The Jaguar Print  

The Literary Magazine of Thomas Jefferson Middle School

 

Foreword

The Jaguar Print is a celebration of artistic expression. It features the unique contributions of our TJ students. With each selection, beauty, inspiration and imagination is revealed. The young adults that contributed to this work of art can be confident all readers will enjoy the journey and appreciate their efforts.

I am grateful to Ms. Lauricella for providing a venue for our students to showcase their talents. Experiencing The Jaguar Print will convey what is possible when focused/courageous young adults all work together to achieve a common goal…...THE JAGUAR PRINT.

Antoinette Emden Principal, Thomas Jefferson Middle School

1 

Acknowledgments

In addition to all of the brave artists and writers who submitted their work to this first issue, the following students and faculty members made this dream a reality:

Erica Kwon, your artistic talents are limitless. Your awesome promo poster inspired our school community to join this conversation. Lauren Karvaski and Abigail Alvarez, in between writing articles for the Jaguar Journal you both managed to help make the magazine happen this year. Your energy and enthusiasm are appreciated. Praket Ehimay, Abhivrudh Kandala, Parth Nighojkar, and Sreekar Vedula: you guys are quite a team! Always willing to help, work, and have fun. Maya Santiago and Jessica Maida: your brainstorming session with me was priceless and has created a beautiful path for years to come. Ms. Michelle Suchy and Ms. Stacy Bovadikov: from the beginning, you both showered us with beautiful student work. This publication would be incomplete without your contributions. Ms. Kristin Yurcik, for your patience and wisdom. Mrs. Emden, your vision and leadership to celebrate student work in this special way. And Ms. Samantha Laiso, a never-ending source of creativity and collaboration.

Kristy Lauricella Advisor, The Jaguar Print

April 20, 2016

2 

Table of Contents

Spring ~ Regine Delacruz Tree ~ Samita Pandit Untitled ~ Spruha Ravikumar He ~ Lauren Karvaski She ~ Jessica Maida Sometimes ~ Yusra Shaikh Shape ~ Yusra Shaikh Addendums ~ Regine Delacruz Vast Body of Aqua ~ Jahova Glass Skeleton ~ Hailey Verdicchio Skeleton ~ Erica Kwon Skeleton ~ Sunanda Saravanakumar Feet ~ Stephanie Wu Sketch #5 ~ Isha Sharma The World ~ An Nguyen The Game ~ Joseph Fresnedo Sketch #6 ~ Isha Sharma Words ~ Isha Sharma Ripple ~ Cynthia Boryeskne Where I’m From ~ Purv Joshi Self­portrait ~ Matt Sudnick Oh, the places she longs to go ~ Anahita Sheriyarji The Trouble­Maker ~ Praveen Balakrishnan Animal Spirit ~ Terrell Perez The Beast ~ Sunrit Panda Soccer Passion Speech ~ Hailey Verdicchio If Everyone Were a Color ~ Emily Heller Fauvist Portrait ~ Anisa Kiewdara Girl in Spanish Class ~ Erica Kwon Boy in Bubble Suit ~ Erica Kwon Still Life ~ Tien Pham 

Cover image: Feet by Namya Vemula

3 

Spring ~ Regine Delacruz  I can’t wait for spring. I miss the warmth. The flowers. The not-so-dead things. Fall was a time for death. Winter, a time for admiring the beauty of the coldest things. Spring, a time to recognize the beauty of life. The flowers which had grown so colorful in the Summer had long past wilted and died, and the tree that had once stood tall and powerful in our backyard was shattered. We almost got rid of it--but the part of the tree still in the ground was fine even with it’s inner bark exposed. I breathe out, my breath coming out in a cloud, barely visible because I’m not focused. I can see nothing but white--the snow piling inches high, frozen over the ground. My mind had barely even thought of these things, the fact that the trees were bare, the sky was empty, the air was silent. I barely notice the cold. All I feel is...something. For a moment I struggle to find the word, until finally, I push past the sadness/darkness/moroseness and find something else. I’m tired. Oh, so, tired. I’m tired of being good. I’m tired of being told what to do, and doing it. …….and I’m tired of always having to be something. I am tired, of always thinking of others. And I feel stupid. Because I’m self centered like everyone else is, and possibly even more. Really…. even more. But I still, somehow, feel like I’ve spent so much time making excuses for everyone and saying sorry. I feel so tired. It’s funny, that after everything, saying sorry was the one thing in my life that made me really cry. I take off my glasses and set it on the table beside me, close my eyes. I hate that feeling….. I take a deep breath of the cool air and shiver for a second. Behind me the door opens and someone tells me to go inside. It’s too cold. But I can’t really feel it. I guess it’s because I’ve spent so much time in the cold that I got used to it. I stand and take my glasses as the person leaves and closes the door. Before I go back inside, I turn to the windows. I can’t wait for spring.

4 

Tree ~ Samita Pandit    

5 

The following three poems are inspired by Edvard Munch’s painting, Separation.

Untitled ~ Spruha Ravikumar With one pale hand resting on his heart He stands by the tree at night Waiting for the lady to come out of the tree, His lady, his only light As the sun sets and the moon rises And the stars light up the sky, He hears her float out of the tree And without a glance, she passes by Locks of fair hair, flowing in the wind A white dress, blending with the sea A pale face devoid of emotion She is the lady coming out of the tree He doesn’t look at her, And she doesn’t look at him, But when he finally turns around, She’s lost in the wind. Gone, as quickly as she came.

He ~ Lauren Karvaski He waits for her to notice his agony Her warm touch is all that can heal him She passes him by, unknowing of his suffering He stays, silently yearning her friendly attention But all he can do is turn away and attempt to mend his shattered heart The wind makes her golden hair dance gracefully in the air A vision of wonder and beauty But still he stays secluded, not feeling worthy of her elegance Heavy, dark clouds follow him as he follows her and stays out of her sight His face grows worn and grey, tired from waiting She leaves a trail of sunshine in her path, only for it to fade away when he touches it They don’t make contact, they don’t say a word, but the effect she has on him is permanent.

6 

She ~ Jessica Maida  her flame brought light to the world - made the darkness not as dark, the light brighter than it even could have been. she put the sun, the moon and all the stars to such a shame. but such a light couldn’t last forever, and as with even the most everlasting candle her flame began to die out. and soon enough, she was nothing except for a memory - something of a ghost, constantly reminding him that his world could never be as bright.

Separation, 1896 Artist: Edvard Munch

7 

Sometimes ~ Yusra Shaikh  sometimes i can see her looking for something-someone sometimes i see her sitting in one place for minutes-hours sometimes i walk in on her talking to someone-a memory sometimes i walk past a mirror, I look in to see myself-her

Shape ~ Yusra Shaikh  I have been broken I have been bent But hopefully into a better shape

8 

Addendums ~ Regine Delacruz  I can’t say that I’ve seen worse. His head is bare, with only a few wisps of hair. He doesn’t cry, merely stares up at me like I’m a stranger, which of course in his head I am. His mother (and I am saying his because she is definitely not mine) strokes his blanket/diaper/butt, which I try to avoid looking at. In the talk about baby beauty, this one has all the looks. I know what you’re thinking. Babies are all cute, yadayadayada. I, for one, can say that this isn’t true. I’ve walked by plenty of mothers with babies and thought, dang, that’s one ugly baby. This child, in front of me, is perfect. And for once I’m thinking, dang, that’s one cute baby. “Zack.” Coos his mother. “Come closer Lily, say hi.” Now I can’t say that I want to come closer. Babies have some radar on them that obviously spots losers, because every time I come close to them they start crying. But his mother’s hopeful face makes me think, well, what the heck. For the newborn. “Hi.” I say in the way that one might address an annoying kid. My voice is monotone, because I don’t want to like this baby. I really, really don’t. By law, this woman and this baby are my family, but I have completely abandoned that thought. Legally doesn’t matter. Family is family for a reason. But as much as I want to hate this child, I can’t help but feel my insides soften as he reaches out to touch my outstretched finger. He doesn’t cry. “Um.” I say awkwardly, feeling embarrassed for god knows why. I don’t want to like this baby, but it’s difficult to outwardly hate him. I can only smile tightly, trying to act as though it’s cuteness doesn’t matter. “Hi.” “He likes you!” My father says, smiling. I feel a twist in my stomach, realizing it was the first time I’d seen him smile in years. He sounds so giddy, so...innocent. Like a kindergartener coloring for the first time. I can’t help but feel bitter towards the baby, that he can stir up this happiness from my father where I cannot. And I’ve tried so hard to get him to smile, being perfect and funny and not the least bit rude or stubborn. I pull my finger away. “Yes.” I say. “He does.” I turn and exit the room, seeing my sister rush in to coo over the child.

9 

“Look Mother!” She says happily, and I shut the door. I don’t know how she can call her mother, when she is older than me and should hate her more. My father and ‘mother’s marriage happened when I was seven, and my sister twelve, and with me now twelve and her now seventeen, I can’t imagine how she can bear to act as though she was our mother. No one asks if I’m okay, because according to their shortening emotional detectors, I am fine. And I suppose I can’t really hate this woman and her child. It’s not her fault my father loved her. I close my eyes, leaning my head against the door, and listen to the sounds of cooing and loving and smile and laughter. And I remind myself that he is innocent. They are all innocent, in their own way, and my hatred is not the effect of what they did. I know this. Yet it’s hard for me to adjust. And I guess that’s my own fault.

                          

10 

Vast Body of Aqua ~ Jahova Glass  This place people go when it’s sunny and does not snow it carries and protects various creatures but the floor has multiple features when you hear it's sounds it makes you feel calm but when the waves crash up on the beach you ask yourself what’s wrong Water is a necessity of life some people drink it more than twice It turns into ice: thick and thin but you fool around you just might slip in whether it's hot or cold People are still bold enough to jump in

                  

11 

Skeleton ~ Hailey Verdicchio 

12 

Skeleton ~ Erica Kwon       

13 

Skeleton ~ Sunanda Saravanakumar        

14 

Feet ~ Stephanie Wu           

15 

Sketch #5 ~ Isha Sharma     

 

16 

The World ~ An Nguyen  This is the world. Dead flowers. No more Joy. There will be Polluted air everywhere. The world won’t be filled with Sweetness. Life will contain Harsh winds. What will cease to exist is The glorious sound of violins. We will always remember The bitter, sour candy. We should discard Happy thoughts Holding Celebrations. This is the world. (Poet’s note: read lines from top to bottom and bottom to top)

17 

The Game ~ Joseph Fresnedo “Pass the ball, move!” The crowd was roaring was Jordan made it to the top of the

key. “Over here! I’m OPEN!” I screamed. “ANNNNT! That’s it. It’s all over.” The game was over 12, to 26. Jordan was the star of the game, he scored 21 points! i didn’t even touch the ball, well I handed it to the ref.

When I strolled in my room, my mom came up with me. “Great game honey, you were amazing!”

“Thanks.” I mumbled under my breath. She hugged me and then went downstairs to start dinner. All I could think about was buzzer. “What is a basketball player that doesn’t touch the ball?”

The next day I trudged into school, I was still upset about the game. Jordan was getting all the attention as always. “Hey Jordan, can I talk to you for a sec?”

What was I doing? “During that game I really wanted the ball. So, I was wondering if you can pass it to me more?”

Jordan then replied,” Umm… sure it’s just that you're not that good.” My heart dropped as he walked away. I wasn’t just going to stand there.

“Well you know if you weren’t such a ball-hog, I could show my skills. That score board shouldn’t say Bulldogs, it should say Jordan!” I grabbed my books and raced to class. I wondered what Jordan was thinking.

At 6th period, Jordan came up to me. “I am sorry for what I said. We're a team, everyone deserves a chance. I’ll show you what a real friend is at the game tonight.” When we were done talking, I went back to class. I started thinking about the game, what’s going to happen?

The crowd was roaring as I raced into the gym. We were playing the Titans, school champions for 3 years.

It was the fourth quarter and we were losing by one point. Jordan had the ball and there were 40 seconds left. As usual, I didn’t touch the ball. Then the unthinkable happened! Jordan called a timeout and set a pick and roll for me. The buzzer rang and Jordan passed be the ball.

It was real! I dribbled and the shot went up… I missed. The buzzer went off and the crowd was silent. Jordan came over and gave me a high

five. “You’ll get it next time. Don’t sweat it.”

18 

Sketch #6 ~ Isha Sharma 

19 

Words ~ Isha Sharma  

20 

Ripple ~ Cynthia Boryeskne  I just watched As they knocked her down Abused her with words Scattered her things throughout the halls I couldn't do anything… or could I? I ran over there, telling them to stop I pulled her up off the ground People stared at me in shock They bullies walked away And all I did was say stop. I helped her gather her things I walked her to class People whispered in the halls About what I had done How I stuck up for her. She had smiled when I defended her She then thanked me She was actually really nice She was never bullied again Because I stuck up for her. I started a small ripple Which affected a few others But nothing really changed Bullying barely lessened We weren't that kind to each other. Why we can't be kind is weird Just say nice things to one another Or don't say them at all Life isn't easy, I know But a ripple doesn't last long We need a bunch of kids to each make a ripple Maybe then, those ripples will make a wave.

21 

Where I’m From ~ Purv Joshi I am from the handcrafted table of blood and sweat. From the dust and technology I am from the arctic and the sun and the warmth and comfort It was tangy with a hint of spice I am from the tree where the apple doesn’t fall far from The tree; big, wise, nice. I am from the long journey up the hill And loud mouths From Shilpa And Sanjay And Siddhi I’m from the loud days And the soft days From hard work And rising early I’m from Om, the tongue of the ancestors I’m from the city of Jersey and old India and from potatoes and bread From the punch that bashed out teeth The search for a precious crown I am from the dust of farming and the thread that went on for many generations

I am Me

22 

Self­portrait ~ Matt Sudnick

 

23 

Oh, the places she longs to go ~ Anahita Sheriyarji  Suddenly, she is standing in the ocean, waves crashing onto her feet Remembering that this was the first and last place they’ll ever meet She takes in the sun and wind, as the seagulls above her soar Oh, the places she longs to go. Next, she’s standing on top of a glacier Gazing at the white reflection bouncing of the ice onto her. She takes in the cold, the wind and snow. Oh, the places she longs to go. Brrrringgg! The bell rings, bringing her back to reality. She gathers her books, after setting herself into a dream. She stumbles herself down the hallway staircase and into her next class she goes. Oh, the places she longs to go.

24 

Girl in Spanish Class ~ Erica Kwon 

25 

Boy in Bubble Suit ~ Erica Kwon  

26 

The Trouble­Maker ~ Praveen Balakrishnan “Get in here. Now!” roared Mr.Fellen, the new principal of the school. His fiery, blue

eyes blazed at him like a lion seeking its prey. Martin had been caught red-handed sticking a post-it note that read “Kick Me” on a clueless sixth grader’s back. He walked into the principal’s office reluctantly and sulkingly. This wasn’t his first time being led into the most frightening room in school. In fact, it was the thirty-ninth time he was sitting across the principal being disciplined. From pulling the fire alarm to putting sticky glue on the front door, Martin has done every known prank to Bendenson Middle School. And no matter how many times he got yelled at by teachers or had detentions with them, he would continue to be his naughty self. It was only the first day of seventh grade, and he was already in muddy waters with Mr.Fellen.

“I don’t know who you are or what your name is, but I just want to let you know that I am not going to be as lenient as your previous principal, Mr. O’Brien,” confessed Mr.Fellen. “Just consider this as a warning and behave well or you will be bombarded with some severe consequences. You are dismissed.” And with that, Mr.Fellen went back to doing his important paperwork.

Martin was completely shocked and bewildered. Mr. O’Brien never yelled or raised his voice at him. He knew at that point that this school year was going to be much more rigorous and tougher than the previous ones. However, Martin was determined to keep his reputation around the school as a humorous person who creates laughter all around him. He didn’t want to be one of those “unpopular kids” whose name nobody knew, or one of those “nerds” who actually studies for quizzes. When he saw his best friend, Jimmy, he decided to act as if everything was normal.

“So, what’s up?” Martin asked Jimmy. “I can sense that you’ve been up to something. It’s only day one. Why were you sitting

in the principal’s office? Was it another one of those pranks?” Jimmy questioned. “Yes, it was a prank, but only a small one,” added Martin. “The principal seemed quite

angry, though. I wish Mr. O’Brien was back. He’s a million times nicer than Mr.Fellen.” “The only reason he left the school in the first place was to escape from you and your

pranks.” Jimmy started to crack up. But this joke was partly true. Even though he was voted as the nicest principal in the district, it was clear that he was irritated by Martin more than anyone else. Only the best principals would be able to handle Martin.

***

The next morning, Martin walked into school with very high hopes. He had a plan to get rid of Mr.Fellen once and for all. Without being seen, he crept so quietly into the principal’s office that you could hear a pin dropping. He opened up his backpack and took out an envelope and a box which had the object inside it. Both had neat handwriting that were addressed to Mr. Fellen. There was no stopping him now.

27 

Ten minutes into first period, Martin was called down to the principal’s office again. Mr. Fellen was sitting in his chair holding up his letter that took nearly two and a half hours to make. With it, he had the unopened box that contained the object.

“So,” Mr. Fellen stated, “Why exactly did you send this letter to me? Did you really want me to leave the school?” The letter in the envelope stated that Mr.Fellen had been given a high-paying job in California. It was surprisingly very convincing, or at least would have been if it had not been for one thing.

“How do you know it was me? You have no proof whatsoever,” Martin responded. However, Mr. Fellen, who was expecting this response, pointed to the signature of the letter. Martin Mikhalevski. Martin’s face turned into a plump, red tomato. He sunk into his chair with his face in his hands. How could he have forgotten to put a different name for the signature? “I wasted two hours on that letter,” groaned Martin. He banged the principal’s desk in frustration.

“Yes, time that could have been spent on doing your homework,” added Mr.Fellen. “If you wrote anywhere near this well on your English assignments, I’m sure you would get an A. You’re a very talented student except you use it in the wrong way.” Martin just rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he heard this from anyone.

“What’s in the box?” Mr.Fellen curiously asked. “That wasn’t from me,” Martin quickly lied. This was the last chance for his plan to

actually work. Mr. Fellen took the box, shook it, and took his scissors. He was about open the box when he realised that he was late to the library for his welcoming speech to the new sixth graders. He dropped the box on his desk and immediately ran towards the library. Martin took a breath which he was holding back for the past minute under the extreme intensity he was just witnessing. So close, Martin snapped.

*** Martin was sitting down on the principal’s comfortable chair twirling it around in

circles. He didn’t want to return back to his class, so he decided to stay in the principal’s office until Mr.Fellen came back, which Martin assumed would be about fifteen minutes. There, a small red book caught his eye. He picked it off of Mr. Fellen’s bookshelf, blew the dust off the cover, and read the title, Diary of Edrick Fellen. He gasped understanding how important this must be to Mr.Fellen. But his curiosity led him to turn to a random page. He read aloud, September 5, 1982 It was only the second day of school and I was already getting scolded by the principal. He said that I could have real talent if I used it in the right way. Yeah, right. All I did was prank call my science teacher but everything is taken so seriously these days. I’ve been keeping track and it has been my fifty-first time being in the principal’s office. No matter how hard I try to stop, my instincts always get ahead of me and tell me to do bad.

Martin was completely shocked and bewildered. Mr. Fellen used to be just like Martin, a very naughty boy. He decided to read on a further page:

28 

August 23, 1988 I’m a failure. I already knew that, but I didn’t realize how big of a failure I was until today. Out of all the colleges that I applied to, none of them accepted me claiming that I show “unreasonable behavioral qualities.” Now I have to take 11th and 12th grades all over again and just pray that I get to go to a good college.

Martin couldn’t believe it. He was on the brink of insanity. How in the world could a person who was as smart as Mr.Fellen be held back in school for two grades? Then it dawned on him that the same exact thing could happen to him. He could also be forced to attend the same grades over and over again. He could also not be accepted into any colleges. He read on finding out that Mr.Fellen eventually did get into a decent college after studying extremely hard in his senior and junior years. He also noted that Mr.Fellen didn’t do a single bad thing in that period. Martin was so engrossed in the diary that he didn’t notice Mr.Fellen walk in.

“I see you have gotten hold of my childhood diary.” Mr.Fellen startled Martin. “Sorry,” apologized Martin and he handed the diary to the principal. But he refused

to accept it. “You keep it,” insisted Mr.Fellen. “I was going to give it to you sooner or later

anyways. With such a treasurous item, I hope it is in good hands with you.” “I can assure you that I will.” “Now I can get back to opening that box,” Mr. Fellen stated. But before he could reach

out towards the box, Martin threw it into the trash. “It’s not that important anyway,” Martin lied, and they both laughed. Martin read the whole diary that night. All 103 pages. The diary influenced him that to

succeed in life, he would have to be smart, clever, and most importantly, no more pranks! He hoped to be a principal one day just like Mr.Fellen is.

One week later, Martin received his first perfect score on a math quiz in school. At the time, he was excited but soon it would become as common as a religious custom. The first of many more to come. He kept his meeting with Mr.Fellen, his favorite principal ever, a secret with his friends, and explained that it was a look ahead into the future that changed his actions and behavior.

29 

Animal Spirit ~ Terrell Perez Wolves are known to be animals of the night, a period of time that can sometimes be

scary to me. It is also a time that I find myself dreaming about different things and sometimes about me. My mom tells me that dreams can sometimes teach us about ourselves. My mind at night moves faster than light. For me to understand myself I have to be able to slow myself down and find my inner self, my hidden power, my hidden strength, To find me!

To find me is to hear the voice within myself. At times it is as clear as the sound of a

wolf howling in the night, and at other times a bunch of owls hooting in the night. I can utilize my newfound wisdom. I would lean on an old saying my dad would tell me: “Wisdom is gained through experience, by practicing what you preach.”

I like the fact that like a wolf, I am social and organized. I go out of my way to avoid any confrontation and have learned how to avoid trouble. I like to learn new ideas and teach them to others. It makes me feel useful and helpful. I don't know if a wolf can feel those feelings but I know I can. I am an independent Explorer always willing to teach others what I have discovered.

Today I have discovered that like a wolf, I am intelligent and determined. I have excellent reflexes and strong feelings. I am determined to represent a symbol of stamina, strength and develop the sense of self which leads to confidence in all I do. That is how I bring out the wolf in me.

30 

The Beast ~ Sunrit Panda   Clouds of mist unfurl over the pristine summit. The beast gazes down lazily on a small village lying at its base. A small hooded figure trudges up its various ledges and crevasses. This figure is the only thing living and breathing on the surface of powder and stiffness. If you look a bit closer, you can see its footprints dotting the snow. Almost like a deer, but in a place where no deer could ever keep body and soul together. This figure is determined. This figure is accepting of all hardship. This figure is a servile being, subject to the whims of the beast’s consciousness. It does not decide if it will safely pass through the biting snakes or the lion’s gaping mouth, it does not know what the venom will feel like, it does not know how his frame will bear the fall through sharp teeth and firm flesh and bones. These thoughts, the thoughts that should be bogging this being down, that should belabor his psyche, just strengthen it. This figure has erected an iron wall around his fear sector, nothing will disturb him from his course of action, nothing can stop him . . . not even the beast.

31 

Soccer Passion Speech ~ Hailey Verdicchio        Ever since I could talk, all I wanted to be was someone great. I would run around pretending to be a superhero, or a famous actress; but little did I know, in a few years, I would end up becoming something just as superior. I became myself - a soccer player, (no not a professional, at least not yet). I realized that, honestly, I do not have to be eminent or have a lot of money to impact lives. Just me doing what I love (which is playing the beautiful sport) and being myself has already helped so many people and made lives greater, including mine. To me, soccer is more than just a hobby, it is a lifestyle that affects every part of my life. Soccer is definitely the world’s most famous sport. It dates back to 3,000 years ago and is played all around the world. For people who think that soccer is silly because all you do is kick and chase a ball around ....it’s more than that. Soccer brings the whole world together and brings out the compassion within the soul. Everyone, from all around the globe, gets to come together and cheer and support their team as one. Not only that, but they get to share in the love with the prodigious sport. Now personally, I felt like my passion sprouted from when I first laid my foot on a soccer ball. To my astonishment, I was “supposed” to be a dancer and cheerleader. Everyone thought that too, well at least until my mom spent 20 minutes trying to drag me off the field with me screaming and crying after the first session. My mom mentioned to me it was so bad, that people actually thought I was being kidnapped. Whoops. But from there, my soccer career started and my life path sprouted. However, my soccer life has never been a stroll through the park. I have went through some rough times of people doubting me and saying that I couldn’t do it. I’ve also made a lot of mistakes. But I come to realize that in life there are people that are going to hold you by the strings and tell you what you can or cannot do, but you have to break away from it. My old coach actually told me that I wasn’t going to make the the varsity soccer team next year for high school and said I shouldn’t even strive for it. That’s not going to stop me from trying though. The biggest thing soccer taught me was how to have grit and this skill doesn’t just apply to soccer but to life in general. In addition, I didn’t have to go through it alone, I had people who supported me along the way whom I call my soccer family.

I’m glad that I can say I made a whole second family from soccer. They are the people I can go to with any problem or issue and they always have my back. Take my best friend, Grace, for example: we honestly probably wouldn't have ever been friends if it wasn't for soccer and wouldn't have the amazing relationship we have today. I remember when we were on rival teams, but when we played middle school soccer together and got to know each other more and realized we had so much in common. It lead us to now, with me being able to proudly say she’s my teammate on my club team GFA (International Girls Futbol Association). Soccer has given me so many opportunities to work with and experience different types of people. It also gave me my best friends.

32 

Soccer is no doubt is apart of my future plans. I work so hard and have put in so much effort that I can't just stop being involved with it. My future plans with soccer isn't even that far away either. My first goal is to make high school varsity, my first year. The second goal and the one I’m most focused on is getting a scholarship for soccer in college. One day I even may coach my children on their soccer teams. Honestly, all the decisions I'm making right now are because of my future goals for soccer.

I'm so passionate about soccer because it is the answer to why I am who I am today. Not only does soccer make me feel more secure, but it also relieves me. Anytime I'm stressed or don't want to think of something, futbol is the answer. I think of it as a person that I can go too for anything to get my mind off something, except it can't talk back, and it's not an actual human being. It's taught me life lessons only a few people have the chance to realize. The smashing sport gave me grit and the reason to strive for something great. For me, soccer is like my heart and my soul. I can't live without it.

33 

If Everyone Were a Color ~ Emily Heller  If everyone were a color, I think most people would be red, blue, or yellow. Submitting to a stereotype or a standard, they’d be boring in their own way But unique enough to attract others. I think the impressive people would be colors like purple, green, orange. A mixture, not falling into a category, refusing They’d surprise you, they’d know everyone and everyone would know them. And I think I’d be gray. Not that I think I’m specifically special, not at all actually. I’m just. Different. People see me and they think I’m duller than usual, when that’s just me. They think I’m a white that’s lost its shine, but I’m just a shade hiding behind something brighter. I’m drowning in this mix of color, with no place to fit in I’m not a primary color, certainly not, but I don’t think I’m specifically special either. I’m Me. I am a shade, someone that gives depth to others. I am a shadow, which is only strong when there is a bright light. But. I do hope, one day, I will find a way To become a truly brilliant Silver Instead Of this dull Boring Gray.

34 

Fauvist Portrait ~ Anisa Kiewdara    

35 

Still Life ~ Tien Pham      

36 

Feeling Inspired?

JOIN: Come to a meeting on Wednesdays after school in Room 108

or access our Google Classroom using the special code pwq61e.

SUBMIT: Submissions are no longer being accepted for the 2015-2016 school year.

Please join our classroom for next year’s call for art and writing.

EMAIL: Contact Ms. Lauricella at kristy.lauricella@edison.k12.nj.us

37