It was getting dark. Zoe lay on the hammock on the front porch eating an ice-cream sundae. She looked out at the golden lake thoughtfully. The porch door slammed. Zoe scooted over for her twin brother, Hunter. “Thinkin’?” Zoe nodded. She slurped a chocolate drip off the side of the tall glass. Hunter carefully watched Zoe’s gaze drop toward the other white-picket-fence houses ringing the lake. “I just can’t believe the summer’s over.” Hunter got up and dangled his feet over the porch, brushing some blond hair out of his intense green eyes. “Well, we can come back next summer. We have to go back to school, you know.” Zoe nodded, wishing that the summer would never end. Cool air blew the trees as the twins walked down to the dock. “I just wish we could have done something interesting. All we did is sit around on the dock the whole time.” Hunter rolled up his khakis and dipped his feet in the water, thinking about what his sister had said. “We did lots of stuff. Remember the beginning of the summer? When we first got to the house?” Zoe closed her eyes, thinking of the empty smell of the house, the hot sun beating down on her back. She remembered wondering if there would be any other girls her age at Sunset Lake. Another cool breeze brought Zoe back to the present. “Remember the beginning of the summer? When we first got to the house?” “But we didn’t do anything at the beginning.” Hunter grinned. “Sure we did. We met Daryl and Kelly. And then we went canoeing.” Zoe had to laugh. The four friends had rented a canoe for the afternoon and gone canoeing. Only they hadn’t told anyone. A huge summer storm arrived and blew them up on one of the islands. They had to spend the night to wait out the storm. “We got in so much trouble!” Hunter exclaimed, happy that he had made Zoe laugh. Zoe picked up a shell lying on the dock. “I remember when we collected all those shells.” Hunter took the shell from her hand. “Yeah, that was neat.” They had taken their shells to the little town nearby for the annual shell festival. A tall man with a truckload of shells had bought one of theirs for one hundred dollars! “I’ll never throw another shell like that one back into the lake.” Hunter extracted his freezing legs from the lake and rolled his pants down. “We went swimming a lot.” Zoe could practically feel the sun throwing its fiery rays down at the beach patrons. The run, the jump, then the splash were all clear in her mind. Cool water enveloped her, soothing the burning skin. “Hello? Zoe?” Hunter was waving his hand in front of her face. “Oh! I just thought of the Fourth of July.” Hunter looked out at the purple sky, enjoying the memories. All of the Sunset Lake summerhouse renters had thrown a big potluck on the beach. Everyone splashed in the lake and ate hot dogs and hamburgers. The fireworks burst out with brilliant colors and shapes, provoking oohs and aahs with every dazzling explosion. There was a creak from the house. “Kids, come on in! We have to be on the road early tomorrow, so you need to get to bed sometime soon.” Hunter turned to face the house. “One minute, Mom!” The sky was black, stars bright with prospect. “So?” “So, I guess we did have a pretty cool summer.” Hunter nodded, taking Zoe’s hand. “Yeah. We sure did.” They walked to the porch, happier than when they had come this way earlier. Zoe took a last look at the sparkling lake, the white houses lining it, the tall trees. She inhaled the piney smell along with the memories that came with. She felt that her happiness was unreasonable, considering she would be back at school in a week, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. “See you next summer, Sunset Lake,” she whispered. Mandana Nakhai, 11Tucson, Arizona Zoe Paschkis, 12Newton, Massachusetts
Nature
The Berry Patch
I have always been an early bird. I love to wake around 5:45 AM every morning, even on weekends. Mom says my early-birdness comes from Nanna Mary, but I’m not sure about that. I felt so alive this morning, energy climbed and slipped all throughout me, like a bird waiting to be let out of its cage. Normally I just end up standing by the window looking at the street lights, watching the different-colored cars pass with yawning drivers blinking at the rising sun. This morning was different for me. I crept downstairs, keeping myself on tiptoes and taking river steps (Momma’s name for big steps) until I reached the doorknob of the back door. I twisted it very slowly, sucking in my breath. I didn’t want anyone to hear me leave. The door opened and cool morning air hit me. I was only in my nightie and it grabbed me like an unknown stranger. I could almost taste the dew in the grass, and I could feel the flowers opening to the rising sun. I can feel a row of ants march across my leg, and I can hear the birds begin their song I slid my old sneakers on and started walking to my secret berry patch. Leaves brushed against my face, whispering to me playfully. The berry patch is my thinking spot. I first discovered it when I moved here from Florida. I think the berries represent me. When we moved here the berries were all tiny, hard, and green, innocent, not knowing what life had to offer, just like I was, stiff and tense from the move. As the months passed, the berries developed to become big, black and juicy, full of life, full of knowing. That’s how I felt, I had opened up and met friends. I was no longer hard and green, I was soft and juicy. I can feel a row of ants march across my leg, and I can hear the birds begin their song. The sun is up now; it’s dancing on my face. I know it’s time for me to get up and go to school. Mom is probably in the kitchen by now, cooking pancakes in her chewed-up moccasins, and my sister is probably skipping around her begging if she can help pour the batter into the pan. I start to walk home and as I look back I see a big black berry. I smile to myself and, of course, I pick it . . . Lia C, 13, author British Columbia, Canada Hannah Richman, 13, Kittanning, Pennsylvania
Summer Days Beside Cannon Rock
The ocean, rocks, and cool sea breeze are what awaited me every July at our old summer house in Maine. The living room, dining room and two bedrooms upstairs had the most beautiful view in the whole house. It was of the glistening teal ocean and huge rocks on which one could climb. They were all along the seaside, like a barrier separating the water and land. These midnight, cloudy-day rocks were simply called “the rocks,” and one in particular was shaped like a cannon pointing out to sea; we called it Cannon Rock. It was the largest, and if one were to climb to the top of it, the whole world would seem like it was before her eyes. As I walked down our worn-off, soft, charcoal-color porch stairs, I passed beach flowers that looked like mini-hibiscuses. I was heading toward the rocks. Waves crashed up against the rocks that sounded like a hard crack of a whip. I climbed on all fours and watched out for the razor-sharp barnacles. They were stuck on like a baby calf clinging to its mother in its early stages. Above me the sun was blazing, and I heard the screeching of seagulls soaring through the clear blue sky. I breathed in the salty sea air, which reminded me of Cape Cod salt-and-vinegar chips, my favorite. Around and inside the rocks were tidepools and areas to search for the little treasures the ocean brings. The foamy water from the open gap in a rock shampooed my cool bare feet. As I kept exploring the watery world, sudden shimmers caught my eye. Sea glass was sparkling on small moist stones and rocks. The pieces were frosty colors of midnight-sky blue, emerald green, and baby-boy blue. I used to drop them in a jar, making a collection to admire. I searched around more, observing different motionless creatures. I gently picked up a starfish and felt its hard top, like rough sandpaper. It looked like pores on a grapefruit. I scooped up several multicolored periwinkles, and saw a crab scuttle across and hide under a big rock. He was the color of the setting sun. Next, I saw stringy strands of slimy cucumber-colored seaweed. I also glimpsed some other seaweed that looked like the packaging bubble wrap that covers fragile things. I gently picked up a starfish and felt its hard top, like rough sandpaper When I was finished examining the various animals, I headed up to the sizzling hot rocks, baked by the afternoon sun. I sat down and peered out onto the horizon; here I could see Stratton Island and Bluff Island. These islands looked like small blots propped up by the water against the sky. Sailboats floated along the skyline, even though it didn’t look like they were moving at all. I think of the times I spent on the rocks and in Maine. Once we had a family cookout, several times we packed picnics to eat, and one evening we roasted marshmallows against a fire. My dreams at night here were about my different adventures I had, and new things I learned. I think of how I wished to be a marine biologist, because of my love I had for the ocean and the wonders inside of it. I was never afraid to touch some “gooey-gross” seaweed like others would say. I could only admire it, and other things. I remembered a night when I heard two seals barking outside of my bedroom window. They were moving black figures, swimming the dark sea. That was my last night there; it was like they were saying good-bye. In the movie Peter Pan the mermaid lagoon and the islands reminded me of Maine. So many things did. For example, when I ate plain Pringles chips or Rice Krispies treats. Whenever I held a large seashell up to my ear, the rushing of the waves reminded me of the water slapping against the rocks. Even when I smelled a bit of salty sea air, it just tingled me inside and the memories went through my head. I had grown attached to our house and rocks on the sea, just like baby calves come to bond with their mother. The time I spent there gave me a chance to view the whole world, just as I could do at the top of Cannon Rock. Memories could be cherished forever from the events that don’t always last. Katey Storey, 13 Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts Hannah Richman, 13Kittanning, Pennsylvania
