THE FOURTH FLOOR

ISSUE 3: SPRING 2015

THE FOURTH FLOOR

ART AND LITERATURE FROM THE SCIENCE LEADERSHIP ACADEMY
Chief Literary Editor: Anna Sugrue
Chief Art Editor/Designer: Leo Levy
Head of Fundraising: Michaela Prell
Assistant Editors: Josh Berg, Aaron Block, Tobi Hahn, Zack Hersh,
Sean Morris, Javier Peraza, August Polite, Lyle Seitz, Gina Sorgentoni, Eliana Razzino Yang
Fundraising Team: Eli Block, Ella Burrows, Elani Gonzalez-Ortiz,
Lily Palmer, Emily Stephens
Staff Advisor: Larissa Pahomov
Special thanks to the SLA Home and School Association.
Submit your work to the Fourth Floor at
the4thfloor@scienceleadership.org,
and it could be included in the next issue!

On the cover:
Boat and Balloon by August Polite
On the opposite page:
Flower Galaxy by Mark Kreigh

Literature
1
2
4
6
8
10
13
14
16
18
20
21
24
25

Block by Josh Berg

Trapeze by Anna Sugrue
I Thought of Peggy
by Michaela Prell
Backseat Freeverse
by Tobi Hahn
Melissa vs the Starbucks
Mermaid
by Melissa Alvarez
It Came From Underground
by Melanie Harrington
The Dim Door
by Quinn Grzywinski
Lead Us
by Maggie Hohenstein
Happy by Bryanna Jones
Time Takes Time
by Leah Kelly
Read Receipts
by Nagee Graves
Grandma Willow
by Sianneh Vesslee
Somebodies
by Siawale Vesslee
Batting Practice
by Zack Hersh

Art
1
3
7
11
16
23
28
29

Man Standing
by Luke Risher
Diego
by Chloe Epstein
Kendrick the Bard
by Leo Levy
Caution
by Max Amar-Olkus
Fisheye
by Kara Rosenberg
Hamsa
by Enthony Chhin
Caught in the Lines
by Tiarra Bell
Mosaic Pixels
by Mark Kreigh

Copyright 2015, by the authors. All rights reserved.

BLOCK
BY JOSH BERG
Shall we start?
No.
How about now?
Not now either.
What did you want to start in the first place?
Writing
Oh.
Got me.

Man Standing by Luke Risher

1

TRAPEZE
BY ANNA SUGRUE
I have always liked the trapeze. I dont want to be a trapezist, Im
scared of heights. But Ive always admired the stern faced woman,
sparkling, swinging, hundreds of feet above a translucent air of
safety, flinging herself, gracefully, and full force at a flying man,
trusting her reputation, her career, her art, her life in his outstretched arms. I wonder if there is a split second, right before the
glittering trapezist launches in front of the crowds, where every
fragment of her fragmented life because scarily, suddenly clear.
Does that flying woman experience, if only for a moment, what
it feels like to be on the edge of existence? Could she see, as she
times her arm and leg movements ever so gracefully in time to
seal her fate, could she see molecules of matter swimming across
her periphery? Does the woman, free in midair, does she know
what it felt like to be alive?
There was a pause. Then Patrick rolled his eyes. She would
probably be great in bed, was all he said.
I laughed. A gasping, high pitched, clawing giggle. Oh fuck
you, I exhaled. Grinning, he shifted his body so he was facing
me, his arm tucked neatly under his scratchy chin. The mattress
creaked. Cmon Patrick, I couldnt help but grin back. What
would you be? If you could be anything in the world?
I would be right here, with you. He smiled and leaned in and
kissed me. Not lightly, but not forcefully either. Like he was trying
to balance a spoon on the side of a bowl. He knew exactly how to
make me crumble. And that was how it went.

Diego by Chloe Epstein

3

I THOUGHT OF PEGGY
BY MICHAELA PRELL
You better not tell nobody but God, the voice said, and then the
line went dead.
I started picking at the scab on me knee. I started chewing my lip.
I got up and took a piss.
It was dark out, but soon it wouldnt be.
I crashed down on my bed, but didnt let my heavy eyes shut. I
picked up the phone again and rang Peggy.
What the hell do you want? she answered after a few shrill
rings.
I just needed to hear your voice.
Shut up ya dumb bastard. And stop calling me when Im
sleeping! she yelled. She sounded mad, but I knew she wasnt.
She couldnt be.
Please dont hang up, honey.
Im not your honey! Then her voice was gone.
I put the receiver back and pulled out my journal. I wrote about
Peggy and how much we loved each other. How she was my light,
my stars, my moon, my sun, my day, my dawn, my life, my death.
I also wrote about what the man on the phone had told me.
I know I wasnt supposed to tell anyone but God, but this book
practically was God to me. I wrote in it so religiously, it was the
closest thing to prayer I knew.
I put my book back and turned on the TV. I picked at the scab
on my knee as I watched men riding horses in black and white.
At some point I wasnt strong enough to fight the sand man anymore.

The phone woke me up.

Hello?
I thought I told you to leave my wife alone! The mans voice
was rock hard.
What?
I told you not to call her anymore, his voice was a meaty
hand wrapped around my neck. You didnt listen to me. Hell,
you barely breathed from when I got off the phone with you to
getting on the phone with her! Did you think I was joking? Did
you think I dont already know where you live? Well you thought
wrong. Looks like youll be telling God sooner than I thought.
His voice was low and steely, then it wasnt there.
I picked at my scab.
I chewed my lip.
The phone receiver was still in my hand. It started to beep.
Rays of sun made their way into my dark basement home.
I thought of Peggy. I wished she was here now to hold me. If I
had her by my side I was sure I could handle whoever this man
was. I didnt understand what he was saying. I could feel his anger
and hear his words, but I didnt know where it came from or why
it was shot at me. If only Peggy was here. I missed the way her
heartbeat made me feel at home. She was my everything.
The sun was blocked out by someone standing on the sidewalk.
I stopped chewing my lip.
The scab on my knee started to bleed.

BACKSEAT FREEVERSE
BY TOBI HAHN
Lamar had always dreamed of wealth and girth
That rivaled even monuments in size.
He vowed to one day fuck the virgin earth
He saw this bright future in his young eyes.
Once Kendrick reached his dream he never erred
He spent freely, eschewed economy.
He valued his mind, threatning those who dared
Debase his worth and self autonomy.
This dream of Kendricks ranked among the best
Of dreams, from Martin King to Sigmund Freud.
Lamar had a soul that was truly blessed
He lived his life in full, was overjoyed.
A man of dreams, he realized them and found
That he possessed things wondrous and profound.

Kendrick the Bard by Leo Levy

7

MELISSA VS THE STARBUCKS MERMAID

BY MELISSA ALVAREZ
WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS? I cant believe what Im seeing
right now! Get your hand off the door! GET YOUR HAND OFF
TH-- Nooooooooo! GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE! Youre
not welcome on my posh, mocha-brown Italian tiles you ingrate!
Shouldnt you be in school right now little girl? Youd figure that
they would have taught you a little something about manners
right? You know how incredibly rude it is to step onto MY territory with a drink from... Ugh I dont even want to say it. It makes
me gag just thinking about it. Its basically like the Draco Malfoy
of all coffee, and Im the Dumbledore. Okay Im about to say it.
Starbucks on 18th Street and Starbucks on 20th Street, please
cover your ears! Im about to say something foul and I dont want
to poison your ears. Okay here I go:
D-d-d-d-dunkin D-d-d-d-donuts! Dunkin Donuts!
BLEGH, I said it! Does anyone have any mouthwash handy? Like
seriously, how dare she have the audacity to walk into MY house
with a drink from you know where? It should be illegal, like an
actual crime. Can that be a thing? How does one go about changing legislation, because this is just all around foul. This is cruelty
of the worst kind. The list of the most horrible things in the world
goes something like this:
My current circumstance.
Murder.
Natural disasters.
Everything else.
Look at her in line, drinking that puke juice! Honestly, why not
just drink sugar water? There isnt much of a difference. I bet her
fingers are sticky. I know they dont clean their cups. She better

not use any of MY napkins to clean them. You made this mess
yourself sister.
I think we need to work better on the questions we are asking
employees during interviews because I dont see why anyone
hasnt kicked her out yet. Oh Tanya, no! Dont take her order Tanya! She doesnt deserve any of our things. Our classy see-through
plastic cups, our forrest-green tall and short straws, our beautiful
wooden stirrers. The list goes on. Were perfect. Im perfect, and
she has got to go.
Whats her name anyway? What does that cup say Tanya?
Melissa?! Well I have news for you MELISSA, if I wasnt made out
of ink, Id personally be kicking your butt right out of this place.
Dont you ignore me heathen! This is my house, my drinks, and
my customers. You dont belong in here little girl. Now if you
would kindly exit the premises, and also feel free to hit your head
on the way out, just dont leave a mark on my German glass.
Love,
The Starbucks Mermaid

IT CAME FROM UNDERGROUND

BY MELANIE HARRINGTON
The smell of sulfur woke me from my sleep. My eyes snapped
open and I rubbed the crust out of them quickly, trying to prepare myself for what might happen next. It took a moment for
my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and when they did I noticed
my bedroom door hanging ajar, nearly ripped off its hinges. I
strained my ears to hear the slightest sound of an intruder, but
there was nothing. It was eerily quiet in my house.
I slowly removed the covers from my body and slunk out of bed,
clad in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and black underwear. I
padded silently over to the door, careful not to make a sound.
The door remained hanging on its middle hinge, its other two
appeared to have been ripped off. The wood was charred in a
pattern that seemed to lick its way up to the top of the frame. I
reached out to touch the handle and hissed in pain. It was burning hot.
I heard a snicker from down the hallway and jerked my head
in the direction of the sound. Before me stood the most revolting
creature I had ever seen. It looked like a giant humanoid scorpion. Its skin was leathery and withered brown. Its limbs were long
and thin, its hands as big as my face. Its tail, thicker the closer it
was to its body, ended in a razor sharp point. I could see its heart
beating fast underneath its translucent skin. The monster filled
the entire hallway. As I stared into its shrunken eyes, it gave me
a menacing grin, showing off its spiked teeth, which stuck out in
odd directions. It started to limp towards me and my stomach
contorted in fear. With every step it took its grin widened and the
nauseating smell of sulfur grew stronger. I heard a barely audible hissing sound. The floor underneath its feet was smoking. I

Caution by Max Amar-Olkus

11

looked back up and gasped. The creature was gazing at something

in its arms.
Put her down, I bellowed, unsticking my feet from the floor
and starting towards it.
The creature let out a deep, growling laugh and shot to the
right, straight out of the second story window, taking some of
the wall with it. I screamed as I watched my baby plummet to the
ground. I got to the window just in time to see them disappear
into the earth. The grass rippled in a circular motion that seemed
to be getting smaller and smaller. Without a second thought I
flung myself head first out of the gaping hole. The dirt rushed
up. I closed my eyes, preparing for impact. At least if this doesnt
work I wont have to live without my baby. A tingling feeling
spread through my face and up through the rest of my body as I
collided with the ground. I thought for sure I was paralyzed, but I
kept falling. I opened my eyes just as I landed in a mass of murky
water. It felt like sludge. I kicked to the surface, my eyes stinging.
It took forever, but I reached the surface, gasping violently and
spewing out water. I brushed the hair off my face and looked
around. The water around me was black as a raven and various
body parts floated about: skulls, arms, legs, even something that
looked like a tongue. Some of these definitely werent human.
Half decayed intestines floated past my arm. I gagged, adding to
the rancid stench, as the water rippled around me. To my left I
could make out a shore of red sand. The scorpion creature was
moving out of the water, still clutching my child who had started
to scream. The monster slapped her across the cheek.
Stop it! Dont touch her, I cried out. He turned to look at me,
smirked and started trudging across the sand, over a hill, and
quickly out of sight. I started to swim as fast as my body would
allow, but the concentration of the water slowed me down. I
began sobbing uncontrollably and was relieved when I had made
it to the shore.

The ground was warm and I laid my face against it, willing my
body to move forward. I exhaled and shakily stood up. I stopped
dead in my tracks when I saw what was ahead of me. A river
of lava separated me from another shore, where I could see the
creature climb out, seemingly unharmed. Im never going to see
her again. As if stuck in a trance, I slowly glided to the edge of
the lava river, my feet growing hotter and hotter with each step.
I didnt even blink when I took my last step and plunged into the
river, ceasing to exist.

THE DIM DOOR

BY QUINN GRZYWINSKI
The last time I saw her, she gave me her heart. She gave it
to me, red, dry, coarse, and hot with love. I could feel what
was in it, thought; her life; other things. It waved off in a
veil. It saw things. And it cared. Kids. A man. And a body
in the ground. It was a good heart. There were not many
good hearts. So when I took it, it was with care, like a soft
word from the edge of a mouth. I put it in my bag, the one
slung from my left hand. It layed there with the rest. When
I let go, as Iit often will, an image or two drove through my
mind. A foot. A slip on the edge of a stone. A train horn. A
shout. Or was it a push?
I waved my hand at her. Time to go. The dim door was
ahead. But she did not move, and her hair flowed next
to her, pushed by a breeze that was not there. Her mouth
moved. The query. Would they all be fine? Was it right to
go? My answer. Death was not kind. Death was not cruel.

Death was here. And that wasis fine. Look. Down there. See
them? See the tears? The smiles? The hearts?. They will be
fine, and the ones that come next, and the ones that come
next, and so it goes. That is how it has been. That is how it
will be. Now come. The dim door is open. It will be easy.
One step. Then what comes next.
She smiled. Then she was next to me. The dim door was
open. I took her hand. I swear. All will be fine. We went
through together.

LEAD US
BY MAGGIE HOHENSTEIN
He focused all of his energy on listening to tick tick of his watch.
All this energy almost muffled the heavy crashes thundering
about him. The dust strewn air cracked open his chapped lips.
Tick Tick Tick Tick. Time was still passing; the world still spinning. The bombs are not bombs, Henry told himself, they are
cheerful clapping, and proud thumps on the back. The fire is not
burning my home, it is only burning the candles on top of this
cake. The world is simple and honest and safe.
Tick Tick Tick Tick. He opened his eyes to see the family
sitting around him, but then he could see the fear. The fear muted
the ticking and cleared all the fuzzy bomb sounds. The fear of his
family made all of it real. He closed his eyes. He imagined marching to ticks on his watch, they way he did with his friends in the
street. Right tick, left tick, right tick, stop. It was always Andrew
who led them, where was Andrew now?

Here, Henry whisper-thought, here in my head, marching

down the street with me. Were playing war, just playing. You
can lead us today, thought-Andrew said, Since its such a special
day.
Tick Tick Tick Tick. Henry took to the front of the group and
stuck his chest out so far that it was as if an invisible force pushed
at his back. Left tick, right tick, left tick, turn. Keep moving,
Henry told his thought-friends. He didnt look back at them as he
led them through the cobbled streets to his house.
Tick Tick Tick Tick. They were there. Home. Henry turned.
His friends bodies were strewn on the street behind him. Andrew laid face down on Henrys doorstep. Henry opened his eyes
and looked around. He was all alone. His family sat around him,
each person individually alone. Henry licked his broken lips.
Tick Tick Tick Ding. A small bell on the watch signified
midnight. Real world, bombs coming down, midnight. Henry
held the watch to his ear, resting both against his knees. Happy
Birthday, he whispered, Happy Birthday to me.

On the following spread:

Fisheye by Kara Rosenberg

15

HAPP

BY BRYANN

Chile, make sure

They will think yo
Maybe you w

16

APPY

NNA JONES

e sure you smile.

nk you are happy.
you will too.

17

TIME TAKES TIME

BY LEAH KELLY
to begin recovering, you have to get over
all the firsts without him.
the first week will be full of them:
the first time you fall asleep
without hearing, I love you,
the first time you wake up
without a text to make you smile,
the first time you have no one there for you
when youre breaking apart.
its no secret that a broken heart hurts
and that the first week will feel so suffocating,
you wont even know how to deal with it.
and then you will think that youre all better.
but then come the other random firsts
that you have not experienced without him yet:
your first time going to see a movie
without his hand bumping into yours
in the popcorn bowl,
the first time you kiss someone
and are disoriented by the fact
that those are not his lips,
the first time someone holds you
and it feels unfamiliar.

18

you must get through the series of firsts

to get over a broken heart.
and it will not be easy.
it will be hell.
it will be two months later
and you will hear a song that you havent heard
since you were with him,
and you will fall apart on the train.
thats okay.
it means that the next time you hear it,
it wont hurt as much.
time takes time.
let the firsts happen.
broken hearts heal
and the suffocating feeling will go away,
just keep moving.
-what I wish someone had told me
in the beginning.
time takes time.

19

READ RECEIPTS
BY NAGEE GRAVES

There was always a time in my life, where

I thought I would have to go through this
Read at 11:00 pm
It pains me that you wont bother answering this
even though I know youre staring at your screen
Read at 1:36 am
Sometimes I sit back and wonder why
we even got into this in the first place
Read at 2:12 pm
How long can we keep this going on for?
I messed up, I know, but talk to me. Please.
Read at 3:49 am
I still love you, I always will
Delivered

20

GRANDMA WILLOW
BY SIANNEH VESSLEE
They would always say how my Grandma Willow was so strong.
My mother would tell me how she had taken care of me even before I could say my own name. She told me that she was the one
who gave me my name, Robin.
Me and your father told your grandma that she could name
you and she said that she wanted you named after her favorite
bird, Momma said
Why did she like robins so much to name me after one? I
said. Her eyebrows scrunched up together while she was deep in
her thoughts.
Well, she said after a while, She really liked their big bright
red chest, and how they stood out. I guess she wanted you to do
the same.
She wanted me to have a red chest? I asked skeptically. Momma rolled her eyes and gave me a sharp look.
No child. She wanted you to stand out because of your good
qualities like a robin. So dont go painting your chest red.
Ok I sighed.
Out of my six years living here, I only really knew Grandma
Willow through pictures and stories that my family would tell me
about her. She was a force to be reckoned with. In her younger
pictures, she was a small, petite woman with light brown skin that
looked like it had been kissed by the sun, and had short, tight,
curled brown hair. She barely stood above five feet, but what she
lacked in size she made up for with her attitude. Grandpa would
say she was the reason people said that, Hell has no fury like a
woman scorned. But she wasnt all bad. She always protected her
family and never gave up on them. No matter what.

She was everything that I wanted to be. I always wanted to ask

when I would get the chance to meet her, but the last time I tried
to ask, my mom got so sad I thought she would break down if I
just touched her. Grandpa would get that tired, lonely look in his
eyes that made him look older than he really was. So I tried to
avoid questions like that whenever Grandma Willow came up.
However, being blessed with curses like my curiosity and stubbornness, I couldnt help but ask them again when I would meet
her.
That was when momma told me that I wouldnt get to meet her.
I remembered she showed me one of Grandma Willows recent
photos. She looked a lot frailer and even smaller than she did
in her younger photo, but when I looked into her eyes I could
still see that hard exterior of hers that Grandpa alway talked
about. And when I looked even deeper, I could see the love that
she reserved only for people she really cared about. Looking at
her picture, momma told me how she got sick. The kind of sick
that left you broken. Thats what happened to Grandma Willow.
She was the kind of broken that took time to be fixed. Time she
just didnt have. I didnt ask any questions about her much after
that. Grandpa tried to cheer me up by saying that I already met
her, but it wasnt the same. I dont remember meeting her. I dont
remember talking to her. I dont remember anything about her.
I sighed and I looked sadly outside. I saw the willow tree that my
mother planted out in the garden, and I got an idea. I ran upstairs
to go get some pen and paper. When Momma came home she
found me digging a hole next to the willow tree.
Robin what are doing? she said to me. I looked up. Confusion
was written all over her face.
I am writing a letter to Grandma, I stated firmly and continued to dig. Once I was satisfied, I took my letter out, kissed it, and
buried it into my hole. When I was done, I looked back up at my
momma. She was close to tears.

You always said how strong she was momma. That why I think
she was named Willow, so I thought maybe this could be a way
to talk to her, ya know? She slowly nodded her head and came
over, embracing me. I felt so much love and comfort in that moment. I turned to the tree. Three red, bold looking robins sat on
its branches, chirping happily away. They must have been calling
their brethren because before we knew it, three more joined them
on the tree.
Does that mean that she got my letter momma? I asked
hopefully. Momma gave me a teary smile.
Of course she did baby. Of course.

Hamsa by
Enthony Chhin

23

THE SOMEBODIES
BY SIAWALE VESSLEE
This is for the somebodies.
For the people who let their spirits rise with them every morning.
This is for the people who wear their grief like their skin.
The people who wear frowns like smiles.
The people who work the 9 to 5
Who have to get up at 5
Because thats the only way to survive.
These somebodies are the people
who break bent backs to be somebody

24

BATTING PRACTICE
BY ZACK HERSH
It was the type of summer day that fills every fold of space with
bright, visible heat, and not a cloud hung in the sky, leaving just
the sun swimming in pristine blue. Not an ideal day for batting
practice, but baseball was a hot weather sport, and if Isabelle was
going to make the team, the mostly boys team, she would need to
improve her hitting. Her dad was supportive and willing to pitch
to her until she was satisfied.
She couldnt keep the ball fair. All of her hits were brilliant
shots: screaming line drives, sizzling grounders, imposing fly
balls. But all foul. All pulled too far to the left of third base, each
crack of the bat sending another ball to join the countless others
that lay out of play.
Her dad jogged off the mound with a smile after her latest foul
ball rattled the bleachers. That was a good one! he said, going
over to collect the scatter of baseballs.
No it wasnt, Isabelle snapped. Her frustration glistened off
the sweat on her face. She sighed and dropped the bat. I cant do
this.
I hate to see you be down on yourself Isabelle. Youll get it.
You always do. His voice was reassuring, but didnt comfort her.
I cant hit it fair. She pulled out her ponytail, ran a hand
through her thick hair, then tied it back up again. Her dad set the
replete bucket on the mound and looked at her.
Look, I want to see you get better as much as you do. His usually jovial tone became starkly serious, Now come on, get back
in there. Keep doing your best.
When Isabelle once again stood poised in the box, her dad
spoke. Its all about patience. Thats what being the best is all

about, your patience. He continued, speaking slowly and precisely, All those boys, they know how to wait just long enough to be
able to rip that ball, and fair. Youre eagernot a bad thing at all,
but you can do it too. Okay?
Isabelle set with determination. Okay.
She lifted the bat off her shoulders and watched closely as her
dads next pitch came in.
Swing!
No.
Wait.
Beat.
Swing!
The ball careened off the bat and flew sharply inside of the
third base line, staying fair as it rushed down the field. Her face
flashed as the ball stopped rolling where none of her other hits
had gone previously.
That was great! Pride radiated off his words.
Isabelle smirked. Right to the third baseman.
I guess you just got to wait longer. Keep pulling it less and less
in until your driving those babies up the middle. Or better yet,
until you can really control where you put them. His voice darkened with sincerity, But that was good.
Lets keep going.
Her dad walked back to the top of the mound and turned to
face her. Alright Ms. Babe Ruth. You ready?
A swift nod. Then the ball came floating in. Isabelle waited
waited waited trying hard to wait, to resist, just a hair longer
than before. Finally. Now. Go.
She began her swing, and with a scalding crack the ball
zoomed fair in a burning line drive, farther to the right than the
last one.
Nice, her dad remarked, nodding. Thats it. Youre getting it.
Keep moving it over.

The next one she missed completely, intensifying the red on her
face.
The one after that was farther to the right.
Good. Look at that. Youre in business. Wait even longer, really
try to drive it up the middle.
Okay Dad, I got it. Impatience speckled her voice. Lets go.
He put his hands up playfully, Okay.
Longer, she told herself. Wait even longer. The white and red
ball danced out of her dads hand and through the air towards
her. Watching. Waiting. Nearing. Excitement. Determination.
Swing! Just swing! Just swing! Just
Her swing was perfectly timed. The ball went whistling in a low
line, searing with speed up the middle of the field until it hit her
dad square in the eye.
Surprise froze over his face as he staggered backward, then
struck the ground. The ball trickled off the side of the mound.
Dad! Isabelle shrieked. She threw off her helmet and flung
the bat, running up to him with panic speed. He was unconscious. A bruise was beginning to swell over his eye.
Oh my god, Dad! Dad! she screamed. She shook him violently. Dad! Wake up!
He wouldnt. His body lay limp as her eyes filled with hot sloppy tears. Dad!
Isabelles body shook as she fumbled about her pockets for her
phone. With trembling fingers she dialed 911.
Isabelle broke through the hospital door and into the room, euphoric to finally see him, terrified of what she might see. She ran
up to the bed and could barely recognize the face of the man who
was laying in it. His eye was blackened: a deep, leathery-purple
welt. His face was swollen and bruised.
She stood over him, the man who had selflessly and brilliantly
helped her hit those baseballs fair. One million different emo-

tions, thoughts, and questions surged through Isabelle all at once.

But before she could make anything of any of them, her dad
opened his eye slowly and saw his daughter.
He grinned broadly. That was some hit.

SPRING 2015 PHOTO CONTEST WINNER

Caught in the Lines by Tiarra Bell

On the opposite page:

Mosaic Pixels by Mark Kriegh

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