When her parents tell her they’re getting a divorce, Kate runs away Smooth waves of water crested up out of the foamy blue sea and crashed down on the empty beach, rushing out along a darkened strip of sand, and then were sucked back into the depths of the blue ocean. Kate paced the rough sand, gritty crystals coating her bare feet and tickling her ankles. A heavy fog hung over the beach, covering the sky and the air in a thick gray mass that did nothing to help lighten Kate’s mood. Her usually warm light-gray eyes were stormy, dark, and wild and focused on the never-ending expanse of sand and water before her, dotted by washed-up shells and pieces of driftwood. Her strides were purposeful and determined, carrying her across the beach in a direction that seemed to go on forever. Kate was fine with that. She did not want to go back to her house, now just a small blue dot on top of the hill. Kate walked faster. While normally Kate would stop to brush the sand off of her feet before continuing on, such a thought never even entered her mind now. She was set only on walking as far away from her house as possible. She tried not to think about the things she loved about it: the creaky stair; the fading blue paint that she herself had picked out; the kitchen table with many scratches from her cat, Rocket, who refused to use his beautiful scratching post and instead ruined their furniture; her bedroom with the glow-in-the-dark star stickers and pale blue bedspread, among some things. The reason Kate did not want to think about her house was because she was leaving. Forever, at least in her mind. Her parents were getting a divorce. They had sat her down last night at the kitchen table and announced it. Kate had sat there gaping for a moment. Then when it had sunk in, she had jumped up from the kitchen table, not minding the chair that had crashed to the ground, and raced upstairs, slamming the door to her bedroom. She had heard her parents fighting. But it was never about anything serious. They weren’t even fights— more like arguments, whispered conversations late at night that Kate could hear. She had thought nothing of it. Until the Announcement. To make matters worse, her parents had used formal names. They had called each other “Marina” and “Aleksander” instead of Mom and Dad, and—worst of all—“Katarina” for Kate. She had certain opinions of her own about her name. All she could think about was her warm, warm bed with Rocket sitting on top of it on his usual place on her pillow. When they had called her “Katarina,” she had just about exploded. That was when she had slammed her door. She had slept fitfully that night and in the morning decided to run away and find a better life. So here she was on the beach. Wind sailed across the beach, twisting and turning and blowing Kate’s long, dark braid out behind her. Locks got dislodged and tangled together, pulling on Kate’s scalp. She tucked her braid into the collar of her shirt. Not thinking, she had not brought a jacket. The cold turned Kate’s cheeks rosy. She hid her face by her neck. Wind howled in Kate’s ears. Her bare feet turned cold. The thoughts inside her brain roiled around like a thunderstorm. But still she walked. When at last she found a small cave in the side of the rocky cliffs bordering the beach, Kate was almost faint from exhaustion and cold. Searching for somewhere to sit, she eventually curled up in the corner by a pile of driftwood. Something slimy rubbed against her leg. Kate stifled a scream. But it was only a piece of kelp by her feet. She breathed a sigh of relief. Her throat felt dry and hoarse. In her haste to leave, she had not thought to bring any food or water. Or, for that matter, anything. Kate tried her best not to swallow or speak. Suddenly, she missed her cat, Rocket. She could imagine his soft, furry body nestling up in her arms. She would stroke his white fur, especially the brown patch near his throat. He would purr and she would feel satisfied and happy. Kate choked back a sob and rubbed her eyes fiercely to dry the tears that had collected there. She put her head on her knees. All she could think about was her warm, warm bed with Rocket sitting on top of it on his usual place on her pillow. She could imagine the star stickers on her ceiling glowing cheerfully and the faded, warm wood of her bookshelf covered in different colorful spines. Now Kate couldn’t hold back the sobs. They racked her body as she buried her face in her hands and cried until she could cry no more. Looking out at the beach, she finally came to her senses. There was no way she could survive out here with no food or water or clothes; she knew that there were no neighbors she could go turn to for help, and after all, she was only twelve. Sighing, she stared at the beach. The rhythm of the waves crashing on the beach and then receding calmed her. She sat as if in a trance, mesmerized by the beach as she always was. Finally, she worked up the will to go back. Standing up, she stretched out her long legs and began to walk. Soon she was running, her feet pounding the ground and sending up mini geysers of sand. Wind rushed at her and she welcomed it. Her feet touched the ground only long enough for them to send her up again. Her house became more than a blue speck on the horizon. Coming into view, she could see the white shutters and fading wood. Her lungs were burning and

Two next-door-neighbors-turned-best-friends share a quiet afternoon together I am poking my head through a hole in my fence, a fence made of oak that gives me splinters when I touch it. It creaks and squeaks when it is pushed. The raspberry bushes and plum trees are blown against it by the wind. The vines of the raspberry bushes climb up the old fence, blooming with new flowers—white and pink berries too, the kind that make me cringe when they hit my tongue. The hole is small. I can barely fit through it now— not easily as I used to. It’s quiet-yet-loud with the deafening sound of leaves wrestling each other in the wind. I break the roaring silence. I yell, “Kyle!” My voice inflects the same way one does when asking a question. There is a vociferous pause as the wind picks up and lets out a quiet scream. The inconsistent and forceful sound of a screen door sliding off its track breaks the blaring stillness. The mesh of the screen hits the wood of the house as the wind forces it back. The door slides in, surges a little bit, pauses, then a little bit more. It’s a windy, hot spring day in California. The smell of honeysuckle and chlorine from the neighbor’s pool can be smelled from houses away. A dog barks from a few houses down. Rick’s motorcycle pulls into his driveway. A squirrel dashes across our lawn and up the stump of the oak tree. Fifteen seconds go by, but it feels like thirty. A high-pitched voice calls back: “Yeah?” The voice belongs to a boy named Kyle. He and I have known each other for years. We go to the same school, White Oaks Elementary. He was four when I met him. I was three. He didn’t have many friends. I didn’t either. We are next-door neighbors and have been for five years. He and I are very different. He is shy and quiet with people he doesn’t know. He hates math; he really hates it. He tried to pull the “my cat ate my math homework” excuse a few weeks ago. Kyle thought it would work. He even took a photo of his cat sitting down next to the crumpled up homework using his iPod Touch. His parents weren’t very happy. I thought that was hilarious. Kyle sees his parents a lot and has never spent more than a few days away from them. My parents travel a lot. I spend a few nights a year at Kyle’s. It isn’t as much of a problem having school in the morning as we have to walk just two blocks to get there. At our sleepovers we play Nerf guns and ride our bikes up and down the same hill till the sun sets. I always wanted my own Nerf guns, but my mom wouldn’t let me have any. Kyle is a Boy Scout and a baseball player. I played T-ball once. I quit shortly after. We have gone to the same marine biology camp every summer since we met; we always win the knot-tying competition. The wind throws a leaf into my face. It is sharp and dry, but it doesn’t scratch my skin. The hole in the fence leads straight into his backyard. His cat, Mercedes, seems to live at the top of that fence. Her big green eyes are the first thing I notice when I see her. She is small and timid. Her shoulders point out when she crouches, and her ribs poke out when she stands. She doesn’t like people that much. She doesn’t like anything that much. She likes that fence, though. I hear footsteps on wet grass and peer through the hole. I squeeze through the hole shoulder-first, and Kyle greets me with a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a wide, toothless smile. His dad, Rick, is a strong believer in mint chip. After dinner, he always pulls out a quart of the stuff and drops it on the dinner table dramatically. Kyle just got back from Mexico, his first trip outside of the country. We talk about it as we eat our mint chocolate chip ice cream on the big leather couch in the living room, knowing his mom would be furious if she saw us. She loves that couch. The green scoops start melting. Kyle loves ice cream soup; I don’t. I pick up my pace, talk less and listen more as we stop talking about his trip to Mexico and move on to our thoughts on the elusive purple shore crab. When we are done with our mid-afternoon dessert, we turn on the Wii. We like to play Super Mario Brothers. I’m always Mario. He’s always Luigi. He always goes for the highest points and most stars. I go for the least time and most lives. Kyle is much better at Super Mario Brothers than I am—not like that’s saying much. We’ve been stuck fighting in Bowser’s castle on the same level for a few months now. Thirty minutes pass. Mario falls into the lava and Luigi is the only one left. After much smashing of buttons, Luigi falls into the lava, and we hear the same low-pitched Bowser laugh for the hundredth time. The big grandfather clock in his living room goes off. It is six o’clock. I can hear my mom calling my name from my backyard. Jack Meyer, 13Brooklyn, NY

Tallulah knows that moving to a bigger home is a good thing—but it’s still hard to say goodbye My sister and I lived in a small yellow house with a bright-blue door. The roof was white and so was the porch. The stairs were a bland tan, but I actually liked them a lot because they were familiar. Delilah (she’s my sister) and I shared a room. We only had enough space for a bunk bed and a dresser. I was on the top bunk and she was on the bottom. We each had sheets that were blue. Our bed was in the corner of the room, the corner closest to the big window. By “big” I mean “small,” but it was the biggest window we had ever seen. We had pictures of each other on the pretty purple walls. We loved our room. Our parents’ room was next to ours. Our parents had a bed and two dressers and two small mirrors. A bigger mirror was hung on the door. Though it was still slightly bigger than our room, it was still small. We had old-people neighbors, and none of us had a lot of money. The streets were mostly dirty, though once a year the street sweepers came in and did the top part of the street, leaving most of the street unkempt. Only a week ago, we had found out that we were moving. My parents were really excited, but not me. Delilah was hopeful, but not me. This is what my mother said: “Tallulah? Haven’t you always wanted to live in a bigger house and go to a better school? This will be your chance!” I suppose I had, but I didn’t want to leave my street. So I just shook my head up and down. “You will have a bigger room and more space for things you like!” my father answered. “But Dad, I don’t want to move! Aren’t we happy here?” “Tallulah, your mother and I are bigger than you and Delilah. We need more room.” “Hey, I want to go outside,” Delilah interrupted. “Go outside with your sister, Tallulah.” I grabbed her and darted out of the house. By the way, I am ten and Delilah is five. Outside, we played in the nice green grass. Imagine the prettiest blue dress you’ve ever seen; that’s what the sky looked like. I remember Delilah doing cartwheels across the grass. She begged me to play with her, so I did. After a while, my friend walked by and stayed with me. “I heard you were moving.” “Yeah.” “Where are you going?” “A town away.” “Oh.” Delilah stopped doing cartwheels and sat down right in my friend’s lap. “Hi, Gracie,” she said. “Hi, Delilah! I’m gonna miss you and Tallulah a lot.” “I know. I will miss you and Devon. Where is she?” “Oh, she’s at my house. I can call her over.” Devon was Gracie’s little sister; she was also five. Gracie ran down the street to get Devon; they only lived three houses down. Gracie eventually returned with Devon in her arms. No other kids lived on the street, so we were lucky that Gracie was my age and Devon was Delilah’s. Delilah played dolls with Devon, and Gracie and I played hopscotch. After a while, we all played tag, which was kind of hard since Delilah and Devon were so young. “Oh no, you got me!” I yelled when Devon tapped my arm. “Tallulah’s it!” Gracie called, running with my sister’s hand in hers. Once our legs got wobbly and our breath was scarce, we went inside and my mom made us dinner. *          *          * Everything was pretty normal the rest of the week—just packing and such. But when the week was over our parents threw a big party, and our parents’ friends came over for dinner and so did mine and Delilah’s. Gracie and Devon were the first people there. Next came my friend Lena and her baby brother, Alan. “Hi, Tallulah,” she said, hugging me. “Hello, Tallulah! Hello, Delilah! We were very sad to hear that you were leaving,” Lena’s mom said, coming into our house. For some reason, when Delilah’s in the room, adults do that thing where they are very loud and they over-articulate. Lena, Gracie, and I left together and went into the small backyard. Since our house was pretty small, the party leaked over into the backyard, front porch, and front yard. I thought it was a lot of fuss since we were only moving a town away, but I think our parents wanted us to leave on a happy note. I don’t remember where Delilah went once all of her friends showed up, but my friends and I stayed in the backyard and played card games, and eventually we went inside and played Mario video games that my friends Luke and Livie (they are twins) brought. “And Tallulah Ross takes the lead!” *          *          * “Come on, girls! Time to get up!” my dad is calling from downstairs. “We have got a lot of things to start moving!” “Dad,” I ask, “how will we sleep there tonight?” “We have a very special surprise.” “Surprise?” Delilah asks, suddenly jumping up. “Your mother and I purchased sleeping bags!” The reason we are moving is that our dad got a new job and he gets paid much more money. It’s a good thing, I guess. “You have got to be kidding me.” I slump back down into my bed. “Come on, Tallulah. It will be fun to sleep on the floor of our new house.” Our dad shakes the bed, which makes me even more mad. I hop out of bed and hold my sister’s hand. I follow the smell of pancakes downstairs. “That smells so yummy!” “Thank you, Delilah!” my mom says as she picks my sister up. As soon