We run until it hurts too much to take in another breath My breath is a thin jet of smoke, in the cold winter morning Drifting from my lips The sound of our footsteps beating the hard-packed snow is inviting And then, all at once, we all fall We fold into one another Every joint in our bodies collapsing Like a folding chair, My knees, my waist, my elbows, until I’m down Till my ankles are her ankles And her calf is mine And we laugh A pile of marionettes, Waiting for strings to be pulled up again, In a happy dance Astrid May Steiner-Manning, 12St. Paul, Minnesota
Jump
Suddenly, his falling speed changed Gary Evans stared down at the tiny world below as the plane soared over the lush Californian Redwood Forest. The trees had climbed upward noticeably more since the last time Gary had been in a plane on the same journey before, only three months ago. Only last time, he hadn’t found the courage to jump. He pulled away from the grimy window and looked straight ahead of him, counting the minutes until the jump. You can do it, man, he thought. You can do it this time. Gary squirmed around, partially from nerves and partially from excitement. It was sweaty and uncomfortable in the hot plane, and Gary thought he might wet his pants. The silk light cloth that he was wearing for his dive was not doing a thing to absorb the perspiration pouring from his pores. “How you doing, Gary?” a voice boomed over the speaker. It was the captain, Gary’s father’s friend, who had been instructing Gary in skydiving for just under a year now. “G-g-good, I think.” Gary’s voice was barely a squeak. “Ready? I’m going to come back here and have Lewis here drive for me.” Lewis was the copilot. “I’m going to come back here and help you.” “I’ll need it,” muttered Gary. The speaker shut off abruptly with a sharp click. Minutes later, Captain Lopez entered the small cabin, his swarthy body filling up most of the space between the captain’s cabin and the passenger cabin. He held up his hand in a thumbs- up sign, and Gary returned the signal, having no excuse not to. I’m ready… I suppose, he thought. The boy followed Captain Lopez to the hatch opening at the rear of the tiny plane. There, they geared up. Gary already had his jumpsuit on, the eccentric green grips for him to hold onto during the dive flashing at him. The captain secured a folded parachute to Gary’s back and placed an altimeter on Gary’s wrist like a watch. A few seconds into the dive, Gary was to look at the altimeter to see when he had to eject his parachute. But just in case he didn’t eject the main parachute in time, Captain Lopez gave him an AAD, or an automatic activation device, to activate the backup parachute. Gary gulped. He hoped he wouldn’t panic if he forgot to activate the parachute. Finally, the captain strapped a spinal protector to Gary’s back. Although it was bulky and uncomfortable to wear, the boy didn’t complain. He didn’t want to have back injuries for the rest of his life if something went wrong. The captain’s huge frame shook as the plane vibrated. “Gary, are you ready? Hey, man, it’s OK. It’ll be fine.” Gary remembered the fall, the exultation, the freedom he had felt on his first fall on tandem with Captain Lopez. He hadn’t felt out of control or even like he was falling. He felt as if he could do anything. Well, there wasn’t much he could do being strapped to Captain Lopez’s back, but he still felt it. Gary nodded slowly, feeling as though he might urinate in his pants. He forced his legs forward and felt himself moving toward the hatch, listening numbly to the captain’s instructions. “I’m going to open the hatch, OK? The wind’ll be whistlin’ in your ears, maybe even blow you around a bit, but just hold onto this handle and you’ll be fine. Then, when I tell you it’s time to jump, you’ll slip down the hatch head first—with your arms in front of you—and you’ll jump. Big X shape, arms and legs out like we discussed, yeah? Body straight and level to the ground. Le-vel. Got it?” Gary managed to speak this time. “Yyes, got it,” he replied shakily. “Big X.” To show that he understood, he stretched out his four limbs as widely as he could. Giving another thumbs up, Captain Lopez started for the hatch. He unlatched the three bolts that lined the opening and threw open the metal door, which banged outward with a dull thud on the bottom of the plane. Wind reached up through the door and slashed at Gary’s face, his exposed cheeks, and the skin around his goggles. Frantically, he grabbed onto the handle that the captain had indicated and hung on. “Gary!” Captain Lopez roared over the din. “Get ready for your big X! It’s time!” Gary’s mind was in turmoil. OK, this is it. Big X, remember. Big X. He stepped toward the hatch, the wind whipping his hair and grabbing his clothes, teasing his jumpsuit. He lay on the floor and used his feet to push himself forward. He could barely see outside, with the wind right in his face, but he could spot the red-and-green treetops of the Muir Woods and, beyond that, the sparkling glitter of the San Francisco Bay. He felt the rush of air as he hit the howling air head on. He felt a boost from behind as Captain Lopez gave him an extra hoist, and he was off. Gary Evans was skydiving. The downward surge didn’t come for a few seconds. He was riding on the wind, gliding gracefully down away from the plane. Oh my gosh, am I flying or skydiving? Gary thought as he whooped with glee. Then came the plunge. Gary banked sharply, his hands splicing through the air and not doing a thing to slow his descent. He began to fall, and he upturned his X so that his hands and feet were tapered upward. Then he thought better of it and held onto the green grips on his jumpsuit. He had no control, and he was falling fast. It was hard to keep his legs straight out—his instinct was to curl up. The wind forced him down toward the treetops, but he angled himself toward the San Francisco Bay. Gary’s arm got caught underneath his body, and something hard smacked into his arm. The
The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict
The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict, by Trenton Lee Stewart; Little, Brown and Company: New York, 2012; $17.99 The first thing I noticed about this book was that it is the newest installment of The Mysterious Benedict Society series, one of my favorites. I inwardly groaned because, in my opinion, the series had come to a conclusion in the previous book. I did not look forward to reading a book with a dull, over-stretched plot. However, upon reading the back cover, I discovered that it was a prequel about the childhood of Nicholas Benedict, an important yet minor character in the other books. I think it was very wise of Trenton Lee Stewart to elaborate upon Nicholas’s life, as knowing more about him really enhances the plot of the other books. In this prequel, youthful Nicholas is an orphan, traveling to a new orphanage under the supervision of Mrs. Ferrier, a “plump old woman with enormous spectacles.” Nicholas himself is an undersized nine-year-old genius with a huge nose. And, most importantly of all, he has narcolepsy, a sleeping disorder that makes him see terrifying figures in the dark of night and nod off to sleep at the most ridiculous times. In the opening scene, this odd twosome is traveling by train to meet Mr. Collum, the director of “Child’s End” (really “Rothschild’s End,” named after its founders, also “The Manor”). Here, Nicholas is to live. Nicholas finds that the orphanage is a rough place to live, but he will soon find a few friends and one immense, old, and deliciously tempting mystery—but it looks like he might not be the only one trying to crack this puzzle! One reason I loved this book so much is that I could relate to some of the situations, making the story more personal. Nicholas’s constant moving reminded me of how, in the past three years, I have moved twice. Of course, moving with my family is nothing like being an orphan, going from one horrible orphanage to another, but I felt a connection nevertheless. I also identify with some of the characters. For instance, Nicholas and I share an immense love of books. I would have reacted exactly as he did when he first saw the library (he almost fell asleep from the shock!). I also read relatively fast, but nowhere as fast as Nicholas, who reads hundred-page volumes in minutes! From the story, I learned quite a bit about narcolepsy. I think that it was very clever of the author to weave so many facts into this story. Although I really enjoyed this book, I think that if the book were written in a diary format, it would be possible to convey more of the characters’ feelings and thoughts than with the third-person-narrator style of the book. I also found this series to be very similar to The Secret Series (The Name of This Book Is Secret, etc.). Overall, this book is a well-written, fast-paced novel with a suspenseful plot that works like superglue—you just can’t put this book down! I especially liked how it combines real-life issues with pleasure to create a fun but also very meaningful book that I’m sure, in days to come, will be enjoyed by many mystery-loving children and adults alike! Marina Dauer, 12 Ann Arbor, Michigan
The Right Wing
Kelsey raised her binoculars and magnified the kingly bird Kelsey crouched lower in the grass. A beautiful quail (coturnix octumix japonica) strutted pompously around her pond. Kelsey raised her binoculars and magnified the kingly bird. She could see all its tail feathers, from the soft browns to the deep whites. She carefully crept closer. The bird was like a mini-peacock. She pictured it in the store. Peacock—now travel size! She giggled, and the bird, alarmed, took flight and sailed for a short while over her pond. Kelsey sighed. Quails were very rare this time of year, and she probably wouldn’t see another one. She gazed through the chicken wire at the tree’s red leaves, sadly drifting down to the ground. Kelsey had set up a sort of institution for the birds when winter came. She and her mom had worked together to bend chicken wire around and above their backyard. They planted lots of plants, bushes, and they even managed to get their hands on a palm tree. Heaters were placed around the bushes and pond, so that it was always warm. In the distance, a warm and motherly voice called out. “Kelsey! Kelsey, it’s lunchtime.” She sighed and packed up her stuff. Her birder’s notebook, binoculars, and the Guide to Puget Sound Birds went into her backpack. She hung her pouch full of birdseed around her neck. The gravel under her feet made a pleasing crunch as she walked. Crows flew up when she passed them, like the ripples when you drag your fingers in the water. She was used to random birds, like crows and magpies, appearing in her sanctuary. It happened all the time. Kelsey’s half-frozen fingers fumbled at the latch to open the gate. She walked all the way down the side yard path to the front door of her yellow-and-white house. A cheery orange mailbox at the front walk read 8281. Kelsey pushed down the red flag and flipped through the letters that they had. Bills… more bills… an issue of The New York Times. The cover of The New York Times had an owl on it. Kelsey was intrigued. She put down the bills and opened the magazine. “Birders’ Contest for Kids,” it read. “Two hundred dollars to whoever can spot the most birds in one day.” Kelsey’s heart leaped. A birders’ contest! She would do great at that… and two hundred dollars! That was enough to buy that sweet little puppy she saw in the pet store the other day. (She may be a birdwatcher, but Kelsey also had a thing for dogs.) She raced into the house. “Mom!” she yelled, carelessly throwing her stuff on the floor. “Mom! There’s a birders’ contest for kids and the winner gets two hundred dollars which would be enough to buy…” “Whoa, whoa, slow down,” said her mom, looking up from Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte. “A birders’ contest? Two hundred dollars to the winner? My, my, Kelsey. When is this contest?” Kelsey flipped open the magazine again. “Tomorrow!” she yelped. “At Sunset Park! Please, Mom, can we go?” Her mom smiled. “All right, Kelsey. We can go.” * * * Ow, ow, ow!” It was the day of the big birding contest, and Kelsey’s mom was brushing back her long, caramel hair. Her face was screwed in pain as the pink brush practically tugged her hair out of her head. “There we go, all done,” said her mother, leaning back to survey the braid she had made. Kelsey got up and called to her mom. “C’mon, Mom, we’re going to be late!” “Dear, did you remember your birder’s notebook?” asked her mom as they were rushing out the door. “Did you remember your binoculars?” she asked as they pulled out of the driveway. “Do you have your field guide?” she asked as they got onto the highway. “Got your bird feed?” she asked as they pulled into the parking lot of Sunset Park. “Yes, Mom, I’ve got everything.” A large banner was hung by the entrance that stated “Birding Contest.” Kelsey ran over to it. A lady was standing under it with a clipboard. Kelsey jogged over to her. “Hello,” she said. “Are you here to watch the birding contest or participate in it?” “Participate in it!” answered Kelsey. “Name?” asked the lady. “Kelsey Redburn.” The lady scribbled something on her clipboard. “All right, you’re all checked in. The contest is over there. You’re number three. You’d better hurry, it’s about to begin.” So Kelsey ran over to the stands. There were four big blocks, each numbered from one to four. Kelsey determinedly stepped up onto the one that read “three.” A voice boomed out on a hidden loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the contestants! Contestant number one is Ricky Delvosia!” There was clapping. “Contestant number two is Lily Michaels!” More clapping. “Contestant number three is Kelsey Redburn!” Everybody clapped for her. It felt great, hearing all that clapping. “And contestant number four is David Roberns!” More clapping. “All right, contestants, when the buzzer sounds, go into the woods. Whenever you see a bird, press your buzzer. You’ll find them on your pedestals.” Kelsey looked down. A buzzer with a button was at her feet. “Ready? Three… Two… One…” BEEP! Kelsey snatched up her buzzer and ran into the forest. At once she spotted a crow perched on a branch. Beep! Her buzzer wasn’t quite as loud as the other one, but she already had one bird. Aha! A starling and a robin flew above her. Already she had three birds on her list. She was off to a good start! Kelsey scampered over to a pond and saw a duck and a swan. Beep, beep. From here she could see the scoreboard. Ricky had seen four, Lily had seen seven, and Kelsey had seen five… But David… David had seen twenty-six! Even as she watched, the number went up. Twenty-seven… twenty-eight… Six geese took flight. She beeped her buzzer six times. Her
Dream of Dancing
I had never even thought about what I could do with ballet in my life. It was always just there. A little part of my life, one small piece of the pie of my world; twice a week, five o’clock to seven o’clock, barre to center. I wasn’t on pointe shoes yet, either. Ballet was just a hobby. * * * I slouch down in my white shag lounge chair and sigh. I lie there for a moment before grabbing my book and curling up to read. It’s just starting to feel like spring outside. There is new mud and water on the crowded streets below and the trees in front of the apartment are beginning to bud. My favorite time of year. Especially because of my eleventh birthday, in May! “Lavender?” Mom calls. I look up to see her standing in my doorway. Mom sits down on my quilted bedspread and smiles. “It’s Grandma Lilly’s birthday tomorrow,” she starts. Snap! I think to myself. I forgot! Trying not to look guilty, I nod. “We are inviting her to see the New York City Ballet perform Swan Lake at the David H. Koch Theater tomorrow evening. What do you think?” My mind races with thoughts of the New York City Ballet. I have never seen them dance in person before, and I am instantly excited. My grandpa’s favorite ballet to dance when he was a professional dancer was Swan Lake. He loved the blue-and-lavender backdrop of the lake scene. Sadly, he passed away the day before Azure was born. It’s also Grandma’s favorite ballet, though she never danced. It has always reminded her of Grandpa. “Great!” I say, and go back to my reading. The ballet is forgotten for the rest of the day. I don’t even think about it when I make Grandma Lilly a birthday card and wrap the pink vase I painted for her at Pretty Paints. * * * As I lie in bed for a few minutes after Mom and Dad say goodnight, this is when I finally remember Swan Lake. But it is forgotten moments later as I drift off to sleep. I dream I am a ballerina, floating across the large stage on delicate pointe shoes. I’m wearing a gauzy swan costume and a feather headpiece royally frames my face. My feet move like a swan’s should, gracefully, each step like a string of precious gems. Then I fall. My feet slide out and I lie still on the black stage. But it wasn’t an accident, I know. It was mystifying choreography. My eyes shoot open and I find myself staring straight into the eyes of a pretty girl with a long thin ponytail and blue-framed glasses. Sunlight streams in from the pillow-sized window above my dresser and I can see her clearly. “Good morning, Lavender!” the girl excitedly says in a soft voice. A police siren outside suddenly jolts my memory. “Azure!” I cry, and wrap my arms tightly around her neck. I can feel her heart glowing as I hug her. “Is Dad already off on his business trip?” She reluctantly nods. “But I’m here, right?” My older sister, Azure, is nineteen and in her first year of college in Florida. She usually never comes home because she always goes to my Aunt Kate’s house (she lives near her) during short breaks. Plus, we’re faaaaar away in NYC! We only get to see her on occasional short breaks and always on long ones. I slide out of bed and slip on my soft penguin slippers. “Want breakfast?” Azure offers. She has a sly glint in her eye that her glasses can’t hide. “What did you do?!” I whisper excitedly. Azure is the Queen of Tricksters. Butter on my ballet shoes (my dance teacher got so mad!), Jell-O smoothies, you name it, she’s done it. But I was surprised this time. “French toast on cinnamon bread! Bought it myself on the drive home from the airport!” she cries. My eyes get wide. That’s my all-time favorite food, except for the New-York-style pizza the vendor outside the apartment sells! I rush around the corner to the kitchen and settle in the light wooden chair closest to my room. Mmmmmm… I can smell the cinnamon as Azure pops six slices on a platter. I jump up, do an arabesque, and grab both of us tableware and sit back down. The two of us whisper until Mom stumbles into the kitchen wearing her blue bathrobe, disheveled hair, and still looking half asleep. “Azure, you’re home!” Mom cries. She hugs my big sister tightly. “Lovely,” Azure compliments me, “but just remember to turn out your standing leg!” “I know! I needed to be here for Grandma’s birthday, and to see Swan Lake!” Azure replies excitedly. Two years ago, Azure was an amazing dancer, the star of our studio. But sadly, she quit due to an ankle injury and never really wanted to try ballet again. She’s majoring in art and fixes to be a high school art teacher someday. I join the hug enthusiastically, and we stand like this for almost a full minute. * * * The day rolls by like a puff of a cloud on a breezy day, what with Azure here. Before I know it, it’s time to get ready for Swan Lake. I select from my closet a ruffled navy-blue skirt that goes well with my eyes. Then I add a sky-blue tank top and a white half-sweater with a delicate blue rose. Perfect. I stand in front of my floor-length mirror and do a pirouette. “Lovely,” Azure compliments me. She is sitting on my floor. “But just remember to turn out your standing leg!” “Well then, Ms. Prima Ballerina!” I answer, hands on hips. We laugh and I sit down on my bed while Azure does a French braid in my hair. “I wish Dad was here,” I whisper. Behind me, I can sense Azure’s frown. “Me too. Business
Frights
What lies in the darkest corner in the mind of a boy? His greatest fears. Dark, looming, ominous shadows of everyday objects Turn into alarming frights. Howls, creaks, booms, blasts, blares, Sneak into the mind of a boy Creep into his thoughts, Eliminating his ability to sleep. The thought of a monster lurking under the bed Shoots goosebumps up the arms and legs Of your average boy, Making him stay up in bed, Panting. His heart races, Practically beating out of his chest. He forces his eyes closed, Willing himself to a rest That won’t come. Fists clenched, Palms sweaty, Brow moist, Breathing fast, The house creaking, Trees striking the window With a slow, eerie beat. Tears sliding down his cheek, He engulfs himself in his blanket. His brain pounding in his head To the rhythm of the trees Cracking and snapping Against the window like Baseball bats. Trying to calm himself, Slowly inhaling and exhaling, Heart slowing down, Sleep. Sam Laskin, 10Westport, Connecticut
College Day
It was 7:32 a.m., my hair was getting frizzy, the fog outside my car window was limiting my vision to a few scrawny bushes, and my stomach was churning. “Hey,” my dad called from the front seat, “you OK, Pade?” “Yup,” I lied, because it wasn’t really a question, but conversation. He was satisfied and turned around. I turned up the volume of the song I was listening to on my iPod and turned around too. I stared out the window, making out the faint silhouette of pine trees in the distance. Distracting myself from the thoughts building up in my mind, I nibbled my ham-and-cheese sandwich. I wasn’t hungry. Suddenly, snap! The thought in the back of my mind popped out at me. All I could think about was, what would happen next? It was like in a cartoon when someone opens a closet full of junk and everything falls on the character. Suddenly I was drowning in questions. The only problem was that there was no way to gasp for air. My mind was spinning and the new plastic smell of the car made me nauseous. In the distance I could see a Hogwarts-type campus approaching. It was my sister’s. She was entering her first year of college at Vassar College. Emma (my sister) smiled at me from the front seat but I could tell it was a fake smile. “You OK?” I asked. “Yeah,” she replied, with the same tone I had lied to my dad with. We both knew she was thinking about something, but I didn’t know what it was. “Oh I remember that day!” Emma reminisced “Can I help you with something?” I said. I was trying to sound helpful, but I ended up sounding like that obnoxious teenager who works at Duane Reade right before you ask her where the Band-Aids are. Emma clearly didn’t notice and just replied with, “Nope, why?” She didn’t expect an answer (even though it was a question) so I just said, “Nothing.” Emma turned her head towards the window and so did I, but my eyes widened when I realized that Vassar was right in front of us! The car slowed and I paused my song. I could hear college girls screaming, “Honk if you love Vassar!” There was an old brick building glaring at me through the car window. Surrounding it were small bushes and skinny sidewalks that seemed to twist and curve in unnecessary ways. The sky was the color of a slimy unwashed windshield. Cold droplets of dew clung to blades of grass and mist floated through the air aimlessly. I took my time getting out of the car, slowly stretching, making sure not to go too fast. My dad seemed happy but his eyes were anxious. This is it, I thought to myself while I exited the car. Rain dribbled onto my shoulder and I pouted. Bearing a smile I suggested we go unpack Emma’s stuff. I didn’t know that I would need to carry anything. I ended up unpacking some of Emma’s pictures, and I found a picture of us in the rain when I was five and she was twelve. We both had brightly colored jackets on, left over from past visitors who had probably forgotten their jackets and my mom was making use of them. “Oh I remember that day!” Emma reminisced. She was sitting on her bed now, observing her room. I almost giggled, remembering playing in the rain and dirt that day. When it rained, worms would come up to the surface of the ground and you could find them and play with them anywhere. Emma taught me that. The weather in the picture was exactly the same as it was outside, but my face showed a totally different emotion than in the picture. I despised and loved that picture. Obviously I was happy then, I had nothing to worry about. I was naive but I guess in a good way because I was happy. I wished I was still naive and that’s what got under my skin. I knew about life and change. Later during lunch I sat down, being hungry for the first time since we had gotten to Vassar. As icy wet September air lingered through the blue-gray cafeteria a couple of unhappy college kids sulked around the cafeteria. A few lone professors sat together and nibbled salads but didn’t speak. I had gotten a pastry earlier and now had it out on my plate. It had French-vanilla buttercream frosting that tasted almost like perfume. It had chocolate sprinkles on top which were done so artfully that each sprinkle looked like it was meant to be there. Emma eyed me warily, hoping I wouldn’t notice. I felt a tinge of satisfaction knowing this. I caught a glimpse of her phone and I suggested an idea of mine. “Hey, Em?” I asked. “Yeah?” she replied. “So I was wondering if we could do this thing I just thought of,” and I explained to her what it was. “So we make a list of promises we’ll never break as sisters.” The minute I said it I realized how dumb it sounded. “You don’t have to agree to it, it was just an idea,” I added with caution. I didn’t want to get into an argument on our last day together just because we were all anxious. “Mm… OK, let’s do it!” Emma nodded approvingly and started to type our silly ideas. “How about, ‘Stay on top of your homework.’” I was going into fourth grade and nervous about it. Then we got into more “emotional” ideas. In just a few minutes we were laughing and shouting like monkeys. “Oo! Oo! How about… ‘Stick together!’” I stuck out two thumbs up to fake enthusiasm at my idea. We giggled stupidly and then, noticing people were staring, Emma stopped. So did I. I felt uncomfortable for the rest of the day. When we finally got in the car
My Mixed-Up Berry Blue Summer
My Mixed-Up Berry Blue Summer, by Jennifer Gennari; Houghton Mifflin Books for Children: New York, 2012; $15.99 My Mixed-Up Berry Blue Summer is a book about politics and pie. June Farrell is a twelve-year-old girl living in Vermont whose talent is making delicious pies. All she wanted to do over summer vacation was go swimming in Lake Champlain and enter the Champlain Valley Fair Pie Competition. But everything changes when Eva, her mom’s girlfriend, moves in. Under Vermont’s new civil law homosexuals can get married, and June’s mom and Eva plan to do just that. But when people get mad about the law and start boycotting her family’s business, June must save not only the shop but also her family’s rights. And it all starts with baking a pie. I can relate to June in that sometimes I am different, but it is our differences that make us interesting. My Mixed-Up Berry Blue Summer is also very political. It talks a lot about homosexual marriage rights. I think that if two people love each other, age, race, or gender shouldn’t matter. It should just be about what the heart wants. I also think that people should mind their own business about this subject. In My Mixed-Up Berry Blue Summer, people put up signs that say things like, “Take Back Vermont,” “Boycott Gay Businesses,” and “Lesbians Shouldn’t Have Children.” I think that things like that are very, very wrong. It is one thing to disagree with homosexuality in your mind, but to try to get a law passed against it is unthinkable, at least to me. Many people today are uncomfortable with or even afraid of homosexuality. Just like in the book when Eva says, “We won’t keep quiet about homophobia,” I think that people shouldn’t be afraid of homosexuality, and if they are they should talk about it so they aren’t so uncomfortable with it. I think that homosexuals should get the same rights as everyone else, the right to be in the military, the right to get married, and the right to have children. One part of the book that I particularly like is June’s mom and Eva’s wedding. I liked how they were brave and did what they knew was right, even though some people disagreed. In the wedding, more people came than June thought would come to a homosexual wedding. At the beginning of the book, June feels like she only has one mom. All she cares about is winning the pie contest. At the end of the book she wins first place, but she discovers more important things. She no longer thinks of Eva as uptight. She isn’t embarrassed like she thought she would be when her mom and Eva’s wedding announcement is in the newspaper. She no longer wants a dad because she has a family, and Eva is part of that. Other people change, too. For example, the Costas, their neighbors, were against homosexual marriage at the start, but at the end they come to the wedding, not to protest but because they are happy for Ms. Farrell and Eva. The same thing is true with many other people. I think this proves that people can change and all they need is some hope, inspiration, and mixed-up berry blue pie. Rachel Harris, 11Pasadena, California
As a Family
“If I ran away, I would go here to live” It was just a typical day, a nightmare of an “as a family” picnic; my brothers following me around, me trying to get away and be alone for five short minutes. I’m sort of a loner sometimes, though when I say that, I don’t mean I’m a recluse, or that I’m not a people person, because I am. What I mean is that sometimes, or actually most of the time, I like to be just a little bit apart from everyone else, near to, but apart from, which makes sense to me but not really anyone else. It’s just that feeling, when you want to be alone, and if you could be alone, with no problem, whenever you wanted, the feeling would probably subside almost entirely. But when you have three little brothers pestering you, the feeling tends to get stronger, until you’re on the verge of running away. Which I was. Some kids, the stupid ones, probably would’ve gone away right off the bat, no thoughts whatsoever, gone to the most obvious place and gotten found within an hour. Not me. I had a plan, and the whole plan had one purpose, to go and live by myself, for a day or so, and then come back, smoothly and perfectly, with no mishaps, which of course I knew was unlikely and almost impossible, but I didn’t care. It would work. Almost everything that is planned well and done carefully works out in the end; I had done things like this enough to be sure of myself. My bag had been packed—an extra set of clothes and some bandages—and put under my bed next to my neatly rolled-up sleeping bag. When my survivalist dad started squirreling away canned beans by the dozen in preparation for Armageddon, or a tornado, whichever came first, I snuck one or two cans out every week until I had enough to feed myself for, at the most, three days. Beans were a pretty boring diet, but it was the only thing I could think of that would keep and wouldn’t be too gross if I ate them cold. So after a month, I had enough food, which left only one unresolved problem—water. I definitely wasn’t carrying close to twenty pounds of water for six miles in the middle of the night, which was when I planned to make my escape. And as the days passed and the date I had planned to leave on grew closer, that problem grew bigger and bigger. I would be staying near a creek, but the water there wasn’t pure. What I needed was a water filter or a clean, fresh, cold spring or a magic unicorn that shot water out of its horn or some other wonderful thing that either didn’t exist or that I just didn’t have. That settled it. I would carry the water. But on this particular day, when we had taken the truck to the creek, which was right below my hideout, for yet another “as a family” picnic that I was sure would end, as they all did, in someone crying and someone else with a scraped elbow; on this day, I was so full of two still-cold-in-the-middle hot dogs and countless burnt marshmallows, and happy in my family’s oblivion to my scheme, that somehow it just slipped out. “If I ran away, I would go here to live,” I sang out to my brother Max, who is two years younger than me and the biggest tattletale in the world. “You’re gonna run away?” He turned his wide-eyed face towards me and I saw that devilish, gotta-tell-no-matter-what glint come into his eyes. Then he turned to Adam and Nathan and yelled, “Let’s go tell Ma!” “Tell what?” Nathan asked. He was the youngest—five years old and had been too absorbed in playing with a dry, crinkly butterfly wing and three skins from some kind of creepy bug to hear what I had been saying. “Kelly’s gonna run away!” Adam yelled, jumping up and down. At seven, he was the most energetic of us all. Which could get annoying. I ignored them, caught up in the problem that was mainly my fault. My brothers skipped over the rocks and for a moment. I bit my lip, afraid they would fall. The creek here was all rocks and rushing water, which was fun for me, and Max, now that he was getting bigger and wasn’t afraid to “rock hop.” But I worried about Nathan and Adam, who were still little and not as agile and long-legged as Max and I. Then, I decided that if they fell, that was their problem. I turned and jumped into the creek. I was sick and tired of my parents’ unorganized, supposedly fun “as a family” picnics, camp-outs, and other generally boring activities. That night, I was lying in bed, trying desperately to read my favorite book, Shiloh, without anyone finding out, when suddenly Mom peeked her head in. “Max told me you said you wanted to run away and live in a zoo.” “The zoo?” I closed my book with a sigh. Marty would have to save Shiloh on his own. “Max also told me that to start growing, babies have to eat snails. And that wedding rings have lasers in them.” “He probably saw that in a movie.” “Not the snails. Mom, I’m not gonna run away. To a zoo.” I added the last bit so it wouldn’t be a lie. “But are you going to run away?” Mothers have the ability to read minds, I swear. I fiddled with my book, looked away. “Max has a wild imagination. I said I thought it’d be fun to live at the creek.” I grinned. “No clue where he got the zoo.” The really bad thing about me is that I’m the best liar I know, so I can get away with practically anything. But Mom usually knows what
The Creek
I stare into the crystal clear water and watch My life flow by in only a way nature can make it. My eyes wander to the trees and notice the pattern of the shadow the tree casts upon the rough black rocks. It is then I realize every aspect of the creek— the fish, the sun flowers and morning flowers, and a patch of purple lilies. My world— with its plants and animals, loud green frogs and slithery, scaly snakes. There is so much space yearning to be discovered, and I feel the need to explore it. I look up at the sky and realize just how lucky I am to be here— a place just behind my house, a place I can be alone and let my thoughts run wild. So, tell me now, where do you feel at peace? Where, is your world? Bethany Rayfield, 12Rolla, Missouri
Whisper of Night
The musty, damp smell of earth engulfs me, blocking the sharp, acute smells of night from outside my den. My bushy tail, tipped with white, flicks, causing the leaves and moss that make up my nest to rustle and scatter. It does not matter. I shall see to it come daylight, for now it is my time to prowl. The moon is full and the time is right, I must emerge. I crawl on my belly up through the narrow tunnel, into the night. The night air bites at my nose but is not flagrant, only thrilling, as if promising a successful hunt. As I enter the outside, I am cautious but not fearful, for these woods are mine, at least for now. The silver luminous moon tosses shafts of light through the pine boughs, casting eerie shadows across my path. I pick up a casual lope through the trees, the moon putting a silvery luster on my coat. I know where I am headed, the meadow. After crossing a stream, I reach my ultimate destination, a field cloaked in moonlight, crawling with prey. I stop at the edge, testing the air, listening for the pumping of a minute heart. The grass rustles beneath my paws as I enter the field. I sit and wait, head low, cupped ears ready to detect any small sound, tail still as stone. No sound comes to my ears and all smells are stale. Where is the prey that has been subject to my hunt innumerable times? Perhaps if I follow the field down further, prey will once again be plentiful. Disheartened, I rise and set off again, hoping my efforts don’t prove fruitless. The rabbit bobs and weaves, barely eluding my teeth At last the warm, tangy smell of rabbit finds my nose. Almost at once, I spot the long-eared prey, nibbling on a grass stalk, without any inkling of my presence. Crouched low, I slide through the grass, nose twitching. Like a coiled spring, I crouch, and then launch my lithe body at the hare, limbs uncoiling, teeth bared. However, at the last minute, the rabbit shuffles to the right of where it was, leaving me to land awkwardly, just missing by inches. The startled rabbit leaps in alarm and bounds off across the field. I dart after it, tail whipping behind me. The rabbit bobs and weaves, barely eluding my teeth. After what seems like eons, the rabbit shoots down its hole, leaving me empty- pawed above. I growl in frustration, having come so close to snaring my first catch of the night, but moonlight is waning and I must continue. I lift my head, only to find that I’m in a part of the field that I have never been in before. During my chase with the hare, I had not noticed the unnatural glow that obscured the moonlight and bathed the grass in its sickly luster. Curious, I slink forward, keeping low and silent. There, hidden by the trees, looms a huge shape, like none I have ever seen. As I approach the shape (which by now I have assumed is a human’s house), a deep bark originates from an enclosure, adjacent to the house. A dog. I should have known. All of a sudden, the light in the house flashes on and a loud voice roars from the structure. Though I don’t know what it means, it’s probable that this is my cue to flee, which I do. I turn in the darkness and run, run with all I have. The night blurs around me. A bang and a roar rip through the woods, causing the ground beneath me to explode. Startled, I forget to watch my feet and I tumble nose over tail through the grass, landing hard on my side. I glance back; long enough to see the gopher hole that snared my leg. My chest heaves, my breathing is ragged, and a throbbing pain begins to grow in my front leg. For once I fear for my life. If I move now, I will draw attention to myself, and the pain in my leg is so immense, a quick getaway would be near impossible. However, if I stay here, my presence may be prominent, if the human saw me go down. Panicked, I turn the choices over in my head. I will wait. I lie on my side, watching the moon move across the sky. No one comes. I test the air. The coast is clear, at least for now. Painstakingly, I raise one foot after the other but cannot bear any weight on my injured foot. Knowing not how far it is back to my den, I set out, hoping to make it home before daylight spreads its rosy arms and engulfs the land once again. After limping my way to the end of the field, it feels as if my foot has been engulfed in flames, and all of my other paws are sore. By the time I reach the stream, I almost topple into it, but I quench my immense thirst and soak my throbbing foot in the icy, cool depths. It relieves some of the pain and helps eradicate the swelling, but the pain is still present and I still cannot bear any weight upon my lame foot. My tail droops and my head is hung low, yet my den is only a short ways from here. After much toil, I at last reach my den, just as I had left it. I limp to the entrance and wiggle down the tunnel, the damp air a shocking change from the dry night air. Without even fixing my nest, I collapse, exhausted, into a much deserved deep sleep. However, I will return to the meadow tomorrow, for I am the silent one, the one that stalks on light paws, the whisper of night. Jenna Fields, 12Coyote, California Madeleine Alexander, 10Keller, Texas
The Ocean Child
Her voice was soft and it reminded me of wind chimes The summer cabin was wonderful. We all thought so. It was white with blue trim around the windows and doors. The roof was gray like mist. I had been waiting all summer to visit this cabin, but it was the beach I was most eager to see. My name is Jasmine, and I love the beach. I love the sound of the waves, finding empty shells on the sand, swimming. The pretty little cabin my parents, my little brother, and I were staying in was on the edge of a little forest, right near the beach. I would be able to go down every day! When we arrived, I hauled my two bags into the cabin, helped my little brother, Cody, carry in his five, and then had to wait patiently while my parents slowly explored the cabin. “So, Jasmine, Cody, do you want to have lunch first?” Mom asked. “No thanks!” I said, then turned and ran out the door, onto the beach. The sand was unbelievably hot, so I leapt into the water. It was very, very cold. I stood there, shivering as I waded slightly deeper. Then I heard her voice. “Is it cold?” I turned around and saw a girl. She looked like she was my age, but she was really tall, at least three inches taller than me. She had light brown skin, like mine, and big gray-blue eyes. Her hair was black and really long. Wait, was there a breeze? I couldn’t feel one, but the girl’s hair was waving steadily, like the gentlest puff of wind was passing by. “Is it cold?” she repeated. Her voice was soft and it reminded me of wind chimes. “Um, yeah,” I said, “it’s pretty cold.” She nodded and put one foot into the waves. She kept wading in until she was farther in than I was. She was wearing jeans, but she didn’t seem to mind getting them wet. She didn’t bother pulling them up. She smiled. “Doesn’t seem that cold to me,” she said. I stared at her. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked. The girl smiled and shook her head. We stood there for a while. I was shivering, while the girl just stared peacefully out to sea. “Um,” I said, wanting to hear the girl say something else, “so, what’s your name?” The girl cocked her head. “Does that matter?” she asked. “Well, uh…” I stammered, unsure how to reply. The girl shrugged and her hair slid over her shoulders. Was it shimmering? “But,” the girl continued slowly, “you can call me Aqua.” She nodded her head thoughtfully, like she thought her name sounded good. “Aqua…” I saw her mouthing the word, as if she was trying it out. “Aqua,” I said, “that’s a nice name. Mine is Jasmine.” The girl smiled, but didn’t say anything. I shifted my feet in the icy water. “I’m getting out of the water,” I said. “Do you, um… want to look for shells with me?” Aqua’s gray-blue eyes lit up. “Yeah!” she said, and splashed to shore. “Come on.” I followed Aqua out of the water. She was already holding a shell. “I found one,” she said, gesturing to the shell. “Want it?” I declined the offer, and Aqua settled the shell into her pocket. All day we hunted for shells, smooth pebbles, beach glass, and driftwood. Aqua found the most of everything. Things just seemed to leap out at her, including a little green crab that practically jumped into her hand. It didn’t pinch her or anything. It just scuttled up and down her wrist. Aqua laughed and set it back on the sand. After we were done hunting for shells and other treasures, we spread them on some big logs. Aqua started laying her stuff on the sand again, making intricate patterns. “Maybe…” I said, “maybe you could come over and have a snack with my family? I can ask, if you want.” Aqua shrugged and smiled happily. “Sure,” she said. I stood up, brushed the sand off my knees, and started up to the cabin. “You can wait here, if you want,” I said. “I’ll just go and ask my parents.” Aqua nodded, trailing her fingers in the soft sand. I ran up to our little cabin and pushed the door open. “Mom! Dad!” I called. My mom pushed her head around the corner. “What?” she asked. “And if you’re asking why we didn’t come down to the beach, Cody jammed the peanut butter jar on his head. I don’t know how, or why, but he did.” Yep. That sounded like my little brother. Last year, he got stuck under a bus seat. “Um, well,” I said, “I was going to ask if a girl I met could come here for a snack.” Mom nodded, “Oh sure. We almost have Cody’s head free.” She disappeared around the corner again. I walked back down to the beach. “Hey, Aqua!” I called. “You can come over for a snack.” Aqua bounded over and smiled. She didn’t say anything, as usual, but followed me back to the cabin. I introduced Aqua to my parents. Aqua didn’t even ask about a half-empty peanut butter jar being thrown away or about a very peanut-buttery Cody, who joined us before being dismissed to wash his face. After a while, Aqua said she had to go home. I watched her walk down the beach until she disappeared from sight. Aqua came over every day. She loved the beach even more then I did. She was nice, but I noticed even more weird things the more I got to know her. It always looked like she was in one of those weird shadows that you see underwater, and her hair was always moving, like it was being tugged by a steady current. She never talked much, and she was always ready to eat. Things got weirder and weirder. One day,
