The 826NYC Review, Issue No. 12

THE

826NYC REVIEW ISSUE 12 NO.

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THE 826NYC REVIEW, ISSUE NO. 12 © 2021 BY 826NYC AND THE AUTHORS. ALL RIGHTS THE 826NYC REVIEW, ISSUE NO. 12 2021 BY 826NYC AND THE AUTHORS. ALL RESERVED, INCLUDING THE RIGHT OF REPRODUCTION IN WHOLE OR IN PART IN ANY RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THE RIGHT OF REPRODUCTION IN WHOLE OR IN FORM. PART IN ANY FORM.

FIRST 826NYC EDITION 2021

FIRST 826NYC EDITION 2021

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF BROOKLYN AMERICA

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF BROOKLYN AMERICA

978-1-934750-79-7 978-1-934750-79-7

THE WRITING IN THIS BOOK WAS PRODUCED OVER THE COURSE OF THE 2020-2021 THE WRITING IN THIS BOOK WAS PRODUCED OVER THE COURSE OF THE 2020SCHOOL YEAR DURING VARIOUS 826NYC PROGRAMS. 2021 SCHOOL YEAR DURING VARIOUS 826NYC PROGRAMS.

FOREWORD BY TIPHANIE YANIQUE DESIGNED BY JOE IOVINO DESIGNED BY JOE IOVINO EDITED AND PROOFREAD BY CHAD HEWITT, KATHERINE DEGENNARO, NIKKI EDITED AND PROOFREAD BY CHAD HEWITT, KATHERINE DEGENNARO, NIKKI BALDAUF, SARAH STEPHEN, JENNY MITSCHKE, MICHELLE HASKA, AND TIANA MOE FOREWORD BY TIPHANIE YANIQUE

BALDAUF, SARAH STEPHEN, JENNY MITSCHKE, MICHELLE HASKA, AND TIANA MOE

THIS PROGRAM IS SUPPORTED, IN PART, BY PUBLIC FUNDS FROM THE NEW YORK THIS PROGRAM IS SUPPORTED, IN PART, BY PUBLIC FUNDS FROM THE NEW CITY DEPARTMENT OF CULTURAL AFFAIRS IN PARTNERSHIP WITH THE CITY YORK CITY DEPARTMENT OF CULTURAL AFFAIRS IN PARTNERSHIP WITH THE COUNCIL, THE JANE FRIEDMAN ANSPACH FAMILY FOUNDATION, THE FIND YOUR CITY COUNCIL, THE JANE FRIEDMAN ANSPACH FAMILY FOUNDATION, THE LIGHT FOUNDATION, THE HAWKINS FOUNDATION, THE RONA JAFFE FOUNDATION, FIND YOUR LIGHT FOUNDATION, THE HAWKINS FOUNDATION, THE RONA THE KETTERING FAMILY FOUNDATION, THE MINERVA FOUNDATION, THE JAFFE FOUNDATION, THE KETTERING FAMILY FOUNDATION, THE MINERVA PINKERTON FOUNDATION, AND THE RESNICK FAMILY FOUNDATION. THE PROGRAM FOUNDATION, THE PINKERTON FOUNDATION, AND THE RESNICK FAMILY IS ALSO MADE POSSIBLE BY THE NEW YORK STATE COUNCIL ON THE ARTS WITH FOUNDATION. THE PROGRAM IS ALSO MADE POSSIBLE BY THE NEW YORK STATE THE SUPPORT OF GOVERNOR ANDREW M. CUOMO AND THE NEW YORK STATE COUNCIL ON THE ARTS WITH THE SUPPORT OF GOVERNOR ANDREW M. CUOMO LEGISLATURE. ADDITIONAL SUPPORT COMES FROM THE NATIONAL ENDOWMENT AND THE NEW YORK STATE LEGISLATURE. ADDITIONAL SUPPORT COMES FROM FOR THE ARTS. TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT HOW NATIONAL ENDOWMENT FOR THE NATIONAL ENDOWMENT FOR THE ARTS. TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT HOW THE ARTS GRANTS IMPACT INDIVIDUALS AND COMMUNITIES, VISIT WWW.ARTS. NATIONAL ENDOWMENT FOR THE ARTS GRANTS IMPACT INDIVIDUALS AND GOV. 826NYC IS GRATEFUL TO THE MANY INDIVIDUALS WHO SUPPORT OUR WORK. COMMUNITIES, VISIT WWW.ARTS.GOV. 826NYC IS GRATEFUL TO THE MANY TO SEE OUR FULL LIST OF SUPPORTERS OR MAKE A DONATION, PLEASE VISIT INDIVIDUALS WHO SUPPORT OUR WORK. TO SEE OUR FULL LIST OF SUPPORTERS HTTPS://826NYC.ORG/DONATE-US/.

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826NYC IS A NONPROFIT ORGANIZATION DEDICATED TO SUPPORTING STUDENTS 826NYC IS A NONPROFIT ORGANIZATION DEDICATED TO SUPPORTING AGES SIX TO EIGHTEEN WITH THEIR CREATIVE AND EXPOSITORY WRITING SKILLS STUDENTS AGES SIX TO EIGHTEEN WITH THEIR CREATIVE AND EXPOSITORY AND TO HELPING TEACHERS INSPIRE THEIR STUDENTS TO WRITE. OUR SERVICES WRITING SKILLS AND TO HELPING TEACHERS INSPIRE THEIR STUDENTS TO ARE STRUCTURED AROUND OUR BELIEF THAT GREAT LEAPS IN LEARNING CAN WRITE. OUR SERVICES ARE STRUCTURED AROUND OUR BELIEF THAT GREAT HAPPEN WITH ONE-ON-ONE ATTENTION AND THAT STRONG WRITING SKILLS ARE LEAPS IN LEARNING CAN HAPPEN WITH ONE-ON-ONE ATTENTION AND THAT FUNDAMENTAL TO FUTURE SUCCESS. STRONG WRITING SKILLS ARE FUNDAMENTAL TO FUTURE SUCCESS.

THE

826NYC REVIEW ISSUE 12 NO.

KEY REALITY MEMORY DREAMS

TABLE OF CONTENTS 1

FOREWORD TIPHANIE YANIQUE

This is Who You Used To Be STORIES ABOUT ADVOCACY & IDENTITY

5

Freedom Cento AZMERI AKTER

6

Overcoming MAXINE BABB

7

Letter to the President ANGELA BASKERVILLE

8

My Hungry Disposition CHLOE CAMPBELL

9

THIS IS WHO YOU USED TO BE MIA CRUZ & VIANCA CRUZ

14

Where I'm From Poem AKONI DRYSDALE-ASH

15

Beauty Within Itself KIERA FOSTER

16

The Presidential Debate HELEN GALLAGHER

19

Letter to the President JASON GAYLOR

20

Peace in the Streets RICHELLE ASHANTI HORSFORD

22

The Life of Ms. Lucas DIANI LUCAS

24

Dancing Poem NOAH JEAN MARIE

25

Hole in the Robber's Bag MICHAEL MIKKELSEN

28

Living in America TAJE PALMER

30

A Brave Moment ELMA RADONCIC

32

How to Feel Happy for Other People BIRD RZEPNIEWSKI

34

The Beginning of the End NATHANIEL STEWART

35

Op-Ed: Why Choose a Superpower?

JOSIAH VAZQUEZ

36

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free MAIRA ZAPATA

37

Biscuit, the King of Magic THE SUNO KNIGHTS AT KIPP INFINITY ELEMENTARY

39

Frosty and the Two Bullys P.S. 33Q FIRST GRADERS

Stories Being Passed Down STORIES ABOUT DREAMS, MEMORIES, AND REALITY

45

Alberta MAKAYLA BARRETT

46

The Sleeping Kingdom CASSIUS CARRASCO

47

Dreams ARAVAH CHAIKEN

50

He Said TAHIYA CHOWDHURY

51

Bike Poem MAYRA FERNÁNDEZ

52

Butter LUKE FLANNERY

55

Faded Carvings CLAIRE GIANNOSA

57

Why? GIANNA HENRY

79

Monologue LEA KARIAN

82

Aurorealis MORGAN LEE

89

She Tried to Pull Me In ANJALI MISIR

91

826NYC Write All About It Guest Speaker Event TANESHA NIXEL

94

Echo JACKSON POPPER

95

love ANAYELI ROSARIO

96

The Strange World I Live In SELENA SCARBOROUGH

103 Predator vs. Prey Song MORGAN LEE, NOAH JEAN MARIE, ZOE ROSS ALLEN, PAULETTE THOMPSON, AND MILES WU

106 Laughter Means You’re Alive G.O. DOLIBER, SIDNEY EDELSON, ELLA HOLLAND, MAVIS LU, JUSTIN NEMEROFF, BIRD RZEPNIEWSKI, AND ISABELLA WU

107 The Angry Chameleon SYDNEY CHENG, ADA LEE, JULIANNA NEMEROFF, AND OLIVE PALMIERI

110

Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too RICARDO FERNÁNDEZ, ANTHONY MUÑOZ, AND FABIANA VARGAS

Impossible to Land

STORIES ON PEOPLE, PLACES, THINGS

113

This Tiny Asian Archipelago ZARAH ALMONTE

119

Saturn’s Stunning Rings ANRIC CAROLINO

121

Tales of the Rocky Hills NEKO CURTIS

122 Blue Stuff ELIAN DE LEON

123 Brooklyn's Best AVA DECEUS

125 Ocean-Deep Pool MALAK KASSEM

127 Breath of the Ocean FAYE KRELIC

128 Puerto Rico AIDEN NIEVES WILBUR

129 Welcome to Orangat!

ERASMUS RAWLINSON THORPE

130 Baby Yoda Special FABIANA VARGAS

131

The World of Wonderous and Magical Monstrosities CLASS 4-307 AT P.S. 130

134 A New World (Un Nuevo Mundo) 4TH GRADE DUAL LANGUAGE AT P.S. 212

137 The Prophecy of Saturn: The Chosen One CLASS 718 AT CHANNEL VIEW SCHOOL FOR RESEARCH

140 The Poison Apple JASON RIVERS & ISAAC NATIVIDAD RODRIGUEZ

142 Animal Poem AYANA ALAMGIR, SOFIA KRANTZ, AND ISAAC NATIVIDAD RODRIGUEZ

144 The Spatula Who Couldn’t Make It, But Did Make It AYANA ALAMGIR, ELIAN DE LEON, AND SYDNEY CHENG

Take Me to the Oldest Tree Alive

STORIES ON ADVENTURE & FRIENDSHIP

149 A Murder Mystery LUCY BOOTH

155 The Kingdom of Orange Blossom LILY BROOKS

158 Catastrophe: First Steps LIAM CHENG

169 Her Call ARIANNA DIXON

177 The Great Quest G.O. DOLIBER

182 The School Trip in Space ELLA HOLLAND

191

The Story of the Hero “Pizza” LUCAS JIANG

198 Animal Crackers RAIMA JOIN

205 The Castle of Spells ADA LEE

207 Jack and the Beanstalk Reimagined ARAV MCINTYRE

208 Based on: Snow White & the Seven Dwarves CAROLINA MININO

211 Y īn Hé Yáng: Tatakai XAVIER MITCHELL-FRANCIS

218 A Remix of Mulan ISABELLA WU

222 The Missing Plants from the Garden FATIMA NATIVIDAD RODRIGUEZ & EUGENIA ROSAS

224 The Escaping of Evil: Broken Dimension CLASS 4-403 AT P.S. 170

227 The Possessed Clown CLASS 3/4 AT P.S. 45

230 The Adventure of Sparky: Part One REMOTE GROUP D, “THE WRITERS” AT P.S. 212

233 My Smart House JIMMY AFOLABI, TORI HERBERT, JASON RIVERS, AND PETER RZEPNIEWSKI

236 Losing the Keys RICARDO FERNÁNDEZ, LUIS ESTEVEZ PICAZO, AND JAN WASILUK

238 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 240 ABOUT 826NYC

FOREWORD TIPHANIE YANIQUE

A kindergartener I know well came to me recently to reveal something awful he’d done: “And I got away with it,” he said.

“What did you do?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral so he wouldn’t think he was in trouble with me.

“I played blocks . . . ” he said. I waited for the bad part. “ . . . with my friend Jeremiah. At the same table.”

“Oh,” I said, “Well I’m glad you had fun and I am glad you were safe, but next time follow the rules.”

I mean, really. We are living through supremely messed up times. These days a kindergartener can experience playing blocks with another kid as a treacherous thing to do. They kept their masks on, of course, and yet. Just being close to another person has become perilous. So what to do about this? Especially, if you are a kid?

Tell it, of course. We have never needed the stories of young people more than we do now. Young people have never needed the stories of themselves more than now. And we have never needed each other more. Oh, how we now treasure the ability to do basic stuff, like hug or dap a friend, see a classmate’s mouth smile. Finding ways to safely come 1

together now, is a radical act. Mia Cruz and Vianca Cruz do this radical work in their joint piece, “THIS IS WHO YOU USED TO BE”. There they come together to tell each other, and their past and future selves, who they are.

Writing does help us figure out who we were; what we are now up to in the deepest corners of our minds. It also helps us understand ourselves within history, as Jackson Popper seeks to do in his piece “Echo”, when he asks how the story of himself will be passed down, read, in the future. Humans have always told stories and sung poems. It’s how we say the most essential things to each other, such as: We are human.

You are human. We are all part of this. We can seek wisdom from the things the world has to offer, even from trees, as G.O. Doliber shows us in their story “The Great Quest”.

It’s true, that the universe is a dangerous place, full of COVID-19, and police brutality and school bullies, and puberty and all kinds of other harrowing things. Anric Carolino reminds us that it’s true that we can evaporate if we don’t take care. And yet, this 5th grader, also reminds us that if you bring the right resources (maybe a camera or a spaceship; or maybe a good friend) that this universe will reveal it’s beautiful rings. And this review of student writing is such a ring, such a ringing. A loud and clear ringing. Here are the stories of who we are and who we used to be.

2

This is Who You Used To Be

STORIES ABOUT ADVOCACY & IDENTITY

KEY IDEAS DREAMS MEMORY

Freedom Cento AZMERI AKTER • 12 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

My dear love If you don't come The day will get Smaller and smaller.

There will be no happiness.

The time will run faster As if I’m walking behind the fastest horse.

The sun may not shine as always.

There will be no green grass.

The wind will blow cold.

It will feel like a sharp knife cutting through my skin.

And the night will be dark Without moonlight and stars.

For there will be No summer here If you don't come.

5

Overcoming MAXINE BABB • 11 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT HIGH SCHOOL OF FASHION INDUSTRIES

Stomach’s an earthquake Brain’s a grenade Anxiety at its finest Palms feel like waterfalls Body still like a rock Anxiety at its finest Heart’s a knife And my knuckles are tense from squeezing my hand Anxiety at its finest I take a deep breath My lungs are open I won’t let you beat me I refocus my mind And conquer my fears I won’t let you consume me I give myself positive affirmations And hope for the best I am myself again.

6

Letter to the President ANGELA BASKERVILLE • AGE 9 WRIT TEN DURING WRITE AF TER SCHOOL

I want Joe Biden to know that it’s hard for some children to live in a busy city like New York. I want him to know that it’s hard for some foster children because sometimes they don’t get picked. I want the racism to stop.

7

My Hungry Disposition CHLOE CAMPBELL • 8 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I am smart and quiet I am forever hungry and smart I wonder what I should eat when I get home I hear some music and it's so-so I see school girls hitting the woah I want Popeye’s but they're too slow I am forever hungry and smart I pretend I'm full when I could go for another bite I feel so warm like I have touched the light I touch my stomach and had a small fright I worry there is no more food I cry because my worry came true I am forever hungry and smart I understand that I exaggerate I say, "Give me my meal, with no malice or hate" I dream about my love of food I try to share that dream, but with whom?

I hope to diet but that's a stretch I try to eat salads but I can only wretch I am forever hungry and smart

8

THIS IS WHO YOU USED TO BE MIA CRUZ & VIANCA CRUZ WRIT TEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

M: DEAR ME AT 13,

you seem to not grasp it. You seem to not grasp the fact that not everyone likes you.

You humbled yourself.

You revealed too much.

V: DEAR ME AT 11, you were desperate, but for

what? Friends? The ability to socialize? That your old-fashioned Mexican mother would understand your feelings?

M: DEAR ME AT 13,

you were so desperate for attention.

You were so blind, and I don’t mean blind as in you couldn’t see, I mean blind as in not seeing how bad you hurt her.

V: DEAR ME AT 11, you are beginning to rebel,

going through an awkward phase.

M:

I mean blind as in not noticing that he wasn’t the one.

9

V: DEAR ME AT 11, Doing small things like painting

your nails black, or writing “tampons should be free” on the tampon dispenser in the school bathroom.

M:

I mean blind as in ignoring what other people had to say.

V: Your mom was asking you what was going on,

asking if you were okay. But not in the motherly way you wanted it to be. More like, “What are you drawing and what does it mean?” or, “God can help you solve anything, God is always the answer.”

M:

You were just a selfish little kid who didn’t know anything. One thing that was good, was that you were confident, but that was good for nothing.

V:

You wanted to be alone.

Untouched. You realized, that men started to peek over at underaged girls, as soon as they started to show any skin. When your mom saw a man preying on a group of young girls. She said, “it’s the way they dress.” You, being surprised, that your own mother would say such a horrid thing.

10

M + V:

TH IS IS W H O YO U W IL L BE C O ME M: DEAR ME AT 19

Maybe you’re out partying.

V: DEAR ME AT AGE 25

Maybe you’re living in an RV, or maybe even homeless.

Eating canned beans; because you miss the way your now dead mother would cook them. The difference is strong, her beans are made with pride and determination, knowing her beans taste immaculate.

M: DEAR ME AT 19,

Maybe you’re in London already, or studying in your dorm room huddled up in your bed.

V: DEAR ME AT 65,

Maybe you’re living in the old abandoned house down the street. The neighborhood kids claim you’re a witch. The parents cover their kid’s eyes and say, “Be careful, she’ll curse you” as you walk by. But you won’t care. You won’t deny.

M: DEAR ME AT 27,

Maybe you’re still in Brooklyn where the air smells of wet grass and cigarette smoke. Or maybe you’re in the streets of Paris with your “love”.

11

V: DEAR ME AT 65,

Your hair is black with a few gray hairs here and there. Every Sunday you go to the market to buy cold canned beans, in memory of your long gone mother, and bake banana bread in memory of your deceased father.

M:

DEAR

ME

AT

30,

You are strong and independent, you are confident and healthy.

You are probably at home with your husband and struggling to remember your childhood.

V: DEAR ME AT 45, You are sipping red wine

on the window of your huge apartment in New York. The beans are cooking and smell scrumptious.

M + V:

THI S IS W H O YO U AR E R IGH T NOW M: DEAR MIA CRUZ,

V: DEAR VIANCA CRUZ, M:

You are okay.

V: You are bored.

12

M:

You are average. You are a normal human being that you might see walking down the street.

V: You wish you could do more.

M:

Or not.

V: But you know your mother would pull

you by your hairs if she knew what you were thinking. Or what you meant.

M:

You have some peculiar thoughts.

You talk a lot.

But that’s okay.

I think.

V: But I can’t help but wonder If I stopped believing

what she believes, I would be free.

M:

I don’t have much to say except that you are you.

V: And that’s enough.

M + V:

Yo u a re yo u a n d t hat’s e n o ugh.

13

Where I'm From Poem AKONI DRYSDALE-ASH • 8 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I am from My computer and My phone From my TV and my TV remote I am from the slums and the trenches The smell of bacon eggs and cheese and a sunny project breeze The coming back to life trees and grass Whose long gone color and value is long gone but returns in spring.

I'm from vanilla-tasting pancakes and Family barbeques From grandma and grandpa's house I'm from becoming distant and reconnecting And from our family bond resurrecting.

I'm from “you’re not a boy” and “are you a boy or girl” And from "you got a friend in me" I'm from going to birthday parties and celebrating I'm from Manhattan hospital and Trinidad and waffles with bacon From “you look like your great grandma” I am from pictures of my mom and my brothers and my cousin’s house and my bedroom window.

14

Beauty Within Itself KIERA FOSTER • AGE 16 WRIT TEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

She is a beautiful small town.

Embodies simplicity but with an edge.

Spring-like weather all year-round with occasionally heavy thunderstorms.

Streets smell heavenly as if fresh baked goods are being made everywhere you turn.

This town only carries the best individuals who it knows will bring positivity to the area.

Negativity and belittlement are not allowed unless they are for the benefit of someone else.

She is the town that you escape to when you need to relax and unwind.

Just to kick up your feet in the sunshine, but after that well-needed getaway, a sudden realization strikes you like a car crash and you know what needs to be done for a better change.

She may sound like a perfect town, but she is far from it, her history and mantras make her that gravitating town you just want to know more about or reside in as long as possible.

15

The Presidential Debate HELEN GALLAGHER • AGE 9 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

BETTY BUTTER:

Hello and welcome to the first presidential debate. My name is Betty Butter and I will be your moderator for tonight.

Now I must welcome the presidential candidates: Mayor of Kitchenville, Sir Potato, and Senator from the Dairy Aisle, Mr. Onion. Let’s begin.

The first question is: what will you do to improve the United States of Food? Mr. Onion, you can go first.

MR. ONION:

I plan to give money only to businesses that employ onions because they will work hard to get things done.

BETTY BUTTER:

Ok, Mr. Onion. Now let’s hear from Sir Potato.

SIR POTATO:

I plan to help small and poor businesses throughout the country and invest in education.

BETTY BUTTER:

There is an abnormal amount of fruit flies getting into our 16

country. What should the frightened citizens of this country do? Mr. Onion, you can go first again.

MR. ONION:

Since I’m not a piece of fruit, I don’t exactly care for this matter. I haven’t seen a problem with the flies.

BETTY BUTTER:

That is enough, Mr. Onion. Now you may share, Sir Potato.

SIR POTATO:

These are scary times and I am not afraid to admit it. I think that lots of businesses should start making fly swatters and give them to the army to protect the country.

BETTY BUTTER:

One final question: refrigerator apartments have been running out of money to keep cooling them. This is affecting lots of homes.

What do you plan to do to help in this situation, Mr. Onion?

MR. ONION:

I choose to keep putting more and more heat in the refrigerator apartments. I don’t live there so I don’t mind a thing. It will save money for more important things.

17

BETTY BUTTER:

I don’t exactly agree with your answer but let’s move on. Sir Potato?

SIR POTATO:

I think we should cool down the apartments. The residents need the cool and fresh air to stay healthy.

BETTY BUTTER:

Now it is time for closing statements. Mr. Onion, you can begin.

MR. ONION:

I am the best of the best and you should always remember that and that’s why I will be elected for President.

BETTY BUTTER:

Interesting. Okay. Now let’s hear from Sir Potato.

SIR POTATO:

Always remember that I am here for this country. If I am elected President, I will make everyone’s safety my top priority.

BETTY BUTTER:

And this concludes the first presidential debate. Also, don’t forget to VOTE! 18

Letter to the President JASON GAYLOR • AGE 8 WRIT TEN DURING WRITE AF TER SCHOOL

Dear President Biden, Please be better than Trump. Kids like me really want to go back to school, not just learning at home. In the future, I would like a world without racism. Also, America needs to stop global warming. Finally, please give everyone the COVID vaccine.

Also, give kids more playtime! As a kid, it can be a little scary in New York.

Sincerely, Jason

19

Peace in the Streets RICHELLE ASHANTI HORSFORD • 8 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I am from two overprotective parents and four brothers.

From a loud house but quiet neighborhood.

I am from where everyone talks about everyone but acts like it never happened to their face.

The tree where cats always find their way up and shockingly down too.

I am from late-night hangouts and a mother who stops and talks to everyone.

From “we leaving in five minutes” turning into “we've been here for hours.”

I am from where everybody knows everybody and playing traffic in the alley is fun and from cheating in cops and robbers by using vehicles when it is a no-vehicle game (that's where the trust issues started).

I am from getting back up and trying ‘til I get it and not everything is forever.

I am from that park where my dad took me to watch the soccer games on Sundays.

20

I am from bright lights and big buildings.

Rice and peas and oxtails.

From going to the hospital once a year because somebody's sick, baby pictures, and stories of everybody's childhood, like when my uncle ate my grandmother's ice cream when he was a kid. That story never gets old, unlike the people.

Paintings, pictures that all hold a special memory.

I am from the city that never sleeps. In Alicia Keys’s words, "In New York, concrete, jungle, wet dream, tomato." Nah, lemme be for real. “In New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of."

21

The Life of Ms. Lucas DIANI LUCAS • 8 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I am from messy clothes and sheets everywhere.

From getting yelled at to then getting spoiled.

I am from wooden floors to the smell of dinner cooking every night.

The lights flicker from my grandma as she gives us a sign she is always near I'm from a great Thanksgiving and Christmas every year From my mom's side to my dad's side.

I'm from celebrating my grandma's passing to crying about how she's gone too soon.

I'm from "Don't touch that, Diani" and "What do you wanna eat" And "Good morning, Mr. Walker" I'm from wearing the same shirts as my family.

I'm from Brooklyn and New York.

I'm from chicken and macaroni.

From seeing a ghost outside the glass window and how he had a hat and red glowing eyes.

22

From seeing ashes of my ancestors around my grandma's house.

I'm from hiding presents under my bed and lights and mirrors all around my wall.

I'm from the memory of my lost loved ones in my heart.

23

Dancing Poem AF TER ALVIN AILEY’S “REVEL ATIONS”

NOAH JEAN MARIE • AGE 9 WRIT TEN DURING WRITE AF TER SCHOOL

They twirl on silk waves Joy of their freedom is overwhelming They rejoice in the baptism of water They show their joy by dancing

24

Hole in the Robber’s Bag MICHAEL MIKKELSEN • 11TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT L AB SCHOOL FOR COLL ABORATIVE STUDIES

Leaving behind something feels weird when we consider it to be the identity we donate to the world’s Goodwill of past lives and their successes.

The good things that you want people to remember about you— they’re way past the way you walked, the way your love handles curved, and the distinct smell of the leave-in conditioner that lingered in your curls.

It’s far beyond the wooden coffin that leaves moldy chips behind when your bones dry and your flesh fertilizes the ground.

Because what will be written on your tombstone will eventually erode in the elements along with its sentiment.

A picture can speak however many words, as a pitcher can hold and pour however many liters.

But will your lisp or your excessive gestures be captured in that photo?

25

Will your growth be seen by the pencil marks that your parents etched into the drywall?

Or will your maturity be defined by your better understanding of the words “love” and “trust”?

Your memories are like lumps on a wall, made from drops of paint that were on gravity’s leash until they dried, frozen in time.

They may look and feel weird in essence, but you can’t stop running your fingertips over them to re-experience the sensation.

Why give someone that pleasure to do the same?

To inspect the life you once lived, the space where your spirit once lingered, and then have it disrespected and defiled when they slather on another layer of paint to their heart’s content?

Why would you give your new suburban neighbor the peach cobbler you baked in the new electric oven you bought if you don’t know how they will react?

What if they’re allergic, or they only take one bite and leave the rest till it grows mold, 26

and then wait to touch it again only to dispose of it?

It’s like robbing a bank and then leaving a priceless jewel on the floor in plain sight, in a dangerous place where it can be easily obtained by any average Joe and then be sentenced to an unknown doom.

If that burglar really wanted to rob the bank, he would’ve made sure the bag was sealed in every way.

Because your success isn't automatically treasured when you’re gone.

You can’t tell people how to interpret your life or your immature words of encouragement; you’re allowing those priceless black pearls to be kicked and rolled into the dusty New York flood control grate.

And I don’t think you want your thoughts to share the same bed with someone’s chunky tobacco spit or soiled decaying gum wrapper, now, do you?

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Living in America TAJE PALMER • 11TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT HIGH SCHOOL OF FASHION INDUSTRIES

As a young woman in a huge world, it can be very strenuous to navigate through life.

As a young woman in a huge world, the unexpected and unknown, too afraid to be alone, the destruction of daylight, it is corrupt and atrocious, many people tend to act like a fool, don’t fall into the trap, unfortunately it is hard to come back.

As a young woman in a huge world, the pressure of the world as it fills up inside of me it is as if lightning danced across the dark gloomy sky.

I want to go deep beneath the ground.

Your family and friends’ love and support 28

will help you find the light in the dark.

As a young woman in a huge world, I open my mind.

Yes, I will rise, don't let it control me, I control the world!

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A Brave Moment ELMA RADONCIC • AGE 17 WRIT TEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

W

aiting in the line, holding our groceries, my mother stands right in front of me. We are next in line. I just want to pay for our groceries and leave the store. My mom and I have a long day ahead of us, but an exciting one, so all that is running through my mind right now is what we need to do. I love being productive, so checking off everything on my list is something I am truly looking forward to when I get home. The cashier calls us over. As I’m putting our groceries down on the counter, my mom and I are having a conversation in our native language. Our minds are in la-la land until the cashier gets angry at my mother for having difficulty paying on this ineffective and useless machine sitting in front of me. I’m truly getting frustrated at this point. I try to calm the situation, so I ask him to just give her a moment.

I take over the payment and packing of the groceries for my mother and tell her it’s okay. I hate big scenes like this . . . I mean, what’s wrong with this guy? I don’t have patience either, but not to this extent. I am in such disbelief. As I am finishing up, he continues to disrespectfully comment on my mother’s “lack of English-speaking skills.” I cannot be polite to this man anymore, and if he’s causing a scene, then I might as well do it too. I tell him, “You know, I have the right to remain silent, but I don’t have the ability to, especially when you are disrespecting my mother. If you don’t like hearing our absolutely normal conversation, then you can cover

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your ears or simply decide to walk away. No one asked for your opinion, and no one wants to hear it.” And he replies, “Of course,” with a bunch of useless words coming out of his mouth that I am not paying attention to. At this point I am extremely close to reaching my next level of anger, and I just say, “You can’t seem to shut your mouth because then how will all the hot air escape?” I grab our groceries, allow my mother to exit first, like always, and then we leave the store.

But before we leave, I make sure he understands that if he ever speaks towards my mother in the way he did today, well, not only will he have a serious problem with me, but with my dad as well. I know that I handled that situation well.

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How to Feel Happy for Other People BIRD RZEPNIEWSKI • AGE 10 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

Feeling happy for other people has always come naturally to me. My big brother strives to be the best person he can, which I admire. I got better at being happy for other people mainly because my big brother and I are always getting the next new thing, but my big brother is a lot richer and has better skill levels and stats in the game Hypixel Skyblock. I put together this guide for people like my little brother who haven’t yet mastered the skill of feeling happy for other people like I have.

STEP 1:

Don’t hate on them when they get something good.

For example, if your sibling or friend gets a very good weapon in Minecraft, congratulate them or ask for a smaller share of the profit that would be made from selling the weapon.

STEP 2:

If someone has exciting news, be there to listen to them and congratulate them. For example, if your teacher gets a new job, you could tell them you are sad to see them go, but glad they have a new job.

STEP 3: STEP 4:

Other people’s successes are not your failures!

If you get something that you know your friend or sibling wants, know your audience—it’s okay to flex on people sometimes but not always (maybe only if they are

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your best friend).

STEP 5:

If you find something you really like, share it with other people.

STEP 6:

If everything above feels too difficult for you, you can start by getting a laptop. Then buy Minecraft Java edition for thirty dollars. Once you have done that, load up Minecraft, hit “multiplayer,” and create a new server with the IP address “mc.hypixel.net.” Then left click once, and left click the little earth in your menu. If multiple people do these steps together, you will get used to working with other people and feeling happy when they get things that you didn’t.

STEP 6.5:

If you don’t know anything about this game, look up “Hypixel Skyblock Minecraft tutorial.”

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The Beginning of the End NATHANIEL STEWART • 8 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I am unique and broken I wonder what's my true purpose I hear dogs barking I see dead trees I want everyone to be happy I am unique and broken I pretend that I'm happy I feel like I have a purpose I touch my mother’s shoulder I worry that I might lose my mom I cry for the things I lose I am unique and broken I understand that I am something I say I can help people be happy I dream for everyone to be happy I try to keep my friends from dying I hope I don't lose anyone else I am unique and broken

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Op-Ed: Why Choose a Superpower?

JOSIAH VAZQUEZ • 7 TH GRADE WRIT TEN IN WRITE ALL ABOUT IT!

If I could choose one superpower, I wouldn’t choose one at all. I know it sounds crazy, but I wouldn’t want that in my life. With powers, my entire life would have to change. If I became a superhero, then I would be burdened with having to put myself last. If I were a villain, then I would be in jail and I wouldn’t want to harm anyone. Even if I didn’t become either of those things, then my entire life would still change.

I’d be avoiding everybody that would all be afraid of me and would be on the run because most likely the government would want to run a lot of tests and eventually end up dissecting me for data. And everything that powers could give me, I could get myself.

Why have strength when I could go to the gym and work out?

Why have super speed when I could practice running? Why have super smarts when I could study? You don’t have to have powers to be a hero.

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I wish I knew how it would feel to be free AF TER NINA SIMONE AND CAMERON AWKWARD - RICH

MAIRA ZAPATA • 12 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free my honeyed kin honeyed light beneath the sky while I fall apart and all my pieces crumble into the sound of the drum a white door opens into a place brightness brimming then you seed and agree that everyone should be free and thinking I'm way overdue and soon be starting soon ohh dear friends everyone we love is still alive gathered at the lakeside like constellations until we be free or wish we knew how it would feel to be free.

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Biscuit, the King of Magic THE SUNO KNIGHTS AT KIPP INFINITY ELEMENTARY WRIT TEN DURING WRITE TOGETHER

O

ur story begins with a dog that likes to run. Biscuit is a pitbull who knows that there are secrets that are yet to be found. Biscuit ran to try and find them. One day he was running and found a hole that only he could fit through. He squeezed his head and found himself looking at a giant academy. Biscuit could not believe this was real and needed to go inside to investigate. Biscuit snuck inside. Then a tall man noticed him and asked, “Hey! What are you doing here? Get out.”

Biscuit understood the human clearly and looked down and noticed he had feet and hands like a human too! What happened when he went through the hole?

Biscuit tried to go back through the hole to turn back into a dog. Unfortunately, Biscuit no longer fit!

Biscuit felt something was off. A loud bell rang, and suddenly Biscuit was dogpiled. An older dog chanted something that sounded foreign, and POOF! Biscuit was back to his original form.

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The old dog came up to Biscuit and said, “You found this place on your own. This is meant to be. Welcome to the Academy for Magical Dogs. Here you will learn the ancient craft of dog magic.”

It was the first day of class for Biscuit, and he was excited to meet new dogs. Class began and he looked around—no one else was here! The professor said, “Everyone else is more advanced and you need to catch up. Hope you are a quick learner.”

Biscuit was ready for the challenge—he made it this far and knew he could catch up. After class, Biscuit asked some of the older students for help. The older students were super friendly and were happy to help Biscuit practice his magic. A couple months passed, and it was time for exams. This was the chance for Biscuit to skip a grade. He spent a lot of time failing and succeeding. All of his friends were there to support him.

The test was here. It was very hard—he needed to turn invisible, fly, and move an object using his mind. Biscuit took a deep breath, and the professor said, “Begin!”

TO B E C O N T I N U E D . . .

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Frosty and the Two Bullys P.S. 33Q FIRST GRADERS WRIT TEN DURING WRITE TOGETHER

F

rosty the ice dragon was waiting in line for the opening of a new amusement park called the Magical Amusement Park. Frosty had a full plate. She was excited to roam the space and check out the target practice area and shoot lasers at things! She also wanted to see the dinosaur fossils.

Frosty did not come alone though. She came with Dino, a kind dinosaur. Someone came up to Frosty and said, “I see your big wings, give this race a shot for the grand prize of the rare fire trophy!”

Frosty and Dino headed to the race and found a large group ready to begin. One creature looked especially scary.

They had large wings and large horns. The other racers were Moose Bully, a cat who takes pride in being named Mean 39

Cat, and finally another of Frosty’s friends, The Nicest Dog in the World. Nice Dog walked up to Frosty and said, “You look nice.”

Everyone set up at the starting line. The race was to begin!

The announcer said, “3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . GO!” The race began. Frosty blasted forward and was in the lead. But then Moose Bully was suddenly in first place. Dino shouted, “CHEATER!”

Suddenly, Mean Cat pushed Frosty as hard as they could and pushed her into the stands where everyone was watching.

Frosty felt a little pain but wanted to win even if others were cheating. Dino kept going and was in first place, zooming past Moose Bully. Moose Bully was not happy and dropped a smoke bomb which left the race path mystified. Frosty 40

caught up to the rest of the group and used all of her energy.

The finish line was just ahead. The trophy could be anyone’s at this point. Moose Bully passed the finish line and instead of stopping, grabbed the trophy and ran off!

Frosty and Dino remembered what Nice Dog said earlier and felt energized to get the trophy back.

Moose Bully and Mean Cat flew past the horizon heading towards a giant mansion.

Frosty and Dino needed to leave the Amusement Park for now. The trophy needed to come back first!

TO B E C O N T I N U E D . . .

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Stories Being Passed Down

STORIES ABOUT DREAMS, MEMORIES, AND REALITY

KEY IDEAS DREAMS MEMORY

Alberta MAKAYLA BARRETT • 11TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

She rises like the sun, blessing us with her beautiful light See how her smile dazzles those who walk by The matriarch, respected, loved always sacrificing for others Watch her glow with each step never missing a beat Look at her stride with confidence knowing the power she holds For her family, she will go to any length For she is a force one so great and strong It is through us that her legacy will live on

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The Sleeping Kingdom CASSIUS CARRASCO • AGE 12 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

L

ong ago, there was a kingdom that was the richest in all the land. Everyone was very wealthy which was why its rules came from the same bloodline. When the heir was born, the kingdom threw a party. However, their mistake was not inviting the dark queen who could place curses on entire kingdoms. She decided to place the kingdom under a sleeping spell but the kingdom would not fall. However, the newborn who would be cute if seen was not affected by the spell. This ended up being very dangerous for the newborn.

After all, she could not do anything and could not eat hard food yet. However, some people who were not affected by the spell found her and raised her themselves in a new kingdom.

When the newborn was in the new kingdom, the dark queen found out that she was not affected by the spell and that someone else took her. Instead of going after them in rage, she expected this as she came up with a counter measure in case her plan went south. The dark queen took over the sleeping kingdom for herself and provided a place for her servants to live.

Twenty-one years later, the princess (adopted by a farmer and his wife) was preparing a dinner of mashed potatoes and chicken. Suddenly, she fell asleep and the farmer didn’t know what to do.

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Dreams ARAVAH CHAIKEN • AGE 13 WRIT TEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

“Hi,

may I have a flying dream?”

Working as a mind worker for an adult was tough.

Finding dreams they would remember was even tougher. That’s why I went to the top dream library, located in a cemetery. Sure, they remembered the nightmares, but she had a bad day, and a nightmare would not be out of the ordinary. A good dream would astonish them. I walked through the aisles, finding nothing that popped out.

The librarian replied, “Sure! They are in aisle 175. We have a new release here today! Someone arrived today, a choreographer!”

“That sounds lovely!”

“This is a medium dark, fun, original flying dream!”

“I’ll take that one!” Walking back to my human, I tripped and missed. The dream shattered as I gasped. “Oh no! And they only allow one release!” I tugged my hair and groaned.

As dream workers, we all knew the stakes. One missing dream night and then all of the imagination, all of the hard work, would be broken as the frayed barrier that kept the subconscious from the conscious exploded, causing what they call a psychotic break. Keeping the subconscious happy with dreams was the only way to prevent the quirky—and dangerous—dreams and imagination from getting tangled with reality. Two things could happen during a psychotic dream break: people would have hallucinations and have an 47

alternate reality, or the dreams would become devastatingly literal. As a microbiologist, I didn’t think that this would affect her as much, but we cannot take the chance of a psychotic breakdown.

Once I got back, I got started on a script. “Flying through the sky, black wings, secret spies . . . ” I glanced at the clock. Almost REM! But I hadn’t filmed it! Argh! I would have to act it out in real time!

“Alright! Lights, Camera, Action!”

“To the Rescue!”

“Yeaah!”

The flashes started blaring. My heart sank. I had never turned the camera on. This was bad. Really bad. A psychotic break was going to start soon. When that started, we would all be plunged into a world of chaos and half-drawn pictures.

Memories would shatter. We would escape, but everything before would be lost forever. And ever. Never again would I have the luxury of reminiscing. As a doctor, this would destroy my career. The people in the front handled that stuff. But it’s me who’s to blame. Where would I go to stop this? Would I have to wait until the next night?

I flipped through the In Case of Emergency manual. IN CASE OF PSYCHOTIC BREAK AND NO DREAMS, keep them asleep while you film another dream. Once the sirens stop blaring, it’s over.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The sirens went off. It was strangely peaceful. Shards of my past drifted in front of my eyes. My first cookie: shattered. My favorite song: shattered.

“What am I? What was I doing?”

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“Lalalala.” I danced around in circles. “______” __________ The button was pressed. All of a sudden, life slowly came back. The pieces slowly turned back into place, and I was slammed onto the floor.

“Flying dream, yes, flying dream!” I began making airplane noises and swooshing above the ground. Slowly, everything came back. My favorite song was “The Four Seasons.” My least favorite cookie flavor was oatmeal raisin. I worked with cells and microbes.

How big was a microbe? Was it small? How small was it? One centimeter? Two millimeters? How small could that get? Why could I not see that?

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He Said TAHIYA CHOWDHURY • 11TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT HIGH SCHOOL OF FASHION INDUSTRIES

He said we’re leaving.

She left her family and her precious home behind.

He said don’t work.

She obliged.

He said no more kids.

She dropped her desire to seek motherhood once more.

He said your family is no good.

She didn’t see them for months after.

He said I make the decisions for our kids.

She questioned “our.”

He said you corrupted these kids.

She took “these kids” as hers now.

He said I have no money for this family.

She knew he emptied it on another.

He said I cheated to teach you a lesson.

She learned.

He said change the way you dress.

She uttered a line in defense.

He said I’ll kick your child out of the house.

She dismissed any thoughts of defiance.

He said I’m superior.

She doubted her confidence, the uncertainty in her abilities to properly support her child compelled her to oblige.

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Bike Poem MAYRA FERNÁNDEZ • AGE 14 WRIT TEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

I gave you some fresh air Some time to be alone You couldn’t be alone inside Always getting bothered You let me feel free too For some time Taking the chains off We cared for each other You checked my wheels And I took you away to feel better On bad days We ran No directions No destination Not a place to go Just somewhere anywhere You just need some fresh air

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Butter LUKE FLANNERY • 11TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT L AB SCHOOL FOR COLL ABORATIVE STUDIES

T

his is the story of how Luke Dominic Martin Flannery ate twenty mini packets of butter at the Coopertown Diner.

From ages 10 to 13, I attended the Salk School of Science. Just outside school, there was a diner frequented by the kids who were allowed to leave the building for lunch. I went there occasionally when I could convince my friends not to eat pizza (which we inexplicably ate almost every day for three years). On one of these occasions, we sat down in the diner at a table with a large basket of butter packets that the diner served for bread, pancakes, and other things normal humans put butter on. A friend of mine (I would say I’m keeping them anonymous for the sake of privacy, but honestly I forget who it was) decided to take one of these butter packets, open it, and eat it in one bite. I suppose they were trying to be funny in a “random” or “quirky” way. I was not particularly amused, but immediately following this impromptu butter consumption, the table erupted in laughter.

And that was all my little pea-brain needed. I immediately started shoveling butter packets into my mouth at an ungodly pace. I unwrapped multiple packets at a time just to force slab upon slab of butter down my throat. I was on the verge of sickness as the butter became responsible for 52

an integer percentage of my body weight. The entire time, my friends were absolutely losing it. With each additional packet, the laughter got louder and louder, and I didn’t want to stop this feeling of instant gratification. Once I got to packet twenty, I gave in. I stopped eating. My friends laughed for maybe a minute longer and then went back to their meals.

But not me. I was in so much physical pain that I couldn’t eat a single mouthful of food. I walked back into school with indigestion and later walked home still feeling the butter sitting in my stomach.

Now, after hearing this story, I assume you are thinking, “Wow, what the hell is wrong with this guy?” And believe me, I ask myself that very same question every day. No part of me wanted to eat that butter. I didn’t even think it was funny.

But the way I saw it, there were two options: Option one: I don’t eat the butter. I finish my meal as planned. I don’t do anything over the top. Once we leave, no one remembers the meal. When we get home, no one remembers the day. And when I leave middle school, no one remembers me.

Option two: I eat the butter. I get indigestion. I feel absolutely awful. Once we leave, my friends are still talking about it. When we get home, my friends text me about the crazy day we had. And when I leave middle school, I am remembered as the kid who ate all that butter that one time.

Maybe to someone just a touch more stable than me, option one sounds better. But I could not find the strength in me to fight my greatest fear: mediocrity. Graduating 53

middle school with an 85 average. Getting into a mediumrated college. Attending it while working to pay for tuition.

Marrying the year I leave. Getting a boring office job with a middle-class salary. Having two kids. Living in a mediumsized house with a white picket fence that we support with our two incomes. Retiring at 65. Getting my kids into all the same schools I went to. Writing my will. Dying at 74 from heart complications. Being buried in a cemetery with a headstone the exact same size and color as all the others, my grave the only indication that I ever even lived.

I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I know that life is a dream to plenty of people who have it much harder than I do.

But the idea that I would exist in this world just to be forgotten is horrifying. If the only way for me to be remembered is to eat twenty packets of butter at a small diner outside the Salk School for Science, so be it.

Maybe I was being irresponsible. Maybe I was a reckless person. Maybe the butter indigestion was God punishing me for my hubris. But the truth is, I really didn’t care if I hurt myself. Pain is temporary, the butter memories are forever.

And I refuse to die without them.

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Faded Carvings CLAIRE GIANNOSA • 11TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT L AB SCHOOL FOR COLL ABORATIVE STUDIES

I never left.

There were so many opportunities, so many open doors that just never looked appealing; while everyone walked away, arm in arm, my feet stayed rooted to the ground.

There was no point in leaving to experience the glory days when mine were right here, rooted in this space, this village, this building, this song . . .

The Number 8 sandwich, no tomatoes, a cookie split down the middle.

I couldn’t see the point in leaving when the little kids with braids and buzzcuts and teeth made for candy were so much nicer, wiser than even myself.

They clung onto my jacket with their tiny hands and I fulfilled my promise to never let them go.

I would never let them down.

Even in the back corner of the subway car, my eyes looked out for little pom-poms and Oreo cookies, glaring at the adults who dared to give them a hard time.

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On the cusp of the water, nestled like dolls in cabins or weaving through metal playgrounds, the little giggling fish twirled and leaped and fell, the innocence of trust and I always took my position on the outside of their circle, my fingers intertwined in spirit.

I don’t know how I can say goodbye, and know that I can never come back.

That I can never jump right in and say— “I love you” —and actually mean it.

That I will never again: mess up and be rewarded anyway; be the bigger person; be on the outside without any pressure of needing to join in; feel the comfort of knowing— I am in the exact position I am supposed to be in.

I will tell you I am coming back.

I will look you right in the eye and declare that I will never leave.

But we all know that was the one promise I could never keep.

Time ages the structure of what we have come to know like a wet piece of wood.

Warping around the middle before it finally cracks.

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Why? GIANNA HENRY • 9TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I

laughed vigorously as the wind blew through my hair. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be here, and if my dad caught me, I’d be in a tremendous amount of trouble. I liked— no, loved—coming on the roof. It was a breath of fresh air, going on the roof of our 15th floor apartment building. My dad didn’t think it was safe, but I knew how to handle myself.

Not a lot of people came up here, so I managed to keep it a safe haven. I even decorated it a bit. It was late fall, and looking at the trees and the different colors of the leaves brought me peace for some weird reason. I can’t quite explain.

“Gideon!!” My father screamed, scaring me out of my daydream. “What are you doing on the roof?! I said not to dare step foot on this roof again!! Why do you have such a hard time when it comes to listening? You know—” I completely blocked him out. I’d heard this lecture before, one too many times. I started making my way downstairs. I heard my father’s booming voice and him trailing behind me. I knew why my dad didn’t want me on the roof, not that he thought I was going to, but maybe out of fear or paranoia. My dad was a single parent. I tried to push him to get out there because I knew how sad he’d been since mom passed, and she passed a long time ago. To make a long story short, she killed herself. I wasn’t sad, and it didn’t keep me up at night. I mean, sometimes it crossed 57

my mind as to why she would do it, and why she didn’t feel as if she belonged here. I was just a baby when she did it, and coincidentally, she jumped off a building. I thought that was what made my dad so paranoid, the whole being-on-a-roof thing. I never had a special connection with my mom, so it didn’t make me as sad. Sometimes I felt bad for not being sad about it.

We finally reached the door to our apartment. It was good for two people. I helped my father decorate it by taking inspo from Pinterest. I was a fan of bohemian decor and warm tones and colors, so I incorporated it in the apartment.

My neighbors were really chill too.

My father gave a worn out sigh. I felt bad. I knew he was nervous, but I explained time and time again that I would never leave him. I liked being on the roof, the wind going through my hair. I felt free up there, as if all my problems disappeared. I felt infinite. I looked over at my father, his once jet-black hair going gray. His eyes that used to be so bright looked grim and gray. He looked tired and sad. I truly felt for him. My mom passed away more than a decade ago, but I think it hit harder for him. He sometimes would think of her and just get sad knowing that there’s nobody else out there like my mom. He knew her for her; I didn’t know her at all. He talked about her only once to me, saying how she was absolutely stunning, her smile was breathtaking and her laughter, everything she did, was amazing in his eyes.

Sometimes he blamed himself for her death, how he wasn’t seeing the signs. I don’t think it was his fault at all, but as soon as I said something, he shut the conversation down.

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I walked over to my room, my second favorite place. My dad made me decorate it to my liking. Just stepping inside, I felt warm and cozy. I practically ran over to my reading corner. I don’t understand how people don’t like reading.

I always feel as if I’m somewhere else, somewhere better, when I read.

“Gideon,” my dad said, standing awkwardly by the doorway. It was as if he wanted to come inside but was unsure of himself.

“Yes.” I looked up from my book, waiting for him to say something.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. . . earlier. I-I was just. . . I really do care about you.” He looked genuine and an awkward smile was on his face. I wanted to be mad at him and ask him why I couldn’t be on the roof. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t going to do what mom did, but when I looked at his face, his tired face, I couldn’t bear to tell him off.

“It’s okay!” I tried to sound fine so he didn’t feel as bad.

My dad hated yelling at me, but nowadays it was all he’d been doing.

I’d seen photos of my mom before with her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes and her smile with perfect pearly whites to finish it off. Even though I didn’t know her, she definitely was a beauty. My dad said I look like her more and more every day. I took it as a compliment; it was sometimes off-putting because it was like every time my dad looked at me, he saw her. I didn’t know if that gave him comfort or heartache.

I opened my laptop, scrolling through Pinterest. I loved 59

doing that in my pastime, just endless scrolling through my Pinterest feed, seeing a life that I so badly wanted to live.

Pretty girls with pretty faces, nice bodies, and perfect lives. At least that was what it looked like. I tried not to compare my life to others, but sometimes it was so hard. I truly couldn’t help it. Sometimes, I liked to daydream about a perfect life, my version of a perfect life where my dad didn’t always look sad and so full of defeat and where I had all the books known to mankind. They're called dreams for a reason though. I could just hope with all my heart that that did happen.

“Gideon, dinner is ready,” my dad called. We were having takeout per usual. My dad couldn’t cook to save his life. He’d even burnt a grilled cheese sandwich . . . A grilled cheese sandwich. And no offense, but I don’t think he’s ever been introduced to seasoning; just don’t tell him I said that, though. I think things were still a little awkward from when he yelled at me earlier. Dinner was pretty silent. It usually was, but this silence was unbearable. Normally we talked about true crime, and if we couldn’t think of anything, the default would be a talk about school. I hated talking about school. I loved school, or at least tried to, but the kids made it a living hell. I had one friend, Genevieve. I called her Ginny for short. I thought having at least one friend was better than having no friends at all. We’d been friends since birth.

Her mom was my mom’s best friend since they were young, and they went to the same college. So Ginny and I were practically inseparable. I was interrupted by my thoughts when the phone rang. My dad had a rule, no phones at the dinner table, so we ignored it. That was when it rang again.

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My dad went to go answer it.

“Hello . . .” he answered hesitantly. I assumed that it was just some silly kids messing around and prank calling, but my dad looked as if he’d seen a ghost. I looked curiously, trying to see what could make him react like this. After a good five minutes, he’d finally hung up. My curiosity had gotten the best of me, and I immediately asked him who had called at such an hour. He said with a stunned expression, “Your grandparents.”

I was taken aback. My dad’s parents had died years ago.

“Grandparents?” I mumbled.

“Yes, your mom’s parents.” I got a shiver up my spine.

My dad had never, and I mean never, talked about my mom’s parents. I never even thought about my mom’s parents or the fact that she had relatives other than me. I was stunned.

I had so many questions.

“W-why did they call?” I stammered, barely able to speak coherently.

“They asked about you. They said they wanted to get to know you.”

I wanted to go off. How dare they want to get to know me. This was their first time calling since forever. I never even knew about them. They obviously knew about me and decided it was best to not reach out, so why did they want to talk now? I knew my mom had parents, but my dad didn’t mention them a lot. Actually, thinking about it, he’d only mentioned them once, and it was really brief. When I was younger, my dad talked about my mom, making sure that I knew who she was since she passed when I was so young. I 61

asked if she had any family members and if I had a grandpa and grandma. He was hesitant to answer me at first, but then he said how her parents didn’t approve of their relationship.

I had wondered why. There’s nothing wrong with my dad.

He never answered. Thinking about it now, I think they were just racist. My dad was Black, and my mom was white. That’s the only conclusion I could come to. My dad was a good man, and he had so much love for my mom even though she’s not here.

“So what now?” I asked. I wanted to know my dad’s next moves. I wish I knew what he was thinking right now.

“They called saying they wanted you to spend half a year with them. They live in a nice neighborhood with a good school,” he said with a sigh.

“So what does that have to do with me? Tell them you're glad for the offer but no thanks. They can’t just waltz in my life like this,” I exclaimed. I had started crying without even knowing it. They had practically disowned my mom for being with who she wanted to be with, and now they wanted to act as if nothing had happened.

“I told them you would.” He looked completely defeated. I looked at him trying to see why, why he would say something like that. This has got to be the most confusing thing ever. I just didn’t get it.

“Why?” was the only thing I could muster, I never even felt like arguing with him.

“They haven’t seen you, Gideon, and they deserve that much at least. You need a change of environment. A couple of months away won’t hurt.” I felt as if I got stabbed in the 62

back.

“Do you hate me Dad? Do you want to get rid of me?

Am I a burden? I will clean my room more. I will stop going on the roof. I’m sorry.” I pleaded and begged, trying to say anything so he could change his mind.

“Gideon, you’re fine. You’re not a burden. I love you.

Change can be good. Just see if you like it. It’s only half a year.” I never even bothered to answer, because I knew his decision was final. One thing about my dad was that it was pretty difficult to change his mind. I walked to my room. My head was hot and almost pounding. I felt faint. Something about seeing my grandparents made me nervous. Questions ran wild throughout my mind. Why now? Why did my dad think this was a good idea? ***** “Gideon! Gideon, wake up. You’re going to be late!”

My dad yelled my name down the hall. I groaned, still tired from the events of last night. It felt like a weird dream that I couldn’t quite wake up from. I looked towards my nightstand at the clock. It read 7:15, and I had to be in school by 8. I didn’t feel like going to school. I still felt sick.

“Gideon!” my father yelled.

“I’m up! I’m up!” I exclaimed.

I wasn’t in the mood to talk to him, and I felt sluggish. I took a deep breath and stepped away from my bed, taking a long stretch as a yawn followed. I took a quick shower, threw on a hoodie and sweatpants, grabbed my bag, took a fruit bar, 63

and ran out the door before my father could say anything. I was still upset from yesterday and couldn’t believe he would do something like that without my judgment first. The walk to school was nice and gave me a chance to clear my head, just me and my thoughts. A lot was going through my mind. I never wanted to meet my grandparents but was curious as to how they would be. My dad told me they had a lot of money.

He didn’t talk about them much, and when I asked, it was always very brief conversations. I checked my watch, 8:05.

Now I was going to have to go to the office for a late pass.

Ugh, I hated this. I ran the rest of the way to school, making my way to the office. I got my tardy slip and made my way to class. Everyone was already in their seats, I felt extremely out of place. I felt as if everyone was looking at me.

“Miss Davis . . . late again,” my teacher sighed. I’d been late a lot the past couple of days or weeks. I couldn’t keep up.

Staying up and reading made me tend to sleep in, and I did that a lot.

All eyes stared at me. I felt extremely insecure. I looked like a bum with my sweats on and my hair in a messy bun.

“Yes, sorry,” I mumbled, nervously handing her my tardy slip. I speedwalked to my seat, lowering my head to not be seen. I hated school. Ginny and I didn’t have the same schedule, so I only saw her during lunchtime, and we had casual conversations in the hallway, but that was about it. I always felt as if I was being stared at. I never liked attention, I didn’t think I was worthy of attention, but that didn’t stop me from thinking that I was constantly being judged.

“Gideon! Answer the question please.”

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My head immediately jolted up. “Huh? What was the question?” I exclaimed. Everyone was staring at me, waiting for my answer.

“Not paying attention per usual. I’m not surprised.

Stay after class,” my teacher huffed, giving me a look of disapproval. The bell had chimed. The day felt as if it was never going to end. The days were always so drawn out.

“Gideon, you’re staying back.” I had almost forgotten.

“Yes, Miss Williams. I’m sorry for not paying attention.

I will be more attentive,” I said. I said this all the time. It was getting annoying even to me. I had decent grades. It was just school. It was tiring at times, and I didn’t really get the point.

It was a love-hate relationship with me and school.

“You seem to say that a lot, Gideon, but I see no change in you at all. You’re a smart girl, but you need to start putting your studies first. Paying attention is crucial, and this class is important. If you fail this class you fail the grade. Don’t let this happen again or I will call your father,” she sighed.

“Okay,” I said nonchalantly. I didn’t care if she called my dad, I just wanted summer break to start. Going to class after class, lunch had finally started. I was looking forward to seeing Ginny. We talked about practically anything and everything. She’s a good friend to talk to, my only friend at that. I walked through the crowded hallways as I reached the cafeteria. I scanned the cafeteria trying to figure out where she was. She wasn’t in her usual seat. That was when I heard my name called over the loudspeaker, “Gideon Davis, please report to the main office! Gideon Davis, please report to the main office!” I walked over to the office. Maybe my dad was 65

picking me up earlier. That was a relief.

I stepped inside the room, busily looking for my dad. “Gideon!” a woman exclaimed with her arms open, approaching me. I stepped back, confused. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, and she had a man standing awkwardly next to her.

“Hi, umm, I don’t think I know you.” I laughed nervously.

“Oh, I’m your grandmother, but you can call me Magnolia,” she beamed. I stood there starstruck. My grandmother looked younger than I expected, and I never expected her to be here.

“Hi, Magnolia,” I said flatly. I wasn’t too excited to see her, just surprised. I didn’t want to give her that satisfaction of seeing me excited to see her, thinking she could just come here and it would be sunshine and rainbows. She was mistaken.

“I know you're quite surprised to see us here. We just couldn’t wait to see you.” she said awkwardly. She must’ve taken the hint that I wasn’t excited to see her. The man next to her was still standing there, and he had yet to introduce himself. “Umm this is my husband, Micah. Sorry, we’re just really nervous to see you.” There was an awkward silence. I studied Micah. He also appeared to look quite young. He had black hair with strands of gray. His face was shaven, and his jawline sharp. He had a warm yet stern look on his face. “I know you're wondering why we just decided to pop up and call, but we never knew how to get in contact with you,” she said nervously.

“You didn’t know how to pick up a phone?” I responded 66

sarcastically.

“Umm no we did, but uh it was really complicated.

Umm I-I- we wanted to get in contact with you, but after your mom’s passing . . . we were in mourning and thought it best to stay away,” she stammered. I didn’t know what to say, and just felt exhausted. I was 15, and they decided it best to stay away for that long. She was just making up a bunch of excuses and trying to cover up her own guilt. “We wanted to pick you up early so you could start packing. Originally we were going to wait at the end—” I cut her off abruptly.

“I’m sorry, but what do you mean ‘pack my things?’” I said. I was close to tears. I hated that they thought it was this easy. “Fifteen years and you weren’t even interested to pay me a visit once, and here you are popping up out of nowhere.

Thinking you can change my life with the snap of a finger.”

“Oh, I thought your father had informed you. We came here to pick you up so you can spend half the year with us,” she said it casually, as if this thing was normal. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to be rude to them, but I didn’t want to be open. They had every opportunity and they missed it.

I picked up my bag with a look of frustration on my face.

She started walking off. They probably thought they were so high and mighty, better than the rest. They walked with purpose, walking with a look that said you're going to know my name and I’m going to intimidate you. They had their car parked in the school parking lot. It was a black Mercedes-Benz. I didn’t know they had this much money. We drove over to my apartment complex and hiked up the stairs to the fifth floor. There was an elevator, but I always preferred to take 67

the steps, and I wanted to be spiteful. I took out my keys and opened the door. My dad was in the kitchen, and when he saw Magnolia and Micah standing behind me, he jolted up.

He quickly wished them a good day and looked like he was nervous out of his mind. They looked around the apartment silently judging, trying to take it all in. There was an awkward silence for quite a while.

“You can pack lightly, we can buy you some new clothes,” Magnolia said, breaking the silence. I went to my room. I was going to miss it as much as I was going to miss my dad. I was still mad at him though. I looked through my closet to find a suitcase. I packed my sweats and loads of books. I still couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt like a never-ending nightmare. I finally finished and went back to the kitchen, where they were all standing. I looked over at my dad, trying to detect his emotion. He looked serious, and if I didn’t know my dad well, I would have thought he didn’t care, but then I looked closely and his eyes were teary. I knew this was as hard on me as it was on him. He walked over to me and held me in a warm embrace. We were like that for a while, until he kissed my forehead and finally let go. I wished we could stay like this forever. I hated leaving him all alone.

“Gideon, I’m going to miss you more than anything.

I love you. Listen and stay safe, okay?” he said. I heard his voice crack a bit. I wanted to cry but wanted to stay strong at the same time.

“Later Dad. Love you too,” I replied.

“Alright, off we go.” Magnolia ushered me out the door.

We got back in the car. Micah was driving, and Magnolia was 68

riding passenger. I was in the back with my headphones on, listening to music.

“It’s going to be a long drive, but we will be making stops if you want.” She turned around and looked at me with a wide smile on her face, squeezing my hand. I looked down.

I felt disgusted. I didn’t know why she was trying to play nice.

I was trying not to hate them, but there were so many mixed emotions and built up anger. I had fallen asleep, and when I woke back up, we were in this suburban town. I had figured we were close. I looked around at the organic food shops, the posh furniture stores, and the dazzling boutiques. This was different from what I was used to. No tall buildings and loads of traffic. We drove five more minutes. A huge gate was there. The gates had opened up and a gigantic house was behind it. I knew they were well off, but they practically lived in a mansion.

“We’re here. We tried to make sure everything was to your liking. We have a library. Your dad did tell us you’re fond of reading. Your room is not decorated yet, but you can just order whatever you like,” she said, speaking fast and excited.

I could hardly catch what she was saying. I was staring at awe in the house. I didn’t want to make it too obvious though.

“Okay,” I responded, sounding unimpressed. I stepped out of the car as the sun shined brightly in my face. I rubbed my eyes trying to adjust to the brightness of the sky. A man in a black tuxedo started removing my luggage from the trunk of the car. I started walking inside, and it was even bigger than I had imagined. There was a giant banister. I didn’t even know where to start.

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“You can either take the stairs or the elevator to get around. Your room is on the second floor. Walk three doors down and it should be on the right. The library is on the third floor. So is the sitting room. You have a bathroom in your room as well,” Magnolia said following a smile. Micah had never said a word since I saw the two of them standing in the office. Just the same stern face.

“Thank you,” I said plainly.

“Would you like a tour of the house to avoid getting lost?” Magnolia asked.

“No, thank you,” I responded. I walked up the stairs to my new room. It was massive. There was a gigantic bed with a canopy, a sofa, as well as a TV, a vanity area, and a massive bookshelf. The room looked like the size of our apartment. There was even a kitchenette. I walked around the room a bit, trying to take it all in. I decided to explore around the house a bit. I walked up to the third floor, looking around curiously. I looked at some of the stuff hung up on the wall. Most of it was just fancy artwork. That was when I saw a picture of my mom. It was a graduation photo. She looked as if she was graduating college. She looked really pretty. She looked a lot like Magnolia. There was somebody standing next to her. They looked alike in a way. The same brunette hair with blond-ish highlights, the same almondshaped brown eyes, and the same perfect smile. The only slight difference was that the girl looked a lot younger than my mom, maybe by a couple of years. I was never told that my mom had any sisters. I wanted to be absolutely blown away, but I never knew a lot of stuff, and this was far from 70

some of the things that were going to surprise me today. I walked deeper into the hallway, and the more I walked, the darker it got. It seemed as if no one had been to this side of the house in years. I began to cough from the amount of dust. It smelled terrible back here. There was a little hatch in the ceiling, which I assumed was the attic. I pulled it down as silent as possible, making sure to not make a sound. This part of the house seemed to be out-of-sight-out-of-mind, and I didn’t want them to know I was back here.

“Gideon! What are you doing back here?! Close that hatch right now!” Magnolia screamed. I jumped as shivers ran down my spine.

“I-I’m so sorry Magnolia! I didn’t—” I stammered my heart beating out of my chest. This was the first time she had screamed at me, even raised her voice at all. I felt embarrassed.

“No, I should be sorry. I never meant to scream at you.

I forgot to tell you that this part of the hallway was off limits.

Please follow me to the kitchen, I will tell the housekeeper to fix you up something to eat. You ought to be starving,” she replied, calmer now but still nervous. I wondered why she reacted this way, as if she had something to hide. We took the elevator downstairs to the kitchen.

“Gwen, please fix up a light snack for Gideon, please,” she said. “I will be back. I have some business to take care of.

Please don’t go back to that side of the hallway again.” She left in haste before I could muster a reply. Gwen set down a bowl of fruit and a sandwich. I thanked her and she left. I sat there in silence, thinking about what was at the end of that 71

hallway. It nagged at me. I ate half of the sandwich and threw away the rest. I didn’t have the stomach to finish anything. I wouldn’t be able to investigate it now, but I had a plan when it was nighttime.

I spent the rest of the day unpacking my things, scrolling through Pinterest, and waltzing around the house, avoiding the end of the hallway. Finally it was nighttime. Magnolia had informed me that she and Micah would be out attending a dinner party and would be back around twelve. I was in my room and peeked my head out. The housekeeper and butler must’ve been home or were in the servants' quarters by now.

I searched the utilities closet earlier and kept a flashlight under the bed. I dug around and found it again. The curiosity of what was in the attic had nagged at me for hours. I tiptoed up to the third floor, I was wearing all black to make sure nobody would see me. I walked near the end of the hallway and carefully but quietly opened the hatch. I walked up the steps, my hand holding on to the railing with the flashlight in my mouth. I stared around a bit, making my eyes adjust.

There were some boxes with labels like “Delilah’s books” and “Delilah’s clothes.” They were my mom’s stuff. I sat down on the floor, shuffling through the boxes. Another box read “Delilah and Madeline’s albums.” I looked through that box.

It was pictures of my mom and a baby. I guess that was her sister, but my dad never mentioned my mom having siblings.

I walked further into the attic. There was a big portrait of my mother and another girl I assumed to be Madeline. I looked at it. I touched it. “What!?” I whisper-screamed, scared to wake anyone up and get caught. My finger went through the 72

photo. My head felt dizzy. I must have been seeing things.

I touched the photo again and the same thing happened. I put my whole arm through the photo. This must be some weird supernatural dream; these things only happened in the movies. Okay, let’s test this theory out. I walked through the photo.

“Hello?” I called out. I was in some weird paranormal thing. I must have been hallucinating.

“Hi!” a voice called out. I looked in the direction of where the voice was coming from. I stood there shocked.

I physically couldn’t move. “Are you lost, hon?” the person said, sounding close by but so distant at the same time. My mind couldn’t process what was happening. I still stood there at a loss for words. “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. Do you need any help?” the person said again with a concerned look on their face. I looked around, trying to figure out where I was. I was in the town. I looked and saw the same organic shops, boutiques, and posh stores.

“Mom?” I replied. She looked at me confused.

“I’m sorry, you must be confused. I’m not your mom, but I can offer you some help, if you want to take it,” Delilah chuckled. She looked even prettier in person than she did in the pictures. I was confused. I was seeing my mom that was supposed to be dead standing right in front of me alive and well . . . but she said she’s not my mom.

“Umm yes actually–I-I’m lost.” I replied, staring at her in awe. I couldn’t believe it.

“Delilah, where are you?” another voice called out. I looked over and it was Madeline.

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“I’m helping this kid out. She's lost,” Delilah called out.

Madeline looked over at me and gave a small smile.

“I actually don’t have any parents. I just came over here. It was a rough situation right now,” I said with my head down. I technically didn’t lie. My mom was standing right in front of my face and she didn’t know it.

“Oh, that’s fine. You can come to my house. I’m pretty sure we will figure it out,” Delilah replied. We walked over to her house, and it was pretty silent. I still felt weird. I was walking home with my mom. She looked to be around 17, Madeline looked to be around my age. She was really pretty.

She and my mom could have passed off as twins. I couldn’t believe I had an aunt. We reached their house, and it still looked the same from when I saw it. We walked in. “My mom and dad aren’t home yet, but when they get here, I will explain everything. Let’s go to my room.” She waved her hand and ushered me upstairs. Her room was the same one I was staying in. It was extremely neat except for a couple of books scattered on the floor. I looked around. “Make yourself comfortable.” I sat down on one of the couches. I was a little nervous as my mind still couldn’t process everything. I was trying to think of it in a logical way. The only thing that could explain this was time travel, but that was nearly impossible.

“Are you hungry?” Madeline asked. I looked up and saw her standing there, a little hesitant to ask the question.

“Umm no thank you. T-thank you though,” I stuttered.

She walked away, heading over to where Delilah was silently reading a book. They talked amongst themselves. Delilah cleared her throat.

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“Want to go to the gardens so we can hang out until my parents come back?” It was pretty awkward sitting in silence, and I wanted to hang out with my mom, even though she didn’t know who I was.

“Sure!” I said enthusiastically. We walked down the stairs, walking past the plenty of doors until we reached the screen doors. Madeline pushed it open and we went outside.

The garden was beautiful, with flowers of every color. Some I didn’t know of: magnolias to roses to dandelions, it went on and on. It looked to be about the afternoon, as the sun was close to setting.

“I never got your name,” Delilah said, trying to make small talk. I thought about it, wondering if I should say my real name. I didn’t want to affect the future. Time traveling was dangerous, if this was what’s happening. I looked at a lily in the garden.

“Oh, it’s Lily,” I quickly said. Delilah walked over to the swings, Madeline following closely behind.

“That’s a nice name. Do you know where your parents are, or at least how you got here?” Madeline asked inquisitively. I had the same questions. I didn’t know exactly how I got here. I walked through the painting and poof, I was in the past. Of course I couldn’t say that though.

“I don’t know where they are. They passed away when I was young. I took a train and a bus,” I responded. I hoped this was convincing. They lived in the suburbs. I was not even sure if buses passed here.

“Oh,” Delilah said. It seemed as if she almost knew I was lying but didn’t want to say anything. She sat down on the 75

swings, patting the seat next to her as a sign that I should sit down too. I took the hint and sat down awkwardly. “Well, just know you can stay here as long as you want. We will try to get you back on your feet,” she nodded, looking towards Madeline. Madeline gave a quick nod and a small smile. I eventually got comfortable and started talking to Madeline and Delilah as if I knew them for years. We had soon relaxed and all the tension had subsided. We laughed our heads off over silly jokes, talking about our interests, our likes and dislikes, how hard school was, and how annoying parents could be. Delilah looked so full of life. Her smile, the way her eyes crinkled up and shone when she giggled. How could a person so full of life kill themselves just like that?

“It’s getting pretty late,” Madeline said with a sigh. I didn’t want this day to end. I wanted to stay here, but I knew I had to go back. I couldn’t just leave my dad like that, but I loved my mom despite just meeting her. I could see why my dad had fallen in love. We loved a lot of the same things: reading books, looking through magazines—or in my case, Pinterest—we both disliked school. We had so much in common. I even had some of her mannerisms. If I was in the past, I could fix the future. I could save my mom. I could change the event and this time she wouldn’t die. She would be here. I loved my dad, but I loved this. We could all be happy together. I knew I could do this.

Delilah got off the swingset. “Let's get back inside, I don’t think my parents are home yet, so you can stay in my room,” she said excitedly.

“It’s going to be like a sleepover. Can I stay in your room 76

too, Delilah? I want to hang out with Lily more!” Madeline pleaded, doing puppy dog eyes.

“You can stay in my room. Bring your blanket, and let’s sneak snacks from the kitchen.” I got really excited, I had a couple of sleepovers at Ginny’s house, but this one felt special, having a sleepover with my mom and aunt who never even knew they were my mom and aunt. We all gathered in Delilah’s room with snacks and blankets. We told scary stories, laughing wildly. The thought still nagged at me: how was I supposed to stop the events from happening? Delilah looked to be about seventeen, which was too far away from when she did it. I couldn’t stay here for the next five to six years. I had to go back to my reality.

I rubbed my eyes, looking around. I looked at the boxes marked “Deliah’s stuff.” I was surrounded by boxes and pictures. I was in the attic. I rubbed my eyes once more to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I swore I had been in my mother’s room laughing with my aunt telling stories. How was I in the attic? It must have been a dream. It couldn’t have been. I walked over to the picture, trying to put my hand through it, but nothing had happened. I cried, not wanting anyone to hear me. My knees were to my chest as I was rolled up in a ball, rocking back and forth, just having a silent cry.

I wanted to stop it. I wanted to change things, but I couldn’t.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t change it. Why did she leave me? Why did she leave dad behind? Tears streamed down my face as memories of my mom’s face came to memory. Pictures of her holding me as a baby. I didn’t know her but I missed her.

I was going through a stage of grief that I had thought I had 77

skipped. The thought of my mom being gone and me not being able to make proper memories with her finally hit me.

✦

78

Monologue LEA KARIAN • AGE 14 WRIT TEN DURING SUMMER WORKSHOPS

S

ometimes I wonder if anyone in the world has felt the way that I feel. A hollow, sick feeling. A feeling of being so completely and utterly unlike everyone I’ve ever known that I don’t know how to make friends or laugh with people. It’s lonely. I can’t exactly pinpoint the moment when everybody decided that I was too different to associate with.

Maybe it happened when I threw a big eleventh birthday party in sixth grade, and I invited my whole class, but only my Papa and Aunt Fiona came. Maybe it happened when I kicked a ball at Sal Finkel Garber, the red-headed garden gnome that used to sit outside of our door, and he broke into three pieces. Maybe it was my mama’s twisted face when I took the pieces of Sal into the house to tell her what I did.

Maybe it was when Mama disappeared one night eight years ago, taking everything valuable in the house with her except for her phone, her wedding ring, a crystal vase . . . and Papa and me. We never saw her again. I’m past the point of crying about how isolated I feel, or begging some higher-up force in the clouds to call Mama back. I’ve realized that she made a decision, and that it’s not my or Papa’s job to carry the weight and guilt that she put on us. But I can’t help but wonder if I would’ve turned out different if she had stayed. Maybe I would’ve been more normal. At the very least, grown up in a sleepy contentedness of the life that I live.

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I know everybody in this town. That’s just how it is. Nearly all the businesses here are run by local families. Every mile or so there’s a farm, and if you walk in the square when it’s raining, it smells like wet hay and apple cider from the orchard canteen. Sometimes I wonder if anything here ever changes, or if it’s just stuck in time. Years of seeing the same people over and over again, watching them plan futures to raise their children and grandchildren here, doing the same thing their parents did before them. It’s a cycle. And I want to get out of it. I want a future away from this quiet life, where I can see the city lights from my small studio apartment and intern at a job after college. I want to work my way up the ladder. I want to know what it’s like in a world where you pass new people on the street every day. But it’s difficult to imagine how I’ll ever get there. There’s one elementary school, one middle school, and one high school in our radius.

There’s a community college a few miles to the west, but only boys go there because all the families here are the same; they expect their daughters to stay at home, raise families, cook and clean. That is what keeps me from agreeing to stay here. I have no interest in being a housewife. And though my fantasies of the future may be difficult to reach, I will work for it. I will do it for myself. But I am not the only person that I have to worry about.

My father is not unlike the other men here. Had I been like the other girls, I’m sure he would’ve been happy to watch me get married at the same church he and Mama wed at, and raise children in this house. But I am not like them, and he doesn’t ask me to be. Papa knows that I’ll do whatever it takes 80

to get out of this town. He knows that I’ll try desperately to start a new life away from here the first chance I get. Again and again, I have asked Papa to come with me when I leave, where I would take care of him, and he would be able to live outside of the judgment and pain that this place has given us. He always says the same thing: “Our family is here. I will not leave it as long as there is a chance that our family will be reunited again.” We both know that there is no possibility.

I’m not sure if I would call Papa and me a family. Sometimes we drink milk tea in chipped mugs on the porch, and play Scrabble. Sometimes we watch American Horror Story on our small TV set on Friday nights. Papa loves me, and I love him, but it is a love that is there to fill the emptiness between us. It is a love that a father and daughter are expected to maintain, so we maintain it from a safe distance. And when the day is done, and we lay in a tired daze a carpeted corridor apart, we both dream of what might have been.

81

Aurorealis MORGAN LEE • AGE 12 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

BOREALIS

12:00 PM AURORA STARTED

RECORDING

12:01 PM BOREALIS AURORA CHANGED SCREEN NAME TO BORA AURORA 12:01 PM EVIA AURORA JOINED! BORA:

Hey! As always, it’s Bora, here from Aurorealis on Fair y Tale T V. To day, we’re here to talk ab out how I was cursed by my grandma.

EVIA:

Now, now, you know ver y well it was— BORA:

Yes, I know grandma, it was an ac cident. I was going to get to that par t.

EVIA:

Well, I was just making sure you got ever y thing ac curate.

BORA:

Well then why don’t you tell it ?

EVIA:

Mayb e I will, then. Ahem. Is this microfoam on?

BORA:

EVIA:

Grandma, it’s a microphone. And if it wasn’t on I wouldn’t b e hearing you right now.

Ver y go o d. Ahem. It was a long, long time ago— 82

BORA:

Thir t y years, grandma.

EVIA:

Shush. A long, long time ago.

BORA:

*sigh*

EVIA:

Any way. Thir t y years ago, sweet lit tle Borealis was b orn and— BORA:

It’s BOR A.

EVIA:

—the whole kingdom—

BORA:

Family.

EVIA:

—was invited to the ceremony.

BORA:

There were like t went y p eople, and it was a par t y, not a ceremony.

EVIA:

AHEM. Each p erson in the Council of Elders— EVIA:

BORA:

AK A all the ancient relatives.

—gave a gif t to young Borea—

BORA:

BOR A.

EVIA:

—lis. She got lots of lit tle enchanted baubles like animated wo o den mice, but I decided to give her an enchantment that was truly wonder ful and dreadfully c omplicated.

BORA:

A lot of go o d that did.

EVIA:

BORE ALIS. You will RESPECT your ELDERS 83

when they are STORY TELLING. BORA:

Whatever.

EVIA:

AHEM . I decided to give her something truly great that would stay with her and help her all her life. So, I decided to cast a beaut y sp ell that would last until she had secured the love of someone who would forever stay with her. The idea was that it would help her find a husband.

BORA:

Grandma. Do you even understand what marriage is supp osed to mean in the mo dern world? You’re supp osed to love each other as p eople– EVIA:

E XCUSE ME. So when it was my turn, I cast my sp ell on lit tle Borealis.

BORA:

It’s Bo—you know what, whatever.

EVIA:

My sp ell dictated that lit tle Bore—lit tle Bora—

BORA:

THANK you.

EVIA:

—would b e as b eautiful as a gown that my sister Do e gif ted her, which was simply lovely .

It had the cutest lit tle embroideries and the most luscious pink silk. I rememb er how wonder ful it was. And it was enchanted to grow with lit tle Bo . . . ra , Bora, so she c ould wear it forever. Quite a clever sp ell, to b e ho— 84

BORA:

Um, yeah, we get it grandma. It was a nice dres s. But you’re supp osed to b e talking ab out your curse.

EVIA:

Right. I cast a sp ell. When the last but ton of the dres s was done, Bora would b ec ome as b eautiful as the dres s in that moment. Of c ourse, we were ver y careful. We did ever y but ton but the last and smo othed it around lit tle Bora until no one c ould deny its glamour.

But then, as we were doing the last but ton, Bora— BORA:

—yep. I vomited.

EVIA:

Yes. So . . . well, the dres s was ruined when the last but ton was fastened. And suddenly, Borealis’s angelic face . . . changed. First it matched the b eaut y of the original gown. She was lovely . And then, the vomit kicked in . . . she was . . . well. She was dif ferent . She was a baby . And suddenly she had war ts. And a layer of grime over her skin that wouldn’t wash of f, no mat ter what we tried.

BORA:

Yeah. I was horrific. And my dad threw grandma out of the baby shower for it.

Mom cancelled the rest of the par t y and to ok me to the lo cal curse removal lady, but she c ouldn’t do any thing so I was just stuck lo oking like a mangy teenager-baby.

EVIA:

Well. Yes.

BORA:

Well, thanks so much grandma! It was fun 85

talking to you!

EVIA:

What, that’s it ?

BORA:

Yep, sorr y, I have other guests! Bye! 12: 05 PM EVIA AURORA WAS REMOVED FROM THE CALL

12:05 PM MARCUS GL ADIATOR JOINED!

12:05 PM MARCUS GL ADIATOR CHANGED SCREEN NAME TO MARK GL ADIATOR BORA:

Hey, Mark! I’m so glad to see you!

MARK:

Hey, Bora. Nice to see you to o.

BORA:

For those who don’t know, Mark is an old friend of mine from middle scho ol.

Alright, Mark, down to busines s. You knew me in my awkward teenage years.

MARK:

That I did.

MARK:

BORA:

How’d I lo ok?

Well. You actually lo oked pret t y nice. But your skin was all . . . well, it was ver y . . . blemished? There were the pimples, first of all. All over your lef t arm, and some on your face, but nowhere else. The ones there never went away and new ones never formed.

I rememb ered b eing kinda c onfused ab out that.

BORA:

Yep. That gown had gros s chunks of bar f all over the sleeve and it caused pimples.

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MARK:

I never asked b ecause, you know, etiquet te. You also had those weird brown splotches on your face and neck.

BORA:

That would b e the stains from the vomit.

MARK:

. . . okay. But mostly your skin was just kinda . . . bumpy. It wasn’t pret t y.

BORA:

That it was not. And do you rememb er how p eople reacted to me?

MARK:

Gosh, do I. People were always avoiding you in the hallways and at lunch and reces s. I got teased just for hanging out with you.

BORA:

Yeah, it was not fun. People hated me. But that meant the friends I did have were genuine. Like Mark over here—he’s just a lit tle angel, isn’t he?

MARK:

Yes, I’m just the most inno cent, friendliest lit tle angel, aren’t I. So much more angelic than you.

BORA:

. . . or mayb e not. Ha! Mark, it was such a pleasure to have you on to day.

MARK:

Thanks for having me! Bye! 12:07 MARCUS GL ADIATOR LEF T THE CALL 12:07 STANLEY PINN JOINED 12:07 STANLEY PINN CHANGED SCREEN NAME TO STAN PINN

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BORA:

And our final guest to day on Aurorealis: my wonder ful husband, Stan!

STAN:

Hey, Bora. Hey, adoring audience of Bora.

BORA:

I’m still waiting for the adoring audience.

STAN:

Well now I can b e your adoring audience.

BORA:

STAN:

Thanks, but as my husband you don’t c ount.

Aw.

BORA:

Any way, my par tner Stan is here so that I can make a p oint: I found a husband, even with grandma’s curse. When we met, Stan didn’t care ab out my weird vomit-dres s app earance. And he also broke the curse so now I lo ok like a normal p erson!

STAN:

Yeah . . . that was kind of weird. At first you lo oked like a sup ermo del with a splotchy face, and now you lo ok average but with a normal amount of blemishes.

BORA:

Trust me, I found it even weirder. But we can talk ab out that later! Thanks, nonexistent adoring audience, and this was another episo de of Aurorealis! Rememb er the les son of my life stor y! Bye! 12:10 - CALL ENDED

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She Tried to Pull Me In ANJALI MISIR • AGE 16 WRIT TEN IN TEEN WRITERS' COLLECTIVE

“S

he tried to pull me in,” my grandmother told me.

After school, I’d ask my grandmother to tell me stories of mermaids. (She knew quite a bit about them.) I got so lost in her words and hand gestures, they started to become part of the stories. (Part of her voice?) When she died, those memories of her began to feel like a dream.

“She tried to pull me in,” my grandmother told me.

Mermaids are the most magical beings, in my opinion.

I never knew that they existed until my grandmother mentioned the word. Other kids had nursery rhymes, but I had tall tales. I had my grandmother’s soft yet amplified voice. I had her hand gestures and wide-eyed excitement. I had her mystery and wonder.

At one point, I also started to tell my own stories. One time, I told her that this big white cat visited me in the school cafeteria. She knew I was making it up, but she still smiled.

I won’t share all of her stories. Just one.

One day, my grandmother was out for a walk to the Pomeroon River, the deepest river in Guyana.

“Mermaids live in black water,” she said.

She went to sit on the bridge that hovered over the Pomeroon, her feet hanging in the water.

Suddenly, she felt something yank her foot. Something was trying to pull her in! Or maybe trying to greet her.

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“The tail was black and orange. It shimmered through the water,” she assured me.

The tail was a long one, so long you didn’t know where it started or ended.

My grandmother was able to get loose from the mermaid’s grip and get away, but I don’t think she was scared.

She died when I was in middle school. She got sick.

She had so much faith that her body would recover, that she could go on her walkabouts after it was all over. The more I remember, the more these memories start to feel like a dream.

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826NYC Write All About It Guest Speaker Event TANESHA NIXEL • 6 TH GRADE WRIT TEN IN WRITE ALL ABOUT IT!

I had the chance to be able to interview David Ewalt, Henry Lu, and Carly Fisher as part of a journalism class in New York. They shared some really interesting facts about themselves and Henry gave us advice on how to start a school newspaper. David is a journalist and Carly is a writer covering sustainability, climate change and social justice issues.

CA R LY F I S H E R Carly was born in Florida. She was an only child and her working parents had to get jobs and they had to move every year. Her parents also divorced when Carly was at a young age.

She worked multiple jobs. She worked at a soup kitchen and was really into food and restaurants. That’s how she became interested in food. She originally wrote about women’s issues but then switched to food and hotel journalism.

After art school, she went to a journalism program and took an internship. She started her own website writing about brunch restaurants. She wrote about food, dining, and small restaurants. As a grown-up, she got to live in different places but her favorite place she lived in was Brooklyn. She has written books too.

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DAV I D E WA LT David has loved science and technology from a young age.

As a child, he thought he would be a scientist but once he was in college he didn’t find the courses as interesting so he joined the school paper. He enjoyed school newspapers and in college was where he really got interested in journalism. If he wasn’t in class he was working on the newspaper.

Now, he is a reporter for The Wall Street Journal. David said long-term projects take six months and once you have your draft the paper goes to the editor. He writes three to four stories a week.

He loves journalism because he gets to meet cool people and write about them (he interviewed Jay-Z!). David has worked for Forbes and was on TV to talk about the Forbes list of the one hundred most powerful people. He wrote a book called Of Dice and Men which is about Dungeons and Dragons.

H E N RY LU Henry is from Canada. His parents were immigrants which got him interested in international relations from all over the world, which then got him into writing journalism. He started a newspaper in college called Flash Points. He finds journalism fun because you get to interview a lot of cool people.

He interviewed several members of Congress and diplomats. Interviewing is his favorite part of writing articles. The coolest person he interviewed was the person in charge of the CIA that was stationed in South Korea. He 92

also interviewed members of Congress, both Democrats and Republicans.

I had a great time interviewing Carly, David and Henry.

It was interesting to hear their lives and who they have interviewed.

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Echo JACKSON POPPER • 11TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT L AB SCHOOL FOR COLL ABORATIVE STUDIES

I have always questioned what makes people remember certain things about others And what affects these memories Throughout my life I imagined the memories of other people Through the conversations I had with them and the stories they shared In camp my counselors told me stories that they were told by their counselors I can recall specific moments from color wars that had happened long before I arrived at camp My parents used to tell me stories that their parents told them I still remember stories about my mom first going to my great grandfather's farm when she was younger Which makes me think of the importance of stories being passed down And throughout my life I have asked myself What will people remember about me How will my story get passed down When I think about this it scares me I think about my regrets and my dreams What could have happened to me and what can happen As I am in deep in thought I realize your story isn’t what people think of you It is what you do with your life.

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love ANAYELI ROSARIO • 12 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT L AB SCHOOL FOR COLL ABORATIVE STUDIES

no one told me love isn’t only a feeling. that’ll have you cry at 3 AM while you look at the ceiling. how sometimes it isn’t what you might think. the feelings get so intense it'll make your heart sink. love can be two arms and a heartbeat. love can make you feel like the rose that grew in concrete. love can be a universal language. but with horrible communication it can be a disadvantage. love is oftentimes a person. the one who makes sure your pains never worsen. the one who makes you their “perfect” view. the person who wouldn’t know what to do, without you.

95

The Strange World I Live In SELENA SCARBOROUGH • 9 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

I

t was the next morning. I woke up out of my bed and I noticed something was slightly different. I rubbed my eyes to get a clearer view out my window blinds and I saw that the sky was dark blue with purple clouds. I was so shocked, it was as if my soul left my body. I closed the blinds and went to go check on my grandmother and my sister. I went upstairs to my sister's room and she was gone.

All of her stuff in her room disappeared, so there was an empty room. I left her room and went to my grandmother’s bedroom. When I looked inside her room, she was gone as well and some of her stuff was still here. Now I started to have a panic attack. My heart started pounding, my head was breaking a sweat, and my stomach was hurting. It felt like I was trapped in a small box that I couldn’t get out of. I just sat on the floor and started to cry and put my head down. So many things were going through my head it was crazy.

“Are my sister and grandmother dead? Why is the sky blue and purple? Am I dreaming about something?”

I decided to wipe my eyes and get off the floor. My vision was still a little blurry from all the tears, but I took a deep breath and walked out the door to see what was happening outside. As soon as I stepped foot out the door, the sky was flashing so bright in my eyes, it was like a diamond was shining. In my head I was starting to realize that I transitioned 96

into a new world and my surroundings weren't the same anymore.

My memory was starting to come back to me. I remembered that last night, two gray and blue robots came up to me while I was walking home from the movie theater.

They pushed me into a time travel machine and stuck an electric needle inside of me that made me go really psycho.

My memory was still kind of hazy, but I remembered a few things.

As soon as my memory was coming back to me, I started to walk down the street. There were cars such as Teslas, Lamborghinis, and SRT’s parked outside. But something was very different about this world, and the outside of it.

Instead of birds singing their peaceful songs, or the clouds just floating with peace and quiet, there was animated music playing every footstep I made. It felt as if I was in a video game which was surreal to me. I was about to turn the corner of the street until I saw something from the corner of my eye. It was something gigantic with red arms. I was starting to get afraid. My eyes were ringing like a bell, my head was sweating, and my legs were shaking. I told myself to calm down and go check it out, so I did that.

When I turned that corner, there was a bunch of war going on. On one side of the street there were these two red robotic spiders battling with these black and green aliens with their light green UFOs to the left of them. On the other side of the street there were these superheroes with capes going at it with their villains up in the sky like I saw in the Marvel vs.

DC comic books. People were running everywhere, cars were 97

being thrown, and lasers were flashing past my eyes. While I was so distracted by what was happening, I heard something stepping up to me from behind. I slightly looked behind me and one of the robotic spiders was looking at me. I was so shocked, I just ran for my life. I didn’t look any direction, I just ran straight not knowing where I was going.

The spider started to say in a robotic voice, “Hey, come back, I want to talk to you.”

“No, I don’t trust you,” I said as I continued to run. I realized that I was at the end of the block and there wasn’t any other way I could go to escape. So I just stopped and looked at the robotic spider. I said with a shaken voice, “Please don’t hurt me, I’m begging you.”

“I promise I won’t, I just want to talk to you to calm down.”

“Okay, I have a question,” I said with a calm voice.

“Yes? Ask me anything.”

“Where is your food, I'm starving,” I said while I was starting to laugh.

“Follow me, I will show you.”

So we walked back to the place where we were before.

While we were walking together, I was just admiring how cool this place really is. The sky had yellow stars coming out because it was starting to get dark.

The spider said, “Okay here we are, The Food Palace.”

“Wow, this is insane.”

“I know it’s a lot, so I’m going to be right here.”

“Okay! Be back in a minute,” I said with an excited tone.

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So I walked to the parking lot where all the food was.

There was a strong smell going through my nose. It was coming from a Mexican restaurant. They had so many varieties of food it was crazy. They had Mexican food, fast food, and soul food. On the other side, they had astronaut ice cream for the aliens which I wanted to try as well. I decided that I wanted McDonald's, so I went there in the meantime.

I got inside and it was so shocking. The janitor was cleaning, robots were taking orders, and people were eating at the tables as well. First, I looked at the menu. There were eight items from different countries on the board: two from China and Japan; three from France and Spain; two from Brazil and Chile; and one from India. I found what I wanted to eat, so I called the robot over.

The robot said, “Hello, what would you like from McDonalds?”

“Hello, I would like to have the sweet mustard burger from France, and the bacon cheddar fries from there as well.”

“Okay, coming right up!” the robot said as he strolled away.

I went to go sit at the table next to the closest window.

I started to think about the conversation I was going to have with the spider. I decided that I was going to talk to it about my old world and my experience. I am going to talk to it about my feelings and how I feel about myself.

“Here you go, have a good day!” the robot said with a smile.

“Thank you, you too.”

My stomach was starting to growl like a tiger so I went 99

ahead and ate my burger with fries. As soon as I was done, my stomach was so full it felt like it was about to explode. But I managed to get up and go back outside to have a conversation with the red robotic spider. My stomach started to get bubbly because I was so nervous. I was lost and I didn’t know where it was until I heard this. “Hey, I’m right here.”

I slowly walked up to it. I said, “Okay, I'm ready to talk now!”

“How was your lunch?”

“It was very much delicious and definitely filled my stomach.”

“Good for you. So what do you want to start off with?”

I said, “I’m going to start off with introducing myself.”

“Okay, go right ahead.”

“So my name is Kehlani. I used to live in New York or in other words, the United States. I’m very outgoing, loving, and caring when it comes to doing things, and people that I really care about. I want to get into fashion and basketball because those are my top dreams I want to achieve. I have two siblings and one nephew. That’s pretty much it.”

“Well my name is Doraemon and I’m pretty much a therapist spider that helps people with their problems and helps comfort them to make sure they are loved.”

“Wow, that’s nice,” I said with a grin on my face.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how was your world like?”

“My world was not looking good at all for me.”

“What made it bad?”

“Well to start, there was a thing where Black people 100

were getting killed for the wrong reasons, Black Lives Matter.

There was also a virus going around where people were stuck in their houses and couldn’t do any activities that involved being outside.”

“That sounds so terrible. I know how you must've felt.”

“I really felt depressed. I got taken away from my mother, I couldn’t play no basketball, I felt lonely with nobody to talk to, and I felt like a failure in life in general.”

“Thank you for expressing your feelings to me, Kehlani.

We all will make you feel like you are loved and that you are welcome to do anything you want. If you think you’re a failure, you are not a failure.”

“You’re welcome. I really needed somebody to talk to and you helped me a lot.”

“Glad to hear that. Now one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“So me, the aliens, and the superheroes have something to surprise you with.”

“Okay do I close my eyes?”

“Sure.”

I was thinking to myself, what could it possibly be?

“Okay open your eyes in 1, 2, 3!”

“Surprise Kehlani!” said the aliens, the robotic spiders, and the superheroes.

When I looked, I was so shocked by what I saw. There was a basketball court where I could play basketball. There were different clothes from H&M and Nike, and there were people with cake and fruits in their hands welcoming me into this world.

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“To start off Kehlani, we wanted you to come inside our world to experience something different and so you have people to talk to.”

“Me and the other superheroes will always be there for you when you need assistance or if you are in any troubling situation,” said one of the superheroes.

“I want to say something as well,” said one of the aliens.

“Well I also wanted to say that Kehlani, you don’t have to be scared of us.”

“We are like your friends and we will always help you and never make you feel any kind of way,” said one of the black and green aliens.

“Thank you everyone! I like every one of you so far,” I said, starting to shed a little tear.

End: Honestly being in this strange, lost world wasn't bad at all. Even though my sister and my grandmother weren't with me and my friends, I liked this world better. It’s like the monsters, the aliens, and the red robotic spiders actually understand me like regular human beings. The superheroes are always there to help when I'm in danger and the food here is awesome. In this world you have more freedom to be yourself without any distractions or problems. Hopefully, one day people in my past world could see a different perspective just like I did when I woke up that morning.

✦

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Predator vs. Prey Song MORGAN LEE, NOAH JEAN MARIE, ZOE ROSS ALLEN, PAULETTE THOMPSON, AND MILES WU WRIT TEN DURING SUMMER WORKSHOPS

SQUIRREL VOICE: high pitched but serious WOLF VOICE: DEEP BUT SILLY

Verse 1 W: HELLO, SQUIRREL. (A)

S: GO AWAY. (B) W:

AREN’T WE A PEARL. (A) WHY DO YOU PRAY? (B)

S: If you’re going to attack, (C) then please just make it fast. (C) W:

ATTACK? WHAT’S THIS NEW THEORY? (A) . . . WHAT? JUST A QUERY. (A)

S: We all know you’re a fiend. (B) I’m not getting closer except in your dreams. (B) W: HEY, WAIT UP! I JUST WANT TO CHAT! (C)

S: Just how did you get to be that fat? (C) W:

I TOLD YOU, I’M EATING MY VEGGIES!

S: Or perhaps my dear friend Reggie.

W:

WHO’S THAT?

S: He was felled by your kind’s claws.

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Chorus!

You say you’re not gonna eat me (A) But I think you’re trying to cheat me! (A) I swear I learned that meat is not so neat (B) My veggies are all I like to eat (B) Why do I find that hard to believe? (C) If you don’t mind, I’m going to leave. (C) LOOK HERE, SEE THIS BROCCOLI! HOW CAN YOU NOW NOT TRUST ME?

MY MY, YOU WERE SPEAKING TRUE! SOMEHOW I’VE NO CHOICE BUT TO TRUST YOU! COME HERE AND LET ME SEE. WILL YOU SHARE SOME BROCCOLI?

Verse 2 COBRA:

CHINCHILLA, CHINCHILLA, (A)

CHINCHILLA: But I’m not your friend, like Vanilla Gorilla. (A) COBRA:

BUT, DON’T BE AFRAID (HOLD), I’M NOT A BIG BOA, (B) I AM ONLY A LITTLE COBRA. (B) I SEE THAT YOU ARE UNAFRAID, (C)

COBRA’S THOUGHT:

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GOOD! NOW I GOT IT MADE IN THE SHADE!

CHINCHILLA: Look.

I think that you might want to eat me.

I know that ‘cause you've been known to cheat me And the other peeps who live in the peach tree.

HEY SUGAR FLYER, HEY CHINCHILLA, (A) I’M NOT YOUR FRIEND GORILLA, (A) I AM AN AMBUSHER (B) SAID THE PANTHER (B) WHO WAS A BOASTER (B) ??? (B)

I don’t like berries, and I’m very hungry (A) Said spinosaurus's tummy (A) While the chinchilla ran away (B) It said, What a lucky day! (B)

Chorus You say you’re not gonna eat me (A) But I think you’re trying to cheat me! (A) I swear I learned that meat is not so neat (B) My veggies are all I like to eat (B)

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Laughter Means You’re Alive G.O. DOLIBER, SIDNEY EDELSON, ELLA HOLLAND, MAVIS LU, JUSTIN NEMEROFF, BIRD RZEPNIEWSKI, AND ISABELLA WU WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

Laughter is a reminder Of true happiness Laughter moves like the rain It sounds like popcorn It wears a clown costume And a carrot nose Laughter is the feeling that Can pick you up On your darkest days It is happiness Laughter can be light or dark It teaches you to let go and feel Laughter feels like a bear hug It smells like peaches Laughter means you’re alive And it lives in everyone

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The Angry Chameleon SYDNEY CHENG, ADA LEE, JULIANNA NEMEROFF, AND OLIVE PALMIERI WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

A

chameleon entered a chameleon grocery store. He looked around and shouted, “I HATE EVERYTHING HERE!” A security chameleon came over to the angry chameleon and asked, “What’s the problem?”

Again, the angry chameleon shouted, “I HATE EVERYTHING HERE!” The security chameleon arrested the angry chameleon and put him in the chameleon police station. Five minutes later, the security chameleon went up to the angry chameleon’s cell. He asked, “What got you so angry? Why’d you yell that you hate everything in the store?”

Just then, the security chameleon looked alarmed.

“Wait, I just remembered: a few years back, I read in the newspaper that a mad scientist chameleon had a baby who wasn’t angry, so they used an angry gun on him to make him angry. Are you that angry chameleon?”

At first, the angry chameleon said nothing at all. Then, after a minute, he shouted, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!” “But you have the same stripes and also you have the same spots and also you’re the same shade of green as the angry chameleon in the newspaper!” the security chameleon questioned.

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The angry chameleon denied it again. “I JUST WANT TO DO MY WEEKLY SHOPPING! LET ME OUT!” Then, for a few minutes, he said nothing, thinking of what happened back when his family used the angry gun on him.

He was four years old and was minding his own business as a happy chameleon when his mom, dad, five brothers, and five sisters walked out of the experiment room.

“Should we actually do this?” his one sister whispered to his brother. “I feel kind of bad.”

“Oh, shut up!” her brother said back. “Mom and Dad know what they’re doing! Furthermore, he isn’t angry enough! He MUST be angry!”

The then happy chameleon turned around and saw his father pointing something with an angry face and a happy face on it at him. His father pressed a button on the device, making the angry face light up. When his father saw his son looking at him, he hid the device behind his back.

“We’re sorry about this,” his father said. “We should’ve told you about this sooner, but it’s for your own good.”

Suddenly, the angry chameleon heard a noise. It sounded like a pebble dropping. Then he heard it again.

“What are you thinking about?” the security chameleon asked. The angry chameleon snapped out of it.

He couldn’t keep it to himself anymore; he told the security chameleon everything.

“What’s your actual name?” the security chameleon asked.

“It’s Angoro,” the angry chameleon replied.

“Angoro, show me where your home was.” Angoro took 108

the security chameleon back to his childhood home, to the experiment room, and showed him the angry gun lying on the floor.

“My family moved out and forgot it,” Angoro said.

The security chameleon picked up the angry gun and pressed the switch, making the happy face light up.

“Actually,” Angoro said, “I don’t need it.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t the angry gun. It was me. I’ve just been angry this whole time. I realize now I can be happy without it.”

The next day, Angoro walked back into the grocery store. “I LOVE EVERYTHING IN HERE!” he shouted. The security chameleon looked at him and smiled.

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Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too AF TER MAYA ANGELOU

RICARDO FERNÁNDEZ, ANTHONY MUÑOZ, AND FABIANA VARGAS WRIT TEN DURING WRITE AF TER SCHOOL

Panthers in the water Eagles in my house Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too Someone getting in my house That will be cool for me Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too Coronavirus in the air Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too Medicine in my arm Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too Zombies on land Zombies in the sea Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too Green vegetables Sharks in the water Paintballs on my arm Life Doesn’t Frighten Me, Too Not at all Not at all 110

Impossible to Land STORIES ON PEOPLE, PLACES, THINGS

KEY IDEAS DREAMS MEMORY

This Tiny Asian Archipelago ZARAH ALMONTE • 5 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT P. S . 316

J

apan is a small Asian archipelago that is considered a country, just like Hawaii and Vietnam (technically Hawaii is a state annexed by the US). There’s a leg-

end from thousands of years ago about how Japan was formed which I shall tell you in my own words (because I don't want to plagiarize from the web. I WANT to get published!!!).

Longest of times ago, when the black plague was not even a known virus . . . when it was BC (Before Computers, I'm not offending people with different religions than Christianity, unlike the conquistadors of Spain) there were two gods (Japanese mythology is my reference, don't sue me). After heaven and earth were created, the two gods I mentioned, named Izanagi and Izanami, were given the task of creating the archipelago that is now known as Japan. In short, that was the nonscientific way of explaining how the couple of islands that is now a country known as Japan were formed. This text that I write simply gives you some valuable information you'll need on your vacation/journey.

Tra n s p o r t i n g yourself to t he lo c at ion: When wanting to go to Japan, one must think of all the affordable options at hand. I give to you, reader, a list of some transportation options and their costs, when you 113

don't get first class and when you do. And a lovely fact, the flight to Japan takes about . . . thirteen hours from any point in the U.S. (So a simplistic advisory to bring your best entertainment and sleeping supplies will help immensely, I suppose.)

Airplane (general cost according to Google Flights): Regular: ($948–$1,696) First class: ($2,977–$5,325) Boat (general cost of a cruise from Royal Carribean): Regular:($335–?)

First class:($700–$10,000) (Simplistic estimate.)

The systematic Japanese currency and how to use it: In basic terms, Japan has its own currency system, the Japanese yen. These next few paragraphs will, in a way, teach you some things that you need to know, like how to get yen, how its cost compares to other countries’ money, and a little chat on costs. For this section, I'll use rupees and dollars (money from India and America).

H ow to g et J a p a ne se ye n for yo ur t ri p: The most normal way to get yen is to trade your country's money for a decent amount of money in the airport where there is a section for foreign money collecting. A good amount of yen to keep in your pocket while visiting is ¥20,000. In US dollars that's $191.20 and in rupees that is ₹13,915.26.

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An e q u i va l e n cy c har t: I'm making this chart to show you the basis of how money works in Japan. I'll do numbers 1, 10, and 100 for examples. $1.00: 104.62 yen 1 rupee: 1.44 yen $10.00: 1,046.82 yen 10 rupees: 14.37 yen $100.00: 10,469.70 yen 100 rupees: 143.72 yen

T he “Me rr yWe at he r” You can tell from the title that this is gonna be about the climate of the dang country. I can tell you this, it isn't the most tropical place. The snowy mountain it is famous for, Mount Fuji, makes sure of that. A merry fact about the mountain is that it is 3,776 meters above sea level (12,388 feet). Back to the weather forecast: In Japan, the summers are relatively short, filled with rain and mostly cloudy. In winter, it has surprisingly normal temperatures.

Through the shifting seasons, temperatures usually vary from 36–86° Fahrenheit and rarely goes below 31° Fahrenheit or above 93° Fahrenheit.

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T he M ot he rl o ad of K i t Kats Fun fact: the largest Kit Kat factory in the round and chaotic world lies in Himeji, Japan. If you want to find the motherload of Kit Kats, that's where it is. Literally 17.6 billion Kit Kats are generated each year. I'm betting Willy Wonka is turning from sweet to sour at this point. You can also go to the recently made Kit Kat chocolatory in Shibuya, Japan, where you can make your own flavors. (Children, you know the rules about alcohol. No alcoholic Kit Kats until you are 21.)

G o i n g Bac k to L anguage s: My Favo ri te Japane se words!

So readers, to give you some insight on the native language of the Japanese, I'll show my favorite words and small sentences (three words or less) in Japanese characters! (Writing.) Let the listing . . . BEGIN! 海賊: Kaizoku: Pirate 燃える花: Moeru Hana: Burning flower 桜の花: Sakura no Hana: Cherry blossom 裏切り者の桜士: Uragirimono no senshi: Traitorous warrior 桜っ桜な桜魔: Makkurona akuma: Inky demon 人形: Ningyō: Dolls 殺人による死: Satsujin ni yoru shi: Death by murder 桜さ: kuro-sa: Blackness 暗くなった天使: Kuraku natta tenshi: Darkened Angel 血まみれのハロ桜: Chimamire no haro: Bloody halo 桜れたチェ桜ン: Kowareta chēn: Broken chains

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So you really thought that I would simply put regular words and sentences? Ha! It's not like I made this for a bad grade or to be humble.

T he F i nal e of . . . T his Tex t In this case, I believe that this is the end of the passage.

I've shed all the information that I decided to absorb like the odd sponge I am. If you actually want to go to Japan now, that's a win/win for me, mainly because I get to pat myself on the back for actually being able to convince someone (hopefully an adult) to go to Japan, and the reader gets a lovely trip to one of the Japanese islands.

See what I meant by win/win? And I'm not going to be humble here: I did an amazing job of telling you that you should go to Japan, and therefore I have a right to brag.

I finish my ending statement with only this: I dislike Kit Kats. Ha! I'm kidding. I would never end something as majestic and formal as this with such an improper sentence. (Although I truly have a hatred of sorts for Kit Kats.) And yes, I know I didn't mention any food other than those oddening chocolate-covered wafers produced by the millions in Japan and sent all over the world to be eaten by a stranger. (Kit Kat’s more accurate description, in my opinion.) I must make haste for an ending though.

This cannot be too long. So, all I have to proclaim is simple: go to Japan and do things. I gave you two ways of transporting yourself, their cost in first class and economy, and so forth. Now go enjoy a two-to-seven 117

day trip at the least. Goodbye, arrivederci, or as they say in Japan, sayonara. NOW GO TO JAPAN ALREADY. IT'S REALLY LOVELY AND YOU ARE MISSING OUT ON LOTS OF THINGS.*

* SOME ACTIVITIES YOU WANT TO DO MAY OR MAY NOT BE CLOSED DOWN DUE TO COVID-19 PROCEDURES FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY. IF YOU DO TRAVEL TO JAPAN, PLEASE TAKE A COVID TEST BEFORE AND AFTER THE TRIP. IF YOU TEST POSITIVE, PLEASE CONTACT YOUR DOCTOR IMMEDIATELY AND QUARANTINE FOR FOURTEEN DAYS. IF YOU ARE EXPERIENCING EVEN WORSE SYMPTOMS OF COVID, CONTACT YOUR DOCTOR IMMEDIATELY AND GO TO THE HOSPITAL. IF YOU ARE A CHILD AND YOU DO TAKE THIS TRIP, PLEASE ENSURE THAT YOU AND YOUR GUARDIAN(S) TAKE TESTS BEFORE AND AFTER. AND WHILE YOU ARE ON THE PLANE RIDE, DO WATCH SOME ANIME SO YOU CAN SEE HOW NICE JAPANESE TELEVISION IS. THANK YOU FOR DECIDING TO READ MY BOOK. 118

Saturn’s Stunning Rings ANRIC CAROLINO • 5 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT P. S . 316

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id you know that Saturn is about 4 million miles away from Earth?

To get to Saturn, you have to be in a rocket. It might take a while and when I say a while, I mean like months, years, or tens of years. Once you get near Saturn you will see the beautiful two rings, but if you look closer, the rings are made of tons of rocks, like a nonillion of them. The rings of Saturn are called the A ring and B ring. They are divided because Saturn's moon, Mimas, is pulling them away from each other.

You will also see Saturn's moons. Titan is the secondlargest moon in the solar system and one of the oldest.

Enceladus is one of the newest moons with it only being 100 million years old. About the same age as Saturn's rings.

Since Saturn is a gas giant, it would be impossible to land on it. There would be no surface and the pressure of Saturn would crush you. You would only survive for seconds.

But you could still orbit it and see the beautiful rings. If you want to, you can land on the moons but just beware of the methane of titan. If you bring some cameras, you could take pictures of the beautiful rings and the moons. You could also eat while looking at the beautiful rings and moons. I would recommend going to Saturn because of its beautiful rings and the moons.

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Saturn is a very old planet but its rings are not. In fact, research shows that Saturn’s rings are only 100 million years old. While the planet is about 4.6 billion years old! That's very old! For comparison, the star Rigel is only a few million years old! Still very old but Saturn is the 2nd biggest and oldest of the planets.

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Tales of the Rocky Hills NEKO CURTIS • 5 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT P. S . 316

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f you have a time machine, you can go back about forty years to see a car driving on a road down hills that make it swerve and dance around. You will see a family get out of the car and walk through branches that are tangled together and down a rickety old bridge that broke trying to save itself from being hit by the mobs of trees all around.

You go down to a beach where the sand and the soil are fighting to touch your feet. The ocean rolls in, quickly greeting you on its way to the next beach, which is on its way to the next one. The plain, rocky hills above you look down, asking you to walk up there.

You arrive at the top and you see all of the beach, where the wind flips and turns around you. There are famous beaches that are warm and sunny. These are the reasons people come here to California. But this place is where you can go for something different, and when you come, you will agree that people should know about this place.

There are so many things to see, just not in plain sight.

You can stand in the dirt under a canopy of trees. You can go down to the beach and watch the clear blue water reflecting off the sky, a flat blue surface with fluffy clouds rushing around at two thousand miles an hour. Or you can run up the hills with mountains behind you, trees all around you, and the whole ocean in front of you.

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Blue Stuff ELIAN DE LEON • AGE 10 WRIT TEN DURING WRITE AF TER SCHOOL

The ocean The kind of ocean you see in the movies Like the water in Moana Blue like the stars A blue galaxy Like a blue Sour Patch Kid Candy, melted into blue stuff A blueberry taste The kind from the movies That good rich taste of blueberry stuff

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Brooklyn's Best AVA DECEUS • 5 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT P. S . 316

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ou may have never been to Prospect Park or even heard of it, but I assure you that if you're ever visiting New York, that should be a stop on your trip. I should know: I live right across the street. There is so much to see.

In winter, the snow in the park is like a soft wooly blanket fresh out of the washing machine. Everyone you bring can enjoy the cold but fun weather, and even if you did not come in time for snow, you could rent some skates at Lakeside. If you are having trouble, you can sign up for a free skating class.

In spring, the delicate fragrance of newly blooming flowers fills the air. The park greenery is at its best, and the many flowers are as colorful as a rainbow stretched across a large green carpet. But don't worry—if you are not in the mood for an evening picnic, you can make a stop at the park's very own roller skating rink.

In summer, the park is like a sun-dried sanctuary of lakes and trees surrounded by the busy New York City.

Children play games and ride bikes as grown-ups talk and enjoy the beautiful park. If you are feeling too hot, you could go down to the splash pad to cool off or make reservations to take a relaxing boat ride in one of the paddle boats that they have there.

In fall, the green leaves turn colorful and fall gently to 123

the ground in an assortment of colors. But don't forget to bring your sweater; you can tell it’s not summer anymore.

If you want some exercise, you can rent a bike and do a lap or two on the track that surrounds the park.

This park is near a nice neighborhood called Prospect Lefferts Gardens. The land used to be owned by the Lefferts family back in plantation times, but the development of the city caused the land to be cut out of it and eventually turned into a park, with only the preserved Lefferts House remaining. You can do tours there on specific days in the summer.

There are many places around the park that can be fun to go to as well, like taking a stroll down Flatbush and trying to choose between all the different restaurants with all different types of delicious foods. If you are more interested in museums and culture, you can check out the Brooklyn Museum. If you're lucky, you’ll be there for First Saturday, which is a super big party held at the beginning of every month. There are a lot of things to choose from.

So if you're ever in Brooklyn and need something to do, come to one of Brooklyn's best: Prospect Park.

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Ocean-Deep Pool MALAK KASSEM • 11TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT L AB SCHOOL FOR COLL ABORATIVE STUDIES

It feels like I dove into an ocean-deep pool of mysteries, like I’ll never hit rock bottom.

A pool is one thing— but the ocean is another.

Remember, address, forget.

People, places, things— nouns, I guess.

Treading water.

Kicking and floating, keeping up with the pace of the current, losing yourself in the endless strangle of water.

Remember, address, forget.

People, places, things— nouns, I guess.

Jumping off a diving board, water going up your nose after hitting the torturous surface, chlorine going up your nose and burning your brain— frying it like sand in the desert.

Standing over the frozen pond as a child, not realizing it was as thin as the leaf on the ground right 125

next to you.

If you knew, you wouldn’t have dared.

Falling through the paper-thin sheet of ice— walking home in a drenched winter coat.

Remember, address, forget.

People, places, things— nouns, I guess.

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Breath of the Ocean FAYE KRELIC • 11TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT HIGH SCHOOL OF FASHION INDUSTRIES

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s I lay on my bed staring out the window, I see snow sticking to the streets.

I look directly into the sun and see the days when the bright hot sun seeped into my skin.

The smell and taste of salt as I walk along the beach gathering seashells, the water gently kissing my toes. The waves trying to pull me in with them. Finally, I give in and walk out until the water is just above my belly button. I gently place my hands on top of the water, feeling the breath of the ocean. There is seaweed under my toes, with tiny groups of fish swarming around, tickling my legs.

Reliving those unforgettable memories makes the coldness in my room feel warm.

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Puerto Rico AIDEN NIEVES WILBUR • 5 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT P. S . 316

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f I were to go to any place in the world, it would probably be Puerto Rico. I would go to Puerto Rico because I miss the way the wind would blow my hair back and how the trees rocked back and forth like a rocking chair.

I loved when we would go to the beach on a hot summer day, where you can dig your feet in the sand and enjoy the hot sun against your face. The waves would hit you but when they did, it felt like a nice splash of water hit your back.

The way you drove across the road and see so many different houses and restaurants with all sorts of Puerto Rican food. My entire family is either from Puerto Rico or Brooklyn. I wish that I could go back there, but because of the pandemic, I haven’t been able to go. I miss the way we would go to dinner late and enjoy the music and the food.

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Welcome to Orangat!

ERASMUS RAWLINSON THORPE • 5 TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT P. S . 316

Your Own Orange Getaway!

A Travel Guide Orangat (pronounced or-ang-AT) is one of my favorite forest planets that I have ever come up with. It’s partly based off of temperate coniferous forests, but also partly the Catskill Mountains, due to the nostalgia I gained after annually going to a camping site called Little Pond every summer. My family still does it, actually. Orangat is completely orange in color, with orange dust falling from the sky everywhere on the planet. It is part of the Rainbow Galaxy, in the main solar system, the Rainbow Worlds. Orangat’s atmosphere is described as smelling like chlorine from a pool straight after getting drenched in a torrential downpour. It contains very curious plants and animals, such as the rare half-mushroom, half-flower, all-orange Oroom and the skinny, skipping, skittish Naranjaike.

It is a beautiful planet where you can have all the fun you want, since nobody needs to judge one another there, AS LONG AS YOU STAY AWAY FROM THE CAVES. DON’T GO ANYWHERE NEAR THE CAVES OR IT WILL SMELL YOU. You don’t even have to feel guilty after cutting down a tree, considering how quick it takes Cheet Trees to grow—only a week! Plus, make sure to slay a Naranjaike or two. Its meat tastes like cheetos, and pleasantly spicy ones at that!

Enjoy your stay at Orangat!* *REMINDER: DO NOT GO NEAR THE CAVES!!!!

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Baby Yoda Special FABIANA VARGAS • AGE 11 WRIT TEN DURING WRITE AF TER SCHOOL

Baby Yoda doesn’t have a lot sodas But he doesn’t care one iota Baby Yoda is all green Baby Yoda is not mean He would like to have one mocha

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The World of Wonderous and Magical Monstrosities CLASS 4-307 AT P.S. 130 WRIT TEN DURING WRITE TOGETHER

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his story takes place far, far away, where tacos rain onto the earthy surface. In this world, there is a special kind of werewolf, named Speartonus, with spikes on its back that it uses as arrows. Everyone thought Spear was dangerous but he only wanted to find his purpose in life.

Spear felt his name did not fit him and was continuously trying new names. Martha was his current favorite. Martha saw all types of magical creatures, from unicorns to bigfeet to Loch Ness monsters. Martha, however, had not seen another werewolf and wondered if he was all alone.

In his den, a unicorn came clopping along and said, 131

“You have not paid your bones! You must leave this den!”

Martha wandered around, and found his good friend, the morphing giant. Martha, who now wanted to be called Pony, groaned and said, “I am so lost.”

The giant asked, “What’s wrong?”

“W . . . ” Pony couldn't finish their sentence because, suddenly, a rumbling sound and a blinding light came from the sky—a meteor was approaching!

From the bushes, one of Pony’s friends, Jack the evil unicorn, blasted the meteor away using his horn laser.

“Phew, we were almost like the dinosaurs—toast!” Jack said.

One shard from the meteor, however, shot off and crashed into the morphing giant’s bone stash!

In the distance, a pixie was playing and heard all the commotion relating to Pony and his friends. The pixie 132

wanted justice and went to the unicorn and said, “It is unfair to kick someone out! He recycles his bones and is nice!”

The unicorn laughed and said, “It is the LAW! If you go against me I will imprison you.”

The unicorn captured the pixie and flew them to the highest peak. The pixie screamed for help and Pony and his friends heard it all. The morphing giant turned into a carriage to hold Pony and Jack the evil unicorn flew the carriage up to the peak. Once they got to the peak, they saw the unicorn and the pixie there. The unicorn knew they were trying to save the pixie and began blasting glitter lasers at Pony and co. During all the battling, Pony got blasted by one of the laser shots and fell asleep. And then . . .

TO B E C ON TIN U ED . . .

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A New World (Un Nuevo Mundo) 4TH GRADE DUAL LANGUAGE AT P.S. 212 WRIT TEN DURING WRITE TOGETHER

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ave you ever wondered if other worlds existed, and if you could go to them? Well, we are about to find out!

“Hand me my tweezers! I need to finish my invention as soon as possible,” Doctor Centipede said. The assistant ran as fast as they could and handed Doctor C. the tweezers.

CRASH! Doctor C. bumped into a potion and it shattered, spilling all over the floor. Suddenly, the ground started to rumble and a portal opened up! The pair was sucked up and sent into warp space.

As the two traveled through warp space, they saw all kinds of dimensions that broke their wildest dreams.

The two woke up. It felt like a dream, what just happened.

Doctor C and his assistant looked around, and it looked just 134

like Earth, but the two quickly realized something was off.

There wasn’t an adult in sight. Kids were driving cars and walking around holding briefcases!

The pair tried to blend in but the kids were able to quickly realize some unknown guests had made their way to this planet.

Suddenly, a mob of kids began chasing Doctor C. and Annabelle, the assistant. Then the ground shook and a giant robot appeared, and the kids all ran away.

The robot began to rampage and started blasting the trees and buildings all around. The adults knew they had to help out. Doctor C. and Annabelle started to form a plan—hack the robot and reprogram it! The pair ran into the city looking for a computer.

“HERE!” Annabelle shouted. The two quickly squeezed into the tiny doors and logged into the computer. The robot’s 135

stomping was approaching quickly.

“Doctor!” Annabelle screamed. Suddenly, just as the robot was going to smash the pair, it stopped moving.

“We did it!” Doctor C. happily screamed.

“AHHH!” Annabelle screamed as she was grabbed by the robot. Doctor C. was shocked and then he was also grabbed.

A portal opened up and the pair left the world as fast as they arrived.

The two opened their eyes and saw . . .

TO B E C O N T I N U E D . . .

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The Prophecy of Saturn: The Chosen One CLASS 718 AT CHANNEL VIEW SCHOOL FOR RESEARCH WRIT TEN DURING WRITE TOGETHER

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n March 7th, 2008, Jackson Michael was born. That day, Saturn experienced a treacherous sandstorm. The God of Saturn was testing one being in particular; the birth of Jackson was a trial to deem his worth of becoming a hero. It had been prophesied many years ago, by the boy Yesh, that every hundred Earth years a storm will test the birth of a hero. This storm tested and created the to-be-hero by the name of Jackson Michael, who will save all of Saturn.

Twelve Earth years have passed and Jackson is celebrating another revolution around the Sun. As his 137

friends gather to celebrate, the air grows still. An ominous silence envelops the town and a sandstorm begins to form.

Through the sand, Jackson sees a figure in the distance. As the figure approaches, Jackson hears a whisper in his ear: “Realize your potential—you hold immense power, do not forget that.”

The storm stops and everything returns to normal.

Suddenly, ships surround the town and troops step out, asking for “the Chosen One.” The troops harass the villagers and say, “We know the hero is here, give them to us or we will destroy this village.”

Jackson remembers the voice they heard earlier and feels a shock throughout his body. Jackson approaches the troops and says, “Leave or else.”

The troops laugh and push him to the ground. “Or else 138

what, you’ll cry to your mommy?!”

Jackson tries to unleash his power but from his hands the smallest spark comes out. Jackson tries again but this time is shot backward.

The troops are surprised someone has powers and realize that this boy must be from the prophecy. They grab him immediately and haul him onto the ship.

Over comms, the troops say, “We got him.” The ships leave just as quickly as they arrived.

Jackson wakes up, he finds himself tied up and patrolled by the troops.

“Who are you?!” Jackson asks.

“No questions!” The troops respond. Jackson dozes off again and hears a voice from above say: “Realize your potential.”

TO B E C O N T I N U E D . . .

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The Poison Apple JASON RIVERS & ISAAC NATIVIDAD RODRIGUEZ WRIT TEN DURING WRITE AF TER SCHOOL

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nce upon a time, there was a kid who went to the park, and he saw a shiny red apple. The kid took a bite out of the apple. The apple, which knew it was poisonous, said, “Oh no! You’re gonna get sick!” This wasn’t the first time the shiny apple poisoned a kid just by looking delicious.

It’s been on this playground since the 1990s. He just wanted friends and to make the world a better place. He wasn’t always poisonous, and he had some apple friends when he was young, but one day, a mad scientist did experiments on him and made him poisonous. He was also given other powers: he rolled around from playground to playground, attracting unsuspecting eaters. One day, he rolled to the same lab where he was experimented on and made his way to the scientist. The scientist saw him and bit him; this made the apple unpoisoned, but poisoned the scientist.

The apple went looking for friends. He first went back to his old apple friends, who were glad to see that he was no longer poisonous, and then he climbed his way up a tree in the playground, where a farmer could pick him and sell him at the market. A customer, seeing the shiny, delicious apple, bought it and bit into it right away. As soon as he took his first bite, money started falling from the sky and he got extremely lucky. The apple was finally happy. But then, somebody stepped on him, undoing EVERYTHING . . . the man who got lucky had everything taken away and the apple

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became his only food. He finished the apple, and its core got thrown away. Magically, the apple seeds were planted and grew more magical, lucky apples. Anyone who ate an apple off of one of the new trees became rich and lucky. The apple got his wish, but not for long . . .

After a while, the apples stopped being lucky and making their eaters rich. Instead, they became POISONED. When someone ate one of these apples, they felt itchy and nauseous and passed out. When they woke up, they ended up in heaven. The original apple felt sad that his apple children were poisoning people again. The apple decided to take things into his own hands and chop all the new, poisonous apple trees down. Then carrots become special carrots with magical powers. They gave you anything you’ve ever wished for. The original apple and the carrots worked together to help people and make the world a better place.

THE END!

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Animal Poem AYANA ALAMGIR, SOFIA KRANTZ, AND ISAAC NATIVIDAD RODRIGUEZ WRIT TEN DURING WRITE AF TER SCHOOL

What do we want to write about?

Animal?

Object?

Something else entirely?

Koalas Gorillas Fishes and how they breathe and swim.

They don’t close their eyes when they sleep.

Tigers Baby cheetahs— they’re adorable!

Pandas Herbivores eating plants Furry Thumbs to hold bamboo Mammals Lazy Do not roar They are the size of a butter stick when they’re born They are a bear, we think They eat healthy foods They are peaceful (bears are rough) They used to be hunted for their fur, 142

but now they are protected They are very relaxed They are so cute, especially the baby pandas Pandas The size of a butter stick when they’re born They’re so very cute, especially the babies They’re blind when they’re born and they’re pink like a rose They are different from others—they are peaceful, not rough They have thumbs that help them eat And they eat and eat all day They are very relaxed and lazy They all have black circles around their eyes They’re endangered, but now protected

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The Spatula Who Couldn’t Make It, But Did Make It AYANA ALAMGIR, ELIAN DE LEON, AND SYDNEY CHENG WRIT TEN DURING WRITE AF TER SCHOOL

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ne day, a talking spatula overhears his brother’s conversation with his friend about his birthday party.

Gerald, the talking spatula, asks his brother if he can come to the party.

His brother says, “You need to be a five-star spatula here in Las Vegas to come to my party! And you need to have money to pay for the party, and I’m not giving you my money!”

Gerald’s brother leaves for his party. Gerald thinks that he can disguise himself to get into the party. Gerald puts on Gucci sunglasses, Louis Vuitton shoes, and a T-shirt from Gucci so that he looks like he’s really rich. He decides that he will pretend that he’s a member of the birthday band. He gets up on the bandstand and sings really badly. Everyone throws tomatoes at him, so he runs away in tears.

Gerald isn’t about to give up. Now he thinks that he will steal his brother’s money to try to get in. He gets a hammer from his dad’s shed, breaks his brother’s piggy bank, and scoops up all his money. He goes inside the birthday party and sees that his brother’s friend is collecting money. Gerald talks in a disguised voice, but his brother’s friend recognizes him and says, “Wait a minute! Aren’t you Gerald?”

Gerald says, “Oh man. You figured it out!”

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The friend says, “Okay. Let’s make a deal. Can you distract your brother for a few minutes? He’s getting kind of boring.”

Gerald agrees. They both walk away. Gerald is trying his best to distract his brother without his brother noticing he is Gerald. He tells him jokes and riddles like, “Why did the orphan kid rob the bank? Because he wanted to feel wanted!”

And, “How often do you study chemistry? Periodically! Ha ha ha! Get it?”

Gerald’s brother thinks, I like this guy. Maybe we can keep him as a joke teller. He has no idea that this is Gerald.

Gerald stays telling jokes until his voice gets sore and he can’t talk anymore. The brother looks for a medical bag to help Gerald out. The brother says, “So it was you who came to my party this whole time. That’s why my friend wasn’t talking so much.” Gerald gives him a puppy face. “Oh well,” his brother says. “I guess you can stay for a little bit. Mom told me to invite you, but I didn’t. You can stay for now.”

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Take Me to the Oldest Tree Alive STORIES ON ADVENTURE & FRIENDSHIP

KEY IDEAS DREAMS MEMORY

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A Murder Mystery LUCY BOOTH • AGE 12 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

I

t was a bright and beautiful morning. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the midnight rain had washed away all of the crime and darkness of last night.

Newly hired journalist, Olive Greene, had just sat down to work on the week's articles with a freshly brewed cup of coffee in hand when she remembered the cookie. Not just any cookie, but the last one from the summer bake sale her cousin had. In short: her aunt, Ophelia Greene, was a pastry chef, so her bake sales were always a hit. As lethargic as she was, Olive stumbled to the kitchen of her small house on Oakley Street to grab the cookie but, upon sticking her hand in the jar, realized it was gone. Well, not immediately. It took a couple seconds for her tired brain to put two and two together and realize that it was gone. She was puzzled by this, but assumed that she must have eaten it earlier and forgot that she had.

Of course, when cookies are missing, one doesn’t normally think of some elaborate plot that could be ruined by someone’s sweet tooth. But, we do know that pulling one stray thread can undo an entire piece of fabric. Olive just had to pull on that thread to see where it would lead. When she got up to get her lunch, Olive inspected the jar more carefully and saw the faintest fingerprints on the jar. The only reason she saw them was because, unlike most fingerprints, these were colored red. Thinking of a logical reason for this wasn’t 149

easy, considering that Olive was currently working on a solved murder account for this big time killer that lived in the city. They had finally locked him up. So, with the story fresh on her mind, the first red thing she thought of was blood. She reminded herself that it could be her fingerprints covered in ink from her work. But, just to set her mind at ease, she called the neighborhood police officer to look at them and see if they matched any records. It depended on how fast they found the match, and how much time they had to look for someone would affect how long it would take. Living in a small town, there weren’t a lot of officers to work on this case, nor people to be suspects, because there was rarely a need for them, and Olive was sure that she was overreacting about this.

The sounds in the street woke Olive from her reverie, lost as she was in her story. She walked outside to see the commotion and found out that Mr. Smith, a war veteran, had died in the night but his wife thought it was murder, considering his perfect health. A quick look at the body suggested she was right. A small slit through his heart made by a dagger was discovered, although it was not as noticeable because all the blood had been cleaned off, which set the town talking. Why was he killed? Whodunnit? And, the one question in Olive’s mind, could it possibly have anything to do with the red fingerprints on the cookie jar?

The next day, the police officer came back with the results. It hadn’t taken long due to the short list of possible culprits, but the problem was that the fingerprints didn’t match any of the prints that were on record at the station.

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So, that meant that it was someone who didn’t live in town who had passed by with red hands in the middle of the night, and taken the cookie from Olive’s cookie jar. But who? And why? And did it have anything to do with the murder that happened on the same night, at the same time, two doors down from Olive’s house? She wanted to look further into whose print it could be, but the officers at the station, who happened to take care of forensics, also took care of everything else that needed to be done, and with a murder in their small town, the small number of officers had their hands full. People were scared, and rumors were flying.

What if they came back? Who would be next? And there were many, many theories about why they targeted Mr. Smith, an old army veteran.

Olive wasn’t officially supposed to look into the murder case, but considering how few things happened in and around her town that she could write about, she decided just to see what she could find out about it anyways. Although she knew they wouldn’t be ready, she went to the station to check the prints and to see what files they had on Mr. Smith, to look for anything that could lead to his murder. She grabbed her coat, since the beautiful fall morning had turned into a cold, gray foggy day, as dark and mysterious as the goings-on in the town.

As she expected, when she got to the station, the prints weren’t anywhere close to done because of the ruckus about the murder. But she was able to look at Mr. Smith’s files, which were thicker than she expected. Apparently he had caused some trouble when he was younger and spent a lot of 151

time with some gangs from the bigger towns, where he had grown up. He was still causing trouble in the army, and when he got back he became an official member of one of the most notorious gangs around. But something happened which caused him to leave the gang and move here. The questions now circled more frantically around Olive’s brain. Was this gang responsible for or related to his murder? Why did he come here? Was he trying to run away from the gang? What happened that caused him to leave the gang?

Then, on her way back home, Olive decided to stop by and check in on Mrs. Smith, to see what she knew, and, of course, to give her condolences for Mr. Smith. She knocked on the door, and as Mrs. Smith opened it, Olive was overwhelmed with the incredibly overpowering scent of flowers. Daisies, peonies, tulips, poppies, lilacs, every kind, all shoved in vases, and bowls, and cups, and any dish that could hold flowers, all had flowers in them. She stood there for a minute, then comprehended that Mrs. Smith was inviting her in. She gave her condolences and decided on not hugging Mrs. Smith, since she clearly had been hugged, patted, and cried on one too many times. Then, Olive got down to work.

“So, Mrs. Smith, what do you know about Mr. Smith’s past? I know he didn’t grow up here, but what do you know of the matter?” she asked.

The old woman sat down in a giant armchair, then gestured for Olive to do the same, which she did. “Well, I only knew Herbert when he first came here, after fighting in the war. I was born and raised here, whereas he moved 152

here in his late twenties.” She paused, got some tea, and continued. “He told me very little of his past, just that it was an uncomfortable subject, and that I wouldn’t like him as much if he told me what he had done.”

This piqued Olive’s interest. “Did he do something bad when he was younger? Do you know?”

The old woman shook her head, “Oh dear, if only I knew. If only. I might’ve understood more, or at least got a grip on who I was marrying.” She sighed. “I—” A tap on the window shook the woman out of the past. Her face turned pale.

“You should leave now. There’s no more I can tell you. What happened in the past stays in the past. It’s a nasty business.

You don’t want to be involved.”

Olive knew the story was deeper than that, it had to be. Why had Mrs. Smith turned so pale when someone tapped on the window? Why did someone tap in the first place? Did they hear what was being discussed? If so, was the house bugged, was every word said being alerted to someone else? No, Olive was being crazy. It couldn’t be, it shouldn’t be. She pushed down her thoughts on the matter and went to bed. The phone rang in the middle of the night and woke Olive from her dream. She dreamed that there was a play, and an actor made a mistake, so the curtain came down, but it was a big, knitted blanket. Olive got up from her seat and tried to get past the curtain, for some reason, but couldn’t. She noticed a loose thread, and pulled on it, unraveling the whole thing, and revealing the stage behind. She rolled over, wanting to see what was behind the curtain, but the incessant ringing of the phone dragged her out of bed, where, when she picked 153

it up, a dark, muffled, gravelly voice said, “Stay out of the business, and stay in the dark. What’s done is done, or you’ll be our mark. The past is the past, and the choices are made, so forget about this or you’ll be afraid.”

Olive stood in the kitchen, shell shocked. A threat? But to be honest, she was rather impressed with the scary rhymes, although she needed to focus. This had to be serious. Anonymous threats don’t get given out like candy on Halloween. She sat at her desk and transcribed what she remembered of the message. The person said “we,” so this was a group of people that were most likely involved with the murder of Mr. Smith and the bloody fingerprints on the cookie jar. But who would have a motive to kill Mr. Smith?

Olive then has a flashback to when she was looking at Mr. Smith’s file, when it said he had joined a gang when he had gotten back from the army. Was the gang part of the reason why Mr. Smith came here? Was he running from them? Did they kill him? She needed to slow down, but she wasn’t sure she’d remember all of it in the morning. She brought out her post-it notes and red yarn and spent multiple hours getting down all she knew and where it could lead.

The shrill sound of her alarm clock woke Olive bright and early in the morning. Olive was scared. It was possible a very notorious gang had threatened her life, and she wanted to make sure what happened to Mr. Smith didn’t happen to her. She wasn’t sure of what they were capable of and didn’t really want to find out. She needed to talk to Mrs. Smith again, without being listened to, so she could find out more about Mr. Smith’s past.

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The Kingdom of Orange Blossom LILY BROOKS • AGE 9 WRIT TEN DURING SUMMER WORKSHOPS

I

t was a shining, beautiful day in the garden of the Orange Blossom Castle. Princess Alexandra was sitting in the swing among the flowers and watching pizza airplanes fly by in the sky. People on pizza airplanes always used their binoculars to watch out for hungry yetis. (More on that in a little bit.) A benefit of these binoculars was that they were made from only the best glass from Clear Falls. Clear Falls were waterfalls.

Instead of having water crash down the sides of their mammoth cliffs, they had clear glass gracefully falling to the ground. The glass was filled with the magic from the students at the Enchantment Academy practicing their magic in their courses. The magic made all the glass never hurt anyone when crashing down the falls, and could be made into anything from binoculars to glasses.

When people used them as binoculars, telescopes and glasses, the glass always detected when something was wrong. The glass also detected people. As the pizza airplanes flew through the sky, everyone waved and said, “Ahoy!’’ or “Hello from the sky!” Alexandra loved flying on pizza airplanes. She loved traveling through all of the Kingdom of Orange Blossom and seeing everything. She loved seeing the hungry yetis and seeing all the people in the cities.

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H ow t he Hungr y Yet is Cam e to B e: Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Orange Blossom, there were many happy yetis who were never, ever hungry.

They always had everything to eat. They were so successful in business with their farms (how they always had all the food in the world) that they retired at age 40 and handed over the farms to their families. They always had enough to eat because it was such a long time ago that money hadn’t yet been invented so everyone shared everything.

Then one awful day for yetis (but one wonderful day for humans) something BIG happened . . .

The humans arrived in what is now known as Orange Blossom, but then had a name in Yetinese. The name was Dette-er-Yeti-Lland-Ikke-Kommer-Ind, which in Yetinese means, “This Is Yeti Country Do Not Come In.” As you can tell from the title of the country, yetis hate visitors. When the humans invaded, the yetis tried to scare them away with their large snarls and their awful breath.

(They have bad teeth hygiene.) All of their efforts didn’t work when the humans successfully took over Dette-er-YetiLland-Ikke-Kommer-Ind. But humans aren’t super terrible.

King Vhervhine (the human king who took over Dette-erYeti-Lland-Ikke-Kommer-Ind) was ruthless but he had empathy. He was an oxymoron.

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Orange Blo s so m: Princess Alexandra of Orange Blossom (her shortened title) was walking to the Royal Blossomian Flight Center for Pizza Airplanes, Spaceships, Shuttles, Deep Sea Capsules, Automobiles and All Things that Move. She planned on going to her best friend’s house. Her best friend was Claudia. She was a member of the royal family on Zaberbash.

Alex was going to Claudia’s because there was something only every 87th child of the royal family of Orange Blossom was born with—time travel, predicting the future, telekinesis or talking to animals. Alex was an 87th child and had telekinesis. The same inheritance of Orange Blossom applied to Zaberbash. Claudia was an 87th child of Zaberbash and she had time travel.

TO B E C O N T I N U E D . . .

157

Catastrophe: First Steps LIAM CHENG • AGE 12 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

Chapte r 1: Awake

I

awoke in my dormitory. At first, I forgot where I was, but then I remembered—I was still a trainee at the Aldridge Academy. Basically, the Aldridge Academy was for souls like me to train to survive in Gargantia; what you guys know as Earth. (This is an alternate universe, okay?) At the end of each month, every trainee in the whole academy would get the chance to prove their worth in the Death Trial (aka the Doom Gauntlet). To those who succeed, the trial will grant passage to Gargantia and they will be able to visit the Academy again at times. Those who don’t succeed just don’t get to go, and they have to wait an additional month to participate in the trial again. This was only my first month at the Academy, and I didn’t hesitate to prepare for the trial.

I completed the extreme tier gymnasium course a million times. I made professional traders go broke in seconds at the trading center. I even beat the academy record for quickly slaying a Bahamut, one of the many deadliest monsters in all of Gargantia.

I had also looked through every document or book I could find about Gargantia. According to one of the documents, Gargantia was somewhat similar to some Earth video game called Minecraft, but there were a lot of major differences, too. Gargantia had an Overworld, Nether, 158

and End, just like Minecraft, but there were also two other dimensions, known as the Beneath and Aether. Oh, and also, Bedrock is more scarce in Gargantia and is mostly replaced with Arcane Barriers leading to the Beneath. Plus, there are deadlier monsters and more versatile materials such as bronze or onyx, just to name a few differences.

But still, I was unsure about my abilities. I overheard one of the academy veterans say that the Death Trial changes every month, so that it’s completely unpredictable. If I screwed up just one time, it was game over for me. (What?

I can’t use Earth phrases? Gargantia isn’t even that different from Earth!)

Oh, wait, I didn’t properly introduce myself. My name’s Casper, and I’m supposed to be the reincarnated soul of Crispus Attucks, who (just my luck) was the first person to be killed in the Boston Massacre, one of the deadliest battles in known Earth history.

Just as I was going to get out of bed, I heard the bell go off with a RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The sound was so loud that I literally jumped off my bed and fell face-first on the carpet. And, just my luck, my roommate, Peony, rolled off his bunk and landed on me. (Yo, gravity still exists.) Peony was a first timer just like me; he had a mop of unruly hair and was kinda muscular. Both of us were the ONLY first timers in the Aldridge Academy, so (obviously) we got to be roommates, and we became friends in the process.

“Ow,” I groaned. “Peony, would you please get off of me?” Peony immediately looked down and finally noticed who he was sitting on.

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“Oh! Sorry!” He immediately got off of me, and I could finally move.

“Next time, please don’t roll onto me, okay?”

“Okay,” Peony answered back. I immediately grabbed my agenda sheet. I froze in shock.

Peony noticed my expression and asked, “What’s wrong?” I slowly moved the sheet to Peony and then had the same expression as me. Because today was dated the end of the month, and the Death Trial was RIGHT NOW. Peony and I looked at each other, and we knew what we had to do.

C hapte r 2: T he Gaunt let of D o om We took out my teleport pad from the cabinet, and then I found the location of the trial site almost immediately. The teleport whirred to life, and we went in the beam without saying a word. When we emerged from the other side, the trial had already begun, and then we saw an empty hallway with an open door on the other side. I looked at the corridor and thought: This hallway is supposed to be the Trial? There must be some kind of catch.

Just to be safe, I threw a pebble at one of the floor bricks.

Strangely enough, some of the bricks had runes on them.

The pebble landed on a markless brick. I threw another one, this time on a runed brick. At first, nothing happened, but then a geyser of fire burst from the brick, and the pebble was reduced to ash.

We both stood silent for a moment, then we just ran for our lives. We didn’t even pay attention to the explosions, 160

screeches, and other chaotic traps we had sprung. We were just focused on getting to the door on the other side. Dodging and weaving, arrows were whizzing past our heads, and I swore that I heard a roar behind us.

After what seemed like only five seconds, we reached the door and went inside. Both of us were panting, trying to catch our breath. I scanned our bodies for any injuries. Peony had a scorch mark on his shirt, but otherwise we were fine. It was then that I noticed a sign on the floor. It read: “Part One of the Trial has just been completed. Please continue on with Part Two of Three of the Trial.”

I did a facepalm. Seriously? After all that, we still had to do two more tests?! Oh well. It was then I realized we were in a small room with a table at the end. On the table, there were two things: a wheat seed and a baguette. I was confused at first, but then when I looked up, I saw there were words on the ceiling that read: “Find out what the two objects mean.

Fail once, and you will perish. Succeed and you will reach the final step in order to reach Gargantia.”

“Alright,” I said. “Seed. breadstick. What does it mean . . . ” Both of us just stood there thinking, and then . . .

“I mean, seeds grow into wheat, which can be processed into bread. Does that help?” Peony asked.

“Thanks, bro.” I replied back. We fistbumped, and then thought again. “Wheat seeds technically grow into bread so—” Wait! Grow . . .

“That’s it!” I exclaimed. “This symbolizes growing as a person!” I shouted into the nearby mic in the wall.

“GROWING AS A PERSON,” I shouted inside it. At first 161

nothing happened, then some sticky pistons lifted the table into a hole in the ceiling, and another hole appeared in the spot where the table used to be. We immediately jumped into the hole, and expecting to fall to our deaths, we landed safely in a water pool. We were greeted by another sign that said: “Part Three of Three: FINAL BOSS: Bahamut ZERO.” Next to that were two full sets of enchanted diamond armor, as well as some enchanted mythril tools and Assess orbs. But in the center of the gear was an enchanted netherite chestplate.

Peony immediately yelled: “I call dibs on the netherite chestplate!!!” He was so fast and strong, I didn’t have time to object before he was proudly wearing the chestplate. I sighed and started putting on the enchanted diamond gear. After both of us were geared with our armor, tools and Assess orbs, we were ready to face the final challenge. I had never heard of a Bahamut ZERO before, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was stronger than a Bahamut (DON’T LET THE NAME FOOL YOU). I took a deep breath, which didn’t make me feel better at all, and Peony opened the steel doors. We found ourselves in some kind of colosseum with all the students watching us.

Then, we watched as the principal of the Aldridge Academy, Victor Aldridge, rose on a hover pad, holding a mic in his hand.

“Welcome, ladies and gents! I am the founder and principal of this school, Mr. Aldridge, and we’re here to watch the only people who made it to the final challenge to tackle the Bahamut ZERO!” Wait, WE WERE THE ONLY ONES TO MAKE IT TO PART THREE?!!!! Then the gate on the other side of the colosseum 162

broke open, revealing the Bahamut ZERO. The thing was so massive that it would’ve been able to eat me up in one gulp. It still retained the humanoid figure of the standard Bahamut, but it had six wings and was white-colored instead of the normal purple.

“The king of the endless space versus our only successful participants! Will this dragon be able to defeat our challengers or will they emerge victorious?! Keep your eyes peeled, because this is gonna be a very thrilling fight!” Mr. Aldridge announced.

The dragon roared at us, and then I swore Peony muttered, “We’re screwed.”

C ha pte r 3: Who will b e re d uc e d to ZERO? The Bahamut ZERO immediately charged toward me; I knew this was my chance, so I dodged the attack and the dragon crashed into a wall. Some chunks of rock landed on the Bahamut, and it got stuck as I planned. While it was struggling to get free from the rubble, I used Assess on it. Immediately, time froze and a text box went into my face.

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N a m e: B a ha m ut Z ERO

HP: 45732/45 80 0

Mana: 4800

Leve l: 9 6

S tats:

Ab ili t ie s:

At tack: 25 0

Umbral Strikes

Fira ga

D efe n se: 5 0 0

Umbral Inferno

B l i z z a ga

B last At tack: 970

Umbral Aura

Tor raga

B last D efense: 137

Claw Swipe

Aero ga

S p e e d: 70 0

Flare Breath

Me gaf l a re

Curaga

G igaf l a re

Thundaga

Teraf lare

We ak n e s s e s:

E le m e nt:

None

Non-elemental

D e sc ri pt ion: One of t he m o st d a n g e ro u s

Re s i sta nc e s :

S tat us : None

and fe a re d t y p e s of d ragons in a ll of G a rg a nt i a.

F ire, Water, Ic e, Ea r t h, L ight ning,

Disp o si t io n :

Le gend ha s i t t hat i t’s a

W in d, Phys ic al/

Host i le

f usion of t hre e sta n d a rd

M a gic At tacks

Bahamu ts. T ho s e t hat we nt hunt ing fo r t hi s l e g e n d a r y

Im m u ni t i e s : All n e g at ive stat us ef fe cts

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b e ast never ret u rne d.

I felt like I wanted to scream. Since it was a Bahamut type, I already knew that it had no weaknesses, but it was LEVEL 96 AND HAD JACKED STATS, PLUS IT WAS IMMUNE TO STATUS EFFECTS! I dismissed the status page, and charged toward the Bahamut, landing my first blow. The dragon screamed in pain, and then it tail-whipped me away. The Bahamut roared, then a lightning bolt crashed down on me, dealing a good amount of damage. If it weren't for my armor, I would’ve died. I took out my mythril bow, and started shooting mythril arrows at the Bahamut, but that’s when I noticed there was a light coming from its mouth. Above its head, some glowing text read: “Ten.” At first, I didn’t understand what the Bahamut was doing, but then when the text changed into: “Nine,” I realized what it was going to do. It was trying to charge up its Teraflare attack. I charged at the beast and started striking it, but the Bahamut didn’t notice. By then, the countdown had already reached “Five,” and I was running out of time. I didn’t know what to do, so I used Assess again. The beast’s status page popped up again.

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N a m e: B a ha m ut Z ERO

HP: 980 (-100) / 45800

M ana: 24 0 0

Leve l: 9 6

S tats:

Ab ili t ie s:

At tack: 25 0

Umbral Strikes

F irag a

D efe n se: 5 0 0

U m bral Infe rn o

Bli z zag a

B last At tack: 970

U m bral Au ra

Torraga

B last D efense: 137

C law S w i p e

Ae ro g a

S p e e d: 70 0

F lare B re at h

Me g af lare

Curaga

Gi g af lare

Thund a g a

Te raf l a re (c u r re nt l y c ha n gin g)

We ak n e s s e s:

E le m e nt:

None

Non-elemental

D e sc ri pt ion: One of t he m o st d a n g e ro u s

Re s i sta nc e s :

S tat us :

and fe a re d t y p e s of

F ire, Water, Ic e,

Charging Teraf lare

d ragons in a ll of G a rg a nt i a.

Le gend ha s i t t hat i t’s a

Ea r t h, L ight ning, W in d, Phys ic al/

Disp o si t io n :

f usion of t hre e sta n d a rd

M a gic At tacks

Host i le

Bahamu ts. T ho s e t hat we nt hunt ing fo r t hi s l e g e n d a r y

Im m u ni t i e s : All n e g at ive stat us ef fe cts

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b e ast never ret u rne d.

I blinked. The dragon was losing HP? How? I dismissed the status page and then I noticed Peony firing firework rockets at the Bahamut. They seemed to be smoke fireworks because every time a firework hit the beast, smoke would spew out and it couldn’t see. While the Bahamut was disoriented, I charged at it, dealing the last blow with my mythril sword. At first, nothing happened, and the countdown was still at “One,” but then its skin started cracking, and beam after beam of light shone from inside. The last thing I remembered before passing out was the dragon roaring and disintegrating . . .

Chapte r 4: Suc c e s s When I came to, I immediately noticed that there was light shining in my face. I used my hand to block the light, then I took a look at my surroundings. I noticed Peony was next to me and awake, which was a good sign. I realized we had actually succeeded, based on the forest we were in.

I saw a note on the floor, and it read: “Congrats, you have successfully passed the Death Trial. The Bahamut ZERO definitely isn’t the easiest monster to take on, so here’s some beginner's supplies for your first days in Gargantia.

Victor Aldridge.” After reading the note, we noticed two iron arming swords, two bows, two quivers of arrows, the same Assess orbs we had used before, two iron axes, and two iron picks. I grabbed my gear, and started to dig down for stone, but then I noticed Peony was already hacking down trees. In fact, there were already seven fallen trees on the floor. He noticed I was watching him, so he said: “What? The lumber 167

is for our base.” I sighed, then got back to mining stone. After what seemed like fifteen minutes, I had already gathered 247 blocks of cobblestone, so I climbed back up the staircase I made, only to find a trail on the surface. In confusion, I followed the trail. Expecting some sort of beast waiting at the end, I gripped my sword tightly, sweat dripping down my forehead. Instead, what I found was not a monster, but a well-built wood house. Standing on the house’s roof was none other than Peony, who was looking proudly at what looked to be his “creation.”

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168

Her Call ARIANNA DIXON • 9TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

W

hen I was born, I was bathed in the water from Emeren's golden river. The people saw a girl born from two halves, a girl born from the bottom of Emeren’s society, as well as the top. Zemira, the song that would make everything whole. They saw change, finally those at the bottom would stop suffering because of the ongoing greed of those at the top. They were wrong. My mother saw a daughter to shape, a person she would make into her own. She was wrong. My father saw change for his people, change for the life he had endured and people he grew up with. He would tell me about the people who had no food to eat, and the families who would starve because of all the resources being poured into empty wars. He told me about the animals, so rarely seen, and the constant crime.

With those memories, it's hard to imagine how he ended up loving my mother, but still he did. My mother tries her best to keep me away from her. I think I remind her too much of him. Maybe it's the way my brown eyes shine like his. A constant reminder that he’ll never really be gone, that she’ll never be able to fully forget. So she pours herself into running our faulted country. So I wait.

I yank myself from my flow of thoughts in time to pay attention to Emeren’s daily announcements. More talk of revolts being dealt with and war casualties. I watch the 169

announcements every day, feelings of guilt threatening to consume me. I can't help but feel useless, like I'm failing all of the people who wanted more from me, who wanted me to fight for them. Like my father did. But it’s hard to be something for someone when no one ever asked me who I wanted to be, what I saw. What did I see? I close my eyes and take a deep breath. What good is a flower that cannot blossom?

I look out through the windows of the HST, Emeren’s newest train model. We’ve been traveling across Emeren, going to Shantei, Zehra’s birthplace. I look over to where Zehra is sitting, her head resting against my shoulder. Zehra, my best friend. When I was little my father had taken me to Shantei. That's where we met and ever since we’ve been inseparable. Traveling across Emeren and helping poor states grow crops and develop. Helping calm down riots and build communities. I let myself drift asleep to memories of our childhood.

I wake up to chaos. My head is pounding and sirens are going off in the distance. The glass screens that are seen across Emeren are illuminated with my mother’s face in panicked flashes as if in a struggle. She's shouting but the screams in the HST drown out her words. Once I finally take in the scene around me I realize that Zehra has been grabbing me the whole time. Urging me to get up and focus. I get up and she grabs my arm and pulls me off the train.

“What happened?” I shout over the loud noise.

She doesn't respond and instead keeps pulling me. I try to focus, but I just give myself a headache. The sound of 170

shouts and cries just make my headache worse. The swarm of people rushing into the streets makes the air warm and sticky and it's getting harder to breathe without the feeling that I'm suffocating. The pounding in my head is too loud to overcome my fear of what will happen if I don’t relax. I look at Zehra and the emerging realization and panic that comes to her face when we meet eyes tells me enough. She pulls me to a stop and grabs my shoulders.

“Emeren’s technology has been breached,” she shouts.

“What! This can't be happening.”

My eyes are wide in panic and my thoughts are stumbling like an ongoing wave filled with panic. We continue running and this time my mind can't help but welcome my fear.

My fear of how our technology-ridden country is getting breached. Fear of who could possibly be overriding our system. With the flow of people pushing and shoving past, I stumble and trip. My knee comes rushing to the floor, but before it can crash into the pavement, a group of vines tear out of the floor and catch it. Zehra, who is standing over me trying to lift me up, locks eyes with me. She looks around to see if anyone has noticed and the next wave of worry washes over her face. I look around and note that what just happened didn't draw any attention from the pool of people running around. When I follow her eyes I can see the origin of her worry. A drone, one of the many that are placed all around Emeren, is facing directly at us. And with the news of Emeren’s breached technology I know that whoever is watching us isn’t from Emeren's security.

A rush of clarity comes to me like a pound to my 171

chest. All the times my mother didn't allow me outside Illi, Emeren’s capital, and also the place with the best security in the country. I thought she was just trying to be controlling, unlike my dad who would sneak me out. They never saw eye to eye when it came to me. But now I see why, I see why there were always officials from other countries over. What they were there for. I look at Zehra and the alarm on her face confirms my thoughts. Whoever has broken into Emeren is here looking for something, for me. And a drone just caught vines coming out of the floor to brace a girl from her fall. A girl who shouldn't even have been there. Who should have listened.

Zehra grabs me even tighter and we run, falling into the crowd. But I know that it's too late. We can't possibly outrun it, and surely more are on their way to us right now. I pull us to a stop and grab Zehra’s hands.

“You know we can't outrun them,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“No, no, no. We have to keep going, we can keep going,” she says while trying to tug me along.

She diverts her eyes from me, like she always does when she doesn't want to acknowledge something. By this time dozens of drones have made their way around us and most of the people left. I begin to hear footsteps pounding, hundreds, maybe thousands.

“Hey,” I say, calling for Zehra’s attention. “Its okay, we’ll be okay” “No, I shouldn't have let you come. I never should have let you come, I knew the risks–” she says, her voice trembling.

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Her eyes are beginning to swell with tears and I can't help but let mine swell too. Zehra never cries. She was always the strong one.

I close my eyes and hold onto Zehra even tighter.

I let myself become aware. Aware of the still air as if even the planet is holding its breath, waiting. I become aware of the trees and even flowers that are miles away. And I call to it. When I open my eyes I know it's answered. The rush of assurance that comes to me leaves me, letting a breath escape. The planet calls to me, urging me to sink deeper.

But Zehra squeezes my hand, grounding me, and I lose that temptation.

When I look around I see thousands of soldiers on their way to us. Wearing the colors of their country. Orivin, one of the country's that Emeren had peace with. I also notice that the screens that once lit up with my mother’s face now light up with the colors of Orivin, blue and grey. And the drones that were once circling around us have left. At this point I can see the soldiers clearly. And in the middle, leading everyone to us, is Caiden, the head of Orivin.

“We don't want a fight,” he shouts.

But what he doesn't know is that he didn't need to.

That the wind is carrying his words to me. Not only his, but his soldiers’ too. Soldiers carrying guns and wearing all the newest technology designed for war. There's so many of them saying one thing.

“She isn't natural.”

The anger that comes with hearing this makes the wind move faster. It makes the trees sway. Hearing what I've 173

been hearing since I was a little girl. A girl born who could do things that others couldn't, who could feel what others couldn't. Some thought I was a miracle, others thought I was an abomination. The soldiers begin to shift on their feet as the wind gets harsher. I can tell they’re getting tense. I don't waste time. I urge the ground, the trees, the wind, to follow me. It does. I take the roots from the ground, growing them out until it creates a blockade. I let the wind grow harsh and unbearable on the other side. By this time the drones are back. Even more than there were before. I grow branches from the tree and grab them, pulling them down into the ground. I look over to Zehra and she's in tears. I take her hand, unsure of when to let it go, and I send her the rush of assurance that comes to me. Her eyes go wide and she relaxes. I take this time to close my eyes and search for my mother, I look for her through the ground, reach for her. But before I get to her I hear screams.

“Zemira, get up!” she says as I bring myself back.

“What is it?” I say, not noticing anything other than the shouts and angst from the soldiers behind the nature-made blockade. I look behind us and see another group of soldiers.

But it's clear from the black and gold colors these soldiers are wearing, they aren't from Orivin. They’re from Emeren.

My hesitation and confusion end up costing me. When I push myself out of my confusion, it's too late. When I look around the air buzzes with energy and I know it's over. I’ve lost. With the clear feeling of assurance lost to me, I let myself get lost in my feelings of confusion and worry. Why am I being attacked by my own country? Is my mother involved?

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Where is she? But before I can continue, a loud screeching sound becomes loud in my ears. Antagonizing. I fall to my knees. I look around, holding my hands up to my ears, my hair pressed against my cheeks. The hood that I used to cover my face is long gone. I see that the forcefield is down and Zehra is shouting to me trying to help, unfazed along with the soldiers walking toward us. My eyes start to get heavy and I can't seem to reach the environment like I once had. But I can feel its presence anyways, not just there, but watching.

I open my eyes. My head is pounding like it did in the HST and I'm unsure of when I even closed my eyes. When I try to move I realize I'm underground. I’m confused and my head is pounding, so I call to the land. This time it answers.

It shows me everything as if trying to shove the memories towards me. Once the forcefield left, my body naturally called to the land as a defence mechanism, even when I was unconscious. I see myself getting covered with vines, sinking into the ground. The surge of rush and panic amongst the soldiers and the brave face Zehra puts on in my wake. Zehra, who I left. I tremble.

They shoot her, not knowing who she is or what to do with her.

I scream, the ground shakes but I continue. I call to the land, grasping for the comfort and assurance it gives. When it answers, my heart calms.

I continue looking, not at what happened, but at what's happening now. I close my eyes and see that most of the land is deserted. Most either fled or died. I search for my mother.

When I find her, that rush of assurance falters. All I can do is 175

be angry. She's with Caiden in Illi, talking about finding me.

I had hoped that she changed, hoped that she finally cared. I was wrong. I sob. I sob for Zehra, who I couldn't save, for my people, who wanted more from me, for my dad, who fought for me. And I sob until I fall into a sea of gold. This time when the land calls for me to fall deeper into its energy, I do.

When I was born I was bathed in Emeren’s golden river. My name is Zemira, a song. My father was a fighter and my mother was a deceiver. But I’m not. I’m nothing and everything, all at once. I'm the flower that bloomed, but also the quiet in the air. I onced wondered if I was the villain or the hero. If I would have a happy or sad ending. But now I know.

I create and I bloom bright green flowers all over Shantei, Zehra’s favorite. I destroy the empty buildings and states, and create mountains and valleys. I call to those I know would treat Emeren well. I forgive and offer my assurance to those who would need it. I watch and I wait.

The land constantly urges me to lose myself completely in it. But still I stay. Because I’m not sure if I'm ready. Because I'm still not sure if I want to leave at all.

✦

176

The Great Quest G.O. DOLIBER • AGE 10 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

O

ne small robin sat atop a high branch upon a great old tree. The small robin whistled and chirped through its small beak, singing a loud, happy tune. The first rays of golden sunlight poured through the trees and hit a small cabin. She heaved a great sigh and stirred the pot with a hand-carved spoon. As the sun rose higher the golden rays of light hit the small cabin. Like most things in the woods, the cabin was old and worn-down, with moss and ivy growing on its walls. As the sunlight crept through the windows, the bird sang louder. It woke the elf, fast asleep in her cabin.

She yawned and stretched, then got out of bed.

She opened the front door to her cabin and took a long, deep breath of morning air. She took a step outside and looked around for some berries. All of the sudden, all of the beautiful, warm light vanished and was replaced with shadow. She gasped with surprise and looked up and saw something that made her want to scream: the sun was black.

Everything was as dark as night.

The wood elf jumped up and then the black sun slowly fell and was replaced once again by the normal sun. She heaved a sigh of relief.

“I must go see the father tree, he will know what to do,” she said to the robin that had been watching her.

The robin looked at her, then flew off. When it came back it brought her a big black wolf. It was the elf’s friend 177

and companion, and had been a present from her mother and father when she was young. They had grown up together and therefore were very close.

The elf jumped on her wolf and stroked his fur and said, “Take me to the oldest tree alive.”

The wolf nodded and began to run swiftly through the forest.

The leaves crunched beneath the wolf’s feet as he ran with her on his back. They ran deeper and deeper into the forest and finally to a parting in the trees, where stood a great old tree. It had wrinkles in its bark. The elf hopped off the back of her wolf. She sat at the edge of the tree and bowed. The tree opened its mouth and said in a weary old voice, “Hello child, why have you come?”

The elf kept her head bowed and said respectfully, “A few moments ago the sun set and was replaced by a black sun. What does it–” The tree interrupted and mumbled, “No, no, this cannot be, not again.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Ash, my child, when the black sun rises it shall bring a thousand years of darkness,” the tree said.

Ash gasped.

“What can we do to stop it?” Ash asked.

“We cannot. I have been feeling it in my roots. But there may be a way to slow it,” he said thoughtfully.

“How can I?” Ash asked desperately.

“Well, I am not sure, but I can help,” he said.

He held out a small but beautifully-carved bow with 178

arrows. Then he handed Ash three arrows that look different from the rest.

“These three arrows all have different powers. One is ice, the second is fire, and the third is ice,” he said.

“Wow, thank you, great old tree.“ “I have one more thing to give you,” the tree said. “You can now talk to all living things on this planet, including plants.”

“Wow, thank you so much,” Ash said. She could hear all of the plants and bugs and critters of the forest all speaking to her, telling her that she could do it. Ash bowed once more and walked away.

“Good luck my child,” the tree said.

Ash walked over to her wolf and rode back to her cabin.

She knew how to shoot bows and arrows. She had learned as a young, small, elf. She hopped off of her wolf.

“I’m sorry but you cannot come. It's too dangerous,” she told her wolf unhappily. “But if I call, please come.”

The wolf bowed its head sadly and slumped over to its bed and laid down.

Ash sighed and took all of her arrows and her bow and started to walk toward the place where a kind woodsman lived. She walked deeper and deeper, her feet crunching on the dry leaves below her. She jumped onto a tree, hopping from branch to branch, from tree to tree. Finally she found a large cabin alone in the woods. This is where the human woodsman lived.

A gruff voice asked, “Who goes there?”

Ash said, “I come in peace.”

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“What would I want with a wood elf?” asked the woodsman, stepping out of the shadows. He had a long beard and was tall and was wearing a cloak.

“I want to join forces,” said Ash. “The black sun will come and when it rises it will bring a thousand years of darkness.”

Ash's short, red hair bounced up and down as she jumped down from the tree.

The woodsman looked at her and put away his hatchets.

“I was about to go up to the great old tree to ask him about that,” he said.

“I just came back from him. He gave me gifts and hope,” said Ash. “I must visit the king,” said the woodsman.

“May I accompany you?” Ash asked.

“Yes, I suppose so,” said the woodsman. “But any funny business . . . ” They traveled far and wide until finally reaching the kingdom. Ash walked up to the front gate. It was gold and it was so tall it seemed to touch the sky. There were two armed soldiers holding silver spears and wearing gold armor.

“What do you want with our kingdom?” one guard demanded.

“Me and this wood elf merely wish to speak to the king,” said the woodsman.

“The king is busy. I suggest you leave and come later or make an appointment,” said the other guard.

“But . . .” Ash said, but one of the soldiers cut her off.

“No buts! Now be gone of this place, GO!” he said.

“Now what shall we do?” asked the woodsman angrily.

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Ash smiled and jumped the castle wall with ease.

“Are you coming?” she asked with a smile.

After the woodsman had climbed the wall (with great difficulty), they snuck across the roof. They were surprised when they looked through the window and saw a dungeon that led right to the throne room. There was a hooded man sitting and looking at his gear.

“Thief,” grumbled the woodsman.

“Look at his lockpick,” said Ash. “He could help us.”

“Look at his sword. He could also hurt us” said the woodsman impatiently.

“Look at his heart. He could help. Just trust me. Please trust me and therefore, trust him,” said Ash desperately.

Looking at Ash’s desperate face, the woodsman said “Fine, fine, fine.”

Ash jumped silently to the dungeon floor.

✦

181

The School Trip in Space ELLA HOLLAND • AGE 9 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

V

enus had just got home from school, and her parents' faces had huge smiles.

“Will you go on a school trip in space?” they asked.

“Wait, did you just say ‘school trip in space?’” Venus asked in excitement.

They nodded. They were so excited because they worked at NASA headquarters.

“Our boss thought that it would be nice to let kids in space for the first time,” said her mom.

“And he picked your school to go to space,” her dad said.

“What do you think?” asked Venus.

“Hardy-har,” said her sister Luna, who had just got in from work. “She would never go. What if she got the Swimming Planet?”

Luna was right. Ever since Venus was little, she had hated swimming.

The school got everything ready. Venus got to pick her design on the small spaceship and she got to pick her buddy to go with to the planet. She picked Mars, her best friend.

Venus got into the bus.

“Can you believe that we are going to space in a school bus?“ she asked her best friend, Mars.

“Yeah, and that it’s a school trip,” Mars replied.

Mars was right: it was a school trip, and the bus that they were riding in was about to go into orbit.

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10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . BLAST OFF! And in seconds, they were in orbit. The bus stopped on the Glitter Moon. In their stylish space suits, they walked out of the special space hatch on the bus. The Glitter Moon was the coolest thing they had ever seen.

“Settle down, class,” said Ms. Pluto.

Ms. Pluto was handing out scavenger hunts and planet cards. Venus and Mars were a pair, and they got the Candy Planet. They hopped in their spaceship that they made in art class, and they were off.

Once they were there, they parked the spaceship in a free-parking space, because they were all full. Then they jumped out of the spaceship, and they started to jump.

“Yes, this is so fun!” Mars said.

“Yeah, and imagine if we got the Rock Planet. Like, that would be so funny,” yelled Venus.

They saw so many aliens. They checked that off the scavenger list and went to collect a water source. They started to skip. Then they looked back and they didn’t see anything.

CRUNCH! They turned around and saw a big shape. They ran as far as they could and hid behind a giant gumdrop.

“Mars, do you think that that thing ate our spaceship?”

Venus whispered.

“What do you think . . . YES!” Mars said, mad and annoyed.

“Sorry,” said Venus.

They started to pick up all the sleeping aliens and then they darted away.

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“Yes!” said Venus.

“What is it now?” Mars asked.

“We got another thing to put on are scavenger list,” Venus said, checking off giant monsters that want to eat.

The aliens finally started to wake up and were rolling down Tootsie Roll Mountain.

“Do you think we should roll, too?” asked Mars in a better mood now.

“What do you think?” Venus replied with a smile.

They started to roll down the soft mountain that was like a pillow. They stopped at the bottom of the mountain and there was an ice cream sidewalk. They pressed a button on their space suits, and they were licking and skating at the same time.

“Wow, this is so fun!” Mars yelled excitedly.

Then they saw a big river of hot cocoa, and Luna's voice started replaying in her head: Hardy-har. What if she got the Swimming Planet?

Oh no—Luna was right, thought Venus.

“Venus . . . Venus, come on, we have to swim across the river!” Mars shouted.

“No, no, NO! I will not swim! I will never swim, ever!” replied Venus.

“Come on, we have to swim!” Mars said. “The monster will melt in the hot cocoa.”

A star and a black hole came and sat on Venus's shoulder.

The star had a pool tube and a rubber duckie in one hand, and the black hole had a tracksuit and running shoes and looked like he was about to go on a run.

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The star said, “You have to swim.”

“You have to run around the river,” said the black hole reassuringly.

“Fine, I will swim. But only this once,” Venus said.

“Good! Now we have to swim because the monster is gaining on us! So we better swim now! Let’s go!”

Venus jumped into the hot cocoa river.

It was so warm. There were giant marshmallows in the hot cocoa river and they started surfing on the marshmallows.

Once they got onto land, they started running. They saw candy mountains and they started to climb a mountain.

The monster came out of the hot cocoa river even stronger. He started to climb and search for Venus and Mars.

“Come on, we have to climb,” said Venus.

“No, I will not,” said Mars.

The star and black hole popped up again.

“Oh, you forgot that Mars was afraid of heights, so she won’t climb,” said the star.

“Can you keep climbing so the monster won’t get you and us?” the black hole asked Mars.

“Wait, I think that it wants you to climb so you don’t climb,” said Venus.

“Yes,” said Mars. She was terrified of heights, so she felt good about not climbing.

They saw a frozen treat land that looked like an ice skating rink, so they started to skate as fast as they could (which was pretty fast because they had a gold medal at their school).

They were ready to face anything.

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“Wow,” said Mars.

“Wow” was right. There were more mountain-hill thingies, so they started to climb. They weren't that high, so Mars wasn't scared, so that was good. They climbed and climbed.

“It feels so long,” groaned Venus. They were not even that high.

“Look down,” Venus said, trying to scare Mars.

Mars was still on the ground when a yeti came out and asked them what they were doing. He said, “Whatcha doing?”

“We're trying to run away from a monster,” they replied.

“Really, guys? I am a yeti, not a monster,” replied the yeti in a sad voice.

“No, not you,” they said. “The big monster on the ice skating rink.”

The yeti turned his head to the frozen lake and saw a big monster and said, “Oh, that big monster.” The yeti was ashamed of what he had said a moment earlier.

Then he picked up Venus and Mars and took them to his little log cabin and set them down by the fire.

They asked, “Can we have hot cocoa?”

At the same time the yeti sang, “Going to get fresh hot cocoa from the hot-chocolate river,” and he walked out the door.

They started to sneak around his comfy log cabin.

“Stealth mode activated,” said Mars in a computersounding voice.

They saw a wonderful, comfy space.

“Wow, this place is amazing,” said Mars.

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“Yes, it’s amazing,” replied Venus. “It's so comfy and soft,” and with this last word, Venus plopped on the big bean bag in the living area.

Then the yeti came in and he said, “I found a portal going to planets and there is one on each planet, so you can find your planet.”

“What are we waiting for? Let's go!” said Venus, picking up the hot cocoa and running out of the cabin. She was holding open the door, waving her hand for them to come out. They started running out the door.

The yeti grabbed his bag, ran out, and then closed and locked the door.

The portal is a big round circle filled with purple glowy stuff, and when you stick your hand inside the purple stuff, you will see another planet, thought Venus.

“What if this doesn't work?” Mars whispered.

“Well, we will be stranded until our time limit is over, which is in two days. And Ms. Pluto will come and find us,” Venus whispered back.

“This goes to the Diner Planet,” the yeti said.

They all jumped out of the portal and landed in a chicken-soup hot tub. It was so awesome and warm. They all slipped out of it, regretting it a lot.

Thirty-two minutes later, Mars said in a sad voice, ”I really regret getting out of the chicken-soup jacuzzi.”

“Yeah, but I see the next portal!” yelled the yeti, who was ahead of them.

They all ran to the next portal and hopped in.

They were on the Library Planet. There was one book187

shaped moon, but it was probably the Book Moon, so that was the wrong moon.

“The book portal is at the end of the Fiction Forest, so we have to go through the Biography Beach and hop the SciFi Stepping Stones and we will be there,” said the yeti.

“How did you figure this out?” Mars asked.

“I saw a map, and also because I could see the book portal,” the yeti said.

So they started to walk.

They crossed the Biography Beach and stepped on the Sci-Fi Stepping Stones.

“What now?“ Mars asked.

“We’ll go through the very dark Fiction Forest,” the yeti said in a shaky voice (because he was afraid of the dark).

“Well, let’s go then. No time to lose, less than twelve hours to get back to the Glitter Moon. Chop chop, hurry it on,” said Venus.

“She’s in a hurry, sheesh,” Mars said while trying to comfort the yeti. “Oh, we forgot to ask your name,” said Mars in a calming voice while Venus was checking her watch and mumbling to herself.

“Oh, it’s just ‘Yeti’, but thanks for asking though,” replied the yeti.

So they walked through the Fiction Forest because Yeti had a flashlight.

“I think that this portal leads to the Glitter Moon,” said Venus excitedly.

“Well, there is a problem in this solution: we might land on the Glitter Moon, but like all planets, the Glitter Moon is 188

very big, so we might not land in the right place,” Yeti said, still shaking.

“Well, I don’t care, because we have less than an hour,” replied Venus.

“But it doesn't matter if we are on the Glitter Moon. Ms. Pluto won’t come and find us, because we are on the Glitter Moon,” Mars said in a cool voice because she had figured that out.

They hopped in the portal so they could get to the Glitter Moon. They landed in a pile of glitter.

“Yup, we are on the Glitter Moon,” Venus said.

Yeti and the girls saw Molly and Tessa (their BFFs) and ran to them. Molly and Tessa also had a monster with them.

“This is Summer, a water dragon,” said Molly.

“We found her at the bottom of the Diamond Sea,” Tessa said.

“Oh, I forgot that you got the Water Planet,” Mars snickered.

“What is it?” Venus asked.

“We went swimming,” Molly and Tessa said at the same time.

“No . . . Is that why you are snickering?” Venus asked Mars.

“Yeah,” all three of the other girls said at the same time.

“Wait, how did you get there? Because we jumped portals to get here,” Mars asked.

“We used our spaceship and Summer flew,” Molly said.

“Wait, why did you jump through portals?” Tessa asked.

“Well, a monster ate our ship. I guess we didn’t realize 189

that that was the monster's parking space, sooo yeah,” Mars replied.

“Wait, where are Yeti and Summer?” Molly asked.

"Oh, they're up there flying,” Venus said.

Yeti was riding on Summer. They called the monsters and they started to walk to the base. The monsters were there when they got there, and Ms. Pluto was trying to get all the kids on the bus.

“Can the monsters come?” Molly asked.

“No they can't, sorry, because we are the only ones that know about these wonderful creatures, and they might be endangered, so we cannot risk these creatures,” Ms. Pluto said in a sad voice.

And with that, they got on the bus and blasted off to Earth.

✦

190

The Story of the Hero “Pizza” LUCAS JIANG • AGE 11 WRIT TEN DURING SUMMER WORKSHOPS

PA RT I here were four tribes: Dough, Cheese, Tomato Sauce, and Toppings. Each of these tribes were in peace, but when the people showed up, they ate everyone, but the tribes’ kings were protected by the big wall. They knew that the wall would not last, so they made the hero of the four tribes, named Pizza. By the time they were almost done, the people broke the wall, and there was so much chaos, so they lost the hero, and now the four tribes are lost. And today, one hundred years later, there are two adventurers who are on a journey to find the lost hero named Pizza.

“Hey, where are you, Cheddar?” I said.

“I am right here, Pepper,” said Cheddar.

“Come on, Cheddar, we gotta find that dog or wolf before Grandpa Cheese and Aunt Pepperoni are going to find out,” I said and hurried.

“Okay, slow down. We still have a lot of time,” said Cheddar, lazily.

“You serious?” Pointing to the sun.

“Oh well. We still got tomorrow,” said Cheddar, trying to reason with me.

“We don’t. We gotta start hurrying,” said me, panicking.

“Fine,” said Cheddar, annoyingly.

A few minutes went by. “Oh, I FOUND IT!” claimed Cheddar.

T

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“You did?!” I said, confused.

“Yeah,” answered Cheddar. “Hey, there is a map.”

“Wooo, cool! It can lead us to treasure,” I said.

“See, look. it said ‘hi-ro?’” said Cheddar.

“No, you cheese boy. It says ‘hero,’” I said, concerned.

“No, I am pretty sure it says ‘hiro,’” said Cheddar.

“Wait, didn’t Grandpa say there was a hero?” I said.

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Cheddar.

(Three minutes to the house.)

“Hey Grandpa, did you say that you lost the great hero?” asked Cheddar.

“Yeah, little one,” said Grandpa Cheese.

“Then why is there a map that says ‘hero?’” I said.

“I am sure you mean ‘hiro,’ Pepper,” said Cheddar.

“IT IS NOT HIRO,” I said, annoyingly.

“No, I agree with Cheddar. I think it says ‘hiro,’” said Grandpa.

“Are you serious?!” I asked, confused.

“Aunt Pepperoni, is that a hero or a hiro?”

“I think it is said ‘hero,’ sorry. Grandpa Cheese is having trouble seeing.”

“Oh, okay,” said Cheddar, smiling.

“Okay,” I said. “Can we go camping?”

“Okay,” they answered, and so the adventure began.

PA RT I I “Look, it said go and find the ancient anchovies cartographer,” I said, pointing to the right.

“Okay,” said Cheddar. “ . . . Where do we go?”

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“I just pointed to the right, so it is in the RIGHT,” I said.

“Okay,” Cheddar answered.

Five minutes later. “Are we there yet?” said Cheddar repeatedly.

(Thirty more annoying minutes of my life.)

“Are we there yet?” asked Cheddar for the fiftieth time.

“YES, FINALLY. WE ARE THERE. YAY!” I said, excitedly.

“Umm hello?” I asked.

“Look, it said ‘slap the person you are annoyed with.’”said Cheddar. Cheddar looked at me, and SLAP. “OW. WHY DID YOU HIT ME?!” I asked.

“Well, it SAID ‘slap the person you are annoyed with.’”

Cheddar said.

“Then why did you slap ME?” I asked.

“Because it SAID ‘slap someone you are annoyed with.’” said Cheddar.

(Four minutes of me and Cheddar arguing.)

DOON. “Ahhh!” We both screamed.

“Look, there is a hole,” I said.

“Let’s go in,” said Cheddar.

“NO. ARE YOU CRAZY?” I said, then Cheddar looked at me with a glare. Then he pushed me.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I said with a scream.

“Woohoo!” said Cheddar with excitement.

When we made it down, there was an anchovy.

“Uhh, hello?” I said with confusion.

“Hi,” said a mysterious voice.

“A-Are you the ancient anchovies cartographer?”

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“Yes I am. And who are you?” asked the anchovy.

“I am Pepper, and this is Cheddar. We are trying to find the lost hero,” I explained.

“Uhh, I think you mean hiro,“ said Cheddar.

“NO, I MEANT HERO!” I shouted.

“Oh, I see. You can have the map, but not until you have finished the slapping contest,” said the anchovy.

“Wow, he really likes food slapping,” I whispered to Cheddar.

The anchovy showed us the table where we were going to slap.

“Okay, you have to let me win,” I said to Cheddar.

“Why?” asked Cheddar.

“BECAUSE YOU SLAPPED ME BEFORE!” I said with a shout of anger.

“Well, it did say ‘slap the person you are annoyed with,’” reasoned Cheddar. Sigh with disappointment. “Fine,” said Cheddar when we were starting to slap each other. BAM. I slapped Cheddar in the face.

“Wow, your turn Cheddar,” said the anchovy with a surprised face. When Cheddar slapped me, it was very gentle. So I won.

“Yay!” I said with happiness.

The anchovy said, “Okay, here is the map.”

“Thanks,” I said with joy, then we left as fast as we could.

“Wow, he really likes slapping stuff,” I said.

“Yeah, what a weirdo,” said Cheddar.

“Yeah,” I said with a stare.

“Oh look. It said, ‘go to the legendary macaroni crafter.’

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It said, ‘go to the right.’” I commanded.

“Okay,” said Cheddar.

“Are you going to say, ‘are we there yet?’ for the whole trip?” I asked.

"Yup,” said Cheddar.

(Thirty more annoying minutes of my life!)

“Are we there yet?” said Cheddar for the one hundredth time.

“YES, WE ARE. NOW STOP SAYING THAT SENTENCE,” I shouted.

“Fine,” said Cheddar.

“Hello?” I said.

“Woo look: a button,” said Cheddar.

“No, don’t press—” I said.

Beep. “Too late,” said Cheddar.

Grrrrr. Ding.

“Look, it said, ‘shake the person that has exposed you before.’” said Cheddar. I glared at him, and he glared back at me, and we shook each other like it was a one-to-one battle.

Then we stopped. “Why did you shake me?” I asked.

“Well, because it said, ‘shake the person you are annoyed with.’” reasoned Cheddar.

“But I have never exposed you,” I said.

“That is because I did not have anything to expose.

Then why did you shake me?” Cheddar asked.

“Do you even remember that you exposed me to Grandpa Cheese and Aunt Pepperoni?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said.

“Of course,” I said with a sigh. We both waited until the 195

door opened. Crick. The door cracked. We both were freaked out, but we both thought it was going to be more creepy, so we did not care at all.

“Hello,” said a mysterious voice.

“Hi. I am Pepper and this is Cheddar,” I said.

“Why do you sound so old?” asked Cheddar, confused.

“BECAUSE I AM,” said the macaroni.

“Yeah, it is pretty offensive. So don’t say Pepper,” said Cheddar.

“Why do you blame me?!” I asked with a shout.

“Because you were the one who said it,” said Cheddar.

“No, you said it two minutes ago,” I said.

“No, you said it,” said Cheddar.

“Do you even remember it?” I asked with disappointment.

“Uhh, nope,” said Cheddar.

“Of course you don’t! How do you even remember hiro?” I asked with a sigh of disappointment.

“YOU SAID IT! I am so proud of you,” said Cheddar, proudly.

“No no no, I did not mean that.” Sigh. “Are you losing a piece of your sanity every hour? Because before you were smarter than now,” I asked with concern.

“Uh, no.” said Cheddar.

“What does that mean?” Sigh. “Nevermind. Let’s just talk to this nice man here,” I said, trying not to get upset.

“Okay,” said Cheddar.

“So what are you guys looking for?” said the macaroni.

I say, glaring at Cheddar, “The hero. Don’t you say it, don't 196

you say it, DON’T YOU SAY IT!!”

“Say what? This? Do you mean hiro?” said Cheddar.

Sigh. “He said it,” I said with an annoyed face.

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Animal Crackers RAIMA JOIN • 9TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

“M

uahaha.” The strange little teenager in a lab coat laughed before he started coughing.

“Darren! How many times do I have to tell you, get ready for school!” a slightly chubby, middle-aged woman screamed. “And why is there so much smoke?”

“Mom!” Darren whined. “How many times have I told you not to enter my lair?”

“Excuse me?” the middle-aged woman shrieked, putting her hand on her chest. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Do you pay the bills?”

“No, ma’am,” Darren replied.

“That’s right. Now, get going before I have to drag you,” his mom said sternly.

With that, his mom went back upstairs. Darren quickly traded his oversize lab coat for an oversize hoodie and shoved his books in his backpack. Not being aware of the chemicals in his bag spilling all over the animal crackers his mom had packed the previous night, Darren then bolted up the stairs, where he grabbed the doorknob.

“Hold it,” his mother’s voice said.

Darren froze and turned around. Lo and behold, his mother was standing there, holding a camera, an unamused look on her face. Darren groaned, knowing what his mother wanted.

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“Mom, I’m too old to be taking first-day-of-school photos,” Darren complained.

“Well, too bad. Now give me a big smile,” his mom replied. “Also, I packed some animal crackers in your bag, in case you get hungry.”

“Okay,” Darren answered.

After the small, five-minute photo session, which felt like an hour to Darren, he left his house and headed toward school. He was finally a senior in middle school, most people would look forward to it. But after Darren’s best friend moved to another state, there wasn’t much he was looking forward to. He had known Kate ever since they were in kindergarten; they were inseparable. Darren wasn’t really a people person, so he didn’t have any other friends. His mom had suggested joining a club, but he quickly rejected the suggestion. If he could, he would do homeschool instead. He hated having to be put in a room with strangers.

When he got to the school grounds, he saw kids hugging each other, asking how their summer was before entering into conversations he could care less about. He was walking down the hallway when he bumped into something, or should I say someone.

“Oh, hey, sorry, I didn’t see you there,” a voice apologized.

“Whatever,” Darren muttered, looking up to face the person. He was a tall, lanky, pale boy with black glasses. But what caught his attention was the boy's hair, which looked like a faded-purplish color.

“Oh.” The boy noticed Darren’s stare. “I dyed it at the 199

beginning of the summer. But I’m kinda too lazy to re-dye it.”

“Looks like you used grape juice to dye it,” Darren deadpanned. “Too lazy to buy actual hair dye?”

“Haha.” The boy chuckled. “What class are you going to?”

“Room 209,” Darren stated in a monotone voice before walking away. Just his luck, the odd boy decided to follow him.

“That’s my class too,” the boy beamed. “My name’s Cole, what’s yours?”

“None of your business.” Darren glared at him before entering the classroom.

It seemed like an old fashioned-style classroom, blackboard and chalk at the front of the room, along with a dark wooden desk. On the surface of the desk was a pile of books and paper scattered in a mess. Along with a huge dusty globe, which looked as if someone had pulled it out of an attic. Darren assumed it belonged to the teacher. As for the students’ desks, they were your typical student’s desks, put into single-file rows. A few other students had already got to the classroom and were talking to their new classmates. Seeing as though there seemed to be no assigned seats, Darren decided to sit at the very back of the classroom, away from everyone. But the solitude didn’t last when Cole decided to plop down in the seat right next to him.

Does this kid not have anyone else to bother? Darren thought to himself as he waited for the teacher.

By the time the bell rang, all his classmates for the year were inside, along with an old-looking man. The center of 200

his head was bald, with grey hair around it. He had a small grey beard on his face, and small rectangular glasses.

“Good morning, class. I am your eighth-grade teacher.

My name is Mr. Williams,” the man introduced himself. “This year will go smoothly as long as you pay attention and do your homework. Now, let’s get to attendance, shall we?”

After a bunch of names were called out, they finally got to his name.

“Darren Andrews,” Mr. Williams said.

“Present,” Darren said, raising his hand.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Cole smiling like a kid seeing a puppy down the street.

“Looks like I know your name now,” Cole whispered, making Darren roll his eyes and start to doodle in his notebook.

The class went by smoothly, Darren was not really paying attention, since he already knew everything the teacher was saying. For him, it was like sitting in a kindergarten class.

However, what did catch his attention was when he started to hear a small rattling sound. Darren looked around the classroom to see if anyone else noticed, but they didn’t.

Darren then turned his attention toward his backpack, which looked like it was moving.

What the heck is going on? Darren thought to himself.

Whatever was going on with his bag, he decided to check it out during lunch. When the lunch bell rang, Darren was one of the first kids out of the classroom, his arms wrapped around his school bag. When he got to the cafeteria, he bolted toward the very back of the room to a small table 201

with two seats. Plopping down in one of the ridiculous (in Darren’s opinion) colorful chairs, he looked inside his bag.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary, until he realized the sound was plastic rustling. He nervously picked up the small plastic bag his mom had filled with animal crackers. To his surprise, they were moving around, like they were possessed by a spirit or something.

How did this happen? Darren thought.

Darren tried to retrace his thoughts on how his day went. Then it all fell together, making a clear picture, like a puzzle. When he was in a rush this morning, he accidentally spilled chemicals inside his bag, which had the animal crackers his mother had packed the previous night. The chemicals must have seeped through the bag and landed on said crackers.

“Geez, what is in these things?” Darren muttered to himself.

To his dismay, while he was trying to figure out what to do, the bag fell over. When the crackers hit the ground, they started to move on their own, separating. Darren hastily got out of his seat and did his best to round up as many crackers as he could, placing them back in the plastic bag. When Darren counted the crackers he realized one was missing. He looked around the cafeteria. Teachers had always said that if students were caught with a cell phone or toy, they would get detention. He wondered what they would do if they found out he had living animal crackers. He stopped when he noticed cookie crumbs on the floor. Animal cracker crumbs, to be precise—someone must have stepped on it.

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“Hey, you!” an angry blond girl shrieked. “Was it your bright idea to put that in my shirt? Why, I oughta—” The girl raised her hand as if she were about to hit Darren, making him flinch and brace himself for impact. But then he saw Cole, holding the girl’s wrist with one hand, the other holding his lunch tray.

“You know, violence isn't the answer,” Cole stated in an unamused voice.

The girl took her hand back and retreated to her seat, while Darren scurried back to his table, Cole trailing behind him.

“Hey, man, what was that about?” Cole started to ask, but his eyes widened when he noticed the moving animal crackers.

“Woah, what are those?” Cole asked, intrigued.

Darren explained the situation hesitantly, knowing it seemed a bit obscure.

“Now I just need to know how to remove the chemicals,” Darren stated.

“You know what goes great with cookies?” Cole asked, with a goofy grin.

“What?” Darren asked, confused.

“Milk.” Cole beamed.

Cole took the plastic bag from Darren’s hand and poured the crackers into his open milk carton. He then held the milk carton closed, feeling movements from the carton. Almost as if the living crackers were protesting their unexpected milk bath. A few seconds later, the milk carton went limp.

Cole opened it and showed the contents to Darren. Lo and 203

behold, the animal crackers were floating in the milk, not showing the slightest movement.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Darren said, shocked. “I guess you’re not just an airhead.”

“Hey!” Cole protested.

FIN

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The Castle of Spells ADA LEE • AGE 6 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

A

leia was a queen. She needed to get to the castle of spells.

Aleia had an enemy. Her enemy was Elaine. Aleia tried to get through the forest that led to the castle of spells.

She used her skills to spray pollen from flowers at bugs. She also chopped vines that were in the way. A vine sprang at her and pushed her back to her own castle. Aleia thought about powers and the vine. Then she got an idea! She had to team up with Elaine. Only Elaine could get through those pushy vines. Aleia took a deep breath and headed to Elaine's castle.

She talked to Elaine and Elaine said "OK." Aleia showed Elaine how to get to the forest. They both chopped vines and sprayed insects. Then came the pushy vine. "Now!" shouted Aleia. Elaine shot a ball of light at the vine. The vine melted to ashes. "Thank you, you did a great job Elaine!" shouted Aleia. To show her thanks, Aleia gave Elaine a power-up cookie.

"Thank you Aleia," said Elaine. They went on their way, spraying insects, chopping vines, and melting pushy vines.

They came to a clearing. A dragon came out. This was the guard! He growled, "Nobody enters this castle."

"We do!" shouted Elaine. She ate the power-up cookie.

Immediately, Elaine got an idea. She whispered her plan into Aleia's ear. This was Elaine's plan: Elaine would distract the dragon while Aleia snuck up behind the dragon and used her karate skills to hit the dragon as many times as possible.

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They would reverse this when the dragon turned around.

However, the dragon had a face on the other side of his head.

They only figured this out when they tried their plan.

When they found this out, Aleia screamed. "Aaaggghhh!" shouted Aleia.

Elaine rushed over. "What!?" she asked. Elaine looked up. "Oh," she thought. New plan.

"Ummmm," they thought. Suddenly, a black cat walked by. It was carrying a ring in its mouth. "Oh!" said Aleia. Aleia called the cat. The cat came to Aleia. Aleia softly took the ring and pointed it toward the dragon's heart. It blasted him in the heart. The dragon fell back. Aleia and Elaine ran past him.

They reached the castle of spells. "Hooray!" they shouted.

"Thank you. You're not as bad as I thought," said Aleia.

"Neither are you," replied Elaine.

"Thank you," they said together. "Wow."

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Jack and the Beanstalk Reimagined ARAV MCINTYRE • AGE 12 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

Boom!

Thunder ripples across New York City. Jack looks up at the rain cascading from the heavens and frowns. What a day for soccer, he thinks. He trudges toward the subway station, keeping his head down. “Hey kid! Catch this!” a scratchy voice shouts. Jack whips his head up just in time as a pea-shaped object clunks off his head. Jack’s eyes look around furiously before landing on the object. It is a brown bean, no bigger than a fingernail. Jack studies the bean, then picks it up and puts it in his pocket. Why did I do that? Jack thinks. He shakes his head and walks into the subway. The next morning, Jack wakes up bright and early and walks into his kitchen to make his breakfast. On the counter, he discovers the bean. Jack stuffs the bean in his pocket and trudges into the street. He finds a small crack with dirt on the asphalt and places the seed into it. Jack stares into the crack, then rushes back inside. “I have to get ready for school,” he mutters to himself. Ring! The school bell pierces the air. Jack and his friends jump up and run out the door, slinging their bags over their shoulders.

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BASED ON:

Snow White & the Seven Dwarves CAROLINA MININO • AGE 11 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

O

nce upon a time in a land far away—very far away—lived a young girl with her jealous aunt. This girl’s name was ______ and she had no parents, just her aunt, who’s name was Beatrix. ______ lived in a town where the main thing, the main purpose, the main reason of being, of living—was art.

The walls of the church in the town were graffitied with beautiful scenes and angels; the town plaza had sculptures of enormous size and breathtaking beauty. All the shops were decorated with pictures of what it sold; the bakery was a splash of rainbow cakes and muffins, the clothes store had a painting of a young woman wearing the latest fashion on its wall and so on. Even some of the darkest and most gloomy alleyways where no one walked were splattered with encouraging words and phrases. It just so happened that ______, as well as loving art, was a skilled artist. She had never taken classes, but she was the best painter in the entire town and people were constantly asking her to paint things on their houses and stores. Unfortunately, this made Beatrix horribly jealous, for she had always wished to be a skilled artist, but no matter how hard she tried and how many art classes she took, her drawing always looked terrible. Beatrix had even bought a magic mirror in the hopes it could spy on great artists and tell her their secrets, but even that failed.

The mirror had scolded Beatrix until her head hurt about

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not being such a nosy, wannabe, know-it-all which Beatrix had found extremely rude so in a desperate effort she put it away in a spare closet and forgot about it. So naturally, when Beatrix had found out about ______ talent, she tried to keep ______ hidden and even claimed her niece's drawings to be her own. But the truth had gotten out and so had word of ______ skill. Now, everyone in the town was angry with Beatrix.

They didn’t like her because she mistreated ______, ignoring her and spreading tall tales about ______ stealing other peoples art, so the townspeople accused her of being jealous. This was all true; Beatrix was jealous of ______, but hearing it from the rest of the villagers made Beatrix’s blood boil with anger and her hate towards ______ intensified. It was a vicious circle.

The more Beatrix despised ______, the more the townspeople loved her and pitied her and turned their anger on Beatrix; the more Beatrix was scolded and hated, the more Beatrix loathed ______, until one day, Beatrix had enough.

It was a chilly autumn afternoon and _______ had gone out to play in the town garden that was (to no one’s surprise) speckled with stunning statues. ______ had hung her scarf around a sculpture's neck and was talking to it as if it was alive when a rustling in the trees cut ______ short. “Who’s there?” Called ______ warily.

It so happened that there was a vast and deep forest at the edge of the town - a forest everyone called the Haunted Forest, and it just happened that the town garden had the misfortune of being placed right next to the spooky woods.

The rustling had come from behind a tree at the edge of the forest and like every child in her town, ______ had heard 209

stories of what lived in these woods. But unlike all the rest of the children, ______ was very brave. And just like every person must have, ______ had an achilles heel: ______ was petrified of the colors black and grey. It was really a silly thing to be afraid of, but ______ had grown up with so much color, (of course since she lived in a town where art was more important than food or water) that bleak colors scared her. So when an old woman with a painted grey face, a great big grey shawl with black edges over a turtleneck, and holding a black and grey cane (the rest of her was obscured by her enormous shawl) came ambling out of the forest it was all ______ could do to flee screaming into the Haunted Forest until she had disappeared completely. Suddenly the “old woman” that had really been Beatrix straightened up and gave a satisfied cackle. Surely, a weak girl of nine could never survive in the haunted woods, thought Beatrix gleefully referring to ______.

When she got home Beatrix had spring spirits. She was finally thinking about something else and not about good versus bad art that she had some headspace to remember the magic mirror. She hummed happily . . .

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Yīn Hé Yáng: Tatakai XAVIER MITCHELL-FRANCIS • 9TH GRADE WRIT TEN DURING A YOUNG WRITERS PUBLISH PROJECT AT ACADEMY FOR YOUNG WRITERS

T

he System. A nigh-omnipotent being that came to Earth during an event now known as “The Neolithic Awakening.” During this event, the system bestowed abilities on the planet’s inhabitants that you and me would call game-like; levels, to measure and grow power, stats to focus that power, skills with which to use that power, an inventory used to store items that usually couldn’t be carried, even an online shop in which magical items could be bought and sold.

Over time, civilization would build itself around the system.

But two families quickly rose in power; political and martial. One family focused on gaining power, and keeping an iron grip on it. The other focused on spreading its teachings and money to help others who may have been less fortunate than themselves.

With these two conflicting ideals it’s obvious that they would end in conflicts, which they have. So many in fact that they have garnered the nicknames Yin and Yang. One being unable to exist without the other, yet still in constant conflict with each other. But it seems that this conflict will be solved much sooner than anyone expects.

Watch with me as “The Yin Yang War” comes to an end.

——————————————————————————————————————— ——————————————————— —————————————— —————————— —————— ——— 211 —

A dark skinned man in a black shirt, gray military pants and boots runs through a hiking trail leading up hundreds upon hundreds of meters like his family depended on it. “Because it does.”

He is almost at his destination, a plateau halfway up the tallest mountain in the world, Mt.Kinko. Formed through unknown means, Mt.Kinko is the tallest mountain on the planet, standing at a not so humble height of 14.69 kilometers, beating second place by a whole six-thousand meters.

Reaching his destination, he finds a lighter toned man standing in the middle of the plateau, holding a golden crown adorned with jewels over his head about to put it on before he stops; he turns around and sees tall, dark, and angry glaring at him into the ground.

—————————————————————————————————— “It doesn’t have to be like this Nobu!”

Two men stand on a plateau thousands of meters in the sky. One man is dressed in a black, short sleeve shirt and gray military pants and boots. The other is dressed in a yellow t-shirt over a pair of black camo pants, tucked into navy blue combat boots.

“What are you talking about Jiska? You have taken what is rightfully mine; the fate of my family rests on that crown!”

“Rightfully yours? The only person that owns this crown is who’s inventory it’s currently sitting in,” the man in yellow retorts.

“I’m giving you one chance. Give it to me alive, or I loot it from your corpse,” the man in black says, holding out his hand.

“You know I can’t do that Nobu. I need this crown just as much as you do,” Jiska states calmly.

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Nobu cracks his neck, “So be it.”

Nobu then dashes at Jiska, hands coated in flames, and throws a haymaker at Jiska’s face, hoping to end the fight quickly, but is sorely disappointed. He hits nothing but air, a trail of dust left as the only evidence that something existed in that space in the first place. Air split as Jiska sent an airborne roundhouse at the back of Nobu’s skull. Nobu, unable to dodge such a fast attack, made a solid plane of air to soften the impact.

He was still sent flying by the blow and landed a few meters away, rolling into a crouched position.

“I don’t want to fight you Nobu, I just want—” Jiska started, but was cut off by a blade of air sent at his face. With just milliseconds to react, Jiska tapped into his mana pool.

Mana is a force that everyone in this world has, and can access.

It is a force that doesn’t affect the world outside of its host without instruction. Tell it to light something on fire, it will. Tell it to cover something in rock, it will. The problem is getting it to listen. It is as unruly as whatever you are trying to effect. Water, earth, fire and air are the hardest to control, but that doesn’t make them superior.

In fact many magicians despise these elements because of their unwillingness to be controlled.

Another, less wide spread use of mana, is physical enhancement.

This greatly increases the physical ability of the user, but at the cost of durability. This trade off leaves most magicians and martial artists not wanting to take the risk and end up dead. This technique is known as “The Glass Cannon.”

Jiska saturates his muscles with mana and quickly ducks underneath the blade of air sent at him, to shut him up. “Hey, 213

not cool. I was about to say that I want peace, but you had to make me reveal mana to the readers,” Jiska pouted.

“The hell are you talking about?” Nobu asked through gritted teeth as he sent wave after wave of air blades, basically forcing Jiska to play the hardest song of DDR on the hardest difficulty. (If you know, you know.)

Quickly getting tired of playing, Jiska rushes down Nobu, while still dodging a nonstop stream of blades made out of compressed air. Getting in melee range, Jiska grabs Nobu’s shirt and pulls him up to eye level.

“I honestly don’t want to fight you. I just want peace between our families, to become one family again!” he yells, full of emotion.

Getting out of the grapple, Nobu grabs Jiska’s arms, twists them to his back, and pins him on the ground. “What are you talking about? Our families have always been at odds; saying you want peace is the same as saying you want the system gone! It’s the way we live, and the way we are going to keep living!” He remembers who he is talking to and lets out a humorless chuckle.

“Well, I am going to keep living. Hate to say I can’t say the same about you.” Nobu lets go of Jiska for a moment, before stomping his head into the ground. Over and over, and over. He grabs the back of Jiska’s head, and lifts him up to his face, barely recognizable, and is nothing more than a bloody pulp at this point.

He drops Jiska onto the ground limply before going through his inventory and finding the crown. “Finally, the Omuni. A crown that grants the wearer nigh limitless power.

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Making them a god.”

Before he can put it on, he hears a deep, vicious growl directly in front of him. Jiska starts to get up, his face and head somehow completely healed. A blue flame-like aura of a wolf forms around him, and starts making changes to his body. His teeth grow and sharpen, his muscles get bigger and tougher, and he grows about twenty centimeters.

His hands become more animalistic, losing a finger; his nails turn black as they grow and sharpen into claws. As this is happening, Nobu starts backing away from the very monster-like Jiska in front of him.

In a deep gravelly voice he says, “I thought I could talk to you, and you would see reason. But it seems I have to take a more physical approach.” He gets down into a low crouch, before lunging at Nobu.

Jumping out of the way, Nobu yells in surprise, “How can you do that? Only a Yang can control their Jingshen! Who are you? Why would you betray your family?” He roars.

“Betray our family? I’m trying to save it! The Yang’s arrogance and lust for power started this war in the first place! Do you know the origin of our family, Nobu?” Jiska asks in an almost condescending way.

Nobu stays silent, as if contemplating something. The rage on his face has yet to go away. If anything he got even more angry, basically being told that he doesn’t know the proud history of his own family.

“DO YOU?” Jiska roars, his form once more shifting. He grew another twenty centimeters, and put on at least fifty pounds of pure muscle.

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“YES! Yes I do! The Yang family originated from Africa, where only the strongest survive. They did what they needed to, to make sure that they survived and others didn’t. That’s why Africa is a wasteland now; we made sure that—” “Wrong,” Jiska interrupts.

“WHAT?” Nobu roars, getting angrier. As he leaps at Jiska, he starts transforming. Instantly growing fifty centimeters in height, his head starting forming into a bull’s, complete with horns, with his feet turning into hooves and his ankle moving up to where his knee should be to compensate for the change in anatomy. His knee juts out to form a near ninety-degree angle, his ankle doing the same, just in the opposite direction, and a relatively short tail with a small tuft of fur on the end sprouts from his tailbone. Putting on over a hundred pounds of muscle, and growing reddish brown fur all over his body except for the lighter skin on his hands, which also grew thicker and tougher. Needless to say, he makes up for (and then some) his nickname: the Minotaur.

He grabs Jiska’s neck and slams him into the ground, making a crater bigger in diameter than the height of his animalistic form. This sudden force and aggression causes Jiska to complete his transformation. His head turns into that of a wolf, a mane of white fur growing around his neck, forcing Nobu’s big meaty hand off. This fur spreads to the rest of his body, but instead of white, it’s a bluish grey. His feet and legs get the same treatment as Nobu’s but instead of hooves, they’re massive paws, and instead of a bull’s tail, it’s a wolf’s tail. All the while growing another ten centimeters and putting on 25 pounds in muscle.

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He kicks Nobu off of him, and does a kick up to get back onto his feet. He seems to disappear as he dashes to where Nobu landed, and pins him down, using the Glass Cannon technique. “Listen to me! That story you just spouted?

Nothing more than a bunch of bologna. Our family didn’t do that. Only two people did. Brothers, specifically. The original Yin and Yang.” Jiska says, hoping that Nobu would calm down for more information.

“What? How? My family’s story has been passed down generation after generation. How could you, an outsider, have more information about my own family than me?”

Nobu asks, anger seemingly dissipating into nothingness.

“Let me tell you a story, one that the readers won’t get to read because of time constraints, one older than either of our families.” Jiska says, getting off of Nobu, telling him a tale that would help him realize the true origin of their families, and together, they would end the unending war. Not as friends, but as brothers.

——————————————————————————————— But it won’t matter in the end. For I am coming. And there is nothing you can do to stop your doom. So build your settlements, stop your wars, “grind” to get stronger. It is all for naught. There is no such thing as power, when you are against a god.

✦

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A Remix of Mulan ISABELLA WU • AGE 10 WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

O

nce upon a time, in a very, very in a far away land, there lived a princess with her mom, the queen. They lived peacefully until Queen Diana called Princess Lucia. Lucia rushed to the opened window at her room with her tan sandals with gold specks that she wore in the royal green and colorful garden.

"Lucia! Lucia darling!" The queen said in her highpitched voice. (Her voice almost broke the glass. Sometimes Lucia would imagine her mom at the singing competition singing the opera.)

"I'm here mom!" Lucia shouted.

"Oh good, how are your book balancing skills?" asked the queen.

"Um, it's going well, I guess." replied Lucia.

"Oh, that's wonderful, show me." said the queen.

"I don't think you would want to see it, it's um . . . a surprise for the um . . . competition." replied Lucia, nervously.

"You signed up for the royal competition? I have never been so proud!" said the queen, proudly.

"Well, you do you, the competition is on your birthday, I can't wait!" said the queen happily as she left the room.

"Ok, mom!" shouted Lucia.

The competition! What was I thinking, I would be awful! I didn't even practice! And plus, my birthday is in the next two days! Lucia thought to herself as she plopped on the soft bed.

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"Arf! Arf!" barked Darling, the dog of Lucia.

"Oh, goodie, I was waiting for you to cheer me up!" said Lucia with happy thoughts again.

Lucia loved Darling very much, she even treats the dog like if it was her baby sister. Lucia hugged Darling so tightly that she almost choked. Lucia spoiled Darling with treats. A servant named Peter came in. He was tall and slim, he looked like a piece of paper.(He also has a mustache).

"Would you like any of our signature biscuits from our—" said Peter the servant when princess Lucia stopped him.

"I have a problem, a really BIG problem," whispered Lucia.

"What is princess?" asked Peter.

"Shush!" whispered Lucia.

"What is your problem, princess?" repeated Peter.

"Well, it's kind of a long story,"said Lucia, looking down at her sparkly shoes.

"Okay, tell me," said Peter.

Lucia told Peter the whole story while Peter listened to every word Lucia said. Peter was a great listener, he understood Lucia's problem and promised that he wouldn't tell and help her along the way. He told Lucia to try balancing books on her head. It was rather easy for Lucia because she secretly trained as a ninja or some sort of guardian. Peter said that in the competition, she would have to balance a bowl full of water on her head, two cups on each hand on one finger while balancing a ball on a bicycle. To make things harder, she will have to complete that in one try.

"That's impossible if you ask me!" complained Lucia.

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"I know princess, but if you succeed, you will have a title as the balance master," said Peter.

"Well, let's try it!" said Lucia confidently.

Lucia tried balancing a bowl full of water, she succeeded.

When she balanced the two cups on her fingers, she did it fine as well. But when she balanced the things on the ball, Lucia did not succeed.

"Ugh, I can never get this part right!" complained Lucia for the 30th time.

"You'll get it," said Peter, encouraging Lucia.

"I hope I do," said Lucia sadly.

"Lucia, it is your dinner time, the food is ready," said Peter.

"Okay, I guess I'll take a break," said Lucia sadly.

Lucia walked into the grand dining hall with her head down.

"Lucia darling, what's wrong, did Peter hurt you? Oh Peter, how dare—" said Diana.

"Mom, it's not Peter, it is just that—" said Lucia.

"She is tired, your majesty," said Peter, cutting Lucia off.

"Yes, tired," said Lucia, playing along.

When the maids came in with silver plates and delicious food, Darling, the dog liked her lips. Today, there was sweet potatoes with fillet steak with a mushroom whisky sauce.

This was the main dish. Later on, there were many other dishes, such as mushroom with cauliflower and fish with tomato sauce. After that, Lucia and the queen ate jelly with honey for dessert. Lucia and the queen also ate fruits. To be specific, they ate peaches and apples.

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"I am so very full, how about you Darling?" Lucia asked.

Darling was still eating his high quality dog mix. Peter asked if Lucia wanted to still train some more. Lucia agreed and they went to the royal garden. This was Lucia's favorite place to practice.

✦

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The Missing Plants from the Garden FATIMA NATIVIDAD RODRIGUEZ & EUGENIA ROSAS WRIT TEN DURING WRITE AF TER SCHOOL

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here were too many flowers in the garden. People did not see where they were going, so they stepped on the poor flowers. And then the trees had ashes and the scientist tried to discover how did they get ashes if people stepped on the flowers. You might not have guessed it, but the scientist was also a garden gnome named Jeremy. People were traveling to Antarctica, where Jeremy lived and worked, studying flowers and ashes.

Jeremy had to take care of the flowers. And then, on Tuesday, when he went to check the flowers, the flowers were no longer there. And then he told his friend Sarah if she knew because she was very smart. Sarah said, "It could be a bird or an alligator or a squirrel." The alligator is close to the flowers, near the pond.

Jeremy went down to the pond to investigate. Suddenly, he saw the alligator, who wanted very much to eat him! The alligator thought he was a food. He's mean and he's the color of black and white. Then Jeremy the garden gnome screamed, "Help me!" Suddenly, a tiger appeared from around the corner. The tiger is orange and white and black and its name is Bitey, and it hates animals because when it was a little girl, its mama got lost, because so many animals took her mama away from her.

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The tiger was not afraid of the alligator. The tiger was strict and the alligator, very afraid, ran away!

Jeremy said, "Thank you for helping me!"

The tiger said, "You're welcome. Call me when you need me."

So then, Jeremy was walking through the forest and he saw the same exact flowers. He remembered that he put a sticker on them so he would know they were his. Then he took out his flower box and he put the flowers carefully in there. He carried them back to where all the trees and flowers were. The garden was protected and he went to live somewhere, in the grass, so that he could keep the flowers safe in case the alligator decided to come back. The alligator cannot find the garden gnome.

THE END!

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The Escaping of Evil: Broken Dimension CLASS 4-403 AT P.S. 170 WRIT TEN DURING WRITE TOGETHER

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he Makebeliver made it. They arrived at the Museum of Hyper-Contemporary Art on Earth 28. They had a mission to turn these ancient artifacts into his own powerful group. The Makebeliever knew his team needed to be special, rare. They snuck into the restricted art and a huge grin painted their face. Beautiful pieces of art surrounded the Makebeliever. They threw out their crystals and the magic began. One statue erupted interacting with the crystal. A puff of black smoke and an aura of evil came through.

Suddenly, sirens echoed outside. The Makebeliver needed to leave. They thought to themselves “Am I caught?!”

They gathered their crystals and ran out of the museum.

Outside the sirens were not looking for the Makebeliver, but

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rather someone on the roof with a contraption so elaborate.

The Makebeliever could hear the shouting from the ground.

“Did you not all see the evil escape?! This is the only way to stop it and you are arresting me? You will regret this!” The Makebeliever asked a policeman, “Who’s that?”

“Sin.” The Makebeliver knew they saw evil escape earlier.

They had to save Sin who had the answer. The Makebeliver followed the police who arrested Sin and found themselves at a high security prison.

The Makebeliever had no trouble sneaking in thanks to their crystals. The crystals were able to help Sin get out.

Sin was asleep and the next thing he knew he was awake and outside staring at someone he didn't know. “Who are you?!”

Sin screamed.

“I am the Makebeliver, and I may have released evil.”

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Sin said “Nothing will work except for my machine which is far far away now. Just go find a place to hide.”

The Makebeliever reassured Sin that not all hope was gone. “I have a crystal that holds the stone guardian. They defeated the evil before your machine existed.”

“This job cant be done with just the two of us. We will need other people to help us.” Sin said.

“Do you know anyone?” The Makebeliver replied.

Sin simply said “Follow me.”

TO B E C O N T I N U E D . . .

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The Possessed Clown CLASS 3/4 AT P.S. 45 WRIT TEN DURING WRITE TOGETHER

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nce upon a time, there was a creepy clown that lived deep in the sewers. The clown lived off of people's fear and was able to move around underground easily.

On a stormy day, the creepy clown was starving—it needed to eat some fear as soon as possible. Rarely does the clown go outside, but now was the time. The clown saw two young boys in the distance and began to hunt. The boys noticed the clown chasing after them and ran into the forest. The boys ran crazily and crashed into a tree. The boys were never seen again.

In the sewers, the boys are tied up like flies in a spider’s 227

web. The clown feeds off their fear. Above ground, the two boys had another friend who knew something was wrong and wanted to solve this case. The third boy tried looking everywhere but found nothing. He decided to tell the parents

of the two boys. The parents looked at this boy and did not believe a word of what came out of his mouth. Back in the sewers the clown could hear all of what was said through the drain pipes. The clown knew the third boy was figuring things out and needed to stop him. The clown felt a rush of excitement—he needed to chase this other boy. The clown had many animal friends who lived with him and they would go in and out of the sewers. The third boy, through his detectivework found it odd so many animals were going down to the sewers and made a choice to go down there himself. It took the third boy all of his courage to go down. He ran into cobwebs 228

and braced the horrible smell. He wandered around and heard a scream. He followed it and to his horror saw his two friends hanging from the ceiling. He was petrified and a cold shiver ran down his spine as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

The third boy began to cry and felt the grip of the clown get tighter. The boy turned around and saw nothing but a sharp grin.

He blacks out and wakes up. He looks around and sees his friends and looks down and realizes he has been caught like a fly in a spider's nest.

The clown says “Do not worry, I will take good care of you!”

TO B E C O N T I N U E D . . .

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The Adventure of Sparky: Part One REMOTE GROUP D, “THE WRITERS” AT P.S. 212 WRIT TEN DURING WRITE TOGETHER

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ere, we have Sparky, and he is a talking dog! We do not have much time to introduce him though, because he is being chased by an alien!

“Squaa watch out!” Colorful the talking parakeet squawked. The alien was chasing Sparky and trying to grab him with his long, slimy tentacles. Sparky ran toward his scientist friend, Doctor Steve’s, home. They crashed inside the door and barked for Steve to help them out.

“What’s going on?!” Steve asked, confused and worried.

Sparky pushed a button and a sabertooth cat was summoned.

Sparky pulled Steve from his coat and dragged him toward 230

a protective wall. The group heard the clash between the cat and alien and then heard silence. Sparky thought it was over but ZAP. A laser shot right in front of Sparky. The ground started to wobble. A hand popped out and everyone screamed!

“First aliens, now zombies?! What is going on?” yelled Sparky.

Steve said, “All my experiments used radioactive energy and it must have seeped into the soil and mutated a body. Oops.”

The zombie popped up and said, “You run, I help.”

The group all looked at each other and continued running. Steve said, “I may have created a zombie, but there is a city full of zombies and other demonic beings on another planet. They may be able to stop the alien.”

Steve led the way and took the group to a secret cave that acted as a secondary lab for him. “I have been working on this for ages now—I do believe it is ready.” The metal reflected in the sun blinding the group, but what was seen was a glorious spaceship. “I've rigged this ship with the best defense technology and it is certain to get us to Zombopolis.”

Steve proudly said.

The alien saw a ship flying out of the atmosphere and knew it was the group. The alien grinned and spoke into a 231

special microphone.

On the ship, the crew felt a moment of relief. “We are safe,” Colorful said. Sparky was hesitant to celebrate. Sparky wondered why the alien was even chasing him. Suddenly, a large boom was heard and red lights flashed.

“We’ve been hit!” Steve cried. A large hole grew and the group was getting sucked out. Steve had a handy tool to seal the door but the alien was able to grab Colorful and spoke in a foreign tongue. Luckily, Steve had a translator in his ear. He heard, “Come to my planet to save your friend or else . . . ” TO B E C O N T I N U E D . . .

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My Smart House JIMMY AFOLABI, TORI HERBERT, JASON RIVERS, AND PETER RZEPNIEWSKI WRIT TEN IN A WRITE AWAY WORKSHOP

C H A PT E R 1

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va got up in the morning, stretching awake in their home. Ava went downstairs to eat chocolate chip pancakes prepared by HAL. HAL was House Artificial Life, the AI who managed the whole house and served as its main power source.

There was a bowl with every cereal mixed into it by HAL, except of course, chocolate Reese’s Puffs were kept on the side within their own dish. Who doesn’t love cereal as part of a complete breakfast?

Ava left the kitchen and stepped into a tube at the end of the hall. The best way to get dressed for the day was starting out like this! It blew air all around and styled Ava’s hair and clothes until they looked their best.

It looked like there was a little extra time in Ava’s morning, so they pulled out their phone to get stuff done.

Ava knew the best ways to do that. Ava kept going, completely distracted while they stared at the screen. Ava was missing everything around them, including HAL quietly asking if Ava liked today’s pancakes.

With Ava’s focus elsewhere, it was a perfect time to infect the house. So someone came to plant the virus. A van pulled up with a gardener and toolkit, and the gardener went 233

over to the lawn. They seemed to plant a bunch of things at the base of the chimney. The gardener looked nervous, but no one was paying attention as the block was empty with lots of uninhabited HAL homes. Ava was the only person living on the street.

Pleased with his dirty work and having planted the virus, the gardener brushed off his gloves. It would slowly creep up the side of the house until it reached the roof, where the real damage would be done.

Ava stepped out the front door, eyes still glued to their phone. They wanted to meet up with their friends to get ice cream, but they didn’t know how to use GPS to get there (they’re, like, really old). Ava was still texting the details when they stepped onto their hovercraft. They didn’t even realize that HAL had been changed to a whole new state while they were away.

C H A PT E R 2 It seemed like Ava had been starving and hadn’t eaten the entire day (HAL’s pancakes were taken for granted). Ava was arguing with friends at the ice cream shop about the best flavor when the power surged and went out. It was strange to see the power go out. Chicken nugget-flavored ice cream began melting first, always the last flavor to sell out. Ava’s friends seemed nervous, their faces glowing in the dark from their cookies-and-cream cones.

No one seemed to know what to do in a future without power. Grabbing a fistful of napkins for their melting ice 234

cream, Ava became so mad that she had to rush through their cone and their hangout. They missed their friends already.

Ava got freaked out because the house might go crazy.

The windows became flashing eyes. All the curtains came down, and the house was all dark and the doors were creaky.

The house was pitch black. Knives were flying around. Rats were everywhere, crawling up the bricks of the house.

Ava called their friend, Nat, and informed them that Ava’s house was going crazy and they might need some backup dealing with it. Soon, Nat drove up and agreed with Ava that something was wrong.

“Hello! I’m so glad you’re here,” Ava said to Nat. Nat showed Ava her car, a new model that can fly using electromagnetic technology on a train track, similar to a hyperloop.

“Let’s run!” Nat said to Ava. They drove until they found a bright light coming down from a streetlamp. They began looking up HAL on the internet and wondering what could have happened to the house.

C H A PT E R 3 A stranger appeared under the streetlamp and approached Nat and Ava.

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Losing the Keys RICARDO FERNÁNDEZ, LUIS ESTEVEZ PICAZO, AND JAN WASILUK WRIT TEN DURING WRITE AF TER SCHOOL

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ne day, Nico was just chilling in the store. Then he checked his pockets when he left the store. Once he realized the key to the building was gone, Nico went insane and he didn't know what to do. Nico said to himself, “I’m supposed to feed the dinosaur, how am I supposed to feed it?” He saw someone walking a dinosaur, the dinosaur was walking alongside its owner. Nico reacted normally because there are a lot of dinosaurs, this dinosaur is a plant eater.

Nico started running and saw a bunch of dinosaurs. He thought in his head, “I just lost the last T-Rex alive.” Nico got to the cage and saw that the bars were twisted and there were footprints.

Nico just lost his car key and his bike key. Because his bike was locked and he lost his key, Nico asked his neighbor if he could borrow his pterodactyl so he could locate the whereabouts of the dinosaur. Nico jumped on the pterodactyl’s back and was scared, slipping off second by second. The pterodactyl was big, it was running fast in the direction where people were because the T-Rex was hungry and had started to eat them.

First, the T-Rex found a bus full of people. The driver saw the T-Rex. He tried to drive away but wound up crashing into a pole, and the T-Rex ripped the top off the bus and ate

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everyone one by one. Next the T-Rex found a train about to pass through; he broke the bridge it was passing on and the train crashed. He ripped the top of the train off and ate everyone inside the train.

While Nico was riding the pterodactyl, he saw the T-Rex eating all the people. Then, a huge portal came out of nowhere and another T-Rex came out. Nico said to himself, “Oh, I thought I had the only T-Rex alive.” The T-Rexes saw each other and decided to go their own ways and eat humans.

But then the T-Rexes started fighting over the humans; they angrily bit each other. They started shaking the city. A wizard got news that the dinosaurs were fighting, so he decided to come and make an end of it, and send them back to their cages. Nico flew into the store and got the key.

Outside of the store, Nico had the key. He felt accomplished, the T-Rexes were back in their cages. A pack of velociraptors came along and ate him. Then Nico woke up in his bed, it was just a dream. He looked out the window and saw dinosaurs outside. He looked up at the ceiling and saw a T-Rex looking down at him through the hole in the ceiling.

The T-Rex ate Nico.

T H E E N D.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS THE TWELFTH ISSUE OF THE 826NYC REVIEW celebrates the work of young authors from across and beyond New York City who participated in 826NYC programs with their schools and virtually from home during the 2020-2021 school year.

These stories showcase the incredible thoughtfulness, insight, humor, and empathy these writers wrung out of an exceptionally challenging year. They brought their voices to topics like identity, advocacy, dreams, and frustrations, writing stories and poems that give their readers the opportunity to laugh, cry, sigh, and imagine along with them.

It is a privilege to publish these gifted and passionate writers, and we are eternally grateful to be their rapt audience and enthusiastic cheerleaders.

The publication would not be possible without the volunteers and staff who dedicated their time and talents to curating, editing, and proofreading this collection. We thank our awesome summer interns—all students from 826NYC’s Teen Writers' Collective—who worked together to select many of these pieces: MAXINE BABB, MIA CRUZ, MAYRA FERNÁNDEZ, KIERA FOSTER, and MEKHI VAZQUEZ. After their careful consideration, our copy editors and proofreaders reviewed each piece to ensure the authors’ messages came across loud and clear. Thank you to our editorial team: NIKKI BALDAUF, KATHERINE DEGENNARO, MICHELLE HASKA, CHAD HEWITT, JENNY MITSCHKE, TIANA MOE, and SARAH STEPHEN. A huge thank you to JOE IOVINO, who designed this beautiful 238

book and brought our students’ stories to life.

In addition to supporting the publication itself, 826NYC’s talented and dedicated VOLUNTEERS AND INTERNS worked with our students on their writing over the course of thousands of hours across all of our programs. For your support, encouragement, and mentorship, we thank you.

Without your commitment to our students, nothing we do would be possible.

We want to give a huge thank you to TIPHANIE YANIQUE for reading this publication and providing such a thoughtful, inspiring foreword. Your commitment to the craft, as well as to supporting young authors as they develop their voices, is inspiring.

Finally we would like to thank the NEW YORK CITY DEPARTMENT OF CULTURAL AFFAIRS and the PINKERTON FOUNDATION for funding this project. Additional support for this project came from THE JANE FRIEDMAN ANSPACH FAMILY FOUNDATION, THE FIND YOUR LIGHT FOUNDATION, THE HAWKINS FOUNDATION, THE RONA JAFFE FOUNDATION, THE KETTERING FAMILY FOUNDATION, THE MINERVA FOUNDATION, and THE RESNICK FAMILY FOUNDATION. We are grateful for your support.

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ABOUT 826NYC 8 2 6 N YC LO CAT I O N A N D L E A D E R S H I P

8 26 N YC A N D T H E B R O O K LY N S U P E R H E R O S U P P LY C O. 372 FIFTH AVE BROOKLYN, NY 11215 718.499.9884 www.826nyc.org

STA F F JOSHUA MANDELBAUM, Executive Director NAOMI SOLOMON, Director of Education MANDY SEINER, Volunteer and Programs Manager SUMMER MEDINA, Programs & Volunteer Coordinator JULIANNA LEE MARINO, Programs Coordinator COREY RUZICANO, Programs Coordinator JESUSDANIEL BARBA, Programs Coordinator LAUREN EVERETT, Communication & Fundraising Coordinator CHRIS ECKERT, Store Manager 240

B OA R D O F D I R E CTO R S MICHELLE MCGOVERN, President TED WOLFF, Vice President RAY CARPENTER, Treasurer KATHRYN YONTEF, Secretary MICHAEL COLAGIOVANNI JEN D'AMBROISE LIZA DEMBY JAMAL EDWARDS AMIR MOKARI ARJUN NAGAPPAN TAMMY OLER KATIE SCHWAB DANIELLE SINAY ANDREW SPARKLER ALYSON STONE MAURA TIERNEY THOM UNTERBURGER

8 2 6 N YC P R O G R A M S WRITE AFTER SCHOOL Reading and writing go together like peanut butter and jelly.

Write After School students work alongside 826NYC staff and volunteers to build their reading, writing, social-emotional skills and unleash their imagination as they play and learn about the power of language. Three times a year, students revise their creative writing for publications that are printed 241

in English and Spanish and shared with families, volunteers, and community members at celebratory readings.

W R I T E AWAY WO R KS H O P S Young writers come together in Write Away Workshops to explore a multitude of genres and subjects and to develop their voices. Groups write freely and participate in imaginative writing activities and lessons. Whether it’s a song, a piece of climate justice sci-fi, or a nature guide, young writers leave the workshop with a piece to be proud of, as well as a newfound understanding of the topic, and new friends.

YO U N G W R I T E R S P U B L I S H Turn your classroom into a creative writing lab. During Young Writers Publish residencies, 826NYC teaching artists collaborate with educators on creative, impactful, curriculum-aligned projects that transform students into published authors. Residencies run from six weeks to a full year, depending on the project. Each Young Writers Publish culminates in a book, newspaper, zine, podcast, film, or performance featuring your students.

W R I T E TO G E T H E R 826NYC hosts classes across New York City for Write Together: an interactive writing experience that encourages creative expression, explores the elements of storytelling, and strengthens writing skills. Elementary-aged classes collaborate on illustrated children’s books, middle schoolers 242

choose their own adventure, and high schoolers learn the art of memoir writing during a fast- paced and whimsical 90 minute narrative program.

T E E N W R I T E R S' C O L L E CT I V E Teens are the next generation of literary leaders. That’s why we launched the Teen Writers’ Collective. The collective brings together young writers from around the city to explore the art of writing and literary citizenship. They are a community of passionate and creative peers, serve as 826NYC youth leaders, and inspire younger students and peers across the network.

ST U D E N T P U B L I CAT I O N S Through our programs, our volunteers work with students to help them create stories, poems, and ’zines. Because we believe that the quality of students’ work is greatly enhanced when they are given the chance to share it with an authentic audience, we are committed to publishing student works.

By encouraging their work and by guiding them through the process of publication, we make abundantly clear that their ideas are valued.

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