When I lived in Caracas, Venezuela, I went to a Catholic school called San Ignacio. I was there for kindergarten and preparatorio (a grade after kindergarten and before first grade). I was in a group of three friends that always did everything together. In this group, there was the oldest, a kid whose name I have regretfully forgotten, the youngest, Luis Manuel, and me, right in the middle. Luis Manuel had light brown hair, a long face, and was very thin. One thing that really stood out was a scar running from the corner of his forehead diagonally to his right eye. He always said he had gotten it from a cat, though I wasn’t so sure because this seemed like such an ordinary story for him. Though being the youngest, Luis Manuel was our leader. He was outspoken, getting himself where he wanted to be. He was very energetic, always running and jumping. “Vamos!” he would call back to us, already at the tire swings, grinning a devilish grin, while the other kid and I were still pondering whether to go down the slide or climb down the rope ladder. Always talking, he had a tendency of getting himself into trouble with our teacher. Even though he did get into a lot of trouble, the teachers still liked him. He just had to look at you with his innocent look and all was forgiven. What was one of the coolest things about Luis Manuel was this aura you could sense around him, that made you want to be friends and be exactly like him. That was how cool, nice, and friendly he was. “Vamos!” he would call back to us, already at the tire swings One day, as we were walking down the hallway, talking, we spotted a Cheeto on the ground a few meters away He turned to me with his devilish grin, ran to the Cheeto, grabbed it up, and popped it into his mouth. “Come on! That was no competition!” he laughed. “I would have won if I was a pig like you!” I joked back. “My mom says that you can get germs from eating things off the floor.” “Running out of excuses, eh? Cheetos are good, and plus, if I do get sick, at least I get to stay home.” We both laughed, and walked down the rest of the way to the class, shooting comebacks at each other. Every morning, before class, all the kinderkids and the kids from preparatorio would flock to the orchards and sit in the grass. Then the nuns and the principal would come and we would have our morning prayers, sing songs, and then go back to class. The principal told us to not tear the grass, but everyone did anyways, stuffing it all into their pockets and see who would have the most at recess. Teachers would walk around trying to make sure the rule was obeyed. Every so often someone would get caught and that would be the last we saw of them that day Luis Manuel never got caught. He was so sneaky, he could tear handfuls right under a teacher’s nose. He was amazingly daring, always ready to take risks and get into trouble. And he never cried. If the nicest teacher in the school would have screamed at him and said he was useless, his face would have showed no emotions. If he fell and ripped a knee open, he would just get up and start running again. It was kind of creepy. Since we lived in Caracas, we had earthquake drills. The alarm would sound and everyone would just stop and crouch under their desk, unless your teacher told you to walk outside, since there aren’t any buildings to flatten you. We would always discuss about what would happen if a really big earthquake hit. We came up with the most impossible situations, stuff like friendly aliens coming to rescue us and take us to their planet. Those were the good times, when you had no worries except learning cursive and making sure you knew that seven times two was fourteen. When you needed to make sure you had the newest version of some Pokemon card, or that you knew what Sour-Cream-and-Onion Pringles were. Well, I ended up having to move to the U.S., and I left my best friend. He had helped shape so much of my personality, and I know I wouldn’t be the same person if I never had known Luis Manuel. Manuel Anderson, 12Ann Arbor, Michigan Zachary Meyer, 11Shelby Township, Michigan
Friendship
Accusations
It all started on the stairs outside my English classroom. I was late and I wasn’t watching where I was going, so I ran smack into my best friend, Kelly. There were pencils bouncing down the steps, folders spewing their contents on the floor, and pens escaping only to be crushed underfoot by passing students. Mr. McPherson, my teacher, was less than pleased when Kelly and I walked into class two minutes after the bell. He was even angrier when, five minutes later, I couldn’t find my homework. It was the best report I’d ever written. When I’d left school that morning, I’d triple-checked to make sure it was in my English folder. Now I checked all of my other folders, too, and my binder, just in case I had misplaced it when I dropped my things. But as I dug through my backpack with increasing dread, the report refused to turn up. Mr. McPherson stood at the head of the classroom, his arms crossed. “Your report, Miss Jackson?” he asked impatiently. I looked up with a sick feeling in my stomach. It couldn’t be in the hallway; we’d picked up everything in sight. So if it wasn’t at home and not in my bag… then I had done the unthinkable. I, Lydia Jackson, straight-A student, had lost my homework. “I don’t have it, sir,” I squeaked. Mr. McPherson heaved a short sigh and strode back to his desk. “I will give you until Friday to turn in your report, although it will detract from your grade. I’m sure the report will turn up.” “Your report, Miss Jackson?” he asked impatiently I glanced back into my backpack in despair. I had never missed an assignment before. Friday was two days away. There was no way I could find my report by then, and writing it over would be impossible. Then I realized something. If it isn’t at home… and I didn’t leave it in the hall.., and if it isn’t in my bag… then someone stole it. As soon as I thought it, I knew exactly who had done it: the new girl who sat in the back of the classroom, who had long, dark hair that was always in her stony gray eyes. Lately, she’d been tossing shy glances in my direction, but they had made me a little nervous because I didn’t understand why she picked me. She was strange. She never talked to anyone, and people said she’d been caught shoplifting. She got terrible grades in English, and hardly ever turned in her homework. I knew she hadn’t brought in her report today. And she’d bent down to pick up my stuff in the hallway. If she could get my report and copy it down at home, she could turn it in late and still get a decent grade. As I sat in my seat, oblivious to the class, I felt a cold, hard lump of hate settle in my stomach. That awful girl had stolen my prize report. And I was going to get it back, no matter what it took. * * * “You’re kidding!” Kelly cried, leaning towards me, her gaze incredulous. “Well… I don’t know that she took it,” I amended. “But what else could have happened? I know it isn’t at home, and she’s the only one who would dare.” Kelly glanced over her shoulder at the girl, who sat by herself in a corner of the cafeteria, her dark hair falling like a curtain in front of her face. I saw her unzipped backpack sitting by her feet. “It’s got to be right there,” I breathed as we stared at the backpack. “It would be so easy to just walk by and snatch the report. You could spill your milk over there, or something.” “I don’t know,” Kelly hesitated. “Maybe we should just ask a teacher to check. She probably put it in her locker.” Kelly was probably right, but I was still seething over my humiliation in English. Maybe if I could turn my report in today, Mr. McPherson would still give me full credit. “No,” I decided. “I want it back now. We’ll walk by her table on our way to the trash can and drop our tray. You make a fuss, and I’ll go through her backpack. It’ll be over in a second.” Kelly was still uncertain, but we went on with our plan anyway. As we strode past, Kelly hooked her shoe around the girl’s leg, collapsing to her knees and dropping the tray. “Oh, man! I can’t believe this!” she cried as the girl turned to glare at her. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I bent over the backpack and started to rifle through it, but the girl turned back to her lunch, and saw me out of the corner of her eye. She whirled around and grabbed me by the shirt. I found myself dangling from her grasp. “What were you doing in my stuff? she hollered “What were you doing in my stuff?” she hollered. “Give my report back!” I yelled. “You stole my report!” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You thought I stole your dumb report? Why on earth would I want it?” I noticed several lunch monitors closing in on us. “I bet you’re going to turn it in yourself,” I said, “since you get bad grades in English!” I could hardly believe myself. Nothing that bratty had ever come out of my mouth before. It didn’t surprise me when she gave me a hard shove. Then I was on the floor, my shoulder smarting where I’d hit the table. Half a dozen teachers were crowded around me, lifting me back up. Kelly stood nearby, her tray of trash still strewn across the floor, eyes wide in horror. But what jumped out at me the most was the girl, standing aside, her fist still clenched, her stony eyes boring holes into mine. It was then that I saw something new in her
Brotherhood
It was a warm, brisk Saturday afternoon, and Jack and I couldn’t wait to get to the river. Crisp, dry auburn leaves were settling to the ground like fairies relishing their last ballet before reaching the forest floor. We knew they would soon be buried under mounds of snow, obscuring the path to the forest. The wind snapped at our faces as we sprinted over rolling hills that made their way into the lush forest. We ran along the path, kicking aside piles of leaves which had formed a quilt of a million pieces for us. Jack suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, and I stumbled, falling onto the path. “What is it, buddy?” I asked him, as I picked myself up and brushed the crumbled leaves off my jeans. He pointed to a glorious river as long as five blue whales linked tail to tail. It stretched up into the towering snow-capped mountains and emptied into the horizon. From there, it made its way back down the mountains and plummeted steeply over the waterfall. “It’s beautiful,” I said simply. “Yes, beautiful,” Jack echoed in wonder. Bighorn River was an exhilarating place to spend our afternoon. With birds and insects spotting the sky and the river winding its way through the mountains like a gigantic snake slithering in the grass, this place was paradise. I loved the tale of how the river was named. Long ago, many buffaloes tramped over this land and caused it to rumble until springs shot out of the ground, forming the river. My mind traveled to the thundering herds, rushing through the trees, eager to reach drinking water. I could almost feel the vibration of the ground and smell the musky odor of their matted fur. Bighorn River was an exhilarating place to spend our afternoon “Alex, we have to continue so we can spend more time at the river.” Jack’s voice snapped me back into reality. We sprinted off the path to the edge of the forest. Directly in front of us, the river was waiting. We hurtled ourselves onto the bank and sank down into the warm, round pebbles on the shore, giving our feet a well-deserved reward. Our shirts were soggy sheets of cloth, for the autumn sun was flaming on our skin. We cupped handfuls of fresh water and splashed them greedily on our sweaty faces. The crisp, cold water washed away our exhaustion, and we gave sighs of contentment. As trout arched across the water, the afternoon sunlight sank into the river, spreading colors of light which faded into the depth of the water. The majestic river was overflowing with life and painted with beauty. “Jack, how are you feeling about the… the… thing?” I asked uneasily. “Look, my parents are divorced, and I’m sent to live with my relatives. So what?” He glared at me menacingly. “I mean, if you need help to sort things out, I’d be devoted to helping you,” I volunteered. He just looked down and slapped some sand into the tranquil river. Frightened baby fish quickly scattered in fear. As they gathered back together at another cattail, a significant idea popped up in my mind. “Jack, why don’t you try getting your family back together?” I suggested. He looked at me with doubt. “Alex, I know you’re trying to help me and all that, but I just want to leave it the way it is. Really” I knew Jack was lying to cover his pain. “Don’t try to fool me, man,” I replied, tossing a pebble into the rushing river. The rock sank and softly settled to the river floor. Jack looked at me and snorted. Both of us were mute with embarrassment. Finally, after what seemed like an hour of silent moments, I managed to utter, “You OK?” Jack sat staring at the silent water. “I feel bad for you, Jack. We haven’t talked about the divorce a lot, but I had the feeling you could handle it,” I said quietly. Jack couldn’t speak, as if the words were frozen in his throat. “Jack, talk to me! Is something wrong?” I shouted. He just raised his head in sorrow and stared at me. Then he muttered, “I just miss my parents. I wish they’d come back.” Tears trickled from his miserable, green eyes, making a faint path down his cheeks. He gazed up at the burning sun and quickly turned away in dismay. A curious tadpole swam up to my big toe and circled it, wondering what this big peach-colored thing was. As I turned away, a hungry stickleback swam up and devoured it with greed. I spat at it and it hurried away shamefully. I sighed and looked to my right. Jack was wading in the river, heading straight for the steep waterfall. I screamed his name, but he didn’t come back or even turn his head. I jumped in the river and landed on some jagged rocks, wincing with pain. The water, piercing my skin, was as cold as hundreds of freezing daggers. Now I knew how my mom had felt the day she lost me in the mall. I was frantic with fear. I kept my eyes glued on the figure that continued to walk away from me. I started to cry. What was Jack doing? I wondered. He must have lost his mind! The river’s current propelled me closer and closer to Jack. Just a few more steps, I told myself. I proceeded through the water with perseverance, my legs like robotic sticks that kept me moving. I pushed and pushed, and I was suddenly there, right by Jack’s side. He was floating facedown in the water like a dead person. I quickly snatched him out of the racing water and pulled him into an upright position. “Why? Why do you do this to me? Why!” I demanded, weeping helplessly. My tears dropped into the river and were carried off. Jack looked at me and took in his
