She was tall this time, with long legs that shone the color of dark mustard in the light from Mama’s room. Andrew watched her follow Michael into the muted blackness, listened to the door shut with a gentle click. Andrew was crouching with his back to the wall, blinking sleep from his eyes. He wore […]


“‘Where were you when?'”

‘Where were you when?” It’s a question that defines generations. The bombing of Pearl Harbor. John F. Kennedy’s assassination. The Challenger explosion. These are the events that our parents and grandparents remember, that dominate their stories. For us, that event is September 11th, 2001. “Where were you when?” We are among the last classes at […]


MAGAZINE | In the Halls of Domus Academy

It is late in the afternoon at Domus Academy, and most students have headed to extended day programs in the gym or art room, but the halls are ringing with the sound of a commotion. At the end of the hall, a small, thin boy in a red paper crown is cursing at a classmate, […]


The Children Left Behind

On a Tuesday afternoon in February, the gym at Domus Academy echoes with the sound of jumping jacks. Hands clap in unison. Polished Nikes squeak against the floorboards. The 12 boys of Domus’s basketball team stand in a loose circle at center court, warming up for practice. They bark out numbers with military-like intensity: “One! […]


MAGAZINE | The Day Before the Game

February 15, 2011 The boys of Domus Academy are waiting. After running laps and doing jumping jacks, they kneel in a semicircle on the gymnasium floor, focused intently on their coach. Or, more specifically, on the basket of white jerseys at his feet. Today is their last practice. Tomorrow, they will travel to Stamford to […]



“Stop hiding your face. You’re already here, you might as well enjoy it.” I open my fingers slightly and peer between them to see a scruffy-haired man with a heavy-duty camera hoisted onto his shoulder. “Sorry,” I mutter. I let my hands fall. “Well, look happy,” he snaps.  A few chairs away, a middle-aged woman […]


A Different Kind of Activism

I am lying. I’ve been told that normally, I’m not very good at it — my right eye twitches, and the corners of my mouth turn up into a faint smile. Sometimes I stutter or lose track of my story. But at this particular kind of lying, I’m what you might call an expert. In […]



There is more noise on the bus than anywhere else. I know because Mama and Siyanda and I sit on it every morning. There is loudness in the school, and with Mandla and Ndumiso when they are playing with each other, but not like on the bus. Sometimes I think all the voices are there […]