Is this a dream? I’m walking through the birch trees half covered in melting snow as the breaking of dawn comes closer and closer to the snow-covered forest. The swift breeze is blowing against my face, making my hair blow in the wind as the broken leaves get blown into the sky far away. The snow, as soft as fur, is giving me time to think about what’s going on and it feels as if nothing in the world could ever disturb this peaceful moment in time. I’m hearing the owls traveling back to their home and the sparrows just awakening and starting to sing their morning song. I feel this moment in time might be the most peaceful moment in my life. I feel as if I could see the whole forest right from where I’m standing. The sound of the stream flowing down the forest soothes my mind and makes it feel in a deep slumber. A pack of wolves howl together in perfect harmony like they had been for years, and a fox is protecting its family with its full concentration. A couple of fawns are playing together as if nothing bad could happen in the big world. A hawk is bringing food back to its infants. All these animals living together in absolute perfect harmony and all in the same snow-covered forest. I feel this moment in time might be the most peaceful moment in my life I climb up a birch tree half covered in snow and get to a high stable branch next to a sparrow’s nest. As dawn finally breaks I remember that I have been out for two hours and maybe even more. Then I realize that there is a distant voice encouraging me to keep walking deeper in the forest. I don’t know if I should, but I have a strange feeling I probably should. So I walk further into the forest and as I walk the snow crunches with every step I take because of the twigs in the soft snow. But then all of a sudden my sight is drowned in a bright light! I close my eyes so the light doesn’t hurt them and when I open my eyes again I find myself in my room. I hear my mom calling, “It’s time to go to school!” so I get out of my pajamas, put my clothes on, and get my backpack ready for school. As I make my way to school I remember the dream I had last night about walking through the snow-covered forest and how peaceful and vivid it was. Then I think about what it would be like if this was a dream. Pranav wrote this story when he was 8. Pranav Parekh, 10Santa Cruz, California Vaeya Nichols, 10Ozark, Missouri
The Mighty Miss Malone
The Mighty Miss Malone, by Christopher Paul Curtis; Wendy Lamb Books: New York, 2012; $15.99 Usually I can tell whether I like a book or not within the first chapter. With this book, I could tell in the first sentence. When I read, “‘Once upon a time…’ If I could get away with it, that’s how I’d begin every essay I write,” I knew I would love it. As I kept reading, I proved myself right. Deza Malone is a twelve-year-old girl who has “the heart of a champion… [and is] steady as a rock.” Her story brought the Great Depression and the particular hardships for African-Americans more to life than any American Girl doll book I’ve ever read. Though it reminded me in subject of the American Girl series, I thought it was much better. I think I might have a new favorite book, and a new friend: Deza. She was so real, I looked carefully to see if it was based on a true story. Sadly, I found it wasn’t. Then again, considering what Deza goes through, I was happy to find the story did not actually happen. The one thing I want in all my books is that sense of reality, and this book brought it. Deza Malone starts out as a smart schoolgirl and goes from that to being practically homeless. Her father is injured, her brother runs away, and she has nowhere to live but a hobo camp. There, even the hobo people are prejudiced against her because of her race. At the end of the book, Deza’s torn family is scraped back together again, but nothing is the same. Although she doesn’t get her old life back, her story still feels complete. It doesn’t have a fairy-tale ending, nor is it a Shakespearean tragedy. It suggests both a sequel and a continued life for Deza. It says that her story doesn’t stop there. I sat there for several minutes after I finished, thinking about what might be in store for Deza. One part of the book I really liked was when Deza was talking about her family. They sounded like people I would love to hang out with. They all have these quirks and special qualities, just like real people. For example, Deza’s dad loves to speak using alliteration. Though it can be annoying for Deza it is also a very endearing characteristic. Another part of the book I can’t stop replaying in my head is when Deza first sees her father again. He is stitched up, bloody, and bruised. I expected Deza to play the typical good heroine and immediately welcome him. I thought Deza would open her arms for her daddy, not caring about his appearance. Deza didn’t do that. In fact, she didn’t even recognize him at first. When she did, Deza was upset, unforgiving, and—real. It was so sad and pathetic and it made me ache to see her act the way she did. But I also found it really authentic and touching. It was unexpected but made sense. The main thing that I think matters in a good book is whether or not it keeps you wanting more. If it is all action scenes, it gets overwhelming. If the whole book is meaningless description, it is not engaging at all. But this book was right in the middle. The descriptions gave you needed information, and the action was suspenseful and varied. And it all had a little pinch of humor. This book is pretty close to perfect. After reading it, I realized I still was thinking and talking like Deza! Southern twang, hobo slang, and all. I will be telling all my friends about this book, and I am sure they will love it too. Emma Maze, 13Hanahan, South Carolina
A Special Present
“Nice choice,” said the lady behind the counter Florence wiped her brow with her winter mitten, plunged her shovel into a giant mound of soft snow, and leaned on it for a break. She was almost finished. Her Uncle Larry had suggested that she shovel snow to make money for Christmas presents, and he had been right; it did pay well. But he had mentioned nothing about how much work it was or how sore her muscles would be after shoveling just three driveways. She was hard at work on her fourth, Mr. Crummbino’s, with only a small patch of snow to shovel. She was charging five dollars for each driveway cleared, so when she calculated it out, she would need to shovel two more (after completing this one) to come up with the necessary shopping budget, which was thirty dollars. She needed to buy something for her mother, her father, her seven-year-old sister, Kyra, her friend Rachel, her grandmother, and her grandfather. Christmas was in four days, and she planned to go shopping on Christmas Eve. Shoveling one driveway a day, she would make it to Christmas Eve with thirty dollars. Which means I’d better get working, she thought, glancing at her watch. It was 6:45 p.m., and to get to her house across the street in time for dinner at seven o’clock, she would need to hurry and finish her work. She ached all over but managed to shovel the last pile of snow out of the way and walk up to Mr. Crummbino’s royal-blue door. He opened it. He was dressed in a dark blue sweater with green trim that almost matched his door. A short stubble of a beard lined the smile he wore when he looked down his driveway. Shining eyes gazed down at Florence warmly. “You did a good job, Florence. Here’s your pay.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, took out the money in it, and peeled a five-dollar bill off of the thin roll of bills. “Thank you,” she mumbled, folding the crisp, clean bill and neatly slipping it into her pocket. He smiled again and waved as she turned to go. She looked both ways before crossing the street. Her watch informed her that she had exactly eight minutes to change out of her snow clothes and get to dinner. When she reached her front deck, she turned around and inspected her work. Even she had to admit she’d done a great job. Look at me, she thought, I’m working hard and making money. She felt very mature at that thought, and she straightened up as she kicked the snow from her boots and went inside. * * * Christmas Eve came up quickly. . Like she had planned, she covered two more driveways in the following two days, so the day before Christmas, she set out to do her shopping. The town square was buzzing with people, rushing around and trying to finish their Christmas shopping. Florence was the only one who had time to relax. She had a whole afternoon and, unlike many of the customers milling about, she didn’t have a family to get back to. Her father’s gift was the easiest to decide on because he’d been talking about the navy-blue wool hat for weeks. Many stores were sold out of it, but she miraculously found one that was on sale, and she bought the last one before it was too late. She bought a bottle of perfume for her mother. The sweet gardenia smell was irresistible, and she knew her mother would like it. For her grandfather, she got a small wooden plaque that read, “Destiny is not the path given to you, but the path you choose.” Her superstitious grandmother would receive a good-luck charm. Rachel, she knew, would be happy to get a pack of the extra-fruity bubblegum. She had five dollars left in her pocket and just one gift left to buy. She needed to buy something for Kyra. She was just entering a jewelry store when something sparkly caught her eye. She soon found herself gaping at the flashy bracelet that she had always wanted, but it had always been too expensive. The bracelet had shiny glass beads of orange, red, and pink. Now, a large price tag dangled from the small silver clasp. The price tag flashed four capital letters written in red: SALE. She picked up the bracelet and turned over the tag. It would cost her five dollars. Exactly the amount she had left. Things couldn’t be any better. A smile lit up her face. But the smile evaporated the moment she remembered that she still needed to get Kyra’s gift. Her mind went crazy, trying to think of a solution to the dilemma. Her intuition told her to get Kyra’s present, but the bracelet might not be on sale anymore when she had saved up enough money to buy it later. How wonderful it would feel to walk into class the day winter break ended! How perfect it would look, shimmering on her hand! Besides, she could give Kyra the doll she had at home. The doll’s hair was tangled and one eye didn’t open, but… Florence tried not to think of that. All she could think about was how proud she would feel when she came to school with that bracelet gleaming around her wrist. Selfishness overcame her, and she pushed the little voice that told her the right thing to do out of her mind. She walked up to the checkout counter and placed the bracelet on top. “Nice choice,” said the lady behind the counter in her southern accent, “I think it’s the last one we have.” Florence could only nod and gulp down her guilt. * * * On Christmas Day, Florence rushed over to Rachel’s house, which was two blocks down from hers. When she presented the gum to her, Rachel was ecstatic with delight. “The extra-fruity bubblegum!” she beamed.
CJ
Whenever we found one of the ducks alone, it meant something was probably wrong It happened Christmas Day. I had gone outside to check on my ducks, when Scooter, the male pompom-headed Bali duck, came out from under the porch. I figured he had been sleeping down there. I crawled under to check on the girls, Cheepers and Smiley, who would probably be under there still asleep. Ducks always stay in flocks and our three always stuck together. Whenever we found one of the ducks alone, it meant something was probably wrong. But when I looked, the girls weren’t anywhere to be seen. I checked in the bushes next to the front porch, thinking maybe they were under there and I just hadn’t seen them. They weren’t under there either. I looked around wildly, trying to figure out where they could have gone. Scooter seemed to be just realizing that they weren’t with him and began to quack, looking worried. I ran down the boardwalk into the swampy, muddy wetland area in the woods behind the house. There in the distance I heard the faint sound of a female duck’s distress call. I ran to the section of woods where the puddles start, where the ducks often went to eat the bugs that lived under the leaves and in the mud. About twenty feet away I saw a white blob in a puddle. That was one of the two. I was about to run over to her, but she seemed perfectly fine, and she wasn’t the one quacking. I knew I had to find the other one. The quacking sound seemed to be coming from the middle of the woods. I quickly started running in that direction. I had yanked off my fleece-lined Crocs and woolen socks so I wouldn’t get them all wet. Luckily, there was no snow, just a thin layer of ice I could easily break through with my feet. Pretty soon I could just make out a white-and-brown wine bottle shape. Usually that’s not how you describe a duck. You think of fat mallards that waddle around or swim in a pond. These, however, were Indian Runner ducks, which are tall and skinny. They run instead of waddle and they don’t live in ponds. They’re what you typically think of as puddle ducks. When my duck saw me, she kept on quacking but walked over in my direction. I scooped her up and saw that she was Smiley. Smiley had gotten her name from the first time I saw her, when she had just hatched and was still inside the egg incubator. Because ducks tilt their heads to look up or down, and because of the way the corners of their bills curl, it looks just like they are beaming up at you. Still, no matter how smiley her face looked right then, I could tell she was pretty freaked out. Her eyes were wide and, although I was carrying her, she looked like she was trying to stand on her toes. I tried to calm her down, telling her that Scooter was back at the house and that I had seen Cheepers on my way over. As we neared the puddle that Cheepers was in I noticed something odd about her. Her body looked limp and I couldn’t see her head. I quickly put Smiley down and started running towards her. Tears were already streaming down my face. I crouched beside her and stroked her back. Her head was curled under her body and her wings were spread out on either side, as if she were trying to bear the weight of something on her back. * * * We buried her in a clearing next to a stone wall just behind our backyard, right next to the grave of our old guinea pig, Toot. Dad dug a hole in which we lowered a model helicopter box, containing not the helicopter that my two brothers had taken out earlier but the brown-and-white, feathered body that had once been a duck named Cheepers. That Tuesday when we went to volunteer at our local farm we borrowed an egg incubator in which we put two eggs. One of these was Cheepers’ last egg. We decided that the first duckling to hatch would be named Cheepers Junior, or CJ for short. Ducks don’t have good memories. After about a week I seriously doubt Scooter and Smiley remembered Cheepers at all, though now, almost a year later, they still haven’t gone back to the woods where we found her. My dad said it was probably a weasel that got her, since the body was not badly damaged; there were just puncture marks on the sides of her neck. * * * Four weeks later, one of the eggs in the incubator started to shake! We began seeing little cracks appearing on the shell. Then the other egg started to shake, and we knew that both of them were going to hatch. A few hours later a little hole appeared in the first egg, which meant it was probably going to hatch that day. Every now and then we could see a tiny orange bill poking through the crack. We started to hear exhausted little cheeps coming from the duckling that was pushing with all its strength to get out of the egg. Then, with one last push, the top of the egg came off, and a wet, feathered head popped out and started looking around. It cheeped and kicked with its tiny feet, because its back end was still inside the egg. It kept on kicking fiercely at the shell until finally his whole body fell out of the egg. The little ducky looked up at us with that smiley expression that all ducks have We took the lid off the incubator and took out the empty shell. The little ducky looked up at us with that smiley expression that all ducks have, and we all looked at
Peace
Amy made her way through the house. It was nice being able to live out here in the country. Not having to wake up to tooting trains or honking cars as she did when she lived in Seattle. True, they now lived by the highway, but at least the cars and trucks that drove by didn’t make such a racket as they would in the nearby town of Coeur d’Alene where there was traffic and stoplights. She went to the kitchen and made herself a thermos of steaming hot cocoa with marshmallows before putting on a fuzzy hat, her coat, and boots. Finally, Amy grabbed a bag which contained a notebook and her best drawing pencil. She was anxious to get outside and quickly made a beeline for her newest favorite spot to enjoy nature. When she came to the dry patch under the big tree, Amy ducked under the bent boughs and nestled up against the rough fir bark. She then carefully arranged her notebook, pencil, and thermos. Before she put pencil to paper she took a sip of her sticky, sweet drink and settled in to watch the cars drive by. They resembled little ants going about their own business, not giving any thought to the dragonfly that was watching them from above. Amy imagined that once in a while a little child would look up out of her car window and wonder what lucky kid could live on that hill and have all of nature’s benefits so nearby. It was nice being able to live out here in the country Amy’s thoughts began to focus into a clear picture and she started drawing the calm creek, the marshy fields, the dense forests, and the rocky bluffs. When she was finished with the landscape she added in the details: the ice patches on the creek edges, the A-frame house on the far mountain, and the little cars on the highway. After she was finished with her sketch and back inside the cozy house, pulling out her colored pencils, Amy realized that not many kids have the opportunity to live outside the city where they can climb the tall dark green trees, go swimming any day of the summer in a bright blue creek, and explore the soft grass-covered hill, looking for interesting animals. When Amy had finished adding the final colored touches to her drawing, she thought of asking her mom if she could invite some friends over to make Christmas wreaths and introduce them to the wonderful peace that the country has to offer. Alahna Harrison, 13Coeur d’Alene, Idaho Sarah Pi, 13San Jose, California
Summer of the Wolves
Summer of the Wolves, by Polly Carlson-Voiles; Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Books for Young Readers: New York, 2012; $15.99 Polly Carlson-Voiles’s Summer of the Wolves is a wonderful book about a twelve-year-old girl named Nika and her younger brother who were recently orphaned and are being sent to their long-lost uncle’s house in Minnesota for the summer. Nika’s uncle studies wolf migration patterns, and one day, when Nika joins her uncle to go observe a wolf in the wild, they find her dead, but they also find the dead wolf ’s pup. Nika and her Uncle Ian must bring the wolf pup back to their cabin and take care of it, so it won’t die, since it is now motherless. In the story, I felt that I could connect a lot with Nika, especially when Nika becomes close with Kahn, the motherless wolf pup. It reminds me of when my family got my German shepherd puppy named Bella. When Nika’s uncle says they must give Kahn to the conservation center where he works, Nika is very upset; I could never imagine having to get rid of Bella. One part of the story I found particularly good was when Nika and her friend Thomas plan to let loose skunks, coyotes, and wolves that a man named Bristo was illegally keeping. When Nika and Thomas go over to Bristo’s house to let all the animals loose, they also stumble upon a mountain lion. When they try to release it, it snaps at Nika, so Thomas and Nika decide to let her be. Hearing Bristo start to open the back door, Nika and Thomas run away but drop the pair of wire cutters they brought to open the cages. Eventually, Nika and Thomas confess to the police that they were the ones who let Bristo’s animals loose. In the end, they have to do community service for a couple of weeks to make up for it. While doing community service, they talk about the crime and the punishment but still agree that it was well worth it. Throughout the book, I agreed with Nika a lot, especially when she decides she wants to release Kahn back into the wild with Luna, another wolf that Nika and Thomas discovered, instead of bringing Kahn to the conservation center. That would be such a hard decision, but in the end it would probably be the best thing. I think that animals, especially wolves, should not be kept in captivity but in the wild. As the saying goes, “If you love something, set it free.” Nika decided that if she really did love Kahn, she should let him be where he is happiest, the wild. When Nika tells her Uncle Ian about her plan, he disagrees. I always felt bad for Nika when her Uncle Ian treated her like a little kid. Uncle Ian would never trust Nika to take Kahn outside of a fenced area. When her uncle had to go to work or to conferences, he always had vet assistants and people who worked with him stay over at the cabin to take care of Kahn, even if it was only for a couple of hours. She was always trying to prove to him that she was mature enough to handle Kahn. I feel that by the end of the book, Uncle Ian finally sees that she can handle Kahn herself and is becoming a young adult. Summer of the Wolves is one of my favorite books of all time! After the first chapter of Summer of the Wolves, I simply could not put this book down! I highly recommend this book to anyone who loves animals, nature, and stories of hardship. Sarah Haynes, 12Weare, New Hampshire
Izzy’s Gone!
“Let’s play airplane!” she giggled Carl looked out the window. He could barely see the park across the street because of the fog. He had to stay at his house all day today because of the fog warning. Now all he had to do was to get his baby sister to bed so he could sit back and relax. She had had her bath and was in her pj’s and ready for bed. When he looked back at his living room, he groaned. The day had been a long one, and the whole living room was a wreck. Lego pieces scattered everywhere on the floor and white shreds of paper taped to the table. His baby sister apparently was having a blast. His parents had gone out for a meeting before the fog set in, leaving Carl to babysit his messy sister. “One, two, three!” she said as she made a whooshing sound like an airplane and ran around the table. “I can count to three!” “Isabelle, it’s time for bed,” he said in his nicest voice. Of course, Isabelle didn’t want to go to bed yet. “Let’s play airplane!” she giggled. “Isabelle, if you want to play airplane, that’s fine with me!” An idea began forming in Carl’s mind. He stopped her and carried her up the stairs to her room. “Whoosh!” he said as Isabelle laughed the whole way up. He opened her bedroom door and set her down. But immediately Isabelle ran out of the room and down the stairs again. “I’ll read you a story!” he yelled down the stairs as he rapidly ran down after her. He heard a door slam but couldn’t tell which door it was. His four-year-old sister was small, making it hard to find her if she decided to play hide-and-seek. First thing he did was open the main closet door. Just coats and muddy shoes. Next he ran down to the basement. The lights were on, so she may have run down here. He checked under the Ping-Pong table, but with no luck. Next he checked behind every Rescue Heroes toy set, but still no Isabelle. He checked behind chairs, underneath blankets, and just about every place in the house. Isabelle seemed to have disappeared. “Isabelle!” he yelled. “Come back here right now!” Footsteps came from the main living room, so he ran in there, just to see that it was his toy robot on the table. It automatically turned on whenever someone walked past it. If Isabelle had gone in here, she must have accidentally turned on the robot. He pushed down on the robot’s head to turn it off and then looked thoroughly through the living room. Of course, he still couldn’t find Isabelle. Suddenly, he got an idea. He ran up to her room and dug through the pile of books on the floor and found the book entitled Story Time for Children. Then he ran into her walk-in closet and flipped a switch on the household intercom. Now everything he said would be amplified throughout the house. He cleared his throat and said loudly, “This sure is a good story! Too bad Izzy isn’t here to listen to it!” He flipped a switch on the intercom and listened. Footsteps were running through the house and, according to the lights on the intercom that told where the sound was coming from, were going through the rooms, up the stairs, and finally into Isabelle’s room. She sat down on the bed and got under the covers while Carl got out of the closet and sat down to read the story to her. He had finally gotten his baby sister to bed. Now he could sit back and relax. But then he remembered something. The horrible mess in the living room. Alexander Freed, 12West Des Moines, Iowa Natasha Pettit, 12Wellington, New Zealand
Heights
“This is dangerous,” I say. The cold wind stings my cheeks and ruffles my hair. But I keep climbing up the old rusty ladder, trying to ignore my numb hands and my pounding heart and the fact I’m over twenty feet in the air. “Well, yeah,” Addie says, snorting sarcastically. Isn’t she the perfect, ever-supporting best friend? No. She looks down at me, like she’s trying to guess what I’m thinking. It probably isn’t too hard. I’m shaking, and my breath is ragged. My voice is probably higher than usual. I’ll admit it—I’m scared of heights. “Who said climbing up an abandoned thirty-foot-high water tower—at night—would not be dangerous?” she adds. I look down. Bad idea. “Can we please go down?” I beg. Climbing up a rickety ladder to an old water tower at night was not my idea. Why do I listen to Addie? I have no clue. Sue me. “Scared, Conner?” she smirks. Her tone is victorious, like she caught me doing something naughty. Hypocrite. “Of falling? Actually, yes!” I snap, annoyed. Just because Addie was fearless, didn’t mean I was, too. Not everyone is as perfect as Addie. The look on her face softens. “Oh.” She looks up, avoiding my eyes. “Don’t worry, we only have ten rungs left,” she says. I look down again. Our bikes, purple and orange, look small. “Hurry up, then.” Finally, we’re both on a platform, staring at the quiet land around us. Iron bars that once might’ve been railing are strewn around the small platform. Trash—wrappers, glass bottles, plastic bags—are tangled amongst the large mass of metal. Addie crinkles her nose at the trash, and if I wasn’t her best friend, I’d almost say she is cute. But I am. Deal with it. Addie’s hair is always a mess, looking like she’s just rolled out of bed. Even though it’s in a long braid down her back, I can still see random black hairs defying every law of gravity. She has bright green eyes and, as always, a smirk that immediately vanishes when adults walk by. Addie is short, but I learned the hard way not to say that to her face. “Wow. Isn’t it brilliant?” she asks, nudging my shoulder. I nod in agreement. The view really is fantastic, but I can’t really enjoy it, thanks to my fear of heights. The city, about four miles away, glitters. I can barely make out the tall forms of skyscrapers against the dark sky. The suburbs stretch outwards. To the left, a grove of trees dominates several acres of land. The moon glows white against the sky, while small stars twinkle. Addie points to a bent ladder leaning against the water tower. I think, Oh God, no. “Coming?” she asks with a wolfish grin. “For Pete’s sake, Addie…” I really, really don’t want to. “I didn’t say you had to come.” “Yeah, whatever.” I’m pretty sure bringing a girl to her door is polite. So, following her up a rickety ladder that may or may not be stable is definitely gentlemanly. My mom would be so proud. Oh, wait—I snuck out of the house past curfew, climbed up an old water tower, and was now praying it didn’t fall down. I don’t think she’d be too proud. Win some, lose some. I follow her up the ladder, praying it doesn’t twist the other way or something. Now we’re on the top of the roof, the closest to the sky I’ve ever been. It’s so darn big, and I feel so small and puny. I’m trying to breathe normally. Addie’s perfectly calm, though. I close my eyes. “This doesn’t scare you at all?” I ask through gritted teeth. She looks at me curiously. “The heights?” “No,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “Of course the heights!” I’m slightly hysterical. She shakes her head. “No. Heights… have never scared me. I love heights, in fact. Airplanes, roller coasters, cliffs.” I stare at her in shock. “Are you human, Adds? We’re up, about thirty feet, in the air, and you’re not scared?” “No. It’s OK, though, because I’m scared of drowning.” Addie, scared of drowning? Addie, the brave? Addie, the invincible? That didn’t seem possible, but the look on her face is sincere. “Wow. Isn’t it brilliant?” She shudders. “But, I learned how to face my fear. I don’t let it control me. So I swim as deep as I can go and hold my breath until I can’t hold it anymore.” I bite my lip. Then stand up and look down at the ground. My legs are shaky but I refuse to give up. I see Addie smile and stand up with me. “This isn’t so bad,” I say. “No, it isn’t,” Addie grins. And I mentally thank Addie for helping me face my fear. But I still have to get back at her for teasing me earlier… “Hey, Adds, wanna go to the pool tomorrow?” “Oh, shut up.” Jaida Johnson, 12Seaside, California Gordon Su, 11Milpitas, California
My Temporary Window Art
The rain steadily falls, against the roof of my bus stop. The air is so cold I can see my sparkling white breath. I can already tell it’s going to be a long dreary day. When it rains, nothing goes my way. The weather makes my spirit drop, like the temperature when summer slips to autumn. The sky is gray and fierce, so the sun has a difficult time shining through, and showing its warm face. A cloud of darkness looms over my head. I am stuck in its shadow. The groaning yellow bus slowly turns the corner. I drag myself toward the curb as it rolls down the hill. Once I am aboard, the tired frustrated faces of the other kids surround me. I find my seat by a window. The glass is as foggy as pea soup. Nothing is visible through its moist surface, though I wish it was, like on a sunny day. I take my delicate finger and slowly draw a smiley face on the window. In my mind I know this blissful image will eventually fade away, but it will be my sunshine for the rest of this rainy day. Nadia Rossy, 12Bedford Hills, New York
Daughter of Bastet
“Welcome, sister. We have long roads to run, you and I” Her eyes snapped open, instantly awake. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and jumped out, fully dressed. Lightly, she padded down the hall and through the house. Cautiously, she cracked the sliding-glass door open, wincing as it squealed across the floor. She froze, half expecting her father shouting to “get back to bed this instant or else.” Luckily, the house remained silent and she slipped out of the apartment and onto the balcony. She halted, staring at her reflection in the glass pane. Shaggy black hair, chocolate skin, intense amber eyes… they all added up to an outsider’s face. She had never fit in at school or anywhere else. Heck, even she and her dad didn’t get along well. She had always been the outsider, the weird girl, the loner. That, she vowed, was going to be changed tonight. Taking a deep breath, she scaled the apartment wall, finding minute hand- and footholds with ease. She swung herself over and landed lightly on her feet. Just like a real cat, she thought proudly. She cautiously padded over to the edge of the roof and looked down. Below her, eleven stories down, lay the sleeping city; so busy by day, yet so still at night. She looked up, past the asphalt jungle, and into the forest. Its cool green depths silently beckoned to her. Soon, she promised. Soon. It was, as she called it, a running night. It just made you want to move. The wind tugged at her hair, whispering move move move. A breezy, cool sky sparkled with thousands of stars over head like someone threw a handful of diamonds into the sky. Silently, she watched the still, sleeping city from her lofty perch. Suddenly, she stood up from her feral crouch. Sounding from across the city, almost inaudible, rang a bell, chiming louder by the second. Almost noiselessly, with superhuman strength and agility, she darted across the rooftops of the quiet city. Dodging or leaping over obstacles, she leaped gaps and scaled chimneys with ease. At the edge of the city, she paused again, straining her ears. From the shadowed forest came the faint sound of the bell, ringing… then silent. She grinned, took a reading on the fading sound, and leaped off of the roof and into the forest. Branches and leaves whipped her racing body and tugged at her hair. After a few minutes of breakneck racing through the forest, she halted at a small clearing. She was not, however, alone. Green-glinting eyes shone in pairs around the clearing. She slowly, deliberately walked forward, quelling the worm of fear in her gut. She bowed. “Sisters. Well met.” “Well met.” Her sensitive ears picked up the response in a chorus of quiet female voices. The glowing eyes moved forward out of the shadows and into the fickle light of the stars. A group of seven tall, lithe women stood in a circle under the stars around her. “We gather here today,” spoke-sang the tallest, most feline woman, “to welcome a sister.” Keen, sharp eyes turned to her, scrutinizing her. She could almost feel their stares, picking apart her personality and digging into her soul. Trying not to look afraid, she boldly gazed back, trying to look brave. She must’ve passed some unspoken test, for the eyes soon turned back to the woman talking. The older woman smiled, displaying a small, pointed canine. “Welcome, sister. We have long roads to run, you and I.” Her throat was dry, but she managed to cough out a “Yes, if fate wills it.” She wasn’t sure, but she thought she caught a glimpse of sympathy in her eyes, like she knew how it felt to be the newbie in a group. The leader stiffened, raising her head like she heard someone—something calling. In response, the other women tensed, turning into the wind. The breeze whipped her hair across her face, hiding her face in shadow. “Sisters!” she cried. “We hunt!” Like a smooth river flowing together, the daughters of Bastet leaped down from their collective perches and ran. Long limbs bunched and extended tirelessly, chasing after a strange, elusive scent. She brought up the back, for the first time in her life struggling to keep up with someone. As she ran, she laughed at the sheer glory and exhilaration of the hunt. This was how it was supposed to be. Running, following people who accepted her, understood her. She grinned wryly for a moment. This felt completely normal, perfect, even, to her, but a regular mortal, seeing seemingly ordinary humans in such an inhuman way would probably be shocked. She noticed the pace growing faster, speeding up. A sudden gust of wind brought with it a musky, herbivore scent: a deer. She suddenly stopped, letting the others race past her. A few things had clicked in her mind. Here was the predator. There was the prey. Soon the predator would meet the prey. She looked away, abruptly feeling nauseous. There was a snarl, a squeal, then silence. She cautiously looked up again, and then walked the few yards to where the rest of the group congregated. The leader, who apparently made the kill, looked up and saw her approach uneasily. The woman smiled at her and beckoned her to join them. She noted, with faint relief, that there was no (visible) sign of a scuffle. She wasn’t that catlike yet. The leader motioned her over. “Here, have some of the venison.” She sat down next to her, still feeling kind of awkward, and took a bite. It was tough and gamy, not like the venison in those fancy restaurants her dad took her to. It took some chewing, but it was full of good flavor. The leader watched her adjust to the setting, smiling. “I am Siv. The others are Veria, Sharza, Aislinn, Emili, Holly, and Renee.” As she named them, each woman looked up
Double Wave
A huge wave was looming, just cresting and about ready to break It was hot, much too hot and stifling for my liking. My long-sleeved wetsuit wasn’t helping, and the zippered ankles weren’t much relief. I sighed and rolled down the window. Soooo much better. The playful wind whispered in my ear, danced around my collarbone, and lifted my hair just slightly off my back. Minutes later, the harsh crying of gulls resonated through my ears, my eyes flew open, and I drew breath tainted with the salty brine smell of the ocean. It stretched out before me, gleaming and glittering in all its glory. The more daring few of the sun’s rays reached out, just barely kissing the surface of the cresting, breaking water. I pulled another long, salty-sweet breath of air into my lungs and grinned. The aquamarine water shone bright, inviting me, calling me toward its glistening depths. The car stopped with a jolt. A heartbeat after the sound of the engine fading to a low purr and finally stopping, I shoved my door open and leapt out, bare feet skimming over the hot, hard asphalt. My friend Annie raced after me, her mom’s calls chasing us there. “Leave our bags in a good spot on the shore!” she instructed. “Got it!” was yelled back to her with one voice. I crashed down a skinny cement path, dashed through some fat green succulents, and sprinted across the burning hot beach. The water was beautifully cold, not to mention welcome. Frothing liquid swirled around my legs as I raced farther out. A huge wave was looming, just cresting and about ready to break. I shook the water out of my eyes and ran to meet it. Its top curled slightly, folding in on itself. Foam gathered on the edge, and its rumbling grew louder and louder until it was all I could hear. I filled my lungs to their bursting point and drifted down to the rough, sandy bottom. I could feel the whitewater booming over my head, and when I could have sworn the last traces of its foam had receded, I straightened my knees and broke the glassy surface. The contrast of the ice-cold water around my long legs and the pleasant warmth of the sun on my upturned face was angelic. I soaked it all in, from the sounds and noises you would expect to be associated with the ocean to the cries of families and their friends, audible all across the beach. A crashing sound was building, growing louder, but I had yet to pay attention to it. Too late. Suddenly another wave slapped me in the face and I fell over. Whoops, I muttered in my head. Pay attention next time, nutso! Caught up in the rinse cycle, I rolled head over heels many times and occasionally whacked a limb or butt against the fast-passing, sandy bottom. Great move, Sophia, I thought. Do it again. My wave seemed to be getting smaller and thinning out. It shook me in a somersault a final time and left, depositing me at Annie’s feet. She stared at me. “Hi,” I said, staring back. Annie remained quiet. Awkward silence… I trilled internally. She didn’t move. “Ya know, double waves are dead sneaky!” I said, slipping a crazy accent into my voice that guaranteed a laugh from Annie. She twitched slightly. I grinned stupidly, and a smile flickered elusively across Annie’s face. I went a step further and stuck my thumb in my eye. Annie cracked up. I joined in and laughed until my stomach hurt and rivers streamed down my cheeks. That night, as I drifted on drowsy waves of happy, I realized I had learned my lesson for that day: always watch for double waves. Sophia Catalan, 11Pacific Palisades, California Bethany Pardoe, 12Nelson, British Columbia,Canada
More or Less
This story includes some words in Tagalog, the language of the Philippines. See the glossary at the end of the story. Today, Lina didn’t wake up from hunger, thirst, or the heat like she usually did. Today she woke up from the sound of voices. She looked at the rusty alarm clock on the shelf above her: 4:45 A.M. It was too early for voices. Tatay should still be at work. Lina looked over to her little brothers and sisters who lay sleeping on the floor beside her. Standing up, she tiptoed toward the voices, the old bamboo floors creaking with every step. Lina leaned up against the thin wall and listened. “I know, but they wouldn’t listen,” Lina’s father said loudly, not quite shouting, but almost. “But why you? Why did they fire you? You only missed three days! Tatlo!” You were sick!” her mother exclaimed, firmly holding up three fingers. “I know it is not fair, but it’s the way things are. I’ll find a new job, I promise,” her father assured her. “No, Miguel. You need to rest. I will find a job.” Her parents embraced each other. Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “Mahal kita.” “Mahal kita higit pa. I’ll check on the children. I hope we didn’t wake them,” her mother said. Lina quickly ran back into her room and pretended to be asleep, just as her mother peered in. Lina thought about everything she just heard. She knew that the next few weeks would be even tougher than usual. Her dad had lost his night job as a jeepney driver. He didn’t get paid that much, especially for their family of eight. Most of the money was spent on rent, the rest on food, which usually meant a cup of rice or soup. The food was barely enough to keep them alive. Lina’s family was interminably hungry, like everyone else in their village. Lina never said it aloud, but she always thought about money. She prayed every night that their family would be rich. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about anything. They could move out of the little shack, out of the slums, and into a beautiful house. They would replace all their rags with real clothes. Insufficient meals would become colossal feasts. Life would be easy. * * * Hours later, after the sun rose, Lina heard the door open. It was their father. “Magandang umaga, children. How did you sleep?” “Fine, Tatay,” all six children lied. They didn’t sleep well at all. The noise from the passing jeepneys outside was too loud, it was too hot, and the floor was too hard underneath them. “Nanay is out today. She will be back soon, but I’ll stay with all of you today, OK?” The children nodded and didn’t question their father. He loved them, and Lina knew, whatever decision he made was the best for them. If he said things would get better, they would. Nanay arrived later that evening. “I’m home! I have so much to tell you!” The children ran to the door to welcome their mother with big hugs. She continued, “I got a job as a house-cleaner in the middle of the city. The house is huge, like a castle!” Nanay exclaimed. Lina’s eyes opened wide. She could already imagine it, though she had seen houses like this only in her dreams. “And guess what, Lina? You can help me clean tomorrow and you can see it for yourself!” Lina was ecstatic. She hugged her mother tight and fell asleep to dreams of the house she’d soon see. * * * The next morning, Lina woke early and joined her mother on her commute to the city. Lina looked out the window of the jeepney and caught a glimpse of the huge mansions that lined the road. Wow, Lina thought. She was no longer in her village, that was for sure. Lina and her mother walked up the smooth, paved road until they both turned the corner and found themselves facing the biggest, most beautiful house of all. Lina had to tilt her head up in order to see all of it. The awe-inspiring mansion towered over her and glistened in the sun. It looked like something from the storybooks her mother used to read her. “Just wait until you see what’s inside,” her mother whispered. They ambled down the stone pavement leading to the massive white front door, and her mother pressed a strange button at its side. A loud ringing noise filled the house from the inside and the door swung open. She wished her life could be like this. She envied it all “Hello,” exclaimed a woman with peculiarly light-colored hair as she extended her hand out to both Lina and her mother. She was taller than anyone Lina had seen before. Her skin was so light, not like the usual tanned skin she was so familiar with. Lina didn’t realize how closely she was examining the woman until she started talking once again. “I am Ms. Barker. You must be Lina.” “Yes, ma’am,” Lina replied politely. The woman smiled and led them inside. Lina looked around and found herself in an enormous cream-colored room that seemed to glow in the light that overflowed from the large rectangular windows that dominated the walls. The floor wasn’t hard and creaky like Lina had been so used to; rather this floor was covered in an ancient-looking carpet that welcomed her feet with every step she took. A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, making the room even more imposing. The room alone was bigger than her entire house. These people must be really rich, Lina thought to herself. She tried not to be, but she couldn’t help but feel jealous. She wanted to live here and have this much money. She wished her life could be like this. She envied it all. “I’ll show you what needs cleaning,” Ms. Barker said, looking over to Lina, who
