They Walk Amongst Us Unknown

Writers in the Schools Digital Anthology 2010-2011

They Walk Amongst Us Unknown

Cover photo by: Luke Cottingham, Madison High SchoolTitle page photo by: Amy Navarrete, Madison High School

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Contents

Writers in the Schools 5Introduction 6Weird — Emmanuel Ayala 7Angel in the Time of the Devil — Amber-Rose Derrick 8 Memories — Parker Sokoloff 9Monster Hunt — Merisha Dixon 10 The Fizzling Shark — Jeremy Collier 17Hollow, Perfect Girl — Kelvin Close-Kung 18 Retail — Whitney Sharp 19Me — Derek LaGrew 21Watching You — Rachel Kelley 22Being Hungry — Brandon Saephan 31Inner Obsession — Jocelyn Loyd 32Naked Feet — Karina Faultstich 33I Had a Dream — Luis Mejia 34King of Procrastination — Ned Thomas 36Enigma — Maya Luque 38Blind Fury — Orby Fleury 39Hunting with Worms — Kevin Fredericks 40Execution of Exclusion — Thomas Burke 44I Am a Student and a Mom — Mayra Mendoza 46Fading Angel — Annie Lui 47A Story With No Title — Ryan Stockwell 48

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WRITERS IN THE SCHOOLS 2010-11

WRITERS-IN-RESIDENCE

Angela Allen, Turiya Autry, Lorraine Bahr, Carmen Bernier-Grand, Chris Cottrell, Hali Felt, Nicole Georges, Cindy Williams Gutiérrez, Hunt Holman, John Isaacson, Karen Karbo, Jennifer Lauck, Elizabeth Lopeman, Amy Minato, Renee Mitchell, Laura Moulton, Alexis Nelson, Mark Pomeroy, Ismet Prcic, Donna Prinzmetal, Joanna Rose, Matthew B. Zrebski

VISITING AUTHORS

Amanda Gersh, Michele Glazer, Tracy Kidder, Wes Moore, Joanna Rose, Art Spiegelman, Natasha Trethewey, Renee Watson

PARTICIPATING TEACHERS

Kelly Allen, Amy Ambrosio, Kathy Anderson, Matthew Boyer, Richard Brown, Annelise Bulow, Gretchen Craig-Turner, Michael Cullerton, Anne Dierker, Jennifer Doncan, Bianca Espinosa, Kelly Gomes, Ben Grosscup, Rebecca Gundle, Cindy Irby, Glen Jacobs, Tom Kane, Paige Knight, Steve Lambert, Eric Levine, Manuel Mateo, Eve McAlister, Pat McCormick, Darryl Miles, Kate Moore, Julie O’Neill, Pam Quale, Nora Robertson, Al Rowell, Alicia Smith, Sarah Steiner, Amy Taramasso, Henise Telles-Ferreira, Trisha Todd, Dana Vinger, Kristin Wallace, Janice Wallenstein, Ellen Whatmore, Amy Wright, Elisa Wong, Tracey Wyatt, Jamie Zartler

WITS LIASIONS

Matthew Boyer, Linda Campillo, Michael Cullerton, Paige Knight, Eric Levine, Dave Mylet, Sarah Steiner, Dana Vinger, Virginia Warfield, Tracey Wyatt

PARTICIPATING PRINCIPALS

Sue Brent, Petra Callin, Peyton Chapman, Kelli Clark, Paul Cook, David Hamilton, Toni Hunter, Shay James, Fred Locke, A.J. Morrison, Steve Olczak, Frank Scotto, Charlene Williams

DISTRICT LIAISONMarcia Arganbright

DIGITAL CHAPBOOK STAFFAcacia BlackwellMaya McOmieMel Wells

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Dear Reader,Writers are called upon to imagine their territory, explore their obsessions, and articulate their vision of what it means to be alive in a specific time and place. Alongside the print anthology, No One Carries An Umbrella Here, these digital chapbooks provide a playful frame for a diverse collection of poems, plays, comics, fiction, and nonfiction written by high school students in Portland. In 2010-11, WITS placed 23 local professional writers to teach 49 semester-long residencies in Portland’s public high schools, serving over 1,100 students. WITS served an additional 1,500 students through mentoring, author visits, and books, as well as tickets and transportation to literary events.

During a fifteen-week WITS residency, writers model the writing life, teach-ing students to focus first on exploring and playing with language. Our writ-ers then teach strategies to sustain and develop a piece of writing. They share their expertise regarding the art, craft, and discipline of revision. During the final portion of the residency, students have opportunities to share their writing through public readings at neighborhood bookstores and cafés and through publication in our print anthology and digital chapbooks.

After fifteen years of service to Portland Public Schools, WITS continues to grow and change to meet the needs of students and teachers. Last year more than 1,200 high school students attended a literary event at Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall. We also piloted a college essay-writing workshop in partnership with Franklin High School, training mentors to work with students on the es-says students need for college and scholarship applications.

We are lucky to live in a city where people are excited about reading and writ-ing. At Literary Arts, our mission is to support writers, engage readers, and to inspire the next generation with great literature. Each year we raise over $180,000 to provide the Writers in the Schools program to students attend-ing every Portland public high school, and we’d love your help. To order a print anthology or make a donation, visit us at www.literary-arts.org.

Mary RechnerWriters in the Schools Program Director

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WeirdEmmanuel Ayala, Roosevelt High School

I had a dream that I was a bird soaring in the sky

I dove into an ocean

And came up as a dolphin

I jumped onto the shore

And became a snake

I slithered in the grass

And became you.

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Angel in the Time of the DevilAmber-Rose Derrick, Focus

 Isn’t it better this way —that once again,you are mine.You’re mine, and I’m yours.and I’m never taking my eyes off you.

It’s almost surreal that I am able to see your face.That face that holds a story;and if one stares too long,they may see things they wish they hadn’t. This all began with something else,taking you away from me.You played a game with the devil’s drug,and I was left to believethat you didn’t win. I once believedI would never lay eyes on that story-telling face again.What was I to do?I was so afraid of all your habits,so scared to see what you might be like, without me.I was terrified to finally face you once more. Isn’t it better this way,With me here?Knowing that when the devil comes to haunt you,I am your angel.

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MemoriesParker Sokoloff, Franklin High School

Walking on thin ice; that’s what this is.

Hearing the ice crack,

Threatening to send you back.

Cold, lifeless bodies

Float under the surface,

Looking almost smoky.

Memories, that’s what they are.

White, pale skin, foggy eyes looking endlessly,

Whispering just loud enough to hear:

“Remember this, remember that.”

“It’s your fault, because of you.”

Each word making the ice thinner, making the voices louder.

You step wrong and break through.

Memories choking you, drowning you, yanking your hair.

Pulling you down.

Resistance draining fast.

Leaving only a shell,

Stuck at the bottom.

Alone, cold, dead.

Walking on thin ice; that’s what this is,

Threatening to send you back.

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Monster HuntMerisha Dixon, MEEK

Scene 5

(Arnold walks into the house smelling of garbage. His grandma realizes something is wrong and asks him to come into the living room where she is watching TV.)

GRANDMA EDNA

Arnold. Come here please. I’d like to talk to you.

ARNOLD

(Walking to the entrance of the living room) Okay, Grandma, but can I take a shower first? I’m pretty sure I stink.

GRANDMA EDNA

That can wait. I have something important to talk to you about.

ARNOLD

(Sitting down next to his grandma) Okay, Grandma, what?

GRANDMA EDNA

What is that horrible smell? Why do you smell like that?

ARNOLD

Uhm, I fell into the garbage can… (looking down) It’s no biggie. I’m okay. I’m a man, remember.

GRANDMA EDNA

Are other kids picking on you? Don’t lie to me, Arnold.

ARNOLD

(Still looking at the ground) Kinda, yeah.

GRANDMA EDNA

Oh, heavens, no. Someone is about to get it. Gon’ throw my grandson in the

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trash. No, they don’t know me. I’ll go down there and show those li’l boys about some trash.

ARNOLD

(Interrupting his grandma) NO! You can’t. I’m a man, Grandma. I can deal with this on my own.

GRANDMA EDNA

Clearly something’s not working if you’re coming home smelling like this.

ARNOLD

If you go down there kids will just pick on me even more for needing my grandma to fight my battles. Just drop it, Grandma. I just wanna take a shower.

(Pause)

Please.

GRANDMA EDNA

Sorry, baby, you know Grandma can get a little upset when I hear young hoodlums are disrespecting my grandson. Go shower. But when you get out, I need to talk to you, so come back down here okay? Oh, and I love you!

ARNOLD

I love you too, Grandma.

(Transitions to Arnold fresh out of the shower, walking downstairs to the living room to talk to his grandma.)

ARNOLD

Yes, Grandma. I’m out of the shower.

GRANDMA EDNA

(Yelling up the stairs) Come into the living room, please, we have a lot to talk about.

ARNOLD

(Yelling back down the stairs) What’s it about? Is it about my daddy? (Running down the stairs excited) Have you found him?

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GRANDMA EDNA

No, just come talk to me.

ARNOLD

(Walking into the living room and dropping onto the couch.) Okay, let’s talk.

GRANDMA EDNA

Well, as you know, next week I’ll be starting my new job. So that means I won’t be able to stay up until you fall asleep. You’re going to have to start sleeping in the dark.

ARNOLD

(Mouth drops) What!?

GRANDMA EDNA

Now before you say anything or throw a fit, I want you to know that I love you and I’m not doing this to hurt you. I just want you to be able to sleep on your own. Monsters aren’t real, baby.

ARNOLD

(Shaking his head) You gotta be jokin’.

GRANDMA EDNA

They can’t hurt you. They are just a figment of your imagination. As long as you don’t think about monsters, you won’t have a problem with one. You see what I mean, little man?

ARNOLD

Um, no, I do not. Monsters are real. You don’t know what goes on in my room at night. I hear little things running around in my room all night long.

GRANDMA EDNA

Are you sure your head doesn’t play tricks on you ’cause you’re scared?

ARNOLD

You really just don’t get it, Grandma. (Standing up and yelling.) THEY ARE REAL! If you spent one night in my room you would hear them too. I promise.

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GRANDMA EDNA

Oh, Arnold, that’s enough; sit down. Regardless of what you hear or read in those little books or see on TV, monsters are not real.

ARNOLD

(Looking at his grandma with a mean face.) Yeah, easy for you to say.

GRANDMA EDNA

You are sleeping in the dark from now on. I know you don’t want to, but that’s part of growing up. Your birthday is in two weeks. You’ll be turning nine. You’re growing up. You need to start acting like a young man rather than a child. Now, are we clear, boy?

ARNOLD

I’m not sleeping in the dark, are you clear?

GRANDMA EDNA

Don’t you talk back to me. Don’t you do it! Or you will find yourself in a bad situation.

ARNOLD

Fine, Grandma, whatever. Are we done? Or is there more heartbreaking news you have for me?

GRANDMA EDNA

Arnold, calm yourself. You will be just fine. You know I would never let anything bad happen to you.

ARNOLD

You aren’t going to know what happened to me because you will be asleep.

GRANDMA EDNA

(Rolling her eyes and trying to stay calm) However, yes, there is one more thing I would like to talk to you about. It’s about your father—

ARNOLD

(Interrupting) Have you found him?! Oh my god, Grandma, you found him, didn’t you? I thought you said you didn’t find him! (Smiling and jumping with joy.)Grandma, this is great!

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GRANDMA EDNA

Not yet, boy, I just wanted to ask you if you still wanted me to find him for you.

ARNOLD

What kind of question is that?

GRANDMA EDNA

Only because I wondered if maybe he hurt your feelings by leaving. But I see clearly you still want me to look. (Smiling into Arnold’s face) So I will keep on looking. Just for you, little man.

ARNOLD

(Smiling real big) Good! ’Cause, Grandma, I love my daddy. I can’t wait ’til he comes back for me. I know he is going to. I just know it. You’ll see, Grandma. Just wait.

GRANDMA EDNA

I sure hope so baby, I sure hope so. (Pulling Arnold into her arms for a hug.) I love you, child. And I want nothing more than for you to be happy. Remember that. When you think I’m being mean, it’s because I love you and though you may not want to do something, most of the time it’s the right thing to do.

ARNOLD

I know, Grandma. I love you too. (Squeezing his grandma tight.)

Scene 6

(Arnold is getting ready for bed in the bathroom. He’s brushing his teeth when his grandma enters the bathroom doorway.)

GRANDMA EDNA

Okay, do you need anything before I go to bed, little man?

ARNOLD

(With his mouth full of toothpaste and his toothbrush) Ugh, yeah a light.

GRANDMA EDNA

(Laughing) Oh, boy, you’ll be alright. Calm that noise.

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ARNOLD

(Spitting and rinsing out his mouth) You’ll see tomorrow, Grandma. Something is going to happen tonight. You’ll see.

GRANDMA EDNA

(Jokingly.) Boy, please, you are talking nonsense. But I’m off to bed. Goodnight and I love you. Oh, and tell the monsters I said “hi.”

ARNOLD

Grandma! That’s not funny! But I love you too, I guess. (Jumping off his stool and walking to his room) Well, I love you when you’re not mean.

GRANDMA EDNA

Alright, Arnold, lights out.

(Arnold is in his bed. The room is pitch black and all he can do is lay paralyzed by the thought of a monster attacking him. We hear shuffling and then we see a small movement from under his bed. We see the movement grow more and more until we see a small, shadow-like creature standing close to Arnold’s bed. He sees the monster.)

ARNOLD

(hopping out of his bed and turning on the light.) AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, Grandma! Get in here fast.

TULLY

Wait, stop. Please. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please.

ARNOLD

(Screaming again) Grandma. Come fast. Right now. Help. Now!

TULLY

Please. You don’t have to do that.

GRANDMA EDNA

(Walking through the hallway to Arnold’s room) Unless I see a giant monster, you’re going to be in big trouble!

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ARNOLD

Hurry. Now. Grandmaaaaaa!

TULLY

(snaps his fingers and is gone.) Fine.

GRANDMA EDNA

(Opening the door) Now what is it so important I had to rush out of bed for?

ARNOLD

(Looking puzzled.) He’s gone. I don’t know where he went. He was just here. I promise you. There was a monster in here. I saw him!

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The Fizzling SharkJeremy Collier, Madison High School

The immortal letter that sums up my skills,

It brings jubilation to some and great remorse to others,

But the true silent killer is the fizzling shark in the waters,

The very same shark that distinguishes between the brain surgeons and janitors,

But for some reason we accept this as law.

We strive to reach it,

We try with all our strength,

But time and time again, we fail.

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Hollow, Perfect GirlKelvin Close-Kung, Cleveland High School

She eats breakfast with her boots on.

Her cereal turns the milk purple.

Her favorite part of the day is coming home—

you’d normally find her in the attic

listening to a record of anything old,

or quietly playing light piano keys.

Her friends came from La La Land and stayed.

Her mom doesn’t care. Her mom’s never there.

She never wears socks inside,

so she can always count her toes.

She imagines taking her mom to La La land.

She’s the hollow, perfect girl.

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RetailWhitney Sharp, Madison High School

JAMES O’BRIAN:

Excuse me.…Hello! I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last

half hour, and all you’ve been doing is walking back to your office or back to

“helping” customers. We don’t have any! And that’s a problem. If you ever want

to have a successful business selling anything, you need to advertise, or do

something that gets this place noticed. I know I’ve only been working here for

a month, but let’s face it; this store isn’t getting anywhere. I’ve only helped out

one customer, and she was only asking where the nearest payphone was. She

didn’t even glance at the clothes on any of the racks.

Maybe it’s because the lights are too dim, and the walls are dirty. No one

wants to shop inside of a terrible-looking store, no offense of course. It’s just…

not healthy!

I think we should call a few stores and get some estimates for the cost

of paint. I’m thinking light blue walls and maybe a lime green ceiling…no, wait,

that’s too bright. A white ceiling might be just fine. This paint color on the walls

is just so boring. Who uses the color brown on walls? We need to change this

quickly. And, oh yeah, the lights. We need light bulbs with a higher wattage. I

think that should be changed tonight.

I know what you’re thinking, it’s going to cost a lot, but just think, after

this place looks…happier, and we put a few ads in some newspapers, we’ll have

more people coming in. Hmm…just to make sure there’s more business, we

should hire a clown, or maybe two. One for each entrance. People love bal-

loons! But maybe not so much clowns. Okay, only one clown. And then for the

other side we could have a…DJ! It might seem weird to have one outside in

front of a store, but it would get us noticed; I mean, who else would do that?

Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. This is your decision, since you’re the

manager. I know it seems like a lot of work, but after you spend the money and

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fix the problems, this could be one of the best stores.

Just let me know what you decide to do, but until then, I’m not sure

I’ll be able to continue working here. No offense, but the pay here isn’t really

working—but good luck!

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MeDerek LaGrew, Roosevelt High School

I was selfish

I was insecure

I was self-conscious

I was the me that I didn’t agree with

I am smart

I am determined

I am persistent

I am the heroic side of me

I will be the proud owner of a nice house

I will be in the NFL

I will be a part of a happy, healthy family

I will be the me that I’ve dreamed of being

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Watching YouRachel Kelley, Roosevelt High School

While Keira waits for class to end, she looks at herself in the reflection

of her phone and smiles, admiring her new haircut. Her hair is now brown

and short, just below her ears. She can clearly see her bright green eyes, and

that the edges of her purple sweatshirt are starting to fray, but she doesn’t

mind, since her pants are as old as dirt. Unlike the rest of her outfit, the purple

stitching on her Macbeth shoes shine like a beacon, clear and bright for the

world to see.

Keira angles her phone slightly to her left, just enough to see what other

kids in the class are doing. She laughs to herself when she sees a kid picking his

nose. Keira always sits in the front of the class. It gives her the perfect view of

everyone from the reflection of her phone. Also, she doesn’t really have any

friends; at least, not for a long time.

School is out for the day, officially making it the weekend. Keira hears

others talk about what they plan to do for the weekend—parties, sleepovers,

shopping, and whatever else people who have friends do—and she kind of

hopes someone will ask her if she wants to hang out, but no one does.

She exits the building through the side doors, because it’s a shorter

distance to her house that way. Before she takes that left turn to her house,

she takes two rights and gives her favorite ancient willow tree a visit. A crowd

of laughing teenagers walks by and she ducks behind the mossy trunk of the

tree, hoping not to be found. This is Keira’s favorite place to just sit and think

when she’s not in the mood to watch people. There’s a patch of dead grass and

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other shrubbery everywhere. It’s not perfect, Keira thinks and smiles, but that’s

the way I like it.

She feels an overwhelming sadness envelop her, and thinks back to a

time when she was little, and writes it in her journal:

When I was twelve years old, my mom, my dad and I went to the beach,

all the way down to California. It was one of the many family trips we

took, but it was my first time at the beach. I can remember my face being

plastered to the window like a bug, because I had never seen such a

large body of water before. We had parked up the road and the instant

we stopped, I jumped out and started running for the beach. “Hold on,

sweetie,” my mother called out. “We all want to go together as a family.”

I just laughed, because I know we’ll always be together. I closed my eyes

as I reached the sand, taking in the warmth between my toes. I turned

around, opening my eyes to see my mom and dad walking to where I

was, holding hands and smiling.

That moment wasn’t big, Keira thinks to herself as she puts her pencil down, but

it was perfect.

As Keira walks into her house, she notices the door already open, and her

body fills with panic. She looks around for some crazy burglar who is probably

stealing the little she cares about, but Keira’s mom rushes out the front door.

“Mom, are you okay?” She stutters out the words, as she tries to calm herself.

“Oh, Keira, sweetie, I didn’t know you were going to be here.” Her

mother, Lisa, speaks in a formal tone, refusing to make eye contact.

I guess there was no burglar.

“I live here, Mom, remember? I’m your daughter. You live here too,

occasionally.” Why doesn’t she understand that I just want some sort of

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acknowledgement?

“Well, your father and I are planning on going to the Bahamas for a week,

you know, as a little break.” Lisa shifts her eyes towards the car, then to Keira,

and back to the ground. “Your father and I have been working really hard, and

it’s been very stressful and—”

“You’re leaving AGAIN?” Keira’s body starts to tense. “This is the FIRST

time I’ve seen either one of you in like, a week and a half, and all you have to

say is that you’re leaving again?” She throws her bag on the ground. “Do you

even care about me? I just—”

Lisa cuts her off with the slam of the sliding side door. “I just can’t deal

with this right now; I’ll talk to you later.” She takes long, quick strides to the

driver’s side, gets in, and drives away, the tires of her minivan squealing. She

drives away and doesn’t look back.

I can’t believe she just left me like that. I can’t believe it I can’t believe it I can’t

believe it.

Keira picks up her bag and trudges up to her room. I can’t believe she just

left me like that. I can’t believe it. Keira lies on her bed. She takes a look at her

room and frowns. Not even my stuffed animals or pink fluffy blankets can cheer me

up today. Keira walks down stairs towards the kitchen. I’ll just eat my loneliness

in the form of a strawberry Pop-Tart. “Oh yeah, I tell you something, I think you’ll

understand,” Keira starts singing a Beatles tune to match her mood, “When I

say that something, I want to hold your hand…”

“Oh please, say to me, you’ll let me be your man, and please, say to me,

you’ll let me hold your hand…”

Keira gasps, dropping her Pop-Tarts when she hears a quieter version of

her singing. “Hello? Who’s there?” she shouts.

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“Hi, my name is Teagan,” he shouts back. “Would you mind coming to

the door? I have something for you.” Keira moves very cautiously towards the

front door, not too sure how to deal with this sort of interaction.

Is he going to murder me? Of course not, if he was going to do that he

would’ve broken in silently. Unless he’s a… Stop. Just go open the door and be all

friendly and stuff. How do I do that again? Oh geez, I think I’m starting to sweat. Do I

smell bad?

“Hello? You still there?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. I mean, I’m almost there. I—” Just open the door.

Keira opens the door to a big, smiling, blonde-haired dork. “Hi, my name is

Keeeeiraa,” she slurs her letters then coughs. “I mean, Keira Knolls.”

The blonde-haired boy reaches out his hand, offering three pieces of mail

with her address on it, and she grabs it with astonishment. She tries to process

in her head why anyone would bother coming to her house. She sees the

boy just standing there, staring.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in? My name’s Teagan. I just moved here

and I’d love a glass of water,” the boy says in a teasing, playful tone with just the

smallest of smirks.

Keira’s heart flutters. Did he really just say that? Keira can’t stop smiling; the

fact that someone is in her house, talking to her like she is a normal person,

is exhilarating. “So, Teagan.” She emphasizes his name while trying to still act

casual. “Why did, uh, why did you and your family move here?”

“Well,” Teagan says while sipping his glass of water, “my parents and I

moved from Ohio for some job for my mom.”

Keira looks just off to the side of him. “You’re an only child? Me too.”

She stops herself from getting too excited. Just because he’s an only child doesn’t

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mean he wants to be your best friend, you’re just Keira.

“That’s really cool!” Teagan says, seeming genuinely interested. “It’s really

cool moving to a new town already having a friend. I hate being a loner.” He

looks down at his watch, “Wow, it’s getting late; I didn’t realize how long we

were just talking.”

“Yeah, I guess it has been a while since I just sat and talked with anyone.”

Keira just stands there, looking around, wishing she could make him stay for

just a few hours more.

“Don’t you have any other friends here?” He seems surprised.

She looks down at the table. “Well, sorta… I mean, I talk to a few people

during class…” She gets quiet.

“Well, hey, you got me right?” He gives Keira the biggest smile, which

instantly makes her smile. “You gonna show me to the door?”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. ” Just keep it together, Keira, you’re almost done. Keira

opens the front door and steps outside with Teagan. “Thanks for, um, keeping

me company.”

He just laughs. “No problem, see you at school tomorrow.” Teagan

smiles at her.

Keira looks at him, and it is almost as if her vision couldn’t focus on

anything but him. She has to force herself to look away. “Goodnight.” Keira

steps inside and closes the door, closing the latch at the same moment. She

climbs the stairs to her bedroom, and falls onto her bed. What am I supposed

to do now? Keira thinks, panicking. What do I do when I see him at school

tomorrow? It’s pretty obvious I’ll see him around…what if he thinks I’m a loser when

he meets everyone else? Keira’s stomach grumbles loud enough to wake up the

neighbors. Or my mom. She decides to ignore the pain rumbling inside her,

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because getting up will mean that she will once again have to hear the almost

unbearable silence that fills her house every night. Tonight it is worse, though,

because with Teagan she almost forgot it.

The next morning, Keira almost can’t remember if that night had been

real or a dream. She gets ready for school in a very unusual manner; she can’t

decide what to wear and goes rummaging through her closet. I need something

nice, something new... She isn’t getting anywhere. After deciding she can’t bring

herself to wear anything girly that her mother always bought her, she finally

surrenders to her usual purple sweatshirt and a plain tee. To switch up her

usual routine, she decides to wear gray pants and put on a little mascara. Keira

grabs her bag and dashes out the front door.

Keira’s usual routine consists of walking the short distance to school

as quickly as possible, while listening to her iPod. But as she begins her walk,

Teagan steps out of his house, heading the same direction. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Just keep your head down and listen to your music. Teagan yells her name, but she

doesn’t respond. Teagan, unwilling to give up that easily, runs over to her and

taps her on the shoulder. Keira’s reflexes are quicker than she thinks, resulting

in her elbowing him in the face.

“Ouch!” Teagan stands there, covering his nose.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry I didn’t know you were there!” If he didn’t

hate me before, he sure hates me now.

Teagan tries to say something, but it comes out muffled.

“Um, what? Are you okay?”

He finally moves his arm from his face. “I’m fine, I think I just need a pack

of ice,” he says with his head tilted back to stop the bleeding.

“Okay, um, do you have any ice in your house? I mean, do you have any

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ice packs or anything?”

“Yeah, in the freezer.”

Of course there’s ice in the freezer; you’re so lame, Keira thinks.

Teagan puts his arm around Keira’s shoulder, startling her again. He may

have been injured, but this is the most romantic experience she has ever had.

Keira instantly feels bad. She has hurt him twice and has only known him

for a day. She helps him to his couch and hurries to his freezer. She runs back

in the living room with the ice pack and a handful of now-wadded tissues. “I’m

so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you, I mean, I was protecting myself, so I guess I

meant to hit you...I mean,” Keira sighs. “Never mind, sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”

Keira starts heading for the door.

“Wait! Will you please stay? What if I get attacked by a crazy lady or

something?”

Keira stops at the door. “Get attacked? I was the one who—” Keira

stops mid-sentence. “I get it! I’m the crazy lady.” Keira smiles. He’s trying to

cheer her up, even though she’s the one who hurt him.

“If you stay, you can keep me company while my nose gets better and we

can watch a movie or something.” Teagan says this casually, as if he has known

Keira for a long time. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We both need a break from

school anyways.”

“You haven’t even been to school yet!” Keira hesitates about missing

school, but she isn’t really missing any school work. “I don’t know...”

Teagan stares at her until she says yes.

“So there’s Cinderella, Dumbo, The Lion King…” Teagan says, while flipping

through his small collection of movies.

“You only have Disney movies?” Keira giggles.

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“Yeah, I never really watch a whole bunch of movies, so we never buy

more than a few Disney ones.” Teagan’s cheeks start to get red. “These are

lame anyways—”

“No!” Keira yells, not wanting to have to go to school and lose time

with Teagan. “I mean, no, The Lion King is a great movie and I would love to

watch it. With you.” Keira smiles at her confidence.

“Well, can I at least make some popcorn?” He beams that same smile he

always smiles when he’s content.

Keira takes a spot on the couch; scooting left, scooting right, leaning

forward, and leaning backward. She can’t seem to find a comfortable spot that

isn’t too close or too far away from whereever Teagan is sitting. What if he

thinks I’m trying to throw myself at him? What if he thinks I don’t like him at all?

But Teagan just comes in with the freshly popped popcorn and plops down

millimeters from sitting on Keira and flashes a big grin. Keira’s whole body

tenses up and he feels it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude —”

“No, it’s alright,” Keira forces herself to relax. “Let’s watch the movie.”

As the movie plays, all Keira can think about is how close she is sitting

to Teagan and how warm his body is, because his arm is warm and radiates a

comforting feeling. She tries to watch the movie, but spends most of the time

trying to keep herself awake, and once again fails.

“Hey.” Keira awakes to Teagan poking her. She has her head on his

shoulder and her hand on his knee. Abruptly realizing this she tries to sit up.

“Hey, it’s alright, don’t worry about it,” Teagan says, running his fingers

through Keira’s hair. “I just wanted to tell you something that I thought about

while watching the movie.”

30

“What is it?” Keira says groggily, trying to seem interested. She just

wants to fall back asleep on Teagan’s shoulder.

“When the movie was playing…” He begins to hesitate, almost as if he is

individually picking each word, “I noticed there was a little lioness named Kiara,

which sounds like Keira, might I mention.” He laughs hesitantly. “And she was

in love with a little lion named Kovu, and it made me think that maybe I could

be the Kovu to your Kiara.”

Keira, being disoriented as she is, stares at him with a blank face, not

truly grasping what he is saying.

“What I’m trying to say is…” He takes a deep breath and blurts out the

words as quickly as possible, “if it’s okay with you I’d like to go out with you

because I think you’re really great and yeah…”

Keira again just stares back. What did he just say? And then it hit her;

Teagan wants to be with her. So many questions race in her head, but she

forces herself to block them, because she finally has what she wants; someone

who wants to be with her. Keira smiles a gentle smile and wraps her arms

around Teagan’s stomach, resting her head again on his shoulder.

“So…is that a yes?”

Keira just laughs and gives him a squeeze. A giant weight lifts off of her

shoulders and she feels relieved. Right now, all she cares about is that she is

happy for the first time in a long time.

Keira closes her eyes and lets her mind drift into a deep sleep.

31

Being HungryBrandon Saephan, Roosevelt High School

I am hungry

I’m so hungry

I’m like the fish that bit the hook.

I’m as hungry as the mouse that got caught in the trap

I’ve got a hole in my stomach cause after I eat, I’m still hungry

I’m hungry after lunch

I’m the lion chasing after the gazelle, because I’m so hungry

I’m like the pet dog waiting to be fed

I’m so hungry; I don’t want to be here

I feel like I have eight stomachs

I’m hungry while I’m writing this poem

I’m so hungry

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Inner ObsessionJocelyn Loyd, Roosevelt High School

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Naked FeetKarina Faulstich, Lincoln High School

Naked feet. Sleepy blue-tongued lizard

Burn with me

Make coals between tangled fingers

Which have explored the devil’s neck consistently

Soak soft tissues in words of bright dust

Knit the infrastructure to your elbow

Lace it around your toes

And devour.

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I

was in a war,

fighting to stay alive,

helping and carrying people like

children

to

save their lives,

Protecting

each one

who was escaping from war.

Humanity

is being sacrificed

by terrorists,

who came to kill and destroy;

nobody can stop them.

Terrorists

are killing

to

make people feel pain,

show

people that nobody else

has power and authority.

People are afraid to die.

I

was there seeing how they died,

bodies

everywhere,

I Had a DreamLuis Mejia, Roosevelt High School

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I was crying,

there

was nothing I could do.

I started thinking of a plan

to make them feel their own pain,

but fear didn’t let me think.

Starting

a new strategy to be a hero,

it was hard to do, but not impossible,

One

thing was giving me power,

“LOVE,” and it was helping me to stay

alive.

Fighting

for freedom,

love

and peace was my priority,

also to save lives to make a new world.

At

the end,

terrorists

were crying like babies.We were the winners.

People

who fight for love always win.

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King of ProcrastinationNed Thomas, Cleveland High School

I am the king of procrastination, but that’s not what my parents see. In

their eyes, I am a “motivated and eager-to-learn” type of student.

My parents expect straight As and that I will finish high school with a 4.0

(having completed multiple IB and Honors classes). Sure, they say they don’t

mind if I get a B in some of my classes but they always ask the same question

when such a letter appears on my report card. “Don’t you think you can bring

that up to an A?”

My parents say they want me to be successful and to go to a prestigious

college, but most of the pressure they lay on me comes from the fact that my

brother did not do well in high school. Not at all.

Jack is a tall and lanky sophomore in college now. He attends an art

school in New York. Jack has curly brown hair and a largish nose. He is a hip-

ster in denial. His shoes of choice are Converse or boots. He is also a bit of a

nerd and knows too much about computers.

I’m not sure of Jack’s exact GPA in high school but I know he graduated

with a handful of Ds and even a few Cs. He even failed a class his senior year

and almost had to stay an extra year, which did not go over well at my house.

With a lawyer as a father and a protective English major as a mother,

there was a lot of fighting, shouting, and slamming of the doors. My mother

cried the day my brother graduated, and not from joy.

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So now it comes down to me to get perfect grades. My mother wants to

cry happy tears. My father wants to be proud. They both want to congratulate

me when I cross the stage with my hard-won 4.0 GPA.

No matter what I do, I will get that 4.0 because I am the younger of the

two brothers who are both left-handed and yet look nothing alike. I am the

one who has to make it all right in my family now. I am the king of procrastina-

tion but I play my part as the “motivated, eager-to-learn” student brilliantly.

38

EnigmaMaya Lugue, Metropolitan Learning Center

“I love you, forever and ever that’s a promise . . . that’s a promise.”

We’re an eclipseBursting to life.An enigma.People simply cannot seem to understand.I offer honey, sugarTo sweeten our birth,The birth of us.I don’t know what else to do.I feel . . . red . . . angry.I feel yellow . . . indifferentI feel blue . . . sadnessI am giving control away now.

I go to meet our criticsThey are burning crimson.What now?Forever and ever right?Help me meet them?Please.Please . . .But you don’t.You vanish.Forever and ever right?Wrong.Time will heal this wound.We were an eclipseBurning with life.Looks likeWe just sizzled out.Feels like it too.

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Blind FuryOrby Fleury, Jefferson High School

He go by blind fury AKA yogo

he can’t see but know how to read

he like to rap battle

he don’t write everything from his head

he can’t see but know how to read

battling with him

he don’t write everything from his head

you need to watch your breath

battling with him

you battle the blind not with death

you need to watch your breath

you battle the blind not with death

he like to rap battle

your breath

he go by blind fury AKA yogo

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Hunting With WormsKevin Fredericks, Grant High School

Fishing is different from hunting. When you hunt you go to your prey; it

takes skill, speed, and cunning; but when you fish the prey walks to you. You get

to sit there and wait, as opposed to sneaking around in the mud.

“So then, fishing is easy and boring,” I think to myself as I sit in the back

of my grandpa’s ancient Corolla. We’re driving to some public fishing spot that

I neglected to pick up the name of. I didn’t understand why fishing was so cool.

The car comes to a slow stop. Grandpa takes a breather, as though we just

escaped a band of murderous, bloodthirsty vampires. He’s sitting in the driver’s

seat and I can see him, clear as day, from the back passenger seat.

The whole car ride is quiet, Grandpa occasionally saying usual

grandparent stuff. Grandpa gets out of the car first. I try to make haste with my

small body and legs to keep up with him. We walk up a gravel hillside. Side by

side, my grandpa’s height compared to mine makes him look like a giant. This

walk could have been considered a hike if only we couldn’t see our car from the

top. As we keep walking, a lifeless pond emerges. The water is clear and focused.

It’s not big and no one else is around, but I can see the fish swimming around

like fireworks going off on the Fourth of July. My grandpa sits on an old wooden

bench with peeling paint and pulls out an old rusted can. I stand interested for

a second, then jump on the bench next to him. My legs are swaying back and

forth from not being able to touch the ground, my eyes intense with a focused

stare as he opens the container, still not knowing how any of this fishing stuff

works. Inside were squirming, squishy, dirty, and (most dear of all) live worms.

Grandpa goes to pick up the hook on the end of the fishing rod that he’d been

carrying with him the whole time. He looks at the can of worms then changes

his gaze to my disgusted face.

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“You do this,” he says, as though he knows exactly what is running

through my mind. The first thing that comes to my mind is no.

“I don’t know how to do this; could you show me?” I reply, shaken and

scared.

“Alright,” responds Grandpa, almost sarcastic because he knows I’m

just deflecting, but just to play by my rules, he sticks his open hand into the

container full of worms, and plucks one out as a heron would to a fish.

“You take one of these,” he says, holding up a worm and shaking it in

front of my face. The worm, now wiggling for freedom, is dirty dancing two

inches from my restless face. With an “I know you think this is gross” attitude,

my grandpa tells me, “and then you stick it on the hook.” He’s now gutted the

worm onto the hook. He holds it back up to my face and tries to inch out

every thought of disgust in my body.

“Then what?” I say, quivering like a cat after a group of teenage boys

picks on it.

“You just throw it in the water,” responds my grandpa as he throws

the skewered worm into the pond in front of us. I feel a rush of relief now

because the worm is out of sight. We wait. And wait, my grandpa gazing at

the lifeless pond which stands in front of us. The intensity with which my

grandpa is focused on his fishing rod is so thick you couldn’t cut through it if

you tried. Knowing that nothing gets in the way of my grandpa and his task, I

try to intercept his gaze. My mouth opens slightly when all of a sudden I see

the once-lifeless pond become a torrential tsunami of water. Remembering my

grandpa’s ferociousness in accomplishing tasks, I think of how awe-inspiring this

battle is going to be. Godzilla vs. MechaGodzilla; Superman vs. Batman; Grandpa

vs. Fish. It was a fight to the death. I sit trying to inhale all the action in front

of me when, out of nowhere, a fishing rod with a giant fish pulling on the other

end is handed to me.

“You give it a try,” says my grandpa, entertained and amused by my

42

confused and baffled face. “Try pulling on the fishing rod and spinning the

crank.”

I look at what evil contraption lay in my hand now. This was not Godzilla

vs. MechaGodzilla anymore; it was Godzilla vs. an ant,and I was the ant. I pull

myself together. It’s a fish, I remember, only a fish. It comes out of the water and

nothing can happen to you. My grandpa, half worried, tells me what I need to

do to slay this monster. Step by step, I follow his instructions.

“Left.” I move left. “Pull on the rod.” I pull on the rod. This goes on for a

short time when Godzilla’s head at last emerges. He creates a giant tidal wave

of destruction. Then, in one sudden motion, a feeling of great confidence and

triumph flops onto the ground. Before any thought can come running into my

head, I hear a voice which I believe can only be the Grouch from Sesame Street.

“Great, looks to be about a foot-long fish, not bad for a first timer, if

you had done it on your own,” responds my grandpa, knowing what I am feeling,

trying to draw entertainment out of it. Godzilla had now been reduced to

a foot-long fish. Still, I have a warm, joyful feeling in my heart and a sense of

accomplishment. As we walk back down the hill with the fish in a bucket and

fishing rods in our hand, I can only think to myself about how ridiculous being

scared of worms was when I remember the foulness of the worm. I think,

where did it go? The seriousness and the level of fear can only be matched by

the thought you get while watching a horror film and the blonde girl dares to

walk down that dark dreary hallway.

I ask my grandpa, “Where did the worm go?” I’m scared again that

Grandpa will try to entertain himself from this.

“Here, I’ll show you,” replies my grandpa, tired, not in the mood anymore

for sarcasm or stories. We walk to a tall white building where one side is open

and looks like the inside of a garage. A man in a plaid shirt and red apron is

waiting for us there.

“Show my grandson what happens to the worm; he’s afraid of it,” my

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grandpa tells the attendant. The attendant takes the fish out of our bucket and

lays it on a steel table and shows me how the belly of the fish is cut open and

the worm taken out.

“Nothing to worry about,” says the attendant. The red-apron-wearing

savior puts our fish in a Styrofoam box that’s filled with ice and helps us load

it into the trunk of my grandpa’s car. I get back to where I was when we drove

here and I relax.

I have never been fishing again.

44

Execution of ExclusionThomas Burke, Franklin High School

Two dollars, three dollars

Four dollars, five, YES!!

We have enough.

Two of us, three of us

Four of us five, Oh no!!

Too many people for one pizza pie

One goes West

And I hope the dog would follow

But no, strange dog right behind me

The dog was a stray

Following all who would

Supply him with comfort

The dog was scrawny

Looking as if he missed out on many meals

I offered him food but he refused

All he wanted was

The homeliness of home

Or the friendliness of friends

But he had none

He was living without a family

Traveling unaccompanied

45

A stray dog

Following behind a group of close friends

Waiting for his turn to leap into the conversation

He leapt as if

As if

It was a cool lake on a hot summer day

But he failed

A dog that can’t swim

Is a fish out of water.

When I noted his failure

I took my piece of pizza

And handed it to the stray mutt

He took it

Ate it

And was overjoyed

I knew that

My subconscious self always won

A battle of the ages

And I knew that

The mutt with no name

Had become a new close friend

With a simple name of Gus

46

I Am a Student and a MomMayra Mendozo, Cleveland High School

I learn and I teach my child what she needs

I take quizzes

I take risks

I learn from my mistakes, which lead me to a better grade

I take quizzes

She’s the start of my day

I learn from my mistakes, which lead me to a better grade

I take English, science, and math

She’s the start of my day

Diapers, books, learning, and writing

I take English, science, and math

A teenage girl in 11th grade

Diapers, books, learning and writing

I am a student

A teenage girl in 11th grade

I am a mom

I am a student

I take risks

I am a mom

I learn and teach my child what she needs

47

Fading AngelAnnie Lui, Franklin High School

The glow on her skin, once sparkling,

fades against the light,

white wings once magnificent

now slowly plucked away.

Each time the moon shows up,

a couple of feathers disappear,

fading into the abyss,

no escape,

trapped inside an invisible cage,

dangling between life and death.

Her home,

slowly sinking,

a lake of water, bottomless.

She tries to hold it up,

and fails, as always.

The darkness creeps upon her

and covers her wings

staining them black,

her wings that guide her

now are killing her.

Her home sinks into the darkness.

She is inside a cage,

between life and death.

Will someone save her?

48

A Story With No TitleRyan Stockwell, FOCUS

Isn’t it better this way? How things are so much simpler. You tell me you

love me but you come and go when you please, whenever something

happens you chop me up and leave again. The road to my neighborhood is a

rough one, yet pleasant. Not to my home, no, to my neighborhood. It begins

with someone else, then it arrives at my doorstep. I try to keep it away but

you’re to hard to resist, it’s my gift to avoid you. I should be able to…well…I

should. I once believed you…but now I don’t know what to believe, you tell

me one thing then someone tells me another. It’s like the Ghost Whisperer series

all over again. Do you really like me, or are you just saying that to go through

me and off to someone else? I dipped my hand in this so-called friendship,

but all I find is dust and oxygen. That’s what’s always been there and always

will be, so quiet you could hear a needle drop to the ground. You were curled

inside my house with me, you said you cared, you said you wouldn’t betray me,

but now I know the truth. You curl beside someone else at the mere thought

of me stepping back into your life, well guess what? I’m going to take a step

backwards and re-live what I once did. Happiness. That’s just another story for

another time but for now it’s time to really reveal how you feel. I’ll wait until

death to hear it. It may not seem like it, but I will surely strip the words from

you so everyone can hear. You’re afraid of what would happen if your true

identity was revealed to the real world and not your imaginary playland where

everything in life comes easy. No, not here, not around me, not around your

friends or mine, but right here in the real world. The world of lies, love, hate,

cruelty, and war.

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925 SW WashingtonPortland, OR 97205