Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit based in Burlington that engages middle and high school students from anywhere in the world to write, to express themselves with confidence and clarity and to connect with authentic audiences. YWP publishes student writing every week in newspapers; through YWP’s website, youngwritersproject.org, and monthly digital magazine, The Voice; before live audiences; and with other media partners, including vtdigger.org and vpr.net. YWP is supported by this newspaper and foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing.

This week’s prompt: Brick. You’re walking along the side of a brick building when you see a loose brick. You tug at it, and a note flutters to the ground. What does it say?

The view

By Zoë Barton

Age 16, Bradford, Vt.

The woman struck up a conversation with the driver of the morning bus. Every day she talked to the man on her way to breakfast at a nearby cafe. She’d told him yesterday about how peaceful the traffic was from the corner. He had given her a quick, judgmental look before she started talking about what she planned to order.

Today, she knew it would be an iced coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. She knew because she had been there many times, and always requested to sit in the chair by the corner of the building. Sometimes she was granted her wish. There, she had a perfect view of both streets. The traffic was almost rhythmic and soothing as it made its way through the intersection, which is why she liked the cafe so much.

It was early when she arrived, so she knew there would be quite a few open seats and the likelihood of someone taking her spot was low. The waiters and staff were just at the tail end of setting up shop, so she was a customer received in a rush. Since the staff were so preoccupied with the hurry of the morning setup routine, she had more than enough time to pick out the iced coffee and bagel with cream cheese from the menu.

She stared blankly while waiting, watching the cars pass by. Perhaps she had woken up too early; she was close to falling asleep, when a brick in the wall next to her caught her attention. She pulled at it for lack of anything better to do, and a slip of paper fell onto the table. Haphazardly, she placed the brick back into the wall, a little paranoid that the whole building might collapse.

She picked up the paper, unfolded it, and found an unaddressed note scrawled in black ink. “You are right,” it read, “the view of the traffic is ironically peaceful.”

Locket

By Kelly Daigle

Age 15, Bradford, Vt.

Wandering along the old brick building in the midst of downtown,

I drag my fingers across the rough and weathered clay blocks.

The two tiny legs that are my fingers skip over the breaks,

over the mortar moats that hold the bricks together.

Skip, drag. Skip, drag.

And then one of them loosens,

clattering to the pavement

with a loud clap that makes me jump.

There’s a rustle of paper,

and a much lighter object gracefully drifts down.

It is a yellow, aged note,

so old the paper crinkles when I open it.

The note, written in loopy, pretty cursive, reads,

“I will always remember you,

even if you are dead or overseas.

The war took you from my arms,

but not from my heart.”

Taped hastily on the inside of the note

is a small black and white picture,

small enough to be put in a locket.

It is of a man and a woman.

They stare, without smiling, to the left of the camera.

The man is adorned in military attire,

with the woman sitting in front of him.

Upon her chest I can see a glint of metal

tied to a chain around her neck –

a locket.

The brick

By Ryan Pepe

Age 16, Thetford

 

“Thank you. Oh by the way, could you tell me where the bathroom is?”

“Oh sure. Just beyond that doorway and then to your immediate left, there’s a flight of stairs. Follow those down and you will see signs for men’s and women’s,” the waiter responded.

I got up from my seat and wove my way through the sea of small round tables and chairs. I had never been to this restaurant before, so I ran the waiter’s directions back through my head. I found the doorway and pushed my way through.

I was immediately greeted with a wall in front of me. I turned left to find that, sure enough, there was a dimly lit set of stairs leading down. I don’t know why I was surprised by this, as I had no reason to believe that the waiter would give me fake directions to the bathroom.

I stepped down onto the first wooden step. It let out a loud creak, bowing a little under my weight. I continued down the old stairs until about halfway down, when I took my attention away from them just long enough to stumble. I shot my right arm out, catching myself on the railing.

When I looked at my right hand, I noticed a strange brick behind it. I moved forward to take a closer look and realized that the mortar around the brick was gone. I don’t know why, but I had a strange urge to grab it. So that is what I did.

I slid the brick out from its dwelling, and much to my surprise a little slip of paper came fluttering out. I picked up the piece of paper, intrigued as to why it was inside this old brick wall. I flipped it over and saw that there was writing on it. The paper read, “7-3-5.”

“7-3-5?” I said to myself. What could that possibly mean …

Read the complete story at youngwritersproject.org/node/19924.