Teen Ink

It was the November of second grade, and strep throat had been spreading like the plague through my class. Two girls and I were absent toward the end of the outbreak, experiencing scarlet-striped...

I wouldn’t ask for a dressing room. My mom always asked for me. The evening before I had repeatedly risen from my seat and piled on excess noodles suffocated in meat sauce. Then I licked my...

     Fourth grade. That odd, tangy odor of everlasting apples swirled with pencil shavings and the potent smell of small rodents. In the corner, little squeaks emerged from...