APs and SATs.
We gasp for breath in
revised résumés and
agonized essays
knowing all the while that
the brutal tide of competition
and
the bait of spare time
will force most back to
be more bottom feeders.
I cannot do that.
I will not drown.
Study don’t sleep.
Study don’t socialize.
Study don’t loosen up.
Being number one still might
not be enough,
but it’s a start.
Ms. Mason’s face frowns as she hears about Anna.
“Don’t postpone today’s test!” I pray.
Tomorrow’s a calculus test.
Tonight’s for memorizing math.
PRESSURE.
It peels everything else away.
Randal Mallander
Anna—
If only you had some idea of how
Many times I went by your house
Once walking almost to your door.
Then, courage canceled, I crept away too
Unwilling to risk your rejection.
From the first time I saw your big brown eyes,
I thought, “There’s a girl I want to know.”
And I hoped that one day
someday,
The right words would come.
And you would
See me and smile.
Now that will never be.
Still, I cannot quite believe
That those big brown eyes
Are forever closed.
Somehow, I feel almost blinded myself.
And I am forever left to wonder
Whether telling you how truly special
You were
Might have made a difference.
Mike Bradler
Okay, I’ve got ten bucks from Eric says I won’t do it.
Matt says that goes double for him.
And Gary’s in for another ten.
That almost pays for Homecoming.
But hey … even without the money … why not?
It’s a whole Staying Alive, disco, ’70s look
That I found in our attic.
White suit, shiny shirt.
Slicked hair.
Like Travolta before the fat.
So this morning I told Stephanie.
Said I thought we could sucker in a few more guys
If she’d dress up too.
“Hey, isn’t life all about fun?” I asked.
And that’s when she said,
“Grow up, Michael.
I just realized that
I’ve got the right dress,
But the wrong date!”
Girls.
How can God give ’em such great bodies
And take away their sense of humor
All at the same time?
Karen Covington
Mixed-up Memories
Of the daddy
Who introduced me to Winnie-the-Pooh.
Who sang every verse of kids’ silly songs.
Who whispered the lullabies that lured me to sleep.
Mixed-up Memories
Of the dad
Who cheered my summer softball
Even if I never got a hit.
Who promised I would always be
His most perfect princess.
Mixed-up Memories
Of the father
Who guaranteed he’d be the proudest of all the parents
At my college graduation.
Who vowed he’d walk me down the aisle even if I married at forty.
Who predicted no one would be a better grandpa.
Mixed-up Memories
Of a morning last summer
When I learned
My hero had taken his own life.
When that was the truth,
Everything I understood of love and safety
Was a lie.
So, Anna, did you know
That when you kill yourself
Those you say you love,
They die too?
Kendra Jones
You don’t have to be Someone
To be someone special.
You don’t have to live the dream
To believe in the future of dreams.
Sometimes, I seem to forget that.
Bogged down in the stresses and stupidities of my life
I feel
Insignificant in Jarod’s indifference
Forgotten by Francine’s clique
Betrayed by Brittany’s gossip
Imposed upon by my mother’s edicts
Battered by my teachers’ busywork.
But I’m going to try even harder
Not to give in to the negatives.
Today may be a yawning trap of terribleness
But there’s still tonight or tomorrow or ten years from now.
Sometimes, I’m afraid I could be
Another Anna.
So, until I’m sure I believe it,
I’ll say it 20 or 20,000 times.
I don’t have to be Someone
To be someone special.
I don’t have to live the dream
To believe in the future of my dreams.
Lanny Laring
A suicide.
Different.
A quick look around the room.
No one knows quite what to do.
For once, even Old Mason is silent.
Alexis looks like she’s going to pass out.
Lynn looks almost mad.
Everyone’s avoiding eye contact.
Except Aaron, of course,
He can’t wait to earn another A today.
A suicide.
What’s my slant?
Life’s all about seeing the slants, analyzing the angles.
And it’s so easy to play the part of winner.
Like the time I “accidentally” ran into Damon.
As planned, it bruised his knee pretty badly.
Greg got into the game,
And I got ten bucks richer.
Or like the time I found Lauren’s missing bracelet,
She kissed me and called me super.
How could she ever know how easily I had stolen it?
So what’s the angle in this suicide?
Showtime.
Another victory waits.
Michelle Magden
Every time my father sees me frown,
He says,
“Are you upset?
You know you can talk to me.”
Every time my father hears me mad at my friends,
He says,
“Are you lonely?
You know you can talk to me.”
Every time my father thinks I’m sad,
He says,
“Are you depressed?
You know you can talk to me.”
Ever since my father got custody,
He’s been reading books about parenting.
When he read that one in three teens thinks of suicide,
My father made me repeat,
“Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.”
I’ve told him,
“Dad,
Sometimes, I get irritated or angry.
Sometimes, I feel stupid or sad.
Sometimes, I feel left out or lonely.
But I am not,
have never been,
will never be
Suicidal!”
Still, I cannot convince my dad.
Once he hears about Anna,
He’ll never let me out of his sight.
His anxiety will destroy
The little bit of social life I have.
“I don’t know why Anna didn’t know,
But, Dad, I do …
Really, I do understand
That ‘suicide is a permanent solution
To a tempora
ry problem.’”
Jeff Cook
So my dad is sitting in the stands
When I score another basket.
And he hears this father tell his son,
“Do you know that guy?”
And the kid answers,
“Sure, everyone knows Jeff.
He’s only about the most popular person in the whole school.
He’s in everything, does everything, is everything.”
And the dad says,
“Well, that could be you when you’re a senior.”
And the kid rolls his eyes and answers,
“Get real, Dad!”
My father can’t wait to come home and tell me all this.
His chest is puffed out with pride
As he says, “How about that!”
I figure it’s probably not the best time to inform him
That I do know everyone
And no one …
And a lot of the time,
What I really feel
Is alone.
Ms. Standring, Attendance Secretary
“It wasn’t my fault.”
They should inscribe those words above this office door.
Then all the kids that come through it could just point.
Today’s troops,
Most of them tardy or in trouble,
Wait unwillingly to see
Whether they’ll get off
With only a warning from me
Or hit the big time and
Earn a detention from the dean.
But this day,
They’ll all have to wait a little longer.
For as I hear them
Joking,
Flirting,
Complaining,
Cajoling,
I cannot stop imagining the silent forever that
Anna Gonzales has chosen.
“It wasn’t my fault.”
I know I’ll hear that a hundred times today,
And I’ll explain that—“Yes, it is your fault”—
Just as many times.
Life can be messy.
No doubt, a lot of these kids are living proof.
But in spite of their anxieties and their angers,
At least —
They
Are trying to live.
Jermaine Clements
Bomp … bada … bomp.
Bomp … bomp … bada … bomp.
This song has the beat
That makes my whole body move.
But I’ve got to stay still.
No Walkmen
No CD players
No headphones
Allowed in this school.
I should know.
I’ve had enough of them confiscated.
But this earphone redefines miniature.
And the CD’s so small, it slips unseen inside a pocket.
If I just sit staring at my teachers,
They’ll never know
That I’ve tuned out their teaching tortures
With music that makes school rock.
Bomp … bomp … bada … bomp.
No doubt about it.
Technology is improving my education.
Julio Contraros
So many times have our families come together.
But Anna never seemed sad.
So many times when mi madre was uncertain of this new country
Was Anna’s mother there to help us.
To translate until English we learned.
To explain so many customs new and strange.
I will go to la casa de Gonzales after this day of school.
But I do not know words in any language to help.
My heart cries for Anna
And for
Her mother
The friend and protector to us all.
Too late it is to help Anna.
And Señora Gonzales
Who can protect her
In this terrible tragedy?
Hay también mucha tristeza.
It is too much sadness.
Leslie Leiberman
Forget about that Biology X and Y stuff
About what makes a boy or a girl.
It’s really much simpler.
Guys all have the jerk gene.
It’s like God says, “Oh, that one gets a jerk gene; so it’s a boy.”
Like Sean Saunders.
After I baked him two batches of double-fudge brownies.
After I offered to watch his dog when his family went away for the weekend.
After I did his algebra because he was too tired from basketball.
Finally, this morning, right before the bell, he wants to ask me something,
My heart pounds, and I think this is it.
He’s finally going to ask me to Homecoming.
But then the bell rings. He gets nervous and says, “Maybe later.”
I worry that later may never happen,
So I practically shout, “Now … I mean I can afford the tardy.”
He says, “You sure?”
And I say, “I’m sure … just ask…”
So he says, “Okay, do you know Kendra well enough to find out
If she’ll go to Homecoming with me?”
And so now I’ve got this tardy.
And now I’ve got no date for Homecoming.
Fact: Guys are filled with jerk genes.
Fact: Sean Saunders has more than his share.
Sean Saunders
In Advanced Art, I made an A+ clay mask.
Perfect in its features, it revealed
Interestingly shaped empty eyes
A flawlessly impossible porcelain complexion
And a mouth that exposed neither a smile nor a frown.
Holding my creation in front of me,
I look out from behind its cold indifference
Feeling no more anonymous than
The usual face I wear.
Each day, I carefully apply another
Mask to hide the mask
That almost worked
The day before.
Masked behind masks that mask
Anything that is real.
This is the only way a teenager
Survives the hell called
High school.
Anna, did your disguise slip
Or was it just that your eyes could
No longer find insight
Buried
Behind so many masks?
Kinderlyn Hovoticich
Anna …
I remember …
My first day of school in America.
Labeled a resettled refugee,
Lost in this upside-down place,
Students swirling by—talking a language that made no sense.
Me—huddling in a hallway
Feeling almost as anxious
As when I heard the sounds
Of bombs in my other world.
No one seemed to notice
But you, Anna.
Using signs and smiles,
You made sure I got to my classes.
Showed me how lunch worked,
How to open a jammed locker.
You taught me how to smile and
How to survive in junior high.
You were my first American friend.
I didn’t mean to ignore you when we got to high school.
I really liked the badminton team I joined.
And it seemed so easy to sit at their lunch table,
Get in on their gossip, and be part of their parties.
So I told myself you had a lot of other friends.
I was the one who had been different.
And now it was probably a relief that
The “foreign kid” didn’t need babysitting anymore.
But if I look deep enough inside myself,
I wonder if I’ll find out that was a lie.
And I have no answer for
How could I have forgotten how
You once solved my fears
Before you even knew my name.
Maybe my lack of loyalty doesn’t matter at all.
Maybe it had nothing to do with what you did.
But maybe if …
Oh, Anna …
Jordan Smythe
Once I had this jigsaw puzzle.
I worked on it every day.
It was the hardest thing I’d ever done,
But I finally got it all finished
Except for one piece,
Which was missing.
I looked for it everywhere,
Under my bed, behind the table, in the closet,
But the piece was just gone.
Pretty soon, when I looked at the puzzle
All I could see
Was the missing piece.
So I threw the whole thing away.
All my hard work, all my effort tossed in the garbage.
The next week I found the missing piece
But, of course, I no longer had the puzzle.
So why am I thinking about this puzzle today
When I hear about Anna Gonzales’s suicide?
I don’t know.
Maybe it’s one of those metaphor things.
Andrew Stevenson, Security Guard
“Security” it says in big yellow letters
That span the back of my blue staff shirt.
But I’ve always thought it should say “Insecurity”
Because that’s what I create.
I want to make kids feel uneasy
About smoking,
Dealing drugs,
Cutting class, or
Sneaking out of school.
Yeah—I know I don’t get them all,
But school statistics say I’m having an effect.
Most of the time, when I catch a kid, they just shrug,
Accepting that they played the game and lost.
But yesterday, at the southernmost exit of the school,
When I confronted a boy trying to skip out after second hour,
He started to shake.
Said he had a “personal problem.”
Said it had to be handled now.
Begged me to just turn the other way
And let him leave.
I told him, “No can do—have your parents excuse you.”
“But I can’t do that!” he shouted.
I told him, “Wait and handle it after school.”
“I can’t do that either!” he choked.
He seemed really desperate,
But the rules are the rules.
So I told him, “Head back to class.”
“Please…,” he begged.
So I told him, “Go see your counselor.”
His penetrating blue eyes
Stared at me in agony.
After the Death of Anna Gonzales (9781466859524) Page 3
