This would be his last run of the year, and he knew it would be spectacular As the boy dropped down from the icy ski lift and slid down the slope, you could already see the adrenaline pulsing through him like an aura of energy. This would be his last run of the year, and he knew it would be spectacular. As he glided over the snow on his board, he already knew which run he was going to do. With all of the possible choices, his mind was set on one run. The one run he could never do. This run was his enemy, a rival, a foe; he had to overcome the fear. His heart skipped a beat as he whooshed down the slope into the entrance to the run. As he looked down the slope he saw the obstacles, such as trees, rocks, and moguls, that he must overcome. He stopped. There was no going back now, he had to move on. His pulse increased tremendously. His eyes were bigger than his heart. This run was impossible! He had to move on or else he would be stuck on the mountain. He slid down the icy slope. It was getting colder by the second. His toes inside his boots were freezing, his jacket barely protecting him from the chilly winds. Snow started to fall from the sky, the white flakes brushing like a small, soft cloud against the boy’s face. Crystals of frost clouded his goggles, trapping him inside a different world of vision. He gradually picked up speed. The moguls were like jagged mountains shooting out of the ground. The boy slowed down and sliced around them. He was tired, and only halfway done. Fortunately for him, the rest of the slope was decently flat with only a few of the mountain-like moguls along the way. The boy carved and glided through it with extravagant ease. Then on the final stretch the boy wanted a thrill, he was going to try and battle one of the enormous moguls. He had enough speed, he was ready. He crouched down into a jumping position. As he hit the mound he lurched forward and flew three feet off the ground! The boy’s adrenaline surged as he was in the air. He felt free and alone like he had never felt before. It was as if the world had stopped and he kept racing forward. The boy had finished his enemy. He had beaten it. He was satisfied and sad. He started to burst into tears, each drop like a drop of rain falling from his face. He would have to wait another year to feel free and energized. A whole year to challenge the impossible slope again. A whole year, yet he felt satisfied and accomplished that he had met his goal. He stopped crying. The boy said goodbye to the slope and went back into the lodge, ready to head home. Connor Nackley, 12Darien, Connecticut Carly Thaw, 13Charleston, West Virginia
January/February 2009
The Joys of Love
The Joys of Love, by Madeleine L’Engle; Farrar, Straus and Giroux: New York, 2008; $16.95 When twenty-year-old Elizabeth is offered a chance to work as an apprentice at a summer theatre, she is overjoyed and feels as if she is experiencing a whole new world. There’s more going on at the theatre than just acting—Elizabeth finds herself in love with the handsome, grown-up, experienced Kurt Cantiz, a director. Suddenly small-town little Liz is whirled up into a turmoil of emotions. I found this book intriguing from the very beginning! Interestingly, The Joys of Love takes place over a period of merely four days. Each day is described in detail and accentuated by flashbacks that slowly reveal the story of Elizabeth’s chaotic childhood. Part of what made the story so interesting to me is Elizabeth is an extremely compelling heroine. She is always seeking to do the right thing, but is constantly questioning what is right. She is a character anyone can empathize with, and she gives the book intrigue. Elizabeth is very naïve about love. Now at the theatre, she is exposed to many different types of relationships. Liz has a friendly connection with easygoing Ben, but while she looks up to and desires Kurt, she feels unsure of his feelings for her. Elizabeth’s inexperienced position is very similar to mine. I’ve spent all my life on the island of Hawaii, in the small town of Kailua-Kona. Our tiny airport consists of Auntie’s Leis, and the only place to eat is an ice-cream stand. The first large airport I ever saw was in San Francisco. I went on every escalator, elevator, and moving walkway I could find! Like Elizabeth in the big world of theatre, I was amazed. As the book progresses, I learned that Elizabeth’s father died when she was thirteen, and she never knew her mother. This made me feel sad for Liz, because my parents are very important to me, and I can’t imagine living without them, especially, like Liz, if it was in a home where I’m barely even tolerated. Elizabeth has never had modeling about what love really is, so she’s confused and overwhelmed by the myriad types of relationships she finds in the theatre. This difficult childhood also contributes to Elizabeth’s lovable character. She has had a hard life, but won’t let anything stop her in pursuing her goals. Elizabeth is passionate about theatre, similar to how I feel about writing. I write because it’s something I love, and, as in Elizabeth’s case, persistence will make me better. This is also true for the author of the book, Madeleine L’Engle. For years L’Engle poured out many novels that weren’t published, The Joys of Love among them. Finally, in the 1960s, several successes transformed her into a world-famous writer. Now, a year after her death, The Joys of Love is out, a testament to L’Engle’s diligence, and a lesson for Elizabeth, me, and everyone. In the end of the book, Kurt betrays Elizabeth’s trust, and she also realizes that there’s more to love than simply looking up to someone. She comprehends that Kurt always needs to have relationships with girls because he is actually insecure and needs to feel appreciated. Elizabeth finds true friendship with Ben, and they decide to stay in touch. The Joys of Love is a story about love, self-image, and coming of age. It is a delicately woven drama that I enjoyed immensely and would suggest to any reader! Zoe Sims, 12Kailua-Kona, Hawaii
Where My Family Is
I sat alone in the dark, feeling the boat rock from side to side. The hollow sounds the boat made as the waves hit it told me how deep the water was beneath us. “Creaak, Creaak.” What was that noise? “It’s nothing,” I told myself. “It’s nothing.” But it is something: the sound of a woman, starving in the hills, begging by the road for a coffin for her dead child. The sound of a man pulling blackened potatoes from the ground. No, that was in Ireland. We weren’t in Ireland anymore. We were thousands of miles away, in the middle of the ocean. Ireland was where Ma, Da, and Nealy were. They were definitely not here. “Creaak, Creaak.” Ireland was where there was no food, where people were starving. I shifted slightly. Where my family is, I thought. I got up on my knees. “Good God, help me, I’m so hungry.” I grabbed my empty dinner plate and threw up into it. The boat swayed violently back and forth and I leaned back against the hull, feeling my stomach twist like a blade of grass in the wind. “Oh,” I moaned. I threw up again, this time on the floor. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I remembered when I ate grass once. It was on the way to the boat when I had been so hungry. I had taken a handful of grass and shoved it into my mouth, trying to push it down my throat. As I chewed, I was crying. If I had been home I would have eaten potatoes around the fire with my family. We would never have eaten grass. “Hush,” I said, “hush, everything will be all right” But that was gone now. The potatoes had died and Ma, Da, and Nealy were buried in the empty harvest field outside the house. My brothers were gone, too. They had left for America before me and I didn’t know exactly where they were. “I miss them,” I whispered. “I wish they were here.” I left Ma, Da, and Nealy behind when I closed the door to the house. I walked along the path, past fields of dead potatoes, past families taking refuge in the shadow of stones and dirt dugouts. I began to cry. I remembered how this had all started the night the potatoes had died, how the wind moaned softly through the fields as we all got down on our knees to start an early harvest. * * * “Maggie, wake up,” Da said. “What’s going on?” I wrapped my blanket around my shoulders. “Nothing; nothing at all. We are just going to have an early harvest this year.” Ma waited outside quietly. “Come children, get down here with me.” “What’s going on?” Nealy asked. “Hush, Nealy. Please help me.” Nealy and I had pulled up potatoes while Da, Barrin, and Cahan collected them in their baskets. We worked hard until slowly the sun began to rise over the hills. “Smell your hands,” Nealy told me. “They smell horrible.” “Keep quiet,” I whispered. “We were told not to talk.” Inside the house Da dumped his potatoes on the ground. “Get me a knife,” he said. One by one he opened each potato. “No,” he would say, “no, this one is not good either.” Cahan picked up one of them. “Look,” he whispered as he ran his hands through the slit, “it’s black.” Da looked up. “Yes,” he said. He put down his knife. “They are black. They are rotten.” * * * I remembered it was then that Da first went out to ask for food. He walked everywhere, to every house in Killala Bay, asking if they had any potatoes left. Some did have a few and some were like us and had lost their whole harvest this year. Those who did were unwilling to part with the potatoes they had, so Da came home empty-handed each day. I dried my eyes. Now, I thought, even those who had potatoes before have lost them. They are all starving now. Somebody coughed. I could hear a few more creaks as people stretched along the floorboards of the ship. It smelled horrible in steerage, like waste and death. Yes, death has a smell. I had smelled it before when I had taken care of Nealy that night she had been sick and when Da and I had buried Ma. Every night I would fall asleep in the ship, lying in someone else’s filth, and every morning I would wake up to darkness. I no longer strived to keep myself alive; now I just wanted to get off the ship There were long days that I spent sitting alone, listening to the sounds of people getting sick. I could feel myself get weaker and weaker, slowly fading into the other hundred people who were crammed below deck. I no longer strived to keep myself alive; now I just wanted to get off the ship. I wish it would sink, I thought, then I would hold onto a piece of driftwood and float to America. Or back to Ireland. I could feel my stomach start to churn again. My mind went back to the third week Da could not find any food. * * * “We can live off the remaining potatoes from last harvest,” he said. “It will pull us through the winter.” “But what about after that?” Ma asked. “What will we eat then?” Da looked at the ground. “We’ve lost everything,” said Ma. “What will we do?” “I have asked everyone; nobody is willing to spare any potatoes.” Da put his hands up to the fire. “People have suffered losses, too. There is no harvest this year.” We sat around the hearth, all six of us. The hollow silence seemed to echo through the room. There was no harvest; there was no food. “What will we sell?” asked Nealy. “How will we earn money?” “Hush.” Mama ripped
