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100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13


By

Freedom

A daddy longlegs braces himself for his fate after two girls find him in the shower Bam! Crash! An earsplitting noise awakens me from my peaceful nap in the damp tub. My most feared enemy, deathly water, gushes down violently, leaving my eight nimble legs completely soaked. Oh, how cold and uncomfortable water is! Miserably, I clamber up onto the side of some kind of bottle (I’ve been in this family’s house long enough to understand the physics and names of objects) and wrap my delicate legs around it. Hopefully those awful humans with those horrible, daddy longleg-killing arms don’t notice me. And so it goes on for five gloomy minutes, water splashing everywhere as those happy humans jump around, too carefree that they don’t even see me clinging to the bottle, even when one giant, dangerous hand clamps upon the top. I am frozen with terror, frantically attempting to camouflage, like my leaf bug friend Joe. The two humans scream with delight and disappear from the tub. Frothy water still drains below, and I don’t dare crawl down. Finally. Calm once more. Or . . . not. There is a piercing shout, and I perk up, alarmed. Have the humans discovered me? The door swings open, and loud footsteps follow. I cower frantically in the corner of the drained tub, hoping to conceal myself. A childish voice yells, “Ahhh! Spider!” I’m very insulted by this incorrect statement. I’m not a spider—I’m an arachnid in the order name of Opilione. Spiders have eight eyes, and we daddy longlegs have two eyes. That’s the irritating thing about humans—their misjudging myths. Then suddenly another voice, deep and unfriendly, shouts, “Let’s kill it! Quick! Get a paper towel!” After water on my enemy list, paper towels are next. Those horror white sheets can squash someone as small as me in a millisecond! Nooooo . . . I think, whimpering. Well, I had a good life. At least I won’t have to withstand another one of Grandma Georgia’s lectures about being late home again. And then I see it. The paper towel. Menacing and terrifying as it hovers above me, ready to strike. I poise my legs, digging the ends in and bracing for the worst. But the worst never comes. Because . . . There is a protesting, high-pitched shout, and I spot the adult and taller girl with dark hair argue. The younger girl peers into the tub looking frightened and withdraws from the room. I feel hurt. Why are humans such scared-y insects? Soon, the paper towel retracts from the tub. What is going on? Why haven’t those unpleasant humans thrown me in the trash yet? The tall girl leaves and returns with a slender magazine. Drat. She’s just decided to kill me in a different way. Don’t humans have any sympathy for us poor harvestmen? But then I listen closely and the firm, girlish voice returns—“I think I can scoop him up if I’m careful.” My insides tingle with a tiny sensation of hope. The word careful means to be controlled and slow. That is a good sign. The magazine slips under me and I crawl forward uncertainly. Should I risk it? But I am already off the ground. The world blurs as I am brought along like an amusement park ride. I grip the edge of the magazine tightly. A breeze gusts behind me, making me feel slightly woozy. After several more bumps, there is a creak, and the magazine settles gently on the ground, waiting. The humans watch in excitement. I gaze out beyond the wide front door at the open world before me waiting to be discovered. Lime green bushes and the endless sky stretch before me. The leaves rustle from the trees as if greeting me. Bright sunlight—much more dazzling than the dimly lit house—radiates warmth. Although my mom tolerated me venturing past our nook in the garage corner, I was never allowed to wander off somewhere entirely unfamiliar. So, this was my chance. My chance to run wild and to adventure. Glancing one more time at the house, I crawl away silently, feeling a new thrill. Perhaps humans—ones with kind hearts—weren’t so bad after all. Because of them, I am now free.


By

Fond Memories

Before moving to New York, the narrator recalls some of her favorite moments and places in Bellevue “GABBY!! Hurry up! We’re going to be late.” My sister’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairwell. I slowly got up, deciding if I should move even slower to annoy her. My family was moving because my dad got a new job in the big city, and it felt like billions of miles away. I thought that if I could go back and change the past, I would make sure that he had never quit his old job. If he would have been happier there, then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be losing my entire life. I walked upstairs to the door that I always walked out of, thinking nothing would ever be the same ever again. I slipped my shoes on, opened the door, and stepped outside on the porch. I slammed the door shut with a big boom. I walked down the blue stairs where I would sit and watch the pouring rain smack on the ground every time the rain came pouring down. It was the best spot to just sit and listen to the pitter-patter of the rain bounce off the roof and onto the porch. All of a sudden all these other memories came rushing back to me. I thought about the red-leafed tree in my front yard where I would climb to the top just to see my neighbor’s house. I thought about the rocky driveway, where I would skate down to get to the road. We passed the street where my friend and I would play and yell “CAR!” every single time there was a car. One time, my family and I bought a little green plastic man that told cars to slow down and we put him on the curb. My friend Rae and I decided to name it Slow Joe. As we passed my friend’s yard, I was transported back to the memory of when we would lay a blanket and play with our toys when we were little. I remember one time we pretended that her yard was an imaginary house. We would play house with our little plastic toy foods. I started feeling a little upset about the move. I wished I could go back. I wished I could do life over. Do it over the right way. If life worked that way, there wouldn’t be so much pain in life—the disappointment and unhappiness that makes life miserable. I’m not sure this move is the best move, I thought to myself as tears welled up in my eyes. All of a sudden, Raeghan was rushing toward me, and I was approaching her yard. Once she had reached me, we started walking toward her front porch. One time I remember that we had Otter Pops. I can still taste the sweet, tangy flavor in my mouth, turning it purple. And we just sat there, not talking, just enjoying each other’s company. It was those fond memories that I didn’t want to leave behind, those memories I was clinging onto. I could tell she was trying to cheer me up. She was always trying to cheer me up when I was upset. “Are you excited for dinner? We’ve got pizza and watermelon,” Rae said to me as we walked along the sidewalk. There was a long pause. I didn’t answer. I could tell she was trying to cheer me up. She was always trying to cheer me up when I was upset. We had been friends since we were very young, so she had gotten amazing at it by now. We approached her door, and as soon as she opened the door her dog Lila was rushing toward me and jumping on me. She had the biggest grin a dog could have on her face. Her dark brown, chocolate hair shed all over me. Her coat was so shiny it was like the sun reflecting off water, but dog hair. Her claws were sharp, but it didn’t hurt. It felt pleasant to see how excited she was to see me. Somehow I was able to get out of that frenzy and get up the stairs. All with Lila on my trail. I raced out to the deck and so did Raeghan. As soon as we got outside, we ran down the stairs and raced to her clubhouse eagerly. We started chatting. “Hello!” My mother’s soft voice filled their empty backyard as she walked through the door. “Hey!” I said eagerly to Raeghan. “My parents are here. Come on—let’s go eat!” Not only were my parents here, but Charles was here too! Charles was my older sister Ellie’s boyfriend; he was sweet but very shy. I’m guessing also overwhelmed because he has one brother. There are five kids in our house. I am the youngest. Which was very fun; usually I had someone to play with. But sometimes I didn’t like having six parents instead of two. We rushed up the stairs to go see my family and Charles. As soon as we were all here, we started to dish up. As I walked through the line of food, I could smell all these different smells. It smelled like our neighbor’s cooking. Alone in a Field I thought about this restaurant down the block that had the most amazing mac and cheese bites I’d ever had. They were breaded and steaming hot as soon as you got them. The restaurant had this glass case of different-flavored ice cream. They didn’t want anyone to touch it, so they put this sign on it that said, Please don’t tap the glass; you’ll scare the ice cream. Cloud Nine was the best restaurant. Mostly because it was like home: it was only in that location. It was one of a kind, just like the place that I call home. The table where we sat was made of fake glass and didn’t fit that many people. The


By

Gooby’s Coins

Gooby, the first alien to attend a human school, finds a valuable coin It was a bright and sunny day, and Gooby was racing down the hot pavement. It had only been one year since humans had accepted aliens into Earth’s society. The planet that Gooby was from was taken over by another species, so they had no choice but to retreat and come to Earth and ask humans for help. It had been a hard six months, and Gooby was still getting used to going to a human school. He had been bullied every single day by the other human children, but he, the one and only Gooby, had been the first alien to attend a human school. Gooby had the highest grades of all the students at City Square High School. I guess you could say he was a bit nerdy. He had inch-thick glasses that he needed to improve the sight from his lone eyeball. His head was the size of a beach ball and he had short, yellow hair. His long arms were six feet long and had hands at the end. He always wore the same old jeans and plaid shirt every day. Every day Gooby did not have school, he would go searching the streets for rare coins. He had been collecting for years and had thousands of coins in his basement. Suddenly, something shiny caught his eye. It was under a door that led into the skyscraper that was scheduled to be torn down next year. Creak. Gooby opened the door and was surprised to see that the shiny coin was not there? There were some metal stairs that led down to the basement. Gooby slowly made his way down. There it was, in all of its glory: a penny over a thousand years old. Gooby’s six-foot arms were trembling as he reached down to pick it up. He was too stunned to do anything else but stare at the beautiful coin. His shaky hands went to put the penny in his pocket. He put his hand in his pocket and took it out. The very rare coin was still grasped tightly in his fist. He tried opening his hand, but he could not. It seemed as though he had no control over the hand the coin was in. Rrrrrrr! Gooby tried to open his fist with his other hand, but his fist was still clenched shut. He looked around and saw an old toolbox sitting on the ground. Gooby ran, full sprint, to it. He rummaged around in the box until he found a set of pliers. He carefully put the pliers into an opening in the fist and tried to pull them open with all of his strength. Bang! The pliers broke in half. He was starting to panic, and he had no idea what to do. He thought to himself, I love it! I can’t let it go! and ran up the stairs. He opened the door and ran home. “Gooby, if you do not open up your hand, then I will send you to the principal’s office.” Today was a big day. It was basketball tryouts at school. Gooby still had the coin in his hand. When he got to school, his teacher started talking. “Alright, class. Today we are going to write a two-page essay about your favorite basketball team to celebrate the start of our school’s basketball season.” Gooby slowly took his laptop out of his desk with his one usable hand. He started typing with one hand. As his teacher walked by, he hoped that she did not see his hidden fist. “Gooby, what have you got in your hand?” “Um, nothing,” replied Gooby. “Gooby, open up your hand and show what you have.” “You don’t understand. I-I-I can’t.” “Gooby, if you do not open up your hand, then I will send you to the principal’s office.” After a little more arguing, the teacher had enough and sent Gooby down to the office. He had never been there, and he was shocked that he was even going there. “Gooby, if you don’t show me what is in your hand, then you can’t try out for the basketball team, and I know how much you want to be the first alien on the basketball team,” scolded the principal. Without warning, the coin dropped, and his hand was free. The Hand “Alright. What do we have here? A coin? Well, I see no danger in that, Gooby. You shall be on your way.” “Thank you, sir.” “No problem. And here is your coin.” “Um, no thanks. You can keep it.” It pained him to give up the coin, but Gooby knew that the basketball tryout was more important than some coin. After a couple of hours of school, it was time: basketball tryouts. Gooby went to the gym and saw all of the other humans. Gooby thought he would have a big advantage over the puny little humans. They didn’t have six-foot-long arms. But he knew that he would have to try his best to ever be considered for the human team. After the tryouts, cold sweat dripped down Gooby’s back, evidence of the effort he’d put forth. That whole two hours had been a blur to him. He tried his hardest, but he didn’t know if it would pay off. “Man, that Gooby alien was really good! He hit ten threes in a row!” Gooby stood in the corner of the dressing room and his mouth dropped as he overheard the human children talking about him. “He’s got such long arms, it’s impossible to get around him!” “Did you hear that he blocked Oliver Oman five times in a row? And Oliver is the best player in the whole county!” Gooby had been so focused on the tryouts he didn’t even realize that he had done so well. Gooby slept well that night knowing he had a great shot at making the team.


By

The Bush Girl

Daisy discovers a dryad in a clump of lilac bushes in her backyard Daisy was four when she first met the Bush Girl. She had learned that her mother was making stir-fry for dinner and had decided to run away. Daisy liked the idea of running away. It sounded like something a character in a book would do. It sounded like an adventure. Daisy never really ran away. She just ran across the yard and hid for a while, but it was still fun to pretend. Daisy was a slightly chubby little girl with blonde hair and brown eyes. She wore a red dress and carried her limp stuffed bear, named “Bear-bear,” under one arm. Daisy walked out onto the porch and looked around. I could hide under the porch, she thought. But they would find me there. Maybe I can find somewhere else to hide. Daisy set off at a resolute trot. As she walked, she scanned the area for any likely hiding spots. Her eyes caught on a clump of lilac bushes, their purple blossoms in full bloom. The little hollow under them made a perfect hiding place for Daisy. She held onto Bear-bear more tightly and crawled into the moss- carpeted little bower. The first thing Daisy noticed when she got in was another girl about her age. The girl had rough, brown, bark-like skin and green hair made from leaves that was held back by a headband made from the same kind of flowers that grew on the bush. Even her dress was made from plants. Daisy stared at her. “Are you a runaway orphan?” she asked hopefully. Daisy had always thought it would be fun to hide a runaway orphan in her room and sneak food to her when her parents weren’t looking. Once, Daisy brought crackers for the Bush Girl and the Bush Girl had to explain to her that she ate only sunlight and drank only water. “No,” said the girl. “Then are you a fairy?” asked Daisy. She thought that, after an orphan, a fairy would be the next best thing. “No. I’m not a fairy,” the girl replied. Daisy felt disappointed. “If you’re not an orphan or a fairy, then what are you?” “I’m a dryad,” said the stranger, hugging her knees and staring back at Daisy. “What’s that?” Daisy inquired skeptically. “It’s a sort of tree spirit,” answered the girl. Daisy smiled at the other child. She wasn’t about to let on that she didn’t understand. “Do you want to be friends?” she asked. “My name is Daisy, and I’m a human. What’s your name?” The dryad shyly smiled back. “You can call me the Bush Girl.” And from that point on they were friends. Daisy would go to the Bush Girl’s bower every day and play with her. Once, Daisy brought crackers for the Bush Girl and the Bush Girl had to explain to her that she ate only sunlight and drank only water. This was a whole new concept to Daisy. Daisy asked what sunlight tasted like, but the Bush Girl couldn’t explain it. Another time, Daisy brought her favorite stuffed animals, Daffodil the giraffe and Buttercup the deer. The two girls spent a whole lovely afternoon playing with them . . . and Daisy’s parents spent a whole not-so-lovely afternoon looking for her. In the winter, the Bush Girl was always very sleepy, but not too sleepy to play in the snow with Daisy. In the spring they pressed flowers. In the summer they drew in the dirt and played with stuffed animals. In the fall they made soft couches and beds out of dead leaves, to furnish their bush house. The two girls grew older. One day, in late summer, Daisy came to the bower with news. “I’ve got to go to school,” she told the Bush Girl sorrowfully. The Bush Girl sighed. “You’ll still be able to see me on the weekends and after school,” she said, trying to reassure herself just as much as she was trying to reassure Daisy. “Can’t you come to school?” begged Daisy. “It would be nice to have a friend.” The Bush Girl shook her head. “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.” “I’m scared,” Daisy confessed. “I’m really scared of school.” The first day Daisy went to school was a lonely one for the Bush Girl. As soon as the car pulled into the driveway, Daisy hopped out and ran toward the Bush Girl’s bower. “I hate school!” she proclaimed. “School is a scary place full of strangers, and I didn’t even learn to read!” Soon though, Daisy got used to school and made some friends, but even so, she never stopped coming to see the Bush Girl. On snow days, weekends, and holidays the two of them would play together for long undisturbed hours, and it was like old times. Daisy learned to read, and she would take her favorite books to the bush house and read with the Bush Girl. Fairy Home Two years passed. The leaves on the Bush Girl’s bower grew and then fell off; the blossoms did too. One spring, Daisy came rushing to the bush house. “I’m turning eight tomorrow!” she told the Bush Girl. “I’m going to have a birthday party! Do you want to come?” The Bush Girl looked sad. “You know I can’t leave the bush house, Daisy,” she said. “But we can celebrate your birthday right here, right now.” Daisy’s face broke into a smile. “Yes, let’s! We can make a mud cake and put twigs in it for candles.” They did just this, but they didn’t eat the cake. Afterwards the Bush Girl gave Daisy a small package wrapped in leaves. Daisy opened it and found a small necklace with a wooden charm dangling from it. The charm was carved to show a picture of a little bush like the one under which they sat. The bush was surrounded by daisies. Daisy practically strangled the Bush


By

Who Would Win?

The narrator wonders what to do when a competitor lies about the outcome of a race What if a lobster and a crab bumped into each other? Who do you think would win? This is the usual start of a popular Who Would Win book series. Do you believe that in real life conflicts like this could happen? Imagine two girls confronting one another at school: will they end up pinching each other’s arms or kicking each other’s legs? *          *          * One warm spring day, our GT class teacher, Ms. O, informed us about an upcoming relay race. There would be two boy teams and one girl team, with four students in each. Each team could choose its own strategy, including the running sequence. So, my team decided to have an internal race to determine the relay order. “Ready, set, go!” All four girls dashed to the finish line. I made every effort with my heart pounding, but it was as if I were running in slow motion. Everything around me became a blur. I caught a glimpse of Girl L rush past me. I call her Girl L because she has really long legs. Every time I spot her run at recess, it reminds me of a creature called a daddy longlegs. Girl E also outpaced me like the wind. I named her Girl E for a very obvious reason. She is very energetic and tireless. I was running faster than Girl P. P stands for perfect. She seems so perfect at everything. I also gave myself a letter: O. O means ordinary. An ordinary girl has a lot of failures, a few successes, and some happy moments. Surprisingly, Girl P was the last one, not me. Even more surprisingly, she claimed that I was last, totally ignoring the fact she was at least two feet behind when I reached the finish line. At first, I was shocked and tried to persuade her to accept that fact. But she insisted she was faster. Girl L and E didn’t catch sight of us, and there were no other spectators. No one could determine what happened. *          *          * “I don’t mind lying, but I hate inaccuracy,” Samuel Butler once stated. Maybe she was too proud to acknowledge even a small failure. I couldn’t help thinking about the Who Would Win series. Usually, in the end, the loser of the fight would perish. Luckily, there is no fierce result here, of course. So, I gave up the meaningless argument. But who do you think actually won?