It was a picturesque day at a pond, The glassy water gently undulated, Transforming turtles to twigs. The swans slowly carved their way forward, The paddleboats hypnotically Slap slap slapped. But no day is perfect for everyone, Like the coming of fall, For betwixt the lily pads, A swan lay Dead, Its head limp at its side. Two deceivingly collected swans swam up, Their wings arched over their backs. One of the mourners swam up and went from calm and collected, To aggressive and emotional. It began biting the neck of the dead swan, wings pumping, causing a great ruckus. Was it cannibalizing or freeing the other swan from its eternal sleep? That swan will be denied so much, Days like today, Cygnets, And the late summer water relaxing away troubles. Was it dead from natural causes, or man-made ones? Could it have been saved? So many questions, Like the water in the clouds, So much stress and more worry than bugs in a humid summer’s night. All from The loss of a leaf. Peter Satterthwaite, 13Cranston, Rhode Island
Today
Today was the big day. I was afraid it would go horribly wrong. I woke up today with that feeling you always get before something big. I ate breakfast in a hurried fashion. I always ate a slow and controlled breakfast. Today was different. Today was the day of the concert. I had eggs and bacon today. That was our family’s traditional Friday breakfast. I shoveled each bite in with such force that I could have scared my dentist. I thought I was doing everything fast, but I almost missed the bus! I stared at my beautiful instrument for almost fifteen minutes, thinking intently. I play the cello, the large instrument that everybody misspells. I couldn’t take my mind off the performance—the hum of the instrument, the squeaking of the wood, and the beautiful sound that flows out when a bow slides across the strings. On the bus today, I talked to no one. There was a kind of tension between me and the school only a mile away. The gymnasium was just waiting for me to arrive, to take my seat in front of the whole school and do what I love to do. I had been playing the cello for almost two years when I was asked by the principal to play. I remembered that day well. School had just finished for the day, and already the warm summer breeze was gone. Gone were the days of swimming and playing, gone were the days of sunshine and beaches, gone were those juicy, orange peaches that I adored so much. It seemed that just as soon as summer started, it was over. I was sitting on the street corner, waiting for the bus to arrive. The autumn leaves swept by my face, and I was reminded of the baseballs, streaking past my face like comets. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up. It was the principal. She had short and curly white hair, dark brown eyes, and a smile that could spread joy across a crowd of people. She looked down on me and asked me the question that led me to many hours of stress and practicing. “Will you play?” I stared at my beautiful instrument for almost fifteen minutes, thinking intently I arrived at the gym at eight-fifteen, thirty minutes before the concert. We set up our stands and tuned our instruments. Nobody spoke. The tension between us all was greater than iron chains, coiled around an object firmly. This was not a time for joking, laughing, or talking. This was a time of music. Five minutes later, the doors opened and our music instructor walked in. He was wearing a tuxedo, but you could see it was done by trembling hands because the tie was lopsided and uneven. He walked over to the piano and took his seat. I was reminded of the times when I took my seat in the sand, resting at a summery beach. This was nothing like that. We were inside a large, dark, and enclosed room that had a sense of urgency. We all took our seats and looked around each other. We were all ready. Then, fifteen minutes later, the whole school filed in. It suddenly dawned on me the amount of people we were performing in front of. I tried to push it back into the depths of my mind, but it kept resurfacing like a disease that wouldn’t go away. I took some deep breaths, but it didn’t help. The students took their places in the seats, and all eyes turned to the performers. The lights flashed onto our stage, but they weren’t needed. We placed our bows in the position and started to play. The five minutes that the group of musicians spent playing were ones I will never forget. The sound was so sweet it was almost as nourishing as a peach. The lights felt like the rays of sunshine. And the noise was the soft splashing of the waves. But this was different. This was better. The stress released felt as good as succeeding in a goal. And only one feeling was felt through the performers, pure joy. It finished just as soon as it started, like summer. The applause that was heard thundered through campus like a stampede of animals, running after the hunt they all wished to claim. The crowd stood up and roared like a thousand warriors after the death of the enemy. Today was the big day. Today was better than summer. Today was not horribly wrong. Today I succeeded and that is better than I could have hoped for. Cole Miller, 11San Rafael, California Emma T. Capps, 12San Carlos, California
Shadow
For a few days in mid-September, the temperature seems perfect. It’s not boiling hot, but it hasn’t reached what you would call freezing cold yet. It’s a little chilly, but that makes you feel fresh and wide awake, and the wind isn’t horribly wild and hasn’t started biting at your face. It was one of those days, and so my dad and I drove down to the local woods to go for a walk. The ride was short, and I entertained myself by looking at the trees’ beautiful gowns of gold, red, and orange. Here and there, a pine tree popped up, looking serious and glum compared to the others around it. We stopped and parked in the small lot. I got out, and a cool, crisp breeze brushed my cheek and ruffled my blond hair. We started walking, and our feet crunched on the forest floor. Sometimes—in a sudden gust of wind—a brightly colored leaf would float gently down, adding to the great carpet of foliage already resting there. We talked some, but I usually skipped ahead of my dad, my hair whipping back, and breathed in the fresh, earthy smell of the forest. After a ways, about thirty minutes after we started, a bubbling stream wound itself towards us and continued to race merrily along the path. As we rounded a bend, I noticed a skinny, black animal drinking from the stream. I froze, for my first thought was, bear. My dad didn’t notice it at first but then stopped as well. He was a black lab that was obviously lost—or a stray. His fur was matted, and his ribs were showing. But there was also something around his neck. It wasn’t a collar—I could tell that much—but more like a piece of string. The animal heard our footsteps and turned to look at us. Well, he seemed to be looking at me. He wasn’t just looking, however. He was almost talking to me in a way I couldn’t explain—the way animals seem to give messages to humans without words, through just their eyes. This dog’s eyes were like melted chocolate, and if I had to say what he was conveying to me in words, it would be, “Help me.” Still frozen, I peered closely at him, trying to see what the thing around his neck was. But instead, I found myself gazing back into those eyes, as if I could not look away. And then the dog came slowly, tentatively, towards us, his tail wagging slowly. My dad unfroze and walked toward the dog, just as slowly as the dog walked toward him. Then my dad said, “Hannah, let’s get the dog back to the car, OK? Then we’ll take him to the Humane Society—he obviously needs help.” Unfreezing, I nodded. “Come on,” I coaxed. The dog was too willing. He bounded towards us, then stopped, and limped the rest of the way; his leg was hurt, it seemed. Half an hour later, we were in the small parking lot, and my dad was looking at the map to find the route to the Humane Society. I was looking at the thing around the dog’s neck. Tied on a red string was a piece of paper. In small, messy handwriting it said, “Please take care of Shadow.” Immediately, my heart went out to the dog. How could someone do that? How could someone let a dog survive on his or her own? And then a small question formed in my mind. What would have happened to Shadow if we hadn’t found him? Trying not to think about the answer to that question, I paid more attention to Shadow. His fur was as black as a raven, and one of his ears had a chunk missing from it. On the way back, I had petted him, but my dad said something about ticks, and so I stopped. But he had to agree with me that this dog was very cute. Well, if he was a little bit plumper, and his fur was brushed, he’d be adorable. When my dad folded the map and put it away, I dared to ask him, “Dad, can we keep Shadow?” “Shadow?” he asked. Then he sighed. “Hannah honey, you’ve named the dog already? You know we can’t keep him.” “No, look, Dad, it says on his tag.” “He has a collar?” “No, look.” My dad crouched down and looked at the tag that had been around his neck. I could see his lips forming the words as he read them. He was almost talking to me in a way I couldn’t explain Again, he sighed. “Well, let’s get going, Hannah.” I nodded, looking at Shadow. He was pacing around us, glancing sadly at me with his big brown eyes. We got in the car, and Shadow sat in the back, panting happily. “Can we keep him, Dad?” I pleaded. “No, Hannah,” my dad said firmly. “We can’t. I’m sorry.” “Please, please, please?” I begged. “Sorry, Hannah,” said my dad. “I just don’t want him to go to someone who’ll abandon him again,” I said. My dad sighed. “There are other people who care about dogs, sweetie,” said my dad. “I know,” I said. “But what if he gets placed in a home that doesn’t care?” “He won’t,” said my dad. “That’s what the Humane Society is careful about. ” I turned my attention to the trees again, but somehow they didn’t seem so interesting anymore. Half an hour later, we arrived at the building. We walked inside and I found myself in a room that had cages with cats in them, guinea pigs chattering anxiously, and sounds of barking dogs echoing through it. I wanted to take each cat home, and each gerbil and hamster as well. The lady took Shadow, and my dad dragged me out of the Humane Society. Though I begged my parents for Shadow, they refused. I pouted. They wouldn’t give in. Finally, I had to give
The Dragonfly Pool
The Dragonfly Pool, by Eva Ibbotson; Dutton Children’s Books: New York, 2008; $17.99 I’m not a big fan of fantasy books. So when I flipped through The Dragonfly Pool and found mentions of dukes, kings, and princes I groaned, thinking this book would be about royalty, kingdoms, and other things irrelevant to my life. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The Dragonfly Pool is about real-life situations and feelings. Tally is a girl living in London as World War II is approaching. Her father, believing she won’t be safe in London when the war comes, reluctantly sends her away to a boarding school called Delderton. Tally doesn’t want to go, worrying that it’ll be like her cousins’ strict boarding school. But when she arrives at Delderton, she is instantly comfortable and makes friends with a girl whose mother is a movie star, a boy who tries to flush his tie down the toilet, a girl who lisps and is allergic to many things, and other eccentric characters. Classes range from drama, where children “give birth” to themselves and act like forks, to biology, which starts at four am. The school is invited to perform at a folk-dancing festival in a country called Bergania. There they meet Karil, the crown prince of Bergania, who wants more than anything to be an “ordinary” kid. After his father’s assassination Karil is in danger, so the students go to great lengths to rescue him and bring him to Delderton. There were many themes in this book, such as friendship, trust, and reaching out to children from all over the world, but the most intriguing to me was the one Karil thinks about: the definition of ordinary. I have also wondered about this because sometimes I feel that I don’t have an ordinary family and I’m not an ordinary kid. I’m homeschooled; I can’t tolerate certain foods a lot of kids enjoy, like chocolate and ice cream; I have some challenges; and I’ve always felt kind of different, with the things that interest me, from other kids. So I could relate to Karil, who longs to be an ordinary person and join the Delderton kids at their school. The ironic element is that, compared to most other schools, Delderton is not ordinary. I liked the school with its quirks and would probably enjoy the classes. Another thing I liked was that the kids really learned stuff at Delderton, even though some of the classes might have seemed silly. Sometimes I worry that people might think I’m not getting a proper education because I don’t go to school, but I believe kids learn in places that work for them. Also, the descriptions were vivid and I felt like I was there. So reading about the school was fun. Some elements of the book were overplayed. Even though it was necessary to the plot, the scenes where the kids had to escape from Nazis became a little rote. Also, the “relatives pushing a kid to be something he doesn’t want to be” seemed kind of cliche. These scenes were boring because I felt I’d read them all somewhere else. Overall, however, I liked The Dragonfly Pool. The plot was intriguing, the themes were interesting and inspiring, and the location was fun. While reading it, I almost forgot about what was going on around me! Lena Greenberg, 11Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Memory’s Song
“We should have known better,” Garu grated angrily. The sparrow perched high in the apple tree, watching helplessly as the gray cat below devoured her kill. “Let’s leave. This is no place for the clan.” His fierce gaze flicked over his now small group: his trusted friend Baklan, Baklan’s mate Teekeh, their grown daughter Kila, and his own son, Liru. Liru looked up to him with imploring eyes. “Where? Where is there?” The sharpness in Garu’s voice changed to weariness. “I don’t know. But someplace.” He took off and the group followed suit. The summer evening air was cool and refreshing, but Garu could not enjoy it. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, but they kept glancing backwards at his son. Why did Liru have to have those pale brown feathers like his mother? Why did he have to serve as a reminder of that terrible event? A pain slashed through his heart. He remembered it all too well. * * * He and Lirana were flying together on a summer evening. The breeze was sweet and the sunset was radiant. It turned the green leaves of the forest below to gold. Little pink clouds skipped across the colorful horizon. He could see the smile on Lirana’s face and the gentle sparkle in her eye; a smile of pride at bringing up her first child. Their son Liru was a few weeks old and needed plenty of care, but Teekeh had offered to watch him for a while. Garu and his mate had eagerly taken the opportunity to enjoy the sunset and soar in the pleasant sky. And as Lirana let out a laugh of happiness and did a loop-the-loop in the air, Garu felt as if there was nothing more he could possibly want. He yearned to help, but he was overpowered by fear A screech rang in the quiet air, and suddenly all was chaos. Lirana screamed as the owl swooped towards her. The great talons were wide open, waiting to snatch prey out of the air. They closed with a snap—but Lirana was quicker. Her little pale brown wings tilted ever so slightly and escaped the flying predator. This happened once, twice, three times, and still the sparrow evaded the owl with inches to spare. But it could not last much longer. Meanwhile, Garu sat stupidly watching the scene from a branch he had crashed into when he had dived to avoid the owl. He yearned to help, but he was overpowered by fear. He was frozen in place. It had been growing steadily darker. The owl’s eyes were accustomed to the night, but Lirana’s were not. She was constantly twisting and turning. Then suddenly, in her inability to see, she doubled back—straight into the owl’s claws. Her scream rent the air, and then all was silent as the predator flew away with his kill. Garu felt numb all over. His claws came loose, and he fell from the branch. He landed in a soft pile of leaves, where he wept uncontrollably. * * * After that, he had left the forest, unable to stay at the place of his mate’s death. He had moved from one place to another—swamps, farms, cities, prairies, but never forests. He could not bear to be reminded. But everywhere he went, at least part of the clan was killed by one thing or another. And whenever they were, he left again, searching for a safer territory. But nothing had improved. Predators had picked off the clan one by one, until their number was reduced to a mere five. Suddenly, a screech rang in the quiet air, and instantly all was chaos. “Dad! Heeelp!!” Garu’s head whipped around at the sound of his son’s cry. A huge mottled owl was diving towards him, and Liru was flapping desperately. Garu’s heart skipped a beat, and then it plummeted down to his stomach. The nightmare was happening all over again. Baklan, Teekeh, and Kila had fled towards the fields below, leaving Liru to his fate. But Garu refused to do the same. This time he would not sit dumbly watching his loved-one die. He forced his wings to beat, and darted through the air towards his son. “I’m coming, Liru!” It seemed as if Garu had gone back into time. There was the little pale brown streaked sparrow, dodging and ducking, twisting and spinning. And there was the huge bird of prey, swooping and grasping thin air with gleaming talons. But this time Garu was not a spectator. He was a pursuer. Suddenly, he slammed into the owl’s back, and as soon as he realized what he had run into, he began tearing the owl’s feathers out, ripping and scratching. The owl was surprised at this ambush and rapidly dived down. Garu fell off the predator’s back and fell. But just in time he opened his wings and swooped upwards. He spotted his son flying away to safety and followed him into the darkness. The clack of claws sounded next to his ear, and there was a rush of air, ruffling his gray-brown feathers. The owl was after him. As he spun away to one side and then to the next, he saw Liru heading towards him. Regardless of his own safety, Liru was returning to help his father. “Liru, go!” screamed Garu. “Go, now!” He felt the whiff of air and tilted his wings to avoid the keen claws. “No!” his son shouted back. “I’m not going anywhere!” And he flew ever closer. “Liru, don’t you dare…” He never finished. Something sharp tore at his shoulder, and then he was free-falling, his wing flapping painfully and uselessly. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the illuminated golden eyes of the owl, and beyond that, his son hovering in the dark sky. * * * Long into the starry night Baklan watched for Garu’s return. He and Teekeh and Kila had flown down to a dense thicket when the
Leaf of Sunshine
The forest is calm, only an occasional chirp of a bird, breaks the silence, the sun is buried in a blanket of clouds, only a few golden rays escape, just enough to penetrate the darkness, cool wind rustles through the trees, gently swaying their nimble branches, so peaceful, one single leaf spirals to the ground, twirling, spinning, now upon the brown fallen leaves, lies one of a brilliant sun-yellow color, with its bright green smudges, splattered haphazardly across its surface, a beautiful sight, compared to the crumpled leaves surrounding it, it seems like a precious gem, it is a bit of sunshine, on a crisp autumn day. Laurel Gibson, 12Durham, New Hampshire
Pain
Pain can be felt in all kinds of ways. If you fall off a bike and scrape your knee you could feel pain, put on a bandage and, with time, forget about it. But there is another pain that can only be cured by accepting it because it never goes away. This is the pain I want to talk about. One beautiful spring morning, the birds were chirping, and the cool morning breeze blew through the window that woke me up gently. I suddenly remembered that that day my whole grade was going to perform a play called Matilda. My part was the father, which had the most lines to remember. I practiced like crazy until I learned it by heart. I gulped my milk down in a flash and wolfed down my waffles in a second. I slipped into my jeans and black short-sleeved polo T-shirt, put on my shoes and bolted out the door. As I boarded the half-crowded train I started to review my flash cards. I felt that going to school that day in particular would be an extraordinary day. But I didn’t know what sort of surprise awaited me. As I entered the school all smiling, a fifth-grader glared at me and said, “What are you smiling at? It isn’t a moment of happiness.” With that she spun around and charged up the stairs. I barely had a chance to reply to what she had said to me, when I passed by a group of kids sitting on the floor crying. I was confused as to why the whole school was so gloomy on what was supposed to be a fun morning. Near the main office, Ms. Rosenblum, a third-grade teacher, gestured me toward the cafeteria. I considered what I might have done for her to pull me aside. She wasn’t even my teacher. I sat down at a table, my hands all sweaty and cold, still wondering about why was I there. “What are you smiling at? It isn’t a moment of happiness” “I am sorry, Daniel, but I have some bad news for you,” she said with a soft voice. “Mr. Dutt, our science teacher, died last night while he was driving his car,” she said. Like a movie stuck in rewind, all the fun memories were going from the last to the first science class. The first image that came to my mind was the day we made the experiment of Coke and Mentos in after-school science. Mr. Dutt organized the whole “crew” into groups. My group was working with Diet Coke and blizzardblue Mentos candies. I loved seeing the Coke rattle after I inserted the wire full of Mentos into the bottle nozzle. The sound of exploding bits of hard candy and overflowing soda excited the whole class. We all ended up soaking wet, and brown and sticky. It was one of the funniest days of my life. Then, in a flash, I pictured the bearded dragons, the turtles and the snakes in the science room. I saw Mr. Dutt feeding and petting them. I heard his voice and his funny jokes. All of it will be gone forever. My head felt like a helium balloon and my body like a rock. Now I understood why the fifth-grader glared at me, the kids were crying in the hallway and even the red eyes of Ms. Rosenblum. As soon as all these images were out of my heart, I blew up in tears. “I know how you feel, sweetheart, I miss him too,” she said as she gently stroked my hair. When I arrived at my fourth-grade classroom, my teacher, Ms. Painter, who was sitting on a rocking chair and reading a book, glanced up at me and said, “Daniel, do you know what happened? Did anyone tell you that Mr. Dutt d- ” “I know what happened,” I interrupted her, which she hates a lot but on this occasion she didn’t care. As I sat down at my table I saw the rest of the class drawing pictures quietly. Some were reading books and some were crying. When I saw the kids crying for a moment I felt that we were all sharing the same pain, that we were all friends. But that wasn’t so. Fourth grade was my worst year in elementary school. Kids always were making fun of me, calling me names and leaving me out. Nobody wanted me to play with them. Nobody wanted to sit and eat with me at lunchtime. Every day I dreaded to go to school. The whole school was my hostile enemy, except Mr. Dutt. He was my only true friend, or that’s how I felt. Now that he died I was completely alone. Then, I came across a doodle of a cartoon bearded dragon: it was my lizard, Carlo. I smiled and felt a bit better. I received Carlo for my birthday, inspired by Mr. Dutt’s bearded dragons, Angelo and Derek. I was amazed at how fun and enthusiastic creatures they were so I begged my parents for one. When I finally got one I learned a lot of facts on how to take care of them. I read about them on the Internet as well as in books and magazine articles, and then I went to Mr. Dutt and told him all that I had learned. Mr. Dutt was pretty amused at my interest, so he gave me more books about lizards and also let me help him take care of the bearded dragons at school. Science became my favorite class and Mr. Dutt, my best friend. Suddenly I left my chair all dreamy and went to the principal’s office to ask her if I could feed the lizards one more time. It took a long time for her to finally say yes. Then and there I realized that would be the last time I ever saw them. The principal had decided to send the lizards to an animal shelter.
When I Understood
NEW DELHI, INDIA, 2002 Staring wide-eyed out of the car window I look down at the dusty bodies of children clustered below me. Their hair is streaked with dust and grime Their skin darkened to a crisp by the intensity of the broiling summer sun. Their writhing hands clutch at the shiny silver metal of our car Grabbing hungrily at the colorful juice boxes my parents offer from the windows. I know I should be enjoying the bustling world around me, but somehow I can’t. The road is a blur of color and life; Vendors shout from their stalls Advertising a rainbow of colorful fruits and vegetables Or fine cloth dyed sunset orange, rose pink, indigo. Sweat clings to their dark skin as they haggle and argue with customers passing by Or just catch up on the latest gossip. Chickens strut through the crowd like confident butlers; A cow slowly ambles its way through the people. Despite the crowd the blasting honks of cars’ horns sound as they force their way through, Shiny metal islands in a sea of bodies. But I am taking in none of this; My eyes are riveted to the children. I catch sight of a girl about my age, Seven, Her dark hair pulled back in a messy braid, Clutching the grubby hand of a wriggling two-year-old. Seeing the look of amazement and longing that fills her eyes As her gaze sweeps over our car I offer her one of the juice boxes With trembling fingers. She grabs it Immediately handing it to her little sister. Just watching the little girl inhale the sweet drink Its contents spilling from her mouth and running down her chin like a thousand rivers I think of all the times I’ve stormed out of the room crying after losing a game of checkers, Argued with my brother about who had to go first for piano lessons, Made faces when my parents made me eat vegetables. I can remember those times when my mom got angry, Yelling, “Don’t you understand, there are children dying in the world?” Looking down at the thin, hungry bodies of the children surrounding me At the toddler devouring the juice At the grateful look the girl gave me I realized that, For the first time, I did understand. Malini Gandhi, 13Auburndale, Massachusetts
Flowers on the Water
Jackie Linnely took a big jump into the crunchy pile of leaves in the school yard. Ms. Lunder suddenly blew her whistle as the bell rang, BRRRINNNGG! “Alice,” Jackie called out to her friend, “see you after school!” As Jackie lined up to go inside, she saw Ms. Lunder pull on a sweater. That made her feel chilly, too. Jackie was so happy autumn was here! It was her favorite season: apples, apple pie, and the best thing of all… the new aquarium on Main Street in downtown Aberdeen was opening. “Jackie?” asked Ms. Lunder. “Here!” “Jason?” “Here!” “Now,” Ms. Lunder said, “who can tell me the next chapter of science we will be learning about?” Jackie’s hand shot straight into the air. “Yes?” questioned Ms. Lunder. “Marine biology! I know because I was looking at the next chapter in the textbook.” “Correct!” Ms. Lunder pronounced. “I am glad you were thinking ahead.” Gosh, thought Jackie, I can’t think about anything else! When she grew up, Jackie wanted to be a marine biologist and study hermit crabs, sea stars, coral and tropical fish, like Schubert and Vivaldi, her pet fish at home. Also, she thought she might pursue a career in music. Jackie loved to play the cello, and her favorite piece was The Four Seasons, by Vivaldi. “Maybe a little twist in life can be a good thing after all” Before Jackie knew it, the school day was over, and she was meeting Violet, Lily and Alice at the school’s back gate. As she neared their meeting spot, she heard Alice say, “Did you hear the aquarium is almost open, and they are giving a grand tour in a couple of weeks?” Jackie practically jumped on Alice, looking more like a happy elephant than a ten-year-old schoolgirl! “They what?” Jackie exclaimed. “I said they are opening the aquarium,” repeated Alice. “Really? Do you think they are taking visitors now?” “Hmmm. I’m not sure. ’Bye Violet and Lily,” said Alice. “Maybe we could go,” suggested Jackie. “Um, Jackie?” Alice began. “Yes?” asked Jackie. “I’m moving.” Now Jackie’s mind was a complete blur. OK, let’s replay this, she thought: first I asked her about the aquarium, then she said she was moving?! “Oh, no, Alice! Why?” Jackie blurted out suddenly. “For a lot of reasons,” explained Alice. “Where are you moving to?” asked Jackie. “Eureka, California,” replied Alice. As Jackie walked home, her thoughts were interrupted by the smell of apple pie. Then she realized that the smell was coming from the ever-baking household of Alice Palmer, struck by the fact that this was probably the last time she would smell that delicious aroma. She leapt over the small shrub that caressed the ground beneath the Palmers’ kitchen window, pressed her nose to the now steamy glass, and took a deep breath. * * * Scratch, scratch went Jackie’s pen against the stationery envelope that was almost labeled: Alice Palmer, 2820 Florentine Avenue, Eureka, California. Jackie heaved a glum sigh as she was once again reminded of her friend’s move two months ago. Aberdeen’s aquarium was now open, but Jackie took no pleasure in going there without her friend Alice. Tidepooling was an exciting outing that Alice and Jackie had always enjoyed together, but now it was only associated with Alice’s departure to Eureka. “Jackie! Time for cello lessons!” her mother’s voice interrupted from downstairs. “OK!” Jackie replied, trying to strike a happy tone to her voice. As she lugged her cello down the wooden steps, her mind forgot about Alice and took on Vivaldi’s “Autumn” movement from The Four Seasons. This piece, which emphasized the sudden seasonal changes in the music, always made Jackie feel more cheerful about transitions in her own life. * * * “Jackie! Letter for you!” called Jackie’s mother from downstairs. As she eagerly ripped open the envelope, Jackie couldn’t control the letter from falling to the floor! Grabbing it excitedly, she read the letter: Dear Jackie, What’s going on back in Aberdeen? How are you? I’ve made lots of friends, and now I am pretty much used to Eureka. Did my mother call you yet and tell you the news? I am coming to visit… Well, that was enough for Jackie! With an Indian warlike whoop, she tore downstairs with the exciting news. With Alice coming to visit, everything would be the same again, Jackie thought. We will go to the aquarium, take long walks along the boardwalk at the beach, and gather leaf bouquets for Ms. Lunder again! Jackie imagined. * * * “I’m so happy you could come back to Aberdeen, Alice!” said Jackie. “Let’s go to the new aquarium!” Alice suggested. “No,” replied Jackie. “Now I only associate the aquarium with your moving away. Let’s go for a walk on the beach instead.” As the two strolled along the wooden boardwalk, they observed innumerable quantities of amazing sea creatures, such as sea stars, water spouts of whales, silvery minnows in the waves, and… “Alice! What’s that?” Jackie pointed toward an unidentifiable yellow object in the water. “I’m not sure, Jackie. Oh, it looks like flowers,” Alice replied. A glistening bundle of bright yellow daffodils—the kind you see in early spring—against the deep blue background of the churning waves was coming closer to the pier. Then Jackie realized that there was something different about this walk than the others they had taken before Alice had moved away: the feeling of picking yellow daffodils in the springtime. They weren’t going to last forever. Even as you were enjoying them, you knew they were going to wilt soon. “Alice?” asked Jackie. “What is it?” answered Alice. “Those flowers—they’re starting to make me think that maybe a little twist in life can be a good thing after all,” said Jackie. “A bundle of beautiful yellow daffodils isn’t usually in the ocean on a Sunday morning. That’s just like your move to Eureka, Alice. You’re out of place, also, but maybe we can find the beauty
Silent Story
On a cold winter morning The lake breathes out steam Like a giant tea kettle. Two ducks in the middle As still as a painting. Why haven’t they gone south? A bird hangs up in the air. Let’s sit on the shore And soak in the quiet. Instead, we zoom by And join in the traffic. Mina Alexandra Oates, 7Pinson, Alabama
Secret Crushes
Jamie looked out her bedroom window and laughed, trying to look past the irregularly shaped snowman, the masterpiece her younger sister and brother had created to adorn their front yard. With only one button eye remaining, and a scarf which had been mistakenly tied around its head instead of its neck, it looked more like a scary pirate in its Halloween costume than any Frosty the Snowman she had ever seen. But she loved it anyway. Oh, how she lived for the holidays. She loved every single one of them. She loved the adventure of ringing doorbells, pretending to be someone else and being rewarded with a bagful of candy on Halloween. She loved the reflection of holiday tree lights making jumbled-up rainbows in the snow, and her favorite holiday of all time was just around the corner. In preparation for that sweetest of all holidays, dressed in its red finery, Jamie was scanning the horizon for something, or someone. Sure enough, the door opened across the street, and the auburn-headed James O’Reilly appeared right on schedule. She felt a twinge in her heart, or was it a stab of pain from an arrow hitting its bull’s-eye from Cupid’s bow? Every morning, Jamie looked for the shaggy red-headed youngster at ten past seven and would race down the stairs, her heart flip-flopping wildly, in order to “just by chance” bump into him and walk with him to the corner bus stop. How am I going to tell James that I want him for my Valentine? She had crushed on James ever since they had been in kindergarten together and he had taken as much an interest in her skinned knee as she had herself. She remembered sobbing on the playground and how he unselfishly offered his stuffed rabbit to help console her. But as they grew up, they grew apart. The only class they still had together was band, and she was both happy and relieved they had each taken up the clarinet. Wednesdays were the only time each week in middle school she could count on seeing him. She would pretend to forget her music, and he was always eager to share and plop down in the seat next to her. Was it just her imagination, or did he look forward to band just as much as she did? “Hi Jamie… I saw a lot of cars at your house last weekend. Did someone in your family have a birthday or something?” he asked excitedly. “Ah, or something,” Jamie replied quickly. “It was Chinese New Year… yeah, probably not a holiday you celebrate. We had a lot of our family over for dinner. Just a regular dinner—well maybe a few special things.” “Chinese New Year sounds like fun to me,” asserted James. “I like anything with food.” Boy what a dumb thing to say! he thought. That’s not going to impress her, he thought, but he didn’t realize she didn’t need impressing. The rest of the way was silent, and Jamie was happy when the bright orange bus pulled up, against the backdrop of a crisp February azure sky. She had already run out of topics and wanted to end any conversation about the differences between their families dead in its tracks. She was from a traditional Chinese-American family, and she knew, with their Celtic customs, the O’Reillys were proud Irish- Americans. She was relieved to take her seat in the front row with Corinne, her best friend, which had been their routine all six grades previously. Both Jamie and Corinne were on the Valentine’s Day Dance Committee. After school, the two gathered with the enthusiastic crowd of other party-planners in the gym. Construction-paper hearts of all sizes lined the cinder-block walls, and, intertwined among clouds of crimson and snowy helium balloons, hung excitement and anticipation. “I like the school’s seventh-and eighth-grade tradition,” giggled Corinne in hushed tones. “Kinda risky if you ask me,” replied Jamie quietly. “I like the fact that the last dance is ‘Girls’ Choice.’ If the girl is ready to reveal a secret crush, she can offer a small token of a gift she has picked out just for her crush that she unveils during the last dance. If the boy doesn’t feel the same, he just accepts the gift politely as a gift of friendship. If he likes the girl, he offers a small gift back, that he especially brought for her. No harm done. No feelings hurt.” “Except if you’re not the right girl,” replied Jamie. “I think it’s dumb,” she heard herself voice aloud. Secretly, she was shouting. She wanted Corinne to know that she genuinely loved the tradition. She had crushed on James her whole life and couldn’t wait till the St. Valentine’s dance to take a chance and let it be known. But she was scared. She couldn’t believe she was acting this way. I can’t even tell my best friend, she thought. How am I going to tell James that I want him for my Valentine? She thought back to the day she bought the simple Claddagh boy’s ring. She had learned that the Claddagh was an Irish symbol of friendship. She was with her mom in Winkelman’s Jewelry Shop in town right before Christmas. Mom was getting the battery changed in her watch, the one Dad had bought at Winkelman’s last year as a Christmas present. Mom loved that two-tone silver-and-gold watch that “goes with everything,” she had told all her friends. Jamie loved her mom. Although she had no fashion sense, she was a ready listener. She could tell her mom anything. Mom was always ready to hear her out and didn’t judge. She told her mom she wanted to buy the ring and her mom had let her. She wanted something that would be important to James and let him know she wanted to learn more about his family’s culture. Jamie’s favorite day, filled with cinnamon hearts, foil chocolate boxes, cutout cupids and frilly
Behind the Curtain
The old, worn curtain loomed over the stage. Chairs covered in faded, red velvet cushions were scattered throughout the theatre. A piano that had once been played in the most famous of performances now housed a family of mice. The theatre was falling apart, yet it still contained a certain beauty and elegance. If you listened closely, you could faintly hear the soft, sweet sound of a violin coming from behind the dark curtain. A single candle on the glamorous chandelier that hung from the ceiling of the concert hall flickered to life. The violin was joined by a flute, clarinet, cello, and then a viola. As the instruments grew louder, the chandelier became brighter. Soon, the music of an entire orchestra floated throughout the theatre, and the hall was filled with the soft glow of candles. Famous pieces by Tchaikovsky, Bach, Vivaldi, Beethoven, and many others were performed, yet the curtain never rose to reveal the mysterious musicians who played for an invisible audience. Just as soon as the music began, the harmonic sounds began drifting into the darkness, until only the lone violin could be heard; that, too, soon grew quiet. Who were the mysterious performers whose music was so captivating? Who were the mysterious performers whose music was so captivating? Who were they that hid behind the curtain of the abandoned concert hall? They were not of the human race, for they left no trace of their presence. Was it possible that they were beings who had once been of this world, but no longer were? If so, what reason did they have for returning to the theatre? The only answer I can give you, my friend, is to come with me, for they are what this story is all about. * * * Late one night, as a light snow fell over all of Paris, a boy slowly crept towards the theatre. Finally, he had made it; he was away from that orphanage he had so long called a home—an orphanage that should never have been his home. True, his parents had died when he was just three years old, but he wasn’t the only surviving member of his family. Somewhere in Paris, he knew, his grandfather was still alive. He didn’t know where in Paris his grandfather was, or even what his grandfather’s name was, but he knew that his grandfather could give him the loving home he had never had. He just had to find him first. And while he was searching, he would need to make sure the orphanage people couldn’t find him. The old, abandoned theatre would make the perfect hideout. With a quick glance over his shoulder, the boy slipped inside through a broken window. There, he found himself standing in front of two large, charred, heavy wooden doors. As he pushed them open, they creaked loudly. The boy looked around the huge room that he had just entered. It appeared that it had once been the concert hall of the theatre, and it looked strangely familiar to him, but he didn’t know why. Well, he thought to himself, I guess this is home. Suddenly, the hall was aglow with hundreds of candles, and music was coming from behind the curtain on the stage. The boy was out the doors and through the window in a flash! He tripped as he flew out the window, landing face-first in the snow. Breathing heavily, he stood up and brushed himself off. What— or who—had been making that music? he wondered. Was it just his imagination? Could it have been… ghosts? The boy shivered at the thought. No! his mind screamed at him. He would not be afraid. He, Gabriel Campeau, wouldn’t let a bunch of musical ghosts scare him away. He escaped the cruelty of the orphanage, traveled all the way here to Paris; he was brave, smart… And he had nowhere else to go. The curtains in an apartment across the alley fluttered, and Gabriel quickly sneaked back into the theatre. A middle-aged woman appeared on the apartment’s balcony, her shadow stretching across the moonlit alley. Once again, music that sounded as if it were just outside her bedroom window had awakened her. It was so familiar, and it brought back many memories of her days spent in the theatre. She stared longingly at the theatre’s faded walls. It had always held a special place in her heart, but even though it contained so many happy memories, the haunting memories of a night many years before kept her from ever reentering the theatre. If she had, she would have realized that the music she heard was much more than a dream. * * * On the other side of the city, an elderly man tossed and turned from the nightmare that he had relived every night for the past ten years. It was so vivid; there he was, bowing as he was introduced to the biggest audience for whom he had ever performed. He turned around, and his wonderful orchestra began playing. Just as the song was ending, a blood-curdling scream came from somewhere backstage, and smoke poured into the concert hall. Panic and terror ensued as everyone attempted to escape the burning theatre. The most horrifying part of his nightmare was when he looked back into the theatre and saw people struggling to get out. People who were his friends, his co-workers, his family; people who, when the smoke had cleared, were gone. The man wiped away a tear that slid down his face. Most of his orchestra had died in the fire, and the few who survived had left Paris soon after. He had gone from being the man in his dream, Alexandre Mierceles, the greatest conductor and composer in all of France, to nothing more than a frail old man with no friends, no family, and hardly anything left that was worth living for. His only daughter and her husband had perished on that tragic night, and their
