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May 2021

Stone Soup Honor Roll: May 2021

Welcome to the Stone Soup Honor Roll! We receive hundreds of submissions every month by kids from around the world. Unfortunately, we can’t publish all the great work we receive. So we created the Stone Soup Honor Roll. We commend all of these talented writers and artists and encourage them to keep creating. – The Editors Scroll down to see all the names (alphabetical by section), including book reviewers and artists. ART Aya David-Ramati, 10 Cleo Friedman, 8 Hussein Ismail, 11 Leila Keller, 11 Aditi Nair, 12 Uma Nambiar, 13 Rose Scaramuzzi, 12 Liam Tang, 10 STORIES Hanbei Bao, 10 Chance Brainard, 13 Oola Breen-Ryan, 9 Isabella Bull, 11 Amelia Driver, 10 Claire Hansen, 12 POETRY Eli Brosowsky, 12 Raya Ilieva, 11 Pauline McAndrew, 12 Ava Shorten, 11 Emma Telpis, 12 Olivia Vallejo, 8

Highlights from Stonesoup.com

From the Stone Soup Blog An excerpt from “A Day in the Life of a Sixth Grader” Lauren Minyoung Yoon, 11Northbrook, IL 7:15 a.m. – When my alarm goes off, I always wonder if I could just throw it on the ground, then go back to sleep. Well, I can’t do that, actually, because my dad is my alarm and I would be in trouble trying to throw him to the ground. 7:15 is the worst part of the day. After the alarm goes off, the quiet, peaceful house starts to wake up: my dad yelling at us to wake up, my little sister screaming at me to give her her clothes (which I don’t have), my mom going through her makeup desk wondering which mascara she should put on, and me trying to find my favorite hoodie. 7:30 a.m – My hair is all sticky and oily, and my mom screams at me to take a quick shower. I know not to argue because if I do, I have to look sticky, smelly, ugly, and oily when I go to school. When I’m in the shower, I instantly regret it because it’s soooo cold. But you can’t just get out of shower when you’re already wet. So I just stay in there for five minutes and then get out and runnnn to my room for warmth. 7:45 a.m. – What you are probably imagining is a lovely and fancy breakfast full of warmth and happiness. Well, if that’s what you are thinking, you are wrong. My breakfast goes like this: my little sister complaining that she has way too much food, me arguing with my sister, my mom telling my sister to just eat, and my dad screaming at us to be quiet. That’s how my breakfast goes. About the Stone Soup Blog We publish original work—writing, art, book reviews, multimedia projects, and more—by young people on the Stone Soup Blog. You can read more posts by young bloggers, and find out more about submitting a blog post, at https://stonesoup.com/stone-soup-blog.

The Trials and Tribulations of Swifty Appledoe (Part Two)

This is the second installation of a novella that we are publishing in three parts in the April, May, and June 2021 issues of Stone Soup. Chapter 10 It’s my first hip-hop class. After suggesting it to my parents, they reluctantly agreed to send me for a tryout class. “Swifty, I appreciate you wanting to try new things, but you’ve got to be dedicated. We have to spend our money wisely,” my mom says. I’m dressed in a thin, white, cotton T-shirt with black leggings. My feet are adorned in running shoes. A backpack sits on my shoulders, stuffed with snacks and bottles of water. I’m not taking any chances. I rewatched the news piece that inspired me, and the style of dance looks tiring—constantly moving with skilled flips and spins which look impossible. Or that could just be because I’ve never done it before. After following Google Maps, my dad and I have ended up outside a grey warehouse. A logo’s been sprayed onto one side with vivid purple paint. The words read “Macie’s Dance Studio.” There are two wide doors graffitied with bubble words and wacky illustrations. “See you in an hour.” My dad nods. He holds open the door for me, and I walk inside. There’s a small reception room, an island desk with graffiti on the sides, the table purple. A woman with a short ponytail and a baggy grey T-shirt notes dates on a small notepad and calls someone’s name. A young boy stands up from a red leather couch on the right side of the room. His mother’s flicking through a gossip magazine, the cover of it bold with provocative sentences featured in highlighted text. A coffee table with competition advertisements piled in the center stands proud, like it’s won first place at the Olympics. The walls are splattered with model-esque monochrome posters, dancers reaching up to the sky, mid-somersault, collaborating. At the back end of the room, there is a door that looks like it would belong in a school classroom leading to rows of studios lined up behind each other. Just then, a middle-aged woman storms through the door in sporty wear. She’s got mousey-brown hair loosely tied up into a bun, while her cheeks are flaming red. “Lyla!” she says irately. “Our best student has quit!” Lyla smiles. “Masie, I’ve got a class to take right now, and we have a new student we need to take care of, but I’ll help you later. Is Swifty here?” I shyly raise my hand. Lyla nods, and we both walk through the doors into the dance studio. When we make it inside, there are some other girls and a few boys warming up, chatting to each other calmly. Unlike the ballet class, which had very similar-looking people, there’s a mixture of different sizes and ethnicities, which is really cool to see. To start off, I have to do some stretches and simple moves, which Lyla teaches me. Next, she talks about the kinds of moves I’ll be doing in class, while the others work on a complicated dance they’ve been learning. “So, there are four key kinds of movements: up, down, bounce, and drop,” she says, gesturing as she does so. “First we’ll learn ‘up.’ This is where your body rocks upward, like this.” She shows me a movement. It’s strong but relaxed. I copy her. We continue to do the move until I’ve got it. Next, we move on to down, then bounce and drop. I don’t remember much else. The class is so fun that time passes like a racing car. By the end of it, I’m sweating a gushing river, but I feel great. “Swifty, you did awesome today!” Lyla exclaims. “With progress, you can be even better!” I can see my dad staring through the door. He catches my eyes and gives me a thumbs-up. “How was it?” he asks cheerfully as we walk back to the car. “Awesome,” I reply. “Awesome.” Chapter 11 It’s the day of the Milky’s ad audition. To be honest, I haven’t really thought much about it with all that’s been going on lately. My dad drives me over to the venue because my mum’s got a test to see how she and my brother are doing. The venue is a small theater around our neighborhood. The outside is painted a creamy color. We walk inside and I get a name tag and badge. A staff member guides us to the main theater, and we walk past rows and rows of empty front seats. My dad gives me a hug when we reach the end. “Good luck,” he whispers, then joins the other parents at the back of the theater. I make my way backstage. My hands are super cold, and my legs feel shaky. A middle-aged man calls out names and points to spots in the line, just like at the orchestral concerta. I turn out to be one of the first in the line, probably because my last name starts with “A.” Whenever I hear the words “baby” and “brother” put together, I immediately feel jealous and scared. What will life be like after my brother is born? Stella’s a bit further down. I can see her talking to someone who must be one of her acting friends. If only I had someone to talk to. I like being first to perform because you can get it over and done with quickly, but at the same time, you want to be toward the middle so you can see how everything works. Luckily, one of the judges comes backstage and gives us a quick talk on how the auditions will run. “It would be best if you memorized the words,” he says, “but we have a teleprompter going just in case.” Once he leaves, I nervously jump up and down on the spot. Come on, Swifty. You got this, my inner pep talker says. But I haven’t got this. Last night, I