It was a stormy day in October 2016. One of the worst hurricanes since Katrina was raging New York city, and for me, the Upper East Side. Flood barriers were being broken, homes destroyed, people getting stuck. The thought of being outside was scary in itself. Yet, my dad, notorious for daring me, dared me to go outside! My dad is at an average height of 5’9, which I am close to surpassing. His hair is cropped black hair and always glimmering in the day. He is known for being upbeat and always daring me to do all sorts of things. He dared me to bike ride on the GW bridge when I was eight, and he dared me to jump off a cliff into the ocean (it was legal and not that high), but even this seemed a bit too much for him. Putting on my shoes, I felt a sudden wave of fear overcome me. I was scared as I touched the elevator’s soft button. As each floor rolled away, I became increasingly excited, but at the same time, a bit anxious. I was worried about what might happen, but also what it would look like. The soft carpet seemed to be all around me. It was on the floor and walls, surrounding me. The elevator dinged, and I stepped out into the lobby. When I turned to the right, I saw something amazing, so incredible. Our windows are huge—they’re about nine feet tall, and I can easily see through them. The winds were whipping about, my legs trembled at the sight. I heard the wind as it went through the trees and went around the cars. I walked down the first step, ever so slightly. I was feet away to my eight-year-old self’s doom. I walked hesitantly the last few steps and turned the cold handle with my sweaty hand, stepping into the small cubicle that separated the outdoors from the actual building. I heard the wind howling outside. I finally, reluctantly, turned the handle into the night. I was scared for the winds and the sound of rain, pitter pat, pitter pat, pitter pat. Our attendant, Julio, was outside. Surprisingly some people were on their terraces also watching. Suddenly I started to understand what was happening when I saw what was about me. There was no garbage, no cars were on the street, and every store was closed. Usually New York is a bit dirty, and always bustling. It was a strange sight. I was trembling, and my face was pale. “Can we go inside so I can read, dad?” I asked my dad. He responded, “Of course, man.” He opened the door and, with his hand around my small eight-year-old shoulders, led me through. I was shocked, usually he would have said something like “Oh, it’s not that bad dude,” but this time I really think he didn’t want me to feel scared or frightened. I thought back to my other times with my dad. I realize now that he would never have brought me out if the storm was that bad. Maybe he was different than I thought at the time. I was so shocked actually that I didn’t look where I was going and banged into the door. As I went up the elevator again, I was relieved it was over. I had been frightened when I went outside. Images still passed through me, like when I saw that car driving and skidding to a halt at a red light. Finally it dinged 5, and I stepped out into the hotness of my floor. I felt safe again, feeling as though I was back home, with my family. The lights illuminated the area in a mysterious way, a way that always spooked me out. I stepped in, and I grabbed The Perfect Storm by Sebastian Junger and read in my bed. I flipped the page and listened to the crinkle of the book, and the winds. As I was reading, I began to think. Did I actually believe my dad would, on purpose, let me get hurt? I didn’t think so. After all, he was my dad, and dads don’t let their children get hurt, especially my dad. I was actually regretting that I hadn’t stayed outside with my dad and experienced the hurricane more. Then, I thought maybe this realization wouldn’t have happened. I think that seeing my dad do that, my thought of me knowing everything about him, changed. I learned he does know my limit and respects it also. Justin Le Veness, 11New York, NY
The Look
The Look, Photo by Gavin Einfeldt Gavin Einfeldt, 14Randolph, NJ
Only an Ocean Away
I had always lived on the floor above my best friend. I lived on the 29th floor of our building, and she lived on the 28th. All I had to do was ride the elevator down one floor. But now it’s different. Now I have to cross an ocean to see my best friend. Abigail and I had been friends for as long as either of us could remember. You would never see me without her, or her without me. We would stick together, as if glue kept us that way. We were inseparable. We were sisters. We were best friends. It all started on a crisp spring afternoon. The leaves were green; the flowers were blooming; and the sky was blue. I could feel myself smiling as I skipped to the swing set in the yard of my building. I knew that Abigail would be waiting for me there, like she always would back then, three years ago, when we were eight and in the second grade. I started to sprint over, imagining the fun we would have in my mind. Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks. My stomach twisted into a knot. I saw Abigail’s tear-streaked face, and I ran towards her. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. That moment I knew, just like you know that it’s going to snow long before the first snowflake lands on your nose, that everything was about to change. I gazed up at the leafy trees and the ice blue sky. It was as if the sky didn’t care that everything was changing. Slowly, I walked over to Abigail. I crouched down next to her, careful not to step on her trembling hands. “What’s wrong?” I asked, rubbing her back, which was heaving from her sobs. I looked into her large, brown, almond-shaped eyes. “Please don’t be mad,” she pleaded. “Why would I be?” “Because,” she started to sob, “this is going to change everything.” “Wha—,” I started, suddenly concerned. “I’m moving,” she blurted out, hiding her face in her jet black hair. “To Korea.” At that moment, I felt like crying. My head started to pound, and a faint dizziness came over me. I buried my face into my hands, vigorously shaking my head. No, this can’t be happening, I thought. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I just sat there, frozen in place. I blinked rapidly to stop the warm tears from escaping my eyelids. Moving? To Korea? I asked myself over and over again. “You can’t move! No, please don’t leave,” I pleaded between heavy sobs. “I need to go. My dad got a new job. Everything’s all planned out. I don’t have a say in this. And, uh, we’re leaving in two days!” She explained, with a hopeless look in her eyes, while she pulled her shiny hair into a ponytail. “Two days?You can’t just leave me! It’s not fair! Wait a second, why didn’t you tell me?!” I could feel my face growing hot and red. “I tried to! You’ve got to understand! Please understand. I don’t have any control over this!” she said, her voice breaking. “Well, I don’t understand,” I told her, my voice growing louder by the second, “Friends don’t leave each other.” “Sometimes they have to. Sometimes things need to change,” she spoke, placing her hand on my shoulder. I pushed it off and turned away, my face flushed with anger. “No, they don’t need to change,” I argued. Things are fine as they are. Why do we need to change it? How could she do this to me? Friends don’t abandon each other, I thought. “Why can’t you be happy for me?” she asked, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest. “Why should I be happy for you?” I snapped back. “How could I be happy for you when you’ve betrayed me like this? You’re abandoning me.” “Betrayed you? You’ve got to be kidding!” she shot back. But I didn’t hear her. I was too busy storming away from her. I hate her. I’m going to hate her forever. How does she think I feel? I thought. That evening passed in a blur. I don’t remember anything from that night. Just being too angry and shaken to speak, eat, or sleep. Thoughts swam around in my brain as I laid under my covers. How does she think I feel? I asked myself again. All of a sudden, I could hear someone creeping into the room. I buried myself underneath my blankets and laid still, as if I were asleep. “I know you’re awake,” I heard a voice whisper next to my bed. “There’s no use faking it.” I knew that it was my mother. I could recognize her gentle footsteps, sneaking closer. “Abigail’s mom told me about their move,” she spoke, frowning sadly, “You’re going to miss her so much! But change happens.” “Why does everyone keep saying that?” I burst out. “Because it’s true, Evelyn. I know how hard this is, and it’s only going to get harder. Whether you like it or not, things change. People change.” I groaned, and rolled my eyes, “It’s all her fault. She ruined a perfectly good friendship.” “What happened?” My mom asked, slowly. “None of your business,” I replied, yawning. “Listen, sweetie,” my mother said, attempting to give me a kiss, “you need to go to sleep. But tomorrow, you are telling me all about what happened between you and Abigail.” “No, I’m not,” I argued. “Just come to me if you need me,” she told me sweetly, blowing me a kiss. “I love you.” “Love you too,” I muttered, half asleep. The next morning, I stared at my shoes as I walked to school. When I arrived at the classroom, I greeted my teacher, Myra, with a plastic smile and clenched teeth. Usually I would be genuinely happy to see her, but I was still upset from the previous day’s events. I glanced around at
Mountain Quail
Mountain Quail by Sierra Glassman Sierra Glassman, 10Watsonville, CA
Candlenut Tree
Angry labored breath All I can hear Angry labored breath I don’t remember what I’m angry about Something Doesn’t matter… I turn back to my math book One problem left I can’t think, My mind Crowded by a radiating heat, Like lava ready to explode into the air I need clarity I stand from my recumbent position Dad asks me something about where I am going I barely hear him And don’t answer I rush through the front door Rough concrete hits my feet, Shocking me back to reality I hit the ground running, running It feels like a few miles It is only a few feet The spiky grass of the front lawn Grabs at my feet Tripping over the exposed roots, closer, closer to my beloved tree, My clarity I grab the bark and lift up, My limbs flying over practiced handholds and footholds Climbing higher Higher Not registering the rough, sandpapery bark Scratching I finally reach the branch where I sit Dream I let out my breath Not realizing I had held it Scalding hot tears hesitate At the edge of my eyes… Unsure of what to do A stinging sensation I stare down at my hands, Red and scratched I close my eyes Lean against another branch The anger leaves me Tears trickle down my face Cooling down the red sweaty mess My face has become My crowded head clears Leaving a glowing radiance of clarity For a moment there is nothing, but the brilliance of silence Shared by the tree and the wind Christiana Joiner, 11Kihei, HI
Stone Soup Honor Roll: October 2017
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 Henry Adams, 12 Amelia Agrawal, 12 Olivia Marocco, 11 Lucy Regnier-Kline, 12 Naomi Rosen, 11 Claire Salvin, 11 Isabella Schauble, 13 Michele Schremp, 13 Andrew Tung, 11 Ruby Walker, 12 Allison Wong, 12 Jessie Yuan, 12 ARTWORK Vivian Wang, 12 POEMS Daniel Chen, 13 Eva Bandy, 8 Anna Huang, 11 Mckinley Huffman, 11 Jahnvi Mundra, 11 Tara Prakash, 11 Autumn Skinner, 13 Maximillien St-Jacques, 13 Julia Stern, 12 BOOK REVIEWS Alan Tu, 16 Aleida Wells, 13 PLAYS Molly Erickson, 9
It Ain’t So Awful, Falafel
It Ain’t So Awful, Falafel, by Firoozeh Dumas; Clarion Books: New York, 2016; $16.99 Have you ever desired to be like someone else or to lose everything that makes you different and just blend in? Desperate to belong in a foreign country, Zomorod Yousefzadeh is tired of who she is and that is exactly how she felt when she changed her name to Cindy. She then makes a friend who lives next door and her name is coincidentally Cindy too. Soon, Zomorod realizes that Cindy isn’t such a true friend when she rudely tells Zomorod that she doesn’t like her. Before she realizes it, Zomorod suddenly has more problems. Middle school has made its appearance. On the first day of school, Cindy whispers something to her friends when Zomorod passes and they abruptly burst into laughter. The late 1970s bring more troubles than you could expect for young Zomorod. Stuck in a web of questions about camels, and teachers asking her to talk about her homeland, Iran—that she is ashamed of—Zomorod feels lonelier than ever. Just when she makes one faithful friend and joins Girl Scouts, her happiness is diminished, like a fire blown away leaving the people shivering with the coldness of the air. The first heart-breaking event is when her father loses his job. He was only in the US because of his job, but all of this turmoil changes things. To worsen the circumstances, Zomorod’s mom can never seem to be happy. She is always crying or yelling and Zomorod can’t handle the pressure. With mixed feelings of love and hate towards America, Zomorod feels very uncertain about this new school and home. Puka shell necklaces, beanbag chairs, and frilly bed sets aren’t enough for her to take her mind of the strife between America and Iran. When the 64 hostages are taken by Iran, life gets even worse and the bullying increases. Being in middle school myself, I have seen occurrences of bullying before and I can understand how she feels. As the author describes Zomorod’s experiences, you can find yourself being drawn into the book while feeling sympathy, empathy, and tenderness. I can personally feel how hard it is for Zomorod to move to different schools so many times. I have moved to four various schools, but she has it worse because she moves in and out of the country. One of my favorite parts of this book is that the emotion is so raw. Feelings keep this book alive and entertaining. Zomorod’s life is so different from other people’s, which means her feelings are too. Sorrowful wisdom is shown through her. This book is a touching story with sentiment dotting it. I think that the author paints a picture of words for us to breathe in. If you wish to read a book filled with humor and drama, you should read It Ain’t So Awful, Falafel by Firoozeh Dumas. I would say that this book would interest 10 to 13 year olds. Overall, for me, this would be a 5 star book for its words that made me let out wisps of laughter, sighs of sadness, and breaths of understanding. This book nicely conveys a message about being unique with a middle school twist on it. Emotion, pleasure, and pain talk to you, leading you into a relatable story. Filled with comedy and whimsical words of wisdom, we learn about how hard it is to be different, but at the same time how important it is, too. Sahana Nellian, 11Dublin, CA
Stone Soup Honor Roll: September 2017
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 Allie Aguila, 12 Gabrielle Anzalone, 11 Ellie Applegate, 13 Timothy Cho, 10 Claire Cleary, 13 Molly Crown, 12 Isabelle Dastgheib, 12 Christina Dumas, 11 Talia Ehrenberg,11 Cash Fowler, 9 Grace French, 12 Dusty Gibbon, 12 Willow Goldsmith, 13 Sophie Gono, 9 Elijah Hall, 12 Logan Hebert, 11 Skyla Hollowell, 11 Savanna Hopson, 12 Matthew Oh Jun Kang, 11 Rose Kazmierczak, 11 Kate Kuan, 10 Louisa Landhuis, 11 Kyung Su Lee, 11 Tatum Leung, 9 Macy Li, 10 Naomi Ling, 11 Arabella McClendon, 13 Sienna Pashal, 10 Sophia Peckner, 12 Campbell Peterson, 12 Levi Powell, 11 Emily Natanova, 11 Lizzie Roman, 13 Sonia Rusin-Franke, 10 Lily Eames Scheckner, 10 Saskia Stites, 10 Lin Lynn Tao, 12 Jula Truesdell, 11 Eleanor Vail, 11 Nicolas Willman, 11 Sarah Zheng, 13 BOOK REVIEWS Natya Chandrasekar, 9 Ethan Clement, 9 Samuel Ding, 8 Scott Mello, 12 Lauren Stewart, 13 Jennifer Su, 12 Adrian Tan, 10 Charles Tang, 11 Jennifer Wu, 12 POEMS Melina Ahmad, 11 Nikemi Aworeni, 7 Esme Barker, 9 Ava Bonner, 10 Gabriel Clark, 8 Sahana Donti, 12 Harry Dweck, 8 Izzy Eginton, 13 Eliana Gorden, 11 Gunner Haas, 11 Mckinley Huffman, 11 Audrey Jiggetts, 11 Kelsey Kelly, 12 Jessica Kent, 10 Esther Kim, 13 Anushka Kumar, 12 Anya Levin, 10 Emily Maremont, 10 Eric Matt, 13 Bailey McKerley, 10 Ian Murphy, 12 Sahana Nellian, 12 Sophie Nerine, 12 Kieran O’Donnell, 10 Veronica Pierce, 12 Tara Prakash, 11 Amelia Roth, 11 Soleil Shannonhouse, 8 Lydia Taylor, 10 Lilah Wallach, 13 Maya Wolfford, 12 Lydia Wolthuis, 12 Olwen Woods, 11 Cecelia Yang, 10 ARTWORK Earl DeLand, 14 Luciano Gibson, 11
A Letter to Chickadee
I wake up to the sound of music, a tiny fluttering sound Flutter in my ears ‘til the sun drops down Perch on my windowsill and wake the waiting sun Take flight, bird, be free Feathers round my mind, ‘til opposites meet. Satyrs, Photo by Lara Katz Griffin Byrne, 8Cambridge, MA Lara Katz, 14Weston, CT
Garden in the Day
Garden in the Day, by Kathleen Werth Kathleen Werth, 7Silver Spring, MD
Look at the Waves!
Look at the Waves!, Photo by Ula Pomian Ula Pomian, 11Ontario, Canada
The rosy color of dawn spreads all over the sky
The rosy color of dawn spreads all over the sky, Photo by Julia Li Julia Li, 12Mason, OH