Nonfiction
His Absense by Kendra Allen, Tricia Rosasrivas, and Ja’nique Banks
I don’t have a dad. Well, technically, everyone has one. You could call mine a sperm donor. He was “in my life,” but I think it would have been better if he hadn’t been.
Life's Patches by Olivia Footer
I am the only white, teen girl at the office of Teen Voices but such feelings of otherness are not unfamiliar. This afternoon we crowd around a small TV to watch Good Hair, a documentary about the culture of African American women's hair. Surrounded by cornrows, dreadlocks, extensions and relaxed hair of every length and style, my shoulder-length dirty blond hair stands out as brightly as my skin color. After nine years, however, I am proud of these messy locks.
When I was eight years old, all the hair on my body began to fall out. Despite what many assumed to be the result of cancer treatment, it was Alopecia: an arbitrary loss of hair affecting any person regardless of age or health.
As she walks, thirty eyes follow her movement. I stare down at the floor, trying to distract myself and attempting to reach a center of serenity. Deep breathing, beautiful beaches, gentle waves. These images should lead to inner peace, I think, at least according to the movies. It's not working. Instead, I see a bomb ticking in my mind, clicking to the movement of her heels as she steps. She arrives at a desk.
Education in Ghana by Gail Haffes
I'm from Ghana, a country in West Africa. I was born here and I've lived here all my life. Ghana is a country with a history most of us learn about at a young age via storytelling and myths in school and at home. Aside from all of the spectacular aspects of my country, we're still faced with poverty. This challenge has led to so many problems. One major effect of this poverty is the country's high rate of illiteracy.
People refer to me as "Little Grubbs," which sounds cute, and I don't mind this nickname. But I do mind the nickname "Caitlyn's little sister." I don't have a problem with her being my sister. Feeling like Caitlyn's shadow frustrates and hurts me. I am my own person." I have my own name.
Entries(RSS)
Smile by Jean Wu
I loved him.
I can still see him walking along the hallway, looking down, digging into that jumbo-sized bag of marshmallows. Consumed, he almost trips, nearly spilling them. I let out a giggle. He looks up, his cheeks slightly flushed. I remember his hair being in that constant disarray, his smell perpetually like honey, his eyes always with that glimmer. He smiles at me and I remember believing that it was forever.
How naïve.
A week, two weeks, a month, two months, a year, almost two years went by. We were inseparable yet somehow we were actually growing apart. One by one the marshmallows were eaten until there was nothing left, nothing left at all.
All for the best, I suppose.
I come back to reality, sitting cross-legged on my spinning chair and I refocus on Grey’s Anatomy, watching as two people who both have cystic fibrosis fall in love, as two strangers realize that either one or the other must die, as a daughter gives her abusive father a kidney.
I should really give them all my marshmallows.
I pause and look down at the bag in my lap. I reach for one and stare at it. I hold it by its ends, feeling its soft and porous texture, remembering. I look at it and see every class we had together, every tennis match played, every walk in the snow after school. I squish it, knowing that though we’ll never be together again, our laughs will stay with us forever.
And I smile.
As far as bite-sized pieces of happiness go, they’re it, the mob of marshmallows. Usually, we take what we eat for granted, forgetting to savor the delight it brings us but whenever we need it, comfort food will always be the warm blanket on a cold day, a hug from a caring friend, a silver lining perhaps. For me, it’s those tiny marshmallows, acting like pillows that break the fall.
I hope he always has marshmallows.
i wish i could write as simply and nicely as you, grey's anatomyis awesome
That was a good story. I like it. Good Job.
im so sorry about ur love style but the inly thing you can do is try your best to work it out and talk about how you feel........
Lol , something like that is the very most story ppl love to read and it was very good . it had me a little chuckling
This great writting!
omg that was awsome <3
I thought a lot about this one. It was very well written
That was great, I really enjoyed this:) Its things like this that makes me stop and think about having joy in the little things. It also got my mind off my heartache, thanks for that:)
Dear President Obama,
I highly request that all public schools should wear uniforms. Because kids in school, are not always properly worn right. I know this because this girl named Lataysha had a problem like this--she was sorda like my friend. She used to tell me every day people would talk about the way she dressed. Sometimes I would even see people throwing things at her. People didn’t know her--like that the kids would just pick on her. But the story behind this was her background they didn’t get. She has been an orphan for about 10 years but she’s been adopted for 5. But her parents can’t really afford good clothes for her. So she got her clothes from Goodwill. So can you please, President Obama, help my friend by having public schools wear uniforms. Besides, all these girls wearing inappropriate clothes. That’s the real reason that Grand Rapid Public Schools should wear uniforms. Just listen and take my advice about it. I think it would really stop drama and conflicts and for schools to be a safer place to be.
Sincerely, Latrice Perkins
10th grade student at Creston High School