“So, who’s your crush?” my friend asked eagerly.

We sat on the floor of her basement, surrounded by crumbs and an unnecessary amount of pillows. I avoided her question, “I don’t have time for that stuff.” “Oh, tell me! There has to be one boy.” She was going to interrogate me until I gave a satisfactory answer. I sorted through the people in my science class and smiled, “Finn, from your science table.” She grinned, looking very pleased with this answer. “Of course! I knew I saw you sneaking glances at him!” She was wrong, I was glancing at her.

— Olivia Sharma, 15, Blue Valley West High School, Overland Park, Kan.

“Do you see it?” my mom asked, confusion twisting her face. I looked at it, the paper bag sitting on the kitchen counter. The sharpied lines absent-mindedly sketched, branches evolving from a broad trunk, intertwining into intricate limbs. Not a handout or stencil from Grandpa’s aphasia group. Just his tree. I squinted in the kitchen limelight and saw it. The gaps. Empty spaces between branches, subtle but severed. The right hemisphere remained intact. The left, paralyzed after the stroke, detached. We stared at his sketch, wondering if he drew his brain or if his brain drew a tree.

— Zoe Rodriguez, 16, Waltham Senior High School, Waltham, Mass.