She ran her hand over the table’s honey-colored surface and thought about her parents Gina Boston sat with her brother and grandmother at the old, well-used kitchen table in Grandma’s farmhouse. They were eating breakfast, which was mixed cereal, composed of six different kinds. Gina and her older brother, Caleb, were used to this because they had always had mixed cereals when they had lived with their parents. Maybe that’s why Grandma mixes different kinds of cereals—to make us feel better, Gina thought as she pushed her spoon around. She ran her hand over the table’s honey-colored surface (scarred and faded from years of baking and sunlight) and thought about her parents. They had both died in a car accident when Gina was ten years old. Gina and Caleb had not been in the car when the accident happened; in fact, they had been seven miles away, visiting their grandmother who lived in the country in a beautiful old farmhouse, where outside there was a cow, eight chickens, and four pigs. Before the accident happened, in 1967, Gina and her brother had lived in Maple Brook, Alberta, with their parents and the family’s fluffy white cat, Queenie. Gina did not know exactly how or when her grandmother had gotten the news, but it had been late one February night three years ago, and she and Caleb had been asleep. The next morning, Grandma had sat with them on the blue flowered couch and gently broken it to them that their parents were dead. Caleb and Gina had been numb for a minute and then had sobbed and sobbed. Now Gina could not remember what else had happened that day. In a few days they had all gone to Gina and Caleb’s house on Carlson Avenue, had taken everything out and chosen which things to give away and which things to move to Grandma’s farmhouse. This was not an easy task because items which had a week ago seemed unimportant now held special value and memories. A glass elephant that had always stood on the shelf, a bottle of Mom’s perfume, Dad’s favorite tie—now all these things had suddenly become priceless heirlooms. Grandma had sold the house in Maple Brook. Because she was their legal guardian, Gina and Caleb were to live permanently at her farmhouse. And now it was 1970, three years later, and they had finished breakfast. They put their bowls away, and Grandma asked what they were going to do that day. Caleb answered gloomily that he might as well stick around because there was nothing else to do until swimming in the late afternoon. “And plus,” he added hurriedly, glancing at Grandma, “my bike needs fixing anyway. The, um, gearshift is, uh, stuck.” “Is it, now?” Grandma chuckled softly. “Well, I guess you’ll have to fix it while you’re ‘sticking around.’ It’s funny, though; last week I thought you said the chain was stuck. And before that the chain needed oiling. Hmm. Your bike sure needs a lot of fixing.” Gina was laughing so hard she was doubled over and her glasses were falling off. She and her grandmother both knew that Caleb’s bike did not need to be fixed. For some reason her brother didn’t like riding his bike, and it was hilarious watching him try to make up excuses not to. Too bad for him, Gina thought, straightening her glasses. Grandma doesn’t want to use all that gas taking us to town, so that’s why she got us bikes. Gina said she was going to ride to town, to read at the library. “I actually like riding my bike. I don’t have to just sit at home pretending to fix it!” Her brother scowled at her. Grandma smiled and winked at her. “That sounds great, Gina. Have a nice time!” she called as Gina went out the door. “I will, Grandma! ’bye!” Gina ran to the back to get her bike. It was a glorious August day, and she said hello to the pigs and chickens before getting her bike from the barn. The barn was divided into two parts. One part was the garage, and the other part was Blossom, the cow’s, stall. She stroked Blossom and wheeled her bike through the yard. In seconds she was pedaling along the road. She loved riding her bike. Caleb did not. He grumbled about living in the country and not getting to ride his skateboard, which apparently was much cooler. But Gina was happy with where they lived, just far enough away from town, and close enough to bike to the library and other places. She still missed her parents, her home, and her old life terribly, but she loved riding her bike alone on the country road with her red hair blowing behind her and the wind in her face. She loved being alone with the grass and the sky—and the occasionally passing cars, and the birds, flying with her, were the only others on the windswept prairie. She got to Maple Brook and biked to the library. She stayed there for about two hours, and then she got on her bike and rambled up and down the old familiar streets. She came to her old house and stopped. A new family was living in it now, and with plastic riding toys and balls cluttering the untrimmed front lawn, the white paint peeling and shabby, and the hinges on the once-gleaming door rusty, her home looked nothing like the beautiful place it had once been when the Bostons had lived in it. Yet Gina could still (she always did this when she came by) see past the grimy walls with a dog-eared Sesame Street poster on one of them and handprints on another, and the broken coffee table tipped sideways where Mom’s piano had once stood, see past the dirty laundry strewn around, and someone else’s little kids running around wildly with jam on their shirts, and imagine her own family—Mom, with
November/December 2010
Ragtag
Ragtag, by Karl Wolf-Morgenländer; Clarion Books: New York, 2009; $16 There has been and still are wars between animals of different species. Have you ever heard of a war fought between city birds and birds of prey? Do you always think you’re too small or too weak to make a difference? Well, you and Ragtag could get along just fine. Ragtag is a young swallow that is a member of the Feathered Alliance. He doesn’t want to attend the council meetings so he flies off on his own. On a dark and stormy night a storm blows him into an old abandoned factory. At first he hears a sharp noise like nails on a chalkboard, and then he sees strong, powerful wings. He sees sharp, crooked talons and beak, and the floor stained with crimson blood. Huddled into a corner is an injured eagle named Baldur. Once Ragtag cuts through the rope restraining Baldur, the two make an agreement that Baldur will help fight the Talon Empire. This strong bond between these two characters reminds me of the promises I make to my teachers. Before we take a math test my teacher would take up our notes and check to see if they had a parent’s signature. My teacher trusted me so much, I didn’t have to show them to her. The method the Talon Empire used to attack Boston reminds me of the way my coaches taught strategies on how to take the ball away from my opponent. The fight between Hoogol and Bergelmir was one of the most exciting events in the story. A great horned owl and osprey are locked in a fight to the death. This is the climax because secrets spill out while they are fighting. This reminded me of when I hid a test and didn’t tell anyone until two days later. When Hoogol passed up his leadership because he was dying, he passed it to Ragtag. This reminded me of when my grandmother passed her special box to me before she died. Bobtail, Ragtag’s older brother, is jealous of him for inheriting the leadership. He was the one who attended all the meetings and helped form battle plans. This part reminded me of when my friends get jealous when people get new cell phones, but eventually, like Bobtail, they put it behind them. When Loki the crow flew off to join Ragtag and Tattler in the battle, it reminded me of when another person and I put aside our differences and decided to help each other. At the end of the story, when the city birds won victory over the birds of prey, it signaled that no more blood would have to be shed, no more lives would have to be lost, and they could unite all the birds of the city together and make the Feathered Alliance stronger. The birds broke out into a symphony greater than any ever heard. The way the author described it they sounded like a professional orchestra. Ragtag shows that a war can’t be won by a soldier’s strength or brain power. The war can only be won by the size of the soldier’s heart. Ragtag keeps you reading after every single page. At the end of each chapter, I couldn’t wait to find out what happened next. As a reader and a book reviewer I hope to read another Karl Wolf-Morgenlander book very soon. John Delbert Floyd II, 11Loris, South Carolina
To Follow a Fox
She arrived at school just in time to see a reddish-orange fox disappearing into the forest Cassandra sat at her desk in the midst of piles of papers and books. She had cleared a small space where a piece of paper and a few colored pencils were cramped together. A picture of a waterfall flooded into her mind. She hurriedly picked out the blue pencil and drew it. As always, the picture didn’t come out just how she imagined it. The light didn’t hit the water the right way, making it sparkle, and where the waterfall hit the pond, it didn’t bubble and foam quite the way she would’ve liked. “Ah well,” she said, thrusting the picture into her pocket and grabbing her backpack. She hurried out of her room and stuffed a piece of toast down her throat without tasting it. She ran out of the door and into the ugly yellow school bus. She arrived at school just in time to see a reddish-orange fox disappearing into the forest. She glanced quickly at her watch: five minutes till the bell rang. I’ll chance it, she thought, and chased the fox. She reached a large, grassy clearing where it was sitting on a rock, its legs crossed and its elbows on its knees. Its face lit up when it saw Cassandra and it turned around, its tail bristling, and disappeared once again into the endless forest. Still astonished at what she had just seen, she followed the fox once more. Cassandra arrived at a little spring of water she never knew existed. She didn’t think twice that she was supposed to be in math class but was instead following a fox through the woods. The fox turned to make sure it was still being followed and strode purposefully into the spring. To Cassandra’s surprise, it disappeared once more, but this time it left no trace. Deciding quickly, Cassandra walked into the spring, her light blond hair darkening as the water washed over her. She closed her eyes to shield them from the cool water raining down on her face. After about thirty seconds of being thoroughly soaked through, she stepped out from the spring and wiped her wet eyes before opening them. She was no longer surrounded by just green and brown but a marvelous array of colorful fruits. The fox was nowhere to be seen, but a girl with reddish-orange hair was sitting cross-legged on a rock with her elbows on her knees. Her face lit up when she saw Cassandra had stepped out of the spring. “I’m Emily,” said the girl shortly. She picked up a blue fruit resembling a teardrop and threw it to Cassandra. “Eat it, it’s good,” said Emily, biting into one herself. Cassandra was hesitant to eat it but finally decided to try it. She bit off a small chunk of the fruit. It was the most unexplainable and delicious fruit she had ever tasted, and she quickly finished it. In a matter of seconds she was reaching for another. “I’m Cassandra,” she said through a full mouth that had been craving food since her tiny breakfast. When she had had her fill of all the wonderful new fruits, the ground was littered with cores and pits and stems. Emily stood waiting for her. “Eat it, it’s good,” said Emily, biting into one herself “Where did that fox go?” asked Cassandra. Emily smirked. “I am the fox,” she said. “When someone from this world goes into your world, they turn into an animal. I turn into a fox.” Slightly confused, Cassandra followed Emily as she began making her way through the forest with fox-like agility. Cassandra struggled to keep up and, more than once, Emily had to stop and wait for her. “What do you mean, my world? Isn’t this my world?” Cassandra asked. “No,” said Emily, her reddish-orange hair trailing behind her as she cut a quick corner. Cassandra’s blond hair instead got caught by a bramble and caused a sharp pain in the back of her head when she tugged it out. “Where are we going anyway?” asked Cassandra, clutching her head. “You’ll see,” replied Emily. Cassandra hated when people said things like that. Anyone who knew her knew that she hated waiting for surprises to be revealed, but when they finally came, she was glad no one had spoiled them by telling her. “Water,” began Emily, snapping Cassandra out of her thoughts, “has a strange effect on the two worlds we were talking about. Certain bodies of water, ones that rain from above like springs and waterfalls, act as passageways between them. When you want to get back, just find another spring or waterfall and it’ll bring you to the closest spring or waterfall to your home. That’s the spring we used to get here, the one by your school.” Cassandra soaked in the knowledge like a dry sponge thirsting for water. Something rang a bell in the back of her mind. She pulled out the picture of a waterfall she had made earlier that morning. The colors had run a little and the page was still wet but you could still see the picture. She shook her head and dismissed it as mere coincidence that she had drawn the passage between two worlds on the day she actually used it. She slipped it back into her pocket. After what seemed like hours of walking in the cool, dark shade of the tall, leafy trees, they arrived at a tall stone building. Emily placed her hand on the door and indicated for Cassandra to do the same. Emily removed her hand and Cassandra followed her example. Two hands glowed, indented, on the door. “Emily and visitor!” exclaimed a harsh, sinister voice. “Come in!” They obeyed. Inside was a large, spiral staircase leading to the second floor. They climbed it and entered a room. Emily nudged Cassandra towards the large throne-like chair occupied by a portly man wearing robes of
