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July/August 2008

Our Morning

  I am looking forward to this. It is my first thought as my eyes snap open. I keep them open, waiting until my dark bedroom comes into focus, which it rapidly does. I anxiously search my sister’s face, and find it to be smooth and serene. She sleeps on beside me. Good. I want it that way. I did not set an alarm for fear of waking her. Besides, I do not need one. I have always been able to wake up early. I can’t sleep in, even though I’m almost thirteen, almost at a sleep-in age. My bedroom window, cracked open, tells me that it is a windy morning and still dark. I can smell the earthy autumn smell—drifting through the window with the breeze—that is caused by dead leaves rotting into the soil. It is between six and seven. I guess this, for I cannot risk turning on the lamp on my nightstand to look at my alarm clock. The main idea is not to wake anybody. Not that what I’m about to do is evil. Why does everyone associate the word “secretive” with dark, harmful deeds? I just need some time alone. Some time for me. For me, to be free of people for a little while is renewing. Then I can hop on the school bus feeling happy and industrious. Then, but first… I am looking forward to this. I slip out of bed, and I am silent as a shadow. My searching fingers find my dresser drawer—the bottom one. I feel the smooth brass handle, grooved with chiseled designs, and I pull. Into the drawer my hand dives. I search, I feel among the oceans of rumpled cloth. Then I find them. My fingers know the fabric of my riding pants—light and stretchy. I give a pull, then slide the drawer closed silently. A slightly tattered shirt I find in the next drawer up, wooly-warm socks in the drawer to the right. The sun is just tipping the horizon, lighting up the whole silent sky with amber sparks I am dressed in no time, for I know that there is someone waiting for me outside. And it isn’t a person, so I have to hurry. People can wait. Ponies can’t. My muffled feet glide with me down the hard floor of the hall, down the carpeted stairs. I slip into the garage, scraping the door shut behind me. I have awakened no one. I grope for my almost-new boots, and my chaps whose surfaces are worn slick from gripping a saddle so many times. I will lace them up outside. The leather chin strap of my riding helmet I have unconsciously wound around my fingers in my excitement. I step out the garage door and lace my boots, which are immediately drenched with dew. I have escaped. But I will come back. I have a life, and I appreciate it… most of the time. But it is nice to have a break once in a while. Right now. I climb the steep, grassy slope up to our barn. My timing is perfect—the sun is just tipping the horizon, lighting up the whole silent sky with amber sparks. My favorite time of day. New, and clean, and cool, and quiet. Evening is clean and cool, too, but opportunity is lacking. Everything is set in stone. But in the morning, everything is pliable and optimistic. Anything can happen. I can see my pony, Zorro, in his pasture. His black, dainty head is silhouetted against the lightening sky. He is beautiful. I hurry. Cresting the hill at last, I slowly enter our tack room at our barn. It is a sacred place—a haven that is dark and rich and quiet. It smells of the leather saddles we keep here, and the perpetual tick of the cheap old plastic clock—a tiny sound but magnified in the silence this room imposes—is soothing and permanent. I don’t believe that clock will ever stop. It is an absolute to me, something that cannot, will not, break down. I rouse myself—that clock can put one to sleep. I find Zorro’s bridle and hurriedly go to him. I climb his rough wooden fence carefully and we walk to meet each other. His thick, black forelock pulses with his stride. Oh, I am looking forward to this. He is my favorite part of today. When my class goes on a field trip our teacher always asks us, “What was your favorite part?” And we have to write a report on it. Zorro is my favorite part most any day. I can write reports about him until my hand falls off. We reach each other and I stroke his silky neck. Dirt crumbles off his back as I brush his body with my hand. He paces, circling around me, begging me to put on his bridle and get on. When his back is clean I pull the bridle over his ears. I fasten the straps that go around his nose and throat. Dusty my sister’s little white pony, comes over to investigate, but we ignore him. This is our time, our moment. I gather the reins over his neck in my palm. I hold them together with strands of long black mane. Zorro is piebald—black and white. His mane is black while his tail is white. He is still. I bounce a few times on the ground, gaining altitude. Then I push myself into the air and land with my stomach on his back. I swing my leg gently over his hindquarters and settle myself into position. Zorro is a pony. Soon he will be too small for me. But not today Not now. I am looking forward to this. I am riding him bareback. We walk to the gate, and I lean over to unlatch it. If Zorro were to spook or shift right now, bad things would happen for me. But he doesn’t. We go out the gate and I latch it

Swordbird

Swordbird, by Nancy Yi Fan; HarperCollins: New York, 2007; $15.99 Imagine you live in a world of birds, of flight, of complete freedom. Imagine an evil hawk comes along and tries to steal your freedom and make you his slave. Imagine being caught up in a pointless, bloody war, for which your family and loved ones are sacrificing their lives. Well, that’s a lot of imagining to do, but with the help of Nancy Yi Fan, the amazing twelve-year-old author of Swordbird, it becomes an enthralling learning experience. Fan makes you laugh and cry with the birds and you feel like your life depends on bringing this war to an end. Swordbird is a very important book. All too often books about war for kids are gruesome and depressing or silly and shallow. Not because the subject of war has to be incomprehensible, but because making the subject of war accessible to kids is not at all easy Fan does it perfectly Not only that, she brings it all together in a moral in the front flap: “What does fighting bring us? Fear, hatred, misery and death.” By the time you finish the book you completely understand and agree with that statement. The book tells the tale of two flocks of birds, the Cardinals and the Blue Jays. They have been peaceful friends for decades. Suddenly they see their eggs being stolen by what they identify as each other. After a bloody war ensues, they realize that it is an evil hawk, Slimebeak, who is stealing. He is hoping they will fight each other so that he can capture them without them standing up for one another. Then he plans to enslave all of them and become king of the forest. The two flocks become friends again and join in a fight for freedom. Soon they realize that all that can save them is the mythical hero and king of peace, Swordbird. United, the Blue Jays and Cardinals send two birds, Aska and Miltin, on a quest for the stone that must be present to summon Swordbird. The gentle blue jay, Aska, was my favorite character. She was living in a war-torn world and yet she was the heroine of the story, she was strong and resolute, she went on the key mission and saved the day I really felt for her and cried for her when the brave robin, her love, Miltin, died, and it was because of her that I was really engaged in the book. I think Aska is a perfect role model because she is so good and kind in all ways. I, however, found it confusing how new characters just kept coming. I thought that only half of them really needed to be there and I thought the extras just made it more complicated for me. I think the book would have been better with only the main characters and a few extras. Swordbird is a magical book, a real page-turner, and though I won’t spoil the end I’ll tell you it’s really satisfying. Fan says that the book is supposed to convey her feelings about terrorism and September H. She says that she was in the towers of the World Trade Center a month before they were destroyed and that it made a very big impression on her. You can definitely see that in the book, though it is set in a fantasy world. As Fan is a not a native English speaker and she is only twelve years old, it has inspired me, and I think it will inspire more kids, to see that anything is possible if you put your mind to it.

The New Soccer Season

Noel seemed to hang in the air for a second before crashing into the ground. The grass rushed up to meet him as his lungs were crushed by the impact. Dazed, Noel looked around. The soccer ball was snatched away quickly as the opposition took control. The stifled laughs that followed made Noel wish he were dead. Slowly, like so many times before, he stood and walked away No one intervened. History seems to like repeating itself, thought Noel bitterly. The same thing had happened yesterday And the day before that. Just as Noel was finding his stride in the soccer game, one of the kids would do something to humiliate him. Noel never said a word. He just picked himself up and walked away. They aren’t mean, thought Noel dejectedly I’m just not one of them. But I’m strong, thought Noel. I can wait it out. Once I make the soccer team I can meet some new people. But as the bell rang, Noel couldn’t help but wish that he had at least one friend who could really understand him. Noel walked to the doors, hiding his disappointment at the day’s game. Just as he stepped into the school, Noel saw that lunch was over. He bent down to collect his books for his next class. As he stood, he was suddenly standing face-to-face with a girl from one of his classes. She stood, holding her books, flicking her brown ponytail back over her head, and blocking his path. “Do you want to get better at soccer?” she asked. Noel was taken by surprise. “What?” “Do you want to get better at soccer?” she asked “Don’t you want to show the people out there how good you are?” Noel had no idea if she was picking on him or joking. Unsure of what to say, he blurted, “Who are you?” She smiled. “What, you’ve been here for a week and you still don’t know who I am? I’m in your science class, remember? Sarah Nusterwicz sound familiar?” Now that Noel thought about it, it did. She sat in the row behind him, but they never talked before. “Well? Do you?” Sarah looked expectantly at him. “I could teach you some stuff.” “What? How?” Sarah smiled again. “Just meet me here after school, OK? I want to help you.” Noel was surprised at the sudden conversation. He just stared as she turned and headed off. *          *          * The bell rang, and immediately a scurry of papers and books drowned out the teacher’s last words. Kids rushed out of the classroom, eager to chat with their friends and enjoy the rest of the day Noel went to his locker and got his bag. Hefting it on his shoulder, he walked slowly down the hall. Noel saw her leaning at a corner of the hallway near the doors to the fields and courts. Her book bag was at her feet, and she was gracefully juggling a soccer ball. It hopped from her knees to her feet, then leapt up obediently to her head. Seeing Noel out of the corner of her eye, she let the ball drop to her feet, passing it to Noel. Noel flicked the ball up, feeling good to be touching a soccer ball again. He juggled it twice on his knees, then passed it back. Sarah caught it in her hands. “So,” she said, “you came. I was afraid you were going to get lost or something. Let’s go outside.” Noel followed Sarah out. The weather was bright and sunny, small breezes pushing Noel’s hair back as they walked to the field. A perfect day. “You’re new here, right?” “I’ve been here for a week and you still don’t know that?” Sarah glanced at him, then laughed. “You learn fast. I hope you learn fast enough to make the team.” Noel stared at her. “What? You aren’t trying out?” Noel was stung by her remark. “Of course I will! And why would I need your help?” Sarah turned to face him. “Listen, I’ve watched you at lunch, and you’re pretty good. But right now the other kids know that you’re new, so they’re taking advantage of you by being over-aggressive. I felt bad and decided that I’d help you.” “What’s there to teach me?” “Well, I’m just saying. There’s some things you might want to know before you go try out.” Noel paused for a moment, and then smiled. He decided that he liked her attitude. “Thanks. I guess you’re the only person here who has ever noticed me. Do you play soccer, too?” “Soccer?” scoffed Sarah. “I’m just about the best goalkeeper in our grade, including the boys. Would you like to see?” She rolled the soccer ball to him, took out some worn goalie gloves from her backpack, and stood in front of the goal, in the natural goalkeeper stance. Noel was incredulous. Shooting on a girl? Noel thought desperately of what to do. He didn’t want to make Sarah feel bad if he scored. She seemed like the only friend that Noel would ever have. But back at his old school, he was always the champion shooter on his team. Penalty kick? No problem. Bending corner kick? A breeze. He flexed his foot. As Noel swung, he glanced at Sarah. Her eyes were riveted on him, unnerving him. The ball shot low and hard towards the goal. Sarah merely sidestepped and blocked the ball with her foot. “You’re holding back, aren’t you?” she said. “Shoot like you were doing at lunch!” Noel felt himself redden. He decided to go for an upper corner. Going for the upper corners was always his signature at his old school. As long as the ball was still and he had time to prepare, Noel could drill a shot that would match no other. All the goalkeepers at his school would be frozen, watching helplessly as Noel scored with ease. Noel backed up, taking care not to give