Lexi Toufas
Pronouns: she/her/hers
Lexi is a fourth-year English major. She enjoys bird-watching, crocheting, and taking long walks (especially when flowers and colorful fungi are involved). Her favorite bird is a toss between the Carolina Chickadee and the American Goldfinch.
“What happened at car riders?,” Sydney asked at our party that I had strictly set to “invite only.” We played Minecraft every day after school, so we picked up where we left off on Llama Land 2. She still had a tuxedo skin on and was working on her signature spruce and snow house.
Cher Ami
For heaven’s sake, they used your home against you.
They call it magnetoreception.
Magnets make it better.
They called you a man, and it made it okay.
You lost your leg, eye, and chest,
And then they stuffed you.
Zenaida opened his eyes on a couch to a crowd of voices surrounding him. He could see no people. He saw a small round table decorated in a dinosaur party theme with what had been a large T-rex ice sculpture. It looked like it had a broken neck bent backwards and the arms were nearly completely missing.
It all started with a Snapchat. I usually only Snapchat my cousins, and I have no idea how or when this guy became my friend, but I received a notification from a John**. The photo was of a shirtless boy with squinty eyes and a little smirk that said “wyd.” I showed it to my brother asking who the guy was.
“Yeah, you would know all about this. I need a lovey, romantic card for somebody,” the large- framed man said in a lowered voice. He glanced around the store from the counter where we stood and squeezed the fingers together near the top of his chest.
The evening began as it always did on these occasions. As our moms set popcorn and brownies on the green countertops, they warned us that they would be back to pick us up early the next morning. My cousins and I grumbled and argued that the next day would be Saturday, and we wanted to stay longer.
1. “You Want It Darker” by Leonard Cohen
As we tried to come to terms with the quarantine and all it brought crashing down on us (farewell, UVA friends and life), we started cobbling together our recommendations for what to watch and read and play. Some of us had big lists, some small. Some of us had a lot to say, some of us little. That’s kind of how it’s all been.
Easter always begins the same way for my family. My mother and aunt compete to see who can call my grandpa first on Easter morning to say, “The Lord has risen,” to which my grandpa will respond, “Indeed.” Last year my mom woke at the break of dawn to beat my aunt, but generally my aunt wins.
I remember the first time I found out dads could cry. I was in the backseat of my mom's old Honda Accord tracing over the various pen marks on the headliner of her car, and it was February. I hated how the sun somehow always managed to be on my side of the car behind the passenger seat, but I wouldn't trade with my brother, Berkley.
“You’re too little,” my cousin Kelsey said, pushing my cousins and me out of the Green Room at my grandpa’s house before she slammed the door and locked it.