I didn’t mean to set off the school’s sprinkler system, it just happened. It was stupid to put my plastic lunch silverware into the cafe’s microwave, I admit. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone along with Delilah’s dare, but I guess it couldn’t have gotten any worse than it already was. Let’s start at the beginning of the story, where the dares got out of hand. It was a cold, windy night, right on the verge of being winter. The moon was out and bright, shining in my best friend’s bedroom window. We were sitting on her baby-blue shag carpet, playing a round of Dare. Dare was a game we played at every sleepover with one another, almost like our own tradition. On this night, however, the dares were more intricate, more dangerous. “Delilah, I dare you to go drink milk from the gallon!” I dared her. A scared look crossed her face, because she knew that if she drank from the gallon and was caught, she could get grounded for a week. “OK,” Delilah finally answered, “but watch my back, Alice.” I nodded and followed Delilah out of her room, into the upstairs hallway, which was decorated with pictures of Delilah and her two brothers, Ellison and Penn. They were older than Delilah, but they spent lots of time with her, unlike my brother. Sneaking down the hallway as quietly as we could, I tried to listen for any noises from downstairs, and there were none, thankfully. We snuck down Delilah’s carpet-covered steps and tiptoed into her big, modern kitchen. Quickly, with me standing guard by the kitchen entrance, Delilah opened the refrigerator door, took out the gallon of milk, and took a big gulp of it. Laughing, and waiting for Delilah to put away the milk, we rushed up to her bedroom and fell into a laughing lump on the floor. “How long should I put it in for?” I asked Delilah “I can’t believe you did that!” I giggled. “Me neither!” she laughed. “OK, time for your dare. You have to melt a plastic fork in the school’s microwave on Monday.” Delilah lost her smile, and she looked very serious. “Really? Doesn’t that seem kind of harsh?” I ask, suddenly uncertain. I nervously toyed with my long dark braid and didn’t look at Delilah. “Oh, come on! Don’t be a sissy!” Delilah groaned. Neither of us had ever not done a dare, so what I was doing was like breaking tradition. Staring at Delilah, I realized she really wanted me to do it, so I sighed and mumbled, “Fine, I’ll do it.” On Monday, I wasn’t ready to melt a plastic fork, but Delilah was. She was so excited, so ready, that it was like she was doing the dare. I would gladly let her do it, but I wasn’t about to break my streak. When it was lunchtime, after Delilah and I had gotten our lunches and had finished eating, we went over to the microwaves. “How long should I put it in for?” I asked Delilah. “Thirty minutes,” she answered right away. Slowly, I opened the microwave door and set the plastic fork on the glass plate in the microwave. I quickly closed the door to the microwave and glanced around to see if anyone had spotted me doing this. No one seemed to be looking at us, so I set the time to 30:00, then hit the start button. Delilah and I watched the plastic fork go round and round for a while, then we went back to our seats. We forgot about the fork for the rest of the lunch period, but it didn’t forget about us too quickly. In fifth hour, when I was drawing for art class, the intercoms crackled to life. It was the secretary, Mrs. Junebee. “Will all students and staff please evacuate the building. I repeat, will all students and staff please evacuate the building.” “You heard her. Everybody up and out the door,” Mr. Keisker, my art teacher, said. With a pounding heart, I stood up and followed the rest of my class out the classroom door. We went down the hallway and out the closest door to us that led outside. Conveniently, my art class stood next to Delilah’s gym class. “You think this has to do with the fork?” I asked Delilah. My face was pale, and my hands were shaking. “No. Maybe. I dunno,” Delilah answered. Mrs. Lusko, the female gym teacher, was doing roll call, and when she called Delilah’s name, she piped up with a “Here!” I turned away from Delilah, suddenly too scared to talk anymore. I felt cold, even though it was almost ninety degrees out. Mr. Keisker finished roll call for my class, then spoke into a walkie-talkie that had been attached to his belt. A little while later, the secretary came outside and told us it was OK to go in. We were at the back of the building, so when we went inside, we were surprised to see that firefighters were scattered everywhere on the arts floor. They were everywhere on every floor, I heard from one of the teachers. We finished the day, and after school Delilah called me. “So, did you hear what happened?” Delilah asked me, once I answered the phone. “That a sixth-grader is going to be expelled for blowing up her school?” I asked. “No! One of the ovens blew up in the cafe, and it took the microwave with it. I saw it on my way back to the gym. It had nothing to do with your fork, Alice!” Delilah laughed. I suddenly felt very relieved, but still kind of guilty. “Well, I’m going to eat dinner. Bye, Alice!” Delilah laughed. I didn’t get to say goodbye before Delilah hung up the phone. Tuesday morning, I went to the secretary and asked for Mr. Ervin, the school’s principal. “Sure, dear, right this way,” Mrs. Luvaskuah, or Mrs. Luva, said. She led
May/June 2017
The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate
The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate, by Jacqueline Kelly; Henry Holt and Company: New York, 2009; $17.99 Calpurnia Tate is the kind of eleven-year-old who is always asking questions—questions about nature and animals and insects, such as why do dogs need eyebrows, or can earthworms be trained? Such topics fascinate her. The only person who can answer them is her grandfather, who spends his time either in his laboratory, trying to make whisky out of pecans, or out in the quiet Texas woods of 1899, picking his way through the underbrush, examining plants and various toads. Unfortunately, Calpurnia finds his bushy eyebrows and scratchy voice imposing and so contents herself with writing the questions down in a notebook one of her six brothers had given her. One day, a question about grasshoppers nags at her so much that she simply has to confront her fears and ask her grandfather. Rather than answering her question, he simply tells her, “I suspect a smart young whip like you can figure it out. Come back and tell me when you have.” This is something I hear a lot from the teachers at my Montessori school—they encourage me to figure out the problem at hand for myself, instead of having one of them solve it. Calpurnia and her grandfather end up growing closer because of their shared love of science and nature. They go on walks together, and these are some of my favorite scenes in the book, the two of them tromping out into the woods that surround Calpurnia’s home, observing, taking notes on, and collecting samples of the lush green forest that surrounds them. I, for one, can understand why she was so in love with nature. Last summer, I went on a weeklong hiking trip in Michigan’s Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. There were so many beautiful sights, and I loved just leaving technology behind and being able to get a close look at the beautiful world surrounding me. In sharp contrast to her grandfather, Calpurnia’s mother wants her to stay inside and act like a lady, which means learning to sew and knit, neither of which she cares for. Even worse, she expects Calpurnia to be a debutante, basically an upper-class young lady who has reached the age of maturity and is ready to be introduced to society through debutante balls. Worst of all, it means you are ready to get married, something Calpurnia views as being stuffed into fancy dresses and put up for auction to the highest bidder. So when Calpurnia announces one night at the table that she wants to go to college to become a scientist, her mother is very unhappy. This book made me curious and had me asking questions of my own, like, How many types of trees are in the world? (about 100,000); and, How old is the oldest tree? (a bristlecone pine tree from California’s White Mountains is thought to be almost 5,000 years old). The author, Jacqueline Kelly, does a wonderful job of creating the characters and giving them each a unique personality. Calpurnia’s mother rules the house with an authoritative and firm grasp, daring all living under her roof to try and disobey her. Meanwhile, her youngest brother J.B.’s docility and cheerful outlook on the world manage to calm Calpurnia, especially after an exasperating lecture about ladyhood given by her mother. This book made me want to go explore outside. I would recommend this book to any scientist, as well as my fellow tree-huggers. June Hill, 13Fort Wayne, Indiana
Rock-Star Nightmare
Thump, thump, thump. My heart beat like an animal, slapping its tail on the ground. Wiggly worms crawled in my stomach. My mom called it “butterflies in your stomach.” I looked up to see a domed spiraling ceiling, the only window. I nibbled my fingers and desperately tried not to cry. “Tamari, you’ll have fun,” my mom said to me in a gentle voice. And right after she finished her sentence, a lady appeared from down the hall. I darted behind my mom’s pink dress as fast as an arrow and buried my head in it. I squeezed my eyes tightly, letting hot tears crawl down my pale cheeks. My mouth was held shut by my dry bony hands. Oh, why did my mom take me to rock-and-roll school for my birthday present? She knows I am shy! My teacher came click-clacking over in her high heels. The sound echoed across the empty huge, dim room. My teacher immediately saw me and exclaimed, “Well hello! You must be Tamari, right?” “Uh huh,’’ I whispered, wishing I could disappear. Wet sweat rolled down my messy brown hair. “We’ll go now,” my teacher, who had red cheeks and a big smile she couldn’t wipe off her face, told my mom. Mom, please don’t leave, I thought furiously. Then the teacher pulled me down the hall. Dim lights shone on the eerie cold quiet hallway. A discomforting smell of leather combined with sweat filled the hallway, as if hung by an invisible string. Rock-and-roll music sounded from each closed door. Suddenly a familiar girl’s voice called out, “Tamari! Over here!” My hands brushed against the white bumpy hallway, and the ceiling was low. The place looked like a prison. Please don’t cry. That will be embarrassing. I really wish Kamary, my best friend, was here. I hate this place, I thought. My legs felt like Jell-O as I wobbled nervously with my teacher, who held my hand, pulling me across the hallway. Our footsteps rang throughout the empty hall, as the red-and-white stone floor creaked. The sound of the air-conditioning system echoed through the halls. The hallway was an endless row of gray doors. My eyes started to leak out cold wet tears, like a broken pipe. Please, I want to go home. Please, I don’t want to stay. I hate my mom. I hate my teacher. I hate this place. But, worst of all, I hate being shy, I thought. “No need to cry. You’ll have fun,” my teacher assured me in her loud jolly voice. “N-no I-I won’t,” I stammered. “I-I I’m t-too shy.” My teacher bent down and whispered in my left ear, “You’ll have fun,” wrapping her warm hands around me. The rock-and- roll music got louder and louder. I walked slower and slower. I don’t like this. I want to leave, I thought. My heart beat with every step I took. A yummy smell of a flowery perfume took over the discomforting smell. Suddenly a familiar girl’s voice called out, “Tamari! Over here!” I quickly turned my head to see a blond curly-haired girl wearing a blue T-shirt and gray long pants which stretched down to her ankles. It was Kamary, my best friend! I raced over to her as fast as I could and wrapped my arms around her. My heart felt like it got filled with hot chocolate. My eyes filled with joyful tears as I tried not to cry, but it was hard. I could feel the smile growing on my face. Relief filled my forehead and my pale cheeks turned as red as an apple. My teacher smiled and walked over, with her hands on her hips. I could barely hear her say, “I told you.” Yes! She really came! I never knew she would come. Thanks, Mom, for bringing me to the awesome class, I thought. “This place is so nice,” I told her happily. “Yes,” she exclaimed, “with you around.” I felt like I was in a man’s best dream. Together, holding hands, we walked down the hallway to our classroom. It turned out to be all right. Rock-and-rolling is what makes me feel joyful, like a dreamy piece of dark chocolate that flows over your heart. Brian Qi, 10Lexington, Massachusetts Thomas Buchanan, 13Newalla, Oklahoma