The day was here. I waited in line hours to see my culinary hero: Bobby Flay. While other preschoolers watched cartoons, I watched the Food Network. My favorite show was “Beat Bobby Flay,” and I rooted for Bobby every episode. By third grade, I instructed my parents to salt water when cooking pasta and reminded them to let meat rest. For me, food was an art form, a balance of flavors. Clutching my cookbook I approached for Bobby’s signature, but my mind went blank. I said nothing to him. As I walked away, I could imagine Bobby thinking “bland.”
— Kayla Lee, 14, River Dell Regional High School, River Edge, N.J.
Kayla, center, at age 9 with her brother, Jackson, left, and Bobby Flay.Credit...Jeff Lee
Cast Doubt
Left arm wrapped in a bright yellow cast, I marched into my first-grade classroom, brandishing my shattered wrist for all to see.
“Can I sign it?”
For the next three weeks, I was a celebrity. Elected line leader, I paraded my troops across campus, signatures and doodles adorning my casted arm. But it turns out, I wasn’t the celebrity: the cast was.
Castless, I asked Molly, the prettiest girl in class, what she thought about my now-splinted arm.
“Your breath smells like barf.”
To the back of the line I went, with the rest of the W’s, X’s and Y’s.
— Adam Xu, 16, Saratoga High School, Saratoga, Calif.
A River Runs Through Me
I am six years old, sleeping with nothing but a banana leaf over my shoulders to keep me warm. Tears fall as I see the fear and uncertainty in my aunt’s eyes. She is 13. She is my mom now, and we are lost. The indigenous Batwa lost our home, the rainforest, to the mountain gorillas. We are forgotten while the gorillas are celebrated. Lost to save the species. As the sun rises the next day, I run to Munyaga River and watch it become stronger and stronger. I will be the river for my people. I am the future.
— Joyce Orishaba, 17, Poway to Palomar Middle College, San Diego
Joyce, right, with her aunt in 2016 in her home village in Bwindi Impenetrable National Park, Uganda.Credit...Wendee Nicole
The Sidewalk
The three of us walk on a sidewalk. Side by side as we head home. We take turns talking to one another. Three isn’t an even number so one of us is always left out. The sidewalk narrows and soon it is only two of you standing side by side. I stand behind and walk alone. I cross the street and continue walking on the opposite side. By the time you guys notice I’ll already be home. Later you’ll send me the same text. “Sorry, we didn’t notice.” And I’ll respond with mine. “It’s fine.”
— Nicole, 15, Alisal High School, Salinas, Calif.
Impromptu Party
Beyoncé blasting through the phone, the midday pajama party is in full force. My sister and I jump, jig, gyrate. Our feet stir an earthquake — this time the downstairs-neighbors have surely had enough. “Aye!!!” Notes spill from my mouth, reverberating off the bedroom walls. My sis hits a mean nae-nae; I mirror it. “GURL! Turn this up!”
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A knock on the door. Suddenly, I’ve become a statue mid-two-step. Wide eyes locking, we scramble to hit pause. We’re deers in headlights — frozen and bracing for impact. Mom’s stern face peers through the crack. “Y’all playing Queen B and I wasn’t invited!?”
— Alexander Wu, 17, High School for Mathematics, Science and Engineering, New York, N.Y.
Packing all that I hold dear in 20 minutes or less
Black smoke from afar within an hour was at our backyard’s doorstep. Fires were always on other hills, in other people’s neighborhoods. My coveted shoes, a laptop, my Konietzko drawings. Our cars were filled with instruments, art, albums, knickknacks from 37 countries, and thoughts of what was left behind. Twenty acres blew up to 30,000 acres in three days fueled by drought and 108-degree temperatures. Days, Dad stood guard. A week passed before we came home to a backyard filled with swaths of bright fuchsia retardant dropped by dozens of planes and firefighters. Pink is now my favorite color.
— Zubin Carvalho, 17, Western Center Academy, Hemet, Calif.
A photo of the surrounding area taken from Zubin’s backyard on the second day of the fire.Credit...Zubin Carvalho
My Crush
“So, who’s your crush?” my friend asked eagerly.
We sat on the floor of her basement, surrounded by crumbs and an unnecessary amount of pillows. I avoided her question, “I don’t have time for that stuff.” “Oh, tell me! There has to be one boy.” She was going to interrogate me until I gave a satisfactory answer. I sorted through the people in my science class and smiled, “Finn, from your science table.” She grinned, looking very pleased with this answer. “Of course! I knew I saw you sneaking glances at him!” She was wrong, I was glancing at her.
— Olivia Sharma, 15, Blue Valley West High School, Overland Park, Kan.
Grandpa’s Drawing
“Do you see it?” my mom asked, confusion twisting her face. I looked at it, the paper bag sitting on the kitchen counter. The sharpied lines absent-mindedly sketched, branches evolving from a broad trunk, intertwining into intricate limbs. Not a handout or stencil from Grandpa’s aphasia group. Just his tree. I squinted in the kitchen limelight and saw it. The gaps. Empty spaces between branches, subtle but severed. The right hemisphere remained intact. The left, paralyzed after the stroke, detached. We stared at his sketch, wondering if he drew his brain or if his brain drew a tree.
— Zoe Rodriguez, 16, Waltham Senior High School, Waltham, Mass.
Zoe’s grandfather’s drawingCredit...Zoe Rodriguez
Baby Tim
6 p.m.: The words “I dare you” were muttered at an empty park. 6:05 p.m.: I slid my legs into a baby swing. 6:15 p.m.: My friends and I laughed hysterically as my legs dangled. 6:30 p.m.: I was stuck. 7 p.m.: No one called for a parent in fear of stark punishment. 7:30 p.m.: My legs became red and numb, but we finally called a parent. 8 p.m.: The fire truck arrived with baby oil and bolt cutters. 8:15 p.m.: Freedom. Four years later: My friends still call me “Baby Tim.”
— Timothy, 15, Derry Area High School, Derry, Pa.
Imperial System
When my family and I hurriedly left Shanghai for Boston, I only had a day to say goodbye to my boyfriend. The torment of a three-month long lockdown lingered. After he let me cry into his shoulder for hours, he said, “Y’know that America still uses the imperial system, right?” I laughed and said yes. We were supposed to graduate together, go to prom together, have dates by the Bund together. But I never imagined my first love ending like this: watching his figure shrink from my car window, the distance between us growing from meters to miles.
— Jessica Zhang, 17, Northfield Mount Hermon, Mount Hermon, Mass.
Jessica with her boyfriendCredit...Anita Zhou
Seven Words
“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” Words spoken by Kate Moss in an interview recorded when I’d just learned to walk. Words I learned and lived by at 14. Before I’d ever held the hand of a boy. Before I’d driven a car. Before I could listen to a Taylor Swift breakup song and truly understand what she meant by heartbreak. Eleven years before I took them to heart, seven words were spoken, denouncing something as harmless as the taste of food. I took those seven words and lived by them before I even had a taste of life.
— Seren Conway, 16, Booker T. Washington High School, Pensacola, Fla.
True Colors
In middle school, I was a closeted kid who stuck to the uniform, who made sure that everything about me conformed to what was expected, and whose relationship with their mother was punctuated by exhausting fights with brief periods of respite. Now, I am 16, openly queer, and my mother dyes my hair for me, regularly glides a tint brush covered with semi-permanent hair color over my cropped Afro. With every moment, the ammonia works a little more, and my curl pattern shifts with it. It is the most intimate thing my mother has ever done for me.
— Tobi Carr, 16, Kinder High School for the Performing and Visual Arts, Houston
Tobi with their mother.
Tolu Falade
Food for the Soul
Ever since my father got Covid he’s been obsessed with instant ramen. Ma forbade it after reading an article about MSG, she calls all carbs “empty calories” (except rice). He started to sneak into our house with paper bags — instant noodles beneath produce — slipped their shiny wrappers into empty shoe boxes. We’ve never been exceptionally close, my father and I. But we’re always the latest up, most vulnerable when hungry. We nurse green ceramic bowls. When I ask him why ramen — he says the warmth. I understand. I clutch onto it too, steam cloaking our pulse, pink ears under moonlight.
— Emily Pedroza, 15, Lynbrook High School, San Jose, Calif.
Nap Time With a Kindergartner Who Doesn’t Know English
Cocooned in my Minnie Mouse blanket, I squint through dimness, scrutinizing Ms. Johnson’s nose wart.
Surprise strikes when Blonde Girl turns over. Smiles at me. Whispering English gibberish. She giddily uncaps a pink ChapStick, twisting it under my nose.
“Birthday cake!” I think
She chomps off half the ChapStick. Chewing, Blonde Girl offers me to do the same. I panic, realizing: 1. The tube’s dripping saliva. 2. I’m also friendless. Best solution? I’ll swipe on her ChapStick. Just a wee bit.
— Grace Huang, 16, West High School, Madison, Wis.
First Snow of the Year
It’s January in Brooklyn and I’m walking down the street with earbuds in, fidgeting with a clump of snow between my gloves. A man directs some comment at me and I tense instinctively. “Sorry?” I respond, thinking of everything old men say to teenage girls on sidewalks. He points to my hands and I look down, surprised: a perfect snowball. “So round!” he murmurs. “Good job!” I smile, equal parts relieved and joyful, and keep walking. In a few hours this will all be grimy slush, but for now it’s flurrying softly — the city feels quiet, beautiful, kind.
— Cora Anderson, 16, Millennium Brooklyn High School, Brooklyn, N.Y.
Messi in the Making
On the soccer field, things were getting heated, literally, as it was a summer day around 98 degrees. My first-grade teammates were ready to take on the competition; I was too busy picking flowers. “Run, Kirian! Get the ball!” my coach shouted.
The flowers fell as the ball touched my foot. I got it! I could see my destiny before my eyes — with the goalie distracted, my talent would finally shine through! I thought to myself, she shoots, she scores, my moment, and the crowd goes … mild? Confused, I looked to see my coach’s disappointed face.
Oh, wrong goal.
— Kirian Veach, 16, Westchester Country Day School, High Point, N.C.
The participation trophy Kirian received after the game. It “was meant to encourage,” she said, “but I remember feeling like it added salt to the wound.”Kirian Veach
Anglophone
At age five, my biggest fear was five vowels and 21 consonants. Letters blurred together; words distorted into static. At home, I could sink into the comforts of four tones and retroflex consonants, where my last name could finally be pronounced correctly. Phonics lessons forced foreign z’s and v’s into my mouth, their taste replacing the familiarity of my mother tongue. At age six, those letters began to sharpen when I discovered the world of literature. The bane of my existence turned into my passion. At age seven, five vowels and 21 consonants — English — became my favorite subject.
— Jerry Xiong, 16, Prince of Wales Secondary School, Vancouver, British Columbia
Careful What You Wish For
Running barefoot through uncut countryside, evening dew soaking my dress. Pointing my toes in an attempt to be taller, to reach the creature. I swiftly jump and cup my hands. Feeling the flutter of wings, I know I’ve caught it! I tear firefly head from body, squeezing the sticky ooze onto my ears. Providing the illusion of glowing jewels. “Seeeeee, can I get my ears pierced now?” My grandmother chuckles, “You know, Pumpkin, someday you’ll no longer wish to grow up.”
For my first piercing I chose opal studs from the dusty jewelry box I inherited from her.
I hear footsteps down the hallway. I don’t look up, but I know exactly who is coming. “Act natural,” I think to myself. I lean against the brick wall and pretend to be really busy looking at my weather app. 77 today, 79 tomorrow … I glance up to see the person that I’ve wanted to talk to the whole day. My heart flutters. I try to think of something good to say. He was trying to do the same. Yet the best thing we could think of was “Bye.” Ugh. I’ll try again tomorrow.
— Elodie Ruff, 15, Kansas City Christian School, Prairie Village, Kan.
Elodie’s school hallwayCredit...Elodie Ruff
Left Behind
7 a.m., Feb. 24, 2022, Lviv, Ukraine. I awoke to my parents whispering. A panicked look covered my mom’s face.
“What happened?” I sensed tension — no answer.
Zelenski’s announcement, “We are introducing martial law on all the territories of our state” boomed loudly. My hands spontaneously shook. A lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t speak. Piercing sirens sounded. My parents packed some essentials. We drove to my grandmother’s house at the border, allowing us to escape. Unbidden tears flowed down my cheeks. We looked so happy in the photos on the walls of our home we left behind.
— Vira Hadzhiieva, 15, Wahlert Catholic High School, Dubuque, Iowa
The Batman
My cape billows behind me as I survey the bedroom. Staring harder, the room morphs until I stand in Gotham, enveloped by darkness. This city needs a hero. My mask goes on; the Batman has risen.
Tonight is dangerous. The Batman warily creeps into enemy territory. The scuffle of feet. He turns; a shadowy figure lunges. In a flash, a Batarang arcs through the air; one step, two steps, and the stuffed animal is cut down, the Joker vanquished. Light wo —
“Get a life, man, you’re about to start high school!”
Reluctantly, my mask goes off. The Batman must retire forever.
— Charles Huang, 14, North Hollywood High School, Los Angeles
Inevitable
I used to always sit near the front of the classroom. Straight-backed, eyes bright, eager to learn.
Inevitably, September would arrive. Eleven days in, the lessons were redirected for the day — articles, documentary clips, teacher anecdotes.
I felt my classmates’ glares from behind, in front of, next to me. A girl who wasn’t even alive at the time of the tragedy — but the girl with darker skin, whose father spoke with an accent and whose mother wore a hijab.
I moved to the back of the classroom. Shoulders hunched, gaze lowered.
Never forget, they tell me now.
How could I?
— Ruhaab Shuja, 15, Indian Hills High School, Oakland, N.J.
Young Ruhaab, when she was eager to learn.Credit...Anita Sultan
Entangled Braces
In a quiet school corner, I had my very first kiss. Nervous and excited, my heart raced. Unexpectedly, our braces became entangled. What a silly mishap. Awkward laughter erupted initially. We attempted to twist in opposite directions for a quick fix. But as time passed, the ache in my teeth intensified, and saliva started to leak uncontrollably. Our efforts were futile, and panic crept over us like a dark shadow. Hastily, we made our way to the infirmary, our movements resembling startled crabs. The school nurse gently untangled us, her shoulders shaking, trying to suppress her laughter.
— Ruiqing Zhao, 17, The High School Affiliated to Renmin University of China, Beijing
Pacific
When I was 10, my father was already asking me about colleges and careers — already digging into my skin to uncover what shade of the American dream I would become.
At 10, he was sweltering in heavy Vietnamese heat, each vision of the future a repetition of the past.
Now I’m 14, around the same age my father would have discovered life, liberty and happiness, breaking my back behind a desk trying to follow and feeling indescribably strange to still be lost at sea when my father has already crossed thousands of miles of it to get me here.
— Kassidy Khuu, 14, Hunter College High School, New York, N.Y.
multiplication and pision
When my mom met Steve, I was worried that the love she had for me would pide. Especially with the addition of his son, I thought my home would be cramped and loud. At first, I was correct. My room had to be shared. My house became louder. These changes made me resent my stepbrother, Steve and, at some points, my mother. That was until I went to Steve’s office, and next to the framed pictures of my stepbrother was a framed picture of me. Seeing how he accepted me made me understand: Love doesn’t pide. It multiplies.
— Oliver Watson, 14, Centerville High School, Centerville, Ohio
Oliver, as a young child (left) and as a teenager, with his stepfatherCredit...Tzeitel Durian
Emil Garro
Superhero
March:
Snuggling in bed, Mama reads me a Spider-Man book. I’m eight. Peter Parker’s transition from a nobody to web-slinging defender of humanity enraptures me. After a radioactive spider bites him, he emerges from a dark alley transformed, wielding astounding powers, chemical venom coursing through his veins. Superhero.
June:
I watch Mama pack her suitcase. She’ll be radioactive, she says. We can’t visit, Papa says. Cancer floats like a word bubble above our heads. Mama promises she’ll come back cured. A tight hug. She’s gone.
September:
I read Spider-Man alone. I thought Mama would return a superhero. But she hasn’t.
— Isa H., California
Carefree
Twelve years ago I accidentally locked myself inside my room. My parents tried to direct me on how to turn the lock “just a little to the right,” but my 3-year-old fingers couldn’t manage it. While their panic started to rise, I was playing with my toys, not a care in the world. Twelve years later, my parents still tell this story at family gatherings. I wonder if hearing it so many times has subconsciously shaped my view of the world today: Careless, and I get trapped. Care less, and I’m free.
— Sanya Vaidya, 15, Montville Township High School, Montville, N.J.
My Two Primal Urges
Yin and yang, the American me battles the Chinese me. Expecting an emotional tale with twists? No. Three words. Not. Enough. Space.
At Market Basket, they fight for dominance. Delicious, nutritious rice-cakes or spicy, finger-licking Doritos? Chinese me sprints for the rice-cakes; American me swoons for Doritos. In my internal boxing ring, they all-out brawl, pull hair and hurl insults, making my head press the “beep beep” button continuously. After rounds of brain-frying, my hands vote for the winner. I reach out and … toss both the rice-cakes and the Doritos into my shopping cart and run for the register.
— Dora (Yuan) Mou, 15, Boston University Academy, Boston
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