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JANUARY 2008
O U R 19 T H Y E A R
T EEN INK . COM
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Contents
V OL . 19
NO. 5
J A N U A RY 2 0 0 8
C O V E R F E AT U R E S
12
14-17 DRIVING FOCUS
42
Paintings, drawings & photos
“The fate of many helpless, loving cats
and dogs rests within the important issue
of neutering and spaying. ”
– from “Man’s Best Friends”
6-9 NONFICTION
“‘That was the scariest moment of this
job,’ my partner said as she sat down next
to me.”
– from “Just One of Those Days”
“It doesn’t matter how good you are at
shoplifting, because the odds are definitely
against you; eventually you will get
caught.”
– from “It’s Not Worth It!”
Cover photo by Sean Castner,
Princeton, IL
Call for Submissions
We welcome submissions on all topics,
but we especially need REVIEWS, ENVIRONMENT and OPINION pieces, stories about
COMMUNITY SERVICE, and FEEDBACK for
upcoming issues.
BOOK REVIEWS
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn; Side Effects;
The Fountainhead; The Bone Collector;
The Five People You Meet in Heaven;
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows;
The Face on the Milk Carton
“Now that I was away from the safety of
the DMV, I began to tense up. She must
have sensed my fear.”
– from “The Witch from the DMV”
36 ENVIRONMENT
ART GALLERY
31-35 COLLEGE DIRECTORY
COLLEGE ESSAYS
32
COLLEGE REVIEWS
34
COMMUNITY SERVICE
13
EDUCATOR OF THE YEAR
4
FEEDBACK
43-46 FICTION
41
HEROES
18
INTERVIEWS
39
MOVIE REVIEWS
30
Shoot ’Em Up; On Golden Pond;
Lars and the Real Girl; Across the Universe;
The Darjeeling Limited; Dan in Real Life
40
MUSIC REVIEWS
Kanye West; Envy on the Coast; Linkin Park;
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah; The Nightmare
Before Christmas Soundtrack
20-21 OPINION
22-23 POETRY
PRIDE & PREJUDICE
10
SPORTS
26-27 TRAVEL & CULTURE
28
YOU & YOUR HEALTH
24
If you like Teen Ink magazine,
you’ll love the new Chicken Soup book!
… the best stories & poems
from the pages of
Teen Ink magazine
Whether it’s your first date or first
loss, Chicken Soup for the Teen Soul
explores the real issues you face
today, written by teens just like you.
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MSL
1/08
BEING DIFFERENT
These original pieces can be found on TeenInk.com
even for my future. It is due to Teen Ink that I
was able to hold the first cover photo of my
life in my hands at the age of 16. As someone
who hopes to attend photography school, you
can imagine how pivotal an experience that
was.
I appreciate all of your hard work putting
together a magazine that real teens can relate
to, in addition to giving us a sense of pride. It
is your turn to feel that pride. I thank you
from the bottom of my heart.
Rebecca Brown, Marietta, GA
ODE
TO MICHAEL JORDAN
This article says it all about basketball,
sports, and champions. I also get a certain
feeling before a game and don’t want the ball
passed to me. But when I get the ball, all my
nerves disappear – I do well under pressure.
Muhammad Ali’s quote is very true: Winners aren’t made in gyms. It doesn’t matter if
you’re the biggest or strongest. The true winners at the game are the ones who have the
most heart, desire, and work ethic. Michael
Jordan shows all of these things.
Michael Jordan demonstrated an amazing
work ethic. He loved basketball so much that
even after he had been cut from his high
school team, he still had love for the game and
came back his senior year and was basically
an MVP the rest of his career. I am not like
Michael Jordan, but I do have a lot of heart for
basketball.
Garrett Harrison, North Platte, NE
A THEORY
ON THE WAR
I thought “A Theory on the War” was an excellent article and I agree with the author
completely. While many Americans only absorb the facts that the media has selectively
thrown at them, I admire the author for using
accurate information in his writing. I stand
with him and believe that the negative attitudes some Americans possess are not helping
our country or our situation in Iraq.
Though you may not support the war or our
president, the reality is that George W. Bush is
our president and we are in Iraq. I know that
criticizing our government and our nation’s
choices isn’t going to help the war, but maybe,
just maybe, some support and a better attitude
could.
Hannah Geise, Sheboygan Falls, WI
HAIR
Most people like me never win much of
anything. Yet we enter contests anyway on the
off-chance that maybe, just maybe, we might
actually get noticed, just once. I would like to
thank Teen Ink’s staff for all of the hard work
and dedication they’ve put into giving teens
like me a place to shine.
This magazine has published my work a
total of four times: one article and three photographs, one of which made the cover of the
November issue. I would like Teen Ink to
know what an impact you have had, possibly
(617) 964-6800
Email: Editor@TeenInk.com
Web site: TeenInk.com
Publishers:
Stephanie Meyer
John Meyer
Senior Editor:
Stephanie Meyer
Editor:
Emily Sperber
Production Coordinator: Katie Olsen
Special Programs:
Tasha Huo
Editorial Assistant:
Maria Torres
Advertising:
John Meyer
Volunteer:
Barbara Field
Interns:
Emma Halwitz
Dorry Samuels
04
Teen Ink •
OF THE
DAMNED
After reading “Hair of the Damned” I felt
such sympathy for Maia Shoham. People are
always making fun of my extremely long,
staticky hair. It has always been like that, no
matter what I do to it. One time I went to get
it cut and the lady barely did anything to it. I
totally know how Maia feels when people
stare. I feel so bad when people stare at me.
Kelly Nemmers, Dell Rapids, SD
THANK YOU, TEEN INK
Box 30 • Newton, MA 02461
TASTE
Feedback
The story “Being Different” is a good article and it has a very important message. Being
with the “in” crowd can be inconvenient and
even unsafe at times. Jason Gross made an
excellent point, stating that giving in to peer
pressure is often related to wanting to be cool
like the popular group. When you are trying to
be well-liked by fellow teens, you can make
bad decisions that could hurt you and others. I
agree that it is important to have your own
personality and to allow yourself to be different from everyone else.
I strive to be unique, and I make my own
decisions by doing things I think are right, but
unfortunately these are not always what the
popular kids are doing. For instance, I try to
do my best in school. I am also different in
that I know I will never do drugs, smoke, or
drive under the influence. These are things
that could definitely harm me, so no matter
what anyone else is doing, I won’t be involved
in these activities.
I agree with Jason that being different is
smarter and more fun than being popular or
the same as everyone else.
Shelby McClellen, North Platte, NE
EVIL CLOWN
I enjoy reading your health section. But I,
like many teenagers, am not the healthiest. I
CIRCULATION
The magazine reaches
over 350,000 teenagers and
is delivered to over 5,500
high schools and junior
highs. In addition, copies
are mailed to all 32,000
high schools and junior
highs in the country.
EDITORIAL CONTENT
Teen Ink is a monthly
journal dedicated to publishing a variety of works
written by teenagers. Copyright © 2008 by The Young
Authors Foundation, Inc.
All rights reserved. Publication of material appearing in
Teen Ink is prohibited unless written permission is
obtained.
NOTICE TO READERS
Teen Ink is not responsible for the content of any
advertisement. We have not
investigated advertisers and
do not necessarily endorse
their products or services.
FREQUENCY
Every month
September to June.
from
THE YOUNG AUTHORS
FOUNDATION, INC.
The Young Authors Foundation, publisher of Teen
Ink, is a non-profit corporation qualified as a 501(c)3
exempt organization by the
IRS. The Foundation, which
is organized and operated
exclusively for charitable
and educational purposes,
ADDITIONAL COPIES
For a back issue, send provides opportunities for
$4.95 per copy for mailing the education and enrichment of young people.
and handling.
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
particularly enjoyed “Evil Clown” by Jessica
Wilcox. It showed the link between fast food
marketers and advertisers. I believe that if
more individuals would take time to read this
article they might understand the downfall of
Americans’ overall health.
Angel Zayed, Boise, ID
DISTANT PHOTOGRAPH
Your magazine touches on the topics teens
deal with every day, like college applications
as well as health and prejudice. But the way
teens address these subjects makes it easier to
relate to.
My favorite sections are poetry and Pride &
Prejudice. I’m a poet and I fight prejudice
every day. One article I especially liked was
“Distant Photograph.” I can understand the
need for someone to accept that they are okay
just the way they are. I’m 100 percent Puerto
Rican but have light skin and I don’t speak
Spanish, so I often get mislabeled.
I’m not a skin color. I’m not just a girl with
brown hair and eyes. I’m Carisa, a girl who
loves music, writing, love, and everything that
spices up my life.
Carisa Sanchez, Wethersfield, CT
SADD
That is so cool – a club for high school kids
who are against drugs, alcohol, smoking, and
any other decision that could be harmful to
them. Having parents sign a contract saying
they will pick you up, no matter what, no
questions asked, is a good idea. I wouldn’t
mind having a club like that in my school.
Marisa Rueb, Dell Rapids, SD
THE
RAINBOW
I totally agree with Jill Gleason in “Taste
the Rainbow.” I was surprised at American
food when I came here this year from Japan. I
thought teenagers were not interested in eating. Pizza or hamburgers for lunch? How do
they absorb vitamins? I am still wondering.
The other thing I was surprised at is that
everything is frozen! Frozen pizza, frozen
vegetables, frozen apple pie!
In Japan, my mom cooks breakfast, lunch,
and dinner every day, and we spend an hour as
a family around the table. I know Americans
have their own culture, but I pity them. Dinner
is a good time to have fun with your family.
Thank you, Jill, for pointing out how important mealtime is.
Mai Orita, Phoenix, AZ
STEWART ’08
“Stewart ’08,” which discussed electing a
comedian president, peaked my interest. I will
be eligible to vote in the next presidential election, and I realize I want to cast an educated
vote.
Frannie Ucciferri proposes that a comedian
like Jon Stewart should run for president. I
couldn’t agree more. I think it is necessary to
have a political background; however, our
country needs a change from the dry president
from a wealthy political family. This is the
21st century, and it’s my generation who will
inherit this country. Our generation is more in
need of a leader who doesn’t talk at people,
but understands and empathizes with all.
I think a comedian like Jon Stewart has the
important qualifications and experience with
an open mind, unlike those who have guided
past generations. Comedians have experience
with the media and are well spoken, which
our country is not accustomed to lately. I think
a break from the cookie-cutter mold of our
country’s leaders would do our nation good.
Alexandria Kelly, Wethersfield, CT
Editor’s Note: For info about forming
a SADD group in your school, call
877-SADD-INC or go online to
www.sadd.org/formchapter.htm
THE BEST
I think that Teen Ink is the best. I
love to read about what other people
think and stories about things that are
similar to experiences I have had.
Throughout my life I have experienced things that most couldn’t even
imagine relating to. So, it’s nice to
know that there are solutions to my
problems, and people who write in
Teen Ink help me all the time and give
me comfort with my everyday life.
Valorie Nelson, Center, KY
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n o n•f i c•t i o n
Just One of Those Days
as taking off my hat, sunglasses, and sweatshirt when
t was just one of those days where the only people
I saw a mob of people running toward me. I started
on the beach were old couples bundled in blankets
toward them, trying to pull off my shirt but stopping
in beach chairs, sipping coffee, reading the paper
when I heard a second cry.
and watching the surfers. The surf was gray and an“My baby! My baby! She’s choking!” Before I
gry, reflecting the incredibly overcast sky. A fine mist
could think, a blue-in-the-face, unconscious child was
clung to the air, our clothes, our skin, our sunglasses.
thrust into my arms, her eyes rolling back in her head.
Yes, to those who wonder, lifeguards are on duty on
“She’s choking!” The woman screamed again becrummy days too. The past three days we had spent
fore collapsing. I instinctively turned the baby over,
huddled in the shack, watching the rain, playing
supporting her weight on my forearm, and brought
cards, feeding sea gulls, and chasing out the few brave
her down to my raised knee. I started giving her the
(or incredibly stupid) souls who didn’t mind galebaby Heimlich maneuver.
force winds or rain, wanting to try their luck with the
My partner came running over. I somehow knew,
raging seas.
once again, what to do without thinking. I handed her
We hadn’t bothered to set up much equipment, just
the baby, who was no longer as limp, and she continthe stands, flags, tarps, and line bags at two of the
ued performing the Heimlich.
three beaches our crew was covering. We took long
“I can’t watch this!” the mother screamed. The
lunches, leaving three guards on our quarter mile of
radio crackled in my partner’s hand. I grabbed it.
beach. It was just one of those days. We sat out in
“Do you need a bump?” Someone from the next
beach chairs at the base of our stands and tried not
beach down asked, ready to send backup.
to freeze.
For the first time since the baby had been
And that’s exactly what my partner
and I were doing when it happened. She “LIFEGUARD! handed to me, I was able to think.
“No, we need Mobile 2. We have a
had her chair fully reclined and her face LIFEGUARD!”
choking baby,” I said authoritatively, surcovered with a towel, dozing off. I was
prising myself, and began trying to clear
settled semi-comfortably in my chair, as
some of the crowd. All of a sudden, the baby was
bundled up as humanly possible in my suit, running
throwing up.
shorts, and shirt under my big guard sweatshirt. My
“Put her on her side!” I shouted, and my partner
sweatpants were pulled down so my feet were covheld the baby on her side until she stopped regurgitatered, and I was wearing a winter hat. I had my hood
ing. I was suddenly aware of my racing heart, the
up and a towel wrapped tightly around my legs. And I
adrenaline coursing wildly through my veins.
was still freezing. At the beach. In August.
“Is backup coming? Did you call? We need 9-1-1!”
I looked out at the kids playing in the water just to
said a lady, the baby’s aunt, I later found out, who was
their knees. Good patrons, I thought as I turned my
almost as frantic as the mother.
whistle over in my hands inside my sweatshirt pocket.
“Yes. Our EMTs are on their way and they’ve
All it would take was for one of them to lose their
called 9-1-1,” I said as calmly as possible.
footing and I would have to go in after them. Then I’d
“Someone’s coming? Are they running?” she yelled
have zero chance of warming up for the rest of the
at me. I peered nervously into the mist, searching and
day. I sipped my coffee and settled deeper into my
hoping with every subatomic particle in my body to see
chair. Another day of doing almost nothing and getthe vehicle’s headlights. Miraculously, they appeared.
ting paid for it. Nice.
“Yes. He’s coming. The headlights – that’s our
Then it happened.
EMT,” I said to her.
“LIFEGUARD! LIFEGUARD!” A mother’s frantic
A noise caught my attention. A whimper. Then a
screams ripped through the air. I jumped up, totally
cry. Then applause. The father took his little girl. He
alert, a shot of adrenaline jerked me awake, and I behad managed to remain calm throughout the whole
gan throwing off clothes. Darn, I thought, who did we
ordeal.
miss watching that’s now caught in a rip? I got as far
I
Mutton Busting
G
06
by Brigit Carlson, Brielle, NJ
rowing up in Arizona’s rodeo
country, I was familiar with the
events that come with traveling
rodeos: bull riding, dressing a calf,
hog-tying a calf – and mutton busting.
Imagine the manly sport of bull riding.
One man is roped onto a fat, snarling,
bucking bull and is let loose into the
dusty, hot outdoor arena. The goal is to
hold on for eight seconds. That may
not sound difficult, but try it someday.
Mutton busting is like bull riding, but
instead of bulls, they use sheep. And in
place of the manly men (who would
look ridiculous on a sheep), children
between six and 10 years old try to
hang on for eight seconds.
It took me all of five minutes to say
yes to the idea of riding a sheep. Being
seven years old, my decision-making
ability was pretty limited. I figured,
Hey, I can ride a sheep as well as the
next kid. Little did I know I was in for
a world of pain and embarrassment.
My nerves were rattling the day of
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
With a roar and a small spray of sand, the truck
screeched to a halt and the beach EMT jumped off
with his bag. I quickly gave him a rundown of events.
I looked around. Another guard from the next beach
had arrived and was recovering from his sprint. I
barely realized he was there in all the commotion. I
was shaking from head to toe. I squatted and clasped
my hands together tightly, trying to stop the shaking.
The baby, who I later learned was 13 months old,
continued to cry as the EMT checked her out. Her
father held her in a sitting position on the truck. He
gently kissed his wife’s forehead when she came to
stand beside him, her eyes red, her sister’s arms
wrapped around her. Their little girl was going to be
okay.
Police officers showed up with the ambulance, took
down names, and made a report. We were still shaking and trying to process all that had happened. What
had seemed like an eternity was only a few minutes.
Family members came over and thanked us. People
who had been watching told us what a great job we did.
I walked back to the stand, plopped down in the
sand, put my sunglasses and hat back on, and finished
my coffee in a single swig.
“That was the scariest moment of this job,” my
partner said as she sat next to me.
“Pretty much, yeah,” I responded blankly, as I
stared at the water and held onto my empty coffee cup
with shaking hands.
It was just one of those days. ✎
Photo by Pedro Silva, Phoenix, AZ
by Mackenzie Stewart, Henderson, NV
me square in the face and said in a
the rodeo. What was I thinking? I hated
gruff voice, “Ready?” I didn’t have
being in front of crowds. I didn’t like
much choice.
getting dirty, or even being near dirt. I
My feet went into the cramped pen
loathed trying new things. I didn’t even
first. I felt my shoes touch the dirt floor
like sheep. They were dirty and smelled
of the rusted blue pen. It smelled
like, well, sheep. Yet there I was, getmusty and thick. Once I was balanced
ting ready to ride one for eight seconds
on top of the sheep, the handler let go
in front of hundreds of people. I wantand told me to lean forward. I
ed to run out of the arena
I can ride a did as this man told me. With
and hide in the hot car until
a helmet two sizes too big
it was over. By the time this
sheep just as (that blocked my view), I
idea occurred to me, it was
handfuls of the
too late. I was lifted away
well as the grabbed
sheep’s coarse wool that was
from my mother by a rodeo
full of dirt and leaves. I could
handler and placed atop a
next kid
feel the animal’s heart beating
platform.
faster than mine. I realized that this poor
The next 10 minutes seemed like the
sheep was even more frightened than I
longest and yet the shortest I had ever
was. There was no time to commiserspent waiting in my life. Finally, I was
ate with the beast though. A deafening
at the front of the line looking down at
buzzer suddenly blared, the pen opened,
my sheep. It looked gigantic. I froze.
and the sheep took off stumbling.
Mutton busting was not the sport for
The death grip I had on the poor
me. I wanted down, and I wanted down
right then. Just as I turned to voice my
thing didn’t work at all. Within three
fears, the rough-handed man looked
seconds, I had bounced off the sheep
and found myself face down in the
crusty, sun-baked earth. The sheep, in
all of its sheepy brilliance, thought this
was its time to exact revenge and
stomped on my back before running to
the other end of the arena. There I lay,
trampled, helmet askew, covered in dirt
and sheep stench, with tears streaming
down my face. I looked behind me to
see my mother running to comfort me.
“Stand up and show them you’re
okay,” she told me as she wiped the
dirty tears from my face. I stood, disheveled and traumatized, waved my
little hand, and walked out with my
mother.
Sadly, I didn’t win anything, not
even the respect of the worn-down
rodeo animals. I did find a new admiration for those little puffs of wool,
though. My plan from that day on was
to never ride or even go near another
sheep. And no sheep have trampled me
since, which gives me hope that my
plan is working splendidly. ✎
by Jenny Tetzlaff, Cameron, WI
alien, and definitely creepy. No wonder I had to fight
ife. Liberty. The pursuit of happiness. We’re all
the urge to run when I first saw it. I could probably fit
entitled to these. The Declaration of Indepenmy finger in it if I tried, but I realized that would be
dence says so. However, the question remains:
rude.
What is the pursuit of happiness?
“Want to go for a walk?” he asked as if he sensed
I created my own definition of this elusive idea one
my discomfort.
day a long time ago, not even comprehending that I
I nodded and found myself strolling up and down the
had defined it. At the time all I knew was that I was
sidewalk hand in hand with my Great Uncle Clayton.
not happy.
The quiet houses and willow trees reminded me of
That day I squinted against the sun beating on my
Mayberry on a Sunday afternoon. Every lawn was
face, shifting my weight to find a more comfortable
perfect. The smell of freshly cut grass and homemade
spot on the cement steps, although cement isn’t what I
fried chicken hung in the air. A man stood watering
would call comfortable. A burst of boisterous laughter
his lawn while his wife knelt by her flower bed, wearmade me glance at the brick house behind me. I saw
ing a sun hat. A dog watched us from under a porch, a
various relatives swarming about gloomily holding
butterfly waved as it floated softly by, and the breeze
plates of food and smiling weakly. Many wore black,
whispered in our ears.
and the traces of tears on their cheeks
His cool hand enveloped mine, and his
He was
gave away the façade of cheerfulness.
vibrant eyes snapped as he listened to me
Wwhhhhhaaaaooommmm!
intriguingly talk nineteen to the dozen. I chirped about
I scowled at the men in black leather
family and school, mostly how today
whizzing by on their obnoxious beasts.
similar to Clint my
had been the first day of school and I was
Stupid motorcycles.
sad because I was missing hot dogs for
“Loud, aren’t they?”
Eastwood
lunch. I told him there were exotic nuns
I looked up to see who dared interrupt
visiting us from far away and that I wanted to be a
my sulking and was greeted by yet another unknown
nun when I grew up so I could wear their pretty outfits
relic … I mean, relative. I sullenly looked back at the
made of yards and yards of peachy-pink gauze.
street and concentrated on being cranky, but I couldn’t
I described my bold brothers, my passion for ice
seem to focus. The man beside me was too interestcream, and the downy, mischievous kittens I loved to
ing. With a pair of leather chaps and a cowboy hat, he
play with at home. My uncle grinned and listened to
was intriguingly similar to Clint Eastwood.
me ramble, encouraging my chattering by laughing
His leathered neck was partially concealed with a
and asking a question occasionally.
bright red bandana, but I knew that protection from
As we walked along the sleepy streets of my grandthe sun wasn’t the reason he wore it: He was hiding
parents’ town, I began to change my view of Uncle
something, a small black abyss about the size of a
Clayton. He no longer was a retired cowboy but
penny. The skin around it was wrinkled, and the hole
seemed an older Andy Griffith, especially after he told
seemed to be trying to suck his neck in, like a vacuum.
me that the hole in his neck was from smoking. A
What in the world is a random hole doing in somegun-slinging cowboy would have gotten it from a bulone’s neck? I wondered to myself. It doesn’t look right.
let, a bar fight, or even a snake bite, but not smoking.
I had never heard of such a thing. It was unique,
He definitely fit the description of Andy Griffith: tall,
L
Listening
I
thin, white hair, and sparkly eyes that squinted against
the sun. The fact that he took me out for ice cream
didn’t hurt either.
“You know what, Uncle Clayton?” I said as I licked
the dribbles of strawberry ice cream running down my
cone. “At first I didn’t want to come today, but now
I’m glad I did ’cuz I got to meet you. I’m happy now.
I wasn’t happy earlier.”
My great uncle smiled and said softly, “I’m glad
that you’re happy. That is the most important thing in
the world. To pursue your happiness.”
After a long moment he said, with a twinkle in his
eye, “Now you probably shouldn’t tell your mother
that I bought you ice cream. I might get in trouble.”
“Oh, I won’t tell. Pinky swear,” I promised, completely oblivious that he was joking. “I don’t want
you to get in trouble.”
“You’d better pay more attention to your ice
cream,” he pointed out, and I began licking my cone
in earnest, trying to catch the spills with my tongue. I
wasn’t very successful, however, and as the melted
strawberry goo began to slide down my arm and
threatened to drip on my clothes, he laughed, handing
me bunches of napkins.
I never saw my great uncle again. He died a couple
of weeks later. I never cried. I had only known him
for that one day, and yet it felt like a lifetime. In just
one day he had taught me something that can take a
lifetime to learn. Often I think about his words. The
wisdom of my uncle’s age and the innocence of mine
finally showed me the truth.
I don’t know if my great uncle was happy that day,
but I know I was. I had ice cream to eat and kittens to
play with. I had a mommy and daddy and two older
brothers who let me tag along. I had blue skies,
sunshine, and someone’s hand to hold. I had life. I
had liberty. And I was happy. What was there left to
pursue? ✎
n o n•f i c•t i o n
The Pursuit of Happiness
by Umesh Patel, Atlanta, GA
t seemed like it was a dream; I remember praying that it was. It’s hard
facing reality when you are not ready.
I still think about sitting up on the roof
where it all took place, crying and asking
myself why it had to happen. There’s
nothing I can do now – he’s gone. I find
it strange how I look for comfort in remembering how it happened. Normally,
people don’t find a friend’s death comforting, but to me, that is what it has become.
No matter what I say about my friend,
I don’t think it’s possible to put the impact of his life in the spotlight without
leaving something in the dark. I met him
when I was three years old on a visit to
my grandparents. He was the only other
child around, and from that moment on
we were friends. As we grew up, our
friendship and personal problems grew
as well. I never fully understood all the
complexities of his life, which is something I regret.
All he wanted to do that night was vent
about the problems that were clouding
his mind. Up on the roof, we sat talking
until the rain started trickling down our
necks. It silenced our conversation and
enhanced the voices of the world below. I
wish I understood the way the world
made me feel sick. I knew that it would
works – the bliss and the heartache.
be the last time I would ever see him. I
There are few events I can recall so
thought about letting the image of his
clearly, but seeing my friend die plays
body remain a mystery, but something
over and over in my mind as if it were
compelled me to suppress my fears and
happening again. It was getting late, and
look at him. He was wearing his black
I was ready to go in where it was warm
suit, a white shirt, and his deep blue tie,
and dry. I could hear in his voice that he
looking as if nothing had happened. I
was crying when he said “Good-bye.” At
hated him. He lay there motionless, while
14, he gave up on life.
I stood above him haunted by memories.
I remember turning around and seeing
His hair was combed nicely to one side,
him with a gun to his temple. As his eyes
the wound in his head mended.
closed and I screamed, a flash of light
I could picture him smiling
appeared followed by a
Seeing my
at me without a care in the
deafening silence. I stood
world. Laughing in my face,
there in the rain, quiet and
cold. I watched as his blood friend die plays he had indeed played the role
God. I hated him. He killed
mixed with the puddles
over and over of
himself to let me know what
around him, and then I ran
he felt like when he was alive.
to tell his parents. I went
in my mind
I was listening now. He
back to the roof after his
should have told me what was going on
body was removed, unaware of the
in his mind instead of placing a bullet
weather or the time. I had already put
through it. I hated him.
what happened into words, but at that
My thoughts were distorted by my
moment I began to cry, finally listening
own misunderstandings of what had hapto my own words.
pened. I never hated him; I loved him.
I found myself on that roof every night
He listened to me, he understood me, he
for the next two weeks. My life had
cared about me – he was a brother.
changed. I didn’t know why I was there
If only I had listened to him I would
on the roof. There was no answer.
have understood, but I lost that chance. I
Even though I had witnessed his death,
lost a brother, a friend. I lost the chance
the idea of seeing his body at the wake
to talk to him again, to ride bikes together,
to swim together. I lost it all. I can’t forgive myself for not being there when he
needed me most. Even though I have
learned to listen, when I’m in need, will
someone listen to me?
My thoughts weren’t right for a long
time after his death. I dreamed about all
my friends putting bullets through their
heads. Insomnia took over my nights. I
couldn’t sleep without reliving those moments on the roof. From what little sleep
I got, I would awake in a cold sweat with
no outlet for the pain. It was as if I was
being punished for something that wasn’t
my fault.
No doubt I missed him, and I still do.
Since then I decided to revive his soul
and let it live the way it was meant to.
It’s impossible to bring the dead back to
life, but somehow I know he’ll always be
with me. No matter how horrifying his
death was, the image I have of him will
never leave me. The more I tell his story,
the more alive he becomes. I understand
that I was not able to save his life that
night on the roof, but by telling you this
story, I preserve his life and our story,
never letting him be forgotten. He was 14
years old, a great son, brother, and above
all, friend. ✎
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
07
n o n•f i c•t i o n
It’s Not Worth It!
Zipline
by Anonymous, Hull, MA
I
mom’s face brought me crashing back
am pretty much a “good girl.” I
to reality. The car ride home was agodon’t drink, smoke, or do drugs. I
nizing. It was absolutely silent, but I
seldom break curfew, I volunteer,
could feel the incredible tension.
get good grades, and lead a well-balOnce home, I got the lecture of my
anced life. But one thing ruins this cute
life. Obviously I was grounded for
little description: I shoplift, or at least I
eternity without TV, computer, or any
used to.
electronics. All my privileges were
I started shoplifting about two years
stripped, and I had a whole lot more
ago. One day a friend did it at the mall,
chores. In addition, I had to pay a
and I just followed suit. I don’t even
$250 fine and I will have a record until
remember what I stole, probably someI am 18.
thing small and insignificant like a
I never thought of the consequences
piece of candy. But that led to the next
of shoplifting, ever. I never thought I
time, and then another, and every time
would get caught. Any shoplifters out
I would steal something a little bigger.
there reading this probably
Necklaces, earrings,
that I was just bad at it
bracelets, and makeup are
Being caught think
and that I was bound to be
now part of my contraband
collection. A lot of people
shoplifting is caught. If I were still a
shoplifter, I would think that
steal for the thrill, but not
too, but here’s the thing: I
the worst
me. My reasoning? Why
was good – even great – at
pay, when it can be free? I
feeling ever shoplifting. I would go into
can’t believe that I fell for
stores with friends and they
my own defective logic.
never even noticed I was doing it. I
Never in a million years did I think I
used to be proud when they gasped at
would get caught. I was too sly, too
my “accomplishments.” My point is, it
good for them to catch me. Looking
doesn’t matter how good you are, beback now I wonder why they didn’t
cause the odds are definitely against
catch me sooner. Afterall, employees
you; eventually you will get caught.
are trained to catch shoplifters.
I wish I had read an article by a reBeing caught shoplifting is the worst
covered shoplifter. I wish one of my
feeling ever – a mix of dread, shame,
friends had said, “Hey, cut it out.” I
disappointment, sorrow, anguish, and
wish I could have a do-over for that
guilt. I felt physically ill. I wasn’t sure
day and skip going to that mall. Shoulif I trusted myself to remain conscious
da, coulda, woulda – I didn’t, and now
or to keep from throwing up; I had to
I’m paying the price.
sit down.
So, don’t take this warning lightly
It didn’t seem real until my mom
because it may be the only warning
came to take me home. Everything
you ever get. It’s not worth it; shop
was surreal, as though I were in an
lifting is a horrible mistake. Take it
embarrassing nightmare. The look of
from me. ✎
disappointment and anger on my
I
New Kid Syndrome
slid my legs into the straps. This wasn’t going to be so hard. It was only
a zipline, after all. The spiraling metal staircase carried me up. Suddenly
I was 10 feet above solid ground. A breeze rustled the trees, shaking the
flimsy staircase. I gripped the railing with slippery hands and imagined the
stairs toppling as the breeze drifted gently.
I told myself I had to go back, even if it meant making a fool of myself in
front of all these people. But my legs refused to listen, continuing to climb
steadily. Why on earth was I doing this? I hated heights.
Finally I reached the platform and peeked over the edge. That was my
first mistake. I reeled back. No! I thought frantically, dizziness blurring my
vision. Don’t look down! Look up. Always up.
Another breeze caught the platform, swaying it alarmingly. I grabbed the
support pole and clung to it like a lifeline, breathing hard and clenching my
eyes shut. “Here,” I heard a voice say, as though from far away. “I’ve got to
rope you in.”
I opened my eyes. A woman was clipping my harness to a rope with the
sort of quick efficiency that told me she’d seen it
I had to get off all: confident kids, scared kids, and kids who
would rather die a slow death by torture than take
this thing
the leap. I didn’t want to open my mouth – I was
I’d throw up all over her – but I had to exbefore they afraid
plain. I had to get off this thing before they made
made me jump me jump. “I don’t want to do it,” I said, careful to
stare at the rope she was clipping to my harness so
I wouldn’t see the ground, so far below. “It’s all right,” she said calmly, with
a final clank of clip against harness.
The zipline stretched from the platform over a wide expanse of boulders.
“One!” she called.
I felt really sick now, staring down at those sharp rocks. “Two!”
Surely a cord this thin couldn’t support me. Surely I’d slip out of the
harness. “Three!” she shouted.
Everyone else jumped. I could see them riding along, every second getting farther away and making me feel more and more like an idiot. I told
myself to jump now before too many people noticed, but my legs wouldn’t
obey.
Finally, I took a deep breath and leapt into the air. It goes against all instincts to jump from a 50-foot platform, whether you’re attached to a cord or
not. My brain – and, subsequently, my heart, which did an abrupt cartwheel
before going numb – screamed this to me in the time it took for my body to
surrender to gravity and the life-saving, but still perilously thin, cord.
Finally I stopped. My whole body was shaking, and my heart was pounding faster than ever, but I had a new feeling too. Exhilaration.
I raced up the hill to do it again. ✎
by Amanda Mullaney, Franklin, MA
are other new kids around, in addition to people who
loved my school last year. I was top of my class,
were once new and are understanding and willing to
student body president, in the school musical, into
help. Make sure you tell people you are new. Try to
drama and art, on the swim team, and principal
get other kids to show you shortcuts only they know.
chair for band. I knew all my teachers, and I had some
This way you can make your routes to classes much
really good friends. I was unstoppable, on top of the
shorter and get around the school better. Also rememworld, no one could touch me – until I changed
ber that although upperclassmen can be scary, you can
schools.
ask a sophomore or even a senior for help. They don’t
Now I am a freshman (a.k.a. dead man walking). I
bite … most of the time.
remember my first day. I was so nervous, but knew
In the lunchroom try to look for people
everything would be okay … wrong! It
turned out that I was very, very wrong. By You are never you know from your classes and people you
might like to get to know. Ask nicely if you
the end of the day my feelings had
changed quite a bit from the summer. I
the only one can sit with them; most likely they’ll smile
and say yes. If not, it’s their loss. Simply
thought I was going to be calm, cool, and
who is new say, “That’s okay, I see my other friends over
collected by the end of that first day, but
there,” and don’t be embarrassed – who
instead I felt confused, bewildered, and
cares what they think?
flustered, and like I was the only one going through
If you are trying to meet new people, getting inthis. I was diagnosed with New Kid Syndrome
volved with clubs and sports is a great way to find
(NKS). I had the common symptoms of NKS: confuothers with your interests. Making new friends is imsion in class, no connection with teachers, lack of
portant, but don’t forget about your grades and your
friendly faces in the hallway, and zero people to talk to.
relationship with your teachers.
For those who suffer from NKS, believe they are
When starting a new school, there will also be
suffering, or have in the past, there’s a way out. You
brand-new teachers, which can be good, or bad. Be
too can see those friendly faces in the hallways, and
sure to be respectful and pay attention in class. If you
even those little tepee marks on report cards – if you
get bad grades at first, ask the teacher for help before
read on.
a test and do all your homework. Then at least the
Know you are never the only one who is new; there
I
08
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
by Haley Brown, Rancho Santa Fe, CA
teacher knows you are trying your hardest. Find out
whether your school offers tutoring. Always try to go
for extra help right away when you do not understand
something, and don’t wait until right before the final.
If you can’t go to the teacher, ask a guidance counselor, another teacher, or even a student.
Just remember that everything will be fine. Being
the new kid isn’t as scary as it is on TV. Remember,
above all, to be yourself. ✎
Photo by Molly Lansdowne, Phoenix, AZ
by David Ranscht, La Crosse, WI
strategies and helping us interpret data. Their guiduring high school, I remember reading about
ance is what makes Junior Achievement programs
Junior Achievement’s Titan teams and thinkunique, and was an immeasurable help.
ing, Wow, I could never do that. Economics
Each of us had other commitments – music groups,
seemed too complex for me, but our curriculum reNational Honor Society, jobs, other clubs – but JA
quires us to take it. So begins my journey. Now, I can
Titan was a priority. Yes, there was another motivalook back and say, “Wow, I did do that.”
tion: We could earn a trip to Disney World. But that,
Junior Achievement programs help kids around the
especially as we continued competing, was a benefit,
world prepare for a successful future. Each program is
not a reason for participating.
managed by a community volunteer who helps
Of course, we faced obstacles. At the district comstudents connect what they are learning in school with
petition, we placed second and third and I
their future in the workforce. Hands-on
thrilled to learn that all of us would
activities bring the real world to the classEconomics was
continue. At this point our camaraderie and
room. The program my class got involved
in was JA Titan, an online simulation that
seemed too team dynamics were really beginning to
gel. We decided to dress for success. It was,
lets kids run their own virtual business.
complex for me we believed, an outward display of our aptiStressing the importance of creativity,
tude for business.
entrepreneurship, and sound business deFor practice, my team members played in groups
cisions, it gave the class the chance to gain knowledge
and against each other so often that soon we could
and skills while playing a video game!
guess what each person’s strategy would be, helping
We gave ourselves a fearsome corporate moniker,
us become better competitors. We combined our indiGloboCorp, and described our logo as the seeing eye
vidual strategies to create a nearly impervious team
of business, always watchful for illegal business pracbusiness plan, and we knew what economic principles
tices. When our teacher mentioned the district competo apply in any situation.
tition, I became interested in applying the economic
And so we made it to Disney World. It was a fanprinciples I had learned.
tastic way to end my high school career. JA Titan was
We began weekly practice sessions. Our advisers (a
not just about business, it was about being friends,
local business volunteer, and our Junior Achievement
having fun, and being a team.
liaison) put in long hours explaining principles and
When the final round of the individual competition
D
The First Time
I
felt like a beam of light was on top
of me, boiling my skin. My mind
tricked me. I thought it would be
easy and painless. Swirling, turning,
and floating was what I thought I
would do. I thought I would be perfect
the first time. Now I think I was wrong.
I did what I had been dreaming
about for nine years. I went up. First I
thought I had been right. I came back
down, my special shoes clacking
against the hard floor. My teacher
called us to attention and I found my
spot on the long metal pipe, my only
hope for holding on. As the loud and
Insomnia
by Bronwyn Cummings-Thèroux, Niskayuna, NY
small sounds of the music started, I felt
once more the music began, and again
as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
I went up, the pain even worse. My
Then it hit me, my toes felt as if they
feet screamed at me to stop, stop torwere being slammed inside a door over
turing them. They weren’t able to hold
and over again. Crunching
on anymore. I flopped down,
and curling, my toenail
My toenail making a loud clack against
threatened to pop off like a
the floor. Grunting, I rose
threatened to and continued the combinabottle cap. Any second, I
thought, I will be down to
This horrible torture
pop off like tion.
nine toenails. Biting my lip
went on until the end of
I waited until the sweet
a bottle cap class. On the last combinasound of the music (the
tion I let go. I let go of the
exact opposite of my pain) came to an
long metal pipe. And I felt like I let go
end. As I slowly let my lip go, the foul
of my pain too. As I floated across the
taste of blood flooded my mouth.
room (the illusion given from my
The next combination was given and
borées) I beamed, the spotlight once
again on me, but this time I was not shy.
As I staggered out of the room (the
pain returning as soon as I came down),
I ripped off my shoes and found my
toes red, deformed, sweaty, and feeling
like any second they would bleed. My
toes were burning. Flames of pain
licked all over my feet. I slipped on my
street shoes and walked out, limping,
bag in one hand, shoes in the other. I
looked at the shoes; they were my
enemy for pain but my best friend for
beauty. They caused me agony but also
gave me grace. They were my first
satin, light pink pointe shoes. ✎
by Patrick Frentz, Dell Rapids, SD
monotonous ticking, is the only thing I hear at night.
ately during the night I have been tossing and
Soon, the ticks and tocks turn to notes and beats, and
turning, trying to get to sleep. I worry I might
my mind is flooded with music – not just any music,
be developing insomnia. I lie there, thinking,
but my favorite songs. I tap my fingers to the beat
just thinking. Everything, anything, and nothing race
and occasionally hum a few lines. Then the tune gets
through my mind, bringing up my worst experiences,
stuck in the back of my mind, like a dog trying to
filling me with grief.
lick peanut butter off the roof of his mouth.
As I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, the past
The music is dissipating. My mind holds
and the future duke it out, fighting their
My mind is only static now. I look at the bed to my left,
way to the front of my mind. It usually
to see if my little brother is sleeping, but I
starts with the past pushing forward, makflooded know he is. I lean over the side of my bed and
ing me remember stupid things I have
a look at my watch, pressing the side to
done, but in the blink of an eye, the future
with music catch
make it glow. The bright green light hurts my
jolts ahead with a boost of energy. He tells
eyes in the dark. Time has played another trick on me
me what wonderful things will happen tomorrow, or
– yesterday has officially ended and a new day has
possibly weeks from now, depending on his mood.
begun. Another day of school is closer than before.
The future ages quickly, though, and makes me imagHow will my school day go? I ask myself. As I think
ine how major events will happen.
this over, my mind slowly gets bored with the tedious
My thoughts finally catch up with me as things
school day and I drift off into a deep sleep. ✎
quiet down. The tick-ticking of my watch, that
L
arrived, the JA Worldwide coordinator invited all team
members not participating to stay and watch, but my
team members were the only ones who did. We were
determined to play the best game possible, and vowed
that any success we had was for the whole team.
When three of us ended in the top three positions, we
were all ecstatic – our preparation had paid off.
Congratulations came from everywhere. At the
awards banquet, Mickey Mouse shook our hands and
gave us our own sets of mouse ears. Our local newspaper ran articles. Our advisers received congratulations from coworkers, faculty, even strangers at the
deli. Perhaps the greatest feeling was to walk off the
plane back home and see a crowd of proud parents
who burst into applause.
Although this experience will be among my best
memories, a quote from the awards banquet is what I
will remember most about JA Titan. The speaker discussed the difference between success and achievement. At first, the words seemed interchangeable, but
then I understood his point. I have been part of sports
teams and music ensembles, but nowhere was the idea
of team so close as in JA Titan. To make it to Disney
World and win was success, but to bond together,
have fun, and overcome obstacles – with winning as a
final coronation – now that is achievement.
You can learn more about JA Titan by going to
www.ja.org/programs/programs_high_titan.shtml. ✎
n o n•f i c•t i o n
True Achievement
The Howard Nemerov
Creative Writing Awards
sponsored by Washington University in St. Louis
Open to high school juniors and seniors
3 prizes of $250 each both in fiction and in poetry.
Students may send one typed entry in each genre.
Entries must be postmarked by March 15, 2008.
See http://artsci.wustl.edu/~english/writingprogram/nemerovaward.php
for all details and a list of winners.
Judges are the faculty of the Writing Program at
Send entries to:
Washington University, including fiction writers
The Howard Nemerov Creative Writing Awards
Kathryn Davis and Kellie Wells and poets Mary Washington University in St. Louis
Jo Bang and Carl Phillips. For more information, Campus Box 1122, One Brookings Drive
call 314-935-7130.
St. Louis. MO 63130-4899
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
09
sports
Nostalgia on Wheels
Steroids
by Ryan Bottary, Hull, MA
by Allison Corriveau, Millville, MA
I also think of the friends I made through skatehen I think about my fond memories of
boarding when I look back on those days. Skater
growing up, I can’t help but escape to a
friends are different from regular friends. Regular
world that shaped me into who I am tofriends hang out, play video games, and just mess
day. The transition from middle to high school is
around. Skater friends, on the other hand, have a
a time of growing up and becoming more indelittle problem with overdoing the phrase “Mi casa
pendent. But I had a hard time accepting the rees su casa.” Eating your friends out of house and
sponsibility of growing up. One love that helped
home, skating on the front stairs until they are unkeep my childhood intact was my skateboard.
recognizable, and taking up every couch watching
Whether I was cruising down the street on those
TV, these are just some things skater friends do.
hot urethane wheels or kicking the plywood every
As hard as it is to deal with it at your own house,
which way doing a trick, it was what I loved. It
the best part of this reckless regard for
kept me away from the anxieties of
is they are everyone’s. The
growing up and the burden of reSkating becomes restrictions
kid
whose
house
is trashed one week
sponsibility.
will be the one trashing his buddy’s
I got my first board in Arizona
more than
the next. It’s a vicious cycle.
when I was 13. Being into Tony
just a hobby
Other than those minor character
Hawk’s video games, I knew if I
flaws, the friends I have met through
wanted to be like him, I had to do it
skateboarding have become the most important
too. A twist of fate actually intervened with my
relationships I have. Skating becomes more than
first skateboard. I left a restaurant, stepping into
just a hobby; it’s a common ground for expresthe hot and dry air, and to my surprise found a
sion. Every rider gives a trick
note crushed with tire marks.
his or her own style. It is also
It had been there a while.
like a brotherhood. Every skateFirst I noticed Mr. Lincoln’s
boarder looks out for one anhead, so I knew it was a
other, no matter what age or
moderate amount of money.
skill level.
Little did I know that it was
Throughout middle school
over $100. Since it was in
and
the beginning of high
such bad shape, I knew the
school,
my board and I were
owner was long gone. The
inseparable. Whenever I felt
next day I purchased a new
any anger or despair, my board
board, nails to wheels.
was my outlet.
My skateboard soon beMy skateboard rolls into my
came my Excaliber, I was
mind from time to time and
king of the skate park. It
brings memories of old friends
took months for me to get
and even older jokes and fun
the confidence to ride on a
times. Although I no longer
hill. Every day I would pracskate, those will always be my
tice and soon my new friend
favorite memories. ✎
and I got used to each other.
Then only magic followed.
Photo by Jennifer Mercer, Normal, IL
rofessional athletes are often important role models
for children and teens. Without even knowing it we
begin to imitate what our role models do. We swing
the bat the way they do, or celebrate the same way after
we score a touchdown or goal. If teens begin to act like
their role models, what happens when athletes do steroids?
Do teens get the impression that taking steroids is okay?
Well, some do. More and more teens have been caught using steroids to improve their performance, just like their
role models. When professional athletes take steroids, it
sends a message to children and teens that it’s okay.
Tour de France winner Floyd Landis and Olympic gold
medallist Marion Jones are two athletes recently involved
in steroid scandals. A recent study shows that steroids can
cause serious developmental and health problems in teens.
It also states that many of the
Steroids can steroids teens take are created
in unclean and illegal condicause serious tions. According to Henry
chair of the Commithealth problems Waxman,
tee for Oversight and Government Reform, “Steroid use
in teens
among teenagers is increasing
rapidly, with some experts estimating that nearly half a
million teens have used steroids and other performanceenhancing drugs in recent years.”
Some athletes think that steroids should be legalized because they believe that they have the right to put their bodies
in danger. In my opinion steroids should not be legalized
under any circumstances. They are not only dangerous but
give the athlete extra energy and strength. Steroids provide
the athlete with an unfair advantage, which should be reason
enough to ban them.
When Marion Jones finally admitted to having used
steroids, she was stripped of her medals and may serve up
to six months in jail. Professional athletes caught using
banned substances face fines of up to $500,000 and as
much as 10 years in jail. Hopefully, now that the punishment for taking steroids is so severe, athletes will no
longer use them and will once again be good role models
for young people. ✎
W
Diving
T
10
by Ollie Brennan,
Cohasset, MA
here’s nothing like early mornings and unnecessarily
heavy equipment. At dawn, we arrive at the ocean, fueled only by hot coffee and the anticipation of what is to
come. We lug our gear down to the beach, hoping it won’t wash
away while our backs are turned.
Masks, fins, snorkels first, then the tank – aluminum, but
weighed down with precious air. Then the Buoyancy Converter
(BC), with 25 pounds of integrated weights (the price I pay for
being so light). Wetsuits on, gauges on our tanks, tanks on BCs,
BCs on our backs, and then I wade in, feeling like the one-ton
man. Dive flag secured, we warn boaters and fishermen that we
lurk below. Then, at long last, we submerge ourselves in the
cooling water and begin our expedition.
In the soft morning light distorted by the rippling sea, we see
another world below. Soft, flexible algae drift to and fro, tugged
constantly by the gentle current. Moving through the water, we
kick up clouds of sand, uncovering shy creatures. They shoot
out, darting left and right not in fear, but in the sheer joy of
being alive. They, in turn, alert comrades, and more fish, mollusks, crabs, and lobsters stir and delight us with their presence.
For 45 minutes, we plow forward and downward, discovering
new wonders as we go. Then my gauges blink; a pulsing light
that I only catch out of the corner of my eye. Halfway down on
air … we should turn back. What we’ve seen, we won’t soon
forget – the life we’ve witnessed, and the depths we’ve tread.
Next time, we’ll journey deeper and further. Who knows what
will stop us in our quest for the discovery and exploration of
the world within our own. ✎
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
P
Don’t Call It Frisbee
by Eric DiSanto, Auburn, NY
heavily wooded areas), and many others.
hysical activity can be strenuous, which
Despite this game being non-contact, it still
can in turn make it not enjoyable. But it
has a decent amount of physical activity. Deis necessary for good physical and menpending on the type of course you play, you
tal health. The solution: disc golf.
could be walking long distances or over hilly
Disc golf is a non-strenuous, non-contact
terrain. This type of aerobic exercise is very
game, but it does provide a rejuvenating expehealthy, and combined with the natural beauty
rience for people of all ages. This game is easy
of the outdoors, disc golf is very rewarding.
to learn and play, easy on the body, and easy
The game of disc golf is also not hard on
on your wallet. It also can be played almost
your wallet. Golf clubs can cost from $60 to
anywhere.
$200 each, but a disc usually won’t
The object is to shoot your disc
into the basket in as few shots as Disc golf can be run any higher than $15. Also, instead of paying $50 to $100 to play
possible. You can accomplish this
using many types of shots and
played almost at a golf course, most disc golf
courses are free, and if not, they
discs. Some discs are specially
anywhere
are extremely cheap ($2 to $5). If
created to fly far, fly accurately,
you are an adventurous person,
turn to the left, turn to the right,
you can make up your own course, using ranor stay stable in the wind.
dom objects as baskets. Due to the wayward
After you have chosen the correct disc, you
places the discs tend to land, every shot is difcan perform a plethora of shots. To begin, you
ferent, making each an experience that never
must decide whether to throw forehand or
gets old.
backhand, then you can drive (very long
You can play disc golf almost anywhere,
throw), putt (short throw to the basket), hyzer
with as many people as you want. The equipor anhyzer (bend to the left or right depending
ment comes at dirt-cheap prices, and the courson what technique you use to throw), elevator
es are never the same. So, what are you wait(to get over trees, straight up and down), scooing for? Let the fun begin! ✎
by (to go under trees), roller (to go through
P
,OOK
,ISTEN
,EARN
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J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
11
art gallery
Photo by Monica Lawlis, St. George, UT
Photo by Matt Stauble, Glastonbury, CT
Art by Jessica Palamara, Bethel Park, PA
Art by Luke Koeferl, New Orleans, LA
Art by Amy Zhang, Edmond, OK
Photo by Christine Torres, Jersey City, NJ
Photo by Michelle Williams, Ada, MI
Photo by Adam Perez, Goleta, CA
12
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
Art by Jiraporn Rungvivatjarus, Cerritos, CA
Art by Nick Christos, Boca Raton, FL
Draw … Paint … Photograph … Create! Then send it to us all year – see page 3 for details
ORCHESTRA ORVILLE A. TODD MIDDLE SCHOOL
by Phoebe Wang, Poughkeepsie, NY
I
’ll never forget how I met Ms. Horvath. It was the summer before
seventh grade, and my school was
interviewing for a new orchestra teacher.
As one of six students chosen to help,
I was excited to meet the prospective
teachers. A stream of applicants walked
in and out of our school, but none
seemed suited to the needs of our orchestras. Finally, there was one last person. The moment Ms. Horvath set foot
in the room, we knew she was perfect.
Ms. Horvath has been at our school
for two years now, and she is loved by
everyone. Right from the beginning,
she was there for her students; she
comes in early to help us, stays late,
and is available during free periods. As
an orchestra teacher, she spends hundreds of hours ensuring the success of
her students. She always does more
than is expected of her, and she unfailingly succeeds in helping her orchestras grow. Ms. Horvath’s dedication to
teaching has driven her students to
challenge themselves. Without her wisdom to open minds, many would still
be blind to the power of music.
Despite her hard work, Ms. Horvath
is willing to have fun. Her jokes are
breakfasts, and assemblies.
well known, including “Simple pleasNot only does Ms. Horvath enhance
ures for simple minds” or “I’m glad the
the school environment, but she helps
doctor found out what’s wrong with
individuals achieve their goals. For the
you – or at least one of the things!”
past two years, she’s taught me to play
She understands middle-school stucello and double bass before school,
dents, and knows when to be serious,
during her free periods (including
and when to crack a joke.
lunch), and after school. She lets us
She teaches enough music theory to
create our own quartets. She encourkill, but makes hard work fun. We’ve
ages us to persevere. No matter how
improvised accompaniment for wellterribly we drag the bow,
known pop songs, taken
videotaped playing exor play out of
She does more screech,
ams, and rehearsed on the
tune, she always says,
school lawn. Once, bethan the school “Good, good! You did that
fore holiday break, we
well! Don’t worry, there’s
requires of her always time to improve.”
played “Dance Dance
Revolution.” “Think of it
Ms. Horvath gives us
opportunities to do new things, and
as a holiday gift,” she said. “Anyway, it
expand our knowledge. If we want to
helps your sightreading.”
learn something, she makes time, sits
Ms. Horvath spends her personal
us down, and teaches. She’ll never
time and money broadening our taste
deny a student the chance to learn an
in music. She creates CDs for tests on
classical music, and purchases cello
instrument, and is completely giving of
her time. Often playing side by side
duets from “The Nutcracker,” endless
with students, she eliminates awkwardsheet music, and even “Carmen” pupness; to say the least, Ms. Horvath’s
pets. Whether we have instrument
presence is accompanied by a sense of
auditions on Saturday mornings or
day-long all-county rehearsals, she’s
assurance.
Although she maintains the line bethere. She gives of herself so we can
tween teacher and friend, Ms. Horvath
perform for school plays, senior citizen
Coral Fry
gets to know her students; she doesn’t
pry but listens when you talk. She’s a
teacher whom I trust in every way; she
encourages us to do the right thing. But
the best thing about her is her undying
belief in her students. When they doubt
themselves and say, “I’ll never finish in
time!” She smiles and says, “I’m not
nervous. You’ll do fine. I know you
will.”
Ms. Horvath deserves to be Educator
of the Year because of what she has
done for our school and community.
Ms. Horvath helps people each day,
giving us opportunities to learn new
things. She never gives up on any student, whether or not they like classical
music. Ms. Horvath does not discriminate against types of music but encourages all, from rap to jazz to country.
She teaches us to face fear and to experience new challenges. Without her
faith in me, I never would have taken
the risks to improvise or transcribe
music. I never would have learned to
play the cello or bass, and would have
stayed in my comfort zone. The lessons
and memories I have received from
Ms. Horvath will last me a lifetime. ✎
educator ofthe year
Gretchen Horvath
The 15th Annual
ENGLISH CENTREVILLE HIGH SCHOOL
by Dawn Tribbett, Sturgis, MI
reason she is Ms. Fry and not Mrs.
ince I learned to write sentences,
Pattee is because she believes in not
I’ve been writing nonstop. Once
having her identity fused with a
I had high school English with
man’s.
Ms. Fry, I noticed that my writing exI would soon realize that like other
panded exponentially. When I wrote
teachers,
she too had expectations, but
poems or stories, I would use details
unlike
others,
she’d make us strive to
to take readers beyond my text and put
reach them. She believed in us even if
them into the world of my stories. Ms.
we didn’t believe in ourselves.
Fry taught me that I don’t have to fit
In her classroom we were expected
into the orderly scheme of life, but into go beyond everyday slang. We were
stead choose my own paths and
not allowed to use “awesome,” “great,”
dreams. She also taught me the impor“crap,” or any other “ugh” words. She
tance of writing and grammar, how to
created a list we could use instead.
understand Shakespeare, and so much
Ms. Fry also would have
more.
write fun and all-out
When I walked into
She taught me to us
crazy stories for our portclass that first day of
junior year, I entered an
choose my own folios. If we didn’t quite
hit the sentence right,
atmosphere where more
was expected. I sat next paths and dreams she’d be there to help us
think up a better one. Afto my friends as Ms. Fry
ter
sharing
our
stories in class, she
took roll and introduced herself. She
would
read
some
of her former stuwas a tall, slender older woman, weardents’ works and even her own! One
ing glasses on the tip of her nose and
of my favorites was called “I Want a
bright orange shoes with a matching
Pair of Leather Boots.”
top and scarf. I would soon discover
Another activity that helped me to
she had a different pair of shoes for
remember the comma rules was Daily
every one of her colorful outfits.
Oral Language. One student would
My first impression was that she
write sentences with mistakes and the
was just another teacher whom I
next would have two minutes to corwould listen to during my long high
rect as many errors as possible. If
school day. Then she said, “My name
there were any mistakes left, other stuis Ms. Fry. Does anyone know how
dents would try to answer for points.
Miss, Ms., and Mrs. differ?” This was
Ms. Fry has also influenced me
the first of many concepts I would
through her extraordinary teaching
learn from her. I found out that the
S
style. I have decided that I too would
like to be a high school English
teacher.
When writing one of my last assignments for her, I was stumped about
which topic to focus on, so I wrote
three pieces. When I turned them in,
she fell in love with one, saying that I
had her attention from the first sentence. She encouraged me to send it to
Teen Ink. “It is an honor to have a
piece published there,” she said.
Ms. Fry is an English teacher who
loves poems but hates rhyming; one of
her favorite plays is Hamlet. At the
start of the play, I was bored beyond
belief. She went slowly, explaining
what was happening. Soon, I started to
understand and became interested. My
favorite soliloquy is the final one.
Once I understood it, I loved it.
I’m so thankful for having had Ms.
Fry for English. She was not only a
teacher but a friend who cared more
about us than just our grades. Her effect on my life has made me thankful
for how I express myself in my writing. Now whenever I write a paper, I
imagine she is my audience and I
strive to impress her.
This is my last year with her and,
sadly, one of her last years teaching.
Next winter she will retire and travel
the world. I don’t think that any other
teacher will fill her shoes. Ms. Fry
will be greatly missed. ✎
Educator
Year
of the
Contest
Do you know
an outstanding teacher,
coach, guidance counselor,
librarian, or principal?
1) Tell us why your nominee is special: style
of teaching, involvement in school and the
community. What has your educator done for
your class, you, or another student? Be specific.
2) Essays should be 150 to 500 words. Please
type or print neatly.
3) Only junior and senior high school
educators, please.
4) Include your name and
address, the name of your
Is there
current school, plus the first
someone
and last name and position of
YOU should
your educator and the school
thank?
where he or she teaches.
3 Ways to Submit:
Online: www.TeenInk.com
Email: Educator@TeenInk.com
Mail:
Educator of the Year Contest
Box 30 • Newton, MA 02461
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
13
DRIVING
FOCUS
Caught
Don’t Text
by David Haddix,
Pewaukee, WI
T
here I was, passing cars on the highway like they were standing still.
Cars in the fast lane had to move over to let me by. I had my new
radar detector so I thought I would never get caught. It told me everything: how many types of radar it was sensing, what direction they were
coming from, and what kind of radar or laser was detected. Suddenly, the device went crazy. I slammed on my brakes and slowed to the speed limit. My
friend and I figured the radar had originated on the other side of the freeway,
so I resumed my speed. While passing another group of cars, I noticed one
was keeping up with me. I assumed either he was crazy or he was a police
officer. I casually moved over one lane; he followed my every move. Looking in the mirror, I saw red and blue lights. I was dead meat and feeling sick.
“Do you know how fast you were going?” the officer questioned me.
“Eighty?” I lied.
“I originally clocked you at 91, but as I
“Were you trying followed
you, I saw you reach 107. Were you
to lose me?” trying to lose me?” the officer asked.
“No, sir. That was not my intention.” At this
the officer asked point, I was helpless. I knew I was done driving
for a while. I had had my driver’s license for
only two weeks and now I had a six-point ticket for $280.50.
When I told my parents, all I heard was, “We’re so disappointed in you.”
They said I had to pay the ticket and enroll in traffic safety school to get
three points taken off my license. So for the next four weeks, I woke up early Saturday mornings to go to traffic safety school. I worked to pay for the
ticket. My court appearance was really embarrassing since the judge reprimanded me longer than he did the drunk drivers. My face turned red as I was
humiliated in front of everyone.
If you break the law, you have to live with the consequences. As a 16year-old, I thought bad things only happened to others – not me. This incident clearly proved me wrong. It is easy to get caught breaking the law. I am
responsible and will never repeat my mistake. People make mistakes, but they
are worthwhile if you learn from them. I am a better driver now and smart
enough not to put myself in situations where I could get into trouble. ✎
FOCUS
The Accident
and other fatalities, people are still
n the morning of December
TWD. A study conducted by Nation5th, a blue Dodge Caravan was
wide Mutual Insurance found that 19
traveling north on Interstate 5
percent of drivers (and 37 percent of
outside of Seattle – just a typical morndrivers between the ages of 18 and 27)
ing rush hour. That is, until the driver
text message while driving. In states
hit another vehicle, a white Mazda. The
where it is outlawed – Connecticut,
impact caused the Mazda to clip a
California, New York, New Jersey, and
green Honda, which rammed into a
Washington, D.C. – drivers can receive
black Toyota. The Honda then spun inhuge fines. Unfortunately, catching vito the other lane like one of those
olators often depends on the driver’s
teacup rides at an amusement park, but
honesty, making it relatively easy to
instead of ending with laughter and
avoid a fine.
glee, the car plowed into
To counteract this, legisa city bus. Fortunately,
Taking the wheel lators are hoping to propose
no one was seriously
a bill that would phase out
hurt. However, the whole
is a ton of
handheld wireless devices
debacle could have been
drivers. Sprint Nextel
avoided if the driver of
responsibility for
opposes
this legislature,
the Dodge Caravan had
claiming that only educakept his eyes on the road
tion is necessary.
instead of on his BlackBerry. UnfortuTo help, Sprint is donating posters to
nately, this scenario is becoming more
high schools across the nation. One
and more common, especially among
shows a flip phone with the caption:
teen drivers.
“Cell phone: 4 oz. Car: 2,800 lbs. TakOne of the first reported cases of
ing the wheel is a ton of responsibility.”
TWD (texting while driving) was in
Texting while driving: another thing
2005. A man in Tennessee lost control
to put on life’s long list of stupid things
of his pickup truck while texting and
not to do. Whether bills will be passed
was killed. Another tragic consequence
remains to be seen. But the message is
of TWD happened the same year in
clear: Don’t text while driving. It could
Colorado. This time, a teenager who
end up costing you a lot more than the
was texting killed a cyclist. The teen
standard 15 cents. ✎
served 10 days in jail. Yet despite these
O
by Michelle Santamaria, Clinton, CT
the smoke coming from the delivery car. I wondered
fter a long day, my mom picked me up from
if our car had caught fire too. My mom and I were not
volleyball practice. We, along with my sister,
hurt except for whiplash, but we were taken to the
were on our way home when all of a sudden
emergency room as a precaution.
we noticed a pizza delivery car turning onto the road
The best part of the whole thing was the ride in the
from a driveway. “What is he doing?” I knew he was
ambulance. I got to wear a fancy neck brace and lie
not going to make it because the car in his lane was
on a stretcher. The ride was a little uncomfortable bespeeding. I saw the white car hit the pizza car from
cause I’d never ridden while lying down before and I
behind, not realizing that we were about to be hit too.
got a little dizzy.
The accident happened so fast that I did not know
The wait in the ER wasn’t long, but that turned out
how it all played out until the next day. When I
to be one of the longest nights of my life. My
opened my eyes, I couldn’t believe what
had happened. I remember saying to my- The accident mom kept wondering what would have happened if my sister had been sitting on the other
self, Oh my God, I’m going to die. My
mom had avoided hitting a utility pole by
happened side of the car or if she had not steered clear of
the utility pole. I had seen my mom cry only
steering into the woods. The windows
so fast
twice before. I could not close my eyes to
were shattered and the left side was
sleep without reliving the accident.
crushed in. Luckily, my sister had been
The next few days I was in a lot of pain. My neck
sitting on the passenger side of the back seat, so she
hurt, and I had muscle knots in my throat, which
only had a few cuts on her face. The worst part was
made it uncomfortable to swallow. When we went to
the repair shop, the mechanic explained that the car
was beyond repair. Ironically, my mom had been considering getting a new car, and now she had no
choice.
As weird as it sounds, I believe the accident was
meant to happen. It has made me a better driver and
has opened my eyes to the reality of the world. I have
had my license for three months now, and I am still
afraid to make left turns. I worry that I will misjudge
the distance of oncoming cars, like the delivery man
did. Since the accident, it has been hard for me to
watch kids in my school speed out of the parking lot
as if they were playing a game. I get furious because I
know what can happen when you speed. I am also
wary of getting into another teenager’s car because
Art by Andres Torres, Monte Vista, CO
A
14
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
by Chris Jackson,
Cumberland, RI
after I saw how well my mom handled our car when
we were hit, I wonder if my friends would be able to
deal with a similar situation. Only time and experience can make a person a good driver.
People think that driving on the real road is like
driving in a video game; except in real life, there are
no second chances. ✎
Parallel
The car nudged up against the
trash can again, like a dog wanting
another treat from its trainer.
My sister frantically ground the
gears into reverse and pulled
out between the trash cans as
if they were an open mouth
that would snap her up.
Again
and again
she parallel parked, until
finally she mastered the art.
Confident, she turned up the radio …
and mistook the brake for gas.
The sound of the trash can
thundering
down the street was heard a mile
away.
Quickly, she slammed on
the brakes and turned off the radio,
freezing like a caught burglar, and
ran after the trash can.
by Brett Baggett, Park City, UT
T
know that drinking – even just a
small amount – can have serious
consequences – consequences they
will have to live with for the rest of
their lives. ✎
Distant flashers burn red,
But we keep our speed
All while changing lanes.
But we know we must drive past.
I keep my foot steady,
And I’ll try my hardest never to look back
(After all, this car only moves forward).
The wind blows across my car,
Whispering things I cannot hear.
Maybe when I reach the place
I don’t know how to find
Maybe then all the whispers and
Shadows made by the passing street lamps
Will make sense.
Photo by Marietta Stefanova,
Pleven, Bulgaria
Maybe then the sky will smile and
I’ll stop the car, finally reaching
The place I can’t find
by Ruth Fatzinger, Lawton, MI
Tested
by Mary Gausman, Ridgway, PA
I
I
We take the corners much too fast,
And even though we’re lost
We know we’ll find our way back.
Welcoming green exit signs
Signal a false sense of home.
Dents and Kisses
the stairs, her face displaying a mix of
had just gotten my license, and I
emotions – confusion, shock, frustrafelt on top of the world as I cruised
tion, concern, and humor. She didn’t
downtown in my mom’s silver Ford
say much and didn’t have to; I felt such
Taurus. Every time I grabbed the keys I
intense guilt just looking at her face.
heard the same warning from one (if
With tears welling in my eyes, I lisnot both) of my parents: “Be careful. If
tened to my grandpa laugh and joke,
you wreck it, you won’t be driving for
saying that that’s what I got for going
another year, and you’ll have to pay for
to church. Even that didn’t completely
it.” Yeah, yeah … I know. And besides,
erase the impact of my mom’s look.
I really wasn’t reckless, so they had
Later that day, after I apologized pronothing to worry about … or so I
fusely to my mom, she brought up the
thought.
dreaded subject: telling my dad. I had
Anyway, the sun was shining this
to tell him – the one who’s always
particular Sunday morning as I wended
carping about being careful – that I put
through town on my way home from
a pretty little dent in the front bumper. I
church. Before I knew it, I pulled into
may as well have just been
my driveway and was getto the gallows.
ting ready to make the
I felt intense sentenced
Well, I decided I had better
tricky turn into the
garage. Now, only those
guilt just looking fess up right away because
it would be 20 times worse
who have attempted this
at
Mom’s
face
if he found out himself.
feat will agree that this is
My dad’s face had an
no simple parking job. It’s
expression that I could not decipher as I
more of an art – judging angles, applyled him around the front of the car and
ing geometry and physics – to park in
sheepishly told him about my mishap.
the garage without going over the driHe looked at the ugly concavity for
veway’s edge or scraping one of the
what seemed like hours before turning
brick corners.
to me. I braced myself in anticipation
I reached the top, cut the wheel at the
of the storm of reprimands and groundexact spot I’d been taught, and continings, but his face softened and his
ued to pull confidently into the openmouth curved up slightly. He wrapped
ing. Just as I realized I hadn’t pulled
his arms around me and kissed my
close enough to the edge, I felt a jolt
cheek; I was utterly dumbfounded as he
and heard a terrible crunch! I watched
thanked me for telling him, and my
in horror as the wooden bear standing
mom just stood there and smiled. I was
guard by the corner leapt up and landed
left with tears in my eyes.
six feet away, making way for the
With one little kiss on the cheek and
bumper to meet the corner of the house.
a
warm
smile, my parents showed me
With shaking hands and a slack jaw, I
what could not be explained in words.
put the car in reverse and inched into
That dent has long since been pounded
the garage – successful this time.
out and covered up, but still their love
As I laid my head on the steering
for me shines through. ✎
wheel, my mom came running down
Lost
FOCUS
be sure they will not drive?
hree families were changed
What really brought this home for
forever over Labor Day weekme was the traveling Gone4Ever
end 2006, when three teenage
exhibit that came to my high school
boys crashed their car into a tree. One
last year. The exhibit displayed inlay dying while his two friends left
formation about teenagers who died
the scene. By the time the car was
in car accidents; some had been
found the next morning, the victim
driving under the influence of alcohad died. The driver had been driving
hol or had been a passenwhile intoxicated. Not
with a drunk driver.
only did the victim’s
They have to ger
The despair of the famifamily suffer a great
loss, but the driver and
live with their lies who were left to pick
up the pieces was evident.
passenger of the vehicle
friend’s death Seeing photos of the
have to live with the
teenage victims and realguilt of their friend’s
izing that their dreams were cut
death for the rest of their lives.
short because of an error in judgSome people believe that if parment was overwhelming for me.
ents oversee their teenagers’ drinkConsequently, I don’t agree that
ing, there would be less alcohol
allowing teenagers to drink in modabuse. I have friends whose parents
eration with supervision is the anallow parties with drinking in their
swer to the growing problem of
home, as long as the teens do not
teenage drinking. Teenagers feel
drive afterward. But when the guests
they are invincible. They need to
leave the party, how can these parents
FOCUS
DRIVING
Underage Drinking
by Elizabeth Brechue,
Auburn, NY
by Athina Maganzini,
Wolfeboro Falls, NH
wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans as I tapped my foot on the faded gray
tiles. Waiting was the worst part. The Department of Motor Vehicles office
was swarming with people all in a rush. The stocky man behind the counter
said “Next” in an annoyed voice. Slowly approaching, I handed him my paperwork and he grunted, checking off each piece. Without a word, he grabbed his
clipboard and stepped from behind the counter. He looked back at me, mumbling for me to follow. I looked at my mom, who gave me a thumbs-up, as I
walked out into what I thought would be my day of failure.
As I clumsily fastened my seat belt, I tried to remember all the pointers my
driver’s ed teacher had told me during the classes. The DMV worker got into the
van and slowly fastened his seat belt as he told me where to go: “Back out, take
a left, take your first right, follow it to the end, and go back to the office.” Okay,
I could handle this. I slowly backed out, remembering to signal. He scribbled
something indecipherable on the clipboard, and the butterflies in my stomach
flew faster.
My eyes darted between the speedometer, rearview mirror, and the street up
ahead. I made my way down the side street and back up
I grasped the main road. As we pulled back into the parking lot,
muttered for me to back up into a parking space. My
the wheel and he
stomach dropped. My pulse intensified. He had to ask
to do the one driving skill I was not fully comforttook a deep me
able with. I grasped the wheel tighter and took a deep
breath. Again I remembered my signal as I lined up my
breath
bumper with the space. I glanced backward and forward
as I positioned the large rear end of my mom’s Windstar between the lines. I
straightened my wheels, put it in park, and prepared to hear the words I most
dreaded. He finished calculating my score and told me to go inside. Sadly I unbuckled and followed him.
As I walked in, my mom looked at me questioningly and I shrugged my
shoulders. At the counter
the man pointed to a
woman.
“Go get your picture
taken,” he said in a monotone.
My mom hugged me,
smothering me with congratulations. I looked back
at her, panic-stricken.
“Athina? Are you all
right?” she asked.
And I replied, “Does
my hair look okay?” ✎
Photo by John Harding, Phoenix, AZ
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
15
DRIVING
FOCUS
The Reckless Streak
by Kiera Murphy, Cannon Falls, MN
explains, “Motor vehicle crashes are the leading cause
n October a few years ago, my sister and her
of death for teenagers. Sixteen-year-olds have higher
friend were in a car accident. They were driving to
crash rates than drivers of any other age.” In addition,
a movie in the rain after a football game when a
two-thirds of teens killed in auto accidents in 2006
Crown Victoria T-boned their Saturn on the passenger
were not wearing seat belts.
side. Although no alcohol was involved and both girls
In fact, I know from experience that many teens
were wearing seat belts, my sister’s friend did not surdon’t wear seat belts. I’ve heard the stories of latevive. Her seat belt was ripped off by the impact, and
night driving with passengers doing the most idiotic
she was ejected from the rolling car. If a crash can be
things – for example, sticking half their body out the
fatal to a person wearing a seat belt, think about what
window at 70 mph. If that speeding car
can happen if you aren’t wearing one.
crashed, what do you think would
Not a pleasant thought.
How can anyone had
have happened? An accident at 35 mph
If seat belts save lives, why doesn’t
everyone wear them? According to the
not wear their usually results in the driver receiving serious face and knee injuries; another very
National Highway Traffic Safety Adminseat belt?
common injury is a broken wrist. Crashes
istration, “Of the 31,910 vehicle occuat 35 mph or more also commonly cause
pants killed in crashes in 2001, 60 perthe
driver
to
be ejected through the windshield, which
cent were not wearing a safety belt. Safety belts saved
can
result
in
loss of limbs and paralysis, if the driver
13,274 lives in 2001, and if all vehicle occupants over
even survives. Sometimes a person is ejected and
age four had been wearing safety belts, 7,334 more
crushed by the car. With all this evidence of gruesome
lives could have been saved … 6,400 serious injuries
deaths, how can anyone not wear a seat belt?
could be prevented annually.” This proves that there is
I regret having this reckless streak that comes from
a streak of recklessness in American drivers, and what
being a teen. For I, too, do not always wear my seat
age group is most likely to be reckless? The answer is
belt. More surprisingly, I usually neglect one when
teens.
I’m in the car with a teen driver. I’ve been in the car
Teens are daredevils. We think we’re invincible and
with a 16-year-old driver going 70 mph in the winter
don’t need to be safe. The Rocky Mountain Insurance
not wearing a seat belt. I’ve sat on my boyfriend’s lap
Company’s report, “National Teen Driving Statistics,”
I
FOCUS
My Father, My Coach
M
y dad had always been my
brother’s coach. Whether it
was soccer, baseball, or football, he was there teaching him everything he knew. Since I was never the
athletic type, my dad took it upon himself to be my driving coach.
Every week we would go to the cemetery and I would get a driving lesson in
my dad’s pickup truck. He taught me
how to back up, make turns, and even
parallel park. My dad was so excited to
take part in what I was doing. Teaching
me to do a simple task like stopping at a
stop sign or checking my blind spot
filled him with joy. He couldn’t wait for
me to get my license because he knew
he had something to do with it.
For weeks my dad kept saying,
“Pumpkin, we have to go driving. You
G
Photo by Shanon Green, Elgin, SC
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
There was a phrase written on her desk,
“Laugh uncontrollably,
Sing like no one’s listening,
Live life to the fullest,
Break the rules.”
I didn’t laugh at all.
She turned off the radio.
She didn’t once crack a smile,
And when I broke the rules she said,
“You failed. Come back next week.”
by Lauren McCarthy, Raleigh, NC
need more practice before you get your
Halfway through the day I was called to
license.” I, being a stubborn individual,
the office.
pushed this idea aside, thinking that I
I knew something was wrong when
my mom wouldn’t look at me. I asked,
was ready to face the road.
“What’s going on?” She said, “Just wait
Finally, the big day came. My mom
until we get in the car.” Finally she told
took me to the DMV, and I became a
me: my dad had passed away in his
licensed driver! I was so excited for my
dad to find out. As soon as
sleep the night before. The
He couldn’t only thoughts crossing my
we left the DMV, I called
my brother to let him know
were flashes of all the
wait for me to mind
that I was coming to surmonumental experiences in
prise my dad; he told me
get my license my life that he’d miss. He
wouldn’t be at my graduation,
that Dad was in bed and to
or walk me down the aisle, or be there
tell him in the morning.
when I eventually had kids of my own. I
The next day began like any other. I
had never even had the chance to tell
woke up and went to school, still excited
because I knew that, at the end of the
him I got my license. He was the one
day, my dad would know that I had gotperson who would have been as happy
ten my license and would be just as
as I was, and he never knew. I felt as if
thrilled as he’d been during our lessons.
all of our time together driving was
aining your independence can be one of the
most difficult things. Some teens start by going
places alone or by getting their own phone. Others try to find freedom from parents the wrong way.
They may go out without asking. My method of increasing my independence was probably one of the
most common: driving a car.
Teen Ink •
Irony at
the DMV
by Brooke Feldman, Wilmington, DE
Keys to Independence
16
in a moving vehicle for lack of room. I’ve ridden with
a newly licensed sophomore, careening around corners over icy patches.
No one can be reminded too often to be careful, and
I know I have to remind myself, too. What I can’t believe is that even with the death of my sister’s friend
(which sits in a little black corner of my mind), I am
still enough of an idiot to gamble with my own life. ✎
meaningless if he wasn’t there to see
that it had paid off. The only person I
wanted to share this with was the only
one I couldn’t, and that tore at me like a
knife through my heart.
My dad has been gone six months and
I’d be lying if I said that all of this was
easy in any way. When I’m driving
alone I’ll put on his favorite song and
turn it up as loud as it’ll go. It takes me
back to our time together in that old
truck, and for just a little while it’s
almost like he’s there with me.
So, maybe I can’t say that my dad
was my coach in sports, but he taught
me everything I know about driving, and
I’ll take that, along with our memories
and his spirit, with me for the rest of
my life. ✎
by Paige Brezina, Shreveport, LA
When I turned 16, getting my license was one of the
decided to keep both of the Mustangs,” my mom said. I
most exciting days of my life. It meant no more worrywas filled with disappointment, but there was a Christing about rides and thus more independence. I could
mas tree with a lot of gifts under it, so I wasn’t too sad.
finally do more things on my own. I was ready to drive,
I was ready for Christmas.
and there was only one thing stopping me: I needed
Christmas day! Now I finally get to open my presents,
a car.
I thought. So I got up and ate breakfast with my family.
I knew what kind of cars I liked but just couldn’t find
I received many presents, great ones. I loved them all.
the right one. Like any teenager, I had a limited
Usually my brother and I finish opening at the
amount to spend. Then one day my mom came
I needed same time, but not this year. His stack looked like
home from work and said her coworker had two
a mountain. As I sat there I thought, I’m glad for
a car what I got, but how many did they buy him?
Mustangs that belonged to her daughters, explaining she would probably sell us one if we
The living room got so full of wrapping paper
were interested.
that my dad asked me to get a trash bag from the
A week or two passed and still no car. Then, my mom
garage. I went outside and there it was: the most beauticame home with photos from her coworker. “She still
ful car ever! I definitely felt so stupid but thrilled. I
isn’t sure if she is selling the car,” my mom explained.
finally got my car. The Mustang looked brand-new. My
It was perfect, though – a red Mustang with a white top.
dream had come true. I finally got to drive and found
I wanted it, but still I didn’t think I would ever get it.
the little independence that I was dying for. It’s just
Christmas eve finally arrived and still no car. “They
enough to make me feel like I’m growing up. ✎
by Dustin Schwingle, Cameron, WI
W
FOCUS
Whew!
alking into the DMV with my mother, I
I easily finished the rest of her requests. I was natucould only imagine what was in store for
rally
relieved when she told me I had completed the
me on this chilly November morning. The
pre-inspection
list. I joyfully rolled up the window
day I would get my license had been scrolling through
and turned on the heater. Just as I was beginning to
my mind forever, and now it was actually happening.
enjoy the comforting warmth, the instructor yanked
We waited in a room with two mothers whose children
open the passenger door, sending a blast of frigid air
were both taking their tests at the time, and a father
inside.
and daughter who were nervously waiting for the
“Now, wait to start the car until I tell you to. There
girl’s turn behind the wheel.
are a few things I need to do before we begin. Let me
It was probably only five minutes until one girl resee your permit. In the meantime, you can adjust the
turned with a young, kind-looking driving instructor,
seat and mirrors.” Her voice was calmer now that she
the kind of person I had hoped would give me my
was in the car, but every word came out with no entest. Then she glanced at her clipboard to read the
Photo by Adeline Nieto, Ridgefield, CT
thusiasm.
name of the next person she was going to take.
I handed her my permit. Since I had driven to the
“Jennifer Smith, please.”
end of the test. Sure enough, she said in a monotone,
DMV, the seat and mirrors didn’t need adjusting, but
The girl sitting across from me with her father
“Turn left into the DMV lot and park the car.”
I pretended to do as she asked, just to play it safe.
stood up with a nervous look. She grabbed her papers
Excited to be back without getting yelled at or havFinally she told me to buckle up and start the car.
and followed the instructor. It looked like I wouldn’t
ing an accident, I quickly swung into the lot and took
Here it goes, Dustin. This is it.
have her for my test.
the spot I had parked in before.
The instant I turned the key to start the car, I felt a
Twenty minutes passed and another instructor and
I thought I had done okay. I mean, I had a pretty
strange new confidence. The only thing I had to worry
teen returned. This lady looked the opposite of the
good parallel park, and I didn’t do anything terribly
about was that lady sitting next to me. I
first one. She must have been at least 50 years older
wrong. What if I actually got my driver’s
realized it wasn’t what I actually did but
than me, tall and thin, and wore Coke-bottle glasses.
license?
She
must
what she saw that counted.
Her expression told me that she wasn’t having a good
Back inside the building, I saw my mom
“Start by finding your way out of the
day. The boy she had come in with looked at his
have sensed and dad waiting. The instructor took us into
parking lot, and then make a right-hand
mother, and I could tell he didn’t think his test had
that private room. I had no clue what was
turn to head toward town.”
fear in me going to happen. While my parents and the
gone well. She took the driver’s test victim and parent
Finding this simple, I began to go
into a separate room, and within a minute, they were
instructor looked at the checklist from my
through the procedures that need to be followed in a
back. The mother wrapped her arm around her son as
test, my eyes and mind wandered as I surveyed the
parking lot.
they exited, both wearing frowns.
room. I tuned in to the adults’ conversation when I
Look in all of the mirrors. Check your blind spot.
Knowing I was next, I began to gather up my things
heard my name.
Shift into reverse. Check everywhere again. Let off the
and stand up. I can barely remember her calling my
“Dustin is a very good driver and just missed a few
brakes. Steadily turn the wheel. Keep looking back for
name, but I followed her to my mom’s car. Oh my gosh,
things,” the instructor said to my parents. “He
cars.
how can I get my driver’s license when my instructor
missed,” she murmured as she began to review her
All these thoughts raced through my head at once. I
is a witch? I thought hopelessly.
checklist, “three blind spot checks, and he cut the corhad no trouble remembering what I needed to do, but
“Now I want you to get in the car and follow my
ner short coming back into the DMV. He was probasince it all came to me at once, I started to do one
instructions,” she said, walking to the front. She began
bly just excited to get it over with.” Everyone smiled.
thing, and then I would quickly think of another and
reciting a checklist of items. “Turn your headlights
Seeing her smile was enough to change my stereothen another.
on!” Her tone made me sit at attention, my fingers
typed opinion of her. She had just been doing her job!
I made my way to the end of the driveway, and
tightening until my knuckles whitened before finally
Rather than trying to comfort the driver, she simply
turned right toward town. Now that I was away from
releasing to reach for the knob.
had taken a neutral approach and let me take the test
the safety of the DMV, I began to tense up. She must
“Left blinker!” she ordered, her voice cutting
without input.
have sensed my fear.
through the icy air. “Right blinker! Honk the horn!”
Time has passed since that all-important ride with
It was only a couple minutes before we got into
She continued to yell out instructions one by one,
the “witch.” I’ve since become a seasoned, safe driver
town, and for that time, my eyes were wandering all
marking checks on her clipboard. “Now, turn your
who now seldom thinks about the responsibilities of
360 degrees around my head. I noticed
high beams on!”
being behind the wheel. When my thoughts wander, I
long fingers threatening to grab the
Turn your high beams on? If only I
sometimes remember that day. It puts a smile on my
“Left blinker! her
steering wheel. The claw-like nails surely
could remember how to do that. My
face knowing that someone I initially perceived as a
mind froze, and I blanked on how to turn
Right blinker! would have gouged the surface.
witch was actually just a normal person who changed
She’s a witch! She’s a witch for sure,
the headlights from low to high beams.
my life by giving me my driver’s license. ✎
“High beams!” she yelled again, loud- Honk the horn!” and I’m stuck here with her!
To lessen the tension, I tried starting a
er this time. She must have been getting
conversation. “It’s been snowing the last few days, but
impatient since it was so windy and cold outside.
it cleared up nicely today.”
Frantically, I found the headlight controls.
I don’t think she appreciated me trying to chat. I
“Now, back to low beams!” she ordered, but this
didn’t hear a peep from her until we drove a few more
time in her normal level of bellowing.
The slammed door is my good-bye.
blocks, and then she asked me to make a left at the
I shove the keys despotically into the ignition.
next block. I was thinking so hard I almost missed the
The desolate ribbon of road refracts in my rippling vision.
turn, but lucky she repeated herself. During the next
I stamp on the pedal
15 minutes I was subject to her every whim.
With burdening weight,
“Make a right up here … Parallel park on this street
Stirring up a discord of dust
… Make a U-turn at the end of this road …”
All behind me.
My brain was concentrating so hard on her direcMore desperate velocity and displacement,
tions that my eyes and mind didn’t have a chance to
The physics of anger.
wander from their focus on the road. Periodically I
Yet something inside is festering.
would hear the pencil moving in either a quick motion
From the abyss of my substance,
for a checkmark or a series of scratches as if in Morse
A gale of urgency overtakes me.
code, which must have meant she was writing notes.
My foot hops pedals.
She took me through the town’s tricky four-way
I moan in lieu of the brakes.
stop twice before allowing me to head back toward
The tensely coiled steering wheel
the DMV. Following the same road, I drove eagerly,
Uncoils.
thinking of my parents, who would both be waiting
And I turn back amidst the dust
for me. What had felt like minutes before seemed like
Which only I have stirred up.
seconds now. I could see the DMV building.
Photo by Adria Olson, Edgewood, WA
by John Chen, Troy, OH
I started slowing down, hoping this would be the
DRIVING
The Witch from the DMV
FOCUS
U-Turn
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
17
interviews
Wife of Soldier Tammy Koller
rs. Tammy Koller is a high school history
heard and saw things, and asked me one day, “Can
teacher at Mount Saint Charles Academy, and
Dad be, well, … [in danger]?” I said he could be bethe wife of Chad Koller who is in the Army
cause he drives a truck, so he’s transporting things.
Reserve. He is the 3rd Platoon leader in Iraq, and an E-6
There are days that I know he’s not on the base, so I
Sergeant. Mr. Koller has been stationed in southern Iraq
get nervous because I just don’t know [if he’s all
for 12 months, and will be returning home soon. During
right]. So, over time they have figured out that there
his absence, Mrs. Koller has had to work,
are days that he could be in danger. And
raise their two children, and manage the
again, they’re young and I don’t think they
household.
“Daddy’s going realize the concept of dying. They under-
M
kids, and they kept me busy. And then I’d get out of
school and I’d be busy with my own kids.
The hardest time would be at night during family
time. Dinner was tough with an empty chair at the
table. Family functions were tough; holidays were
horrific. Birthdays were torture to me. Our tenth
anniversary, he wasn’t here. You just get through it.
Work was what got me through it, and keeping busy
with my kids and friends. It’s quiet time when you
miss your spouse.
It was very hard, and I am so looking forward to
him coming home. He can mow the lawn and everything. The one thing I always complained about was
that I had to do the “guy” stuff and my own work, and
it was very hard.
stand that people go to Heaven or Hell, but
to help the
Your husband left Iraq today. How
they don’t quite get it yet. They’ve never
long will he be home?
lost anybody close to them.
Hopefully for good. We won’t know if people in Iraq”
he will be reactivated. He’s got 15 more
How big a toll does it take on your
months left in the military, and then he retires after 20 family when your husband isn’t there?
years of service. He’s been in since we were 17.
A lot. I have been saying this from the beginning: I
have a whole new respect for single moms. It was reWhen your husband is away, does it bring your
How do your kids keep focused at school and
ally hard. I’m so glad he’s coming home! Without my family closer together?
function while their dad is away?
It did bring everybody closer because not only did I
parents, I would have never been able to get through
Well, to be honest, I believe that they’re too young
need their help with the kids, but it was such an emothis, and I’ve also got my grandmother, who’s been
[to understand the war], because John is nine and
tional strain that I needed them just to be there. You
just phenomenal. I can’t say enough. Last year I had
Kaitlyn is seven. I think they just deal with it, and
think about what could happen, and you
the kids in my class, and they were so
don’t really think about it too much during the day.
see the news and read the reports, and you
good to me. And my friends here at
“I
have
a
whole
They’ve got school, activities, they both do karate,
school, the teachers I work with, have
want them to be there if you need to cry.
and there’s dance and baseball. They’re very busy. So
been very supportive. Thank God I have new respect for
I had to hold it together when my kids
it hits them at night when their dad would normally be
these people because some people have
were around because I didn’t want them to
home for dinner and would tuck them in, that sort of
single moms” see me cry. Not that I didn’t, because there
no family; they were stationed out here,
stuff. And then John’s the typical boy who tries not to
were some days when I just couldn’t hold
with just themselves. I don’t know how
cry about it, but he does. And Kaitlyn, well, she cries
they do it.
it in. I’ve cried in school, with friends, with students,
about everything. I’ve been in close contact with their
my family, but it did bring us all closer because they
teachers through this whole thing, and luckily, there
Do you worry about him constantly or just when
were there as the emotional support I needed. They
are no problems in school.
you’re home?
were the ones who kept me in check when I couldn’t
Well, now it’s different because I know he’s okay.
handle it. They took the kids, they made dinner –
How do you explain that their dad is in danger?
Last year I can remember (I told a lot of my students)
little things like that definitely brought us closer
Well, when he first went, we told them, “Daddy’s
that I would get up in the morning and know that I
together. ✎
going to help the people in Iraq.” We didn’t say that
would get through the day because they were good
it’s a war. And over time, as my son got older, he
Immigrant Ramzan Sultan
efore coming to America, Mr.
Ramzan Sultan had struggled for
years to feed his four siblings and
his mother as they lived in the improvised region of Kashmir. Finally, he was
given the opportunity to change the lives
of his family and his own.
B
How was life in Kashmir before you
came to the U.S.?
Life was a constant battle for survival, not only for me but for my whole
family. I was always afraid that my
family would have to go without food
on the table, and unfortunately there
were some days like that. I would try
to make the best of them.
I was mainly worried about my
brothers and sisters. Since I was the
oldest, I bore the burden of providing
food for the family. What I would do at
night was take out only one candle and
place it on the dinner table (we didn’t
have electricity). After lighting it, I
would place six empty bowls on the
table (four for my siblings, one for me,
and one for my mom). I would fill my
brothers’ and sisters’ bowls with whatever we had (even if it was just warm
water) and leave mine empty. My
mother would always leave hers empty
too because she preferred not to eat
18
by Mary Grande, Johnston, RI
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
when anyone else was hungry.
So, my mom and I would sit in front
of our empty plates and pretend to eat.
It was too dark for anyone to tell
whether we were really eating. We did
this because my brothers and sisters
were too young to bear the burden of
knowing that we were close to starving. Luckily, however, few days were
like those.
by Aysha Sultan, So. Setauket, NY
clerk. But even there, I didn’t live for
myself – I lived for the constant hope
that my family would have a better
way of life and my siblings would have
a better education. Therefore, two-thirds
of my money went to them. The rest
was for my clothes, food, and lodging
(I shared an apartment with a friend).
Things were finally beginning to change,
and for the first time, I saw a brighter
future for my family.
Why wasn’t there
“I lived for the
anyone else to help
If things were changyou out financially?
hope that my family ing for the better,
why did you stay in
My parents divorced
would have a better Germany for just
when I was 13. My
three years?
dad remarried and
way
of
life”
I received news that
lived his own life. My
my mother was terribly
mom couldn’t work
ill. I couldn’t go back to my country
because, in those days, a woman workimmediately because traveling at that
ing was frowned upon. So I took the
time was rather difficult. I did, howevinitiative, and set out to look for work.
er, return six or seven months later.
Thankfully by then, my mother was
When did things begin to change
doing a lot better, but my chance to go
for you and your family?
back to Germany was gone.
Well, things never really changed
until I got the opportunity to leave my
After you came to the United
country and explore the world. I went
States, how did life improve for
to Germany and lived there for about
you and your family? Did it last?
three years. I learned the language and
Several years after I returned to
had a stable job working as a store
Kashmir, a friend suggested that I apply for a visa to the United States. I applied and was accepted. Soon, I was on
the airplane to the golden land of opportunity. Once again, I began to envision a better life for my family, but this
time I knew that I wasn’t going to let it
go. I married a wonderful woman in
Kashmir and brought her with me to
the United States. Together we set out
to build a new life. I got a job working
in a grocery store. After several years
of hard work, I ended up owning that
very store.
What about the life that you left
behind in Kashmir?
It is quite unfortunate that I rarely
get to see my brothers and sisters, but I
know that they are doing extraordinarily well. All my siblings are now married and have their own lives. My
mother, however, is still very sick, but
she is doing a lot better than she was
when we weren’t able to afford good
medical care. Coming to the United
States has definitely improved my family’s life and mine. And I wish to share
the beauty of this life with my own
children. ✎
7KHDWHU:ULWLQJ
MAKE ART, SHARE ART, LIVE ART. EARN COLLEGE CREDIT.
6XPPHU7KHDWHU
JUNE 29-AUGUST 1
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+VOF°+VMZ
summer programs
6800(5352*5$06 ] :$/187+,//
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6XPPHU:ULWLQJ
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A RIGOROUS ARTMAKING PROGRAM
C A L L 6 1 7 - 3 6 9 - 3 6 4 4 O R V I S I T W W W. S M FA . E D U / P R E C O L L E G E
SCHOOL OF THE MUSEUM OF FINE ARTS, BOSTON
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IRU WKH DUWV JUDGHV Ù ORFDWHG LQ VXEXUEDQ %RVWRQ 0DVVDFKXVHWWV
June 29–July 12, 2008
Online Creative Writing Classes
Sessions start:
February 19 – for six weeks
or
March 18 – for six weeks
Questions? Check out TeenInk.com or call 800-363-1986
(Weekdays, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. EST)
Classes are restricted to teenagers age 13-19
19
Mount Holyoke College, South Hadley, Massachusetts
• Teen Ink
Apply now!
www.mtholyoke.edu/summeraction
or call 413-538-3500
Announcing Teen Ink’s
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
A two-week leadership program
for idealistic high school women who
want to make the world a better place
opin!on
Freedom to Sag
by Kedrick Williams, Shreveport, LA
Since then I’ve found my place in hip-hop, identifyhen I was around seven years old, I began
ing more with conscience or “backpack” rap than
to realize that I lived in a bad neighborhood
gangster rap, and I no longer try to sag although I do
and that I was not like my friends. The
buy my pants baggy simply because tight Levis aren’t
main differences between us were the brands of
a good look either.
clothes we wore and how we wore them. My friends
So when a neighboring town passed a “no sag” orwore FuBu, Jordans, Tommy Hilfiger, and Starter
dinance, I did not agree with it, but I also did not imjackets while my clothes were from Wal-Mart. Also,
mediately feel directly affected either. I remembered
while their clothes were loose and baggy, mine were
my godmother’s reaction to my sagging and undertight and confining.
stood the ordinance as old folks responding adversely
Now while I couldn’t buy the brands my peers
to youth. It made me think of the angry mob
wore, I could wear my clothes the way they
did. So, with my courage up, I walked
A matter of that chased Johnny in “Rebel Without a
Cause.” They were on a witch hunt against all
around with sagging Levis and the laces
out of my Mickey Mouse light-up sneakers. censorship? things non-traditional. But then I thought
about it from a Constitutional point of view.
I thought, So far so good, as I walked down
This
ordinance
would give the police free rein to
the sidewalk exclaiming “West side” – my geography
search
whomever
they choose, with no probable
and hip-hop knowledge not quite in consensus.
cause; after all, it’s up to the officer to decide what is
Then, to make this awkward moment worse, my
sagging. Also this extreme form of censorship must
70-year-old godmother appeared and lectured me in
be in violation of our First Amendment rights.
the perils of being a “gangster, gang-banger, thug
Case in point, it’s completely legal for the Ku Klux
and/or hoodlum.” I was then spanked (beaten, actually)
Klan to gather and march down the main street of any
and told never to embarrass her by sagging again,
American city. Often the police escort them in order
which was probably good because tight sagging Levis
to protect their First Amendment rights. Now let me
are not a good look.
W
Open-Book Tests
I
n the midst of a test, a student
freezes and cringes in disappointment because she has lost her
thoughts in “mid-pen.” It is not because
the student didn’t study, it’s because
she didn’t grasp the material. Before a
test I usually protest, “I don’t know
this stuff!” Although this sounds really
bad coming from an honors student,
it’s true. After I have taken a test, most
of the material quickly escapes from my
conscience. In theory, unless students
can relate personally to a topic, they
cannot truly know and understand it.
Teachers expect pupils to be able to
by Mykayla Marcelino, Cumberland, RI
recall and apply the information from
the teachers’ fault that learning is sufprevious classes on exams and in daily
fering because if they don’t put the malife. In reality, most people aren’t goterial in terms students can connect
ing to remember that the density of the
with, we can’t fully comprehend it.
giant amoeba is 1000 unThe human brain adapts best
Most tests to new information if it is in
less they plan to go into
scientific research. What
a language that is native to
measure only its previous input.
most adults don’t realize is
that nowadays a bad test
Most tests measure only
memorization memorization
grade rarely means poor
skills and not
study habits. Instead, the
knowledge. An alternative to
skills
student likely did not untypical assessments are
derstand either the material or the
open-book tests, which focus on comquestion.
prehension. Students can’t just copy
Contrary to what some may say, it is
answers from a book mindlessly.
Watch Your Rhetoric
N
ot so fast. Do not make up your mind about
this essay yet. Read it patiently, evaluate its
merits as well as its demerits. When that is
done, make up your mind.
How many times have you been told to make up
your mind about something immediately and take action breathlessly or else catastrophe will ensue? How
often must you make up your mind without carefully
weighing both sides? More pertinently, how often are
you told that one side is the only right one, a particular view the only correct view, and any other idea
heresy?
The practice of modern politics is the art and game
of rhetoric, of persuasion. It is not in the interest of
persuaders to present both sides of an issue, and any
who represent both sides are only presenting that
which is convenient, or that which will appeal to your
trust of that source.
The target of modern politics is you. If the practice
of politics these days is a game and you are its target,
then they are trying to play you. Politicians have forsaken the painstaking practice of dialectic for the simpler and more to-the-point rhetoric. This is not limited
to politics, however. It has permeated classrooms,
churches, and the clumsily named “blogosphere,” and
threatens to present you with nothing but a continual
20
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
ask you a question: In what bizarre world is sagging
more offensive than the Klan?
I live in a part of the country where the rebel flag is
sometimes displayed proudly on government buildings, pickup trucks, and T-shirts, all of which is offensive, but it seems that my complaints have fallen on
deaf ears.
Maybe I’m simply overreacting. After all, our nation wouldn’t be the first to institute a dress code or
sweeping restrictions based on the opinions or pet
peeves of the few. Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy, Communist Cuba, Red China, Soviet Russia, and modernday Iraq have all had similar laws. Also, it’s not like
there’s a single problem in America bigger than sagging pants because we’ve achieved world peace, won
the war on drugs, ended government corruption,
solved poverty, created a fair and infallible judicial
system, and mended race relations forever.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe sagging is a pressing
issue on everyone’s mind, maybe this ordinance isn’t
racially motivated, and maybe I really do look like
every robbery suspect since ’97. In closing, censorship is great, and that is all I am allowed to say. ✎
Instead, they have the material in front
of them but must decipher what it
means in order to answer the questions.
The questions should also be worded
so that the student can understand and
relate to them.
With open-book tests, the students
are not focused only on memorizing
the facts, but instead on being able to
dissect them and understand what they
mean. I personally believe that this alternative would level the field for people without a photographic memory
and test students’ true knowledge of a
subject. ✎
by Robert Schumacher, Wheaton, IL
flow of propaganda, in essence, to make your deciways. Al Gore wants you to lay down your modern
sions for you. And all you have to do is sign on the
lifestyle for a return to Gaia worship. Richard
dotted line.
Dawkins wants you to convert to his world view.
Al Gore wants you to believe that the snows of KilMichael Moore wants you to trust your health to the
imanjaro are melting, but according to recent reports,
state. They are different in words only. They, and all
ice loss is more likely due to solar radiation and water
modern masters of rhetoric, are assaulting your autonvaporization. You would not know that if you only lisomy with their propaganda, asking you to sign yourtened to him. Scientist Richard Dawkins would have
self over in the name of calamity, hopelessness, and
you believe that the fossil record presents a smooth
unfairness. Their target is not the older population.
transition to higher-level organisms, but
They are targeting the future, the youth,
Dawkins cannot respond to the discovery
in their naivete and idealism to adQuestion trusting
vance their agendas with no questions asked.
of the Cambrian fossil bed – a giant reserThe point of this essay is not to incite
voir of fossils that have no apparent prede- drastic calls
cynicism about politics. It is not even to incessors and about which even Dawkins
for action form you that politicians intentionally mishimself remarked, “It is as though they
represent their cases. The point is to caution
were just planted there, without any evoluyou that rhetoric is how information is presented in
tionary history.” He chooses not to mention those fossils because they undermine his argument. Michael
today’s world, and if the whole truth is what you seek,
Moore promotes the British National Health Service
then you need to do your own research, dig deeper,
in his newest propaganda documentary, “Sicko,” but
and once you have heard both sides and weighed
them, carefully make your decision. Question alarm
fails to inform viewers of the almost one-year wait for
and drastic calls for action. Dispel uncertainty with
some basic procedures, the low quality of treatment,
curiosity. Do what the modern masters of rhetoric abstaffing shortages, and the conversion of many
solutely do not want you to do – think for yourself.
Britons to private insurance and private healthcare.
Now you may feel free to make up your mind about
Al Gore, Richard Dawkins, and Michael Moore are
this essay. ✎
all asking the same thing of you, just in different
by Lianne H., Palatine, IL
have fun with friends, which is where the danger
strong belief of mine is that the drinking age
emerges. If we could increase the drinking age by
should be increased. I don’t believe that at 21
even a few years, we could save thousands of lives.
most people are either mature enough or reAutomobile accidents are often a result of alcohol.
sponsible enough to handle drinking. Alcohol is one
The news is always reporting an accident because of a
of the most commonly abused drugs. The solution is
drunk driver who missed a stop sign or couldn’t stay
simple, and I don’t see why it should not be done.
in his lane. And it’s not always the drunk driver who
It’s common for minors to have friends who are the
gets hurt or killed. Since alcohol delegal drinking age. I see people come
the body, it makes drinkers more
into the store where I work who are
One bad judgment presses
relaxed and loose. Consequently, they
clearly buying alcohol for minors.
Teens will wait outside while the 21can cause many usually walk away from these accidents
unscathed. One bad mistake, one bad
year-old buys the alcohol. This frusfamilies trauma judgment can cause many families endtrates me no end.
less trauma. The guilt the driver eventuIt has been proved that the brain
ally feels often lasts the rest of his life. No one should
doesn’t stop growing until the age of about 23. Yes, 23
have to live with that, or the knowledge that a loved
is definitely not a large gap, but it is very significant.
one was taken away because someone decided to
Most people at 23 have graduated from college and
drink and drive.
are ready to start their lives. On the other hand, many
In my life, I’ve witnessed a lot of things that I wish
21-year-olds are still in college, enjoying parties and
I
hadn’t
and I’ve seen many things I wish I could forthe alcohol that comes with them. College is a time
get. My oldest sister used to hang out with people
when many experience peer pressure to party and
A
Dear Congressperson
E
xcuse the tone of this letter, but I
am angry; angry at you, at your
fellow congresspeople and those
of the past. I am angry to the point of
frustration, and when this issue began
to directly affect me and my life, I became angry to the point of action. After
you’ve heard what I have to say, I hope
you too will be moved to action, for
my sake and the sake of everyone in
my generation.
Allow me to explain: You see, since I
was this tall, I’ve been told of the
American dream. You work hard, do
well in school, treat people well, and
you can become anything you want to
be, do anything you want to do. And
now, for me, this may not be true. You
are robbing me of this opportunity to
control my own destiny. My life has
slipped out of my hands and landed in
yours, and along with it my American
dream, because we are heading toward
a point of no return, a point where we
will no longer be able to fix this. And
therefore we must act now. So, what is
this problem I am talking about? Our
national debt.
This country’s national debt is astonishing. Most of you have heard the
numbers: $9.1 trillion. But few of us
can comprehend the size of our country’s debt. Perhaps this may help: If
you had gone into business on the day
Jesus was born, over 2,000 years ago,
and your business lost one million dollars a day – $365 million a year – it
would take until 2739 to lose $1 trillion. Our government has somehow
managed to do nine times this in just
20 years. And this is not improving.
Our national debt is now increasing at
a rate of about $1 billion a day!
So how’d we get ourselves into this
mess? It’s pretty simple. We collected
less taxes each year than we paid out.
We’ve done this almost every year of
who would get drugs from the street and have others
buy alcohol so they could party. Looking back, I can
see where she made her biggest mistake since what
she did when she was younger screwed up the rest of
her life. Her personality has changed a lot, and I don’t
think it will ever be normal again, even with help.
I hate hearing about how someone drank at a party
and drove home slowly and carefully, and everything
turned out okay. They were lucky, but do you honestly
want to take that chance? I don’t know anyone who
would willingly gamble with their life just to enjoy a
night of drinking. The risk is just too high.
I’m not saying we should ban alcohol, but I believe
that it should be more closely monitored and controlled. There are lots of other ways to have fun with
your friends that don’t involve drinking. Alcohol is a
drug. It always was and it always will be. I believe we
should take that into account and make some changes
to the laws. ✎
opin!on
Drinking Laws
by Ben Conner, Mount Vernon, WA
solutions – that’s the easy part. First,
our country’s existence. Apparently
take in more money through taxes. Or,
every generation thought the next would
second, cut back on spending. Even
somehow have more assets and be able
though the fix is conceptually easy, it’s
to pay off the current generation’s debt.
difficult to get anyone on board with
We have to stop this cycle of fiscal irthe plan. If you were told that the govresponsibility before it’s too late.
ernment will no longer pave roads, but
We’re getting close to the point
gravel and dirt will be used instead, it
economists refer to as critical mass,
would be impossible to get anyone to
when our government will need to borendorse this. Likewise, if you said,
row more than the world’s economy
we’re going to stop funding homeless
can offer. In 1999, we needed to borshelters or paying for healthcare, the
row only 19 percent of our funds from
same response would happen.
foreign investors. The rest came from
Now, imagine if you were a career
domestic sources. But this year, 44 perpolitician who made a living representcent of our national debt is owed to
ing voters. If you were to propose this
foreign investors. This means that we
plan, you would simply not be reelected.
are relying more and more on foreign
No congressperson wants to stand up
investors in order to satisfy our insaand say, “We need to stop paving
tiable consumption. So as we keep exroads. We need to stop putpanding, one day there
won’t be enough investI don’t want to ting up buildings; we need
to stop funding existing
ment to sustain the government’s obligations.
be a part of the programs.” But what our
Congress must realize is
This is critical mass.
So, what’s going to
last generation that these things, and making Americans momentarily
happen when there’s not
of Americans happy, shouldn’t be the top
enough money for the
priority.
federal government to pay
Being fiscally responsible, working
its bills? A ripple effect will occur.
to provide a better world for the next
Buildings will remain half built, with
generation, my generation, should be
roads unpaved. Workers, hospital staff,
our top priority, higher than Social Sepolicemen, and government-employed
curity, higher than healthcare, higher
doctors and nurses will no longer be
than the war, and yes, higher than the
paid, so they won’t be able to buy
individual careers of our congresspeogoods to sustain local economies. And
ple. As much as we’d like to think oththese workers who aren’t getting paid
erwise, politics and personal worries
won’t show up for work. Hospital pastand in the way of Congress making
tients won’t be cared for. FBI agents
the right decisions. Call it selfishness,
and police will no longer protect citicall it fiscal irresponsibility, but the
zens. This ripple effect transcends our
fact is, our Congress is more worried
economy and will have life-altering
about getting reelected than creating a
consequences. When this happens, no
better world for the sake of the next
one will have a shot at the American
generation of Americans.
dream.
By now, I would hope that we’ve
The solution is a paradox. It’s very
come to an understanding that our naelementary but extremely difficult
tional debt is destroying the economy
to accomplish. There are only two
and ultimately destroying the lives of
the next generation. I also hope, more
importantly, that beyond recognizing
this, you see the need for immediate
action to either decrease our spending,
increase our income, or a combination
of the two. Critical mass is on its way.
The day is dangerously near when
our seemingly endless supply will run
dry. Let’s not wait one more generation
to fix this. Now is the time to stand up
for the good of my generation, because
I don’t want to be the one to have to
deal with your mistakes. I don’t want
to be a part of the last generation of
Americans.
In conclusion, I would ask the next
time you and your fellow congresspeople are engaging in a vote, keep this
in mind: forget about politics, forget
about the status quo, forget about reelection, forget about your precious careers – and stand up for my generation.
Sincerely, A Fed-up Constituent. ✎
Art by Amy Joy Smith, Joelton, TN
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
21
Poetry
Live Out Loud
Change creates its own jingle in her pocket,
as high velocity traffic cruises by.
Excitement eats away at the tumor of indecision,
As testosterone teenagers turn for another look.
Two-tone hair flying in the breeze,
that wild look in her eye.
She reclaims her throne [windows down].
Neon lights.
Banging beats.
Cat fights
Raging hormones.
Pedal to the metal
She’s goneeee!
By Anna Barksdale, Roanoke, VA
The Listener
She steps off the bus and joins her friends, outside the school
“I saw the cutest cat yesterday,” says one
“My brother is so annoying,” says another
“I’m so hungry,” the next starts
She sighs; it’s just like yesterday –
They only want her to listen
They don’t care about the fact that her grandmother just died
Or that she’s failing math
Or that she just finished reading a great book
“I hate you, and I never want to see you again,”
She says, but of course she doesn’t mean it
She’s only checking to see if they are listening
And, of course, they only smile, nod and say:
“Oh, that’s cool,” then go on about whatever pops into their heads
She wants to scream
They don’t even notice the expression on her face
They’ve all told her that she doesn’t talk much
They don’t realize she only speaks when she has something to say
When she looks at them, she sees them nearly yelling at each other
Trying desperately to get through
None listening, none heard
They were like her, isolated
And this made her think:
We’re all sad because no one listens, but just because it hurts
Doesn’t mean I have to take them down with me.
Actions speak louder than words
Ears speak louder than mouths
It was time to listen
“So,” she began, “Why are you so hungry?”
by Laura Slusser, Park City, UT
The Jesus Christ Law
The clock ticks as the flame burns,
melting down that column of wax –
a friendly cylinder
that plunges colored drips to their death,
corrupting the placid smoothness of a frosted cake.
That little tower –
fresh, pink, and candy-striped –
revels in its power as the young pony-tailed girl
and the wobbly old man
fill their lungs with air
and whisper a wish into the wick.
She claps with joy –
she is sixteen,
that much closer to
womanhood, to freedom, to life.
He drops his head and sighs,
that much closer to
wheelchairs, to Velcro shoes, to death.
It is quiet now –
the only sound comes from the hiss of an
extinguished charcoaled stem
and the ticking, probing clock.
They constantly compete
to see who can measure best;
the clock devours minutes
as the candle claims years.
But the birthday candles
are always victorious
for they have one
for good luck.
Momma’s lies strut
click-click-click
like black high-heel shoes.
And you can tell
she’s made up her mind
once and for all.
Superman style.
Daddy says she’s brittle
like New York City
Tucked
away under the first of December.
Let her be.
Let Momma be.
’cause Momma’s
got ghosts
Snippin’ at her words!
Eyes gray as the Titanic child
sunk in the
Atlantic’s abyss.
God never lies
and Momma lives under
The Jesus Christ
Law.
She’s moppin’ up
penniless bridges,
Stuck
in 5th Avenue’s quicksand.
Daddy’s dropping the
car keys off
with those
black and white piano keys
tap dancing
along hobo’s street.
Meet his
mustache
in a grimace.
sizzle under the icy sand.
Momma’s sinking
without
Daddy’s car keys.
She’s bowling a
one-way ticket
to Alice and Wonderland city.
Strut in those high-heel shoes.
Daddy’s not going
anywhere.
by Bethany Chisholm, Wilmington, MA
Photo by Carolyn Keogh, White Plains, NY
by Alyx Chandler, Madison, AL
Ode to the Funeral
Past fickle fields
of cursing kids
he roamed,
yearning
to unearth some nest;
every sign
was distorted
and rebuffed
his sagging eyes.
He flew down the streets
And eternal highways of gray
to pass the time;
he stopped
to watch the sun
creep up
where it would never
descend.
After so many deaths, each
one became less
murderous on his heart
than the last;
the sorrow expressed on the widow’s,
widower’s,
son’s, daughter’s, grandchild’s,
best friend’s face,
and the muted tediousness of
the light struggling in
through the stained glass, bleak and spent
and gray, dusty even,
killed him, no pun intended;
the sidewalk would be empty,
everyone with a heart was sitting
in the chapel
blotting his or her eyes courteously,
shaking their heads, “such a
shame.”
but after countless eulogies, it became
exhausting for him to let the
fragility of human life
break his heart
every time.
by Farah Momen, Congers, NY
by Anna Zumbahlen, Denver, CO
Truck Driver
22
The Birthday Candle
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
Little Compton
a car whisks me
down the steep hill
ocean
looming closer
rock
jolts me up
down
to the mouse shack
in the grass
on the warped floorboards
listening
to each
blade of grass
cry welcome
talking to the uneven stone wall
filled with tails of rabbits and stories of rock skyscrapers
a wash of relaxation
a depletion
of stress,
cleansing my soul
by Andres Salmeron, Providence, RI
i love
where it hurts – i am
primitive,
captivated by the songs of a sun:
its dying rays mingling breaths
with the sky,
(attempting on last feeble touch –
amorphous,
before
consigning to death)
fading and dropping and draping across
the beach –
warm –
inviting secrets to disassemble themselves
in scattered conches, vagabond
communications; whorls of smoke
inching through the curves
of an empty mask, my fingerprints
on your eyes and your teeth
on my wrist, we claim each other
as best we can.
fractured
waves – a
disjointed and earthly groping, only measured by
the amount of grunts and
groans that have dissolved
in the sand.
infestation – chemicals
settling in shallow waters,
forming bruises
where the heart beats, where the ocean
meets the shore, where
the feet tread and the body
burns.
limbs aflame, five senses
bumbling, tripping over
the unspoken; it is the fear
that pierces me.
the sea gull’s cry that
falls out of rhythm with
the night.
by Victoria Eberle, Floral Park, NY
Sunk
esoteric and incoherent;
within these discovery streets,
where beats
s
i
n
k as the sinister sky of
some resilient night
s
i
n
k
s too,
there’s the feeling that
before dew rises
we will unearth significance.
there is no time
in the midnight black of the firmament.
perpetual steam fuels our
trains of thought;
thought was once
wedged and blockaded
somewhere in-between rule and regulation.
when thought was freed he
burst
and sunk
into the subterranean core of the earth where
rhythm doesn’t deteriorate.
by Patrycja Humienik, Evanston, IL
You
you’re the finger down my throat
the taste behind my teeth
you’re my sunken eyes
and pale skin
you’re the cuts on my knuckles
my throbbing head you’re the binge
the gag
you’re the feeling when it’s done
the pressure
the pain
the guilt
the secret
you’re everything I never wanted
the only thing I never needed
you’re dead.
by Riley Butterfield, La Jolla, CA
Money
How I Get
My Ideas
sometimes you just have to wait twenty-eight seconds or rub Buddha’s belly in a circular motion,
clockwise, and with your right thumb, or call
voicemail you know will pick up to taunt yourself
with the recorded voice because it is so fake it becomes real or read the poem Alex wrote the morning his grandfather died and remember twisting the
curls on his head around your pointer finger to
make ringlets try to twist your own hair like that;
waste fifteen minutes if that doesn’t work call
someone a bitch and see what happens. eavesdrop.
a lot. watch the rain. try to hold your breath for a
full minute or hang upside down off the couch until
your head is heavy. think about your grandfather’s
funeral think about how embarrassing your first
kiss was think about all the people you haven’t met
everything is helpful but not everything has meaning you cannot control anything and if you realize
that you may just have to wait which may involve
sleeping which may involve dreaming, which
sometimes helps, but you can’t control that either.
you know not to consume most of a two-liter bottle
of coke before bed but you do anyway. you know
not to hit the brake on ice but you do anyway. you
know to look to the white boundary on the right
side of the road but you look straight into the headlights like a creature rivaling a moth or a deer you
are blind you are caught in the light but you keep
driving anyway. the bold yellow lines are just suggestions. time moves in relentless, even intervals
and you can’t control that either.
Poetry
The Diary of a
Prehistoric Cavewoman
by Michelle Schloss, Unionville, CT
Winter
My dog killed a bird
and ate it.
I saw the blood
and the fur
in the snow.
The next day I found my dog
frozen in my pool;
her face trapped above the ice.
Mother said there is nothing we can do
but wait ’til spring
when the ice melts.
by Diandre Prendimano,
Point Pleasant, NJ
A blooming and honeyed pride with an avaricious taste,
an unripe craving that wistfully drifts in somber minds.
by Nicholas Nazmi, Bethesda, MD
Squeezing My Life
into a 4x4 Cube
Bedsprings
When my feet strike the mattress
Springs crunch beneath
Launching me skyward
Bursting through shingles
Houses shrink beneath me
Roads, cities vanish
Below a blanket of white viscosity
Where floating is natural
Mother calls
“Charlie, no jumping on your bed!”
Her temper,
Disguised as gravity,
Hauls me back down.
not inches,
feet.
Hinged top chest-high,
whirling with knots,
a glow imbues soft amber wood.
I’ve never used a drill before;
some screws go in angled, some not at all.
But I laugh.
Air suffused with “screw” jokes,
we can fit six of our number into the box –
strange, because we’d otherwise find ourselves
trying to get out.
by Kayla Sheridan, Reno, NV
Photo by Hilary Lynch, Rogers City, MI
by John Chen, Troy, OH
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
23
prejudice
pride
&
Burying the Truth
“T
hat never happened. It’s a myth, a hoax.
You’ve been hearing these lies for so long
you don’t even know what really happened.” This statement is blotted with blunt and persuasive possibilities. Imagine the speaker’s rhetoric
was the denial of a pivotal and well-known event, like
the Holocaust. It would appear absurd, ironically
laughable. It may sound crazy, but some people are
claiming just that. In an attempt to revise history,
many have denied the reality of the Holocaust for
their gain or out of bitter abhorrence; this is not only
unjust but unacceptable.
Organizations have existed whose sole purpose is to
challenge the reality of the Holocaust, including the
Institute for Historical Review (IHR), which was
founded in 1978. This group was composed of socalled professors, who in reality possessed no credibility, as well as writers without academic degrees.
They spread their hateful anti-Semitic message in advertisements in college newspapers (and more recently on the Internet). Their main intent was to create a
hateful undercurrent of propaganda against the Jewish
M
by Anonymous, San Antonio, TX
to humiliate me. I was torn. I felt sick
interrupting a clearly private moment. I
when I heard my friends making
was perplexed. I reasoned that the girl
homophobic remarks, but refused to inhad been crying and my sister was just
vite new friends over in fear of a run-in
trying to comfort her.
with my sister. I suppose she masked
Then my parents explained why my
her insecurity with an in-your-face apsister was depressed: She was coming
proach, hoping it would make it all
to grips with her sexual orientation.
somehow less painful.
Not only was she confused, but she
Although I could see her suffering, I
was dealing with the reactions of those
could not help feeling morticlosest to her. They justified
I hated going out to eat
not yet telling me because
I struggled fied.
as a family, fearing that someeveryone was still trying to
adjust, and even they were
to support one from school would see us.
I could not get rid of my selffinding it confusing.
my sister ish thoughts, despite feeling
I was furious. How could
ashamed and guilty.
they let her think this about
I would like to say that I no longer
herself when it caused her so much
get embarrassed or resent my sister for
pain? My sister had always had crushes
being gay, but I am still not there. Now
on boys, gone to dances with boys, and
that I am older and my sister has come
played with boys – her feelings could
more into her own, things have gotten
not possibly have changed just like
easier. In high school, I have become
that. I knew many gay couples who
less afraid of standing out and now
were happily married with children,
know that to those who are worth
but my sister was not like that.
As I struggled to support my sister, I
knowing, my sister’s sexual orientation
found it impossible not to feel furious
will not matter. I would not change one
with her, as if she was coming out just
thing about my family. I only wish we
Opening Night
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
lived in a more accepting world.
I have been truly inspired by my sister’s courage, despite the stares, comments, and disapproval. Through my
sister’s coming out process, I have seen
the necessity to defend what you know
is right and stand by those you love. I
sincerely hope that my sister can see
all that I have learned from her. ✎
Photo by Jennae Piatt, Kennewick, WA
by Kass Morris, Bellevue, WA
lost my head, it’s true. It went rolling off a table, out
ourth grade was a fun time. We had been workthe door, down the street, up, up, and away. I got into
ing on our class play for months. It was “Snow
a shouting match with one of the boys.
White and the Six Dwarfs” (The seventh dwarf,
That’s when I said it. I didn’t know
Smiley, had gone to Hollywood to be in
what it meant. Everyone was shocked, uptoothpaste commercials). I played Evil
I got into a
set. Their eyes piercing me like a million
Queen Vanessa.
Backstage on opening night was fran- shouting match daggers thrust into my heart. Then instead
of yelling at each other, they were yelling
tic. There was so much excitement you
at me. Insults. Curses. Anger.
could drown in it; many were reviewing
with one of
Why? I didn’t know what I’d done. I
lines and songs, I was caught up in the
the boys
was like a deer in headlights, not moving
moment, dancing on cloud nine, as if in
for fear of being crushed. Lost in the
a dream.
sounds. Lost and confused. Alone.
I don’t remember how the fight started. I just reI cried. I had done something wrong. No one exmember it was loud, everyone was screaming, and my
plained. I just sat there crying into my hands and
eardrums were humming from the excessive noise. I
wondering why everyone hated me. What had I done?
F
24
people, to question the legitimacy of the killings of
called for Europe, the U.S., or Canada to set aside
the Holocaust, to suggest that the event never ocland for the Jewish state.
curred. After separating from its founder, the IHR
In reviewing the absurdity of these Holocaust
canceled its ads and conference in 1996. Unfortunatedenials, it’s easy to forget the countless reasons why
ly, a recent and widely publicized event has shown
they are so wrong. We cannot forget that lives were
that anti-Semitism and attempts to edit past events
lost. The memories of the victims should be prestill exist, even today.
served. For the very same reasons we try
The most recent major media event
to forget deceased family members,
We cannot forget not
was Iranian President Mahmoud Ahwe should remember the millions whose
madinejad calling the Holocaust a
the lives that lives ended so brutally. If we choose not
“myth.” According to the BBC, Ahto remember, no one will. The Holocaust
were lost in the – 10 million deaths in total – could occur
madinejad stated, “If you [Europeans]
committed this big crime, then why
again if we forget and don’t work to stop
Holocaust
should the oppressed Palestine nation
senseless killing.
pay the price?” He made this extremist
Denying the Holocaust is unjust, unacinquisition in an effort to remove the Jewish people
ceptable, and worrisome because for all history, the
from Israel and force them to establish their own terriperpetrators will be viewed with pity for being falsely
tory. His belief is that the West should pay for their
accused of crimes. These people deserve no pity for
crimes.
what they did. If we attempt to rewrite history, we are
cheating future generations of the truth. All of this reWhy would he voice such a slanted opinion? I think
inforces why it’s so critical to document history as it
it is for the Iranian president’s own personal gain, like
happens and not to nullify or politicize atrocities. ✎
an older child watching a younger sibling, he wishes
to hand off the burden. Similarly, Mr. Ahmadinejad
Awkward Passage
iddle school may be the most
awkward passage we ever
face. Victims of the first
stages of puberty, these adolescents can
be trademarked by oily skin, gleaming
orthodontia, and feet too big for their
bodies. Although I wish it was not true,
I too was painful to watch. I fiercely
scrubbed to cleanse my profile of anything that might set me apart. I was
embarrassed by everything, from the
bumper stickers on my mom’s van to
the small scar on my cheek. But these
soon became the least of my worries
the day my sister came out.
She was a junior in high school and
seemed unhappy. She would only
emerge from behind her locked door
for dinner, and then sit there, lifeless.
Though I noticed the change, I was not
worried. I figured that I too would be
sad all the time when I was in high
school and had so much homework.
One day I walked into her room in
hopes of sneaking some candy, but instead I saw my sister kissing another
girl. I ran and hid, embarrassed at
by Meagan Murphy, No. Smithfield, RI
I was a child, being told, “No, no, NO!” But not
knowing why. Receiving punishment, but not knowing the cause. The death penalty among friends. Truly
Evil Queen Vanessa. They said I had become my
character. I had become heinous, loathsome, vile.
Then the curtain went up. I wiped my tears and performed, all the while not fully understanding.
I had called the boy a n-----. I had heard it on television. There, it had been a joke. In life it wasn’t. I
had insulted his culture, his heritage, his heart.
In one instant it became easy to see how words
could hurt. How they could burn and mangle a person.
Queen Vanessa they called me – Evil Queen Vanessa. Hurting others for her own gain. Was I evil?
Maybe. ✎
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J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
25
Travel & Culture
NJ
Summer in West Africa
sweet smells of wongo, yasa, abea, and tega hit my
re you okay? Would you like a cup of wanostrils.
ter?” the blond flight attendant asked me.
When the car pulled up to my grandparents’ house
“No, thanks. I’m fine. Really, I’m okay,” I
in Kanifing, everyone was outside waiting for us –
responded as tears fell down my cocoa brown cheeks.
grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and
I pushed back in my seat and the tangy, sour smell of
nephews. Some of my relatives cried while others
the airplane food made my tongue curl. The flight athugged and kissed us.
tendant announced that in a few hours we would
My grandparents lived in a big white compound
reach our destination, New York. Thinking about
with
lots of rooms, bathrooms, a large veranda, and an
returning made me realize even more what I was
outdoor
kitchen. There were flowers and plants all
leaving behind – the people, the land, the food. I kept
over with big mango, banana, and kaba trees. My
saying the name of this lovely country, “Gambia,
mouth longed for the taste of these delicious fruits.
Gambia, Gambia,” until it became a rhythmic rhyme.
After all the hugging and kissing, I was given my own
The story of this wonderful journey began to replay
large room and bathroom. Maids brought in a homein my mind. It all started when my parents told me I
cooked meal and fruits that were healthy compared to
was going to spend my summer there. Furious, I
American food. It all tasted so good that I kept eating,
thought of the fun time I would be missing in New
and people doubted I really came from America beYork with barbecues, block parties, quarter ices, and
cause of my ravenous appetite. At the end of my two
the opening of the neighborhood fire hydrants. Little
months there, I had gained a lot of weight.
did I know, however, how much I would discover
My relatives made me feel at home, and I was nevabout myself from this trip to West Africa. As always,
er judged or criticized. Even distant relatives considthe battle ended with my parents winning and nothing
ered me a sister. The more time I spent with
left for me to do but go.
On the plane to Gambia, worrying ques- Everyone in my family, the more I didn’t want to return to
America and the more pride I felt being Gamtions ran through my head. Will my relaGambia
is
bian. My grandmother and grandfather told
tives like me? Will my skin turn darker?
about my ancestors and my Sonike ties
How does this place called Gambia look?
like family me
that extended back to the Malian empire.
Will they call me The American? Even
My younger aunt and I became so close that I could
though I was constantly called The American and my
tell her anything. We would sit and talk every day.
skin did get darker, the trip to Gambia turned out to
She would lecture me, give me lots of advice, or just
be the complete opposite of what I expected.
listen. We went to neighborhood parties and concerts,
When the airplane finally touched down, I rememand braided each other’s hair. We were practically like
ber the hot, golden sun beating down on my face. The
sisters.
sky was so blue and beautiful with bright-colored birds
In the streets there was always a friendly person
soaring above. Golden sand, palm and mango trees
who would say hello, wave, or smile. There was no
filled the land. The delicious smell of home-cooked
crime, no hate – everyone just going about their day.
meals made my taste buds pop. The sounds of the
Everyone in Gambia – no matter your skin tone, stamorning rush, the rustling of pots, different African
tus, or looks – is like family.
dialects colored the atmosphere. I rushed inside the
Fridays were beautiful in Gambia. People dressed
airport and found my uncle, aunts, and cousins. They
in colorful caftans to go to the mosque for the daily
were so happy to see us.
prayer. Sundays were “Sunday Beach” with everyone
On the ride to my grandparents’ home we passed
lining up to go to Sene-Gambia to enjoy a wonderful
buildings, mosques, markets, and skyscrapers. Darkday of music and food. I became so attached to Gamand light-skinned people traversed the streets and
bia that it was extremely hard to leave. I had changed
were dressed in traditional African clothes and urban
so much – into a respectful, strong Gambian young
street wear. Everyone walked side by side and was
adult. I discovered I am an American with Gambian
friendly toward each other because in Gambia everyancestry.
one is each other’s brother or sister. The common
On the day we went home, I cried so much thinking
greeting, “Assalamualkium,” is heard so often that it
about
what I would miss. I had to leave my family, the
became a common rhyme to my ears. The delicious,
“A
by Fatoumata Waggeh, Bronx, NY
Gambian lifestyle, the food, and my real home. I had
met so many relatives who cared about me whether I
was in America or Gambia. I felt bad that initially I
had not wanted to go. I feared that I would never return to Gambia and see everyone – especially my
grandfather who was ill.
I slowly began to sing to myself again: “Gambia …
Gambia … Gambia,” while tears streaked my face.
“Gambia … Gambia … Gambia,” I kept saying until I
fell asleep. I dreamed I was back in Gambia but I was
much older. Gambia was still beautiful and calm.
Everyone there was in good health, including my
grandfather. We were laughing and having a good
time together.
I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I awoke and to my
surprise it was the same flight attendant. “We have
just landed at JFK airport,” she said. I rubbed my eyes
and thought of my dream. I will return to Gambia one
day, I thought. I stood up, slipped on my shoes, and
stepped off the plane ready to share my joyful tale of
this amazing trip. ✎
The Gion
District
Caked, snowy face paint
Lips darker than
The ripest cherry blossom
Red plum
Jet black hair
Sleek perfection
Not a strand out of place
Long, slender fingers
Have spent hours pouring tea
Layers of vibrant silk
Their intricate patterns
Dance in the wind
Lavender, soft greens and blues
Vibrant reds and whites
Platform sandals
Soft, cotton socks
The old world meets the new
In the Gion district of Kyoto
You will find
The most beautiful women in all of Japan
by Tara Langford, Holly Hill, FL
Loving Hands
you wear it.” I take it out of the box and study it closely.
open my eyes and greet the day. It is no ordinary day.
A thin silver contour shaped like a hand surrounds the
It is my twelfth birthday, the day of my bat mitzvah. I
Hebrew letter. I know this letter from my studies in Sunhear the gentle squeak of the door opening, and I feel
day school. It means life. Beneath the letter is a round
the breeze from the open window ruffling my hair. I can
eye made of a diamond.
hear the soft steps of my grandma’s slippers as she ap“What is the meaning of the hand and the eye?” I ask
proaches.
my grandma.
She brings with her the aroma of freshly baked ginger“The hand and the eye are meant to stop any evil that
bread cookies, my favorite. She sits by me and stretches
may try to harm you,” she explains. “The hand
out her closed hand. I look at her soft hands
that have loved, protected, and cared for me. “I’ve waited 12 is very important. It caresses and soothes. It
greets and guides a child into this world. The
Then I raise my gaze and see her young eyes
years to give first thing a baby feels is the touch of the docsurrounded by soft wrinkles smiling at me.
tor’s hands. A mother’s touch is the first word
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she says in
you this”
of love.”
Russian and then slowly opens her hand. LyA year has passed, and since that day this necklace has
ing in her palm is a small black velvet box with a Hebrew
become my most precious possession. Because it was
letter on it. I wonder what is inside. “I’ve waited 12 years
given to me by my maternal grandma and was passed on
to give you this,” she says. “When I was 12 my grandma
to her by her grandmother, it will forever tie me to the
gave it to me, and now I pass it on to you.”
other women in my family. It is the hand of my ancestors
I carefully take the box and open it. Inside I see a silver
reaching out to me, protecting and guiding me, from the
necklace with a hand on it. “It’s a hamesh hand,” my
past. ✎
grandma says. “It will protect and guide you as long as
I
Art by Ariana Rupp, New Orleans, LA
26
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
by Ilona Melamed, Brooklyn, NY
by Brenda Yang, San Antonio, TX
province as the walls are to my home”), the more deoth of his legs were gone, torn away by some
tails I gleaned, the less aversion I felt for his twisted
misfortune of birth or circumstance, ending in
body, and the greater my curiosity grew. The next
stumps just above where his knees would have
time I saw him, his proverb being something about a
been. One shoulder was sunken, rolled into his chest,
hare and tree, I asked in fumbling Mandarin the titles
rendering his arm the victim of awkward angles and
of books he carried. He answered with some unfamildistorted movements. Clad in rags and a patchediar names, and suddenly words were tumbling out of
together blanket, he moved with the lurching grace of
me: “Why are you here? Why do you sell books?
a wounded gazelle, situated on a makeshift skateWhy do you recite proverbs?”
board, propelling himself forward with pushes from
He looked at me, beady eyes peering out through
his remaining limbs.
dust
and dirt, really looked, then answered, “With
He was selling books on the street in Harbin, China,
time and patience the mulberry leaf becomes a silk
when I first saw him: a frightening figure with matted
gown.” And it was then that I began to
hair like a black swallow’s nest,
see, peeking through cracks between his
hunched over an expanse of books with
“Proverb Man,” crude dialect, his rags, the dirt, and his
faded covers and torn pages, faint reglaring absence of limbs. Here was a man
minders of stories that once held audimy grandpa
who was strong and good and kind,
ences spellbound.
whose attributes could only be described
“The palest ink is better than the best
called him
with the most fundamental of adjectives
memory.” Clinging unabashedly to my
in the English language.
mother’s arm while traversing the chaotHe went on to explain, with an enviable succinctic streets of urban China, these were the first words I
ness, that he was born poor, lost limbs to infection
heard the man speak, four melodic syllables which
and disease, barely survived the Communist Revolucharacterize Chinese proverbs: beauty in succinctness,
tion, and salvaged what remained of his family’s
infinite meanings in the briefest of moments. With onbooks to create some sort of living. Physically torn by
ly a cursory understanding of such nuances and nervmisfortune from an early age, distraught in mind from
ous jitters of an unknown environment, I all but scutpolitical discord, and economically doomed from the
tled away.
start, it was a miracle that such experiences had not
“One cannot refuse to eat just because there is a
shred his humanity to ribbons. Instead he possessed
chance of being choked.”
an offbeat brand of wisdom, a sense of what was
“Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.”
right, and an innate grace that outshone his environ“We are not so much concerned if you are slow as
ment.
when you come to a halt.”
The strength of his perseverance and dedication to
Each time I passed that street corner with the broearn a living has stayed with me since that summer.
ken bookseller (“Proverb Man,” my grandpa called
The ability to move forward despite tremendous
him, adding, “He is as permanent a fixture to our
B
Turbulence
W
by Kyle Maddox,
Overland Park, KS
hen I was 16 years old, my family and I took a vacation to England.
We had always loved traveling – seeing new things, taking ourselves
out of our normal environment. But the previous year on a flight to
Florida, something changed.
During this flight, we flew around a lightning storm. Everyone in the plane
craned their necks to see the storm as we glided by. The experience of looking at
lightning from the sky was very interesting. Rather than streak across the horizon, it shot out of a cloud and raced toward the ground like a stray bullet. My
sister, however, was horrified by the experience. “I didn’t need to see that,” she
whispered, her face pale as she tightened her seat belt as far as it would go.
A year later we were on another plane. I had just fallen into a relatively peaceful sleep, which was a treat for me because I usually have trouble sleeping on
planes. So, justifiably, I was irritated when I was brought out
my slumber by my sister. At this point she had developed
She was of
a full-blown phobia of flying. So when the turbulence
shaking reached a significant intensity she decided she needed me.
“Wake up,” she hissed, gripping my right shoulder and
with terror giving it a rough shake.
“What?” I asked groggily, annoyance lacing my voice.
“There’s turbulence,” she whispered, her usual big blue eyes looking almost
comically large – ready to pop out at any moment. She was shaking with terror.
I debated how to handle the situation. I could look out the window and wonder aloud why the engine was on fire. I could give her a curt insult and go back
to sleep. Or I could be nice and explain that everything was completely normal
and under control.
I eventually decided on the latter option and stayed up with her. I talked to her
about what she wanted to see in London, fabricated statistics about the safety of
flying, made fun of her irrational fear – anything I could think of to keep her
occupied. The moment we touched down, she calmed, taking a deep breath and
releasing it shakily. “I’m never flying again,” she declared as we pulled into the
gate. Of course, we were able to cajole her onto a plane just days later – for the
flight home. ✎
setbacks, to stay human and kind, to retain the ability
to smile and laugh – this is a monumental achievement in an age so prone to desolation and self-pity.
If a man in rags, uneducated and crippled, can find
it in himself to persevere, what excuse does that leave
the rest of us? Drugs, alcohol, and giving up on one’s
life seem inane choices in comparison. What is a bad
test grade in the face of a missing leg, a botched relationship compared to no home?
I bought a book from this man before I returned
home; its corners are rounded and its spine creased
from overuse. It is a book of proverbs, and one quote
is purposefully marked: “The longer the night lasts,
the more our dreams will be.” ✎
Travel & Culture
Mulberry Leaves into Silk Gowns
Art by Matt Firkus, Pierz, MN
Eye-Opener
by Danielle Ryan,
Auburn, NY
L
ast March I was fortunate to take a school trip to New York City, the city
that never sleeps. We would spend three days touring museums, eating ethnic food, and shopping. There would be a gaggle of women walking around
sporting a plethora of designer handbags, each worth more than one person might
earn in a week. New York City was truly an eye-opener for me and made me realize that the world needs to be changed.
Walking down just one city street, we find many designer stores. Women, children, men of all ages pour through the doors to buy the best of the best from this
materialistic world. A woman walking down the street in a warm fur coat pushes
by a homeless man wearing just a tattered T-shirt and a pair of dirty jeans. The
woman is headed toward Armani to buy her daughter clothes for her birthday. This
man has nothing in his life. To him, it would be a big deal to
borrow a warm sweatshirt, let alone own one. The
This man even
woman continues without a glance at this frail man.
has nothing On another street, people are lined up outside of a fancy
restaurant, where they will pay hundreds of dollars just to
in life
get a table so that they might spot a movie star. Next door,
people are sitting at tables in McDonald’s greedily munching their Big Macs and large fries. The people look well-fed but still order the large
size. They scarf a few fries, then throw the rest away realizing they are full. Two
blocks away a filthy, legless man in a wheelchair is going through a trash receptacle outside a restaurant. One by one he picks out fries and puts them in his mouth,
and the hunger slowly melts away. Fortunately, one of my teachers noticed and
bought him a meal. The man thanked him sincerely. He probably hadn’t had a real
meal in weeks, and the excitement on his face as he unwrapped his burger was
enough to make anyone realize that they too can help.
People are too concerned with their own well-being and don’t take time to look
at the world around them. New York City is a world of extremes. In the end, giving
to another person provides more satisfaction than indulging in materialistic pleasures. One by one we can make a difference, even if it’s only donating clothes to the
Salvation Army or giving canned goods to a food pantry. Items that some may take
for granted can be truly appreciated by the needy people of the world. ✎
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
27
you&your health
Jealousy
by Sarah Synott, Clinton, CT
him to act out, and he was never punished for anything.
t’s not that I wish I had cancer. It’s just that when
He got everything he asked for, and family always
I look at my brother, I want to be treated the way
sent him presents: video games, movies, and the
he is.
newest toys. At the time, all I wanted was for the opWhen I was seven and Mike was five, he was diageration to be over so I wouldn’t be second priority
nosed with a skin cancer called melanoma. For
anymore.
months, my mom had been telling the doctor that she
Thankfully, my brother’s operation went well, and
thought a mole on my brother’s chest looked funny.
through the years, his checkups never showed that the
Finally she took him to a dermatologist who recogcancer had returned. Unfortunately, spoiling my
nized what it was. The doctors were shocked. It’s exbrother didn’t end when he got better. For years, he
tremely rare for kids to have a melanoma – especially
got everything he wanted, and it seemed he was alat five years old. After measuring how deep the cancer
ways right and I was always wrong. Whenever I
reached, the doctors were even more surprised. While
voiced that opinion I got the look and was
a melanoma is usually less than a cen“Mike was sick. He can’t help it; you
timeter deep, my brother’s was 2.5 cenI feel like Mike told,
need to understand.” Maybe my brother
timeters. It was the surgeon’s opinion that
in order for the cancer to have gotten so
is my parents’ was angry that he had been sick, but he still
needed some discipline. Instead everyone
deep, Mike must have been born with it
miracle child let him act like an animal. I wanted the atand it had been growing his whole life.
tention Mike got; I wanted to be just as imThe doctors told my parents that they
portant as he was.
would operate to see if they could get rid of the affected
Fast-forward a few years, and Mike and I are in
area but that it didn’t look good. Of course, my parhigh school. Nothing’s changed. They’ve finally finents were hysterical. They’d just been told there was a
ished with the “he was sick; it’s not his fault” excuse,
good chance their five-year-old son would die.
but they’ve moved on to just ignoring anything that he
Being seven, I didn’t understand what was going
does wrong. Not that he’s going out and selling drugs,
on. I saw death as something that happened to old
but my brother’s still the same spoiled brat he always
people. I figured anyone my age couldn’t get any
was, and my parents act as though it’s completely
sicker than a bad stomach bug. I remember sitting at
okay for him to treat everyone badly. It’s stupid stuff
the top of the stairs, listening to my parents crying in
like when my mom tells us to do something, he just
the kitchen.
laughs and turns on the television, and she just smiles.
Obviously, my brother was experiencing something
Sometimes I feel like Mike is my parents’ miracle
horrible. Before the operation, they did all sorts of
child, and in order for me to measure up to his just
painful tests. I’m sure he was scared and had no idea
living, I have to do something extraordinary that I’m
what was going on. Because of this, everyone allowed
I
Bad Nuts
by Katie Lavergne, Bellingham, MA
9-1-1. The ambulance showed up and I was
t any moment of any day my life can dewhisked away.
pend upon a half-inch needle containing
In the ambulance I was surrounded by four
.3 milligrams of adrenaline. One person’s
smiling young paramedics. One of them handed
careless mistake can send my life into a whirling
me a purple stuffed dinosaur so I would have a
fight for survival. According to a recent study, one
friend on the way. When I got to the hospital, I
percent of Americans suffer from a peanut/tree nut
honestly don’t remember very much other than a
allergy. The reactions can be severe, even fatal:
lot of crying, and finally getting the antihistamine
this allergy accounts for 50 to 100 deaths each
I needed. Around 2 a.m. my aunt and uncle came
year. The government has taken action by requirto pick up my mother and me. And I have lived
ing schools to create peanut-free zones (or not alwith this memory, and this allergy, ever since.
lowing peanuts into the school at all). Also, many
This allergy, I feel, has limited me socially. It
airlines have stopped distributing peanuts. Despite
has made me more cautious of everything in life. I
efforts to reduce reactions, many Americans, inhave to watch what others are eating, food labels,
cluding me, have to live each day with an added
whom I share food and drinks with, and
burden.
Halloween of 1996 is a night that will This allergy even who has had contact with anything
containing peanuts. At parties, I feel like
forever be etched in my memory. When
I returned home from trick-or-treating, I has limited a pain in the neck because I have to ask
who made each food item and what the
put on my Pocahontas nightgown and
gobbled down a piece of saltwater taffy. me socially exact ingredients are. I have resorted to
not eating at parties unless I am sure
Then I scurried along my merry way,
nothing contains anything I might react to. No
watching television, waiting for my mother to
morsel is safe to put into my mouth unless I have
tuck me in. Suddenly my throat began to get very
double-checked it. I don’t trust anyone else with
itchy, and it burned too. So I grabbed my favorite
my life.
cup, pink with a sippy lid that folded so no liquid
The reason I live like this is that I don’t want to
would escape, and asked my mom for water. I
have a reaction, which can range from mild to seswigged it down and asked her to refill it three
vere. A mild reaction is an irritated throat and blismore times. She looked at me, got suspicious, and
ters on my lips, and can be treated with Benadryl.
then worry came over her face. She sat me on the
A severe reaction is anaphylactic shock, which is
couch, snatched up the phone, and began to dial
when my throat blisters so much that it swells to
quickly.
block my airway. If anaphylactic shock isn’t treatI heard her ask to talk to my pediatrician. She
ed within 10 minutes, I will die. It’s an extreme
told him that I had massive blisters on my lips,
thought, but sadly a real one. The only thing that
and as she was on the phone, I started to get very
can save my life is a half-inch needle with .3 milshort of breath. I had asthma, but I hadn’t been
ligrams of epinephrine and a person with the
running around. As soon as that was relayed to
courage to administer it. ✎
the doctor, she hung up and dialed three numbers:
A
28
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
not capable of. I’m not Mike, I’m no sports star, I
come home past curfew, the cops in town don’t exactly love me, and I haven’t miraculously survived any
diseases.
So, I don’t wish I had cancer. That must be terrible.
But I want the same attention he has always gotten
and the “Get out of jail free” card too. The worst part
is the guilt I feel. What sort of person resents her
younger sibling for surviving cancer? What kind of
selfish human being wants a sickness so that people
will treat her better? I ask myself these questions, and
it makes me feel horrible to think that the answer is
me. It’s not that I wish I had cancer, but sometimes I
think that if I had, my life would be happier now, and
that kills me. ✎
Photo by Amara Philebaum, Muncie, IN
Choices
by Renee Lehr, Bloomington, IL
A
s a freshman, you hear stories about health class
from the upperclassmen on a regular basis. But
you never know what to expect.
When it was our turn, we filed in with eager faces and
forced smiles. A cheerful young woman stood at the
front of the room beaming. With the sound of ringing in
our ears, we flowed into our seats. Naturally, she began
to talk about the one thing all freshman discuss but, for
some reason, clam up around adults when mentioned.
“Sex.” Her voice was strong, yet friendly. “Let’s talk
about what you know. Raise your hand if you know the
answer to the following statement. For the best sex for
him and her, slip on one of these.”
Red blotches of embarrassment
rushed
the class. No one spoke;
Why would no one over
dared look around.
Suddenly she uncovered a picture
you take
of wedding bands on the board. The
the risk? picture shocked most of the class but
also made sense. It was that moment
that I realized what choice I had to make.
Some parents tell their children they’re too young to
worry about sex right now, but right now is the perfect
time. All week my class had guest speakers lecturing us
on abstinence, STDs, and other topics. As I think about
my future, I know I do not want to die young because of
reckless teen behavior. I have decided to wait until marriage to have a sex life. No excuses.
By following this way of life, I will be bettering myself and my future. Teen pregnancy and STDs are all too
common. Why would you want to take that risk? Everyone has a choice, and you should think seriously about
sex before you let it just happen. It is your life, your decisions. Do you want them to be mistakes or rewards? ✎
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J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
29
college essays
Big Sister
T
hirteen years ago, she hurled a
blue plastic Fisher Price horseshoe at my nose to see if it
would dangle delicately on my face. I,
defenseless in my Kanga-Rock-A-Roo,
was unaware of the potential danger
that could have marred my little body.
Weapon in hand, she squinted her eyes
and adjusted her body as if she were
going to win gold if she just nailed this
shot. Her arm threw the toy to the ceiling and it ended up four feet to my
right. I giggled and applauded her poor
motor skills, and anxiously awaited her
second try. Again, she wound up, and
the plastic horseshoe came streaking
toward me. This time, it hit. I don’t
My Atkai
by Robyn Novak, Mason, OH
remember it hurting, but I recall my
good player; I had the height and the
mother darting down the steps to see
stamina to charge up and down the
two streams flowing down my cheeks
court. But by the middle of the season, I
and my sister’s guilty eyes trying to
found myself hating it. I didn’t like the
find a way to hide her innocent game. I
girls, the coaches, or the competitivecried for hours, not because
ness of the game. I pretended
of the pain – that washed
She stuck with to be sick on random days so
away with the tears. I cried
I could skip practice.
because I was taken away
Eventually my mom caught
everything
from my big sis who was
on and told me that if I hated
she started it so much, I should quit. Was
teaching me how to have
fun.
she serious? I couldn’t quit!
Growing up, she was not only my
Not when my sister didn’t quit, when
friend, she was the person I wanted to
she stuck with everything she started. I
be. So, I took up basketball in third
finished the season hating each and
grade, just like her, and when I reached
every moment, but when it was over, I
seventh grade, I was on the A team –
could breathe again. I realized I couldn’t
just like she was. I was a reasonably
do this anymore.
by Damir Aldagarov, Highland Park, IL
grandma could get health benefits. Even so, he would
wise man once said, “In order to know yourdevote every free moment to studying English with
self, you have to know those who came before
me, determined to keep me from falling victim to the
you.” That man didn’t just say those words; he
crippling restrictions of a language barrier. As I grew
lives by them, and I know this because that wise man
older, our English lessons became more one-sided,
is my grandfather. In 1996, he immigrated to the Unitand by high school I was helping him understand
ed States with the sole purpose of caring for me and
some of the bigger words in The New York Times (he
my sister. The decision to leave behind 65 years of
considered himself too worldly for our local Chicago
family history and relationships was understandably
Tribune). All the time we spent together gave me lots
difficult, and my grandfather was forced to fit his
of opportunity to bother him with quesentire life into two suitcases. The first
about our family.
one he filled with clothes and books; the
I had lost any tions
Some
of the photographs he showed me
second with hundreds of photographs –
were
from
the nineteenth century, and as I
faded memories of long-lost relatives
connection with
looked at the somber faces, I came to a sad
gazing at us sadly. As I thumbed through
my ancestors realization. Everyone had long departed
the prints with my grandfather, I saw his
from the Earth, taking their stories and
face light up with a yearning to return to
memories with them. I examined these pictures with
those happy times.
the investigative stare used for reading history books,
In Russia, the affectionate word for grandfather is
not the reminiscent gaze that comes with seeing old
atkai. It’s a word that conveys boundless respect and
relatives. And I realized that I couldn’t look at these
adulation. When I was growing up, he was both my
people as relatives because I knew nothing about them.
teacher and my playmate, my mentor and my friend.
For everything that my family had gained moving to
In the Soviet Union, he had published over 50 articles
America, I had lost any connection with my ancestors,
and held a PhD in microbiology as a respected veteriand therefore a part of myself.
narian for 40 years. In the United States, he was reMy grandpa refused to let this happen. “The most
duced to bagging groceries for minimum wage so my
important thing you have in this world is your family,”
A
Timothy
I
anxiously wait as the elevator takes
me to where two worlds will intertwine. The duffel bags filled with
clothing and toiletries for my brother
become cumbersome. As I exit the elevator, I immediately inhale the aroma
of hospital supplies and cafeteria food.
I sense pain and suffering as I walk
past the rooms of patients, hearing
their cries of misery.
My heart throbs rapidly because I
know that just a few doors down my
brother Timothy also lies confined in a
white-walled, sterile room, attached to
IVs that pump antibiotics into his body.
I enter the anteroom, where I put on
a hospital gown, a face mask, shoe
covers, and gloves to reduce his exposure to germs. As I enter, I see him
resting, recovering from his second
30
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
When, I turned to my sister, she listened. I told her that the idea of not
pursuing basketball felt weird since it
was the only thing I knew how to do. I
told her that I was afraid of my future
and that I didn’t like not knowing how
to handle the rest of my life. I told her I
needed her, and she was there for me.
To my 13-year-old self, this seemed
like a mini-midlife crisis, but to my 17year-old sister, the solution was simple:
take a risk. She wanted me to be happy,
to do something that interested me. So
I did. In eighth grade I skipped basketball tryouts and auditioned for the
school play. And I have never had so
much fun. ✎
he told me, “and when I’m gone, the most important
thing I can leave you is your heritage.” Over the next
two years, he would commit hundreds of hours to fulfilling that goal. He made it his purpose to write down
everything he could discover about our ancestors so
that future generations would know. He made hundreds of long-distance phone calls, annoying indifferent relatives. Two years and 250 pages later, he still
continues to write.
The most gratifying part of helping my grandfather
with this project is the knowledge I’ve gained during
the many hours we’ve spent together. I’ve learned so
much about my ancestors, and consequently, I’ve reevaluated the importance that family has in my life.
Those seemingly distant faces in the old photographs
have come to life with an air of warm familiarity. Last
summer, I even made the trip to Russia to meet relatives and visit the graves of my great grandparents.
I’ve learned that my heritage is a part of me no matter where I live. An ocean cannot separate me from
the ties I have to my family all over the world. But
most importantly, this experience has given me an opportunity to spend time with the family I have right in
front of me. And it doesn’t take a wise man to see the
value of spending time with my atkai. ✎
by Stephen Padulsky, Woburn, MA
gain tremendous strength over what
bone marrow transplant. The summer
seem to be insurmountable obstacles. I
before junior year, this hospital was my
scan this familiar room and observe
second home. This room served as our
that, as the weeks pass, not only have
family’s dining room, emitting the
the once-dull walls transformed into a
smell of my mother’s home-cooked
collage of brightly colored drawings
chicken potpie and overflowing with
imparting hope to Room 750,
my summer school assignments.
The first but I too am adapting to my
rigorous schedule.
When the summer passed
Although the first bone
and the school year arrived, bone marrow
marrow transplant failed and
there was less opportunity to
transplant could have potentially taken his
be at the hospital, but I was
life, fortunately, Timothy was
determined to make time for
failed
visits. The dilemma between
given a second chance when
visiting my brother and schoolwork
my sister became his donor. While he
has turned into a balancing act.
recuperates, my parents, siblings, and I
sit by his bedside day and night offerAs I support him, his strength grows,
ing support. As the new marrow travels
and in turn he encourages me in my
through his body destroying the old,
academics. These visits are no longer a
sacrifice but are times when both of us
Timothy endures excruciating pain but
feels comfort in our presence.
New hope flows through me, and I too
am rejuvenated. My own fatigue subsides, allowing me to focus on keeping
my academic standards high. During my
brother’s 104-day hospitalization, I
watch his spirit revive, enabling me to be
strengthened too. In his absence, my responsibilities grow as I take on the role
of oldest brother. I willingly provide a
strong shoulder for my younger brother
and an even stronger one for my sister to
cry on during such an emotional time.
This experience has been an opportunity for personal growth. By observing
Timothy I have learned that through
hard work and dedication, success can
be achieved. I know that I am capable
of attaining even greater achievements
through adversity. ✎
Teen Ink • January ’08 • Page 31
Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree Programs
T 3D Modeling and Animation
T Multimedia/Web Design
T Design
T Illustration
T Life Drawing
T Painting
T Watercolor Painting
American Academy of Art
332 S. Michigan Ave.
Chicago, IL 60604-4302
312-461-0600
Visit us @ www.aaart.edu
A Princeton
Review
“Best Value”
College
We’re a Catholic institution that welcomes
students of every faith. At the foundation of an
Anna Maria education is our “core curriculum” in
the liberal arts traditions.
Our goal is to prepare you for a rewarding and
fulfilling career and help you realize the complete
human being in you.
Whatever you decide to be – teacher, nurse,
social worker, musician, firefighter – there’s no
better place to begin your journey.
admissions.american.edu
50 Sunset Lane, Paxton, MA 01612
(508) 849-3360 www.annamaria.edu
A private, Catholic liberal arts college,
we offer a professional & moral foundation for lifelong pursuit of truth &
excellence. Liberal Arts, Business,
Teaching, and Nursing.
Your Foundation for Life.
Arcadia University, located in
suburban Philadelphia, teaches
students how to view the world
through a global perspective.
Explore the world
outside of the box.
4210 Harding Road
Nashville, TN 37205
800-649-9956
www.aquinascollege.edu
450 S. Easton Road
Glenside, PA 19038-3295
1-877-ARCADIA
www.arcadia.edu/ti.asp
ASSUMPTION COLLEGE
Since 1904
• Academic Excellence in the rich,
Catholic intellectual tradition
• World Class Faculty in Small Classes
averaging 20 students
• Quality of Life in a 90%
Residential Community
An independent, accredited,
four-year college of art and design
located in Cincinnati.
BFA degrees for fine artists and designers.
Our nurturing environment embraces
your uniqueness.
ÎÎÎ
500 Salisbury Street
Worcester, MA 01609
1-866-477-7776
www.artacademy.edu • 800-323-5692
1212 Jackson Street • Cincinnati, OH 45202
Study in the beauty of New England on a
Christian campus, where diversity strengthens
your educational and spiritual experience. We
offer a liberal arts education including Nursing,
Psychology, Business, Education, and more.
338 Main Street, P.O. Box 1000
South Lancaster, MA 01561
800-282-2030
www.atlanticuc.edu
www.assumption.edu
BRIDGTON
A C A D E M Y
Beacon College
A four-year liberal arts
college exclusively for
students with learning
disabilities
Start college a step ahead of
your peers: complete a prep
year at Bridgton Academy to
develop the academic skills,
study skills, and self-confidence
necessary to succeed, not just
survive in college.
• Private, four-year coed college.
• Two beautiful, historical
New England campuses
• 30+ programs from Accounting to
Veterinary Science
• NCAA Division III sports
• Outstanding internships, co-ops,
on-site facilities and Study Abroad
North Bridgton, Maine
207-647-3322
www.bridgtonacademy.org
The Year That Makes The Difference
Office of Admissions
61 Sever Street, Worcester, MA 01609
1-508-373-9400
www.beckercollege.edu
BURLINGTON
COLLEGE
A religiously-affiliated liberal arts
college located just outside of
Philadelphia offering an outstanding
and truly personalized academic
experience grounded in an
environment of faith.
2895 College Drive
Bryn Athyn, PA, 19009
267-502-2511
www.brynathyn.edu
Liberal arts college with an emphasis
on preparing leaders in business,
government and the professions.
Best of both worlds as a member of
The Claremont Colleges. Suburban
location near Los Angeles.
890 Columbia Ave.
Claremont, CA 91711
909-621-8088
www.claremontmckenna.edu
E
arn a B.A. on or
off-campus, develop
y o u r o w n m a j o r,
attend classes at The
Film School, become
a civically engaged
citizen, and much more.
burlington.edu
800/862-9616
Carleton
College
Hawaii’s only Catholic university provides an excellent education in the liberal
arts tradition, offering unique programs
(e.g. Early Childhood Education,
Forensic Sciences, Interior Design)
and generous merit scholarships.
Admissions Office
Carleton College
Northfield, Minnesota 55057
1-800-995-2275
www.carleton.edu
3140 Waialae Avenue
Honolulu, HI 96816-1578
800-735-4733
www.chaminade.edu
biao
m
lu
o
C
lege
College of
Visual Arts
CVA
w w w.cva.edu
CORNELL
U N I V E R S I T Y
Cornell, as an Ivy League school and a
land-grant college, combines two great
traditions. A truly American institution,
Cornell was founded in 1895 and remains a place where “any person can
find instruction in any study.”
410 Thurston Avenue
Ithaca, NY 14850
607-255-5241
www.cornell.edu
o f N e w Yo r k
A national liberal arts college of
1700 students, located 35 miles
south of Minneapolis/St. Paul.
Distinguished in humanities and
science education, 60 percent of
students study abroad.
CVA is a private, accredited, four-year college
of art and design offering Bachelor of Fine Arts
degrees in graphic design/interactive, illustration,
photography, drawing/painting, sculpture, and
interdisciplinary art and design studies.
344 Summit Avenue
Saint Paul, Minnesota
55102
651.224.3416
The City College
A world-class research university
committed to providing you with the
knowledge and skills to compete in
the global marketplace.
Fort Collins, CO 80523-1020
(970) 491-6909
www.visit.colostate.edu
Dartmouth
A member of the Ivy League and
widely recognized for the depth,
breadth, and flexibility of its undergraduate program, Dartmouth offers
students an extraordinary opportunity
to collaborate with faculty in the pursuit of their intellectual aspirations.
6016 McNutt Hall
Hanover, NH 03755
603-646-2875
www.dartmouth.edu
Find your future in more than
90 specializations in architecture, biomedicine, education,
engineering and liberal arts &
science at CCNY.
Convent Avenue @ 138th Street
New York, NY 10003
212-650-6981
www.ccny.cuny.edu
Chicago
Learn to Write: Fiction Writing Department
Learn skills to help you
publish fiction, creative nonfiction
and scripts and to succeed in a
wide range of jobs – at one of
America’s premier writing programs
600 S. Michigan Chicago, IL 60605
admissions@popmail.colum.edu
www.colum.edu
DELAWARE VALLEY COLLEGE
• 1,600 Undergraduate Students
• Nationally Ranked Athletics Teams
• More than 35 programs of study
including Criminal Justice, Business
Administration, Small Animal
Science, and Equine Studies.
Add your college
to this monthly
directory.
Call Tyler Ford
Delaware Valley College
Teen Ink
WWW.DELVAL.EDU
617-964-6800
Doylestown, PA
college reviews
Philadelphia, PA: If you feel
hesitant about going to college in a
big city, after hearing about Drexel
University you may change your
mind. Drexel, located in Philadelphia, has everything that a college
should offer a student. Its beautifully
landscaped campus and a variety of
majors are just the start of why
Drexel is an all-around great choice
for college.
The university itself is located in
the city, a community of over one
million, so meeting people should
never be a problem. There are over
12,000 undergraduate students, and
with half from out of state, it’s
almost a guarantee to find someone
like you.
And there’s always something to
do. Drexel offers
U N I V E
over 60 majors;
there are also more than 20 sports.
The tennis, basketball, soccer, and
wrestling teams are all Division I.
An interesting fact I learned while
visiting is that Drexel’s paintball
team beat West Point in a tournament!
Don’t think that because Drexel
is located in the city of Philadelphia
there will be 360 degrees of concrete. The campus has many features of any suburban campus, including large grassy areas and spots
for lounging or studying. It also has
emergency boxes, easily spotted
from anywhere on campus. These
boxes also contain information buttons in case you need help with directions or would like to be escorted if it’s dark or you feel unsafe.
On-campus living is extremely
popular (83 percent of first-year
students opt for it). Visiting the
dorms, I was actually taken aback –
I’m not a fan of dorms but, surprisingly, found these weren’t bad at all.
You have opportunities to pick your
roommate, change your roommate,
and the living space isn’t huge but
each room has its own large bay
window.
Drexel also encourages its students to get out and enjoy wonderful
Philadelphia. All students get an ID,
so you can take transportation directly into the city. They also offer
free museum admission on certain
days with your Drexel ID.
The college wants you to be involved with other
students in the dorms,
so there are movie
nights and floor
R S I T Y activity rooms with
pool tables and televisions.
I think that not only has the academic aspect of the college drawn
me in, but the campus activities and
advantages to being a Drexel student
are amazing.
I’ll admit that at first I was hesitant to look at Drexel because of my
preconceived notion of it being a
city school, but my opinion has
changed. Visiting broke down these
ideas and Drexel proved that a city
college can be just as nice as any
college. I would definitely recommend visiting Drexel and considering it as an option for a college
choice in the future.
Go online for more information
at drexel.edu. ✎
Drexel
by Eleni Vouvalis, Canfield, OH
has been ranked as one of the top 100
public universities in America.
Sure, the academics are important,
but so is campus life. Going away to
college means that you won’t get your
mom’s home cooking every night, but
Cincinnati’s Center Court dining hall
was awarded a gold medal recently for
its outstanding menus and quality of
service by the National Association of
College and University Food Services.
All of UC’s resident halls have airconditioning, cable TV service, are
equipped with a microfridge, and 24hour security. These amenities make
the transition to college life a lot easier. The two-story Starbucks and the
new recreation center also give students all the
I T Y
O F comforts of
home.
The University of Cincinnati offers a solid foundation for basically any career. The student activities
and many organizations bring the
campus to life. No matter what an individual is interested in, there is something to do.
The breathtaking campus, the good
food, and the more-than-accommodating living arrangements make the
University of Cincinnati rise above
many other universities. If you are interested in a fun and welcoming college atmosphere, the University of
Cincinnati should be on your list to
check out.
Visit uc.edu for more. ✎
Cincinnati
by Madisyn Vaclav,
Canfield, OH
by Jamie Psonak,
Wilmington, DE
Akron, OH: Built on over 200 acres, the University of Akron has a metropolitan setting in the city with a population of over 200,000. The student
union is very modern as is the rest of the campus. It includes a food court
with several types of food, a theater that seats 300, a soundproof study room,
a Starbucks (for coffee lovers like me), and is just a really cool place to
hang out.
The University of Akron has spent (and still is spending) millions of
dollars to further upgrade the campus with a goal of meeting the highest
college expectations. The recreation and wellness center is amazing, complete with free weights, stationary bikes, elliptical machines and treadmills,
an indoor pool, hot tubs, a rock-climbing wall, and an indoor track. For a
small fee, you can stay in top shape with the help of a personal trainer
who will devise a workout plan especially
U N I V E R S I T Y O F for you.
Akron is known for its highly rated Honors College. For these students there are
special dorms and personal advisers to
help along the way. Akron is also well known for its College of Business,
College of Engineering, and its medical program.
As for the dorms, they have many types. Layouts range from two-person
rooms to seven-person townhouses. Students may choose whom they want to
room with, or be placed with someone with common interests and living style.
As for tuition, in-state students pay a little over $16,000, and out-of-state
costs roughly $25,300 per year. The University of Akron does offer scholarships for both academics and athletics (Division I).
Overall, I was blown away by the University of Akron. It is everything I
could want for my college experience. Not only are the academics great, but I
enjoyed the campus. There are tons of activities. Hopefully, I will get the
chance to live this ultimate college life at the University of Akron.
Find out more at www.uakron.edu. ✎
Akron
Cincinnati, OH: U-C! (clap, clap)
U-C! (clap, clap) GO BEARCATS!
Once you step onto the University of
Cincinnati’s campus, the Bearcat pride
takes over. The university is located
just minutes from the heart of the city.
The beautiful campus, amazing programs with endless opportunities, and
the overall Bearcat pride make the
University of Cincinnati one to
consider.
Cincinnati’s campus is in a category
of its own. Many of its buildings have
been recognized and honored nationally for their unusual architecture. For
example, if you were an engineering
major, you would have no problem
picking out the right building; it has
been deU N I V E R S
signed to
look like a
four-cylinder
engine. Each
building is unique. The architectural
diversity makes the campus interesting
to all. The well-kept landscape and the
many fountains add to the university’s
charm.
Aside from being one of the most
originally designed campuses, the
University of Cincinnati offers some
of the best programs nationwide.
With such a beautiful campus, it
makes sense that BusinessWeek
ranked UC’s College of Design, Architecture, Art, and Planning among
the top four design schools in the
world!
UC’s design program is highly recognized, but so are the music, criminal
justice, and pediatric programs. As a
whole, the University of Cincinnati
Greensboro, NC: Bennett College is a small, private, historically black liberal
arts school for women founded in 1873. The college offers an education conducive
to excellence in scholarly pursuits; preparation for leadership roles in the workplace, society, and the world; and life-long learning in a technologically advanced,
complex global society.
With small classes for individual help, students are able to excel and build purposeful relationships with teachers. The college offers a variety of majors and dual
majors with surrounding schools. Bennett
takes great pride in its academic and social reputation and is highly looked upon
by other schools and organizations.
C O L L E G E During my recent visit to Bennett I felt
at home, and everyone was respectful and courteous. Bennett had always been my
first choice, and after my visit I was reassured of where I wanted to go. I believe
this is the perfect school for me and the perfect school for the women of America.
Find our more at bennett.edu. ✎
Bennett
by Jessica Barron, Charlotte, NC
College of Your Dreams
or University of Your
Nightmares?
Tell us about colleges
you’ve visited!
www.TeenInk.com
32
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
Teen Ink • January ’08 • Page 33
DUQUESNE
UNIVERSITY
"UILT ON #ATHOLIC EDUCATION VALUES OF
ACADEMIC EXCELLENCE $E3ALES 5NIVERSITY
IS DRIVEN BY DEDICATED EDUCATORS AND
ADVISORS THAT INSPIRE PERFORMANCE
3TATION !VENUE
$%3!,%3 #ENTER6ALLEY 0!
WWWDESALESEDU Duquesne offers more than 80
undergraduate programs, more than
140 extracurricular activities and
personal attention in an atmosphere of
moral and spiritual growth. Ranked by
US News among the most affordable
private national universities.
• Small seminar-based classroom setting
• Interdisciplinary curriculum focusing on
social sciences, humanities, arts and sciences
• Located in the historic Greenwich Village
neighborhood of New York City
• 880 students from 43 states & 13 countries
600 Forbes Avenue • Pittsburgh, PA 15282
(412) 396-6222 • (800) 456-0590
E-mail: admissions@duq.edu
Web: www.admissions.duq.edu
65 West 11th St.
New York, NY 10011
212.229.5665
www.lang.newschool.edu
Founded in 1854 as Minnesota’s
first university and located in the
heart of the economic and cultural
center of the upper midwest
– Minneapolis and Saint Paul –
Hamline offers a challenging,
goal-oriented, community-based
liberal arts education.
Fordham, New York Ciy’s Jesuit University,
offers a distinctive educational experience
in the “capital of the world.” The University’s
Jesuit philosophy of education is
characterized by excellence in teaching,
rigorous intellectual inquiry, and by the care
and development of each student.
www.fordham.edu/tink
Hawaii Pacific
University
Harvard offers 6,500 undergraduates an
education from distinguished faculty in
more than 40 fields in the liberal arts as
well as engineering and applied science.
1536 Hewitt Avenue
St. Paul, MN 55104-1284
1-800-753-9753
www.hamline.edu
aWith students from all 50 states
and more than 100 countries around
the globe HPU is one of the most
culturally diverse universities
in the world.
HPU, where the world comes to study.
1164 Bishop St.
Honolulu, HI 96813
1-800-669-4724
www.hpu.edu/adm9
8 Garden Street
Cambridge, MA 02138
617-495-1551
www.harvard.edu
•
•
• Quality and affordable private
university
• Safe and historic campus near the
Jersey Shore
• Choose from over 30 majors
• Residential Women’s College
• 7 NCAA Division II Sports
• Coeducational University College
900 Lakewood Avenue • Lakewood, NJ 08701-2697
800.458.8422, ext. 2760 • www.georgian.edu
Located in New York’s stunning Finger Lakes
region, Ithaca College provides a first-rate
education on a first-name basis. Its Schools of
Business, Communications, Health Sciences
and Human Performance, Humanities and
Sciences, and Music and its Division of
Interdisciplinary and International Studies
offer over 100 majors.
100 Job Hall • Ithaca, NY 14850-7020
800-429-4274 • www.ithaca.edu/admission
LOYOLA UNIVERSITY CHICAGO
Excellent Programs.
Programs.
Excellent
Outstanding Facility.
Outstanding
Faculty.
Affordable Cost.
Cost.
Affordable
Ranked # 22 as a “best value”
by U.S. News & World Report
66 academic programs
including journalism
Visit www.luc.edu/learnmore10
today!
337 College Hill
Johnson, VT 05656-9898
1-802-635-2356
WWW.JSC.EDU
O
O
O
Academic excellence
and global perspective in one
of America‘s most “livable”
metropolitan areas.
1000 Grand Avenue
St. Paul, MN 55105
800-231-7974
www.macalester.edu
O
• Distinctive, high quality academics
• Dedicated faculty and staff
• Personalized attention
• Hands-on/Experiential Learning
• An intimate setting and scenic location
1001 College Rd
Lyndonville, Vermont 05851
802-626-6413
www.lyndonstate.edu
1.800.262.2373
Develop fully as an individual and
become a leader
in the arts, education, business,
science, or health.
You will find your place and
discover your path. You will belong.
You will succeed.
www.MyMarywood.com
World-renowned faculty
Small classes
Personal attention
International student body
150 West 85th Street
New York, NY 10024
800-292-3040
mannesadmissions@newschool.edu
www.mannes.newschool.edu
Located in Michigan’s beautiful
Upper Peninsula.
Messiah offers a high-quality, private,
coed, undergraduate education that
effectively integrates intellect, character,
and Christian faith for nearly 2900 students in a residential setting.
arts and human sciences
business and economics • computing
engineering • environmental studies
sciences • technology
Michigan Technological University
Houghton, MI • mtu4u@mtu.edu
906-487-2335 • 1-888-MTU-1885
One College Avenue, Box 3005
Grantham, PA 17027
1-800-233-4220
www.messiah.edu
www.mtu.edu
New Mexico Highlands University
At Highlands you’ll find:
An award-winning college with BFA
degrees in media, design and fine arts,
as well as the unique Bachelor of
Science degree.
14 majors including Advertising,
Interactive Media and Furniture Design.
2501 Stevens Ave.
Minneapolis, MN 55404
800-874-MCAD
www.mcad.edu
• Nationally ranked liberal arts college
• Self-designed and interdepartmental majors
• Small classes taught by distinguished faculty
• 100+ campus organizations
• 23 NCAA Division III sports
• A tradition of service-learning
61 S. Sandusky St.
Delaware, OH 43015
800-922-8953
www.owu.edu
Mount Holyoke is a highly
selective liberal arts college for
women, recognized worldwide for
its rigorous academic program,
its global community, and
its legacy of women leaders.
• Individual attention
• Small classes
• Affordable tuition
• Acclaimed academic
programs
www.nmhu.edu
800.338.6648
MOUNT HOLYOKE COLLEGE
50 College Street, South Hadley, MA 01075
www.mtholyoke.edu
We’re Here for yoU
O
O
O
A faculty consisting of 70+
world-renowned jazz artists.
Strong emphasis on small
group performance.
Priceless experience in clubs,
performance halls, and recording
studios in New York City.
55 West 13th Street
New York, NY 10011
212.229.5896 x4589
Ohio Northern is a comprehensive
university of liberal arts and professional
programs offering more than 3,600
students over 70 majors in the colleges of
Arts & Sciences, Business Administration,
Engineering, Pharmacy and Law.
Office of Admissions
Ada, OH 45810
1-888-408-4668
www.onu.edu/teen
www.jazz.newschool.edu
Pace University offers talented and
ambitious students the opportunity to
discover their potential and realize their
dreams. Campuses in New York City and
Pleasantville, NY.
Experience the Power of Pace.
A comprehensive Christian university
located on a waterfront campus in
Southeast Florida. Offers bachelor’s,
master’s and doctoral degrees in over
70 programs of study to over
2,800 students.
For more information call
1-800-847-PACE
or email infoctr@pace.edu
www.pace.edu
P.O. Box 24708
West Palm Beach • FL 33416-4708
888 GO TO PBA • www.pba.edu
Palmer College is where
chiropractic began
Three campuses to choose from –
Iowa, California, Florida
Natural, drug-free,
non-surgical health care
Graduate-level program leading
to a Doctor of Chiropractic degree
www.palmer.edu
communityservice
A Spring of Hope
by Brittany Young, Coconut Creek, FL
and constructed of mud and concrete, did not have
So traveling to Acornhoek was a real eye-opener. I
would never have imagined that a vacation in
access to water or fresh food. The market was miles
remembered how neglected rural sections of South
South Africa would change my life, but my visit
away, and water was a trek to a small government
Africa
really
are.
to a rural South African school, Beretta Primary,
pump that only occasionally churned up water.
We drove for several miles on a rock path through
stuck with me. The school had over 1,200 students,
I met an eight-year-old girl whose parents had died
some of the poorest areas of the country to reach
from preschool to seventh grade, all living in poverty.
when she was only a toddler, and who had lost her
Beretta. I recalled how Beretta once looked: a desicIt lacked desks, school supplies, and even proper
grandmother (her only guardian) a week before we
cated land with few trees, dying crops, and an empty
floors. However, the most shocking problem was the
arrived. She had not eaten since her grandmother’s
water tank. Those memories were completely blown
lack of running water. Rivers and lakes are far from
death. Another girl, just 16, cared for eight children,
away when I saw the school for the first time in two
Beretta Primary and its town, Acornhoek, suffers from
all orphans. I shudder to think how she might have
years. Gardens flourished around the school, trees
drought, AIDS, unemployment, and a rapidly
gone about getting food for her family if we had not
bloomed
between
buildings,
and
tiny
carrot
growing number of orphans.
Winner
brought supplies.
sprouts spelled out “Beretta.” So much life
Most inhabitants live without water,
We visited one of those government-installed
was
evident
there
even
during
the
winter,
so a school without it is sadly a comof Teen Ink’s
pumps. People walked miles with wheelbarrows
normally the time with the least rain and
mon sight. Since my visit, I raised
Community
loaded with containers to wait their turn. This was
little water!
over $10,000 from my school and priService Contest
not a suitable source of water for so many people.
The boys grabbed their cameras as a
vate donations. As a result, a well was
Hundreds of children do not have water or good
massive group of children emerged from
Get involved!
installed at the school, with the help of
meals at home.
a far field. Hundreds of smiling faces
my South African friends Brenden and
Building a well at Beretta proved to be far more
greeted
us
as
we
moved
through
the
school
Sherri. I received pictures of the children
life-sustaining and essential than I ever imagined.
grounds. The children had prepared a celebrarunning to the tank, filling buckets, and pourNow children who rarely had water were able to use
tion for us. One little girl got up and recited a poem
ing water onto their garden that now grows yearthe water at school, and while most crops die during
about the importance of water. After a round of apround. The bathrooms also have water for the children
the drought, Beretta’s gardens grew year-round.
plause, a choir emerged from the crowd. I realized
to wash their hands. For the first time, the students
We discovered there are dozens of other schools in
they were singing my name! My mother’s too! They
and teachers can have a drink of water at school.
the area. Many need chairs, desks, chalkthanked us for a job well done. The boys
Although I knew this was a great accomplishment,
in the choir started dancing. My mother A school without boards, and school supplies, but most of
many other schools in Acornhoek and other povertyall, water. Our work in Africa is not done.
and I began to cry when we were asked
stricken areas needed help. I had to get others inI am dedicating my life to helping chilto go to the front and introduce ourselves. water is sadly a
volved and raise awareness. Then, an incredible idea
dren in Acornhoek, and eventually
With the help of a teacher’s translation, I
struck me. What if we took other teens with us to
common sight throughout Africa. The Beretta Project is
told the children that I hoped I had
South Africa so they too could experience being with
far more than a summer community servtouched their lives as much as they had
these children and helping out? Six months later, The
ice project, it is an ongoing commitment to changing
touched mine.
Beretta Project was under way. I hopped on a plane
conditions at schools in South Africa.
After passing out 1,200 cupcakes, candy bars, and
with some of my friends, my mother, and my video
We decided to start the foundation A Spring of
juice boxes purchased with money donated to Beretta
teacher. We would film a documentary on Beretta and
Hope,
entirely run by its teenage founders, which
from
my
sweet
sixteen
party,
we
started
a
game
of
the impact of water on the school. This would be the
will build wells at rural schools in South Africa. Our
baseball. I knew that my friends really connected with
greatest community service project I could have ever
website, aspringofhope.org, offers information about
the kids that day; this project is a passion for them
imagined!
donating and doing your part. By bringing aid to one
now too. However, on the other side of the children’s
I told the others that what they would see in South
school, we are helping thousands of children and
amazing smiles are lives of poverty and strife. We
Africa would be unlike anything they had ever wittheir families. With the public’s help, we can do so
went to see the hardship firsthand by visiting the
nessed, and that truth certainly hit them the first day
much to give these children futures and ultimately
poorest homes in the Acornhoek area and delivering
we visited Beretta. At that point, we had already been
end the cycle of poverty in South Africa. ✎
supplies like blankets, cabbage, non-perishable milk,
in South Africa for a few days and witnessed the
and soap. The homes we visited, usually closet-sized
glamorous life in affluent Sandton City, Johannesburg.
I
Stories From a Soup Kitchen
I
34
got the call two days after the seventh Harry Potter book came out. I
was halfway through reading it, and
I definitely didn’t want any distractions.
But the phone kept ringing, so reluctantly
I answered it. Patty from my church
said, “Rachel, we are helping at the
soup kitchen at the Methodist church
this afternoon and need volunteers. Are
you available?”
I thought longingly of the climax of
the book, dreaming of having an entire
day to read. But my mouth answered,
“Sure, my sister and I will be there at
5:15.”
When we arrived, other volunteers
were already at work washing dishes.
A former teacher of mine and another
woman were drying dishes while another distributed aprons to volunteers.
A man wheeled out a drink cart and
began filling pitchers. I glanced
through the door and saw people
already lining up outside.
“We’ve got five minutes until we
open!” Mary strode into the kitchen.
“You all come with me.”
She led us downstairs to bring up
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
by Rachel Mills, Fallon, NV
I asked. He nodded. “I’m not hungry.”
huge containers of food, casseroles, salFive minutes later, he was back. “Can
ads, and watermelons. I goggled at the
I have some more? I’m only hungry for
sight of the cart full of plate after plate
watermelon.” I laughed and served him
of cake. One slice per person, I was
another slice.
told. Volunteers poured dressing over
A harried single mother herded her
the great bowls of salad and peeled
four children through the line. “Give each
plastic wrap from the casserole dishes.
a scoop of everything,” she instructed us.
Mary handed me a set of tongs, saying,
“They’d eat nothing but dessert other“Each person gets one slice of waterwise.” The kids made faces at
melon.”
Promptly at 5:30, the line
“We need the salad but happily accepted
slices of watermelon and butbegan to move. A family with
two kids in wheelchairs came volunteers. tered French bread.
I saw families with five chilthrough first. The mother and
Are you dren,
families with no children.
father each carried two plates
and pushed a wheelchair.
available?” One couple came through holding hands and smiling at each
Two older men cracked jokes
other. “We’ve been married 48 years,
as they accepted scoops of the casserole
and I love her like I did when we were
and salad. “No watermelon,” one said.
newlyweds!” the man told me.
“Are you kidding?” I asked. “You
Although the people accepted food,
don’t want watermelon?”
they gave me more than I gave them.
He grinned. “I am kidding. Give me
They told me about their families – how
one of those.”
one’s daughter was getting married, anA family of five came through the line,
other’s son was learning to read. Kids
all three children as quiet as mice. The
told me what grade they were in as their
middle son bypassed the casserole and
parents beamed proudly.
salad and held up his plate for waterI did see people I knew. One teenager
melon and bread. “Is that all you want?”
with a tattoo on his arm avoided my
gaze as his mom and siblings talked to
me. I felt a wave of sorrow, not blaming
him.
The most frightening part of the evening came at the end. A young woman
in her late twenties came in, but she
wasn’t interested in food. She paced up
and down, running her hands through
her hair with a tortured expression on
her face. Whenever anyone tried to talk
to her, she pushed past as though she
wasn’t listening.
She was still there when we finished
cleaning up. Mary called the police.
“She is bipolar,” Mary explained. “I’ve
seen her before. I don’t think she took
her medicine today.”
Nobody told me what happened to
her, whether they got her home, whether
she ever ate dinner. I keep remembering
her face, and the faces of the others
eating, happy and sad, chattering excitedly with friends or eating alone in the
corner, each with a story to tell.
As much as I love to read Harry
Potter, I’m still glad I went to the soup
kitchen that night. ✎
Teen Ink • January ’08 • Page 35
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environment
Sleeping Giant
L
egs sore, feet weary, blue shoes
kicking pebbles, you tread up
the Tower Trail slowly. The incline isn’t that steep, but each footstep
brings more fatigue, more sweat, more
of everything, until you hardly feel
anything.
Around you is the peace of the
woods. The leaves come together and
form planes of green, moving ever so
slightly in the cool air of late summer.
These calm, frozen seas extend until
vision is obscured, and pockets of yellow and red hint at the change – from
the infusion of life to its retreat. And in
the void where these plains end, an
overcast sky forces its way through,
giving you soft daylight to work with.
The chilly, fresh breeze that nudges
against your cheek carries the songs of
birds you’ve heard before but never
recognized. And even though your
Photo by Lucy Arnold, Strafford, NH
by James Hexter, No. Haven, CT
green to the brightest red, from the
friends, talking about pointless things
weakest yellow to the intensity of the
to pass the time, obscure the peace of
virgin green that you thought only the
your surroundings, the serenity manseason of life renewed could provide.
ages to force its way through the jumThese colors are more saturated with
ble of incessant chatter, persistent,
blue as your gaze fixes on the horizon,
undying.
seemingly miles away.
Two climbers scale the cliffs above
Hawks glide above the woods, ciryou, small caves jut out on your right,
cling and hovering without moving a
a thin sheet of water glides down a
muscle, scourging for sustenance. The
smooth shale rock. You see them as
winds grow colder, and you need to put
you ascend the so-called mountain, the
on your jacket as you finish eating a
1.6 miles of trail that goes through
snack. You then begin your descent.
light and dark places, places with tiny
But the trail is narrower,
flowers of purple and
incline steeper, and the
yellow and white lining
You can push the
gravel, pebbles, and wet
the side and standing out
against the forest floor.
yourself, because leaves are replaced by
rocks jutting from the
You can feel your legs
you have done pathway and patches of
getting a workout. You
mud that appear every so
know your feet are slipthat before
often. You are going back
ping and getting sore.
the hard way. Your desire
But you get there. You
to move forward has caused your feet
enter the tower, climb up the ramps,
to place themselves in uncomfortable
and make it. You get there, after endurand unnatural positions, and when the
ing physical challenge and preparing
shale rocks get bigger and the going
for what is yet to come. You get there.
gets steeper, you must use your hands
New Haven. The skyscrapers are
to climb over the mélange of rocks,
nothing more than tiny black boxes obonce almost falling. Almost.
scured by haze. The squareness of this
You make it. Your heart is moving
inch of the horizon defiantly thumbs its
too fast to count your pulse. You feel
nose at the bumps of hills filled with
the blood pumping through your ears,
different kinds of trees. But New Haven,
your legs and feet indescribably negalooking so far from your vantage point,
tive, and your head a bit light. But you
is unsuccessful in its defiance. The varmove on. You can push yourself, beious shades of color on thousands of
cause you have done that before. You
trees surround you, from the darkest
Man’s Best Friends
by Lisa Dixon, Ardsley, NY
public or private property to relieve themselves, and
aris Hilton’s chihuahua, Tinkerbell, Ashlee
possibly even frightening citizens. These animals ofSimpson’s maltipoo, Blondie, and Jessica Alten end up in shelters, and there is a limit to the numba’s pugs, Sid and Nancy, are known by the
ber that shelters can hold.
American public because of their famous owners and
Spaying and neutering is good for the owner,
luxurious red-carpet treatment. These dogs are well
the pet, and the community. It makes animals more
kept and well publicized, and their appearance and
relaxed, warmer, and less likely to bite, roam the
treatment create the notion that all American dogs and
neighborhood, or even run away. Mandatory spaying
cats are as well cared for. However, this is not true;
and neutering helps curb the growing problem of
today across America there are millions of neglected
fighting animals as a form of entertainment (recently
dogs and cats.
highlighted by the Michael Vick scandal). Pets are
Because many Americans do not realize the imporless at risk for certain diseases, and will
tance of spaying and neutering cats and
live long, happy, and healthy lives. These
dogs, animal shelters are forced to euthMandatory
actions will reduce the cost to the commuanize three to four million healthy cats
and dogs each year. Spaying and neuterspaying and nity of removing stray animals from public facilities and lawsuits from bite and
ing proves beneficial not only to pets but
neutering helps attack cases.
to pet owners and everyday citizens.
Those who oppose mandatory spaying
There should be mandatory governmentand neutering may be breeders who sell their dogs
provided neutering and spaying for all cats and dogs.
without registering as licensed breeders. These “casuSadly euthanization is what happens to many strays –
al breeders” oppose mandatory neutering and spaying
happy and healthy animals – that are not adopted
because they can make easy money from the puppies
from shelters. Euthanization is commonly known as
or kittens they breed. They often don’t think about the
putting an animal “to sleep.” The stray population will
ramifications of their actions. If puppies or kittens fall
continue to grow unless neutering and spaying beinto the wrong hands, it’s possible that they will be
comes mandatory, and provided for all cats and dogs,
mistreated and not provided with proper healthcare, or
under penalty of law. According to Animal People, in
become strays themselves.
2001, 36,500 animals were put to sleep in New York
Some say that the price of purchasing a dog or cat
City alone, and nationwide a total of 4.2 million euthwill increase if only registered breeders are available.
anized animals was recorded. The offspring of strays
This is incorrect because more licensed breeders will
will inevitably grow up to produce more strays and
exist as a result of penalties for casual breeders. And of
probably become a nuisance, eating garbage, using
P
36
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
can take the challenge.
And yet, despite your feet aching
from contortions teetering on the edge
of injury, despite your head feeling
light, despite the sole focus of making
sure you don’t hurt yourself, there is
one moment you will never forget.
Your feet take you to a clearing, a
shale ledge looking north. A few
scrawny pine trees jut out, each standing alone against the blurry lines and
tints and shades that make up the overcast atmosphere. To your right is the
cliff the two climbers scaled, darkened
in spots by shadows of trees, and below you is Quinnipiac University, a
contrast to the multitude of deciduous
trees, conveying its daily humility and
serenity to those who listen. The
breezes are cold but not incessant, and
the hawks are still flying, cutting the
air with steady wings, voicing their
haunting, austere, unique screeches
that travel the breezes, the breezes that
cool the skin, and arrive faintly but full
of impact to your ears.
And when you see the people standing against the backdrop of the sleeping
giant, you feel your soul start to tingle
after discovering a new space, a new
scene, a new view, all you can do is sit
and relax, forget all the problems in
life in a positive and beneficial way.
You lie on the shale rocks and watch.
And listen. And live. ✎
course, there is always the option of adopting an animal from a shelter.
The fate of many helpless, loving cats and dogs
rests within the important issue of neutering and spaying. We can all benefit from happy, healthy cats and
dogs. The government should realize that it’s important to provide these services to keep animals off the
streets. In the end, dogs and cats are man’s best
friends, right? ✎
Photo by Emily Bruchez, Liverpool, England
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DRAMA
Shoot ’Em Up
On Golden Pond
“S
A
hoot ’Em Up” is one of
those films in which director Michael Davis recognizes
the boundaries of logical filmmaking, and then completely
surpasses them. His bizarre
directing style, coupled with
exceptional acting culminate to
create the most interesting,
unique, and violent action
movie I have ever seen. Unfortunately, many action movies
come with weak plots, and
“Shoot ’Em Up” is no exception. However, Davis has an
interesting way of handling this
– by making the action so farfetched that the chaotic plot
almost seems reasonable.
The true genius behind a
movie like this lies with the
director. Davis’s unique and
mystifying ideas give the movie
its spectacu“Spectacular lar action
action and and shock
shock value” value –
including
childbirth in the heat of a gun
battle, and using carrots to jam
triggers. Similar to movies like
“Sin City” and “Grindhouse,”
this movie uses the technique
of excessive violence or action
to complement or compensate
for a bizarre plot.
Although the plot may not be
the selling point of “Shoot ’Em
Up,” it is definitely important.
In this film, a man helps a pregnant woman deliver a baby who
is the target of a group of men.
Then he defends the child with
the help of his friend, a prostitute, and his astounding shooting ability. All the while he is
gathering clues as to why these
men wish the child dead. The
plot is mediocre at best, and
is more or less squeezed in
between the amazing action
scenes.
Clive Owen puts on a good
show with his calm, serious
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plays the antagonist who is
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resources at his disposal.
All and all, “Shoot ’Em Up”
is the ideal movie for those
seeking intense, exaggerated
action. A decent plot and story
line drive a movie that is
packed with violent yet enjoyable madness; and the director
and actors connect to make a
brilliant work. The film’s
creative concepts ultimately
leave the viewer astonished
and pleased. ✎
by George Vassilaros,
Canfield, OH
This movie is rated R.
classic tale of an unusual
friendship between an
older man and a young boy,
“On Golden Pond” is the ideal
family movie. Starring Henry
Fonda, Katharine Hepburn,
Jane Fonda, and Doug McKeon,
it follows
“Two
the story of
thumbs up” Norman
(Henry Fonda) and Ethel (Hepburn) Thayer at their summer
home.
When it comes time for Norman’s eightieth birthday, the
couple receives a surprise visit
from their daughter, Chelsea
(Jane Fonda). But that’s not
all – Chelsea brings along her
fiancé Bill and his son Billy
(McKeon). When Norman finds
out that Chelsea and Bill are
leaving for Europe and they are
planning to leave Billy with
them, he is anything but ecstatic.
With a seven-character cast,
this smashing classic gets the
acting just right. This heartwarming story is a tearjerker
for even the strongest of men.
A spectacular family film! ✎
by Sarah Cox, Bedford, NY
COMEDY
Lars and the
Real Girl
T
he premise of this film is
both amusing and intriguing:
Ryan Gosling’s character falls in
love with a blow-up doll. Somehow, director Craig Gillespie and
writer Nancy Oliver built a
poignant and darkly comedic
movie based on this very eccentric storyline. In a year of lackluster films, this is one of the
most original and beautifully
made movies of 2007.
Lars (Gosling) is a socially
awkward but gentle man, who
lives a monotonous life until his
coworker shows him a website
where he can order a life-size
blow-up doll. When “Bianca”
arrives, Lars begins to develop
his first remotely normal rela“Poignant tionship.
Inevitably,
and darkly his brother
comedic” and sister-inlaw (Emily Mortimer) become
concerned and take Lars to the
doctor (Patricia Clarkson), who
tells them that Lars is under a
delusion that Bianca is real and
that everyone should play along.
The story revolves around the
town’s acceptance of Lars’s
problems. Before Lars could
not interact with others, but
with Bianca’s help, he becomes
increasingly social; simultaneously the tone of the movie
changes from outright comedic
to bittersweet. The filming is
delicate, with superb pacing and
a perfect balance of weirdness.
The storyline is borderline outrageous, but there is just enough
restraint in the directing and
acting to make it work.
Every actor is more than
believable. However, Gosling is
truly exceptional; an Oscar
nomination for his performance
wouldn’t be a surprise. Mortimer and Clarkson bring a
realistic dimension to this outlandish story.
The flawless execution and
impeccable acting make this
one of the best films of the year.
Both unconventional and subtle,
“Lars and the Real Girl” will
satisfy anyone who’s craving a
peculiar, thought-provoking,
and original movie. ✎
by Farah Momen,
Congers, NY
MUSICAL
Across the
Universe
T
he title of the movie is an
allusion to the LennonMcCartney canon, which sets
high standards. Director Julie
Taymor fashions a musical film
that lives up to the expectations
of a broad audience. Written by
Dick Clement and Ian La Fre“Timeless nais, with
stunning visumusical
al techniques,
score”
1960s politics,
touching performances, and the
Beatles’ greatest hits, “Across
the Universe” is a solid movement in the comeback of musical filmmaking.
The plot involves a Liverpool
shipyard worker, Jude, and a
privileged American college
student named Lucy. The two
fall in love and are swept away
into the hippie era, receiving
guidance from Dr. Robert
(played by Bono) and his Magic
Bus and Mr. Kite (Eddie Izzard). The story makes a sharp
turn into a vivid anti-Vietnam
War statement after Lucy’s
brother is drafted.
Not one aspect of the production is disappointing: costume
design, visual effects, and acting are all just as I envisioned
them. I particularly enjoyed the
scenes in Greenwich Village,
where Lucy, Jude, and their
musician friends share an apartment. They effectively and colorfully embody the film’s era.
“Across the Universe” features a radiant cast including
the captivating Evan Rachel
Wood as Lucy and the impressive newcomer Jim Sturgess as
Jude. Sturgess establishes himself as a talented musical actor,
giving the most heartfelt performance and shedding a new
light on every song he sings.
Wood also moves the audience
as Lucy suffers the loss of family
and friends.
The set ties in flawlessly
with the tone and message of
the plot. Visual editing and 3-D
animation lend to select scenes
a trippy, artsy style that characterized the ’60s.
Since the story is pulled indirectly from the Beatles songbook, the film revolves around
its own soundtrack. Thirty-four
Beatles compositions are rerecorded with new voices and the
same well-known melodies. The
story line, however, reshapes
the meaning. Moreover, it is actually the music and lyrics that
make the intentions and desires
of the characters known.
I would recommend “Across
the Universe” to anyone because
of its timeless themes and score,
and moving performances. ✎
by Tess Keppler,
Westlake, OH
COMEDY
The Darjeeling
Limited
“T
he Darjeeling Limited”
may not be one of
writer/director Wes Anderson’s
best films, but it retains a quirky
sense of humanity and endearing characters that make it
worth the entire two hours.
This film tells the story of
Jack, Peter, and Francis, three
brothers who have not spoken
in a year. After Francis has a
near-fatal motorcycle accident,
he decides to bring his brothers
together for a spiritual journey
across India in order to repair
their broken relationship.
Let me state first that if you
did not like Anderson’s previous
films, you should skip this one.
It’s his directing to the very
“Demands core, using all
a lot from of his usual
tricks to make
the
a captivating,
audience” if not ridiculously long, dark comedy that is
truly about family ties that bind.
It contains the kind of humor
I’ve come to love – ranging
from subtle one-liners to outrageous chases involving cobras,
pepper spray, and dubious
bottles of cough medicine. The
actors take this humor to the
next level by putting their all
into even the most ridiculous
scenes, so the audience needs
no help completely submersing
themselves in what’s going on.
For all its merit, “The Darjeeling Limited” leaves something to be desired in the realm
of action. It’s a film that requires
patience from viewers, since it
has quite a few empty moments
that could, in the end, have been
edited out to improve the flow. I
mean, I love the beautiful shots
of India, but I think I could deal
with less than half an hour of
them.
All in all, this movie is a
slow-moving treat that has its
own unique style and pace. It
demands a lot from its audience
but in the end gives a lot back,
and I would definitely recommend it. ✎
by Halley Balkovich,
Springfield, OR
This movie is rated R.
moviereviews
ACTION
COMEDY
Dan in Real Life
E
ntering the theater, I had no
specific preference which
movie to see. Since “Dan in
Real Life” was the only one
playing I had heard of, I bought
a ticket and took my seat. Now
I am very happy I did.
In the movie, Dan (Steve
Carell), a single father of three
daughters, is an advice columnist and uses his advice to help
himself. Carell plays the predictable comical character and
makes the movie what it is. He
is one of the reasons I saw it,
since I have seen his astounding
talent in his more comedic roles
in “The Office”
“Hilarious and “The 40and
Year-Old
quirky” Virgin,” his
more depressing role as the suicidal uncle in
“Little Miss Sunshine,” and
now his somewhat depressing
yet humorous role in “Dan in
Real Life.”
I was also pleasantly surprised to see Dane Cook here,
since I am not a big fan and
found it refreshing to see him in
a different role than his usual
dimwitted character.
The three daughters (Alison
Pill, Brittany Robertson, and
Marlene Lawston) also play
their roles well, especially
Robertson, who I thought
makes the movie hilarious and
appropriately quirky. Although
I feel there might have been a
better actress to play both Dan
and Mitch’s girlfriend than
Juliette Binoche, she is still a
believable character. All in all,
this was an adorable movie that
I would recommend to all. ✎
by Erin Davidowicz,
New City, NY
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
39
musicreviews
sponsored
by
HIP-HOP
Kanye West –
“Graduation”
“G
raduation,” Mr. West’s
third album, has finally
been released after lots of
buildup. Now you’re probably
asking, is it worth the hype? Of
course it is, it’s Kanye West,
super producer and MC, back to
show off his newest creation.
Kanye West is well known
for his production of “soul
beats,” the name he uses to
describe his laid-back, soulful
tracks (and there is no shortage
of them on this album), and
now he is ready to hit us with
his newfound flow.
In “Graduation,” a 13-track
album, West does well switching his styles around, going
from a mellow track like “I
Wonder” to a more beat-heavy
track like “Stronger.” But the
best by far is “Homecoming,”
which features Chris Martin
(from Coldplay) singing the
chorus as well as playing the
piano. But what makes this
track great is the story it tells.
When you first hear it, you may
think it’s nothing special, but if
you pay
“‘Graduation’ attention
into superstar you will
have a
status”
greater
understanding of the story: West
reminisces about his hometown
of Chicago, as if Chicago were
an actual person: “I met this girl
when I was three years old, and
what I loved most – she had so
much soul.”
All in all, this album combines great production with
great lyrics, showcasing West’s
growth as an artist. This is truly
his “Graduation” into superstar
status. Real fans of music, not
just hip-hop, will want to pick
up this album. ✎
by Abraham Rodriguez,
Phoenix, AZ
HARD ROCK
Linkin Park –
“Minutes to
Midnight”
I
t’s been four years since the
release of “Meteora,” and
Linkin Park has returned
stronger than ever with their
third album, “Minutes to Midnight.” The band spent 14
months in the studio and wrote
more than 100 song demos to
create this album.
When I started listening to
this CD, I was surprised to hear
something other than the heavy
beats and rapping for which
Linkin Park is notorious. They
40
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
have switched from a hard
rock-techno format to a polished, sometimes quieter album
layout. With momentous lyrics,
smooth melodies, and a classic
rock-type song structure, this
new side of Linkin Park is a
more submissive one.
“What I’ve Done” is the sixth
single off the record. Although I
wasn’t totally thrilled when I
heard it the
“A new side first time, the
of Linkin more I listened, the
Park”
more it grew
on me. “Bleed It Out,” is one of
the best songs on the album,
and its rapping and fast-paced
rhythm is reminiscent of their
earlier works. “No More Sorrow” and “Given Up” are other
upbeat songs that will have fans
singing along. For the first time,
Shinoda sings solo on “Hands
Held High,” an antiwar song.
It’s one of the high points of
the album because of its raw
emotion.
Three of my favorites are
“Shadow of the Day,” “The Little Things Give You Away,” and
“In Pieces.” They are some of
the softest songs, backed with
fluttering electric guitars and
electronic drums. Without all
the screaming, I feel the band
conveys their message less encumbered.
Linkin Park has been a growing phenomenon since their
start. Although many of their
previous songs tended to sound
monotonous, their abilities have
grown and revolutionized how
they work as a whole.
I definitely give “Minutes to
Midnight” five stars. Many fans
might disapprove of Linkin
Park’s step in a different direction, but I encourage them to
listen and appreciate the music.
The melancholy harmonies
throughout “Minutes to Midnight” are one of this CD’s
strongest attributes. What’s
more important, the music or
the lyrics? The lyrics are the
foundation, but the music
makes it come alive as each
word is emphasized by a
melody. It’s the combination
of these two that makes music
captivating. Linkin Park truly
grasps this with their remarkable compositions. ✎
by Emily Peterson,
Grapevine, TX
POP ROCK
Envy on the
Coast –
”Lucy Gray”
I
f you’re into rock/pop bands,
then you should definitely
pick up Envy on the Coast’s
new album, “Lucy Gray.” It is
packed full of melodramatic
phrases and ridiculous musicianship. Every song sounds
different and original. There is
always something to surprise
you, even if you have listened to
the CD multiple times.
Envy on the Coast is a fairly
new band originating from
Long Island, New York. It was
started in 2004 and has recently
signed with PhotoFinish Records
to put out “Lucy Gray,” their
first full CD.
With Ryan Hunter on vocals
and guitar, Sal Bossio on vocals, guitar, and piano, Jeremy
Velardi on bass guitar, Brian
Byrne on vocals and guitar, and
Dan Gluszak on drums, there is
no way to go wrong. The band
is currently being managed by
Will Noo, who is also the manager of Straylight Run. This
gives Envy on the Coast a good
start since Straylight Run is a
solid band.
Songs like “The Gift of Paralysis” and “Sugar Skulls” offer
catchy riffs and hardcore breakdowns that make you want to
jump. While other songs like
“Lapse” and “Starving Your
Friends” are quiet and sentimental with lines like “I fall
three times as hard if it’s for
nothing at all” and “you couldn’t
wait to see your firstborn take
his very first steps and you
smiled at him ’cause you
thought he looked like me.”
Ryan’s vocals stand out
throughout the album, as do
Dan’s drums, giving lively
songs even more uniqueness
than they already have. Also,
there is a nice contrast between
the upbeat songs and the more
quiet and reserved ones. I think
the band does a nice job with
the setup of the songs.
Envy on the Coast is most
similar to bands like The Almost, Boys Like Girls, Forgive
Durden, and Cute Is What We
Aim For. All these have an upbeat, modern tone. They have a
mix of piano and guitar that
gives each a similar sound, yet
they are
“Every song unique in
sounds
many
different and ways.
Mostly,
original”
they share
a similar rhythm. This does not
mean that they are exactly the
same, it just means that if you
like one of these bands, then
you might like the others.
Envy on the Coast’s “Lucy
Gray” is an album well worth
checking out. It is a welcome
addition to the music industry
and rock/pop scene. You can
hear their fresh enthusiasm
throughout the CD. It is definitely worth your time to
look up. ✎
by Forrest Nowland,
Wilmington, DE
INDIE ROCK
Clap Your Hands
Say Yeah –
“Some Loud
Thunder”
C
reative independence
among five gentlemen from
Connecticut birthed a band
called Clap Your Hands Say
Yeah, and, since their self-titled
debut album, the edgy artists
have spawned a second genredefying album, “Some Loud
Thunder.”
The band has been compared
to Modest Mouse and The Shins,
but those are still a stretch. As
an indie-rock band, CYHSY not
“Alluring only brings
their electric
and
razzle-dazzle
hypnotic” to the table
but staunch lyrics that have
something unusual to say. And
that’s exactly what every song
on the new album voices by
music and by mouth. Nothing is
the usual, and it seems to be
working for CYHSY.
The opening track of “Some
Loud Thunder” takes your
senses by force with a disturbingly loud bass. There is a
mess of brassy vocals, steady
drums and a hypnotizing sound
that can only be described as
fuzzy. Paralyzing any available
instincts, there is an unexpected
desire to listen to the rest of the
album because it’s unfamiliar,
not the typical three minutes of
sounds and jargon we’ve come
to expect. Perhaps that’s what
makes the album a great choice.
There’s something both alluring and hypnotic in songs like
“Love Song No. 7” and “Satan
Said Dance.” The mesmerizing
combination of synthesized
sounds and subtle accordion
helps to create an eerie aesthetic.
Excitement is unraveled beneath
bright layers of word repetition
and classical harmonizing.
In some songs you can hear
the past, along with Beatlesinspired sound, and then when
least expected, sudden clashes
of electronic beeps and bleeps
give the band its flaring originality. It’s pretty, but it’s ugly
too, and that’s okay.
The tenth track, “Underwater
(You & Me),” might be the
album’s crowned jewel. The
celebratory array of instruments
team up with optimistic lyrics
that shed light on a forbidden
romance. The lyrics speak of
fleeing and disguising, and running away with love to live underwater, which could be a
metaphor for living a sheltered
and inconvenienced life because
of love. The song is true and
bold – much like the heart of
the album.
In the end, when you listen to
the experimental sounds that
make up “Some Loud Thunder,”
you’ll thank yourself for looking past the rigid ambiance and
diving straight into the next
song, head first. Then you’ll
give yourself a hand for checking out Clap Your Hands Say
Yeah. ✎
by Paul Cunningham,
Monaca, PA
SOUNDTRACK
“The Nightmare
Before Christmas”
Soundtrack
“T
he Nightmare Before
Christmas” was one of
the first unconventional Disney
movies; instead of a cheery setting, you’re taken to the dark
world of Halloween. This setting is carried over in the music
written and composed by Danny Elfman. But like any great
musical, the songs really represent the characters more than
anything else in the movie.
The changes in the orchestrations are enough to tell you that
this soundtrack covers a lot of
styles as it
“Songs really progresses
represent the from the
characters” dark, almost offpitch tones of Halloween music
to the upbeat, light music of
Christmas.
I’m not saying this CD is for
everyone; there’s a lot more of
the darker sounds to the music,
but the lyrics have an almost Dr.
Seuss feel to them. You really
gain insight into the characters
after listening. If you’re a big
musical fan like I am, then I
suggest you add this to your
collection: It’s the only one of
its kind. ✎
by Hannah Geene,
Bloomington, IN
NEW! Submit
your videos to
Teen Ink!
Videos posted at
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Steve R. Irwin
by Shambavi Sadayappan, Hilliard, OH
of conservation and love for animals. His one“Whatever you want to do in this world, it is
on-one interactions with the animals were
achievable. The most important thing that
breathtaking and suspenseful. Even though
I’ve found, that perhaps you could use, is
we called him a lunatic for the things he did,
be passionate and enthusiastic in the direchis show was viewed by more than 200 miltion that you choose in life, and you’ll be a
lion people and treasured in the hearts of all.
winner.”
– Steve R. Irwin
Steve Irwin dedicated his life to the conserteve Irwin was known as the crazy man
vation of wildlife. He worked to dispel the bewho confidently jumped on alligators’
lief that alligators and crocodiles are vicious
backs, wrestled with komodo dragons,
man-eaters. He founded a charity known as
and danced with venomous snakes. Some
the Wildlife Warriors Worldwide with the obconsidered him a lunatic for risking his life
jective of educating the public, protecting the
every day to perform dangerous stunts. He
environment, and raising awareness of
brought adventure to the most boring housewildlife issues.
holds around the world. Yet there was more to
Irwin also purchased over 60,000
him than met the eye. Not only
acres of land to breed endangered
did he spread conservation awareHe dedicated wildlife. He made the Australia Zoo
ness, but his enthusiasm was cona world-renowned facility and poptagious. His passion radiated from
his life to
ular tourist attraction. Irwin gave
him and people couldn’t help but
notice. During the 44 awe-inspir- saving wildlife the animals there his utmost attention and ensured they were as coming years of his life, Steve Irwin
fortable as possible. He thrilled hundreds of
changed the world for the better.
thousands of visitors each year with one-onHe was a walking oxymoron. He was nickone encounters with these animals that were
named “The Crocodile Hunter,” yet he would
so dear to his heart. He also ran a rescue pronever hurt a crocodile, let alone hunt one. He
gram that helped local animals in need.
wrestled with the most dangerous animals in
Steve Irwin was a man of passion and motithe world, yet his most nerve-wracking movation. He dedicated his life to saving wildlife
ment was his wedding. Of all the animals he
everywhere and spread his message to mildealt with, from the venomous brown snake
lions of people. On September 4, 2006, while
to the ferocious saltwater crocodile, Irwin got
filming a documentary called “Ocean’s Deadmost nervous around parrots. He once said,
liest,” Irwin was killed by a stingray barb. His
“Parrots have this uncanny desire to kill me.
death was mourned by people across the
I’m not sure why, but they’re like my krypworld.
tonite!” One thing is certain – Steve Irwin
Steve Irwin’s passion for wildlife will never
was a man whose goal in life was to inspire
be forgotten. His dedication to conservation
passion for animals.
will always be an inspiration. His contagious
Irwin’s approach to conservation was quite
enthusiasm and exuberance will be missed.
different from others. He believed that enthuEven though he’s been gone more than a year,
siasm helps convey an educational message.
his legacy lives on. ✎
Through the use of television, he reached out
to people of all ages and spread his message
S
Jose Luis Rivas
by Erika Rivas, No. Platte, NE
W
hen my dad was 16 he came to America with my
grandfather and a dozen other men by walking
through the desert for days. On their second day
they ran out of water, which must have been so devastating.
They had to make sure they didn’t make a wrong move or they
would be sent back. I remember my dad telling me that one day
they heard a helicopter approaching so they hid in a big bush
for hours.
They finally managed to cross the border but still had a long
way to go. Their leader was a man who knew how to survive
in the wilderness. He could recognize almost every animal
sound. They became nocturnal, walking all night and resting a
few hours during the day. They were very tired because they got
little sleep.
a couple of days, they had
What if my father noAfter
food except a package of
hadn’t come to crackers, so they each ate one
cracker per day. Luckily they
America?
found a pond. As thirsty as they
were, they decided to drink from
it. My dad saw a weird-shaped thing in the water. He later
found out it might have been an alligator.
They met an old man who lived where three hills met and always gave food to those coming into America. If you couldn’t
find those three hills, that probably meant you were lost. Fortunately my dad and the others found those hills.
After several weeks of little sleep and long walks, my dad
reached a small town called Leoti, Kansas, where he worked for
a while and sent money to Mexico to help my grandmother and
his brothers and sisters.
So, my father, Jose Luis Rivas, is my hero. He has had a lot
of influence on my life. I don’t know what I would do without
him. Often I wonder what would have become of my life if my
father hadn’t come to America. He has been through many
hardships, especially when he was young, but that hasn’t
stopped him from doing the things he wants to do.
When I am being lazy, he reminds me what he went through
for us to be where we are today. He makes me realize how valuable everything we take for granted really is. I’m proud of my
father for all he has done. This is why my father is my hero. ✎
heroes
Father
Wildlife Expert
Literary Character
Jane Eyre
by Seanna Barone, Hull, MA
literary heroine of the time. Under the pseudonym of
as anyone seen my clothes!?” I desperCurrer Bell in 1847, Charlotte Bronte broke new
ately demand, while my eyes scour the
ground introducing the self-righteous and morally
empty, black abyss of my gym locker.
defiant “poor, plain, and little” Jane. After enduring
No response. Great! Here I am, standing in a puddle
unjust hardships, Jane prevails in the end and all the
of water and confusion, with only a thin towel pretime remains true to herself.
venting a criminal school dress code offense. The
Her example reminds me on a daily basis never to
clock chuckles, its hands indicating two minutes uncompromise your morals and self-respect when
til the bell rings, and there is absolutely no way I am
tempted by a simpler route: whether the dilemma is
venturing into the hallways and chemistry class in
betraying my vegetarian vow, disposing
this condition. I am in a bit of a pickle
Encourages me of litter while walking outside, or giving
here, and in situations like these I can
up on the last mile of a run. The satisfyonly sigh and turn to the almighty Jane
to be the creator ing life Jane achieves by the end (marEyre for guidance.
ried – with her independence still intact)
Come to think of it, the unfortunate
of
my
own
encourages me to have faith and to be
reality at hand is similar to Jane’s escape from Mr. Rochester in which she
contentment the creator of my own reality and contentment.
finds herself penniless, lost, starving,
Jane relies on her education to make a living, and
and nearly dying of exhaustion. I may not exactly be
her intellect as well as honesty appeal to Mr.
lost or starving, nor am I approaching death, but I
Rochester, her eventual husband. Her qualities were
am lacking clothes. What would Jane do? I ask myin opposition to the established nineteenth century
self, and not for the first time. In fact, Charlotte
female’s allure (beauty, wealth, and submissiveness).
Bronte’s protagonist has guided me through countEven as a young child, Jane rebels against the
less troublesome times. Jane, when she was a mere
stereotype of a malleable Victorian girl. When
child, vehemently captured my heart and mind and
threatened with the possibility of Hell, young Jane
has refused to abandon me since.
confronts the daunting and fearfully religious Mr.
Jane Eyre drastically differs from the typical
“H
Brocklehurst with wit and candor, informing him
that in order to ward off Hell, one must avoid death.
Jane’s courage and confidence have always served
as an inspiration.
Taking a quick glance at female high school students, I find too many marked by low self-esteem, in
some cases to a debilitating degree. At times, I myself can be found among this crowd, but Jane never
allows me to remain there long. She is a woman of
determination, intellect, and (as Mr. Rochester
would say) originality. She certainly does not permit
her shortcomings to stand in the way of happiness or
to weaken her; and her precedence prevents me from
acting otherwise. Instead I look to Jane, brainstorm
my positive qualities, and when in doubt, rely on
honesty and education to overcome any obstacle.
Now, enveloped in a cloud of unholy odor emanating from my thoroughly worn gym clothes, I attempt to possess resolution. I know that if Jane were
in this situation, she would carry on to her next class
gratefully, without a thought of impeding her education. The bell rings, and with a sigh I follow in the
footsteps of my secret mentor, the very courageous
Jane Eyre. I open the locker room door and walk
undauntedly to chemistry class. ✎
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
41
bookreviews
CLASSIC
A Tree Grows
in Brooklyn
by Betty Smith
R
eaders constantly categorize books as they read
them. Maybe the novel is depressing, or complex, or shocking, or humorous. However, I
am confident that A Tree Grows
in Brooklyn will be difficult to
place in any one of these categories. It is a story of both love
and hatred, failure and success,
solitude and togetherness, and
is both bitter and sweet.
Frances Nolan, known as
Francie, is an outsider growing
up in the slums of Brooklyn
during the early 1900s. With her
hardworking mother who cleans
houses, and her talented but alcoholic father trying to make a
living, Francie’s family is not
the most respected in the neighborhood. However, though they
live a hard life, Francie, being
strong, learns
“A timeless to persevere
through connovel”
stant hardships. She often uses reading as
her sweet escape, as well as the
companionship of her lovable
brother, Neeley.
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
caught my attention because
each character is realistic and
interesting. The novel bursts
with creativeness, and left me
with mixed feelings – both
happy and sad. It is a timeless
novel, and one I absolutely
recommend. ✎
by Olivia Anderson,
Galesburg, IL
FICTION
Side Effects
by Amy Goldman Koss
T
his is the story of a teenage
girl and her battle with cancer. However, it is not the typical depressing cancer story
where the main character dies at
the end, leaving a heartbroken
family. Instead, it is a tale narrated by a girl who simply refuses to give up.
Izzy’s battle with cancer is
strikingly chronicled throughout
the book. A normal, healthy
teenager, Izzy discovers she has
lymphoma.
Now, instead of spending her
days in school, she passes most
of her time in the hospital, getting shots, undergoing chemo,
and puking. Her mom breaks
down 24/7, and her friends treat
her as if she is a fragile package
that will break at any moment.
Her brother doesn’t really understand what is happening, and
her dad lives in a daze. Izzy,
42
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
however, keeps her humor and
sassy attitude in spite of all the
turmoil and pain. Unlike those
around her, she remains determined to beat the cancer, even
though sometimes she feels as
if she might be better off dead.
This well-written book is
very enjoyable. Amy Goldman
Koss doesn’t blunt the pain of
having cancer, which makes the
book realis“A story of tic, intense,
survival and and emotiontriumph” al. Izzy’s wit
and sharp
tongue keep it lively and entertaining as readers feel her every
emotion. Best of all, it is a story
of survival and triumph. Perhaps the only downside is the
abrupt ending, but readers will
still be satisfied.
Side Effects is for teenagers
and older readers. If you enjoy a
realistic story of survival, you
will be sure to like this tale of
one girl’s “descent into hell and
safe return.” ✎
by Laura Koenigsknecht,
Fowler, MI
CLASSIC
The
Fountainhead
by Ayn Rand
A
person with deep convictions for what they want in
life will find an abundance of
inspiration in this book.
Written by the creator of the
Objectivist philosophy, Ayn
Rand, the book presents the
theme of the individual against
the establishment in a “tortoise
and the hare” type of plot. It
follows two young architects:
Howard Roark, who refuses to
conform to the whims of his
clientele, and Peter Keating,
who sells out in every way to
procure wealth and fame.
Since Ayn Rand blends her
philosophy into this novel,
some of the dialogue is a bit
awkward, as everything builds
to the philosophical endpoint.
Although Roark is the hero,
during the book we find him
succumbing to do projects he
doesn’t want to do, reminding
us he is human after all. With“Go against out relinquishing his
the odds” morals,
Roark possesses the foresight to
see what he wants and how he
will achieve it, which other
characters lack. While Keating
is first portrayed as the antagonist, he then becomes a pest,
then a character one almost
pities for the choices he makes.
Readers may find themselves
convinced they are like Howard
Roark and others in their lives
are Peter Keatings. Only readers
who scrutinize the work will see
that Roark’s path is long and
hard, constantly clinging to his
values against social persuasion.
Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead shows that it takes true
character and perseverance to
go against the odds and fight for
a vision. ✎
by Amber Cacolice,
Orlando, FL
THRILLER
The Bone Collector
by Jeffrey Deaver
T
he Bone Collector is a story
about a paralyzed criminologist who, with the help of a
beautiful sidekick, must uncover clues left by a psychotic
killer known only as the “Bone
Collector” – before he claims
another victim. This book is
chillingly fascinating and horrifyingly realistic. Full of grueling investigations and terrible
discoveries,
“Chillingly it brings new
fascinating” meaning to
the phrase
“chilled to the bone.”
The theme “feeling useless
can destroy you” runs throughout The Bone Collector. The
main character wants to commit
suicide because he feels useless.
The main female protagonist
feels useless after she stops
helping with the case, so much
so that she berates herself and
finally returns to help.
This is the best mystery novel
I’ve ever read. Unlike others,
the clues aren’t obvious, but
hide beneath the surface, as the
reader and the protagonist dig
desperately to find them. I recommend it to anyone who loves
a good mystery. As far as mysteries go, this one is tops. ✎
by Elizabeth Hammond,
Carlsbad, CA
INSPIRATIONAL
The Five People
You Meet in
Heaven
by Mitch Albom
At the beginning of the story,
Eddie is harsh and unfriendly,
but as the book progresses his
character begins to develop.
Memories allow him to realize
the true meaning behind his life.
This thrilling novel speaks
the truth of what happened. It is
surprising,
“A
fascinating since you never know whom
book”
Eddie will
meet next in heaven and what
lesson he will learn. The Five
People You Meet in Heaven will
teach you much. It might make
you cry as well as laugh.
Five People is truly a work of
art and is a phenomenal piece.
The end is definitely surprising
and very satisfying. Set aside
some time and read this wellwritten novel. ✎
by Jannelle Herrera,
Peoria, AZ
FANTASY
Harry Potter
and the Deathly
Hallows
by J. K. Rowling
D
o you want a book that is
packed with adventure?
Something that you can’t stop
reading? Then look no further
than Harry Potter and the
Deathly Hallows. I read this
book over the summer, and I
couldn’t put it down. It’s full of
action and drama, and it was
what I expected of the last book
in the series – and more.
The Deathly Hallows picks
up where book six left off, with
Harry de“Never-ending ciding to
battle between leave
good and evil” school
and find a
way to defeat Voldemort. His
best friends, Hermione and
Ron, go along for the ride. The
book is an interesting read and
keeps you on the edge of your
seat in anticipation. This story
is the epitome of the never-ending battle of good versus evil.
This is one of the best books
I’ve read in a long time and the
most well-written in the Harry
Potter series. J.K. Rowling
writes with amazing attention to
detail and description. She
makes the imaginary world of
wizards and magic seem so real.
Her words leap off the page.
I spent two days doing nothing but reading the book. I suggest that you read the preceding
books before picking up this
one, since you don’t want to be
lost with all the references to
previous books.
When you do choose to read
Harry Potter and the Deathly
Hallows make sure that your
next couple days are free, because you won’t be going anywhere or doing anything else
until you finish it. ✎
by Erik Boudart, Bear, DE
MYSTERY
The Face on the
Milk Carton
by Caroline B. Cooney
J
anie Johnson has wonderful
parents and friends – the perfect life – until, for the first time
in a long time, she has some
milk. On the milk carton she
finds a picture of her when she
was younger; it claims she is
missing! She begins to wonder,
“A page- Would my parents ever kidnap
turner” anyone? Have I
been living with strangers this
whole time? Where and who are
my real parents? Janie is determined to find her parents and
will do whatever it takes, but
there’s not much to help her in
the old newspaper articles she
finds in the library.
I have read all the books in
this series and this is the best
and the most suspenseful. The
Face on the Milk Carton is a
page-turner – I read it in two
hours. What made it even more
exciting is the location, New
Jersey. I always thought of New
Jersey as a laid-back state, but
once I read this book, I had a
whole new opinion. You will
really be missing out if you
don’t read it. ✎
by Sarah Foran,
White Heath, IL
O
riginally, I thought this
book was going to be about
religion, but it caught my interest in the very first chapter and I
could not put it down.
The main character, Eddie,
learns the true meaning of his
life when he confronts five people in heaven from his past.
There are moments he needs to
relive and others he never even
knew happened. These are
somewhat shocking and breathtaking for both Eddie and the
reader.
Photo by Allan Leung, Plano, TX
I
t’s snowing when I go to see you.
The snow flutters in the headlights
of your mom’s car. I climb into the
back seat, and she pulls the long door
shut. We drive, your mom flying down
the highway, honking at any car that
dares pass her. You know how she does
that. I always loved your mom. I love
her crass sense of humor. She twists
life into something funny. I wish you
and I could do that.
We pull into the parking lot. I’m distracted by the sign, the glowing blue
Mental Health scrawled on it, like a
billboard of your worst secret. Your
mom signs us in; I answer a few basic
questions, how long I’ve known you,
my age (15 sounds so young, even to
me). In a few minutes, we’re permitted
to go up. We take the elevator, it shudders up a long chute, the doors open
slowly, and we’re out.
The nurses ask your mom to come in
Art by Nicole Bembridge, Newcastle, WA
Secrets
by Kevin Knarr, St. Louis, MO
fingers into mine. It amazes me how
first, talk to you, make sure you’re
our bodies are built, how they can fit
“up” to seeing me, whatever that
together like a 3-D puzzle, sliding and
means. I know you want to see me.
snuggling into place. This moment matI see the way the nurses look at me.
tered to me more than anything else. I
They give me a weak, condescending
wish I could have stayed there forever,
smile. Oh, there’s the good-for-nothing
in the fingers of your thin hands.
boyfriend. It’s amazing how cliché
But nothing stays forever. You once
adults can be. Just when you comforttold me that everything falls apart. And
ably think life isn’t really like that,
I was aware of that. Being aware never
adults prove you wrong. Your mom
really helps though, does it? Our flaws
gives me an empathetic smile and
emerged from our depths, ugly and big
walks away. The nurses hurriedly close
and real. We didn’t really fight, exactly.
the door behind her. I walk down the
It was just this shift, this feeling of
small hallway and see a collection of
ending. Like that feeling you get when
four chairs by a window.
someone dies young, or a flower withBeing here is so weird. My stomach
ers prematurely. It’s that feeling of
and skin feel jittery, and there’s a dull
something unexpectedly failing.
ache in my back. I bring my coat closer
You know how they
around me and lean forward, arms on my knees, Love, especially say: “It’s better to have
loved and lost than to
head facing the floor.
lost, is more
have never loved at all”?
Remember when we
bull. I open my
fell asleep on your floor?
destructive than That’s
backpack and pull out a
It was that unbearably
piece of paper, write it
hot day in July, and the
anything
down, fold it up. A little
whole world sagged. We
folded lie to make you feel better.
walked around your neighborhood, and
But as I sit here on this February
the air felt tangible, pressing against
night, in this waiting room, I realize
our skin. We came back to your house,
how flat and stale those words really
sticky with sweat, and lay on your
are. Because love, especially lost, is
floor because it looked like the only
more destructive than anything I have
place that might be cool. You looked
ever seen. It has more power to deacross the floor at me, your face all
stroy, more power to cripple than any
pretty and scrunched, and we both fell
force on earth. It tunnels into your soul
asleep.
in a surgical way. “Love is nothing but
Or there was the time in the fall
an exercise in destruction.” I write
when we were on your trampoline way
these words down on the top of the
past curfew, staring up, counting the
folded paper. Better.
stars through the suburban haze. (There
I sit here in the waiting room, my
were three.) And you slid your hand
folded arms on my thighs; my stomach
down my arm. I could feel the bones
hurts. The soda machine rumbles. The
(carpals, metacarpals?) through your
elevator doors scream open. And I want
papery skin. And you folded your
by Corinne Segal, Rye Brook, NY
shadows and shedding splinters. We enter and fold
will write the secret into a story, and there it will
our legs awkwardly beneath us, aiming for comfort.
linger. Brooke will sing the secret every time she
We feel we are living our own story and need nothing
picks up her guitar, the way k’s break open in her
else; we are independent and so is Heather, but still
mouth, her heart in her eyes, and Heather will return
she speaks.
to Colorado, thinking that she has left it behind floatHer voice paints notes of blue and red.
ing on the breeze over Lake Michigan.
“She was alone,” the story begins, Heather’s gaze
But for now, tonight, we are free.
on the ground. The shadows of the gazebo form
Heather feels the bones of the fish before she sees
shapes; she breathes a nightmarish life into them. “On
them, dull and half-buried in the sand that had shela cold winter day, a girl stood on the same city street
tered them in a veil of privacy as they rotted.
as a faceless man with waiting eyes.”
She shrieks, jerking her foot away, and
I’m tempted to critique, telling her that
trips, and we grasp her – “One, two, up!”
Her voice
her tale has no suspense. This story of
– and giggle, our laughter as fluid as the
rainbows which flow on the surface of a
paints notes of shame is as familiar to us as the stories our
parents murmured at night when we were
bubble.
blue and red young, letting us fall into sleep with happy
Brooke sighs, “My parents are waiting
endings dancing on our lids.
back at the cabin. I can’t stay long.”
Her
voice
remains steady as she continues, until,
“You’re so lucky your flight is tonight,” I say.
suddenly,
it
isn’t.
We all note the moment it quivers,
“Why?” she asks incredulously.
and soon it breaks off entirely. The rainbows are
“You’re the first to go. You don’t have to be left –
washed away; the bubble is frighteningly transparent
you only do the leaving. It’s not fair.”
before it pops. We see through everything; we move
“They’re both the worst,” Heather breaks in, her
with the wind now.
first words in a while, kicking the sand.
She does not cry, but rubs her arm to hide the chills.
Our silences are awkward, the times we would
We promise secrecy, speaking words of faith and
rather look into the water than at each other.
trust,
as if this will stop her from shaking, but we
“Before you leave, can I tell you both a story?”
wonder
what our promises will mean after we depart.
Heather asks quietly.
When we walk back to the beach, where there is
The gazebo is a few steps behind us, laced with
I
more than anything to cry. I remember
one time you told me your favorite
word: catharsis. Purging. Well, that
makes sense. You were always so thin,
and in the back of my head, I always
knew. But in another sense: purifying,
cleansing. That’s what I need now.
Some catharsis. I need an emotion I
can catalogue, dog-ear for future reference. This dark jumble in my head is
too messy. Inside there’s just too much
going on, these thousands of emotions
are scraping at my insides. I’m so exhausted now. I’m sorry, but I want
nothing more than to leave.
I sit hunched over, my eyes blinking
back absent tears. Your mom and the
nurses come back, say it’s okay to
come in. I walk past the colored paper
hearts for Valentine’s Day through the
double doors. I see you from behind a
nurse. You take a tentative step toward
me. You don’t look as different as I
thought you would. Your hair is shorter, choppy (you must have cut it). Your
arms still have scars; your wrists are
still bone thin. But you throw your
arms around me in a clumsy embrace.
Your mood is pretty high. Pills. Your
mom did say you were on a huge dose
of Prozac. You’re jittery too; I can see
that. Your arm is shaking. I look at you,
unsure of myself, unsure of everything
I’ve ever done to this point.
You look me in the face, say “Hey!”
Your voice is so high and startling,
jangling with hope. It’s like a gift, seeing you this naked, this wounded, and
yet amazingly, unbelievably alive. I
know that you’ll slide back into the
war raging inside your head. But for
now, I’m glad to see you.
“Hi.” ✎
f i c•t i o n
Catharsis
just the sand and the water and the air like perfumed
rain, I think wildly, Let’s run away. Grab some
clothes first, our camp uniforms as ironic mementos.
My notebook, Heather’s laugh, Brooke’s guitar, hold
our memories close, and retrace the faint steps which
brought us here. Follow them along the lake, fall into
the arms of the dawn, and bathe in the sunrise.
But when the night dies with the coming of the sun,
we can see ourselves reflected with each imperfection
we had abandoned in the night. We cannot help but
note the desperation of our families waving on the
other side, miles away, while our expressions, so
close, are almost imperceptible, and that is when we
know it is over.
The air is balmy and the piercing light of sunset has
faded. I see that it is damp and my hands are tempted
by a few wildflowers, covered with spray. Brooke
chastises me for yanking them so harshly but I simply
shrug, as if I have heard this before. Their stems are
rough and uninviting – they do not want me, but I am
a human and they are flowers and so I win.
I feel Heather’s arms around me as I whisper that
we are safe because we are here, the most wonderful
here. Brooke surrounds us both as we relearn the most
basic truth, the truth of emotion. We want to protect.
Their hair mixes with mine. ✎
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
43
f i c•t i o n
The Rose He Carried
by Christian Junewicz, New York, NY
took on the character of an interrogation. I spat a series
interest was piqued; it was totally in the bag. I looked
er hair was done up last night. This morning
of questions: “Do you have a boyfriend? How old are
back at Nick for approval, but he wasn’t there.
it lies strewn about her head in disheveled
you? Where do you live? Why are you putting up with
I
whipped
out
my
Frommer’s
Guide
to
Florence,
tufts that I try to run my hand through.
me?”
found the page describing the Uffizi Museum, and
The tugging hurts her. I am in a youth hostel three
Had I asked that last one out loud? I wondered. My
pointed to the picture, then to her, and then to myself.
blocks east of the Duomo in Florence. The paint in
secret escape from the class field trip could not have
My confidence stunned her, and she looked at me with
the corner of the room is cracking off.
been going any better.
an appropriate Gioconda smile. She had no choice but
She runs her right hand along the floor by the
From the window, I could see the square. Nick was
to shake her head yes. After all, I was a younger Amerbed, searching for the red robe that had slid from
walking across, and I yelled out to him but received no
ican male offering to escort her around her city.
her shoulders and dropped in a puddle around her
response. Lifting the tiny cup, I drained what was left.
“You are … very courageous,” she
ankles. She gets up, flings it around
I dropped 10 euros on the table, took her hand, and led
attempted.
her shoulders, and walks to the bathHer interest was She was not like the girls at home. She
her out of the café.
room with the same European ele“Where do we go this time?” she asked with a smile.
walked
with
her
shoulders
straight,
her
gance that made me give her the rose
piqued; it was
Her eyes caught mine as I said, “It’s a surprise.” Sudhead held with confidence. No slouching
in the first place. I lie still on the bed
denly her perplexed look turned into a playful smile.
just watching. When she comes back, totally in the bag here. On the walk to the museum, the sound
“Andiamo!” She said with a laugh, as I continued to
of her high heels on the cobblestone street
she touches my face with the back of
lead her across the square toward the hostel.
reminded me how far I was from New York. She held
her hand, and her eyes tell me what we both already
The bells jingled as I opened the door to the hostel. I
the rose in her hand; it matched her blouse perfectly.
know. It is the last time.
was
greeted by the owner’s daughter, Sarah.
I
had
studied
many
of
the
exhibits
at
the
Uffizi,
but
Church bells are ringing and I am shaken from
“Buon giorno. Come siete?” she said, suppressing a
she did not know this. I let her have the pleasure of
the moment. I have to get ready, my flight leaves in
smile as she slid my key across the front desk. Her
translating the descriptions from Italian to English for
three hours. The entire group is waiting, and Ms.
glance turned from me to my new Italian friend, and
me, and besides, I liked the sound of her voice.
Dover is having a fit, I know it. My pants are on the
she continued to smile knowingly. I acknowledged her
The quiet of the museum and the brilliant colors of
floor and I quickly pull them up and slide my feet
with a 15-year-old’s grin. I held the key in one hand
Da Vinci and Fra Angelico left us both transfixed. The
into my well-worn flip-flops. Yesterday’s rumpled
and my companion’s small graceful hand in the other
silence was not unpleasant, but rather a shared moT-shirt with all the Nike swooshes is lying atop the
as we walked up the stairs to my room.
ment. Gently, she took my hand and rushed me to her
single chair in the room; it will be worn again today.
Unlocking the door, I pushed it open and held my
favorite
painting
by
Giotto,
“The
Holy
Trinity.”
In no time, I am ready. The door slams behind me
arm above her head for her to walk under. As I folWho is this girl? I asked myself.
and I rush out of the hostel with the smell of her hair
lowed her into the room, Sarah called my name from
“Where are you from? Are you in school or do you
still on my hands. I might brag about it to the others.
downstairs.
have a job?” She answered none of my questions. Per*
*
*
“Telefono for you,” yelled Sarah from below.
haps she hadn’t even understood me. Everything about
It’s been three years, and something as simple as a
I turned to my friend and she looked at me questionher was a mystery, but my attraction to her was certain.
smell brings me back there. My homeroom teacher
ingly. Shrugging my shoulders, I spun around
“Andiamo a bere un espresso?”
uses the same shampoo – it’s some sort of botanical
She was not to go back out. The door slammed behind me.
I got the message, and I knew it involved
with a rose scent. When my teacher walks in and slams
*
*
*
spending more time with her, so I agreed.
the door behind her, the strong scent washes over me
My flight leaves in three hours. The entire
Never mind that I had never had an espresso. like the girls
and I am startlingly brought back to that moment.
is waiting, and Ms. Dover is having a
I couldn’t reveal this to my new friend, who
*
*
*
at home group
fit, I know it. The door slams behind me. The
surely would have been turned off by my
“Italian girls walk differently, don’t you think?” I
bus will be leaving from in front of the Duomo in 15
lack of sophistication. I could not act my age. I took
looked over to Nick, who answered with an automatic
minutes. There is no one left in the hostel save Sarah
her hand as if to say, “Let’s go,” and we walked out innod. He was too busy staring at the same girl. Or was it
and her dog, Bingo. I begin sprinting toward the Duoto the sunshine. The café was a short stroll down an althe girl next to her? We were sitting on the steps of the
mo. Stopping by the fountain to catch my breath, my
leyway, which opened up onto a small piazza.“Due
Duomo, sun burning, tourists everywhere. My entire
eyes catch sight of something lying on the lip of the
espresso,
per
favore,”
she
stated
more
than
asked
of
class, 38 boys, were there on a school trip meant to
fountain. As I move toward it, the object comes into
the young girl behind the counter.
give us a firsthand experience of the artwork we had
focus. It is a white rose. ✎
The caffeine rushed through my system. The jet lag
studied the previous semester. Nick and I had different
disappeared, and with it my shyness. The conversation
plans. I continued to stare as the girl sat down by a
fountain and began reading a dog-eared paperback.
Her wavy brown hair was held back by oversized sunglasses perched on her forehead, and her white blouse
was unbuttoned slightly.
by Augusto Corvalan, W. Lafayette, IN
I’m sure Nick had dared me to go talk to her. I
wasn’t afraid because I was 5,000 miles from home
jumping around, twitching and stuff, you know? Kinda
iddle age, middle-class guy.
with nothing to lose. Every public square in Italy
weird, I thought. Last time I heard of him, he was in the
Unfashionable bar, uncomfortable bar stool.
comes with a rose vender specifically for occasions
hospital. Seems someone beat him over the head with a
That’s me, sitting there. The guy with thick
like this. He usually paces around with his head on a
pool club. Real jumpy, like I told you.
brown hair, kind of handsome in the right light. Yeah,
swivel, looking for fools like me. This square was no
Don’t worry about the dust, this place is safe. No,
that one there.
exception. The swiveling head had spotted me and the
you wouldn’t wanna eat here – the food’s filthy. But a
You don’t want to be here, believe me. Yeah, it used
vendor offered me a rose. I nodded, pressed two euros
drink or two is fine. You won’t get sick or nuthin’. Say,
to be trendy and hip. Not anymore. Over-hype killed
in his hand, and gripped the thornless stem tightly in
you remind me of my mailman. He was always thinkin’
the place, I guess. Sure it was fun and chic the first coumy sweaty palm.
he was sick. Phony symptoms and all. I used to think he
ple of days. But people move on. The world moves on.
Gathering my resolve, I focused my eyes on the rose,
just wanted to skip work. Then one day he up and overYou can stay, if just for a minute. It’s really not that
taking care not to damage the white petals. I was aware
doses on Tylenol. On Tylenol, right? Weird stuff, I tell
bad if you aren’t expecting much. Everything’s better if
of the comedy in the situation. A 15-year-old American
ya. Weird stuff.
you just lower your expectations.
boy travels to the romance capital of the world, spots
It’s okay with me if you stay. Just stay for a couple of
Like this friend I used to have. Well, not really a
attractive older female, and marches across square, rose
minutes – it’s not the end of the world. What else do
friend. Just a person I used to know. Real pain, actually.
in outstretched arm. She noticed me approaching just
you have to do on a Thursday night, visit your grandReally rich, though, a whiz with numbers. Never cared
before I shoved the rose in her face.
mother?
too much for all that algebra stuff myself, you know?
“I noticed you reading from across the square,” I
Oh, she’s sick? Well, I’m sorry and all. You know,
Anyway, this friend of mine, he was always expecting
belted out nervously.
that grandma crack is the first thing that came out. I
everything to turn out perfect, like in his equations. He
Her head rose with a look of shock as if to say,
really didn’t … okay, yeah, another time then.
wanted everything very cut ’n’ dry. Ended up with no
“How can I help you?”
Another drink then.
wife, no friends, real lonely fella. Piece of work,
I paused with the stiffness of inexperience. “I’m
Little guy, lonely man. Empty place, early in the
though, piece of work.
from America,” I said, expecting those words would
night.
Come on, you haven’t even finished that drink. Stay
suffice to woo any curious Italian girl. I was wearing
Yep, that would be me. It’s not so bad. Stop by somea bit more. You’re real jumpy like, no? I used to know
jeans and had more than one Nike swoosh visible. Her
time, stay some. We’ll talk. ✎
this fella, worked as a pool hustler. He was always
H
Lonely Man
M
44
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
by Katryna Shattuck, San Pablo, CA
Please, someone wake me up. Please. Please. AnyThis time I’m underwater. I’m going to drown, I
feel his hand on my shoulder. It is cold, bony, and
one, please.
think. The thought relaxes me. The dreams where I
scrapes against my skin. It doesn’t sting too badly.
I am balancing on top of a pillar that is just large
drown aren’t all that bad, considering what experiPain doesn’t cause me discomfort – it’s like a Popenough for one foot. Below me, there are hundreds of
ences I could compare them with. But then the dream
sicle – strong at first, but after awhile, it melts away.
creatures with whips, chains, and spikes –
changes. I am still in water, but it tastes
He tells me something, the man behind me. I don’t
they’re ready for me to fall. This death will
like soup. I look up to see a giant sitting
hear him at first, and that makes him angry. He grips
This
time
I’m
be worth remembering.
above
me.
my shoulder tighter.
Usually I don’t but I can’t help but start
It’s then I realize that I am going to be
Now there is pain, pain like grabbing a wire hanger
underwater crying
this time. This dream has gone on too
eaten alive.
that is left beside a fire, yet I ignore it. He knows I am
long. I’ve died five times. Usually, it only
I used to look away when I was about to
here, I know I am here, but for some reason, I feel if I
happens once or twice. For a moment, I wonder if I
die. I used to run, beg. Now I lie limply and watch.
don’t acknowledge it. If I ignore what is happening, we
have died … for real … in the real world. The thought
The giant lifts me up with his fork and bites down,
will both remain suspended. The two of us will stay
scares me. I always thought it would end at death.
taking off my right leg.
lost in this never-ending scene, and I will never die.
Then, around me, I hear familiar voices. They belong
I don’t look away … I’m past that. But I still scream.
The knife enters me anyway.
to my mother and the doctor.
*
*
*
I feel it; I’m not quite numb yet. I can feel it twist
“Would you like me to let him go?” The doctor
I am in the car with my roommate now. We’re getinside me, switching my lung with my heart. Then the
asks sympathetically. “There is very little hope that he
ting groceries, and since we’re in my car, I’m driving.
world goes black.
will come out of it.”
I can tell he’s nervous, so I try to calm him.
I die every time I shut my eyes. It doesn’t matter if
There is a pause and I hear my mom crying, and I
“Darren,” I say.
I sleep for five minutes or 10 hours.
allow myself to hope. I am in a coma … I know it …
“Dylan,” he corrects me.
“It’s like sucking your thumb; you’ll
it must have happened because of the crash … and if
I could have sworn his name was Dargrow out of it,” my mother tells me over Please someone
she chooses to pull the plug on me, I can escape this
ren. Part of me thinks he’s changed it just
the phone the next day.
time. I’ve never been able to escape before.
to
f***
with
me.
I
continue
talking
anyway.
wake
me
up.
She’s told me that for 18 years. Now
Against my first instincts, I find myself wanting to
“I’m not tired …”
I’m ten days away from turning 20 and
Anyone, please. Darren or Dylan (or whoever he is)
die more than anything. If it happens now, in this way,
she still says the same thing. But nightI will never have to die again.
makes a sound.
mares are nothing like sucking your
“… and I know how to drive.”
Please, I beg, and then I silence my thoughts so I
thumb. I don’t suck my thumb anymore.
Just then, a car honks at me loudly, as if he too
can better hear her speak.
*
*
*
“No,” she says finally, “not just yet.” I hear the
wants to prove me incompetent. Apparently, this is
It’s 2 a.m. My mouth is dry, and I cannot see betoo much for my night-light roommate.
shuffling of tissue. “I want him to rest … he could use
cause of the tears that blur my eyes. But that doesn’t
it.” Then, her voice is gone, and all I can hear is the
“Pull over. Now,” he says.
bother me. Four days is not long to go without sleep.
sound of the mob below me.
“Fine,” I say roughly, and pull over. Right into the
I’ve gone longer. People don’t understand, because
I lose my balance and fall. ✎
face of an oncoming truck.
they don’t feel their dreams. In mine, I am conscious
*
*
*
of everything.
A man is standing in front of me, a doctor. He was
called when I stopped responding to the pleas of my
pencil-neck roommate. Apparently, he is discomforted
by my 96-hour days.
“Having trouble falling asleep, Wesley?” the doctor
To fetch a wife of his own.
Gave the merchant his plea.
Now ye behold
asks.
A sailor he finds,
The wedding was
The tale of old
“No,” I say.
… A sailor of kinds …
Impressive ’cause
That made our elders cry.
Falling asleep is easy, too easy. Giving in is some’Tis simply a pirate, ’tis sure.
The merchant had much to spend.
The story of
thing that tempts me every minute. But I can’t do that,
He joined their plight,
With
his
girl
gone
Two
faithful
loves
because I know that one day, I’m not going to be able
He’d steal and he’d fight,
He
settled
on
That
made
two
heroes
die.
to wake up.
To get riches and spices and fur.
A
place
to
live
’til
end.
The
merchant’s
girl
He hands me a pill anyway, and tells me to take it. I
On ship he met
The
lad’s
new
wife
Had
skin
of
pearls
know this doctor. His name is Ben or Bill or someLovely Claudette,
Soon brought new life
And glowing sapphire eyes.
thing. He’s come for years. I argue at first, but I know
A pirate of feminine sorts.
But soon the danger came.
She walked with grace;
that I don’t have a choice. I swallow the pill dry. BeHer soft brown eyes,
The lad, a knight,
Unto her face
fore I know it, I’m back in again.
He soon realized,
Would have to fight
The crowd gave many sighs.
*
*
*
Were his favorite of orbs.
To earn money for his dame.
With ivory skin
Kidnapped, she was.
With heavy heart
Like all her kin
He races, and does
He did depart
And silver locks of hair,
Nearly rescue Claudette.
Leaving wife and child new.
The merchant old
Pirate or not
Whilst he was gone
And full of gold
None could’ve fought
They both moved on
Would need a son for her.
A hundred surly opponents.
And the child grew and grew.
His daughter’s friends
A good pirate
Three long years passed
Were all good men
(One like Claudette)
Before, at last,
But had no common sense.
Would never rescue another.
The lad (now man) came back.
The man to claim
Now alone, old,
His love and he
His daughter’s name
Lonely and cold,
Lived happily
Could never be so dense.
Widower and once a mother,
Until the big attack.
He searched up high
The merchant’s girl
Off again he
He looked down low,
Once skin of pearl,
Left family
But ’twas a useless act.
Was now beauty-lost and frail.
And joined the Callekay side.
“No man can serve
Her heart still pure
But he, time this,
What she deserves!”
She wasn’t sure
Ceased to exist
It was a sad’ning fact.
She wanted her life to prevail.
That is, to say, he died.
The merchant sighed
Once contented,
But wait, not yet!
And might’ve cried
Now lamented,
The prequel’s set,
Had it not been for he,
The merchant’s girl is gone.
But the story begins now, alone;
A solid lad
A child now grows,
And armor clad
by Cara Eskew, Alexandria, VA
And finally goes,
Art by Jana Soares, Suffern, NY
I
f i c•t i o n
Dreams
The Merchant’s Girl
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
• Teen Ink
45
f i c•t i o n
46
Icarus
by Caitlin Marsh, Farwell, MI
too, bribing and begging and blackmailing. I am diffeathers. He and his son fly away from their prison.
y world is a tent. A dirty, gray, worn canvas
ferent, I hope. I am his favorite among the circus
I want to fly. I have never been allowed to fly. Intent. I saw the outside of it once. It reads
freaks.
Perhaps
Martin
is
jealous
of
me.
Does
jealside
my small tent, there isn’t even space to stretch
“Westley Brothers’ Circus” in cracked and
ousy make one so cruel?
out my wings. I watch the birds sometimes, as they
faded paint. That was three years ago, before the
I have forgotten that Martin still stands before me,
flitter past my doorway. I’ve seen their nests in barren
Westley brothers started loading me into the back of
until he grunts again and points at the curtains behind
trees as we travel through the winter. I’ve watched the
their canvas-draped truck under the cover of darkness.
me. I say nothing, just nod and turn to the second set
hawks sail overhead, their wings stretched wide. What
They don’t like me to go outside. They don’t say why,
of curtains, this one slicing the interior of my tent in
must it be like?
but I am not as naive as I once was. Not as naive as
half. On the other side a low stage awaits, and a
The son in the story was a fool. He allowed the sun
they think I am. They would like to keep me always in
crowd of curious onlookers. I can imagine them now,
to take his wings and died for it. I will not allow anythe dark about the world outside my tent. They want
all eyes on the barker in his striped suit standing on
one to take my wings. I would die for it as well. I
me to be small enough to keep under their thumbs. I
the stage, ready to introduce me. The barker begins
nearly did once. How long ago now? Ten years?
already know what the world thinks about people who
his speech, telling a made-up story about a
Twelve? That is closer, I think. Twelve years
are … different.
made-up person. The person he describes
I was too young to know when they found me.
I am hollow, since I lay in the brackish water in the botsounds strange and exotic. I wonder if anytom of the ditch. How old was I then? Four?
Then, I was happy to have a place. A home. A family.
one would come to see me if the barker
empty, like a Five? I do not know.
I was a star, the headline act. Every spotlight in the
told a story about a frightened, lonely girl.
I press the book to my chest and cry, but
circus was trained on me as the crowds poured in to
bird’s bone softly, for Martin may still be nearby. He lisHe finishes. I push through the curtains,
see me, their hands outstretched to touch. But slowly
step onto the stage, blink in the harsh
tens, always, as if he might catch me in
they grew bored with me, the Westley brothers, the
lights. I try half-heartedly to look strange and exotic.
some stolen moment of happiness. Why should the
crowds, and the others who shared my life at the cirA mass of people stare, their outlines blur together
girl be happy? I can almost hear him think. She must
cus. I was old news, no longer a novelty. My world
by the darkness beyond the foot of the stage. They
be grateful. I am grateful, I suppose. But I am hollow,
began to shrink. The spotlights turned away. I faded
stretch their already overextended necks, trying to see
brittle, empty, like a bird’s bone.
from their thoughts, a star dimmed now to only a
what I have hidden beneath the grimy cape of my cosI stand. My book tumbles to the dust, falling open
lonely girl.
tume. I sigh, then stretch out my wings, shaking them
where the spine has broken. Outside there are still
My name is Tierra. Ironic, isn’t it? That I, of all peofree of the cloth. The feathers, the same soft russet as
voices. Families go past. I push open the curtains,
ple, should be named for the earth. I can’t recall my
my
hair,
whisper
like
old
friends.
timidly, then farther. I step through. My wings drape
parents, those who gave me my name. When I was
I stand tall, stretch my wings as far as they will go.
around me like my costume cloak. In the dark, the
small, only a fledgling, they tried to cut my wings. My
They fill the tent, brushing the canvas yards away on
people cannot see me. They do not stare. I am like
new feathers were then barely long enough to wrap
either side of me and casting strange shadows on the
them – an anonymous stranger in the dark. Two go
around my shoulders. They held me down and sliced
walls. The children in the crowd press forward, hands
past, hand in hand. I ache to see them. A family
with knives that clawed and bit. Stab after stab, slice
outstretched to touch my feathers. I want them to. I
comes close. A mother, a father. A son. A balloon,
after slice they hacked at me. I screamed. I cried. I
want to see the wonder on their round faces when they
colorless in the evening, trails on a string. The boy
begged. They said nothing. They left me beside the
feel the downy, silken warmth. I want them to bury
trips over his dragging shoelace, falls. The balloon
road, broken and bleeding, but still a winged thing. My
their
hands
in
the
softness
of
my
wings,
and
hear
their
unwinds itself from his fingers and drifts away into
only memories of them now are the scars upon my
cries when they realize that the feathers live and
the night sky. He scrambles up, reaching for the trailshoulders. As long as I live, I can never forgive them.
breathe. But Martin is still watching from behind the
ing string as the sky pulls it away. The twine slips
My new family has never tried to take away my wings.
curtain, and I don’t dare. My leash is short, as if they
through his fingers; he cries out.
Not even after all they have done and left undone. They
fear I will fly away. Slowly I kneel, sweep my wings
In that moment, I am no longer hollow. With
understand, a little at least. I am one of them. Part of
upward, lay my hands palm up upon my knees. Tom
strength I do not realize my thin legs possess, I leap
the freak show. What else can a girl with wings be, if
tells me to do this; he says it makes me look like an
skyward. A spiral of crackling feathers surrounds me
not a freak?
angel.
as my wings stretch away toward the horizon. Down
Tonight we’re in some backwater town in the midDo
I
look
like
an
angel?
I
wonder,
eyes
half
open
to
they sweep, forcing the air away; I rise higher and
dle of somewhere flat and dry and dusty. I don’t know
watch the crowd push toward the stage. They whisper
higher. The wild wind whips my hair and dress, whiswhere exactly; I’ve never seen a map. It’s dark outto one another, a sound like the wind brushing on the
tles through my feathers. Stars surround me like fireside, and darker still inside. The only light filters
canvas of my tent at night. Have they ever seen an
flies. I could dance on the clouds. The moon smiles, a
through the canvas from the other freak-show tents
angel? I saw one once. In a book that one of the other
crooked crescent. Just above me, the balloon is adrift.
and the stars above. I peek through the dingy gray
freaks showed me. That angel was tall and beautiful,
My fingers wrap around the trailing string. Again I
canvas curtains of my tent. Families, each like the
with wild dark hair and a gown made of endless white
beat my wings, reveling in the wild tempest I stir up
next, wander past in the twilight.
silk. I wonder what that angel would think of a bony,
amidst the clouds. I look to the skies. White stars
Suddenly a darker figure looms. I hurriedly step
grimy,
barefoot
girl,
hair
matted
and
tanbrush across my cheeks, snag in my eyes until they
back; it’s Martin Westley. A man whose
gled, wrapped in a coarse dress made of an
must look like a diamond-dusted ocean, dark and blue
heart is as stained and callused as his
What else can old bed sheet.
and strange. The wind stirs my feathers as I drift in
hands. So thickly and grotesquely shaped,
Tears
run
down
my
cheeks;
I
don’t
know
the sky. They are singing now, no longer whispering.
he is only a few dollars away from making
a girl with
why. I close my eyes and wait. I can only
First this way then that, I flex my wings, reveling in
a living as a freak-show performer himtheir strength, the kind of strength I never thought I
wings be, if wait. Slowly the voices dim, then vanish. I
self. Perhaps that’s why he hates me so.
open my eyes. The lights are out. I am
would possess.
There’s no question in my mind why I
But now I am descending, slowly, slowly falling. I
hate him. Martin would have left me to die not a freak? alone. I cross back through the canvas curtains
into
my
side
of
the
tent
and
sit
on
an
step
lightly out of the sky onto the earth again. I fold
by the roadside, crumpled and bleeding. It
upturned crate. Martin is gone. I feel blindly around
my wings. The matted grass is slick with dust and
was his brother Tom who convinced him to take me in
my feet, groping in the dark. I left it here, I think … I
dew beneath my naked feet. I wonder at the feel of
all those years ago. I try to shut Martin out. I wrap my
find what I am searching for. My book. My own posearth after the lightness of the air. The string, balloon
wings around myself, a comforting pressure. An emsession. Martin and Tom do not know I have it. They
bobbing at the end, is still entwined in my fingers.
brace. I can hide inside them, if only for a moment.
would take it away if they knew. They like to keep me
Before me, the boy stands stunned. Each of his par“Show time,” he grunts. Martin never speaks. He
in the dark, and books hold light.
ents rests a hand on his shoulders. I kneel, hand him
grunts and occasionally mumbles, as if he just stepped
I run my hands over the cover, feeling the brittle,
the balloon. His tiny fingers clasp the string, but he
out of that cave in ancient Africa where fire was first
plastic
some
librarian
had
taped
lovingly
into
place
in
doesn’t move, eyes wide, staring. I hardly see him. I
discovered.
some bygone town. In the dark I let the book fall open
am still flying, still lost in the sky.
I wonder sometimes how he and Tom can be brothin my lap to the place where the spine broke long ago.
A hand wraps around my arm, enveloping my
ers. They are as unalike as a robin and the worm it
I remember, without needing to see, what is written
shoulder in a vice. It is as cold and heavy as wet earth.
pulls from the earth. Tom is the robin, small and
there.
Martin. What an earthbound wretch. I smile. He canshrewd and clever. He has none of his brother’s
A story. A boy and his father. They are locked tonot touch me now. He cannot hold me.
heavy-handed ways, but he is as quick with his tongue
gether in a tower on a rock in the sea. I have never
“Inside,” Martin grunts, points at the tent. I shake
as Martin is with a blow. In truth, the circus belongs
seen the sea. Before I die, I want to go to the sea.
my head. I will not. I have flown too close to the sun,
to Tom. He has a knack for business, for finding those
The father builds wings out of wood, wax, and
and now I am set aflame. ✎
of us who can pay his bills. He knows how to keep us
M
Teen Ink •
J A N U A RY ’ 0 8
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