2016 National Catalog

The Scholastic Art & Writing Awards

Front Cover: Stand Strong, Photography by Eli Dreyfuss, Grade 12, Age 18, G-Star School of the Arts, Palm Springs, FL
Back Cover: Be Happy, Drawing & Illustration by Ji Eun Yang, Grade 12, Age 17, University Laboratory School, Honolulu, HI
TABLE OF CONTENTS

About Us 1
Alumni Achievement Award 2
Notable Alumni 3
2016 Educator Awards 4
Affiliate Partners
Gold Medal Portfolio Awards
6
9
An Extraordinary Year
The Scholastic Art & Writing Awards celebrate the visionary talents of creative
Sponsored Awards 34
students across America, providing them with opportunities for recognition, exhibition,
Herblock Award for Editorial Cartoon 36 Gregory R. Miller
publication, and scholarships. In 2016 we received nearly 320,000 submissions of
RBC Flaunt It Award 38 original art and writing to the Awardsanother record-breaking yearresulting in
85,000 awards at the regional level and 2,500 awards at the national level.
Neiman Marcus Award for Jewelry 40
Neiman Marcus Award for Fashion 41 Yet it is not by numbers alone that we measure success at the Scholastic Art & Writing
Awards. It is also through the individual stories that you share with us on a daily
Gedenk Award for Tolerance 42
basis. From the teacher who recently wrote to say, Thank you for making such
Creativity & Citzenship Award 44 a difference for my students. You have shaped their lives and the world they touch for
Best-in-Grade Awards 46 the better, to Robert Redford, who said, I was 18 years old when I received my
Scholastic Art Award for a sketch. The award affected me profoundly, and the
National Awards 59
recognition it provided at that time in my life was instrumental in my development
2016 National Medalists 135 Virginia McEnerney as an artist.
Sponsors and Support 142 Over the programs history, so many remarkable minds have found encouragement
Board of Directors 143 through the Awards, such as other creative luminaries Andy Warhol, Sylvia Plath,
Joyce Carol Oates, John Baldessari, Frances Farmer, Cy Twombly, Ken Burns,
Affiliate Advisory Council 143
and Lena Dunham.
National Staff 143
It is with deep appreciation for the commitment of Affiliates, Alumni, jurors,
National Student Poets Program 144 educators, staff, and supporters that the Awards continue to succeed and support of
the next generation of leaders in art, writing, design, science, government, teaching,
and so many other fields.
No part of this book may be stored in a retrieval system
or transmitted in any form or by any means, including We dedicate this years National Catalog particularly to the educators within the
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, microfilming, Scholastic Awards familythose who have given their time and talent, inside the
recording, or otherwise, without written permission from classroom and outside of it, to nurture, encourage, and uplift the creative spirit in
the publisher.
their students. Thank you.
2016 Alliance for Young Artists & Writers
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.

Many writing selections have been excerpted.

Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read all the works Gregory R. Miller Virginia McEnerney
as they were submitted. Chairman of the Board Executive Director
Alliance for Young Artists & Writers Alliance for Young Artists & Writers
Background Art: Addiction, Painting by Keiji Ishida,
Grade 11, Age 16, Los Angeles County High School for
the Arts, Los Angeles, CA
Past Alumni Notable Alumni
Achievement This years recipients join a group of notable Scholastic Art & Writing Awards alumni

Award all of whom received the Awards special recognition as teenagers. Many Award recipi-
ents pursue degrees and careers that focus on their art and writing, but countless others
Recipients become inventors, innovators, scientists, public servants, entrepreneurs, and creative
leaders across new and changing fields.
2015
Donald Lipski Frances Farmer, Actress Richard Anuszkiewicz, Artist Peter Steiner, Cartoonist Kevin Bales, Activist
Familiar Essay, 1931 Art, 194748 Art, 1957 Poetry, 1970
2014
Bernard Malamud, Author Sylvia Plath, Poet Joyce Carol Oates, Author Tom Otterness, Sculptor
Kay WalkingStick Short Story, 1956 Drawing, 1970
Short Story, 1932 Art, 1947

2013 Robert McCloskey, Author Edward Sorel, Illustrator and Luis Jimnez, Sculptor David Salle, Painter
Zac Posen Art, 1932 Political Cartoonist Art, 195758 Art, 1970
Drawing, 1947
Jacob Landau, Painter Mel Bochner, Artist Ken Burns, Director
2012 Drawing, 1958 Writing, 1971
Art, 193334 Idelle Weber, Artist
Edward Sorel Art, 1947
Harry Bertoia, Designer Catherine Murphy, Painter Michael Bierut, Graphic Designer
2011 Ink Drawing, 1934, 36 Cy Twombly, Artist Art, 1959 Art, ca. 1974

John Baldessari Ken BURNS Ezra Jack Keats, Author

2016 Alumni Achievement Award Recipient Art, 1934
2010
Hughie Lee-Smith, Artist
Mel Bochner The New York Times called Ken Burns the most accomplished documentary
Drawing, 1934
Carolyn Forch filmmaker of his generation. Known for his use of archival footage and
Truman Capote, Author
photographs in documentaries, Burns has produced films such as The Civil
2009 Short Story, ca. 1936
War (1990), Baseball (1994), Jazz (2001), The National Parks (2009),
Tom Otterness Charles White, Artist
Prohibition (2011), and Jackie Robinson (2016). Burnss documentaries have
Thane Rosenbaum Art, 1937
been nominated for two Academy Awards and have won Emmy Awards,
Maureen Daly McGivern,
2008 among many other honors.
Author
Philip Pearlstein Photography, 193738
Burns received his Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Key in 1971 for an
Joyce Maynard
autobiographical short story called First Christmas in Ann Arbor. Of his Richard Avedon, Photographer
Poetry, 1941
Scholastic Award, Burns has said that receiving it was an important moment
for me, one Ive never forgotten. Philip Pearlstein, Artist
Oil Painting, 194142
Mozelle Thompson, Artist
Painting, 1944
Andy Warhol, Artist
Art, ca. 1945
Lennart Anderson, Painter
Drawing, 1946
Robert Indiana, Artist
Art, 1946
Art, 1948
John Updike, Novelist & Poet
Writing, 1948
Kay WalkingStick, Artist
Drawing, 1948
John Baldessari, Artist
Photography, 1949
Donald Barthleme, Author
Short Story, 1949
James Hiram Malone, Artist
Art, 1949
Alan Arkin, Actor
Ceramic Sculpture, 1951
Stan Brakhage, Filmmaker
Art, 1951
Red Grooms, Artist
Art, 1952
Robert Redford, Actor
Art, 1954
Peter S. Beagle, Author
Writing, 1955
Arnold Hurley, Painter Rodney Alan Greenblat, Artist
Art, 196264 Art, 1977
John Lithgow, Actor John Currin, Artist
Art, 1963 Photography, 1979
Stephen King, Author Audrey Niffenegger, Author
Writing, 1965 and Illustrator
Art, 1981
Donald Lipski, Sculptor
Sculpting, 1965 Myla Goldberg, Author
Poetry, 1989
Joyce Maynard, Author
Short Story, 196671 Paul Chan, Artist
Art, 1992
Carolyn Forch, Poet
Writing, 1967 Ned Vizzini, Author
Writing, 1996
Tom Lichtenheld, Author
Art, 1967 Lucianne Walkowicz,
Astrophysicist
Martin Friedman, Director
Painting, 1996
Emeritus, Walker Art Center
Oils, Sculpture, and Pencil Zac Posen, Fashion Designer
Drawing, 1968 Textile Design and Personal
Essay, 1998
Gary Panter, Artist
Art, 1968 Lena Dunham, Director
Art, 1999
Dan Fogelberg, Musician
Art, 1969 Michael Raisler, Producer
Writing, 2003

2 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards 3

 2016 educatOR awards (continued)

2016 Educator Awards Alex Berg

Hunter College High School
Vivian Komando
South Walton High School
LuAnn Underwood
Harborside Academy
Stacey Hallett
Avon Lake High School
Eric MacKnight
Abiqua Academy
New York, NY Santa Rosa Beach, FL Kenosha, WI Avon Lake, OH Salem, OR
The Alliance for Young Artists & Writers gives special thanks to the educators who
provided support, guidance, and encouragement to the National Medalists in the Tracy Bilynsky Allison Kornet Lacey Van Reeth Francis Hammes Dominick Manco
Scholastic Art & Writing Awards of 2016. Oyster River High School Buckingham Browne & Nichols Alexander W. Dreyfoos School Charleston County School Homestead High School
Durham, NH School of the Arts of the Arts Fort Wayne, IN
Cambridge, MA West Palm Beach, FL North Charleston, SC
Gold Medal Portfolio Jenny Gifford Daria Souvorova Barbara Brown Jiro Masuda
New World School of the Arts George Washington Carver Lincoln High School Kwan Young Lee Matthew Varey Beth Webb Hart
Khalid Ali Detroit Country Day School:
Miami, FL Center for Arts and Portland, OR Gwinnett School of Math, Etobicoke School of the Arts Charleston County School of
George Washington Carver Upper School
Technology Science and Technology Toronto, Canada the Arts Beverly Hills, MI
Center for Arts and
Melissa Glosmanova Towson, MD Linda Burke Lawrenceville, GA North Charleston, SC
Technology
Alexander W. Dreyfoos School Needham High School Lizabeth Whipps
Towson, MD Joe Medina
of the Arts Leah Stahl Needham, MA Jeremy McFarren Stivers School for the Arts Marea Haslett Harvard-Westlake School
West Palm Beach, FL Stivers School for the Arts Carroll High School Dayton, OH Milton High School
Cheri Anderson North Hollywood, CA
Dayton, OH Dorene Fisher Fort Wayne, IN Alpharetta, GA
Roncalli High School
Todd Hearon St. Annes-Belfield School
Indianapolis, IN Nicholas Morgan
Phillips Exeter Academy Matthew Varey Best-in-Grade Medal
Charlottesville, VA Mary Jane Parker Todd Hearon Etobicoke School of the Arts
Exeter, NH Etobicoke School of the Arts New Orleans Center for Phillips Exeter Academy
Samuel Brown Charlotte Agell Toronto, Canada
Toronto, Canada Elizabeth Garvey Creative Arts Exeter, NH
Miami Country Day School Frank H. Harrison Middle
Kevin Johnson Shady Side Academy Senior
Miami, FL New Orleans, LA School Maggie Perkins
Etobicoke School of the Arts Lilly Windle School Yarmouth, ME Patricia Jenkins Springfield Ball Charter School
Toronto, Canada Lincoln High School Pittsburgh, PA
Phyllis Carr Tracy Regan Skyline High School Springfield, IL
Portland, OR
Hamilton High School Hudson High School Brian Bienek Ann Arbor, MI
Paula Kraus Melissa Glosmanova
Chandler, AZ Hudson, OH Home School Yael Schick
Stivers School for the Arts Alexander W. Dreyfoos School Kevin Johnson
Silver Medal Portfolio Gaithersburg, MD The Dalton School
Dayton, OH of the Arts Caroline Rosenstone Etobicoke School of the Arts
Kathy Crutcher With Distinction New York, NY
Woodrow Wilson Senior High West Palm Beach, FL ACES Educational Center for Sarah Blackman Toronto, Canada
Marty Loftus Ellen Abramson
School the Arts Fine Arts Center Tiffany Wang
Gibbs High School Design & Architecture Senior Alice Hancock New Haven, CT Aaron Kuehne
Washington, D.C. Greenville, SC Aragon High School
St. Petersburg, FL High School Canterbury High School Detroit Country Day Middle San Mateo, CA
Miami, FL Fort Wayne, IN Deirdre Saunder School
Joe Cypressi Sharee Chapman
Nicholas Morgan Maret School Beverly Hills, MI
George Washington Carver Grant High School
Etobicoke School of the Arts Julie Anderson Diane Heath Washington, D.C.
Center for Arts and Portland, OR
Toronto, Canada Stivers School for the Arts Stoney Creek High School Peter LaBerge
Technology
Dayton, OH Rochester Hills, MI Ann Schwab The Adroit Journal Summer
Towson, MD Melanie Cohen
Laura Naar New Orleans Center for Mentorship Program
NSU University School
Chelsea High School Scott Armetta Damien Husen Creative Arts Greenville, SC
Steven Dante Ft. Lauderdale, FL
Chelsea, MI Alexander W. Dreyfoos School Elk River Senior High School New Orleans, LA
Holmdel High School
of the Arts Elk River, MN Kyungah Lee
Holmdel, NJ Danielle DeTiberus
Georgina Rutherford West Palm Beach, FL Peter Stodolak Home School
Charleston County School of
Chelsea High School Rebecca Ingerslev Alexander W. Dreyfoos School Holden, MA
Jessica Daviso the Arts
Chelsea, MI Carlos Benedict Westford Academy of the Arts
Andover High School North Charleston, SC
Jamesville-DeWitt High School Westford, MA West Palm Beach, FL Melissa Leftwich
Andover, MA
Susan Silva DeWitt, NY Jay Robinson Middle School
Alan Edwards
Oakton High School Stacy Johnson Carolyn Sutton Charlotte, NC
Carlos Gallostra Whitney M. Young Magnet
Vienna, VA Andrew Bennett Edmond North High School The Park School of Baltimore
New World School of the Arts High School
Wellesley High School Edmond, OK Baltimore, MD Ling Li
Miami, FL Chicago, IL
Wellesley, MA Northview High School
Duluth, GA

4 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards 5

 2016 AFFILIATE PARTNERS (continued)

Affiliate Partners Kansas

The Alliances reach stems from our work with 101 Affiliate Partner organizations that administer 117 art and/or
writing regions across the country. They are responsible for bringing the Awards to local communities, educators,
and students. In addition to presenting the Awards at the regional level, Affiliates work closely with local funders and
universities to provide scholarship opportunities for top recipients. With our Affiliates, we awarded 85,000 works
this year with regional Gold Keys, Silver Keys, and Honorable Mentions.
It is because of our Affiliate Partners extraordinary dedication that the Scholastic Awards have been able to reach
more participants and provide additional opportunities for creative teenagers across the country.
NORTHEAST
Connecticut
Connecticut Art Region
Connecticut Art Education Association
University of Hartfords Hartford Art School
Delaware
Delaware Art Region
Arts Center / Gallery at Delaware
State University
Delaware Writing Region
Diamond State Branch, National League of
American Pen Women, Inc.
Delaware Division of the Arts and National
Endowment for the Arts
District of Columbia
D.C. Metro Writing Region
Writopia Lab D.C.
Maine
Maine Art Region
Maine College of Art
Southern Maine Writing Region
The Southern Maine Writing Project at the
University of Southern Maine
The Betterment Fund
Massachusetts
Massachusetts Art and Writing Region
School of the Museum of Fine Arts,
Boston / The Boston Globe
New Hampshire
New Hampshire Art Region
The New Hampshire Art Educators
Association
New Hampshire Writing Region
The National Writing Project in
New Hampshire
Plymouth State University
New Jersey
Northeast New Jersey Art Region
Montclair Art Museum
New York
Central New York Art Region
CNY Art Council, Inc.
M&T Charitable Foundation
Hudson Valley Art Region
Hudson Valley Art Awards
Sullivan, Dutchess, Orange and Ulster County
BOCES; Enlarged City School District of
Middletown; Orange County Arts Council;
Rolling V Transportation Services
Hudson-to-Housatonic Writing Region
Writopia Lab Westchester & Fairfield
New York City Art Region
Alliance for Young Artists & Writers
Parsons School of Design at The New School
New York City Writing Region
Alliance for Young Artists & Writers
Eugene Lang College of Liberal Arts
Pennsylvania
Berks, Carbon, Lehigh, and Northampton
Art Region
East Central PA Scholastic Art Awards
Lancaster County Art Region
Lancaster Museum of Art
Lancaster County Writing Region
Lancaster Public Library
Northeastern Pennsylvania Art and
Writing Region
Marywood University
Philadelphia Art Region
Philadelphia Arts in Education Partnership
at The University of the Arts
Philadelphia Writing Region
Philadelphia Writing Project
Pittsburgh Art Region
North Allegheny School District &
Community College of Allegheny County
Elizabeth B. Koch; K.T. Wiedemann
College for Creative Studies
Pittsburgh Writing Region
Western PA Writing Project
South Central Pennsylvania Art and
Writing Region
Commonwealth Connections Academy
Southwestern Pennsylvania Art and
Writing Region
California University of Pennsylvania
Rhode Island
Rhode Island Art Region
Rhode Island Art Education Association
Salve Regina University
Vermont
Vermont Art and Writing Region
Brattleboro Museum & Art Center
MIDWEST
Illinois
Chicago Writing Region
Chicago Area Writing Project
Mid-Central Illinois Art Region
Regional Scholastic Awards Council of
Mid-Central Illinois
Springfield District 186; Springfield Art
Association
Suburban Chicago Art Region
Downers Grove North and South
High Schools
Downers Grove Community High School
District 99
Southern Illinois Art Region
John R. and Eleanor R. Mitchell Foundation /
Cedarhurst Center for the Arts
Indiana
Central/Southern Indiana Art and Writing
Region
Clowes Memorial Hall, Butler University and
Hoosier Writing Project at IUPUI
Eastern Kansas Art Region
The Wichita Center for the Arts
Foundation, Inc.
Western Kansas Art Region
The Western Kansas Scholastic Art Awards
Western Kansas Scholastic Art Association
Michigan
Michigan Thumb Art Region
Macomb Community College
Southeastern Michigan Art Region
College for Creative Studies
West Central Michigan Art and
Writing Region
Kendall College of Art and Design, Ferris
State University
Minnesota
Minnesota Art Region
Art Educators of Minnesota
Regis Center for the Arts; Weisman Art
Museum of the University of Minnesota
Missouri
Missouri Writing Region
Greater Kansas City Writing Project
Missouri Writing Projects Network; Missouri
Association of Teachers of English
Nebraska
Nebraska Art Region
Omaha Public Schools Art Department
North Dakota
North Dakota Art Region
Plains Art Museum and the Red River Valley
Writing Project at NDSU
North Dakota Writing Region
The Red River Valley Writing Project at
NDSU and Plains Art Museum
Ohio
Central Ohio Art Region
Columbus College of Art & Design
Cuyahoga County Art and Writing Region
The Cleveland Institute of Art
Cuyahoga Arts and Culture
Lorain County Art Region
Lorain County Regional Scholastic
Arts Committee
Nordson Corporation Foundation; Lorain
County Community College Foundation;
The Stocker Center Foundation
Miami Valley Art Region
K12 Gallery & TEJAS
Northeast Central Ohio Art Region
Kent State University at Stark
Northeastern Ohio Art Region
Youngstown State University and Akron
Childrens Hospital Mahoning Valley
Community Foundation of the Mahoning
Valley, Trumball County ESC, and
Boardman Rotary
South Dakota
South Dakota Art and Writing Region
The University of South Dakota
Wisconsin
Southeast Wisconsin Scholastic
Writing Region
Southeast Wisconsin Scholastic
Writing Region
Carthage College, Harborside Academy,
Mr. and Mrs. Robert Viehweg, University of
WisconsinParkside
Wisconsin Art Region
The Milwaukee Art Museum
The Greater Milwaukee Foundation Flesch
Family Fund; The Heller Family in memory
of their parents, James K. and Avis M. Heller;
James and Carol Wiensch; Vanguard
Computers, Inc.; and CompURent
Wisconsin Writing Region
Still Waters Collective
The Camille A. Lonstorf Fund
SOUTHEAST
Florida
Broward Art Region
Young at Art Museum
Hillsborough Art and Writing Region
Hillsborough County Public Schools
Suncoast Credit Union Foundation
Tampa Bay Lightning, and Hillsborough
Education Foundation
Miami-Dade Art Region
Miami-Dade County Public Schools
Rubell Family Collection
Miami-Dade Writing Region
Miami Writes
The Miami-Dade County Fair & Exposition
Northeast Florida Art Region
Northeast Florida Art Education
Association
Duval County School Board
Palm Beach Art Region
Educational Gallery Group (Eg2)
Mary D. Fisher; Marjorie Fisher;
Palm Beach County School District; The
Armory Art Center
Pinnellas Art Region
Pinellas County Art Region
Raymond James; Suncoasters of
St. Petersburg; Pinellas County Schools
Sarasota Art Region
Sarasota County Schools
Sarasota County Board of Education
Georgia
Georgia Art and Writing Region
Savannah College of Art and Design
Kentucky
Louisville Metropolitan Area Art Region
Jefferson County Public Schools
Fund for the Arts; Kentucky Museum of Art
and Craft; Louisville Area Fiber and Textile
Artists; Louisville Visual Art Association
Northern Kentucky Writing Region
Northern Kentucky Writing Region
South Central Kentucky Art Region
Southern Kentucky Performing Arts
Center (SKyPAC)
Mississippi
Mississippi Art Region
Mississippi Museum of Art
Mississippi Writing Region
The Eudora Welty Foundation
C Spire Foundation
North Carolina
Eastern / Central North Carolina Art Region
Barton College
Mid-Carolina Art Region
Charlotte-Mecklenburg Schools
Visual Arts Education Department
Mid-Carolina Writing Region
Charlotte-Mecklenburg Schools
Humanities Department
Western North Carolina Art Region
Asheville Art Museum
Asheville Area Section of the American
Institute of Architects
Tennessee
Middle Tennessee Art Region
Cheekwood Botanical Garden and
Museum of Art
The Tennessee Credit Union

6 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards 7

2016 AFFILIATE PARTNERS (continued)
Virginia
Arlington County Art Region
Arlington County Public Schools
Fairfax County Art Region
Fairfax County Public Schools
Southwest Virginia Art Region
The Fine Arts Center for the New
River Valley
The Pulaski County Patriot; Southwest Times
SOUTHWEST
Arizona
Arizona Art and Writing Region
Young Authors of Arizona
Louisiana
North-Central Louisiana Writing Region
Northwestern State University
Writing Project
Southeast Louisiana Writing Region
Greater New Orleans Writing Project
New Mexico
New Mexico Art Region
New Mexico Art Education Association
Oklahoma
Oklahoma Art Region
Tulsa Community College Liberal
Arts Department
Tulsa Community College Foundation;
Ziegler Art and Frame; Arts and Humanities
Council of Tulsa
Texas
Harris County Art and Writing Region
Harris County Department of Education
Texas Art Supply
San Antonio Art Region
SAY S (San Antonio Youth Yes)
Travis County Art Region
St. Stephens School
West Texas Art Region
Wayland Baptist University and the
Abraham Family Art Gallery
8 artandwriting.org
WEST MULTI-STATE REGIONS
Alaska Iowa Multi-State Art & Writing Region
Alaska Art and Writing Region The Connie Belin & Jacqueline N. Blank
Young Emerging Artists, Inc. International Center for Gifted Education
and Talent Development, University of Iowa
Colorado
Colorado Art Region Mid-South Art Region
Colorado Art Education Association
Colorado Art Education Association; History
Memphis Brooks Museum of Art
The Brooks Museum League
GOLD Medal 2016 Gold Medal Portfolio
Award Recipients
Colorado Center; Denver Art Museum; SIE
Film Center; The Rotary Club of Denver;
Northeast Indiana and Northwest Ohio Art PORTFOLIO AWARDS Art Portfolios Writing Portfolios
and Writing Region
Berger Collection Educational Trust;
Fort Wayne Museum of Art Leonardo Bacan Shayla Grace Cabalan
ExxonMobil Foundation; Rocky Mountain Graduating seniors are invited to reach for our top
Fort Wayne Art League; News Sentinel
College of Art+Design Miami, FL Indianapolis, IN
award: a Gold Medal Portfolio in art and writing.
Northwest Indiana and Lower Southwest
Hawaii
Michigan Art Region Eight artists and eight writers receive the highest Abraham Cone Adam Gowan
Hawaii Art Region
South Bend Museum of Art
Hawaii State Department of Education honor from the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. Chelsea, MI Toronto, Canada
Hawaii State Foundation on Culture and Southern Ohio, Northern Kentucky, and Gold Medal Portfolios include a $10,000
the Arts Southeastern Indiana Art Region Allison Jiang
Razan Elbaba
Art Academy of Cincinnati scholarship for each student.
Idaho Vienna, VA Holmdel, NJ
Idaho Writing Region Twin Tiers Art Region
Boise State Writing Project Arnot Art Museum Visit artandwriting.org/scholarshippartners for
Zachary Endicott Sophia Mautz
Community Foundation of Elmira-Corning
Nevada a complete list of Scholarship Partners. St. Petersburg, FL Portland, OR
and the Finger Lakes; Chemung Canal Trust
Northern Nevada Art Region
Company; New York State Council on the
The Nevada Museum of Art Visit artandwriting.org/galleries to search for
Arts; Chemung County; Town of Horseheads; Sophie Hullinger Ruohan Miao
Southern Nevada Art and Writing Region Anderson Foundation; ARTS Council of the recent Gold Medal Portfolio work. West Palm Beach, FL Chandler, AZ
Springs Preserve Southern Finger Lakes; Tripp-Rose
Endowment Fund
Oregon Nyanna Johnson Rachel Page
Oregon Art Region - Central Oregon Area Dayton, OH Washington, D.C.
Oregon Art Education Association
Little Bird Arts, Oregon College of Art and
Fiona Jungmann Sydni Wells
Craft, Pacific Northwest College of Art,
Portland Art Museum, Oregon Potters Andover, MA Miami, FL
Association, Central Oregon Community
College Conor Twohy Alex Zhang
Oregon Art Region - Portland Metro Area Towson, MD Exeter, NH
Oregon Art Education Association
Little Bird Arts, Oregon College of Art and
Craft, Pacific Northwest College of Art,
Portland Art Museum, Oregon Potters
Association, Central Oregon Community
College
Oregon Art Region - Willamette Valley Art
Region
Oregon Art Education Association
Benton County Museum
Washington
Snohomish County Art Region
Schack Art Center
Everett Cultural Arts Commission; Many writing selections have been excerpted.
Everett Area School District; Melby, Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read the
Cameron & Anderson
works as they were submitted.
Washington State Art and Writing Region
Cornish College of the Arts
 Leonardo Bacan
Grade 12, Age 19, New World School of the Arts, Miami, FL. Carlos Gallostra and
Jenny Gifford, Educators; Miami-Dade County Public Schools, Affiliate;
The Maurice R. Robinson Fund Art Portfolio

Into my Space (facing page), My Into Space (below)

10 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Medal Portfolio Awards 11
 Shayla Grace Cabalan
Grade 12, Age 18, Roncalli High School, Indianapolis, IN. Cheri Anderson, Educator;
Hoosier Writing Project at IUPUI, Affiliate; Command Web Offset Writing Portfolio
Skeletons of the City
Personal Essay & Memoir
. . . My older cousins had gathered up in the doll room (I
called it this because its walls were lined with an eerie
collection of porcelain dolls encased in glass; not a single
bit of wall was untouched by a doll. It was my least fa-
vorite room in the house. I felt like all of the dolls would
erupt from their glass cages at once and rupture me. Id
seen a movie like that, once), playing cards. Further out
into the hallway, I saw that my mother and a few of the
other adults had huddled up in the tiny square kitchen,
talking in hushed tones, eating. The lights had gone off,
and the rooms were illuminated by candles and the occa-
sional flashlight. My grandmother remained in her rock-
ing chair, only this time, she sat in front of a window,
which sat atop the family restaurant, which looked out
upon the flooded street. I drew up next to her.
The sky had become lighter, but not in a good way;
it was that ominous, golden-gray light that always came
before and during terrible storms. I followed my grand-
mothers gaze down toward a group of naked children,
who played in the floodwaters. Squinting, I realized
they were washing themselves; some had their mouths
wide open, happy to take in the rainwater, happy to have
more than less-than-a-buckets-worth. I felt my heart
twist like a dirty dishrag. I thought of the dolls in the
doll room, and how easily they could be washed away
and broken.
The current will carry them away, I said simply.
My grandmother nodded solemnly. Yes.
When she said nothing for a long while, I fidgeted. The current was getting stronger.
12 artandwriting.org
What will we do?
She smiled then, a slow upturn of the lips, and her
gnarled fingers grasped my arm, and before I knew it, she
was leading me downstairs, lightheartedly ignoring the
protests that resounded from the adults in the kitchen.
The wind was picking up. The palms of the palm trees
beat against the roof even harder than before, and still,
my grandmother led me out into the tunnel once again,
flashlight in tow (when had she grabbed that?). The sec-
ond my grandmothers wrinkled, sandaled feet hit the
mud, however, I jerked back into reality, and grabbed her
as hard as I dared.
What are you doing? I hissed.
She had a twinkle in her eye, but said nothing and
tugged me further along. I groaned as I felt my newly
clean feet sloshing through the mud once again, and be-
latedly realized that my grandmother was leading me out
of the tunnel, toward the gate, into the storm. I must
have made a surprised and fearful yelp, because her grip
on my wrist tightened, to the point where I did not know
who was steadying whom. I could hear our family call-
ing out to us from inside the tunnel, and the mouth of
the tunnel came all too quickly. The rusty red gate was
within my grasp, and I found myself reaching to tug it
open alongside my grandmother, stepping out into the
whiplash that was the wind and the rain, my bare feet
slapping against the torrential waters.
The children were still there, playing.
Alex Zhang
Grade 12, Age 17, Phillips Exeter Academy, Exeter, NH. Todd Hearon, Educator;
NWPNH PSU, Affiliate; The New York Times Writing Portfolio
Father Tea
Personal Essay & Memoir
Green
I remember the sensation of coarse leaves splintering
against my tongue.
On my first trip to China at the age of six, we attend
an all-family dinner; tea arrives with the meal in place
of water. Thirsty, I tug my mothers gray sweater and
gesture to my throat. She reaches across the table and
grasps the handle of the communal pot. I peer through
the open lid, asking where the teabags are. She chuckles,
lifts my porcelain cup, and fills it to the brim. The leaves
float like miniature boats in a steaming pool of algae.
Red
By the time I am eight, I have developed an addiction
for bing hong cha, which translates to iced red tea. Its
the Lipton of China, so drenched in sugar that my mouth
floods with cavities by the time I am nine. On the way
back from the dentist, my father yells at me in Chinese:
How are you this stupid? You only have one set of teeth.
The entire time, his tea-stained incisorsoff-yellow
dip with each word.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Medal Portfolio Awards
A Trip to Chinatown
Poetry
If your tongue feels the dimple of
this Chinatown wontons skin,
it should be enough to recall
the taste of grandmothers palm
against your cheek; its imprint
marbled into your faces memory.
A steel countertop splattered with parsley.
Dumplings slouching in scalding waters.
When you are young, they smile up from the pot
the way grandmother likes to open her chambered
mouth
and grin: all empty, all gum. Until
the day you bring home
angus beef bleeding in Saran and Styrofoam.
This is not how we eat,
she thrusts her wooden spoon against
the packaging, forms a wound.
The beef rots in the garbage
while she ladles four weeping
wonton into a white china bowl.
Eat,
she commands.
So you do.
Two weeks later, you return home
with fries from the cafeteria at school.
They are riveted like a dumplings skin,
but golden yellow, crispy hardened
unlike the celery that wilts in grandmothers soup.
She crushes them to dust between her palms,
lets the ashes fall to the bottom of the trash.
The pan on the stove lights a funeral pyre.
13
 Abraham Cone
Grade 12, Age 17, Chelsea High School, Chelsea, MI. Laura Naar and Georgina Rutherford,
Educators; College for Creative Studies, Affiliate; Friends of the Alliance Art Portfolio

Help, (facing page), Pinned Part I, Bee, Decay (this page,

clockwise from right)

14 artandwriting.org
 Razan Elbaba
Grade 12, Age 17, Oakton High School, Vienna, VA. Susan Silva, Educator; Fairfax County
Public Schools, Affiliate; Blick Art Materials & Utrecht Art Supply Art Portfolio

American Role Models (facing page),

Real Eyes Realize Real Lies I (right), Girl Talk (below)

16 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Medal Portfolio Awards 17
 Zachary Endicott
Grade 12, Age 18, Gibbs High School, St. Petersburg, FL. Marty Loftus, Educator;
Pinellas County Schools, Affiliate; Alliance Board of Directors Art Portfolio

Sanctuary (facing page), Viaduct (this page)

18 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Medal Portfolio Awards 19
 Allison Jiang
Grade 12, Age 17, Holmdel High School, Holmdel, NJ. Steven Dante, Educator;
Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Friends of the Alliance Writing Portfolio
Olivia Moon.
Poetry
Olivia Moon is the seagull in all the guided meditation
audiotapes, sitting on the mast that
flies away at the end;
Olivia Moon is an olive-skinned almond-eyed hur-
ricane in a world of crayon color labels like cerulean
blue and goldenrod.
People feel like they can ask her things like
where do you get your confidence? to which she will
toss her hair;
Olivia Moon is physically unable to hear questions
that are impossible to answer.
Olivia Moon was sent here from the sky gods,
born from a smoking crater. She thinks she is the one
who will start the new world order when really
her parents the sky gods were half-joking.
Olivia Moon is always joking;
people (the same people from before!) say that this
will lead to problems.
She is an orb of flickering blue light
that sometimes goes out but only for a second;
she wears lipstick that looks like magic in the mirror
but
is a little washed out on camera.
Olivia Moon is the eye for imbalance,
looking out through a sepia filter and
tasting the world.
20 artandwriting.org
for you.
Poetry
Our eyes rustle like jungle animalsthe dancing orbs
make
such noise, clanging about the walls of the room like a
Liberty Bell. I meet yours in the dark; everyones are
dull and round and so I say:
For you whose image is wrapped around me like lovable,
blankets;
for you who I find in my calloused fingerprints, and
for you who sees the world through people-colored
lenses:
I want to scream to you this until I physically cannot, I
want for the hallways of time to freeze for you and I to
dance through them
I want
to hear a new language of us spring from this cold pit of
my stomach where I keep all my words and
hear it say:
For you who I have waited nights (and years and back.
lifetimes and pages for!),
I want to pluck the stars from the sky and place
them on your tongue.
For you whose voice I hear in Bible verses and for you
whose heart was made out of the same love as mine
For you who I see most clearly in this needle-fog of floating, wandering,
human and tree and God,
Take me away from this headiness; I want to feel
a new kind of dizzy
Together lets invent
a time when we wore our poems on our sleeves
and used our mouths for speaking
invent a place where maybe we can be more than specks
on a zoomed-out slide
Do you see this too? You pulse through me like a
headache behind my left eye and feel
so,
so heavy.
Sophia Mautz,
Grade 12, Age 17, Lincoln High School, Portland, OR. Lilly Windle, Educator;
Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Scholastic Inc. Writing Portfolio
what happens
Grave Dancing when the whole world
Poetry becomes a graveyard?
do the dead bodies crumble into one another,
does anyone ever know what anyone else does? do the forgotten memories?
those secret moments that make you
in my time here ive gathered that none of us are really
i imagine you are filled with them, afraid of death
and i love you. except my mother
because every time i get into the car, simply to go buy
as you dance through the wet grass, you wonder milk
if the world dances with you, but you can never know she is terrified that i wont come back.
that.
i dont know if ill ever love like that,
the unanswerable is a dock you push away from,
if thats love,
and your boat disappears into the ocean.
and god, does it matter that were dancing now?
all has slipped from you, and me, who will see us but the oaks, watching, always,
is slipping, with their large black eyes?
and much of our performance is spent trying to get it
do they hold every memory in their rippling seams
or do they, like us, stupidly forget everything
remember that silk dress soiled with sweat, and standing there, trying to remember,
our hot desire pervading the kitchen, disappear?
lipstick and mascara dripping down the white mat of
the ghosts of myself linger
my face and you
until they stop
touching me
there,
light
smearing it a little.
airy
your hair is impossibly knotted; pulled apart
my hands cant work through it anymore. and fall to their knees, powerless
and reaching.
we ate canned peaches and the cupboards creaked,
you showed me all your grandmothers jams a flash of light shoots upward, bleeding white.
peach-ginger, huckleberry, honey-cranberry-orange. this dance ends in wavering gloss, we become
i wanted to drown in my own saliva food for flowers.
because in that moment my cup ran over into the low
moon of abundance.
it overflowed, and now is empty again.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Medal Portfolio Awards 21
 Sophie Hullinger
Grade 12, Age 18, Alexander W. Dreyfoos School of the Arts, West Palm Beach, FL.
Melissa Glosmanova, Educator; Educational Gallery Group (Eg2), Affiliate;
Alumni Council Art Portfolio

Individuality (facing page), Obsession (top), Idealism (bottom)

22 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Medal Portfolio Awards 23
 Nyanna Johnson
Grade 12, Age 17, Stivers School for the Arts, Dayton, OH. Paula Kraus and Leah Stahl,
Educators; K12 Gallery & TEJAS, Affiliate; Lucy Evankow Photography Portfolio

Mirrored Self (facing page), Dancer 2 of 5

(top), The Knowing (bottom)

24 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Medal Portfolio Awards 25
 Fiona Jungmann
Grade 12, Age 18, Andover High School, Andover, MA. Jessica Daviso, Educator;
School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Affiliate; Roome Fund Art Portfolio

Identity Thief Coat (facing page), Community (top, left and right),
Quilted Bodice (bottom left), Structured Chiffon Bodice
(bottom right)

26 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Medal Portfolio Awards 27
 Ruohan Miao
Grade 12, Age 18, Hamilton High School, Chandler, AZ. Phyllis Carr, Educator;
Young Authors of Arizona, Affiliate; The New York Times Writing Portfolio
Convergence
Personal Essay & Memoir
My father tells me to look at equations and diagrams,
that mathematics is truth and beauty lies in formulas.
While he works toward his Ph.D., I follow him into his
laboratory, childish eyes marveling at the expanse of
sleek textbooks and inscrutable figures that envelop his
computer screen. Everything is clear-cut and perfectly
symmetrical but strangely distant as well. Even as a
child, I can tell that this precision is wrong, inhuman.
And yet, there is something so solid, so stable in all those
numbers.
My mother takes me to the library, where I start with
Junie B. Jones and the Boxcar Children and eventually
find myself lurking in front of the Young Adult section,
gazing up wonderingly at Harry Potter. At night, she
reads me poems and stories in Mandarinhalf of which
I can barely understand, but which I am able to appreci-
ate if solely for the melodic twist and tilt of her words.
While science is an unchanging mainstay, reading is a
veritable forest with a thousand different paths. I fall in
love with language easily, unimpededlyits unpredict-
ability, the subtle nuances in each singular phrase. My
elementary school teachers scrawl blooming As on the
stories and essays that I turn in, gleaming red marks of
encouragement. My ten-year-old ego swells with each
additional 100. I begin to think of myself as a miniature
Jane Austen or J. K. Rowling in the making.
28 artandwriting.org
Harvest Moon
Poetry
I wonder if she sees me pausing
behind her, inspecting her candelabrum
hands as they swirl the paste, another finger
shedding down the oven door for the journey
home. Last October, and the storm,
my tongue a redwood wildfire streaming through
the horizon of her face, as if
she had not braved enough tempests
in her lifebecause even children know
that the sturdiest of foundations have a way
of cracking. In Nanjing, she tells me of
absolution, the shifting in her womb, autumn days when
I pressed
my ear into the withering ignition
from within her belly. I picture
my mother reliving the dankness
of the hospital room, the red-rimmed doctors
unrolling their words like cobweb,
ready to snip off the spider-silk hope she
held for the child in her armsand I think of how
my mother would not let me go, fearing
that if my glutinous organs were released, they
would never find her again.
Next October, and my mother
will pass out the plates, will calmly collect
and discard the pity of women with lanky boys on either
side, and when she offers me my cake, we will both
imagine that the extra lotus paste she
sprinkles in my yuebing
is her way of showing light, from the same hand
she clasped my cold fingers with
as she wound up her spider thread.
Rachel Page
Grade 12, Age 17, Woodrow Wilson Senior High School, Washington, D.C.
Kathy Crutcher, Educator; Writopia Lab D.C., Affiliate; The Maurice R. Robinson
Fund Writing Portfolio
Rats
Short Story
They did a study once a couple of years ago and found But anyways, we were at the zoo. The female chim-
out that some fears can be inherited rather than learned. panzee was running her thick fingers through the male
A guy I met during the war, Daryl Hampton, was one of chimpanzees hair, and I was thinking about why she
the scientists who worked on it. He once showed me the would do this if she knew it was just going to fill back up
lab coat that he had worn standing outside of the glass with fleas anyways. I asked Daryl, and he said that she
cages with the lab rats stumbling about inside high on probably liked the taste of fleas, which I hadnt thought
acetophenone. His job was to push the little red button of before. Then he told me the thing about the acetophe-
that shocked them every time the gas was released into none. What they found out from the rats, he said, was
the cage. It made them run in circles and scratch at the that animals are so stupid you can make them scared
sides of the cage to get out, but they couldnt because it of anything. Their grandchildren still shuddered at the
was glass and they were lab rats. And the purpose of lab smell of cherries. His daughter was getting bored at that
rats is to die for science. point, and she started tugging the corner of his jacket,
He told me that acetophenone smells like cherries. We whining at us to move on. Her fingers were small and
were watching the chimpanzees groom each other in the pale and not at all like chimpanzee fingers. Your fingers
chimp house when he said this. He had invited me to the never looked like that. Okay, said Daryl, okay, and we left
zoo with his daughter, who he got the second Sunday of the chimp house.
every month. His wife had divorced him after the exper-
iment because, she told my then-girlfriend, something
seemed off about him and he wouldnt stop getting up
in the middle of the night to sharpen his knives. He had
become very interested in these knives, two spring steel
beauties hed bought off an old man in Kabul after the
war. They were a part of an elaborate trap he had devised
to catch the rats that lived in his kitchen walls. They had
begun to keep him up at night with all of their scratching
and skittering and squeaking to each other, and plus (he
told me later, in the period before the divorce was made
official when he had to sleep in my basement) he worried
about the health hazard to his daughter. His living room
floor was carpeted with pulleys and ropes and these little
brown pellets that he said rats liked to eat. They were
like chocolate to the lab rats, is what he said.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Medal Portfolio Awards 29
Conor Twohy, Towson, MD
Grade 12, Age 18, George Washington Carver Center for Arts and Technology.
Khalid Ali, Joe Cypressi, and Daria Souvorova, Educators; Region-at-Large, Affiliate;
Friends of the Alliance Art Portfolio

Skyscraper (facing page), Runaway

2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Medal Portfolio Awards 31
 Sydni Wells, Miami, FL Adam Gowan, Toronto, Canada
Grade 12, Age 17, Miami Country Day School, Miami, FL. Samuel Brown, Educator; Grade 12, Age 17, Etobicoke School of the Arts, Toronto, Canada. Nicholas Morgan,
Miami Writes, Affiliate; Alumni Council Writing Portfolio Glenn Novak, and Matthew Varey, Educators; Region-at-Large, Affiliate;
Alliance Board of Directors Writing Portfoiio

1 New Message Siri, Define Millennials Edge: Life at Work

Poetry Humor Personal Essay & Memoir

I will not be your 3:37 AM call,
because she did not answer
after seventeen rings.
do not leave your ghosts in my voicemail;
it is nearly April and there are flowers sprouting
in the graves you left behind.
Ive stopped leaving my door unlocked
the keys have been changed,
there are no shoes by the door,
the doormat is gone,
there are no welcomes to be had.
my doorbell chimes church bells,
but I dont have the energy to kneel anymore,
because Ive spent too many sleepless nights
crawling through the halls looking for misplaced through her clothes in 90 degree weather because she
memories.
two months ago I taped the button over
because the occasional toll left tremors in my
chest,
and the shock of a different sermon stung bloody
in the back of my throat;
my teeth have been chattering in my sleep for days
since.
the dog used to howl every night
at footsteps that were never there,
but now she knows the car outside will never be yours,
so she waits for me in bed.
I always come.
The word is teenager. The word is youth. The word is the Sylvia Plaths poem Edge is a philosophical and imag-
first generation of kids who dont know what lasting mar- istic exploration of suicide. It is perhaps the calmest and
riage looks like, the first generation with a technological most peaceful of her poemsand was written shortly be-
footprint, the first generation to be both the most hope- fore she took her life in 1963.
less and hopeful. We are the words. Plath opens the poem with the line The woman is
The word is the boy who goes home with eye sockets perfected. She then goes on to reveal that this per-
like blueberries the size of grapefruits, because he has fection has been achieved through death. As one reads
known these kids since elementary school, but in ninth the poem, one is confronted with an image of a classical
grade gay is the only thing people remember about him Greek sculpture of a Goddess, with a child at each breast.
now. Then it becomes more organic, and she becomes a wilt-
The word is the All Lives Matter counterarguments, ing flower, and her children return to her decaying body.
because somehow they are absent in oppression but al- Finally, we see her corpse from the distant perspective
ways present for inclusion. They are the boys who are of the moon.
dying to be considered a nigga but cannot bring them- Plaths description of her death as the illusion of a
selves to identify as an ally; the word is Kendall Jenners Greek necessity implies that the necessity of her final
innovational cornrows but Nicki Minajs ghetto braids. act is merely an illusion. Greek tragic figures like Anti-
The word is every bitch out there, who is sweating gone and Ajax also committed suicide, but Plath clear-
ly considers her motivations to be quite separate from
was too tired getting told that men wanted her ass to those of these figures. Her actions are not dictated by
put on some shorts today. fate or some universal law but rather her personal will
The word is virgin, the girl who is spat at for innocence to death, Thanatos, which pervades every aspect of her
but pined over in locker rooms. The word is slut, the girl life. Her tragic flaw, if we can speak of her life in such
who has too many guy friends who she spends Friday terms, is something like self-loathing.
nights with, playing Monopoly; the girl who is proud of Plath points out that the moon has nothing to be sad
her body and eager to share it; the girl who is locked up about, suggesting that her death has no significance in
in her room because of high heels and nightclubs. the cosmic scale. Why, then, should she remain alive, if
We are electric, paradoxical, complex people. Exotic her life is only misery?
flavors with acidic aftertastes. Yet we are reduced to ur- In the poem, Plath portrays herself as the mytho-
bandictionary.com definitions: We are absent of meaning logical figure of the Mother Goddess. In Joseph Camp-
but brimming with life. And still, we are words. bells analysis, the Mother Goddess represents eternity,
whereas the male God is engaged in the field of time.
The Goddess has a triple roleto give life, act as a muse,
and to take it all away in death. Plath has given birth
to her children, acted as her own muse, and now she is
perfected in death, as she takes her children back inside
her like the petals of a flower. She leaves behind only the
images that she has inspired and created. She herself is
an aesthetic object, and in her suicide she is completed
as a work of art.
One might speculate, with good reason, that the act of
Plaths suicide contributed significantly to the recogni-
tion she has received as a poet. Would we be studying
her work in school had she not taken her life? This raises
the question of how the artists life affects the audiences
perception of their work, and whether or not it should.
This is a complex issue, especially when it comes to art-
ists like Plath, who explore their lives openly and direct-
ly through art.
Her blacks crackle and drag.
The closing statement of the poem, in its obscurity,
is perhaps its most fascinating element. It is a simple
but ambiguous statement, which employs synesthesia in
its description of the sound produced by a color. These
words can be interpreted any number of waysperhaps
the dragging of funeral robes, or curtains closing, or the
shadow of the moonbut what it evokes most powerfully
is a feeling. We all carry this blackness within us, and
it crackles and drags as it slowly consumes us. This is
the last line of her last poem, and the conclusion of the
artwork that was her life.

32 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Gold Medal Portfolio Awards 33
2016 SPONSORED AWARDS
Dedicated and generous sponsors of the Scholastic
Awards make it possible for us to provide additional
recognition and scholarships for select students who
receive Silver and Gold Medals.
We were pleased to add four brand-new sponsored-
award opportunities for students this year
The Herblock Award for Editorial Cartoon, The RBC
Flaunt It Award, the Neiman Marcus Award for
Fashion, and the Neiman Marcus Award for Jewelry
and to continue our ongoing partnerships with
Bloomberg Philanthropies, the Gedenk Movement,
and the National Constitution Center.
The Herblock Award for Editorial Cartoon, sponsored The Gedenk Award for Tolerance, sponsored by the
by The Herb Block Foundation, celebrates the legacy Gedenk Movement, recognizes works of art or writing
of four-time Pulitzer Prizewinning political cartoonist
Herb Block. This Award provides $1,000 scholarships to
that reflect upon the lessons learned from the Holocaust
and other genocides. This Award provides $1,000
three students. scholarships to six students.
2016 Herblock Award for Editorial Cartoon Recipients:
Kaitlyn Quach, Ryan Sunada-Wong, Sherrill Zheng
2016 Gedenk Award for Tolerance Award Recipients:
Maribel Alverson, Erin Cho, Jasmine Cui, Aidan Foster,
Daniel Wu, Lauren Wyman
The RBC Flaunt It Award, sponsored by RBC Capital
Markets, encourages teens who possess any type of The Creativity & Citizenship Award, in partnership with
difference, whether blatant or invisible, to explore the the National Constitution Center, encourages students
theme The things that make me different, make me, to express their views on specific topics. This year
me. This Award provides $1,000 scholarships to two
students.
the theme was Race in America. This Award provides
$1,000 scholarships to three students.
2016 RBC Flaunt It Award Recipients: 2016 Creativity & Citizenship Award Recipients:
Sydney Maddox, Peyton Vasquez Sierra Callwood, Leah Penn, Vasantha Sambamurti
The Best-in-Grade Award, sponsored by Bloomberg
The Neiman Marcus Award for Fashion, sponsored by
Philanthropies, provides an additional opportunity
Neiman Marcus, provides a scholarship of $1,000 to a
for students to have their work recognized amongst
student for outstanding work in the Fashion category.
their peers. This Award provides $500 scholarships to
twenty-four students.
2016 Neiman Marcus Award for Fashion Award
Recipient: Olivia Reavey See page 46 for a listing of the 2016 Best-in-Grade
Award Recipients.
The Neiman Marcus Award for Jewelry, sponsored by
Neiman Marcus, provides a scholarship of $1,000 to a
student for outstanding work in the Jewelry category.
2016 Neiman Marcus Award for Jewelry Award
Recipient: Zachary Gudziak
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Sponsored Awards 35
2016 Herblock Award for Editorial Cartoon

Ryan Sunada-Wong, Another Day at the Office (above), Kaitlyn Quach, Say Cheese! (below), Editorial Cartoon. Grade
Editorial Cartoon. Grade 10, Age 15, Millburn High School, Millburn, 10, Age 15, Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School, New York, NY.
NJ. Kathleen Harte Gilsenan, Educator; Montclair Art Museum, Carlos Nunez, Educator; NYC Scholastic Art & Writing Awards,
Affiliate; Gold Medal, The Herblock Foundation Award Affiliate; Gold Medal, The Herblock Foundation Award

Sherrill Zheng, Random Objects That Visualize the Chinese American Experience, Editorial Cartoon. Grade 12, Age 17,
Perpich Center for Arts Education, Roseville, MN. Sandra Woodhull, Educator; Art Educators of Minnesota, Affiliate; Gold Medal,
The Herblock Foundation Award

36 www.artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Sponsored Awards 37

2016 RBC Flaunt It Award PEYTON VASQUEZ, Grade 8, Age 13, Bonnette Junior High
School, Deer Park, TX. Veronica Serna, Educator; Harris County
Department of Education, Affiliate; Gold Medal, The RBC Flaunt
It Award
The Floppy Arm
Personal Essay & Memoir
Well, if cancer wasnt bad enough, now my arm wont
work. I just learned how to walk down stairs again,
which was really hard when my feet would barely come
off the floor before they dropped again. Neuropathy is
the fancy word the oncologist called my diagnosis when
I couldnt run, descend stairs and ramps, tie my shoes,
pick up coins, and even button my pants.
Im trying to play this game with some friends where
we have to do these tricks where I need both arms to
work. It doesnt matter how hard I try, my arm just will
not work. FLOP! It falls on the table instead of holding
the straw. Flop. Flop. Flop. We lose.
The people we are playing with are a part of my club.
Its a club no one wants to belong to because it is only for
kids with cancer. I joined this club when I was diagnosed
with stage IIB, intermediate risk, parameningial, em-
bryonal rhabdomyosarcoma. Rhabdo for short. We meet
like this so that we all feel normal. Some of the kids dont
have eyes. Some are bald. Some dont have legs. One of us
is in a wheelchair. I have to wear tinted protective lenses
at all times. Thats right. I wear sunglasses at night.
All the parents of cancer patients are worriers. I know
I have to hide this arm thing because pretty soon all the
moms will come to my rescue and annoy me by being
overbearingly caring. Most kids probably want their par-
ents to care about them when they are sick, but I have
had my fair share.
When I go to school Monday, I really think that I
fooled everyone. But I have this teacher, the kind who
notices my arm right away and starts asking questions
and doesnt hesitate to call my mom and I find out that I
have a doctors appointment.
Dr. Segura is the doctor who took care of me before
Sydney Maddox, Number Won, Film & Animation. Grade 12, Age17, Barnstable High School, Hyannis, MA.
Adam Farrell, Educator; The School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Affiliate; Gold Medal, The RBC Flaunt It Award
It felt good to be regular sick.
Weird.
38 artandwriting.org
artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Sponsored Awards
cancer. He only knows me as Peyton and treats me like
a regular kid. Ive only seen him once since my cancer
treatment was over because I was sick. The kind of sick
that regular kids get. It felt good to be regular sick. Weird.
Dr. Segura comes in and does a bunch of testing. He
pushes my legs and makes me point my toes. Then,
he makes me shrug my shoulders. The right shoulder
moves, but the left does not. No matter how hard I try, it
just wont move. It twitches. Just twitches.
The next day after school, Im at the shoe store and smile
at my mom after I find a pair of shoes that I really like. She
freaks out and starts telling me to smile with both sides of
my face. I smile as big as I can. She grabs her phone from
her purse and dials the cancer center and starts wildly
talking and crying and shouting at me to smile and telling
me that if Im kidding Id better knock it off.
When we get to the hospital, the doctor thinks Ive had
a stroke, because when I smile, only one side of my face
moves. Great. Just great. More things that dont work.
The doctors check out my brain. It was still there and
functioning, so I had to have a total body neurological MRI.
The doctors couldnt find a cause for all my symptoms. In
their infinite wisdom, they diagnose me with depression.
The doctors explain that its normal for kids with cancer to
get depressed and have psychosomatic symptoms.
It was a hard time for me and my family. In therapy,
I had to do all kinds of things like climb stairs, pick up
coins, write with my left hand, and touch my fingers to
my thumb, which frustrated me because these things
were easy before cancer.
All this happened until we went to a soccer game.
My family sat in a suite with a short divider wall that
I kept jumping over. My good arm would swing when I
ran to leap over that hurdle, but my left arm would just
flop next to my ribs. I was having a blast. Until I fell.
Suddenly, my arm worked. Both my arms stretched out
in front of me to break my fall. It was like a miracle. My
mom looked at me and said, Well, if I would have known
thats all it took, I would have shoved you down a long
time ago.
The doctors couldnt figure out what caused the nerves
not to function. I think it was because I needed to learn that
when I fall, better things wait for me when I get back up.
39
Neiman Marcus Award for Jewelry Neiman Marcus Award for Fashion

Zachary Gudziak, Human Trap, Jewelry.

Grade 12, Age 18, Detroit Country Day School:
Upper School, Beverly Hills, MI. Jiro Masuda,
Educator; College for Creative Studies, Affiliate;
Gold Medal, Best-in-Grade Award, Neiman Marcus
Award for Jewelry

Olivia Reavey, Birch Tree Coat (facing page), Fashion. Grade 12, Age 17, Hingham High School, Hingham, MA.
Ryan Eschauzier, Educator; School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Affiliate; Gold Medal, Neiman Marcus Award for Fashion

40 artandwriting.org
2016 Gedenk Award for Tolerance
42 artandwriting.org
Erin Cho, African Child, Disease and War (detail) (facing page),
Editorial Cartoon. Grade 10, Age 16, Kent School, Kent, CT.
Lisa Brody, Educator, Connecticut Art Education Association,
Affiliate, Gold Medal, Gedenk Award
Maribel Alverson, A Few Screws Loose (below), Sculpture.
Grade 10, Age 15, McCallum High School, Austin, TX. William
Cauthern, Educator, St. Stephens Episcopal School, Affiliate,
Gold Medal, Gedenk Award
At its root, fear is anchored in
an ancient biological response.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Sponsored Awards
DANIEL WU, Grade 10, Age 15, Timber Creek High School,
Orlando, FL. Catherine Melton, Educator; Region-at-Large,
Affiliate; Gold Medal, Gedenk Award
Fear Itself
Critical Essay
What is fear? We cannot look to a simplistic, common
sense definition. Fear is best comprehended as a sub-
conscious avoidance of perceived threats, a state of being
in which threats are dismissed in varying ways, positive
and negative. At its root, fear is anchored in an ancient
biological response. Johnson, a reporter with Discover,
explains, [Fear causes us] to display defensive behav-
ior in response to threatening stimuli . . . fear turns out
to be one of the most essential techniques that natural
selection stumbled across to increase the survival odds
of organisms in an unpredictable environment . . . For
people who have undergone serious trauma . . . memories
of fear can sometimes play a dominant role in shaping
personality. The sum of our everyday interactions, our
personalities, are constructed within an environment of
our fears, and therefore our fears underlie each tenet of
our modern societies. Fear is thus a facet of a hunter-
gatherer existencea nod to the primal past of our spe-
cies, from times where every shadow hid wolves, where
every unknown was a danger. However, humanity is no
longer facing hungry wolves or angry bears; the world
around us is safer relative to our hunter-gatherer past.
Our greatest resource competitors? Ourselves. Food has
transformed into jobs, wealth, and success, while bears
and wolves have transformed into Others.
The fear that once unified humanity against perilous
nature has transformed into a wedge. As Lars Svendsen,
professor of philosophy puts it: A paradoxical trait of
the culture of fear is that it emerges at a time when, by
all accounts, we are living more securely than ever be-
fore in human history.
43
 2016 Creativity & Citizenship Award

Glass Falls
Short Story

VASANTHA SAMBAMURTI, Grade 12, Age 17,

Charleston County School of the Arts, North Charleston, SC.
Danielle DeTiberus, Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold
Medal, Creativity & Citizenship Award

Krishna
New families needed homes. Thats why the mechani-
cal din of hammers, saws, and adjusted ladders had sun-
dered the tranquil murmurings of the wind shaking the
trees, and the birds saluting the sun. But it would all be
over soonthats what her mother said.
Krishna had woken up at 4:30 in the morning, and she
resented having done so. Today was her class field trip,
and she really didnt want to go. But she was twelve, and
that was the age when you werent supposed to worry
about anything. You werent supposed to worry about
how to talk to other kids, or how to hold your sandwich
when everyone watched you eat it. So she returned the
permission slip.
She sat in the dry bathtub and eyed the silver faucet
across from her. It shouldve been instinctual to turn the
faucet on, to soak in clean water and flush the grime down
the drain. But, this time, she felt all the dirt wouldnt go.
And she didnt feel like getting up.
Abha had left her tweezers at the very edge of her
dresser; an instance as good as a gift. Krishna held the
appliance in her right hand, pinching it like a pair of
chopsticks. She had rolled up her baggy pants to the
knee, and started to uproot the dense black hair of her
legs. She was unraveling a cloak.
It stung when she plucked, but she knew it was sup-
posed to. Beauty is pain. No gain without pain. Ev-
eryone said it. In thirty minutes, she had cleared only a
penny-sized patch of hair at the base of her knee. This
shouldve felt like progress. She sank her head into her
knees.
Ma never shaved in India. But they were in Asheville
now.

But she was twelve, and

that was the age when you
werent supposed to worry
about anything.
Leah Penn, Divergence, Drawing & Illustration. Grade 12, Age 17, Rufus King International School, Milwaukee, WI.
Dean Graf, Educator; Milwaukee Art Museum, Affiliate; Creativity & Citizenship Award

44 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Sponsored Awards 45

2016 Best-in-grade
Award RecipientS

Grade 7 Grade 10
Grade 7 Grade 10
Caroline Blumer Maddy Daum
Caroline Blumer Maddy Daum
Scott Hanna Aidan Forster
Scott Hanna Aidan Forster
Reagan Murphy Ava Young
Reagan Murphy Ava Young
Juliana Yu Lily Zhou
Juliana Yu Lily Zhou
Grade 8
Grade 8 Grade
Grade 11
11
Sadie Cowles
Sadie Cowles Sierra Callwood
Sierra Callwood
Erin Hong
Erin Hong Maya Eashwaran
Maya Eashwaran
Elizabeth Johns
Elizabeth Johns Jihye Nam
Jihye Nam
Mercedes Langdon
Mercedes Langdon James Tortorelli
James Tortorelli

Grade 9
Grade 9 Grade 12
Emma Lickey
Emma Lickey Zachary Gudziak
Zachary Gudziak
Sierra Callwood, The Ties That Bind: An Attempt to Figure It
Lindsey Williams
Lindsey Williams Carol Nguyen
Carol Nguyen Out (facing page), Mixed Media. Grade 11, Age 17, NSU University
Karly Wolfcale
Karly Wolfcale Audrey Spensley
Audrey Spensley School, Ft. Lauderdale, FL. Melanie Cohen, Educator; Young at Art
Alyssa Zhang
Zhang Alex Zhang Museum, Affiliate; Gold Medal, American Visions Medal,
Alyssa Alex Zhang
Best-in-Grade Award, Creativity & Citizenship Award

Alyssa Zhang, Thinking (top left), Mixed Media. Grade 9,

Age 15, Northview High School, Duluth, GA. Ling Li, Educator;
Savannah College of Art and Design, Affiliate; Gold Medal,
Best-in-Grade Award

Scott Hanna, Creepy Crawler (top right), Ceramics & Glass.

Grade 7, Age 12, Detroit Country Day Middle School, Beverly Hills,
MI. Aaron Kuehne, Educator; College for Creative Studies,
Affiliate; Gold Medal, Best-in-Grade Award

Reagan Murphy, Meter Running (bottom), Mixed Media.

Grade 7, Age 13, Jay Robinson Middle School, Charlotte, NC.
Melissa Leftwich, Educator; Charlotte Mecklenburg Schools
Visual Arts Education Department, Affiliate; Gold Medal,
Best-in-Grade Award

46 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Sponsored Awards 47

James Tortorelli, Hidden in the Pews Zine (top), Design. Karly Wolfcale, A Dream (facing page), Photography.
Grade 11, Age 17, Home School, Gaithersburg, MD. Grade 9, Age 14, Homestead High School, Fort Wayne, IN.
Brian Bienek, Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal, Dominick Manco, Educator; Fort Wayne Museum of Art, Affiliate;
Best-in-Grade Award Gold Medal, Best-in-Grade Award

Maddy Daum, The Tourist (bottom), Photography, Grade 10,

Age 15, Harvard-Westlake School, North Hollywood, CA.
Joe Medina, Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal,
Best-in-Grade Award

48 artandwriting.org
 Mercedes Langdon, Graduation Day (facing page), Erin Hong, Big Smile, Drawing & Illustration. Grade 8, Age 13,
Photography. Grade 8, Age 14, Springfield Ball Charter School, Home School , Holden, MA. Kyungah Lee, Educator; School of
Springfield, IL. Maggie Perkins, Educator; Mid-Central Illinois the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Affiliate; Gold Medal,
Region, Affiliate; Gold Medal, Best-in-Grade Award Best-in-Grade Award

50 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Sponsored Awards 51

SADIE COWLES, Grade 8 , Age 13, Frank H. Harrison Middle
School, Yarmouth, ME. Charlotte Agell, Educator; Southern Maine
Writing Project, Affiliate; Gold Medal, Best-in-Grade Award
One in Eight Million
Personal Essay & Memoir
Throughout this whole trip, we had been stared at un-
abashedly like we were exotic animals in town for the
day. I did not like all of the attention and felt a bit un-
comfortable. If I had stayed in this village, I probably
would have known all of these people. In a village this
small, I guessed that everyone knew each other. At an-
other stop we put a poster up and then got back in the
car to wait for Mr. Shen to return. We sat in the van
and watched people come over in groups and look at the
poster. They started gesturing toward the van, so Yaoyao
rolled down the windows. They peered in and looked at
the strange American family, my mom and sister with
their blonde hair, my tall father with his head almost
touching the roof of the car, and then Zhi and I, the Chi-
nese adoptees with the foreign American family.
As we continued down the dirt roads like a mini-pa-
rade of people to the four different entrances to the town,
we saw shops that were overflowing with plastic chairs,
hats, brooms, plastic bins, fans, baskets and all sorts of
odds and ends. There were stands with watermelons and
baskets of shan zh, a dark-purple and messy fruit we
had come to love. The most common sight was umbrel-
las, everyone had one covering them and their produce.
Most Chinese try to avoid the sun, as their idea of beauty
is to have very fair skin. As we walked around China,
everywhere you looked, people were carrying parasols.
It was hard to picture myself living in such a small
village. Looking down the main street at the aging apart-
ment buildings and the fairly unoccupied market, there
didnt seem to be much happening. I would most likely
have been uneducated, and when I got older I would
work in a factory in a nearby city. I would also have spo-
ken Chinese, not English. At the time I was adopted, the
Chinese governments policy allowed each family to have
only one child, but if both parents were only children,
they could have two children. This rule is more heavily
enforced in the city than in the countryside, so I most
likely would have had multiple brothers and sisters. My
family would likely be poor, I would not have much, and
certainly would never have gotten the chance to go to
52 artandwriting.org
America. Similarly, I would not have any of the opportu-
nities that I have now. This is supposed to make me feel
lucky, but to be honest, I would not have known what I
was missing. Is it all about having the most opportuni-
ties? Just because I lived in a different place does not
mean that I wouldnt be as content and loved by my fam-
ily and friends in China as I am now in America. I would
be a similar person, but I believe the setting you grow up
in and who you are surrounded by does have a big impact
on the person you become.
We continued putting up posters. Each poster had two
baby pictures of me, and last years school picture. We
included information about where I was left, when I was
born, and an agreement to keep all information confi-
dential. After each poster went up, people assembled and
started reading them. We guessed that by the end of the
day, almost everyone in that village had seen the posters.
The odds were looking good for finding my birth parents,
but I was trying to keep from being too optimistic so that
I wouldnt be let down. We were not sure how long the
posters would last before wear and tear and wind and
rain tore them down. Who knew if we would even get
a call or if someone would step forward? We would just
have to wait and see.
Six months later, after several calls and one DNA test,
it was determined that my birth parents had not been
found. I remember telling someone that if the DNA
test wasnt positive, that it would be devastating, but it
wasnt. I was disappointed and upset that the situation
had not turned out the way I wanted it to. I was also
slightly relieved, because the potential father had been
very sick. Meeting him might have been difficult because
most people in China do not have access to affordable
health care. He also might have had a genetic disease
that could have been passed on to me.
We had known the whole time that the odds of find-
ing birth parents were very slim in such a big country.
Im guessing that all of the people in my village and sur-
rounding villages have seen my posters or heard about
them by now. Hopefully someone will still step forward.
Maybe they are worried that they will get in trouble for
abandoning a child or for having more children than
was allowed at the time. Its also possible they moved,
or maybe they even died. Regardless, I was able to hear
two families stories, so I have a much clearer picture of
what my story might have been. Even if nothing more
happens, I have had a glimpse of how my life might have
turned out had I grown up in a small village on the other
side of the world, in China.
JIHYE NAM, Grade 11, Age N/A, Skyline High School, Ann Arbor,
MI. Patricia Jenkins, Educator; Belin-Blank Center, Affiliate;
Gold Medal, Best-in-Grade Award
Pink Balloons
Personal Essay & Memoir
Hello, youve never met me.
But my name betrays me. It tells you everything you
need to know, so take your pick: the 7-11 or the laundro-
mat. Medical school or an engineering degree.
My name is a bar code that bears my product descrip-
tion. My GPA, my monosyllabic last name, and my stick-
straight dark hair. Its a Choose Your Own Adventure of
predetermined narratives.
Youre right. But hello, youve never met me.
The teacher is at a loss with the wailing little boy who
doesnt look or talk like the rest of the toddlers. She calls
the big kids teacher to find his sister. I walk to my broth-
er silently, wrap my arms around him, and reassure him
in a language only we understand. I tell him its okay. I
know its not okay.
Its story time. The only word I know is jeans, but shes
not saying jeans. So I look out the window because, no
matter which side of the globe Im on, the blue sky is a
constant.
My mom wants to plan a birthday party for me. Shes
nervous and excited because she wants to do this right.
She calls a party store to order balloons, but a frown
creases her face as she flicks madly through a dictionary.
When she finally lowers the phone, she asks me what a
zip code is. Just like that, shes crying, and Im hugging
her. Im old enough to know that its not about the dic-
tionary or the balloons.
They tell me that Im whats called an alien. They tell
me to say the Pledge of Allegiance. Im not sure about
America. Im not sure about God. They dont tell us that
were allowed to be not sure. and genes.
There are words I want to know about, odd ones like
salmon and Wednesday, that dont play by the same know how to make.
rules. The kids laugh, but theyre happy to sound out the
odd syllables for me.
Hello, I am wisdom. I am
learning not to betray my name.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Sponsored Awards
When my teacher asks if anyone in the class has read
Harry Potter, Im the only one who raises my hand. The
kid in the back says its because Im Asian. Just like that,
I go from outsider to outlier.
I try out names like Kylie and Sophie, names for girls
with blonde hair and blue eyes, and it feels like Im play-
ing dress up. My mom reminds me that my grandfather
picked out my name because it means wisdom. I tell her
that I dont want the name she gave me. But her face
shows that she knows what Im really asking for. I dont
want the skin she gave me.
My winning word for the school spelling bee is lab-
yrinth. A month later, my dentist asks me if I need a
translator. I dont even consider being offended.
We have a genealogy project at school, and Im the
only one in my class who doesnt know her grandparents
names. No, Ms. Bauer, Im not adopted.
So, I call my grandparents with a set of interview ques-
tions, trying desperately to recall a language that Ive
spent my entire life hiding like a dirty secret. We follow
the template with relative ease, and it starts to feel like
a chore.
Then, my grandmother asks how Im doing. The words
I once wielded with ease are now lost to me, and the
clipboard in my hand is no help. I dont start crying until
I remember my mom with the dictionary and the pink
balloons. Except its not a birthday party and a zip code.
Its my grandparents, and I dont know how to tell them I
love them. I dont know how to apologize for abandoning
the name they gave me.
Asian-American starts to mean something, and then I
start to mean something. I still fumble on the salmons
and Wednesdays in the language Im rediscovering. I
still get angry. I still feel alien, and I still feel whitewash.
Sometimes, both at the same time.
Hello, I am wisdom. I am learning not to betray my
name.
Hello, I am pink balloons and blue skies. I am jeans
And I am overflowing with apologies that I still dont
Hello, youve never met me. Hello, Ive never let you.
53
AUDREY SPENSLEY, Grade 12, Age 17, Avon Lake High School,
Avon Lake, OH. Stacey Hallett, Educator; Belin-Blank Center,
Affiliate; Gold Medal, Best-in-Grade Award
Georgia on My Mind;
American Drive
Poetry
Georgia on My Mind
Just an old, sweet song
Later well wonder how we hadnt noticed
the hills blooming open, goldenrod
scarring the scrub grass, gorgeous & hungry.
This was the summer my father bought
guppies by the pound, sheared the coats
off his sheep, knuckles memorizing the difference
between hot flesh & warm air. The babies cried,
soft nervous sounds soaked up by dirt, as if the whole
world could feed on their blistered feet.
My father slept on the kitchen floor with a baseball bat,
listening to Ray Charles claw his way through
AM radio waves, dawn dripping like honey
over his thick breath, his scabbed knuckles.
We craved the acidic rain of haunted promise lands,
the only city wed ever known a hollow circus
three hundred miles away. No peace I find,
Ray said, and we clutched at his words like
jeweled peaches, ripening. We traced the promise over
& over into the soft meat of our small palms
The road leads back to you.
American Drive
We are hurtling down the highway like a fist
toward flesh. Tennessee peels itself
to a bruised core, tires clawing grooves
in its tender skin. Each hotel is a lesson
in light: we unplug our electric lamps
and the seashell moon burns through
the window slats. I pry apart free breakfast
in the lobby. Coffee and pink packets
of aspartame. Thatll kill you, you say,
canary-colored egg dangling
from your forks prongs. I think about
my uncle, wet mesh of tubes
dripping from his skin, his breath
an uncharted coast, a storm of rocks
he capsized in over and over. Even bleach
54 artandwriting.org
tastes like sugar if you drink long enough,
I dont answer. We flick coins
out the window to watch them bite
that important, but it matters, because this year, she
pavement and it reminds me
of the dogfights two years ago,
the spray of roses wed heaped
on slumped spines. Now we flip
through towns like television channels.
Children flock behind chain link,
scream with their hands. Men smoke
on porches, embers losing light at their feet.
No buyers. The signs spring from grass
like milkweed in bloom.
We leave early to beat the traffic,
rushing to a city weve never seen. Still
the road ribbons into a sunrise of taillights:
a thousand red lips, all blazing and brutal,
all pointing the same direction.
Many writing selections have been excerpted.
Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read the works as
they were submitted.
LINDSEY WILLIAMS, Grade 9, Age 13, Abiqua Academy,
Salem, OR. Eric MacKnight, Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate;
Gold Medal, Best-in-Grade Award
Letters From a Girl
Short Story
To the President of France
Nov. 14
Dear Mr. President,
My grandmother loves to travel. You might not consider
Mr. President. The TV features your attempts at prog-
went to Paris. She sent us a picture of herself on Novem-
ber 12, and we havent heard from her since. She usually
sends pictures every day, so you can see that this is very
concerning to my mother and me.
Would you please see that Dr. Linda Gates, Ph.D., is
sent to the return address on this envelope? My mother
tells me that presidents are the most responsible people
in the world, so I expect that you will be on top of this
assignment.
I would not be so audacious as to ask a favor without
compensation. So you will find enclosed all five dollars of
my allowance money. Upon the safe return of my grand-
mother, you will receive another five. I assume this will
be sufficient salary.
Thank you for your help, sir.
Nadine Rosamund
Nov. 20
Dear Mr. President,
It has been a considerable amount of time since my last
letter, and although I acknowledge that your job is very
difficult, I also am not habitually patient. My grandmother
has still not appeared, nor has she sent word of her well-
being, which leads me to worry for her safety, although
not too much, because my mother has assured me that
you are excellent at what you do. Her words are strong,
and sometimes angry, so I do not fret for my grandmoth-
ers well-being for long.
On related news, my classmate Julia informed me that
her mother was in Paris on November 13 as well. She
asked me to ask you, if you wouldnt mind, to also search
for Mrs. Margaret Ames. I have enclosed the address to
which you should send her, upon discovery. Julia already
spent her allowance, but says that she will earn money as
quickly as possible to pay this debt.
Thank you, sir.
Nadine Rosamund
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Sponsored Awards
Nov. 26
Dear Mr. President,
Even though you are a very slow worker, I am praying for
you. Mother says that you are under a lot of stress, which
I understand. Also note that my mother wears a perpet-
ual frown now, and her smiles, which are beautiful, do
not surface even when I play with her. Our Thanksgiving
was so quiet that I could hear the hum of our generator,
muffling the scrape of silverware. There was no laughing,
no warmth. I left immediately afterward and went to my
bedroom to write this letter.
Do not assume that I am ungrateful for your efforts,
ress quite frequently. But you should also not mistake
my gratitude for complacency; know that I wait each day
by the door, waiting for my grandmothers return.
I have enclosed a photograph of us together. Perhaps
this will help you find her.
Thank you, sir.
Nadine Rosamund
Dec. 5
Dear Mr. President,
It occurs to me, in passing, that you have not written
me back. Have you been getting my letters? Perhaps the
postal service in your country is slower than in mine.
I will not disparage your nation, though. It is going
through a lot right now. The news says that you have
many angry people at your doorstep, perpetually. I cant
imagine; our front door is always silent, the curtains al-
ways drawn. Maybe my parents believe that light will
hurt my eyesyes, that must be it; our eyes are too ten-
der for daylights touch.
It also occurs to me that I have been insensitive. I
havent asked you how youve been holding up. Are you all
right? Are your meals good? Do you sleep well? I imagine
your bed to be a magnificent thing, made of feathers and
thick blankets and devoid of the rattle of the heater that
makes it difficult for me to sleep. I imagine you laying in
your feather bed, sleeping with both eyes open.
I imagine you reading this. Perhaps it will make you smile.
It is an important thing to smile, every so often, when we
are surrounded by this distant and constant sadness.
Thank you.
Nadine Rosamund
55
JULIANA YU, Grade 7, Age 13, The Dalton School, New York, NY.
Yael Schick, Educator; NYC Scholastic Art & Writing Awards,
Affiliate; Gold Medal, Best-in-Grade Award
Death Follows
Short Story
There were three childrens wards in St. Josephs Memo-
rial Hospital, each with a large, faded painting of a presi-
dent on its doors. There was Lincoln, for the little kids
and the ones who were just staying overnight; Adams, for
the kids who didnt sleep in the hospital but were there
pretty much every hour of the day; and Harrison, named
after William Henry Harrison and the place for those of
us who dont have rich parents who are willing to pay
for a more private place to die. (In case you didnt know,
our namesake Bill died 32 days after his inauguration.
Inspiring stuff.)
Technically, I was supposed to have been moved out
of the childrens wards when I turned twelve, but no one
really knows how much longer Im going to stick around.
Its kind of a waste to move me when I could die on you
at any second. Plus, I know the kids here, and most of
them arent too bad. Our hanging out was mostly a fog of
sleeping and pain medication, to be honest.
Most of the patients in the ward were about nine or ten;
their parents sat by them all day in those creaky plas-
tic chairs. My mom went through that phase too, in the
earlier years. I would wake up to ice cream and pudding
every day from the cafeteria. She rented an apartment
nearby so she can visit when she has time, but to make
sure all the medical bills are paid, she works overtime
at a Walmart, where they pay her about three dollars an
hour. Whenever I get to see her, she always seems to have
a new crease in her forehead or a line under her eyes.
There was only one patient in Harrison who was my
age, and that was Miguel. I knew barely anything about
Her words were gentle and
slow, but Miguel flinched with
each syllable.
56 artandwriting.org
himjust that he had been stuck here for longer than I
had, rarely spoke to any of us, and had just gotten the
worst news.
I was there when they told him, late one evening when
most people were sleeping. I was fiddling with the set-
tings of my back brace, trying to find the position where
the metal wasnt digging into my skull, when the door
creaked and Miguels aunt walked in. She visited him ev-
ery so often, drawing the curtain around his bed with a
grimace and a spritz of hand sanitizer. Miguel just barely
tolerated hernot that he had much choice.
But this was no routine visit. She didnt bring hand
sanitizer, and Miguels eyes were wide with fear as she
approached. I watched as she carefully placed a gentle
palm on his head and ran her fingers through his hair.
Her words were gentle and slow, but Miguel flinched
with each syllable.
The administration has approved my request for your
intubation. Your operation will be in a week and Ill be
there for you. He gasped in a shuddering breath, cough-
ing out a slur of protest.
Im your guardian, Miguel, and this is the right
choice. I wont have any of this nonsense, you hear me?
She lifted her hand from his head as he glared at her,
balling his hands into fists and whispering angry words
in Spanish. You know I dont understand what youre
saying. Say it in English or not at all. She turned to-
ward the door and began to walk away. Miguel called out
a rasping translation, and she spun around once more.
Watch your tongue, young man!
When she was gone, Miguel began to sob. Real sobs.
Wracking cries of pain as he clutched his cannula and tried
to wrench it from his neck, digging his fingernails into the
cold plastic. I didnt blame him. Intubation was basically
a death sentenceyou were going to die soon anyway, so
why spend the last few months of your life with a pipe
shoved down your throat, unable to talk or even move? His
howling was gut-wrenching but, having found the least-
painful position possible, I fell asleep quickly.
LILY ZHOU, Grade 10, Age 15, Aragon High School, San Mateo, CA.
Tiffany Wang, Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate;
Gold Medal, Best-in-Grade Award
Beijing, Beijing
Short Story
1.
From my grandparents apartment, the city is a distant
hum. Like a TV muffled in woolen blankets. Makes it eas-
ier to sleep at night, when the white noise of the cicadas
bleeds into the plaster walls. The first day, I slept until
noonjet lag and all. My sister sat by and read a novel
while she waited for me to wake up
Later, I asked what the book was about, and she said
forbidden love. Typical. My sister has only two criteria
for a good novel: romance and a happy ending. Youd be
surprised at how few satisfy both. So, on the first day, I
slept while my sister read about forbidden love.
When I wake up, she is at the dinner table, a mug of
milk at her side. Our grandparents are still asleep. Siesta.
It is a Chinese thing, or at least an Asian thing. They
sleep quietly for old people. Dont snore or anything, al-
most as if they were dead.
Milks on the counter, my sister says without looking
up. Her hands settle on the table awkwardly; she doesnt
know what to do with them with her book gone.
I rip open the packet. Its powder. The substance is
like chalk, staining my fingertips white.
Mix it with water and heat it in the microwave for one
minute. Like hot chocolate. She begins to drum her fin-
gers on the tabletop. Nervous habit brought on by years
of piano lessons.
Funny way of keeping milk.
Uh-huh.
Imagine the kids here thinking their whole life that
milk comes from a powder. Isnt that crazy?
She shrugs. Its China.
Yeah, I guess youre right.
I microwave a mug of milk and take the seat next to
her, swirling the powder-water mixture with a stray
chopstick. The powder has vanished, dissolved like sugar
in coffee. No longer chalky. I take an experimental sip.
How is it? my sister asks, watching.
Not bad. Almost tastes like real milk, you know?
A peal of surprised laughter escapes her. She quiets
down before she wakes our grandparents. Wiping her
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Sponsored Awards
mouth with the back of her hand, she says, Idiot. It is
real milk.
I grin against the mug.
And thats how they find us later: side by side at the
dinner table, twin mugs with milk swirling at the bot-
tom. Me with a half-empty mug at my lips. Her with
her naked piano hands sprawled on the table sur-
face. Almost like New York City. Almost like home.
2.
The restaurant radiates superiority. Superior air-condi-
tioning. Superior marble tables with sleek black chairs.
Superior tall glasses of frothy watermelon juice, water
droplets leaving slippage on the rim.
I sip from it. Yes, even the watermelon juice here is
superior.
My cousin has reserved an entire room. The table is
packed with distant cousins and aunts and uncles, sip-
ping tea and making small talk. No one really knows
anyone elseearlier, they went around introducing
themselves. They tried to talk to my sister and me too,
but drifted away when it became clear that we couldnt
exactly speak their language. Its expected. In a room
full of strangers, we are still the outsiders.
My cousin, Ive heard tons about. Peking University
graduate. Wife of a respected salesman. Has a steady job
at a marketing company. A picture-perfect life. The sub-
ject of envy, no doubt. Shes all right, though. Not nearly
as pretentious or obnoxious as my mother made her out
to be. When my sister and I arrived, the first thing she
did was grasp our hands and beam, saying, You must be
Xiaobai and Xiaoyu. Ive been wanting to meet you two
for so long. She introduced herself as Qiu, but encour-
aged us to call her Autumn.
My sister and I take seats next to each other. Drink a
few cups of tea and wait for the food to arrive.
Im the quiet one for most of lunch. Beside me, Qiu
converses in stilted, broken English with my sister. A bit
painful, but sweet all in all. Its nice that shes making
an effort to get to know us, that shes reaching out, even
after all these years. As we leave, Qiu slips eight hundred
yuan into my coat pocket. When I reach for the money,
she pulls my hand away. A gift, she says firmly, as if
that explains everything. As if we werent just strangers
who happen to share a bit of common blood. As if we
were family.
She smiles and disappears into the crowd.
57
Aidan Forster, Grade 10, Age 15, Fine Arts Center,
Greenville, SC. Sarah Blackman, Educator; Region-at-Large,
Affiliate; Gold Medal and Best-in-Grade Award National Awards
Exemplary students receive Gold, Silver, and American Visions and Voices Medals in
When Told Not to 28 categories of art and writing.

Chronicle Eroticism Students receive a Silver Medal with Distinction Portfolio Award for an art or writing
portfolio presenting exceptional work at the Silver Medal level. These students receive a
After Mary Szybist $1,000 scholarship.
Poetry
Art Categories: Architecture, Ceramics & Glass, Comic Art, Design, Digital Art, Drawing
If I were a classical nude, the distance Gilgamesh taught bodies to fear themselves. & Illustration, Fashion, Film & Animation, Future New, Jewelry, Mixed Media, Painting,
between my nipples would be His own body: a ziggurat, a spirit trap. Photography, Printmaking, Sculpture, Video Games, Art Portfolio
the same as from my nipples From animal spirits the gods made a man,
Writing Categories: Critical Essay, Dramatic Script, Flash Fiction, Humor, Journalism,
to my belly button, the same distance Enkidu. Enkidu drank the milk-rivers
Novel Writing, Personal Essay & Memoir, Poetry, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Short Story,
from there to the split head
of the beasts, ate the greenness of the earth. Writing Portfolio
of the pelvis. The body: quiet bone
A temple prostitute offered her body to him
construct can be charted For a full listing of National Medalists, see pages 135141 or visit artandwriting.org.
in the faults of its architecture. in supplication. He entered her, did not exit
for seven days. Afterwards, he was so split 2016 Silver Medal with Wyatt Galinski Ye Lynn Oh
* Distinction Portfolio Elk River, MN Lawrenceville, GA
from beasts that he could do nothing Award Recipents
Tamra Gould Andrew Padilla
When the eggs of a Japanese carp are endangered, but become a ziggurat too.
Edmond, OK West Palm Beach, FL
the male will suck them into his mouth Ali Bartlett
* Needham, MA Cameron Kelley Cearah Peck
and hold them. His mouth, master imitator
Kenosha, WI Cambridge, MA
of womb, makes teeth from them. Juan Cardona
I cannot chart the moment
Miami, FL Alex Kon Zachary Rapaport
He spits them out like they are dead, finds when I left boyhood. My bones
Hudson, OH West Palm Beach, FL
a new mate. To begin in the middle Neville Caulfield
had not finished growing, Durham, NH Jennifer Lee Shaun Rogers
he spits them out like they are dead.
only stuck their pale heads New York, NY Toronto, Canada
Haley Cheek
* Wellesley, MA Maya Lew Zack Rusnak
into the light of my flesh
New Haven, CT Santa Rosa Beach, FL
and opened their mouths. Catherine Chen
Once, my mother and father slicked
West Palm Beach, FL Alexa Marcasciano Colin Stanley
their bodies together, tried to see
Wellesley, MA Rochester Hills, MI
John Davis
how far inside of each other
DeWitt, NY Taylor Mauldin Caroline Tsai
they could get. Maybe my father put
New Orleans, LA Fort Wayne, IN
Emily Elam
his fingers inside my mothers mouth.
Dayton, OH Ruby Miller Rona Wang
They attempted to create one body
Baltimore, MD Portland, OR
Matthew Fuchs
from two. My father: root/glacier/bone.
Washington, D.C. Abbie Minard Kayli Wren
My mother: earth/ocean/socket.
Pittsburgh, PA Charlottesville, VA
Savannah Furniss
Many writing selections have been excerpted.
* Fort Wayne, IN Jessica Zhang
Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read the works as
Westford, MA
they were submitted.

58 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Sponsored Awards 59

 Aishazhan Abuova, Visions (facing page), Photography. Alicia Amberson, Underwater, Painting. Grade 12, Age 18,
Grade 9, Age 14, Professional Childrens School, New York, NY. Saint Marys Hall, San Antonio, TX. Logan Blanco, Educator;
Caroline Holder, Educator; NYC Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, SAY S, Affiliate; Gold Medal
Affiliate; Gold Medal

60 artandwriting.org
Josie Burton, Falling (above), Digital Art. Grade 12, Age 17, Suzanne Brown, And Life Goes On (facing page), Painting.
Bishop Luers High School, Fort Wayne, IN. Kristen Billingsley, Grade 10, Age 15, Pine View School, Osprey, FL. Retsy Lauer,
Educator; Fort Wayne Museum of Art, Affiliate; Gold Medal Educator; Pine View School, Affiliate; American Visions Medal

62 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 63

Marion Avila, The Man in the Mirror (above), Drawing & Brian Britt, Night Spins (facing page, top), Photography.
Illustration. Grade 12, Age 17, Fayetteville-Manlius High School, Grade 11, Age 17, West High School, Anchorage, AK.
Manlius, NY. Kathryn Gabriel, Educator; Central New York Art Mark Stewart, Educator; Young Emerging Artists, Inc., Affiliate;
Council, Inc., Affiliate; Gold Medal Silver Medal

Caroline Chidester, Tracks (facing page, bottom),

Photography, Grade 11, Age 17, Upper Arlington High School,
Upper Arlington, OH. Scott Wittenburg, Educator; Columbus
College of Art & Design, Affiliate; American Visions Medal

64 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 65

Olivia Cambern, Ana Sofia Carvalho, and Gabrielle
Marie Darr, Sams Parade for Imaginary Friends (above),
Film & Animation. Grade 12, Age 17, Lambert High School,
Suwanee, GA. David Smith, Educator; Savannah College of Art
and Design, Affiliate; Silver Medal
66 artandwriting.org
Ali Bartlett, Luminescence (facing page), Painting. Grade 12,
Age 17, Needham High School, Needham, MA. Linda Burke,
Educator; School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Affiliate;
Silver Medal with Distinction
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 67
David Cardoza, Inside Americas Factory Farms (above),
Printmaking, Grade 11, Age 17, Denver School of the Arts, Denver,
CO. Deb Rosenbaum, Educator; Colorado Art Education
Association, Affiliate; Gold Medal
68 artandwriting.org
Neville Caulfield, When the Stars Fall Like Rain (below),
Alexandra Calvey, Laundry Day (left), Jewelry, Grade 12,
Photography. Grade 12, Age 17, Oyster River High School, Durham,
Age 17, Abington Heights High School, Clarks Summit, PA. Abigail
NH. Tracy Bilynsky, Educator; The New Hampshire Art Educators
Fenton, Educator; Marywood University, Affiliate; Gold Medal
Association, Affiliate; Silver Medal with Distinction
Hannah Chen, Woman (left, bottom), Painting, Grade 9 , Age 14,
Hume Fogg High Academic Magnet, Nashville, TN. Shayna Snider,
Educator; Cheekwood, Affiliate; Gold Medal
Andrea Conley, Fish Out of Water (above), Drawing &
Illustration, Grade 7, Age 12, Pin Oak Middle School, Bellaire, TX.
Lindsey Slavin, Educator; Harris County Department of Education,
Affiliate; Gold Medal
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 69
Catherine Chen, Jackies Journey (above), Art Portfolio.
Grade 12, Age 17, Alexander W. Dreyfoos School of the Arts,
West Palm Beach, FL. Melissa Glosmanova, Lacey Van Reeth, and
Scott Armetta, Educators; Educational Gallery Group (Eg2),
Affiliate; Silver Medal with Distinction
70 artandwriting.org
Sophie Choi, Treasured Memories (facing page, top), Painting,
Grade 8, Age 13, Duluth Middle School, Duluth, GA. Yoonhee Chung,
Educator; Savannah College of Art and Design, Affiliate; Gold Medal
Makenzi Carlgren, Rosie and Ruth (facing page, bottom),
Painting. Grade 12, Age 18, Salina High Central, Salina, KS.
Larry Cullins, Educator; The Wichita Center for the Arts, Affiliate;
Gold Medal
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 71
 Emily Betts, Bathing Beauties (facing page, top), Photography. Matthew Cranford, Ghoul in the Crowd (above),
Grade 12, Age 18, Holy Innocents Episcopal School, Atlanta, GA. Mixed Media, Grade 12, Age 17, Atlantic Coast High School,
Alice Thompson, Educator; Savannah College of Art and Design, Jacksonville, FL. Thom Buttner, Educator; Duval Art Teachers
Affiliate; Gold Medal Association, Affiliate; Gold Medal

Samantha Dewey, Figure From Memory (facing page, bot-

tom), Sculpture, Grade 12, Age 17, The Baldwin School, Bryn Mawr,
PA. Janice Wilke, Educator; Philadelphia Arts in Education
Partnership, Affiliate; American Visions Medal

72 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 73

 Sydney Evans, I Hate Thanksgiving (top), Drawing &
Illustration, Grade 11, Age 16, South County High, Lorton, VA.
Justyne Fischer, Educator; Fairfax County Public Schools,
Affiliate; Gold Medal

Laura Geven, Voluptuous Vase (bottom), Ceramics & Glass.

Grade 12, Age 17, Syracuse High School, Syracuse, KS.
Jiyong Park, Educator; Western Kansas Scholastic Art Awards,
Affiliate; Gold Medal

Devon Felt, The Bathroom, Drawing & Illustration, Grade 11, Age 16, Alexander W. Dreyfoos School of the
Arts, West Palm Beach, FL. Scott Armetta, Educator; Educational Gallery Group (Eg2), Affiliate; Gold Medal

74 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 75

Emily Elam, Eyeglass, Printmaking, Grade 12, Age 18, Tamra Gould, PANDA (facing page), Photography. Grade 12,
Stivers School for the Arts, Dayton, OH. Julie Anderson and Age 18, Edmond North High School, Edmond, OK. Stacy Johnson,
Lizabeth Whipps, Educators; K12 Gallery & TEJAS, Affiliate; Educator; Tulsa Community College, Affiliate; Silver Medal
Silver Medal with Distinction with Distinction

76 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 77

 Jared Freeman, A Living Definition (top left), Mixed Media,
Grade 10, Age 15, Detroit Country Day School: Upper School,
Beverly Hills, MI. Susan Lucas, Educator; College for Creative
Studies, Affiliate; Gold Medal

Diego Herrera, the niqab hides nothing // glasses change

the world (bottom left), Painting. Grade 12, Age 17, Bosque School,
Albuquerque, NM. Sasha Custer, Educator; NMAEA, Affiliate;
Gold Medal

Juan Cardona, Fence Variation: Monolithic Fence (top right)

and Fence Variation: Sitting (bottom right), Sculpture. Grade 12,
Age 18, Design & Architecture Senior High School, Miami, FL.
Ellen Abramson and Tracy Regan, Educators; Miami-Dade County
Public Schools, Affiliate; Silver Medal with Distinction

Eva Harn, Staircases, Printmaking. Grade 11, Age 16, Lakeridge High School, Lake Oswego, OR. Shannon McBride, Educator;
The Oregon Art Education Association, Affiliate; Gold Medal

78 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 79

 Sophie Levy, The Court (facing page, top), Painting, Grade 10, Age 15, Harvard-Westlake School,
North Hollywood, CA. Claire Cochran, Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal

Braden Hollis, Adolescence (facing page, bottom), Painting, Grade 12, Age 17, Los Angeles County
High School for the Arts, Los Angeles, CA. Malaika Latty, Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal

Joo Sang Lee, Blossoming Face Expressions, Printmaking. Grade 12, Age 18, WOW Art studio,
Old Tappan, NJ. Taehyun Kang, Educator; Montclair Art Museum, Affiliate; Gold Medal

80 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 81

Caitlin Haislip, The Beauty in the Reflection, Drawing & Natalie Mallinoff, Shelter for Snakes, Painting,
Illustration. Grade 10, Age 16, Copley High School, Copley, OH. Grade 11, Age 16, George Washington Carver Center for Arts
Antoine Pastor, Educator; Kent State University at Stark, Affiliate; and Technology, Towson, MD. Theresa Shovlin, Educator;
Gold Medal Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal

Hyo Jae Lee, Patty Rice Field, Mixed Media, Grade 12, Age 17,
Monte Vista Christian School, Watsonville, CA. Gee Won Youn,
Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal

Mallory Lundquist, Skinny Dipping, Drawing & Illustration,

Grade 12, Age 17, Gibbs High School, St. Petersburg, FL. Marty
Loftus, Educator; Pinellas County Schools, Affiliate; Gold Medal

2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 83

Ruby Miller, ByProduct (above), Digital Art. Grade 12, Age Margaret May, New Shoes, Old Dog (facing page, top), Paint-
17, The Park School of Baltimore, Baltimore, MD. Carolyn Sutton, ing, Grade 12, Age 17, North Pole High School, North Pole, AK.
Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Silver Medal with Distinction Laurel Herbeck, Educator; Young Emerging Artists, Inc., Affiliate;
Gold Medal

Bryan Marchena, What Am I Doing (facing page, bottom),

Photography. Grade 12, Age 17, Hume Fogg High Academic
Magnet, Nashville, TN. Shayna Snider, Educator; Cheekwood,
Affiliate; Gold Medal

84 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 85

 Laiza Martinez, The Flip (top), Photography. Grade 10,
Age 15, Junior High School 52 Inwood, New York, NY. Tiffany
Hagler-Geard, Educator; NYC Scholastic Art & Writing Awards,
Affiliate; Silver Medal

Grace Meinzer, Soldier Boy (facing page), Painting , Grade 8,

Age 13, Girls School of Austin, Austin, TX. Nancy Hoover,
Educator; St. Stephens Episcopal School, Affiliate; Gold Medal

Rena Petrucelli, Self Portrait Drawing (bottom), Drawing

& Illustration, Grade 9, Age 15, Archbishop Hoban High School,
Akron, OH. Micah Kraus, Educator; Kent State University at Stark,
Affiliate; Gold Medal

86 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 87

Ameya Okamoto, Black Lives, Digital Art. Grade 10, Age 15, Jessica Martinez, A Quarter for Three, Painting. Grade 12,
Catlin Gabel School, Portland, OR. Chris Mateer, Educator; Age 18, New World School of the Arts, Miami, FL. Aramis OReilly,
The Oregon Art Education Association, Affiliate; Gold Medal Educator; Miami-Dade County Public Schools, Affiliate; Gold Medal

88 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 89

 Calla Schubert, Winter Home, Drawing & Illustration.
Grade 10, Age 15, Oakwood School, Morgan Hill, CA. Jude Saleet,
Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal

Hennessy Sebastian, Vertebrae, Ceramics & Glass. Grade 12,

Age 17, Thomas R. Proctor High School, Utica , NY. Albert Shaw,
Educator; Central New York Art Council, Inc., Affiliate; Gold Medal

Ava Xu, Boxer, Painting. Grade 11, Age 16, Cold Spring Harbor
High School, Huntington, New York. Wook Choi and Sophie Page,
Educators; NYC Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, Affiliate;
Ye Lynn Oh, See-Through, Painting. Grade 12, Age 17, Gwinnett School of Math, Science and Technology, Lawrenceville, GA. Gold Medal
Kwan Young Lee, Educator; Savannah College of Art and Design , Affiliate; Silver Medal with Distinction

90 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 91

Mia Stanton, Lungs, Printmaking. Grade 9, Age 15, Pittsburgh Charlie Steier, Brothers Portrait, Drawing & Illustration.
CAPA 612, A Creative and Performing Arts Magnet, Pittsburgh, Grade 9, Age 15, Creighton Preparatory School, Omaha, NE.
PA. Heather White, Educator; Pittsburgh Arts Region, Affiliate; Sarah Godfrey, Educator; Omaha Public Schools Art Department,
Gold Medal Affiliate; Gold Medal

Joseph Mead, Banana Boy: The Rise of Doctor Popsicle, Video

Games. Grade 12, Age 17, St. Joseph High School, St. Joseph, MI.
Matthew Culver, Educator; The South Bend Museum of Art,
Affiliate; Silver Medal

92 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 93

Tavii Toronitz, China Sea (top), Ceramics & Glass. Grade 12, Breanna Sullivan, Urban Fungi (bottom), Drawing &
Age 17, Stellys Secondary School, Central Saanich, Canada. Illustration. Grade 10, Age 15, Grand Forks Central High School,
Stephen Strutynski, Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Grand Forks, ND. Nancy Greenwood, Educator; Plains Art Museum,
Gold Medal Affiliate; American Visions Medal

Brooklynn Thompson, Osiris Against Helios, Painting. Grade 12, Age 17, Bethel Tate High School, Bethel, OH.
Tiffanee Witt, Educator; Art Academy of Cincinnati, Affiliate; Gold Medal

94 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 95

Rosalea Williams, Ironing, Painting. Grade 11, Age 17, Emma E. Wellington, When Paths Cross, Photography.
Pittsburgh CAPA 6-12 A Creative and Performing Arts Magnet, Grade 11, Age 16, New Hampton School, New Hampton, NH.
Pittsburgh, PA. Alberto Almarza, Educator; Pittsburgh Arts Region, Richard Dulac, Educator; The New Hampshire Art Educators
Affiliate; Gold Medal Association, Affiliate; Gold Medal

96 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 97

 Womanhood, Cornrows The Albatross
Poetry Poetry

Aleah Adams, Grade 12, Age 17, School of the Arts, Rochester, Rebecca Alifimoff, Grade 12, Age 17, Canterbury High School,
NY. Ashley Perez, Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal Fort Wayne, IN. Alice Hancock, Educator; Fort Wayne Museum of
Art, Affiliate; Gold Medal
Womanhood
The string in between Knee high, I wanted to be a pirate.
Hangs limp from my open legs. I wanted adventure, a tune rusted with years
All of the world tugs. always on my sea-breath lips.
A helm filling my hands with splinters.
Cornrows Gold weighing the hull,
Our slick braids join our scalps, Midass palace looted.
Lining our heads like streets do a city.
They pull at our edges, The edge of the bay curved away
Stringing out our roots. like a question mark, beckoning to the rocks.
They tug at our Ebonics, Small worlds live there,
Releasing our yalls and aints only alive at the mercy of the tides.
Displaying our West Indian How to live with such long hiatuses between affection?
Haitian I begged an answer, fingers and knees slipping on the salt
African tongues. rocks.
They yank at our jazz, at our hip-hop.
The syncopation seeping from seams our braids once The sea anemones waved.
tried to sew up. The fish chased their tails in circles.
Iggy
Miley There is something of the ocean in my hands: They crave
Robin a wreckage. I took to the water waiting for its wrath.
Marshall Hoping it would pull
Kylie, me down. Atmosphere upon atmosphere weighing my
The fair-skinned hands puppeting our industry, chest.
ripping our rhymes to shreds.
You want our sound? But the sea knows
You want our slang? its own blood. One storm cannot kiss
You want our stiff-napped locks? another. Only swallow it whole.
Then step your two pale legs into our past, rooted on
3/5ths and segregation,
past built upon whips,
Hannah Westbrook, Tub, Photography. Grade 12, Age 18, Carlisle Area School District, Carlisle, PA. Jessie Fry, Educator;
Shackled history thats been nothing but inferior to the
Commonwealth Connections Academy, Affiliate; Gold Medal
lighter.
You want our fuller lips?
You want our soul?
You want our thicker curves?
Before trying to be a face for our music,
A face for our art,
Grease the tips of your fingers,
Oil your kinky scalps Many writing selections have been excerpted.
And patch up your own cornrows.
Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read the works
as they were submitted.

98 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 99

Keeping Pace
Personal Essay & Memoir I feel a burn in my legs as we go up. It starts as a little
Alexandra Augur, Grade 8, Age 13, Frank H. Harrison Middle
School, Yarmouth, ME. Ira Warshaw, Educator; Southern Maine
Writing Project, Affiliate; Gold Medal
I bend down, and gripping the laces of my shoes tightly
with my cold hands, tie them into a tight knot. When I
look up, I see my dad staring at the trail map. His brown
hair is barely visible through the glare of the afternoon
sun, but I know its him because of the way he stands. He
turns around and grins at me.
Ready? he asks.
Yeah, I reply.
I feel a rush of warmth shoot through my frigid legs as
we begin to run. I quickly find a pace that is fast but not
too fast. My lungs breathe in the stiff, dry air. We turn a
corner into a long field of grass that leads to an opening
in the woods. There is a slight downhill, and I let myself
relax, my legs shoot out from under me and wind whisks
by my ears. This, I think to myself, is what it must feel
like to fly. I hear footsteps to my right and look around
to see my dad. He is moving very fast, almost sprinting
down the hill, so that I have to run faster to keep up with
him. He looks at me and smiles.
Not bad for an old man, huh?
I have been running with my dad ever since I was a
little girl. I still have faint memories of going to the track
on long summer days. I would run with him for as long
as I could keep up and then wait at the starting line and
hand him the water bottle every time he came around.
Whether he needed a drink of water or not, he would
always take the water bottle. As Ive gotten older, weve
gradually become the same speed, allowing us to go on
long runs together. I know that there is more importance
and meaning to these runs than actually running, but
still I have a worried feeling that I will embarrass myself
by being too tired to keep up.
We enter the woods and the temperature drops be-
cause of the absent sun. The cold air tickles my nose,
making my eyes water. An eerie silence fills the atmo-
This, I think to myself, is
what it must feel like to fly.
100 artandwriting.org
sphere, as if weve been cut off from the rest of the world.
Not even 10 minutes into the run, we come to a big hill.
prick, then grows until my whole quad aches and begs for
me to stop.
Pump your arms straight forward, Alex. Youre wast-
ing your energy, says my dad.
I look down at my arms and see them swinging lazily
side to side. I focus on moving them straight back and
forth as I run up the hill. This motion drives me forward,
and I can feel myself running faster.
Great job, he says, and I cant help but feel proud.
We continue running as the minutes tick by. Side-by-
side, so that not one of us is in front or the other behind.
We pace off each other and encourage each other as we
begin to tire. My legs have turned to lead and ache with
every stride. My lungs strain for more oxygen, and mucus
fills my nose and my throat, giving my mouth a sour taste.
I feel utterly exhausted and on the verge of giving up, but
the connection I feel between us keeps me going.
The gravel path gradually becomes matted grass, and be-
fore long we are out of the woods. As the overhung branch-
es give way, a beautiful sky comes into view. Orange, pink,
and purple are swirled around the edges like watercolors,
and a full moon sits in the center glowing a pale yellow.
Towering power lines stand above us, silhouetted against
sky. I look up to see a flock of geese migrating south, their
calls the only sounds this peaceful evening. Ahead of us lies
a long belt of low-cut shrubs and grass, the final stretch.
Dad, I say, gasping for breath. Thank you for run-
ning with me.
Alex, it has been my pleasure, he says. When Im
eighty years old, and you have to push me around in a
wheelchair, Ill look back on this with a smile on my face.
For a brief moment, he puts his hand on my shoulder, a
quick gesture but to me it means the world. I feel a rush
of happiness flow through me. It overcomes the exhaus-
tion, the pain, and the weakness I was feeling moments
before. I am hit with a new strength that fills every bone
and muscle in my body.
I always loved my dad, but that evening, beneath the wa-
tercolor sky, by the light of the pale yellow moon, on our
run together, I realized just how much he meant to me.
2045
Science Fiction & Fantasy
Psalm Babiera, Grade 7, Age 12, Jardine Middle School,
Topeka, KS. Sara Schafer, Educator; Midwest Writing Region-at-
Large, Belin-Blank Center, Affiliate; Gold Medal
K8 groaned. Why do we have to learn about this? Boy
bands dont even exist anymore!
Her teacher rolled his eyes. The reason we learn about
our popular cultural history is because we do not want it
to repeat itself. We are starting with boy bands this se-
mester because of the famous He pointed at the holo-
screen in the front of the room. One Direction Massacre
of 2018. The class gave a collective groan.
That, and The Discovery of 31, her teacher contin-
ued. K8LuvsU04 glanced at her friend across the room,
BlanketOfD@rkne$$. They both rolled their eyes at each
other.
Which was when the government found that boy
bands used a special sound wave programming that sent
their listeners into trances, and if listened to on a regu-
lar basis, strange screaming fits. Such programming even
caused these so called fanswhich were really slaves
to surprisingly advanced sound wave technology at the
timeto commit suicide, such as when member Zayn Ma-
lik left the boy band One Direction in 2015. He showed
another collection of 2-D pictures, this time of a group of
boys in skinny jeans in weird poses. LOOK AT THEIR
HAIR! someone yelled. THEYRE NOT EVEN CUTE!
the girl behind K8 screamed. The class burst into a fit of
giggles and snickers. WHATRE THOOOOSE!?! some-
one yelled. The teacher rolled his eyes.
Settle down now, the teacher yelled over the cacoph-
ony and laughter. Now, back to boy bands, he cleared
his throat.
Of course there was still much havoc to follow. More
music was made, and more boy bands followed, such as
Titanic Unjustified, Project Predator, and Glowing Effect
of the Canadian Scream, also known as GETCS. Thank-
fully none of these bands have been at their high point
at the same time as anotherwhich would have caused
extreme fandom wars, I assume you learned about that
last year in your Basic Fandom elective in 6th gradeal-
though there was a close call in 2020, coincidentally the
same year President West was elected. Although Im sure
youve learned about our Presidential Dark Ages in your
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards
American History class with Mrs. Miner. Now, if youll
please . . .
K8 stared absentmindedly out the window. Some of the
kids from the elementary sector were running around
outside. There were a few flying cars (most commonly
called hovercars, theyre only about thirty to forty feet
off the ground) and ground cars coming in and out of
the parking lot. She saw a few of the students from the
high school sector setting up some holosigns there flash-
ing things like No Control Then, No Control Now and If
Were Grounded, Then So Are You and such.
Of course, she thought. There had been a surprising
rise in aerial-aerial and aerial-ground car crashes lately.
Probably because of the lack of traffic drones in some
areas.
The teacher tapped a few things into the fingerpad
by his desk, and the window went black. He gave K8 a
pointed look. Thank you for joining us, K8. Now class,
Im sure you remembered our small lesson on the Great
Restart last quarter? There was a small silence. Mr.
Montagu-Douglas-Scott (snicker) sighed heavily.
Let me refresh your memories. The Great Restart
started October 29th, 2015, and ended May 12th, 2016.
It was a restart of all data on the Internet, on every web-
site ever created. Everything was deleted because the In-
ternet couldnt take anymore. There was too much data,
and, the United Nations agreed, too much abuse. So the
worldexcept for the governments and select news net-
workshad to live their lives without Internet for a few
months. It was scheduled to be stopped in November of
2016, but there was too much damage. Teens committing
suicide with music-less and communication-less lives,
YouTubers went broke and some even became homeless,
and services such as PayPal and Amazon were temporar-
ily shut down. The reason Im bringing this up is because
Im giving you all a chance to earn extra credit with writ-
ing an essay about this. But before that, you all need to
present your Build-a-YouTuber Project. Who wants to go
first?
Hey, are you guys going to the Halloween Dance?
NuGrl03 ran to catch up with BlanketOfD@rkne$$ and
K8 after class. Probably. Its the most fun, K8 said.
What are you planning to be? Nu giggled. Im gonna
be a 2015 basic white girl. I found a fake selfie stick at the
Cultural History Museum in Lawritchitence last sum-
mer, and my brothers boyfriend made a Starbucks coffee
cup hologram that we can 3-D print then paint. My dads
gonna sew some joggers for me too! Blanket snorted.
101
. . . she typed into her holopad as
some of her favorite
postpunkgrindrockemetalcore
music blasted into her ears.
Joggers. So 2015. So mainstream.
My costume is a surprise, K8 said. What about you
Blanket?
Im being me, Blanket said. She sighed. I left my wa-
ter simulator in my locker, and I feel like dropping dead
any moment. Wanna come with me?
Sure. Plus I heard we might get real water at the end
of the month since our G.O.A.T. test scores were the
highest in the tri-state area. No more atom or cell or
whatever deception today! Nu babbled as they took the
walkway to F Hall.
K8 giggled. Did you see those 2-D pictures of escala-
tors in Science yesterday? Theyre like angled walkways.
Its so stupid! Nu laughed. Yeah, almost as stupid as
stairs. Why climb when you can take a walkway or an
elevator?
Blankets fingerpad scanned her thumb, and the locker
opened.
I gotta go, I want to be early to Debate. Im discussing
whether the Great Restart was an actual Internet prob-
lem or thats what the government wants us to think. I
mean really, how would the Internet be too full? Its to-
tally aliens! K8 said, and took the emergency-non-late-
ness walkway lane.
Alright. Lets go. Blanket and Nu made their way to
Basic Robotics. Ah, joggers. 2015. 2016. The mid-to-late-
2000s in general. The good old days . . . Blanket said, a
smile on her face. The best time to be a teenager . . .
What do you mean? Nu said incredulously. There
were so many horrible things that happened those years.
The corona satellite interferences of 2018, the fall of
Facebook and Twitter the spring and summer of 2017, the
extreme water shortage of 19, the One Direction Massa-
cre, the Great Restart, Donald whatever being elected,
102 artandwriting.org
que sera in minor key
Poetry
bury open hands
d
e
Zara Batalvi, Grade 11, Age 16, Thomas Jefferson High School
e
p
in the ground.
for Science and Technology, Alexandria, VA. Denise Castaldo,
Educator; Writopia Lab D.C., Affiliate; Gold Medal filling wounds to make them worth something
using uncertainty as currency.
little girls run away from home,
trying to find themselves in after years of wandering the sea,
the bumps of nicked collarbones salmon return to their birthplace
like chipped wine glasses. follow the visceral instinct for a niche.
looking for love in the acid breath of strangers in the same way,
who want to feel their cracked, bleeding lips young girls look to their wrists
the blue-tinted veins,
marking the beginning of the Presidential Dark Ages! saltwater streams under their skin.
shifting like tectonics,
Well, yes, Blanket admitted. But the music! The best
running down bruised chins
music of the century was from the mid-to-late-2000s. and hide cries for home
they kiss harder
And whats wrong with music now? tremolando
parting the red sea.
I dont know, it just isnt the same. Its not as good in the crawl space
as Green Day and Ethnic-Aquatic Respiratory Crisis and lontano
ignore concentric headlights in the side mirror
Panic! At the Disco and Stillborn Llama and Children behind their knees.
whispering que sera
of the Deathwish and Paramore and Band Name Here perdendosi.
through phantom cigarettes
and
a metronome of coughs
Okay! I get it! Abnormie. You actually like that stuff?
Yes! she said defensively.
letting loose constellations
K8 was in the courtyard. She was working on an es-
that had settled in sweltering lungs.
say about life before flying cars. Well, she thought, would
prehistoric stardust
there have been fewer accidents? Or perhaps even more
an asthmatic supernova.
because there were lots of ground cars? There was a lot
of pollution, thats for sure. Unlike flying cars, which are
their mothers watch them fade
maglev, although there was a short time when they were
from milk cartons.
fan-powered . . . That didnt go well.
remember babies
She sighed heavily and popped an earbud into one
who fumbled in wrinkling ribcages
ear and connected the jack into her holopad. She smiled
the universes tempo once in their heartbeat
when she remembered her grandmother talking about
con animo,
when earbuds had wires and when Apple was the domi-
con amore,
nant smartphone company and Google the dominant
fortissimo.
search engine. She had scoffed and said, Really? Every-
one hates Apple. Microsoft and Bing are so much better.
sleeping
But . . . Google did invent the flying car, she admitted.
with mobiles circling their heads
Life Before Flying Cars, she typed into her holopad as
peach fuzz lining their spines.
some of her favorite postpunkgrindrockemetalcore mu-
sic blasted into her ears.
tiny palms clenched tightly,
She heard shouting from somewhere behind her. An-
already protecting themselves
noyed, she put in both earbuds and turned up her music.
from hand-me-down blisters. Many writing selections have been excerpted.
She thought she heard a scream. She turned around, and
found a hovercar hurling toward her. Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read the works
now children kiss their knuckles
Everything went black. as they were submitted.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 103
But I Dont Know America
Short Story
Bryn Battani, Grade 9, Age 15, The Khabele School, Austin, TX.
Lorena German, Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal
The whole room turns to look at me in one swift motion.
I feel forty eyes glued to my skin.
My name is Halima, my age is twelve, my from is
Afghanistan.
I hear a few snickers from the corner of the room
and I realize I have made another mistake.
The teacher smiles from behind her glass eyes, and I sit
down.
I pull on my braided hair and try to fix my skirt.
I watch everyone in the room,
I take everything in,
but it is so difficult when my mind is only a small
enclosed place
and this school is a universe of its own.
I am taking the test to see what rooms I should go to.
Right now, the people dont know if I should go to the big
rooms with lots of eyes
or the smaller ones, like the ones with other students
who can speak Farsi with me.
I am looking at the paper.
I am seeing the words.
They dont have a meaning.
I am pulling at my hair again, and I am rubbing my skin
because I know about all the thoughts in my head
but I dont have any of the words with meaning.
Halima. I look, and behind me, I see the teacher with
her kind smile behind her glass eyes. She is holding out
a big, fat book with a shiny blue cover and words in red.
Bilingual Dictionary.
I flip open the pages and suddenly
the world springs back to life
as my eyes see the words,
the ones that go with things,
the ones that mean something.
Suddenly Im grinning
and hugging the book to my chest.
The sign in here says cafeteria,
but really, I cant see a thing, only hear the clatter of the
people talking all around
and the laughter while two brothers are arguing over
104 artandwriting.org
their lunch boxes, prepared by their mothers at home.
I dont know if I want to choke or laugh.
I have known hunger in the days where my father had
no work,
and I have seen the people who knew the hunger for
much longer,
but I keep walking toward the line, taking a tray.
The girls behind me are shrieking, the boys are laughing,
and the people behind the counter keep yellingwhy?
All I want to do is close my ears to all the sounds,
but the people with the nets on their heads are the
people who give out the meals.
Soup or salad, hon? Her voice is sharp and demanding.
I nod toward the bowl, and I hand my card out as
confidently as I can so they can see that my lunch is free
and they dont have to yell for the money from me.
I hope they see the red sticker, the one that means
no pork, please.
She thrusts my tray toward me, with a steaming bowl
and a sandwich on pale bread.
I take off one slice and see the meat.
Maam, pork? I point to my card.
Not pork, salami, she says. I am bewildered, but I take
the tray and begin to walk toward the tables.
Hey! I turn around.
Wait, Im so sorry, are you Muslim?
I see a pretty girl standing there, pointing at my sand-
wich. She has blonde hair and bright-green eyes with
tiny freckles right underneath. Her clothes are clean and
fit her nicely, and she wears pretty earrings like a movie
star.
I have never seen this girl before. I dont know who she
is.
Are you Muslim?
I blink and then I freeze up in front of this girl,
because I dont like talking about this.
My parents told me not to like talking about this.
Thats a salami sandwich, and thats pork.
I am silent.
They told you it wasnt pork, but salamis made out of
pork, usually.
She looks down at my tray. She makes a concerned
face thats mostly real but a little bit rehearsed, a little
nervous, almost looking for my approval,
but I feel that her eyes are still kind.
I still dont know who I can trust in this place, but she
seems like she does, so I say, thank you so much, Ill go
back
. . . it was 2014, and it was
January, and it was Kabul . . .
Thats what I want to say.
All I say is, oh.
You might want to ask them for another one, without
the pork.
I try to look gracious. I smile, she leaves.
I return to the counter and the food and the trays, with
my own, to hand it back.
Uh-uh, no hon, you got your hands on that tray and
thats the only one you get for today.
I dont know what to do and
I really, really dont know what to say
But I . . .
I search through my head and the time passes and
then I notice the teacher I like, my favorite, is here,
the one from the classes with the rest of the kids who can
speak Farsi with me.
I turn around, and she tells me to wait while she talks to
the people behind the counter
while she frowns behind her glass eyes.
She walks away with the woman.
I keep waiting, and because Im looking for what to do,
I start to smile at the people passing by.
Some ignore me.
Some return my smile, tentatively,
unsure of the girl standing before them so empty-headed
but with so much on her mind.
Later, my teacher returns with another sandwich on the
same pale bread.
She shows meno pork, just green leaves and cheese and
steaming soup in a bowl.
Thank you, I say.
She looks happy, but I can feel the frustration in her,
and I feel a little guilty that I cant thank her
with any more English words.
My story is not long, but it is not short either;
it is like so many others.
I went to school some years, but some years got cut short.
Even then, it was only a few hours every day.
Today, these days feel like forever.
But back then, it was 2014, and it was January, and it was
Kabul,
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards
and we were Hazaras,
and it wasnt safe.
My brothers played every day,
but people were fighting with guns.
The Taliban was everywhere like dark clouds.
My little brother liked to sleep in his closet, where he said
nobody could find him.
I told him that was silly, but all of us were scared.
Now Im here, and the teacher wants to know about my
journey.
Why did you leave? Who went with you? How did you
get here?
The thing the teacher doesnt know is that my journey
is only beginning.
The teacher wants me to write,
what do I like about America?
America?
I just know school, Walmart and Publix.
But I dont know America.
I think maybe sometimes I am making friends.
My best friends are the ones who can speak Farsi with me.
Were all a little nervous. Im a little shy anyway.
The other girls in that class are closer with each other
than with me, but I am getting to know them.
I like to take my time.
I have been to another one of my friends apartments
and invited her to mine, and we have worked on school-
work together.
Some of the other girls are kind, too. Hey Halima!
And, in the hallways, I still say hello to the pretty blonde
girl from the cafeteria.
This empty-headed girl
with so much on her mind
has such joy in her heart.
I told my teacher once that
I just know school, Walmart and Publix.
But now I think
that maybe
on some days
I start to know America.
105
Who?
Personal Essay & Memoir
Daniel Blokh, Grade 9, Age 14, Alabama School of Fine Arts,
Birmingham, AL. Iris Rinke-Hammer, Educator; Region-at-Large,
Affiliate; Gold Medal
When I discover who I am, Ill be free.Ralph Ellison
The bottle tumbles, turns, ricochets across the room.
Billy and . . . Cheering erupts from the crowd, all of
us laughing and doing drum-rolls on the wooden floor.
The bottle rolls once more, twice more, slows, and stops.
. . . Jane! An eruption of clapping fills the room, and
I pray my parents dont hear us from upstairs. Both of the
chosen players stand up, faces red, eyes glued to the floor.
They walk to the center of the room. Everyone watches
intently, snickering occasionally. After a few awkward
seconds, they look up at each other, and Billy quickly
pulls in for the kiss. What seems to be a peck, though,
develops into something longer and more intimate. They
hold it there for a few seconds, then a few seconds more,
before finally separating, their eyes still locked.
Alright, alright, get on with it, someone says. The two
pull away, blushing even harder, and quickly hurry back
to their cliques.
Jake puts his hand on the bottle. Once its quiet, Jake
spins the bottle again. It rotates a few times quickly, slows
down, and then points to . . .
Me.
Oooing erupts from the crowd. I try to shift in my seat
to make it seem like it fell on the freshman girl next to
me instead, but it doesnt work. Alright, I think to myself,
theres nothing I can do. Maybe if I hope hard enough,
itll fall on someone whod chicken out on the whole thing.
I hope it rolls on me again, I say. Such a phenomenon
resulted in the person having to kiss a mirror while ev-
eryone sings Celine Dions My Heart Will Go On. Some-
where inside me, though, Im really hoping I get to kiss
someoneeven if its not a person Id enjoy kissing.
Quiet down, everyone, Jake says, launching the bot-
tle into motion again. Its weaker this time, rolling just a
couple of times before falling on Jake himself. He shrugs
and sighs slightly, getting up from his seat.
I rise as well, meeting him in the center of the room. I
can almost feel the pressure of the eyes around us, push-
ing us toward one another.
But I try not to look around, focusing instead on how
to approach this. Ive kissed before, but never like this, head is brimming with one thing: questions.
106 artandwriting.org
never in the way people have done in the rounds before.
How does one even do this? God, what if my parents walk
in? No, dont worry about that. Dont back off, or theyll
laugh.
I can see him brace himself, lips unfolding reluctantly
as I move toward him, our mouths reflections of each
other. I lean in. He closes his eyes.
I gulp.
Affiliate; Gold Medal
One day, when my parents are running late picking me up
from school, I decide to try out our schools gender and
sexuality forum.
Its been a sort of myth for me, hanging around the edg-
es of conversations between people I didnt know, show-
ing up in the morning announcements every few weeks.
I never considered going until today. What better time is
there? My parents are somewhere in the heap of traffic,
and Ive got plenty of time.
So, I decide to walk to the student lounge, where the
forum is taking place. I look through the window before I
enter. There are a few familiar faces, people Ive chatted
with briefly in the past, but many of them seem entirely
unfamiliar. Shrugging, I enter the room.
Immediately, everyone smiles. Welcome! someone
says behind me, and I turn to see a tall blonde girl grin-
ning broadly at me. Take a seat.
I look around. A kid with orange hair, who I somewhat
recognize from my homeroom, waves me over next to
him. I plop down.
Hooray! the girl who greeted me says. Someone new fi-
nally came! She turns to me. Want to introduce yourself?
Uh . . . sure, I say, feeling somewhat excited to speak.
Im Daniel. Ninth grade.
Pronouns? the girl says.
Huh? I ask.
Do you prefer he, him, his, or she, her, hers, or
The first one, I say. I feel as though Ive messed up,
and my cheeks flush a little.
Okay, thanks, she says, smiling. Its alright if youre
not sure. In fact, pronouns are our topic of the day.
Throughout the rest of the meeting, we discuss many
things; self-definition, respect, identity. I dive into the
topics with the eagerness of someone who has just discov-
ered a new world. I have the strange notion that if I pur-
sue them enough, I may find some of the answers that Ive
been looking for, subconsciously. The other people notice
my excitement, and it seems to pump them up as well.
I leave the meeting bent on coming to the next one. I
feel engaged, excited, lost in thought. And most of all, my
Anthem for the Single
Teenager
Personal Essay & Memoir
Allison Boyce, Grade 12, Age 18, Desert Mountain High School,
Scottsdale, AZ. Kevin Sheh, Educator; Young Authors of Arizona,
Last night I dreamt/ That somebody loved me/ No hope,
no harm/ Just another false alarm.The Smiths
Wear the jeans with the rip near the crotchits not like
anyones going to be staring down there anyway. Accom-
pany your friend and her boyfriend to the movies. Lean
in to tell a joke, but stop because he has an Arm Over
Her Shoulder and you can clearly sense that Now Is Not
a Good Time. Roll your eyes at the couple embracing as
if one of them is leaving for war in front of your Spanish
class. Celebrate Valentines Day by watching shows about
catching Big Foot with your neighbordont worry about
dressing up or getting rid of your pasta breath after din-
ner to make out with a guy in his car.
Groan in exasperation during the all-girls sleepover
for your chemistry partners birthday party when some-
one suggests playing Fuck, Marry, Kill. When they ask
you who you like, tell them yourself. Ask them, cant we
talk about anything else for Gods sake? The math test in
third period? The oil crisis in Nepal? Do we really have to
watch The Notebook again? Is there any chance we could
watch Inception instead? No? Cool.
Tell your mother that no one asked you to homecoming
because none of the boys at school can keep up with your
smart mouth and you didnt really want to go anyway.
Wear the jeans with the rip
near the crotchits not like
anyones going to be staring
down there anyway.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards
See her frown as she wonders if youre turning into the
black sheep of the family who will never get married or
have children and will live alone, roaming the forest with
a wolf pack.
When you listen to all the songs about heartbeats going
wild, wonder if what they say could ever be true. Wonder
if there really is someone out there who will help you car-
ry your load of sadness and joy so that you can help carry
theirs. Wonder if someday your tiny blip of an existence
will mean the world to someone else. Wonder if you can
be like Atlas for them (if you are strong enough to carry
their world for them when they need you to).
Wait for your time. Wait for your turn to have the ex-
citing story to tell at the lunch table about the boy you
met at band camp over summer. Wait for the texting all
night and the cheesy prom picture and the sweet deliri-
um. Wait for what they say is coming soon, what should
have happened already, what is supposed to find you when
you least expect it. Wait, pretend youre not waiting, feel
the envy blow up inside you every time someone else finds
it. Attach your successes and dreams to the arrival of this
future Boy, wherever he is, who will finally make your
life the teenage dream that everyone insists it needs to be
(because otherwise, youre not really living it right).
Get tired of that feeling following you around wherever
you go (the feeling that your life is on pause, that these
days youre living while youre single are irrelevant and
somehow dont count). Get tired of waiting. Start wonder-
ing why youre waiting when you could be doing some-
thing else, something productive that will make you feel
like you are a whole person (you are not incomplete, like
a jigsaw puzzle; you are not searching for a missing half).
And then (when you realize what I have been waiting
for you to see): toss your hair back and put on your ripped
jeans. Feel this: unstoppable.
107
My grandmother will call it the
miracle that knifed her in the
heart. A swollen dream.
The Mothers
Personal Essay & Memoir
Katherine Du, Grade 11, Age 15, Greenwich Academy,
Greenwich, CT. Jeff Schwartz, Educator; Writopia Lab
Westchester & Fairfield, Affiliate; Gold Medal
My grandmother is eight years old when she sees her
birthmothers ovaries bleed into a wooden bucket. She
hears moaning. Melting. Something godless as the blood
pours like congealed tea from a flask.
Forty hours later, the light unfastens tenderly from her
birthmothers eyes.
Months after her birth, my grandmother is sold to a fam-
ily with food and a stillborn daughter. They live on the
other side of the mountains, away from Chongqing, away
from the war.
The family with food is a textile tycoon. It yawns,
rich from the blood of others. Before her eyes know to
lower her voice to cool, my grandmother asks where the
lily-like puffs are born. Her milk mother holds her like a
glass doll. Cotton is a dream, my angel. Never question
the mother of dreams.
It is December 13, 1937, a day as timeworn as bloodless
winter light. My grandmother is beginning to forget the
shape of her birthmothers voice when they descend: the
Japanese, their gun-licked fingers, their salt-smoked lips.
Three hundred thousand Chinese will sprinkle these
streets. Unborn children glued to the tips of bayonets.
Bodies in the dust. Most are women with bellies sliced
open like flayed salmon, purple-bruised legs splayed out
in invitation.
My grandmothers milk mother leaves her textile factory
hours before the Rape of Nanjing, only to die weeks later
of the influenza. My grandmother will call it the miracle
that knifed her in the heart. A swollen dream.
108 artandwriting.org
Hoping for Disaster
Critical Essay
the Boston Marathon bombings, always receive around-
the-clock television coverage from cable news networks.
These broadcast outlets entice us to participate in the
Amy Dong, Grade 12, Age 17, St. Johns School, Houston, TX.
chaos without forcing us to face the repercussions. We
cling to catastrophe from the safety of our own homes.
The recent rise of social media only reinforces our
Linda Carswell, Educator; Harris County Department of Education,
Affiliate; Gold Medal culture of sensationalism. With the ability to present
an unlimited amount of unfiltered information to such
a large audience, social media now has the power to
Our pop culture professor proposes the following sce-
define disaster. In this context, then, media sites such
nario: A television ad shows a young family driving up
as blogs, photo and video sharing platforms, and social
a mountain to their winter vacation home. The father
networks do not merely convey information about di-
At seven years old, my grandmother leaves the empty
sits comfortably at the wheel, and the mother is turned
around in her seat, talking with the two children. What
sasters. Instead, to compete for our attention, they blow
house of textiles. With a cotton bag of prayers and mor- disasters into hyperbolic proportions, hoping that their
happens at the end of the commercial?
sels, she walks three hundred li through the remains of exaggerated coverage of any isolated event will shock us
If you predicted something bad would happen, you
the Sichuan countryside. One hundred miles through a into sharing their photos, tweeting their messages, and
would be wrong.
world of feral fear. All around her are volcanoes of up- commenting on and liking their posts.
Our professor goes on to tell us that the ad ends in a
turned dirt, frosted shells of peasants, broken faith. But with so many digital outlets constantly bombard-
family reunion at their vacation home. But why do we
After two suns and moons pass, a mountain ridge ing us with information, we cant help but feel drawn to
expect the worse in the first place? According to our
creeps toward her with no beginning or end. She sees a sensationalized media. We know we dont need it, but
teacher, it is because we are programmed in our narra-
dip down the middle, a gorgeous wound. we want it anyway to break up the incessant stream of
tives to expect disasters.
Her bamboo sandals carve rivers of blood on the soles white noise. Indeed, what we replay and share over and
News that pertains to us is, more often than not, bur-
of her feet as she runs. Ascends. Presses on. Dusk swal- over again are not the stories related to our daily lives;
ied under a mountain of sensationalism. News outlets
lows the luster of the day. She persists. Her eyes shutter, they are the Vine videos that captured 6 seconds of the
would rather drown us with disaster stories than let us
but she forces them open. Pretends they are orbs of fire. Boston Marathon bombings, the Facebook pictures that
swim through a sea of mundane events.
showed New Orleans in ruins after Hurricane Katrina,
Soon the sun drips scarlet blood on the canvas of the sky. The pervasiveness of television has certainly con-
the dozens of news articles that detailed the graphic Fer-
tributed to our fascination with disasters. For decades,
A year after my grandmother returns to her home- guson shootings. By capturing our attention with exag-
television has served as one of our main sources for
land, her birthmother bleeds endlessly. My grandmother geration, sensationalized news essentially renders objec-
breaking news. What makes this form of media so
learns to pack, then unpack a box of ice around her heart. tive journalism obsolete. A simple presentation of facts
appealing, however, is not its objective presentation of
Eventually her eldest sister embraces Chairman Mao, may still be informative, but it will no longer interest
facts but rather its sensationalized projection of reality.
and the five blood siblings are fed well and taught the us as we increasingly turn toward news presented in an
Television news has the power to conveyand some-
ways of the world. They spring fire from wet matches. emotionally charged, overembellished way. The ominous
times even createa sense of national significance. Large
Attend Chongqing University. The Japanese professors statement that the media now defines disaster seems
events, such as September 11, Hurricane Katrina, and
inflame my grandmother at first, but on a fateful day all too justified. And that may be a disaster in itself.
of downpour, she slips in a pool of mud. A tender hand
stretches before her eyes. She holds it. She will never let
go of the Japanese professor who shows her that a nation
News outlets would rather
does not define its people, that forgiveness is the only
weapon that can end war.
drown us with disaster stories
In 1967, my grandmother flees a Chongqing ruptured
by opposition factions within Chairman Maos para-
military. My grandmother wraps her daughter in her
than let us swim through a sea
arms. Scales the mountain behind the university. She is
breathless. Boneless. Pockets of earth erupt inches away.
In her mind, she is again on the mountain of her youth.
That gorgeous wound. She is drinking the story of her
of mundane events.
blood, cresting the mountain to the place where the sun
will rise.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 109
Wilt me and Uncle Ben go like you know black
and the price it goes for.
Poetry
bar-hopping in Brooklyn You dont know what it is.
To die slow on the shelves of your enemy.
Poetry
Maya Eashwaran, Grade 11, Age 16, Milton High School, To fill they childrens bellies.
Alpharetta, GA . Marea Haslett, Educator, Savannah College of To have them profit off your pain.
Art and Design, Affiliate; Gold Medal, American Voices Medal, and David Ehmcke, Grade 12, Age 17, East High School, You dont know what I do.
Best-in-Grade Award Sioux City, IA. Wendy Bryce, Educator; Belin-Blank Center, Affiliate; You dont know me.
Gold Medal
Understanding my mistake, I put down my glass
In the Yamuna, a farmer cleaves through grass like hair,
So, The whiskey turns a deeper shade of brown
a discourse in beetles.
I attempt to vocalize an apology, but no sound comes out
His wife gave birth to a baby girl in the spring amid the
me and Uncle Ben are in this bar, right? Rice begins to fill my mouth
grease and begonia sweat of a house
And hes got that look in his eye My hands start turning to cardboard
with no windows and no water heater, gave her the land
like we gon drink ourselves up a new backstory I call out
in her palms.
I say Uncle Ben, what does this mean?
He worries about his daughter, he worries about his
Oh no.
wife and her ocean of a stomach
Not this again. A small grin appears on his ever-exploited face
drying with each month.
Sympathetically, he says
He knows he will cry
Ive know that Uncle B. When them folk have gone
on the harvest moon when there is no rice for his
and come for your bones,
unborn son. The drought has taken
You the dirtiest of rice! and they attempt
its lap of his land, marinates its tongue in dust, feasts
You cotton-picker gone corporate! to write your legacy,
on dirt with peanuts.
You Aunt-Jemimas-homeboy-on-the-low the only part of you
A salty kiss. His wife looks too small in her childbear-
You recipe for self-sale! that they will remember
ing hips, feels her
is me.
son fluttering inside her like a bird but feels empty
Yo Uncle Ben,
nested already,
You think you be able to drink till your skin goes blind?
their son dehydrated from searching for sustenance in a
dried waterhole of
You cant drink the caricature off your face!
a stomach. His wife bleeds life everywhere but his pink
You cant drink their hands off your throat!
bird-heart,
You think we ever be more than a noose!?
calls her son blessed. Summer estranged itself with
You think we ever be more than the dirt!?
saltines and bug swatters
Them folk aint neva gon forget who you really are.
and baby shoes, left remains in gutters and fish with flat
lungs.
He furrows his brow with a muted anger
Sunflowers stop sacrificing their petals upward, sun
I can see the cardboard box in his eyes
under their scalps,
Nervously, I allow the whiskey
everywhere all at once, a phantom. Daughters stop
in my cup to enter my apologetic mouth.
burning newspapers and
With a newfound calmness, Uncle B. spits
start burning stillborn rice instead. Pelicans are
Stop.
reported to have shed the sky like grouse, burnt black
Let that whiskey sit and stay a while.
for reaching upward
Allow it to burn the blood
for some cosmic relief, abalone are hollowed and eaten
out the back of your throat.
like coconut, the children
Watch it build a home in your mouth.
believe this is a way of mourning for the farmers
Call it Harlem.
stillborn son. Soon, they
It will be the hardest thing Many writing selections have been excerpted.
will let the sun burn his body and throw flowers on his
for you to swallow.
blue face as funeral Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read the works
You see, you cant keep speakin
rites for a son and prayers for a father sinking his hands in as they were submitted.
earth for a breath into his sons lung-less lips.

110 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 111
A Story About Ice Cream
Stands After They Close
Short Story
Emma Eisler, Grade 11, Age 16, School of the Arts, San
Francisco, CA. Heather Woodward, Educator; Region-at-Large,
Affiliate; Gold Medal
Ill be honest; I never actually went to Fosters Old-Fash-
ioned Freeze while it was open. It felt like I had, though.
Some places are like that, so steeped in nostalgia you
can taste the soft-serve without ever actually ordering a
cone. The Menlo Park location was the final stronghold
of the formerly prosperous seventy-year-old chain. The
stand was blue with a striped awning and a neon-lit sign
that might have been iconic if more people cared about
the Fosters Freezes of the world.
A thing that nobody knows about me is this: I cried
when I found out Fosters Freeze was closing. I am as
guilty as everyone who waited in line on that last day.
Because I did not go to Fosters Freeze when I could,
and nor did they. And now weve all gone home to cry
about it.
I dont know why Im thinking about this. Its been a
month since it happened. It shouldnt matter by now.
We are lying in a field at a high school I dont attend.
Were lying there, and my skirt is somewhere in the grass
behind me. Its been dark out for hours now, and Im
starting to think it might stay that way forever.
I can feel the prickliness of blades of grass on my back.
The boy Im with is moving his hand up my thigh. The
moment is speeding toward me like Caltrain as it hurtles
past the Menlo Park stop, so quickly that theres no point
in trying to jump out of the way.
The sky is so huge its killing me to look up. I wonder if
a lot of people feel the same waylike the earth is so vast
it hurts. There are probably whole masses of people who
have cried about the sky, the rain, the clouds. But who
is going to cry about ice cream stands after they close?
His mouth is on my neck, and I could stop this in a
second with no more than a word. But I am too caught
up in thinking about where that sign went, what happens
to signs after the stores close.
No, that isnt really what Im thinking about.
Im thinking about, and really wondering, who is going
to cry for me, because it seems an awful burden to do
that all on my own.
112 artandwriting.org
That feel good? he asks, and his words are all lumped
together so it takes a second to figure out what hes say-
ing.
No it doesnt, I could say. I am sad, and I want to go
home. Yeah. My fingers wind through his hair. Sure
it does.
The thing is, I really thought Id go to Fosters Freeze
one day. It seemed only natural. Id be walking through
the Menlo Park heat and, all of a sudden, Id start craving
soft-serve. Id walk up to the stand and buy a cone, and
it would drip in my hands, sweet and sticky, and then Id
go home and not ever think about it again.
He moves his hand from my thigh and rests one arm
on each side of my head. He leans in and kisses me and
I think, okay, I know how to kiss; this shouldnt be too
hard.
Something I should point out is that the boy Im with
is not my boyfriend, not exactly anyway. I dont even
know why Im here, actually. Just that I felt really stuck
in my head, and I thought a 1:00 a.m. rendezvous in a
field might help. Only now all I can think about is Fos-
ters Freeze, and how I shouldve gone there when I was
four or nine or fifteen.
Another thing I should mention about the boy Im with
is that he is the kind of boy who talks a lot about fuck-
ing. Whenever he says it, I wonder how he decided that
fucking is the right word. I think he likes it because
it sounds harsh, the kind of word that carves a space
around a person.
Maybe thats because Ive never done it though, fucked.
Maybe you can only learn the right terminology after its
over. The bigger question is what right I have to talk so
much about things Ive never tried. Its all speculation,
after all. Everything I think I know is really only an idea
Ive guessed.
He sits up and reaches for the waistband of my under-
wear. Is this okay?
I really thought I was the kind of person who would go
to Fosters Freeze. Ive thought a lot of things about my-
self, actually, but with every ice cream store that closes,
it seems one of these beliefs boards up its doors too.
Yeah. Do it, my voice says.
He slides off my underwear and throws it over his
shoulder onto the grass. Probably Im supposed to think
this is smooth or hot, but all I can focus on is how its
going to take forever to get dressed after this. Ill have
to look for every item of clothing. By the time Ive found
it all, he could already have gone home, in which case I
will sit back down to watch the sun rise over a world with
plenty of fucking but no Fosters Freeze.
I can tell it will be morning
soon, though I cant describe
what about the sky tells
me this.
I hear the unwrapping of a condom somewhere far from
me.
When Fosters Freeze first opened, were the teenagers
like they are now? Theres a sharp edge to being young,
Ive learned, but it never seems that way in movies about
the 1950s. Fosters Freeze seemed as simple as the ice
cream it served. Then again, that could be nostalgia at
work. It is entirely possible that all these stories I tell my-
self about where and when I live are really stories about
every other place and every other time too. I guess that
wouldnt be the worst thing. Maybe that means, when I
cry for myself, I am also crying for every other teenager
who has ever lived to see an ice cream stand close. And
maybe when those teenagers cry, their tears are as much
for me as they are for them.
He groans, and I feel as grossed out by the sound as I
was the first time I saw porn. What Im doing, this act, is
too personal to even talk about. I dont get how boys can
laugh or call it fucking like it doesnt matter at all. I
dont understand why I cant be like that too.
When I feel really low, I imagine I am Atlas holding the
whole sky. I can almost feel my arms buckling beneath
the weight, and I am crushed by the awareness that noth-
ing I do can ever make the atmosphere any lighter. I am
just one person, and there arent really any strangers out
there in the world crying for me.
My eyes are squeezed shut, and I have listened to a
whole chorus of other girls saying the first time isnt all
that great, but it still comes as a surprise when it hap-
pens to me. I bite down on my lip and try to float as far
away from my body as I can go, as far away as I can ever
be from the fact that I am a girl, and certain things are
always going to be harder for girls.
It ends pretty quickly, as I was also led to expect. He
doesnt kiss me, which is fine. I didnt expect him to.
We should hang out again soon, he says.
Right. Lets do that.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards
He stands and holds out a hand to help me up too. I
shake my head. Im gonna sit here a little longer. You
can go.
He nods and takes a few steps but then turns back.
That wasnt, like, your first time . . . right?
I force a laugh from deep in my throat. What? No, of
course not. Ill see you at school.
He tosses my underwear to me before leaving. Nice, I
think, now I have fewer pieces of clothing to find.
I pull myself, slowly, to my feet. The grass has left lit-
tle imprints all over my legs and arms. I yawn, and it is
strange to find myself yawning, a tiny ordinary motion in
the midst of an event so immense.
I pull my shirt over my head, snap the buttons on my
skirt. The moonlight is wavering above me, and I can
tell it will be morning soon, though I cant describe what
about the sky tells me this. There is a light breeze brush-
ing through the field, and it wraps around me and touches
me everywhere at once.
As I wander my way out of the high school I dont at-
tend, I am aware of a pain sitting in my stomach. It is a
pain that is hard and jagged and the exact opposite of that
tiny touch of wind.
I should point out that I am someone who feels pain a
lot. Usually, though, the pain is in my head. I can spend
whole weeks walking around with a headache that isnt a
headache in the traditional sense, but is definitely an ache
and definitely lives in my head. So I am used to hurting,
and I am used to dealing with it.
But this pain is different.
This is pain residing where it matters most. This is not
a pain I was born with, but one I caused all by myself. I
am watching Fosters Freeze close in my head.
And now I am going to cry. I am going to walk on the
Menlo Park cement and cry, not for Fosters Freeze or the
sky, but for myself.
113
Leaving
Personal Essay & Memoir needed breath of fresh air, allowing the opportunity to
Tessa Garwood, Grade 12, Age 17, Homestead High School,
Fort Wayne, IN. Jamie Smith, Educator; Fort Wayne Museum of
Art, Affiliate; Gold Medal
I never had time to be afraid of the monsters hiding in
my closet because I lived with one instead; he came home
from the bar at ungodly hours of the night in a drunken
stupor, hurling senseless accusations until all was silent
except for the barely audible sobs of my mother trying
to piece herself together before the first light of dawn
filtered through the windows and vaporized the demons
of my fathers addiction. I spent many nights wishing I
could disappear just as easily.
Everything changed the night my mother, bathed in
the soft glow emanating from the hallway light, urgently
shook me awake. The house was a vacuum filled with the
sound of her throwing open closet doors, zipping suitcas-
es, fumbling for car keys, and preparing to leave behind
the parts of us stained by the side effects of alcoholism.
Flickering above the garage door, a security light illu-
minated the tears silently streaming down my mothers
stoic face as my four-year-old brother clung to her hand
and we fled into the night like shadows.
In daily life, the act of leaving is as commonplace as the
fatigued students who toss backpacks into their cars af-
ter the final bell or the weary office workers who shut off
the lights after the paperwork is filed and the last phone
call is answered. As we hurtle toward an unknown fu-
ture, we leave behind obsolete versions of ourselves with
each passing hourghosts that can never be recovered,
only remembered.
One morning we wake up to find that we have out-
grown our hometowns overnightthe communities we
once held dear begin to feel more constricting than inti-
One morning we wake up to
find that we have outgrown
our hometowns overnight . . .
114 artandwriting.org
mate, and the niches once filled so naturally begin to feel
alien. In many ways, the act of leaving provides a much- Bullet Stains Its then when you faintly grasp
the gunfire,
Poetry how ghastly how abhorrent.
be freed from the entangling web of drama, tension, and You see the graveyard,
complacency that forms after we spend too many years Hannah Godsill, Grade 7, Age 12, University School of the flowers covering meadows.
driving down the same streets, living next to familiar Lowcountry, Mount Pleasant, SC. Sara Peck, Educator; Region-at- Confederate flags descending,
people, and looking out over an unchanging horizon. Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal nine lives ascending like angels.
The act of leaving is not simply the final slam of a door, A city staying strong.
the last word of an argument, or the filling of a suitcase. You cant grow up spending summers You sometimes picture
It is the story of a girl who holds everyone she has ever away from civilization for three weeks the AME church and see its allure
wanted to love at arms length because she fears pain, without learning something about home, the arched doorways,
scarring, and destruction. She falls for the boy who coax- Red, Black, Yellow, White, the pearl-white paint,
es her deepest secrets from her mouth with honeysuckle The yellow folders in my dads office, the cross at the main entrance.
promises and candy-coated lies, and when the falsified the pure white of my great-grandmas hair.
facade falls apart, she runs, because leaving is all she has You gain a way of understanding Youre home now
ever known. She finds comfort in hotel rooms overflow- how quickly your city can change with a new respect
ing with vacancy; being full is too permanent, too vulner- Southbound from the mountains for your small town.
able, and she has learned to fall in love with the empti- to the city of Charleston, South Carolina. Just looking at articles
ness instead of the person who caused it. Expecting to return to your mundane, uneventful on your phone before nightfall.
There is nothing to be romanticized about the act of hometown. Looking at the harbor,
leaving. The void left inside of me after my parents di- Just playing the alphabet game with your best friend sun gone and clamorous lights.
vorce was an abyss that should have been filled with af- in the backseat of her dads colossal, rusty truck The fireworks, on Americas birthday,
ternoons spent on swing sets, kicking my feet at the sky when he asks you if you heard what happened. They sound like gunshots.
as I begged for my father to push me higher, and week- The noise rings through your ears,
ends spent plunging my feet into the streambed behind The bodies, the gunshots, the bullet stains. passing that AME church
my house as minnows slipped between my bare ankles. I A place you visited on a school trip nearly every Saturday morning.
was haunted by the ghost of a father who was not an alco- Just three years ago.
holic, a father who chose to spend the night reading fairy The stinging air of winter.
tales to his children instead of looking for significance Your white and khaki school attire.
at the bottom of the bottle, a father remembered for his You think about how you shook
sober wisdom instead of his drunken ragethe father I the hand of the minister who was shot.
deserved but was not given. His voice, deep as the rumbling truck
I have not yet figured out what makes people decide your friends dad is steering.
when it is time to leave. Perhaps it happens on a whim, Youd been in the room before
as two people close their eyes, point to a random town on there were nine dead on the floor.
the well-worn atlas stowed in the backseat of their car,
and replace the crumbling foundations of their life with Youre told of the massacre;
opportunity and anonymity. Charlestons international headlines,
presidential limos, planes,
men with suits and black glasses,
backed-up streets.
You wonder about the families of the victims.
That church room the only image
floating through your head
as you close your eyes that night.
Wondering about how agonizing
the screams of terror must have been. Many writing selections have been excerpted.
The last breaths
Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read the works
so erratic and sudden.
as they were submitted.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 115
honorsband
Flash Fiction at the table next to yoursand continue their laughing
Angelo Hernandez-Sias, Grade 12, Age 17, Muskegon High
School, Muskegon, MI. Kirk Carlson, Educator; Kendall College of
Art & Design of Ferris State University, Affiliate; Gold Medal
Quiques mom, white and fat, smokes with the windows
upher cigarette in her right hand, the cheetah-print
steering wheel slip in her left.
Mom, when will you quit sucking cancer sticks, Quique
asks.
When you start minding your own fucking business
and quit worrying about grown folks, she says, pressing
a little harder on the gas. You rest your head on the win-
dowit jolts.
I hate it when you say that, he says.
Emi, she says, her blue eyes cooling yours through the
rearview, tell your friend to watch his mouth before I
turn this car around and take both of your asses home.
I dont want to get involved, you say, smiling (why do
you smile).
You know Quique hates it when you smile. You wince
when he sees you.
Beyond the wide cafeteria window is an infinite stretch
of pine trees. You and Quique are the golden arches, about
a mile away, that protrude from them.
Everyone is white; you are cold. You left your sweater
in Quiques room. He, too, is shivering am i the colds
cause or the causes cold or the causes colds cold will i
ever be warm i will never be warm enough.
There are silver tables, thirty of them, with black edges.
You and Quique land at a table full of boys with white
necks. Quique offers his hand. It is not burnt; they do not
You know Quique hates it when
you smile. You wince when he
sees you.
116 artandwriting.org
accept. Both of you sit.
The five of them stand, leave, and sit againthis time,
and talking.
On the wall at the far side of the room hangs a giant
German flag. You and Quique stare.
The clouds have left, but the sky is black. You and
Quique, alone, your backs on white wall cement. His
right hand taps his torn trumpet case; his left hands fin-
gertips linger into the gaps of the gray-brown vent on
which you sit. A white man approaches you, asks, Where
are your parents. Theyre almost here, Quique tells him.
The man leaves. This is right. There is something Quique
must tell you . . .
Hey, he starts. His voice, familiar. Youve tasted
Quiques hey a thousand times before.
What, you ask.
A sigh. Never mind, he says. Youve tasted Quiques
never mind even more.
OK, you say.
I want to tell you something, he says.
Tell me.
I cant, he says, his head bent, his fingers straining the
sweat from his palm like water from soaked ashes.
Why not, you ask.
Its hard to say. I was . . . it was in first grade.
Someone . . . touched you, you ask.
He nods his head.
You are silent. Im so . . .
His mother is here. He grabs his trumpet and you fol-
low him out of the front door.
In the car, his mother asks him, How was rehearsal.
He says nothing.
She repeats herself, terse this time.
It was good, you tell her.
Conversation About helps me not feel out of place.
Liam says the school is doing its best to accommodate
Gender-Neutral Bathrooms non-binary students, but that the current system still has
flaws.
Surges Through Staples Staples already offers unisex bathroom and locker op-
tions to transgender students, which is pretty great, he
Journalism
said. However, single-person unisex facilities can still
have disadvantages. It could be difficult for questioning
Becky Hoving, Grade 11, Age 16, Staples High School,
or closeted trans students to access them, for instance.
Westport, CT. Cody Thomas, Educator; Writopia Lab Westchester
On the other hand, Megan Brown 17 notes that multi-
& Fairfield, Affiliate; Gold Medal
person gender-neutral bathrooms would introduce an en-
tirely different set of complications.
With twenty minutes left until the bell rings, Liam*
Yes, gender-neutral bathrooms would assure that
raises his hand and politely asks his teacher if he may
transgenders are much more comfortable. But it would
use the restroom. He exits his classroom and positions
also mean that girls and boys would be using the same
himself in front of the female and male restrooms, where
bathroom, which is something not everyone would be
he is confronted with a decision that most students do not
comfortable with, Brown said, noting that the idea of
have to face every day. For transgender and non-binary
using the bathroom with boys her age would be so un-
students like Liam, deciding which bathroom to use is a
usual and ultimately awkward for everyone.
decision that is not so easy to make.
Nicole Kiker 17 supports the idea of gender-neutral
There was a time in the beginning of my transition
bathrooms, as long as they are in addition to the already
when using the girls restroom would feel really dysphor-
existing, separate female and male bathrooms.
ic, but I also felt it wasnt socially acceptable to use the
Ideally, gender-neutral bathrooms would be able to
boys one either, Liam said. It can definitely be ambigu-
mitigate gender stigmas, but in a high school environ-
ous for non-binary or transgender people when it comes
ment, thats just not realistic.
to choosing restrooms.
In terms of Staples policy on transgender bathroom
Someone who is non-binary does not identify them-
use, Lavasseur notes that were still evolving, but also
selves clearly with the gender they were assigned at
cites respect as the underlying message.
birth. Given the challenges connected with gender iden-
It is a new topic, but its really not that different. It
tity, bathroom assignments for non-binary people can be
fits right into that anti-discrimination policy, she said.
tricky.
However, we do feel like, for students, there needs to be
However, Sue Lavasseur, supervisor of health services
an individual plan as well. Not all transgender students
for Westport Public Schools, says the school leaves the
are going to want to do the same thing.
decision up to the student.
Andy feels as though this individual plan has been
The issue of where to go to the bathroom is certainly
working for him, but acknowledged that it might not be
something that we are all trying to work around. How-
the same for all students.
ever, students who are transgender all have access to the
Dr. Valerie Bachich, coordinator of psychological ser-
bathroom that corresponds to their gender identity, she
vices for Westport Public Schools, thinks all students
said. If they feel they want a private bathroom, we give
should be respected, and that that responsibility falls on
that student access to a private bathroom. Some students
the student body.
prefer to use the bathroom in the nurses office; it really
I think in terms of how students can help, its very
just depends on the student.
important for everyone to accept these students for who
Still, Staples has yet to provide gender-neutral bath-
they are, she said. Ultimately, we want to make sure
rooms, a trend in recent years on college campuses. La-
that Staples is a gender-inclusive environment and that
vasseur says it is something the school is considering.
we are doing everything we can to make sure that all stu-
Andy*, another transgender student at Staples, sup-
dents feel safe, comfortable, and welcomed.
ports the idea of gender-neutral bathrooms.
Theyre a space where every person, regardless of gen-
der, can feel comfortable, he said. When Im in pub-
lic, Ill try my best to find a gender-neutral bathroomit
*Due to the sensitivity of the article, names have been
changed.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 117
Spanish (what my father Hereditary (A Slam Poem) Probably stronger than meth, coke, the pills, heroin, love
itself, and
A year after I was born, he told her, I love someone else,
and I cant be with you.
taught me about loving) Poetry nicotine. Nicotine. And my artistic freedom is always the subject of feuds.
Writing my life in the lines is not allowed.
Poetry Malachi Jones, Grade 10, Age 15, Charleston County School Nicotine Not acting black enough is not allowed.
of the Arts, North Charleston, SC. Danielle DeTiberus, Educator; took hold of my grandmother long before my father was Being too white is not allowed.
Aracely Medina, Grade 12, Age 17, Douglas Anderson School Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal born. And when we disagree, we disagree loud
of the Arts, Jacksonville, FL. Tiffany Melanson, Educator; She was the mutual friend that my grandparents shared. thats why Im never going to read this poem
Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal I was born of a fearless heritage. Through her, they met and love developed from the smoky if he ever decides to show his face in one of these crowds.
Jones and Moorer men made themselves in this forced remains. This doesnt make his mistakes admissible.
At the table I watched his promise land But who wouldve thought that tobacco can burn so thick You would think that calling you kid is a part of the
trimmed black mustache wiggle even though their last name wasnt really their own. that past lives can seem to burn away with it too. principle.
as he spoke. Through the god forgotten dirt they grew success. Conversations blossomed into something more, Disconnected because all I get when I call are deadlines.
His ranchera music, The mouths of their children fed by their land and no germinated with wedding bands, And no, Im not satisfied that he only provides dollar
filling hallways and cars, one elses. fertilized with a honeymoon, signs . . .
I sat bloating with rhythm. So I say, budding through late night kisses, and commas, so allow me to take a breath because my
Give me land and from the flower that was Dorothy Jones came a uncles are the only male role models I have left.
My father said chiles grew sweet on the and I will multiply like my deceased great grandfathers. Thorne. Turns out Im wrong because theyve all done the same.
mountains in Mexico, Give me work Thats what she named him. If Im the spitting image of my father, my cousins are
his vowels and I will provide like my deceased great grandfathers. A roses defense because all she could be at the moment mucus to theirs.
leafy cilantro, and onion Give me love was vulnerable Saliva is always exchanged but no one ever cares for
the chunky pudding of avocado, and I will use it, Thorne not Hawthorne like his father, mucus.
or rather the coconut candy, he bought me waste it, who didnt seem to bother From my throat I feel I have spoken my future.
striped green, white, and red. seek out for more, to disclose that his love life stretched much farther Ill cheat on my wife and have a second kid.
produce a bastard kid, than the Bronx borough. Hell have exchanged more words with the automated
Years later and continue life as if nothing happened His secret life he hid so thorough system than he would with me.
my father long moved out like all the living male figures in my life. that it wasnt until she was in And Ill have broken into another woman heart. Another
Spanish labor womans dream.
came out to a boy Jerry, my burdened brother, youre six now, that he decided to do her a And once Ive sowed my royal oats, theres no knitting
over dinner so I think you should know that favor back that broken family.
mi amor, mi corazn, Grandpa lost vision in his right eye 8 years ago, but to tell her that Hawthorne Jr. already existed. In my ancestry, this is a trend that spans end to end
my love, my heart. fast forward 4 more, add seven months, a 14-hour drive, Like I said, he was just so thorough of every single generation.
Warm as a flour tortilla in a migration to the south with no second thought So my grandmother decided to thorough Cause Im not fearless, not like the rest of the Jones and
the palm, snuggled to me like and here you are at 2 years old. away the h-a-w. Moorer men.
the black sombrero Your dad gone, mustve gotten lost in time. Cause only a thorn in the side hurts a woman more I fear of becoming just like those brave souls when I grow
my father placed firmly on my head laughing at Cold hearted, but thats simply the absence of heat. than knowing her lover, old.
how it swallowed me. Ill tell you where it went: someone she was supposed to die for, was sneaking out
through the ear, into Grandpas opaque iris of side doors And if you didnt hear what I was afraid of
Parting, I left the boy at the doorstep every time we mention that mans name. taking late-night drives toward Im afraid Ill have to tell you again
grasping at my words Jerry, he has managed to turn a blind eye. women that my grandmother to this day will still call
eating the watercolor sound But learn to love him anyway whores. Im afraid of becoming a man in this heritage of fearless
adis, and cherish it as a luxury he never had. So it was after they cut the umbilical cord men.
mi amor, The gift of loving a father. An irretrievable joy, that Nicki became little sister of sorts to my father.
adis. ribbon-wrapped, A habitual smoker himself
six feet underground in a New York cemetery. And Im not going to lie, from the outside, he seems
And love your half-brother and sister to have made wealth,
because they have different mothers too. but what am I? Im not. Simply connected through Many writing selections have been excerpted.
I promise you, I really do promise you that affiliation.
once youve known him long enough youll begin Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read the works
And he didnt abandon me. He was honorable and
to think that infidelity is an addiction. told my mom the truth. as they were submitted.

118 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 119
Death Is Linear,
Time Is Negotiable
Science Fiction & Fantasy
Cameron Kelley, Grade 12, Age 17, Harborside Academy,
Kenosha, WI. LuAnn Underwood, Educator; Southeast Wisconsin
Scholastic Writing Region, Affiliate; Gold Medal
When she was pregnant, my mom expected twins. She and
my pa picked out the namesAddy and Alexibought us
matching cribs and clothes, and told anyone who would
listen about us.
When my sister and I were born, our hearts beat like a
sad songs drum line. We were flimsy paper held together
with old glue, our arteries made of rusty copper. Only
one of us survived the week at the hospital. My sister
died holding my hand.
**
When I was too young to measure my life in months,
they buried my sister in a pretty wooden box. She was
exactly like me, a carbon copy, except for the parts of her
that didnt work. After the funeral, my parents refused
to talk about her, even as I held conversations with a girl
named Alexi who they could not see.
When I graduated high school, I went to the graveyard.
My sisters grave was not new and not old. It was my age.
Barely begun and already world heavy. On the stone, the
same year etched twice held the grief of young parents.
Liked fire and fast cars and other dangerous things,
said my sister. She was talking about the girl buried next
to her.
Thats no fun, I replied. The game wasnt played like daughters who were masters of time. My mother never
this. I dont like it when theyve got no After. wanted a day to run away from us.
Youre not going to leave me alone now, are you, she
asked me. I could sort of make her out, sitting with her
back to the stone that marked her grave, face turned up
to catch the sun.
Of course not.
When my sister and I were
born, our hearts beat like a sad
songs drum line.
120 artandwriting.org
I think Im going to like community college.
Yeah. I think I will too.
**
When she was pregnant, my mom ate a clock every morn-
ing. She craved nothing for breakfast but oatmeal with
butter, and my pa would make it for her, stirring it with
his thick metal ladle. He would wait until he couldnt hear
the ticking of the hands going round and round, and then
hed serve it up to her in my grandmothers ceramic bowl.
When I was sixteen, empty and suspended in my
mourning, free falling in my grief, I destroyed every plate
and bowl my mother owned. It was cruel, and I regretted
it the minute I looked down at the remains of the pottery
at my feet.
My mom burst into the kitchen. There was a frantic
fear in her eyes.
Look what youve done now, said the ghost of my twin
sister. She was hurting as much as I was, but she didnt
have the solid hands with which to hold the cutlery.
Why did you let her leave me, I demanded of my
mother. I meant my grandmother, I meant Alexi. I didnt
know who I meant, just that I was lonely.
I didnt
Why did you never talk about it, why didnt you say
something. That was cruel too. My mom was just a per-
son. People dont always know how to let secrets slip.
Oh, baby. I couldnt tell why, why she wasnt angry or
upset about the damage I had done, not until I tasted salt
and felt hot liquid down my cheeks. She wrapped me in
her arms. Baby, Im so sorry.
I snuck a look at my sister, and she looked wistful.
**
When my mother was pregnant, she had wanted two
Now, I cannot run away from my sister.
I have never looked at my own After. I am too worried
about what it will look like. Worried that it will read like
my sisters novel, and not my own.
The Resurrection
Poetry
Anna Lance, Grade 12, Age 17, West High School, Anchorage,
AK. Temperance Tinker, Educator; Young Emerging Artists, Inc.,
Affiliate; Gold Medal
I. MARY. Stayed at home. The rooms bundled
with mourning, memories shared around
bites of barley bread, tossed and chattered
conversation. The swing of eyes leaned
against her as she moved through
with the earthenware milk and spirits.
Your brother was a good man theyd say,
good before God and before men. Shed nod
and smile around the bright pressure
like seeds and flour burning in her throat
or watered wine on dry ground. Would try
not to duck the caresses on her hair,
recalling the sweet dark stickiness,
how little she minded cleaning out
the symbolic gunk of road-dust
once shed knelt and washed His feet.
II. MARTHA. Met Him on the road.
Heart a skinned rabbit revitalized,
bloody and fitful, its feet hammering.
His shape a form of color and shadow
with the faithfuls at his heels. The first word
out of her mouth was Lord but the rest
of her sentence said why. His answers:
frustratingly analgesic to the heat of
desperate grief, allowing her to cool
her forehead against the railings
of His irreproachable logic. Mouth all acid.
Disciples silent. Yes, you are the Messiah
son of God the resurrection and the life
she said and let Him feel as a convulsion
in the Bethany midday burn the resolution,
as they stood there, raw and shifting
but you let him die.
III. JESUS. Felt very tired. Knew
what had to be done, and what couldnt.
Followed the sisters with a heavy step
to the tomb. Thought about homilies
and ineffable purpose and how much
it hurts to love a man tenderly and have him leave
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards
and rend their small world with his leaving.
How undoing is not the same as preventing
the ever having done. How alive he used to come
in daylight, the ruck of the scythe-scar on
his smile and his carefully displayed doubts,
the talks theyd have about what happens
when you die and how to prove the unprovable
and how perfect he was in his willingness
to learn. Salt of the earth and spark of the sun.
Saw the sisters crying, and the stone nudged
almost casually to shield the yawning mouth
of the full-bellied cave. Covered His face
with His hands. Wept.
IV. LAZARUS. Woke up. Startled first
by the smell of four days worth
of his own decay. Then the spiced linen
on his lips and nose and eyes and
the regretful curve of his back as if
hed spent the night in a bad
position. Then: the sounds. Mary Martha
he wanted to say, speech fighting forward
slow as sleepwalking but not even
in the stale nothing that had removed him
unceremoniously from his love did he dare
to think the other name. Realized suddenly
that he was no longer sick. Heard
the hoarse cry, shuddering low for some reason
Lazarus come out! Followed His command.
Did not understand. Take off the grave clothes
and let go. Felt the shroud fall and his brain
fill with fire. Saw light.
Many writing selections have been excerpted.
Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read the works
as they were submitted.
121
The Lost Child
Short Story
Emma Lickey, Grade 9, Age 14, Grant High School, Portland, OR.
Sharee Chapman, Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal
When I first met Hassan, his body was a mural of blood
and salt. Under clouds like pale vipers, he came to us
in the back of a truck, his head lolling over the face of
the dead girl in his lap. He kissed the bones plating her
eyes, filling the wells of her cheeks with tears, stroking
the broken nub of her knee, tracing the poisoned veins.
Honey leaked from the burns dashing his arms, gleam-
ing like beetles skin. Ash knitted into the seams of his
clothing. Consciousness left him with one hand tangled
in the girls hair.
Harris, always quicker than me, jumped into action.
Cracking clicked from his bad knee as he lifted the girl
from the boys lap and carried her through the camel-
hair flaps of the medical tent. I picked up the boy, and it
was not my weeks of exertion that made it so effortless.
I washed my hands and snapped on gloves, brushing pil-
lars of sand off my clothes onto the thin plastic floor.
An older medic told me years ago that you never forget
your first child, his lips folding away like the corners of
an abused book. Hassan was my first child. I had treated
women howling of rape, rough men, rebels who rumbled
into camp to get their arms set and spread the good word,
spirits still roaring with their linked passion. But Hassan
was my first child, and I never forgot his thick hair and
pale almond skin, his long fingers that held everything a
child shouldnt know.
When I told my parents I was leaving for the Middle
East, my father slapped me on the back and my mother
burst into tears. Why? she snapped. So you can get
shot just like your cousin?
Dont listen to her, Ellie, my father said. Go save
some lives. We didnt put you through med school for
nothing.
Jesus, Matt, shes going to Turkey, not Providence.
You could get shot for wearing those shorts!
At first, I hated it. Six months couldnt pass fast
enough. I hated the long plane ride, the white sun, the
bright colors of cheap plastic that tiled anything worth
saving. I hated the long flowing clothes that protected
me from the sand. I hated the labyrinth of tents, the
ragged allies, the moaning, the poverty. I hated the blus-
tering jets that streaked overhead and the families whod
122 artandwriting.org
forsaken hope along with their last few dollars. I hated
the plains of gravel and the children who caught a breeze
under their feet and seemed to fly, finding joy in a joy-
less place, who thought that the bombers in the sky were
nothing more than black birds. Or perhaps they knew
betterthey were so awfully aware of their surround-
ings. Their mothers had to look on with horror as their
babies witnessed death and their belly buttons hardened
and pushed out like worms.
I isolated myself in the medical tent, required by the
UNHCR to be as clean as possible. Mesh cots lined one
long wall, cabinets and desks the other. Boxy machines
whirred between patients. On the end, a yellow curtain
closed off a private space for Harris and me, divided
again by a translucent parchment screen. I found solace
in the clean white plastic and aloe-scented hand sani-
tizer that reminded me of home. I relished the snap of
gloves sealing my hands in latex and the feline chk-chk
of electrical equipment. Every parallel stitch and waxy
bandage reassured me I was doing the right thing and
making a difference.
Hassan almost didnt survive, and it was thanks to my
distraction. When I pulled off his shirt to find the punc-
ture holes in his bruised abdomen, I found the pictures
sown into the hem. Slipping them from their pockets, I
unfolded a lovely young girl. A birthmark branded the
slender bone cupping her ear and her small, carefully
brushed teeth shined. Her eyes were astonishing even on
the washed-out paper, phosphorescent green like some
kind of undersea being. I knew she had been the girl in
the truck bed, no older than six when she died.
Others were in the photos, as well. A woman wrapped
in a long skirt slit open around the ankle to reveal the
gold inner flesh. A tall man, handsome, with a black
beard anchored to his cheekbones. An old woman kneel-
ing between Hassan and the little girlwritten in Arabic
on the backHassan, Nana, and Rima. Rima crushing
pomegranate between her teeth. Hassan side by side
with another boy, beaming under oiled fronds of black
hair and navy uniforms, their legs splayed. Nana, spat-
tered in almond oil as she swaddled Rima. As I tore out
the pictures, Hassan woke up and began to scratch at the
wounds on his back.
Elated with fever, his fingers began to probe, digging
into the sores puckering his skin. I watched this happen
out of the corner of my eye, grazing the benevolent love
of his mother as she held Hassan in her arms. Only when
blood began to pour did the photos fall from my hands.
+++
When I first met Hassan, his
body was a mural of blood
and salt.
Sitting up in a cot, Hassan gave me his name and city,
Aleppo. Sand crackled in his hair and checkered his arms.
Wind had stressed his skin into a mosaic of flaking se-
quins like dandelion seeds.
Where is Rima? he asked, pulling my shoulder. Rima,
the little girl in the picture. Rima, with the splintered leg.
Rima, lying in a desert grave, ribbons of sand claiming
her as its own.
Hassan had been asleep for three days. During that
time, his wounds had mellowed in their white linen.
Sometimes I liked to imagine myself as a healing spirit,
cool blue pluming from my fingertips. With Hassan it was
differenthe sparked a need in me I had never experi-
enced before. Something about his limp chin and wise
eyes drew it from me to every point of offense, down
to the smallest sliver dicing his thumb. I could think of
nothing but making this boy whole again. But, no matter
how I reaped my memories of medical school, I couldnt
sew together an answer to his question.
Rima, sister? I asked, biting my lip in shame at my
tuneless Arabic.
I speak English, said Hassan. Yes, she is my sister.
Your sister, then, I said, smoothing the crumpled lin-
ens on his bed. Im so sorry.
She is hurt? Hassan asked. She steps on a mine and
I pull her away. But her leg is broken.
No, Hassan. Rima died. Each word dropping like cold
black pebbles.
After a moment of silence, when an impatient wind
sliced open the tent, Hassan shut his eyes. Tears speared
his palms, and he scratched at his scabby burns, ripping
them away until they began to spurt blood. I watched in
horror as he screamed, crushing his temples between his
palms, gummy skin trailing from his nails. Unsure of
where to begin calming him, I grasped his hands and felt
them wavering to stay upright. I watched the walls rip-
pling around us and felt an ice creaking in my heart that
seemed to come from Hassan himself.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards
+++
Harris told me that Aleppo had seen terrible damage,
holding up his phone to confirm his words. Snapshot af-
ter snapshot of paper and trash sailing through streets
in a haunting ballet, bony children and amputated dogs
hunting together through bombed apartment build-
ings, charred elbows, their toes chewed by worms. Run,
I thought, thumbing through the pages of snarled lives,
just run away.
I watched Hassan from the bed of an old woman, who
grasped at my hair in her illusion and prayed to Allah for
the fried sujuk and tabbouleh of her childhood. Hassan
lay on his back, ripping fronds of skin off his fingernails
and laying them on his tongue. I held a cup of water to the
womans chipped lips and moved on to Hassan. Though
he didnt move his eyes from the fabric of the ceiling, an
apology kicked its way off his tongue.
I am sorry for my anger, he said formally. Mama is
not proud of me.
Where are your mother and father? I asked, too ea-
ger. Hassans eyes dropped askew.
She lives now with Rima.
And your Nana? Where is she?
Nana is not in my family. She is our woman of cooking
and cleaning.
Not your mother?
Women are equal to men. Love fanned in his eyes as
he said, Mama taught at school.
And your father?
Papa was doctor, like you. Hassan glanced up at me,
just as the old woman started gasping again. For a mo-
ment, I could have sworn he was my youngest brother
Parker, smirking with pride as he baptized his latest
LEGO tower with a plastic orange flag. I pulled Hassans
covers over his shoulders and turned to pound a wad of
phlegm, hard as a nut, from the womans lungs.
123
missing in action
Poetry
Elliot Hueske, Grade 9, Age 14, Charleston County School
of the Arts, North Charleston, SC. Danielle DeTiberus, Educator;
Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal
in blurs of misty teal and neon light
a fingered cloud of ice and dusted dreams
had laced through bands of ultraviolet nights
and broken tightened borders at the seams.
she watched as stars descended; taking years,
like spit from glowing mouths of time and space
and satellites had wiped away her tears
with hands of glass and hair of iron lace.
and time away had shattered all her thoughts
of him returning with a beam of sun,
his eyes were dark but glowed with sixty watts
replaced her hands (once closed in his) with guns.
and gravity had never pulled him home,
back to his little girl, sleeping alone.
124 artandwriting.org
telepath
Poetry
Joey Reisberg, Grade 10, Age 16, George Washington Carver
Center for Arts and Technology, Towson, MD. Suzanne Supplee,
Educator; Region-at-Large, Affiliate; Gold Medal
Gregor Samsa Burns Ants as a Child
Take your daddys magnifying glass
into the backyard. Scatter sweet crumbs
from your pockets and watch the juicy
ants tremble out of their bumpy homes.
They are so trusting, trickling from their
hidey-holes, so you just want to scoop
them up and feel them murmuring against your heart.
But you are a boy with a sling in his back pocket,
and somewhere a guy named Franz Kafka
is sealing your fate, so you squeeze
a fatal burst of sunlight through the glass.
The annihilation is total.
You hang flypaper curtains in the kitchen,
clip off butterfly wings,
sprinkle salt on slugs
and try not to cry as they ooze.
You dont know why you are doing this.
You wrench earthworms out of the ground.
You know that life is pointless
and absurd and you are god
of the grasshoppers and their silvery sound.
You try to sleep, but you cant stop hearing
millions of mandibles,
and the faintest flutter
of wings in your abdomen.
How to Love America
Personal Essay & Memoir
Rowana Miller, Grade 10, Age 15, The Beacon School,
New York, NY. Kathleen Willett, Educator; NYC Scholastic Art &
Writing Awards, Affiliate; Gold Medal
You start with the Pledge of Allegiance. How else? Youve
known it since you were five, back when it was a collec-
tion of syllables rather than words, and you heard it as
I Pledgel Legions. You didnt know what a pledgel was,
but you said it anyway, because it came on over the loud-
speaker in your kindergarten classroom and your teacher
that year was soft like a gingerbread lady with an icing
smile, and she told you the words were good and right.
Later, you learned the real words, and you chuckled at
your childish stupidity. You were nine, or maybe ten, but
a mature ten. You thought it then, and you still think it
now, even as your memories contradict it. And once, you
got to lead the Pledge. It wasnt about the words, though,
even though they were more than syllables at that point.
It was about the pride that came from knowing that all
the voices in all the rooms were trying to match their
mouth movements to yours. Really, it was a performance,
and you were the star.
It wasnt about America.
America never shimmered in between the folds of your
brain as you articulated the words that werent just syl-
lables anymore but might as well have been. Instead,
America was outside of you. It was your cocoon and your
coffin and you were complacent.
Soon enough, you started seeing America. You saw
America in the fumes choked out by buses that dragged
across Twenty-third Street and you saw America in the
office buildings with plants on their windowsills that
blocked you from seeing the people inside. You saw Amer-
ica in the flashing billboards in Times Square that always
switched commercials as soon as you looked up at them,
and you saw America in the parking lot outside your win-
dow that tore itself up and stacked its fragments into a
hotel made up of puzzle pieces that didnt fit together.
And thats when you realized that America was consum-
mate but that it was nothing. America was the sum of the
Pledge and the destruction, and when you added the two
extremes, you got zero.
You knew that America was founded on the principle of
liberty (liberty for straight, white men, at least)thats
what you learned in seventh gradebut that year, your
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards
teacher was the opposite of gingerbread, more like a sta-
pler chomping through crisp pages, but a stapler is useful
to those pages because it unites them, while you realized
that what use does gingerbread have anyway?
Youre writing this now, and youre rereading what
youve gotten down so far and thinking that this doesnt
look like how to love America. How to love America should
be streaked with red and white and blue and be written
like youre shouting empowerment into a megaphone. It
shouldnt be casual acceptance thats really a disguise for
unawareness and suspiciousness of the solidity that the
Pledge promises. But thats where the critic peeking out
of your ear is wrong. You love America because you hate
the way America encased you in itself without informing
you of its presence.
Because you love America by lamenting the inter-
changeable bags of white skin and false patriotism that
are running for president in 2016. You love America by
studying the loopholes in the Hazelwood Standard ma-
jority opinion and allowing a ribbon of criticism to spew
from your throat. You love America by asking why has
Silicon Valley been able to suffocate this country with
bubble wrap, and why dont we realize that there is gun-
powder in our tea, and why are some people large and
distorted like youre seeing them through a curved mag-
nifying glass but others are so small that we dont notice
that the sun is bouncing off the lens and frying them.
You abhor the Americans who drawl that our country is
immaculate, even though their fingers wrap around guns
that suck in all the life within fifty miles but are still,
somehow, symbols of freedom. Honestly, youd rather be
one of the lives that gets sucked into the gun than be as-
sociated with those who carry it. So really, you love the
idea of America, rather than the radioactive, plastic para-
dise that the gun-toters claim is their homeland.
This is how to love America. Love America for what it
could be rather than what it has become. Love America
for the seedlings that are frozen, afraid to germinate, un-
der soil that is the only barrier between them and the
fire-blazing air. Love America for a quill that danced
through ink and parchment two hundred and fifty years
ago in hope for a country in which revolution was culti-
vated rather than stifled. This is how to love America.
Many writing selections have been excerpted.
Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read the works
as they were submitted.
125
Cherry Lipbalm Girls are friends, not lovers
A thought all but forgotten now, Undocumented Immigrant United States. George symbolizes the feelings of many
Americans who fail to recognize that todays Mexican im-
Poetry as your lips are on mine, Journalism migrants are simply pursuing the same American dream
a whole new covanent. that other immigrants have sought for generations. It is
Susannah Oxley, Grade 11, Age 16, Boise High School, When you open your mouth, Shaima Parveen, Grade 12, Age 18, Livingston High School, ironic that many of these protesters, like George, descend
Boise, ID. Teri Weisensel, Educator; Boise State Writing Project, everything turns to marmalade, Livingston, NJ. Jennifer Johnson, Educator; Region-at-Large, from immigrant families themselves. However, when
Affiliate; Gold Medal my fists unclench, Affiliate; Gold Medal asked if an individuals family history affected his/her
my skin softens. opinion of undocumented immigrants, 86.67% of those
Girls are friends, not lovers. On October 10, 2012, just after 11:00 p.m., sixteen-year- surveyed responded that it did, and 100% of those posi-
A sentence uttered under a strangers breath, I hear ghosts echoing strings of hate old Jose Antonio Elena Rodriguez lay dead on a sidewalk tive responses came from the descendants of immigrants,
as I hold my best friends hand in the back of my mind, just across the Mexican-Arizona border, after he had been suggesting that an individuals personal history in terms
in the supermarket, I hear them without listening, shot seven times in the back by U.S. Border Patrol agents of immigration does have an impact on his/her percep-
age 7. like background noise, who had spotted the boy crossing the border. Rodriguezs tion of undocumented Mexican immigrants.
Words that eroded the lining of my skull bringing down the pillars above them. death serves as a metaphor for the contemporary preva- Secondarily, misunderstanding of undocumented im-
and sank to the bottoms of my feet, lence of misunderstanding directed at undocumented migrants often leads to extensive violence and conflict,
glued themselves in my memory. Mexican immigrants. While some of these border cross- which must end for the well-being of all Americans. Ac-
ers may, in fact, be involved in illegal activities, most are cording to the Department of Homeland Security, six-
Girls are friends, not lovers. law-abiding people simply seeking a better life for them- teen civilians have been killed by Border Patrol agents in
I mutter to a boy in false vow selves and their families, and in spite of their honorable less than two years. In response to this recent tragedy,
as he spits hate to a rainbow bumpersticker intentions, their motives are often misunderstood, caus- the U.S. Customs and Border Protection is reviewing its
claiming malevolence and threatening violence if ing many Americans to identify them as illegal aliens guidelines for the use of force. Although most media at-
one of those greedy for American profits and resources. tention is directed at brutal hate crimes, violence against
come near him, Primarily, while portraying undocumented Mexican undocumented immigrants is most common in the work-
age 11. immigrants as criminals, the majority of Americans mis- place, where undocumented immigrants are vulnerable
understand the intolerable living conditions these im- to employers deportation threats. When recently asked
Girls are friends, not lovers. migrants face in their homeland and resent their pursuit about his experience, an undocumented immigrant ex-
I try to bury the flowers blooming in my belly, of the American Dream. In The Epic of America, James plained the abuse he witnessed while working for the
smiling, as I taste her cherry lipbalm on the corners of Truslow Adams states that the American dream is that fast-food restaurant McDonalds: Behind closed doors,
my mouth, dream of a land in which life should be better and richer employers rely [on] and need immigrants because they
imprints of a dare, and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each accord- can manipulate and abuse them through fear tactics, such
age 13. ing to ability or achievement (Truslow, 214). His expla- as calling immigration on them if they dont work. More
nation is the motivation that drives increasing numbers often than not, immigrants face sexual abuse at work, pay
Girls are friends, not lovers. of Mexicans to risk their lives to cross the border into the thats below the minimum wage, and exploitation because
I remember the first time her eyes met mine, United States. Nonetheless, many Americans, particu- their employer knows how desperately the person needs
like safety, like Youre not alone. larly those in the border states, driven by prejudice and their job [to] support their family. By using threats of
She speaks like the way honey is smooth, financial pressure, resent these immigrants attempts to deportation to control undocumented immigrants, em-
sweet, and spreads through my veins enter the United States and take steps to expel them. In ployers are able to take advantage of their status to force
like a dormant virus. Immigration, an episode of the documentary series 30 them to work under substandard conditions. According to
Days, Frank George, a Minuteman passionate about end- Crimes Against Illegal Immigrants in Boston magazine,
Girls are friends, not lovers. ing illegal immigration, is forced to live with the Gonza- For immigrant victims of sexual abuse, justice is near-
I douse the evil bred in my brain lez family, undocumented Mexican immigrants. George, ly impossible to come by. Some Americans argue that
with freezing water, in the hopes to drown the demons himself originally an immigrant forced to leave Cuba be- Constitutional rights do not extend to undocumented im-
that taught me to swim through a sea of hate cause of political oppression, entered America legally. He migrants since they are not citizens of America. These
quietly, without stirring waves. believes it is important to abide by the law and fears Americans fail to realize that undocumented immigrants
Reluctantly, I feel it leaving, as I learn that the influx of undocumented immigrants will even- are residents of our country who plan to remain here and,
the things Im feeling are normal, good, tually bring about the dissolution of America. Though therefore, should be entitled to the same Constitutional
even beautiful, George does not explicitly classify undocumented Mexi- rights as others.
age 14. can immigrants as criminals, he compares them to the
terrorists of 9/11, implying that they pose a threat to the

126 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 127
A Selected Collection of
Human Anatomy
Personal Essay & Memoir Theyre attached to your mouth, which is meant for
Marissa Robertson, Grade 12, Age 17, Milwaukee High
School of the Arts, Milwaukee, WI. James Bruss, Educator;
Still Waters Collective, Affiliate; Gold Medal
HANDS
My palms are speckled with hard, yellow dots where
joints meet thick flesh and hands meet palms. They are
souvenirs from adventures in my backyard, scaling trees
and slicing down imaginary enemies with sticks.
My aunts and uncles dont agree. Ay que linda, they
say, in fast voices that have more sharp sounds than
kindness. Why do you do this to yourself?
I try to explain that the best way to hop up into the
tree behind our house requires gripping hard bark, and
thats where those calluses came from. I try to explain
that its fine because you can see over two yards standing
in that tree, and the neighbors dog likes to bark when
he sees me.
But they dont understand. They shuffle me into the
kitchen to help with dinner. I can only watch from the
window as the boys climb my tree the wrong way.
It isnt fair. I ball up my hands in rough, angry fists,
but no one cares. Im passed a bowl of tomatoes to chop.
This is what we do. This is how our family is, my mom
says, after theyve left, eyes heavy-lidded and back bowed
from the kitchen shes cleared, dishes shes washed, and
plates shes sent off at the end of the night.
I dont think its right. Its like how I get yelled at for
spitting when my dad can whenever he wants, or how
mom shouts when she catches me darting around, wres-
tling with my friends, scraping my knees, creating more
memories. I hate when they punish me for pouting after
someone else forces me into a dress.
Yet my calluses fade and my hands grow smooth.
Dresses clog up my closet and my jeans disappear. I
spend more time behind windows than outside of them,
and my favorite tree starts to lose its branches.
The television tells me that lips
are for kissing.
128 artandwriting.org
But my knees stay scarred, and I still remember.
LIPS
The television tells me that lips are for kissing.
talking, but lips are unequivocally meant for kissing.
Theyre meant for mashing into a dashing princes as
the music crescendos and the sunset bleeds gold all over
the horizon.
Theyre meant for dirty smacks in your parents base-
ment, crushing against a boy who may or may not be
your boyfriend.
Theyre meant for a tender press between a husband
and wife, dressed in frilly white and tuxedo black, while
the crowd applauds and the light flares against the cam-
era lens.
What I dont see is a surprise attack of wet and soft,
where one girl leaves another lost, shocked in a gaping
mouth state between disbelief and excitement.
I dont see two pairs of lips in the darkness of your best
friends bedroom, knowing that if her door cracks open,
if her parents step in, all will be lost.
I dont see two girls, parting at a bus stop, a quick press
against each other before departing.
I dont see it, but that hardly means it doesnt happen.
EYES
A girl I used to know wants blue eyes.
She tells me this, gazing blazingly through swirling
mocha and ebony. The color of bread crust. The color of
chocolate. The color of burning wood.
I ask her why, and she scoffs.
Why not? she says. Why would I want these?
Theyre the color of crap. All the prettiest girls have blue
eyes.
I nod my head, as if I agree, and keep my truth to myself.
I cant picture myself with pale-blue eyes. The dark-
ness that blurs the idea of pupil and iris is perfect to me.
It is the color of midnight. Its the color of shadows.
I shake my head after a while of silence, because it
seems sad that I have this and she does not.
Your eyes are beautiful, I tell her, and I mean it.
She doesnt believe me.
The Water Prince
Flash Fiction
Heather Talma, Grade 12, Age 17, North High School, Fargo,
ND. Hannah Andring, Educator; Red River Valley Writing Project at
NDSU, Affiliate; Gold Medal
My brother always told me, growing up, a beautiful story
of how he found me.
I was thirteen years old, hed start with, living alone
at the time, and I went out on my canoe to go fishing like
every other day.
When I was very little, Id often chime in with, But it
wasnt like every other day, was it?
And hed smile and say, No. That day was a very, very
special day. Because thats the day the Water Prince was
born.
Id sit on his lap, and hed hold me tight and tell me the
story.
Well now, Id just caught myself a mighty big fish
when, all of a sudden, the water began to glow. It started
near my boat, and soon there was a sparkling path leading
into the thick rushes at the waters edge.
This part, at least, was true. There were indeed thick
rushes by the edge of the water.
And what did I see then?
I always waited, ears full of eagerness and eyes spar-
kling with joy.
I saw the rushes part before me, and into the sunlight
came a beautiful basket woven from river reeds, and it
was decorated with stones and shells and beautiful flow-
ers, and over it was a veil of finest spiders silk. And as the
basket drifted closer to me, I could see inside, a tiny little
baby. And this baby had silvery hair so soft, and his eyes
were closed, but when he opened them, they were violet.
I would smile. I knew it was me.
And surrounding this basket were the frogs and but-
terflies and dragonflies. And, of course, the fairies.
The fairies! I would echo with excitement.
And the fairies came and alighted on my boat, and as
the basket came closer, they whispered in my ears. You
must take care of this baby, they said. He is the Prince of
the Waters. And they whispered to me your name.
My eyes would be wide. I was completely spellbound.
And the basket reached my boat, rose up from the wa-
ter, and gently floated inside, between the cross-benches.
And then the baby opened his eyes for the first time, and
in them I could see so much magic and wonder.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards
Next there was my least favorite part, but I knew it
would pass quickly.
Alas! the fairies said to me. Though he is magnificent,
he is born of water, and though he must have a dweller of
land to take care of him, he shall never be able to breathe
the air properly.
I squirmed.
But then, my brother continued, there were more
fairies, and these brought baskets of herbs, and they
pointed along the riverbanks and over the hills and
showed me where to gather them, so that the baby would
not suffer so when his breathing grew tight.
I nodded. Hed used these herbs many times.
And they told me, He cannot return to the water un-
til he is grown. If he tries while he is still young, he will
drown. But he may swim upon the surface, and learn to
hold his breath so that he may dive for a little while and
see his true home. And once he is grown, he may live in
the water, or he may choose to live beside it and rule his
kingdom from the shore.
And Im gonna stay, I always finished, cause I got my
big brother here!
It wasnt until I was much older that I learned the real
story.
He hadnt caught a big fish. Hed been having trouble
catching anything for months.
The water never glowed. It was murky as always.
The basket was old and falling apart, and it wasnt dec-
orated in shells and stones and flowers. It was decorated
in death sigils with a candle burning at its head. A black
candle.
And I was no water prince.
I was an unwanted child. Just a little baby, as the story
said, though four months old rather than a newborn. And
they had already figured out that I had asthma. And so, as
was custom to their people, they set me adrift so I would
die and bring them luck, rather than casting a shroud
over them if I had been allowed to stay.
He still wont tell me just who they are.
And when he found me, he picked me up right out of the
basket and was so angry that Id been abandoned that he
knocked the candle off into the water, putting it out and
extinguishing my death sentence. He took me home and,
with what little he had, fed me, kept me warm. As for the
herbs, hed learned them from the village witch, who took
pity on me.
But at least hed told me the story.
129
In the Summer, My Brother
Short Story
Julia Walton, Grade 11, Age 16, Academy of Notre Dame de
Namur, Villanova, PA. Norma DaCrema, Educator; Philadelphia
Writing Project, Affiliate; Gold Medal
At lunch our dog walks into the kitchen and eats my broth-
ers fruit and then leaves. My brother feeds it to our dog
himself. When our dog is done, my brother wipes thick
spit from his hands and says our dog needs lunch more
than he does. I say, but brother, I cut that fruit for you.
To slice an apple, hold the apple with its stem facing
upright. Position your knife slightly away from the stem
and slice downward to the cutting board. Do this on all
sides of the apple. To make smaller slices, position the
apple face-down and chop to any size desired. Give your
brother the apple core. He will suck off the excess meat
to get you your moneys worth.
In the summer, my brother plays soccer and baseball
and hockey with a half-dozen neighborhood kids and an
ever-present symphony of cicadas. Though heat presses
in from all sidesI keep our kitchen stocked with three
fans for some reliefmy brother plays Horse until his
shirt is soaked through and he smells like our dog. He
goes out in the morning and plays until lunch; at lunch
he comes into the kitchen and he eats his fruit.
At lunch I ask, Why do you play so long out there? I
peel the skin off an orange.
He sighs. Its better than being here all the time. ball by himself. I can hear him through the window as
In my heart of hearts, I do not blame him.
They play in the field behind our row of houses, a sun-
baked field of grass between one neighborhood street
and the next. The grass is brittle and scratches my broth-
ers legs and pokes his soft flesh when he falls. At lunch
he has pear-green bruises. My mother would have done
something about these bruises, but she is at work too
much to notice.
My father had a silver hockey
stick, and loved conversation,
and hated cranberries.
130 artandwriting.org
Some neighbor had put nets there. My father had pro-
vided two moveable hoops. The kids produce their own
balls and bats and pucksmy neighbors son has no
hockey stick, and my brother gives him our own.
Why couldnt you have just let him borrow it? I ask
as I place a fresh bowl of blueberries before him.
He shrugs. Its what dad would have done.
Later that summer, my brother punches my neighbors
son in the face.
To cut a pineapple, place the pineapple on its side, and
with a sharp chefs knife, remove both the crown and the
stem of the fruit. Place the pineapple upright, and be-
gin removing the spiny outer skin. Be sure to follow the
pineapples contours instead of chopping straight down
this will result in the most possible meat. The brown
eye spots must be removed; cut a V-shaped groove along
the diagonal line and discard each set of spots. Lay the
skinned pineapple on its side againcut into ring slices
cut the ring slices into chunks.
Feed the pineapple to your brother. He will be disgust-
ed. It will be too sweet and it will coat his tongue with
bumps he cant get rid of.
At breakfast my brother will not talk to me. I wake
him up at seven after my mother leaves for work, and
he rolls over and rises slowly. He sits at the table and
rubs his eyes and grunts at things I say; he yawns and
doesnt say himself much of anything. He eats oatmeal
with brown sugar and bananas. He finishes. He leaves.
It is seven forty-five. The neighborhood kids will not
begin to arrive until nine, and until then he plays basket-
funny to your brother, who cannot quite put words to any
I wash dishes at the kitchen sink: The ball falls dully on
dry grass, sharply on rims, swishes slightly as it leaves
his hands. The clock ticks slowly behind me. I turn off
the water, and I listen some more.
In mid-July my brother comes in for lunch and he
speaks. I pop cool grapes into my mouth.
I ask him, Why just play games every day?
He props up his head with his hand.
I dont need to talk much when Im playing soccer, or
baseball, or whatever. I say what I need to, and then I just do
it. Its all about the game. I dont need to do anything else.
Do you really hate talking that much?
Yeah, he says, guess so.
I think, you didnt used to.
I think, you used to sit with me on the porch in late af-
ternoon and eat lemon water-ice from the grocery store,
and youd tell me play-by-play how you won your baseball
game, ground ball to left field to get that last runner in.
Id say, what, not a home run? You would laugh and say,
well, you cant win them all like that. Our dog would sit
by your lap, and our mother would wash the dishes, and
our father would return from work to eat lemon water-ice
too.
My brother finishes. He leaves. The kitchen is empty.
My father had a silver hockey stick, and loved conver-
sation, and hated cranberries. He gave my brother extra
chewing gum and played catch with my brother every
night until dark.
In the summer, days stretch on into infinity. To my
brother there is nothing to expect before or to remember
behind. There is only a pickup game in a field of low-cut
grass and sunlight. There are people around him, most
of the time; there are people who do not ask and people
he never tells. He holds himself steady. In his mind, he
can lose himself by kicking a ball toward a goal again and
again and again.
To dice a papaya, lay the papaya on its side and chop
off the top end. Slice the papaya lengthwiseit will smell
sensation. He will say the inside looks like a cantaloupe,
besides the smooth black seeds. You will disagree a little
bityouve dealt with enough fruits this past yearthen
you will change your mind and say, well, you guess it
does after all. Hold the half-papaya firmly in one hand
and scoop the seeds and sticky membrane into the trash-
can. You will be absentminded, and forget there is no bag.
Clean the trashcan. Put in a new bag. Your brother will
help you. Slice the halves into halves, saw each sections
skin off, and dice the whole thing until your arms start
to burn.
Eat the whole thing with your brother. He will have
never tasted papaya before, but he will eat it.
My brother runs races with the neighbors kids, and af-
ter lunch I leave the kitchen to go and watch. It is hotter
out there without my three fans. The grass is sharp. It
tickles my feet over my flip-flops. The kids make a line
with baseball bats and hockey sticks and they lean down
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards
as the oldest says ready-set-go. I can see beads of sweat on
my brothers faceon his forehead, on the tip of his nose,
on the line of his upper lip; his freckles seem darker than
they once did. His brow furrows deep, and as they sprint
away, his face holds the same expression.
Near the soccer-net finish line, a boy suddenly bumps
into my brother.
What the heck? says my brother. He is angry. His
brow sinks lower and he gets in the kids face, and the
kid is the neighbors son who now owns our hockey stick.
Look, it was an accident, okay? You were right in front
of me!
My brother scoffs. What a lieyou think anyones gon-
na believe that?
My neighbors son boils. His chest puffs in indignation.
His eyes open wider ever slightly, and his mouth presses
together in a thin line. Look, you dont get to be a baby
just because your dad died!
My brother stands stock still for a moment, just a mo-
ment. Then he recoils, and he punches my neighbors son
in the face.
There is anarchy, for a little while. Other kids have to
pull my brother and my neighbors son apart. My brother
wipes away a stream of blood from his nose and stalks
away. He walks past me. I turn to him. He avoids my eyes.
He leaves.
To open up the heart of your brother, wait until just
before twilight. As youre chopping tomatoes for dinner,
he will return from the days sport and sit at the table
and cry. Finally, he will cry. He will take a deep breath,
at first, then wrinkle his nose; the bottom of his lip will
tremble, and he will cover his eyes with fists like a child.
He is a child, as he has been all this time. He will wheeze.
He will breathe hard and fast. His whole body will shake,
and you will place down your kitchen knife and you will
hold him.
Say to him, brother, its hard to live beneath thick cit-
rus skin. Let me peel away your problems upon my cut-
ting board; I will chop up your loneliness and lay it there
on the kitchen table. I cant swallow it whole, brotherI
must do it piece by piece.
He will say to you, I miss him. Oh, God, I miss him.
To your brother you will say, I know.
To your brother you will say, I miss you more.
131
From Across a Wide
Divide: Chanting Torah in
a Javanese Mosque
Personal Essay & Memoir
Natalie Weinrauch, Grade 11, Age 17, Singapore American
School, Singapore. Jennifer Maher, Educator; Region-at-Large,
Affiliate; Gold Medal
I sit in this threadbare mosque in the jungles of Java,
one white-skinned Jewish girl in a sea of brown-skinned
Muslim faces. It started as one cross-cultural encounter,
the privileged, secular American girl from cosmopolitan
Singapore versus pretty much the opposite. That gulf in
experience and understanding is wide enough. Two ex-
tra words, Jewish and Muslim, expand it immeasurably.
It began as a touristy sort of thing, a visit to a local ma-
drassa with my father near the sandstone Hindu temples
of Borobudur. The place is no Taj Mahal. A sickly yel-
low paint, perhaps a color once more vibrant, curls up
from the walls as if trying to escape. Disheveled chick-
ens chase a cat into a hole in the brick that looks like it
doesnt lead anywhere good. Flies harass a boney cow
whod given up the fight long ago. After the classroom
enveloped by splotched cinderblock and stifling heat, we
come upon a separate building, one that looks a bit stur-
dier than the others. Children swarm toward it, care-
fully stooping to remove their shoes and splash water on
their feet. I make an innocent comment to our Dutch
guide, letting her know my faith. Her face lights up with
excitement. She rushes ahead to whisper something to
one of the teachers and returns with a question, Can
you chant Torah?
I dont exactly feel like Im entering the lions den, but
I feel a tension in the pit of my stomach. The conflicted
history between Jew and Muslim, the very real spasms of
I feel shackles of history
breaking, replaced by a moment
of unity or at least respect.
132 artandwriting.org
hatred even today, are no secret to anyone in the room.
When I was just an American to the kids, the wondrous
stares seemed to reflect fascination in a novelty. Now, as
the teacher is clearly providing this further detail about
me, and invites me to chant, the stares are just as strong,
but are they as friendly?
A hesitant expression on the childrens faces is one
thing. Off to the corner, I notice the man introduced to
me earlier as the imam of the mosque. His eyes shoot
daggers at me. I imagine what lies behind his scowlI
embody the oppressor, I am the Six Day War, the West
Bank settler with eight children and a pistol in my belt,
the denier of the Prophet. He makes me fidget with the
tassels of the scarf they wrapped around my head that
suddenly feels much too tight.
Reluctance is cut short as Im nudged to the front of
the waiting crowd. I sing softly, Vayedaber Adonay el-
Moshe lemor. As the passage progresses, notes emerge
more confidently. Ancient Hebrew wafts through the
mosque like it naturally belongs. Fear recedes. Aware-
ness of a greater opportunity rises. I feel shackles of his-
tory breaking, replaced by a moment of unity or at least
respect. As they chant from the Koran in return, a true
mark of genuine exchange, it seems as if a bridge is built.
Back in the steamy outside, I sit with two fifteen-year-
old girls and the Dutch interpreter. Siddi and Emi are
the big sisters I never had, beautiful ones as they remove
their scarves and shake out flowing hair equal in length
and color to mine. Each of us spends hours in study,
loves science as much as any boy, and wants to work
someday as a doctor in a place just like this. Two hours
pass with no mention of marriage and family, just talk
of our learning and our dreams of how to apply it. Three
peas in a pod. The differences between us are at once
fascinating and unimportant. Theyve never tasted pizza
or a Coke, keys to being an American but not a person.
kids: You have to alienate them . . . You isolate them . . .
Returning to the hotel, my mother rushes to hug me.
Has she heard of my triumph so soon? No. A mile from the
mosque, two churches had been burned to the ground.
Conversion Therapy: desirable behavior. This has been used for alcohol and
cigarette addictions as well as being gay. Aversion treat-
Legalized Torture ment when used in homosexuality can include ice blocks
being placed on your hands, hot coils that can be turned
Critical Essay
on and off being wrapped around your arms, nausea-in-
ducing drugs being injected into your system, and even
Peter Wenger, Grade 8, Age 13, Home School, New York, NY. the month of hell, which consists of tiny needles being
Erin Dolias, Educator; NYC Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, stuck into your fingertips and running an electric current
Affiliate; Gold Medal
through said needles. All whilst pictures of men hugging,
holding hands and/or engaging in explicit acts are shown
Leelah Alcorn was a 17-year-old transgender girl who
to you. The goal is to make the patient associate contact
committed suicide on December 28, 2014. In her suicide with men in general with pain and vomit.
note she talks about the struggles of being a transgen-
Supporters of conversion therapy rely on a 2003 article
der girl and having unsupportive parents. A major part
by Dr. Robert L. Spitzer called Can Some Gay Men and
of her struggle was her parents refusal to allow her to
Lesbians Change Their Sexual Orientation? 200 Partici-
transition and insistence that she undergo conversion
pants Reporting a Change from Homosexual to Hetero-
therapy. Conversion therapy is a range of treatments that
sexual Orientation. Dr. Spitzer explains that his results
some believe can successfully make homosexuals become
show that some homosexual adult volunteers reported a
heterosexual and transgender people become cisgender
change on the Kinsey Scale. Conversion therapy activists
(someone who associates with the gender he or she was
have taken this study and used it to justify forcing con-
assigned at birth).
version therapy on unwilling teenagers, even though this
Conversion therapy, performed by for-profit businesses,
study used volunteering adults. Even Dr. Spitzer has said
uses physical and mental processes to try to change some-
that in no way, shape, or form does his study justify forc-
ones sexual orientation and/or gender expression. Sup-
ing conversion therapy on unwilling teens.
porters of these therapies believe that in order to change
Last year, legislators in a number of states, including
the sexual orientation/gender expression of a patient,
New York, Michigan, Minnesota, Maryland, Wisconsin,
you must repair the masculinity of said person. They do
and Vermont, proposed but failed to pass laws banning
this by having the man a) play sports and avoid activities
conversion therapy. Not only that, but legislators in Okla-
considered homosexual, such as going to the opera and/
homa are moving to make conversion therapy for chil-
or art exhibits; b) avoid women unless for romantic rea-
dren emphatically legal. Now you may be asking yourself,
sons and increase time with straight men; and c) engage
What can I do to make sure that conversion therapy be-
in heterosexual sex, enter into a heterosexual marriage,
comes illegal in all fifty states? The more we talk about it
and father children. A large part of any conversion is to
and spread the word, the more likely it is that our state will
let that person know that their behavior is unaccept-
pass a ban. Talk about it. Tell your family, tell your friends,
able. Baptist pastor John MacArthur believes as a part
tell everyone. I think Laci Green summed it up best: How
of the treatment, parents must reject their homosexual
many Leelah Alcorns will find themselves alone and bro-
ken on the side of the road unable to take it in anymore? If
You separate yourself from them. You turn them over to
were serious about equality and treating each other with
Satan. In some extreme cases, children are subjected to
humanity, then conversion therapy, and especially conver-
aversion treatment. Aversion treatment is a controversial sion therapy forced on minors, needs to stop.
method of creating negative associations with the un-
A large part of any conversion
is to let that person know that
their behavior is unacceptable.
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 133
Up Downtown 2016 National Medalists Olivia Winslow
Jessica Xu
Ruby Gonzalez Hernandez
Michelle Han
Jessica Yang Mechelle Horelick
Poetry Elyse Yim Rachel Horowitz-Benoit
The Alliance for Young Artists & Writers congratulates more than Jenny Yoon Becky Hoving
2,500 National Medalists in the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards of Rachel Yoon Olivia Ivaldi
Alisha Yi, Grade 10, Age 15, Ed W. Clark High School, Connie Yuan Colette Juran
2016. These students in grades 712 represent all 50 U.S. states, Lillian Zeng Kylie Kearney
Las Vegas, NV. Melissa Villanueva, Educator, Springs Preserve, Audrey Zhao Catherine Keating
Affiliate; Gold Medal the District of Columbia, and students attending American schools Yanyilun Zhi Alexander Kosyakov
Lily Zhou Daniel Kuriakose
in 43 countries abroad. Katya Labowe-Stoll
You were very much short, Colorado Rebecca Levenson
with dark hair and big hands. Alabama Emma Eisler Alex Mo
Catherine Barisas Claudia Liu
Madison Begines Peyton Marler
And you liked the way she walked, Daniel Blokh Oceania Eshraghi Sofia Montrone Simone Brewer Katelyn Martinez
Emma Camp Alexander Farac Hannah Mutz
from downtown and over & the way she paced Abby Bronchick Claudia Mergy
Julia Fleisig Jason Fong Madeline Nagle Melody Brunswig Megan Meyerson
in front of kitchen windows, the way it was white Kathryn Hargett Jessie Gan Dyllen Nellis David Cardoza Jacqueline Minor
when she sat down in the big grove of elm trees & Salter Hydinger Alexander Garza Zoe Neuschatz Cheyenne Cooper Selena Muniz
Isibeal Owens Kaity Gee Clara Nevins
the way the road covered up the hitchhike Elizabeth Patterson Emma Glickman Gabrielle Occhipinti
Forrest Czarnecki Kellan Navarre
Celia Ernstrom Bridget OBrien
in the fore-general store, sometimes, with a bare, Emily Slawson Hannah Gonzalez Nicholas Padmanabhan Blythe Feeney Katie OShea
Anja Trierweiler Dillon Graveline Natasha Partnoy
red wagon Mira Walker Tim Guiteras Noel Peng
Addie Finch Evan Ortiz
Cheney Francis Rhianna Ouellette
out front. You liked the way the shop was painted, Beihua (Steven) Guo James Poe Fiona Freeman-Grundei Lukas Palumbo
the same sandy beige like the steep trail just down Alaska Derek Guo Catherine Powell Talia Gordon Kaleigh Perkins
Brian Britt Brooks Harris Sakura Price Aubrey Hirst Max Rieser
the hill through the timber store, underneath gray Anna Lance Olivia Henrikson Sophia Qin Amin Ibrahim Diana Salcedo
overcast skies Margaret May Eva Herman Shiffy Rav-Noy Julia Ion Winona Scheff
Braden Hollis Tara Reddy
that hung so low, you could almost lick the clouds. Arizona Jeremy Hsiao Vaughn Reisig
Alyssa Jimeson Noah Sonnenberg
Richter Jordaan Angela Sun
But you didnt like the way the wagon stopped, Amanda Amador Emily Hsu Declan Riley David Karisny Leslie Tapia-Bernal
Allison Boyce Keiji Ishida Christina Roh
a bit beyond the bay, a blue lake that was usually Kellen Kennedy Nora Vilalobos
Alexandra Karaim Laya Jacobson Yoko Rosenbaum Clare Liu Margaret Wagner
white-capped like bare cotton balls & the way the big Ruohan Miao Amy Jeon Andrew Rule Lauren Wyman
Peyton Locke
elm Laura Tutelman Booker Johnson Joshua Sahagun Amanda London Kaori Yasunaga
Sharon Vaz Charlotte Kanner Maya Salameh
stood naked, without something at all, Jane Wang Kayla Keener Aaron Saliman
Mia Nelson Kenny Zheng
Kayla Robles
the way the ache clicked in you, like the same way Emily Kim Anastasia Sanchez Lyndsey Saltz Delaware
Arkansas Jake Kim Sienna Santer
her cane washed the pegged walnut floors, erect under Calla Schubert
Kai Shen Emilie Barniak
Kate Jones Madeline Kim Rebecca Shu Meredith Capuli
her palms. Dante Kirkman Adam Semprevivo Mason Smith Alina Caulfield
You didnt want to pretend, to be blind, just hoping to California Talya Klinger Jordan Semprevivo Da-Eun Son Chloe DiCamillo
Lilia Adams Tanaya Kollipara Sumin Seo Isabel Edstrom
fill-in Alexandra Adcock Alexandra Kukoff Charles Shi
Ashlyn Stahly
Jacob Starr Adiah Holmes
the absent peg on the kitchen window, when you came Piper Alan Zane Landin Erin Shin Hannah Taylor Ainsley Knox
Britt Alphson Celina Lee Tandis Shoushtary
down Savitri Asokan Hyo Jae Lee Elisabeth Siegel
Savanna Terry Emily Lugg
Amber Threlkeld Sarah Panek
with the jug, a little bit rumpled, shedding, so that you Caroline Bailey Matthew Lee Jason Sloves Daye Waldner Alexis Peabody
wouldnt feel Ella Bandouveris Min Jae Lee James Smathers Madison White Kyna Smith
Sara Bell Nathan Lee Madison Smitley Sai Kaushik Yeturu Zihan Wu
so terribly frightened that she never really came. Sren Bredberg Nicki Lee Clara Spars Amy Zhou
Julia Cardenas Rebecca Lee Meilan Steimle Washington, D.C.
Amanda Castillo Sophie Levy Erin Stoodley Connecticut Maria Aschenbrener
Eva Chambers Jenny Li Meilinda Sun Ryan Amelio Natalie Beckford
Anushree Chaudhuri Jiaxuan Li Hyun Seung Sung Caroline Challe William Choi
NaEun Cheon Miranda Li Cole Takara Sharon Cheng Sophia Clevenger
Georgina Chiou Ysabel Li Andrew Takata Erin Cho Jonah Docter-Loeb
Dayoung Chung Katherine Liu Priya Thomas Sammy Clark Matthew Fuchs
Anja Clark Xochitl Luna Anna Thompson Alexandra Crampton Meyer Lewin
James Cradit Lavanya Mahadevan Caroline Tilton Jo de Waal Miyu Nishio
Ashley Crichton Vidhisha Mahesh Keith Tran Yuheng (Peter) Deng Gillian Page
Gabriel Crown Mia Martins Sarah Tran Sydney DiStefano Rachel Page
Benjamin Cruz Dzelila Maslesa Sabrina Urban Katherine Du Sam Slater
Maddy Daum Lauren Mcnabb-lacuata Nayzak Wali-Ali Blythe Filaski Clay Steinhilber
Many writing selections have been excerpted. Katherine Deandre Mckinley McQuaide Kaitlyn Wang Maeve Flaherty
Elisa Dickson Yiwei Meng Kyle Wang Gillian Foley Florida
Go to artandwriting.org/galleries to read the works Lily Dodd Moriah Meyers Gene Tae Whang Hannah Gelnaw Hanna Ali
Sarah Eicher Emily Midgley Nicholas Williams
as they were submitted. Ashley Gong Michael Anderson

134 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Awards 135
Zhanee Anderson Jessica Jesudian Andrea Turner Hawaii Taylor Knuth Marie Burton Karly Wolfcale Alexandra Gulden Naomi Carrigg Hannah Rogers
Leonardo Bacan Kelsey Johnson Christien Vargas Anton Allen Alessandra Lane Sophie Bysiek Isabel Zuniga Walker Huston Aimee Casavant Esme Roszel
David Baptiste Christian Julia Jocelyne Vasquez Zachary Bell Mercedes Langdon Shayla Grace Cabalan Maria Lew Andrew Chan Mia Royce
Katherine Barbieri Nicole Lindner Samantha Verdisco Rances Botacion Jordan Lence Christopher Catalogna Iowa Raven Little Cathleen Chen Jiayi Ruan
Karina Benitez Joel Linkewer Francesca von Krauland Tatjana Calimpong-Burke Mason Maj Bryce Coln Bailey Bellon Logan Magee Lena Christakis Andrew Ryder
Wyatt Bergwin Ashley Liu Eva Warne John Fuller Demetrius Markham Naomi Culbertson Hannah Bissen Reed Parker Sung Min Chu Ellena Sakai
Meghana Bhimreddy Mallory Lundquist Sydni Wells Madeline Hawk Alina Martinez Sarah Dunlap David Ehmcke Rebekah Rine Sungmin Chu Avik Sarkar
Danielle Bimston Janessa Ma Skye Williams Ty Jumawan-raguirag Merhawit Maru Madyson Emley Sarah Kreutner Madeleine Yates Nate Cioffi Benjamin Schiffer
Alexandra Bishop Jiajun Ma Olivia Wilson Keatan Kamakaiwi Joseph Masini Sarah Enkema Jillian Kurovski Lauren Comerato Aaron Schwartz
Camila Bohan Insaurralde Ariella Mamann Daniel Wu Sheldon Labasan Kevin McDonald Micaela Espinoza Bobby Kwon Maine Mairead Dambruch Niti Seereeram
Blake Borgeson Jessica Martinez Yuanyi Yi Sean Joshua Lopez Legend McNeal Chloe Fellmeth Riley Pope Alexandra Augur Chad DeLisle Kate Shaughnessey
Tyler Brunner Aracely Medina Whitney Young Willie Jay Nicolas Natalie Merlo Ilan Friedland Sophia Schlesinger Claire Breger-Belsky Maddison Demars Xirui Song
Kailyn Bryant Lorence Medina Maxwell Zengage Maya Oda Billie Murray Carol Galicia Sadie Cowles John Donovan Kaylee Sostre
Evan Caldwell Garrett Messineo Sarina Zhou Mackey Rivera Anushka Nair Tessa Garwood Kansas Joey Han Mackenzie Dubois Jim Sullivan
Sierra Callwood Ciera Miller Sinautuloa Sataraka Bobby Neil Lauren Gill Idely Alarcon Katie Han Eve Elizondo Alexandra Upton
Melanie Camejo Coffigny Will Miranda Georgia Ryuya Sekido Mia Neumann Kaitlyn Gillenwater Psalm Babiera Afton Morton Lily Everett Amelia Van Donsel
Jada Cameron Ryan Molter Woobin An Jasmine Singleton Cain Nocera Shelby Graber Caroline Baloga Morgan Zenter Wesley Fedak Jamar Vassel
Maxine Campisciano Nicolas Mote Dani Ben-Arie Kyra Tan Jessica Novotny Lily Greathouse Lexis Brungardt Abby Frechette Yu Wang
Matthew Canford Everett Myers Emily Betts Sylvie Tereschuk Bilal Othman Megan Green Makenzi Carlgren Maryland Colin Fredrickson Caroline Ward
Kassandra Chang Indigo Naar Salv Black Sasha Tolbert Daniela Perez Jesse Grimm Ruby Castillo Griffin Alaniz Emma Friedlander Rachael Wei
Catherine Chen Matthew Nadel Liberty Bulley Tiana Tran Veronica Perez Rei Griswold Orunima Chakraborti Justin Bassett Laura Geraci Eliza Wildes
Emily Cheshire Katherine Nichols Demetri Burke Jessica Vasquez Claire Pikul Madeline Gullion Rylie Cook Ella Breden Eli Giordano Greta Wilensky
Miranda Cornell Katherine Noel Jung Yi Byun Tia Williams Ryan Pristas Gabrielle Hamilton Kylee Crump Isabelle Cagle Wyle Goddard Brianna Winn
Marcus Corugedo Kaitlyn OMalley Olivia Cambern Maya Woo Mecca Ramsey Jordan Haworth-Zermeno Sam Dykes Bridget Curley Christina Gong Bonnie Yun
Mia Craig Mei Lin OMalley Rachel Chae Ji Eun Yang Ricardo Rivera Katelyn Heins Clare Fallon Vrinda Deshpande Mak Graves Cory Zhou
Palmer Crippen Alex Obar Lesley Chang Ava Rockafield Kayley Hodson Jenna Farhat Mollie Eisner Zoe Gu
Madison-Joy Daorerk Claire Oberlin Sophie Choi Idaho Ellie Roussos Anna Hopkins Laura Geven Julia Gould Emily Harding Michigan
Justin Darrow Andrew Padilla Allen Ding Zachary Fishburn Aubrey Saha Julia Jones Margot Lockwood Caterina Grandi Monika Hedman Katie Adams
Kayla Davis Victor Payton Evy DiSalvo Hallie Hinchman Saarah Sajjad Julie Kim Morgan Massey Omar Harris Chung Eun Hong Sarah Arnett
Wyatt Davis Justin Pentith Jefferson Dockter Emily Lampman Bulat Schamiloglu Mariah Kindschy Cauy Meier Sydney Haywood Erin Hong Katie Balardo
Farah Delgado Roy Perez Maya Eashwaran Susannah Oxley Natalie Schlesinger Michaela Krawczyk Kyra Miller Grace Howard Lily Johnson Charlie Beam
Sasha Desilva Luciano Picone Nigel Enoch Alexandra Swerdloff Scout Schultz Jungjin Kwon Kylie Mitchell Monica Ikegwu Fiona Jungmann Miranda Burns
Connor Dolan Marcus Pierre-Louis Kinley Fuqua Ryan Zubery Adele Sego Claire Lapp Scarlet Mitchell Julia Jordan Jihyun Kim Hailey Callahan
Alejandro Dominguez Shelby Pogue Taylor Gower Sophie Shaffar Claire MacDonald Gina Song Nicholas Kilner-Pontone Eun Soo Koh Micah Carpenter
Eli Dreyfuss Amelia Polyviou Emmie Harvard Illinois Eymber Sommer Annalyn Markley Samyukta Trikkur Abigail Kim Brian Koker Abraham Cone
Amy Duncan Shelby Rabin Ashley Hendel Meitav Aaron Megan Stansbury Alexis Martinez Ahna Valdez Yelim Kim Suzanne Kuczynski Katherine Craymer
Isabella Dunoyer Alexander Reyes Chihye Kim Melissa Abundez Sahar Steiner Natalie Mckibben Miranda Warnow Natalie Mallinoff Ethan Lai Kayla Cross
Thu Duong Keith Richards Hannah Kim Yulia Ahlheim Miranda Sun Emily Misner Kylor Yohn Hannah Maydanik Calvin Laituri Alexa Curnutte
Alexandra Eason Hunter Richardson Jueun Kim Douglas Alberts Kimberly Tapia Hannah Morris Margaret McMahon Luc Lampietti Aidan Darby
Alex Ebrahimi Victoria Rodriguez Varela Yujin Kim Aidan Anthony Lauren Taylor Patrick Mosher Kentucky Katie Mlinek Audrey Larson Danny Feinbloom
Zachary Endicott Phoebe Roess Studniarz Janice Kim Querina Babbo Harrison Thomas Alma Nunez Katharine Barnett Nicholas Orsini Ryan Leach Charlie Fexer
Lenier Enrique Dominique Roitman Libby Kirk Lisa Bellisario Carrie Thompson Sara Nye Zachary Bohannon Tricia Park Diana Lee Jared Freeman
Diana Eusebio Laura Rospigliosi Jacqueline Lee Stella Binion Amy Tian Caroline Otter Kali Burgin Miyah Powe Jennifer Lee Lauren Gamboa
Zack Evans Katherine Rosser Reina Lee Lissette Bustamante Rebecca Timko Payton Parrish Colton Colglazier Viviana Prado-Nez Yeji Janey Lee Catherine Glazier
Emily Faehnle Naylea Ruiz Sarah Lee Guadalupe Campos Alexsandra Villarreal Kendal Paul Elizabeth Coyle Dominique Ramsey Zachary Lee Rachel Gluski
Devon Felt Sky Russell Senah Lee Lauren Cantu Anastasia Voelker Mackenzye Penn Kendall Crawford Emma Reilly Grace Lees Lauren Gregor
McKenna Flanagan Ilana Sabban Shahla Mack Lyrik Castro Helena Vuong Sarah Petersen Gavin Duvall Joey Reisberg Tyler Lian Zachary Gudziak
Marlena Fleck Tatiana Saleh Alyssa Mul Mollie Chez Brenden Wagner Rachel Phillips Ellis Fowler Catherine Rosas Samantha Livermore Faith Gwozdz
Evan Frost Aidan Schaffert Jaclyn Mul Holly Cunningham Ruoqi Wei Nathan Phuong Jocelyn Geraci Jade Santillan Devon Lovely Scott Hanna
Larry Fullwood Jr. Brandon Schroeder Clarissa Mullig Kiran DSouza Emma Wilson Sarah Rasche Sharlotte Higgs Rose Sebastian Sydney Maddox Hannah Hansen
Sarah Garcia Michelle Serafimovich Liana Nowak Grifinn Decker Gina Wiste Hayley Richard Katherine Horsford James Tortorelli Anna Maguire Nicole Heppard
Melanie Gasparoni Andrew Simon Savana Ogburn Remy Dhingra Olivia Wojciak Manuel Rosales Xinlan Hu Conor Twohy Maya Manela Angelo Hernandez-Sias
Celia Gerber Rebecca Siqueiros Ye Lynn Oh Sara DiFatta Angela Wong Mackenzie Rupp John Komaromy-Hiller Allison Wagner Rey Mojica Jinghan Hu
Zoe Gibson Maya Slickis Daniel Park Jessica Duschean Arooj Zaidi Sarah Sackmann Sarah Laake Flynn Walkinshaw Ryan Moon Zakia Hunt
Narrelle Gilchrist Asia Smith Sanha Park Alex Fleming Annie Zheng Jasper Schroeder Isabella Lawson Alexa Walls Emma Neagle Justin Hutchins
Elizabeth Gilmore Sydney Soltau Sara Park Carlos Flores Martyna Zurek Courtney Seigel Sara Mai Amanda West Jami Ocasio Shira Karni
Corinne Gonzalez Minjoo Song Sarah Parker Wendy Flores Molly Simmons Dana Schneider Ilana Wolchinsky Maura OConnor Sam Kass
Nina Gregg Jack Spitler Ian Peng Jessica Freeman Indiana Garrett Spoelhof Yvonne Shi Reigna Wren Katie Packowski Brittany Kauffman
Kaitlyn Griffin Kathryn Stenberg Austin Pham Liana Fu Finley Albaugh Bridget Stockrahm Samantha Timmers Juwan Yi Alex Pan Moshammad Khadiza
Angelica Guerra Marisa Stratton Isabelle Poore Allison Gould Rebecca Alifimoff Ian Stoots Katherine Walker Jungyeon Park Sameed Khan
Chasity Hale Acel Suriaga Max Schwalbach E. Joon Han Chloe Armbruster Drake Swartzentruber Emily Wang Massachusetts Emily Parker Victoria Kincaid
Mya Heavener Ellery Susa Zoe Searles Aaron Holmes Matt Bailey Alexandra Taylor Jana Wiersema Soyoung (Alice) Ahn Madeleine Perreault Yanka Kostova
Katie Hecht Nikita Tanguturi Jihoon Shin Yeonsoo Hong Allison Baker Ethan Teel Rachel Wiley Jennifer Aubuchon Abigail Pike Claire Krueger
Callie Hitzing Faye Thomas Jimin Suh Lillian Hua Taylor Baker Akane Tokusumi Urban Wyatt Michelle Authelet Noah Pinnolis McKayla Krygier
Amber Hooper Kollyne Thomas Rachel Tucker Zachary Huff Lake Barnett Caroline Tsai Katherine Awalt-Conley Kacya Polanco Jefferson Lane
Jacqueline Huang Tiffany Tirtarahardja Emma Varland Claudia Isbell Trinity Bell Olivia Utterback Louisiana Ali Bartlett Dante Radysh Bowman Lizzy Lemieux
Sophie Hullinger Valerie Trapp Raleigh Wunderlich Kara Jackson Sarah Bhuiya Nathan Vogel Shelby Dwyer Nathaniel Bolter Lucy Raeke Matthew Lewis
Kaitlin Huo Bailey Triggs Alyssa Zhang Rose Jacobs Connor Brinkley Whitney Walker Sophie Evans Samantha Brussard Olivia Reavey Isabel Lorenzana
Stephanie Hyde Rachel Truppman Amanda Zhang Elizabeth Johns Jena Burris Mairi Weber-Hess Kindall Gant Aalayah Cardoso Matter Remley Annalise Lozier
True Jackson Cornelius Tulloch Cecilia Kearney Josie Burton Carli Williams Cove Geary Jessica Carr Samantha Reynolds Ada Marotzke

136 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards 137

Eva McCord Lilly Hunt Kayla Talastas Satyen Gupta New Mexico Dakota Dunn Kaley Mamo Abigail Tessier Lashayla Stephens Gabe Ludke
Abigail McManaman Rahzizi Ishakarah Valeria Vazquez-Garcia Hanna Hall Diego Herrera Nathaniel Dunn Veronica Marks Oscar Tirabassi Hannah Thompson Kurtis Lutz
Joseph Mead Suhyun Kim Marjorie Williams Sung Eun Hong Isabel Jerome Merle Dweck Laiza Martinez Leevi Toija Emma Voorhees Chance Marks
Jihye Nam Lindsay Lebaron Alisha Yi Amanda Huang Marsaili Lowry Jackson Ehrenworth Chloe McConnell Athena Traver Richard Washington Lucas Marr
Griffin Olis Catherine Li Cho Yi Eileen Huang Qiel Thompson Julia Ernst Olivia Medina Max Tunney Adriana Watkins Alishia McCoy
Zaida Pearson Ryan Mccarty Isabella Inouye Merit Willey Matthew Fisch Gabriela Mernin Kelsey VanFleet Deanna Wexler Tyler Merritt
Isabelle Perchaluk Sarah Roper New Hampshire Sabina Jia Elle Wolfley Charles Fleisher Grace Metzler Maxwell Vonderhorst Spencer Witmer Madison Mettey
Ethan Pestano Taylor Ross Isabella Alvarez Allison Jiang Chloe Fong Pia Mileaf-Patel Kayley Wagner Rachel Witzel Samantha Mickowski
Ethan Pipe Charles Rounds Isaac Bacon Hyun Woo Jin New York Vanessa Foulke Rowana Miller Lucy Wainger Nolan Young Sydney Miller
Asha Raghavan Parrishana Sanders Evelyn Bollinger Uditi Karna Luke Abramowitz Sophie Frances Lucille Morel Lily Walker Madison Monreal
Adam Rayes Jack Sewell Grace Castonguay Josh Katz Aishazhan Abuova Ruby Gerber Gina Musumeci Christina Wang North Dakota Emma Morrissey
Simone Rosseau Justice Wynn Carissa Chen Misa Kim Aleah Adams Alessandro Getzel Sophie Nadel Isabella Wang Evin Avery Sophia Necco
Samina Saifee Desmond Young Vanessa Chen Olivia Kim Shahzadi Adeena Laura Glesby Aparna Nair-Kanneganti Maya Wang Gabrielle Feather Imran Nuri
Theodore Sase Brian Downer Sun Woo Kim Hannah Ahn Alexandra Godwin Ariana Nakhla Selina Wang Sophie Glessner Amalia Petreman
Cam Schuelke Missouri Eli Dunker-Bendigo Jane Lee Grant Albright Liza Goncharova Jake Nelipowitz Peter Wenger Nick Hoidahl Rena Petrucelli
Ronak Sringari Oliver Carnes Mariah Dutil Joo Sang Lee Sophie Allen Grant Gordon Yueer Niu Lili-Michal Wilson Zach Howatt Tori Reibenstein
Colin Stanley Kara Hill Ashlyn Forbes Annie Li Alicia Alonso Eleanor Gresham Victoria Oakes Michael Wong Katie Snyder Riley Rist
Miranda Stano Ryan Hill Athena Gerasoulis Carrie Li Kaitlyn Amable Mia Guariano Keely OConnor Elizabeth Wu Heather Talma Lydia Rogers
Max Stutz Kylie Jacks Caroline Grace Natalie Lifson Jack Aman Grace Gumina Terri Ogwulumba Ava Xu Megan Vetter Daniel Rona
Hailey Swiatowy Madeleine Johnson Jaye Griffin Jessie Lin Eleni Aneziris Chu Shiao Han Maddie Osborne Sooyoung Yang Audra Rupp
Safura Syed Allyson Kasper Amanda Grinley Nasrin Lin Claire Annino Roxanne Harris Carry Pak Eddy Yeston Ohio Sierra Searfoss
Lydia Tan Ryann Kohls Kaylee Hammond Helen Liu Sophia Armenakas Emily Harter Katherine Pan Juliana Yu Alexa Abounader Sophie Shiff
Apolloniya Vlasova Keylisha Nelson Madison Harlow Jessalyn Lu Lucy Aronoff Meghan Hayfield Abishrant Panday Alison Zhao Ptah Amissah-aidoo Stefanie Shindler
Christopher von Claparede Dakota Niederhauser Hannahrose Kindell Katie Maas Marion Avila Luisa Healey Dahyun Park Callie Zola Roxanne Annese Alexandra Spensley
Claire Wang Grant Pace Rachel Litchman Uma Mani Madison Baisden Alison Hirsch HeeSoo Park Catherine Areklett Audrey Spensley
Kerri Watkoske McCown Rouse Anna Michaud Willow Martin Sarah Barlow-Ochshorn Lucy Hodgman Lauren Park North Carolina Amanda Ba Kennedy Thomas
Ehren White Min Jung Seo Alyson Murgatroy Ellen Mei Ashley Bartels Samuel Hodman Sangjin Park Megan Barnett McKenna Becker Brooklynn Thompson
Olivia Wiegers Sophie Utz Gedeon Mwano Ava Merker Amanda Mai Becker Lucas Hornsby Laura Patkus Emily Barry Rekha Bhupatiraju Taylor Vence
Erika Williams Cassandra Wang Mei-An Nolan Elizabeth Merrigan Jon Beldner Claire Hsiao Shreya Paul Catherine Bernhardt Christian Carranza Jaret Waters
Sabrina Williams Iyanla Williams Griffin OBrien Morgan Mills Betsey Bennett Meihan Hu Tatiana Pavlides Bhargavi Bhaskar Ryan Cermak DNae Webb
Tiffany Xu Natalie Wohlgemuth Yeonsoo Park Addie Model Salma Bensalim Rahat Huda Ryan Penrose Chlo Black Heidi Cervantes Jessica Wei
Stephanie Yim Julie Souryavong Alexis Narotzky Romaissaa Benzizoune Sophia Inck Io Perl-Strahan John Boone Rachel Chambers Jazilee Williams
Shyaoman Zhang Nebraska Eric Tang Baiyi Ning Maya Bernstein-Schalet Emad Jamal Sydney Phlegar Julia Briden Jocelyn Cole Rylie Wogenstahl
Jenny Zhi Axel Cervantes-Ayala Theodore Weaver Mya Nunnally Marielle Berrian Jeffrey Jeon Jenni Pietromonaco Lauren Cates Ana Crites Jared Wolfert
Melanie Dryak Emma E. Wellington Ava Nusblatt Zachary Bilmen Michael Jia Lily Pisano Jose Cazares Ian Davey Laura Wooten
Minnesota Marco Garcia Wendi Yan Jennifer Park Jack Braun Noreen Joa Ray Posner Heather Cheung Sarah Druhan Tiya Yempati
Allison Baxter Carolyn Hoover Cesar Zamudio Lisa Park Daniel Bring Mary Johnson Alex Pusey Sam Claypoole Emily Elam Hannah Zitzelberger
Tobio Cooperman Mary Hoover Alex Zhang Sera Park Choi Jared Brown Jake Jorgl Kaitlyn Quach Sadie Cook Johanna Engebrecht
James Farner Frank Huerter Shaima Parveen Jane Bua Madison Jurusik Zayira Ray Hannah DeMaio Newton Grace Ficke Oklahoma
Wyatt Galinski Ethan Jendro New Jersey Celina Peralta Grace Byers Maryam Kajoshi Hannah Reale Ash DiCristofalo Kori Frooman Amanda Adams
Abby Griffin Max Korensky Leah Ackerman Hitha Santosh Stephanie Byrns Joo Eun Kang Ariana Reichler Daniel Diehl Stasha Gacpar Elevia Bruce
Joe Gustaferro Blaire Kratochvil Olivia Ackerman Claire Schultz Riley Cady Tatum Karlik Jacqueline Richardson Ada Evans Amanda Gargac Delaney Burgess
Belle Hulne Hannah Lazio Risako Arcari Isabel Sethi Emily Canning Warren Kennedy-Nolle Maddy Rideout Hunter Everett Caitlin Gentry Brandon Burnett
Kathryn Humnick Emma Monaghan Susanna Back Jasmine Sharma Isabella Cao Veronica Khim Mariah Rinaldi Lauren Fletcher Debolina Ghosh Ciaran Curtis
Allison Hunsley Eh Moo Mikayla Benson Jerah Siegal Martina Cappellano Heather Kim Karina Rios Franchesca Gatti Kacey Gill Rachael Driver
Maya Jackson Harper Newell Chloe Berger Subhashree Sivakumar Maddie Carapella Hyunsun (Heidi) Kim Lexi Ryan Gabriel Goldhagen Rory Gleeson Tamra Gould
Anika Korpi Kaitlyn Rief Marissa Butrico Stephanie Stifelman Nicole Carlyle Laurie King Erin Sakar Abryana Heggins Erica Glosby Willow Kirkpatrick
Laima Liulevicius Briana Running Sophia Cai Ryan Sunada-Wong Carena Carrington Claire Kozak Rebecca Sawler Christian Jegbadai Sadye Goodman Nina Lange
Molly Meyer Sarah Skolaski Nancy Canevari Eric Svetnikov Michelle Chan Kayleigh Kreth Luca Scoppetta-Stern Reilly Jones Caitlin Haislip Summer Laurick
Lydia Moenkhaus Kara Sloane Caitlin Chan Meredith Tamirian Steffie Chan John Kurpiewski Hennessy Sebastian Jacob Julius Koreigh Harkless Emmeline Nesser
Petra Noskova Charlie Steier Rachael Chau Parisa Thepmankorn Autumn Chapman Erica Kwak Marie-Rose Sheinerman Julia Koff Macala Heffelfinger Katie Prior
Alexandra Ohmann Jonathan Vargas Alyssa Chen Jacob Thomas Erica Chen Bella Lagana Tara Shirazi David Krein Karlie Hirter Sara Serrano
Sophie Peterson Rachel Chen Ishan Walia Karen Chen Kai Lawrence Samantha Short Chloe Lee Malia Holubeck Tori Sessions
Renee Roth Nevada Ruitao Chen Tammy Wei Zejia Chen Joseph Lee Lola Simon Isabella Li Taylor Hoppes Tien Tran
Mariah Schmidt Kamia Borders Hyungjin Cho Etan Weisfogel Jordan Cheng Azure Leffeld Penda Smith Katherine McCarthy Kedi Hu Rachel Wenger
Carmela Simione Jannah Bowen Grace Chong Dylan Winsick Hye Lee Cho Shao Lei Maddie Smyth Therese Mendoza Liam Jenkins
Hailey Stammer Juli Cabral Sara Chopra Grace Yan Elizabeth Choquette Barbara Letizia Katherine Snoddy Emily Morgan Grace Johnson Oregon
Lauren Woessner Anne-Korin Draper Hyunkey Chung Kenneth Yan Victoria Chuzhina Kevin Liang Coleman Snyder Kayla Morrison Nyanna Johnson Madeleine Adriance
Mina Yuan Emma-Nikole Georgiev Nicholas Dornellas Jacqueline Yang Nicholas Conrey Nathan Liang Zahavah Sokolow Samhitha Muppana Molly Jorden Isak Anderson
Sherrill Zheng Ava Goga Kiran Damodaran Licheng Yang Sydney Copeland Silver Liftin Shannon Sommers Reagan Murphy Hannah Kast Marvyn Bailly
Caitlynn Gunn Caroline Davidson Yelin Yao Elisa Cose Caroline Lin Sanaa Sondhi Sunghyoun Nam Faith Kim Ava Bayley
Mississippi Haley Hudson AJ Dennis Dasung Yoon Alma Crisp Yilin Lin Olivia Spenard Hayley Owens Simon Kingston Sophie Becker
Hailee Bugg Hojin Jung Mary Dvorsky Hyungjun Yoon Amanda Cronin Miles Lindquist David Spencer Rachel Redmond Russell Klein Lailani Buchanan
Justin Calhoun Aidan Kennelley Skylar Eber Jonathan Yue Jasmine Cui Nora Littell Cal Stellato Natalie Rozvadovsky Tzvi Kogan Lauren Burns
Sherisse Joy Carino Nicole Laurencio Grace Enslow Ezra Yun Imani Davis Raquel Loeza Michelle Sung Abigail Scheper Matthew Lautner Kirstin Cornell
Brianna Dang Jessica Matthews Jordan Fleming Vivian Zhang Zoe Davis Madison Lorenzo Milla Surjadi Johanna Shain Miannah Lawrence Yunyi Dai
Seth Feldon Regina Olivares Junsean Fung Lucy Zou Rebecca Decarlo Janny Lu Abigail Sylvor Greenberg Matigan Simpson Chelsea Lee Wiley DeWitt
Naylon Harvey Tawcrenee Redhawk Kyra Gensinger Jedidiah Dewey Justin Lu Annalee Tai Christian Smith Eleanor Levine Rose Gibian
Hannah Herrin Brooke Reedy Emily Goncalves Nuha Dolby Samantha Lucas Noah Tang Phoebe Son Bri Long Dennis Giron
Ashton Hill Isabella Romero Kristina Gu Ellis Dulchin Ronan Madden Clay Tercek Haewon Song Caron Love Eva Harn

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April James Jocelyn Burns Kaylee Spitak Lucinda Siegler Cynthia Coronado Sadie Robb Aline Dolinh West Virginia Adam Gowan
Golbon Jazbani Kate Busatto Mia Stanton Paige Swifka Dung Dao Zach Roubein Razan Elbaba Madelyn McCarthy Julianna Ham
Cassie Job Talyn Buxton Elizabeth Stifel Anna Temples Leah Davis Sophia Sagar Sydney Evans Amber Han
Emma Kappel Alexandra Calvey Eliana Swerdlow Aubrey Tillman Crafton Deal Veronique Sarosdy Noah Faaborg Wisconsin Ella Hough
Brooke Kennedy Peyton Cassel Samuel Tracton Kendall Vorhis Erin Del Paggio Caroline Sasso Selene Geier Emily Anderson Maggie Keogh
Eui Yeon Kim Sydney Cleveland Julia Walton Darby Weaver Martin Delgado Ellie Schlesinger Cole Goco Margot Armbruster So Yeon Kim
Emily Klaebe Anna Congdon Linda Wen Ella Webster Elisabetta Diorio Rachel Schlesinger Kaitlyn Graham Andres Baca Austen Li
Spencer Larson Hope Cunningham Hannah Westbrook Judith White Amy Dong Aleia Sen Erin Gurganious Jennifer Beasley Djordje Lukic
Emma Lickey Lauren Drake Rosalea Williams Clara Wooters Jacob DuPont Naran Shettigar Jenni Hall Jacob Beranek Georgia Mackay
Chelsea Lin Clara Dregalla Katie Winter Gabriella Feuillet Lauryn Taylor Torrance Hall Jack Berroug Emma Mills
Jacqueline Lu Thalia Driscoll Aurora Wise South Dakota Bradlee Few Lilith Tijerina Mehher Hasnany Emma Bird Kailey Moulson
Olivia Lynch Kayla Duffy Serena Yan Anna Koeppe Kennedy Fisher Sarah Tijerina Angela He Christopher Blake Carol Nguyen
David Marinos Sierra Englehart Brady Yohe Jenae Porter Mia Fitzpatrick Elise Tisdel Joyce Hong Spenser Bower Max Perone
Sophia Mautz Carol Etzel Rachel Zhang Faith Franzwa Arthur Trickett-Wile Sophie Hood Cierra Brown James Perry
Sofia McDermott Natasia Foster Tennessee Ariana Freitag Presley Turner Bailey Hwa Abigail Bryson Shaun Rogers
Hazel McDonald Margaret Frantz Rhode Island Mathieu Agee Christina Fu Carmen Urban Tamia Jackson Augusta Byrne Antonia Soldovieri
Makynzi McGraw Paul Gensbigler Hunter Corbett Lily Bix-Daw Taylor Gleason Peyton Vasquez Jamie Jeong Emalee Cramer Jialin Sun
Blaise Mcguire Emily Gerber Yingzi Guo Carmel Buckingham Jennifer Good Leo Wall Megan Jones David Cranberg Tavii Toronitz
Tia McIntosh Jeremy Gipson Yiran Jia Kathryn Capizzi Isabella Goodman Joseph Wallace Sheng Kao Lieschen du Plessis Francesca Uy
Isabella Medina Christian Grande Tianlan Jiang Danielle Caron Lionel Green Jaelynn Walls Jake Karton Katie Dulle Teo Von Baeyer
Marika Meijer Husnaa Hashim Eli Lederberg Hannah Chen Sanders Green Michelle Wang Doi Kim Cole Falkner Tiffany Wang
Kaden Morfopoulos Andrea Hebel Molly McGrail Kate Cunningham Ulam Green Madison Whiteside Nicole Kim Alexander Fasseas Lily Watson
Samantha Morley Cora Heitzer Louis Schlaker Sarah Ding Koby Griggs Julia Wiecek Sun Min Kim William Fendt Malachi Wilson
Meghana Mysore Kevin Helock Regina Vestuti Emma Dowden Milinda Guerra Jada Wilson Emily Kontos Morgan Florsheim Rozalyn Wilson
Len Nguyen Raven Housley Sydney Welch Del Carmen Drolick Catherine Guo Giorgi Woolford Karolina Lajch Isaac Hopper I Keng Wu
Nghi Nguyen Nicole Huggins Cameron Eubank Elizabeth Han Karen Yang Emma Lehman Morgan Johnstone Jerry Xu
Yubeen Noh Anna Hurd South Carolina Paige Glasser Caitlin Hanson Sara Yost Tiffany Lun Cameron Kelley Ava Young
Annie Novak Rachel Jibilian Bailey Abedon Abby Hays Ashton (Unity) Haq Mingyang Yuan Eyerusalem Meaza Jordyn Malnarick Jessica Zhu
Linda Ochoa Emily Jordan Anne Adragna Keely Hendricks Elizabeth Harrison Samantha Zepeda Rosy Molina Anna Menako
Brooklyn Ogden Aleksei Kaminski Caroline Blumer Henry Hicks Julia Harter Sydney Zhou Malina Nelson Cynthia Monter Dominican Republic
Tessa OHern Kamryn Kanter Eli Braddock Veronica Holmes Alyssa Hartis Nicole Orsolini Evelyn Mullooly Alexander McQuilling
Ameya Okamoto Aryaman Khandelwal Mary Brown Terry Johnson Casey Havlinek Utah Anna Parnell Alexander Myers
Madison Owen Emma Kiley Makenna Christensen Kimberly Kerr Yixin He Rylee Black Savannah Pendino Nae Kyung Noh Hong Kong
Christina Perry Lizzie King Maddie Clevenstine Ingrid Komisar Aubrey Hemphill Leena Maxey Taylor Petty Sarah Neu Anthea Lovett
Elijah Pilkington Chloe Kline Helen Coats Tram Le Isobel Horlock Isabella Pahrman Kiel Posner Jada Patterson Serena Tam
Christopher Pleasance Nia Lartey Anna-Belle Corder Bryan Marchena Bella James Isaac Wilson Francesca Salas Marissa Robertson
Solomon Price-Blaze Sarah Libby Nick De Krafft Jena Masler Maxwell Keliehor Marriya Schwarz Symantha Ryerson Peoples Republic of China
Joel Radigan Anna Lippert Shabazz Eutsey Pauline Mireles Ashley Kloth Vermont Sahara Sidi Anna-Marie Schnese Angie Fan
Shane Ragland Emily Litsinger Caroline Fairey Alex Morgan Kaegan Knox Olivia Howe Franci Swisher-Gomez Isabelle Seifert Qiqi Zhou
Sierra Rich Hilary Liu Quinn Filler Elizabeth Owen Judy Labib Kevin Huang Katie Taguchi Lilian Solheim
Logan Richards Julia Lombardi Aidan Forster Sadie Paczosa Anna-Sophia Lagos Tomoki Nomura Harish Tekriwal Henry Stollenwerk Philippines
Zarina Rogers Carrion Lover-Lilly Sophie Friis Megan Peel Grace Lawson Marie Ungar Anna Stoneman Weenter Eberhardt
Elijah Roth Kira Lugo Samuel Gee Destiny Phillips Gabrielle Lewis Virginia Laurel Vaccaro Sophia Sun Seo Woo Kim
Kate Samuels Leonardo Lupidi Annie (Breanna) Gibbs Anna Schall Joelliane Li Seojin Ahn Vera Villanueva Franny Tyska Siyeon Elizabeth Song
Kvetka Sanchez Ciana Malchione Hannah Godsill Kelly Short Sophia Li Mei Baek Emily Villatoro Sydney Vanderlinden Adam Zhou
Kezia Setyawan Tatum Mann Nellie Hildebrandt Whitney Smith Yitong Li Akash Bansal Samantha Whichard Lauryn Wagner
Elizabeth Steinbach Madeline Marks Isabel Houck Jalynn Watson Delaney Lindsey Zara Batalvi Madelyn Wood Anika Washburn Singapore
Hannah Tenneson Ashley Martindale Lindsey Hudson Sammi Weiss Koltin Link Tillat Batool Elizabeth Woolford Amy Xiao Priyanka Aiyer
Thao Trinh Zehra Mehdi Elliot Hueske Madison Wunderlich Andy Liu Alice Bell Kayli Wren Chenyi Xu Natalie Weinrauch
Bailey Volchok Madison Melton Malachi Jones Solbok Yi Campbell Lutz Sarah Benson Isabel Zavada Sam Zanowski Nicole Weinrauch
Rona Wang Kelly Micca Taylor Kahn-Perry Priscilla Mach Emma Berry
Trinity Wang Abbie Minard Daniel Kalus Texas Jasmine Mack Emma Bilski Washington Wyoming South Korea
Brennan Watkins Joshua Moorehead Kathleen Kittrell Ayo Adereti Christian McClain Lilith Blackwell Courtney Allred Samantha Becker Janice Hahn
Lindsey Williams Aislyn Murray Jessica Leiker Nate Allen Matthew McGehee Amanda Booth Nicole Anderson Syler Peralta-Ramos Andrew Ham
Sam Willis Peter Naktin Roey Leonardi Maribel Alverson Autumn McMillan Calley Bucka Izabel Babic Eunjee Kim
Erika Wong Brynn Orban-Salley Christina Lewis Alicia Amberson Shreya Mehta Caroline Buehler Grace Bautista Canada Jung Hyeon Kim
Megan Wood Dillon Otto Allison Li Isabelle Andrews Grace Meinzer Amanda Burton Julia Bernard Leeza Belkina Seowon Kim
Changqi (Steven) Yang Victoria Pan Ethan Lopez Cassandra Awatt Melanie Menkiti Brendan Camp Yoon Jung Choi Kira Bentley Yoon Young Kim
Morgen Peters Peter Stone Lorris Kyleigh Baker Kyla Nano Bailey Carpenter Mackenzie Colby Eva Bonjour Si Won Lee
Pennsylvania Ruthanne Pilarski Reese Marcoon Bryn Battani Annalee Nelson Annie Castillo Braeden Federspiel Hana Brath Grace Park
Jaya Alagar Alison Pirl Alyssa Mazzoli Mia Battle Lan Nguyen Jacob Chang-Rascle Maya Flood Celeste Cares Samantha Pyo
Desiree Alvarez Isel Pollock Molly McConnell April Boak Yoonjoo Park Hadley Chittum Max Heim-Salgado Viona Charles
Alaska Antestenis Cassidy Quattro Chassee Palmer Walden Booker Daniel Pastrana Min Choe Anneke Karreman Tansi Chen Taiwan
Vanessa Anthony Smitha Ramesh Mollie Pate Matthew Bradford Charlsey Pelczar Emma Choi MinJung Jessica Kim Minji Cho Seamus Boyle
Thea Applebaum Licht Gabriella Recce Jamison Rankin Mary Margaret Burniston Gopal Raman Olivia Cox Vera Macabalo Harriet Chorney Stephanie Chen
Johanna Bear Collin Rineer Alexis Ruz Erin Cadenhead Mallika Rao Caroline Curran Jasmine Mathis Diwya De Silva Rebecca Tseng
Amanda Bogusta Christopher Rodes Nicole Sadek Joann Chung Stephanie Rao Sumayah Derbala Jessica Phung Dana Demchuk Alvin Wang
Maxwell Brenneman Kayla Romanelli Vasantha Sambamurti Gwendolyn Clary Grace Reagan Sarah Dickover Ryland Dinneen
Julian Brooks Margaret Rothrock Caitlin Shelor Danielle Close Cindy Ren Monacco Dunn
Angie Bu Jonathan Shelor Anna Sheppard Andrea Conley Jae Haeng Rhee Meghan Farbridge

140 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards 141

Sponsors AND Supporters Board of Directors AFFILIATE ADVISORY National Staff
Gregory R. Miller, Chairman COUNCIL Virginia McEnerney
The Alliance for Young Artists & Writers, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization, relies on the generous support of its Greenhill & Co. Executive Director
Michael Bell, Chair
supporters and donors to carry out programs that encourage and recognize creative young artists and writers, Dr. William Walker Robinson, Vice Chairman Miami Writes Beth Harrison
Fogg Art Museum Assistant Executive Director, Development
primarily through the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. Their generosity is key to the success of our programs and Tom Berger
& External Relations
Steven Merson, Treasurer Cleveland Institute of Art
we are most grateful to them. To join us in fulfilling our important mission of supporting creative teens by provid-
Command Web Offset Co. Debra Samdperil
Scott Chatfield
ing scholarships, free workshops, and skill development, visit artandwriting.org/donate to make a tax-deductible Assistant Executive Director, Programs
Howard J. Rothman, Secretary New Hampshire Art Educators Association
contribution online. Kramer Levin Naftalis & Frankel LLP Meg Callery
Lisa Davis
Northwestern State University Director, Design
Special thanks to the major sponsors of the 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. Writing Project
Michael Bell Monica Johnson
Miami Writes Jacque Dawson Director, Exhibitions
Alison Benson The Nevada Museum of Art
Dominic Matar
Pretty Matches Productions Angie Fischer Director, Web & Information Technology
Charles C. Bergman Omaha Public Schools
The Pollock-Krasner Foundation, Inc. Jan Warren Sazia Afrin
The Connie Belin & Jacqueline N. Blank Assistant Manager, Programs
Thomas K. Carley
International Center for Gifted Education
The New York Times Company, retired Travon Anderson
and Talent Development
Bryan L. Doerries University of Iowa Coordinator, Projects
Outside the Wire Ashley Bass
Dr. Ernest B. Fleishman Manager, Exhibitions
Scholastic Inc. Jean-Paul Bass
Hugh J. Freund Associate Manager, Communications
Patterson Belknap Webb & Tyler LLP Courtney Buckland
Nora Halpern Associate Manager, Affiliate Services
Americans for the Arts Thomas de Yampert
Craig Hatkoff Assistant, Desktop Publishing & Programs
Tribeca Film Festival
Daniel Embree
Dwight Lee Manager, National Programs
Gagnon Securities
Timarie Harrigan
Dr. David C. Levy Senior Manager, Development &
Cambridge Information Group External Relations

Andrew I. Merson Hannah Jones

Command Web Offset Co. Coordinator, National Student Poets
Program
Anne Morrill
The Maurice R. Robinson Fund Tendo Mutanda
Suzanne Randolph Manager, Programs
For the National
Student Poets Program: Suzanne Randolph Fine Arts Laura Petrucci
Dr. Hugh Roome Coordinator, Development &
Scholastic Inc. External Relations

Rebecca Shapiro Antonio Pulgarin

Shore Fire Media Manager, Adjudication

Gaynor Strachan-Chun Jessica Schein

George Greenstein Institute Bookkeeper
Sincerest thanks to the Empire State Building for recognizing the
2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards National Medalists through Sandra Wijnberg Catalog Credits
Aquiline Holdings Copy editor: Ingrid Accardi
a special lighting of the building on June 2, 2016.
Hannah Yang Photographer: Kristine Larsen
The New York Times Company

142 artandwriting.org 2016 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards 143

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Every year we have great National Student Poets Program Editorial Cartoon
young people who take this
Five outstanding poets are chosen from Scholastic Art & Writing Awards Fashion
pledge and go on to do some National Poetry Medalists to serve as U.S. National Student Poets, the nations
Film & Animation
wonderful things. This is highest honor for youth poets presenting original work. These poets, whose

the beginning of something
phenomenal for each and
every one of you. And I am
so excited for you. . . There is
nothing you cant do.
First Lady Michelle Obama
Honorary Chairman
The Presidents Committee on the
Arts and the Humanities
3 artandwriting.org
work exhibits exceptional creativity, dedication to craft, and promise, serve for a Flash Fiction
year as youth poetry ambassadors, leading in readings and workshops at diverse Future New
locations and carrying out intensive community service projects.
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This program is a partnership between the Presidents Committee on the Arts
Jewelry
and the Humanities, the Institute of Museum and Library Services, and the
Alliance for Young Artists & Writers. National Student Poets are selected by Journalism
an esteemed jury of literary luminaries and leaders in education and the arts,
and are appointed at the White House by First Lady Michelle Obama. For more
Mixed Media
information, go to artandwriting.org/NSPP. Novel Writing
(above) First Lady Michelle Obama hosts a poetry reading in honor of the 2015 National Student
Painting
Poets (from left: Anna Lance, David Xiang, DeJohn Hardges, Chasity Hale, and Eileen Huang) in
the Blue Room of the White House, October 8, 2015. (Photo by Patrick G. Ryan for the National
Personal Essay & Memoir
Student Poets Program.)
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