I know. My shoulder bumps with my friend’s next to me, and as the music blooms, I believe.
Our intertwining voices pour out and quiet down, and a solid presence fills the room as my friends and I link hands to pray. I grin as Fire and Rain, our after-school prayer group, starts its first meeting of the year...
The warning bell of the first day of seventh grade at Martin Magnet Middle School rang. I had only five minutes to control my “new school” nerves and introduce myself to Mrs. West, my first period Biology teacher. I figured I had to do so sooner or later and hesitantly said, “Hi, my name is Keerthana,” but before I could even finish, Mrs. West exclaimed,
“Oh, I know who you are! Come on in!”..
“Men can be feminists too, right? Right?” I desperately waited for the answer to this question, searching for it in the faces of those sitting at my all-male lunch table. It was silent for ten seconds before Chase, an acquaintance who would, oddly, never eat there again, said, “No, Jacob. They can’t...
Liverpool Football Club was down 3-0 against A.C. Milan at halftime in the 2005 Champions League Final. Lying devastated on the sofa at 5 a.m., my nine-year-old self stared blankly at the TV screen in my apartment in Sydney. For 45 minutes, we had been out-played and out-classed. I had given up all hope and, frankly, I might have become an A.C. Milan fan for a few minutes...
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