Yuki Deng is the kind of student you remember.

A seventh grader at Macomb Middle School, Yuki speaks with the presence of someone older—but never less than fully herself. In one conversation, she might explore the nuances of monomials in algebra, share her interest in neurology, describe her role in getting her neighborhood road repaved, and offer reflections on the global condition of humanity. And yet, it never feels like showing off. It feels like seeing—clearly, curiously, kindly.

Born in Room 1 at MDH, Yuki is, as she puts it, “100% Macombie Homey.” But her sense of community stretches far beyond any city limit.

Take the road.

“When I was nine, I fell off my bike on the gravel and chipped my teeth,” she recalls. The road in her neighborhood was in bad shape—potholes, cracks, uneven pavement. So she and her mother took action. They circulated a petition, gathered support from neighbors, and presented it to the mayor. The result? The road was fixed.

But what Yuki remembers most isn’t the asphalt—it’s the realization.

“I figured out I have real power as a citizen,” she says. “It feels weird having a lot of power as a quite young person, but… I can use it for good.”

That thread—of capability, of conscience—runs through everything she touches. She’s on the track team, running the 400 and 800 meters. She plays percussion in band, sings in choir, and paints in her free time. She takes the most advanced math class offered to seventh graders, and next year, if her grades and teacher recommendations align, she’ll be eligible to take geometry—for high school credit.

She’s also a strong writer and an advocate. She and her sister—who is on the autism spectrum—created an art installation at Clock Tower Community Bank to raise awareness for autism. “My sister’s amazing,” Yuki says. “She taught herself Chinese. She plays piano. She learns online. She’s really smart.”

Yuki’s admiration is genuine, and so is her resolve to help others see that differences are not deficits. “She’s not less than,” she says. “She’s different than.”

As for her own future? Yuki’s not locking into anything yet—but she’s leaning toward the medical field. She loves science, has dabbled in robotics, and admires her pediatrician, Dr. Lockard, who taught her the name for a mysterious rash she once had: idiopathic urticaria. “It’s about as simple as supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” she jokes.

For now, she’s in a season of joyful exploration—gardening one weekend, practicing piano the next, digging into IXL, an online learning platform she uses to practice math and language arts, trying euphonium at summer camp (“surprisingly easy”), and thinking about tennis in high school, thanks to a senior friend who asked her to carry on the legacy.

Ask her what she’ll remember about school and she answers with characteristic depth.

“The evolution of my friend group,” she says. “People grow. They change. And we naturally classify. That’s just what happens.”

But beneath that taxonomy is a wide, open mind. “I try to have a little bit of everything,” she says. “It makes it easier to relate to people.”

She means it. Yuki has the kind of intellect that could tower—but she doesn’t let it. Instead, she extends it. To classmates, to neighbors, to her sister, to a world she knows is complicated, often unjust, sometimes strange.

“Humanity is kind of weird these days,” she says softly. “There’s a lot going on. But we all still have a voice.”

And hers?

It’s only just begun to sing.