The Falling Leaves of Heaps House

By: Eirene Hobbs

It was a crisp Autumn afternoon, the sort that sends multicolored leaves all over the sidewalk and blankets the sky with gray clouds. On my walk back from school, I crouched down to admire the flamingly bright leaves in my path. They were as red as the tube of lipstick I kept in my pocket, spotted with the orange of bonfires and the yellow of the sun. The trees by the Heaps House always had the most beautiful leaves in the fall, despite the fact that the property was long abandoned and no one tended to the plants. Supposedly the family who had lived in it had all died horribly, but that was a long time ago, before I was even a thought in my parent’s minds. 

Whatever the house’s tragic past was, I liked to sit on its peeling front porch and watch the people walk past. I thought it had a nice view, even though its floorboards were rotten and its roof leaked. Perhaps it just needed some love and care. I never seemed to understand why people abandoned houses after tragedy. We never abandoned people when something bad happened to them, so why should we abandon a house? 

“Some day, I’ll move into that house. I’d take good care of it.” I think to myself, as I continue my walk home.

On the steps of Heaps House is left a flaming red leaf, the color of a girl’s lipstick, speckled with the orange of a fire. 

Constellations

By: Maggie McCaffrey

New students mean one of two things. They either assimilate and you forget they ever moved here, or they find their way into the wrong crowd. I have never seen someone who doesn’t fit those two categories, until I met Lavender. 

Sick name, right? If that isn’t memorable enough, her freckles reminded me of a constellation: Lynx. In turn, that became my nickname for her. 

Lynx wasn’t forgettable. She drove a custom painted lavender car. She claims her favorite color has nothing to do with her name. She drove me to her home in that car, and when we arrived an odd feeling formed in my chest. I couldn’t quite place it, though. 

After offering me a Cosmic Brownie, Lynx insisted that she showed me her bedroom. I was excited to hang out with her there, but when I walked past the threshold to her room my heart stopped. 

You see, Lynx didn’t fit into the two types of new students because she wasn’t really a new student. Lynx had star charts lining her walls, and the constellation Lynx mapped out with “home” written across the top. Her sparkling eyes met mine as she grabbed my hands, “You said I could take you to my home, right? Come with me!” 

I looked back to the door. If I turned the knob, I could run. But if you think I’d willingly stay here, you’d be mistaken. I never touched the doorknob again.

First Sight

By: Paige Hill

I woke up this morning feeling every knot in my stomach. The moment the alarm blared, I knew my fate. The first day of sophomore year. I’ve avoided thinking about this moment every day leading to this. 

Every face looked as scared as I was when I walked onto the bus. Maybe I wasn’t alone in this. I sat down, and drifted in and out of sleep on the way.  

I walked into the school, walking past everyone who looked like completely different people. How could that much change in three months?

I entered my homeroom, and found myself sitting in the back corner. I looked around the class to see everyone I knew from the year before…except for this one boy.

He had light brunette hair and wore a light blue T-shirt with black pants. He looked calm, not nervous like I was. I looked a little closer. His eyes were bright blue. They calmed me without words. I smiled subconsciously. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked around the room with a straight face. I wish I knew what he was thinking about.

He looked in my direction. I quickly looked away, but I could see in my peripheral vision that he was still looking at me. Was he analyzing me too? 

It was then that I worked up the courage to say, “Hey.” I couldn’t say it without smiling, but he smiled back.

Something New

By: Addyson Quigley

The first bell rings,

and the hallway hums—

lockers slamming,

voices spilling into the air.

It’s another school year,

the same rush,

the same noise,

but something feels different.

This place is new.

She walks in.

Her shoulders sink beneath

the weight of a brand-new backpack.

She pauses,

eyes darting over unfamiliar faces,

searching for something

that feels steady.

I don’t know her name.

I want to—

I truly do.

But my throat sticks.

Does she notice that I’m staring?

Does she hear my silence,

as loud as the chatter around us?

I wonder if she feels alone.

I know I do.

And in that crowded hallway,

between strangers and noise,

I realize—

we are both new.