The waiting room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop His breathing deepened as he drifted off to sleep. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that comforted his sister sitting next to him. Ellie Harrison wrapped her arms around herself in a hug and closed her eyes. She tried to sleep like her brother, but it was impossible to get comfortable in the hard wooden chairs of the hospital waiting room. After a few minutes, Sleep found her and took her away from the hospital and all the pain of everyone in the waiting room with her. But Sleep had no extra time to spare and was impatient to be rid of this new customer. So Sleep went away, leaving her huddled in the cold chair of the hospital waiting room. She opened her eyes, rubbing them gently to make the grogginess go away. The fluorescent light shone brightly, but there was something oddly fake about it; about the whole room. Everything was a sterile white, and too clean for her liking. She glanced around at the other people in the chairs all around her. Some had stains of recent tears on their cheeks; others sat staring straight ahead of them. A few were asleep like her older brother, Luke, curled up in chairs and even on the floor. One man sat with his head in his hands, sobbing silently into his sleeve. A woman close to the white door spoke softly into her cell phone, reading something off a form in her hand. Some children looked at magazines, and some played video games on iPads or cell phones. There was a big TV mounted on the wall near the door, playing a children’s program on mute. A few people stared blankly at the TV. But no one in the room was really focusing on what they were doing. The waiting room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. Or even a cotton ball. The silence was not broken for several minutes, until the door opened and a doctor with smeared lipstick and messy hair that had been tied back in a loose ponytail walked in. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, and she called out a name. “Flora O’Connor?” The woman who had been speaking on her cell phone jumped up and dumped her phone and the forms on her lap into a huge purse. She walked over to the doctor uncertainly, tucking her red hair behind her ear and slinging the monstrous purse over her shoulder like it weighed a thousand pounds. The doctor whispered something that made the woman dissolve into tears. She bit her lip and nodded. Slowly she followed the doctor back through the door, still sobbing quietly. The doctor wore a look of almost sympathy as she closed the door, enveloping the waiting room in silence again. Ellie thought that the doctor should try a little harder to comfort the woman. Ellie quite disliked doctors. She hated the blue pajamas they wore. The white hygiene masks and the fake smiles plastered on their faces. And especially the way they pretended to understand your pain, the way they shook their heads; implying that their patient had not made it through the night or that their treatments hadn’t been successful. Now Ellie sighed and sank back into the wooden chair, tapping her foot impatiently. A moment later, the white door swung open again, and this time no doctor walked in, but Ellie’s dad slumped to where Ellie and Luke sat. His eyes were red and puffy, as if he had not slept in many weeks. He was unshaven and his hair stuck up in every which way. He held a cup of coffee from the cafeteria downstairs, on which his name was printed sloppily. Bradley Harrison. “Daddy!” whispered Ellie, “Are you OK? How is Marcella doing? When can I visit?” Ellie’s father sighed. His youngest daughter, Marcella, who was only five, was in the hospital, unconscious. One week ago, Ellie’s mom had been driving Marcella to her school. It was raining. They were stopped at a red light when a big truck came skidding out of nowhere. It collided with their car, and Ellie’s mother had not survived. Marcella was alive, but very hurt. The doctors were still trying to figure out what was wrong with her. She had scans and tests every day. Their father rarely left her bedside, except for nighttime, when they stayed in a hotel across the street from the hospital. Ellie and Luke spent much of their time in the waiting room, because only one visitor was allowed with Marcella at a time. But sometimes Ellie was permitted in with her sister, and she knelt by the bed. It was full of Marcella’s favorite stuffed animals and blankets, and the table beside the bed was overloaded with sweets and cards from friends. Ellie was distraught at losing her mother, but since Marcella was so hurt, she couldn’t think about her mom. She had to focus on Marcella, because she could not lose two members of her family. After Marcella got better, they could properly mourn Mrs. Harrison. Ellie’s dad looked at his shoes, blinking back tears. “Marcella is the same. She’s still unconscious. The doctors hoped to see some improvement after the treatment they gave her yesterday, but there’s been no sign. But there’s still hope. She will pull out of this! No extra visitors are allowed right now. But I was wondering if you were hungry. It’s six thirty, and if you get too tired we can head back to the hotel soon. But I think we should eat first. Come on, wake up your brother and we’ll head to the cafeteria. OK?” Ellie nodded and shook Luke awake. He rubbed his neck, which must have been full of cricks from the uncomfortable chairs. They stood up solemnly and followed their father out a new door, this one also white, and down
Galactic Rebels
The Galactic Soldier Code To protect the peace of the Milky Way, To fight bravely on land, sea, air, and space, To execute the orders of our superiors, We are the Galactic Soldiers. Jade’s cell was a small, cramped space, with bare white walls and floor, except for a small bed, sink, toilet, and mirror. She paced back and forth, her legs burning and the tattoo of her boots soothing her. I’m running out of time, she thought bitterly. I need to get out of here. Beads of sweat collected on her forehead, her heart beating like a drum in her chest. She sighed and pressed her back against the wall. She stopped to look at her reflection. She was startled by it. Her deep blue eyes were shaken with fear. A hunk of black hair covered the left side of her face. The one blue highlight stood out. She eyed her uniform—tight black shirt and pants, made for ease in slipping in and out of spacesuits. The purple band on her right arm finally caught her attention. The band had two thin letters, GS, and a crude drawing of an eagle circling Earth in orbit. It was the symbol of the Galactic Soldiers. It was so realistic it didn’t look like a hologram Jade was part of this group, the space combat branch of the military, founded shortly after the discovery of other planetary life. The soldiers were trained to be diplomats and defend the galaxy from harm. They went through intense training and had to understand the ins and outs of astrophysics. Jade excelled through training and rose through the ranks. She and other officers were sent on the spacecraft Athena to travel to the Alpha Centauri solar system. This mission would determine the fate of the Earth. She sighed as tears swelled in her eyes; she buried her face in her hands as the last few hours flooded back into her mind. * * * The sounds of the four people’s boots echoed through the hallway Their faces were grim. The commander had called the meeting; no doubt the news was going to be sour. He grunted and punched ten numbers into the entrance pad and the doors swished open. The moment they stepped in, the door shut behind them. The room they entered was full of strange, colorful machines and glass walls. A rosy nebula shimmered softly. Dominic walked next to Jade. He smiled, his perfect white teeth glittering. “You know what the commander knows?” “Nah, I have no idea,” she replied. Dominic was the same rank as Jade; he had sandy blond hair and navy blue eyes, and a wicked sense of humor. He was a close friend of Jade’s. She knew him better for his valiant acts as a soldier. She craned her neck to stare at the commander. He was a ruthless leader who got his position through public relations and doing political favors. His greasy black hair fell onto his face. An eyepatch covered his right eye, but a scar still peeked out. No one was brave enough to ask where he got it from. “Let’s get started,” he said. They gathered around a long, elegant table with a gridded screen. In the center there was a small lens. The commander pushed a button and a large hologram flickered on. The hologram unfurled a three-dimensional map of the Milky Way galaxy. It was so realistic it didn’t look like a hologram. The nebulae looked like small clumps of clouds you could touch. The stars shined like Christmas lights. The brilliant map of the cosmos was annotated with red markings, showing approximate locations of the sun and other celestial objects. Everyone was in awe of its majesty, except the commander, who cleared his throat loudly. “We have attack strategy to plan,” he said. “This mission will determine the fate of the Earth.” Jade tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She pointed to a green marble-looking piece of the hologram. “ Commander, this planet is Enyo, is it not?” He nodded. “It’s part of the solar system of Alpha Centauri, one of the stars of the triple star system. It was completely hidden until discovered in 2405. The planet is much like Earth. Its inhabitants are equally as advanced as us.” He sighed. “Planetary warfare between our two planets is ripping the Milky Way apart.” His eye was like a dark pit, darker than space itself. The war of the Milky Way has raged on for so long no one really remembers how it started. Enyo and Earth are locked in battle. As a result, both planets are draining their resources; to be frank they are pretty much destroying each other over something petty. Dominic knit his eyebrows. “Sir, we know all of this. We know Earth is on the verge of economic collapse, we learned this in training. Why are you repeating this?” Veronica chimed in. “Because it’s the last time any of us will hear this.” Jade stared at her. Veronica was a frosty girl, her platinum-blond hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She was the co-commander of the Athena spacecraft. She had a non-negotiable loyalty to the commander, despite his ruthlessness. Her lip was quivering and she was shaking, as if the information she knew was so dreadful it was unbearable to hear. Veronica bit her lip, unable to meet Dominic and Jade’s gaze. “The war has caused horrendous surface damage to both planets. We have developed artillery strong enough to destroy our solar system. If the war goes on we will most likely obliterate each other. Our leaders have come to a decision.” The commander stared directly at Jade and Dominic. “We will annihilate Enyo.” Jade gasped. No one was able to process what the commander had just said. Jade looked at Dominic, who shifted uneasily on the balls of his feet. Finally he broke the silence. “Sir,
Conrad and Fate
“Class, I would like you to meet Kenta” PROLOGUE I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to move to America on July 17, 1956. My life was perfect in Japan. I had good friends. I had finally made the baseball team. Everything was perfect, but then I had to move to the U.S. The same country that fought a war against Japan. The same country where everybody who looks Japanese is an enemy. Learn a new language. Make new friends. So, basically I had to start over when everything had been perfect. “Perfect” was the only word going through my mind as I sat in bed, looking blankly at the darkness, waiting for the alarm clock to ring. * * * Children were practically everywhere, rushing around like ants trying to find their hole. Room 117. I was getting good at reading English, but speaking—not so much. Room 117 would be on the second floor. (I had a tour of the school a few weeks ago.) I headed for the stairs. Once in the classroom, I noticed one thing. I was the only somewhat dark-skinned child in the classroom. I got some stares, a few whispers, and sweat trickled down my neck. The teacher broke the silence. “Class, I would like you to meet Kenta,” she announced, motioning to me. I noticed a group of three in the back, whispering. I didn’t know how, but I knew they were talking about me. I just knew. As I walked past them, I learned that my prediction was right. I heard words like, “What’s a Japanese kid doing here?” “I don’t know about you, but I want to pound him.” “Yeah, he doesn’t belong here.” I gulped and rushed off to my seat, but whoever those kids were, they were right. I didn’t belong here, I belonged in Japan. Japan was where my friends were. Japan is where my language is. Japan is where my father’s grave is, along with the graves of other soldiers who were probably fathers too. The teacher had the students give their names. I tried to pay attention but couldn’t. I couldn’t get my mind out of Japan. When the whisperers got their turn, I shoved my thoughtsout and listened carefully. Tony, Ezra, and Derek. Those were their names. Lunch was the worst and best part of the day. I sat down at a table and everybody else at the table moved. After the commotion, one kid was left sitting right across from me. “Hey, I’m Conrad.” He put out a hand, willing to shake. “Kenta,” I croaked. “Kietta?” “Kennta.” I exaggerated the n. “Kenta,” Conrad responded. I nodded. Lunch ended, recess started. According to Conrad, the big sport was football. “What’s football?” I asked. “Oh yeah, you don’t play football in Japan,” Conrad responded. “OK, here’s how you play. So there’s a quarterback. When he says “Hike!” he throws the ball to… you know what? It’s complicated to explain. You’ll catch on as you play.” “OK,” I said. I regretted saying that as soon as we started playing. First of all, I was picked last. The captains were Tony (the leader of the whisperers) and a kid named Joe, who I didn’t recognize. They had a big argument over who should get me. Tony won. Joe lost. I was on Joe’s team. The game started with a player from Tony’s team punting the odd-shaped ball. Maybe this game is like soccer, I thought, as the ball soared over our heads and landed right in front of me. I started to kick it. “Penalty!” somebody yelled. “Five yards!” Derek (another one of the whisperers) walked the ball five steps and placed it on the ground. “You’re supposed to pick it up, yellow boy,” said Derek in a mocking tone. All the kids laughed. The next thing I knew, Joe (the captain) said, “Hike!” I didn’t know what to do, so I copied all the other kids running like maniacs. Joe threw the oval-shaped ball. It was going right towards me. What was I supposed to do? I thought. Was I supposed to catch it? I had no more time for thinking about it, so I caught it. Now what? I suddenly thought of what Joe did, just a minute ago. “Hike!” I said and I threw the ball to a kid down the field. “Illegal forward pass!” cried out Tony. “Do you have a brain? Or is your head full of empty space? Well, I guess that’s what happens when you live off raw fish. ’Cause you would run with the ball, instead of throwing it.” My ears burned. The whole world was laughing at me. What did Conrad get me into? I wondered. After recess, Conrad walked up to me. “Sorry,” he immediately said, “I thought they would ignore you and you could learn the game by watching, but I was wrong. Sorry, I’m really sorry.” I nodded. It didn’t even occur to me that Conrad could have stood up for me during the game. Recess was bad. But then class started and it was easily the best part of the day, because then all the bullies out to get me couldn’t touch me without the teacher noticing. The rest of the day rushed by: math, science, music, art, and finally, reading. Before I walked home, Conrad passed on to me that there were baseball tryouts next week. Finally, I had something to look forward to besides getting beat up by Tony and his gang. * * * This one week felt a lot more alike a year rather than a week. Everything was going in slow motion, but finally, the week was over. I waited for the bell to ring during reading. To tell the truth, I wasn’t really reading at all. I had my book in front of me, flipped open to a random page. I
The Silver Donkey
The Silver Donkey, by Sonya Hartnett; Candlewick Press: Somerville, Massachusetts, 2014; $8.99 “As they approached the hollow where the man lay, they were aggrieved to spy him sitting up. Clearly he was not dead. And although they had crept as quietly as they could, and kept themselves hidden behind tree trunks and weeds, the sharp-eared man must have heard—for he looked up from the fallen leaves, and stared directly at them.” This quote from The Silver Donkey starts the amazing adventure of two sisters, little Coco and her older sister, Marcelle, who live in a small town in France. In the middle of a walk in the woods the sisters stumble upon a man they believe is dead, only to find he is a sleeping soldier blinded from war named Lieutenant Shepard. The Silver Donkey is a book beautifully written by Sonya Hartnett. Once I started reading this book, I couldn’t stop. Maybe it was because of all the details she put in the book, which made it seem like I was really there. Or maybe it was because of her use of metaphors. But it was probably because of how meaningful the book was and how much it moved me. I have always been the type of person who wanted to help other people and that is exactly what Coco and Marcelle wanted to do. Coco and Marcelle did whatever they could to take care of the soldier. They snuck him food, drink, and a pillow. In turn, the soldier dazzled the girls with stories and showed them his good luck charm that he carried with him—a little silver donkey. During the days ahead, the sisters nourish Shepard with food and comfort and spend as much time with him as possible. They listen as he tells them about his life and the war and, more importantly, four stories, each about a loyal, humble, forgiving, noble, brave, hard-working creature—the donkey. I have always been an animal lover and I have even adopted an elephant from Kenya, but I never knew anything about the donkey. In the stories the donkey was always the hero. Whether it was to carry Joseph and his pregnant wife Mary to Bethlehem, or to rescue wounded soldiers, or to make the sky rain and save a village from drought, or to be a symbol of hope to Shepard’s ill brother and personify a message to always do your best. Shepard also shares with the girls his hope and dream of going home, to cross the Channel to see his sickly younger brother, John. Even though this is a story about war, I was not scared to read it. What was important to me was the relationship between the soldier and the girls. I love the fact that these girls who are about my age could make such a difference in his life. I think the most important thing in life is to be happy, and I try to make others happy, whether it’s helping a friend who is sad or doing chores for my parents. At the end of the book the girls find someone to take the soldier on a boat to go home. We don’t know if he makes it in time to see his brother, but my imagination tells me he does. Although I am happy for the soldier, I was sad to see him leave, just like the girls were. However, I was excited to read that he left behind his prized possession for Coco to find—the silver donkey. It was a true buried treasure and a reminder to her to always do her best and be trustworthy and brave. Myla Indigaro, 10Los Angeles, California
Cold
The cold air Hits me instantly, spontaneously, As I step out the door. My breath Puffs on the cold air in little white clouds, Forming a quick wisp of silky fog. Snow Soft, white, like winter’s blanket, Spirals from the sky, landing on The creases of my shirt, Landing on my eyelashes, Creating a cold white barrier between my eyes And the world ahead. Ice It covers the water on the street In a cold, hard shell of whiteness Causing my boots To slip and slide over it. The bleak, black skeletons of trees Sway solemnly in the harsh, snowy wind. Cold. Claire Yoon MacDonald, 10Bexley, Ohio
Made with Love
We stand in the old kitchen On the white rustic floors With cloth draped over the table My tiny hands are ready She gets the flour As I stretch to get eggs At the back of the fridge My fingers slip She saves it from behind We laugh We lower the mixer Add the ingredients I scoop a bit of batter into my mouth She sees me but pretends not to notice It makes me feel warm inside Baking bread with Nana I wait for the loaf to rise We talk about things that we love together Sports, food, and just life The aroma of the perfect bakery fills the room As I embrace the smell And know it was made with love Jordan Guberman, 12Winnipeg, Manitoba,Canada
Kira-Kira
Kira-Kira, by Cynthia Kadohata; Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing: New York, 2006; $6.99 Once in a blue moon, you come upon a book which you believe is the pure embodiment of perfection. You read the novel in what seems like a single breath, and by the time you have read the last perfectly tailored word, you would be just as happy to read the entire thing again, if only to experience the magic another time. This book entraps you, entangles you, enthrals you, makes you smile whenever you touch its spine. If you had your way, you would make everyone in the world read it. A book such as this is Kira-Kira, by Cynthia Kadohata. Kira Kira centers on the life of Katie Takeshima, who moves with her family from their home in Iowa to the Deep South of Georgia. This move is a drastic change for Katie. In her new town, everyone stops and stares at her and her family. Some people marvel at her skin, her hair, and her eyes, but others just sneer at her and her family. Katie just can’t figure it out. The only one who is patient enough to explain their new circumstances to her is her elder sister, Lynn. In Lynn’s eyes, the entire world is an enigma, a shimmery wonderland only to be described by the Japanese word kira-kira, meaning glittery or shiny. Lynn teaches Katie the beauty in every life and the magic that every day brings. However, tragedy strikes, and Lynn, the only one who ever truly understands Katie, falls prey to sickness. Katie has to grow up much too fast and, in doing so, forgets Lynn’s lessons about the world. I connected to this book on a spiritual level. In fact, my perception of the world was inspired very much by Lynn Takeshima. Once upon a time, I was an immigrant in a land of unfamiliar faces. I had no idea what to say, how to say it, when to say it. I was always the odd one out, always alone. My view of the world was a dark one; I thought that life was unfair and unkind and things would never be beautiful for me. All of that changed when I read Kira-Kira. I hung onto every word Lynn said, marveling at how similar our circumstances were yet how much our attitudes differed. Lynn and Katie inspired me to face the world with a smile; they taught me that beauty comes in the most dark places and in the most unexpected ways. The philosophy of kira-kira, of the shimmering wonderland that is our world, has kept me going in times that could’ve broken my spirit. I didn’t really have a single favorite part in the novel; the entire book was peppered with moments that took my breath away. I loved it when Katie stood up to Lynn’s prejudiced friends and put them in their place. It empowered me to stand up for myself and others that I care about. I also loved the ending. I had thought that Katie would forget everything Lynn told her about the world, and she would once again be reduced to the heartbroken and cynical child she once was. However, Katie remembered the things Lynn had told her when her family went to California. She saw how lovely the world was, even through her own saddened eyes. She appreciated the beauty and kira-kira in every facet of the world. She inspired me to do the same. I hope she inspires you too. Abhirupa Dasgupta, 13Plano, Texas
Morn
Hazy gray-gold light Patterns on the wall. Mystical. Creaking door, A frisky tail, and she pounces Ever so light. She prances, Arches her back, kneads deep into the blanket, And collapses. I curl around her, A snug cocoon. One. Her eyes mere slits A faint meow, Contented. A caressing hand, Smoothing her rumpled fur, Soft and warm like gingerbread. I rest my hand near her heart, Listen to her raspy purr. Close my eyes. And I doze off again. Enveloped, In the gray-gold morning light. Katherine Shock, 12Baltimore, Maryland
The Treehouse
“Chloë. Chloë, wake up!” Grace poked her sister in the side, then gently shook her, barely able to contain her excitement. Chloë slowly opened one eyelid, and in seconds the two seven-year-olds were scampering out of the bedroom and down the hallway, leaf-dappled pajamas billowing on their small forms. After making sure their parents were asleep, they went out the back door together, giggling. The girls ran barefoot through swaying grass, scrambled up craggy rocks, maneuvered through a network of gangly trees, and finally, breathless, arrived at their destination. The treehouse stood tall and grand, silhouetted against the golden-orange sky, and the sisters ogled its brilliance for a while. A path of flat stones trailed up to the tree’s roots, and a flimsy rope ladder climbed up its length. Sitting amid a fountain of branches was the house, built of dark, ancient-looking planks of wood. “Come on. Let’s go!” Grace shrieked with delight, and began to skip from stone to stone. She was crawling up the first few rungs before Chloë snapped out of her trance and followed her. “I, Grace Sadlon, sister of Chloë Sadlon, vow to never ever break the Sister Code” Before they entered the house, the girls stopped, their faces solemn. Grace went first. Placing a hand on her chest, she recited, “I, Grace Sadlon, sister of Chloë Sadlon, vow to never ever break the Sister Code. I will always be a loyal sister, and will never tell anyone the secrets of the treehouse.” Chloë opened her mouth, but before she could utter a sound Grace’s foot slipped on the rung above her and her leg swung around wildly as she tried to regain her footing. The ladder began to rock back and forth. “Grace, watch out!” Chloë screamed, but it was too late, and they both came crashing to the ground. * * * Chloë tumbled head over heels in the grass; a stone nicked her ankle, but she didn’t care. Pushing herself up with her palms she scurried back to the treehouse. The ladder lay in a yellow heap on the ground, and next to it, sprawled on the grass, was Grace. Chloë’s vision blurred; everything was out of focus. A huge lump formed in her throat, and she dashed over to her sister, screaming her name over and over again. She tried to speak clearly, although a thick syrup seemed to be weighing her tongue down. “Grace. Can you hear me? Grace! Listen to me!” Chloë grabbed Grace’s hand, clutching it tightly as though she could squeeze the life back into her. “Grace, you can hear me, right?” she urged. “Remember the Sister Code? You just said it, and then you…” Chloë’s body felt numb; all she could feel was her heart thudding steadily in her chest. “Grace,” she whispered, then wrapped her arms around her sister’s lifeless body. * * * FIVE YEARS LATER The bell pierced the air, reverberating throughout Harley Middle School’s campus. As if on cue, students began pouring out of the building like a puddle of spilt ink slowly spreading further and further on paper. Kids talked energetically to one another, some huddled in large groups, others in pairs. Only one girl walked alone. Chloë Sadlon brushed her straight hair behind an ear, staring at the ground as she walked. After years of practice, she had learned how to zone out the world around her—the sounds of chattering and laughter, the sound of happiness. Someone accidentally shoved her from behind, and she stumbled on the pavement. Indifferent, she boarded the bus and sat in her usual seat; second-to-last row, window seat to the left. And as usual, nobody sat with her. * * * Hey, hon. How was school?” Dad asked as Chloë dumped her bag on the kitchen table. Chloë shrugged. “Good.” She unzipped her bag halfway, then remembered she had completed her homework the day before and hadn’t been assigned anything new. She murmured a “hi” to her mom before going quietly upstairs to her bedroom. Chloë was about to plop down on her bed, but something moved in her peripheral vision. A piece of paper, barely five inches square, rustled against the heating vents. She edged closer, pulling out the scrap of paper and bringing it up close. Two stick figures, one slightly taller than the other, stood together in the middle of a crudely drawn forest, holding hands. Above it, in scrawly second-grade print, was the word Sisters. Chloë walked backwards, landing with a thump on her bed, her eyes never moving off the drawing. And then she said it. “Grace.” Suddenly feeling a longing for fresh air, she went out the back door. The wind blew through Chloë’s hair, the scent of nature filling her lungs. A strange sensation coursed through her, and although her mind told her to go to the hammock on the patio, her legs wanted to go somewhere else. Solely following her instincts, Chloë climbed up a congregation of rocks, wandered through the dense woods, and then halted suddenly. The same thrill that had formed whenever she had seen the treehouse was present again, only this time, bittersweet. Because Grace wasn’t at her side to appreciate it with her. Chloë walked from stone to stone, then searched for footholds in the tree itself, as the ladder could no longer be used. Her legs had grown much longer over the years, and she found herself climbing swiftly up the aged trunk until she reached the top. “I, Chloë Sadlon,” she muttered, then began again, louder this time; the way Grace would. “I, Chloë Sadlon, sister of Grace Sadlon, vow to never, ever break the Sister Code. I will always be a loyal…” her voice cracked slightly, but she ploughed on, “…a loyal sister, and will never tell anyone the secrets of the treehouse.” Without further
Coming Home
We go to the airport looking for him The day he got back from that God Awful Place I see people most of them soldiers talking and crying but none of them him Finally I stop I see green and brown I see him smile He puts out his arms Then I knew This was my dad This was my dad Back from Iraq Andrew Eisenbrown, 12Omaha, Nebraska
Leprechaun Rain
By Hannah Ogden Illustrated by Isabella Ronchetti Emma O’Malley was alone. Up in her attic room of her grandmother Josephine’s farm, she could hear the rain hammering on the roof. She shivered. The lights had gone out twenty minutes ago, and the only light in the room came from a flickering candle on her dresser. Dark shadows danced across the room like untamed ghosts. She got up from her bed where she had been sitting and went to the window. The rain made it impossible to see, but she could faintly hear her parents outside. Once the rain had started, they had run outside to check on the sheep that belonged to the farm. It rained quite a lot here in Ireland, but this storm had her parents worried. Telling Emma to stay in her room, they had departed. Emma’s grandmother had gone out to the barn to check on the barn cats, and they had all been gone for nearly half an hour. Emma hated the wait. She wondered if her sheep, the one she had been given for her birthday last year and had named Katie, was all right. Suddenly, Emma heard a crack of thunder overhead, and she jumped. She could not hear her parents any longer, as the rain had worsened. It came in sheets, rocking the house. Another crack of thunder boomed in the sky. Emma shivered. Were her parents all right? Suddenly Emma could stand it no longer. She went to her sock drawer and pulled on a pair of wool socks and a gray sweater over her T-shirt. A bolt of lightning lit up the room, and she flinched, but she continued dressing. She pulled a blue hat over her wildly curly black hair and made her way out her door. Her coat was hanging up somewhere in the hallway. She silently climbed down the ladder from the attic and down the hall. The house was freezing cold. Most of the walls were made out of gray stone, as the house was nearly four hundred years old. Emma grabbed a green raincoat from its hook, and she put it on, taking care to cover her head with the hood. Suddenly she heard the door open, and she spun around. A dark shadowy shape walked over the threshold, and the creature threw back its hood, revealing the tired face of her father. Suddenly Emma could stand it no longer “Dad!” Emma cried, and she threw herself at him in a tackling hug. “Emma!” her dad answered. He hugged her tightly, the smell of wet wool filling Emma’s nose. “Your mother is right behind me. We checked on the sheep, but the rain caused the fence to fall over,” her father said. “Emma.” Emma turned towards the door where her mother was walking in. She shut and bolted the door behind her. Her mother pushed back her hood, revealing her tangled mess of damp red hair. “Emma,” her mother continued, “we looked everywhere, but some of the sheep are missing.” Emma paled, her freckles standing out on her face. If her family lost some of the sheep, then the farm would not survive. They depended on them. “Which ones are missing?” she asked. Emma’s mother hugged her and said, “About ten others, and Katie.” Emma stiffened and drew back. “Where is the flashlight?” she demanded. She had no idea what she was doing, but she knew she had to do something. Her mother handed her the flashlight she was holding. “What do you need it for?” she asked, but she found out two seconds later as Emma switched it on and opened the door to the swirling darkness of the night. Emma shoved her feet into her rain boots, which were on the front step, and ran out from under the porch. The storm blasted her back. Rain pounded on her, and her feet stuck in the mud. She heard her parents shouting for her to come back, but she half ran, half battled her way on towards the barn. A faint light glowed out from one of the windows, like a lighthouse. Emma reached the huge front door to the barn just as a boom of thunder sounded. She flinched. Emma held the flashlight in one hand as she fumbled with the latch to the barn. She finally managed to pull it open, and she slipped inside. The wind banged the door shut. The rain was slightly muffled. Emma looked around the barn. Straw was strewn around on the floor, and the smell of kerosene met her nose. Emma figured that Katie and the others might be here, hiding in fear from the violent storm. She shined her flashlight around the vast room and stopped the light at the stairs up to the loft. She heard her grandmother’s voice drifting down the steps. Emma jogged to the bottom of the stairs and sprinted up them. Her grandmother sat on the floor of the loft, a blanket around her shoulders. And all around her were the barn cats. There were several of them, and they all sat clustered around her grandmother. Josephine had lit one of the kerosene lamps, and it emitted a soft glow around the room. One of the cats was lying across her lap, and another was strewn over her shoulder. At the sound of Emma’s footsteps Josephine looked up. “Emma!” she said. “Where are your parents? Did you come here by yourself? Oh, I hope they’re all right.” “Mom and Dad are fine. I came by myself. Grandmother, is Katie here?” Her grandmother shook her head. “Nay, I have not seen her. Is she lost?” “Yes, Grandmother, I have to find her.” “I was hoping you would say otherwise. Do you really mean to go after her?” “I have to. I can’t bear the thought of Katie and some of the other sheep wandering around in this weather. What if…” “Child, I know what you mean. But I’m sure they
Having a Mother
The sky glittered above, a blue canvas sprinkled with glittering stars Tears filled my eyes as I stared back at my mother. I turned and fled out the door, not caring that it was the middle of the night. The yard was filled with deep shadows, and leaves crackled beneath my feet as I ran over the open expanse of tufty grass and into the forest beyond. I somehow found my way to the shed, sagging wearily in its sheltering copse. Despite its bad condition, it had a fresh new lock on the tightly sealed doors, like a sheet of fresh paint over rotten wood. But I didn’t want to get into the shed: I wanted to get onto it. I grabbed the branch just above my head, well worn from years of use. Hauling myself up onto the familiar knot in the tree, I sidestepped onto the bottom half of the roof of the shed and then scrambled up onto the very top, shingles sliding underneath my soft hands. Brushing aside dry leaves and twigs, I sat down, legs dangling over the edge, and looked up. The sky glittered above, a blue canvas sprinkled with glittering stars. The thin sliver of a moon cast pale moonbeams onto the quiet nighttime forest, dappling the ground with silver puddles of moonlight. My breath puffed out in a white cloud; it was cold, but I didn’t mind. Crossing my arms, my gaze shifted downward, and I gazed out over the rest of the forest, tall, green-needled pines stretching up higher than I cared to look. The tears escaped my dark brown eyes, and I felt them slide silently down my cheeks. I hugged my knees to my chest and gritted my teeth, my face contorting in pain. More tears flooded out, and my lower lip quivered. I let my long brown hair fall into my face; it tickled my cheek and brought back memories of when my mother’s hair would just brush my face as she bent down to embrace me. We had had yet another fight. I knew friction between my mom and me was to be expected as I grew up, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it? I closed my eyes and pulled my knees in closer. My mother was an important figure in my life. She stood six feet tall, solid and muscular like a female football player, with short, curly brown hair and brown eyes. When she smiled, it felt like she could light up the whole world, but when she was angry, even the bravest cowered before her. And recently, we had begun fighting horrifically. It usually happened late at night, after dinner, when we would start discussing school and soccer and other such things. Today had been about my lack of physical fitness. To give her credit, I wasn’t the fittest eighth-grader there ever was, but in my defense the past few years had been a struggle. I had broken both ankles, dislocated and broken my shoulder, broken my femur, popped my knee out of place, broken my index finger, injured my wrist, and had a bone contusion on the back of my femur, all within the last four years. Despite multiple sessions of physical therapy, I was having great difficulty returning to my previous physical state. Slap eighth-grade tests, quizzes, and homework on top of that, and I didn’t exactly have the time or energy to work out, either. None of that mattered to my mother. She wanted me fit, and she wanted me to attend a run-a-mile-a-day fitness program at my school, which I was definitely not up to in my current physical state. It had led to a yelling match on both sides, with my dad’s eyes nervously flitting back and forth between us like a bystander watching a tennis match. Eventually, my mother, as always, in her higher mindset and household superiority, had beaten me down to nearly nothing, and I had fled the scene before greater damage could be done. Now, sobbing silently in the still winter air, head throbbing from my tears, I wished bitterly for anything that could make my mother love me. Deep down, I knew that she did, but right now my heart was broken by her harsh words, and I wanted something, anything, to hold onto—including a dream of her never yelling at me again. I longed for the comfort and solitude of writing, although I had nothing to write on or with. So, in my head, I asked myself: What would my book character (currently named Aspen Simber) do in this situation? I turned the question over and over in my mind, inspecting it and testing it. I had tried to make Aspen realistic, so she would cry, of course, like I was. Then, maybe, she would push through it and tell herself that words don’t last forever and that her mother really did love her. I tried to do as she did, but the pain was like a knife: whenever I tried to pull it out, more pain flooded through me. So what, then? What did I do? I couldn’t stay on this rooftop until the pain went away; it would linger with me for many days, and only time could heal the rift. I needed a solution for the now, not the tomorrow. Make a list in your head, Morgan, I thought. This was a helpful way of reminding myself of everything good that I knew to be true about my mother. Number one, my mind continued, your mother really does love you. More tears escaped, but they weren’t as agonizing. Number two, you really aren’t very fit. She just wants to help. I could think of no more after that (though I racked my brains in searching), and my teeth were chattering. Reluctantly, I climbed down from my perch to return to the warmth of the house. Suddenly a thought came to me. There were girls like
