Dream Day

By: Sydney McDermott

My Name is Alexis. I am an average 12-year-old girl with a dream, and todays the day it comes true!

I woke to the sound of the alarm clock going off at a constant rate: Beep-beep-beep. I threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. I tugged my pajamas off, and pulled on my shorts, my partially wrinkled tee shirt, and my sweatshirt. I grabbed an extra pair of shorts and a tee, and stuffed them into my bag. I yanked my hair into a pony tail, pulling the least so tight it almost broke. I dashed into the bathroom to wash my face and rid my eyes of sleep.

Lexi Mom called. Breakfast!

Coming! I yelled.

I sprinted into my room, swung my bag over my shoulder, grabbed two pillows, and ran to the top of the stairs. The first pillow I flung directly at the bottom of the stairs. Then I

heaved my bag from over my shoulder and then I hurled it down, right onto the pillow.

Score! I thought to myself.

The second pillow I flung at an angle so it landed right below the end of the railing. I positioned myself so I was comfortably sitting at the top edge of the railing. Once I was situated, I lifted my feet and whoosh! I was off, sliding down the railing with my wavy red hair billowing out behind me. Just as I was about to hit the stopper, I jumped off and landed on the pillow with both feet making the sound of a muffled cushiony thud: oomph!

Alexis Jen Curtis! My mother called, sounding annoyed. Your breakfast is getting cold!

Table of Contents:

Page 1: Dream Day by Sydney McDermott

Page 2: Dream Day, Continued

Page 3: Dream Day, Continued Lost. by Hannah Cottis,, and Dont. by Lauren Bartlett (Maine Poets)

Page 4- A Powerful Weapon by Alyssa Lee (Maine Poet)

Page 5- Arlington by Kiah Holdsworth and Racing by Natalie Robinson (Maine Poets)

Page 6-Grandpas Workshop by Mackenzie Foss (Maine Poet)

Page 7-The Fallen Tempest, continued by Andrew Mott (Maine Writer)

Page 8-An Interview with Mrs. Potter by Zoe Clark and Sydney McDermott

WJHS PRESS

Dream Day, cont.

Young lady, what are you smiling about?

Nothing, I said as I stuffed a mouthful of bacon and eggs into my mouth.

Probably nothing you would have approved of anyway. I said chuckling to myself.

Ill say, she said w h i l e e y e i n g m e suspiciously. As she strode out of the room I was about to take a bite of my warm, buttered toast when I heard, Alexis! What is this mess at the bottom the stairs?

Uh -oh. Ill take care of it!

You better! She said walking upstairs while shaking her head and muttering to herself. I scooped up the pillows and stashed them behind the couch. As for my bag I flung it over my shoulder, chugged down the rest of my juice and flung my plate into the trash.

Great, I groaned as I spit out my mouthwash. I looked at the clock-6:10. The bus picks me up t 6:15. I had exactly 5 minutes to look for my sneakers. This is great, just great. I said.

Looking for something? I spun around and there was my mom in one hand dangling my lunch box which I had obviously forgotten to pack, and in the other hand my sneakers!

You found them! I exclaimed! My mom laughed. I found then under your bed where I told you to look the first time you asked me!

Oh, I said, feeling a little embarrassed now. I could feel my cheeks flush a mild pink.

After cursing myself under my breath my mom laughed.

Dont worry love ; we a l l m a k e mistakes.

T h a n k s mom, I said and snatched the sneakers and the lunch box. I stuffed my lunch box in my bag and s l i p p e d m y sneakers on. I did a sloppy job of tying,, but it was the q u i c k e s t I c o u l d d o

because the bus would be here any minute. Thanks, Mom! I love you, I yelled.

Good luck today sweet. You will do great. Just try your best, she said as she kissed the top of my head.

As I bounded up the bus steps the bus driver said to me in his booming voice, Alexis, big day for you, huh?

Yes sir, I replied.

When I got to school I rushed to class, already eager for school to end. The day seemed to drag on forever: gym, LA, SS, Math, and then Science.

Honk-honk!

Oh-no! I said. Got to go! I leaped over to her and kissed her on the cheek, and then with two shakes of a lambs tail, I was out the door sprinting up my driveway to the bus.

Dream Day, Continued

drag on forever: gym, LA, SS, Math, and then Science. Finally, last period was over. I darted in and out of kids filing out of their classrooms. I swung open my locker door, and shoved everything I needed into my arms. When I got back to class, I snatched everything off my desk and stuffed it into my bag. I zipped it up and flung it over my shoulder.

Then I stood there waiting for the announcements to say: All buses are here students may now leave the building. Once it said that I weaved my way in and out of kids to reach the end of the corridor. Once I got

there I stepped out of the way of the mob of kids. Finally after what seemed like forever, my friend Emma stepped into view. We walked together to the locker room and changed into our spare clothes. When we were done we checked to makes sure our image looked good. When we were ready we walked out of the school.

Ready? Emma asked.

Ready as Ill ever be. I replied. We linked arms and headed for the field.

This was it. The day I had been dreaming of my whole life. Soccer tryouts.

Lost. By Maine Poet Hanna Cottis

The smell of smoke circulated around me. My lungs crinkled in disgust as he approached. Every inch of his body was nothing but filth. I walked with a slight jog trying to get away in a hurry.

But I wasnt getting away from him.

I just walked right into his trap.

Im lost. Im gone.

My arm was grabbed.

Was this my safety route? Definitely not. My skin was twisted by the angry force of the pull. Scared to turn, but I did. I turned on him and kicked him in the gut. Pulling my arm back aran.

Ran as fast as I could and never looked back. Until.

I was brutally pushed to the ground. There was no way out.

Im gone forever. All I think about is my precious family,

Who I will never see again.

Dont. By Maine Poet Lauren Bartlett

Whats done is done, it happened.

Some say why, while others say why not.

Think twice, for time is now.

What if it had been you? You would mourn too.

Some say why, while others say why not. I live for pleasure, not judgment. What it had been you? You would mourn too. Change is different, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.

I live for pleasure, not judgement. Things are changing, in a way that I am not fond of. Change is different, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.

New coming into life is very discouraging to me. Things are changing, in a way that I am not fond.

Think twice, for time is now.

New coming into life is very discouraging to me.

Whats done, is done.

It happened.

Maine Student Poetry

A Powerful Weapon. By Maine Poet Alyssa Lee

You've fallen in love again,

you know love is a powerful weapon .

Its allowing yourself to fall dependent and allow your vacuum of a heart to consume one individual.

Though, you are simply not important anymore .

Falling in love is adapting oneself

to fit the script written in ones own head .

You feel you have to follow every step .

While you do, you painfully drown in your fear of everything

falling apart , but really youre the only one doing so.

Youve come to the point in your life where you feel sorrow like no other.

Youre not sure what love is exactly,

and your equally unsure how much you trust it.

Everyone assembles their own script,

but it just takes a couple tries to finally realize it.

Arlington.

By Kiah Holdsworth (Maine Poet)

A pale wrinked old man sits alone.

Unloved, Uncherished, and Unknown.

Sitting amongst the Arlington graves. Dreaming of days past long ago. When he and his friends partied all night. Filled the air with Lucy in the sky with diamonds

Drinking to great family and even better times.

Knowing the blessing of a soldiers promise. But now they have left, each marched to their death.

Joe with a bayonet in his belly.

Charles scattered over a rice paddy.

George with charred flesh.

Forgetful they are of he who sits here

Amongst the graves of brothers, wiping a silent tear.

Wishing for the return of their friends.

Blind their poor eyes to a soldiers grief. But he does not upbraid them in word or in mind. Nor does their neglect seem to him unkind.

Hell forgive and forget all the hate theyve shown.

This poor soldier who sits and weeps alone.

Racing.

By Natalie Robinson (Maine Poet)

When I race, I am somewhere else.

Im in my own little bubble. I feel different than I usually do. Nervous, scared, excited, all rolled into one big ball of energy.

Mostly I feel like I am ready to race.

Nervous energy flows through me at the starting line.

I start out pretty strong at the beginning.

I find my pace, find my spot in the clump of runners. I am confident that I can do this.

Sometimes I start to falter in the middle. A few runners pass by me. I wonder if I can make it.

I try to push away the doubts, but they still linger in the back of my mind.

At the end, I am worn out. I try to finish strong, but its hard to run faster. I feel like I cant make it, but somehow I do.

When I am done, I go over the race in my head.

Sometimes I think that I could have run faster.

Sometimes I think that I did well.

No matter what, I tell myself that next race I will be even better.

Sometimes I am, sometimes Im not.

It all depends on how much I want it.

Grandpas Workshop by Mackenzie Foss

Tin, iron, steel, copper.

Hinges, gears, joints, wires.

Assembled as if they were rolling tires.

Hope, love, lost, power.

Hinges, gears, joints, wires.

He is a father of all hours.

Hope, love, lost, power.

What if he falls, like a flower?

He is a father of all hours.

Games played full of laughter.

What if he falls, like a flower?

He is a father of all hours.

Games played full of laughter.

Assembled as if they are rolling tires.

All the love he will devour.

Tin, iron, steel, copper.

Previously, in part 1 of the Fallen Tempest.

By: Andrew Mott, Maine Writer

I sat on my old redwood chair, putting my cup of soothing tea to the side as I started the letter I would send to the village, and my father therein, to warn them of the coming tempest. I never did have a chance to finish that letter.

As did the old quill and ink touched the surface of the scratchy, weathered document, poised to write, a knock resounded upon my old gnarled door downstairs. I sighed, standing up, and I quickly shuffled into an outfit and some shoes. I dashed downstairs, and pulled open the door. There stood a young man, a big smile on his face, a pack on his back. Hello, Brian. The young man said. Hello, sir. Come in, come in. It must be pouring out there. He took a deep breath, and replied to him in a friendly tone, Yes, just a little. He stepped into my home, and sat down, dropping his leather bags on the floor. He was a tall, young man, who dressed in the fashion of a simple cloak over clothing made of tough cloth. It seemed he was constantly smiling, and in a great mood despite the tearing winds, and in a great mood despite the tearing winds, and the ever growing strength of the gale just outside. What is your business here, young sir? I asked him politely. your father he sent me. The storm outside is growing. It feeds on the forest, and it is approaching our village. I was interested to hear what he had to say, so after a deep breath, he continued. Your father, and an old friend, Dwyer, know the source of this storm. It is he wheezed, and coughed. Would you like some elberry tea? I have plenty, and it helps sooth things like this. I said politely, ready to go make some. Yes, please, with no sugar. Elberries are sweet enough for me. The weary traveler replied. I hurried off to the kitchen, preparing tea for the young man. After I had finished putting it to boil, I went back to the living room, where the man sat, examining a blade he had, cold steel glowing from the ever darkening daylight. What is that? I asked the stranger. It is a sword, and an old one at that. I obtained it from Dwyer, your fathers friend. He said, and

sheathed the blade in a leather container. Why have I never heard of this Dwyer? I asked him. He passed away long ago, fighting in a large war battling single-handedly with the blade called Thorn. Angathi, in other words. I was puzzled with this man, who had knowledge about great, but dark things. Angathi. I said, self consciously. My gaze was far away, bent on other things. The name Angathi, of which the name felt so familiar in my mouth, and the name Dwyer. Surely, I have heard these names before. My father must have told me of Dwyer and Angathi once, I thought. I thought of the many times my father had told me of the Great Wars. What had happened? Had he told me about Dwyer and his legendary blade? What is your name, traveler? I asked the polite man, who was now sipping his tea, giving me time to think. My name is Aelor. He stated simply. I am the son of Dwyer. I was interested to hear that he was the son of Dwyer, who was now dead. What brings you here anyway? I asked him. As I said, your father sent me. And I am here to say, that I need your help. He said, drawing his steel blade. An adventure, he stated simply, to the dark forest. We must stop the tempest, and there is only one way to do it. An adventure? I second guessed it, but I wished to hear more. Recover my fathers blade, Angathi, and slay the tempest- or it will kill us all. Lightning cracked a large oak outside, and thunder resounded through the whole area.

Zoe & Sydney: Has this teaching position made a difference in my life? If so, how?

Mrs Potter: Yes, It has made a difference in my life. I am super happy to come to work everyday and when I teach something new, I think to myself; I am improving students lives right now and that makes me feel really good inside.

Zoe and Sydney: What are you interests outside of teaching?

Mrs Potter: I LOVE to read, watch my sons play sports, and I LOVE animals. I have three dogs and six chickens.

Zoe and Sydney: How does your family feel about this position?

Mrs Potter: My three sons approve. They have all adjusted well, she told us. My husband is very supportive and that makes me very happy. Plus, her youngest son (who is in elementary school) loves taking the bus over to the Wells Junior High every day to spend time with his mom until she is done.

Zoe and Sydney: Is it hard to go on with your daily routine and go to work all day?

Mrs Potter: Not really, we just have very busy weekends! she said. I love coming to work every day, and when you love your job, you love your life.

Mrs Potter will be our long-term teacher while Mrs. Zotos is out, but she might get a permanent job here someday. When she leaves, we will all miss her very much and we think she is a very special teacher. She has made a difference in a lot of students lives, including ours.

An Interview With Mrs. Potter

By: Zoe Clark and Sydney McDermott

Mrs. Potter is substituting for Mrs. Zotos while she is currently out. To make her feel welcome for the time that she is here, we decided to ask some questions about herself. Here is what we asked her.

Zoe & Sydney: Have you ever had a teaching position before?

Mrs Potter: I have been teaching my whole life. At the age of 13, I started teaching clogging and started the Maine Attraction Cloggers. I taught clogging for the next 20 years. After graduating from Colby College, I taught at York Middle School for two years and eventually opened Henny Penny Preschool.

Zoe & Sydney: How do you like your longterm teaching position here at Wells Junior High?

Mrs Potter: I love teaching 6th grade, Mrs. Potter replied. It is awesome, because at 11 and 12 years old, you are like little people starting out in your lives.

Zoe & Sydney: How does teaching 6th grade compare and contrast to your previous teaching positions?

Mrs Potter: Comparing; I love working with children of any age, I love to teach. [Contrast] However, middle school children are special to work with. I love the range of activities that you can do with middle school children.