Crunch. Crack. The pavement gurgles under our car. My excitement turns the corners of my mouth up. We are going miniature golfing for the first time. I push the button to open the window. The crisp fall air lifts the pieces of hair that rest on my forehead. The light is like liquid, shimmering down from the sky. Everything is palpable. The royal, jade trees, the soft, quiet pale blue of the sky and the warmth of my rose-pink fleece sweatshirt on my skin. We follow the wrong road and we don’t see the right signs. Finally, after searching, we find our path. When we get to the park, there is a sign that reads, “Closed. Under Construction.” I sigh as my breath circles around me. We get back into the car. My mom announces that we are going to find Jones Beach. I wonder how we will swim in weather that bites at your face. We can’t find Jones Beach but we find our way to Oyster Bay Beach. We go to an ice cream parlor near the sand. As we walk towards the boardwalk, I slip the blue plastic spoon into my mouth as the Oreo ice cream slides down my throat. I begin to skip but bend down to tie my blue-and-white sneakers perched on the ground like a blue jay’s vibrant wing. We walk as our feet tap on the wooden boards. The ocean wrinkles to my left and my sister walks next to me on my right. The wind blows through our ink-black hair and we all smile. We do not talk. The wind whispers secrets that we do not have to speak. The setting sun melts like sweet butter into the ocean. This day that we had not planned was perfect My thoughts wander and the boardwalk stretches far as if being pulled by a giant. I think about my birthday that just passed, and how I spent months planning it out to be perfect. In the end, it did not live up to the times and activities I had carefully laid out on paper. Now that I look back, how could a game end at a perfect hour and not interfere with the next activity? I had tried my hardest to anticipate the exactness of the special day but I had not succeeded. We finally reach a bench next to a broad and aged tree a few feet off the boardwalk. The knotted roots tightly embrace the splintery edges of the bench. I sit down as the lowest branch gently grazes the top of my head. I squeeze my mom’s hand tightly, look far out across the golden water and smile. This day that we had not planned was perfect. Serena Alagappan, 12New York, New York Emma Collington, 13Waterloo, Ontario, Canada
Counter Clockwise
Counter Clockwise, by Jason Cockcroft; Katherine Tegen Books: New York, 2009; $15.99 Have you ever read a book that has changed the way you look at your life? A book that opens your eyes? Counter Clockwise did that for me. Suddenly, you don’t take everything for granted. Most days I wake up, look at the clock, get dressed and head downstairs. I am in the same house, same place; I am with the same people. It’s a secure feeling, like a rooster crowing at the break of day. I always took that for granted, waking up in the morning and having a house and parents that care for you. I never quite realized how lucky I am, that my life is intact and doesn’t just break apart suddenly. Like shattering a thin layer of ice. But some people aren’t so lucky. They set out one day and take the wrong step and suddenly things shatter. This happens in Counter Clockwise, by Jason Cockcroft. A bus that is just going too fast hits Cornelle, Nathan’s mom. The bus tries to stop but it’s too slippery, and right there in that split second life will never be the same for Nathan or his family. The author captured those seconds when the bus slides but can’t stop. My heart beats as if I am there living the life of Nathan. Every single person has the right to choose his or her step. As I write this I choose to tap this review out. I don’t have to but I do. Changing the course of my life in a small way but still changing it. Anybody can accomplish anything because they choose the steps they walk. Nathan’s mom made the wrong steps. Why does it have to happen to her? Only fate can tell. Nathan is overcome by grief; he can’t understand why this had to happen to him. One night after school he goes to a bonus class. By the time it’s finished it’s dark. As he waits for his dad, something odd happens. He meets a Beefeater who helps keep the crows away at the Tower of London. He remembers his father telling him his grandfather was a Beefeater. His dad was always embarrassed having his father dress up for a job; in Nathan’s dad’s view not even a job. The creature says his name is Bartelby. Nathan follows him and Bartelby starts changing the dates and papers at the school’s office. Nathan tells him to stop. He says that Bartelby is ruining somebody else’s work. Bartelby turns with a glint in his eye and says, “What would we do if everything were perfect?” That line was interesting to read. It’s true. What would we do if everything were perfect? In India they sew beautiful rugs. They purposely make a mistake so their work is not quite perfect. So the work has character. Then something unimaginable happens, Batelby takes Nathan back in time, counterclockwise, to the day his mother died. He is confused and scared. He walks along and sees his mother about to walk across the road. He runs toward her and then everything is a blur of sirens and shocked people. Nathan begins to move back and forth through time’s mazes. Will Nathan lose himself in the past? Or will he be able to move forward, into the future? Hayden Rasberry, 11Yarker, Ontario, Canada
Lost
It was one of those moments where everything seemed to happen in slow motion Waves pounded on the sides of the boat like relentless punches, throwing the large craft off course. My uncle regained his footing on the drenched deck and forcefully guided the boat through the tormented sea. His black hair whipped around his face and his lips were set in a hard, thin line. All around me crates of life vests slid around the ship. I sidestepped one and lost my footing, tripping over the box. Above, lightning arched across the gray, stormy sky. I scrambled to my feet and glanced around, my senses alert. I spotted my cousin Trent twenty yards away. I ran up and helped him pull a long rope, trying to steady the sails from losing control in the wind. It was like playing tug-of-war with the Empire State Building. I firmly planted my feet on the deck and pulled with all of my strength. No use. Without my uncle it was hopeless. We both let go, defeated. I studied my cousin’s face among the blinding mist. He looked worse than me, almost. His entire body was flushed from strain and his eyes told me that he was on the verge of fainting. Just then, the boat lurched and dipped, threatening to turn over. A mountainous wave swelled next to the ship and crested, higher than the deck. It was one of those moments where everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The tension of foresight tightened my chest as the wave stumbled, losing its balance and crashing down onto the deck. I was flung, powerless, from my cousin, tumbling through the churning wave. I fought to gain control, but my minimal strength was nothing compared to the smashing force of the water. When the wave receded, I found myself lying face down near my uncle, who was clinging to the wheel. “Go!” he shouted through the howling wind. “Wha-?” I started to say, but then I saw what my uncle meant. Trent was clinging to the back of the mermaid statue protruding from the front of the ship out over the water. It didn’t look like he was going to be able to hold on much longer. I raced to the prow, slipping more than once. With no energy left, I hoisted myself up onto the mermaid and, promising myself I wouldn’t look down, crawled slowly towards my cousin. He was straddling the statue, his arms wrapped around her neck. I prayed I’d reach him in time; the wooden ship had become so slippery it was a wonder he was still with us. I moved slowly out over the water. I couldn’t help looking down, despite my promise. Fear gripped me in a choke hold. My stomach seemed to be trying to throw itself up, stuffing itself in my throat. I couldn’t do it. Then, a second tidal wave hit the craft. The ship bobbed threateningly and I lost my grip, slipping off the statue. I closed my eyes, and I couldn’t breathe. Instinctively, I swung my arm backward for support and managed to grab the ship. Digging my fingers in the wet wood, I used the siding of the boat to support myself while I swung my free foot over the railing of the boat. When I was safely on deck, my next thought was about Trent. There was no way he could have made it. I stared into the crashing sea and knew what I had to do. I rushed over to the emergency life craft and struggled inside. Then I took a life vest and secured it on my shoulders and took out my pocketknife. Furiously, I worked on the ropes suspending the small craft until finally they snapped and sent me plummeting down into the violent waters of the sea. I spotted Trent a few yards away in his neon-yellow shirt. I paddled furiously with paddles from the lifeboat, but the waves, which now seemed to have tripled in size, consistently sent me spinning off course. Blinded by fatigue, I gave one final push before I reached him, gliding next to him among the choppy waters. I extended one hand out to pull him toward the lifeboat, but I realized I had no strength left. I barely had enough to breathe. No, I told myself, neither one of us is going to die. My fingers felt the fabric of his shirt. Come on, come on, come on… * * * The next thing I knew, I was lying in the bottom of the lifeboat, Trent next to me. I immediately bolted upright, but a sharp pain in my head made me stumble backward for support. I looked around. Everything was blurry but coming back into focus. The storm seemed to have subsided, but I had completely lost my bearings. All around me was open sea. There was no sign of my uncle’s ship anywhere. Strike that. There was no sign of life anywhere save the unconscious form of my cousin lying unceremoniously in the bottom of the lifeboat with me. The lifeboat was a tiny, sleek design painted white. It had a small, weak motor in the back and a small tin box with first-aid equipment. I turned back to Trent. He was starting to come to, shaking his head slowly. His eyelids fluttered open and he too was greeted by a splitting headache. “Ahh, ow!” he said. “Trent,” I breathed, relieved to see him awake. “I… not…” “Calm down,” I said gently. “We’re OK.” “Is Uncle Frank…?” “I don’t know. I don’t know where we are or he is. I was out cold too for a while.” “We’re lost, aren’t we?” It was quite the inconvenient truth. I slumped over, defeated. This was not how it was supposed to be. When Uncle Frank suggested that Trent and I come along in his authentic 1700s-design tourist ship for a spin a few miles into the sea, getting lost
The Way Life Should Be
Secluding ourselves by a fire, Cherishing a novel. Burning rubber under us, As wind whips our face. Embracing in a hug, When one has not seen The other for years. Smiling, laughing, splashing, As icy water slithers up our bodies. Savoring arctic-cold lemonade, On a blistering summer day. A refined voice departing your throat, As a thunderous boom of applause Emits from the audience. Doing whatever appeals to you, Without any consequences. This is the way life should be, This is the fictional world That we pray becomes reality. But an alarm rings madly, And my wondrous dream comes to an end. Nicky Cannon, 12Dallas, Texas
Cry of the Wild Heart
For a minute there was no sound except for the cold breath of the wind The small, ragged fox trotted along in the dry brush near the train track, head low and ears flattened. His scruffy, dirty, brown coat ruffled slightly in the cold mid-October wind. His alert, dark eyes were half-closed, giving the fox a sharp, hooded gaze. Though barely a foot-and-a-half high, everything about him was tough and quick. He was hungry. The fox lifted his slim muzzle to the wind and sniffed deeply, hoping to catch the whiff of a mouse or a fat starling waddling along the tracks. No other animal was nearby, but there was something tantalizing in the air… He leaped out of the dry bracken and onto the great ridge of white gravel, upon which the railroad tracks lay. Here the fox could have a better view of his surroundings and could better smell more distant odors. Again he snuffed the breeze, short, stiff whiskers trembling. Yes, he could smell it, quite clearly now. It was coming from a small grocery store, from its open garbage cans. The fox left the tracks and with a steady, quick dog-trot headed towards the store. He didn’t mind scavenging—it was certainly easier than hunting, but he preferred fresh meat any day. Still, there were some foods in those garbage cans that he couldn’t get enough of—like the salty potato chip crumbs at the bottoms of those funny crinkly bags. As he neared the grocery store, his ears pricked at the sound of a terrific crash. The fox pushed aside the dry brush, rather startled, but curious. A big male raccoon sat in a jumble of aluminum canisters, banana peels, old eggshells and moldy bread. In his paws was a half-eaten ice cream cone, which he gnawed on with relish. Glancing up for a moment, the raccoon spotted the fox standing in the bracken. He dropped his treat and growled, ready to defend his supply of food. The fox barked back his challenge, teeth bared, and moved forward. Brute strength would not be enough in this battle, he knew. The raccoon was much larger than he. But wit and agility were also valuable traits, and these the fox had. The two wild creatures circled each other, occasionally making experimental snaps and lunges. The raccoon was stronger, younger, and larger than his adversary. But the fox was wiry, swift, and experienced in fighting. For a minute there was no sound except for the cold breath of the wind. Then the raccoon sprang. The fox easily evaded the attack with a leap of his own. He sailed clear over his enemy’s head, landed on the other side, then whirled back and nipped his hindquarters. The raccoon squealed. Claws out and ready, he made a swipe for the fox’s head. But it only connected with hard ground. Again the smaller, quicker creature spun about, then returned, nipping and tormenting. A second time the raccoon dashed to get away. Then, he made a maneuver that was surprisingly quick. He turned swiftly and made a dart at his rival’s side. Teeth sank into the fox’s leg and warm blood spilled onto his paw. Wrenching himself away, the fox leaped on the coon’s back, clawing and snapping. Suddenly he was rolling over and over, gray fur in his mouth, claws in his face, teeth in his shoulder. He lashed out with one front paw, but it found nothing. Then he kicked sharply with both hind legs, slashing the raccoon’s belly. There was a sound somewhere between a growl and a shriek. The coon untangled himself from the fray and bolted for the underbrush. The fox stood still for a moment, panting, as he watched this retreat. When he was sure that the enemy was not returning, he licked his new battle scars and settled himself down for an excellent meal. * * * It was a quiet, misty autumn twilight when the fox began to make his way towards his den. All day he had scouted his territory, checking boundaries and making sure that no intruder fox had invaded. It was not a large territory, but he knew every inch of it well—the best places to hunt, the deepest shadows where he could lie undetected, the busy streets where cars roared constantly. The latter he avoided. The fox only saw humans at a distance and concluded that they did not concern him much. He pressed on, paws flashing back and forth in that mile-eating dog-trot. He sniffed the fine drizzly rain, listened to a few bedraggled sparrows chirping in the brush nearby. He did not stop to hunt them, though. His belly was full. As he approached the small tangle of young trees, the fox halted and peered nervously over his shoulder, making sure no creature saw him. But he was alone. The fox gracefully leaped through a gap in the thicket and tumbled into his close, grassy den. After a moment, he lay down and curled into a ball. He nosed at the rags and dry leaves on the ground, tucking them around his ragged fur to keep warm. Finally, he fell into a deep sleep. * * * The next morning, he slowly awoke to sunlight filtering into his den. Rising, and shaking his fur free of dried leaf bits, he stepped freshly out into the cold early morn. A silver fog blanketed the world. No birds twittered; not a breath of wind stirred the fallen leaves scattered about the ground. The dry, bare plants seemed to shiver, though they did not move. At that moment the sun’s edge peeked over the horizon, tinting the eastern sky with gold. The light spread wide into every corner. The air itself glittered, as if thick with golden dust. The fox lifted his head, breathing in the magic of the silent dawn. A late robin suddenly let his flowing melody loose. It was as if a cord had been snapped. The mist cleared,
Slept Away
Slept Away, by Julie Kraut; Delacorte Books for Young Readers: New York, 2009; $8.99. When I first picked up Slept Away at the bookstore, I expected it to be a fun, entertaining story, and it’s that plus more. In addition to being amusing and lighthearted, this book holds a meaningful message about society, and particularly popularity. All Laney Parker knows is New York City. It’s her home, where she’s lived all of her fifteen years. Summer’s approaching, and she’s looking forward to lounging around in luxury by a beautiful pool with her best friend, Kennedy. She’ll sleep in late every morning, hit all of the huge parties thrown by her peers, and maintain her reputation, while relaxing under the sun for a couple of months. It’ll be a great relief from the stress of the school year. But her mother has different ideas. Wham—Laney’s awesome and lazy summer plans go down the drain as she’s faced with six weeks of misery and torture at a summer camp called Timber Trails in Pennsylvania. No matter how much she kicks and screams and protests, Laney is thrown way out of her familiar, busy city environment into a rural campsite with no air-conditioning, a cabin she has to share with a few cruel strangers, and chocolate only twice a week! How will she survive? Although this pampered princess may be overreacting, I can understand her anger. With so much free time over the long summer break, I’d definitely prefer to make my own plans as well. I can relate to how Laney doesn’t want to go out of her comfort zone. This winter, my parents have been urging me to try something new and go skiing with them. I, having zero tolerance for the bitter cold, have always said no. Perhaps if I just tried it, I’d find that it’s a lot of fun. Used to being in the royal party when it comes to the social ladder, Laney quickly realizes that things are not quite the same here at Timber Trails. That may be a bit of an understatement, actually. How is she suddenly considered the outsider, the weirdo, the geek? And these girls who she’d probably make fun of if she were back at home were suddenly… the popularity queens? Laney’s world is being shaken up like a salad after all the ingredients are put in the bowl. Things become even more peculiar when she runs into a guy from home, here at camp. Ever since a horrible accident that led him to pencil in his eyebrows in the third grade, this boy has been the biggest joke in the city… at least among their group of peers. He obviously leads a double life, as he’s a major heartthrob at Timber Trails, bewildering Laney. Soon, she finds herself falling for this guy. Uh-oh… This relationship would be totally off-limits back in New York! Will she ignore him because of his status, or will she listen to her heart and risk her social standing at home? Laney’s been faced with one of the toughest decisions in her life, and one of the most important revelations about popularity—what’s the point of it all, anyway? If you look deeper at someone, maybe there’s more to that person than a silly label implies. At the end of this dreaded summer, Laney Parker is left with a few amazing new friends, an appreciation for both the stylish clothes and the chocolate she has at home, and a freshly opened mind to the realities of popularity. Leah Wolfe, 12Florham Park, New Jersey
Saying Goodbye
It wasn’t the first shooting star I saw but it was the most special one Thousands of twinkling and glittering stars lit up the black night sky. It’s so beautiful, I thought as I gazed up at the sky. I wish I could stay here forever, but I couldn’t. Heather and I were slowly walking up the street towards my cottage. It was like we did every summer night after we said goodbye to our other friends, but tonight was different. The night was warm and still and I could hear crickets chirping and an owl hooting deep in the woods. The big fluorescent streetlights were faintly buzzing above us, helping to light our way. Our bare feet were padding softly on the pavement, and we were crying. Tears ran down my face, and I kept wiping them off. I must look like a wreck, I thought, because I had been crying all night. “Next summer will be here before we know it,” Heather sniffled. “Yeah,” I agreed, “but we have to go to school between now and then, which will make it seem way longer.” “We need to plan for summer 2011, because it will be epic!” Heather exclaimed. “Totally!” I grinned. We laughed a bit about our joke. It was because I told her the story about how when I was younger one winter my mom, my sister, and I were at a hotel with an outdoor heated swimming pool and a bunch of teenagers were out there. The teenagers kept yelling, “That was so epic!” Naturally, my sister and I would run out on the balcony, yell, “That was so epic!” and run back inside. Then in the sky a glowing light streaked by. It was a shooting star. We stopped talking and stood still. It seemed like the whole world held its breath. I smiled, it wasn’t the first shooting star I saw but it was the most special one. We wandered up to my cottage, then we stood there for a second looking at it. It looked so bright in the darkness, with all the light streaming out of the windows. I could still hear crickets chirping. My nose was stuffed and I was still crying a little bit. “That was pretty cool,” Heather finally said. “I guess that means next summer is going to be awesome,” I smiled. “Oh you know it,” Heather agreed. “Do you want to sit on the porch?” I asked. “No,” Heather replied, “the sidewalk is fine.” Heather and I sat down on the rough sidewalk, instead of the porch. This feels weird, I thought. Every night we sit on the porch and talk, not the sidewalk. We talked for a while and even laughed a little bit. It was time for Heather to go back to her cottage, and I wouldn’t see her again for a long time. I started to cry again. We both stood up from the sidewalk and brushed the dirt off our shorts. Heather and I hugged each other, and I could feel the tears sliding down my face again. “At least it wasn’t as sad after we saw the shooting star,” Heather sighed. “Yeah,” I nodded, “bye.” “Bye.” “I wish you could stay another week.” “Yeah, me too.” “But we’ll see each other soon.” “Yes, we will.” “Bye,” I said again. “Bye,” Heather said for the last time. Heather turned around, strode down the sidewalk. She looked back one last time and waved. I waved back. Then I stood there for a while watching her get smaller until I couldn’t see her because the big pine trees were covering her. I stood there for a little while longer. Then I sighed and started up the stairs. Tonight was sad, but it wasn’t terrible, I thought as I trudged into my cottage, and I was already excited about summer 2011. Elise Allen, 12Bloomfield Hills, Michigan Maya Keshav, 13Waterloo, Ontario, Canada
Finding a Friend
I had always considered myself a pretty good runner, but when you’re running for your life you can never move fast enough. I glanced back, almost tripping over myself. I could see out of the corner of my eye his black mask, beady eyes, and his muddy fur coat. Though what scared me the most were his sharp canine teeth. Go ahead and laugh but I was running from… a dog. My flip-flops had fallen off my feet when I started running and the pavement was burning hot. I rounded the corner into my driveway, sprinting for my front door. I wasn’t always scared of dogs, but something happened that makes me run every time I see one. Two years ago a dog ran into my yard where I was playing. When the dog started to wag his tail and bark I thought he was nice. So I tried to pet him, but apparently he didn’t want to be touched. When my hand got too close to his forehead he lashed out and bit me. I can only remember screaming and crying, waiting for the pain to go away. The next day when I woke up I was lying in the hospital bed with stitches on my right arm from my wrist to my elbow. Even though the dog had to go to the pound the fear and the scares he gave me never left. I don’t know why but I never told anybody about what happened. You can imagine with my fear of something like this I was an easy target for bullies. No one wanted to hang out with me anymore. Even though before they were really only my friends because I was the school’s best track and cross-country runner (we had a really small school). It didn’t really bother me because I could always find something to do by myself, but my parents disagreed. “You need at least one friend, honey. Someone you can talk to other than us.” My parents always said that when they saw me reading, alone, up in the branches of a maple in our backyard. Though they were right, I was lonely. However, I didn’t want to become friends with anyone at my school, until I met someone who changed everything. I knew the day would come when the teasing would become too much and I wouldn’t be able to take it any longer. On a Friday in October it happened and I ended up running to my house three miles away instead of taking the bus home. I went straight into the woods when I got home. I sat down in a pile of leaves, letting all the sadness and frustration that I was holding inside go. I listened to the hush of the trees and admired the beauty of the falling leaves. Suddenly I heard whimpering, and it wasn’t mine. I glanced around quickly. At first I saw no one but then I saw the last thing I wanted to see, a dog. From instinct I stood up, legs tense, as if I was waiting for the starting gun in track, but the dog didn’t move. Even with my fear of canines a part of me wanted to go and comfort the wounded stray. Eventually, my heart overpowered my conscience and I couldn’t bear his pain. I knelt down ever so gently, so as not to frighten him, still he didn’t budge. Then carefully I reached out my right hand. My scar started to tingle, remembering the last time I was this close to a dog. Then, before I was ready the dog stretched out his neck, nudging his head into my hand. At that point I knew he needed me and I needed him. The dog happily followed me home; sadly, he was limping the whole way. Some animal probably more frightening than any dog had wounded his back right foot. However, the expressions on my parents’ faces said it all. Their mouths had dropped to the floor speechless, and when I asked if we could keep him, they assured me that if he didn’t have rabies we could. Even after a few days with Scruffy (which is what we chose to name him) the statement “Dogs are man’s best friend” was proven true. At that point I knew he needed me and I needed him One day, a couple months after I found Scruffy, I was taking him for a walk and I noticed a sign on a telephone pole. The sign read: Lost Dog Medium height, brown eyes, mutt, male, scruffy light brown hair, Answers to the name Copper. If seen, please contact me at 544-0222, or bring him to my house at 18 Sugar Hill Road, Easton, NH Thank you, Annie Samson Next to the writing there was a picture of Scruffy or Copper. No doubt about it, that was a picture of the dog who was sitting right beside me. My heart shattered into a million pieces. The dog who had rescued me from drowning in sadness belonged to someone else. That evening I sat in bed, staring at the sign that I had torn down in anger. Just then it occurred to me that Annie was probably feeling just as miserable as I had before I found “Copper.” At that moment I knew I had to return my friend to his rightful owner. The next day I brought Copper to Easton to find his owner. He seemed to recognize the smell near the house, but I didn’t want to let him go. When I knocked on the door I knew I had done the right thing. The girl answered the door and almost cried with happiness that her dog had come home. She thanked me about twenty times before she took Copper. Then, right as she was closing the door, I whispered, “He’s a great dog.” She must have recognized the sadness in my eyes because she offered for me to come over
The Sparrow
We dodge branch after branch, but I can’t seem to get him off my tail I glide gracefully, looking down at the world below me. I swoop over the trees, adjusting my wing to catch the breeze. I feel the strong winds blow over me, calming my thoughts. I am a sparrow, I think to myself. I am me. As I think this, I get a bad feeling. I look up. Up, high in the sky, regarding me with beady eyes: a hawk. I don’t take time to recognize what kind. Knowing I’ve noticed it, it dives at me, screaming. Knowing it will be easier to escape, I dive, too. Down, down towards the trees. Though I am already lower, the hawk is faster. It is a race for safety. We both fly to live. I fly to escape the hawk, a predator. It flies to catch prey, to eat. One of us must lose. The hawk is too close. It stretches its talons, ready to catch me and fly away before it crashes into the tall trees. I realize quickly that speed is not the answer to survival. I am a sparrow. I am agile. The question lies in the unknown, though. It may be intimidating, but is it any match for me? There is no time to think. It rakes its talons forward, hoping to win the contest of survival, but I am not ready to give myself up. I flap my wings and flit to the right. It is not ready for that move. It puts on the brakes, which gives me time to escape and plan my next move because I know that it will not give up until it has caught me. I may not be able to escape completely, but I can put death off until I have reached the bottom of the hill of life. I have already climbed to the peak, and I am climbing down, wishing there was not a bottom waiting for me. The hawk flies a sharp turn around, and as it streaks at me, I feint to the right and dive down again. Swooping and diving, he chases me where I hoped he would: down into the trees, where there is an obstacle course of branches as an arena. As I pass under the treetops, I am surprised by the sudden dimness. I can’t see him for a second, but then he is there right behind me. We dodge branch after branch, but I can’t seem to get him off my tail. My wings are sore, and I am getting tired, and yet, I still fight for my life. Suddenly, I see him putting on an extra burst of speed, and I feel his sharp talons finally closing around me. I tuck my wings into my body, knowing he will carry me away. The claws cut into me, causing pain throughout my entire body. The talons pierce further into my body. The hawk flaps his wings, lifting us higher, up past the treetops into the bright light of the sun. I twist my head to look up at him. In the glare of the sun, I make out his eyes staring straight ahead of him. They seem to tell me, “That’s just the way it is.” And I know that it is true. The race has ended. And I have lost. I close my eyes. * * * THE HAWK I carried the sparrow away from the forest. I could sense him looking up at me, and I looked straight ahead. I would not give any mercy. I did not look down as, slowly, his breathing stopped. I carried him towards my nest to feed him to my little eyases, my babies. I tried not to respect the brave little bird who was now lifelessly clutched in my talons. I did not like thinking those thoughts because hawks should be fearless. I had to kill him to keep my precious youngsters alive. I flew towards the sun with my strong wings pumping at a steady beat. Lulu Russell, 11Marion, Massachusetts Candace Tong-Li, 11Scarsdale, New York
River God
We sat there, under the tree, our tree. The tree with the leaves that spread to the sun like helping hands. The tree with the tall trunk and cool shade. “It’s hot,” I complained, fanning myself with the back of my hand, the mid-August sun beating down from the unforgiving sun. Mimi stood up. Her long dark hair draped down her back and her rosy face was pink. Jared and I stared at her in confusion. “We have been sitting here all day, complaining about the heat. I want to go hiking into the woods. My mom was talking of a small stream she found while she was exploring the new hunting trails.” And with that Mimi marched off. Jared looked at me and I looked at Jared and we both stood up to follow. Our tree stood on a hill looking over the dark, forbidding woods. Those trees were black and tall in a way that our tree was not. Those trees rose like mountains until they seemed to scrape the glaring cloudless sky. They whispered about some untold secret when the wind passed, rattling together with a sound like bones. It was for this reason that I stopped at the forest’s edge. Long, thick, parched stems of grasses pressed up against my legs. A small red-and-black ladybug was crawling, ever so slowly, up one of the stems. It reached the top, lost its footing and fell. “Emma, hurry up!” Mimi’s voice was impatient and I could see her far ahead, through the trees. Her yellow summer dress stood out like a ghost against the dark trunks and I hurried to catch up. But the most amazing part of her beauty was she seemed to emanate a faint, silvery glow We followed no path in particular. The forest floor was carpeted with leaves, which had fallen in the late summer drought, making the ground crunchy and hard to see. There were no birds and no small animals. No, they had all fled, searching for water somewhere else. We reached the place. A place where the trees were green and lush and the grass sang. When a gust of wind blew, it sang of joy and happiness and life. There were rocks beyond the grass that led to a river. Not a stream, as described by Mimi’s mother, but a rushing, swishing, pouring river. The water was a clear, beautiful, turquoise blue. Mimi flung off her shoes and ran to dip her toes into the water and Jared followed not too far after. We hadn’t seen this much water in a long time. My feet dipped under the cold surface and felt the hard, round pebbles of the riverbed between their toes. Jared gasped and I looked up. On the opposite shore was a woman. She was tall and slender. Her hair was thick and hung in ringlets around her face. She wore a white dress though her feet were bare. But the most amazing part of her beauty was she seemed to emanate a faint, silvery glow. I glanced sideways at Jared and his mouth was hanging open. I longed to shut it and ask this wonderful lady to forgive his rudeness, but I didn’t. She opened her mouth and the word came out like a tumbling waterfall, fluent and enchanting. “Come.” Jared stepped forward as if under a spell. Somehow, he crossed the river and stood beside her. She grabbed him by the arm and ran with a wonderful grace. Mimi screamed and ran after her, sloshing through the racing river. The woman paused just inside the trees and looked back. Her eyes grew dark and hard, they seemed to grow bigger and bigger until they swallowed everything else. The world tipped under me and all was quiet. My eyes fluttered open and I was back under the tree, our tree, with Mimi and Jared beside me. Something was different and I looked up to see the sky open in a torrential downpour. Virginia Mason, 12Hoboken, New Jersey Zoe Yeoh, 12Salem, Connecticut
The Last Last Day
It was the last day. Names and Have a great summers Had been scribbled into yearbooks. Presents had been lovingly handed to teachers. For six years, we’d had last days. We’d sung cute little songs, And signed the yearbooks, The amount of friends growing each year. We’d always seen them—the oldest kids— Going to the ceremony. We’d always heard the music from the hallway. But we never thought that we’d actually be those fifth-graders. And we never imagined how strange it was when you’re sitting on a rug in a classroom for the last time. And you’ve had your last recess. Ever. And there you are, staring into your friends’ eyes, Not knowing whether to scream out with joy Or wail and explode with tears. Because the bell, that we have heard ring thousands of times, Is screaming its shrill, heartbreaking call, The sorrowful “Brrring!” that had told us time to go so many times, Was sounding for the last time, Like it was hollering, “I miss you,” forlornly, But it was too late— We had already gone away. And we’d never hear its call as students of that school again. Courtney Cooperman, 12Short Hills, New Jersey
Jessica’s Horse
Jessica Marstell kicked at a stone as she trudged down the dirt road. She was headed for her uncle’s horse ranch in Country Ridge, Arizona. She didn’t like going to Uncle Jame’s ranch because she didn’t like horses. Jessica had to work at Uncle Jame’s ranch all summer, though, because she wanted a new laptop computer, and Mr. and Mrs. Marstell insisted that, if Jessica wanted a brand new computer at twelve years old, she’d have to pay for it herself. Jessica had asked her parents to buy her many things and she had gotten them, but now they decided it was time for her to learn more responsibility and appreciation by earning them herself. “Hurry up, Jessie! Old Speckles is waiting to be ridden!” Uncle Jame called out as soon as Jessica was in sight. “If Speckles is so old, why does he have to be ridden?” Jessica answered weakly. Uncle Jame frowned at his niece. Jessica turned around and gave the horse a sour look. She put her foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle of the broad Appaloosa. Even though Speckles was wearing a western saddle, Jessica still posted to his trot. Jessica was a pretty good rider because her parents made her take lessons at an early age, but now she didn’t always ride the way she was supposed to. Jessica had become a little bit of a spoiled and careless girl. Jessica urged Speckles into a gallop as soon as they reached the trail that led up the mountain, through some trees. Jessica slowed Speckles when she thought she saw something in the trees. “Whoa, boy,” she told Speckles as she dismounted. When Jessica got a closer look, she realized that the thing was a horse! “Hey, Uncle Jame! Look what I found!” Jessica shook her head in disgust when she saw how dirty the horse was. “I think I’d call you Mudcake if you were mine—not that I’d want you.” Jessica was surprised when the horse came up to her and sniffed her face. The horse was a gelding, his coat nearly all covered with mud, but under that mud there seemed to be a shiny dark bay color. “Even though I’m not so fond of horses, I guess the right thing to do is bring you back with me.” Jessica smiled when Mudcake nodded his head up and down. She tied a rope around his neck and got back on Speckles and rode back to Uncle Jame’s with Speckles’ reins in one hand and Mudcake’s rope in the other. “Hey, Uncle Jame! Look what I found!” Jessica said as she motioned to Mudcake. Uncle Jame came over to them and ran his hands over the new horse’s body. “Well, he looks like he’s been abandoned. These cuts and bruises are not that bad, though, and he’s a quarter horse.” “So are you going to keep him?” Jessica stroked Mudcake’s neck while she groomed him carefully. “I thought you didn’t like horses,” Uncle Jame said with raised eyebrows. “Well, um—I kinda like them better now… especially Mudcake,” Jessica blushed. “I can’t take another horse, but I think I know who should have him,” Uncle Jame smiled. “Oh.” Jessica felt disappointed at the thought of someone else taking Mudcake. “He’s all yours.” Uncle Jame handed her the lead rope. “What? Me? Mudcake? Mine?” Jessica sputtered. “Yep, your parents have been wanting you to get back into horse riding again, and your Mudcake can stay here for a while. I’ll feed him for you at first, but eventually you’re gonna have to buy him food and other supplies yourself,” Uncle Jame said. “Oh, of course! I can’t believe I’m saying this—but I think I’m starting to like horses!” Jessica hugged her uncle. “And, I’ll take great care of Mudcake—is he really all mine? I mean, why are you giving him to me? I haven’t been all that nice to you or the horses lately…” “I gave him to you because you are good for each other, and I know you’ll take care of him. If he’s not already trained, I’ll help you with that,” Uncle Jame answered. Jessica had never thought that she would ever love horses, but now she loved Mudcake, and the other horses no longer seemed so bad. “I always thought that horses were just big dirty animals that were unfriendly and unuseful, but I was wrong,” Jessica smiled. Jessica began to realize that Mudcake taught her that horses could be a human’s friend, even though he hadn’t done much. Jessica hugged Mudcake, her new horse—her new friend. The next day Jessica and her mom went to the tack shop. “What made you change your mind?” Mrs. Marstell asked. “Mudcake was just so friendly and funny, and he made me feel good. Then I started to realize how awful I’ve been to horses and I decided to change,” Jessica said as she entered the tack shop. She bought grain, a grooming bucket and tools, a feeding bucket and saddle pad. She’d use Uncle Jame’s saddle until she could afford her own—that new laptop didn’t seem to be so important anymore. After shopping, Jessica went to Uncle Jame’s ranch, did her work chores quickly, and then tacked up Mudcake. She climbed carefully into his saddle. She wasn’t sure if Mudcake was trained to ride, but he stood calmly with her on his back, so Jessica was relaxed. I love having my own horse, Jessica thought with a smile. Then she trotted Mudcake out into the field to start their very first ride together. Ismena Jameau, 10 Sebastopol, California Annie Liu, 13Somerset, New Jersey
