It was in the middle of the night. The sheets were thrown to the floor, useless. The window was open, and you could hear the sounds of summer. Cicadas chirping in unison, the occasional car starting, and the breeze that was so precious it was worth gold. My hair was sweaty, and I brushed away the bangs that clung to my forehead. Maybe I should get some air, I thought. I grabbed my flashlight and stood up. My sister was still fast asleep in another bed, sucking her thumb. Slowly, I walked over to the window and swung one leg over the ledge. The windowsill creaked and I froze. After ten seconds, I let out my breath. My sister still had her eyes closed. When my feet touched the grass, I was in a whole new world. Instead of rough, wooden boards, my feet felt soft dirt and grass. Instead of the artificial breeze from the broken-down fan, I felt a real breeze. The kind that is soft and comforting, like a quilt that your mother draped around you when it got cold. Oh, and the smells. The grass and the dirt and the bark on the trees. Even the moonlight. The silvery glow coming from the moon shone down on every blade of grass that dared to reach for it. It made the sidewalk look metallic—silver. Almost like how hose water tastes in your mouth. When my feet touched the grass, I was in a whole new world I could write a poem about moonlight. Light, fight, height, bite, I thought. Even at night, the air was as thick as my mother’s chowder. It was muggy and humid, not the dry heat from Phoenix. I turned on my flashlight and moved the sphere of light no bigger than a fist toward the house. Everything was calm. Flicking the flashlight off, I sank down to my knees. I lay down on the cool, soft grass and breathed in the scent of the ground. I let out a yelp when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Looking up, I realized it was my mother, her long black hair tumbling down her back. “I saw your flashlight beam,” she commented. She sat down next to me and squeezed my shoulder. “Time to go in.” She gave me a small, sad smile, like it wasn’t her choice that I had to go inside. I stood up and she took my hand. “Sorry, I needed some air, and…” my voice trailed off and faded away, like a line of watercolor paint. She nodded, as if she understood. “The moonlight,” she said. “The moonlight.” I nodded, and I took one last look at the silvery beauty before returning to the shelter of my house. Hannah Ferreira, 11Virginia Beach, Virginia Rachel Maughan, 11Keller, Texas
March/April 2017
“George,” Reviewed by Samuel Phillips
George, by Alex Gino; Scholastic Press: New York, 2015; $16.99 George could not have come out at a better time. LGBT rights is an important issue, yet for kids unfamiliar with the acronym or those interested in the subject, like me, seeing this in a kids’ novel had never happened, until George. The main character of the book, George, is transgender. Because of this, I believe that George is a thought-provoking and fresh book for kids and teens of all ages. George looks like a standard fourth-grade boy, short hair, freckles, and the parts that make a boy, a boy. But George knows on the inside that she is a girl. The annual school play of Charlotte’s Web is coming up and George and her friend Kelly are really excited for auditions. But George doesn’t want to play Wilbur. She wants to be Charlotte. On a trip to the library, I picked up this book and got it, just because. Little did I know, this book would consume my life for four hours on an emotional journey through the mind of George. Cliffhangers propelled me through the book faster and faster. I struggled to find an explanation for my reading outburst until I broke it down. Here are the three things that really won this book over for me: The characters, writing style, and plot. The characters in this book were realistic and relatable. Kelly is this lighthearted, kind, and caring friend, people we need more of in this world. I have a friend who is like Kelly. We were signing up for game workshops and I was in the library. I really wanted to play Capture the Flag, so I asked a favor of him. He actually crossed his name off the list so that I could play. I still need to repay him. Kelly is truly the hero of this book, making her my favorite character. The brother, Scott, I also find realistic. He really understands what George is dealing with, despite being a little shocked at first. My brother and I talk late at night and we talk about what’s happening in our lives and I feel that he understands me, unlike even the best of my friends. Scott and George feel like my brother and me a lot. I love the plot in George for so many reasons. It’s simple, with only one goal and mission, giving it the opportunity to deeply tell the story of George. The other reason is it’s predictable, from start to finish. This allowed me to focus on those little moments and small details that I would otherwise miss. The way Alex Gino wrote this book was very interesting. The book is written in a third-person viewpoint, but George’s character is written the way George identifies, as a girl. This makes this book confusing, but in the best of ways. But by the end of George, I had become so used to the idea of George as she is, that I didn’t notice. I admit, I almost cried at the end. The ending is just so magical and so right for the book. I cannot express the emotions that seep through those words. In fact, the entire book is emotional, with triumphant moments and times of lonesome sorrow. And when you can feel those moments, where tears pool up in your eyes or when you scream out in joy for the character, that is the making of a good book. I used to find myself picking up books with awards to their names, but now I see that George is different. George is one of those amazing books left unrecognized.
Count Your Blessings
“Kenna, come push your sister out to the car.” I swing my backpack onto my shoulder and jog down the stairs just as I hear the school bus pull up to our driveway and beep. “Can’t you do it? I don’t want to have to walk again. The bus only waits five minutes, and Anna is really hard to push over the gravel.” “Don’t argue. I’ve got my hands full with your brother, and I have to get this roast beef put in the crock pot. You’re perfectly capable of walking to school, and it’s a nice day,” Mom replies, pulling three-year-old Leo’s hands from her apron strings and retying them. Sighing heavily, I rest my hands on Anna’s wheelchair handles and push. Her wheelchair inches slowly towards the door. By the time I have Anna just outside, I hear the bus brakes squeal as they let up, and the driver and the load of kids begin to roll away. Holding back angry tears, I shove the wheelchair the rest of the way to the van. “They don’t pay me enough to do all this,” I grumble, even though I don’t get paid at all. I pull open the van door and help my sister into the seat. Folding her wheelchair together, I lift up the trunk door and heave it inside. Pushing the van door closed, I shove my hands deep in my pockets. Without saying goodbye to my mom, I start off down the driveway. A little finch hops along at the same pace as me but keeps a cautious few feet between us. It turns its head and chirps at me, but even the cheerful singing of a pretty little bird can’t lift my spirits. “Kenna, come push your sister out to the car” I sigh and turn away from the bird. “It seems that every day of my life, I’m stuck taking care of Anna. ‘Kenna, come help Anna eat.’ ‘Kenna, come read to Anna.’ ‘Kenna, do this.’ ‘Kenna, do that.’ It’s not fair,” I say in a hushed, irritated voice. “I’m always doing stuff for Anna. But what is she doing for me? Nothing, is the answer. All she does is eat and drool and constantly smile at me.” * * * It’s only a few minutes past eight o’clock when I reach the school. I hear the warning bell ring as I hurry inside my classroom. Luckily, Mr. Regardo has his back turned and doesn’t even notice me. I take my seat next to my best friend, Piper. A seat behind Piper sits one of our mortal enemies, Ruth. Two summers ago, we were all best friends. But she went to a sleep-away camp this past summer, and now all she’s interested in is the latest hairstyle and fashion magazines. Apparently, she roomed with the group of girls who bully everyone here at school. Now Ruth isn’t really nice to me or Piper. She just hangs out with those girls. “All right, class,” says Mr. Regardo presently, turning around and grinning at us. “Seeing as it is almost time for fall vacation, and Thanksgiving is approaching quickly, I have a surprise for you.” The class gives a small cheer at this, all except for Ryan Hoss, who always has to get everyone’s attention. He jumps out of his seat and throws his baseball cap in the air, whooping and hollering. “That’s enough, Ryan. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to have to go to the principal’s office—again,” Mr. Regardo says, with a warning look. Ryan, grinning with pride, gives one last attention-seeking toss of his baseball cap and plops down in his chair, his cap landing on top of his desk. “What I was saying—before I was interrupted,” Mr. Regardo goes on, pointedly turning his eyes toward Ryan, “is that, instead of our usual English worksheets, we will be doing a Thanksgiving craft!” This gets the class going again, and Mr. Regardo walks to the rear of the classroom and puts a hand on Ryan’s shoulder before he can get all riled up a second time. “All right now, let’s keep quiet. I’m going to hand out craft packets to you all. They have ten leaves and a tree trunk in them, as well as a picture of the ground and the sky on a piece of paper. Paste your tree and leaves onto the paper, and then write what you’re thankful for on the leaves.” “This is too easy! Can’t we write the names of all the presidents on the leaves or something?” Ryan pipes up. “This isn’t homework, Ryan,” Mr. Regardo replies. “This is a craft to put up on your fridge.” “I’m not allowed to put things on my fridge,” a girl named Ria answers. “Well, do what you want with it,” Mr. Regardo says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “So… I can throw it away?” Ryan calls, putting his hand in the air. “No. Ryan, although this is not homework, it is an assignment, so treat it like one,” Mr. Regardo says sternly. Ryan drops his hand to his packet and begins tearing out the pieces. I take all of the pieces out of my packet and lay them across my desk. There are red, yellow, and orange leaves, a brown tree trunk, a blue sky, and green grass. I always notice colors— they’re my favorite thing in the whole world. I love getting out my art stuff and making gradients. Red to orange, yellow to green, blue to purple. Smiling, I take the glue stick out of the packet and pop off the cap. The smell of glue always appeals to me. I take a long whiff until I see Piper looking at me strangely and Ruth giving me the evil eye. My cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I hunch over my paper. I begin rolling the glue stick over the back of the tree trunk, careful not to let my hair get in the sticky
