Hazen Union High School

She takes one last quick look in the mirror before grabbing her bag and jumping into the car. A few minutes later her mom stops the car to let her out. “No sex, drugs or alcohol,” her mother warns, smiling. She returns the smile and promises to try and refrain. They have an understanding; this is how things are. Her mother leaves unconcerned. Her daughter is smart. She makes good decisions. She knows better. The girl walks to where the fire is blazing and drops her bag in the tent. She joins the others around the fire. They spend the next hours laughing, talking, being teenagers. A few came, some go, and then one promises to return later. They climb into sleeping bags; it’s nearly two a.m. But he returns as promised. Everyone hurries out to meet him, their eyes shining with excitement. He’s come in a van. A van that’s not his, but his family’s. They want to go somewhere, anywhere; it’s the excitement they want. They crave the thrill. They pile in, and she follows slowly. She knows it’s wrong, and the driver has no license, but she’s tired of being the good one they make fun of. She wants to fit in. So she gets in anyway. She’s scared, but thrilled like the rest. She glances to the boy in seat across from her, the girl in front of her. Both are calm and she can’t figure out why. She chews her lower lip nervously, all the what-ifs flying through her mind, but she remains silent. They depart, and something in the trunk clangs with every bump they hit, adding to her nerves. They assure her he’s a good driver, that nothing will happen, that they won’t get caught, and she believes them. They pass right by her own home. She could get out, go home, but she doesn’t. Instead she sits quietly, as the van full of kids speeds down the highway. Tow bright lights come into view. She closes her eyes shut tight and squeezes the seat until her knuckles turn white. She clenches her jaw and braces herself for the impact.

The Beach

By Hillary Laggis
Hazen Union High School, Grade 10

My impulses are the waves
Coming and going without warning.
I don’t try to be happy
It comes naturally.
Everything - the salty air, the sound, the sand -
Is natural.
Life and living is effortless.
I simply follow the sun, and move with the tides.
The freedom surrounds me
It’s the wind in my hair, the sand between my toes, and the sun that kisses my cheeks.
Never have I felt more content and at ease with my life.
I look to my right, and see his brown hair move slightly in the breeze.
His fingers slip gently between mine
And the sunset is reflected in his eyes.
It’s a rare occasion when the desire for life to be different leaves me entirely -
There is nothing I can think to change.
I breathe in -
A smile spreads slowly across my face
And I know it’s unlikely to leave until summer fades away and I am forced to depart the constant bliss I’ve grown accustomed to.

Dear Friend

By Lydia Ducharme
Hazen Union High School, Grade 10

It's funny how things change
How people seem to change.
The once convincing façade falls.
The true you reveals itself
Or, perchance
The true me.

No matter, you nor me
We know it's different now.
We've changed
Wait- not changed- grew.
Grew into our true selves
Farther and farther from each other.

It's funny how people change.

Wait!
I'm not ready for this.
Living far from home,
In a new place, with new people.
Parties,
the pressures that go with them.
Having professors who don’t know my name.
Learning in a place where I'm one in a hundred
Instead of one in twenty.
The make-or-break-it Finals,
and the late nights cramming for them.
I'm not ready for college.

Wait!
I'm not ready for this.
To be thrown into the world.
Expected to know all I need to make it
No guidelines or syllabi.
Finding a job, a home, paying taxes,
Living on my own for real.
Clubs and bars,
the strength to know when enough is enough.
Living in the real world,
With all its responsibilities.
I'm not ready to be an adult.

Wait!
I'm not ready for this.
Saying "I do",
Changing my name,
Having a whole new identity.
The nine months of pregnancy,
Hours of labor,
A lifetime of motherhood.
Raising children,
With the rest of my life,
the patience that's required.
Being responsible for another life,
Twenty-four/seven
I'm not ready for a family.

Wait!
I don't have to be ready for this.
I'm only 16.
I will be ready for the rest of my life.
One of these days.

Number Three

By Evan Donovan
Hazen Union High School, Grade 10