Frisson6

Frisson: The Literary Magazine. Issue 6: March

frisson [fr sn]

An instance of intense thrill; a shudder. Latin for friction, French for shudder. Have you ever gotten the chills after reading your favorite book, watching your favorite movie, or viewing your favorite piece of art? Thats what frisson is. It is arts ability to move people. I first heard the term when I was playing the piano in a trio. Our coach told us that we needed to play with more frisson. I looked up the word and realized that it applied not only to music, but to other art forms as well. After mulling over what to name our magazine for some time, it came to me rather serendipitouslyFrisson.

Clara Chin founder and editor-in-chief

Claire Schermeister co-founder and contributing editor

Georgina Chiou contributing editor Uyen Bui cover artist

To provide a platform for young artists to share their creativity.

Staff :

Mission Statement :

Table of Contents

art by Jac Rouillard 1 The Long Walk by Layla Michalopoulos 3

art by Jac Rouillard 4 Asterisks by Todd Potter 5

art by Robbi Pintado 5 Silent Night by Todd Potter 6

A Little Victory by Claire Schermeister 7 art by Georgina Chiou 9

Overpriced Coffee by Zenith Farin 11 art by Clara Chin 12

The Diner by Benjamin Jorge 13 photograph by Georgina Chiou 13

Conversation #47 by Nomi Kligler 14 Weight by Yukie Kim 15 design by Clara Chin 15

art by Jac Rouillard 18 The Recital by Clara Chin 19

art by Georgina Chiou 20 One Shot by Georgina Chiou 21

art by Vania Gunawan 22 Crazy Parody of Nonsense Rambles by Madison Kuhlmann 23

The Togetherness of Timing by Madison Kuhlmann 23 Writer/Artist Bios 25

1

Jac

Rou

illa

rd

2

She stands in front of me

disapprovingly, hands on hips. She studies

me half in awe, as though she hadnt

expected to see me again. Theres something

different about her, something that wasnt

there before. Frankly, shes pretty badass.

Her hair cut fashionably and futuristically;

mine long, tangled, and growing like a

weed. Her expression one

of confidence, defiance,

superiority; mine one of

insecurity.

Youre going to make a

lot of mistakes. Her

voice is lower than it used

to be, older, that of

someone who speaks

easily in front of crowds, someone who is

not afraid to say what she thinks. I look

down. I know. I mean, a lot. I dont

respond. She sighs, shaking her head. Itll

get better dont worry. She says this as

though shes not used to giving comfort. A

slow, hesitant grin creeps up one side of her

face.. And the future is pretty awesome. I

look up, smiling meekly. Suddenly, her

expression turns to one of worry. Just

Dont do what youre thinking, okay? I

know, its hard, but Dont give in.

Please She shifts uncomfortably from

foot to foot as I escape her gaze, intently

studying a patch of ice. The cracks run

through it like veins. I remember how hard

it was, hearing myself say all this stuff

wow, weird sentence. But youll be okay.

Just, you know, she sucks in her breath.

Dont do it. She walks slowly towards me,

hesitantly. I flinch as she reaches into my

jacket. Her hands are like ice. She pulls the

knife out of my pocket

and drops it onto the

ground. It makes a cold,

hollow noise. Dont.

Placing her hands on

my shoulders, she looks

pleading. Everything

around me freezes and

just sort of poofs out of existence. The

biting cold of December, the scratchiness of

my wool sweater, the aching of my feet

from the long walk in my dads boots, and

the smoke of our breath. I cant tell if my

eyes are open or closed; everything is dark.

Then, it all rushes back into sight. The cold,

the sound of traffic in the distance, all

sweeps into my mind like a current. She is

gone. All thats left is the knife on the frozen

pavement, shining with the white of the sky.

The Long Walk Layla Michalopoulos

I cant tell if my eyes are open or closed;

everything is dark. Then, it all rushes back into

sight.

3

4

Jac Rouillard

Asterisks Todd Potter

Asterisks fall from the sky like snowflakes around my name and I don't know why. Every record I'd ever broke, every cigarette she'd smoke, It was just a lie. It was just a joke. Asterisks fall from the sky like snowflakes around my name and I don't know why. Every record I'd ever broke, Everything I'd ever done, every medal I had won, it was practice, it didn't count, so why am I filled with doubt?

Snowflakes here, snowflakes there, like sickly lanterns in the air, illuminating the path I won't take, on this great-grand frozen lake. Asterisks fall from the sky like snowflakes around my name and I don't know why. They can say it's just for fun, they say it's just a game. 'Cuz it's always the same; A snowflake will never tame. Asterisks fall from the sky like snowflakes around my name and I don't know why. All the trophies I didn't take,

5

Robb

i Pin

tado

Silent Night Todd Potter

Tonight is so cold outside that even even silence can't hide, even silence can't hide tonight. Tonight is so dark outside that we can't even see the places we'll go and the people we will be. Tonight is so gray, that we can't even feel the perfect storm brewing inside... our dark bellies... our gray lungs... our cold hearts...

Tonight is so cold outside that even even silence can't hide, even silence can't hide tonight. Tonight is so dark outside that we can't even see the places we'll go the people we will be. Tonight is so cold outside that even even silence can't hide, even silence can't hide tonight.

6

It was 11:23 PM, or as I like to call

it, dreiundzwanzig Uhr dreiundzwanzig.

And it had been a long day. The morning

had left me unmotivated despite a trip to my

grandparents house and a drive around

Murphys with my new learners permit. It

had been over 90 degrees all day, and after

returning home from their house I laid in

bed, complaining that it was warm but

refusing to turn on the air conditioning. I

had loads and loads of homework to do,

from formatting a debate to writing a

soundtrack for English class. I did none of it,

and instead chose to play an iPhone game

and make progress, however minimal, on a

story that Ive been writing. I feel guilty, and

my solution to that is to eat a microwave

burrito and strawberry ice cream straight out

of the container. Guilt? Check. Hunger? Not

anymore. I sit down on the couch again and

proceed to contemplate life, like always. I

know Im behind on my German homework

and should probably get going on that, but I

do nothing about it.

Presently, my mom walks by.

Heres the chance to end your

lethargy right now, I think to myself. Do it.

And a surprising thing happened: I

did it. I asked my mom if she would help me

with my German vocabulary words. Of

course she would. Finally! I had tackled the

problem of starting, but the words? They

were hard. Der Anrufbeanworter? How am I

supposed to know what that means? But

with a little practice, I got to know the words

and their stories. Auf wiedersehen means

goodbye, but it translates to until we meet

again because of the individual word

structures. Sich anmelden is to register, with

the Sich being reflexive. Anrufen means

to call, but the an always goes at the end

of the sentence, always. After a while, these

words werent so hard anymore, and I

moved most of them from the I have no

idea realm to the I kind of know what Im

doing realm.

But cases. Man, those will be the

death of me. I finished practicing my words

and returned to the computer once again,

where I resumed contemplating life and

being depressed. Cases! It seemed I would

never figure them out. I listened to my

Beethoven CDs, as I do when Im upset, but

it was repetitive because I had heard them

all before many times over. I listened to it

anyway, and became tired. Not the kind of

content, pleasantly-sleepy tired after a long,

satisfying workday: a restless, unsettled,

fall-asleep-at-the-computer-because-youve-

been-avoiding-homework tired. As I listened

A Little Victory Claire Schermeister

7

to my String Orchestra Piece in D Minor for

the 246th time and battled to keep my brain

from shutting off, I suddenly had a thought

and yanked the headphones out of my ears.

A German sentence! Perfect grammar,

perfect cases, word order better than ever

before. It was one of those twilight hour

epiphanies that you hear so much about but

never actually have.

But now, here one was! And never a

better time to have it.

I quickly grabbed my

phone and opened the

contact of my closest

German friend,

Hadoram Olmecke, or

as Americans like to

call him, just plain Joram. He has been the

driving force in my quest to learn German,

and despite endless hours spent on the phone

with me explaining accusative and indirect

object cases, he still gets slightly annoyed

when I put auch at the end of a sentence or

say ich treffe instead of treffe ich. When

I insist that I am trying my hardest, he only

laughs and says something about me being

an American, which is synonymous with

being too dumb to understand. However, I

was certain this sentence was perfect, and it

was worth bothering him at 11:23 PM to ask

him if it was correct or not. He may not even

be awake, I thought, but it was worth the

chance. Before it left me, I hastily typed out

the sentence along with my quick apology

for the lateness of my inquiry. Ich rufe dich

mit meinem Handy an. Richtig oder falsch?

Send. Done. Immediately after the fact, I

had doubts. Was meinem really the right

case to use when the object was me? Or was

the object the person being spoken to? Oops.

I expected an angry text message sometime

in the near future about

how late I was

bothering him, or to

just leave him alone

because I had asked

him 2 German

questions already

today. I sighed, but before I could put the

phone down, it buzzed in my hand, a

message from Joram: Perfekt. PERFECT!

Ah, what luck! A perfect German sentence!

The first of its kind from my brain after 2

months of studying this fickle language. I

am ready to take Germany by storm, I

thought. Well, maybe not. But I thought to

myself that maybe I should stay up until

dreiundzwanzig Uhr dreiundzwanzig every

night in order to have German grammar

suddenly make itself clear to me without

warning. Well, that wasnt really realistic. I

realized that I am a long way from speaking

As I listened to my String Orchestra Piece in D Minor for the 246th time and

battled to keep my brain from shutting off, I suddenly had a thought and yanked the

headphones out of my ears.

8

any second language, but now I was one

sentence closer to understanding German a

bit better. I did a celebratory fist-bump to

the air and listened to a piano solo because I

was so suddenly happy.

One German sentence may not seem

like much, but it is to someone who is trying

to learn a language equipped only with a

computer and an elusive German friend who

has trouble translating grammar. This little

victory was the highlight of my day, and I

savored it with an uncontrollable grin that

came to my face and stayed there. Maybe I

was as far away from my goal as I would

ever be, but in that moment I was ready to

take German in all its glory, one perfect

sentence at a time.

Georgina Chiou

9

Remember When Layla Michalopoulos

Lace and sunlight bathed the room The smell of wood And dried flowers,

And the scent of lingering perfume Hung in the air

A peaceful place With no remembrance

Or sign Of what had happened Just the previous night

It was once a place where you could feel The wind

It was once a place where the pages Were delicately peeled back,

Where the brushstrokes were gently swept Over canvas,

Where flowers dried But it was not like that anymore

People were replaced by the shadows of humanity Where standards of beauty were as impossible to reach

As happiness The dappled sunlight,

The specks of dust floating in the air, Only visible because of the

Beams of light Which escaped the smothering grasp of curtains

The glass people, The real humans,

Gliding through dirt And the lace,

And the smell of grass and flowers On a spring morning It was all gone now.

10

Like millions of Americans and other creatures of this world I am a victim of... Coffee addiction Stained yellow teeth Jittery nights, loud outbursts Seventeen and naive I spend...let's see..90% of my allowance on overpriced coffee Hit up that Starbucks Maybe a coffee bean But I need that Venti Mocha Frappe Notice this, notice where all these coffee places are in this city Those underground cafes in Downtown where you get your $5 coffees Preoccupied by your drink and the rush, Do you notice the man in rags holding a used coffee cup to collect the spare drops of coins? People walk in and out of coffee shops Spending $5 for a cup But across the street a man hasn't ever seen so much money Let alone enjoy a piping hot cup of coffee Which you do every morning We are constantly faced with class differences in this society Yet what do we do? The juxtaposition of the city places the rich and the poor next to each other on the bus But no one wants to admit it Take the $5 you spend on your coffee Deduct let's say $3 Use $2 for a McDonald's coffee and hand the rest to a man in rags or stuff it in the cashier's tip box Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint Heck I admit to have cheated on some tests But when I remember the woman holding the "will do anything for food" sign by the freeway entrance is just as human as you and me and our children's children I think I have the time and strength to reach into my Gucci wallet and hand her some change Please, oh dear lord, please don't give me those excuses She's faking it He could take advantage of you They will use it on drugs They should just get a job First of all, if a stranger seems dangerous on the street you should be smart enough to identify such and stay away Second, you don't know their stories

Overpriced Coffee Zenith Farin

11

What got them there or their troubles But you have eyes to see the cart they push around And the dark bags under their sullen eyes Third, they are people, too. Basic necessities of human life are Oxygen Food Water, maybe some Netflix Here in America we use so much resources we go over the Earth's carrying capacity YET in America, the land of the free and the home of the brave, one million seven hundred fifty thousand mouths go unfed Maybe even more No roofs on their heads Instead we place spikes on their havens Arrest them for misconduct or look straight ahead as they ask for bus fare How can we be called a humanity When children in developing countries Swim across a river wearing their sibling's hand me downs just to get to school While teenagers of this modern society throw a fit cause they didn't get that IPhone 5s, excuse me, IPhone 6 plus I am ashamed to say I'm part of such a humanity I am ashamed to say on more than one occasion I have been stopped from handing a dollar to the poor man in the wheelchair I am ashamed to say I forget at times the homeless are humans too and poverty is as real as my skin Humanity is unity When are we going to unite To make equality real Where are these billionaires with their "helping hands"? So you with your overpriced coffee What are you going to do for humanity?

12

I'll see you at the diner, meet me at

three We will see each other later When we are both free. You'll see me at the diner,

sometime at 2 I always show up early I always wait for you. We'll be at the diner Long after midnight A visit only until 9. I guess we lost track of time Later at the apartment Both too drunk to leave Better stay inside, we are both

content. I stayed the night Why not? Better to wait for light. Later that day It was no mistake But it's better to move on Keep our feelings at bay. We will see each other later Like we do every day But later at the diner It may not be the same.

The Diner Benjamin Jorge

Georgina Chiou

13

I miss you. I know. Did you hear about the cats? Hm? The cats? Weve had a cat invasion down here. I dont quite know how to respond to that. You say: Oh dear! A cat invasion! Tell me more! Oh dear! A cat invasion! Tell me more! Well, if you insist. I snort into the phone. So, she continues, no one knows where they came from. The other night, they just, appeared. Weird. I know! Theyre everywhere. Eating everyones food and making a racket. And everyones gone on a rabies shot rampage. Are you jumping on the bandwagon? Course not. I dont think cat rabies even exists. And, most important news of the day: I took one home. Im thinking hes a Milo. I like it. Good. But Im worried my heart wont be able to stand seeing all the other cats without homes and Ill take them all. I have a feeling that wouldnt end well. Me too. Just a hunch. A pause in the conversation is filled with an onset of emotion. She breaks the silence, Tell me about your day. Hmmm. Im waiting Im thinking. Think faster. Well one things to be sure. My day wasnt anything as exciting as cat invasions. Thats okay. We cant all have such thrilling lives. Please. Ill have you know that I invented a new recipe today. Wow. Its like that one you like, but new and improved. Youll have to show me sometime. Yeah, when I come up. And I also caught up on my reading and went to the park. So, pretty boring. It sounds nice. I smile at the phone, Did you know that I miss you? Yeah, I know.

Conversation #47 Nomi Kligler

14

Did you hear about the cats?

Weight Yukie Kim

Id never call someone a cumbersome weight. Rather, thats what I am. You dont weigh me down; I weigh

myself down. You are but a force pulling me in the opposite direction.

Imagine, if you will, a singular person, small of stature and slight of build. Now imagine a great many balloons

attached to her backpack. Now, some of these are much bigger than she is, and every step she takes is just another

terrifying second of possibly never being able to touch ground again.

Imagine that every balloon is in the shape of a person, a loved one, a friend. They tell her, its so great that she

cares, that shes helping them out and being supportive. They say they love her, and she loves them

too. So she keeps on walking with them.

I have to keep you from floating away, she thinks. From floating into the sun, out into the

air, to your doom, or to your loneliness. Im going to get you home, dont worry. Ill keep

you company while we walk.

But this girl, she is small, and slight, and hardly weighs much of anything.

She becomes the weight, because she has to. She grounds them, is their anchor, their savior,

they tell her. And sometimes the balloons release a little air, and the wind teases at her ears

and tells her that those balloons are so, so grateful for her. And it satisfies her for a short

while, makes her feel like she can be a little lighter and walk a little more confidently.

Then, the balloons inflate again.

She finds herself having to tie them down with ropes and sandbags instead of simply her

backpack., and she thinks, this isnt so different from cloth and books. Fibers and sand arent

so different. And she walks on, her weight and balloons together.

It takes a little bit, but those balloons keep growing, inflating

over time, getting lighter and lighter and trying to float

away. And the girl is starting to lose her grasp on the

ground below again.

When the air comes out, they tell her,

wouldnt it be great to fly away, even if youll

pop and burn after? Wouldnt it be

great to be free, to end all this

ground stuff and just let go?

15

She grunts and obliges that a little less weight would be nice, and they laugh and cry and say it would be, wouldnt t? And

they just keep inflating, as though theyre desperate to just pop and burn and die.

They ask her, why is she so selfish? Holding onto them, stopping them from being free? Stopping them from escaping

this life, this cycle, this pointless existence?

And they ask her, desperation leaking out, to give them a purpose.

She curses, bits her lip until she feels flesh tears, and straps chains to her back to keep her from floating away too.

I cant give you a purpose, Im not your god, Im not supposed to be your anchor, and youre not supposed to be this

force on my back, tugging me further and further away from the destination I call home.

She doesnt say anything, tells them that life is better than death, that if there is no God, then there is nothing after death,

and oblivion is worse than life or death because absence is worse than pain.

And she trudges on, feels her skin rip under the cold chains. Those balloons keep tugging on her shoulders, keep telling

her how great the sky is, if only shed just let go of the ground.

But shes not meant to fly, and theyre not either.

People-shaped balloons, because they cant handle being just human. She grounds them because theyre people that just

wont walk with her. They say they cant, but theyre too stubborn to see that they can. They want to fly away. But she

knows what happened to Icarus, and she doesnt want them to burn and fall.

She doesnt want them to die.

Strings attached to her heart and not her backpack at all, not the ropes or the sand or the chains.

She lays these things on her back, and they weigh heavy on her soul, and she wonders, in some quiet place in her mind, in

a dead voice and a mumbling spirit, why she insists on holding these people so close to her. Why she forces these scars

and rope burns and cuts into her soul.

She trips one day, and she feels it.

The chains cant hold her down anymore, and theres not much more her small frame can take. She holds onto the grass

to keep herself from falling into the air, away from the ground and away from life. And it breaks her heart, it does,

because she hears them, her friends and loved ones, screaming at her, What is my purpose? Selfish girl, why

do you keep me here?

And thats all there is to it. She cant hold on anymore.

She has no answer, not one they will take from her.

16

17

I dont know, she says brokenly. I dont know.

She lets go.

If one has no strings to hold, they are left with only a heavy heart.

And you wonder, after all is done, why?

Because the weight was never you, but my guilt that I could not help you.

And you were alive, and I could feel you, and you were still there, and my heart wasnt so heavy.

But now youre gone, arent you?

And all Im left with is the weight in my heart.

I am heavy, an anchor, a weight used to ground.

And I am sorry that I cant follow you.

Jac Rouillard 18

I didnt look at him before I played. But nowfinished, proud, and with the girl sitting

between us walking up to the stageI allowed myself a quick glance. He was tall, but I could not

see his face in the dark. I turned my attention to the girl approaching the piano. Her notes were crisp

and clean, interwoven with sporadic crescendos and colorful dynamics. However, the dynamics

seemed forced and the only parts of her moving were her hands; even the white tassels hanging off

of the black dress barely shook. Her face looked stony. Despite the clarity in her playing, it seemed

tainted with a biting anxiety, perhaps an arrogant urge to finish playing and get off the stage. She

rose immediately as she pressed the last note. She bowed so floppily and like a puppet that I thought

she would collapse on the floor. She trudged offstage with that same cold face, a petrified look of

disgust.

The boy rose and shuffled past me. I tucked my feet under my chair as he stepped in front of

me; a clove and lavender infused breeze followed him. His face became more illuminated as he

neared the stage. He sat down and shuffled to move the bench farther from the piano. He was so tall

that he needed it a couple of feet away to keep his knees from hitting the piano. His face softened as

he took a deep breath. Tenderly, he moved his hands onto the keyboard.

He played Rachmaninoff. His hands fluttered across the piano as staccato melodies hung in

the air. He moved fluidly along with the breezy melody. The dynamics swelled, building up to a

warm, passionate frenzy. His fingers hit the piano like daggersthen suddenly, he brought the

music back down to a murmur and sealed off the end of the piece, resting his fingers above the keys

for a moment longer. The audience was suspended in a brief moment of silence; then, we applauded.

His face reverted back to its passive gaze as he walked down the steps of the stage. He returned to

his seat.

The remaining two performers blurred past. I was still thinking about the Rachmaninoff

player. When the recital was over, we waited as the MC gave her tiringly long speech. The small

children were beginning to get antsy and the older performers were stooped over their phones.

Finally, the MC called everyone to the stage for a picture. As two of the Advanced Level players, the

Rachmaninoff player and I were put next to each other. He seemed even taller now, but a little

friendlier. I looked up at him and said, I loved your Rachmaninoff.

Thanks, he said, And youre a beautiful Bach player.

A staccato of camera flashes lit the stage, bringing the recital to a complete close.

The Recital Clara Chin

19

Geor

gina

Chi

ou

20

The boy waited by the window While toying with his train.

He waited for a father Each day, sun, snow, or rain

His mother always watched him Lean on that tear-stained pane

The one that stole his childhood And left their hearts both maimed

Each time she tried to tell him She never could explain

How one shot can take three hearts With steady enough aim.

So the man waited by the window With hope that never waned

He waited for a father The one that never came.

One Shot Georgina Chiou

21

Vania Gunawan

22

And i know im not always the best listener, i get sidetracked and confused i lose myself in

my own little word. i know im not the girl of your dreams, i don't look good without

make up and im too big in some areas and way too tiny in others. i know that my heart is

falling apart its tied together with all sorts of useless things and my memory holds on to

more of the bad than the good. but i try. i am also a dreamer, so i imagine what life could

be. i imagine me and you. i think of all the places we could see and things we could do. i

envision you happier than ever before and sometimes i let myself pretend im the reason

for that joy. So right now i'm seeing the world so much darker than it really is, but

tomorrow, i promise i'll see the blindingly good side instead, so long as you'll give me the

night to make the change. Oh and i know my heart is small, but I love you with every

ounce of love everyone alive or dead has ever had to give and I love you for so much

more than just that.

There is a beautiful person reading these words right now. They feel the breath of

everyone else across wires reading them at the exact same time. And they are wondering

if that feeling is as good as the feel of a lovers words dancing on their neck or not, but I

hope they realize with a lover like you nothing will come close to that feeling of being

tangled within ourselves. Whether it's literal and we are between sheets and sunrise or

figurative losing ourselves in words and memories other people would almost certainly

forget.

You are beautiful.

Thank you.

Crazy Parody of Nonsense Rambles Madison Kuhlmann

The Togetherness of Timing Madison Kuhlmann

23

24

fin

Clara Chin enjoys politics, food, writing for her blog clarajournals.wordpress.com, and spending time with her family. Her two biggest passions are writing and playing the piano. Toni Morrison is her favorite writer. Clara attends West High School. Georgina Chiou is an aspiring filmmaker who enjoys baking in her free time. She likes to see life as a film and strives to get a good story. Georgina attends West High School. She has just joined the Frisson editor team. Zenith Farin has enjoyed reading since she was little. She carries around a notebook in order to write poetry and stories relating to her life and the scenery she sees every day. She is a big fan of watching movies. Brenna Twohy is her inspiration for becoming a better spoken word artist, while Malala Yousafzai is her inspiration for humanitarian work. Her mom inspires her to be a better, stronger individual of society. She attends Francisco Bravo Medical Magnet High School. Vania Gunawan is a student at West High School. She enjoys art and playing video games. Benjamin Jorge enjoys sound engineering, playing music, beatboxing, percussion, writing poetry and abstract pieces, and most of all, making people dance. He loves an opportunity to spread his passion for art and life. John Green is one of his favorite modern thinkers. He attends Connections Academy of Visual and Performing Arts. Madison Kuhlmann is a student at West High School. She enjoys blogging and writing short stories and poetry. Yukie Kim likes reading and writing both books and fanfiction. She also likes animation and is currently working on several animation projects. She attends West High School in Torrance. Nomi Kliger is a high school student in New York. She enjoys writing of all kinds, since writing has been a part of her life since a very young age. Layla Michalopoulos is a first time submitter to Frisson: The Literary Magazine. She enjoys writing. Robbi Pintado enjoys playing the guitar and painting. He enjoys music by Michael Bubl. Robbi attends West High School. Todd Potter likes to play Pokemon and Yu-gi-oh trading card games, read, write, draw, and spend time with his family. His favorite writers are John Green, Rick Riordan, J.K. Rowling, and Roald Dahl. He attends West High School. Jac Rouillard is an avid coffee drinker and movie watcher. She loves hiking with friends and going to concerts. She is a senior at West High School. Claire Schermeister enjoys composing, science, and filmmaking. She is a junior at Connections Academy of Visual and Performing Arts.

Bios