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100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13


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Story

Asher writes about his difficulty finding a supportive, safe school environment Second grade did not go well, but my story begins in first grade. In first grade, my teacher was strict and made me think I could not read. I did not like reading to myself. I still don’t like reading out loud. My friends from kindergarten the year before were not in my class. We grew apart. And my twin, Emmett, was in a class for special education that year. Emmett was literally unlearning stuff. The school said he was just stupid. When my parents told the school he had dyslexia, they said, “No, he is just stupid. That’s why he’s not in regular classes.” My parents went to a man whose job was diagnosing people with dyslexia. He said that Emmett had dyslexia. After a long time arguing with the school, they gave up. So, in second grade he went to special school. I felt upset and annoyed with the school. Second grade was not a good year for me. That year, I met Bully 1 and Bully 2. Bully 2 was Bully 1’s lackey. Bully 1 was big with a little hair that was black on his head. Bully 2 was small and had dark hair. I met Bully 1 and thought he was a nice guy. He wasn’t. He hurt me physically and that hurt me mentally and I stopped making friends. Then I had no friends. I did not tell my parents because I felt it would not help. But it continued. I became meaner after a month or so of this. Finally, I told my parents everything. My parents told the school, and the school did nothing. I was upset. I decided I needed to do something. After a day of thinking it over many times, I finally decided. I decided to waste the school water supply. I used the water fountain when I wasn’t drinking anything. The school didn’t seem to know anything was going on, but I kept doing it. Bully 1 was bored because I wasn’t playing with him anymore. He decided to act as though he had given up his evil ways. I fell for it, so he beat me up. The principal was walking around nearby when they were beating me up and came close but did nothing. That day, I decided I needed to do something big. So I clogged the sinks and toilets and left wet toilet paper on the ground. Everyone noticed that, and no one thought I did it. They blamed some other kid. I thought my school was going to be so unhappy. They acted as though nothing had happened. I saw that the kids all looked nice enough, but you can’t tell how nice people are from their looks. My school was still doing nothing about the bullies. I was still upset. My parents told me to stay home from school. So I stayed at home while the other kids were at school. My school said they would fix it. I went back to school in December. I was at PE when the PE teacher told me to be in a group with Bully 1 and Bully 2. I thought nothing would happen here, but I was very wrong. The bullies called me names and hurt me. I told my parents about PE that day. They were very upset. They told the school, “You didn’t tell the PE teacher.” The school said, “We didn’t think we needed to do that.” I did not go to school the next day or the day after that. My parents argued with the school. In the end, in February, they decided to send me to a different school that was closer to our house. The first day I went to the other school, I was scared and did not want to go. I wanted to stay home with my parents. My dad drove me to the school. I saw a lot of kids playing outside before the bell went off. My parents had told me what class I was in. It was Ms. Denue’s class. I saw that the kids all looked nice enough, but you can’t tell how nice people are from their looks. The bell rang and everyone lined up. I said bye to my dad and followed a line which my dad had told me to line up in. I followed the line to a classroom with a sign that said “19.” I filed into the classroom and saw my teacher for the first time. She was an older woman with long hair that was turning white. She said, “Please take your seats, class. We have a new student today.” Everyone stared at me. I was getting nervous. The teacher told me to come to the front of the class. I obeyed. In the front of class, my teacher said, “Can you please introduce yourself?” I said, “I’m Asher.” Everyone said hi. They all introduced themselves. My teacher told me her name. This was late second grade. I made friends soon after that with three kids. By late third grade, I started to think they were not nice and stopped hanging out with them. They were upset that I wasn’t hanging out with them anymore and made a comic book that called me “toilet head.” One of the kids outright lied about the comic book. The other two started crying and felt remorse and admitted to it when they were questioned by my mom. Even though this happened, third grade was one of my favorite years because I had a really good teacher named Ms. Casey. After third grade, my parents made me go to a new school for fourth grade. The teacher was named Ms. Katrina. I made friends with two kids called Ronan and Calvin. I have much more in common with these friends than with the friends I had before. Ronan and Calvin like chess. We like to play similar


By

Meet Through News

Inspired by an unexpected discovery, Rosin decides to create her own newspaper The sun beat down on Rosin Molly Sully. The heat of the farm clouded over the barn like a blanket. Rosin’s Rosin’s uncle, Ronny, had been making hamburgers for the past thirty minutes. As Rosin hungrily got up from her work, she stared down at her red hands, which were covered in her sweat. The sour taste of lemons that she had eaten hours ago swept flavorfully in her mouth. The day was terrible so far. Minthe the dog didn’t want to play, and Rosin’s cousins were busy being mischievous. Rosin walked with her cramped foot and aching back all the way to the small, ramshackle house. She loved exploring the old house. The bricks were dilapidated, and the front porch was covered in soft, green moss. The smell of cigarettes filled Rosin’s nostrils as she crossed over to the front of the house. The hinges creaked as she opened the rusty old door. She went to the corner of the ramshackle house toward the rakes. The heat was making her pretty dizzy. She wanted to get out as soon as possible. But she didn’t. Out of curiosity, she grabbed a small rake that was leaning against the dusty wall and caused a chain reaction. Dust was everywhere as Rosin shook away the amount of rubble that had fallen too. She looked back at where the rakes had been when she saw a door that looked older than the house itself. Spiders crawled through the hole in the door. Ants crawled around the moss that was covering at least half the door. Little crayon drawings partly showed through. Beneath the door, a fallen chain lock looked like it had been there for decades, sinking into the ground. Rosin opened the door, scattering ants and spiders. The lock made a terrible crashing sound as it went across the broken wooden floor. The dark room made it almost impossible to see. Then she saw something she had only ever used once, not even at home. There, behind the hidden door she’d found, was a ragged old pile of paper. Her family was ever so poor, and she hadn’t started school yet, only because there wasn’t enough money to go around. Her heart skipped a beat as she explored deeper through the thick darkness, having difficulty seeing. Suddenly, a small crunch came from under Rosin’s foot. She looked down at the wooden floor and spotted some crumpled scraps of paper. “Probably nothing,” she said in a hoarse voice. “Just a ragged old page.” But still, she cautiously picked it up and unfolded it. A small gasp escaped her mouth. She ran to the stack of paper she had seen earlier and picked it up along with the crumpled pages and brought both to the house, where Uncle Ronny was still cooking. It turned out that Rosin hadn’t only found regular paper. She’d found fifty $100 bills. *          *          * Uncle Ronny served the plates and put two pieces of hamburger bread on everyone’s plate. “Get up, everyone! I set up a bar to choose whatever you want!” Aunt Susan and Rosin’s parents got up, smiling, and poured food onto their plates. Then Jaime and Rossie, Rosin’s cousins, got up. Even Minthe got up to check out the kibble treats that were poured in her bowl next to the wooden cart—the so-called “bar.” Rosin sat, though. She had something on her mind. She touched the money in her pocket and thought of the paper, which she’d hidden in her shoe closet. She thought of the many things that $5,000 could do for her. She could buy her own food and not eat from Uncle Ronny’s bar. She could go to the mall and be part of the popular group in town by going; her life would be so much easier. Then, at that moment, a bright idea came to Rosin’s head: She could go to school! She could be part of a better popular group, or even the best! Even the thought of it made her squeal. “Be quiet, you fool. Go get your food,” said Jaime. “Shut up!” Rosin retorted. Yet she got up and grabbed a plate to get some food from the bar, still thinking of the hundreds of opportunities she had with $5,000. When Uncle Ronny and Aunt Susan left with Jaime and Rossie, Rosin made sure no one was looking, and she got the paper out and went up to her pink bedroom, locking the doors. She set out the paper onto her bed and looked at the amount of paper she had. “What could I do with this?” She thought out loud. She absentmindedly started doodling something she paid no attention to. She reviewed her choices of what to do with twelve stacks of fifty pieces of paper and $5,000. When boredom finally swept over her, she looked down at what her fingers were doing. Her dark-brown hair blew through the wind as Rosin rushed to a box of art supplies she used. She grabbed a black Sharpie and traced over her words in a neat print. She proudly looked up at her new creation: Sully Times Rosin left a note on one of her pages telling her parents she had found money. She only gave them half of it, though. She kept the other half in her unused piggy bank. Then, she organized her day. Morning Routine was the first thing for her to do, and the rest of what she would do was simple: work on Sully Times. A newspaper of her own would be amazing! She could get much more money! Sully Times could include major events in her town. She could add a crossword puzzle, games, ads, sudoku, and everything a child’s newspaper could dream of. Rosin neatly started printing words: This is a newspaper of fun, made by Rosin. Who in the


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Through

Mixed media Jena Kim, 13Seoul, South Korea


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Laundry

Standing In my room A feeling of impending doom Comes slowly Wondering What path will I take In this cruel world Folding Folding Folding The clothes rumpled Like elephant skin I sit down Exhausted Thinking “How is this possibly going to end well?” Zeke Braman, 9Acton, MA


By

Death by Kickball

Time slows to a crawl as Elenora wonders if she will make it out of a game of kickball alive 11:56, 11:57. I stared at my watch. The seconds ticked by oh so slowly. Seconds were suddenly minutes, and minutes were suddenly hours. At least, that’s how it felt. My face broke out in a cold sweat, even though I hadn’t moved a muscle. As soon as Coach Summit, the ruthless fiend, announced that we’d be playing kickball, I’d had a plan: station myself at the very back of the kicking line and pray for mercy. It had to work. It had to work. But it didn’t. The line got smaller and smaller. Mia kicked, then Ben, then Jackson. Elliana kicked. Three people in front of me. Zero strikes. My heart rate quickened. Noah kicked. I started to panic. How do you play kickball again? You kick, and then you run and try to catch the ball? No, that couldn’t be right. Oh, my classmates are going to kill me! 11:59. C’mon, watch, C’MON! Move, clock, MOVE! Rose kicked. I’m dead meat. As Oliver stepped up to kick, I saw my life flash before my eyes. What had I said to my family this morning? Did they know that I loved them?! I remembered my fourth birthday when my mother baked me a beautiful rainbow cake. I was crazy about those little Jello cup things back then. She layered a normal cake with all of the Jello flavors she could find, making a culinary masterpiece. As I stood in that line, I saw her standing in the kitchen, carefully making the cake for me. So much love went into that cake. I never thanked her for it. And what about all those hours my father spent reading to me before bed?! All that time, love, and effort, all for me, and I never thanked him. I would die without my parents knowing how grateful I was for them. It was too terrible to bear. I’m only eleven! That’s too young to die! “It’s your turn to kick, Elenora.” I should have gotten someone to dictate my will before gym class! No one was in front of me. I took a deep breath, gathered my remaining courage, and walked up to my fate worse than death. Twenty-nine eyes bored into me. My menacing classmates. I could practically taste their mad desire to win, could almost feel their wrath and infuriated screams. I was aware of every breath I took, every footstep. My heart was beating so loud, I’m sure my classmates heard it perfectly. “I am a heroine!” I declared out loud, throwing my arms out into the air. I wanted to embrace the world, the whole beautiful world full of life and opportunity! “Freak,” muttered someone. Life was such a beautiful thing, more beautiful than anyone could ever imagine! To gulp fresh air, to breathe, to go to sleep and to wake up to a new day! Oh, world, you’re more amazing than anyone could ever realize! Oh, life is so beautiful and amazing, so unchanging, we can never understand it fully. How horrid that I should die right after I finally realized how amazing life really is! What a pity! What a waste! It’s always like this, I suppose. In all the novels I’ve ever read, the revelations always come before the cruel knock of death’s hand on the door of life . . . Oh! How poetic! I’m turning into a real heroine! “I am a heroine!” I declared out loud, throwing my arms out into the air. I wanted to embrace the world, the whole beautiful world full of life and opportunity! “Freak,” muttered someone. I didn’t care. No one knew what I was going through! No one knew how much I had matured in the last couple of minutes! My eyes were blind, but now they see! I spun around in a full circle, arms outstretched, my hair floating rather enchantingly. It was a dull, dark black-ish color. Very unromantic. Well, not anymore. I began to shout. “My hair is a rich ebony that frames my starry, violet eyes. Everyone who sees those eyes knows that there is a mystery behind them! For these are eyes which have seen both hardship and sorrow! Eyes that have had the bloom of youth brushed from them, to be replaced by wisdom! Eyes that—” Coach Summit rudely interrupted my reverie with one of his famously feared “ahems.” This “ahem” was not something to be ignored. Suddenly, all my delirium and delight seeped away like sand falling down an hourglass. The hourglass of my life—every second my heart still beat, a grain of sand falling away, never to be retrieved. Death was no longer romantic at all. All my happiness was gone. I closed my eyes tight and opened them again, hoping it would all be a bad dream, hoping it would go away, hoping that Mommy and Daddy could come to my rescue. When I was a young child, I thought my parents could do anything and save me from anyone. I knew better now. I had seen the world. I closed my eyes a second time and saw it: My casket. White marble. I was being buried, to rot in the ground with worms and dirt . . . No! I didn’t want to die! I DIDN’T WANT TO DIE! I didn’t want to leave everyone behind! I was only eleven, and there were so many things I hadn’t done, that I’d never get the chance to do. How unfair that some get to live and prosper and that others must die at such a young age! How I had wasted my life so far! But I couldn’t ignore Coach Summit’s “ahem.” I had to do what I had to do. My legs propelled my feeble body to the plate. I decided right then and there that I wouldn’t cry. I wasn’t a heroine. I was just


By

Simple

I sit down Tired, anxious But I can’t relax I stand up Make some tea Fresh and green Add some milk Puffy white clouds Suspended in liquid Floating in their little world Take a sip Warmth rushes through me Things are better Nothing complex Everything is Simple Just me And my tea Adele Stamenov, 10Bethel Park, PA


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The Pages I Feared

After moving back to New York from Chile, where she spoke Spanish in school, the narrator struggles to adjust I started to pant as if I had run a mile, but I had only walked into a classroom. My breath came in quick, short gasps, and my mind was in a panicked rage, trying to grasp how I would survive this. Finally, Ms. Satenhart, my reading tutor, sat me down at a desk, and I watched in horror as she pulled out the thing that was bound to doom me from the start: a book. *          *          * When I was four years old, I moved to Chile and then moved back to NYC at six. I remember that tight feeling in my chest, excitement and anxiousness all swirling inside of me. But that feeling hadn’t lasted long, for once school began, my hopes went from a soaring bird to a plunging fish, never meeting the bottom. In Chile, we had spoken Spanish, so on my first day, I couldn’t even read a math problem. My cheeks were flushed red and my heart was squeezed tight in a bundle of shame as I mispronounced “thirty” for the fifth time. Later in the year, my teacher had an announcement to make: “There will be reading tests in one week. Read, read, read!” Her perfect, dirty-blonde hair and wide smile could make even the most stubborn birds sing. My mouth had fallen open as if to protest. But nothing came out, and my eyes had become glassy. Over time I had come to admire my teacher, Ms. Wodlworth, and I hated to let her down with my failure. The first test came anyway, and only moving up one reading level had made my mouth feel dry, my nose runny, and my ears red. I’m never going to make it. A month later, while sitting at my desk, I thought the torture had ended, those horrid pages hidden away, concealed forever. But I was wrong; they came back for me. “It’s okay for those of you who aren’t happy with your reading progress so far,” Ms. Wodlworth announced. My ears pricked up and my comfortable, plaid uniform didn’t feel so comfy anymore. I felt itchy, how I always got before bad news. “There will be reading tests in one month, so remember: read, read, read! Please go back to your books now. And remember your homework packet includes two weeks* of homework for the long weekend of Thanksgiving.” My eyes had started to sting, but I knew what to expect. Deep down inside, though, I felt a part of me that was getting tired of failing, tired of being pulled back, just like waves withdrawing empty-handed from the sand. It was a new feeling: determination. *          *          * “Time for bed. Go brush your teeth,” my dad called. “But Elias and I need something before we sleep,” I complained. My parents sighed in unison, “Water? A cookie? Just hurry. Then, in the morning, you complain about being tired.” “One story? Please?” My brother and I flashed our big puppy eyes. “That’s just another excuse not to sleep. You have school tomorrow,” they reasoned. “But I’m bored, and I can’t fall asleep if I’m bored,” I groaned. “Good night,” they called, and I fell back onto my bed. I blew my hair out of my face. Then, a brilliant idea struck me. “No! Mom! Dad! Wouldn’t it help me if you read me a story and helped me understand pro- pronunciation?” I said, practically begging. “Do you really need help?” they asked. “Yes.” Soon we were on the couch, my mom clutching a book in her hand called The Lonely Little Monster. In the story, the monster was scary, so other kids wouldn’t play with him. But soon he tried his luck at friendship with a little girl. She realized he was nice, and the monster wasn’t lonely anymore. After this struggle he had faced, he had finally succeeded. “The end!” As I dragged myself to my room, without any more excuses for not going to bed, I had started thinking. What if the little monster was just like me? What if I— “Good night!” “Don’t go!” I jumped out of bed. Life in New York City had not been welcoming so far, and I clung onto any excuse to stay with the people who comforted me the most. “What? Norah, you need to go to bed.” “But I can’t sleep.” “Sleep is important. You don’t grow if you don’t sleep.” My brother claimed, “If I don’t grow, it means I’ll never grow old! I could be immortal! So I shouldn’t sleep.” My parents laughed and said, “Love you.” “Ok. Good night,” I sighed in defeat. Once the lights shut off, it was just me and the sounds of New York. The sirens wailing with flashing blue and red lights, people honking, caught up in the web of traffic. I could even hear the faint tapping of high heels on the steel-hard concrete of the sidewalk. I imagined the Little Monster, his green, shaggy fur framing his big, glossy brown eyes. A frown so small you would mistake it for an ant on his face. My thoughts resurfaced all at once, and I started to wonder, Could I go through struggles just like this monster? Could I find the one light to help me through this struggle? My ideas were muffled by my efforts to try to stifle a yawn. My weary eyes dragged down, yearning to sleep and find a quiet place. Slowly, my thoughts left the sound-filled streets to a place deep inside my head. *          *          * The next day at school, we were asked to do something that was almost impossible for me. “Has everyone gotten an index card?” Ms. Wodlworth asked. We waited in