Kelly recalls a time when her greatest fear in the classroom was realized I sat up on the cold stool and rested my hands on the large black surface in front of me. I could feel the abnormally cold tabletop freezing into my arms through my thick hoodie. I gazed around the huge classroom. Everyone sat on navy-blue stools at their assigned tables. The room was completely silent aside from the third-grade science teacher’s voice. Tap. There were textbooks, printed-out articles, miniature models, and posters neatly stored and pinned across all four walls. Tap. There was also a massive Promethean board and projector set up at the front of the room. Tap. Glancing up at the clock and then the schedule pinned on the wall, I slightly groaned. There was still a good thirty minutes of class. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap tap— Who is doing that? My World Turning to my right, I saw the culprit. Of course it would be him. Thomas, who sat next to me, was repeatedly tapping his pen on the table. Knowing him, he was counting down the seconds till the end of the class. He was extremely impatient, and from what I’ve heard from others, he didn’t get amazing grades last semester. I shouldn’t judge him, though. Plus, I didn’t blame him for being so jittery. He was the kind of kid who wanted to be outside playing soccer. Not stuck in a room with books lined up wall to wall. Looking up at the board, I saw Mr. Campbell going through one of his Google Slides presentations. For the past few days it’s felt like he’s been repeating the same words over and over. That was probably better for me since I was a bit slow in science, but it was still tiring to hear the same lesson told in a different way every day. I let out a small sigh and uncapped my pen. I didn’t really know what my plan was, but I started making small doodles in the back of my notebook. I didn’t get anything besides slight entertainment out of it, but it was better than nothing, I guess. I kept mindlessly dragging my pen around until I realized my entire page was covered in ink. It was an image of a figure trying to present something with dozens of eyes staring back at them. Funny, huh? Since I wasn’t exactly the most talented person out there, my only hobbies were drawing and playing video games. It really wasn’t that ideal. I wasn’t musically gifted in the slightest, and I didn’t like dancing, reading, writing, or anything that took more than five minutes and two re-reads to comprehend. That meant that the only way I had to express myself was art. Since I did nothing but draw all day, a good percentage of my art expressed my fears. I didn’t really— “Kelly! I would appreciate it if you turned your attention to the board here.” I jumped and looked up to see the teacher’s annoyed glare piercing through me. Oh. I didn’t exactly want to make the situation any worse, so I quickly nodded in response. Even though I tried to play it off as just a small incident, I felt like everyone was staring at me. I shot a quick glance around the room and a slight wave of relief hit me. No one really cared about what had just happened. It was just me. Then my eyes slightly widened. What if someone had realized that I was going to turn around, catch them staring at me, and question them so they’d looked away? That could always happen. Or what if— No. Stop it. I tried reassuring myself, telling myself that nothing like that was going to happen any time soon. I told myself that no one was going to make fun of me after class, but for some reason it still felt like every eye in the room was on me. Judging me. Laughing at me. That’s my problem. I always feel like there’s someone out there watching me, trying to make a stupid-looking image of me in their head. That’s my problem. I always feel like there’s someone out there watching me, trying to make a stupid-looking image of me in their head. More specifically, this one kid in the class. Hunter. He was the one kid who always raised his hand first, he was part of the student council, he always got everything right, handed in his tests first, he was organized . . . Anyone who didn’t know him would ask, “Why is that a bad thing?” Well, alongside his occupation with being the smartest kid in the class, he took on the part-time job of being a jerk. He was pretty intelligent, sure. Didn’t mean he wasn’t stuck up and snobby, though. This is one of the worst combinations, in my opinion. I remembered this one time last week. Just thinking about it makes me slightly cringe at the way he acted. *          *          * Everyone in the room was completely silent, but at the same time, the tension in the air while the teacher handed back our test scores was so loud. We had just taken a pre-assessment for the new math unit, and no one was actually supposed to know any of the content, but that didn’t stop us from trying to chase a good grade. Watching where the teacher was heading, I saw the girl sitting to the left of the one-and-only Hunter get her test back. Almost instantly I hear, “Wait, you got a 96%? How could you actually get something wrong?” Hunter whispered out. “It was so easy! I’m pretty sure that even someone like Thomas got it right . . .” There was no reply. The girl shuffled in her chair, scratching the blue-gray tiled floor as the uneven chair legs rotated to face the

A collection of brief meditations on place Outside, I slowly stomped through the leaves on a path that connects two parts of my neighborhood. There, I sat, listening to the birds and squirrels scuffle and fly. A deer, surprised, ran past me into the forest, turning back after a few meters, watching. I picked up a leaf, rough and colored with age. A few acorns lay at my feet, swiftly blown side to side by the soft wind. The deer still watched me intently. Around it, several bushes, and trees surrounding the bushes. The smell of leaves and wood reached my nose. I picked up a stick and tossed it over at the deer, who was still standing defiantly, waiting for its spot back. It ran away with a last look of “I will be back.” I finally stood up and walked away, crossing an old, rough wooden bridge, which creaked as I walked. Ancient, beautiful, convenient. *          *          * I ran around the court, hitting the ball quickly without any thought other than move, right position, right shot. A quick breath of wind blew the ball partially offtrack before I was able to recover my shot, which knocked the ball to the right more than I’d wanted. My friend and I continued to play rounds, passing the ball back and forth. The blue-green floor, hard under my feet, allowed me to maneuver quickly around. The smell of trees filled the air, and the sun shone a brilliant bright yellow to my right. The warmth targeted my right arm where my tennis racket was held. I sneezed. *          *          * Sitting on my porch, I stared at that one tree which immersed the whole view from my spot. Its leaves were gone with age; only a few hung on. Water droplets hung from the branches, and the sound of light rain pattered against the rooftop. The cool morning air touched my skin. A water droplet landed on my forehead, blown by the wind. I inhaled and breathed. A bitter taste rested within my mouth, for the smell of cars and pollutants filled the air, as a procession of the rumbling vehicles passed by. I could not see them, for this tree still stood between me and the outside world. *          *          * I stood, peering out at the outside world. A bush, standing among many others, rustled as a squirrel brushed by it. Farther forward, apartment complexes, painted blue, were laid out in a pattern. Some parts of the buildings were covered in shadow, the sun shining from the left. Its light brightly lit up a golden-leaved tree, swaying in front. The black asphalt roads that littered the ground looked unnatural in the area. Today was a humid day; the smell of mud reached my nose. The sky was a sad blue, completely, although nice-looking in its own way. In the background, I heard my brother and mother talking. I smiled. Caden Wang, 12Chapel Hill, NC

Ava feels trapped at school in her classroom during reading time The quiet classroom was like a prison. The lights were dim, and a broken bulb flickered softly above me. I had never liked the dullness of this room, nor did I like the quietness of reading time. I sat in my assigned seat and flipped through a book about spaceships. The cover was slightly dented, and some of the pages were half torn. I managed to make out only the picture of the Apollo lunar module. I closed the book and placed it on my desk. I leaned back in my seat and let my head dangle off the tip of the blue plastic. I stretched, making all my muscles bunch up, then relax again. I let out a satisfied sigh and sat up, looking around the room. Everyone was still reading besides my teacher, who was swiping furiously at his phone. I shifted into a more comfortable position and began trying to count the leaves of a tree out the window. It was not too far away, but I could only make out the size and shape of it. It looked like a green cloud with two ears on top. I rocked impatiently in my chair, waiting for the teacher to signal that class had ended. I looked up at the clock and then leaned back in surprise. It was only 2:06! I slumped deeper into my chair at the fact that I had to wait fifty-four more minutes until the bell would grant my wishes. So I observed the white clock with its red arm ticking to the rhythm of my feet tapping, the long black arm inching forward slowly and the small black arm that was barely moving. I wondered if it was broken and if I should ask the teacher to fix it. Silently, I scolded the small black arm and turned my attention to my teacher. Out of the Window He had sleek gray hair that lay respectfully on his head. He had a mustache that curved upwards as if he were always smiling. I observed that he wore a navy-blue tie today, the same dark blue that matched his striped shirt. He wore long, dark pants that seemed three inches too short, revealing his long blue socks. I imagined him picking flowers on a grassy clearing that stretched far off into the horizon. He wasn’t the type of person who was going to sit on a grassy clearing to pick flowers, but I like to imagine people doing silly things. It always helps me pass the time. I shook my head, covering up my giggles. Finally, I couldn’t resist standing any longer. I jumped up, attracting eyes from all over the room. I flattened my skirt and flicked my hair, a nervous tick I use to cover up my embarrassment. After all, being the center of attention is a very unpleasant feeling. It was like having a crowd point their fingers at me. I felt my feet leading me to the doorway, with all eyes still on me. I walked faster and reached my hand out to the doorknob. “Ava? Where are you going?” I heard a deep voice call out from behind me. It was my teacher. I froze, not knowing if getting fresh air was a good reason to go outside. “Bathroom,” I blurted, not realizing it until it escaped my mouth. I felt awkward saying it because I usually don’t sneak off to the bathroom not to use the bathroom. My teacher let out a deep grunt, which I figured meant that I was excused. I opened the door, and immediately the wind rushed toward me and slapped my face in an unmannerly way. I swatted my hair away from me and started walking toward the bathroom for no apparent reason. As I was walking, I couldn’t help grinning. Stepping out of the classroom felt as if I had won a lottery of one bajillion dollars! I hopped and skipped and smiled my huge billboard smile. My friends call me the “ten-minute person.” It means that I can never sit still in my chair for more than ten minutes. My brother can sit for hours and hours doing homework, and I admire that. I have to jump out of my chair every ten minutes to go to the kitchen to see what’s cooking. And I’m always in a gloomy mood at night because I have to go to sleep. As I was walking, I couldn’t help grinning. Stepping out of the classroom felt as if I had won a lottery of one bajillion dollars! Before I knew it, I was standing at the door of the bathroom, smelling the stench of honey dipped in celery sticks. That’s how I always describe the smell of our school bathroom to my friends. To me, it also means “bad-smelling.” Every one of my friends knows that celery sticks and honey are the stuff of my nightmares. (I despise the taste of celery sticks, and bees make my teeth chatter.) I stood there for a few seconds to waste time, and then I thought I might as well go in because it was better than being trapped in the classroom. I played around with the water and squirted oily soap onto my hands and made bubbles with it. When I was satisfied with the bubbles, I turned back around to head back. I reminded myself that I was outside for fresh air. Moments later, I stepped into the classroom, and it was surprisingly bright and noisy. I supposed that the teacher had announced something fascinating because the room was full of laughter and chatter. I looked around, expecting my friend Prisha to wave me over and feed me in on the news. But in her seat was a tall girl wearing black earrings and a baggy white T-shirt that read “Miller Band.” I paused and looked around the room with wide eyes. I