Come on Come on Come on I bolt to the window Quick as lightning, with a gasp, my mouth drops open the sun is swiftly sliding into the water, an orange marble sinking into the horizon infusing the river with orange dye I think where does it go? does it sink into the river with a swoosh and a swish? does it dissipate into good dreams for the night? I drift to my bed I realize I am a sun sinking into my bed but I feel nocturnal, my eyes are glued to the ceiling I stare and stare some more into the darkness that darkness that is feared and loved that darkness coating you in black that darkness like the bottom of the ocean that darkness wishing you good dreams that darkness regenerating you until the sun seeps in shining in with a warm hello transforming the darkness to light giving hope for a new day Kyle Lotke, 10New York, New York
The Shape Stealers
Zed and I stood, facing the forest. “Are you sure, Zed?” I asked, turning to him. His blue eyes flashed as he glanced back at me. “You don’t have to come with me, Reina,” he growled. “But I’m doing this. I will prove to Hans that I’m not a coward.” At that point, I knew it was best not to argue. Zed is my best friend, and he can be very stubborn, but even I didn’t know that his feelings would extend so far, far enough that we were in danger. I should have known it would come to this, when this morning Hans, the butcher’s son, made fun of Zed in front of all of our neighbors. After that Zed swore that he would prove his bravery to all. Zed began to march toward the thick Yeron Forest. I sighed, straightened the laces on my long blue dress, and followed. “You do have your sword, don’t you?” I called. Zed nodded, distracted by trying to find a way past the wall of trees that bordered Yeron Forest. Ever since I was little, Mama told me stories of the forest. “Don’t ever go into the Yeron Forest, Reina,” she would tell me. “Dangerous things lurk there. Remember when the baker’s boy went missing, two or three years ago? Vanished. Right into the forest. Lady Ira’s maid saw him go.” That scared me off from the forest. Rilk, the baker’s boy, was a friend of mine, and I didn’t want the same fate as him. It had scared me off, until today at least. Much as I feared what lurked in the forest, I feared losing Zed more. Therefore, I decided to accompany him. “I’ve heard there are more terrible monsters, ones that can take the form of any human” To some it might seem a foolish choice, but to me it was the only choice. I had known Zed since we were two: I would not abandon him now. When I reached Zed, he was hacking at the unyielding trees with his sword, a present from my father, the blacksmith of our village. The knights of the royal court often had Father make their swords. Without a sword of my own, I began yanking at different branches, seeing if I could make a hole big enough to fit through. But at my touch, the branches parted! I gasped. “Zed! Here’s a hole!” I thought it wise not to mention to Zed what the branches had done. Zed hurried to me. “I could swear I looked there,” he said. Then he squeezed through the hole. I followed, and my dress ripped on the twigs, leaving a piece of rough dyed fabric flapping in the breeze like a flag. After checking to make sure that you could not see my petticoat peeking through, I followed after Zed. The forest was dark inside—very dark. No light shone through the thick canopy of twisting, leafless branches. The ground was hard and cold, and very little grass grew. And it was cold, oh so cold. Immediately I drew my wool shawl tighter around my shoulders. “Zed, do you know where we’re going?” He shook his head. “Reina, you know we just have to stay in the forest until sunset. Then I’ll show Hans.” I sighed, settled on the hard ground, and took out a lantern from my pack. I lit it, and its warm beam of light lit up the trees. Then I took out a small loaf of bread from my pack. Mama knew I would be with Zed all day, and so she packed me some food. Guilt tightened in my stomach as I thought that I hadn’t told Mama where we were going specifically. I ripped off a chunk and held it out to Zed. “Bread?” I asked. Zed looked at me incredulously. “What’re you doing, Reina?” I stared back at him. “If we’re staying right here all day, we might as well get comfortable,” I replied. Zed shook his head. “We’re not staying here. We have to get as deep in the forest as we can get. I told Marya to tell Father where we were when we were gone for an hour. It’s been about that, and father will come after us. No, we must go deeper.” Marya was Zed’s sister. I sighed and began packing up my lunch. “Can I at least carry the lantern?” I asked. Zed nodded, and I could see, although he’d never say so, that he, too, was nervous in this forest. I stood, brushed off my skirts, and said, “Which way?” Zed rotated, looking at all of the possibilities. He pointed left. “That way.” As we walked, I told Zed repeatedly how foolish we were. “You know, there are supposed to be wolves and dragons in these woods,” I said, “and I’ve heard that there are fairies and goblins too.” Zed nodded and glanced around. “I’ve heard there are more terrible monsters, ones that can take the form of any human. They know a few things about the person that they’re imitating, but not everything. They are called Shape Stealers.” I started to laugh, then realized he was serious. “So, if we see each other after being separated while in the woods, we should each ask the other a question only we can know the answer to,” Zed continued. “What will you ask me?” I asked. Zed thought for a moment. “I would ask you what we did together last month.” I chuckled. “Smeared honey on Aunt Rina’s chickens and then on the shedded fur of Olo {Olo was my dog}, and Aunt Rina thought she had wild beasts instead of chickens in her coop!” Zed grinned. “Correct. What would you ask me?” I thought about all of the great times we’d had together. “I’d ask you what I wanted to be when I was older.” We walked and laughed together, and for those moments, the forest’s gloomy hold on us lessened. Suddenly,
If Only I Could
If only I could help the world. I would like to get bad people and teach them how to be nice. If only I could fly and help people with their feelings, and stop them from killing people that are trying really hard to help us all to be good people and nice and kind to others like us who come from a different country. If only I could help my family from Haiti and us too. I would make them feel welcome to the new country we live in now. If only I could talk to them. I would say welcome and how is Haiti? How is it there? If only I could ask Mom and Dad a question in Creole. I would ask, “Did you miss me and Ericka and Ruth, Mom and Dad?” If only I could go back and save my best friend from the orphanage. I would be so happy for the children because their birth families get them back! I would give them to their new family that was waiting for them a long time. If only I could help the world. I would like to get people and teach them how to be nice. If only I could… Rickza is a Haitian-American, adopted by her mom, Ruth, and living in the United States with her sister since July of 2013. Rickza Kerr, 11Seattle, Washington
The Way to Stay in Destiny
The Way to Stay in Destiny, by Augusta Scattergood; Scholastic Press: New York, 2015; $16.99 It’s funny how we can adapt to the way we live and call it normal, right to the point where it all changes. Theo had spent his whole life in Kentucky with his grandparents and his dog. But then, in the summer of 1974, his uncle took away everything that was important to him, including his own home. I knew how Theo felt to suddenly have nothing to look forward to, to leave everything behind and start a completely new life. I was born in South Korea and lived with my grandmother. It wasn’t the best way to live, but I had friends, family, and my life right there that I didn’t want to give up. But over the years, I’ve learned that everything happens for a reason and that everything has a story behind it. When I was seven years old, my aunt brought me to America. It took a while for me to accept that I lost the life I knew but was given a new one; I was expected to embrace a new environment, just like Theo. The twelve-year-old boy didn’t have it easy—he had to live with his uncle who was a scarred veteran from the Vietnam War. At first, I didn’t approve of their intolerable behavior towards one another. But as I kept flipping the pages, their relationship became clear as I found a way to relate and understand. Uncle Raymond is one of those people that you have to peel back many layers one at a time in order to reach his feelings. Once you peel back the layers, you can actually understand him. During this roller coaster, Theo discovered that sometimes a change is a good thing. That maybe our early life is just to prepare us for the life that is ahead of us. The characters spoke to me as if they had a real voice that could be heard. And in a way, they did—especially Theo. When his uncle was against the life and hobbies Theo seemed to want, but really needed, Theo stuck with his own opinions and made an entrance to the life he was supposed to live. I love how Theo managed to prove how talents and hobbies such as piano and baseball are not a waste of time. “‘I can’t live without music,’ I answer. I open the piano and play—loud and fast.” If anyone pulls you back from something important or someone you truly love, you just can’t listen to them. The author made the characters, story, and setting seem realistic with small details such as the big pot of flowers by the sign, the annoying green parrots, and especially the emotions I felt towards the characters. In a very short book that many of us can finish within a day, I was left thirsting for more with a sturdy connection to the characters and events; I felt sympathy and other feelings that cannot be described with words. The Way to Stay in Destiny taught me that there will be times when we have to try out a different road in our lives to help us become the people we were meant to be. This may be a book for children, but I believe the lesson inside can be taught to anyone in this world, no matter what age. Eun Bee (Lena) Park, 12East Brunswick, New Jersey
Answers in the Sky
“We all miss Papa, it’s so hard to move on without him…” Midnight woke at the crack of dawn. His glossy, dark pelt shone in the light of the rising sun. The tree shadows danced in the wind like fingers on a black table. Midnight looked around, watching his brother, Moonshadow, his sister, Autumn, and his mother, Silverwater. Midnight’s father had left the beautiful earth shortly after the birth of his family. “One day, I’ll be strong. I’ll live up to you, Papa. Even though I might be the smallest, I have power like no others,” Midnight whispered, staring hopefully at the sky, his heart aching at the thought of the father he missed so very much. As Midnight was settling back down, he saw Autumn’s eyes flicker open. “Midnight, what are you doing up so early?” she whispered, careful not to wake the others. “Couldn’t sleep. Bad dreams,” Midnight meowed back. “Like what?” “Well, Papa was there and… we were hunting mice together… and then he just… left, and…. I couldn’t find him anymore!” Midnight whimpered. “I understand. We all miss Papa, it’s so hard to move on without him… But we just have to remember that up there, high up in the beauty of the night sky, surrounded by stars, Papa is there, and he’ll be watching over us always,” Autumn replied. Autumn settled back down, leaving Midnight with his thoughts about his papa. Could he really be up there, watching me right now? Midnight wondered. And with this comforting thought, he settled back to sleep. * * * Midnight awoke to the faint smell of mouse. He opened his eyes to see that Moonshadow and Autumn had already finished eating. Mama was nowhere in sight. “Hey—where’s Mama?” Midnight meowed. At this, Moonshadow and Autumn exchanged nervous glances. “Well… Mama is… not feeling well,” Moonshadow murmured at last. There was such fear in his brother’s voice. At first, he thought nothing of it, but then he realized what was really happening. “Mama!!!” Midnight yowled. He ran to the small clearing where Mama loved to rest and found her lying in the middle. “Midnight…” Mama spoke, but her words were interrupted immediately by coughing. The cough sounded terrible, almost deadly. “Mama… No… You can’t… This can’t be happening… You are going to be OK!” Midnight meowed, trying to convince himself. “Don’t worry, Midnight… It’s all going to be OK,” she croaked. “No!” Midnight yowled, as his siblings appeared behind him. Their eyes widened as they saw the state their dear mother was in. “Midnight… Go…. Find us a new home…. Don’t worry about me… You must leave this place…” Mama spoke as she coughed some more. “But… Why? How will you survive while you are like… this?” Midnight meowed in panic, trying to take in all she was saying. “I have experience with herbs and healing. I can use catmint to heal my cough, and once the cough is cured I can hunt for myself,” Mama meowed wearily. “Mama… are you sure?” Autumn spoke for the first time. “I most certainly am.” Warmth sparkled in Mama’s eyes. “Now go, my kits, go quickly…” coughed Mama. The cats looked at each other for a moment, then nodded. “OK, Mama… We’ll go…. But remember, we are thinking of you every step of the way,” Moonshadow meowed sadly. “B-but… Wait! Why can’t you come?” Midnight blurted out. “I will not be here for long. It is best you make the journey alone. Soon, I will walk with Papa… And I will protect you in your new home,” Mama said, coughing. Taking one last look at the mother they might never see again, Midnight, Autumn, and Moonshadow turned their backs on the place they had always called home. * * * The three young cats walked along in sorrow. As Midnight padded along, he couldn’t help thinking, I should have insisted on staying there and helping! If she dies, it’s all going to be my fault… He felt terrible about leaving Mama in the forest all alone. When Midnight was ill, Mama had always taken care of him… “Midnight! Watch out!!!” Moonshadow yowled, but it was too late. Midnight was wrenched from his thoughts about Mama as he plunged deep into an icy-cold, swiftly moving river. Midnight frantically tried to pull himself out of the river, but it was no use. The fall had knocked the breath out of him, and he couldn’t tell which way was up and which way was down. Suddenly, Midnight felt a strong paw struggling to pull him out of the river. Then another paw reached for Midnight’s head, and he broke surface. Autumn and Moonshadow were staring down at him, fear in their eyes. Midnight could barely breathe. Water clogged his throat. He coughed up a large pool of water, gasping for breath. “Midnight! You’re OK!” breathed Autumn in relief. “Y-yeah…” Midnight gasped. “I’m fine.” “You have to be careful next time! You could have died!” Moonshadow spoke in annoyance. “Well, sorry,” Midnight replied bitterly. “We should keep going.” Without a word, the three cats kept walking toward a thick pine forest. It was slightly cold as they neared the forest, and Midnight assumed it was because of the small frosty mountain range surrounding it. It was getting dark, and the three cats decided to settle down for the night in a small, empty cave by the edge of the pine forest. As Midnight slowly drifted to sleep, he found he was not asleep at all. He was standing in a small, starry forest with the moon shining brightly over every inch. For some reason, the place seemed oddly familiar. When Midnight looked around, he let out a gasp. He could hardly believe his eyes. For the first time in so long, Midnight’s gaze rested on his very own father, just as he had seen him last. “P-Papa… Is… is that really you?!” he stammered, barely able to speak at the sight of the starry cat
Drifting
Anxiously I waited with fingers intertwined in my thick, curly hair and my foot tapping out a rhythm on my icy driveway. Puffs of air escaped from my cracked lips. I felt as if someone were slamming my heart against my chest. My eyes swept across the neighborhood. A quick glance behind my shoulder told me that Eliza was in the kitchen watching television. On my left was the mailman who was delivering letters to my neighbor. His shiny black shoes crunched against the tightly packed snow. As I watched him sorting through his mail carrier, I kept coming back to one question. What if he has my letter? The crunching sound became more defined. I became more anxious as I watched him drawing nearer. For a brief moment, our eyes met and he nodded towards my direction. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t go up to him and grab the envelopes. My feet seemed glued to the ground. The mailbox made a mighty creak as he put a bundle of letters in the box. As the crunch drifted farther and farther away, my feet became unstuck and I hurried towards the mailbox that concealed my fate. In one motion, I opened the metal box and grabbed every piece of paper that I could lay my hands on. Making sure I didn’t skip anything, I read each and every letter. As I got to the last letter, my heart seemed to screech and stop in its tracks. The return address was labeled Illinois Institute of Art, Chicago, IL. I pocketed the letter and ran. My long legs were no longer a part of my body. They seemed to be moving on their own. I had walked this path so many times that it had become familiar to me. This time, I did not take in any of my surroundings. I just stared straight ahead and bolted. As I scanned the letter, I felt numb After what seemed like miles, I reached my destination: the house of my cousin. For the next two weeks she was on her honeymoon in Thailand. While she was honeymooning, I house sat. I stopped outside of her house and took a deep breath. I reached for the key that hung low on the end of my necklace. Reaching around my neck, I unclasped the jewelry and held the key in my trembling hands. The key jingled as I slid it in the doorknob and unlocked the mahogany door. As I stepped into the foyer, I did a quick once-over to make sure everything was in its rightful place. My eyes seemed to linger on the framed pictures that hung above her stone fireplace. I quickened my pace and reached the bottom of her carpeted stairs. My right hand slid across the slick wooden banister. Once I reached the top of the stairs I went to the attic. As I entered the dusty room, I made my way to the cracked window on the other side of the attic. Wiping dust out of my way, I jammed my fingers underneath the window and jerked the glass up. My legs slid over the window frame and I climbed out into the chilly air. Then I reached up and hoisted myself onto the roof. Stepping over the icy spots on the tiled roof, I sat down in my favorite spot: the window right above the attic. I stared at the city that spread beneath me. Since my cousin lived in Minneapolis, she was lucky to have a house. Most of her friends lived in apartments. I watched the city life for a few minutes. Women in pencil skirts and men in suits power-walked through the streets, looking for a good place to stop for lunch. As I shifted my position in order to see more, I heard the crinkling of paper. Taking deep breaths, I willed myself to take out the envelope that lay still and buried in my coat pocket. My hands trembled as I held the soft paper. I gave myself a little pep talk. You can do this, Leslie. What’s the worst that can happen? Now, you‘re going to open this letter. One, two, three. The white paper made a satisfying rip as I tore open the envelope. I quickly scanned the letter. Words and phrases. Words and phrases were all I could see. They seemed to float off the page. Accepted, next semester, join us, early program, lucky, scholarship. As I scanned the letter, I felt numb. My legs turned to jelly and my body felt as if it had been drenched in freezing water. A small knot began to form in my stomach. The more I read on, the bigger that knot grew. I didn’t know how I could tell Mama, much less Eliza. I wasn’t even sure if I told them that I applied to art school. I didn’t even know if I wanted to go! Not if it meant leaving Mama and Eliza. Going to art school had been my dream since I had been five. But now that my dream was coming true, was I ready to face the challenges? I focused on the snowflakes that were drifting down in spirals. It reminded me of the time when Eliza and I were sledding a few winters ago. Eliza was only four years old and I was nine. We were bundled up from head to toe. Eliza looked like Randy from A Christmas Story. She could barely put her arms down! We waved goodbye to Mama and headed out of the house. It was one of those days that was so cold, your own breath would freeze. The streets we walked were utterly deserted. You would think that children would be playing outside in their front yards! But no, too cold for them. Well, more room to sled! I thought happily. The two of us walked to the end of the block until we arrived at Massive Mountain.
A Different Kind of Brave
I bend over and finger my key chain, determined to escape into the world of Little Miss Piggy and Mini Kermit the Frog. I try to ignore the teasing around me. I try to ignore Andrea, who is seated across from me, arms over her head, yelling at them to stop. I try to ignore the bus driver, who isn’t paying attention at all. The best thing I can do is ignore, I think. But something makes my eyes turn upward, my ears tune into the cruel words. Andrea is wearing a red coat today. Her eyes roll around inside her huge glasses. She’s an autistic girl. And that automatically makes her a magnet for bullying. Henry, a boy in the back, yells names at Andrea. More kids try to grab her hat and jewelry. Her backpack is in the middle of the aisle. Somebody grabbed it and threw it there. That’s where it’s staying for now. I can see some kids are glad they’re not getting picked on. Like Sean, who can’t keep a friend for more than a week. Some kids tease him behind his back. Others simply ignore him, sending an anti-Sean vibe and signaling to everyone, even the youngest kids, that he’s not cool to be around. So of course he is laughing his head off as Lucas, sitting behind Andrea, pops up and yells, “Freak! Freak! Freak!” over and over in her ear. “Stop it!” she screams. No one listens. Somebody flashes his middle finger up at her. I gasp. Everybody knows what that is. It’s terrible and mean. Andrea is in a hostile atmosphere. Kids go out of their way in an exaggerated fashion to avoid touching her. “If I ever see anything like this again, you’ll have me to answer to.” When she gets off at her stop, everyone forgets her. Like me. When I get off, I run to my house. My room is so quiet, the walls a peaceful shade of blue. I forget that Andrea probably isn’t very happy right now, and I forget that Sam and Lucas are home safe, with no consequences. * * * The next day, I am tense as I climb on the bus. The moment Andrea gets on, she says, “Hi, guys!” in a piercing voice and waves. Sam screams, “Look out, here comes Andrea!” Somebody sticks a kick-me sign on her back as she walks past. When she sits down, someone else grabs her hat and throws it out the window. In a clear, strong voice, I hear someone say, “Mr. Dave, stop the bus.” Everybody’s eyes turn. Melissa, a fifth-grader, rises up. The driver slams on the brakes. Calmly, Melissa walks down the aisle, quietly gets off the bus, picks up the hat from the street, climbs back on, and returns it to Andrea. Then she faces the bullies. “You need to leave Andrea alone. Period!” Her words are loud. Melissa takes Andrea’s arm. “Come here, Andrea,” she says. Andrea gets up. Melissa wraps her arm around her. “Look,” she demands. All of us look. The bus is silent. The driver is staring in the rearview mirror. “This girl deserves respect,” Melissa tells them. “All of you ganging up on her at once is cowardly. It’s malicious. It’s cruel.” Everybody nods. Even Sam. “If I ever see anything like this again,” she says to Sam, Lucas, Richard, and George, who are the leaders of the bullying, “you’ll have me to answer to.” She doesn’t say this violently, but in a quiet voice. “And all of you.” She motions to us. “Did you ever once stand up for her?” We shake our heads. “That goes for you, too. All of you say sorry to her.” “Sorry,” we all chorus. “It doesn’t make any sense to bully people who are afraid of you like she is. I know you think that mercy is for weak people. Think again.” She lets go of Andrea. Then Andrea starts to clap. And then Rochelle, in the last seat, joins in timidly. Her seat partner, Abby, starts in. It’s like one of those waves you do at baseball games. Everybody starts clapping, the ripple going through the whole bus. Everybody claps, even the bullies. Then Rochelle stands. And everyone stands. It’s a standing ovation. Everybody gets to their feet gracefully at the same time and claps. Boys whoop and holler and whistle. Lucas even takes off his baseball cap. The bus driver gets to his feet and claps, too. I’m clapping my hands so hard they’re about to fall off, so I run up the aisle and throw my arms around Melissa, who pulls me to her, and we’re giggling and then laughing as we bounce up and down, hands on each other’s shoulders. Then everybody’s up out of their seats and hugging Melissa, and hugging each other. Everyone’s laughing, light shining from their faces. If this was a movie, there would be happy, up-and-down light fiddle music playing right now. Even the fiddler would be doing a tippy-toe dance and rhythmically making the bow fly up and down. Then Rochelle hugs Andrea. Kids are high-fiving Sam and the other boys. And then we all try to hug Melissa and Andrea at once. They’re squashed in the middle and we’re crowding around them. All of a sudden I realize how backwards we had been thinking. Brave to us was riding a horse through a deep dark woods to rescue a treasure. Brave was risking your life to save princesses from wicked stepmothers. Now I know there is a kind of brave that involves the possibility of a hundred children rising against you. It involves the risk of not being safe from the bullies anymore. It involves, most importantly, you saying one little sentence that could change something forever. Sadie Perkins, 11 Madison, Wisconsin Sarah Uhlman, 13Morrisville, Pennsylvania
How It Works
I sit here, and I don’t notice the dirty dishes, left lying in the sink I don’t stare at the holes in the wall, strange and unexplained I don’t ponder the fishbowl, tipped over on the floor, or the color the light makes as it bounces off the broken mirror I do not wonder about the skittering in the attic, And I don’t think about the ceiling tiles, slowly chipping down, and gathering in the roots of my hair I sit here, and I don’t notice anything, As the browning shutters bang against the wall like the wings of a caged bird Because I’ve noticed That noticing just makes it feel less like Home Alden Powers, 12East Hampton, New York
Seeing Over the Side of the Boat
I don’t like my parents. Actually, that’s not true. I love my parents, but they are so stressful. Everything has to be a fight. They fight over who is driving me to baseball practice. They fight over who gets to spend the weekend with me. Like two days ago I missed my baseball game because they were fighting over the mortgage. I don’t know what the mortgage is, but it sounds important. That game was our baseball team’s first loss. I am the starting shortstop and the fastest kid on the team. A few days ago I overheard them fighting over who gets to keep me. That is what I don’t understand. Why would one parent get to keep me? The whole point of being parents is sticking together and taking care of me. So what is this talk of only one parent taking me? I found out yesterday after school. Mom and Dad sat me down in the kitchen. It was the first time they have been in the same room and not been yelling at each other in a long time. Dad’s long, bony fingers were trembling. I had no idea of what was to come. Dad started to speak, but Mom cut him off. It was quite easy to feel the nervousness in the room. The air was stagnant, and nobody was breathing. Mom mumbled, “Tobey, your father and I are getting a divorce.” “A divorce!” I blurted, shocked. I had heard about divorces but I never thought it would happen to this family. It was clearly important because Lucky, my golden retriever, was sitting very still at my feet. She is very good at sensing feelings around her. I felt that she was the only one who cared about me anymore “Well, your mother and I both agree that it would be best for the two of us to no longer live together. That means we won’t be fighting,” my Dad stated. “I know what a divorce is, but why?” Neither of my parents answered. That was the end of the conversation, and both of my parents got up to do their own separate things. They both love me, but they didn’t know what to do to comfort me. Comforting people wasn’t either of my parents’ strong suit, and this was really hard on them. It was the first time in what feels like forever that they finally agreed on something. But I didn’t agree. I wanted them to stay together no matter what. The last three months finally made sense, like gears clicking into place. I should have seen it coming. My parents fought at every chance they had. I was left alone in the kitchen, just staring out the window. I started to realize that this divorce isn’t a good thing. It means that I won’t be around both my parents at the same time. Lucky came up to me and licked my hand. I felt that she was the only one who cared about me anymore. I got her just last year and she was a rescue. One of her ears is much shorter than the other, and her tail is crooked. Her soft furry ears on her head always gave me comfort. I gave her a pat on the head and whispered to her. I told her that it would all work out in the end. As I sat there, the cold winter air blew through the door as my mom left to go out to dinner. The sun was still just peaking over the horizon. I felt a tear drop onto my lap, when I realized that my dad tried to sugarcoat it by saying that they won’t fight anymore. But I could care less about that; I just wanted my parents to live together. My dad came into my kitchen to get dinner started. Mom went to her friends for dinner and to stay the night. She was doing that more and more now. I asked him, “Will I get to see both you and Mom after you get this divorce?” Dad said, “Well, we will work it out, maybe.” He said it in a way so he was hard to understand. I think he was trying to block out this divorce in his head and move on. The house was shockingly quiet. All that you could hear was the sausage sizzling in the pan and my dad whistling as he cooked dinner. He truly loved to cook. The smell made my mouth water and I could tell that Lucky would much rather have what we were having for dinner, not her dry pellets. After dinner, I bawled in my room. It finally set in: Mom and Dad don’t love each other anymore. Did they ever love each other? Do they still care about and love me? How could they leave me to fend on my own? At least I would have Lucky. She stuck by my side through everything. She licked my hot, red face, and I patted her head. She was the only dog I could ever hope for. Her golden fur kept me warm, and she was always there when I needed her to calm me down. I could hear her breathe deep, as she fell asleep on my lap, and I tickled her under her ear, her favorite spot. “We won’t ever get a divorce, will we, Lucky,” I whispered to her, as I drifted off to sleep. She smiled, as if to say, “No. We won’t.” * * * Last night I had the worst nightmare I’d ever had. Our family was going on a vacation to a tropical island. The boat ride over was pleasant and stunningly gorgeous. I could just barely see the white sand on the picture-perfect beaches over the sides of the boat as we approached. I could never see anything coming, being so short. When we got to the island, we played on the beach with Lucky. The warm
Playing for the Commandant
Playing for the Commandant, by Suzy Zail; Candlewick Press: Massachusetts, 2014; $16.99 When Suzy Zail, author of Playing for the Commandant, details how Hanna, our young Jewish protagonist, was shipped with her family to the infamous Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp, I couldn’t help but remember Anne Frank, whose life after her diary ended was very similar to Hanna’s. But Hanna, unlike Anne (who later died in a German camp), survives the horrible ordeal. How does she manage to live in such a place, with exhausting labor, barely any food, and brutal captors? She plays piano. Before the war, she had been an accomplished concert pianist. At the camp, she is forced to play for the commandant, the merciless warden. It promises her a break from labor and a few extra morsels of food but is just as dangerous as the camp. The punishment for a wrong note? Losing a finger. Any other offense? Death. Staying alive won’t be easy, but Hanna will make it somehow. Thrown into the mix is the commandant’s moody son, Karl, who spends his time slouched in a chair, secretly admiring Hanna. Talk about unlikely love. Zail’s gruesome descriptions of life in Auschwitz are moving and inspiring. Hanna’s first-person narration is a great choice, because it makes the horrors even more vivid and heart-wrenching. When Hanna smuggles a broken piano key into the camp, it is clear to the reader that the key is a metaphor for her comfortable middle-class life back home in Hungary. A tale of woe is transformed into a tale of resilience when it is narrated by Hanna. Yet even more riveting than the details of the killing, the starvation, and the pain are the stories of friendship at the camp. In Auschwitz, it’s a dog-eat-dog world. But where there is dark, there is love, and hearing about Hanna embracing her older sister, Hanna comforting her ill mother, and Hanna being comforted by a servant girl in the commandant’s house is Zail’s way of promising light at the end of the tunnel. Throughout the book, Hanna gradually finds ways to rebel. First, it’s giving her sister a morsel of extra bread. Then, it’s sneaking stolen food from the commandant’s kitchen into the laundry delivery to Auschwitz. A startling (and to the reader, unsettling) crescendo to this is the secret romance she shares with Karl. Hanna is also unsettled by this, and it is an interesting look at how little we can control our emotions. Although Karl’s father is responsible for the gas chambers, the killings, and the horrific cruelties at the camp, Hanna still loves him, though not without a bit of guilt. This concept of emotions taking over is something that Zail handles deftly, never once stumbling on any aspect. It makes for a very readable, beautifully written, hard to put down book that should be required reading for anyone interested in World War II or Anne Frank, and even for those who have never heard of the Holocaust. It mixes pain with love, romance with suffering, and survival with history in a book where life conquers all. Sophie Beatrice Cooper, 12New York, New York
The Seabird
In the shadow of a low stone wall on the edge of a forest, two sisters lay sprawled in the grass. The younger one turned to look at her sister. “Lindsey, is this really the last time?” she whispered. Lindsey nodded miserably and continued to look at the sky. She remembered only too well the day her parents announced they were moving. The weeks after that had been a flurry of packing and goodbyes. Now she and Sara had come to their favorite place in the world to say goodbye. They had been coming here ever since Sara was a baby to watch the clouds. They had always wanted to see one shaped like a bird, but they never had. And now we never will, Lindsey thought. They had always wanted to see one shaped like a bird, but they never had “Lindsey, what would happen if we ran away?” Sara asked. “We could hide in the forest until Mom and Dad leave and then we could stay here forever.” “We’d starve to death,” Lindsey answered. “Anyway…” But her words were cut off by the voice of her father. “Sara! Lindsey! Where are you? It’s time to go!” “Coming, Dad,” Lindsey groaned. “Come on, Sara.” Lindsey pulled Sara to her feet and together they climbed over the wall and got into the waiting car. As they drove away, Sara began to cry. “Oh, be quiet,” snapped Lindsey, but she felt like crying too. Three hours later they reached the new house. Lindsey went out on the back porch and watched the sun setting over the ocean. Just as the fiery orb sank below the horizon, Lindsey heard someone else come out onto the porch. A moment later, Sara was standing beside her. “Look,” Sara whispered. Lindsey looked where her sister pointed and saw, just above the place where the sun had gone down, a cloud shaped like a bird, its wings spread wide in the afterglow of the sunset. Lindsey put an arm around Sara. “No wonder we never saw one before,” she whispered. “We were looking in the wrong place.” Sandra Detweiler, 12Eugene, Oregon Ruby Bledsoe, 12Austin, Texas
Miss Kagawa’s Gift
1928 RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA Akemi was taking a while to adjust. Her father, mother, and sister had made the trip to Japan a few weeks before to finally complete the adoption process and bring her home. She was overwhelmed. There were so many new faces and personalities to learn. Everything was so different here in America. The day-to-day life was nothing like she was used to. Akemi had never known that you could miss your old home so much—even if you were in a new home. She’d owned next to nothing back at the orphanage in Japan, so she didn’t even have anything to remind her of her native land. Her mother, Rachel, understood the way her new daughter was feeling, for she had been adopted herself when she was eleven years old. Her sister, Grace, was fourteen years old and understood that she was simply to comfort her sister. Akemi had definitely taken to Grace. She still wouldn’t speak to anyone but would stand by her sister whenever she could and sit next to her at the dinner table. Her father, Chris, knew that Akemi was still trying to get used to her new surroundings. He was concerned for her, though. All of the adoption guidebooks instructed him to just keep loving her, and he tried to do that as much as he could. He only wished that there was something he could do, even a little something, to make her feel a little more at home. Akemi had never known that you could miss your old home so much Chris knew he had to return to work the following day but couldn’t even begin to think about that. He was absolutely exhausted from their long journey to Japan and only wanted to rest. He knew that wouldn’t be happening in the next few days, though. Chris worked at the North Carolina Museum of Natural Sciences, where he set up and removed exhibits. He also assisted with some of the cleaning occasionally. All of this took place before and after museum hours, so Chris had early mornings and—sometimes— late nights. He was usually around to help his daughter with her homework, though. Soon Akemi would be going to school, too, and he could help her with her homework as well. The orphanage that Akemi had lived in for the first twelve years of her life had given her basic schooling and English lessons, as most of the parents looking to adopt from that orphanage spoke English. That made Akemi’s transition much easier, as she would have had much more to learn had she not spoken the country’s language. * * * Chris headed up the stairs to the girls’ bedroom to say good night to them. The family had a three-bedroom home, but Akemi seemed most comfortable sharing a room with Grace for the time being. Before adopting Akemi, the family of three had spent much time and effort putting a room together for her. The beautiful purple and gray designs painstakingly painted on the walls, the desk and dresser all ready to be used. But, if Akemi wanted to share a room with Grace, no one was going to upset her. Chris said good night to his daughters and then headed back to the family room. He pulled out his folder of work assignments and sat down to review. The task summary described a doll to be put on display. “A doll?” thought Chris. “Why on earth would we put a doll in an exhibit?” As he read on, the instructions outlined a bit of the doll’s history. The doll to be put on display has been christened Miss Kagawa. As some will recall, in the early months of last year, our country sent around 12,000 dolls to Japan as a gift of friendship because of the discrimination being placed on Japanese immigrants here. Eiichi Shibusawa from Japan organized a “thank you” gift and led the creation of fifty-eight Japanese “Friendship Dolls” to be sent to the states. The dolls traveled across the U.S., and the North Carolina Museum of Natural Sciences has the opportunity to house one of these dolls. Miss Kagawa has in her possession a ticket for a steamship, a passport, and various accessories and furniture. You will place and position these items as shown in the diagram included. This exhibit will be set up on the morning of October 5th, 1928. Please report to the circulation counter at five-thirty that morning for further details. Thanks, Tom Highton Museum Exhibit Manager October 5th was, unfortunately, the following day. Chris decided to turn in early, for he had a big day ahead of him. * * * Chris woke to his alarm at five o’clock the next morning and, begrudgingly, readied himself for work. He ate a quick breakfast and climbed into the car. The drive to work wasn’t too long, and Chris was there in a matter of minutes. Chris would have walked to work, but the air was surprisingly biting for October. Pulling his key out of his pocket, Chris opened the museum’s side door and proceeded to the circulation desk as the directions instructed. There, the exhibit manager, Tom, stood waiting for him. “Morning, Chris,” Tom boomed. Tom was a very loud man, but he was always smiling. Chris had discovered that no matter how tired he was, Tom’s smile was usually effective in fully waking him up. “Morning, Tom,” Chris replied. “Do you have the details on this doll exhibit?” “That I do,” Tom said as he reached over the counter and grabbed a folder. Tom then showed Chris everything he would need to know to set the exhibit up that morning. There were diagrams, handwritten notes, and photos of exactly how the case was to look when it was completely set up. Chris thanked Tom and went to find the empty display case he was to use. The doll and her accessories would be inside this case, which would be
