Friendship

Being carefree is one of the best gifts in childhood Memories… I am six years old. I am the hero of this story. Me and my friends are inseparable. For hours we play Star Wars. Some of us are Jedi, others Sith, and some Clones. The bottom line—it is pure magic! The worst fight we all ever had was over whose sled was whose on the hill behind my house, but it did not end our friendship. I wanted to write what it was like in my head to be six years old and compare it to what I would see now. Panning down on the neighborhood park, I fight the battle droids, deflecting lasers with my Obi-Wan replica lightsaber. My brother, Caleb, and best friend, Daniel, are beside me as we fend off imaginary droids. We then transition to “dueling” the other three boys, Michael, Jared, and Clay, who are also characters from Star Wars. In our minds we are on Christophsis from the movie The Clone Wars. As I go on a run, I see six kids running around playing Star Wars, swinging around their colorful toy lightsabers. Being thirteen, I really do miss those days. I watch them running behind trees and pretending they have “the force.” For these boys, there isn’t a care in the world. All that matters is just them and their friends. Being carefree is one of the best gifts in childhood. I just wish it could stay, instead of going away to all of the worries of the world. As a little kid, your most scary worry is the imagined monster under the bed, which is how sometimes it should stay. As a little kid, you just want to grow up, but what you don’t realize is, as an adult you will miss it. I battle the Sith. Neither me nor Michael will say the other one won. We will do this for hours, battling each other as Star Wars characters, pretending to have “the force.” Caleb would save the day almost every time by fending off one of the other boys. To me, my brother is my hero; he always seemed so smart. I want to be on his side so badly. As I continue to run along the park path, I have stopped and started to really look at these six kids. They laugh and play. They battle and duel. They fall to their knees and topple over to pretend death. It brings memories flooding back, and I cannot stop thinking of my childhood when I would play Star Wars with my friends. I think about the long summer nights, when being out late was nine o’clock, not eleven o’clock. Now we are in our X-wings, pretending to shoot at each other. Daniel, Jared, Michael, Clay, and my favorite, Caleb, run around from yard to yard, playing. Eventually, we “land” and I am captured. I am taken to an outpost where I try to escape but can’t. In the distance, however, I see my best friend, Daniel, and my brother, Caleb, coming to save me and save the day. I keep running, watching, and listening to the boys play, and I notice how much the little boy with dark brown hair looks up to his older brother, just as I still do. I am so much older now but still feel what that play feels like. That same little brown haired boy is taken prisoner, while a friend and the boy’s brother come to his rescue. They succeed! Now all three of them run away to go hide and probably attack once again. All this is ended by getting called home for lunch by their moms. They make plans with their four friends to meet back up to continue after lunch. Deep inside, all the while, they are hoping it is all real in another galaxy, and maybe it is. In this galaxy, it is just six boys and some movies, and their imagination. In a galaxy far, far away, two brothers wait for Episode Seven of The Saga on December 18, 2015. On that night, they hope that, just like when they were six, it is all real. Four of the boys will go to the movie at midnight, because it was all so much more than a movie—it was days of playing. It was the greatest thing in the world. Luke Brolsma, 13Blaine, Minnesota Gordon Su, 13Milpitas, California

This year, for a school project, Lilly was volunteering at a nursing home, or rather, she had been volunteered. It was not a pleasant prospect. From what she had heard from her older sister, Rose, it was basically just sitting around and listening to old people talk, talk, talk. Rose was the exaggeration queen, so you could never know if you could trust her, though. So that’s why, on a balmy Sunday morning, Lilly was standing on tiptoe at the reception desk and trying to read the very high up copy of the list of people, whens, wheres, hows… Lilly pulled out her notebook and her purple pen and started a new page. Mrs. Riley, she scrawled in her sloppy cursive, formidable, splendiferous. Lilly kept logs of everyone she met in that notebook, their eccentricities, faults, strengths, and wonderful adjectives galore. Mrs. Riley had the eyes of a warrior, with stories etched into every line and bravery stitched around the edges. Lilly liked her at once, from the moment she stepped into her room. She seemed impossible to defeat, Lilly thought, with the air of a general. She talked with an odd accent sweeping the edges of her words. Mrs. Riley had memories. Lilly could see them in the stories she told, of cool beaches, waves pawing the shore, wind whispering, and fresh, sweet mangoes. “Do you really remember these things?” Mrs. Riley laughed, not a creaky old person’s laugh, but one like bells that didn’t match her wrinkly outside. “Unfortunately, I have no children to pass it on to” “No, non, non, Lilly, I make it all up, pure imagination, but sometimes I feel like I was there.” I know what you mean, thought Lilly, as she exited the grove of mangoes and stories. Miss Ashley: loquacious, gregarious. Miss Ashley was more blunt about things than Mrs. Riley and chattered like a group of squirrels. Lilly tried her best to keep up with the constant stream but soon gave up and pretended to be listening. When she was leaving, Miss Ashley gave her a big hug and said, “Thank you, sweetie, nobody ever listens to me!” and Lilly felt a little ashamed that she hadn’t really, but smiled and hugged the old lady back. Mr. Joseph: __________ ? Mr. Joseph was so indescribable that it gave Lilly a shock. When she walked in, he asked with no hesitation, “What’s your favorite word?” Lilly’s words, her giant vocabulary, blanked. Then she said loudly, “Pulchritudinous!” He nodded, then calmly replied, “That means beautiful.” Lilly’s heart stopped, almost, and then she stuttered, “H-how d-do y-you know th-that?” Mr. Joseph smiled warmly and whispered, “The same way I think you do.” Lilly thought back to cold nights in front of the fire, flipping through the dictionary and pointing out interesting words to her family, Mama, Papa, Rose… She grinned back at Mr. Joseph, and he took out a worn book, the cover a rich red leather, and he held it up. Merriam-Webster’s English Dictionary, First Edition. Lilly gave a breath of awe. “Is that, like, one hundred years old?” He seemed pleased at her reaction. “Indeed.” Mr. Joseph stroked the cover gently and said, “It was my father’s, and his father’s, and so forth. Unfortunately, I have no children to pass it on to.” Lilly stared deep into his ocean-blue eyes. “You know,” he contemplated, “you are one of the only people I have met who I feel really understands me.” Lilly felt the praise swirl in her stomach and waved goodbye to Mr. Joseph. “Adieu.” “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Lilly’s mom asked, helping Lilly pull off her jacket. Lilly shrugged. She didn’t want her mom to know how much she enjoyed it because… because it was her moment, and she wanted to hold onto it a little longer. *          *          * Next Sunday was cool and brisk. Wind whipped Lilly’s cheeks as she skipped along to the nursing home. She skidded to a stop in the warm reception room, shimmied out of her coat, popped off her hat, dashed up the stairs, and slid, breathless, into Mrs. Riley’s room. Mrs. Riley laughed. “You look like you have run a mile or two, Lilly!” She patted the side of the bed. “I’m glad you came. Come, have a seat.” Lilly sat, and breathed Mrs. Riley’s warm, clean smell, like soap and lavender. “Today, Lilly, I want you to tell me a story.” Lilly almost fell off the bed. “What?!” “I said, you tell me a story,” Mrs. Riley calmly replied, taking Lilly’s hands in hers. “B-but I don’t know any stories.” “Make one up. It doesn’t matter if it’s good.” Mrs. Riley tapped her temple with a long, pale finger. “Use your imagination!” So Lilly took a deep breath and began. “Once upon a time, there was a creek full of splashing, glittering water, babbling, stories flowing out from every drop.” She was surprised she was sounding like Mrs. Riley. “The creek was in a wood, light and green, the sun catching big, fanlike leaves, glimmering like emeralds. Through the wood, there was a house like a cottage, gardenias placed meticulously in the window boxes, and daisies, roses, and violets scattered around the yard in clumps.” Lilly paused. “I don’t know what comes next.” Mrs. Riley clapped her hands. “Superb, Lilly, don’t worry, I’ll tell you the rest next week.” Lilly was baffled. “You’ll tell me the rest?” Mrs. Riley smiled at her. “Yes. You started a story, I’ll finish it for you.” She then pulled Lilly into a strong embrace for someone of her age. Miss Ashley was having a talk with a friend from next door so Lilly’s company was unneeded, thus she skipped over to Mr. Joseph’s room. “Remuneration,” Mr. Joseph said as she walked in. “Reward, or payment. Her remuneration was a trophy and a medal.” Lilly replied automatically, sounding like she had swallowed the dictionary. He grinned. “Good!

By Tatum Schutt Illustrated by Phoebe Wagoner “Why are you twisting your earrings like that?” So there I was, trying to keep my voice calm as I laid out my case to my archenemy on her front stoop. “You just have to promise,” I said, hating how my voice sounded so weak and pleading. Jess regarded me like a dead mouse her cat had dropped at her door. “Fine!” she finally spit at my feet, and promptly slammed the door in my face. My shoulders relaxed and I grinned as I got on my bike and rushed away, the warm summer air whooshing by my face. By some evil force of nature, Jess and I had both ended up at Interstock Sleep-Away Camp for the same two weeks, in the same cabin. I had stopped by her house the day before we left to insure it was safe. I hated it when people felt bad for me. The next day I was ready with my duffle when the bus pulled up. I gave my mom and dad one last kiss when my mom pulled me back. “Are you sure you want to do this, sweetie? After what happened, you…” I cut her off before she could finish her sentence. “Of course I do! I love you, bye!” I shouted over my shoulder as I ran to the bus, my duffle hitting the backs of my knees. The doors opened with a swish and I was instantly barraged with the cheerful, bird-like chattering of happy campers. Coupled with it was the smell of lemons and lavender, which was odd, but I shook it off. Maybe someone was drinking lemonade. My face burst into a grin as bright as a supernova as I sat down next to a girl with kinky brown hair and introduced myself. There was no way I would let Jess ruin this for me. *          *          * The drone of mosquitoes filled the air as Nicole, the girl I sat with on the bus, and I anxiously swatted them away. Today was our first archery contest, and everyone was on edge. “Why are you twisting your earrings like that?” Nicole asked curiously. I immediately put my hand down and turned a bit red. I hadn’t realized I had been doing it. “I do it when I am nervous,” I said. Suddenly Jess emerged from the background of girls. “No offense, but they look really old-fashioned,” she said loudly, and I felt my face heat up like a pit of lava as more girls surrounded me. Suddenly I blurted out, “I only wear them because my mom makes me. My grandmother gave them to me, and she has really bad taste.” I laughed meanly. “Is that the same grandmother you’re always quoting?” Jess asked innocently. The obvious answer was yes, and my face felt as hot as a pan in the oven. I looked to Nicole for help, but she was staring intently at the ground. A girl from the crowd said, “Why don’t you take them off? Your mother would never know.” Others from my cabin chimed in, voicing their opinions. “I never thought of that!” I said, faking a surprised expression and shoving the earrings deep into my pocket. I shot terribly, barely making the target. The earrings were a lump of regret and embarrassment pressing against me, like the lump you get in your throat before you cry. When at last the day was over, I threw my shorts on the ground and dove head first into the forgiving folds of the cold sheets. *          *          * The next morning, I awoke before everyone to the eerie sound of an owl calling to its mate. I reached instinctively to my ears before the events of the day before came rushing back like muddy water when a dam breaks. I sat down with a plunk. I couldn’t believe I had lied to my cabin mates just because of something Jess had said. I decided to start fresh and tell everyone the truth about my grandmother and the earrings. I swore that I would never take them off again. I reached into my crumpled shorts pocket to get the earrings. I groped and groped around, but my fist closed around only emptiness. My breathing became more rapid as my heart seemed to rise to my throat. I was shaking out my shorts when reveille was played, signaling everyone to get up. Someone turned on the light and Nicole said, “Cicile, what’s the matter? Your face is all white.” I slowly put my hand up to my ears. “My earrings!” I said. “They’re gone!” Several people groaned. One girl, named Cathy, said, “What’s so important about those earrings anyway? You said yourself, they are really old-fashioned.” I sat down heavily on my bed. When I read this I nearly fell over with shock “Let’s just get this over with. My grandmother, the one I am always talking about, died two months ago. She gave me those earrings three weeks before she died. They were the only thing I had to remember her by.” I looked up and was met with eight pitying looks. Jess was the only one who was not looking at me; she was glaring at her lap. “She made me promise not to tell,” she said spitefully. “Why didn’t you want us to know?” Cathy asked softly. “I don’t like being pitied,” I said truthfully. “OK,” Nicole said suddenly, breaking the soft silence. “Who took them?” she asked, and everyone turned their heads and fixed their eyes pointedly on Jess. “Hey,” she said. “I don’t think the question is who took them so much as what took them.” I let out a little gasp. “Do you mean…do you think it was my grandmother’s ghost?” Jess nodded gravely. Suddenly the breakfast bell rang, breaking the silence like a class full