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The 110º: Tucson's Youth Tell Tucson's Stories magazine is the annual product of the eight-month VOICES 110º After School Magazine Project. VOICES professionals mentor the project youth in research, interviewing, writing, and photography so they can tell their personal and community stories. The youth are paid a stipend and receive three college credits in social studies from Pima Community College.

This is the sixth edition of the magazine and the third to appear in the Arizona Daily Star.

Surviving Genocide

I was born in a peaceful country, until the war started.

April 7, 1994, 6 p.m.

My family and I are sitting down at the wooden dinner table, eating boiled potatoes with green beans.

Contained Generation

I turn down South Tucson Boulevard, left on Warrick, right on Keswick Circle, and park out in front of the house with the white fence. I go inside, lie in my bed, and listen to the train traffic carrying on outside my window. Barrio Centro is the only place I've ever been that has remained the same since I was a child.

Finding Shelter

Homelessness doesn't mean the same thing to everyone. Some people think that being homeless means living on the streets. But to me, homelessness means my family - my mom, Andree, my dad, Francisco, and my brother, Tristan - "living" in a small hotel room, not knowing how long we will be able to afford to stay.

300 Square Feet

I live in a studio apartment just west of the University of Arizona. It's no bigger than 300 square feet and I share it with my father, paper work, power tools, stacks of books and cobwebs. The shower is a rusted metal shell that leaks out into the yard through the walls. The windows are all broken, the bathroom has no door (actually, it has a blue duet blind that doesn't reach the floor) and the kitchen is too small to have food in it (we keep most of it outside). This is where I live, where I start and end my day.

Accepting Fate

Drowsy-eyed and half asleep, I rose out of bed, wondering what it was that woke me up. The noise I heard was unnerving. I realized it was my mother speaking quietly but erratically in the living room of our two-bedroom apartment. It wasn't normal conversation. She sounded like she was speaking in tongues.

Casting Sobriety

Rene fell to his knees in frustration and shouted, "I don't want to die!" The audience grew silent as he slowly realized how much he still wanted to live, that he didn't want to continue abusing marijuana. As dramatic as the scene was, the story was quite true.

Paying the Rent

My mom won't let me out of her room and I'm almost in tears. Even though she tries to block the doorway, I'm still able to see everything she is protecting me from: all the people, the guns, and the bags and bags of crack. "Hey, my daughter is coming out of my room," she says to all the drug lords.

Shadow of Myself

My father was strong, and he kept all of us sane. The moment he was gone, there was no glue to keep us together.

My parents told us the news at his 56th birthday party. I was 12. My mother sat all of the immediate family in a circle and handed pictures of her and Papa out to everyone. It seemed like just about the worst way you could go about it.

Coping with Loss: The sadness never goes away, but life continues

Ivy Blanchard interviewed her City High School classmate Margo Wallace, 16, whose father died when she was 11.

High School Twice

The worst choice I ever made in school was the first time I ditched. I was in the ninth grade, and a little nervous about getting caught. I only skipped for one period, and even though I believed the hall monitors would give me a hard time, they never bothered me. I thought school was boring, I liked being with my friends and I found out that simply not going to class was pretty easy to do.

Fenced In

"See those mountains there?" Al Garza asks me, pointing miles into the distance in front of us. "That side is Mexico." I am seated in the passenger seat of Garza's car, driving toward the mountains that represent the frontier between the United States and Mexico. We did not reach the border that day, or the next, but this journey would take me closer to Mexico than I had ever been in the past.

Belt it Out

One of the first memories I have of mariachi is seeing a female guitarist on stage at a fiesta when I was about 7. I immediately fell in love with the music. I wanted to learn it, I wanted to play it, sing it, feel it, be it.

Molding a Trade

The smell of charcoal is everywhere and the air is warm. A fire burns in the belly of a forge. The sound of a blacksmith pounding steel echoes throughout the room.

Animal Instincts

A few years ago, I moved from the lush bluegrass state of Kentucky to the desert of Arizona. I started school at Amphitheater High, not knowing anyone.

Although I didn't know what to expect, I enrolled in agricultural science because I needed an extra class for my schedule.

Finding Stability

"Hey Nora! Come back down here! We're just gonna make a big circle right around us, O.K.? Shorten your reins up and change your diagonal. No, no, no! Halt, halt. This is where your leg belongs. Arch. Sit up tall. Keep your reins short. Keep your thumbs on the rein. Soften your elbows here. Your wrists never change. Imagine there's a Popsicle stick right here and that's your splint. There should be a direct line from the bit to your hands to your elbows."

Marrying Young

Because of all the time we have to spend apart, the phone conversations with my boyfriend Luke aren't always the friendliest. "Luke, it really bothers me that we're only engaged when it's convenient for you. At your Eagle, Globe and Anchor Ceremony you referred to me as your fiancée, but we're not really engaged, are we? Well?" My surly, whiny nag demanded a response from him.

Starting the Conversation

I'm out of breath, and walking in the September heat across the patio of my school at lunch time, collecting donations for Hurricane Katrina Relief. As I venture up the stairs toward the cafeteria, jingling a homemade collection box, I notice that almost all the chatting students at the tables in that area are black. "Hi. We're collecting for Hurricane Katrina Relief. Do you have any spare change you could donate, anything at all?" Someone out of sight yells out to me, "Are you black?"

Daily Bread

Three times a week, the members of the Life in Christ Community Church gather to prepare hot meals for the homeless. The meals began in 1999, and when I started attending with my grandpa in 2002, I started volunteering right away. Now, the "feedings" often draw upwards of 150 hungry people from around Tucson and the volunteer base has grown to around 60.

Life in Perspective

I woke up to the feel of stiff sheets and itchy blankets, the smell of latex and old worn- out bandages, and a wild craving for mashed potatoes. Tubes filled with strange yellow liquid were protruding out of my chest. Strangers with gloved hands held me down, jabbed me with needles, and forced me to drink dull pink liquid antibiotics that tasted sickeningly sweet and left a thick residue in my mouth. Spending a day like this would probably drive most people crazy. But I was just 3 years old, and I would be sick like this for the next two and a half years of my life.

Not Alone

I remember throwing a glass against my bedroom wall sometime later that evening, as well as washing blood off my body - his or mine I don't know.

But there was so much of it.

Shame, Silence, Power, Choice

I remember always having this idea about sex. It was never bad. Whenever I thought or heard about sex, I wanted to know more. I remember. I was 6 and there were no people around. I got on the couch and danced in my nightshirt. I imagined I was a stripper. But I knew I was doing something wrong. I knew if my mom caught me she would scold, punish, question me. I never knew what I would say if I got caught. I never did.

Sex isn't a dirty word: it's a part of life

This story has my name on it, but it's not just mine. This is the story of millions of girls across the country who feel like they can't talk about sex. Teenage women need someone who will listen without judgment.