Fiction
It was precisely 3:27 am, and Melody Campbell was sitting cross legged by the beach, having stealthily snuck out of the house due to insomnia. It wasn’t a public beach with mobs and mobs of vacationers and gaudy umbrellas that made your eyes ache when you looked at them too long—it was more like a huge cove along the Atlantic coast, private to only Melody’s family and their neighbors. In fact, Melody rarely saw anybody out there but herself, and of course the bottlenose dolphins. There was no particular reason for Melody’s insomnia; it just happened some nights. But the Cove always seemed to help with that. The sound of the gentle night’s waves tamed her restlessness, the humming breeze helped her to think, and the sand, cool from the shade of nighttime, was a welcome difference to the stuffiness of sharing a small room. By now, Melody’s eyelids were heavy and she was struggling to keep them open. Just as she turned away from the lulling waves, she caught something in her peripheral vision. Stifling a yawn, Melody turned back and blearily took a second look. What she saw astonished her. Footprints. At first she thought they might be her own, but a closer inspection proved otherwise. Then she noticed the next thing. The footsteps lead right into the water-- and never back out. Scanning the ocean front, Melody didn’t see any signs of a human disturbance. The churning waves crashed on smooth sand, and behind the surf, the ocean was glassy smooth. The footprints must have been fresh, the bottoms still filled with tiny pools of water. Eventually exhaustion won her over and forced her to turn back to the house. At the front porch, Melody took one last glance at the Cove and the footprints, only to find she couldn’t even see them anymore. Maybe it was just a trick of the moonlight, she thought doubtfully. Or perhaps I was just dreaming the whole thing. She went into the house, silently shutting the door behind her, and crept into the room she shared with her little brother Harmony. (Her parent’s bad idea of a joke.) The moon shone through a crack in their curtains, forging a path onto his face. For a second, she stared at him lovingly. His shaggy blonde hair was strewn about his pillow, those plump little-kiddish cheeks were littered with golden freckles illuminated by the moonlight, and his lips were curled into a quirky smile, perfectly reflecting his sweet nature. And then she was stumbling into her bed, pulling her sheets around her, and falling asleep, dreaming of mysterious footprints leading into the ocean… * * * Melody woke up to Harmony banging out a lively (and very out of tune) song on the piano downstairs. On second thought, it probably wasn’t a real song. Her little brother was indeed a… creative… composer. However, nobody in the Campbell family had the heart to tell him how he really sounded. Any headaches or earaches were carefully hidden. At first she screwed her eyes shut, trying to close off the sound and fall back asleep. And then it hit her with the force of a pummelling wave, one of the freezing ones you get when you first run into the water, one that soaks you through and makes your breath hitch up in surprise. Everything that happened last night was recalled, and suddenly she didn’t feel so tired. Leaping out of bed, she dragged a comb through her honey blonde hair, changed, and rushed into the bathroom to perform the quickest brush-your-teeth-while-washing-your-face procedure mankind has ever seen. “I’m running out, but I’ll be back soon!” shouted Melody to her mom over the commotion of the piano as she scooped up a pancake and folded it into her palm. Her mom nodded and sent her a thumbs up signal, not even bothering to try raising her voice above the chaos. Slipping on her flip-flops, Melody sprinted out the door to the cute gray house and ran around to the back, stuffing the pancake into her mouth. She’s always thought she must be one of the luckiest girls in the world, to have a beach for her backyard. Melody raced to the shore, golden-speckled chocolate eyes probing the sand for a trace, any trace, of the footprints she thought she had seen the night before… And there, to the left, a trail of faint imprints that just defined footprints leading into the water. There still weren’t footprints leading out of the water. So she hadn’t imagined it, she wasn’t crazy. Someone or something had definitely been here last night, had definitely walked right into the water and never came back out again. Most kids would have been scared when they figured that out, but Melody wasn’t like most kids. She was intrigued, curious, pulled into the mystery, the mystery of the footprints. * * * When she got back to the house, Melody was relieved that the piano abuse had finally stopped. Melody’s mom smiled knowingly at her, one of the smiles moms can give you when they know just what you’re thinking at the moment. “Don’t tell him, but I was relieved Harmony decided to go play in the back with you and got off of that poor piano.” Wait. There was something wrong with that sentence, but Melody couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Oh. Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly. She looked at her mom. “What, honey?” “Harmony. He- he wasn’t in the back. When did he leave the house?” “About five minutes ago,” volunteered her dad, looking up from his copy of the paper, eyebrows creased in worry. “If he went back to the Cove, you would have seen him.” They all exchanged glances. They knew how quickly Harmony’s little blond head moved from one thing to another-- he might have started out intending to
Fiction
Ding!! The school bell rings as loud as a lion would roar. I sprint out of the old crusty building, rushing along the sidewalk, leaving the chipped blue schoolhouse behind me. I only slow down when I know Patricia isn’t following me. Patricia is the star of everything she does. She executes lovely, fake smiles. She is perfect, and is the number one student in all of her classes, and every sport she does by far. She settled, after much deliberation, to make me her new best friend. One day as I was walking home from school, the grey sidewalk beneath my feet felt bare and as soon as Patricia skipped by, I knew why. “So did you hear the news that the school cleared the mural off of the sidewalk?” Patricia beamed expectantly. “No. I thought that mural had been there for years.” I replied. “Yes, but that doesn’t matter, they picked me to choose a team of six people to help me paint the new mural. Isn’t that great!” I shrugged and looked back down at the uncovered sidewalk. As soon as I spot our bright new house, I rush up the stairs, through the screen door and into my room, slamming the door and locking it. I fall down on my bed, legs splayed out in front of me. * * * Summer is the best time of the year. The sun shines down on me as popsicles drip on my bare feet. I stroll home from the pool, still wet from swimming; my best friend Maria skips beside me and we talk and laugh together. My schedule is always free and I never have any boring camps to do, so it’s just Maria and I. “Maddy, I have a surprise for you!” I hear my mom's voice call, smooth and sweet. I slowly sit up and open my door expecting another book or baseball cap. Instead my mom is standing, smiling like a clown. “What is it?” I ask, expecting something worse than books. “I signed you up for bike camp! Isn’t that great? Patricia will be there so you’ll have a friend, and I’m sure that you’ll make new ones.” She said, beaming even more. I tensed up, realizing what she’d just said. “Mom, I don’t know how to ride a bike.” I replied, my voice scratchy and weak. “It starts tomorrow,” she said, apparently not paying much attention to me. I close my door quietly, explaining that, “I have so much summer homework!” Instead I spend the next four hours trying to figure out how to ride a bike on the Internet. Dinner was a depressing sight. My sister, Georgia texting on her phone, mom, planning carpools with Patricia’s mom on her computer, dad tapping constantly on his iPad, trying to email his friends, and me, sitting and wondering if I’d survive the next day. “So are you super excited? I am! I’ve been riding bikes since I was five!” chatters Patricia. I sit on the neat, perfect leather seat in Patricia’s minivan trying not to puke from the scent of mint tea and banana all mixed in one. Patricia stares at me expectantly, her small blue eyes like needles piercing into my skin. “Um sure.” I reply. “I’ve been riding since I was three,” I coughed, apparently allergic to the lie. Her mouth fell open, and I could see her perfect shiny white teeth, gleaming like diamonds. Once at the arena, Patricia’s mom waves her goodbye, not bothering to hug or kiss her. I wheel my new green bike to the starting point, where eight other people are standing. I fasten on my helmet and climb on the seat. I feel unstable and unsafe. Patricia mounts her pink bike with ease and sits on it comfortably, waiting for our instructions. A man with spiked blue hair and bright green eyes walks up to us. He stands in front of the rainbow of bikes. “I am Sebastian.” He booms, in a voice like thunder. “Let us start our camp with a little competition, shall we.” I hear whooping and hollering from a gang of boys, and I gulp nervously. “The first person to reach the finish line,” he points across the track, “will win,” he finishes. My arms are shaking and quivering so much that I can’t hide it from Patricia, who looks over suspiciously at me. “Ready… Set…. Go!” Sebastian cries, waving a red flag in the air. My legs start sweating, as I start pedaling. Instantly I’m behind everyone. Shaking I feel myself falling, then crash!! It happened. I embarrassed myself in front of everyone. I look up to see a concerned pair of brown eyes looking at me. I sit up and recognize the girl as the one sitting on her bike next to Patricia at the starting point. “Hi. I just wanted to see if you’re okay,” she says. I push myself up on my bloody elbows, trying not to cry. She was probably one of those professional bike riders who knew how to ride when she was 5. “I’m fine,” I reply, yanking my new, very damaged bike up. The girl has short wavy brown hair and dark brown eyes. Her smile is kind and protective, the way Maria would smile at me. She grasps my hand and helps me up. “Thanks.” I mumble. She nods and replies, “You're welcome.” Then she mounts her bike and pedals away. I suddenly realize that she has the same jerky movements, the same quivering legs as me. I rush toward her and say, “Wait! What’s your name?” She jumps off her brown bike and says, “Rosie, what’s yours?” I catch my breath and say, “Maddy.” We exchange smiles before Sebastian blows his whistle, crying, “Thomas wins!” I glance back to see one of the boys standing at the finish line, screaming, “I won! I won!” at the top of his lungs. I suck
Fiction
Stella Addle pushed through the school building door, a wave of sound hitting her. Kids yelling and laughing, smiling and scowling. The air felt weighty; the anger, the confusion, pushing down on her shoulders, feeling heavy as bricks. Stella lugged her backpack to her locker. She stared at the lime green paint, then fiddled with her lock and pulled open the locker door. She dropped her backpack on the bottom of the locker and pulled out her math books and her calculator, which was covered in leftover heart stickers from Valentine’s Day. Usually seeing the stickers made her smile, but today she felt as though nothing could make her lips turn upward. This was a tragedy, an absolute tragedy. Forty five presidents and none of them had been women! Hillary Clinton should have won, she should have been the first woman president, but that stupid Donald Trump had to ruin everything! Stella thought as she slammed her locker shut with gusto. November 8th 2016 is going to be the worst day of my life! Stella walked to her homeroom, her legs feeling unsteady, her whole world feeling out of balance, broken. Feeling dizzy, she sat down and scanned the room for Gabby while taking in the rest of the scene. Gabriella Carmann had been Stella’s best friend since second grade. They did everything together; they had sleepovers and shared their deepest secrets with each other, they knew they could tease the other about their clothes and not offend them. They balanced each other out, Gabby was the flashy, stubborn, strong headed leader of the two, and Stella was the quieter, gentler one, keeping them away from heated drama. When Stella was around Gabby she felt a certain strength, a sense of courage that she didn’t feel when she was alone, as if some of Gabby’s confidence was magically seeping into her. For Gabby, Stella was the source of cool water that doused Gabby’s flames, the flames that burned the same color as her orange hair. It was because of Stella that Gabby was starting to find some of that water in herself, way deep down, but still it was there. Finally she saw her: Gabby walked into the classroom sporting a pair of gray hand-me-down sweatpants from her older sister Franny, short for Frances, and a purple t-shirt with a turquoise flower print. Her denim backpack hug over her shoulder and her long red hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. This was Gabby’s usual look, so what surprised Stella was the smile that spread across Gabbys face. Stella knew Gabby and her family were Republican, but for some reason Stella never thought they would vote for Trump, or be happy if he won. Puzzled, Stella stood up and followed Gabby to her locker. “Hey,” Stella said leaning against one of the lockers. “Morning,” Gabby replied as she unpacked her backpack. “So…” Stella said nodding slowly. Thoughts were racing through her mind; conversation usually came easy to the two of them, why was it hard now? “What?” Gabby said. “What is it? What’s wrong?” You’re happy…. Trump’s our President-Elect…. Stella thought as she looked at the floor. “If something’s up, just tell me,” Gabby slammed her locker shut and stared at her friend. Just tell me. Please. “It’s just… you… are you glad Trump won?” Stella’s face turned red with shame. “Oh! Uh, yeah, I mean, I guess…. I mean my parents voted for him.” She thought we voted for Hillary? She knows we’re Republican, Gabby thought. The bell rang and the hallways were filled with noisy sixth, seventh, and eighth graders. Stella had math first period and Gabby had science. “I got to go. See you later?” Gabby asked. “Sure,” Stella said, and she turned and walked to math, wondering what had just happened. * * * Stella plopped down in her chair, feeling exhausted. Family dinners were an important part of the Addle household and usually Stella enjoyed them, especially on lasagna nights like these, but not tonight. Margaret Addle, Stella’s mom, placed the lasagna on the table and sat down across from her husband. Usually, though it was only the three of them, the table buzzed with conversation, a light and fluffy happiness, almost as delicious as Mrs. Addle’s cooking, hanging in the air. Tonight however, the air felt heavy and cold and the conversation that usually flowed easily, had vanished. “ Did Stella’s parents know Gabby’s parents had voted for Trump? “Well, how was everyone’s day?” Mr. Addle asked. His eyes were wide and he had an awkward smile. He began scooping lasagna onto plates. “Where do I begin!?” Mrs. Addle rolled her eyes, looking generally annoyed. “Sarah and Megan were talking about the election during our lunch break, and guess what?” She put a fork full of lasagna into her mouth. Sarah and Megan were some of Mrs. Addle’s coworkers. “What?” Mr. Addle asked. Stella looked back and forth between her parents, she could tell this was not a good “guess what.” “They both voted for Trump! Both of them!” Mrs. Addle was yelling now. “Women! Women voted for Trump! They’re uneducated women, that’s what they are!” She let out a heavy sigh. “Uneducated women,” she said, shaking her head. Stella stared at her mother. She had never seen her like this: yelling, looking close to tears, yet not sad. “Margaret, please, calm down,” Mr. Addle said putting a hand on his wife’s hand. Stella kept looking at her mother. Mrs. Addle’s blue eyes looked foggy and gray. Her body shook with anger, but slowly as she got back her cool, the anger lessened and a sadness settled in. Her shoulders sagged and Stella noticed something she had never seen in her mother before: helplessness. Suddenly a frightening thought came to Stella, and her parents conversation about taxes and broken printers at work became muffled and hard to hear. Gabby said her parents voted for Trump,
Poem
I love my mother My true mother I smack my feet Against her sandy skin Hot or cold I don’t care I do it every day You do it too Sometimes To get exercise But I do it for fun To love her To hug her To roll around on her lap And laugh.
Poem
There once was a land. So far and fine, Full of dreams and thoughts. The place people came when they dreamed, the place people came when they slept. So far and so high that no one could reach. And yet if you close your eyes, you are there! The creator created it So man could dream, He is long gone but his memory still lingers, To us he is known as god! The people there live only to give you dreams. Their life is a job much like in theatre, They act out your dreams, They make you happy, Without them we would have the most boring sleep.
Poem
What's inside my messy head? Being funny And when I’m dead. Things I should’ve Done and said. And always stress About things lost And of my actions What will be the cost. Was that joke Weird or funny? Or what I’ll do outside If tomorrow’s sunny. So what’s inside my messy head? Maintaining strength And the day’s Shortening length. Being a star And messed up jokes That I try to tell quietly And how to escape Authority’s yoke.
Poem
There once was a mouse who played the keyboard. When he played at night the cats came out. The rats came out. The owls came out!
Poem
In the African sun there was a lion and the house cat. One day the cat told the lion to have a race. So the race started. They ran so fast a rock fell on the king of France. The lion won the race!
Honor Roll
Stone Soup Honor Roll: June 2018
Welcome to the Stone Soup Honor Roll! We receive hundreds of submissions every month by kids from around the world. Unfortunately, we can't publish all the great work we receive. So we created the Stone Soup Honor Roll. We commend all of these talented writers and artists and encourage them to keep creating. – The Editors Scroll down to see all the names (alphabetical by section), including book reviewers and artists. STORIES Nicholas Taplitz, 12 Asha Baudart, 13 Tudor Achim, 8 Jasmine Li, 12 Macy Li, 12 Molly Tulk, 13 Genevieve Gray, 10 POEMS Max Cummins, 13 Anna Dolan, 12 Jayden Bolick, 10 Sophie Yu, 10 Arielle Kouyoumdjian, 9 Nandita S, 11 ARTWORK Jaya Shankar, 11 John P. Anson, 7 Audrey Tai
Book Reviews
The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien; Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012; $14.99 “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit.” J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, published in 1937, is a timeless tale of adventure worth reading over and over again. If you manage to pull open the green door that guards the cozy home inside, what do you see? Try to take the yellow brass knob placed picturesquely in the center. This door guards an adventurous tale of thirteen dwarfs and a hobbit. The “unexpected party” sets off to reclaim the dwarfs’ treasure from Smaug “the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities”. You creep inside this door and hear faint singing; Tolkien’s poetry and songs fill this story with fun rhymes and longing hopes. Down the hall, in the kitchen, is Bilbo Baggins a clever, courageous and persistent hobbit. Farther inside the well-kept hobbit hole, you see lessons Bilbo learns along his journey. You look out the window, and in the distance you watch fourteen figures on horseback. Will the burglar and the dwarfs reclaim their “long-forgotten gold”? Whether you’re on your way far over the Misty Mountains cold, chipping glasses and cracking plates, or maybe tra-la-la-lalling in the valley, Tolkien’s dexterous poems and songs are sure to please for ages to come. The poems are either funny, longing or ingenious. They add an extra layer of descriptions that makes one feel as if one is actually in Bilbo’s parlor listening to the dwarfs singing of the Lonely Mountain and the dragon’s great greed that led to the destruction of Dale. No hobbit is smarter, more stouthearted and steadfast than Bilbo Baggins. Throughout the course of The Hobbit, Bilbo is clever. For example, he rescued the dwarfs when they had been captured by the Wood-Elves in Mirkwood. No one would have come up with the escape plan Bilbo thought of: saving the dwarfs by way of barrel. But that is only one side of the Tookish hobbit. It takes courage to go on an adventure with thirteen strange, uncouth dwarfs. For instance, Bilbo was brave and bright when he bested Gollum in the riddle contest while inside the dark, damp tunnels of the Goblin King. Lastly, Bilbo is persistent. Finding the keyhole when all the other dwarfs had given up shows his sense of perseverance. All in all, Bilbo is valiant, quick-witted and never quits. The books that have withstood time’s test have lessons to teach. The Hobbit did, and still does, just that. Along his journey, the small hobbit, Bilbo, learns many lessons. Smaug’s greed for gold and jewels lead the scarlet dragon to destruction. This teaches us not to live for ourselves alone. The theme of good verses evil teaches us to fight for what is right. The company’s determination to succeed in their goal is admirable. This inculcates us to never give up. The lessons learned in this valuable book have endured. As Bilbo said, or more rather, sang, roads do go ever on and on. Sometimes the road is made of difficult terrain, rocky and hard to climb; but sometimes the road is smooth; the sun is shining, and the sky is clear and blue. You stop short as you see your neighbor’s hobbit holes – you’re home! However, you notice something different. It isn’t something you can hold in your hand, but something imprinted in your heart. What you find are clever songs; an endearing character—Bilbo—who teaches you life lessons. You gently close the round door, smiling.
