Fiction
Adriane slowly opened her bedroom door, glancing down the hallway to make sure no one was awake. Once she was positive, she slipped through the small opening and closed the door. She hurried down the stairs and past the kitchen, wincing at her heavy footsteps, hoping no one would hear. As she reached the back door she slowed, looking for the key her mom kept on the counter. Once she spotted it, she picked it up and felt the sharp edge of the single key jab into her palm. Adriane turned toward the door and yanked it open, then walked into the night. A sharp wind caught her off guard and snaked over her skin. She shivered, tucking her arms across her chest, wishing she had worn something other than the old green shorts and a threadbare T-shirt. The worry faded, though, as soon as she looked up. Stars littered the sky like glitter on black tile, illuminating the moonless night. The glowing orb’s absence only added to the otherworldly experience the sky was performing for Adriane. Looking closely, she could see the small patches of sky covered by gray clouds, swirling like the Milky Way. Glancing back down, Adriane remembered what she had come out here to do and began making her way across the yard. Once she was walking on the road, she quickened, smiling with anticipation. She was risking a lot; if someone was to see Adriane they would tell her parents, or at the least, order her to leave and go home. Finally, she reached it. She walked out onto the boardwalk, listening to the patter of her feet on the old wood and the slap of waves on the metal below. The shore fell away as she made her way out to the front, sliding her hands off her chest. The ocean below bubbled, inviting her in. She smiled, bending down to sit on the edge of the boardwalk. Sharp pricks of cold stabbed at her feet as she slid them into the waves. Kicking slightly, she watched the water froth and spin, dancing between her toes. The cold began to fade as her skin adjusted to the temperature, allowing her to slide more of her legs in, until the water was hitting her calves. Leaning back on her elbows and then her back, she stared up at the sky once again, the boardwalk swaying beneath her. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander, the night scenery seeping into her skin, disguising her beneath the stars. She almost forgot where she was until an unpleasant nudge hit her foot. Adriane’s eyes snapped open, glancing around. She was still on the boardwalk, but it seemed as if quite some time had passed by. There was a bright blue tint to the once black sky, and the stars had faded quite a bit. Just as she was about to stand, something nudged her foot again. Gasping, she pulled her legs out of the water, blinking to shield her eyes from the spray of water that was brought with them. Holding her legs against her chest, she peeked over the edge of the boardwalk. Gray and leathery, a manatee sat just below the surface. Adriane had never seen a real manatee before. Chesapeake Bay wasn’t an uncommon place for them, though. Leaning in closer, she tried to get a better look. The manatee was small for its kind, with heavily creased skin like an elephant. It had two flat plate-like flippers on either side of its gigantic body and one large flat flipper at its back. Its eyes were tiny and beady, staring past Adriane. “Hey there,” she offered, trying to calm the creature. The manatee gazed up at her in response, gently pumping its fins. Adriane raised her head, looking for a fisherman or someone who worked at the docks, but she saw no one. Wondering if she should report the elephant-like creature, she turned back to the water. The manatee was still gazing at her intently, tilting its head as if in pain. “What is it?” Adriane asked, placing both her hands on the edge of the boardwalk. She watched the manatee as it slowly tilted its head again, pleading with its eyes. “What’s wrong?” Adriane’s voice faltered as she stared down at the enormous creature. Calmly, she put her hand in the water, just touching the surface. Almost instantly, the manatee nudged it, sliding its nose up against her palm. That’s when she noticed it. A huge net lay stretched across the manatee’s back. It was tangled up, strangled. Adriane looked back at its face, understanding the pain held in its eyes. It was suffering, and with this net around it, the manatee wouldn’t last long. “Hold on, little guy, I’ll be right back,” Adriane spoke, hoping the manatee didn’t hear the fear and sadness that came with it. The pounding of her tired, heavy heart matched that of her feet as she ran back up the beach, kicking up sand. Looking at the sky above her, she watched as blues and purples stained the sky like splashes of paint across a canvas; the sun was rising. Switching her eyes forward again, she urged her feet to move faster, hoping to reach her house before it was too late. Adriane turned onto her yard and made her way to the door, practically smashing into the red-paint-coated panels on either side of it. She jammed the single key into the lock, then hurried up the stairs, yelling, “Mom! Dad! Hurry!” She slipped twice on the stairs in her haste, groaning and getting back up each time. When she had finally made it to the hallway, her parents were already there, looking surprised, scared, and tired all at the same time. “Manatee…” she bent down, putting her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. “It’s stuck… in a… net! We have to… come on!” Spinning around, Adriane headed to the stairs, only
Fiction
PART I: A NEW MISSION Dallas took his last breath of fresh air and put on his helmet. It was as hot as an oven in his space suit. In about thirty seconds he was sodden with sweat; nevertheless, Dallas and Cam took a spirited step into the elevator. “Say your goodbyes to the ground,” said Dallas. “You won’t be seeing it for a while.” Dallas caught a sullen look in Cam’s eyes; something was plaguing her. “Something has been seriously scraping at my instincts.” Dallas looked bewildered. “Like what?” Dallas goaded. Silence. The drone of the elevator scaling up the ship was the only thing disrupting the awkward silence between the two astronauts. “I don’t know,” said Cam, eradicating the silence. “I’m just getting some foretaste of a bad thing, like a preview of a movie.” The elevator was almost at the top of the ship, and Cam stared out the transparent window. They were at the top finally, and the elevator doors opened. “Bzzzzzt.” The interstellar mission was to repair the broken lunar module on one of Jupiter’s moons; as simple as breathing. It would be a breeze. The two astronauts stepped onto their space shuttle, which was in the middle of nowhere. “All systems are go!” said Cam. Unresponsive, Dallas just stared into the bright blue sky. Although it would be a piece of cake, Cam hesitated to start the spaceship. She didn’t feet right about the mission. “Hey,” Dallas said calmly. “Don’t worry about it! It’ll be fine.” Despite her instincts, Cam started the spaceship and blasted into space. Blasted into danger’s way. After the jostling of the atmosphere, Dallas could think clearly and was back on track. They were now passing the moon. “All right. Prepare for hyper-jump!” Dallas started pulling the lever and listening to the ultra-powerful engine get ready for light speed. But Commander Jenkins showed up on the monitor in the middle of his controls. Dallas and Cam snapped to attention and saluted. “At ease, astronauts.” “What’s the problem, sir?” asked Dallas. “Well, it seems our satellite has picked up a giant meteorite, on the trail for Earth.” Cam’s face turned chalk pale. “How much longer until impact?” “About twelve hours. You better get some rest because when you wake up, you’re gonna stop this thing.” “What?” Dallas yelled. “With all due respect, sir, how are we possibly going to stop a giant meteorite?” “That is for you to figure out, Mr. Graham.” “But what about Cam? She’s got a family at home.” “All the more reason to make it home. I’m done here. You have exactly eleven hours forty-seven minutes. Good luck, astronauts.” The monitor turned black, leaving Dallas Graham and Cam Donston praying for their deaths to be quick and painless. Cam stared blankly into space. Literally. “I was right,” Cam said, with no emotion. It was like she was in a trance. “I knew there was something wrong, but I went anyway. And now we’re going to die here in the middle of the void of space.” “But we’ll die with pride, honor, and patriotism. Now let’s go to bed and wake up early, so we can plan how we’re going to stop this big rock!” So Cam mindlessly slumped into bed and lay there, silently crying and saying goodbye to everyone she loved. * * * PART II: FALLING INTO EARTH “Wake up, Cam. Wake up.” Dallas stood over Cam and gently shook her awake. “How much time left?” Dallas looked at the time on the monitor. “Three hours and 54 minutes,” said Dallas. “We better get started,” Cam said somberly. “No need, Cam. I got no sleep last night. Spent the whole time devising a plan. I know how we’re going to stop this thing.” Cam looked at the several bags under Dallas’s eyes and the completely slumped way he held his shoulders. “That’s great!” said Cam. “We’d better start preparing!” The plan was simple. The ship had mining lasers on it in case they needed to cut through rock. They would fly closer to the meteorite, try cutting it into the smallest pieces possible, and turn it into space dust. They contemplated that they would cut it into fractions, until it was so small, the impact would be no more destructive than dropping a bowling ball from a building. As long as people go to underground shelters, they will be fine. “Thirty minutes left. We should be seeing it in about three… two… one!” Sure enough, they could see the meteorite, coming in way faster than expected. “Uhoh. Start mining lasers now!” “Zzzzzzz!” the lasers heated up. Cam grabbed the controls and started the ship going in reverse. “We’re not fast enough!” “Then we’ll just have to let the meteorite hit.” Dallas looked at Cam. She was silently crying. “OK.” Dallas grabbed the controls and veered right. But it wasn’t enough. * * * The meteorite smashed into the engine part of the ship, with a terrible screech of metal ripping. The ship was totally exposed to the void of space. The shock wave threw Cam and Dallas against the side of the ship, and Cam knocked her head bad, even in her space suit. The meteorite kept hurtling towards Earth, and Cam watched as her vision darkened. Before she went unconscious, she saw the impact of the meteorite and the end of Earth. And then everything went black. Cam and Dallas were unconscious, falling into Earth. * * * FINAL PART: ALONE Cam… Cam… Cam! Wake up!” Cam Donston slowly let the light flood into her eyes. Immediately, dust covered her vision, but when she wiped her eyes, she saw Dallas Graham, standing over her, looking casual as ever. “Geez, you took quite a nap there, Cam!” Cam was confused. Was she dead? Did she somehow make it? Or was it all a dream, from beginning to end? No, she thought. It doesn’t matter. I’m moving, breathing, and somehow on a destroyed world. Then
Fiction
An unseen hand painstakingly covers the bare trees with white snow. It doesn’t leave a square inch of land untouched, filling the brown earth with clean white. The snow forms a blanket, worn like a comfortable sweater by every tree and every foot of ground. Slowly the hand encases each pine needle with clear ice, adds a slick layer of black ice to every driveway. For the final touch, it sweeps the sky with pale gray, bleaching the blue to a boring charcoal. A young boy excitedly watches this, staring out of his brightly lit house at the snow settling on the big oak tree. To an adult, the old wood and the frail, thin branches look abandoned and gross, as if they’ve been forgotten by Mother Nature. To a child, the squirrels running around its base, the cardinal nesting in the branches, and the chipmunk curled up underneath its cover are plainly visible. They see how majestic the tree is, standing tall and proud. This boy is no different, staring in awe as the flakes tumble from the sky and onto the branches. His father, dressed in bulky layers, joins him at the window. He sees none of the beauty only young eyes can catch. Instead, he angrily mutters about how awful the view is and makes a mental note to chop down that oak tree in the spring. The boy’s dad goes out to shovel snow, but the little boy curls up on his chair and gazes at the scene. As the air grows colder and the drifts of snow pile up, a young chipmunk is amazed at the white fluff falling down. He can’t catch it, and it doesn’t taste good, and it doesn’t smell at all. All it does is lie there on the ground, like a trap for him to sink into. Instead of daring to move and get stuck, he shelters himself under the oak and waits for the stuff to go away. Suddenly, a snowflake falls through the canopy of branches and settles on his furry nose. Shocked, he tries as hard as he can to get a glimpse of this invader. It tickles his forehead, is cool on his fur, and really smells pure and sweet. Its beauty makes him think about things that weren’t snow at all, like courage and love. Happy with his new friend, he runs in a circle. Only after he misses catching a snowflake does he realize that his guest has melted, leaving only wet fur behind. * * * In a forest like this one, food is scarce. She knows it. Why else would she work nonstop in the summer months storing food? Why else would she guard her tree ferociously to make sure nothing is stolen? In a way, it’s ironic that the one time she leaves her oak tree, half her supply is stolen. So now, being a lousy squirrel at the bottom of the food chain, she’s only got one chance to get her food back. After tracking down the skinniest male squirrel that has her precious red berries, she begins to chase him. Chattering furiously, the two animals streak through the snowy forest and around tall pine trees. As the snow falls faster and the day grows colder, she can’t help wondering if she should just give up. After all, he probably ate half the food anyway. On the other hand, if she runs fast enough, she can get to his stash. Pivoting nimbly, she darts through the woods. Sure enough, in a few minutes, a squirrel is eating juicy berries with what seems like a smug expression. The old man obeys no rules of the forest. Daily, he plunders the stock of the other animals there. He is lazy, but smart enough to know that he can be. Why should he work, when there is bountiful food to be had just three feet away? Today, the old cardinal gazes out at what he likes to call his territory. Rightfully, at least in his mind, he’s earned that forest. Ever since he was a young bird, he’s made his home there. He battled the elements, and now he gets to relax. No more hoarding food, freezing to death, being scared of the forest animals. He’s done it all. Foolishly, he thinks he can do whatever he wants now. As if proving his point, he flies lazily to the birch tree where two young squirrels store food. Within seconds, the proud cardinal is soaring through the gray sky, carrying a heaping mouthful of food. Who says you have to work to survive? The little boy watches all this and writes it down in big block letters. Then he closes his favorite rust-colored notebook, full now with all his observations. Carefully, he ties a green string around it and wraps Kleenex around this treasure. Prying open a loose floorboard, he places it gently inside the dark hole. Then, he walks out of the study and flicks off the light. * * * Fifty years later, the study has been transformed into the room of a little girl. Pink flowers decorate pink walls, and a white fluffy rug covers old wood floorboards. It’s one of the many renovations that have transformed the ancient house into a modern house for a modern family. Barely six years old, she’s twirling around and singing. At that moment, she stumbles over the edge of the rug and falls. Her hand hits the ground, and a snap echoes throughout the tiny room. Cautiously, she pushes the rug aside and sees a dark space where a floorboard used to be. Inside there is a package tied in gross green string and wrapped in yellow paper. She tears off the tissue and unknots the thread. A look of disappointment spreads across her face. Nothing important, nothing except a book. The book has yellowed pages and is full of writing that she doesn’t want to read. Sadly, she pushes the rug back
Fiction
This story takes place in 1976, in South Africa. At this time in its history, the country was in the middle of apartheid, a governmental policy that discriminated against non-whites and gave authorities nearly unlimited power to arrest and kill civilians. By 1976, students in the Soweto township were staging protests and uprisings, and a secret guerilla army called the MKs had formed. Rebellion was in the air… I walked home alone in the reddish dirt, kicking a rock along in front of me. “Sereto! Get over here, boy!” Mama’s shout rang out across the rows and rows of tin-topped shacks that were the Soweto township. “Ja, Mama!” I called over the distance, running all the way back to our little hut, where Mama was sweeping the cracked-dirt stoep. “What’re you doing, hmm? There’s work to be done, water to be fetched. Are the buckets full from the pump? And where’s Ledi?” I scuffed my toe in the dirt. “Ledi’s inside, minding the pots, remember, Mama? And keeping an eye on Tustin. I’m gonna go do the buckets now.” “Where were you all that time, Sereto, hmm?” Mama set the broom aside and looked down at me with a furrowed brow. “I know it’s difficult, and I’m sorry about you not having enough time to play, but with your Pa gone there’s only so much I can do alone.” Her voice was all business, but I knew the sorrow behind it—Pa had died only four months ago, in a riot where the police had open-fired. With Pa gone, everything was floaty and unsettled. It was a struggle just to remember the things that needed doing, like filling the water buckets and fixing meals. I looked into Mama’s quiet gray eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry, Mama. I was playing with Billy.” It wasn’t true, of course, but how could I say that her oldest child was giving himself up to the same cause that killed her husband? She couldn’t know that I was secretly taking part in the student uprisings. She couldn’t. To my surprise, Mama didn’t even seem angry that I had snuck off. She just shook her head sadly. “Ah, Sereto,” she murmured, “I am sorry things have to be this way.” “They’ll be better someday, won’t they, Mama? Things are already changing.” I almost bit back the hint at rebellion, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted her to feel the hope I felt at the rebellion. “Ja, Sereto,” she said sadly, “but not before many more innocent people are destroyed.” Then she picked up the broom and hustled off, leaving me standing on the stoep as the sun set behind me. I heard little kids playing and mothers shouting, and I smelled suppers being prepared. The fiery sun sank and sank, lower and lower, and I wondered if I should feel something. Everything was being taken away from me. Pa was gone, and Ledi and Ma and me were overworked. There wasn’t any time to talk anymore, no time to process what had happened. Tori, who was my closest friend except for Billy, had been arrested in the middle of the night, along with her father, and many other students had been arrested, injured, and killed. The riots were no laughing matter, whether they were led by children or adults, and this apartheid was taking everyone I loved away from me. I stood there, watching the sun sink, so detached that it was as if I looked down at myself from several feet up in the sky. I couldn’t decide how I should react, what I should feel. Then, like a faint tickling that grew steadily in my stomach, a feeling crawled up my throat. Anger. They had taken everything from me. Everything, and yet they could still take more. They could always control me because they could always take more: they could hurt Ledi or Tustin or Mama or Billy, they could arrest me, they could kill me. I remembered something Pa used to say: “That government, those whites—they can do anything they damn please.” I laughed, a bitter, harsh sound in the dusking air, and spat on the dirt, trying to rid my mouth of the sour taste. I spun on my heel to grab the water buckets. And as the last traces of light faded from the sky and I walked towards the water pump, I started to whistle a little tune. It was only when a bird tweeted the last note with me that I realized it was the song we had sung that day at the uprising. I stopped, dead cold. A breeze passed straight through me and a night bird hit one last solemn note. The stars were bright, almost too bright—like a warning. Something was unnatural in the night. I ran the rest of the way, to shake the eerie feeling, and filled the buckets quickly. On the way back, I talked aloud to calm myself. “You’re just being jittery for the sake of it because you’re scared, Sereto, and anyone would be. But don’t you go getting all worked up over nothing. Just now, everything’s fine, hmm?” I went on like that in a whisper, not even realizing I was imitating Mama. My footsteps pressing the earth, I strode back onto our street in Soweto. I stopped, shifting my weight. Every night, even after sunset, the township’s darkness was filled with the clanking of cooking pots and the quiet babble of family conversation. But now there was only silence. The bright stars, the pinprick stars, froze above me. The shacks reminded me of those stars in some odd, disjointed way—too still, too unmoving. Something was wrong, as if the wheels of heaven had stopped turning. I left the buckets behind a few scraggly bushes and crept around the back of our hut. I heard voices from inside—but they were different. Harsh voices. Male voices. I stiffened. “We have reasons to believe that your son is one of the
Fiction
Jess sat dejectedly on the playground swing. She kicked the sand around her feet as if personally punishing it for her lack of friends. It wasn’t fair that she should have to sit here on this swing, lonely and bored, while the other kids had a great time. Her eyes flickered restlessly from face to face, until they landed on Sarah Smith and her posse who were happily making fun of some poor kid whose mom still dressed him in the fifth grade. Jess had a burning hatred for Sarah. It seemed to Jess that Sarah’s favorite pastime was making fun of Jess and her all-black wardrobe. Even though Sarah was mean, Jess still wished that she would stop to admire her bright red Converse high-tops, or how good she was at reading. No such luck. People never seemed to notice Jess. She wasn’t pretty or ugly. Her hair was stick straight and reddish and her eyes were a muddy brown. And she certainly wasn’t an athlete, unless running away from doing her chores was athletic. Jess was an outcast, a loser, one of those people who just fade into the background. In fact, the girl walking toward the swings right now probably just saw the red brick of the school behind Jess, not Jess herself. Jess was just about to walk away when she really looked at the girl coming to the swings. She tried not to stare, but it’s hard not to when the person you’re staring at is so weird-looking. The girl had electric blue eyes the size of the moon and light blond hair so curly it reminded Jess of a poodle. Unlike Jess’s, this girl’s skin was really pale, as if the sun didn’t touch her. Apart from the scary eyes and pale skin, the strangest thing was that she didn’t have a gaggle of friends with her. Weird, Jess thought. “Hi there!” The girl plopped down on an empty swing. “Uh… hi?” Jess’s face had turned scarlet. She wasn’t used to talking to people her age. “I saw you sitting here by yourself and thought you could use some company! The name is Lizzy by the way!” Lizzy smiled. Apparently, Lizzy’s grin was infectious because Jess couldn’t help but smile back and say, “My name’s Jessie, but you can call me Jess.” “Oooh, I love the name Jessie! That was my dog’s name!” Jess wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, so she said, “Yeah, OK. By the way, I… uh, don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Are you new to Penbrooke?” Jess crossed her fingers that Lizzy actually was new and Jess hadn’t just been unobservant. “Oh yeah, I’m new in Mrs. Raymond’s fifth grade. You’re probably in the other fifth grade, right? Isn’t Mrs. Marsh, like, really mean or something?” Lizzy looked at Jess curiously. Jess let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and replied, “Yep, I am in Mrs. Marsh’s and she’s super nasty. She reminds me of a bird ’cause she has a beaky nose and weird beady eyes.” “Caw, caw!” Lizzy giggled, imitating a bird. Jess smiled and laughed. “But seriously, you have to tell me about this school,” said Lizzy. “What do you want to know?” “Everything.” So Jess proceeded to tell Lizzy about the cutest boys, nicest teachers, and the way Sarah Smith thought that using Proactiv acne medicine was something to brag about. Lizzy laughed at the funny stuff, was sympathetic at the right times, and not once did she call Jess a loser. Jess was elated and she could tell Lizzy was excited to have a friend too. When the bell rang, Lizzy turned to Jess smiling and said, “So I guess I’ll see you around. Maybe we could go to my house sometime?” “Sounds like a plan!” Jess grinned. As they ran off to separate classrooms, Lizzy yelled, “By the way, cool Converses!” Jess walked to class with a huge smile on her face. So maybe Lizzy was a little odd, but who was Jess to judge? All that mattered was that Jess finally had a true friend.
Fiction
Sherry had not returned to her home country in years. In a way, it was no longer her home country. What had been home is now the past. Father was the one who had insisted on the trip. She had been indifferent at first, but her father had persisted. China had changed; no longer a third-world country, it was now a Mecca of wealth. Yet once in a while, Sherry would catch a glimpse of the slums, normally overshadowed by the forever reaching skyscrapers. The day after their arrival, Sherry’s father had purchased a round-trip train ticket to his hometown. Sherry watched the city view zoom by, crushing the assumptions and conclusions Sherry had carefully welded from outdated books and movies on modern China. She closed her eyes, and a billion years seemed to float by, accompanied by the soft rumble of a train and a low patter of words she once knew. * TEN YEARS AGO A six-year-old Sherry knelt in the garden, dirt tickling her bare knees. Her grandmother knelt beside her, her fingers skillfully separating weed from vegetable. Sherry’s grandmother did not believe in planting flowers. “They only feed the eyes.” Instead, the two planted a wide array of vegetables to supply the family kitchen. So many wonders were cultivated in the garden, tomatoes for pasta, cucumbers destined to fulfill a delicious egg drop soup. Sherry relished the moment, the day was warm but not stifling; her backyard was well shaded by the great oaks behind her. Yellow orchids framed the old wooden fence wrapped around her backyard. Sherry liked spending time with her grandma; she eagerly helped with the gardening and cooking; it generated a swelling pride within Sherry. “Lai, bang wo jiu yi xia zhe ge cao,” 1 her grandma spoke again, her Chinese punctured with a few heavy pants. Sherry pulled out the weed and then paused for more instruction. Sherry watched as her grandmother gently examined a cucumber before holding it out for Sherry to pluck. The cucumber fell into the palm of an awaiting hand. Sherry’s grandma smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. * * * FIVE YEARS AGO Sherry watched as her grandma wandered their street. She watched as her grandma picked up the prickly seedpods that no one knew a name for exactly and threw them into her basket. She watched as her grandma bent to pull up dandelions from the lawn, throwing them into her basket too. What was she doing? “Nai, Nai, what are you doing?” “These cao can be eaten. They are very nutritious.” Her grandma’s voice was a little shaky. She had aged. Nowadays it seemed everything was a challenge for Grandmother to achieve. “No! You can’t eat those, they’re weeds! Nobody eats those! Nai Nai, come inside and go… watch some TV.” “Ai yah! You don’t know! I used to eat these all the time as a kid!” Sherry frowned before turning to head back into the house. Sherry rarely spent her time outside anymore, for fear of growing freckles. Sherry instead spent most of her time in front of a screen of some sort; if it wasn’t the desktop then it was the laptop. Her parents frowned and shook their heads, warning her of premature wrinkles. “Go practice piano,” Sherry’s parents urged her. “No, I don’t want to.” “It’s not a matter of want or not.” “Yes it is.” Her father peered down at Sherry, stern and rigid. “You don’t give up on this. Don’t be a quitter. Sherry, do you know what the poverty line is?” Sherry sat deaf to his words. “It’s the line between happiness and sorrow. And do you know who is on the other side of the line? It’s the unlucky ones, and the quitters. Your grandma was unlucky. But she worked hard, and now she lives well in America.” Father continued. “You are lucky; you were born on the right side of the line. If you want to stay there you have to work hard.” His voice was sharp; it cut Sherry with a truth she overlooked. But she stared ahead, refusing to look him in the eye. That night for dinner was a bowl of dandelion salad. Sherry’s mother crinkled her nose and in broken English muttered to Sherry, “She probably pick that from somebody yard.” Dinner that night was a soup of silence. * * * TWO YEARS AGO “Every rice grain comes with a drop of sweat.” Sherry’s father pleasantly quoted his favorite Chinese saying. Sherry glared, angry, before shoving more rice into her mouth. “Look at all those rice grains wasted.” A few more grains slipped from the firm grip of Sherry’s chopsticks to the table. Sherry shot back in English, “Shut up.” “Is that how you talk to your parents?” Sherry growled. Her father dramatically sighed, then continued to reminisce about his childhood days. Sherry’s mother joined in, and so did her grandmother. “It was so difficult back then… We were so poor.” “Aye… I used to live in a one-room shack. Ma, do you remember?” “Nowadays everybody has a mansion.” “It was incredible that you even made it into college.” “Yes, used to walk six miles to make it to school.” Sherry’s grandmother paused, then sighed, “My mother was against it.” “Things are better now.” Sherry’s mother joined in. “So much better that you are getting fat!” The whole table erupted into laughter, only Sherry continued to silently shove rice into her mouth. She grew more and more vicious, and finally erupted. “Shut up!” The room froze. Sherry could feel her family’s eyes on her, but she continued to shove food into her mouth. Sherry’s mother found her tongue first. “Why?” Sherry faltered; she didn’t have a why. Her family had done nothing wrong, why was she so angry? “I don’t know…” Her mother carefully examined Sherry for a second before speaking. “Is it because
Poem
Water Laughter is like a cool glass of water. Refreshing, enjoyable. A cool trickle going down your throat. When you laugh, you forget the pile of homework, waiting at school for you. You forget about the fact that your mom is in the hospital, and you’re not sure if she’s ever going to come out again. You forget about grades and projects and friends. Your mind goes blank like a blackboard… and you laugh. You laugh to forget, you laugh to enjoy, you laugh to feel free. And as the sweating glass of water empties, you are forced back into the real world… The world where you belong.
Poem
“Go back to Asia!” He says and sneers and snarls. He lacks imagination. He is so predictable. Sometimes he spreads his pain and says, “Go back to Egypt!” “Go back to Mexico!” “Go back to Africa!” He must be a travel agent Waiting to book a flight. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should all go back And thank the Native Americans For their hospitality, For their generosity. But where would we go When our home is here? I was born here and raised here Just like you. My parents were born and bred here too Just like you. My grandparents’ souls left for the sky but were buried here Too. I’m staying right here. With you.
Poem
It was a funny, sunny afternoon when Something hit my cheek A cloud of a loud boom Came from above Then dark splattered all over the park Like black paint hitting white paper I ran as fast as I could, slipping on raindrops
Poem
I finger the valves. They are cold and uninviting to the touch. I take a breath. My lips form an embouchure. I blow. At first there is noise, Much noise, Then the music starts. It flows through my veins, Coursing through my body. I play from the heart. I love it, No, Need it. Music is me, I am the music. I need it, I want it, I can’t get enough, I play until my heart swells And my body sways. I feel it in my bones, I feel it in my toes, I reach deep, And pull the music from me. It keeps coming, I play the notes. But they aren’t just notes. It’s a beautiful, swirling music. It’s a loud leaping leopard, And a quiet mouse, It’s for everyone, It’s for me. It fills my room, My valves are fluid. My fingers dance across them. Another melody, It sounds like a trundling tortoise, Marching home. It goes high, It goes low, My lips never slow. I breathe in, And out. In and out. The music ripples like a river, Creating smiling pools of pleasure in my heart. I can’t let it stop. I won’t let it stop. Music is me, I am the music.
Book Reviews
Forge, by Laurie Halse Anderson; Atheneum: New York, 2010; $16.99 Picture this: you are ordered to build a shelter in the icy, cold snow wearing an old, worn shirt and torn pants. You haven’t eaten since yesterday, and even that was just flour and water. Occasionally, you have water flavored with your friend’s old shoe, which you call soup. You’re lucky enough to have shoes, but some of your friends’ shoeless feet are turning purple in the crunchy, numbing snow. You must do everything just right if you don’t want to get into trouble with the commanders. This is what it was like for soldiers at Valley Forge in 1778. Forge is the sequel to the novel Chains. The two books tell the story of two slaves, Isabel and Curzon. Each has their own goal: Curzon wants freedom, while Isabel searches for her sister, who was sold to another family as a child. Curzon is promised his freedom if he signs up for the American army. As a soldier, he is captured by the British army, but he escapes with Isabel’s help. At the beginning of Forge, the two have separated. Curzon suddenly finds himself in the middle of the battle of Saratoga. He soon discovers a young private who is having a face-off with a British soldier. Quickly, Curzon saves the boy’s life and in the process rejoins the army. The boy’s name is Ebenezer, and the two become fast friends. Curzon suffers a lot of prejudice in camp. One of the privates teases him, ignores him, is rude to him, blames him, and eventually even steals from him. Also, Curzon has a lot to think about. He is concerned about earning his freedom, maintaining good standing in the army, and then, where is Isabel? Is she alive? He is constantly thinking about her. Before reading this book, I had no idea that African- Americans were involved in the Revolutionary War. Slaves could work as spies because they could listen to their masters’ conversations, or they could fight in the army just like any other man. Slaves didn’t only help shape our nation, they helped make it. This story is very unpredictable, which I enjoyed. Sudden turns and twists made the story entertaining. I was surprised at nearly every chapter’s ending. It is a very descriptive book that gives you a great mental image of the life of a soldier. I was amazed that Curzon did so well through so much pressure and injustice. It’s amazing to think that there were really people who were treated so poorly and went through that much prejudice. I won’t spoil the end, but it is shocking and very intense. I can’t wait to see what happens in the next book in the series! I highly recommend this book to anyone because it is so interactive. I found myself gritting my teeth at the enemies of Curzon, feeling hungry for food, and missing Isabel like he did. I also recommend the preceding book, Chains, which is from Isabel’s point of view. They are both remarkable stories of early America, slavery, and the Revolutionary War. Any girl or boy who enjoys fiction stories would love this book.
