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

Climbing Higher

“Hey! Does anybody want some chips?” “All right, girls. You did a good job in practice today, although I would like a little less talking between laps. . Now, don’t forget that we have a big meet this Saturday, so I’d like you all to get a good night’s rest before then. Be at the Westwood indoor pool on Main Street at nine-thirty, and the meet will start at eleven. We need lots of time to warm up and practice before it starts. I posted a list of who will be swimming what, so be sure to check it on your way out. See you tomorrow at nine-thirty.” Coach finished his speech and began packing up all the swim boards and weights. Becca rushed to her feet. “Thanks, Coach!” she called on her way to the locker room. A rush of girls followed her, chatting and giggling. The locker room was warm, damp, and smelled of chlorine. Becca quickly walked across the checkered wet floor, aiming for her locker, but slid a little and grazed Alicia’s arm. “Sorry,” she said. Alicia responded halfheartedly, “That’s all right.” Alicia’s eyes looked dull and lifeless, and her body hung on its thin frame. She must have been sick, Becca concluded. After sliding towards, and luckily reaching, her own locker, Becca began digging through her bag. She found a bag of potato chips sitting there, only slightly squished. “Hey!” she exclaimed loudly. “Does anybody want some chips?” “No thanks,” Silver said, looking at her scornfully. Quieter, Silver spoke to Kayla. “All I’ve had today was a cup of tea, and that’s how I’m going to keep it.” Kayla nodded and whispered something back that Becca couldn’t quite pick up. “Oh, OK.” Becca turned, a little confused and hurt, and put the chips back in her bag, to be discovered again another day. As the girls changed back into their clothing, Becca thought about what Silver had said. Instinctively, she thought back to her waffle for breakfast and her bowl of mac and cheese for lunch. A feeling of self-consciousness and regret seeped through her veins, a feeling she had been experiencing when she happened to catch a sentence or phrase spoken from the girls who usually stood in the corner of the locker room. She hugged her arms around her damp body, trying to hide herself from the rest of the girls in the locker room. She hated this feeling that pulsed through her body and made her heart beat quickly. She hated this feeling of… Becca gulped, unwilling to admit it, even just to herself. Becca packed her swim bag, changed back into her original clothes, and left the locker room without another word, for her thoughts were enough to keep her occupied all the way home, and for many days to come. *          *          * The sidewalk was a gray streak that seemed to go on forever. The sky was just as gray, and the leaves hung on the trees. Becca walked slowly down the sidewalk, her thoughts as gray as the world around her. “All I’ve had today is a cup of tea,” kept ringing through her mind. Did those girls have eating problems? The thought had occurred to her before, but she always pushed it to the back of her mind. Eating disorders were dangerous, even Becca knew that. Becca had heard of kids and teenagers being hospitalized for long periods of time, sometimes even dying. It was too awful. What if Ashley and Silver and… “Becky!” Becca looked around, startled. She had been too focused on her thoughts to pay attention to the world around her. Her friend Katelyn from the swim team hopped down the sidewalk, awkwardly trying to run with her giant swim bag draped over her shoulder. Becca snapped out of her thoughts, dug deep inside her, and plastered a fake grin on her face. It was the best she could do. “Hey, Becca! What’s up?” “Oh, nothing much. Where are you going?” “I’m just going to my friend Jennifer’s house. She lives pretty close to you.” Katelyn switched her bag from one shoulder to the other. “So what stroke and length are you doing?” Stroke and length? Becca frowned and crumpled her brow, sifting through her thoughts and memories. Stroke and length? “Ohhhh,” she realized, her brow unfolding. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “I completely forgot to check the sheet!” “Oh,” Katelyn said sympathetically. “Well, I guess you’ll find out at nine-thirty on Saturday. I’m doing the 100-meter butterfly.” “The 100-meter butterfly?” Becca was impressed, very impressed. That was the hardest stroke. “Wow, impressive.” “Yeah,” Katelyn shrugged. “To be honest with you, I’m a little nervous about it.” “I’m sure you’ll do fine. You’re a great swimmer.” Katelyn smiled. “Thanks, Becky. I’ll see you soon, OK? Jennifer’s house is right here.” Becca waved goodbye, then continued her walk. Her damp hair swung in its ponytail as she walked with renewed confidence down the sidewalk. Katelyn always had a way of cheering her up, whether she realized it or not. However, her confidence lasted barely a minute, for as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud it glared off a billboard, right into Becca’s eyes. Blinking, Becca looked at the billboard. A model was posed on it, and her eyes seemed to sear through Becca. Her glare seemed mocking, as she was dressed in a bikini, showing off her tan legs, which were about as thin as Becca’s wrists. Her long hair flowed under the words, “Try the newest Super Diet from Michelle Miracle! You’ll look better than ever in that new swimsuit!” *          *          * “Becky!” Becca trudged through her front gate. “Hi Susie,” she said dispiritedly. Susie, a ball full of energy and Becca’s six-year-old sister, bounced around Becca, grabbed her hand, and gleefully shouted, “Can you play with me?” Becca looked at the front door longingly, desperate to sink into her bed, plug her headphones into her iPod, and tune out the rest

Midnight’s Song

Silently, I fly through the trees Leaves rustle, a twig snaps. My eyes flash open, two sulfurous spheres wide on my dish-like face. My white feathers are rumpled, awry, and misplaced on my back. I peer out of the tree, gazing out through my window, a round hole in the rough bark. Moonlight glimmers off every surface, landing in shimmering pools, splashed there. The rippling of the nearby brook, lapping at a damp and pebbled bank, singing a sweet, low lullaby, whispers through the night. My nest of twigs, leaves, and grasses fills most of the hollow, providing me and my eggs with a soft and comfortable residence. Beneath me, I feel movement, minute, miniscule movement, so small that I barely feel it. Hatch time is nearing, my chicks will soon emerge into this world, in need of life-giving sustenance, no more than ruffles of fluff. They will break free of their shells, naked of the thick protecting feathers I possess, and cry for food, shrill cries of hunger. They will need that sustenance for survival. I inch my head out of the knothole, finally emerging. The cold midnight wind slices through the air like a claw, and I spread my wings, embracing it, feeling the wind through my feathers. The moonlight casts a pale sheen on my snow-white feathers, glistening and dancing on the stream below. Through my precise eyes, I can glimpse every pebble, pushed along by the gentle current. I glide on the wind, flapping my wings every now and then. Silently, I fly through the trees, dodging askew branches and watching ever so intently for the movement of prey. The trees thin and the undergrowth begins to fall back, replaced by sparse, green grass. My eyes scan relentlessly, searching, ever searching, following the law put down by my ancestors, a law that has reigned above all others for millennia. Eat or be eaten, eat or die. The strongest survive. Those who are weak live for one purpose and one purpose only. To ensure that the strong survive. I search the ground, the trees cleared out completely, so that my vision is acute and free of blemishes. There, there it is. I wheel around towards the movement, focusing in on a quivering patch of rye grass. My talons open wide, eager to grasp the warm, living prey. The small miniscule ears twitch within the grass, with no inclination that I even exist. My silent wings flap steadily, placing me in position to dive and seize my prey. Eagerly, I focus on the minute, camouflaged body shuffling below. I tuck my wings and dive, talons outstretched. The unsuspecting prey moves nary an inch as I swoop in. Talon meets flesh, claw meets fur, and I snap out my wings, catching a drift upwards. The mouse entrapped in my talons wriggles and fights, but fruitless remain its attempts, for my claws hold fast to the rodent. Its fight weakens, its life source seeping away slowly until it hangs limp. The law has been followed, and the strong live on. I soar silently through the night, the moonlight pale and clear on the world. I pass back into the shadow of the trees, gliding back home to my soon-to-be-hatched brood. A shrill cry echoes through the air, I can feel the vibrations, hear its tune. It is a cry of victory in finding a good meal. Its vibrant tone reawakens my mind to the concept that my clutch is never safe without my keen eye watching over them. My wings flap with more force than before, with more urgency in each stroke. My tree appears, but there is something amiss, a feeling, a movement, a sound. A fleeting black shadow approaches the hollow I call home, climbing slowly. Cold realization hits me, akin to a branch in mid-flight. This is no shadow, rather, a predator, with eager lust for the consumption of my brood. Rage washes over me in a boiling hot wave, consuming me in tongues of flame. I drop my catch and streak towards the tree, my feathers catching the wind and propelling faster. Viciously, I slam into the shadow, raking and stabbing with my talons and beak, driven by a fierce, instinctive protectiveness. Midnight’s song plays in my head, an inborn tune that tells me exactly every stab to make. This vicious onslaught is no fight, but a wild, dangerous dance to the song of night, danced by my ancestors. The predator scrabbles desperately on the bark, squealing in pain. Momentarily, I can see its face, two gleaming yellow eyes, framed by a deep black mask. A raccoon, bandits of the dark. Why did I ever leave my nest? I give one last well-aimed stab and the bandit falls to the ground, twisting and wriggling, landing with a puff of dust on the ground below. Stunned, it lies there for a moment, before darting off into the shadows. Victory lifts me into the air, dancing on moonlight. I swoop down and snatch up the mouse I left behind on the leaves, not willing to allow a lowly bandit to ruin my catch. Concerned, I give one last flap of my mighty, speckled wings and soar into the hollow, the musty smell of leaves and bark engulfing me. My eggs are safe, unscathed and whole as ever. All at once, all is silent. In the distance, I hear the stream, singing its song. Footsteps interrupt the lull, and I look out to glimpse a scarlet fox, limping on a front leg, passing by, its tail dragging through the leaves. Beneath me, an egg twitches, stirring the mouse I have set beside me, still warm. I shift around, turning to watch as cracks appear in the thin shells, doorways opening for life. Beaks appear as they thrust themselves into the world, tiny weak chicks, crying out shrilly. My family has arrived. My steely gaze rolls over my chicks. Though they are minute and weak, barely consisting of several

The Lucy Variations

The Lucy Variations, by Sara Zarr; Little, Brown Books for Young Readers: New York, 2013; $18 An inspiring tale of a young musician finding her place in this crazy world, The Lucy Variations is a journey about finding yourself and accomplishing your dreams no matter what giant obstacles are blocking your way. Lucy’s little brother’s new music teacher, Will, plays a big part. He helps Lucy find a side of herself she has long forgotten, the musical side, a side that used to bring her happiness. He helps resurrect Lucy in a sense. A major question asked time and time again in the book is, “What do you love?” For Lucy, the answer is music. The Lucy Variations got me thinking—what do I love? Well, I love reading. I tried to narrow down what I loved about reading, like Will had Lucy do. Although narrowing down the reasons proved easy for Lucy, it was a lot harder for me. I just love everything about reading. I love how when I’m reading, I’m no longer myself. I can be anyone, do anything, go anywhere; and that is just one of the best feelings in the world. I love how within one page, a strong author can make you go from laughing to crying. In fact, I don’t think there’s anything I love more than the first pages of a good book. I love endings too though, because there’s always more to the tale, and I’m the one who gets to write it within the pages of my imagination. The reason I love The Lucy Variations so much is the novel allowed me to experience everything I adored in a good book in just 304 pages. As I kept thinking about the question—what do I love?— more things came to mind than just reading. I thought about playing my guitar and singing, spending time with my friends and family, taking pictures on my iPod Touch, stupid funny movies, traveling to new places, and creating lasting memories. Like Lucy, realizing what I truly love opened my eyes to a whole new perspective. So often, people walk around without ever truly knowing what they love. They go through the motions as if each day is a death sentence, like they have no choice about how their day will go. The Lucy Variations is such a good reminder to us that there is so much to love about life. If we just choose to stop cowering away from our fears, and eliminate them like Lucy did, we can finally focus on the good things that bring us joy and peace. One thing I particularly didn’t like about the book is how things ended with Will and Lucy. In the end, we find out Will has been using Lucy to gain fame through her talent. I was a little crushed, well more than a little, because throughout the whole book Will was one of the only people Lucy truly trusted, and then he turned on her too. Although that wasn’t how I anticipated things ending between them, I still think the author did the right thing. The conclusion demonstrated to Lucy that, even though people might hurt her, the good memories stored in her heart would fuel her to keep persevering. The incident made Lucy stronger and gave her the will to excel at her goals. Overall, The Lucy Variations was an amazing book, one that I will read over and over again for years to come. I recommend this book to readers ages twelve and up who enjoy contemporary coming-of-age fiction. Kaylee Ayres, 12Cape Coral, Florida

Sisterhood

“You know you’re not supposed to use the stove!” “Bye, guys!” Mom called as she shut the door behind her. I looked at my sister. “Can I watch TV?” That was one of the two questions that I asked Nava every time we were home alone. “No,” she said. “Can I have some ice cream?” She looked at me with her I-can’t-believe-what-I-have-to-live-with face and said, “What do you think?” “Humph!” I got up. Usually the answer to both the questions was no, so that didn’t surprise me. But every time, it was the same disappointment. I walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, stared into it for a second, and shut it. That was the routine. I walked back into the living room and sat down next to my sister with a thud. “There’s nothing to do!” I whined. “You know what, Bella?” Nava asked me. “What?” I asked. “Figure something out and leave me alone!!” She walked into her room and slammed the door. “Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” I said to no one in particular. I sat on the couch for a while, not doing anything. “Ow!” I whispered as our cat Brownie jumped onto my lap, claws first. She rubbed her head against me and purred. We named her Brownie because every inch of her body was the luscious color of the fudgy inside of a brownie. Looking at her, I thought about how much I loved her and how much I loved brownies when a thought went off in my head: I would make brownies. As I got out a pot and the ingredients, I decided that I would make a double batch, which wasn’t that much harder. I was melting the butter and chocolate on the stove, when Nava came out of her bedroom. “Whatcha doin’?” she asked, not looking up from the magazine she was reading. “Making brownies.” She looked up. “What? Bella, you didn’t ask! You know you’re not supposed to use the stove!” “Well, you didn’t say no.” “You didn’t give me the chance!!” “Well, if you hadn’t told me I couldn’t watch TV, I wouldn’t have had to do anything else!” “Oh, so now it’s my fault?” “Yeah, I had nothing to do and you didn’t care, so I had to figure it out on my own and I chose this.” “Well, excuse me, I was doing the best that I could. Would you like to try having the world’s most annoying person in the world as your sister?” “Well, you don’t even know my best friend’s name!” “Oh, I so do!” she yelled back. “Really? Then what’s her name?” “Ah, uh, Lila, she has been your best friend since kindergarten.” “Wrong, guess again,” I said. “Hmm, Mattie, she has always been one of your closest friends!” “See, you don’t even realize that the two people you just said are my two least favorite people at school! You don’t pay any attention to me. It’s all just you and your stupid friends. You have not hugged me since May 2010… It’s been like, what? Three years?!” “I hug you all the time. How about that time that you fell and had to get stitches on your knee, I hugged you then!” “No you didn’t, you stayed in the emergency room with me for two minutes, faking sympathy, and then you called your friends to come pick you up, and you left!” “You’re making that up.” “I am not!” I slammed my hand down on the counter, or I meant to slam it down on the counter, but instead I slammed it down on the only part of the burner that was not covered by the pot. I screamed and screamed so loud that probably everyone in the neighborhood could hear me. My sister freaked. She grabbed me and pulled me toward the sink and poured cold water over my hand. It didn’t help, it was bubbling and turning dark red. “Stay here,” Nava told me. She flew across the room, grabbing ice, turning off the stove, and pulling the plastic wrap out of a drawer. In seconds, before I knew it, she was back by the sink, dumping out all of the ice in the ice tray onto the counter. She grabbed my hand with one of hers and with the other she grabbed as much ice from the counter as she could. Putting all the ice in her hand onto mine, she quickly cut a piece of plastic wrap and wrapped it around my hand, holding the ice in place. This soothed the pain enough for me to stop screaming. Nava grabbed her keys and rushed me out the door. She jumped into the front seat as I slid in the back. Closing the door and quickly buckling up, she took off. She was only sixteen and wasn’t supposed to be driving other people yet, but she could pass for eighteen and this was an emergency. She drove me to the nearest children’s hospital, which was only a few blocks away. She slid into the nearest parking space and jumped out, followed by me, and we ran into the emergency room. A few hours later we came out with Mom and Dad. My hand was newly bandaged with some kind of hospital bandage that felt so good that multiple times I forgot it was even there. I thought of all the questions I was going to get at school and what I was going to say to them. I wasn’t sure if I would tell people that I had gotten into a fight with Nava or I would just say that I had put my hand on a burner. The doctor had said that Nava had done the right thing, making the ice bandage and taking me to the hospital so quickly. Mom and Dad were so proud of how we handled the situation that they were going to ease

Without You, My Right Shoe

I must have been only six at the time, my sister, Poppy, two I must have wondered why Poppy decided to look at the parked cars in the parking lot rather than walk the Stone Arch Bridge. My mom must have stayed behind with Poppy, leaving only my dad, my aunt, and myself to see it fall. We must have walked for a little while, because it happened around the middle of the bridge. It must have been humid that summer, because my feet must have been a little slippery, a little sweaty. I must have stepped up on the brick wall below the handrail and rested my feet between the rail and the bricks. I must have stared up at Saint Anthony Falls in awe and must have heard an ice cream truck calling me. I must have stepped down from that ledge, felt my shoe slide off, and watched it tumble down, an orange falling into a faucet stream, the river. And I must have stretched my hand out, a “No!” from me, a sad yes lingering in my brain. I must have looked at my feet that night, rough and callused from a day without my right shoe. And someone down in Louisiana must have seen an orange Croc oat by on the Mississippi, a bucket full of mystery, and wondered. Isaac Walsh, 10 Minneapolis, Minnesota

Adjustments

Nothing ever stays the same Family going, Never coming back Tears fall Goodbyes made Why won’t the world stop spinning? Sorrow, joy Blended into one Leaving, For a better place Why can’t we go as well? Tears dry Life moves on Events fade Time blurs Were they ever here at all? A memory A smile A place Smacks me hard Like colliding with a wall. Tears wet my pillow again, Freed by fresh pain. I will never forget completely, Though nothing stays the same. Elisabeth Martin, 13 Dunlap, Illinois

My Dog Bella

When I arrive home from school she’s there waiting, in the window. She wags her tail joyfully. Her long slobbery tongue licks me all over. As I open the door to the backyard Bella bolts out into the yard. I grab a bouncy tennis ball and throw it as far as I can. She races across the yard fetching the tennis ball and bringing it back to me covered in slob. We go inside and I give Bella a nice warm bath. When she’s done she shakes, sending water everywhere like a sprinkler! When it’s time for bed I kiss her head and watch her drift off to sleep. I go downstairs for a glass of milk to quench my thirst. I end up finding Bella curled up into a little brown ball. Always after a long stressful day at school I can look forward to seeing Bella. Vincenzo Ruggiero, 13Mount Kisco, New York

The Leap

I stand there, soaking up the warmth of the sun I stand at the top of the cliff, gazing down at the clear, cool green of the water. I can see the rocky bottom magnified through the river’s glassy surface. The sunlight flickers along the cliff, reflecting off the smooth water. I will myself to step closer to the edge, away from the shade of the small firs, and into the sun. I stand there, soaking up the warmth of the sun as it plays over my body. My bare feet grip the rough, gray rock; my toes curl over the edge. A lazy waft of air reaches me from the river, carrying the faint scent of long-gone salmon and the cool soothing smell of the river itself. I gaze down and see the rock dropping away toward the river below. It reaches the water and turns green and mossy as it continues its downward journey. Little eddies of pine needles gradually drift down the river toward the faint sound of the rapids. I tense my muscles, hesitate, in a moment of indecision, and then I jump. The wind whips by me, no longer a faint whisper, and I windmill my arms to stay balanced. I glimpse the water rising to meet me as I point my toes and enter the water. I sink—down to the tranquil depths—before rising slowly to the surface. My feet sting, but I have done it. I grin my silent jubilation as I swim to the cliff and begin the climb once more. Josiah Ney, 13Gold River, British Columbia,Canada Nicola Froese, 12Vancouver, British Columbia,Canada

Below

Below, by Meg McKinlay, Candlewick Press: Massachusetts, 2013; $15.99 Anyone would think that if you drowned a town with five thousand swimming pools of water, it would be done and gone, forgotten forever! But twelve-year old Cassie knows that everything has a way of revealing itself, sooner or later. Since she was a little girl, Cassie was always interested in the town that the mayor, Mr. Finkle, had drowned by flipping a lever. Cassie would draw pictures and look for newspaper articles about the drowned town because that was the day she was born. She was born early, so she had to swim laps every day to keep her lungs healthy. One day, curiosity gets the better of her and she decides to swim in the lake with the drowned town instead of the usual swimming pool. I can relate to Cassie well because I have always been a curious person and have wanted to know more about things. I also am a swimmer and love the water. Cassie has always wanted to know more, and when she finds out her classmate Liam has the same interest as her, everything starts piecing together. Liam’s dad was in an accident the day Liam and his twin brother were born. His brother died at a very young age. Cassie and Liam start exploring the lake, going underwater and catching glimpses of the old town. Their search doesn’t give them any results for a while. One day, however, they see something sticking out of the water. It is the fire tree, what they used back in the old town for spotting fires. Little by little, more of the water is gone, and the first platform on the tree is above the water. There is one problem, though! The mayor, Mr. Finkle, doesn’t want any memories from the old town, and seeing the fire tree would just remind everyone about their old lives. He plans to fill the lake with water again. Mr. Finkle seems like a person who would always want things to go his way. He always seems kind of suspicious and careful around everyone when Cassie and Liam find the fire tree. A few days later, they find a shed under the water while exploring the town. They break into the shed and see a brand new red car. Cassie and Liam find that very peculiar because no one would want to trash a car on purpose, especially a new one. When they solve the mystery of the red car, it is destined to change everyone’s life forever. My favorite part of the book is when Cassie makes it to the fire tree the very first time. She has never swum such a long distance before, and when she finally makes it, Cassie has accomplished something special. I think the author, Meg McKinlay, makes everything so realistic you feel like you are part of the story. I found myself hoping, aspiring, anticipating, and envisaging that Cassie would figure out the mystery. It is also sad and melancholic to think that a whole town has been drowned and no one will ever see it again. I recommend this book to anyone who likes a mystery full of surprises to keep you on the edge of your seat. Sundari Arunarasu, 11Portland, Oregon

Believing

“Can I ask you something? Why are we moving?” “We’re what?!!” I gasped, blinking in disbelief. “Moving, Naomi. To Hawaii.” My dad looked like he was torn between which expression to wear: excited or sympathetic. He ended up looking understanding when he was talking to me, and thrilled when he looked at my eight-year-old sister, not that she needed it. Peyton was practically bouncing off the walls, squealing with delight. I guess I should have been happy too, but after twelve years of growing up here, with my friends, I wasn’t. A vacation to Hawaii would have been nice. But living there? And then there was the weight in my mind that I had been pushing away for about a year and a half, ever since… No, I thought, tears brimming in my eyes, I didn’t want to think about it. Meanwhile, Peyton was screaming, “Woohoo! We’re moving to Hawaii! The water’s as warm as a swimming pool—Katie told me!” Katie had one daughter, Selena, who was Peyton’s age. The two had already become best friends. Selena’s parents were divorced, and Katie had been Dad’s girlfriend for about a year, the first one since… What am I doing? I thought. Every thought turns back to—no, I won’t think about it! I blinked back tears again so that Dad wouldn’t see them. The last thing he needed was more stress, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to push mine onto his plate. “We’ll go to the beach, and I’ll make sand castles every day! Wait’ll I tell…” And then it hit her. She slowly looked up at Dad, her lower lip quivering. “Papa?” she said, her voice shaking as the realization finally caught up with her. “What about my friends?” “Well….” Dad paused, stalling for time. “You’ll be able to call them every day!” But Peyton wouldn’t take it. Tears flooding down her cheeks, she ran out of the room, sobbing, “I’ll never see my friends again!” “Well, actually…” Dad tried to call after her, but she had already reached her room. He looked at me, muttered, “Wish me luck,” and strode out of the room after her. I knew that this time it would take a lot of persuasion to win her over. I sighed and glanced at my watch. It was past lunch time. Stomach growling, I got up lethargically and ambled over to the kitchen to make a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. By the time I had finished eating my sandwich, Dad and Peyton were returning to the kitchen. Dad’s whole face, I noticed, looked considerably wearier than it had when he had left. Peyton was clutching the teddy bear whom she’d named, not very originally, Teddy. Her tears had dried, but she still bore a melancholy expression. Her appearance was that of a child about three years younger than she; still in her nightgown and slippers from when she’d come down to breakfast, her curly hair a tangled mess on the back of her neck, holding an oversized teddy bear tightly around the neck. “Can I ask you something?” I asked Dad, clearing my plate as he and Peyton settled down in chairs. “Of course!” “Why are we moving?” “Oh!” he looked around, searching for the right words. “Well,” he said finally, “Katie and I had some… special news that we’re going to share with you… together.” Katie? I thought, glancing at the clock again. She’s supposed to be back any minute now from the airport, after visiting her family in… Hawaii. Anyway, what could Dad be talking about? Special news, what spe… And then it hit me, smack in the head, like a snowball. No, I thought, no, no, no! But Katie was already knocking on the door—Dad was answering it—they were walking over to us, hand in hand, Selena scurrying up behind them… “OK,” Dad announced, once we’d greeted Katie and Selena. “As I’ve mentioned, Katie and I have something special to tell you.” I winced, noticing that he squeezed her hand when he said “special.” Don’t get me wrong—I love Katie. She’s really sweet, she’s usually the only one to laugh at my corny jokes, and I’ve never had a boring afternoon while she’s been around. It’s just that no one could ever replace my mother, and—I’d thought Dad had the same opinion. My heart pounded in my chest as Katie opened her mouth. “We’re”—wait for it—“getting married!” Peyton and Selena started jumping up and down, squealing. My stomach dropped, but I planted a smile on my face. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice that only my lips were smiling. *          *          * On the day we found out about Dad and Katie’s engagement, Katie had brought home a pizza and cupcakes she’d picked up on the way home. We held a little sort of party in the living room, just the five of us. Dad turned up the radio and, after hearing the story of their engagement twice, we played round after round of charades, laughing and eating. For that one evening, I forgot all about what had been burdening me ever since I found out we were moving. When we’d reached our fourth round of charades, Peyton was hopping around in a circle, whipping her hands in the air. “A horse!” Katie guessed. Peyton shook her head. “No, a horse rider!” Again, Peyton shook her head. “A cowboy!” Dad boomed. “No!” “Ooh, I know!” Selena was jumping out of her seat. “A cowgirl!” “Right!” Peyton shouted over the radio, taking her seat in between Katie and Dad. I turned the radio way down. “I forgot to ask,” I said, turning to Dad. “When are we moving?” “Wednesday, next week,” he replied with a glance at the calendar hanging on the wall next to him. I nodded slowly, but they’d already gone on to talking about something else and didn’t notice. *          *          * When you want a week to last forever, it’s usually gone in the blink of an eye. I wanted

The Fairy House

Nestled between two gnarled tree roots Is a fairy house with A sunken floor of red clay, A triangular roof of interlocking sticks, And a winding path of pebbles leading to a Bark door. Inside, a sand-colored stone serves as a nightstand, And next to it lies a bed with a Moss mattress and maple leaf bedspread. A blank scrap of paper And a pencil sharpened down to an inch Wait expectantly on the nightstand, Placed there by the child Who constructed the fairy house, With hope of receiving a message from any Diminutive guests. But the paper remained as blank as ever, And the child abandoned her belief of fairies. Though perhaps She overlooked the mussed bedspread, Or disregarded the chip in the bark door, Or failed to notice the rose petal on the floor. Perhaps she overlooked the fact that fairies Cannot write. Lucy Hoak, 13Falls Church, Virginia