Emma Bicker Caarten is 18 years old and a senior at Park City High School.

She has a strong passion for the arts, particularly theater, dance and singing. Additionally, Caarten enjoys crocheting, baking, and of course, writing.

Caarten said his passion for writing lies in the fact that it provides an outlet for his creativity. She was inspired to write her short story “The Forest” (see below) after reading “Beartown” by Fredrik Backman, which teacher Elaine Peterson assigned to her during an AP literature class.

Caarten, who recommends the novel to fellow readers, was specifically inspired by the book’s setting and the snowy forest referenced throughout the story.

When asked what winning this month’s PCHS Writes Club contest means to her, Caarten expressed excitement about how it furthers her writing career. She went on to say, “I’ve been tossing and turning with the idea of ​​becoming a writer, so winning this competition is a confidence boost in my writing abilities.”

PCHS Writes is designed to inspire more students to write and write from their hearts rather than strictly within the walls of their required English course.

The club holds a monthly short story competition and the winning entry is published in The Park Record.

For more information about PCHS Writes, send an email (email protected).

“The Forest” by Emma Bicker Caarten

It starts like any other day. I enter the group and my feet guide me towards the group of girls chatting near a staircase like they do every day.

I join my friends in silence. Someone was talking and I didn’t want to interrupt.

No one spoke, it was Lola who spoke. Lola, a tall senior with almond-shaped eyes and long auburn hair that is always perfectly maintained and tamed. There might as well have been a crown sitting atop those locks, considering how the people at school treated her.

Every time she said something, people hung on her words as if she were about to tell them the cure for cancer. She continued talking and the group didn’t notice my arrival.

Nobody told me anything. No “Hello, welcome to school.” “We missed you last month” or a sarcastic comment about my outfit. My leggings still had flakes of dirt and grime from my morning run in the forest. They all hated it when I came to school in the clothes I wore, especially Lola and she always let me know.

The bell rang and people started moving around. Everyone was watching. Some tried not to, and others stared as if they had just acquired the ability to see.

Their silent wind of whispers followed us as we traveled the route. I blend into my group of friends as we walk. I don’t know how I became part of their “group”, but there I was. An impala had snuck inside and was lying with the lions. Even though everyone looked at my friends like they were solid gold, I was made of glass. Never seen it. I was okay with that. The whispers and stares quieted as the students reluctantly entered their classrooms and I entered mine.

Miles was sitting in my usual seat. Victoria’s name was still lightly scribbled on my desk. I don’t have the energy to argue with the hockey captain to get my spot, so I head to the coach in the back of the history class.

We are allowed to sit on the couch, no one ever does. Something about them being bedbugs: I can’t admit it to anyone, but I love the bedbug bench. It is closest to the window, which offers a privileged view of the forest in the distance. My forest.

A sign outside reads “Our chance to be one with nature,” but this forest is mine. My favorite place to run in the world, my favorite place in the world. I run there every morning and everyone knows it. I run through the twists and turns of the path. My vision filled with tall oak trees as I passed them. Run, fly, free. It’s the place where I feel most alive. In the center, there is only nature and me. Just us in a little bubble where I can be whoever I want to be and feel as free as possible. My mother jokes that they found me growing in the forest and that’s why I love it so much. Until I was ten, I thought it was true.

The day passes until the students are released to the cafeteria for lunch. Screams and social squabbling fill the air. I float among people looking for friends to find mine, all the way to the lunch meeting place. The tables on the second floor give them a prime view to find their next friend or prey.

Their judgment and comments fill the air on the second floor and reverberate to the victims on the level below. Lola scans the area with hawk eyes. With narrowed eyes, she found who she was looking for. Without saying a word, she gets up from her seat and starts walking. Everyone quickly follows her, not needing to know where she is going, but knowing that they must follow their queen.

I realize who she chose as we get closer to her. I recognize the backpack on his shoulder. Victoria’s name is scratched out and Elousie is written underneath. Elousie didn’t care for second-hand items. Lola has a somber look on her face. A look she’s mastered since my disappearance a month ago.

Lola stands behind Elouise and says, “Lou, can you talk for a minute?”

“Elousie, my name is Elouise.”

Lola gave everyone nicknames. She did it to make it seem like she was a closer friend to someone than she was. Elousie was the only person I knew who stood up to Lola. I always admired that about her. Elousie turns to Lola with a hint of rage in her eyes. She never liked Lola, and Lola always felt threatened by Elouise.

“Good,” Lola said with the tiniest roll of her eyes, “Elousie, I wanted to come and tell you how great it is to see you back at school. We missed you last month. She spoke in a tone which a detective would consider gentle, but the average teenage girl could see right through that tone.

“Thank you, Lola, that means a lot. It’s been difficult since Victoria left, but mom said I should get back to normal life. Unfortunately, that includes school,” Elousie responds in a genuinely sweet tone. This is the difference between Lola and Elouise. You have to pretend to be nice and you don’t.

“It’s been difficult for us too.” Lola shows her shadows behind her. All the girls nod their heads. “You know, I always told Tori these woods were dangerous. It’s no wonder she was killed there.

My ears perk up with what Lola just said. I look at my sister. My sister, the girl who has won every spelling bee since she was five, the smartest girl I know. I look at her with the hope that she has noticed Lola’s slip of the tongue. Only my family and the police knew where my body was found. But the only thing I see when I look at my sister are her eyes filled with tears.

“She knew it wasn’t safe, but she loved being in that forest,” Elousie says as tears are sucked away as she turns up the corners of her mouth. As if she remembers all the happy moments she and I spent in this forest. The smores, the laughter and the memories. I wish I could reach out and hug her.

Lola leaves without another word. Elousie turns back to the people she was talking to before Lola arrived.

How can they just get on with their lives? How can everyone turn away as usual? How can they do it when Lola has just made a huge mistake? I feel anger rising in my cheeks. I want to scream and scream about what happened to me, but no one heard me when I was alive, so why would they now that I’m dead?