A girl relishes the solitude of her favorite spot under an amazing tree The path that led to the tree went zigzag, but it wasn’t very long. It had slight curves with small bumps. It was like a stone platform, with barely any cracks. But what was really a sight was the tree. It was a very tall one, its leaves dark green as ripe cucumbers. The branches curled softly, like breezes tickling waves into the air. Under the tree was a spot to sit, with patches of grass covering the dirt. If you felt the grass, you knew that it was very soft. When gazing up, you would see many birds of different shapes and colors sitting on the high branches. You would feel safe under the tree, like it was protecting you from bad things. You would sit there for a long time, but then it would be time to go. The patches of grass would sit still, hoping you would come again. I only saw someone else come once. She was a girl, one who sat quietly under the tree by herself. Often, she would fling one of her long legs over a thick branch while the other leg stayed hopelessly on the ground. I tried to say “Hi,” but before I could, the girl went off into the forest behind the gates to the left of the tree. I wanted to follow her but decided not to because if she saw me, she wouldn’t want to be my friend. I sighed. I came to visit the tree whenever I had time left in my day. Even if I had only a few minutes, I wouldn’t miss a single moment to come to the stony pathway. I’d come here before breakfast, before school, before anything, or after anything. But sadly, I had no one to bring with me. I’d ask my mother, but she was always busy knitting with her sharp darning needle or busy dealing with my sister, who was always running around. I’d ask my father, but he was too busy changing into his work clothes. I’d ask my sister . . . actually, I wouldn’t. She would be too loud and energetic to sit under a quiet, peaceful tree, and people would be annoyed. I’d ask my friend Cindy, but she was just like my sister. Talkative and energetic. I wanted someone who would enjoy the tree with me. So I’d sit down under the tree alone, quietly reading a book, inspecting all the things that were near me—a tiny caterpillar resting on a thin leaf, squirrels hastily climbing up the trunk. Or I’d try to climb up myself. Day after day, I would sit under the tree with no one to talk to except myself and the birds, who didn’t even answer me. Now I was walking to the place where the tree was, carrying a book called Atmosphere. It was about a girl who wanted to touch the sky, so she tied 142 balloons to her wrist. I skipped over to the small stone pathway. Before I placed a single foot on it, I inspected it carefully. It had dirt on it. I kicked it away carefully. Someone had been there. I went over the path and lifted the leaves of the tree cautiously. Going under the leaves, I noticed something that hadn’t been there before. It was a note that was taped harshly on a branch. The note was crumpled and looked like someone had stepped on it a million times. The words were too tiny to read from where I was standing, so I went a little closer and carefully took the tape off. I picked it up delicately, and read the page as my eyes blinked: Please meet me at this place: Croygami Woods Please don’t be late! Hunters are attacking the animals

After weeks of practice and anticipation, the day of Susie’s recital is finally here My hands smoothed out the rose-colored dress I was wearing. The car hummed underneath me. We passed skyscrapers and other cars. I unfolded the music sheet, which was wrinkled and slightly ripped from all the times I’d inspected it. “What if I forget this is an E instead of an A? What if I mess up . . .” “You’ll be fine, honey,” my mom told me reassuringly. “You’re gonna do it.” Her optimism didn’t miss its mark on me, but still, I was worried. “We’re here!” she said cheerfully, like it was an amazing day and not the scariest day of my life. I mean, I had practiced for at least an hour every day, from six to seven, for the last two months, getting ready for this. It was a large church, with a foyer in front. In the foyer, people were milling about, laughing and talking. My teacher finally found us. Mrs. Callie is an amazing teacher, and my favorite. She was wearing a sparkly blue dress that shimmered like the night sky. It reflected off of the chandelier, and I was so fixated on that little blue glint I didn’t notice Mrs. Callie was walking away until the glint was gone. The main hall stood full and proud. It had windows at the very top of its walls, and an open circle window right in the middle. Under the circle was a large Christmas tree, twinkling and shining. And under that . . . the stage. There were many filled pews, and suddenly I felt a wave of terror wash over me. I put my head in my hands. I could see myself playing the flute, but messing up terribly, me realizing my mistake, and everyone booing over and over like a horror scene replaying in my mind. But then I felt my mom’s warm hand on my back. “We believe in you,” she whispered. “First,” Mrs. Callie read, “We have Alyssa Mcford. She will be playing “Grand Central Station” by Nancy Faber.” Blooms Alyssa’s song moved by in a quick minute. Then the next song, “French Minuet.” Even though my turn was about twelve songs away, I began assembling my flute, sliding the parts into place. The songs flew by. Finally, Mrs. Callie announced “Next we have Susie Jones, playing ‘Golden Roses’ on the flute.” Silence. I gripped my flute until my knuckles went white. It seemed like the flute would crumble. But I couldn’t, for the life of me, move or sit up at all. No, I couldn’t do this. “Susie?” Why was I doing this? Why?! “Hold on a sec.” Mrs. Callie started to walk over. I covered my face with my hands. No, no, no! People were whispering, some were laughing. “But Susie, don’t you want to hear the crowds cheer?” Mrs. Callie asked gently. I shook my head. “They won’t! They probably hate me! I don’t want to play anymore. Let me go!” “Wait,” Mrs. Callie replied. She walked away from me. “There’s been a holdup. Next, we will have Mary Albert playing ‘I Walk the Road Again.’ ” Mary walked to the stage, and my world started to dissolve with terror. “Come on, Susie,” Mom said, guiding me gently. I heard our footsteps. Thump, thump, squeak, squeak. The tile floor seemed to count our way slowly. I felt dozens of stares on us, on me. Finally, after what seemed like hours, we reached the door. I looked around. Everything was so bright outside. Birds chirped; quiet wind blew through the trees. They rustled. All of it was so . . . serene. Then I heard music wafting out of the church. It flowed, twisting and whirling. I knew that song: “Greensleeves.” I wished that I had that courage. The courage to speak to the bright, bold sun. Memories flashed in my mind. I remembered the time when I turned on the light in my room, walking to the flute. My fingers found the keys, and they skipped from one key to another as I played the lulling song of “Greensleeves.” I pictured myself: There was me, pleading with my mom to let me play some more. Me closing my eyes like I was right now, but as I played the flute. Me spending more time with the flute than with human friends. I loved the flute. It was part of me. I looked down at the flute in my hand. It glowed, answering the sun’s radiating light, pulling it down, then reflecting it back like a reply. I wished that I had that courage. The courage to speak to the bright, bold sun. Then I realized. Maybe I could. “Let’s go back in.” The words jumped out of my mouth, loud and clear. “Are you sure?” Mom asked me, concerned. As an answer, I walked back into the church. She tailed me. I saw the kid playing. It was that boy I had never talked to. As I watched, he coaxed out the piano’s tinny voice, pushing it out into the cool air. He looked . . . happy. Like he really loved being there. If he could feel such joy when he was usually so nervous and scared, I could too. I took a deep breath and walked to our pew. As we sat back at our seats. I ran my hand over my instrument. The silver of the flute felt cool against my sweaty palms. Finally, again, it was my turn. I took a deep breath, walking onto the stage. My shoe squeaked against it. “Hi, I’m Susie Jones, and I will be playing ‘Golden Roses.’” “Stand tall and proud. Take a deep breath, and play,” I remembered Mrs. Callie saying, so I did. I stood as high as possible, taking a lungful of air, and blew. I closed my eyes and began pressing the keys on the flute. As I opened my

Qrange finds what seems to be the best hide-and-seek hiding place ever—until he gets stuck Qrange was stuck. No, I mean literally. He was having the time of his life playing hide-and-seek with his two friends when he hid inside a box that was out for delivery. The mail carrier sealed it, and here he is. But let me explain more about Qrange. Qrange was currently residing on the planet 999 in the state of Iek. Iek was the largest state on the planet. He lived in the city of Unaud. How big was the city? Come on, you’ve never heard of the city Unaud? It’s the largest city in the Milky Way! It currently houses seven trillion people! Qrange took great pleasure in playing with his friends. Their names were Iooooooop and Uf. They sound like weird names to us, but then we don’t live there. They might say our names sound weird! Like all their games, their hide-and-seek was wild. Iooooooop was the seeker. He counted to sixty, then sprinted down the driveway to find Qrange and Uf. Uf was hiding where Qrange should have hidden, in a rose bush. Uf was smart— just, applying it to life was the hard part. For example, when Uf’s family got a takeout meal to eat at home, Uf forgot about gravity and tipped the food he was carrying in. Splat! Nobody wanted to be Uf then. Back to the game. Iooooooop found Uf as soon as he started screaming in pain from the thorns. Neither could find Qrange, though. Probably because the mail carrier had already shipped him away. At about this time, Uf and Iooooooop started to question whether Qrange had hidden in a legal spot. “He hid inside his house,” Iooooooop said. “No, his mom called him in,” Uf replied. “He hid inside.” “No, he . . .” “Let’s just ask his mom.” Dimensions As soon as the mail carrier picked the box up, Qrange thought how fun it would be for his friends never to find him. Then he thought, How am I going to get back? I’m being shipped in a box that’s sealed with rubidium! Rubidium is a metal that melts at 102.7 degrees Fahrenheit. They used it so no packages would break. The mail carrier first seals the box with tape. Then, at the post office, they soak the box in rubidium. Or the box seals itself if you buy a special kind of box. This is what Qrange’s parents bought. It had sealed while Qrange was in the box. “No, neither happened. I thought he was with you guys,” Qrange’s mom said. “He’s not,” Uf replied. “That’s weird. Well, he must be hiding in the best spot ever thought of. Try to find him for me,” Qrange’s mom said. By now Qrange was already in the mail truck. He tried to break open the box by sheer brute force. He pushed and pushed, and pulled and pulled. He couldn’t get the box to open! The mail carrier looked back and said, “Huh?” Qrange immediately quieted down. He was too embarrassed to let anyone know what he had gotten himself into. When this didn’t work, he tried to melt the rubidium with his hands. He didn’t succeed because, just like our bodies, his was working hard to keep itself at 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. In their measurement, it was 256.3 degrees Meirtable. Qrange finally realized his predicament. He would have to stay in the box until he arrived at his destination. That meant the people he would arrive at would open his box with a heat opener! The rubidium would burn him! Qrange was sweating profusely because he was terrified. He reached into his pocket to see if anything was in there that might help him get out. He found his Computer Everything Tool that helped him fix computers in his free time. Qrange passed the time by playing with the computer he was sitting on. He might have broken some of the pieces, but luckily, he was an expert at fixing computers. He fixed it up in a few hours and improved it! He gave it more storage and made it two times as fast. He even coded an “endless runner” game on it. He thought this would be a thank-you gift to whomever got him out of the box. Qrange finally realized his predicament. He would have to stay in the box until he arrived at his destination. Qrange got out the next day. He suddenly found himself out of the truck and stopped on a solid surface. He thought this was the person’s doorstep. He was correct. Fortunately, this family had kids, and they ran outside to grab the box. They couldn’t pick it up, though, because of Qrange’s weight. As soon as the kids’ parents grabbed the box, they quieted their kids and whisked the box upstairs to their room. Their version of Christmas was called Oiin, and all the parents gave a random family with kids a gift for their kids. It was this time, and one of the kids’ gifts was the computer that Qrange had improved. The mom took the heat opener and started to open the box. Most people had a heat opener to open boxes. Their boxes were cardboard on the inside and rubidium on the outside. Qrange stifled a gasp as the heat burned him. The mom opened the box and screamed. She wasn’t used to having people in a box! She asked Qrange, “How did you get here?” Qrange answered her, “I was playing hide-and-seek with my friends when I hid in this box!” The mom immediately started laughing. “I can pay for your bus ticket back home. This joke is enough to pay me back.” “Too late—I already improved your computer, and put a game on it,” Qrange said. “Ha-ha! Now the trouble is to hide you up here until I can get you home.” That night, when the kids were at