1

2014

Rockville High School

Volume 32

ECHOES

21

Cover photo: “Lake Shore”By: Rachanna Machae Rounds

2014

Rockville High School2100 Baltimore Road Rockville, MD 20851

echoes

ROCKVILLE HIGH SCHOOL’S

creative arts

JOURNALVOLUME 32

43

Staff and Editors

Senior Managing editorCourtney Herzog

Copy editorSBrenda Diazdelvalle

Eileen MorochoEstefanny Rodriguez

Kaitlynn ShorbSushmitha Tamilselvan

deSign ManagerSGeorgianna BeersJenna St. Aubin

FaCulty adviSorMr. Sean Pang

FiCtionEmily Schpiece (Editor)

Brenda Diazdelvalle

Abbie Gerhart

Cindy Huynh

Kendra Lennon

Johanna Ma

Jenna Warren

Jessica Zak

art Azin Bahari (Editor)

Kristen Kepner

Eileen Morocho

poetryFrida Palencia (Editor)

Luther Lee

Sushmitha Tamilselvan

Creative non-FiCtion

Lydia Barr (Editor)

Ryan Allred

Jennifer Lopez

Kaitlynn Shorb

65

Table of ConTenTs

Creative Non- Fiction An Inch Away - Joey Cornwell

Something to Celebrate - Mfon AkpaeteWorst Day - Antonio SilvaADHD - Jenna St. Aubin

Discovering a New Passion - Nicole MarinucciThe Good Die Young - Jazlyn Tran

Ashes - Beatriz Soriano

FictionSummer - Cindy Hyunh

Throw off the Bowlines - AnonymousPure White - Cindy Hyunh Last Walk - Juliano Hirsch

Chilly Lacerations - Latrese MorrisMemories - Abbie Gerhart

Stumbling - April Lei Velasco

Poetry Amnesia - Mfon Akpaete

To Shine Up The Sky - Emily LanklerRemembered - Kristen Ivins

Change - Kristen IvinsHate - Tristen Santoyo

Insecurities - Krystal ClaggettMonster - Tristen Santoyo

11151821232627

31343738414445

53545555576062

Things I Carry - Sushmitha TamilselvanFill in Yourself - Ashira Brown

Stolen - Krystal ClaggettDreams - Melissa Silva

Shoes To Seize The Day - Emily Lankler

6466687072

19

11141720112529333638404243475156596366697172

ArtLake Shore - Rachanna Mashae Rounds (Front Cover)

Green Tree Python - Mark PankowskiMore Than One Pair - Olga Zhigunova

Twists and Stars - Amanda GardnerNight and Day - Clarissa Libertelli

A Bug’s Life - Camila TorresThrough the Years - Bob Herbert

We-Mote - Chloefaith CasilagStill Life with Metal Bowl - Abigail Noll

Nightmare - Amanda GardnerCo-Creation - Chloefaith Casilag

Hidden - Michelle WooCow - Georgianna Beers

A Wild Couple - Victoria GanevCandles - Abigail Noll

Moonlit Forrest - Abigail NollDog Tree - Vanessa Michelle Flores

Dishwasher - Bradley Brea Science - Clarissa Libertelli

My Home Town Market - Vanessa Michelle FloresTree - Brendan GageWait - Michelle Woo

Droplets - Meklit A. BekeleMomentum - Tiffany Harrison and Jenna Warren (Back Cover)

87

The progression over the past seven months was difficult, but so accomplishing. Although we had some difficulties, we overcame them and powered through the deadlines. The growing love for Echoes was shown through the amazing commitment and dedication of our staff. Fundraising. Reviewing. Editing. Designing. And finally publishing. We did it. We believe that this edition of Echoes demonstrates the potential of the Rockville High School students through their academic and creative pursuits. We would like to thank the RHS English Department for their continued support and as always we are grateful to the Journalism Academy for their most appreciated assistance. Finally, much of the credit for this year goes to our committed staff. Without their time and effort, we would never have been able to produce this compilation of exceptional talent which we now proudly present.

Sincerely, Courtney Herzog Senior Managing Editor

Here, at Rockville High School, we have a numerous amount of students who are hiding behind the curtain of creativity. Through Echoes, they started performing on the stage by acknowledging their strengths and weakness. There were so many who presented this level of creative perfor-mance, and they shined brightly, as students became au-thors who came together to bring forth the 32nd edition of our school’s beloved journal. Throughout the many events: flash-mobs, bake sales, and football games, Echoes brought together many different backgrounds, as well as many different artistic and stylistic writing fares that are just waiting to catch on fire. As our staff went through the long and complex process, we formed lasting friendships and learned a lot about each other to form a compelling journal filled with magnificent pieces of work.

Editor’s Preface

Fiction

109

“Green Tree Python”

By: Mark Pankowski

SummerBy: Cindy Hyunh

“More Than

One Pair”

By: Olga

Zhigunova

1211

I remember when I first entered high school - my

parents always feared that the rude comments would get the

better of me; that people would avoid me because I was blind.

I was never able to see the world of white sand or the eye

catching sunsets. Sometimes, I’d blame God for giving me this

cruel punishment but then, I was introduced to a girl named

Summer. Her description matched her name almost perfectly.

My nanny told me that Summer had radiant blue eyes like the

ocean currents; hair as blonde as the endless sand on a

beach, and a heart that was as warm as the summer weather.

I met Summer on the first day of high school. I was

being escorted around by my nanny and stumbled upon her.

“Your hair is white as snow!” I remember her saying as she

tangled her fingers into my hair. “I wouldn’t know,” came out of

my mouth while I tapped the sunglasses that I wore to cover

my eyes. All I could hear was her gasping. Summer grabbed

my hand and her voice sounded so sincere when she apolo-

gized. I told her it was fine, and went on to my first class.

When lunch time came around, my nanny and I sat

outside. “Alyssa, the girl from before is coming this way,” my

nanny said to me. I heard Summer’s footsteps crunching in the

grass as she walked towards me. My nanny excused herself

and left as Summer sat down. “I never got to introduce my-

self before. I’m Summer.” She grabbed my hand once more

and shook it. “Alyssa is my name, and as you can see I was

born blind” I said. There was an awkward silence for about 3

minutes until Summer spoke again. We talked throughout the

whole lunch period and when the bell rang, she told me how

happy she was to have made a new friend. My heart sank; I’d

never actually made any friends before.

Summer and I continued to talk every day at lunch.

She even replaced my nanny and took me to class instead.

During lunch she would describe the different seasons and

how magnificent they were. She started with winter; telling me

how the snow was as white as my hair. She told me about how

the trees would be leafless and how the daylight went on until

night. Summer described every possible place and time that

“Twists and

Stars”

By:

Amanda

Gardner

1413

anyone could ever think of. One of my favorite places she would describe to me was Disney World. I was told that there was an endless amount of rides and people; that the smells were delightful, and how the Disney characters wandered the streets. Every day I would ask her about Disney World, and every day she would tell me a different story. Summer seemed to have been there many times, and even promised to take me the next school break. That never actually happened though. By the time winter break came around, Summer had gotten sick. She was hospitalized, and my nanny had to take her place. Even with my nanny, I felt lonely. She would try to tell stories like Summer, but they were never as pleasant. So instead I would eat in silence during my lunch break. Summer’s parents told me that she wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. Summer had been diagnosed with Leukemia, and wouldn’t make it. I thought that was silly. Summer was the strongest and bravest person I knew. My nanny would take me to visit her in the hospital from time to time, but Summer would always be sleeping. I would hold her hand and talk to her about our plans to go to Disney World. “We’ll visit Peter Pan and eat all the great food!” or something along those lines would come out of my mouth. I could feel tears race down my face whenever I visited Summer. It only took a few months for me to get attached to her. She was my best and only friend. When spring started and the flowers had bloomed; Summer was pronounced dead. Her mother called my nanny in the afternoon and shocked us with the horrible news. I remember lying in the grass that day. My eyes were flooded with water, and all I could say was “Summer.” People thought

that I was “too obsessed”, but if they were in the position I was in, they would have cried too. Once again, God took something important from my life; but I wasn’t angry, since Summer was there to fix it even though it was only for a couple of months.

1615

Throw Off the Bowlines

After her husband’s funeral, the woman returned to her house. Everything looked the same; the model cars on the bookshelves, the jigsaw puzzles framed on the wall. Her hus-band’s clothes were still folded on the ironing board and a beer bottle was left on the coffee table from last Sunday. Yet, it was the first time she had felt truly alone in the 1950s Colonial since she and her husband bought it more than 20 years ago. There was no constant buzz of the television, no music coming from the upstairs bedrooms. She walked slowly across the room, running her hand along the edge of the side table. She looked down and saw the photos of her children, now grown. Some of the pictures were of her son holding a snake in Cabo San Lucas and her daughter in a mint coat as snow fell in Moscow. As she looked past her daughter to see Saint Basil’s, she was reminded of a black and white photo in an old atlas her father had given her one Christmas as a child. She had sat

on the floor for hours, flipping through the musty pages and imagining what the temples, waterfalls and palaces looked like in color. She’d carry that atlas with her to college, to her studio apartment in the city, and kept it in the living room of the 1950’s Colonial. She had watched her children sit with it on the shag car-pet and then seen them off at the airport every time the family had enough money to buy a plane ticket. And when they were away, she waited for their calls so she could hear about all the wonderful things they had seen, taking delight in stories of couch surfing Europe and airplane food, neither of which she’d had the chance to experience herself. The woman sat down in the leather easy chair where she always sat in the evenings and as she looked across the room, she saw the dusty green spine of her old atlas, tucked away behind college textbooks that were too heavy for her children to lug from country to country. She looked back at the photo of her daughter, interested to once again study the ornate onion domes in the background. But Saint Basil’s was blurry and obstructed by her daughter’s hat. She couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed. If it had been her in that picture, she would have been the blurry one, turning her head to follow every passing sound or flash of color, ex-cited by the chaos that surrounded her. As she sat back in the chair and looked around the room, she realized that the only thing she really liked in it was the atlas, but she was sure the pages were molding by now. And besides, it was a half century too old to be useful.

By: Anonymous

“Night and Day”By: Clarissa Libertelli

1817

Pure White October 21, 2036: “I’ve always hated these new rules. I’m aware of what the future holds and it is not all that bright,” were his lasts words before I shot him. I hated the new rules too. The government made up a whole new system to kill any hidden terrorists, serial killers, criminals, and more. They’ve fi-nally invented time travel, but limited the use. Certain trackers are trusted to travel back in time and kill the parents of crimi-nals. Once you join, you can never quit and once you’ve been given a job, you cannot decline, or death will come upon you and all your loved ones. I’m one of those trusted trackers. I was dimwitted and willing to do anything for money. Every day I regret taking the job. Not only are you killing the criminal, but you are also killing the innocent parents and any other children they may have had. But the rules are made, and this rule was hard to break. March 16, 2068 was when I met her; Mashiro. Just like her name, she was pure white. Her face was pale and her hair was colorless. She took care of me, fixed me, and loved me despite my dangerous and homicidal life. I soaked her love in like a sponge, yet I’ve never actually done anything in return. A couple years after we met, Mashiro’s sister was ac-cused of murder. She had killed her very own parents, and then went missing for about a week. Mashiro was devastated, and her eyes were flooded every night. “We must find her,” she would tell me, “Before they make you travel back in time.” Every night I told her that we would, but Mashiro’s sister was very well hidden. Months

By: Cindy Hyunh

“Through the Years”

By: Bob Herbert

2019

had past and then we started to lose hope. October 21, 2073 was the day I got the call. The disap-pointing words were told to me after a ring. “You must find the parents,” and I knew what must be done. I didn’t tell Mashiro her soon-to-be fate; I couldn’t. Before I left, I kissed her fore-head. The words “forgive me” were mouthed as I walked off. October 21, 2036: I found Mashiro’s parents in a lovely house by the east coast. They were eating dinner and enjoying the fall breeze. I loaded my gun and took a deep breath. My fingers trembled as I aimed my gun. Bang. One down. Mashi-ro’s mother was easy but her father was troublesome. “Show yourself,” he yelled, “Or are you not man enough?” I got up from my hiding place and showed my face. His arms were draped around his wife. Tears flooded his face and his sadness reminded me of Mashiro’s. My gun aimed towards his head. “You killed the love of my life.” He said as he held his dead wife closer, caressing her. “I’m sorry but this is my job.” Tears followed my words. “I’ve always hated these new rules. I’m aware of what the future holds and it is not all that bright,” the man said. Bang. Another down. I was finished. The time machine automatically sent me back to the present time. October 21, 2073: I was placed outside the door of my house. It looked different; all of Mashiro’s adjustments were gone. The windows were dirty, and there was no “Welcome Home” placemat. My hands struggled to unlock the door. It was harder than anything I’ve ever done before. Once I walked inside, I noticed how different my house looked. The walls

were torn, and there was trash everywhere. “Mashiro?” I whispered as tears flooded my eyes once again. She was never there to fix me up. She wasn’t there to change me. I’m the same man I was years ago. I wasn’t able to soak in her love. “Mashiro, I’m sorry.”

By: Juliano Hirsch

2221

Last Walk The sky had a red and orange hue, the air was still and clear, the thoughts of the day passed through my head as I walked down the street to my home. The cars passed, passer-by’s whistled, a robin sang in the distance, and sunlight twin-kled in the clear fall air. A gust of wind blew in my direction, my head remained covered, but the stillness was disturbed and

the serenity faltered. The air had been cool but what remained was a kind of cold - not a freezing chill - curious disturbance. The song birds had left, and all that remained were the crows, festering at themselves for morsels of meat, the pure air filled by their stench. The smoke from a garbage truck filled the air with smoke and the sky reddened as the setting sun made its journey, the color no longer comforting, no longer immaculate and picturesque but now distasteful and vulgar. As I came near the turn toward my house, the phone rang and the crisp air became completely laden with stench, partly from the birds and partly from smoke in the chimneys. My house, in particu-lar, had burned the most wood that day. I could see it almost a block away, and the sight concerned me. I felt my blood curdle like acid in milk and my heart plummeted. The phone kept on ringing, my hands barely having the courage to answer. My mother told me in a gentle voice that she saw me standing outside and wanted me to come in. There had been a death in the family; my grandfather had passed away from a heart at-tack late that morning. The feelings of remorse and grief were overwhelming. For the first time in my life I truly understood what it meant to feel loss, yet what was more overwhelming was my recognition of guilt. I was disgusted by how I cried and by my sheer resolution to feel sorry for myself, when behind it all, I knew my grandfather deserved better. He was an honor-able man who did not cry but let others cry on him; a man who had great pain in his life and yet would feel others pain; a man who would always give a coat to a stranger during the New York winter with its cold and filthy air.

“A Bug’s Life”

By:Camila Torres

2423

Chilly Lacerations “You give people a reason not to try. You won’t answer.

It’s like you’re avoiding me.”

She remained frozen.

Another vibration.

“You have permission to talk to me now. I don’t manipulate

people on purpose.”

She answered.

“Ok and I have not been ignoring you. I took a nap.”

It was then, the sun came directly into her eyes; it was so bright that

it was blinding. She turned her back to the sun and closed her eyes

tightly. That scourge. Tears melted out her eyes.

She had been ignored.

“I’m so sorry.”

Her heart felt beaten but still beating, causing self-inflicted

lacerations along her ribcage. She froze at the wrong times.

“You’re a sad waste of a human being. You have eyes and

ears but can’t even use them. I wanted to be friends without you

causing problems.”

They sure were in use, but she did not use them as a weap-

on. She knew what he went through on a daily basis, but she could

not be a miracle worker as hard as she tried.

She did not say anything. Even the simplest things needed

not to be bombastic because they lacked significance to begin with.

The vibration sounded again.

“So, just stop. I feel so sick now and it’s when I talk to you.

Good bye.”

She could not speak, though the sun whipped her back. She

cooled everything within her, her heart slowing its pace…

By: Latrese Morris It was December. Winter break was coming. She walked

pensively down the hill surrounded by blankets of thick snow. The

cold weather was not letting up soon. She felt the wind whipping her

face and heard the vehicles to her belt pass on the tar road. It was

then that the walk became quiet, except the vibration in her pocket.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How was school?”

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Yes. And you? How was school?”

“Yeah….and good had a long history test, but gym was fun.”

She shivered, but was becoming accustomed to the cold. Her

heart thrashed about in her chest. When she was in school, she was

in a different world. Books, pencils, pens, the lessons, all tuned out

her stresses from the outside and made life better. She was silent

like a marionette. Quiet in class but with eyes and a mindset that

people did not understand, unless she let them in. Slowly exhaling,

the shining snow caught her eye. The sun was directly above her

with its rays beating down onto the snow covering the grass.

Beautiful and even when it melts, it’ll nurture the grass when it

comes back to life. “It’s still alive under there,” she mumbled.

The transition into the warm house relaxed her, a slight burn-

ing sensation from moving abruptly into the warmth.The clock’s

hands lashed as time passed. Studies were done. She was looking

out the window almost…. frozen. The vibration was felt again.

“We-Mote”

By: Chloefaith Casilag

2625

Do you ever have that moment where you are com-pletely fine, but then, something happens? An old song plays, you overhear a conversation, anything, and it brings back all of the memories. Not some repressed traumatic memories or anything like that, but the memories of old friends. We all have them. Yet, none of us can admit that one day we won’t be friends anymore. We will leave high school and go our sepa-rate ways and meet new people and make new friends. We will always remember the good times and the bad times with our old friends. But even if you aren’t somebody’s friend, you could be their enemy. But every person you allow in your life will either be a blessing or a lesson. Just remember that peo-ple will always be moving in and out of your life. So make sure you’re their blessing instead of their lesson.

MemoriesBy: Abbie Gerhart

2827

looking for shelter, but was always left outside—cold and alone. Tired, helpless, and hopeless she continued to walk. The darkness that once petrified her, she befriended. After school, she stumbled back “home” and slammed the door one last time. In her bag she took out a tool, small and sharp. It kissed her arms, slit her skin, and went through her veins where thick, warm, dark, crimson red liquid continuously dripped down the carpet. She sighed in relief in the dark. Jamey Lu was her name; seventeen and a senior in high school. She was the one who loved but was abused; the one who was once pure but is now filthy; the one whose seat in the class will continue to be empty. She is the one in the hospital, stuck in the morgue; the one who had tried every-thing to feel again; the one who screamed and cried her heart out but no one seemed to hear; the one who looked for shelter and comfort, but was left inside—dead, cold, and alone

Stumbling from side to side, she heard mumbling and whispers of people around her slowly fade away. As she continued to walk towards her house, she saw her shadow, slim and tall—the same one she admired ever since she was six. The sun was falling to the west of the mountains and the night began to creep behind her. The darkness of the night became one with her shadow. She headed to her room and again, she was alone in the dark. In the dark she heard a man and a woman, whom she once called her parents, fighting again; she heard the voices of her “friends” talking badly about her behind her back. She remembered her 2.0 GPA, the numbers on the weighing scale and her brothers and sisters crying and arguing. Her responsibili-ties, her best friend who betrayed her—she envisioned a future so dark that she didn’t even want to enter it anymore. The darkness consumed her. It numbed her; scared her. Jamey Lu was her name; seventeen and a senior in high school. She was the one who loved but was abused; the one who was once pure but is now filthy; the one whose seat in the class is always empty; the one stuck in the hos-pital for months because of overdosing on pills; the one who has tried every drug possible; the one who screamed and cried her heart out but no one seemed to hear; the one

StumblingBy: April Lei Velasco

“Still Life with Metal Bowl”By: Abigail Noll

3029

Creative Non-Fiction

“Droplets”By: Meklit A. Bekele

3231

an inch away On my twelfth birthday, my twin was shot in the face. We used to line up Coke cans in the backyard and shoot them from our porch. Our father had bee-bee guns from when he was a boy, and he let us start using them when we were 11. Our mom would polish off diet Cokes; we’d stack them on the fence about 50 feet away from us and try to knock them down. On this day, my mom wasn’t home though; she was out buy-ing groceries for the week ahead. Michael was upstairs getting ready for our birthday dinner when he looked out the window at Ben to see a rifle aiming right at him. It was unintentional, but Ben unknowingly pulled the trig-ger and watched as Michael hit the floor. I heard yelling and crying so I walked up from the living room and saw Ben racing upstairs to check on Michael. I had no idea what was going on, so I ran upstairs with him. I walked into my mom’s room to see my twin, Michael, lying in a pool of blood while Ben got towels to wipe up the blood. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Ben kept repeating as tears rushed down his face. I ran downstairs and called my mom, “Michael’s been shot!” She didn’t believe me and hung up. I called her again, cautioning her that it wasn’t a joke, and the ambulance was on its way. Daniel called 911, only because I was afraid of strangers at the time and didn’t like talking to people I didn’t know. My mom rushed out as the ambulances arrived; she ran outside to see her child being put on a stretcher into the back of an ambulance. The men from the ambulance told us they’d

go to Shady Grove hospital to surgically remove the bullet. The entire time the men were checking on him, all he could say was “I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die.” Immediately, the thought of life without a twin rushed through my mind, and as they took him away in the ambulance, I prayed for his survival. After the night passed, we woke up to see Michael back in bed, with an eye patch. My mom told us that the bullet was about an inch away from his brain, and if it had hit his brain, it would have been fatal. Thankfully, my twin survived, and the policemen took away all the guns from our house, so no other incidents like this would ever happen again. As much as I say I dislike my twin, nothing scared me more than the thought of life without him.

By: Joey Cornwell

“Nightmare”

By: Amanda Gardner

3433

something to celebrate

Death isn’t exactly an unfamiliar presence in my family. My first experience with death didn’t really come until winter break of 2011. I had woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of my mother and aunt sobbing in agony. Worried, I started to get out of bed when my brother quietly opened the door. I had asked him why our mother was crying and he simply shook his head and told me to go back to sleep. Confused but too tired to object, I listened to him and curled back into my covers. The echoes of my brother and sister trying to comfort the two women were the last thing I heard. When I woke up the next morning, I learnt that my mother and aunt’s dear brother had died. Those sounds I heard weren’t sobs; they were the sounds of two hearts breaking. Throughout winter break, there were many calls from friends and family. Each one seemed to tear a little piece of my mom away. It was as if every call was a reminder that her brother was truly gone. A dark cloud had positioned itself over our house, large and threatening to never leave. It was safe to say that it was the worst winter break that I had ever experienced. Surpris-ingly, all I could do to help was stay out of the way. I was no help anyway, seeing how I knew nothing about my uncle, and it never crossed my mind that I should. It’s not a secret that I wasn’t close to my uncle; in fact, I barely even knew him. I was 9 months old when my father died and the whole family flew to Nigeria to bury my father’s body in the place he was born and that was most likely the only time my uncle had seen me - when I was a baby.

By: Mfon Akpaete

“Co-Creation”

By: Chloefaith Casilag

3635

His death didn’t rattle me like it did my siblings, seeing how they spent actual time with my uncle, particularly my broth-er, who lived with him for a year. Deaths in my family are not bombshells to me, especially when they involve family members from back home, the ones I never really got to know. My uncle’s passing, however, affected my world in ways that I hadn’t even started to imagine. It really became clear while I was sitting on the sideline, watching things unfold during the time nearing the funeral, exactly how close my family really was. We were always there for one another; where one of us failed to understand, an-other would succeed. What I really began to notice though, was how much time and energy that my mother put into everything that she did. Everything that I had was because of her, and her commitment to making my own life easier. By the time it came to send my mother off to go to Nigeria for her brother’s funeral, all I could think of was the worst pos-sible situation. What if she never came back? Those six words wove their way through my thoughts - night and day - until I saw my mother again almost two weeks later. In the car ride home from the airport I asked her how the funeral had gone, and she said it had been sad yet happy at the same time. My mother told me that it wasn’t a funeral but a celebration of her brother’s life and that was why there was so much preparation put into this event. His death was a stage of life that had been completed; now he could welcome a new life with God. It’s only now that I truly understand that death is something that is crazy, and un-planned for. We should live our lives to the fullest so when we die, people have something to celebrate about. The death of a family member taught me how to enjoy life with the ones I still have.

“Hidden” By: Michelle Woo

3837

Worst Day

I was at home, on that dreaded day, in my rocking chair. Every time I leaned back there was a faint squeak-sort of like a mouse. It disturbed me because it interrupted my music. Jazz doesn’t have annoying squeaks throughout the song. I tried to focus on my needle pointing. I was making a pillow case that would look perfect in the living room on the green suede couch, as long as the cat stood away from it. Then the phone began to ring. I placed my work down and paused the music. I got up, grabbed the phone, put the microphone to-wards my mouth and said, “Hello.” “Sherry?” It was my hus-band. I could hear the distress in his voice. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Turn on the TV and make sure the kids are safe. I just saw a plane fly into the Pentagon.” I did what he said. I called Danna, my neighbor; she was on her way to pick up her daughter from school. Thankfully, she was able to pick up Elliott, my son. I then checked on Josh, the youngest, and he was asleep in his bed. He wasn’t able to go to school today after vomiting twice in the morning. Billy, the oldest, was at college and I knew he would be safe. I turned on the TV and I saw one of the World Trade Center buildings on fire. I was in shock. I heard screams from the reporters and another plane flew straight into the second building. My son walked in and I sent him to his room. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was in denial. I put my hands on my face and I just sat there. There was noth-ing I could do to help. The people lost hope; you could see them jumping from the building. It was a fall to your death, get burned alive, or suffocate situation. I couldn’t watch it any-more. I turned the TV off, and went to check if Josh was feeling better.

ADHD

I’ve always had trouble staying focused in school. I would be sitting in my seat taking notes, then end up zon-ing out for half of the class period. It’s not that I didn’t want to focus in school; I honestly did. I just couldn’t. During classes I would always shake my foot, tap my fingers, and move around in my seat. I needed to be moving at all times. Often times, I would ask to go to the bathroom or the water fountain just so I could get out of my seat and walk. Even as a child I couldn’t sit still. It would drive my mom crazy because I would eat dinner standing up and walking around. My mom would ask me to sit down and eat with the

By: Antonio Silva

By: Jenna St. Aubin

4039

with the family. I would try to sit in my seat and eat dinner nor-mally, but without even realizing it, I would stand up again. Freshman year of high school my grades were slipping away from me. It seemed to me, no matter how hard I tried, my efforts were useless. My parents were frustrated with me; they told me I needed to try harder. I think they thought I just had that “too cool for school” attitude. One day my dad asked me to ex-plain why I wasn’t doing too well in school. I explained to him that no matter how much I wanted to pay attention, I would get jittery, distracted, and miss the whole lesson. He thought for a minute and came to the realization that I probably had ADHD. Both my dad and brother have ADD, so it made sense that I would too. The summer before sophomore year, I went to the doc-tor’s office. I filled out papers that had statements and I put a 1-5 for how relevant the statements were to me. After I filled out mul-tiple papers, I was called back into a small room with a computer. On the computer I took a long, tedious test in which I clicked the screen every time I saw an X. During the test, of course, I spaced out and missed X’s that popped up on the screen. I also got jit-tery and clicked the screen too many times when I saw the X or when an X wasn’t even present on the screen. After taking the test, I was sent back to the waiting room. After thirty minutes, I was called in to a psychiatric office, where the psychiatrist informed me that I did, in fact, have ADHD. I was prescribed medication to help me stay relaxed and focused in school. When the next school year started I could see a major difference in my performance at school. I got my grades back on track and have been relatively successful ever since.

“Cow”By: Georgie Beers

“Wild Couple”By: Victoria Ganev

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Discovering a New Passion

Entering High School, most incoming freshman want to get involved in a sport, to help make friends and adjust to the new environment. I chose cheerleading. Most everyone knows that Rockville cheerleading isn’t the best, but it helped jump-start my cheerleading career. Being a cheerleader for Rockville, I thought, was so much fun and a great pass time. But, I was a young naïve freshman and didn’t even realize how terrible the program was. But I grew more and more attached to it because of my coach. My coach went to Rockville and cheered here all four years she attended. However the year following, she decided not to coach and started teaching at Wheaton High School. Which meant that we got a new coach. Our new coach was… nice, but I didn’t feel the same without my old Coach.I started All-star cheerleading at Fearless my sophomore year, in order to benefit the team, with Georgie Beers and Paola Kessel. However, my schedule being on two teams, made me chose one practice over another. Which neither of my coaches liked. The cheerleading Coach at Rockville basically gave me an ultimatum, “Rockville Cheerleading comes first.” Which in my eyes, was not the truth. So I quit, along with Paola. After I quit Rockville cheer, it gave me more time to go into Fearless and improve my tumbling skills. It also made me realize the true passion I have for this sport. It made me real-ize that I’ve opened a new door completely and could possibly carry this on to college. I try to go into the cheer gym as much as I could. Which resulted in me making new friends and

getting skills that most girls have after cheering their whole life. Competitive cheerleading comes easy to me; this is something I would’ve never known if I didn’t quit Rockville. My favorite part of being a competitive cheerleader is getting the opportunity to travel all over the country and the feeling you get when you do your routine, which is two minutes and thirty seconds of hard work that you’ve obtained over the course of a year. Although I will miss cheering on the side lines of the football games, I’m glad I’ve opened a door to something that I’m passionate about.

By: Nicole Marinucci

4443

The good die young

I hate death. I hate how death takes people away, one by one. I hate the way death creeps upon you when you are asleep, or when it’s the least expected. I hate losing someone because death wanted to take them away. I hate death, but I’ve learned to accept it since it’s a part of life. It’s one of those things we can’t defeat no matter how hard we try. Death comes for everyone, and I’ve learned to finally acknowledge it. It was October 22, 2013 when my mom got the call. I remember hearing her from my room trying to hold in her tears and catching her breath. I kept hearing her say, “No!” repeatedly. Then I heard her hang up the phone. I wondered what was going on, but I didn’t want to invade her space. I knew this was some-thing serious, but I didn’t want to ask what was going on because I was scared it would make her cry more. I walked to the kitchen where she was and saw her with her hands on her eyes. “What’s going on?” I asked in confusion. She just looked at me trying to fight back the tears she had. “Renee passed away this morn-ing,” she replied, as she slowly wiped away the tears streaming down her face. I didn’t know how to react; I just looked at her with shock. Renee was my mom’s aunt and my great-aunt. She was my mom’s favorite aunt and to hear news like this, I knew it broke her heart. I didn’t remember much about Renee, since it’s been years since I’d last seen her. My family has always told me that remember it at all. I didn’t know what to say, all I could think was,

By: Jazlyn Tran

“Candles”By: Abigail Noll

4645

how this was possible? My mom looked at me and said, “I don’t understand how this happened.” That night, my mom looked up plane tickets to Dallas, Texas and she told me we were leaving on Thursday to go down to the funeral as well as to see some family. I couldn’t believe this was happening; I didn’t want to believe that it was happen-ing. I just wanted to pretend like this was a joke, but I knew that I had to come to terms with it. My mom booked two tickets to Dal-las for Thursday morning. Thursday morning I woke up at 8:30 a.m. and gathered all my clothes and bags for the trip. I remember hearing my mom walk back and forth, up and down the hallway. She was pacing, panicking, because she couldn’t find anything to wear. I could tell she was in denial. I could see the anxiety in her eyes. She didn’t want to believe Renee was gone. At 12:00 p.m., my mom and I drove to the airport. We were late getting there and almost missed our flight. Luckily, our plane was delayed, so we didn’t miss it. I remember getting on the plane and sitting in the very last seat, with my mom a few seats ahead of me. The entire flight I just stared out the window wondering why death chose to take away Renee. Once we landed we went straight to the funeral home to attend the wake. Personally, I was nervous because this was my first time attending a wake, and I didn’t know what to expect. Still, I had to be strong, not only for myself, but for my mom, too. We arrived at the funeral home and once we walked through those doors, I saw all my family there. I was happy to see them, but they were all crying and wiping away tears. Nobody was talk-ing; the funeral home was dead silent. I noticed my mom walking

towards a back room where some of my family was. I wanted to follow her, but I couldn’t bear to see everyone crying. I saw my cousin, Julian, sitting in a chair all by himself. I didn’t know what to do, I wanted to give my condolences on his mother passing away, but then again, I haven’t spoken to him in years. What if he had forgotten me? He looked at me and nodded his head, with a tear streaming down his face. I quickly looked away trying to hold back my own tears. I could only imagine how he felt losing his mother. I decided to walk to the back room where some of my family was because I didn’t know what they were all doing in there. I thought they were just talking about Renee, so I walked back there and couldn’t believe my eyes. It was an open casket of Renee. There were beautiful flowers surrounding the casket. All I could do was stand there… I’ve never seen a dead body before. I didn’t know I was going to see a body that day. I didn’t know what to think. All I could do was stand there in shock. My aunt was lying in a casket… and the worst part is, I will always have the image in my mind. The next day was the funeral. I’ve never been to a funeral before either. Once again, I didn’t know what to expect. So I just braced myself and got out of the car. Everyone was giving their personal stories about Renee, about how she was an amazing woman with amazing children. My entire family was weeping and seeing them like that made me break down and cry too. I looked at the casket and tears streamed down my face. I started think-ing about how Renee was this amazing person we all lost. I loved her; I missed her. And I’ll never understand why we lost her; I’ll never understand why death had to take her from us so early. Rest in Peace, Renee. I hate death more than anything, but I accept it.

4847

Ashes It was March 5th, 2011 when I finally came home from catechism. My mom was sitting on the couch waiting for me. When I walked through the door, she looked at me and asked, “Who is Ashley?” I was surprised because I never spoke about Ashley to my family. I liked to think that we were secret friends. The way we met was something only we would ever know. I looked back at my mom and said, “She’s a friend but she moved to California recently.” She nodded her head and told me that Ashley’s mom had called. I told her I would call back and excused myself to my room. I picked up the phone and called across the country. Her mom picked up after the first ring. “Hello?” I asked. She was crying on the other end. That was when my heart be-gan to race. Had Ash done something to herself again? I wait-ed for a response and then after an agonizing couple seconds, she told me three words that stopped my breath. “Ashley is missing.” I nearly dropped the phone. My knees began to shake. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to feel. It took me a minute before responding. Her mother asked me if I knew where she was. She believed that Ashley ran away. I knew Ash would never do that though. Before moving, Ashley lived in Maryland with her father. She didn’t know much about her mother, which is why her father decided to make her move

By: Beatriz Soriano

“Moonlit Forrest”By: Abigail Noll

5049

in with her mom. I didn’t like the idea of Ashley moving and neither did she. I also didn’t like the way her mother assumed Ashley would run away. I politely told her that I was living on the other side of the country, in Maryland, and that I didn’t know where she was. I told her what I thought would help and then mentioned Ashley wasn’t too excited about her sudden move to California but also told her that Ashley was a respon-sible girl and that she would have never run away. She was probably in a library studying and forgot to call. After all, she no longer had her cellphone. Her mother started crying and I tried so hard not to cry, too. I knew Ashley would not run away. She was the type of girl who called after any move she made. But maybe her move to California changed her. I wish that had been it. I hung up and went to bed for the rest of the day. The next day, when I had to go to school, my mom asked me again who Ashley was. I told her she was a friend. My mom then asked me what her mother needed to talk to me about and I told her it was nothing. I wanted to tell my mom the truth, but at the time, my mother and I hardly ever spoke about personal things, so I decided to handle things on my own. I went to school and found that I could not focus at all. I needed to know what was going on. During lunch I went to the library to check my email. We usually spoke through email but when I checked, I had no new messages. After four days had passed, I decided I needed to know where she was. I was full of anxiety and fear as I picked up the phone and called her. When the phone picked up, I felt as though I should have hung up. It was her mom on the other end. I asked her if Ashley was OK, but I wish I hadn’t.

She told me that her backpack was found in an alley not too far from school. She told me that the police said Ashley did not run away. She was taken. At that point, I couldn’t keep back the tears. I began to sob and I hung up the phone. It was like a slap across my face telling me to start panicking. I went to bed that day without a single word. I didn’t call back for days. I was afraid to find out the truth. For almost a week, I could not breathe properly. Every breath I took left me hurting. I wanted to talk to my friend again. I wanted to hear her voice and know that everything would be fine. But on March 15th, I went home and received a phone call from her mom. Ashley was dead. I stood still. The walls around me began to spin and it was as if the entire world had stopped. Suddenly, I found myself on the floor screaming to God how he could take away the only friend I had. I was angry, I threw anything within my reach all over the place. I hated everything! How could Ashley be dead? It wasn’t fair, no I didn’t want to believe it. I ran to the computer and checked my email. She hadn’t replied but I didn’t care. I sent her several messages telling her to go home. I told Ash to reply to me as soon as she could. This just wasn’t real. The day of her funeral, I stayed home from school. I wanted to get on a plane and fly to California to be there but I couldn’t. Instead, I told my mom, who didn’t know what was going on, that I was sick and spent the day in bed crying. I felt so sad. I wasn’t able to tell her how much she meant to me. I wasn’t able to tell her how proud I was of her for staying strong. I wasn’t able to say anything to her. I wasn’t even able to give her a proper goodbye.

5251

“Dog Tree”By: Vanessa Michelle Flores

POETRY

5453

Amnesia

You had a son and a daughter

You were a father.

You had a life and a home

And a dog named bone.

You loved to play the piano

I secretly preferred the banjo.

Your mother hated me

You told her I was family.

I hope you remember that you taught me how to fly

I need you to remember that you are my pride

And your smile,

It always made me stay for a while.

Yes, we’ve had fights

Arguments that lasted nights

But we had a love that was true

And it was all we ever knew.

To Shine Up The Sky

I walk into an empty room

Feeling a little gloom.

I look into the wall length mirror

And everything seems clearer.

I walk to the ballet barre,

Ready to shine like a star;

Dancing is the only time I don’t feel blue,

Dancing is the one thing I would cross the world to do.

I drop into a plié,

Ready to convey

The feelings I bury deep inside,

That I can’t continue to hide.

My arms come up, my leg goes down and I begin to go all out.

Leaping into a simple jeté, my mind yells and shouts.

I let go of all the pain and goodbyes,

And my eyes begin to shine up the sky.

By: Mfon Akpaete

By: Emily Lankler

5655

Remembered

The sun rises and falls,

Like my eyelids,

How they open and close,

But one day they will stay closed,

And when they stay closed,

Will I be remembered?

ChangeLook at me,

And tell me ,

What do you see,

Things have turned out not how they were suppose to be,

How can I move on,

When the scars of life have just begun,

My eyes look the same,

But I change from all the things I see,

My mouth stays the same,

For all the vile things I have to say,

So how can someone like you stay with someone so terrible

as me?“Dishwasher”By: Bradley Brea

By: Kristen Ivins

By: Kristen Ivins

5857

HateSome people say hate is our worst aspect,Others say it is our best.I can tell you they’re both wrong.I can tell you it’s a driving force,Something that can’t be stopped,Something that can’t be comprehended or explained.It drives us to do things we normally wouldn’t do,Say things we wouldn’t say.Hate destroys relationships,It destroys the bonds between families and friends.It makes children turn on their parents, Makes them say that they hate them,Make parents think, ”what did we do wrong?”It compels us to cut ourselves off from the world,To make ourselves a secluded unit from the surrounding society,So that we never have to feel the way we feel.Hate changes people,It changes some into the world’s greatest threats and horrors.It takes our best and drags them to an all new level of terror,Makes them the monsters we see and hear of today.It makes us so that we are never truly happy,So that in the center of our hearts we only feel pain, So that we feel that we are never truly loved.

It makes us believe that we are a one-man army,Against those who would cast us down,Make us truly believe we worse than dirt,Make us want to bury ourselves,To dive into the ocean, never to resurface.It changes people to heartless beasts,With no mercy or compassion.No conscience of right from wrong,Sane from insane,Good from evil.It makes us public enemy # 1,Because we oppose everyone and turn everyone against us, Believing that everyone is against us,So that we truly are alone, that we wont ever love, So we wont ever cherish kind words or signs of affection,So that the core of our very souls are black and consuming of emotion,And so that the only emotions left are hate and anger.So is it real?Is the way we feel just an illusion?A way for us to recuperate from our feeling of sadness that never goes away?An impenetrable shield of pain, heartbreak, and sorrow,Or is it true,That we put ourselves together again, but not quite the same,So that we all can feel is hate and angerWith a numb feeling in our hearts,So that we never feel anything again, Or is it all a false truth, conjured in our minds to spare us the pain?

By: Tristen Santoyo

6059

monsterWhat can you do when people know you,When they know you for you?When they know that you aren’t what you say you are.When they know that your heart isn’t as pure as everyone believed,When they’ve seen the darkness in your life,And how it’s corrupted your very soul.What can you do,When those you trust the most see you as a monster.What can you do when they see how fucked up you are on the inside,How long you’ve locked yourself away from the world,To save the last piece of goodness left,In the wretched abyss of darkness and despair you call a heart.How can you recuperate, from everyone know what you are,When you walk through the hallways, Whilst everyone looks at you with such disgust and hatred,Because they know what you are.How can you recover from the world degrading you from a person to a thing,

By: Tristen Santoyo

“Science”By: Clarissa Libertelli

6261

Something not even worthy of having a name,Only worth of being shunned and to be put down like a rabid dog.What can you do when they people you love regret even knowing you, When they lie through their teeth and say they have no clue who you are.What can you do to save yourself when your family turns their back on you, Because they can no longer save you from yourself,From tearing yourself apart from the inside out,Because your heart can no longer sustain itself because of the deeds you’ve done. What can you do when you look at yourself in the mirror,And you don’t see yourself anymore,When all you see is a monster, a demon,Some shadowy figure of what you used to be?What can you do when they say,That people have angels and demons within of them,And your only reply is that your demons killed your angels.You become that monster,That “thing” they labeled you as,You ill your demons as well and you become a soulless creature,You become what you feared all along,What you never wanted to be,And you push on.

Insecurities

Don’t do this, don’t leave me,I need you baby come save me.I’m lost in this world full of anger and hateBut then i found you ,and I thought it was fateyou showed me how to love,yet I pulled awayYou gave me everythingand I still wasn’t okay.I was trapped inside of this depression of mineinstead of laughing I cried all the timeHow could someone love me if I don’t love myself at all?Still you were always there,catching me as I fallYet when I’m alone I stare at myself in the mirror,Am I seeing myself wrong?I can’t see myself any clearer.There are prettier girls than methat wanted you all the timeWhile I pushed you away,You still would come through, you were mine.I may not see myself the way you see me,But thank you for showing me loveOne day I hope I see it too.Thank you for showing me love day after dayI’m just sorry I let my insecurities drive you away.

By: Krystal Claggett

6463

things i carryI carry the weight of high school, the pressure to get into college,

the weight of rumors and the regret of not paying attention in class.

Feeling hopeless and defeated when I fail a test, though I

remember I can carry the power of success.

I carry the daily jeers and spite of my peers and my teachers.

I carry three-day weekends and the joy of a snow day.

I carry my friends, the pressure of their own burdens.

I own the ability to make them smile, the ability to cheer them up

when I don’t know how to help myself.

I’ve carried some of them for as long as I can remember; some I

can’t carry anymore, and some I’ve just started to carry.

I carry love and passion; I carry hate and abhor.

I carry confusion, delirium, nostalgia of days past.

I carry insomnia and sleepless nights dreaming up at my ceiling

of life to come.

I carry my dreams, both physical and mental.

I carry what I aspire to be.

I carry photography, a story of my life through pictures, through

captivity, through still frame.

I carry my wishes.

I carry the beach, the waves that crash down onto the shore and

onto me and the salty residue that lands on my flesh and hair from

staying out too long.

I carry the everlasting gaze of older relatives, some who have

passed on to a better world.

By: Sushmitha Tamilselvan“My Home Market” By: Vanessa Michelle Flores

6665

They won’t have to carry anything anymore.

I carry countless vacations and holidays spent with my cousins and

the millions of laughs we have shared.

I carry reminiscences of vacations and of meeting new people,

people who I tried to stay in contact with,

but alas, distance prevents friendship.

I carry the knowledge of the traveled world and the confusion of the

uninhabited, undiscovered land.

I carry the ignorance of thinking I’m right and everyone else is

wrong, the false sense that I know what is really going on in the

world and that I, and I alone, can make a difference.

I carry the benefit of living in a prosperous nation, a

flourishing town.

I carry the thought of uncertainty of impoverish nations and how

they live every day without food and water, while I sit here and type

on my own personal laptop.

I carry individualism, not being afraid of letting you know

who I am and what I do.

I am myself and if you can’t deal with it then you won’t

have to carry me anymore.

I no longer carry these words; my thought have

been poured onto this paper.

My future holds the risk of not knowing what I will carry tomorrow,

but I know I will carry life.

I know I may not be able to carry this all, but one thing is for certain:

I will carry myself.

Giving up our life for death gives you a gift,the one who is eternally dead gives you a foundation of a re-ward,the result of your quick time turns you into a servant of death,it will be eternal in death.

Your reward has become your punishment,putting all of the people you love sticking them from heaven,

Fill in Yourself

By: Ashira Brown

“Tree”By: Brendan Gage

6867

and putting them into hell,forever punished from the ones you love to the ones you don’t know,have you grieving for death to relive his gift.

For him who cannot release any gift,punishes you for the thought and casts you into the depth of hell,this punishment gives you new powers and prosperity,destroying your “good” life.

He is seeking his eye which is you,never let him get it, bring the dimension of past, present, and future,you should have learned to never forfeit your life.

Giving your life have given you a life,destroying your personality of shame, living the world of monsters and demons,becoming them and hunting humans for creatures of the night.

Destroy the world,with quick movements in thoughts of HIM,being controlled for your future self,you have become the devil himself.

StolenMy innocence was murdered, slaughtered and strangled before my eyes.

Wondering, debating, should I stay quiet or speak up?I told you I wasn’t readyI told you it was not time.But you went ahead and took something so sacred,something I can’t have again.I trusted you. And you knew it.But trust be damned.I told you not to get closer, I told you to stop.Your eyes, shrink small and black.Suddenly, I’m hurting, I’m bleeding.I watch you, smirking your devilish smirkIgnoring my cries and helplessness as your hands are gripping onto me.

Its been a couple years now,My flashbacks are still haunted with the memories of you hands on my body.Your lips on my neck.Your skin on mine.I can still see your murderous and diabolical eyes looking blankly into mineYet I still wonderDo you remember it?Will you ever feel remorse?Will I ever feel whole again?Just knowing you’re still out there

With a new victim, wondering if you’ve done it again, terrifies me.

People wonder…

If I have battle scars, marks, evidence

By: Krystal Claggett

7069

I politely reply no, but by depriving me of my purity, my innocence

Is essentially equivalent.

Much like taking the air I need to breathe, food to eat,

words to speak.

I wish I could reflect on my childhood feeling

nostalgic, happy, and whole,

You took that away from me.

Some say we met for a reason,

Others say it was by fate.

We’ve done too many foolish things together,

But that’s what made this life great.

Late nights were spent by talking

About the adventures we dreamed to do.

Always taking these thoughts in mind

And wishing they’d come true.

But these things are hard to do

When you went up to the sky.

Leaving me here empty

Wishing I could fly.

And now all that’s left

Are the words that were said.

But I’m ready to live

In this new world ahead.

dreamsBy: Melissa Silva

“Wait”By: Michelle Woo

Shoes to Seize the Day By: Emily Lankler

I have walked a thousand miles in these shoes;

Up the stairs of the Eiffel Tower,

Down the stairs of the Leaning Tower of Pisa,

Across the Great Wall of China,

On and off airplanes, trains, and buses.

I made my dreams come true in these shoes,

Travelling the world,

Getting to do what my parents could not.

But my time has run out.

I had my chance and I ran with it,

Making life memorable and spontaneous.

It is your turn now,

To do what you wish with these shoes.

Tour the world,

Run marathons until your heart stops.

Live your life to the fullest.

Your grandfather always said, “Carpe Diem.”

Seize the day.

Your grandfather gave me these shoes,

And now, on my death bed, I give them to you.

It is your turn to live your life and seize the day.

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PatronsMs. Carmen Tong

Brown Family

Herzog Family

Miller Family

Warren Family

Special ThanksRockville High School English

Department

Rockville High School Journalism Academy

Rockville High School PTSA

Rockville High School Booster Club

Montgomery County Public Schools Print Shop

Back cover: “Momentum”By: Tiffany Harrison and Jenna Warren

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