Kids in Print 2014 Edition

kids in

print 2014 edition / Richland Library / Columbia, SC

“Morris Island Lighthouse” | Macey Coulter, Age 14

contributors

Amin, Chandni Beckner, Samantha Bokesch, Olivia Brabham, Max Brown, Lucia Ruby Stevick Cantrell, Mattie Chen, Eric Chen, Lauren Cook, Mazie Coulter, Macey Crick, Hailey Davidson, Daniel Davidson, Mary Kathryn Davis, Nina Dubinsky, Isaac Gunter, Micah Hinson, Zackary Hughes, Charlotte Hughes, Sophie Jackman, Victoria Jacobs, Brooke Jones, Joshua M’Iatamou, Kerf

3, 35 30 40 17, 22 4 20 9 19 2 cover 31 back cover title page 3, 26 21 6 29 33 23 9 16 14 36

Maltarich, Zuzu Maxfield, Juliette McIlrath, Brenna Miller, Brant Miller, Julia Motley, K’Shawn Nelson, Claire Robichaud, Andrea Robichaud, Clover Russell, Carla Seiler, Wolfgang Stanley, Brianna Stanton, Jackson Stewart, Dominik Tollefsen, Olaf Varanasi, Sreya Verwers, Carter Verwers, Jonas Wachtel, Eleanor Walton, Alexander Williams, Jerryana Williams, Timmaze Winslow, Alex

8 24 12 25 11, 25 10 32 15, 17 34 39 7 14 12 back cover 28 18, 27 13 37 20 20 5, 30 38 31

“Pink the Duck” \ Mary Kathryn Davidson, Age 13

kids in

print 2014 edition / Richland Library / Columbia, SC

“Warm Snow” \ Mazie Cook, Age 15

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On Perfection This poem says the same thing about you that you said about me.

“But it doesn’t rhyme.”

It doesn’t have to for it to mean anything.

Nina Davis Age 18

The Gap She was scared of becoming a genius.

Chandni Amin Age 15

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Bus Stop Red flashes by along with city streets city lights city cars.

Red city bus 20.

Every morning, 7:42.

Halt! Kaubamaja. People get off, people get on.

I am one of those people.

Click! Doors shut.

I am behind those doors.

Up, up, up the hill.

Halt! Riiamäe. Stop one on our journey.

People get off, people get on.

I am not one of those people.

Click! Doors shut.

Around a corner. Wait for the light.

Farther, farther, just a little bit farther…

Halt! Pepleri. Stop two on our journey.

People get off, people get on.

I am not one of those people.

Click! Doors shut.

Round, round, round the bend.

Halt! Silmakliinik. Eye clinic. Stop three on our journey.

People get off, people get on.

I am not one of those people.

Click! Doors shut.

I am still behind those doors.

Straight going until traffic gets heavy.

Round, round, round the traffic circle.

Wait for pedestrians at the crosswalk.

Halt! Kuperjanovi. Our stop.

7:48. School starts in twelve minutes. Better hurry.

Squeeze off the crowded bus and into crisp air.

Pound! Pound! Pound! Run into the school yard Stopping breathlessly at the large doors, flags welcoming above.

Pull! Swing! Ten more minutes.

Still can make it.

Jacket off, shoes off, indoor shoes on.

Plip! Plip! Plip! Run to class.

Backpack off, books out, in seat.

Mission Impossible starts to play over the loudspeakers.

No one is surprised. That’s the bell.

Class starts.

Made it.

Lucia Ruby Stevick Brown \ Age 11

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“Brisk Stroll” \ Jerryana Williams, Age 15

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From All Those Endless Summer Days Do you somehow remember How we gazed up at the atmosphere And, how we watched the sunset go and fade away As I walk to the future, I look back at all those promises From all those endless summer days My shadow Hides behind my smile But when I had met you; you made my day The darkness, fades into the sun My heart is filled up with your love Do you remember that day?

When you held onto my hand, so tight that night Do you remember that day? when we gazed up into the stars Do you, remember that summer day?

Do you somehow remember When you held onto my hand that day We vowed to love each other for eternity that rose is still here telling us that love is strong From all those endless summer days.

Micah Gunter Age 14

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Golden The sunset is like gold.

I watch it go down in the evening.

It’s rare, valuable, and precious.

I want to take it and be rich my whole life.

Wolfgang Seiler Age 11

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The Light It’s dark, I can’t see anything but I keep pushing on, breathless, each step tentative my blood beats a rhythm th-thump th-thump th-thump. but there is something ahead a flicker a shine comforting my wounds a feeble light growing stronger by the second the light giving me strength blinding, there’s laughter I laugh there’s food I eat there’s light, flowing into my body repairing-scars cuts bruises And I know, when I wake what I must do, I must find the light at the end of the tunnel.

Zuzu Maltarich Age 9

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“As the Universe Sleeps” \ Victoria Jackman, Age 14

The Ether

In the ether, all your old, lost belongings can be found. It’s a strange place, and it’s everywhere at once. And occasionally, it’ll grab things. And because it’s everywhere, spit it out in a different place, thinking it’s the same place. Sometimes close, other times far off, but always lying like a child, telling us it’s our fault. Other old things, like your old Legos and third grade math notes, get torn apart or never make it out, trapped in the infinite void. In the ether, there’s a lost and found that got lost.

In the ether, time and space are crooked, yet roughly tracking the steady progression in our world. It’s littered with things it engulfed, some large, some small. Very few beings have learned its pattern, sailing under grasping talons and dodging through the randomly ordered matrix. One man blasted in and carefully followed a bubble in the ether, where time had stopped. He turned the nebulous clouds of matter into toys. Then, when the calculations showed our date was the twenty-fourth of December, he dashed out, following the streams of slowed time. Using the joyful lights as a guide, he dashed from house to house, bending the ether through walls, and warping time to keep it night. In the ether, mystical things can happen.

In the ether, even thoughts float around. It stores those ideas before they get onto paper, and the plans you and your friends had for Christmas. However, your thoughts aren’t alone. Sometimes, they get jumbled with other thoughts and make an incomprehensible blur. You forget. Other times, they make a funny, or ridiculous, or new idea. Other times, cunning strategies get infused with an evil motive. Then, there are the artists. They can intentionally mix ideas, or draw multiple people’s ideas together, and produce fascination results. Everyone gets a share of the ether. We all get a share of these thoughts—the funny, the evil, the radical. We all mix ideas along our own recipes, and sometimes combine our recipes into a meal. And that meal can help, amuse, or entertain many others. In the ether, creativity occurs.

Eric Chen Age 14 Kids in Print 2014 | 9

“My Anime” \ K’Shawn Motley, Age 14 10 | Kids in Print 2014

Anthony Spike: Time Agent

I got the clue that something was wrong when I visited Feudal Japan and found a Caucasian woman sitting on the Emperor’s throne. I confirmed that something was wrong when I was asked to bow down to the goddess. A few minutes later, I insulted the “goddess” and had to face her best samurai in combat. But, I’m getting behind of myself.

I’m Anthony Spike, Chief Operative of the United States Time Security Agency. Our job is to make sure that our citizens don’t abuse their time-travel devices (TTDs) and stick within the recommended timelines. In addition, we screen all TTDs and make sure that they’re operating properly. Most of the time, it’s a pretty boring job – checking to make sure flux capacitors and chameleon circuits are working, planning out new trips to the Victorian ages, occasionally rescuing someone who got lost in the Dark Ages. This job, however, was special.

About a month ago, one of our experimental TTDs was missing. It was shaping up to be one of the best personal TTDs since the iTime; it could safely transport you all the way to ancient Rome (traveling past your personal future, of course, was prohibited). It had been called the MyTime. Immediately the Agency was up in arms to find it, but it quickly became obvious that the thief had run back in time with the TTD. We had been running through history for a month, trying to find a discrepancy that would lead us to the culprit. After way too many hours spent working overtime, I had a lead.

“So,” she said, as the last of her samurai left the room. “The TSA finally found me. How long has it been for you guys?”

“It’s been 35 days since you stole the MyTime in Current Standard Time.” I replied, noting that she spoke with a flat Midwestern accent. Could’ve been Canadian, but this probably ruled out any foreign involvement.

“How long have you been running?”

“I’m not running. I’m enjoying myself.” She grinned showing small, perfect white teeth. “First, I went to Mesopotamia, then a respite for Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee….” She trailed off. “I’ve been in Japan for around a month.” She had long dark hair that was artfully arranged upon her head, bright blue eyes, and spoke with a lightness that commonly belonged to teenagers, even though she couldn’t have been under 25. “Aren’t you supposed to say I’m under arrest? Standard procedure?”

“I’m head of the field department. I make the procedures.”

“Hmm. You look rather young for such a position.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“I am young.” She stood up and stretched. “I suppose you want to take me in?”

“You’ve stolen private property, went outside the Standard Time Allowances, broke about fifty Code of Conduct laws, in addition to whatever you’re running from that made you want to steal the MyTime.” I allowed myself to smile. “Miss, I’m taking you in if I need to rewrite history to do it.”

She held herself completely still for a moment, and I thought she might turn herself in. Then, she screamed something in Japanese, and her samurai warriors burst into the throne room, swords drawn.

Now normally, the use of current weapons or technology in a past time is prohibited. But, as I said, I make the procedures.

I slung the laser-guided tranq rifle from my shoulder and took down the closest attacker. My rifle was able to track every single opponent and take them down within seconds. In the midst I saw the girl run out of the room. I tore myself away from my attackers and ran after her.

I chased her up a flight of stairs, up to a balcony overlooking the palace grounds. “Don’t move.” I barked and she froze. “I used a tranq gun on your samurai, but for you I’m using my standard-issue handgun. It’ll leave a few holes in you.” She quickly glanced over her shoulder and saw that what I was saying was true. “Now, you’re going to tell us where the MyTime is, and then you’re heading back to the year 2113 to face charges.”

She suddenly whipped around, grinning, and I saw on her wrist a device that had been hidden by her sleeves – the MyTime. She smiled at me as she dematerialized. I fired my gun, and saw her grin dissipate for half a second as the bullet struck her in the stomach. She then disappeared.

I lowered my gun and sighed. Had I hit her? Would I find her again? Where did she come from?

Why did she need the MyTime? And most importantly, who was she?

It was time to go back to the future – and to the drawing board.

Julia Miller Age 16 Kids in Print 2014 | 11

“Eyes of a Demon” \ Brenna McIlrath, Age 13

Darkness: A Story Poem I am setting up candles because the power blacked out.

My brother is with me.

One candle goes out and then another, until there is just one left.

My brother and I are sitting very close to each other when the next and final candle extinguished.

I feel around for my brother.

I can’t find him.

I whisper his name.

Crying, shaking, breathing heavily, I call out his name, louder.

Faintly, I hear his voice saying, “Help!” before the darkness takes over.

Jackson Stanton Age 10

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“Shadowed” \ Carter Verwers, Age 11

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Moonlit Hunt We feel the wind through our fur, as we run through the woods.

The night is dark but the moon shines bright for us.

We feel each other as we run, We bark with delight.

We see our prey-- it sees us too, It runs but not for long.

Soon our stomachs will growl no more, tonight.

The prey is swift, The hunt is on, The pack is one, in the moonlight.

Brianna Stanley Age 11

Werewolves Werewolves, come out at night, Attack small animals and humans if you bother them Vicious if you learn to get on their good side they will do almost anything for you.

Joshua Jones Age 11

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My Life in the Shadows I lived in a world of shadows…

I was not alone in my world of shadows, though. I had 3 friends, a cat, a bee, and a bird; a lynx, a bumblebee and a swallow.

They were my only friends in my world of shadows, darkness, and despair.

People shunned us from society, laughed at us, and scorned us. We heard them mutter our names when we lurked in the shadows. The lynx… the bee… the swallow… and me, the human girl. They gossiped about me the most. I didn’t really care as long as my friends were with me.

One day, though, we parted and went our separate ways as we descended deeper into the shadows.

The quartet of the bumblebee, swallow, lynx, and human girl came to a close.

Then I was alone and I cried out to the shadows, Why did you take them from me?

I fell deeper and deeper into the inky abyss of the shadows.

I thought all hope was lost and I accepted my fate, falling free into the shadows.

But at the last moment, I heard the voices of my beloved friends calling my name, telling me not to give into the shadows.

Their voices gave me renewed strength.

I struggled against the shadows and I finally broke free from their clutches.

I looked up hoping to see them but all I saw was darkness. Then a surprising thing happened…

I was plunged into the light, the warmth and the joy of a flowing green meadow.

It would be a perfect paradise, if only they were here…

I see them again, my three dear friends. I see their surprised faces when we see each other and under the shining bright sun, we pledge our loyalty to one another, promising to stay together.

Here in this wonderland meadow, we will call this place home to the end of our days.

Carefree and finally at peace, I have nothing to fear.

Andrea Robichaud Age 12

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“Aqua” \ Brooke Jacobs, Age 12

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light without without light there would be no life without life there would be no trees or grass or flowers without trees there would be no air. without air the world would start to crumble bit by bit and in time there would be no more planets left, all that would be left are stars without purpose anymore; no one could look at them so nothing would work in our world again, and it would stay like that forever and ever until life was created again.

Max Brabham Age 10

“Dragon Eggs (A Different Perspective)� \ Andrea Robichaud, Age 12

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“Instruments from All Over the World� \ Sreya Varanasi, Age 12 18 | Kids in Print 2014

“The Ballerina” \ Lauren Chen, Age 10 Kids in Print 2014 | 19

My Internal Symphony Blue soars above me.

Blue is water but it is also a violin.

Yellow fills me and covers me up.

Yellow is the sun but it is also a clarinet.

Green is a friendly voice and walks by my side.

Green is the grass and a big trombone.

Pink is round, fluffy, squishy, soft, Pink is love; pink is my harp.

Red is not pink and glares at me.

Red is hate, a low viola.

Purple pulls my septet together with compassion.

Purple is kind, wise and mellow like a cello.

White shows me the right thing to do.

White is proud and fearless like a trumpet.

My eyes see colors, My ears hear music, My heart feels a symphony.

Eleanor Wachtel Age 11

Love Love Love Love is everywhere.

Love Love comes.

Love Love goes.

Love Love is good.

Mattie Cantrell Age 6

“Chameleon�

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\ Alexander Walton, Age 11

Kaleidoscope I walk on the beach.

I sit down.

I gaze at the beautiful waves – big ones and small ones like a kaleidoscope.

The water is a mirrored surface, constantly changing depending on the sun’s light, the waves are green, sometimes blue, and from time-to-time, they are clear.

Isaac Dubinsky Age10

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I Am a Book I am a book the fingers of my owner ready to read me the hand flipping my cover I am a book the songs of words inside me my pages bound to make me I am a book My reader sitting on a chair on a sunny day where no clouds can be seen I am a book my cover being flipped warm, blue eyes on me I am a book the end of my tale read after being closed, I am put back on the shelf to be read again The End. Max Brabham Age 10

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“A Day at the Library” \ Sophie Hughes, Age 7

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Writing I see in my mind what I would like to write.

I touch the tip of the pencil; it almost breaks.

I hear the sound of my pencil as it soars over the perfect lines on the paper.

I taste the lead in my pencil as I pause in my writing.

I smell the juiciness in my writing as I create the most detailed, delicious poem.

Juliette Maxfield Age 9

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A Collaboration Between a Teenager and Her Little Brother It was a night black as sin, and she hurried from the castle with a dagger in hand. Then a big angry monster came and gobbled her up! The end.

AHEM! The monster, of course, was only a shadow cast by the trees and the stones. Now the princess continued, and she swallowed a pecan and died! The end.

Just then, another monster appeared. It roared, I love to eat little boys! Especially the ones who interrupt stories!

“I thought this was fiction!”

The monster reached for the little boy that broke the fourth wall and started to eat him veeeery slooooThen the princess took her dagger and cut up the monster into little centimeters!

The princess is dead!

She coughed up the pecan and came back to life. After she finished decapitating the monster, she turned to the boy. “You are an ugly, slow minded little creature,“ she said.

“HEY! You can’t cross out my writing!”

“Who says so?”

The princess looked at the little boy, drew her dagger, and stabbed him in the heart. “I say so.”

The boy came back to life. “Who’s interrupting the story now?”

The princess continued on her way, racing to reach the docks before the arrival of the wizard’s guards.

She could hear the wizard using powerful words of magic, and expected herself to be caught by some magic spell at any moment. The boy jumped out of the bushes and cast a spell that froze the wizard in his place. Then, big ugly guards with goat cheese breath came running out of the forest!

The princess saw a man running toward the boy, sword drawn. She jumped behind him and took him down, using her dagger. Then the boy, with his wand, made a barricade of fire-breathing doughnuts between them and the bad guys!

The princess and the boy ran to the docks, pushing people out of their way as they headed to the boat.

The boy called to his sailors, who got the ship ready for their Captain. “Since when are you a Cap---never mind.”

The princess and the boy jumped onto the boat and cast off, sailing away from the wizard and his guards. We make a pretty good team after all, said the princess.

Bah! yelled the boy. Go walk the plank!

“Why you little—“ (At this point, the paper was torn without any hope of repair, and, alas, the story was discontinued.)

Julia and Brant Miller Ages 16 and 9 Kids in Print 2014 | 25

Writing with My Left Hand Everything I know is a memory of a memory.

I write with my left hand because I know that’s how you stayed with me; my right hand holding your hand and my left hand writing a list of things I’d have to remind you of later.

Nina Davis Age 18

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The Power of Words Neatly typed characters sit waiting on a page, waiting for human eyes to understand them, an intricate pattern of characters create a word.

Words can be disconsolate, uplifting, or even ireful, depending on how you ken the words.

One word can change the meaning, causing different emotions to arise.

Carefully selecting your words is the best way to let others know what you mean.

Words are tools that you can easily retrieve from your brain.

Words on paper tell others what you think.

Words are a form of silent communication.

Words are the most effective way to communicate.

The power of words can be amazing.

Words can instigate people, or it can cause lethargy.

This is the power of words.

Sreya Varanasi Age 12

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“Psalm Number One” \ Olaf Tollefsen, Age 18

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“Fractured Peace” \ Zackary Hinson, Age 16

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“Rings of Light� \ Jerryana Williams, Age 15

Light Light swarms, shines, heats and boils constantly through the night.

The Northern Star guides with its burning soul, pulling us to an unknown heaven.

Samantha Beckner Age 10

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The Star on the Tree My Dad places the white-painted tin star on our tree.

It was my Granny’s star; a star that shone on every Christmas tree in my father’s childhood.

My Granny is gone, but her light shines on.

Alex Winslow Age 10

“The Nutcracker” \ Hailey Crick, Age 6

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I Am Like A Cat I am like a cat.

I wonder why everyone shouts all the time.

I hear loud noises that make me flinch.

I see an open door, and I want to escape.

I want to be left alone to think.

I am like a cat.

I pretend to be bigger than I am.

I feel safe at home.

I touch people too roughly sometimes.

I worry that I am on my ninth life.

I cry when I am hurt.

I am like a cat.

I understand that I am picky.

I say hello to my favorite people.

I dream of a quiet nap in the sun.

I try to be my best.

I hope that I don’t rub people the wrong way.

I am like a cat.

Claire Nelson Age 13

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“A Summer Day” \ Charlotte Hughes, Age 10

Kids in Print 2014 | 33

Leaves I am born with the arrival of Sweet Spring, Awaiting the arrival of beauteous flowers, baby buds, in my robes of pale green.

I feel the gentle warmth of the sun upon my frail body And the gentle tug of breezes upon my small frame.

I cling to the branch. I dare not leave it.

Strong Summer comes, and I grow stronger with it.

I am surrounded by friends, and we chatter in the wind.

The heat bears down upon me, but I welcome it.

I am wrapped in thick cloaks of emerald hue, Holding the branch that is my reality.

Now it is Abhorrent Autumn.

My garments of lush green are ripped from me; My apparel is now a cape of bleeding flames and bruised light.

The frigid gale pulls at me, screaming to let go.

I am robbed of the sun’s warmth with the shortening of days.

The coldness presses down around me. My friends perish.

The gale’s unrelenting screams get louder. I am bleeding and burning in the cold.

I give in to what was once a gentle breeze as I say farewell to the branch that bore me.

I am falling, carried by an airy carpet; Dying in macabre beauty.

Wanton Winter has possessed my world.

The wind has stopped playing with my corpse ages ago.

My body is buried deep within a tomb of snow To rot where no one sees it.

I see that icicles inhabit the branches, colder and crueler than us leaves.

I pity them. They will die with less time among branches than I. My reincarnation lies asleep inside them, soon to meet the world anew.

The new leaf to come will live in false hope As the seasons condemn it to meet the same fate as I. Clover Robichaud Age 14

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Habitual The reason the walls of your new place are still white is because they haven’t been coloured with memories yet. At least your carpet’s multicoloured from your cats’ shedding. Kinda gross to mention it but your fingers are green from all that smoking of asparagus you’ve been doing. A pack a day?

You’re an asparagus addict.

White trails of incense travel up the walls and bangles jingle on your frail wrists.

The noise we hear is full of chants and pleading because it’s an unbroken ritual that satiates the easily-angered di. It’s our history, it’s who we are and where we come from and why why why this all doesn’t doesn’t doesn’t doesn’t exist.

Pumpkins line windows that are set on ice.

Chandni Amin Age 15

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“Anubis” \ Kerf M’Iatamou, Age 15

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Rashamad and the Silver Shells Once upon a time, there lived a swan named Rashamad. The name Rashamad meant “one with bad temper.” One day, Rashamad decided to join the king’s royal army.

Rashamad went to the king and asked him “Can I try-out for commander?” Sure enough, Rashamad got the job.

One day, Rashamad was walking by the shore and another swan walked over to him and gave him a silver shell. Rashamad asked, “Do you have more of these?”

The swan did not answer.

Rashamad yelled this time, “Do you have more of these?!”

The swan did not answer and without thinking Rashamad stabbed him. With guilt, Rashamad flew away for he knew the king would kill him.

The moral of the story is: Think before you do.

Jonas Verwers Age 8

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Less than, Greater than, or Equal To We’re not less than, or greater than, we’re equal to Listen up and don’t get it confused We’re not less than, or greater than, we’re equal to Less than, or greater than, we’re equal to Less than, or greater than, we’re equal to Listen up, and don’t get it confused Now it’s a simple education you’ll be able to use When you work hard and stop thinking of shoes; bullying and acting like a fool So, listen up and don’t get it confused Stop thinking of bullying; It is so wrong Cause God’s watching you like a brand new iPhone I’m talking to you, so you better listen Don’t pick on people because they’re different So if you don’t want this time to lose You better, listen up, and don’t get it confused Cause, we’re not less than, or greater than we’re equal to, We’re not less than, or greater than we’re equal to We’re not less than, or greater than we’re equal to Listen up, and don’t get it confused.

Timmaze Williams Age 11

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“Power of Super Saiyan Goku” \ Carla Russell, Age 14

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Westward Bound – A Pioneer Family’s Life – The Diary of Abigail Smith, Age 10 August 18, 1846

So far it’s been about a week since we’ve left Missouri, and Ma and Pa are through the roof with exhaustion. Our rickety covered wagon has been close to turning over twice! The ride has been quite dangerous and travel has been tough since there are five of us. There’s Ma, Pa, Laura, my younger sister by two years, Charles who’s only three years of age, and me, Abigail. Since I am the eldest, I must do more chores than Laura and Charles combined. “Can you do the laundry, Abigail? Set the table, Abigail. Don’t let Charles play in that filthy creek!”

This was all I heard most of the time.

Only yesterday we had to cross part of the Missouri River! Our left wheel got stuck, and poor Pa had to climb into the river to help move our wagon along. The river had to be cold because Pa came up looking like the time when he and the other fathers dove into the lake during the winter for fun back at our home in Bulls Creek, Kentucky. Luckily, the river was shallow from the long drought they’ve had out here in the West. Little Laura couldn’t believe it hadn’t rained since we’d left Kentucky. For Charles, it was like a visit to the candy shop. He would sing while playing outside our wagon, “Little Charles can play today, for God has given us no rain.” Pa just laughed and told Laura to go play with him, while I had to help Ma make supper.

Later, during supper, Pa told us we’d be passing through a small town to restock in two days’ time. Ma was overjoyed, and we spent the rest of dusk dancing along with Pa’s fiddle.

August 20, 1846

We hit a rock. Our wagon had been riding smoothly on the dirt path, and Ma was feeding Charles up on the bench seat with Pa. “John,” she said, “It’s getting rocky, so be careful.” “Don’t worry, Meredith,” Pa answered. It was right then when we hit that darn rock. I could feel our wheel spin out and roll off. Luckily, Pa was able to catch the open wheel space before the wagon fell over. He propped the wagon up to keep it from tilting. Ma frantically rushed over onto the dry flat prairie to help Pa. Laura, Ma and I struggled with all our might to pick up the broken wheel. Pa started to repair the wheel, but I knew we needed more than one man to do this.

After lunch, I saw dust coming over the hill we had conquered right before we lost the wheel. A shape slowly started to appear. Ma screeched with joy. Another wagon! The wagon stopped before us and a young man stepped down from the bench seat. “What be the trouble?” the man asked gruffly. Pa shaded his eyes and replied, “Our wagon wheel has fallen off, sir. Will you help us repair it and put it back on?”

“Why my wife and I happened to bring along an extra wheel. We’d be happy to get it off our backs.” Pa seemed to stop and think. “Well, thank you, sir!” Pa replied, smiling.

“Meredith, go cook up something nice for this young man and his wife.” Ma nodded and disappeared back into the wagon.

A few hours later, the new wheel was in place and we were all eating an early supper with the Abners, the nice man and his wife. I think Mrs. Abner was a little overwhelmed with all the food and such and Ma’s appreciation.

The new wheel was just as big, but not quite as sturdy as our old wheel, so we had to remove some weight from the wagon. I willingly gave up my wagon box along with you, Diary.

So long old friend!

Olivia Bokesch Age 10

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“Bison” \ Daniel Davidson, Age 14

A Very Special Thank You...

Many people made this edition of Kids in Print possible and we each worked hard to make this publication the best yet.

PrintSouth Printing / The families, teachers and school staff Programs and Partnerships / The Children’s Room, Main Virtual Services / Marketing and Communications / Teen Center Kids In Print Selection Committee Morgan Ryan / Heather McCue / Ashley Warthen Jennifer Naimzadeh / Sarah Shuster / Sherry Williams

“Soldier’s Soul from Heaven” \ Dominik Stewart, Age 7