Is this a dream? I’m walking through the birch trees half covered in melting snow as the breaking of dawn comes closer and closer to the snow-covered forest. The swift breeze is blowing against my face, making my hair blow in the wind as the broken leaves get blown into the sky far away. The snow, as soft as fur, is giving me time to think about what’s going on and it feels as if nothing in the world could ever disturb this peaceful moment in time. I’m hearing the owls traveling back to their home and the sparrows just awakening and starting to sing their morning song. I feel this moment in time might be the most peaceful moment in my life. I feel as if I could see the whole forest right from where I’m standing. The sound of the stream flowing down the forest soothes my mind and makes it feel in a deep slumber. A pack of wolves howl together in perfect harmony like they had been for years, and a fox is protecting its family with its full concentration. A couple of fawns are playing together as if nothing bad could happen in the big world. A hawk is bringing food back to its infants. All these animals living together in absolute perfect harmony and all in the same snow-covered forest. I feel this moment in time might be the most peaceful moment in my life I climb up a birch tree half covered in snow and get to a high stable branch next to a sparrow’s nest. As dawn finally breaks I remember that I have been out for two hours and maybe even more. Then I realize that there is a distant voice encouraging me to keep walking deeper in the forest. I don’t know if I should, but I have a strange feeling I probably should. So I walk further into the forest and as I walk the snow crunches with every step I take because of the twigs in the soft snow. But then all of a sudden my sight is drowned in a bright light! I close my eyes so the light doesn’t hurt them and when I open my eyes again I find myself in my room. I hear my mom calling, “It’s time to go to school!” so I get out of my pajamas, put my clothes on, and get my backpack ready for school. As I make my way to school I remember the dream I had last night about walking through the snow-covered forest and how peaceful and vivid it was. Then I think about what it would be like if this was a dream. Pranav wrote this story when he was 8. Pranav Parekh, 10Santa Cruz, California Vaeya Nichols, 10Ozark, Missouri
November/December 2013
The Mighty Miss Malone
The Mighty Miss Malone, by Christopher Paul Curtis; Wendy Lamb Books: New York, 2012; $15.99 Usually I can tell whether I like a book or not within the first chapter. With this book, I could tell in the first sentence. When I read, “‘Once upon a time…’ If I could get away with it, that’s how I’d begin every essay I write,” I knew I would love it. As I kept reading, I proved myself right. Deza Malone is a twelve-year-old girl who has “the heart of a champion… [and is] steady as a rock.” Her story brought the Great Depression and the particular hardships for African-Americans more to life than any American Girl doll book I’ve ever read. Though it reminded me in subject of the American Girl series, I thought it was much better. I think I might have a new favorite book, and a new friend: Deza. She was so real, I looked carefully to see if it was based on a true story. Sadly, I found it wasn’t. Then again, considering what Deza goes through, I was happy to find the story did not actually happen. The one thing I want in all my books is that sense of reality, and this book brought it. Deza Malone starts out as a smart schoolgirl and goes from that to being practically homeless. Her father is injured, her brother runs away, and she has nowhere to live but a hobo camp. There, even the hobo people are prejudiced against her because of her race. At the end of the book, Deza’s torn family is scraped back together again, but nothing is the same. Although she doesn’t get her old life back, her story still feels complete. It doesn’t have a fairy-tale ending, nor is it a Shakespearean tragedy. It suggests both a sequel and a continued life for Deza. It says that her story doesn’t stop there. I sat there for several minutes after I finished, thinking about what might be in store for Deza. One part of the book I really liked was when Deza was talking about her family. They sounded like people I would love to hang out with. They all have these quirks and special qualities, just like real people. For example, Deza’s dad loves to speak using alliteration. Though it can be annoying for Deza it is also a very endearing characteristic. Another part of the book I can’t stop replaying in my head is when Deza first sees her father again. He is stitched up, bloody, and bruised. I expected Deza to play the typical good heroine and immediately welcome him. I thought Deza would open her arms for her daddy, not caring about his appearance. Deza didn’t do that. In fact, she didn’t even recognize him at first. When she did, Deza was upset, unforgiving, and—real. It was so sad and pathetic and it made me ache to see her act the way she did. But I also found it really authentic and touching. It was unexpected but made sense. The main thing that I think matters in a good book is whether or not it keeps you wanting more. If it is all action scenes, it gets overwhelming. If the whole book is meaningless description, it is not engaging at all. But this book was right in the middle. The descriptions gave you needed information, and the action was suspenseful and varied. And it all had a little pinch of humor. This book is pretty close to perfect. After reading it, I realized I still was thinking and talking like Deza! Southern twang, hobo slang, and all. I will be telling all my friends about this book, and I am sure they will love it too. Emma Maze, 13Hanahan, South Carolina
A Special Present
“Nice choice,” said the lady behind the counter Florence wiped her brow with her winter mitten, plunged her shovel into a giant mound of soft snow, and leaned on it for a break. She was almost finished. Her Uncle Larry had suggested that she shovel snow to make money for Christmas presents, and he had been right; it did pay well. But he had mentioned nothing about how much work it was or how sore her muscles would be after shoveling just three driveways. She was hard at work on her fourth, Mr. Crummbino’s, with only a small patch of snow to shovel. She was charging five dollars for each driveway cleared, so when she calculated it out, she would need to shovel two more (after completing this one) to come up with the necessary shopping budget, which was thirty dollars. She needed to buy something for her mother, her father, her seven-year-old sister, Kyra, her friend Rachel, her grandmother, and her grandfather. Christmas was in four days, and she planned to go shopping on Christmas Eve. Shoveling one driveway a day, she would make it to Christmas Eve with thirty dollars. Which means I’d better get working, she thought, glancing at her watch. It was 6:45 p.m., and to get to her house across the street in time for dinner at seven o’clock, she would need to hurry and finish her work. She ached all over but managed to shovel the last pile of snow out of the way and walk up to Mr. Crummbino’s royal-blue door. He opened it. He was dressed in a dark blue sweater with green trim that almost matched his door. A short stubble of a beard lined the smile he wore when he looked down his driveway. Shining eyes gazed down at Florence warmly. “You did a good job, Florence. Here’s your pay.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, took out the money in it, and peeled a five-dollar bill off of the thin roll of bills. “Thank you,” she mumbled, folding the crisp, clean bill and neatly slipping it into her pocket. He smiled again and waved as she turned to go. She looked both ways before crossing the street. Her watch informed her that she had exactly eight minutes to change out of her snow clothes and get to dinner. When she reached her front deck, she turned around and inspected her work. Even she had to admit she’d done a great job. Look at me, she thought, I’m working hard and making money. She felt very mature at that thought, and she straightened up as she kicked the snow from her boots and went inside. * * * Christmas Eve came up quickly. . Like she had planned, she covered two more driveways in the following two days, so the day before Christmas, she set out to do her shopping. The town square was buzzing with people, rushing around and trying to finish their Christmas shopping. Florence was the only one who had time to relax. She had a whole afternoon and, unlike many of the customers milling about, she didn’t have a family to get back to. Her father’s gift was the easiest to decide on because he’d been talking about the navy-blue wool hat for weeks. Many stores were sold out of it, but she miraculously found one that was on sale, and she bought the last one before it was too late. She bought a bottle of perfume for her mother. The sweet gardenia smell was irresistible, and she knew her mother would like it. For her grandfather, she got a small wooden plaque that read, “Destiny is not the path given to you, but the path you choose.” Her superstitious grandmother would receive a good-luck charm. Rachel, she knew, would be happy to get a pack of the extra-fruity bubblegum. She had five dollars left in her pocket and just one gift left to buy. She needed to buy something for Kyra. She was just entering a jewelry store when something sparkly caught her eye. She soon found herself gaping at the flashy bracelet that she had always wanted, but it had always been too expensive. The bracelet had shiny glass beads of orange, red, and pink. Now, a large price tag dangled from the small silver clasp. The price tag flashed four capital letters written in red: SALE. She picked up the bracelet and turned over the tag. It would cost her five dollars. Exactly the amount she had left. Things couldn’t be any better. A smile lit up her face. But the smile evaporated the moment she remembered that she still needed to get Kyra’s gift. Her mind went crazy, trying to think of a solution to the dilemma. Her intuition told her to get Kyra’s present, but the bracelet might not be on sale anymore when she had saved up enough money to buy it later. How wonderful it would feel to walk into class the day winter break ended! How perfect it would look, shimmering on her hand! Besides, she could give Kyra the doll she had at home. The doll’s hair was tangled and one eye didn’t open, but… Florence tried not to think of that. All she could think about was how proud she would feel when she came to school with that bracelet gleaming around her wrist. Selfishness overcame her, and she pushed the little voice that told her the right thing to do out of her mind. She walked up to the checkout counter and placed the bracelet on top. “Nice choice,” said the lady behind the counter in her southern accent, “I think it’s the last one we have.” Florence could only nod and gulp down her guilt. * * * On Christmas Day, Florence rushed over to Rachel’s house, which was two blocks down from hers. When she presented the gum to her, Rachel was ecstatic with delight. “The extra-fruity bubblegum!” she beamed.
