The afternoon started in perfection on the rainforest-island. Trees waved lazily, birds cawed in each limb, monkeys chattered greetings as they swung from vine to vine, and waves landed on the shore. A few feet off of the island, however, the watery perfection was silent. Other than the gentle lapping of the waves, not a sound was heard. Around four o’clock the soft hum of a luxury yacht split the calm. The white front of the boat divided the crystal blue neatly in two and left a trail of bubbling water behind. On its deck stood a young man in long trousers and a T-shirt, and through the wide observatory windows a tough-looking young woman stood at the wheel. The motor’s hum softened as the yacht drew near the island, and the young man on deck turned to go inside the spacious wheelhouse. A moment later he reappeared with a backpack. He pressed a button, and a wide dock began to unfold itself luxuriously from the depths of the boat. The young woman opened the door of the wheelhouse and walked down the bleached-white dock after the young man. They both stood shin-deep in water for a moment, looking at the island, and then they walked toward the shore. Both started. Their ears exploded with the sounds of a rainforest that had been absent only feet away. Something did not make this island fit for a resort, but no one knew what Martha paled until her face resembled computer paper. “I’m getting out of here,” she whispered. She hugged her passenger roughly, kissed him briefly on the cheek, shook sand out of her army boots, and walked back on board. As the dock refolded itself and tucked back into the depths of the boat, she gave a sad smile to her friend back onshore. The man trudged back into the silent world of water. “Are you sure you can’t wait for me, Martha?” he yelled. Martha shook her head, looking uncharacteristically frightened. “No! As it is I’m getting out of here as soon as I can. This place gives me the jivvers. I might have said yes before now, but it’s too unnatural. Whoever heard of a… a… whatever that is, a wall of sound? And besides, no one’s ever explored this place, unless you count the poor souls who didn’t come back.” She crossed herself. “No, it is you who should come back to the mainland with me.” Her voice turned brisk, and it was clear that she was trying to put her fear behind her. “But as you won’t change your mind, I’ll be back to pick you up tomorrow at noon. I’ll wait for an hour, and then I leave at one. Remember, if you get yourself killed, I will have to be the one who brings the news to your parents, so I will expect you alive and relatively unmutilated.” She walked back into the wheelhouse, folded the dock, gave a last sad wave, and sped away. Dave stared after her until the yacht was just a speck on the horizon, and then he turned to look at the island. It looked just like a rainforest was supposed to look, bursting with exotic animals and towering trees. It could be a perfect vacationing island resort, with sandy white beaches and hot-tub-temperature water. Something, though, did not make this island fit for a resort, but no one knew what. When a sixteenth-century explorer had first landed on the island in hopes of conquering it for Spain, he had vanished without a trace. His last communications consisted of a letter and a map, marking the island. Ferdinand and Isabella sent a division of the Navy to find him three years later, but those men had not come back either. The first people to come were certainly not the last, however. Over the centuries, a long line of adventurers had sailed out to the island, hoping to explore for varying periods of time, but none had ever returned. As far as anyone knew, Dave was the first to get to the island. Now, each country had banned its people from going there, keeping lookouts from afar to enforce the law. When Dave had expressed a wish to go there, Martha had promised that she could get around the lookouts and get Dave to the island. He had gotten here without getting caught, safe and sound, but the question remained: Would he be safe and sound when Martha came to pick him up in the morning? Dave shook the questions out of his head and went off to explore. By late evening, Dave was wondering why people had ever called the island dangerous. He had never seen any place more charming, and he had been studying rainforests for seven years. Had all of the fateful explorers simply been unlucky? A small, sensible part of Dave knew that the answer was no, but he couldn’t help feeling hopeful anyway. When night fell, Dave trudged out of the rainforest and back onto the beach, feeling confident. Already, in the few hours he had explored the island, Dave had found several new species, relatives of known animals, but new nonetheless. He had already filled pages of his journal with notes and drawings. Plus, he had found the sound wall, defying many of the basic scientific laws. Based on all of this, Dave knew that if he stayed the night he would be hailed as a hero. He just had to wake up alive. Dave found a nice sandy hill and set up his tent and stove. After a hasty dinner, he got inside the tent and debated whether or not to say prayers. Finally, he decided on it, for though he had never been the religious type he thought that he could use a little extra help. “Dear God…” he began, stumbling a little on the words, “I… I hope that you protect Mother and Father and Martha back on the mainland
May/June 2011
The Woolly Bear Caterpillar
Rachel sits on the cement garage steps, clutching a green toy car, while I push baby-blue Crocs onto her feet. My fingers grasp her hand as I help her stand up. Our feet—mine big and bare, and hers the tiny delicate ones of a three-year-old—pad on the cold, dark garage floor. My hand is holding Rachel’s, but not to support her. It is simply for the sake of feeling her tiny, pudgy fingers wrapped around mine. I push open the creaky backyard gate, and we cross the pathway and our sun-warmed patio to the brick wall by our garden. A puff of wind pushes Rachel’s long ringlets out of her face, and her big hazel eyes shine back at me. I hoist Rachel up on the faded, rough, rosy-colored bricks and then plop down beside her. Mikey comes running up just then, with his hand curled into a fist. “Look what I found, Lydia,” he says seriously, and opens his hand to show me what is nestled inside. It is a caterpillar, bristling with stripes of black and brown hair, curled tightly into a ball. “Cool! It’s a woolly bear caterpillar,” I explain, and he hands it to me. I show it to Rachel, who is amused by the small creature. It sits very still on the palm of my hand. It won’t uncurl, but I know it is not dead. It is simply shy, afraid. Mikey stands around to watch it for a minute or two, but then he is off like a rocket to go do something else. “It’s just you an’ me here, an’ da callapidder,” chirps Rachel “It’s just you an’ me here, an’ da callapidder,” chirps Rachel, and I laugh because she is exactly right. I set the insect down on the rocky dirt of the garden and pull Rachel onto my lap. We sit silently, waiting. Finally, the caterpillar feels safe. He stretches out once more into his original shape and plants his gray suction-cup feet onto the ground. He wriggles off to explore his surroundings, while Rachel observes cheerfully. I smile, knowing that each moment like this brings me and little Rachel closer together. And as we grow up and mature, just like the woolly bear caterpillar will, I will always be there for her as her older sister. Lydia Taverne, 13Auburn, Washington
Crunch
Crunch, by Leslie Connor; HarperCollins: New York, 2010; $16.99 A young boy named Dewey Mariss is running his dad’s bike shop during his parents’ anniversary trip. Unfortunately, the trip is right in the middle of an oil shortage. Just as Dewey’s parents are returning, the oil shortage heads into the extreme and leaves them with no gas. Dewey’s got an enormous responsibility to handle, and he’s not about to let it slip away. Due to the oil shortage, everyone wants a bike and no one expects lower than their standards. Pretty soon things start to get hairy, and Dewey’s five-year-old brother and sister have their bikes stolen. Luckily, he’s got his thirteen-year-old brother and Robert Deal (a guy he helped on the highway) as employees. Then bike parts get stolen, and Dewey starts to worry. Will he be able to manage? The person he’s suspecting is his neighbor, Mr. Spivey, who has stolen a couple of eggs and berries from the Mariss farm, so why not steal bike parts? After catching the thief by painting him blue, Dewey thinks his troubles are over. But when his dinky little shop gets tons of customers, his sister decides to close and not take in any more repairs. Also, he learns that his father was seriously injured—just as his parents were starting to shove off! Now he gets worried. He promised to manage the shop and now it’s fallen apart. He’s going to need a brilliant plan to survive. I started reading the book as an environmentalist. Though my position on the environment hasn’t changed thanks to the book, I think it goes hand-in-hand with my views of a (somewhat) utopian world in which all cars are electric and everyone rides a bike. Since there’s barely enough oil to go around, everyone is either walking or biking to work and home. This means no carbon emissions! However, the book does seem to suggest that life will get better when gasoline is back. I personally disagree with this view, no matter how much of it is legitimate. Really, this book shows how life can be good even without much oil, but that isn’t what it focuses on. Instead, the book’s central theme is survival. I can definitely connect to the “ain’t nobody here but us kids” style of the book, since I have been home alone several times. Fortunately, I have had a cell phone on all but one of those occasions. And communicating over the phone is something that I can also connect to, since Dewey and his siblings communicate with their parents in the same manner I do. Now, here’s how I imagine the way you would feel when reading Crunch. At the beginning, you would think “Wow, that is one big responsibility for a couple of kids,” and when the bikes get stolen, I picture you saying “Now who would do such a thing?! The nerve!” When Robert Deal joins the shop, “Phew! What a relief!” may be universal, as well as you whispering “Yikes! Who’s the thief?” when bike parts get stolen. While Dewey leaves the thief feeling blue, mouthing out “I’m glad that’s over!” will be a pushover. And it’s no surprise that you’ll be muttering “Gee, what’s he going to do?” as Dewey’s sister closes the shop. Fortunately, it’s another happy ending. Hooray! I think Crunch is a great book and will capture your attention. You certainly will enjoy it. If I had to give it a rating, I would say it is one of my favorites and is definitely worth reading. Juan Martin Velez, 11Houston, Texas
