“If I ran away, I would go here to live” It was just a typical day, a nightmare of an “as a family” picnic; my brothers following me around, me trying to get away and be alone for five short minutes. I’m sort of a loner sometimes, though when I say that, I don’t mean I’m a recluse, or that I’m not a people person, because I am. What I mean is that sometimes, or actually most of the time, I like to be just a little bit apart from everyone else, near to, but apart from, which makes sense to me but not really anyone else. It’s just that feeling, when you want to be alone, and if you could be alone, with no problem, whenever you wanted, the feeling would probably subside almost entirely. But when you have three little brothers pestering you, the feeling tends to get stronger, until you’re on the verge of running away. Which I was. Some kids, the stupid ones, probably would’ve gone away right off the bat, no thoughts whatsoever, gone to the most obvious place and gotten found within an hour. Not me. I had a plan, and the whole plan had one purpose, to go and live by myself, for a day or so, and then come back, smoothly and perfectly, with no mishaps, which of course I knew was unlikely and almost impossible, but I didn’t care. It would work. Almost everything that is planned well and done carefully works out in the end; I had done things like this enough to be sure of myself. My bag had been packed—an extra set of clothes and some bandages—and put under my bed next to my neatly rolled-up sleeping bag. When my survivalist dad started squirreling away canned beans by the dozen in preparation for Armageddon, or a tornado, whichever came first, I snuck one or two cans out every week until I had enough to feed myself for, at the most, three days. Beans were a pretty boring diet, but it was the only thing I could think of that would keep and wouldn’t be too gross if I ate them cold. So after a month, I had enough food, which left only one unresolved problem—water. I definitely wasn’t carrying close to twenty pounds of water for six miles in the middle of the night, which was when I planned to make my escape. And as the days passed and the date I had planned to leave on grew closer, that problem grew bigger and bigger. I would be staying near a creek, but the water there wasn’t pure. What I needed was a water filter or a clean, fresh, cold spring or a magic unicorn that shot water out of its horn or some other wonderful thing that either didn’t exist or that I just didn’t have. That settled it. I would carry the water. But on this particular day, when we had taken the truck to the creek, which was right below my hideout, for yet another “as a family” picnic that I was sure would end, as they all did, in someone crying and someone else with a scraped elbow; on this day, I was so full of two still-cold-in-the-middle hot dogs and countless burnt marshmallows, and happy in my family’s oblivion to my scheme, that somehow it just slipped out. “If I ran away, I would go here to live,” I sang out to my brother Max, who is two years younger than me and the biggest tattletale in the world. “You’re gonna run away?” He turned his wide-eyed face towards me and I saw that devilish, gotta-tell-no-matter-what glint come into his eyes. Then he turned to Adam and Nathan and yelled, “Let’s go tell Ma!” “Tell what?” Nathan asked. He was the youngest—five years old and had been too absorbed in playing with a dry, crinkly butterfly wing and three skins from some kind of creepy bug to hear what I had been saying. “Kelly’s gonna run away!” Adam yelled, jumping up and down. At seven, he was the most energetic of us all. Which could get annoying. I ignored them, caught up in the problem that was mainly my fault. My brothers skipped over the rocks and for a moment. I bit my lip, afraid they would fall. The creek here was all rocks and rushing water, which was fun for me, and Max, now that he was getting bigger and wasn’t afraid to “rock hop.” But I worried about Nathan and Adam, who were still little and not as agile and long-legged as Max and I. Then, I decided that if they fell, that was their problem. I turned and jumped into the creek. I was sick and tired of my parents’ unorganized, supposedly fun “as a family” picnics, camp-outs, and other generally boring activities. That night, I was lying in bed, trying desperately to read my favorite book, Shiloh, without anyone finding out, when suddenly Mom peeked her head in. “Max told me you said you wanted to run away and live in a zoo.” “The zoo?” I closed my book with a sigh. Marty would have to save Shiloh on his own. “Max also told me that to start growing, babies have to eat snails. And that wedding rings have lasers in them.” “He probably saw that in a movie.” “Not the snails. Mom, I’m not gonna run away. To a zoo.” I added the last bit so it wouldn’t be a lie. “But are you going to run away?” Mothers have the ability to read minds, I swear. I fiddled with my book, looked away. “Max has a wild imagination. I said I thought it’d be fun to live at the creek.” I grinned. “No clue where he got the zoo.” The really bad thing about me is that I’m the best liar I know, so I can get away with practically anything. But Mom usually knows what
Family
The King of San Marino
By Elizabeth Surman Scenario Number One: I’m not sure if the directions on my math homework mean one thing or another. Solution: Go to Dad. Scenario Number Two: I woke up late and can’t walk to school today. Solution: Ask Dad to drive me. Scenario Number Three: Mom hasn’t gotten back from grocery shopping but I’m hungry!!! What do I do? You guessed it! I’ll go to my dad and ask him to help me create a snack from ingredients in the pantry. Dad does so many things for me and here’s my chance to thank him for his kind deeds. First things first: He’s not a quiet man. When he comes home after work and his feet slap against the tile, making a sound as loud as a wild bear’s roar, the house shudders as if it anticipates the noise that will follow his arrival. To the annoyance of my mom and two sisters, he hums constantly, like the hummingbirds that occasionally visit our yard. At my bedtime, Daddy enthusiastically barges into my room to give me a cuddle and say goodnight. To awaken me, he increases the volume on his music and sometimes tickles me. Because of this, we love him dearly. Do you need to be cheered up? Go to my dad! His humor will make you laugh so hard it hurts. Not only does my dad tell jokes and puns, he appreciates and watches comedies. He jokes when he trips or stubs his toe (which is very often). He even wrote a book declaring himself the “King of San Marino,” the small town where we live. One of his favorite comedy shows is The Three Stooges. We go to a Three Stooges convention together every year. He loves to recall the funniest lines from different episodes and it makes me giggle. Elizabeth and her dad However, my dad is very serious and devoted to his work. Sometimes, Dad stays at his office late at night, working for my family. Because of this, I think my dad makes an amazing lawyer. Have you ever tasted a mouthful of heavenly French toast that has been prepared on the barbecue? This is the result of a creative experiment by my father. On Sunday afternoons, you might find the two of us side-by-side in the kitchen, inventing creative meals with ingredients you wouldn’t typically find in the same dish. Our best products may end up on the table that night for dinner. Now you know almost everything about my dad except his appearance. Would you recognize him on the street if I told you that: a) Dad has curly black hair that frames his head like the fur on his pet poodle, Pandora, who he had when he was a boy; b) his hazel eyes twinkle; they are the sun bathing me in their golden rays; and c) he has a rather large nose, although he claims (in vain) that it is an optical illusion? No matter what he looks like, I love my goofy, clumsy daddy as much as I love writing. Elizabeth Surman, 10San Marino, California
Izzy’s Gone!
“Let’s play airplane!” she giggled Carl looked out the window. He could barely see the park across the street because of the fog. He had to stay at his house all day today because of the fog warning. Now all he had to do was to get his baby sister to bed so he could sit back and relax. She had had her bath and was in her pj’s and ready for bed. When he looked back at his living room, he groaned. The day had been a long one, and the whole living room was a wreck. Lego pieces scattered everywhere on the floor and white shreds of paper taped to the table. His baby sister apparently was having a blast. His parents had gone out for a meeting before the fog set in, leaving Carl to babysit his messy sister. “One, two, three!” she said as she made a whooshing sound like an airplane and ran around the table. “I can count to three!” “Isabelle, it’s time for bed,” he said in his nicest voice. Of course, Isabelle didn’t want to go to bed yet. “Let’s play airplane!” she giggled. “Isabelle, if you want to play airplane, that’s fine with me!” An idea began forming in Carl’s mind. He stopped her and carried her up the stairs to her room. “Whoosh!” he said as Isabelle laughed the whole way up. He opened her bedroom door and set her down. But immediately Isabelle ran out of the room and down the stairs again. “I’ll read you a story!” he yelled down the stairs as he rapidly ran down after her. He heard a door slam but couldn’t tell which door it was. His four-year-old sister was small, making it hard to find her if she decided to play hide-and-seek. First thing he did was open the main closet door. Just coats and muddy shoes. Next he ran down to the basement. The lights were on, so she may have run down here. He checked under the Ping-Pong table, but with no luck. Next he checked behind every Rescue Heroes toy set, but still no Isabelle. He checked behind chairs, underneath blankets, and just about every place in the house. Isabelle seemed to have disappeared. “Isabelle!” he yelled. “Come back here right now!” Footsteps came from the main living room, so he ran in there, just to see that it was his toy robot on the table. It automatically turned on whenever someone walked past it. If Isabelle had gone in here, she must have accidentally turned on the robot. He pushed down on the robot’s head to turn it off and then looked thoroughly through the living room. Of course, he still couldn’t find Isabelle. Suddenly, he got an idea. He ran up to her room and dug through the pile of books on the floor and found the book entitled Story Time for Children. Then he ran into her walk-in closet and flipped a switch on the household intercom. Now everything he said would be amplified throughout the house. He cleared his throat and said loudly, “This sure is a good story! Too bad Izzy isn’t here to listen to it!” He flipped a switch on the intercom and listened. Footsteps were running through the house and, according to the lights on the intercom that told where the sound was coming from, were going through the rooms, up the stairs, and finally into Isabelle’s room. She sat down on the bed and got under the covers while Carl got out of the closet and sat down to read the story to her. He had finally gotten his baby sister to bed. Now he could sit back and relax. But then he remembered something. The horrible mess in the living room. Alexander Freed, 12West Des Moines, Iowa Natasha Pettit, 12Wellington, New Zealand
