List of 20 news stories.

• A Man

  Eric Lowe ’28
  A man wakes up under the sun, though nothing calls his name.
  
  A man’s room is small. A man sits at the edge of the bed and looks at himself. A man’s hands have built nothing, or maybe they have built something invisible. A man doesn’t know which is worse.
  . . .

• In Which I Eat an Orange

  Lora Kenyon ’28
  The school provides a basket of oranges every day. I am an island, breaking the waves of students as I contemplate the gleaming fruits. Under the gentle lights, their protective rinds take on an artificial glow– despite their ostensible natural identity. That color is too bright to be real, too beautiful to come from Mother Nature. They should not be so uniformly appealing. Each little stem has been perfectly severed like an umbilical cord. Their countless pores are hiding secret chemicals, and I can imagine the curated smell that would aerate as I rip away their skin.
  . . .

• Invisible, Again

  Ashley Deng ’26
  By now, word has spread around the city that you have been chosen as the successor of Ellison & Rowe, the world’s single dominating business in the finance corporation.
  
  When you first receive the phone call from Mr. Whitmore, the legal counsel of E&R and a well-known gentleman who was involved with the corporation for so long that he has become somewhat of a public figure, you rub your eyes and check your phone again before answering, hands trembling.
  . . .

• No Time To Cry

  Ella McCormick ’28
  Mrs. Confine hurried down the barren street, eyes fixed on the black door a few buildings down. It was a cool January evening, the 11th to be exact. The snow on the ground was beginning to freeze over, no longer fresh and powdery but gray and stiff. The plowed snow bunched up near the curbs, brown with the dirt of the city. The icy air was making her eyes water, so she adjusted her red scarf and pulled her coat tighter. Across the road, she spotted an officer. They don’t exactly try to conceal themselves, she thought. Yellow is such an odd color for uniforms. The officer waved, then returned to his watch. Nearing the door, she looked up at the surveillance camera. The sign below it read, “Smile, you’re on camera.”
  . . .

• Reflections

  Theodore Covaci ’28
       Brimming with amber, the sun spills over the city’s skyline. But even as it bleeds onto the streets, the runners do not slow their paces. Children merely nibble at their melting ice cream cones, and beggars continue to lay their heads against the sidewalk.
  
  Adam, too, feels sweat dribble down his neck; through his blazer, the metal bench sears his back. Still, he tugs at his dress shirt’s collar, sipping his steaming Americano. His ham sandwich lies beside him, stiff and half-eaten.
  . . .

• The Space Above

  Naomi Schwartz ’28
  Aging white stucco crumbled off the side of the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Inside, the living room smelled of dust and instant noodles, the beige couch sagging downwards toward the center of a stained, gray rug that suffocated the hardwood floor underneath. A 30-inch TV hung crooked above a fireplace covered in layers of ash. Floral, mustard wallpaper crowded the walls, its bird-patterned canopy watching silently, their glassy eyes fixed in a constant surveillance. In the hallway, the attic trapdoor sagged in the ceiling, its dangling string, brittle with age, swaying slightly whenever the heat kicked on.
  . . .

• Untitled

  Isha Seth ’28
  Exiting the airport, I feel the heat squirming against my skin. I hear people all around me speaking, and they form sounds I’ve heard all my life but can barely understand. Shaggy dogs sleep in the shade if they can find it, on the burning ground if they can’t. It’s busy in a way that would seem unorganized back home, but here the constant motion nestles itself comfortably in the honking cars and the streets of shops packed haphazardly one on top of the other. Each piece of this place fits together seamlessly even though it feels like it shouldn’t.
  
  “Where are we going now?” I ask my parents.
  
  “Home,” replies my mother.
  . . .

• 2026 Sideline Essay

  Liam Acton '26
        At the end of every week at soccer camp, our coach, Avery, hosted the “Lost and Found Scrimmage.” The idea was simple: every forgotten water bottle, worn-out shin guard, or mystery
  T-shirt went into a pile. Each camper could claim one item before the match—and whatever you
  picked, you had to wear or use for the game.
        The kids loved it. Shouts echoed across the field as players scrambled for mismatched
  socks and oversized jerseys. But one camper, Leo, stood out. While others hesitated, wrinkling
  their noses at stained pinnies or ripped shorts, Leo always raised his hand first. He’d grab the
  most battered gear without complaint, lace up, and sprint onto the field. By the time the whistle
  blew, he was laughing, sliding, and celebrating goals like his uniform was brand new.
  . . .

• An Ordinary Place

  Ashley Deng '27
       Where the modest Siheyuan used to be, a towering mall emerges. Its windows stretch
  from floor to ceiling, displaying lean mannequins of different poses covered in Chanel and
  Burberry. The soft sheep leather shines under the brightness of the dazzling lights, casting a still
  but faint shadow. From the outside, I can already imagine the scent within: light, floral perfume

  with a tint of expensive leather. From the flawless floors to the immaculate display shelves, ev-
  erything is clean. Too clean. A clean so sharp that it wipes away every drop of the rich olive oil

  used to fry juicy dumplings and crispy scallion pancakes. What was once alive is now polished,
  air-conditioned, and elegant; the air smells and feels different, a type of new I know I won’t ever
  get used to. Hidden speakers camouflaged into the high ceiling softly play Vivaldi’s Spring, the
  elegant and gentle melody fitting for a luxury store like this. The rhythmic violin notes drift past
  the heavy doors guarded by the doormen, mixing with the cool, quiet air conditioning that seeps
  out the mall as the doors open and close. Most mornings I pass by without stopping, Starbucks
  matcha latte in hand, airpods playing “deja vu” by Olivia Rodrigo. Occasionally, when the coarse
  wind bites my soft cheeks, I smell something else: something different yet familiar.
  . . .
• 

  Crocus Sativus: Wonderment with a Seemingly Ordinary Flower

  Sam Ridky '26
  My family’s Christmas tradition of making paella includes adding a few deep red strands of saf-
  fron, which I delicately pinch before letting them fall into the pan. I know how expensive these

  fine fibers are, and have always known how much flavor a mere gram could add, but I’d never
  (knowingly) stopped to appreciate the beauty of its origin. It wasn’t until a paella-making class in
  Barcelona where I learned where the world’s most expensive spice comes from.
  . . .

• Hot Chocolate and Whipped Cream

  Dayna Wong '27
        I’ve always experienced the happiest moments on Christmas morning. The faint Christ-
  mas music playing from our living room television would wake me from my slumber. Stretching

  in my soft sheets, my red, green, white and red plaid Christmas pajamas rub against my comfort-
  er. My fluffy reindeer socks muffle the cool, wooden floor as they travel to the bathroom.
  . . .

• Reflections

  Theodore Covaci '28
  “It’s fascinating how light works,” I tell him. I go on and on about the mirror and its ability
  to reflect a clear, crystal image of me and the silhouette of my brother’s hunched body. Orange
  light from the sunrise follows his every movement. Turned away from the mirror, he eats stale
  croutons while listening to live television updates from the war in Afghanistan. I wonder if he
  still thinks about our life before his deployment: our family trips, our competitive chess games,
  our love for the outdoors. Lately, he startles at the smallest sounds, whether it be the click of the
  lock on the front door after returning from his rehab appointment or the light switch that turns
  our home dark.
  . . .

• The Inside Scoop

  Dayna Wong '27
                                            “The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.”
                                               – The Emperor of Ice Cream, Wallace Stevens

       The sun no longer shines in my bedroom, I am left with a silence that speaks softly. No
  one can hear or see me crumble as my thoughts turn blue. My body surges with heat and my
  throat tightens. My eyes begin to release thin, salty drops of water, like a faucet that quietly drips
  water. I propel myself into the kitchen; my body immediately craves the cool, creamy vanilla ice
  cream in my freezer.

   
  . . .

• The Last Train Home

  Julianne Gonzalez '28
  “No! Please, no,” I cry, sprinting towards the train. The doors close in front of my face,
  and the train begins mockingly pulling away.
  
  “Ughhhh,” I mutter dejectedly. I climb back up the stairs to the main terminal of Grand
  Central and look at the departures board. The next train to New Haven leaves at midnight, so
  I’m stuck here for the time being. I find a bench and lie down, no longer caring about the people
  staring at me. I look up at the ceiling and wish I could join the constellations in the heavens.
  . . .

• The Line

  Arjun Phatak '28
        The lunch line of hungry high schoolers extends all the way to the entrance of the lunch
  room. Kids push and shove each other while they attempt to get closer to the front of the line,

  where a spread of gooey grilled cheese, crunchy curly fries, hot tomato soup, and refreshing lem-
  onade awaits them.

        The lunch flow has begun. People enter the lunch room, push and shove to the front, grab
  their lunch, and find a seat. The flow of people coming in and out is strong, except for the small,
  minuscule section that I am in, the section that does everything but move forward.
  . . .

• Toy Cars

  Aiden Gomez '28
        The grandfather slammed the front door shut after irately agreeing to watch his grandson.
  His grandson was already playing with his toy cars, and he hoped that he would not have to play
  with him, something he had not done in a long time and did not plan on doing again so soon.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he had played with anything. His childhood days were de-
  cades behind him, and he did not wish to do something he once used to. As he came inside, his

  grandson asked him to play with the toy cars.
  . . .

• Zemblanity

  Thomas Pont Strong '28
        Anniversaries call for cufflinks. Adam woke up two minutes earlier than usual. He thought
  one and a half would have cut it too close. Aside from the cufflinks, he kept his custom attire. His
  socks had holes in the bottom, and his shoes absorbed the light that struck them — it seemed

  as if his leather belt had stolen their shine. His pants were once tight and trim, young and ambi-
  tious. Now, the wool wrinkled and sagged like the elderly people on his street. His shirt, a cirrus

  cloud condensed in a bureau, and his tie had spent long days around his neck since he had be-
  gun mourning the dead.
  . . .

• Zugzwang

  Alex Yang '28
  “Your move,” Dad says.
        The clock clicks louder than it should. It’s been ticking away for twenty years, ever since
  Mom died. Dad sets up the pieces the same way every Sunday, even when his hands tremble too
  much to hold them straight. He doesn’t talk about anything real anymore. Just the game.
        I stare at the board. My pieces are all paralyzed: knight pinned, rook trapped, queen busy
  with other enemy pieces.
  . . .

• 2025 Sideline Essay Contest Winner

  Arjun Agarwal '26
  ‘‘Sideline’ is an annual Essay Competition open to student-athletes attending Hopkins School in New Haven, CT. Founded in 2025, our goal is to provide an opportunity for young athletes to show their skills in writing and literature and challenge themselves with academic rigor. As part of a larger initiative, we aim to uplift the student-athlete community and bring awareness to the many amazing stories that come out of it, including triumphs, hurdles, and more.” - Thooyan Thirumaran ‘26...
  . . .

• Daughter

  Olivia Wang '28
  Wear decent clothing for God’s sake; pop on your retainers, every night, every morning, don’t skip it, don’t have crooked teeth; brush for at least two minutes each time…this is non-negotiable; you must learn to be independent...
  . . .