journal of art and literature the nueva middle school volume iii, issue ii spring, 2024
themavmind.wixsite.com/the-mav-mind 6565 Skyline Boulevard Hillsborough, CA 94010
reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced
n any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of
sher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
our Way Publishing
line Blvd, Hillsborough, CA, 94010
mind.wixsite.com/the-mav-mind
Editor-in-Chief: Raya I. Editorial Director: Avery C. Managing Editor: Rose M. Designer: Jason R.
Art Editors Winter D., Maya S., Maddie B., Kylie S., Stella L., Joey G., Ira S.
Fiction Editors Maya M., Kylie S., Joey G., Caroline L., Christina H.
Nonfiction Editors Jason R., Joey G., Tiago S.
Poetry Editors Tiago S., Clara S., Vivienne J., Sofia G.-O.
Find Me - Valentina T., 7th
Old House - Anonymous, 7th - Audrey C., 6th
e - Maddie B., 6th
and Death - Maya L., 6th
y to your midas touch - Sierra E., 8th
partures - Annabelle L., 6th
pty - Annabelle S., 6th
membering - Vivian M., 7th
cape From the Smog - Madi K., 6th
Missed Flight - Chloe N., 5th
n’t Leave Me - Valentina T., 7th
tter, Slash, Squeak! - Caroline L., 5th
ss - Lucia v.G., 7th
ne - Maddy H., 5th
nter Melts into Spring - Christina H., 8th
e - Olivia F.-S., 6th
ctron Teleportation - Anonymous, 7th
e Astronaut - Alison L., 7th & Isabella Z., 7th
New Life in a New Place- Sahan N., 6th
y Am I - Anonymous, 7th
luminescent - Stella L., 6th
40 I Keep Failing - Anonymous, 8th 42 Woods - Anonymous, 7th 44 Creativity - Maren L., 6th 45 Flight of the Butterflies - Maya M., 6th 46 Departure From the Electoral College - Anaya K., 6th 49 It’s Crazy When You Think About It - Natalie D., 7th 50 Space - Charlotte A., 8th 51 Our Brick Jungle - Ayaan D., 8th 52 Letters to a Girl Who Disappeared - Aerie L., 8th 58 To My Sister - Daphne F., 5th 59 In Worlds Divided - Vivienne J., 6th
Dear Middle School, Welcome to Volume III, Issue II of The Mav Mind Journal of Art and Literature! We are so glad to see you again. Our fall issue was a success, with more than sixty editors, artists, writers, and designers collaborating to produce a multifaceted, in-print magazine. We are excited to be publishing in print again this spring! This issue’s theme is departure—a broad theme that drew in multimedia art, descriptive vignettes, reams of poetry, and more prose fiction and nonfiction than we've ever received. Each piece in this issue shines with originality and heart, so please take the time to peruse them all. The Mav Mind aims to be a place where young writers and artists who may be new to publication can see their work as part of a larger whole, and readers are an important part of this journey! The theme of departure also reflects a moment of change for The Mav Mind. The editorial leadership team, who have spearheaded the magazine's growth for the past three years, are all graduating this year and handing the reins to a new team of rising editors. We are so sad to let go of our brainchild, which has grown from an untitled newsletter to a cohesive in-print magazine. However, we know that The Mav Mind's legacy is strong and will be upheld by the next generations of creators. We're so excited to share the spring issue with you and hope you enjoy the art and literature our contributors have created! And, as always, don't hesitate to email Anna at alyon@nuevaschool.org if you have any questions—she is always happy to help out. Best wishes, Raya
Ông and Bà don’t live there anymore. The backyard was
led with bonsai trees lifted on bricks as red as blood. They
ower over you like a skyscraper. The bonsai plates were
ed with little pagodas like cities. Cities that could build and
That could be knocked down and always come back up.
were ants that roamed the cracks in the cement. They would
n our little brown shoes and our thin ankles. But just with a
hey could fall off. We were those ants, pests, running
h the pillars of bonsai.
The house had an extra bed. Not a bedroom. Just a bed. It
en jumped on and snacked on. It was in a dark storage room
th boxes made of cardboard-like paper. We didn’t know it
ll fall apart so fast. The front yard was gray. The cement
ed us till we rolled our eyes back to watch the sky. The sky,
with splotches of darker clouds and layers moving. But we allowed out in the front. We would jump along the white
nd spray silly string at each other as if we were in battle. The
k was crumbling, and the grass was as flaky as old, crispy
d hair. What felt slow felt fast in the front yard. But mostly
en’t allowed to go in the front. The front was unsafe, and we
et stolen like some cash in a register anytime. Yet, the bonsai
came shriveled and the sky was still dark, so Ông and Bà
fog dancing in the breeze— laughing, prancing, covering, showering your head. perfect day to go for a trip, they say. sudden & subtle lurches of a plane. window panes show creeping, pattering feet crawling up the roads. your earbuds in so you don’t realize when the plane lifts. the gloomed city shadowed gray, pulling & pulling, further & further. soon you can almost taste the soft clouds. suddenly you’re blinded by immeasurable light. you can still see clouds beneath your feet. then you look up. then, the sky— it’s Blue
ou ever felt like
drifting through
se web of life, are departing
ur thoughts
what you have
t have in life? ever drift off in full of happy
Or do you
ghtmares
he things
re you most?
you refocus on
in front of you,
d that the world is
han when you
away from it.
d paths with das when i was years old. he my world gold. ing frozen in a heen. no hurt, m. we all loved e it was the only ft we could do.
d paths with und the same time. our aureate heart. our sun-tinged hair. our wildflower eyes. ppy pupils, . it was impossible not to all into love, my ching over the ups that had grown ver the paths i crossed.
ing was blessed. hen ing had cleaved me gain, you were there. warm ound my soul ars littered again. temporary eting, but they always gave my veins
like the roots of a money tree. it occurred to me on a gleaming afternoon that it was your midas touch that made it all pretty. there wasn’t a king from myths— papier-mâché wrapped around your body, a mask of empty promises. but underneath that, i knew it was you. iv. dancing under the lights, you tell me i’m beautiful. the stars were permanent now, or so i convinced myself. you laughed, a gilt fire in a hearth, warming the frostbite that had nipped my fingers. your hands held mine like they were fine-cut diamonds—delicate and marked. your rough skin formed calluses on my palms. as you led me down that flower path, i couldn’t help but think of how we were romeo & juliet, hamlet & ophelia before he went mad.
ed each other around your wer eyes: hat always pulse and sweep h me.
n it became true in ity: whispers drowning asms of promises—again, e harmony melody. as your voice i fell in. golden skin all tangled roots you grew in me. you wanted w every inch of me & i to know every inch of you. ited me everywhere & came. the roots wrapped taut my waist. your voice echoing was never me, ou. always us. es buckled, but from my gold bed to a nrise every gold morning because to, not because .
r arrived, ferocious. u & imprisoned me. m screen, i watched a om our shared press you into a dark atched you unable to able to fight. watched you
fists into the ribbed flower fields that were once soft as silk until they bled. disguises melting as knuckles met petals. vii. you don’t hold me. you don’t invite me. i find the river i nearly drowned you in & stand in it until i’m shivering, until my heart beats to the dilation of your pupils, the rhythm of your voice, until my clothes are stained with the smudges of gold that once were you.
It was my birthday night, and my life was packed into boxes. Tomorrow we would be moving, and everything would be gone. Empty. Now we were checking the drawers and cabinets, making sure they were empty. Just like me. Hollow. Torn out. I had been living in this house since I was born. I knew every corner, every part where the paint chipped off, the wall where we drew our heights since we were toddlers. The dates were written on the lines of where the top of our heads used to be. The lines grew higher and higher until the most recent one, a week ago. I was catching up to my older sister’s height quickly. But all that had been painted over. We didn’t even get to take a picture. So many years, all gone within fifteen seconds. I was leaving behind my friends. I was leaving my school, teachers, and neighbors. But most importantly, I was leaving behind hundreds, if not thousands, of memories in this house. The fiercest of our sibling fights, the sadness of our hopes being demolished, and the happiest times of pure joy as a family. All those memories would soon fade, then disappear, without the reminders the house gave us. That year was my last single-digit birthday. And it was my last glance at my home. My forever home. I have moved on, but there will always be a piece of my heart still empty.
d to watch the sky h layers of mist, ke under cloth of night, h stars arth breathed into us, soul.
e watch the sky h smoke and windows, hing under quilts, h machines, eal more from the earth e can give.
d to love the r loved our earth eled in ng rain: s sliding off emerald leaves r down our faces hrived.
e stay inside, y, ze into the lare of computer screens, with d-over backs and eyes reflecting dless points of work
to the sewers, forgotten. and we spend our lives— short, and so insignificant— in prudence, in caution, in living for the future, and though we try, wasting ourselves and our youths, there is always someone better. we used to embrace our time, the good times, sunrise and sundown, enjoying the sky draped in golden swathes of silk that linger over the horizon. now, we stay inside as the sky shows its splendor, forget about it when smoke coats the sky in gray— forget until we remember no more.
Madi K., 6th
Quarble used to be a serene, peaceful country where it was erywhere. It was so peaceful, in fact, that Quarble hadn’t war for a century. It was full of people who were busy g gardens or busy inside looking through microscopes at ells (but not the shut-up-inside type of inside—the type with breeze coming in through open windows and naturally sunlit Some were busy working in the fields, harvesting plants in ning sun. Young children played in the parks and went on ble picnics with their friends. It used to be such a nice place. When you looked outside the walls surrounding Quarble, uld see Habury, a country full of dull cities with gray, dull gs and dull streets full of lots of dull cars and other dull that you’d never heard of. If you peered into one of those eary windows in those gloomy skyscrapers, you would see eople staring into dismal computer screens. And worst of all, was covered in murky, putrid smog. You could see that drab iling up, up, up into the sky, clouding its surroundings. And a couple of years, Habury’s dullness bled into almost ing else. The beautiful country of Quarble became smoggy sky, and Quarble was not a safe space to live anymore. The ity was horrible, and all the plants died off. Habury ed Quarble with all its industrialization, and no Haburian ought once about how it was affecting the environment.
Since then, the Quarble government has been trying to te with the selfish Habury president, who probably hasn’t en what the clear sky looks like. It's obvious he only cares uling over a wealthy, industrial country. Nothing has come hose peace talks with the Haburian government. Habury
Everyone's been talking about the latest political problems at school. “Have you heard about it?” “I’m staying. Are you?” I hear everyone whisper. I don’t know what they’re talking about; it’s probably some dumb gossip. But it has been going on for weeks. The whispers have gotten louder, and everyone seems to talk about it—everyone except for me. I don’t know anything about it until my sister, Tsarmi, brings it up on the bus ride home. “Have you heard? The county is holding a protest against the government because of the smog and bad air quality,” Tsarmi tells me. “I’m going to ask Mom if we can go! All of my friends are going. They say they will hold it at the public library, since the Habury President is meeting with the Quarble President. It's blocked off, and the rock-painting activities have been canceled.” “This is what everyone’s been whispering about at school, then,” I reply. “Why did I not know?” “Well, I thought you already knew.” Tsarmi gets up from her seat as we arrive at her bus stop, excited to visit her friend. “I’ve got to go, remember? I get to go to Pydeth’s house!” A few days later, I dream that I am with Tsarmi, holding a strike against the school, since it hasn’t done anything to help the surrounding trees that are all covered in gunk and muck. She is inspired by the upcoming government protest, apparently. We think that the school will do something now that we are protesting, but all they do is call the police. And in a flash, Tsarmi is taken away in a police car to who knows where—jail? As soon as that happens, I see a policeman slowly start towards me. I stumble backwards, about to fall to the floor—
g like that could ever happen in Quarble. I jump out of bed ckly slip my slippers on. I walk over to my window to see sky is also gray, with muck on the tips of the tree tops. Huh? That’s strange. It looks just like it did in the dream! I stroll down the hall and into the dining room to see Tsarmi rated and looking down. Mom is all red. I hear Mom yell at Tsarmi. “What’s the good in living indoors for the rest of your life? You don’t want to end up eat Aunt Amelix, dying from some smog, do you?” Our Great Aunt Amelix was very close to us and ended up away from lung cancer. And she got cancer because she Habury. Mom hates Habury because of what happened to Amelix and the thought of us getting sick too. Tsarmi keeps her face down at the ground. “I won’t go! Not ause you’re scared that we’ll get sick like Auntie! We can’t ould rather stay indoors for the rest of my life! All of my are staying for the protest! Literally no one else will be ” She finally looks up at me. “Celie—you agree, right?” Mom sees the confused look on my face and explains, e, we’re moving to Honey Grove, whether you and nd like it or not. We’ll be leaving in two weeks.” I stare. We’ll be leaving? “I’m so sorry, Celie. But the air quality is horrible. There will otest near the neighborhood, and I don’t want any of us hurt,” Mom continues. I suddenly think of the dream. Could Tsarmi’s strike in my be an omen for if we stay? Could something bad really to me and Tsarmi? I would have disapproved of us leaving, second thought, maybe it will keep us safe. “Tsarmi, Mom just wants us to be safe and healthy,” I say.
“You too, Celie?” She stomps away to the couch and doesn’t speak to us for the rest of the week. Celie always does that when she’s frustrated, but she’s never done the silent treatment on me and Mom for a whole week. We have to spend those next weeks packing for the trip, taking tests to get into Honey Grove schools, and saying our goodbyes. Suddenly, it is the day of our departure. We have packed up all of our things in bags and suitcases. We walk over to the nearby train station, where Mom manages to drag Tsarmi onto the train. Thinking back, I deeply understand that Mom wants a healthy future for me and Tsarmi, a safer environment for us to live in. I think Tsarmi understands now as well. That morning, she had said to me, “I guess we are lucky to be able to leave,” as we watched the once peaceful, now angered Quarblens storm the streets of our neighborhood, demanding change. She understood, watching the scared faces of little ones all locked up in their little houses. So here I am, sitting quietly in an old train compartment seat. I stare out the window, watching as the blurs of green and gray whizz past us. I feel a breeze come whooshing by from the open window in front of us, blowing my messy hair back. Before I know it, we are leaving our home country of Quarble, heading to some distant borough that seems like years away.
Hi! I’m leaving you. What do you mean? Don’t worry. It’ll all be over soon. What? What will be over soon? It’s for the better. No. Don’t leave me. Life moves on. But, I don’t want to. Please… Please, Please. I’m sorry. Don't leave me. I’ll do anything Just stay, Please. I can’t stay. What did I do? Goodbye. No. No. No. Why Are you leaving me?
Caroline L., 5th
Slash Squeak!
r one. …
walls eiling oor oor
mice.
Slash Squeak!
r one
or
nable.
Slash Squeak!
ak…
hrough.
Opens. The mice go wild. A shadow in the doorway. Hisss. Skitter Slash Squeak! The second cat strikes. Hisssss. The door Slams Shut. Skitter Slash One mouse scampers away into the darkness.
Squeak!
I close my eyes, dream of the warmth of their touch or their soft, gentle fur.
Sometimes I can see. I can open a window and peer through the panes.
“They are still with you,” I hear voices say, whisper. “They are still with you.”
Do they disappear? Are they truly dead and gone? Love the ones who leave.
Olivia F.-S., 6th Life is like a flower. Once you are planted in the soil, develop strong roots that will hold you in place when you start growing. Then, when you are ready, push through the soil and bud. When your flower sprouts, showcase it to the world, bringing all its love and joy and energy along with it.
Even though there may be some fast winds— or heavy rains that torment your small frame, depend on your roots to hold you in place. And through all the challenges that threaten to overcome you, never lose sight of yourself, so that when they are finally tired of testing you, you will bounce back to who you are— and not some foreign shape.
Life is like a river. Its wild waters will throw you into rocks—
on tight to your raft, too tight, for the crazy journey,
r challenging it might be,
ch you a lot.
ike a train.
step on,
the people, the view out the window.
me to meet everyone—
et newcomers as they too climb on.
hey step off, bid a teary farewell to them—
h them luck on whatever journey awaits them.
e when your ride is over,
uld also want for people to come say farewell—
d you with a smile to wherever you will go next.
February 9, 2084 All over the world, people are dying. Climate change has raised the temperature by 4.8ºF, and hurricanes and other disasters pummel the globe. The population has exploded to over ten billion, and over 36% of people are slowly starving. The oceans have risen 6.4 feet, and coastal cities all over the world have been flooded and abandoned. Scientists have been frantically searching for a solution, and in the most unlikely place, they find something. In the Research and Manipulation of Antiparticles and Quarks (RAMAQ) facility, scientists accidentally extract a virtual positron from inside an electron belonging to a fluorine atom. Positrons are electrons’ antiparticles, and they have a positive charge and move backward in time. When an electron and a positron meet, both are annihilated. Strangely, when the scientists remove the positron from the electron, the fluorine atom refuses to bond with anything. It seems as inert as neon, an atom with one more electron than fluorine. They conclude that somehow, the charge of the electron doubled. The scientists repeat the procedure and the fluorine atom seems like a fluoride ion with two more electrons than usual, even though it has only nine electrons. They measure the mass and realize that the mass of the electron has tripled. They try it with antiprotons and antineutrons, and it works. Soon, they invent a machine capable of extracting a million antihydrogen atoms from one hydrogen atom in one hour. After running it for a little over four hours, they end up with an atom weighing ten grams. All they see, though, is a slight blur in the air. One chemist, more foolish than the others, reaches out to touch it. The others jump to grab him, but his hand brushes the edge of the blur. There is a flash and a thundering boom, and the chemist flops to the floor, burnt to a crisp. Meanwhile, in another section of the RAMAQ facility, a
g into one wire, designed to push all the energy into one n. They walk over to the switch and turn it on. With another flash and boom, a mini-lightning bolt leaps e giant hydrogen atom into the wall, adding ten thousand the wire. The positron overflows with kinetic energy and vibrating more than twice as fast as the atom it’s in. Temperature is a measure of how fast atoms are vibrating. sitron, though, is an antiparticle, so its vibrating lowers the ature of the atom. The temperature of the atom drops h absolute zero, and the positron, overflowing with energy, is ated from the electricity (a flow of electrons). But the positron, before being annihilated, emanates belowe-zero cold for an instant. The air in the room condenses uid and falls to the floor. The physicist freezes solid, and the ature plummets to -853ºF. RAMAQ is soon shut down, but other researchers search the ge, and what they find is astounding. The first thing scientists discover in the RAMAQ wreckage ositron energizer. After figuring out how it works, they set it ting antihelium atoms and lower the temperature of the below absolute zero, freezing it solid. They discover that it is ore superconductive than liquid helium and is capable of g extremely strong magnets. A few days later, they find the electron grower. They realize n when the atoms are grown to the size of a football field, trons still teleport around the nucleus. With this, they e a plan to stop climate change, and with no other choice, the ment agrees.
ber 11, 2096 This is their plan: (1) grow atoms to the size of countries; (2) ant containers to hold giant electrons, with the walls filled
then (4) activate the container, which will hopefully attract an electron inside of it. Then, the suit, with a person inside, will stick to the electron, and the container will be deactivated. Another container on the other side of the country will be activated, and the electron, along with the suit and the person inside, will teleport into the other container. This will let people teleport to wherever they want to go, reducing emissions from all vehicles and allowing their parts to be reused, and it will possibly allow people to teleport into outer space if Earth needs to be evacuated. It relies on the fact that electrons teleport around the nucleus. They don’t actually move from one place to another; they just jump. This plan seems a little far-fetched at first, but as it comes together, it looks more and more like it could actually work. The atom grower works perfectly, and soon, electrons are whizzing around over people’s heads. (Giant electrons look like glowing fuzzy patches, and protons and neutrons look like boring fuzzy patches.) The containers also work right, and once activated, electrons teleport into them. Modern insulation allows the suits to protect their wearer from freezing, and by September of 2096, it’s ready to be tested. As the volunteer (their home and life is about to be destroyed by climate change; that’s the only reason they volunteered for this) straps on their suit, a chemist gives them instructions. “You’ll go into the container, and the electron will teleport in there with you,” the chemist says. “You’ll stick to it and teleport five hundred miles from here. If everything goes well, we can zap you back. If something goes wrong, being in the wrong place is the last thing you need to worry about.” The volunteer, trembling, heads into the container and stands on the tape X in the middle. The scientists make sure everything is working and flip the switch. A glowing fuzzy patch appears, taking up the whole container, and the volunteer’s suit jerks into the middle of it, exactly like a magnet. They can feel the whole electron
of possibilities open up around them right before they drop identical tape X five hundred miles away, alive and med.
26, 2257 After the first successful test, teleportation was slowly ed into the world until, by 2140, it became a normal part life. By 2152, an atom had been grown big enough to to the moon, and in 2190, an atom was grown to 4.2 light cross, big enough for humans to visit Alpha Centauri. Now, teleporting to other sides of the galaxy is common, first portal has been made to the Andromeda galaxy. sts had to make that electron constantly shrink because meda is approaching the Milky Way.) In a few hundred Earth will be fully habitable again, except then there will be g fuzzy patches appearing in the sky.
Bibliography
Data Group. "The Particle Adventure." The Particle ure, Particle Data Group, 2023, particleadventure.org/ ml. Accessed 12 Mar. 2024.
y, cold, bold, shudders rampantly in the cottage.
reep forward on the steep ledge; they want to keep warm in
m.
n’t rake up money like this, in a dirty lake,” the father
s.
rely must need to move.”
ard the bus in a few hours. Stop, drop, and roll!”
o to the station, get on the bus.
s, shudders, shakes, and screeches
en slowly, boldly, grinds to a halt.
ade through the muddy strade.
ush through the trees.
ges,
nce appears, an appealing look. Finally,
imb through a gap, a new rhyme
tart a new life. just maybe, they could thrive.
vernment made it tougher and rougher than
d many of us would think.
ndocumented should not become citizens,”
The hardships that have been seen, The time, trickle, trust, and tiredness taken were not in vain. It isn’t a lost cause; it has never been. Maybe we could help families come, Maybe we could give them aid, Maybe we could make it easier to get there in the first place. Maybe we could really care, let them know that they are here to stay. Maybe we could help them build up from square one. We could create affordable housing and not charge water or electricity bills, and DONE! Maybe we could ease them of taxes and charge. Maybe we could give them food; it's not too large of a burden. Maybe, just maybe, after all this, We can make a change in the world, We can do something. Maybe, just maybe, we can stay true to our promises.
mI eft sitting, – picked
ners, a a group?
mI
opinions mulled over others, who sticks out ore thumb– l the other fingers ng on the thumb, g its words it’s always left thinking
mI y one left– thers depart, o fantastical adventures e never
ed.
the one who’s welcomed into groups, only to watch them laugh at inside jokes, hidden under the veil of familiarity. Why am I so insecure– Do I think too much? Is it all in my head? Am I overthinking, overreacting, or am I not thinking enough? Do I need to care more or care less?
And why am I still here when the others have already left?
l of wonder, as if they were bioluminescent. at the planes flying away in the horizon.
inkling glow of your eyes disappears, plane does too. you want to travel
om all the confusion, madness, ewhere special. ze out the window, g for another plane. es start to sparkle once more, hear the rumbling of another one. es shift from right to left, plane rumbles by. perately want to travel. lly want to depart. u are determined, u suddenly have a spark inside of you, hope and wonder. you want to be the person on that plane. you want to fly. you feel like you are trapped in space, less place ou can’t escape from. you desperately wanted freedom, y got a greater space to live in o way out. u know that this is your chance to escape. es are bioluminescent once more. ck your things and depart.
Faster, And faster. Finally stopping When you look at the enormous plane. As you start to step on the plane, You hesitate. Your eyes are brighter than ever. I nod And smile. I know your whole life was meant for this. All the times you stargazed, (But instead of looking for stars, you looked for planes). All the times you dreamed of flying, Leaving behind all your worries. All the times your eyes glimmered and shone As you spotted planes. I know it was all meant for this. As you continue to depart, I wave goodbye to you, Knowing it is not the end. It is a new journey, A new beginning, A new adventure. You are probably sitting down in your seat And staring at me. I chuckle, Knowing you won’t stay for much longer. The rumbling of the plane, The one you longed to be in, Is finally departing. I wave once more, And off you go, Grinning from ear to ear, Away into the world, Eyes still bioluminescent.
u ever wondered what it feels like to fly? falling, just in a different direction. g is swimming, just from a different angle. mes i wonder what weightlessness feels like. owards the edge of the
were a bird. e like rockets. are like life. w and grow and grow until you return to your original state of ness. what nothingness feels like. ness must be like weightlessness, falling is like flying. alling is weightlessness, is flying nothingness? essness is tranquility, in its most pronounced form. or tranquility. ely tranquil state seems like a dream. are like salad, ake you feel good and happy, until oke on the random peppercorn that just had to be there. g is weightlessness and weightlessness is tranquility, then i wish
peace. round and begin climbing the mountain higher and higher, am taller than the stars. up, and i grasp the sun in the palm of my hand. eached the top of the world.
I keep failing. I keep failing and falling behind. Why can't I
? It seems that every time I take a test or finish an
ment, everyone else does it quicker and better. People tell me,
u're so good,” or “I am also so bad,” but realistically, they
much better, and I envy them. They are always goofing off working, but at the end of class, they have gotten so much
than me.
Me, the person always failing and falling behind. Me, the
who can never do any assignment right. I keep failing, and I
hat. I will try to fix it. I get tutors and work hard after school,
hours to listen to my parents explain things to me over and
oping that it finally clicks in my brain, but it never does. Or
hings finally click, we're on the next chapter or topic, and
eed to repeat the process all over again. I keep failing.
I don't take long breaks, and I don't goof off. I work hard for help when I need it, but nothing fixes the permanent
ent. I seem to have put myself in as the stupidest of the class.
I am done. I am done trying and trying to level with all their
d falling short every time. I am tired of having to catch up
ight because I can't figure it out the first five times. I am people telling me that I am so good and that they are also
m tired of just holding on because eventually I will fall, and
I shouldn't wait until my grip falters.
Maybe I should just let go.
I shouldn't be here with all the smart kids. I should be with
pid kids because then maybe I can actually feel like I belong.
out. Maybe I should accept my fate as the stupidest in the class because then I could embrace it, and maybe I'll get a statue with my name engraved right under the lines “biggest failure” because that's what I feel like. If I get a statue, maybe people will start recognizing me with all my faults instead of trying to give me false hope of the successes I could have had. I should just quit. I keep failing, and I don't like waiting for my grip to falter. Maybe I need to change my grip. Maybe if I could just muster up the strength, I could pull myself up from the hole I dug myself into. Maybe, just maybe, I could not be the stupidest in the class, and I could prove this hypothetical statue of mine wrong. I could stand in front of it with a big red Sharpie and cross out the line “biggest failure” and write under it, “I tried and got a bit closer to my goal.” And maybe that's what success feels like. Maybe that's what success is all about. Maybe it's achieving your own goals and going at your own pace and way, and finding success in yourself and not comparing yourself to others. And I guess I sound like my mom who tries to tell me this every week, but maybe it did click after the fifth time or however many times she had to tell me to finally believe it. So maybe I feel like I keep failing, and maybe some think so, and maybe they're right. But I think I am getting a bit closer to failing less, and maybe, just maybe, I am getting a bit closer to success.
are strange
woods
e who care
ed nymph,
erstood melodies
otting
d log,
r spilling over
er shoulder
lting
ntle passing fog.
nto the forest,
he whispering
nd willows
k softly.
way
me.
with vines and ivies, fauns following hauntingly. Mossy hooves tap tap, soft against the exhausted rocks. Come, come farther into the forest, fraught with thoughts caught in tangled webs, pacing in distraught circles. Wandering souls of princes, witches, brothers, sisters, heroes. Lost? Or just unsought?
y I'm deliriously delighted.
xt I’m unexpectedly unhinged.
ow through my head,
et them to stop even in bed.
r says, “Let others talk.” brain go for a much needed walk.
all the thinking, I feel like I’m sinking,
ight of the ideas piling up—
n’t get them out I’ll be stuck.
o go down the drain,
thoughts hurting my brain. finally let them out,
m and I shout.
made sense in my head.
at they’re out, I feel a sense of dread.
oo much?
oo fast?
deas were too good to last.
What is democracy? It means power to the people—being
have votes on important things. More literally, direct
acy means that the people can vote on laws, rules, etc.
t democracy means that the people can vote on
ntatives who then vote on laws and rules.
All American citizens should have the same amount of
n their vote so that everybody has equal power when it
o picking the president. Therefore, we should abolish the
al College.
The Electoral College is a system that is only used to vote on
nts. Each state gets a certain amount of electoral votes
on their population) and the candidate with the most votes in
will get all of the electoral college votes that state has. For
e, in California, candidate A gets 20 million votes and
ate B gets 10 million votes. Candidate A will get all of the 57
al votes California has. The reason that the founding fathers it was because “[it]… prevent[ed] states with larger
ions from having undue influence” (Electoral College Pros
ns). This quote shows that the Electoral College was made
large states have less power.
Unfortunately, in this system, everyone’s vote has a different of power, which is not good for democracy. This is
ed by many presidents who got more popular votes but lost
e of the Electoral College. An example of that is the 2016
, when Hillary Clinton lost to Donald Trump even though
n the popular vote. This makes no sense for two reasons.
say we are as a democracy. Second, people in smaller states get more power: even though each state gets a different amount of electoral votes based on population, it isn’t proportional. For example, according to Gautam Mukunda, “The fact that in presidential elections people in Wyoming have [nearly four] times the power of people in California is antithetical at the most basic level to what we say we stand for as a democracy” (Electoral College Pros and Cons). The third reason to abolish the electoral college is that people in most states don’t have any power through their vote. Some states always vote one way—Democratic or Republican. These are called spectator states. The other states are called battleground states, and their electoral votes really matter because they can determine the outcome of an election. As a result, elections are determined by the 538 people who serve in the Electoral College, and as Robert Nemanich says, “You can’t let 538 people decide the fate of a country of 300 million people” (Electoral College Pros and Cons). This quote shows that only a small number of people’s votes count and matter. This doesn’t show a democracy because in a democracy, people should have the same amount of power in their vote. A solution most likely is not going to happen in days, months, or even years, but abolishing the Electoral College is an idea that a lot of people agree with: “At least 700 amendments have been proposed to modify or abolish the Electoral College” (Electoral College Pros and Cons). Democracy means that people get power in their vote and that when there are many people with the same idea, then they get their voices heard. In September of
Pros and Cons). These quotes show that many people abolishing the Electoral College, and therefore, abolishing it
mprove our democracy.
Some people disagree, and one reason is that they just don't
nging things, especially things that have been here for so
ome people also feel that they benefit from the Electoral
. For example, one supporter points out that “without the
al College, groups such as Iowa farmers and Ohio factory would be ignored in favor of pandering to metropolitan
ith higher population densities, leaving rural areas and small
marginalized” (Electoral College Pros and Cons). This quote
hat people living in smaller towns who have more power now
e power. However, they had more power in the first place, so
l just become equal, which helps create a better democracy.
Ultimately, these reasons prove that it’s important to depart
e Electoral College. Bibliography
ral College Pros and Cons - Top 3 Arguments for and
.” ProCon.Org, 8 Feb. 2023, www.procon.org/headlines/
al-college-pros-cons-procon-org/.
I tap my head, questioning myself. Why did I leave her behind? It’s crazy when you think about why you did something. Did I do it to restart? Did I do it to retry? Or did I do it because I wanted what was meant to happen to come? I don’t know what it is, but I did it. There is no going back. I restarted and retried many times. All I needed to do was wait for the time to come. It’s crazy when you think about how things come when they are supposed to. Things come with time.
Has deforestation for its trees, Smoke for vines, Pollution for the native plants. Our bubble getting smaller and smaller Hard to breathe, Suffocated in this Box that we created. But it’s not the world’s fault—no— It’s our fault... Well, not my fault Or his fault Or her fault... Sigh. Well, Maybe it is OUR fault. But also our ancestors’, Oblivious, Shoving coal in the furnace, Blinded by the glare, Enjoying the warmth Of our lives burning. Now we pay the price.
egs, It’s been three days since you left for finishing school with ange, formal man. I watched out the window as you pulled he driveway. Watched the headlights disappear into the rain, e sky was mourning your youth just like I was. For a second, I ndles flickering in your kitchen windows, and I wondered if other still prayed for you. I used to ask Mamma if she prayed because she thought you were a bad daughter. She would say would say that Mrs. Allen prayed because you needed all the on you could get. I remember last Thursday. You ran over to my house. I d you trip on the stairs from your porch, watched you tely hold an expressionless face, watched you act like nothing ong. I could tell, even before you told me, that you were the Urge. You told me about the Urge when we were little. we were littler than any child should get the Urge at. When I ave enough emotional maturity to even get close to anding what you were trying to tell me. I remember your
“Do you ever feel like there's a hand over your mouth, ing you? Stopping you from screaming all your bad, scary, ?” “There’s a monster in my brain. I’m not scared of you. I’m of the monster.” “I want to yell so bad. I want to scream. I want to let out the r.” And so, as time went on, as your parents got more and more the monster” turned into “the Urge” and then it turned into at all. Silence. That’s what I hear now when I turn on the
you know we’ll always be waiting for you. At home. With love that would smother you, Your favouritest person, Annie M. -Dear Pegs, It’s been a month since you left. You promised you’d write back. I understand though. You’re busy, I’m sure. My Mamma told me you’d be busy, doing proper things. She said you’d be learning how to act like a princess, how to talk like one of the folks up on the hill. That’s alright. I’m sure it’s hard work, and I’m sure you’re doing great. I know it gets really busy, learning to be smart and all. I never thought the day would come when you’d be too busy for us though. Mary Kate is taking your things. It started slow. She was taking your pencils, sitting in your seat. And then she was wearing her hair like you, smelling like the sweet rose perfume you used to buy from the Sunday markets. I yelled at her. I gave into the Urge. You were right, you know; the Urge gets worse and worse every time you let it out. I’m scared, scared of everyone. Myself, the Urge, the school. Everything gets worse every day. The weather gets darker. The car breaks down. Don’t worry though, I’m keeping you safe. I haven’t told a soul what happened; I never will. I hope you’re having a good time in finishing school. Mamma said it’s hard to get through, so I hope you aren’t taking it too badly. I miss our first days of school, when we would make up code names for new teachers. I miss you.
Margaret, Today’s the four-year anniversary of when you left. I still ber that Thursday before. The rain drenching your hair as st into our kitchen, eyes wide and moist like you were a out to burst. I shouldn’t still remember you. I should move I can’t. Why won’t you write back? I know you; no matter sy you are, you promised. You promised you’d never be too r us. Your parents moved out. Moved up the hill. No one lives in se across the road anymore. No one lights candles in the window sill, no more old baby blue Volkswagen Buggies ing up and down the concrete driveway. Sometimes I try to ber, and I can’t picture your face. I can’t place where that dimple sits at the corner of your lips, can’t remember what f brown your gorgeous eyes are. It scares me. Used to, at ve accepted it now, that maybe that gorgeous part of you me to remember. That you weren’t for me. I used to ask your parents why you didn’t come back ever. u never visited. They said it was easier. England is too far hey said. Easier to have you spend holidays with your aunts cles. Sometimes I daydream, make up theories where you ver really their daughter, where they had adopted you and to send you back. I daydream because I can never imagine ybe the real reason you didn’t come back was just because n’t want to. I had my second first kiss today. Mary Kate. She still looks
as wide as yours. She smells like you, too. Still wears the rose perfume from the Sunday markets. Sometimes I wonder if she still does it on purpose, or if she can’t even remember why she started wearing it in the first place. It was a good kiss. I’m not stupid; she’s a good kisser. But it wasn’t my favorite. I don’t think my favorite will ever change. Ever since you left, I hadn’t really seen anyone. Hadn’t dared to. Boys asked me to dance, and I whispered that I was waiting for someone else. And then I stopped waiting. Maybe I still am. Scared you don’t remember me, Anna Bella Marino -Dear Peggy, It’s been a long time now. I don’t know how long. I haven’t thought about you in a while. Or maybe I have, and you’ve just been in the back of my mind, still wearing your white cotton dress and short, brown, twin braids. In my mind, you’ve not grown up. Maybe it’s because you haven’t. There are whispers, whispers that you’re still thirteen. That you never got a sweet sixteen, never got to scream and shout at your graduation like the rest of our class. They say that’s why you don’t write back. Why I should move on. I don’t believe that. I believe somewhere, somewhere out there, there’s a grown-up version of the girl in my brain. There’s a girl who still sometimes pulls out white cotton dresses and still ties her chocolate brown hair up in braids. I believe if what they say is true, I would feel it. Pegs, I would. I know you. I know that it’s been years since we’ve met eyes, but if you stopped gracing this earth
nt of my dreams like you used to, you still show up. I still see d remember the first mixtape you gave me. I still see girls ars of lemonade and remember summers spent playing ch barefoot on burning concrete. For what it’s worth, I never gave into the Urge. You and I, always be a fairy tale. A whisper in the wind of two girls dn’t understand who was in control in the end. Polaroids of who could pass as twins, but with pinkies entwined behind cks. Because, really, that’s what we are. Friendship that no ever know was more. A whispered promise long broken. I ame you for never writing back. I wouldn’t either. It’s been But you promised. That day, when you promised, I didn’t you because I knew you wouldn’t write back. I blamed you e you promised.
mes I do hope you’re dead so I could know it’s not my fault, est friend in the universe, Anna Bella M.
In the back of a dusty room, once inhabited by a naive teen med Annie, there sits an envelope. A cream white, smoothenvelope. On the front there’s a stamp of a rose. And on the ere’s a date, written in the whimsical font that could only to a child who has not yet seen the cruelty of the world. are red finger prints on the sides, left from when the white d been clutched too tightly by blush-covered fingertips. A d, an old whisper forgotten “je te laisse mon dernier mot” out a us car window. The stamp gathers dust as it sits. Never , never touched. Annie has picked it up many, many times.
herself that she was willing to give. Now, as Annie’s worn-out adult fingers grasp for a lighter, the cream white of the envelope has never looked more ghastly. Has never reminded the former fille innocente more of the pale skin of her former friend. The rose seal melts, slowly at first, dripping like rain the morning after a storm. The light flickers, flames licking softly at the gold embellished edge, something the woman had never noticed in all her years of scrutinising the old epistle. She watches, watches as the black edge creeps slowly up the envelope, the tears on her face a sharp contrast to the embers falling onto the table. At some point —not that she’d be able to tell you when—she turns off the lighter, smothers the flames, and pulls out the singed remaining half of the letter. When you read this, know that I love you. Margaret Allen
n tight to you,
don’t have to leave me.
n with my might,
have to go. just a plane away
e at home.
The Mav Mind
e Nueva School in Hillsborough, California.