My shoes trudge up the path, caked with gooey mud. My shirt sticks to my body, and my hair clings to my flushed face. The winding path steeply curves on and on, taunting my burning muscles. My eyelids droop, as my legs become more and more mechanical, moving up and down with no real motivation. I snag a strawberry guava off a tree and stuff it in my mouth to suppress the gnawing in my stomach. Ginger, our dog, runs off ahead through the wilderness. My dad climbs next to me, panting heavily. “If the path doesn’t start curving down to the left soon, we’re going to have to turn back,” he says, exhaustion creeping at the edge of his voice. I knew he was right. If we didn’t see the pools of this hike soon, we were either lost or on the wrong path. I couldn’t believe that we had hiked all this way for nothing. Ginger runs toward us, sweat dripping off her tongue and creating miniature pools below her. I grab a drink of water from my dad’s pack and we continue on. “Let’s turn back in five minutes,” he sighs. “Sure,” I say, disappointed that even my dad has pretty much given up. One… Two… Three… Four… The minutes tick by, until I reluctantly decide that five minutes has come and gone. Even so, I wait for my dad to voice his affirmation that we will have to turn back. As we round another bend in the trail, the path goes out of sight. “Did the trail end?” I wonder aloud “Did the trail end?” I wonder aloud. I tentatively take another step, gazing ahead. I break into a grin as I see—finally— that we are on the right path. The trail descends steeply into the valley, plunging into a forest of strawberry guava trees, mossy rocks, and ferns. I stumble down the rocky path in a delirious anticipation of the thirty-two miles of pools we came all this way to see. “Whooooohoooo!” I scream when I reach a pool and jump into the water. The achingly cold water chills my bones. I laugh as my dad comes in and Ginger does a belly flop. I gaze up at the sky as a fleck of rain hits my head. When I feel more drops come down, I can’t help but wonder how close we came to turning back. I thank my lucky stars, because I know I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Risa Askerooth, 12Mililani, Hawaii Amy Yu, 12San Diego, California
July/August 2012
Morphing into Monsters
A silver van pulls up the desert driveway From sliding doors Spill three cousins Holding teddy bears and swords Lonely fields are filled once more Screams and hollers absorb the sun-baked summer air We stumble together, reminding each other of our game Played only near the overgrown grass And where Christmas trees grow during summer MONSTER TAG. Skip through the bushes Or near the woods And find a place where none can see If tagged You’re it! The new monster, searching for its prey Adults cry, “Be careful,” as we prance off Their words are meaningless in our ears Drifting up with the subtle breeze We disperse Each racing around the house’s corner Looming fingers creep up the gray walls Peering through the bushes, I glance across the fields of green The monster’s footsteps slow A lion before the deathly pounce Grass bowing beneath its feet Paw by paw, step by step Nervous excitement builds up inside me Where to run? Where to hide? The bush embracing me with its prickly Yet protective branches I duck out from under my shield The chase begins. Candace Huntington, 13Boston, Massachusetts
Yosemite Grasslands
“Isn’t this beautiful?” “It’s your turn, Quasar.” I was shaken out of my self-induced funk by the lively sound of my mom’s voice. “Huh?” “Come on,” said my dad. “Is the correct definition of cupidity a) unconditional and unbiased love, b) a type of Italian sausage, or c) greed?” “Uh… A,” I mumbled. “Nope,” said Dad. “It’s greed. Your mom wins the Dictionary Game again.” “Sorry,” I said. “I’m not really in the mood.” “But Quasar,” said Mom, “it’s Family Fun Friday. You’re really missing out on all the fun! Do you want to play Scrabble instead?” “Do you think we could maybe… watch a movie?” I suggested tentatively. “That’s a great idea, Quasar,” said Dad. “There’s a Nova on string theory at nine!” “Ugh, never mind,” I said. “I’m going to go read.” “Good idea,” said my mom. “Here’s that O. Henry book of short stories. ‘While the Auto Waits’ is a great one.” “Forget it,” I mumbled. “I’m off to bed.” Forget self-induced funk, this is seriously parent-induced. I’ve heard all of their rationales about how lucky I am not to have annoying siblings to deal with, but a sibling is also a partner in life. The solitude can be peaceful and relaxing, but sometimes I gaze out the window and wish I had someone to share the burden of overly intellectual parents. While lying alone, sleepless in the dark, I long for a companion to talk to, someone to think of quirky nicknames with that aren’t related in any way to something scientific, someone to reassure me when I’m scared, instead of my father launching into a monotonous explanation about the physical impossibilities of the boogeyman. So while I nod along to my mother’s rendition of an Eagles’ song from her youth, my heart is aching for a kindred spirit. Luckily for me, my entire grade is about to embark on the long-anticipated trip to Yosemite. For those precious two days, I will have sisters. * * * As I walked towards the bus, sleeping bag in hand, my parents waved goodbye. “We’ll tape all the Novas for you,” said my mom. “We won’t play Scrabble until you’re back!” my dad called. “And if you get bored,” my mom reassured me, “you can read The Grapes of Wrath. I packed it for you.” “Yeah, right,” I muttered, and stuffed the book in the trash before we boarded the bus. By the time we arrived in Yosemite though, my wide grin had slowly morphed into a grimace of disgust. Sitting in the overcrowded bus, I had closed my eyes and attempted to block out all surrounding stimuli, but alas, no such luck. My life for those two hours was a mix of shouts, farts, and the occasional sob of homesickness. I had gritted my teeth together, though not too hard because it erodes enamel, and waited, like a last-minute stowaway on an overcrowded ship to America, for us to reach our idyllic destination. To my horror, the famous, lush green grasses of Yosemite were brittle, bleached by the sun’s harsh rays. Near our campsite, it was a dry savanna, much different from the green, semi-coniferous forest advertised in the glossy brochures I had read before coming. I would have to file a complaint for false advertising. We were then herded out of the bus like flocks of sheep to our respective cabins and left alone to “get organized.” Still determined to have a good time, I was about to ask my cabinmates to join me in a game of Guess That Historical Figure, but they were too busy fighting over the largest bed in the room. “I call dibs,” said Gretchen triumphantly, waving her hand above her head like she had won an Olympic gold medal instead of a sagging, decrepit mattress with rusted springs and chipped paint. “That’s not fair,” snapped Allie. “The big one should go to whoever shares a bed, and I’m not sharing.” “Well then, I’m not either,” sniffed Gretchen. Still clinging to my earlier optimism, I chirped to Niota, “Well, I guess we can share.” During the afternoon meeting, the camp leader smiled disingenuously at us, gushing about how overjoyed she was to be introducing us to this “beautiful wonder of nature,” while covertly wiping her hands on her olive-green jacket after accidentally touching a child’s hand. Despite her discomfort with us, she was right. As we had ventured more deeply into Yosemite to the community center, I marveled at the juxtaposition of the evergreens’ prickly needles against the impressive granite mountains and brilliantly blue sky, pondering how such images and textures had inspired poetry and art. “Anyone want to play a game or tell a ghost story?” I asked shyly after we were all bundled up in our beds with the same bored, oh-my-god-how-am-I-gonna-survive-here-for-another-day expressions. “No,” said Allie, and everyone turned over and went to sleep. The next day I woke up freezing. “Why is it so cold?” I asked, shivering. “Because someone,” said Gretchen, glaring at Allie, “forgot to turn on the heater.” “Well, at least I don’t snore,” retorted Allie. I groaned. This was going to be a really long day. On the hike, I paused to admire a gorgeous flower, its pale pink petals sprinkled with specks of golden pollen. “Isn’t this beautiful?” I said to Niota. “Eww!” she shouted, face scrunched up into a disgusted expression. “I’m allergic,” she said, then sneezed dramatically. “Do you know what this is called?” I inquired of our hiking leader. “Look, kid,” Jay said, “I’m just here because I want a car, and this is the only job I’m qualified for. So shut up and walk.” I stared at him indignantly. Apparently, I was the only one appreciating Yosemite’s stunning flora. At lunch, we chewed eagerly on our cheese sandwiches and carrot sticks. Perhaps regretting his previous surliness, Jay brought brownies to us but then resumed playing Angry Birds on his iPhone. Afterwards we trekked up another trail, enjoying the chirps
