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100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13


By

Waiting

The wind whispered through the long grass, blowing it gently into a lullaby of soft sounds. The grass rustled and the lake stirred as the setting sun dripped down the sky and below the stretch of trees that marked the horizon. The stains it left were stunning. Pinks and oranges smeared across the sky. They dripped lazily down the great sky, leaving behind a vast carpet of deep blue, intense and enveloping. As a myriad of stars became visible and bewitching with their bright twinkles, a little girl walked down the pathway to the dock. She pulled her hair back from her face and let the wind lift up the ends of it and toss it playfully. She was a very small girl, about five years old or so, with long red hair and freckles dotting her face. She had green eyes that shone like the tops of lighthouses, beckoning and beaming with a welcoming glow. Only today her eyes had lost their glow and the color in them had been washed away by tears. She sat on the edge of the dock and dipped her toes through the clear water. She looked up at the sky and watched the last rosy finger of the sunset disappear under the tall pine trees. She sighed heavily. It figured. Things were always disappearing before she got to them. Like the horse that she had wanted to ride at Holiday Acres, up the highway. Her mother had finally consented to the idea, and, grinning, the little girl had skipped up to the stables. The rustic smell of horses had filled her nose, tickling it with this new aroma of hay and wet hair. She rushed up to the large horse that stood tall above her, grinding hay between his strong jaws. He was handsome, brown dotted with white spots along his rump, as though some careless artist had waved a paintbrush over him, leaving him speckled. Then a young woman, flushed with heat and excitement, grabbed the horse’s halter and led him out of the ring. The little girl watched and saw another little girl, rosy with excitement and delight at her first horse ride, get lifted up and patted gently on the back; she was settled into the saddle. The horse tossed its head haughtily, though one could tell it was really his pleasure to be trotting off into the wooded trails with the little girl on his back, bobbing up and down and shrieking happily with each bump. The little girl sat on the dock and dipped her toes into the water. She slowly kicked them back and forth, back and forth, gently easing them into the warm lake as she contemplated it all. The other little girl probably wanted to ride the horse as much as she did, if not more, and was probably aching to for a while, just as she had. And suddenly, it didn’t matter, missing out on the horseback ride, for another little girl’s terrible want and longing had been fulfilled. The little girl sat back and thought some more. She was usually not very thoughtful; she was often too playful to think too much. But now, as the sun’s light sank out of view and the stars crept into the night sky, she thought about everything. Why was it that things disappeared before she got to them? Why did the sun set at night? Why were the stars scattered about the sky? Why did we have to wait until morning for the sun to smile again? She rushed up to the large horse that stood tall above her, grinding hay between his strong jaws And suddenly, all her thoughts were about waiting. Waiting for all the stars to twinkle, waiting for the pearly disk of the moon, waiting for the sun to rise up once more. Waiting for her mother to come home from her business trip in Milwaukee. Waiting for her chance to do something that usually disappeared before she reached it. Why did they have to wait? She thought hard about it, and unconsciously her mouth twisted into a little pout of concentration. Why did they have to wait? Waiting was not a thing, or an action, it was a state of being, she decided. A dangerous state of being. It was a time when people could become enveloped in self-pity, shrivel into a ball of nothingness. It was a time when doubt and deception could easily take control of the minds of people who were scared and alone because they were waiting, just waiting, for someone to come, or someone to go, or someone to stop and give them a hand because they needed one . . . And suddenly it wasn’t fair, all this waiting. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t tolerable, it wasn’t fun and it wasn’t safe. Maybe it would be better not to be waiting at all, so you wouldn’t have to feel the pangs that were thrust into you when you wanted something badly. Maybe it would be better not to be alive at all. This thought struck wonder and fright into her. But if she were just a canoe she could see water, fish and flowers. She could see ospreys and eagles, the three islands in Lake Katherine, the trees, the water lilies. The boathouse, the dock, the hydro-bike and the water-skiers. And she wouldn’t have to wait. But canoes had to wait too. Canoes had to wait for a chance to skim the surface of the lake. Canoes had to wait for passengers. Canoes had to wait for good weather. Did canoes feel tired and heavy when waiting so long? Did canoes feel sad about people forgetting about them? Did canoes feel as though things disappeared before they got to them? Almost desperately, she searched her mind for things that didn’t have to wait. Trees? No, a tree waited for rain so its roots could suck up water like giant straws. It waited for children


By

Painting the Sunrise

The moist blades of grass tickled Joan’s bare feet  and the wind ruffled her dark blond hair as she  tramped across the lawn. She blissfully breathed in  the fresh smell of earth while she settled herself on a tree  stump to do what she had done every morning since she  learned to hold a pencil: draw the sunrise. A thin gray line on the horizon grew larger and larger,  gradually—oh so gradually—taking on an orangy-pink hue.  Joan’s artist’s eye noted that the trees, which at first had  seemed mere silhouettes, could now be seen in more detail.  Registering a picture of this vivid scene in her mind, Joan  turned her attention to the sketchpad. The world seemed perfectly quiet, which was just fine with  Joan. She liked it that way. The only sound was the faint  scratching of her pencil. Scratching and erasing minute after  minute would have seemed like forever to an observer, but at  last Joan put down her sketchpad and surveyed it critically.  Satisfied, she gathered up her sketch pad, pencil, and binoculars  and went inside for breakfast. She would put in the pastel  hues of watercolors, her favorite part, later. Bacon sizzling in a hot frying pan may have been a welcome  sound to other ears, but Joan merely swallowed some  cornflakes in surprisingly few mouthfuls and drank her orange  juice in one long gulp. This was not because she was  hungry, but because she wanted to get the dull process of eating over with as soon as possible  when there were more important  things, like drawing, to do. Registering a picture of this vivid scene in her mind, Joan turned her attention to the sketchpad “I warn you, Joan Elise Bailey, you are  going to choke if you keep eating like  that!” admonished Mrs. Bailey. Even  when scolding, Mrs. Bailey’s musical  voice with its slight southern accent was  as beautiful as her looks. With her short, wheat-colored hair  (the same color as Joan’s) curled becomingly  about her face and her slim, stylishly  clothed figure, it was no wonder  that Mrs. Bailey had been a small-time  movie actress before Joan was born. It was hard for Joan to live up to her  mother’s expectations. Mr. Bailey made  quite a bit of money at his work and  Mrs. Bailey lavished it on acting lessons  and an agent for Joan, her only child.  She was determined that Joan be a famous  actress. Any other girl would have  been delighted with this, but Joan wasn’t.  She hated the dazzling lights of the  big cities where she went to auditions,  the strange, fluttery feeling in her stomach  and the limp, silly-putty feeling in  her knees when she got up on a stage.  She hated pretending to be someone  she wasn’t in a stiff, sweaty, awkward  costume. Worst of all she hated the discouraged  look on her mother’s face  when Joan didn’t get the part she auditioned  for (she never did). She didn’t  want to complain for fear of sounding  ungrateful, but Joan would have rather  had mediocre art lessons than the finest  acting lessons in the world. One afternoon, Joan and her best  friend, Alice, were walking home from  school together. Alice was a vivacious  girl with fiery red hair who loved to  write. Joan had agreed to illustrate all  Alice’s stories, which was a big job considering  how many stories Alice wrote. “You know, Joan,” commented Alice,  “you ought to try entering some kind of  drawing contest. There’s a big one in a  magazine I get. Our teacher says you’re  the best artist in the entire sixth grade,  and besides, maybe your winning an art  contest would convince your parents to  give you art lessons instead of those horrible  acting lessons.” Alice was one of  only two people (the other one being  Joan’s grandma) who knew about Joan’s  dilemma. Joan’s blue eyes lit up at Alice’s suggestion,  for she passionately wanted art  lessons. It would be a huge relief to quit  acting, too. The girls chatted about  unimportant things the rest of the way  home, but Joan’s mind wasn’t on the  chatter. She was too eager about the contest.  The next day she sent off her most  beautiful sunrise picture to the address  Alice had given her, and from then on  she haunted the mailbox like a ghost. A week or two later, Joan was rifling  through some letters, mostly bills, hurriedly.  She was in a hurry because her  grandpa and grandma were coming to  dinner and she needed to help Mrs.  Bailey cook. There was a phone bill, a  solicitation for money, a letter from her  English pen pal (Yippee! thought Joan),  a Happy Easter card . . . She was almost done when her eyes fell on a small, yellowy-white envelope.  She gasped when she saw the return address.  It was a response to her contest  entry! Joan’s fingers trembled as she  slowly tore it open, sitting on her habitual  drawing stump. In breathless suspense,  she drew out a single sheet of  paper, evidently a letter. Alice, who had  more experience with these things,  would have known this was a bad sign,  but Joan eagerly began to read it. “We regret that you were not among  the finalists, however . . .” That was enough. Joan fell off the stump sobbing. Then  she crumpled up the letter and threw it  as hard as she could. She didn’t have  any talent after all! She would never get  any lessons now! That was what hurt  the most. No lessons. Zero. Zilch. Nada.  Nothing. Joan collapsed into a sobbing  heap on the lawn. A car pulled up on the Baileys’ driveway.  Grandpa got out and took the cake  that he and Grandma had brought inside,  but Grandma stopped, noticing  Joan. She picked up the crumpled letter  Joan had thrown and read it. Sitting  down on the grass as carelessly as if she  were wearing jeans, even though she  was wearing an old-fashioned dress with  a flowered print, she explained,


By

Meet Soon-Soon

CHAPTER ONE THE WANG FAMILY   Soon-Soon Wang was an energetic eight-year-old Chinese girl from Beijing. She was full of life. Her black eyes always seemed to be dancing. Her grandfathers and great-grandfathers had been court officials during the Qing Dynasty at the Forbidden City. Her parents had been sent to study in England. Her father became a senior scientist at the National Chinese Space Program in Beijing and her mother worked at the Beijing Children’s Hospital. When her paternal grandfather died, Soon-Soon’s father, being the oldest son, inherited his house. It had ten bedrooms and three bathrooms. It had magnificent courtyards, stupendous gardens, and two goldfish ponds. They had many people to wait on them. Every night a tremendous meal was served. The rooms were huge and spacious. Soon-Soon had never had to do much work. She only ate, slept, played, or her parents took her on outings and shopping trips. Soon-Soon’s parents got married seven years after the Chinese Communist Party came to power in 1949. They greatly supported the new government. They lived a happy life until 1966 when the chaotic Cultural Revolution began. They were in great danger since they lived in such a grand house. In 1963 Mrs. Wang (Wang Chun-Mei) gave birth to a little girl whom they named Soon-Soon. The house had magnificent courtyards, stupendous gardens, and two goldfish ponds Soon-Soon was extremely lucky. All around her people were thrown out of their houses and moved off to the countryside with only what they could carry by themselves. But some fortunate women managed to sew their jewelry in the hems of their clothes so they could exchange them for food in the hard times ahead. No bright colors could be seen anywhere. Soon-Soon was too young to know quite what was going on, but she knew her life would never be the same again. Her family was very lucky not to be a part of it, for the time being at least, because of her father’s important job at the Chinese space research program. In the future bad things would happen, but not for a while. CHAPTER TWO THE LITTLE COMPANION When Soon-Soon was four, the government of Mao Zedong moved nine other families into the house. Every family got just one bedroom. Everyone had to share all the other rooms. There was always a line to use the bathroom in the morning. Next to the Wangs’ room was the Bais’ room. Lao Bai, the grandfather, was an extreme grouch. He had arthritis in his hands and legs, and he never got over the loss of his house and his antique furniture. His son Wen-Wen and his daughter-in-law Yi-Hua were both always working late at the clothing factory, leaving little Xiao-Long behind. Xiao-Long was the same age as Soon- Soon. He always pulled pranks on Lao Bai. He often hid Lao Bai’s arthritis pills. That is exactly why Soon-Soon liked him. They soon became the best of friends. The ten families lived together until the Cultural Revolution ended in 1976. The Wangs were then given the house back. All the families left except the Bais, whom the Wangs allowed to stay. During the Chinese New Year of 1971, when Soon-Soon and Xiao-Long were both eight, they went out for a day of fun. First they counted all their savings. They had enough to go to the Chinese opera but needed five mao more in order to go ice-skating as well. Soon-Soon and Xiao-Long pestered Lao Bai until he finally gave in and gave them the money. The two children raced each other to the bus stop. They each had bus passes so they didn’t pay for the bus ticket. When they arrived at the opera theater, they excitedly settled down in their seats and watched eagerly as the curtains parted, revealing a table and chairs. They watched three fascinating shows. Xiao-Long’s favorite was about the monkey king playing many mischievous pranks on the Celestial Emperor. Soon-Soon’s favorite was about a poor but beautiful girl who got married to a rich man. After it was all over, they got on another bus to go to the lake near Bei Hai. They rented skates and raced each other to a hole in the ice where people were ice-swimming. They gasped because the temperature was below zero. “How on earth can they do that?” Soon-Soon asked, awestruck. “How should I know?” Xiao-Long replied. “Perhaps they’ve been training in cold weather.” They watched for a little while longer but soon got bored. They went to one of the food sellers and bought some noodles, with Lao Bai’s money. They finished eating and skated some more. Xiao-Long started doing some fancy spins and jumps, he was a show-off, but he fell down a lot and was very dirty by the time they got home. At Lao Bai’s room they wished they had earplugs. Lao Bai yelled at them for getting dirty. When they finally got away they ran to Soon-Soon’s parents’ room. Soon-Soon’s parents were not there! There was a message for Soon- Soon on the table. It said, Dear Soon-Soon, We have been taken away by the government because of your grandfather’s high positions with the Qing Emperors at the Forbidden City. You go live with the Bais. You are lucky you weren’t home. Otherwise you would have been taken too. Try and contact your Uncle Kee- Yong. Ask him to take you to his house in America. His address is: 1588 Highland Glen, McLean, Virginia 22101, USA. Love, Your Parents They grabbed the letter and ran to show it to Lao Bai. He allowed Soon- Soon to stay with his family. She was devastated and cried herself to sleep every night for two months. But the thought of America, the land of opportunity, gave her hope. CHAPTER THREE UNCLE KEE-YONG TO THE RESCUE! “Lao Bai, can we have some paper?” Xiao-Long asked. It was a month after Soon-Soon’s parents had been taken away. She and


By

Just Another Cat

My  knuckles were white from grasping the rock face of the cliff and my knees and feet hurt from scraping and pulling at the rock. I swear I had a dozen blisters inside my hard brown boots, but I didn’t care. Climbing was my life. I’d always loved to reach peaks and stare down at the world from great heights, being able to say that I made it there all by myself. I had come with a group of friends, but I had strayed away from them, wanting to experience the elements on my own. I had told them I’d be back before sundown. I felt like I could do anything I wanted in my life. I was full of independence and freedom. I closed my eyes and let the wind blow back my long shiny black hair. I remembered the times when I was younger, before I had mountains, I had trees. In the summer I loved to feel the cool bark of the tree against my cheek as I lazily daydreamed about my future. My cat, Princess, would often follow me, and we would enjoy our paradise together. I always ended up playing fireman, as my cute little Princess always found it easier to climb up than down. I had owned Princess for a long time, but I couldn’t remember exactly how she came into my life. Was she a present? Or did she just show up on my doorstep one morning? I shook my head; I couldn’t remember. My terrified face reflected in the glaring yellow eyes of a full-grown cougar My mother would always yell at me to get down off those branches before I killed myself. I thought she was going to blow up and take the whole earth with her when I fell off a dead branch and broke my arm. The memory made me laugh. I love to climb. With my mind back on the mountain, I opened my eyes again and took in the beautiful sight before me. The sun was at its zenith. The land stretched out as far as I could see. Mountains rose up on either side of me. A forest of pines crept along the horizon; the sight was breathtaking. My climbing gear clinked and clanked as I continued to pull myself up onto the ledge above me. Finally I was able to sit down on the hard overhang of rock and rest my aching limbs. My chest heaved in and out from the exertion. I set down my pack and let myself rest. I intended to close my eyes for only a second. I did not follow my intentions. *          *          * I was awakened by a low snarling 1 growl. Sitting straight up, I reprimanded myself; I had not meant to fall asleep. The last rays of the sun were just slipping over the horizon as I saw my predator. My terrified face reflected in the glaring yellow eyes of a full-grown cougar. Three words. “Oh . . . my . . . God . . . ” I saw the brown-and-yellow blur and lightning silver claws of the killer flash through the air as he charged. *          *          * My world was thrown back into my childhood as I watched my life flash before me. Am I about to die? I tried to scream but no sound came out. All I could do was watch this strange vision of my younger life, as I was not really there. “Come here, little kitty,” my younger self coaxed to a kitten cowering in a dark alley. I remember now; this was how I had found Princess. I watched the kitten who was to become Princess snarl and hiss at the child who was me. I looked so confident back then. I wished I was back home with Princess. The kitten continued to snarl and bite at my younger self. It didn’t faze her. I listened as my younger childish voice filled the air with song. “What are you hiss-is-ing for? I’ll someday understand What makes a tiny kitten roar, There is something you don’t see, Trust in me, trust in me, Trust in me, trust in me.” I watched in amazement as Princess’s yellow eyes eased into a greenish blue, and her bared teeth were brought back into her mouth. I had always had a way with cats, but I had not remembered it like this. The child who was me continued to sing as she stroked the charmed cat. Princess lay down her head and closed her eyes under my touch. I was lost for words. The image disappeared and was replaced with the glaring eyes of the cougar. Immediately I remembered and, filled with panic, jumped to my feet. The powerful cougar pressed forward, his bared teeth hanging out of his mouth and his lethal claws scraping against the ground. I felt myself backing up and I wondered frantically how long I would last if I ran, except there was no place to run to. Now there was nowhere left to go but down. Taking a quick glance behind me I could see it was either a fatal drop or cougar. Death or death. A cougar was just another cat, and I love cats The cougar prepared to attack. I closed my eyes and waited for the end. Why do I have to die? And to be killed by a cougar? Why does it have to happen like this? A cougar was just another cat, and I love cats. Just another cat . . . At once a plan formed in my mind, although a very weak and far-fetched one, and I commenced to sing. My unsure and frightened voice wavered at first as I watched for how the cougar would react to my strange behavior. The notes filled the air and the song became stronger as I gained confidence. The cougar became confused and backed up, unsure of what to do. I continued


By

The Sounds of the Night

The sound so beautiful Yet cold inside Cleela, Cleela, The crickets chirp. Ooo 0000 whoo whoo The owls’ almost Silent Yet shuddering sound. The cast of the Whispering wind Sends the dark Blanket The stillness The coolness of the night. Whisp win whisp win The night has come again. Morgan Harris Green, 8Madison, Wisconsin


By

When the Soldiers Were Gone

When the Soldiers Were Gone by Vera W. Propp; G. P. Putnam’s Sons: New York, 1999; $14.99 When I first saw the book When the Soldiers Were Gone by Vera W. Propp, it sounded boring. Then as I started reading it, it was sad and fun to read and soon I couldn’t stop. Henk (the main character) is friendly, kind, and also very brave. During World War II, Henk, who was Jewish, had to go live with his parents’ friends so he would be safe with Christians. He thought the Christians were his real parents and forgot his real mom and dad. If I found out my parents weren’t actually my parents, I wouldn’t be nearly as brave as him. His real parents named him Benjamin. Another character is his real mom, Elsbet. I felt bad for her because she had to give her son away. Then, for him not to remember her is heartbreaking. In the end, at least, he ends up remembering her. There’s a mean character named Max. He is in Benjamin’s class. He hates Jews. He’s racist and cruel. On the first day of school, he was going to trip a kid, but Ben caught the eye of the kid. Ben looked at the floor and so did the kid and he wasn’t tripped. The kid who was almost tripped is Jop. He became Benjamin’s friend. One scene with Max and Benjamin happened after school when Benjamin was walking home. He was finally getting adjusted with his school and his real family. He was finally fitting in and he was happy, which made me happy. Then what made me feel sympathetic for Ben and upset was when Benjamin was walking happily when Max put his arm up. Benjamin thought he was going to wave so he started to wave, but instead Max threw a rock at his forehead and he was bleeding. That’s one reason why I really don’t like Max. One time in my life, something happened like this. It was in school. My friend was standing in line to go somewhere. She was humming a song that another girl didn’t like. The girl said “I hate that song. Why are you humming it?” “I’m allowed to hum it if I want to,” my friend said. “Is that so, white girl,” the girl said meanly. Another scene in the story made me excited and happy until . . . Benjamin was walking home from playing in the park with friends. He saw a farm cart go by and knew that his papa (who wasn’t really his real father) was in it. Then he started chasing the farm cart down blocks and up streets. He finally caught up to it. It turned out it was a different person. He was lost, to make matters worse. It makes me feel really awful but makes the book interesting. It’s like you’re playing on a Little League team and your team’s undefeated. Then you lose your last game. It turns something good into something bad, which is sad. The book was sad, but fun and exciting to read. There are good characters and mean characters. I had to stop to watch TV. I wanted to keep reading. That’s why I think kids will really like this book. Sam Levin, 9New York, New York


By

A Puzzling Story

Rachel loved puzzles. Jigsaw puzzles. Thousand-piece clear-blue-sky and flowery-meadow puzzles. Cute little puppy-dog-face puzzles. Any kind of puzzle suited her fancy. She loved the challenge of putting one together, piece by piece. Discovering the piece that fit was always thrilling and a small victory over the manufacturer who had labeled the puzzle “difficult.” For her thirteenth birthday, Rachel received a package in the mail from her Aunt Lola, who shared her passion for puzzles. When she ripped open the box, she found a one-thousand- five-hundred-piece puzzle with a painting of a colonial farm and the surrounding forest on it. It was very detailed, with a mother working in the garden while two girls hung up the wash and a boy led the cows out to pasture. A farmer worked in the fields and a large wooden barn stood off to the left. At the edge of the field was a forest and a gravel road running through it. The farmhouse and various animals were also included in the busy scene. Rachel sat working on her puzzle: “Colonial Farm: A Painting by George Smits.” She put together most of the puzzle pieces and was working on the forest. Being the imaginative type, Rachel thought the girls didn’t look like they were having much fun. She wondered if those colonial girls could ever have fun like she had, perhaps in the forest. She thought, That would make a good basis for a novel. I wonder if Kathryn Lasky has written anything like that. I should go to the library and find out. As she gazed into the scene, she drifted off to sleep, right on top of the unfinished puzzle She checked her watch and realized that the library wasn’t open. Anyway, she thought, I’m too tired to walk to the library. I’ll go tomorrow. Rachel stared at the puzzle again, searching for the place where a piece with trees on it would fit. As she gazed into the scene, she drifted off to sleep, right on top of the unfinished puzzle. When Rachel woke up, she fumbled around for the puzzle piece she was trying to fit in. Once she found it, she examined it to refresh her memory. It was a clothespin! Not a puzzle piece! Rachel rubbed her eyes. A clothespin? Why, it was. She turned around and found herself facing a girl she had never seen before. “Nan,” said the girl, “why are you staring like that? You look as though you’ve never seen a clothespin before.” My name’s not Nan, Rachel thought. It was then that it dawned on her, though she could scarcely believe it, that she was in the puzzle. Rachel stood up and walked around. Yes, there was the barn and there was the field and there was the mother in the garden. Yes, she was in the puzzle. “Nan, where are you going? We have to finish hanging up the wash!” the girl cried. Rachel decided that the girl was talking to her and she would answer to the name Nan until she got out of the puzzle, if she ever did. She walked back toward the clothesline to join the girl to hang up clothes. After they had finished, the mother called them over to help in the garden. The girl and her mother were soon engaged in a lively conversation about the upcoming quilting bee with some of their friends. “Nan, dear,” said the mother, pausing in her conversation, “it is unlike you to be so quiet. Just yesterday, you were talking up a storm about how a patchwork quilt is just like one of those jigsaw puzzles in John McGregor’s store. You and Cathrine stared at them all morning the last time we were in town, before the world fell apart.” OK, Rachel thought, this is odd, the mother must be my mother and the girl must be Cathrine. My sister, maybe? I wonder . . . Her mother interrupted her thoughts, exclaiming how time did fly and telling her to go help her sister take the wash off the line. Their working in the garden, while holding up a decent conversation, had taken all afternoon! The phrase “time flies when you’re having fun” came to Rachel’s mind, but fun wasn’t the exact word to describe it. Now she knew why the girls in the puzzle weren’t smiling. *          *          * Dinner had been interesting for Rachel, meeting the farmer who was supposedly her father and the boy with the cows who was her brother. Having onion soup and brown bread to eat instead of lasagna was also different. Now she and Cathrine were talking up in the loft where they should have been sleeping. Actually, Cathrine was doing most of the talking. She kept referring to fun times they had enjoyed together before the world had fallen apart. Rachel, of course, had no idea what Cathrine was talking about and nodded her head in agreement, as Cathrine fondly recalled trips to town and Independence Day celebrations. “Cathrine,” Rachel asked abruptly, “what is this about the world falling apart?” “Oh, Nan, don’t be dense,” Cathrine replied. “You were the one in tears over not being able to go to McGregor’s store because the world was broken. And call me Cath; you always used to. What’s wrong with you? You’ve been so mindless lately.” Rachel shrugged, rolled over, and went to sleep. *          *          * All the next day Rachel was kept busy with endless chores: working in the garden, sewing, and cooking. As she labored, she pondered what everyone meant by the world “falling apart.” That was the reason for no trips to town, and why they were isolated on the farm. Then she realized that she was in a puzzle, and what did people do to puzzles after they had been put together? They took them apart, of course! That was why her puzzle-family couldn’t go off the farm; the puzzle wasn’t fully put together. But how could


By

Teddy’s Eyes

Holly Gapen sighed and switched the elbow she was leaning on. She was stuck in deep thought. Algebra was so discouraging! “Holly?” Holly’s ever-loving mother called. “Holly, it’s dinner time. Lasagna, your favorite.” Holly shuffled her papers, finally done, into her overstuffed binder and groggily stretched her lanky legs that brought her so much trouble. Kids teased Holly because of the fact that she was six-foot-one, really tall for a fifteen-year-old. “Holly, this is my last call.” “Coming, Mom. You sound like a train conductor.” “Toot, toot. Very funny.” Holly’s mother had come into the living room and was flapping a towel toward her daughter, playfully. “Come on, Mom,” Holly complained. She stood up and went toward the dining room. *          *          * The next morning, Holly awoke abruptly from a terrifying nightmare. She clung onto her teddy bear, Teddy, the only real friend she had. She was sweating and her hands were clenched into hot balls. “Holly, honey,” Mrs. Gapen reassured, “you’re all right. Everything’s OK.” Holly blinked her eyes and woke up. Her dream had been about the state achievement test. *          *          * Four . . . three . . . one . . . seven . . . open! Holly opened her locker and limply flung her backpack in. She looked toward her classroom and saw Linda Harvey, someone she naturally avoided, strolling toward her. She had a spiral book in her hands. Holly waved shakily and greeted, “W- what’s up?” “Hi, personne grande,” Linda sneered. “What?” Holly scrunched up her face. “You’ll find out in French class, today,” Linda snickered as she pushed her shoulder-length frizzy red hair out of the way of her exotic green eyes. “Well, I guess I’ll see ya around, Linda. I’ve got to get to class now.” Holly backed away from Linda, watching the spiral book get smaller and smaller before it took a turn down the hall. “Bonjour, mes amis,” Miss DuJour greeted her class. “Bonjour, Madame Dujour,” many children chorused. “Today, we’ll talk about features. To be tall is to be grande as to be small is to be petite . . .” Miss DuJour’s voice faded away and Holly was insulted. Kids had turned around and were chanting, “grande, grande . . .” Holly turned away to muffle the chants of her classmates. She was overcome with guilt that she was so tall, so she hid her eyes in her stringy, bleached hair. She was comforted when French was over and retired to the hall. Linda was already waiting for her there. Her normally free hair was pushed back by a plastic headband with teeth that looked threatening. She was holding the same spiral book as before. “Hey, Holly. Whatcha doin’?” Linda leaned against a locker, getting ready to stay there a long time. Holly searched for an excuse in her mind to leave Linda, and thought of after-school activities. “I-I’ve got to get to tennis,” she stammered. This was true. Tennis was Tuesday night. “Yeah, tennis,” she announced more confidently. “OK, yeah, tennis.” Linda was not impressed. “But, you know, could I talk to you for a sec? I’ve got something you might like.” “Well, only for a second,” Holly agreed a little reluctantly. “You know how Coach is if you’re a little late.” Linda had a sparkle in her eyes. She smiled at Holly and beamed with pleasure at someone wanting to talk to her. “Well, it’s about the test.” Linda glanced down at her spiral book and continued. “You know how some of the questions are really hard?” “Yeah.” Holly remembered some of last year’s algebra. “Well, look at this.” Linda opened the book she had been carrying around tenderly and showed Holly the first page. In bold, capital letters, a message was printed. It read: 1999 STUDENT ACHIEVEMENT TEST ANSWER BOOK HIGH SCHOOL She saw Linda Harvey, someone she naturally avoided, strolling toward her “Oh, my. Where’d you find this?” “Doesn’t matter. Do you want to?” “What?” Holly was mortified and asked the question even though she knew the answer. “You know. Come on. It’ll be fun. Imagine—the perfect scores.” Imagine—getting expelled, was what Holly was thinking. But still, so she wouldn’t upset the volcano, she whispered, “I’ll think about it.” Linda seemed pleased with that remark, and let Holly go in peace to tennis. *          *          * Tennis class was different. Holly was usually a natural leader and played really well. That Tuesday was different. Holly missed every ball that came to her and just wasn’t running fast enough. When practice match time came, Holly was paired up with Ronny Simmons, who was one of the easiest kids on the team to beat. She was occupied thinking about the answer booklet, though, and Ronny beat her easily. Holly sat down after the match next to Coach. He seemed understanding. “Got something on your mind, eh?” “Yeah.” “It’s hard.” He smiled and patted Holly’s back. “Sooner or later, you’ll get to your goal. You’ll make it.” Holly remembered his words as she untied her shoes. You’ll make it. She wondered if she would make it to eleventh grade, and then her mind wandered back to the booklet and all thoughts of Coach vanished. *          *          * “Honey, how was school?” Holly looked up from her book to stare at her mother. “Fine, I guess.” Holly lied through gritted teeth. If she told her mom, all she would get would be a lecture. They usually lasted at least an hour long. They weren’t what you would call “fun.” “All done with your homework?” “Yeah.” “Get to bed early. Then at least you won’t be so grouchy for the big test day after tomorrow.” “That early?” Holly dropped her book on the floor, then recovered it. “Uh-huh. Be prepared!” Mrs. Gapen cackled like a witch. “Very funny, Mom.” Holly gave her mother her most bored look and resumed her reading. “Well, you better get enough sleep for tomorrow.” Holly’s mother left the room and


By

The Battle of Lake Trasimene

The first ray of sunlight crept up the Apennine mountain range in central Italy. Above the winding hills and jagged rocks, the bulk of the Carthaginian army was perched above Lake Trasimene, just below a higher cliff. Standing at the edge of the cliff, staring out toward Spain, stood a man. He was wearing a faded red tunic with leathery flaps hanging down at the waist. On his head, a brass helmet sparkled with a dull illumination, reflecting off Lake Trasimene which was below him, and coming back to him in dozens of vivid shapes. A sword was sheathed at his side and a dagger was belted to his waist. His eyes were deep and sorrowful. With his right hand he twisted his deep black beard. In his other hand he held a torch. His expression was cold and sullen. This man was the leader of the Carthaginian army, at the helm of the operation. He was the great war leader Hannibal. He was hoping, no, praying that Spain would remain in the hands of the Carthaginian government. His youngest brother Mago was running the operations in Spain at that time, hopelessly defending it against the sieging Roman legions that encamped all across its borders. From eastern Spain he started the huge trek through the dangerous Alps It was 217 BC, and Carthage, a North African empire and a world power at the time, was engaged in a struggle with the emerging Roman Empire. It was the second conflict between Carthage and Rome, known as the Second Punic War. Hannibal looked back at the sound of his men waking. He looked down again into Lake Trasimene, watching the mist rise from its cool, clear surface, and anxiously awaited his enemy’s arrival. After Hannibal’s father, Hamilcar Barca, was defeated by the Romans in the First Punic War, the Romans had been gloating in their success. Meanwhile, Hamilcar was trying to rebuild his military. However, Hamilcar was killed in battle. His successor, Hannibal’s brother-in-law, Hasdrubal, inherited the control of Spain. But after Hasdrubal’s assassination at the hands of a slave, Hannibal, who was next in line, took over. Not satisfied with Spain alone, he launched several campaigns for the purpose of recruiting mercenaries. He recruited cavalry and spearmen from Spain (which was where his brother Mago’s stronghold was located); cavalry and infantry from Gaul (modern France). He also recruited cavalrymen from Numidia, led by the great cavalry commander Maharbal, and slingers and pikemen from the Balearic Islands. Finally, with his huge army of 90,000 infantry, 12,000 cavalry, and 37 elephants, he was ready to begin his journey. From eastern Spain he started the huge trek through the dangerous Alps. The trip was costly. The harsh weather of the Alps made it difficult for Hannibal. When he finally made it through the Alps into Italy, his numbers equaled about 60,000 infantry, 6,000 cavalry, and most of his elephants had perished. But Hannibal was a brilliant leader, and with the troops he had, he remained in Italy for sixteen years, winning many major and minor battles. Significant among these was the Battle of Lake Trasimene. On the other side of Trasimene, Hannibal’s adversary, Flaminius, the arrogant newly elected Roman Consul, and his army were just now waking from the hard bunks in their temporary legionary base which they had constructed the night before. Legionaries were just now climbing out of the pitched tents and huts. After the legionaries woke, they would put on their thick red tunics. Then began the difficult process of putting on the plate armor. One legionary would help another strap his breastplate to his chest, and also strap on the arm protection and the leg armor. Thick leather embroidered with colored beads hung down from the waist to protect the groin. Then the legionaries would begin the grueling task of taking down base camp. Some would be assigned the task of pulling up the palisades, wooden shafts about three to four feet long with a sharp point at the end that surrounded the temporary legionary bases. Other legionaries took down and packed the tents. Finally, when the base was taken down, the legionaries would take their pilum (throwing javelin), buckle on the gladius (short sword), and strap their packs to their backs. Their packs contained palisades, utensils, rations, and personal items. Finally, after all the tasks were completed, after all the legionaries were accounted for, they began their trek through the tiny gap between Trasimene and the Apennine hills. The Roman army was now on the move. The legionaries, under Flaminius, marched toward Trasimene in search of Hannibal. Flaminius was unaware that he was walking into a trap. Waiting for him in the hills near Trasimene, Hannibal’s men were already strategically positioned to ambush Flaminius and his army. Line after line the Romans marched through, not suspecting that many eyes were watching them from above. The thought of VICTORY was the only thing on the legionaries’ minds as they moved on. Finally, the entrance of the pass was just now disappearing behind the last legionary. The time was now right for Hannibal to act. Out of the noise of clanking armor and humming Roman soldiers came the all too familiar sound of Gallic war cries. Horrible black shapes were now descending down the mountainside. Out of the darkness they came, into the light of the Roman torches, upon the extremely vulnerable Roman force. The torchlight revealed the forms of Gallic broad swords glistening in the moonlight, and also thousands of their wielders. A horde of Gauls charged down behind Flaminius and his army, blocking the only exit. More shouting and cursing from higher up could be heard. The mass of the Carthaginian army was now making itself known on the mountainside, spreading out and revealing its power. When Hannibal gave the order, it charged. As the Romans watched the enemy descend upon them, they noticed something. Out of the storm of swords and axes, sticking up out of the


By

Audition

“This is crazy,” Marie said for the fourth time. From her seat in front of the steering wheel of the family’s old station wagon, Mom gave her a side glance and an encouraging smile. The dense woods that surrounded the road flashed by the windows in a green blur as the afternoon sun streamed through the back window and cast the car’s long shadow on the road ahead of them. Marie wrung her sweaty hands, biting her lip in nervous anticipation. “This is completely crazy,” she whispered. They were watching her, and she knew what she had to do, so she started her monologue For the past two months Marie had been practicing an audition for the school’s spring play, “Little Women.” She had spent hours memorizing the lines to a monologue, and perfecting it so that she could act in the most realistic and persuasive way she could today. She knew it all like the back of her hand. But that didn’t stop her stomach from turning flip-flops like a crazed acrobat, or the slight shake of her body, or that frightened, worried feeling that had been growing inside of her all day long. *          *          * Mom parked the car in the lot in front of the school and gave her a wink for good luck. Marie pushed her door open and stepped out into the cool, fresh air, her legs feeling weak. She eyed the building, knowing that inside of it was a line of other students waiting to be called into the theater. That line of students was her competition. Marie took a deep breath. “I’m going to do this,” she said quietly to herself. “If it kills me, I’m going to do this. There is no way that I’m going to turn back now and give up—I’d never forgive myself.” She headed toward the school. *          *          * It was getting up on stage that was hard. Once Marie was on the shiny wooden surface, raised a good five feet or so above the rest of the floor, with four teachers seated at a table in the back with their eyes glued on her, she couldn’t not start. They were watching her, and she knew what she had to do, so she started her monologue. And once she began, the rest followed. She didn’t lose her voice, or forget her lines, or even stumble over them much. Her voice might have been a little shaky at first, but the more she spoke the steadier and more definite it became. Soon, the teachers vanished from her mind, and she became her character, and was no longer Marie, no longer in the school, and no longer nervous, at least, not very much. And then she had finished. Another student was entering. It was time for her to leave. *          *          * The relief that came upon her, now that she had done it, and it was over, and everything was out of her hands, was greater than Marie ever thought it was going to be. Now all she had to do was wait. And whether she got a large part, or a small part, or no part at all, she had tried. She had done her best, putting all that she possibly could into it. And, for now, that was enough. Lisa R. Neher, 13Covington, Washington Sabina Kraushaar, 11Durango, Colorado


By

Unbroken

Unbroken by Jessie Haas; Greenwillow Books:  New York, 1999; $15 In Unbroken, Harriet Gibson becomes an orphan in 1910 when her mother dies in a horse-and-buggy accident. Now thirteen-year-old Harriet must leave her old life in a small Vermont town to live in the country with her Aunt Sarah. Having recently moved, I can understand how Harriet felt as she left her house, school, and friends. Even though I was unhappy when I moved, Harriet must have been even sadder since her mother just died. Like Harriet, once I was settled in my new home, I wasn’t sure how to act. I had to learn how things were done in my new neighborhood and school. “Where do I hand homework in? Do I really need a hall pass just to put my flute in the band room?” I asked myself. Harriet also had to learn how to behave in her new surroundings. When she sits on the chopping block and gets blood on her dress, Harriet is uncertain what to do. “Should I just wash it off or do I have to ask permission?” Harriet wonders. Harriet realizes there’s a lot she doesn’t know about living on a farm. Soon after Harriet moves in, she and Aunt Sarah begin to argue. Aunt Sarah insults Harriet’s mother, complains about the way Harriet does chores, and thinks Harriet will never be able to train the young colt so she can ride him. Both of them are insistent on getting their own way. My older brother reminds me of Aunt Sarah because he always believes his way is right. When he compares his grades to mine or laughs at how I play sports, I often yell at him and get into a fight like Harriet and Aunt Sarah did. As the summer goes by, Harriet learns how to help with farm work, cope with her mother’s death, and get along with Aunt Sarah. One evening Harriet tries to get to know Aunt Sarah by asking her questions about her childhood. Harriet also helps with chores without being asked, such as when she offers to help with cutting the hay. My brother and I are working on being kind to each other, too. When I play his favorite video game with him or ask how his day went, we become closer. Most importantly, Harriet starts to accept life on the farm and think of it as home, just as I am beginning to accept my new life after moving. When I first picked up Unbroken, I thought it was just going to be about a girl training her horse. Once I started reading, I realized the story was about a lot more—dealing with changes, getting along with other people, and discovering the importance of family. The author, Jessie Haas, made the characters seem like real people. I really enjoyed Unbroken and would recommend this book to anyone who likes historical fiction, horses, or just an excellent story. Julia Schuchard, 12Lawrenceville, Georgia


By

Lizy

Lizy was my best friend the summer I turned six, though that summer I also learned she couldn’t be forever. I found her resting in the cattails by my father’s pond. Her shell was speckled with mud and pieces of wet grass stuck to her damp surface. My parents discovered me patting her softly with my hand. Lizy was only an egg then. My father rolled the speckled egg into his warm palm. “Sally,” he said, “I’m going to make you a little friend.” I stared at him for a minute, then Mama took my hand and we all went inside. I sat in my chair, while I watched my mother rummaging through boxes in a closet and my father flipping through pages of books with one hand, and securing his reading glasses with the other. Suddenly my mother spoke, “I found it hon, it’s as good as new!” A few minutes later a little incubator stood on a table in my room. I sat by Lizy as many hours as I could for the next few weeks as my father came in and out of my room, helping me turn Lizy’s egg and moisten her shell with sprays of warm water. On the twenty-eighth day, the unbelievable happened and my best friend was born. Loud peeps, a wet, sleepy duckling, and an empty shell, is all I can remember from Lizy’s hatching, but memories of gazing, wondering and studying as she grew have not faded through the years. Neither has the love I felt when I first laid eyes on the lonely little egg surrounded by cattails. My parents discovered me patting her softly with my hand. Lizy was only an egg then “It’s that time of year again,” my father whispered in my ear, “the time when your old grandma comes to wish you a happy birthday.” My mother sighed. “Aw, come on, Lynda,” teased my father, “she isn’t that bad, is she?” He gave her a kiss. “Ted, you know I care for your mother, I’m just worried about what she’ll think of Lizy. Maybe we should move her outside before your mother arrives tomorrow. You know how she is with animals.” My father picked me up and held me in his arms. My mother gave him a serious glance. I was placed on the counter. “Aw Lynda, Lizy’s too young for that.” He slipped his hand in hers. “Lizy’s still a little fluff ball, Grandma won’t mind.” Then he turned to me. “Isn’t that right, Sally?” I nodded my head as a loud peeping noise came from upstairs. “Come on, Sal,” he said, setting me down and taking my hand, “Lizy’s hungry.” We walked up the stairs. When we got to Lizy her loud crying stopped; her food and water bowl were full. That night as I rested in my bed I heard my parents talking loudly in their room. “We can’t give her away, Lynda, Sal would feel awful, she’d never forgive us!” “I know, Ted,” admitted my mother. “I know that Sal would be heartbroken, but what are we gonna do, keep Lizy forever? Where she really belongs is outside with other wild ducks, maybe even in the pond, not in a cage, in the backyard.” “I haven’t seen any ducks in our pond, and who knows what could happen to her in the wild, that’s a terrible idea.” “Right, I know, but Lizy’s going to get big and the summer is going to end, Ted. When you go back to teaching in the fall and Sally goes to school, what happens then?” My father stammered. “You . . . you don’t want to take care of her?” “No, it’s hard work. Don’t you think I have enough to do? I think,” she paused, “that it would be better for Sal, for us to give Lizy away sooner as opposed to later. Maybe she’ll forget faster, or maybe she’ll never forget, I don’t know. But I think she should learn, better than us, what is OK to keep as a pet and what isn’t. Don’t you think so?” There was no response for a while, then . . . “She will never forgive us if we take Lizy away. Let her find what’s right herself, hon, that’s how people learn the best,” said my father. “We’ll just wait it out, OK? Play it by ear?” “But Sally’s only six years old!” “Shhhhhh,” whispered my father, and I heard no more. I looked down at Lizy’s box. She seemed happy enough to me, peeping softly. I didn’t want her to go. “Lizy,” I whispered. I got up and climbed down from my bed. “Peep, peep . . .” I said. “Pip, pip, pip, pip,” Lizy answered. I picked her up and put her in my lap. That night I fell asleep on the floor, with Lizy curled up on my tummy. The next morning when I awoke, Lizy had disappeared from my side. My mind traced back to the night before. I envisioned her being plucked from my hand like a helpless flower and I started to cry. Suddenly a peep came from Lizy’s box next to the spare bed. I crawled over to it and gazed at her in the corner. I patted her rubbery beak and wiped my eyes. That afternoon there was a knock at the door. Unlike most days when I wore sweatpants and a T-shirt, I was dressed in a little yellow jumper with my thin hair tied in bows. My grandmother loved when I was dressed special for her arrival. She loved being clean and proper, and she wanted everything around her to be clean and proper too. She did not like animals and almost every time my grandmother came over she got in fights with my parents. My mother and father weren’t married, they said that marriage just makes things more complicated. My grandma called them lazy once, a lazy couple. She said that marriage was important.