By Joana Jayanth
Hello, Chatham High School!
As a group, I feel as though we often don’t acknowledge the diverse talents of our student body. Particularly, I feel as though we often forget our creative students: the musicians, the artists, and the writers. It’s the writing in particular that is our subject today: in order to highlight some of our talented writers, CHS Chronicle is hosting our first-ever writing competition!
The works listed below are the heartfelt product of some very exciting young writers; they were thoroughly analyzed before their judging, and though they all may not receive the CHS Chronicle Writing Award, they certainly are all worth a read. Believe me, it was incredibly hard to pick a winner.
So without further ado, I present to you our two runners-up:
Us Means All By Raaga Kanthale
There’s a scene in Mean Girls, yes, the one with the cafeteria map of cliques makes us laugh because it feels so true. But it’s also kind of sad, isn’t it? The idea that people can be labeled, boxed in, or shut out. We know that in real life, being excluded doesn’t feel like a comedy. It feels like standing at the edge of a circle that was never meant for you .
You never really know what someone is carrying with them. A small exclusion? a seat empty yet not offered? A conversation cut short? A laugh that leaves someone? A quick laugh that lands just a little too close to mockery. It might seem invisible to you, but it can echo loudly for them. What feels like nothing to you could be the thing that ruins their whole day, the moment that confirms every doubt they already whisper to themselves. For the person going through this, there is still a small kid that is waiting to be invited for a yearning wave. It doesn’t take a lot to realize that if places were switched, would you still act the same after that? You may walk away from it, feeling nothing, but for them, the hole of loneliness gets deeper. If you were ever in a place where you felt alone, you would not wish that on your worst enemy, and if you were never in that position, I’m glad you never had to go through that. You don’t want to be that person for someone else.
It’s here, in the ordinary moment, that we must find the courage to cross our comfort zone, the courage to act. Inclusion is not about delivering grand speeches or forcing friendships; it’s about recognizing how a small gesture may mean the world to the other person. Simply avoiding cruelty or direct bullying is a very low bar. It takes nothing from us to make room for another. We do not lose our own light by letting shine beside us; we only gain a truer, richer version of ourselves.
This message is to all, to those who feel secure in the center, recognize that security found in exclusion is temporary and brittle.To those who watch from the sidelines, that observation without action is compliance. Let us make the room a place where every student is included, felt seen, felt valued, where the echoes of loneliness are finally drowned out by the affirming sound of a true community. Every time you see or feel that someone is being left out, it doesn’t matter if it’s obvious or not, go reach out! Ask a friend if they want to get ready for hoco together! You might secure a little place in their heart; you never know.
The Key By Anonymous A
On a cold Wednesday afternoon, Maris stumbled upon a lump in the ground right next to an old tree her school had planted ten years ago. Curious, she tried digging at the lump. To her surprise, the dirt was soft and easy to dig, like it had just been touched not too long ago. Once all of the dirt was moved, she dusted her hands off, not able to remove all of the dirt that stained her hands. Looking down, she saw something sparkle under the sunlight. Without a second thought, she reached out and grabbed the object, revealing a gold key. Confused, she examined it before realizing the end of the key looked off. Bending down, she slipped her bag off her shoulder and rustled through it, pulling out her diary. To Maris’ surprise, the key went into her diary lock with ease. Jumping up, she rushed inside to her locker, using the key again. Realizing that the key changed it’s shape to fit into the lock, she had an idea.
“I think I’ve struck gold!” She squealed. The second school ended, she sprinted back to her house, and walked up to the front door. Maris took out her home key and compared it to the gold key she had found. Noticing the significant difference, she used the gold key on her house door. The door clicked, and she was able to open her door. Delighted with her find, she rushed up to her parent’s room, and used the key to unlock the safe.
“It’s open!” She thought to herself. Swinging the door open, she saw stacks of cash her parents stored. Greed consuming her, she grabbed one of the stacks and shoved it in her bag, quickly closing the safe and returning to her room. If this key can unlock anything, then can she open anything she desires? Determined to see if her idea was right, she left the house and returned to school.
When she got to school, the sun was already setting. Key in hand, she unlocked the front door, and snuck inside. Her idea: Go to the teacher’s office and change her test grade to a hundred percent. The office door was already unlocked, so she quietly snuck in and opened each desk drawer to find her test. When she came across a locked desk, she knew instantly that her test was there. Using the key to open the drawer, she found her paper at the top, and changed it easily. Once she finished, she went to a few different places that night to take stuff. The bank for money, her neighbor’s house for snacks, and her friend’s house for homework answers. When she returned home, it was almost two in the morning. In the morning when she walked out of her room, she saw her mom in the kitchen, and smiled.
“Mom! You won’t believe what I found yesterday!” Maris happily said. Her mom turned around, and her expression shifted from a calm to a horrified expression.
“Mom!? Who are you!? I don’t have a daughter!” her mom shouted. “Get out of my house before I call the cops!” Confused, Maris ran out of the house, believing her mom was just half asleep. She quickly went to school, and sat down in her classroom. The teacher walked in a few minutes later, taking attendance.
“Okay! Maris Hills… uhh, I don’t think we have a student in that class named Maris.” Everyone in the class whispered in confusion, and Maris immediately stood up.
“Teacher! I’m Maris! Right here!” She shouted. The entire class looked at her, confused.
“Who are you?” The teacher asked. Feeling embarrassed, Maris ran out of the room and returned to the old tree, where she first found the key. Pulling out her diary, she used the key and unlocked the diary. As soon as she heard a click, the diary turned to ashes, the wind blowing away every last trace of it. The only thing left was a single piece of paper that read: Your greed will come back to bite you. This is your price to pay. Realizing she abused the key’s power too much, Maris knew that it was erasing her existence. Terrified, she pulled at her hair, not wanting to be forgotten. Crying and screaming, she pleaded not to be forgotten.
“Am I going to be forgotten!? Everyone is forgetting me! I don’t want to be forgotten! Am I going to forget my own existence? No! I’m Maris Hills! I won’t forget! Maris Hills! That’s who I am!” Slowly, Maris lowered her arms, looking at her hands. “Maris Hills! Maris Hills! Maris…” ***** paused.
“Who’s that..?”
A big congratulations to our runners-up! Their stories were both incredibly moving and beautifully haunting. I hope to see more writing from them soon.
Now, it’s time to move onto our final submission for the time being; the winning piece of the CHS Chronicle Writing Competition!
Memories
By Audrey McCarthy
It came back to me the other day. I wasn’t expecting it, but maybe I should have. The littles, my neighbors, knocked on the door with their books filled with Pokémon cards, begging me to play.
We sat on my back deck, cards spread between us. Finn announced that his favorite Pokémon was Mew, a tiny pink, powerful card. I nodded, smiling, but it didn’t mean much to me. Then Cole dropped his card on the table, a fire-breathing dragon, wings stretched wide.
Charizard
That’s when it hit me, and suddenly I was seven again.
I saw myself in a classroom, new to town, small at a too-big desk. Everyone else had already claimed their seats next to their friends from the years before. I was alone until a girl tapped my shoulder. She smiled, told me her name, and asked if I wanted to be friends. That was all it took. From then on, it felt like we would be best friends forever.
The memories tumbled quickly, one into the next. Second grade, both of us sitting on the cold pavement at recess for talking too much, but laughing anyway. Third grade, a silly fight over a project that I don’t even remember, the loneliness of not speaking until we found our way back. Fourth and fifth grade, different classrooms for the first time, but still finding each other at lunch, like a string holding tight even when stretched.
Then middle school. I remember sitting at a boba shop, the brown sugar kind, listening to her talk about boys. I didn’t have much to say. Lunch tables weren’t really ours anymore. Easy math classes where she bragged about perfect scores, while I started at my 97, wishing it were 100. We laughed, but the cracks were showing.
And then the breaking point. A night I’d rather forget, where she nudged me into a situation I didn’t want, left me stranded when I needed her most. I remember crying in the wet grass, wishing she’d come back, wishing she’d care enough to notice. She didn’t. After that, silence filled the spaces where our friendship used to live.
Even now, I could feel the ache of the phone call. The one where I finally said what I needed to say. My voice shaking, hers dismissive. Denials. Click. And then me again, crying in the middle of the woods, realizing that word that once meant safety now only carried pain.
I blinked, and the memories dissolved. Cole and Finn were still on my deck, arguing over rules, oblivious to the storm I’d just traveled through. Only a few seconds had passed for them. For me, it had been years.
I looked back down at the dragon on the table. Charizard.
Funny how one single word could hold so much: laughter, comfort, betrayal, loss. A whole friendship packed into one sound.
Once, that word meant home. Now, it just reminds me how quickly home can disappear.
We all know it’s hard to create something you’re satisfied with, let alone be comfortable showing to others. Especially when writing is so deeply personal to us. But art is best when art is shared. This is something we, as authors, artists, musicians, or whatever creative pursuit we’re in, learn eventually. But that doesn’t make it any easier to open ourselves up to the world. So I commend the bravery of our competitors, and I hope that they will continue to be brave. The world needs more passion, humanity, and love. The world needs more artists.
That concludes our competition for this month. I encourage you to show appreciation to the authors (as much as they’re comfortable with!). If this has inspired you to submit any of your works to our edition, I encourage you to email me at joanajayanth@chatham-nj.org.
Happy Writing!