Scholastic National Gold Medal and Regional Gold Key Award in Novel Writing

The creek babbled, and a soft wind shook the ancient oak trees. The birds sang, and the deer playfully pranced. Abruptly, a branch snapped as an unstoppable force came crashing through the trees. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” He said, chasing after her. But she didn’t hear him. Her eyes were rimmed with red and blurry with tears as she ran, never glancing back, if only for a moment. 

“Leave me alone!” she retorted, tears streaming down her face. Her legs were numb as if they had been submerged in ice and felt almost as if she was floating, and though her lungs ached with an immense agony like they were trapped within concrete and could not expand, she was persistent and would not stop. Anxious, she looked back for a mere second, but within that second, it was as if time slowed, and before she could figure out what was happening, she ran face-first into a tree. As she fell back onto a sharp rock, she saw Nick’s face looming over her, his lips moving, though she could not make out what he was saying. However, all she wanted at this moment was to be left alone to die.

Chapter 1

Karma is a curious thing. On one hand, it may be the universe’s way of getting people what they deserve. On the other hand, it can be a terrible thing if it happens to you. In this case, Karma was her dad getting back at her Mom. She remembered vividly the day of her parents fight, her mom screaming in tears on the floor as her dad roared,

“This is what you get for making me do this and then blaming me when it went wrong!” Every word was like a dagger piercing through her mother. 

“You can’t leave me with her!” she sobbed with anguish and disdain. It was just then that little two-year-old Karma toddled down the stairs holding a picture of their family that she had scribbled in purple crayon. 

“Mommy, look-” she started.

“Go away and don’t come back!” her mother screamed. “I don’t know what the hell I did to deserve you!” Karma started backing away slowly before turning away and running to her room. She locked the door stunned, and then she cried. She cried thick, salty tears, each one a glimpse into the world of her soul. She cried until her jaw ached and she was rapidly shaking. She cried herself to sleep until she woke up and cried until she passed out from dehydration. She woke up and went downstairs several hours later just in time to see her dad leaving. 

“Mom..”

“Don’t call me that, I don’t want to be acknowledged as your mother .” She stared, piercingly at her helpless daughter, “You will refer to me as Amira as everyone else does, now get out of my face” 

“But mommy-” 

“NO! DON’T CALL ME THAT OR I WILL BASH YOUR FACE INWARD UNTIL…”

  “ No! No! No!”

“Karma, wake up!” Her eyes snapped open and she sat bold upright in a hospital room bed. She rubbed her eyes as the world came into view. A young-looking nurse, maybe in her mid-20s to early 30s, stood in front of her with a hand tenderly resting on hers. Her vision cleared as she saw a second nurse run out. 

“Huh? What happened” she asked, her head clouded with a thick, grey, hazy fog that made her drowsy. 

“You blacked out, hit your upper back on a rock. Lucky it wasn’t your neck, you would have been paralyzed.” Just then a boy ran into the room, though he was short, his legs carried him quickly and swiftly down the hall, his dark hair had a slight curl to it and bounced as he ran. 

“Nick?!” Karma said, a searing pain sliced up her back, rattling her brain, but she wouldn’t let him see that, she took a short, sharp breath before continuing, “What are you doing here?” He stared at her anxiously, blushing and fiddling with the sleeve of his sweatshirt before replying, 

“I had to make sure you were okay.” There was a beat of silence before the nurse said,

“Do you know your mom’s number so we can call her to come pick you up” 

“Umm... yeah but-”

“Perfect!” the nurse replied before Karma could finish her sentence. “Just put in her number here.” The nurse shoved a white plastic landline into her hand. She stared at the device in her hand, she thought about all the circuits and the small electrical current that would be sent through it as soon as she tapped her finger against one of the buttons. She began slowly entering her mom’s number; 8…5…9…5…5…5…0…1…2 she paused before entering the last digit, 1. The phone began to ring, only for a few seconds before a familiar voice filled the apparatus, low, and gruff from years of smoking,

“Who is this?” she snapped “I’m kinda busy right now.” 

“Umm, Hi Amira, it's Karma,”  she said, her voice shaking. 

“Oh my god,” she muttered, “ What the hell do you need now?”

“I’m at the hospital, I got hurt in the woods, I need you to come pick me up”

“Well guess what, I don’t give a damn. I’m not wasting gas to come pick you up, you know the way home and ya didn’t hurt your legs, you can walk, oh and grab some food on the way, I’m starving.” The phone beeped as she disconnected the line. The nurse looked at her. 

“Uhh.. I think I’ll just walk home, it’s not that far,” she said, beginning to stand up. 

“Wait!” the nurse said. As soon as her feet touched the floor, a wave of dizziness washed over her. It was as if a boa constrictor had wrapped around her brain and was squeezing as tight as it could around its prey.  Her world blurred and spun around her and bright colors spotted her vision. She heard mumbles and chaos around her as the nurse scrambled around the room, and then she let go. Her legs couldn’t hold her up anymore and she began to fall through the thick, heavy air. She waited for the loud crack as her side would hit the floor but it never came. Instead, she felt the warm grasp of soft skin as she fell into someone’s arms before the world went dark, but not unconscious. 

Chapter 2

Apparently, she was down for a week. When she finally woke up from the coma, her mom still refused to waste gas to drive her home. She said, “You just got a week-long rest, you should have plenty of energy to walk home.” So she did. When she finally arrived home after a dreadfully long 45-minute walk, the door swung open before she could touch the handle. The corner of the wood hit her in the jaw as she stumbled back, 

 “Oh my god, it took you long enough, where’s my food?” Amira said, when she noticed the only thing she carried was her dark blue backpack with yellow sunflowers on it, her face lit up with rage, an animosity so deep and primal that she lunged at her daughter clawing at her neck demanding food. Karma pushed her mother down and she clamored to the floor which gave her just enough time to retrieve the moldy sandwich from last Thursday from her bag. Yes, it was moldy, but her mother wouldn’t care. She hadn’t eaten in a week, so she would eat anything. Her mother believed that the only purpose of a kid was to serve their elder, therefore, Amira would not eat until Karma served food up to her on a silver platter (literally.) She ran up the stairs to her room before her mom could chase her. She slammed the door shut and locked it before sitting on her bed. She unzipped the little front pocket and retrieved her phone, a small thing with a phone case with little toadstool mushrooms on it. She opened the camera to see a tired-looking girl with tangled auburn hair and a face dotted with soft freckles. Her eyes, though dim with tiredness, still glistened beautifully in a hazel glow, flecked with gold as the setting sun reflected off of them. Nevertheless, she was tired and hungry. She tentatively walked down the stairs to the kitchen where she scrounged the cabinets for something, anything to eat. She eventually found a small package of honey-roasted peanuts like you would get on an airplane and 2 slices of white bread, it wasn’t much but it would have to do. She quickly and quietly walked back up the stairs to her bedroom, where she swiftly ate her snack before collapsing on her bed. 

 The following morning, a Friday morning, she slowly sat up in her bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she snoozed her alarm.  The clock read 6:15. She pulled herself out of bed and to the bathroom, a small, cramped room with dark blue tiles lining the bottom perimeter, the rest of the room an offputting yellow paint. She turned on the shower and began to peel off the sweaty clothes that she had remained in for the past week. She stepped into the stream of warm water and it flowed down around her, covering her in a comforting blanket that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She basked in the glow as the room filled with a pleasant fog that washed away her worries. Her eyes were closed and her head tilted up towards the shower head, she took a deep breath, letting it out with a soft sigh. She remembered a time when she was safe, she was warm. Her mom hadn’t always been like this. She faintly remembered when she was a baby, lying in her arms, though skinny, held a firm comforting grasp, her golden brown hair falling down towards the infant’s face. Her mother had sung to her, her voice had been smooth and clear, not like it was now. She sang a sweet tune, Karma softly cooing in response, she felt warm, she felt loved, but it wasn’t like that anymore. She opened her eyes to find she was still in her home, her current world where it could never be like that ever again. The water had run cold and the only noise that filled her world was the patter of the crisp water hitting her bare skin. A hollow feeling sunk through her. She glanced at the clock, 6:37. She quickly scrubbed her body with a bar of soap and lightly shampooed her hair (by now she didn’t have time to condition it). The knob squeaked as she turned it to the right, terminating the flow of the water and she began to shiver, a feeling that chilled every bone and muscle in her body. She became stiff, hollow, but she was used to this feeling. 

She quickly wrapped up in a towel, and using a second one, she tried to ring the water out of her sopping-wet hair. She grabbed her toothbrush from the little plastic cup beside the sink, applied toothpaste, and began vigorously scrubbing at her teeth. She spat the excess mixture into the sink before swishing her mouth out with water. She then returned to her room, wrapped in a towel, and began to dress herself. She picked out a pair of distressed, loose-fitting jeans that flared slightly toward the bottom and a shirt with broad stripes of white and honey. She ran a brush through her tangled hair until it was smooth and shiny. She brushed it upward into a bun towards the top of her head and tied it tightly with a black hair tie, a few loose strands falling in front of her face. She secured a necklace with a small, silver orchid pendant around her neck and popped an assortment of rings on a few of her fingers before stuffing a mess of books, her laptop, and her phone into her backpack. She closed the zipper, lugged the heavy thing onto her back and started for the door, but she paused, waiting a moment, thinking about nothing in particular, but something tingled in the back of her mind. A single fragment of a thought that she couldn't quite place yet, but it sent a hollow, draining feeling through every inch of her being.

-----

 They were almost entirely out of food in the house so Karma didn’t pack a lunch. She would instead have to stop at a fast food place, she didn’t like going to fast food places because they were overpriced and she only had a limited amount of money, but she didn't have time to go to the grocery store, she would have to do that after school. Meanwhile, she stepped into a small burger shop called “Al’s Burgers” which was one of the cheapest places in town, Karma still liked it though. It was a family-owned business and of course, originally owned by Al, but when Al died, his grandson Dom took over. She walked into the empty shop, it was open but not many people would be purchasing burgers for breakfast. Immediately, the smell of toasted buns and sizzling meat entered her nose and filled her head, taking her back to a memory she had buried deep down. She was two years old, it was shortly before her parents had gotten divorced. Her dad had driven them all to Al’s Burgers for the first time. She held both of her parent's hands, one on each side, as they swung her up, up, up into they air. She was flying, she had thought. She was free. As her little glittery, dark navy shoes hit the pavement again, she smiled and giggled saying, 

 “Do it again! Do it again!” before her dad replied,

 “Oh, it looks like we’re here!” in a soft comforting voice, one that she would never hear again. The second her dad pushed open the heavy door, the same savory, rich aroma filled her world. She blinked and it was all gone, she would never see her dad again, even if she wanted to, he had been long gone and had no intent of coming back. She rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times before approaching the counter. A familiar face appeared as she walked closer to the register. 

 “Karma! So nice to see you again!” Hugo’s loud voice boomed.

 “ Hey Hugo! Maning the register today I see.”

 “Yes, well, none of my other employees are here yet. Just me right now. What can I get ya?”

 “Just the usual. We’re out of food again,” she replied.

 “Ahh,” he said solemnly “Well don’t worry, I’ve gotcha covered.” He turned back toward the kitchen and disappeared into the shining steel and warmth. She turned to sit at her usual table in the back corner. The path burned so deeply into her consciousness that she could navigate it with her eyes closed, from the position of each table and booth to the number of steps up the raised platform at the back of the shop. So she closed her eyes and began weaving between the tables, only concentrating on the movement of her hips as her shoes firmly hit the floor. Right, left, right again, and then straight for five steps until she reached the stairs to the small platform.  She raised her foot into the air and stepped forward, the soul of her shoe squeaked on the solid surface. It felt grounding, knowing there was one place that she knew better than the back of her hand, a place where she could always feel welcome, a place where she felt safe. The weight of her body shifted onto her front foot and she lifted the back one higher than she had lifted the first, and firmly set on the next step. She continued this motion counting her steps as she went; two, three, four, fi-. Instead of landing on a solid surface, her foot fell through the air. She let out a little gasp, squeezed her eyes shut, and though the feeling only lasted a brief moment in the outside world, in her head, it felt as long as time itself. A sinking feeling settled deep in her gut, twisting her organs and burning her heart. It was the feeling of being alone. It radiated through her mind, why am I still here, no one even wants me here, she thought, would anyone even notice if I was gone? Every terrible thing she had ever done and each dirty thing she had ever thought coursed through her mind in that brief moment and when her foot finally hit the platform and her eyes sprung open, a clouded feeling was stuck in her throat and she wanted to cry. But she didn’t. A lesson she learned a long time ago; crying doesn't fix anything. So she bit her lip so hard it felt as though her teeth might sink through the soft flesh and just stood there for a moment before wearily proceeding to her little round red table. She sat sorrowfully gazing out the window at the tall pine trees, branches a warm green basking in the early morning sun's warm glow. She imagined climbing to the top, her arms clinging around the thick sticky branches, when she reached the top, she would cling to the sturdy trunk and push off with her feet launching into the air. The feeling of falling would be so freeing, not wondering when you would hit the ground, all your troubles blown away by the wind. Her eyes would be sealed shut, but not in the way she was used to closing them, not tightly, just calm, and she would be free. She wished she could be there, at the top of that infinitely tall tree, she wished she could fall forever.

Scholastic Regional Gold Key Award in Poetry

I pray to drift into a dream-filled sleep

I lay awake and dare to stop and think

Into the land of slumber I hope to leap

The wonders of the day, into night I keep

Into my cloud-like pillow I comfortably sink 

I pray to drift into a dream filled sleep

I lay and count the many fluffy sheep

In and out of sleep I wearily blink

Into the land of slumber I hope to leap

Alone,I think of what I've lost and weep.

In dim light on the page I cry tears of ink

I pray to drift into a dream filled sleep  

The sorrows of past joyous times start to creep

I want now only from the poisoned cup to drink

Into the land of slumber I hope to leap

Into an endless sleep I wish to fall deep

I wonder now If I hadn't dared to think.

I pray to drift into a dream filled sleep

Into the land of slumber I hope to leap

Scholastic Regional Gold Key Award in Humor

I don’t remember when I was born. I don’t even know my name. I’ve always just been called Pencil. Just Pencil. The earliest thing I remember is light. I saw light for the first time. I looked great back then. Smooth flat sides. Crisp, clean edges. Fresh eraser on top. No lead poking out on the opposite end. It was bliss. It also lasted for about ten seconds. Then, I was picked up by a giant hand. Then, I felt the most excruciating pain. My skin was shredded, and the black lead inside reared its ugly, sharp head. I didn’t know what I had ever done to deserve this. I felt so relieved when I was yanked out of the torture device, although I knew that I would never again look the same. Over the next few hours, my head was rubbed on a slightly grainy but pristine white surface. And wherever I went, I left a trail of black in my path. I felt terrible for destroying such beauty but knew I did not have control over this matter, for I was not moving on my own accord. Then, quite suddenly, a loud ringing filled the air as I was hastily dropped onto the floor. Then, as quickly as it began, it stopped, and I was lying on the floor in complete darkness.

The next few months were about the same. Occasionally getting shoved into the torture machine and spent most nights on the floor. But one day, when I just came out of the torture machine, I felt a grinding pain on my side, being inflicted by giant white cubes. It made massive dents on my side, and my eraser was now uneven and rough. I was painful to the max, especially since I just came out of the torture machine. The day only got worse because I was not only thrown to the ground but then rolled under a cabinet. I thought no one would ever find me, and I would die there, but through a stroke of luck, a kind soul picked me up from under there and put me in the basket with the other pencils. I made a few friends there and realized they all had similar stories to mine. No one knew their names or when they came onto this world. It was then that I realized that this cruelty to our kind has to stop. We spent the night planning our attack, and the following morning we were ready.

We had broken the torture machine by striking the wire repeatedly till it broke. The second the giants entered this room, we jumped out of our basket, rolled towards towering goliaths, and started piercing their skin. I was terrific until they retaliated and started snapping us in half. We rolled to safety and regrouped. I realized our numbers were quartered, but no giant had fallen. We all decided to go out fighting, but before that, I quickly wrote this. I don’t know what will happen to me, nor do I care. I wrote this to tell all you pencils to open your eyes to the cruelty we are all facing and put an end to this. And we shall prevail!

VFW Patriot's Pen 2nd place in Milwaukee County

Everyone has a voice in their country. Here in America, we are lucky to express ourselves and our opinions in an open-minded country. You can let your voice out in many ways, like others have done before. Someone whose voice has inspired me is my grandfather. 

My grandfather was drafted into the military at the age of seventeen, a mere five years older than I am now, and was sent to Vietnam. His years in the military helped him find a purpose and his voice inside of him. America provided him with money for college that he wouldn’t otherwise have had. He also remarked, “It gave me a focus in life, so I knew what I was going to do next.” 

His religion discouraged participation in politics, but after serving, he became more interested because he saw how important it was for citizens to be involved in the government. He now votes in every election. That experience changed his life, just like how one person might be able to change America; for the better. He needed to make his voice heard. 

My grandfather’s work inspires me to let my voice be heard, and get involved in making America a better place. For example, through my religion, I help recently-arrived immigrant families feel welcome here in America, and help them make it into a new home. We invite them to gatherings. We make friends with them. We translate songs into their native language. We try to make them feel like they have a natural home here.

In conclusion, even if your voice in the democracy is slight at the moment, you can work hard to strengthen it. America can, and has, become a better place because some people put their voices out there. You should know that you can be one of them.

Scholastic Regional Gold Key Award in Journalism

What is a food that can be any other food? A food so versatile it can be even the most obscure of food groups. A food that can be sculpted into literally anything, except a meal better than mediocre. The answer is tofu. Tofu is one of the world’s most popular vegetarian options for food, and in general a commonly eaten substance, despite the fact that it’s not very good, nor is it very healthy. Somehow, even through our society's technological advancements, there is no version of tofu I have found to taste like anything other than slightly, as the kids say, quirked up, soy mush. Eighties rock and roll and tofu hold many similarities, from the overall exaggeration of how good it is, to, though groups and flavors are technically different, it’s a struggle to tell what is what when it’s all put next to each other.

Tofu was first invented about 2000 years ago in China. The original invention is credited to Liu An, a Han Dynasty prince from the second century B.C. Despite its age, in the 1960s the Japanese focused heavily on the production and modernization of the tofu industry. In the 1970s, tofu grew significantly in popularity, mainly in the US. The United States is currently one of the countries credited with the highest soybean production, and despite that, it consumes very little tofu. Tofu is created through the process of soaking and grinding soybeans into a mushy slurry. You begin by removing the soybean hulls and soaking the bean for nine to ten hours. After soaking the bean, it is ground up. There are many different ways to grind soybeans, ranging from micro cutters, which are small knives and blades, to hammer mills, which is a large machine that smashes the beans down. This process removes proteins from the bean, which is one of the reasons tofu can be more unhealthy than originally thought. After this, the paste is cooked at an extremely high temperature, then the soy milk is separated from the pulpy part of the soybean. The most crucial part of creating tofu is coagulating the soy milk, mostly because the type of coagulate you use determines the kind of tofu you get. Additionally, this part of the process is the portion that determines the firmness of the tofu. The most common coagulates are salt, acids, and enzymes. You boil the mixture as you slowly add the coagulate, and after it cools, you have tofu.

Tofu could best be described as spongy brick. From first touch, the brick, or cube, usually holds a bit of a slick texture, and after you put in your mouth, the overall underwhelming taste of chalkey soybean explodes. Additionally, the slick texture usually fakes you out, because immediately you realize how dry the tofu itself truly is. It crumbles in your mouth like a piece of old paper, yet somehow it’s still squishy, and those two things, old paper and tofu, have common ground in not only texture, but taste and smell. One could argue that the recipe makes all the difference. Tofu absorbs flavor well, so you can make it taste like anything. That is a lie. Tofu’s ability to absorb flavor is underwhelming, from fried tofu to tofu in curry, it simply isn’t that good. The overall taste of soy is a difficult one to mask, with its bland, yet somehow sour taste it shines through with even the richest of spices.  The best tofu I’ve ever tasted is in miso soup, but even there, the natural flavor of the tofu is embraced instead of a pathetic attempt to cover a sour, dusty taste that makes up soybean.

In conclusion, tofu should be replaced as the most common vegetarian option with other, more practical, delicious options, such as mushrooms. Mushrooms hold not only higher nutritional value than tofu, but a higher capability for taste. From umami to sweet, mushrooms contain a myriad of flavor options. If mushrooms aren’t your thing, other kinds of beans, such as lentils, or quinoa are also good substitutes. So let’s look beyond the easy answer of tofu and move to healthier, tastier options.

Sources:

https://www.ift.org/news-and-publications/food-technology-magazine/issues/2016/february/columns/processing-how-tofu-is-processed#:~:text=Tofu%20originated%20in%20China.,standardizing%20tofu%20production%20throughout%20Japan.

https://www.beyondmeat.com/whats-new/tofu-alternatives-for-your-favorite-vegan-dishes/#:~:text=Instead%20of%20using%20tofu%20for,a%20soy%2Dfree%20meat%20analogue.

https://www.cooksmarts.com/articles/no-tofu-vegetarian-recipes/ 

Scholastic Regional Gold Key Award in Poetry

You may look deep within yourself and find

A lake never ending though filled with dread

None of these noises remotely kind  

Deeper in, by a mental force, you are lead

You shall see hardened blackened memories

They will be floating with a faint sick breeze

The pure, echos in the hearts treasuries 

The utter mass should bring you to your knees

As you return from this hellish stroll

And you come to the home of the blissful

You shall truly know your ultimate role

Everything is well could not be less truthful 

You would want to be impaled by death’s stake  

As you look out over the endless lake  

Scholastic Regional Gold Key Award in Poetry

A Sonnet by Simone Kadlec

Small leaves like fire, red and orange delights

They fall with grace, into looming darkness

The snow washes over, blinding their lights

Swept away by the wind, cold and heartless

The sun is stolen by nightfall early

Chained to the ground, it disappears from the day

The shimmer floods in, bright as can be

Light echoes and rings, leaving darkness astray

You wake up and look out your bright window

To a wonderland that is filled with

Beautiful, sparkling, crystalline snow

Daunting and soft as winter in a myth

Now that calming Autumn has blown o’er

It won’t come back until next October.