journal of art and literature the nueva middle school volume v, issue i fall, 2025
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n any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of
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our Way Publishing
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Editors-in-Chief: Vivienne J., Sofia G.-O. Editor-in-Chief Apprentices: Vismay M., Ben F. Designer: Ira S. Design Apprentice: Kylie S. Marketing: Skylar F., Maddie B. Fiction Editors Maddie B., Rachel L., David L., Gwynnie C.-M., Wesley L., Aariv C., Alex Y., Ben F. Art Editors Aubri G., Clara S. S., Skylar F., Sierra A., Gwynnie C.-M. Nonfiction Editors Madi K., Lana G., Josalie K., Naomi L., Maya L., Ellie C., Abby A., Dash B. Poetry Editors Maya M., Skylar F., Clara S. S., William A., Nikhil S., Gwynnie C.-M.
- Stella L., 8th
eakalā - Maya L., 8th
nitions - Sofia G.-O., 8th
ching the Sky - Hannah D., 8th
ams - Veronica B., 7th
ercolor Wonders - Avery E.-M., 7th
crewed Wonder - Lara K., 6th
onlight - Chloe Z., 7th Wonder - William A., 7th
ck - Chloe N., 7th
y i am not a painter - Anonymous, 8th Mind That Is Rational? - Skylar F., 7th
psakes - Vivienne J., 8th
nder Bread - Manasvi S., 7th
e Beauty of Wonder Bread - Zoe L. & Ria S., 8th
e Wonder Horizon - Avery E.-M., 7th
oes - Madi K., 8th
hnicolor green and lacking wings - Anonymous, 8th
k Road - 8th Grade
oughts - Ben F., 7th
keboarding - Ellery K., 8th
nder - David L., 5th
nder - David L., 5th
Wonderful World - Alex Y., 7th
e Portables of Nueva - Vismay M., Zoey L., & Annika W., 7th
39 I Don't Know - Helena G., 7th 40 Boarding - Anonymous, 8th 42 Birds - Skylar F., 7th 43 Bernie's Account - Skylar F., 7th 46 Humans in a Thousand Years - Avneesh G., 6th 47 The Wonders of the Universe - Rania B., 5th 48 Lightbulb - Ben F., 7th 49 Longing - Anonymous, 5th 50 I Wonder - Annabelle L., 8th 51 Homework Procrastinated - Rachel L., 8th 52 Treacher Collins Syndrome - Hilarie Q., 8th 55 Wondering What I'll Be - Naomi L., 5th 56 The Story of Neil DeGrasse Tyson - Samit K., 6th 58 River and Stone - Theo C., 6th, & Skylar F., 7th 59 Haunted - Nikhil S., 7th 60 year-round - Vismay M., 7th 62 The Pool with the Stars - Alyssa J., 7th 63 How I Wonder What You Are - Adelyn L., 6th 64 Starstruck - Vivienne J., 8th Back Cover - Maya M., 8th
Dear Middle School, Welcome to Volume IV, Issue I of The Mav Mind Journal of Art and Literature! We are so fortunate to be able to share this with you—our editors and designers have worked so hard for this issue. As always, thanks so much to you, the reader, for supporting student literature.
This issue’s theme is wonder, a surprisingly challenging theme for most. However, this only increased the quality of the submissions. Every single one of the pieces was a joy to read and edit. We received so many pieces about the wonder of our natural world and the wonder in people’s ordinary lives. We’re so touched by the student body’s ability to both recognize the wonder in their lives and reflect on the moments that are worth keeping, even as time passes. This element of awe is something that we hope that the Mav Mind never loses.
Thanks so much for your contributions to the Mav Mind. Please don’t hesitate to email us at themavmind@nuevaschool.org if you have any lingering questions!
Best, Vivienne J. and Sofia G.-O.
Maya L., 8th
we started ascending,
ear waters
th colorful coral
ds, smooth crop fields down below.
ould feel the rich history,
sic, the luaus,
, the life!
ched the sign resting on porous lava rocks:
kalā National Park.”
doscope of color was spread out before my eyes
the House of the Sun.
rue paradise on Maui.
se on a martian plateau,
gradient of yellow
mine sands
dusted on the surface.
d we could’ve stayed longer,
he end, only one word could describe how I was feeling.
rstruck.
Sofia G.-O., 8th sun (def.) i. the shattered stained glass that hangs in the sky. hoping no one will notice my life just went up in flames. melting wings and dreams. gilded train tracks through the cerulean sky, an eternally cursed hamster wheel of regret. ii. celestial paint. the reflections surrounding the summit of a mountain. droplets of paint hovering in the azure sunset. iii. the fire that consumes me and the amber that coats my vision. i have never wanted anything else so completely, so illogically. running into flames because i am a child of the sun. moon (def.) i. stargazing into a silver-speckled galaxy. watching pure radiance woven of dreams dance lightly through the night; a quiet beauty to the stars that feels stronger than anything i have ever seen. cobalt skies fading into prismatic light that refract in the shadows. ii. beams of nighttime light rippling in the ocean. the yearning to leave this mundane copper sand and run into the tide—to feel the pull of moonlight against skin. iii. a solitary lantern. midnight mist in my eyes. a breath of fresh air —silence before everything comes rushing back.
Hannah D., 8th
Whooooooosh. The wind rushes past my ears, pushing me back saddle.
Fwooooomph. The dragon’s wings flap in a thunderous rhythm,
ning to throw me off with every beat. Whoever said riding a
is like a peaceful flight couldn’t have been more wrong—this
e an intense rodeo. As my dragon ascends higher and higher cottony clouds and endless cerulean sky, its flapping wings
a steady beat that echoes through my bones. Fast. Faster. Too
y sweaty fingers clasp onto his bumps and scales, reaching for
ing, anything, that can stop me from falling thousands of feet
o my doom.
Finally, we reach cruising altitude, and he starts slowing
om a heartstopping, violent flapping into a more steady glide
h the crisp, thin air. Power. It’s all I can feel from this
cent creature thrumming beneath me.
I push down the voice inside my head, the one whispering
bidden thoughts—What if I fall? Am I going to die?—down into
ths of my tangled mind. The scenery beneath us shrinks to of a chess board, with miles of bright green trees as the
elegant flowing rivers as the queens, and the billion-year old,
t, snow-capped mountains as the powerful kings. My
at slows as I take in the beauty of the world before me,
ing me how small I am in the grand scheme of things.
Just as I’m beginning to get all sentimental, he stops moving
gs. Alarm bells go off inside my head as we switch from
The world turns sideways, and we fall down toward the tangled tree canopies. They grow larger and larger as we plummet, and I am sure I left my stomach up near the sheep-like clouds. Blood rushes in my ears, my heart pounds as hard as a drum solo, and my legs tremble. Fear. Intense, dreadful, awful fear sticks to my skin, and I can’t shed it. I feel as though the equilibrium of the universe has been thrown into disarray. It’s only after we nosedive further, mere feet away from the treetops, when he stretches out his leathery wings and pushes them downward, an instant relief. When the sound of my heartbeats subside, I hear the frantic cries of the birds—caw, caw, caw!—and see the tiny beings come out from underneath leaves and fly, away, clearly terrified of the dragon. The same dragon who turns his scaly head back towards me, his eyes—glowing yellow orbs—communicating millions of words which I know to all mean the same thing: Ha! Got you. I dismount my ride, mind racing with memories of what just happened. I rack my brain for descriptions. A ride on an ancient dragon? No. Gliding above all the world I’ve ever known? Too cliché. It’s only after I tuck myself under my warm bedsheets at night, listening to the sounds of civilization around me, that I know my answer. It was the flap of his wings, it was the rush of the wind, it was the stutter of my heart, and it was the first time I had ever truly touched the sky.
Veronica B., 7th
ams are like a deep blue ocean endless
mitless
rashing on the shore
cean reaches an end
ing and achieving goals can be hard
n aching like
ms ache
imming in the ocean
elmed
possibilities
uture
ams are like a deep blue ocean
ng endless limitless
ough it’s scary
na dive right in
er which dreams i will choose to pursue
Avery E.-M., 7th
Lara K., 6th
d, waiting pe t to poke holes for them to breathe e you’ll never see them m hem
glinting, glass a prism ou back
ies of snowflakes piling up you wfall
on eze h your hair essness and fears grounded nd imagination flying g
gs caress the clouds infinity eachable point onking yelling that haven’t been made ic to your ears k
ng g ng
Really, What would you do without it? School Rosy warmth Arms are opened Butterflies swirling in your stomach Flame ignites A pain, a longing in your chest Can’t help but smile Love Hands grip the wheel, slightly Sweaty That feeling of Freedom Independence Responsibility They can’t control you Anymore First drive Each jar labeled Cap screwed on tight There is absolutely no way You will let these wonders go Immerse yourself, escape from reality But every time you do, A piece of your wonder fades How could you let them go But how could you keep them? It’s not the same One more night, you keep promising yourself. One more night. Each time the sun sets On the horizon Colors streaked across the sky That have faded eventually to nothing at all Your world
all the awe, nder, omise of hope and care aped ould you let them go w could you keep them? e what’s life without wonder?
ening, winkling above you st the cap jar labeled First Snowfall it whistles akes fall ne unique ering
of wonder curls you, ng for a moment t’s carried away on the wind one, you unscrew the caps wonder returns back to you olor vivid ound appreciation for the world r fills you up warmth and joy nothing else can
e, life without a risk? Let go!
e, life without hope? Don’t stop dreaming!
e, life without wonder?
Chloe Z., 7th
n (Extremely) Opinionated "Essay" William A., 7th
These days, wonder has been fading. With the introduction cial intelligence (and, more generally, the internet) people en less focused on the real world and more on the “world” nternet. So, I present to you my rules of wonder. You y won’t agree with me, but hey-ho (as my grandmother ay). (Also, a small tangent: by wonder, I mean creativity, curiosity, ical thinking, that sort of thing. Just being human, I suppose.) Rule number one: Most things done on screens aren’t good der. I think that if something can be only done on a screen, it ly isn’t very good for wonder. For example, reading a book on ader, typing on a Google document, or listening to music via uter. Those are good. But if you want to have a good time, a od time, get off your computer games, stop spying on people ogle Earth, and quit whatever youngsters are doing these
The other exception for rule one is watching movies or on shows, especially with other people. It’s just a good time, g over movies and TV. Much better than binge watching be shorts. Rule number two: Boredom is good…maybe? The most aggravating thing I see is people whinging about ored. (Don’t get me wrong, when I was younger, I did this.) metimes being bored is good! Taking your time and sitting with a cup of tea (an activity I do very often), for example, is
meaningful (or not so meaningful) conversation. Rule number three: Conversation and small-talk Small talk. It’s good. People these days don’t appreciate the value of meaningless conversations; they’re always talking about meetings and work and that sort of thing. It’s pointless. (“Productive” conversations are pointless, and meaningless conversations aren’t, if that makes sense.) For example, a conversation between two blokes: Person 1: Nice weather today isn’t it? Person 2: Yes, isn’t it? Person 1: I prefer it a bit cooler, but one can’t complain. Person 2: No one can, these days, can they? Person 1: That’s right. Person 2: So how’s your day? And so on… Rule number four: As the kids say, “lock in.” Rule number four is the most important of all the rules. If you want to have a good time, believe in having a good time. You know what I mean? If you’re marching around life being grumpy, life is going to be grumpy to you. And if you stay wanting to feel happy, even if you’re going through some really bad things, you’ll be happy, or at least happier than if you were grumpy. So there you have it: the Four Tenets of Wonder. Obviously, I could be wrong, and most likely am. But anyway, good luck. Get a load off. Don’t worry. Life is hard, so don’t make it harder. And also, I lost the game.
Chloe N., 7th
o think wonder was an inescapable light
ng in my
s I watched, starry-eyed
it from a secret into
ry sky.
ow older, second by
nds me
ything I’ll never know,
orld I’ll never touch.
capable darkness. hole cascading into a whirlpool
nswered questions
g in the muddy waters.
estions I once had dwindled like flower petals
d from their stem,
longing for somewhere to be.
ng for their purpose.
I’m a flower petal.
er.
Anonymous, 8th the moon and sun are as much a carousel as kaleidoscopic horses whirling over fairground asphalt. i’ve run through birdsong-stained trails and cupped the sunrise in the palm of my hands. i’ve watched the ocean lap at amber-tinged sand. but now i don’t know what to do with my trembling hands that were so accustomed to fear that they don’t know how to paint beauty.
Skylar F., 7th
My mind is constant. Every waking moment spent questioning. nted off into different parts. They argue with each other. The part and the irrational part. Or maybe it's the other way ? The problem is, of course the rational side will think it is ecause it is, and any irrational part believes that it is right, is not, for it is irrational. One part is always ranting. But is it t part? Of course. Of course not. The ranting part says that my schedule five out of the seven the week is the same concept. Wake up. Go to the bathroom. akfast. Get dressed. Drive to the bus stop. Get on the bus and hool. And school. The relatively same schedule every other day ol. I learn new things, interesting facts. But why? It is hard to e the future that seems so ever distant, years away, like the t of the sun before it rises. That big yellow ball of light. The ar away. The one preschoolers will argue over, whether it is or yellow. That ever-shining presence. The one you know will rise. Predictable. For the best, of course. Right? The sun keeps . It is constant, as constant, as same, as most people's lives. Why ever doubt that predictability, that constant state of never to worry about it? It would be crazy to even think about ng…right? Right? Even if I was to doubt it—which I don’t— uld it matter? This endless loop. The one everyone is stuck in. other speck in the universe. What good does that amount too? nd over and over. Maybe it is best to believe I am confined to e planet we call home. I won’t need to worry about the entire e, how I can make a difference. Yes. Much more manageable. reach. Maybe. Like the chances of winning a lottery ticket. ing just real enough to hope.
Vivienne J., 8th things that are (fine, okay) worth holding on to: to lie down at night, barefoot, under a carnival of stars, thoughts swimming in a violet galaxy. sharing earphones— the real music is the reality of her shoulders brushing against mine, stars sparking in our shared silence. in contrast to find new sentences pressed under my tongue, escaping quickly and messily as they overlap each other. chipped, hand-painted teacups are one. the color purple is another. stray cats. when you can feel the rain fall— not dance lightly but really, truly fall. a screaming symphony accompanied by jagged lighting and the thunder of my thoughts. to watch the sun fall in love with the moon and chase her every night across the horizon. old marker stains on shorts. my library. to keep: this messiness, this uncontrollability of life, the sky, the earth. the everything, now that i’m thinking about it— which of course, makes everything worth keeping.
Manasvi S., 7th
Zoe L. & Ria S., 8th My fav’rite food is chewy and it’s sweet. It goes with ev’ry single spread there is. My mouth will munch and nothing can compete, The perfect thing before a bio quiz.
It’s soft and smooth between my smacking lips. Its malty, artificial taste is best. And even during the apocalypse, The need for Wonder Bread lies in my chest.
So that’s why Wonder Bread is what I love And when I eat it I feel so divine. There’s nothing that could ever be above This awesome bread with qualities so fine.
A slice of Wonder Bread is the best treat. The silky feel and sweet taste can’t be beat!
Avery E.-M., 7th
estions you have,
onders,
ways been there on The Wonder Horizon,
n the clouds, in the sharp, salty air. knows how to get to that place of imagination,
rough our curiosity and minds.
wonders sure have been there a while, for a person to come
em from their perch.
er, finding the perfect wonder,
rm challenge,
metimes they just slip away from your grasp,
metimes
ight be all that you see
wonder
horizon.
Madi K., 8th that regret left a brown dirty stain in my memory: voices pounding inside my head, leaking into me with a sense of humiliation, drowning me in bitter dissatisfaction.
the river of echoes, my worry, the repetition, my regret. i wonder if i will drive myself insane.
Anonymous, 8th
I awake, lying down in swirling, technicolor green fields. It’s
ght, and for a moment I shiver—how long has it been since
d in something other than shadow? The sky is a bright,
lue, so utopian it must be fake. I stand, darkness bleeding grass, and she is in front of me.
Her white sunhat billows in the breeze—it covers her eyes.
ale and so impossibly tall, scraping the ceiling of the clouds.
nds are cupped and she is not smiling. I walk towards her,
ng to stand in her impossible lightness.
She gives me a bird—small, fluffy, pearl-white and innocent.
raid to hold it, me with my spidery fingers and my jagged,
g edges. As the bird warbles, he flies—or falls—into my
And now I am dizzy with a sudden, debilitating need to
the creature. The world is suddenly violet and yellow and
od, but it’s impossible to know anything but hatred. The
taggers; I am blind in my surprise. The bird squeaks in
I’ve been clutching it to my chest too tight.
My house is upon the hill that faces the white-painted town,
have no face and no eyes. They wear shapeless gowns and speak in a language I could never understand. I crest the hill, observing my manor—everything dark in the village sucked up into my windows, my doors, everything. Malice collects like dust on the door handle; it shakes free as I turn it. Inside there is a ghost of everyone I have ever known, and they have turned grey and now hate me. In another world I might have cared, but this obsessively angry version of myself has forgotten how to love. As I enter, the shadow of a childhood friend hisses at me. Their blackened hand brushes mine, selfishly looking for the taste of flesh.
iii. The bird slips from my fingers. It will not eat, nor sleep, nor do anything other than fly, pecking my starry ceiling. What was once soft feather-down is now merely smoke and air, dissolving from my crooked hands. Shame spreads across my wretched face as I build cage upon cage, each with tree branches and bits of glass. But the bird is something other than what I know, and it escapes every time.
iv. The sun is at its highest point in the sky, about to start falling. Rage forms a hazy outline around me as I desperately clutch onto
nd ladies in white sunhats. I know nothing and my world is
to the shadows inside my eyelids. Black and white, over and
d over. I drive myself insane.
In a fit, I grab a vial of poison and shatter it—the venom curls my fingernails, seeping into every corner. My eyes are leaking
as I try to catch the bird, falling.
In the second before it happens I realize—I have been holding
ong. The bird is everything sweet, glorious, and not mine to I have ruined it just to prove that I can fix myself.
Sharp fingers grasp feather-dawn for a moment before it flies wind. I do not know whether the bird is dead, or alive, or has
ast my hazy void into clear skies. I hope that it did, hating
quietly. There is no breaking anger shattering into pieces, only
dged, slate-grey sadness, collecting on my cheeks.
I wake up feeling the absence of wings.
8th Grade
Ben F., 7th
ut the window.
urfer
ort of sail,
ure the wind
it
rough the
w,
be that’s just
ed of the
here does
d come from?
e Earth’s round,
e of gravity,
wind loops and around.
y did the wind
don’t know,
So I stare out the window yet again. We’re entering
the city now, and the nature fades away. I see buses just like mine, but also different ones, FedEx trucks, cars, and I wonder why they all
look the same. Well, sort of. They all have four wheels, a curved hood (for aerodynamics, maybe), the same California license plates, and the driver sits in the
front-left. Why? Because they—we—drive on the right. Why? Because someone decided it would work.
I guess it
pends. What
happen if
ve in the
? Well, maybe
uldn’t work,
at if
oads you drove
eft, and some
right? It
e confusing,
uld it work?
?
er.
Ellery K., 8th I push myself off the edge of the boat, plunging into frigid, emerald-green water. The lake is made of pure snowmelt, and the cold shocks my body like a winter breeze swirling inside of me. My feet are secured tightly to my wakeboard, and I remember all the tips I’ve received about how not to fall over. Let the boat pull you up. Put pressure on your back foot. Bend your back leg, but not too much. In my mind, I am climbing onto the dragon’s back, its glossy scales shimmering in the sunlight. Thanks to the lifejacket strapped firmly around me, I rise quickly, my head breaking the surface as I gasp for air. The cold compresses my lungs, and I remind myself to breathe slowly. On the dragon’s back, I get my footing and get ready to take flight. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what’s ahead. In the lake, I grab the rope that’s tied to the boat and get into a starting position. Ready? the boat driver calls out. I give him a thumbs up. One more deep breath. In, out. My heart beats, loud and echoey, like a drum thumping in an empty concert hall. The boat picks up speed. The dragon spreads its wings. In the water, I am pulled up until I am almost standing. Subconsciously, my foot shifts behind me and I lean back. The dragon’s powerful wings flap, and we lift into the air. The pressure from the wind takes me by surprise at first. It’s strong, but cool and refreshing. It blasts into my face, making me squint my eyes, and my wet hair flies behind me. The dragon dips, and I almost fall on my wakeboard, making my stomach drop. I manage to regain my balance, and the thrill and adrenaline distracts me from my hammering heartbeat. I take in my surroundings and the feeling of sailing across the lake, trying to hold on these short few minutes. Woosh. The landscape whips past—bright green trees and glassy teal water, vivid blue skies and fluffy white clouds. I am riding a dragon, soaring through the air, where no one can touch me. Gliding across the lake, I am free.
David L., 5th
David L., 5th Look up at the stars, For they are from wonder. Pure Wonder, Imagination. Hope, in the dark. Guides, hung up into the night sky. The earth and sands shift and rumble, But the stars are always there. Beacons. Made for us.
Alex Y., 7th
owed me
auty
t cracking through canopy,
ng off of dew
o my eyes.
owed me
ill
hing through
ter on a
raying into my eyes.
owed me
e
ding on a
And seeing The world below.
You showed me The calm Of slowly paddling On a lagoon, Waves lapping on My legs.
But most importantly, You showed me, The wonder In all things, Big or small, The wonder In life.
Vismay M., Zoey L., & Annika W., 7th
We met the son of Jeremiah, the head of Operations, at
t, and he told us this crazy story.
You know the portables up on the field? Don’t you wonder
ey’re called “portable?” Aren’t they supposed to be
rary?” And they are neither?
Well, legend has it that something diabolical, something of
aliciousness, lies beneath the dirty floor.
We have advisory there, and sometimes, when we come
arly from lunch, we hear muffled thumping.
But as soon as our advisor arrives, we hear a voice, followed
riek that makes our blood run cold. It stops suddenly and
es to a halt like the needle abruptly lifted on a record player.
Looking in the library, we found a crumpled page from a
ok with some photos scratched out and tombstones drawn on
We looked up at the heading, and it said “The Nueva School
ok 1966.” But the weird thing is, Nueva was founded in
We took it to the librarian, and she let out a nervous laugh, clapping her hand on her mouth. She snatched it from our
before we could even react, and she showed fangs, and then
ed the paper with her teeth.
through the window. Her eyes widened and she reached below her desk, pulling out a cap and putting it on her head. “I’ve got to go.” And just like that, she disappeared. Later that day, we emerged from our after-school club. And the weirdest thing happened: we saw a blur running across the floor of the J-Building, and then, we just saw a bat flying across the night sky into the horizon. And you know the Crocker family, who used to own what is now Nueva? They died, right? Or so you think… It turns out that Miriam, the oldest woman in the Crocker family, and Carlisle, the oldest man, were vampires, in fact. The rest of the family didn’t know, and they had to fake their deaths. Miriam assumed the identity of Molly, Nueva’s librarian, and during her term, the portables, the “temporary” buildings, came in. Jeremiah oversaw the operations, and as he instructed the workers to place them in, an old, wrinkly hand shot up from the dirt. Jeremiah stifled a gasp. That’s why the portables are permanent. Jeremiah is afraid of what lies beyond… And sometimes now, you can hear Carlisle’s undead mutterings and shrieks coming from underneath the portables.
Annabelle S., 8th
mes, I think I’m crazy.
veryone have these thoughts?
ies, fragments.
y fly away before I can catch them, of my reach, butterfly I see in my dreams.
about loved ones,
n had any,
ust can’t remember.
about promises,
n with this shattered,
mind of mine,
call
ken
many.
How it would be nice, to dream. To rest. To not yearn for my sight, for music, for touch. To not yearn for release from this unrelenting spiderweb they call a coma.
I think, even with everything long gone, the only things left in me are hope and wonder.
Maddie B., 8th
ver my shoulder it. against the
outline.
rkly
ght. it…
Helena G., 7th
Anonymous, 8th
It’s finally here. I step onto the plane and glance down at the
ck between the jet bridge and the plane, a gap where my
could tumble to its doom on the tarmac below. I clutch it so
hat my knuckles turn white as ghosts.
My heart races as I take a deep breath and leap over the
oving my phone into my pocket. The flight attendant greets
h a bright smile and a sanitizing wipe, but my small “thank
des into the background noise of more than fifty sixth behind me, excitement spilling out like pink confetti.
My pink backpack, heavy with snacks, pulls on my
rs, a reminder of the long hour spent at the airport, my legs
for rest. I trudge down the aisle, rows stretching ahead like a
of doom, my eyes flicking to the overhead bins as I count the
rs. Finally, I reach my row and slide into the middle seat,
with relief that the airport is over, even though the seat is
y and the plastic armrests cold as ice.
I don’t know who will sit next to me—teachers promised with friends—but as the last group of kids shuffle in, I feel
my stomach. Then it hits me: I’m sandwiched between two
n the aisle seats, their presence looming menacingly. Just as I
last row, no reclining, secluded from the other kids from Nueva. I push that thought away and focus on finagling a snack from my backpack crammed beneath the seat in front of me. The adults beside us are intimidating, but the man next to me —at least forty and glued to his Nintendo Switch—is bizarre. I nudge my friend, but her AirPod Maxes drown out the world, which is mostly just the engines roaring like deafening wind. When she finally looks up, I point to the man, and we can’t help but laugh, though it’s laced with awkwardness. I really don’t want to sit next to this random guy for six hours. Through the gaps in the seats ahead, I see familiar faces— kids I know from Nueva. One girl flips her long, straw-colored hair back, and it drapes over the seat, brushing against my screen. It’s gross, but I keep quiet, instead pulling my hoodie tighter around myself against the cold air blasting through the vents, trying to wrap myself in the comfort of the soft fabric. As the plane starts to taxi, I pull out my phone, my playlist ready and waiting, games preloaded. The engines roar louder, the nose tilting upwards, and a familiar thrill rises in my chest. I glance at my friend, but she’s already in her own world, watching shows on her phone. That’s okay. We might be in bad seats, but the adventure is just beginning, and DC awaits us.
Skylar F., 7th
They soar. Glide. Flutter. Fly. Higher, higher, higher.
ng, reaching, reaching. I don’t understand. I can’t. Or I
t is hard to know which. Feathery and small. Beautiful and
Another thing for children to point at and say, look, it’s a
They live. Geese, owls, pigeons.
Their grasp on life is a secret, the hidden knowledge they They don’t have war, they don’t pollute our earth, they are a
They take what they need, never more. They are better than
er than me. Bluejays, falcons, crows.
They are free. No worries, no mistakes, no cares. Why? Why
e be like them? Why? Storks, robins, sparrows.
When I am consumed by worry, I try to imagine what it
be like to be them. When there is no way to know of my own
ce, when it's just instincts. Wouldn’t that be nice? Pelicans, hawks.
Skylar F., 7th 2034, first contact, Bernie’s account: How to explain trees…Well, we’re certainly different from humans. For one, my name is actually something that can’t be expressed through anything a human can perceive. For the purpose of better understanding, I will call this sense trees have Larry. Larry is only intelligible through the ground, but it has nothing to do with soundwaves or moving dirt and such. Oh no, Larry is not matter, but rather something the human race says is not possible. Human scientists have said over again that everything is matter, but boy, how wrong can they be. The problem is, you humans with your finite knowledge don’t have the words to describe Larry—I don’t blame you, of course, as we trees have been along much longer than you humans have. But for now, all you need to know is that Larry exists, and shall forever more exist. Now, I’ve been studying what you in your English human language—why you insist on having different languages is beyond me—would call humanology. And you see, one of things I’ve come to realize is that humans have very limited years, and are forever dwelling on death. This leads me to believe that you must be curious why we trees let you cut and burn us down. The answer is simple. We trees, had an overpopulation problem, and can share our…let’s say…spirits in other trees after death through Larry. We began to fight for root space and other things not describable to you humans,
ur tiny lifespans. So you humans became the perfect solution. of stopping you, trees decided that you were amazing for our
sues. And global warming…pfff, that can be fixed, all we was to get in contact with you humans and your…matter, so
k, to create something physical to stop global warming.
h Larry, we have devised many plans, but all must have
ing made of matter, for global warming is happening through
a whole different realm which affects us, yet we can not affect
er frustrating, isn’t it? Anyways, I’ll tell you about the
nts later.
We trees have been building up to this occasion for over what
regorian calendar would call one billion years. I was actually
ly a birch tree, but my good friends, for this purpose we will
m Susan, Joe, and Katie, were kind enough to let me share
camore. Of course, it was originally Susan’s sycamore. Billions
s ago, I was chosen for this job. Now, you humans, with your on death, are probably wondering where in the world is this
year-old tree? I am currently only three hundred years old, but
ees die, we can move from tree to tree through Larry, or at
r Larry selves can. I’ve been more than 999 million trees.
ght? I’ve been in every continent, but of course when I was in
ica it was before it was cold there. In fact, brachiosaurs were
ng on my leaves.
Sometimes, I think humans are silly and just messing around
whether physical, or Larry, or what I shall call Perry for you, the way of the fungi, that is similar to Larry, but slightly different. Of course, the difference between Larry, Perry, and the matter and light and sound realm of yours is similar to what you humans might call different dimensions. But creating a translating device between Larry and Perry was far easier than creating the connection between Larry and human senses. But the contact between Larry and Perry happened ages ago, creating what you humans might call a symbiotic relationship. We have watched human ways, and with the condition of you humans not waging war on us like you do so often, we would like to also have this so called symbiotic relationship, though, come to think of it, we already give you oxygen, and you give us carbon dioxide. No matter, just think about the possibilities! You humans being able to reach the world of Larry and Perry, and us trees and fungi being able to access the physical world! I can’t believe that this moment is actually happening! Well, knowing that you would die if you tried to kill trees due to the fact that you need us to survive, I will leave you to discuss with, as you humans would call it, government, whether you want to wage war on trees and destroy the world. In the goodness of those amazing French people, who have these amazing things that sound delicious called baguettes—oh I can’t wait to try them, if you don’t decide to wage war, so we can create something for trees and fungi to access this physical world—au revoir!
Avneesh G., 6th
er if humans will exist in a thousand years
Earth be mundane, and filled with drear it’s time for another volcanic eruption
he world with fire and destruction
te the contrary, what if a blizzard freezes the whole planet
g the Earth with a tight snow blanket s might wipe each other out with nuclear warfare
hat might leave the planet bare
ouldn’t need to happen if aliens took over
mans were tossed into space like insignificant gophers
—what if the Earth were magically split in two were all left wondering what we would do
hameful of all,
we abandoned the planet due to pollution
n tiny capsules on Mars, hoping for a happy resolution
er know what of this is true
ust have to hope humans make it through
Rania B., 5th
Ben F., 7th
Sometimes it flickers, like a fly, darting around in the air, g right next to you but then a moment later it’s gone, and want to trap it. Not for me, though. For me it’s like a either on or off, like a magnet—once it catches on, you op it. Sometimes you don’t want to. Magnets are useful. ot so much. They’re too fast, react too quickly. You can catch them, and even then, it’s only luck. There’s no way to nderstand it, to predict its path, to see where it’s going to
But sometimes you can see its path. Sometimes you can see he fly is about to go. Make a prediction. Solve it faster. mes the fly just goes straight. No one knows why, or when, it decides—you can’t. It just sometimes does. But the fly choose its own path. And when it chooses the zigzag, which y does—it’s better for its survival—it usually escapes. You lot of predictions, all at the same time, to get anything And that takes time. The magnet doesn’t choose. It’s restrained, stuck in its line, Doesn't care about its survival, just that it can attach on to wer and not let go. Just find the piece of metal, and BAM. out of my hand, toward the answer, and I sprint to keep up. Yesterday, for example. I was putting squares inside , outside squares, through squares, squares, squares and and squares, and subtracting. Subtracting! Every single very single square. Symbols, pictures. Numbers. But there hing. Lines in lines in lines, and I couldn’t get rid of them. age. Too many squares! But today, I was staring at the same blank page, until I t. Backwards. Sometimes, the metal can pop up in places n’t expect. But here it is. This is the path. And I swear I ear the whoosh as my magnet flew out of my hand, in favor answer.
Anonymous, 5th Swirling, whirling winds of pain and sadness rush through as the thing you want drifts away across a sea uncrossable as you stand there watching, waiting it suddenly comes to you: “There is no hope now, Walk away…”
Annabelle L., 8th
Rachel L., 8th What happens to homework procrastinated? Ordered by due date, does it Nervously bite its nails? Does it start to sour, Expecting an answer, Resentful of being neglected?
With its “missing” header, Or the comment from a frustrated teacher, Nevertheless, hoping, hoping, Does it detonate, Extinguish itself, and Return as a ghastly ghost?
Or maybe it gets buried among the forgotten, Never to be seen again.
Wonder, a fictional book-turned movie, is about a boy with
er Collins Syndrome, named Auggie Pullman. TCS, named
itish ophthalmologist Edward Treacher Collins, who first
ed the condition in 1900, is a rare condition that affects the
ape, and placement of a child’s facial features. This essay will
discuss TCS’s cause, symptoms, and treatments.
According to “Treacher Collins Syndrome” by Medline Plus,
fects one in every 50,000 children. It can be passed down
ally, or 60% of the time, it can just happen out of nowhere
ne of the other family members having the condition.
chers say TCS results from mutations in the TCOF1,
1C, or POLR1D gene, which are all important in developing
al tissue and bones and can reduce the production of
mal RNA. The most common mutation is in the TCOF1 gene,
makes up 81-93% of all cases. Researchers are still puzzled
as to why the reduction of rRNA is limited to facial
ment.
The symptoms of TCS can be mild to very severe. According
acher Collins Syndrome”, by Kids Health, the features of
er Collins Syndrome can include slants in the corners of the
ooping eyelids, small cheekbones, notches in the lower eyelids,
h with a possibility of it being crooked or discolored, small unusual shaped ears, small or missing ear openings which
o cause hearing loss because of the disfunctional transmission
ds to the middle ear, an split roof of the mouth and upper lip,
Organization for Rare Disorders, the disfigurations can cause breathing, eating, and/or vision difficulty. Also, some bony structures that anchor the jaw can either be flat or entirely gone. TCS can also bring on microcephaly, where the head is smaller than the average for the child’s/adults’s age and sex, and cognitive delay, but it’s uncommon in cases. On a lighter note, children and adults still have normal life expectancies and intelligence. According to “Treacher Collins Syndrome” by Cleveland Clinic, TCS can be detected in the second trimester by ultrasounds and record of fetal development. When born, some babies have difficulty breathing so they get laid on their stomach, but if that doesn’t work, the child might need a tube inserted into their windpipe. When the child gets older, they can get surgery for their cleft palate at 1-2 years old, and get orbital reconstruction at five to seven years old. According to Mandibulofacial Dysostosis (Treacher Collins Syndrome) by Medscape, more surgical planning such as anteroposterior and lateral cephalography, CT scans through the mandible, panoramic radiography, MRI’s and IAC’s can be used during treatment. Doctors also use distraction osteogenesis, which is an orthopedic method of lengthening the neonatal mandible. Moreover, hearing aids and tongue-lip adhesion can be considered as well. In conclusion, Treacher Collins Syndrome is a rare condition that affects one in 50,000 with facial and head deformities, which give them breathing, hearing, and eating difficulties. Although it’s a rare condition, it’s still important to recognize because not all surgery is
Bibliography Angelo Leto, editor. "Treacher Collins Syndrome."
KidsHealth, Nemours Children's Health, June 2023,
kidshealth.org/en/parents/tcs.html?sa=D. Accessed 22 Sept. 2025.
nd Clinic. "Treacher Collins Syndrome." Cleveland Clinic, 6
Feb. 2024, my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/22149-
treacher-collins-syndrome. Accessed 22 Sept. 2025.
ePlus. "Treacher Collins Syndrome." MedlinePlus, U.S.
National Library of Medicine, 9 Dec. 2022,
medlineplus.gov/genetics/condition/
treacher-collins-syndrome/. Accessed 22 Sept. 2025.
a, Marie M., et al. "Treacher Collins Syndrome." Edited by
Luis O. Rohena. Medscape, SCP Communications, 20 Jan.
2023, emedicine.medscape.com/article/946143-overview?
form=fpf. Accessed 22 Sept. 2025.
, Paul, et al. "Treacher Collins Syndrome." Edited by Joseph
Lee. National Organization for
Rare Disorders, 1 Nov. 2023, r
arediseases.org/rare-diseases/treacher-collins-syndrome/.
Accessed 22 Sept. 2025.
Naomi L., 5th
Written in Rhyme Samit K., 6th
ourteen billion years before stand on this planet earth,
ellous sight, known as the big bang occurred,
stars and planets it gave birth.
Big Apple
n ordinary kid.
nted to do things
body ever did.
ke the stars called to him,
ent to his roof.
k out a telescope mind went, poof.
l around
rs in the sky.
nted to get up there,
as so, so high.
But he wasn’t your stereotypical geek; he was actually really cool.
He was incredible at everything, from wrestling to dancing, but physics and astronomy were really what he fancied.
It was time to pick a college, and many were interested in the boy. He chose to go to Harvard, and it was such a joy.
Now, he’s one of the greatest astrophysicists out there; you may know him as Neil. His journey started because of his wonder of the stars. He proved that many things were real.
Theo C., 6th, & Skylar F., 7th
Nikhil S., 7th Thump Thump! Thump Thump! Thump Thump! My heart was racing, my palms sweating, sticky and clammy as I gazed at my ghastly surroundings. Tall, curved grey tombstones, engraved with initials, littered the dead, lifeless grounds. Spiders scurried frantically all around, sending a shrill, spine-tingling chill creeping down my back. An ominous orange orb brightened the otherwise pitch black night sky, casting an eerie glow upon the dark colored stained-glass windows and illuminating the tall, pointy Gothic towers of the old, forgotten mansion. The structure was uninviting, menacing, sinister, and though I came with a purpose, a feeling of foreboding filled me. A thick haze descended upon the terrain, obscuring my view and causing me to shudder in the frigid night air. As I gingerly placed my foot upon the uneven, slippery ground, I was met by an intricate maze of invisible webs which were strung across the leafless, lifeless trees. Grey trees tangled with gnarly roots and crooked branches. I brushed off the layers of spiderwebs catching my hair and face, frightened by the eerie sights ahead. I began scurrying across the grounds, quicker than before, frightened by what the veil of haze was hiding. Suddenly, my jaw dropped open, and I gasped in utter horror of what lay before me. A piercing shriek rang out in the still night air. And I realized that it was mine. A bloody body lay before me, half buried in the mud, with a curved silver dagger protruding from its chest. Thump Thump! Thump Thump! I scrambled to escape the vile sight and ran across the grey ghostly garden. I finally reached the front door of the mansion, covered with dead vines and ivy. A soft cackle rang through the night as I quaked in fear. I realized I was not alone and instinctively stifled a loud scream while shaking and shivering in terror. I frantically scanned the porch once more, until I found what I had come for—a large black cauldron lay in a corner. The hinges of the vessel creaked open, and—with trembling hands—I grasped as many lollipops as I could, throwing them into my basket before I started running towards the other revelers with soft laughter echoing behind me.
Vismay M., 7th
umn-colored leaves gently grace the ground
mer’s sunny expression slowly twists into neutral
ss folds down underneath your feet
ch step, step, stepping toward destiny
icate designs of snowflakes tap the ground
ne looking like a minor part of snow
ance of nature
t books lined up alongside books strewn everywhere
breeze whistles past
ft, waving threads of hair,
ch a dark blue beanie with designs of cherry blossoms
d
mer fragrance wafts through the air
nfire is lit on a warm evening
the day, searing rays pierce onto your skin,
the wheels of life keep rotating, turning, the driver is nature, and the feeling when the world simply feels perfect, and nothing is off, manifests in your mind:
w
r o
e n
d d
n e
o r
w
Alyssa J., 7th
The pool during the day is bright and looks blue and cheerful
n rays filtering through the slightly cloudy water, but trust me,
orms in the early morning. In the early morning, where the
s dark as the deep ocean, where stars twinkle lazily, reflecting
nt light onto the still pool, is where the magic appears. Thin of steam float slowly across the still silent surface of the pool.
edge of the horizon, gentle wisps of red-orange appear, as if an
meticulously painting each stroke perfectly. The bright round
its high in the vast open sky. The peace entangles you in its soft
oft voices mumble “Good morning,” still half asleep. The
cene is a dream, with a feeling that can’t be described. The cool and crisp. It sends jolts through your body, waking you
an electric shock. Waves gently crash over the gutter, dancing
bottom. A silent sigh escapes. The dreaminess lasts for what
e an eternity, but of course, all good things must come to an
ying through the water feels magical, and the next thing you
when your hand thumps the wall, a velvety orange has seeped dark blue sky, washing away the bright stars and the silvery
Every minute, more and more stars blink out of the sky.
ally, there is a light blue sky, the one everyone knows. It seems
and blunt. The sun rises, a beautiful orange, lighting the sky up
ding sparkles to the pool’s edge. But the morning sky is what
me to the pool. Well, I guess it’s the pool with the stars that
me to see the morning sky.
Adelyn L., 6th
Vivienne J., 8th
The Mav Mind
magazine published by middle schoolers lt-run in Hillsborough, California. Nueva School in Hillsborough, California.