I finished getting ready and still had a half an hour before school started. It’s all my mom’s fault for waking me up so early. I grumbled in frustration and plopped myself down on my favorite lime-colored chair and cupped my cheeks with my hands. I glared at the clock on the wall and watched the second hand tick slowly.
When the time was finally five minutes before school, I sprung up from my chair. I grabbed my backpack from the floor and swung it over my shoulder. In slow motion, that would’ve looked so cool. But in reality, it ended up slamming into my back and I had to bite back a tear. T’was painful.
“Mom, I’m leaving!” I called out before I slammed the door behind me. I winced from the accidental loud sound and prayed in my head that my mom wouldn’t come out to scold me. I waited half a minute, and when that didn’t happen, I sighed in relief.
I strolled up the street toward the school but I kept hearing a thwack, thwack, thwack behind me. It sounded as if someone was following me because with every step that I took, the sound appeared. I quickened up my pace before I walked in front of the old bank near my house that was all windows.
Usually, I stare at myself as I walk by, so I did the same. What I saw made me freeze in front of the glass window.
I was wearing my bright red flip-flops from home instead of sneakers.
Uses for Chewing Gum
LENNA STITES
I’ve written a very short story inspired by my mentee Lily’s piece. Built around an anecdotal flashback, I wanted to reflect on the time we’ve taken to get to know ourselves a bit better, while having fun.
I was called in to my biggest operation when I was just a child. I was part of a team of three and it took creativity, time, and a few pieces of chewing gum. We were fairly resourceful for this age, the age of Barbie dolls and dress-up.
Ariel was the new doll to the room and one day she had an unfortunate accident. Two of my friends had come over for the weekend so we all saw it happen. She was swimming around before getting her legs, like usual, but this time, as she leapt into her first splits in the air, her right leg completely dislocated from her hip. All three of us, stunned such a thing could even happen, decided to test out her left leg. Well, we deduced that it, too, was plastic and could pop off. Ariel laid there, mostly torso and still smiling. Simply trying to snap the legs back into place wasn’t working. This called for us to get creative.
Taking stock of what was available, the three of us, palms out, had some gum and a ponytail hair tie. I decided to chew a piece while we thought of a plan when my friend said, “Give me that gum.” I spit it into her palm and she mashed it into Ariel’s hip, attaching the right leg back into place. “Ooh! I’ll do the other one.” I said, my mouth already full with another stick of gum. Our third girl kept an eye on the blob and, once it looked passable as adhesive, I glued the left leg. “Christie, here. Keep her in place like this.”
My palms were pressed to either side of Ariel’s hips in demonstration. With the hair tie securely fastened around the waist, the gum took its time to harden. All we could do now was sit and wait.
If you were to stand her up today, Ariel would have the same doll face and the same split life between human and mermaid, but the scars of her accident remain. For now when she stands, she stands tall with each foot firmly planted facing the backward direction.
RUBIT HERNANDEZ
YEARS AS MENTEE: 1
GRADE: Sophomore
HIGH SCHOOL: Hyde Leadership Charter School
LIVES: Bronx, NY
MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: Going to the coffee shop is one thing I look forward to every week. I always enjoy having conversations with Nicole because she’s someone who I can trust and count on. She has really become an inspiration because she is an excellent writer with interesting points of view, styles of writing, and amazing thoughts to let free on paper. She comes up with new writing exercises to inspire our writing. Our relationship has grown over time, and I appreciate Nicole very much for being herself and for being an amazing mentor!
NICOLE CHU
YEARS AS MENTOR: 1
OCCUPATION: Writer, New York City Public School Teacher
BORN: San Jose, CA
LIVES: New York, NY
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: I have many favorite memories with Rubit: taking selfies in Central Park at dusk, eating “Pac-Man” dumplings before winter break, and journaling side by side at UGC Eats (our spot in East Harlem!). While sitting in bright orange chairs and devouring almond croissants, Rubit shared her goals of expressing herself and trying new things. Since then, she has challenged herself to experiment with new genres, study the works of powerful female poets, and trek to new neighborhoods. Being with Rubit reminds me that an adventurous spirit can take us to unimaginable places in our writing and in our everyday lives.
Silent Chaos
RUBIT HERNANDEZ
Nicole and I had a mutual goal to further explore poetry. We analyzed a few poems in which different situations and feelings were expressed. I used many of those poems as inspiration.
I stare blankly at the ground
while my eyes struggle to stay open
and my thoughts battle
to not create much of a burden,
thinking about a mistake I made months ago,
thinking about life itself,
my thoughts are the planets revolving around my head,
the sun,
the closer the planets are,
the hotter they become
the more my thoughts are buried into my head,
the more I become concerned
my thoughts are
dancing at a party
with all the lights moving around,
loud music playing,
lots of people dancing,
my thoughts are multifarious:
one moment, a bouquet of roses
the next,
a walk in a dark, haunted forest
these thoughts seem to wrap my head in this mess
and there’s no way out
it’s a dark cave in which I fall
with no exit
like a scared baby’s heartbeat,
my legs quake
not because I’m worried,
simply because it’s a habit
just like biting my lips,
or biting my nails
I overthink way too much
to the point where
the rest of my body has adapted
I apprehensively think about my future:
will life continue being a hardcore obstacle course
or will it become easier the more I succeed
and create a freshly paved road?
blinking rapidly,
I return to my reality,
watching people walk ignorantly through the streets,
nothing but streetlights to brighten the vibe
I plug my headphones in my ears
turn my music all the way up
concealing the silent chaos
Metamorphosis
NICOLE CHU
In one of our stream-of-consciousness writing exercises, Rubit wrote: “a dark night only brightened by the streetlights.” I copied her poetic line in my notebook and let my mentee’s words inspire my own poem.
“What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?
The world would split open”
—Muriel Rukeyser
I saw her jump not with my own eyes
as if experiencing a dream without blood or sound
two orange cones and a strip of yellow police tape
did little to deter a growing crowd
that kept staring
up at the ledge of the hotel
a tourist’s camera phone focused on
a single white sheet poorly
cocooning a body
melting onto the concrete
before that,
a blue-and-white sneaker
plummeted through the air,
somehow escaping its owner’s flailing feet,
in seconds, it
flipped over on the sidewalk
open mouths like tiny wounds
gasped,
unable to fathom any explanation
I tried to tell myself in a poem:
she imagined herself
splitting open the world,
leaving behind
a dark night only brightened by the streetlights
but words are only words
you don’t use them in mid-air
you don’t use them with hands reaching
you don’t use them to break tongue and bone
I tried anyway to
spin her into a silky poem
where she could
molt, harden, reassemble,
force dead cells to self-destruct,
digest and disintegrate spare parts,
stun this small world when she decides
once again
to release into the air,
hungry and unforgiving
WAEZA JAGIRDAR
YEARS AS MENTEE: 1
GRADE: Junior
HIGH SCHOOL: Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis High School
BORN: New York, NY
LIVES: Bronx, NY
MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: Girls Write Now has been so empowering and inspirational. It is not just the writing that keeps you going, but the love and support that I have gotten as a mentee. Ashley has been a great mentor. I love that she listens to my rants and supports my decisions.
ASHLEY SCHNEIDER
YEARS AS MENTOR: 2
OCCUPATION: Associate Teacher, Saint Ann’s School
BORN: Phoenixville, PA
LIVES: New York, NY
PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Gravel, Vogue
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: When I met Waeza in September, she was interested in writing but did not quite identify as a writer. As we began to meet in our spot, we explored different forms. Waeza wrote fiction and poetry, and journaled more regularly in her notebook. While we write often, we also share a lot from our week, noting that observations are important as a writer. On one such occasion, we were talking about how we notice tiny details about people, and Waeza said, “It’s probably why we’re writers.” It has been such a privilege to be part of Waeza’s journey in becoming a writer!
Equality Begins with Changing Education
WAEZA JAGIRDAR
This piece was inspired by the lack of motivation in my school. As one person of many in my generation who feels this way, I wanted to talk about it because this needs to be heard.
Sometimes it seems that education isn’t about learning anymore. It has become another business to this capitalist world. We, as a society, are more concerned about passing standardized tests than taking true wisdom with us for the rest of our life. It is unnerving that students at the age of five start school and feel they aren’t “smart enough.” Making children feel this way creates a generation that doesn’t have enough motivation to continue education. The “common core” is not doing much justice to help children learn.
The mind-set that high school sets up for the next generation is that everyone should attend college. The message is that many will have better jobs if they get a degree. This changes the perspective of education and other forms of growing as a person. Maybe the setup of the school, where if a student doesn’t pass Regents, that student can’t graduate, creates this mentality. Although this may seem like an ideal way to see how far students have progressed, it puts too much pressure on them. They already have to worry about college and the SAT. Without adding these tests, there is enough pressuring them that can lead to failure.
When I hear people wondering about students failing in the United States, I think of my honors class. I see the honors classes getting more privileges and resources than the average classes. That’s a problem. It creates a status and a label that tells the average students they are not good enough to have this support. If schools keep providing to honors classes unequally, it sends a message to other students that their efforts are meaningless. Students should feel proud to be part of an honors class; this achievement should make honors students feel like leaders for their peers. However, honors classes should not make an average student feel belittled.
In the future, I hope schools will support an average student just like they support an honors student. I hope they will keep students motivated and focus on their growth over their test results. In a world where political issues like race and immigration can make students feel like they are already worth less than other people, I hope for school to be a place of empowerment. Everyone should feel like they are worth an equal opportunity to succeed and grow. Education can be that place.
From Kindergarten to Generation F
ASHLEY SCHNEIDER
Waeza and I often talk about school, her from the perspective of student and me as kindergarten teacher. We both drew from this experience in our pieces, thinking of the change that can come with Generation F.
Anger is powerful, I thought. Two minutes ago, a child in my class shrieked at the thought of changing activities. Deeply immersed in her play, she had no intention of resurfacing in order to do math. Rather than express the vulnerable emotions that lurked at her core—disappointment, frustration, and, ultimately, sadness—she took control. She yelled. She stomped her feet. She crossed her arms with a large gesture, just like a six-year-old would when she means to say I am not going anywhere, and you can’t make me.
It is my job to get her to stop. But there are days when I leave work, and I want to scream, too. I want to dig my heels in and refuse the unfair change enforced by authority figures. The climate changes, human rights deteriorate, basic justice seems to hide in the dark depths of some faraway cave. Why should I move on to the next thing if it only seems to be worse? “You can be mad, you can be sad, but you may not be disruptive,” I say to the little girl in my classroom. Why not? Sometimes disruption feels exactly right.
Of course, in the classroom, disruption of the screaming kind inhibits the ability to learn. To disrupt with a tantrum does not harness the exceptional power this little girl possesses in intellect and resolve. It is one thing to physically express anger and attempt to control what you cannot. It is another to use the power that anger generates to effect change. I have faith that this little girl will one day learn to channel her power into the fierce ability to advocate for her beliefs. And as she joins the fearless women of Generation F, I believe our voices will grow louder. We are and will be more powerful than anger. We will effect change.
SARANE JAMES
YEARS AS MENTEE: 3
GRADE: Junior
HIGH SCHOOL: Bronx High School of Science
BORN: Bronx, NY
LIVES: Bronx, NY
MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: This year, Margo and I spent a lot of time reading work by other authors—women like Helen Ellis and Morgan Parker, whose command over words left us feeling awestruck. Inspired by them, we decided to go outside of our comfort zones and write from another author’s perspective. One of the stories from American Housewife inspired an amazing fictional email chain packed with snark and passive-aggressiveness. While it was hilarious to look back at all the veiled insults we had written, it was also impressive that we managed to capture the voice of another writer—something I wouldn’t have tried alone.
MARGO SHICKMANTER
YEARS AS MENTOR: 3
OCCUPATION: Associate Editor, Doubleday Books
BORN: Lenox, MA
LIVES: New York, NY
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: Seeing Black Panther together on opening weekend was a golden moment for us this year. In the week leading up to it we kept texting about how excited we were. Even sitting together in the theater was more fun than usual—it felt like we were part of a cultural moment. Afterward, I was so happy that this movie existed, in general, and for Sarane. We could not stop laughing when we both said at the same time that if she was any character from the movie s
he would obviously be Shuri, the princess who is also a tech genius.
Generation Futureproof
SARANE JAMES
When I started to write about Generation F, I soon realized that the people it covers are too varied for a simple word or phrase. This poem is an attempt to give this term a shape, while staying true to its diversity.
We are Generation F.
A generation that spans many ages, many people.
We’re anyone from Joan of Arc
to Hillary Clinton to Marley Dias.
We’re out here making fearlessness feminine.
We’re firefighters, snowboarders and activists,
police officers, writers and politicians
who are pushing the boundaries every day.
Fighting for equality is our forte,
and feminism is just one of our many causes.
We fight for civil rights and women’s rights
and immigrants’ rights. We fight for human rights.
Our diversity is our strength.
We wear our hair down and under hijabs
and in dreads and sometimes no hair at all,
sneakers and boots and heels and flats,
dresses and skirts and sweats and suits.
We adapt to our changing world with impressive flexibility,
but have the fortitude to stand up to unfit politicians
and have fun doing it.
We write, we march, we organize.
We make them nervous. They tell us to stop.
We persist.
As females we teach ourselves to fly,
yet find that there’s always someone there
to catch us if we fall.
We cherish the women who always have our backs:
mothers, grandmothers, aunts, mentors,
Generation F Page 16
