Smoothie

Artwork by Eli Smart

Table of Contents:

I am a Cat By Arianna Plascencia

Fat and Black By Elijah Smart

The Baboon and The Bassoon By Elijah Smart

Roger That By Alaya Mallas

Led Zeppelin By Elijah Smart

The Umbrella By Arianna Plascencia

Grey By Arianna Plascencia

My Life is Falling Apart By Arianna Plascencia

The Rain that Never Stops by Mia Fitzgerald

My Day By Mia Fitzgerald

Rushed Morning By Mia Fitzgerald

Unnamed Heroine By Mia Fitzgerald

That Apple by Mia Fitzgerald

A Cool Weekend Morning By Maxwell Movaghar

A Life in Fear By Maxwell Movaghar

A Pirate is a Pirate, No Matter What His Purpose By Maxwell Movaghar

Never To Return Again By Elijah Smart

Everywhere Man By Elijah Smart

Free By Aliana Ho

Syrup by Aliana Ho

Oh Well, I Guess We Can’t All Live By Aliana Ho

Someone Else's Backyard by Aliana Ho

The Neverending Sorry By Aliana Ho

Truth By Aliana Ho

The Coffee Man by Aliana Ho

The Garden by Alaya Mallas

Babe By Alaya Mallas

Mona Lisa By Alaya Mallas

The Hunter and The Hunted By Alaya Mallas

I am a cat

I sprint down the hall, trying to open the doors

I wish I could jump into the back of the truck

and retrieve the sphere

and eat crunchy bits and wear the line

I feel stranded and helpless

nobody pays attention to me

I am a cat

the cat who prowls the house, scratches curtains, leaves hairballs in plain view 
I glare at children and grown-ups alike

I want to go on field trips, be the cause of children’s squeals

lick a mouthful of molars and rub a wet nose on human skin

Why am I a cat? I feel like a dog

I want to wag my tail against door frames and legs

I want to pant, to drool, to let my tongue hang and slosh

I want to bark and yip and whine

and chase the squirrels and trample leaves

to attack the doorbell and jump on my owners after a long day

and stand guard against the mailman and the first flake of snow

but I have a small purr and a fragile body

I never leave the house

I can’t show my emotions, for I have to keep up with appearances

one pro on the chart against man’s best friend  

Fat and Black

He is perched on a bookshelf, like a knight on turret

He is as confident and calm as a Samurai before battle

Spreading fear and terror throughout the land

He glares into the eyes of his subjects, no different than a king

He stops, one of his vassals has turned his back from him!

Oh how he dare do such a thing!

He shall pay!

The king is about to strike down

But wait, He hears the light patter of the kibble hitting the plastic bowl

Like the heavy rain against tarmac

He must go!

He is hungry.

The Baboon and the Bassoon

I sat atop a large and rank baboon

He turned his head and said he plays bassoon

I strum a tune baboon grabs his bassoon

We walk away in perfect harmony

Roger That

The morning sun is bright on my closed eyelids. I can already tell it's going to be a scorcher. A shadow casts itself over my face. I slowly crack open my eyes one millimeter at a time. I find myself face to face with one of New York's most magnificent creatures -- the pigeon. "What do you want" I ask the pigeon. "What can I do to help you?" The pigeon doesn't answer, they rarely ever do. I lie motionless for another half hour before I bring myself to sit up. My cardboard bed is slightly damp, the smell of Chinese food wafts from the doorway to my right. I realize that I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten. The craving sets in. It’s time to go find some cuisine. I slowly bring myself to my feet and stretch out my stiff limbs. “Where should we eat today Roger?” I ask my sleeping companion. Roger doesn't move. He’s probably the laziest, oldest, fattest sewer rat I’ve ever seen, but he’s excellent company. He’s got all the traits I look for in a friend: intelligence, loyalty and most importantly, I know he’s not an agent. Roger opens one beady eye and quickly shuts it again. “Come on Roger, I know you’re awake”. I turn to collect my belongings. I grab the necessities first: my glasses, my spork, my rolls of tinfoil, my red can of spray paint and my lucky two dollar bill. I had that bill with me the day the voices first contacted me. I remember that I was riding the subway when I first spotted it, that fluttering piece of paper. As I bent down to retrieve it I heard the voice for the first time. It was as if I was waking up, so much clarity all at once…. We have a mission for you, It's very important and you’re the only one who can complete it for us. Naturally I had some questions but soon I was completely convinced. The voices are the ones who told me about the agents. Until they contact me again, my job is stay incognito while identifying possible hidden agents. I scoop up Roger and shove him deep into my pants pocket. We head towards Clarkson Avenue, I often visit a wonderful little bakery that is known to throw out whole cakes and pastries just because of silly spelling errors. I walk down the back alley way along the red brick tiles. As I approach the dumpster, a soft, sweet smell fills my nostrils. “Mmm, you smell that Roger? Breakfast!”. I walk over to rim of the dumpster and dive right in, grabbing ahold of a white box. I open the casing, ‘Hapy Anniversary Nicole & Evan’ is sprawled across the cake in pink cursive. “What kind of idiot wouldn’t want this?” Holding on to the cake, I swiftly climb up a fire escape to the top of an apartment building. When identifying agents it is important to have the upper ground. Pigeons are very lucky, they can experience a view like this anytime they please. I have no idea why they come down to the dirty sidewalks so often. I sit on the ledge of the building and let my feet dangle. I feel around in my pocket until I find Rodger’s soft warm body. I pull him out and set him on my lap, it’s time to eat. I plunge my hands into the decadent slab of goodness. Roger squeaks and I break off a piece for him, he clings onto it between his tiny hands and nibbles intensely. I spot a brief glimmer out of the corner of my eye. Tinfoil! “Roger this is wonderful, now we’ll have enough to last us until Monday” Roger ignores me but I know that he understands. I climb back down, the air slowly shifts from cool to muggy and the moment is over. A man in a suit walks rapidly down the street, clutching his briefcase in one hand while simultaneously holding a phone to his ear in his other. I gasp. “Is he an agent, Roger?” Roger lets out a shrill squeak. I grab my spray paint and run towards him. I must be quick to ensure he won’t get away. I knock the phone out of his hand “What the hell man?!” he shouts, but I don’t hear him, I am too busy completing the mission. As he bends down to grab the cellular device I paint a giant scarlet circle on his back. Now the voices can easily locate him. I scuddle away quickly as he shouts after me, but I am too fast, too strong, and too intelligent to ever be caught. I am justice.

Led Zeppelin

A needle drops

Floats

Weightless

I kill the lights

Staring into space

Nothing but the little red glow of the machine

The musty smell of forty year old liner notes

The muffled rustling of the weathered album

And the utter calmness in which I feel

In a trance

The Umbrella

That grey umbrella

it’s been with us everywhere

to Washington, where we never obliged its plea for us to open it

not even once

that grey umbrella

which he used to walk me to my porch that one stormy night

the headlights shining onto us

as he gripped my hand before letting me go

that grey umbrella

it covered us on long walks

with soaked, tangled hair and muddy ankles

that grey umbrella

it sat in the backseat of my car this whole summer

faded and rusty at the joints where laziness met water damage and the two eloped

that grey umbrella

he took it to college

even though I told him it doesn’t rain in Indiana

Grey

The raindrops race each other down the window

leaving clear streaks on tinted glass

marking its descent as

the mountain wraps itself in the new day’s fog

the silence makes me shiver

the sky is grey

water falls from the blue

the coffee in my hand turns cold

as the raindrops race each other down the window

My Life is Falling Apart

The only way to start the day

is by making a tumbler of iced coffee.

Out of my bed and onto the floor

dirty clothes piled by my door.

the only question in my mind is

may someone please tell me the time?

I've lost my shoe, i'm feeling blue, my paper that's due blew away.

My car wont start, theres a hole in my heart.

I can't even comprehend the language

I'm tired of school, of cars and jet fuel,

feeding the dog just makes me mad.

I start the day with cold water now,

ice cubes clinking to the tempo of my life falling apart

I can't find my phone, I'm home alone

may someone please tell me the time?

the refrigerator broke, I dropped the yoke

my foot hurts whenever I walk

I burnt the toast, and my cup broke

I just really don't want to go

My lock is jammed, my dog has fleas

and during practice I bruised both knees.

my car wont start, I couldn't park

I feel like I’m a blind man in perpetual dark

my dinners cold, the bread has mold,

my mother left for a week.

I'm home alone, all on my own,

may someone please tell me the time?

I'm tired of school, of work and eggs.

My hair won't even stay straight.

Exasperation of a nation, just trying to get through the day.

The Rain that Never Stops

The rain, it falls from sky to earth

Like Mother Nature weeping in her sorrow

The sun no longer shines, for it is now unseen

A blanket of dark, mysterious clouds surround the earth

The sun tries to shine its beautiful rays

But knows there is no hope

The earth becomes dull,

Children stop their play

What happened to this beautiful day?

No one knows but soon,

Soon their question will be answered

With first a sprinkle

Or what it seems

Then suddenly harder and faster

Not wanting to stop

Minutes turn to hours, hours turns to days

The rain has not yet stopped

For it seems that the rain mustn't stop,

It has a purpose and meaning to keeping on going,

And that way it must stay, let it rain all day.

My Day

I woke up this morning, rolled out of bed

then satisfied my craving for coffee

saw the sun's rays shining through my window,

and thought to myself, today is a beach day.

I climbed into my musty, hardly used car

The drive to the beach wasn't to far

I pulled up to the parking lot

Saw a vacant slot and took the spot

Barefoot I ran across the desert hot sand

Sprinting for the robin egg water

Once I was in I couldn't get out

The feeling of the cool ice ocean in this heat

It made my day.

Out off the water I dragged myself

The sun went down which meant an end to my day

Back into my musty, hardly used car

Drove home in the light of the moon

Got home and took a cold shower

It reminded me of the cool ice ocean and my day

Tucked myself into bed

Today was my day, tomorrow is yours.

Rushed Morning

6:00

The alarm goes off

beep beep beep

My brothers and sister are up

I hit the snooze button

6:09

Interrupted from my dream

Startled my deep decadent sleep

beep beep beep

The alarm rings again

6:18

beep beep beep

make it stop

one eye barely open

rolled over only to see

6:18!

crap, I’m late!

my siblings are already done with breakfast

6:20

Running around like a chicken without a head

I threw my bagel in the toaster

at the same time, searching the fridge for lunch

6:35

“Sis its 6:35!” my brother screamed.

only 10 more minutes till we leave

not having enough time for breakfast

I run to my room

6 outfits later, I’m dressed

6:42

out the door my siblings go

ripping out the tangles from my hair

shoving all my books into my bag

I run to the bathroom to brush my teeth

I hear my sister start the car

6:50

I jump in the car

my sister glares at me

“We’re late,” she says

Unnamed Heroine

When the people all fall,

She stands tall

She looks like a dime

As she fights that crime

When her and evil meet

We know whose beat

Protecting weak citizens

Cause that's her main mission

Locking up bad behind prison doors

She is someone that you just can’t ignore

Her name remains a mystery

Which by the way is now history

She is smoking hot and naturally smart

A deadly combination that will win your heart

When she fights it’s for you, not her

This sick society just found a cure

Open up your eyes

You’ll see I’m not telling lies

She is legit

Never going to quit

She is always a ten, never a zero

Cause she’s a superhero hero hero hero

That Apple

In my home located upon the highest mountain

Sits a fruit bowl, often filled with bananas, peaches, and kiwis

But on this special day, I find an apple

“How strange” I tell myself

Apples are like blue moons.

Staring at the plump juicy apple

I licked my lips and grab the fruit without hesitation

I sink my teeth into its scarlet skin and bite off a huge chunk

My phone rang

It was my sister

She was in town about 5 miles away

“Hello,” I said

She asked me about my day, and we chatted for a while

I was still eating the apple, it was soooo good

The conversation was coming to an end

We said goodbye and I hung up

I tossed the core in the trash

that was the best apple ever

A Cool Weekend Morning        

Climbing out of bed with the fresh smell of a cloudy day

Bones weary and tired

walking up the stairs taking; all the time in the world

out on the balcony the chilly feeling of the air greets you, embracing your body with rejuvenation

through the silence a dove coos it’s recognizable, tranquil sound

never seen, but so commonly heard

A crow lands on the fence and picks an egg yoke left for it

The egg’s vibrant color looked like the sun between his beak

he then pilots away

the blue-gray sea resting on the horizon

down below are all the waving hills surrounded by clouds giving them the appearance of floating islands, a sight that never grows tired

sit on a chair with a warm blanket and relish the freedom

the day is yours to construct

A Life in Fear

He is never happy, always frowning

Sullen as all living hell

I suppose change can break a person

He goes home, where relief is supposed to be

Fearful as a cockroach to light

I suppose he lives with monsters

He must hide under the covers, or in corners

when they sleep, he may take shelter under the bed

I suppose that could take a toll on any boy’s head

My curiosity boils and sneaks

He tells me he does live with monsters

How troublesome to live in a den of beasts

No...he says to me, eyes at his shoes

A monster and a beast are oh so different

If only you knew...

A beast is an animal that hunts to kill and kills to live

A monster could be anything that keeps you alive

Poking and prodding and screeching and watching

A Pirate is a Pirate, No Matter What His Purpose

Can you believe what you have seen?

Have you ever witnessed a boat of such mass?

Anyone else would dismiss it, but you mistake me for a god

Now I am no god, I am just like you

Great to meet you my native friend

Everyone on this ship and I have traveled far and wide

Over endless seas that wearied our bones

Raging storms that crashed upon us

Do you really think of us as suspicious?

Inspect the situation, we are naught but your lighter brothers and sisters

Expect all good things, we bring with us peace

Never To Return Again

An arid landscape

Craters and mounds of rock

Hear nothing but my breath

I hold nothing but this seed, an apple seed

I look up

All I see is an empty darkness

In the reflection of my glass visor,

I catch a glimpse of my home

As blackness wells over the surfaces

I can take no more

Everything I know is of the past

Never to return again.

The Baboon and the Bassoon

I sat atop a large and rank baboon

He turned his head and said he plays bassoon

I strum a tune baboon grabs his bassoon

We walk away in perfect harmony

Everywhere Man

Rusty strings and gecko poop

An old Moroccan tea table with it’s legs chopped off

A light breeze and the view of my yard from above

My chickens singing background vocals to my strumming

Musty pages and cow poop

I am now across the planet

Staring at a red skyline

A small dog barks and barks

Astonished by the magnificent echo of her voice amplified by the cliffs

She stops

Turns her head

And runs off

I am back across the world now

Trying to remember the guitar solo in “Nowhere Man”

But the screaming of the chickens throw me off

I put down my instrument

Lay back onto a moldy futon

Everywhere man

Free

We went to the unfamiliar

ocean and we jumped.

Jumped into the blue

and got out within seconds.

“13 degrees!” we exclaim,

barely wet hair clinging to our

numb bodies.

We stretched out on the

old, wise rocks

made flat and soft by wear and tear,

Bright yellow sun rays

racing to get to us first

drying our hair and returning lost feeling.

We ran in the cold, dark rain.

Dripping across our eyes and

blurring our vision.

We danced in the rain.

The hail danced with us.

We jumped up and down in the muddy puddles

as we relived our childhood.

Soaked clothes with no shoes,

staring at the charcoal abyss above,

with the booming shouts of thunder

filled our ears.

Joy.

Pure joy.

Joy that outshone the yellow sun,

that shouted louder than the black clouds.

Being a child again is the greatest color of all.

Watching our cares soar and dive out the window.

Allowing

the wind and the rain and the sun

to scoop us up and take us

to wherever the free children go.

Syrup

Hot air thick as syrup,

bugs dancing on the surface.

They group and separate,

choreographing their tango

to perform for the people.

However, the people don’t appreciate them.

They swat and smack and scream at the bugs.

The bugs rebuke,

they attack the faces.

Tiny dancers now kamikaze pilots,

slapping themselves onto the people.

Hot air thick as syrup.

Bugs blown away by the gentle breeze,

their tango forgotten,

until the next congregation.

Oh Well, I Guess We Can't All Live

Sitting on my porch, a cup of coffee in hand, I settle down to watch the world. The gentle hum of a honey bee draws my attention. I witness the intricate dances with her tiny, paper thin wings. I wish to be this bee, so free, so small, yet so crucial. "Buzz buzz Ms. Bee, and how are you today?" She hums a response I could never understand. Sighing and following her movements with my eyes, until fixed in hypnosis. BAM! Buzz buzz buzz buzz, caught in a spider web! Carefully crafted nets entangle her fragile frame. Legs snapping and wings shredding. Her struggle to break free is so beautiful. The spider scurries down, comes to inspect his catch. With a satisfied smile, he wraps her up in a blanket of suffocation. Sighing, I press the coffee cup to my lips and continue watching the world spin.

Someone else's backyard

Sitting on the back porch

with my fat cat on my lap,

Peeling giant, red, bursting lychee,

just begging to be opened.

Gripping the slippery pit

in-between my thumb and my index finger,

pressing them together until it flies out across my lawn,

like a small torpedo of doom,

landing gently in the grass.

My dad and I compete to see

who can shoot farther or with more accuracy.

He always wins.

In someone else’s backyard,

the cool breeze messes up our game of badminton.

Carl comes home from the supermarket.

“I have a surprise for you!”

We gather in excitement, like ducklings around his feet.

He pulls out small, dark, slightly shriveled lychee.

Our curious hands quickly struggle to skin them,

and we take a bite.

They’re disgusting.

Spitting them out into the neatly trimmed bushes and sprint into the house,

our tongues hanging out like that of a dog’s.

We sip on water, mouths bitter, and I suddenly become homesick.

I miss my dad.

I miss my cat.

I miss home.

I can’t wait to go back and embrace the big, red, lychee that are waiting for me in a bowl on my back porch.

The Neverending Sorry

I’m sorry I never got to memorize your face,

line by line, your fascinating complexion.

I’m sorry we never got a second date.

at your favorite restaurant instead of mine.

I’m sorry I left you on that Friday night,
in that cold, windy park, all alone in the black.

I’m sorry that I didn’t find out what your favorite flower was,   

so that now, I could place a bundle on your stone.

Truth

Cosmopolitan families mistreat each other

Abstruse teens kick themselves to the curb

Nefarious children trick their parents

Dogmatic people clamber over each other to make their points loud and clear

Inscrutable authorities make us believe all is well

Demure ones, they just sit in the corner and watch the world crumble

The Coffee Man

It’s 7:08 on a Tuesday morning. I am awoken by the sound of traffic and honking cars, nothing out of the ordinary in New York City. I check my watch to find that my alarm was supposed to go off 30 minutes ago. Crap, I’m going to be late. Again. My boss will surely kill me. At least I don’t have the worry about getting fired, father will be a bit peeved, though. Nonetheless, I jump out of bed and rush to the bathroom to get ready. The lack of time pushes me out the door. I grab my keys, sling my bag over my shoulder and almost fall flat on my face attempting to get my heels on. Composing myself as I rush down to the ground level of my apartment, I check my watch. It’s 8:14. I have a few minutes to spare I think to myself. So, instead of turning left, I turn right and head to my favorite coffee stand.

As I wait in line for my drink, the dark smell of coffee and the sweetness of pastries wafts into my nose, putting a small smile on my face. I feel a pair of eyes on me and glance over to my right, only to catch a handsome face staring at me. The face belongs to a tall man, with slightly tanned skin and his jet black hair is slicked back in a formal manner. He’s kinda cute. I smile at him. He blushes, pushes his glasses back onto his nose, and quickly turns away.

“Mina!” the barista calls. I snap out of my daze and move to retrieve my drink. Removing the lid with a satisfying “pop”, I pour in my cream. After getting one of those fun little coffee stir sticks, I look up at the man. I catch his stare and grin once more, before checking my watch again. 8:28am. Oh I’m really going to be late this time. I’m positive I’ll get an earful from my father about this.

Grabbing my coffee, I start briskly walking in the direction of work. I hear a faint voice from what seemed far behind me. “Excuse me, miss! Miss! You forgot your purse!” I turn around sharply, only to crash into a wall. Or so I thought. I blink my eyes in surprise and confusion and only then do I realize that I’m on the ground, across from the dark haired man, and scalding hot coffee had poured all over my white blouse as well as his button up shirt.

Looking slightly dazed, he shakes his head in an attempt clear it. As soon as he realizes what has happened, he jumps to his feet and gathers my things, apologizing profusely. It feels as though I’m in a horribly cheesy romance movie. Time slows as he offers a hand to help me to my feet. I take it gratefully and and brush myself off to the best of my ability. He gives me my purse with a bashful face and I smirk. “Meet me here tomorrow morning, you owe me another coffee.” Turning and walking away, I left him dumbfounded with his mouth slightly agape.

It’s 8:36 and I’m moving at a fast pace. I consider going back up to my apartment to grab another shirt. Ah what the heck, I’m already late. I run up the stairs, bolt through my door and into my bedroom. I’ve made impressive time, landing back on the busy sidewalk at 8:44. The walk to work isn’t far, maybe a couple blocks. As I weave through the crowds, I feel that something is wrong. I shake it off and check my watch again.

It’s Tuesday morning, 8:46am, September 11th, 2001. From a block away, I gaze upon the glorious Twin Towers. The low hum of the plane that was ignored suddenly becomes a deafening roar above my head. All forces in the world stop. And then they race to start back up again. All things happen at once. The screeches, the explosions, the panic, the pain. One moment I was pondering the coffee man, the next I was on the ground clutching my head as if that would keep it together. The dull ache of shock intensified into genuine terror as if someone turned on a switch. It felt as though that plane had gone straight through my heart instead of the building that my father was in.

My father.

The memories flash so quickly I have no time to process them. I picture his face so detailed that I begin to wonder what he actually looked like. I remember his wrinkles; the smile wrinkles, and the frustration wrinkles, and the “I’m tired and I miss your mother” wrinkles. I think of Sarah, the sweet, old receptionist who helped raised me when my mother died. I wonder if my best friend and coworker, Nova, was in that building too. Of course she was. She’s never late.

My head is ringing and my eyes can’t stay in focus. Something lands besides me. A hat. That dumb hat that I hated so much. My father wore it everyday. I reach down to pick it up and my fingers grasp at nothing. Suddenly the loss hits me like a tidal wave, drowning all hope. I’m choking on my tears and the only word I can form is “no”. I scream it at the top of my lungs, as if it could somehow bring everyone I love back. So Sarah could roll her eyes as I scamper through the doors with only seconds to spare. So I could gossip with Nova about what happened on the previous episode of Friends. So that I could make fun of my father for wearing that ugly hat. So he could scold me for being late and threaten to fire me with a twinkle in his eye.

I hug my knees, sobs wracking my body. I could’ve been part of the scattered ashes around my feet. If my alarm had gone off. If I had decided to not get coffee. If I had not run into the coffee man. I would be dead. So many if’s and I’m still alive. I cringed and flinched as another explosion sounded. Ashes and debris scattered the sky. New York City was falling apart. I was alive. I was alive because of the coffee man.

The Garden

The buds from my garden shoot up reaching for the sun

Reaching for my hand like a child

My precious child reaching towards life

My child reaches for my heart and he grabs it

Soon he will be reaching for a girls attention with rosy cheeks

He reaches for my daisies from my garden to give to her

Reaching her affection only to throw it away once it’s his

He has reached his peak

And I have reached my end

Now I will rest in my garden

Babe

pet names make me itchy

it’s not just a word

it’s my own personal jail

words of endearment escape

those handsome lips.

he thinks I feel giddy and wonderful

when really all I feel is the

chains of his affection tightening

around my struggling body

he thinks he is is my everything

that in some sick way he saved me

I am not your babe

I am not your anything

I only belong to myself

Mona Lisa

Sitting in her delicate frame

Only admired for her beauty

Long after her creator has passed on

Poor starving artist

Sitting on the street

Coins fall into his velvet hat

Just enough for a meal

But spent on a paintbrush instead

Each careful stroke contains a piece of his heart

Hours, days, weeks, years spent

But it's time he doesn't have

And he will never know

The amount of his success

And he will never know

The praise and affection his art will receive

But it's too late

Why do people only appreciate things

When it's too late?

The Hunter and the Hunted

It’s almost ready

I’ve been plotting, planning, preparing

waiting for this moment

the view from her closet is restricting

she turns off the lights

I set my stage

laying down a skin of plastic

to shield the carpet from the mess

every cell in my body wants to

wrap my fingers around her

delicate neck

I wait, I’m a lion stalking my prey

the fragile gazelle feels my presence

I grab her

she screams

barely escaping my grasp

running clumsily

struggling to safety

the chase is on 

Nikki Girl has a secret talent of cutting her own hair. When she's not grading her wonderful students work she enjoys rooting in her decorated bus. If you can't find her in her bus she will most likely be brushing her pearly whites in the bathroom. Her "steamy" poems hint to her rebellious youth. Beware: Nikki girl can get sassy if she doesn't indulge in her secret stash.

Elijah Smart likes listening to and playing music. His pets seem to be the inspiration to all of his poetry. Eli enjoys taking daily strolls through Rice Street, because of his unpredictable white convertible, and eating at Pho everyday. Eli is excellent at charming his way through difficult situations. He has never once been on time to class, but somehow everything in his life magically falls into place.

Alaya Mallas enjoys applying multiple coats of mascara, brushing her hair during class, and eating all of Arianna's delicious food. When she is not busy with the previous activities listed, she enjoys binge watching Netflix and spending time with her beloved cat, Tyga.

Arianna Plascencia is an avid pizza-eater and dog-hugger. She enjoys looking through glittery glass and rooting about. She runs cross country, but she much prefers hydroplaning through mud puddles in her Honda Civic.

Mia Fitzgerald is a die hard tennis player who does nothing but school and tennis. She has a black dog named Sydney who is her one and only friend. Mia enjoys at least five cups of tea everyday and loves playing Octagon in boring classes.

Most of the time you will find Max Movaghar playing video games, watching Youtube, and doing pretty much anything except what he is supposed to. When he’s not doing that he is eating or sleeping, and when he’s not doing that he is practicing his multiple accents or going to the beach with his friends. You might see Max writing, he loves to write when he has nothing else to do. On June 30th 2013, Max was covered in hot sauce and cannibalized.

Ali Ho hates her name and passes the time by tattooing her skin with a sharpie. She has a soft spots for insects and writing depressing poems in under 10 minutes. Her distal, middle, and proximal phalanges fascinate her and she passes time in class by pushing Max over when he tips back in his chair.   

Credits:

Chief Editor: Arianna Plascencia Layout & Art Design: Aliana Ho Selection Editor: Mia FitzgeraldFormatting Editor: Maxwell MovagharBiography Editor: Alaya MallasArt Editor: Elijah SmartTeacher: Nicole Street