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100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13

September/October 2001


By

Bingo!

Swissh! Ed was playing basketball on the slab, a super-smooth playground on the campus of Country Day, his school. In the coolness of the evening the asphalt felt oddly warm beneath Ed’s bare feet. He was playing with his best friend Dave, and he had just scored a two-pointer while Dave was blocking him. “In your eye!” Ed screamed. Just as Ed noticed it was getting dark, his mom yelled, “Come on up, boys, dinner is starting, and we have to eat before bingo.” Ed felt free of school rules as he walked over to his shoes that he had kicked aside earlier, and thought about Mr. Gonzalez as he put them back on. Mr. Gonzalez was the headmaster and had an uncanny way of getting Ed into trouble when he had the chance. Like that time when he had yelled at the boys for swinging on the swings loudly during a school play. Geez, some people . . . The boys raced up to the Pavilion and, as always, Dave, who was six months older, won. They bought bingo cards, ate their spaghetti dinner like wolves, threw a couple of croutons and got ready to play by clearing their cards. The Pavilion, a hilltop pentagonal building, looked like an anthill. People were walking every which way, babies were screaming, not to mention girls. The corrugated galvanized roof reflected the sounds so that it sounded as if all the four-year-olds in the universe were reciting the alphabet in their own different languages. The microphone was now being adjusted by the announcer and it made a noise that made Ed’s ears beg for mercy. People were walking every which way, babies were screaming, not to mention girls Ed played the first few rounds but did not win. These rounds were regular bingo (five in a row) and had boring prizes, such as sea-life books and an art kit. After those, both the rounds and the prizes got more interesting. Twenty-five dollar gift certificates, a blow-up soccer goal and thirty dollars worth of food at a good Chinese restaurant. Dave won a prize from one of these rounds, a twenty-five-dollar gift certificate to a place in town that he had never heard of before, Royal Poinciana. He was worried that he would not like his prize, but he was reassured by Ed’s mom. “It’s a cool place Dave, kind of like Lamuria.” Ed’s head was a kaleidoscope of emotions. One part of his mind was happy for his best friend, but the other half was almost jealous that the winner had not been him. This also made him determined to win another game. After a few more empty-handed rounds and the same kind of prizes, Ed was ready to play for the big prize, the air-hockey table. Ed’s hands started to sweat and he felt like he had eaten some live guinea pigs that were currently hopping about in his stomach. By the time the final round started, Ed was mumbling things like “guinea pig” and “flying monkeys” to comfort himself. A sudden hair-raising creeaagch indicated the starting of the final round. “This round will be blackout bingo for the air-hockey table.” Straining, the announcer lifted up the hockey table to show the prize. The first number called was B-12. That was good because Ed had that one on both cards. The numbers kept streaming out of the announcer’s mouth. On occasion, the announcer would say something like “hill . . .” and a few of the girls would hopefully scream numbers like 25 or 27 but the announcer would prove them wrong with an I-21. You could feel the tension in the air. As the game progressed the crowd would exclaim “YES!” or “NO!” depending on if they had the number called on their cards. Ed had only two left, O-64 and B-14. The next number called was Oooo . . . “64” a girl cried, “65” another called out. Ed’s hopes skyrocketed. “Oooo . . . 70,” called the announcer. The crowd was a sea of “YES!” and “NO!” The next number, Beeeeee . . . “4! 14! 5!” cried the crowd in hopes to convince the caller. “Beeeee . . . 14,” called the announcer. The sounds from the crowd, “Yes!” “Joy,” Ed added. “NO!” from the back and then from the left front corner the dreaded sound came—”BINGO!” Then there were several “No’s” and imitation crying. Ed’s head dropped. He had lost to an old lady. What was she going to do with the hockey table that he had wanted? Ed left the building and went to the car. He felt terrible; he had lost by one square, just one! The world was closing in on him as they drove Dave home. Ed just couldn’t get it off his mind. One square left! Thinking about it made him feel as sick as that time he drank Listerine. Even though Ed knew it would make him feel worse, he snuggled up into the seat, and when Dave said good-bye he pretended he was asleep. Finally the family arrived home. Ed forgot to brush his teeth and went directly to bed. His stomach ached. He hoped he’d feel better in the morning. Simon Hatfield, 12St. Croix, U.S.Virgin Islands Jackson A. Harris, 9Tampa, Florida


By

Queen’s Own Fool

Queen’s Own Fool by Jane Yolen and Robert J. Harris; Philomel Books: New York, 2000; $19.99 My dictionary tells me that “history” is a record of significant events in the past. It is a perfectly valid explanation of the word, but it leaves some things out. While poring over our history books in school, we often do not fully grasp that these people were real. They loved and feared and grieved, as we in the twenty-first century do. It takes a truly gifted author to take a piece of history and make it a fascinating tale. Jane Yolen and Robert Harris have won a place among these talented few with their novel, Queen’s Own Fool. They have taken the true story of a remarkable young girl who led a daring life when women were considered to be inferior to men in every way. And they have brought this tale, overlooked by the history books, to the present. This girl, Nicola, is an intelligent, talkative, friendly person, one that we can sympathize with through all her dangers and hardships. Through her own point of view, she tells the story of the famous Mary Queen of Scots. The supporting characters—not all of them likable—expand the reality of the tale. Madame Jacqueline, Nicola’s tutor, is one such character. She is a complete tyrant. Jacqueline demands that Nicola’s intelligence be harnessed to the restrictive standards of her society. She also stifles Nicola’s originality and innocent wit, trying to force her pupil into a conventional female role. However, the reason Madame Jacqueline is so interesting is that she can be viewed as the opposite of Queen Mary. For example, in the beginning of the book, Nicola and her uncle’s family are lodged in a bleak, gray room, symbolizing their lowly position in society. When the queen arrives, she brings comfort and warmth to the room. Later in the book, Nicola is in a similar position, but this time she is alone in the coldness, without Pierre, Annette, or any of her old friends to comfort her. And worse, it is not the kind, merry queen who enters the bleak room, but the stern, stiff, unsympathetic tutor. Instead of bringing joy and hope to her surroundings, Madame Jacqueline makes a bad situation terrible. Some likable characters hold interest for the reader as well. One is Davie Riccio, a dwarf who has risen above the place his society demands that he take. Rather than being a jester that everyone laughs at, he has become one of the most important politicians in the royal court. But the price for his defiance of his culture’s standards is great when his pride and audacity overcome his caution. My father owns a garden that I visit often. It is a place of renewal and rebirth, where plants spring up from the seemingly lifeless dirt. Nicola has similar experiences among gardens, but it is she who is renewed. It is at gardens that her life is changed—first, when she meets the queen, who takes Nicola out of her former impoverished life. Later, when she encounters La Renaudie, the Protestant outlaw, her idealized, happily-every-after view of the royal court is destroyed. The only major flaw I found in Queen’s Own Fool was that it presented a misleading image of Queen Mary. In the story, she is portrayed as a kind, courageous, freedom-loving woman. In all probability, this is not the truth. Some historians claim that she plotted against Queen Elizabeth and played an important part in the plan to murder her husband. In addition, I thought the queen was too perfect to be very believable. But this book is well worth reading. Through authors like Jane Yolen and Robert Harris, history rises from the grave to reenact itself before us! Julia Zelman, 12Montville, New Jersey


By

The Duck Decision

“Hurry up, Chris,” my dad whispered in my ear. “He’s gonna get away. You need to shoot him now.” I was looking down my brand new Remington 20-gauge shotgun at a mallard. It was a miserable Youth Waterfowl Hunting Day for me. I knew shooting those ducks would make my father proud, but I just couldn’t. My father was an avid duck hunter and fisherman when his job allowed it. Fishing bored me, so Dad hardly ever asked if I’d like to go with him. I had gone hunting with Dad before but never brought a gun, because I didn’t own one, and his were too big for me. The shotgun had been a present for my twelfth birthday in August. I’d been practicing almost every evening at the local shooting range, where I learned to ignore my gun’s kick and to ventilate soda cans. I knew shooting those ducks would make my father proud, but I just couldn’t I knew I could hit that duck, but I didn’t want to. I had never enjoyed killing things, and I loathed jerks who killed animals for no reason at all. I liked nature. I didn’t want to hurt it. I looked down the barrel at one of the ducks. This duck had struggled to find enough food to survive, and had to evade predators each day of its life, and now my dad asked me to kill it so we could have one nice meal. I hated myself for even pointing the gun near the mallard, but I hated to hurt my father’s feelings too. “I . . . I can’t tell which is the duck and which is the decoy,” I pathetically explained to my dad. “Just try, Chris. I know you can do it,” Dad whispered confidently back to me. Thanks, Dad, I cried to myself. Just make it harder for me. Tears leaked from my eyes as my brain raced to make a decision. “You really don’t want to shoot them, do you?” Dad quietly intruded on my thoughts. I was too choked up to make any noise. Luckily, a nod was enough. Chris Heinrich, 13Baudette, Minnesota Joe Lobosco, 12Kinnelon, New Jersey