"Crushed Paradise" by Alek Bock
My name is Alek Bock. I am a senior at William E. Tolman High school in Pawtucket Rhode island; this fourth year has come at me like a slap in the face, because it seems just a couple seconds ago I was a nervous little freshman, an inexperienced newbie to the elaborate microcosm known as the "high school".

Everyone has a particular group they hang out with, and they also have a group of people in which they try their hardest to avoid bumping into in the hallway. Mostly, ninth graders experience this, but not me and a small group of others.

At first, I was scared of what people would say about me, what they'd think of me; after all, I had about as much experience at high school as a writer does at a scientists' convention. What I acted like and what I said, did, or implied, would define me for the next four years of my high school career. No pressure, right?

Actually, I felt no pressure at all. I didn't really care what people thought of me on the second day of school, and eventually such an attitude spread amongst the freshmen like a plague of positivity. Unlike many high schools in the country--- and the world--- Tolman is this weird magical place where people don't have labels, they don't fit in cliques, and everyone is capable of being friends with everyone.

By the time you finished reading the last line, you must be thinking I am writing a fictional story about a wizard school in some alternate dimension where people have hilarious British accents; but, you may be surprised that Tolman High is a real place. While there are still enthusiasts to rock, sports, writing, science and all things nerdy, everyone gets along with just about everyone else.

Freshman year was a blast; I sailed through it, and I got honors all year long.

... And then came the really cheesy, really badly-scripted sequel called Sophomore year. The definition of "Sophomore" is "Wise Fool" and we all defined that quite naturally. When a large group of my friends and I had honors in Freshman year, we laughed in the face of grade 10. We could take this, no problem!

Boy, was that a mistake. We slacked off in the beginning of grade 10 and paid for it dearly by seeing the horrendous train wrecks of progress reports within the first six weeks. That was when our little paradise with no labels and no worries came crashing back to earth. Eventually everyone was far too busy studying and catching up with classwork to even speak to one another, let alone have fun goofing around in the hallways before class.

Wise fool, indeed. Fortunately the "fool" part arrived early so I could gather enough wisdom to get back on my feet, grade-wise. It was like a grade stock market; at any time, anywhere, any way, one missed homework could mean the academic apocalypse for any student. This was the year when the state had to intervene and govern the school themselves.

Our paradise had been conquered, and the peaceful ignorance of any kind of event like this was destroyed like an eighteen-wheeler running over a styrofoam cup.

Welcome to high school, kids. Enjoy the ride."Crushed Paradise" by Alek Bock
My name is Alek Bock. I am a senior at William E. Tolman High school in Pawtucket Rhode island; this fourth year has come at me like a slap in the face, because it seems just a couple seconds ago I was a nervous little freshman, an inexperienced newbie to the elaborate microcosm known as the "high school".

Everyone has a particular group they hang out with, and they also have a group of people in which they try their hardest to avoid bumping into in the hallway. Mostly, ninth graders experience this, but not me and a small group of others.

At first, I was scared of what people would say about me, what they'd think of me; after all, I had about as much experience at high school as a writer does at a scientists' convention. What I acted like and what I said, did, or implied, would define me for the next four years of my high school career. No pressure, right?

Actually, I felt no pressure at all. I didn't really care what people thought of me on the second day of school, and eventually such an attitude spread amongst the freshmen like a plague of positivity. Unlike many high schools in the country--- and the world--- Tolman is this weird magical place where people don't have labels, they don't fit in cliques, and everyone is capable of being friends with everyone.

By the time you finished reading the last line, you must be thinking I am writing a fictional story about a wizard school in some alternate dimension where people have hilarious British accents; but, you may be surprised that Tolman High is a real place. While there are still enthusiasts to rock, sports, writing, science and all things nerdy, everyone gets along with just about everyone else.

Freshman year was a blast; I sailed through it, and I got honors all year long.

... And then came the really cheesy, really badly-scripted sequel called Sophomore year. The definition of "Sophomore" is "Wise Fool" and we all defined that quite naturally. When a large group of my friends and I had honors in Freshman year, we laughed in the face of grade 10. We could take this, no problem!

Boy, was that a mistake. We slacked off in the beginning of grade 10 and paid for it dearly by seeing the horrendous train wrecks of progress reports within the first six weeks. That was when our little paradise with no labels and no worries came crashing back to earth. Eventually everyone was far too busy studying and catching up with classwork to even speak to one another, let alone have fun goofing around in the hallways before class.

Wise fool, indeed. Fortunately the "fool" part arrived early so I could gather enough wisdom to get back on my feet, grade-wise. It was like a grade stock market; at any time, anywhere, any way, one missed homework could mean the academic apocalypse for any student. This was the year when the state had to intervene and govern the school themselves.

Our paradise had been conquered, and the peaceful ignorance of any kind of event like this was destroyed like an eighteen-wheeler running over a styrofoam cup.

Welcome to high school, kids. Enjoy the ride.
Holy. Freaking. Crap.


These were the words that softly flew out of my face when I read an Email in my Gmail box saying, "Congratulations! I've chosen your short story, 'Crushed Paradise', to be in our next issue of NextStep Magazine! You will be sent $100 within a few days."

What does this mean? It means I just seriously. Got. PUBLISHED!


... AND I'm $100 richer! Time to buy more books!

'Grats Alek!
Hope more of yer books get published

NextStep Magazine an online mag?

No, NextStep is a magazine that comes out (I think) quarterly. I'm happy that I got a short story published; I never thought I'd get PAID for writing small stories .

Congrats . Dont spend it all at once

I'm spending 50 and putting 50 in the bank. 50/50's usually my savings strategy when I get money (but soon it'll be 25 spent/75 in bank when I keep writing and hopefully get published).

Nice job man

Thank you

Dude, awesome. I would love to get published, but I only write fiction. Alas, no one wants any fiction in a magazine.