Hello. My name is Oak. And if you didn’t already guess, I am a tree. I’ve heard rumors of trees that grow delicious fruit, Of trees that bloom exotic flowers, Or even trees that are so tall that it seems they can see the whole world. It must be nice having a purpose. I don’t have anything special about me. Just your typical, everyday tree. I live in the backyard of a small house. People rarely go in and out. I keep to myself. I don’t mind, really. I’m used to being alone. Years ago, I wasn’t alone. I had a beautiful friend named Marigold living right next to me. I don’t like to think about her. When the snow came, she passed. Now I don’t have friends. Seasons passed, The grass grew, And eventually, The people moved away. I didn’t really mind. It wasn’t that different. It’s just life. I watched the sun. Up and down and up and down. Time passed. I stood. Waiting. For what? I don’t know. But soon, I found out. A new family moved in. They trimmed my branches, They cut the grass, And best of all, They brought new life. A flower sprouted next to me. Her name was Rose. We talk. She reminds me of Marigold. And sometimes the other trees join in too. There’s this tree I like. Birch is his name. He makes Rose laugh. I laugh too. And realize how long it’s been since I laughed. But time passes. Leaves fall. Snow coats the ground, Coating Rose too. I shouldn’t ever have made her my friend. I care too much. And, Well, I think you understand. The snow has coated my branches. This is the coldest winter I’ve ever been through. Birch tries to make me laugh. I try to laugh, But I can’t. But the world moves on, Winter passes, Snow melts. Spring takes over, Bringing new life. I take a deep breath. “Rose?” I say, “You’re back?” “I never left,” she says. Seasons pass. I notice all the birds chirping, The bees buzzing, I sleep. I wake up to a rustling. I see small children climbing me. I wish I could shake them off. But then I realize, That I could have a purpose. Soon I go back to sleep. But I am woken up by a loud chirping. I look in my highest branch And see a mother bird feeding her young. I look down and see worms burrowing through my roots, And even a young man using my shade to read. You see, I’ve heard rumors of trees that grow delicious fruit, Of trees that bloom exotic flowers, Or even trees that are so tall that it seems they can see the whole world. And I have a purpose too. People climb me, They use my shade, I am a home, And best of all, I am a friend. Now, I stand up a little bit straighter, A little bit taller, I never knew how much there was to see. Of course, I never really looked. Graham TerBeek, 10Towson, MD
Naomi and Oscar are best friends, and they do the same thing every day—or at least, they used to Naomi Keith’s feet slapped the cracked pavement of the sidewalk. She scoured the streets of Cedar Key, their small Florida town, looking for any interesting people. Her best friend, Oscar Hernandez, walked next to her. Suddenly, she spotted a middle-aged woman wearing wrinkled khaki long pants, even in ninety-degree June weather, and a puffy black jacket. She had a baseball cap pulled low and her phone was shoved near her face. She looked rather cross. A perfect suspect. Naomi nudged Oscar and pointed discreetly at the woman walking on the other side of the street. “That woman . . . is actually a certified genius. She attends an elite top college that almost nobody knows about, and she’s one of five people there. She’s working on designing an app like FaceTime but you only have to move your lips and the device you’re using will read your lips and what you’re saying will appear as text on the other person’s screen.” Naomi paused for a breath. “She looks mad because the app isn’t working right. Also, she has been working day and night on it and hasn’t been able to get much sleep. She hasn’t been able to change clothes, so that’s why her pants are wrinkled. Her face is close to the screen because . . . the translator isn’t working and the other person is getting something like ‘Pig sit docking?’ instead of ‘Is this working?’ so she puts her mouth as close to the screen as possible.” Naomi grinned. That was her best one for the day yet, by far. She looked to Oscar for feedback, but to her surprise, he was looking longingly at the posse of popular boys who were monkeying around on the nearby skate park. “Oscar! Did you even listen to my story? It was the best one yet,” Naomi said, annoyed. “What? Oh, yeah, it was good.” But Naomi could tell that he hadn’t really been listening. “Um, hey, Naomi?” Oscar said suddenly, after a minute of awkward silence. “Yeah?” Naomi said, thinking he meant to apologize. “Um, would you mind if I join those guys over there?” He jerked his thumb over to the direction of the skate park, taking Naomi by surprise. “But . . . you don’t skate,” was all Naomi could manage to get out. “I’m sure I can borrow one of the guys’ boards. Please, Na? Just today. We’ll walk again tomorrow.” “Sure . . .” Naomi replied uncertainly. But she wasn’t so certain she wanted Oscar to go. “Thanks, Na. You’re the best,” Oscar called. “Yeah,” Naomi mumbled once he was out of earshot. “But you still don’t want to hang out with me.” Her feelings hurt, she trudged home, not even stopping for a mango smoothie to cool her down. After all, that was something she only did with Oscar. And clearly he didn’t want to hang out with her anymore. He was her best (and only) friend. They had been playing together since preschool and would go on walks every day. As they walked, they would look at passersby and imagine stories about them. It was her favorite time of the day. She looked forward to being with Oscar. But now, apparently, he was ditching her for those crazy skateboarding boys. She sighed in relief when she reached her house. “How was your walk?” her mother asked, wiping perspiration from her forehead. She had been cleaning out the attic for a garage sale, which was a taxing task. “Mmm,” Naomi mumbled, not wanting to talk about it. She shuffled up the stairs and into her room. She closed her window, which was now just letting in the humid Florida summer air, and switched on her fan. It whirred to life and blew cold air at her sweaty face. She lined the fan up by her bed and flopped onto it to think, staring at the cracks and water stains in the ceiling as she did so. Did I do something wrong? I don’t think so. I was just telling a story about that woman, which was perfectly okay because just moments earlier he had been telling a story about that guy in his fancy Lexus zooming down the street way too fast. That was a funny one. Although come to think of it . . . it didn’t have as much detail as Oscar’s stories usually have. And he was kinda distracted as he told it. I thought he was just thinking about what to say next, but apparently not. And why would he want to hang out with the posse of popular boys? They’re annoying and immature . . . and he doesn’t even skate! Naomi sighed and rubbed her temples. It was all so confusing! Suddenly, a new thought occurred to her: is it possible that he thinks that being friends with a girl when we’re twelve is weird? She mulled this one over for quite some time, finally deciding that it was the most reasonable answer—but also the one that she liked the least. Why would it be weird? Everybody in their small Florida town knew that Oscar and Naomi were best friends. It was just a fact, like everyone knew little Mrs. White was widowed. It was just . . . a thing. Nobody acted weird if they saw Naomi and Oscar together. Is it possible that he thinks that being friends with a girl when we’re twelve is weird? She puzzled a little more until dinner, where she was unusually quiet. She focused on picking at her food, cold soba noodles with cabbage and pork, and keeping a bite in her mouth at all times. That night, sleep did not come easily. Naomi tossed and turned, the events of the afternoon replaying themselves over and over in her mind. Eventually, at 11:30, she managed to fall into a light
