A football team, an underground music scene, a dog park, a Native market, a rock climbing gym: In the photo essays below, the runners-up of our “Where We Are” contest introduce you to small but vibrant communities all over, and show you the places where they gather.

As always, we invite you to leave comments for these young photojournalists to tell them what you thought. And if you haven’t already, please also enjoy the work of our winner, and find a list of all finalists here.

Note: With their permission, we have condensed the work of the runners-up to four photos and an edited version of their original introduction and captions.

A Four-Legged Community for Everyone

By Madeline Leluc, 15, North Charleston, S.C.

When Livia Brooks relocated to Mount Pleasant, S.C., two years ago, she faced the daunting prospect of starting fresh in an unfamiliar city. “Those initial months were really challenging,” she recalled. “I didn’t know many people, and being in a completely new environment was tough — so I did what a lot of people do when they’re lonely and rescued a dog.”

One afternoon, as Livia retrieved her mail at her apartment complex, she stumbled upon a flier on the community board. The flier bore a simple message: “Have a dog? Want friends? Come to the James Island County dog park Thursday at 5 p.m.”

For Livia and her fellow club members, these weekly Thursday meetings are an opportunity to forget about life’s stresses and just be themselves. “Honestly, I don’t know what I would do without the new people I’ve met in my life, they’ve become family,” she said. “Plus, Lola, my dog, has made so many friends, every Thursday she nudges me out of the door.”

“I think Lola knows how happy being at the park makes me,” Livia said.

Peanut dressed in a lei for the club’s “Culture Day.” Her owner, Koa Iona, struggled with homesickness after moving to South Carolina from Hawaii. “I actually met someone from the same island where I grew up, and we instantly clicked — it was like I was back in Oahu,” she said.

On warm evenings, the club enjoys playing a variety of games, including mini golf. With the help of some friends, Livia set up a makeshift course with obstacles and flags. Yet, more often than not, the ball is kidnapped by a dog and disappears into the pond.

Since attending her first Thursday meet-up, Livia has maintained an unbroken attendance record. “Whenever I see someone new around the neighborhood, I immediately invite them to come, regardless of whether they have a dog,” she said. “I hope this environment can help others as much as it helps me.”

A Football Team That Teaches Its Players How to Be Brothers

By Jaewon Yoon, 15, Salisbury School, Salisbury, Conn.

Every year, on the Thursday right before the last game of the football season, the Salisbury Knights gather behind the bleachers. The sun is almost gone, and in the onset of the gloaming they light a fire. The exhilaration and exhaustion from the conditioning of the day wears off, and the cold of the New England autumn air nips at their bare arms.

The fire is for a ritual called The Burning, where the team spends a moment remembering the time players have spent with them. The seniors step forward and feed something important to themselves to the fire, which grows taller and taller with every memory fed to it: gloves, cleats, arm sleeves. They share their stories with the circle of teammates by the pyre.

Year after year, the grueling physicality of football and the emotional vulnerability that comes with failure, victory, personal struggles and trusting in teammates makes the Salisbury football team more like a family than a sports team.

At the start of preseason, the head coach, Chris Phelps, proclaims, “Respect is given, and it is up to the person that you are giving it to to keep it.”

Before games, the locker room is deafening. Speakers blare music and the players suit up, hyping one another up, electrified with bravado.

Then, everyone gathers together and the room becomes silent. In prayer, the team becomes one. Everyone knows that battles are mostly fought in the mind and heart.

The concept of brotherhood is known as Sarum at the Salisbury School, a boys boarding school in New England. Sarum also represents honor and loyalty, both of which are key parts of a Salisbury gentleman. Before each home game, the fan section collectively runs down to the field, waving flags and beating drums, Sarum radiating from their gestures and shouts.

Tino Harper, center, a running back, blocks for Bailey Coleman, right, a wide receiver, for a large gain on the third down. In football, trust in your teammates is crucial. After all, it is a sport where you are putting your body on the line.

Trust is the glue that keeps a team together.

The Last Reindeer Herders of China

By Andrew Li, 17, Tsinghua International School, Beijing

The Reindeer Tribe represents China’s only reindeer herding tribe, and is situated in the Inner Mongolia region of China. Today, this specific branch of Ewenkis, an ethnic group Indigenous to sub-Arctic Asia, only has a couple hundred members remaining. Maliya Suo, the last female chieftain of the tribe, passed away two years ago. In 2003, the government confiscated their rifles, compelling the tribe to relocate to settlements below the mountains. As they moved out of the mountains, their language, culture and people slowly faded into the mists.

Nevertheless, Budongxia Bu and her husband, Xiaoliangku Xiao, were among the few who opted to stay in the deep forest in their commitment to preserving their nomadic lifestyle. As such, Budongxia stands as one of the final guardians of their ethnic culture. Their only son went to the city for university and has long since been unable to adapt to life in the mountains. Budongxia remains the sole family member fluent in the Ewenki language.

Their generation grapples with the delicate balance between heritage preservation and the encroaching influence of modern society. The balance of the past, the present and the future is the greatest challenge. In this delicate dance, a photographer’s lens captured their essence, freezing moments of resilience amid minus-45-Fahrenheit winds.

Budongxia, wearing traditional Ewenki clothing, herded the reindeer into the deep forest to feast on lichen. “Due to the deteriorating environment, our reindeer are becoming smaller and fewer in number, compelling us to venture deeper into the forest in search of lichen,” she explained.

The couple prefer their primitive tents over the modern ones. After the government confiscated their rifles, they made scarecrows out of bearskins to scare the wolves away. “People think this is the Ewenki way,” Xiaoliangku said, “but the real way is long gone and only exists in our memories.”

Budongxia and Xiaoliangku are among the last of the Ewenki people who still embrace a nomadic lifestyle. Periodically relocating, their tents afford them the efficiency needed for this way of life.

All reindeer wear bells around their necks to enable their herders to identify their location. Some reindeer have special bells that produce unique sounds, aiding in their identification.

Every part of a reindeer is useful to the Ewenki people. Parts such as the antlers are sold, and the meat is used for food.

“The reindeer are our life,” Budongxia said. “Without them, we are nothing. But the modern world is leaving us behind.”

The N.Y.C. Underground Teen D.I.Y. Music Scene

By Allison Park, 16, Ramapo High School, Franklin Lakes, N.J., and JD Noonan, 16, New Design High School, New York City

It doesn’t matter whether it’s a bar, somebody’s basement or a rental space: These New York City high school students can turn any place into their own kaleidoscopic soundscape. Amid the flickering lights and thrumming bass lines, free souls groove to the rhythm they’ve made. Welcome to the underground.

Creating an electrifying energy where teens mingle and mosh, these young musicians are forming bands and collaborating to organize their own shows all around the city. Rather than booking studios and sound engineers, they self-record in their bedrooms and mix the music themselves. Pulling inspiration from alternative genres like shoegaze, screamo and synth-rock, the clashing sounds come together in harmonious chaos.

Autumn Rhythm was formed when Sam Levine, Jesse Mair, Isen Ritchie and Joey LaRosa met at shows. Joey, 17, a guitarist and vocalist, characterized the scene as “a bunch of bands who are more or less united by their desire to do things themselves at a young age.”

Each musician experiments and performs with a pedal board customized to project a signature tone.

“No two bands really sound the same here, and I think that’s what makes the community we have so compelling,” Joey said. “People want to get involved to craft and express their own unique sound.”

It all comes back to friendship and unity. “The beautiful thing about these stages is that it doesn’t feel like the band and then the audience,” said Autumn Rhythm’s guitarist, Isen, 20. “We’re sort of one in the same because we all know each other — people in the bands and people in the crowds.”

This may be an underground community, but it’s not one that is gatekept or exclusive. “An easy misconception is that there’s a barrier to entry, but the real truth is it’s so welcoming,” said Jesse, 18, a bass player.

“You find a common band with someone and then you have a friend,” Joey agreed.

Made for kids and by kids, this community has become a vessel of connection, expression and escape: a place to find your voice and make it heard.

Jingpo Children Are Branching Out With Their Own ‘Prop Roots’

By Ruixin Zhang, 16, Tsinglan School, Dongguan, China

As the moon ascended above the countryside, a group of people aged 3 to 26 trekked up an empty mountain road. Amid the cricket chirps and peals of laughter, the little children wove between trudging adult legs, pulling on the arms of eager friends.

At dawn, they reached a banyan tree over 20 meters tall and 10 meters wide. Clinging to old vines, these kids weren’t scared at all. With a push, they clambered up! They started exploring every hole with the older children watching below.

They’re from Prop Roots, a nongovernmental organization co-founded by Li Yang and her husband, Dr. Anton Lustig, in the Yingpan village in Yunnan Province, China, in 2009. This village, located on the border with Myanmar, is home to the local Jingpo ethnic group. It is a beautiful area, but it is plagued by violence and other dangerous factors.

“Kids here need career anchors,” Li said. “Instead of vulnerability, I hope they see their unique advantages and abilities given by their distinct ethnic culture and nature.” To date, Prop Roots has served over 200 children, teaching them to paint, photograph and even perform Jingpo folklore puppet shows — anything related to their passion.

“Even playing ducks and drakes well gives you a sense of accomplishment,” one member, Nongkan Pai, explained.

Jiafeng Sun played with rocks at Longjiang River. On her face is a thin layer of yellowish paste called “Thanaka,” a distinctive feature of Jingpo aesthetic culture that symbolizes spiritual well being, elegance and a shared identity.

In her free time, Jiafeng learns Henna drawing, seen in the intricate designs along her leg.

Instead of a sheet of strict rules, the children abide by the words of the “Kitchen God” while cooking in this shared kitchen. This Kitchen God, made by the Prop Roots family together, represents the caring, warm souls of the Prop Roots community. It’s also an embodiment of Jingpo animalistic beliefs.

Skipping rocks along the riverside is a common activity at Prop Roots.

With the backing of Prop Roots, kids here have the courage to “skip further” and go for their dreams.

After Years of Indigenous Trauma, This Fair and Market Unites All Walks of Life

By Sydney Voorhees, 17, Willow Canyon High School, Surprise, Ariz.

As the beaming March sun rose over downtown Phoenix, people of all kinds congregated on the bustling Heard Museum grounds to experience the 66th Annual Indian Fair and Market.

From the main entrance to the fair, rows of white tents marked the sites of over 600 American Indian, Alaska Native and Canadian First Nations artists showcasing their handmade paintings, beadwork, carvings and more, seamlessly blending tradition with modern innovation.

Chi’Chino Spirit O’Odham dancers led Indian Fair and Market attendees in the round dance, pictured above, a tradition that unites communities through healing and the celebration of life. “When we share our culture, we embrace the livelihood of our ancestors while corroborating the continued existence of our people and lifeways,” said one dancer, Gabe Garcia.

As one of the largest American Indian art markets in the world and the largest art market in Arizona, the fair stands as a beacon, striving to advance Indigenous art and, according to the Heard Museum Guild, creating “a place for shared experiences and connections that echo the rhythms of cultural heritage.”

Above, River Webb, a Two-Spirit of the Nez Percé and Meskwaki tribes displayed their beadwork. The artist, alternatively known as Killer Butterfly Woman, referred to their Native people in their Iowa hometown: “We are a tiny tribe, but we have maintained ourselves because we know who we are.”

Louie Dosela flashed a piercing gaze as he played the coyote in the Quail Dance with the Chi’Chino Spirit O’Odham Dance Group. The moral of the Quail Dance is that everyone is an example to someone younger, and to become a good ancestor, temptation (the coyote) must be fought.

This yearly celebration serves as an opportunity for Native people to embrace their roots, as well as to expose non-Native people to an evocative, resilient culture of expression and community. The exchange of emotion and knowledge between Indigenous and modern Western cultures is a healing, transformative experience. “I feel liberation in their freedom,” said Aspen Galanyuk, a Russian immigrant and queer woman, who reflected on how the fair offered her peace in her own identity conflict.

In this photo, a six-time World Champion Hoop Dancer and popular Indigenous musician, Tony Duncan, and his son Naiche Duncan perform together.

Tony explained to the crowd: “To dance is to heal. To dance is to pray.”

At Maumee Valley Country Day School, Fifth-Grade Girls Unite for District Championship Dreams

By Jiajia Long, 17, Maumee Valley Country Day School, Toledo, Ohio

People who don’t know better might view the Maumee Valley Country Day School fifth-grade girls’ basketball team as just a typical middle school girls’ team playing a match. But for these girls, the team is a journey deep into friendship and dedication

In a gym echoing with history, Valencia Kaatz, one of the players, shared her feelings: “I want to make history. It feels like forever since our school won the district title in fifth-grade girls’ basketball, nearly a decade now. Even though we are still young and sometimes training is exhausting, our team has got each other’s back. It’s the team spirit that makes me think we can win.”

The gym buzzed with energy as the athletes trained hard, surrounded by symbols of past victories.

Coach Chris Kaatz’s basketball coaching board was visible inside an open sports bag on a wooden bench. Every game requires strategic planning.

Elyse Moebius, center, pretended to give her teammate Samiyah Hayes water from the water jug, reflecting a moment of joy and playful bonding among these young players.

When they face muscle aches and the weariness of practice, they empower one another. They know that by trusting and helping one another, they can accomplish something big together.

At This Rock Climbing Gym, ‘Everyone Belongs’

By Finn Feldman, 17, Centaurus High School, Lafayette, Colo.

Residents of Louisville, Colo., ride their bikes across a sublime mountain landscape to a place simply called The Spot — an industrial building 30 minutes from Denver that houses not only one of the first bouldering gyms in the country, but a family of mountaineers from all walks of life.

The Spot has the perks of pristine equipment, but the commercial feeling ends there. All who walk in are greeted by smiling employees, unruly children and veteran seniors.

“When I first started, I was really scared, but everyone was very supportive,” said Sonya Soloman, a 15-year-old on the comp team, the gym’s competing level. “They really don’t care what ‘grade level’ you’re at; they just care how hard you work.” Even the veterans cheer and give positive feedback on every climb.

To align with their mission of accessibility, The Spot introduced for the first time this year a nonbinary category for competitions, Marian Prather, a front desk staff member, announced excitedly. The Spot also offers a sliding scale, providing significantly discounted memberships to those in need.

Climbers can come to The Spot on their own or join a team. Addie Bliss, a 15-year-old on the comp team, said: “This winter, I ripped a tendon in my wrist and was unable to climb for about six weeks. While it was a difficult time for me and my physical health, I was extremely thankful to go to practices and have teammates condition with me, as well as just talk to me despite my injury.”

Rock climbing is a sport with an individual nature, yet athletes at The Spot claim the isolation leaves once you step into the gym. Connor Earle, 17, center, called out to his teammates Addie, Ocean Reamer and Jamie Singh for help before a climb.

Clare Naughton, Josh Condon and Marian and Rain Mclean work the front desk. They manage check-ins and do hourly checks on safety. When walking around, they are greeted by smiles and “like-minded people who also love climbing,” Marian said.

The Spot houses both bouldering and rope climbing. When top-rope climbing, athletes are strapped into a harness that connects to a belay device, letting them scale up higher. Bouldering requires climbers to use only certain color holds, with a crash pad below to catch those who fall.

“Everyone belongs here,” Marian said. “We offer a social night every Thursday and other events that really help separate The Spot from just a rock climbing gym.”

The Boys in Ballet

By Hannah Tang, 15, Western Academy of Beijing, Beijing

“Do you like to dance?” I asked the little boy. He chuckled, shrugged and ran off to hang out with his friends.

It was my first encounter with these young boys, slender and small, all looking somewhat embarrassed to enter the studio. Clad in white shirts worn inside out and black pants scrunched up underneath dusty white socks, they were a sight to behold. But gosh, they were hilarious.

“I can’t fit my feet in the shoe!” one said, and with half his foot left outside the dance shoe, he entered the studio.

This was their first time putting this gear on, but also their first time going to a dance class. They are a group of Chinese boys, aged 7 to 8, who became orphans in infancy and now reside with their adoptive parents in Beijing. They receive support from the Conservatory of International Style and Cultural Arts dance studio to take dance classes every week for free. The conservatory has given them the opportunity to be seen and to strive for the chance to perform and represent themselves.

As they learned “sauté,” which required them to practice pushing themselves away from the wall with their legs, they found joy in gazing at their reflections in the mirror. One person chuckled, and the whole class burst into laughter.

A loud racket reverberated through the floor as the boys held their hands on their waists. In their individual rhythms, everyone jumped up and down, creating an orchestra of mischievousness, laughter and excitement.

“Now, we’re going to learn how to do a leap,” the dance teacher announced in Chinese, but using the English word for “leap.”

“Sleep!?,” one boy said, confused.

“No, leap,” the teacher said. “You shall jump from this blue dot to the red one.”

Everyone dropped their jaws, whispering to each other. After only 10 minutes of patient teaching, they went from simply crossing the dots to “leaping.” They learn things pretty quickly.

These boys might not have loved dance immediately, but all of them tried their best in class, their eyes darting left and right to see if they were standing tall enough or jumping high enough. They crave compliments as much as they yearn for toy cars.

One of them, Caixian, was born deaf and has been silent since birth. Through dance, he and his friends have gone “from being silent to gradually revealing themselves,” their dance teacher, Shaun, said. “It has provided them with another space for expression.”