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 Baglin, 10 Bernard Elbert, 9 Stiles Fraser White, 13 Evelyn Hsu, 11 Sophia Lu, 11 Laurence Manderson, 10 Derek Montes-Baffier, 11 Marwa Moustafa, 12 Oliver Paratore Block, 10 POEMS Rian Fetting, 9 Caleb Ford, 12 Nadja Goldberg, 13 Hazel Kurian, 10 Isabelle Mantecon, 6 Isabella Webb, 11 ARTWORK Isobel Cammish, 12 Sarah Liu, 12 Vivian Wang, 10 PLAY Sam Merriman, 10
Winter
The howl of the wind The crisp air And the crunching of boots on a bed of snow The brightest white you will ever see The evergreens struggle against the wind Micah Lim, 8Guilford, CT
Winter
The howl of the wind The crisp air And the crunching of boots on a bed of snow The brightest white you will ever see The evergreens struggle against the wind Micah Lim, 8Guilford, CT
Sketches
That morning at breakfast, Dylan sat perched on his usual seat at the table, sketching happily. I grabbed the milk and a spoon and sat down. I poured myself a heaping bowl of Cheerios, most of which spilled on the table. Dylan’s pencil scribbled away, and he periodically blew huge breaths over his paper to get rid of the shreds of eraser. Curious about what he was working so diligently at, I leaned over to get a better view. “Dylan!” I shouted. He was adding onto one of my drawings, and had already reshaped a good portion of it. Startled, Dylan looked up. “What?” “I’ve been working on that forever!” I snatched my notebook out of his hands. He’d made the people cartoon like and unrealistic, and shaded in all the wrong places. “You totally screwed up the whole thing!” I yelled. “I didn’t screw up anything!” he said, defensively. “I’ve told you a million times not to touch my stuff, and specifically not my sketchbook!” I flipped through the pages to see if he’d ruined any other drawings. He hadn’t. I flipped back to the drawing he was working on. I examined it closely, looking for flaws to point out. The faces of the people had become less dimensional and smudgy. Dylan always drew details with tons of shading, most of which wasn’t necessary. Sometimes I’d teach him where to shade, and help him with drawing figures, but he still resorted to his box-like, over shaded style. He’d added onto drawings before, but those were just sketches I’d whipped up in a few minutes. I’d been perfecting this one for at least a month. The paper was so worn out from my erasing, that there were shreds of it peeling off. And since Dylan pressed so hard that graphite was sprinkled all over the paper like snowflakes, I knew I wouldn’t be able to fully erase what he’d done without making a hole in the paper. I also saw he smudged over the shading that had taken me forever to get right. “God Dylan, you completely ruined it!” I said, the anger boiling out of me. “You know you suck at drawing figures. In fact, you suck at drawing, period, so why did you have screw up my sketch?” “I didn’t ruin it! And if you’d actually show me how to draw people, like you always promise, then maybe I’d be better!” “You’re so annoying! Why would I want to waste my time teaching you?” “Oh yeah? Well then I’m glad it’s ruined!” “I hate you!” I said through my teeth. Even though he was still frowning at me, I could tell he was hurt. He started to say something, but I cut him off. “Never ask me to teach you anything ever again. And don’t ever add onto any of my work.” Not waiting for a response, I stomped out of the kitchen. I thumped into my room and tossed my sketchbook on my bed. I threw it so hard it slid off the edge and onto the floor. I just left it there. When I passed by the kitchen on my way to the front door, I didn’t look in. I impatiently waited for the bus, fuming. On the way home from school, I sat crammed into the gray leather bus seat, intensely sketching, disregarding the world around me. Frustrated that my pencil wasn’t conveying the image in my mind, I flipped to a fresh page. The page I flipped to happened to be one of Dylan’s drawings. All day had been thinking about what happened, and by the time I’d gotten on the bus to go home, I’d realized I’d been a jerk. I decided I should apologize. When I got off the bus, I was blasted with cold air and snow. The snow crept up my ankles as I trudged to the front door. When I got inside, I dropped my backpack on the floor, which made a loud thump, then slid off my boots and tossed my coat on the floor. “Dylan?” I called. The light in the kitchen was on, but nobody was there. My bowl of dried Cheerios was still on the table from the morning. He must be in his room. “Hey, Zoe,” my Dad called up from the basement. “Hi, Dad.” “Is it really coming down out there?” “Yeah, there’s already a solid 4 inches.” “Wow, I didn’t think the storm would actually hit.” “And it looks like it’s just the beginning,” I added, glancing out the window. It had started piling up around noon, and there was already a thick white blanket covering everything. I went upstairs to Dylan’s room. His door was closed. “Dylan?” I called again, pushing open the door. His room was empty. His bed was unmade, and a book was propped open, face down on his bed. The phone rang. I ran downstairs to the living room, but my Dad picked it up before I got there. I looked outside again. Snow swirled around vigorously, and the wind whipped the side of the house. Where was Dylan? I was going to ask my Dad, but he didn’t like it when we interrupted him when he was on the phone. I sighed. I’d just apologize later. I walked into the kitchen to look for a snack. I grabbed the Ritz crackers out of the cabinet. The wrapper crinkled as I dumped the crackers on the counter. I stood munching on them. My Dad came running up the stairs from the basement. His face was pale, and his eyes were big and wild. “Come on Zoe, we need to go now.” “What? Why?” “We need to go to the hospital.” He grabbed his coat off the hook near the door. “What?” I asked, shocked. I started to panic when he didn’t answer. “To see Dylan.” He jammed his hat down on his head and started to tie his shoes. “Why is Dylan in the hospital?” He
Annie with Dogs
Annie with Dogs Valentina Ventura, 4Des Moines, IA
A Surfing Tradition
The sun raised its head over a cold California coast. This sun was a special sun. It was the first sun of the year. There was to be a special gathering at the beach. It is what is called a “paddle-out.” Cars slowly gathered at the beach. The people inside the cars exited and came to the shore. No one talked, all they did was look at the horizon, which was light red from the coming sun. The waves were so big it was hard to see the horizon at times. All of them were bundled up, trying to protect themselves from the piercing cold. Every part of their body that was not bundled up was already turning blue. Soon an old Ford pickup truck parked with the back facing the ocean. The paint on this vehicle was chipping and there were many marks of rust on it. It was filled with wood. Three people got out of the pickup and unhitched the back, exposing the wood. The wood was twisted and knotted so bad it was terrible. Two teenagers came forward and started unloading the wood. They brought it over to a stone fireplace. The three men came into the crowd. Thankful nods went their way but still no one talked, almost as if they were in a trance. Soon a car pulled up with surfboards on the rack. The driver emerged from the car and started untying the boards. Once he was done he set the three boards by the pickup truck. The three men came forward and changed into their trunks but nothing else. They started to wax their boards, and even though they shivered and were cold to the bone they never put on anything except for their trunks. The group stood motionless, just looking at the horizon. Once the three men were done waxing their boards they walked, with their boards on their shoulder, to the shore and started whispering to each other. Then they stood motionless until the shore break calmed for a little bit and then they sprang into the water and started paddling furiously. The crowd on the beach watched them, still not talking. When the men were outside they sat there, millions of good waves passing under them. Then one set came with three waves in it. These waves weren’t good, these waves were spectacular. The waves so clear and crisp. Each one of them chose their own wave. They glided over the waves, no cutbacks, no nose-riding, nothing but gliding. They all rode in and as the last one exited the water something happened. The crowd cheered, the first sound they made all morning. Soon the festivities began. People got coffee and hot cocoa. People were yelling “Hey John” and such. Later a spectator of the event asked one of the teenagers who started the fire, “What was the deal with that?” and the teenager said, “It’s a tradition.” James Wilson, 11Riverside, CA
Cloud and Wallfish
Cloud and Wallfish by Anne Nesbet; Candlewick Press, 2016; $16.99 Who knew that a regular-looking book could have such an impact on readers and how they view the world? Going into Cloud and Wallfish, a historical fiction novel, I was a bit doubtful on how Anne Nesbet was going to weave such a tragic and complex topic like the Berlin Wall into youth literature. However, all my doubts were diminished after reading this wonderfully written novel. While this story is geared towards youth, it still thrums with ever-important themes of finding who you are and remaining loyal to your friends, even through tough times. Set in 1989, Noah Keller, the main protagonist, had always lead an ordinary American life. That is, until his parents announce that his name is Jonah, not Noah, and that they will be moving to East Berlin. At the time, Germany was divided into two countries: East Germany and West Germany. In East Germany, the country that Noah moves to, there are many complications. Noah isn’t free to discuss anything in his apartment, nor is he allowed to question his government. Most of his days are lonely, until he meets “Cloud” Claudia, who lives in the same apartment with her grandmother. The strange part? Her parents have disappeared, and nobody seems to know why. This book taught me a few moral lessons, namely about loyalty. In the novel, Noah gets separated from Claudia, ending up on West Berlin with Claudia in East Berlin. Everybody tells Noah that he will never see his friend ever again, but Noah perseveres, standing on the platform in West Berlin that overlooks East Berlin. For weeks, he holds a sign with a message for his friend, to no avail. Finally, right when Noah was about to give up, he sees Claudia again and is able to show her his message, which is: “I have not forgotten you, Cloud!” This shows that you should never give up on your goal, and Noah also demonstrates what it means to remain loyal to your friends. Cloud and Wallfish didn’t just teach me moral lessons—it also had relatable characters. I personally can identify with this situation that Noah and Claudia are in. When I was younger, my best friend moved across the country. I was scared that our friendship would drift apart on account of the distance between us, which resonates with Claudia’s fear of being forgotten. As I feared, we drifted apart, due to the distance between us. However, this book inspired me to make more of an effort to keep in touch, and to show my friend that I, too, had not forgotten her. In addition, I also related to Noah’s fear of speaking in class. Noah was born with a stutter, so during school, he wouldn’t express his opinions frequently in fear of being teased or laughed at. I don’t have a stutter, but it can be hard sometimes to speak up in class simply because I’m afraid of what others may think. However, towards the end of the novel, Noah learns to speak up despite what others may think, which also inspired me to share my opinions more frequently in class. Though it’s juvenile fiction, I believe that everyone should read this book, even adults. It is at once a poignant novel about friendship and family, a historical fiction, and a thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat. I know that this book changed my life—why not let it change yours, too? Alexandra Reynaud, 13Portland, OR
Teary Eyed Giraffe
Teary Eyed Giraffe Aevahaadya Arun, 6Ontario, Canada
Paradise?
As I look around me, surveying my surroundings, everything seems different. The sunlight that is spilling onto the ocean sparkles like a thousand gems, and I’m lead to wonder if there actually are a thousand gems floating on the clear surface. The palm trees sweep over me, like protectors, never tiring of providing me shade. A seagull whooshes over me, bringing freedom to my body, also. The sand softly crunches under my feet, a million grains smushed per footprint. Yet, the tide washes them away, so I’m here, but there is no proof that I ever came. My heart beats gently in my chest, like a friend. I root my feet deeper, deeper, into the sand. My eyes are closed, but the bejeweled ocean still swims in front of my focus. “Paradise”, I think slowly. I open my eyes, and it’s like the slow motion film has stopped. My best friend, Katy, grabs my arm and says loudly over the waves, “Melody, let’s go into the water!” I smile at her, and without saying anything else, we dash in. We spend the next few hours body surfing, boogie boarding, and everything else two city girls visiting California could want to do. It was only when we returned to our hotel, late that night, stuffed with fresh sushi and organic juice, that I remembered those three seconds, standing there with my eyes closed and the wind in my hair. “Paradise” I had thought. But then I looked around the darkening hotel room, where I could see the outlines of my family, could hear their breathing, as the soft sheets wrapped around me in a perfect way, I sort of felt like that was paradise, too. We left California a few days later, and at first, I worried that I would be losing my precious paradise. But, I had the window seat in our plane, and the clouds looked like bunnies. I also got an orange fizzy water, and some of my favorite chips, so that was pretty great, also. What I realized, sitting there on that plane, watching California fade away, is that paradise is something you carry with you. You just need to find it. And you know what? As I sit here, writing this on the window seat of our apartment, watching the sunset over New York City, I kind of feel like this is paradise, too. Kaya Simcoe, 11Cardiff, CA
Pray
I kneel down to the river And say my prayers As I hear the water flowing and rolling I think about how freedom has overgrown The magnificent mud of the Mississippi I hear birds skim the treetops And remember how, when I was a little girl, My mom walked me there, and I saw the brown water I feel memories drift on the surface and See my shadow through the deep. Gianna Harris, 9Metairie, LA
Ababa Wagari and Fruits Like Heaven
Ababa Wagari Fruits Like Heaven Christian W. Wagari, 11Carlsbad, CA
Winter
Frozen Beauty Soft, white, flakes drift down, following the wind. They bring a sense of happiness to the air. The golden rays of warmth strike onto the fluffy blanket below. The harsh cold still manages to crawl inside houses. Heat vents roar and the windows give out a moan. Thick clouds soon hide the sun. Smoke floats out of the chimneys into the bitter air, while leaves and grass are out of sight. The snow is swallowing up trees. Hot chocolate is being slurped down at every house. Now it is official. Winter is finally here. Sheila Northrup, 10Madison, CT Hanna Gustafson, 12South Burlington, VT
