It’s funny, sometimes some things that are supposed to make perfect sense are actually totally the opposite from the truth. Like the fact that opposites attract. Mike and I met in the good old days. Second grade. The good old days. It was actually the day I came to my first elementary school, Floral Street School. He is this hulking guy at first glance with all this… sort of classic New York look. His look makes you think big bully, football player, and you know… the things you think when the guy is big. Actually, he is a football player. But his eyes and laugh speak the best thing you could hope for when you go to a new school. A friend. Friends are like sisters or brothers. You fight once in a while… or you might fight all the time. People used to see us next to each other with him a head taller than me, and they thought that it was such a weird thing. He always called me Jay for short, but after second and third grade he started calling me by my real name, Jaylen, and I appreciated that. It proved that he actually would take the time to pronounce my name. But some other kids in my class called me after a comedian, Jay Leno, which is a coincidence. I guess I didn’t mind. We always split in recess. So he could play football with the other, I guess you could say, “big” and “popular” kids. While I went with the other kids in my class. But there was one time, I remember, that changed that. “We get Jaylen!” he exclaimed to the rest of the guys I was treading on the blacktop, bored, watching the sun start to peep out of its unreachable fort, wishing I could do something. As the wind slapped my face and pinched my ears, and I rubbed my hands together in a useless attempt at warmth, I glanced at the football field with a fleeting look. Walking over there I could see that they were picking team members. So I sat at the edge of the football field and watched. I saw Michael make a touchdown and I looked to him and smiled and he smiled back. He could have just celebrated or he could have done the thing that saved me from a hundred boring recesses. “Hey Jaylen,” he greeted, and I nodded. “Come on.” He outstretched his calloused hand to my soft piano-playing hand and he hauled me up like a pencil that he had just dropped. “We get Jaylen!” he exclaimed to the rest of the guys and they nodded awkwardly and my face reddened. I am going to die of embarrassment, I thought, looking up into the sky, hoping some spirit would save me from getting trampled and becoming a part of the ground. Mike hollered, “Hike!” While I fled outward, dodging the oncoming army of football players, I made eye connection with Mike and, without warning, he fired. Of course it was coming at me. I ran toward the flying pigskin, scrambling toward the right position. The ball looked like a bird that has just had its wings clipped. Suddenly a bumpy ball was in my arms and I carried it as I saw the professionals do. And I bulleted as fast as I could. I saw one of the kids bolting behind me and he planted his two hands on me. But a little too hard, which was expected because I was like a half of their weight. Plummeting face first, I outstretched my arms in a desperate attempt to weaken the oncoming agony. Instantly I could make out the oohs and ouchies from the crowd of kids enclosed around me. I sprawled on the ground as my leg erupted in flames. I could feel the tears burning through my eyes like the lava oozes out of a volcano. I rolled over on the ground and looked up at somebody branching out their hand to me. I clasped onto it as he boosted me onto my own two feet, toweling off the tears that were spurting from my eyes with my sleeve. I looked at the people hovering around me and no longer was there an awkward “he does not belong here” look. But replaced was a considerate look. “Jaylen! You OK?” Mike asked in worry. “Ye-eah I’m a-a-all right,” I stuttered, dusting the the sand off of my skin. “Do you want to sit out?” he questioned. I widened my eyes in a look that said “are you kidding me!” As I brushed past him out to the field, playing the game of football, I could feel his smile burning my shirt, and I could feel mine forming from my mouth. Every day there forth I never did sit on the curb watching everybody have fun again. Instead, I was the one who was enjoying myself. That goes to show you that if you have a friend you will never stay on the ground defeated. Friendship is a game of football, you get knocked down lots of times but there is always somebody to pick you up… up to keep playing. But now I’m in a new school, one where I know I will have just as many memories. But to tell the truth, Mike will always be the highest football that will soar, everlasting in my mind. Jaylen Wang, 10Wayland, Massachusetts Christine Stevens, 12Newark, California
Friendship
Mission Beach
There is one thing that always completes my summer. Mission Beach. Every August, my family either takes the eight-hour drive or the one-hour flight down to San Diego, where my mom grew up. My grandpa lives in a small complex called Stonecrest, and about a ten-minute drive away is Mission Beach, my favorite beach in the whole world. My mom’s best friend, Auntie Julia, brings down her entire huge family from Piedmont, California, and Chicago, Illinois, and she rents the same old enormous beach house located directly on Mission Beach. It’s 10:04 am, according to my sister’s watch. Dad is driving the car, singing along to Bob Dylan blasting on the radio. Mom is on the phone with Auntie Julia (occasionally making furious gestures to Dad to bring down the volume), and my sister Anna is announcing the time every four minutes. I finger my bright blue summer dress that I bought from The Gap this past July. All the windows of our minivan are rolled down, air-conditioning is on full blast, and we are off to the beach. I think this is the best way to end my summer. Dad hasn’t even parked or turned off the car when Anna and I unbuckle and explode out of the car. The cool salty breeze tickles my nose and tugs at my hair as a smile breaks on my face. The hot sun beats down as we quickly unpack the trunk and trudge down the alley to the big familiar brown house. The four of us climb the brick wall. Mom helps me up and I can see the sparkling blue ocean that never fails to amaze me. Kate and Anna wave to us as we wade out of the water “Natalie! Anna!” A little girl, who is around eight, runs over and gives me a huge hug. “Mommy, they’re here!” “OK, I’m coming!” Auntie Julia rushes over, her spiky brown hair damp, and she has on a cute black dress. Of course, she isn’t really my aunt. But our families are so close that it is hard not to refer to each other as family. Julia smiles and embraces my mom in a giant hug, and then my dad. “Welcome back, guys! Everyone’s out on the beach.” We follow Julia onto the front porch of the house that faces the bluer-than-blue ocean. There isn’t a cloud above in the sky, and tanned teenagers are tossing around a volleyball in the sand across the boardwalk. “Natalie!” I spin around to see a cute blond girl, freckles sprinkled across her nose, her hair glowing strawberry blond in the sun. I smile. “Ellie!” We share a hug. She is a year younger than me and we first bonded a few years ago over our love of reading and books. Ellie is Julia’s niece. Her mom is Beth, who has two older boys, also: Chase, age fourteen, and Josh, age sixteen Kate tugs my hand. “Let’s go to the beach, c’mon!” I grin and glance over my shoulder at Julia, Mom, and Dad. Mom takes my bag, smiling, “Go on!” It’s a tradition. Ellie, Anna, Kate, and I race across the sand and see who can get to the water first. We grip hands as we check up and down the boardwalk to make sure there are no bikers or pedestrians coming, then we sprint across the asphalt and scramble over the three-foot concrete wall. I kick off my flip-flops and my feet sink into the warm sand. I can already feel my shoulders starting to get sunburned as Kate yells, “GO!” We take off, trying to pick up our feet as much as possible so we don’t get burned. Running through the sand is hard! It’s really different from running over hard, solid ground. If you let your weight sink into your feet for more than two seconds, it’s like sprinting through molasses. We pass a volleyball game as Kate and Anna start falling behind. Now it is me versus Ellie. We flash mock-competitive looks at each other. I look down to see the sand growing darker and firmer, meaning it’s wet and we are getting close to water. I could feel the balls of my feet throbbing. Ellie’s face is red and she pants. I pump my sore legs faster, now able to run normally because the wet sand is more dense and packed tighter. Ellie and I splash into the refreshingly ice-cold ocean at the same time. We laugh, gasping and panting, as the waves lap at our knees. The hem of my dress brushes a passing wave, but it feels good. Kate and Anna wave to us as we wade out of the water. They stand at the top of a sandy hill. Ellie and I start towards them, when a bucket of freezing water hits my back; Ellie and I scream. We whirl around to see Chase and Josh holding two pails of ocean water, kneeling in laughter. With our entire backsides drenched, Ellie and I have found new energy even after the long sprint down to the water as we pursue Chase and Josh into the ocean. A wave rolls up and splashes around my ankles as I tilt my head toward the turquoise sky and I realize my summer can’t get any better than this. Natalie Bettendorf, 13Berkeley, California Emily Considine, 13Half Moon Bay, California
The Most Important Thing
We talked for a while and soon became fast friends The waves lapped rhythmlessly against the side of the boat as I hoisted the sail and started slowly out into the bay. Dark clouds were forming on the horizon and drops of rain were beginning to fall. I squinted, trying to see through the increasing downpour, and I realized that I could not tell sky from sea. As thunder started to boom, the waves grew bigger and more dangerous. I sighed with relief as I spotted two tiny pinpricks of light wavering in the darkness. They were the two candles my mother always left out for me during a storm. I guided my boat toward the light and finally bumped it up on the shore. I raced over the dunes and splashed through the river in front of my house. The door slammed shut behind me as I blew in with the wind. My eyes darted around the clean kitchen and settled on a crumpled newspaper lying on the hearth. As I flipped through the pages, my eyes settled on an ad at the bottom of the page. It was a contest. A sailing contest. My eyes widened as I read more. “First prize of $100 to the winner of the race.” My family has always been poor so $100 would help us a lot, but we didn’t have anyone who was sick or dying. Still, I wanted to do it. I knew I could do it. But most importantly I knew I could sail. * * * Monday morning I was up at first light. I raced to the barn to do my chores, and by breakfast time the Nantucket Island sun was as high as the eye could see. I was just rigging up my racing sunfish, when I saw a boy walking down the beach. Not many people lived on Nantucket Island and I knew all the people that did. As far as I knew, there were no boys here. No young boys at all!!! The figure came closer. When he came close enough for me to make him out, I stared. He was the skinniest boy I had ever seen. His clothes were much too big for him and he was all elbows and knees. He had a mop of untidy brown hair and pale skin. His eyes were hazel and looked kind. I trusted him at once. “Hi,” I said, “my name’s Joshua Burne.” “My name’s Mike, Mike Brown.” We talked for a while and soon became fast friends. One day, when we met on the beach, something was wrong. His eyes were red from crying and he spoke softly. Too softly. “What’s wrong?” I asked him. “It’s my father,” he answered. “He has a really severe disease and we don’t have enough money to pay for his care, Josh, he’s dying.” I could do nothing but stare in disbelief at Mike’s back as he disappeared over the dunes. * * * It was Sunday. The day of the race. I woke up early with a smile on my face and determination in my heart. I ate a hurried breakfast and started down to the beach where the race was to start. I rigged up my sunfish and, as the whistle blew, pushed off and jumped into it. I felt great as I began passing more and more people. The race was from one beach to an island about a mile out to sea and back. As I hit the island, I pushed off with my hands and turned around. Then I saw a boat ahead of me and realized I was in second place. I slapped the sides of my boat in frustration. I raced over the whitecaps toward the boat ahead of me. Its sails were limp. I stopped as I saw the person in the boat. It was Mike. Tears were pouring down his face and soaking his anorak. “I wanted to do it for my dad,” he barely whispered. Though my mind screamed to go, I gave Mike a push and turned around. My heart had said something different. I numbly steered my boat back to the starting line and pulled it up on the beach. * * * It was a rainy day a week later. I was down in the dumps until I saw a lone figure on the beach. It was Mike. But then another figure joined him. A taller, older-looking person. I ran out to meet them. The other figure was Mike’s father. He said to me, “I just want to thank you for letting Mike win that race for me. It was the right thing to do.” “No,” I said, “it wasn’t just that, it was the most important thing to do.” And I meant it with all my heart. Grace Manning, 12Westmount, Quebec, Canada Julianna Pereira, 13Pleasanton, California
