分类： 赛事资讯

这封信的作者是Byram Hills High School in Armonk, N.Y. 16 岁的Claire Mauney，她是学生公开信大赛的前 10 名获胜者之一，我们收到了 9,946 份参赛作品。

To Timed Test Supporters,

Three times I’ve sat in an SAT testing room, staring down the math questions. I could usually figure out how to solve even the difficult ones. But every time, there was that hardest question I actually knew how to do. I’d get to it near the end, finally figure out the process in my head … and then run out of time before I could finish writing the steps. Meanwhile, some students had spent months with paid tutors, drilled every type of question, and learned to use tools like Desmos to turn a three-minute question into a ten-second blitz. I still did well, sure — but the test didn’t measure my understanding. It measured my speed.

Timed tests measure how we perform under pressure, how fast we process, and how long we ignore the anxiety building in our chests. They reward students who skim, guess, and move on while punishing those who pause to think more deeply.

I’ve seen it happen, over and over in my high school: students who know the material lose points because they didn’t have enough time to show it. Students who could solve the hardest homework problems at home fall apart during the test because they couldn’t beat the clock. It’s not just anecdotal; a 2020 overview of related research in Translational Issues in Psychological Science found that timed tests reduce validity, harm students with anxiety or disabilities, and offer no measurable benefits over untimed ones. We know they’re flawed, and we know they don’t offer benefits — yet we still use them.

Some people claim that timed tests build “real-world skills.” What world are they talking about? In the real world, writers draft, engineers refine, and decisions take time. No one designs a plane in 60 minutes. No one does their best thinking under a stopwatch. Sure, there are deadlines, but they’re nowhere near as short as timed tests. Why are we actively training students to equate speed with value?

Others argue that time limits ensure fairness. Fair for whom? Not for the student who needs more time to read because they’re multilingual. Not for the student with undiagnosed ADHD who needs an extra few minutes to focus. Not for the student who walks into the room already panicked and unorganized because this one test might tank their GPA.

Many students feel that timed tests reward privilege — access to private tutoring, a quiet home, fewer family obligations, and even the ability to “game” the system for accommodations — not out of true need, but to gain an edge. Meanwhile, students with real needs often go unsupported. Is this system fair?

Let me be clear: I’m not requesting tests are made easier. I’m asking they’re administered better. Timed tests don’t reflect how smart we are. They reflect how well we perform when time is used as a weapon.

If your goal is to measure learning, let us students show you what we actually know. However, if your goal is to reward speed, then be honest about that, too; just don’t preach that the system favors “merit.”

Sincerely,
Claire Mauney

Works Cited

Doyne, Shannon. “Is It Time to Get Rid of Timed Tests?” The New York Times, 27 Sept. 2023.

Gernsbacher, Morton Ann et al. “Four Empirically Based Reasons Not to Administer Time-Limited Tests.” Translational Issues in Psychological Science, Vol. 6,2 (2020): 175-190.

这封信的作者是Yorktown High School in Arlington, Va 17 岁的Max Yoon，她是学生公开信大赛的前 10 名获胜者之一，我们收到了 9,946 份参赛作品。

Dear Restaurant Owners,

Why do you hate joy?

I ask this as a 17-year-old who — on occasion — simply wants to order chicken tenders and mac and cheese without being stared at like I’m out of my mind.

Let me be clear: I’m not trying to scam the system. I’m not cheating my way into a good deal. I don’t want the crayons and activity sheet (unless it has a cool maze). I just want the option — the freedom, as promised to me by the unalienable rights of common sense and maybe the Constitution — to order from the children’s menu without being told, “Sorry, that’s only for kids 12 and under.”

The children’s menu isn’t some exclusive country club. It’s a list of smaller, simpler, more affordable portions that appeal to a wide range of people beyond the age of 12. There are plenty of reasons why a teen or adult might prefer a smaller plate: dietary needs, health conditions, smaller appetites, financial limitations, or just wanting some comfort food without the calories of a fully loaded burger.

Some of us just want to enjoy grilled cheese without artisan sourdough, truffle aioli and “rosemary essence.” Some of us want applesauce instead of roasted cauliflower — and juice boxes without judgment. And some of us teens are simply nostalgic for a time when lunch came with crayons and no existential dread about SAT scores, climate change or what we’re supposed to do with our lives by age 18.

But beyond nostalgia, there’s a real issue here: food waste. According to the Department of Agriculture, the United States already throws away around 30 to 40 percent of its food supply each year — a problem exacerbated by the normalization of supersized meals in restaurants. If I know I’m not going to finish an adult-sized portion, why be forced to order it? Shouldn’t we be encouraging smaller portions and conscious consumption, not obstructing people from asking for less?

And let’s talk about affordability. Not every teenager, or family, can comfortably afford a $20 dish. But a $6 kid’s quesadilla? That’s more manageable. Sometimes the children’s menu is the only way to eat out without stressing over the price. Should consumers really be priced out of a meal that they’d actually finish?

Hear me out: Keep the toys, the crayons, the themed plastic cups — those can stay for the 12-and-under crowd. But the food? The food should be for everyone. Maybe call it the “Petite Plate Menu” or the “Modest Munchies for Maturing Mouths.”

And look, I get it — restaurants are stretched thin. Costs are up, margins are tight, and staying in business is harder than ever. Think of this not as a burden, but as a lifeline. A scaled-down, tapas-style option could draw in diners who might otherwise stay home. It’s not just cute. It’s strategic.

At the end of the day, menus should serve the people eating from them. That includes kids, adults and, yes — teens like me who are busy navigating independence, responsibility and the occasional craving for chicken nuggets.

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So, restaurant overlords, let us eat. Let us reclaim the kids’ menu with pride and dignity.

Sincerely,
Max

Works Cited

Severson, Kim. “Restaurant Portions Are About to Get Smaller. Are Americans Ready?” The New York Times, 24 Sept. 2024.

“Why Should We Care About Food Waste?” U.S. Department of Agriculture, 11 Dec. 2024.

This essay, by Zixuan Wang, 18, of Beijing is one of the Top 10 winners of The Learning Network’s “How To” Informational Writing Contest.

How to Come Out to Your Friend

“Coming out is like pulling a cake from the oven — you know it’s done when the room smells right,” says Bao Liwei, a cafe owner in Chengdu. His shop, tucked between a noodle stall and a mahjong hall, doubles as an unofficial sanctuary for patrons needing a quiet word. For seven years, he has baked rainbow cakes for local LGBTQ+ communities and quietly counseled over a dozen friends through their coming-out journeys. “Timing matters,” he adds, dusting flour from his apron. “But so does the recipe.”

Begin by choosing your moment. Not during a birthday party, not mid-argument, not while your friend is struggling with a work deadline. Wait for a lull — a walk home after dinner, a late-night text thread, a quiet corner of a park where rain drums against shared umbrellas. Speak plainly. Say, “There’s something I want you to know,” or “I trust you with this.” Avoid metaphors about journeys or closets; clarity is kinder. Bao insists, “Your friend isn’t a critic. They’re a guest at your table. Serve the truth plainly, like tea.”

Anticipate pauses. Silence isn’t rejection — it’s digestion. Let your friend ask questions, even clumsy ones. If they say, “But you dated so many people of the opposite sex!” reply, “Yes, and that was part of figuring it out.” If they joke, “Does this mean we can’t share clothes anymore?” — laugh. Humor is a bridge, not a dismissal. Should they stumble into well-meaning but painful clichés (“You’re so brave!”), gently reframe: “It’s not bravery. It’s just me.”

Why does this matter? Because secrecy weighs more than awkwardness. Because friendship, at its core, is about seeing and being seen. Bao recalls a customer who practiced coming-out speeches into her cappuccino foam for weeks. “One day, she brought her best friend here, ordered two slices of matcha cake, and said it all in one breath. By the time she finished, her friend was crying — not from shock, but from guilt. ‘You thought I wouldn’t get it?’ she said. ‘I’ve known since we were 15!’”

End as you began: with simplicity. Say, “Thank you for listening,” or “I’m still the same person.” Then shift the conversation — to the weather, the coffee shop down the street, the absurdity of your boss’s latest message. Normalcy is a gift. As Bao puts it, sprinkling edible glitter onto a batch of cookies: “After the confession comes the real work: letting them love you the same way, just with better ingredients.”

This essay, by Rudransh Kohli, 16, a student at the Melbourne Grammar School in Melbourne, Australia, is one of the Top 10 winners of The Learning Network’s “How To” Informational Writing Contest.

How to Make Two-Minute Noodles the Right Way

“Anyone who just boils the noodles, dumps in the silver packet of salt and MSG, and calls it a meal is missing out,” says Meetu Singh, a self-proclaimed instant noodle connoisseur who works in the food procurement industry. “Patience, technique and the right toppings can turn a quick-fix dorm room snack into something worthy of obsession,” he says, proving that even the simplest meals, when made with care, can become a source of comfort, creativity and quiet pride.

Let’s start with the foundation: the noodles themselves. The secret? Disregard the packet’s rigid instructions — boiling them for exactly two minutes risks either a limp, lifeless tangle or an unpleasantly chewy bite. “The trick is to cook them for 90 seconds, then take them off the heat and let them steep in the residual broth,” Singh advises. This technique, known as carry-over cooking, ensures they soak up flavor while maintaining the perfect springy texture.

Then comes the broth — the heart of the dish. That little seasoning packet, packed with artificial flavor and eyebrow-raising sodium, isn’t your only option. A splash of soy sauce deepens umami, a drizzle of sesame oil adds nuttiness, and a spoonful of peanut butter lends unexpected richness. “If I see someone cracking an egg straight into the pot, I know they mean business,” Singh says. Whether soft-boiled and jammy or poached in the simmering broth, the yolk binds the flavors together. Scallions, chili oil, or even a slice of cheese (yes, cheese) elevate the dish from ordinary to indulgent.

Toppings? Nonnegotiable. “Texture is everything,” Singh insists. Crispy fried shallots add a savory snap, crushed peanuts bring crunch and fresh herbs — coriander, Thai basil, or even mint — cut through the richness. For protein, pan-seared tofu soaks up broth like a sponge, shredded chicken adds heartiness, and if you’re feeling extravagant, a seared piece of steak transforms the dish from convenience food into a gourmet feast.

Finally, the golden rule: Never, ever eat straight from the pot. “Respect the experience,” Singh commands. Pouring the noodles into a deep bowl lets the broth cool just enough for the flavors to bloom. Chopsticks are mandatory — slurping isn’t just accepted, it’s appreciation.

So yes, making the perfect bowl of two-minute noodles takes longer than two minutes. But Singh insists it’s time well spent. “You’re not just feeding yourself — you’re creating an experience,” he says. “And if that takes five minutes instead of two? Then you’ve done it right.”

This essay, by Preyahathai Aroonvanichporn, 16, a student at the NIST International School in Bangkok, Thailand, is one of the Top 10 winners of The Learning Network’s “How To” Informational Writing Contest.

How to Bargain Like a Pro in Thai Street Markets

The streets are always packed with tourists, the enticing scent of sizzling street food and the endless negotiations between vendors and customers. These tableaus create a sensory masterpiece: the Maeklong Railway Market. Walking through a Thai street market can feel overwhelming. But if you know its ways, you can leave with more than just souvenirs — you’ll walk away with the skill of bargaining like a real local.

Many believe that it’s simply asking “Lod dai mai krub/ka?” or “May I have a discount?” But real bargaining in a Thai market is an art that requires more than just words. “Bargaining is like cooking a good dish — you need to have patience and add the right ingredients at the right time,” says Khun Somchai, a local fruit vendor.

Start by browsing multiple stalls before showing interest in a product. Prices vary, and knowing the general cost gives you leverage. Never show too much excitement. If you grab an item too eagerly, the seller knows you’re hooked — and the price won’t budge. “When you see the same item being sold by various vendors, you can instantly conclude that the first shop you see is the most expensive,” says Somchai. By taking your time, you get a sense of the real value. Vendors are keen observers. If they see you return, they might be more willing to negotiate, knowing you’ve done your research.

Always let the seller make the first offer “50-60 percent of the asking price” — this starts the negotiation. Somchai advises that “Indecision can make the seller think, ‘they might leave.’” If they believe they’re about to lose a sale, they might offer one final price drop. But if they don’t, pretend to walk away. In many cases, the seller will call you back with a better deal. If they don’t? Move on.

Another strategy is “bundling.” “If you ask for a discount too directly, some sellers won’t budge.” But if you say, “Can I take two for 40 baht instead of 50?” then you have a chance.

To many like Somchai, “Bargaining is more than just getting a good deal, it’s a token from the heart of Thailand’s markets.” So when you leave the bustling streets, you’ll realize that the best souvenir isn’t in your bag — it’s the skill of bargaining like a Thai local that you will have for the rest of your life.