“Chloë. Chloë, wake up!” Grace poked her sister in the side, then gently shook her, barely able to contain her excitement. Chloë slowly opened one eyelid, and in seconds the two seven-year-olds were scampering out of the bedroom and down the hallway, leaf-dappled pajamas billowing on their small forms. After making sure their parents were asleep, they went out the back door together, giggling. The girls ran barefoot through swaying grass, scrambled up craggy rocks, maneuvered through a network of gangly trees, and finally, breathless, arrived at their destination. The treehouse stood tall and grand, silhouetted against the golden-orange sky, and the sisters ogled its brilliance for a while. A path of flat stones trailed up to the tree’s roots, and a flimsy rope ladder climbed up its length. Sitting amid a fountain of branches was the house, built of dark, ancient-looking planks of wood. “Come on. Let’s go!” Grace shrieked with delight, and began to skip from stone to stone. She was crawling up the first few rungs before Chloë snapped out of her trance and followed her. “I, Grace Sadlon, sister of Chloë Sadlon, vow to never ever break the Sister Code” Before they entered the house, the girls stopped, their faces solemn. Grace went first. Placing a hand on her chest, she recited, “I, Grace Sadlon, sister of Chloë Sadlon, vow to never ever break the Sister Code. I will always be a loyal sister, and will never tell anyone the secrets of the treehouse.” Chloë opened her mouth, but before she could utter a sound Grace’s foot slipped on the rung above her and her leg swung around wildly as she tried to regain her footing. The ladder began to rock back and forth. “Grace, watch out!” Chloë screamed, but it was too late, and they both came crashing to the ground. * * * Chloë tumbled head over heels in the grass; a stone nicked her ankle, but she didn’t care. Pushing herself up with her palms she scurried back to the treehouse. The ladder lay in a yellow heap on the ground, and next to it, sprawled on the grass, was Grace. Chloë’s vision blurred; everything was out of focus. A huge lump formed in her throat, and she dashed over to her sister, screaming her name over and over again. She tried to speak clearly, although a thick syrup seemed to be weighing her tongue down. “Grace. Can you hear me? Grace! Listen to me!” Chloë grabbed Grace’s hand, clutching it tightly as though she could squeeze the life back into her. “Grace, you can hear me, right?” she urged. “Remember the Sister Code? You just said it, and then you…” Chloë’s body felt numb; all she could feel was her heart thudding steadily in her chest. “Grace,” she whispered, then wrapped her arms around her sister’s lifeless body. * * * FIVE YEARS LATER The bell pierced the air, reverberating throughout Harley Middle School’s campus. As if on cue, students began pouring out of the building like a puddle of spilt ink slowly spreading further and further on paper. Kids talked energetically to one another, some huddled in large groups, others in pairs. Only one girl walked alone. Chloë Sadlon brushed her straight hair behind an ear, staring at the ground as she walked. After years of practice, she had learned how to zone out the world around her—the sounds of chattering and laughter, the sound of happiness. Someone accidentally shoved her from behind, and she stumbled on the pavement. Indifferent, she boarded the bus and sat in her usual seat; second-to-last row, window seat to the left. And as usual, nobody sat with her. * * * Hey, hon. How was school?” Dad asked as Chloë dumped her bag on the kitchen table. Chloë shrugged. “Good.” She unzipped her bag halfway, then remembered she had completed her homework the day before and hadn’t been assigned anything new. She murmured a “hi” to her mom before going quietly upstairs to her bedroom. Chloë was about to plop down on her bed, but something moved in her peripheral vision. A piece of paper, barely five inches square, rustled against the heating vents. She edged closer, pulling out the scrap of paper and bringing it up close. Two stick figures, one slightly taller than the other, stood together in the middle of a crudely drawn forest, holding hands. Above it, in scrawly second-grade print, was the word Sisters. Chloë walked backwards, landing with a thump on her bed, her eyes never moving off the drawing. And then she said it. “Grace.” Suddenly feeling a longing for fresh air, she went out the back door. The wind blew through Chloë’s hair, the scent of nature filling her lungs. A strange sensation coursed through her, and although her mind told her to go to the hammock on the patio, her legs wanted to go somewhere else. Solely following her instincts, Chloë climbed up a congregation of rocks, wandered through the dense woods, and then halted suddenly. The same thrill that had formed whenever she had seen the treehouse was present again, only this time, bittersweet. Because Grace wasn’t at her side to appreciate it with her. Chloë walked from stone to stone, then searched for footholds in the tree itself, as the ladder could no longer be used. Her legs had grown much longer over the years, and she found herself climbing swiftly up the aged trunk until she reached the top. “I, Chloë Sadlon,” she muttered, then began again, louder this time; the way Grace would. “I, Chloë Sadlon, sister of Grace Sadlon, vow to never, ever break the Sister Code. I will always be a loyal…” her voice cracked slightly, but she ploughed on, “…a loyal sister, and will never tell anyone the secrets of the treehouse.” Without further
March/April 2015
Coming Home
We go to the airport looking for him The day he got back from that God Awful Place I see people most of them soldiers talking and crying but none of them him Finally I stop I see green and brown I see him smile He puts out his arms Then I knew This was my dad This was my dad Back from Iraq Andrew Eisenbrown, 12Omaha, Nebraska
Leprechaun Rain
By Hannah Ogden Illustrated by Isabella Ronchetti Emma O’Malley was alone. Up in her attic room of her grandmother Josephine’s farm, she could hear the rain hammering on the roof. She shivered. The lights had gone out twenty minutes ago, and the only light in the room came from a flickering candle on her dresser. Dark shadows danced across the room like untamed ghosts. She got up from her bed where she had been sitting and went to the window. The rain made it impossible to see, but she could faintly hear her parents outside. Once the rain had started, they had run outside to check on the sheep that belonged to the farm. It rained quite a lot here in Ireland, but this storm had her parents worried. Telling Emma to stay in her room, they had departed. Emma’s grandmother had gone out to the barn to check on the barn cats, and they had all been gone for nearly half an hour. Emma hated the wait. She wondered if her sheep, the one she had been given for her birthday last year and had named Katie, was all right. Suddenly, Emma heard a crack of thunder overhead, and she jumped. She could not hear her parents any longer, as the rain had worsened. It came in sheets, rocking the house. Another crack of thunder boomed in the sky. Emma shivered. Were her parents all right? Suddenly Emma could stand it no longer. She went to her sock drawer and pulled on a pair of wool socks and a gray sweater over her T-shirt. A bolt of lightning lit up the room, and she flinched, but she continued dressing. She pulled a blue hat over her wildly curly black hair and made her way out her door. Her coat was hanging up somewhere in the hallway. She silently climbed down the ladder from the attic and down the hall. The house was freezing cold. Most of the walls were made out of gray stone, as the house was nearly four hundred years old. Emma grabbed a green raincoat from its hook, and she put it on, taking care to cover her head with the hood. Suddenly she heard the door open, and she spun around. A dark shadowy shape walked over the threshold, and the creature threw back its hood, revealing the tired face of her father. Suddenly Emma could stand it no longer “Dad!” Emma cried, and she threw herself at him in a tackling hug. “Emma!” her dad answered. He hugged her tightly, the smell of wet wool filling Emma’s nose. “Your mother is right behind me. We checked on the sheep, but the rain caused the fence to fall over,” her father said. “Emma.” Emma turned towards the door where her mother was walking in. She shut and bolted the door behind her. Her mother pushed back her hood, revealing her tangled mess of damp red hair. “Emma,” her mother continued, “we looked everywhere, but some of the sheep are missing.” Emma paled, her freckles standing out on her face. If her family lost some of the sheep, then the farm would not survive. They depended on them. “Which ones are missing?” she asked. Emma’s mother hugged her and said, “About ten others, and Katie.” Emma stiffened and drew back. “Where is the flashlight?” she demanded. She had no idea what she was doing, but she knew she had to do something. Her mother handed her the flashlight she was holding. “What do you need it for?” she asked, but she found out two seconds later as Emma switched it on and opened the door to the swirling darkness of the night. Emma shoved her feet into her rain boots, which were on the front step, and ran out from under the porch. The storm blasted her back. Rain pounded on her, and her feet stuck in the mud. She heard her parents shouting for her to come back, but she half ran, half battled her way on towards the barn. A faint light glowed out from one of the windows, like a lighthouse. Emma reached the huge front door to the barn just as a boom of thunder sounded. She flinched. Emma held the flashlight in one hand as she fumbled with the latch to the barn. She finally managed to pull it open, and she slipped inside. The wind banged the door shut. The rain was slightly muffled. Emma looked around the barn. Straw was strewn around on the floor, and the smell of kerosene met her nose. Emma figured that Katie and the others might be here, hiding in fear from the violent storm. She shined her flashlight around the vast room and stopped the light at the stairs up to the loft. She heard her grandmother’s voice drifting down the steps. Emma jogged to the bottom of the stairs and sprinted up them. Her grandmother sat on the floor of the loft, a blanket around her shoulders. And all around her were the barn cats. There were several of them, and they all sat clustered around her grandmother. Josephine had lit one of the kerosene lamps, and it emitted a soft glow around the room. One of the cats was lying across her lap, and another was strewn over her shoulder. At the sound of Emma’s footsteps Josephine looked up. “Emma!” she said. “Where are your parents? Did you come here by yourself? Oh, I hope they’re all right.” “Mom and Dad are fine. I came by myself. Grandmother, is Katie here?” Her grandmother shook her head. “Nay, I have not seen her. Is she lost?” “Yes, Grandmother, I have to find her.” “I was hoping you would say otherwise. Do you really mean to go after her?” “I have to. I can’t bear the thought of Katie and some of the other sheep wandering around in this weather. What if…” “Child, I know what you mean. But I’m sure they
