Someone’s trust can take years to gain, but only seconds to lose. Revving the motor of my best friend’s dirt bike always gave me a thrill. Yet, nothing could compare to the feeling of zooming down the back roads by my beach house on a warm, summer day. As I switched gears from first to second, I glanced at an old woman giving me a cryptic stare. I saw her shake her head as if to say this was not safe, which only enticed me to go faster. I shifted to third gear and sped past her garden. I did not care about her opinion, for at that moment, going thirty miles per hour, I was the king of the world. The warm wind whipped through my hair while my shirttail flapped furiously in the breeze. Little toddlers venturing to the beach gazed at me in awe. Nothing could bring me down on that day . . . except for a small strip of gravel on the side of the road. My head was up in the clouds so I failed to notice the sliver of sand and pebbles ahead. I plummeted down quickly from Cloud Nine, however, when I flew through the dusty air and onto the hard pavement. I heard my friend stop his bike short, dismount, and rush towards me. Wanting to look cool in front of my fourteen- year-old friend, I stood up, brushed myself off, and forced a smile. He gasped as he pointed toward my arm. Suddenly I felt a flash of pain travel up my arm. I stared in disbelief at the blood dripping onto the bike from the dirty gash in my left arm. Gravel was jammed under the flesh of my palm, and my hip and legs were badly scraped. Holding in my tears of agony, I slowly drove back to my house and said I’d call him after I got cleaned up. After he drove around the corner, I sprinted through the front door and screamed for my mom. At that moment I was the king of the world To be honest, I had never told her that I was riding this motorized vehicle. So, when she questioned me, I simply told her I had fallen off my bike. She took me down to the ocean and carefully washed off my scrapes and cleaned the gravel out of my hand. The salt stung my open wounds. When she had finished, I limped over to my friend’s house. I was feeling terrible, not just because of my injuries, but because I felt guilty. My mother had recited over and over how dangerous dirt bikes were and that I was never to ride them. The thrill of the ride clouded my judgment, and I did not heed her warnings. Later that evening, we all went out to dinner. My sister had been with my dad in town during the day and was unaware of my injuries. So, when I was scooping up my lobster ravioli she noticed the cuts on my arm. She questioned me about the cuts and my mom replied that I fell off my bike. She misunderstood and thought my mom had said dirt bike so she blurted, “You fell off the dirt bike! Aha! Jesse said that thing was extremely safe!” My dad chimed in with, “How did you fall? You looked like you were great at riding it when I saw you!” My mom glared at me. Watching my mom’s face, realizing that she had been misled, was sheer agony. Her words, “I see you conveniently neglected to tell me the whole story,” felt like daggers in my heart. Suddenly, as I looked at her face, I realized that trust was a very fragile thing. Her eyes clearly told me that I had lost her trust. I always knew she would forgive me, but I still regret hurting her because of my need for speed. Michael Scognamiglio, 13 Saddle River, New Jersey Zachary Meyer, 10Shelby Township, Michigan
The Truth About Sparrows
The Truth About Sparrows, by Marian Hale; Henry Holt and Company: New York, 2oo4; $16.95 The truth about sparrows takes you right back into the Great Depression. From the minute you open the book, all of Sadie Wynn’s burdens will be yours. From the very beginning: having to give up a home, the only home you’ve known all your life. Sadie has to deal with it all. The Wynns have to leave their wonderful farm in Missouri to go to Texas. On the way, they meet a girl, Dollie, and her family Dollie becomes Sadie’s friend throughout the story But to be true to Dollie, Sadie will have to let go of someone from the past: Wilma. Wilma is Sadie’s best friend back in Missouri. As you read the book, you discover what Sadie discovers: that even if you trust your friends so much, they could still dump you. I’ve had some experiences like that, including when a friend and I had too many play dates and always got annoyed at each other. Now we’re friends again. But even though Wilma promises to, she never writes to Sadie. Sadie sends her three letters and doesn’t hear back. Sadie thinks at one point, “Wilma could be anywhere. But mostly, she was gone.” In my favorite part of the story it’s Halloween night and Sadie and some friends tell ghost stories. The book really comes alive, like a personal experience. I’ve spent time making up funny stories with friends and it sure is a lot of fun. Sadie tells a story about Wilma’s brother who heard and even felt a ghost. I enjoyed that scene a lot. I guess you’re wondering why this book has its name. One day, a man comes by a tent the Wynns are living in. He asks if they’ll give him something to eat, and Sadie’s mama obliges. The next day, Sadie is mad and looks for a place to be alone. She startles a sparrow who flies to another perch. Then Sadie is startled by a movement in a cardboard box. She moves closer and sees that it’s the man her mother fed the day before. From then on she calls him Mr. Sparrow. I studied sparrows in first grade. They’re the sweetest, most ordinary birds. Perhaps that sweetness and ordinariness is the truth about sparrows, and the truth about the man whose life is so hard he lives in a box. There is a lot of talk about poverty in the book. Sadie overhears a conversation between a boy and his dad that really stayed with me. The dad describes ” . . . kids sleeping in the cold under Hoover blankets and scouring the dumps for food.” “What’s a Hoover blanket, Papa?” “A newspaper, son. Just a newspaper.” This book taught me a lot of history Hoover was a man who was President during part of the Depression. This is what I saw when I traveled to India. Poverty. India is filled with it. “Too many people and not enough jobs,” is another line from the book. Whenever you stop at a red light in Mumbai, kids will come to your car, trying to sell you something. Elderly men will ask you for money The Depression did that to people, too. This story will make you brood even after the last page is read. It has something to offer to everybody History, friendship, and the real preciousness of life. I recommend this book to everybody who reads this review! Julia Worcester,10Bronx, New York
Shannon
Shannon lifted her head and howled into the empty black sky. It was a sad, mournful song, shattering the cold silence. Slowly the old wolf dipped her muzzle to her toes in a sort of bow. Her graying white coat bristled slightly in the chilly breeze. Snow surrounded her, looking like a big, beautiful quilt of cotton. Only her soft paw prints disturbed it. She howled again. It echoed off of the nearby mountains, but again, there was no reply. Shannon stood up and shook herself of the snow, which sprayed everywhere. Then she walked over to the trees, her paws sweeping lightly over the snow. She stopped and listened, but heard nothing. The great, snow-topped trees loomed above her, as though taunting her, but she just walked on. She heard crackling in the bush next to her and flinched. Then she broke out into a fast-moving trot. She trotted through the big cluster of tall trees, pausing once in a while to sniff around. Finally she came to a small clearing. A small, wooden cabin lay nestled tightly in the deep snow; the tiny windows leaked long, eerie shadows onto the tree trunks nearby. The door of the cabin swung open to reveal a young woman with curly, chestnut-red hair, and a big moose-skin coat. She walked out and shut the door quietly behind her. “Hi Shannon, are you hungry?” Shannon paused for a second before coming out of the trees to greet the woman. Her brilliant green eyes darted around. “Hi Shannon, are you hungry?” The woman smiled and pulled out a small can of dog food, which Shannon eyed. The woman laughed. Then, with her mitten, she dug a shallow hole and dumped the contents of the can into it. “Eat,” she commanded, and gave Shannon one more pat before turning back to the cabin. Shannon dipped her head and started to eat. Once she was finished, Shannon walked back into the trees and pawed the snow, checking how soft it was. Then she lay down, tucked her nose under her tail, and with a sigh, closed her eyes. Instantly, she was asleep. * * * Shannon was awakened by the barking of some young, energetic dogs. Heaving herself to her feet, Shannon yawned. Then she trotted back to the same clearing as the night before, taking great, sweeping strides. She knew exactly what was going on, and she did not want to miss it. * * * When Shannon reached the small clearing, she was met by the woman who had fed her the night before. In the woman’s hand was a dog-mushing harness. “Shannon, do you want to go for a trail run?” the woman asked kindly Shannon wagged her tail before dropping her head so that she could be harnessed. Just as the woman was finishing up with Shannon a short and rather stocky man stepped out of the cabin. His eyes focused on Shannon right away. “Smart dog ye got there Kayla,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. “She isn’t a dog, John, she’s a wolf. Caught her myself, as a pup, I did. But yeah, she’s very smart and tame all right.” Kayla hooked Shannon up to the rest of the team, and snapping the last piece into place, waved at the man. “I’ll be back before dark; you can count on that. I’m an experienced musher of course. Well, bye.” Kayla waved at the man. Then she bent over to make sure everything was packed, just in case. Shannon tossed her head restlessly. She loved trail runs, as long as getting ready didn’t take too long. Most of the dogs in harness were just getting exercised, and knew the trail well. Only one dog didn’t. Roxy was a dark gray husky with a pure white mask on her face. She was fairly young, new to the trail, a little bit skittish, and was extremely afraid of thunder and lightning. This was who Shannon was placed beside. She was not extremely fond of the idea of running with a pup, and was ready to teach Roxy that, except Kayla called upon them to go. Shannon trotted along, enjoying the beautiful scenery The trees that had loomed so high above her the night before, now seemed welcoming. The snow now sparkled as the strong, early morning sun shone down upon it, creating a dazzling sight. Shannon wished her partner, Mendae, could see it. Like her, Mendae was a wolf, caught and tamed by Kayla. She was, like most wolves, gray. But unlike most wolves, she had one blue eye, and one green. Recently, Mendae had taken a bad fall and broke her paw. The vet said she would never walk again, but she proved him ‘wrong. He said she would never be a good sled dog anymore, but Kayla hoped she could prove him wrong again, but so far she hadn’t. * * * Roxy leaned over and bit Shannon’s ear playfully Shannon gave a warning growl and bared her gleaming, white teeth. Roxy whined. “Shannon, Roxy, break it up! You guys are supposed to get along!” Kayla jiggled the sled ropes, trying to catch the team’s attention. The dogs threw all of their weight into the chest pad of the harness. The sled creaked as it slowly started to move. It bounced along the trail, hitting many bumps as it gathered speed. Roxy began to bark excitedly as the dogs fell into an easy rhythm. Shannon just pushed harder into her chest pad, her paws turning up small clouds of snow. It seemed as though she was trying to get away from the pup, even though she knew perfectly that she couldn’t. “Keep going! You guys are doing great! Go!” Kayla called, trying to encourage the team into going faster. A gust of wind blew softly, tossing Kayla’s long red hair this way and that. The team trotted on, through the winding trail that seemed almost endless. Soon the wind
Dawn
The first shaft of luminous light travels, its speed unthinkable Over the horizon, through the trees, And into my open eyes. Birds hop about, like people, Trying to find a good Perch, branch, position In life. Satisfied, they begin their Throaty chorusing, declaring only the best. Window open, the maple and oak Scent drifts like it has done For millions of years, a crisp Beginning to the significance Of the day, three hundred and Sixty-five rotations a year, Time’s luck which decides so much. As after a rainstorm, Water has never smelled so sweet. During the time between dreams And reality, air has never Tasted so good. Wujun Ke,13Chapel Hill, North Carolina
Forest
It was the afternoon in the forest. It was a hot and muggy afternoon too, when the air hung heavily between the gnarled and ancient tree trunks, their rough bark creased and lined through the passage of years. The early morning mist had long since disappeared. Spider webs now hung aimlessly between the brownish-green undergrowth, illuminated by the blazing summer sun peering in through the thick canopy of trees. There was a soft crunching and crackling sound of dead leaves and small insects scrambled as quickly as they could to get away as a small patch of bristling ferns parted, and out of it emerged the boy. He pushed his way ruthlessly through the thick undergrowth that covered the forest floor, snapping the sharp, dry branches that stuck out to bar his path, but he did so expertly, making sure to create as little noise as possible. He paused for a moment, panting softly, before turning around to look cautiously over his shoulder. No one. No one but the seemingly endless canopy of tall, majestic trees, surrounded by ferns and bushes, their knotted trunks reaching up to touch the brilliant blue sky that occasionally became visible but was usually too bright for him to look at on days like this. No one but the small brown squirrel that immediately spotted him as he looked, and then scooted off to the other side of the tree it clung to. He sensed a vague lingering hint of danger in this area of the forest Well, it almost scooted. On sweltering, stifling days like these, all creatures in the forest were more sluggish than usual, and as for the boy, he became tired and sweaty more easily. Today in particular. The boy sat down slowly on a nearby burnt and jagged tree stump, only after checking for ants’ nests of course. He sensed a vague lingering hint of danger in this area of the forest, and he knew he would be slower to react to it now, his senses dulled by heat, thirst, and pure exhaustion. Still, he could not go on for much longer without rest. The boy sniffed the air expertly, he had years of experience, but today all he smelt was the pine needles that covered the forest floor, the dark brown soil, and the muggy, stifling, humid air. Seeing as the air would reveal nothing, the boy pricked up his ears and listened. No luck. Only the distant sound of birds chirruping in the canopy and the low, infuriating hum of mosquitoes. The boy wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and fanned himself unsuccessfully with his hand. His throat was dry and parched, and it would be a long walk to get to any clean liquid to drink. He spotted a nearby almost bare berry bush and grabbed the only visible berry he could see off it. He put it slowly into his mouth. The sour flavor erupted into his tastebuds. He ate it as slowly as possible, trying to savor the moisture. But it was small, and did not last long, doing nothing to satisfy his burning throat. A rustling in the leaves made him jump to his feet. He spun around to see another brown squirrel dashing away through the undergrowth. The boy turned away, and, checking over his shoulder one last time, set off again, walking rapidly through the thick and seemingly impenetrable undergrowth. He had to keep going. This was no time to give up. Suddenly another rustling made him spin around. This one seemed more distant and farther away. The boy eyed it suspiciously and began to slowly back away. The rustling was becoming steadily clearer and sharper as it came closer. From its sound, and years of experience, the boy was able to decipher that it was a much bigger animal that was now coming towards him. The crunching of the leaves from its footsteps seemed to indicate a sort of lumbering, awkward gait. Almost instantly the boy knew what it probably was. A bear. Slowly, his heart thumping against his ribcage, the boy backed away even further. Luckily, he knew how to deal with this sort of problem. Now, all he needed was a tree to climb. The boy scanned the trees, looking for a suitable branch he could pull himself up onto. The rustling, meanwhile, was getting louder. The boy realized in an instant that the bear was too close by for him to have enough time to get onto the higher branches out of its reach. Any minute now, it would enter the patch of forest with the boy. Why oh why hadn’t he heard it coming earlier?! The boy backed away even farther, his mind racing furiously. The bear, judging by its gait and size, was probably a grizzly. There was no escape for him now. The bear had left the boy with no choice. Roger!!! What on earth is this?!! His hands quivering slightly, the boy reached down and pulled out one of his most treasured possessions, his spear. Made from the perfect strong tree branch, with a skillfully sharpened stone arrowhead tied to the top, he regarded it with pride. Slowly, the boy lowered his spear so it pointed to the exact direction of the rustling and, with a pounding heart, waited. Meanwhile, the bear, judging again by the sudden increased speed of its footsteps on the leaves, had broken into a charge and now opened its mouth into a terrible, vicious bloodthirsty roar. A roar that shook the canopy and made the boy cringe with fear. “Roger!!! What on earth is this?!! You’re supposed to be doing your math homework!! Are you hiding in the forest again?!! You had better not be or there will be trouble!!” * * * The boy quickly turned and dashed away through the undergrowth, clutching his spear in one hand, before disappearing, silent as a shadow, away into the muggy depths of the forest. Rachael Goddard Rebstein,
Kanei’s Treasure
Her name is Kanei Miyamoto. Her father is Japanese, while her mother is Cantonese. She kissed her mother and grandmother goodbye, waved, and stepped out of her two-floored house in Kobe, Japan. Walking down the short road to her school, she slightly shifted her black landoseru or, in other words, leather school bag. She glanced at her watch. Three more minutes — if she didn’t make haste, she would be late. Half jogging and half running, Kanei approached the school gates. It was lively, with groups of ecstatic girls and boys scattered everywhere, coming from every direction you can name. Looking around, Kanei shrank down ten inches —it was obvious that everyone here was pure Japanese. I don’t know what to do here, and I have no idea where my class is, she told herself. King-kong-kang-kong, king-kong-king-kong . . . the bells rang. Interesting I thought that bells are supposed to have only one sound that rings for five seconds or so. Kanei entered the building. It appeared like a maze to her . . . and it was her first time to ever go inside the school. She wasn’t accustomed to the Japanese setting of schools. Back where she used to live, her parents couldn’t afford the fees, so she attended a public school taught in English. “Ahem, um, would you please tell me where Mr. Yamanagi’s class is? I think I’m lost,” she randomly chose a tall, dainty girl to ask. The girl’s long hair swung around. “Do you mean Yamanagi sensei?” the girl questioned. ‘Ahem, um, would you please tell me where Mr. Yamanagi’s class is? I think I’m lost” Oh yeah, oops! Kanei forgot that she was supposed to call her teachers sensei, for teacher! “Um, yes!” “Oh, well, I’m going there now. Just follow me.” “Thanks.” “No problem. You’re new here?” “Um, yes.” “What’s your name?” “Kanei Miyamoto. Yours?” “Satsuki Takahara.” Kanei felt somewhat relieved and felt like she had found a friend. All her other classmates were already in the class. “Sit down, class, and we will begin.” There was a robust man standing in front of the class, and Kanei figured that it was Yamanagi sensei. The giggling and gossiping in the class died down. “All right, welcome class to the start of ichigakki, first term. I am your teacher this year. Let’s begin by introducing ourselves to each other. How about we start with you.” Yamanagi sensei pointed at a small boy sitting in a corner. He stood up and walked to the front of the class. “Hi. I’m Kenta Nakamu. My birthday is November 5, 1993, and I was born in Osaka. My hobbies are baseball, soccer, video games, and comics. My dream for the future is to be the next Hideki Matsui.” The class applauded. One by one, the students took turns. Oh no, I don’t want to do this. “Next, please.” Kanei knew it was her turn. “Hello, my name is Kanei Miyamoto. I was born in Shen Zhen, China, on May 17, 1993. I like to draw, play tennis, and sing. Someday, I would like to become a singer in a theater. This is the first time I am living in Japan and going to a real Japanese school, so . . . ” “Ha ha ha. Phugh!” A bunch of boys burst out laughing, and girls whispered behind cupped hands to each other. Satsuki was one of them. Kanei just gazed, bewildered. Did I do anything wrong? ” . . . well, so I hope you will all help me settle here.” Silence. Kanei didn’t know if she should sit or stay She looked at Yamanagi sensei. He seemed to be troubled. “Uh, um, thank you, Kanei. Let’s all help Kanei, right?” Silence. “Right, class?” “Ye-es,” murmured the class. “Kanei,” inquired Yamanagi sensei, “can you read and write? Do you know kanji, the Japanese characters?” Snickers. “Yes, I can, sensei I was tutored every week in Japanese studies.” Kanei felt humiliated. “Oh. Then, good.” The rest of the class continued with the self-introducing, and class started. In no time, it was recess. Kanei hunted for Satsuki, but to no avail. Desisting, she spotted a girls’ washroom and decided to set foot in it. Just when she was about to open the door, it was yanked out of her hands and flung open. “Oh, Satsuki, there you are! I was looking for you, and . . . ” “You were? Well, I’m sor-ry.” Kanei sensed some sarcasm in Satsuki’s tone. Kanei was taken aback. “Well, I was just wondering if we could spend the recess together, since . . .” “Oh, well. I can’t. I’m not going to waste my life caring for a Chinese girl!” With that, Satsuki tossed her hair at Kanei, raised her nose high into the air, and went away. Gee, she sure is in some bad mood. Although feeling much aggrieved, Kanei managed to swallow the pain and went back to class. “Attention, class, attention. I have an important announcement to make. All the shogaku rokunen, primary six students, will be performing a school musical play in two months’ time. If you wish to get one of the main vocal roles, you must attend the audition tomorrow after school, enjoy singing and acting, and be free every day for the next two months.” Sounds perfect for me. Perhaps it’ll help me make some friends here. The following day, Kanei made her way to Nishima sensei’s class, her music teacher. There were about fifteen people for the audition, and Nishima sensei recorded everyone’s names onto a piece of paper in her hands. “Everyone, please take a seat. We will begin soon. Hashimoto sensei, your art teacher, and Otsuka sensei, your principal, along with me, are the judges. We will judge you by having you all sing the song ‘Sukiyaki’ today I will accompany you with the melody on piano. Everyone knows the song, right?” Everyone, including Kanei, nodded. This was one of
Sailing
The wind caresses my hair As I grasp the tiller, The direction of the sail in my hands. I watch the dazzling turquoise water Splash up against the boat, And glance up at my grandma’s magnificent face. “Am I doing OK?” She answers with a smile and a wink. I feel so good, With the seagulls flying all around me, And the warm summer sunshine Beating on my bare back. I feel so good, With wonder flying all around me And the warm love of my grandma Beating in my soul. Claudia Celovsky,13Bloomfield Hills, Michigan
Moon Child
The night air was crisp and cool upon Jake’s face. Millions of tiny lights filled the sky like a field of fireflies. Like most nights, Jake sat on the old oak stump in the center of the silent woods. But tonight was special; he could feel it, the tension in the air, the stillness of the seemingly nonexistent wildlife. Something was to happen. A warm breeze stirred the trees, their great green leaves shimmering in the moonlight. Jake looked up at the moon, he broke out in a grin and rose to his feet, the air before him shimmered like waves lapping at his bare feet. His ragged jeans hung loosely about his slender frame, his rough crop of midnight-black hair dancing in the breeze, his leather jacket dully reflecting the light from the iridescent moon. It was happening. In the distance a lone wolf released its mournful cry, the forest around seemed to answer. All at once a great clamor arose as out of the trees broke hundreds of birds. Below them on the ground picturesque white-tail deer, along with bears and foxes, ran away from the clearing. As soon as it had begun, it ended, and everything was still once more. They knew it was to happen. In the distance a lone wolf released its mournful cry The aurora of shimmering air encircled Jake, glittering around him like morning dew in the new sun’s light. Jake stood stock still, the grin gone from his face to be replaced by a look of awe, nothing like this had happened before in his lifetime, he knew nothing about what was going on, except that it was part of him, and that it was meant to be. A loud, earsplitting crack broke the silence of the night. Out of nowhere a bluegreen bolt of lightning flew towards the earth at an astounding speed. Jake’s body began to change, the smile had returned as he crouched on the ground. The bolt of lightning struck the ground not an inch before Jake’s face. Fiery multicolored sparks flew, striking Jake all over. It was happening. The ragged jeans and leather jacket fell away, along with the other articles of clothing, no longer necessary on this body of dense black fur. Jake lifted his new ca- nine head and loosed such a howl that the very air seemed to vibrate with its melodious notes. Jake turned, the shimmering air was gone, his time had come, as it now would for the rest of his life. He was a lycan, a demon, a werewolf. Another call answered his, and he trotted off towards the reply. Above him the clouds parted, revealing a full blue moon. The Jake-wolf sat on his haunches, and howled once more at this sign of power. It had happened. Brian Hoover, 12Bend, Oregon Hannah Tyler, 13Grapevine, Texas
The King of Slippery Falls
The King of Slippery Falls, by Sid Hite; Scholastic Press: New York, zoo4; $16.95 Imagine it’s your birthday. Your parents gave you a surprising gift that revealed your origin. How would you react? Lewis Hinton, an ordinary boy in The King of Slippery Falls, is shocked on his fifteenth birthday, when he discovers that he’s adopted. For one year, he tries to learn about his real family. On his sixteenth birthday, his adopted mother, Martha, surprises Lewis with a letter from his real mother, J. A. Poisson. The letter reveals Lewis’s real name: Louis Poisson, and his real mother gave him away to Avery, his adopted father, to find her husband and freedom. Lewis is angry with his real mother because she basically abandoned him for her own freedom! Lewis also feels angry with Martha for hiding this for s-i-x-t-e-e-n years! Now that’s quite a long time to keep a secret. If I were Lewis, I probably would have thrown a fit and started screaming in anger, and inside, I would have felt pretty sad, too. Lewis’s friend, Sophie, and an eighty-eight-year-old woman named Maple tell him that he’s of French origin by his last name, Poisson, like my last name, Chakraborti, reveals that I’m of Indian origin. Maple is what’s called “one of a kind.” She told Lewis that he’s possibly descended from King Louis XV She explains life’s gradual, out-of-the-blue, and inspirational changes to Lewis. A person’s life is like a story because both experience these three changes. I found this explanation most interesting. When I saw the misery of the evacuees from Hurricanes Katrina and Rita on TV, I thought it like a major turning point in their lives. The devastation symbolized out-of-the-blue changes for these evacuees. Anyhow, Lewis’s origin gets importance in his one-horse town, Slippery Falls, and the town gets vibrant. Lewis becomes the center of attention in the town. Embarrassed, he tries to stop it. I recall a rumor in my school that I liked a girl, named Laura. I felt that everyone in the school enjoyed their time by conversations involving our relationship. Thank goodness it ended. There’s another important event in this story Lewis spots a trout in the town’s waterfall and he’s determined to catch that fish. One day Lewis goes to the waterfall on his quest. He almost has the fish, but then slips and hits his head against a rock and gets unconscious, and bleeds heavily He’s taken to the hospital. Fortunately, Maple’s blood saves his life. But he fails to achieve his goal. I felt pretty sad about that. Sometimes I try very hard to achieve goals. No matter how much perseverance I have, when I can’t achieve them, I feel down. While he recovers, Lewis decides to go to France to learn about the ways of the French, his people. He and his girlfriend, Amanda, organize a car wash to raise money for the trip. My parents are from India, and last summer, I went there to visit my relatives. Before I went, I learned a little of my native tongue, Bengali, from my parents, like Lewis learned some French before he went to France, from Sophie. Learning Bengali helped me enjoy the Bengali culture while I was there, and now I really like it. Lewis will probably enjoy the French culture. Bon voyage, Louis! Neil Chakraborti, 12Tuscaloosa, Alabama
A Hidden Reflection
In the meadow everything was silent and untouched. Maria looked over the vast field and the woods beyond and everything was blanketed in a thick layer of velvety snow. The air was cold and crisp, and stung Maria’s throat and chest while she panted slightly from the run to this beautiful place. But she didn’t see it as beautiful. Maria thought that the snow’s glare was too harsh and the bitter cold wind was cruel and merciless. She missed the warm sun from back in Hawaii where she was from. This was her first winter here in Oregon and everything about it made her more and more homesick. Instead of breathing in a gentle breeze filled with the fragrant scent of flowers and a touch of pineapple and coconut, she was breathing in nothing but the strong smells of snow and pine needles. Back at home she would have been lying on a warm, soft beach, feeling all the grains of beautiful white sand underneath her. Now she was standing bundled up in prickly scarves and hats with the rattling, empty crunch of snow and frost underneath her. Maria looked around at the meadow and said quietly to herself, “How I wish I was back home. Or at least with my friends.” And then, as if to answer her, a bundle of jackets, scarves, and mittens fell out of the nearby tree, screaming. Maria gasped and ran over just in time to see that there was a girl in the midst of all of them, looking more like she had just won the lottery than fallen out of a fifteen-foot tree. “Whoa! Ha ha ha! That was sooo fun!” she shrieked joyfully. In that reflection Maria saw her days with Sophie ahead of her “Are you OK?” Maria inquired anxiously. The girl merely looked at her in surprise as if seeing her for the first time. Her large blue eyes widened with delight. “Oh, who are you? I’m Sophie! I can’t believe you’re here! Mama told me our neighbors would be arriving soon but I had no idea how soon! Hi!” Sophie looked expectantly at Maria, her eyes fluttering excitedly as if she thought that Maria was about to proclaim that she was a fairy princess from Australia. “Um, I’m Maria. I come from Hawaii. Nice to meet you.” “It’s not nice, it’s spectacular!” exclaimed Sophie, tossing back her curly blond hair with one gloved hand. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend! Come with me! I’ll show you around.” With that Sophie grabbed Maria’s arm and led her around the meadow, pointing out different types of trees and winter animals as they went. They walked so far and long that by the time they were done there was hardly a patch of snow that was not covered in small boot tracks. After a while, Maria gasped, “I don’t think I can take another step, let alone get home. Please let me stop and rest.” “Oh, very well. Hurry, though! I’m going to show you my favorite place in the world.” Maria sat down and felt her heart beating heavily inside of her. Thump, thump, thump. Her mind was racing too. Was she actually having fun? Did she really like it here? What about Hawaii? Home? But Sophie was so nice and funny. Would they be friends? And could she ever forget about the warm beaches and swaying palm fronds? “Are you done yet? It’s gonna get real cold if we just sit here doing nothing.” And with that Sophie burst into a line of cartwheels, finally tumbling into the snow, her hat askew and her freckled face shining with joy and pink from the cold. Maria stood, laughing so hard her cheeks hurt. Sophie stood up too and after a full minute of nonstop laughter she wheezed, “I guess . . . ha ha ha . . . we should carry on. Come on! I’ll show you my special place but I’m warning you, it’s a secret and I mean to keep it that way Just over this way!” Maria followed and watched as Sophie burrowed through the bushes, disappearing into the other side. And then, rather hesitantly, Maria did the same and was immediately in awe of the sight in front of her. They were in a medium-sized enclosed area and Maria’s first impression was that she had somehow journeyed into one of those beautiful sceneries in the movies her older sister, Kami, watched. Taking up most of the space were three cherry-blossom trees, forming a perfectly straight line of strong sturdy trunks and outstretched branches. The branches were almost completely bare but every once in a while Maria could catch a glimpse of a little pink blossom budding and spreading out its delicate petals. In it, it carried the beauty of being so small, serene and tranquil, and outside of it the color was dainty and pastel. “Whoa . . .” “Nice isn’t it?” “It’s not nice, it’s spectacular!” giggled Maria. She never saw sights like this in Hawaii. “Well, that’s not all! You won’t believe what else there is, right behind the trees, hidden by all those flowers and branches.” Maria walked carefully around the trees, not wanting to disturb something so pure and beautiful. And true enough; hidden behind the rest, there was a small pond of crystal ice, the sun’s weak light bouncing off of it and the cherry-blossom trees casting spiral shadows over it. Maria looked deeply into it and saw that while the outer layer was ice, beneath that there were a few inches of tinkling water. And almost completely hidden by the ice, there was a faint reflection of two girls looking back up at them. One was blond, fair-skinned, and had huge blue eyes. The other had dark brown eyes surrounded by long eyelashes, a cinnamon- colored complexion, and long black hair. In that reflection Maria saw her days with Sophie ahead of her, and their blooming
Tickle Me Pink
Buzz! The familiar sounds of bees pierce my ears As I lay on the dewy morning grass. Sprawled next to me is Tessa, My younger sister, Doodling with her favorite crayon. “Tickle Me Pink, Isn’t that a funny name?” I ask. Squish! I roll over to hear her reply, and Stubbles of the freshly mowed grass stick to my back. Giving me her naive face she answers, “What color is your heart?” Not wanting to confuse the toddler, I flop against the pole of the basketball hoop with a Thud! “What color is spring?” Tessa persists. I was too old for her childish games, “I don’t know, now hurry up it’s at least 1000 degrees out!” The grass squelches as she stumbles towards me, Waving her drawing like a trophy She sticks it in my face, and I see her masterpiece: A picture of her and me, Lying together in the grass On a warm spring day “Your heart is pink,” She points to my chest in the drawing, “And so is spring.” She points to the grass, sky, and flowers. And at that moment, my Tickle-Me-Pink heart Is a blossoming bud. Marissa Bergman, 12Farmington, Connecticut
The Animal Kingdom
Clouds lollygagged across the sky, carried gently by the occasional half-hearted gust of wind. The sun, giving its all for that clear sunny perfect day we’d been hoping for, was defeated by the humid cloud that seemed to swallow up all of Pinckney, Michigan. We were left sticky and disgusted but somehow satisfied with the green grass that had finally replaced the snow. Sounds like any old April day, right? Ha! That’s what I thought too. If I could have predicted the future then, I wouldn’t come back to this memory, my last good memory with him, every other night in my dreams. If I could undo everything now and relive it over and over again and never feel anything but the feeling I had then and there, I’d be happy I would be honestly happy for the rest of my life. Yeah, if I could undo everything and erase the unwanted, everything would be fine. But I can’t, and it’s not. You see, it started as just another one of my trips to Michigan to visit my crazy, gotta-love-’em, family. Mom was hustling around, neatly stuffing all of the essentials into suitcases. Dad was doing what she told him to. Fluffy, our cat, was lying on the suitcases, effectively protesting our departure. And I was going through a mental list of everything I needed and always forgot: alarm clock—check; riding jeans and sneakers—check; underwear—check; hair towel—ooh . . . the hair towel—check. It was all normal. Things still proceeded as normal from the taxi ride, to the plane ride, to the two-hour car ride to my grandparents’ house in Pinckney, Michigan. I loved the beautiful spot. Grandpa loved us, and we all loved being there . . . together When we finally arrived we were greeted with hugs and kisses from my aunts, cousins and of course my grandma and grandpa. There, and only there, my mother finally relaxed and got prepared for sleeping in and no cooking. I was happy too for I was at my favorite place in the world. What could be better than to be spoiled, loved, always have something to do, and be surrounded by cousins? Days in Michigan were always laid back: sometimes we would go to Screams, a Halloween-themed ice cream store appropriately placed in Hell, Michigan; other times we would ride horses, go to the lake, or just hang out and be with each other. I guess it didn’t really matter what we did, as long as it was with the people we loved. The first day started like it always did in Michigan, at 7:30, to the TV news and laughing voices of my grandparents. I tiptoed down the squishy-carpeted steps like I always did and snuggled into my spot in my grandpa’s lap. Then after a minute, he started drumming his fingers on my knee, like he always did. As the day proceeded, my newly crowned four-year-old cousin came over and was excited to see me, her magical cousin. After chasing her around for half the day and laughing a lot, I was tired and the humid air got me feeling stickier than a melted popsicle, but no, Katie wasn’t tired. At that point I dragged her over to where my grandpa was sitting drinking some ice water on the porch and I gave him a look. He seemed to receive it correctly as “Help me!” because he looked at Katie and asked her if she wanted to go on a picnic. I watched and smiled as her little blue eyes widened and her jaw dropped. I followed her into the kitchen where we packed some crackers and pop in a little wooden basket with a quilt. We then tromped back out and met my grandpa where he was standing, turning off the electric fences that contained the horses. We started walking past the barn—a place filled with happy memories of horseback riding. Inside I could hear hoofs hitting the ground, music playing and my aunt singing along. We kept walking into the pasture where Peaches and Misty, the large, beastly, gorgeous inhabitants, munched on their evening hay, and down the long hill to the back of the pasture, farther and farther away from my grandma who I could still see in the bright kitchen happily making dinner. I had never been that far back in my grandparents’ property. I asked him where we were going but he just said, “You’ll see.” I laughed and looked over at my little cousin who was smiling and looking very excited. We kept walking, past the compost pile and the garden, past the little heap of junk that we never got around to cleaning up, farther and farther into the silence broken only by the occasional chirp of the crickets. We finally ducked under a broken part of the fence and entered a new world, our world. Katie called it the Animal Kingdom. There weren’t many inhabitants: just some bunnies, a gopher we expected by the hole, the occasional deer, and some bugs. You might think that it was generous to call it an animal kingdom but that is what it was. In our kingdom we found a broken metal chair that looked like it had been sitting there for years, obviously of a long, royal, mysterious past. That would be the throne. We also found some ducks, a mommy and a daddy, that would be the king and queen. You might say it was nothing special, just a grassy spot on the edge of a secret duck pond, sheltered by trees and high grass. Forgotten and taken over by the bugs. But it wasn’t, not to us. We loved it. Katie loved the bramble bushes, which, if you were willing to get scratched a little and push aside the branches, revealed a top-secret hideaway I loved the beautiful spot. Grandpa loved us, and we all loved being there . . . together. We had our picnic on the edge of
