rosary high school crossings - edl · pdf filepiercing pinches clawing nails merciless taunts...

CROSSINGS25TH ANNIVERSARY

ROSARY HIGH SCHOOL

2012

Rosary High School

“And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.” Walt Whitman, “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry”

English DepartmentAdvisors: Yvonne O’Meara Brendan Powers

Computer DepartmentAdvisor: Jen Patton

Editor: Judy Jones

Crossings is dedicated with love and grati-tude to those among us with a special gift: the ability to see the world clearly and communicate their visions to the rest of us. They are creative. We salute their talent and their efforts, for in the creative act they help us to hear, to see, to feel, to connect-- with ourselves and with each other.

Watercolor by: Paige Williams

TABLE OF CONTENTS

“Blacktop Warrior,” Amanda Leon p. 8“Mission Log of a Hopeless Fanatic,” Miranda Gilligan p. 9“Sally Skipped a Simple Stone,” Maryanne Vargas p. 12Watercolor, Natalie Lawer p. 13“Women Who Fake,” Maddy Aust p. 14“Angela Hunter,” Angela Hunter p. 15Watercolor, Sydney Strabala p. 17“Kindergarten,” Maddy Aust p. 18Digital Art, Sophia Hernandez p. 19

PEOPLE OF INTEREST

Click on a title above to view the page directly.

CONTENTS

“Puzzle Pieces,” Maddy Ponzio p. 22Digital Art, Katie Foster p. 23“Small Packages,” Rachel Fobar p. 24“The Great Cake Debacle,” Maddy Ponzio p. 26Watercolor, Maryanne Vargas p. 27“Jealousy,” Valerie Edwards p. 28“The Gift,” Mary Kate Domino p. 29“National Anthem,” Gabriella Pinel p. 31Acrylic, Madeline Hartnett p. 34“Becoming a Big Brave Girl,” Miranda Carrasco-Burge p. 35“Barrier,” Danielle Spencer p. 39Acrylic, Deanna Santillana p. 40“Mystical Melody,” Michaella Pettinicchio p. 41“The World’s Coefficient,” Miranda Gilligan p. 42“Hope and Wonder,” Elizabeth Bolduc p. 43“Lightning,” Valerie Edwards p. 44“Coronado,” Valerie Edwards p. 45Photograph, Courtney Cox p. 46

FACTS OF LIFE

PEOPLE OF INTEREST

Rosary High School Crossings

Blacktop Warrior

Amanda Leon

Assault on the monkey barsBattle of the field

Clashes over tether poles“We shall never yield!”

Broken bonesScraped kneesBruised elbows

Ripped tees

Ignorant teachersWipe down their boards

While yard duty triesTo pry apart the hoards

Piercing pinchesClawing nails

Merciless taunts Cruelty prevails

Inside the classroomMrs. rules as queen

But outside on this pavementBlacktop warrior reigns supreme

Mission Log of a Hopeless FanaticMiranda Gilligan

Name: Quinton J. Foster

Age: 14 1/2

Mission: Lady Gaga, Monster Ball tour, New York

Day 1: I spent most of my evening building my headquarters on the front lines of Madison Square Garden, where I will be camped out for the next four days. It’s now 1800, and I’ve already set up my (probably) bullet-proof tent, laid out the three super-heavy-duty blankets I had “borrowed” from my mom’s linen cabinet, strategically placed my military-camouflage pillows, and unpacked my state of the art technical gear (a wireless radio, an iPod, a Gameboy advance SP complete with four slightly used Pokémon games, and a sixty pack of long last-ing AA batteries). So far, I’m the only one in line. I’m going to be the first one to get my ticket. Soon I’ll be sitting front row for what will be the greatest night of my life. This is sort of thing people die for. Maybe I’m a little melodramatic, but if I had to die immediately after this concert, I wouldn’t really mind. I can’t think of anything I’ll ever do in my life that would be more important than Lady Gaga.

Day 2: I woke up his morning cold and sore. I seem to have underesti-mated the power of New York’s fall climate. The street is gray and bleak and overflowing with bustling passersby. It’s fascinating to watch the eclectic street traffic flurry by. Everything from bustling business men to guitar-laden Broad-way chasers to camera snapping tourists. As I’m still the only one in line, the rushing commuters seemed to think I’m some sort of runaway-homeless kid, and I’ve discovered that if I put my Yankees cap at the edge of my fort and looked sad, passersby will throw change into it. This technique has proven itself to be astonishingly profitable, and I already have enough nickels and dimes to buy myself a steaming pretzel. I spend the rest of the day training my Pokémon and nibbling through my food rations (12 Dr. Peppers, 250 miniature snicker bars, three bags of marshmallows and a box of cocoa puffs). You know, mission log, I could get used to this. No school… no chores… no homework… no parents tell-ing me to take a shower or eat vegetables… Now that I think about it, I could do this full time if I wanted to. I could leave home, get my GED, get a job for X-box or Nintendo, and even rent my own apartment. Forget going to Harvard and


becoming a lawyer, that’s too boring. Now I have a new dream. A dream I’ll put into action immediately following this concert. And it’s all thanks to Lady Gaga.

Day 3: At last, the enemy makes its appearance. At precisely 0900, just as I was throwing away my first-ever cup of coffee, (the most disgusting substance I’ve ever had the misfortune to swallow, by the way), they arrive. Great muscu-lar giants with grotesque tattoos coating their shaven heads and skin-tight “bad romance” v-necks. The largest stomps up to me and pierced through my very being from behind soul-sucking terminator-style glasses. “This where the line starts?” He growled, sending chills down my spine. I slowly nod and he begins to set up a tent next to me. Terrified, I crawl into my tent, and don’t move. I was done for. My headquarters had been infiltrated.

Later today, at about 1500, disaster struck. It seems that small shelter was camouflaged so well, a passing bike-rider failed to notice it. I am now coated in bruises that look suspiciously like tire tracks. On top of that, my tent is ruined. Finished. Obliterated. This means I have been left with no protection from my Neanderthalic invaders. And I will be sleeping under the stars tonight. And my equipment will have to be left in the open. And it looks like rain.

Day 4: On the bright side, I survived the night. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my equipment. Like my clothes, food, and blankets, my electronics are completely soaked. The only thing still running is my mini wireless radio. But even the destruction of hundreds of dollars of electronics can’t get me down, because today, at precisely 1200, the tickets go on sale. All these casualties are nothing once the mission is completed.

It is now 0900. The enemy has brought in reinforcements. The line ex-tending behind me now stretches so long none can see the end. Many adversar-ies are glaring at me with a piercingly envious gaze. Dangerously envious. I’m going to have to guard my territory more than ever before.

1000 and I’m starving. Last night, my almighty enemy, the clouds, de-stroyed all my rations with a frontal assault. Leave it to the weather to use weap-ons of mass destruction to destroy a man’s only source of nutrition. It’s abomina-ble. But if they think I’ll abandon my post just because of breakfast, they’re dead wrong.

1100 and I can’t take much more of this. The succulent aroma of warm pretzels from a nearby cart are enough to kill me. If I don’t make it out of here alive, I hope that Lady Gaga one day sees this record of my tragic struggle, so she

will know how much I have sacrificed in her honor.

Only five minutes until the box office opens. Only five minutes. I can’t take it anymore. Shaking with malnutrition, I scoop up my radio, my last earthly possession of any value, and dash to the cart. After a few minutes of struggling through a slight language barrier with the worker, I finally get my food. My beautiful pretzel. My own, personal bread of life. Strength and morale regained, I turn to walk back to headquarters when I encounter the most astonishing hor-ror I have ever beheld. The line is moving.

Bewildered and dumbfounded, I race back to the box office and shove my way towards the front. I struggle and fight until finally, after what seems like hours of intense battle, I reach the window. Banging my radio against the coun-ter, I rummage through my pockets, throwing bills and coins onto the table. At last, pockets empty, I push my mountain of ones, fives and quarters to the atten-dant. She sighs and begins to sort through them as my radio’s talk show hosts blabber on.

“And here’s something interesting, Jack,” the over-exuberant voice chimes, “this just in, the new Lady Gaga concert, the monster ball tour, has com-pletely sold out in a record setting three minutes.”

My mouth drops as the words wash over me. Sold out. Sold out. SOLD. OUT.

“Well,” says the cashier monotonously from behind her bug-eyed glasses, “I guess that’s that then.” She pushes my savings back towards me and slams the window shut.

My former adversaries grumble and stomp away, leaving me alone, mouth still gaping, with my small radio and my broken dreams.

“That’s right, Steve, Lady Gaga’s Monster Ball Tour has sold out almost entirely to fans on online-ticket sites.”


Sally Skipped a Simple StoneMaryanne Vargas

Sally skipped a simple stoneIt landed in the brook

She waded in to find the rockThe waves her life it took

Bailey bought a bouncing ballHe played with his friend Biff

They tossed it each and every dayTill they fell off a cliff

Johnny had a little catHe liked to pat its head

He chased it up a sycamoreThen fell and broke his head

Maybe I’ll just read a bookAnd never go outside

Else face a fate just like thoseThat ventured out and died.

Watercolor by: Natalie Lawer


Women Who Fake

Maddy Aust

There she sits,All proper and proud.

Listen to her talk,Watch her try to fool the crowd.

A sunhat casts a shadowOn her lack-of-wrinkle face.

Her little white gloves,Are embroidered in lace.

She speaks in a tongue,People pretend to understand.

She’s preaching of her husband,The “ever faithful man.”

Sipping her tea,She twiddles her thumbs.

How has this woman,Become so very numb?

She may have money,But what does that show?

Her flashy diamonds,Don’t mean she lacks foes.

The wedding band she wears,Might as well be fake.When will she realize,

What you give is what you take?

Angela Hunter

Angela Hunter

I am a WomanI do not run a country

I run households

I live to please othersAnd asked not to be pleased

I am nurturing

Determination is my nourishmentSome call me weak for they do not know

I am stronger than some may think

I do things that others cannotChildren are mineThey are my fruit

I am calm and meekYet also strongI hold my own

I have learned my skillsFrom those of many abilities

I have used them to get where I am

I do the work of manyComplaints are never muttered from my lips

I am a helper to all

I speak for myselfI think on my ownI nurture the world

I am a woman

Watercolor by: Sydney Strabala


Kindergarten

Maddy Aust

Oh the days, when we could play.

Waking up was fun for us, We didn’t fret, we didn’t fuss

The day ahead didn’t cause us to whine.In fact we knew we’d be just fine.

Oversized backpacks, hair all a messMarching through the doors in a little plaid dress

Tripping because our shoes were half tiedOur mother’s stolen lip gloss, poorly applied

Half days,Whimsical ways.

Nap timeAnd story book rhymes.

Snacks at noon, monkey bars at break,Oh the days when we could play.

Uncomfortable chairs were hardly a care. The tradeoff was friends, braiding our hair.

Friends. Friends, not enemies are what we made. Being in love was far easier than hate.

Weddings at lunch, playing house after schoolIf you could go back, oh wouldn’t you?The truth is this; I would give up today,Just to go back to when we could play.

Remain a child, please promise me this.

For, if you’re too serious there’s much you will miss.Make an effort, each and every day

To think about kindergarten and stop to play.

Digital art by: Sophia Hernandez

LIFEFACTS OF


Puzzle Pieces

Maddy Ponzio

“Have a good day, sweetie, I’ll see you again at two!” my mom smiled gently as she pushed me forward into the bustling classroom. The pictures of cartoon bookworms on the walls sinisterly grinned at me and the room stretched out in front of me, like a treacherous desert. I averted my eyes quickly to avoid the bizarre scene. Meanwhile my mom continued to chat with a strange woman in a threadbare apron. As they talked, boys with jelly-covered hands and untied shoelaces raced past me, their fists forming little machine guns and plane wings, while little girls, covered in pink and bows, sat prim and proper as they dressed and undressed their dollies. I epitomized five-year-old high fashion in a pair of well-worn embroidered overalls and my favorite pair of scarlet shoes. I even sported a matching red bow in my page-boy haircut (The stylishness of said hair-cut diminished as a little boy with the same look flew by). The lost puzzle piece on the ground sympathized with me. It too could not fit into this picture. Surely mom would finish her business here soon and then we could leave together, making it home just in time for Barney. Shifting my weight from one leg to the other, I waited. Suddenly I realized my mother had disappeared. Scanning the room in search of her, I glimpsed the hem of her skirt as she slipped out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her with a resounding bang. A chasm of loneliness opened around me. Tears stung my eyes, as I teetered on the edge of the abyss. As I braced myself for a free fall into the darkness, a girl appeared, stopping just short of crashing into me. I shyly observed her while she boldly studied me. Her golden hair followed her around like a wavy blonde train. It surprised me that she never tripped over it. Her hair was as long as she was petite.

Finally she asked, “What’s your name?”

“Madeline Ponzio,” I answered shyly, “but everyone calls me Maddy.” I gathered up enough courage to ask, “What about you?”

“My name’s Hailey Nicole Sledge and my favorite color is pink.” she proudly declared. After studying me a bit more, she decided to trust me with a great

secret, “You know… They have tricycles outside we can ride, and swings and a sandbox and stuff! Wanna go?” My heart soared at the prospect. I couldn’t say yes fast enough. After several races around the track, our bikes screeched to a halt. Breathless from our ride she asked me, “Do you wanna be best friends?” And yes, I did.

When my mom picked me up at the end of the day, the morning loneliness had faded away. I never wanted to leave this new, colorful place, a place full of swings, tricycles, naptimes, and snacks. Barney paled in comparison to my new best friend.

From then on, the simple joy of a first friend, the rush of accomplishment, pushes me whenever I meet someone new. Inspired by my own rescue, I became a cham-pion for those that don’t quite fit in. Hailey taught me how to gather enough lonely puzzle pieces to make a complete and unique picture. Each piece makes the puzzle bigger and more beautiful than it was before. I never want to have a finished puzzle or a closed heart. I hope to be open and ready to save anyone just before they tumble into the dark pit of loneliness.

Digital Art by: Katie Foster


Small PackagesRachel Fobar

Armed with sunscreen, sunglasses, and my highlighter-yellow Counselor-in-Training t-shirt, I prepared for another day at the park.

For two summers in a row, I volunteered as a Counselor-in-Training (CIT) at the Cypress Parks Program. It was our job to play with the sixty kids who ar-rived, help them make crafts, and wear them out before their parents returned.

I learned so much during those summers. And not just about how to take care of kids, but about myself.

Lesson One: I need to come out of my shell and be more outgoing. I have always been a little shy, but kids are fearless. They don’t let potential embarrass-ment or failure deter them from anything. For example, one day after swimming, Danny and Ian decided they couldn’t wait in line for the bathroom to change. So they started stripping out in the open. While I don’t need to follow their example, maybe I could be a little bolder.

Lesson Two: You can never assume anything.

One of the kids’ favorite games was 50 Yard Scream. In this game, the kids would scream and run simultaneously, and when they couldn’t scream anymore, they had to sit down where they were. The one who ran the farthest was the win-ner.

One day, we mistakenly positioned the game so that the kids were run-ning toward the street. Since the street was so far away, we assumed they would stop before the grass ended.

They didn’t.

When we realized this, we had to run after them, yelling as loudly as we could at them to stop before they ran into the street. Luckily, we were able to stop them in time, preventing a potential disaster.

Lesson Three: Resourcefulness is key. While the kids were waiting for the next activity, one of them asked me to take my hat off. I declined, and before I knew it, I had thirty kids chasing me around the park, desperately trying to tackle me and take my hat as a prize. Even though it wasn’t an officially planned

game, it became one of the favorite games of the week.

Lesson Four: It’s important to dedicate your whole self to something and be willing to get your knees dirty. Or wet.

On water days, I would always take a turn on the Slip ’n Slide and engage in the water fights, even though some of the other CITs sat on the bench, tex-ting. Participating in all the games provided some of my favorite memories and helped me realize it’s important to do things whole-heartedly.

During those two months at the Cypress Parks program each summer, I witnessed some amazing kids. From the girl with Down syndrome to the boy who was abandoned by his mother, many had lives I could never even imagine. One last lesson I learned is that the greatest of gifts can come in small packages. Sometimes it takes people as young and innocent as children to help you realize what you could never realize on your own.


The Great Cake DebacleMaddy Ponzio

My Grandma is a baker.She always was and she always will be.

Determined in her pursuit to craft Confections of increasing caloric content

She patented her chocolate cake,Homemade from filling to frosting.She made it only for the arrival of

Relatives, who had traveled from far away

One dayI ran in to the sun spotted kitchen

Where the crystal chandelier threwTiny rainbows at the walls.Where laughter and songsWere known to ring out.

Normally so warm and inviting, Today, the scene of a murder.

I stopped short, my skin grew cold.The cake, naked without its crystal coverLooked like the victim of a mauling by

Some wild Beast. A hand had gouged out the center

Leaving a gaping, dark hole

Accusations sharp as arrowsWhizzed over my head

The chief target, my Uncle,Dodged, while firing his own projectiles

We knew he was the culpritNo one else had grand enough hands

To hollow out a hole that largeHe insisted he was framed,

A victim, our scapegoat

As our search for justice and vengeance continuedWith me leading the crusade

My uncle shot me a knowing smileA glance, both joking and pleading

I knew then that there was no use fightingThis was just a story that would live on

An “unsolved” mystery Infamous and rehashed at every family gathering

I couldn’t and didn’t want to stop it.A story bigger than I was

Meant to be told again and again

Watercolor by: Maryanne


JealousyValerie Edwards

Jealousy is facet of humanityTrancelike fog-like malevolence

Contemplation of sinCane’s skirmish with Abel

Spiteful thoughts of another Sitting alone

Dilapidated wooden chairThe only solace

To an ever-jaded heart

Watchful eye of dissatisfaction Conscience running astray

Timidly renders thy soul to the fogWhile thinking of another

Icy veinsHeart freezes over

And the beating grows dimmer I am the end of a sunset

And you are the ice capped mountain

Anticipating lossDenial is my consolation

Thinking of anotherYour petulant, bombastic ways

Exhorted apprehensionsYou gnaw away my patience

Remnants of a broken heartFlutter away with the breeze

All fades awayInto the foggy deep abyss

Thinking of another

The Gift

Mary Kate Domino

I am a junior volunteer at St. Joseph Hospital in Orange and have always done the typical volunteer tasks. However, one day a request from a nurse came in that would completely change my outlook on life. The nurse called to ask if a volunteer would visit a twenty-one-year-old man dying of cancer. The unit staff could not contact his family, feared that his life was ending, and didn’t want him to die alone. An older volunteer, Jennifer, offered to do the call and asked me if I would be willing to go with her. Not quite understanding the impact it would have on me, I accepted. Once in the room, the nurse introduced us in an unusually peppy voice, “There are some nice volunteers here to visit you,” and then she turned and left. We stood awkwardly for a minute, staring at his pale complexion, listening to his heavy struggling breath, trying to find something meaningful to say. Nothing. The silence was so loud it was unbearable. Jennifer, distraught, looked at me and lipped, “let’s go.” We exited the room and she told the nurse that she was un-comfortable and we left. I could not help but feel guilty, as if I had denied him the simple human right to not die alone. The next morning I called his charge nurse to make sure he was still alive and asked to come back. Thankfully, he was alive and she wel-comed me, but she informed me that he had worsened and would die that day and asked me to periodically call back and check in. Every time I called, he was still alive but I was growing anxious. I didn’t even know this man’s name, and yet I felt so much compassion and responsibility towards his life...more than I ever felt for anyone else. I called one last time and was notified that his father had come. She thanked me for my concern but told me she no longer needed my services. He passed away that night. Even though the situation worked out, my guilt did not subside. If only I had the guts to have at least said something to him. All I wanted was a second chance. Time passed and I moved on until one day Luke, the volunteer on phones, asked me, “They want us to send someone to visit a dying patient, what do I say?” Without hesitation I responded, “I’ll do it. Tell them we’ll send someone.”


The patient was older and suffered heart failure. This was hard for me because my grandpa had recently died of the same condition. Nevertheless, I pushed that aside and focused on the patient. I sat with him for two hours; hold-ing his hand and comforting him. I told him I would never leave him and he would not have to be alone, and I kept my promise. After he had passed, I was able to compose myself until a young nurse stopped to thank me; she cried, hugged me, and told me I was wonderful. I almost broke down; but I held it in. On the drive home the emotions became too much to bear. I pulled over and sobbed, purging myself of my emotions: the guilt, the anguish, and the realization of death when the old man took his last breath. I cried until there were no more tears. This is when I concluded what I will carry with me for the rest of my life. Petty and selfish concerns are meaningless and the material goods we possess do nothing in our last hours of life. All that matters is the people we are and the way we treat others; that’s the legacy that will live on. By staying with that man, I gave him a gift that no material object can replace: love. And that is the legacy I will carry. Love is all that truly matters, without it we are nothing.

National Anthem

Gabriella Pinel

The morning sun kisses the clear baby blue sky. Cereal bowls and spoons clank downstairs as my siblings devour their Wheaties. My brothers rush around, “Where are my socks, where’s my jersey?” Yes, indeed, it is another Seal Beach baseball opening day. Although, this year I would not be drowning in my too-big t-ball pants and jersey scrunched up next to all of my school friends as they announce our team name, nor would I be standing in the snack shack line waiting an eternity for my otter pop, but today I am singing the National An-them. Am I nervous? You have no idea. Today I am wearing my cherry red An-gels jersey and my favorite pair of jeans. As soon as I am ready, headband stuck to my head, I hop on my mint green cruiser and pedal towards the baseball field at my elementary school; of course racing my brothers along the way. Along with my parents and little sister, there are quite a few people at the field setting up for the opening ceremony, but not half the amount that would overcrowd it later today. As the day gets started, so does my nervous system. I keep going over the words in my head. Line by line. Letter by letter. The time finally comes for them to call out all of the teams for this year. The typical announcer-like voice floods the speakers, “The Cardinals…The Rockies...The Angels...The Yankees…” “Could this guy go any slower?” My mom and I kneel down on the field, waiting for my brothers and my dad to parade onto the field with their team. A small video camera glued to my mom’s hand, she was filming my brothers as they walked onto the field, fum-bling with their hats and joking with their friends. As everyone enjoys their time, I sit here anxious and nervous. The lyrics race around in my head. “How could I mess this up? I’ve sung it a million times and I know the words…I’ll be fine. What am I saying?!? No I won’t! What if I forget the words or mix up the order of the lines?! Oh no this is horrible! Why did I ever agree to this? Wait I didn’t! Oh gosh, I just need to keep going over the lyrics. Ohh say can you see, by the dawns early light, what so proudly we hailed….wait, what so proudly we hailed….that’s the right lyric right? Oh gosh….” Tap, tap, tap! “Mom! Mom! These are the right lyrics right?!?”


My mom tries to calm me down like a dog owner trying to compose their small puppy. But this small puppy is not composed! The procession continues and I become more and more anxious. I just want to get it over with. At this point, my mind is a clamber of thoughts. None of the words or phrases make any sense. Finally. It was time. “And singing our National Anthem today, Gabriella Pinel!” “Ahhhhhhhhh! Here we go.” I smile as I walk up the mound; the black microphone dares me to come closer. I act completely cool and collected, when really I am a crazy person inside. Thump, thump, thump. I am pretty sure the entire town is standing there waiting for me to start. A sea of eyes all darting right at me. “Here goes nothin’…” “Ohh say can you see…what so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming…” At that point all I can think about is how badly I need to swallow! I try to find a good time, but there is definitely no good time when you are in the middle of singing the National Anthem. So of course, right in the middle of one of my phrases… “and the rocket’s red glare, the bombs…” Glunk! Of course! A nice big gulp right in the middle of my phrase. I know every-one heard it too. Oh well, at least I could finish singing now. “O’er the laaand of the freee and home of the brave!” Yes! Finally! Done! And it actually went pretty smooth other than my gulp. As soon as I finish, I embarrassingly drag myself off the mound, over to my mom. Of course, like every mom would, my mom says I did such a good job. And for the rest of the day I would get little compliments from people that made me feel better about my big gulp. I guess I had not done bad after all. In fact, one of my school friends came up to me and said, “Hey, good job on singing. It was good, but I heard the gulp.” Yup, I knew that gulp. The famous gulp that is still joked about to this very day and is caught on tape so I can go back and watch it, usually to get a good laugh. I can always expect a funny glance from one of my family mem-bers whenever someone else sings the National Anthem. But, hey, it is all part of growing up and experiencing new things because that sure was a different

experience. I cannot say I learned to be less nervous because having so much atten-tion in public would make me nervous to this day, but I did learn that I do not need to stress out so much in order to succeed in something. If I just calm down and breathe, things will probably go more smoothly. I freaked out to sing and my little mess-up was not even something I really could have prepared for. I was able to gain the knowledge that even though all of the nervousness was not necessary, if it helped me overcome a challenge or succeed at something, it was well worth it. All I can say is, the next time I am getting ready to sing in front of a public audience I will not be wasting my time going over the lyrics in my head; no, I will be taking that one big gulp before I get in front of another microphone.


Acrylic by: Madeline Hartnett

Becoming A Big Brave GirlMiranda Carrasco-Burge

I had been sitting cross-legged on the top bunk of our cherry red bunk bed, struggling to decipher the new big-girl book my sister gave me with the little light the moon lent to me when I heard the ominous thump under the bed. Automatically my mind leapt to all the awful things that would go thump in the night, especially in the dark crevice directly below our bed. My sister had told us of awful goblins; ghouls and terrible hairy beasts with long yellow teeth who like to eat little girls and boys while they sleep. Silence filled all the dark corners of my room with lanky, deep, terrible shapes as I froze in time like the terrifying silence had paralyzed me with the hopes of devouring me like a fat spider with long thin legs and a terrible oozing mouth.

“Peeps? What was that? Are you up?” one of the twins scared voices jarred me out of my temporary paralysis.

I swung my head over the side of the bunk, hanging upside down like a giant pink bat to look at my groggy but equally terrified little brothers clutching each other in the dark.

“Evy? Austin, did you guys hear that under the bed? I think something is down there,” I answered quietly trying to whisper so mommy wouldn’t hear us and we wouldn’t get in trouble for being up past bedtime.

“No, no I think you dropped something down there,” replied Evan not looking entirely sure but hopeful.

The thought sent my mind straight to my sunny yellow diary that should be tucked safely away right under my pillow. I flung my body back up to my bunk and dove for my pillow feeling frantically around the rumpled but empty sheets. Terror filled my body anew and I froze in quiet contemplation of what this meant. My bright yellow diary that had kept all my secrets, stories, and fears like a faithful friend, was trapped under the bed. In the dark. Alone. UNDER THE BED. The space underneath beds was the most horrible space in the entire world, definitely worse than a port-a-potty, maybe even worse than a snake pit.


“Peeps?” Austin called again through the silence, “What’s wrong? What fell?” “My diary,” my despaired whisper fell like a stone from my lips. As recognition hit my brothers, their shocked gasps rippled in reply.

They knew what my diary meant to me, all the fights we have had over it. But they also knew that the darkness underneath our bed was the most terrifying place in the world and that I would do anything to never have to peer into it.

“In the morning,” rushed Austin, “you could get sister or dad to get it for you when the sun is up and the things under there are away.”

The things under there, I thought, the terrible horrible things under there could have my diary, be touching it with their grimy clawed hands, devouring all of my most secret thoughts with their blood-red eyes. I couldn’t stand the thought of it for one second and I made my mind up.

“Scoot over,” I said resolutely, “I am coming down there. I have to get it.”

Without further warning I swung my whole body over the side railing and let myself fall right next to my brothers on their bunk.

“Peeps, you can’t! Sister said! Sister said!” both my little brothers whispered des-perately trying to get a grip of my pink camisole as I clambered from the space on their bed to the cold floor.

“I have to!” I told them, silencing their pleas to wait for morning with a sharp look.

The floor seemed to contaminate my body with a chill. Goosebumps broke out on my feet and crawled up my ankles and calves.

I got to my hands and knees on the floor a little more than an arm’s length from the bed and looked into the dark crevice determinedly. My mind went into over-drive. The dark began to expand and stretch out to unfathomable lengths like an unexplored cave with no end in sight. I could’ve sworn air whistled by, fro-zen and stale, smelling like dank and damp things wafting up from the abyss to

meet my upturned face and shoulders. There were glowing red eyes mirroring mine and there very well could have been wolfish smiles with long yellow fangs peeking out of bloodstained thin-stretched lips. But if there was it didn’t matter.My diary needed rescuing and I was the only one who could do it no matter how terribly my vision blurred due to my incessant shaking.

So I swallowed my terror, closed my eyes, and surged forward awkwardly on hands and knees until I was sure I was completely under the bed then slowly I opened my eyes. Once they had adjusted, I let out a gasp of shock which was then multiplied by the gasps from my brothers who hung upside down from their bottom bunk to look at me under the bed.

There, in the corner of the darkness, sat my diary, but it wasn’t the only thing down there. There were no monsters, no ghouls, or goblins. Instead there were lost action figures and pretty bows that had made this space their own. I found a single lonely shoe and shiny buttons, and counted up a whole dollar in dimes and nickels!

I smiled back at my little brothers as they scrambled to join me under the bed. It wasn’t scary at all under here. Our giggling chased away any remnants of the cold darkness. We giggled and played under the bed until mom heard us and came into our room.

“What are you little monkeys doing under the bed?” she laughed while pulling us each out and putting us on the bottom bunk together as she tucked us back in “You know it’s past bedtime and you should be sleeping”

“We know, Mom, but Peeps’s diary fell-”

“-And the monsters had it-“

“But she wasn’t scared at all.“

“No, not a bit. She jumped right down there and scared them away for good.”

“Yeah, she was like a hero and she saved it.” The twins excitedly scrambled back and forth to tell the story of how I heroically saved my sunny yellow diary.


“Shhh Shh,” my mom said in attempt to calm the twins down. “Of course she did. She is getting to be a big brave girl now. But it’s time my little heroes went to sleep.” She finished and walked to the door.

“Okay, Mommy, goodnight,” we all replied one after another before trying to get back to sleep.

Before drifting back to sleep I contemplated what this whole ordeal meant. There were no monsters under the bed. What could this mean? Maybe there were no monsters in the attic or in the drains. Perhaps there were no monsters in the clos-ets or the cupboards.

Even if there were, it wouldn’t matter anymore. My little brothers and Mama thought I was a hero. I could take on any silly monsters in the light or the dark. Like Mommy said, I was becoming a big and brave girl.

With that last thought on my mind and a proud smile on my face, I snuggled into my little brothers on the bottom bunk of our cherry red bunk bed and drifted into an easy peaceful dream of sunny yellow diaries and floating bows and single shoes.

BarrierDanielle Spencer

A barrier between two worldsOf shattered gold and missing pieces.

The wall is so insignificantIf we need the help to find the pieces.

Built up to tear down.Torn down to build back up.

Built up to tear down’cause we need the help to find the pieces.

The shadow forms on our facesOur frames a living mask

And yet we’re born behind safe wallsWere they made to hold us back?

We search through lifeOur hearts of innocence looking for a piece to fit.

Break the bonds, escape your woesAnd find yourself significant.


Acrylic by: Deanna Santillana

Mystical MelodyMichaella Pettinicchio

Fingertips fluently flutter, fast and forcefully.Pushing powerfully, precisely and purposefully.

Elaborate emotions enter, endlessly and eventfully. Delicate details, denounced and distressful.

Timely ticking, tastefully and tunefully.Abounding admiration, abstract and aimfully.

Growing grace, gently and gainfully.Mystical melodies, masterfully and meaningfully.

As my fingers glide across the keys,Sound emerges, my melodies.

They tell my story with the art of sound,Speaking to me clear and loud.

Clinking, pinging, sounds they make.Playing with deep breaths I need to take.

Energy flows from soul to fingertipsAs my fingers slip and skip.


The World’s CoefficientMiranda Gilligan

I wish life was Algebra

So once you get the right formula,

You could plug in the variables of your dreams

And find the solution of how to achieve them.

Hope and WonderElizabeth Bolduc

In my dream I saw a shooting star

And children chased its glittered glowing ends

And they seemed to expect a reward or to find a pot of gold

I thought this dream of theirs was much too bold

I chased the chasers to break the news

That their hope and excitement would be theirs to lose

And then I realized I should watch what I tell because

I, along with them, chased the star as well.


LightningValerie Edwards

At night or four in the morn

Strike without warn

Beautiful monster

Illuminates the sky

Rain or dry

Lethal as venom

Could kill you in a flash

Instantaneous luminescence

Fleeting splendor

Dark then light

Exquisite like a diamond

Tricking sight

In the eyes of the beholder

Questionable beauty

Sit at the window

Predicting the next strike

Once afraid of its essence

Now in awe at its loveliness

Lightning in the sky

Resembles the spirit of life

Raw and lovely

Short and sweet

Alive

Coronado

Valerie Edwards

Cruising down the Silver Strand

In my silver Mercedes wagon

Windows down, wavy ringlets swoosh in all directions

Crisp salty air fragrant and refreshing

Rays of sunshine peep through the sun roof

Flirt with olive skin

The warming presence of the sunshine

Euphoric warmth of soul

High tide, left and right

Crystal-blue waves crash along the shore

Pass the military base

Marines jog along

Shirtless, sweaty and chiseled

Afternoon fades and evening gives way

A prelude to the ball

Magenta, fuchsia and orange

Intertwined in a dance on the horizon

Transition of the ocean breeze

Warm and soft to cool and sharp

The day is almost over

But the beauty never fades

For in the night when all are sleeping

You’ll find it in the waves


Photo by: Courtney Cox

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