt between us. Look at us now: Once a beautiful vase shattered by careless hands and repaired by apathetic hearts so many times that weвЂ™ve become more glue than glass. by Molly Burgstahler, Sandpoint, ID Smashed like my fingers and, I suspect, your will. by Alexis Becker, St. Louis, MO My Lame Life No one thought they could fall when they did We should have glanced twice Should have looked under the lid. But now the Perfect People Are fallen and gone. They got their fate From when we were wrong. Falling into Fossils Parachuting from the sky, funneling downward, falling, falling, falling back into you and the fossils between us. Unearthing the half-buried bones from the dust and the dirt we reluctantly showered over them. Polish and shine them up, pretend like nothing happened. The glory of the bones is now dimmed. Shining white brilliance reduced to a duller color. Either from my nervousness, your brief moment of panic, or the amount of time the fossils spent in the earth wondering what would become of them. Trapped in the dust lingering, waiting. I see fools getting by Knowing what test makers want to hear I see people Endless debates and yelling III. Forgiveness is the only outcome left in our reach. Picture it: Together really no better and no worse but individually you could rebuild your will and I could, maybe, stop reaching through that damn door. I am from my dadвЂ™s machismo when he is drunk. I am from my mom talking about God. I am from my sisterвЂ™s crying when her ex beats her. I am from my brotherвЂ™s joining a gang It would be like letting go of an era that slipped past us long ago. I am from my momвЂ™s beans and rice. I am from my brotherвЂ™s fights In the street. I am from nickel bags and many Hot loaded guns. I am from my brotherвЂ™s getting High in the apartment IV. Every era has its end. We just need to find ours. by Breanna Bowers, Burlington, KS I am from my brother beating My вЂњdrunk-ass dad.вЂќ I am from my brother Getting shot. I am from my momвЂ™s tears. Fear The beast roars and tears through the house, roaming from room to room. Not a corner is spared from its unearthly growl. Its malice-filled eyes glow in determined pursuit of its next meal. I seek refuge in my room but hear the thing draw ever closer. Terror freezes my limbs. My thoughts churn вЂ“ I havenвЂ™t seen Paris! I havenвЂ™t gotten my driverвЂ™s license! I havenвЂ™t ridden in the Oscar Meyer Weiner Mobile! But then I hear a whir and the ominous snarling fades. I peek out just in time to see Mom store the vacuum away. by Anonymous, Houston, TX I tried saving them alone, digging through miles of stone, but I canвЂ™t have them. Not without you. You came to me and now weвЂ™re back to the start again, just like when the fossils made their first imprint against the earth. Now all I want is to stay falling, into you, into us and not have to buy any more fossils that I want to keep. by Maggie Duncan, Rolla, MO by Sara Brewer, Oshkosh, WI Art by Nicholas Ozemba, Dobbs Ferry, NY POETRY вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 41 DonвЂ™t Say Good-Bye Love One Last Night We see growing up every day. We lose, we shed our old skins of innocence, and quickly, too quickly, we see reality. Say good-bye softly. My legs pumping trying to keep up with the one ahead, the one I desire, for nothing. Cramps stab my sides like a knife with no mercy, but the drive to win is so impeccably strong, I raise my knees in an effort to lengthen my strides. One last night before we remember what revenge is and use it to our greatest advantage Yet we are still children just better at pretending, We lose, We shed our untainted dreams, our friendship with time, our faith, quickly, too quickly, we see reality. I race down the track of ignorance and bliss, вЂњNothing could go wrong!вЂќ I tell myself. Mere wish. I brace myself for the first hurdle, jump to clear it, and miss. The plastic cracks and the hurdle tumbles over. My shins splinter from the force of the fall. HeвЂ™s ahead of me; set to pass the baton, heвЂ™s moving on to the net, fake baked, bleach blond, but IвЂ™m still running, no one to pass my baton to. legs like lead, each step smashes the blackened track. вЂњPer sempre e sempre,вЂќ he reassures you. Lies. It is impossible to catch up in our shell. From love everything to love one thing вЂ¦ We lose, we shed too much. Maturing is quick, a swift snatch. We see reality. Spikes stabbing into the ground propelling myself forward, through the shin splints of a forgotten birthday, through the cramps of a cheater, through the lead legs of a liar. My legs keep going, but my heart stops racing. Please donвЂ™t say good-bye. DonвЂ™t say good-bye. Say good-bye gently by Cierra Meckelberg, Oshkosh, WI Dangerous Curiosity by Karen Lai, Lake Zurich, IL I publicly have always existed as a quiet being I secretly am always loaded with curiosity A Lovely War The apocalypse has come You can see it all around us In the stars In the animals In your eyes. I just want to know what happens Far too many suffer phobia of the topic IвЂ™m curious why The aftermath is nothing more Than a pile of rubble, debris and dead bodies. I just wanted to know what happens Now they will make the first major move вЂ¦ Is it true that the soul leaves the body Flying, peering out Hidden, lonely, no one could ever know the secrets the ways in which God works, his often questioned magic As the bombs fall around us, The government regrets its actions. But there is a calm peace that is noticed, In no place but each otherвЂ™s eyes. I just wanted to know what happens Started, carrying lack of knowledge on the consequences We sit, Hand in hand, Staring into the brown eyes of the other person. Waiting for our time to come Together, As one. We started breathing casually вЂ“ as this was a casual event Not my own vendetta, But those of the enemies of our land. They felt threatened by The actions of our country. After As we walked stumbled took appreciation in every gasp for air we tried for. We felt a new sense, one of a new light by Jake Rothman, Pompton Plains, NJ I just wanted to know what happened by Rebecca Gesme, Cannon Falls, MN 42 Teen Ink вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў POETRY One last night before we recognize the fact that our best friendвЂ™s parents found popcorn all over their roof. One last glorious, insane, bitter night to wear plaid and lie and pretend this game of hide and seek will end (in me seeing you for all that you are, and not all that youвЂ™ll never be.) One last night to ignore the growling signs that you are spiraling horribly out of control and canвЂ™t help but get ridiculously angry when your sister drops needles on the bathroom floor and forgets to replace the last roll of toilet paper. My dear, utilize this one last night because if you keep traveling in this direction, it truly will be your last night and your best friend wonвЂ™t miss you nearly as much as you would like. One last night to make sure you get that nagging question off your chest because it will all feel so much better if you donвЂ™t recall asking it. (I am the question and you are the answer) So, dear, wait for the very last moment and straighten the collar on your red plaid shirt (which doesnвЂ™t really matter because I cannot answer your questions at this time) and crawl under the covers with your party makeup carefully washed off so you can wake up with a fresh face and pretend that your happy little ending still makes an ounce of (IвЂ™ll settle with a D on that pop quiz anyway because because I havenвЂ™t been reading the textbook lately and all those jumbled paragraphs just donвЂ™t make) sense. (sense.) by Lauren Scheck, Wyckoff, NJ From Where I Sleep Tonight Your love was a summer love вЂ“ that morphed into real love, and grew roots stronger and winding like the biggest of trees with dirt on my knees, I climbed, and climbed to the place where the sky grew infinitely small and where the greenest of leaves looked beautifully tall I was a child when we first scraped our legs from the bushes and fell out of touch with the rise of the moon we were always late вЂ“ it was always so dark my sky stays light and dreary and IвЂ™m bending and breaking to find you near me will I find you near me? The moon is so scary, the moon is so lonely it is so bright from where I sleep tonight by Hannah Pelletier, Kittery Point, ME Broken Keys A sea of broken keys, missing chords and leaking dreams. ItвЂ™s a bittersweet wave; a salty sea and golden beams. Piano strewn across the shore with the sand between its toes; the sweet sea beating its keys into the most beautiful prose. The salty tears leak onto its ivory bleeding sorrow, faith and music to be вЂ“ reflected in its glass вЂ“ a wistful moment waits to pass. Suddenly, the sea disappears: taking its tears and thousand steady beats, leaving me lonely in my own living room. A single piano stands alone, perched on my carpet, lace upon its top, waiting for me to sit down and play its beautiful melodies. But all I have is a bunch of sheets and bars; a jumbled mess of notes at best. A gorgeous piano with nothing to play, while I sit jealous of a broken sea, far, far away вЂ¦ by Alexandra Levy, Wyckoff, NJ WriterвЂ™s Block Words in my head flow like milk into a cereal bowl but my luck charms give my thoughts sugar rush and they just spin like a spider weaving a web and now my words just tangle by Erin McGuire, Woodbridge, VA Art by Sarah Mongie, Kaysville, UT What I Know Sensible Tea Old Oak Tree It is at that point when legions of goose bumps roar out along my arms At that point when I feel my lungs inflate In a gasp of wonder At that point when my thoughts bend in ways IвЂ™ve never imagined At that point of sudden And blazing light That I know IвЂ™ve known a Poet. I was at an inn If those still exist Over a cup of fresh brewed Day-old gray tea In the middle of the room Next to the window Where the noontime stars Were shining like never as usual And the man with the masks Came to barter his latest Long ago sold-out merchandise Masks for every occasion However you need to appear ItвЂ™s easy and cheap, Expensive and complicated So buy all the lies That I hold in my pocket, He says in that lucid voice So obscure in my ear And I scrunch into the bench Greedy breath and mellow sighs Hot on my neck No thanks, IвЂ™ve my own. He left without a word and loud protestations And the inn quieted down to its usual noise Later in the privacy of my room Of disgusting publicity I laid out my masks In an organized mess Of very neat labels The passing cloud told me Too many, too much A mask for every occasion Is no occasion without mask And no mirrors happened to walk by When I mustered to look in my reflection but IвЂ™m just sipping my fresh brewed day-old sensible tea. A dazzling flash of bright lightning. a deafening crash of thunder, as an old oak tree, sways in the fierce wind. Droplets of rain soaking anything they can get their hands on. My father drives, faster and faster, begging to get out of the violent storm. The streets beginning to flood, and the large tree still threatens to fall, looming over to saturated grass. Finally, the decrepit tree snaps, falling onto the emerald green van, crushing him, inches in front of my face. Someone screams. I realize itвЂ™s me. Terrified and alone, the car wrapped in a fiery glow, the crash of a window being shattered fills my ears. Someone found me, and saved my four-year-old life. Sirens in the background, red and blue lights flashing all around. Paramedics, firemen, policemen surrounding me, I only want my dad. But it doesnвЂ™t matter that I want him, because heвЂ™s gone. Taken by an old oak tree. by Jenica Jessen, Riverton, UT My Life: Now on Display My life was never known Previously unprecedented Until I met my best friend A little boy named Ernest Who slept under my bed Who ate under my table Who studied under my desk Ernest followed me around Recording my life And all of its dull moments He was there when I won He was there when the car hit He was there for the fun He was there when my world split. Ernest wrote a great story With no exaggeration or elaboration Just me, On paper We stood on the streets Passing out fliers to pedestrians A few took them and threw them away Others took them and praised me Soon reporters came with their tablets And TV stations came with their cameras We ran Back into the depths of my mind The only place where we could hide People would know People would holler But Ernest and I never breathed a word Now my sad story continues Still unprecedented by Beth Berendzen, Manchester, MO One of Many Playful spring winds tango with an oak tree. Each consecutive leaf alike joins in. From a third party, they all seem to be Following sweet patterns of dips and spins, One paranoid leaf, a few weeks past bud, Defies the swift harmony by freezing, No difference created in one applaud, Fears of missteps are overpowering. Sun shines on then colors start to spin вЂ™round The leaf canвЂ™t brag about setting a smile. Leaves embrace their final dance to the ground, And our leafвЂ™s feelings have been put on trial. Clings to the branch and exiting spotlight Tangos to the fall wind in third partyвЂ™s sight. by Nicole Carmichael, Pompton Plains, NJ by Arina Bykadorova, Brooklyn, NY Reflect I thought I could steal her away from Roselia I found myself drifting on the fringes of insanity A madness that consumed me whole I couldnвЂ™t forgive what I had done Left myself so open to a ceaseless barrage of emotion Filling my crowded heart. Leaking through permeated valves A trail led back to hollowed-out eyes Staring into the vast mirror that held no warmth It wouldnвЂ™t lie to you. Hold you close. Show you your good side. It didnвЂ™t care. It was using you. To fulfill its own need to be satisfied. Since it had no entity It fed off of the reflections. The reflections of pain, vanity Hopelessness, Disgust Joy, Ecstasy, Lust Whatever it came across It was a Gluttonous mirror Showing you everything you need. You despise. It was easier. In your shell. By Anthony Barnett, Raleigh, NC Photo by Hannah Berkman, Los Angeles, CA My Mom The anger burns my lungs like a cigarette. I want to scream so loud that my voice is lost in the silence of your shock. You donвЂ™t listen because you donвЂ™t understand. You are selfish and wrapped up like a cocoon in you own problems. Everything I do is a disappointment. I am just another smudge in your life; something to cleaned, polished, and wiped away. I am not perfect and I will never pretend to be. The ink in my skin makes you burn with embarrassment. How could your daughter do this? You can no longer claim me beautiful, wonderful, perfect, because you are ashamed. Your inability to understand anyone but those who resemble you makes you bitter and judgmental. The wrinkles that now begin to crease your face will be blamed on me. The idea that I live my life to the fullest and try to enjoy my time on this earth is incomprehensible to you. I hate to be alone but you make me hate your presence. You claim I am lazy and unhelpful when I have been the single force holding your life together. You may not realize it yet but without me, you would have crumbled like a wall deteriorating after centuries of wear. So when I leave to get on with my life, what will you do? Where will you be? For I know I am strong enough to be on my own, but are you? Take a moment and think about that before I exit your world forever, without a single backwards glance. by Anonymous, River Forest, IL The Politician He comes and goes leaving tightly clenched fists and picket signs in his wake Change is in his footsteps a change that rattles with the echo of one (million) shouting voices and a gunвЂ™s report His eyes speak of Time lost and returned By Megan Leonard, Oshkosh, WI There They Sit There they sit. Like human books. Old, dusty, and forgotten. There they wait to tell their stories. They want no more than we want. Someone to listen, someone to care; Just someone to let them know that theyвЂ™re not forgotten. Someone to share their stories with. The nursing home their library, There they sit. by Sarah Reeder, Springboro, OH Grown Once the dream of many is now the thought of few who wanted color in the summer or to live a long life or to touch the sky. They now cut, crack, bind, die. Their roots upturned, their hopes in vain, they cry at the feet of an unknown man. by Anna Griffith, Pompton Plains, NJ He has come to save the world. by Claire Dockery, Park Ridge, IL POETRY вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 43 I wish I could say Hi Hello? Do you Even Know My name, Dad? Because You never use it To tuck Me in To greet Me in The morning, To tell me You love me. And IвЂ™ve got this Urge, To scream! To let You know That IвЂ™m Still here, No matter How much You hate That I am. Writing in Times New Roman House and a Robber Writing in Times New Roman Trying to capture the angst of life, With all the hatred and strife Writing in Times New Roman Everyone these days has something to be sad about Everyone these days has something to cry about But I am writing in Times New Roman With my stepmother talking bad about my mother again, She wonвЂ™t stop although itвЂ™s a quarter to ten. Still writing in Times New Roman On the outside I am happy almost always always skipping down hallways Writing in Times New Roman But on the inside I am confused вЂ¦ Why does Dad just sit there and let it happen? Why does she hate me so much? Why does Dad seem relaxed when sheвЂ™s gone? ThatвЂ™s why I write in Times New Roman I sit at the computer for hours typing out the life of me ItвЂ™s my way of relieving stress Typing in Times New Roman I talk to people daily about their problems To see if I can offer advice Times New roman I enjoy life I have to If I didnвЂ™t, My eyes light up in the darkest of nights. I hear noises throughout my body, Cracking and gurgling at the quietest times I listen and stop, my dark tan body whistling through the window. Cars honk as they go by; I donвЂ™t wave. IвЂ™m the only one here, nobody else is around. My body lights up like a great idea. I search for expensive jewels; I feel the breeze go through my body once again, knowing I slipped away and nobody but I will know. If I didnвЂ™t I donвЂ™t think there would be a point to it. I write in Times New Roman to show myself the truth. I donвЂ™t like fancy fonts, they hide the truth. In a world full of deceptions and untruths, I have to prove to myself that I know something is true The truth is blunt, and so is Times New Roman ThatвЂ™s why I write in Times New Roman. To you I donвЂ™t Exist Anymore. All thatвЂ™s left, Is you, And your happy little Family Of four. My eyes are burning by Anais Donald, Keller, TX With disappointment and loneliness Because I know The Inseparable No matter what they tell me, I will never be Will you be вЂ¦ The one who tapes me back up? The one who will dry the last tears that leak? вЂњBeautifulвЂќ In your eyes. by Anonymous, Stanton, MI Panera Bread The thick orange liquid gets poured into the glass white bowl. Tons of extra squares are thrown in for flavor. ItвЂ™s rested to cool on a tray next to a brown eco-friendly napkin with a silver spoon. There it waits for me. My name is then called and I pick up my heaven and take it to my seat. The aroma of sweet, creamy tomato dances into my nose killing me effortlessly with the temptation for the taste. But, from making my mistake in the past, IвЂ™m wise enough not to burn my tongue. So I wait вЂ¦ and wait. After I wait several endless minutes I take my first sip and smile with satisfaction. The delicious creamy tomato soup gives my taste buds the enjoyment they have been craving. I go down for another mouthful only to find the bowl empty. by Kamryn Schilling, Wyckoff, NJ Dawn Is Bittersweet dawn is bittersweet a beginning and an end missing stars welcoming sunlight an awakening a blessing breathe it in drink it in before you know it it will be gone Teen Ink вЂў POETRY My BFF Jill вЂњbrb, ill txt you when im done wit supper =)вЂќ вЂњJennifer!! No phones at the table! WeвЂ™re eating dinner!вЂќ by Jennifer Omelas, Houston, TX вЂў by Alec Milton, Coral Gables, FL Peeking out of the corner of my eye, I manage to thumb a few words. Can we be вЂ¦ The inseparable, even if that means suffering together forever. M AY вЂ™ 1 1 Knowledge can lead to madness. Its pursuit can drive those who seek it to lunacy. That madness turns to chaos. Einstein sought knowledge and delved deep in order to uncover the secrets of quantum physics. He may have gained the knowledge, but traded his social aptitude and bordered on madness. Some say that Einstein could not find his way home after a day in the lab. Knowledge leads to madness, and chaos is the result. вЂњHey gurl :D, wanna come 2 my house 2nite?вЂќ Will I be вЂ¦ The girl who you are with forever, even if forever is so short? Yeah вЂ¦ yeah вЂ¦ whatever. Good luck getting a teenager like me to put their phone away. Photo by Claudia Mavis, Nogales, AZ 44 Knowledge Leads to Chaos SecretlyвЂ¦ sneakilyвЂ¦ and without being noticed, there is time to slip a quick look. Can we be вЂ¦ The couple whom everybody will envy, even if we arenвЂ™t perfect? by Angalic Herd, Anchor Point, AK by Kayla Shaver, Wyckoff, NJ But right now itвЂ™s dinner time, and parents donвЂ™t like phones at the table. Will I be вЂ¦ The girl who no matter what happens, you will never forget? by Anonymous, Tenafly, NJ Pitter patter Bloop blop Crack pow Drip drop No matter how it drizzles and pours and thunders out there One thingвЂ™s for sure, The rain doesnвЂ™t care. The rain doesnвЂ™t care about our new suede shoes Our styled hair Our daily jog Our annual fair. The rain drops slush and splash through our minds Poking Jabbing Snickering Like a little brother stuck on rewind. It rains on the sidewalks It rains on the gardens It rains on the beanstalks It rains on my mood. CвЂ™mon rain, you are just plain rude. Please, rain just go away And donвЂ™t bother coming back the next day. Ring-a-ling!! OMG I just got a txt from my BFF Jill! Will you be вЂ¦ There unconditionally, without question? The one who comes to me without reason? I am the problem child. I am invisible girl. Raining on My Mood by Anonymous, Cannon Falls, MN Five Thousand Years High School Photo by Rebecca Bornstein, Oklahoma City, OK Like Lightning I sought your heart in the darkness and finding nothing was content with your lips, your hands hushed phone calls in the young hours of morning. I could spend five thousand years in this hotel room tonight if you asked me to listening to the shower running television rumbling behind my head automobiles on the freeway pool light across the ceiling thinking, breathing, feeling memorizing your face with my fingernails I can touch your mouth and catch your breath in my chest when you exhale I could spend five thousand years in this hotel room tonight just ask me to by Alexis Altman, Bear Creek, NC Life as Movement I was the thunder but you could always argue who was first to fall. muscle movement upon muscle movements evidence of the life still pumping through these veins of the rhythm still heard, the universal beat heard by all with a heart I jump and run with wild abandon a validation of existence, a realization of living Sharks have it down pat вЂ¦ immobilization is dying, paralysis-death. Let all that retain muscles of manageable limberness, Rejoice! Let all hear the joy of life in your skipping, in your crouching, in your pirouettes by Isabel Henderson, Bedminster, NJ by David Hamatake, Chapel Hill, NC Bedlam Abyss Everything Will Work Out You turned from friend to lover to well, what are we now? Try to keep pace as I watch the scars form. They spread across your heart like lightning white and deep and cracking. Life is an ocean, and we are swallowed in the wake of others. The salty taste sticking to our tongues. The sound of a gunshot bitter to my tastes, as I found it was fired by Bart Michaels My friend, in front of the Dugout in Omro, the victim? Himself. Loss is not so much an ocean but a dead sea. Where the salt is thick and life is impossible You are engulfed in a sorrowful abyss. ItвЂ™s daft how people find a way to blame you for all that goes wrong, it sickens me The taste of despair scarring my tongue. I find IвЂ™m too lost to ask for directions so I just keep wading through the dark unfamiliar trenches where the thing I fear most is myself. The golden sunlight casting a depressing hue, as to reveal the bland world below. Koibito stares into the empty horizon his heart sinks all hope seems lost the skyline drifts away he will never reach his star. The water will turn to ash in our mouths we will know we are lost. The ignorant Wiseman will hold no more answers I have painted the world red with my hatred. by Phillip Koeshall, Oshkosh, WI Everything will work out I know Because it has I need to remember the highs When IвЂ™m in the lows And forget the odious mash Of feelings And wants And dreams And hurts Just let it pass by Like the clouds and the sky Pain has a beauty And life has an end But joy is so much more wonderful When you know itвЂ™s the beginning of something lovely and unplanned 3/20/09 She leans against the bathroom wall A Sharpie-marked legacy in the stall She doesnвЂ™t bother to brush away the tears that fall To the red plastic cup, he puts his lips The smell is odd, and the taste bitter, Yet he still takes a sip The party is too crowded, the music too loud But a small price he must pay, to remain with this crowd She gathers her books Forgetting how much they weigh Five tests and a quiz, all in one day A yawn overcomes her, without any warning Fell asleep on her binder, at three in the morning She heads down to guidance, To solve application strife But will college credits get her a life? He looks at him And his heart skips a beat Their fingers intertwine But they must be discreet Would the rainbow pin on his shoulder, Make him feel bolder, And allow their lips to meet? They say that high school Is the best four years of your life But it takes the world you once knew Cuts it with a knife He said, she said The pressure builds up President, Geek, Jock, Druggie, Freak The teachers read straight out of the book People talk, people hear DonвЂ™t want to see when they look Tears fall The truth is released People stand, people care The grade comes back And the red pen is there She was right, he was wrong Like the lyrics to that song The conscience that I used to know Lurks behind, in the shadows We forget who we are And the choices that we make Some give up, some go far ItвЂ™s the path that you take Some get another chance, another shot ItвЂ™s the only hope weвЂ™ve got Find light in the hall, or the senior parking lot ItвЂ™s rare And No one said it was fair. by Rebecca Ruhm, Racine, WI by Sam Daniels, Syosset, NY Futileness Heart I look around me Gaze falls upon them, Hand in hand they walk The people I love. A certain longing, Tugs at my heart. For something I Could not, should not Have But tragically, I Want. How do you mend a broken heart? Tape wouldnвЂ™t hold through the skipping beats. Could you use glue to keep it from falling apart? Or some string to hold it in one piece? Ribbon would make it look brand new. But can beauty keep the pain from showing? There is needle and thread, what would that do? Would a band-aid keep my feelings from flowing? by Mollie Merino, Littleton, CO by Kaitlyn Blanch, Laurel, MD Footsteps all around me I am petrified Wafts of pepperoni Sometimes a delight But smell to me like burnt toast Friends laugh together I keep a straight face Curled out of sight and mind Inside my favorite wooden place Hidden from the class In the podium Holding that frigid book That keeps me nearly sane My mouth is dry like the desert sand No desire to eat Fighting back tears Nobody notices me As the movie plays on Alone With people all around me Arms around my knees Anxiety And unpredictability Bounce inside my head Bell is supposed to free us But it doesnвЂ™t help me The day of my sisterвЂ™s surgery by Emily Dana, Wilmette, IL Fade Away My mother mixed up a bit of sugar and spice And gave out four white blossoms, The flowers of her bouquet. Day by day, Her hair lost strength and collapsed on the cold plain tile On a rainy day, In the month of May. She consumed the sunlight during photosynthesis, During the times of struggle against that sick disease That keeps eating her soul away, And covered the black worms with the crunch of leaves In October. The shutter sound echoes A flash of blue light that illuminates her smile away, And a tune for motherвЂ™s day. I sang to her while holding a Hallmark card in my hands, Her tears said more than her words. She absorbs the glucose from all her loved ones, Creating a halo on the pedals lying beside her bed. But her roots will continue to expand вЂ™til the blue light Begins to fade away. by Alicia Montesinos, Wheeling, IL Just Because Just because she doesnвЂ™t cry, She doesnвЂ™t scream, She doesnвЂ™t break. Just because she only smiles, Only laughs, Only shines. And just because she comes out strong, That doesnвЂ™t mean thereвЂ™s nothing wrong. by Allison Asghar, Brooklyn, NY POETRY вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 45 Stubborn Bastard I was born a stubborn bastard with a big head, reluctant to join the world. My mother, more delirious with each diminishing pint of blood. and my leery father, about to lose his lunch. the silence of flowers Morning, Afternoon, Shattered Into Invisible Pieces and Night this one here is slightly wilted, The prize of morning The light that shines from heaven Sky opening out The creation of today Heals the soul and heart within. is drooping drunkenly and dying from the center to the petal tips in varying degrees вЂ“ here a perfect petal clashing reluctantly As a toddler, my adventures were endless, from literally rocking to Simon and Garfunkel, to slamming myself into furnishings of the house. The intricate forts made from chairs and blankets, were my second home. I loved to go fast, I learned to ski at a very young age. With each freezing fall and tumultuous tumble, I kept on going My bicycle accompanied me during warmer seasons, its mileage surpassing my parentsвЂ™ Volkswagen. with a browning one and throwing the bouquetвЂ™s color scheme off, and now you take it and throw the flower away because pretty sells (out), and replace it with a fresh flower that smells sweet and (in the snow) it attracts the eye and looks happy, but (it cries) in awful silence. I was very active during my young years, No one could free me from the ever-enchanting depths of the pool I was always glued to the baseball field and the bowling alley. Even the grating game of golf gained my interest. I have always been blessed with great health. The only hospital visits were for broken bones, always trying to go faster and higher than before. Today I am bound to minor allergies and a flip-top box of Marlboros. Now I am an adult, my interests have changed; I pride myself in personal responsibility and my own potential, instead of relying on others I have grown spiritually, and often ponder politics. My vehicles replaced the video games, collecting dust in my closet. by Austin Black, Murfreesboro, TN (xo)2 Gossiping you plus me minus everything in my daydreams divided by all the other people (multiplied by me over-analyzing all of your smiles and the square root of why you donвЂ™t give me a sine or even a cosine) added to me laughing too loudly at your jokes over the variable her equals a whole lot of confusion Gossip bounces off the walls, hits the lockers, And shows up in the mouths of girls once again. Whispers, oh so soft, were still loud enough to make my ears ring. Walking to class seemed like a never-ending race surrounded By pointing fingers and evil glares. Maybe high school isnвЂ™t as great as it seemed in September 15 Minutes I saw a commercial on the TV. For вЂњCar InsuranceвЂќ the gecko said to me. He assured me there was nothing to it. ItвЂ™s so easy a caveman can do it! It was easy! Not how other insurances are just a big Riddle. Did I save money? Can Charlie Daniels play a mean fiddle? BAM! I crashed, crippling two cars. Like when Elmer Fudd has trouble saying his вЂњRвЂ™s.вЂќ They fixed up my car, now IвЂ™m roaming free! I always feel like somebodyвЂ™s watching me. Now I drive with full reassurance. 15 minutes saved me 15% and more on car insurance. by Jon Kaul, Oshkosh, WI Night The burden of night The destruction of the day Mysterious clouds Leading to another hour Still fills tomorrow with hope. by Clarissa Gartner, Worcester, MA by Isabella Bartels, Staten Island, NY I learned through all my experiences that I am happy with myself, and content with my life. With each struggle IвЂ™ve overcome, IвЂ™ve grown and become a better person, and I attempt to better myself in all my endeavors, despite being a conservative Christian, in other words, a stubborn bastard. Afternoon Outstretched afternoon Becoming forever young Never-ending sun The panorama of now Is weightless and innocent. by Cara, Nyack, NY Inhale Oh, the smell of your skin, how it reminded me of just-dried laundry freshly dancing in the summer breeze. In winter, I would catch you straight from my dryer and rush my toasty shirts right up to the nose, loving the subtle pulse of heat on my skin. Alas! How I wished you were always there with me! Though now, it only rains. The sheets droop in sorrow on the line, as mold infests their insides. The dryer has combusted from overuse and abuse. My dress lies in a messy, wet ball on the tile floor. The detergent isnвЂ™t on sale, anyway. It probably never will be again. by Katie Uihlein, Wexford, PA M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў POETRY Every word out of your mouths Causes the holes to swell Filling more and more of me with empty but painful space Even when you talk to me, Saying IвЂ™m glad youвЂ™re not like him Meaning it as a compliment, It hurts as the holes expand You say please donвЂ™t be like that when you grow up You say you canвЂ™t take it You say youвЂ™ll just be happy when I grow up Are you happy now? IвЂ™ve finally grown up And IвЂ™m not like that IвЂ™m not fighting back Or rebelling IвЂ™m staying silent IвЂ™m trying not to cry out And show you the pain IвЂ™ve kept locked away I hope you can take it Because I canвЂ™t much longer IвЂ™ve finally matured My vision of my perfect family Has finally shattered by Danielle Williams, New Bern, NC In the Future In the Future If I cut myself open, Would there be wires Instead of veins? Oil Instead of blood? In the future, Would my heart be a battery, Instead of a heart? Beeping by Sage Nichols, McVille, ND Art by Taylor Slagel, Abingdon, IL Teen Ink вЂў You think because IвЂ™m not the one your shouts are aimed at That IвЂ™m not harmed But I am hurting IвЂ™m being ripped apart inside Into three parts One part of me for each of you They were once joined together But now I canвЂ™t even force them together I canвЂ™t sew up the holes forming between them Not even with my strings of tears and pleas In the future, If I cut myself open, Would there be pipes Instead of bones? A memory chip Instead of a brain? by Anonymous, Hong Kong 46 Please stop fighting Please, please, please, please stop Just stop Please just get along Remember me? You all said you loved me, prove it Please stop it for me Technicolor (RoseвЂ™s Place) A Clumsy Childhood I think I fell,вЂќ before the tears started to rain. How often do rain clouds rip apart? Well, when they do, WeвЂ™ll go there and build a taco hut And fill it with music and newspaper clippings. And if we feel like it, we can make The weather spicy like jalapenos, Or docile like sea cucumbers. When you get tired, IвЂ™ll pull out The cotton candy. When I feel like dancing, youвЂ™ll open The checker board And lace up my spiky ballet shoes. Rubbing alcohol wonвЂ™t sting our eyes, And when I give you my heart, YouвЂ™ll give me A brownie sundae and the remote control. Our neighbors will let us ride Their elephant to the fruit and vegetable aisle. When we finish jumping on the Jell-O trampolines, We can catch the late show of fireworks And the new zombie movie. And death will be a party And all the sea gulls will be invited. Our tears wonвЂ™t last long, Just like on an Etch-A-Sketch, Or a watercolor canvas, Or glitter eyeliner. Someday the rain clouds will zip back up But what an idea, donвЂ™t you think? I was the toddler lying in the snow, paralyzed under thick layers of Wisconsin winter armor. I cried because a friendly golden retriever pinned me to the ground just to say вЂњhelloвЂќ with its slobbering tongue. I had my heart broken by the same basement, when I saw my own father cry. only he didnвЂ™t cry because he fell or tripped or scraped his knee on the coarse carpet. He cried because he sent the family down a flight of stairs, tumbling into the unfamiliar depths of divorce. I knew plenty of kids from broken homes. I had heard about their terrible home lives, about how their shattered families relied on violence to feel anything. But we were different. We had clumsily fallen, but we stood back up. I was a child of habit, watching вЂњThe Nightmare Before ChristmasвЂќ daily, doubtlessly scarring me. I ate bologna sandwiches just as often; except that I undressed the sandwich, leaving only the bologna. My own clothing has been a geeky clutter of Mighty Morphing Power Rangers and laceless loafers. I have donned the sacred Green Bay Packers apparel to celebrate the Thunderclap, Sugar cube, Faded ink, Remember. We were sitting in that library, We were sitting there together. Glass bottle, Pink seashell, Burned notes, Remember. We were reminiscing about the past, We had learned to say вЂњnever.вЂќ Golden dresses, Slow dancers, Now, good-bye, Remember. We had finally found each other. We could finally remember. by Elizabeth Denning, Alexandria, VA What Is War? War is nothing more Than old men fighting old men. And the young die young. by Shanika Turner, Tucson, AZ by Indigo Erlenborn, Madison, WI by Joel Thomas, Oshkosh, WI Boundary Lines I bake cookies when IвЂ™m angry Every time It never fails My anger simply bakes away With every batch of cookies My brother loves My angry cookies He says theyвЂ™re the best In the world So, one year, I baked him some cookies For his birthday For once they were happy cookies He took one big bite Then another small With unusual Apprehension вЂњWhatвЂ™s wrong?вЂќ I asked He frowned вЂњThey arenвЂ™t the sameвЂќ Remember Lightning strikes, CatвЂ™s green eyes, Memories gone, Remember. when I was little and it was just me and her my mother would joke and say to me I was her favorite daughter then it was a weightless phrase I was her only one and I would tell her back she was my favorite mother just as meaningless it was our daily ritual this banter just like saying вЂњI love youвЂќ вЂњLove you moreвЂќ but now neither of us can say that anymore so familiar in our mouths but even though Daddy remarried and she had another daughter and another it still sometimes slips out but we both know it was just an accident Cookies by Mackenzie Rowe, Boise, ID We were parting at that train station, We were leaving behind вЂњforever.вЂќ Favorite Art by Mallika Dubey, Tampa, FL only religious thing about my familyвЂ™s Sunday. IвЂ™ve inherited my brotherвЂ™s taste in shoes. When I bought my first pair of Chucks I vowed to keep them in mint condition, but two weeks later they were as tattered as his. I have spent hours in my fatherвЂ™s basement piano studio. I was used to Beethoven, Chopin, and Mozart wafting up from the chilly subterranean. I clad myself in socks until my feet got tangled on the way down to the studio. I mustered the strength to say, вЂњDad, by Lily Peters, Holland, MI My Father My father, Who brings home the easy bake oven the apron and the doll, pulls me onto his lap; The rough chin scrapes against my cheeks His icy hands linger by my hair And clothe me in darkness. My face is covered by The coat he spilled that champagne on the other night I saw him in his office. He booms a laugh and leans over to my mother Tells her he loves her; The blanket of whipping cream On the morningвЂ™s black coffee. And there in my backyard, Around the pool and within the gate, Is being installed a fence. Nothing more, just a fence, Not a symbol of love or declaration of hate, Just a safety precaution, A barrier for little tykes To keep them safe as they stumble along on pudgy legs Just gaining their footing on the dew-dropped grass of summer. Yet if fences are designed to be barriers, Why must they be nestled between neighborsвЂ™ houses? Is it a blinking-red-light warning? A do-not-touch hands off? A classic signal for little old men to come Tromping down the porch steps lined with hanging flower baskets With cries of вЂњGet off my lawn!вЂќ Alas, who am I to restrain the freedom of others? Grass is just grass, And why canвЂ™t we be like the little tykes, Who preach that вЂњSharing is caringвЂќ? Why canвЂ™t we share what is not rightfully ours? Yes, fences can be of much use For protecting those innocent children Who havenвЂ™t yet heard of property holdings and Unnecessary constraints. I say down with the fences! The ones which separate neighbors and grass And decorate your houses With warm blankets And the smell of blueberry pancakes And open doors And welcoming smiles, So that they can be homes Instead. by Erika Walsh, Kings Park, NY by Harriet Jeon, Seoul, South Korea POETRY вЂў M AY вЂ™ 1 1 вЂў Teen Ink 47