JANUARY 2009 O U R 20 T H Y E A R

Transcription

1 JANUARY 2009 O U R 20 T H Y E A R T E E NIN K.COM

2 AQUAFINA, AQUAFINA FLAVORSPLASH, AQUAFINA ALIVE, MAKE YOUR BODY HAPPY, SMART SPOT and SMART CHOICES MADE EASY are trademarks of PepsiCo, Inc. YAG /08

3 J ANUARY 2009 COVER FEATURES You & Your Health Articles on: Eating healthy, sleeping problems, smoking, anorexia, Alzheimer s, eye cancer, hypochondria, Crohn s, Tourette s Plus articles in other sections: Weight cutting Asthma...6 SARS...8 Multiple sclerosis...25 Teen suicide Pregnancy...26 Down syndrome...28 Dental surgery...29 Drug addiction...30 Diabetes...32 Teen Suicide and the Media Just saying that the victim was stressed makes it too easy for other teens to identify with the victim. Those who commit suicide often have long-standing mental health issues. Suicide and the Media, page 26 Brand-Name Clothing Sizes The sizes in some brand-name teen clothing stores are ridiculously skewed. Few girls want to wear a shirt with a large or even a medium tag. We want to fit into smalls because society tells us that we are supposed to be skinny. Branded Irresponsible, page 27 Movie Reviews The essence of the story is present, making changes in details insignificant; the movie s creators successfully captured the elements that made readers fall in love with Bella and Edward. Twilight Review, page 38 Cover photo by Madison Cocuzza, Cave Creek, AZ Contents 12 ART GALLERY Paintings, drawings & photos VOL. 20 NO BOOK REVIEWS The Kite Runner The Fountainhead The Brothers Karamazov The Truth Machine A Short History of Nearly Everything The Perks of Being a Wallflower Raising Atlantis COLLEGE DIRECTORY 25 COLLEGE ESSAYS 34 COLLEGE REVIEWS 7 COMMUNITY SERVICE EDUCATOR OF THE YEAR 13 ENVIRONMENT 4 FEEDBACK FICTION 35 HEROES 32 INTERVIEWS 38 MOVIE & TV REVIEWS Twilight High School Musical 3 The Royal Tenenbaums Smallville 37 MUSIC REVIEWS Taylor Swift Chicago Twilight Soundtrack The Beatles Skank Evanescence NONFICTION OPINION POETRY 28 PRIDE & PREJUDICE 6 SPORTS 8-9 TRAVEL & CULTURE YOU & YOUR HEALTH S e n d Y o u r W o r k We need 1. Your NAME, YEAR of birth, home ADDRESS/ CITY/STATE/ZIP, PHONE NUMBER, SCHOOL NAME, ADDRESS (and English teacher s name). For art and photos, place the information on the back of each piece. Please DON T FOLD ART. 2. This statement MUST BE WRITTEN on each submission: This will certify that the above work is completely original, and sign your name. Send it Online Mail Teen Ink Box 30, Newton, MA Editor@TeenInk.com The fine print LABEL all work fiction or nonfiction; please include a title. TYPE or print carefully in ink. Keep a copy. Writing may be edited; we reserve the right to publish our version without prior approval. If, due to the personal nature of a piece, you don t want your name published, we will respect that request, but we MUST still have all name and address information for our records. Include a self-addressed envelope, and we ll send an acknowledgment and a Teen Ink bookmark. Published students will receive a copy of Teen Ink, a wooden pen, and a special Teen Ink Post-It pad. All works submitted become the property of Teen Ink and all copyrights are assigned to Teen Ink. We retain the non-exclusive rights to publish all such works in any format. All material in Teen Ink is copyrighted to protect us and exclude others from republishing your work. All contributors retain the right and have our permission to submit work elsewhere. All written work in Teen Ink is checked for originality by TurnItIn.com Educator of The 16th Annual theyear 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) Make your essay 150 to 500 words. Please type or print neatly. 3) Only junior and senior high school educators, please. Is there 4) Include your name and address, the name of your current school, someone plus the first and last name and position of your educator and the YOU should school where he or she teaches. thank? Mail to: Educator of the Year Contest, Box 30 Newton, MA Online: to: Educator@TeenInk.com Subscribe CLASS SET (30 copies per month) I want 30 copies of Teen Ink each month. I will be billed $105 for the remainder of the school year. Price includes shipping & handling. PO# (if available) INDIVIDUAL ONE-YEAR (10-MONTH) SUBSCRIPTION I am enclosing a check or credit card information for $25. CHARITABLE DONATION I want to support Teen Ink & The Young Authors Foundation. Enclosed is: $25 $50 $100 Other You may pay by credit card: MC VISA Card # Exp. NAME: TITLE/SUBJECT: SCHOOL ENROLLMENT (EST.): SCHOOL NAME (For Class Set): ADDRESS: SCHOOL HOME CITY: STATE: ZIP: ADDRESS: PHONE NUMBER: ( ) Mail to: Teen Ink Box 30 Newton, MA /09 MSL

4 A STORY OF PROCRASTINATION Everyone longs to come across an article that speaks to them and tells their story. During my monthly reading of Teen Ink, I discovered A Story of Procrastination. The author may be unknown, but his/her idea is a shared feeling of all students at one time or another. I procrastinate, but it s a habit I hope to break. I know the squeeze of time the author talks about, as the clock counts down the minutes until the untimely demise. I can relate to the idea of my friends as caterpillars that eat my words, the butterflies they become, and the vomit of worthless ideas they induce. The author truly inspires me to write but makes me feel ashamed of being a procrastinator. I wish to acknowledge the creator, but alas, this person does not wish to be connected to the art of words he/she gave birth to. We are all procrastinators but some of us hide our shame instead of showing it and curing the habit. I hope to read more of your work, Anonymous, but no writer should feel the need to hide his/her work, even if it s about procrastination. Let me see your name with your next piece. Julianne Wood, Phoenix, AZ WHERE DO I BELONG? I really enjoyed reading Anastasia Quaranto s college essay, Where do I Belong? I felt that she didn t just tell us she felt out of place, she showed us why, and it really touched my heart. Not only did it make me feel sad, but the opening about the ant climbing the wall made me laugh. I thought it was really cute that she knew she was talking to an ant but didn t care. I completely agree with Anastasia when she says, Caught between two cultures and belonging to neither, I have to focus not on what country I m from or what language I speak, but on who I am. I find this to be so true. In my opinion, it is more important to know what kind of person you are than where you belong. Anastasia did a great job making the reader feel what she was experiencing and keeping the reader interested. Khrystyna Melnyk, Brooklyn, NY Feedback Articles mentioned here can be found on TeenInk.com MACHO DIARY Wow, I applaud you. You do an excellent job creating a magazine everyone can relate to. I personally enjoy the poetry and nonfiction, but all the articles serve a purpose. Box 30 Newton, MA (617) Editor@TeenInk.com Website: TeenInk.com Publishers: Stephanie Meyer John Meyer Senior Editor: Stephanie Meyer Editor: Emily Sperber Production Coordinator: Katie Olsen Special Programs: Brianna Armbruster Editorial Assistant: Elizabeth Cornwell Advertising: John Meyer Intern: Emma Halwitz Volunteer: Barbara Field 04 Teen Ink JANUARY 09 To me Teen Ink is like a big diary where teens can write down their thoughts, feelings, and emotions and share their experiences. I think this is important because a lot of teens, especially guys, see diaries as something for sissies. What they don t realize is that writing is a good way to express themselves. As I read Teen Ink, I do find articles written by guys. In the article Saving Dad, a boy s dad had breast cancer, and he talked about his emotions during that time. In conclusion, thank you, Teen Ink, for creating a big Macho Diary. Navil Perez, Thornton, CO TEENS IN THE NBA I can t agree with Nathan Oliver s article, Teens in The NBA. I don t think there should be a no-teenagers rule. It should be up to the players; it s their futures so let them do what they want with it. Tim Duncan was smart to play all four years in college. But LeBron James was also smart to go straight to the NBA from high school. Then there are the bad decisions: have you heard of Kwame Brown? Probably not, right? That s because he went straight into the NBA from high school and is now spending his career riding the bench. So it all depends on the player, and they shouldn t all be clumped into the same category. Alonzo Diaz, Phoenix, AZ HOMESCHOOL BLUES I agree with everything Catie Frankland had to say in Homeschool Blues. A lot of people stereotype homeschoolers. I used to be homeschooled, and when I started public school for the first time in ninth grade, I got a lot of reactions like Where did you come from? as if I had just arrived from Mars and this was my first time in the real world. There are many reasons for homeschooling. I know quite a few homeschoolers, and most have had great experiences. Homeschooling can have great academic benefits. Many well-known people were educated at home, including Abraham Lincoln and Sandra Day O Connor. Also homeschooled kids are not exposed to bullying and negative peer pressure. I have no regrets about my education at home, and I think I am better off because of it. Emily Ecker, Hastings, NY 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. 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 organ - ization by the IRS. The Foundation, which is organized and operated exclusively for charitable and educational purposes, provides opportunities for the education and enrichment of young people. 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. EDITORIAL CONTENT Teen Ink is a monthly journal dedicated to publishing a variety of works written by teen agers. Copyright 2009 by The Young Authors Foundation, Inc. All rights reserved. Publication of material appearing in Teen Ink is prohibited unless written permission is obtained. FREQUENCY Monthly, September to June. ADDITIONAL COPIES Send $4.95 per copy for mailing & handling. TEXTING PROGRAM Teen Ink s Texting Program complies with and is part of the GossRSVP System & is the registered RSVP Short Code. For details visit PRODUCTION Teen Ink uses Quark Xpress to design the magazine. FROM THE DESK OF A PUBLISHED AUTHOR For our 20th anniversary, we asked writers and artists whose work appeared in Teen Ink how being published affected them. You can find their pieces on TeenInk.com. The Justin Timberlake concert review in Teen Ink was my first published piece. Since then, I have received journalism scholarships and many writing recognitions. Teen Ink gave me the confidence I needed. During my senior year in high school I created an alliance between my school s newspaper and the regional paper to publish our articles, which gained us national attention. Being published made me more confident in my writing and gave me the courage to apply to topnotch journalism schools. I would not be where I am today if it was not for Teen Ink. Kaitlyn Benjamin, age 18 Journalism student at Suffolk University Wrote Justin Timberlake I was in tenth grade, and getting published for the first time meant the world to me. My work appeared in Teen Ink about 10 times, which really gave me confidence as a writer. It helped motivate me to write different types of pieces, and the music reviews were great experience that I took with me to my college paper. In 2005 I graduated from Carnegie Mellon with a major in professional writing. Currently I work as an editor for PETA. I ve won many writing awards and do some freelance journalism. I publish a Jewish blog about animal protection issues. My writing these days is quite different, but Teen Ink very much inspired me. Michael Croland, age 24 Editor for PETA Melville, NY Wrote Sun-God and others Last summer, I published a book of my poems, Dancing in the White Spaces (Wasteland Press, 2007). I have also been published widely in the field of neuroscience (in which I hold a PhD). I am the proud mother of a three-year-old, and I m currently working on a number of writing projects while pursuing rabbinical ordination. Being published in Teen Ink (which was then called The 21st Century) gave me my first view of my work in print, and I am proud to still be writing poetry years later! Suzanne (Henry) Brody, age 32 Neuroscientist, Rabbinical student Newton, MA Wrote Remember and others After graduating from college with a degree in journalism and professional writing, I began working in an editorial capacity for The Wall Street Journal, where I also wrote occasional articles. A year ago, I joined Barron s as a reporter. I currently cover market activity and write company profiles that appear online and in the weekly magazine. At the time I had never had anything published, so it was great to see my name in print. It was part of the reason I decided to become a journalist. Teresa Rivas, age 25 Journalist Riverton, NJ Wrote Ground I currently teach English at a magnet high school in Connecticut. I obtained my Masters of Education in Special Education and am applying to doctoral programs for my Ed.D. in Educational Leadership. I was thrilled when my essays were published in Teen Ink (then The 21st Century). I felt so accomplished and everyone was so proud of me and my writing skills. One of those essays went on to win a $1,000 prize! Now, when I teach collegeessay writing, I show my students TeenInk.com and my own essays that are still on the website. This year I got a teacher subscription to Teen Ink for my class. Thank you so much for the lifetime of experiences your magazine has given me and now my students! Jessica (Albetski) Fitzgerald, age 26 English teacher, Middletown, CT Wrote Missing in Action and others

5 Summer at PUTNEY Amazing. The best place in the world. You get to be creative all day. 3-week intensives in creative writing for rising freshmen to rising seniors, ages Experience college life... before your freshman year! Choose from over 60 college classes and earn full college credit. Two sessions available June 7-July 11 July 12-August 14 summer programs See additional programs at TeenInk.com/Summer The Putney School Summer Programs in Vermont Writing Visual Arts Performing Arts Farm request a catalog High School Summer Scholars Program wustl.edu PreCollege Perspective June 22nd 21st - July 18th 19th Summer Sarasota, Florida T: AlfredUniversity CREATIVE WRITING S UMMER I NSTITUTES These exciting institutes provide an introduction to four of the most important and powerful genres: poetry, short fiction, creative non-fiction and drama. High school students from all over the country come to Alfred University each summer to participate in these fascinating programs. Experience academic excellence and the joy of discovery at Alfred University this summer! Office of Summer Programs Alfred University Alfred, NY Phone: summerpro@alfred.edu The University it of Chicago Summer mer Session where students t are engaged at every level intellectually, socially, personally, and professionally. Join us this summer for an extraordinary learning experience at the home to 82 Nobel laureates and an incoming U.S.President. for students in high school, college, and beyond. june 22 august 28, 2009 / 3, 4, 5, 6, and 9-week sessions For more information: Teen Ink s NYC Summer Writing Program Apply now for our unique writing program in the heart of New York City! June 27 - July 11, 2009 For more information, us at NYC@ TeenInk.com Open to girls currently in grades 9-12 Ocean Studies Acadia Institute of Oceanography Seeks future biologists, geologists & chemists. Spend 2 weeks on the coast of Maine. Hands-on advanced programs for students All marine environments. Co-ed. Professional staff. Since Contact: Sheryl Gilmore, Director Seal Harbor, ME info@acadiainstitute.com Located on on beautiful Mt. Mt.Deser Desert t Island, ME ME JANUARY 09 Teen Ink 05

6 sports Cutting Weight by Saige Redd, Loma, CO His heart races to the sound of the clock ticking in the background. Twenty more seconds and he has this match won. All he needs to do is hold on. His opponent meets his eyes with a look of defeat. Thump, thump the clock ticks down the final seconds. The wrestler thinks of the final 40 minutes he ran to shed that extra half pound. A match easily won. Then he s thrust into the air and, dumbfounded, he finds himself on the mat. The referee pounds his hand on the ground and he s down for the count in a moment of weakness. The defeated wrestler watches his opponent raise his arm with the grin of a champion. Wrestling requires blood, sweat, and tears, in addition to dedication and pure passion. As many wrestlers know, the preceeding story is more than a haunting tale: it s a fear that fuels their drive to put more effort into becoming the best. Many wrestlers go to extremes to become champions, and they are recognized for their ability to drastically lose weight, known as cutting. Many of these pound-dropping skills aren t just dangerous but also can be fatal, which is why wrestlers should not cut weight in the first place. With 81 percent of wrestlers cutting weight, there are many unique methods to achieve the task. Some are ridiculous myths of athletes shedding as many as 20 pounds in one night have been passed around the wrestling community. Wrestlers will go days drinking only a few sips of water and eating just a piece of fruit each day. Ultimately, the calories they burn during practice will be more than they ve consumed in two days. Not eating for that long takes a toll on the body. Wrestlers dream of food, yet many won t eat for fear that they ll exceed the limit of their weight class. Consequently, they account for threequarters of male athletes with eating Many wrestlers go to extremes to become champions disorders. Eating disorders claim 300,000 lives a year. Weight cutting can lead to death. In 1997, three college wrestlers made national headlines, dying within 33 days of each other. Coming from Michigan, North Carolina, and Wisconsin, these dedicated athletes died from the same cause: weight cutting. In all three cases, the students experienced dehydration resulting in hypothermia after they layered on clothes and did endless workouts in heated rooms. Unfortunately, they out-worked their bodies. The perspiration they produced cooled them to the point of hypothermia resulting in heart attacks and kidney failure, all common effects of extreme weight cutting. Following these deaths, the NCAA took steps to make wrestling safer by banning cutting techniques such as training in a room hotter than 80 degrees, self-induced vomiting, and extensive food or fluid restrictions. Following the actions of the NCAA, even high schools have taken precautions. The NCAA requires wrestlers to take hydration tests, checks their body fat, and restricts the amount of weight they can lose. But it s not enough; unscrupulous coaches will turn their heads, and some wrestlers will overlook the rules, risking their lives for their favorite sport. Wrestlers push themselves to the limit to make weight. These athletes seek to make themselves the biggest competitor in the smallest weight class possible. This goal taunts wrestlers to cut more and more. Although rules have been enforced, if wrestlers are going to be protected, officials need to banish weight cutting altogether. Risking so much for such shortlived glory is absurd. Cutting weight is unhealthy and can lead to serious complications. Athletes must be more aware of these dangers and listen to their bodies. 06 Fast Lane Teen Ink JANUARY 09 by Linda Dunklee, Garden City, MI My freshman year, someone told me that asthma and the sport of swimming don t mix. After that first season, I was pretty sure they were right. I suffered through week after week, attack after attack, too proud to quit but too tired to continue. There were too many people to let down and too many expectations to live up to for me to give up. So I stuck with it. A teammate became my mentor, talking me calmly through each lung-busting attack, coaxing me gently back into the water, just one more time. I became a backstroker, where you have pretty much unlimited opportunity to breathe. I was pathetic, but I wasn t giving up. The season ended, and with its close came new determination. Six other girls on the team suffered from my affliction, but I didn t see them whining. So I changed. I swam every chance I had, working not only on lung capacity but stroke mechanics, turns, starts, and muscle-building. When I couldn t get to a pool, I ran until my lungs burst and my legs burned. Sophomore season rolled around. I got in the pool for the first meet expecting more of myself, while everyone else was wondering what I was still doing there. The 100-yard backstroke, my best race, came up, and I gave it my all. At the start, I remembered what I d practiced, holding my body straight as an arrow as I streamlined through the water. In the middle, I moved with perfect rotation and strong, certain pulls. On the turn, I flipped at the right time, pushing off the wall with a force I had never felt before. This continued for four lengths, air struggling through my gasping lips as my mind told me I d be okay. After all, I had more than coaches to prove wrong. I slammed into the wall with a perfect finish, looking at the lanes around me. Suddenly I was very confused. No one else was at the wall. I heard cheers from my teammates and saw the jaw-dropped look on my coach s face. I spun around to see five girls still swimming. My eyes darted to the time board. Seven seconds faster than my end of season time, something nearly unheard of in the sport of swimming. And my first first place ever! I ve swam varsity ever since. Every day I struggle, every length I gasp, every turn I ask myself why. But when I see improved times, when I win races, and when I take four medals at a league meet no one expected me even to qualify for, I know the Photo by Wenting Cao, Fremont, CA struggle was worth it. Odd Girl Out Istarted my game-day preparations by trying on my skin-tight, professional white baseball pants. Looked in the mirror to affirm I was still chubby. Asked my mother to French braid my long brown mane of hair. Looked in the mirror yep, still chubby. I braided and re-braided my hair, tried my royal-blue ball cap on backwards. Searched for my glove in the garage. I finally slid on my cleats and walked the one block to the baseball metropolis. I was the only girl on the Dodgers T-ball team that season. Some might consider this a monumental step for women s rights, but I was uncomfortable with this honor. Growing up in Chicago, I learned that baseball was everything. Business partners, best friends, worst enemies almost all relationships hinged on the question Are you a Cubs or a Sox fan? My baseball team was not exempt from this obsession. The pressure was in a league of its own. As luck would have it, all my eightyear-old prospective crushes contributed to this pressure as my teammates. Although the boys could relate to me because I was a sporty tomboy, it would be detrimental to my attractiveness if I let the team down. I was therefore determined to hone my T-ball abilities while maintaining my pre-pubescent good looks. My spring training consisted of playing catch with any neighborhood boy who would dare be seen throwing a ball with me. After five minutes, he would typically give up and ride his bike elsewhere. After a few of these brief It s a baseball game, not a fashion show! by Caitlin Doermer, Culver, IN practices, I figured my baseball abilities were satisfactory at least for a girl. I was ready for the home opener. My disappointments began immedi - ately. I sat near the end of the dugout so as not to seem too eager. When Coach called me up, my heart raced; I made my way to the opening in the dugout fence. As I proudly approached the plate, one boy tripped me and laughed, C mon. It s a baseball game, not a fashion show! I contained my rage and embarrassment and continued toward what was sure to be a grand slam. After three quick swings, it s possible I was the first eight-year-old ever to strike out at a tee. By the end of the game, I could feel the glaring eyes of my teammates as we lined up to shake hands with the other team. As I went through the line, I was told You suck by each boy on the opposing team. You suck? I was horrified. I walked home with my mother and cried like a girl. Soon it became clear. These blossoming third-grade men had no interest in how I wore my hair under my Dodgers cap. They wanted to win. If I was going to play for this team, I had to change my motives. Those fiveminute practices extended to hour-long teaching sessions. I ran bases until my white baseball pants were permanently stained with grass and dirt. Finally, the boys I wanted to impress became teammates who taught me what being on a team was actually all about. I like to think that the times I spent practicing, instead of doing my hair, led the Dodgers to second place in the league. COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

7 The ABCs of Korean by Jane Sei, Davis, CA Ga, na, da, ra. They recite in unison as I point to the intricate Korean alphabets. Hmm too easy? Facing the whiteboard, I carefully form a word incorporating these elaborate characters, crossing my fingers for someone to shout out the answer. Nabi! someone declares. It means butterfly. Pleasantly surprised, I turn around to see Joshua, an ebullient six-year-old Korean boy who was adopted by an American family, grinning broadly. I smile in awe as Joshua and seven other children confidently smile back. Established in 2000, Davis Korean School is composed of volunteer teachers with the goal of increasing linguistic and cultural awareness among second-generation Korean- Americans. When my mom decided to teach there last fall, I inadvertently began volunteering as well. At first, I viewed it as a dreaded duty that took time away from hanging out with my friends. But this three-hour weekly commitment, initially viewed with contempt, soon turned into my priority when school began in September. I was assigned to teach the youngest class six- to eight-year-olds. When I assessed their skills, none could read, let alone write or speak, even the most rudimentary Korean. I had to start by introducing the ABCs of Korean. Korean is one of the most difficult languages to master due to its unique alphabets called Hangul. In a matter of weeks, the children s initial enthusiasm diminished as they grew weary of the overwhelming material. I decided to change my tactics; instead of providing assignments from the teacher s point of view, I d create activities relatable to the children themselves. Rather than handing out countless pages of boring worksheets, I organized games integrating Korean alphabets. Rather than having the children read books that they didn t understand, I They gain an appreciation of their culture had them actively engage in a singalong of Korean folk songs. Like brilliant fireworks soaring into the sky, the children s interest and results rapidly peaked to their full potential. Just six months later, these children who previously had no knowledge of Korean could read, write, and speak this language by sounding out each syllable. This is a truly miraculous achievement that I had deemed impossible. Korean school is not just about learning Ko - rean. Rather, it is a place where children who were previously unfamiliar with their native background gain awareness and appreciation for their culture. I am grateful to be part of their journey of grasping the importance of cultural duality. Recently, the students participated in the annual Culture Day, experiencing a variety of traditional Korean games such as Nul-Tee-Gee (Korean seesaw) and Bak-Tuh-To-Ree-Gee (Korean piñata). As I watched them frolic happily, I became certain that with devotion, effort, and willingness, learning Korean is, in essence, as easy as GaNaDa. Photo by Kaelee Lowe, Petersburg, MI community service Shoes for Africa by David Akinin, Miami, FL As an immigrant I have had the opportunity to view the world through many lenses. When I lived in Venezuela I was aware that many people suffered and had to struggle to sustain their families. Arriving in the United States, I knew that I would not be able to eradicate these images from my mind. I lived for 13 years in an underdeveloped country where injustices and societal flaws were covered up by the fraudulent action of the powerful few. These most likely were the ones who hired the team of criminals who kidnapped my brothers and me, leaving us with painful memories. After this harrowing experience how could I not do something to change the world in which I live? In the summer of 2006, reviewing the life experiences that haunted me and the impoverished living conditions of many in my homeland, I wanted to change some of those problems. Thinking big to start small, I came across the idea of world poverty. I saw it with my own eyes in Venezuela, but I read about it and studied it thoroughly since coming to America. As a student in an AP Human Geography course, I was exposed to the economics of West Africa, from cocoa production in Ivory Coast to populations below the poverty line. Later I took International Relations at Florida International University, which widened my knowledge of contemporary Africa and made me fall in love with the cause. Through this research I found that being barefoot is not uncommon, nor is it healthy. I realized that shoes would help in the fight against poverty. This was my chance to get back at some of the injustices of the world and bring about a positive change. I founded a nonprofit organization and started collecting shoes at school and storing them in every corner I could fit a box. What better place to start than my own closet? Shoes4Africa, Inc. ( collects shoes in cities across the U.S. and eight countries around the world to be shipped to people in Ivory Being barefoot is not uncommon, nor is it healthy Coast, Nigeria, and other African nations where so many walk barefoot and some have never owned a pair of shoes. Wearing shoes helps in the fight against environmentally caused diseases, cuts, scratches, and parasites (such as hookworm larvae), as well as progressing in terms of world development. The first steps are often the most difficult part of founding an organization or starting a campaign, but to me those were the easiest. First I launched the website, which I designed myself. The project began small, but as people heard what we were doing, it grew. Holding leadership positions in my school s French Club, Future Business Leaders of America, and student government, I was able to encourage student participation in the drive. In less than one month the whole school became involved, and hundreds of shoes piled into boxes and bags. These results gave me an idea that was the turning point of my campaign. I started networking with local organizations, companies, and schools. Soon, eight schools in my area were participating. I partnered with the local Jewish Community Center, where I volunteered as a teen program counselor, and Step by Step Foundation, which provided storage space for the shoes. The local Jaycees, a networking organization for young businesspeople, introduced me as their only teen member and helped in the process. This community and Internet exposure gave me the motivation to set up a global structure for my organization. At Harvard Summer School I met professors who put me in touch with an African nonprofit I ve been working with to send the shoes to Africa. I have made friends all over the world who are just as motivated and inspired as I am, and who have taken the campaign to their cities and countries. Now I serve as the global director, and we have eight country directors, 22 city directors, and 34 school liaisons. Giving a teen the opportunity to feel like a leader is all the motivation necessary to change the world. VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW With Florida International University, Shoes4Africa undertook the Walk in My Shoes campaign to increase awareness of sexual violence and bring an end to it, while using the campaign as a means of collecting shoes for the needy. Each pair had a story of rape attached to it, and surprisingly, many anonymous volunteers brought shoes with their own stories attached. To raise money to pack the shoes that would be shipped free by UPS (another partner), Shoes4Africa launched Shoot for a Cause. Fifteen teams, 45 players, pizza, snacks, and drinks made up a wonderful Friday afternoon fundraising event. Each player paid a $28 fee to compete in one of the wildest basketball tournaments of the year. Not only has Shoes4Africa ameliorated the conditions of the needy by providing shoes, but it prevents the spread of diseases that come with being barefoot. Moreover, the project created young leaders in over 20 cities and eight countries who are now in charge of an important campaign in their schools and communities. It made the world more aware of the harsh conditions of others, inspired teens like myself to start their own campaigns, and most importantly, changed my life! Photo by Hyunwoo Kim, Charlottesville, VA JANUARY 09 Teen Ink 07

8 Travel&Culture Outbreak by Auran Buckles, Palm Coast, FL Poker faces covered in masks, false news report after false news report, madness at the supermarket, a sea of flowers around a picture More than five years have passed since SARS erupted. Most of that time has become vague, but some memories are as fresh as if they happened yesterday. After living in Hong Kong for more than 15 years, it was the most traumatizing time I ve experienced. One night the news had a report of an unknown disease. At first no one paid much attention. But before long our temperatures were checked at the gate every morning before entering school. More and more people became infected. People in Hong Kong wore face masks outside their homes. As a sixth grader, I didn t know much about epidemics, but I realized my city had become a dangerous place. One day, all schools were shut down. Offices were closed. Beaches and parks were closed. Shops were closed. I remember walking around the streets feeling as if I were the only living creature on earth. The disease had a chain effect. It seemed it would SARS turned my hometown upside down never end. I didn t realized how much fear this virus was rooting in people s hearts until I went to the supermarket. I will never forget the image: people were queued all the way to the back of the store with loads of groceries. A mere rumor had beguiled them all, a rumor that Hong Kong would be quarantined. The disease was spreading so rapidly that I started thinking that one day it would come to my house. The more people died, the more I thought I was going to catch it and die too. Every day the headlines announced how many were infected and had died. Our fear existed, but remained silent. It was like a volcano ready to explode. Hospitals became the mouth of a tiger. Anyone who had symptoms wouldn t dare go there. When a person told hospital officials he had a fever, he was forced into a room filled with other infected people. No one could visit them. Then not just patients but doctors and nurses were dying too. One of my aunt s coworkers, who was a nurse, died from SARS. My mum thought it appropriate for us to go to the hospital to honor her. To tell the truth, I didn t want to go. Who would want to go near a hospital at that time? But when I got there, I almost cried. There were hundreds thousands of flowers in the main hall. Everything was white, plain, silent, and lifeless except for the sea of flowers. To know that there were so many people who cared, especially in a diseased city, warmed my heart. Even wearing a mask, I could still smell the freshness of the flowers. SARS turned my hometown upside down and inside out; no one in Hong Kong will forget that time. I was surrounded by fear and could not help but be afraid myself. Waiting was torture, but it finally came to an end, like a rainbow after a storm. It may seem foolish to risk your life to honor a dead person, but thinking about it now, we risked so little compared with how my aunt s friend risked her life to save others. I learned through danger that we find courage and love. On the other hand, I witnessed that fear and anxiety can make people lose their logic and after that comes selfishness. There are always those who share, and those who take. I do not see SARS as a black hole in my life, but rather a lesson. As Helen Keller said, Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood. We are learning, every day, carrying the motivation of hope. I have learned a lesson. Grandma s Soup by Kathy Chu, Mason, OH From behind a creaky kitchen door, I watched tiny hands work steadily, despite slight tremors from time to time. I watched the nimble fingers knead dough for many minutes, never tiring or succumbing to the pain of this repetition. The quick and skillful hands took strange, bizarre vegetables and meats and created what seemed to be culinary messes. Exotic and odd in color, texture, and shape, the ingredients were combined with painstaking care and appeared, from my spot just beyond the door, as if they were smushed sloppily together by a three-year-old. One day, standing in front of the ancient stove, with her back to me, she mumbled, Ni yao si yi dian mah? Her voice wavered slightly, awaiting my reply. As she turned, her body hunched with age, my eyes focused on the slimy gray vegetable soup in the bamboo cooking utensil she held out to me. Bu yao. Xie xie, I responded, sighing with relief that, along with asking where the nearest restroom was, I knew how to refuse an offer. That vegetable soup showed up at dinner that night, giving off a spicy aroma. After the fragile porcelain rice bowls had been passed out, everyone My eyes focused on the slimy gray vegetables settled down to eat. Grandpa, with his bald forehead and eyes that seemed so small behind outdated square glasses, stood up and looked around the table at Mom, Dad, and Grandma. After saying a few words, which he knew I could not understand, he smiled to help me interpret his meaning. Grandma, a timid woman of few words, started serving that dish that I had eyed suspiciously a few hours earlier. My mom and dad happily accepted it, and then she stopped at me. Mom, what do I do? I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair, feeling the awkwardness of the moment settling in the pit of my stomach. My mom had no reply. Grandma held out the serving spoon and smiled. Surprised by her small gesture of intimacy, I stared at her face, framed with jet black hair like mine (despite her age), and a slightly upturned nose with a strong bridge, much like the one my dad would poke fun at during my childhood. Her earnest eyes stared into my own as I slowly nodded my head. Xie xie, I uttered. She broke into a grin, which I needed no help interpreting, and I tried the dish she had lovingly and painstakingly prepared. Grandma s soup tasted oddly familiar. 08 An American in Belgium by Shelby Bodenstab, Marcinelle, Belgium There s nothing worse than waking up in a freezing house. I was warm and cozy in my bed today, bundled up and buried in my pillows, but it was cold beyond my bed. When I finally convinced myself to get up, I tucked the purple afghan around me and looked out the window only to see the hovering fog. The weather in Belgium is not unlike the British countryside or northern California: cold, gray, and rainy. But it s so unbelievably breathtaking that I can t imagine being anywhere else. It s raining now too. The steady drizzle lazily drips from the sky as if it s not quite sure it wants to fall. My host father has turned the radiator on, and my host mum has just handed me a mug of steamy hot chocolate. In Belgium, it is a common belief that chocolate makes everything better. After being here for a month, I m beginning to agree. The unfamiliar sounds of Arabic are drifting from the television. My host father is Tunisian and enjoys watching television in his first language. I can say exactly three words in Arabic, and when I murmured a soft Insha Allah one night during dinner, he beamed at me Teen Ink JANUARY 09 You are the secret weapon to world peace and offered some French words of praise I didn t understand. At least, not yet. My host mother is Spanish, and for the first few days, Spanish was my only means of communicating. Needless to say, I was thanking God for my high school Spanish teacher. Even now, when I don t know how to say a word in French, I ask my host mum, Como se dice esto en francés ( How do you say this in French? ) There is something about learning one foreign language while using another that is exhilarating. Belgium seems to be a very diverse place. Not only am I exposed to French, Spanish, and Arabic daily, but my godparents are Italian. A few students at my school and I are taking Italian classes. For native English speakers, Italian is a hard language to grasp because it is chockfull of intonations and insane rules, but I am beginning to understand. Something about gray, dreary days makes you reflect on life. I am remembering the last rainy day I had in Belgium. I walked down a cobblestone street under an umbrella with a friend. We had just finished a day of shopping and were bundled in coats and scarves, with cappuccinos warming our hands. We reached the train station and parted with a kiss on the cheek, saying, A tout alors. Something I have learned about languages and cultures is that you absolutely cannot be shy. It doesn t matter if you aren t sure of your grammar; ask the question or make the comment anyway. People appreciate it when you make an attempt to speak their language and they are happy to correct you when you make mistakes. I ve been here for a month, learning languages, living a different sort of life, and loving well, everything. I ve made friends, become part of a family, and have become integrated into a culture so different from my own. I may not understand everything or be able to speak French as well as I would like, but I question and I observe and I have a desire to understand. The program director told us before we left, You are the secret weapon to world peace. I didn t understand that then, but now I am beginning to. And I can t help but wonder, if the whole world tried to understand each other, tried to learn each others languages and cultures then maybe the world would know peace. COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

9 Maria by Samantha Lawson, Mason, OH The air is stale and cold, the surrounding conversations hushed and anxious. Automatic doors scrape open and another family joins our crowd by the gate. Children sit playing cards while foreign languages blur together. Travelers trudge through nearby gates, dragging overstuffed luggage and heavy-eyed children. I pull a sweatshirt over my head, covering the white words stamped across my chest, American Belarusian Relief Organization. My thin, cerulean T-shirt matches those of the 10 restless families around me. The azure ocean swells as we all turn they re finally here. The weeks of planning are not enough to prepare me for the drum thumping inside my chest. Anxiety stiffens the dry air as the Chernobyl children follow the translator across the white tiled hallway. Glowing smiles, kind - hearted embraces and tears of joy are exchanged sloppily as the veteran children scamper into the arms of their second families. I scan the crowd for Maria. I don t know what to think. Her emotionless blue eyes look icily ahead. Fair, Eastern European cheekbones are framed by tight spirals of gold, and her lips are pursed firmly and fearlessly. Her thin figure is flaunted by low-rise jeans, a cream-colored belly shirt, and an undersized denim jacket with a faux fur collar. Shades of cobalt and violet perfectly accent her eyes surprisingly not overdone. A wave of insecurity slams me from all directions: my messy ponytail, worn sweatshirt, dirty running shoes. Reluctantly, I plod to her side and touch her shoulder. The Sparkle in a Nation by Michelle Boianjiu, Brooklyn, NY Iwas ten and the summer was drawing closer. My friends and I crowded around the wooden tables in our fifth-grade class. It was time to share where we were embarking for summer vacation. While most said Florida and one said Italy, I murmured Israel. My friends turned with questioning faces and raised eyebrows. My grandma lives there. I m going to visit her. For several years Israel was under a lot of pressure fighting Palestine in order to be an independent nation. A breathtaking country was hidden under this shadow of bombs and terrorism. Because of this, my friends misunderstood my trip and wondered why I was going. There are bombs everywhere, they said. I tried to convince them otherwise by telling them I had been there before, and that bomb explosions were only what CNN portrayed. Now, I couldn t care less what they thought. I didn t need to prove anything. I didn t need to provide evidence that the Dead Sea is one of the most beautiful and historic places you could ever stumble upon. If you think New York s falafel is great, you haven t eaten all the kinds Israel offers. The smell of the salad coated with white sauce and hummus, and the falafel bundled up in pita bread make me smile. They don t know that although Lebanon and Israel have been through a holy mess, at the border, Rosh Hanikra takes you to alluring views from grottoes where you can see the phenomenal blues of the Mediterranean. We obviously have nothing in common They wondered why I was going Maria? I ask hesitantly. She vacantly glances at me no response. She speaks no English. Frustrated, I snatch her hand and lead her through the seemingly endless blue. We obviously have nothing in common it will be a long six weeks. * * * The smell of acetone fills my nose, rays of morning sun dance on the carpet. I sit cross-legged on the floor legs cramping and feet tingling. Maria slicks scarlet onto my fingers, adorning the red with snow-white starbursts and sparkling rhinestones. The shimmering stars are too extravagant for my taste, but I smile and nod as she searches my face for approval. I shift to reposition my body, accidentally knocking over the bottle of nail polish remover. Maria yelps and we both clumsily clamber to sop up the puddle. The beige disappears from the carpet; Maria looks up at me, her brilliant eyes wide in shock. I quickly snatch a stuffed animal and place it on top of the bleached spot. I ll mention it to my mom when she s in a really good mood. Yes, Sam, Maria giggles in her thick, resonant accent. Is good. Is good. Ah, yes! I exclaim exaggeratedly. I laugh, shake my head and say, Is very good! Very, very good! We howl hysterically as we reposition stuffed cats and monkeys around the blemish. Maria and I did not exchange many words that summer, but we did trade mailing addresses, cheap jewelry, and stories in broken tongues. We didn t I ve experienced these sights five times. It never gets old. Every time I visit I stay in the city of Akko. I go to the beach every day and sunbathe and play on my boogie board in the Hayam Hatikhon (Mediterranean) alongside my brother, waiting for big waves to force us onto the shore s sandbar. My dad comes to pick us up and treat us to some falafel. We can t tell Grandma because she d yell that we will spoil our appetite and not eat what she prepared. One day, my father took us to a water park near the Jordan River. Even after the enthusiasm of the big water slides, we didn t tire of the lakes and natural water next to the park. We drove to see the Jordan River that runs through Israel from Jordan. There, we listened to my dad s stories about the kibbutzim (working communities) and experienced the fresh-cooked fish from the river brought to the prominent restaurant Ein Gev, on the resort of the kibbutz. These were all part of my last and most memorable trip to the country that is celebrating 60 years of independence. On the way to the airport, my brother and I rested in the back, enjoying our last views of Israel. Along the horizon, the sun was setting and I began to tear up; I was wishing I d see the sun shining like that again. Soon, night fell and so did the stars but it was still just as striking because of the soft breeze. Then, with a sad good-bye, we took the next flight back to New York. Photo by Megan Crants, Nashville, TN VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW share a culture, a language, or even the same taste in music, but there were colorful beach umbrellas, useless pop culture magazines, and sweet watermelons. Early morning runs, terrible sunburns, and the stained carpet united our spirits. We shared summertime, a family, and six weeks of our lives. Photo by Hilary Lynch, Rogers City, MI Landing We always dreamed of flying Being high above all that is human and tangible Being in a perilous balance between reality and what lies beyond We d watch the birds flutter and sway above our heads And land, our breath tight in our throats For the moment the tiny clawed feet would meet Solid earth. Now the men with their briefcases and ties Bluetooth clinging to their ears, Creating a mock-insanity as they talk to an unseen companion And the families of endless colorful restraints and complaints Wait, belabored by this ambiguous word stress As the neutral navy pleather clings to the skin In the waiting area. We walk through the tapeworm tunnel Into the cavity that will hold us captive For the next God-knows-how-many hours. We find our seat 37C And safely stow our luggage in the overhead compartment, Settling down with the uncomfortable static pillows, longing For in-flight entertainment. We don t even bother looking out the window; The large man in flannel sitting in 37B seems to block Any chance of a view And the fake-baked woman with long fingernails Pulls down the shutter to salvage Whatever beauty rest she seems to think She needs. Later we land, Crying children muted by the pressure in our ears, And maybe throw a glance out the window Impassively As we wait for the clunk of wheels on tarmac And think of what dinner may be waiting for us at our Final destination. Unimpressive, this idea of travel, Of flying above trees, houses, clouds, Even the birds we so longed to emulate, And we walk out of the air-conditioned, sterilized lobby Past the smokers and roadside baggage workers, Only to stop in our tracks, Look down, And smile oddly As we marvel at the optimistic dandelion Emerging from the sidewalk On its own timetable And we wonder how it did it. by Nora Tjossem, Grinnell, IA JANUARY 09 Teen Ink Travel&Culture 09

10 educator of year the Jeffrey Getz SPANISH JIM THORPE HIGH by Christian Ferko, Jim Thorpe, PA When I entered Spanish class on the first day of school, I was already sweating. I was a sophomore in a class of juniors, and I stuck out like a sore thumb. I had taught myself the Spanish 2 curriculum over the summer so that I could take this Spanish 3 class. Doubt leapt into my mind: had I learned enough? Would I succeed in this class? Could I measure up to students who had been studying Spanish for a year longer than I had? The teacher, Mr. Jeffrey Señor Getz, announced that we would take a brief pretest. He passed out papers and asked us to translate ten sentences. I scribbled my translations nervously. Then he asked students to read their answers aloud. My classmates read their sentences, and mine matched theirs. When he asked for the final translation, one student raised his hand and recited a sentence. Unlike the others, this answer did not match mine. Mr. Getz said it was wrong. Another student raised her hand and read her translation, still different from mine. That too was rejected. Timidly, I raised my hand. Mr. Getz called on me and I stuttered through my sentence. He smiled and said, Correct! Remember that lavarse is reflexive boogie woogie woogie. The class erupted in laughter, and I couldn t help but join them. He is by far the funniest teacher I have ever known From that moment, I never again felt nervous in Spanish class. Señor Getz s sense of humor puts everyone at ease. He is by far the funniest teacher I have ever known. Despite this, he manages to stay on task in class and communicates even the most complex ideas with ease. Mr. Getz can take a concept as dry as reflexive verbs and make it memorable simply by saying boogie woogie woogie every time one is mentioned. Everyone likes Señor; I have never heard anyone voice a single complaint about him. As the year progressed, Mr. Getz helped me personally as well. He recommended that I enroll in an online high school to enrich my education. I have since taken his advice, and this online class has opened my eyes to a new world of education. When I approached Mr. Getz to show him the Spanish 2 work that I had completed over the summer, he didn t even look at it. When I asked him when I could take the Spanish 2 final, he simply laughed. I trust you, Ferko, he said. Señor Getz s carefree disposition and devotion to students truly make him an excellent teacher. Under his tutelage, my knowledge of Spanish has grown more than I thought possible, and many other students feel the same way. What s more, he has made every lesson enjoyable. I have no doubt that Jeffrey Getz was meant to be a teacher. Anjum Ahmed ENGLISH AIR FORCE SCHOOL by Harsha Mishra, Bareilly, India Iwant to begin the essay with a famous quote from Hindu mythology: Guru Brahma, Guru Vishnu, Guru Devo Maheshwaray, Guru Sakshath Parambrahma, Tasmai Shri Gurave Namaha. This means that in India a teacher is treated like Lord Brahma, Lord Vishnu, and Lord Maheshwaray. In other words, the highest respect is always given to the teacher; a teacher is considered a god in a human body. I pay the same respect to my high school English teacher, Mrs. Ahmed, for all she does for us. She is not only a teacher and vice principal but also a counselor, a friend. Her friendly nature has made her the favorite among all her students. Her office is open to all, students as well as teachers. Actually, her office is not an office but a place where we can get rid of all our tensions, a place where we know our problems will be solved. I clearly remember the day when she read us the We must learn to always listen to our hearts poem Mirror by Sylvia Plath, and I started comparing her qualities with the mirror itself. She is just like a clean mirror: impartial, unbiased, truthful about her experiences and honest in her teaching. I ll never forget when she taught us Ode to the West Wind by Shelley and The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost and explained that we must learn to always listen to our hearts. Mrs. Ahmed is very devoted to her work. She does a lot for her students and our school. I will never forget her days of tension when one of our teachers left us in the middle of a term. But she arranged for a replacement as soon as possible. She considers her students problems her own and solves them with full dedication. I remember a class when she read Chicken Soup for the Teen Soul to us and became emotional over a story about the death of a teen student. She had had a similar experience as a teacher, and the whole class could see the tears in her eyes, yet she kept reading, hiding her emotions. It s true that she scolds us many times but it is also true that she loves us as her own children. I am proud that I had an English teacher like her. She made me capable of writing poems and essays and submitting them to a renowned magazine. She has helped to improve the English of all my classmates, and me. She made English a subject we enjoy studying. I am glad I have the chance to salute this teacher who changed my and my classmates lives forever by teaching us lessons that we will remember all our lives. Unedited Version You asked for it, and you got it. TeenInk.com is now interactive! To celebrate our 20th anniversary, Teen Ink has launched Teen Ink RAW, a site with totally unedited, unfiltered teen-generated poetry, fiction, articles, reviews and artwork. Submissions are published here first with no editor s touch, and delivered to you raw. Anyone can now: Rate stories Give feedback to authors Comment on any article Get your favorite stories on the Most Popular List Post author biographies Blog on topics that are important to you Each month popular RAW stories will be published in the magazine as Teen Ink RAW Reader s Choice. Submit now and maybe your piece will be the next online sensation! 10 Teen Ink JANUARY 09 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

11 Gunnery Sgt. Robert Lemke NAVAL SCIENCE DELAWARE MILITARY ACADEMY by Brittany Hanks, Wilmington, DE Gunnery Sgt. Lemke, or Gunny, as we came to know him, was inspiring from the moment I met him. For me, there is no other choice for Educator of the Year. I promise that once you read this essay you will wish you were in his class too. Gunnery Sgt. Lemke. That s what my orientation teacher s nameplate read. I had no idea what a gunnery sergeant was, what one did, or what one would be like. And on top of that I was really confused about why this gunnery sergeant had a bunch of hand-drawn I Heart Gunny posters all around the room. Who is Gunny? Is this his room too? All of these questions were answered when a tall man in a Marine uniform walked in and shouted, No one calls attention on deck? Immediately the boy nearest the door stood up and called out the three words I d learn must be shouted as soon as an officer or teacher enters a room. Attention on deck! means the students must stand at attention until the instructor says Seats. Gunny left us standing for a bit, as he does whenever this rule is ignored. After what seemed like forever he said Seats. We never forgot again. By the end of the first day, he was all I wanted in a teacher. After the first week, I knew I was meant to be a Marine, and I haven t changed my mind. These are examples of how Gunny leaves an impression. At Delaware Military Academy there are only 500 He convinces you to exceed your limits cadets, so it s easy to get to know the teachers. When you are struggling with anything, there is usually a teacher you can go to if you need advice or a question answered. That teacher, for me, is my Naval Science instructor, Gunny. One instance when Gunny really made a situation work for me was when I realized I needed to play a sport to get into Annapolis. I wanted to play soccer; I had signed up, paid, and everything, but I needed to quit drill team. The problem was, I was the commander for the Freshman Color Guard, and I couldn t drop out before a competition. I had a real dilemma. I decided to forgo soccer. I went to Gunny, who is the drill team instructor, and asked how I could do both. He looked at me and asked, You want to do soccer? I nodded, Yes, sir. He looked up, Well, Hanks, we can make this work for next soccer season, okay? I couldn t believe it. He cared enough to make the sacrifice of giving me up for one or two practices so that I could do soccer sophomore year. I had never had a teacher who was so willing to assist me when I was confused. This wasn t the first time I saw Gunny s devotion to his cadets. Gunny s best qualities, in my opinion, are his motivation skills. I don t know how he does it, but he always knows when you are about to give up. I think he has failure-radar. He swoops in and tells cadets they can do more; he convinces you to exceed your limits. Educator of the Year Contest Do you know an outstanding teacher, guidance counselor, coach, librarian, or principal? Nominate your favorite junior and senior high school educators: Online: Mail to: Educator of the Year Box 30 Newton, MA to: Educator@TeenInk.com Deadline: May 1 Be sure to include your teacher s first and last name. When I do push-ups, I can do 10 more if Gunny is yelling, Hanks, I know you are not going to stop at 15! And I never do. You can tell he really cares if you fail, and he will make sure you never repeat the mistake. But on the opposite side, he really enjoys seeing cadets succeed, and when you do, he will point it out. Gunny never stops motivating. Gunny shows consummate people skills, devotion, and motivation. He surpasses all of my requirements for Educator of the Year. He is an inspiring teacher. To sum him up in one word, he s outstanding. educator of year the Draw with Ink Used by Manga & Comic Artists Pigma Sensei the ideal drawing set for art students to professionals. Start with Quality Pigma Ink: Rich black Professional Grade Archival Trusted by Manga and Comic Artists for 25+ years. Draw Whenever Creativity Sparks Easy-to-take-along set features pencil, eraser and Four Pigma ink pens in tip sizes from fine to bold. Manga Artists Share Drawing Tips Sakura of America Creating quality tools to give you the Power to Express Pigma Sensei is Available Nationwide Find stores at VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW JANUARY 09 Teen Ink 11

12 artgallery Photo by Emma Hoffman, Exeter, NH Photo by Olivia Dafonte, Sharon, MA Art by Amy Runyon, Yardville, NJ Photo by Meena Khayami, Groton, MA Art by Tonya Gamova, Donetsk, Ukraine Chair painted by Emma Johnson, Park City, UT Art by Cindy Chang, Saratoga, CA Photo by Kate McGowan, Brisbane, Australia To see more work by this artist, text 6artist to Standard rates apply 12 Photo by Brian McGuffog, Fishers, IN Teen Ink JANUARY 09 Draw Paint Photograph Create! Then send it to us all year see page 3 for details Photo by Lindsey Wasson, Woodinville, WA

13 The Green Invasion by Green fashions, green brands, green makeup, green lifestyles. Green is the new pink in the world today. Going green has taken our ailing planet by storm, changing the everyday lives of its citizens. An immeasurable amount of the population is converting their regular routine as part of the green movement. Stores and companies are starting to produce greener, more natural merchandise. These changes are only baby steps in the process of saving our planet from ourselves. Global warming is one of the biggest dilemmas in our world at the moment, but has going green become more than just a concern? Has going green become a trend among corporations, therefore a fashion for consumers? Not long ago, U.S. corporations were ignoring the idea of environmentally conscious products and processes. As the green phenomenon came into the picture, however, companies have done a 180 with their sales tactics. According to Sandra Jones of the Chicago Tri - bune, Apple Inc. launched A Greener Apple campaign and pledged to remove toxic chemicals from its new computer products. Home Depot Inc. unveiled an Eco-Options stamp for more than 2,500 environmentally friendly products in its stores. And Kohl s Corp. said it plans to convert most of its California stores to solar power. These changes, along with being good for our environment, are intended to step up sales. Consumers like to see companies make an effort to help the environment, and by buying those products they feel as if they have contributed to the cause as well. Although everything seems to be changing its color to green, there is not likely to be another hippie era. This conversion to environmentalism is more gradual and technology-based. Many people really care, even to the extreme, but not everyone cares quite as much as they pretend to. Teenage girls may buy a shirt that says Hug a Tree. Do they want to broadcast its message or did they just like the cute squirrel on it? A mother may go to the grocery store and instead of picking the packaged produce, opt for the organic greens. Does she know the health benefits or did she choose them because she saw another mom put them in her cart? Some consumers care. Others just follow the leader. Kicking off the green movement are Hollywood s finest. Well, the ones who can afford it. Although many people are jumping on the hybrid-powered bandwagon, when celebrities step up and state firmly in front of thousands of people that they are going green, I must admit that doubt lingers in the back of my mind. Do they really care or is it for publicity? Should we care more about them going green than another person? Thomas Kostigen, co-author of The Green Book, shared his opinion in an interview with TheDailyGreen.com: If you look at the two most searched words on Yahoo last year, it was Britney Spears. You can understand how the power of celebrities can bring attention to a cause. What Kostigen says is true, but it only backs the theory that going green has become a trend. Cele - brities help put a face to the cause, which can be wonderful, but for some celebrities it s just another endorsement that makes them more popular. The thought of Hollywood going green used to be laughable. Not anymore. Bryan Walsh, a journalist for Time magazine, jests, Think Hollywood and sustainability may not be the first word to cross your mind. The entertainment industry has been the embodiment of American over-consumption. Walsh s summary of the Hollywood lifestyle goes from superficial to supergreen. Recycling? That was for plot lines, he scoffs. This is a new Hollywood where solar panels and Priuses are the new must-have toys. There is something mildly hypocritical about celebrities telling regular people to sacrifice for the cause of going green. Few stars seem to be giving up their multimillion-dollar mansions or $10,000 outfits. It s great that Hollywood s finest can convert everything in their primped lives to green with the swipe of a Mastercard, but what about the other 95 percent of the population? As Lisa Takeuchi Cullen points out in her Time magazine article, It s Inconvenient Being Green, the typical American household emits 7.5 tons of carbon dioxide each year. As a mother, she knows just how hard it is to cut back on everything. It s easier to drive to A New Trail by My feet are not my most glamorous feature. Pale and bony, long and thin, they spread out from under me as inelegant expressions of bipedal banality. Yet it is to these humble appendages that I owe a debt of gratitude, for they led me up and down the snaking paths of the Wasatch Mountains. For five years I lived in Salt Lake City, where the Rockies spilled to my doorstep. Any summer day would find me on the trail, my feet crashing through all things messy, wild, and wonderful. There I found my wholeness, the unrestrained exhilaration that comes only when mud spots dot my arms and creek water soaks my socks. The summer before ninth grade, however, whisked me to the suburbs of St. Louis, where my cottonwoods became street signs Sarah McGinn, Fremont, MI Has going green become a fashion for consumers? VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW the grocery store than to plant my own garden. Cullen makes one of the best points for most Americans. It s easier not to follow the crowd in the green movement. It s easier, not better. Making it easier for average consumers to go green are the brands that have gone green themselves. But as Sally Deneen argues in her article Greenwashing, not all companies are true to their green pledge. Greenwashing is environmental whitewashing, says Deneen. Watchdog organization CorpWatch defines it as the phenomenon of socially and environmentally destructive corporations attempting to preserve and expand their markets by posing as friends of the environment and leaders in the struggle to eradicate poverty. Greenwashing is occurring more and more as the trend of going green grows, which makes it hard to tell which products are environmentally friendly. Labels on products don t tell consumers much. Among some reported greenwashing companies are Aveeno, Target, and Ford. The Aveeno skin care line has based its products around the science of active naturals. But critics say Aveeno products also contain non-natural ingredients. Target has been accused of selling toys and other products that contain polyvinyl chloride, a type of plastic that has raised health concerns. Ford announced that all corporate brand advertisements would have an environmental theme; meanwhile, the com - pany produced the gas-guzzling Ford Excursion. Bottom line is that some companies couldn t care less about being green. They re in it for the profits. Another group that is starting to go green is the hospitality industry. Hotels that serve organic meals or use solar power are the hottest places to stay. I am the suburban hiker Jocelyn Streid, St. Louis, MO and my waterfalls, drainage pipes. Yet my feet would not forget the mountains, and the repressed hiker in me would soon find solace. I began to walk everywhere. To the coffee shop, to the art festival, to the bookstore, to nowhere in particular. I defy passing drivers packaged in air-conditioned perfection and neighborhood planners who see no need for sidewalks. This is my quiet rebellion against those who smother soil with asphalt and trap trees amidst seas of concrete. This is my resistance, my resilience; one foot in front of the other, I find the native rhythm that once accompanied me up the side of a mountain. Who am I? I am a nature-seeker, a wilderness-lover, a nonconformist nature freak. I am the suburban hiker, and my feet love me for it. Just because a hotel is luxurious doesn t mean it has to compromise the environment, says Newsweek columnist Jaime Cunningham. Some top-notch resorts are experimenting with innovative ecological programs that aim to keep the planet s and their own best interests at heart. Yet the organic programs at these hotels never take away from their luxury. Going green doesn t mean giving up the gold, Cunningham says, and she s absolutely right. Al Gore is the head-honcho who helped spur the green movement. This former vice president s best-seller, Earth in the Balance, and his Oscarwinning documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, set off sparks across the globe. The insights in Gore s book and documentary scared people into listening to the silent plea of Planet Earth. Gore emphasizes, We are invading ourselves and attacking the ecological system of which we are a part. As a result, we now face the prospect of a kind of global civil war between those who refuse to consider the consequences of civilization s relentless advance and those who refuse to be silent partners in the destruction. Reading those words, wheels started clicking into place in the minds of millions who want to ensure that Gore s predictions will never become reality. Green the word is everywhere. Trend or not, it still makes a difference. The girl in the Hug a Tree shirt has contributed to a cause that may save a tree she would never consider actually hugging. The mom cooking with organic veggies instead of pro - cessed goods made that night s dinner healthier for her family and the environment. Going green may be a trend, but that doesn t mean it s not helping. This trend will hopefully become a dedicated movement to help save our home, Planet Earth. Photo by Adria Olson, Edgewood, WA JANUARY 09 Teen Ink environment 13

14 FOCUS HEALTH YOU & YOUR FOCUS Lessons from Grandma by Mallory Nielsen, Middletown, CT Her heart beats, her lungs breathe, and blood runs through her veins, but her mind and memories are long gone. She has Alzheimer s. Yet this fragile shell of a woman has impacted me more than anyone else. During the last decade I have grown to resent my grandmother s illness. My mother has turned into an overbearing ball of stress, and her constant nagging and yelling have severed any relationship between us. Because of her illness, my grandmother has accused innocent people of stealing personal belongings, turned off my grandfather s oxygen tank, and belittled the Catholic Church by leaving her collection envelopes empty. In spite of her poor behavior, my grandmother and her disease have taught me many important things. Foremost, my grandmother s Alzheimer s has taught me to be patient. In the earlier stages of her mental atrophy, she frequently called our house. A typical conversation went like this: Hello? she would say. Hi, Grandma how are you? I would answer. Fine Is your mother home? The answer was always No even if she was. Then, Okay, just checking to see how my girls are doing Bye. Talk to you later, Grandma. Bye. Five minutes later, the phone would ring again, and the conversation would be repeated. After the tenth call, it became much harder for me to be sympathetic and I d shut the ringer off. As her disease progressed, the calls increased to 25 a day. At some point I realized how selfish I was being by not answering my grandmother s calls simply because I felt the repetitive conversation was a waste of my time. What if I missed an emergency call? From then on I picked up the phone so Grandma would have someone to talk to, even if she couldn t remember whom she had called. My grandmother also taught me about shame. I have always been apprehensive about having people meet my fam - ily; however, I had never hidden them from friends until my grandmother s disease. It hurts to admit it, but when I started dating my current boyfriend I was never more ashamed to introduce anyone to my grandmother. Inevitably, everything I hoped she wouldn t say or do around my boyfriend she did. Seven times, she told the story of how her parrot sings Blue Moon, and five times she said, Hi. How are you? Who are you? Then when we sat down to eat, my poor grandmother, who had forgotten to eat breakfast, stuffed her face in a very crude manner. My cheeks burned the entire visit. This was not the grandmother I wanted my boyfriend to know This was not the grandmother I wanted my boyfriend to know. I wanted him to meet the woman who told jokes, who got overly excited when she won five dollars on a lottery ticket, and who baked the best Sicilian pizza in Middletown. But I knew that the woman I had been so proud to call my grandmother was now just a memory. I was too ashamed to even call her Grandma. I knew he understood that her disease caused her odd behavior, but I still felt the need to apologize and make excuses for her actions. Although he reassured me that I had no reason to be embarrassed, I went to bed that night with my cheeks still flaming. The next morning I woke feeling guilty. This time I was not ashamed of my grandmother but myself. I couldn t believe that I had let myself hate the woman who had practically raised me, because she had a disease she couldn t control. I realized that I should never feel the need to explain my grandmother s behavior to anyone. She is my grandmother. My love for her is undeterred by anyone s opinions. I cannot thank my grandmother enough for helping me grow into the patient, appreciative, and understanding woman I am today. As a result of my experience with my grandma s Alzheimer s, I have made it my goal to give back to those suffering with the illness, whether through research for a cure or providing support for families coping with the disease. Her influence on my life has given me the moral strength necessary to reach my goal. My grandma has given me the patience to work until I achieve my dreams and a strong appreciation for myself, my family, and all that I have earned. Most important, my grandmother has given me a greater understanding of what it means to fully live each day without regrets. Art by Janessa Bell, Kannapolis, NC 14 Yes, I Can Take It Out by Madison Sandlin, Jacksonville, FL When I was three, my dad was giving me a bath one day when he noticed that my eye was cloudy. He called my mom but she couldn t see anything wrong. My dad covered my left eye and asked how many fingers he was holding up. I couldn t see a thing and guessed wrong. My doctor examined me and sent me to an ophthalmologist, who did an ultrasound and a CAT scan. The doctors agreed that it was cancer of the retina Teen Ink JANUARY 09 Photo by Michelle Kiss, Vancouver, WA (retinoblastoma), and they recommended removing my eye. At first, my parents were skeptical, but the doctors pointed out that if we decided to remove the eye, there would be no need for chemotherapy or radiation. My parents agreed that this was the best thing. Four days later, we went to the hospital for my surgery. According to my parents, I was in the operating room for four hours and stayed in the hospital for one night. I had an IV for the pain medication, and I also had a big bandage over my right eye socket. Before going home, the doctor took my bandage off and put on a smaller one. My eyelid was swollen shut. Being an energetic kid, three days later I was already outside riding my tricycle. My eye was sent to a clinic for analysis. The result was that I didn t need chemotherapy or radiation, because the cancer was only in my eyeball. Two months later, I got my prosthetic (which means fake in doctor language) eye. My ocularist, or guy who makes fake eyes, is a true artist because he had to paint the prosthetic perfectly to match my other eye. I sat for hours while he examined my eye and painted it. To make it, he poured a hot, gel-like substance into my empty eye socket. I had to lie perfectly still for ten minutes waiting for it to harden. Then he shaped it, which took several fittings. I wore it unpainted for a month to make sure it I am lucky to have a fake eye was going to fit. Then he applied the finishing coat. I had that prosthetic eye for seven and a half years but by then I had grown so much that it was practically falling out. Yes, your eyeballs grow with the rest of your body. The years that followed my surgery were filled with doctor appointments. I had to go to the ophthalmologist every three months to make sure that the other eye was doing fine and cancer-free. When I was eight, my doctor told me that I was his best patient. We appeared together on the local news to talk about retinoblastoma and how I recovered from my surgery. It was really fun and a very good experience. Since I only have one working eye, I wear glasses even though I have vision in my good eye. The lenses are extra thick so if something comes flying at my face, I won t become blind. Most people are aware of my prosthetic. It still shocks me though when someone I have known for a long time figures out what happened to me really late. Usually the first question they ask is, Can you take it out? My response is always yes. The next thing they say is, Oh my gosh! Take it out please! It is hard for me to refuse, but I won t if we are in a public place. When people say that they feel sorry for me, I think, They don t know I am lucky to have a fake eye. So what if I can t see. At least I m not dead. COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

15 Sick of Being Sick by Michael Moser, Flower Mound, TX Iwoke up this morning like you, took a shower, and brushed my teeth while planning my homework. I got a phone call around noon and spent an hour of joy telling my girlfriend how much I love her. I ate a bowl of ramen, started my homework, and took my pills. Three, actually, to combat the side effects of the shot I injected myself with last night. Why, you ask, did I do that? Simple: I am a teenager living with multiple sclerosis, or MS, and I take my shots knowing that if I don t, my body s defenses will destroy me. Multiple sclerosis is an autoimmune disease in which the immune system attacks the nerves and restricts the signals from flowing in the brain, if it allows them to transmit at all. It attacks seemingly randomly, from one area to the next, anything from sensory perception to control over legs and arms. Though the disease took away control of half my face and reduced control over half my body, I consider myself lucky. It could have targeted my respiratory or circulatory systems. Ironically, MS is most common in older people. Though rarely fatal, MS can steal your life away in a coma, or drag you into a vegetative state. Breathing through tubes, living only thanks to machines. Living, but not living. A fate worse than death. A fate only staved off by the injections I administer every week, which serve to slow the disease though not cure it. Did I mention I hate needles? When I heard my diagnosis, to put it simply, I was crushed by my sickness. Crushed by the idea of such Hypochondriac by Tim, Auburn, NY Ihave a sickness called hypochondria. Well, truthfully, I don t consider it an illness. I just consider it a burden. When you have hypochondria, life doesn t seem real. It feels like you re watching a copy of yourself, who s watching a copy of a copy. Hypochondria, or the scientific term hypochondriasis, is a disorder where someone thinks he has every aliment known to man. Some hypochondriacs think they have the big time diseases like AIDS or cancer. But I think I have everything food allergies, cancer, brain tumors, kidney disease, Lyme disease, kidney stones, cataracts, bipolar disorder, the flu, dyslexia, strep throat, appendicitis. Everything. When I think I have food allergies, I refuse to eat certain things even if I ve eaten them before. I stay up all night worrying, not sleeping. Right now I haven t slept in three days. I rarely eat anything but bread, water, and yogurt. I check the labels on everything from candy bars to cereal looking for things I might be allergic to. Believe me, it s not fun. As a hypochondriac, simple afflictions of daily life, like stomach pain or tenderness, can make me worry about appendicitis. When my breathing is messed up, I think my throat is closing. If my stomach makes noises, I Teen Ink RAW Reader s Choice There is more to life than fear an uncontrollable disease looming over me, able to strike at any time without mercy or pity. Crushed by the thought of my bright future now dimmed prematurely. Crushed by the terror of my own body turning against me, and me not being able to do anything to stop it. I couldn t help myself or stop this disease from taking over. I was paralyzed by my fate. But people may pass me today and think nothing except Why is that guy wearing all black in the Texas summer? I don t look sickly, and people balk when I tell them I have MS. The same disease is there, still incurable and malicious, but now I am a brighter, happier individual, boldly looking to the future and living the high life. What happened? It s simple. I was sick of being sick. For years I knew I could not change my fate, yet I dwelt on it. I still do, sometimes. It s human nature. But I realized there is more to life than fear. Worrying about things you can t control only wastes time. What kind of life would you rather live? One fraught with worry about impending doom only to see your fears realized after an eternity of dying. Or a life lived in the moment, reveling in the here and now, with eyes full front, appreciating the past and accepting that there is an end to every party. It s quite simple, really. Live in the moment. Don t worry about what you can t control. My own life is full of imminent dangers, potential horrors, and fates even worse than death, as is yours. Yet some things think I m going to throw up, even though I m simply digesting the bread I ate 15 minutes ago. Hypochondriasis is a type of somota form disorder, or mental illness. I have had 10 doctors because I never believe they are telling me the truth about my symptoms and what they mean. My mind won t let me listen to the doctor and understand that I am, in fact, healthy. Being only 15, I hope that I ll eventually break out of all this worry and start enjoying life. Many people say that hypochondria stems from depression or a mental ailment. But the truth is, I m not depressed and I have no mental ailment. I m a really happy kid, and I enjoy the things I do and the friends I have. I just worry too much. I know it s not right to blame someone for my disorder, but sometimes I do blame my father. He told me that he used to worry about having every physical illness known to man too. I found out later that hypochondria can be passed through genes. I believe I will overcome this disorder, but I will need help. If you are a hypochondriac too, don t worry. You aren t sick, and most likely you re pretty darn healthy. So get out there and be active and have fun. VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW will happen, regardless of how much thought we put into them. What s the point of using life to fear death? Enjoy the life given to you, while you have it, and know that when you die you have lived a life worth living, using every breath to do, not just to think. My happiness still prevails. I have loved and continue to love. I laugh. I smile. I walk with a spring in my step. I revel in my life, despite my affliction. I cherish the time given to me, knowing that it could be cut short at any moment. I live despite my disease; in fact, you could say I treasure my life all the more, knowing that time only comes once and is gone in a flash. I savor my life while I still can. To do any less, in my opinion, is to live by dying. Which sounds better to you? Up All Night Photo by Katie Gauthier, Richmond, VA by Allison, Dell Rapids, SD Here I am, motionless except for the occasional deep sigh. I m staring at the clock, watching the minutes tick by. My mom told me to count sheep. By now I have counted so many sheep that I never want to see another in my life. My brother told me to listen to my ipod. I ended up strangling myself with my headphones. My sister told me to count backward from 100. All that did was get me confused. So now I just sit here thinking. Thinking of how almost everyone else in town is asleep. It is 1:07 now. In five hours and 23 minutes I will be getting up and starting a new day. My mind wanders to almost any topic. From band competitions to what I am going to wear tomorrow. I was always told to shut my mind down when I try to sleep, but my fear is that it will never start back up again. 3:26. Three hours and four minutes left, and all I can think about is how well-rested I would be after three hours of sleep. Now I think about my dogs and my cat and how stupid they are, but then I realize I am the stupid one. Right now my dogs and my cat are all asleep, and they will wake up well-rested and ready for the day. Why can t I drift off for an hour or two? It doesn t make sense. So many people fall asleep without even trying, like during class or on the bus. I have to work for sleep, which almost defeats the purpose because sleeping is supposed to be peaceful, not work. 5:49. Less than an hour now. I might as well get up instead of torturing myself. It is useless now. It shouldn t be this hard. 6:07. I don t remember the last time I had a full night s sleep. I lie awake listening to the sounds of my silent house. The soft snores coming from my parents room, the soft drip, drip of the faucet. 6:29. One minute left. One more minute to attempt to sleep. BEEP BEEP BEEP. Hopefully I will have better luck tonight. But I know that tonight will be just like the rest. Art by Lindsey Heimbach, Selinsgrove, PA JANUARY 09 Teen Ink FOCUS YOU & YOUR HEALTH FOCUS 15

16 FOCUS HEALTH YOU & YOUR FOCUS Beating Anorexia by Jane, North Hampton, NH can sit there. The doctor will be right with You you. The nurse gestured me to the waiting room. Come on, do I really need to be here? I m not sick enough to be here. Jane! The doctor will see you now. Great The office door closed behind me. Let me explain how I got here. I m a dancer. I ve always had problems with my weight. I was never fat, just chunky. I always felt self-conscious in my leotard. I think that s what triggered it. One day, at the end of freshman year, I told myself I was going to stop eating and get skinny. So that night I skipped dinner. And that s how it started. I would skip meals or throw them away. I drank a lot of water and ran on the track at school during lunch. It felt so good to see the pounds melt away from my body. I was invincible. But in reality, I was ignoring the symptoms I was feeling. I was lightheaded, dizzy, cold, and tired. By now it was May, and I was always absolutely freezing in school. I wore two sweatshirts and was still chilled. But I was losing weight and that was all that mattered to me. People were noticing too. All of my friends told me how great I looked. It was such positive reinforcement. Only they didn t know that I wasn t just exercising I was starving myself. My parents started noticing when I was at the point of no return the point where I couldn t go back to regular eating. They said I was getting too skinny and needed to stop. They took away my gym membership, like that would make me stop. In fact, I started eating even less because I couldn t work it off. I was so preoccupied with my weight and calories that I avoided my friends. I would never go out to dinner with anyone. The friends I still talked to were annoyed with me because all I would talk about was dieting. School ended, and I went to summer camp. It was perfect. I didn t have my mother monitoring how much I ate, so I did what I wanted. I didn t eat much, and when I did eat, I had salads. No dressing. When the two weeks were up and my mom came to get me, she was shocked at my appearance. I was skin and bones. You could see my back bones through my skin. I was so proud of myself, but this was the last straw for my mom. She made an appointment with a doctor. At that first appointment, I weighed 104. My mom was shocked and angry with me. I had lost 21 pounds in a month and a half. My doctor went on I wasn t just exercising I was starving myself and on about how my weight was too low for my height like I cared. I loved to hear that. By this time I was sick. I had anorexia. I spent the next few weeks doing exactly what I had been doing not eating and lying about food. Then it was my first day of summer dance classes. I hadn t danced for about two months. The first thing my teacher said was, Jane, you re looking very thin. Are you eating enough? It was a serious question, but I smiled and nodded yes. I was so proud of myself. A week into dance class, my teachers asked to talk to my mom and me. They told me I looked very unhealthy and that they didn t want anything to happen to me. This meeting made my mom cry. I hated that. My mom made another doctor s appointment for me. At the appointment, I weighed 99 pounds. I had lost another five pounds. I tried to hide the smile on my face. But this time, they took my vitals. My temperature and blood pressure were both low. My heart rate was low. My body was starting to shut down. I knew this too. Now I had to have weekly doctor s appointments to make sure I wasn t dying. I lost more weight. I was 94 pounds, and I had never been happier with myself. My mom set up weekly counseling sessions with the school social worker. The counseling did help. We found out why I was doing this. It really had nothing to do with food; I needed control. What really hit me, though, was when one of my friends said she didn t want to be my friend anymore. That way, she explained, when I die, it won t hurt her as much because it wouldn t be her best friend who had died. That got to me. Then another friend said, You will die if you keep going. Hearing my friends say this changed me. Slowly but surely I started to gain some weight back. Let me tell you, it wasn t easy. I hated stepping onto the scale and seeing 100 again, and then 105. All that hard work was being ruined. My favorite feeling used to be my stomach growling. But I had to let it go. I didn t want to lose everything I had. I started gaining weight and people starting telling me how beautiful I looked. So I became healthy again, and my vital signs improved. This made everyone happy. My mom was happier, my friends, my doctors. I m still recovering, but now I know I need to stay healthy for everyone who loves me. But most importantly, I need to stay healthy for myself. 16 Flaming Out by Mollie Pinker, Auburn, NY My mom was a smoker for 30 years. She never smoked in the house or around us. We didn t know the damage she was doing to herself. Smoking a pack a day, she was setting herself up for a disastrous end. Recently she decided to quit. She knows it is best for her. I am so proud of her because I know what smoking can do. It is terrible for those who do it and those around them. Secondhand smoke is even worse than what smokers inhale because it contains side stream chemicals (which come off the cigarette when it is lit), on top of the regular chemicals. So, by smoking, you re hurting others even more than yourself. However, an unbelievable amount of damage is done to the smoker too. Cigarettes contain over 4,000 chemicals, and at least 43 of those are known carcinogens, which means they cause cancer. One chemical in cigarettes is benzene, which is used as a solvent in fuel and in chemical manufacturing. It is a carcinogen associ - ated with leukemia. Another chemical is formaldehyde, which is used to preserve dead bodies. It causes cancer and respiratory, skin, and gastrointestinal problems. Carbon monoxide is also abundant in cigarette smoke. It is a tasteless poisonous gas that is fatal in large amounts. This is the same gas that comes out of car exhaust pipes. Other chemicals in cigarette smoke are ammonia (toilet cleaner), acetone (nail polish remover), arsenic (rat poison), hydrogen cyanide (gas chamber poison), and tar, which deposits itself in the smoker s lungs. The worst chemical found in cigarette smoke, however, is nicotine, one of the most addictive substances known to man. It is a powerful and fast-acting poison. After ingesting nicotine, people may experience vomiting, nausea, Teen Ink JANUARY 09 Nicotine is one of the most addictive substances known to man headaches, difficulty breathing, stomach pains, and seizures. These are the same symptoms of those poisoned by insecticide. Nicotine can both invigorate and relax a smoker, depending on how much they smoke. It causes a rapid release of adrenaline, which explains the euphoria smokers experience after having a cigarette. Nicotine can also cause cancer, emphysema, heart disease, and stroke. It is illegal to sell tobacco products to children under the age of 16, thanks to the Children and Young Persons Act of However, many minors still find ways to get cigarettes. Teens often get hooked on cigarettes if their parents, older siblings, or friends smoke, or if their parents don t care if they smoke. Young people have many reasons to smoke: to be sociable, appear mature, show their independence, conform with friends, or enhance their attractiveness. The benefits of quitting outweigh the benefits of smoking by a landslide. Twenty minutes after quitting, your blood pressure decreases, your pulse rate drops, and the temperature of your hands and feet increases. At eight hours, the carbon monoxide level in your blood drops to normal. After 24 hours, your chance of a heart attack decreases immensely. After 48 hours, your nerve endings start re - growing, and your ability to taste and smell is enhanced. After one year, the excess risk of coronary heart disease is decreased to half that of a smoker. So next time you are asked that life or death question Do you want a cigarette? think about what you d be putting into your body. If you already smoke, think what you re doing to yourself. Quitting is hard, but my mom is doing it, just like millions of other people. Saying no now will set you up for a long, healthy life. Think about it. Confessions by Amy, San Antonio, TX Iam sitting here writing to you, thinking if I sit here long enough, I won t want you. So far it s not working. I can still smell you in the air, and hear how you echoed when you hit the ice. The splash that came with the drops, bluck, bluck. Some days I miss you, and others I am glad I am learning how to forget you. But right now I am in between. Not knowing if I want to go left or right, up or down. If you are worth losing everything for or worth gaining everything to give up. You were my dirty habit, the habit that doesn t lie far away if life gives me lemons. You were my dirty habit How soon we forget what we did when life was good, or bad. Other days, I just wish you were dead. Or that I had never been introduced to you. What would I be like if you weren t in my life? Where would all my pain go, and who would bleed for me without you? I have to fight this battle every day and make a choice every second to have you. Some days it feels like I am losing. Every time I go looking for you, you re nowhere to be found. When I am not looking for you, you re right there smiling at me. Begging me: please, one more round. But I know deep inside if I do, I know my fate. The fate that I ask for, but only when you re inside of me. Here, round and around again, doing this damn jig every day, this feeling is endless. And I am growing tired and weak. But I know right now, this second, I am sober and I won t pick you. Tomorrow is another battle. COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

17 FICTION WRITING & PLAYWRITING DEGREE PROGRAMS Develop your creativity, tell your stories, and gain skills essential for personal and professional development in the FICTION WRITING DEPARTMENT AT COLUMBIA COLLEGE CHICAGO. So many options for college... UNDERGRADUATE BA/BFA degrees in FICTION WRITING, with specializations in Fiction, Creative Nonfiction, Playwriting, Electronic Applications, Publishing, and Story Workshop Teaching; and BA/BFA degrees in PLAYWRITING, interdisciplinary with the Theater Department. GRADUATE MFA in CREATIVE WRITING FICTION, with specializations in Fiction, Creative Nonfiction, Playwriting, and Teaching; MA in the TEACHING OF WRITING; and COMBINED MFA/MA degrees. STUDENTS-AT-LARGE WELCOME. YOUR STORIES. YOUR FUTURE. Columbia College Chicago admits students without regard to age, race, color, creed, sex, religion, handicap, disability, sexual orientation, and national or ethnic origin. PHOTOGRAPH BY MARY ELLEN MARK, ACROBATS REHEARSING THEIR ACT AT GREAT GOLDEN CIRCUS, AHMEDABAD, 1989 Our renowned Story Workshop approach emphasizes voice, imagery, audience, and positive reinforcement of your strengths as a writer. For more information about our diverse study programs, extensive course listings, award-winning student anthology Hair Trigger, and visiting writers series, check out or call the choice is clear. Hawai i Pacific University Ranked a Best in the West college by Princeton Review Receive personal attention in classes under 25 students Learn alongside students from more than 100 countries Choose from more than 50 acclaimed programs CALL-HPU Mount Holyoke College, one of the nation s most highly regarded research liberal arts colleges for women, enrolls 2,100 students from 48 states and nearly 70 countries. Our long, distinguished history of educating leaders arises from a powerful combination of academic excellence; a tight-knit, diverse, and international community; a worldwide network of alumnae; and the conviction that women can and should make a difference in the world. Mount Holyoke College, South Hadley, Massachusetts 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, See for all details and a list of winners. Judges are the faculty of the Writing Program at Washington University, including fiction writers Kathryn Davis and Kellie Wells and poets Mary Jo Bang and Carl Phillips. For more information, call Send entries to: The Howard Nemerov Creative Writing Awards Washington University in St. Louis Campus Box 1122, One Brookings Drive St. Louis. MO Teen Ink s NYC Summer Writing Program Apply now for our unique writing program in the heart of New York City! June 27 - July 11, 2009 For more information, us at NYC@ TeenInk.com Open to girls currently in grades 9-12 JANUARY 09 Teen Ink 17

18 FOCUS HEALTH YOU & YOUR FOCUS 18 I Went Numb by Jennifer Kuo, Richmond, CA Bell s palsy is a condition that involves the facial nerve. It means that either one side or the entire face cannot be moved. For me, it started with a numb tongue during summer vacation. At first, I thought it was because I wasn t sleeping well. Then, as time passed, the condition worsened. My right ear started to hurt. No amount of sleep could erase the pain. It was there to stay. The night we arrived in Buffalo, New York, my family and I took the opportunity to visit Canada. From the hotel, it would take just eight minutes to reach the border and the bridge that linked the two countries over the thunderous waterfall, Niagara Falls. The air was cold when we reached the water s edge. Before us was Rainbow Bridge. We could feel excitement stirring in our hearts; we were about to walk into Canada. My father led the way past the security gate, armed with only a jacket and camera. After him was my sister. My mother and I followed, bundled up in our sweaters. It s Raining Hair it s raining hair in my room again. an inch of thick brown hair that no one will ever miss falls to the floor in clumps as i read. it s raining hair in class again. the rubber bands, the silly putty, the clicky pen no match for the itch in my hands to pull pull pull until i m calm again. it s raining hair on my bed again. all i need is that one eyelash, i swear. it s short, it s sharp, it doesn t belong. just one, and i promise i ll stop. one more, and the itch has won. one more, and the damage is done. it s raining hair over my sink again cause my eyebrows needed a trim. this time i ll behave, mom, i ll make sure it won t get out of hand. just let me get rid of that one there and i promise this time i ll keep all my hair. but then the rain stops and the sun comes out, revealing the effects of the storm. it s horrifying, it s disgusting, and i m repulsed i stooped so low don t i know it ll take weeks to regrow? so i vow to refrain, but the itch drives me insane tomorrow s forecast calls for rain. by Martha, Herndon, VA Teen Ink JANUARY 09 The experience was humiliating Teen Ink RAW Reader s Choice This piece describes my struggle with trichotillomania, the hair-pulling disease, which can be characterized as a habit, a chemical imbalance in the brain, an addiction, a tic disorder, or an OCD. No one knows for sure. In the middle of the bridge, the wind slapped our faces with phantom hands. Wave after wave of iciness stung and numbed our cheeks as we peered into the night at beautiful Niagara Falls. Blue, red, yellow, and green lights were cast upon the water, creating the perfect picture. A breathtaking sight. However, the next morning, everything went wrong. I woke up with the realization that I could not blink my right eye. When I tried to brush my teeth, the right side of my mouth refused to open. When I blocked my left nostril, I could not breathe. When I tried to lift my eyebrows, only my left one obeyed. When I tried to eat, I bit my upper lip over and over. What was happening? I told my parents. They thought I was joking until they saw how difficult it was for me to eat lunch. Every time I tried to drink, the water dribbled out of my mouth. When I bit into my sandwich, I also bit my upper lip. I had to force my upper lip open with my fingers just to eat. The experience was humiliating, not to mention embarrassing. Keep It Simple introducing, new crackers with 25% fewer calories and zero grams of Now fat! blares the advertisement. These commercials are very popular in our weightobsessed society, and although it sounds like the product advertised is healthy, it may actually contain harmful or unwholesome ingredients. When companies market their products as having a certain percent less fat or calories, they neglect to mention that unhealthy substances like sucrose, aspartame, and high-fructose corn syrup are lurking in the shadows of their list of ingredients. Of course, calories and fat are crucial to balance in order to maintain a healthy diet. Consuming too much fat can cause obesity and clogged arteries, and calories taken in but not burned off will lead to weight gain and an unhealthy body. Many communities have made magnanimous efforts to decrease trans fat consumption by banning it from restaurants. Although tracking calories and fat is important to maintain a healthy diet, they cannot be used as the sole basis for determining the healthfulness of food. One ingredient that is often an unhealthy additive to food products is refined white sugar. Integrated into foods as a sweetener and a flavorful ingredient, white sugar (or sucrose) may seem unavoidable, but in truth, it should not be consumed in large quantities. Sugar that is naturally present in fruits, vegetables, and other natural foods is healthy and Photo by NaShia Williams, Greenbelt, MD Research has found a clear link between aspartame and cancer My mother assumed it was a stroke or a brain tumor. As soon as we got home, she took me to the emergency room. The doctor told us that it was Bell s palsy and its cause was unknown. She gave me a prescription for prednisone, a steroid that would reduce the inflammation in my facial nerve. After that, it was wait and see. However, that was unacceptable to my mother, and she immediately went on the Internet to look for other ways to reverse my facial paralysis. The only other answer she found was acupuncture, and so we took it. Now, three weeks after I first experienced Bell s palsy, my condition has barely improved. I have managed to regain some control over my mouth and, according to my mother, I can now lift my right eyebrow a bit. Having this condition has taught me something; everything takes time. Some health problems do not go away as quickly as you would like, if at all. I can only wait and hope that the matter will be resolved soon. I can only wait. by Melissa Weikart, W. Newton, MA should be eaten regularly. But when refined sugar is added to a product, it simply adds empty calories and may increase one s risk of diabetes. A widely used ingredient found in everything from salad dressing to fruit juice is high-fructose corn syrup. Associated with the increase in obesity, it is incorporated into most processed foods as a sweetener and usually made from genetically modified corn. In reality, there is no significant difference between high-fructose corn syrup and simple table sugar. Recent studies have shown that highfructose corn syrup may trigger type two diabetes. Food companies are undoubtedly part of the problem. Kraft Foods was sued for claiming that a product with highfructose corn syrup was made with all natural ingredients. The statement is clearly false and misleading. With 66 percent of Americans overweight or obese, it s no surprise that scientists are attempting to unearth the perfect artificial sweetener or sugar substitute. But growing evidence shows that artificial sweeteners, including aspartame and many others, are unhealthy. Some research has found a clear link between aspartame and cancer. In addition, those sweeteners may not have the diet benefits previously believed. A study done by the University of Texas found that artificial sweeteners do little to promote weight loss; in fact, they impact obesity on a larger scale than plain old sugar. Although countless additives and ingredients are unhealthy, sweeteners especially the artificial variety are important to avoid or reduce. It is critical that when considering food, we decide not only how much but what we are putting in our mouths. The next time a commercial pops up advertising a product with less fat or calories, don t simply assume that the product is healthy; think twice before deciding to buy it. And don t forget to look for hidden ingredients. The easiest way to be safe is to purchase all natural or organic products. And keep it simple: the longer the ingredients list is, the more additives or unhealthy substances it probably contains. We must take steps to conquer obesity, and starting with the right ingredients will make a big difference. 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19 Silent Suffering by Evan Rose, Rancho Santa Fe, CA Iwas 14 when I first found blood in the toilet. I was 14 when I decided not to say anything, not to get help, not to look for an explanation. It was a silent suffering, and I took it very slow. Thinking nothing about my insides, or the wretched environment that was slowly developing in my bowels, I continued living as if nothing were happening. But every day my fear of the bathroom grew. I wasn t getting better. The pain of a bowel movement would make my body shake, my arm veins would expose themselves like slugs under my stretched skin, and my eyes would close into a state of imagination, an escape. I was 14, and the topic was embarrassing. Nothing in my rational mind gravitated toward telling them about my problem, my daily struggle. The act of going to the bathroom had become so ritualized and the pain so commonplace that my body had normalized the facts. It was simply a given that at least once a day I would have to endure an excruciating episode that ended with the clear water of the porcelain bowl turning a shade of crimson that I came to associate with my cowardice and insecurity. At my sister s graduation I broke down. I told my parents what was happening to me. Soon I was face to face with my doctor, who was baffled. No hemorrhoids, no nothing. Stop weightlifting until it gets better, he suggested. Serendipity, I told my parents. Everything got better. I lied. I was 16 when I began going to the bathroom more frequently every day than most do in a week. Going to the gym became a battle between my desire to train and the rumbling of bowels begging for acknowledgment. Running on a treadmill became an internal dialogue. Just two more minutes. I can do this. My body would respond with a low growl, a thud like the tapping of knuckles on wood. This sound would quickly escalate, accompanied by pressure, as if someone were standing on my abdomen. Then I was competing in a race, a 50-yard dash to the men s room, as an audience of fortysomethings looked on in awe at the boy with diarrhea. Over the course of a workout I would go four or five times, and people next to me would inevitably ask what kind of training regiment I was doing where I spent more time in the bathroom than on the gym floor. I simply could not articulate what was happening to me I never considered myself handicapped and never wanted to admit I was sick. When I was having difficulty sleeping because of the problem, I thought long and hard about bringing the topic up again. My parents had no idea what was going on, partially because I had lied, and partially because I simply could not articulate what was happening to me. I did not know how to craft a simile to describe this experience to my mother. No one had ever designated a time of day for these sorts of discussions. I knew it was not dinnertime conversation. I finally broached the topic and was sent to a gastroenterologist. We talked. Evan, I d like to examine you, if you don t mind. Well, I do mind, actually. I m 16, and I d rather you not touch me. I d rather you not discover my stigma, the one source where all my guilt and anxiety and imperfection manifests itself in crevices and scars. My parents left the room, and I was alone with only cartoon wallpaper to distract me. I closed my eyes and imagined I was home locked in my room. Eventually he finished, and what he described made me think of a small San Andreas fault. We re going to do a colonoscopy and an endoscopy to see what is really going on. Then I was staring up at the ceiling, a patchwork pattern of porous stucco paneling, and an anesthesiologist handed me a mask. So what d they find, Dad? My dad didn t say anything, just handed me a picture. No artist, no anatomist, no believer in the beauty of the human form could have found anything positive to say about my intestinal tract. The picture was grainy with ulcers and burning with inflammation. My intestines were a visual representation of a napalm blast, totally unfit for absorbing nutrients. The doctors said you have Crohn s disease. Crohn s is an autoimmune disorder characterized by inflammation and bleeding in the digestive tract. When the intestines become inflamed, their ability to absorb nutrients and water is drastically compromised. In many ways I never truly reached adolescence because my intestines decided to rebel. I had always felt like a kid just a kid doing calculus, just a child driving a car, just a boy drifting through life defining himself through grades and relationships. And then I saw the picture of my spotted stomach, my ruby intestines, and I knew that perfection was a misnomer, a paradox even. Unfortunately, this part of my life had to happen at a very inopportune time. Like any young man, I wanted to spend my time with friends, and I wanted attention from girls. I distanced myself and tried to disconnect. In many ways it was the only thing I felt I could do. My classes were demanding, my drive never waned, and I did not feel comfortable discussing the personal aspects of the issue. I had other things to worry about. So I endured unnecessary suffering as a casualty in the search for youthful perfection, an ideal that I felt I had to live up to, only to find it doesn t exist. As Yahia Lababidi said, We all have handicaps. The difference is that some of us must reveal ours, while others must conceal theirs, to be treated with mercy. I always felt that I had to conceal my problem to be treated with mercy, not to be chastised for having to handle this and have doctors touch my body in ways that most people would find revolting. When I was diagnosed I finally told my friends. The outpouring of support from them as well as teachers was enlightening. I don t hide my pill bottles or lie to my friends anymore. Crohn s is simply another part of me. On my wall above my bed, next to the prom and winter formal pictures, I hung the picture of my colon, all swollen and crimson. To me, it is more than red hues. It is a symbol of my rite of passage, my own personal struggle to grow up. Photo by Andrew Fitzgerald, Lake in the Hills, IL FOCUS YOU & YOUR HEALTH FOCUS Life With TS by Caitlin Johnson, Snohomish, WA People stare when I walk by. I pretend not to notice. It s not their fault; they don t know I can t stop. Can t stop ticcing. When I was 11 years old, 16 letters changed the way I live my life forever: Tourette syndrome. Now, four years later, I am still suffering from that fateful diagnosis. Tourette syndrome, or as I fondly call it, TS, is a neurological disorder that affects the brain. It causes a person to have tics, which are uncontrollable vocal sounds or motor movements. I have both. When I was 12, I would bang my knees together when I walked, creating bruises. Yet I couldn t stop. This went on for months and then my tics changed. That s another thing; the tics can suddenly go away or appear when you least expect them. I clear my throat and sniff uncontrollably. I make vocal sounds that cause people to turn in the hallways and look at me. I also have tics that only affect me at certain moments. Scooting in a chair, closing a book, or even setting down a cup can turn into a battle of will as I fight TS to get it just right. A tic is like a mosquito bite. You don t want to scratch it because it will get worse, but eventually you give in, and it feels so good you don t want to stop. Only there s no anti-itch ointment A tic is like a mosquito bite VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW for TS; you have to live with it. I take pills three times a day to help, but TS has no cure. My family loves and supports me, and I have great friends, but I still wonder what it would feel like to be normal not to have to fight to be normal. I have learned to accept life with TS, and I am even a little proud of it. I know God gave it to me for a reason: to educate others. The most common misconception is that TS means you curse a lot. Uncontrollable cursing is called coprolalia and affects 15 percent of those with TS. Nearly all of my friends accept my TS, but recently a friend asked, Can t you just stop? It hurt me more than words can say. I had expected him to understand. I would love to stop if I could. All I m asking is that the next time you see people twitching or making weird noises, try to step in their shoes and understand how embarrassed they feel. I m a straight A student, so having TS isn t a mental handicap. My feelings can get hurt just like everyone else s, maybe even more so. I try to stand up and be tough most of the time, but inside I am crying. But I know I must be strong and show everyone that even though I m different, I m special too. JANUARY 09 Teen Ink 19

20 Poetry Mermaids Salty hair glides like seaweed In the cool waters. Sand beneath her toes, Soft on bare feet. Waves caress her tanned body, Rocking her gently like an infant. Diving under for sand dollars, The currency of mermaids. How many would she need before Her legs turned into fins? She lies on sun-baked rocks Until the ocean calls her back And she jumps into its open arms. Other children swim with her, But can t keep up her pace. A sign, she says, That she wasn t meant for land. As her mother calls her back She replies, I d rather just stay. by Melanie Floyd, Long Island, ME The Love of This World All the good in me unlaced I pull what I own across the floor, books devoured to the spine, impressions the knees of my jeans have made of kneeling, my ghosts of ghosts, the saint who is namesake. I lay it out. A turtle can lay one hundred thirty-seven eggs in the hollows of trash-filled beaches and pray her young into the foam and I know how she judges her almost-gone with the shell s first clean fracture, and how much she holds when she owns nothing and watches it race away. I line it up for you, lay it down, armfuls, fistfuls, incalculable catalogues of rinsed fingerprints released, as they are back-breaking, as this convex shell is enough, as the body becomes the loudest resonating home where I deadlock roomfuls of possessions, where my valuables belong so unbearably to me that they are not mine. And because I want to float I lay them down, the swatches of fabric, the memories of places I swore I had owned so wholly I felt them through to the relics, laid down, the hopes I hold for the ones I d kill to own who swim between combs of aimless currents, of whom I am no owner, of what I am no mother I lay them out for you. And as the sea holds each embryo to the memory of one original shell, I am unforgivably enamored with the ownership of all. by Madeleine Barnes, Wexford, PA Open Sunlight I feel that in the winter, I am dormant Curling up into a solitary ball Shutting out everything, for there is no light Rain and snow blocking my open paths Dark skies, porcelain skin Adding pound by pound onto my long and slender form Growing large and white and sad Far past the point when we all think Winter will never end and the season of ice is here to stay Warm rain washes the black snow into the gutters And the sun makes its dramatic appearance Plants gain hope and rise again Animals yawn and stretch into the open sunlight, as I do Awake and ready to slough off my extra weight and obtain a sun-kissed glow Atop my ivory skin by Faith Brown, Mount Shasta, CA Home Wait, mister, don t go, Tell me, Which way is home? Nighttime has painted the street signs blind To my eyes; The highway rumbles And headlights march along the road in lines. They re meant to hypnotize, I think. Stop asking, I can t stop mumbling! They stapled my paper lips shut So I wouldn t chew my bit; Plain speech might rip my face apart. Mister, don t go, Show me the sidewalk that leads to home. It s a quarter past five. I will patiently wait til nine, While the moonflowers fold themselves Like bleached towels, And while vampire gangs prowl the hillside As they stalk their last calls; Hear them moan, hear their growls, Because sunlight is coming To eliminate the gloom And illuminate the directions you gave me. by Katelyn Flasphaler, Pine City, NY Photo by Brianna Cadigan, Licoln Park, MI AnOther MetaphOr for Life bubbles. god s just a little kid with a big bottle of Miracle Bubbles and a wand dipping, blowing these bubbles all doomed to pop at one point or another. they either drop too fast, before he can catch them, or the biggest ones pop! before they ve even been launched. it s the little ones that leave quietly and take their time gently drifting down everyone leaves a mark, you know, but sooner or later they ve all evaporated. by Soo Jee Lee, Tenafly, NJ People tell me I have his nose Because it s strong and hooked With a powerful bump at the top But I hope that s all he gave me An ugly nose is enough And better than an ugly mind that Sinks its teeth into anything it can Like the hearts of girls who have Not yet learned to love the real way I hope I do not have his hands Calloused from the cold metal of a gun And stained with a twisted love Love I hope I do not have Because love is not a fist or a knife Love is not an apology I hope I do not have his back Because he never had mine And I hope a nose does not give me A guiltless conscience and a Forgetful brain. by Alexandra, Oak Ridge, TN Cotton Candy puffs of sweet fiberglass dissolve into pink crystals on the pinnacle of my tongue. they fall like tickled icicles puncturing the walls of my abdomen. still I consume the addicting substance, permitting my body to slowly commit suicide. by Ashley Gleason, Lake Ann, MI The Meaning of Love? The beating of my broken heart, now chained and locked away, I hear much louder, through the night, than words we never say. As hollow kisses turn to dust and fall against my skin, I pray that I might find the strength to fall in love again. Abandoned innocence, stripped away, discarded on the floor. In the dirt, I bury hope that love leaves unlocked doors. I am held, though never cherished, yet to be made whole. My tears can wipe themselves away, but I must save my soul. Bare feet, run, lead me home, where I am Mother s child, And toward the pale rose sunset for a pretty little while. If broken wings may carry dreams, and carry me to sleep, Take me far away from love and tell me what it means. by Kiana Baker, Alto, TX Devon hello sweet sounds of autumn i await your return where have you been? lost in the melody of your own voice, the beat of your own drum? come back to mama, before this summer tune bids me dead, nevah did like the mention of departing, yet i, i am willing to wave a sweet good-bye to these hot days and hotter nights, i ll be waiting, autumn leaves, for you to come back and comfort my weary soul. by Teresa Pigford, Brooklyn, NY 20 Teen Ink JANUARY 09 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

21 To Twist One s Thumb A million times she s told me To keep that window blind closed She blames it on the neighbors And how they might see in And see me changing And I look at her and think Maybe I want them to see me Changing because I know that That would twist your thumb Without even touching you And so that window blind speaks To me and says how it hopes I ll Keep it open, convincing me with Words like sunlight and rebellion And twirling its cord around in a Game of hide-and-seek hoping That I ll give up until my mother Twists my thumb with bringing Velvet curtains into the picture Thick enough to block out light. by Lizzie Shaw, Hinsdale, IL In the Ink You don t need to know me To know me. All you need to do Is read my words, Because the answer Is hidden in the ink. by James Burdick, Fredonia, NY The Lost Generation Oh why have we settled in the unquiet darkness, where the noise of the silence overwhelms our hearts? And we fall apart the sun sets and it rises we make shapes of ourselves no one can see. Oh why are we lost in these tears if we ve forgotten how to cry? If absence makes the heart grow fonder can we hold on much longer? We are burning in a drought of faith, unnoticing as the stars are earnestly shining, desperately bleeding light. Oh how ironically hopeless is every star s forgotten fight, for we are just uselessly drowning under the weight, under the honesty of the unspoken. Oh the noise of the silence overwhelms our hearts. I believe we are skillfully crafted inexplicable accidents, and our hero the potter is too late. by Kiersten Wones, Mason, OH Her skin, butter-cream by day, turns translucent by night. Her hair, ebony black, shimmers like the night sky But only to deceive those she encounters Her lips, stained crimson from her victims Eyes piercing blue, penetrating those who make contact with them Her corpse, deemed immaculate by those she lures into her trap She is the deceiver, the harlot of the hills But cleverly disguised The mark of the beast lies in her hands by Bridget Walker, El Dorado, KS All Sounds Off i waited for that small, electronic lifeline kept inside my pocket to squirm like a child embarrassed by the kisses his mother forced upon his cheek. letting me know you missed me at least a little. even though i knew i had left it on silent. by Colleen Leman, Cottonwood, AZ Machine My head computes the numbers And barbs roll off my tongue My limbs are wiry, wired wrong My heart a ticking bomb My hinges creak from lack of oil My smile is crooked now The key they say that came with me Is scrapped and long since gone There is no guide for you to read No language written down So look at me, just look at me Before you make a sound Before you stamp and sentence me And melt my metal down. by Julianne Ruetz, Redwood City, CA Photo by Hannah Brewer, Princeton, IL Breaking Spring my pale skin sits idle, clean and smooth. the blood flows orderly in a circle through my veins. too long has it been kept in its narrow prison too long has my skin lay unbroken. the paint is drying it won t be good much longer now. i itch to be broken open, to flow and breathe the air into myself. to feel the purple petals on the surface, the crimson stems running down to my fingertips. winter is over, and with the spring the flower will come. by Tara Stark, Portland, OR The Love Constitution Forgive and forget. I promise not to forget you. In the rustling of the leaves I hear a song for two: It s coming, the conclusion, we can hear it from afar. A constitution, resolution, confusion s door was left ajar. A lady, a mission, bringing closure to us all. We worry and we scurry when coldness comes in for a brawl. A contusion. An illusion. The pictures on your wall. You remember, mid-november, we tried but we failed. But when the spring came and cleared up our same it brought closure to us all. A collision. A decision. A fly on the wall. by Jenna Bower, Scottsville, NY Chaos Theory Carolyn says she believes in angels while mascara spiders creep thickly along the heavy baggage beneath her eyes like the black pitch of the school hallways at night or the charcoal that she dips her fingernails in and I remember cheating on my math test that morning So I tell her I believe in people. Roasted honey nut, the color she was born with but you really wouldn t know it because of the midnight L Oréal she chooses, tragically highlighted with Punk Pink or Raging Red from a bottle and 15 minutes of waiting It spills limply over her black eyes whenever she leans down to write and Carolyn says she believes in fate, In planets aligning in the universe and Feng shui that keeps mice away and prevents ulcers but also makes a girl fall in love with a boy but I know all about chemistry and hormones and catalysts so I think I believe in science. In reincarnation, she thinks she ll come back as a bird Or maybe a peacock and I say I agree when I see those striped stockings that come to her knees and neon earrings lifeless at her shoulders but she only laughs tells me I never really see her and to call her later. Now with the dial tone in my ear the cold trembling and I m suffocating on nothing because I really see her and I know she believes in the afterlife but she doesn t believe in laughter and the phone just rings and rings and rings Carolyn said she believed in angels. by Debbie Ghim, Arlington Heights, IL Cast your vote at TeenInk.com! Poetry Teen Ink RAW Reader s Choice VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW JANUARY 09 Teen Ink 21

22 Teen Ink January 09 Page 22 ASSUMPTION COLLEGE UA has a rich tradition of excellence in academics, sports, and student life. Consistently named a top-50 public university by U.S. News & World Report, 11 degree-granting schools and colleges, a 1,000-acre historic campus. To learn more visit gobama.ua.edu/teenink Box Personal attention. Engaged learning. Explore the world. Visit to learn more about the Alma College experience and the students and faculty who embrace it ALMA Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree Programs 3D Modeling and Animation Multimedia/Web Design Design Illustration Life Drawing Painting Watercolor Painting American Academy of Art 332 S. Michigan Ave. Chicago, IL Visit 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 Jackson Street Cincinnati, OH 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 500 Salisbury 500 St., Salisbury Worcester, Street MA Worcester, MA For info, text 648acma to Small New England College founded in 1784 Welcoming atmosphere, easy to make friends Every incoming fulltime student receives a laptop computer Thorough preparation for a career-targeted job We place 95% of our students in jobs upon graduation Office of Admissions 61 Sever Street, Worcester, MA 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 College Drive Bryn Athyn, PA, BURLINGTON COLLEGE arn a B.A. on or Earn Ea B.A. on or off-campus, off-campus, develop develop your your own own major, major, attend attend classes classes at at The Film Film School, become School, become a civically a civically engaged engaged citizen, citizen, and and much much more. more. burlington.edu 800/ For info, text 6burcol to Carleton College 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. Admissions Office Carleton College Northfield, Minnesota 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 Waialae Avenue Honolulu, HI CCH is the film school with focus. You learn the whole art and the whole business. You graduate with a hot reel, and a real BFA. Come Find Your Focus Oxnard Street, Tarzana, CA For info, text 6484cch to The City College of New York Find your future in more than 90 specializations in architecture, biomedicine, education, engineering and liberal arts & science at CCNY. Convent 138th Street New York, NY 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. 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 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. College of Visual Arts 344 Summit Avenue Saint Paul, Minnesota Columbia Ave. C V A Claremont, CA 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 McNutt Hall Hanover, NH Columbia College 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 admissions@popmail.colum.edu Preparing students with individual learning styles for transfer to four-year colleges. 15 majors including two B.A. programs in Arts & Entertainment Management and Dance. 99 Main Street Franklin, MA TRY DEAN For info, text 6delval to DUQUESNE UNIVERSITY 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. 600 Forbes Avenue Pittsburgh, PA (412) (800) admissions@duq.edu Web: 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 and 13 countries Fordham offers the distinctive Jesuit philosophy of education, marked philosophy of education, marked by excellent teaching, intellectual by inquiry excellent and teaching, care of the intellectual whole student, inquiry and the capital care of of the the whole world. student, the capital of the world. For info, text 6FRDHAM to 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 , ext Earn a BA in Global Studies while studying at our centers in Costa Rica, China, India, Japan, South Africa, and New York City! 9 Hanover Place, Brooklyn, NY globalcollege@liu.edu For info, text 64gcliu to Hamilton College is a national leader for teaching students to write effectively, learn from each other and think for themselves. Writing resources from a writing college: 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 Hewitt Avenue St. Paul, MN 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. 8 Garden Street Cambridge, MA

23 Teen Ink January 09 Page 23 A challenging private university for adventurous students seeking an education with global possibilities. Get Where You Want To Go For info, text 64HPU4U to Hofstra University can help you get where you want to go, with small classes, dedicated faculty and an energized campus. hofstra.edu HOFSTRA admitme@hofstra.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 interdisciplinary division offer over 100 majors. my.ithaca.edu 100 Job Hall 953 Danby Road Ithaca, NY Degree programs in business, culinary arts, hospitality and technology Hands-on learning from industry-experienced faculty Co-ops and internships built into the curriculum Johnson & Wales plans to award $105 million in financial aid in the acdemic year Four campuses: R.I., Fla., Colo. and N.C. Johnson & Wales University 8 Abbott Park Place Providence, RI DIAL-JWU Excellent Programs. Outstanding Facility. Faculty. Affordable Cost. 337 College Hill Johnson, VT A leading liberal arts college, where writers thrive (together with artistis, scientists, and other lovers of learning). Office of Admissions Ransom Hall, Kenyon College Gambier, Ohio admissions@kenyon.edu Academic excellence and global perspective in one of America s most livable metropolitan areas Grand Avenue St. Paul, MN World-renowned faculty Small classes Personal attention International student body New York City location BELIEVE. PREPARE. CONNECT. SERVE. The World Awaits. MyMarywood.com A visual arts college north of Boston where creativity and independence thrive through choice, connection and community. BFA and Diploma programs. Founded by artists to educate artists admissions@montserrat.edu For info, text 6484mca to 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. MOUNT HOLYOKE COLLEGE 50 College Street, South Hadley, MA A faculty consisting of 70+ worldrenowned jazz artists. Strong emphasis on small group performance. Priceless experience in clubs, performance halls, and recording studios in New York City. 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 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 For info, text 6484owu to 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. For more information call PACE or infoctr@pace.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 Located in New York City, Parsons rigorous programs and distinguished faculty embrace curricular innovation and global perspectives in design. Programs in all art and design disciplines. Central Pennsylvania s only professional art college, offering BFA programs in fine arts, graphic design, illustration, and photography. Where art becomes opportunity 2o4 North Prince Street Lancaster, PA 176o8-oo59 1-8oo-689-o379 degrees that work. BACHELOR ASSOCIATE CERTIFICATE Choose from more than 100 career fields. Talent teaches talent in Pratt s writing BFA for aspiring young writers. Weekly discussions by guest writers and editors. Nationally recognized college for the arts. Beautiful residential campus minutes from Manhattan. 200 Willoughby Avenue Brooklyn, NY jaaron@pratt.edu Develop your creative mind in BFA and BA programs emphasizing independence, experimentation, and the development of personal vision. The interdisciplinary environment combines studio and liberal arts. 800 Chestnut Street San Francisco, CA SFAI Princeton University Princeton simultaneously strives to be one of the leading research universities and the most outstanding undergraduate college in the world. We provide students with academic, extracurricular and other resources, in a residential community committed to diversity. Princeton, NJ (609) SlipperyRock University SRU provides a Rock Solid education. Located just 50 miles north of Pittsburgh, the University is ranked number five in America as a Consumer s Digest best value selection for academic quality at an affordable price. 1 Morrow Way, Slippery Rock, PA SRU For info text 64srupa to A picturesque New England campus, offering programs in Business, Communications, Health, Liberal Arts, Education and Law. Located mid-way between New York City and Boston with Division I athletics. Consistently rated among the top Master s level Colleges in the North in U.S. News and World Report. 275 Mt. Carmel Avenue Hamden, CT years of keeping Hands-on in Higher Education Training Pilots and Technicians for aviation and related industries since Call or log on today and begin your flight to a successful career! Licensed by: OBPVS 8820 East Pine St. Tulsa, OK, ST. MARY S UNIVERSITY Personal attention to help you excel Powerful programs to challenge you to think in new ways No limits to where St. Mary s can take you One Camino Santa Maria San Antonio, TX A distinguished faculty, an innovative curriculum and outstanding undergraduates offer unparalleled opportunities for intellectual growth on a beautiful California campus. Mongtag Hall 355 Galves St. Stanford, CA A culturally diverse urban, studentcentered, Catholic university, dedicated to educating leaders who contribute to the economic and cultural vitality NW 37th Avenue Miami Gardens, FL For info, text 6484stu to Suffolk University, located in vibrant downtown Boston, offers over 80 areas of study, providing students with the skills and experience they need to achieve lasting success. Undergruate Admission 800-6SUFFOLK 8 ASHBURTON PLACE, BOSTON, MA 02108

24 Teen Ink January 09 summer programs SWARTHMORE A liberal arts college of 1,500 students near Philadelphia, Swarthmore is recognized internationally for its climate of academic excitement and commitment to bettering the world. A college unlike any other. 500 College Ave. Swarthmore, PA THE UNIVERSITY OF THE ARTS Located on the vibrant Avenue of the Arts in Philadelphia, The University of the Arts is devoted exclusively to the study of the visual, performing, and media arts. The University of the Arts 320 South Broad Street Philadelphia, PA ARTS (2787) P. O. Box 7150 Colorado Springs, CO TM Earn a world-renowned degree in a personalized environment. Work with professors who will know your name and your goals. Choose from 41 majors and many research, internship and study-abroad opportunities. you can go Bradford, beyond PA Bradford, PA For info, text 6upittb to A medium-sized university, the University of Rhode Island offers both the resources of a larger research institution and the friendly, comfortable atmosphere of a traditional New England college. Newman Hall Kingston, RI For info, text 6484uri to Private, Catholic, liberal arts college founded in 1871 by the Ursuline Sisters. Offers over 30 undergraduate majors and 9 graduate programs. The only womenfocused college in Ohio and one of few in the United States. Ursuline teaches the empowerment of self Lander Rd. Pepper Pike, OH URSULINE At Westminster College, you'll engage in a full college experience. Reach your fullest potential Inside the classroom. And out. Visit us and turn YOUR college thinking inside out. 501 Westminster Avenue Fulton, MO Yale College, the undergraduate body of Yale University, is a highly selective liberal arts college enrolling 5,200 students in over 70 major programs. Residential life is organized around Residential Colleges where students live and eat. Teen Ink s NYC Summer Writing Program P.O. Box New Haven, CT Apply now for our unique writing program in the heart of New York City! June 27 - July 11, 2009 For more information, us at NYC@ TeenInk.com Daily activities Writing Courses Individual Instruction Museums Broadway Theater and more! Open to girls currently in grades 9-12

25 My Inspiration by Meg Hackford, Jamaica, NY Iwas a week into my second trimester of freshman year when my mom lost all feeling in her left side. She tried to blame it on a pinched nerve for days until we convinced her to see a doctor. The day of parentteacher conferences at my school I met her in front and could tell she had been crying. She assured me that everything was fine and we went in, but she could barely walk up the stairs and refused to tell me what the doctor had said. She just smiled and tried to stay cheery. That night we ordered pizza and my mom ate in bed because she was so tired. After dinner my dad told my brother and me that we needed to have a family talk. As I sat on the foot of my parents bed watching my mom struggle to tell us what was going on, I heard the two words that would alter my whole universe: multiple sclerosis. I was only 14 and hardly well versed in neurological disorders so, naturally, all I could do was burst into tears. She explained to us that multiple sclerosis (MS) is a chronic neurological disease An illness can affect a whole family that involves the central nervous system specifically the brain, spinal cord, and optic nerves and that MS can affect muscle control and strength, vision, balance, and mental functions. The tone in my house was a mix of mourning and solitude in the weeks that followed. My mom s condition got severely worse before it got better. She was on steroid treatment to reduce the swelling in her brain, and was chronically fatigued and often confused. In the months after her diagnosis I took on a new role in our family. I cooked dinner every night, did laundry, went to the supermarket, and even paid bills. It wasn t hard at first, but after a while my schoolwork started to catch up with me. If only you knew my mom: she was one of those super-moms who found time to get everything done and was never crazed or disheveled but calm, collected, and great at everything! And then I lost all of that in what felt like the blink of an eye. I had never felt so alone and helpless. I m sure if I hadn t gotten help I would have gone crazy. After a few months I went to my first MS support group. By then I had read every article on neurological disorders. I was excited to attend these meetings and ask the doctors all the questions the articles hadn t answered. When the speaker that night stood and introduced herself, I was surprised to hear she was a registered nurse who specialized in multiple sclerosis. I had never heard of a nurse having such a specific field, and as she spoke I discovered how much Rita understood about how this disease was affecting my family. I continued going to the support group, and over time I realized what Rita s job really entailed. I had no idea how interactive a nurse s career could be. I told her that I had been curious about a career in medicine but had never felt as passionate about it as when I realized how much an illness can affect a whole family. That s when I discovered I wanted to be a nurse. I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders, because I knew that I had finally found something I could be passionate about for the rest of my life. The work my mom s doctors and nurses have done with her has vastly improved the quality of her life. They teach her to be optimistic and supply her with many types of support. I think the best people to help others through hardships are those who have experienced them firsthand. And I feel that my experience will help me become an amazing nurse who can help other families through the difficulty of having a loved one with an illness. Art by Debora Fulop, So. River, NJ college essays Flying by Lindsay Gus, Hewlett, NY The life-size castle had a slide and two floors; my daughter would have to have it. We were 10 years old and leafing through the Toys R Us catalog, picking out toys we would buy for our children. We sat on our knees around the coffee table, drinking from coffee mugs filled with water. We were successful women at our daily meeting. We talked about our gorgeous husbands and well-behaved children. We discussed the latest gossip, the newest restaurants, and arranged playdates for our kids. We promised each other that this was how our lives were going to be. Then I got a little bit older. I was graduating from eighth grade. This time I was in a real coffee shop. We were growing up, drinking hot chocolate instead of water, but our conversation hadn t changed. We were going to go to college together. I would study art, and my best friend would study design. Then we would open a business in the city. My friends had different dreams, but we would all go to the same college. We would live in the same dorm and be roommates. We promised each other this was how it would be. My interests and areas of study have changed many times since. I ve become involved in a number of activities that have opened my eyes to new possibilities and options. My friends are the one part of my life that has remained constant. I would do absolutely anything for any one of them, and I know they would do the same for me. In the case of a broken heart, a silly argument, or a difficult test, I am always the first to help. Being there for my friends comes first no I am not ready to leave my friends matter what else I have to do. I can tell when one of my friends is upset, and I can predict how they will react. If I am not with my friends and something exciting happens, it would be inexcusable to go to bed without calling every one of them with the news. I m growing up fast. Junior year is almost done. We re sitting on the couch watching a movie. I m drinking tea. A few of my friends are drinking coffee, but my mouth still hasn t adjusted to the taste. College is just around the corner, but our childish talks and plans don t seem so long ago. In fact, we re still having the same discussions. We probably won t go to the same college that would be impossible but we could be in the same state. We will talk every single day. We can meet on weekends and come home on holidays. This plan is just as good. Now I am ready for college. I am ready to meet new people and have new experiences in new surroundings. I am ready to leave high school and take classes that will expose me to a higher level of learning. I am ready to live on my own. But I am not ready to leave my friends. I won t be going to school with any of my best friends, and we won t be in the same state either. I probably won t see them on weekends, but maybe on holidays. I might not have time to call them every night, but every other night is possible. Maybe on the nights I am not talking to friends from home I will be making new ones at school. I hope I will become as close with these people as I am with those I have known for years. Maybe if I m lucky I will meet a few with whom I can sit down and share a cup of coffee. VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW Silence by Katherine Wells, Arlington Heights, IL Silence. A subtle ostinato of coughs begins; whispers fill the concert hall. Some guy breathes as if his trachea is seized in a death grip. Thousands of uncomfortable people shuffle. They re conscious of every sound: every high-pitched ring in their ears, every low beat of their hearts. Meanwhile, the trumpeters are frozen, their lips silently kissing their mouthpieces. The violinists sit in suspended motion on the stage, as if space and time do not exist. The conductor stands, his baton ready, as still as ever. Those in the audience who know nothing of composer John Cage s 4'33 fail to understand the silent symphony gracing their ears. It is a composition of no notes only the seemingly insignificant rustlings of the concertgoers make up the score. As a violinist, I originally thought Cage was insane. I have spent years appreciating intricate classical melodies. Who would compose four minutes and 33 seconds of silence? How is that music? When I first heard about the piece, I was annoyed that anyone would waste five minutes that could be devoted to sweet, melodic music. I was mystified by the piece until I realized that silence is one of the most important aspects of my life. Wordless moments when the TV is off, Rests are not empty moments when I m snug in my bed with a book, when everything stops are when I feel truly at ease. Every care or worry in my day dissolves like Alka-Seltzer hitting water. I ve discovered that time spent in silence allows me to deconstruct my life and think about simple things. I realized Cage is the master of making something out of nothing. In music, I was always taught that rests are not empty spaces in a piece; they should be played as if they are notes themselves. Rests are not empty moments devoid of thought. They are moments to count, to breathe, to absorb the impact of the phrases just played. Every Thanksgiving, my family starts the feast with a silent prayer our own reallife rest. Every year we say our thanks then bow our heads. Since my grandfather, the rock of the family and most honorable man I ve known, passed away nearly three years ago, silence has been the most meaningful language my family can speak. The silent conversations at holidays have taught me much about the strength and stam - ina of the human condition. As we stand holding hands, crowded in my grandmother s living room, lighting candles to honor the twinkle Papa always had in his eyes, silence is the perfect tribute for a powerful love lost. It instills more hope in our hearts than any poorly constructed words. As I begin to make the largest transition in my life, I will remember John Cage s 4'33 when life seems too hard, too hectic, or too meaningless. I will sit in my own symbolic concert hall, making symphonies out of my thoughts, learning everything about myself in total silence. JANUARY 09 Teen Ink 25

26 opin!on Suicide and the Media by Harris Marquesano, Ardsley, NY Sensitivity must be used when the media reports on teen suicides. Sounds obvious, but it doesn t always happen. And when it doesn t, you often find copycat attempts in the wake of a teen suicide. How does it happen? Impulsive teenagers are more prone to suicide. Studies have shown that this, combined with a glamorized account of the details and the nature of the suicide the method used, and other titillating information can cause a spike in teen suicide in the local area. And, when a famous person commits suicide, teen suicide rises on a national level. Teens often romanticize adventure and living on the edge. According to Pamela Cantor, president of the National Committee for the Prevention of Youth Suicide, this can be a deadly combination when faced with a suicide. Cantor says, Kids see that this is a glamorous way to die, a way to get a lot of attention that they couldn t get in life. In an interview, Loren Coleman, author of The Copycat Effect, said, When the media comes in and does a graphic depiction of it it doesn t work to scare kids away. She notes that teens even create a fantasy of what their funeral will look like. They imagine flying over their funeral and seeing how much they are missed. In 2005, one young person in the United States committed suicide every two hours. That s approximately 4,500 teen suicides! Of those, 100 to 200 teens died in clusters. In many cases, the additional victims were friends of the teen or identified strongly with something about his story reported in the news. In Plano, Texas, where one of the first reported clusters occurred 25 years ago, a teen s suicide was Impulsive teenagers are more prone to suicide tragically followed by eight more teen deaths, mostly using the same method. Similarly, when a popular teenager in Bergenfield, New Jersey, ended his life in 1987, several of his friends killed themselves six months later. This was followed by two additional suicide attempts using a similar method. And, when the cluster was studied more carefully, an additional four teen deaths were linked to this first suicide. Copycat and cluster suicides are played out on a national level when a famous person commits suicide. Media coverage of the event is nonstop, which often leads to more tragedy. For example, according to the New York Magazine article A Dying Trend, when Marilyn Monroe took her life in August 1962, the suicide rate in the following month rose by 12 percent, which was an additional 197 suicides. This phenomenon is not limited to the United States. In 1986 in Tokyo, Japan, 18-year-old Okada Yukiko, a popular Japanese singer, took her life. Her widely reported death resulted in a staggering 31 teen suicides in the following two weeks, a phenomenon that the mass media in Japan called the Yukko syndrome. So what can be done? Research has shown that the way the media handles the reporting of suicides can be critical in reducing copycats and clusters. A study was conducted in Vienna. Between 1984 and 1987, there were a large number of suicides by people who jumped in front of trains. The media coverage was overly dramatic and graphic. A campaign urging the media to change its coverage of these tragedies resulted in an 80 percent decrease in incidents of this type of suicide. According to the Suicide and Mental Health Association International s report on Suicide Contagion, the media should not sensationalize the event or glamorize the victim or act. Describing the method used should also be kept to a minimum. Another important step the media can take is to focus on the mental health aspects of the suicide. Just saying that the victim was stressed or under pressure makes it too easy for other teenagers to identify with the victim. Those who commit suicide often have longstanding mental health issues that are often ignored in the media coverage, which is a huge mistake. Teenagers need to see that they are not just like the teen who committed suicide. Suicide is caused by many factors; it is not acceptable for the media to be one of them. Photo by Sarah Marshall, Blairsville, PA 26 Teen Baby Trend by Chandler Cross, Woonsocket, RI Does today s generation glamorize teenage pregnancy? About four in ten girls become pregnant before age 20. Annually, about 900,000 teenage pregnancies occur nationally approximately 52 pregnancies per hour. Almost 40 percent of young mothers haven t reached the age of 18 when they become pregnant. An epidemic. How could something like teenage pregnancy ever become so popular that it s considered an epidemic? Of course we all know the obvious reason for pregnancy, but one perplexing question is why aren t teens being more responsible? One would think that young adults would know enough to be careful. However, not using protection isn t always the cause of teenage pregnancy. Surprising as it may seem, some teenage girls may choose to get pregnant because they don t see any life goals within their reach other than motherhood. Some may be seeking the unconditional love of a child. Or maybe a young woman believes that having her boy - friend s baby will make him want to stay with her. However, nearly 80 percent of these fathers do not marry the mother of their children. Teen Ink JANUARY 09 Some teenage girls choose to get pregnant Sadly, an intended pregnancy doesn t hold the advantages that young people believe it will. I believe another cause is something many desire and thrive on: attention. Attention can cause a big (but false) boost in self-esteem. It provides a temporary happiness that is addictive for some. If you pick up any magazine like People, Star, or Us Weekly, you are pretty much guaranteed to find at least one article about a pregnant celebrity. Millions and millions of people fawn over these stars. When celeb mommies spill the details about their little soon-to-be bundles of joy, people seek to emulate their glamorous lives. One of the most popular confessional pieces in the media recently was about a famous teenage mother: Jamie Lynn Spears. She starred in Zoey 101 a popular Nickelodeon show among both tweens and little tykes for only three seasons before she leaked to OK! magazine about her surprising and shocking pregnancy with her older boyfriend, Casey Aldridge. For months, Jamie was on baby watch. Paparazzi followed her around begging for comments and pictures of her and her developing baby-bump. Every tabloid had something to say about Spears s unborn child, and most of the articles were positive accounts of the support she was receiving from her parents and how she and Aldridge were planning to marry. Another recent, highly public teenage pregnancy was that of Bristol Palin, daughter of Republican VP candidate Sarah Palin. The young lady s secret was apparently not so secret in the close-knit Alaskan town where the Palin family lives. When the rest of the country found out, even more news coverage focused on the family. Very public incidents like these impact regular teens. Not all blame should be placed on the media, however. Schools deserve some of the fault. Some have been known to enact Bring Your Kids to School Day. If that s not encouraging young people to get pregnant, I don t know what is. Think of all the attention a teen mother would receive as classmates ask about the silly behaviors of her little mini-me. When it comes down to it, most people sympathize with young moms and commend them for toughing it out and taking care of their babies. But teenage pregnancy has been made into something it is not. It has been glamorized like a new, expensive pair of shoes. Teens may think they are ready, that all a baby requires is someone to feed it and change it every once in a while. Teaching sex education at schools isn t enough anymore. Today s teens must be taught the responsibilities that go along with raising a kid. Someone needs to stop children from having children of their own. No,You Cannot It is a new nation, a nation that proudly proclaims: Yes we can. But what power holds yes we can, when America has told many of our brothers and sisters no, you cannot? You cannot follow your heart. You cannot move forward. You cannot take a hand. You cannot break the mold. Marriage is a holy bond for a man and a woman it is not yours to taint, they say. Where is the future? Relentlessly we must keep striving for a better day. We must stop this hatred and bring about change in the wake of defeat. by Kayla Bruner, Cypress, CA COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

27 Branded Irresponsible by Marissa Curtis, Grand Junction, CO According to a survey by Discovery Health, two-thirds of teenage girls said they needed to lose weight, while only 29 percent were actually overweight. What is it that makes teen girls so self-conscious about their bodies? While some believe the blame lies with media coverage of skinny celebrities, I think clothing stores like Hollister and Abercrombie are actually the main reason. To stop girls from feeling the need to be unhealthily skinny, these stores should change how they size their products. The sizes in some brand-name teen clothing stores are ridiculously skewed. Being a female myself, I know that few girls want to wear a shirt with a large or even a medium tag. We want to fit into smalls because society tells us that we are supposed to be skinny. I see girls at school who, after taking off their sweatshirt, hide the tag because they don t want anyone to see that they are wearing a large. Many girls around the nation feel the same way. A post on Yahoo!Answers asked the question, Are Hollister and Abercrombie clothes meant for smallframed girls? A respondent answered, I m 5'7" and weigh 120 lbs. but I feel fat when I go in there. Another said, Yes, I m a small [woman] and still wear a large there. One respondent observed, I swear, it makes even Barbie look like a cow. Between five million and 10 million females in the United States have an eating disorder. These are linked to the desire to be beautiful by society s standards. And according to some teen clothing makers, beautiful means squeezing into a T-shirt that would fit an 8-year-old. I have a friend who is a very talented gymnast. She would never be considered fat, but her body is muscular. She stopped working her arms for a couple of months so they would fit into the tiny sleeves of Abercrombie s shirts. These stores should not be creating products that encourage healthy, athletic girls to tone down their bodies. The sizes need to be changed to be more realistic for healthy, real-sized girls. The truth is, for the majority of young women, being able to fit into the small and extra-small sizes is not healthy. As teenagers, we get lectured every day to be happy with our bodies, but that s hard when every time we go to the mall we are made to feel fat. The sizes in brand-name clothing stores should match the actual sizes of teenage girls. Most small teen girls do not weigh 80 pounds (which is what you d have to weigh to fit into a small at some offending stores); a more typical small teen of 100 pounds would actually wear a medium in these brands. Sizes in some teen clothing stores are ridiculously skewed Teenage clothing stores need to take real statistics into consideration when determining their sizes. To some, the answer is simple: girls who do not like the sizes at brand-name stores should simply shop elsewhere. While this may seem like an easy fix, it s not that simple. Brand names are important to many teenage girls. Sure, they could find a shirt at Target identical to one at Hollister, but without the Hollister logo, it s not as cool. As ridiculous as that sounds, it is sadly true for many teens. A study by Seventeen magazine showed that 78 percent of girls who participated preferred an Abercrombie shirt to a very similar one from a less-popular brand. Some girls will continue shopping at brandname stores even though they disagree with their sizing. If all clothing stores made their sizes better correlated to the real teens who buy them, young women would be less self-conscious about their weight and happier with themselves. Visible rib cages and bony limbs are not what our society should consider beautiful. Brand-name teenage clothing stores, therefore, should not encourage this with their anorexic sizes, but make their clothing fit healthy and confident young women. opin!on Living Large by Scoti Dodson, Keedysville, MD What is it about water parks that gives people the desire to let it all hang out? America is the land of the free, home of the brave. I d consider it brave to be seen in public like that. The land of opportunity surely makes plenty of buffets available, but gyms aren t exactly in short supply. So why are so many Americans overweight? The ratio of fast-food options to affordable healthy alternatives is probably a factor. I had to dial Nancy Drew for that one. From an early age, we Americans must fight an uphill battle with the fast-food industry. This is often blind warfare. They have the upper hand, attacking children with cute gimmicks and promises of a toy with their meal. How are we supposed to fight that? The addiction sets in young. We re not taught about nutrition but convenience and the greatness that is the quarter-pounder with cheese. This bond could prove to be unbreakable. And it is certainly inescapable when you find fast-food restaurants on every corner. The hopes of adopting good eating habits when we re all bred into a world of trans fats on a sesame-seed bun are slim to none. More than what we eat, it s how much we eat. The supersize is just 50 cents more, so why not? Because the large dinner carries over to a larger breakfast and a larger lunch, and a larger you, that s why! No doubt about it, America puts a whole new twist on living large. Americans must fight an uphill battle with the fast-food industry Portion sizes are outrageous. When Americans decide to eat a healthy meal, they are likely to overeat. And our bodies react just the way biology tells them to we don t waste the extra sustenance but turn it into a biological take-home box we can t seem to throw out. If we were in danger of sudden food deprivation, this fat storage might come in handy, but for most of us it just provides us with every year s New Year s resolution. And as we grow older, the fast-food industry s tactics are enticing. Dinner for under five bucks? That s almost unheard of! When you re running short on cash and time, the dollar menu is the pot at the end of the rainbow. A pot filled with surprises you ll find down the road, like heart disease, diabetes, sleep apnea, and high blood pressure. Believe me, the money saved eating fast food is not going to cover the hospital bills when you re rushed into open heart surgery. Likewise, the convenience of those fries is going to be long gone when you re on bed rest for three months, waiting for your sternum to heal after they sawed you open. Don t worry though; you can walk away from the experience with a cute little scar across your chest if you re lucky. With a culture so gung-ho on the idea of cheap convenience, it s a wonder the entire population isn t overweight. The country would certainly bide well with a reduction in fast food, and I m sure our water parks would benefit too. VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW Genetic Engineering by Diana Peek, Rockwall, TX Bam! A 16-year-old takes off running at his high school track meet. He is not a quarter of the way around the track when the first of his five opponents reaches the finish line. Now, in the 21st century, many people say the world is on the verge of a scientific revolution that brings one of the most controversial ideas of all time: genetic engineering of humans. I believe this is morally wrong, dangerous, and will lead to problems in our society. The ethical dilemmas of human genetic engineering are what make this issue so controversial. Humans are trying to play too large a role in the universe. Many people believe that genetic engineering of humans is interfering with natural processes like the random selection of genes for looks and talent passed from parents to offspring. Human genetic engineering could let individuals play God and choose and manipulate their genes and those of their children. I believe that giving people this power goes against the basic forces of nature. All that is really needed is for us to accept ourselves the way we are. The idea of a divided society in the near future is a troubling and likely consequence of human genetic engineering. Societies have always been divided by varying degrees of inequity and bias. Now, with the emergence of the genetic revolution, society entertains the prospect of a new and more serious form of segregation. One based on genotype. Is mankind ready for this kind of change? The destructiveness of prejudice and discrimination is unmistakable. Imagine a world where the rich not only hold all the power, but they become superhuman. They could do things far beyond even the best abilities of normal people. Genetic engineering will bring about a rift between the upper-class citizens who are fortunate enough to afford such technology, and the lower classes who must rely only on their natural abilities. Human genetic enhancement would guarantee that families who can afford it would be able to perpetuate their social and political dominance. Technology, or lack of enough advanced technology, is another topic of controversy for the genetic engineering of humans. It is interesting to think about the impact technology is having on the world, but is mankind ready for this kind of change? Genetic engineering has the potential to treat and possibly cure a variety of cancers and chronic diseases, but in reality, this technology is not as promising and reliable as it may seem. Seven years after the first gene-therapy trial on humans, a complete cure for even one patient has not been produced. The technology seems to have an impressive array of benefits, but the science is still in its infancy. It is simply part of the nature of mankind to want to be better, stronger, healthier, happier, and capable of achieving more. On the other hand, some things are better left unaltered. Change is not always good. JANUARY 09 Teen Ink 27

28 pride & prejudice 28 Stereotypical by Christine Oshiki, Olympia, WA Igaze around the hallways of my school. Over the noise of my fellow classmates, I hear things that make my teeth clench and knuckles turn white. I constantly hear my peers calling each other gay and meaning it as an insult. I see one of my friends walking to class, and people do not dare touch him because he is open about his sexuality. Why is there so much fear and hatred toward gay teens? Thirty to 70 percent of homosexual teens have been verbally or physically abused at school. This abuse can drive gay teens to suicide; they alone make up a third of teens who kill themselves. One study showed that 30 percent of homosexual males age 14 Teen Ink JANUARY 09 Art by Faith Doughty, Holland, PA to 21 had made at least one suicide attempt. It is common to fear what you don t know. Many teens fear that someone who is gay will hit on them. However, fear isn t the only reason for this abuse against gay youths. When something new or different is introduced into our community, we find it weird. When people come out as being LGB, kids see them as bizarre because they re not like everyone else. A stereotypical 15-year-old boy probably plays a sport or two, calls himself ready when his hair is simply brushed, and worries about the problems he and his girlfriend are having. When a 15-year-old boy sings in musicals, calls himself ready only after hours in front of the mirror, and meets his boyfriends through his brother, kids are going to make fun of him, bully him, and make assumptions. Perhaps they ll tell everyone he has AIDS or sleeps around. Wasn t it in another time that we reacted the exact same way toward African-Americans? And Native Americans? And Japanese, Chinese, and Iraqis? Public schools today do a fantastic job encouraging progressive thinking about other cultures and religions. Why can t we take it to the next level? Let s encourage open-mindedness about homosexuality. A friend of mine has been open about his sexuality for two years. At first, people pointed and laughed at him. Some guys even told their buddies that my friend liked them, just to freak them out. No one really talked to him except a few people, including me. The harassment grew; people sent him abusive messages on MySpace. He d had enough. On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, our school had an assembly about civil rights. My friend stood up in Living It Down by Adam Schmitt, Cumberland, RI Most likely you have seen someone with Down syndrome, but have you ever wondered what it is like to live with it? Down syndrome, named for Dr. John Langdon Down, is caused by an abnormal number of chromosomes. Most people have 46, 23 from the mother and 23 from the father. A baby who is born with Down syndrome has one extra, which is due to an error called nondisjunction. It is still a mystery what causes this to happen. It is not possible to catch Down syndrome; you can only be born with it. Any person can conceive a baby with the disorder. The chances are slightly higher if one or both of the parents have it. The chance of giving birth to a baby with Down syndrome increases with the age of the mother. At 35, the odds of a woman conceiving a baby with Down syndrome are one in 214. At 45, the risk is 1 in 19. People with Down syndrome are easily identifiable because of the physical ways the disorder affects them. They usually have a flatter faces, smaller ears, eyes that slant up, and a larger tongue. What you don t see, however, is that while some are free of medical problems, many others have serious health issues. Almost half of people with Down syndrome develop heart problems and a disease that causes high blood pressure. Still more are born with vision and hearing problems. People with Down syndrome often have a lazy eye and need glasses. The disorder may cause obesity because people who have Down syndrome metabolize calories slower. About 10 percent develop seizure disorders. Also, a newborn baby with the condition has a 10 to 15 percent higher Life is difficult for those with Down syndrome It is common to fear what you don t know risk of developing leukemia. They also may have problems with their immune systems and have a 12 times higher death rate from diseases because their bodies can t fight the bacteria. Children with Down syndrome also develop more slowly. They may be late to sit, stand, or respond. This may be because children with the condition have dull muscle tone. Down syndrome can be a horrible disease if steps are not taken to prevent health issues. Unfortunately there is no cure, but there are ways to treat some complications. Heart problems can be corrected with surgery, and drugs can help prevent diseases. Without proper treatment, many infants would die, but now lots of people with Down syndrome live to be 50 years and older and enjoy life. One summer I volunteered for a baseball team for people with special needs. I was a buddy to a boy named Colby who was seven and had Down syndrome. I was a little nervous about working with him but soon I realized he was one of the happiest people I had ever met. Every time I saw Colby he gave me the biggest smile and came running over. In fact, he ran everywhere. Colby never seemed short on energy. It was that summer that I realized Down syndrome might not be as big a curse as most think. Life is difficult for those with Down syndrome. Some are ridiculed because of their appearance. Some spend a lot of time in hospitals for treatments. However, many do lead normal lives with a job and even a family. Some, like Colby, are oblivious to the meanness of others and live life to the fullest. With our technology, we are getting closer and closer to finding a cure for this truly mysterious disease. front of the entire school, in front of those who thought he was a freak, those who called him names, and those who wouldn t even look at him. He made a speech about the way gays were harassed and how much it hurt. He spoke with emotion and strength, and afterward, the harassment decreased. It didn t disappear completely, but his speech convinced the majority of students to stop. If all schools could have knowledgeable speakers educate kids about homosexuals, the rate of abuse, and possibly suicides, could decrease too. I cannot stand to think that any person could experience so much abuse and hatred that ending their life seemed better. I cannot stand to think that time and time again our nation fails to accept others differences. I cannot stand to see anyone punished for expressing who they are to the world. I cannot understand why Martin Luther King Jr. is so respected today but his words do nothing now except dwell in history textbooks. On August 28, 1963, King said, I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be selfevident, that all men are created equal. Somehow these words began creating equality between blacks and whites so many years ago. Shouldn t the same be true for gays? School is a place to learn, but it s also a place to grow, create friendships, and feel secure developing yourself. Teens should feel like they can express every part of themselves freely, not live in terror because of who they are. And since school is a place to express opinions, let s encourage doing so in a peaceful matter. Educating kids about the subject will shine a bright light in the closet so gay teens will feel safe coming out of it. A Racist s Confession Racism A word that in many ways Controls our views of the world Limiting the prosperity we crave And the equality we need I am a Racist Not because I have hate in my heart I d rather fill that void with love And occasional indifference But because I listen To the stereotypes To the slurs To the hate I listen intently I don t believe but I listen And I do nothing to stop it Which begs the question Who s more guilty anyway The racist pig who pulls the trigger Or the shrugging nobody who goes on with his day? by Dan Haggerty, Warrington, PA Art by Christina Grisanzio, Bedford, NH COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

29 Jawbreaker by Tori Capps, Kendall Park, NJ Icouldn t help but squeeze my keys. I felt the smooth rubber of my Gravedigger monster truck keychain in my pocket. The receptionist closed the window and went back to typing. It was too quiet in here. On the other side of the waiting room was a man in a Rutgers football shirt. He reached to grab a magazine. Oh, please pick Home Decor. I know you want to. I won t judge, I promise. But at the last second he took some car magazine that even I had never heard of. On the cover a girl in a red bikini was lying across a car with a perfect smile that would make most people feel happy just looking at it. I felt like I was staring at one of my family photos, the kind my aunt takes at birthday parties and holidays. It takes ten minutes to snap one picture because my little cousins either don t smile or don t smile nice at the camera. Or someone blinks. Yet somehow, months later, that picture is on their fridge. Those photos are the product of someone being pushy and trying to fool themselves that this will be a great memory saver. But are the people in the pictures really happy? I for one am normally pissed by the time the picture is taken. I d rather look at people who are pissed than see fake smiles. But then again, I can t say that to my aunt. Just like bikini girl can t say that to her boss. My dad was reading the newspaper and my mom was staring at the tele - vision, watching the only thing that s on these days, politics. I was the only one left in the room, holding onto my keys so tight that I thought they would make permanent dents in my fingers. Not that anyone could tell with this puffy coat on. Man, it s hot in here! Are you nervous? Mom asked. No. Why don t you take off your coat then? Busted! I unzipped my coat and waited until the last possible second to let go of my keys. We decided ahead of time that my dad would come in with me. The doctors want a parent there in case the kid flips out. I couldn t blame them because I wasn t promising I d be an angel. My name was called and I raised my hand thinking I was back at school. The nurse smiled. We re ready for you. Follow me. So, all four wisdom teeth are coming out, correct? she asked. Yep, just four. Well, just sit in the chair and I m going to hook you up to a machine that will take your blood pressure every five minutes. It will also monitor your heart rate. All right. I rolled up my sleeve and she put the wrap around my arm. It immediately got really tight. Then she put clips on each of my wrists and one on my middle finger. They were cold and wet from the antibacterial spray. I sat there in silence for five minutes as I tried to see if any drug deals were going on in the alley outside the window. What a sight that would be. Did I mention I wasn t in the nicest town? I was lucky I didn t get jumped walking in. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP Oh my god! I m going to die! Uncross your legs and take a deep breath, sweetie, the nurse said. I did as I was told. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP See, all better. She walked out and the wrap got tight again. This thing is pissing me off. I looked at my dad who just started laughing. You won t even feel it when they start. I better not hear that damn machine either. I rolled my eyes. I m bored. So, is that what you kids are calling scared these days? He looked out the window before I could catch his eye. So, how are we doing today? the doctor said as he came in. Fine. What else is there to say? Okay. I m going to give her the anesthesia and laughing gas. Once she s down you can leave, he told my dad. Down? What am I, a dog? Ha, ha. I meant once you re asleep well, actually, you won t be asleep. You can talk to us at any moment, but you ll be Too high? He smiled and nodded. I thought so, and don t worry, I m a pro at this. You mean you ve had anesthesia before? About three times. And I apologize in advance for anything I might say. Everyone gave me a confused look. They d find out soon enough. The last time I was under anesthesia, I had a really cute doctor. Let me just say in my defense that he looked like Johnny Depp, and he wasn t old either. So after the surgery, he came in and asked how I was feeling and I told him I was fine. And that s when he said, Well, you were doing fine during the procedure too. It s nice to know my patients think I m a sexy man. I thought my heart stopped beating when he said that. I couldn t look him in the eyes. Don t be ashamed. You re not the first patient who s said that. But I was in luck: this doctor wasn t hot. So this time around, I d probably be okay. The doctor noticed my dad s shirt. It had the Raminator monster truck on it. All four wisdom teeth are coming out, correct? Raminator? I ve never heard of him before, the doctor said. He was at Monster Truck Weekend in Wildwood this fall. He came in second, I added. I felt everyone s eyes on me. You saw a monster truck show? Yeah. Who hasn t? I take my boys all the time. But I ve never seen the Raminator. I m going to look for him next time. Have you ever seen the monster robot? It breaks the cars in half right before It sets them on fire! It s awesome, isn t it? I said. Oh yeah, and the flames are so hot you can feel them from the seats. Wow, so you ve been to a lot of shows? I guess you could say that. I have some posters in my room. Some of the drivers signed them too. I tried to picture my first monster truck show. I couldn t see it without closing my eyes. But I kept them open. If I closed my eyes, who knew what they d do. Wow. The doctor looked from my dad to me a couple times. What? I didn t think a girl your age would be interested. I could have come up with some snotty remark, but he seemed too nice. My dad shot me one of those looks. Plus, I didn t think it was the smartest idea to piss off a doctor just as he s about to put me down. Who knows I could end up a dead dog. Instead I just smiled. Picture perfect. By that time they had found my veins and injected the needle filled with clear liquid. Yipes, could they use a needle that was any bigger? You all right, sweetie? The nurse s face came into view as she lowered the chair. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! My dad had disappeared from sight and I couldn t control what I was saying. The beeping kept going faster and faster. Where did my dad go? BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! He s right here. She gestured at someone and I felt my dad touch my hand. The machine beeping was still high. So, the doctor said as he came into focus, who s your favorite monster truck? I thought for a second, trying to recall the name. Everything was blurry. Well, that s an easy one. He s the one who came in first this fall. Oh yeah? And who is that? The best of the best: Gravedigger. I closed my eyes; green and purple lights started flashing, and I could see a monster truck. The picture I wanted to see finally became clear. Not a fancy picture with fake smiles; just the truth. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP. Fitting In by Monica Sanchez, Ruidoso, NM Iwouldn t ask for a dressing room. My mom always asked for me. The evening before I had repeatedly risen from my seat and piled on excess noodles suffocated in meat sauce. Then I licked my bowl with the buttered garlic bread, leaving no evidence of the four servings I had inhaled. In the morning I would be forced to lie on my bed and suck in my stomach just to button my jeans. I dreaded school shopping. The sale rack, with its slender size markers, knew my number continued to bloat. I learned how to eat from my dad: fast and without thinking. In our house, the dinner table involved battle, with the children on defense. One false move and our dinner would be snatched off our plates without warning and gobbled up by our father faster than we could blink. We soon learned to keep a hand up while devouring our chicken strips, and if Mom decided to cook that night we needed to hurry and get seconds before it was gone. I learned how to eat from my dad Only one pair of jeans I tried on fit. I lied and told my mother I could button every pair but only needed the jeans that lay guarded in my hands. We walked to the checkout. I kept my head down as we passed a group of girls. They whispered. I glanced up only long enough to know my place. Their eyes cut at me, hands cupped over their mouths in secrecy. * * * The recess bell rang and I followed two girls in my third grade class out past the monkey bars to the fenced grassy area. We all wore the same clothes that year: khaki pants and polo shirts. Everyone was the same, or that was the idea. I like your pants. Where did you get them? Marcy asked Alicia. I nodded in agreement, thankful they had removed their cupped hands and I could hear the conversation. Really? I like yours better, Alicia replied. We should trade. What size are you? Marcy asked. I don t know Alicia said, finding the tag in the back of her pants. Seven. Me too, Marcy said. * * * I hid in line as I held the jeans, tag folded in so nobody could see the number inscribed on it was 12. I am not a size seven. non fic tion VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW JANUARY 09 Teen Ink 29

30 non fic tion Hopelessly Addicted by Amy, Tucson, AZ Why is it that no matter how incredibly hard I try to point myself in the right direction, I end up exactly where I started? It s like a never-ending cycle of failure. I sometimes wonder why I even bother to try if nothing ever comes from it. The last few years have been extremely chaotic and frustrating; from friends dying, to my coke addiction, to running away, life has taken a huge toll on me. I have had nothing but horrible events, one after another. But my biggest struggle has been my addiction; it s the hardest thing I ve ever had to deal with. I realize that many people think the life of an addict is easy we just sit around all day getting money off of people and scoring a high. Do you really think it s all fun and games? Or that we want our addictions to run our lives? My addiction, anyway, was anything but easy. The days were long and endless when I couldn t buy coke. I would spend between $40 and $100 a day, just on me. My weekly debt was only $60 when I first started. I was not using that much back then, but that changed when my boyfriend broke up with me. Then my dealer, who happened to be my best friend, started giving me coke for free. Soon I couldn t go a day without it. The white powder lifted into my nasal passages with ease. I took line after line into my body, hoping I could block everything out of my mind. My mind quickly relaxed, my heart raced, and my hands shook, but everything was good. I was happy for the 10 minutes the high lasted. Then I d do another line. Eventually my friend cut me off and tried to talk Tattler by Martha, Homewood, IL Iwalked aimlessly down the hall. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew why. The words Please send at 9:40 were written on a yellow piece of paper my Spanish teacher had handed me. I knew right away what it was about. I walked as slowly as I could. When I passed a security guard or teacher, I pretended I knew where I was headed. I held the yellow pass so they could see and kept on my way. But my mind was elsewhere. I stared out windows and into classrooms as I passed. I wanted more than anything to tear the pass in half and throw it on the ground. All I wanted to do was run. Ever since school had begun several weeks ago, I had dreaded this moment. I knew that some day my friend would spill our little secret, and I would be the one who would suffer. Or, maybe, so she could join in the fun I should make her suffer. She had told, hadn t she? I asked myself over and over as I searched for my destination. I trusted her with my secret and she had told. But I d known that some day she would. Maybe that was why I had told her. Deep down, I was tired of struggling. I was tired of the tears and pain that seemed to take over my life. But I didn t want to admit it, and I never would not in a million years would I admit that I didn t want to be like this anymore. Finally I turned a corner and saw a number on a door that matched the room number on the pass. I opened it with a shaking hand and stepped inside, terrified, overwhelmed by loneliness, and burning with hatred for the one who had tattled on me. I couldn t think of any - thing but coke me into getting help, so I cut him out of my life. With no coke in my system, I became angry, an - grier than I had ever been. My body shook for no reason. I was irritable and distant. I couldn t think of anything but coke. I wanted it all to stop to go back to the way things had been before I started. I wanted my life back. I didn t want to have to sneak out of my house and score in alleys with money I stole from a sleeping homeless guy. My life was out of my control and I would have done anything to get it back, but my body wouldn t let me. I was lost. Just when things were starting to improve and I was finally getting my life under control, I ran away. I met lots of new people who quickly became friends; they were either runaways or dropouts pushing 30, but they were all addicts. Our apartment had one bedroom with nine people in it. They took care of me. They fed me, bought me clothes, a toothbrush, and whatever I needed, as well as kept me safe and hidden from the cops. Then one day I overdosed. It was like any other night at the apartment. A bunch of us decided we wanted to party somewhere else. One of my friends offered his mom s house since she was out of town. We all hopped into cars, and on the way we stopped to buy some coke. When we arrived the house was dark and music was blasting in the living room. I headed straight for the bathroom to get high. Everyone was dancing and drinking and laughing and having fun. That s when I made more bad decisions. A friend took a donation from everyone and showed up an hour later with ecstasy pills. I took two. I felt like a small child, lost and unsure where to go. I probably looked like one too. No hint of confidence was on my face and I knew it. And I didn t care if my fear and anger showed. The room was dark just a small lamp in the corner and the light from the social worker s computer screen. I shut the door, as she instructed, and sat in a chair. All I wanted to do was walk away even more so when she began to speak. It started out as a getting to know each other talk. She asked me simple questions and I answered. But still my mind and heart were not in that room. All I could think about was why I was here. What had I gotten myself into? Then the conversation took a sharp turn, so sharp that I felt as if she was stabbing me in the I trusted heart. Her questions brought tears to my eyes, but I refused to set them free. I had learned how her with to hide my emotions, and I used my skills to keep from breaking down. my secret I answered with nods and shakes of my head. When I did speak, my words were only whispers. I could feel my voice begin to shake but still still, I did not show her my feelings. My heart beat rapidly as her words began to sink in. It wasn t that they were changing me, but they were becoming more real to me. They were somehow cutting through my denial and causing me to open up to myself. Somehow, I felt a flicker of hope spark in me. I walked out of her office 20 long minutes later, still physically and emotionally tired from battling an eating disorder. But I also walked out of that office knowing something about my friend that she had cared enough to tell. And that was all I needed to know. Art by Raul Ramos, Monte Vista, CO I started to feel faint and collapsed. My friends carried me to a bedroom and put me on the bed. After I convinced them that I was okay, a friend helped me up and made me promise not to do any more drugs. I promised, of course, but seven lines of coke later I was stumbling down the hall, falling every few feet. I ended up hot and shaking on the bathroom tile with four friends gathered around me while the others waited nervously outside. My entire body shook uncontrollably, and I couldn t catch my breath. I felt as if I were suffocating and had no control over my body. The feeling was almost indescribable; an overdose is one of the worst feelings ever. I was scared. I was trying hard to keep my eyes open but couldn t. My friends took turns pouring water on me to cool me down while the others tried to keep me awake. Even after that I still didn t stop using for another three weeks. And even though I was able to stop before I ruined my life completely, I still wake up in the middle of the night craving coke, almost tasting the drip in the back of my throat. I ask myself every day how I let myself get ad - dicted. Truth be told, no answer ever seems reason enough. Yet here I am, a year and a half sober. Drugs are the biggest demon any person can face. Once this demon is in your life, it s hard to break free. It takes control of you, of your life, and pulls you down before you realize what is happening. Escaping is an ongoing battle I ll face every day for the rest of my life. I made the choice to quit on my own, without rehab or counseling. I relied only on my family, my closest friends, and myself. It was the hardest thing I ve ever done. Long, sleepless nights, mood swings, huge fits over nothing I was on an emotional roller coaster and was a complete wreck. I know that those who were there for me had an equally troublesome time. Though I am now a recovered addict, if I could make the choice over, I would have asked for help. Being with someone who had experienced with what I was going through would have been a relief and therapeutic. I was hesitant about completing this article; this private part of my life will be out there for anyone to read. It scared me. I then thought, Would I have felt so alone then if I knew what someone else had gone through? I no longer feel the need to turn to this demon in my times of pain and confusion. However, I often reflect on that time in my life. 30 Teen Ink JANUARY 09 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

31 November by Anonymous, San Antonio, TX The crimson sign of hate remains, and forever will. His stare marked me, like a predator to its prey, the stare I will always remember. The earth, green in his eyes, once sweet and soft, comforting to my touch, was now bitter, cold, and harsh. Just as he did, I knew there was no turning back. His sturdy figure was flawless. His brown boots, the color of molded rust, came up past his ankle, just shy of his knee. His plaid shirt was half untucked and smelled of salty sweat, the aroma burning my nose as if he hadn t showered in days. His bronze hair cas - caded perfectly, with one strand falling just above his nose. His prickly coffee-colored beard defined his jaw, chiseled to perfection. His face was the pedestal of a smirk that I will never forget, the smirk of hate and lust. Art by Helen Hernandez, San Antonio, TX The pea-colored carpet smelled of stale cedar and apple cinnamon. The fluorescent lights blinded my eyes. A breeze blew in from an open window, cooling my body. The furniture was worn, and I could tell from the tears on the arms he had probably bought them from the Goodwill on Walters Street. My favorite pair of jeans, bought for $3 at the local thrift mart, were now scuffed and stained, my shirt was ripped, the white seams unraveling to reveal my chocolate-colored belly. I could feel that my hair was messy. The green eye shadow and periwinkle pink lipgloss Stacy had lent me was now smeared on my hands and shirt as well as his face. He undid his square belt buckle, not hesitating for a second. A smirk was on his face as his zipper slowly slid down like the clock ticking the final seconds of a basketball game. I now knew what he had in store for me. Time stood still, and everything around me froze. My regrets escaped through my tears and poured onto my skin. This was my state of emergency. I came to the realization that he was now and would forever remain the devil haunting my nightmares. I could see what was meant for me through him. I couldn t understand why; I was only a child. How could he harm someone in such a horrid way? I could feel my mother s words cascading onto my body, ringing in my ears, screaming at me to get up, to fight, but I could not. The guilt, the pain kept me strapped down to that carpet. I screamed, but it was a whisper. I clawed, but it was just a light touch. He forced himself on me, dominating my small frame, taking no mercy. I could taste stale cigarettes as his tongue tried to find an entrance to my mouth, almost choking me, leaving me breathless. Nevertheless he never stopped. How could he harm someone in such a horrid way? I lay still, doing my best to recover what was now left of me. He had taken away my dignity, selfassurance, and security. He opened a treasure chest, glittering with the finest jewels and flowers from all over the world. He opened that chest, which did not belong to him but was mine, and claimed it, selfishly, for himself. I felt a piece of my soul drain from my body, leaving me empty and incomplete like a crack addict in search of a fix that I would never get. He left me there on his pea-colored carpet that smelled of apple cinnamon and stale cedar. He left so nonchalantly, and I knew that this would be the day I would never forget. That day still haunts me. I have vivid dreams of him hurting me, robbing me of my childhood. The sweat stains on my nightgown are only the physical reminders of what he did, as I wake up drenched in my tears. This nightmare takes its shape in the form of tears and yells into a darkened abyss. The thought of being touched and loved terrifies me. The thought of ever being in love remains invisible, for I know that to love someone you must truly love yourself, but how can one do so if the scars of a horrid past are still visible? I am face to face with what I have been hiding from for years, why I have been clenching my fists since I was 13. Clenching my fists because I know that it is the only thing that will keep me from standing up and yelling, telling everyone that I was raped, that I was hurt, that I have forgiven him but I refuse to forget. I hold my face down, and keep my heart buried deep inside of me. The yearning and longing for what I know now has vanished, the denial I once faced is now coming to a close, and I know I have many years ahead to meditate on that one winter day in November. non fic tion Goggles by Madison Rush, Mesa, AZ Imagine you are in the ocean. You re snorkeling; in fact, you re about to swim over a coral reef. You ve heard it s astounding. The coral is brilliant shades of red and orange, an amazing organism you can t even begin to understand. It s bursting with hundreds of exotic fish of every color, shape, and size. You re about there, your excitement building, and then you see it. You re confused. You re thinking, Am I in the right place? You don t really understand why everyone says it s so amazing. You feel like you re missing something. And then someone points out the goggles still hanging around your neck. My mom and I were watching my younger sister s softball game from the outer fence while my two youngest siblings played in the park nearby. They ran around screaming and chasing each other without a care in the world. Her team was doing well, up by two in the second inning. When my sister got up to bat, I was pumped. As she stepped into the box, I could clearly make out the determined look on her face. The ball flew toward her and she pivoted, prepared to bunt. I found myself holding my breath with my fingers crossed, although I had seen her do this a million times. The bat contacted the ball and she laid down a perfect bunt, right along the third base line. I joined her ecstatic teammates in cheering as she sprinted to first. Then she was on second base, and I watched as she concentrated on the next pitch. I saw the familiar sign to steal, and sure enough, right as the ball crossed the plate she shot from the base, sprinting as hard as she could to third. I was so certain she would make it that I sat back in my seat. But, as she approached, the third baseman suddenly appeared with the ball. I knew it was too late to slide, but she went for it anyway. My sister was in midair when the third baseman tagged her forcefully on the shoulder. Disappointed, I watched her lose her balance and fall backward. Her helmet flew off and she landed flat on her back, her head smacking the ground. My mom and I frantically ran onto the field just as my sister went into a seizure. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. I felt my jaw drop and My sister was shaking violently VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW my mind go numb. My sister was shaking violently, her eyes rolled back in her head. One question terrorized my mind: Is she going to die? I looked around, trying to fight back my emotions. Adults surrounded her with worried faces. My mom was trying to stay calm but was looking panicked. My sister s teammates were not bothering to fight back their tears. Standing with this group of people who cared so much for my sister, the flood of thoughts broke through and I grasped the reality of what was happening. What if this was the end? What if my sister was going to die? What if we never got to ride bikes again, or stay up until two in the morning talking, or make brownies together? What if she never knew how much she meant to me? What if I never got another chance to tell her I loved her? After an eternally long 60 seconds she finally stopped and her eyes slowly opened. In a slurred voice, she attempted to tell us she was fine. But I knew everything was not fine. I knew I had been taking my life, and everything in it, for granted. Not just the big things, like my family, but the small things too; things that had become routine. I had been going through life oblivious to the world around me. Oblivious to people who had helped me, to my friends, my teachers, my role models, and my inspirations. As my sister lay there dazed, covered from head to toe in dirt, I knew this was my second chance to appreciate. I put on my goggles. Photo by Colleen Merchant, Melbourne, FL JANUARY 09 Teen Ink 31

32 interviews EMT Meghan Bardy by Lauren Knepper, Aurora, IL Meghan is in college, but she works as an emergency medical technician riding in ambulances and helping people. Meghan discussed with me some of the details about her job, what she does, and how she helps people. What is the most exciting part of your job? When a call comes in and we have to grab our stuff and jump into the ambulance, and race to the scene of an emergency, a car accident, fire, or anything really. What is one interesting story from your job? Every day is an interesting story. I deal with all kinds of patients in all kinds of situations. Why did you choose to be an EMT? I really like to help people, and I love having to work under pressure, knowing something s at stake. I like knowing that what I do makes a huge difference in people s lives. What ways have you impacted someone s life through your job? I impact people directly every day, whether it s doing CPR, giving someone oxygen, or helping bandage their wounds, but sometimes the impact I What I do makes a huge difference in people s lives have can t be seen and goes unnoticed to everyone but the person I help like when I talk to someone who has a sick or injured family member. Being a paramedic or EMT isn t always about helping the injured person but also the family. Many times the family is as scared as the person who is injured, and we have to help them also. Often they don t know what is going on, so we try to explain what is happening and answer their questions and concerns. What do you do for your job and what exactly is it called? I am an EMT-B, which is a emergency medical technician basic level. That means I drive ambulances or work in the back of an ambulance with patients. What kind of education do you need? To be an EMT it takes one semester of college, where you spend several hours in class doing book work. You also have clinical hours volunteering in an emergency room or on an ambulance practicing and learning skills. What are some of the special abilities you need to do EMT work? You have to be calm and collected in any kind of emergency. You have to help people when they are scared. You have to calm people down. In my line of work you need to know many medical skills, like how to start IVs, splint broken bones, bandage cuts and burns, perform CPR, and many others. What is your salary? It changes every day. As an EMT I get paid hourly, but depending on where I work, I may be paid per ambulance ride. What is something you wish you had known before you got this job? A lot of the time we sit around waiting for an emergency call to come in it can get boring. What do you like and dislike about your job? I really like helping people. I really don t like things I have to smell and clean up, like vomit and urine, to name a few. Who would you like to thank for getting you where you are today? My EMT teacher, Aaron. He was a great teacher and helped spark my passion for the medical field. His energy and love for his job as a paramedic and instructor was really inspiring. He has helped me so much and taught me many valuable lessons. I don t know how I could repay him. 32 Diabetic Teen Laura Campolito by Cassie Seemann, Canfield, OH Laura is one of my good friends. I really admire her. She has diabetes but still lives the life of a normal teenager. She has to deal with all the struggles of diabetes along with those of life. What exactly is diabetes? There are two types of diabetes. I have type one. My body attacked my pancreas and it stopped producing insulin. What does insulin do? Insulin allows sugars from food into the cells. If there is no insulin, there is too much sugar in the blood. Art by Camille LaMontagne, Clinton Township, MI Teen Ink JANUARY 09 How does diabetes affect your diet? At first, I had to eat foods that were sugar free. Then, I got a new doctor and he put me on an insulin pump. This allows me to eat a wider range of foods but in moderation. How does diabetes affect your physical activities? When my blood sugar is good, it doesn t affect me at all. When it is too high, I get very distracted, tired, and thirsty. When my blood sugar is low, I either get really tired or hyper. Is diabetes hard to regulate? Some days it is easy; some days it s hard. It depends on my surroundings. My mood, the weather, anything I eat, and when I am sick are just a few things that determine if it will be hard to regulate that day. What happens if your blood sugar gets way too high or way too low? Luckily, I have never been too high. When it gets too high, you go into a coma. When it s too low, you have seizures. That has happened to me six or seven times. I am told that I clamp my teeth really tight. I don t really remember what happens. When I wake up there are usually paramedics surrounding me. I have also blacked out three or four times because my levels have been too low. When my blood sugar is good, it doesn t affect me at all Who can get diabetes? It is mostly genetic. Type two diabetes usually affects people who are overweight or are older. How does diabetes affect your overall life? It affects me every day because I have to go through stresses and irritations that come with it. When I work hard and control my blood sugar, it isn t bad at all. Is diabetes curable? There are many cures being tested. They are getting very close to a cure. But right now, there are just ways to treat the disease. How will diabetes affect you in the future? My college life will probably be different. I will not be able to drink alcohol. I will have to adopt a respon - sible lifestyle. As a diabetic, are there extra precautions you must take? Yes, everywhere I go I have to bring my testing supplies. I also have to make sure I have some kind of food with me. I test myself before driving or doing something that requires my full attention. How old were you when you were diagnosed and how did you find out? I was eight years old. For about a week I felt sick and I would have cravings for pop and sugary foods. I would always sleep. As soon as I tried to eat, I had no appetite. So, my mom scheduled a doctor s appointment for me. What happened the first time your blood sugar got too low? My sister and I were playing hangman outside. I kept telling her I felt dizzy. She didn t think anything of it. My sister told me to guess a letter so I said, I guess H. She said it was wrong. For some reason I didn t care. I kept repeating I guess H. When we went inside the house my mom had dinner ready. I threw the food on the floor and started running around the house screaming I guess H! When I came to, I couldn t even remember playing hangman. Have you ever felt embarrassed about your diabetes? I usually don t get embarrassed about it. There was, though, one time in sixth grade. My mom decided it would be a good idea to educate my peers about diabetes. We went from class to class and I sat on a stool in the front of the room. My mom would point to me and say, This is Laura. She has diabetes. Some classes weren t too bad; the kids seemed uninterested. The most embarrassing time was when kids asked questions at the end. I will always remember one kid asking, What should I do if Laura runs out into the street? It was probably the most embarrassing moment of my life. COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

33 Apply now for our unique writing program in the heart of New York City! June 27 - July 11, 2009 Join the Teen Ink publishers and editors for: Writing courses Individual instruction Daily activities Broadway theater, museums and more Limited availability so call or now. (Girls currently in grades 9-12 only.) Be part of a community of writers for two weeks of intensive writing classes in the heart of New York City. You ll live in a college residence hall, learn with teens from across the United States, and benefit from the expertise of outstanding creative-writing teachers. It s not all work, though, since there s so much to see and do in New York City. Apply today! For More Info, NYC@TeenInk.com or Call:

34 college reviews UNIVERSITY OF Portland Portland, OR: The University of Portland is a private Catholic school located in the suburbs of Portland, a 10-minute drive from one of the most eco-friendly cities in the U.S. The college has just over 3,200 students. One of the top five schools in its region, it offers 39 majors, 28 minors, and more than 1,100 classes. It is the only school in Oregon that has a College of Arts and Sciences, schools of Business, Education, Engineering, and Nursing, and a graduate school. I recently had the chance to stay at the campus overnight and get a feel for everyday life there. As soon as I stepped on campus I noticed how beautiful it is. There are eight dorms, a fitness center, various chapels, and sports fields, all within the beautiful, green, 120-acre campus. The campus is rather small and easy to get around. Many students ride bikes, and the university provides them for free. This just goes to show that the college is environmentally sound and eco-friendly like the rest of Oregon. Some of the food served in the cafeteria is grown within 120 miles of campus, which supports local businesses and cuts down on unhealthy foods and pollution from transportation. I stayed in Kenna Hall, a beautifully furnished co-ed dorm full of friendly people. My roommates went out of their way to make me feel welcome; they walked me to my classes, took me to dinner, and basically did everything they could to make sure I enjoyed my stay. They answered all of my questions and gave me a good idea of what the school is like. The most popular sport at the University of Portland is girls soccer. Ranked fourth in the nation, the Pilots are a big deal on campus, especially since there is no football team. Every game is jam-packed with students and fellow Portlanders. The cheering can be heard from miles away. I visited two classes, both of which were small, with an average size of 30 students. There is a 13:1 student to teacher ratio, so students get personal attention and all the help they need. All classes are taught by professors, as opposed to large universities with classes run by teaching aides. One interesting academic opportunity at the University of Portland is the chance to study abroad. More than 50 percent of students participate, taking courses in countries like Spain and Austria. They can study abroad one semester or a full year. The classes are taught in English or the local language. This program is an amazing opportunity to become more culturally aware and see what life is like in another country. Overall, my stay at the University of Portland was eye-opening and gave me a look into what schools are like in other states. The University of Portland is for those seeking academic challenge and a close, friendly community. To find out more, check out up.edu. by Carlos Nava, Phoenix, AZ College Park, MD: Large brick buildings, sprawling campus grounds, thousands of kids, perfectly trimmed greenery. This describes the University of Maryland. Although this is a large state school, it offers many small details. The University of Maryland is located in College Park, Maryland, and is very accessible to the Washington, D.C., area by car, bus, or campus shuttle. The D.C. area provides students with city life and downtown shopping if that s what they desire. This large, co-ed university is home to 25,857 undergrads and 10,000 graduate students. The University of Maryland looks for applicants with an average GPA of 3.9 and SAT scores between 600 and 700 for math and verbal. The school is very competitive, and getting in can be difficult. The academic choices are endless at the University of Maryland. Students can pick from a variety of undergrad and graduate programs. Schools within the University of Maryland include colleges of Education, Informative Studies, Arts and Humanities, Behavioral and Social Sciences, Chemical and Life Sciences, Public Health, Public Policy, Architecture, Planning and Preservation, Engineering, Business, Journalism, and many more. I have not decided my major, but my interests fall under the College of Arts and Humanities. Although academics are extremely important, another aspect of the university that students love is the athletics. With Division I sports, the University of Maryland draws attention with winning records and championships. The school offers any sport a student could ever want, including intramural and league opportunities. In addition to five-star athletics, the University of Maryland has a wide variety of activities everything from community service to academic clubs. If you don t find a club U N I V E R S I T Y O F that interests you, Maryland you can start your own with a few peers. So what are the negatives? The only problem students may find is that this school is very big and they could feel overwhelmed. Yet there are solutions to this: participating in clubs, Greek life, or athletics will make the school feel smaller and more manageable. The University of Maryland has an amazing school that offers every opportunity students could be seeking. College-bound high school students should definitely check out this university! Learn more at umd.edu. by Danielle Weiner, Wyckoff, NJ You ve spent the fall visiting colleges. Now tell us about them. Send in your reviews! 34 Newark, DE: Over the summer, Delaware sophomores from all over the state were accepted into the Governor s School for Excellence. I was part of this group. We went to a dorm at the University of Delaware for a week and experienced some of the classes that a college student would. This program opened my eyes to all the fantastic opportunities offered at the University of Delaware. I had not considered this school in my list of colleges, but now I will. The University of Delaware s main campus is located in the suburbs of Newark. Other sites where Delaware students work and learn include Wilmington, Georgetown, Dover, and Lewes, with study abroad programs in London and Paris. Teen Ink JANUARY 09 Art by Cinthia Silva, Kannapolis, NC While I was there, we picked from a variety of field trips. I chose to study Marine Biology which was located in Lewes. The people there were very friendly and the atmosphere was amazing. I could see myself working at Lewes. Sixteen thousand undergrads, 3,500 graduate students, and 1,000 professional and continuing studies students make up the student body. There are four associate programs, 130 bachelor programs, and many master and doctoral programs available. The University of Delaware offers a wide variety of majors, including physical therapy and sociology. With 23 intercollegiate athletic programs and more than 200 student organizations, the University of Delaware offers enough activities to get everyone involved. The University of Delaware is known for its football team, which has multiple national championships and a winning tradition. The school strives to be the best in all of its programs. As soon as students enter the campus they feel pride in their school and being competitive is second nature. The University of Delaware is an absolutely beautiful college campus. The buildings are made of brick and the landscape, well, no complaints there. The library is enormous, and the classrooms are like arenas. So if you want a small college with small classes, Delaware might not be the place for you. I stayed in the new George Reed Dorms. It was not what I expected, and was the first dorm I had been in. There were two suites for four roommates connected by a bathroom. The dorms are spacious with gorgeous views of the campus. Full-time tuition and fees are $7,780 for in-state students, $20,260 out of state, and an additional $8,478 for room and board. I am not going to lie to you some of the classes and professors seemed boring. They talked and talked forever. However, some professors inspired me so much and affected my life after just a couple of hours. What attracted me to the University of Delaware is the pride of the students, excitement of the professors, unforgettable atmosphere, and all of the opportunities. Everything was so inspiring, and the experience is one I will never forget. I got to U N I V E R S I T Y O F live as a college student and saw Delaware what it would be like. Something that I could not wait for every day was meal times. The frozen yogurt was my favorite and was served at every meal. Just about the only thing I did not like was how many people there are in one class. I like teacher-student interaction, so the University of Delaware might not be the right college for me. I think the pride of the professors and students in the college sets the University of Delaware apart from others. I would recommend this college to others because the experience changed my life and I am sure it could change others too. Very social, active, competitive people would love this school. Learn more at udel.edu. by Caprice Torrance, Newark, DE COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

35 Grandfather Rex by Courtney Ajamian, Wyckoff, NJ Learning, consciously or unconsciously, is inherent in all of us. Whether it is learning a new recipe, trying to get a DVD player to work, or through an educational resource, all of us continue to learn throughout life. My grandfather taught me this and so much more. Five years ago, when it was time for my cousin to start college, my 75- year-old grandfather, Rex, decided to do the same. He enrolled at a community college, taking classes twice a week until his death last summer. As a student, my grandfather spent countless hours in his office studying and completing assignments. He consistently earned a 4.0 GPA and made the dean s list. Although he was twice as old as his professors, he loved going. He said, You can never know too much, no matter how old you are. He loved everything about school. Learning new things was truly his passion. My grandfather s will to learn was a great example for me to do my best in school. We were always competing with each other, trying to bring home the better grade. When he turned 80 and still had a full head of hair, my grandfather felt like he could take on the world. He felt like he You can never know too much, no matter how old you are could beat the unstoppable no matter what came his way whether it was his continuing battle with cancer or a tough professor. Some people look to Superman or Batman as their hero, but my grandfather will forever be my hero, the one who always came to my rescue. My grandfather was inducted into the hall of fame at his high school as one of the school s most accomplished football players. When I did some research I discovered that his nickname was Atlas. In Greek mythology, Atlas held the celestial heavens on his shoulders. For my grandfather s football team, he was their Atlas, holding the team together. He was my Atlas too, as the foundation of our family. In my times of need he was always there to support me and celebrate my accomplishments. I could count on him to help me out and stand by me. The strength he shared with me will continue to hold me up as I forever keep his memory alive in my heart and mind. My grandfather helped me realize that learning is a trait we are all born with and it should continue throughout our lives. In our infancy we begin the learning process by rolling, crawling, walking, and talking. As we mature we continue to learn in many ways from our scholastic studies, our peers, the media, and our families. I learned a lot about life from my grandfather. By the time we become young adults and graduate high school, many of us are asked to choose an area of study for our eventual careers. It is then that this inherent trait is put to the test as we look to the past to determine our future. This is the challenge college entrants face as they determine their strength of character and their will to continue the learning process. Musician Kurt Cobain by Jess Irizarri, Brooklyn, NY Kurt Cobain said, I d rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I m not. He s best known for his remarkable blue eyes and signature scratchy voice. He was loved for his good looks, immense talent, and rebellious personality. He s credited with changing the face of rock music and introducing a new style that would shape the 1990s, and he s still missed after his tragic suicide. Kurt Cobain was the front man of the Seattle-based band Nirvana, and he is best described as my hero. I believe a hero is anyone who is an influential figure, whether positive or negative, and who has affected one s life or outlook. A hero need not be a role model, since one doesn t necessarily have to emulate his or her hero. But inevitably, heroes are needed in the loneliest times. Nirvana is best known for their second album, Nevermind, in 1991, which went platinum ten times in the U.S. alone, along with their 1993 Unplugged performance in New York City for MTV. Smells Like Teen Spirit is widely regarded as the best song to come out of the 90s, and while such success seems appealing to the average dreamer, it was the cause of Cobain s emotional downward spiral. Humble and shy, he came to regret his rising popularity. I feel the utmost empathy for Cobain. His music speaks He introduced a new style that would shape the 1990s to listeners beyond its melodies and lyrics. There is raw emotion and human feelings we can all connect to, and most important, true passion. As a musician too, I am deeply moved by the power in Nirvana s songs. Kurt Cobain was a nomadic teenager, traveling from one family member to the next, with the dream of being a musician from an early age. He joked that he had suicide genes, as many deaths in his family were deemed suicides. A victim of a painful stomach condition, Cobain claimed his heroin addiction eased the aching that accompanied his illness. Though he died before I was born, it seems as if our lives are parallel. Like many, we faced serious issues, especially during our teenage years. That, along with my love for grunge and my musical aspiration, creates my connection with Cobain. Why, you may ask, would my hero be a drug-addicted, suicidal rock star? It all seems fairly romantic and typical of a rebellious teenager. The answer: I admire his creativity and personality, along with other aspects of his character. He was known to be an exaggerator, even a liar at times, and he certainly made mistakes in his life all reminders that Cobain was, in fact, human. And he dealt with his problems with habits that I aspire never to imitate. I have learned lessons from his mistakes. He was brave enough to put himself in a position where he knew he would be uncomfortable, and I like to think that it was only to show kids like me what not to do. What better way to teach than to scare? My hero lived a life that was short, violent, and inspirational, like many of his songs. He changed music completely by ending the 80s hair-metal craze and giving birth to grunge-rock. He was raised by tragedy and nurtured by hopelessness. He was a victim of addiction, heartache, depression, and disease. He was also a victim of his own actions. Cobain s songs are recognized worldwide to this day as the work of a musical genius and a great man. heroes Sister Abby Amoguis by Michelle Amoguis, Phoeniz, AZ Abby is my older sister by a year and seven months. Mom would dress us up like twins when we were babies. In pictures, you ll often see us wearing matching outfits with our hair in pigtails; we were adorable. Abby was the quiet one, while I was usually getting caught in mischief. Abby sat and watched TV while I would filch my sister s pacifier and replace it with my own. I found this entertaining, and she never argued with me about it. In fact, Abby never complained to me about anything. Every morning when I was in kindergarten, I would sing her a song that I learned at school. She never sang with me, just laughed and smiled. Abby was my buddy, my best friend and sister; I never saw anything different about her, not the fact that she wasn t audible or sat in a wheelchair, or had tubes and wires always attached to her, or the fact that she was born handicapped. When Abby was born my mother went into labor eight weeks early. Abby was diagnosed with a birth defect called VATER syndrome, which prevents normal development of Abby went through a myriad of challenges VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW the fetus. A few of the defects in Abby s case were that her esophagus did not connect to her stomach, there was a hole between the wall connecting the trachea and esophagus, and her lungs were not developed because she was premature. Doctors put in a feeding tube. In the first couple years of her life, Abby would go through many surgeries, hospital visits, and adjustments. For her first two years, Abby spent the major - ity of her time in the ICU. When I was born she was a year and a half old, and she finally came home when I was six weeks old. Eventually, my sister began to spend more time at home than in the hospital. Many doctors and nurses believed she would not make it past the age of two, but my parents were determined to prove them wrong and continued to hope and pray. After much heartache, stress, and medical intervention, Abby would shock everyone. Today, Abby is 18 happy and healthy. She hasn t been in the hospital for eight years, which is a miracle. Though she is currently on full life support, ventilator, oxygen, and a feeding tube, it has never stopped her from having fun. Abby has always gone on family vacations to the beach and the Grand Canyon and school field trips. While Mom is at work, she has nurses to take care of her. Abby is always surrounded by family and loves to go with us to the movies or shopping. She specially loves when we play music, or when I talk to her. Growing up with Abby has taught me much and greatly impacted my life. Because of her, I have a bigger heart for handicapped and physically disabled children. Though I have grown to be taller than she, we still share clothes. She s always been my big sister whom I can talk to, and even though she doesn t talk back, she loves it when I tell her about my life and what s going on. Because of her, I ve always had a best friend. I ve learned to get accustomed to the stares we receive when we re out in public. Though everybody else might see my sister as different, I don t; I see it as a gift and a blessing to have her in my life. Because of her, I know that good things come to those who wait and to never give up. Abby went through a myriad of challenges and survived them all. My sister is my hero. JANUARY 09 Teen Ink 35

36 Book reviews FICTION The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini Khaled Hosseini s first novel is beautifully written and riveting. Set in his beloved country, Afghanistan, in the 1970s, and later in America, this heartwarming story revolves around a boy named Amir, his father, and their servant, Hassan, who is Amir s friend. Amir, who is constantly struggling to earn his father s love, finally succeeds by winning a kite-flying competition. But on that day, he witnesses a horrible act and does nothing to stop it a secret that troubles him for the rest of his life. His friendship with Hassan is affected and Amir slyly gets rid of Hassan. In the midst of this, Afghan - istan is invaded by Russia, separating Amir and Hassan completely. Amir starts over in America, his secret still haunting him. One phone call from Afghanistan takes him back to his home country where he learns a shocking secret about his past and tries to make things right. Hosseini skillfully paints a picture of Afghanistan and its rich culture, a beautiful country torn apart by war, with scenes of a couple being stoned to death, a man selling his fake A beautiful country torn apart by war leg to feed his children, and a boy forced to dance like a monkey to entertain others. The prose is elegant and rich with detail that give us insight into Afghan culture and traditions. The story does not focus as much on politics and war as it does on the lives of those affected. It is a tale of family and friendship, loyalty and salvation amid the horrors of war. The characters are so realistic that long after finishing the book, you will be thinking of sensitive Amir with his insecurities, his father, and Hassan, who is my favorite. The twist at the end is worthy of an Agatha Christie novel. While reading this powerful book, you will feel many emotions, crying your eyes out at parts, but in the end, you will cry tears of happiness. This book is a must-read, regardless of age, gender, or nationality. It delivers a universal message that will move even the coldest heart. by Shanzeh Khurram, Karachi, Pakistan FICTION The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand Although at one time I worshiped this book (yes, it really was my bible), I still love it as the first literary work to open my eyes. I believe I changed after reading this book, but not wholeheartedly in my actions. Ayn Rand paints an accurate portrait of the various types of people in this world. She skillfully maneuvers the villains and unleashes their feelings and thoughts. But most impres - sively, she creates a character so powerful in mindset and so swift in skill that he has become a universal wonder. Rand s vision of a flawless human Howard Roark is Rand s vision of a flawless human. He is persistent, confident, and ready to condemn evil despite dire personal consequences. The reader cannot help but follow his impeccable path to a life of satisfaction, integrity, and freedom. Whether the reader yearns for an end to traditional architecture, like Roark, or just a path to independence, The Fountainhead is a must-read. Rand s philosophies are applicable to every person and every profession. Recently, I have embraced the criticism that comes with this book. And yet we all need books like this to open young minds and philosophies to build our foundation upon. So for all of that, this book still remains one of my all-time favorites and is a must-read for all adolescents. by Brittany Hsu, Jericho, NY CLASSIC The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky Wow! I just finished reading this wonderful book. Fyodor Dostoyevsky succeeded in creating characters who symbolize something. For example, Dmitri and Fyodor seem to personify selfishness and the appetite of the flesh, Alyosha represents faith, Ivan doubt, and Smerdyakov is a symbol of Dostoyevsky s wickedness. Their personalities all add to the book. The Brothers Karamazov has everything a reader could want: murder, a love triangle, virtues, and morals, just to name a few. This is one of those books that I found myself looking forward to reading and at times could not put down with the pages Characters who symbolize something just seeming to fly by. One aspect that makes it even more enjoyable are the themes that Dostoyevsky touches on, including the conflict between faith and doubt. Though the thickness of the book may make it intimidating, it is worth a try if you love classic literature. This is my first Russian novel, and now I look forward to reading more by Dostoyevsky. by Rachel Tuominen, Floodwood, MN SCI-FI The Truth Machine by James L. Halperin Travel to a world where science is all-powerful In the speculative novel, The Truth Machine, James L. Halperin creates a time line that leads up to a future Earth where a computer called the ACIP (Armstrong Cerebral Images Pattern) can read image patterns of the cerebral cortex and translate them. It is a 100 percent accurate lie detector created by the protagonist, super-genius Randall Petersen Armstrong. A computer named the Intel 22g CP narrates the story as Randall progresses toward saving humanity with his invention. This novel combines a futuristic setting with views of what our present might have looked like. Add Halperin s wonderful character development, and you ve got a mix of emotion, scientific revelations, crime, love, and turmoil. These elements bring a sense of realism Photo by Julianne Wood, Phoenix, AZ 36 COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH while they keep you wanting more. If you read The Truth Machine, be prepared to travel to a world where science is allpowerful, a 17-year-old is the richest person in the world, and crime is a thing of the past. Watch as Earth fights for survival amid nuclear wars and technological revolution. Overall, this novel will please even the most scrutin - izing readers and leave you feeling full and content. by Tom Heartlein, Galesburg, IL HUMOR A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson As the title suggests, A Short History of Nearly Everything has nearly everything. It brings you everywhere from the atoms that make up this world to the entire universe. Take, for example, the Milky Way. It ends at Pluto, right? Wrong: it continues for millions and millions of miles. The book is very long. However, it simplifies things so that Learning is the only option even nonscientists can understand. Learning is the only option with so much packed in. Bill Bryson goes into great detail about the smallest things. For example, we do not actually touch other objects; the atoms deflect other atoms so we are levitating at a very, very small height. This book focuses on things that you ll want to know. It may take a long time to read (it took me over a month), but it is definitely worth it. I m reading it for the second time, and still there is more to learn. by Thomas Devlin Douglas, MA FICTION The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky The Perks of Being Wallflower is an epic novel for any generation. After reading it three times, I am still deeply moved. This is a great comingof-age story, perhaps as memorable as The Catcher in the Rye. Charlie reaches out through letters that take you into his life. You find yourself recognizing what he is going through, and it opens your eyes and makes you realize you are not alone, no matter what. In this novel, you will fall in love with the characters as they Makes you realize you are not alone remind you of your friends. I think everyone should read this book because, like Charlie, we are all on a quest to find ourselves. This brilliant first novel captures the reader s mind. From when Charlie first realizes he is in love, to the times that he is infinite, and the moments he is in tears, Chbosky never fails to promise the reader something good. Something beautiful. Something infinite. by Gladys Malave, Interlachen, FL SCI-FI Raising Atlantis by Thomas Greanias If you re interested in reading an exciting survival story with lots of twists, do I have a book for you! Raising Atlantis is an amazing life-and-death tale in which all life on Earth is threatened with extinction. The story begins with earthquakes shattering the peaceful silence of Antarctica. A military Earth is threatened with extinction expedition is sent to investigate. Two miles beneath the ice they find what they believe to be the missing city of Atlantis. The main character, Dr. Conrad Yeats, calls Atlantis the mother culture he s been looking for his whole life. They unearth frozen bodies, the power to sink islands and coastal cities, a starship capable of traveling to the heavens, and knowledge about life that precedes us. But will all be lost because of one man s greed? The fate lies on his shoulders. Greanias masterfully engages the reader with a captivating writing style that makes you feel you are on the expedition with Conrad Yeats. Greanias leads the reader to the answer to these questions, yet leaves his audience hanging with a cliffhanger that can only be unlocked in the sequel, The Atlantic Prophecy. by Stuart Siberski, Hockessin, DE Teen Ink JANUARY 09

37 COUNTRY Taylor Swift Fearless If you are a country-music fan, you are well aware of Taylor Swift, the talented singer/songwriter known for her songs about relationships. Swift s new album, Fearless, continues that theme. Swift music displays past relationships and personal stories, which gives a bird s-eye view of her life. Fearless, the first track, illustrates a perfect first date, and the story will capture the hearts of girls all over the world. White Horse is a slower song that counters Love Story because there is no Prince Charming in the end. Has made her mark on country music Girls will relate to other great songs like You Belong With Me, Breathe, and Fifteen. Although Taylor is just 18, she shines in the music industry and within two years has made her mark on country music. This album is uplifting when you are sad and brings out the best when you are happy; the music varies with some slow songs and some high energy beats. I think fearless is having fears but jumping anyway, Swift says. Fearless is truly worth listening to, even if you are not a country fan. Swift s pure voice radiates in each song, and her honest feelings come to life. by Kristen Dennison, Katy, TX ROCK Chicago The Chicago Transit Authority Chicago. Not only the name of a great city but the name of the greatest jazz-rock band of all time. Though they may not be as popular now as in their heyday, Chicago certainly deserves the success they have achieved over the decades as they toured and recorded together. What makes Chicago so unique is how they play solid rock and roll, but with a horn section that is an integral part of the band s sound. It all started with their first album, The Chicago Transit Authority, released in The group was unknown, and the album included two LPs almost unheard of at that time. From humble beginnings, The Chicago Transit Authority would go on to earn high accolades, staying on the charts for 171 weeks and creating a large, loyal fan base. When listening to Introduction, it s clear these musicians are about to unleash something fantastic. The next track, Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? illustrates the rush of modern life and how people can easily forget to spend time with loved ones. Beginnings, a seven-minute love song on acoustic guitar and brass, will About to unleash something fantastic touch anyone s heart. But the album also has a hard rock growl; Free Form Guitar is a guitar feedback assault that will remind any self-respecting rocker of Jimi Hendrix. These and other songs on the album are all strong showings and great on their own, but together they fit perfectly and complement each another, something rarely seen now. It is a sad thought that there will never be another band as revolutionary or as creative as Chicago. They were not trying to find a niche to climb into, but just to play the music that burned in their souls. This album was only a taste of things to come in Chicago s career, and a testament to their evolution as musicians. With the turn music has taken in recent years, it s a comfort to hear some high-caliber rock and roll from the Windy City. Rock on, Chicago. by Zackary O Meara, Glendale, AZ SOUNDTRACK Twilight Soundtrack There was one thing besides the movie that die-hard Twilight fans were waiting for this November. On November 4th, the Twilight movie soundtrack was released. To be honest, I felt a little embarrassed pre-ordering the CD. Didn t obsessed fans do that kind of stuff? Didn t teens who scream whenever they see a shiny silver Volvo do that stuff? Was I becoming a crazy Twi-hard? The first song sets the mood for the album. I think Muse s Supermassive Black Hole, which played during the baseball scene, is the best song on the CD. The way its fast-paced rhythm matches the singer s slow but cool voice makes you want to play ball in the rain. Okay, maybe not, but you get what I mean. Then there is the band that I believe fits perfectly with the Twilight phenomenon. Para - more has always been a top contender for a spot on this album, and Does justice to the book and movie it s not surprising why: their music just screams teen angst. And their song, Decode, in my opinion, sets the tone for the entire movie. I ll admit that the first time I listened to the album, I immediately skipped to track 10. My incentive for buying this CD was to hear Robert Pattinson (Edward Cullen in the movie) sing Never Think. Since his catapult to stardom, some of his music has appeared on the Internet. So it was no surprise that he would lend his vocals to the soundtrack. Pattinson s music has been compared to Jeff Buckley: bluesy with lots of groaning. But there is also a soft, subtle quality to his voice com - pletely swoon-worthy. Yes, I have a crush leave me be! Other artists on this album include the Black Ghosts, Iron & Wine, Linkin Park, and Blue Foundation. And of course, the soundtrack wouldn t be complete without Bella s Lullaby. I believe the CD does justice to the book and movie. Though I wish it had more fast-paced songs, I truly enjoyed it. by Erica Mann, Wexford, PA See page 38 for a review of Twilight the movie. ROCK The Beatles The Beatles One he Beatles One is by Tfar the best Beatles album ever compiled. It was released in 2000 and includes all of the band s biggest pop rock hits from the U.K. and the U.S. Most of the songs were released during the 60s, and all but two were on top-ten lists. The album includes numberone hits like We Can Work it Out and Day Tripper. The Beatles had many styles. One of the reasons this album is so popular is that it shows the evolution of their musical skill. Most of the songs at the beginning are basic three-chord rock tunes, such as I Want to Hold Your Hand, but as the CD progresses, The Beatles musical talent flourishes. The listener can hear their talent peak with Hey Jude. Many instruments VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW and beats make this one of their most popular songs. There are many reasons I love this album. One is that every time I listen, I get lost in the poetic lyrics. Also, no matter how often I hear the songs, they never get old. The only downside is that this album doesn t contain songs from the band s later career. From the time The Beatles formed in 1960 to today, they have been one of the most popular and influential bands of all time. They were not just singers, they were composers. Many groups that did not write their own music, like the Monkees, didn t remain together long. The Beatles One is a culmination of the band s best songs and it deserves two thumbs up. by Mike Yager, Canfield, OH SKA Skank Siderado For the last decade, Skank has topped the charts with its mixture of Brazilian samba, ska, and pop. Siderado was their greatest album, and even though it came out in 1998, many still enjoy it. This album never disappoints me. This band from Belo Horizonte, Brazil, formed in 1991 and very quickly started playing shows in São Paulo. Skank was a hit from the start, and during their 17 years together they sold 5.5 million albums. The drums, keyboard, guitar, and trumpet unite to make the biggest hit on the album, Sid- erado. The combination of sounds and lyrics outdoes the rest, but listening to any of the songs will make you want to sing and dance. The album is very diverse, so regardless of your mood, Will make you want to sing and dance you can listen to it. For example, one great slow song is Resposta. Or if you re in the mood for an exciting song, there s Saideira. Skank is known for their unique sound because they mix so many different styles. Siderado combines pop, rock, ska, and samba to make an amazing sound that no ear can resist. I think the album is amazing, but many people don t appreciate music like Skank s. If you like samba and Latin music then you can relate to how good it feels to dance to good music. The lyrics can be beautiful and meaningful if you take the time to listen. On some songs Skank is repetitive, but there is still a catchy ring to the music that makes you want to listen on and on. Siderado is undoubtedly one of the greatest Brazilian albums of all time. In my opinion it ranks number one because it is so different from other music. I believe Skank is a gift to the music world. by Lucas de Affonseca, Wilmington, DE HARD ROCK Evanescence Fallen In a world of over-processed voices and vulgar lyrics, finding real music is almost impossible, especially metal. Everywhere you turn, you see media drones smiling from the covers of CDs. Evanescence is a gothic metal act that has managed to stay true to itself and gained huge popularity. With its soulful blend of electric guitar, rhythmic piano, and mournful lyrics, it s easy to see why it s one of the best acts out there. Amy Lee, the lead singer and songwriter, adds strong yet smooth vocals for a flawless finish. Though Evanescence is a relatively new band, they ve gained a loyal following. Fallen is by far the best and won them two Grammys for Best New Artist and Best Hard Rock Performance Dark and emotive (for the song Bring Me to Life ). It features other hits like Going Under and My Last Breath. These days, many songs are plagued by crude and pointless lyrics. The songs here reflect a multitude of emotions. Whether it s unrequited love or grief, Lee s voice portrays it. I first picked up this CD because of the cover: a somewhat creepy picture of Lee s head in black and neon blue. Ever since, I ve been enthralled by songs like Tourniquet, a stirring tale of betrayal and lost love, and My Immortal, an emotional blend of soft piano and somber lyrics. Evanescence s songs appeal to gothic music fans everywhere, but they re not too hardcore for those unfamiliar with the genre. This album is truly a must-listen for anyone looking for something dark and emotive amidst a sea of substandard bubble-gum pop. by Payal Kumar, Arlington Heights, IL JANUARY 09 Teen Ink Music reviews sponsored by 37

38 Movie & TV reviews 38 THRILLER Twilight T wilight based on the first book in the bestselling series by Stephenie Meyer is a faithful adaptation that will satiate the thirst of fans and simultaneously captivate new audiences. The movie follows the story of Bella Swan (Kristen Stewart), a normal girl thrust into a secret supernatural world when she falls in love with her mysterious classmate, Edward Cullen (Robert Pattinson). He just happens to be a vampire. Ditch your preconceived notions of vampires; this isn t a typical vampire tale. If you are looking for clichéd stereotypes with fangs, coffins, and stakes through the heart, this isn t the movie for you. Director Catherine Hardwicke and screenwriter Melissa Rosenberg stay true to Meyer s vision and create a film that exposes Twilight for what it essentially is: a story of the ultimate forbidden love. Hardwicke once again proves her knack for portraying raw teenage experiences, as she did in Thirteen and Lords of Dogtown. She directs a young cast of phenomenal talent. Leads Stewart and Pattinson throw themselves into their roles and portray their characters exceptionally well. The chemistry between the two is electric. Stewart gives a fresh, honest take on Bella. Her straight - forward interpretation allows viewers to live vicariously through Bella and experience what she does. You feel her longing and desire. Pattinson conveys Edward s inner turmoil flawlessly. His complex perception of the Teen Ink JANUARY 09 Winner of Teen Ink s Twilight review contest Didn t get a chance to enter this contest? Prizes! Find out about our exciting writing and art contests at TeenInk.com/contests character creates a believable Edward. He conveys his feelings of vitality and emotional reawakening through his expressions. The movie also has an outstanding supporting cast. Billy Burke as Bella s father, Ashley Greene as Alice Cullen, and Michael Welch as Mike Newton all deserve a nod for excellent portrayal of their characters. The film itself is visually dynamic. The movie is shot in crisp blue tones. The costumes are pallid, veering away from traditional vampire attire. Bella s wardrobe becomes closer to the Cullens as she grows closer to them. The nomad vampires appear savage in clothes taken from their victims. Filmed in Portland, Oregon, the movie features stunning views and beautiful landscapes. Because of the small budget, action sequences were done physically. Though some may find the special effects lacking, the simplicity enhances Hardwicke s unique documentary-style filming. Using extreme close-ups and whimsical angles, the camera work gives the movie an intimate, realistic feel. The music ties in to the story perfectly. Consisting of moody, angst-filled rock songs, the soundtrack fits the tone. From Muse s upbeat Supermassive Black Hole playing during a game of vampire baseball, to Iron and Wine s romantic Flightless Bird, American Mouth at prom, the songs set the mood for the scenes. A longer film would have allowed more time to explain the essentials of the plot, making it easier for those who have not read the book. Although it mirrors the book very closely, many scenes had to be cut. The Fame! Fear not! Teen Ink has many ongoing contests as well as new contests happening all the time. Glory! danger of the nomadic vampires is threaded throughout the movie to create more tension. The essence of the story is present, making changes in details insignificant; the movie s creators successfully captured the elements that made readers fall in love with Bella and Edward. The book and the movie are The ultimate forbidden love equally satisfying, albeit in different ways, and neither is better. While you can imagine the detailed story unfolding in your head when reading the book, the movie creates a sweet condensed version for the big screen. Both allow you to lose yourself in this passionate, unorthodox romance. All components work to - gether nicely in Twilight to efficiently bring the book to life. The film is a beautiful mixture of romance, action, comedy, and horror, containing aspects that will appeal to everyone. by Leah Stapleton, Peoria, AZ See page 37 for a review of the Twilight soundtrack. MUSICAL High School Musical 3 Coming back with an allsinging, all-dancing spectacular finale of the terrific trilogy wasn t going to be easy. But Disney did it again as High School Musical 3: Senior Year explodes on the big screen in a huge, colorful display to delight youth and parents alike. Unlike its predecessors, High School Musical 3 was The best film in the franchise produced by Walt Disney Pictures for the box office, rather than for TV and it shows. A bigger set, better costumes, and more spectacular musical numbers make the final film a success. Although the previous two may have been enjoyed by more of the younger generation, the final installment has something for everyone and is perfect for families or teenage girls who want to squeal hysterically at Zac Efron on the big screen. As Troy (Efron), Gabriella (Vanessa Hudgens), Sharpay (Ashley Tisdale), and Ryan (Lucas Grabeel) approach the end of high school together, they have some big decisions to make and lots of things to do. But with the pressure building and the competition mounting, can they remain friends until the end of the year? The soundtrack is guiltily enjoyable. Featuring songs that are slightly less cheesy, but with that Disney magic we all know and love, it s the kind of music you might actually listen to along with your usual music. Catchy numbers like Scream and The Boys Are Back, teamed with ballads like Walk Away and Right Here, Right Now, make a perfect mix of soundtrack pop. Not to mention you ll be singing the final song, High School Musical, for hours after leaving the theater. So, if you ve seen the previous two, finish the journey with this one. You won t regret seeing High School Musical 3 as it is clearly the best film in the franchise by a landslide. by Rachel Finn, Hampshire, England COMEDY The Royal Tenenbaums Some things just click with certain people, like The Royal Tenenbaums clicked with me. It s hard for a movie to focus on so many characters and fully develop each, yet this one does it easily, balancing Doleful and delightful each eccentric role, giving them their own problems and weaknesses. There s Royal (Gene Hackman), once head of the family, now an exile looking for acceptance. He pursues the dream of reclaiming his family and regaining their lost love. He hatches a plan to reunite them by faking cancer. On the other end of the spectrum is Ethel (Angelica Huston), the mother of the family, who plans to remarry Henry Sherman (Danny Glover), her partner. This engagement brings a plethora of new conflicts, splitting the family in new ways. Then there are the kids, Chas (Ben Stiller), Margot (Gwyneth Paltrow), and Richie (Luke Wilson), each with their own problems. Chas lost his wife in a plane crash and is ultra-protective of his sons, Margot is an adopted failing playwright, and Richie is a ruined tennis champion who has been in love with Margot for as long as he can remember. They move back to their parents house as their fears and setbacks catch up with them. Then things get crazy. Using as much detail as possible in one house, the director of photography excellently captures the look and feel of New York in the 1970s. The camera work is stunning, following the bouts of the characters and cutting to quick flashbacks. The detail in The Royal Tenenbaums is among its high points, as Wes Anderson took pains to show every in-andout of the household. From a mounted boar s head, to a BB still lodged in Chas s hand after 20 years, Anderson scoped out every little detail that could possibly enhance the mood of the film, including the costumes. Doleful and delightful, The Royal Tenenbaums captures emotions and swirls them in an ingenious mixture, leaving a film that is just plain perfect. by Alex Fritz, Flower Mound, TX This movie is rated R. TV Smallville When it comes down to anything Supermanrelated, people are hesitant to check it out for fear of ruining the image they have of the original, but don t be too quick to write this off just yet. The television show Smallville takes you on a journey through the early years of Clark Kent, played by Tom Welling, when he was just a simple farm boy living at the Kent Farm in the remote town of Smallville, Kansas. Producers Alfred Gough and Miles Millar do a fantastic job taking viewers through Clark s experiences as he learns to control his emerging powers, and his friendships with Lex Luthor and his love, Lana Lang. Welling delivers a spot-on performance down to the physical and true essence of the young Clark. The show hits on Illustrates how his experiences shaped him the high and low points of Kent s life and illustrates how his experiences shaped him to become the Man of Steel. Before actually watching Smallville, I was skeptical about the idea of a show based on Clark s early life. But from the moment I started watching, I was amazed at how well the producers captured how Clark felt knowing that he was not a normal person. I have dutifully continued to watch and managed to turn my family into fans as well. I guarantee you will be pleasantly surprised at how compelling Smallville is. by Alyssa Cota, Phoenix, AZ COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

39 NEED CASH? WE PAY CASH FOR YOUR OLD CDs DVDs GAMES over 700 locations nationwide go to fye.com for the location nearest you 2008 Trans World Entertainment. We reserve the right to refuse Used DVDs, CDs or Games not found in our database. All trades are subject to stores manager s approval. All Used products are priced on an individual basis based on condition and supply and demand. No dealers please. Promotion items not accepted. Quantities are not limited. A State Driver s License, State I.D. and other valid photo I.D. is required for the each person trading the used products. Trade-in offers are not valid online. Not responsible for typographical errors. Void where prohibited by law. T % off any used cd or dvd Expires 1/30/09. Must present coupon. One transaction per visit, not to include video game hardware or software, electronics, sale items, CD singles, gift cards, tickets, or special orders. Not valid with any other offer or on prior purchases. Photocopies or other mechanical reproductions of this coupon will not be accepted. NEW REGISTER INSTRUCTIONS: 1. Scan item 2. Press F3 - Modify Price menu 3. Press F2 - Item % Discount 4. Highlight TWEC Coupon %. Enter discount amount Enter Coupon Code TIM11

40 fic tion A Wish for Her by Emily Kurtz, Sudbury, MA Is that her? What? Who? Shh here she comes. Oh her. We avert our eyes as she walks by. We clutch our books tightly to our chests, stare down at our sneakers, and hold our breath as she passes. Whispers follow her like shadows as she scurries up the stone stairs, through the metal doors. Lisa and I exchange looks. The bell rings in our ears, and we head inside. Who s she with today? Lisa asks at lunch. Toby, I scoff, biting into my sandwich. Figures. Apparently they had a great time at Jack s apartment last weekend. I make a face. Disgusting. Lisa laughs. I bet she has all sorts of diseases. I bet she s wearing his sweatshirt. The one that smells as bad as he does. I bet she s gonna be one of those girls who never goes to college and ends up on the street. I bet she s gonna be a I look around to make sure no teachers are listening, whore. That s her new name. It spreads like a foul disease around the school, through the hallways, passed from one lipgloss-smeared mouth to the next. Some kids just call her The W, or The H for the stupid ones who can t spell. It s what she is. It s who she is. And none of us like her. None except Toby and Mitchell and all those guys who are too dumb to see her for who she really is. We see her kissing guys in the alley after school each day, like she doesn t even care, like she doesn t even know. Don t worry, we re gonna make her realize who she really is. We re gonna make her feel so bad she ll shrink like a little mouse and learn her lesson and stay away from all of them, especially Devin, who liked me all of sixth grade Have you learned your lesson yet, princess? til she stole him last summer. We isolate her. We don t speak to her, not even when she asks what the homework for last night was. Find it out yourself, stupid. We leave notes in her locker, and we snicker as she walks by. Have you learned your lesson yet, princess? Are you ever gonna stop wearing so much lipstick and eyeliner and skirts that are way too short? Are you ever gonna put out that cigarette or throw out those bottles? You re 13 what s wrong with you? Didn t your parents ever teach you what s right and wrong? Half the grade hates you. Sticks and stones, you say, but soon it ll be real. I will smash up your pretty face if I have to. I ll break your bones. I could snap your neck over my knee. * * * I walk home from Lisa s house, and I take the long way because I want to look at the moon and the stars. I want to cross the cornfield, because once I saw a shooting star. I have to walk through the sketchy neighborhood to get there, though, but I should be okay if I hurry. Suddenly, I hear a man s voice coming from one of the houses, the one with the shingles falling off and the rusty car in the driveway. He is yelling. I rush behind a tree, heart racing so loud I m sure he can hear. Suddenly I see a familiar figure. It s her. She and the man are yelling at each other. He lashes out at her, and I wince. I can hear the slap. And then the door closes. She is alone, and she sits on her porch steps. And she cries. I ve never seen her cry before. Alone, with no boys, out in the cold night, crying, crying, crying so hard she can t breathe. Her tears make ugly black lines down her face. And suddenly, she looks up, and our eyes lock. I run. I run past the houses and the deli and the gas station with the creepy owner, and the ice cream store where we get really great slushies. I cross the street, my heart racing, out of breath and into the lush grass of the cornfield. I collapse on the ground, my arms and legs spread apart, trying to catch my breath and hold back the tears, though I can t understand why they re coming. She was so alone. So sad. She is loved by no one but those boys. And I m not sure they even really love her. Suddenly I look up and see something sparkle across the indigo sky, a little explosion of white like a firecracker on the Fourth. I close my eyes. And I wish for her. 40 Photo by Mike Valtin, Morgantown, PA The Thread by Aliza Gans, Woodbridge, CT The knitting club meets at the women s center every Friday. Today they are working on pastel-colored baby socks. The women clink metal needles and grumble about their husbands, ex-husbands, and rheumatic pets. Charlie forgot to take out the recycling yesterday. The trash man had to come into my house because I have such a cold, and he smelled like stale beer. The lady with silvery hair draws the curtains embroidered with peacocks. Pale light floods the cream-wallpapered parlor. The sky looks like rain. Maybe we ll get a thunderstorm if the wind picks up. I m terrified of storms at night when the sky bursts like a Polaroid camera. The lady who likes to knit in yellow brings in her record player every week. She plays vinyl recordings of Chopin, Dizzy Gillespie, and during the winter, Dean Martin s Christmas carols. This week we have Chopin s Concerto No. 2, but there s a scratch right after the first movement. They sip black-as-shoe-polish coffee from tiny porcelain cups until their tight buns uncoil into soft, ash-colored curls. It s too weak today. Too watery. The lady with silvery hair pulls out twisted strands from her scalp and weaves them into each row of the sock pattern. I want my grandbaby to know what I smelled like when I m gone. Teen Ink JANUARY 09 Time by Katie Stephan, Kewaskum, WI Every morning I wake up to the normal sun shooting through the left window, blinding me as I try to open my eyes. My dog, Donald, barks up a storm. He insists that every morning at exactly 7:04, he has to go outside. It really is starting to push my buttons. Can t that damn dog just take a rest? After I go outside for exactly 2.5 minutes, I realize I have to deal with my boss in exactly 48.6 minutes. I sit and moan for two minutes. Any more I would be late and any less I would be early: it has to be exactly two minutes. Afterward, I do my normal six-minute shower, three-minute shave, twominute brush of my teeth just like the dentist told me and five minutes to figure out what I am going to wear today. That leaves me 4.5 minutes to sit and read The New York Times and moan about having to drive 20 minutes to a job that I can t stand. Once I arrive, it takes 2.1 minutes to hear the lame story about what Ron, the guy two cubicles down, did last night and four minutes til I get to hear my boss complain that I never do anything right. Spending 9.34 hours at my job, driving 26 minutes home (I hate traffic), taking two minutes to take Donald out and only getting 24.7 minutes to myself before lying down in my hard, cold bed and not falling asleep for another 12.5 minutes can really drive someone crazy. At least that is what my therapist tells me. But in fact it does not make you crazy; it makes everyone else crazy for not wanting to know how much time they actually have. The thing that will make you crazy is if something goes wrong. Something that has been happening the same way for exactly years. When that one thing goes wrong, all hell breaks loose. For instance, if you wake 45.8 minutes late because there is no damn dog barking for you to take him out. Which causes you to be late to work, because you have a 20-minute drive and only 2.4 minutes to get there. Then you decide in exactly 24 seconds that you have to call in to work saying you came down with something. But after the phone rings for eight seconds, the secretary tells you that something bad has happened and there will be no work today. You wonder for only one minute what could have happened, but then go and take a shower. The shower is much longer than the normal six minutes. It takes two more minutes to wonder what is the red goop dripping from your body. Then it takes you two more minutes to realize that you probably just cut yourself shaving. After 45.8 minutes of watching TV, you wonder where Donald is and what really happened today to call off work. You ponder this for 12 minutes, scratching your chin, noticing the red goop is also under your nails. You find that disgusting, so you walk steps, which takes you three seconds, to go wash your hands, for two minutes, in the bathroom that you never use. You look around for four minutes, noticing there is also red goop all over the walls. You quickly so fast you can t count the time open the shower curtain. In about seven minutes you realize you have to clean up. But suddenly there is a knock on the front door lasting for about four seconds. But you have to ignore it, you don t have time, you have to clean up in six minutes. But wait, six minutes is too long. You need 4.5 minutes, but that s too short. The knocking is getting louder and faster, every three seconds, it just won t stop. You can t stop either; you have to clean up, but the knocking. Photo by Monica Lawlis, St. George, UT COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

41 The Anonymous by Sarah Lewis, Palos Verdes Peninsula, CA Idon t mow lawns, I don t read to the elderly, I don t walk people s dogs. I don t go fishing in the morning, I don t ride my bike to the tracks to watch trains hurtle by. I don t care about the rest. It is dusk, and I wait behind Bob s Liquors for you, my hair in my eyes and my hands in my pockets. I try to look tough. And there you are, as serenely rigid as a.22 pistol. I watch you approach through my eyelashes and your hands are white and beautiful. You hand me the Ziploc and I gruffly press some bills into your glowing palm. You don t ask what I m going to do with it and I assume that you don t care, but I desperately want to tell you that I m only the middleman. I m not going to lose control like every other man you ve known. I want to see that knowledge in your dark eyes. You glance at the shadows where my face should be for a quick moment, and I m tempted to tear off my jacket and shirt and grab your hand and press it to my throbbing chest right there under the grungy neon sign shrieking Liquor! But you ve already turned around and all I can see is the black silhouette of your boots hitting the asphalt in a rash of poise and dignity. I put the baggie into the deep recesses of my jacket and turn to walk in the opposite direction. The runny yellow of the streetlights washes over me and I am exposed. There is no one here to see me. * * * He has a real knack for finding people s weaknesses, their insecurities. I spend half my time trying to block his subtle attacks and the other half trying to find his holes. No, I know, he says, his hands fiddling with the metal spring of a mousetrap. I know that. I watch him warily. Then why did you ask? I demand angrily. I am sitting on the porch steps a couple of feet below him, and I see him glance at me quickly. Damn, I let him frustrate me again. I hate that he makes me seem like someone who gets riled up easily and for no reason at all. The mousetrap snaps out of his hands and clatters down the steps. I reach down to pick it up but he is already bored with me. I can smell a faint whiff of men s cologne under the layers of sawdust and sweat as he gets up. He works at his dad s construction company during the day, doing mindless things like unloading lumber. He is clearly on his way into town. He lets himself out the iron gate with a grunt and a nod. He doesn t ask me if I want to come. I m pretty sure that I don t want to, though. I don t want to be his wingman while he charms the high school girls at Holly s Diner with soggy burgers and stale jokes. Every Friday night neither the girls nor the burgers nor the jokes change. I imagine the same girls sitting in the plastic booths 20 years from now, their hairstyles outdated and their skirts too short, but still giggling whenever Michael forces the younger boys to fetch him a soda or some fries. But I wanted to be asked. I sit on the porch for a while until the sun sets and I can see the pale flashes of fireflies followed by blank expanses of dark as they are snatched from thin air by bats. Catherine calls me for dinner but I stay outside a bit longer until I can t see the outlines of the leaves on the oak trees anymore. Dad bellows from upstairs, Listen to your stepmother, young man, or you ll be having no dinner at all! The night air is burnt and there is no wind. I stand up. I can hear the muffled thumps of Louise and Brian stampeding down the stairs to the dining room. I go inside, leaving the mousetrap on the wooden banister. * * * I sit down at the dinner table as Catherine carries a pot of spaghetti from the kitchen, steam rising to the ceiling with nowhere else to go. Louise swings her feet in her chair because she can t touch the floor yet, and Brian teases her because he can. Dad scolds them for horsing around at the table. He says a quick grace and Catherine serves us a pile of noodles and cooked broccoli. Dad glances at her affectionately as she ladles out his serving, He has a real knack for finding people s insecurities VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW and I have to look away. How was work today? Dad asks when she sits. Catherine is the manager of a coffee shop and works ten hours a day to keep it running. Tiring, she replies. Bruce never comes in on time and I always end up picking up his loose ends. I m sick of it. Dad pauses with a mouthful of spaghetti dangling on his fork. You shouldn t have to stand for that, he says. You work hard enough as it is. Dad has an overdeveloped sense of justice. He is a lawyer for a firm in Clarke County and takes his job very seriously. I push the bottoms of my broccoli to the side of my plate and watch Louise and Brian bicker over who has the least milk in their cups. They hate milk, but Catherine insists that it contains vital minerals for growing children. They pour it down the sink when she isn t looking. So, how s Michael? He doesn t seem to come around much anymore, Catherine says in an attempt to simultaneously include me and nose into my affairs. He s fine, I reply. What s he doing this summer? Working, I say. At his dad s construction company. She smiles, thinking I ve opened up to her. I look at her blankly. You should find a job too, Dad says. We can t have you hanging around here all summer. What is there to do in this godforsaken town? I ask irritably. All the jobs are taken by people s kids or Mexicans. I have nothing to do. Dad glares. Don t talk like that in front of your little brother and sister, he reprimands, his eyes narrowing. Find something to do. I refuse to let you stay home and play with your model airplanes all summer. I haven t played with model airplanes since seventh grade. I don t bother to correct him. Catherine looks at her lap, and I hate her for not stepping in and for being here at all. I am about to argue with Dad but decide against it when he raises his fork and Louise and Brian start paying attention. I ball up my napkin and throw it on my plate, then carry it to the kitchen, slamming the door behind me. I hate the idea of stocking shelves at the only grocery store in town for weeks, but I know my belligerent comment only served to further Dad s resolve that I get a job. I resent that he sees Michael as successful and responsible just because he has a job, even though it requires no skill. Michael sits in the woods with his dull friends most nights and drinks beers filched from the local liquor store. I stalk to my room and throw myself on the bed without turning on the light. A job somewhere to go during the day. Some way to make money. I lie there thinking until it is pitch black and I am asleep. * * * It is a Friday night and the humid August air weighs on my chest and shoulders like Atlas s burden. I tuck the thick plastic bag I just received into my jacket and pull my black hood over my eyes. You left not a minute ago and the stunning white of your hands is still resounding on my eyeballs in bright flashes of color like after I stare at the sun. You ve never said a word to me in all the time we ve met behind old buildings, so I am forced to imagine what your voice sounds like. I like to think that you sound worldly, cultured, refined, as if after collecting freezer bags in dark alleys, you change out of your black boots and into a pastel-colored dress and eat cucumber sandwiches and drink tea. But I know that isn t true, not just because the hard lines around your mouth tell me you would never wear a dress, but also because in this crumbling town no one does. The headlights from the street recoil around the corners of the alley and disappear as I make my way into the open. I can hear girls voices and the deep laughter of the boys driving them around. I turn down the street and am about to I m not like the rest of the kids you beat up. I ll fight back. walk away from town when I hear Michael s sudden laugh. I turn into the shadows of Ed s General Store and see him in the driver s seat of his dad s dark blue Cadillac, his two hoodlum friends and their girls in the back seat. His arm is around a blonde, and she is gazing at him as though he is about to give her everything she ever wanted. Michael doesn t see me, but his thick friends do. Hey, jerk! Yeah, you. C mere! The larger one is coming toward me and before I can see his face, I can almost see who he will be in 15 years big, fat, drunk, and still here in this forgotten town in Texas. I step out of the shadows to meet him, and his face is ugly and hostile in the streetlights. What you doin creeping around like some kind of freak? You tryin to mess with us? I don t say anything. Answer me! He reaches to grab me but I sidestep him. Michael gets out of the car and his other friend steps closer. Just get out of my way, I say. My hood is still obscuring my face, and I m sure that none of them know who I am. I reach into my jacket and wrap my fingers around my pocketknife but don t pull it out. Michael and his friend are coming closer. Look, you don t want to mess with me, I say and tighten my grip on the knife. I m not like the rest of the kids you beat up. I m not going to just stand here. I ll fight back. They stop a few yards away. Oh yeah? Well, it s three against one, buddy, threatens the shorter one, his hands balling into fists. I raise my head so my hood slips a little and the lights from Holly s Diner illuminate my features. I hear Michael s intake of breath. The other guys still don t know who I am. Just don t mess with me, I say. Just turn around and go back to playing with your girlfriends and I ll walk away. Michael doesn t say anything, but when I look at him, I see a slight stain of fear and know he won t fight me. But he also won t step in to save me if his friends decide to. I don t give them the chance to start anything and turn my back to walk away. Yeah, that s right. You walk away from us! the larger one shouts. I keep walking. After a minute they go back to Michael s car and get in, the girls praising them in low voices for their courage. I release my grip on the pocket - knife and instead feel for the plastic baggie in my jacket. And I relax. The watery moonlight gets brighter the farther I walk from the bright lights of the diner. I m sure that Michael won t be coming over to my house anymore. I m not upset in fact, I m almost relieved. He knows what I ve become. Maybe he s good with inheriting his dad s construction company and marrying that blond girl, but he knows that I m not. I m going to do anything to get out of this place, and I already have been. I can feel the grooves in the dirt road from years of tractors and Jeeps and bikes. The trees are dark shapes but the wind seems to pull at me, back toward the smutty music and the dead-end cravings of town. I stop at the gate and see the flashes of color on the wall; Catherine and Dad are watching TV. Louise and Brian s room is dark; they are already asleep. It is quiet and I am wedged in the middle. I want you to see me here, with one hand on the iron gate of civilization and one on the plastic bag in my jacket. I want to tear you away from the vicious neon cycle that I have only scratched the surface of. But if you won t, I will do it alone. I can t move yet but I know where I m going. JANUARY 09 Teen Ink fic tion 41

42 fic tion Spreading Love by Emily Xia, Warren, NJ It is night in March, and the sun has set. February would probably be more appropriate for this, but when you get ideas on February twenty-fifth and they require as much effort to implement as this one does, well then, February isn t really an option. Pierre was drunk when he came up with the idea. He admits it proudly. No shame whatsoever what s there to be ashamed of? He s legal; it s well known that one is most innovative when inebriated, and it s not like he had to drive. It s Paris, and students in Paris don t drive. Driving, Pierre says, is for the overweight denizens of suburban America, with their gasguzzling, Kyoto Protocol-violating SUVs. Paris is the city of love, the Photo by Michelle Blubaugh, Statesboro, GA greatest city in the world obviously it must have decent public transportation. Jean-Luc is less loud about the idea, like he is about most things, but he admits that Pierre does come up with decent ideas once in a while. So now, at 5:30 on a chilly March night, they are setting up on the sidewalk. To their left is a brightly lit family restaurant. It isn t entertaining many patrons, this being a Thursday night. To their right is a boutique that s already shut for the night and isn t entertaining any patrons at all. Before them is the street; behind them is an alley. It s as good a place to start as any. Jean-Luc fiddles with the computer, watching it trace curves and figure eights while he straps a kitchen sponge on his right knee to match the one on his left. He reexamines the sponges on his elbows, flicks his helmet for luck, and plops down onto the sidewalk. They have already hosed it down and dumped soap on it, so instead of simply falling to the ground and wincing at the impact, he slides along the concrete. Pierre does the same. They are slipping and rolling and dancing in the street it s like breakdancing, but any fun flippy moves are out of the question due to all the soap on the ground and Jean-Luc s hand-eye coordination, or lack thereof. Instead he is reduced to a not in any way comical! scrambling motion, like he s trying to stand up but not quite succeeding. And it is then, exactly then, that the foreign students arrive. They are accompanied by three middle-aged women, probably their teachers. There are, Jean-Luc guesses, maybe 20 of them. All seem to be female. He imagines they are staring. He knows they re Can t you see what we re doing? giggling and chattering in English about the crazy French guys rolling around on the ground. Any audience, however, is better than none. He finishes with a squatting pivot around his left foot that makes odd scraping noises, and stands up. He glances at the ground where he d been shuffling a moment before. Their bodies have pushed and prodded the clusters of soap bubbles, crushed and streaked them across the sidewalk in arcing vectors, looping around, seemingly purposeless, but all intercon - nected. They look beautiful, at least. Pierre is holding his hands up, looking for all the world like an alien. We come in peace. There are actually a few boys among the mass of schoolgirls, Jean-Luc notes. Do you have a moment? Pierre asks the group. Some frown without understanding, some stare blankly, some stand on tiptoe because they can t hear. One of the older women says yes. This is Jean- Luc s cue. He picks up a clean sponge, exactly like the ones strapped to his joints. Slowly, carefully, he walks toward the students. There is one girl standing near the front, almost sideways. He starts rubbing the sponge on her back. She stands still for a moment, and Jean-Luc thinks, Yes, this might work! A second passes, two, three and then she shifts, inching to the right. Jean-Luc can see he s not wanted. It s a failure. He tries again. This time it is a shorter girl, who only comes up to the first girl s shoulder. Jean-Luc reaches out, and the easiest target is her face. He rubs the sponge against her face, but not like how he d scrub a dirty counter. Instead he rubs it gently, like No! one of the women yells in French. Not her face! Whereas there had been an almost reverent silence, now a murmur begins snaking through the mass of students, showing in gossip and whispers. But can t you see what we re doing? Pierre pleads. We re using sponges to pass love through the city! It is a grand project! We will all be connected by sponges! Jean-Luc demonstrates, rubbing his arm mercilessly with the sponge, forging intangible bonds of love. He can see them, connecting him, connecting the two girls who received his treatment. No. The woman stands her ground. Not her face. She has an infection. We are spreading love! Love cares naught for infections! Jean-Luc demonstrates, stuffing the sponge into his mouth hungrily. He is willing to make contact with infections only quarantine is harmful. It creates fear, separates people. He sees the students cringe away. Don t touch the children. Well then, obviously it s not working! We should love each other, don t you see? Don t touch the children. Pierre throws his hands into the air. Come on, Jean-Luc, he says. We re leaving. Jean-Luc eyes the woman. This looks like it will be harder than they thought. He packs up the sponges, piling them on the cart with his laptop. As he and Pierre walk away, the laptop plays Tristan und Isolde. Pierre is a fan. And they are off now, spreading love with sponges. 42 Sugar by Molly Horan, Bristol, CT The silver pickup trudged along the highway, the tinted windows left half open, revealing two tufts of cottonball hair set atop two liverspotted foreheads. The old man and woman had been married 52 3/8 years. They could remember when they counted only the half years but couldn t remember when they wore each new piece with the pride of a four-and-a-half-year old and didn t see them as lead-filled measuring cups that hung from their limbs with each passing fraction of a year. They were on their way home from the house of their daughter who was a successful lawyer and a very devoted mother and could make a key lime pie with half the calories and twice the taste in a fourth of the time. They knew she threw out the peanut crackle fudge they brought up special when she thought they weren t looking. The sugar would go right to her thighs and keep her from the gray pants with the Teen Ink JANUARY 09 They had been married 52 3/8 years sharp creases that looked like success and the black dress with the slits that made her blush but smelled of her husband s devotion. The old man and woman knew she threw it out but pretended not to hear the thud as the candy hit the empty metal bottom of the wastebasket. The woman could still picture the ribbons that were their daughter s favorite shade of lavender shake from the jolt. They fished out the cellophanewrapped confection and shared it between them. He bit and chewed, bit and chewed, while she swallowed chocolaty chunks whole, washing them down with staletasting saliva and the fervent hope her daughter wouldn t rave about the taste when she called next month. Their daughter, a child under one arm, a pie tethered to the other, successfully placed the first in the old man s arms, the second in the oven, and sped calmly out the door, her hastily called devotions and baking instructions hanging in her wake. The child screamed and howled in the old man s arms, stopping only when the old woman stuck a still sugar-coated finger in his mouth. She reveled in the soft wet of his tiny lips and tongue until the daughter s husband came home. As the husband said hellogood-bye the old woman reluctantly slipped out her cold dry thumb and watched the child hungrily lap from his lips the last bit of love his mother had thrown away. They were silent on the dark drive home, his bleary gaze anchored to the infinite yellow lines. She stared at his shadowy form, illuminated by streetlights every three heartbeats, lit for two, then plunged back into a light black that had no effect on her ability to see him. Still intent on the stream of yellow he approached and left behind, the old man reached into the worn pocket of his corduroys and pulled out the last piece of fuzz-spotted fudge, placing it in the cup holder. The old woman took the old man s hand in hers across the armrest, and took the fudge with the other. Holding it between two dry fingers, she bit and chewed. COMMENT ON ANY ARTICLE AT TEENINK.COM USING THE ADVANCED SEARCH

43 High Stakes by Joan Bedinger, Marietta, GA From his seat at the bar, Morse watched as the man in the dark suit moved from table to table, placing bets and shuffling decks and winning every game. Nobody else seemed to have noticed him. The man s face was so bland it was almost entirely forgettable, and the people whom he beat rose from their tables with momentary blank looks in their eyes. Morse felt almost certain that the man was just who he had been looking for. He cautioned himself to remain patient. If he was right, then he had all the time he would need. If he was wrong, well he would be wrong. His burden would not be relieved that night. The bartender, a sensible-looking woman dressed in a ridiculous showgirl uniform, glared at him a few times. Morse had finished his beer a while ago, and she clearly thought that he should either hit the booze or the gambling harder. He grinned at her. After his business was done, he might do both, and a little more besides. Eventually the man stood up from a blackjack table and ambled over to the bar. Morse couldn t hear what drink he ordered, but it was oddly colored and it arrived in a frosted glass. He sipped it for several minutes before looking at Morse. Yes? Morse had neither spoken nor gestured to the man, so he relaxed. He had been right about his identity. I was wondering, Morse said, then paused to face him, if I could challenge you to a game. What sort of game craps? Blackjack? The man s voice was smooth, perhaps emotionless, but Morse thought that he sounded slightly amused. Yours. Playing with your rules. The man was silent for several moments, though he didn t seem surprised. You know who I am, then? Morse told him. His voice didn t shake, and for this he felt relieved. Very well. He gestured to a small Photo by Tracy Allison, Scarsdale, NY This was his life, stripped of denial table in the corner Morse hadn t noticed before. My rules. We ll play. He tapped on his glass. Just let me finish this. You can t get them like this where I m from. While he waited, Morse thought about strategy. There were many accounts of games like these, but they varied in details most might have been nothing but fable, wishful thinking, or the rules might have changed depending on the player. In any case the final results were always close enough for him to depend on. That your friend? the bartender asked. She nodded toward the man in the dark suit, who was now sitting at the opposite end of the bar, although he had been sitting beside Morse the last time he looked. Morse shrugged. Just met him. I see. Her tone was doubtful. Just be careful, all right? He s good. I mean, he s really good. Oh, I know that. Only a fool would expect to win against him. The thing was, Morse didn t expect to win. The bartender gave him one last pitying glance before she turned to take orders from some rowdy drunks who had just stumbled up to the bar. The man s voice sounded very close to Morse s ear. I m ready, if you are. He was standing beside him again, checking a well-polished pocket watch that was inscribed with foreign numerals and signs. Morse nodded, swallowing. He was as ready as he would ever be. They made their way through the crowded room, past flashing slot machines and the sounds of dice and fortunes being tossed. People didn t seem to notice the two men, even as they stepped aside to clear a path for them. Morse stuck his hands in his pockets. He tried to think about his life as a whole, but he could only focus on certain details a woman s lips, a splash of blood the memories that had brought him here to this game. They sat at the table, across from each other. Nothing in the man s gaze was unpleasant, yet Morse couldn t bring himself to look him in the eye. I ll deal, then, the man said. It wasn t a question. From under the edge of the table he took a deck of cards and a leather bag, which he emptied in the center. Black chips made of cheap plastic spilled out. The man looked up at Morse. The standard stakes, I presume? Of course. He watched the man divide the chips between them. As soon as they fell on Morse s side of the table, they acquired an unnatural sheen reminiscent of motor oil. The other man s chips changed too, becoming somehow darker, as if they absorbed the light that hit them. Morse picked one up. It looked no different from the VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES ON TEENINK.COM AND TEEN INK RAW others, felt like an ordinary chip. They re all worth the same? Oh, most likely not. But they re played that way. He began shuffling the deck. You ll catch on. It s rather like blackjack. At this he dealt them two cards each, face down. A starting bet? Morse hesitated. He would have liked to bet an outrageous number of chips, just to get most of the ordeal over with, but he didn t want the man to be suspicious, and didn t want to lose everything, at least not at once. With a steady hand he pushed four chips forward. For that final moment that they touched his flesh, he remembered. Four distinct memories, four scenes that neither time nor experience had been able to erase. Then they were gone. They shone faintly in the chips on the table, separate from Morse. He exhaled. He could hardly believe it had been so simple. The dealer matched his bet, his expression not changing as he set the pieces down. He flipped over one of his cards a ten and picked up the other, concealed in his left hand. Morse studied his cards. A six and a five, a decent hand, but what mattered was how he played them. He raised his bet by two chips and felt two more memories slip away. With a drag of his hand across the table, he asked the dealer to hit him with another card. They played without speaking. At first Morse kept count of the hands they played, which ones he won and which he lost, but soon this too was forgotten. He could only concentrate on the cards in his hands and those on the table, and the number of chips on each side. While they remained in play, they were safe. His life was growing steadily vaguer, a collection of isolated incidents, and he realized that he could not say, for certain, what kind of man he was. That was a gift, he knew. He doubled his bet on a terrible hand. A miracle. It was the reason he had come. Finally all of Morse s chips were gone, held by the man sitting across the table. I lost, he said. He couldn t remember if this was what he had wanted, or feared, but it didn t feel bad. He was emptied out, free of past and personality. Innocent. The man nodded. Yes, he said, you lost. His face betrayed some nameless emotion, something akin to relief, as he looked at the chips on the table. You may take them all. Morse though he was nameless now blinked. That was wrong. When someone lost a game, he lost what he had put into the game. The chips were pulsating with discarded memories, suffused with his past, and he wanted neither them nor the darker chips born Only a fool would expect to win against him Art by Anna Duncan, Moore, OK of the dealer s mind. No, he said. But you must. The man s voice was mild, but it could not be disobeyed. Trembling, Morse reached out to take the chips. Then it came back; it all came back. His duties, his mistakes, his injuries, his crimes. His self. Everything he had wanted to leave behind in the casino that night, everything he had hoped to lose. Then something more. He glanced down in horror at the other man s chips, which were losing their shadowed glow as his own were losing their gloss. He almost choked as he realized what was happening. Other memories were entering his mind, worse by far than his own, but not foreign. Not foreign at all. These were the thoughts he had repressed. These were the pains he had numbed himself against. These were the disappointments, the transgressions, the sins he had committed by believing them to be virtues. This was his life, stripped of denial. This was who he was. Who he was, really the person he had been trying to escape all his life spread out before him in vivid detail, like the cards spread across the table. Morse lowered his head to his arms, pressing his eyes against clenched fists. He groaned. It was all he could do. When he finally managed to look up, minutes or hours later, he saw that the man had stood and was gazing down at him. You ve heard tales, he said, not unkindly. Rumors about me. You assumed things. It s understandable. I I lost the game. Morse shuddered. He could hardly speak. I should have lost. You were playing to lose, but you didn t understand the rules. What would I want with your soul, Morse? The man in the dark suit shook his head. He scooped up the chips, now dull plastic again. He walked away, his own soul feeling much lighter, and started looking for a new game to play. JANUARY 09 Teen Ink fic tion 43

44 It s those butterflies again. Life s going to come at you from all directions. There s stress. And there are people asking you to smoke weed, and to change who you are. All that pressure can build up inside of you. But you don t have to get caught up in all of it. There are ways to let it go. How will you deal with it? Office of National Drug Control Policy / Partnership for a Drug-Free America