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100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13

March/April 2000


By

Audition

“This is crazy,” Marie said for the fourth time. From her seat in front of the steering wheel of the family’s old station wagon, Mom gave her a side glance and an encouraging smile. The dense woods that surrounded the road flashed by the windows in a green blur as the afternoon sun streamed through the back window and cast the car’s long shadow on the road ahead of them. Marie wrung her sweaty hands, biting her lip in nervous anticipation. “This is completely crazy,” she whispered. They were watching her, and she knew what she had to do, so she started her monologue For the past two months Marie had been practicing an audition for the school’s spring play, “Little Women.” She had spent hours memorizing the lines to a monologue, and perfecting it so that she could act in the most realistic and persuasive way she could today. She knew it all like the back of her hand. But that didn’t stop her stomach from turning flip-flops like a crazed acrobat, or the slight shake of her body, or that frightened, worried feeling that had been growing inside of her all day long. *          *          * Mom parked the car in the lot in front of the school and gave her a wink for good luck. Marie pushed her door open and stepped out into the cool, fresh air, her legs feeling weak. She eyed the building, knowing that inside of it was a line of other students waiting to be called into the theater. That line of students was her competition. Marie took a deep breath. “I’m going to do this,” she said quietly to herself. “If it kills me, I’m going to do this. There is no way that I’m going to turn back now and give up—I’d never forgive myself.” She headed toward the school. *          *          * It was getting up on stage that was hard. Once Marie was on the shiny wooden surface, raised a good five feet or so above the rest of the floor, with four teachers seated at a table in the back with their eyes glued on her, she couldn’t not start. They were watching her, and she knew what she had to do, so she started her monologue. And once she began, the rest followed. She didn’t lose her voice, or forget her lines, or even stumble over them much. Her voice might have been a little shaky at first, but the more she spoke the steadier and more definite it became. Soon, the teachers vanished from her mind, and she became her character, and was no longer Marie, no longer in the school, and no longer nervous, at least, not very much. And then she had finished. Another student was entering. It was time for her to leave. *          *          * The relief that came upon her, now that she had done it, and it was over, and everything was out of her hands, was greater than Marie ever thought it was going to be. Now all she had to do was wait. And whether she got a large part, or a small part, or no part at all, she had tried. She had done her best, putting all that she possibly could into it. And, for now, that was enough. Lisa R. Neher, 13Covington, Washington Sabina Kraushaar, 11Durango, Colorado


By

Unbroken

Unbroken by Jessie Haas; Greenwillow Books:  New York, 1999; $15 In Unbroken, Harriet Gibson becomes an orphan in 1910 when her mother dies in a horse-and-buggy accident. Now thirteen-year-old Harriet must leave her old life in a small Vermont town to live in the country with her Aunt Sarah. Having recently moved, I can understand how Harriet felt as she left her house, school, and friends. Even though I was unhappy when I moved, Harriet must have been even sadder since her mother just died. Like Harriet, once I was settled in my new home, I wasn’t sure how to act. I had to learn how things were done in my new neighborhood and school. “Where do I hand homework in? Do I really need a hall pass just to put my flute in the band room?” I asked myself. Harriet also had to learn how to behave in her new surroundings. When she sits on the chopping block and gets blood on her dress, Harriet is uncertain what to do. “Should I just wash it off or do I have to ask permission?” Harriet wonders. Harriet realizes there’s a lot she doesn’t know about living on a farm. Soon after Harriet moves in, she and Aunt Sarah begin to argue. Aunt Sarah insults Harriet’s mother, complains about the way Harriet does chores, and thinks Harriet will never be able to train the young colt so she can ride him. Both of them are insistent on getting their own way. My older brother reminds me of Aunt Sarah because he always believes his way is right. When he compares his grades to mine or laughs at how I play sports, I often yell at him and get into a fight like Harriet and Aunt Sarah did. As the summer goes by, Harriet learns how to help with farm work, cope with her mother’s death, and get along with Aunt Sarah. One evening Harriet tries to get to know Aunt Sarah by asking her questions about her childhood. Harriet also helps with chores without being asked, such as when she offers to help with cutting the hay. My brother and I are working on being kind to each other, too. When I play his favorite video game with him or ask how his day went, we become closer. Most importantly, Harriet starts to accept life on the farm and think of it as home, just as I am beginning to accept my new life after moving. When I first picked up Unbroken, I thought it was just going to be about a girl training her horse. Once I started reading, I realized the story was about a lot more—dealing with changes, getting along with other people, and discovering the importance of family. The author, Jessie Haas, made the characters seem like real people. I really enjoyed Unbroken and would recommend this book to anyone who likes historical fiction, horses, or just an excellent story. Julia Schuchard, 12Lawrenceville, Georgia


By

Lizy

Lizy was my best friend the summer I turned six, though that summer I also learned she couldn’t be forever. I found her resting in the cattails by my father’s pond. Her shell was speckled with mud and pieces of wet grass stuck to her damp surface. My parents discovered me patting her softly with my hand. Lizy was only an egg then. My father rolled the speckled egg into his warm palm. “Sally,” he said, “I’m going to make you a little friend.” I stared at him for a minute, then Mama took my hand and we all went inside. I sat in my chair, while I watched my mother rummaging through boxes in a closet and my father flipping through pages of books with one hand, and securing his reading glasses with the other. Suddenly my mother spoke, “I found it hon, it’s as good as new!” A few minutes later a little incubator stood on a table in my room. I sat by Lizy as many hours as I could for the next few weeks as my father came in and out of my room, helping me turn Lizy’s egg and moisten her shell with sprays of warm water. On the twenty-eighth day, the unbelievable happened and my best friend was born. Loud peeps, a wet, sleepy duckling, and an empty shell, is all I can remember from Lizy’s hatching, but memories of gazing, wondering and studying as she grew have not faded through the years. Neither has the love I felt when I first laid eyes on the lonely little egg surrounded by cattails. My parents discovered me patting her softly with my hand. Lizy was only an egg then “It’s that time of year again,” my father whispered in my ear, “the time when your old grandma comes to wish you a happy birthday.” My mother sighed. “Aw, come on, Lynda,” teased my father, “she isn’t that bad, is she?” He gave her a kiss. “Ted, you know I care for your mother, I’m just worried about what she’ll think of Lizy. Maybe we should move her outside before your mother arrives tomorrow. You know how she is with animals.” My father picked me up and held me in his arms. My mother gave him a serious glance. I was placed on the counter. “Aw Lynda, Lizy’s too young for that.” He slipped his hand in hers. “Lizy’s still a little fluff ball, Grandma won’t mind.” Then he turned to me. “Isn’t that right, Sally?” I nodded my head as a loud peeping noise came from upstairs. “Come on, Sal,” he said, setting me down and taking my hand, “Lizy’s hungry.” We walked up the stairs. When we got to Lizy her loud crying stopped; her food and water bowl were full. That night as I rested in my bed I heard my parents talking loudly in their room. “We can’t give her away, Lynda, Sal would feel awful, she’d never forgive us!” “I know, Ted,” admitted my mother. “I know that Sal would be heartbroken, but what are we gonna do, keep Lizy forever? Where she really belongs is outside with other wild ducks, maybe even in the pond, not in a cage, in the backyard.” “I haven’t seen any ducks in our pond, and who knows what could happen to her in the wild, that’s a terrible idea.” “Right, I know, but Lizy’s going to get big and the summer is going to end, Ted. When you go back to teaching in the fall and Sally goes to school, what happens then?” My father stammered. “You . . . you don’t want to take care of her?” “No, it’s hard work. Don’t you think I have enough to do? I think,” she paused, “that it would be better for Sal, for us to give Lizy away sooner as opposed to later. Maybe she’ll forget faster, or maybe she’ll never forget, I don’t know. But I think she should learn, better than us, what is OK to keep as a pet and what isn’t. Don’t you think so?” There was no response for a while, then . . . “She will never forgive us if we take Lizy away. Let her find what’s right herself, hon, that’s how people learn the best,” said my father. “We’ll just wait it out, OK? Play it by ear?” “But Sally’s only six years old!” “Shhhhhh,” whispered my father, and I heard no more. I looked down at Lizy’s box. She seemed happy enough to me, peeping softly. I didn’t want her to go. “Lizy,” I whispered. I got up and climbed down from my bed. “Peep, peep . . .” I said. “Pip, pip, pip, pip,” Lizy answered. I picked her up and put her in my lap. That night I fell asleep on the floor, with Lizy curled up on my tummy. The next morning when I awoke, Lizy had disappeared from my side. My mind traced back to the night before. I envisioned her being plucked from my hand like a helpless flower and I started to cry. Suddenly a peep came from Lizy’s box next to the spare bed. I crawled over to it and gazed at her in the corner. I patted her rubbery beak and wiped my eyes. That afternoon there was a knock at the door. Unlike most days when I wore sweatpants and a T-shirt, I was dressed in a little yellow jumper with my thin hair tied in bows. My grandmother loved when I was dressed special for her arrival. She loved being clean and proper, and she wanted everything around her to be clean and proper too. She did not like animals and almost every time my grandmother came over she got in fights with my parents. My mother and father weren’t married, they said that marriage just makes things more complicated. My grandma called them lazy once, a lazy couple. She said that marriage was important.