Kelsey raised her binoculars and magnified the kingly bird Kelsey crouched lower in the grass. A beautiful quail (coturnix octumix japonica) strutted pompously around her pond. Kelsey raised her binoculars and magnified the kingly bird. She could see all its tail feathers, from the soft browns to the deep whites. She carefully crept closer. The bird was like a mini-peacock. She pictured it in the store. Peacock—now travel size! She giggled, and the bird, alarmed, took flight and sailed for a short while over her pond. Kelsey sighed. Quails were very rare this time of year, and she probably wouldn’t see another one. She gazed through the chicken wire at the tree’s red leaves, sadly drifting down to the ground. Kelsey had set up a sort of institution for the birds when winter came. She and her mom had worked together to bend chicken wire around and above their backyard. They planted lots of plants, bushes, and they even managed to get their hands on a palm tree. Heaters were placed around the bushes and pond, so that it was always warm. In the distance, a warm and motherly voice called out. “Kelsey! Kelsey, it’s lunchtime.” She sighed and packed up her stuff. Her birder’s notebook, binoculars, and the Guide to Puget Sound Birds went into her backpack. She hung her pouch full of birdseed around her neck. The gravel under her feet made a pleasing crunch as she walked. Crows flew up when she passed them, like the ripples when you drag your fingers in the water. She was used to random birds, like crows and magpies, appearing in her sanctuary. It happened all the time. Kelsey’s half-frozen fingers fumbled at the latch to open the gate. She walked all the way down the side yard path to the front door of her yellow-and-white house. A cheery orange mailbox at the front walk read 8281. Kelsey pushed down the red flag and flipped through the letters that they had. Bills… more bills… an issue of The New York Times. The cover of The New York Times had an owl on it. Kelsey was intrigued. She put down the bills and opened the magazine. “Birders’ Contest for Kids,” it read. “Two hundred dollars to whoever can spot the most birds in one day.” Kelsey’s heart leaped. A birders’ contest! She would do great at that… and two hundred dollars! That was enough to buy that sweet little puppy she saw in the pet store the other day. (She may be a birdwatcher, but Kelsey also had a thing for dogs.) She raced into the house. “Mom!” she yelled, carelessly throwing her stuff on the floor. “Mom! There’s a birders’ contest for kids and the winner gets two hundred dollars which would be enough to buy…” “Whoa, whoa, slow down,” said her mom, looking up from Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte. “A birders’ contest? Two hundred dollars to the winner? My, my, Kelsey. When is this contest?” Kelsey flipped open the magazine again. “Tomorrow!” she yelped. “At Sunset Park! Please, Mom, can we go?” Her mom smiled. “All right, Kelsey. We can go.” * * * Ow, ow, ow!” It was the day of the big birding contest, and Kelsey’s mom was brushing back her long, caramel hair. Her face was screwed in pain as the pink brush practically tugged her hair out of her head. “There we go, all done,” said her mother, leaning back to survey the braid she had made. Kelsey got up and called to her mom. “C’mon, Mom, we’re going to be late!” “Dear, did you remember your birder’s notebook?” asked her mom as they were rushing out the door. “Did you remember your binoculars?” she asked as they pulled out of the driveway. “Do you have your field guide?” she asked as they got onto the highway. “Got your bird feed?” she asked as they pulled into the parking lot of Sunset Park. “Yes, Mom, I’ve got everything.” A large banner was hung by the entrance that stated “Birding Contest.” Kelsey ran over to it. A lady was standing under it with a clipboard. Kelsey jogged over to her. “Hello,” she said. “Are you here to watch the birding contest or participate in it?” “Participate in it!” answered Kelsey. “Name?” asked the lady. “Kelsey Redburn.” The lady scribbled something on her clipboard. “All right, you’re all checked in. The contest is over there. You’re number three. You’d better hurry, it’s about to begin.” So Kelsey ran over to the stands. There were four big blocks, each numbered from one to four. Kelsey determinedly stepped up onto the one that read “three.” A voice boomed out on a hidden loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the contestants! Contestant number one is Ricky Delvosia!” There was clapping. “Contestant number two is Lily Michaels!” More clapping. “Contestant number three is Kelsey Redburn!” Everybody clapped for her. It felt great, hearing all that clapping. “And contestant number four is David Roberns!” More clapping. “All right, contestants, when the buzzer sounds, go into the woods. Whenever you see a bird, press your buzzer. You’ll find them on your pedestals.” Kelsey looked down. A buzzer with a button was at her feet. “Ready? Three… Two… One…” BEEP! Kelsey snatched up her buzzer and ran into the forest. At once she spotted a crow perched on a branch. Beep! Her buzzer wasn’t quite as loud as the other one, but she already had one bird. Aha! A starling and a robin flew above her. Already she had three birds on her list. She was off to a good start! Kelsey scampered over to a pond and saw a duck and a swan. Beep, beep. From here she could see the scoreboard. Ricky had seen four, Lily had seen seven, and Kelsey had seen five… But David… David had seen twenty-six! Even as she watched, the number went up. Twenty-seven… twenty-eight… Six geese took flight. She beeped her buzzer six times. Her
March/April 2013
Dream of Dancing
I had never even thought about what I could do with ballet in my life. It was always just there. A little part of my life, one small piece of the pie of my world; twice a week, five o’clock to seven o’clock, barre to center. I wasn’t on pointe shoes yet, either. Ballet was just a hobby. * * * I slouch down in my white shag lounge chair and sigh. I lie there for a moment before grabbing my book and curling up to read. It’s just starting to feel like spring outside. There is new mud and water on the crowded streets below and the trees in front of the apartment are beginning to bud. My favorite time of year. Especially because of my eleventh birthday, in May! “Lavender?” Mom calls. I look up to see her standing in my doorway. Mom sits down on my quilted bedspread and smiles. “It’s Grandma Lilly’s birthday tomorrow,” she starts. Snap! I think to myself. I forgot! Trying not to look guilty, I nod. “We are inviting her to see the New York City Ballet perform Swan Lake at the David H. Koch Theater tomorrow evening. What do you think?” My mind races with thoughts of the New York City Ballet. I have never seen them dance in person before, and I am instantly excited. My grandpa’s favorite ballet to dance when he was a professional dancer was Swan Lake. He loved the blue-and-lavender backdrop of the lake scene. Sadly, he passed away the day before Azure was born. It’s also Grandma’s favorite ballet, though she never danced. It has always reminded her of Grandpa. “Great!” I say, and go back to my reading. The ballet is forgotten for the rest of the day. I don’t even think about it when I make Grandma Lilly a birthday card and wrap the pink vase I painted for her at Pretty Paints. * * * As I lie in bed for a few minutes after Mom and Dad say goodnight, this is when I finally remember Swan Lake. But it is forgotten moments later as I drift off to sleep. I dream I am a ballerina, floating across the large stage on delicate pointe shoes. I’m wearing a gauzy swan costume and a feather headpiece royally frames my face. My feet move like a swan’s should, gracefully, each step like a string of precious gems. Then I fall. My feet slide out and I lie still on the black stage. But it wasn’t an accident, I know. It was mystifying choreography. My eyes shoot open and I find myself staring straight into the eyes of a pretty girl with a long thin ponytail and blue-framed glasses. Sunlight streams in from the pillow-sized window above my dresser and I can see her clearly. “Good morning, Lavender!” the girl excitedly says in a soft voice. A police siren outside suddenly jolts my memory. “Azure!” I cry, and wrap my arms tightly around her neck. I can feel her heart glowing as I hug her. “Is Dad already off on his business trip?” She reluctantly nods. “But I’m here, right?” My older sister, Azure, is nineteen and in her first year of college in Florida. She usually never comes home because she always goes to my Aunt Kate’s house (she lives near her) during short breaks. Plus, we’re faaaaar away in NYC! We only get to see her on occasional short breaks and always on long ones. I slide out of bed and slip on my soft penguin slippers. “Want breakfast?” Azure offers. She has a sly glint in her eye that her glasses can’t hide. “What did you do?!” I whisper excitedly. Azure is the Queen of Tricksters. Butter on my ballet shoes (my dance teacher got so mad!), Jell-O smoothies, you name it, she’s done it. But I was surprised this time. “French toast on cinnamon bread! Bought it myself on the drive home from the airport!” she cries. My eyes get wide. That’s my all-time favorite food, except for the New-York-style pizza the vendor outside the apartment sells! I rush around the corner to the kitchen and settle in the light wooden chair closest to my room. Mmmmmm… I can smell the cinnamon as Azure pops six slices on a platter. I jump up, do an arabesque, and grab both of us tableware and sit back down. The two of us whisper until Mom stumbles into the kitchen wearing her blue bathrobe, disheveled hair, and still looking half asleep. “Azure, you’re home!” Mom cries. She hugs my big sister tightly. “Lovely,” Azure compliments me, “but just remember to turn out your standing leg!” “I know! I needed to be here for Grandma’s birthday, and to see Swan Lake!” Azure replies excitedly. Two years ago, Azure was an amazing dancer, the star of our studio. But sadly, she quit due to an ankle injury and never really wanted to try ballet again. She’s majoring in art and fixes to be a high school art teacher someday. I join the hug enthusiastically, and we stand like this for almost a full minute. * * * The day rolls by like a puff of a cloud on a breezy day, what with Azure here. Before I know it, it’s time to get ready for Swan Lake. I select from my closet a ruffled navy-blue skirt that goes well with my eyes. Then I add a sky-blue tank top and a white half-sweater with a delicate blue rose. Perfect. I stand in front of my floor-length mirror and do a pirouette. “Lovely,” Azure compliments me. She is sitting on my floor. “But just remember to turn out your standing leg!” “Well then, Ms. Prima Ballerina!” I answer, hands on hips. We laugh and I sit down on my bed while Azure does a French braid in my hair. “I wish Dad was here,” I whisper. Behind me, I can sense Azure’s frown. “Me too. Business
Frights
What lies in the darkest corner in the mind of a boy? His greatest fears. Dark, looming, ominous shadows of everyday objects Turn into alarming frights. Howls, creaks, booms, blasts, blares, Sneak into the mind of a boy Creep into his thoughts, Eliminating his ability to sleep. The thought of a monster lurking under the bed Shoots goosebumps up the arms and legs Of your average boy, Making him stay up in bed, Panting. His heart races, Practically beating out of his chest. He forces his eyes closed, Willing himself to a rest That won’t come. Fists clenched, Palms sweaty, Brow moist, Breathing fast, The house creaking, Trees striking the window With a slow, eerie beat. Tears sliding down his cheek, He engulfs himself in his blanket. His brain pounding in his head To the rhythm of the trees Cracking and snapping Against the window like Baseball bats. Trying to calm himself, Slowly inhaling and exhaling, Heart slowing down, Sleep. Sam Laskin, 10Westport, Connecticut
