Inkspire

A compilation of works by Monticello High School's creative writing class and other contributors.

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Ecstatic Shock

ecstatic shock n. the surge of energy upon catching a glance from someone you like—a thrill that starts in your stomach, arcs up through your lungs and flashes into a spontaneous smile—which scrambles your ungrounded circuits and tempts you to chase that feeling with a kite and a key.

by Jenna Moody

Crap, here he comes;

That overwhelming male embodiment of Aphrodite,

That distraction of thrilling nausea,

That irreplaceable mouthwatering smell of walking testosterone,

That mysterious feeling of wanting more.

Crap, he’s coming closer;

That sweet aroma of gentle touches,

That unreachable connection of his kiss ,

That melancholy feeling of not being Juliet,

That inevitable reality that I’m not good enough.

He’s looking at me;

Those inescapable moons surrounded by attractive gravity,

Those charismatic twins with mysterious intentions,

Those silver swans riding his sight,

Those icy clouds staring at me.

He’s holding his hands out;

Those sympathetic cradles fading away,

Those blue grasps grip me with love,

Those gentle tips stoking my nervous skin,

Those shocking chains imprisoning me,

And that shocking embrace finally embraced me.

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Time Flies

Alexandra Blaine

 Time Flies

There it rested, mocking me. The singular golden glint shown directly in to my eyes, followed closely by a violent squint. Ignoring the monotonous droning of my health teacher, my scalded irises turned to the pesky source of surplus light. Surprised, I met the image of a miniature hourglass. A light wood-crafted base surrounded the gold-tinted glass chamber. The oddly colored timepiece wasn’t the only irregularity. Instead of  sand counting down miniscule units of time, granules of crystal lay within the device, motionless. 

The stationary figure hung just millimeters from the ceiling, perfectly balanced as to not disturb the crystalline alignment. I glanced about the unadorned room, no other such decoration was present. Nothing apart from the mandatory abstinence posters hung along the walls, nothing. I scanned the faces of my peers. None of them seemed as entranced by the hourglass as I was, none even acknowledged its existence. 

How could I be the sole admirer of the only object deserving wonderment within a two hundred foot radius? There has to be some significance. If my grades suffered, it wouldn’t matter. If no one else cared about my endeavors, then by God the feeling would be mutual. At that moment, I decided to pursue the enlightenment the object would provide, despite its lack of importance from other’s perspectives. The importance of the hourglass to me would soon spread, my fueled pursuit a contagion. Nearly everyone I knew would be infected. I question whether a healing has yet to take place.

“Josephine, care to answer my question?” Mr. Penn said, effectively snapping me out of my wakeful dreaming. I would, if I had any actual idea to what he asked. The course being health, I went with my go-to. 

“Uh, don’t have sex?” Laughter erupted, spraying me the drops of lava hot humiliation. Wrong answer, smooth going ‘Seph. That works the majority of the time. I guess for once in my life I’d be a minority.

“Erm, well yes, that. However, I was asking if you were paying attention. You don’t need to answer that... I’ve figured it out.” Ouch, Mr. Penn. That was pretty cold, but it still didn’t stop the heat in my cheeks. For the time being, my focus had had to be, well, refocused.

“Any of you see that thing on the ceiling in health today?” I tried to nonchalantly ask my friends later that day. My tone of voice mimicked that of someone mentioning a promotion or pregnancy in casual conversation. Again, similarly, the response was overenthusiastic and immediate. 

“No, why?” Mel inquired, her words accompanied with a gentle swish of her carefully trimmed brunette curls.

“What was it?” Kass asked, excitedly readjusting her glasses to more comfortably rest across the freckled bridge of her nose.

“‘Seph, unlike you, some of us like to pay attention in class.” Raya stated, the sarcastic sting punctuated with a harsh flip of the textbook page. My friends are such a supportive bunch.

“No reason, not sure, I was just wondering, and wandering in thoughts I guess.” I tried laughing the matter away. I’m 96.3% sure that self-deprecation was originally developed as a defense mechanism for the socially awkward. My patchy explanation seemed to satisfy them. Then again, it never took too much to satisfy them, Raya’s steely exterior was actually applied in quite a thin layer. Kass’ openness was about as consistent as the smile on her face. Mel was the more observant of our troupe. She probably wouldn’t let that go, but she also wouldn’t care enough to delve deeper in to the matter. I knew I would, delving is a hobby of mine.

Homework in general is not a very entertaining practice, particularly when you have something else on your mind. The empty notebook page sat on my desk, the paragraph I was supposed to be composing for English overpowered by concern for the hourglass. The lines on the page swam, the dim light of late evening assisting the illusion. I attempted to shroud my unnecessary thoughts, letting the writing slide in to the foreground of my mind. Scrawling ensued, and yet, as if catching it out of the corner of my eye, the hourglass stood. 

Even as I slept, unexplained and inescapable my obsession consistently invaded my dreams. None of the images directly reflected the object I had seen during the day, all showed the timepiece in a state of unbalance. The gentle clink of crystals brushing against one another was the soundtrack of my slumber, repetitive yet soothing.  I still managed to wake up unnerved. This wrench thrown in to my cyclic existence had loosened something, and I needed to figure out why. 

Armed with a B- on my English summary and bottomless pit of motivation, I had to get in to the health room. There was a slight hinderance to my goal, I didn’t have health today. Scheduling had been dramatically altered from my freshman year. The only way to enter the room without having the class was a detention. My spotless record was about to be severely tainted. For what purpose, I wasn’t sure yet. I felt my rebellion would pay off.

Now I just had to figure out how to land myself a punishment, I hadn’t really had an opportunity to flex my rebellion muscles recently... Any one I was willing to punch in the face? No, not in particular. Teacher to insult? No, not worth it. Class to skip? Yes, but as previously stated, I didn’t have health. Dress code? I could handle that...

The last time I had turned heads during school, I was covered by Bryan Henderson’s lunch. My general klutziness and his inattention led to my appearance resembling a modern art exhibit, featuring the works of a little-known artist, Spaghetti. Instead of giggles, this time I was met with indignant open mouths and the occasional sly grin. I had sensible clothes with me, they just weren’t part of the current attire. Athletic shorts and a casual t-shirt rested in my bag. The outfit resting on my body was of quite a different sort. Frayed denim shorts covered only the necessities, more closely resembling boy shorts than actual clothing. A strapless top hugged my body, slightly hindering my ability to inflate my lungs. Despite the pain, I had a goal in mind. To complete the false image, I managed to locate the only pair of of impractical shoes in my mother’s extensive wardrobe. My strut occasionally stuttered with the inability to stay balanced. All in all, a smug smile crept on to my face, a detention definitely loomed in my near future. 

The unsteady tread of my heels were accompanied with the occasional shrill wolf whistle. I could only hope the blush that rose to my face didn’t distract from the general distraction factor. The tiled hallway lay before me, an endless path to my destination of infraction. Click, click, wobble, click, click went the pattern of my stride. Where were the authority figures when I needed to be reprimanded?

I quickly passed the cluster of water fountains where the crew typically met before class. Mel, Raya, and Kass gawked alike, although their facial expressions fluctuated greatly.  I met a pair of pleading green eyes, questioning and concerned. They were swiftly replaced by a dismissive turn of woody locks. I’d be interrogated later, guaranteed. The disappearance of the Kass’ freckled dimples could not have made me feel any more guilty, I had baffled her. She’d be thrilled to know this wasn’t a permanent arrangement.  Defiantly, Raya’s wide gray eyes disdainfully took in every detail of my not-so wholesome attire before meeting my own. She didn’t approve, not at all. She didn’t know what I was doing, but she trusted me. 

My explanation better be well thought out, or else I’d never hear the end of it.  I knew my well-being took priority over the early morning gossip, forgiveness shouldn’t be that hard to earn. We all had agreed upon the bimonthly limitation of making spectacles of ourselves. Thanks to Bryan Henderson, my quota had already been filled. Rules are meant to be broken and exceptions are meant to be made. So spectacle I aimed to be and spectacle I was. 

“Did you see what ‘Seph is wearing?”

“She is gonna get in so much trouble!”

“What can she possibly be thinking?”

“I can’t believe ‘Seph’s outfit today, she looks insane.”

“Do you think she’ll let me borrow those shoes sometime?”

Conveniently, I had answers to all of those questions:

“Yes, I put it on myself, of course I saw it. That’s kind of the idea. I’m thinking that I have an unexplainable urge to have an hourglass attached to the health ceiling, and this is how I’m going to get it. I look insane probably because I am, fashion statements often are fueled by something other than the idea of ‘I needed a change’. No, you may not borrow the shoes. Partially because I don’t even know you and partially because they’re my mother’s. I would never submit a stranger to the bodily harm these are causing my feet.”

Of course, no one heard me. They were left to their own, altogether incorrect, conclusions. The whispers were surprisingly loud. They’re just one of those cumulative things. The more they are revealed to you, the more you notice them on your own. Rumors are cohesive like that too, lubrication to the gears of high school. Things only get thrown out of whack when the oil has to be changed. There I was, the dipstick. 

“Ms. Stark, would you mind stepping in to my office for a moment?” Mrs. Willis asked earnestly. I nodded as she beckoned with a stern finger. Considering she taught AP Physics, I only knew her by reputation. A kind but strict aura surrounded her and the office. No personal effects scattered the desk, just papers and a nameplate. She meant business. 

“Mrs. Willis, why did you want to see me?” I knew perfectly well why she wanted to see me. Being the businesslike woman she was, I still received a full elaboration. I graciously accepted the reiteration, and the punishment. Detention had been successfully added to my schedule. Wearing a bemused expression and my back-up clothes, I departed her office and headed to class. Confusion blanketed the faces of my classmates like fog on a lake. All these untrained mechanics gazed upon a dipstick they didn’t understand how to use. 

Room 203, containment of the enriching subject of health, and the unofficial juvenile detention center. Punishment is quite relaxing actually. At the end of the day, it is pretty nice to be surrounded by delinquents, certainly lets you unwind. Mr. Penn had not yet decided to rear his unentertaining head, the other members of disjointed rebellions had all fallen asleep to their fractured inner monologue. Now to do what I came for...

My eyes rose to the ceiling, it hadn’t moved. Not even swayed, it remained unchanged. I was about to severely alter that permanence. I slid the plastic chair out from under the desk, aged metal squeaking on cheap tile. I cringed slightly, none of my snoozing, rule breaking counterparts stirred.

The time for action, no pun intended, was now. Every movement I made, I feared someone would notice and rob me of the object I most desired. I cringed at the sound of my foot landing on the chair. A sharp intake of breath resounded as I extended my arm. A sigh of relief fell from my dry lips as I grasped the hourglass, the smooth glass cool in my sweating palm. I stood on the chair, filled with a sense of pride. My chance to admire the timepiece had arrived. Honestly, I was puzzled. Even after having altered the balance, the crystals remained stationary. Before I could begin to imagine the point of an untimely hourglass, the door swung open. Spooked, I fell, flipping the seat in the process. I actually heard my back snap as it landed flat across the tipped chair. The sound of my head cracking across the tile was muffled by the screaming of students, the yelling of Mr. Penn, and blood flooding my brain.

Ironically, I didn’t have much time. We all knew it. Raya, Kass, and Mel had already said their tearful good-byes, explanations omitted, forgiveness included, misery as a bonus. Numerous classmates had passed through the door, willing me a safe journey to wherever I was headed. Mom and Dad hadn’t left the room, not since I had been admitted. Preparations were already being made. The shards of my vertebrae and ribs had punctured multiple organs. The impact of my skull on the tile fractured my skull, my brain was mildly perforated in multiple places. Although fighting for my goal was one thing, plowing recklessly ahead was another. Reckless, my head had already plowed through enough to earn a death sentence. I actually left a crack. I guess that will be the only mark I’ll get to leave on the world...

Someone had actually brought me the hourglass when I was unconscious. When my eyes fluttered open, for what would be the last time, I saw it. A movement had been added to the atmosphere. Tears falling, artificial rising of my chest, the little green line bouncing erratically on my heart monitor, something else was there. I managed to turn my head. 

There it rested, mocking me. The singular golden glint shown directly in to my eyes, followed closely by the most violent squint I could muster. The machines flatlined. The hourglass. In that instant, I knew what it was meant for. Something was amiss. The shouting of doctors, muffled sobs, and rattling breaths weren’t the only sound to fill the room. A beat had been set, background noise to the surrounding discord, a continuity among the chaos. Clink. Clink. Clink. The crystals had begun to fall, one by one...

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Northern Fantasy

Miles Rodi

Children are told many stories, about monsters and magic and mystics and might. Few of those children will remember those tales past their tenth birthday. While the stories are fantastic, they hold no weight. That is why the legend of Rurik Ironhand stood out among them. For while it sounded as much a myth as any tale of a dragon or demon, for Rurik’s exploits had shaped the land of Azaer for centuries after.

                Azaer was a young land, in Rurik’s day. A vast, mountainous expanse that stretched out for thousands of leagues, until the ocean swallowed it. Rurik was the first man to set foot on the newborn plain, but he was not the first creature. Many monsters roamed Azaer, yet none could stand against Rurik. Spear in one hand, standard in the other, Rurik was an unstoppable force in this new land. He found no foe he could not match…until more humans followed in his wake.

                Principal among him was his younger brother, Roland the Valiant. Where Rurik had destroyed what he found in Azaer, Roland built. He and his fellow explorers raised a mighty fortress, and around it built a town, which grew to a village, which grew to a true city. It was then that Roland christened this new land Azaer. The brothers led Azaer peacefully for nearly a decade: Rurik to protect the city and its people, Roland to lead them.

                It was on the tenth year of such prosperity that a maiden travelled to Azaer: Celeste, a rare and exotic beauty who hailed from a distant empire. Roland was stricken by her beauty, and determined to win her hand. For nearly six months, he dedicated his every waking hour to Celeste. Yet she would not return his love.

                And it was not long before Roland discovered why. Celeste had carried on a secret romance with his older, fiercer brother Rurik. Roland was enraged, and despite all that he and Roland had done, challenged his own brother to single combat.

                Rurik was by far the greater warrior, for it was he that had driven the demons from Azaer in its earliest days. But on the eve of battle, when Roland thought himself doomed, Celeste’s father came to him. He revealed that he desired a future for Celeste with Roland, not Rurik, for the former had accumulated far more respect when he created the city. To this end, her father gifted Roland with a mighty steed, like no other that had tread its hooves on Azaerean soil, and prayed for Roland’s victory.

                The battle came, and despite all Rurik’s strength, his mount could not charge hard enough or run fast enough to equal or escape Roland’s blows. Rurik fell before his younger brother.

                While Roland moved on, and lived a happy life ever after with Celeste, the city of Azaer slowly sank into darkness. Without the strength of the two brothers to support it, the foundations would not hold. The tragic nature of the feud was lost only on the brothers themselves. Both went to their graves content with their actions.

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Ode to Winter

by Jenna Moody

Soft starry flakes drift to the ground; I walk outside and the rush of the wind whips through the air, Leaving small polka dots across my skin, The synchronized dance of the sprinkles Prance about my stuffed body. I take a step, The crunch like popcorn Being crushed under my fuzzy boots. Like water, It slips through my fingers Unless packed with intention. The smell of frost Exhilarates my emotions, Making my lips curve In a content smile. The deep enriching flow Of crisp blue, blue jays Flying through the air Skipping from tree to tree Until they end, A feather colliding with my mittens. I bring it to my tongue; The taste, The fresh water ice skating on my taste buds, Rolling and sliding, Until it absorbs. The door opens, The flying airplanes land, Leaving their empty streams behind. Now that the river has ended, I go inside.

The moral to my ode: Cold is cold, Ice is ice, But only winter can make a night Hold a white blanket.

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Curiosity Killed the Kat

Rian Slate 

Grey fog surrounded her feet, marking them with a blackish tint that would anger her mother later. She stood on the edge of the river, staring over the edge, not wanting to fall—she wanted to jump, on her own accord. She had been waiting for her sister to get back, but it had been hours; she was sure that her sister had gotten scared and didn’t want to come back out in the rain. She could just see her twin hugging their mother, blubbering something almost unintelligible about not wanting to slip into the river. 

Well, sister, I’ll show you that nothing bad can happen from simply being curious about what’s at the bottom of the river, she thought.

“Kat, you don’t have to jump. I don’t care what’s at the bottom of the river anymore,” she heard her sister say from behind her. She turned, and her mirror image was staring back with eyes more focused than usual.

“I’m not scared,” Kat said, but her shaky voice gave her away.

“Neither am I.” Her sister walked up next to her and took her hand firmly.

Deep breaths, Kat, there’s nothing to be afraid of. At the bottom of the ledge, there’s only water, she told herself.

“Should we jump now?” Kat’s sister sounded nervous. Kat took her last deep breath, and launched herself into the air. She felt her sister’s hand being torn from hers and saw Mia trying to stay planted on the ledge, her feet scraping at the ground, digging up loose dirt. She lost her balance and slipped off the ledge anyway. They both were falling now towards the river, and as they fell, their eyes met in a moment of mutual understanding.

Don’t be scared.

Mia let out a shriek of joy as she held her knees to her chest, ready to hit the water, her face scrunched up and her eyes closed. Kat hit first, and the impact of it sent her arms and legs shooting forward.

“What’s at the bottom, Kat? Kat?” Mia asked, still in the air. Kat couldn’t feel her body and the swirling river pulled her under, head first. 

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In The Long Run

In The Long Run

By: Alexandra Blaine

Inspired by: Carl Sandburg’s Follies

  I want the world to be shaken, not stirred.

I’d prefer a heart broken, not shattered.

The years should be longer, all the more memories for remembering.

  I want my face to grow old, not weary.

I’d prefer a story darker, not in ruin.

The walls protecting the masses should be sheer, all the more shimmer to their sun.

  Rain comes and goes.

Red roses tremble.

Shadows disappear, as if in hiding.

  The atoms have yet to care. 

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Be sure to always clip you toe nails, Be sure to do it often, and to cut the round, Cracked toenails hurt And In-grown’s are such a pain on pointe,

If your pointe shoe fitting was less than an hour, You’ve been jipped with a pair that's at least a full size too big everywhere, And $90 just went down the drain, Be sure to keep medical tape and fabric tape handy, Its hard to dance with raw bleeding blisters, And don’t put lotion on your feet, For the rest of your dancing career, The more dead skin the better, Be sure to smile every time it hurts, That’s a good way to make sure you’re always smiling, Be sure to point your foot, Be sure to turn out with the hip and not your knees and ankles, Be sure to put some extra wear on those tendons in the name of flexibility, Just to put you doctor in a tailspin, Who’ll you’ll be seeing so often, They’ll walk right in and ask “What’d you hurt this time?” When beginning pointe just remember two things, Pull up out of the shoe, And beauty is painful, Be sure to memorize every plot of every ballet and every composer to every song you dance too, Also, learning how many variations of the ballet, and how many operas, and musicals is important too, Be sure to stretch, That way, your chance of being able to walk the next day is still slim but it’s better than nothing. Buy lots of dancer wear, Not for class, But to show off at school, Be proud of who you are, Because you are strong, Brave, And Well-poised, Your leg warmer and leotard are your jersey, But don’t wear the leotard to school, Everyone will be able to see the back of your bra, Learn Italian, become fluent in French, and know plenty of Russian, Actually, go ahead and learn every European language while you’re at it, Dance has been to a lot of places,

People will think that you've been to a lot of places,  Or they’ll think you’re just a know-it-all, Because in ballet, You basically you know the essence to all forms of dance, Be brave, Because today’s society is going to test you, But you must make the show go on, Don’t let haters get to you, They've never experienced pain like you do, Because a pulled tendon is worse than a broken bone, Keep your chin up, And don’t let dance’s history influence you, Since even then all our minds were square with the gutter, The only thing your hips should be square to is towards the audience, Keep your ears high too, And strut that perfect posture till all are envious, Be proud of being a dancer, take pride little Ballerina, Or Ballerino, If you are boy, Which does not make you flamboyant, It makes you a bird, because you fly higher and stronger than any football player could ever dream, For you, Since the age of four, Have eaten, slept and breathed into becoming a masterpiece, For you send expression in a way that few can master, Stay strong, It’ll help your form, Always look up, You’ll twirl longer, And above all Don’t forget to smile, And especially don’t forget to clip your toenails.

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Illustration for: Advice For A Young Dancer

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Andrew Moretti's Dream Dictionary

Emily Ludwick

Andrew Moretti’s Dream Dictionary

M

Machine-Maze Machine: Often used to show tiredness or lengthening hours at work, usually in the form of moving crates of sugar. It can also indicate unhappiness with current situations. If the machine is productive, it can be a hint towards potential, rather than a restricted point.

Companion: To have a male companion is to reflect on yourself. Perhaps it represents a part of you who could have existed.

Dead: To see a dead man signifies a part of yourself or your life that has faded away but has never truly been resolved. Perhaps it was the one science teacher who misplaced his faith in you. If he is older, it is your uncle. [See: Old Man]

Foolish: The foolish man is found slipping peppermints and lemon drops into young women’s pockets while kissing the backs of their necks. He is carefree and shows the dreamer nothing but the past.

Lover: To take a man as a lover in a dream can express sexual confusion or desperation for companionship. But mainly extreme confusion. Feel free to ignore the dream and drag yourself out of bed feeling slightly strange.

Old: Your uncle; he will be seen sticking vanilla caramellos in bambinos mouths, playing the violin, or kissing your aunt with a white bristly beard. He is in debt from health bills and your college tuition. He is a source of needed guidance. [See also: Apron, Clunky Shoes, Ita-English]

Threatening: A man posing a challenge is usually dressed in a suit, or is tall with too much hair. Backing down never ends well but is your only option, showing you the courage you have failed to develop. He often has stubble that makes his chin feel like sandpaper. Not that you would know. But it does.

Mansion: A place of safe living, also represents charity. Your sister lives there, her children spilling out of the seams. It is happiness in the boisterous way, and smells of steamed squash and tomato. Idiom: Home is where the heart is. Map: A place of safe living, also represents charity. Your sister lives there, her children spilling out of the seams. It is happiness in the boisterous way, and smells of steamed squash and tomato. Idiom: Home is where the heart is. Marathon: A quest for love. She is often too far and too fast, and the copious amount of sugar in your veins will not make it any easier. Market: Markets in dreams are to signify life in its simplest state. If it is full, it shows economic prosperity, many loving people surrounding you, and good health. If empty, stress has taken a prominent role in your life. Marriage: To see marriage is pouring caramel over pecans to make caramel turtles, a union of two aspects that do not usually touch. The girl Annabelle with the long dark hair may be dressed in white, showing you the innocence of childhood mixed with coming-of-age and desire. If she is happy, it shows your mind is working in harmony with your sugar-burned hands. [See also: Wedding, Annabelle, Commitment (lack thereof)] Marsh: A sign of being stuck, literally or figuratively. It may be a lack of inspiration or emotional support. Living alone in your uncle’s shop will take its toll, making you look older than you should. Remembering your cousin Antony who was stuck in the train station in Venice when all he wanted was to get home. Mask: A need to cover unwanted feelings or shame. [See also: Batteries, Magnet] Mattress: If it is old and dusty, a mattress shows memories of rickety childhood that wish to be revisited. Often you and Georgio made forts from the bedposts and blankets and pillows. Laying on a mattress suggests a lack of sleep or too much stress. To see another person on your mattress shows a fear of someone in your thoughts, or a fear of emotional closeness. [See also: First Love, Bed] Maze: To walk through a maze can suggest a sense of helplessness, even if it is a pleasing labyrinth. If there is a trail of food, it can show a companion, someone omniscient, or a long gone mentor leading you forward from an unknown position. To reach the end of a maze is overcoming an obstacle and completing a challenge, reaching a goal.

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Giving Back

Jhalil Mosley

I want to use the knowledge that was given to me to give back.  People help me.  All the time and I appreciate the help they give me.  I am a success only with their help and it’s important to me that I give a hand to those who will give a hand to the next generation.  I love working with children, seeing the progress they make over the course of a season, and giving back makes me feel like I matter to the world.

Kids are hilarious. Once, when I was refereeing, there was a kid who - during the course of the game - ran off the court and into the hallway to use the bathroom. Everyone was laughing and we had to pause the game and wait for him to comeback. The parents were laughing while the coaches were wondering what the heck was going on. Then, my dad and I had who were refereeing had to explain to both coaches and the parents what was happening and what we were going to do about the situation. Laughing this hard is one of the reasons I love doing this.

Seeing the progression of skill work from the beginning of the basketball season to the end is another.  It just gives me the biggest smile ever. I teach them how to do something correct one week, then they go home and practice all week and the next time I see them they’re doing exactly what I taught them. It takes me back to when I was playing little league basketball and had lots of people trying hard to teach me how to get better. It’s good just knowing that I can put a stamp on a kid’s heart and say that I helped him reach his full potential.

As I look back over my high school career, and all the people who helped me, I’m just thankful for their impact on me. They taught me life lessons that helped me every day. So, when I see kids doing what I did in my childhood, I get a kick out of it. I enjoy giving back to younger generations because I want the information that helped me become the man I am today to help them grow up to be wonderful adults. Whether it’s sports-related advice or just advice, I enjoy seeing the smile on a kid’s face that means I was able to make a difference.  I only hope that I can bring that kind of joy to more kids as I go forward into college.  

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You've Got A Friend In Me

Jhalil Mosley

You’ve Got a Friend in Me

A true friend is there through thick and thin,

A true friend can see the hurt hiding deep within.

A true friend is not afraid to say “I love you”

Stand up for you, protect you, and comfort you.

Always, proud and happy to see you succeed in life,

A strong friendship that you can’t cut with a knife.

A true wants to sit down and work out the problems you have

You may fight, and you may argue

But a real friend is one that stays true.

True friends believe in each other,

Whether its doing favors to make sure the friendship goes further.

I return the favors and want them to see,

That my friends got a real friend in me.