The water ripples, The nightingale sings, The leaves swish in the wind. The night can be so loud. Elizabeth Ableson, 7Darien, CT
Skull Tumor
An unexpected illness changes a boy’s life “Sit down,” my mom said with a smile. “Let me tell you the story of when God came through for you.” It all started when I was a little baby. My mom saw something particularly important on the right side of my head. A bump? That’s strange, my mom thought, but she had no choice but to forget about it for the time being. So she slept on it and slept on it, and she slept on it even more. Then she finally decided to do something about it. She set me up for an appointment with the doctor who we normally saw. We found out that there was a problem with my head, but the doctor didn’t tell us what the problem was. In any case, that doctor couldn’t help. He was not the right doctor for the surgery. In the car on our ride up to Duke University to meet another doctor, my mom couldn’t take anything off of her mind and was thinking about the surgery, and if this was going to be the right doctor to do it. My heart raced like a cheetah. Exhausted, we finally arrived to see the Duke doctor after a long, stressful car ride. We arrived at the office where they were going to do the surgery and waited there for a huge amount of time. The doctor, calm and confident, came into the room and said hello to me. He was one of the nicest doctors I had ever seen, and I knew that he was going to do well on this surgery. My mom was crying the whole time. She could not stop because she was scared about what could happen during the surgery. The surgery happened. I don’t remember much of what happened during it. But I remember waking up and my mom crying and thanking God for all He had done for me and my family and the blessings He put on us. This was not one of those things that just comes and goes in your life. During the surgery, they put metal in my head. I am not allowed to play football, lacrosse, or hockey for the rest of my life. As you can see, this has had an impact on my life but could have been worse without God. But today I am still acting like it never happened to me because there are many things in life that you have to overcome. John Lash, 12Charlotte, NC
It Will Never Be the Same
Left alone after her best friend moves away, the narrator struggles with loneliness Just a day ago, I saw my best friend, Yaëlle. But as my eager eight-year-old eyes scanned the crowded recess yard, there was no sign of her. My heart dropped as I remembered she had moved to her hometown in Switzerland. I slouched, and my eyes stared at the dirty asphalt so the kids around me couldn’t see my tears. I sulked over to the fence and tried to get comfortable, but the unforgiving, gritty cement lining the edges of the yard seemed to want to make me as uncomfortable as possible. Why did she have to move? I put my head on my knees and squeezed my eyes shut, trying desperately to block out the chatter of kids as I rocked back and forth. All my closest friends had moved away already. One to Japan last year, and now one to Switzerland this year. Who would I play with now? Could anything replace my friendship with her? My world became a blur and my stomach knotted itself. But deep down, I knew what I really wanted to know was this: Would I ever see her again? I replayed the sound of her voice in my head, not wanting to forget the chipper, upbeat sound I had heard so many times. Our conversations flashed through my head, and I smiled when I thought about the time Yaëlle tried to make me laugh while I had to keep a straight face. * * * “Bloop, bloop, bloop,” Yaëlle said, making a fish face. “I’m inflating like Marge in Harry Potter!” she continued in her ridiculous imitation of a British accent. She used her hands to pretend she was getting bigger. I held back a laugh, and, not wanting to lose the game, I took a deep breath, trying to remain serious. Yaëlle stood on her bed and bounced up and down, her wavy brown hair flying all over the place. She looked more like a monkey than Marge. She jumped off the bed, and when she started falling down, she screamed, “Uh oh! I guess Marge can’t fly after all!” She landed with a thump on the carpet, dramatically collapsing. We both burst out laughing, rolling across the floor. I turned red from smiling so much, and my stomach hurt from laughing so hard. “That was good,” I said breathlessly. “No, it was brilliant!” “Well, that’s what I meant.” “Duh! It was the best thing ever!” She raced over to her desk and picked up pieces of cut-up paper. She threw them in the air over my head and screamed, “Yes!” “You seriously made confetti?” I asked in disbelief, shaking off the colorful paper stuck in my hair. “Why wouldn’t I?” “I really don’t know.” “Anyway . . . I did it! I did it!” She did her ridiculous victory jig, and I doubled over in laughter again. I couldn’t have felt happier that day. * * * Unexpectedly, a dodgeball hit the fence, sending a tremor through it, which made me lose my train of thought. I whirled around wildly, startled by the sudden movement. After I realized it was nothing, I leaned against the fence again. I watched as fellow students dashed across the massive yard, and I longed to be doing the same with Yaëlle. In second grade, we had chased each other around the yard every day and giggled in delight as we ran. We would exchange hugs before skipping to our separate classes, and I would leave recess feeling elated. She told jokes and riddles everywhere we went and was a joy to be around. When a pair of bright blue sneakers stopped before me, I looked up hesitantly. June, one of the fifth graders and the most popular kid at school, looked down at me, hands on her hips. My muscles tensed as I tried to decipher her expression. Pursed lips, disapproving eyes. This couldn’t possibly be good. What does she want from me? June had never wanted anything to do with me before—why would she now? “What are you doing?” she asked sourly. “Nothing,” I replied quickly. June scrunched up her face. “Oh, right. You’re that girl’s friend. What was her name again? Yall?” My heart pounded against my chest. “Yaëlle,” I whispered. If Yaëlle had been there, we would have laughed about her wrinkled expression. How she looked like a shriveled-up raisin when she did that. But I just stared at the ground to avoid her gaze. “Yeah, whatever her name was. Why don’t you go play with your other friend?” That time, I didn’t respond. “Right, she moved away too. I remember now. Well, that’s too bad for you.” She smirked and skipped away, joining her group of friends. I watched them burst out in laughter, and my heart sank like an anchor in a sea. Right down to the very bottom. That day at lunch I sat alone, staring at the other kids, longing for a friend. Kids strutted past me, seeming not to acknowledge my place in the world. If Yaëlle had been there, she would have comforted me by putting a reassuring hand on my back, her soothing voice guiding me through my problem. As soon as I felt better, she would be back to cracking her jokes, and it would be as if my problem never happened. Unfortunately, the only person who saw me was the patrol lady, who gave me a strange look. She approached me, and I suddenly wanted to shrink into the shadows and remain there forever. “Are you okay?” she whispered, trying to act concerned by knitting her eyebrows together. Her eyes looked tired, and I realized I was just another kid out of all the kids she had to tend to. She didn’t actually care. I wanted to throw up at her attempt,
The Magic Pen and the Superhero
Jeremy finds a magic pen that will help him fight his school’s bullies Jeremy was a dreamer who constantly hoped for an adventurous life, full of supernatural encounters. Like most boys at his age, Jeremy also wished for superpowers and extraordinary adventures. But despite excellent grades and various school achievements, Jeremy was constantly miserable because he was a victim of bullying. His love and passion for mathematics got him the nickname “Nerd,” which was anything but kind. But what gave Jeremy comfort, especially in the dark days when older boys bullied him, was the unconditional love of his family and the amazing friendship he shared with a little boy named Michael. Michael had a tougher time than Jeremy, as older boys always mocked his appearance and skinny framework. Often, Jeremy wished he could turn into a superhero so he could protect his friend and all the kids who were constantly bullied. He wanted to invent a fantastic object or something that could revolutionize the whole world, making it a better place for everyone around him. His invention would erase hate, pain, and differences among kids. And one day, his secret wish was answered. It all started with the day when he found a beautiful pen on the street. At first, Jeremy thought the pen was an ordinary one, but then he saw that the writing instrument had magical qualities. After a simple touch of the pen, his homework would write itself. So Jeremy tried to see if this would work even with his English composition—and yet again, in just a few seconds, an essay was written without any effort from his side. Then Jeremy’s plans became more ambitious and he drew two big wings that were attached through a belt to his body, and he flew into the night, overpassing buildings and cities. For five days, Jeremy drew things he’d always wanted, like a pair of magical ears with which he listened to people’s thoughts or a suit that would make him invisible. He played like this until he realized that superpowers meant nothing if they weren’t shared with his friends. Thus, he drew another magical pen for his good friend Michael. The next day, Jeremy left for school having hidden the two enchanted writing instruments in his pencil box. After meeting his good friend, Jeremy recounted everything about his latest adventures with the pen. Following his story, he offered the second pen to his friend. To his great surprise, the boy refused the gift and went on to ask, “And how do you intend to use your new-found powers against those bullies?” Jeremy told Michael about his plan of becoming a powerful superhero who would beat the bad boys the way they used to beat him. But instead of enthusiasm, he saw fear on his friend’s face. He asked Michael which part of the plan burdened him. “I’m concerned because you don’t see that this pen and your new powers are transforming you into a different person. Using an unknown force against those boys doesn’t make you better than them. I don’t think I want to be friends with someone who wants to dominate others through power. I like my old friend, the good Jeremy, but I dislike this power-hungry superhero.” And Michael left Jeremy all alone and very confused. At the end of the day, the bad boys who were always bullying the younger kids stopped in front of Jeremy’s class. This time, they were harassing a blonde girl, pulling her ponytail and screaming names at her. Jeremy wanted to draw a sketch of his super suit so he could save the girl from those horrible kids, but then he saw that an older child intervened. The brown-haired boy defended the young girl exactly like a comic book superhero and stopped the villains without even moving a finger. It was then when Jeremy understood that younger kids like him don’t need magical pens but rather friends like that teenager who have the courage to go up against bad boys and do the right thing. The youngster didn’t attack the bullies because aggressiveness is a distinctive feature of super-villains. Instead, he showed them that he could be as ferocious as them. Of course, the bullies didn’t expect to find someone who would stand up against them, and when they found that person, they proved to be cowards, running as fast as they could from the danger. That day, Jeremy understood that superheroes live among us and they don’t need super-wings or super-suits. Tudor Achim, 9Tampa, FL
Arch of Life
iPhone X Sloka Ganne, 10Overland Park, KS
The Angel
What a little angel she is Whisper the Jewish Sunday-school ladies behind gloved hands As I flounce down the hall All dressed up in my blue silk party dress, the one with the frills on the bottom Another gift from Daddy’s friends in Chicago A special dress for a special girl like you My proud parents beam with pride when I stand behind the microphone in the school auditorium: Oh, say can you see . . .? The only first-grader allowed up on stage What good manners she has The waitress at the diner smiles over the counter at me when I ask for a straw These are the three keys—thank you, you’re welcome, and may I please Hands pressed together firmly each Yom Kippur Oh God and Father, creator of Heaven and Earth, I penitently acknowledge my sins . . . I can’t bear to tell a lie, come home crying if I do Mommy, Mommy, I was the one who took the last cookie from the jar! I wish that God made more little girls like you, sighs the mother of Jack Davidson, who got expelled from my school for punching a kid in the stomach Would you care for a cupcake? No, thank you. My mother says it has too much sugar. Want a bag of chips? No, thank you. My mother says they have no nutritional value. I come home proud and happy from school The blinding red A-plus in the corner of my drawing too hard not to notice Have you ever thought of putting your daughter in the gifted class? Time for the school play I stand in the wings in my blue-and-white-checked dress, dark hair twisted into two neat braids All ready to go on, dance my way down the yellow-brick road Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there’s a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby . . . How talented she is! Everybody tells me But “Nothing gold can stay,” my mother recites every time someone tells me I’m an angel, Shakes her head and glances sadly out at the setting sun, Puffy white clouds fading away into the dusk. Straight out of Heaven. Bo-Violet Vig, 13Los Angeles, CA Sloka Ganne, 10Overland Park, KS
Wolf on a Swing
Acrylics Sloka Ganne, 10Overland Park, KS
The Life of Beverly Henderson
Beverly, abandoned by both her parents as a baby, at 13 befriends a raccoon named Bandit and sets out to find her father I was born in 1950 and a few hours after I was born, my mom died—or so I was told. We were in Ketchum, Idaho. My name is Beverly Henderson. I am part Irish and the rest of me is all American. My father was disappointed when I was born because he wanted a boy. He put me in an orphanage. I never saw him again, but I have small pictures of him in my head. He was handsome, with brown hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. His skin was so smooth that it made butter feel rough. I lived with him for three years. At the orphanage, I went to a cheap school, and they fed us cold food, they had rats in the classroom, and I was one of the only girls. The only other girls were Lily and some other girl I never learned the name of. She was quiet as a mouse and graceful as a pigeon. Lily, however, was nice. She was 9 years old at the time. Lily lived with a poor family, and she had one brother, two sisters, and her mom was pregnant with one more. At the time I was about 10, and I was the smartest in school. Everyone was dumb, and they never really tried to do anything. Lily was the only person who would eat the cold lunch with me, and she was the second smartest person in the school. I can still remember the day when I set a trap for a rat. Everyone always had some weird junk in their pockets, so I always took it from them. Half the stuff was useless, but the other half helped me build the trap. I built a cage with sticks, a little plate, and a piece of glass. When the rat stepped on the plate, the door closed tightly, leaving the rat stuck in the cage. I used some of my cold lunch as bait and part of a box for the door. The teacher made a bet with me for $3.50. Back then, this was enough to buy a full meal. I set the trap and prayed that I would catch something. I went back to the orphanage and prayed more. I had dinner with the nice lady who worked there, and she gave me a bowl of warm chicken soup. I went to bed and had a dream that the teacher gave me $10. It was an amazing dream. I bought loads of candy and a violin. I tried playing violin, and it was bad. I’d thought it would be cool. I woke up after I ran into a wall in the dream. In real life, a book fell on my face. The bookshelf above my bed was wobbly. My roommates avoided me whenever they could. I went to school eager to see the trap, and when I walked into the classroom, which smelled like mold and sadness, a huge furry animal stared at me. I don’t remember exactly what my teacher said, but he was upset when he gave me the money. We put the rat in the woods, and I put my money in my pocket. I needed something to put my money in, so I used a can from the garbage. Lily came to school late, and she told me she wasn’t allowed to go to school anymore. She was moving to California. Her mother and father thought there was more for them there. I was devastated. I had only gone to school with her for a week, but she meant a lot to me. The next day, Thursday, March 16, 1961, I was late for class. Lily leaving had affected me. I woke up late and when I got there, our school had burned to the ground. I went back to the orphanage and tried to study math by myself. That same day, I went outside to look at the school that had taught me and given me $3.50 and my first friend. When I was finished reflecting, I went back and saw the orphanage burning to the ground. It collapsed before my eyes. My whole world was falling apart, literally, and I needed something, somewhere to go. My money had been in there along with all my belongings. They were all destroyed. I searched in the ruins and found an animal. It was a small raccoon. Its back left leg was stuck under a piece of a burned-up bed. The small raccoon looked into my eyes, and I let it go. I fed it some raw fish from the trash can of a restaurant, and he loved it. He stayed near me, even when I walked into town. Since then, adults have taken me to different orphanages, but I have escaped from every single one. I could never imagine living in another orphanage after what happened to the one I lived in. The raccoon usually helped me escape, by stealing the keys, pooping in the owner’s bed to distract them, pretending to have rabies, you name it. I named him Bandit because he was always stealing things and the little mask on his eyes made him look like one. Over the months, he found money for me to pay for food and clothing. We did everything together. When I first found Bandit, he was the size of my hand. He had since grown to be the size of two basketballs. His tail was big and fluffy, and when I touched it, I thought of a pillow with feathers on the inside and sandpaper on the outside. Bandit was sweet. He would curl up to me in my sleeping bag, he would protect me from other people, and I would protect him from getting stepped on. The months went by, and I had a problem. I found a
Reflection
iPhone 8 Margaret Fulop, 11Lexington, MA
The Creases of Time
Time—did it slip through my fingers, flow Subtly as water? My little big brother, Running across the pastures with his kite, where did that go? Footsteps trailing mine, hands clasped tightly—my mother. I can see the time pass in the creases of my Grandfather’s eyes, his skin lined with the trick of time. If only It wouldn’t go so fast, then we wouldn’t need to say so many goodbyes All too soon. If just once, my world could live forever . . . But if all worlds lasted forever, when Would new ones be born? Babies gaze at the world with big eyes, bright, Seeing things they’ve never seen before. The old watch with Eyes that have seen too much, the pale that follows a dark night. Time forces us to make use of what we have, unfurled, It forces us to say goodbye and hello to the ever-changing world. Tara Prakash, 12Chevy Chase, MD
Editor’s Note
How would you react if your parents abandoned you and the only home you had ever known burned down? Or if your closest friend were being bullied at school—and you felt powerless to help? What would you do if your mom didn’t show up to pick you up after school, or if you found out you needed surgery to remove a tumor on your head, or if your very best friend moved hundreds of miles away and into a different time zone? The stories and personal narratives in this issue all wrestle with experiences that push their characters and narrators to the limit—that test them and, in most cases, ultimately make them stronger. These pieces felt appropriate for our February issue. Winter, as a season, always reminds me that life can be cold, lonely, and difficult. That the flowers won’t always be blooming, the sun won’t always be out. As we see in Rachael Ding’s “The Old Woman” in this issue, the seasons are the most essential metaphors for the seasons of our life—the seasons that come as we age, but also as we go through different phases of life. Some phases are full of life and happiness, and some are full of difficulty and even loss. The pieces in this issue remind us of that—and show us the life and strength that exists even within the winter.
Fear
Fear is a bubble. It can fold up or pop. It can surround you like a swarm or keep you behind an elastic wall. You choose whether to stay in or step out. Nanae Koyama, 11Lexington, MA
