The sound you can hear is the fairy’s voice. And remember the fairies are behind you. Fairies are not same as you because they have wings and they are absolutely tiny. And Whatever money you get it is actually your tooth. If you have a very clean and white tooth put it under your pillow and next day you will see money under __________your pillow. because the tooth fairy will grab your tooth and exchange it with money. Gilbert Huang, 9Shanghai, China
Myself
When I write I feel very soft and smooth. I always feel nervous when the pen touches the paper. My feelings always control myself. When I don’t know what to write I transform into a monster. Gilbert Huang, 9Shanghai, China
One Horse
One Horse Lara Katz, 14Weston, CT
The Ride of Infinity
I wrapped my jacket around me to keep out the frigid air. It was cold and drizzly and my clothes were soaked. “The tapestry of life will outlast all of us,” my dad had always told me. “Everyone who has ever lived and ever will is a part of the tapestry. Sometimes a thread will come loose when the person it’s connected to has given up on life. Never become one of those loose threads, Allison.” But now I had become a loose thread. And I didn’t think I would ever be able to weave myself back in again. My life began to unravel when my father was diagnosed with cancer last year. He could still continue homeschooling me until he died three weeks ago. Then I was put in public school, and that was when I realized that there was no going back. That my life was changed permanently. My mom had always had a full time job, and with my dad gone, we needed the money more than ever. There was no way I could be homeschooled. * * * I was in the very back of the group, atop my brown and black, chomp-happy horse. The man at the front hadn’t told me its name. As I watched the tour guide go on and on about some historical landmark with only the teachers engrossed, as I watched the boys have a spit fight, and as I watched the girls gossip about who liked who, I wondered if anyone would really notice if I left. If anyone would wonder why I disappeared. The more I thought about it, the more I realized they wouldn’t. I was convinced no one would notice if I left. I made up my mind. I swiftly turned my horse around and galloped in the opposite direction. And just like that, I had begun my ride of infinity. I rode and rode until nightfall, and from sheer exhaustion, I eventually fell asleep on the horse. When I awoke, it was morning. My horse had halted. I quickly kicked it in the sides to get it moving, and then I noticed a tree line in the distance, lush and green and leafy. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was reach the tree line. I was hypnotized by grief, and all I wanted was one small bit of hope to cling on to. I began to convince myself that if I reached the tree line, all my problems would be gone. Both my parents would be awaiting me, I could be homeschooled again, everything I valued would be within reach. My life would be back to normal again. I could behold it. I could see it so clearly etched in my mind that I knew I could not turn back. I sent that horse galloping and galloping towards the tree line, without even pausing to think about what I was getting myself into. Had I been thinking straight, this never would have happened. I never would have left the “historical tour on horseback” field trip. But I did. And I didn’t have an ounce of regret. I was still so sure that I would reach the tree line, so sure that if I did, everything would be impeccable. I rode day and night, with no food or water, for so long I lost track of time. Yet the tree line never got any nearer. Never. My absurd impulsiveness finally stopped when the horse collapsed from exhaustion, and sent me sprawling on the dew-covered grass. Determined as I was to reach the tree line, I staggered to my feet and tried to run, but I could only make it a few steps before collapsing myself. I hit my head on something hard, and in the moment between consciousness and unconsciousness, I remembered. In that split second, I recalled so many of the times that my dad and I had had fun. Walking through the forest, the shining green canopy of trees overhead, learning the scientific names of all the mushrooms and plants. Going down the tallest slide at the water park. Jumping into the swimming hole in the river, the water sparkling like diamonds. Legions of memories swam in my mind. Then everything went dark. * * * I woke up to the sound of people shouting. Somebody was pulling on my leg. My eyes flew open, and I saw a crowd of people surrounding me. My class was there. Lots of unfamiliar people were there. Even an ambulance was present. My mom was there as well. So they had noticed. I was told that I had hit my head on a rock and that I had passed out. My throat was so dry I couldn’t speak. But I looked into my mother’s eyes, and she got the message: get me out of here. She had to carry me to the car because I was so weak I couldn’t stand up. Sitting in her navy blue Toyota, I realized I had not achieved anything. All I had done was made my mom think she would lose me, too. I had done it all for nothing. To this day, I am still a loose thread. Raina Sawyer, 11Santa Cruz, CA
The Stone Angel
The pewter sky hung like a tapestry over the graveyard, dark clouds spilling across it. The clouds boomed and thundered like an angry beast, releasing torrents of water that drenched the gray headstones below. Lightning sliced through the air like a sword, illuminating the world for a second with its violet light. Libby liked the rain. The way it left her honey hair wet and clingy, the way the droplets slid down her cheeks like cool tears. She knelt down next to her favorite grave in the furthest corner of the cemetery. Most of her neighbors grew up in fear of the cemetery across the street, but Libby loved it. Each weekend she would place flowers on her favorite graves, and she loved calculating the ages of the people on the headstones. Libby peered at the grave in front of her. The cool stone of the memorial was cracked and crumbling, with moss climbing up it, filling in the crevasses. A smiling angel stood atop the base of the grave, holding a harp in its chubby hands. The angel’s face had been worn away by decades in the rain, giving the grave an eerie look. Engraved in the podium was the name of the girl who rested there. Here lies Ada Lee Clemmons 1896-1907 Beloved daughter, sister. May her soul rest in peace. “Pretty, isn’t it?” a sweet voice said from behind Libby. Startled, Libby turned quickly to see a girl standing behind her. The girl looked about Libby’s age, with tawny skin and soft coils of chestnut hair. Her cheeks held a slight rosy blush, probably a result of the cold of the rain. But what struck Libby as particularly striking were the girl’s eyes. They blazed blue against her darker skin, as if holding a cold fire inside them. The girl took a step closer to Libby. “It’s sad isn’t it?” She asked. “She was so young. Only eleven, only as old as I am now.” The girl turned to look at Libby, as if noticing her for the first time. “You come here a lot,” she said. It was not phrased as a question, but simply as a statement. “Y-yes.” Libby stammered. Something about the girl made her uncomfortable. It seemed as if the air grew cooler simply having her around. “How did you know?” The girl shrugged. “I don’t see why that matters.” She knelt down next to the grave, and patted the ground beside her as if inviting Libby to join her. Libby reluctantly obliged. “Someone should clean the headstone,” she said sadly. “But there is no one around to do it. It happened so long ago, there is no one left who remembers the name Ada Lee Clemmons.” “How do you know so much about her?” Libby asked, feeling her fear of the girl begin to be replaced by sympathy of sorts. The words that the girl spoke seemed so heavy, and as if they affected her directly. The girl cocked her head at Libby “I just simply know what the grave tells. Anyone could figure it out.” The girl reached out and traced the lettering on the grave with her finger. “It’s lonely I bet,” she said suddenly. “Can you imagine being forgotten? Alone?” Libby shook her head. She couldn’t envision it. The girl sighed and drew back from the grave. She stood. Libby rose with her. “I have to go,” she said. “But before I do, what is your name?” Libby thought about lying, but the girl’s eyes seemed safe and friendly as she looked her. “Libby,” she said. “Yours?” “Ada,” the girl smiled. Libby felt her eyes widen. She turned to face the headstone and its engraved letters. Ada. “Are you…?” Libby stammered, the words catching on her tongue. Ada smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “For visiting me. It’s not quite so lonely when you’re around.” With that, Ada faded away. Julia Lockwood, 12Bellingham, WA
Uprising
Uprising by Margaret Peterson Haddix; Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers: New York, 2011; $11.99 Uprising. One word, but somehow this meager collection of letters presents readers with strong, vivid emotions. Some when confronted with this word would mentally tremble in fright. Some might feel a sense of rebellion brewing inside them. Others would, I dare say, laugh, regarding almost humorously the rough cards life has dealt them and their failed attempts to regain control and ultimately uprise. Such a simple word, such a simple title, such a complex concept. In this book, Haddix creates a world so similar to our own it’s hard to believe that her story is based upon historical content dating back to over one hundred years ago. It is a world we see everyday on the news, a world of division, anger, and violence. But it is also a world of hope and love. Through brilliant storytelling, the author is able to bring readers into early twentieth-century New York at the beginning of an uprising! As 1911 progresses, the world is faced with new ideas each day. Women’s rights are finally making their way into the United States, and many are hopeful that Britain’s movement will sweep into America as well. While many suffragists are struggling to gain support for their cause, shirtwaist workers with very little public influence are also making their way into the headlines. Workers from around the country unite to protest peacefully for better conditions in the workplace. Towards the beginning of the novel, we are swept into the lives of three girls, each speaking in different tongues and from different countries. However, somehow each one shares something in common, a yearning for a purpose. Timid Bella has just arrived in the land of opportunity, America, only to discover that this new land is not always paved with gold. On the other hand, headstrong Yetta is determined to change the world in some form. At the same time, elegant Jane lives in luxury, but passionately seeks more than her father’s wealth can offer. As the book begins, the author focuses primarily on their separate lives, but later weaves each of these together to set a premise for a monumental conclusion. The three girls join together about midway through the book to unite in their cause, worker’s rights. Fighting peacefully each day for better working conditions in New York’s crowded factories, the characters experience fear and pain in their quest for justice. However, a terrible tragedy holds the power to tear them apart forever. Haddix keeps readers hanging on to each word throughout. I found that the many setbacks of the characters only added to the overall product and believe our modern world could learn a lot from the perseverance and hope conveyed in the book. The Shirtwaist Factory Strike is a main focus, but the author never strays away from human emotions and experiences despite the book’s historical background. Readers who enjoy the Dear America series will delight in this powerful portrayal of life in the twentieth-century U.S. Although intended for a young adult audience, it is my belief that anyone searching for a good historical read, regardless of age, will thoroughly enjoy this book. However, one must consider the intended age before choosing Uprising as their latest reading endeavor. The story offers many historically accurate details, which pairing with the plot, create a stunning presentation.Overall I found this book entrancing, and struggled to put it down each day. It is a great representation of the power of perseverance and hope. Eliza Smith, 12Church Hill, TN
Stone Soup Honor Roll: April 2018
Welcome to the Stone Soup Honor Roll! We receive hundreds of submissions every month by kids from around the world. Unfortunately, we can’t publish all the great work we receive. So we created the Stone Soup Honor Roll. We commend all of these talented writers and artists and encourage them to keep creating. – The Editors Scroll down to see all the names (alphabetical by section), including book reviewers and artists. STORIES Alyssa Ao, 10 Jake Henschel, 11 Tuilaepa Katoanga, 11 Gavin Lehman, 11 Tracy Li, 13 Sayana Mayeski, 11 Stella Prince, 13 Leo Zhang, 11 Sarah Zhang, 11 ARTWORK Sophia Zhang, 8 POEMS Ana Carpenter, 13 Uma Coutelle, 10 Colin Davison, 9 Lily Jessen, 9 Cecilia Yang, 11 REVIEWS Ananda Bhaduri, 12 Nicole Qian, 13
Illuminated
Illuminated Lara Katz, 14Weston, CT
THE MOON
The moon The little moon The lonely uncolorful moon The only friend of earth The moon of its only kind There the moon stand by her only little self The moon The Earth’s only friend The grey boring moon The old rusty moon Andy Wu, 10Shanghai, China
Stone Soup Honor Roll: March 2018
Welcome to the Stone Soup Honor Roll! We receive hundreds of submissions every month by kids from around the world. Unfortunately, we can’t publish all the great work we receive. So we created the Stone Soup Honor Roll. We commend all of these talented writers and artists and encourage them to keep creating. – The Editors Scroll down to see all the names (alphabetical by section), including book reviewers and artists. STORIES Sarah Bryden, 13 Alexander Chodkowski, 11 Latai Dunn-Georgiou, 13 Lea Efran, 11 Isabel Janjigian, 11 Asfia Jawed, 12 Kazuki Kobashi, 11 Lucy Margiotta, 11 Leonardo Mokriski, 13 Sonia Modha, 10 Alexis Reinhardt, 11 ARTWORK Sasen Amarasekara, 7 John Anson, 7 Alexis Forman, 10 Madeline Nelson, 11 Lauren Yu, 12 POEMS Ava Bonner, 11 Phoebe Fogel, 11 Sydney Kaplan, 12 Raina Sawyer, 11 Adelaide Tranel, 12 Anna Yang, 12 Cecilia Yang, 11
The War That Saved My Life
The War That Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley Dial Books for Young Readers: New York, 2015; $11.89 When I sat down to read the book The War That Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley, I thought it was a crummy book. But the more I got into the book, the more I couldn’t put it down. Now, this book is one of my favorites! The main character, Ada, is a girl with a clubfoot. Due to this, most people around her, such as her neighbors, hate Ada, and try to stay as far away from her as possible. This makes her feel very lonely, and she doesn’t know where she belonged. As Ada thought to herself, right after a teacher wouldn’t let Ada go to class because of her foot: “Why would I cry? I wanted to hit something, or throw something or scream. I wanted to gallop on butter and never stop. I wanted to run, but not with my twisted, ugly, horrible foot.” When this happened, I felt really sorry for Ada. I mean, it was just a clubfoot. Why did everybody treat her like she needed to be put in an asylum? Even her mom was not on the same side as Ada because she thought her clubfoot was an embarrassing sight. She not only hadn’t taken Ada to school, but she hadn’t even let Ada even step foot outside the apartment, leaving Ada not knowing about basic things. However, Ada is a very brave and caring person. She has a lot of stress on her back, but she continued to fight forward for what was right. This is a reason I like her. Ada may look scrawny and weak, but inside, she’s a good-hearted, strong person. Why, in fact, she even saves the village from a spy! In contrast to Ada’s biological mother, Susan Smith, Ada’s foster mother, cares about her. Susan tries to help Ada with almost anything. She clearly showed a lot of effort into taking care of her. And when times seemed dark, she glowed, leading Ada into the right direction. Susan reminds me of my mom. My mom is also caring and supportive, and when times are dark, she helps me overcome the dark time with the light, just like Susan does for Ada. This book takes place during World War Two. Ada sneaks out her apartment onto a train with many children, bound for a safe zone. Once there, she and her younger brother, Jamie, become Ms. Smith’s children. After the war ends, Ada has to try to become normal and get used to the life outside of her apartment. It is hard, but she persists until she finally finds where she belongs. In this book, Ada had to find her real home. Three years before I read this book, I had to leave my New York home and school I had lived and loved for five years, and move to a new, unfamiliar school in Massachusetts. The lonely feeling in my stomach was relatable to Ada’s. But, just like her, I persisted. Three years after I moved to Massachusetts, I graduated one of the top students in the school. I had persisted, and finally fit in, just like Ada. Another reason I like this book is that the plot is brilliant and very well thought up. I couldn’t stop reading the book even when it was time for bed because I wanted to know what happened next. I would definitely recommend this book to you. After you finish it, I guarantee it will be your favorite book, too! Brian Qi, 11Lexington, MA
Belonging
We dig holes, In the grainy sand I dig mine, like a dog, the dog I wish I’d had then, When we ran across the sand, laughter surrounds us. A small sand crab scuttles over my foot Daddy holds me Just over the waves The water tickles my feet and I squeal As he picks me up and the wave crashes down on where I was before he bear hugs me tight this is where I belong. Tristan Hui, 11Menlo Park, CA
