Middle School

Team Apex complete Water Rights Unit Fiction Piece from Year End issue 2023:
(Note: Text in bold is where story left off in actual paper.)

Final Story: Water Rights Unit, 2023      By Kayleigh Austin

My family has never had the problem of being dehydrated and not being able to water our garden but things are different now. My momma has got a small little shack on the edge of the beach where she catches fish and sells them for good money. My grandfather used to work helping out my momma but stopped because he was getting old and, “His hip couldn't take it any longer.” Or at least that's what momma says but I think she's just saying that to help papa get out of being active. Momma started a huge garden in the back yard about two years ago. She picks all the stuff she grows and sells some of it. Momma says it's good for the earth and it saves her money. Ever since it's been getting hotter, the wells are drying up and there's only a little more bottled water, so we have to limit our water and only use a little for drinking. Sometimes I am thirsty but I've learned to live with it.

Momma learned how to boil the water from the ponds so we have got some drinking water but it takes a while. About three months ago the fresh water started drying up too. Pretty soon we are going to have no water to boil. Momma has been trying to get my grandfather to leave and go back to where her momma (my grandmother) was living after papa and her got a divorce but every time momma mentions it this look grows on papa’s face. It's a look of sadness, a look of anger, a look of guilt, his nostrils get big and puffy and his face gets a tomato kind of color but his eyes grow to look glossy. Momma knows it hurts him but she just wants us to be okay. Momma headed off to work just like usual and papa sat in his bed in the corner of one of the upstairs bedrooms. Our house is small so momma and papa share a room and I sleep in the living room on the pull out couch. Sometimes the springs of the couch poke into my back making it hard to sleep so I get up and go to the yard where we have two big trees that hold up a hammock. It's comfy there. 

I understand why papa doesn't want to leave. This place, it really is like paradise, you can see everything from our house, the ocean, the sunsets, the people walking down to where my momma’s work place is and even sometimes my momma riding down on her bike because she doesn't want to use up her gas if she doesn't have to. The old beat up green Subaru sits in the yard waiting to be used one day. When momma leaves for work it is now my time to make sure papa is getting everything he needs. I give him water, I feed him, it's kinda like taking care of a baby.  My grandfather is getting real sick. His head is always sweaty and his hands are always clammy. He can barely ever talk. Momma and I know he's gonna pass soon, we just don't know when. 

Momma came home to check on papa about 5 minutes later, just because she worries. As soon as momma got home I walked outside and approached the hammock. The sunrise this morning was the best one yet that year. I could hear momma fussing over something. I just assumed it was her and papa yelling again. Momma ran outside with tears falling down her clammy looking face.

“Baby, it's time.” She said peacefully, calmly, almost like she knew everything was going to be alright.  

“What do you mean it's time momma? What's wrong?” I said with a small tear forming in my left eye. 

“Papas gone baby. It'll all be alright.” Momma said as she grabbed the phone and dialed 911. As the sirens got closer to our house I instantly knew that the reason the sky was so beautiful this morning is because papa was now in it, and he was letting us know that we can leave and that everything will be alright.  After the ambulance left with papa’s lifeless body inside we thought about loading all the stuff up into the car and heading off. We now knew that papa was letting us know that we could now leave and have all of the water we needed. 

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Team Apex complete play from Year End issue 2022:

Salem Witch Trials: Judge Samuel Sewell play

Team Summit Holocaust Lessons: complete articles from Winter/Spring 2021 issue:

"The Holocaust & Today" by Isabella Shea

"What was the Holocaust..." by Louisa Painter

"The Holocaust's Lessons for Today" by Lauren Cousino

"Holocaust Still Relevant in 2020/2021" by Jacob Prouty

Creative Writing...additions to Bird's Eye View Year End 2020 issue

Save the Rainforests by Louisa Painter '25

Brazil is home to 60% (477.698,000 hectares*) of the Amazon Rainforest, which is being cut down at unbelievable rates. More specifically,  the Amazon forest is being cut down at a rate of 2,000 trees a minute. That’s seven football fields a minute! “More than 20 percent of the Amazon rainforest is already gone, and much more is severely threatened as the destruction continues. It is estimated that the Amazon alone is vanishing at a rate of 20,000 square miles a year” (rain-tree.com). The Amazon Rainforest is home to 10% of all known species on Earth. It has the highest biodiversity on the planet, but the more we cut down the rainforest, the more habitats for these animals are disappearing and the fewer animals we see. Exactly 137 species are already extinct due to habitat loss in the rainforest and if we keep destroying these animals’ environment, the whole Amazon Rainforest ecosystem is likely to collapse. 

Since the late 1970s all across Brazil, Peru, Colombia, Bolivia, Venezuela, Suriname, Guyana, and French Guiana 289,000 square miles of the Amazon Rainforest were originally being destroyed as a result of trees being cut down by subsistence farmers who used the land to produce crops for their families and local consumption. But in the late 1900s, deforestation was increasingly caused by industrial activities and large-scale agriculture. By the 21st century cattle ranching was one of the main causes of forest clearing (Amazon Destruction). I can't comprehend how we can justify deforestation to support our consumerist society. In the past 3 decades alone 33% of the world's resources have been consumed. We are cutting down the Amazon Rainforest at unbelievable rates to use its resources to make toxic contaminated products in factories that release carbon and other greenhouse gasses, and the worst part is, most products are built with planned obsolescence** so you end up throwing out products soon after you buy them and then you go back to the store and buy more. 

The more of the Amazon we cut down everyday, the more we run factories that release toxins and other greenhouse gasses into the air, the more likely it is for our children and our children's children to grow up on a planet with no biodiversity and unbreathable air. The more likely it is that our great grandchildren may never exist, or never see the planet that exists today. If there is one benefit that the virus has shown, it is that without the presence of humans, the natural world thrives and heals. Humans need to change our consumption rates and start moving forcefully towards a more sustainable economy or the future is going to be chaotic and we will be forced to live on a planet that is trashed and destroyed. We must start thinking of all forms of life on this Earth as having value and we must add their value into our own attempts to clean up the mess we’ve created on this planet! 

                * A Hectare is 10,000㎡            ** Built to break

Memorial Day (Into The Eyes Of The Past) by Whitney Dykstra

We dedicate a day

To honour

Those no longer with us

Who lost their lives

To save ours

Paying the ultimate sacrifice

We call this special occasion…

Memorial Day

****

Human blood

Scattered upon a battle field

DNA of soldiers killed while serving their country 

The screams of someone at death’s door

Still echo through the valley

Their bones laid deep within the earth

Branded with the marks of conflict

Each mark

Bears a story

Of bravery

Courage

Strength

And pain

Most importantly

The story of a hero

Our hero

****** 

No words can be formed

That will even begin to describe 

The degree of gratitude that I feel

For everyone who put their life on the line

To keep innocent people out of harm's way

Hot tears of understanding stream down my face

As I look back in time

Into the lives of families

That had loved ones serve 

All the emotions that they felt

Overwhelm me 

The day of departure

Consisted of suffocating hugs

Frantic kisses 

And tears of fear

Soldiers assuring family of their safe return

Little did they know 

Safety was merely a dream

An unrealistic hope

Dangled far out of reach

For that was the last day

They would ever see the faces

Of their family

******

Death observed none too quietly from the shadows

Stalking his prey

Prepared to spring into action

Sending constant reminders 

That he was in change

Taking different shapes 

Depending on the victim 

Always coming unexpectedly

While in the heat of war

Taking the shape of bullets,

Bombs, knives, and other weapons

Sometimes appearing as one of our own

*******

On Memorial Day

We take the time

To watch history unfold

In someone else’s eyes

Husbands, wives, brothers and sisters

Morning the loss of a loved one

Setting the table for dinner

A plate and cup for each chair

Yet one plate remains untouched throughout the meal

One chair remains empty

One voice left unheard

A family

Forever broken

There are more people who need our attention

Those that fought in war

And made it home alive

That may seem like a done deal

But it's not

Some are so heavily impacted 

They wish never to come home at all

For they witnessed first hand the brutality

Of war

Comrades and strangers dying left and right

Covering as much of the ground as trees do a forest

Close calls sending fresh rushes of adrenaline through their body

Knowing that that could have been them

With a bullet through their heart

Yet it wasn’t, so they move on

Pushing away their fear 

For the battle continues

Sweat mixing with the smell of blood and death

Running, shooting, fighting

Trying their best to live

Doing all in their power to save others

Sometimes succeeding

Sometimes failing

Accidents occur  

Shooting a friend who looked like the enemy

They suffer from the scenes 

That still haunt their dreams

Penetrating their memories

With things best forgotten

My heart reaches out to everyone that falls under this category 

******

Memorial Day is not just about honoring those no longer here

But seeing the past in a new perspective

About respecting and understanding 

Everyone who was affected by war

So to everyone out there

Happy Memorial Day and God Bless

Eighth Grade Challenge, continued from Year End 2020 issue

Annie Dufault: I studied playing lacrosse in college for my 8th grade project. I chose this topic to study because lacrosse has always been

Hannah Gallivan's essay, continued from Year End 2020 issue:

We appreciate your empathy, but we also learn to adapt and live our lives pretty normally. We’re not charity cases, and we don’t like to be pitied all the time. The movies that Zeno makes are crazy awesome things of beauty because they care so much about proper representation. But let me tell you, proper representation is a battle. Trying to convince close-minded people that we deserve to be on the big screen in the right way is no easy feat. There are plenty of movies that show the complete opposite of what we want: pity and thinking that we’re miserable living the way we do. A not great example of this is a movie called Me Before You. If you’re a disabled person or activist, this probably sends shivers down your spine. It’s a movie about a guy named Will Traynor who gets in a motorcycle accident and becomes a paraplegic. His parents hire an aide for him, a girl named Louisa Clark. They fall in love, but Will doesn’t want to be a “burden” to her, so he ends up committing assisted suicide. The people who wrote this film assumed that disabled people have no desire to live and are miserable! That’s what made disability communities so angry. After the movie came out, they protested and took to social media, explaining their concerns and anger using a hashtag #MeBeforeEuthanasia, basically saying, “Why do you assume we want to die?” People showed up at the theaters and protested. I did a search for “Me Before You google user reviews” and looked through them, and I was honestly horrified. Here are some reviews from different people: “But as he always is, he was right! Paris would not be the same Paris of his dreams if he went there on wheels.” “How would you feel in the same situation??? Would you really want to live your life being in a wheelchair and feeling like a burden for the rest of your life, well for some people the answer is no.” “I can't judge the fact that Will did what he did. It’s a tough decision to make, being like him, can't help yourself by your own like that, If I were him? I would choose to agree, It’s just a film, anyway.” I was really angry and sad after reading those. I couldn't believe so many people agreed with his choices! Disabled people have so much much value in this world, and it hurt that people could just dismiss someone’s actions like that. Disability is an identity that represents creativity, innovation, joy, compassion and fun. We are smart, passionate, and all-around awesome. My friend Lawrence Carter-Long said it best: “Disability puts the D in Diversity.” There is hope for better representation, and it’s happening more and more. An example of a movie that, unlike Me Before You, celebrates diversity and disability is Crip Camp. Crip Camp is about a camp really similar to Zeno, but in the 1970’s. It also talks a lot about disability rights history, and the fight that people had to get what they wanted. It’s absolutely incredible, and I highly recommend it. I also decided to interview people in the disability community who were actors. Emily Kranking plays a big part in Best Summer Ever. When I asked her about discrimination she’s experienced, she said,“Oh my gosh, yes... I once quit a show a week before it opened because the director made an offensive remark about my disability, and once I was in a show and they took away all of my lines because of speech difficulties.” She also told me that after people said something about her disability, they would say, “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way” as if it would soften the blow of what they’d just said. I left the interview with Emily feeling inspired. I noticed while talking to her and thinking about my personal experiences that we touched on a lot of the same feelings while chatting. We both felt that MUCH more representation was absolutely necessary and we thought that there should be more roles for women with cerebral palsy. We also agreed that people with disabilities are so often overlooked even though we so deserve to be in the spotlight. At Zeno, I am able to be in the spotlight. Finally, the cameras are ready to start rolling. I take a deep and look to Randa for my cue. He nods, and I start clapping, yelling, “Bravo!” as I watch Tony dance onstage. He looks up, smiles, and jumps down off the stage. “Hannah, what did I tell you about sneaking up on me?” Then Randa yells, “Cut! That was great guys.” I relax and look in wonder at what’s happening around me. I look at my feet, standing tall in my walker. And then I think how awesome all of this is. That all of these people are helping people like me feel more seen in the world. They’re helping us be discovered for how much we can bring to a movie set. They’re helping us be represented. Zeno is why I’m so passionate about film and helping others like me find their places in our world. Best Summer Ever has helped me feel more confident in myself and realize what a big impact this little movie is going to have on people. I wrote this essay to help others understand things from my point of view. From a proud, defiant, won’t-back-down disabled person’s point of view. I hope that if you listen to what I have to say, your perspective of what disabled people can do and are capable of will widen. Because, like I keep saying, we are awesome, but we’re underestimated. All the time. More often than you’d think. If we get enough people to change their mindsets,, a whole new world of opportunities will suddenly open up for people like me. My advice for you: get to know us before you make assumptions. Let us show what we’re really made of. Don’t immediately treat us like charity cases, because we’re not. Who we really are will blow you away.

COVID-19 is like a Dictator by Joanna Toy, continued from Year End 2020 issue:

In addition to that, Anita and her mom are forced to hide away in a closet for months at a time. We are hidden in larger dwellings, but still stuck at home. This is another close comparison because in both cases people are in a quarantine type of situation. It’s clear that Covid19 quarantine and hiding from an evil dictator are very similar. Currently (in case you hadn’t noticed) our quarantine situation is very similar to that of Anita’s family hiding in a closet from the dictator. When Anita’s family leaves her, bound for the USA, it clearly leaves a mark on her. That’s comparable to having to leave our friends and family and not easily being able to contact them for time together. These situations are alike in that we are all lonely and stuck with the same people for months at a time. Even with all of the negative stuff going on in both of these cases, positive things can come out of it. Anita and her mother grow closer in the story and Anita has a lot of time to think about Oscar. In current quarantine, people are either growing closer to their family members or ripping each other limb from limb. (Let’s hope it’s the first one.) It’s pretty clear that hiding from an evil dictator is a close comparison to CoronaVirus quarantine. In many ways, our pandemic is comparable to that of El Jefe intentionally abusing citizens of his own country. We are stuck at home with the same people, forced to take all kinds of precautions and people are risking their lives to save others. However, people are also growing closer to family members. In fact, my sister and I have gotten along so much better since quarantine began. Even though the times are tough in both Anita’s story and in the present, most people are surviving and that’s important. So, because of the CoronaVirus, we are living in a similar world to Anita about 60 years ago where the public is our enemy and we are stuck alone at home.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"The House of Broken Souls" by Whitney Dykstra (continued from Fall Issue 2019)

He grimaced, spitting the coffee all over the counter. Jasper could barely control himself. He had to bite his own paw to keep from laughing aloud. After spitting out the coffee, steam seemed to pour out of Charles’s ears. Charles walked down the counter reaching to where he stores his napkins but they were not there. Letting out a bellow of rage he shoved his hands into the coffee on the table accomplishing nothing. He went to the sink to wash his hands and turned it on. It was the moment Jasper had been waiting for. Water sprayed straight at Charles, soaking him to the bone. Charles couldn’t figure out what was going on. The water blinded him. He couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of water in his ears. He waved his hands around trying to stop the water. It didn’t work. Charles was spinning in circles and the water just kept on spraying. Finally he put it together in his brain that he needed to fix the sink. He blindly reached toward the constant spray of water trying to find the source of the problem. His hand fell upon the sink spray nozzle located to the right of the faucet. Using both hands he grasped the nozzle and the water started to dwindle down. Now that he was able to see and hear, loud laughter rang through the room. Turning abruptly, Charles came face to face with Jasper. Jasper was rolling around and pounding his hands on the table, gasping for breath. When Charles turned around he let go of the nozzle letting loose another stream of water. It pushed against his back. “What did you do, you raving lunatic!” Charles yelled at Jasper. But Jasper couldn’t speak for he was still laughing. Charles glanced around the room. The table was still covered in coffee, his baseball bat lay discarded on the ground, water was everywhere and there was a ghost rat on his table. Suddenly something bizarre happened. Charles started to laugh. It was a low chuckle at first then it turned into an unstoppable river of hooting laughter and he just couldn’t stop. Tears poured down his face. It had been several months since he had last laughed. It felt good. When he could finally breathe again he said to Jasper, “Game on!” Over the next couple of days the house was full of fun and laughter. Jasper would prank Charles and Charles would get him back. Turns out that Jasper, even though he’s a ghost, can’t resist cheese. For one of his tricks Charles placed a piece of cheese on the counter then when Jasper showed up he dumped pink dye mixed with a little salt on him. Salt is witch repellent, so it must do something to ghosts, Charles thought. It was pure luck that the dye had an effect on Jasper: it made him transform. For the next three days, Jasper had pink fur instead of black and he wore a bright, glittery tutu. No matter what Jasper did, he couldn’t get it off. After a while it faded away. By the end of the week, Jasper and Charles ribs hurt so much from laughing, they couldn’t laugh anymore. One night, both of them were very tired from the days events so they plopped on the couch. For a few minutes they sat in silence then finally Charles started to speak, “You know what Jasper, I’m glad you decided to haunt my house.” Charles confessed. “At first I was furious. But your really a nice guy er... rat, er… ghost, or whatever.” He had Jasper’s attention and for some reason Charles felt he could confide in him. “After Mary died a part of my heart died with her. Everywhere I looked everything reminded me of her. Every day was just as painful as the last if not more. I felt like I would never be happy again.” Tears started to slip down Charles face. Jasper lay a comforting paw on his arm.”Until you showed up that is. You showed me that life may be hard but you can’t dwell on the bad things that happen. You have to move on and live you life to the fullest.” Tears were still washing down his face but he was smiling now. “I don’t want to be sappy or anything but….. You made my life a whole lot better too. I was killed by a cat on your doorstep. Suddenly my life was over but I was still on earth. After a while of wandering around I figured out I was a ghost. I have no family left. I was sad, upset and confused so I channeled my energy into scaring you. It was so much fun.” Jasper tried to be funny to break up the sad tension but he just started to cry. “Oh man, we’re a bunch of old saps,” Jasper confessed through sobs. They sat there together for a few minutes crying. After they had both wiped their eyes clear of tears, they started to fade off to sleep. “Can’t wait to cause some trouble tomorrow,” Jasper said with a yawn. “Me too,” Charles replied. “Jasper.” “What Charles?” Jasper questioned. “Will you stay here with me forever?” Charles whispered. “Of course I will. Then when you die, we can scare the wits out of the next owner of the house,” Jasper replied. “Goodnight Jasper,” “Goodnight, you old coot.”

"The Sweetest of the Sweets" (continued)

by Sam Mangini, YearEnd 2019

(Once done beating, bring the bowl up to the camera to show the audience)

Mike: Once you’re done, scrape the muffin tins and set the timer for 18 to 25 minutes. The cupcakes are perfect when they bounce back when pressed and when a toothpick poked in comes out clean. Keep a good eye on the cupcakes so they don’t  burn! Once they are done, take them out and let them cool for about 5 minutes. (Jeopardy theme starts playing as Mary takes out the muffins.)

Mary: Oh wow, these look amazing!

Mike: Wait a minute, let me test to see if they are done baking. (Mike sticks a toothpick into one cupcake and pulls it and examines it)

Mike:  Oh yeah, these are definitely done. You realize what we have to do now, right?

Mary: (confused)  No, what? 

Mike: We get to eat these treats!

(Mike and Mary both pick up a cupcake once Mike is done talking)

Mike and Mary: (in unison) Thanks for watching! See you next week! (Both chomp into a cupcake as the camera cuts.)

"Cooking Cupcakes with the Shmamma Girls"

by Emma Reen, Continued from YearEnd 2019

Emma: Characteristic properties are properties that can identify any substances. And did you know that cream of tartar, which is in baking powder, is an acid!? That is why you don’t need an acid liquid to activate it. Because there is already acid in the powder. Maddie: Ok, here’s a demonstration of baking soda vs. powder with milk and vinegar. (Shows demonstration) The first thing you want to do is get a paper plate out and draw two lines so there are 4 sections of the plate. And get out vinegar and milk. We are using vinegar and milk because milk is a non acid liquid and vinegar is an acid liquid. Then label one side bpm for baking powder and milk, another side bsm for baking soda and milk. Another side bpv for baking powder and vinegar, and the last side will be bsv for baking soda and vinegar. Then pour all of the needed ingredients in each section. And see how it reacts. Emma: So as you can see, the baking soda bubbles with the vinegar, and the baking powder bubbles with the milk. (Says this while doing the experiment.) Shelby: Wow, that’s cool! Maddie: Baking soda is just a compound. And a compound is two or more elements that are chemically combined. For an example, NaHCO3 is a compound. This is actually the compound of baking soda. And baking soda is two different compounds, which is called a mixture. A mixture for example is NaHCO3 & KC4H5O6 This is also baking powder. (show this with clay models) Emma: Oh, look the cupcakes are done! Let’s go take them out of the oven! (Goes over to the oven) But be careful, stand back, the heat might hit you in the face. (Maddie opens the oven and pulls out the cupcakes and sets them on an off/cooled stove.) Shelby: Obviously, it’s gonna take a while to cool. You’ll want to let the cupcakes sit for about 10 minutes, so they don’t fall apart when you go to frost them. If you want to know how to make the best frosting ever, join us next time. Maddie: And don’t forget, always read the recipe before you decide if your using baking soda or baking powder for you baked goods! Emma: If there’s any acids, use baking soda, and if there’s just water, use baking powder. All: See you next time, Emma: On “Cooking with the Shmamma girls!” All: Bye!

"Adventures with Hephaestus" (continued)

by Anna Stilwell, Winter 2019

"My name is Mason and I am TOTALLY lost! I think I know where we are but I'm probably wrong, are we in china?”  I look back at the girl, she was watching Mason look around. She giggled a cute little laugh and smiled. I have a feeling they will be of little help, well Mason at least. I still don’t know the girls name, I think that’s needed information for getting out of here. “Excuse me? I feel ashamed for asking this but what is your name?” I have to yell for my voice to reach her. “Lily. And you?” she seems as if she would be of great company and that we would be friends. “HI Lily, that’s a very pretty name you know. My name’s annie. Guys do you have any idea where or what were doing here?” I know they won’t have any clue but it’s worth a try. “Ya were in Ancient Greece, we traveled back to anywhere between 800 B.C to 500 B.C. I learned about this place in class last year, my memory is foggy but I remember most of the facts.” Lily said with confidence and a smile. Mason starts walking down to met up with us. “Lily, Mason. Do you know why we’re here or what we might be supposed to do to get back home?!” By now I am panicking worse than ever and am running out of ideas. “Hey… what year did the god and goddesses live on Mount Olympus? We too learned about greek mythology when I was in 5th grade or so and have a few facts locked in my brain.” by a few I mean Zeus was the head god, the face of the gods, the god of all gods, well you get it. And the other fact was um, so maybe I only know that, but it was two years ago lay off the hate. “Guys I know about some of the gods. If that’s any help.” definitely not a lie(wink wink). Ok so maybe I lied a little but I don’t want to not be of any help at all. Lily recommends we walk down to the village. Mason says to go up and asks the gods but we know that’s not going to happen. I realize that going down is smarter. “Mason, Lily has a point. If we go down then someone may be there able to help us. As long as we don’t screw this up we may get some stories or answers.” ok I had a good idea maybe I'm not useless after all. We head down a winding dirt path to the village. On the way were passed by someone in a white peplos and sandals with golden wings and a band on his head with the same wings on them. Ok I remember wings gold ah Hermes. “Guys did you see that. His name was Hermes; the greek messenger. Son of Zeus!” should we have gone up? “TOLD YOU?!” Mason basically screams this in my ear and I swear burst an eardrum. “Ya ya but we’ll get something more realistic from the VILLAGE!” Lily peeps into the conversation. “GUYS!! I WILL NOT LET YOU GUYS ARGUE 24/7. WE NEED ANSWERS AND BY GOING TO THE VILLAGE WILL GET SOME!” smoke is coming from my ears. Ok in, out, in, out. Hoo ok I'm better. As we reach the small town I see Hermes disappear into the ground? Ah the underworld. Lily points out a story tellers cabin and basically pushes us in. She tells us that this is where we’ll get our needed answers. She gives us the choice of three stories; Hephaestus, Hades and Aphrodite. Mason chose Hephaestus without our consent because it seems like a heroic figurine and that he would be a great role model. “You know we’re not here for ‘role model’.” I roll my eyes and laugh. “May I begin. Thank you. ‘Hephaestus was the Greek god of fire, blacksmiths, craftsmen, and volcanoes. He lived in his own palace on Mount Olympus where he crafted tools for the other gods. He was known as a kind and hardworking god, but also had a limp and was considered ugly by the other gods. Hephaestus was usually shown working at a fiery forge with his hammer, tongs, and an anvil. He wasn't a good looking man, but he was very strong due to his work as a blacksmith. Unlike many of the other Greek gods, he did not ride a chariot, but rode a donkey. He was very skilled in metalworking, stonework, and other crafts that were typically performed by Greek men. He could control both fire and metal to do his will. He also had the ability to make his creations move. He used this power to create two golden handmaidens who assisted him in his work. In some stories, Hephaestus is the son of the gods Hera and Zeus. However, in other stories he only has Hera as his mother. Hera used a magical herb to become pregnant. When she birthed Hephaestus, she was disgusted by his lame foot and threw him from Mount Olympus hoping he would die. Hephaestus fell from the sky for several days and eventually landed in the sea where he was rescued by some sea nymphs. The nymphs hid him from Hera and raised him in an underwater cave. It was during this time that he learned how to craft wonderful works from metal. Eventually, Zeus learned of his existence and let him move back to Mount Olympus.’ and that my young ones is the story of our dear god Hephaestus. Do you have any questions?” by her voice she sounded like she's around 80-85 years old. “Ya, um what will Hephaestus do with us getting back home. I'm from colorado, well sort of. But I really don’t want to be here, I’d love to be at home right now not here in ‘Ancient Greece’ or wherever I am” Mason looks straight towards the door and points. “Thank you so much. Guys! Hephaestus had a limp and was thrown off of Mount Olympus because of his limp. SO… if we go up to Mount Olympus's peak and to the temple where the greek gods live. We can ask about Hephaestus and about why he was welcomed back. Maybe due to the kind gesture that Zeus made WE will have to do the same and we will be able to leave.” Lily now seems truly excited and wanting to get started. “Ya well we can’t just walk up there and demand answers! What’s the game plan?” I know lily has a good idea in her head but just needs a plan on how to execute it. We left and started back up the hill. On the way up Hermes passes and actually stops and asks “hey kids, what do you need. I saw you go down to the village of Athens but now you’re coming back up to Mount Olympus. Do you need any help?” he seems like those tour guides from TV. I have a good feeling about him. That’s it he acts like my dad!! “Ya were looking for Hephaestus a women read us…” “YES!!! YOU SAW THE GREEK READER. OF COURSE!!! SHE READ THAT STORY BECAUSE TO GET BACK, WELL, I’LL LET HIM TELL YOU THAT!” for some reason he’s yelling? I’ll just go with it. “Would you mind leading us up? We are sort of lost…” Mason looks embarrassed for those words to come from his mouth. Next thing you know we’re at the top at the door about to go in. “so we just walk in?” I'm confused… we just walk in on all THE GODS?! Great not weird at all. Just: Zeus, Hades, Persephone, Aphrodite, Athena, Hephaestus, and MANY MORE!!! “Again we just WALK in all casual?!” I’m surprised he’s ok with this. The gold and bronze doors, well rose gold but ya. “Oh my god! Um ya so hey Zeus? Do you know where I may find Hephaestus? The ‘greek reader told a story about him to us. I’m Annie, that’s Lily and that is Mason.” we all happened to fall asleep and woke up here. Could you help us?” so ya Zeus is standing right in front of me… be cool be cool “yo pa. These lil’s want to see Hephaestus. Where he at?” huh? Just like that were walking behind Zeus(he’s floating on a cloud?!). We enter a room with two or three gods in it. I see first Hephaestus, then I see Poseidon and Hera. Zeus calls for Hephaestus and he comes. Mason points out his limp. “Um Hephaestus how did you get the limp in your foot?” “ah yes when I was born my foot twisted and I ended up like this.” he goes into a sad estate. “Than my mother Hera tossed me off of Mount Olympus hoping I would die, some Sea Nymphs found me and raised me in an underwater cave.” and the smiles back. “So when I was raised they taught me to use my powers to make weapons and metal and control it. So my dad Zeus then let me backup and then I grew up some more and am an amazing metal and fire god.” ok good. Now what are we supposed to do? “nice story dud.  But how does that help us? We need to get home and blah blah blah. So ya…” he lead us back down the hill to the Sea Nymphs, they tell us about raising Hephaestus and how he became someone with such grand potential and blah to the blah blah. “Can you just get me home?!” Lily isn’t excited anymore. She is starting to get mad. “Ok just you need to find that someone who has great potential and put them where they belong. “I belong at home…” ya I’m not happy either. “You know what I mean, what WE mean. Get to work ‘young ones’!” why did she call us young ones? Wait someone else called us young ones… “THE GREEK READER!!! OH MY GOSH HOW DID I NOT KNOW THAT BEFORE?!” Lily is screaming just like mason RIGHT in my ear. We run out say our thanks and prayers and left. I’m out of breath, I’m dizzy, oh ok I’m falling, and bang I’m on the cold rock ground out cold. My eyes start to open. Ok I’m awake. Now I’m running again. “I’m falling again.” my legs give out. Ok hades if this is your way of getting me into the underworld stop trying please, I’d like to go home now. “And we’re there back at the ‘GREEK READER’ to get home we need to do what exactly?” ok here we go. “Ah hello again, have you come for another story?” “uh no just to get home.” mason says sarcastically. “Ah look into my glass ball…” “wait so now you're a genie?” ugh mason just be quiet! “Just let me talk. Yes just look into the ball. Clippity clop make these kids stop, they wish to go home fill this room with magic foam!!!” and now I’m spinning in a deal colorful swirls and I’m at my desk assignment open. YESSSS!

"Last Night" (continued) Mystery Fiction by Evan Jennison, Year End 2018

His eyes flickered around the room and his breathing rate increased. Brandon turned toward him. “You know the one thing I miss about that dumb school, is that there was always a fight to be had.” Brandon said. “It's been a while since I’ve a had a good fight.” Brandon was slurring his words. He wiped the saliva from the corner of his mouth. “C’mon Burns,” He said, “Let's see what you’re made of.” “What are you talking about man? I don’t want to fight you!” Mason said. Brandon smirked at him. “Well it doesn’t seem like you have much of a choice now does it?” Mason looked around and grabbed the only thing close to a weapon in reach, a fire poker. The steel was cold and heavy and rough. At that point, Brandon snatched the only bottle left unscathed. He grabbed it by the neck and smashed it against the white wall. Brandon lunged at Mason with the bottle. Mason dove out of the way and landed on the floor. Brandon regained his balance, and charged at Mason. But Mason was too slow this time. The razor glass edge tore through Mason’s shirt and skin. He cried out in pain. He lost his grip on the poker and it landed about a foot away. Brandon pinned Mason to the floor. He had the bottle close to Mason’s throat. Brandon was smiling. Mason was holding Brandon back with his left hand, his right was reaching for the poker. Just as his left hand began to slip, his other found the poker. He brought it towards the two and thrust it into Brandon’s abdomen. A look of shock washed over Brandon’s face. His eyes and mouth were opened wide. A crimson stain was spreading across Brandon’s white t-shirt. He looked at the poker, still embedded in him, then at Mason, whose eyes were also wide with terror. The poker had impaled Brandon’s side, missing all the major organs. Mason had called 911. And when the police arrived, he told them what had happened. Though Mason’s story had been detailed and descriptive, the police still had their doubts. They said they needed evidence to prove that Mason was indeed acting in self defense. A crime scene forensics investigator was called in to inspect the bedroom. She was especially interested in the broken bottle. It had blood caked onto the jagged end, and she wanted to know whose it was. She also looked at the fire poker. The investigator took the bottle back to her lab upstate. Mason was returned home and placed under surveillance. DNA in the form of blood was taken from both boys. The forensic investigator compared those samples to the blood on the broken bottle. It matched Brandon’s DNA. The test results also made clear that the blood on the bottle had been on the weapon longer than the blood on the poker. This indicated that Brandon had indeed, attacked first. Brandon was arrested at the scene of the crime and taken to the hospital. He was charged with multiple assault charges.

Mason spent that night lying in a hospital bed. He tried to sleep, but the events of that morning kept running through his head. The image of Brandon Brown’s face haunted him that night. It seemed to stick to his mind with telepathic superglue. Over and over he saw the poker pierce Brandon’s abdomen. Over and over he saw the crimson stain spread through the fibers of Brandon’s shirt. Over and over did he tell himself how much he hated Brandon Brown. 

"Newpost Manor" (continued) Mystery Fiction by Maddie Donaldson, Year End 2018

        Barbara paid for a room to stay in for the next week and a half. Then carefully crept up the creaky stairs to her cushy bed, and thick cozy blanket waiting for her. For the first night, it was a little hard to sleep because of a faint rattling noise coming from somewhere in the building, but it was probably nothing. 

        The next morning when the sun rose it shown through the window, casting a bright glow. Barbara had woken to the sound of raspy shouting, so she stepped out of her room to see what the commotion was. In the middle of the hall, a frail old man with white thin hair stood still in his faded night clothes shouting “The pipes! They’re in the pipes! Can’t you hear them?!” His wild eyes darted around the hall as if to check that he wasn’t being watched by the thing he was afraid of, then started shouting again “Listen to them! The pipes are speaking!” After screaming about the pipes old man proceeded to hack and cough as a staff led him off down the hallway as to not wake any more guests. Who was that? Barbara thought to herself. Then as if he’d read her mind a young staff member with a buttoned vest said to her “That’s Mr. Torres, a grandfather to the owner of this place. He used to be a kind man until something set him off the rails, and now he shouts about the pipes. I’ve always wondered what he means. We’ve had the pipes checked and they seem just fine except for the occasionally rattling but that is cause they’re old.” She gave a short nod as the young man walked off to bring tea to an impatient guest. Barbara was pondering over this when she saw a cautious shadow out of the corner of her eye. That had appeared to be watching the scene that had just taken place, and then slide around the hall just out of sight. She was beginning to think this would be more than just a trip to her sister’s house.

        It was a pleasant day out, no rain, no clouds, and Barbara started to really feel like she was on a break. For most of the day, she spent time with her sister shopping and visiting cafés. Now she was just relaxing by the window in her room reading one of her favorite books and enjoying an afternoon tea. All of this was interrupted when she heard a sharp scream. She opened her door and hurried down the hallway with a few other guests trailing behind her to see what was the matter. Down in the main parlor, a maid holding a tray that had spilled its contents on the floor was staring agape. The maid was staring at a portly man laying slouched in his firm velvet chair, dead. The sound of footsteps entered the room as more people arrived, as the poor maid burst into tears and hugged her friend for comfort. Barbara stepped closer to get a good look at the man. He was middle-aged, stout, had rusty brown hair, and glassy eyes that stared blankly at the ceiling. He was also wearing a trimmed waistcoat and a fine watch with an engraving of a name on it. In his left pocket, he had a small silver coin the had been defaced. Though it was odd because it did not look like the same material used for coins. The man's mouth was slightly open and his eyes kind of bulged out of his head with redness around them. Barbara also noticed a red rash spreading across his arms and one side of his face. His death did not look natural.

        Being a private investigator, Barbara decided to take it into her hands to find out if the man was murdered or not. After all, she couldn’t resist a challenge. After everyone had left the parlor Barbara started her work. She checked all around the room first, then looked closer to the man. One of the first things she noticed was the two unlabeled beer bottles resting on the small round table beside the chair. One of the bottles was half empty and the other one was still sealed. This peaked Barbara’s interest. She knew there was a local brewery in town that had similar shape and color bottle, but this was not enough information to connect anything. Barbara had to do some digging.  For now, she headed to her room to think about it some more and drink the rest of her tea that had now grown cold.

        Barbara woke up bright and early the next morning. She was particularly excited because of the case she was about to work. She headed downstairs to the parlor before any of the other guests came, and she took the two bottles and set to work. She also took the strange defaced coin in case it would be future evidence. Then she used the unopened bottle that had not been drunk from for her testing. First, she checked for any residues of poison. She found oleander leave and sap in the two beers. There was even some in the unopened bottle. Which means the beer had to have come from the brewery poisoned. Then Barbara used a pack of balloons she had picked up at a peddler’s shop top test the amount of carbonation in the beer because each of the 3 local breweries used a specific and consistent amount of carbonation. She would put the balloon over the top of the second bottle and watch how much it rises to see how much carbonation was in each beer. The first beer she tested was the one at the crime scene. She placed the balloon on the head of the bottle and when the balloon was filled with CO2 Barbara measured it and found it had a diameter of 10.7 cm. So whichever balloon has the same diameter will prove which brewery it came from. The beer from Bearhill Brewery had a balloon with a diameter of 9.8 CO2. Wilson’s Brewery beer had a balloon with a diameter of 10.7 CO2, and Ridgetree Brewery beer had a balloon with a 10.4 CO2. Using the data she collected, Barbara came to the conclusion that the beer came from Wilson’s Brewery. This was good news for Barbara because the brewery was only three blocks away from the manor she was staying at. But her thoughts were interrupted when she saw the mysterious shadow from the corner of her eye again, it watched her from the other side of the staircase and then stalked off. Barbara shivered with unease. 

        Barbara decided to spend the rest of her day out in the town because she still felt too uneasy about the lurking shadow. Since she had nothing better to do than continue in her case she took a stroll down to Wilson’s Brewery, it was also a fairly nice day to take a walk as well. When she had gotten to the brewery she gave an unsurprised smirk when she saw a number of oleander bushes outside of the large brick building, this father proved her theory that the beer came from the brewery already poisoned. After walking around town a while more, she headed back to the manor because it was getting dark and all the shops were closing up. She gently opened the hard oak door and was careful to not make the stairs creak while she went up, but she was stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the shadow in the hall. Barbara was lucky, the shadow had it’s back turned and was busy at work with unhinging the vent that leads to the pipes. Barbara had ducked behind the banister and gave a silent gasp as the shadow poured a small pouch of what looked to be defaced coins into the pipes. Those must have been what the rattling was and what Mr. Torres was shouting about! She thought to herself. She also noticed they looked eerily similar to the coin she found in the dead man’s pocket. Then she quickly ducked farther behind the banister and held her breath as the shadow walked briskly past. Barbara was beginning to think she was definitely over her head in mysteries in this town. 

        Barbara decided she should look more into the mysterious shadow she had seen. It was obvious that it had some kind of connection to the dead man, and possibly even the killer. She started her work by looking at a list of the staff who worked there. Throughout the day she observed each of the staff, hoping to find something suspicious. It was very tedious work, she spent about half of her day watching the staff fetch tea and fresh pillows.  She watched on maid walk by at least ten times with a tray of wheat bread, butter and black tea with sugar. Practically laying on the floor with disheveled hair Barbara was thinking about calling it a day when caught sight of what she was looking for. A snide man in his mid-thirties with greased dark blonde hair, an upturned nose, and a pale pinched face. He snaked down the hallway in the same manner the shadow had. “He must be the shadow, I have no doubt.” Barbara thought, she also realized he had light pink stains on his white embroidered gloves. The same kind of stains an oleander flower might leave if yanked from off of the plant. This man was most certainly the killer, but what was the motive?

        Before making any rash decisions she asked about him to so of the staff. She learned that his name was Sterlely Rivera. He had been working at the manor for eight years, but he also had a side job at Wilson’s brewery. He was never friendly with the other staff and was almost always never in his staff quarters when night fell. The staff was eager to badmouth him, they did not like him very much. Barbara had just about solved this murder, but she still could not find a motive or what the defaced coins were for. So she headed over to her sister’s house looking for a new point of view. Nathan and Della welcomed her in with kind smiles. She sat down at the table with them to go over her notes and everything that had happened so far. She was fiddling with defaced coin and tracing her finger around a small jagged scrape on the side of the bottle when Nathan pointed out a connection. “The motive might have something to do with the brewery because it all leads back to there. The beer was from Wilson’s Brewery, outside there are oleander flowers, and Mr. Rivera also works there.” “I think he’s right.” inquired Della “ I did a little chatting with some of the local ladies and learned he was a visiting beer connoisseur. Apparently, he was seen hurrying from the brewery and back to the manor in a frenzied fashion, this all happened the day before he was found dead.” “Gosh! Thanks, Della! This is great info!” Barbara gasped with excitement. “I best be on my way but I’ll come over for tea tomorrow at noon!” Barbara breathily said as she grabbed her bag and her hat of the coat hook, and off she went.

        She hustled over to Wilson’s Brewery. Along the way she could see people casting disapproving glares as she made her way speedily down the main street and past the manor. When she finally reached the brewery she was very much out of breath and had to stop for a moment. Then with her newfound courage, she walked through the main entrance. She decided to order a beer to appear as a normal customer. Right away she noticed that after she received her beer the change that was handed back to her was the same odd material the coin was made of. Suddenly it came to her, Wilson’s Brewery was making counterfeit money. The man who was killed must have accidentally found where they keep their stash of coins and was killed because he threatened to expose them. Then one of the employees, Mr. Rivera, killed him. She also figured Mr. Rivera had been hiding the coins in the pipes as to no get caught red-handed with them in his quarters. Barbara felt very satisfied with herself for finding the answer. That same day she went to the sheriff’s office to request a search warrant to conduct a search of the brewery specifically looking for the coins. Then a few hours later her request was accepted. By then it was about sundown, so she took an automated taxi to get there faster. She searched the place from top to bottom and found a large stash of coins hidden in several beer tankards. Barbara called the police and had them busted. Wilson’s Brewery would be out of production for a while. Barbara had fun solving this mystery, but rainy days and cloudy skies sounded very appealing by now. She waved her goodbyes to her sister and her family and went to her own home back in the city of Glasgow, where it rains 170 days of the year.

"Hacker" (continued) Mystery Fiction by Henry Cogswell, Year End 2018 

There was a slight problem because I couldn't fall asleep. From what I read there seems to be a lot of secret information not meant for the public, and it was all I could think about until I finally fell asleep one hour later. 

In the morning I woke up in a bad mood. I was extremely sleep deprived. It was 6:30 and I did not want to go to school. Senior year has been tough on me so far especially since my only friend moved to the other opposite side of Virginia midway through the year. He said his dad got a ¨once in a lifetime job opportunity¨ at some law firm in Blacksburg. Blacksburg was a four hour drive and frankly I just don’t have that much free time His name was John. We used to hack together every weekend, but then I started to have basketball tournaments. I would have a tournament every weekend, so we would only hack once or twice every two months. Then he moved away.

I got home from school and immediately hopped on my computer to go check the website. I typed in pn.i.n.i.gov and the page popped up for a split second then disappeared. I caught a glance of a name. The text said “Codename: Blitz. (TBD) Holding Cell three.” 

I knew I heard that name before but I didn’t remember what from. I glanced to the side at the picture of my dad in his army uniform. I took the frame, and slid the picture out of it. As I turned the photo around I saw the letters appear in slow motion. First I saw a B then followed by an L an I a T and finally a Z. The back of the picture said:

Ben Collins

May 2nd 1977- October 13th 2011

Codename: Blitz

I collapsed back into my chair when I read the name. While I was sitting there I went through what seemed like stages. At first I was confused about why his name would be in this document. Then I remembered what it said after his name “(TBD) Holding Cell Three.”

I was thinking to myself why would he be in a holding cell. It made absolutely no sense. In my eyes he was a hero, and I couldn't believe he did something worthy of being put in a holding cell. It was hard for me to believe that he would do something wrong. I had to figure this out. I went to my folder of screenshots and clicked the one labeled “Panini”. An error message popped up saying that the file had been corrupted, and at that moment I knew I needed some answers.

As I hopped in my 2002 dark blue Subaru Impreza and put my keys in the ignition. I started heading towards The Pentagon. It was not out of the way whatsoever it was only a mere 30 minute drive from my home in Fairfax, VA, but I know how bad DC traffic can be so I expected to arrive in an hour to an hour and a half. I checked my pocket to make sure I had the pass our family was given after the army delivered the news that my father had been killed, which now seems like some total B.S. The pass was a level one security clearance badge that allowed us to get past the first line of security, and luckily enough a friend of my dads works at level one. That was exactly who I needed answers from.

I was exactly right on my ETA estimation and I arrived at the pentagon an hour and a half after I left my house. I walked up to the door and showed the security guard my pass then he asked.

“Hey Will! Are you here to see Robert?” Said Larry the security guard.

“Yes.” I replied hurriedly.

Robert was a friend of my dads whom he worked with at the pentagon for eight years before he enlisted. He lives alone so he would come have dinner with us maybe once a month.

“I’m afraid you don’t have the clearance to see him right now.” he said sounding apologetic.

“I thought he worked on level one.” 

“When was the last time you visited?” He asked

“Just before my dad passed. After that he was extremely busy, so I could never come visit.” I responded.

“That was around the time he got promoted. He works at level five now.”

“Wow.” was my only response knowing that the only person that I could get answers from was unavailable. I hesitated then said,

“I really need to talk to him, is there anything you can do?”

He thought for a moment then said, 

“I can call his assistant, and see if he is available.”

“That would be great.” I said with a sigh of relief

I waited in the lobby for what seemed like thirty minutes, but in reality it was only ten. Once he got off the phone with Roberts assistant he gave me a printout map of level five and marked Roberts office with a red sharpie. I started walking toward the elevator until Larry yelled to me.

“Will!” I jogged back to see what he wanted and he said. 

“You will need this pass to get through security.” he handed me a white pass that said “Will Collins: Visitor” and in big red font it said “LEVEL 5” It also had a barcode on the bottom. It looked almost the same as my level one pass except for the different colored font. After I worked my way through security, and finally reached Roberts office. I begin to enter.

I knocked on the door, and I heard a woman's voice say “Come in.” I entered his office and, immediately I am hit with the strongest smell I think I have ever smelled. It smelled like a mixture of a bathtub full of calone, and three gallons of expensive shampoo. As I entered the office I was greeted by his assistant whose name tag said Abby. She smiled welcomely at me, and I gave her a half-hearted smile back. 

“Are you here to see Robert?” She asked in a happy tone.

“Uhh... Yeah.” I replied.

“So you must be Will Collins?” She asked, still sounding like she had just won the lottery.

“Yep thats me.” I responded as I was getting more used to her tone.

She looked down at her phone, and held a button down.

“Robert. Will is here for you.” She said into the speaker.

“Great! Send him in.” Shouted a booming voice that I recognized immediately.

I hurriedly went through the doorway to his office. As I opened the door I noticed it was a dark room with no movement or sound whatsoever. I walked into the room.

“Robert?” I asked. No response. I was about to go back out to his assistant to ask where he was until I heard a faint noise. It sounded like someone whispered “go.” Immediately the lights flashed on and three agents popped out from behind furniture and started sprinting towards me. It was a big office so I knew I could get out before they got to me. I turned and saw Robert standing in the doorway with his hands behind his back smiling at me. When I saw him I hesitated for about half a second. That caused me to get wrapped up by all three of the guards at once. I looked up at Robert and saw his arm slowly move out from behind his back. I see a silencer coming out from behind his back.

“You know too much kid.” He said still smiling.

“Wait I don’t kn…” 

"Everglades" (continued) Mystery Fiction by Grace Harvey, Year End 2018

“Miami PD,” I say.  “We’re here about Ezra.”

“Ezra?” she asks.  “What about Ezra?”

“Why don’t we come in, so we can sit down and talk?” Jessica suggests.

“Okay,” she says cautiously, opening the door for us to enter.  She leads us into an entryway, closed off from the rest of the house.  The ceilings are low, and the floor creaks with every step you take.  The furniture is dark, and the only light comes from a lamp and two small windows.  There are empty takeout containers everywhere.  She brings us into the living room where we take a seat across from her.

“Are you Amy Hameline?” Jessica asks.

“Yes, I am.  What is it about Ezra?”

“Ezra is dead,” I say, trying to read her facial expression.  “His body was found in the everglades.”

“What?”  She gasps, shocked by the news.  “No, it can’t be Ezra.  How did he die?”  

“It appears to be a murder.  We’re very sorry for your loss.  Were you and Ezra close?”

“He was my step brother.  I’ve known him for a few years.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Jessica asks.

“It’s been awhile.  We’ve both been busy with school work, and he was busy with his art.  Maybe a month ago.”  She looks down at her lap, and starts to pick at her nail polish.  “Wait, do you think I killed Ezra?”

“We’ve just got to ask a few questions, that’s all,” I answer.  

“I would never kill Ezra!  Why would I?  My step dad is in hospice, my house is horrible, I barely have enough money to stay afloat...he’s all I had left.”  I glance at Jessica to see her reaction.  Her face is blank, but I know it means she’s focused.

“What about your mom?” I ask.

“She’s nice, but she never does anything with me.  We live in the same house, yet she still seems to spend more time with her paintings than me.  It’s not like she is ever going to make it as an artist anyway.  She uses acrylic paint.  It seems like all the best artists these days use oil paint or spray paint.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to take it all in.  “Thank you.”  

Back at the police station, I browse the papers we have on Ezra.  He’s a mural artist...going to college at the University of Miami.  It’s not much, but it’s a start.  Jessica walks in to the office, and we decide to go check out his house.

We park the car a block down from the address of his house.  The homes lining the street all have lush green yards out front.  Ezra’s house has a stone driveway leading up to the garage, and palm trees along the sidewalk.  Jessica hops up the steps to ring the doorbell, but before she has a chance, the door opens.  A tall man with dark hair and a black eye stands in the doorway.

“Hello,” he says.  “Is this about Ezra?”

“Yes.  Who are you, and what do you know about Ezra?” I ask.

“I’m Ronnie.  Ezra’s my roommate.  I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I figure it’s not a good sign if he doesn’t return from his trip and then the police show up on my doorstep.”

“Ezra was found dead,” I say.  “We’ve got a few questions to ask you.”

“What?,” he asks, looking astonished.  “Are you sure it’s Ezra?”

“Yes,” Jessica says.  “When did you last see him?”

“Man, I can’t believe this.  I just saw him just last week.  He was headed to Fort Lauderdale to work on a mural.  He was supposed to come back yesterday.  He wasn’t answering my calls either.  I was concerned, but I was going to wait the 48 hours before reporting him missing.  I never thought he’d be dead.” 

“Did Ezra have any enemies?”

“No, he was a great guy.  Everyone loved him.”  Ronnie looks down at his hands, a sorrowful expression on his face.  

“Was Ezra in any relationships?” I ask.

“He had a girlfriend.  Karen Bailey.  They’d been dating for a few months.”

“Alright,” I say, looking down at my watch.  “Just one more question: how’d you get that black eye?”

“This?” Ronnie asks, feeling his eye.  “I was playing pick-up basketball, and I took an elbow to the eye.”  

“Ok,” Jessica says.  “Thanks for your cooperation.”  Ronnie goes into his house and shuts the door behind him.  Through the large windows, I see him go into the kitchen, and pour himself a glass of water.

My phone buzzes on my desk, so I pick it up and answer it.

“Hello, this is Mia” I say.

“Hi, it’s Ivy from forensics.  I just wanted to give you an update.  Ezra was most likely killed on Sunday-about five days ago.  Also, he was killed in the city somewhere, then dumped in the everglades.” “Great, thanks,” I say, and hang up. Just as I do, Jessica bounds in. “So,” she says. “I found where Karen Bailey lives. She’s living off campus in the Coral Gables neighborhood.” “Let’s go check it out,” I say, standing up to head to the parking garage. We pull up next to Karen’s house, and hop out of the car. Her house is set further back from the road, so she has a fairly large yard in front. We walk up the path to her door, and ring the doorbell. A few seconds later, the door opens, and a girl is standing in the doorway. Her brown hair falls just past her shoulders, and she is wearing a light, colorful dress. “Miami PD,” I announce. “Are you Karen Bailey?” “Yes,” she answers, looking nervous. “What’s going on?” “Ezra Murray is dead,” Jessica says. “We have a few questions to ask you.” “What? No...no...that can’t be...” Karen’s voice trails off as she tries to grasp what’s going on. She wipes her hand across her forehead. “Maybe we should go inside and take a seat,” Jessica suggests. Without saying anything, Karen turns and leads us into the living room. Colorful paintings line the walls of her house. Light shines on them from the large floor to ceiling windows on the back wall. She plops down onto her couch, but is still staring down. Jessica and I take a seat across from her and attempt to get her to talk. “Karen?” Jessica asks, trying to catch her eye. Karen looks up at her and nods slowly. “We just have a few questions to ask you,” she says gently, holding their eye contact. Karen nods again. “When was the last time you saw Ezra?” “I...I saw him...last weekend. We had lunch on Sunday.” “Did anything seem different about him?” “No. He seemed just the same as always...we had such a nice lunch. I had no idea that it would be the last time I would see him.” At this point, she breaks down and starts to cry. Jessica hands her a tissue, and she blows her nose into it. “Did he say where he was going after?” “No,” she sniffs. “I assume he was just going home.” “Ok,” I say. “Also, had Ezra gotten into any fights before he died?” “I don’t think so…Well, I guess he was mad at his roomate Ronnie. Ronnie was taking pictures of the murals Ezra made, and was selling them. Ezra found out, and got mad. That was the last time I saw them together. But they were best friends!” “When was this?” I ask. “Friday night. I went over to their house for dinner. Ezra had just found out. They didn’t speak to each other at all during dinner. Ezra left for a late meeting with one of his professors, and I went home. I don’t know what happened after that, but Ezra seemed completely fine on Sunday.” “Okay,” Jessica says. “Thank you. We are very sorry for your loss.” “Thank you.” Jessica and I stand up and leave, ready to go back and talk to Ronnie. Jessica turns the car onto Ronnie’s street when my phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and answer it. “Hello, this is Mia.” “Hi, this is Ivy. We found some fractures on Ezra’s wrist that indicate he punched someone before he died.” “Ok, thank you.” I hang up, and let Jessica know what I just found out. “I think our best suspect with a black eye just got even better,” she says. She pulls the car up to the curb in front of Ronnie’s. We walk up to the door and ring the doorbell. A few moments later, Ronnie opens the door. “Hello,” he says, looking a little surprised to see us there. “How’s the investigation going?” “Can we come in?” I ask, ignoring his question. “Sure.” We follow him into through the through the kitchen and into the living room. Bright afternoon sunshine streams through the large windows. Most of the house is done in neutrals, but some walls have colorful murals on them. It adds a very nice addition, and I assume they were done by Ezra. Jessica and I take a seat in the couch across from Ronnie. “Are you going to tell me why your here again?” he asks impatiently. Jessica and I look at eachother, and I nod to her to start. She turns back to Ronnie and says, “We know you and Ezra fought. Do you want to tell us about it?” She raises her eyebrows, and he looks at the ground. “Yeah,” he says after a minute. “I was making money off photos of his murals. He found out and got mad at me.” “What happened between you after that? We know he punched you.” I ask. “We got into a fight and started to yell. He punched me,” he says, motioning to his black eye. “But we were completely fine after that! He got his anger out, and we were even.  We worked it out, and everything went back to normal.  I didn’t kill him!”  I sigh with frustration.  That’s what everyone always says.  

“When did you get in this fight?” Jessica asks.  

“Saturday morning.  He found out the night before though.”

“Ok,” Jessica nods.  “Where were you Sunday afternoon?”  

“I left for New York that morning.” 

“Ok, you’ll need to send any proof of that to the Miami PD.”  We stand up and walk back to the car.  

We arrive back at the police station and go take the elevator up to our office.  I go to my desk and open my email.  I have an email from Ronnie which I open.  It’s a forwarded email of his online flight confirmation.  I show it to Jessica who sighs with disappointment.  Our number one suspect is now completely clear.  Just as I lean back in my chair and twiddle my thumbs, my phone buzzes in my pocket.  I pull it out to check who it is.  I recognize the number as Ivy’s and answer it.

“Hi Ivy.”

“Hi.  We’ve got cause of death for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Ezra was hit on the head with a hard object covered in paint.”

“Well, he used paint for a living,” I say.  “It could still be anyone.”

“No, listen to this.  The paint found on Ezra’s head was quick drying and has a binder made of carbon and oxygen.”

“What?” I ask, not understanding the significance of this.

“It’s acrylic paint,” Ivy says.  “Ezra didn’t use that kind.”  My face lightens up.  All we have to do now is find someone who uses acrylic paint and figure out what the murder weapon is.  

“Ok, thank you!” I say to Ivy, and hang up.  I turn and tell Jessica what I found out.  

“That’s the type of paint that his step mom, Mary, uses!” she says.  I think back to our first conversation with Mary.

“Oh yeah!  Looks like we have another suspect to check out.”  We head back out to the car to drive over to Mary’s house.

“Hello?” I call out when we get to the house.  I hear footsteps inside, and the door opens.  A short, old woman with mostly white hair stands in the doorway.  

“Hello, Miami PD,” Jessica says, holding out her badge.

“Oh no, this is about Ezra isn’t it?  Amy told me what happened.”

“Unfortunately yes,” I say.  “Do you mind if we have a look around your house?”

“No, not at all,” she says, “Anything to help figure out who killed Ezra.”  She opens the door wider and leads us inside.  “Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

“Yeah,” I say, “Where do you keep everything with paint on it?”  

“In my studio,” she says.  She brings us down a tight hallway and into a room covered in art supplies.  There is more light in here than the rest of the house.  Jessica and I go in and start to look around, and Mary leaves to go eat lunch.  We are looking for anything hard with paint on it.  I check out her easels, but for the most part they are clean.  There aren’t any corners with paint on them that could kill someone.

“What about this?” Jessica asks, pointing to a painting.  It’s done on a canvas, and is of the scene outside the window.  “Well, not this one in particular, but a canvas.”

“Oh yeah, that could be it.”  I start to look around at canvasses and examine their edges.  They have paint all over them, and are made of wood.  I don’t see any blood or dents anywhere on them.  Jessica and I go back into the kitchen to find Mary sitting at the table with a glass of water and a salad.  

“Are all of your paintings in there?” I ask her, gesturing to her studio.

“All but one,” she says.  I brought one of them out because I was going to get it framed.  But now it’s missing.  I must have misplaced it.  I don’t know where it ended up.”

“Can we look around for it?” I ask.

“Sure, but don’t mess anything up.”  Jessica and I split up to search the house.  She takes the downstairs, so I go up.  At the top of the stairs, there is a narrow hallway.  I walk down it and stop at the door at the end.  It’s open a crack, so I peer around the side and see that it’s a bathroom.  I go inside and look behind the shower curtain.  It’s empty, and there is no where else for a painting to hide in this bathroom.  I turn around and go back down the hall.  I stop at a closed door and knock.  

“I’ll be down in a minute!” a familiar girl’s voice calls out.  She sounds aggravated.

“Miami PD,” I say, leaning against the door.  “Can I come in?”

“What? Miami PD? Sorry, I thought you were my mom.  Why are you here?”

I realize that this must be Amy Hameline.  “I’m looking for a painting.  Can I come in?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“No,” I say.  Now I’m aggravated. “I’m just looking for a painting.  It may help us find Ezra’s killer.”

“Then no,” she says. “This is my room, and you need a warrant if you want to come in.

“Ok,” I say, a bitter expression on my face. “I’ll just come back in a few hours with a warrant.”  I walk downstairs and let Jessica know that I didn’t find the painting.  She didn’t either, and the only place we couldn’t check was Amy’s room.  

“We’re not going to be able to search her room without a warrant,” I tell Jessica.  “Unless the painting left the house, it’s the only place it could be.”  She nods, and we head towards the door.  We walk past Mary on our way there, and I remember something I need to ask her.

“Just one more thing,” I say to her.  “When did you last see Ezra?”  

“I saw him last Saturday.  He had dinner with us.  He also came by on Sunday night to drop off some information from the doctors on his dad’s health, but I wasn’t home.  He left it with Amy.”  I look at Jessica.  From her expression, I can tell she’s thinking the same thing as me.  Amy told us she hadn’t seen him recently.  

“Thank you,” I say to Mary.  Jessica and I leave to try to get a warrant.

“Amy lied to us,” I say once we are in the car.  “All the signs are pointing to her right now, but I don’t know why she would kill Ezra.”  I’m starting to get impatient, and nothing seems to be fitting together.

“Let’s just try to get a warrant and search her room,” Jessica says, trying to help me calm down.  “We should have enough probable cause to get one.  The painting was last seen in that house, and we’ve searched the rest of the house thoroughly.  Plus, she lied to us.  She’s hiding something.”  I nod, and she dials the judges number.  

”It will be ready in ten minutes,” she says to me a few minutes later, after talking to the judge.

“Great,” I say, relaxing a little.

We pull around the corner and up to the court house.  Jessica jumps out of the car, eager to get the warrant.  I hang back to run through what we know.  Ezra was hit on the head by a canvas painted with acrylic paint.  His step mom is the only person we know who uses acrylic paint, so he must have been hit with her missing painting.  Mary said she had last seen the painting in her living room, so whoever killed Ezra had been in her living room.  This means that the killer had access to the house, for there are no signs of forced entry.  Amy lied to us about having seen Ezra, so she must be hiding something.  These signs all point to Amy, but she had no reason to kill Ezra!  There is some piece of this that we’re not seeing!  As I’m going through everything, Jessica comes out of the court house.  

“We’ve got the warrant,” she says.  She gets in the car, and we drive back to the Hameline’s house to go search Amy’s room.

I knock on the door to their house, and it rattles with instability.  Mary answers the door a moment later.  

“We’ve got a warrant to search your daughter's room,” I say, holding it up.  She justs nods and leads us back upstairs to Amy’s room.  

“We’re back with the warrant,” I call to Amy.  I hear footsteps and creaking floorboards, and then the door opens.  We wait while Amy looks over the warrant.  

“Fine,” she says finally.  Jessica and I start searching the room immediately, while Amy and Mary stand in the doorway, watching.  I look behind the dresser, and Jessica checks the closet.  I pull the blankets off the bed, and even take the fitted sheets off.  Soon, the only place we haven’t checked is under the bed.  If it’s not here, it means the killer took the painting or destroyed it.  On the count of three, Jessica both duck our heads under the bed.  Sure enough, a large canvas is laying on the floor underneath.  Jessica puts her gloves on and pulls the canvas out.  She holds it up for Mary and Amy to see.  Mary is speechless, and Amy justs looks mad.  

“That’s...that’s my missing painting!” Mary gasps.  She looks at Amy with the most disappointment and anger I’ve seen in a long time.  Amy just stands there, her arms crossed.  

“You are going to have a whole lot of explaining to do,” Jessica says, shaking her head at Amy.  

“This doesn’t mean I killed him!” Amy cries out, finally moving to wave her hands in disagreement.  “You have no actual proof!”  

“We will as soon as we get this to the forensics lab,” Jessica says.  “If we find Ezra’s blood on this along with your fingerprints, we’ll have plenty of proof.”

“But!” Amy says, ”I still have no motive!  Why would I kill Ezra?”  I glance at Jessica, and I see a look of worry on her face.  We both know that with no motive, Amy will never get convicted.  Either way, we’re going to test the painting for Ezra’s blood.  Mary takes us back downstairs, leaving Amy in her room.  We open the door to go outside, and it rattles again.  

“You should really get this fixed,” Jessica says.  

“Yeah,” Mary says, sighing.  “We will as soon as we get the money.”

“Money?” I ask, knowing big amounts of money often result in trouble.  “What money?”

“My husband is in hospice.  He is giving Amy and I a lot of money in his will.”

“Go get the painting tested,” I whisper to Jessica, knowing that this has to be the missing piece.  “I’ll learn a bit more about this.”  I turn back to Mary.  “Does he not have any more living relatives?”

“Ezra was his last one.  Now it’s just me and Amy.”

“Can I talk to Amy?”

“You can try, I’m not sure how much she’ll say.”

“Ok, thank you.”  She calls Amy down, who takes a seat at the counter. 

“Where were you last Sunday?”

“I’m not saying anything without a lawyer.”

“Amy, I know you’re getting money now that Ezra’s dead.  I also know that you lied to us about when you last saw Ezra.  You really saw him last Sunday, didn’t you?”  She doesn’t say anything.  “Were you getting anything from your step father before Ezra died?”  She is still silent.  “You know what I think?” I say.  “I think Ezra was getting everything in the will.  That made you really mad.  So you killed him.”  My phone rings, and I look to see who it is.  “This is Jessica,” I tell her.  “If I’m right, she’s going to say that there’s blood on the painting.  She’ll find your DNA or fingerprints on it.”  I lift my phone to answer it.

“Fine!” she yells finally, right before I click accept.  “I killed him.  I hit him on the head with the painting.  He died, and I put him in the trunk of my car and took him to the everglades.  I wish I didn’t kill him!  It was just so annoying.  All he would talk about was what he was going to do with his money.  He already had so much! We have so little.  I just wanted it to be better for me and my mom!”  She starts to sob, and I sigh.  She’ll be spending a lot of time locked up for first degree murder.  I quickly let Jessica know that she confessed, and she tells me that the forensics team found enough proof to arrest her anyway.  I hang up, and turn back to the Hameline’s.  Mary looks like she’s about to faint after hearing her daughter killed someone.  Amy stands there sobbing and lets me handcuff her willingly.  I lead her out from where Jessica has pulled up the car.  I put her in the back, and slam the car door.  I sit down in the front, and take a big breath of relief and sadness.

Are the web filters at your school too restrictive?

By Danielle Catella, Spring 2015

The web filters at Mt. Abe are too restrictive, because there are several websites that are blocked so you can’t get to them when you need to, which is frustrating to students and staffMason spent that night lying in a hospital bed. He tried to sleep, but the events of that morning kept running through his head. The image of Brandon Brown’s face haunted him that night. It seemed to stick to his mind with telepathic superglue. Over and over he saw the poker pierce Brandon’s abdomen. Over and over he saw the crimson stain spread through the fibers of Brandon’s shirt. Over and over did he tell himself how much he hated Brandon Brown. 

"Newpost Manor" (continued) Mystery Fiction by Maddie Donaldson, Year End 2018

        Barbara paid for a room to stay in for the next week and a half. Then carefully crept up the creaky stairs to her cushy bed, and thick cozy blanket waiting for her. For the first night, it was a little hard to sleep because of a faint rattling noise coming from somewhere in the building, but it was probably nothing. 

        The next morning when the sun rose it shown through the window, casting a bright glow. Barbara had woken to the sound of raspy shouting, so she stepped out of her room to see what the commotion was. In the middle of the hall, a frail old man with white thin hair stood still in his faded night clothes shouting “The pipes! They’re in the pipes! Can’t you hear them?!” His wild eyes darted around the hall as if to check that he wasn’t being watched by the thing he was afraid of, then started shouting again “Listen to them! The pipes are speaking!” After screaming about the pipes old man proceeded to hack and cough as a staff led him off down the hallway as to not wake any more guests. Who was that? Barbara thought to herself. Then as if he’d read her mind a young staff member with a buttoned vest said to her “That’s Mr. Torres, a grandfather to the owner of this place. He used to be a kind man until something set him off the rails, and now he shouts about the pipes. I’ve always wondered what he means. We’ve had the pipes checked and they seem just fine except for the occasionally rattling but that is cause they’re old.” She gave a short nod as the young man walked off to bring tea to an impatient guest. Barbara was pondering over this when she saw a cautious shadow out of the corner of her eye. That had appeared to be watching the scene that had just taken place, and then slide around the hall just out of sight. She was beginning to think this would be more than just a trip to her sister’s house.

        It was a pleasant day out, no rain, no clouds, and Barbara started to really feel like she was on a break. For most of the day, she spent time with her sister shopping and visiting cafés. Now she was just relaxing by the window in her room reading one of her favorite books and enjoying an afternoon tea. All of this was interrupted when she heard a sharp scream. She opened her door and hurried down the hallway with a few other guests trailing behind her to see what was the matter. Down in the main parlor, a maid holding a tray that had spilled its contents on the floor was staring agape. The maid was staring at a portly man laying slouched in his firm velvet chair, dead. The sound of footsteps entered the room as more people arrived, as the poor maid burst into tears and hugged her friend for comfort. Barbara stepped closer to get a good look at the man. He was middle-aged, stout, had rusty brown hair, and glassy eyes that stared blankly at the ceiling. He was also wearing a trimmed waistcoat and a fine watch with an engraving of a name on it. In his left pocket, he had a small silver coin the had been defaced. Though it was odd because it did not look like the same material used for coins. The man's mouth was slightly open and his eyes kind of bulged out of his head with redness around them. Barbara also noticed a red rash spreading across his arms and one side of his face. His death did not look natural.

        Being a private investigator, Barbara decided to take it into her hands to find out if the man was murdered or not. After all, she couldn’t resist a challenge. After everyone had left the parlor Barbara started her work. She checked all around the room first, then looked closer to the man. One of the first things she noticed was the two unlabeled beer bottles resting on the small round table beside the chair. One of the bottles was half empty and the other one was still sealed. This peaked Barbara’s interest. She knew there was a local brewery in town that had similar shape and color bottle, but this was not enough information to connect anything. Barbara had to do some digging.  For now, she headed to her room to think about it some more and drink the rest of her tea that had now grown cold.

        Barbara woke up bright and early the next morning. She was particularly excited because of the case she was about to work. She headed downstairs to the parlor before any of the other guests came, and she took the two bottles and set to work. She also took the strange defaced coin in case it would be future evidence. Then she used the unopened bottle that had not been drunk from for her testing. First, she checked for any residues of poison. She found oleander leave and sap in the two beers. There was even some in the unopened bottle. Which means the beer had to have come from the brewery poisoned. Then Barbara used a pack of balloons she had picked up at a peddler’s shop top test the amount of carbonation in the beer because each of the 3 local breweries used a specific and consistent amount of carbonation. She would put the balloon over the top of the second bottle and watch how much it rises to see how much carbonation was in each beer. The first beer she tested was the one at the crime scene. She placed the balloon on the head of the bottle and when the balloon was filled with CO2 Barbara measured it and found it had a diameter of 10.7 cm. So whichever balloon has the same diameter will prove which brewery it came from. The beer from Bearhill Brewery had a balloon with a diameter of 9.8 CO2. Wilson’s Brewery beer had a balloon with a diameter of 10.7 CO2, and Ridgetree Brewery beer had a balloon with a 10.4 CO2. Using the data she collected, Barbara came to the conclusion that the beer came from Wilson’s Brewery. This was good news for Barbara because the brewery was only three blocks away from the manor she was staying at. But her thoughts were interrupted when she saw the mysterious shadow from the corner of her eye again, it watched her from the other side of the staircase and then stalked off. Barbara shivered with unease. 

        Barbara decided to spend the rest of her day out in the town because she still felt too uneasy about the lurking shadow. Since she had nothing better to do than continue in her case she took a stroll down to Wilson’s Brewery, it was also a fairly nice day to take a walk as well. When she had gotten to the brewery she gave an unsurprised smirk when she saw a number of oleander bushes outside of the large brick building, this father proved her theory that the beer came from the brewery already poisoned. After walking around town a while more, she headed back to the manor because it was getting dark and all the shops were closing up. She gently opened the hard oak door and was careful to not make the stairs creak while she went up, but she was stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the shadow in the hall. Barbara was lucky, the shadow had it’s back turned and was busy at work with unhinging the vent that leads to the pipes. Barbara had ducked behind the banister and gave a silent gasp as the shadow poured a small pouch of what looked to be defaced coins into the pipes. Those must have been what the rattling was and what Mr. Torres was shouting about! She thought to herself. She also noticed they looked eerily similar to the coin she found in the dead man’s pocket. Then she quickly ducked farther behind the banister and held her breath as the shadow walked briskly past. Barbara was beginning to think she was definitely over her head in mysteries in this town. 

        Barbara decided she should look more into the mysterious shadow she had seen. It was obvious that it had some kind of connection to the dead man, and possibly even the killer. She started her work by looking at a list of the staff who worked there. Throughout the day she observed each of the staff, hoping to find something suspicious. It was very tedious work, she spent about half of her day watching the staff fetch tea and fresh pillows.  She watched on maid walk by at least ten times with a tray of wheat bread, butter and black tea with sugar. Practically laying on the floor with disheveled hair Barbara was thinking about calling it a day when caught sight of what she was looking for. A snide man in his mid-thirties with greased dark blonde hair, an upturned nose, and a pale pinched face. He snaked down the hallway in the same manner the shadow had. “He must be the shadow, I have no doubt.” Barbara thought, she also realized he had light pink stains on his white embroidered gloves. The same kind of stains an oleander flower might leave if yanked from off of the plant. This man was most certainly the killer, but what was the motive?

        Before making any rash decisions she asked about him to so of the staff. She learned that his name was Sterlely Rivera. He had been working at the manor for eight years, but he also had a side job at Wilson’s brewery. He was never friendly with the other staff and was almost always never in his staff quarters when night fell. The staff was eager to badmouth him, they did not like him very much. Barbara had just about solved this murder, but she still could not find a motive or what the defaced coins were for. So she headed over to her sister’s house looking for a new point of view. Nathan and Della welcomed her in with kind smiles. She sat down at the table with them to go over her notes and everything that had happened so far. She was fiddling with defaced coin and tracing her finger around a small jagged scrape on the side of the bottle when Nathan pointed out a connection. “The motive might have something to do with the brewery because it all leads back to there. The beer was from Wilson’s Brewery, outside there are oleander flowers, and Mr. Rivera also works there.” “I think he’s right.” inquired Della “ I did a little chatting with some of the local ladies and learned he was a visiting beer connoisseur. Apparently, he was seen hurrying from the brewery and back to the manor in a frenzied fashion, this all happened the day before he was found dead.” “Gosh! Thanks, Della! This is great info!” Barbara gasped with excitement. “I best be on my way but I’ll come over for tea tomorrow at noon!” Barbara breathily said as she grabbed her bag and her hat of the coat hook, and off she went.

        She hustled over to Wilson’s Brewery. Along the way she could see people casting disapproving glares as she made her way speedily down the main street and past the manor. When she finally reached the brewery she was very much out of breath and had to stop for a moment. Then with her newfound courage, she walked through the main entrance. She decided to order a beer to appear as a normal customer. Right away she noticed that after she received her beer the change that was handed back to her was the same odd material the coin was made of. Suddenly it came to her, Wilson’s Brewery was making counterfeit money. The man who was killed must have accidentally found where they keep their stash of coins and was killed because he threatened to expose them. Then one of the employees, Mr. Rivera, killed him. She also figured Mr. Rivera had been hiding the coins in the pipes as to no get caught red-handed with them in his quarters. Barbara felt very satisfied with herself for finding the answer. That same day she went to the sheriff’s office to request a search warrant to conduct a search of the brewery specifically looking for the coins. Then a few hours later her request was accepted. By then it was about sundown, so she took an automated taxi to get there faster. She searched the place from top to bottom and found a large stash of coins hidden in several beer tankards. Barbara called the police and had them busted. Wilson’s Brewery would be out of production for a while. Barbara had fun solving this mystery, but rainy days and cloudy skies sounded very appealing by now. She waved her goodbyes to her sister and her family and went to her own home back in the city of Glasgow, where it rains 170 days of the year.

"Hacker" (continued) Mystery Fiction by Henry Cogswell, Year End 2018 

There was a slight problem because I couldn't fall asleep. From what I read there seems to be a lot of secret information not meant for the public, and it was all I could think about until I finally fell asleep one hour later. 

In the morning I woke up in a bad mood. I was extremely sleep deprived. It was 6:30 and I did not want to go to school. Senior year has been tough on me so far especially since my only friend moved to the other opposite side of Virginia midway through the year. He said his dad got a ¨once in a lifetime job opportunity¨ at some law firm in Blacksburg. Blacksburg was a four hour drive and frankly I just don’t have that much free time His name was John. We used to hack together every weekend, but then I started to have basketball tournaments. I would have a tournament every weekend, so we would only hack once or twice every two months. Then he moved away.

I got home from school and immediately hopped on my computer to go check the website. I typed in pn.i.n.i.gov and the page popped up for a split second then disappeared. I caught a glance of a name. The text said “Codename: Blitz. (TBD) Holding Cell three.” 

I knew I heard that name before but I didn’t remember what from. I glanced to the side at the picture of my dad in his army uniform. I took the frame, and slid the picture out of it. As I turned the photo around I saw the letters appear in slow motion. First I saw a B then followed by an L an I a T and finally a Z. The back of the picture said:

Ben Collins

May 2nd 1977- October 13th 2011

Codename: Blitz

I collapsed back into my chair when I read the name. While I was sitting there I went through what seemed like stages. At first I was confused about why his name would be in this document. Then I remembered what it said after his name “(TBD) Holding Cell Three.”

I was thinking to myself why would he be in a holding cell. It made absolutely no sense. In my eyes he was a hero, and I couldn't believe he did something worthy of being put in a holding cell. It was hard for me to believe that he would do something wrong. I had to figure this out. I went to my folder of screenshots and clicked the one labeled “Panini”. An error message popped up saying that the file had been corrupted, and at that moment I knew I needed some answers.

As I hopped in my 2002 dark blue Subaru Impreza and put my keys in the ignition. I started heading towards The Pentagon. It was not out of the way whatsoever it was only a mere 30 minute drive from my home in Fairfax, VA, but I know how bad DC traffic can be so I expected to arrive in an hour to an hour and a half. I checked my pocket to make sure I had the pass our family was given after the army delivered the news that my father had been killed, which now seems like some total B.S. The pass was a level one security clearance badge that allowed us to get past the first line of security, and luckily enough a friend of my dads works at level one. That was exactly who I needed answers from.

I was exactly right on my ETA estimation and I arrived at the pentagon an hour and a half after I left my house. I walked up to the door and showed the security guard my pass then he asked.

“Hey Will! Are you here to see Robert?” Said Larry the security guard.

“Yes.” I replied hurriedly.

Robert was a friend of my dads whom he worked with at the pentagon for eight years before he enlisted. He lives alone so he would come have dinner with us maybe once a month.

“I’m afraid you don’t have the clearance to see him right now.” he said sounding apologetic.

“I thought he worked on level one.” 

“When was the last time you visited?” He asked

“Just before my dad passed. After that he was extremely busy, so I could never come visit.” I responded.

“That was around the time he got promoted. He works at level five now.”

“Wow.” was my only response knowing that the only person that I could get answers from was unavailable. I hesitated then said,

“I really need to talk to him, is there anything you can do?”

He thought for a moment then said, 

“I can call his assistant, and see if he is available.”

“That would be great.” I said with a sigh of relief

I waited in the lobby for what seemed like thirty minutes, but in reality it was only ten. Once he got off the phone with Roberts assistant he gave me a printout map of level five and marked Roberts office with a red sharpie. I started walking toward the elevator until Larry yelled to me.

“Will!” I jogged back to see what he wanted and he said. 

“You will need this pass to get through security.” he handed me a white pass that said “Will Collins: Visitor” and in big red font it said “LEVEL 5” It also had a barcode on the bottom. It looked almost the same as my level one pass except for the different colored font. After I worked my way through security, and finally reached Roberts office. I begin to enter.

I knocked on the door, and I heard a woman's voice say “Come in.” I entered his office and, immediately I am hit with the strongest smell I think I have ever smelled. It smelled like a mixture of a bathtub full of calone, and three gallons of expensive shampoo. As I entered the office I was greeted by his assistant whose name tag said Abby. She smiled welcomely at me, and I gave her a half-hearted smile back. 

“Are you here to see Robert?” She asked in a happy tone.

“Uhh... Yeah.” I replied.

“So you must be Will Collins?” She asked, still sounding like she had just won the lottery.

“Yep thats me.” I responded as I was getting more used to her tone.

She looked down at her phone, and held a button down.

“Robert. Will is here for you.” She said into the speaker.

“Great! Send him in.” Shouted a booming voice that I recognized immediately.

I hurriedly went through the doorway to his office. As I opened the door I noticed it was a dark room with no movement or sound whatsoever. I walked into the room.

“Robert?” I asked. No response. I was about to go back out to his assistant to ask where he was until I heard a faint noise. It sounded like someone whispered “go.” Immediately the lights flashed on and three agents popped out from behind furniture and started sprinting towards me. It was a big office so I knew I could get out before they got to me. I turned and saw Robert standing in the doorway with his hands behind his back smiling at me. When I saw him I hesitated for about half a second. That caused me to get wrapped up by all three of the guards at once. I looked up at Robert and saw his arm slowly move out from behind his back. I see a silencer coming out from behind his back.

“You know too much kid.” He said still smiling.

“Wait I don’t kn…” 

"Everglades" (continued) Mystery Fiction by Grace Harvey, Year End 2018

“Miami PD,” I say.  “We’re here about Ezra.”

“Ezra?” she asks.  “What about Ezra?”

“Why don’t we come in, so we can sit down and talk?” Jessica suggests.

“Okay,” she says cautiously, opening the door for us to enter.  She leads us into an entryway, closed off from the rest of the house.  The ceilings are low, and the floor creaks with every step you take.  The furniture is dark, and the only light comes from a lamp and two small windows.  There are empty takeout containers everywhere.  She brings us into the living room where we take a seat across from her.

“Are you Amy Hameline?” Jessica asks.

“Yes, I am.  What is it about Ezra?”

“Ezra is dead,” I say, trying to read her facial expression.  “His body was found in the everglades.”

“What?”  She gasps, shocked by the news.  “No, it can’t be Ezra.  How did he die?”  

“It appears to be a murder.  We’re very sorry for your loss.  Were you and Ezra close?”

“He was my step brother.  I’ve known him for a few years.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Jessica asks.

“It’s been awhile.  We’ve both been busy with school work, and he was busy with his art.  Maybe a month ago.”  She looks down at her lap, and starts to pick at her nail polish.  “Wait, do you think I killed Ezra?”

“We’ve just got to ask a few questions, that’s all,” I answer.  

“I would never kill Ezra!  Why would I?  My step dad is in hospice, my house is horrible, I barely have enough money to stay afloat...he’s all I had left.”  I glance at Jessica to see her reaction.  Her face is blank, but I know it means she’s focused.

“What about your mom?” I ask.

“She’s nice, but she never does anything with me.  We live in the same house, yet she still seems to spend more time with her paintings than me.  It’s not like she is ever going to make it as an artist anyway.  She uses acrylic paint.  It seems like all the best artists these days use oil paint or spray paint.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to take it all in.  “Thank you.”  

Back at the police station, I browse the papers we have on Ezra.  He’s a mural artist...going to college at the University of Miami.  It’s not much, but it’s a start.  Jessica walks in to the office, and we decide to go check out his house.

We park the car a block down from the address of his house.  The homes lining the street all have lush green yards out front.  Ezra’s house has a stone driveway leading up to the garage, and palm trees along the sidewalk.  Jessica hops up the steps to ring the doorbell, but before she has a chance, the door opens.  A tall man with dark hair and a black eye stands in the doorway.

“Hello,” he says.  “Is this about Ezra?”

“Yes.  Who are you, and what do you know about Ezra?” I ask.

“I’m Ronnie.  Ezra’s my roommate.  I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I figure it’s not a good sign if he doesn’t return from his trip and then the police show up on my doorstep.”

“Ezra was found dead,” I say.  “We’ve got a few questions to ask you.”

“What?,” he asks, looking astonished.  “Are you sure it’s Ezra?”

“Yes,” Jessica says.  “When did you last see him?”

“Man, I can’t believe this.  I just saw him just last week.  He was headed to Fort Lauderdale to work on a mural.  He was supposed to come back yesterday.  He wasn’t answering my calls either.  I was concerned, but I was going to wait the 48 hours before reporting him missing.  I never thought he’d be dead.” 

“Did Ezra have any enemies?”

“No, he was a great guy.  Everyone loved him.”  Ronnie looks down at his hands, a sorrowful expression on his face.  

“Was Ezra in any relationships?” I ask.

“He had a girlfriend.  Karen Bailey.  They’d been dating for a few months.”

“Alright,” I say, looking down at my watch.  “Just one more question: how’d you get that black eye?”

“This?” Ronnie asks, feeling his eye.  “I was playing pick-up basketball, and I took an elbow to the eye.”  

“Ok,” Jessica says.  “Thanks for your cooperation.”  Ronnie goes into his house and shuts the door behind him.  Through the large windows, I see him go into the kitchen, and pour himself a glass of water.

My phone buzzes on my desk, so I pick it up and answer it.

“Hello, this is Mia” I say.

“Hi, it’s Ivy from forensics.  I just wanted to give you an update.  Ezra was most likely killed on Sunday-about five days ago.  Also, he was killed in the city somewhere, then dumped in the everglades.” “Great, thanks,” I say, and hang up. Just as I do, Jessica bounds in. “So,” she says. “I found where Karen Bailey lives. She’s living off campus in the Coral Gables neighborhood.” “Let’s go check it out,” I say, standing up to head to the parking garage. We pull up next to Karen’s house, and hop out of the car. Her house is set further back from the road, so she has a fairly large yard in front. We walk up the path to her door, and ring the doorbell. A few seconds later, the door opens, and a girl is standing in the doorway. Her brown hair falls just past her shoulders, and she is wearing a light, colorful dress. “Miami PD,” I announce. “Are you Karen Bailey?” “Yes,” she answers, looking nervous. “What’s going on?” “Ezra Murray is dead,” Jessica says. “We have a few questions to ask you.” “What? No...no...that can’t be...” Karen’s voice trails off as she tries to grasp what’s going on. She wipes her hand across her forehead. “Maybe we should go inside and take a seat,” Jessica suggests. Without saying anything, Karen turns and leads us into the living room. Colorful paintings line the walls of her house. Light shines on them from the large floor to ceiling windows on the back wall. She plops down onto her couch, but is still staring down. Jessica and I take a seat across from her and attempt to get her to talk. “Karen?” Jessica asks, trying to catch her eye. Karen looks up at her and nods slowly. “We just have a few questions to ask you,” she says gently, holding their eye contact. Karen nods again. “When was the last time you saw Ezra?” “I...I saw him...last weekend. We had lunch on Sunday.” “Did anything seem different about him?” “No. He seemed just the same as always...we had such a nice lunch. I had no idea that it would be the last time I would see him.” At this point, she breaks down and starts to cry. Jessica hands her a tissue, and she blows her nose into it. “Did he say where he was going after?” “No,” she sniffs. “I assume he was just going home.” “Ok,” I say. “Also, had Ezra gotten into any fights before he died?” “I don’t think so…Well, I guess he was mad at his roomate Ronnie. Ronnie was taking pictures of the murals Ezra made, and was selling them. Ezra found out, and got mad. That was the last time I saw them together. But they were best friends!” “When was this?” I ask. “Friday night. I went over to their house for dinner. Ezra had just found out. They didn’t speak to each other at all during dinner. Ezra left for a late meeting with one of his professors, and I went home. I don’t know what happened after that, but Ezra seemed completely fine on Sunday.” “Okay,” Jessica says. “Thank you. We are very sorry for your loss.” “Thank you.” Jessica and I stand up and leave, ready to go back and talk to Ronnie. Jessica turns the car onto Ronnie’s street when my phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and answer it. “Hello, this is Mia.” “Hi, this is Ivy. We found some fractures on Ezra’s wrist that indicate he punched someone before he died.” “Ok, thank you.” I hang up, and let Jessica know what I just found out. “I think our best suspect with a black eye just got even better,” she says. She pulls the car up to the curb in front of Ronnie’s. We walk up to the door and ring the doorbell. A few moments later, Ronnie opens the door. “Hello,” he says, looking a little surprised to see us there. “How’s the investigation going?” “Can we come in?” I ask, ignoring his question. “Sure.” We follow him into through the through the kitchen and into the living room. Bright afternoon sunshine streams through the large windows. Most of the house is done in neutrals, but some walls have colorful murals on them. It adds a very nice addition, and I assume they were done by Ezra. Jessica and I take a seat in the couch across from Ronnie. “Are you going to tell me why your here again?” he asks impatiently. Jessica and I look at eachother, and I nod to her to start. She turns back to Ronnie and says, “We know you and Ezra fought. Do you want to tell us about it?” She raises her eyebrows, and he looks at the ground. “Yeah,” he says after a minute. “I was making money off photos of his murals. He found out and got mad at me.” “What happened between you after that? We know he punched you.” I ask. “We got into a fight and started to yell. He punched me,” he says, motioning to his black eye. “But we were completely fine after that! He got his anger out, and we were even.  We worked it out, and everything went back to normal.  I didn’t kill him!”  I sigh with frustration.  That’s what everyone always says.  

“When did you get in this fight?” Jessica asks.  

“Saturday morning.  He found out the night before though.”

“Ok,” Jessica nods.  “Where were you Sunday afternoon?”  

“I left for New York that morning.” 

“Ok, you’ll need to send any proof of that to the Miami PD.”  We stand up and walk back to the car.  

We arrive back at the police station and go take the elevator up to our office.  I go to my desk and open my email.  I have an email from Ronnie which I open.  It’s a forwarded email of his online flight confirmation.  I show it to Jessica who sighs with disappointment.  Our number one suspect is now completely clear.  Just as I lean back in my chair and twiddle my thumbs, my phone buzzes in my pocket.  I pull it out to check who it is.  I recognize the number as Ivy’s and answer it.

“Hi Ivy.”

“Hi.  We’ve got cause of death for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Ezra was hit on the head with a hard object covered in paint.”

“Well, he used paint for a living,” I say.  “It could still be anyone.”

“No, listen to this.  The paint found on Ezra’s head was quick drying and has a binder made of carbon and oxygen.”

“What?” I ask, not understanding the significance of this.

“It’s acrylic paint,” Ivy says.  “Ezra didn’t use that kind.”  My face lightens up.  All we have to do now is find someone who uses acrylic paint and figure out what the murder weapon is.  

“Ok, thank you!” I say to Ivy, and hang up.  I turn and tell Jessica what I found out.  

“That’s the type of paint that his step mom, Mary, uses!” she says.  I think back to our first conversation with Mary.

“Oh yeah!  Looks like we have another suspect to check out.”  We head back out to the car to drive over to Mary’s house.

“Hello?” I call out when we get to the house.  I hear footsteps inside, and the door opens.  A short, old woman with mostly white hair stands in the doorway.  

“Hello, Miami PD,” Jessica says, holding out her badge.

“Oh no, this is about Ezra isn’t it?  Amy told me what happened.”

“Unfortunately yes,” I say.  “Do you mind if we have a look around your house?”

“No, not at all,” she says, “Anything to help figure out who killed Ezra.”  She opens the door wider and leads us inside.  “Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

“Yeah,” I say, “Where do you keep everything with paint on it?”  

“In my studio,” she says.  She brings us down a tight hallway and into a room covered in art supplies.  There is more light in here than the rest of the house.  Jessica and I go in and start to look around, and Mary leaves to go eat lunch.  We are looking for anything hard with paint on it.  I check out her easels, but for the most part they are clean.  There aren’t any corners with paint on them that could kill someone.

“What about this?” Jessica asks, pointing to a painting.  It’s done on a canvas, and is of the scene outside the window.  “Well, not this one in particular, but a canvas.”

“Oh yeah, that could be it.”  I start to look around at canvasses and examine their edges.  They have paint all over them, and are made of wood.  I don’t see any blood or dents anywhere on them.  Jessica and I go back into the kitchen to find Mary sitting at the table with a glass of water and a salad.  

“Are all of your paintings in there?” I ask her, gesturing to her studio.

“All but one,” she says.  I brought one of them out because I was going to get it framed.  But now it’s missing.  I must have misplaced it.  I don’t know where it ended up.”

“Can we look around for it?” I ask.

“Sure, but don’t mess anything up.”  Jessica and I split up to search the house.  She takes the downstairs, so I go up.  At the top of the stairs, there is a narrow hallway.  I walk down it and stop at the door at the end.  It’s open a crack, so I peer around the side and see that it’s a bathroom.  I go inside and look behind the shower curtain.  It’s empty, and there is no where else for a painting to hide in this bathroom.  I turn around and go back down the hall.  I stop at a closed door and knock.  

“I’ll be down in a minute!” a familiar girl’s voice calls out.  She sounds aggravated.

“Miami PD,” I say, leaning against the door.  “Can I come in?”

“What? Miami PD? Sorry, I thought you were my mom.  Why are you here?”

I realize that this must be Amy Hameline.  “I’m looking for a painting.  Can I come in?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“No,” I say.  Now I’m aggravated. “I’m just looking for a painting.  It may help us find Ezra’s killer.”

“Then no,” she says. “This is my room, and you need a warrant if you want to come in.

“Ok,” I say, a bitter expression on my face. “I’ll just come back in a few hours with a warrant.”  I walk downstairs and let Jessica know that I didn’t find the painting.  She didn’t either, and the only place we couldn’t check was Amy’s room.  

“We’re not going to be able to search her room without a warrant,” I tell Jessica.  “Unless the painting left the house, it’s the only place it could be.”  She nods, and we head towards the door.  We walk past Mary on our way there, and I remember something I need to ask her.

“Just one more thing,” I say to her.  “When did you last see Ezra?”  

“I saw him last Saturday.  He had dinner with us.  He also came by on Sunday night to drop off some information from the doctors on his dad’s health, but I wasn’t home.  He left it with Amy.”  I look at Jessica.  From her expression, I can tell she’s thinking the same thing as me.  Amy told us she hadn’t seen him recently.  

“Thank you,” I say to Mary.  Jessica and I leave to try to get a warrant.

“Amy lied to us,” I say once we are in the car.  “All the signs are pointing to her right now, but I don’t know why she would kill Ezra.”  I’m starting to get impatient, and nothing seems to be fitting together.

“Let’s just try to get a warrant and search her room,” Jessica says, trying to help me calm down.  “We should have enough probable cause to get one.  The painting was last seen in that house, and we’ve searched the rest of the house thoroughly.  Plus, she lied to us.  She’s hiding something.”  I nod, and she dials the judges number.  

”It will be ready in ten minutes,” she says to me a few minutes later, after talking to the judge.

“Great,” I say, relaxing a little.

We pull around the corner and up to the court house.  Jessica jumps out of the car, eager to get the warrant.  I hang back to run through what we know.  Ezra was hit on the head by a canvas painted with acrylic paint.  His step mom is the only person we know who uses acrylic paint, so he must have been hit with her missing painting.  Mary said she had last seen the painting in her living room, so whoever killed Ezra had been in her living room.  This means that the killer had access to the house, for there are no signs of forced entry.  Amy lied to us about having seen Ezra, so she must be hiding something.  These signs all point to Amy, but she had no reason to kill Ezra!  There is some piece of this that we’re not seeing!  As I’m going through everything, Jessica comes out of the court house.  

“We’ve got the warrant,” she says.  She gets in the car, and we drive back to the Hameline’s house to go search Amy’s room.

I knock on the door to their house, and it rattles with instability.  Mary answers the door a moment later.  

“We’ve got a warrant to search your daughter's room,” I say, holding it up.  She justs nods and leads us back upstairs to Amy’s room.  

“We’re back with the warrant,” I call to Amy.  I hear footsteps and creaking floorboards, and then the door opens.  We wait while Amy looks over the warrant.  

“Fine,” she says finally.  Jessica and I start searching the room immediately, while Amy and Mary stand in the doorway, watching.  I look behind the dresser, and Jessica checks the closet.  I pull the blankets off the bed, and even take the fitted sheets off.  Soon, the only place we haven’t checked is under the bed.  If it’s not here, it means the killer took the painting or destroyed it.  On the count of three, Jessica both duck our heads under the bed.  Sure enough, a large canvas is laying on the floor underneath.  Jessica puts her gloves on and pulls the canvas out.  She holds it up for Mary and Amy to see.  Mary is speechless, and Amy justs looks mad.  

“That’s...that’s my missing painting!” Mary gasps.  She looks at Amy with the most disappointment and anger I’ve seen in a long time.  Amy just stands there, her arms crossed.  

“You are going to have a whole lot of explaining to do,” Jessica says, shaking her head at Amy.  

“This doesn’t mean I killed him!” Amy cries out, finally moving to wave her hands in disagreement.  “You have no actual proof!”  

“We will as soon as we get this to the forensics lab,” Jessica says.  “If we find Ezra’s blood on this along with your fingerprints, we’ll have plenty of proof.”

“But!” Amy says, ”I still have no motive!  Why would I kill Ezra?”  I glance at Jessica, and I see a look of worry on her face.  We both know that with no motive, Amy will never get convicted.  Either way, we’re going to test the painting for Ezra’s blood.  Mary takes us back downstairs, leaving Amy in her room.  We open the door to go outside, and it rattles again.  

“You should really get this fixed,” Jessica says.  

“Yeah,” Mary says, sighing.  “We will as soon as we get the money.”

“Money?” I ask, knowing big amounts of money often result in trouble.  “What money?”

“My husband is in hospice.  He is giving Amy and I a lot of money in his will.”

“Go get the painting tested,” I whisper to Jessica, knowing that this has to be the missing piece.  “I’ll learn a bit more about this.”  I turn back to Mary.  “Does he not have any more living relatives?”

“Ezra was his last one.  Now it’s just me and Amy.”

“Can I talk to Amy?”

“You can try, I’m not sure how much she’ll say.”

“Ok, thank you.”  She calls Amy down, who takes a seat at the counter. 

“Where were you last Sunday?”

“I’m not saying anything without a lawyer.”

“Amy, I know you’re getting money now that Ezra’s dead.  I also know that you lied to us about when you last saw Ezra.  You really saw him last Sunday, didn’t you?”  She doesn’t say anything.  “Were you getting anything from your step father before Ezra died?”  She is still silent.  “You know what I think?” I say.  “I think Ezra was getting everything in the will.  That made you really mad.  So you killed him.”  My phone rings, and I look to see who it is.  “This is Jessica,” I tell her.  “If I’m right, she’s going to say that there’s blood on the painting.  She’ll find your DNA or fingerprints on it.”  I lift my phone to answer it.

“Fine!” she yells finally, right before I click accept.  “I killed him.  I hit him on the head with the painting.  He died, and I put him in the trunk of my car and took him to the everglades.  I wish I didn’t kill him!  It was just so annoying.  All he would talk about was what he was going to do with his money.  He already had so much! We have so little.  I just wanted it to be better for me and my mom!”  She starts to sob, and I sigh.  She’ll be spending a lot of time locked up for first degree murder.  I quickly let Jessica know that she confessed, and she tells me that the forensics team found enough proof to arrest her anyway.  I hang up, and turn back to the Hameline’s.  Mary looks like she’s about to faint after hearing her daughter killed someone.  Amy stands there sobbing and lets me handcuff her willingly.  I lead her out from where Jessica has pulled up the car.  I put her in the back, and slam the car door.  I sit down in the front, and take a big breath of relief and sadness.

Are the web filters at your school too restrictive?

By Danielle Catella, Spring 2015

The web filters at Mt. Abe are too restrictive, because there are several websites that are blocked so you can’t get to them when you need to, which is frustrating to students and staff.

First of all, students use the internet for school projects, but when websites needed for projects are blocked, it makes the internet less useful. Schools often decide what is filtered out and parents sign off on an appropriate use document, leaving kids out of the decision-making process. The best technique would be for teachers and parents to do searches beforehand to find high quality sites, get them unblocked, and send kids to those sites.

Students, teachers, and school librarians in many schools are frustrated daily when they discover legal educational websites blocked by filtering software installed by their school. Overextended filtering also extends to the use of online social networking sites such as Facebook and Twitter. Our filter also blocks streaming sites such as YouTube. In order to make schools more relevant to students and enhance their learning experiences, educators need to be able to use these sites and combine those same social interactions that are successful outside of school, with real assignments in the school setting.

Many schools use content blocking, and there are pros and cons to this. If students are limited from entering sites such as Facebook at school, they are more likely to stay on task when they are using computers during school hours. Students are also limited from entering sites with inappropriate language or subjects which seems logical for obvious reasons, but I found that I would often be blocked from sites that are actually educational. For example, YouTube is often blocked, even if the video I wanted to watch was educational. Teachers also have trouble when trying to play an educational video on YouTube for their class.

Most students today have handheld devices that they receive internet on without going on the school’s filter, so if they wanted to look up something, it would be very hard for teachers to stop them. The only websites that schools need are the ones that have the most information and there are some inappropriate things on YouTube, but schools can just block inappropriate videos and block inappropriate websites too. The web is a great tool for kids to explore and learn from, and I don't think they should be limited from what is out there by web filters that are too restrictive.