Oliver employs a detective to find his missing hair Once, when I was counting the hairs on my head, I noticed that one hair was missing. You see, usually, I had 2,476 hairs on my head, but when I counted them this time, there were only 2,475 hairs on my head. Someone had stolen my hair. I went to the police station for help, but they said that I was crazy. Then I went to the FBI, but they said that they had much more important cases on their hands. Personally, I don’t understand how vandalism in the White House could be more important than my missing hair, but it wasn’t my choice. Finally, I realized that the best way to handle any situation was to take care of it at home. I went to the private detective on my street. No one ever went to him to solve their cases. I wondered why. I walked into his room, where I found him holding a magnifying glass to my face. “Do you have poor eyesight?” I asked. “No,” he said. “But I could never be a proper detective if I didn’t always hold a magnifying glass to people’s faces when they enter this room.” I was impressed. This was clearly a man I could trust. “What’s your name?” I asked. “My name is Detective DaVinci.” “That name sounds French,” I said. “It’s actually Spanish,” Detective DaVinci said. “My name is Olivier Ruthe.” “That name is also Spanish,” the detective noted. “What trouble do you bear?” So, I told him about how I lost my hair and about how no one would take me seriously. “This is a difficult case,” Detective DaVinci told me. “I will need $100.” I hesitated. One hundred dollars was a lot of money. But my hair was worth a lot of money. “Of course,” I said. “Anything for my hair.” “You should give me the money before I solve the case. Just so I know you aren’t a crook.” “OK,” I replied. I met his price. Then I went back to my house, feeling satisfied and tired after a long day’s work. That night, I had a hard time sleeping. I kept hearing shuffling noises at the window. Once, I felt a sharp pain on my scalp. I kept my eyes closed the whole time, hoping I might fall asleep. Eventually, the noises stopped. The next day, I went straight to my detective. “I found your hair!” he exclaimed. He showed me the hair in a glass bottle. I immediately started counting my hair. It took about an hour and a half. When I was finished, I found that I was missing another hair. “Don’t worry,” the detective said. “I’ll find it.” That night, I had trouble sleeping again. The same thing happened as had happened the night before. I heard noises at the window, felt a pain on my head, heard more noises, then silence. First thing in the morning, I counted my hair. I was missing another hair. I told my detective. He had, however, found another hair. “You probably counted wrong.” He started counting my hair. “There. I counted the same number of hairs you started with . . . whatever that number was.” “Oh,” I said simply. Again, that night, I heard a noise. I rolled over. “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” The voice of the scream sounded familiar. Then I went to sleep. When I arrived back at Detective DaVinci’s house to thank him, he was frantically packing. He was bruised, covered in dirt, and his hair was sticking out in different directions. “You look like you fell out of a window,” I said. “Something like that happened. No one will steal your hair again.” He started toward the door. I tried to say something. “But—” “Bye.” Then he slammed the door. I lived quite happily after that, except for the time I stepped on a broken magnifying glass right below my bedroom window and ruined my shoe. I wonder how it got there. Oliver Giller, 10Providence, RI
Humor
Join the Fun
Veronica Caisse, age ten, stood in front of the mirror, her arms out to the sides. “What do you think?” she asked her cat, Aphrodite, turning so she could see the full extent of her outfit. Aphrodite gave a tiny, indifferent meow. “Thank you!” Veronica told her. “I do have good fashion sense, don’t I?” She admired herself again. Cute knee-length dress with a black-and-white stripy pattern, sparkly ballet flats, long blond hair pulled back with a flowered white headband. “Ronnie!” Her dad bellowed from downstairs. “Get down here! We’re gonna be late!” With a final glance in the mirror, she walked out of the room with a goodbye to Aphrodite. Veronica found, when she got downstairs, that her family hadn’t taken nearly as much care and time getting dressed as she had. Her mom was looking nice but normal in a maroon turtleneck sweater and black pants. However, Veronica noted the pearl earrings and slight coating of lipstick. Her dad wore jeans, a plain blue jacket, and a lighter blue polo shirt. Hmm, that was what he wore every day. Her older brother, Jared, was attired in a pair of ripped jeans, a faded T-shirt, and a well-worn USC jacket. Disgraceful. Jared burst out laughing. “Ronnie, you are really… wow…” Veronica tried to figure out what his deal was. Did she have a lump in her hair? Or were her shoes on the wrong feet? “I do have good fashion sense, don’t I?” “Sweetie,” her mom said hesitantly, “do you think you are a little, um, overdressed for an informal family gathering?” Her mom emphasized the “informal,” as if Veronica hadn’t heard that description five million times already. “Ron-Ron,” Veronica’s dad intervened. “There will be games and running around. You can change, or not. It’s your choice.” Veronica pretended to consider, but honestly, it was a no-brainer. “I’ll wear this,” she said decisively. After all, looking good should be everyone’s top priority. “And don’t call me Ron-Ron!” she admonished her dad. “It’s so babyish. I’m ten, you know.” Her mom and dad exchanged what-can- we-do looks but said no more about the matter as the whole Caisse family walked out the door and into the car. As Mr. Caisse revved up the engine and began driving down the street, Veronica arranged herself comfortably on her half of the back seat. Headphones, check. iPod, check. Markers, check. Pad of paper, check. Jared was sprawled out as much as he could in his amount of space, earbuds stuffed in his ears, though Veronica thought she could hear a very soft echo of the pounding heavy metal. Sighing, Veronica put her headphones on and began working through her playlist, humming along as she carefully designed outfits on the outlines of the people she had drawn. About an hour into the drive, as she was mumble-singing the lyrics to “All About That Bass” and filling in the shirt on her newest figure, Jared nudged her. “Look up, Ron,” he said, “we’re nearly there.” Though slightly miffed to be interrupted in the chorus of her favorite song, she pulled off the headphones and looked out the window. Sure enough, there was Aunt Mattie and Uncle Rob’s house. “We’re there!” she nearly squealed. Jared grinned. “We’ll get to see all our cousins! Nina and Josh and Kymmie and Gryffin and Joe…” Veronica and Jared waited impatiently while their dad circled around, looking for parking. “Come on, Daddy!” Veronica urged. “We need, need, need to get in!” Both Jared and Veronica were appropriately excited for their once-every-two-years family gathering with all their cousins and uncles and aunts. The place where it was held varied from year to year. This time, they were lucky, since Aunt Mattie and Uncle Rob lived relatively close to them. However, many of their cousins had to fly in. But the luckiest by far were Lucy and Gryffin, who didn’t have to go anywhere at all this year. Finally, finally, they parked and the kids leapt out of the car. “Race you!” called Jared, sprinting down the block. “I can’t run!” Veronica yelled after him. “My flats…” He didn’t notice, and with a sigh she began to walk with her mother at an annoyingly slow pace. By the time they reached their aunt and uncle’s house, Jared was already leaning coolly against the doorway, with an expression that said, “What took you so long? Awesome people always get places fast.” Rolling her eyes, Veronica reached up and rang the doorbell. Almost instantly, it swung open, and there was Aunt Mattie, a big grin on her face. “Hello hello hello!” She gave them all crushingly warm hugs, and with several more greetings and hugs to other relatives, Jared and Veronica escaped to the backyard where the other kids were all gathered. “ROOOONNNNNIIIIIIIE!” A little pint-sized ball of energy hit Veronica full in the stomach, sending her falling back into the grass. “Hey, Kymmie!” she grinned. Kymmie was seven years old, tiny for her age, with wide, intelligent brown eyes and soft red hair. Veronica had been the big sister Kymmie had never had, as the latter had grown up in a family of boys. While Jared was greeting the other boys ( Josh, Gryffin, Tyler, and Joe) with a series of fist bumps, back slaps, and “Hey, man!”s, Veronica’s other girl cousins had come over: Nina, Lucy, and Emmy. “Hi, Ronnie!” Emmy said, helping her up. Emmy and Lucy were the closest in age to Veronica, the former being eleven and the latter nine. Nina was the same age as Kymmie, and they would’ve looked very much the same except Nina’s eyes were a striking blue, in contrast to Kymmie’s brown. The boys had wandered over. “Hey, girls,” Joe said. Joe’s real name was Sasha, but he thought it was a girly name, so had spontaneously changed his name to Joe. “Pop brought a bunch of potato sacks. Is anyone up for a race?” It was unanimous. As they distributed the
Forest
It was the afternoon in the forest. It was a hot and muggy afternoon too, when the air hung heavily between the gnarled and ancient tree trunks, their rough bark creased and lined through the passage of years. The early morning mist had long since disappeared. Spider webs now hung aimlessly between the brownish-green undergrowth, illuminated by the blazing summer sun peering in through the thick canopy of trees. There was a soft crunching and crackling sound of dead leaves and small insects scrambled as quickly as they could to get away as a small patch of bristling ferns parted, and out of it emerged the boy. He pushed his way ruthlessly through the thick undergrowth that covered the forest floor, snapping the sharp, dry branches that stuck out to bar his path, but he did so expertly, making sure to create as little noise as possible. He paused for a moment, panting softly, before turning around to look cautiously over his shoulder. No one. No one but the seemingly endless canopy of tall, majestic trees, surrounded by ferns and bushes, their knotted trunks reaching up to touch the brilliant blue sky that occasionally became visible but was usually too bright for him to look at on days like this. No one but the small brown squirrel that immediately spotted him as he looked, and then scooted off to the other side of the tree it clung to. He sensed a vague lingering hint of danger in this area of the forest Well, it almost scooted. On sweltering, stifling days like these, all creatures in the forest were more sluggish than usual, and as for the boy, he became tired and sweaty more easily. Today in particular. The boy sat down slowly on a nearby burnt and jagged tree stump, only after checking for ants’ nests of course. He sensed a vague lingering hint of danger in this area of the forest, and he knew he would be slower to react to it now, his senses dulled by heat, thirst, and pure exhaustion. Still, he could not go on for much longer without rest. The boy sniffed the air expertly, he had years of experience, but today all he smelt was the pine needles that covered the forest floor, the dark brown soil, and the muggy, stifling, humid air. Seeing as the air would reveal nothing, the boy pricked up his ears and listened. No luck. Only the distant sound of birds chirruping in the canopy and the low, infuriating hum of mosquitoes. The boy wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and fanned himself unsuccessfully with his hand. His throat was dry and parched, and it would be a long walk to get to any clean liquid to drink. He spotted a nearby almost bare berry bush and grabbed the only visible berry he could see off it. He put it slowly into his mouth. The sour flavor erupted into his tastebuds. He ate it as slowly as possible, trying to savor the moisture. But it was small, and did not last long, doing nothing to satisfy his burning throat. A rustling in the leaves made him jump to his feet. He spun around to see another brown squirrel dashing away through the undergrowth. The boy turned away, and, checking over his shoulder one last time, set off again, walking rapidly through the thick and seemingly impenetrable undergrowth. He had to keep going. This was no time to give up. Suddenly another rustling made him spin around. This one seemed more distant and farther away. The boy eyed it suspiciously and began to slowly back away. The rustling was becoming steadily clearer and sharper as it came closer. From its sound, and years of experience, the boy was able to decipher that it was a much bigger animal that was now coming towards him. The crunching of the leaves from its footsteps seemed to indicate a sort of lumbering, awkward gait. Almost instantly the boy knew what it probably was. A bear. Slowly, his heart thumping against his ribcage, the boy backed away even further. Luckily, he knew how to deal with this sort of problem. Now, all he needed was a tree to climb. The boy scanned the trees, looking for a suitable branch he could pull himself up onto. The rustling, meanwhile, was getting louder. The boy realized in an instant that the bear was too close by for him to have enough time to get onto the higher branches out of its reach. Any minute now, it would enter the patch of forest with the boy. Why oh why hadn’t he heard it coming earlier?! The boy backed away even farther, his mind racing furiously. The bear, judging by its gait and size, was probably a grizzly. There was no escape for him now. The bear had left the boy with no choice. Roger!!! What on earth is this?!! His hands quivering slightly, the boy reached down and pulled out one of his most treasured possessions, his spear. Made from the perfect strong tree branch, with a skillfully sharpened stone arrowhead tied to the top, he regarded it with pride. Slowly, the boy lowered his spear so it pointed to the exact direction of the rustling and, with a pounding heart, waited. Meanwhile, the bear, judging again by the sudden increased speed of its footsteps on the leaves, had broken into a charge and now opened its mouth into a terrible, vicious bloodthirsty roar. A roar that shook the canopy and made the boy cringe with fear. “Roger!!! What on earth is this?!! You’re supposed to be doing your math homework!! Are you hiding in the forest again?!! You had better not be or there will be trouble!!” * * * The boy quickly turned and dashed away through the undergrowth, clutching his spear in one hand, before disappearing, silent as a shadow, away into the muggy depths of the forest. Rachael Goddard Rebstein,
