I feel the thrill of the moment as my coconut wobbles, surprisingly fast, past me “Truth or Dare?” my best friend Jackson challenges me. I glance around at my circle of friends like they might have an answer. “Dare,” I say confidently. My friends and I always get together Saturday evenings. We’re gathered around a campfire eating marshmallows on a beach in Florida. Just then, Jackson grins wickedly at a tall palm tree with four coconuts cradled under its huge green leaves, and then back at me. “Simon—I dare you to a coconut race with me. Take it or leave it.” “I’ll take it,” I say, feeling my face turn red like it always does when I’m excited. Jackson and I know the drill. We each jog over to separate palm trees and shake them vigorously. When the tree gives up a coconut, I catch it as it falls. Jackson also gets a coconut. Then we drag our feet in the sand, creating one wide racetrack going for maybe twenty-five feet down a hill. The hill is steep enough to give the coconuts momentum. Jackson and I go to the starting line and bend down, the coconuts barely touching the ground. I feel the tense feeling of excitement in the air, my heart beating quickly. Everyone has their eye on our coconuts. A surfer shouts loudly to a friend in the distance. No one budges, no one hears. I will win this race. I will. “On your mark, get set…” Jackson starts, my heart beating even quicker. “On your mark, get set…” everyone cries, “Go!” Our coconuts tumble out of our hands and down the track, picking up sand. “Jackson and I race alongside the coconuts, making sure neither of them stray off our uneven track. Our friends start choosing sides. They break away from our circle and form two clumps, one cheering, “Go… Jackson! Go… Jackson! Let’s hear it for Jackson!” and another group yells, “Simon! Simon! Simon!” I feel the thrill of the moment as my coconut wobbles, surprisingly fast, past me. I sprint to keep up with it. Our audience crane their necks and squint to see the coconuts through the rapidly falling night. Now the coconuts are nearing the end of the track, where Jackson and I made a heap of sand to stop the coconuts from rolling on and into the water. Mine’s in front—or is it Jackson’s? Oh, darn it, we forgot to mark the coconuts so we could tell whose is whose! But it’s too late— one of the coconuts has hit the barrier of sand. “I won!” Jackson shrieks, sticking his index fingers in the air. “No way. I won!” I argue, jabbing my thumb into my chest. “You wish!” “You’re just jealous of the winner!!” “I definitely won!” “You did not.” The two of us go on like this for a while more, the onlookers’ heads swiveling from one person to the other. Eventually we get tired of our argument and collapse on the ground, laughing. Once we quiet down, all the kids lie on their backs and look at the stars. I gaze at one that looks particularly like a coconut. Rachel Barglow, 10Arlington, Massachusetts Ester Luna, 12Washington, D.C.
July/August 2015
Canoe
Gliding through the water As swift and silent as an arrow With the swish swish splash of the paddle. Water burbling over smooth stones, singing over sticks, Jumbling in a happy mass to wherever rivers go. The blue blue sky overhead, clear as crystal, Dotted here and there with wisps of milk-white clouds. A gentle breeze, ruffling the water, making ripples. Tousling my hair with invisible fingers. The calls of birds to one another overhead, A tapestry of sound, laced with splashes And the murmur of summer crickets. Trees in full glory, Ancient reminders of what used to be, Stand as silent sentinels— Ever watchful as the river flows on. Magnificent cliffs rise out of the current, With tall black buttresses like a castle, Cloaked in emerald green, Polka-dotted by clumps of sunshine flowers. The crunch of the boat on rocks. Eager feet clamber out to explore this new place. The smell of wild mint drifts lazily on the air Like the circling hawk, Wafting under my nose, inviting a taste… An eagle, full of splendor and pride, Perches in the tallest tree And watches everyone below. Like a father, stern, gazing on playing children. His eyes are black as the rock and cruel if need be. The boat drifts on again, Past a brigade of pelicans dressed in shiny white. They glance momentarily at our canoe and, As if deeming it not important enough to trouble themselves with, They continue their toilet. All this beauty and magnificence, Captured in a single moment, like a snapshot, Tucked away in the folds of memory, To be taken out later and cherished as a jewel, A memory of what once was, The canoe, the river, the long ago afternoon… Hannah Mark, 12Hardin, Montana
The Bean Plant
When my dad said we needed a fresh start after my mom died I didn’t realize he meant literally. Fresh tomatoes dotted the field with clouds of basil and parsley. Stalks of corn towered over the pumpkin patch and the smell of fertilizer burned my nose. The sun crept over the rolling hills as dawn slunk over the morning sky. My dad called me down for breakfast. I groaned, threw off my covers, and pulled on my slippers before dragging myself downstairs. “Why, good morning, sleepyhead! I made pancakes!” my dad chimed. I pulled a comb through my ratty hair. “Dad, it’s five-thirty in the morning, why do we have to get up so early?” “Because there is a lot of work to be done around here and we don’t have enough money to hire help for the time being,” he responded, flipping the pancakes. “I miss Mom,” I moaned. He froze, the pancake sizzled in the pan, he lowered his head. “I know, but life moves on and we must too, no matter how much we miss her,” he replied quietly. “By the way, Mia, I need you to water the crops, put down fresh fertilizer, do the laundry, and start dinner. I need to head to town to gather some supplies, but I’ll be back by three.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Think you can handle that?” My dad said to leave her be, that she was probably without a home I nodded without looking up. “That’s my girl!” He dumped a stack of pancakes onto my plate. “Dig in!” Once we were done with breakfast, my dad pulled out of the driveway in the rusty old pickup truck, leaving me all alone. I sighed and pulled my knees to my chest as I sat on the front stoop. When my mom was here I was never alone. When I was scared she’d pull me close and tell me that she was there, right there for me. She said she would protect me, she said I would never be alone. I took three deep breaths and composed myself. I forced myself to stand and go over the list of my chores. * * * Watering all the plants took a couple hours; I pushed the big cart of fertilizer down the long path towards the fields. I soon approached the bean patch. An old lady was there, just sitting and staring. She hung out there a lot. I didn’t know who she was though. My dad said to leave her be, that she was probably without a home and needed someplace to stay. It was still uncomfortable having her around though. I sped up my pace. I didn’t want to be near her any longer than necessary. It was hard to maneuver the cart on the bumpy ground. I struggled to keep it in line, but it hit a rock and went swerving to the side. Fertilizer was everywhere, and all over the old woman. Dirt colored her bleached hair and stained her weathered yellow dress. She didn’t say a word; she just stared, her eyes drilling holes into mine. I stood there like a deer in the headlights, then ran, leaving the cart as I sprinted back to the house. * * * My dad and I were enjoying our meal of mashed potatoes, biscuits, peas, and lamb chops when the bell rang. My dad set his napkin on the table and went to answer the door. Standing stiffly in the doorway was the old lady; she was still filthy from the fertilizer. “My clothes are dirty,” she stated blandly. “I can see that,” my dad answered, a little thrown. “My clothes are dirty,” she repeated, more insistently this time. “How may I help you?” he asked. “She knows,” she pointed at me. “She knows why my clothes are dirty.” “Mia?” He waited for an explanation. I shifted awkwardly in my seat as my dad looked at me expectantly. “It was an accident!” I blurted. “I couldn’t steer the cart and the fertilizer spilled!” “Mia!” My dad shook his head. “You didn’t help her clean up?” “Look at her, Dad, she’s scary!” “Mia!” he scolded. He shook his head. “I’m so sorry about this,” he apologized to the lady. “Mia, go upstairs and get my overalls and your big fleece. She needs new clothes.” “But Dad, I like that fleece!” “Mia!” He stared at me. “Fine!” I stomped up the stairs, pulled the clothing out of the closet roughly, trudged downstairs, and threw the clothing in the lady’s face. “Mia!” my dad exclaimed. “Go to your room!” I gave the woman a look of pure hatred and did as my dad told me to. I lay awake for most of the night, thinking about what happened downstairs. I wasn’t sure why I got so upset. The jacket didn’t mean that much to me. I guess it was the fact that that lady just barged in and ruined the peaceful evening I was having with my dad. My mom would have stuck up for me. She wouldn’t have let me get pushed around by some stranger. * * * The next day I went on with my chores as usual after apologizing to my dad about making a scene the night before. I walked down the long path to get the hose and sponges I needed to clean the truck. Unfortunately, it was the same path I took when I spilled the fertilizer the day before. I prayed that the lady wouldn’t be there, but to my dismay there she was. I tried to avoid her gaze as I sped up my pace. “You like my here bean plant, child?” the lady croaked. I stopped and stared. “I said, you like my here bean plant?” I waited a
