Her name is Kanei Miyamoto. Her father is Japanese, while her mother is Cantonese. She kissed her mother and grandmother goodbye, waved, and stepped out of her two-floored house in Kobe, Japan. Walking down the short road to her school, she slightly shifted her black landoseru or, in other words, leather school bag. She glanced at her watch. Three more minutes — if she didn’t make haste, she would be late. Half jogging and half running, Kanei approached the school gates. It was lively, with groups of ecstatic girls and boys scattered everywhere, coming from every direction you can name. Looking around, Kanei shrank down ten inches —it was obvious that everyone here was pure Japanese. I don’t know what to do here, and I have no idea where my class is, she told herself. King-kong-kang-kong, king-kong-king-kong . . . the bells rang. Interesting I thought that bells are supposed to have only one sound that rings for five seconds or so. Kanei entered the building. It appeared like a maze to her . . . and it was her first time to ever go inside the school. She wasn’t accustomed to the Japanese setting of schools. Back where she used to live, her parents couldn’t afford the fees, so she attended a public school taught in English. “Ahem, um, would you please tell me where Mr. Yamanagi’s class is? I think I’m lost,” she randomly chose a tall, dainty girl to ask. The girl’s long hair swung around. “Do you mean Yamanagi sensei?” the girl questioned. ‘Ahem, um, would you please tell me where Mr. Yamanagi’s class is? I think I’m lost” Oh yeah, oops! Kanei forgot that she was supposed to call her teachers sensei, for teacher! “Um, yes!” “Oh, well, I’m going there now. Just follow me.” “Thanks.” “No problem. You’re new here?” “Um, yes.” “What’s your name?” “Kanei Miyamoto. Yours?” “Satsuki Takahara.” Kanei felt somewhat relieved and felt like she had found a friend. All her other classmates were already in the class. “Sit down, class, and we will begin.” There was a robust man standing in front of the class, and Kanei figured that it was Yamanagi sensei. The giggling and gossiping in the class died down. “All right, welcome class to the start of ichigakki, first term. I am your teacher this year. Let’s begin by introducing ourselves to each other. How about we start with you.” Yamanagi sensei pointed at a small boy sitting in a corner. He stood up and walked to the front of the class. “Hi. I’m Kenta Nakamu. My birthday is November 5, 1993, and I was born in Osaka. My hobbies are baseball, soccer, video games, and comics. My dream for the future is to be the next Hideki Matsui.” The class applauded. One by one, the students took turns. Oh no, I don’t want to do this. “Next, please.” Kanei knew it was her turn. “Hello, my name is Kanei Miyamoto. I was born in Shen Zhen, China, on May 17, 1993. I like to draw, play tennis, and sing. Someday, I would like to become a singer in a theater. This is the first time I am living in Japan and going to a real Japanese school, so . . . ” “Ha ha ha. Phugh!” A bunch of boys burst out laughing, and girls whispered behind cupped hands to each other. Satsuki was one of them. Kanei just gazed, bewildered. Did I do anything wrong? ” . . . well, so I hope you will all help me settle here.” Silence. Kanei didn’t know if she should sit or stay She looked at Yamanagi sensei. He seemed to be troubled. “Uh, um, thank you, Kanei. Let’s all help Kanei, right?” Silence. “Right, class?” “Ye-es,” murmured the class. “Kanei,” inquired Yamanagi sensei, “can you read and write? Do you know kanji, the Japanese characters?” Snickers. “Yes, I can, sensei I was tutored every week in Japanese studies.” Kanei felt humiliated. “Oh. Then, good.” The rest of the class continued with the self-introducing, and class started. In no time, it was recess. Kanei hunted for Satsuki, but to no avail. Desisting, she spotted a girls’ washroom and decided to set foot in it. Just when she was about to open the door, it was yanked out of her hands and flung open. “Oh, Satsuki, there you are! I was looking for you, and . . . ” “You were? Well, I’m sor-ry.” Kanei sensed some sarcasm in Satsuki’s tone. Kanei was taken aback. “Well, I was just wondering if we could spend the recess together, since . . .” “Oh, well. I can’t. I’m not going to waste my life caring for a Chinese girl!” With that, Satsuki tossed her hair at Kanei, raised her nose high into the air, and went away. Gee, she sure is in some bad mood. Although feeling much aggrieved, Kanei managed to swallow the pain and went back to class. “Attention, class, attention. I have an important announcement to make. All the shogaku rokunen, primary six students, will be performing a school musical play in two months’ time. If you wish to get one of the main vocal roles, you must attend the audition tomorrow after school, enjoy singing and acting, and be free every day for the next two months.” Sounds perfect for me. Perhaps it’ll help me make some friends here. The following day, Kanei made her way to Nishima sensei’s class, her music teacher. There were about fifteen people for the audition, and Nishima sensei recorded everyone’s names onto a piece of paper in her hands. “Everyone, please take a seat. We will begin soon. Hashimoto sensei, your art teacher, and Otsuka sensei, your principal, along with me, are the judges. We will judge you by having you all sing the song ‘Sukiyaki’ today I will accompany you with the melody on piano. Everyone knows the song, right?” Everyone, including Kanei, nodded. This was one of
Friendship
Friends Forever?
“Wheeee!” We must have been going fifty, maybe sixty miles per hour in his new Whaler speedboat, and I loved every minute of it. Janet, lying down in the bow to perfect her supermodel tan, gripped onto the handrails at this sudden shift of speed. I laughed next to Jesse, my six-foot-one, fifteen-year-old friend from two houses down. His sandy-blond hair was erupting from his worn Boston Red Sox cap that looked like it went through just as much abuse as the team itself. His emerald eyes were shielded by a brand new, gleaming pair of black Oakleys so as to impress the ladies. I on the other hand was uncomfortably placed on the driver’s seat next to him, attempting to look half as cool. I strained my eyes behind the dashboard and I could barely make out our destination in the distance. VVe must have been going fifty, maybe sixty miles per how; and I loved every minute of it I stepped off the Kiss My Bass and lingered on the dock as Jesse fastened the bow rope to the dock post. My fifteen-year-old sister, Janet, a brown-haired, fashion-loving, shoe-collecting diva, was right behind me, sporting a J-Crew skirt and an Anthropology T-shirt. Then I noticed her earrings, sparkling like tiny suns dangling from her earlobes. Why has she suddenly started wearing earrings? I thought to myself. Who is she trying to impress? It’s not like we’re in the city… we’re on a boat heading into a fisherman’s diner! However, the thought of melt-in-your-mouth, luscious, buttermilk pancakes quickly took over my mind and I had to cup my hand up to my mouth to stop the cascading drops of drool. Jesse jogged up the walkway, slowly putting his wife beater over his bare chest, and I thought I saw Janet’s stare linger for a couple of seconds before she looked down at her feet. You see, the story of our friendship is a complicated one and may not be for the weak of heart. Back in the day, when I was a mere six years old, I met Jesse on the sandy shoreline of Wingaersheek beach. He looked a lot like me, only two years older with some buck teeth, but I didn’t care and we soon become two peas in a pod. One day I brought him to my humble abode, and we ran into my sister. Coincidentally, the two knew each other from sailing. However, they were not buddies. Jesse would tease her incessantly and Janet hated him. The awkwardness that followed was so tangible it was hard to breathe. In the following summers, Janet and Jesse warmed up to each other, but it was obvious that Jesse and I were closer buddies than him and Janet. I selfishly enjoyed this knowledge, but that would all end soon. Jesse taught me everything about sports, girls, video games, baseball cards, and everything in between! Soon, Janet became accepted into our Rat Pack, and we’d all hang out together. But recently, I started to feel that maybe I was becoming the outcast… We walked through the rickety, weather- beaten door of Charlie’s Restaurant. The jingle-jangle of the two bells taped to the front door caught the attention of the waitress and she pointed us to a corner booth. I slid down the bouncy seat, and Jesse followed behind me as Janet sat opposite from him, directly opposite. A rumbling feeling erupted from my stomach, my calling card for hunger. Or was it something else? I ordered my buttermilk pancakes and Janet and Jesse decided to split a short stack of chocolate chip pancakes. “You like chocolate chip pancakes?” my sister giddily exclaimed. “Me too!” Suddenly, they started to talk non-stop and every time I tried to get a word in edgewise, I was cut off by banter of shoes or high school. What has happened to our friendship? Our gang? And then I was struck with the most hideous, repulsive, barf-inducing thought. Do—do my friends LIKE each other? Oh—oh no, it can’t be! But even as I denied this horrible idea, the two were having a staring contest and my sister laughed the most girlish giggle I had ever heard from her. My heart sank as our waitress named Pam set out my steaming, juicy set of carb-filled happiness. The two clanged their forks together as I tried to bury my heartbroken face into my cup of milk. With each round of the pedals I felt more confident that this was the right thing to do I walked alone down Wingaersheek Beach, the same beach where Jesse and I used to practice football plays in the sand and where we would point out all of the beach babes soaking up the rays. The clouds had swallowed the sun, leaving only a dull shine on one end of the beach. Every step I took, I could not believe my luck (or lack thereof). All of the signs, how did I miss them? Their lone walks together when I was at tennis, her always dressing up nice even when we were eating pizza, Jesse always calling and asking for Janet instead of me, I felt so alone. He was my best friend, the only one I had, and I was losing him and there was nothing I could do to stop it. But, maybe it was time I met someone else, someone my own age. There were the Silverman kids on the next street over; one of them looks around thirteen. Maybe it’s time that I took control, to stop feeling alone and left out. I ran up my beach path, snapped on my sandals, slammed on my helmet, and biked to the next street over. With each round of the pedals I felt more confident that this was the right thing to do. I was sick of wasting away my summer with two kids who thought of me as an annoying little brother rather than a friend. Quickly
Guess What, Rebecca Baits?
Rebecca knew a lot more about life than most children do. Rebecca, being the eldest of three children, had a lot of experience with young kids. She was kind and accepted the challenges that everyone must face now and then. What she did not know was that something huge was coming, something that would change four children’s friendships forever. Fred Lipto adjusted his Harry Potter glasses before finishing the last (and hardest) problem on his ninth-grade algebra test. Fred was in fourth grade. He was a math wiz with freckles, and a good sense of humor. He was Rebecca’s best friend and had known her since kindergarten. He was also the co-author of Stonehedge, a book he and Sarah (a girl who I will mention later) are currently writing. Fred’s pen name is Flying Duck. Sarah Hinkle flexed her fingers and sharpened a fresh, number 2 pencil before looking down in her notebook to do a final edit of the story she had been working on for months. Sarah was an author, a lover of books, a critic, and a lover of comfortable shoes. She treasured green eyes, black hair, black cats, and Harry Potter movies (as well as the books). She was Rebecca’s good friend and never missed a chance to cheer people up with her lively ways and sharp mind. She played the violin, as well as the piano, and her two favorite quotes were, “Great minds think alike” (she said that to Fred a lot) and “Winners are losers and losers are winners” (she said that to George a lot). For your information, George is the fourth friend. Sarah’s pen name is Keylock Sniders. “George Wiles, put that video game down and do something useful!” hollered George’s mother. “Good luck,” they all said, “and goodbye” George Wiles reluctantly put down his control and turned off the X-Box he had gotten for Christmas. He had been at the height of the game where Mario was about to get out of the Yube, get back his star charts, and enter the secret chamber! He walked outside and helped his sister, Madison, haul the disgusting garbage cans out of the garage and onto the sidewalk. His neighbor, Robert Mettla, was doing the same thing. When he went back inside, he recaptured the moments in school that day. The class had loved the new (and improved) “Ember Tyke and Breezy Baby” story that he wrote. Ah, life was perfect for George, or so he thought. Wham! The door slammed as a tired Mr. Decker walked in. He settled himself in a chair and his wife brought him a steaming plate of macaroni and cheese, and, of course, a mug of boiling, hot coffee. As he stirred his dinner around in his bowl, he thought about his fourth-grade class, especially Rebecca Baits. She was a good student, a little on the shy side perhaps, but precise and clever. Three blocks away, Fred had put down his algebra book and was now nestled snugly in his favorite chair, eating rice and chicken. Two blocks away, Sarah was settling down to some steak and cucumbers after just submitting her latest story to Stone Soup magazine. At 36 Joseph Drive, George was scraping the last piece of pizza onto his dish. It was obviously pepperoni pizza, George’s favorite. On Baits Lane, Rebecca and her family were eating pasta, Rebecca’s favorite food. Her mother cleared her throat. “I’ve already told your siblings about this,” she began. “You are not going to like what I have to say. Guess what, Rebecca Baits? We’re moving.” Rebecca didn’t tell her friends immediately that in four short months she would have to move from Norwell, the only home she had ever known. A battle raged in her mind between enjoying her life and spending a carefree four months with her friends or giving her friends the time to get used to the idea that she was moving. She finally decided to tell them. Even though Fred was her closest friend, she told Sarah first. She had always been able to share a lot of things with Sarah, for she was a girl too. Sarah took it calmly but you could see the worry in her hazelnut eyes, and when she got home she destroyed her newest story (an act that her mother said was a disgrace). Sarah promised to let Rebecca break the news to Fred and George and swore she wouldn’t tell anyone else at school. Next, Rebecca told Fred. He jumped up and down and said he’d cut off his left arm if Rebecca moved. When he got home, he tried to snap his flute in half George’s turn! George went home and chucked his Play Station 2 out the window he was so mad. All of them were terribly angry but didn’t tell their parents anything. Rebecca pleaded with her parents, but they said they had to move because of their jobs. “Where are we moving to?” Rebecca questioned, but the answer was always the same. “We don’t know yet.” Rebecca was discouraged. Her friends tried to cheer her up but it was no use. She had known George since third grade, Sarah since second, and Fred since kindergarten. Rebecca had faced many challenges before but this was the worst. She didn’t know what she was going to do. Sure she was going to make new friends, but not like these. She would miss everyone in her class, especially her teachers, Mrs. Williamson and Mr. Decker. When she found out the day they were moving to Alabama, Rebecca immediately told her friends. On the day of the move, right before she got into the car, each of her three friends gave her a parcel. “Good luck,” they all said, “and goodbye.” Rebecca hopped into the car, and was driven away. In the parcels she found from Fred a little book that said “My Secrets” and a note that said, “In case you forget all the secrets
